Opacity
Ignoring the furious shouts of his human from the restroom, Nihlus left his apartment and quickly followed the map he'd brought up on his omnitool to lead him to the mercenary base. It wasn't a formal hold out, no club or fortified apartment complex he'd had to force his way through. Rather, the group, Terra Libera, worked out of a small section of the station permanently being renovated.
Which likely meant all or most points of entrance would be in renovation, while the main complex would be complete and relatively fortified. The mercenary's omnitool hadn't given him much. A recording of their commander ordering a clean sweep and promising high payment, which was easily traced back to their hideout.
Unfortunately, it gave him no hint of who might have hired the group. He had a few guesses, some more troublesome than the others. What seemed most likely was that a group in the Terminus had caught wind of the Prothean beacon, and wanted to eliminate the Spectre sent to recover it.
It was more than a little unnerving the Terminus could respond so quickly, finding out he was on the case, but any information could be bought for the right price. That they wanted him dead didn't tell him much either. Either they knew the location, and didn't want him to get in the way, or they didn't know, and hoped to glean the information from his corpse.
What was clear enough was that it was a sloppy, rushed job. His 'confrontation' yesterday had doubtless alerted them to where he was staying. A confrontation that had unnerved Tequila enough that she'd actually thought the mercenaries might be there for the both of them. Then again, the message had said to take out any resistance, but he couldn't fathom a reason why one meager Alliance solider would draw their attention. Likely they'd simply intended to kill anyone with him to keep it clean and simple.
Their gear had told him a little more about the group. Tequila had claimed they were ex-military, and he had no reason not to believe her, save that he still referred to her as Tequila. Military groups tended to use weapons and armor all from the same manufacturer, but the three dead had had a ragtag ensemble of weapons and armor. More likely, they were primarily military, and their weapons and armor was local, stolen from confiscated contraband tourists couldn't take to Earth or the local colonies. Or they had a supplier in customs. Either way, it meant he could expect anything from cheap volus knock offs of his own weapons' designs, to the most lethal examples of the real thing.
All of which meant he knew very little, and therefore needed to case the establishment before infiltrating it. The lone survivor of the encounter in his apartment would either make it back and alert the group, or decide to lay low out of fear of angering a Spectre. Either way, with a survivor returning or the team not reporting back, the base would be ready for him.
It was a simple and easy mission. Infiltrate the base, find out who wanted them dead, take out the base for good measure, then report the attempt to the Council while he continued on to Eden Prime. At least, on his own, he knew it would be a simple and easy mission. He just had to hope security made it to his apartment in time to detain and question his human, before she could get in his way.
"Humans are meddlesome," Saren growled as their waitress departed. He'd invited Nihlus out for a drink between friends, an invitation Nihlus had been grateful for. Lately, Saren had grown more and distant. He was devoted to his work, as was Nihlus, but the friends had always managed to make time for each other until recently.
Nihlus had assumed he was involved in something, or with someone. When Nihlus had taken his place as the more infamous Spectre in the Skyllian Verge, he'd assumed the Council would give his old mentor more important missions. Saren had always been pragmatic, but Nihlus never found him particularly cold until then. He'd begun to wonder if he was wrong, and he'd inadvertently retired his best friend.
Thankfully, this meeting proved he was wrong. Saren did have a mission, and he wanted Nihlus to be a part of it. He hadn't been able to tell him more on an insecure channel, and even now he'd wanted to meet in a public place first before going back to his apartment. It was almost as if he didn't want to be alone with his own thoughts…
Nihlus shook the feeling away. He was the one who was being paranoid, not Saren. "They have their uses," Nihlus shrugged disinterestedly and took another sip of his drink.
"Shock troops?" Saren snorted, dragging a talon along the rim of his glass. Turians found the high-pitched screech soothing, while it grated on other races. Nihlus knew Saren did it on purpose.
"Among other things." Nihlus shrugged again. The waitress Saren had growled at had done little more than ask after their day. Such pleasantries were a primarily human custom, but nothing worse than salarian mannerisms.
"Enlighten me, brother." Saren drawled. Nihlus blinked, looking up from his drink. He hadn't expected Saren to push the issue. Perhaps he already knew about Nihlus' recommendation for Commander Shepard to join the Spectres, and wanted to hear the truth with his own ears.
"Intel, naval fleets," Nihlus mumbled, purposefully vague. He didn't want to have this conversation, here, now, when they were supposed to be catching up.
"All things the Council already has." Nihlus nodded in agreement, begging the spirits to send the waitress back with their order. "So what use are they?" Saren continued, and Nihlus held back a groan as he realized he'd trapped himself.
"They have their uses," He repeated helplessly when their food thankfully arrived, and the conversation steered down safer tracks.
Nihlus reached what he took for a side entrance to the base just as he broke from his reflections. An underpowered section of the station, the ceiling lights flickered precariously, and every other floor light was out. The shutters to view the great expanse of space or the rolling clouds of earth were closed, making the hall even more dim. A pale orange holo lit up the door; the words "Maintenance only" flashed across in most Council languages.
A security camera was making lazy rotations back and forth across the hall. Rather than reporting to security, Nihlus guessed the feed was sent back into the Terra Libera base. Opening his omnitool, he worked on an override that would put the past five seconds of the feed on a loop, allowing him all the time he'd need to bypass the lock on the door.
Once again, Nihlus went over what he'd learned and what to expect. Then his mind drifted back to his original mission, insight into Commander Shepard. So far, all he'd done upon visiting the L5 station was fight humans part of extremist groups, and been glared at by those who weren't. Being a Spectre hardly helped, most humans tended to resent the Spectres, not for the power they were given, but because humanity didn't have any of that power… yet.
"You recommended a human to the Spectres?" Saren growled through his teeth. His mandibles flared and clasped tightly to his face, repeating the gesture several times. He was furious.
"I recommended a soldier," Nihlus stood still, letting Saren rage. He'd seen his friend angry before, and he knew this was the best way to handle it.
"Captain Anderson's pet soldier," He snarled, spinning in place. When he saw Nihlus hadn't moved to confront him or back down, he calmed some. "The irony of you mentoring her almost completes itself."
"Every race deserves the chance to prove itself," Nihlus pressed, not backing down, though part of him wished he would. "Even humans."
"They murdered our brothers!" Saren fumed, gripping the chair nearest him hard enough for his talons to leave mark. For a moment, Nihlus thought he might throw it.
This entire fight was stupid and irrelevant. Saren was being irrational, and in a moment of his own irrationality, Nihlus said something stupid and irrelevant, too. "No, Saren, they murdered your brother."
Everything stopped. Saren's face was unreadable. Or rather, it was an open book, in a language Nihlus couldn't read, no matter how hard he tried. Whatever fleeting feeling lay there quickly passed, but before he could speak, Nihlus interrupted him. "I'm sorry, Saren. I didn't mean to make light-"
"It's fine Nihlus." It wasn't fine; they both knew that. He'd dishonored his brother's memory and Saren's grief, but Nihlus couldn't think of a way to say as much. "There's no guarantee this human is even worthy of the Spectres. If you want to waste your time on them, that's your prerogative."
"There's never a guarantee." Nihlus agreed quickly. He didn't plan to take his evaluations lightly. "Let's speak of something else, the mission you originally called to talk about-"
"I'm tired, Nihlus. I'll see you tomorrow, we'll speak of it then." But he hadn't, and they didn't.
Nihlus shook himself out of his memories, hacked the video feed to the camera, then turned his attention to the door. There was no reason to assume Commander Shepard would be anything like the majority of humans he'd encountered. Even if she was as patriotic as Saren, it wouldn't necessarily make her a poor Spectre. If anything, patriotism made a good Spectre, if not always a good person.
He thought back to his human glaring up at him with fierce determination. Armed with nothing more than laughable biotics, a jacket, grenades, and a cheap Hahne-Kedar pistol. As annoying as it was, it was admirable nonetheless. After all, he reasoned as the door to the mercenary base slid open, she might be like her.