Chapter 2: Nightfall

The Quarian's fever was raging, nearly 110 degrees. Tokus watched as the young man on the table twitched, entrapped in some vivid dream. The readouts provided by the alien's suit were incredibly thorough. Internal temperature, hydration, heart-rate, even foreign contaminants were among the myriad of values listed by the suit's VI.

The Turian watched as the various signals adjusted to match the raging battle fought by the young alien's immune system. One indicator seemed to note the breach in the suit as being of particular note, an understandable response, but at the same time, puzzling. The suit's VI seemed to think that the area around the breach was even more significant than the rupture itself.

Voran watched the miniature diagram of the quarian's outfit as it pulsed with a large red circle around the damaged material, several notes in quarian script trailing across the screen. The alien had helped one of his people, saved her, and here he was, powerless to determine why.

With a final huff of frustration, the Captain turned to face his wounded soldier. Despite the surgeon's orders she was sitting up on the table, watching the quarian's suit display. Tokus noted a concerned look on her face.

"So, what happened?"

The question caught her off-guard. "I was- oh, sorry. Sir!" She tried to snap a salute, but nearly passed out as her shoulder burned in protest.

"At ease. Your muscles aren't going to be ready to do that for a while, just give me the report."

Kala ground her teeth against the pain. "Yes, sir. At, uh…" she closed her eyes and brought her left hand to her forehead. "…um, nineteen-hundred hours I think, I heard a noise, he came around the corner." She indicated the unconscious alien on the table along the other wall. "I panicked, shot almost a half clip at him before I regained my senses."

"And your injury?" the Captain prompted.

"He squeezed off a few rounds, I guess in self-defense." She hung her head. "One of his shots nailed me here, knocked me out cold. When I came to, he was lying there on the deck. He'd plugged us both with medigel. Then patrol showed up."

Tokus nodded. A moment of silence passed between them. "Do you still think mercenary work is for you?"

Kala let her eyes trail the deck, contemplating the question.

"I'm not asking you to quit," his statement was serious but calm. "I'm asking you to give this serious thought. It's not a job to take lightly. If you can handle it, I want you on my team. If you're not cut out for the job, there's no point in risking your life or the life of others."

The incision flared up in her consciousness, screaming for her attention. Youri closed her eyes momentarily, trying to banish the pain. She was tough, she'd grown up in a military family, but that didn't mean she was meant for it. The Quarian resurfaced in her thoughts, a welcome distraction from the biting sensation in her shoulder and ribs.

"Are you going to kill him?"

Tokus noted the shift in topic, but decided to allow it, she needed to think over her answer anyways. "Not unless he gives me reason to. He hasn't attacked anyone besides you, and you called it self-defense. He's got a pretty nasty fever though. One Ten."

Kala's brow furrowed, a mixture of concern and confusion present on her face. "But… Shouldn't medigel have taken care of any germs or whatever?"

Voran noted sweat beginning to bead on her forehead, Her wound was causing her some serious pain. He set a firm hand on her shoulder, "Lie down, you're only hurting yourself like this."

"But, I…"

The Captain shook his head, indicating that he would accept no contradiction.

XxXxX

Gatatog Mygur had maintained his vigil long enough. The small blue suns outpost was down by one of its garrison and taking care of two individuals. The medical staff were rarely noncombatants in blue suns groups, meaning that both the surgeon and the nurse would have been available to fight were it not for their charge.

With three of their number out of the picture, the small outpost was only at three quarters strength. Mygur began the hour long walk back to base camp, picking his way across jagged scrap. The Krogan felt the rusty metal scratch against his thick hide, trying vainly to pierce the though scales on his face and arms. The Turian had held that piece of real-estate long enough, it was time to strike.

XxXxX

Nolta's fever broke at 0300 hours that morning. The young quarian woke up incredibly sore. He could feel the salty grime on his face left behind by his own sweat as he tried to see in the darkened room. A solitary orange light glowed from a hologram display to his right. Kala lay on the table across from him, a rolled up blanket under her head serving as a pillow.

He reached for his omni-tool, only to discover that the device had been stripped from his forearm. Tuho! Without his omni-tool, he'd be unable to check his- The Pilgrim saw the information on the display and realized exactly where his omni-tool had gone. The device was currently linked with the monitor and displaying exactly the information he needed to see.

Despite his fatigue, Nolta's eyes flitted from one entry to the next, checking his blood count, internal toxins, heart-rate, and temperature. A quick slide of his finger across the omni-tool's holographic surface showed him a graph of his own vitals, showing him exactly what his body had been doing over the past several hours.

Lae noted that his temperature had soared for several hours, averaging 110, but peaking at 113. His temperature was back down to normal, 99.5, his heart-rate had fluctuated all over the place during the night, but was now normal, his blood count… Nolta frowned, His blood count was a full two pints below average. No wonder he felt lightheaded. He groaned and laid back down, detaching his omni-tool from the holo projector.

XxXxX

The blue suns mercenary camp lay in a small, rare patch of exposed soil. Three tents rested in a triangular formation. Two of these shelters housed three soldiers at a time, the third guarded the camp's commanding officer. Fifteen feet to the right of the trio of tents rested the outpost's primary base- a large derelict spacecraft with reinforced bulkheads.

Tokus was unable to sleep. Korlus' hot atmosphere remained oppressive, even during the night, but that was not the cause of his restlessness. The garrison's physician had done a thorough scan of the quarian, or rather, had tried to. The doctor's equipment kept malfunctioning every time it approached the alien's spinal column. The suit was not responsible, that had been easy enough to get readings on, but medical scanners seemed to have a particularly tough time getting a readout of the quarian's nervous system.

Voran heard a small click at the outside of his tent and instinctively reached for the pistol next to his mat, but grabbed only air. His gut instinct proved dead on, as a knife pierced the tough fabric of his shelter a moment later. Tokus cursed under his breath at the realization that the pistol had been left in the medical room. His mandibles flared and his eyes narrowed. Slight tearing noises accompanied the motion of the knife.

Moments later, a thick, reddish-brown arm burst through the fabric of his tent. The Captain recognized the limb immediately. Krogan. The position of the alien's thumb revealed that it was the alien's right arm. Before the krogan could withdraw the limb, Tokus grabbed the wrist, forced the arm down to the ground, and slammed all of his weight down on it with one foot.

Even the dense bones of a krogan couldn't withstand the sudden, focused impact, and the merc heard a familiar 'snap' as the both the krogan's radius and ulna fractured. To his credit, the krogan did not scream, but rather emitted a soft howl. Tokus saw the knife drop from the krogan's hand and grasped the weapon, just before the beast charged through the front of the tent, shredding the camouflaged material.

The Captain leapt to the side, barely avoiding the alien's grasp. Tokus dove out of the tent, the krogan's knife still in his hand. He watched as the Krogan stumbled in the tent, tripping over various bedclothes.

"Everyone to stations!"

Tokus heard the sentry's call and huffed. So, the blood pack were finally making their move. He waited a few more seconds as the krogan became more entangled in the tough fabric of the tent, then launched his attack.

After his servitude under Sketa, Tokus had spent a significant amount of time studying hand to hand combat, specifically with krogan. There was precious little data on the subject, as few persons dared attempt what was widely considered an exercise in stupidity. Despite this, he was easily one of the most knowledgeable concerning the topic. He knew their weak points, and, more importantly their habits.

The particular krogan that had chosen his tent was only lightly armored, in all likelihood, a decision made to increase his ability to sneak around. Whatever the reason, it meant the alien wouldn't suffer the reduced mobility that would have given Voran the kind of edge he'd prefer.

XxXxX

Mygur's choice of tents had been deliberate. He'd seen the 'vaulted' canopy of the shelter and knew immediately that the outpost's commanding officer would have taken this as his residence. What he hadn't known was that the commanding officer was not asleep when he chose to attack, costing him not only the element of surprise and the chance to deal with the soldier silently, but also the use of an arm.

The Gatatog clan member cursed his luck. He would choose a turian who knew just where to apply force to break his bones. In his blood-rage, the krogan had managed to thoroughly entangle himself in the officer's tent and had forced the splintered bone through the surface of his skin. The piercing fire that radiated through his arm was soon eclipsed by the feel of warm blood traveling down the back of his neck.

XxXxX

The spines, or rather spinal columns, were the key weak-spots that Voran would have to exploit first. The Krogan's eyes were covered, but the creature's keen sense of smell and hearing were still available to him. Tokus scooped a handful of dirt and threw it over himself as he charged his would-be assassin. The soil of Korlus (what little there was) bore a singular reek, one that would easily mask his presence to the alien's nose.

As he leapt into the air, the Captain could hear the loud cracks of gunfire starting to saturate the air. Perfect, now, as far as the krogan was concerned, he was invisible. Tokus landed on the alien's back, aiming the knife for a very specific part of the krogan's neck.

The Krogan roared as the turian landed on his back. Flail as he might, the beast could not shake his assailant and moments later, a warm trickle ran down his throat. Tokus saw the krogan's arm whip up and grab at the tent material covering his head. A deafening rip sounded as the fabric gave, taking Tokus with it.

The Turian landed on his feet, but was immediately dealt a savage blow as the krogan whirled around, swinging his arm into the merc's midsection like a sledgehammer. Voran flew back, catapulted across the small courtyard by the krogan's prodigious strength.

He hit the bulkhead and his world went black.

Author's Note:

Writing a hand to hand fight with a krogan was very much like what the actual action would be like- dangerous and difficult. Making it believable was a challenge unto itself, Krogan are easily the most dangerous h2h combatants in the galaxy, and even a turian would shy away from such a fight… unless that turian was Tokus :). This scene reminded me of Eric Nylund's writing style, in both "The Fall of Reach" and "First Strike" he wrote the Chief's h2h fights with elites as incredibly tough, something that grated on me since it's relatively easy to dispatch elites in the campaign. Krogan, on the other hand… you just don't want to get close to…