The Next Dance

It was a party, a party in the Abyss. One might say that this would be a rare thing but for one like Henselt Nor'Gornar, it was commonplace. He was an important man after all and did so love such gatherings for what they did. It was one of his smaller ones, as some of the older guests would note if talked to, but such things were expected now. The grand gatherings he had thrown years before were unlikely to return any time soon and for good reason.

But at least there was a dance to be had. That was something to celebrate.

Two hundred guests in all, all enjoying pleasure or talking business or whatever came to mind really. A dance floor was the mainstay of the place with music dominating the area at that pleasant volume where one could talk to someone close by without raising voices but still enjoy the music.

Throughout it all, servants moved around ensuring that everyone had what they wanted within reason. The man himself, Henselt Nor'Gornar sat on one side of the room, a krogan on his left (Jurdon Khral) while his right side was occupied by a fellow batarian.

Relaxing off to the side of the dance floor where many did dance, sat Lyra Palmer along with a drell and a turian, the drell and the turian avidly chatting away about some salarian while the human did watch everything possible.

In many ways the Abyss was surprisingly egalitarian. It didn't matter if you were man, woman, or monogendered. It didn't matter what your race was, your orientation, whether you were of high birth or low. It didn't matter if you were a pirate or a raider or a general, a slaver or a mercenary or a corporate suit. In many ways, all that mattered was what you could do.

The man wore a fine tuxedo, charcoal grey, his coat and weapons checked at the door. He moved through the crowd, chatting easily with the guests, discussing military tactics with one group, politics with another, then the Cartagena Urban Combat Circuit at the next. He was open, friendly, gracious.

If there was one thing that Nikolai could do it was play a party. Although, for all intents and purposes, this wasn't just a simple party. This was an Abyss party, hosted by Henselt Nor'Gornar no less. Allies were won and lost at these kinds of parties. Feuds declared and ended. Enemies made and forgotten. These were the kinds of parties that any aspiring Abyss power had to attend. Although they would do well to tread carefully.

Gradually moving towards the dance floor, snagging a hors d'oeuvre from a passing servant, Nikolai worked his way through the party.

And then Palmer paused in her examination the area, a bit surprised at spotting another human. She nudged the drell at her side and with a gesture at the fellow human she spoke, Would you look at that. I aint the only human here.

Fatam Acul smiled a toothy grin and then examined what she could see, Oh, we must find out who this man is... That is a man right?

So far as I can tell. A rolling of the eyes was her response to the black scaled drell sending the man a message to come and chat with a server and then she picked up her observations of the place. If it was going to happen tonight it certainly wasn't going to be any of the guests so far as she could tell. Disguised a servant most likely as it had not happened yet and Lumusi said this was the most likely target to follow if predictions were true. She shifted in her spot, the only generally visible part of her being her hair and face as the green of her dress and the green of the sofa were very much the same. (And even then, one was more liable to notice the black drell first for Lyra Palmer was a ghost as always.)

The server had been polite and discrete, yet insistent. A Ms. Acul wanted to see him and by see him she meant see him now.

Interesting.

It would appear that he had attracted someone's attention. Hopefully a promising sign. People generally didn't send servers over for a quiet conversation if you had angered them, typically they just marked it down for future reference and/or became confrontational directly. It could always be a set up for humiliation at the hands of some socialite or minor noble (aristocracy could be shockingly petty), but one could always hope otherwise.

Following the uniformed servant off to the side of the dance floor, took a moment to surreptitiously evaluate his appearance. Fashionable yet not overstated. Fine but not gaudy. Not a crease out of place. The only thing to be concerned about was the scars and well, this being the Abyss, that was little more than a fleeting worry.

"You wished to speak with me ma'am?"

His question was addressed to the black scaled female drell, but his eyes were busy at work sizing up the group as a whole. The drell and her companion were relaxed, content, yet still carried themselves with poise and confidence. But the woman in the, rather lovely, green dress lounging on the couch, she was interesting. For all her camouflage it was hard to shake the aura of casual authority exuded by Palmer, nor the lazy, almost predatory watchfulness.

Nikolai's eyes flicked back to the alien woman as he waited for her reply.

The drell smiled, Yes, my friends and I were curious as to who you are. It is so rare to see a human... well, a free human moving about the Abyss. A seconds pause and she started up again, Ah, but where are my manners, I'm Fatam Acul. He's Tatius Meuric and she is Lyra Palmer.

Nikolai returned the grin easily enough. The comment wasn't an insult, merely a statement of fact. There was and admittedly small number of free humans in the Abyss, especially when compared to the number of, say, batarians or turians.

Of course, that said something about those relatively few didn't it? That they were either extremely lucky or extremely capable to make it so far in this dark corner of the galaxy.

"My name is Nikolai Aleksanders, of Titan. It is a pleasure to meet you Ms. Acul, Mr. Meuric, Ms."

...

"Palmer."

The odds of this being the same Palmer were small, infinitesimally small, it was incredibly unlikely. Of course given fate's rather strange sense of humor, that only made it all the more probable.

And then just like that, all three of them sat up a bit straighter and paid a little more attention to the man. Lyra leaned forward a bit, separating herself from the blends of the sofa, You're Titan huh. I heard about Veratix, read all the reports, even the ones still classified. Sounded like quite the fight. I would have loved to have been there but I got stuck on Earth ya know.

The battle of the Wreck as well along with that shitty movie. You know, I think I worked with some of your people and-

Got a possible Lyra. Batarian server, four, just gave that turian something.

Gotcha. Her gaze snaked back to Aleksanders and he got a quick appraisal along with the Lyra Palmer seal of approval. How would you feel about a dance?

His gaze slid between the three, his body tensing minutely as they moved, only to relax seconds later as they spoke.

Respect and interest. He would by lying if he said it wasn't at least a bit gratifying. Granted, wallowing in praise (along with gloating and monologueing for the similar sins of arrogance and self obsession), was a major faux pas, but still, he allowed some small, private, part of himself to enjoy the attention.

"It was certainly something, I-"

he paused, looking from the turian to the other human. Some kind of exchange obviously, some kind of security most likely. Target spotted marked, perhaps he should simply get clear and leave them to their business.

But then came the offer and sometimes..well sometimes you just had to go with it.

Unfazed, Nikolai gave a slight bow and politely extended his hand to the woman in green. "Of course, Ms. Palmer."

And so she took his hand and off to the dance floor they went. Her gaze appeared to go right through him and given that her eyes were most definitely cybernetic that gaze probably was, her eyes focused on the batarian now, So were you at Veratix yourself?

"I was on the flagship, coordinating the company fleet and our ground forces. Cerbies had some nasty aerospace, bleeding edge tech, Thanix cannon. Took a chunk out of us. But, in the end we tore them to pieces. Six seconds, an entire fleet gone. I would be lying if I said it wasn't somewhat awe-inspiring."

As they swung around, he glimpsed what appeared to be a perfectly ordinary batarian server among the crowd. Something that normally wouldn't merit much attention if it hadn't been for Mr. Meuric's comment.

He looked back at her curious, it was clear that he didn't have her full attention. His green eyes met her grey as they gracefully cut a path through the dance floor. This close, if one was to pay attention they just might notice the movement of the tiny mechanisms in his eyes. Palmer wasn't the only one who saw the world through artificial eyes. Nikolai tilted his head slightly as the emerald disks of color irised around his "pupil".

"Out of curiosity, who is the batarian?"

Mmhhh. Thanix cannons. I am quite glad I've never seen one of those ever. Her eyes twitched and then focused on the man in front of her. Yeah, he could definitely keep a secret. She stretched up, standing on her toes now and started to whisper so that only he could hear and indeed only he would be able to hear it for she was good at her work, Fireworks, Mister Titan, lovely fireworks. Someone wiped out the upper echelon of the Taneli Protectorate a few days ago. Nobody knows who yet but this is a suspected place if it is a chain. Looks like it might actually be that. Should be interesting to see if this is it.

She sniffed in air and added as a vague afterthought, We'll try and keep that leader alive as well I suppose. Seems like he throws decent parties.

His eyes widened, his mouth flattening into a razor thin line. "The Chand is dead? Shit."

The Taneli Protectorate was one of the Abyss's more influential powers, or, at the very least, one of the few to come through the Reaper War relatively unscathed. If they fell, the resulting power vacuum could reignite a thousand blood feuds as everyone with the means and the motive tried to claim a piece of their territory. And Taneli territory made for a very, very good motive.

A deep breath. As he exhaled, he relaxed, muscles lazily coiling, tensing as he readied himself to move. Whatever was going to happen was likely going to be happening soon if the behavior of his dancing partner was anything to go by.

"Nor'Gornar is the target I take it?"

Nikolai found himself wishing he had his pistol, or, at the very least, one of the wickedly sharp knives he had checked at the entrance. Those would have been nice too.

Action the first: The turian went down hard, swinging his arms everywhere in a frantic attempt to breath, swatting a half dozen people in the process. Perhaps he should have paid more attention to what he was being given to eat and drink.

Action the second: Henselt stood and moved off towards a door leading away from the hall, a fellow batarian accompanying him. He clearly expected violence as Jurdon Khral stomped forward to assess the situation.

Action the third: The batarian server vanished, going unnoticed due to the turian and being what a clever girl she was.

Action the fourth: Palmer swore quite profusely in a whisper and then just like that flipped over to business. Fatam, help the turian if you can. I'm going after Henselt. And indeed after glancing up at Nikolai, Palmer started to do just that, moving off towards the door that Henselt had gone through, her business face on now.

Action the fifth: The door slid open and then closed with nobody visible moving through it.

The dance was on.

The scarred man followed Palmer, moving at an easy lope. In C-Space if there was an assassination attempt on a foreign dignitary you called the authorities and then stood back and let the professionals handle the situation. In the Abyss, more often than not you were the authority, assuming that you had the experience, skill, and/or weaponry to back that claim up.

Nikolai's hands were his weapons, his skin his armor, his skills as sharp as any knife. Some things never changed; killer instinct happened to be one of them.

Unless anybody wished to contest his involvement, he would aid Palmer.

And greeting the pair as they moved through the doors was absolutely nothing. There was no movement in the hallway, the only hint that there was indeed life somewhere close by the sounds of two people talking, a sound that was moving farther away from the pair of humans.

Palmer took off now, pulling out a pistol while the flicker of a kinetic barrier surrounded her.

He matched Palmer step for step, stride for stride, his movements almost silent, his feet light on the floor, and adrenaline icing through his veins. Combat rush was a curious thing, events happened at once very quickly and very, very slowly. Racing down the corridor, ground vanishing beneath their feet, and yet the entire situation felt dreamlike, lazy, sedate. It was like they were moving through water. Like each breath took a minute, each step an hour.

A breath. A blink. And when he opened his eyes the thermographic and electromagnetic sensors in had peeled back the walls and floor, turning the building into a maze of translucent barriers and green silhouettes. There was a muted pulse of verdant light and then Nikolai himself was just another ghost in a world of ghosts, a slightly blurry patch of air keeping pace with a grey eyed woman in a green dress.

And then quite suddenly, those voices switched from what sounded to be light casual chatting to loud exclamations. A very audible crunch was heard as the pair rounded the corner and saw further down (about ten meters), the subordinate batarian now decorating the floor while Henselt whirled around trying to find something to hit.

And then there was at last a noticeable shimmer in the space between the humans and Henselt (who was facing the opposite direction).

The first order of business in this type of situation was always to secure the principal at all costs. The death of the attacker was not required. The VIP still breathing at the end, unfortunately was.

The cloaked figure had tactical mobility on their side. They, in turn, had numerical superiority. Time to see which one won.

Leaving the assassin to Palmer, Nikolai sprinted down the hall moving low and very, very fast. If the assailant was paying attention they may have noticed a blur speeding along the floor before lunging forward and tackling Nor'Gornar to the ground, shielding him with his body even as the cloak faded away in a green flash.

And then there was another batarian standing in the hallway and oh dear god, the gun she was holding.

A second passed and then the hallway literally exploded as Palmer got a grenade to the face and staggered back, barriers dealing with most of it as she fired off shots at her attacker, most striking the assassin's barrier (which was most definitely not kinetic) while a few went too high. Another second and then she went down on one knee, coughing. owwwwwwwwwwwwwwwwwww

"Stay low and get clear." The ex-mercenary muttered in Nor'Gornar's ear. The batarian abruptly ceased his quiet struggling against Nikolai's hold and gave a low, curt, nod. He began army crawling down the corridor as the human rolled off onto the floor, the dignitary doing his best to keep a low profile. And yet another good thing about the Abyss. All the important people had a well developed sense of self preservation. If tackled by a man who shielded their body from bullets with his own and then told to flee; they didn't debate, they didn't try to be heroes, they didn't freeze, no they fucking booked it.

Neatly kipping up Nikolai stepped behind the assassin. Rule number one of fighting: concentration is everything. Break your opponents concentration you break their form, you break their defenses, you break their ability to attack. Pain as it so happens, is one of the more effective ways of taking your opponent's mind off the fight.

A simple step to the side and then a brutal kick in, directed at the side of the batarian's knee.