#quarian

There still was time, she slammed herself back in the seat to replay a recording. “You want to land few clicks away, the area is...sensitive,” deep voice of a krogan dictated, “...might have some armed guards...you see a big krogan, don’t bother – come back next day.”

Speaking to a client face to face wasn’t common occurrence, even for a messy scrap runner, but this was different. Two days ago, she was contacted by some oddball calling himself Mr Kargo. He was angry. Called her a suit-pyjackin passing, got wary it coasted too close to a common slur and dismissed it as nothing personal. She sensed some misdirected grudge lurking beneath. He needed someone to go out into badlands, slip in a safehouse and recover his stolen lock-box. Quietly.

Kada agreed, even better, she told Mr Kargo she will do it quick. Work was scarce. Last few months were spent hunting trough junk-yards, looking for precious metals, filling menial orders for the Big City crooks. Sniping rabid vermin to keep her aim sharp was the only diversion from dull routine, but nobody paid credits for that. Now, standing at jagged hill beyond which her target laid, she questioned her ability to deal with the matter swiftly.

Kada left the shuttle and started to ascend and, past short but exhausting climb, the valley opened up. It resembled meteor crater, littered with husks of vehicles. She pulled out her rifle to scope the area – heat of the day had matured enough to distort finer details. She looked for a structure in this vast graveyard and there, poking out of rubble, a small prefab was betrayed by the sun reflecting on its window. The viewfinder showed no other movement, a pretty good sign. She could slip past glaring eye of camera under her stealth cloak, but it burned out too fast to hide among living bodies. Getting her hands on something better was long on the shopping list.

Kada descended into the valley where warm sand grabbed at her feet, making her steps sluggish. On the upside, it didn’t leave much trail. It’s was so soft, almost like something ground it into a fine powder. She rushed to lit her omni-tool and scanned the area for mines. Nothing... There was something, though – a faint movement echoing below, purring in wait. Kada was glad the shuttle landed beyond the hill. She weaved trough the field – slow enough to not disturb the beast beneath, but with enough haste to use time window given.

Finally reaching the building, she found it temporary deserted. Most guard duty seemed to be left for automated systems and thresher outside – bring an army and the worm will take the whole place down. She could sense it sending tremors in vicinity.

Kada burned trough mechanical locks to find safehouse still holding signs of daily visitors – slab of dry meat in the cooler, some half eaten nutri-licious paste, tacky old Fornax flipped over on monitoring station. Hardly a desirable location, the rooms were cramped and air thick. No more than two people could’ve attended this outpost, one of them in a habit to leave cigarette buds in window sills.

Upon reaching the safe, Kada started to wonder why Mr Kargo had hired her – the lock stood out from everything else in this place – its structure, not so different from aunt Erva’s coffer, was native to the Flotilla. A wave of doubts and mild terror washed over her. She dismissed it. There was a job to finish, a job that will give her precious credits, and nobody will be punishing her to crawl trough the ducts and scrub oil leaks. Besides, if something was important to The Flotilla it would be on The Flotilla.

The contraption was imposing on the surface, but this was not Kada’s first dance. She was well familiar with breaking into prisons of dear mementos to rescue her belongings. It unravelled like poorly weaved cloth. Whoever installed it did it in a hurry. Light wave of purrs passed trough the ground again...or maybe they thought nobody would bother coming this far.

Kada pulled out a suitcase, it was unwieldy but light, shut tight and guarded by another mechanism – from the look of it – rigged. Her only remaining concern was to get out and deliver it. She briefly looked around for some extra salvage, nothing against it in job description, but the safehouse held little of value. She snatched nutrient paste from the cooler and braced to cross the field again.

***

Dull desert sprawled for miles around carcass of abandoned factory, withering in the sun. In the distance one could still hear hollow wails of steel being torn apart. Korlus always groaned with industrial rumble, echoing beyond hubs of life and seeping in most remote corners of its wretched wilderness.

Metallic shimmer and beetle-wing blue broke stale scenery. Two krogan paced around a small shuttle, gathering dust. One of them large and rugged, hunched upon himself in his deep blue armour, scanning horizon. The other was clad in a silvery shell, much leaner and smooth looking. He shuffled around restlessly and kicked small rocks as to earn larger krogan’s attention.

“It’s been five hours,” smaller krogan grunted, slumping down in sand to pout.

“Learn to wait,” big one spat out, “it’s part of business.”

Low hum crossed the air above them and rustled the sand. Some hundred meters away, in the shade of abandoned ruin, a bruised shuttle landed with a gentle thud. Younger krogan looked both relieved and terrified.

“Well look at that, my boy. We might just leave this dump today."

The door draw opened and a figure emerged, its steps shimmered like water, distorted trough heated air. Old Krogan kept squinting but stayed put, he was not about to leave his vehicle.

“Who is this?” young krogan mumbled. He has seen only a handful of aliens in his life and couldn’t decipher figure approaching.

“Quit you jittering, Wrel!” old krogan tried to hush him."’Did mother drop your head on the stone?"

“My mother would never...” he mumbled and fell silent.

The stranger approached, carrying large suitcase which dangled under faded green cloak. From under the hood – opaque black glass stared out at them. Wrel promptly put his silver helmet on, he wasn’t comfortable sharing where his gaze wandered, not while the stranger hid under a mask. Old krogan paid no attention to him, almost as to avoid embarrassment. But maybe he didn’t care, he was too fixated on the one thing the quarian was holding.

“Great timing!”

“I landed too far,” she replied.

“Well, looks like you managed!” krogan barely contained his amusement. He grabbed a small box from his shuttle and gave it to the quarian, “Here, you’ll get other half after I inspect my property.”

“Of course,” she nodded and passed the large suitcase towards Mr Kargo. As she moved, a dormant sniper rifle poked out trough the cloak,"would hate to go home with pockets half empty."

Wrel nervously looked at hazy shadows cast under looming husk where quarian had landed and cursed the heat for conjuring ghosts in corner of his eye.

“So...” Mr Kargo kept scanning and inspecting locks on the suitcase, “did you blow the place up?”

“If you wanted them to know a krogan did it, why not go yourself?” she replied nonchalantly.

“Yes, yes,” he smirked, “looks like everything’s in right place. An honest thief for a change. Here’s the rest."

“A theft?” she chuckled and caught another small box the krogan was tossing, “I thought this was a reunion?”

“Soon,” Kargo said to himself, “I’ll show that piece of lard a bloody reunion.”

Grudge and happiness mingled on his big face, his eyes carried a look of someone ready to reclaim the world.

“Hey, kid,” he turned to her, “if you want an easy job, I have a small delivery to make. I’m just...a tad busy right now.”

“Easy job? Compared to this?”

“You’d have to hit the relay, pay a visit to Oumeega.”

“What am I delivering?"

“A love letter. It’s nothing of interest to you,” he saw the quarian hesitating to reply, “I’ll pay in advance.”

Both krogan gathered around their shuttle, older one still gently clutching at his large suitcase, and they left to undisclosed location where their ship was cooling engines.

***

Quarian merged back into the shade. She opened small boxes one by one – stacked fat credit chits rattled within – disposable and untraceable. The odd krogan was good on his word so far. A few more solid runs like this and maybe she could afford a small ship. Renting half wrecked garbage cans and catching shady rides had lost their charm months ago. Temptation was there, the runs – not so much. She still had to hold her credits tight, just in case of a draught.

Kada climbed far side of the building and hopped on the roof. Sparse tiles were rickety and creaking in slight wind, ill suited for anyone larger her size. Between rusty beams she dismantled a hasty contraption and pulled out a small turret. It wasn’t impressive but had just enough juice to buy precious seconds, in case of a bad deal.

The day was growing older, she felt a hunger starting to twist in her belly.

The shuttle flew North from the ruin, back to the dark cloud staining horizon where air turned moist and sticky. Sand collapsed into mud and shawls of smoke obscured the sky. Large spaceship wreck laid spread across greenish lake and, like gutted animal harbouring maggots, it was teeming with life. Around it – many shacks and old prefabs cuddled together, webbed with dirty streets and makeshift bridges, polluted by traffic and runaway chemical waste. Sparse neon lights and signs were permanently shrouded in a sickly haze. From above this place looked like mould spreading, crawling directly on the southern outskirts of Choquo.

Within its belly old carrier housed a small market, a few watering holes and food stalls. There was a hostel and private rooms on upper decks, small but efficient hospital ran at the original med-bay. Anything for traveller and local alike, with the caveat that locals did not like travellers much.

Commonly known as Lake-Town, the shipwreck’s true name was long washed away. This was Kada’s home base for a many months. Both luck and opportunity had washed her ashore this rough jewel where she had to learn to never dive too deep or soar too high, and walk just right to fit in.

With a gentle beep, door to a local bar opened and hissed shut behind Kada’s back. Despite rush outside, it was a slow day at The Gauge. Lacking any windows, it kept its customers in comforting, cool darkness throughout the day. The back bar was a beacon of warm light – from there the rest of the room looked like the void itself. Several dim stars broke the darkness as tired workers smoked and dozed off, every now and then, a sluggish glow of tech would lit up their tired faces. The only music here was soft rattle of fans and that’s how they liked it.

Chark cleaned drinking vessels behind the tab. The universe was not kind to him. Dark webbing of scars spread on his carapace like grill marks – remnants of old fires he never indulged to speak about. His pale eyes could barely see any dirt, disinfectant was sprayed generously. Kada joined him in the circle of light and sat down.

“Good evening!” old turian greeted her.

“It’s still afternoon,” she tossed the tiny turret at him and waved for a drink, “I will need more supplies, if you still have them.”

“There’s plenty for now,” he nodded and briefly disappeared in the backroom. Chark returned with a bag of rations, “Will you want something fresh today at all?”

Remains of nutri-paste had blunted the edge of her hunger, but she felt generous and ordered a quick meal. It still was food from a can but at least they heated it up. A warm slurry that tasted of protein and, possibly, vegetables – everyone’s favourite. It mixed poorly with alcohol.

“Hey, Chark," Kada spoke, “I will be gone for a while, please keep my room locked.”

She passed him some credits to pay for food, drink and some rent in advance. Turian’s mandibles twitched as he took them.

“You don’t have to pay for the closet, I’ll just use it as storage while you’re gone.”

“Please, make sure there’s still room when I come back. After I buy my ship –”

“You’ve been buying your ship for two years,” turian cackled, but there was a glint of sadness in his good eye.

“You know,” he leaned in to whisper, “you could be getting dirty rich by using that rifle of yours. There’s always some bounty to collect.”

“I know,” Kada replied sharply as to sober up, “maybe...when I go completely broke.”

“Oh, it will be too late then. Broke people don’t have their heads working right. You’ll go for anyone that’s marked. And you’ll get dead before you know it.”

Chark was going off on a tangent until another patron demanded his attention. He grabbed a bottle from the shelf to deliver.

“Where are you going anyway?” he returned.

“Omega. I have a package to drop off. Maybe markets will have some treasure for me, maybe some work...”

He shook his head, grunted and kept dousing clean glasses in disinfectant. There was something fatherly about his disapproval. Also, he hated that rot ridden rock with a passion.

Transporter ships were leaving early next morning, giving Kada some time to rest and gather her things. She thanked for the drink and the meal, and left for her tiny apartment upstairs.

Door slid open to a crammed storage room with very little floor space. Most of it was filled by horizontally laid locker with a mattress propped on top of it, making it an acceptable bed and assorted sentimental clutter she had gathered while living here. Dim, yellow light illuminated one of the corners, making tiny room look almost cosy. Kada settled behind closed doors – a profound luxury she never ceased to cherish, and sat on the ground. She opened the locker and grabbed her backpack to fill it up the trip.

She strapped her rifle to the bag – it was a deterrent, if nothing else. Just like quarian Live-ship, a pace station didn’t sound like a great place to practice sniping.

“Sell it! Your father refused good credits for it...” aunt’s cold voice echoed in her mind. She could’ve sold it herself...It would’ve been easier on Erva if the brat slipped and disappeared within sprawling guts of Shellen, never to return and crowd cramped spaces, and split lean meals. Kada hoped the woman would stop haunting her after two years but some things were weaved to linger deep. The pilgrimage was truly a blessing to both of them.

She bagged Mr Kargo’s parcel, destined to a drop off point with a fancy long name. A hefty box of rations found its way in and few bundles of chits, loaded with fifty, hundred credits each, fit in the gaps. Kada reached deeper into locker until her fingers found edges of a panel. After adding enough pressure, it clicked and opened sideways. She stashed other half of her credits within and retrieved a flat, octagonal object. It was metallic, near black and covered with tiny grooves that shimmered gently in yellow light.

There was no clear sign of opening. Kada moved to her makeshift bed, leaned at the wall and pulled a fine, slightly frayed cable tethering from her glove. At the tip of it – a needle, almost invisible if not for tiny glint. She slid it into edge of the octagon and device awakened with a warm hum. She let out a sigh of relief.

Kada redirected the data feed to her omni-tool. A fractured screen ran walls of text, displaying infested sections and corrupted entries...she looked past them, seeking familiar symbols. After scrolling trough seemingly endless files, she opened one. A recording of Kada’s grandparents lit the screen – it was a day before her mother’s pilgrimage and they seemed carefree, even silly – waving at invisible eye of recorder. Then, her young mother appeared. A warm strain of sadness pierced within Kada’s eyes but she was smiling trough it. It was the vid she first saw while sitting on mother’s lap. “This will be us someday,” she had promised.

More memories lingered within, more faces she had never seen, voices never heard. All she knew that they were ghosts from times beyond – trapped in this metallic cage, being eaten away by passing of time as device degraded. It didn’t mesh well with programs on her omni-tool and she could only make it work for a short time. Find, restore, save scattered breadcrumbs, try again next day.