CHAPTER TWO: Salvage

It had started to rain. Lieutenant Daniel Vaughn and Corporal Alexei Volkov sat waiting in the shuttle, listening to the patter of raindrops interspersed with the occasional muffled expletive from the pilot outside. Three shuttles had been called in after Vaughn's successful assault on the warehouse. The first had been carrying a team of medics with emergency supplies of medi-gel and were subsequently loaded with the dead and wounded. The drell, Amari Draylos, boarded this shuttle as well – never far from her new patients who had once been her captors. Vaughn had wanted to talk more about her presence on Earth and what she had meant about the Council owing him a debt. However, after her brief introduction, she had politely asked him to leave the room so she could work.

The second and third shuttles carried Systems Alliance personnel who began to load the retrieved supplies onto the land vehicles the bandits had stolen. Privates Mullins, Sterling, and Morales embarked on one shuttle, ready to travel back to their postings at bases further south. Before they had left, Vaughn shook the hands of all three men, commending them on a successful mission. It had been years since Vaughn had fought alongside trained Alliance marines, and he was proud of their diligent efficiency.

Stepping aboard the final shuttle, Vaughn and Alexei had been prepared to head back north, to their own assignments in the refugee city of New Albany. Pre-flight checks, however, revealed that the coolant pumps to the starboard thrusters were down, and so the shuttle pilot found himself cursing in the rain as he tried to repair the damage. Using the aircraft for short-range transportation was something of a luxury, yet Vaughn knew that many of the shuttle parts were scavenged from derelict ships ruined by the war. An engineer back home had once joked to him that many of the shuttles were simply held together by 'duct tape and a prayer'.

Vaughn grimaced as another string of curses sounded from outside. He wryly reflected that it might be safer to walk back to New Albany, despite the varren-infested countryside. But then he yawned, for an all-night march – coupled with the fading presence of adrenaline in his system – was quickly leaving him tired. A muscle in his neck had started to ache from the fatigue, and he gingerly tried to stretch it.

"You should catch some sleep now – Captain Vincent's going to want a report the second we get back." Alexei, his dark eyes twinkling, was watching his commanding officer's discomfort with grim enjoyment.

"Just bored, that's all," Vaughn lied. He didn't want to appear weak in front of his friend, who always seemed fine on minimal sleep. The lieutenant had a suspicion that Alexei's Cerberus implants and augmentations were part of the reason.

"Yeah, I'm sure that's it." Alexei began to pick at a hole in his armrest's faux-leather cushioning. "My god, I can't remember the last time I've seen a shuttle this bad. Piece of crap like this belongs in a scrapyard."

Vaughn shrugged. "I'm half-tempted to go outside and ask if that pilot needs any help."

"You?" Alexei snorted. "I remember a certain lieutenant who took twenty minutes to replace a simple circuit board, just to get one of those military rovers up and running."

Vaughn waved his hand in a dismissive gesture. "It was dark, and we were under fire. Besides, who can think about the proper wiring with that damn thing blasting my eardrums every few seconds?" He pointed at Alexei's shotgun, which hung on the wall's weapon rack.

The two men often traded friendly barbs when they were alone, irrespective of the difference in their rank. And while it was easier to smile about such events obscured by the mists of time, Vaughn started to remember how desperate that little skirmish had been years ago. "Up to our eyeballs in Husks and Marauders and not a dozen thermal clips between us," Vaughn thought, too distracted to hear Alexei grumble his retort. But then the lieutenant recalled that one of his soldiers had been wounded during their escape, and he had been forced to haul her into one of the back seats. She had died there – bled out. He struggled to remember her name. Over the months, so many had died to defeat the Reapers. "For all we lost while the Alliance was playing politics… they owe us." Commander Kate Sinclair's words crept into his mind.

"Alexei..." Vaughn's voice took on a more serious tone. "What did you think of Sinclair?" The lieutenant's face became hard as he mentioned the captured bandit leader.

Alexei frowned. "Her? What do you mean?"

"She seems convinced that the Alliance will never give up its hold on humanity's government. You ever wonder about that?"

"What? You worried that we're witnessing the rise of some military dictatorship, some grand human empire?" Alexei shook his head and lifted a hand, moving his index finger and thumb just slightly apart. "As a species, we came this close to extinction. Billions dead, and dozens of colonies missing when the relay network went down. Hell, even after seven years, things are still desperate enough that two war heroes have to risk their lives in a shuttle built out of scrap metal. It may not be perfect, but a firm grip on the wheel is how we rebuild. It's what humanity needs right now." Alexei was usually a dour man, but Vaughn knew the man was fiercely passionate when speaking of his ideals regarding mankind.

"We're war heroes now, are we?" Vaughn scoffed, but a smirk betrayed his amusement.

Alexei returned a cynical half-smile. "Damn straight. And if it weren't for the fact that this army only promotes bureaucrats, you and I would probably be admirals."

Vaughn considered Alexei's answer – about humanity's needs, not the prospect of being promoted to admiral. It was true that humanity's postwar progress was made possible by the Alliance's careful guidance. "Security always comes at a price..." Vaughn sighed; he was in no mood to ponder and debate political philosophy. "You know," he said to Alexei. "I think you're right."

"So you're convinced, then?"

"Yeah. You've completely convinced me that I'll need some sleep if I'm going to spend my afternoon being lectured." Vaughn's eyelids were starting to feel heavy. "Wake me when we reach New Albany – if that poor wet bastard out there ever manages to fix the damn shuttle."


The trip back to New Albany proved uneventful, and as several weeks passed, the events of the warehouse began to drift from Vaughn's mind. He found himself settling back into his old routine as part of Civil Security. For the first few days, Vaughn had been hoping to hear back from Amari, but after he submitted his report, there was nothing aside from a formal notice of thanks from the Admiralty. Similarly, the news that was broadcast about the warehouse's events made no mention of the mysterious drell, or the specifics of Commander Sinclair's rebellious ambitions.

Vaughn's days were mostly spent coordinating his people throughout the city of New Albany. In a sense, the Systems Alliance Civil Security was a police force. They took charge of security for official Alliance buildings, but they were also responsible for patrolling streets and responding to any criminal complaints. In truth, there wasn't much criminal activity to contend with, for there was still a prevalent sense of postwar unity among the people. Reconstruction was key, and the city of New Albany was responsible for several factories, hydroelectric plants along the Hudson River, and a salvage yard where scrap from the ruins of Old Albany were still brought.

One icy morning, Vaughn was at the salvage yard, overseeing the processing of a Reaper Destroyer's corpse. Finding the dead monstrosities in the countryside was increasingly rare, but given the sheer number of Reapers that had attacked Earth, it wasn't surprising to still find them. Their husks were fragile – whatever the Crucible had done to the Reapers seemed to significantly weaken their metallic bodies. Initially, it had been hoped that the mysterious high-tensile alloy could be studied or reused, but scientists had soon found that almost none of the remains were useful. All that could be done was to dispose of the giant metal corpses.

Thankfully, indoctrination was no longer something to worry about, for there had been no new reports of the phenomenon since war's end. Vaughn had heard that victims of indoctrination were still undergoing significant mental treatment. The poor souls no longer heard the whispers of the Reapers, yet nothing had been left to replace those missing voices. The victims were left hollow. Still, if the Reaper War had taught the galaxy anything, it was the importance of hope.

Vaughn shoved his hands into the pockets just below his body armor's chest piece. It was his formal combat uniform, complete with the N7 insignia he had earned just before the war. The dark blue and gray hardsuit helped a little in keeping himself warm, but he had forgotten to bring gloves. Cursing himself for his forgetfulness, Vaughn paced a few steps to try and generate some warmth. The crisp air resounded with the noise of machinery as workers sliced through the dead machine's carapace. Vaughn caught a glimpse of the Reaper's lifeless face with its cracked optical hemisphere. He scowled, feeling the reemergence of bad memories.

"Are you expecting a fight, or do you always dress in body armor?" A familiar voice called out from behind Vaughn. He turned, and to his surprise, the woman he had spent so much time puzzling over was there, just several meters away. Amari Draylos smiled at him with warmth that seemed to dispel the morning's dismal chill.

The drell wore a dark gray overcoat with a hood pulled over the reptilian frills on top of her head. Her pale face with its rosy accents watched him from underneath the hood, the color of her scales standing out in stark contrast to her coat. Alexei was standing a few paces behind her, yet true to the man's stoic nature he seemed unaffected by the cold.

Vaughn was taken aback by Amari's unexpected appearance, but he composed himself and answered in what he deemed his best officer's tone. "Standard procedure, ma'am. When processing a dead Reaper, it's required that at least one combat-ready Alliance soldier be present."

"I see. But please, call me Amari." Stepping next to him, the drell hugged the overcoat closer to her body and watched the salvage workers toil away. Alexei stayed back and let the two have their private conversation. "They seem rather cheerful, don't they?" Amari asked, referring to the workers who laughed and joked as they labored.

"I imagine there's something cathartic about cutting up a Reaper and then tossing him into the trash bin," observed Vaughn.

"But you seem tense, am I correct?"

"Am I that transparent?" Vaughn stiffened. "I was on Earth during the occupation, and I saw my fair share of those monsters in action."

"Oh." Amari pursed her lips, seeming to realize how uncomfortable she had made him. "Forgive me please; I sometimes forget that not every person I speak to is a patient." Amari smiled and gestured to Alexei. "Corporal Volkov was kind enough to show me where to find you. I spoke with Captain Vincent when I arrived here, and she's agreed to have you show me the city."

Hearing his name, Alexei stepped forward. "I'll keep an eye on things here, sir." The ex-Cerberus soldier gave a curt nod to Vaughn.

Vaughn accepted, and led the drell back toward the city's center. Most of the city was busy at the factories or warehouses, but a few people were present on the sidewalks. The buildings were new and nearly identical, all having been constructed around the same time five years prior. The wide, tinted glass windows and fresh ceramic paints reflected the late autumn sun to an almost dazzling glare. The roads and pedestrian walkways between the buildings were smooth and even surfaces, made of the tiny micro-solar panels that brought power to much of the city during the day. It was an impressive sight, but Vaughn knew that if one were to look thirty kilometers in any direction, there would be ruins where only the weeds prospered.

"Captain Vincent didn't offer to show you the city herself?" asked Vaughn. Captain Amelia Vincent was hardly the type of person to avoid off-world guests. She rarely missed the chance to show off what New Albany had accomplished since the war.

"Oh, she was very welcoming. But I mentioned that I specifically wanted to talk to you," Amari said. Vaughn opened his mouth to inquire further, but the drell continued. "I must say, I'm rather unused to this frigid weather. Is there somewhere warmer we could go?"

Vaughn led Amari toward a small coffee shop near the town's residential district. He ordered a coffee for himself, but the drell was ecstatic on learning that the shop also carried green tea.

"I spent a few months studying at a medical center near Beijing," she explained as they cupped their hands around the steaming mugs. "There was a brilliant doctor there – a Dr. Jiang – and he introduced me to the drink. I imagine I have to be a bit more careful around the steam being a drell and all, but I can't resist." The beverages were made from freeze-dried powders that tasted bitter, but Amari apparently didn't mind.

"So you're a doctor, studying on Earth?" Vaughn inquired.

"Ah, yes. I'm primarily a surgeon, but I've done extensive study on internal medicine as well."

"And your focus is on humans?"

"Focus? Not quite." Amari took a sip from her drink. "I've also spent time on Palaven, Thessia, Sur'Kesh, and just about every major homeworld we still have access to. As you know, we drell possess eidetic memories, which is quite a useful trait to have when learning multiple alien biologies. My proficiency in biotics has also been helpful."

"Your biotics? Like, what you did back at that warehouse?"

Amari nodded. "Some drell possess biotic abilities, but mine developed a bit differently. I'm not exactly capable of throwing somebody across the room, but for what I lack in brute force, I make up for in precision." To demonstrate this, she extended a finger and pointed at a bowl of sugar cubes that sat between them. Her fingertip glowed with biotic energy, and as she touched one of the cubes, it promptly separated into nine smaller pieces, perfect and identical. "With the right medical imaging devices, I can sometimes perform surgery without breaking the skin."

"So you're a... biotic surgeon?" Vaughn's eyebrows peaked in surprise. "I've never heard of anybody like that before."

"The asari have records of several throughout their history." Amari shrugged humbly. "But to delicately move arteries and organs with mass effect fields, as well as make incisions with finely edged barriers... it requires delicacy. Such fine control over biotic abilities is rare, but it can make the surgery go very quickly, allowing one to treat a larger number of patients. It also helps when operating in environments that may lack sterile equipment."

"So… you can look at a patient, and start cutting away as soon as you note the species," Vaughn concluded.

"Exactly. A drell never forgets." Amari gave a short titter of laughter.

"And the Council has been arranging for you to study alien physiology?" Vaughn continued.

"They have indeed."

Vaughn nodded, yet something about this arrangement seemed unusual to him. "I understand the value of having a biotic surgeon with a perfect memory, but for the Council to take such an interest and spend all these resources – do they have something special in mind for you?"

"It... it is not my place to say, unfortunately. I would tell you if I could." Amari's hands fumbled at her cup and the conversation settled into an awkward silence. "I'm sorry," she added after a few heartbeats, giving Vaughn a sheepish look.

"I understand," Vaughn said, despite his pang of disappointment. "Being 'under orders' and all that – it's the same here in the Systems Alliance."

"You're an N7, right? I haven't met many of those." Amari brightened at the prospect of changing the subject.

"It's an elite rank that not many earn, and the war didn't do much to help our numbers," Vaughn admitted. "But with so many postwar resources tied up in the reconstruction, the program hasn't been reinstated yet. And so, the few of us you see now are just relics from a different time, I suppose."

"Just like the Council's Spectre program," Amari observed. "The war... what was it like for you? I was only 15 at the time, safe in one of the underwater shelters on Kahje. I missed most of the war... but I suppose I should be thankful for that."

"I..." Vaughn began, but paused. He always felt awkward talking about the war, unless it was with people that had been there themselves and could understand the complex emotions behind it. However, there was something disarming about Amari, perhaps from her years of honing a doctor's bedside manner. "I led a resistance group that operated over the east coast of North America. It was guerrilla tactics, mostly. We would hit them hard and run like hell. We had a nice little network set up so that if a force of ground troops went on the move, we could be there to strike."

"You also attacked a few processing camps, correct?" Amari must have realized the look Vaughn gave her, for she hastily continued. "Alliance Command was generous enough to let me read a few reports from Earth, including yours."

"Right... I mean, all we could ever really manage was to rescue a couple dozen prisoners at a time." Vaughn shook his head. "And it was never easy; it always came at a price."

"I know it must have been difficult making choices like that." Amari paused, seeming to consider her next question. "Leading so many people in such a dire, uncertain situation... what was that like?"

"Is this what passes for casual conversation with the drell?" Vaughn wondered. He had a peculiar feeling: a vague sense of deja vu, in that he was reminded of his pre-N7 interviews years ago. Sipping his coffee to buy himself a few seconds, he thought about the question. It was such a nebulous concept, one that he had never really put into words.

"Well... when you know you're fighting a war that you're slowly losing, it's tough. People look to you for answers, and if they don't have that confidence, many of them will just break and run. And if that happens in battle, they're as good as dead. So, you have to earn their trust, and they can't see you having any doubts or worries. But when they have that trust in you – when they have that confidence? You'd be amazed at what even a group of lightly armed civilians can accomplish."

"I can only imagine." Amari nodded fervently.

"There's something more going on here," Vaughn mused to himself. "There's no way this visit is just some simple thank-you."

The pair continued to talk for the better part of an hour, discussing the ongoing projects in New Albany and of all the places Amari had visited during her time on Earth. At the end, Vaughn offered to pay for their drinks, but Amari insisted she had her travel budget afforded by the Council. Then, assuring him that she could find her way back to the city hall building, Vaughn was once again left alone. Alone, with more unanswered questions about the enigmatic drell woman.


A few days later, Vaughn found himself called into the office of Captain Amelia Vincent. Ever since Amari's visit, the captain had seemed slightly annoyed with the lieutenant, as if he were somehow to blame for monopolizing the drell's attention. Her thin lips angled downward upon seeing him, seeming to suggest that her irritation had not yet abated.

"Lieutenant Vaughn." She stood up from her desk, holding a slim folder in her hands. "I have just gotten word from Rear Admiral Shankar. You have an appointment to speak with the Council."

"Ma'am?" Vaughn had expected something to come from Amari's visit, but certainly not an audience with the Council.

"I was not given further details," Vincent said. "You have your appointment and I suggest you keep it."

"Yes, ma'am." Vaughn nodded. "I suppose I'll be traveling to Washington, to use the QEC and speak with them there?"

"No." The captain handed him the folder. Inside, it contained the necessary paperwork for off-world travel. "They would like to speak to you in-person. You will be boarding a ship tomorrow, bound for the Serpent Nebula."


Author's Note: The concept of a biotic surgeon is something I thought up, but I think it seems feasible. I know working with a bunch of original characters might not appeal to a lot of readers, but hopefully they'll be interesting enough.

Anyway, as always, reviews are greatly appreciated. Keelah se'lai!