Chapter 14: Crucibles Large and Small
Figuring that Admiral Hackett would be very interested to hear about how things were going, I gave him a call once we returned to the Normandy. He replied almost immediately. "Commander," he greeted him. "Any news from the war summit?"
"We went in knowing that the turians wanted krogan boots on Palaven in exchange for their support," I began. "The krogan, for their part, wanted a cure to the genophage. Something the salarians could help us out with, considering they were holding some krogan females who, thanks to some experiments, became immune to the genophage. Only most of the krogan females wound up dying anyway. We barely extracted the lone survivor from a STG base on Sur'Kesh after Cerberus attacked."
"I see," he frowned. "Cerberus, you say? How did they get involved?"
"I don't know," I admitted. "We don't know how they knew about it—or even if they knew about it. We certainly don't know how they managed to get all the way through the Pranas system, into Sur'Kesh's atmosphere and right up to the STG base's security perimeter before being detected. All I know for sure is that the Illusive Man is up to something."
"Then keep them at bay," Hackett urged. "I can't overstate what a victory this treaty would be for the Alliance. We'll need all the help we can get."
"I figured as much, sir," I nodded. "How's the Prothean device coming along?"
"Alliance R&D has officially begun construction. The team has dubbed it 'Project Crucible.' We're throwing everybody who knows how to hold a hammer at it. This is going to be the most ambitious undertaking in human history."
Crucible. Under some definitions, a crucible was a severe test—in this case of a test of our fortitude against insurmountable odds and our struggle to unite the galaxy together. Other definitions described a container in which other metals or substances might be melted or mixed—which also fit considering we were throwing every resource we could find into it. So, under the circumstances, the team had picked a damn good name.
"Human history and galactic history," I agreed. "Will we get it done?"
"I'm not saying it won't be a challenge," Hackett hedged, "but our researchers have made a few breakthroughs in deciphering the plans. From what they tell me, the designs are… elegant. Massive in scope, but strangely simple as well. We can do this, Shepard. You can do this. Never doubt that."
I instinctively stood to attention and saluted him. "No, sir."
He smiled and saluted me back. "Good," he approved. "Before I go, I thought you'd like to take a look at this."
His image was replaced by a schematic of the Prothean superweapon. The newly-designated Crucible. To my surprise, a lot of it was already built. Sure, it was just the superstructure, but the Alliance had made a startling amount of progress. Hackett was right. We might actually have a shot of doing this.
Hackett's image returned to the holo-projector. He nodded in approval when he saw the look on my face. "Keep up the good work, Commander. Hackett out."
Any hope I had was quickly put to another crucible, though, as I found out when I entered the conference room. Dalatrass Crankypants was absent, but Mordin was there. So were Wrex and Victus. Wanna guess who was arguing?
Yeah, didn't think so.
"You have the female, Wrex," Victus was saying impatiently. "A cure for the rest of your people can come later."
"That wasn't the deal," Wrex rumbled, crossing his arms.
"But Palaven needs your reinforcements now," Victus pleaded. "We can't delay."
"Unless every krogan gets the cure," Wrex said flatly, "there's no alliance." (1)
Noticing my arrival, Victus leaned against the conference table, his eyes silently begging me for help. "Mordin," I said, "just for the sake of argument: how long will it take to finish a cure?"
"Need to synthesize base antigen from female," Mordin replied. "Also requires healthy male krogan tissue. Will need a sample."
Wrex positively strutted forward. "You're looking at it."
Mordin looked him up and down, then shrugged. "Acceptable," he said matter-of-factly. "Will need you to remain aboard Normandy for procedure."
Wrex grunted. "Let's hope the food's gotten better."
"Formulating a cure that works for every krogan sounds like a tall order, Mordin," I frowned. "Can you do it?"
"Of course," Mordin nodded. "Similar to genophage modification project. Working against own alterations this time. Not as simple as garbage DNA blocking attachment sites. Will need to counteract shutdown of redundant nervous system, adjust neurotransmitter levels, stabilize hormone levels, guard against organ rejection—"
"Got it," I said hurriedly. And not just because my eyes were starting to glaze over. Mordin might have been Wrex's inside source, but he was also the lead scientist for Genophage 2.0. I wasn't sure if Wrex knew that or not, but I was pretty sure now wasn't a good time for him to find out.
"Will create cure, Shepard," Mordin reassured me. "Don't need to worry."
"Then get started, Mordin," I told him, "and make it quick."
"Always do." Mordin turned to leave. "Will be in med bay if you'd like to speak more. Eve requires tests."
"'Eve'?"
"Female's real name unknown," Mordin shrugged. "Normandy a human vessel. Human mythology seemed appropriate under circumstances."
Eve. From the Biblical first woman who gave rise to humanity. Human vessel aside, that did seem apropos. "I like it," I grinned.
"Suggest speaking with her," Mordin added. "New perspective. Surprising in krogan."
Mordin left and I turned to the two other occupants. Who were making a pointed effort not to look at each other. Because they were mature adults and all that. "Now," I sighed, "is there anything else?"
Victus looked at Wrex warily. "Nothing at the moment," he said.
"Good," Wrex snapped. "'Cuz any turian problems can't even come close to what I've got."
"Go on," I wearily groaned.
"Some of my men went missing. The rest of it we can discuss… somewhere else."
"All right, I'll see you guys later in the War Room," I told them.
"Fine," they said in unison. Then they glared at each other.
"No fighting," I added.
"Fine." Again in stereo. Followed by more glaring.
"Or punching." I paused, then added "Or kicking. Or clawing, maiming, dismembering, disembowling, decapitating, shooting, obliterating or vaporizing. Or anything involving violence or homicide. That goes double for any other member of the crew.
"AND NO SHOUTING!" I… well… shouted.
There was a long silence.
"Talk to you later," I sighed.
When I returned to the War Room an hour later, I found it completely intact. There was no blood or bodies. Victus and Wrex were keeping their distance, but they hadn't gotten into any fights that I could see. And the holo-table was now showing an image of the newly-dubbed Crucible.
"Commander," Victus greeted me.
"Primarch." I made an effort to look him up and down. Then looked at Wrex, who was standing on the other side of the War Room. Neither of them had as much as a scratch. Still, I took the time to scan the room for damaged equipment or trails of blood before looking at Victus. "The salarian dalatrass was worried about what the krogan will do once they're cured," I said. "How do you feel?"
"It won't matter if we don't stop the Reapers, but I understand her doubts," Victus acknowledged. "You remember Menae? That's where we made our last stand against the krogan during the Rebellions. They were that relentless."
Eek. Yeah, historical significance had a way of colouring things. "How did it turn out?" I asked.
"The krogan started using asteroids as weapons, directing them against our colonies," Victus replied. "We had no choice. The genophage was our last resort." He took a deep breath. "So yes, krogan intentions after this war will be a serious concern, but I'd rather have a grateful ally than a resentful enemy."
"Given all that's happened, reaching out to the krogan for help must be difficult for you," I guessed.
"We can't allow the mistakes of our past to cloud the future," Victus said. "Your race and mine were once enemies. The First Contact War, as you call it. (2) I was there, dodging shells fired by your navy. But look at us now, standing in a ship inspired by its predecessor—one of turian-human design. Working together."
"Pretty impressive," I admitted. "Speaking of work, there's still plenty left to do."
"Of course, Commander. I'll be here if you need me."
Now it was Wrex's turn. "Hell of a show down there on Sur'Kesh," he grinned. "Just like the old days, Shepard. Right down to me pulling your ass out of the fire."
"Hey, I was the one with bullets flying at me," I reminded him.
"And I gave you the moral support to dodge them."
"Uh huh," I said dubiously. "If you say so. Look, you said one of your squads is missing?"
Wrex looked carefully at Victus. Once he was sure the Primarch wasn't looking, he nodded and shuffled closer. "They were scouting out the rachni relay. We've heard rumours of trouble in the area."
My eyes widened. "Rachni?"
"Thought that might get your attention." Wrex paused. "I have a favour to ask. It's big."
"Bigger than the 'hot air' you were breathing out back in the conference room?" I asked. When Wrex didn't say anything, I gulped. "Don't tell me the rachni are back."
"All I know for sure is our scouts went silent as soon as they arrived," Wrex whispered. "I've got Aralakh Company, my best unit, on standby. You give the word and they'll meet you there."
Great. Rachni. Because obviously I didn't have enough on my plate already. "I'll see what I can do," I nodded. "But… how could there be trouble with the rachni? They were all but extinct. The last queen promised to disappear forever or be destroyed." (3)
"I know," Wrex acknowledged. "I was there. I've got a bad feeling about this. May not be rachni, but maybe it is. Could be another invasion."
Wonderful. We might be going from one invasion and two enemies—Reapers and Cerberus—to two invasions and three enemies. Things just kept getting better and better.
"If they're crawling out from under some rock, you know how bad it could get. We need to stop them."
"Yeah, I know."
Wrex looked at me shrewdly. "You've got more questions, don't you?"
"Yep. Starting with this: what will you do after the genophage is cured?"
"Once we deal with the Reapers, most krogan will want to settle a score with the turians and salarians," he admitted. He must have seen the look of dismay on my face. "I won't let them," he assured me firmly. "That isn't our path forward. This time will be different."
"A lot of people will be relieved to hear that," I sighed. "No one wants to repeat history."
"They know we'd probably win this time." Despite his little jab, Wrex quickly sobered up. "But war has never brought us anything except misery. It's time to focus on rebuilding."
"Right," I nodded. "Just as soon as we drive the Reapers off of Earth. And Tuchanka. Speaking of which: have you gotten any new intel?
He shook his head. "I'm still getting scattered reports of Reaper forces arriving. Something big is brewing." A fervent gleam entered his eyes. "I won't let those things take Tuchanka, not when we're about to cure the genophage. My people have had enough bad luck in our time."
"But you've kept on fighting," I observed. "Like 'Eve.' Back on Sur'Kesh, it looked like she could hold her own."
"Our females don't lack for spirit," he said proudly. "For males, a good show of force sorts things out. But females like to talk about it. Then… think about it." His face scrunched up with bewilderment. "Then… talk about it some more."
"Human females aren't much different," I confided. "But it's not always a bad thing. Women have good ideas, Wrex. You should listen. I've got a mom. And a sister. I should know."
"Yeah, but they have so many of them," he groaned. "So sometimes I pretend to listen and… well, let's just say krogan females have tempers too."
I couldn't help but burst into laughter. "Gee, Wrex, can't say I blame them."
Wrex curled his lip at me. I just laughed harder. "That's it for now, Wrex," I finally gasped. "Let's get back to work."
"Any time. And Shepard."
"Yeah?"
"I like what you've done with the Normandy," he told me. "Got tired of always hanging around the cargo bay before. I still don't have a window like Liara does, but it's progress."
"You know, you were always free to wander around the last time," I said.
"Yeah, yeah. Wish I could knock some heads around with you, but duty calls. If the salarian says my DNA's important, who am I to argue?"
He seemed really proud of that for some reason.
As I left the War Room, I eavesdropped on the guards' conversation. "You'd think the salarians would have a base on their homeworld secured better," Westmoreland was saying.
Campbell disagreed. "Nah, they were solid. Cerberus has Reaper tech. Compared to those upgrades, the salarians might as well have been throwing rocks."
"Don't count the salarians out just yet," I told them. "They might not have Reaper tech, but they still have some tricks up their sleeves."
"Yes, sir," they chorused. At least they didn't stand to attention this time. Baby steps.
If I had any illusions that the fragile state of the war summit would remain a secret, they were quickly shattered.
"So, bringing the krogan to a war summit went well," Joker said innocently when I saw him. "You want me to invite the batarians too? Or the vorcha?"
"Laugh it up, Joker," I replied. "Building alliances is the only way we stand a chance against the Reapers.
"Yeah, but the krogan?" Joker asked. "Being buddies with the turians? I'd feel better if we had a tighter plan, like… time travel. Or teaching the Reapers to love."
"I'll tell Miranda to get on that," I said sarcastically.
"You do that. That's why they pay you the big bucks, after all. But I guess it makes sense to get the krogan and the turians onside with the Alliance. They've got so much in common like shooting things and not wanting to die and… um… no, that's about it. Hey, you see Mordin yet, Commander?"
"Not since we got off Sur'Kesh," I said. "He hasn't changed all that much."
"Good," Joker declared. "You ask me, the bad guys shouldn't get the monopoly on mad scientists."
"Damn straight," I approved. Turning to EDI, I asked how she was doing.
"It is good you came by," she replied. "I have questions about the genophage."
"You and everyone else," Joker added.
"What do you want to know, EDI?" I asked.
"A krogan female of breeding age can produce clutches of up to one thousand fertilized eggs over the course of a year."
Uh… I didn't know that.
"There are over one billion females on Tuchanka. If even one percent becomes fully fertile, they can birth ten billion infants."
Which could mean a lot of inbreeding really damn quickly. Though now that I thought about it, krogan reproduction rates made sense. "On Earth, many species have a lot of young too. Most of them die, often due to their environment. I don't want that to happen to the krogan, but Tuchanka isn't exactly the nicest planet in the galaxy. That might explain the birth rate."
"The attrition rate would naturally be high, but the state has an interest in keeping the children alive for warfare purposes."
Yeah. Save the children now so you can send them to the slaughter later. Howling and screaming and charging all the way. Great. "Any other cheerful thoughts?" I asked dourly.
Naturally, she did. "Logistics. Even if they were to side with us, transporting the krogan to the battlefields of Palaven could prove difficult. They have been demilitarized—that is, they have no warships."
"So they'll need to rely on turian or civilian starships to carry them to battle," I concluded.
"Precisely. With your permission, I will make the necessary calls to have these ships in place for when you deliver the krogan."
"Do it," I nodded. "Anything else?"
"Food. They will be unable to eat anything on Palaven. They must bring their own or rely on the nutrients in their humps."
Yeah, anything on Palaven would either give them a stomach ache or send them into anaphylactic shock. "This just keeps getting better and better."
"The krogan will also require sedatives, since krogan fight with others of their kind in enclosed spaces such as starships."
"Make it happen, EDI," I told her. "Coordinate with Miranda: I think I'm going to see if she can do some work in the War Room soon. Are there any last things you're worried about?"
"Nothing that demands your attention, Shepard."
Thank God.
"Mordin sent me a nicely crafted message, though. It seems he recalls our conversations about the salarian equivalent of transhumans."
Uh oh. "If I could, I'd stop you right—"
Sure enough, EDI was on a roll and there was absolutely no stopping her. "Transhumans have some of their brain's abilities, such as memory, supplemented or entirely replaced by cybernetics. Legal definitions vary from planet to planet. The salarians embrace the concept. Humans have diverse and contentious opinions."
Despite myself, I was a little intrigued. "Do my implants make me a transhuman?"
"That would be telling."
"Huh?"
"I'm sorry. That was a joke. You are fully human. Cerberus extensively reconstructed you and installed a considerable network of cybernetic implants, but your brain functions are organic."
"Good to know. And EDI?"
"Yes, Shepard?"
"Don't ever do that again."
After saying hi to a few people, I reached Traynor's station. "Commander," she greeted me. "Nice to see you again."
"How are you settling in, Traynor?" I asked.
"I actually feel somewhat useful," she admitted. "It's been challenging to integrate all the data feeds for the war summit."
"How are the systems holding?"
"Well… I'm glad we performed stress tests," Traynor said. "Let's leave it at that."
"Specialist Traynor has been extremely helpful," EDI added. "The accuracy of our War Room data is a direct result of her work."
Really? Hmm. Can't say I was too surprised. Oxford graduate. Really enthusiastic about her work. The signs were there. But if she was that good, maybe she could pull a couple shifts in the War Room. Wouldn't hurt. Which reminded me: I had to get Miranda access so she could start collating all the data from the War Room, the Shadow Broker network and… the Mysterious Intel Source That Shall Not Be Named in Public.
Traynor blushed. "Thank you, EDI."
"If EDI gave you a thumbs up, you probably earned it," I assured her. "So adjusting to life on an active ship isn't as bad as you thought?"
"No, I suppose not. I'm still getting used to all of this. In the lab, we'd hoard everything. There would be piles of tech everywhere. Out here, it's like living out of a shoe box." (4)
"That's one of the first things that takes getting used to," I agreed. "Space is definitely at a premium. Just think: if this was actually a frigate built to Alliance specs, there would be even less space. Don't worry. You'll get used to it."
"Oh, it's not a bad thing!" she insisted. "I've got no problems getting cozy. Besides, this is wonderful. Back in the lab, we had to hoard because we had no budget. You never knew when something could come in handy or be used for spare parts. Now…" She looked up at the ceiling casually. "EDI, Ariake Tech uses a proprietary smart-processing algorithm that could clean up our long-range data. Can we license it?"
"We can. Analyzing and applying the upgrade now. The algorithm should reduce long-range strategic combat data analysis time by three percent."
Boom. Just like that. "Impressive," I admitted.
"If it means getting the equipment and programs I need, I can quite happily live out of a shoe box," she grinned.
"Clearly," I grinned back. "Anything else?"
"I've set up a secure communication link with the turian and salarian governments so we can add their combat data to our boards. Hopefully it'll give us some idea of what's going on."
"Good work. Carry on, Traynor."
The first place I visited when I hit Deck Three was sickbay. Also known as med bay, medical bay and a couple other names I couldn't be bothered to remember. Why? Because I swear some bean counter had nothing better to do than to think up names for—oh, you mean why go to sickbay? Not because I was sick. I wasn't sick. Maybe I had a death wish. And, lately, I had developed a bad case of insomnia that was probably related to all the people suffering and dying out there in the galaxy.
But I digress.
No, I was visiting sickbay because that's where Eve was. And Mordin. Which meant new people to talk to and harass.
"Aware krogan females find scars attractive," Mordin was saying when I entered sickbay. "Garrus loyal, reasonably intelligent. Bit aggressive. Almost like krogan."
I'm sure Garrus would love to hear that.
Eve was sitting cross-legged on one of the beds. "For the third time, Doctor, I'm not interested," Eve said, the irritated voice belying the meditative calm her pose might have suggested.
"Ah, Shepard," Mordin said, finally noticing me. "We were just—"
The sickbay doors opened again. Wrex didn't exactly hurry in, but he came pretty close. Sickbay was becoming awfully crowded, I thought. "Are you okay?" he asked worriedly.
"I'm fine, Wrex," Eve replied. "You can relax."
"You can't be too careful," Wrex said darkly. "Or put any faith in salarian doctors."
"This one is different," Eve quietly insisted.
"Is he?" Wrex asked. "What's that?"
Mordin held up a vial of blood. "Simple blood test."
"What kind?"
"Kind that ends the genophage."
Oh for crying out loud. This brought me back to all those stories Ellie used to tell of over-anxious patients—or worse, over-anxious friends and families. What are you doing? Tests. What kind of tests? Insert names of tests. Are they really necessary? Well, yes, if you want to know what's wrong. What's wrong? We don't know. That's why we're doing these tests. What kind of tests? Here we go again…
Mordin turned to me, clearly as exasperated as Ellie was. "Shepard, please. Distractions counterproductive. Also affecting comfort of patient."
"What's wrong, Wrex?" I asked. "Don't you trust him? He was your inside source, after all. You trusted his intel enough to demand Eve's extraction. You trusted him to start on a cure. Now you don't trust him to finish his work?"
"Salarians have minds like a maze," Wrex insisted. "You never know when they're leading you into a trap."
"Trap?" Mordin turned around in indignation. "Eve's release my doing. Would never have known about her if not for me."
"That's what I just said," I agreed.
"That was then, but she's out now," Wrex scowled. "And if she gets hurt, I'll feel it."
"Aw, Wrex, you old softie," I teased. "Should I dig out a violin or something?"
"Understand," Mordin nodded, ignoring my attempt at humour. "But my patient. My responsibility. Her welfare a priority. Will not allow her to be compromised by anyone."
Wrex stared at him for a minute. Mordin stared back. Then Wrex grinned. "Hah!" he barked. "You've got a quad, Doctor. Keep her safe. Our females have endured enough."
With that said, Wrex turned to go. "Don't forget," Mordin said over his shoulder. "Still need your tissue sample."
I swear I could see Wrex's shoulders tense up. Then he slumped over. "I'll be back," he said reluctantly, without any of the swaggering boasting he displayed earlier.
"Common phobia," Mordin sympathized when Wrex left. "Fear of needles."
"Or salarian doctors," I added.
"Now have work to do," Mordin said, sticking the blood into one of the many machines. "Prefer females of the species," he idly added.
While Mordin entertained himself with his work, I entertained myself by chatting with Eve. "Thank you for saving my life, Commander," she said, hopping down from the bed. "I didn't think the krogan had any allies left in the galaxy."
"We owe a lot to you," I shrugged, "even if most people have forgotten that."
"They can be forgiven," Eve said, standing up and towering over me. Wow, she was tall. "Our actions have hardly inspired friendship."
"Part of being friends is knowing each other's name. I feel bad that I don't know yours." Maybe a little obvious, but if it got me an actual name, I wasn't going to complain.
"I surrendered it the day I became a shaman of the female clan," she replied. "I belong to my sisters now. But perhaps one day when this is over, you can know it."
"Okay, no name yet. But shaman, huh? That's a start."
"Wisdom comes from pain—and the genophage has made us very wise."
I liked the way she put that.
"Rather than surrender to despair, a few of us chose to preserve the ancient ways. We safeguard our culture, our knowledge, our secrets—so when our children live again, the krogan will flourish."
Wow. Hope against hope, even when there was absolutely no evidence that things would get better. When everyone treated your people like a pariah. When even your own people had given up. That took commitment. "You know, I met a krogan shaman once," I said. "Never thought to ask: how were you initiated?"
"You're locked in a cave for seven days with just enough food to last. On the eighth, you'll starve."
Um. Yikes. "What does that prove?"
"Your resolve. Every acolyte is given a chance: you either claw your way out through the rock with your bare hands, or you die."
"That's… kinda harsh," I managed. "Sounds like a brutal initiation."
"But an illuminating one," Eve offered. "You learn to appreciate the light by living in the dark."
I guess. You don't really appreciate what you have until it's gone. Found that out when I was persona non grata with the Alliance. "How did you make it out alive?"
"I started digging the wrong way."
Whoops.
"I was in complete darkness. Nothing other than my own heartbeat to sustain me."
Well, that and the seven days worth of food. You don't snark out loud to the woman who wouldn't even tell you her name, but was finally relenting to share a serious, life-altering moment. At least, I don't. "What happened?"
"I found this." Her hand reached into her robes and came out with a rock. "A simple crystal. But it became my chisel."
Huh. I looked it over, then tried to hand it back. She shook her head. "Take it as a reminder, Commander. In the darkest hour, there is always a way out."
Again: wow. Hope against hope. I would've handed it back, but Eve had already refused. Besides, I figured I might need that particular reminder at some point. "Thanks," I nodded, pocketing the crystal. "If you don't mind me asking… what's it been like living with the genophage?"
Eve's head bowed. "I knew sisters who couldn't bear the shame of being infertile. They would wander off into the wastelands, hoping a thresher maw would kill them and end their torment."
"Did… did the thought ever enter your mind?" I asked tentatively.
There was a pause.
"Yes. After my first stillborn."
Oh geez. One downside of my obsessive curiosity: sometimes I don't know when to stop. "Oh… I… I'm so sorry. What kept you from… how did you… move…?"
Thankfully Eve guessed what I was trying to ask and answered before I could draw out the misery any longer. "When my child didn't draw breath, that's when my life truly began. The genophage forces us to live on hope alone. There is nothing else. No reason to exist other than the hope that the next day will bring change. And if it doesn't, there is always the next."
Okay. Now I was overcome with respect. To suffer… I couldn't even imagine what she had gone through, and yet she still had so much poise and grace and… and hope. Wow. Yeah, I'd been using that word a lot, but still. "That next day might be coming a little closer than you think," I finally said. "How do you think things will change if—when the genophage is cured?
"Our species will find its balance again. Females will help shape the future like in the ancient days, before we were just pawns of power-hungry males."
"I could see how females might be needed for that," I offered. "Most krogan males I've met seem hell-bent on shooting anything that looks at them wrong."
"What else is there for them to do?" Eve asked sadly. "Because of the genophage, they've become wandering killers, seeking targets to justify their existence, excuses to earn them 'honour'."
That made perfect sense, I had to admit. I had the same thoughts ever since I first met a certain krogan. "Though there's one exception. I've known Wrex for a few years. What's your take on him?"
"When he's not trying to sire half of Tuchanka, he's the best thing that's happened to the krogan. But I won't tell him that. His head's big enough already. Literally."
"Until someone brings him down to size," I shrugged. "He seemed pretty darn happy at being the male who'd donate some tissue for the cause. Then he came here…" I trailed off suggestively. Eve filled in the rest, judging by the way she chuckled.
"All joking aside, he's turned into a strong leader. He has a vision for his people."
"I can see that. I know in his heart Wrex wants what's best for us. Though not all the other clans see it that way."
"Why would the other clans give Wrex trouble?" I asked. "You'd think they'd want a better future. Have they been suffering with the genophage so long they can't see any other options?"
"That too, I suppose," she relented. "But it's never been in the nature of our males to cooperate. They've evolved to be selfish. Their only concern is survival. Wrex is different. He's a mutant in that respect. And that, you can tell him."
"So you don't think Wrex will want revenge for the genophage?" I asked. Yeah, I knew his response. Or the one he was willing to give. But Eve seemed to be incredibly insightful. I was curious to get her take.
"Some clans will expect it," she conceded. "But I hope Wrex resists. He understands the cycle of violence must end if krogan are ever to reclaim their voice in galactic politics. Still, he's just one krogan. If enough clans demand it, he may not be able to stop them."
Bearer of hope and pragmatism about the current state of affairs. Wrex didn't know how lucky he was. "How did you get involved in Maelon's experiments?" was my next question.
"The other females and I volunteered," she said. "We heard Maelon was trying to cure the genophage for Clan Weyrloc."
"And you didn't have a problem helping out a rival clan?"
Eve shook her head. "Rivalries are the invention of the males. Under their rule, Tuchanka has laid in ruins for over a thousand years. It's time females took back our place in society—and resurrected our future. Maelon was our best hope."
There's that word again. "I found Maelon's lab," I told her. "If you can call it that. It looked like a dungeon. His experiments were… horrific."
"We learnt that too late," she acknowledged. "He meant well, but his methods grew more barbaric as he went. We finally escaped into the rubble. Eventually a salarian team found us. They saved our lives, we were so sick."
"After all that you went through, would you go to Maelon again?" I wanted to know.
"Absolutely," Eve said firmly. "It only takes one candle to light a fire. And then the darkness is no more."
Well, that was a good thing, considering we only had one candle left. "I never got to say this before, but I'm sorry the other females didn't survive," I said.
"I know. The youngest, Kurn, was the last to go." The sorrow in her voice turned to… well, joy. "But she knew she would enter the Void free of this curse—and then smile when she looked down upon the children of Tuchanka. Her spirit will be the midwife to my firstborn."
My admiration for her rose yet again. No matter how many times the universe knocked her over or kicked her while she was down, she just kept on going. A trio of beeps sounded behind me. Turning around, I saw Mordin pull up some test results on a monitor with one hand while the other hand typed madly away at another computer. "How had Mordin been treating you?"
"Better than krogan males do. He's not like a typical salarian."
"No, no, no—organ redundancy results in new period before metaphase. Can't alter that. Damage to telomeres, premature aging…"
I turned back to Eve. "He does that," I admitted.
"But I sense pain in him too," she said sadly. "He told me about his work on the genophage."
"You mean… how your people were adapting to it and how he altered it," I stated.
"Yes. I should consider him an enemy. Yet I think seeing my sisters and I changed something in him."
"Asari-vorcha offspring have an allergy to dairy and… da-di-di-dee-di-doo-doo-doo-doo-doo-doo-doo-di-di-di…" Mordin sang.
"Well it wasn't his ear," I said wryly. "Thanks for talking to me."
We shook hands. Eve had a firm grip. "It's my pleasure, Commander. I've only met a few humans in my time. I'm glad for the opportunity. Thank you for listening." (5)
Eve resumed her pose on the bed, so I went over to Mordin. "Hi there."
"Shepard, blood work complete. Indicates significant stress on Eve's system. Maelon's data thorough. Fortunately detailed as well. Have used notes to improve her condition."
Straight to business at a rapid-fire pace. Mordin hadn't changed one bit. Two could play that game, though. "Have you determined why she's immune?"
"Genophage targeted hormone production during pregnancy. Modification project used same modality. Her 'immunity' totally different. Targeted glands now obsolete, like human appendix. Other glands mutated to produce proper hormones, enable viable birth."
"I see. So the genophage and the modified genophage targeted certain glands that were responsible for producing the hormones needed for a successful pregnancy. But now that's all irrelevant because she can use other organs to produce those same hormones."
"Yes," Mordin nodded. "Also explains her weakness. Gland substitution imperfect. Health trouble."
"You think you can make this work for all krogan?" I asked.
"Yes," Mordin said confidently. "Will use Eve's tissue to produce mutagen, alter gland function across entire species. Must improve mutagen as well, tune hormone production. Long-term illness for all krogan otherwise."
Right. Wouldn't want to cure the genophage, only to give the krogan a brand new problem. "So we did the right thing by saving the data?"
"Indeed. Would be much harder to treat Eve without it. Maybe impossible."
"And all those experiments we saw back on Tuchanka?" I prodded.
"Monstrous. Repulsive. But now with purpose. Victims didn't die for nothing."
"So the end justifies the means?"
"Not my means."
I rolled my eyes. "You know what I mean. But you're using the data. Encouraging more experiments like Maelon's."
"Encouragement irrelevant," Mordin said flatly. "Will always be scientists willing to perform unethical tests. Can't change that. But can help Eve. Can cure genophage. Won't ignore data vital to her survival because of unethical origins."
And that was it, wasn't it? It was still acquired through horrific means, but did that really matter if it meant bringing back hope to the krogan people? The same hope Eve so faithfully and eloquently exemplified? Who was I to say another species couldn't benefit from that data just because I felt the data was, in some ways, tainted?
More to the point, if that data meant a cure to the genophage, krogan aid to the turians and, ultimately, aid for humanity, did it really matter how it was acquired? Maybe someday, some REMF or historian would nit-pick these decisions. Right now, I needed a cure. I needed that data.
"Any word on Maelon himself?"
"No," Mordin shook his head. "Ordered teams to search for him when trying to help Eve. Nothing so far. Large galaxy. Lots of places to hide. Could already be dead for all we know. Would kill him now if possible," he admitted. "Unless he could help."
"You always defended your genophage work," I said thoughtfully. "What changed your mind?"
"Never changed mind," Mordin disagreed. "Genophage proper decision at time. New circumstances necessitate course correction."
"Those circumstances being?"
"Reaper invasion. Turians doomed without krogan support. Krogan need unified threat, outlet for aggression. Cooperative symbiosis."
Oh for crying out loud. We'd been down a similar road before. Back on Tuchanka, Mordin had revealed a few things. The truth about the genophage. The truth about his role in perpetuating the genophage and the subsequent suffering of the krogan. And, to some extent, the truth about the guilt he felt.
He tried to hide it. Justify it with cold logic. Point to facts and analyses. Rattle off numbers and statistics. But the truth was that he felt responsible—and justly so—for what he had done. The resulting guilt had been gnawing away at him for many years. Hell, he even tried exploring various religions in an effort to find some comfort and solace. If that wasn't a sign of guilt, I didn't know what was.
In some ways, he had owned up to what he had done. Pushed his government to treat the survivors of Maelon's experiments. Covertly contacted Wrex with proof that there were fertile females who were immune to the genophage. The way he stood up to Wrex and insisted that Eve was his patient, he was committed to her wellbeing, and would do everything in his power to manufacture a cure. But still there was this need or habit to… rationalize and justify. (6)
"Nothing else," I prodded. "No personal stake here?"
"Getting old, Shepard," he admitted wearily. "Not many years left. Already exceeded average salarian lifespan. But still best candidate for project. Few salarian scientists interested in genophage. None with my expertise. Had to be me."
"Someone else might have gotten it wrong?" I repeated his words.
"Possibly. Stakes too high for inexperience. But not about that. My work. My job to put it right. To prove I can."
Well. That was as close to admitting responsibility as he had gotten. I'd take what I could get… for now. "How's she doing?" I asked, tilting my head towards Eve.
"No fever currently. Heart rate elevated, likely stress. Eating appropriately. Could use another blanket. Something soft."
"I don't know if we have any soft blankets, but I'll see what I can do," I told him.
"Good. Prefer to let her recover fully before synthesizing cure. My medical recommendation."
"My people don't have time for that," Eve insisted, speaking up for the first time since I left her.
"Her opinion… somewhat different," Mordin added, somewhat redundantly.
"You care about her," I said.
"My patient. My responsibility," he replied simply. "Found her at STG base. Three doctors injured trying to restrain her. Undid arm restraints. Didn't resist when she grabbed me. Promised to help her.
"She said… please."
He seemed overwhelmed thinking back to that day. Couldn't blame him, really. I let him think on that for a bit before opening my mouth again. "Good to have you back, Mordin."
"Thank you, Shepard. Glad to be back."
"You planning to stick around when this is over?" I asked.
"Until Reapers dealt with, at least. Then… not sure. Have made impact on galaxy. Genophage modification, genophage cure, work against Collectors. Decisions, mistakes. Might go somewhere sunny. Sit on beach, look at ocean, collect seashells." (7)
I burst out laughing. "Who're you kidding? You'd go crazy inside an hour."
Mordin conceded that fact with a nod. "Might run tests on the seashells," he offered.
Clapping a hand on his shoulder, I let him get back to work. Which only took about two seconds: "Maybe with an inhibitor? No-no-no-no, entire catalyzing process would fail. Severe neurological damage. Never mind."
"What are you talking about?" Eve asked.
"Method to extract functional cure without killing you," Mordin said. "Many variables. Your immune system compromised. Considering options."
"And you have to do it out loud?"
"Yes," he said earnestly. "Auditory learner. Need to hear self think, simulate conversation to promote new ideas, maximize productivity."
A more arrogant man would simply say there was no one else smart enough to keep up with him, so he had to take up both sides of the conversation. With Mordin, he was simply being honest.
"But you're talking about me dying," Eve pointed out.
Of course, sometimes Mordin was also a bit oblivious. "Oh. Apologies. Medical details causing emotional distress. Hadn't considered effect on patient."
"No," she waved it off. "It just means I can't sleep."
"Doing my best to keep you alive," he reassured her. "Will avoid… sensitive subjects."
The odd thing was that Mordin and Eve were in the sickbay—med bay, whatever—but Dr. Chakwas wasn't. Maybe she was taking a break. There was no rule saying you had to stay in the same room every second of every hour of every day. Still, it was a bit unusual. So I endeavoured to find her.
Didn't take long. She was holed up in the crew quarters chatting with Adams. "I can't imagine anything so traumatic," Adams said. "Are you sure you're okay, Karin?"
"I wouldn't wish a Collector abduction on my worst enemy," she declared, "but it's behind me now. I'm fine."
Adams seemed a bit skeptical, but he didn't say anything. He just sat there. Let the silence fill the room until someone blinked first.
That someone wound up being Dr. Chakwas. "But it makes me think of Earth, and all the other Reaper-occupied worlds. What are the Reapers doing to the people who live on all those worlds? As we sit here enjoying our coffee, how many souls writhe in agony this very moment? Millions? Billions?"
She grew more and more agitated as she talked, until finally she burst into tears. "Oh, Greg," she sobbed, "I lied. I'm not fine."
"It's okay, Karin," Adams said quietly. "It's going to be okay."
Part of me felt a bit guilty. I was the guy who went around harassing everyone. Listening to their concerns. Their problems. Why didn't she come to me? Was she ashamed? Did she think I would somehow think less of her if she admitted he had a problem? Why didn't I see it sooner? Why didn't I push harder?
On the other hand, I guess you could argue that was a bit arrogant of me. Who was I to think that people would automatically confide in me just because I had the gift of gab—or the gift of annoying people until they finally gave up and told their stories so I would go away. The important thing was that Adams had broken through. Maybe it was something he said, maybe it was how he said it. But he'd managed to get Dr. Chakwas to admit how she was really feeling. If she felt comfortable doing so in front of him, that was fine. As long as she told someone. (8)
I caught Adams' eye. We exchanged knowing looks. Then I stepped out and gave them the privacy they needed.
My next stop was Liara's office. Man. Liara's office. That still sounded a little weird. Anyway, the doors opened just as I was about to step in. Miranda and I managed to sidestep each other before we collided. "Shepard. Did you need something?" she asked, immediately getting down to business.
"How's your search for Oriana going?"
"Not well," she sighed, her face dropping. "I've exhausted all of the leads I had when you met me on the Citadel and most of the ones I picked up sifting through Liara's intel network. There are a few possibilities left, but the chances of them yielding any tangible leads are slim at best."
"Need a break?" I offered.
"What did you have in mind?" she asked.
"Traynor's been running preliminary analyses on the data coming in from the Alliance. Plus, we might be getting intel from the turians and salarians at some point. I think it's time you started pulling some shifts in the War Room and crunching the numbers."
"You don't think it's too soon?" she asked. "That people won't start asking questions?"
"By now, news of your efforts to stop the Collectors, your decision to cut ties with Cerberus and your role in the missions we've completed so far has spread around," I replied. "If we wait a few more weeks or months to 'prove your loyalty,' there'll be that much more data to sift through and organize. I'd rather you get on top of things now rather than play catch-up later. Besides, Victus and Wrex are in the War Room right now. Neither of them are Alliance."
"Fair enough," she allowed. "I'll meet you there later."
"Agreed." Letting her go, I stepped into Liara's office—yeah, that still seemed off—and saw she was talking to Wrex. "So Liara," he was saying, "still relying on the Protheans for all the answers?"
"It will work, Wrex," Liara replied. "We just need to finish building the device."
"Ah yes. The 'Crucible'."
Again: krogan intelligence was clearly anything but an oxymoron. "That's right," Liara confirmed. "Although I'd be interested to learn how you found out about it."
If she was hoping he would 'fess up, she wound up being disappointed. "Wasn't that hard. There was a big holo of the damn thing in the War Room, after all. Lucky you keep its location more secret than the fact it exists."
"And I'm sure you'll do a good job of keeping its location and existence a secret, what with you being so famous for your discretion," she said smoothly.
Wrex laughed. "My lips are sealed," he reassured her. "I gotta go. That turian's starting to get a little too close for comfort."
"If you're talking about the Primarch, he's on our side."
"He's still turian. Until the genophage is cured, Garrus is the only turian I'm willing to trust."
"I'm sure he'll be happy to hear that," Liara sighed. "Goodbye, Wrex." Closing the comm, she turned to me and shook her head. "What's that human saying, Shepard? About old patterns?"
"Old habits," I corrected her. "Old habits die hard. We'll have to break through all these prejudices if we're ever going to beat the Reapers. Or at least build enough of a bridge that both sides can go through the motions of trusting each other."
"Wrex trusts Garrus," Liara offered. "Isn't that a start?"
"Yeah. I guess."
"Speaking of the Crucible, do you have any word on how they're doing?"
"I'm monitoring their situation," she reassured me. "A Professor T'Kisha was asking around for platinum to build the Crucible's primary trigger inlay. I sent a ship over with sixteen tons, along with assurances that the 'Shadow Broker' would keep abreast of their needs."
"They must have found that a little unnerving," I smiled, "but thanks for keeping tabs on things."
"Of course."
Liara didn't have any more information for me, so I went to visit Garrus. "Garrus, you got a second? And if you ask whether it can wait because you're in the middle of some calibrations, I might just slap you."
"Well if you already know the answer, why did you ask?" he asked slyly. He ducked as I half-heartedly threw a fist at him. "Joking, just joking."
"So what's on your mind?" I asked.
"I've never actually seen a female krogan before. Seems like they're the real brains on Tuchanka."
"Neither have I," I admitted. "And judging by what she said when we talked; I'd say you're right on the money."
"You talked—of course you did."
"Yeah. Talked to Mordin too."
"Good to see he's still alive and kicking—and still finding new ways to cause trouble."
"It's Mordin," I pointed out. "Would you expect any less?"
"Point. But going back to the female… they say female krogan have a thing for guys with scars."
"So I've heard."
"I've got a few myself."
"So I've heard. Many times."
"Here's hoping nobody's planning an arranged marriage to cement this deal."
"I don't know, Garrus," I shook my head. "Mordin was trying to play matchmaker. Complimented you on your brains. Pointed out your formidable combat skills. Mentioned your scars and brooding good looks."
"Very funny, Shepard."
"No, really, he said all that."
Garrus slowly looked at me. Being the cruel, cruel man that I am, I let him sweat. For a little while. "Eve wasn't interested."
You should've seen the way his shoulders sagged in relief. "I hate you, Shepard."
"No, you don't."
"No. I guess I don't. I do admire—Eve, did you say?—I admire Eve. The things she must have endured, living with the genophage."
"She told me some of the things she's gone through," I said. "I get the feeling it was all in confidence, but… well; heartbreaking doesn't begin to describe it."
"And now, to top it all off, she's her people's last hope," Garrus mused. "Imagine the pressure. Takes real courage to face that. I hope we can measure up."
Yeah. Me too.
Deck Four was mostly quiet. Until I entered the starboard cargo bay. "Hey, it's just an opinion piece," I heard as the doors opened. "You don't like it, don't download it. But at least read it first."
"I did read it. You're saying we don't need Terra Nova!"
Ah, Terra Nova. One of the first worlds pegged as a possible site for human colonization during the first round of surveys back in 2150. Second human extra-solar colony and the first beyond the Charon Relay. At one point, it had the highest population of any formal Alliance colony—before an increased risk of batarian attacks prompted many to leave. Small wonder that any talk of it could touch off a few nerves. "Everything all right?" I asked.
Ensign Copeland whirled around. "Commander, tell her she can't publish it!"
"And that 'it' is…" I prompted off.
"I wrote an opinion piece based on some breaking news from Terra Nova," Emily explained. "The Sixth Fleet was stationed there to guard it, but a Reaper force blew through them and landed. Rather than continue the fight, the Sixth Fleet retreated."
"They're cowards!" Copeland shouted. "Traitors! They're supposed to protect those colonists!"
"If they stood and fought, they would have been slaughtered," Emily snapped back.
"Hate to say it, but she might be onto something."
"Commander?" Copeland looked startled.
"I was there at the Battle of the Citadel, Ensign," I reminded him. "I saw three of the Alliance's fleets and the Citadel Fleet take on one Reaper and a geth armada. They lost a lot of ships that day. Hell, they were still rebuilding when the Reapers invaded en masse. Now I haven't seen the numbers so I can't say for sure. But speaking from that experience, I'd say that the Sixth Fleet would've been hard pressed to stop even one Reaper without any reinforcements."
"That's what I said," Emily pounced. "The Sixth Fleet's retreated in hopes of meeting reinforcements and returning to retake the planet. But if they do so, and the Reapers send reinforcements of their own, then any victory would be short-lived. But if the Sixth Fleet is reassigned, they can guard at least five other colonies that are deeper within Alliance-controlled space."
"Someone's going to take you seriously," Copeland said angrily. "The Asari Republics vote on stuff like this!"
"We'd all save every world if we could," Emily argued. "But we can't. We just don't have the soldiers or the ships to do so."
"You think you can fly on this ship, sit next to us at chow time, then broadcast something like that? That's traitorous!"
"It's Ms. Wong's job to report what's going on and give her readers some understanding of what's going on out in the galaxy," I intervened, speaking to Copeland. "To give them some context of what's going on."
I held up both hands before either of them could say anything. "But," I emphasized, "while I don't want to turn you into a propaganda tool, Emily, I also don't want you to demoralize the civilians whose support we need, the troops who are fighting on the front lines or the politicians whose decisions might be influenced by what they read or watch in the media."
"So what are you saying?" Emily demanded. "Are you going to make me pull my article or not?"
"Let me read it first," I said, stalling for time. "Send a copy to my omni-tool. I'll read it and get back to you within a couple hours."
Neither of them seemed happy about it. I'm sure each of them would have preferred that I picked their 'side.' But I wasn't about to do so without even reading this article that caused this kerfuffle in the first place. (9)
Compared to the standoff between Copeland and Emily, the conversation I overheard between Javik and Liara was decidedly more civil. "You're saying they survived into this cycle?" he asked.
"Yes," Liara replied. We called them 'Collectors,' as they periodically emerged from one of the mass relays to trade technology for 'samples' of various sorts. For a long time, no one knew they were Prothean. Or were fighting for the Reapers."
"And when did you realize?"
"Shepard found out some time last year when the Collectors began a series of attacks and mass abductions on human colonies. He had no choice but to kill the ones he encountered. They were all indoctrinated… and had been for a long time. I'm sorry."
"No," Javik said quietly. "I am grateful. It was an act of mercy."
"Yes. I suppose it was."
Javik quickly brought their conversation to an end. He quickly turned towards me. Perhaps he heard my footsteps. Or maybe he saw my shadow or reflection. "You heard?"
"Yes," I said quietly. "I'm sorry too."
"There was nothing that could be done?"
"Mordin—the salarian doctor we picked up on Sur'Kesh—ran some studies. From what he found, the Reapers had been indoctrinating and cloning the Protheans over many centuries. Each generation grew less and less capable, forcing the Reapers to compensate by adding more and more implants. By the time I encountered them, they were… basically automatons, operating on remote control. They weren't Prothean anymore. Not really."
Javik nodded soberly. "You saw the fall of our bunker on the planet you call Eden Prime."
"I did."
"Then you saw the… creatures that attacked us. They might not have been the… the 'Collectors' you describe, but they were close enough. They were not Prothean either."
"No, I guess not."
We were silent for a moment. "You say this 'Mordin' salarian told you about them," Javik said at last.
"That's right," I nodded.
"Did I mention salarians used to lick their eyes?"
"No," I shook my head. "All you said was that they ate flies and their livers tasted good raw."
"That was true too. How far they have come."
"The same could be said for a lot of us, Javik," I told him.
He grunted. "The salarian asked if he could dissect me. I approved—but only if he could defeat me in combat first. His reply was 'Problematic.' Then he left. I do not understand that one."
I couldn't help but laugh. That was an entirely reasonable response, I had to admit.
"This Cerberus—I do not understand them either. Why your own kind would oppose you."
"Cerberus claims to be the true champions and defenders of humanity," I replied. "They argue that the legitimate human governments have supposedly given in to appeasing the other galactic races. But in truth, they're just terrorists. They want humanity to rise triumphant over the other races, even if it means stepping on their corpses."
"They will bleed the same as everyone if the Reapers are not stopped," Javik said, his tone mystified.
"I know," I shrugged. "And yet, they'd rather try to dominate the other races—and fight the Alliance—rather than cooperate and co-exist with them."
Javik seemed to need some time to digest that. I hoped I was right. Because, on some level, what Cerberus was trying to do was what the Protheans apparently tried to do. And while the Protheans might have succeeded in the short-term, their fate was the same one Cerberus and the rest of the galaxy would share.
"The 'Wrex' krogan offered me a job," Javik said at last.
"Oh yeah?"
"He said whenever I tired of the 'easy life of luxury' on the Normandy; he would give me something real to shoot at."
"Wrex knows what he's talking about," I grinned.
Javik's grunt was decidedly more… contemplative.
"I wonder what the hell Cerberus was up to on Sur'Kesh," James said when I dropped by the shuttle bay.
"Killing the last hope for the krogan or trying to use her as leverage to manipulate the krogan into doing their dirty work," I suggested. "I don't know for sure."
"Well, I'm damn glad we got her outta there safe and sound," James declared. "Cerberus is tough enough without having krogan to back them up. I want all that muscle on our side, damn it!"
"Amen to that," I agreed.
"Like Wrex. He is a badass." James shot me a grin. "I bet he's got some real interesting stories to tell."
"You have no idea," I grinned back.
"Mordin's something else. His mouth moves faster than a frog on a hot rock in the middle of summer."
"Try saying that three times fast," I challenged.
To his credit, he tried his best. He gave up after a couple tries. We had a good laugh about it. "Hey, how's Cortez doing?" I asked.
James sobered up. "Better. Still a long way from okay, but he's better. Said something about wanting to find a quiet spot to watch ships next time we docked at the Citadel."
So he was going to take my advice. Good. "Let me know if he needs anything."
"Sure thing, Shepard."
On that note, I wandered over to Cortez. He was busy doing some repairs on the shuttle. "Sur'Kesh certainly offered me a new experience," he said, raising his voice over the welding torch he was using.
"What do you mean?"
"Normally, I'm not one to fly co-pilot," he replied, "but when an 800 pound krogan 'requests' to take control of your shuttle, you comply."
"Probably wise," I nodded.
On my way back up, I stopped by the crew quarters on Deck Three again. Dr. Chakwas seemed to have recovered her composure, so I lobbed a couple questions in her direction. "Everything okay in sickbay?"
"Yes. Mordin would just like some space to work with Eve."
"He kicked you out," I frowned.
"Oh no. He was preoccupied with her wellbeing and Eve needed time to adjust to new surroundings without strangers gawking at her. I just felt I was getting in his way. I'll return when they've settled in. Or when I'm needed."
"All right," I said. "Don't let either of them keep you out. It's your sickbay. Besides, you're no slouch in the research department. I'm pretty sure you can lend a hand."
"I know I can lend a hand. And when they're ready—or Mordin's research is ready to move to the next stage—I'll be there."
With that reassurance, I headed up to Deck Three. On a whim, I stopped by my terminal and checked my e-mail. Aside from the occasional junk mail—thankfully much less than I had originally found—there were a few messages.
One was a news story with some depressing news about Dr. Rana Thanatopis. An asari scientist, I'd first met her on Virmire, where she was working with Saren, and again on Korlus when she was working for Dr. Okeer—the warlord whose work gave birth to Grunt. Apparently, voices in her head prophesized asari ascension and advised the death of anyone fighting the Reapers. Sounded like that brief stint on Virmire was enough to sow the seeds of indoctrination, seeds that had finally borne fruit.
According to the article, she'd been pardoned by the asari government in exchange for providing research assistance on Reaper tech. Using that access, she planted a bomb that killed five visiting military officers and four civilians, along with injuring a dozen other people. She later committed suicide.
On a happier note, I got a message from Feron:
Hi, Shepard:
It's been a while. I'm glad you made it off Earth. and that Liara's with you. Getting off her old ship was the best thing we could've done. Can't tell you how sick I was of that cabin. And of tripping over that drone. I don't even know how it kept finding me in a ship that big, even after I turned off its tracking.
I dug up some interesting information for you. Talk with Glyph to sort out the data. I hope it helps, Shepard. It's getting rough out there.
-Feron
Good to hear he was doing all right. To my delight, Kirrahe had also sent me an e-mail:
From: Major Kirrahe
Subject: Hold The Line
Commander, it was a pleasure seeing you again on Sur'Kesh, even if the circumstances were less than ideal. It seems fate has decided our meetings coincide with galactic threats. So be it. To that end, I wanted to reiterate that STG will be there to help when the need arises, regardless of the political climate. You were there for us in our hour of need. We look forward to returning the favor.
Best of luck,
Major Kirrahe
3rd Infiltration Regiment
Special Tasks Group
I'm not sure I could properly express what a relief that was. On some level, I was fairly confident that Feron was safe and Kirrahe was sincere in his support. But to get confirmation of that? Sometimes you really do need confirmation of what might be obvious for peace of mind.
Especially if it meant you weren't alone.
On some level, I knew that. To think I was the only one facing this would be a gross insult to the squadmates who had fought beside me, the crew that served alongside me and the men, women and children who were fighting, hiding, suffering and possibly dying throughout the galaxy.
Yet I found myself feeling alone nonetheless. I had known about the Reapers for several years now. I had tried to warn anyone who would listen that they were coming. While it wasn't my fault that my warnings fell on deaf ears, I still wondered whether there was something more I could have done.
And now here I was. Tasked with getting all the galactic powers, large and small, onboard to join the Alliance initiative to retake Earth and win this war. A herculean endeavour that was rapidly growing more complicated and impossible by the day. Even if I did manage to pull off the impossible, we were still betting everything on an unproven weapon that had never been built, much less deployed. Yeah, a crap shoot was better than nothing, but it didn't do much to silence the nagging doubts in my mind. Let there be no mistake: there were a lot of nagging doubts.
So any reminder that I had support was a victory. A minor one, but one that was desperately needed nonetheless.
It was on that happy note that I went to the War Room. Miranda was there. So was Wrex. And Victus. No one was dead. Or noticeably injured. And nothing was broken. More minor victories in my book. "Hi there," I smiled.
"Hi there," she smiled back. Damn she looked so beautiful when she did that. I mean, she looked beautiful in general. Even when I first met her as a fervent Cerberus operative who saw certain things in black and white, she looked beautiful. But when she smiled—genuinely smiled with that certain undertone meant for me and me alone—she looked even more beautiful.
"I suppose you want to hear my summary."
Her… summary. Right. I'd just asked her to go to the War Room and start going over the collated data to get a picture of where we stood. "Yeah, I do."
She reached over to the nearest computer. As she talked, she occasionally opened image files or highlighted some text. "We'll start with the Alliance Engineering Corps," she began. "Most of the AEC has been assigned to assist Alliance forces on multiple fronts, but their best and brightest are assisting with what we now call the Crucible. To facilitate its construction, they have been given unprecedented access and priority to Alliance funding and resources—provided that it does not interfere with troop deployment."
Given that the Crucible was spearheaded by the Alliance, it made sense that the AEC would be involved. Dad often talked about them when I was a kid. He might have joined them too… if it wasn't for his distrust for the military. (10)
"Kahlee Sanders has just joined the Crucible project, due to her past work as a systems technician and a researcher in synthetic intelligence, along with some of the students we rescued from Grissom Academy. Their expertise is already paying dividends. Particularly David Archer—I'm told his theories on interstellar cross-modulation won over many scientists who were skeptical of his age."
That was great news. And I was glad to hear David was fitting in, even if I had no idea what this interstellar cross-whatsit was.
"Next: the 103rd Marine Division. The single largest group of Special Forces soldiers in the Alliance, their ranks include veterans from every galactic engagement—from the First Contact War to the Skyllian Blitz. Their extensive experience and training regimen have earmarked them for the most challenging assignments thus far in the war. Recently, they have been joined by Jack and the biotic students we saved. The data I've obtained indicates that they have already put their biotic skills to effect, generating barriers to protect marines or manipulate battlefield conditions. An… impressive display, I must admit."
I could understand Miranda's reluctance to offer compliments. She was stingy with them to begin with. And when they involved Jack—either directly or indirectly—well, let's just say I wasn't about to make matters worse.
"Now, I wanted to address the status of the Alliance Fleets. I understand Admiral Hackett provided some information already?"
"That's right," I replied.
"Since then, his staff managed to gather additional data. We'll start with the First Fleet. The largest fleet in the Alliance navy, despite the losses it sustained during the Battle of the Citadel, it was stationed near the Charon relay. Unfortunately, those numbers were irrelevant in the face of the Reaper invasion. By the time Admiral Hackett issued the order to retreat, it had lost almost half of its ships. Admiral Ines Lindholm, the commanding officer, was forced to sacrifice a tenth of the remaining ships to allow everyone else to escape."
I winced. "Hackett mentioned that he had to do that on a grander scale."
"Yes, I heard," Miranda nodded. "Sacrificing the entire Second Fleet to allow the Third and Fifth Fleets—stationed at Arcturus Station—to escape. I should mention that they too had not been able to replenish their numbers by the start of this war."
That I was painfully aware of. The First, Third and Fifth Fleets had answered my call and come to the Council's rescue when Saren, Sovereign and the rogue geth attacked. They escorted the Council—then aboard the Destiny Ascension, flagship of the Citadel Fleet—out of harm's way at great cost. And they were still rebuilding when time ran out and the Reapers invaded.
"What about the Fourth Fleet?" I asked.
"Completely destroyed," Miranda sighed. "They were stationed in Earth's orbit. I'm afraid what little advance warning they had made no appreciable difference. The handful of ships that survived the initial attack was obliterated when they tried to flee for the Sol relay."
"Damn," I breathed. "Are any of the fleets intact?"
"Actually, yes. The Sixth Fleet."
"The Sixth?" I frowned. "I heard that they were guarding Terra Nova, but retreated in the face of overwhelming Reaper forces."
"Correct. Hackett's orders. He wanted them to avoid engagement and hold as a reserve force. As you observed, the other fleets were either severely depleted or completely destroyed by the initial Reaper attacks. The Alliance desperately needed an intact mobile reserve to deploy as needed."
"On a lighter note, it seems the minerals that were confiscated from the Alliance when you turned over the Normandy did not have as much of an impact as I anticipated. The material requirements of the Crucible are so enormous that your stockpile barely made a dent."
"Are you saying that, in hindsight, I should have scanned and probed more planets?" I asked, raising an eyebrow.
"Hard to believe, isn't it?" Miranda said dryly. "Though you shouldn't lose much sleep over it—even if you filled every cubic metre of free space with minerals, you still wouldn't be able to satisfy the Crucible's needs. It's that big."
Good. I was losing enough sleep as it was. "Go on."
"I am aware that you have had several encounters with Westerlund News reporter Khalisah Bint Sinan al-Jilani. She has recently balanced her customarily aggressive style of reporting with a heartfelt plea for unity and cooperation amongst all species, which has recently been credited for having a sizable influence on donations for war relief efforts. And you know about Eden Prime, of course."
"Yep. Anything else?"
"Hackett has made good use of the 79th Flotilla, which you persuaded the Hierarchy to part with. He's deployed them in areas near Palaven so far, probably because he is aware how dire the situation is."
I closed my eyes. "I probably don't want to hear it, but hit me."
"The Reapers first attacked the turian colony of Taetrus, probably for the psychological impact of targeting the site of the worst terrorist attack in their history. Despite sending countless ships and resources, the turian forces were wiped out. Taetrus followed shortly after. The Reapers began broadcasting images of its destruction to turian comm buoys to demoralize the Hierarchy before attacking Palaven."
"Yeah," I said quietly. "We saw how that was going."
"Actually, it could have been worse," Miranda revealed. "A Fleet Admiral by the name of Irix Coronati had the brilliant idea of stationing two carriers—Undaunted and Resolute, I'm told—near the relay and ordering them to launch swarms of unmanned fighters and spy drones when the Reapers invaded. They were all destroyed, of course, but not before transmitting a treasure trove of information on the effective range, fleet composition and exact location of the Reapers."
"Which would allow the admiral to deploy his fleet to defend the system more effectively," I realized.
"Exactly. Analysis of that data revealed two key points: the Reapers' weapons had a longer effective range and the Reapers themselves were less manoeuvrable. Therefore, Coronati ordered his dreadnoughts to make a short FTL jump into the middle of the Reaper fleet and open fire."
"Damn." That was gutsy, but it could work. Making that FTL jump would negate the Reapers' advantage in range, while the smaller turian dreadnoughts would be able to move and lock targets faster than the Reapers. "How did that turn out?"
"The dreadnoughts were able to destroy several Reaper capital ships," Miranda admitted, but the Reapers immediately responded with a similar ploy: sending their destroyers through a short FTL jump to Palaven and beginning a massive orbital bombardment. The turians were forced to try and defend their planet against those destroyers while the Reapers were free to send ships streaming through the relay. In the end, Coronati was forced to order a general retreat."
"And that's where we found things," I sighed.
"It's not all bad," Miranda offered. "The turian fleets are still reasonably operable and the militaristic tradition of the turian people translates to a heavily armed citizenry."
Yeah. They would be able to put up a better resistance than other planets. Like, say, Earth. "How about the salarians?" I asked.
She shook her head. "No meaningful support other than Major Kirrahe's offer. I suspect their reticence comes down to three factors: political opposition to the current proposal of curing the genophage, the lack of intelligence that they are accustomed to and the fact that salarian worlds and colonies are farther from the mass relay network compared to other species."
"Why bother with the salarians when there are easier targets to hit?" I summarized the last reason.
"Essentially, yes."
"All right," I said. "Keep working on the data. And keeping an ear out for news about Oriana."
"Anything else?" Miranda asked.
"Yeah. EDI's been doing some thinking about the logistics of safely getting krogan to Palaven, assuming this whole genophage cure thing works out. Start laying out the groundwork."
"Understood," she nodded. "One more thing, Shepard—in light of our recent troubles with Cerberus. I understand that Admiral Hackett had indicated some targets for your consideration, should you somehow have the time?"
I snorted. "Something like that. One more thing on my to-do list, I guess."
"Or not. I was in the process of recruiting some former colleagues and a ship to launch attacks on various Cerberus bases when we met on the Citadel. Send me the coordinates for some of the missions. Perhaps they can help. You can't be everywhere, after all."
No. No, I definitely could not. "That's a good idea."
Miranda looked mildly offended. "Of course it is. I came up with it, didn't I?"
I stared at her.
"That was a joke."
Yeah, it was. Miranda was telling jokes. Maybe miracles could happen after all.
(1): It was regrettable that Urdnot Wrex and Primarch Victus were unable to overcome their prejudices, given their farsightedness, but understandable considering their past history.
(2): Turians call it the 'Relay 314 Incident.' Personally, I think the human term is more accurate.
(3): This happened on one of Saren's bases on Noveria. On a personal note, that was also where I found out the cruel reality of indoctrination, as I was forced to participate in the killing of my own mother.
(4): A human phrase meaning to live in a very cramped room or space.
(5): As Eve found out, listening was one of Shepard's many talents. I suspect that was why she was willing to divulge as much as she did. Up until that point, few outsiders had been exposed to that aspect of krogan culture or the courage to dream of a better future.
(6): Shepard went to some lengths to try and cajole and confront Mordin about this during their preparations against the Collectors. It is little surprise that he would continue to do so now.
(7): Fate, sadly, had other plans.
(8): Another attribute I admired of Shepard was his humility. His true humility, not the false pretensions or mock modesty he occasionally donned for strangers or acquaintances. As for Dr. Chakwas, I sometimes wonder if she chose to keep her pain to herself, rather than weigh Shepard's shoulders down with yet another burden.
(9): While Shepard did request that Ms. Wong pull her article, he did have another idea. At his suggestion, she rewrote her article to summarize Terra Nova's plight and compare it to the situation that numerous colonies—human and non-human—were facing. She elaborated on the realities that galactic leaders would have to face when choosing where to allocate their military resources, but added new content emphasizing the short- and long-term psychological toll that would be taken for every colony that was evacuated or abandoned.
(10): Shepard's father disappeared under mysterious circumstances when he was a child. Initially, he was reluctant to talk about him, even in his personal logs. When he did open up, however, he hinted at the pain and confusion caused by his father's absence.