[Chresk] Links

The monitor in front of him glowed with amber light, the only illumination in the room beyond what spilled in through the open door. His deep brown skin looked almost black in the shadows, and as the newsfeed scrolled across the screen it gave his four eyes the impression of flashing in the dark, as though lit by an internal fire.

...the shipments have been handed over to disposal teams.

The feed ended, and with barely a movement Alto Ord’Narak turned off the screen, leaving him sitting in complete darkness. Three thousand five hundred tonnes of merchandise, worth well over its weight in credits, handed over to disposal teams. Two months worth of production dedicated to meet that order, to the exclusion of all else, and it was gone.

The monitor flared to life again, the news report scrolling by once more, just to ensure it wasn’t a dream. Some of the best weapons in the old Hegemony’s arsenal, and the damned asari weren’t even going to keep it. He was still sitting like that, eyes burning like the inferno in the blackness of the room, when a shadow obscured what little light came from outside. A shadow that merely stood, waited, hovered...

“What is it?”

He was not going to like this.

That much was, of course, obvious, given the nature of the events now splashing their way across every major network in the Terminus. At the very least, there were no names mentioned, else he’d probably be damned to Urakh and the entire moon would be feeling the flames of wrath by now. There were few things in this galaxy that made him believe in a higher being, however, perhaps he should reconsider such a possibility in the future.

Malak Sam-mel pushed aside the stray thing that had dared to be in his way as he made his way towards Alto’s office. It was late, the slave should have been doing something productive - like sleeping, which is what Malak wished he could be doing right about now. Instead, the datapad with the past several hours of work was clutched tightly in hand as he made his way through the shadowed halls, thoroughly expecting a more sour mood than his and the possibility of gunfire for his troubles.

The damnable captain of the freighter had been assigned on his recommendation, after all, though at least the old man had managed to give the succubi a fight and deny them the chance to trace the shipment here before he’d been detained.

One might hope it might be enough to spare Malak’s life, uncle’s name excepted.

...He was sitting in the dark. This would go well, then. Alto had a fondness for sitting in the dark when he was in a particularly foul mood, and the chances of gunfire or commands for someone to die something went up significantly.

“I managed to obtain the dossiers on the crew, sir. I thought you might need them.”

Think ahead. It might save your life someday.

“Lights.”

With that one simple command, the room flared into luminescence, one of the simple pleasures of life. Alto had recognized the voice, of course, and known who to expect, but even so it took him a moment to process the boy (or, indeed, young man) who stood before him now.

In most ways, Malak Sam-mel was the spitting image of his deceased uncle. He didn’t have the heavy scarring, of course, nor quite the same muscle mass, but he wasn’t small by any means and he carried himself with some of the same inherent dignity. In a better galaxy he’d be a fine example of a Hegemony soldier, ready to die for his cause but not before taking as many of the enemy with him as possible.

Alas, it wasn’t a better galaxy, and so here he was, serving as protege to his uncle’s protege in a second-rate company in what had become the laughingstock of the galaxy. Even so, there was no point bemoaning it, and the young man seemed to understand that as well as Alto himself. Everybody worked with what they had, and batarians better than most. Hardship was an intrinsic part of being one.

The older batarian turned his gaze fully on Malak, all eyes focused.

“They’re going to Khar’shan.”

In his short - albeit prosperous - time with the Crimson Chains, he had learned rather quickly to never tell Alto Ord’narak that you already knew what he had just told you. As second in command, it was best to let him assume you were smart enough to have figured it out on your own.

“Yes, sir.”

And agree, quietly. Khar’shan’s involvement was...unfortunate, especially should they extract certain pieces of information, which they most certainly would. Backwards hicks and religious nuts aside, the people of the motherworld were known for being persistent - their survival alone spoke volumes of that.

Malak stepped into the room, the door gently pushed shut behind him. This matter did not belong to the ears of those who might pass by, regardless of the hour. The datapad found its way onto the desk, and the seventeen year old batarian stood in front of Alto, folding his arms.

“There’s more. I don’t think the miscalculation was accidental.”

Good lad.

“Go on.”

Alto didn’t move - didn’t take the datapad, didn’t move his gaze from the younger batarian’s very familiar features, didn’t react in any way except to encourage him to speak. There were some serious implications to what had happened, and it would be best for them all if the boy followed his thought through to the logical conclusions with minimal prodding. Accidents like this didn’t happen with weapons shipments, let alone those run by the Crimson Chains.

“I did some digging. One of the crew - Korif Namil, a freight-handler - has a sister on Cartagena.” The implication hung in the air for a moment before the boy went on. “It was my own fault. I judged the captain for his trustworthiness, and didn’t take the freight-handlers into account. He usually uses slaves, not caste members...”

“The captain broke his routine?”

That was interesting. Malak was on the right track, but if the Captain had broken with his usual routine then he was probably still responsible. What other reason could there be for the change? Several, probably, but none strong enough to justify such a thing when it came to a shipment of this size and value. It was too much of a coincidence.

“Ah..yes, sir.”

“There must have been a reason for that. This doesn’t add up. If Ashtor or Joral were involved, they would have rerouted the ship to Cartagena directly. They could certainly use the equipment. Sending it to asari space... It doesn’t make sense.”

Alto’s cold rage had largely surrendered to a thoughtful anger. Something strange was going on; something well beyond operator error and perhaps even beyond deliberate sabotage.

Nothing happens without reason.

By this point, Malak had largely forgotten about his guilt over the faults in his decisions. There would be punishment, assuredly, but for now, Alto seemed more inclined to ponder the fallacies of his enemies’ plans.

And fallacies there were. Malak listened as he brought up Ashtor and Joral - and no, it didn’t sound much like them to send such a cache of good fortune anywhere but into their grimy hands. Even they had to know the asari would destroy it...

“Unless they - or whomever the source is - wanted Khar’shan involved,” he muttered, completing the thought aloud. It was almost an inane thought, something almost moronic. The motherworld was now largely made up of pacifists who wanted nothing more than ‘peace’, to open their borders to creatures like humans and asari for trade and aid. No longer the bastion of the causes his father, his grandfather...his uncle so fanatically devoted themselves to, died to preserve. But they were not without loyalty - they were the motherworld, after all, and if Khar’shan disapproved and decided to take steps, well, there was a particular problem that might arise from that.

But even morons like Joral and Ashtor would know the asari would only deal with Khar’Shan if batarians were involved. No, this reeked of someone with a greater intellect, someone who wanted to play kalashak with them. Someone like -

The low rumbling growl that echoed through the room was probably sign enough of who was involved, but Alto nonetheless spat out the name of the batarian he hated more than most.

“Melek.”

Melek Ib-bar. Leader of the Chains’ Lorek branch and schemer extraordinaire, who had against all odds survived the battle of Lorek and now led a legitimate ‘private security enterprise’ made up of the best of the surviving Chains. Who had refused to turn command back over to Alto following the war, despite his status as Abad’s clear successor. Who had very likely orchestrated Alto’s exile to Chresk in the first place, though there was no proof of that. Gut feelings weren’t always wrong.

“If that kra’tash wants to play, we’ll play. We knew this was coming, we’ve been preparing for it; I thought Ashtor would be the first to move but Melek has taken the initiative. We need to take it back.”

As he spoke, the batarian officer rose and strode back and forth across the room, a seemingly random path but nonetheless one he had walked many times before. While his movements were born of concentration and active thought, there was an element of excitement as well; it would be good to remind Melek who was in charge, and even better to grind his bones underfoot.

“May I make a request before we make our move, sir?” Malak asked softly. The excitement had reached him, as well, it was tell-tale in the shift of his feet, the treble in his voice...but there was a sense of concern, there, as well.

“Ask.”

“My mother, and my siblings. They’re still on Lorek.”

Alto nodded slowly, factoring the remaining Sam-mels into his plans silently for a moment.

“You have to know they’re being watched. If we contact them, let alone evacuate them, Melek will know something is coming. It’s remarkable that you managed to reach us, even. Though, if we did manage to sneak them out from under him - assuming they would come - it might send a message in and of itself.”

“They will come. Ishnara is still barely more than a child, and Jehok...my mother would rather come than risk either of them being used as hostages. She doesn’t trust Melek to keep them safe with two eyes closed.”

“Clearly she’s an excellent judge of character.”

...Was that a joke? Alto didn’t joke. He’d been notorious in the Chains for his absolute lack of humor, a fact which had led to his being abused by Dreket on a regular basis in the interest of ‘lightening him up’. The older batarian didn’t give the young man a chance to consider it, however, before continuing: “It would need to be you, you know. She likely wouldn’t trust anyone else, either.”

His mother hadn’t been pleased with him when he left the second time, but at the very least, she understood. Melek had already gained some strength on Lorek, and that betrayal alone was enough to make the young man seek out a place, here.

Work with what life gives you.

He had a head, and he knew the business, and he deemed it safer for his family for him to be here, even if it meant contact was sporadic and he couldn’t protect them if Melek came knocking. No doubt Jehok had been visited by a recruiter already, and Malak sincerely hoped his younger brother had the wisdom to keep his eyes in his head and stay out of it. He had been that age when he’d first taken steps on Omega, and three years later, he could see all the idiocy in his plans.

“...Yes, sir.” There was a short pause, as Malak collected his thoughts and filed away some of it for later. Business, before anything else. “[color=#FFFF80]What about the Cabal?”

The purchasers of the freight would very likely be displeased once the news made it to them about the fate of the positively massive order they had made on behalf of ‘clients’. Alto might not engage in the practice of shooting his people, they, on the other hand...

Alto’s eyes wandered as once again he lost himself in thought, potential excuses running through his head, each being rejected for some reason or another.

“We tell them the truth. The Cabal knows Melek’s group is mostly former SIU, and as infuriating as it might be it’s not always possible to avoid this sort of incident. We’ll have to give them a discount, maybe even permanently, but they won’t act against us. They might even work with us against Lorek.”

“...And the crew? Shall I wake Kabir’s squad and tell them to get their asses to work?”

Finally, Alto turned to the datapad on the desk and quickly looked over the crew manifest. He paused the infoscroll several times to closely study a particular crewman, and lingered for some time on the captain, but eventually turned off the pad and dropped it back onto the desk.

“Yes, but not the way you probably mean. Tell Kabir to make sure the Ascendancy interrogators are undisturbed. Let them do their work. None of these-” with a dismissive wave at the pad “know anything of value, and if the Ascendancy is particularly talented at this sort of thing they might even find out that Melek is involved. Kabir is to observe, and ensure that any rescue effort of Melek’s fails ignominiously.”

Dropping back into his chair, Alto turned the monitor in front of him back on and set to work. “I’ll adjust our transit routes and drop points, they were due for a change anyways. The fools threw their lives away for nothing.”

“Yes, sir. Anything else you require of me?”

“Not for the moment. You should prepare for your trip to Lorek; if there’s anything specific you need the quartermaster will see to it.”

“Nothing specific. Funds allocated to attract, er, outside help might be of some use.” The tone was light, dismissive...but carried an undercurrent of seriousness that made it impossible to dismiss as a teenager’s jocular attitude.

It wasn’t often that Alto Ord’Narak displayed visible surprise. In fact, he was normally so emotionless that it was very hard to get a read on him at all. The mention of ‘outside help’ raised his attention, however, and if one were to look closely one could almost see the grinding gears behind his eyes.

“If you think it’s necessary. I’m putting a lot of faith in you with this, Malak. Plan as needed, and remember that failure may very well doom not only you, but your family as well.”

Malak nodded, turning on a heel and leaving Alto to his thoughts.

Later...

As an organization, the Special Intervention Unit had once ranked among the most paranoid in the galaxy, in addition to being one of the most elite. For decades and sometimes even centuries the Hegemony’s special forces branch had kept a watchful eye on the civilian StateSec and StateInt agencies, who were in turn attempting to infiltrate the SIU. In consequence, all three agencies had developed ways to monitor the loyalty of their underlings. These same techniques had been used by various semi-independent branches of the SIU, including the Crimson Chains.

Ashtor, Melek, and Alto had all certainly been aware of them. Goronak probably had suspected, having faced similar scrutiny as a member of the Aptorian Guard. Joral probably didn’t know, and nobody had thought to tell the Terminus-raised officer. Beneath this immediate group of operatives, none of the Chains had any idea how closely they were monitored, including the likes of Esarkhad Adar, more commonly known as Collar. The security hole had been plugged by each faction of the Chains proper, but among splinter groups like the Crimson Suns, made up primarily of lower-ranking men, ignorance precluded such measures.

So it was that Alto Ord’Narak had a virtually complete record of Collar’s communications. It had only rarely proven useful, but certainly had potential as both an eye on the traitors and a window into Blue Suns activity involving them. Now, though, that had changed.



Two very interesting messages indeed. Not only was someone impersonating Abad, but they had access to privileged information as suspected by Collar. They were apparently authentic enough to concern the CEO of Titan Industries, a former client of the Chains who wouldn’t waste time on such a matter if it were trivial. More importantly, someone smarter than Collar, and less likely to fall for some kind of manipulation.

Alto Ord’Narak, formerly Seeker 193 of the Special Intervention Unit, rose from his chair and strode from the office. There was still time to find Malak before he left.