Chapter 4: Pilgrim

The Krogan's olive crest gleamed in the dim, orange light of the garage. A distinctive odor of oil and hydraulic fluid permeated the machine shop, mixing with the squalid scent of the ancient space station to form a sickly metal-laced perfume that enveloped every corner. Sparks flared from the welding torch as he melted two metal panels together. Around him sat the remains of a speeder engine, various parts and pieces strewn around the counters to either side.

He could hear the alien before he saw her, even over the ceaseless noise of the welding, cutting and passersby.

"Hello?"

From the slight flanging in her voice he guessed that she was turian. Don't see too many females of their kind here. Krovak Torr turned to face the alien expecting to see the familiar light-brown, toughened skin of a young turian female, but was surprised to find himself staring at a quarian.

The young woman was obviously nervous talking to the hulking beast, but determined to accomplish something. "Are you the manager?"

The Krogan flipped up his welding visor and introduced himself. "Owner, manager, and chief mechanic. Krovak Torr." He gave a slight dip of his head. "What do ya need fixed?"

"I was wondering if I could find work here."

Torr tilted his head. "On Omega? Your people send you here for pilgrimage now?" He was familiar with the quarian reputation for their prowess in mechanical and engineering fields, but to see a young woman of their kind on Omega taxed his credulity.

"Not exactly," her manner was quiet and reserved, uncertain. "I'd rather not talk about it…"

"You in trouble with someone?" Torr's topaz eyes gleamed, almost as if he were amused. She shook her head and the monster huffed. "Ah, never mind, this is Omega, you can get in trouble with someone for breathing the wrong way."

The Quarian remained silent, her discomfort palpable.

"Relax, I don't bite, not anymore at any rate. Bad for business."

The Quarian stepped back involuntarily. Torr gave a hearty laugh, a sound that reverberated through her body and drew the attention of several of the persons walking by.

"What's your name pilgrim?"

"Rikka," she said simply.

"Rikka what? You Quarians' names are longer than that." He registered her surprise as her head jerked back momentarily. "You don't get to be as old as me without learning about the cultures around you. The information finds you sooner or later, whether you're looking for it or not. Now," he prompted. "What's your full name?"

"Rikka'Nall." Her answer came out as little more than a whisper, but the krogan's sharp ears picked it up as though she'd said it for all to hear.

"That's better." He grinned, leaning back against the workbench. "Well miss Nall, if you want to work for old Krovak Torr, he'll need to know what you specialize in."

The mention of business seemed to liven the young woman's mood. "I'm uh… a tech, work with engines mostly, but I've… dealt with weapons, shields, omni-tools, scanners. You name it, I've probably… tinkered with it at some time or other."

The ancient krogan nodded approvingly, then, grabbed a component from the counter and tossed it to her. "Take a look."

Rikka caught the part and momentarily staggered under the weight before hefting it up to the work-bench next to her. The Krovak clan member watched as she rotated the piece, carefully tracing the markings with her fingers.

"Not gonna ask what's wrong with it?"

Her reply was almost terse, "If I can't pin it, you don't need me."

A moment later she completed her examination of the component, flipped her omni tool on and began disassembling the piece, talking as she worked. "Volus make, Yun Lal, mark II, discontinued four decades ago."

The Krogan's eyes widened, as did his grin. "How old're you kid?"

"Twenty." She continued her task, loosening a trio of bolts and removing a small gear from the assembly. "You get used to identifying anything and everything mechanical or electrical when you work as a tech on the fleet." She held out an empty hand expectantly. "Omni-gel?"

Torr's grin reached the back of his crest; had Rikka been looking at him, she'd have thought his face about to split in two. A moment later, he produced a canister of the stuff, handing it to her as he watched a series of lights dance across her omni-tool, prepping the fabrication process. Less than three minutes had passed before she'd finished the repair. "Gears were worn down, spun until the motor's capacitors burned out." She handed the re-assembled component to Torr. "Did a simple bypass, looped enough coils of wire to hold a decent charge. It's a temporary fix, but it should last a couple of weeks, or until you get a new capacitor."

The Mechanic shook his head slowly as he accepted the part. "Thirty-five an hour sound fair? I know it's not much, but I could throw in lodging, 'long's you don't mind sleeping in a guest room."

Rikka's eyes danced behind her faceplate. Thirty-five an hour! Few quarians could garner 20! "Absolutely!"

"Good!" He gave a sharp nod and brought his fists together with a loud whump, a traditional krogan gesture used to seal a pact or agreement. "I'll take you back when the shop closes. 'Till then, amuse yourself, tinker with whatever you like in that pile over there, mostly broken, so it's not getting used."

XxXxX

For the first time since escaping captivity, Tokus Voran, mercenary Captain, did not know what to do. Everything he'd done after becoming a free man was something he had planned, accounted for, or anticipated in advance. Combat was something you had to improvise in, but even there, there was a set of rules, of guidelines, a general formula that, while it never fit the situation perfectly, was often a solid base with which to implement your tactics.

He'd been planning to leave the Blue Suns once he'd accumulated enough financial cushion, and after he'd ensured that alt least half of his team wasn't going to hop to the nearest brothel on his departure. Now that he was technically AWOL, he would be forced to either lie, leave, or tell the truth and take the reprimand, demotion and pay cut. Ultimately, the turian knew what his decision would end up being, but in the meantime he'd check in on his tag-along biotic.

Dr. Rommel had stationed guards inside the clinic, something that surprised even the grizzled mercenary that Tokus had become. He'd heard of 'high value targets' of course, even taken down a few himself, but this seemed extreme. Was a quarian biotic really that rare?

Tokus caught sight of the doctor in her office and decided to swing by before continuing on to his chat with Nolta. Before he had even gotten within ten feet, Sara swung her chair around to face him. The Merc caught sight of a small mirror to the left side of the desk.

"Before you ask about the guards, someone's been tracking our friend. Called me this morning to remind me just how valuable any biotic is, to say nothing of a quarian."

The Captain's eyes narrowed. "No name obviously," his words sounded less a question than a statement.

Sara shook her head. "None. No trace according to C-sec." She snorted. "Of course, they weren't monitoring my channel either." The derision in her last statement was painfully obvious, even to Tokus' tired ears.

"Do you have him in custody?" The question was part satire, part serious.

"No, just under guard."

"If the guards don't know what he's capable of, I'd like to speak with him alone."

Sara pursed her lips and looked down resting, her chin in her hand. "You brought him to me, you have responsibility until he regains full use of his facilities." Almost as an afterthought, she stopped him as he started for the door. "You know how people become biotics?"

He shook his head.

"Let me tell you first, he'll want to know."

XxXxX

The Quarian was busy researching the citadel using the extranet browser on his omni-tool when the mercenary captain entered the room. Kala rested on the couch in the corner, a rare luxury for any private clinic, though less so on the citadel. Both acknowledged his entry; Nolta with a nod and Kala with a stiff salute.

Tokus waved his hand and shook his head, signaling his subordinate that the action was unnecessary. "We're AWOL, no need to hold to SOP."

The young woman nodded and slowly lowered herself back to the couch.

"So," The Captain addressed the quarian. "Your name is Nolta?"

The alien nodded. "Nolta'Lae."

"Kala told me you pushed one of those vorcha a good ten feet without touching it," He tilted his head towards the young woman in the corner. "You know you could do that?" Odds were, Nolta hadn't even been told he was a biotic, probably for his own protection.

The Quarian shook his head, his voice seemed distant, almost as though he were reminiscing. "Ferst time 've ever done anithin' like et. Always been strong though. If that vorcha'd gotten too close, he'd a had a few missin' teeth."

"He did."

"Eh, figures. Get shot en th' head…"

"Not from bullets." Tokus shook his head. "What do you know about biotics?"

"Not much." Nolta struggled not to say more. He'd heard the doctor's discussion with the turian, but he couldn't let on, not until he knew for certain. "Why?"

"Biotics are individuals with large concentrations of element zero in their nervous system. You're familiar with how mass effect based technology works?"

A curt nod answered the query.

"Of course you do, you're a quarian. Anyways, biotics can use the electrical impulses produced in the nervous system to run a current through these deposits of eezo, lets them generate their own mass effect fields."

Nolta listened intently. He'd heard that biotics were often associated with drive core detonations, but he'd always assumed that the exposure changed the body chemistry somehow. Evidently that association was-

"Usually, individuals are exposed to the eezo in-utero, drive core detonations, refinery leaks, things like that. The mother breathes it in, eats contaminated food, absorbs it through the skin, whatever. The thing is, the fetus is usually killed or mutated by the exposure."

So drive core detonations were linked, just not the way he'd thought.

"And that," Tokus continued, "is why you are so rare. Your mother had to have left her environment suit at some point during her pregnancy, some point that just so happened to coincide with an extremely significant exposure to element zero."

Nolta had always known his father was hiding something from him; the explanation for his mother's death had never truly stuck. Now, he had a pretty good idea of the truth.

Author's note:

To the grammar Nazis: "his words sounded less a question than a statement" I chose to write the sentence this way. It is not a grammatical, error, but a stylistic choice, helping reinforce the stiff tone of the scene.

For those who couldn't tell by the line at the end of the chapter, Nolta plans to have a fairly lengthy chat with his father upon his return to the fleet.