Facets - Chap 2

Safe Camp C Entrance

Well…I wasn’t expecting this, Dakar thought as he stared at the access tunnel in front of him.  I knew safe camps are incorporated into city design, but I wasn’t thinking it would be underground!   

“Get moving!” 

Dakar felt someone roughly shove him in the back:  sounded like the same female that told him not to expect any ‘special treatment’.  In such a hurry to go terrorize more innocents, eh? He thought bitterly, looking back briefly to confirm his suspicion before joining the rest of small throng heading into the tunnel.   

The tunnel was wide enough for eight turians to walk abreast and about twenty feet tall, however, they were only allowed to walk within the center, about four abreast wide.  On either side was a simple rope fence, nothing fancy or strong enough to really keep anyone in: Dakar suspected it was more for controlling the flow of people and psychological purposes.  

Beyond the fence on either side was a clear lane, where he spotted the occasional guard or other official walking up and down it.  Beyond that was a raised section of the tunnel, on top of which lay various guard positions: most of them manned by turians who looked well-armed.  These guards were looking down upon them, their hardened expressions practically daring someone to try to make a run for it. 

Dakar then focused his attention on the crowd around him.  Most of group was quiet, though he did hear the occasional sob or quiet muttering.  It didn’t escape his notice that it wasn’t just turians caught up in this either: he saw a few asari and salarians, which was unsurprising since they were longtime allies.  What was surprising was spotting the unmistakable bulk of a krogan. 

I’m surprised he even made it to the transport, he noted with a smirk, knowing all too well the bad blood between krogan and turians.  Elder Miroris, being well over a thousand years old, had actually lived through the Krogan Wars.  Thus, she had plenty of first hand stories to tell about what krogans were capable of. 

Then he laid eyes on a couple of aliens he hadn’t seen before.  They were roughly the height of an average turian, body shape somewhat similar to an asari, but more angular.  These alien shared the asari’s five fingered hands: a rarity among known galactic sentients.  Unlike asari, however, their skin were a very light brown in hue and instead of fleshy crests, they had a crop of...very fine quills?  Feathers?  Dakar wasn’t sure what that was.   

Hmm, those must be humans, he concluded, recalling now the vague reports of their description.  The ones that gave our military a good run for their credits.  Dakar had heard it took the Citadel Council to stop the war between their two species before it went too far.  From the glares a number of turians were giving this human pair, there was still a lot of resentment.  With that in consideration, it was a bit surprising they made it here alive:  he wondered if the hastatum wanted to shoot them rather than herd them into a transport with everyone else. 

For their part, the humans were glaring right back.  One of them, whom was wearing grey attire made of a soft looking fabric, looked rather annoyed and confused, if Dakar was reading the body language right that is.  I really should study up on alien communication, he told himself.  Body language seems similar to asari…just less seductive. 

The other human, whom was wearing what resembled a kind of leathery robe, noticed he was looking at him.  At first it glared at him:  when it realized Dakar wasn’t actually glaring at him, it’s expression turned more…curious?  There was a tilt of the head and a raised brow before it said something to him.  It sounded male, but there was no way for him to really know for sure and he didn’t want to make any assumptions.  Regardless, he didn’t understand a word.  Times like this I wish we weren’t so stringent on not using tech, he thought.  A translator would be useful in this situation.   

Dakar tapped by his ear hole and shrugged, hoping the human understood what the gesture meant.  He could have said something, but he wasn’t sure if the human had a translator itself.  The human huffed, or was it a sigh, before looking away.  Dakar thought it that was the end of it, but then he watched the human tap a turian in front of it on the shoulder and say something to her.  The woman looked at the human, then looked at him, a scowl now forming on her face. 

“Oh…one of them,” she sneered.  “That’s a vakar, Tom.  A blood sucking vigilante I wish our Hierarchy would get the spine to wipe off the face of the galaxy.”  That the woman knew its name suggested she was this pair’s guide and probably the reason they made it this far without being assaulted. 

“My, name calling already?  And you don’t even know me…,” Dakar muttered sarcastically.  “My kind does perform a service to society, ya know.” 

“One you have no business doing!” the woman snapped.  “Our police force is more than sufficient to deal with the low life!” 

“Hun, I was an officer before I became a vakar, so I know, at least in some areas, what you claim is a bunch of varren shit.”  Not to mention, they are not allowed to do more to ensure certain criminal types get what they really deserve.  He dare not speak that outload, however, as it was more of an opinion than fact.  Turian reliance on rehabilitation had its flaws and the habit of putting the unredeemable into hard labor camps had its own risks. 

“Quiet down there!” a guard warned. 

This cut off the counter the woman was starting to speak.  Instead she just glared at him for a moment before looking away.  The human, Tom, was looking at him still.  Quizzically?  Intrigued? He wasn’t certain what the expression it had on it’s face was and that he could not be certain was starting to bug the hell out of him.   

A short time later, the guards directed all non-turians to go down a side-tunnel.  No special treatment, eh? Dakar thought, recalling the hastatum squad leader’s earlier comment.  Pfft.  Ah well, I suppose it makes more sense in their case.  He knew for certain most of the other species were levo, not dextro like turians, so that likely factored into the separation.  Bet there’s ambassadors waiting for them, he mused. Gotta love politics. 

He wondered if the humans had an official ambassador yet.  From how their guide was responding to this change of events, it was possible they did not.  She was protesting to one of the guards, making quite a scene. 

“You can’t take them from me!” she told a guard.  “If something happens to them when I’m--” 

“They’ll be safer with other aliens than with a bunch of us,” the guard interrupted.  “You surely saw the looks they were getting: if a riot started due to their presence, you would not be able to protect them!”

“He’s right,” Dakar put in, stepping out of the moving crowd.  “There’s still too much resentment toward their kind: it’s better to be safe than sorry.” 

“I did not ask for you input, vakar!” the woman snapped.  “Shut your mandibles!” 

“I will not,” Dakar said calmly.  “If you were on their homeworld and they had a similar event you got caught up in, would you not be more comfortable in a section that wasn’t full of aliens that resented, if not despised you?” 

There was a bit of angry sputtering before the woman calmed down enough to actually think it through.  “Alright, fine…you win.  But if something happens to them, I’m holding you…” Dakar frowned when she pointed right at him.  “Accountable.”  He watched as she stormed off, probably wanting to get as far away from him as possible. 

“What a pleasant lady….” Dakar sighed. 

“Reminds me of my mother-in-law….” He heard the guard muttering before addressing him directly.  “Better get moving yourself, pal.” 

Dakar nodded and rejoined the crowd, hoping the humans won’t get themselves into trouble.  He also hoped no turians got the bright idea to try hunting the humans down for some one-on-one retribution.  His jaws and mandibles spread wide as he yawned.  Wonder what time it is? he thought.  Feels like I’ve been in this parade forever.  It’s certainly long past my nappy time. 

Up ahead he noticed a change in the overall tunnel structure.  It started to widen considerably, allowing the crowd to spread out a bit more.  Then the crowd organized into ten rows, though what was at the end, Dakar couldn’t see just yet.   

Movement directly front of him caught his eye.  Before him, a young man was acting really nervous.  He kept looking around, his body language hinting that he was on the verge of full panic.  “To many.  Too many….” He thought he heard him mutter. 

Social anxiety?  Fear of crowds? Dakar wondered.  Whatever it is, if he keeps it up he’s going to get noticed in a bad way.  “Sir,” he said calmly, putting a hand on his shoulder the young man frozen at his touch.  “You need to calm down…try taking a few deep breaths.” 

The man looked back at him, his eyes so wide he could see the dark sclera of his eyes.  Those eyes now seemed to grow even wider.  “Oh no…” Dakar heard him mutter. 

“I will not hurt you: I have no reason to,” Dakar tried to assure him, recognizing that the man was afraid of what he was.  “Please try to calm down: whatever it is you’re worried about, it’s not worth your life.” 

He seemed to at least try to take his advice, as Dakar heard him taking a few deep breaths.  It did little good, however, has the man started to tremble, his fear starting to become overwhelming.  Dakar noticed a few of the more eagle eyed guards take notice, their stances tensing for the inevitable. 

Dakar wanted to talk to the man again, to try to make him see reason.  However, the man was clearly afraid of both this process and vakar: his earlier attempt had only made the situation worse.  He felt that gut wrenching feeling of helplessness he hated so much as he watched the man descend further and further into a nervous breakdown.  When it finally became too much, he bolted toward the fence in full panic, vaulted over the rope and started running down the side line. 

“Don’t!”  Dakar cried, not sure himself if he said it to the man, or the guards.  It was futile either way and Dakar could only watch helplessly as the nearest guard took a shot.  There was some gasps and screams as the shot hit true, striking the fleeing man in the back of the head.  Blood and gore sprayed onto the walls and a few unfortunate turians that where too close. 

“Dammit!” Dakar exclaimed, glaring up at the guard responsible.  “Why!?  He wasn’t a threat to anyone!” 

The guard looked down at him with a snort, leveling his weapon at him.  “Wanna join him, punk?” 

He’s been in the company of death for too long, Dakar thought with a growl, feeling his body tense.  A low hiss escaped his mouth, the thump of blood echoed in his ears as the adrenaline rushed through his body.  He and the guard where in the standoff, each waiting to see who would act first.  Dakar knew he was at a big disadvantage here, but he didn’t care:  he wanted to rip that man’s throat out. 

“Don’t do it lad!” a new voice pleaded.  Dakar felt a couple of pairs of hands pull him back and down.  “It’s not worth your life!” 

“He--!” Dakar started to protest, his logical mind not quite back in full control yet. 

“He will get what is owed to him in time.”  Dakar finally looked up at the speaker, a physically much older male.  The one helping him hold him back looked like his son, maybe grandson, due to the similarities.  “You did what you could for the boy,” the old man told him.  “Don’t waste your life on petty revenge when you can spend it saving those you can save.” 

There was great wisdom in those words.  No matter how much it pained him, he knew them to be true.  With that knowledge, he forced himself to calm down:  only once most of the tension was gone in his body, did the two men release him.  With a heavy sigh, he now rose back up to his feet and nodded in thanks to the old man.  Before moving on, however, he looked back up at the guard once more.  The guard had his weapon back in the rest positon, blue eyes staring down at him with a gaze of cold malice.  With that look, Dakar knew this man wanted to kill again and was waiting for any excuse to do so: he was exactly the wrong kind of person to hold such authority. 

“I will remember you,” Dakar told him harshly, curling up his upper lip as far as it could go.  He wanted to be sure the man saw his fangs, to show him exactly what he pissed off.  To his pleasure, the guard’s eyes widened slightly, the malice in his eyes now dissipating.  It could have been his imagination, but he thought he saw a shiver go down his body as well. 

Satisfied the man got the message, Dakar sharply turned back around and continued down the line.  He put the entire encounter out of his mind, not to forget, but to reserve it for later when it would be more appropriate.  In this situation, away from his fellow vakar, he couldn’t afford to remain emotionally wound up.   

Especially since he did not know what else this event was going to throw at him.