Cortez was seized by regret and doubt as soon as the stormy waters closed over the head of the rust-brown mech. In the absence of the aura of confidence that surrounded Shepard, the plan seemed ludicrous and foolhardy. Had he really suggested sending Shepard to the bottom of the ocean in a beat-up mech to try to make contact with the Leviathans? All in some vain hope that the ancient aliens could provide a way off this worthless, storm-beaten ball of water? It was a foolish risk to take with the life of his commanding officer – and Shepard was more than that to him. He took a second to relive the kiss in Purgatory, Shepard's warm lips enthusiastically meeting his, Shepard's hand slipping around his back.
He shook his head to return to the present. Even with the shuttle grounded, he had a job to do, and at least he had voice comms with Shepard. He leaned over and spoke into the comm. "Suit holding up, Commander?"
Shepard's voice came back highly distorted, but Cortez could make out the words. "Looks good so far."
Cortez breathed a quick sigh of relief. "Good. I'm getting some comm interference on this end. Hang on."
All that came back was a blast of static.
Cortez tried again. "Commander, can you read me? We're losing your signal. Please respond."
Crackling and hissing were all he heard.
"Commander, please respond. Commander? Shepard?" Cortez repeated, worry now evident in his voice.
Nothing. Cortez felt a chill. Had something happened to Shepard? Cortez had checked the mech enclosure over carefully. He was confident it would hold up at any depth Shepard could have reached. Shepard was all right; something had to be blocking communications. He deployed his omnitool and brought up a readout on his communicator. Everything seemed to be in order on his end.
"Commander, please respond," he tried once more. Once again, nothing. Wonderful. What else could go wrong?
From outside the shuttle, Garrus barked, "Incoming! We have company!"
Cortez looked at the sky and saw three red streaks that he knew represented Reaper landing forces. Well, there was his answer. Garrus had already moved away and was kneeling behind a metal sheet, readying his sniper rifle.
Cortez toggled his comms to reach Garrus and Javik. "How should I support you?"
"Stay out of my sight lines," Javik answered. Brusquely, he added, "And try not to perish. Your piloting skills may be of some use later."
Cortez frowned. Admittedly, in his limited experience of Javik, the Prothean's moods seemed confined to a range from irritated to furious. If James or even Shepard had taken this tone with him, he would have asked them what their problem was, but Javik was so much more difficult to read. In any case, with a firefight impending, this was not the time to bring it up. If they made it back to the Normandy, he could ask Shepard about it.
The Reaper forces came into view. Cortez could see both modified turians and batarians darting between pieces of cover. He was more sorry than ever that the shuttle was grounded. One good strafing run could have taken the lot out. Crouching inside the hatch for cover, he lined up a pistol shot on one of the marauders, but just before he pulled the trigger, his target's head exploded.
"Not bad, turian!" Javik called out, and brought forward a hand wreathed in biotic energy. The pulse of energy hurled a cannibal backward, impaling it on a jagged piece of metal. It twitched, then lay still.
Cortez could see why Shepard preferred to take this pair on missions. Despite their significant numerical advantage, the Reaper forces seemed outmatched. Any that tried to advance on Garrus and Javik were quickly dispatched. Cortez scanned the battlefield and spotted one of the Reaper troops popping up from behind an old shuttle and aiming at Javik. He squeezed off a few quick shots in hopes of taking it down. The pistol fire struck it, but was harmlessly absorbed by the shields. His attack did draw its attention away from Javik. Cortez ducked as the modified turian's return fire flashed against the far wall of the shuttle, then Garrus's sniper rifle cracked and the creature went down.
"Negative contacts!" Garrus reported. Javik said something in reply, but his comms were off or malfunctioning and his words were lost in the wind.
Cortez pulled the heatsink from his pistol and scanned the red lights along its side. They showed it as only about one-third exhausted, but after a moment's consideration, he placed the used heatsink carefully on a rack and jammed a fresh one into place in the gun. He kept the shuttle well-stocked with ammunition, so they were in no danger running out, and a difference of a few shots in capacity could be the space between life and death. He took a moment to check the condition of the weapon and gave a satisfied nod at what he saw.
For a moment, he drifted, remembering when Shepard had asked him to see to the maintenance of the Commander's sidearm. While Shepard was an excellent shot, he seemed to have little interest in the minutiae of hand weapons. He could quote the specifications of every biotic amp available in Council space, but barely knew the difference between an Eagle and a Phalanx. Still, putting his weapon in Cortez's care was an unusual expression of trust for the man. The first time Shepard had handed it to him, his grip had eased slowly, with seeming reluctance, but after the mission on Namakli, he had tossed it to Cortez with a casual grin. Shepard was not a man to talk about his feelings, but that smile spoke volumes.
Cortez twitched as Javik's voice sounded right next to him. How did the Prothean move so quietly in armor? "You seem distracted. Or perhaps you have suffered a head injury? Do you require medical attention?" He sounded vaguely pleased by the prospect.
Cortez flushed. He was a veteran officer – what was he doing drifting into a reverie in an active combat scene? He was momentarily thankful Shepard wasn't here to give him a disappointed look, then decided he'd rather have him back, disappointment or no. "Just taking a moment to gather my thoughts," he answered Javik.
The Prothean's lips twitched. On a human, Cortez would read it as disapproving, but who knew what it meant from a Prothean? "A battlefield seems an impractical place to scatter them."
Cultural divide or no cultural divide, Cortez was pretty damn sure that was disapproval. He smothered the temptation to snap back at Javik and thought a moment about how to proceed. A battlefield, even a temporarily calm one, was no place to hash out personal issues – but if Javik had a problem with him, he wanted to know about it before it got him shot. He glanced at Garrus, standing nearby on guard, took in the clear skies, and returned his gaze to Javik. Cortez tried to look him in the eyes, then settled for trying to focus on the middle two.
He made an effort to keep his voice calm. "I get the impression that you don't like me."
"Whether I like you is irrelevant," Javik answered scornfully. "What matters is that you are a distraction for the Commander – a distraction that he can ill afford."
"What are you saying?" Cortez asked. Javik couldn't possibly know about the two of them, could he? They had hardly been public about their relationship – if that was even the right word for it.
Javik sniffed. "Please. Your pheromones are screaming it to the winds. You and the Commander are rutting, or on the verge of doing so."
Cortez felt the hot blood rushing to his face. "Look, Prothean…" He took a deep breath and reached for calm. "I don't see that it's any business of yours."
"My business, pilot, is vengeance. I seek the destruction of the Reapers – those same machines that threaten you and yours. I would not see this purpose thwarted by the atavistic urges of a pair of primitives."
Cortez remembered asking Vega what working with Javik was like. James had just rolled his eyes. Now Cortez understood why. "I assure you that our urges will not be permitted to threaten the mission," he snarled at Javik.
"You cannot indulge them one minute and expect to disregard them the next," Javik said. "Your decision-making will be compromised. The Commander's decision-making could be compromised, and the fate of this cycle depends on him."
Cortez set his shoulders and said, as levelly as he could manage, "If you have any concerns, I would encourage you to bring them to Commander Shepard's attention."
"Pah," Javik spat. Cortez translated the syllable as we both know how Shepard responds to criticism. "Is whatever you two have worth what you risk? Unless human biology has changed a great deal, there is no prospect of procreation. Your congress is ultimately futile and fruitless."
"I suppose that non-procreative sex was punishable by execution in your cycle, Javik," Garrus contributed, catching Cortez and, he was fairly sure, Javik by surprise. Garrus's tone was sardonic. Cortez couldn't tell whether he was attempting to leaven the mood with humor or just relished the opportunity to land a verbal blow on Javik.
Javik shook his head. "No. It was quite popular, in fact. And I saw the harm that could be done to unit cohesion, the way these relationships undermined the morale and discipline of my men in our last hour. If not for those divisions, perhaps…" He trailed off, seeming suddenly pensive.
What must it be like to outlive your entire race? Cortez thought back on the aching emptiness when he lost Robert, the sorrow and anger, the thoughts of futures they would never share and words they would never say. Javik had lost everyone. How deep must his sorrow and anger run? Cortez felt his temper cooling.
He aimed for a conciliatory tone. "I respect your concerns, Javik, but this is a private matter. The Commander and I will be alert to any potential impact on morale and discipline. But… can you say that it's wrong to reach for a bit of happiness, amidst all this?" He made a sweeping gesture intended to encompass not just the stormy surface of Despoina but the war-wracked galaxy beyond.
"Happiness, pah!" Javik retorted. Cortez abruptly remembered taking his sister's kids to see A Christmas Carol. Javik would make a fine Ebenezer Scrooge. He sounded eager to squelch any happiness having the nerve to occur in his vicinity. "Happiness has no place here, in this war. Courage is what matters. Victory is what matters. Happiness…"
"Hate to break this up, but we have more guests!" Garrus called out.
This time, the modified turians and batarians were backed up by the strange artillery creatures that Shepard claimed were based on rachni. Having killed the last rachni queen several years ago, Shepard seemed to take it as a personal affront that the Reapers had scavenged enough of their DNA to manufacture their own variants. Cortez generally just worried about keeping the shuttle clear of them. Garrus and Javik
Javik and Garrus focused on taking out the pseudo-rachni. They were clearly used to fighting these creatures on the ground, carefully timing their breaks from cover to fall into the interludes between barrages. Cortez gave thanks that the Reapers hadn't figured out a way to make them fire continuously. When other Reaper troops approached too close to their position, Javik's biotics or Garrus's rifle fire were momentarily redirected to keep them at bay. Cortez kept alert for an opportunity to support them with his pistol, but the action this time was entirely beyond the weapon's effective range. He considered sprinting across the battlefield to get closer to the Reapers, but rejected the idea. He was no infantryman, and was liable to get himself killed if he tried to act like one. In any case, rachni or no rachni, his allies seemed to have the situation well in hand.
Once the last modified turian stuck its head out from behind cover and was felled with a crack from Garrus's sniper rifle, Javik and Garrus headed back toward the shuttle at a fast walk. Cortez couldn't tell if they had conferred while walking or if it was the wordless communication of soldiers who'd fought alongside each other a great deal, but this time Javik broke off to climb atop a crashed shuttle and scan the sky for more attackers. Garrus, meanwhile, walked over to the shuttle and started resupplying himself with heatsinks and a few of the dextro ration bars he'd stashed on board.
Cortez scanned the sky while Garrus crunched on a ration bar. Cortez wrinkled his nose; the bar's aroma made him think of a dead skunk, and not a fresh one. It was just as well, he reflected, given the probable consequences if he ate one. Garrus hardly seemed to be finding it a gastronomical delight, given the methodical way he chewed and swallowed. When the bar was gone, Garrus cleared his throat. "Lieutenant," he said, a bit awkwardly, "I know Javik has less charm than a rabid varren, but he is right about one thing."
"So it's your turn to share your opinion of my personal life," Cortez said warily. The prospect of another set of intrusive comments annoyed him, but at the same time this struck him as an intriguing opportunity. From what he'd gathered, Garrus had probably spent more time with Shepard than anyone else on the Normandy's crew. He had served through the bulk of the missions against Saren and against the Collectors, and been at Shepard's side through innumerable firefights, daring rescues, and close calls. What insights into the man might Garrus have to offer? "Go ahead, say your piece," he added in a conciliatory tone.
"I've seen Shepard with people, before. He was… intimate with Ashley Williams and Miranda Lawson. And other women and other men, in his past - all of them more physical relationships than emotional ones, I gather. Though he didn't share many details, or at least I don't recall any. The only time he talked with me about these things was after the Collector Base, and we were both extraordinarily drunk."
Cortez felt his face flush but made the effort to keep his voice level. "I get it. I'm just another one in a long line."
Garrus's mandibles twitched, and he blinked rapidly a few times. "That's not what I mean at all." Cortez thought he sounded chagrined. "With the others, he was always… detached, distant, as if he was unwilling to make a commitment, and I think they felt it. Both Williams and Lawson, for all they obviously cared about him, drifted away. He's… different around you. He speaks more quickly, but moves more softly. I think yours may be the first relationship he's ever been invested in."
Cortez felt like he was re-experiencing his first time in a steeply banking fighter with the inertial dampeners turned off – a disorienting mixture of exhilaration and pure terror. Garrus thought Shepard really cared about him? It wasn't a possibility he had even allowed himself much time to entertain, but now he felt a rush of longing for it. If only Shepard were here and not underneath the waves…
Is whatever you two have worth the risk? Remembering Javik's words was like being plunged into the cold ocean water. "Do you agree with Javik?" he asked. "Am I distracting Shepard? Making him weaker?"
Garrus shook his head. "I wouldn't say so. On the battlefield, he's at least as sharp and determined as ever. As a loner, Shepard was one of the most deadly people in the galaxy. Marcus Shepard with someone else to fight for? Even the Reapers should be trembling at the prospect." He snorted. "Assuming that we ever get back into space to face them, that is."
Cortez rapped on the wall of the shuttle. "Shepard will find a way to get this bird into the air," he said, for the moment absolutely believing it. And then, when things were quiet, he and Shepard needed to have a long talk.
"We just need to stay alive long enough for him to pull it off," Garrus said. He sounded confident, but Cortez knew he had no ability to interpret turian subharmonics. "More incoming!" he added, gesturing at the sky. "So much for talking about your personal life." As Garrus headed back out to his sniper's perch, Cortez readied his pistol once more.
"Brutes!" Javik called a warning. Looking past his allies' positions, Cortez could see three of the creatures lumbering their way toward them. They seemed deceptively slow, but he had seen them in action and knew they could charge with startling speed. A few infantry were behind them, keeping up covering fire on Garrus and Javik. They didn't particularly worry Cortez – the two had demonstrated their ability to weather such attacks – but the brutes were much more concerning. After a moment's thought, he grabbed a belt of concussion grenades from the shuttle's supply. His throwing arm wasn't the best, but he was sure the pistol lacked the stopping power to take down one of the turian-krogan monstrosities. Once again, he wished that he could deal with them from the air.
Javik broke cover long enough to hurl an orb of dark energy at the lead brute. The orb seemed to burst apart on impact, weaving tendrils of energy through its target. The brute howled and charged Javik's position, but he had already dropped back to take cover behind another piece of debris. Garrus popped up to fire a concussive round into the beast's exposed rear, as Javik played the particle beam over its head. The beast staggered, and Cortez followed up his allies' attacks with a grenade. It landed a few feet off target, but the blast still seemed to daze the brute, and a few more shots from his allies took it down.
Two brutes left. One roared and charged Garrus's position, and the turian had to roll to the side to avoid its claw. Cortez searched in vain for the other and concluded that it must have disappeared behind one of the taller pieces of wreckage. He threw a second grenade behind the one attacking Garrus, in hopes that it would at least attract its attention. Javik was intermittently firing his rifle at it, possibly with the same idea.
The last brute came around a heap of wreckage facing the shuttle. Its eyes met Cortez's, and it reared up to its full height and began to roar and pound its chest. Oh shit, Cortez thought as he ducked back from his exposed position in the hatchway, but the brute was already rushing toward the shuttle, its enormous clawed feet pounding on the deck. Cortez heard the crack of Garrus's sniper rifle, and a metal plate on the beast's side flew to bits, but it didn't slow as its momentum carried it through the hatch. Cortez ducked back, but one grossly distended arm caught him with a glancing blow and sent him flying to the floor of the shuttle. His pistol went spinning away. He tried to track where it had gone, but spots danced in front of his eyes as pain lanced through his back and chest. He blinked, trying to clear his vision.
The brute had collided with the shuttle's far wall and seemed momentarily disoriented. Cortez grabbed a bracket and tried to pull himself up, then sagged back to the floor as pain erupted in his back. Moaning, he wriggled as best as he could toward the back of the shuttle, searching for a weapon. There was no sign of his pistol. The brute had knocked the weapons rack off the wall, and he would have to crawl under the creature to get to it. The only thing in easy reach was the medkit. Medi-gel wouldn't stop the beast from disemboweling him, and Cortez didn't like his odds of beating the brute to death with the kit.
The brute swiveled its small head from side to side in a way that would have been disconcerting even if weren't about to maul him. Seeming to regain its bearings, it focused its on Cortez. Turning toward him, it roared again.
I'm going to die here.
Am I going to let Shepard accomplish his mission, only to find my mangled corpse?
Cortez reached and pushed himself into a sitting position despite his back's screaming protests. As he brought his hand in, it brushed across a round, hard object that he'd apparently been lying on. No wonder his back ached so. He closed his hand around the object, feeling its comfortable weight. When he brought it around in front of his body, he saw that it was his last concussion grenade.
Only one chance. The beast was still roaring. Cortez thumbed the grenade to the shortest detonation time, then tossed it at the brute's open mouth. The grenade went in as cleanly as any Seattle Sorcerers goal. The brute closed its jaw and made a puzzled grunt. It was immediately followed by the sound of a thousand exploding fireworks. The blast knocked Cortez prone again. His face, chest, and arms were throbbing now, doubtless full of grenade fragments and brute bone shards. The now-headless brute slowly began to topple forward, and Cortez realized that it could still kill him. Its massive, metal-clad arm was reaching out for him, and he had nowhere to escape to.
With a flash, a dark sphere arced around the brute to strike it from the side. There was another loud detonation, and the brute fell sideways, its arm missing Cortez by inches. Javik was standing in the shuttle hatchway, hand still surrounded by a purple glow. He quickly took in Cortez's battered and bloodied condition. "Are you seriously injured, pilot?" he asked. "I may be able to patch you into my suit's medi-gel reservoir."
"I don't think that's necessary," Cortez said weakly. "If you could just help me get the medkit out from under this thing…"
Javik clenched and raised one fist. A blue glow surrounded the brute's gory remains, and they slowly lifted up from the floor of the shuttle. As Javik began to maneuver it out the hatch, Cortez carefully slid the medkit free, giving thanks that the Alliance hadn't cut corners on making them durable. He pulled a tube of medi-gel from the kit and began generously daubing it over his injuries. The touch of the numbing salve was a blessed relief. He glanced back up at Javik. "Thank you for the rescue, by the way."
Javik's head went back, and all four eyes blinked in unison. "No rescue was intended. The turian and I had dealt with the remaining enemies, and I had simply come to ensure that this one did not emerge to attack us. I had assumed that you were already dead."
In which case there would have been no reason to arc your biotic attack, Cortez thought. "Thank you, just the same," he said, starting to smear the medi-gel over his complaining back. The angle was awkward. He briefly contemplated asking Javik to assist with the gel, pictured the Prothean's look of shocked indignation, and had to laugh despite the pain.
Javik cocked his head to the side. "Perhaps you've overused the medi-gel, human. I see nothing particularly amusing about the situation."
Cortez thought that, if anything, more medi-gel was called for. "You know, Javik, I realized something when I thought the brute was about to kill me."
"What was that?" Javik responded absently.
"That you're wrong." Javik's head came up, his eyes all focused on Cortez. "Whatever is between Shepard and me doesn't make him weaker, it makes us both stronger. I found a way to kill that brute because I didn't want him to come back to find my body. And he'll make his way back from the depths of the oceans because he knows that I'm waiting for him."
"So primitives need some extra motivation to kill the beast that's about to eviscerate you? For my people, the desire to survive was motivation enough," Javik scoffed. "With the weight of the galaxy on Shepard's shoulders, you're saying he'd fail to carry out his mission but for one human pilot?"
"I think he needs all the strength he can get," Cortez said, remembering Garrus's words.
"Believe what you must," Javik said dismissively.
"We've got more guests on the way," Garrus called from outside. "Anyone care to join the welcoming party?"
"The fight goes on," Javik said. He paused a moment, then added, "If you are able, fire support would be helpful. Concern yourself with suppressing enemy troops, so that the turian and I can move to flank them." He turned and darted from the hatch without waiting for a reply.
Did Javik just suggest that I'm not completely useless? Well, that's at least one miracle for the day. Shepard, feel free to add another at any time.
But he wasn't worried as he moved back to the hatch, ready to make Reaper troops think twice about breaking cover. Shepard would be back. He could handle whatever this ocean had to throw at him.
Or so he kept telling himself until Shepard's diving mech broke the waves, and Cortez felt the greatest relief of his life.