Mordin
"But Dr. Solus-"
Mordin interrupted his assistant, tiring of this argument. "Focus on patients here, Daniel. More than enough. Need you to help. We will assist others when safe."
"They'll be dead by then," the young man fired back.
"Possibly. Your death highly probable if you leave as well. How many will you help then, hmm? Stay here. Where you can do most good. Take next patient into exam room two."
He didn't appear happy, but he did what he was told. Mordin respected his assistant's desire to help those that couldn't make it to the safety of their clinic, but it was too dangerous outside those doors to warrant the attempt. The salarian was already forced to handle a few vorcha that attempted to ransack the shelter he provided to the sick and defenseless. The situation was only getting worse if the incoming patients were to be believed.
He had other concerns at the moment. The professor had found a cure for the plague. Unfortunately, he didn't have enough of the components to make a large enough batch to treat the entire district intravenously. So Mordin was trying to find a vector that would allow the limited supply to affect the greatest number of sick individuals.
"Capsule form? No, no, no. Too slow. Cure prone to alterations in acidic or alkaline solutions. Sub-cutaneous? No. Same problem as intravenous. Intramuscular unsuitable as well. That leaves…"
It left an inhalant. Why he didn't think of it first, he had no idea. It was the perfect answer in this situation. Because of the way Omega was built, each district was supplied with breathable air by their own ventilation system, completely separate and self-contained in the event of pressure loss. If he could get to the environmental control center, he could inject the cure into the air supply. The system already has an atomizer to moisturize the air. His liquid compound could be reworked to vaporize just as easily.
The professor knew what needed to be accomplished now. He must reexamine his work and find a way to work around the new complications. It must have a light molecular weight, polarized yet able to pass through the cell membrane, and –
"Dr. Solus!"
"Yes, yes," he answered quickly as he glanced at the intruder. Then Mordin noticed the panic on the receptionist's face. "What is it?"
"There – there's a problem outside, sir. We need your help."
"Vorcha?" he asked as he headed to the front of his clinic.
The man shook his head. "Blue Suns. They – they are demanding we give them all the humans here."
"Ah."
Honestly, Mordin was surprised they hadn't come sooner. He didn't keep it a secret that his private clinic was also a shelter to anyone to afraid to return to their homes. That included humans. He was doubtful humanity was responsible for the plague. Creating such a virulent virus required capital and experts. While humanity had both, neither was possessed by those willing to employ them to create this plague. No. This strain had a more nefarious creation.
"Stay here," Mordin told the man as he exited.
Outside stood two Blue Suns mercenaries. Both were turian, and neither appeared to be particularly healthy. Their mandibles hung lazily, the usually bright sheen of the carapace dull. One of them coughed wetly, confirming Mordin's suspicions. Both men were infected with the plague.
"You're harboring humans, doctor. We want them now," demanded one.
"No. Everyone inside under my protection. No one leaves unless they wish. Leave your weapons. Then follow me inside. I'll treat you."
"Listen, salarian. We are here for the –" The turian began to cough violently, flecks of blue blood escaping his mouth. Once it subsided, he continued. "Here for the humans. They are responsible for this plague. I don't know why you are protecting them, and I don't much care. I just know they have to pay."
Mordin shook his head. "Highly unlikely humanity responsible. Even if true, these humans have no connection. You're looking for scape goats."
The two unholstered their assault rifles and pointed them at Mordin. "You have to the count of three to go back inside and bring them. One."
The professor didn't wait for him to finish his count. He flicked his hand forward, sending an old tech grenade he had ready between the two turians. The grenade exploded sending a plume of quick-acting neurotoxin into their midst.
The two Blue Suns recoiled from the sudden blast and attempted to respond by opening fire on the salarian but found they couldn't raise their weapons. Then their legs gave out, and they crumpled to the floor, completely paralyzed.
Mordin removed a heavy pistol from one of the mercs and shot each one in the head, mercifully ending their life as painless as possible. He kept the pistol and returned to his clinic.
"Josh, you have military training, yes?" he asked one of his worried receptionists.
The man nodded. "I was in the Alliance for a few years."
"Help me move the bodies to our morgue. Then take one of their guns and stand guard outside clinic. Will activate security mechs for added security."
The two men quickly moved the deceased turians to the morgue and out of the way. Unfortunately, they were forced to pass the waiting area. Some of the sick reacted poorly to the sight of the dead bodies. The room was less crowded when they were finished.
Josh left to take his new post, and Mordin returned to his work with the cure. At least, he thought he would be able to return to the cure.
"Dr. Solus, have you seen Dr. Abrams?" their clinic assistant asked.
"Should be in exam room two. Told him to see patients."
"It's empty. The patient left just after you did. I didn't see Dr. Abrams leave, but there's no one in there now."
Mordin knew exactly where Daniel went. He had been so adamant about leaving to help those trapped. Now he has left the clinic understaffed. The salarian knew he couldn't head for ventilation system and leave only one physician here. There were simply too many patients that needed him.
"Daniel's gone. Beyond our help. Must focus on the patients. Bring in the next one."
It had been thirty hours since the encounter with the Blue Suns mercenaries. Mordin hadn't slept during that entire time. The sleep deprivation didn't affect him much. The salarian usually only slept for three to four hours a night, and he was accustomed to not sleeping at all for a length of time. Yet the work was steady and with no signs of slowing, tiring him quicker than normal. The patients seemed almost constant, and, whenever there was a lull, the professor would attempt to finish his work on the cure.
The cure that he couldn't deliver. It was frustrating having the answer to your problem and not being able to employ it.
Mordin pushed the thoughts from his mind. He had more pressing matters to attend to. The stream of patients had increased with the new day, and the clinic's dwindling medical supplies were disconcerting.
"Professor, we're running out of cipoxidin," his assistant said, as if on cue.
An easy fix. Not nearly as critical as other medications he was lacking. "Use malanarin. Plenty on hand. Almost as good. Causes cramping in batarians. Supplement with butemerol."
"Malanarin with butemerol. Got it."
Mordin briefly feared that the assistant would mistakenly give butemerol to patients besides batarians. The drug caused vomiting in turians. But the assistant was smart and quickly comprehended any task assigned to him. There was little worry he would misuse the medications.
The man had displayed a great proficiency in caring for patients, giving the salarian valuable time to finish his work on the almost-complete cure. There was only one problem still causing issues.
"Cenozine is the catalyst. Bonds to genetic markers. Hard to find. Expensive to mass produce." He paused, racking his mind for a viable substitute. "Why not heplacore? No, no, no. Too unstable. Inconsistent results. Demozane better option. No, no. Demozane toxic to humans." With the airborne treatment plan, every human in the district would become sick. "Not an option. Not an option."
There was no alternative. He mixed what little cenozine he had and augmented it with heplacore. Hopefully the combination of the two would give the desired results. Now, he just needed a way to get to the environmental –
"Professor Mordin Solus?"
The voice was not from anyone on his staff. He quickly turned, seeing the three heavily armed and armored human males.
Mordin visually assessed the new arrivals. The grey-haired one had some obvious and poorly-finished reconstructive surgery on the right side of his face. The Blue Suns tattoo on his neck spoke of his mercenary connections, but the lack of distinguished armor meant he was no longer with them. Violent removal possible reason for facial reconstruction.
The younger, dark-skinned man had obvious military training. Most likely Alliance. Cerberus emblem on his armor suggested he was discharged at some point and joined the pro-human group.
The man in front, the one who spoke, was the most curious. He was wearing the face of a dead man. Staff Commander Troy Shepard, first human Spectre. Angry, red scars crossed his face, glowing with cybernetic power. Surgery then. Obviously not performed by the same doctor the older man saw. Still, the question remained: was this the real Shepard, a clone, or a man made to look like him.
"Hmm. Don't recognize you from area," Mordin started, keeping his thoughts to himself for the moment and filling the void with his quick-tempo voice and pacing. "Too well-armed to be refugees. No mercenary uniform. Quarantine still in effect. Here for something else.
"Vorcha? Crew to clean them out? Unlikely, Vorcha a symptom, not a cause. The plague? Investigation possible use as bio-weapon? No. Too many guns, not enough data equipment. Soldiers, not scientists." As possibilities were removed, the threads were starting to connect. "Hired guns, maybe? Looking for someone? Yes. Yes!
"But who? Someone important. Valuable. Someone with secrets." The final piece. "Someone like me."
Mordin's eyes narrowed at the intruders, and his hands readied for an attack.
"Relax, Mordin," undead Shepard said calmly. "I'm Comman-" He stopped midway through his title, uncertainty flashed across his face.
Interesting, Mordin thought. What caused the doubt? Did he have reservations about who he was?
"I'm Troy Shepard," he continued, "and I came here to find you. I'm on a critical mission, and I need your help."
So far, STG profile fit. Shepard always was diplomatic and calm. He would need more information to decide if he was the true Shepard however.
Mordin needed to get back to the topic at hand. There would be time later to run the necessary tests.
"Mission? What mission? No, no, no. Too busy. Clinic understaffed. Plague spreading too fast." He turned back to his console. "Who sent you?"
"Ever heard of an organization called Cerberus?"
The presence of the Cerberus operative made more sense now. Mordin found it interesting Shepard would be so candid about working with the pro-human group. "Crossed paths on occasion. Thought they only worked with humans. Why request salarian aid?"
"The Collectors are kidnapping entire human populations. We're going to find out why and stop them. And we're going to need the best to do that."
"Collectors? Interesting." Mordin stopped his work and faced the trio. "Plague hitting these slums is engineered. Collectors one of few groups with technology to design it. Our goals may be similar." He never thought he would say that to a pro-human group like Cerberus. "But must stop plague first. Already have a cure. Need to distribute it at environmental control center. Gangs and vorcha may make it difficult. Need to kill them."
Shepard sighed. "Just once I would like to ask someone for help and hear them say 'Sure. Let's go right now. No strings attached.'" The annoyance in his voice was contradicted by the small smile on his face.
"Life is a negotiation. We all want. We all give to get what we want."
Suddenly, a horrible grinding noise rumbled through the district, and the air stilled. Mordin had been afraid of this.
"What the hell was that?" the dark-skinned human asked.
"Environmental systems shut down," Mordin answered quickly. He didn't stop to take a breath. "Trying to kill everyone. Need to get power back on before district suffocates. Here, take plague cure," he said as he handed Shepard the container and the pistol he pilfered from mercs. "Also, bonus in good faith. Weapon from dead Blue Suns. May come in handy."
The thoughts of Daniel came to Mordin. "One more thing. Daniel. One of my assistants. Left clinic to help the sick trapped. Hasn't come back."
Shepard nodded. "If I see him, I'll do what I can to help. Do you know where I can find him?"
"No. Warned him not to go. Too dangerous. Patients here need him. Snuck out anyway. Too eager to place his life at risk. But he's smart. Bright future. I hope. Wanted to find him myself. Can't leave clinic. Have to look after patients."
"I heard you had a run in with some Blue Suns and vorcha. Do you want me to leave one of my squad members to help protect this place?"
"No, no," Mordin answered with a shake of his head. "Attacks nothing major. Vorcha hardly problem. Blue Suns came for humans. Made threats. Killed them before things escalated."
His response made Shepard recoil slightly. "For a doctor, you're awfully calm about taking out a group of mercs."
"Wasn't always a doctor. Some work with Salarian Special Tasks Group. Can handle myself." He smiled ruefully. "Advantage of being salarian. Turians, krogan, vorcha all obvious threats." A deep breath. "Never see me coming."
Shepard turned to his followers. "Let's head for the environmental plant."
"Yes. Good. Restore power. Release cure. Will be here when you return."
They left the room, but, before Mordin could get back to work, Shepard peeked back in.
"I almost forgot. I found a batarian plague victim near the entrance to the neighborhood. Can you send someone to help?"
He thought about it for a moment. "Risky. Still fighting. District not secure. See what I can do."
"Thanks, Professor."
With that, he was gone, leaving Mordin to his work.
Thirty minutes later, Daniel walked back into the clinic. He appeared dejected and scared, his head hanging low for the admonishment he thought he was going to receive.
"Glad you're back. Take next patient," was all Mordin said to him. There was no need to discipline him. He did what he thought was best. The salarian understood such decisions well.
Another thirty minutes passed and the air began to circulate again. Mordin checked the new air, finding ample amounts of active cure and a decrease in viral load. Shepard had done it. The district should be able to survive.
Mordin told the commander as much when he returned a short while later, thanking him for his work.
"And thank you from me, as well. Those batarians would have killed me." He hesitated. "For a second there, I thought you were going to shoot them even after they let me go."
Shepard went rigid for a moment before relaxing and answering. "I made a promise to spare them if they let you go. I honor my promises."
He obviously did think about killing them.
"Merciful of you. Risky. Would have killed them myself."
"Professor?" Daniel exclaimed, anger evident. "How can you say that? You're a doctor. You believe in helping people."
Mordin shrugged. "Lots of ways to help people. Sometimes heal patients. Sometimes execute dangerous people. Either way helps." He softened his voice. "Go check on the patients. Lots of work to do. Think about what I said."
Daniel left the room, anger rolling off him.
"Good kid. Bit naïve. He'll learn. Letting him take over the clinic," he said with a smile. "Should be able to handle it now the district out of immediate danger."
"Does that mean you're on board?" Shepard asked.
"Yes," Mordin nodded enthusiastically. "Unexpected to be working with Cerberus. Many surprises. Just need to finish up here at clinic. Won't take long. Meet you at your ship. Looking forward to it."
"Then I'll see you on the Normandy."
Mordin had already begun shifting through samples and data they had gathered from Shepard's mission to a Freedom's Progess. He was impressed by what he saw. Collector technology was much more advanced than any other sapient species. It became quite clear the Collector drones were the cause of the lack of struggle. Their stingers were laced with some toxin that most likely paralyzed its victims, leaving them helpless and making it impossible to defend themselves.
The compound was unique and difficult to isolate or synthesize. He couldn't get enough of a concentration to properly study it.
"Protection from toxin unlikely," he murmured to himself. "Alternative way must be found. Alter barriers and shields. Prevent drone penetration. No, no. Drain on battery. Last for only few minutes. Poison? No. Impossible to affect entire swarms."
He mulled over the problem until he heard a door open. He looked up to see Shepard approach. He was wearing the same outfit others on the crew were expect his was missing the sleeves. It appeared he didn't want to identify or associate with Cerberus more than he was required.
"Shepard. How can I help?"
"Oh, I don't need anything." He seemed easier with just the two of them. "I wanted to see how you were doing. Is the lab working well for you?"
Mordin nodded enthusiastically. "Quite satisfactory. Found a few surveillance bugs."
Shepard scowled.
"Destroyed most of them," the salarian continued. "Returned expensive one to Miranda. Nothing unexpected."
He smiled, remembering Miranda's shocked look as he handed her the top-of-the-line camera he found overhead. After, her eyes narrowed at the salarian as she thanked him reluctantly.
"Just need more samples. More Collector data, tissue samples. Anything you can get, I can use. Discover new tech."
"Good. Good."
Shepard hesitated again. Mordin found it odd. It was as if the human had something he wanted to say or ask but didn't know if he should.
Finally, he spoke. "Can I ask you for a favor?"
"Depends on favor. Will do my best. May decline, however."
"That's fair," he said with a smile before turning serious again. "I want you to run tests on me."
"What type of tests?"
He took a very deep breath, apparently an attempt to settle his nerves. "I want to know if I'm… if I'm really me."
"Ah. Can do. Interested myself. Might have sneaked samples from you to test on my own. Happy that's no longer necessary. Please. Sit down and remove your shirt."
Shepard did so, and Mordin began his work. As he checked the man's vitals, took samples, and scans, they talked about a variety of topics: Mordin's assistant back on Omega and his work there, his work with STG, nature of the STG, Captain Kirrahe and his speeches, and the genophage.
That last topic was the most difficult for the professor to speak of. Mordin knew he did what needed to be done. The krogan were on the verge of becoming a galactic threat again. The genophage needed to be altered to continue the status quo. Something needed to be done, and he did it. There was no reason to doubt the decision. Yet…
Mordin didn't tell any of this to Shepard. Their relationship was too new, too untested, to trust him with such delicate knowledge. So he kept the conversation on the early work, before they realized the krogan's adaptation. Back when they were discussing the scenarios and schematics, the "what-if's," and not the "what do we do now?" that came later.
Eventually, he was finished with the exam, and Shepard pulled his torn shirt back on.
"Thank you for doing this, Mordin."
"Of course. Happy to help."
There was another moment of silence. "I would prefer if we keep this between us. I don't want…" he trailed off.
The professor knew what he was trying to say and didn't wait for him to finish. "Take doctor-patient confidentiality very seriously. Will not speak of this to anyone."
He smiled. "Thanks again. It was nice talking to you, Mordin."
"Likewise. Should get back to work. Need to study. So much data. Let you know the results as soon as possible. In meantime, will be here if you need me."
Shepard exited, leaving Mordin alone to analyze his new data.