Chapter 10: Retribution

Kala left the mess hall slightly less unsettled by Roddy. The man had offered her his seat as she'd come in, explaining that he was a minute over his break anyways. His usual scowl was absent as well, communicating that he was in a slightly better than usual mood. Sure, he was still a dead ringer for Tarret, but that was all. The young woman shrugged as she gathered up her equipment and made her way to the processing floor.

She could tell Nolta soon perhaps, but not quite yet. It just felt… off. Tarret had been locked up for a while now, but every time she saw Roddy it called back memories of the photo shoot… Kala gave her head a sharp shake to clear her thoughts, but the topic wouldn't go away. Everyone she'd met had said she'd stayed surprisingly well adjusted after what he'd tried to do to her. Granted, he hadn't succeeded, but still…

Thane eased his ship up alongside the Gu Onar and engaged the magnetic clamps. A sharp jerk accompanied the low, hollow thud as the two ships became locked together. The drell pulled his facemask on and secured the straps to make it airtight. Thane keyed his suit to check his contained air system, waited for the green, 'all clear' light. With a simple push of a button, the cabin slowly pumped its atmosphere into a set of holding tanks near the back of the ship. After the pressure in the chamber reached the right level, the drell killed the pump, stabilizing the low atmosphere setting of the cabin.

At this low pressure, any explosive decompression caused by an inadequate seal would be minor, while the pressure differential between ships wouldn't prove injurious to him if the seal held. A failsafe program monitored the interior pressure as well, ready to pressurize the cabin or dump all of its air at the fastest 'safe rate'.

Once he was certain that the chamber was secure, he engaged the pressure hatch. The door parted with a barely detectable hiss, and the drell found himself staring at the dull gray of the Gu Onar's hull. A quick check confirmed that the docking seals were good, and he proceeded to begin hacking into the other ship's security systems.

Nugaa Ruo had been mildly unsettled by the turian at first sight and became downright terrified upon learning that the man was a Spectre. In truth, that was the only reason he'd agreed to take the turian aboard. Spectres reported to the Citadel Council, meaning law enforcement held no sway over them. The volus had no wish to invoke the turian's ire, especially considering the selection of armaments at the man's disposal.

When the ship's power cut out, the volus immediately suspected that his well armed guest was to blame. Acting on instinct, the diminutive captain rolled out of his chair and quickly waddled over to the smuggling compartment to hide.

The moment the lights started flickering, Nurem knew exactly what was going on. Rikka sat up in her cot just as the room went black. Soft orange light filtered into the turian's vision a moment later as the young woman's omni-tool blinked to life. Quiet beeps sounded from the device as she checked the vessel's systems.

"Firewalls are down, power control's been rerouted, life support still functional…"

Veraidian was barely paying attention to her mumbling. He'd directed his faculties to detecting the slightest clue as to his hunter's location; footsteps, electronic humming, anything that could clue him in as to where his pursuer would strike from.

The soft hum of the quarian's omni-tool was just loud enough to mask light footsteps. Nurem rested a hand on her forearm, prompting her to deactivate the device, while his other hand reached for the Kessler III pistol on his belt. In the still air of the cabin, the weapon's de-compacting sequence seemed deafeningly loud. Rikka caught a glint in the turian's eyes as his hand left her arm.

She shuddered involuntarily. It was the same look she had seen in the batarians' eyes on Omega. A moment later, the young woman registered that the turian had left the room.

Thane advanced through the ship, his footsteps feather light on the cold metal deck. The assassin cradled a Gungnir heavy pistol in one hand, while the other remained slightly in front of him, ready to draw the knife on his right sleeve at a moment's notice. Krios' hawk-like eyes scanned the corners of the ship, diligently searching for any signs of his quarry. Tiny, almost imperceptible clicks sounded behind him.

Krios' trained ear recognized the sound as footfalls, turian male, almost certainly his target.

As if on cue, a two-fingered fist sailed for Thane's back, only to be caught mid-flight in the drell's iron grasp. The assassin turned the rest of the way to face his target, his own swing deflected with as little effort as the one he'd stopped moments earlier. Three flashes of ruby appeared roughly a foot and a half below the turian's eyes. The sound from each pistol shot rang through the corridor, followed by two more as Thane crescent kicked the weapon away from his opponent.

Nurem found himself slammed into the wall and felt his fringe flex painfully as his head made contact with the bulkhead. Stars danced in front of his eyes, spinning on a black backdrop. The Spectre felt the muzzle of Thane's pistol press against his neck even as he struggled past the pain swimming through his head.

A rumbling voice joined the ringing in the turian's ears "You can walk out of this alive. All I want is your boss's hiding place."

Nurem scoffed, sending a fresh wave of brilliant splotches through his vision. "Men like us have no time for games, Krios. You know I report directly to the Council."

"Where is Nurem?" Thane pressed the pistol harder against his hostage's throat. "I will not ask again."

The turian's mind swam, but one thing was clear, Thane was about to pull the trigger.

In this exact situation, there really weren't that many ways to free himself without taking a bullet to the throat, but given the odds that he was about to received one anyways…

Thane was expecting the exact move that his opponent chose to break away, but the execution was so flawless that even he barely had time to react. The turian swung his left arm up, pinning Krios' to the bulkhead. The pistol discharged, but the barrel was just outside Nurem's kinetic barriers, affording him enough protection from the round to save his life.

The turian's leg lashed out, slamming into the drell's midsection even as one of the assassin's legs came up to block the blow. Nurem whirled, bringing his elbow around to impact the drell's temple, but the target wasn't there. The turian smelled ozone and heard the warbling sound of Thane's biotic warp as it carved a web of curling gashes into the Spectre's armor. The flash given off by the biotic field's detonation proved sufficient for Veraidian to get his bearings even as his subconscious directed his arm to block a right thrust from his opponent.

Nurem rolled back just in time to evade Thane's follow up strike. The Spectre pushed off the wall to his side even before gaining his footing and propelled himself into one of the adjoining corridors, out of sight and out of reach. Krios cursed under his breath and stopped all motion. Following his prey around that corner would be foolish at best. He needed to listen for the sound of the other's breathing, footsteps, anything that could clue him in.

Nolta had waited until his break to go see Kincaid. The boss sat in his office with the door open, as was his custom, munching on a pre-packed sandwich filled with some strong smelling meat. The old businessman looked up to see the quarian standing in the doorway, his hands held behind his back in a somewhat uncertain manner. Solomon cocked an eyebrow and motioned the young man in.

"Nolta, need something?"

"Aye." The pilgrim hesitated, unsure of how to proceed. "I uh, found some, irregularities en some of th' electronics outside."

Kincaid's eyebrows raised. "What kind of irregularities?"

"Some kind o' scanner… I uh… Et's probably best ef you come and see fer yerself…"

Solomon pursed his lips, nodded, and pushed back his chair. "All right, let's go see what this is all about."

Rikka dimmed her omni-tool's display so that it registered as little more than a flicker, even in the dim light. The young woman had her pistol drawn, its internal ammunition feed set to generate cryo rounds, perfect for limiting the effectiveness of enemy shielding. She'd never used the setting outside of a firing range, but if there was a time or place to have it ready, it was now.

The quarian inched forward, careful to pay attention to anything and everything that could help her determine what was going on. Tiny emergency lights pulsed intermittently along the corners of the walls and ceiling, giving her a faint but consistent source of illumination in addition to the glow of her omni-tool. Rikka followed the pulsing LEDs to the cockpit, only to find that it too was empty.

The young woman frowned and pulsed the light on her omni-tool once, immediately spotting what she was looking for. Rikka sat in the captain's chair and set to work with her omni-tool, powering specific circuits just long enough to copy them to the storage center of the orange device on her forearm. Some of the systems refused to cooperate, forcing her to ignore them temporarily.

Nall worked quickly and quietly, pausing only for the more obstinate systems. A soft scraping wafted into her audio filters followed by a clanging and the wheezing of the ship's pilot.

"What are –kshhh- you doing! –kshhh- It was –kshhh- you?" The rotund alien brandished an old pistol in one hand, waving it in a worrisome manner. "I shouldn't have –kshhh- let you aboard! –kshhh-"

Rikka held her hands up. "I'm just trying to get the ship up and running, whatever happened probably had something to do with the turian."

Nugaa seemed to both relax and tense up at the same time. "So –kshhh- you didn't –kshhh- cut the power?"

The quarian shook her head, glimpsing an alert on her omni-tool as she did. The volus noted her eyes widen.

"Wh- -kshhh- what is it?" his voice quavered.

"We need to get to engineering! NOW!"

Before he could voice any objection, Ruo felt the young woman's hand clamp around his forearm and heard her sidearm decompacting. With the push of a holographic key, the bridge sealed behind them.

Veraidian waited knife in hand, for the drell to round the corner. It wasn't likely that Krios would be foolish enough to actually try to approach him from that direction, but even the best of warriors slipped up occasionally. Seconds passed by, then minutes, right now it was a waiting game between two hardened combatants. The turian leaned ever so slightly past the corner, hoping to catch a glimpse of the drell in the hallway. Despite how much his eyes had adjusted to the near-black of the corridor, Nurem was barely able to see the 'ribbing' of the hall's metal supports.

The tiny red LEDs that pulsed throughout the ship provided just enough illumination to see his hand in front of his face. The turian ran over the ship's layout in his head, trying to analyze the possible routes from which his opponent could approach. It was only now that Veraidian noticed the warm fluid trickling down the back of his neck. Thane's attack had split part of his scalp.

The Spectre swore bitterly in his head, fringe injuries were notorious for their profuse bleeding and lengthy recovery periods. Nurem heard a small clink and his head snapped his eyes to the left to see the quarian, followed closely by the vessel's trembling pilot.

Author's note:

I try to use 'fractured' chapters (chapters in which the perspective changes several times) sparingly, but I still like the dynamic they can create if done right. When properly executed, it can feel akin to watching a movie or TV show in which two or more segments blend together in a way that shows a parallel or similarity between two seemingly unrelated segments. Always liked those types of scenes.

As to fight scenes, I finally figured out why I write them with as much detail as I do. Not only does it help the reader picture what's going on, but I've been influenced by both Eric Nylund and William C. Dietz. I don't emulate their styles, per se, but rather strive to do the opposite. In reading Dietz's "The Flood" I felt like the combat was sort of brushed over, lacking detail to the point that many of the fights felt one sided, as though the winning team had a 'god complex'. Nylund had the opposite effect. His fight scenes were obnoxiously overdramatic at times. I can understand a character having a difficult time dispatching an enemy occasionally, but to have every elite be an equal match for the Chief was a stretch that taxed my patience. Not to cast aspersions on their work, both men are stellar authors, I just don't particularly like their style of combat writing.