Griff4815
No. 1 Grovyle Fan
This is a multi-part, Mass Effect short story that serves as a companion piece to the Mass Effect RP that I'm in, Mass Effect: Association by storymasterb. This story focuses on my krogan character, Hailot Brask, and some of his backstory before the events of the RP.
This is going to be posted in a several parts, since it will be too long to post on its own. I'll update it as I complete them.
Disclaimer: I don't own Mass Effect or its universe.
Rating: PG-15. For violence, swearing, and mature themes.
It was a warm day on the krogan homeworld of Tuchanka. The air was heavy with tropical humidity. It caused the heat of Aralakh, the blazing star, to beat down on the surface that much stronger. The oppressive heat felt amplified by the water vapour, and the humidity was thick enough to cut with a dagger.
Although the midday temperature was quite hot – around 40 Celsius – due to the merciless heat of Aralakh combined with the porous ozone layer of Tuchanka, the extreme temperatures were mitigated by the Shroud that the salarians had created during their uplift thousands of years ago. This allowed shrouded areas of Tuchanka to even out at an uncomfortable but livable temperature. The Shroud’s veil was particularly thick that day, causing the stifling humidity, rather than the standard dry heat that was usual for Tuchanka.
A krogan stood on the metal floor of a docking pier. Like the rest of his species, he was a large, muscular alien with reptilian characteristics. His pale yellow scales coated his broad, chiselled, imposing body, tough enough to withstand abrasions that would cause other species’ skins to split. He stood at seven and a half feet, and he was nearly 200 kilos of sheer bone and muscle. On his back was a large hump that caused him to look somewhat hunched over and imposing. His pair of muscular arms were folded across his chest, and he paced back and forth impatiently on his hooked, digitigrade legs. Each hand had three, clawed fingers, and each foot had three toes. In addition to this, the krogan had a stubby, wedge-shaped tail just above his posterior.
Over his hooked legs, he wore black leggings. His muscular upper body was covered with a black, opened, leather jacket, made from the hide of an indigenous Tuchanka creature. Underneath this smooth jacket was a grey shirt that clung to his well-developed chest. It matched the grey cloth that covered his hump. He wore several belts and fasteners over his body to keep the clothing in place, as well as for aesthetic reasons and, more importantly, to allow for multiple weapon holsters. The krogan in question had a wide snout and a sturdy jaw that contained a frown. His gruff face lay beneath a dark blue head plate that covered his forehead. He had a pair of wide-set eyes, complete with sharp, green irises and narrow pupils. His eyes gazed up at the hazy, golden brown sky expectantly.
The light of Aralakh was dimmed by the veil of the Shroud and by the windswept dust. It caused the sky to appear orange and cloudy. The krogan folded his arms across his chest and leaned against a cargo crate that rested on one of the piers of the docking bay. The space port was in Clan Urdnot territory. There were two sections to the space port – an open air dock for larger ships, and subterranean private docks for small shuttles. The krogan was at the open air dock.
The space port was quite large, with many different piers – although most of them were unused and run-down thanks to the Council’s ban on the krogan creating any military-grade starships. This ban was one of the many stipulations laid out in the armistice agreement that ended the Krogan Rebellions. One of the others was the creation of the Council Demilitarization Enforcement Mission (or CDEM). CDEM was a regulatory body whose headquarters was located at Pildea Station, positioned at the Lagrange point of the neighbouring planet of Dor. It was their job to control, log, and inspect ship traffic in the Krogan DMZ. Their role was to crack down on smuggling, regulate the Shroud, and generally keep an eye on the krogan in the demilitarized zone.
The krogan sighed irritably and continued to wait. His name was Hailot Brask, and he had been sent there on a job by his acting clan leader. He was supposed to meet a team of offworlders who were visiting the planet.
Offworlders on Tuchanka were generally treated with suspicion at best and outright aggression at worst. This was especially true for the Citadel Council races. The scars of the Genophage remained in the hearts of every krogan. They could not forget nor forgive what the turians and salarians had done to their race in order to end the Krogan Rebellions. They lived in constant reminder of the Genophage, the bio-weapon produced by the salarians and implemented by the turians, which caused almost complete infant mortality. Only one in a thousand krogan made it to term, with the rest dying in stillbirth or not even making it to that stage of development. This resulted in a deep sense of fatalism across the krogan species, which, combined with their violence-seeking nature, has kept the krogan divided and focused on selling out their services as mercenaries. All of these factors led to a net decrease in the krogan population, with many scientists speculating that it could end in extinction. Due to these factors, the bitterness and hatred of turians and salarians ran deep.
That was why Hailot Brask was there. Brask was to be their guide and bodyguard.
Brask heard the distant humming of engines, and he could see the dark silhouette of a descending turian-made corvette within the veil of dust and clouds. Brask turned and looked down the docking bay to a tall control tower. The control tower activated its beacon and began to guide the corvette towards the dock.
Brask turned his head up and watched as the corvette drew near. His eyes were narrow with suspicion and annoyance, carefully inspecting the descending personnel craft. At the back of his mind, he wondered how the hell he got into this situation…
Five days earlier…
“What are you waiting for, Brask? Sit your scaly ass down already,” a deep, brusque, but professional voice told him.
“Battlemaster,” Brask responded with a nod, taking a step forward to the sturdy chair in front of him.
He stood in a large office made of thick, reinforced concrete. It was cold, austere and harsh. The giant skulls of predators were mounted on the left wall, each boasting either gnarled horns or jagged teeth. In between each trophy was an antique weapon, each as deadliest as the last. Along the right wall was a long, horizontal window that was more like the slit of a fortified bunker. The setting sun cast light into the office, painting a blood rose colour across the room.
The office was situated on the upper part of a tall building that overlooked the nearby settlement of Hailot. The settlement was composed of many stone buildings. These buildings were rugged, durable, jagged, and brutalist in their architecture. They were imposing and not aesthetically-pleasing – designed for practical durability rather than art. Many of the walls were scarred by battle and dilapidated from explosions. Some of the buildings were caved in, while others had holes blown through their sides. The roads were cracked and dirty, deteriorated from bombings and heavy vehicle use. There were noticeable repairs made to the roads and buildings, but they were more patch ups rather than full renovations. Lining the perimeter of Hailot were heavy fortifications and barricades.
Brask stepped forwards and sat down on the chair in front of the desk. On the surface of the desk was a datapad, a plate of half-finished meat, and a heavy pistol. Sitting behind the desk was another krogan. He was bigger and more muscular than Brask was. His had a dark brown head plate, blood red eyes, and a long scar stretching down his neck from behind his left eye to his collar bone. The krogan’s name was Hailot Vash.
Battlemaster Vash was the acting chief of Clan Hailot on Tuchanka. Clan Hailot was primarily situated on the planet of Garvug, currently led by Hailot Wrund, but a sizeable branch of Clan Hailot remained on Tuchanka to ensure their ancestral holdings and reputation as a clan. It also ensured that Clan Hailot would have rights of access to the female clans of Tuchanka. This Tuchankan branch was led by Vash.
It was also there that Brask was born and where he took his Rite of Passage. He was proud to be a member of Clan Hailot. Otherwise he wouldn’t be sitting where he was.
Brask relaxed in his seat and stared at the krogan across from him. “So, you got a job for me, Vash?” he asked.
Vash nodded. “Yeah. Before you get too excited, shut up and let me tell you what it is,” the Hailot leader explained.
“I’m listening,” Brask responded, folding his arms.
Vash leaned his arms forwards on his desk, one of his fingers tapping the datapad as he stared Brask in the eye. “…How do you feel about aliens? Turians, salarians, so on…”
Brask scoffed. “I think they’re a bunch of stuck up pieces of shit,” he responded bluntly. “Salarians are as curious and meddlesome as pyjaks. Can’t mind their own damn business. Turians are a bunch of haughty, miserable pricks with metal rods up their assholes.”
“True. Here’s a better question: can you work with any without wanting to rip them in half?” Vash reiterated with a smirk.
Brask narrowed his green eyes, his brow arching. “I guess so. …What’s this about, exactly?” he asked him.
“Good. So, this is the situation,” Vash begun. “We’ve got a team of offworlders coming to Tuchanka in five days. Not mercs – it’s a research team.”
“A research team?” Brask asked sceptically. He grunted. “Better not be scientists or doctors…”
Vash scoffed and looked at Brask incredulously. “What the hell do you take me for? I’ve got some damn sense, idiot. They’re not scientists. They’re from CIFPOGCAHS,” the acting clan leader explained matter-of-factly.
Brask blinked and squinted at Vash with confusion. “Did you just sneeze at me…?” he wondered.
Vash rolled his eyes. “CIFPOGCAHS. The Citadel Institute For the Protection Of Galactic Culture and Heritage Sites. Some fancy organization on the Citadel – probably run by some asari,” he explained offhandedly. “Anyway, it’s a team of archaeologists. They’re coming here to research krogan history and culture.”
“Okay, I got it. But why do we care about that?” Brask asked him.
Vash leaned forwards on his desk, idly poking buttons on his datapad. “It’s part of our Citadel Outreach Program. Gotta make nice with the Council Races on the Citadel,” he dismissively answered.
“Why can’t we just tell them to shove it up their asses?” Brask questioned, with what he thought was a reasonable inquiry.
Vash grinned. “As tempting as that is, it’s not smart. It’s politics, Brask. We’ve gotta make it seem like our clan is welcoming to outsiders and agreeable with the Council. Half of Clan Hailot lives on Garvug, so that means we’re constantly shipping cargo - weapons, food, ammo, krogan, whatever – between here and Garvug. Do you know how much of a pain in the ass it is with CDEM constantly looking over our shoulders, checking our every shipment for smuggled goods, drowning me in paperwork with their damn, endless bureaucracy...?” Vash sounded particularly aggrieved with the last part.
The krogan clan chief looked across the desk at Brask emphatically. “All that red tape is a waste of time and money. If we can make nice with the Citadel Council and CDEM – you know, show them that we’re one of the ‘good’ clans - then they might ease up on the restrictions on our ship traffic. Plus, maybe we can start to carve a diplomatic path into the surface of the Citadel. We had our embassy removed after the Rebellion, but if the humans can get one after picking a fight with turians, then so can we! If we can get some good trade deals going, then our clan will be rich enough to take out our enemies and we’ll grow in power here on Tuchanka. That’d give us an edge over the other clans. It helps that our allies over at Urdnot are on the rise too.”
Brask rubbed the back of his neck. “Okay, that’s all nice and complicated, but where do I fit into all this?” he couldn’t help but ask. “I’ll leave the long term stuff to you.”
“You know as well as I do that Tuchanka is dangerous to offworlders, especially turians and salarians,” he answered. “I don’t just mean from us krogan either. I’ve got good money that says that they run into a thresher maw or some carnivorous plant or a minefield on their travels. They need a guide and they need a bodyguard. They don’t want to use Blood Pack mercs for protection, and we don’t want them to use Blood Pack mercs for protection either. I want them to have a Hailot looking after them; it makes us look good, and we get to control their perceptions. So I want one of my best on this,” Vash explained, leering at Brask. “If that team ends up dead, it’s gonna be a personal embarrassment for me – I’m sticking my quad on the line here. That’s why I need someone I can trust. I need somebody who’s loyal to me and who’ll follow my orders. I need somebody level-headed and professional enough not to fly into a blood rage if a salarian mentions the Genophage. And I also need somebody who can handle himself if some krogan with nothing better to do wants to have some target practice. That’s why you’re here, Brask.”
Brask frowned and folded his arms, initially sceptical about the proposition. “So… You want me to babysit a bunch of alien archaeologists?” he asked, making his uncertainty evident.
“Basically, yeah. I need you to keep them from dying or getting hurt so they can go back to the Citadel and tell them what a lovely experience they had with Clan Hailot. Show them all the nice ruins, let them take a vase or two back for their studies, get their history rocks off. Simple as that,” his battlemaster explained.
Brask grunted. “I don’t know… How long is this for?”
“About six galactic standard months,” Vash responded. “I know it’s not the same as shooting up some Weyrloc convoys, but it’s a good job. You should be honoured that I’m asking for you. Do a good job and I’ll make sure you’re rewarded. Improved status within the clan, privileged access to breeding requests, more perks…” The brown-plated krogan turned the datapad around and shoved it towards Brask. “And that many credits for your services.”
Brask looked at the number on the datapad and his eye ridges rose with interest. “Damn…” he remarked, impressed.
“One good thing about Tuchanka is that visiting offworlders will pay a lot of money to make sure they don’t die. And CIFPOGCAHS has a lot of money to throw around,” Vash explained. He stared Brask in the face. “Well? I want you for this job, Brask. Or don’t you have the quad to handle a few little archaeologists?”
Brask grunted and smirked. “…Okay. I’ll do it,” he responded, convinced by both the rewards and the challenge.
“Good. I knew you had the hump,” Vash said with an approving nod. “I’ll transfer the details to your omni-tool. The team’ll be arriving in five days. And they’ll be landing at Urdnot Space Port. Don’t worry about that – we got clearance with Clan Urdnot to use it. Perks of our alliance.”
“Yeah, got it,” Brask said, standing to his feet.
“I’m sure you know this, but you’ll probably be leaving Hailot and Urdnot territory. There’s not a lot of old ruins around here. So, be careful out in the disputed territory. Keep a low profile and keep off the main roads unless you want your quad fried,” Vash advised him. “Don’t let the archaeologists talk you into going somewhere dangerous like the middle of Weyrloc territory. I don’t care if they get to see all their ruins or not. I only care if they make it back alive. So, in short: use your head.”
“Sir,” Brask acknowledged. “You can count on me.”
“Good,” the Clan Hailot leader said. “That’s it. Go. I’ll give you a precise time in a few days after all the CDEM bureaucracy.”
Brask nodded and turned around to leave. “I’ll go talk to Dax about borrowing a Tomkah,” he responded. “Gonna need it in good condition if it’s gonna be six months…”
The krogan walked out of the office and sighed. This wasn’t the sort of job he was used to. He was used to fighting and destroying things. He wasn’t even that used to dealing with aliens. He had dealt with them on Garvug and on stops between planets, but aliens weren’t common on Tuchanka. He wasn’t sure how he’d act, spending six months with offworlders. It would definitely be a hard experience for him.
But Brask was a professional. That’s what he told himself. He could handle six months babysitting an asari or two.
He hoped.
Brask paced the dock of the Urdnot space port as he watched the shuttle descend. The small transport vessel gently declined through the hazy atmosphere, aided by the control tower’s directions and a laser guidance system.
The space port was medium sized, with about ten different individual docks for larger ships. The docks were long and wide, with each pier running parallel to the others. The landing pads were rough, cracked, relatively flat layers of stone. The docks themselves were raised slightly above the ground in order to access a ship’s airlock. The surface of the docks were covered with a white-ish silver, heat-resistant metal.
To protect the site, the perimeter of the space port was sealed off with fences, anti-tank obstacles, and turrets. The space port was one of Clan Urdnot’s strategic treasures; it would be a high priority target for enemy clans, so it needed to be protected. Despite that, there wasn’t an abundance of space traffic landing on Tuchanka. Warships were forbidden to land on Tuchanka, so typically only civilian vessels, freighters, and transports could land here. Considering how hostile a planet Tuchanka was, particularly to outsiders, this port wasn’t exactly a traffic hub like the Citadel Space Port. It isn’t surprising that the traffic controller spent most of his time shooting pyjaks with a sniper rifle rather than landing shuttles and spacecraft.
Brask walked towards the pier just as the Council corvette touched down. The shuttle used its ventral thrusters to soften its landing, causing a warm blast of wind to wash over Brask as he reached the docking arm.
The krogan shielded his eyes as dust came swelling out as a result. He grunted irritably and checked the pier number before double-checking the inbound spacecraft information on his datapad. It seemed to check out that this was the shuttle he was waiting for. Not that he expected anything different.
The angular ship settled onto the landing pad and turned off its engines. Brask waited for a few minutes, listening the sounds of the thrusters cooling. Finally, the airlock door opened and figures began to step out of the vessel, onto the pier. Brask frowned when he saw the first member of the archaeology team emerge.
It was a turian. Brask could tell that much from the body type. However, the spiky crests that made turian males easily identifiable were absent. Instead, he noticed a pair of prongs extending back from the jawline of the turian’s mandibles. Brask blinked with surprise. Was that a female turian?
The turian who was, indeed, female, jumped down onto the pier and held her clawed, three-fingered hand up to her forehead to protect her eyes from the harsh Tuchankan sunlight. Brask watched the motion, and saw that she had a dark grey face plate over her visage. The face plate stretched backwards, forming sharp ridges at her forehead and as well as the previously mentioned spikes, which were connected to the vertical mandibles that flanked her chin. There were white facial markings tattooed over her plated face, with stylized, branching curves above her eyes, as well as dots below them and two long streaks along her mandibles. Beneath her exoskeleton was greyish-brown skin that looked almost as rough as krogan’s scales.
She walked onto the arm of the dock, her hooked legs bending as she walked on her clawed toes like krogan did. Her body was lithe in physique, but she moved with purpose and energy rather than with grace and finesse. Over her legs was a pair of black pants – clean, but not fancy or anything other than practical. Her upper body was a short-sleeved, dark green top that covered her body up to her collar. Her outfit’s collar was round and open, standing up a few centimeters at the hem and allowing her form to breath under the hot sun. The dark green fabric of her shirt tucked into a grey belt that wrapped around her waist.
The turian spotted Brask standing at the end of the pier and immediately began striding towards him, ignoring the weight of the giant backpack strapped to her back. “Come on, everyone. Don’t bake in the sun,” she called over her shoulder to her teammates who were still in the shuttle.
Brask narrowed his eyes at her as she approached. To his mild surprise, the turian walked right up to him as if he wasn’t a couple-hundred-kilogram krogan with a pistol and a sneer on his face. He craned his head downwards as the six-something foot turian stopped in front of him and looked at him with what he assumed was a smile.
The turian extended her clawed hand towards him and looked up at him with blue eyes. “You must be our guide from Clan Hailot. My name is Valeria Naxsus. I’m in charge of this research team from the Citadel Institute for the Protection of Galactic Culture and Heritage Sites. It’s a pleasure to meet you,” she said with a calm smile.
Brask gazed down at her hand distastefully for a good few seconds. He then looked back up and stared at her with a deadpan expression.
Valeria’s mandibles twitched slightly when she realised that he was leaving her hanging.
“Hailot Brask,” he finally said, his voice brusque and unwelcoming. “And I’m not your guide; I’m your bodyguard. I’m only here because my chief wants to make sure you and your team don’t get ripped apart by the many things here that want to kill you… my people included.”
Valeria’s mandibles twitched again. “…Charming. I was warned about krogan hospitality,” she deadpanned, retracting her hand and placing it at her side.
Brask levelled an uncaring look directly at her. “Whatever you were warned about, turian, forget it. That’s my job now. You don’t know Tuchanka until you’ve lived here,” he sternly explained. “You and your team need to listen to what I say. Then you can go and do… whatever it is you’re doing here.”
The female turian narrowed her eyes at him. “We’re here to unearth the wonders of your civilization,” she answered pointedly.
Brask scoffed and shook his head. He reached his arm out and gestured around at the devastated landscape, the state of disrepair, and the smoke and gunfire in the distance. “Look around us… See any ‘wonders’ around here?” he asked her. “See any civilization?”
Valeria stood her ground and stared at him stubbornly. “Maybe not in plain sight… But we wouldn’t have risked coming here if we didn’t think that there was something worth finding. We didn’t just come here for the warm and friendly company,” she sarcastically replied. “Every species has their own rich and unique cultures.”
The corners of Brask’s mouth twitched and he released a grunt. “Culture? The only culture we have around here is this.” For emphasis, Brask gestured to the heavy pistol attached to his hip. “If we’re lucky, I won’t have to ‘culture’ anybody’s brains out while you’re scouring for old stuff.”
The turian merely shook her head and sighed. “There’s more to the krogan than that…” she muttered. “Are you sure we can’t trade you for somebody who isn’t a miserable cynic?”
“A cynic is what you need to keep you alive,” Brask countered. “And trust me. I’m like a hanar compared to some of the other krogan around here.”
Valeria sighed. “Then I guess we’re stuck with each other. Let’s try to at least make the best of it. We’ll be working together for at least six months,” she stated, attempting to extend a bit of good will after their belligerent first impressions.
“And doesn’t that just fill me with joy?” Brask sarcastically muttered. “Come on. Get your teammates moving. I need to get the tomkah fired up.”
Valeria nodded and began to turn around. “I’ll regard your advice since you’re our guide, Brask,” she mentioned deliberately as she turned away.
Brask couldn’t help but grin with mild amusement. He turned away and began walking back down the dock, though not getting too far ahead.
The dark grey-plated turian waited for her teammates to emerge out of the shuttle. The first was a blue humanoid with a wavy, ridge-like crests on her head. The asari stepped out of the vessel and onto the pier, wearing a white, buttoned top that matched her slender leggings.
“By the Goddess, it’s hot…” the asari proclaimed upon feeling the heat of Aralakh on her smooth, light blue skin.
“I think it’s fine. We’ll mainly be in areas protected by the Shroud,” Valeria responded.
“It’s fine for you, Valeria. You’re from Palaven,” another voice – this one male – said. The lanky form of a salarian gracefully jumped down onto the arm of the dock. He had a skinny head with a pair of dull horns protruding upwards from his skull. He was clad in a dark green space suit, and he hauled a large backpack on his back. The salarian’s large, black, beady eyes looked at Valeria dryly. “Your planet has almost as much UV radiation as Tuchanka does.”
“It won’t be as bad once you get used to it, Garik,” Valeria assured him.
Garik, the salarian, walked down the pier and looked around the spaceport uncertainly. “I still don’t know how you talked me and Tessana into this,” he grumbled as he glanced around skittishly.
“I volunteered,” Tessana, the asari, reminded him with a smile.
“Then you’re as crazy as she is. And I’m an idiot for tagging along despite knowing better,” Garik complained. “Tuchanka has enough Travel Advisory Warnings to fill a whole book. Extreme temperatures, predatory fauna, predatory flora, minefields, unexploded ordinance, sandstorms, inter-clan warfare, intra-clan warfare, diseases, hostile population, need I go on?”
“You’re free to take the shuttle back to Pildea Station,” Valeria suggested with a calm grin. “Although we both know that you won’t…”
The salarian sighed and walked over to her reluctantly. “This dig better be worth the risks,” he conceded, albeit sceptically.
“It will be. How many other archaeologists have the chance to come to Tuchanka?” the grey turian suggested optimistically.
“Historically-speaking, we aren’t the first. The last team that came was a group of salarians several decades ago. Though, they were eaten by a thresher maw…” Tessana recalled, smiling to herself. “Given wrong directions, I think.”
“…Not helping!” Garik shouted in complaint, following after the two girls and increasing his pace to catch up.
Valeria chuckled and walked onto the main dock of the spaceport. “Come on, it’s this way,” she said to them.
Garik looked at her as they walked around a concrete hangar. “How do you know?” he wondered.
“I’m following our krogan guide,” Valeria responded, nodding ahead of them.
A ways ahead was Brask, who was climbing on a giant, six-wheeled armoured personnel carrier. The Tomkah was sturdy and robust in design, and it was big enough to carry multiple krogan in its interior. It had the same rough, blocky, angular design that krogan buildings had. The cockpit was raised somewhat and contained multiple viewing slits for a wider axis of sight. The rear of the heavily armoured vehicle was also raised up, and it contained a pair of dual mounted cannons. The Tomkah had seen better days, as evidenced by the numerous scrapes, dents, and obvious field repairs. Brask sat on one of the six wheels, which was as big as he was.
“Is that him? What’s he like?” Tessana asked, looking inquisitively at the female turian.
“So far? Gruff, brusque, cynical…” Valeria mused.
“So, a krogan,” Garik deadpanned, readjusting the heavy bag on his shoulder.
“Don’t judge based on species, Garik,” Tessana lightly chastised him.
“Why not?” he asked indignantly. “They judge me based on my species. I’m already getting dirty looks, like I personally created the Genophage.”
The asari shook her head. “You know there’s diversity in every alien species.”
“A bit of advice, Garik. No mentioning the ‘G’ word now that we’re here. It will only cause trouble,” Valeria advised him as they began to approach the large Tomkah.
“I’m perfectly happy never to mention it. The krogan can’t seem to stop talking about it, though,” the salarian responded.
“Is it any wonder?” Valeria asked him. “Look at what it’s done to their society.”
Garik sighed. “Yes, I know... I’m just nervous,” he admitted.
“You’ll be fine, Garik,” Valeria told him with a reassuring smile.
“Well, our guard certainly looks capable enough,” Tessana observed, looking at the krogan as they approached the large vehicle.
“We’ll see,” Valeria murmured as she walked up to the Tomkah. The engine of the APC in front of her was humming roughly.
Brask watched as the three archaeologists approached, his emerald eyes narrow and standoffish. He jumped down from the large wheel and landed with a thud in front of them. “This is everyone, right? There’s no hanar with a little brush still on the shuttle?”
“This is everyone, Brask,” Valeria responded with a slight edge to her calm tone.
“And there is more to archaeology than brushes and digs. Most of the work is mental, trying to piece together the connections after the fact,” Garik made a point to add.
“Oh, excuse me,” Brask muttered, although not at all sounding apologetic.
“I take it you are Clan Hailot’s representative?” Tessana asked him.
“Yeah. Hailot Brask,” the krogan in question responded, straight to the point. “I’m in charge of this expedition. I’ll take you to all the ruins in and on the outskirts of our territory. Just listen to what I say and you’ll get your research or artifacts or whatever done.”
Valeria’s mandibles twitched irritably at this, although her calm expression never left her face. “Actually, I think you’ll find that I’m the one in charge of this research expedition,” she gently reminded him, although fixing a powerful and adamant leer at Brask.
Brask matcher her wilful gaze with a stubborn stare. “Oh, yeah?” he asked, a light scoff to his voice. He turned and extended his burly arm towards the Tomkah, as if offering it to her. “I guess you won’t be needing my help, then. You’re free to take the Tomkah. Go ahead. I trust you know how to drive one…” he suggested with a smug grin on his reptilian snout.
The turian’s sharp, blue eyes narrowed at him.
Brask smirked, continuing his bluff as he knew he held all the cards. “And I guess you’ll be perfectly fine wandering around Tuchanka, looking for ruins, on your own. I’m sure you’ve heard all the travel advisories from CDEM before you came here. They like to give visitors the detailed run down of all the ways you could die so they won’t be held responsible.”
Garik winced and looked at Valeria, leaning over to her. “Don’t antagonise him,” he whispered pleadingly. “Just let him have his way; always let a male krogan feel like he’s in control. We need him!”
Valeria kept her mouth closed for a few seconds, her annoyed, combative eyes still locked with Brask’s. Her firm stance relaxed and she stood up straighter, although not pulling her gaze away from the krogan.
“…The deal that CIFPOGCAHS made was with your clan leader: Hailot Vash,” she spoke confidently. “He was the one that set up this arrangement. That means that you’re here under orders, not out of charity. It’s your job to escort us whatever the circumstances. Your clan leader wouldn’t look highly on you allowing off-worlders to take one of your Tomkahs and go off unsupervised, would he? Vash seems like a reasonable individual, but I’m sure he has his limits,” Valeria reminded him, staring meaningfully at Brask.
At this, the corners of Brask’s snout twitched, and his grin fractured into a scowl.
Valeria took a step towards him. “As I said before, I’ll listen to your advice, Brask. But we have as much of a say in what goes on during our research expedition as you do. We’re going to be working together so we had both better start acting like it,” she firmly suggested.
Brask’s teeth were clenched firmly in his mouth, and his emerald irises momentarily burned as they glared at Valeria’s icy blues. However, the fire soon dulled and his eyes looked away. He turned his head, hiding a slight smile and he released a cross between a grunt and a laugh.
“Tch. Fine,” he conceded. Brask turned his head back towards her slightly. “But when I say not to do something because it’s dangerous, you will listen,” he added.
“Fair enough,” Valeria answered, smiling slightly.
Brask grunted and muttered under his breath before turning away. He walked back over to the Tomkah and knocked firmly on the door of the vehicle.
As soon as he was out of earshot, Garik released the shaky sigh of relief that he had been holding. Meanwhile, Tessana turned to the turian. “I’m impressed that you stood up to him,” she said with an amused smile.
“I can’t believe you did that!” Garik exclaimed, half-amazed and half-annoyed as he looked at Valeria. “Are you mad? I thought he was going to headbutt you!”
“He was bluffing and I needed to set the tone for this expedition,” Valeria explained simply. She grinned a bit. “I didn’t get twenty vaccinations to come here just to have him boss us around for six months.”
The trio of researchers all turned when they saw the metal door of the vehicle slide open. Emerging from the interior was a second krogan who hopped out and landed right beside Brask.
This krogan was about four centimeters taller than Brask but had a slightly smaller hump in comparison. He wore rough silver armour over his body and was outfitted with a pistol and an assault rifle. Over his head was a dark umber head plate that rested above his amber eyes. The krogan grinned and walked up to Brask, giving him a hearty, forceful slap on his hump.
Brask grinned and held firm as if it was nothing, although the researchers were pretty sure that such a slap would have floored any of them. He turned to the krogan who emerged from the Tomkah and nodded, gesturing to the team.
“Who is that?” Valeria asked Brask.
Brask turned to them. “This is Hailot Navorr. He’s one of my krantt,” he said, grinning as he raised his hand to gesture to the krogan beside him.
Navorr stepped up and nodded at the three off-worlders. “Hey. Welcome to Tuchanka,” he said with a genial smirk.
“It’s a pleasure to meet you,” Valeria greeted. “I’m Valeria Naxsus.”
“I’m Tessana Naerylan,” the light blue-skinned asari said next.
The salarian spoke up next. “And I’m Korin Garik,” he explained. “Shortened for time.”
Brask nodded and looked at his friend. “Nav will be accompanying us and operating the Tomkah’s mounted cannons,” he explained.
Garik’s mouth curved into a deep frown. “We… won’t be needing to use those, will we?” he cautiously asked.
Navorr grinned. “I sure hope so…” he said with ominous levity
Brask gestured towards the large vehicle. “Okay, everybody get in. Find a seat and try not to get in the way. We’re going to head back to the Hailot settlement to start,” he said to them.
“Alright,” Valeria responded, walking towards the Tomkah.
“Need a hand? It’s pretty high up,” Brask offered, gesturing to the vehicle whose chassis was a full krogan’s height above the ground.
“I’m fine, thanks,” Valeria responded. She tossed her heavy bag up first with surprising strength. Next, she lunged up and pulled herself inside the hatch with ease.
Brask grunted and shook his head. “Suit yourself…” he muttered, turning to Tessana and Garik to help them inside.
Navorr chuckled and looked at Brask. “Rejected,” he ribbed him.
Brask rolled his eyes. “Shut up, Nav,” he grumbled.
As he began helping the other archaeologists inside, Brask glanced up at the turian and thought to himself. He began to have a very strong feeling that she was going to be a pain in his ass for the next several months.
Brask wondered what the hell he got himself into…
This is going to be posted in a several parts, since it will be too long to post on its own. I'll update it as I complete them.
Disclaimer: I don't own Mass Effect or its universe.
Rating: PG-15. For violence, swearing, and mature themes.
The Fate of the Krogan
Part 1: Arrival
Part 1: Arrival
It was a warm day on the krogan homeworld of Tuchanka. The air was heavy with tropical humidity. It caused the heat of Aralakh, the blazing star, to beat down on the surface that much stronger. The oppressive heat felt amplified by the water vapour, and the humidity was thick enough to cut with a dagger.
Although the midday temperature was quite hot – around 40 Celsius – due to the merciless heat of Aralakh combined with the porous ozone layer of Tuchanka, the extreme temperatures were mitigated by the Shroud that the salarians had created during their uplift thousands of years ago. This allowed shrouded areas of Tuchanka to even out at an uncomfortable but livable temperature. The Shroud’s veil was particularly thick that day, causing the stifling humidity, rather than the standard dry heat that was usual for Tuchanka.
A krogan stood on the metal floor of a docking pier. Like the rest of his species, he was a large, muscular alien with reptilian characteristics. His pale yellow scales coated his broad, chiselled, imposing body, tough enough to withstand abrasions that would cause other species’ skins to split. He stood at seven and a half feet, and he was nearly 200 kilos of sheer bone and muscle. On his back was a large hump that caused him to look somewhat hunched over and imposing. His pair of muscular arms were folded across his chest, and he paced back and forth impatiently on his hooked, digitigrade legs. Each hand had three, clawed fingers, and each foot had three toes. In addition to this, the krogan had a stubby, wedge-shaped tail just above his posterior.
Over his hooked legs, he wore black leggings. His muscular upper body was covered with a black, opened, leather jacket, made from the hide of an indigenous Tuchanka creature. Underneath this smooth jacket was a grey shirt that clung to his well-developed chest. It matched the grey cloth that covered his hump. He wore several belts and fasteners over his body to keep the clothing in place, as well as for aesthetic reasons and, more importantly, to allow for multiple weapon holsters. The krogan in question had a wide snout and a sturdy jaw that contained a frown. His gruff face lay beneath a dark blue head plate that covered his forehead. He had a pair of wide-set eyes, complete with sharp, green irises and narrow pupils. His eyes gazed up at the hazy, golden brown sky expectantly.
The light of Aralakh was dimmed by the veil of the Shroud and by the windswept dust. It caused the sky to appear orange and cloudy. The krogan folded his arms across his chest and leaned against a cargo crate that rested on one of the piers of the docking bay. The space port was in Clan Urdnot territory. There were two sections to the space port – an open air dock for larger ships, and subterranean private docks for small shuttles. The krogan was at the open air dock.
The space port was quite large, with many different piers – although most of them were unused and run-down thanks to the Council’s ban on the krogan creating any military-grade starships. This ban was one of the many stipulations laid out in the armistice agreement that ended the Krogan Rebellions. One of the others was the creation of the Council Demilitarization Enforcement Mission (or CDEM). CDEM was a regulatory body whose headquarters was located at Pildea Station, positioned at the Lagrange point of the neighbouring planet of Dor. It was their job to control, log, and inspect ship traffic in the Krogan DMZ. Their role was to crack down on smuggling, regulate the Shroud, and generally keep an eye on the krogan in the demilitarized zone.
The krogan sighed irritably and continued to wait. His name was Hailot Brask, and he had been sent there on a job by his acting clan leader. He was supposed to meet a team of offworlders who were visiting the planet.
Offworlders on Tuchanka were generally treated with suspicion at best and outright aggression at worst. This was especially true for the Citadel Council races. The scars of the Genophage remained in the hearts of every krogan. They could not forget nor forgive what the turians and salarians had done to their race in order to end the Krogan Rebellions. They lived in constant reminder of the Genophage, the bio-weapon produced by the salarians and implemented by the turians, which caused almost complete infant mortality. Only one in a thousand krogan made it to term, with the rest dying in stillbirth or not even making it to that stage of development. This resulted in a deep sense of fatalism across the krogan species, which, combined with their violence-seeking nature, has kept the krogan divided and focused on selling out their services as mercenaries. All of these factors led to a net decrease in the krogan population, with many scientists speculating that it could end in extinction. Due to these factors, the bitterness and hatred of turians and salarians ran deep.
That was why Hailot Brask was there. Brask was to be their guide and bodyguard.
Brask heard the distant humming of engines, and he could see the dark silhouette of a descending turian-made corvette within the veil of dust and clouds. Brask turned and looked down the docking bay to a tall control tower. The control tower activated its beacon and began to guide the corvette towards the dock.
Brask turned his head up and watched as the corvette drew near. His eyes were narrow with suspicion and annoyance, carefully inspecting the descending personnel craft. At the back of his mind, he wondered how the hell he got into this situation…
-
Five days earlier…
“What are you waiting for, Brask? Sit your scaly ass down already,” a deep, brusque, but professional voice told him.
“Battlemaster,” Brask responded with a nod, taking a step forward to the sturdy chair in front of him.
He stood in a large office made of thick, reinforced concrete. It was cold, austere and harsh. The giant skulls of predators were mounted on the left wall, each boasting either gnarled horns or jagged teeth. In between each trophy was an antique weapon, each as deadliest as the last. Along the right wall was a long, horizontal window that was more like the slit of a fortified bunker. The setting sun cast light into the office, painting a blood rose colour across the room.
The office was situated on the upper part of a tall building that overlooked the nearby settlement of Hailot. The settlement was composed of many stone buildings. These buildings were rugged, durable, jagged, and brutalist in their architecture. They were imposing and not aesthetically-pleasing – designed for practical durability rather than art. Many of the walls were scarred by battle and dilapidated from explosions. Some of the buildings were caved in, while others had holes blown through their sides. The roads were cracked and dirty, deteriorated from bombings and heavy vehicle use. There were noticeable repairs made to the roads and buildings, but they were more patch ups rather than full renovations. Lining the perimeter of Hailot were heavy fortifications and barricades.
Brask stepped forwards and sat down on the chair in front of the desk. On the surface of the desk was a datapad, a plate of half-finished meat, and a heavy pistol. Sitting behind the desk was another krogan. He was bigger and more muscular than Brask was. His had a dark brown head plate, blood red eyes, and a long scar stretching down his neck from behind his left eye to his collar bone. The krogan’s name was Hailot Vash.
Battlemaster Vash was the acting chief of Clan Hailot on Tuchanka. Clan Hailot was primarily situated on the planet of Garvug, currently led by Hailot Wrund, but a sizeable branch of Clan Hailot remained on Tuchanka to ensure their ancestral holdings and reputation as a clan. It also ensured that Clan Hailot would have rights of access to the female clans of Tuchanka. This Tuchankan branch was led by Vash.
It was also there that Brask was born and where he took his Rite of Passage. He was proud to be a member of Clan Hailot. Otherwise he wouldn’t be sitting where he was.
Brask relaxed in his seat and stared at the krogan across from him. “So, you got a job for me, Vash?” he asked.
Vash nodded. “Yeah. Before you get too excited, shut up and let me tell you what it is,” the Hailot leader explained.
“I’m listening,” Brask responded, folding his arms.
Vash leaned his arms forwards on his desk, one of his fingers tapping the datapad as he stared Brask in the eye. “…How do you feel about aliens? Turians, salarians, so on…”
Brask scoffed. “I think they’re a bunch of stuck up pieces of shit,” he responded bluntly. “Salarians are as curious and meddlesome as pyjaks. Can’t mind their own damn business. Turians are a bunch of haughty, miserable pricks with metal rods up their assholes.”
“True. Here’s a better question: can you work with any without wanting to rip them in half?” Vash reiterated with a smirk.
Brask narrowed his green eyes, his brow arching. “I guess so. …What’s this about, exactly?” he asked him.
“Good. So, this is the situation,” Vash begun. “We’ve got a team of offworlders coming to Tuchanka in five days. Not mercs – it’s a research team.”
“A research team?” Brask asked sceptically. He grunted. “Better not be scientists or doctors…”
Vash scoffed and looked at Brask incredulously. “What the hell do you take me for? I’ve got some damn sense, idiot. They’re not scientists. They’re from CIFPOGCAHS,” the acting clan leader explained matter-of-factly.
Brask blinked and squinted at Vash with confusion. “Did you just sneeze at me…?” he wondered.
Vash rolled his eyes. “CIFPOGCAHS. The Citadel Institute For the Protection Of Galactic Culture and Heritage Sites. Some fancy organization on the Citadel – probably run by some asari,” he explained offhandedly. “Anyway, it’s a team of archaeologists. They’re coming here to research krogan history and culture.”
“Okay, I got it. But why do we care about that?” Brask asked him.
Vash leaned forwards on his desk, idly poking buttons on his datapad. “It’s part of our Citadel Outreach Program. Gotta make nice with the Council Races on the Citadel,” he dismissively answered.
“Why can’t we just tell them to shove it up their asses?” Brask questioned, with what he thought was a reasonable inquiry.
Vash grinned. “As tempting as that is, it’s not smart. It’s politics, Brask. We’ve gotta make it seem like our clan is welcoming to outsiders and agreeable with the Council. Half of Clan Hailot lives on Garvug, so that means we’re constantly shipping cargo - weapons, food, ammo, krogan, whatever – between here and Garvug. Do you know how much of a pain in the ass it is with CDEM constantly looking over our shoulders, checking our every shipment for smuggled goods, drowning me in paperwork with their damn, endless bureaucracy...?” Vash sounded particularly aggrieved with the last part.
The krogan clan chief looked across the desk at Brask emphatically. “All that red tape is a waste of time and money. If we can make nice with the Citadel Council and CDEM – you know, show them that we’re one of the ‘good’ clans - then they might ease up on the restrictions on our ship traffic. Plus, maybe we can start to carve a diplomatic path into the surface of the Citadel. We had our embassy removed after the Rebellion, but if the humans can get one after picking a fight with turians, then so can we! If we can get some good trade deals going, then our clan will be rich enough to take out our enemies and we’ll grow in power here on Tuchanka. That’d give us an edge over the other clans. It helps that our allies over at Urdnot are on the rise too.”
Brask rubbed the back of his neck. “Okay, that’s all nice and complicated, but where do I fit into all this?” he couldn’t help but ask. “I’ll leave the long term stuff to you.”
“You know as well as I do that Tuchanka is dangerous to offworlders, especially turians and salarians,” he answered. “I don’t just mean from us krogan either. I’ve got good money that says that they run into a thresher maw or some carnivorous plant or a minefield on their travels. They need a guide and they need a bodyguard. They don’t want to use Blood Pack mercs for protection, and we don’t want them to use Blood Pack mercs for protection either. I want them to have a Hailot looking after them; it makes us look good, and we get to control their perceptions. So I want one of my best on this,” Vash explained, leering at Brask. “If that team ends up dead, it’s gonna be a personal embarrassment for me – I’m sticking my quad on the line here. That’s why I need someone I can trust. I need somebody who’s loyal to me and who’ll follow my orders. I need somebody level-headed and professional enough not to fly into a blood rage if a salarian mentions the Genophage. And I also need somebody who can handle himself if some krogan with nothing better to do wants to have some target practice. That’s why you’re here, Brask.”
Brask frowned and folded his arms, initially sceptical about the proposition. “So… You want me to babysit a bunch of alien archaeologists?” he asked, making his uncertainty evident.
“Basically, yeah. I need you to keep them from dying or getting hurt so they can go back to the Citadel and tell them what a lovely experience they had with Clan Hailot. Show them all the nice ruins, let them take a vase or two back for their studies, get their history rocks off. Simple as that,” his battlemaster explained.
Brask grunted. “I don’t know… How long is this for?”
“About six galactic standard months,” Vash responded. “I know it’s not the same as shooting up some Weyrloc convoys, but it’s a good job. You should be honoured that I’m asking for you. Do a good job and I’ll make sure you’re rewarded. Improved status within the clan, privileged access to breeding requests, more perks…” The brown-plated krogan turned the datapad around and shoved it towards Brask. “And that many credits for your services.”
Brask looked at the number on the datapad and his eye ridges rose with interest. “Damn…” he remarked, impressed.
“One good thing about Tuchanka is that visiting offworlders will pay a lot of money to make sure they don’t die. And CIFPOGCAHS has a lot of money to throw around,” Vash explained. He stared Brask in the face. “Well? I want you for this job, Brask. Or don’t you have the quad to handle a few little archaeologists?”
Brask grunted and smirked. “…Okay. I’ll do it,” he responded, convinced by both the rewards and the challenge.
“Good. I knew you had the hump,” Vash said with an approving nod. “I’ll transfer the details to your omni-tool. The team’ll be arriving in five days. And they’ll be landing at Urdnot Space Port. Don’t worry about that – we got clearance with Clan Urdnot to use it. Perks of our alliance.”
“Yeah, got it,” Brask said, standing to his feet.
“I’m sure you know this, but you’ll probably be leaving Hailot and Urdnot territory. There’s not a lot of old ruins around here. So, be careful out in the disputed territory. Keep a low profile and keep off the main roads unless you want your quad fried,” Vash advised him. “Don’t let the archaeologists talk you into going somewhere dangerous like the middle of Weyrloc territory. I don’t care if they get to see all their ruins or not. I only care if they make it back alive. So, in short: use your head.”
“Sir,” Brask acknowledged. “You can count on me.”
“Good,” the Clan Hailot leader said. “That’s it. Go. I’ll give you a precise time in a few days after all the CDEM bureaucracy.”
Brask nodded and turned around to leave. “I’ll go talk to Dax about borrowing a Tomkah,” he responded. “Gonna need it in good condition if it’s gonna be six months…”
The krogan walked out of the office and sighed. This wasn’t the sort of job he was used to. He was used to fighting and destroying things. He wasn’t even that used to dealing with aliens. He had dealt with them on Garvug and on stops between planets, but aliens weren’t common on Tuchanka. He wasn’t sure how he’d act, spending six months with offworlders. It would definitely be a hard experience for him.
But Brask was a professional. That’s what he told himself. He could handle six months babysitting an asari or two.
He hoped.
-
Brask paced the dock of the Urdnot space port as he watched the shuttle descend. The small transport vessel gently declined through the hazy atmosphere, aided by the control tower’s directions and a laser guidance system.
The space port was medium sized, with about ten different individual docks for larger ships. The docks were long and wide, with each pier running parallel to the others. The landing pads were rough, cracked, relatively flat layers of stone. The docks themselves were raised slightly above the ground in order to access a ship’s airlock. The surface of the docks were covered with a white-ish silver, heat-resistant metal.
To protect the site, the perimeter of the space port was sealed off with fences, anti-tank obstacles, and turrets. The space port was one of Clan Urdnot’s strategic treasures; it would be a high priority target for enemy clans, so it needed to be protected. Despite that, there wasn’t an abundance of space traffic landing on Tuchanka. Warships were forbidden to land on Tuchanka, so typically only civilian vessels, freighters, and transports could land here. Considering how hostile a planet Tuchanka was, particularly to outsiders, this port wasn’t exactly a traffic hub like the Citadel Space Port. It isn’t surprising that the traffic controller spent most of his time shooting pyjaks with a sniper rifle rather than landing shuttles and spacecraft.
Brask walked towards the pier just as the Council corvette touched down. The shuttle used its ventral thrusters to soften its landing, causing a warm blast of wind to wash over Brask as he reached the docking arm.
The krogan shielded his eyes as dust came swelling out as a result. He grunted irritably and checked the pier number before double-checking the inbound spacecraft information on his datapad. It seemed to check out that this was the shuttle he was waiting for. Not that he expected anything different.
The angular ship settled onto the landing pad and turned off its engines. Brask waited for a few minutes, listening the sounds of the thrusters cooling. Finally, the airlock door opened and figures began to step out of the vessel, onto the pier. Brask frowned when he saw the first member of the archaeology team emerge.
It was a turian. Brask could tell that much from the body type. However, the spiky crests that made turian males easily identifiable were absent. Instead, he noticed a pair of prongs extending back from the jawline of the turian’s mandibles. Brask blinked with surprise. Was that a female turian?
The turian who was, indeed, female, jumped down onto the pier and held her clawed, three-fingered hand up to her forehead to protect her eyes from the harsh Tuchankan sunlight. Brask watched the motion, and saw that she had a dark grey face plate over her visage. The face plate stretched backwards, forming sharp ridges at her forehead and as well as the previously mentioned spikes, which were connected to the vertical mandibles that flanked her chin. There were white facial markings tattooed over her plated face, with stylized, branching curves above her eyes, as well as dots below them and two long streaks along her mandibles. Beneath her exoskeleton was greyish-brown skin that looked almost as rough as krogan’s scales.
She walked onto the arm of the dock, her hooked legs bending as she walked on her clawed toes like krogan did. Her body was lithe in physique, but she moved with purpose and energy rather than with grace and finesse. Over her legs was a pair of black pants – clean, but not fancy or anything other than practical. Her upper body was a short-sleeved, dark green top that covered her body up to her collar. Her outfit’s collar was round and open, standing up a few centimeters at the hem and allowing her form to breath under the hot sun. The dark green fabric of her shirt tucked into a grey belt that wrapped around her waist.
The turian spotted Brask standing at the end of the pier and immediately began striding towards him, ignoring the weight of the giant backpack strapped to her back. “Come on, everyone. Don’t bake in the sun,” she called over her shoulder to her teammates who were still in the shuttle.
Brask narrowed his eyes at her as she approached. To his mild surprise, the turian walked right up to him as if he wasn’t a couple-hundred-kilogram krogan with a pistol and a sneer on his face. He craned his head downwards as the six-something foot turian stopped in front of him and looked at him with what he assumed was a smile.
The turian extended her clawed hand towards him and looked up at him with blue eyes. “You must be our guide from Clan Hailot. My name is Valeria Naxsus. I’m in charge of this research team from the Citadel Institute for the Protection of Galactic Culture and Heritage Sites. It’s a pleasure to meet you,” she said with a calm smile.
Brask gazed down at her hand distastefully for a good few seconds. He then looked back up and stared at her with a deadpan expression.
Valeria’s mandibles twitched slightly when she realised that he was leaving her hanging.
“Hailot Brask,” he finally said, his voice brusque and unwelcoming. “And I’m not your guide; I’m your bodyguard. I’m only here because my chief wants to make sure you and your team don’t get ripped apart by the many things here that want to kill you… my people included.”
Valeria’s mandibles twitched again. “…Charming. I was warned about krogan hospitality,” she deadpanned, retracting her hand and placing it at her side.
Brask levelled an uncaring look directly at her. “Whatever you were warned about, turian, forget it. That’s my job now. You don’t know Tuchanka until you’ve lived here,” he sternly explained. “You and your team need to listen to what I say. Then you can go and do… whatever it is you’re doing here.”
The female turian narrowed her eyes at him. “We’re here to unearth the wonders of your civilization,” she answered pointedly.
Brask scoffed and shook his head. He reached his arm out and gestured around at the devastated landscape, the state of disrepair, and the smoke and gunfire in the distance. “Look around us… See any ‘wonders’ around here?” he asked her. “See any civilization?”
Valeria stood her ground and stared at him stubbornly. “Maybe not in plain sight… But we wouldn’t have risked coming here if we didn’t think that there was something worth finding. We didn’t just come here for the warm and friendly company,” she sarcastically replied. “Every species has their own rich and unique cultures.”
The corners of Brask’s mouth twitched and he released a grunt. “Culture? The only culture we have around here is this.” For emphasis, Brask gestured to the heavy pistol attached to his hip. “If we’re lucky, I won’t have to ‘culture’ anybody’s brains out while you’re scouring for old stuff.”
The turian merely shook her head and sighed. “There’s more to the krogan than that…” she muttered. “Are you sure we can’t trade you for somebody who isn’t a miserable cynic?”
“A cynic is what you need to keep you alive,” Brask countered. “And trust me. I’m like a hanar compared to some of the other krogan around here.”
Valeria sighed. “Then I guess we’re stuck with each other. Let’s try to at least make the best of it. We’ll be working together for at least six months,” she stated, attempting to extend a bit of good will after their belligerent first impressions.
“And doesn’t that just fill me with joy?” Brask sarcastically muttered. “Come on. Get your teammates moving. I need to get the tomkah fired up.”
Valeria nodded and began to turn around. “I’ll regard your advice since you’re our guide, Brask,” she mentioned deliberately as she turned away.
Brask couldn’t help but grin with mild amusement. He turned away and began walking back down the dock, though not getting too far ahead.
The dark grey-plated turian waited for her teammates to emerge out of the shuttle. The first was a blue humanoid with a wavy, ridge-like crests on her head. The asari stepped out of the vessel and onto the pier, wearing a white, buttoned top that matched her slender leggings.
“By the Goddess, it’s hot…” the asari proclaimed upon feeling the heat of Aralakh on her smooth, light blue skin.
“I think it’s fine. We’ll mainly be in areas protected by the Shroud,” Valeria responded.
“It’s fine for you, Valeria. You’re from Palaven,” another voice – this one male – said. The lanky form of a salarian gracefully jumped down onto the arm of the dock. He had a skinny head with a pair of dull horns protruding upwards from his skull. He was clad in a dark green space suit, and he hauled a large backpack on his back. The salarian’s large, black, beady eyes looked at Valeria dryly. “Your planet has almost as much UV radiation as Tuchanka does.”
“It won’t be as bad once you get used to it, Garik,” Valeria assured him.
Garik, the salarian, walked down the pier and looked around the spaceport uncertainly. “I still don’t know how you talked me and Tessana into this,” he grumbled as he glanced around skittishly.
“I volunteered,” Tessana, the asari, reminded him with a smile.
“Then you’re as crazy as she is. And I’m an idiot for tagging along despite knowing better,” Garik complained. “Tuchanka has enough Travel Advisory Warnings to fill a whole book. Extreme temperatures, predatory fauna, predatory flora, minefields, unexploded ordinance, sandstorms, inter-clan warfare, intra-clan warfare, diseases, hostile population, need I go on?”
“You’re free to take the shuttle back to Pildea Station,” Valeria suggested with a calm grin. “Although we both know that you won’t…”
The salarian sighed and walked over to her reluctantly. “This dig better be worth the risks,” he conceded, albeit sceptically.
“It will be. How many other archaeologists have the chance to come to Tuchanka?” the grey turian suggested optimistically.
“Historically-speaking, we aren’t the first. The last team that came was a group of salarians several decades ago. Though, they were eaten by a thresher maw…” Tessana recalled, smiling to herself. “Given wrong directions, I think.”
“…Not helping!” Garik shouted in complaint, following after the two girls and increasing his pace to catch up.
Valeria chuckled and walked onto the main dock of the spaceport. “Come on, it’s this way,” she said to them.
Garik looked at her as they walked around a concrete hangar. “How do you know?” he wondered.
“I’m following our krogan guide,” Valeria responded, nodding ahead of them.
A ways ahead was Brask, who was climbing on a giant, six-wheeled armoured personnel carrier. The Tomkah was sturdy and robust in design, and it was big enough to carry multiple krogan in its interior. It had the same rough, blocky, angular design that krogan buildings had. The cockpit was raised somewhat and contained multiple viewing slits for a wider axis of sight. The rear of the heavily armoured vehicle was also raised up, and it contained a pair of dual mounted cannons. The Tomkah had seen better days, as evidenced by the numerous scrapes, dents, and obvious field repairs. Brask sat on one of the six wheels, which was as big as he was.
“Is that him? What’s he like?” Tessana asked, looking inquisitively at the female turian.
“So far? Gruff, brusque, cynical…” Valeria mused.
“So, a krogan,” Garik deadpanned, readjusting the heavy bag on his shoulder.
“Don’t judge based on species, Garik,” Tessana lightly chastised him.
“Why not?” he asked indignantly. “They judge me based on my species. I’m already getting dirty looks, like I personally created the Genophage.”
The asari shook her head. “You know there’s diversity in every alien species.”
“A bit of advice, Garik. No mentioning the ‘G’ word now that we’re here. It will only cause trouble,” Valeria advised him as they began to approach the large Tomkah.
“I’m perfectly happy never to mention it. The krogan can’t seem to stop talking about it, though,” the salarian responded.
“Is it any wonder?” Valeria asked him. “Look at what it’s done to their society.”
Garik sighed. “Yes, I know... I’m just nervous,” he admitted.
“You’ll be fine, Garik,” Valeria told him with a reassuring smile.
“Well, our guard certainly looks capable enough,” Tessana observed, looking at the krogan as they approached the large vehicle.
“We’ll see,” Valeria murmured as she walked up to the Tomkah. The engine of the APC in front of her was humming roughly.
Brask watched as the three archaeologists approached, his emerald eyes narrow and standoffish. He jumped down from the large wheel and landed with a thud in front of them. “This is everyone, right? There’s no hanar with a little brush still on the shuttle?”
“This is everyone, Brask,” Valeria responded with a slight edge to her calm tone.
“And there is more to archaeology than brushes and digs. Most of the work is mental, trying to piece together the connections after the fact,” Garik made a point to add.
“Oh, excuse me,” Brask muttered, although not at all sounding apologetic.
“I take it you are Clan Hailot’s representative?” Tessana asked him.
“Yeah. Hailot Brask,” the krogan in question responded, straight to the point. “I’m in charge of this expedition. I’ll take you to all the ruins in and on the outskirts of our territory. Just listen to what I say and you’ll get your research or artifacts or whatever done.”
Valeria’s mandibles twitched irritably at this, although her calm expression never left her face. “Actually, I think you’ll find that I’m the one in charge of this research expedition,” she gently reminded him, although fixing a powerful and adamant leer at Brask.
Brask matcher her wilful gaze with a stubborn stare. “Oh, yeah?” he asked, a light scoff to his voice. He turned and extended his burly arm towards the Tomkah, as if offering it to her. “I guess you won’t be needing my help, then. You’re free to take the Tomkah. Go ahead. I trust you know how to drive one…” he suggested with a smug grin on his reptilian snout.
The turian’s sharp, blue eyes narrowed at him.
Brask smirked, continuing his bluff as he knew he held all the cards. “And I guess you’ll be perfectly fine wandering around Tuchanka, looking for ruins, on your own. I’m sure you’ve heard all the travel advisories from CDEM before you came here. They like to give visitors the detailed run down of all the ways you could die so they won’t be held responsible.”
Garik winced and looked at Valeria, leaning over to her. “Don’t antagonise him,” he whispered pleadingly. “Just let him have his way; always let a male krogan feel like he’s in control. We need him!”
Valeria kept her mouth closed for a few seconds, her annoyed, combative eyes still locked with Brask’s. Her firm stance relaxed and she stood up straighter, although not pulling her gaze away from the krogan.
“…The deal that CIFPOGCAHS made was with your clan leader: Hailot Vash,” she spoke confidently. “He was the one that set up this arrangement. That means that you’re here under orders, not out of charity. It’s your job to escort us whatever the circumstances. Your clan leader wouldn’t look highly on you allowing off-worlders to take one of your Tomkahs and go off unsupervised, would he? Vash seems like a reasonable individual, but I’m sure he has his limits,” Valeria reminded him, staring meaningfully at Brask.
At this, the corners of Brask’s snout twitched, and his grin fractured into a scowl.
Valeria took a step towards him. “As I said before, I’ll listen to your advice, Brask. But we have as much of a say in what goes on during our research expedition as you do. We’re going to be working together so we had both better start acting like it,” she firmly suggested.
Brask’s teeth were clenched firmly in his mouth, and his emerald irises momentarily burned as they glared at Valeria’s icy blues. However, the fire soon dulled and his eyes looked away. He turned his head, hiding a slight smile and he released a cross between a grunt and a laugh.
“Tch. Fine,” he conceded. Brask turned his head back towards her slightly. “But when I say not to do something because it’s dangerous, you will listen,” he added.
“Fair enough,” Valeria answered, smiling slightly.
Brask grunted and muttered under his breath before turning away. He walked back over to the Tomkah and knocked firmly on the door of the vehicle.
As soon as he was out of earshot, Garik released the shaky sigh of relief that he had been holding. Meanwhile, Tessana turned to the turian. “I’m impressed that you stood up to him,” she said with an amused smile.
“I can’t believe you did that!” Garik exclaimed, half-amazed and half-annoyed as he looked at Valeria. “Are you mad? I thought he was going to headbutt you!”
“He was bluffing and I needed to set the tone for this expedition,” Valeria explained simply. She grinned a bit. “I didn’t get twenty vaccinations to come here just to have him boss us around for six months.”
The trio of researchers all turned when they saw the metal door of the vehicle slide open. Emerging from the interior was a second krogan who hopped out and landed right beside Brask.
This krogan was about four centimeters taller than Brask but had a slightly smaller hump in comparison. He wore rough silver armour over his body and was outfitted with a pistol and an assault rifle. Over his head was a dark umber head plate that rested above his amber eyes. The krogan grinned and walked up to Brask, giving him a hearty, forceful slap on his hump.
Brask grinned and held firm as if it was nothing, although the researchers were pretty sure that such a slap would have floored any of them. He turned to the krogan who emerged from the Tomkah and nodded, gesturing to the team.
“Who is that?” Valeria asked Brask.
Brask turned to them. “This is Hailot Navorr. He’s one of my krantt,” he said, grinning as he raised his hand to gesture to the krogan beside him.
Navorr stepped up and nodded at the three off-worlders. “Hey. Welcome to Tuchanka,” he said with a genial smirk.
“It’s a pleasure to meet you,” Valeria greeted. “I’m Valeria Naxsus.”
“I’m Tessana Naerylan,” the light blue-skinned asari said next.
The salarian spoke up next. “And I’m Korin Garik,” he explained. “Shortened for time.”
Brask nodded and looked at his friend. “Nav will be accompanying us and operating the Tomkah’s mounted cannons,” he explained.
Garik’s mouth curved into a deep frown. “We… won’t be needing to use those, will we?” he cautiously asked.
Navorr grinned. “I sure hope so…” he said with ominous levity
Brask gestured towards the large vehicle. “Okay, everybody get in. Find a seat and try not to get in the way. We’re going to head back to the Hailot settlement to start,” he said to them.
“Alright,” Valeria responded, walking towards the Tomkah.
“Need a hand? It’s pretty high up,” Brask offered, gesturing to the vehicle whose chassis was a full krogan’s height above the ground.
“I’m fine, thanks,” Valeria responded. She tossed her heavy bag up first with surprising strength. Next, she lunged up and pulled herself inside the hatch with ease.
Brask grunted and shook his head. “Suit yourself…” he muttered, turning to Tessana and Garik to help them inside.
Navorr chuckled and looked at Brask. “Rejected,” he ribbed him.
Brask rolled his eyes. “Shut up, Nav,” he grumbled.
As he began helping the other archaeologists inside, Brask glanced up at the turian and thought to himself. He began to have a very strong feeling that she was going to be a pain in his ass for the next several months.
Brask wondered what the hell he got himself into…
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