The Hero We Deserve

by Random Equinox

Humans are being abducted, probably because someone has really poor taste. Shepard has to find out why and stop them with the help of a band of misfits. They say it's a suicide mission. So what else is new? Well, getting killed for starters. A novelization of Mass Effect 2 and Mass Effect 2: Overlord.

24. Personnel Report: Mordin

Editorial Note: In this personnel report, Shepard examines his relationship with Professor Mordin Solus. The conversations and mission contained here reveal a unique perspective on a certain pivotal event in galactic history, one whose repercussions echo to this day.

Personnel Report—Mordin

I still remember Kelly's comments shortly after recruiting Mordin: "Mordin's psych profile warned of hyper behaviour, but he is like a hamster on coffee. He's going to be a very productive member of the team."

She wasn't kidding. Every time I dropped by the tech lab, he was always in the middle of some experiment or multi-tasking between multiple projects. Those experiments and projects were constantly in flux. He always had a different reason for shooing me away whenever he was too busy to chat:

"Not a good time. Trying to map contamination vectors. Requires focus. Ship-wide infection of human-tailored virus possible if I slip.

"Later better. Think I've cured Joker's condition. Simple treatment would... No, no, no, no. Would cause liver failure. Never mind. Start from scratch.

"Not now. Working on Collector data. Have ruled out artificially intelligent virus. Unless it's very intelligent. And toying with me! Hmm. Tests...

"Some other time. About to test new bio-weapon. Not on us, of course. Didn't think I had to specify, but Joker got nervous."

And my personal favourite for disturbing images: "Perhaps later. Trying to determine how scale-itch got onto Normandy. Sexually-transmitted disease. Only carried by varren... Implications unpleasant."

Perhaps it is telling that the most significant project he had ever worked on was one that he didn't pursue on the Normandy and didn't talk about. Not until I asked.

It all started innocently enough, with one of my daily rounds. I had wandered into the tech lab and asked if he had a minute to talk, half-expecting him to say no. So I was mildly surprised when he put down whatever doodad he had in his hand.

"Yes. Would like that, actually. Talked about work earlier. Time with Special Tasks Group. Studying genophage.

"Wasn't entirely honest. Lie of omission. Also other kinds. Need to clear the air. Mission too important to keep secrets. Work on genophage was more than just study."

"What was the STG doing with the krogan genophage?" I asked.

"Study at first, as I said," Mordin replied. "But uncovered surprising data. Krogan population was increasing at faster rate than expected. Krogan were adapting to genophage. Overcoming disease."

That definitely caught my attention. "You sure they were adapting? Maybe they were just having a lucky year. Or fewer mercs left, meaning more krogan left to repopulate."

Mordin gave me a withering look. "Please, Shepard. Social, environmental concerns accounted for. Not an undergraduate. Population spike caused by adaptation to genophage. No other possibility."

"Did the krogan evolve? Or did some of their scientists develop a treatment?"

"Krogan scientists?" Mordin chuckled. "Hah! Never met krogan scientist worthy of term. No. Natural evolution. Krogan physiology incredibly durable. Organ redundancy, backup systems, cellular regeneration. Genophage like any other natural hazard. Krogan evolved past it."

"Well that's good news," I smiled. "The genophage was a terrible mistake. It nearly destroyed the krogan and their culture. Now they have a chance to recover."

"Naive viewpoint," Mordin disagreed, shaking his head. "Krogan too dangerous to allow unchecked birthrate. Look at Krogan Rebellions."

"So what did you do?"

"Personally led a science team," Mordin replied. "Geneticists, chemists, sociologists, mathematicians. Created new version of genophage. Released it on Tuchanka, other krogan-centric areas. Restabilized krogan population."

Well... that sucked. "You never considered other options?" I asked in disbelief.

"Hundreds. Thousands. Modified genophage offered best outcome." Mordin began walking up and down along the table he was working at, waving his arms enthusiastically. "Stabilized population. Avoided publicity that could incite krogan anger. Averted potential genocide or devastating war. Best solution for whole galaxy, krogan included."

That was awfully big of them, taking that responsibility on themselves without any say-so from anyone else like, say, the krogan. I would have pursued that avenue, were it not for my insatiable curiosity: "How did your genophage modification work?"

"Krogan attached garbage genetic code to genophage attack sites. Modification created other areas for garbage code to connect. Left sites clean, capable. Running smoothly."

In other words, the krogan evolved some epigenetic mechanism that plunked genetic junk on the DNA sites that the genophage would recognize and normally bind to—thereby preventing the genophage from attaching and working its sinister magic. Genophage 2.0 created additional sites that 'competed' with the genophage recognition sites to attract the garbage code, increasing the likelihood of leaving sites open for the genophage. Clever. Horrible for the krogan, but clever.

"How did you distribute the modified genophage?"

"Cover drops," Mordin replied. " Hospitals, clan centres, water supplies. Very difficult. Few salarians on Tuchanka. Team got caught a few times. Had to fight free. Messy. Better when things went as planned."

Right. Sterilizing the krogan again was all part of the plan. "If the krogan are so dangerous, why not just sterilize them outright?" I scowled.

Mordin seemed shocked and outraged at the idea. "Not a war criminal. Not a murderer. Genocide unnecessary. Krogan as a whole violent, aggressive. Still have outliers. Worth saving. Genophage modification protected galaxy, allowed krogan chance to survive. Everyone wins. Good for us, good for them!"

Somehow I highly doubted that. However, it hadn't been long since I recruited Mordin and I didn't want him to be shy or hesitant about 'fessing up to any more interesting sins. As angry as I might have been, the last thing I wanted at this point was to dissuade him from being honest with me. "I doubt you've told many people about this, Mordin," I said at last. "I appreciate you letting me know."

"Wanted you to know I'm willing to do what's necessary," Mordin replied. "Should get back to work. Talk more later. Next time tissue synthesis has to compile. Good for free time."

And they say that knowing is half the battle...

---

After a frank chat like that, one might be forgiven for thinking that that summed up Mordin to a T. Ruthlessly practical, utterly and dispassionately consequentialistic, the ends justify the means and all that. But he was a bit more complicated than that, something I found out shortly after TIMmy tried to get us killed on that supposedly derelict Collector ship.

He seemed quite excited when I showed up and commended me on my timing. "Made breakthrough," he said. "Can share results while next samples grow. Hate waiting for culture analysis. Never fast enough. Usually know result in advance. Just checking work. Have to be careful.

"Getting off track," he shook his head.

You don't say.

"Discovery: based on Prothean-Collector connection, can examine technology, chart Reaper species modification. Fall of Protheans."

I admit, I was hooked. "Tell me what happened," I prompted eagerly.

Mordin started immediately. "Early stages similar to indoctrination. Can guess captured Protheans lost intelligence over several cloned generations."

Made sense. All the evidence I'd seen established that prolonged exposure to indoctrination made people a heck of a lot more malleable to the point where they became increasingly incapable of doing anything for themselves other than drooling.

"Cybernetic augmentation widespread afterward. As Protheans failed, Reapers added tech to compensate. Mental capacity almost gone, replaced by overworked sensory input, transfers. Transmitting data to masters."

"Is there anything we can do to help them?" I asked.

Mordin seemed almost agitated as he answered my question. "No! No glands, replaced by tech. No digestive system, replaced by tech. No soul. Replaced by tech. Whatever they were, gone forever. Understand now? No art, no culture. Closer to husks than slaves. Tools for Reapers. Protheans dead. Collectors just final insult. Must be destroyed."

Something about that last bit clearly bothered him. "I didn't think you needed any more motivation than you already had to stop the Collectors," I observed.

"Enjoyed challenge," Mordin shrugged. "Saw necessity of attack on Collectors after plague on Omega. Their work, my people. Hard to care about two armies. One wins, one loses. Always work to do after. Now... have more context. See what Collectors are.

"Wasn't looking for other work before," he hurriedly added. "Don't mean to imply that. Just committed now. Won't let you down."

He'd never let me down before. Not really, unless you count dooming the krogan to extinction again, but I guess I understood his rationale. Sort of. Not really. As usual, my curiosity distracted me. "What is it about the Collectors' modifications that bothers you so much?"

"Disrupts socio-technological balance!" he burst out. "All scientific advancement due to intelligence overcoming, compensating for limitations. Can't carry a load, so invent wheel. Can't catch food, so invent spear. Limitations! No limitations, no advancement. No advancement, culture stagnates!

"Works other way, too. Advancement before culture is ready disastrous. Saw it with krogan. Uplifted by salarians—disastrous. (1) Our fault."

"You blame the salarians for what the krogan did?" I asked, seeking clarification.

"Yes," Mordin nodded emphatically. "Like giving nuclear weapons to cavemen. Krogan unprepared for spaceflight, technological advance. Krogan could have evolved alone. Worked out aggression. Been ready to use new tech responsibly. Instead, salarians came. Disrupted krogan as blunt instrument against rachni. Short-sighted. Foolish."

"If you feel that way, why did you work on the genophage modification?" I wondered. "Didn't that just reinforce their stagnation, cultural or otherwise?"

"Talked before," Mordin reminded me. "Best option. That or kill them all. If around during first contact, would have argued against it. Wasn't there then. Do what I can now."

He was right. We had gone over this before and his opinion hadn't changed. What had changed was this new side of Mordin that had been revealed during this talk about how the Collectors had 'evolved.' "You said the Collectors had no art. I had no idea you cared about that kind of thing."

Mordin waved it off. "Personal interest negligible. Sang a little. Multispecies production for cultural exploration. Gilbert and Sullivan. Always had me do the patter songs.

"But not about me. Cultural artistic expression reflects philosophical evolution, interest in growth, perspective, observation, interpretation. Suspect you won't see any art in Collector base. Culturally dead. Tools for Reapers. Worse than the geth."

Yeah, yeah, that was nice. Fascinating really—oh, he was done. "I'm sorry," I apologized. "I know that was important, but... you performed Gilbert and Sullivan?"

I don't know what I was expecting. All I know was I didn't expect him to start singing:

"I am the very model of a scientist salarian,

I've studied species turian, asari and batarian.

I'm quite good at genetics (as a subset of biology)

Because I am an expert (which I know is a tautology).

"My xenoscience studies range from urban to agrarian.

I am the very model of a scientist salarian."

...

Wow. That was...

...

...

Mordin coughed modestly.

Wow.

"Thanks for sharing what you've learned, Mordin," I managed at last.

"Proud to be here, Shepard," Mordin nodded solemnly. "Thank you for including me."

---

Over the weeks and months we spent poking around in every nook and cranny, figuring out how the heck we were gonna deal with the Collectors and their Reaper masters, I became more or less accustomed to Mordin's rapid-fire manner of talking. Which came in handy when deciphering his request for a personal favour.

"Shepard. Important news. Know you're busy. Have to deal with the Collectors. Planning attack. Too important to wait. Just received data, still processing, analyzing likely scenarios. Not sure how to begin. Too much intel. You remember our talk? My work on genophage modification?"

"You stopped the krogan adapation to the genophage," I summarized once my brain had caught up.

"Part of a team," Mordin added. "Scientists, all different types. Blood Pack mercenaries captured former team member—Maelon. Last seen on Tuchanka. Might... torture him. Make an example."

His voice trembled as he said those last sentences. He needed a moment before finishing: "Recovering Maelon would be a personal favour to me."

"Do you think they found out your team updated the genophage?" I suggested.

"Unclear," Mordin replied. "No way to determine until we get to Tuchanka."

By a remarkable coincidence, I had just given orders to Joker to head to Tuchanka. "Grunt is dealing with some problems that might only be resolved on Tuchanka," I told him. "As soon as we've figured out what's wrong with him, we'll see if we can find your old team member."

Mordin nodded his thanks. "Appreciate it. My assistant. My student. Want to see him safe. Maelon last seen outside Urdnot territory. Scouts might have seen Blood Pack. Talk to them or clan chief." (2)

---

After celebrating Grunt's Rite of Passage, we went back to visit Wrex about Mordin's former student. He advised me to go see his chief scout, as long as we didn't take up too much of his time—Wrex needed him to maintain a constant eye on the other clans, friends and enemies alike. Especially the friends, I guessed.

"Commander, it appears someone is following us," Miranda said an hour into our search for this chief scout. Something in her voice made me look at her. She was doing an admirable job of keeping the grin from spreading over her face. Having a sudden feeling that I knew who our stalker was, I looked behind us.

Sure enough, Urz was trotting along behind us.

I should explain.

You see, I didn't exactly start searching for the chief scout immediately after talking to Wrex. In fact, I'd done a bit of shopping first. During my browsing, I met a krogan merchant named Ratch. He was remarkably civil and affable—mostly because he'd actually been offworld, unlike most of his kin, and knew that aliens tended to have more creds to spend. Most of his wares were for krogan—including ryncol, an alcoholic beverage that he strongly recommended against trying, though. He did have a few weapons and equipment lying around. Plus some food that the pyjaks hadn't stolen.

Apparently these pyjaks were a foreign monkey-like species that some merchant twit had accidentally introduced from offworld. They'd established themselves on Tuchanka and had since become a nuisance. The sort that constantly stole food, ryncol and whatever else they could get their grubby talons on. I would have found some common ground with those rascals, were it not for the fact that I'd encountered them before on Eletania, attempting to recover a crashed recon probe bearing data on geth movements. One of those assholes had pried the data module from the probe and smuggled it off to some dead-end corner of a cave. By the time I'd tracked the bugger down and recovered it, the geth had caught up to us and we had to fight our way out. I later found out that said merchant had visited Eletania before coming to Tuchanka. No doubt some of them had smuggled themselves onboard.

Anyway, that previous encounter soured any attempt to regard them as kindred spirits. That, and the fact that I didn't make a habit of flinging poop everywhere. In fact, that's how the merchant got his comeuppance—one of the pyjaks scored a direct hit on a local clan leader. Apparently, Ratch told me, that was grounds for execution—and he wasn't talking about the pyjak.

In any case, it had gotten so bad that the krogan had resorted to using their defence systems to shoot the pests. I volunteered to take down a score or two of the vermin. Ratch immediately took me up on my offer. Even offered a discount if I made a large enough dent in the pyjak population.

So I shot a bunch of pyjaks. It was very therapeutic. Don't tell the Galactic Humane Society. (3)

After successfully reporting my results, I began shopping. I noticed that there was a varren hanging around. Had a rather unique skin colouration—pale with blue vertical stripes and a large reddish scar along one side. Bright blue eyes. Seemed quite docile—by human standards, that is. Even let me scratch him behind the ears.

On an impulse, I bought some pyjak meat—it was only a credit per fistful. "Here," I offered. "Try this."

He promptly gulped it down, then rose to his feet and panted at me.

Ratch laughed. "Looks like Urz finally found someone to follow around!"

"You mean he's not yours?" I asked.

"Nah," he shook his head. "Urz used to be a champion in the varren pit fights, until his owner got kicked offworld. Ever since, he's been moping around."

So I resumed my search, squad members and Urz in tow. Eventually I found the chief scout. "What do you want, human?" he groaned. "Wrex told me to be polite. He didn't say you were going to talk to me."

No doubt because he'd have called in sick. "I'm looking for a salarian," I said. "The Blood Pack captured him and he was last seen around here."

He turned around and consulted some computer logs. "I heard about that salarian, poor bastard. If it's Blood Pack, then Clan Weyrloc has him. (4) Sent one of my scouts to check it out, but he never reported back. Guess they got him, too.

"Chief told me to give you one of the trucks. Just follow the highway to Weyrloc's base, if you've got the quads to deal with him and the Blood Pack."

"What can you tell me about Clan Weyrloc's base?" I asked.

"Last I heard, the clan was holed up in an old hospital," the chief scout replied.

"That doesn't sound too defensible," I frowned. "Why'd they hole up there?"

"Any hospital on Tuchanka has to be built well enough to withstand a bunch of enraged krogan," he explained. When an injury forces us to switch over to secondary organs, things get messy. Higher thought processes don't always transition properly. 'Blood rage,' they call it."

Charming.

"I didn't realize krogan would care for their sick so much," I heard Tali whisper.

"Krogan hold hospitals in high regard," Mordin whispered back. "Consider them sites of honour."

"Anyway, I haven't seen the hospital itself," the chief scout said, not indicating whether he'd heard Tali and Mordin. "I've only seen Clan Weyrloc from a distance. If I'd gotten closer, I'd have taken a shot. You get inside, though, bring a big gun. Weyrloc's base is crawling with Blood Pack."

"Any idea what they're doing with the salarian?" I asked.

The chief scout scratched his head. Hump. Whatever. "I assumed they wanted to torture him. You don't take somebody home just to kill them. It's messy. Maybe he pissed off the Blood Pack and they brought him here for special treatment. No skin off my hump what they do with him. One less alien on Tuchanka."

"I'm feeling the love here," I deadpanned.

"Don't get your quads in a twist," he said. "If I was going to kill you, you'd know it. Wrex believes we need to unite the krogan people. I don't think we can do that with offworlders interfering. But it's not my call."

Fair enough. He wouldn't be the first person in galactic history who wanted his people to figure out their own problems without interference from outsiders and their agendas. "What's Clan Weyrloc's reputation?" I asked. "And how are they involved with the Blood Pack?"

"Tough humps," he replied to my first question. "And they're not friendly, like we are."

Meaning they'd shoot first instead of snarl insults at us.

"You ever run into the Blood Pack?" he asked. When he nodded, he continued. "Clan Weyrloc started it. One of the only gangs with an off-world presence. They're fanatics, totally devoted to Weyrloc Guld. Whatever they did with your salarian, Guld's behind it."

Krogan fanatics? Aw, crap. What had I gotten into this time? "What makes Guld so special?"

"He's got two children."

Ooh.

"One of them is a girl."

Aah.

"Some people think he's got a destiny."

"What about you?" I asked.

"Not me," he shook his head. "I had a cousin who won 20 consecutive games of quasar. Lucky bastard. I'd ask my cousin for a loan, but I wouldn't swear allegiance to him. Luck. That's all it is. Same for Guld."

That was a sensible way to look at it and I kinda liked him for it. "Don't the Blood Pack have non-krogan members, too?" I pointed out. "Like vorcha?"

"The vorcha?" he sneered. "They're just like the varren, only they can use guns and don't crap on the floor as often. The krogan are the only real members of the Blood Pack. Anyone else is just there to soak up enemy fire."

"Thanks for the information," I nodded.

"Anything that gets rid of the damn offworlders," he replied. "You can take the truck over there," he added, pointing over his shoulder.

Okay, that part I didn't like so much. I think he hurt my feelings.

"Good luck dealing with Weyrloc and the Blood Pack," he added. "You'll need it."

Maybe I felt a little better.

---

The upside of driving a tomkah is that you're pretty much guaranteed to run over or smash through anything that gets in your way—and if you don't, you're probably screwed, so it really wouldn't matter. As expected, the scenery wasn't exactly inspiring. Bleak and boring was more like it. I got so bored, in fact, I pulled up an audio file and started playing it through my helmet's speakers. Just for fun, I used my command codes to pipe the same song through the squad channel. Perks of being the boss:

"Whooaa!"

"The hot summer night fell like a net.
I've got to find my baby yet.
I need you to soothe my head.
Turn my blue heart to red.

"Doctor, doctor, give me the news.
I've got a bad case of lovin' you.
No pill's gonna cure my ill.
I've got a bad case of lovin' you." (5)

We managed to drive most of the way before a collapsed building or two forced us to disembark. The drive was refreshingly uneventful, something that didn't last long. We had only been on foot for a few minutes when we were attacked by two klixen. By now, the tale of how Grunt and the unlucky fools who volunteered to help him had passed around the Normandy enough times for the rest of the squad to know how important it was to kill them at a safe distance. Unlike that harrowing trial, we had an entire squad of battle-hardened specialists—and enough biotics and plasma to make even the most bloodthirsty krogan drool with envy. Needless to say, we dispatched those critters—and the klixen and varren we bumped into a minute later—without too much trouble.

As far as I knew, such fauna were more or less ubiquitous across Tuchanka. Their presence didn't necessarily confirm that we were heading into Clan Weyrloc territory. The pair of Blood Pack vorcha guarding an on-ramp leading up to a broken stretch of highway was another matter. Spotting the rocket launchers they were carrying, I immediately motioned for everyone to duck behind a large piece of sheet metal.

My caution proved unnecessary, as the vorcha hadn't noticed us. From the looks of things, they were too busy arguing. Shaking my head, I gave my orders: "Team One takes the vorcha on the left; Team Two gets the other one. We go in three... two... one..."

I'm relatively sure the vorcha were barbequed giblets long before our gunfire sealed the deal. Might've been a bit of overkill, but I wasn't complaining. We certainly didn't need any rockets blowing up our backsides when we ran into the Blood Pack troops guarding the highway.

Our first hint of their presence was all the barricades conveniently scattered along the highway. Our second hint was a loud snarl, which quickly turned into a high-pitched cackle. We were already taking up firing positions behind the closest cover when the third hint—gunfire—rang out.

Miranda raised her arm towards the closest vorcha, no doubt preparing to unleash her biotics. I tapped her arm to grab her attention and shook my head. "Team Two, take that vorcha out," I ordered, selecting 'Miranda's' vorcha with Team Two's tag while simultaneously aiming my omni-tool. Miranda tracked my movements, nodded and hurled a shimmering ball of biotic energy at another vorcha—one who was out of Team Two's line of sight, but not ours. My fireball hit that vorcha a second later.

"Scratch one," Garrus crowed. Looking back, I saw the vorcha I'd designated for Team Two succumb to his injuries a couple seconds before the one Miranda and I had tackled. I guess it would've been nice if our vorcha had dropped first, but I wasn't going to argue. There were more important things to worry about.

While the rest of us were occupied, Thane had taken the initiative to crush another vorcha's armour with a biotic assault of his own. Kasumi distracted him with several submachine rounds to the chest, buying enough time for Grunt to finish him off with a concussive round and a roar. My eyes immediately resumed scanning the battlefield, looking for the next—

"Krogan!"

Aw, crap.

Zaeed followed up that warning with an inferno grenade, which spiralled up into the air, paused, then spun lazily down to splash hot plasma on the helmet covering the krogan's noggin. Even though I knew better, I hoped that the grenade would deal enough damage to render his armour useless. No such luck. Logically, it made sense—the krogan would have authority over the vorcha and, as such, would have the right to wear better armour. Logically, the krogan's superior strength and stamina would allow him to wear better armour without collapsing.

There are times when I really, really hate logic.

"Team Two gets the krogan," I said, putting my grievance aside. Since Zaeed had spotted him first, it seemed only fair that his team got to tackle the big lug. "Team One: keep the vorcha occupied." I kept myself occupied selecting targets for my team, launching the odd fireball and snapping off a shot from my sniper rifle at an exceptionally ugly vorcha. I know, I know—that's a redundant statement.

Unfortunately, I hadn't bothered to cloak or anything, so my shot didn't actually kill the sucker. It did leave him wide open for Samara to yank him up, up and away... until the biotic field wore off and gravity kicked in. He made a very interesting squishy noise when he landed.

I was about to get up when I saw how stiff Thane's posture was. He didn't exactly tense up, but something had definitely caught his attention. "Amonkira reveals them," he muttered.

A roar rang out a second later. Another krogan—this time with a pair of pets. And by pets I mean ravenous varren.

"Right," I said, whipping off a plasma burst at the hungry dogs. "Jacob, would you kindly lift them up? Miranda, get ready; Thane, target the krogan."

Jacob used his biotics again to envelop the varren in a levitating biotic field, which Miranda exploded with her own abilities. Meanwhile, Thane hurled his own biotics against the krogan. It didn't deal a lot of damage against his armour, but it certainly bought me enough time to fire my sniper rifle. Thick-headed bugger needed a couple shots to take him down.

When I lowered my sniper rifle, I saw that all the enemies were—no, they weren't all down for the count. Two vorcha, equipped with fuel packs and flamethrowers, were trying to barbeque Tali's combat drone. They were so focused on that, they didn't notice me aim my omni-tool at the nearest fuel pack and fire off a bolt of plasma.

Once the explosions died down and the sky stopped raining shrapnel and vorcha guts, we gathered any useful thermal clips, looted what we could and got off the highway. A couple more vorcha stragglers came along bearing flamethrowers, but we all took turns stripping off their defences and blowing them up. It was really easy, considering they only had short-range weapons, we had a long corridor that provided plenty of time to react and they only came one at a time.

In contrast, the last vorcha guarding the Blood Pack base were smart enough to stay together and behind cover. None of them had flamethrowers or rocket launchers, but they were still armed and very trigger-happy.

Since Team One was in the lead, we took the brunt of the attack. We hastily scurried into whatever cover we could find. I poked my head out long enough to see that there were a dozen vorcha running around. The odds weren't that bad, all things considered. All we needed was a distraction to even the odds...

Like the fuel tank placed next to one of the barricades guarding the entrance. I opened a comm channel to the squad. "Team One, provide cover fire on my mark. Team Two, wait for my signal before advancing to cover."

I waited until the team lay down a withering barrage against the vorcha. To my delight, Miranda and Thane took the initiative to crush the armour of two vorcha with their biotics—why provide a distraction when you can provide a distraction that cripples the enemy? I tried to ignore the fact that Miranda's aim was focused on a particular portion of the vorcha's anatomy.

As soon as the vorcha were ducking, I fired off a plasma round and blew up the fuel tank. The explosion was satisfactorily loud, taking out three vorcha in the process. Behind me, I heard Team Two rush in and find cover.

"You and your distractions," Garrus chuckled after sniping a vorcha. "What is it with you and blowing things up?"

"I can't sleep at night unless I've caused a bit of property damage," I smirked, watching as a vorcha's head exploded from my own sniper rifle.

"Tell me about it," Miranda muttered. "Keeping our contacts appraised so they can provide damage control after the latest body count or gutted building is a full-time job."

Jacob was the only member of the command crew who didn't try to poke fun at me, as he was busy levitating a couple vorcha so Zaeed and Mordin had a clear shot at them. Meanwhile, Tali was using her combat drone to harass some more vorcha into a tight group, where Jack could knock them all over with a biotic shockwave. Kasumi had activated her cloak and gave some poor sucker a massive electrical jolt. She cloaked again just as the vorcha's partner whirled around. The guy had just enough time to scratch his head before Grunt ran him over.

There was only one more vorcha by the time Grunt had stepped, stomped and jumped on his target. I put him out of his misery with a shot to the head.

As usual, we collected any thermal clips we could find. I also found a combustion manifold. Wouldn't have recognized it if I hadn't talked to a krogan mechanic—two words you don't normally put together—who needed one to fix another tomkah. I decided to pick it up and take it back with me.

Then I bypassed the door's locking mechanism and led the team inside.

---

"Reports of chief scout accurate," Mordin stated as soon as the door closed, clearly familiar with the surroundings. "Repurposed krogan hospital. Sturdy. Built to withstand punishment."

"The only buildings more durable are their bomb shelters," Miranda agreed, "but most of those were destroyed in civil wars."

Kasumi turned towards Mordin. "You sound like you've been in one of these before. A krogan hospital, I mean."

"Frequently visited hospitals. Good site for genophage drops."

Jacob groaned. "I always hated hospitals."

"They aren't fun to fight through," Garrus commiserated.

"What is fun to fight through?" I asked curiously.

"Gardens," Garrus replied immediately. "Electronic shops. Antique stores, but only if they're classy."

He could have been serious, I suppose, in which case he had one interesting way of lookin' at the universe. Either that or he was joking, in which case I felt oddly proud. I was about to reply when I saw Mordin move towards the stairs. "That body," he said when he saw me looking at him. "Human. Need to take a look."

Following his gaze, I saw the body he was talking about and motioned for him to continue. We all clustered around the body while Mordin knelt down and activated some kind of scanning program on his omni-tool. Holographic images popped up: charts, graphs, a rotating skeleton with several areas highlighted in different colours.

"Sores, tumours, ligatures showing restraint at wrists and ankles. Track marks for repeated injection sites. Test subject, victim of experimentation."

"I don't suppose there's a way to tell who this poor bastard was?" I asked.

Mordin shook his head. "No tattoos or ID. Maybe slave or prisoner. Maybe merc or pirate. Irrelevant now. Clearly part of krogan tests to cure genophage.

"Humans useful as test subjects," Mordin added. "Genetically diverse. Enables exploration of treatment modalities."

"Wouldn't something native to Tuchanka work better?" I asked. "Varren, maybe?"

"Yes. Human experiments strictly high-level, concept testing. Native Tuchanka fauna likely used later in development stages. Wise to delay use of varren until necessary. Powerful bite."

"Are humans really that valuable?" I wondered. "How are we more genetically diverse?"

"More variable," Mordin explained. "Peaks and valleys, mutations, adaptations. Far beyond other life. Makes humans useful test subjects. Larger reactions to smaller stimuli."

"You're talking about more than phenotypic differences, right?" I frowned. "I know we can look different from each other, but it's not like we're the only ones. I mean, asari have a wide range of skin tones."

"No. Ignore superficial appearance. Down to genetic code," Mordin replied. "Biotic abilities, intelligence levels. Can look at random asari, krogan, make reasonable interpolation or extrapolation. Humans too variable to judge. Outliers in all species, of course. Geniuses, idiots. But human probability curve offers greater overall variety."

It suddenly occurred to me that this might provide another reason why the Collectors were so darn interested in us. (6) Not that that was why we were here, but it was worth noting for another time. "What can you tell about their experiments from looking at the body?"

"Position of tumours suggests deliberate mutation of adrenal, pineal glands," Mordin said. "Modifying hormone levels. Counterattack on glands hit by genophage. Clever."

"Do you think they're close to curing the genophage?" I wondered.

"Can't say," Mordin shook his head. "Need more data. Conceptually sound, though. Genophage alters hormone levels. Could repair damage with hormonal counterattack."

"First rescuing your former colleague, now tests on humans," I shook my head. "Another reason to shut this place down."

"Focus on Maelon," Mordin advised, his voice both matter-of-fact and sad. "Too late to help the dead."

---

We continued down another flight of stairs, swiping some iridium along the way, and entered a large hallway. There was the usual clutter scattered around, plus several large columns holding the place up. At the far end of the chamber, I saw a large fuel tank. Above it ran a narrow corridor, fenced off by railing, with a door in the middle. That corridor ran along the wall and around the right hand wall, leading to a ramp that led down to the ground.

The back of my neck was starting to tingle, so I wasn't surprised when the doors hissed open and a trio of krogan marched in. "I am the speaker for Clan Weyrloc, offworlders," the middle one proclaimed. "You have shed our blood. By rights, you should be dead already. But Weyrloc Guld, the Chief of Chiefs, has ordered that you be given leave to flee and spread the message of our coming."

"Krogan don't generally let people go," I frowned. "What does Clan Weyrloc have planned?"

"If you walk away now, you can tell your children that you saw Clan Weyrloc before our Blood Pack conquered the stars."

Aw, really? Could I? Could I? Oh, thank you, thank you, thank you! "Clan Urdnot might have something to say about that," I said mildly.

"You think the Urdnot impressive," the speaker scoffed. "They are pitiful! Weyrloc Guld will destroy them! The salarian will cure the genophage and Clan Weyrloc will spread across the galaxy in a sea of blood!"

"Appears they discovered Maelon's work," Mordin muttered out of the corner of his mouth to me. "Unfortunate."

"It doesn't have to happen like this," I replied. "I can understand wanting to cure the genophage—"

"No, human! You understand nothing!" the speaker roared, shaking in anger. "You have not seen the piles of children that never lived! The krogan were wronged! We will make it right... and then we will have our revenge!"

"Half the galaxy see the krogan as victims!" I pressed, subtly nudging Mordin in case he hadn't realized that the krogan who survived the genophage might have a few justified grievances. "If you start a war, you'll lose their support!"

"We have the Blood Pack," the speaker growled. "We have the salarian. When our clan numbers in the millions, we will not need support!"

He started pacing back and forth. "When we cure the genophage, Weyrloc Guld will rule all krogan! The Krogan Rebellions will become the Krogan Empire! The surviving races will frighten their children with stories of what the Blood Pack did to the turians! The asari will scream as their Citadel plunges into the sun! We will keep salarians as slaves and eat their eggs as a delicacy! If you lack the wisdom to flee, then you will be the first of billions to be crushed beneath our migh—"

I interrupted him with a loud yawn. "You talk too much." Pulling out my pistol, I fired a single shot.

The speaker flinched instinctively before bursting into laughter. "See?" he told his comrades, not realizing they were backing away. "The human cannot hit a simple target!"

Then he frowned, leaned over the rail and peered at the ground. I'd imagine it looked like it was flickering, what with the gas that was hissing out of the hole I made in the fuel tank. I fired another shot to ignite the fumes.

The tank exploded in his face. He roared in pain as his entire body erupted into flames, the fuel burning through his body as if he was a walking golem of molten rock. After a few seconds of frantic arm-waving, he collapsed to the ground.

I barely had a chance to snap off a fireball at the remaining two krogan before four vorcha showed up. The six of them moved down the corridor, firing as they went. Clearly they were hoping to get to the ramp and charge down it towards us.

Unfortunately, the krogan were so eager to pound us to a pulp, they managed to get to the ramp before we could knock out their defences. I signalled anyone who could throw something against their armour—besides bullets and foul language—to stand by. Then I took one step out in the open and waved at the krogan.

Then I cloaked.

Sure enough, the krogan came to a halt, trying to figure out where I went and who they should go after next. They only paused for a couple seconds before coming to a decision, but that was enough time for the squad to unleash a withering salvo of biotics and plasma. Seeing that they had received enough damage, I decided to take advantage of my cloak to lock on one of the krogan and fire a shot from my sniper rifle.

To my surprise, a bloody spray of brains and goop came out the back side—meaning that while the krogan had been killed, his skull wasn't thick enough to absorb all of the momentum from the bullet, which subsequently went in one side and out the other. Still, dead is dead. Plus, the spray distracted the other krogan long enough for Jacob to levitate the sucker so Grunt and Garrus could fire concussive rounds into his hide. Seeing him fly back into the wall, slowly topple down and crush one of the vorcha was kinda funny.

That left three vorcha to go. Tali distracted one of them with her combat drone, giving Kasumi more than enough time to cloak, sneak up and give him a lethal jolt in the back. I melted a hole in another vorcha's armour, leaving him open for Jack to crush him into the wall with a wave of biotic energy. Grunt charged up the ramp towards the last vorcha, who promptly shrieked, threw his assault rifle towards him and ran like hell.

To his credit, he almost reached the door before Grunt caught up with him. After a few cracks and pops, Grunt stood up, his arms soaked in vorcha blood.

"This is fun," he beamed. "We'll have lots of stories to retell over dinner."

I looked up from the pack of iridium I was swiping, stared at him, then shook my head.

---

"Labs likely through there," Mordin said. "Can smell antiseptic, hint of dead flesh."

"Well, I'm spooked," Kasumi replied sarcastically. "Thanks."

"You're welcome."

We had just left the room where the Weyrloc clanspeaker's attempts to tout the glory, etc. of Clan Weyrloc had turned into yet another battle. I only paid a bit of attention to the banter, as I was occupied with my usual activities. It was more than looting everything that wasn't nailed down, though I did scoop up some salvage. It was also about scouting around, getting a sense of the layout and clearing rooms of potential hostiles rather than letting them sneak up behind you.

I'll wait a second for you to convince yourself that that was what I was really doing.

Anyway, there was nothing in the room we were currently in, but I saw a corridor leading out. It looked like there were at least two doors in the corridor, both near our end and facing each other. "Garrus," I said. "Take Team Two and check out the room on the left; we'll investigate the right room. Whoever finishes first, scout down the hallway."

The squad split up and entered the room. Demonstrating our priorities, I went straight for another pack of iridium collecting dust in the corner while Mordin made a bee-line for the computer terminal. "Active console," he murmured. "May contain useful data. One moment."

His fingers flew over the keyboard for a couple minutes. I started getting dizzy after a while, watching him open and close files and graphs with blinding speed, so I was relieved when he began to report his preliminary findings: "Genetic sequences. Hormone mutagens still steady. Protein chains, live tissue, cloned tissue. Very thorough. Standard treatment vectors. Avoiding scorched-earth immunosuppressants to alter hormone levels. Good. Hate to see that."

I couldn't help but marvel at how calm and logical he was about the whole thing. "Most people wouldn't be so casual about developing a sterility plague, Mordin."

"Not developing," Mordin corrected. "Modifying. Much more difficult. Working within confines of existing genophage. A hundred times the complexity. Errors unacceptable. Could cause total sterility, malignant tumours. Could even reduce effectiveness. Worse than doing nothing. Had to keep krogan population stable. One in one thousand. Perfect target, optimal growth. Like gardening."

Okay. That was too much. "Pretty up however you like," I snapped. "You're talking about murdering millions!"

Mordin's eyes flared. Guess he took offense to that. "No. Murdered no one. Altered fertility, prevented fetal development of nervous system.

"Have killed many, Shepard. Many methods. Gunfire, knives, drugs, tech attacks, once with farming equipment. But not with medicine."

"Then what were you doing?" I asked. "Are you saying that, by sticking to this one in one thousand ratio, you were working just as hard to keep the krogan population from falling?"

"Yes," Mordin nodded enthusiastically. "Could have eradicated krogan. Not difficult-increased mutation to degrade genetic structure further. Chose not to. Rachni extinction tragic. Didn't want to repeat. All life precious. Universe demands diversity."

Squashing the sudden image of salarians and turians holding hands and singing 'Kumbaya' over a bunch of dead krogan, I decided to play along for now. (7) "What was it like, working on the genophage modification project?"

Mordin took a deep breath, like inhaling a chestful of sweet, clean air. "Best years of my life. Wake up with ideas. Talk over breakfast. Experiments all morning. Statistical analysis in afternoon. Run new simulations during dinner, set data runs to cook overnight. Laughter. Ego. Argument. Passion. Galaxy's biggest problem, massive resources thrown at us. Got anything we wanted."

"Do you still keep in touch with your old team members?"

"No," Mordin replied, abruptly becoming solemn. Almost sad. "All changed with deployment. Made test drop on isolated krogan clan. Hit rest of Tuchanka when results were positive."

Like conducting a pilot study for proof of concept before going ahead with full-scale expansion.

"End of project. Separate ways. Watching it end, watching birth rates drop. Personal. Private. Not appropriate for team."

"You must have had a lot of success and prestige to be entrusted with a project like that," I observed. "How'd you go from that to running a clinic on Omega?"

"Wanted to heal people," Mordin said quietly. "Good use of last decade. Something easy. No ethical concerns. Understand rationale for modified genophage. Right choice. Still... hard to sleep some nights."

"If it's that difficult, how can you continue to support the use of the genophage, Mordin?" I asked. "Look at what happened to Tuchanka as a result."

Mordin shook his head. "State of Tuchanka not due to genophage. Nuclear winter caused by krogan before salarians made first contact. Krogan choices. Expand after Rachni Wars. Refuse truce during Krogan Rebellions. Splinter after genophage.

"Genophage medical, not nuclear. No craters from virus. Damage caused by krogan, not salarians. Not me."

I put up a hand to stop Mordin before he continued. "You're missing the point, Mordin. I wasn't talking about the nuclear devastation that the krogan inflicted on themselves before the salarians showed up. Or to the initial development and deployment of the genophage. Or how the krogan dealt with things afterwards. I'm talking about what you and your team did and how that affected Tuchanka. That's still your responsibility. You upgraded the virus that kept them in barbarism!"

"Krogan committed war crimes," Mordin insisted. "Refused to negotiate. Turian defeat not complete. Krogan could have recovered, attacked again. Conventional war too risky. Krogan forces too strong. Genophage was only option. Krogan forced genophage. Us or them. No apologies for winning, but wouldn't have minded peaceful solution."

"So if Wrex succeeds, and the krogan band together to form a united government, you'd welcome that?"

"Yes," Mordin replied. "United krogan saved galaxy, destroyed rachni. Genophage not punishment. Simply alters fertility to correct for removal from hostile environment."

"Given what I've seen of krogan culture, I think the genophage did more than that," I pointed out. "Forcing it on them removed any incentive for them to unite or make any long-term plans where peace was a viable option. Instead, they just bury themselves in fighting for blood sport or creds because there's nothing left for them. It might not have been intended as a punishment, Mordin, but it sure wound up that way."

Mordin still didn't seem convinced by my arguments, much like I wasn't convinced by his. I still didn't get how Mordin could justify what he did. It didn't help that it wasn't about ego. Mordin's actions and justifications were firmly grounded in the belief that it was for the greater good of the galaxy. Wasn't that the rationale for all those covert ops missions I participated in back in the Alliance? Was that what being a Spectre was all about? So why was I having so much trouble with this? Had I gone too far all this time? Or had I not gone far enough?

"We're not going to find Maelon staring at consoles," I said after a minute of internal debate. If Mordin could spend years pondering the issue and not come to a satisfying answer, I sure as heck wouldn't be able to figure it out here and now. "Let's go find the rest of the squad."

That didn't take too much effort. They were right behind us-presumably listening to the entire conversation. "Garrus?" I said.

"There's something you should see," Garrus replied quietly.

We silently followed Garrus to the room I'd directed him to search. It didn't take long to see what had caught Team Two's attention.

Mordin walked over to the autopsy table, picked up the datapad and scanned through its contents. "Dead krogan. Female. Tumours indicate experimentation. No restraint marks. Volunteer. Sterile Weyrloc female willing to risk procedures. Hoped for cure.

"Pointless," Mordin seethed, body quivering with suppressed rage. "Pointless waste of life."

"I didn't expect you to be disturbed by the sight of a dead krogan," I admitted.

"What?" Mordin jerked his head up angrily. "Why? Because of genophage work? Irrelevant. No, causative. Never experimented on live krogan. Never killed with medicine. Her death not my work, only reaction to it. Goal was to stabilize population. Never wanted this. Can see it logically... but still unnecessary. Foolish waste of life. Hate to see it."

"So you've seen it before?" I asked. "Did you come to Tuchanka after dropping your plague?"

"Yearly recon missions," Mordin replied grimly. "Water, tissue samples. Ensure no mistakes. Superiors offered to carry it on. Refused. Need to see it in person. Need to look. Need to see. Accept it as necessary. See small picture. Remind myself why I ran a clinic on Omega."

In other words, he might stand behind his decision. He might feel that, in the big picture, it helped the greater good. But he wasn't blind to the consequences. He had to remind himself what his work did to the krogan.

Mordin ran a hand over the krogan's head. "Rest, young mother," he whispered. "Find your gods. Find someplace better."

That was a new twist. "Spirituality, Mordin?"

"Genophage modification project altered millions of lives," Mordin said softly. "Then saw results. Ego, humility, juxtaposition. Frailty of life. Size of universe. Explored religions after work completed. Different races. No answers. Many questions."

"Sounds like you were trying to deal with a guilty conscience," I observed.

Mordin's response confirmed it: "Modified genophage project great in scope. Scientifically brilliant. But... ethically difficult. Krogan reaction visceral, tragic. Not guilty, but responsible. Trained as doctor. Genophage affects fertility. Doesn't kill. Still caused this. Hard to see big picture behind pile of corpses."

"Then how can you rationalize it? How do you justify your actions?"

"Wheel of life. Popular salarian concept. Similar to human Hinduism in focus on reincarnation. Appealing to see life as endless. Fix mistakes in next life. Learn, adapt, improve."

Sounded more like a spiral than a circle to me if you're constantly trying to fix mistakes from a previous life in the next one, but what do I know? I have enough on my plate, thank you very much.

"Refuse to believe life ends here. Too wasteful. Have more to offer. Mistakes to fix. Cannot end here. Could do so much more."

Mordin had brought that up a few too many times to be easily dismissed. No matter how much he wanted to believe his actions were justified, he clearly felt responsibility and remorse for what he did and wanted to make it right. To atone for his sins and correct his mistakes. If he couldn't accomplish that in his last remaining years, then it was comforting to know that he could have a second try in the next life.

Still... "If you need this much soul-searching to get over it, maybe the genophage was wrong," I suggested.

"Had to be done," Mordin insisted. "Rachni Wars, Krogan Rebellions. All pointed to krogan aggression. So many simulations. Effects of krogan population increase. All pointed to war. Extinction. Genophage or genocide. Save galaxy from krogan. Save krogan from galaxy."

"So you're willing to sterilize a species based on the evidence of a few simulations?"

"Yes. Millions of data points. Years of arguments. Countless scenarios. All noted krogan fragmentation as dangerous," Mordin insisted. "No unified culture to support repopulation. Would have been war. Turians and humans destroying krogan utterly. Couldn't have that."

"You could have cured the genophage instead," I argued. "Unite the krogan and encourage repopulation by bringing hope to the krogan. They'd have rejoiced."

"Assumes human reaction," Mordin disagreed. "Krogan stimulus response different. Harsh environment, take chance to fight, flee. Would have caused chaos on Tuchanka. Victor would have war economy, bloodthirsty army. Galactic expansion only logical outcome. More war. Genophage saved lives war would have ended." (8)

I looked at him for a moment, then tilted my head towards the krogan. "Look at the dead woman, Mordin. Doesn't look like you saved her."

"No... it doesn't," Mordin admitted. "Worked with available data. Only option. No other possible... doesn't matter."

I was done talking for now. We still had to rescue Maelon and shut this place down. Besides, despite what he might say, Mordin was still struggling with what he had done. I kinda felt relieved: this mission had brought up all sorts of unexpected questions and introspection for me. It was nice to see I wasn't the only one confused and distressed. Maybe Mordin and I had something in common after all. Except for the constant needling and nagging. I might not be able to sway Mordin to my way of thinking with one grandiose speech, but I could dig it up uncomfortable truths just as fast as Mordin could bury it away.

Before leaving, I saw another computer console. This one was locked, but I managed to hack it and uncover some useful specs that I downloaded for later analysis. It was easier than all this big-picture stuff.

---

We went through a door into another hallway, which took a sharp left after twenty metres or so towards another door. A small room at the corner had been converted into a makeshift cell. Guess someone thought it would be more efficient to minimize the travel time from to the labs and morgues. A krogan was the only occupant. First time I ever saw one sitting on the floor with his arms wrapped around his knees.

"You killed the Blood Pack guards," he said.

Either we'd made a lot of noise shooting each other earlier or he had guessed that there was no other way for us to get this far and still have all our limbs.

"Not Blood Pack, not member of Clan Weyrloc. Wrong clan markings," Mordin identified.

"I'm an Urdnot scout," the krogan replied softly. "Weyrloc guards got me. Brought me here."

That reminded me: "The chief scout told us to watch for you. We've taken out the guards. Get back to Urdnot."

The krogan's head drooped. "I can't. The Weyrloc did things to me. Drugs. Injections. Said I was sacrificing for the good of all krogan. Experiments to cure the genophage. Everything's blurry. Hard to think. Have to stay."

"Mordin, can you get him back on his feet?" I asked. "Stims, maybe? Something to bolster his immune system?"

To my surprise, the krogan interrupted before Mordin could get a word out. "You don't understand. I'm not too sick to leave. I have to stay."

The hell?

"They're curing the genophage," he continued, a note of urgency entering his unusually quiet-for a krogan-voice. "They're gonna make it all better! They have to keep doing the tests!"

"Caution, Shepard," Mordin warned. "Patient unstable, susceptible. Brainwashed."

Fair guess. "Why do you want them to keep doing the tests?"

"This is my fault," the scout said miserably. "I got caught. Wasn't strong enough. Not good enough. This is the best I can do. This is all I can do."

I didn't think he could get any more miserable, but I was soon proven wrong. "I'm not big enough to have a real shot with the females. I'll never have kids of my own. But if I help undo the genophage, then I mattered!"

Time to burst the bubble before he got any deeper into his funk. "Millions of children will be born," I agreed before dropping the kicker, "Weyrloc children. They're going to destroy the other clans."

A look of horror slowly crept over his face. "But... no. No, they said I was helping Urdnot!"

I put aside the question of why the heck Weyrloc would want to help another clan and pressed on. "If you want to help Urdnot, you need to get your ass outta here and get back to your clan. But it would take a real badass to make it back to camp while injured."

"I can do it."

"You?" I laughed derisively. "I said a badass, not some pup whining like a quarian with a tummy-ache."

"I'm standing right here," Tali protested.

Oops.

Fortunately, the scout wasn't paying attention to her. He pushed himself to his feet. "I can do it," he insisted. "I'm up! And I'm going to the female camp!"

Everybody has their own form of motivation, I guess. "Damn right you are!" I grinned. "Get back there and show them what you're worth! Go! Go!"

The scout let out a mighty roar before stomping out of the cell and down the hallway. Tali watched him disappear before shaking her head. "I can't believe that worked. By the way, I'm still mad at you, Shepard."

"Forgive me? Please?"

"Well... I suppose I can let you pass," Tali relented. "This time."

"You're never this forgiving with me," Garrus lamented.

"Because you never said 'please'," Tali replied.

"Yes I did."

"No you didn't."

While they hashed things out, I liberated some creds from a nearby datapad. Then we went to the last door. I was just about to activate the controls when EDI contacted me. "Shepard, I'm detecting crates ahead that are holding unstable materials. A misplaced shot could cause a significant explosion."

"Or a well-placed shot," Mordin added, having recovered his usual cheer. "Explosives useful. Burn through krogan armour."

"I love the smell of melting armour in the morning," I joked. More seriously, I added "Everybody stay away from those crates. Try not to use them as improvised explosives unless we're in trouble. No point in wasting free weapons if we don't have to."

Having given my orders, we entered on the upper level of an atrium or chamber of some sort. A narrow bridge connected the two sides of this level, with a stairway leading down on the other side. Sure enough, there were a couple crates scattered around, including one on the bridge. We'd probably have to go down those stairs at some point. Just as soon as we'd cleared the path of bad guys. The first bunch were a pair of vorcha, accompanied by a krogan. I assigned the vorcha to Team Two, leaving the krogan for Team One. Miranda's biotics smashed against the krogan's armour a split second before my plasma, reducing the protective plates to a thin shell. Thane was the next to employ his biotics, blasting through the krogan's armour with enough residual force to wound him. Unfortunately, the krogan's inherent ability to regenerate came to his rescue. Even worse, another krogan charged onto the scene, eager to join the battle. The first krogan waited for his buddy, then the two of them stomped onto the bridge.

Aw, crap.

"I believe this qualifies as trouble," Miranda said dryly. I saw her tap her omni-tool, no doubt preparing to overload the containment systems of the crate on the bridge.

"Wait." I held out a hand to stop her. "You and Thane get ready to distract the krogan with your biotics. Kasumi can blow up the crate."

"My pleasure," Kasumi grinned wickedly.

"On the count of three," I told them. "Three, two, one... GO!"

Our plan worked like a charm. Miranda and Thane hurled their biotics, which exploded in the krogan's ugly faces and brought them to a halt. Right in front of the crate that Kasumi obligingly ignited. The resulting explosion was enough to kill the weakened krogan and seriously injure the other one. A single shot from my sniper rifle finished him off.

"Clear," Garrus reported. Looking around, I confirmed that all our enemies were down. "We'll hold the bridge," I told him. "You scout this side for anything useful."

It took less than a minute for him to find nothing more than a bit of salvage, so he led Team Two across the bridge. As soon as they took cover, it was our turn. We were halfway across the bridge when Jacob yelled out "Varren!" A second later, Tali gave a warning of her own: "Krogan!"

Apparently one of the krogan decided to take a trio of varren for a walk. Zaeed's inferno grenade and Mordin's plasma round quickly showed how they really should have stayed home. While the varren were shaking off the flames, Team Two hosed them down with gunfire. Which left the krogan for us. How kind.

I didn't feel like having another close encounter, so I cloaked while Miranda and Thane hammered away at him with their biotics. Then I drilled a nice neat hole into the krogan's thick skull. That wasn't quite enough, though. Grunt got to deliver the kill-shot with a concussive round.

It was our turn to scrounge for loot, so I quickly gathered whatever I could. Then the squad continued leapfrogging down to the level below. It was similar to the upper level, except there were two bridges this time. We had scarcely found cover when a pair of krogan popped up on our side of the level and headed our way. Miranda, Thane, Mordin and I immediately unleashed a withering barrage of biotics and plasma against their armour, reducing it to scrap metal in a heartbeat. Garrus and Zaeed were quick to capitalize on their vulnerability by firing concussive rounds from their sniper rifles into one of the krogan. The other one soon followed, thanks to a steady stream of bullets from Samara and Tali.

Jack pouted, no doubt disappointed that she had yet to deal the final blow herself. "Don't suppose there are any more?"

"Yeah," Grunt said. "I'm just gettin' warmed up."

I sighed as the door on the other side of the room hissed open. "Happy?" I asked.

"Yep."

"Uh huh."

Oh for crying out loud.

A varren quickly scrambled onto the nearest bridge and loped towards us. A combination of plasma and gunfire took the sucker down. Unfortunately, there were two krogan right behind him. Plus another varren who chose to charge across the other bridge.

And if that weren't enough, another krogan marched in. "Tremble and die, offworld scum!" he roared. "For I am Weyrloc Guld, Chief of Chiefs! Blood Pack: attack!"

Aw, crap.

"Concentrate on the krogan," I yelled. Ignoring my own advice, I aimed my latest fireball at the varren, deciding to deal with the mutt on my own before it could start chewing on our legs. Or worse: peeing on them. As the plasma burned through the varren's scaly armour, I watched as the squad ganged up on one of the krogan, steadily whittling his defences down. I was so focused on watching that sucker's gradual demise, I almost forgot about the varren. Until his growl drew my attention. I immediately snapped off a fireball.

Which missed.

I blinked in disbelief, cursed and pummelled the heck out of the varren. After a couple heavy blows, I finally managed to snap his neck. As the varren slumped to the ground, I heard a cheer as one of the krogan finally hit the dirt. Unfortunately, there were still two more to go.

A frantic spray of bullets chipped away at the lead krogan's armour, but he was still stomping towards us. I waited until I had a clear shot, cloaked and fired my sniper rifle. Unfortunately, his armour took the brunt of the blast, so the brute was able to stomp around a pillar and flank us. We stared in horror as he leered at us, all vulnerable and out in the open.

Jack spat out a curse and sent him stumbling back with a biotic shockwave. Taking advantage of his distraction, Jacob quickly yanked him up in the air with his biotics. Then it was Samara's turn. Thrusting her arm forward, she casually flicked her wrist. A stream of biotics rippled through the air and sent him flying up, up and away.

That left Weyrloc Guld, whose howl of outrage was cut short by two biotic explosions, courtesy of Miranda and Thane. The impacts rippled across a biotic barrier. Apparently, he was a battlemaster—the biotic kind, that is. And in case that wasn't enough, he was also smart enough to add some armour plating to his hardsuit as well.

"Concussive rounds and rapid fire," I ordered. Garrus, Zaeed and Grunt immediately complied with the former while everybody else fired their assault rifles, submachine guns and heavy pistols. By the time he had gotten across the bridge, Guld's barriers were gone. Mordin and I immediately launched plasma rounds, both of which landed direct hits. This made it even scarier to see him stomping our way, so consumed with the urge to tear us limb from limb that he completely missed the fact that he was on fire. Kasumi even overloaded a nearby crate to blow up in his face. He just kept coming.

Tali tapped her omni-tool and activated her combat drone. "Go get him, Chikitta," she ordered. "Good girl!"

The drone zipped towards Guld and zapped him. He stopped, stared at it, then smacked it into the wall. However, that bought enough time for everyone to catch their breath. Guld was only able to take another step before he got hit with biotics, plasma and enough gunfire to make even him stumble. I delivered the final blow with a single shot. Then I led the team scrounging for thermal clips, creds and any other interesting toys.

The krogan Samara had catapulted into the sky came crashing back down a minute later.

---

Maelon's lab was a cavernous room at the bottom of the complex, which we found after descending another flight of stairs. The walls were lined with large tanks and machinery crammed along the walls. At the far end lay a computer console with one enormous screen. Maelon was alone, manipulating something with his hands. As we got closer, I saw that he actually had an omni-tool on both arms. Guess he was a firm believer in multi-tasking.

"Maelon," Mordin frowned in confusion. "Alive. Unharmed. No signs of restraint. No evidence of torture. Don't understand."

I glanced at him before taking a closer look. Mordin's observations were bang-on. Something wasn't right.

"For such a smart man, Professor, you always had trouble seeing evidence that disagreed with your preconceptions," Maelon replied coldly. He turned around and glared at his old boss. "How long will it take you to admit that I'm here because I wish to be here?"

"He wasn't kidnapped," I realized. "He came here voluntarily to cure the genophage."

Mordin stiffened in shock. "Impossible. Whole team agreed! Project necessary!"

"How was I supposed to disagree with the 'great' Professor Solus?" Maelon asked bitterly. "I was your student!" he suddenly yelled. "I looked up to you!"

"Experiments performed here. Live subjects!" Mordin snapped back furiously, waving his arm like he was scolding his old student. "Prisoners! Torture and executions! Your doing?"

Maelon's response was immediate. "We've already got the blood of millions on our hands, Professor. If it takes a bit more to put things right, I can deal with that."

"You honestly think the experiments you did here are justified?" I broke in.

"We committed cultural genocide!" Maelon cried out. "Nothing I do will ever be justified! The experiments are monstrous... because I was taught to be a monster!"

"Mordin," I asked, humouring Maelon for a moment, "did you ever perform experiments like this?"

"No," he replied, shaking his head in disgust. "Never taught you this, Maelon."

"So your hands are clean!" Maelon sneered. "What does it matter if the ground is stained with the blood of millions? You taught me that the ends justified the means. I will undo what we did, Professor. The only way I know how."

"What happens if the genophage is cured and the krogan expand again?" I asked, deliberately echoing Mordin's earlier arguments. "That will be on your head."

"We justified this atrocity by saying the krogan would cause havoc and war if their population recovered," Maelon replied. "But look at the galaxy! Batarian attacks in the Traverse, geth attacks on the Citadel. Is this a more peaceful universe?

"The assault on your Eden Prime might never have happened if we had let the krogan recover," he added, turning to me. "We'll never know."

"How would a krogan population explosion have done anything to stop Saren and the geth?" I demanded.

"An increased krogan population would have forced the Council to take steps, likely involving colony rights in the Traverse. The turian fleets would be vigilant for any military activity in the area. They might have stopped the geth at Eden Prime."

"Supposition," Mordin disagreed. "Impossible to be certain!"

"Don't you see?" Maelon pleaded. "We tried to play god—and we failed! We only made things worse... and I'm going to fix it."

"You talked about killing, but the genophage isn't lethal," I said, taking another page from Mordin's book. "It only affects fertility rates."

I saw Mordin shift slightly as Maelon responded. Seemed like sticking to his script was harder to do when the rebuttal came from one of his own students. "So they die slowly, one senseless death at a time. Krogan slaughter each other fighting over fertile females. They become mercenaries or pirates, dying for credits because they see no alternative! They would be thriving in a cultural renaissance now had we not decided that this is what they deserved!"

"Inaccurate," Mordin insisted. "Krogan re-population resulted in war. Simulations were clear! The data was sound!"

"Speaking of which, how did you access the genophage data anyway," I asked, changing the subject. "And why work with Clan Weyrloc?"

Maelon laughed bitterly. "The data was easy to obtain. We all still had clearance. We were heroes. All I had to do was ask. As for the Weyrloc, they were the only clan with both the resources and the commitment."

"Urdnot has a larger camp than Weyrloc," I pointed out. "Why not use them?"

"Urdnot Wrex was too soft," Maelon sneered. "He wasn't willing to do the experiments I needed."

"Because he was busy trying to unite the krogan clans and encourage them to concentrate on breeding," I replied. "The very thing all your simulations claimed were impossible."

"A pipe dream," he waved off. "It'll never work. I tried to tell him, but he wouldn't listen." Maelon shook his head. "It's Urdnot's loss and Weyrloc's gain. Their clan will be the first to recover from the crime we committed."

"Maelon clearly doesn't need rescuing," I said, turning to Mordin. "What do you want to do?"

"Have to end this," Mordin replied quietly.

That set Maelon off. "You can't face the truth, can you?" he cried out, whipping out a pistol and waving it about. "Can't admit that your brilliant mind led you to commit an atrocity!"

Maelon obviously hadn't had much experience in combat or hostage situations, otherwise he would have known better than to constantly switch his aim and his attention between targets. Mordin only had to wait until he was looking away before he lunged forward and socked him in the jaw. Maelon dropped his pistol and stumbled back against the computer console.

"Unacceptable experiments," Mordin seethed, yanking out his own pistol and jamming it under Maelon's chin. "Unacceptable goals. Won't change. No choice.

"Have to kill you."

"Wait!" I snapped. "You don't need to do this, Mordin. Think about it: you said you're not a murderer. This is your chance to prove it."

Mordin tensed up for a moment.

Then he relaxed and lowered his weapon. "No. Not a murderer. Thank you, Shepard."

Maelon wiped a drop of sweat off his forehead as Mordin took a step back. Student and teacher looked at each other for a long moment. "Finished, Maelon," Mordin said. "Get out. No Weyrloc left. Project over."

"Is it?" I frowned. "Aren't you worried that he'll start his research again?"

"No," Mordin strode forward and shoved Maelon away from the computer. "Will lock this unit. Special Tasks Group can cut access to old data.

"Could start from scratch," he conceded, looking at Maelon. "Decades of work, though. Didn't teach you everything I know."

"What if he talks to more krogan?" I asked. "Tell the public about the modified genophage project?"

"Special Tasks Group also good at covering tracks," Mordin smiled grimly. "No proof. Weyrloc willingness to work with salarian unusual. Other krogan would kill him."

"Fair enough," I shrugged. "You heard the professor, Maelon. Get out before he changes his mind."

"Where am I supposed to go, Professor?" Maelon demanded.

"Don't care," Mordin said. "Try Omega. Can always use another clinic."

Maelon left, but not without getting in the last word. "The krogan didn't deserve what we did to them, Professor. The genophage needs to end."

Mordin turned back to the console and stared at the data. "Not like this."

He shook his head after a moment. "Apologies, Commander. Misunderstood mission parameters. No kidnapping. My mistake. Thank you."

"Don't worry about me, Mordin," I replied. "How are you doing?"

"Should have killed him. Wanted to. Easier than listening."

That was kind of the point. I didn't play Twenty Questions to indulge my curiosity. Well, I did, but there was another reason.

"Easier for him, too," Mordin continued. "Experiments indicate how far he's fallen. Expected it from krogan. Not one of mine."

"Maybe you could remember that the next time someone's discussing the ethics of the genophage," I suggested.

"Yes," he agreed. So many variables. Stress responses. Impossible to truly predict. Something to think about. Maelon's research."

Guess he decided to think about it later.

"Only loose end. Could destroy it. Closure, security. Still valuable, though."

Time for a little test. "This is the research that includes tests on living victims," I reminded him, injecting a little distaste in my voice. "It's tainted."

"Right now, victims died for nothing," Mordin replied. "Keep it, use it, deaths worth something. Maelon's work could cure genophage. Don't know. Effects on krogan. Effects on galaxy. Too many variables. Too many variables."

It was a start, I decided. Baby steps and all that. "If you regret what the krogan have become, if you see what's been lost—"

"Wasted potential," Mordin whispered.

"They don't deserve this, Mordin. None of them deserve this. Save the data."

"Point taken, Shepard," Mordin nodded. "Capturing data, wiping local copy." A few taps were all that was needed for Mordin to transfer the data to his omni-tool and delete any backups from the computer. "Still years away from cure. But closer than starting from scratch." (9)

Mordin turned towards me. "Done. Ready to go. Ready to be off Tuchanka. Anywhere else. Maybe somewhere sunny."

Well, I guess it doesn't hurt to dream.

---

While returning the combustion manifold I'd found earlier to a grateful krogan mechanic, EDI contacted us. "Clan Urdnot has increased in strength after the destruction of Clan Weyrloc," the AI reported.

That was fast. Wrex clearly hadn't wasted any time upon hearing of the demise of Clan Weyrloc. We later found out he adopted the remaining members—mostly women and children—into his clan. Mordin was surprised and impressed by Wrex's intelligence and foresight. I wasn't.

I was more surprised to see Urz still following me around. Looked like I might have a new pet. Not that I took him with us when we returned to the Normandy. The ship's not exactly designed for pets. Besides, it was either let him roam around and hope he doesn't bite someone's leg off or keep him locked up and drive him stir-crazy.

As soon as I got back to my quarters, I checked my e-mail. There was one new message:

From: Urdnot Darg

Dear Human,

The clan leader told me how to get in touch with you. I don't remember much of what happened, but the chief scout said you pulled my quad out of the fire when I got caught and poisoned over at the Weyrloc camp. Thanks. Next time I have a chance to kill a human, I won't. Unless I go into blood rage or something.

I got to go to the female camp after I recovered, and it was pretty good.

I was actually thinking of joining the Blood Pack before this happened. I think I'm going to stay here instead.

—Urdnot Darg, Scout-Second Class

Nice to know my work was appreciated.

After changing out of my hardsuit, I went to see Mordin. "Still hard to believe Maelon betrayed me," he said when I asked how he was doing. "Betrayed my work. Disgusted by his actions. Proud of his nerve, though. Always thought he lacked backbone. Hope he finds something new. Better goal, better purpose. Fewer torture tests."

"You seem remarkably composed," I observed. "You're really at peace with what happened?"

"Yes," he replied matter-of-factly. "Of course. Can't change what happened. Life continues. Back to mission, back to work. Become like Maelon otherwise.

"Salarian emotional processing faster than other species," he explained, seeing my scepticism. "Has to be. Short-lived culture. Can't spend time reminiscing."

"So you really don't feel bad at all about what happened on Tuchanka?"

"Yes, correct. Now, at least—greatly distressed at the time. Stages of grief. Loss, anger, rationalization. Dealt with it. Most issues settled on Tuchanka. Some on shuttle back to Normandy."

Maybe he was all right and I didn't buy it because of my human perspective. I guess that made sense. Sort of. "Then why did Maelon do all this?" I asked. "He didn't seem like he processed his emotional response. He was obsessed with the genophage."

"True," Mordin conceded. "Didn't mean to imply that salarians were healthier emotionally. Can still make wrong choices, bad decisions from grief, anger, guilt. Maelon couldn't accept feelings, made decision, executed it. Probably before I left for Omega. Wish I'd seen it. Salarians still feel, just resolve it quickly. Explains lack of marriage. Can't sustain courtship emotions. Or perhaps based on reproduction. Unsure."

Uh huh. "What about Maelon's data on the genophage? His attempts at a cure?"

"What about it? Have it over there somewhere. Not dealing with it now. Need to focus on Collectors. Not important now, regardless. Appreciate you helping me back on Tuchanka. Should get back to work. Wasted enough time already. Lots to do. Talk later?"

"Sure." I turned to leave. On the way out, I casually added: "You've got at least six calibration errors flashing on the console."

"What? Oh no. No, no, no, no, no. Experiment potentially ruined."

Mordin focused his efforts on the console—the one in front of him, that is. Behind him, on another console, I could see a bunch of graphs. Some of those graphs looked remarkably similar to the ones I saw Maelon tinkering with. The only reason I could see that might explain all this was that Mordin hadn't finished processing yet, despite his claims to the contrary.

I found that quite reassuring somehow.

---

(1): The term often used to describe the salarians giving the krogan advanced technology and moving them from Tuchanka to more hospitable worlds to aid the Council races against the rachni.

(2): No doubt this information came from the ties Mordin maintained with the Special Tasks Group and other contacts in salarian intelligence.

(3): An earth-based organization dedicated to ethical treatment of galactic wildlife.

(4): Ganar Wrang was a krogan battlemaster who was exiled from Clan Weyrloc and Tuchanka for striking a female in anger. Over the next decade, he was instrumental in drawing both recruits and infamy towards the Blood Pack—originally a small gang of vorcha based in the Terminus notoriety drew several investors. Now rich beyond most krogan's dreams, he returned to Clan Weyrloc, where he successfully attracted elders, krogan, firepower and biotic support towards violence-for-profit in the Terminus Systems.

(5): 'Bad Case of Loving You (Doctor, Doctor),' released by Robert Palmer in 1978.

(6): Shepard's insight, unfortunately, proved to be right on the money.

(7): An African-American spiritual song originating sometime during the 1930s, associated with spiritual unity, closeness and compassion. The picture Shepard brings to mind, though, is somewhat different.

(8): Readers will no doubt find themselves divided regarding whether to agree with Shepard that some lines should not be crossed or disagree with him as being too blinded by his personal opinions to see the big picture. It's at times like these that I bitterly regret assuming the position of Councillor, as it's much easier to be distracted by what seems 'right' by what 'serves the greater good.'

(9): The sad thing is, many people would prefer it if the data was 'accidentally' deleted. However, Mordin's decision—and Shepard's influence—would have galaxy-changing repercussions.