Chapter Two: Ebed

"Fate leads him who follows it and drags him who resists."

Martin was stuck at the station house for hours going through the miles of incident reports that Bira had to write up. This was his new punishment for making her life hell. She knew the work he's done and even hired him to help out on a few occasions; he had an issue with property damage and playing loose with other laws. He was a pain in her ass, at the least, and this was one of her ways to annoy him back. The less time he spent outside the police station, the less paperwork she had to do.

"Bira, how much longer are you planning to keep me here? I have places to be. I've already filled out everything you've asked for in triplicate." Martin complained, sitting in the chair in front of her desk.

She looked up from her computer and looked at him, annoyed, before returning to her screen. "I still need to find transport to Omega, so unless you know a way to get me off planet..." Bira paused and almost smiled. "A chance to get you out of my fringe?" She almost jumped out of her chair. "I know a few ships that have docked recently that you could probably hitch a ride on if it means getting you out of my district." Martin smiled and leaned back in the chair, propping his leg onto the other. "Get me out of here, and I'll be on my way."

Bira was the most joyful Martin had seen her since arriving on the planet. She even escorted him to the docks personally, probably to make sure he wouldn't get into any more trouble. She walked him to the docks' entrance gate, escorted him through the customs checkpoint, and stopped a little way into the dock. The docks were loud and busy, dozens of ships rested on the docking pads. Most were offloading cargo with heavy equipment, and people ran back and forth between the ships and the nearby warehouse.

"Listen, there's a ship here called theSorbek.Its manifest says it is heading for Omega next. If you are good enough, you can make yourself useful and hitch a ride." Bira sped through in excitement.

"So what? You're trying to sell me off as a deckhand?" Martin protested. "No, you wanted off this planet; I gave you an option. Take it, or I'll find something to arrest you on." Martin looked at Bira as her excited demeanor changed.

"Fine."

"Good, look for a brown ship at the end of the dock." Bira pushed him forward, making him catch his step. He turned around and watched as she walked back to the terminal.

"Great, how many more worlds am I going to get pushed off of?" He thought to himself.

Near the end of the dock, he saw a shabby-looking, all-grey and brown ship. There were no markings on the side, no symbols or flags, hell, not even a name written on the side. But a Batarian was standing outside the ship. Strangely, it wasn't unloading or loading anything. He hadn't noticed anything coming from this side of the dock all morning, and only a few people exited.

Martin approached the tall Batarian cautiously; he was armed, but then again, so was he. "What do you want, Human?" The Batarian said in his low, almost stereo voice.

"I need a ride to Omega. I heard a rumor that you are taking passengers." The Batarian hmph'ed at his statement, sizing him up for a moment.

"If you're looking for a cruise ship, you're looking in the wrong place. It's going to cost you five thousand credits, and you'll have a bunk. If your shit gets stolen, not our problem."

Martin paused for a moment and looked at the ship's loading bay ramp. Its brown paint was worn and chipped away, reminding him of an old work truck he had back home. But beggars can't be choosers. It was this, or wait until something else popped up, and Martin was in a hurry.

"Alright." He sighed. The idea of being on a batarian ship didn't excite him, but what other choice did he have now? Martin paid the Batarian and walked into the ship.

It had been a few hours since Martin was given the "tour" of this decrepit ship. Which was straight to his bunk. It was dark, cramped, and noisy, even on the ground. Most of the crew he saw were Batarians and a few rough-looking humans who looked in between sand-blasting.

He had seen what that stuff does to humans on Illium; it would turn heavy users' eyes red and give them some short-term but weak biotic abilities, along with the usual stupor that the drugs from his time would do to a person.

The users were well hidden in the lower parts of Illium, and most ended up as "indentured servants" to either pay off their debts or keep the supply coming. There weren't any laws against red sand in the Terminus systems or on Illium; after all, it was a free trade port, but as long as you didn't cause problems, you were good to blast away, as long as you had your credits.

The bunk given to him was a small seven-by-four bunk on the bottom of a long row of the crew quarters on deck two. It had an old, worn-out curtain for some level of privacy, some shady sheets, and no pillow. He figured his duffle bag should work well enough as a stand-in. There was also a little old and dim light just above him, he guessed for reading or whatever. The loud hum of the drive core spinning up as the ship lifted itself from the pad made him uneasy as the ship's dampeners seemed to lag slightly. This was a very different experience than the more maintained ships he was used to.

After a few hours of failing to sleep, Martin stared blankly at the bunk above him. Thoughts wandered about his mind. This uneasiness began to force itself into his limbs, making them tingle. After what felt like hours, he slid out of his bunk and stretched his legs around the ship. He walked down the dimly lit corridor, the lights dimming every few seconds. He heard some talking and laughing and headed towards it, eventually finding something resembling a small rec room.

A few Batarians were off on the left playing some card game at a table, and another was lifting weights on the other side of the room. At the far back of the room, there was a large window, which Martin was walking towards. As he passed, the Batarians stopped and locked eyes on Martin.

Martin heard some murmuring from the table as he approached the window and leaned on the railing. He heard a chair slide out from under the table and footsteps walking behind him. Martin took a deep breath, knowing that this was probably about to kick off something they wouldn't like.

"I'm impressed, a human not spaced out of his mind." The other Batarians chuckled and looked on as Martin paused and closed his eyes in frustration.

He turned around slowly and leaned against the railing, folding his arms in front of him. "Wow, a Batarian who's running his mouth, who would have guessed?"

The Batarians, standing before him in old and worn-out armor, peaked a smirk, then looked down at Martin's side arms and leaned his head forward.

"Fancy guns; I don't think I've seen that model before, must have been expensive."

Martin lightly grinned and let out a slight airy titter. "Judging by the state of this ship, more than you'll ever make."

The other three Batarians around the table stood up, screeching their chairs as they stood, insulted by Martin's comment, their fists clenched. The one standing before him signaled to the others to back off calmly. "You look familiar, human. I've seen you somewhere." Martin shrugged but said nothing as the Batarian continued, "I can't quite place it."

"Are you sure? I mean, I think all humans look the same, right?" Martin quipped. The two men continued to stare at each other as Martin's pulse began to rise slightly in anticipation of violence. Still, he had a vague feeling of knowing this Batarian with a scar above his upper left eye. "Yeah, I think I do know you." Martin's memory began to roll back; while he had seen plenty of Batarians, he hadn't actually known any... except for one encounter.

The Batarians took a few steps back as if he had come to his conclusion while tilting his head slightly to the right. "You're one lucky kawuk'sa; you're lucky you paid the fair." He then returned to the table as the others slowly returned to their seats. Martin calmly left the room and closed the door behind him; his blood was boiling; he remembered who that Batarian was, and for a moment, the thought of ripping out that bastard's eyes one by one flashed through his head. He deserved nothing less but knew he couldn't do that now. Maybe later.

His mind raced as he retraced his steps back to the bunk. The encounter dredged up memories from when he first awoke. He remembered the batarian, the one who inspected him after Martin was pulled from his pod. Martin's body shivered from the memory of being drug outside that cold place, dripping wet, and walking through the snow. The crying voices of those being loaded into containers like cattle. A similar feeling of weakness, just like back home. But what was that Batarian doing here? He thought. There's no way in hell this ship is a slave ship; there are no slaves on Illium.

Back in his bunk, Martin laid there, staring up at the dim light above him, his thoughts swirling. He had hoped this ride would be straightforward, a means to an end, but now, it seemed fate had other plans.

His consciousness didn't let him rest easily, replaying his time on that cold world. The memory of pleads for help and the thought of the cold gave him chills. He dared not think what fate he was originally destined for. After a few hours, his mind shut off, and his body grew tense.

After a few hours, Martin arose from his bunk and quietly unpacked his weapons from his bag. The privacy curtain still blocked his view from outside. He stopped for a moment as several footsteps approached his bunk.

"Human, out, NOW!" The unknown Batarian demanded. Martin quickly repacked his bag and shuffled it over as he slowly moved out from under the curtain and stood up. Seven armed Batarians stood in front of him within the cramped space. "What? You didn't think I would forget who you were," The Batarian said, smirking.

"I think you got the wrong guy," Martin snarked back while his hand hovered over his sidearm. The Batarian seemed slightly amused and let out a small laugh. There's a sizable bounty on your head, one I intended to cash in on." Martin began weighing his options. The room was cramped, and if they were smart, they should have called him out to the hallway.

"You think you'll live long enough to claim it?" Martin scolded. "Cocky Humans end up dead."

In a blink of an eye, Martin grabbed and twisted his pistol and fired a round into the gut of the Batarian, hitting the two behind him; the last Batarian raised his Kishock rifle and fired a round that missed Martin's head by an inch, the rod fired from his gun impaled the wall behind him. Martin fired his weapon again as he lifted it and grabbed his second sidearm from his left hip. The rest of the Batarians fell to the ground in a mere few seconds.

The leader of the group, the one that remembered Martin, was still alive, bleeding heavily from his gut, wrenching in extreme pain. "That's two strikes there, friend." Martin joked as he holstered one of his sidearms. "You should have been an accountant."

"Fuck you, human." The Batarian pained. Martin stepped closer, lifted his foot, and pressed it on his wound, causing the Batarian's fours eyes to widen. He reached out and grabbed Martin's leg with both of his bloody hands.

"Now tell me what this ship is carrying!" Martin demanded, taking some pleasure in his pain. "You know..." The Batarian stiffened and wormed as Martin applied more pressure. "Slaves!" he yelled through the pain. "Where are they?!"

"Cargo!" Martin let his foot off the Batarian and, without hesitation, fired his weapon.