Out of the Twilight | Mass Effect

32

Andra strode down the hall, Nihlus and Saren flanking her.

"Well, that wasn't quite as insulting as they could have been," Saren mused.

"I saved their asses and they want me to gallivant around the Traverse looking for geth? There won't be any."

Nihlus's subvocals hummed soothingly. "They know that. Take it as a vacation."

She glared at him over her shoulder and he raised his hands defensively. "Just a suggestion."

"Not a bad one, whelp," Saren said, considering. "I'll talk to the Alliance. I could use a vacation."

She stopped, watching as Saren strolled past her toward the Alliance embassy.

"Is he- You know what? I don't care. I need to borrow a shuttle. Talked to my criminal, he wants a meet nearby." She scrubbed a hand over her face as she thought.

Nihlus grabbed her wrist, gently pulling her hand down. "Hey. Breathe. You don't have to handle this alone."

She quirked her lips, amused. "I must be tired. I'm starting to believe the press. What are you off to?"

"Minor scuffle the Council wants kept quiet. I'm pretty sure I can talk Saren into sponsoring Garrus before I head out." He ducked his head to press his forehead to hers, and she kissed him.

"Right. He'd hate it. He'd be good at it, but he'd hate it."

He laughed as she pulled away. "Take care with your criminal."

"Take care with your scuffle," she called, waving over her shoulder. She headed down the hallway, looking for Garrus.

She found him easily, leaning on one of several unregistered, and technically illegal, food carts that dotted the Presidium. He was chatting with the proprietor, a skinny elcor, and considering the meat-like product on a skewer. The sign proclaimed it to be varren, but Andra had never seen varren meat that color or texture before. She approached slowly, shamelessly eavesdropping on the sales pitch.

"With genuine enthusiasm: Varren she'asa kebabs, one hundred percent varren meat, made with genuine elcor recipe from own grandmother. Somewhat reluctant aside: cannot sell for less than 10 credits, and that's me severing my own fnar'rils."

"You don't happen to have anything dextro, do you?" Garrus asked, studying the display.

The elcor shook his head. "Regretfully: no. Confidingly: but if you walk four blocks toward the Wards, my cousin Xenrus sells one hundred percent kunzi skewers."

Garrus nodded. "I might go check it out. Thanks."

"Warmly: thank you, and please come again"

Garrus managed to hide his grin until his back was turned, then beamed as Andra approached.

"You know, there are easier ways to court death. Probably less painful, too," she said, falling in beside him as they strolled toward the CSEC offices.

He laughed. "True. But it is fun, and they notice more than people think they do."

She considered that. "Fair enough. Why were you talking to him, though?"

"The stall that's usually there hasn't been, and I wanted to know why."

"Trouble?"

He shook his head. "No. She managed to get a corner closer to the turian embassy." He sighed, wistful. "She sold the best fried cloach root."

She elbowed him, amused. "You could always head over there, you know. It's not that far." He laughed and she went on, "So. You going back to CSEC, or you going to pester Saren about becoming a Spectre?"

"Hadn't decided yet. I know Dad-"

Andra snorted. "Screw your dad. What do you want?"

He stiffened. "I... I don't know."

They walked in silence for a while, then Andra sighed. "Saren's taking the Normandy and the crap assignment the Council gave me. Go with him. It's a pointless mission, just looking for geth activity in the Traverse, but it'll give you time to think."

His subvocals thrummed in thought. "What will you two be up to?"

She waved a hand. "Nihlus is running interference on a Council issue, I don't know the details. And I plan on dealing with the criminal underground, start dealing with the upcoming Reaper issue."

"I'll consider it. When are you heading out?"

"Now. I'm taking Saren's shuttle, going to talk to a few people on Beckenstein, maybe a few other places, depending." She rose up on her toes, kissing him lightly. "Take care, yeah? I'll be in touch."

He hummed, pressing his forehead to hers. "I'll talk to Saren. And make sure your ship stays in decent condition while you're gone."

She grinned as she pulled away. "Should be a new mako, too."

He scowled after her. "You had a new mako. It was pristine and perfect. But then someone had the brilliant idea to send it through a mass relay!"

"It was a good idea, wasn't it?" she asked, laughing. She waved and made her way to the docks, sending a message to Ralon on the way.

Leaving the Citadel in twenty. You have contacts for me?

She was just clearing the arms of the Citadel when she got a response.

A few. Mercenary, former, on Rough Tide, and pair of master thieves, current, on Bekenstein. Have some details. And, depending on how long you take, I might be in the area when you leave. I'll be in touch.

She studied the dossiers he'd made up, memorizing the faces of each. All human, which she found interesting, but rather accomplished in their respective fields. She decided to track down the merc first. He didn't look like the type to stay still for too long. She programmed the mass relay coordinates and headed out to Rough Tide.

She landed the shuttle outside a mining camp and donned her armor before beginning the hike to the indicated meeting place. She had traded out her usual onyx armor for a duelist set, and wore her pistol openly, but decided to leave the rest of her loadout behind. Too many weapons, you look nervous and like an easy mark. Too few, and you look like an idiot, and an easy mark. How many times had her instructors beat that into her head?

She sauntered through the camp, keeping an eye on the assorted hanar, drell, vorcha, and krogan moving through the rough streets. There were enough humans that she didn't attract too much attention, and she made her way to the bar without incident. She stopped just inside the opening, removing her helm and scanning the room.

She saw her merc in the far corner, back against the corner as he studied the room, occasionally drinking from his beer.

She made her way to the bar, grabbing a drink of her own as she sat across from him. She ignored the twinge she felt with her back to the room as she studied him.

He was older, with an impressive collection of scars and a prosthetic eye. He studied her as she studied him, drinking in silence.

"So. Damn turian called in a favor, said I should listen to you."

"I'll try not to waste your time, then, Zaeed." She took a drink. "There's a storm coming. Race of synthetics who want to kill us all. The Council won't do anything until after the shit's hit the fan. I'm looking for people who can see what's important and get the information to people who can work with it."

He grunted. "So, you pay me to pass along any interesting tidbits? That's it?"

She drained her drink. "Maybe see if anyone is willing to fight, help out with that when everything does go to hell, but, yeah. Either to me, the Spectres Saren Arterius or Nihlus Kryik, or the turian Heirarch Desolas Arterius."

He drained his drink and rose. "I'll think about it."

"All I can ask," she said, watching him leave.

She lingered in the bar for a bit, then rose to return to her shuttle. There was a brief bit of excitement when a group of young toughs followed her out, but it was hardly a fight. Wonder if anyone's going to find them before their suits malfunction? she thought, prepping the shuttle for departure.