A hurried Turian in a servant's uniform barely had time to frantically mop up the pool of dark green blood that Ourish had left to congeal on the lounge floor before two Quantum guards pushed themselves into the chattering crowd surrounding the bar. The patrons were practically in an uproar about Mark's outburst, most of them loudly and drunkenly telling their friends their version of the events, the story steadily growing more and more legendary. "Racially motivated." Declared one, "Just a human, jealous of a more established race. You know how envious they can get. And violent, too." Another claimed that it was "a bunch of drunkards, must have wandered in somehow at the port. There's simply no way Luek would dare invite such aggressive riff-raff aboard his own precious yacht." One particularly intoxicated even went so far as to claim it was a botched assassination attempt, though that was met with more eye rolls than proper attention.

The two Quantum guards, despite the pistols holstered at their sides and the assault rifles slung across their backs, had to push to the middle of the crowd and yell to make their presence known. "If I might have your attention, please! We apologize for the incident that has just occurred, but we assure you that any and all threat to the guests of this party has been neutralized. We would ask that you all disperse from the area while we investigate the matter. Thank you for your cooperation."

The crowd was not, in fact, cooperating. As soon as the guard had spoken, the mob of guests had exploded into noise again, even louder than before. 

"So there [i]was[/i] a threat? What good are you slackwits? We could've been killed! [i]I[/i] was in danger!"

"I'm not going anywhere! I am an esteemed guest of this party, and I refuse to be herded like around by the likes of [i]you[/i]!"

"Does this mean the bar is closed?!"

The guard who had made the announcement, a young, boyish-looking Turian, began to flare his mandibles nervously as the crowd continued to seethe around him, unheeding. "Uh....boss? You might want to get down here, quick."

Elsewhere, Nathallin sighed as he strode through empty corridors towards the lounge. "Yeah, on my way. Just try not to fuck it up any worse than it already is."

-----

Kosso had never heard Luek laugh, so the deep, echoing rumble of a sound nearly made him jump. He must have had one hell of a translator program; Kosso wasn't sure he'd ever heard a Hanar show a sign of amusement so blatant as that. "So it is indeed true what they say about your kind, Ms. Piers," he intoned, still chuckling slightly, "you are always 'reaching for the stars.'" 

For a moment, Kosso was panic-stricken. He didn't know much about tech, but even he could tell how fantastical the inventions that Tanya had outlined were. A shield that recharged using the kinetic energy of gunfire? An omni-tool that automatically downloaded and decrypted nearby communications? It sounded more than just amazing...it sounded downright [i]unbelieveable[/i]. 

But Tanya seemed to have the right of it: maybe she really had these ideas locked up inside her head, or maybe they were just pipe dreams. Either way, it didn't matter. Luek was focused only on what he'd always been focused on: the potential profit. "An armor design like that could be quite the hot seller, have no doubt. However, it could take you years to get through all the required safety tests and patent requests before you can actually start to trade. And that omni-tool design, no matter how useful, will be mired in legal processes for decades before it sees the light of day, if it ever does. People do care [i]so[/i] much about their precious privacy. It is a long, costly journey ahead of you, my friend." He paused for a moment, suddenly coy. "Unless, of course, you knew someone with both money to spare and a unique network of contacts."

Kosso figured it was about time that they took the plunge. "We're here because we know that if we intend to make money in this galaxy, you're the best man to ask for help. Your trade prowess is legendary, to say the least. The other guests here may intend to invest in Kahje, but we are not so short-sighted, and we know you aren't either. Kahje is just a stepping stone. We have the galactic market in our sights."

Luek's visage was as unreadable as ever, but his voice had a low, rising edge that Kosso thought might be desire. "A woman after this one's own gall-sack." He said jovially, looking at Tanya. "It seems as if you already have a deal in mind."

"An initial investment into your Kahje project, in return for trade and political connections when our new products reach Alpha. We believe in Kahje; it's obvious you've got a good thing going here. With the continued return profits from initial investment, we can move our product line forward. And if you help us get those products on the market, then it will be our turn to return profits to you. A long-term partnership, and one that will mean billions of credits for all of us, if we play our cards right."

Luek's response was immediately interrupted by a great clamor from below. Kosso did his best to casually glance at the crowd gathered at the bar below, his heart beating in his throat. [i]Who had fucked up this time?[/i] But it was a stranger that was led away in handcuffs this time around, a human in body armor. The crowd was practically in an uproar, huddled around an injured Salarian who wasted no time in pushing their helping hands away and marching off after his assailant. 

Luek showed no sign of emotion, the florescent lights beneath his skin shifting serenely, unagitated. But Kosso could sense something there, growing as swift and as strong as the Kahjean storm that raged outside. It chilled him, even after all these years, all the memories he'd relived and convinced himself were bearable. Luek was angry. 

Yet his tone was measured as always when he spoke again. "Perhaps matters such as this would be better discussed in a...quieter...environment. Would you care to accompany me to my study?" He gestured past his guards at a nearby hallway, leading deeper into the bowels of the ship.