Okeer had taken permanent residence in
the communications room. The first time they had tried to dislodge him, he told
them to shut the fuck up and get the fuck out in not so many words. They didn’t listen. The second time, he ripped someone or
another apart with a barely charged biotic shock. They grew quiet after that.
He needed the silence to work, to think. The ground was slipping under his feet and although it was not yet time to run, it was time to start walking. Wortag had agreed to his proposal easier than Okeer had expected. Why would he trade when he already had Okeer in custody? He was probably dragging it out while he looked for another buyer. Not that Okeer had ever had more than vague, wishful hopes regarding their deal. He offered collaboration to a krogan organization first as a familial courtesy, risking loss of time for the unlikely possibility that one of his kind would be wise enough to just listen to him. If Wortag had agreed to finance his research, Okeer would have stayed and kept his word. But Wortag was no different from other krogan: greedy, impulsive, aggressive, impatient. Whatever the secret behind his abrupt success over the last couple of decades, it sure wasn’t intelligence.
Continue reading Orderly Retreat
Nihlus could swear the ground shook when
the krogan fell and he hoped to Spirits that the cracking noise wasn’t from Saren’s bones being ground to dust under
his weight. He rolled sideways just in time to avoid being ground to dust
himself as the krogan turned on his back and swung his massive arms. He was
blinded by the glass from the visor Nihlus had smashed into his face, but he
could still defend himself. Nihlus groped for the knife strapped to his right
thigh, dodged one strike, then another, and finally sunk the blade under the
krogan’s chin through the crack in the armor. He had to lean into it with both
hands before the krogan stopped thrashing.
“Oh, man,” Pan said, darting past him. Theeka came walking from the same direction. She was unsure on her feet, barely holding onto her rifle, but it didn’t look like she was injured. “Holy shit,” she muttered.
Continue reading Not This Squad
And so began another tedious march
through the jungle. They were making decent progress and at first, it felt good
to be on the move. It meant getting closer to Okeer and to the end of this
mission. A dubious and difficult mission from the beginning, but Saren’s eagerness to be done with it and gone from
Invictus was rapidly evolving into a need.
As they left the river further and further behind, the marshlands gave way to firmer, intermittently rocky ground. There was much less secondary growth and no need for cutting to clear a path. But the heat was getting worse by the minute. Saren was sweating in sheets. He considered sealing his suit times and times again, but everyone else was walking with open helmets so he had to endure it too.
Continue reading They Wouldn’t Dare
Nihlus could swear they’d been standing motionless for entire minutes while disconnected, dislocated thoughts bounced around in his head like those last few crumbs of cereal in the carton, refusing to get out through the designated opening in the corner despite all the shaking. What the hell had just happened? Had it happened? He considered pinching himself to make sure. According to human fiction, it was supposed to wake him up in case he was asleep down in the camp, having the craziest and most vivid dream of his lifetime. But would he want to wake up?
Continue reading Conspiracy Theories
Saren paced up and down the overgrown colonnade. In bright daylight, the jungle outside looked pure, wild and tempting, like a promise of some idealistic adventure. Nothing like the blind man’s nightmare from yesterday. It sprawled farther than the eye could reach, a calm expanse of uniform dark green, unmoved by the light breeze that tickled his crest. He could still catch the muddy, rotten stench of the swamps if he put his mind in it, but the air wasn’t as humid here as it had been under the trees. The sun was still low and the scattered shadows of the ivy hanging from the ceiling were a strobe on his face.
Continue reading Respite
Okeer woke up to the sounds of grunting
and belching. His vision was swimming and he had only a very vague awareness of
his body. When he tried to speak, some wretched, gurgling noise came out
instead, and there was nauseating pain in his throat.
The fucking turian whelp shot me.
He sat up—no, he had to push himself up with his arms like a pregnant female. Disgusting. A small dark room came in and out of focus. There were no windows. It stank of mold and urine. Two young men were at a tiny table, drinking. When they saw Okeer was awake, they first froze, then exchanged a meaningful look, and finally one of them got out through the door. The other one faced Okeer with an absent stare so typical for his kind. Somebody had told him he wasn’t supposed to fight, so he didn’t know what to do.
Continue reading Unwelcome Guest