Misfire Anon – Page 9

[13]

There is a batarian lying at the edge of his vision. His face is full of surprise–and will be for the foreseeable future, since there is a steel I-beam protruding from his stomach and into the ceiling–or is it the other way around? Even ablative armour can’t handle that much momentum. Nihlus presses on.

[12]

If there was one thing Nihlus envied about humans, it was their ability to pinch their cartilaginous noses. Being used to the sweet and sickening scent of the swamp by no means prepared him for the reality of an on-site examination of a bloated corpse, which currently was managing to attract more insect-like life than their three bright LECs put together. He looked down at his sludge-and-who-knows-what-else-covered hands. Perhaps it was for the best. That stuff can’t be too good for his face.

“Pass me the pank bone.”

[11]

“Left!” He shouted over the hail of gunfire.

Saren jerked their vehicle sharply to their right.

“LEFT! LEFT! LEFT!”

Nihlus closed his eyes. Two seconds later, he opened them again and was relieved to discover that they were still in relatively good shape. Relatively good shape being him firing a machine gun while Saren’s riding what amounted to a unicycle into the thick of battle.

—

[10]

A figure of a pink-armoured krogan walked over to him and sat down on his cot. Its outline was as fuzzy as a, what was it, a cat? A tabby cat that had been recently washed and blow-dried.

“How are you doing?” It said. It now resembled a quarian wearing a cargo crate head-dress.

“Not good.” He clapped a hand to his forehead. “Am I on the Fleet? Where are the girls?”

[09]

The window was open, just a crack, letting the star-filled night slip in. It would normally be a security risk, but this was a small turian town in the middle of nowhere, and he’d bested the leader of the local regiment in a friendly sparring match right before they had lunch together. This was not an apartment on the Citadel. This was not a stardock on Ilium. This was not a private residence on Omega. And so, paradoxically, it was okay. It was okay to leave the window open and the original encryption in the door. It really was okay.

Even Saren had agreed. Provided that a pistol was within easy reach.

[08]

Nihlus paced back and forth in the small cabin, gnawing on his talons. Saren was sitting beside the bed, balancing a tray of delicate instruments and the readout panel of the compact scanner on his knees.

“How’s the readout?”

Saren shook his head, then bent over the screen once more.

“Anything I can do to help?”

Saren paused in the middle of picking up a minuscule probe, then turned and said, “Water.”