Omega. A little earlier.
After dragging the unlucky thief into an empty corridor, Aria T'Loak's fighters gave him a good kicking and calmly continued their patrol—even they didn't want to waste a shot on this scum. Judging by the wheezing, the thief's lungs were crushed; without help, there would be another corpse very soon. A common occurrence in these parts; orange dust and drugs don't contribute to a long life in blocks where the filters have long since clogged. Later, the body would be picked over by scavengers or taken by the cleaners when it started to smell, sending it for recycling. All the same.
"That's where you belong, in the trash," the mercenary spat, walking away. The others laughed.
Left alone, the Batarian coughed and jerked for a while longer, but at some point, he abruptly stopped feigning agony and smoothly rose to his feet. Quickly looking around, the four-eyed figure headed confidently toward an inconspicuous technical hatch, removed the grate, and managed to squeeze inside, not forgetting to put the iron piece back in place. Unnoticed by anyone, needed by no one.
Next was a relatively long journey through a narrow, winding tunnel, a couple of Vorcha strangled along the way, and finally, a camouflaged exit, pre-cut right through the wall, leading into a large cargo container sitting quietly against the wall of one of Omega's warehouses. The locals seemed to have long forgotten about it and the one sitting on top of it. That was the plan.
Inside, the container and the one above it turned out to be a perfectly shielded living space, containing everything necessary to create a closed environment for several people to live and work. And it was occupied.
"Phew, you're breaking all records today!" greeted a man in black light armor with a shotgun on his belt, sitting in the "vestibule" with an automatic Magnum in his hands. "A real sanitary-epidemiological station nightmare!"
"I'll kiss you right now!" the Batarian tried to reproduce the combat Avatar's signature smile, but due to the difference in physiology, it came out crooked. "If you want, of course..."
The scout moved away just in case, simultaneously cranking the air filtration system to "biohazard" mode. The Possessed, disguised as a Batarian, saw this clearly and smirked.
"Oh, hell no!" the scout shuddered to the muffled giggling of his comrade sitting at the monitors. "You... go to the shower!"
Snorting, the four-eyed figure disappeared behind a screen, sent the uniform taken from some poor soul into the recycler, and climbed into a large, angular capsule occupying a third of the space—a robotic repair and recovery complex for servicing avatars. The body had turned out disturbingly natural.
The scout sighed to himself. The AI originally had a female base and a quite shapely avatar. In the maintenance complex, with a little imagination, one could see a quite pleasant silhouette, pleasing to the male eye. Not at all like the Batarian hobo from the depths of Omega currently present.
Having ensured everything was in order and no unregistered devices were detected, the guard and the operator returned to their duties. To observing the local "Tortuga" known as Omega Station. A center for illegal trade is a very convenient place for gathering information, too much so for the ONI to pass up.
"Damn, the 'Queen's' jammer is actually good," the operator clicked his tongue, peering at the instrument readings. "Can't hear a thing. Even though you can listen in the bar itself, it doesn't reach higher."
Besides the AI platform itself, which she called either the "Avatar" or "The Possessed," two humans lived here. Specifically, the scout and the operator. Not many, but otherwise fitting all the gear for a long-term stay in such a limited space would have been difficult.
And the main thing: don't think about the plasma container, which, if damaged, would heat the warehouse and all nearby rooms to the melting point, and then the evaporation point of steel, in a couple of seconds. In fact, this very container served as the power source. How the brainiacs managed to keep plasma in a stable state for weeks was an interesting question, but not a relevant one. As a result, the generator took up less space than it theoretically should, giving more room for equipment. Essentially, one container was the work zone, and the one on top was the living and storage area.
The crane in the warehouse where both containers stood had been broken for a long time, and then further sabotaged to look like the scrap metal had been crudely stripped from it; it wouldn't work without a full replacement. So there was no need to fear their hiding place being suddenly moved.
They could calmly think about the pressing issues: a Shadow Broker agent, or rather, two.
"Everywhere you turn, that Broker's nose is there," the operator grumbled. "Khaela, any luck penetrating her base?"
With a robot, not in person, of course. Some of the listening systems couldn't be installed without remote-controlled robots; these felt perfectly comfortable in the ventilation.
"Negative. The target object is located in a vacuum; any penetration will be deemed hostile by default."
"Smart," the agent snorted.
"But this Asari is the one, right?" his partner asked.
"Confirmed," Khaela replied through the terminal.
"And the second one, I assume," the man continued to speculate, "is her younger sister?"
"That's not a certainty yet," the AI said skeptically.
"What do you mean?" the other ONI agent was surprised. "They're like twins, identical faces!"
"Ex-act-ly," "Councilor 18-436" sang over the low hum of the repair complex machinery. "One face. One set of facial expressions. Identical gestures. Adjusted for age, which is definitely different between them. Such coincidences are not characteristic even for close relatives."
The interlocutor brought a collage of various photos of the Asari pair in question back onto the screen and began to examine them. On a neighboring screen in the corner of the same warehouse, a Turian pusher was selling "semtex" to a pair of Asari Maidens. Only a dozen meters from their containers, but the soundproofing was too good; they couldn't be heard. Generally, the warehouse wasn't visited very often, but in all instances, no one had even thought of trying to break into their shelter. Of course, that didn't mean they shouldn't keep an eye on visitors.
"Are you saying," the scout muttered, "that they're clones?"
"Hardly," Khaela smirked. "They're too different for flash-clones, and too similar for regular ones."
"Fine, we'll figure that out too," the operator yawned, stretching. "I take it old Vulger is finally dead?"
"Alas and fortunately," the AI noted with a hint of sarcasm. "There will be a different persona. And among the scavengers, one can wander around as a robot."
"And who is it this time?" the "watchman" asked habitually, patting his weapon.
Meanwhile, the capsule's tools had already removed the avatar's top layer, corrected minor damage to the internal structure, and begun forming a new appearance.
Khaela once again admired the creators of the Geth synthetic muscles. With them, forming believable avatars was indecently easy. Rearranging the outer muscle layer took less than an hour, and even the smallest facial expressions could be copied. The body turned out very natural; individual muscles could be felt, and the muscularity or "fleshiness" of the platform could be adjusted. Emulation, of course.
Whether it should be considered lucky that the Geth were outlaws and hadn't thought to use their platforms this way...
It didn't matter; the main thing was that it worked. Naturally, she had already prepared a new persona.
"This will be..." the terminal said theatrically in Khaela's voice, simultaneously drawing the face of an unfamiliar Batarian on the screen, for some reason in the costume of an Earth pirate, circa the eighteenth century. "Captain Vorhess!"
The operator looked at the terminal with clear suspicion. The "guard" covered his mouth with his hands to stifle a laugh; the Turian and both Asari were still outside.
"And do you have a ship, 'Captain'?" the operator asked, hiding a smile behind a mug of coffee.
"Of course I do, you landlubber!" the AI played along, entering the role. "I have the fastest ship in the Terminus Systems! However, the vile first mate staged a mutiny, marooning me on a bare asteroid in the middle of space! Но я улетел оттуда на двух молотильщиках и теперь жажду мести, смекаешь?"
A short pause followed. The virtual Batarian swapped through several tricorn hats and acquired a Pyjak on his shoulder, playing the role of a parrot.
"Charming," the ONI agent smirked. "Only thing is, Thresher Maws don't fly."
"We're working on it," Khaela stated in all seriousness.
The "guard" sighed, shaking his head. The operator almost spilled coffee on himself from laughing. Of course, the adopted legend differed from this little performance, but it corresponded in general terms.
In just a few hours, a certain "Captain Vorhess" would approach the Shadow Broker with an offer that would serve as a good pretext to continue contact with an interesting agent...
***
A few weeks later. Liara T'Soni.
Li had been taken from Omega. It's difficult to extract an Asari from the hands of Salarian mercenaries when the mercenaries of Aria T'Loak and their sycophants are also playing against you. And not just fighters, but technical specialists, scouts, and even scavengers. The bounty on her head was set quite high. Unofficially, but in a way that everyone who needed to know, knew. Moreover, it was unclear who exactly set the bounty; at first glance, the trail didn't lead to Aria T'Loak. But then who—the Salarians? Did it offend them that much? Why?
Many questions, few answers, and action needed to be swift.
Yes, I had to contact Matriarch Benezia, explain the situation, and it actually helped. She tried to negotiate with Aria T'Loak, or rather, she demanded that the Queen of Omega find and return her daughter, whom she had lost. Threatening trouble from her faction, of course. After all, many send their children to Aria T'Loak, and a risk to their safety would cost Aria T'Loak dearly, very dearly.
Aria T'Loak herself, though she acted aggressively, admitted that internal Asari affairs should be settled among Asari. However, the mercenaries didn't want to give up the prisoner; moreover, they had moved her off Omega. And to the demand, they simply spread their hands, saying she wasn't there, they didn't know where she had vanished. Omega is large; a lone Asari could be anywhere.
And the best that could be achieved in the end was help with the local investigation. Not that it helped much. The Salarian mercenaries were completely elusive. No, from the Shadow Broker's perspective, there's plenty of interest, but I need to understand where they are taking the scavengers and where they took Li.
And there are difficulties with that. Potentially, the daughter of a Matriarch is a valuable commodity for exchange. But if the mercenaries suspect she knows too much, or want to lure me out, they won't exchange her. Which means I have to get her out with my own forces, without waiting for them to make contact. Matriarch Benezia will provide commandos—she'll demand something as compensation, but she'll provide them. But a ship and a captain...
The Shadow Throne is too conspicuous; it won't do. I need a captain and a ship that aren't valuable and won't point back to the Asari Republics, even though the boarders will be exclusively Asari.
And then I remembered one of the Shadow Broker's recent clients, a Captain Vorhess sitting on Omega, who bought the location of his ship from the Broker. The very ship his own crew had kicked him off of. And for the help in returning it, he remained in debt. Exactly what I need.
So she found herself in the territory of one of the gangs that disliked central authority, in a bar. This district was close enough to the wealthy areas for order to be maintained, but far enough that Aria T'Loak's mercenaries hadn't thrown the owners out into the cold, leaving power to the locals. For a fee, of course.
Well, as for the bar, it wasn't a bar; it was a dive. A couple of Krogan in the role of bouncers and another in the role of a bartender. Dressed in a leather jacket over bare hide, the Krogan bartender surveyed his domain and clearly had a firearm under the counter.
"Come in, I don't bite," he threw out, grinning, "I only bite off. Are you here on business or to relax?"
"Looking for someone," I replied, looking around, "so business."
"Fine then, just don't make noise. People are relaxing," the lizard bared his teeth and went back to wiping glasses and scanning the room. I did the same, looking for the captain.
Alcohol from local materials, like mold; smokes were local too, also from mold. Music with pretensions of being classical, but due to stereo system issues, sounding thoroughly false.
Waitresses, mostly Batarians and a Drell, performing the role of not just waitresses but entertainment for the drunken patrons. A social elevator, in a certain sense.
A legend circulates among the locals about such a waitress who made a gang leader fall in love with her, and he made her his queen. Likely a fairy tale, and even if not, it's a case of one in ten or a hundred thousand such girls. Everyone just wants to believe in the best. Who else is here?
Well, the picture of this establishment is completed by very colorful clients who, as soon as they saw the Asari Maiden, began to devour her with their eyes. Who were the clients? Ship crews, loaders, smugglers. Not rich enough to live in Aria T'Loak's "ring of power." But having money and wanting to have fun.
"I'm not here for that, boys," I said, creating a short flash of Biotics.
My actions were met with almost disappointed looks. Didn't look like a Maiden looking for fun, and mercenaries are dangerous and can kill in a district like this. So the patrons almost immediately returned to their business. So, where is the captain I'm interested in? Among such a diverse audience, it's difficult to find the right being. However, he found himself.
"You're cheating!" some Turian yelled from the side, from the tables where people were playing "Towers."
And with his shout, he immediately drew all attention to himself. At the table were found quite wealthy-looking (by local standards) beings. In light and medium armor of various colors, decorated with inscriptions or drawings, with automatic weapons, of various races. And among them, one Batarian stood out.
In a tricorn hat, a long red coat under which a breastplate of armor styled like a white shirt was visible, and in long leather gloves. And on his shoulder sat a chewing Pyjak. There was the captain. The Batarian mockingly announced to the whole establishment:
"Careful with your expressions, former Captain Soul; one can die suddenly from surprise that way," having said this, the Batarian ignored the angry Turian and took a pull from a liter mug, "I just took back what's mine. Смекаешь?"
Laughter erupted around; everyone loves a free show. Apparently, this Soul had lost his ship to Vorhess and was very unhappy about it.
"I don't know what you think of yourself..." the Turian said, carefully reaching for a weapon and taking advantage of the fact that the Batarian was obscured by the mug and couldn't see it.
I might have to intervene. The captain is needed after all, as is a ship without identification marks and one that hasn't been spotted anywhere except in smuggling. The crew can be covered, but the ship's identifiers will raise questions first. So, prepare to strike with Biotics, especially since other players have already noticed the weapon. Including the bartender.
A shot clanged and the beep of an overheating weapon sounded, and a hole the size of a fist appeared in the Turian's chest plate. He slumped onto the chair and slid off it, while the Batarian, without stopping drinking, dropped another hand onto the table... A pistol? A shotgun? Something in between, judging by the fact that the weapon went into overheat after the very first shot, having dealt such damage.
The bartender, a Krogan without armor but still imposing, looked at the shotgun lying next to him and spat.
"Cleaning fee is on you."
The Batarian finished his drink and nodded.
"No problem. I have a new ship, so a round for everyone and tell me how much I owe. Someone's here for me," and he pointed at me.
Interesting; despite the relaxation, the captain noticed both the threat to himself and me, and reacted. And he drinks from a liter mug with one hand.
Having settled with the bartender, the Batarian invited me to a table in the corner.
"I'm Vorhess, Captain Vorhess. And you're the Asari I was commissioned to transport. You and your numerous friends."
I nodded.
"I am Dr. N'Lari. And my assistant was kidnapped. I have a strike team, but no ship."
The Batarian gave a knowing smirk, taking a sip.
"And I have a ship, and a crew on it. But not enough fighters."
"And are you sure this one will be reliable?"
The crew, as I managed to find out, had tried to kill their captain for greed. In fact, he demanded twice as much from me for the delivery as the others. But there were no other loners who wouldn't be searched for in case of trouble and who had contacts with the Broker at hand. And with these, it will be possible to kill both the crew and the captain. If necessary.
The captain just laughed at my comment.
"They're smugglers. Unlike mercenaries, they're loyal only to themselves. We are too, so it's mutual. Come, I want to see my ship. Need to make sure they haven't broken anything during my absence."
When we went out, I realized that the Pyjak wasn't sitting on the pirate's shoulder. Looking back, I saw a small purple creature with long fingers, clutching various items to its body with a paw, run out of the dive and climb up the Batarian's trouser leg. He immediately began stuffing the goods into his pockets.
"Seriously?"
The captain shrugged, continuing to walk.
"They don't watch their things. Their own fault."
Well, now I definitely believe he was kicked out by his own for greed. During our walk, the animal disappeared from the captain's shoulder a couple of times, returning with cargo. No, seriously. Seriously!
"Aren't you afraid of trouble?"
The Batarian laughed.
"If he dies, it means he wasn't good enough to be with a captain like me."
I suspect this applies not only to the Pyjak, the small four-legged animal with large round eyes, but to the crew as well.
Actually, the introduction to the crew happened just like that. We boarded (there was no guard), after which the captain walked into the center of the mess hall and announced:
"Your captain lost the ship in 'Towers.' I'm the captain again. Happy?"
One of the crew members, a clearly bored brute, also a Batarian, stood up.
"What? Get out of here! Or do you want to go overboard a second time?"
Vorhess laughed, ignoring his opponent. Just like in the bar.
"The captain didn't want to give up the winnings, so his corpse is lying near the cantina. So be happy, I'm back!"
Cantina? What kind of expressions are these? I don't like this captain, but he'll be easy to dispose of if necessary.
One of the sailors, a Turian, tried to lung at the Batarian. He raised his hand lightning-fast, another shot and the beep of overheat. Interesting weapon, I'll have to study it. It pierced medium armor, and the Turian clearly had a Kinetic Barrier active just now, and it didn't save him. The captain showed everyone his weapon and asked boredly:
"Anyone else want to dispute your captain's decision? All those unhappy can leave while I'm in a good mood; the rest of you, get this tub ready for departure. I have a client, and she's paying us in good cash," the captain pointed at me, "this lovely Asari and a dozen of her mercenary friends are ready to give us money to get somewhere quickly and quietly. So, your choice?"
An interesting recruitment method. If they refuse now, they're left without money. Theoretically, they could refuse after the mission, but they'll already have shared experience, and refusing will be harder.
The brute Batarian with the pipe who had risen from the sofa came to the same conclusion.
"When do we leave, Captain?"
At this, Captain Vorhess turned to me.
"What I told you, Doctor. These guys will be where it's profitable. We have Credits, which means it's profitable with me."
He is positively unnerving, but he's still good expendable material, and the ship is exactly what's needed. A medium freighter, a hundred meters long. A dozen commandos, who arrived on a flight yesterday, he can deliver where I need. Just shouldn't talk too much around this pirate, and everything will be fine.
While the Asari were loading onto the ship, a total of three corpses were carried off it. It seems the captain was received a bit worse than he wanted to show. Five crew members remained: two techs, a pilot, and a pair of gunners. Not many, but it'll be more spacious for us.
Finished, we met the captain on the bridge. Just a couple of hours, and we were ready for departure. I took the coordinates of the world where Li was taken from her Omni-tool.
Erinle, a dying world with a slowly collapsing ecosystem. Whether it's a natural process or the Salarians helped it along doesn't matter. What matters is that the world has decent trade contacts and isn't closed to visitors. Including ships from the Terminus Systems.
"Hide in plain sight." No one will be surprised by a standard transport with mercenaries, whether arriving or departing. Which means for us, it's an opportunity to intercept Li or the ship she'll be on. I approached Vorhess, sending the coordinates to the ship's computer.
"So, we are ready, Captain. Here is the world I need to go to and half the payment."
Captain Vorhess waited for confirmation of the transaction and said:
"Great news, people! We're heading out! And upon arrival, there will be great cantinas, moonshine, and loose girls! Forward, to the stars!"
Waiting until the ship started, I approached the commando sergeant just in case.
"Keep an eye on the crew and the captain. They might be too bold."
She smiled knowingly.
"We'll find a solution, boss," and then quieter, "we'll get her out."
I nodded.
"I don't doubt it."
The race continues.
***
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