C H A P T E R 7
Adjusting the last metres of its course just with its manoeuvring thrusters Chimaera's rust-coloured two hundred thousand ton frame slid into its designated docking bay with an elegance unbecoming of the ugly ship. One of hundreds of areas as varied in size and of as a different origin as all the rest of Omega and its myth-shrouded history magnetic clamps grabbed the ship and held it firmly in place. A single-piece bulkhead slid shut behind the Alliance corsair in the silence of space, and finally the dock's lighting switched from red to the normal aggressive neon-tubed yellow of the ancient asteroid base, signalling a return of the bay to standard atmospheric pressure.
There were hundreds of docking areas like this sunken into Omega's porous surface, some allegedly dating back the days of the Protheans more than fifty thousand years ago. Nobody had ever cared about where new tunnels and installations were dug to mine the asteroid's eezo. If you had the money nobody kept asking too many questions. That had remained an iron fact of life aboard the station during the past millennia and it still rang true today.
The air pumped into the large hollows was stale and icy cold, a thousand little knives stabbing his lungs with every breath. Brusquely pushing the Salarian archaeologist forward Amos crossed the distance between Chimaera's docking bulkhead and the oval opening on the bay's far side. It was far too cold in here to remain any longer than necessary, not without their combat suits. He stopped in front of the bay's inner gate and pulled their captive around to face him.
"Keep your eyes on the ship if you know what's good for you." Amos managed to put enough menace into his voice to make the scientist recoil, and the alien was quick to nod in understanding. "Nidal, make sure our guest doesn't suffer from a sudden bout of curiosity." The Chimaera's navigator focussed his almond-eyed gaze on the handcuffed Salarian, his own right hand resting casually on his holstered pistol.
Threatening him was all good and easy, all the more so if he believed the humans to stand by their word. But what if he saw through the bluff? Because as far as Amos Kenyon was considered it was a bluff. He had shot an unarmed civilian once in his life. It had been the right choice, the moral choice, given the circumstances. Still, he had paid for it. And whatever people might think of him he didn't plan to make it a habit to solve every problem with a gunshot. He wasn't naïve, but he also wasn't quite that disillusioned.
Not yet, a quiet laughing voice called from the back of his mind.
Amos' features remained tight and unreadable as he returned his attention to the locked gate and the bright red holographic symbol in its centre. A menu popped up as he moved his hands closer to it, a muted gong rang out from hidden speakers and a ten second countdown began to race towards zero. With trained movements his own omnitool awoke to life, his long and slender fingers racing across its own holographic menus. At the four seconds to zero mark he selected a program with a move of his thumb, index and middle finger. A series of codes and countercodes jumped from his omnitool to the locking mechanism and back. Machinery hidden behind old rusty alloys and ancient rock solidified with concrete sprung into action, and with an hydraulic hiss the thick bulkhead vanished into an adjacent wall.
Amos looked back over his shoulder. "Ma'am?"
Captain Craster walked past him, assuming the lead of their small party with Nidal and their prisoner following her. Amos took up the rearguard, making certain the bulkhead was locked again behind them. To say that he wasn't exactly thrilled with Craster coming along with them would have been the distinctly British kind of understatement. Taking a woman with a roller coaster history with the Asari to head a meeting with Aria T'loak never had sounded like a more stupid idea to him. He just hoped she would keep the mission in mind and not let the circumstances get the better of her.
The tunnels close to the minor docking bays were too small and too cramped to allow for fast means of transportation. They very much resembled the ones he had taken to meet up with the team in the first place. Only those were in the centre of the asteroid. At least moving on foot pushed back the cold, and the deeper they ventured into Omega the faster the station's ambient heat began to fill the caverns and corridors they passed through until temperatures had risen enough to require ventilation. Fans flapped leisurely behind dusty barrs, here and there water dripped from hidden pipes so old that nobody knew where they ran or who had installed the initial plumbing. Other corridors branched of, often suddenly and in nigh impassable angles to lead to apartments, warehouses and shops.
Passers-by paid no attention to the quartet. On Omega what someone did was their own bloody business. Getting your nose into matters that shouldn't concern you had a habit of making you vanish. Into Batarian slavery if you were lucky. Into a varren's stomach or a Vorcha's cook pot if not. Amos couldn't stand the Vorcha. Not that they had ever done something to warrant his dislike, no. The problem was they were a race with the intelligence level and sophistication of Neanderthals and had no place in space. Given fifty thousand further years that might have changed. But right now their fast breeding and extreme violence was quickly turning them into a problem even for the more civilized parts of the galaxy...
The corridor opened up like a funnel, and on a space no longer than thirty metres the cramped interior of Omega changed into a dome as wide as the unaided eye could see. A storm of voices from all known races - and probably some he had never seen before – swept over them as they entered the asteroid's central nexus.
Holographic advertisements hovered in mid-air, some personalized and addressing passers-by individually, others the size of houses praising this or that good or a particular location one just had to see. The one that picked his attention was just too large and detailed not to be looked at even though air cars passed right through it, their automated flight paths undisturbed by the carefully adjusted photons.
Come to Anathema – The hottest topless bar in all the Terminus!
The script faded only to be replaced by the same in Turian, then Asari and finally Batarian letters. Carefully animated models of Asari and human female dancers shook their bodies – topless as advertised – the illusion only broken by the Blue Suns recruitment banner that slowly made its way right through it.
Air taxis landed and started on the edge of the broad plaza they had entered, and the whole place just once again drove home the fact that Omega's limited space made for strange company. Marketeers peddled fried food in huge cast-iron pans next to small-scale stock brokers making across the counter deals with the aid of holographic VIs. Only a few feet further down the road a heavily perfumed female Drell wearing a wig bared almost all her skin to invite tricks, her Batarian pimp keeping two of his eyes on her the whole time. Drugs changed ownership as easily as snacks, and the stale air of the docking bay was forgotten and drowned in a sea of overlapping smells. There was even a camera crew taking pictures. Well, that was less of s surprise. News from Omega was always pretty high on the list of extranet searches, usually flanked by 'Porn' and offers for 'Krogan virility treatment'.
Craster ordered one of the unoccupied air taxies for their use. Slipping onto the backseat Amos shut his eyes for a moment, his ears savouring the sudden quiet hum of the machine's engines compared to the cacophony outside. There were close to eight million people on that rock, give or take a few hundred thousand. Nobody really knew. And nobody really cared, including him. He felt his stomach lurch as the air car entered a steep dive towards Omega's lower levels. Raising his eyelids he watched the beehive like structures all along the huge cavern's inside rush past in a blur. Whole skyscrapers hung from the 'ceiling' or protruded horizontally from the sides. He wondered how the old structures even held together. The whole rock had to be as porous as hell after close to 50,000 years of meddling with its substance.
Setting down on another broad plaza mirroring the one several kilometres above them the sight of the Afterlife Club easily dominated their whole field of view. Despite Anathema's advertisements this was where Omega's true night life. The long line of people waiting in front of the entrance were testament to that, as were the hostile looks Craster and the team earned when they casually bypassed the whole line. The Elcor bouncer right at the door just glanced over his shoulders at the guards behind him and let them pass. Some commotion erupted in the queue but Amos didn't bother to check it out. Whatever happened here he was certain that Aria had right people to handle it.
That was probably the best attitude when dealing with her, period. Underestimating her would be... terminal. Even though this was just the second time he set his foot on Omega he understood that just fine. She wasn't a woman you wanted as an enemy. Amos just hoped Craster remembered as much.
Afterlife's pumping bassline engulfed him like a warm embrace. It was a profoundly strange experience he still couldn't fully wrap his head around, not after the months of self-imposed solitude in the Amazonas Metroplex. But something in the place's atmosphere deeply struck a chord within him. It was... reinvigorating. Today the Asari dancers in the club's central level weren't just dancing in their skimpy, tightly clinging outfits. Today they were also singing. Aria apparently liked to keep things interesting.
And nobody's gonna bring me down
Ain't nobody who can touch me now
Cuz nobody else has got what I've got
Nobody else gonna make it this hot
My words, my rhythm, have you heard what I'm giving...
Amos pushed himself ahead of Janina Craster and sleekly made his way through the dancing crowds and past the mingling masses along the multiple bars. Craster and their guest kept up with him, the Salarian's face blank, his captain's somewhat irritated. Despite the club's atmosphere tucking on his strings he kept his face stone-still as he approached one of the guards cordoning off the way to Aria's lounge.
The Batarian, a fellow named Anto, wore a greyish-blue and white suit of armour and held a heavy shotgun in his hands with the kind of casual security only another professional recognized. Cocking his head briefly his four dark eyes scrutinized Amos before recognition flared in them. He nodded briefly.
"Aria's expecting you. Seems you got the job done." He barked a gravelly laughter. "Well, you know the deal, human. First the frisking, then the fretting."
Amos did indeed know the drill. He patiently spread his arms and just hoped his own people would play along. While Anto had slung his shotgun over his shoulder the Lieutenant-Commander counted at least two more guards in the shadows above him aiming very lethal guns at their party. He had no intention to end as bits of chunky salsa on Afterlife's dance floor!
But things remained civil, even though Craster's face was tight with anger about being patted down by a Batarian merc. Nobody really liked Batarians - at least no human did – and the feeling was mutual. That made it all the more special they had a Batarian demolitions expert aboard Chimaera.
Being thorough Anto's took his time with his checks before finally opening the way to the unofficial ruler of Omega's lounge. Aria T'loak's preferred quarters overlooked the club's central level but were well-shielded from the penetrating cacophony of sounds and from the looks of uninvited eyes. Asari girls in skin-tight garments danced unobtrusively in front of opal glass panes, and another pair of bodyguards at the feet of the stairs leading to Aria's 'throne' gave Amos and his party measuring looks.
She already had another visitor. As intimidating as the three hundred pounds Batarian in the trademark armour of the Blue Suns mercenaries may have been under different circumstances it was obvious he felt ill at ease in Aria's company. It didn't even seem as if the Asari had raised her voice, but her words her hard enough to carry all the way down to them.
"... don't give a fuck what you, your mother or even that moth Vido may have pretended to think. Our arrangement was worded so simply I just assumed the Blue Suns would be able to understand it! Do not disturb my circles means stay the fuck out of my business, Urak. And don't you try to sell me for a fool. Nothing happens in the Terminus without me getting to know of it. Vido should better damn well remember that. If he doesn't, be a good messenger boy and remind him of it!"
Almost scurrying away Urak left the lounge, leaving Amos and the others in Aria's care.
"Lieutenant-Commander Kenyon, you're back! And you've brought home my wayward investment. Good. I see my trust in your abilities wasn't misplaced."
"Aria." He simply nodded.
"So curt! No hello, no 'we had to fight our way through Geth and the Blue Suns to get what you wanted'? Tsk, tsk, Mr. Kenyon. You've got to work on your conventional skills." Her voice was almost poisonously sweet but the cold glare in her dark eyes didn't go amiss on the corsair.
Amos only outer reaction was a slight tilting of his head. "Since you already figured that out on your own going by your prior conversation... how about we simply conclude our deal?"
"And there I was, thinking we were all friends here." Aria shook her head, her eyes never wavering from the there humans and the Salarian. "I'll handle the professor from here on. I doubt the handcuffs will be necessary any longer. Or will they?" The way her stare pierced the Salarian's calm made it more than obvious that the question had been nothing but rhetorical. "Release him."
"Not so fast!" The iron grip of the Chimaera's captain stopped the Salarian prisoner from moving. "First the data you promised!"
"Ah, if it isn't the lovely Miss Janina Craster! Alive and in the flesh!"
"That's Captain Craster for you," his CO grated through almost clenched teeth.
Amos took a step back to keep an eye on the conversation in case it went sour – which it most certainly would.
"If you say so," Aria shrugged, speaking in honeyed tones. "I didn't think we'd meet personally. I heard you'd spent some time in the brig. Imagine my surprise when my sources whispered the funniest of anecdotes into my ears. I suppose people back in the Alliance wouldn't take to it too kindly if they knew you were back in the captain's seat. But that's just me guessing." She flashed a shark-like smile and cocked her head.
"Did I hear a threat in there? Because I don't particularly like these, and I like them even less coming from your kind!" Craster snapped, letting go of the Salarian and stepping forward.
"My kind?" Aria even managed to sound surprised. "Captain Craster," the Asari leader of the Terminus' central nexus put extra emphasis on Janina's title. "You're my guest here and it'd be most unkind not to know a few things about you for the sake of some polite conversation, now wouldn't it? And having someone here who was on such a nice track to a flag rank in the Systems' Alliance navy – why, you're almost royalty!" She chuckled, leaning forward.
"Is there a point to this?" Each word was a single icy spear thrust at Aria, but the Asari laughed them off.
"Just curious, Captain Craster. I always wondered," she looked at nobody in particular," how does that human saying go? Ah, yes, silly me. Whose dick did you have to suck to suck to get back aboard a ship? Though I suppose your family must've been the ones doing the sucking, seeing how you swing another way?"
"You blue-skinned bitch! I'm gonna-!"
"Captain!" Amos' hand had tightened around her arm just in time to hold her back from jumping the Asari.
Craster's head jerked around, her eyes flaring white hot with hate and anger. "What?"
"We should conclude our deal, ma'am. The information we came for?" Amos kept his gaunt face and dark voice devoid of all emotions, hoping to keep the volcano from erupting again. He could see the battle raging in Craster's mind through her pupils, turning her face into a frozen mask of rage. It didn't cool down, but the magma flow of anger changed directions.
"Fine!" she grated. "Since you seem to be on such good terms with Miss T'loak you'll handle the rest of this, Straight Shooter! Report back when you're done here!" With a sneer Janina Craster turned to leave, not wasting another glance at Aria.
"Feel free to come to the Afterlife whenever you want. I'm sure the dancers can arrange something for you!" Aria purred after her.
With stiff shoulders the CO of the Chimaera marched out of the lounge leaving it to Nidal Amin to hand over their Salarian 'guest'.
"Catch up with the captain, Nidal." Amos looked after her, sighing in quiet relief. "Keep her out of trouble. Charged the way she is right now she might try to beat up a Krogan."
"And I'd pity the Krogan, LC." The navigator intimated a salute and went after their commanding officer.
Aria and the corsair watched him leave before the Asari's eyes focused on Amos again and she cocked her head. "Sit." She waited until he had complied. "You're quite the killjoy,Carl Amos Kenyon. Has anybody ever told you that?"
Amos quickly scanned the bodyguards spread around the lounge. "Things are complicated enough as it stands. The last thing my mission needs is a sudden succession crisis half a galaxy away from Earth." His head sunk back into the soft leather of the couch, the feeling of relief eluding him. Whatever game of cat and mouse this way, he knew he was the mouse. "You enjoyed that, didn't you?"
"Tucking at her strings? Sure. That was probably the best amusement I've got this week. Nothing like letting a bitch like her stew in her own prejudices. I don't envy you, having to work under her. She wouldn't survive a week on Omega on her own." She glanced at him staring straight ahead and smiled. "Ah, silence. A professional soldier would never badmouth his CO."
"If I were you I'd keep a close eye on that Salarian," Amos changed the topic. "He threatened to blow himself up with a bomb in his omnitool when he thought we were trying to scan his data." Which was exactly what Craster had tried to do, but there was no need to stick that to the Asari. "Seems he got his hands on some Prothean VI technology, or at least parts of it."
Aria raised an eyebrow and gave one of her bodyguards a nod. The Batarian vanished into the corridor the Salarian scientist had been led into. "Thanks for the notice. I was more interested in the man himself, but this..." She clicked her tongue and gave Amos a long, hard look. "I'll be frank with you. As far as your problem is concerned I don't know half as much about it as I'd like to. I've got a couple of leads, though. Second hand sources, sadly, but it's the best I've got to offer."
Amos matched her stare for stare, trying to keep the disappointment from seeping into his gaunt features. "That's less than we hoped for. Less than we bargained for, too," he grimaced. "But I appreciate the sincerity. I suppose you could've just sent us on a wild goose chase instead."
"The idea popped up." Aria shrugged. "But if there's one thing I've learned from the Terminus its that only morons make it a habit to make enemies when they could make friends instead." Her tone turned serious. "Mr. Kenyon, I'm not interested in having you, the Corsairs or the Alliance to be on my bad side. It's far better if, well, how do you humans say? I scratch your back, you scratch mine. You keep me in the loop, I'll keep my eyes and ears open. Deal?"
'OpSec, OpSec, OpSec!' a voice in Amos' head shouted. He took his time answering Aria's proposal. In fact, what he should have done was bring it to Craster's attention and let her make the decision. That'd have been the correct path. And yet, for some reason he didn't even consider the option.
"Only under the condition that what I'll tell you doesn't endanger our operations. If I think something can be used against us - even if its the burial site of the friggin' Goddess – you'll get nothing from this channel. That okay for you?"
"Sure. I wouldn't want it any other way." Aria smiled graciously. And she had enough other sources anyhow. "That said..." Her omnitool sprung to action. "This is where you'll need to go. As you see there's nothing there. Or rather, nothing should be there. Still, there's too much talk, too much data about activity in that system. It adds up to... something." She frowned, unhappy with her own conclusion. "What I do know is that a Batarian slaver operating in the Omega nebula sold a shipload of mostly human – and even a bunch of Quarians, can you believe it? - slaves to sources in that system. That's the best I have."
"Mighty slim." Amos grunted, and the Asari shrugged. "Since I warned you about our Salarian friend's explosive temper, how about you sweeten the pot a bit?"
"You're learning the ways of Omega fast," Aria mused with a hint of appreciation – and warning – in her voice. "Yes, I suppose you didn't have to tell me. And since I couldn't give you quite what I promised." Her hands danced across her omnitool's menus. "If your 'secret operation' needs special supplies call up this man and mention I sent you. Whether it's a paperclip or a dreadnought's main gun: he can get it for you."
That wasn't what they had wanted, but it was something. Amos left Aria's lounge with the sinking feeling that they had been played, and quite nicely so. They had pulled Aria's chestnuts out of the fire and all they had gotten in return was the proverbial T-shirt. Well, and they were still alive. That also had to count for something. The sound of the Asari singers accompanied him as he left the club.
Uh uh you on the dancefloor
Can you ride on my tempo?
Uh uh you in the yard
Are we making you sweat?
Uh uh up on the pavement
Are you feeling this tempo?
Uh uh it aint hard
We gonna ride it trough the night...!
The labyrinthine way back to their quarters aboard the station lay almost deserted, and he was glad for it. The past days had left him tired and the last thing he wanted now was to break the 'great' news to Craster.
After a while he noticed a squeaking noise following him and a slipped around a corner to wait and see. To his surprise a small Vorcha pulling a shabby handcart full of garbage came down the corridor, stopped at the next best hatch and rang the equivalent of the door bell. Amos couldn't see who opened it but he could hear the Vorcha's shrill voice.
"Me Nishruk!" the alien flashed his teeth in what was supposed to be a smile."'Nishruk gather trash, make things clean. You pay Nishruk 5 credits when comes to take trash! Will come one time every week!" And he got paid! Just out of curiosity Amos watched him for a while. Surprisingly many doors opened for the rather small Vorcha, even though he stank just as much as the trash that he collected. Maybe Vorcha were good for something after all...
Omega's mushroom silhouette vanished into the distance of the Sahrabarik star system's asteroid belt as Chimaera's drive core accelerated the ship to the edge of the system. Amos watched the holographic plot leading them on a steady course towards the galactic north. Once they had passed the orbit of the outer stellar objects they'd engage their standard faster-than-light engines to start the week-long trip to the Hors star system on the edge of the Omega Nebula.
Chimaera's bridge was a cramped space, very much unlike what one would have had in mind when thinking of ships of similar size – like the already legendary Normandy SR-1. But the corsair ship was four engine blocks built around a cruiser-level mass accelerator and the reactors to power both. That left little space for anything else. The pilot-slash-navigator shared a room with the captain, the rest of the bridge crew and the ship's holoplot.
Right now Amos occupied the captain's chair, and he leaned forward when a new massive mass signature appeared in the plot in front of him.
Sensing his question, Nidal glanced back over his shoulder from the controls of Chimaera.
"That's the Omega-4 Relay. It's a bit like the galaxy's Bermuda Triangle. No ship's ever returned from a trip through it. Kinda gives me the creeps."
"Well, I guess we're lucky then." The image switched to show a yellow-white F3 main sequence star 1.3 times the mass of Sol. The Hors star system.
"What do you think we'll find there, LC?"
"Answers, Nidal. Answers." It was about time they got some.