Ch. 18

A grenade isn't that simple. Sure, it's simple in concept. A little bomb that can be triggered and flung at a target. But so much can go wrong. Mierin had the scars to prove it. A grenade can detonate on its own, without being triggered. Or the delay between trigger and detonation can be too short, causing an explosion before it even leaves your hand. Or it can not go off at all.

Mierin found duds especially frustrating. He wanted the boom, not to pour over every last detail in search of the problem. He lived for the boom.

He'd been forced to set up his lab on the far side of Archangel's base, just in case he had another accident. It still happened. Yes, he was the best demolitions expert on Omega, no question there. But the materials weren't always up to snuff. And he could sometimes be impatient. It was a typical salarian trait. Shorter lifespan and all. But yes, right. Accidents happen.

What happened with Eclipse started out as an accident. He was filling out an order for them, making grenades with the materials Eclipse provided. Nitroglycerin was the explosive compound. Chemicals are largely the same across the galaxy, even with the turian and quarian's chiral molecules. Every Council race had discovered nitro independently, along with a handful of non-council races. However, the chemical delay provided was a quarian brand. Not commonly used outside the Flotilla, but it was what he was given.

The trigger was a button that would send an electrical signal to the striker. This would hit the percussion cap which would then light the chemical delay. This delay would burn off slowly, before igniting the nitro. Boom.

It all worked in the lab. Without a hitch. But when the grenades were out in the field in a big brawl against the Blue Suns, they failed. Every last grenade was a dud. Eclipse was slaughtered, and Mierin was to blame.

He wasn't home when Eclipse set fire to his lab. This, of course, blew up a large section of the block, including a number of residences, killing all his brothers. Mierin was on the run.

Honestly, he only went to Archangel for protection, to hide from Eclipse, from Velig and Jaroth. But he found himself liking the guy. A lot. Growing up in Eclipse, he never met a man quite like him. Archangel wasn't out for himself, he wouldn't turn on you if the creds were right. Even his brothers would do that, more often than Mierin could count on his fingers. Archangel was like the heroes in action vids, the people that don't exist in real life. The white hats. The good guys.

Ten years old this year, and he'd never met a good guy before Archangel. Something was wrong with this galaxy, that was for sure.

Mierin shook his head a little to focus back on his work. Big siege coming up. Lots of work to do. He cranked up the music in his headphones and peeled open a plastic container of dioctyl sebacate. High grade stuff. Archangel knew better than to cut corners.

His slim hands paused at movement out of the corner of his eye. Big movement. Krul was hovering in the doorway, watching him. Mierin turned to look at him with a grin, slipping the headphones to his neck. "Hiya big guy. C'mon in."

Nobody liked Krul. Krogan are hard to like. Not even krogan like krogan. Krul scowled, glancing down the hall before slipping into the room with surprisingly light steps.

Mierin liked Krul. Mierin liked everybody. But Krul, he was always easy to read. Always spoke his mind. Qualities to be admired. He'd never be two faced, either.

Krul was once charged with protection of fertile females, working as a liaison between camps. He could move quickly, outmaneuver a male filled with bloodlust and hormones, strike precisely, and bring them down. He wasn't big enough to mate himself. Unworthy of the honor. That's mostly how he got the job. There were rumors that the job was given to eunuchs, an idea Krul never dignified with an answer.

There was a lot of misinformation when it came to the krogan and mating behaviors. After the genophage, they got a lot more secretive and protective about it. So the uneducated started filling in the gaps with idiotic rumors.

"Grenades?" Krul asked, looking over the workbench.

Mierin shook his head, "Plenty of those. Working on C-4 now." He tapped the side of the container filled with a clear oil to shake out the bubbles. "Did you want to help?"

"No." Krul stepped back and crossed his big arms. "This mission."

"Yeah?"

"I don't like it."

"You don't like anything."

"Not true."

Mierin nodded, "You like pyjak sausage. Not much else."

The krogan smirked briefly. "This mission," he said again. "It's suicide."

The salarian shrugged. "We can't hunt just Garm, buddy, you know that. He's not the only source of trouble on Omega."

Krul scowled again, hanging his head. Garm had killed a friend of his. A non-fertile female envoy named Hutog Mralk who'd rated him poorly, apparently a personality clash. "If we die on this idiotic mission, Garm will live." His fists shook, and Mierin put his hands up quickly to calm him. Not the right room to have a krogan on the rampage.

"So we don't die! Simple as that! C'mon, Krul." He rocked from foot to foot. "Tell you what. Day after we blow Tarak into tiny little pieces, you and me go out and find him. Then collapse whatever building he is in on top of him. Huge boom. Next best thing to a nuclear warhead. I've been working on a few ideas-"

Krul's yellow eyes narrowed. "I want to kill him face to face."

Mierin sighed a little. The salarian didn't do face to face. "Right. Okay, then… we coax him out, then I nuke the building with his backup in it, and you and him duke it out. Yeah?"

Krul smirked again, watching him. Finally, he nodded and turned again to leave. Mierin watched him disappear, then shook his head a little. He could be at least a little excited by the idea of killing Tarak. Mierin sure as hell was.

He'd get to have his booms. Lots of them.