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Petr Orlav

Detective/internal affairs expert of the Marthon security team

0 · 245 views · located in Mass Effect Universe created by Bioware

a character in “Mass Effect: On the Edge”, as played by Reaper2707

Description

Petr is a Russian born citizen of Earth and the Alliance. He still carriers a thick Russian accent since English was his second language. He was renowned in Russia as one of the best detective agents in the Moscow police force. Before his time in Oracle he suddenly and mysteriously disappeared for over a decade, only to reappear shortly after the start of the first contact war where he served an unknown purpose during the turian occupation of Shanxi. After the First Contact war Petr again disappeared until his sudden recruitment into Oracle in 2182. His file was one of the many given to Jacob for his picking of team members, and even with only little amounts of his experience not covered in black ink, or simply not there, he was the obvious choice for head of investigations aboard the Marathon.

Equipment

a Makarov X23 series pistol made from the old, but still functional, Russian weapons manufacturer "Izhevsk Mechanical Plant" that he carriers in a underarm holster since he chooses not to wear magnetic armor. He also has a Sokolov shotgun under his desk.

So begins...

Petr Orlav's Story

Characters Present

Character Portrait: Captain Azuric Villayn Character Portrait: Jacob Torx Character Portrait: Sonya Marie Jackson Character Portrait: Petr Orlav

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The turian was a lot more pleasant to be around the Jacob had initially expected, and considering he was an ex-pirate, it was somewhat of miracle that Jacob could even stand the sight of him. However, there was something about Azuric that Jacob couldn’t help but like about the man. Maybe it was because they both had similar experiences with the slimy black undergrowth of the universe that most people are ignorant too or just pretend that they don’t see it. As Jacob had learned from Azuric, the turian had spent years as a Pirate after leaving the turian military and he had even been to many of the same places as Jacob and around the same time even. The two had sat for quite some time just sharing stories of their exploits with one another. It wasn’t long until two hours had gone by and Jacob had no idea until he got a call from Jackson.

“Hello?” Jacob said as he answered the communications hail his omni tool

“LT, you feel like coming down to the range and putting some holes in targets?” Sarah Jackson’s voice asked through the speakers of the tool

“Aren’t you supposed to be on duty Jackson?” Jacob inquired to the woman

“Um, no I was off duty an hour ago. Did you lose track of time old man?” Jackson teased her CO who she knew was not even in his forties. Jacob was baffled, had he talked to the alien that long? He thought it had been a half hour at most; apparently this was the best conversation he had, had in a long time because he never talked to anyone for two hours.

“Who you calling, old man? I ought to come down there a whoop your ass Jackson.”

“Then come get me Lieutenant.” Jackson said before hanging up the line. Jacob grinned, he had forgotten about his wanting to drink, for the time being at least. He looked at the turian with friendly eyes “How ‘bout it partner? You want to come down and smoke some targets?”

“No, I can’t. Not right now at least, but maybe another time.” The turian said apologetically. Jacob shrugged; he understood that the alien must have had other things to do, so he would not insist

“Suit yourself.” Jacob replied as he reached his hand out for the turian to shake “It was nice talking with you.” The turian reached his hand out and wrapped his talons around Jacob’s hand in a strong and firm grip

“The feeling is mutual Lieutenant.” Azuric said

With that Jacob left the company of the alien and headed in the direction of training room. The walk through the halls was as irritating to Jacob as ever, the dim lighting sabotaging his sight and nagging his mind with the fact that he couldn’t do a damn thing to fix it. He wasn’t a young man anymore and he just knew that the lighting on this ship was going to be a constant headache for him.

As Jacob approached the metallic door of the training area, the two halves of the door slid apart to reveal a man with graying blonde hair watching as a brunette woman starred down the scope of a long rifle. Neither of the two looked over as Jacob strode into the room, observing as the woman slowly breathed in and out. The blonde haired man was directly behind her, taking a long drag on his cigarette. His hair, though still noticeably blonde, was getting very light and had hints of gray brushed across it. His face did little to show his age aside from a few wrinkles and some crow’s feet.

The blonde blew a fog of smoke from his mouth before speaking to the woman in a Russian accented voice “Come on, I have seen hanar who can aim faster than you.” The man said in a voice that one might take seriously if they did not know him.

“Fuck you, Petr.” The woman said, not taking her eyes from the scope “at least I can walk faster than a drunken elcor.” She teased back

“Let us hope your target moves that slow, holy shit.” Petr replied with a grin of victory curled across his face

“I see you two are having fun.” Jacob observed as he walked over to Petr and starred down the range at the woman’s target

“Always.” Petr remarked as he continued to peer down at the snipers target. At the end of the long range he could make out the silhouette of a target hanging from a rafter. From the looks of it, it was in the shape of a human and displayed everything from the waist up.

“How long you been aiming, Jackson?” Jacob asked the woman as he stood over her, his long shadow cast over most of her body

“I just reloaded for this shot a few seconds before you walked in.” Jackson said in mock, angry tone.

“See, too fucking slow I told you.” Petr said without as much as a chuckle, but Jackson knew he was kidding. Petr then let some ash from his cigarette drop onto the sleek metal floor of the training room. Jacob looked at the ash, then back up to Petr with a disapproving glare “Somebody will pick it up I’m sure.” Jacob shrugged and looked back down range just as Jackson pulled the trigger of her rifle and put a metal slug right into the chest of the silhouette.

Before the roar of the first shot had even dissipated another round was unleashed, the metal projectile tearing down range before slamming violently into the target. The two holes were less than inches apart; each one was right on target where a human’s sternum would be. If the target were real, the rounds would have torn his chest apart and sent fragments of bone tearing into vital organs. If the shockwave from the impact didn’t kill them, the internal damage would unless they got to a good surgeon right away.

“Still haven’t lost my touch!” Jackson exclaimed as she picked her rifle up and shot up onto her feet. She spun around, and looked at her two comrades with a grin sparking from her plump lips.

“Luck and skill, are two different things, my dear.” Petr teased as if he were not impressed. He received nothing but a middle finger in his face from the woman.

“Now, now kids try to play nice.”

“Kids? I am older than you.” Petr remarked coldly as he flicked his cigarette into a far corner of the room

“He doesn’t look like it though. If I didn’t know him I’d guess he was old enough to have fought in world war two.” Jackson remarked, her oddly colored eyes watching Jacob with a soft and friendly stare. The woman’s eyes could only be described as stunning, small dark blue dots floating in a light blue sea where you could slightly make out the signs of cybernetic implants.

“Why do I come to hang out with you two?” Jacob said mockingly

“Because no one else can stand you.” Petr made a reply to which Jacob just rolled his eyes too

“What are you talking about?” Jackson giggled “No one can stand you either, that’s why you got stuck at a desk job.”

There was a silent pause before Petr said anything “I got stuck at a desk job, because I am good at what I do.” Petr rebutted, his grey, stormy eyes watching Jackson like humorless pits of bottled up emotion. The man was not above joking, but his utter inability to display any emotion even remotely resembling joy tended to take the fun out of situations to people who didn’t know him. Hell, when Jacob first met him he thought the man was just a plain out asshole because of how coldly he spoke to everyone. However, he soon came to realize the man was just an oddball when it came to displaying emotions.

“Uh huh. I think you like just staying there because you can’t shoot for shit.” Jackson said with eyes that longed for a challenge

“I could out shoot either of ya.” Jacob interrupted

“Well then, put your money where your mouth is LT!” Jackson flaunted “Let’s say…a hundred credits?” she smiled mischievously at the two men, one hand on her hip, the other on the rifle sling which hung over her standard military fatigues. Jacob stroked metallic fingers through his beard as he contemplated Jackson’s bet
“I’ll see your one hundred and raise ya another one.” Jacob said with a poker face as if he were in a game of Texas hold e’m.

“I’ll take that action.” Jackson accepted with a thick layer of excitement in her voice “How about you Orlav? You gonna walk the walk?”

Petr shook his head he lightly brushed passed his two comrades “As much as I want to play silly games with you two.” Petr said in that emotionless voice of his “I have real work to do.” Another joke said in a tone serious enough to sound insubordinate

“Don’t be a pussy!” Jackson called out to Petr as he shoved his hands in his slacks and continued to stride out of the room without so much as a flinch.

“I have to be prepared to run some security protocols, on the man Titus is bringing back to the ship.” Petr said sternly as the metal doors opened before him. Jackson tried to shout one last teasing remark at the man, but the doors slid shut before she could get it out.

A few moments of thick silence ensued, as Jacob and Jackson starred at the door for a moment. “That guy.” Jackson muttered, shaking her head in wandering thoughts “I will never understand him.”

“Don’t freight over it.” Jacob said as he turned to Jackson, his voice a little more country sounding in correspondence to his unusual level of happiness “Sometimes I reckon Petr doesn’t understand Petr.” He grinned wickedly at the woman “now, what about this bet of ours?”

Jackson licked her lips with anticipation, her cybernetic eyes starring right into his “Let’s say six shots, to hit six moving targets at six hundred meters?” she patted her custom built rifle “we can use this.” Jackson loved her snipers, when she first came aboard the Marathon she was in the finishing stages of creating the rifle she now uses. It resembles something of a cross between a Black Widow anti-material rifle and a Mantis sniper rifle. While it still has the overall bulk that a Black Widow possesses, Jackson was able to slim the rifle down and give it more of a Mantis shape. She claims that it is less heavy than a Black Widow rifle, but it still maintains the three shot capabilities of the rifle while having a kick almost equivalent to a Mantis and the destructive power of the BW.

“Sounds like a bet to me. But I go first.” Jacob said as he walked over and put a hand on the sling of Jackson’s rifle

She grinned as she slid the sling off her shoulder “As you wish lieutenant, it won’t make a difference I’m still going to get that four hundred credits.” She said slightly as she flowed around him to a slightly elevated platform not too far from where they stood.
“You’re going to be sorry Jackson!” Jacob called as he walked up onto the platform and began to set up shop. Jacob laid on the metal plate form, his jawbone pressed against the butt of the rifle and looking down the scope at the range, ready to fire.

"You ready?" Jackson said as she looked at Jacob who was just wrapping his right hand around the grip of the weapon while the metallic fingers of his left hand graced the stock of the rifle

"Start them up." Jacob called out. Jackson hit a button on a nearby control panel and six human shaped targets began to dance around down range. Jackson didn't require binoculars, her implants allowed her to zoom in slightly if she strained them enough. The zoom wasn't a hell of a lot but it was enough to see if Jacob was hitting or not.

Jacob took his time firing...his breath steady and calm as he squeezed his first round out. It slammed into the first target, hitting i near the stomach, he took aim at his second target and slowly stalked it's movements through the scope. He squeezed the trigger again and the round tore down range, but again it hit in the stomach. The rest of the rounds were no different, each was fired off only after a few long breaths, but always hit a little lower than what Jacob wanted.

Jackson smiled as Jacob stood from his prone position and allowed his comrade to take up her place behind the rifle. She smiled up at her CO and with unwavering confidence remarked "You ready to lose LT?"

"If you ever shut up and shoot." Jacob chuckled with a smile.

"Can't shoot until you press the button old man " she teased him a lot about his age, although he was not much older than she was, but he defiantly didn't look that young.

Jacob hit the button just as Jackson had for her and then he took out a pair of small binoculars from a small metal tray attached to the platform. He watched as Jackson took one short breath and fired a round straight into the heart of the first target. She readjusted, took a short breath and fired her second round into the next target. By the time she reached her first reload Jacob knew he had lost, the woman had fired off three rounds in a matter of about ten seconds and hit each target square in the chest. It took Jacob ten seconds to get off one round, let alone three.

As Jackson finished unloading her final round into the chest of the helpless target at the end of the range, she stood up with a modest look of victory spread across her lips "Looks like you lost LT." she grinned at him cynically as she held her hand out gently "Pay up."

Jacob screwed up his face. There was no way he could argue she had won, the woman had kicked his ass and there was no way around that "I let you win, you know." Jacob said as he walked past Jackson with a fake sternness across his face.

"Yeah, i'm sure." Jackson said as she followed close behind her CO "And I suppose that means I won't be getting my money?"

Jacob smiled "No, no you will. Just, you will have to wait until I get around to it. I said two hundred credits, I never said when I'd give it to ya."

Jackson smiled and rolled her eyes as she followed Jacob out of the range "Don't worry about it, I'll just steal the money from Petr when he is not at his desk." she joked as the doors shut behind them

Characters Present

Character Portrait: Darcy Mansfield Character Portrait: Jacob Torx Character Portrait: Jason Trox Character Portrait: Sonya Marie Jackson Character Portrait: Petr Orlav

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~Bing ~

There was a chime as the solid steel door retreated into the walls, revealing the bleak and personality deprived office of Petr. The walls, unlike the personal quarters of Jacob, were decorated with only the chrome coloring of the ships hull and only essential items lined the floor. A large metallic desk waited quietly in the center, Petr’s computer hummed silently atop of it, accompanied by nothing more than a lamp and a stack of files. A book shelf sat in the corner, lined with books in Russian and all of which were historical documentaries, mostly about old intelligence agencies from the 20th and 21st centuries, like the KGB, FSB, CIA and even the OSS. Aside from a bed, small reading table and a few chairs, that was all the decoration the room had.

Petr sighed, taking another cigarette from a pack slightly protruding from the charcoal black overcoat he was wearing. The man always had a tendency to dress formal, not because he was required to but because he enjoyed it. He disliked the looseness of casual clothing, so he wore the snug fitting formal wear instead since walking around with a muscle shirt wasn’t exactly his style.

Lighting up his cigarette, Petr removed his coat so that he was only wearing his white collard shirt on his torso. He gently placed the coat of his desk chair then took a seat, his fingers dancing across the holographic keyboard of his computer as a flurry of tobacco smoke lofted up over his head. “Let us see.” Petr murmured to himself as the screen lit up and showed him his home screen. He tapped a small icon in the top left corner and the computer instantly took him to a new screen with a text box that read “ Вызов храбрый ” (call of the brave). Petr began typing in the box, a poem, which he used for a security password.

Stand strong, for only brave men reside here
Here in the place, the place for men with no fear
For these men of powerful blood, no glory awaits
No matter the circumstance, they have chosen their fates

Selfless and strong, they live to fight our many enemies
Fighting in the shadows, never afraid, no matter the entities
No enemy is too big, for they are the best, the best God ever made
So as you lay down your head, remember these words so they never fade

Brothers stand tall, brothers stand proud
When we are done, our work will be a shroud
But we will always remember the brave who fall
The ones forever known as heroes, who died for us all.”


As Petr entered the last stanza the computer took him to yet another screen that depicted security camera footage on the left and a record of everyone who left or entered the ship on the right. He needed to run security checks on the man that Titus decided to bring on the ship, Benjamin Slatton. Petr didn’t even know what the man looked like, but it wouldn’t be hard finding him.
“Prophet, find me security footage of Benjamin Slatton.” Petr slurred the name a little in his Russian accent, but Prophet was smart enough to understand.

“Analyzing now Detective.” Prophet responded. Unlike Jacob and Sonya, who was technically a Gunnery Sergeant, Petr never received an official military ranking. They just shoved the title of Detective on him and told him he only had authority over the whole crew, aside from the captain and Jacob, if he had probable cause for security reasons. So pretty much, he was barely even a glorified cop for this ship. “Opening footage now Detective.”

Petr observed as his screen lit up with a video from the shuttle bay just as Titus had returned. The video depicted the Captain speaking with Ben as they exited the small shuttle, and Petr watched for the opportune moment to pause it. He watched as the two exited, followed by a few more crew members, and then as Ben turned toward the camera the Detective stopped the footage.

“Okay, run facial Identification on him and bring up his records.” It was probably a waste of time, but Petr had a process. He always checked backgrounds of new crew members, out of paranoia mostly. There was a few seconds of silence as Prophet completed the task that Petr had given to him. As soon as it was completed, another window glowed to life on Petr’s screen.

“Complete.” Prophet notified as the new window brought up the picture of Ben, followed by long pages of info. Instantly, Petr noticed something that struck him as problematic.

“You are sure this is the right profile Prophet?” Petr asked with his tone still as stale as it was in the training room.

“Yes, I too noticed the inconstancy Detective. However, I have already run the check 40,562 times and this is the only profile that appeared” Prophet chimed through the speakers in the walls.

“Interesting.” Petr, said with a slight intrigue breaking through his usual emotionless self. The face of the profile was correct, but the name that was written above it read Benjamin Pothier . “It appears that our friend is not who he says he is.”

Petr began to scroll through the pages of info that appeared next to the picture of Ben. According to the biography, Ben was born on Terra Nova to civilian parents. He had an average life of school and didn’t get into much trouble, and eventually found his way into Alliance Intelligence Operations as a consultant. Even there this guy didn’t look to be anything special, an average career of not doing shit that was overly important. “Well, well, well. Prophet, search the name Benjamin Slatton in the Alliance records database.” Petr observed his screen as the window for Ben Potheir disappeared and a list that looked infinite replaced it. “Ебать меня” Petr cussed in Russian as he looked at the massive list of names that had compiled on his screen like a digital river of text.
“Is there a problem Detective?” Prophet asked innocently

“No, I love shifting through billions of names.” Petr responded coldly as he began to shuffle through name after name.

[Benjamin Slatton, Gender: Male, Age: 45….occupation chef.]

[Benjamin Slatton, Gender: Male, Age 12…occupation: Not applicable]

[Benjamin Slatton. Gender: Female, Age 27…occupation: Exotic Dancer]

“What the fuck, were her parents thinking?” Petr murmured as he came across that last name. He continued to shift through page after page of Ben’s, all of which were defiantly not the man he was looking for. Perhaps he was looking in the wrong place.

“Prophet, search the name Benjamin Slatton under deceased in the ADB.” Petr ordered, as he sat back in his chair and waited for the AI to do his bidding. Again, a list as long as life appeared in front of Petr, so he decided to narrow the search again “Narrow the search to within the last ten years, and also search only for cases where no body was recovered.”

“Yes, Detective.” Prophet responded as the list was again shortened, this time to a much more manageable size. Petr began his grueling scan of the names, some people were lost at sea on various planets, and others lost in space or incinerated by explosions or fires. However, none of the circumstances seemed odd in any way that would catch his attention. Eventually, each name just began to look exactly like the last, normal and unworthy of any suspicion. Twenty names in, forty, fifty, eighty, one-hundred and still nothing that was of use.

Fire at chemical plant…ship crashed during landing…ship attacked by unknown mercenary faction? Petr stopped and looked at name number 106. He tapped the name and brought up the man’s profile, there was no picture available. However, there was some personal info there…Birth Place: Scott, Terra Nova. Petr grinned as he read the place of Ben’s birth “I think I have you now.” He continued to read down to see that under occupations it read that he was an ex-marine, and next to it there was a special note made by someone at an earlier time.

“Possibly affiliated with Cerberus operations, allegations still under investigation.” Somehow Petr doubted that they were still looking into that since the date of death on the profile was six years ago. According to the rest of the profile, Ben’s ship exploded when the element zero core went critical after an unknown group of raiders got a lucky shot off in battle. Bullshit Petr thought to himself, there is no way they raiders would take a risk of blowing the ship before looting it…somebody rigged that core to blow.

When Petr finally reached the end of the profile, he was met by small link to an external site. He couldn’t resist the urge, and he clicked it, sending him to a memorial page on some news site. The page had dozens of pictures, all of them depicting the ship before and after the supposed attack. None of them were of any interest to Petr…all except one. The last picture he came to was of the crew aboard this ship right before it left the day of the attack. All of the faces were smiling and happy as if it were going to be the best day of their lives.

Petr’s lips spread into a mischievous grin as he scanned the faces “Prophet, notify Benjamin that I would like to see him in the conference room for his interview…we have much to discuss.”

****

“Okay people, move your asses!” Jacob shouted as he watched his team gear up in the security armory “If we are going into any system where Cerberus is setting up camp, I don’t want my security team sitting around like a bunch of pansies!”

“Aye, sir!” the men replied as they suited up in their combat gear. Jacob had heard about the possible fight that they were heading into, so Jacob wanted to make sure he had a team ready to repel a boarding party if Cerberus got cocky.

“LT.” Sonya asked from behind as she walked up next to her superior “What do you want me to do?”

Jacob looked at the woman who was clad in her armor with her rifle over one shoulder “Take Alpha squad and go to the hanger. If anybody besides our people land there I want you ready to give them a dirt nap.”

“Aye, sir.” She gave a crisp salute, and then she walked into the fray of security officers to gather a team.

“Bravo squad, are you shiny yet?” Jacob shouted across the room, wanting to know if they were already prepared and ready to fight in their reflective armor.

“Aye, sir, shiny and dangerous!” A solider shouted back from across the room, his voice faint due to the sounds of armor being adjusted and snapped on.

“Good! You boys are coming with me to the Bridge; we are going to be the fast response team!” If something happened during the battle that needed an immediate response, he and Bravo would take care of it. Bravo team ran over to Jacob, who waited with his metallic fingers motioning them to hurry “Come on, I want to get up there before the fun starts.”

***

Jason watched as Darcy punched in some coordinates on the control panel of the Marathon. “Okay kid, watch this.” The helmsmen remarked with a grin as the blue streaks of light began swimming their way across the ship's window. The FTL drive had kicked in and sent the ship zipping through the void of space.

“Jesus, that looks amazing.” Jason remarked as admired the blue streaks out the window

“Eh, you get used to it.” Darcy replied with a shrug as he sat back in his seat “But it never gets old.” The helmsman looked at Jason with a cockiness that radiated throughout the bridge “So kid, are you going to try to be a pilot?” he asked, placing his hands behind his head and leaning into them.

Jason had to maul over the question, he had never really thought about it before. In fact…he had never really thought about what he was going to do with his life. What had he been doing all these years? He was almost eighteen and he had no plan, he had been living in the past so long that his future never occurred to him. He should have been looking ahead…it’s what his mom would have wanted. He grabbed at his chest, over his heart as he suppressed the tears that threatened to slip out of his eyes. He was thrown back into the moment when he felt Darcy’s eyes studying him; he didn’t want the pilot to ask any questions so he answered quickly “I don’t know. Maybe.”

Jason looked up to see the pilot looking at him, the look in his eyes making it obvious that he was trying to sort through the teens strange reaction to such a simple question. “I see. Well, let me tell you.” Darcy said, ignoring Jason’s actions “its well worth it kid.”

“It is?” Jason asked, slowly taking his hand away from his heart.

Like a bolt of lightening Darcy’s hand shot out in front of him, his finger pointing the star dotted abyss out the window “Look at this, who else gets to see stuff like that.” He said as he admired the stars zipping by like bullets “Seeing it from a view port and seeing it in the driver’s seat are way different kid.” Darcy remarked as he rested his hand back in place behind him.

“What about a home, don’t you miss being on a planet, or somewhere settled in?” Jason asked as his sad eyes observed the scene out the window “Somewhere…normal?”

There was a moment of silence, where the two just watched the stars go by outside the ship. Then, in a voice as sure as rain Darcy replied “Kid…this ship and all of this space out here is my home. It’s better than any house you could find anywhere.”

That hit Jason like a ton of bricks, space…a home? Jason contemplated the man’s words as he looked out the window. His eyes glided across the endless deep, his mind beginning to see a new light…a home.

“Plus if you’re lucky, you get to blow shit up too.” Darcy interjected, interrupting Jason’s thoughts “Which I think is a pretty good perk.”

Characters Present

Character Portrait: Commander Jonathan Titus Character Portrait: Commander Benjamin Slatton Character Portrait: Petr Orlav

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It had taken considerable time and effort to secure the room Prophet had deemed the “quietest” and a final favour from the captain to convince its tenant to trade. Panting quietly on sweat soaked sheets, Benjamin found himself questioning it’s actual worth. The silence was better for him, arguably, but when the difference was a few minutes, one had to wonder. An idle glance told him he’d managed a few hours so perhaps the value was there. Shedding his soaked shirt, the Oracle commander rose from bed and stepped into the modest ‘living’ room that doubled as his work space.

With a casual flick of his eyes, he waved gently to the sole other occupant of the chamber. Perched demurely on the small sofa along the far wall, Pacheo glanced to him between black bangs illuminated in the gentle glow of her E-reader. Neither seemed phased by the other’s presence as he pulled a wrinkled white shirt from a small mound of laundry beside his desk. Giving it a quick glance to ensure it was ‘clean’, he tugged it over his head as he turned his attention fully to his colleague. “Was I loud?” He asked innocently, smiling lightly at the subtle shake of her head. “Any embarrassing confessions?”

“You called for her.” The softness of her voice was hard to catch, but Ben had experience on his side. His smile softened into a melancholic upturn, hazel eyes drifting to the small viewport beside the seat. “Thinking about her?”

“A little, yeah.” Sinking into his seat, the commander lifted his legs onto his desk and leaned back with a light groan. “Can‘t help it some days, you know?” Rubbing a finger under his nose, Ben’s eyes shifted back to her. “How’s the book? That author put out the new book yet?” She frowned tightly, eyes instantly half-lidded in annoyance as he chuckled. “That’s a no. I thought a salarian would write faster.”

“A good novel can’t be rushed.”

“Of course. What’re you reading now, then?”

She looked back down to the E-reader. “Mystery.”

“Sounds promising.” They fell into silence, although it was neither strained nor awkward. Pacheo was a woman of few words, and she enjoyed the quiet as much as her superior did so neither felt the need to interrupt it with needless banter. Although there was one who did, and Ben perked up slightly when he noted the man’s absence. “Do I want to know what Camarda is up to..?”

Her eyes didn’t even leave the book, continuing to read as she replied, “I believed he was going to take a shower then track down the pilot who flew us over from the Nariph fuel depot…Bishop, I believe.” He sighed through an amused smile.

“He’s relentless, isn’t he?”

“Mhm.”

Standing up from his seat, Ben grabbed one of his hoodies from his cloths pile as he started towards the door. “I better stop him…” Pacheo flicked a finger across the screen, moving onto another page as she wondered aloud.

“Temporary at best.”

“Long enough to tell Titus what I’ve let loose in his ship.”

“Easier to ask for forgiveness.”

“I’m fond of the hard way.” He rebutted, flicking the hood up with a grin at the woman. She simply shook her head, and the commander left her to the book, stepping into the dimly lit hallway with an idle glance in both directions. Rather than wandering aimlessly, he opted to make use of the ‘eyes’ he knew were watching him. “Prophet, you there?”

“Of course, sir.” The AI replied instantly in his ear piece, facilitating a much easier and more private conversation. “It is good to speak with you again. How might I be of assistance?”

“I’m pretty sure I told you to call me Ben…” He commented idly, rubbing under his nose with a light grin. “Nice to hear from you too. I’m looking for one Lieutenant Commander Camarda. Got anything for me?” Prophet took only a moment to process the request.

“Your associate is currently departing the flight deck. He has been conversing with Lieutenant Bishop.” The AI paused, before continuing. “Apologies for the intrusion, but Detective Orlav is requesting your presence in the Conference room for a routine security interview.”

There was a thick pause, Ben’s eyes darkening slightly for a moment. “Access level?”

“All relevant classified information has remained classified, as per your arrangement with the Operator.” His features lightened instantly, and the commander grinned lopsidedly at nothing in particular.

“Alright then, might as well humour the detective for a bit. Tell Camarda to keep it in his pants for me, would you?” He turned on his heel and started down the hallway, chewing idly on his lip beneath the protective shadow of his hoodie. Job or not, it never sat right when people started to dig into his past, even without the clearance level necessary. He’d met far too many hackers in his career to trust simple encryption.

It seems he’d have to get rid of this Orlav’s curiosity right at the source.

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Quietly walking the hall towards the conference room, Ben glided soundlessly past the various personnel using the hallway, ignoring the few lingering gazes his curious appearance garnered. His clothing was far more casual than most would likely wear aboard a warship, and the hood likely made him seem more suspicious than necessary. “Aren’t I supposed to be good at blending..?”

The corridor was decorated with paintings that he assumed were supposed to be rather impressive. Pausing in front of one such piece, he stared at the ‘art’ for a few moments before shaking his head with a chuckle. The ‘finer’ things in life weren’t really his thing, and the artistic merit of contemporary pieces was just as confusing as the galactic stock market.

Trudging the final few steps to the glass ‘oval’, he pulled the door open to where he saw the waiting figure of who he assumed was this Detective Orlav. Slatton waved lightly before burying his hands in the pockets of his hoodie, crossing the room with a lazy gait. How exactly did one get the ‘rank’ of Detective anyway? Wasn’t exactly a military designation, and Ben wondered idly if he was about to be grilled by a civilian.

Dropping into a chair opposite the greying man, Ben’s tired eyes locked momentarily with his, before flashing a toothy grin that didn’t belong on someone with the title ‘Commander’. “You rang, Detective Orlav? Worried I’m up to something nasty?” He leaned back in the chair, propping his bare feet up on the sleek table without delay. “Or is this just a courtesy call?”

The detective looked at Ben, eyes neutral as he stared at the commander. “I must say Ben,” He began, his Russian accent thick as he spoke, “You are very interesting. Tell me, how did you end up here?”

Ben blinked passively, pulling a hand from his pocket to fiddle with the strings of his hoodie. “I took a shuttle. Shouldn’t that be pretty obvious? Was a bit of a cramped flight, but you can’t always go first class.” Petr nodded as he interlaced his fingers and placed his hands on the desk

“I assume it was a first class shuttle, Consultant Pothier.”

“Hardly. Alliance can’t afford to be flying nobodies around in top of the line ships. Gotta save that for the big dogs.” He stretched with a tired yawn, lacing his hands behind his head as he fixed the man with a bored expression. “Is this really why you want to talk to me? My travel accommodations? Could have just asked Prophet for that, not like I’m going to get offended.”

“Yes, the Alliance has a nasty habit of that, do they not?” The detective pulled a pack of cigarettes from his pocket, placing one in his mouth before flicking one out and offering it to Ben. “Do you smoke?”

“Nah.”

Orlav nodded, sticking the cigarette back into the pack before retrieving the lighter from his pants pocket. “Admirable, I must stop this probably.” The detective remarked as he lit the cigarette and took a long drag. “They will kill me, especially at my age.” He blew a long stream of smoke into the air as he slowly brought the cigarette down, pointing it casually at the commander. “But you wouldn't have to worry about that...would you?”

“I‘m not some immortal, Detective. I bleed like anyone else.” Ben grinned, rubbing under his nose with a light chuckle. “But I get the feeling we’re on the track you want to be on, so maybe it’s time you came out with it, yeah?”

“Fair enough Mister Slatton. We both know that is your real name, and that this consultant of yours is nothing more than a disguise.” Orlav lifted the cigarette back up to his mouth and put it between his lips. He then reached into his on of his many anterior coat pockets “That alone causes little for me to worry about.” After a moment, he pulled out a data-pad and slid across the table to Ben “What disturbs me is that you are a walking corpse on my ship.”

“I’m stubborn what can I say.” He yawned sleepily, blinking a few times to dispel the urge to rest. “It’s not like I’m trying to hide my name or anything. What’s the point? Its jut a name.” Pulling his feet down, the commander cracked his shoulder sluggishly before continuing. “So, what about a dead man disturbs you so much, Detective?”

“I have had my experiences in the field that I am sure you are in.” Was the reply as he blew more smoke into the air. “I don't trust anyone in our business, especially those who are affiliated with Cerberus. Now, I don't expect that you will tell me anything Benjamin, but know this.” Orlav leaned into the table “I will be watching you, and if you pull on any of the strings that are used to control you, I will deal with it personally.” He leaned back and put the cigarette out on the table before continuing “This is not a threat, just fair warning.”

There was silence only for a moment, Ben’s expression dull as his eyes regarded the man. “Let me clarify your thought process, Detective.” His voice had lost its humour, and in whole his entire demeanour shifted into something more serious as he blankly addressed the man. “There are no strings. No cords. No arrangements. I work with this organization and by extension this ship, of my own accord.” The hood cast shadows over his face; the slightest upturn on his lips the only expression visible. “What you see of me is what I deem appropriate for you to see of me. While I appreciate the ‘warning’, it is ultimately pointless.”

His eyes flicked to the mark on the table left by the cigarette. “Your efforts will be better spent elsewhere. If you claim experience in my ‘field’ then you should be no doubt aware that we likely have traitors in our midst already. They should be your focus, unless you subscribe to the belief that Oracle stands at par with the veterans of the galaxy’s shadows. In which case, I recommend a new line of work.”

He let his words hang for a moment, before his eyes coldly found Orlav’s again. “And might I remind you, Detective, that it is Commander Slatton, regardless of your perceived position aboard this ship.”

“I hold no official rank Benjamin. I could call you Хуесос, and all they could do is kick me out. That would matter little to me.” The man met his eyes evenly. “And there are no traitors on this ship... because I am on it.”

“Then you are far too naïve for a man your age, Orlav.” Slatton straightened in his seat, fingers laced before his face with cold intensity. “An oracle who opposes hell’s great hound, it does not take a prophet to foresee the jaws around its throat.” He tapped a finger on the conference table, the sound firm and echoing within the glass oval. “Consider this your ‘fair’ warning. If you attempt to dig into my past again, there will be repercussions. I will instruct Prophet to inform me of any such attempts. I trust I have made myself perfectly clear?”

"I enjoy your optimism in Prophet's ability to control me. Perhaps you are the naive one." Orlav stood from his seat and straightened his attire for a moment. “Men are told words, loyalty, unity and brotherhood, Words said to keep the faith of the fearful, But in the end these words do no good, for in the end, fear makes traitors of the faithful.” Petr recited the poem of his own devise without so much as a pause as he walked towards the door “We will talk again soon, Commander.”

Slatton’s eyes drifted to the man’s back for a moment. “Detective.” The commander paused for a moment, leaning back in his chair with a solemn frown. “The next time you speak to me, ensure all of your affairs are in order.”

Orlav stopped as he opened the door, not looking over as he responded. “Next time I speak to you, it will be when I am investigating you for the murders of all those innocent people on that ship.” And with that, the Russian exited the conference room, as Slatton rose slowly from his seat.

“Prophet.”

“You called, sir?”

“I want to know if Orlav tries digging again. If he can think faster than an artificial intelligence, then perhaps he’ll slip it by you. I doubt it.” Slatton rubbed his lip, eyes blank as he continued. “And if he insists on pushing this subject…”

“Please refrain from taking matters into your own hands, Commander Slatton.”

His eyes flicked casually to the ceiling, as if the AI was staring down at him. “Then I highly recommend you inform the Operator of this meeting and take this ‘detective’ off my case. Or she’ll find herself short one snoop.” He paused with a heavy sigh. “Don’t even bother; I know she’s already listening. Fix this, or I will, Carson.” After a moment, the tension left his body and he offered a light smirk. “And for the last time Prophet, it’s Ben.”

----------------------------------------------------------------------------------

Having retreated to his quarters shortly after the meeting with the ship’s ‘Internal Affairs Officer’, Ben sat idle behind his desk as he lazily bounced a grey ball between his hands on the polished surface. He hadn’t done much else for the better part of the day, and Pacheo had left to go get them both some food from the Mess Hall with Camarda.

His eyes drooped periodically, but there was little chance that he was lucky enough to fall asleep from boredom. He’d given up on that possibility years ago. Catching the ball firmly, he leaned back in his seat while spinning it idly in his palm. “There is just nothing to do here, is there..?”

A small holographic image of Prophet appeared on the small display integrated into his desk, and the AI gave the same polite smile in greeting it always had since they’d first met back on Bekenstein. “Benjamin, I have informed the Operator of your request as instructed. She has no reply at this time.”

“Well, hopefully she takes it seriously. I’m really not trying to make waves here by slitting some over-zealous Russian’s throat, but-”

“If I may, is it really wise to resort to such matters so early into the situation?”

“Sometimes things need to be addressed immediately, Prophet. For example, what if one of the crew thought it wise to expose the Alliance using an AI, even though you are very much illegal? We’d contain it immediately, right?”

The AI seemed to pause for thought, more of a conversational quirk he suspected since it had likely processed his statement the moment it left his mouth. “In the theoretical situation, yes.” Ben nodded, spinning the ball in his palm.

“Now, while I can’t say my past is exactly top-level national secrets…” His eyes fell to the floor, and the ball dropped from his hand suddenly as Ben’s figure shrunk the slightest degree. Pressing a hand to his face, the commander dug the nails roughly into his temples for a moment before continuing. “…the last thing I, and by extension we, need is someone digging that up in plain view.”

“I see, Benjamin.”

“Don’t mistake this for eager. I just want the past to finally stay in the past…and things will run smoother if it does.” Flicking his gaze down to the fallen ball, Ben grunted as he bent over to retrieve it. “Hyper-intelligence or not, don’t worry about it, Prophet. I’m confident my favourite robot can keep an old man from digging around too much.” Tossing the ball up once, there was a light laugh from the man. “And congrats on the name. Only took you three months.”

“Thank you.” The AI retorted, with almost the slightest hint of humour in his voice.

“So, anything worth mentioning going on? Dangerous intrigues? Dastardly conspiracies? Some decent sparring partners, maybe?”

“While we may lack the intensity of plots, sparring partners you will find in no short supply. I will happily compile a list of suitable opponents that are capable of standing more on your skill level.” The AI went silent for a moment as it combed the ship records and the like, before a small list of names appeared on the display. “I trust these will be to standard.”

Ben glanced at the list, raising an eyebrow curiously. “The Captain’s on here, but you’ve got him greyed out.”

“The Captain is currently preparing a meeting with the command staff ove-” Before Prophet could finish, Ben was up and around his desk in the blink of an eye. “Benjamin, you are not technically a member of the ship’s commander staff.”

“I am an intelligence consultant, aren’t I?” He fired back, punching open the door with a grin. “And that sounds infinitely more like the intrigue I asked you about. Don’t hold out on me, P!”

“I do not believe your alias constitutes as sufficient reason to be included.”

“I’m going, that’s final. Tell Pacheo and Camarda I stepped out, would you?” There was no reply from the AI, a sign which he took as acceptance as he moved down the hall towards the lift. A fancy meeting with the command staff didn’t sound like it’d need a conference room, no more like something akin to a war room.

With that in mind, Ben called up the location of said room in his head from his brief review of the ship’s layout shortly after his arrival. Command deck. It’d likely be encrypted to keep the rank and file out and away from sensitive information. Would he have the clearance? Not likely. As if that would keep a good commando out.

-----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

The low light of Alliance vessels suited Ben well, giving countless places to ‘hide’ even when they were in plain sight. Propped up against a terminal, obscured by the dark lighting, Ben felt perfectly at home in the darkness watching the meeting begin before him. When Prophet had mentioned the command staff, he hadn’t been kidding. Everyone present, save for the skittish looking younger man, were part of the brief who’s who he’d been given when he’d come aboard.

They all were grimly focused on the display in front of them, the Daedalus system by the look of the read outs. His eyes snapped to the first one to speak; Lieutenant Dike if he remembered correctly, as she began their little pow-wow. “This is the latest intel we have on Daedalus,” She announced, and he leaned forward with only slightly increased interest. “We know there are least two Cerberus signatures in the system. Only one, however, a cruiser-class, is showing up on scans.”

“We know this for sure?” The flight commander asked, and Ben cracked a one-sided grin at his doubt. Smart to want solid answers before heading into the fray.

Dike replied quickly. “Yes, sir. If you’ll see here, we got multiple distress signals originating from this area, put out at the exact same time as these...” Her finger moved to a planet on the opposite side of the system’s sun where more distress beacons were flashing. Nearby those same beacons was the Cerberus cruiser, designated by a light-gray four-arrow reticule. “Considering we have no available scanning data of what’s happening on the opposite end of the system from the cruiser, we can make a safe assumption that Cerberus has a stealth class over in that area.”

Ben’s eyes flicked to Taylor’s head as it rose at the mention of the stealth frigate, giving the Captain a serious look that he met with an assenting nod. The two had suspicions already? Curious. “The Vindicator.”

Dike asked the question no doubt on everyone’s mind. “Pardon, sir?”

Titus wasted no time explaining. “The Cerberus frigate I commanded before defecting to Oracle. When I spoke with the Illusive Man, he said Commander Buchan.” The next words from his mouth were soundless to Ben, his whole body tensing at the mention of Buchan. Buchan. Vala Buchan. Commander Buchan.

His mind snapped to alertness he wasn’t accustomed to, racing as the continuing meeting echoed dimly in the background whilst his brain tried to sort this information. It was just a suspicion, but the words had been spoken by the Illusive Man himself. Commander, oh god, he’d made her a commander?! A ship, was she ready to handle that? How much had changed in the year? The Vala he’d known, the one he knew he saw on Hephaestus…she couldn’t be leading a ship, could she?

His eyes snapped back to Titus, watching the man with cold intensity. How much did he know? Could he fill in the missing information? The meeting shifted to talk of data and Reapers, but nothing that was said was penetrating. The information could be regained; he rationalized, but an entire system?

A system that she was in. Could they catch her? Would they get there in time to make that possible? He didn’t know, and the lack of knowledge made his head throb painfully. Benjamin sucked in a heavy breath, soothing his hammering mind for a blissful moment as the meeting fell into silence.

He’d risk it. “If you ask me,” He began, alerting the entire room to his presence immediately as he meet the inquisitive stares head on. “You’ll want to go for the system.”

“How long have you been there?”

He smirked slightly, forcing himself to exude the calm confidence that this meeting required despite the churning tempest in his stomach. Pushing off the terminal, he ignored the question as he placed himself firmly between Rhodie and Thomas - a move far bolder than the simplicity of it seemed to suggest. They formed the ‘power base’ of the vessel, and he had placed himself amongst them. Quiet, but effective psychology.

“It’s an easier decision than you might think, Titus,” He said. “You can’t sacrifice a whole system simply to save data that can be rediscovered with time.” Cold arithmetic, he’d once heard it called. The brutal rationality that war demanded, where one must sacrifice to gain. The information, he knew, was more valuable in the long term. The Reapers; a far greater threat than a simple Cerberus purge. But Cerberus opposed the Reapers. The information would be used against them, he reasoned. It was safe to sacrifice.

Nothing was thought of the lives stationed at the location, at least not now. To think of them would cripple the resolve to remain firm. To influence this decision. To make it fall the way he wished. After a minute of silence, Titus spoke with a firmness that told them all a decision had been made.

Somewhere in the pit of his mind, he apologized soundlessly. “Commander Rhodie,” Titus said, staring intently at the display over the war table.

The commanding office of the Marathon’s fighter and interceptor squadrons snapped to attention and held a sharp salute. “Sir.”

“Ready your pilots.”

“Aye-Aye, Captain!” Rhodie replied, turning on heel to depart the war room.

“Major Thomas.”

“Sir,” the fire team commander replied with equal ferocity and discipline.

“Make sure your Sierra teams get some chow and resupply. They’ll be heading back out.”

“Aye-aye, sir!”

“Darcy!”

“Daedalus, sir?”

“Do it.”

Internally, Ben released a breath as the slightest tension of his body rolled out and left him standing far looser than he had been moments before. Tucking his hands silently back into his hoodie pockets, his eyes focused on the Captain who didn’t seem finished quite yet with their little briefing.

“Listen up,” Titus spoke aloud to the others remaining around the table. “I don’t like it when my enemy forces me to make a decision like this. When we enter that system, we will give them no quarter. Dismissed.”

The commando was motionless; watching stoically as the others immediately turned and went to their various duties. He lingered, as did Titus for a brief moment, watching the man calmly straighten up from the display. Their eyes met for the briefest of moments, and Ben ducked his head down slowly. “You made the right call, Jonathan.”

The lie passed through his teeth like it was natural, and Ben was silent as the captain left the room without another word. Titus could have reached the decision on his own, he rationalized. They’d not known each other long enough; there wasn’t the camaraderie to solidify his opinion to the man. Simple white lies, he knew. Little white lies and "good" intentions.

Tugging his hood down over his face, Benjamin cracked a sad smile. “Commander Buchan, huh?” The guilt would have to wait.

Characters Present

Character Portrait: Sonya Marie Jackson Character Portrait: Petr Orlav

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“He is hiding something.” Petr murmured to himself as soon as he office door clicked shut. Petr would have to be careful from now on, no doubt there was a reason Ben didn’t want him digging into his past. No more searching through records on the ship, not as long as Prophet could see him do, as he was sure the AI would be Ben’s lapdog now. He couldn’t speak a word of it to anyone else either; he wasn’t sure who would end up getting close with the newbie. For Petr, this was just like old times, not that it brought back many good memories.

The Russian sauntered over to his desk and flopped down in his chair and laid back, thinking of how he could find out more about his new investigatory interest. Something rubbed him wrong about the man; he didn’t trust that his reasons for being here were of good nature. He could be wrong; then again he could be right and if he was that was something he would rather figure out sooner rather than later. Petr stuck a hand under and it glided underneath it until his hand came to a small pad attacked to the metallic underbelly. Without looking, he typed in a security code, when the code was finished he was greeted by a click as a hidden compartment unlocked. Petr rolled his chair backward slightly so he could see the large compartment under the desk that had graciously revealed itself for its owner. Inside, there were multiple items from a time before Petr had joined oracle. He shuffled through the objects until a small round item feel to the floor and bounced across the metallic surface.

His eyes studied the object on the floor, his mind pulling a memory that was buried deep in his psyche. Eventually, he forced himself to wrap his fingers around the object and lean back, bringing it up in front of his face. The object that he was now twirling in his fingers was a challenge coin. One side depicted a Russian eagle; the other was a symbol of the Alliance that had been scorched by a flame long ago. The man’s gaze softened as his mind took him back to a time, long before he worked for Oracle.


****

“Detective, you have a visitor.” A feminine voice sang in Russian through a small speaker on the Petr’s desk. Petr screwed up his face, as he looked out the window in his office. The picture of Moscow outside was obscured by the frosty winter darkness of the night. Who would be visiting him at this late at night, and in this weather?

Petr pressed the button on the speaker and spoke politely to the secretary on the other line “Who is it?”

“He says his name is Boris Torev.” The woman replied back, she was obviously trying to hide how tired she was.

“Oh, yes just direct him to my office.” Petr leaned back in his chair. Boris was only six hours late, so maybe Petr shouldn’t be so angry, since he is usually late by days.

The detective went back to the work that was lying across his desk, he had mountains of paperwork today, and it was beginning to drive him nuts. He hadn’t gotten three more sentences down before his friend opened the door “Hope I’m not disturbing your work.” The sarcasm is Boris’s voice was undeniable.

“I fucking hate this job already, without you coming up here.” Petr said with a smile on his face

“I can’t believe they are still making you work here.” Boris replied as he closed the door behind him and strode over to Petr’s desk.

“Well.” Petr began with a thick amusement “I can’t believe they are still making you go by Boris. Makes you sound like an old man.” In reality, Boris was an old man who had very old and dangerous ideas. He was already pushing seventy, but he was still as fit as a twenty year old. But that was no uncommon for people in their line of work.

“I am an old man.” Boris reputed as he stroked a hand across his bald head. Without so much as mentioning it, Boris took a black box from his pocket and activated it. Once the machine was on his smile faded; his eyes got stern as his expression serious “We have little time to continue this small talk.”

“Why? Is there something wrong?” Petr asked, concern mixed into his lively voice.

“Yes.” Boris growled “A traitor has infiltrated us. I believe he may be relaying information to the enemy.”

“Do you think he exposed our plan?” Petr asked worriedly

“No, I don’t suspect that he knows of the plan.”

“How can you be sure of that? Do you know who it is?”

Boris nodded, biting his lower lip. Petr rarely saw his friend like this, he seemed to be nervous and that was something of a feat to accomplish “I have an idea. I think that it may be Aziz.”

“The Arab?” Petr questioned his friend with the question which had an obvious answer.

“Yes.”

“But why would he betray us? The Arbiters hate them more than we do.”

“I’m not sure, but if Aziz has fallen into the laps of those hypocrites in the West, than he has to be dealt with.”

“You are sure he hasn’t said anything to the DEAA?” Petr asked as he leaned into his desk

“No, if the Department of Euro-Asian Affairs knew anything, we would be dead or arrested by now. They wouldn’t waste time investigating the allegations; they are already under threat of being shut down now that Russia is incorporating itself further into the Alliance.”

“What about the plan for next week?” If Aziz had become a mole, a wide variety of things might need to change
“As I said before, I doubt anything about our plans has been exposed. Everything will continue on schedule. I already contacted a small mercenary group in Africa; they will be replacing the Arab’s for the attack.” Boris reassured

“Are you sure they can be trusted?” Petr asked

Boris nodded as he slicked a smoke from his pocket and offered it to Petr “Yes, cigarette?”

“No thank you, I don’t smoke.” Petr refused politely

“You should start; they will calm those nerves of yours.”

Petr smiled “Why, so I can end up bald and unhealthy like you?”

“With all the shit they have today, I’m sure they could stop that. However, I refuse to use that pig dog technology.”

“Not all of it is bad, some of it we have been using.” Petr rebutted

“Out of necessity.” Boris reminded his colleague as he lit up his cigarette and blue a blob of smoke into Petr’s face.


****

Petr was thrown back into the present as someone knocked at his door. He stuck the coin into his pocket and stood up; giving one final glance at the floor to make sure everything had been picked up. He crossed the room and hit the holographic panel in the middle, sending the door sliding open to reveal his visitor.

“Well hey there ruskie.” Sonya said with a smile. She was geared up in combat armor and had her sniper flung over one shoulder.

“What is the occasion?” Petr’s question was as bland and rough as sandpaper

“We are going into a system where there might be Cerberus; LT said he wants me down in the hanger. My teams already there, I wanted to see if you wanted to come down and hang out. I doubt that the fight will get inside the ship so don’t worry about getting in a tussle.” The smile across the sniper’s face was as cocky as ever.

Cerberus huh? Petr thought for a second. Perhaps he could find a way to amplify the signal from his hacking pad and get into Cerberus systems. Who knows what kind of good information he could get from there on the organization in general and about his new friend Ben. “No, I will go to the bridge. Perhaps I will come to the hanger after the fighting has started.” Petr replied coldly to which Sonya just shrugged

“Suit yourself; I’ll be down their waiting for your sorry ass.”

“I am sure.” Petr said as he brushed past his fellow security team member and the door to his office slid shut behind him. Without saying so much as bye Petr began his stride towards the bridge, and Sonya just rolled her eyes and went her separate way.