"So...they're really dead."
Antus was perched atop a sealed crate, looking down at Vendrix as he stroked his mandibles, his pointed, avian eyes staring off at his twin, who was showing the humans the inventory they had remaining, Vendrix sat on the floor, his back to another crate as he rested his elbows on his knees.
"Yes. Clyde's body was never accounted for, but if you haven't heard from him by now he's most likely dead as well." He looks up at Antus. "I'm honestly baffled you didn't know before now."
The other turian only shrugs his shoulders. "When you didn't come back after a few days we assumed the worst, and we got in touch with Quinnus. She told us to stay with the merchandise and keep her informed on any developments."
Vendrix sits up. "You got in touch with her, did you use-"
"The burner we keep for emergencies? Yeah."
Suddenly he stands, a plan of action forming in his head. He wouldn't let Hammond and his attack dog hold all the cards.
"Take me to it."
The emergency transceiver was a bulky, analogue-looking box that had been fished out of a cabinet by Antus, he stood back with Vendrix in the small office that allowed for a vantage over the larger warehouse floor. They now sat, waiting with baited breath, around the device.
"Do you think she'll be upset?" Antus says, his eyes fixed on the transceiver.
"Was she upset when you called her?"
"I called twice, the first time was when you hadn't come back on the day of the deal, the second time was yesterday. I told her the batarians had been broken. She didn't sound upset. To be honest, she didn't sound much of anything."
"She's no doubt drafting a new plan to address this rapidly evolving situation, she is a woman of action, afterall."
"You say that like you know her personally."
"I know her by reputation, and that is infinitely more illuminating."
The shrill chime of the transceiver puts an end to their conversation, and the insistent beeping of a call waiting to be accepted fills the air for all of half a second before Vendrix reaches to click on the speaker.
"Speak."
The simple, terse order pulses forth from the device. Vendrix swallows and holds down on the button to transmit.
"Mrs. Quinnus, a pleasure to make your acquaintance once again. I've returned from my unplanned absence, eager to serve."
"It's good to hear your voice, Vendrix. But stow the theatrics, I don't have the time for it. What's your status."
He clears his throat. "Well, I've returned, Antus and Anyo are well, Thomas and Ushnak are dead, and Clyde is presumed dead. Lady Pughnoh and the batarian mob have collapsed-"
"And what about the credits, do you have the chit on you?"
"Yes and no, there was a complication. We've happened across some unconventional-" He pauses, reaching for the accurate word. "-allies of convenience. A human named Hammond."
There's a silence on the other end, and although their connection is exclusively audio, the tone of her voice carries so much inflection she may as well be standing before them.
"And he's in possession of your chit." She speaks, her voice laden with aggravation.
"Yes." Vendrix replies with something approaching shame.
"Is he nearby?"
"Yes he is."
The blood in Vendrix's veins run cold as he and Antus whirl around, suddenly turning to face the Human that stands in the doorway, an easy smile carved across his face as he rests his palm on the handle of his sidearm in a silent threat.
Antus had left his assault rifle downstairs, and Vendrix still hadn't found his knife, leaving them defenseless against the armed human.
He waves them aside with his free hand as he saunters forward with an easy stride, the sudden silence alerting the Matriarch to the disturbance on the other line.
"Hammond, I presume." Mrs. Quinnus' steady voice pulses from the speaker, drained of any residual emotion and now in a steady and businesslike timber.
Shooing away the turians with a hand, he watches them as they part to the side. Looks of mixed surprise and anger painted on their faces as starkly as their markings as he leans forward, reaching to the transmitter and bringing his mouth to the receiver.
"The very same." He drawls, his words dripping with venom.
"Do you know who I am, Hammond?"
"I've heard a few things about you, Quinnus."
"Then you know how far I'll go to retrieve what I'm owed."
Hammond smiles, turning to face the pair of turians. "As far as I can see, I'd say Vendrix and his little friends are owed these credits, they made the deal, afterall. And it wouldn't be wise to threaten a man who's sitting on top of enough guns to equip a small army."
"And it wouldn't be wise to ransom a woman with her own weapons, and her own credits."
"Either way, we have quite a bit to discuss."
"We really don't, Austin." The man's brows furrow, and when Mrs. Quinnus speaks again, Vendrix can hear the faintest smile in her voice.
"I do my homework, you see. When I sell my merchandise I like to run, how you say, background checks." Hammond begins to open his mouth to interject but as if sensing the attempt Mrs. Quinnus raises her voice so that it reverberates throughout the confines of the small office.
"Having a district that close to one of the docking arms can be quite profitable, I'm sure. Taking cuts for security, transportation, maintenance, and being that close in proximity to all those exotic and highly valuable goods offers many opportunities for something to be lost in processing."
Hammond's face is still an unreadable mask, but the edges wear away, the look in his eyes a blend of worry and indescribable rage.
"But, it would cause quite a scandal if someone like, say, the Eclipse, realized where their missing merchandise was ending up."
Hammond is quiet for a moment, still as a statue with the exception of silently mouthing the words "turian bitch" again and again. Finally he composes himself and begins again. "What do you want?"
"I want what we both want, Hammond. The krogan warlord's head. He threatens your people, and has made an incredible mess for my operations in your little slice of Omega."
Hammond felt the urge to snap that it was her men that had led the krogan to his district in the first place, but he held his tongue.
"And to prove that I'm willing to work in good faith, I'll offer all the weapons in the warehouse you're standing in as a token of my goodwill. In exchange, the credit chit that's already in your possession. It's like we're making a sale, you see?"
Hammond pretends to mull it over in his head, but try as he might, Vendrix could see that Mrs. Quinnus had left him with no other options.
"Fine, I'll hand off the chit once the krogan's dead."
"You hand off the chit, now. Or I'll make sure that what happened to the batarian's district will happen to yours, and if you manage to make it through that, I can assure you that you won't survive what will come after."
Hammond opens his mouth, ready to yell at the arrogant, skull-faced bitch on the other side, telling her he won't be threatened, but the transceiver only returns static, signaling the end of the call.
Left in the fizzling silence of the transceiver, he stands as still as a statue, broken only by the faint outline of his jaw clenching and unclenching. Finally, in one last display of impotent rage, his foot lashes out to kick a small box so hard it shatters against the wall.
He stuffs a hand into his pocket, yanking out the credit chit and shoving it in Vendrix's chest, the turian shaking off seeing Quinnus deal with Hammond as he accepts the chit and pockets it. Hammond, the characteristically cool and composed human leader, now better resembled a child on the verge of a tantrum. He seethed as he turned about face, storming down the stairs without a word. The stomps of his booted feet echoed through the entire warehouse.
The first of the skycars descended with a keening wail of thrusters, the vanguard of the small fleet that Hammond had called in to move their newly acquired weapons. One by one they descended, their drives kicking up roiling coronas of dust as they descended, promptly spitting out crews to begin forming a chain that soon extended from the warehouse interior to the vehicles outside.
The human had his back to the turians, who sat on the curb side by side, squinting against the wind-blown detritus as they watched the assortment of humans, both in the armored uniform of the Neighborhood watch and volunteers in plainclothes, squatting down to haul their crates.
Vendrix rolled the credit chit between his fingers idly. He had gotten the opportunity to discard the mismatched outfit he had taken from the lost and found, his new clothes were a simple black on black ensemble.
He watched the arsenal paraded past him and the twins, catching glimpses of sidearms, shotguns, assault rifles and even a cache of grenade launchers. Ammo mods for incendiary, electric and armor piercing rounds made their appearance as well, and several disassembled turrets were marched through to be loaded into their transports.
When it was all said and done, the turian couldn't help but feel the relief wash over him as the shipment finally became someone else's problem.
And then it occurred to him, what was binding them to Hammond at that moment? They had the weapons, and the credits were theirs. The transaction had gone through, although on vastly different terms, and with vastly different parties than initially planned upon, but it was done.
He stands up and dusts off the faint accumulation of back blasted dust that covers his clothing. Walking with a slight limp to Hammond and standing besides the human.
"I believe that our dealings are now concluded? My men and I will be taking our leave."
"You're not going anywhere, turian." Hammond menaced, his voice cold and hard. His face was a steely mask, his brows furrowed so deeply his eyes seemed to receed into two black pits.
"Oh…and why would that be?" He begins in an innocent voice, feeling the tension begin to build in his shoulders.
"Insurance. You're not safe until my people are safe."
"That wasn't our agreement." He brings his hand up to point at the human. "You get your weapons, we get our credits. You are NOT keeping us any longer!"
"The terms of our deal have changed, I don't trust doing business with someone who has no skin in the game."
Vendrix could see this needless strong-arming as what it was. Hammond wanted to feel like he was back in control after his public dressing-down by Mrs. Quinnus. And now he, and the Twins by extension, were to be the targets of his aggression.
Vendrix's voice falls to a low whisper. "I have lost half of my crew and nearly died myself, I can understand that you have the compulsion to recuperate your wounded ego, but do not dare lecture me about having 'skin in the game', I lost more in a day than you have in your entire life." His hands balled into fists, missing his knife but knowing he wouldn't need it to tear the human's throat out.
In a flash, Vendrix's head is suddenly pushed upwards by something hard and cold pressing up into the underside of his chin. Hammond's finger is coiled around the trigger of his handgun, his eyes gleaming with lethal intent, practically begging for Vendrix to give him a reason.
"That so? Well you're going to lose a little more unless you simmer down." He menaces, the corners of his mouth curving into a small smile as Vendrix was forced to turn his eyes down to maintain eye contact.
"Boss!" He heard Antus shout, and while he couldn't see them, the hiss of a fresh thermal clip being slotted into a rifle was unmistakable. Ending Antus' protests as he slowly sat back down, hands raised to his head.
"Smart." Hammond says to Antus, not taking his eyes off of Vendrix as he tilts his head towards him in acknowledgement. "Are you going to play ball, too?"
He swallows, his jaw clenched and his mandibles held tightly against his mouth, finally he nods slightly. The gun fell away and Hammond gave Vendrix a smile that was all teeth.
"Attaboy." He says, the Human delighting in lording over the unarmed turians, the smile quickly sliding off his face as he pushes Vendrix back into one of his other lackeys, gloved hands lock around his arms as he's stood up besides Antus and Anyo.
"Consider that strike two, one more and you're out. Now get your asses moving."