Chapter 8: Non Solum

Tokus Voran was not given to nightmares. Usually. Tonight, for whatever reason, the former mercenary dreamt of Sketa, his former master.

The towering form of a krogan loomed above him. He was barely past his adolescent phase. Simply a young, scared boy who'd been abducted from his parents at the ripe age of thirteen as they were brutally murdered. His master's gravelly voice shook the room's supports as she kicked his small, rickety bunk.

"UP! You think I eat air? Up!"

The krogan accompanied her words with another pair of sharp kicks. Tokus shot out of the bed, not wanting to suffer another impact from the beast's massive foot. He'd been forced to take on Betney's tasks in addition to his own since the batarian had been killed earlier that week. That primarily meant cooking.

Tokus quick-walked to the kitchen, a large, domed room coated in the same dull red mud that had been slathered over the rest of the Sketa's domicile. He quickly assembled the ingredients for the krogan's favorite breakfast and set to work preparing them.

Voran remembered the lashings his master had administered to Betney earlier, the screams from the 'punishment room', where he himself had received much similar abuse. These screams were different than those from the usual whippings, though. Sketa flew into a mad fit of rage when Betney had tripped, flinging scalding oil all over her face and crest. She'd grabbed the young man's wrist, crushing it with an iron grasp as she dragged him to the dungeon-like chamber.

Tokus remembered the piercing wails that started moments later, and their eventual, ominous, descent into silence. Sketa had emerged covered in the slave's blood and nothing had been seen of the young batarian since.

He recalled the first blow when Sketa decided that she'd waited long enough for her meal. The food was almost prepared, but who could reason with an angry krogan? Tokus felt the paring knife gripped tightly in his hand, felt the ache in his side from where she'd struck him.

He could perfectly recall the swing as he'd lashed out in a desperate bid to protect himself, the razor-sharp blade slipping easily into Sketa's eye.

The turian sat up in his bed, his breathing heavy but controlled. Why were the memories returning unbidden? He'd long since recovered from his ordeal with the slaver, using the event as impetus to strive for excellence on the battlefield and every other place in his life. It was why he'd helped the quarian, why he'd taken Kala under his wing. The fewer mothers that had to mourn the loss of their sons and daughters, the better. He had survived his own private hell, and knew what it was to live in constant fear and torment. The more he could help others avoid that fate, the better he had done for Betney, for his parents, for himself.

Rikka woke up that morning feeling particularly strange. She'd already told Torr that she'd be leaving today, and that it was likely that she'd be going to the Citadel, but the specifics of her journey, specifically her choice of rides, had been decided with much uncertainty.

Ultimately, she'd settled upon the equivalent of a galactic taxi service, a small operation run by a local volus who'd taken up the profession despite his species' disaffinity for manual tasks.

Torr was waiting for her when she came to turn in the shop omni-tool he'd allowed her to use while working. Rikka set the device on the counter in front of the krogan and keyed her own omni-tool, unlocking the credits she'd stored for him earlier.

Rikka offered a nod as the machine shop's register started to beep, then turned to leave after Torr turned to look at it. She hadn't gone twenty feet before the thunderous voice of her former employer called after her.

"Just a minute. You think you can blow that kinda money?"

Rikka stopped. In just a few short weeks, she'd learned more about the world outside the flotilla than her entire life spent aboard its ships, and most of it was thanks to Torr. She rotated to face the towering reptilian as he approached her, a credit chit in his hand.

"You worked for me, it ain't my payday." The hulking alien offered a slight grin. "Consider this your bonus, ya did good."

Rikka looked up at him then down at the chit. Her original gift was there, along with another 1,200. 6,200 in total. She shook her head, resignedly.

"Ain't neither of us going anywhere until you take this." Torr stated.

With a final look at the former warrior's weathered face, Rikka accepted the chit and nodded. "Thank you, Sir, for everything."

The Mekanag pulled into orbit over Caleston, a volcanic world covered in independent mining operations and a large network of Eldfell-Ashland Energy facilities. Serk guided the freighter into comm range and hailed Nolta's first choice of stations, a medium sized operation listed on the ship's nav computer as "Mining Station Endeavor".

"This is civilian freighter Mekanag to Mining Station Endeavor, requesting permission to land."

Even with the enhanced audio filters in his helmet, Nolta couldn't distinguish the words coming over Serk's headset. The pilot listened for a minute and replied. "I need a refuel, direct eezo, and I've got two persons interested in workin' for ya."

There was another string of vocables that Nolta was unable to make out, then Serk answered.

"Copy that, heading five-oh-one confirmed."

Faros Jekne had been spending an awfully long time flying silent, and was finally blessed with the sonorous sounds of intercepted radio traffic. "…vilian freighter Mekanag to M…ng Station En…vor req… …ission to lan…" The message was choppy, but he'd heard all he needed to hear. Just to be safe, the krogan listened in on the rest of the interchange as he made his approach.

The operative put his stealth craft into a shallow dive and mirrored the civilian freighter's descent. Minutes later, Jekne had landed fifty meters from the facility, masking his ship's remaining heat signatures in a thermal vent. Jekne hopped out of the small craft and broke into a sprint. Caleston was uncomfortably hot, even for a krogan, and he did not want to remain outside any longer than absolutely necessary.

It took him a good eight seconds to clear the distance between his incursion vessel and the mining facility, much of which was perched uncomfortably above a boiling river of lava three hundred feet below. The krogan sniffed, crinkling his nose at the unpleasant stench of element zero that wafted from the molten river. He snorted to rid himself of the smell and turned to the task of gaining access to interior of the mining station.

Solomon Kincaid stepped into the mining station's lobby to see his two potential new workers. He was a thin man with light brown hair and a neatly trimmed goatee. All business. Even a seasoned investor like Mr. Kincaid wasn't prepared for the two hopefuls that stood before him when he entered the room.

One was a six-foot-nine quarian male dressed in an aqua-marine environment suit, the other was a young woman a full foot and change shorter and wearing what appeared to be Blue Suns armor. Security officer Barric Ro'noa stood to the left of the two, Solomon's right, his four eyes scanning his boss's face for signs of trouble.

The chief miner stopped short of the couple and shook his head. "Absolutely not. A quarian and a young lady… No, just… Do you have any idea what my men would do to you?" He tilted his head forward at Nolta. "Everyone thinks of your kind as thieves, you wouldn't last five minutes here."

He turned to Kala. "And you…" He shook his head. "My men ain't seen a woman in three months…"

Barric stepped in. "Any of them lay a finger on her…" he made a cutting motion across his neck.

Kincaid's eyes widened slightly. "I never pinned you for the kind to save a damsel in distress."

"We look out for our own." The batarian lifted a hand to his collar and pulled it down, revealing a faded blue tattoo on his collar bone. He grinned, the needle-like fangs common to his race glistening in the rusty light of the lobby. "One of the perks of the job."

The chief miner pursed his lips to one side. "Still no." He shook his head. "I can't afford that kind of liability."

Nolta shrugged. "I dedn't figure we'd get et on our ferst try. C'mon Kala, let's head back t' th' Mekanag."

Kincaid shrugged and turned around, heading back to his office. Something made him pause. "Good luck you two."

Solomon emerged from his office not five minutes later, his face pale and his pulse thumping several beats a second. How a krogan had gotten into the base undetected was a mystery; Barric was one of the most competent men he'd ever run across in his fifty-odd years, but that was unimportant. The large reptilian's orders were explicitly clear.

The chief miner bolted into the lobby where Barric stood, angrily struggling with his omni tool. "Damn security cams won't-" He caught sight of the boss and snapped to attention.

Solomon wasted no time. "Have they left yet?"

The batarian was slightly perplexed, but responded immediately. "No, docking clamps have them locked down, I can't understand why-"

"It doesn't matter." He brushed past with a dismissive wave of his hand. He knew why, and the other's orders left no room for interpretation. "If you so much as breathe a word of this to anyone…"

Kincaid stepped out into the landing complex and waved to the pilot of the freighter as he approached. A few minutes later, Serk stood in front of him, arms crossed.

"Well, why can't I take off?" The turian's voice carried an edge that did nothing to ease Solomon's nerves. The human looked back over his shoulder as if to check the door seal.

"Tell- Tell your friends I'm willing to let them work for two weeks to see if they can earn their keep."

Serk's eyebrow lifted. "Why the sudden change of heart?"

The miner stole a quick glance over his shoulder. He couldn't say anything to tip them off to the other's involvement. "I can kill people in very clever ways." "I remembered what it was like trying to get a job at their age."

The turian unlaced his arms, shrugged, and returned to the Mekanag.

Jekne watched as the two exited the civilian craft. His broad mouth curled up into a smile at the corners. At least the human was smart enough to obey orders.

The krogan tapped his omni-tool and the docking clamps that had held the freighter disengaged. He tapped the device again and spoke into the mouthpiece, his gravelly voice rumbling into the high-end mic installed in the device. "You've got your two weeks."

Author's note:

I'm in a conundrum as to the next segment of the story, it's gonna be rough however I write it, but Nolta and Kala are going to go through an emotional grindstone.