Thrilling financial encounters! Look, if you on the hunt for tightly-paced, action-packed fare you've had, like, sixty thousand words to realise you're in the wrong place. I just like stuff that goes on forever so I can just chew words like a cow chewing cud. So that's what I produce.
Anyway. I have the vaguest idea of how money works in ME. Generally you wave your hand at a laptop and you get credits. Maybe it's covered better in the books but I ain't read 'em. So I basically just fudged it.
Purpose here is to give Jarrion liquidity because Rogue Traders are supposed to have money that's kind of the point and also we're here to remember that aliens are gross. At least, assuming you're an Imperial...
For an alien planet, this 'Illium' wasn't quite the backwards, savage, decrepit, barbarous, blasphemous, embarrassing hellhole Jarrion had been expecting.
He wouldn't go so far as to say that it was impressive - anyone could build tall buildings, Orks could build tall buildings - but it was at least pleasantly genteel and well-organised, which was a damn sight more than he had been expecting. They might even have running water. He hadn't seen it yet, but it seemed likely.
He imagined that it being such a prominent place of business helped. Trade was, after all, a civilising influence. Not that you could ever hope to properly civilize an alien, of course, but you could get close enough to make the effort at least partially worthwhile. Close enough to get something valuable out of it. Like training a dog.
Not that Jarrion would ever admit that to anyone, naturally. He had the wit to appreciate the nuance of his position. You could hate the alien and still take advantage of them without killing them. Seemed obvious enough to Jarrion. Not so much to some others. Some people you just couldn't reach.
In the end the stars would belong to man and man alone one way or another, so why not make the best use of what resources were available in the meantime? It would all work out the same. Yes?
Besides, as much as his father might protest otherwise, Rogue Traders were not meant to be soldiers. They were - as the name might suggest - traders. And if you could maximise value for the Imperium without firing a shot, wasn't that helping in the long run?
Wasn't every deal cut with the minimum of fuss cutting down on the work of some poor, belegard servant of the Emperor in some other part of the galaxy, in some small way? Every Throne or credit or what have you earned or saved just that little bit extra that could tip the balance elsewhere? It all added up.
Every one of the Emperor's subjects had a role to play, did they not? If Jarrion's role could be best served by sometimes allowing an alien to continue living and in so doing wringing the best possible return out of this or that venture, well, was it not in the Emperor's best interest for Jarrion to conduct himself in the way that would best further Imperial goals?
Made perfect sense to Jarrion when he explained it to himself like that. Others - his brothers, say, in particular his elder brother - would likely misconstrue what he meant. Would take his sensible, reasonable, entirely practical approach as a sign of spiritual weakness indicative of a dangerous lack of zeal and moral fibre. But such was life.
And they weren't here anyway.
The sheer profusion of aliens about the place was still a little overwhelming though. Especially the blue ones. The ones who all looked decidedly feminine. There were an awful lot of those ones about. Unsurprising, Jarrion supposed, given they were supposedly the ones who owned the planet, but still. Everywhere you turned, there they were. Standing. Sitting. Talking. Watching.
Jarrion did his best to act like it wasn't getting to him, but it really was. Humans were in the distinct minority here and that just wasn't right. He and his men kept getting odd looks and it was fairly obvious that some sort of police - he assumed, hoped - presence was tailing them at a discreet distance, as they had indeed been doing practically since they'd set foot off the lighter and muddled through the bureaucracy of landing. Jarrion did his best to act like he didn't notice this. It was the polite thing to do.
His group stuck close to him, eyeing their surroundings suspiciously or, in Thale's case, with the detached casualness of the trained professional constantly expecting violence to break out and constantly thinking of what to do should that happen.
Jarrion had picked his men for this trip down planetside quite carefully.
Thale was there because he was basically Jarrion's shadow and you could never be too safe. Loghain was there because Jarrion couldn't get rid of the damn woman and she might prove useful to have around, he supposed. Torian was there to handle the fiddlier parts of the transactions as and when they occurred, even if having to slow down to allow for his limp was costing them valuable time.
The rest of the group was made up of some of the armsmen who had seen action on Horizon, being as how they'd already accompanied Jarrion in the presence of aliens and so had at least some grasp that their current task involved less-than-hostile interaction with xenos. Having to explain that again would have been tedious.
They still clearly didn't like where they were, but they were keeping this to themselves beyond the occasional muttered curse whenever an alien passed by too close. This was all Jarrion needed of them. That, and to carry crates of money.
There were several purposes to this trip. Firstly, money. Or, rather, getting the money that had changed hands following the successful negotiations with Cerberus regarding access to the xenos wreck and turning it into a unit of currency that could be more easily used and accessed - those credits Jarrion ahd heard so much about.
Once he had an account set up he imagined a lot of things would be much, much easier.
Following that, acquisitions. But that would happen later. First, the money. Very important the money.
Finding a bank was not difficult. Asking where to find one was, because that involved having to talk to aliens, but worse things had happened and they were at least helpful, if confused by the people asking them questions. Some local branch of some galaxy-spanning banking institution was not too far away, thankfully, and so it was to this that Jarrion headed, his entourage in tow.
On arrival he was dismayed to find the staff entirely composed of more of those distressingly human-looking blue aliens. They really were quite unsettling.
Had they the decency to look properly inhuman then Jarrion might have found it easier, in a weird kind of a way. Instead he just felt uncomfortable. Mocked, he supposed, that something so obviously inhuman should somehow be wearing such a human face. Certainly seemed a particularly blasphemous twist of biology to Jarrion, not that he was an expert.
But still, needs must, and he was a Rogue Trader and so he was - strictly speaking - allowed to do what he was about to do. Even if he was going to have to bolt on a smile and try to keep his skin from crawling through sheer force of will the whole time.
They weren't expecting physical contact, were they? Jarrion experienced a moment of sheer, vertigo-like terror at the prospect of even a handshake given that he hadn't brought gloves.
Thankfully though, just from the look of the staff they seemed about as put off by him as he was by them, so the prospect of any contact seemed minimal. Thank the Emperor for small mercies.
Just keep things polite, he told himself. This is a galaxy where - inexplicably - most species seem to be able to get along, more-or-less. That's a weakness you can exploit. Just remember that, think of the bottom line and don't let the men see you flinch.
The nearest alien was standing behind a counter of some sort and this seemed as good a place to start as any. Beaming as though showing up with crates of money was about the most normal thing in the world - to be fair, for a Rogue Trader, it wasn't that out of the ordinary - Jarrion strode on over and rested one arm on the counter.
"Ah! Good morning! And what a fine morning it is, hmm? I wouldn't be able to conduct a transaction, would I?" He asked, waving about his free hand to take in the ambience and then about managing to maintain eye contact with the alien.
It looked young, and this displeased Jarrion for reasons he couldn't put his finger on.
By now, Shepard's - or rather EDI's - translation of Low Gothic had passed and filtered through the extranet and had reached most of the more populous corners of the galaxy, there to be downloaded automatically into most everyone's translation software just as a matter of standard updates. Technology truly was a marvel.
No-one had really thought about it's inclusion or it's source or even really noticed it at all, to be honest. It was just another update among however many others, passed along and around and copied and now being put to use for once somewhere that wasn't a podunk human colony being visited by the single Imperial vessel in the galaxy.
Certainly, the Asari clerk barely even noticed that she understood what the human was saying, because why wouldn't she understand what a human was saying? That, and she was too busy being alarmed by all the other parts of Jarrion that were alarming.
The surly and threatening look of his entourage. The obviously blind woman wandering around and admiring the bulk-bought artwork on the walls like she wasn't actually blind. The sheer amount of brocade and gold braid draped across the fiercely grinning man across the counter from her. The sheer amount of skull motifs everywhere.
The actual, literal skull floating about his shoulder was just the icing on the cake.
Servo skulls saw a lot more use, now. Jarrion at this point had stopped caring quite so much about scaring the locals, reasoning that they could probably get over the sight of a skull and, if nothing else, it made a good icebreaker. So far this hadn't proved a bad decision, and his having drawn the line at servo skulls seemed wise as well.
So far Jarrion had not encountered anything to suggest that the sight of a servitor would pass unremarked upon. The people of this galaxy seemed remarkably squeamish, really. Servo skulls were probably about their limit. Most assumed it was just an affectation and that Jarrion was weird. No-one, surely, would make an actual skull float. That would be insanely morbid.
Whenever anyone asked, Jarrion just grinned at them, played it off like a joke. Let them think him eccentric.
Strictly speaking though this particular servo skull was there to aid in translation, having been setup to do so by Pak. Jarrion had imagined that such an expedient might come in handy. So far it hadn't, but that was because he had managed to avoid talking to any aliens yet. Now would be the moment of truth.
Pak themselves - despite Jarrion's more lenient attitude towards bringing along servo skulls - was very much confined to the ship for the duration of Jarrion's stay on Illium. As with the servitors there were limits. What few tech priests that had had to be shuttled down to this or that colony had been kept as separate as possible from the locals, something they'd been only too happy to comply with. Pak though was something else. The Magos would probably start touching things they shouldn't. Like the locals.
That could only end badly.
"Transaction?" The clerk asked helplessly, looking about for backup or someone to come in and help, only to find all her cohorts conspicuously busy all of a sudden.
Jarrion was delighted that the translation adjustments seemed to work. The skull heard the words and fed the translation - in glorious, uncomplicated monotone - directly to his augmetic ear. He heard the strange language of the alien at the same which was confusing, but he could multitask.
"Yes! I believe this to be a bank - correct me if I'm wrong - and I'd rather like to open an account. It'd be easier than hiding what I've got under a mattress, let me tell you!"
Again the clerk eyed Jarrion's companions. The blind woman had taken a seat on one of the sofas in the waiting area and was splayed out as though she owned the place. The other humans were all standing looking distinctly uncomfortable except for the bald one who just looked bored in the way a knife balancing on the edge of a table looked bored. It wasn't a sight that inspired confidence.
"Y-you want to open an account?" She asked.
"If possible, yes. I have rather a profusion of currencies, I'm afraid. Been doing odd jobs, you know, just picking up some of the local shrapnel here and there. Rather hoping to consolidate them. Credits and a place to put them would make things much easier for me," Jarrion said, breezily.
"Um, there is a m-minimum amount required as a deposit to open-" the clerk started, perhaps hoping to ward this strange off, but Jarrion had seen this coming and cut across her:
"Ah, of course of course. A proper bank for proper customers, eh? I shouldn't think that'd be a problem. Lads? If you could."
A gesture from Jarrion and the armsmen brought forward their crates and set them down in view of the clerk. They then opened them, lifting the lids to show that each of them was packed almost full to bursting with an eye-watering amount of hard currency.
"There are more crates," Jarrion said. He wasn't lying. The clerk just blinked.
Jarrion had been very generous in what he'd allowed Cerberus to remove from the Collector wreck - what use xenos tech, after all? - and in turn Cerberus had been very generous in honouring the financial arrangement set up concerning this removal. Everyone was happy.
At a nod from Jarrion the lids were closed and the crates set down once more. It took the clerk a little longer than this to fully recover. It really wasn't every day someone walked in with actual, physical money, let alone that much of the stuff. Indeed, she'd never personally had to deal with anything like that before.
Luckily for her the sight and smell of wealth had attracted one of her superiors who came gliding in almost out of nowhere to pluck this clearly important transaction from the inexperienced hands of a junior member of staff. Sliding bodily in front of the clerk the senior put on the most ingratiating expression she could muster and said:
"Terribly sorry for making you wait, sir, I was with another client. I hear that you've hoping to open an account?"
The clerk took the hint and melted into the background. Frankly, she was glad of the out. Jarrion barely noticed her going and, frankly, wouldn't have cared anyway. One alien for another. As long as he got what he needed it hardly mattered.
This one looked older, though her dress was also inexplicably missing a big bit in the middle which meant that her belly-button was on show for all to see. Jarrion did not like this. Not at all. But he swallowed that tiny bit of bile he felt rise in the back of his throat and his smile didn't so much was waver.
"Indeed I am. Nothing too extravagant, not interested in the travel insurance, hah! Just looking for something that'll allow me to more easily access funds and process payments while I am out and about, you know? Dealing with hard currency is proving something of an inconvenience."
"I quite understand sir. If you'd like to come with me?"
"Of course. Thale, stay here with the men. Torian," Jarrion said, gesturing for the seneschal who, bowing and scraping, fell in line as Jarrion followed the alien to somewhere with seats and a desk.
Jarrion had been expecting paperwork. The bank however operated on a paper-free policy. There was some mild awkwardness as this was discovered, then the relevant details were put onto a pad so that Jarrion could peruse them. All fairly standard stuff as far as he could see, though he make sure to read twice - he'd read up on Illium, after all.
Something that had plainly been bothering the alien - and something that had equally plainly been the source of a low-level flutter of nervousness in her that had been there since the moment she'd stepped in, as much as she might have tried to hide it behind professional chirpiness - finally gave voice to itself here. She simply couldn't help herself anymore:
"Might I be so bold as to ask whether you are the...owner...of that unusual vessel currently in orbit, sir?" She asked.
Jarrion looked up from squinting at the details, handing the pad off to Torian who set about poring over it himself, albeit with obvious distaste. He still resented having to have learnt to read what apparently passed for a human lingua franca these days, and doubly resented having to take something that an alien had touched. But he did it anyway.
"Ah, noticed that did you?" Jarrion asked the Asari, flashing a small grin. The effect of this was not a soothing one. She'd heard rumours about the humans who'd come down from that ship. All of them were ridiculous, but any one of them might have been true. She had at least one friend who worked in the dock where they'd landed their - supposedly - ugly, weird and rather alarming looking shuttle.
"I - it - you, heh, you don't see something like that every day, sir. It's been, uh, talked about," she said.
"Has it? And what have they been saying?"
"Oh, just gossip, sir. Nothing you should be too concerned about. I think they just found your...unusual...ship somewhat alarming. Not something we're used to seeing, as I say. And you're just here for business? Nothing else?"
Tiny note of nervousness again in the edge there. Jarrion furrowed his brow.
"What else could I be here for?" He asked.
The Asari had a lot of answers to this question, some of them she'd heard around and about, some of them she'd thought up herself. Few to none were flattering. A lot involved considerable amount of indiscriminate destruction just because, well, why else would a giant spaceship show up? Though - looking at the man - most were also pretty hard to countenance. He just seemed...odd.
The way he was looking at her was...odd.
"I can't say I have any idea, sir," she said.
And there the matter seemed to rest. At least here.
"This all appears acceptable, Lord Captain," Torian said, stiffly, handing the pad back to Jarrion.
"Nothing to bite me later?" Jarrion asked, flicking the text up and down for no real reason other than he could.
"Nothing that I could see, no, Lord Captain," Torian said.
The old man had actually been hoping to uncover some craftily hidden trap or loophole that would have exposed the perfidious and disgusting aliens for the, well, perfidious and disgusting aliens that they were, with the result that the Lord Captain would leave in disgust and they could get back on the Assertive and get as far away from this Emperor-forsaken, alien-infested hellhole as it was possible to get.
But no such luck.
"Well that's a plus," Jarrion said happily enough, looking over to the Asari and holding up the pad. "Do I sign on this? Or is there an actual piece of parchment I haven't seen yet?"
Turned out that 'signing' in this instance involved some biometrics being taken. Which wasn't awful. Thumbprint, etcetera. Jarrion found it rather novel. Barely took any time at all and then what needed to be done was, apparently, done. Did leave at least one question though:
"Now, I don't own an 'omnitool' I'm afraid, so how will I be able to access the funds in this account?"
Jarrion had done his research on this particular part of the process. These so-called omnitools were ubiquitous and apparently - perhaps appropriately - able to do just about anything, including greasing the wheels of commerce by allowing anyone who had one to just...wave their hand and make money go from one place to another place. Just like that.
As a man of commerce this kind of incredible ease had definite appeal. Immediate access to funds? Anywhere? Delightful! Briefly Jarrion had considered maybe trying to acquire one just to make things simpler but he had, at length, decided against it.
Getting a foot in the door of this galaxy's markets was one thing. Money was money was money, after all, no matter what it was called or where it came from. But starting to use local technology was quite another. That was a slippery slope.
Some of it might have appeared useful, such as those kinetic barriers. Jarrion could certainly see the value in those. But the more-than-friendly level of interspecies relationship in this galaxy put the providence of all technology in serious question.
Who could say what alien influence had gone into the design of these omnitools? What sort of spiritual pollution might he be opening himself up to? What damage might it inflict on the machine spirits he came into contact with? And besides, once he'd taken that tiny step where would it end? Nowhere good, certainly.
Not that the Asari really cared. Lacking an omnitool was unusual, but not the worst thing she'd ever encountered. And certainly it wasn't insurmountable.
"Not a problem, sir. The account comes with a credit chit that you will be able to use - with additional functionality and access options available should you require them at a later date."
A chit was produced and pushed across the desk. A wave of her own omnitool keyed it to the account being prepared. Both Jarrion and Torian eyed the thing with suspicion. Gingerly, Jarrion picked it up, holding it between forefinger and thumb.
"Marvellous. Uh, how does it work?" He asked. She explained.
Simplicity itself, basically. It just had the various financial functions that might normally have been found in an omnitool but in a dinky little easily-losable device instead. Would only work if the designated account holder - Jarrion, obviously - was holding it, could facilitate transfer of funds both ways, etcetera, etcetera...
Seemed innocuous enough to Jarrion. That was probably a dangerous sign. He'd have Pak look at it before actually using it. Just in case.
"Is there anything else I can help you with, sir?" The Asari asked, regarding the human squinting at the chit as though it might bite him. Jarrion - lost in thought - blinked and shook his head, snapping back to the then-and-there.
"As a matter of fact yes there is: you wouldn't have an IFA or something of that nature I could speak to, would you?"
Took her a little off-guard, but only for a second.
"Of course, sir, and as an account holder you'd be entitled to an appointment - if you'd like me to set one up…?"
"Most certainly. As soon as possible, if you'd be so kind," Jarrion said.
"Was there anything in particular you wished to discuss?" She asked. Then: "If I can inform them ahead of time they can better prepare for your appointment."
Jarrion thought that made sense.
"Ah, I see. Well, I am interested in investments, for the long term. Steady returns, safe bets - armaments, heavy equipment, fuel, that sort of thing. Oh, and raw materials. Short term, I am rather keen to know of any sources you might be aware of for low-cost, readily available manpower. Are there are prisons nearby that are suffering from overcrowding? That you know of? Human, if at all possible, but I can be...flexible..." Jarrion said, swallowing hard on the last part but keeping his smile in place.
After all, in a mine or a refinery on the backside of some planet somewhere no-one looked it hardly mattered, did it? As long as they were out of sight and kept to themselves. As ever, would be foolish to waste a resource.
The Asari considered this a moment. In all fairness she had heard of worse requests. That was Illium for you.
"...I'll pass that along, sir," she said.
"Marvellous. Do contact me when you've arranged it. Torian? Contact details if you'd be so kind."
Interaction with the various colonies had done much to help refine how Imperial communication technology could better interact with that which was in standard usage around the galaxy. Still no video, but everything else was much easier now, so that was nice. Certainly, arranging it so that the Asari would be able to call Jarrion about an appointment was trivial.
And that was that and Jarrion was now the proud owner of a very healthy number of credits, all of which he could access with the simplicity of waving a teeny tiny little chit around. He considered this a success. Certainly better than lugging crates around.
Once outside the bank Jarrion finally let his composure relax, whereupon he staggered over to a nearby railing and promptly vomited over the edge, the discomfort of such extended interaction with xenos finally catching up with him. Honestly, it took him by surprise, but plainly it had been bothering him more than he'd been willing to admit even to himself.
Wiping his mouth with a handkerchief he then tucked back into his jacket he peered over the edge but found he couldn't even see the ground from where he was, just the twinkling lights of the city and the frankly unnecessary amount of flying vehicles these aliens felt the need to have. Inveterate show-offs.
"Oh, I've probably ruined someone's day down there…" He said, grimacing at the taste left in his mouth and patting himself down in the hopes that he'd remembered to bring a flask of something stiff and life-affirming. To his delight he had and he took a slug and swished it about his mouth a little before deciding - with a shrug - to spit that over the edge as well.
In for a penny.
"Charming," Loghain said, sauntering over and leaning on the railing just along from Jarrion.
"It's the, well, it's all of them, really. It is deeply disarming how human those ones look. I can't say I'm a fan of it. Deeply disconcerting. At the time I was able to concentrate on the professional side but…"
He looked over the edge again and shook his head.
"I'm only human," he concluded.
"You are indeed. Though, I do find it somewhat interesting that you chose to come to what is an alien-controlled world to conduct these incredibly interesting and not-at-all-tedious business transactions. This is an - what was it again? - 'Asari' world, I believe? Is that the right name? Those blue ones. With the breasts. And the head flaps. Frills. Like that one you were talking to?"
Jarrion gave her a look that was utterly wasted on her not. Not because she was blind, but just because she plainly didn't care. When this became obvious Jarrion gave up in disgust and took to looking out across the city again. This did not improve his mood. Bloody aliens and their shiny city.
"Take it you read the information that the Commander provided, then Inquisitor? Learnt a little bit more about where we happen to find ourselves?" He asked.
"I did," she said.
"Well so did I," Jarrion said, rapping a knuckle against the railing - thought being careful not to hit his rings, for they were very, very valuable and also occasionally volatile - and straightened up to spread his arms and indicate the scene before him. "This planet represents one of the most valuable links between the Terminus systems - where my interests lie - and Citadel space - where the money is. I admit that my primary concern remains awaiting the results of how we got here and whether or not we can get back but that does not diminish the fact that I have committed myself. I have interests that require these connections. Can hardly find a reputable bank on some backwater, can I? That the planet is controlled by aliens is unfortunate, but nothing I can change. Human space is some considerable distance from here."
He'd slipped into doing the speeches again. Loghain noticed this and grinned. It was, she had discovered, fairly easy to get a rise out of Jarrion. Or maybe it was just easy for her. The jury was out on that one for now.
"Not worth the trip, then? I'd rather like to see Terra," she asked.
As far as Jarrion was concerned this joke was in rather poor taste. The existence of an entirely separate Terra in a universe that seemingly did not have the Emperor in it just struck him as...wrong somehow. Not something you should call attention to, he felt.
"I'm not entirely sure what it is you're hoping to achieve by all this, Inquisitor. Indeed, I feel as though we've had this conversation before. I'm not doing anything that I am not empowered to do by the Warrant. We are outside Imperial jurisdiction and I am using my judgement and my authority to move as I see fit. That is the whole point of Rogue Traders. Are you trying to catch me out?" He asked. Loghain turned away and looked out over the railing, for a given value of 'looked'.
Jarrion did wonder sometimes what it was she was seeing...
"Just observing," she said. Jarrion glared a little, thought up another speech or two but then just sighed. What was the point? Instead, he settled in beside her and glared at the alien instead. Bloody aliens.
"Well observe more quietly. I know exactly what I'm doing and I know exactly what it is I am allowed to do," he said.
"Of course. I am not implying otherwise," Loghain said and Jarrion laughed very shortly and without a whole lot of humour.
"I'll believe you. Thousands wouldn't. Don't think I haven't forgotten that you even being on the Assertive in the first place is cause for concern. Inquisitors don't just appear for no reason and they don't ever appear for a good reason, either."
"Maybe I was just hitching a lift," Loghain said.
"Somehow I don't think so. Just like how I don't think asking you nicely is going to get me a straight answer."
"You haven't tried asking me nicely. Maybe sprinkle a 'pretty please' in there somehow. You never know," Loghain said.
There was a pause. During this pause Jarrion genuinely considered this. Then he realised what he was doing, gritted his teeth and shook his head.
"...no. No, it's just not worth it. I have standards. The line has to be drawn somewhere," he said.
"Your loss," said Loghain, glancing at him and double-taking. She raised a hand and pointed to his collar. "You missed a bit."
This confused Jarrion until he caught a whiff of bile and remembered that had thrown up not even five minutes previously. Looking down he saw that, on his collar, he had indeed missed a bit. He sighed and pulled the handkerchief out again, grumbling:
"Hope I can find a human who'll sell me spaceships on this damn planet..."
Enlightenment is a myth we do not need to understand in order to hate.