Chapter 4: Help Wanted. Sanity Optional.

Talk about perfect timing.

My sorry existence almost came to a tragic end because some ne'er-do-well tried to take advantage of my battered state. They might've stabbed me in the back. Or front. Or filled my body with bullets. Or something else that was similarly permanent and fatal. If it wasn't for Tali and her unexpected rescue, the C-Sec morgue would have one more body to deal with while the bureaucrats figure out the cheapest way to send me back to Palaven.

And let's not forget the most important part: a young girl was still missing and might've stayed missing were it not for Tali.

Speaking of Tali, she seemed to be saying something? "Uh, sorry. What did you say?"

"Do you need any help standing up? Or some medi-gel?"

"Uh. One moment." I tried to get up. Next thing I knew, my head was hitting the pavement and my foot was dangling in the air.

"Garrus!"

"The answer to your question—both of them—would be yes."

"Bosh'tet."

Once I got to my feet—with a lot of help from Tali—I waited for the pounding in my head to pass. Then I remembered to take some medi-gel. Then a little more. Then a little more. Eventually, the painkillers in the medi-gel started to kick in. Once the throbbing started to subside, I began revising my list. It now had a new Step Seven: find some goddamn backup. It sounded like this missing persons case was a bit bigger than I'd originally realized. And judging by the muscle involved, it was also a bit more dangerous. The next bad guy who crossed my path might not be as genial or accommodating as Torsk. Which meant I might have to swallow what was left of my pride and find some backup.

Only problem was that I didn't have a lot of backup to call upon. All I had was Tali and… well… no. That was it. Just Tali. C-Sec wouldn't be any help—by the time they finished processing my report, Zephi could be in serious danger. I tried contacting Chellick anyway, along with any other sympathetic officers I could think of, but all of my calls went straight to voice mail or inbox or whatever. And I couldn't wait for them to call back.

If I hadn't been too busy greeting the floor like an old friend, I might've asked Torsk. But I probably couldn't afford his rates, anyway.

Wrex was gone. Kaidan was gone. Liara was gone. Shepard was... well... gone.

It could be worse, I suppose. Having Tali backing me up was the first good thing that had happened in a long, long time. At least she was reliable. Loyal. Didn't panic under pressure. Knew how to use her weapons. And she could probably build a dreadnought-class mass accelerator cannon out of a handful of scraps.

But what was she doing here?

"Aside from saving your life? I missed my shuttle and the next one isn't until tomorrow."

I looked at her.

"Yes, you did ask that question out loud," Tali confirmed.

And I didn't even know it. Maybe Torsk had hit me harder than I realized. "Oh. Well. Um. Glad you could make it."

"Me too," Tali said. "Against my better judgement. So what's been going on here?"

Right. Time for the sitrep. I told Tali about my latest case and how it hadn't exactly gone according to plan. Unless your definition of 'plan' involves getting suckered into a case that you had to get solved in a ridiculously short period of time because you were too hung over to read the fine print, going to your former place of employment and swallowing your pride before asking for help, narrowly avoiding a drawn-out labour dispute, chasing down one fruitless lead after another, getting a lot of grief from the people you were trying to question, finally getting some real answers, getting beaten to a pulp by an oversized krogan and almost getting whacked by a resentful volus. If so, then it went exactly according to plan.

"Right," Tali nodded, taking it all in stride. Then again, after getting shot during her Pilgrimage, being rescued by an alien and joining his crew and fighting the good fight while uncovering an ancient galactic mystery with cataclysmic repercussions, my exploits were just a walk in the park. "So what's our next move?"

"We're going to a really bad club in a really bad part of the Citadel to find a certain crazy psycho nutjob," I replied. "Then we'll stumble into another situation that will probably get us killed. Doesn't that sound like fun?"

"There's something very wrong with you."

Whenever Geirk arrives on the Citadel, he does three things. The first is to freak out every criminal scum and bottom-dweller with the thought of what unspeakable horrors he might inflict next and what poor soul might be his target. The second is to give every C-Sec officer headaches over what unspeakable horrors he might inflict next and how much paperwork it might cause. The third is to go to Khar'shan's Edge.

It wasn't always called that. Originally, it was called the Fox and Hawk. Then it became Rex's Bar. Then it experienced thirty changes of ownership and forty-two name changes over the space of a year.

Sometime last year, the latest owner decided that what the establishment needed was a bit of expansion. More elbow room, more stools, greater capacity to store drinks and so on. He couldn't expand to the left or the right because there were already businesses there. He couldn't expand the front because there was only a couple metres of room—from the alley—before he hit the wall on the other side.

So the owner did the only thing he could do short of adding a second floor or a basement—he expanded the back. Which meant doubling the effective space into empty space. If that part somehow collapsed—which was entirely possible considering he never bothered to install support columns—every table, chair, customer and staff member would plummet through the Ward, out of the Citadel and into the cold vacuum of space. Naturally, that made it even more attractive.

You get to Khar'shan's Edge, place of cheap drinks, lousy service and overall magnet for trouble, by walking into the areas of the Wards that aren't on any official maps. There are no directions, flyers or advertisements. You either know about it—through word of mouth or personal experience—or you don't. It had been a while since I'd been stupid enough to go to Khar'shan's Edge, but I still remembered the way. Certain scuffs, burn marks and gouges in the pavement served as damn effective landmarks.

Tali looked at the sign. A plain sheet of metal with the name carved in by a plasma cutter. Below it was a series of lines in different languages. "What does that say?" she asked.

Leaning over, I pointed at the line at the top. "That says 'Enter at your own risk.' I'm guessing the other lines say the same."

"I love it already," Tali sighed.

"Thought you might."

"Tell me about this place."

"You only go here when you're down on your luck, desperate, crazy or all of the above," I told her. "It's the kind of place where everyone can talk or have a drink. Rich politicians whose closets are bursting with skeletons. Criminals with nothing left to lose. Asari, salarians, turians, humans, elcor, hanar, batarians, krogan, quarians, vorcha. Very open-minded and cosmopolitan, in a dirty seedy sort of way."

"You take me to the nicest places, Garrus," Tali said, shaking her head.

"Only because I care," I replied.

"So why are we here?"

"No one bothers you if you want to be left alone or asks about religion or politics if that's out of bounds. Neutrality is strictly enforced, by brute force or gunpoint if needed. Which means it's the perfect place to go when you're down on your luck and out of options. Anyone can ask questions, get answers or broker deals that would never be possible in public."

"And we're here to get an answer?" Tali guessed.

"That's right," I replied. "Specifically, I need to learn the whereabouts of an occasionally homicidal, possibly crazy mercenary named Geirk," I replied.

"Wonderful."

There's a series of flood lights set up just inside, aimed towards the door to blind anyone who walks in. That way, none of the customers can be taken by surprise. I paused after entering and waited for my eyes to adjust. Which meant I definitely noticed when the place went suddenly and ominously silent.

While I waited for the stars and haze to clear out of my eyes, I looked around. Nothing much had changed. Still the same mismatch of chairs, stools and tables that wouldn't be placed together by anyone with an ounce of taste in interior decorating. A series of booths lined the back wall for anyone wanting extra privacy, a place to dump a body or a deep-seeded need to be alone. The lights were kept low for a number of reasons. For atmosphere. So you couldn't see what a dump this place was. So you couldn't see what you were eating or drinking. So you couldn't get a good look at the kind of people around you. Because the owner was too cheap to buy a proper set of light bulbs.

Speaking of the owner, he was the only one who had control over the musical selection. I could tell he had spotted me, because that's when the 'music' started playing. Out of the corner of my eyes, I saw a blur of movement that vaguely resembled Tali clapping her hands over the sides of her helmet, before hastily tapping away at her omni-tool. No doubt she was adjusting the sensory feeds on the auditory transmitters in her helmet. One of the benefits of being sealed away from the germ-filled outside world. I wished I could do that too.

"What is that… noise?" Tali managed at last.

"Batarian death metal," I replied. "Beloved by all batarian free-thinkers, purveyors of poor taste and teenagers—not to mention outsiders looking for the next new thing. Loathed by the batarian Department of Information Control, the batarian military, every official facet of the Hegemony and anyone who can actually carry a tune."

"So does that mean you're listening to it right now?"

"Very funny."

As my vision adjusted, I noted all the widened eyes, hostile glares and looks that could possibly kill. Something to be said for having an infamous reputation. Almost made up for all the aches and pains throbbing and pounding from head to toe. I took a step forward towards the bar, then another. And another. I slowly made my way through the crowd as if I didn't have a care in the galaxy, which made a good excuse for disguising my limp. Medi-gel still had a lot more work to do.

Morex Reyissan was working at the bar, as I'd expected. Bartender, owner and overall cranky son of a bitch. One of the few batarians that still worked on the Citadel after the Hegemony seceded from the Council, mostly because he was too damn stubborn to leave. Still wearing the same old threadbare tank top, cargo pants and army boots. All in black, to match his mood.

A scar ran across and through his upper left eye. No one knew why. Word is that the last time someone dared to ask how he got his scar; Morex beat him up, chopped his balls off and served it to him in a martini glass. Knowing Morex, I'm betting that two of the three actually happened. It's that kind of reputation that encourages his customers to pay their bills—or make damn sure that they can afford to run a tab.

Supposedly, Morex comes from batarian royalty, the seventh son of a seventh son or something like that. Of course, this is the same Morex who claims he can generate mass effect fields through his farts, so you have to know when to take his advice and when to take it with a grain of sodium chloride. He pretended to ignore us. How did I know that? Because he was taking his sweet time in cleaning his glasses—which he normally never does.

He still had a glamour calendar from last year hanging on the wall behind him, showing the Consort in various positions with various characters, any of which would probably upset her greatly if she ever found out about it. There was a smattering of coasters on the bar, each showing a naked batarian woman. Supposedly, they were all wives or mistresses of random batarian politicians and military officers. Probably another reason why Morex never went back to the Hegemony. At least here on the Citadel, he could be his usual crude and contrary self and get away with it.

After a couple minutes, Morex got tired of pretending—or tired of scrubbing the crust off the shot glass—and shuffled over. "You look like crap, Garrus," he said.

"You should see the other guy," I cracked.

"I did. Bumped into Torsk at the spaceport when I was picking up a shipment of beer. He didn't have a scratch on him."

Behind me, I heard a lot of snickers, jeers and outright laughter. So much for my reputation. Conversations started back up again. Maybe they'd decided that they could tolerate my presence, since Morex had deigned to talk to me. Either that, or they'd dismissed me as a threat considering how easily Torsk had walked over me. Figuratively as well as literally. "Word got around already, huh?"

"No news like good news," Morex said easily, sliding a glass of turian brandy my way.

"You're all heart."

"Tell my ex-wife that. She's still harassing me."

"As I recall, I warned you about her," I murmured.

"Yeah, yeah, yeah. You gonna hassle me too?"

I was tempted. But only for a second. The fact that he was willing to talk to me, much less pour a drink, meant he was in a good mood. I needed that good mood to get what I wanted. "Nah. Been there, done that. How're you doing, Morex?"

"Business tanked ever since Saren and his geth buddies hit the Citadel," Morex griped. "Everybody's running a tab, whining that they can't pay for their drinks because the price for everything else went up. The wine's gone bad. And now you're here along with—who the hell are you, anyway?" he broke off, staring at Tali.

"His babysitter," she replied. I noticed she didn't give her name. Probably a smart move, considering our present company.

"Really?" Morex gave her an apprising glance. "What's he paying you?"

"'Paying'?" Tali snorted. "This is Garrus we're talking about. What do you think?"

I felt hurt. I really did.

"So it's all on the house, is that it?" Morex asked.

"Until he starts acting up," Tali replied sweetly. "Then I'll shove my shotgun up his ass 'till he coughs up the credits."

I shifted a millimeter away from her. While I admired her quick thinking, the mental images she'd conjured up were more than a little distressing.

Morex, on the other hand, was having the time of his life. "I like you," he declared, bursting into hearty laughter.

"I'm thrilled," Tali said, her voice dripping with unimpressed indifference.

Still chuckling, Morex bent underneath the bar. I heard several clinks as he shuffled bottles and glasses around before he came up with a small shot glass of amber liquid wrapped in plastic. "Turian brandy," he told her. "Sterilized, triple-filtered and still in its original packaging."

Tali nodded her thanks. "How much?"

"For you, nothing," Morex told her. "Garrus is paying."

"Sure thing," I said. Thank the spirits that I actually had some credits to spend. "After we talk about Geirk."

"That psycho?" Morex shuddered. "Geez. Why? You got a death wish?"

"Probably," I admitted, "but that's beside the point. Believe it or not, I have a couple questions to ask. Know where I can find him?"

Morex looked around, then tilted his head towards the side door. I nodded my thanks, took a sip, then put the brandy down—along with a sum of credits. Even if I hadn't actually finished—or started—the brandy, the tip itself was well worth the price. Then I got up and left.

Tali put her glass down and followed me. I noticed that it was empty. "You finished already?"

"Transferred the contents to one of my liquid storage containers," Tali replied. "It's probably not a good idea for me to get drunk before combat."

"Probably," I agreed.

"So who exactly is this Geirk?" she asked.

"Oh, answering that could take all day," I sighed.

"Summarize it," Tali insisted. "I get the feeling that I really need to know something about him."

"And you'd be right," I nodded. "So… Geirk. Crazy, homicidal vorcha with a borderline obsession for carnage and mayhem. Only vorcha that was refused entry into the Blood Pack for unacceptable brutality. Infamous for a dizzying and startling number of decapitations, dismemberments and eviscerations at the age of three—which, considering the average lifespan of a vorcha, is comparable to a teenager on a galactic killing spree."

"Ooookaaay," Tali said cautiously. "That seems... excessive. And just a little bit worrisome."

"It gets better," I reassured her. "About two years ago, Geirk vanished off the face of the galactic map. No one knew where he'd gone. No one bothered to look either, probably because they were too busy sighing in relief. Then he popped up again, claiming he was a biotic. There's a certain amount of skepticism about that, since the only 'biotic amp' he's allowed anyone to see consists of a damaged computer part attached to the back of his neck with duct tape. On the other hand, his kill count since then has included some feats that wouldn't normally be considered possible for anyone who didn't possess biotic abilities."

"And we're going to find him... why?"

"Like I told you earlier, Zephi isn't the only asari who's gone missing. Geirk is on the Citadel looking for another. It's possible that he knows something we don't. Even if he doesn't, it might be a good idea to work with him."

"Keelah," Tali breathed. "We... we want his help? Is that a good idea?"

"Spirits, no," I laughed. "But the alternative is working at cross-purposes against him and tripping over each other—which, believe me, is much worse. Besides, he's become a lot more selective in who he kills since his disappearance. He only accepts contracts to kill the worst of the worst. The kind of people who think they're untouchable because they're too rich or too powerful. As for everyone else, he usually limits himself to intimidating and scaring the crap out of them. Unless they get in his way, in which case all bets are off. Again, no one knows why. Just one of many unanswered questions when it comes to Geirk the Vorcha Biotic—yes he occasionally goes by that title, no I don't know why.

"Would I prefer to work with other allies? In a heartbeat. That's why I'm glad you're along for the ride—aside from the whole saving my ass thing. But we need more help. And Geirk... he might be extremely and thoroughly disturbing, but he's damn effective."

Tali shook her head. "I have a bad feeling about this."

"You and me both, Tali," I murmured. "You and me both."

Anything else I was going to say was interrupted by a certain sound. A sound that Tali and I had heard far too often. Well, Tali had heard it far too often. Me? It made me… I wouldn't say I felt alive or eager or thrilled. Nothing that would be so unprofessional. But I'd be lying if I said it didn't feel as if I was waking up.

Gunfire has a way of doing that, you see.

My hand automatically reached back for my assault rifle, instinctively knowing that it would be more suitable in the confined, close quarters of the alley than my sniper rifle. I saw Tali do the same with her shotgun. Good. I knew she was competent enough to look after herself, but the months she'd spent on the Normandy had honed her combat skills in a way that no other experience could possibly match. I lifted three talons and looked at Tali. She nodded, taking a position immediately to the right of the door. I folded one talon down… two… three… and slapped the door control. Tali wheeled around as the door opened, crouching down so she wouldn't get in my way as I raised my assault rifle…

…and…

…oh, spirits. This looked familiar. "Hey!" I yelled. "Stop shooting, damn it!"

In front of us was a trio of humans—one bald, one with red hair and one with a pot belly—facing off against a vorcha. Every one of the humans had a death grip on their weapons. Their hands were shaking in spite of themselves, which meant it would be a miracle if they could shoot straight. But my focus was on the vorcha.

Geirk was thin, almost painfully so. Wiry, corded muscles wrapped tight around a bone frame, covered in a ratty hardsuit and several layers of accumulated filth and gore. He held himself with a certain feral tension, poised to explode in a burst of bloodlust and violence at a moment's notice. Leather belts wrapped around his body, holding an assortment of knives, grenades, finger bones and other distressing items.

He turned slightly to look at me, while still keeping the humans in his peripheral vision. His eyes were fever-bright, like a blood-red sun about to go nova, and his lips were pressed in a grim, flat line. Until he saw me. Then he smiled. Maybe he was happy to see me. Maybe he was relishing the thought of ripping my throat wide open with his bare hands.

"Garrus," Geirk said, his voice a deep, guttural bass. "Long time no see."

"Yeah," I agreed, pleasantly surprised at a greeting that didn't involve the phrase 'Oh hell, it's you.' And, more importantly, the fact that my throat was still intact. "What are you doing?"

"Have questions. Yes. Humans answer or they die. Either way, won't take long. No."

I looked at the gathering in front of me and shook my head. "Let me guess: you came barreling in, guns drawn and demanded that they tell you what you wanted to know. When they hesitated, you opened fire."

"Close," Geirk nodded. "Humans call me 'vermin scum' too. Hurt my feelings. Yes."

"I'm sure they're sorry," I said soothingly, humouring the crazy psychopath. "Very, very sorry. Just do me a favour and keep at least one of them alive. I have some questions of my own to ask."

"Oh hell," Baldy said, his voice equal parts disgust and resignation.

"What?" Redhead asked.

"That turian. I recognize him. It's Garrus Vakarian."

"Shit," Redhead spat. "First Geirk and now Garrus. I knew I shoulda stayed home today."

"Gentlemen, the nice friendly vorcha and I have some questions," I said calmly. "It seems to me that you have two options. Option One: you answer any questions we have."

"Smart choice for you," Geirk butted in. "Yes."

"Option Two: you continue being obstinate," I continued, "in which case this nice, friendly vorcha will undoubtedly do something violent and horrible."

"Rip out spleen and feed it to you," Geirk added helpfully. "Humans not want that. No. But fun for me. Yes!"

"Okay, okay, okay," Baldy quickly said. "Slow down. We can take a hint."

"Hey!" Pot-belly snapped. "We gettin' plenty o' credits to do our job and keep our big mouth shut!"

"We won't get a chance to spend those credits if our guts are on the floor," Redhead pointed out.

"And walls," Geirk butted in. "Ooh! Maybe even ceiling? Yes?"

"Try not to sound so hopeful, Geirk," I murmured.

"Never get ceiling messy before," Geirk pouted—which was scary in its own right. "No."

Tali was uneasily shifting her shotgun, clearly uncertain who she should be covering. To be honest, I couldn't blame her. "Maybe I'll start before Geirk here starts indulging his… creative… side. I'm looking for this asari. Name's Zephi." A quick tap brought up her holo. "She went missing last night. Have any of you seen her?"

"Uh, yeah," Baldy admitted. "Pretended to be a scouting agent for a modeling agency. Told her she might have a future. Had to reassure her that this was all very respectable and no one would ask her to take her clothes off. Sent her to Amber's."

"My turn," Geirk spoke up. He smiled at them. If his intent was to reassure them, I think he failed. "Looking for this asari," he said, showing a holo from his omni-tool.

Redhead nodded so quickly I thought his head would fall off. "Yeah. I spotted her. Real hottie. She was looking for a good time. Told her to go to Amber's as well."

Amber's was scoring two for two. Interesting. "Somebody hired you to approach just any asari?" I questioned.

"Yep."

"Pretty much."

"And you sent all of them to Amber's."

"Uh huh."

"Every time."

"Uh huh," I said dryly. "How long have you been doing this?"

"Just over three weeks," Baldy shrugged.

"He told me about it after his first payment," Redhead added. "I got onboard two and a half weeks ago."

"Who hired you guys?" I wanted to know.

Redhead looked at Baldy, who shrugged. "Got an anonymous e-mail. Seemed like a prank, but then I had this date with an asari. She just went on and on about nobody liked her 'cuz both her parents were asari and I just got so bored, you know? Then I remembered the e-mail. Dropped her off at Amber's. Got paid the next day."

"How did this mysterious client know it was you who delivered and not some other person?" I asked.

"Told the asari that she could skip the cover fee if she said I sent her."

Simple. Easily adaptable. Though that brought up something else: "So you guys did this for a couple weeks now, sending random asari to some club and getting paid for it. And the thought of possibly helping a pervert with an asari fetish never occurred to you?"

"Well, it did," Baldy admitted.

"But it was easy money," Redhead offered.

"We kill them now?" Geirk asked hopefully. "Yes?"

How I wanted to say yes. That kind of bald-faced, blatantly selfish, uncaring attitude was exactly the sort of thing I detested. But as much as I wanted to lift my assault rifle and hose them all down with hot lead—well, not really, but metal alloy shavings doesn't have the same ring to it—I had to rise above that. "No," I said firmly.

"You sure?"

"Don't tempt me, Geirk," I groaned. "What happened to all the asari once they got to Amber's?" I asked.

Baldy and Redhead shrugged. "Beats me," the former offered. "I thought there was a big asari-only party going on there or something."

"We got paid to find blue chicks," Redhead added, "not to find out why someone had a thing for them."

"Um… I have a question."

Everyone turned to Tali. Who seemed to have settled on whom to aim her shotgun at. "Who exactly are you trying to contact?"

In unison, we all turned back to Pot-belly. "What do you mean, Tali?" I asked.

"Well, he's been tapping on his omni-tool while you asked the other two all those questions," Tali explained.

It's always the quiet ones. The unobtrusive ones who do their best to go unnoticed. "Why don't you answer the lady's question?" I prodded.

"She's a quarian," Pot-belly sneered. "So she can't be a lady."

"That not nice," Geirk declared, swapping his assault rifle for his shotgun. "No. Answer question now."

"Fuck off," Pot-belly spat.

While I wasn't getting any answers, I could make a few educated guesses. The only reason Pot-belly was being so discreet in activating his omni-tool is if he wanted to do something unnoticed. While there were tons of possibilities, some were more likely than others. He could have been activating something, like a bomb. His reluctance to cooperate would support such an extreme move. However, he struck me as being someone who enjoyed certain material comforts too much to end things so quickly.

Maybe he was activating something else. A mech, perhaps? But then he wouldn't need to keep playing with his omni-tool. Unless the activation sequence was particularly complex. Or he needed to activate it and set up a homing beacon.

But mechs weren't exactly widespread. Not at the moment, anyway. It seemed more likely that he'd be summoning some other help. Mercs, if he or his mysterious boss had the credits. Thugs, low-lifes and guns-for-hires if he didn't have a large spending account. Certainly the caliber of dirtbags I'd seen so far would support the scrape-and-spend theory. Except for Torsk, of course.

On a hunch, I casually checked my Heads-Up Display. Three bio-signs for Tali, Geirk and myself. Three more bio-signs for Baldy, Redhead and Pot-belly. So the other six bio-signs rapidly closing in on us would be…

…

Crap. "Hostiles, closing in fast!" I hissed quietly. And then, after a moment's thought: "Yes Geirk, we can kill them now."

Not so quietly, as it turned out, since Baldy, Redhead and Pot-belly all raised their weapons. Unfortunately for them, we were a little bit faster. I started to fire at Pot-belly before quickly switching to Baldy, draining his shields in short order. Tali loosed a volley or two at Pot-belly, then decided to deal with Redhead—after shorting out his shields and weapons with a tech mine.

Why did Pot-belly get a reprieve from the two of us, you ask? Because Geirk was sprinting towards him, maniacal grin stretching from ear to ear. "I kill you!" he howled. "Oh, YES!" Pot-belly was busy backpedalling as quickly as his rotund frame would allow, finger firmly on the trigger on his assault rifle. All that did was increase the recoil until he missed Geirk—and Tali and I—completely, not to mention overheating his rifle. Then all he could do was stare in complete and abject terror as Geirk knocked him on his sizeable ass with a single shotgun blast… before baring his claws and pouncing on top of him.

A little too enthusiastic for my taste, but to each their own. Besides, he was clearly enjoying himself. Who was I to deny him his kicks? As long as I didn't have to clean up the mess, of course.

Okay, okay—and as long as any cleanup didn't require a bucket and mop.

Speaking of cleanup, I had to finish off Baldy. Which was easier said than done, since he was hiding behind a garbage can. No clear line of sight. Tali had similar problems in dealing with Redhead, who had found shelter behind a garbage can of his own. On the other hand… "Tali," I shouted. "Switch targets!"

Tali turned on Baldy without hesitation, taking him out with two shots in quick succession. Such a rapid rate of fire overheated her shotgun, which would have made her vulnerable to a counter-attack from Redhead—had his weapon not been suffering a misfire from my tech mine. Gripping my assault rifle in two hands again, I lifted it up, aimed through the scope and fired. A single sustained burst was enough to drop him.

Now that the immediate danger was over, I spared a second to bring up my HUD again. Eight blips closing in on our position. Either two more dirtbags had joined the party or they had been too close to each other for my hardsuit's sensor array to distinguish them. I brought Tali and Geirk up to speed.

"My shotgun has almost cooled down," Tali reported, hand dropping to one of her many pouches. Possibly for another tech mine. Good move. If the scumbags arrived a little early, she could contribute to the fight without risking another overheat—occasionally, weapons seized up completely instead of venting excess heat like they were supposed to.

"More meat to kill," Geirk chuckled menacingly, switching back to his assault rifle. "And not even my birthday. No."

"Um… okay, then," Tali said, moving towards a conveniently stacked set of crates. Being at a similar loss for words myself, I gestured for Geirk to take cover behind a garbage can… before getting an idea. "Geirk, wait!"

I quickly laid out my plan. Geirk gave me a toothy grin before helping me move the bodies. Then we found cover and waited.

It didn't take long before the reinforcements arrived. The shadows of the eight dirtbags quickly darkened the entrance to the alley. Their muffled whispers drifted towards us. I strained my ears in an effort to hear their conversation to no avail. Tali might've been able to hear them if she maxed out the gain on the audio sensors in her helmet, but I couldn't ask her without giving away our position. Or presence, for that matter. So I stifled my curiosity and waited some more. It was only a matter of time before they entered the alley to find out where their buddies were.

The dirtbags kept us waiting a little longer, though. There was a lot of heated discussion, judging by the intensity of the whispers. Lots of arm waving, pointing and shoving too. Maybe one of them would be the sort of person who took command by shooting anyone who was particularly vocal. Establishing leadership by way of intimidation and violence. Effective, if you didn't care about little things like independent thinking and initiative.

Eventually, the dirtbags got their act together. One by one, they entered the alley, occasionally pausing to let their buddies pass them. It was clear they were attempting to establish firing positions and cover their colleagues as they advanced down the potentially hostile alley. What the humans called 'leapfrogging.' I say attempting because none of them displayed or demonstrated any experience at this sort of thing. Within the first ten seconds, I counted seven instances where they bumped into each other or bumbled into someone else's firing lane—thus defeating the whole point of the exercise. By the thirty-second count, I was grinding my mandibles at the sheer incompetence of these amateurs. I know I shouldn't be complaining, but still! Guess I hadn't shaken off everything I learned during my military service.

I waited until they were only a couple metres away before digging out another tech mine. Turning slightly, I showed it to Tali and Geirk. Tali got a tighter grip on her tech mine. Geirk began rummaging through one of his belts, almost pawing at it before digging out a grenade. I lifted three talons, then counted down.

At zero, I lobbed my tech mine towards the right. Tali's tech mine soared towards the left. They exploded in unison, catching the first three punks in an overlapping wave of sparks. The remaining five came to an abrupt halt, a response that Geirk was clearly counting on. With a flick of his wrist, he sent his grenade twirling through the air. It went up in a high arc before plummeting down into the midst of the stragglers. "Kaboom, bitches!" he screeched as it blew up in their faces.

To summarize, we'd stopped the dirtbags from advancing by tossing a pair of tech mines in front of them. We'd discouraged them from retreating thanks to a well-tossed grenade behind them. And the confines of the alley made it impossible for them to go left or right—unless they could somehow walk through walls. All eight dirtbags had come to a screeching halt, were packed in a nice tight cluster and were completely and utterly exposed.

Sometimes I amaze even myself. I took a moment to savour my sheer brilliance.

Then I raised my assault rifle and opened fire.

"So let me get this straight," Geirk said. "You look for asari."

We'd just finished off all the dirtbags. No more reinforcements were coming—according to the readings from my HUD and the lack of any jamming. And we'd finished looting all the bodies—another lesson learned from Shepard. Spirits, I missed him. "That's right," I confirmed, before I could depress myself even further.

"I look for asari. Both asari taken by same person or persons. Pool resources, work together, better odds of getting asari back. Yes. Higher kill count too."

"That's the plan," I agreed, happy to see that something had gone according to plan. Homicidal tendencies aside, Geirk had proven that he could keep his bloodlust under control and work as part of a team if it meant getting the job done. With the three of us working together, this might actually work out.

That reminded me: "Geirk, this is Tali. Tali, Geirk."

"Pleased to meet you," Tali offered. I gave her bonus marks for keeping her trepidation under wraps.

"You good with shotgun," Geirk replied. "Brave too, for hanging around crazy psycho here." He tilted his head towards yours truly, as if there was any doubt to whom he was referring to. "I like you."

Tali looked at me. I said nothing, too busy marveling at—how humans put it? Ah!—the pot calling the kettle black. "Um… thanks?" she managed at last.

"You're welcome," Geirk growled cheerfully. With that, he headed out of the alley. Tali and I exchanged another look, shrugged in unison, then hastened to follow him.

"By the way," Geirk added. "I have lead."

"Huh?"

"What?"

"Number of kills. I have lead."

"Hey!" Tali cried out indignantly. "How did you come to that conclusion?"

"You killed bald human, Garrus killed one with red head. I killed fat guy."

"That's one each," I said.

"Tali killed two more with shotgun. Garrus killed two with assault rifle and sniper rifle. I killed two with assault rifle, then finish off rest with bare hands. I have lead. Yes."

Crap. He was right. How did that happen? Too busy keeping any eye on everyone, I guess. Note to self: work harder, work smarter. I'd be damned if I let a crazy, homicidal vorcha get a higher kill count than me!