“Make sure you take his weapons,” Edan called out as a pair of batarian mercs went to fetch the new arrival. “All of them,” their employer added, vividly remembering the knife Skarr had snuck in last time.
From the front came the sounds of a loud argument; though he couldn’t quite hear the words he could clearly make out the bass tones of the krogan’s deep rumble. A minute later one of the batarians came back alone.
“The krogan won’t hand over his weapons,” he said. “What?” Edan asked, surprised.
“He won’t hand over his weapons. And he’s wearing full armor.” “I won’t meet with him if he’s armed,” Edan vowed.
“That’s what I told him,” the merc responded, tilting his head to the left in a gesture of supplication. “He just laughed. Said he was happy to walk away and consider your business arrangement over.”
Edan cursed under his breath. The krogan had been paid in full up front. Normally a batarian would never agree to such terms, but exceptions had to be made for a man of Skarr’s reputation.
“Let him keep his weapons,” he finally relented. “Escort him back here.”
“Tell your men they are free to kill him this time if he tries anything. Make sure the bounty hunter hears you.”
The merc smiled, anticipating a chance for revenge, and headed back to the front. When he returned the bounty hunter was with him, and he looked angry. Edan had never actually seen a krogan Battle Master in full armor before. It was a terrifying sight: like a living tank rolling toward him. It was all he could do not to take a step back.
Skarr’s weapons weren’t drawn, but a full arsenal was slotted into his armor: a pistol on either hip; a collapsible heavy-fire assault rifle and high-powered shotgun were slung across his back. His armor had several small holes in the chest, each one ringed with discolored blood. Dark stains ran down from the wounds, tainting the armor and serving as mute testimony to the battle he had fought on Elysium.
The Blue Suns watched him closely; nine assault rifles tracking him every step of the way. The krogan didn’t seem to care; he only had eyes for the man who’d hired him. He bore down on him with long, heavy strides, the relentless clump-clump-clump of his boots the only sound in the warehouse. For a brief second Edan thought he wouldn’t stop — he’d just keep walking, churning the batarian’s smaller frame beneath his feet, grinding him into pulp. Instead, he pulled up less than a meter away, his breath coming in angry, rasping grunts.
“You failed,” Edan said. He’d meant it to come out as a stinging accusation, but standing in the shadow of the massive killer before him took all the bravado from his voice.
“You didn’t tell me I’d have to deal with a Spectre!” Skarr snarled back. “A Spectre?” Edan said with surprise. “Are you certain?”
“I know a Spectre when I see one!” Skarr roared. “Especially this one. Turian bastard!”
The corners of Edan’s mouth turned down in an expression of displeasure, but he didn’t say anything. This was bad. He knew Skarr was talking about Saren; the turian was easily the most infamous Spectre in the Verge. He was known for three things: his ruthlessness, his loyalty to the Council, and his ability to get results.
“I make it a habit never to get involved in Spectre business,” Skarr said, his voice dropping to a low growl. “You knew that when you hired me. You tricked me, batarian.”
“My guards will fire on you if you try anything,” Edan said quickly, sensing the implied threat. “You might kill me, but you’ll never get out of here alive.”
The krogan’s big head rolled from side to side, glancing at the armed mercs and evaluating his chances. Realizing this was a battle even he couldn’t win, he slowly took a step back from Edan.
“I guess we’re in this together then,” he snorted. “But you’re going to have to double my fee.” Edan blinked in surprise. This was not how he expected the negotiations to go.
“You’re not bargaining from a position of power,” he pointed out. “You didn’t complete the job. If anything, I should ask for a refund. Or I could just have my men eliminate you now.”
Skarr barked out a loud laugh. “You’re right. Sanders is still alive. She’s probably talking to Saren right now, telling him everything she knows. How long until he figures out you were behind all this? How long until he shows up on Camala?”
The batarian didn’t answer.
“Sooner or later that Spectre will track you down,” the bounty hunter warned, pressing his point. “When he does, your only hope of staying alive is to have me on your side.”
Edan brought his hands together, forming a five-fingered steeple as he considered the situation. The krogan was correct; he needed his help now more than ever. But he wasn’t willing to admit total defeat.
“Very well,” he conceded, “I’ll double your pay. But in exchange you’ll have to do something for me.” Skarr didn’t say anything, but merely waited for the batarian to continue.
“I was never at Sidon,” Edan explained. “Sanders has no knowledge of my identity. With the files at the base destroyed, there is only one connection left linking me to this crime: Dr. Qian’s supplier here on Camala.”
“Dah’tan Manufacturing,” Skarr said after only a moment’s hesitation, quickly putting the pieces together. Once again Edan was impressed at how quickly his mind worked. “Does Sanders know about the supplier?”
“I can’t be sure,” Edan admitted. “But if she mentions it, that’s the first place the Spectre will go. I’m not willing to take that risk.”
“So what do you need from me?”
“I ordered you to come back to this world so you could wipe out Dah’tan Manufacturing. Eliminate all the personnel, all the records. Burn it to the ground. Leave nothing behind. Nothing.”
“You brought me back for that?” Skarr spat out. “Are you stupid? Saren’s going to have his people watching for me. He’s probably already on his way here to try and track me down. We attack Dah’tan and he’ll be there inside an hour. You’d practically lead him straight to your supplier!”
“He might learn about Dah’tan from Sanders anyway,” Edan countered. He refused to back down this time. He was tired of losing face to this brute. “You can get in, finish the job, and disappear before Saren ever arrives,” he insisted. “By the time he gets to Dah’tan all the evidence will be destroyed and you can be long gone. There won’t be anything left for him to find.
“You’ll just have to work fast.”
“That’s how mistakes get made,” the bounty hunter argued. “I don’t like sloppy missions. Tell your men to go in without me.”
“This is not open to negotiation!” Edan shouted, finally losing his temper. “I hired you to kill someone! You failed! I demand something for the money I’m paying you!”
Skarr shook his head in disbelief. “You know it was a mistake bringing me back here for this. I thought you were smart enough not to put your pride ahead of business.”
“You thought wrong,” Edan replied, no longer shouting. But his voice was cold as ice. It was more than simple pride; batarian culture placed tremendous value on social caste. He was a man of high standing; if he simply forgave the krogan for this failure it would be an admission that they were equals… something he was not about to do.
The krogan took another long look at the Blue Suns stationed around the warehouse, their guns still raised and ready and pointing right at him. “Dah’tan has heavy security,” he finally said. “How are we even supposed to get inside?”
“I have some of their people on my payroll,” Edan replied with just a hint of smugness. He’d finally managed to back Skarr into a corner. They were bargaining on his terms now.
“You really think these hrakhors are good enough to handle a job like this?” the bounty hunter asked, making one last attempt to get out of it.
“They were good enough to take out the Alliance soldiers at Sidon.” “They screwed that mission up,” Skarr objected.
“That’s why I’m sending you along this time” was Edan’s smug reply.
Anderson flashed his military ID and slipped his thumb into the portable scanner held by the Alliance guard working the port authority entrance. The young man, who’d jumped to stand at attention as they’d approached, glanced down at the computer screen to confirm the readout.
“Sir,” the guard replied with a curt nod, handing it back to him a moment later. The lieutenant did his best not to hold his breath as Kahlee placed her own thumb into the scanner and handed over her phony ID and the optical storage disk with the counterfeit authorization orders they’d purchased earlier that day.
The man who’d forged them had come to the house first thing in the morning, arriving less than ten minutes
