[Logasiri] One born every minute

Two on the left, not secured. One in the pilot's chair, secured - no surprise, that. Shuttle jockeys.

"You know, every time we do this, I like to watch out the viewport. The way the atmosphere and the daylight kinda give way to the dark of space."

"Yeah?"

"Back before the war, it was routine, yeah? Just another part of the workday. But something about the fact that we're still here...you get what I'm saying?"

"Mm."

Shirin Vedral got exactly what the human was saying. Near-extinction (something the drell had been used to long before the Reapers came) had a way of making you appreciate the little things you'd previously taken for granted. Sunsets, art, wine, whatever. Personally, she preferred to continue appreciating the big things even more. Money. Jewels. Eezo - which, coincidentally, there was an entire shipment of, loaded into the back of the pirate shuttle.

"Gonna miss it, once they make us full members." The human's name was Lehman. He'd gone out of his way to make sure she knew it, the gregarious fuck. The salarian was Ril (he'd been pleasantly taciturn, but Lehman had addressed him by name). Shirin didn't know the pilot, but that was no loss. In about forty-five seconds it wouldn't matter. "No big loss, though, plenty of skywatching to be done on the Terrify. You'll be up there too, soon enough - freelancers with your kinda skill usually get fast-tracked."

Beneath the helmet's vocalizer, Shirin's lip curled in dry contempt. She pushed past Lehman and moved up to the cockpit's entrance. "Impressed?"

In retrospect, she probably shouldn't have encouraged him. Lehman carried on, following her along the length of the cabin and leaning against the sealed door. "For your first time down there? You bet your ass, girl. A few more showings like that and they'll make you part of the Wolfpack, no questions asked."

Ten seconds. She reached up, pressing a hand against the cabin's roof, and magnetized both gloves.

"After that?" The smirk in the human's voice was practically audible. "The big time."

Three seconds.

"Bit sooner, I think."

There was one good thing about the Locust. It may have been a three-century-old piece of outdated turian crap with more modular ports than VI memory space, but it was small, stealthy, and hard to hit. So it really was no surprise that even a half-good pilot like Kirok could get the tiny little ship - barely more than a shuttle, not quite a frigate - in close enough range to do any damage. No one would expect anything this small to be carrying the kind of ordnance it did.

Thumbing the comm panel with one humongous armored finger, Kirok grinned into his mic. Behind him, Whitefang bounced around like a rubber ball, feeling the excitement building.

"Awright. Y'got three seconds t'tense up an' git ready. It's comin' in... NOW."

His thick fingers flew over the console and released the weapon safeties. With one eye peering down the AR rangefinder, the masive krogan pulled on the trigger.

FASSHOOOOOOOOOOOM

The missile broke out of the hidden weapons bay like a bat out of hell, speeding towards the other ship faster than it's IFF field could pick up on it. There was a hint of a collision alarm, then panic as the Locust's missile took out the
rear bay doors of the ship, sending wreckage, loose tools, and one very unfortunate space pirate careening into the void. Kirok spun the ship around, thrusters firing, making sure the debris hit the broad side of the ship as he positioned the Locust for a very impromptu and unlikely docking movement.

"THE EGG IS CRACKED, FOLKS! AH'M PULLIN' IN! YA'LL READY FOR THIS?"

Shirin was prepared for the explosion and abrupt depressurization, pressed up against the cockpit and anchored to the ceiling. The pirates were not - Ril was killed instantly by the impact, and Lehman was sucked out the back of the shuttle a moment later. Up front, the pilot had just enough time to turn and get a syllable out (the syllable was something like "huh" or "hah", if you were wondering) before a point-blank shot transferred his brain to the front viewport.

A few seconds at the gore-splattered controls kept the shuttle cruising through space on autopilot, and a few seconds more released the cargo bay on its underside. Five industrial crates of element zero went floating into the void.

"The haul's loose. Hold still, I'm incoming."

With a quick check of her seals, the drell demagnetized, and the rushing air swept her out the back of the shuttle...

"HOL' ON THAR, SCALE-BELLY, KIROK'S A-COMIN'!"

With one last tap of the thrusters, Kirok inched the side of the Locust to the ruined bay doors of the pirate ship, the umbilical to the Locust's airlock already extending out to connect with the docking clamps. A few nudges here and there, and the yawning aperture slowly settled around the broken doors. It wasn't a perfect fit, but it didn't need to be - just enough so that nothing important (read: Shirin, anything that could be sold for credits) flew off into space the moment some half-live thruster on the Pirate ship flared into action. The clamps connected with a solid THUD, shaking both ships. The impact was enough to pull them slightly off-course, falling slowly but inexorably into the gravity well of the planet. Unfortunately, the haul - the precious haul! - was out of range of the umbilical.

Goddammit, dat shit ain't gonna be easy t'recover, Kirok thought as he watched the pirate and the crate slowly drift into space.

The krogan unbuckled himself from the seat and pulled a shotgun from the holster he kept above the instrument panel. Odd place for a holster, yes, but it was either that or replace the coffee machine. That suggestion had not gone over well with the rest of the group.

Kicking the thrusters into overdrive to buy them a few minutes, Kirok ran to the side of the airlock and loaded in a fresh heatclip.

"AWRIGHT, WE GOT TWO MINUTES T'GET TH' SHIT ON OUR SHIP B'FORE THIS CRACKER BARREL TUGS US INTA TH' ATMOSPHERE! IS DERE ENNYBODY LEFT ON DAT CRATE? YA'LL NEED ENNY HELP IN DERE? I ADVISE SOMEONE T'GET OUT THAR AN GET BACK OUR PAYDAY, TOOT SWEET CHOP CHOP!"

In the background, Whitefang did a somersault. She was helping!

The ship was lined up almost perfectly, to Shirin's relief. She sailed from the shuttle into the Locust's airlock and re-magnetized, planting her boots on the deckplates - it'd be necessary to stay put, since the artificial gravity wouldn't kick back in until they repressurized. There was the eezo, floating steadily towards Logasiri's atmosphere, and...

"Oh. One second."

Apparently Lehman had some skill; they were going to make him a full-fledged Wolf, after all. There he was, clinging desperately to the lashed eezo crates with one hand and trying to draw a weapon with another. Well, credit to him.

Settling the sights on her Talon into place, Shirin emptied the heatsink and Lehman drifted off in a mess of white armor and zero-gravity blobs of claret.

"We're good, close the airlock and tether the haul. Jil, you're up."

Whitefang wasn't the only thing on the ship doing somersaults. The stomach of a certain quarian with an aptitude for electronic miracles was doing much the same, and Jil'Korah vas Dasegar was trying his very best to ignore it.

As well as certain other things.

Your calculations are incorrect. At present speed the crates will be beyond the reach of the gravity tether in 18.812 seconds. Adjust accordingly.

So spoke the scrolling text in the upper left corner of his envirosuit heads-up-display, matched by the quarian's silent reply courtesy of a subvocal processor installed specifically for that purpose.

Yes, yes, I know, I'm doing it.
Your calculations are incorrect.

With a deep thrum the gravity tether came online, the harnessed force of nature reaching out to wrap around its target and pull it towards the open doors. Unfortunately the current target was the spaced pirate, lifelessly floating around in his hardsuit, who slammed with some force against the nearby cargo crates on his way towards the shuttle deck.

A glance at the display told Jil'Korah all he needed to know, and with a muttered khelish curse he disengaged the tether, leaving the corpse to whatever fate awaited it. A few quick finger-taps and another bit of 'helpful advice' from his envirosuit that he did his best to ignore and the gravity tether thrummed to life once more, this time locking the cargo in place and then slowly reeling it in.

"Cargo incoming. That means get out of the way unless you want to repaint the deck plating!"

"Understood. Priming..."

Opening or closing the exterior door to the airlock required a five-digit code (down from eighteen, in deference to Shirin's non-drell crewmates). Four of those digits were already entered as she put her back to the corner next to the interior door.

Jil's second shot with the gravity tether had snagged the eezo perfectly, but the crates had rotated several times prior to that, and so one corner ended up getting stuck on the way into the airlock. A good shove from the drell re-righted it, though, and it was through the doors a moment later, at which point the final digit was input and the airlock repressurized.

"Haul secure. Good work." Shirin demagnetized the suit and pulled off her helmet. The vibrant green of her scales was a sharp contrast to the Locust's dull exterior - she'd mused more than once that if they ever got into a fight without their hardsuits on, every sniper on the field was going to be drawn straight to her. Well, looking good had a price. "Kirok, set us back on course for Omega before the Wolfpack show up. After that, gather in the cabin. Gotta talk business."

This either boded very well or very poorly, depending on what kind of business she meant.

"Got it. Hold on t'yer butts."

Kirok ran back to the pilot's chair and disengaged the umbilical clamp, then pushed the Locust away from the other ship. The alarms sounded - Kirok cursed and thumbed on the anti-atmosphere shields just as the nose of the tiny ship started to flare a bright red. That was close.

Pushing out of the orbit of the planet as the pirate ship began to descend to the planet below, Kirok plotted in a course for the relay, stretched his legs, rubbed Whitefang affectionately and stowed the shotgun overhead.

"Awright, come on in, y'meatbags," the krogan drawled into the comms as he lumbered over to a large cooler helpfully labeled 'BEAR BEER' and fished around in its icy contents. "We'll b'hitting d'relay in five, an' den we're home. Get yerselves a brew 'fore Whitefang an' I drink it all."

With that, Kirok tossed a silver can at Whitefang, who grabbed it out of midair and started gnawing on it. Fizz went everywhere, resulting in a great deal of confused barking. Kirok just chuckled and popped open a can of his own.

It was Miller Time.*

There was more time to debrief than usual, at least. The eezo, unrefined and fresh from the mines, had already been checked on Logasiri before the Wolfpack had started moving it, meaning Shirin and Jil didn't have to spend half the trip back to Omega making sure it wasn't contaminated or diluted.

The drell stepped into the cabin and was immediately met with the sight of Whitefang gallivanting in a puddle of beer. Deep black eyes lingered on the varren, then switched over to Kirok. The silent message was clear: 'you're cleaning that up'.

"Mm."

She popped open a compartment next to the cockpit with a hiss of frigid air, and pulled out a neon red bottle, narrow and curved in the asari style. It was an 1822 vintage Tira Leya, liberated from the hoard of a long-dead colony magnate with more hubris than proper security. Bold aromas of cinnamon and Thessian starmint - it tasted like the biting flames of Lamashtu on the tongue, followed by a gradual fade to a moderately sweet light-to-medium body with mineral oil and a few vague notes of clove. Shirin had decided a while back that the asari knew something about the finer things in life.

Settling wordlessly onto one of the cabin's benches, she poured a snifter of the Tira Leya and waited.

"and I'm telling you, the calculations were right, but the one guy grabbing onto the crates threw them off-"

Everybody in the room could hear the quarian coming, seemingly arguing with himself again. He didn't realize he was doing it until he walked in the door to their collective stares - Shirin, Kirok, and Whitefang all looking right at him. It could have been because he was the last one to arrive, but this had happened twice before and Jil'Korah was fairly certain that credits were going to change hands later.

His suit - or rather the AI he shared it with - had no sense of such things, and continued prodding him with coordinates and statistical probabilities even as he dropped heavily onto a bench. No doubt it thought it had the last word.

"Sorry about that. Fucking suit distracted me again. There's business talk to be had?"

"Yeah. Good business talk, if that helps."

This was a useful clarification. 'Business talk' usually meant exactly that, but on one notable occasion it had been a revelation that their fourth wheel was a spy, resulting in his swift demise.

Shirin took a slow, languorous sip from the liqueur. It was full-bodied, and burned just enough to make sure you noticed. Perfect.

"I've been thinking about the hauls lately, with the news we've been getting on relay reactivations." Her voice was like frosted glass - smooth by drell standards, but that wasn't saying much. "I think we should expand. Maybe into Citadel space, maybe back home to the Abyss, but the point is: there's a whole field of opportunities reopening outside the Nebula. Better hauls, better credits, better thrills."

Another sip. The Tira Leya swished over her palate. It was an odd moment for a pause, but after a few months of working with her, Shirin's measured, deliberate cadence had become familiar to the team.

"We're more talented than this. It's been four months of bottom-rate privateering operations and thirty-thousand-credit eezo hauls, and all we've earned is our upkeep and Aria's gratitude - in other words, fuck-all. We need to expand."

Another sip. Matriarch Amira had claimed, some four hundred years ago, that Tira Leya tasted like the moment of death. It was a ridiculous assertion (how would she know what the moment of death felt like?), but the drell liked to imagine that her life's end would have the same satisfying terroir - just agonizing enough to induce a little euphoria.

"Opinions?"

Kirok just smiled at the drell. The message was clear. 'The hell I am.'

"I dunno, Shirin. Citadel space's kinda ... well, y'ever shoot a hive of klansent for shits n' giggles an' throw a corpse at it? Damn corpse'll be bone an' memories b'fore y'can say 'take a picture.' We start operatin' in Citadel space, we're rilin' up a huge goddamned hive o' klanset 'less we start actin' reeeeeeeal subtle-like. An' - no 'fense meant, o'course - but we ain't got th' crew t'do ennything subtle. We've got, what, a techie what talks t'his suit, a drell, myself, a varren, an' a ship. That ain't 'xactly a crew big 'nuff to go against some Alliance fucknut lookin' t'prove himself. I say we stick t'th' Abyss, less you plan on bringin' more crew 'board."

The krogan took a massive chug of the beer and tossed the can on the floor, then cracked open another.

More crew? Was that what this was building towards? Kirok was right, so far as Jil'Korah was concerned - he liked being able to travel and occasionally take legitimate work, and Citadel space allowed for that. If they started operating there and were found out, a lot of his options would suddenly cease to exist. More crew would only make the risk bigger; they'd had problems before with traitors, and if they took on more crew and bigger jobs they'd be more likely to get noticed which would in turn make the temptation to turn them in that much stronger...

No. He did not like the idea of doing this sort of work in Citadel space much at all.

"If we're going to expand, let's try to keep to the more lawless areas - I like being able to run to Citadel space and find legitimate work if things go bad, and if we're operating there that won't be an option."

A wise decision. Criminality within Citadel space may have repercussions on Rannoch.
Yeah, the thought had occurred to me, thanks.
You did not express it. I was simply ensuring that you were aware of the possibility.
I don't say everything I think. Hell, since getting this processor installed I don't say everything I 'say'.

...And of course, distracted by his suit, he'd missed the reply.

"Pardon me?"

Kirok narrowed his eyes at the quarian.

"Yo, Jil. Y'gonna keep talkin' t'that thing more'n us. If what yer hard drive's sayin' is so damn important, y'mind sharin' with th'rest of th' class?"

"No, look, it's... Ergh. Sorry. It's like trying to carry on two conversations at once sometimes, and I'm still trying to get the balance right. I am paying attention, really."

Please express my apologies as well. I will attempt to refrain from interrupting with non-critical information.

Jil'Korah didn't reply to the geth, opting instead to pass along its regrets and let it start "attempting to refrain" right away.

"It uh... It's sorry too."

"Well, tell it t'use a speaker port or flash some lights on yer visor or somethin'. I don't like that one of us is just a voice in yer head, an' a yappy one at dat."

There was a KSSSSSSH as Kirok opened another beer. Whitefang, in the meantime, had abandoned her fizzy toy and had started looking up at Jil with confused interest.

"I've considered that."

Shirin leaned back against the cabin's wall and studied her teammates intently. (She'd determined months ago to think of them as 'teammates' rather than 'employees'; they all pitched in equally and any authority she had was mostly through force of personality rather than official titles). They were reluctant - not a surprise; she had anticipated this. After all, they had cover jobs, families, people they wanted to continue associating with.

Maybe that was what set her at the top, more than personality. Shirin technically didn't even exist anymore, if you looked at the official records. Nothing held her back except pragmatism and an understanding that you didn't reach beyond what your resources allowed. It was the most important thing she'd learned: there should never be anything in your life that you can't walk away from in seven seconds. People lived and died by that rule without even knowing it existed.

"We would need more people, yes," she acknowledged. "Some support specialists, at least...preferably a biotic. I'm mentioning this now because I want to open the process up for input from you two. I made a mistake last time, with Quayle, by recruiting from the general population. This time I think we should go on professional references only - we make overtures to people that one of us has worked with before, so we know ahead of time that one, they're competent, and two, they can be trusted."

There was a total breakdown in the discussion for a moment as her associates trailed off into AI discussions. Shirin took a slow, measured breath, and downed half the remaining Tira Leya. "I said," she repeated with liqueur-fueled patience, "that if we're going to get more help, it needs to be help that the three of us can vouch for personally. Don't worry about the suit, Jil. Now, I know a few people from back home I might be able to get in touch with, but if any of you know some reliable operators in the Terminus, I'd like for all of us to be involved in the decision-making process." Her eyes flicked between the krogan and the quarian. "Equity, and all that."

"Hrrrrrrrrrm," Kirok rumbled as he settled his mass on the much-abused bearbeer crate. "I reckon I knew someone might be able t'help. Turian sniper, good'un. Met 'im on Palaven durin' th' war. He weren't one o' th' loyalists or whatever he was -volunteer from th', y'know, Terminus. One o' us."

That last bit was said with a grin. 'One of us' was a broad category in Kirok's lexicon, but it always meant one thing - someone who was willing to bend, break, and annihilate the rules to get the job done, and possibly have a little fun along the way.

"Guy's name was Aliquam... something something something something. Calt hiself 'demon thunder,' could shoot a testicle offa gritflea from a hunnert yards away. Mebbe I could look him up?"

A browridge peaked upwards in silence. 'Demon Thunder' was unfortunate, but you couldn't control what people decided to call you ('Emerald Death' came to mind), and it was outweighed significantly by 'one of us' and (if it wasn't exaggerated) the account of his skills.

"Do that."

"Got it. Lemme dig 'round my contacts list, see if'n he's still alive an ain't been incarcerated. We gonna need ennybody else? Only other folk I know from th' war that's still alive's a krogan, but he's also a cannibalistic fuckhead what ain't right in th' head. I'm assumin' you wanna pass on that."

Kirok opened up his omnitool and started futzing around. How the hell did you spell 'Aliquam' again?