ME: Dahlia Stark - Episode 7 - Performance Review

   Orsk called Dahlia into his “office,” his name for the corner of the warehouse where he had dragged a rickety table and wobbly chairs. There was no mystery about why the krogan boss wanted to harangue Dahlia. She’d been ditching work fairly frequently - regularly, even - to scrounge for parts around the district’s trash heaps. It was dirty work. Even though she wore her full survival suit, helmet and all, each day’s end left her feeling very unclean. Scrap was a valuable commodity, readily snatched up by other scavengers on the station. For every usable bit of wire or other component she found, there were ten more varren bones picked clean of meat, mountains of soiled scraps of clothing, reams of food packaging, and so much xeno-feces.

   While she sacrificed less sleep to collecting and tinkering, now more time was spent decontaminating her suit...repeatedly.

   However, even as Orsk tried to politely chew her out, all Dahlia could think about was palladium. The core of the arc reactor required several grams of palladium, and it was the one material she had trouble locating. The valuable metal was critical in cybernetics and active defenses, like armor shielding, so it carried a high salvage price. Finding any lying around was a matter of luck, and Dahlia didn’t think she had any to spare. She couldn’t even purchase any from other scavengers because she’d yet to earn any credits from working for Orsk...a job she probably wouldn’t have for much longer.

   “Do you think I like being here?” Orsk croaked. The question, oddly, dragged Dahlia out of her thoughts.

   “Not fond of your own work? Maybe you’re in the wrong line of work.”

   “No,” the krogan spat. “I love my job. I love what I do. I operate several markets across the station. I practically own the food supply in the Fumi, Gozu, and Kima districts. What I want, though, is the Tuhi commercial district. There are nearly eight million mouths on this station, and I want them all eating out of my hand,” Orsk said, outstretching his three sausage-like fingers before clenching them into a heavy fist.

   “You do mean metaphorically, right?” Dahlia smirked.

   “Tuhi is a mercantile battleground,” the krogan said, ignoring his subordinate’s sarcasm. “As much as I would like to, I can’t simply march in and set up shop. I needed to set up a foothold here in Doru district, but I hate this corner of the station. It’s so boring, and the workers are too incompetent.”

   Dahlia idly wondered whether he was referring to Hann or herself this time.

   “I would much rather oversee operations at my more lucrative markets in the more critical districts, but for now I’m stuck here...just like you. You work for me, which means my word is your law. When I want something fixed, you fix it. When I want something cleaned, you clean it. If I want you to jump off a walkway,” he chuckled, “Well, you better ask whether I’ll let you flap your arms on the way down.”

   “So I’m guessing this is a bad time to ask for a raise?” Dahlia asked petulantly. The signs behind Orsk had been updated.

   Days Since Last Accident: 3. “Such as shame,” Dahlia thought, “Graal seemed like a nice guy for a vorcha.”

   Days Since Last Blood Rage: 99. Dahlia was morbidly curious to see if she could reset that clock. She came close.

   Orsk slammed his fist onto the table, finally shattering three of its four withered legs, and bellowed for Dahlia to get to work stocking the batarian cheese.

   When she stepped outside, she found Hans and Elsai already cracking open the storage cases. Their helmets may have protected them, but Dahlia’s bare head left her exposed to the wafting stench. She gagged and reeled back, worried that she might wretch. Since arriving on Omega, Dahlia had encountered some pungent smells, but nothing as vile as this.

   “Is...is that supposed to smell like that?” she said with her hand over her nose and mouth, wondering if she should retrieve her suit’s helmet.

   “I was more worried about the purple blotches,” Hann said, “and the little black mites crawling through the holes. What’s normal for batarian cheese?”

   “Pepper?” Dahlia called, hoping this morning’s apology had appeased the A.I.’s ego after their disagreement two nights prior. She crept closer to the foul cheese and waved her omni-tool over the open cases “Can we get an expert opinion?”

   “My analysis indicates that the crates were improperly sealed. The cheese is in advanced stages of mold and shows signs of infestation by Khar’shan moss mites.”

   “This can’t be safe to eat,” Elsai said.

   “Correct. Consuming even small amounts of this tainted cheese would result in fatal anaphylactic shock in quarians and turians, as well as potentially lethal food poisoning in batarians and all other council races. Only krogan, vorcha, and varren could potentially consume samples of this cheese without risk of death. Even then, it would still likely bring debilitating gastrointestinal issues.”

   “We’re going to have to toss this junk out,” Hann said. “We can’t sell this to anyone.”

   “What’s going on, you lazy bums?” Orsk bellowed. “I smell cheese, but I don’t see it on the racks yet.”

   “This cheese is tainted,” Hann explained. “We can’t sell it.”

   “Sure we can! There’s nothing wrong with that cheese.”

   “Can’t you smell it?” Dahlia asks.

   “Look at it. It’s purple and green,” Elsai added.

   “That’s normal for batarian cheese. Get it out on the racks immediately or I’ll fire you...out an airlock,” Orsk chuckled at his favorite gag.

   “I checked it with my omni-tool,” Dahlia insisted. “It’s not safe.”

   “We’re not here to coddle the consumers,” Orsk said. “Buyer beware, after all. Just because we put it out for sale doesn’t mean they have to buy it. We’re not shoving it down their throats.”

   Elsai’s shoulders slumped. Dahlia guessed that she wasn’t keen on arguing with a krogan. The human, for her part, wasn’t feeling particular defiant anymore, either. She couldn’t risk causing such a conflict before completing her work on the arc reactor, especially since her work on a prototype was hidden in Orsk’s bunkhouse.

   However, Hann did not feel like backing down.

   “This cheese has mites in it! They could infest our other food. Anything we sell could make people sick. It’s not safe.”

   “Do you know how much it cost to import this cheese from Khar’shan?” Orsk growled, creeping closer to the insolent quarian. “Bribes. Fees for smugglers. There are a lot of batarians in this district who miss their favorite cheese, and they’re willing to pay out all four eye sockets for it. We are not trashing this shipment.”

   Dahlia could read quarian facial expressions through their faceplates. While Hann had no more words, his forehead was wrinkling in the quarian equivalent of a scowl. He grabbed an open case of cheese, marched over to a waste chute while Orsk watched with a hardening grimace, and dumped the rotten food into the oblivion below. Dahlia remembered the signs inside Orsk’s office and realized that both would need to be reset.

   “I’m going to shove your bucket-head down that chute next!” Orsk howled as he charged for Hann.

   It was intelligence rather than cowardice that made Hann jump out of the way, so Dahlia could not fault him. However, she thought his squeal of fright was a bit unbecoming.

   Orsk’s arm crashed into the waste chute, crimping the hatch shut like it was made of paper. His scales and muscles ripped through the sleeve of his business suit, which also shredded at the rough seam along his hump. Hann scrambled to keep out of arm’s reach. Elsai kept her distance, concerned for her friend but hesitant to throw herself in the krogan’s path. Instead, she ran for the bunkhouse.

   Dahlia suddenly, desperately wished for a palm-mounted repulsor to blast Orsk into submission. As much as Orsk had chastised her for shirking her responsibilities, she regretted not spending more time working on her secret projects. Even if she had another weapon, it probably wouldn’t be strong enough to stop the enraged krogan.

   Hann had been so focused on escaping Orsk that he failed to notice the Talon gang guards arriving. They easily restrained him, seizing his arms and hissing threats to disconnect and cough into his airlines. Orsk slowly marched towards the captive quarian, focused malice on his broad face.

   A gunshot ricocheted off Orsk’s skull crest.

   Aboard the Helash, Dahlia had seen several young quarians depart with lightweight, inexpensive pistols among their Pilgrimage gifts. Living with them in the bunkhouse for two weeks, Dahlia had seen that Hann and Elsai’s combined pool of gifts had been relatively thrifty. At first she thought that much of what they brought with them had been spent, or stolen, but Elsai explained that their families were not very well off and could not afford to spare much for their Pilgrimage. Between them, the two shared a single Elkoss Combine-manufactured pistol, part of their bargain bin Edge line of handheld weapons.

   While Hann had dreamt of one day becoming a marine, Elsai evidently had no such aspirations. It was clear to Dahlia that she’d had no actual training or practice with the weapon, as the recoil knocked the pistol clear from her hands’ improper grip. Her shot only made contact because of the size of her target, Orsk’s large head. Her shot was ineffective, but it was hardly effectless.

   The Talon gangers dropped Hann to draw their own weapons. Elsai’s suit had no kinetic barriers and bore no armor, other than the usual seals and safeguards against contamination. She had no protection against the heavy pistols aimed at her. Dahlia’s survival suit, however, was at least lightly armored.

   Dahlia tackled Elsai to the ground. The gangers opened fire, rounds from their guns striking against Dahlia’s back. She kept her bare head bowed down to protect it. Each impact against her shoulder blades and spine stung unbelievably, but the pain paled in comparison to the few shots that pierced the armor and burrowed into her muscles.

   The gangers might have stepped over and executed Dahlia and Elsai, but Hann hurled cases of spoiled cheese at them. The impact, coupled with the knee-buckling smell and the irritation of the moss mites, distracted and angered the gangers. They chased after Hann, who scampered away like a frightened rodent, and Orsk - giving in to blood rage - joined the hunt.

   Elsai, seeing her moment, rose to escape. However, it became quickly apparent to her that Dahlia was in no shape to flee on her own. The quarian woman hoisted her new friend up with an arm around her waist and dragged them both as far, as quickly away from the market as possible. Elsai knew a place to hide and find help, hoping that Hann would have enough sense to meet them there.