Facets - Chap 3

The lines shuffled along, inching slowly toward whatever was at the end.  So tired…, Dakar thought, yawning.  Can’t they hurry this up?  Whatever it is….  He needed something to distract him, soon, else he feared he may just topple over and fall asleep right there.  Which would be rather embarrassing and he didn’t particularly want to find out how the guards would handle such a situation. 

He started to hear voices up ahead, though he couldn’t make out what was being said.  Craning his neck to try to see, he saw that the tunnel widened again, then split off into two different directions.  Closest to him was fairly large tunnel, with two armed guards at the entrance.  People at the end of the lines were peeling off and heading down this tunnel.  Guess that’s where I’ll be heading next, he thought.  As for the other passage, he couldn’t see it clearly due to being on the opposite side from it.  It looked much smaller and not for the masses.  Command center entrance? he guessed.  

Directly ahead, he noticed the wall was not flat, but had orderly vertical alcoves down its face.  This looked familiar, but his tired mind wasn’t putting the pieces into place.  As he got closer, he finally started seeing what was going on up there.  It reminded him of going to a bank:  people at the front of the line had to wait until called up to the booth in front of them and there were plenty of guards around, watching everyone warily.  

Oh hell, a check in process?  Dakar realized as the pieces of the puzzle finally snapped together in his mind.  It was likely to account for how many turned themselves in.  Will this be linked to the main citizen database? He wondered.  Dakar seriously doubted his birth name was still in the database, considering it has been nearly two centuries since he used it.  However, if it was not, that would bring up it’s own set of problems.  How the hell can I explain my situation without looking like a crazy person? 

“This has to be a mistake!” 

The outburst brought his attention to the front of the line next to his.  Standing at that booth was a young woman, whom looked rather upset, even panicked.  Huddling close to her side was a little girl, about seven years old. The booth official, meanwhile, looked apologetic and was trying to calm the mother down.  “Miss, I know this is a shock, but she will be with family.” 

“No, no you don’t understand!” the mother protested.  “I divorced that bastard two months ago and won sole custody!  He shouldn’t be even an option!” 

The man looked at his pad and frowned.  “That’s not what our system says…do you have proof the divorce went all the way through?” 

“I would if your damn men had given me the chance to grab my omni-tool,” the woman growled, glaring at the nearest guard.  The poor guard seemed to wilt a bit under her gaze. 

“Then, there’s nothing I can do for—“ 

“My daughter cannot go with him!” The mother looked truly panicked now.  “You don’t know what he’s tried to do with her!  Spirits, that should be in your damn….” 

Dakar’s didn’t catch the rest she said due to how clouded with anger his mind had become, but he didn’t need to.  Gross incompetence, he mentally growled.  By law, he shouldn’t be allowed around even his own kid until he is declared innocent of such accusations.  It was either incompetence or the man knew someone higher up.  Such individuals with connections are hard to get rid of:  he knew all too well. 

The official had stood up and walked away, likely to speak to a superior.  I hope that gets straightened out, he thought.  Then he looked at the little girl.  For her sake. The little girl noticed him looking at her and shyly pressed closer against her mother.  Dakar smiled and made some funny faces, managing to win a small smile from her.  What bright green eyes you have, he noted.   

“Hey, wake up over there!” 

Dakar’s attention snapped back to the front of him, a bit embarrassed that he hadn’t noticed how quickly his line was moving.  The distraction with the little girl and her mother cost him time to figure out what to say.   

With he resigned sigh, he stepped up to the booth, where a rather annoyed female official waited for him.  “My apologies, it’s been a long day,” he told her. 

“You had a long day?” the woman huffed.  “You’re not the one having to deal with all these people.  Name.” 

“Dakar.” 

The official looked up at him, mandibles twitching with annoyance.  “Dakar….” 

“Just Dakar,” he insisted, not about to give her his vakar codename:  it was against vakar policy to reveal that to a non-vakar. 

The woman huffed, rolling her eyes.  “Date of birth,” she prompted. 

This will cause a reaction for sure, he thought as he replied.  “1852.” 

The woman stopped mid-type and stood up, hands on the table, glaring at him.  “There is no way you are over three centuries old,” she said flatly.  

“You’d be surprised,” Dakar countered.  “I know someone that’s over a thousand…and she’s not an asari.” 

She was blinking at him, mandibles twitching, for several seconds before finally sitting down with a heavy sigh: he thought he heard her mutter something along the lines of ‘smartass’.  He watched her continue typing, then raised a brow when she suddenly stopped, looking between her datapad and him multiple times, a clear look of shock on her face.  “Dakarus Kroisun?” 

What the hell.  Dakar flapped his mandibles in shock.  “You’re shitting me…” he said after a moment, leaning on the table.   

“So this is you?”  The woman turned the pad around so he could see.  Sure enough, that was his face, sans fangs, in the picture there.  “It says you are missing….” 

“Yeah…, but…why is that still in the system?  It’s been nearly three centuries….” 

“You never know how old some bodies they find are.”  She then added with a smirk.  “Some are over a thousand.”  He blinked at her for a moment, then stood up straight and folded his arms with a huff, half amused, half annoyed his previous joke was thrown back at him.  “I must say,” she continued.  “For someone pushing three centuries, you look very good…what’s your secret?” 

“Oh a little thing called ‘becoming a vakar’,” he said coyly.   

The woman blinked once, then twice, and finally threw her head back and laughed loudly.  Dakar frowned, wondering what was so funny.  “Whoo…that’s a good one,” the woman said at last once she calmed down.  “You had me going there for a while, pal.  Now, be let’s be serious.   What’s your real name and date of birth?” 

Great, I can already tell where this is going, Dakar thought, sighing.  Ten lanes and I had to get the one with a skeptic.  “I’m afraid I am telling you the truth,” he told her.  “Dakarus Kroisun was my actual name before I became a vakar, though I just go by ‘Dakar’ now.” 

“And I’m a krogan,” the woman scowled.  “Stop pretending your some mythological creature.” 

“I am not pretending,” Dakar countered, hissing lowly. 

“You may think you’re not, but I think you took the identity of this missing sap and made up this wild ‘vakar’ story to impress the ladies.”  Her tone was getting more and more hostile. 

Dakar could feel his patience fraying.  He knew there were people that didn’t believe in them, but to flat out deny they existed while one was standing right in front of them?  For spirits sake, I don’t have the energy for this shit right now, he thought, rubbing his face.  Give me a break already!  “You would be wrong,” he said flatly. 

“Well then, in that case, a few hours in a cell may change your mind!” the woman growled before shouting.  “Guards!  Take this one to the jail block!” 

He heaved a heavy sigh as a pair of armed guards grabbed him by the arms.  They roughly guided him past the other lines, the various turians watching with a mix of reactions:  some amusement, some pity, and there was one or two with expressions of distain.  Well, at least I know what this passage goes to, Dakar mused as they took the smaller side passage.  Rather not have found out this way though. 

It was narrow, barely wide enough to accommodate the three of them side by side, but quickly widened after a few dozen meters and a heavy door into the safe camps jail section.  Dakar gave the area a cursory glance, but was feeling too tired to really comprehend much.  Looks like many jails I’ve worked in…just…underground, he thought, yawning. 

“Ah, Tonan…looks like you need to pay up,” one of the jail guards quipped.  “We got our first trouble maker.” 

“Dammit…,” another guard, Tonan, groaned, digging into his pocket and tossing the first guard a few credits.  “Was hoping for another hour of peace.” 

“So…what’s he being sent here for?”  the first guard said. 

“Possible identity theft,” one of Dakar’s handlers said.  “That’s the gist of what I overheard anyway.” 

“Oooo…who was pretending to be?  A general?  The primarch?”  Tonan asked, mockingly. 

“Some kid that went missing nearly three centuries ago.” 

“Really?” Tonan huffed.  “Who the hell cares if the dudes no doubt dead by now?” 

“I think she took more issue with my ‘claim’…”  Dakar air quoted.  “…That I’m a vakar.” 

There was an uncomfortable period of silence as the four guards processed this information.  “Seriously?” the other jail guard asked.  She then walked right up to him and stared at his face, especially his mouth.  “Are these seriously real?”  Before he realized what she was doing, she had reached up and tapped one of his fangs. 

“Ahhh!”  Dakar yelped, pulling back sharply, startling his two handlers.  “Don’t do that!  Those are sensitive!” 

“OK, either you’re a good actor, or you’re the real deal,” the woman said, folding her arms.  “Can you do any tricks to convince me?” 

Dakar raised a brow ridge at her, a little confused at what she meant. 

“You know, like turning into a pi’jak or fly?”  she clarified. 

He had to try very hard not to roll his eyes.  “No vakar can do either of those things,” he said. 

“Then what can you do?” she pressed.  “You’re becoming rather boring.” 

This time he did roll his eyes.  “My talent is in shadow manipulation.”  The woman tilted her head, gesturing a ‘go on’ motion with her hand.  Oh great, she wants a demonstration.  “I can’t show you right now…it’s day time.” 

“How convenient,” she huffed, looking disappointed.  “Put him in cell 3.” 

His two guards pushed him toward said cell, shoving him in and closing the door quickly.  “No using any of your ‘vakar magic’ to get out now,” one of them said, air quoting mockingly. 

Pfft…idiots…, Dakar thought as he lay down on the rather uncomfortable bed.  Even if I could right now I wouldn’t for honor reasons. 

He took a quick look around his new ‘accommodations’.  Typical jail cell:  small space, hard slab with a thin mattress for a bed.  Toilet that also serves as a sink.  Dakar made a heavy sigh.  Just never thought I’d end up being in one. 

The silver lining of this situation, however, is that he should be able to get some sleep.  Bed won’t be the most comfortable, he thought as he lay down onto the bed. But it beats the hard concrete floor I often had to sleep on back when I was a kid.   

Thanks to his current tired state, along with being used to sleeping on less than ideal surfaces, he dozed off fairly quickly.