To: ['All teh kr0gan']
19:38:20 GST, 08/04/2186
Subject: All teh seXX
For a good time, visit the Shroud.
All Ladies Night, All the Time (females drink free!)
Hop the nearest cruiser and sign up with Urdnot Wrex before all the good ladies and drinks are taken.
Snickering at her own immaturity, Samantha's index finger tapped away at the delete key until the "New Message" window on her Omni-tool was pristine and blank once more.
She was supposed to be helping craft a broadcast correspondence to all the krogan in the galaxy to return home to Tuchanka. The genophage cure wasn't space magic; only the krogan actually on Tuchanka could be desterilized. Which leaves a whole lot of mercenaries out there still bitching about needing a good shagging.
Sam began composing something a little more official (and appropriate) along the lines Urdnot Wrex actually had in mind. Not normally the job of a comms specialist, but her reputation apparently preceded her. She wondered if Shepard had found out that the endless backlog of elcor spam in her inbox was Sam's doing, and this was her punishment.
To: ['Wrex, Urdnot'; 'bulk-mailing-list']
CC: ['Victus, A'; 'Shepard, A'; 'Hackett, S'; 'Anderson, D']
19:42:39 GST, 08/04/2186
Subject: Genophage Cured
All able-bodied krogan who want to be cured, come to Tuchanka and ally under Warlord Urdnot Wrex's banner to fight the Reapers. Contact turian government outposts for shuttle information. Terms of breeding protocols to be established once
"Hey. Hey! It's your turn."
Glancing up from her Omni-tool, Sam's eyes flicked across the Mess Hall table. Diana Allers was drumming her fingers expectantly on the surface. The reporter had a haughty eyebrow raised as she waved a hand over the chess game currently in progress.
It was a simple holo setup. Sam had found the small projector disc pre-loaded with a chess interface on the Citadel for really cheap before they'd departed the last time. It was displaying a bright white and black chess grid along with simulated pieces staggered out across the tiles. The comms specialist gave the board the briefest of glances before raising her wrist again to continue the email.
"No, it's not."
"Like hell it isn't. I moved that horse piece... knight? ...right there. It's your turn, Traynor."
"Try again."
"What?"
"I said pick another move."
"What's wrong with this move?"
"That move means I win in three moves."
"Bullshit. You don't know what I have planned."
Samantha sighed and flicked an index finger over the orange interface on her wrist to close it. Giving the chess board her full attention finally, she started emphatically pointing at places on the grid.
"Your knight leaves your bishop easy prey. If you don't attempt to defend the gap your knight left, I'll have check when my rook takes your bishop. You can either move your king, which means I'll have checkmate from my knight here, or you can take my rook with your pawn, wherein my queen will also have checkmate. So I say again: pick another move, Allers."
Diana could only scowl. She had promised to be a sound combatant. She had talked a big game, though her questions about piece names ("horse piece"?!) did not inspire much confidence. It didn't take long at all to discover Diana Allers was a big, fat liar.
Or at least a fairly attractive, shapely liar.
But still a liar.
The reporter huffily sighed. "This game is stupid. And you're no fun to play with, Miss Smarty Pants. Back at the ANN, we played Drunk-slash-Strip Chess. Now that was the game of kings."
Sam groaned and shook her head. "Oh, Allers. What a pun. I thought you were a woman of dignity."
"Clearly not," Allers scoffed as she rolled her eyes, "because I'm still playing this after the fourth time you scolded me for a wrong move. What fun is this stupid game if you already know all the answers?"
"Clearly you don't know many nerds. Because knowing all the answers is the fun."
"Hmph. I suppose being a nerd isn't far off from being a reporter," Diana grudgingly admitted. "But I prefer the thrill of the hunt and digging up secrets over this memorization shit. Like now: being on the Normandy when a freaking thousand-year genophage gets cured. Beats the hell out of reporting on the Milgrom City Council."
"You're oversimplifying my obvious strategic superiority. Chess is not about memorization." Sam rolled the word around disdainfully. Dismissing the also-blasphemous notion that chess was "shit," she thought a moment. "I don't think I've heard of Milgrom. What planet is that on?"
"Bekenstein," Diana said with pride. "It's right next door to the Citadel. I'm a colony kid."
"Me too," Samantha said without thinking. She didn't really have a good reason why she still avoided talking about Horizon, and she had been on this boat with Allers for over a month now… Sam took a deep breath. "I'm from Discovery, on Horizon."
Diana tilted her head and brought her hand to her chin. She made an intrigued "hmm!" noise in the back of her throat and her eyes twinkled. "You've been holding out on me! A survivor of the famed Collector attack, and BFFs with LC Williams and Commander Shepard, no doubt? There's a juicy interview in your future, Traynor, and not about your chess skills."
Sam's eyes rolled. Right. That was why I don't tell people: the embarrassment. And in Allers' case: the public embarrassment. She resumed evasion. "I wasn't stationed on Horizon, nosey. I did R&D for the Alliance at Arcturus Station." Leaving those statements purposefully vague, Sam swallowed deeply to suppress the heavy emotion associated with both places.
"Oh." Allers leaned back in disappointment. She fired up her own Omni-tool anyway. "Well, don't think you can escape my camera forever, Traynor, even if you are shy as a pyjak. Especially with that pretty face of yours."
Sam's eyes wandered around the emptying Mess Hall while Diana chattered on in the background. Dinner had ended over an hour ago so the last few crewmembers were either heading to sleeper pods for rack time or off to their night shifts. Joker and Garrus, the last to leave, were laughing amiably as they rounded the corner to the Port Observation Deck to grab a quick (though more likely a long) drink.
It had been two days since the genophage mission. Immediately after, the Commander had retired to her cabin. Sam had been watching the feeds with a heightened sense of interest. A trickle of trepidation ran up her spine shortly after her conversation with Shepard in the war room.
Sam realized she honestly had no idea if the genophage was cured. She hadn't seen it. She'd heard a shot fired, but she had no idea if it had hit the salarian doctor.
Maybe it was as Samantha hoped: Shepard had missed (hopefully deliberately) and Mordin had made it up the elevator to correct the temperature problem before the cure was released. Then he had perished in an unfortunate explosion.
But her intelligent other half had nagged her. Odds were calculated. Another scenario was possible: Shepard had wounded Mordin, he had made it to the elevator, but the salarian was too far gone to reach the console in time to stop the dispersal. The explosion that followed only served to cover up the evidence.
It was a possibility that made Sam sick to her stomach. The doubt gnawed at her. But it wasn't something she could talk about. No one else knew. She wasn't even supposed to know. It was Commander Shepard's and Dalatrass Linron's dirty little secret. And then Sam had done something so stupid as to tell Shepard she knew. And worse, begged Shepard to do the right thing.
Conspiratorial worries set in quickly. Am I going to be killed off? Some "accident" where I'm stepping out of the Docking Bay on the Citadel and I'm gunned down by some lunatic?
What if—what if Shepard... No. She wouldn't hurt me. ...Would she? To protect something like that?
Samantha had scolded herself for thinking such a thing... but it wouldn't quite go away. Because something like the genophage cure being sabotaged would be a pretty important secret to keep. Worth dying for, certainly.
What Sam did have at her disposal, while not as useful as weapons and combat knowledge, was still a vital thing: information. She had foregone the shift change after the mission ended to stare at the logs of network feeds. Most of the salarian communications were heavily encrypted. Hacking them would be a colossal waste of time. But monitoring them might not be. Increases in traffic, keyword tracking, and locations of heaviest comms could paint part of a picture.
Hopefully that picture wasn't a giant target on Samantha Traynor's back.
There were certainly plenty of mentions of the krogan genophage being bandied about by the salarians. And everyone else. It was a pretty big deal. But there was no movement from the salarian fleet to indicate their involvement. Neither joining up with the turians nor retreating to salarian space had occurred.
It was an odd thing to hope the salarians didn't join the war effort. Because their allying with the rest of the galaxy meant they had gotten their selfish, stupid way with the genophage. Every salarian ship that moved closer to the Krogan Demilitarized Zone sent waves of panic through Sam until she realized they were usually just jumping through the relay to somewhere else.
The fastest way to get to the bottom of this would be, of course, to talk to Commander bloody Shepard herself. It was that thought that usually calmed the conspiracy theories in her mind. The way Shepard had looked at her in the war room. The burden, the weight. There had been no accusations in those green eyes. Or regret.
Those eyes were what allowed Sam to finally go to sleep that night. She decided that Shepard was studying the asset log because the Commander knew she had to make up for the loss of salarian help. It was a numbers game, and we were on the wrong side. And Shepard knew it. That was why she had almost...
It hadn't been the greatest sleep. Being in a cramped crew bunk bed certainly didn't help, but considering Sam's day shift was starting only five hours after she had gone to bed, she took what she could get.
She dreamed of emerald green eyes and red lips and tumbling sheets. It was a dream she was starting to remember more and more these days, when before it was just a whisper at the back of her mind. And immediately forgotten upon waking.
The following morning had been a busy one. Several of the crew, mostly the combat team members, had been ferried down to Tuchanka for funerals for Eve and Mordin. Shepard had been spied only briefly in the elevator, going down, in her dress blues. A classically attired Liara had stepped in beside the SpecTRe from the Crew Deck and kindly straightened the human woman's slightly offbalance lapel.
Sam felt some schadenfreude when Liara had cautiously placed a comforting hand on Shepard's wrist... and just before the lift doors had closed, the Commander shook it off.
Sam really needed to have a good long chat with herself at her disorganized feelings about Shepard. And Liara. And a lot of things. But then the elevator had returned to take the comms specialist up to the CIC, and she was able to resume her blissful denial for a few hours more.
You can't escape this forever, Traynor.
I can try.
["Until tomorrow, this is Diana Allers. Good night and stay strong."]
Blinking a few times, Sam realized Diana was waiting expectantly for something. Oh. Oh shit. I think I was supposed to be listening to her Battlespace edit.
"Your silence wounds me, Traynor," the reporter accused.
Sam flashed an overly cheesy grin. "I'm sorry, some of that cut out. Care to replay it for a dear, beloved friend? Who will quickly end your suffering at chess?"
Allers muttered "Don't you threaten me with a good time," before focusing back on her wrist. "I can't decide what this piece is missing. I managed to get a sound bite from the Primarch about the return to Palaven with krogan troops. Urdnot Wrex gave me a bunch of gloating quotes about his pending empire. Not. Reassuring. What I could really use is…"
Instead of listening to Diana's report for a second time, a new distraction entered the Crew Deck. Sam's chair was facing aft so she had a wide angle vantage of both hallways leading to the elevator. She noticed a figure limp into the Med Bay and take a seat at the cot closest to the door.
The figure was Commander Annelise Shepard.
She looks positively dreadful. Deep, dark rings under her puffy green eyes. The unkempt red hair had an oily sheen. A white Alliance-issue t-shirt had several dark patches that looked like soaked-through bloodstains. Some looked old and faded, while the shoulder and abdomen stains were newer. She was curiously barefoot under striped workout pants.
Dr. Chakwas appeared from the left and appraised the Commander's miserable appearance. With the Med Bay door shut, Sam couldn't hear any words. She could only guess the diagnosis based on Shepard's pantomimes.
Her left shoulder rolled stiffly, but Shepard waved her right hand with distressed motions. Her fingers flexed a few times, then she closed into a fist with only the index finger extended. She made a trigger motion a few times, then returned to a full hand-flex. Karin leaned over to assess the abdominal wound with probing fingers, then her Omni-tool popped open. The Med Bay privacy glass frosted a moment later to give doctor and patient privacy.
"Hey. Hey! I'm still talking to you. And I made a different move. Maybe you'll pay attention to that since my career clearly bores you."
Sam's head jerked back to meet narrowed hazel eyes. Diana looked completely irritated, down to her arms crossed under her breasts. The reporter puffed at a stray hair that had wandered too close to her mouth.
The comms specialist chuckled sheepishly before getting impossibly serious. She gestured to her wrist. "If you write this email for me to the krogan galactic community, I won't tell everyone how bad you suck at chess. Especially after all the bragging you did beforehand, which I'm positive EDI has recorded and can mass email at a moment's notice."
The Normandy's AI hummed from the ceiling that she would be pleased to assist, which evoked a wicked grin from Sam.
Diana scoffed dramatically and drummed her fingertips on her bicep. "Hm. Tempting. Though mostly just to prove that I'm better than you at something. …what else?"
Glancing over at the Med Bay, an even more wicked thought crossed Sam's mind. "An interview with Shepard."
"Bullshit."
"I'm serious."
"When? After the war?"
"Right now."
"Bullshit."
"Only one way to find out, Allers. I thought you liked the hunt, the mystery. Isn't knowing all the answers for boring nerds?"
Diana raised that haughty eyebrow again and squinted at Sam. Studying her. "If you lie to me, Traynor, my wrath will be swift and, more importantly, public. You'll be getting hate mail from volus grandmothers without extranet access. I'm that good. Which you would know if you listened to my damn program."
"Deal. I'll subscribe to your damn show right this second," Samantha laughed.
The two women fired up their Omni-tools so that they could exchange information. After receiving a few choice notes forwarded from Wrex, Diana was soon tapping away at her Omni-tool and murmuring to herself, sounding out what she wanted to say. She already had a first draft forwarded to Sam's Omni-tool by the time Sam made her next chess move.
Her final chess move.
"Checkmate, Allers."
"Bullshit."
'Fraid so. Come with me." The comms specialist pushed back from her chair and stood up, waving for Diana to follow. The reporter wrinkled her nose in skepticism, but followed obediently. She was then confused when Sam stopped in front of the Med Bay and nonchalantly bent over.
"What are you doing?"
"Um, lacing up my boots?"
"Your boots don't have laces. If this is a ploy to get me to check out your ass, mission accomplished," Allers joked and made a big show of leaning over and leering emphatic approval at Sam's butt.
"At least you're observant… Just wait, you git. And pretend like we're talking about something."
"Like what? Non-existent bootlaces? The existential crisis of non-existent bootlaces?"
"Just whatever, dammit. For a reporter, you're awfully—"
Sam didn't get to finish her sentence, because at that moment, the Med Bay doors hissed loudly to allow Commander Shepard through.
"Commander! Commander Shepard! Got a minute?" Diana waved a hand. She shot Sam an approving glance before firing up her Omni-tool. Her camera drone, which had been sitting inert in a chair at the Mess Hall table, whirred to life and hovered over.
Shepard still looked pale. She backed away from the loud reporter for a moment and tried to sidestep them both. "Not now, Allers. I have some important business—"
Samantha chimed in helpfully. "Did you mean the rachni mission, Commander?"
Stopping to shoot Sam a relieved look, Shepard nodded. "Yes. Yes. The rachni mission. Very important. Urgent, even."
Not swayed in the slightest, Allers was still fidgeting with her Omni-tool and held up a waiting hand.
"Oh, good. I'm glad we agree." Sam's smile was saccharine-sweet and toothy. She paused dramatically, before switching to sheepish mode. "I'm so sorry I haven't had time to research that, ma'am. I promise I will hit the feeds before I go to sleep so that you have some leads. I will work all night if I have to, so that you have the information you need, ma'am.
"…in the meantime, I do believe the Normandy mission log is empty. So you have plenty of free time to talk to Miss Allers here, ma'am. Again, I'm so sorry for the delay," the comms specialist finished solemnly.
She relished the triumphant expression from Allers and the dismay from Shepard.
Turning on her heel, Sam steered down the hall toward the elevator while leaving Allers and Shepard in the mess to chat. She stopped right at the corner and turned back to survey her handiwork.
Damn, Traynor. That was downright diabolical.
I try.
The Commander looked exasperated, but knew she was beaten. She tried to run her fingers through her messy hair, but couldn't quite preen away her exhaustion. She shot Sam a terse glare, but immediately softened to a lighthearted twinkle. When Allers leaned to adjust her camera, Shepard mouthed at Sam:
I'll get you for this, Traynor.
Sam did not reciprocate the joke. Instead, she allowed herself a briefly smug smile before giving Shepard just the briefest flash of… pain.
Samantha was a woman, after all. A master of communicating everything, or nothing at all, with a glance. Shepard needed to know that Sam felt betrayed. Caught in the middle and pushed to the edges of what her conscience would, could, allow during the genophage mission. It was this and more that Samantha allowed Shepard to see. The hurt, the betrayal, the damage.
Mostly, the disappointment.
Shepard understood. Her green eyes flashed wide for a moment, then a crease of concern between her brows, and finally a frown of realization. She started to call after Sam but the reporter in her way pressed closer, Omni-tool at the ready.
Allers' stern question floated down the hall. "Commander Shepard, you've just implemented a cure for the genophage. Millions of krogan will start fighting the Reapers. What do you say to people who think humanity is starting another Rachni War and Krogan Rebellion?"
Wow. That is a doozy of an opener, Allers. Try not to get punched.
Sam didn't wait to see what happened. Instead, she headed for the elevator.
It hadn't been a lie, she did intend to review the feeds for more information on rachni. Up in the CIC, an hour of feed consolidation turned into an entire night of sifting through reports of rachni sightings. Invading worlds were starting to report this Ravager-class Reaper along with the "usual" Husks, Cannibals and Marauders.
The Ravagers' newness was unique. The comms specialist had recent access to the turian database and used it to comb through combat and civilian reports. With EDI's assistance, the galaxy map was converted from a mission log to a tracking GUI.
EDI also helped fill in a few curious blanks. First and foremost being: weren't the rachni sort of …extinct?
Three years ago, the Commander had discovered a rachni queen on Noveria. It—she—was being used by Saren (and later, Cerberus joined that party to more disastrous results with clones) to create mindless shock troops. The ultimate goal being to hopefully aid the rogue SpecTRe's plans to summon the Reapers. Despite the Rachni Wars, which necessitated the krogan genophage later, this younger Shepard had freed the rachni queen and allowed her a life of obscure peace.
Not exactly a headline on Commander Shepard's dossier. Probably in that middle two-thirds of Shepard's file that is just one big [REDACTED] note. Samantha would know: she'd read it more than once since her nosey escapade with the Commander's Profile in Courage.
The comms specialist started simple: tag all known rachni relays and former worlds and cross-check intel with sightings and mentions. God knows how hopeless this would be without EDI. Samantha's consolidation algorithms were jamming through databases practically at FTL. Dots of activity that appeared on the galaxy map were then funneled through another set of parameters that timestamped and categorized the intel further.
It wasn't until Private Sarah Campbell clapped Sam on the back did she realize she'd dozed off while standing up at her CIC console. Yawning deeply, Sam checked the holo clock. Bloody hell. 0731 GST. I've been at this all night. She tried to rub some of the weariness out of her eyes
She had, so far, found a few likely locations of where the rachni queen had gone to ground after being spared. But two years was still a long time, and it was proving difficult to discern the false sightings (klixen are not rachni, people!) and hoax reports from the real ones. Sam needed fresh eyes. Clearing her throat, Sam waved Specialist Chen Xian over to the galaxy map work station for a consult.
Xian, annoyingly perky and rested, was bouncing around the CIC to gossip with the influx of specialists about what had happened on Tuchanka. He reveled in being close to such important work. He was the morning shift, and quite surprised to see her at work already.
"Damn, Traynor. You look like shit. Been here all night? I didn't see any urgent requests in the comm log. You workin' off the books or what?"
"Just a favor for Commander Shepard," Sam couldn't help but yawn. She gestured to the repurposed galaxy map. A slight pattern had emerged, pointing to a few promising locations in the Attican Traverse. "She wants to know where the rachni Reaper came from. Maybe if we cut off their source, we'd have one less Reaper on the ground to worry about."
He surveyed her progress with a hand tucked under his chin. "You've done an amazing job collating data. Probably a little too thorough. You really just need the oldest reports." Flicking his wrist over the galaxy map controller, he wiped away most of Sam's tracking pins. Xian tapped on the keyboard for a moment. "See, here. The turians and salarians reported a distress signal through Listening Post X-19 in the Ninmah Cluster nine months ago. An uncharted world between systems with pirate activity and one asari merchant survivor. Pirate activity then disappeared shortly after. I bet you that's where your rachni are hiding out."
"You make that look so easy," Sam muttered bitterly. She wasn't pleased that she hadn't been the one to figure it out.
Xian laughed and punched her on the shoulder. "I have to get one every now and then. Keeps you humble, otherwise you'd be smug all the time rather than just most of the time. You were probably just too sleep-addled to read it. Maybe ask for some help next time, Traynor."
She grumbled about learning the after-school lesson of the week. "I don't fancy owing you one. Because I know you'll collect. And it'll hurt."
He requested permission to log in to the galaxy console. He actually had work to do. She obliged and bent over to stretch her aching calves.
"Dammit. You had this all along, Traynor."
She snapped upright. "What? What do you mean?"
Switching back over to the galaxy map, Xian pointed at the Ninmah Cluster. A glowing Nav Point, several weeks old, was already posted. Oh bloody hell. Wrex asked for Shepard's help ages ago to find a missing scout team.
A billion to one odds they found the fountain of youth and became immortal superheroes. A million to one odds they found the secret to destroying the Reapers and we can all go home. A thousand to one they just bailed and have been partying at an asari brothel for a couple weeks.
Twenty to one they found bloody rachni who didn't appreciate being found.
There was a day-old status update to that request indicating Urdnot Wrex was impatient and now sending his own team, Aralakh Company, to investigate. But Shepard was welcome to tag along and help.
I think this is something she wants to help with. Xian already had a message open to send to Commander Shepard, since he was the comms specialist on duty. But he was kind enough to allow Sam to read it over and give her blessing before forwarding it along.
Sighing deeply, Sam turned on her heel to the elevator. Her sleeper pod had never sounded so inviting, and she—
"Hey! Where do you think you're going?" Xian called after her.
"Bed. I'm not on duty. I dismissed myself."
"How about I call in that favor you owe me so that our relationship can be free of obligation?"
Sam sighed and turned around. Xian smiled hopefully back. She yawned into her hand before replying. "Is our relationship so precarious that it can't wait a few hours? I didn't realize we were so damaged, Xian. What happened to us? Are we breaking up?"
He chuckled back. "Never. You know you're my one and only, Sam. I could never break it off with my work wife. …Just don't tell my wife wife." Gesturing at one of the console feeds, Xian continued. "It'll be quick, I promise. One of my cabling adjustments must have crossed a wire somewhere. Our Terminus feeds have gotten spotty. You know the underbelly of the ship better than I do. Can you check out under the war room and see what the problem is? After you catch some rack time?"
"I noticed you snuck a compliment in there, as though that could gloss over the fact you're asking me to dig around the sub floor wiring. You know how to show a girl a good time," Samantha sighed, but agreed. "I'll check it out before my shift starts. Promise."
Slogging her way to the elevator, Sam shifted unsteadily on her feet the short ride down. Her eyes felt dry and grainy, and her neck was killing her from her brief upright nap. She had a feeling even a solid round of sleep wasn't going to cure this tired, achy feeling.
When the elevator doors opened, Sam almost ran right into Commander Shepard.
Oh bollocks. Just what I need.
The Commander certainly looked better. Groomed. Fresh uniform. Coffee cup in one hand, blueberry protein bar in the other. Sam muttered an apology and sidestepped around, but Shepard stopped her.
"Specialist Traynor, is there something we need to talk about?"
Yes. No. Mostly yes. But Sam didn't say that. "Oh, I almost forgot, ma'am. The turians have given us top-level access to their combat data. Their ships are already moving in to help the Alliance fleet. Things are going much more smoothly now."
Shepard raised an eyebrow. "Traynor."
Sam continued, though her voice had softened. "You actually secured a krogan-turian alliance. It's one thing to hear about Commander Shepard... it's quite another to see her in action." She let that statement hang in the air. And waited.
Infuriatingly, Shepard did not react. Her face was a mask. "Traynor. Permission to speak freely."
"Very well, ma'am. Comms Specialist Xian and I think we have found where the rachni originated from. If you find this rachni queen you yourself saved, and she is capable of being saved: what are you going to do?" It was a stupid thing, being given permission to speak her mind. And even stupider that Sam thought that was a good idea.
"It depends."
"On?"
Sighing, Shepard's eyes narrowed. "Traynor. Don't be naïve. The rachni are dangerous. And they're in league with the enemy, either on purpose or against their will. It doesn't matter. They have to be stopped. We need every possible advantage in this war, and having one less enemy to fight counts as a big advantage."
"Why doesn't it matter, ma'am?"
"They're dangerous," Shepard repeated.
"If they're so dangerous, why did you save them the first time?"
The mask finally broke a little. Pink suddenly colored Shepard's cheeks. "I was… I believed they could change."
Sam took a deep breath. She'd been practicing this little rant during her late night of data-digging. Hopefully she got it right. "I read the history logs. Rachni spread like plague across the galaxy. It took millions of krogan to bring them down over several centuries. From what I could gather from their reproductive rates, the rachni spawn rate is even more aggressive than the krogan."
"Are you making my point for me, Specialist?"
"No, ma'am. I've calculated Reaper reports versus predicted rachni population. If this queen had resumed a galaxy-conquering mindset and began cranking out kids from the moment you freed her, the Terminus would have been overrun before the Reapers invaded. So we should have had millions of Ravagers on top of a few billion batarian Husks on our doorstep. But we don't. All signs point to recent indoctrination, within the last few weeks, and that the already existing rachni population was not dense enough to begin with to indoctrinate."
"What's your point, Traynor?"
Tilting her head, Sam softened. "My point is, Commander: change. This queen changed, just like you asked, and would have lived out a quiet life with her modest brood before the Reapers. Aliens—people can change. For the better, even. Isn't that what we're basing our existence on? The hope that we can overcome our old, separate grudges and come together against this enemy? What's the point of any of this if we can't believe in the best of us? That our best can and will prevail? And even more: that we deserve to prevail?"
The SpecTRe raised her chin defiantly. Her green eyes pierced into Sam's. Despite her impassioned plea, Samantha was actually looking for answers about the krogan genophage.
And Shepard knew it. "You're fishing, Traynor. If you have something to ask me, then ask. Otherwise, I will take your words under advisement only, which I may or may not heed depending on the situation that presents itself."
"I would, Commander. Except… I'm afraid I wouldn't like the answer."
"The answer, Traynor? Or me?"
Both, Sam thought. But she couldn't say that.
Shepard still knew. Her shoulders stiffened, as did her tone. "I don't require your approval to do my job, Specialist. Or yours. You will follow orders, keep security protocols, and respect the chain of command. Is that clear?"
Knowing when she was dismissed, Samantha's feet came together and her fingertips swung to her temple. "Ma'am, yes ma'am!"
And with that, Shepard pushed past Sam to the elevator. The comms specialist finally dropped her salute when the doors closed. Sighing deeply, Sam headed for the sleeper pods. The Mess Hall was bustling once more with crew finishing breakfast. She couldn't make eye contact with any of them for fear of bursting into tears.
Because she was afraid of what Commander Shepard was capable of. She went to sleep wondering if finding the rachni was a mistake. That they were about to discover a fate worse than being Reaper thralls: Shepard's wrath.
And she wondered again if the krogan were actually cured.
Hours later (how many? Ten? Twelve? Fourteen?), the soft chime of an alarm resonated through the sleeper pod.
Sam was right. She still felt like shit. What few dreams she had were a chaotic jumble. It felt like her brain had been awake the whole time, and insisted on going through every possible worse case scenario in the war. Most of them ended with the galaxy being wiped out and her family being burned away.
Too weary to even eat, Sam trudged over to her locker for a fresh uniform, got dressed, and headed straight to the CIC. A shower seemed pointless, because she couldn't wash this feeling of dread away.
I think that's a symptom of depression, Traynor. Which you're required to report to a psych officer.
Shut it. Here I am. Doing my job. Following orders. Keeping security protocols and secrets. Respecting the chain of command.
Like a good girl.
"Ugh. I thought you were down for rack time, Traynor. You look even worse somehow," Specialist Xian taunted when he saw Sam. She could only grunt a monosyllable of acknowledgement. She tried shooing him aside to take over, but he waved a scolding finger.
"Uh-uh. War room cabling, remember?"
"Oh, come on!" Sam exploded a little louder than she'd intended, gaining a few worried looks from the other CIC specialists. "Can't it wait?"
Xian was taken slightly aback, but he shook his head. He gestured to his console, which was quite active for an idle ship.
Wait. Where the hell are we?
"No shift change during an active combat mission. Comms Specialist Rule #1. So it's a perfect time for you to do your dear friend Chen a favor." His mouth opened to say more, but then his hand pressed to his ear and he turned to study his feeds.
The galaxy map was zoomed in to the Mulla Xul system in the Ninmah Cluster. The Normandy was in lower orbit over planet Utukku. Shepard must have jumped straight for the relay and jammed at FTL the whole time to make it here already. Because there's no way—
"C'mon, Traynor. Help me out," Xian pleaded.
Okay, okay. Sam would have killed for a sitrep, but apparently these bloody cables were just that important.
Her feet and back protested every movement, and even more so when Sam strode through war room for the corner where the access panel lay. Popping the clasps that held the floor tile in place, the comms specialist pushed it aside and dropped down into the low sub deck.
Shimmying under the floorboards in the war room, Sam sighed with relief. This was her second home on the Normandy. The guts (brains?) of the ship. All the pieces of Normandy that connected her to herself resided in flowing cables to create a nervous system maze. And Sam knew almost every inch of her.
She paged Xian with her Omni-tool, and the glowing interface also served to illuminate the dark corridor. A schematic of the QEC uplinks were sent back, along with a few notes from his repair. Padding down the narrow sub deck, Sam had a briefly smug feeling.
Her perfectionist nature was quietly embarrassed that Xian had figured out the rachni before her. No big thing by any means, but something her subconscious was likely to bring up in the future to humble her ego should it get too large. But already the tables were turned and she was helping him fix a responsibility of his.
He had been pretty bloody quick with reducing my search parameters. I suppose fresh eyes are—
An epiphany struck Sam in the throat. As she continued shuffling along to reach the QEC access hub below the comm room, Samantha opened a private channel to Xian. For another professional opinion.
"Hey Xian. How would one break stealth on the Normandy? Without being caught?"
"I'm a little busy at the moment, Traynor. Trying to coordinate Cortez to pick up Shepard and Aralakh Company. …why the hell do you want to break stealth?"
Um, isn't secrecy the whole point of your little project for Liara, Traynor? Bringing Xian in kind of defeats the purpose.
Shut it. I'm tired of hitting dead ends. I just… want it to be done.
"I don't. Hypothetically, how would an untraceable comm signal get off a stealthed ship? No comms sent or positions given away, at least in the ship logs. No system hack or database tampering. The ship is stealthed the whole time. Go."
It was a few long minutes before he replied. Plenty of time for Sam to reach to the cable hub and diagnose the problem. Yanking a cross section loose, the comms specialist switched her Omni-tool into a micro blowtorch to start soldering the base connector. Someone got sloppy during the retrofits and thought they could get away with only replacing some of the Cerberus cabling with Alliance-issue. Lazy sods. If I find out who—
Xian's voice crackled over Sam's wrist. "Oh that's easy, Traynor. You deploy a signal tether from a separate source. It's not linked to the main network, but would still have solid broadcast range. Bigger the range, the bigger the source needed. Activate it before the ship is stealthed and it's basically a trail of breadcrumbs. To get out of a system, you'd probably need something huge, like a Mako or Kodiak. The distress beacon on a Mako has massive broadcast depth. Why do you ask?"
"Oh… just a wager I have going with one of the Engineers. Th-thank you, Chen. You've been a brilliant help."
The Mako. Its comm database only gets scrubbed before and after missions. If someone used it to flag the Collectors down on the SR-1… they were betting on the Normandy being destroyed. I don't have the Mako's database in the blackbox because it was too badly damaged from the crash.
Who has access to the Mako?
How about the engineer responsible for it: Officer Chris Postle?
We still don't know if he and Pressly were in cahoots. But this is the best scenario I can come up with. Better message Liara about this theory.
Finishing with her repair an hour later, Sam called Xian again. He muttered approval that the Terminus line was behaving itself, before asking, "Traynor! What do I do? I've got an urgent message for Shepard from the salarian councilor but the Commander isn't answering my pages to her cabin."
"I'll tell her."
The voice was lilting yet commanding, and sounded like it was right next to Xian's ear.
Liara.
Sam's head jerked up so fast she slammed it into the low ceiling. She swore quietly as Xian continued over the channel. "…thanks, Dr. T'Soni! …good thing she was here. I really didn't want to go tell Shepard the salarian councilor called again. The Commander's been avoiding the Council for days and they're getting pretty aggravated. I hate being the messenger."
"All's well that ends well then, Chen," Samantha intoned as she rubbed the sore spot atop her head. "Mission accomplished on my end. I'll be back up in a few. Traynor out."
She followed the cables back behind the comm room to give them a thorough once-over. They seemed to be in good condition. Crawling back, the thrum of the servers nearly drowned out voices above. It wasn't until Sam was under the comm room did she overhear a heated conversation.
Between Commander Shepard and Councilor Valern.
"—and I made my decision, Councilor," Shepard snapped back with finality. "There's not much anyone can do about it now."
"I don't approve of your methods, Commander," the salarian's high voice scoffed. "Who's next in paying the price for your pessimism?"
Oh God. No, Shepard. What did you do now? What did you do then?
"Someone once told me that a pessimist is what an optimist calls a realist." Shepard paused significantly. "In any case, the Crucible now has loyal workers to speed the project along. Are you going to argue with results, Councilor? Even if they are rachni?"
Rachni. Shepard found the queen. And saved her.
Why?
"Yes, we have preliminary reports from your latest mission. Apparently two squads of dead krogan aren't enough of a hint that the rachni are dangerous. You're acting as though using a hurricane will put out a wildfire. What will keeping rachi around accomplish? To have one more predator to prey on us when we're weak? Your species doesn't remember the Rachni Wars and Krogan Rebellions like mine does." Valern's tone was frigid.
"One more predator." …one more?
Shepard growled, her tone scathing. "This is laughable criticism coming from you. The rachni queen owes me, and humanity, her race's life. Twice. We've cut off her spawn from being used against us anymore as Reapers. While you… When I was on Sur'Kesh, I found a hidden log of your efforts to uplift the yahg to fight your battles for you. How did you plan on containing them should we manage to destroy the Reapers? What will they owe you for dragging them to the slaughter then tossing them aside? If anyone is learning from their mistakes, it certainly isn't the salarians."
"We are willing to do what it takes to win this war. Which is more than can be said for you, Commander Shepard."
A dull slam sounded that reverberated down the wall to where Sam sat below. Did Shepard just put her fist through a wall?
"I was willing to kill Mordin Solus for you. My team mate. My ally. My friend. I valued your support more highly than his life. Because we need every single able body to fight the Reapers. I am willing to do whatever it takes to win this war."
No… She—she did it…
"And look where that got us, hm?" Valern quipped back.
What? What does he mean?
There was an agonizing pause. It was Shepard who replied. Her voice was quiet. "I… accept my failure. And what it means for the galaxy. I hope the price to be paid is mine and mine alone for what I did, and if it isn't…" She trailed off.
…what?
Another pause, before the Commander's tone changed to be more official. "I failed to kill Mordin. I pulled the trigger, but the battle through Tuchanka flared up already-existing injuries. My shot went just a hair wide. He was already to the elevator by the time I'd recovered. Unequipped with any other means to stop Dr. Solus, he corrected the genophage cure.
"His death is on my hands regardless," she continued somberly. "He died believing I wanted him dead. And I did. I couldn't risk it and… I still failed. All I can do now is move forward… and hope the best will prevail. …I don't expect you to believe me. And I don't need you to."
"Yes… We're all saved, thanks to you." The sarcastic salarian didn't sound very grateful.
Sam was. She was on all fours, peering at a crack above her in the floor. It was no use, it only revealed the comm room ceiling. But somewhere up there, Shepard was confessing to accidentally curing the krogan. And Sam was about to burst into tears with happiness. "…hope the best will prevail…"
She… she didn't do it.
She wanted to, Traynor. She tried.
But she didn't.
Sam could hear the Commander clear her throat. It was her turn to be cold. "I've had time to assess this unfortunate development. I still don't believe the krogan can be trusted. But for now, to stop the Reapers, they are a loyal and useful ally. The future is not my concern anymore. I'm fighting for the present. Which leads me to my offer to you, Councilor Valern."
There was an intrigued but suspicious "Yes?"
"Join us. Join us and fight. Help build the Crucible. Because if you don't… You will share the same fate as the batarians. You will cry into the darkness for help, and there will be no answer. Those slavers stood alone, apart, and died alone. You will still help us… by giving the Reapers something to harvest while the rest of us rally to survive. So I'm giving you the opportunity to help us save each other. Or else: die apart."
"We will take your generosity under advisement, Commander. I am not certain I respect your decision regarding the krogan, but we all have our part to play in this war," the salarian Councilor returned coldly. "Speaking of… I need to talk to you about humanity's representative, Councilor Udina. He's been moving vast sums of money."
The rest of the conversation requested Shepard return to the Citadel to speak to the Councilor in person about Udina. Shepard didn't sound surprised, and assured Valern it was her highest priority. Unfortunately, the Normandy was still three days out from Citadel space and needed to refuel, but would return as soon possible.
Stunned, Sam was still crouched under the comm room when Shepard's footsteps faded away. It took Xian paging her Omni-tool to wake her from her shocked stupor. She crawled back to the war room in a heady daze on total autopilot. She could barely muster responses to Campbell's and Westmoreland's small talk.
Xian patted Samantha on the shoulder, told her she did a good job, and was anything wrong?
"No. Nothing is wrong. I just… have an email to write."
Ren's Rather Long Note:
Blargh! While digging around the Mass Effect Wiki for the Horizon capital city name, I discovered a codex entry that causes an annoying continuity error: "Surveyed 18 years ago, Horizon received pilot habitation four years later; the colony proper is now eight years old." Except it is listed as Sam's birth planet in the Wiki also. So unless she's 18, or worse 8 or 14, we're just going to ignore that for all intents and purposes. The aggressively short colonization timeline of humanity outside their home turf is a source of nerdy heartburn for me (in general) in the ME universe.
I put up two polls about the genophage mission, one on my FFN profile and another on DeviantArt. Results were pretty close between both polls: 62-75% of people thought Shepard missed and allowed Mordin to cure the genophage while 25-38% thought she killed Mordin and sabotaged it.
Hopefully the sabotage-favoring voters won't be too upset that Shepard missed. I admit it's a departure from canon for me to take the renegade option and turn it accidental-paragon. I'm interested in exploring a narrative where not everything Shepard does works out exactly the way she plans it, nor that she can shoot/shout her way into what she wants. I was upfront a few chapters back about changing canon situations for richer drama! Honesty! I also needed some flexibility in the order in which Shepard talks to the Councilor and I combined a few of the paragon/renegade conversations there and adjusted it to accommodate both the rachni and krogan.