Chapter 16: An Encore of Hope

After a harrowing adventure through the tunnels of Utukku, I would have been happy with freeing the rachni from Reaper control, gaining their support and having Grunt emerge from this ordeal alive—albeit seriously injured. To my delight, several more survivors of Aralakh Company emerged as well. Cortez had to make a second trip to pick them up, not once mentioning how much work it would take to wash out the bloodstains.

Shortly after we returned to the Normandy and I filed my report, Traynor contacted me. Seemed Hackett wanted to chat. Naturally, he got straight down to business: "I'm reviewing your report on the rachni situation, Commander. This could've gotten complicated, fast." He paused before getting to the crux of the matter: "I hope you know what you're doing, cutting a deal with the rachni queen. As I recall, you did the same thing three years ago on Noveria—and we got burned there."

At least he was trying to give me the benefit of the doubt, rather than automatically throw me to the wolves like most of the REMFs and pencil-pushers out there. "We only got burned because the Reapers captured her and forcibly transformed her offspring into living weapons, sir. And apparently they had a role in prompting rachni hostiles during the Rachni Wars too. I'll admit that's all based on her word, without any other corroborating evidence, but the fact was that the Reapers used her and her children. For that alone, we can count on her support."

Hackett considered all this before slowly nodding. "I hope so. I'm trusting your instincts here, Commander. But… we cut the Reaper supply of new rachni troops and picked up some additional krogan support. I call that a victory."

"Sir, if you're talking about Aralakh Company, they were basically decimated after this mission."

"I don't know about that," Hackett replied. "Maybe they can rebuild, maybe they'll be disbanded. I'd talk to Urdnot Wrex about that. I was actually talking about the Krogan First Division—from what my staff tells me, it's an ad-hoc coalition force of infantry and vehicles from various clans, similar in some ways to Aralakh Company. Wrex has promised to send them once the situation on Tuchanka is contained and we're ready to retake Earth." (2)

"Wow," I blinked. "That's… that sounds like something."

"I had some concerns about this proposal to cure the genophage," Hackett admitted. "Still do, as a matter of fact. But I can't deny the potential benefits of a grateful krogan people. I certainly can't complain about a promise of hardened krogan troops. So I'll call that a victory."

"Agreed, sir," I grinned.

"I've got to get back to it, Commander. Watch yourself out there. Hackett out."

"Shepard," Wrex greeted me when I left the Comm Room, "you made it out of there. Sounds like I missed a hell of a fight."

"It was bloody, Wrex," I admitted. "We really could've used you."

He made a face. "Too busy talking rather than fighting. Feeling restless, to be honest. There's a war going on, and I'm stuck keeping the peace."

"Between the clans or between the krogan and various races?" Miranda asked. It was then that I realized she was there in the War Room, along with Victus.

"Eh. Both," he told her before turning back to me. "I heard you made some kind of deal with the rachni queen. Another one. If they get out of hand again, it's your ass on the line."

"They were being used, just like Saren was trying to use your people," I said. "I had to give her another chance. Besides, if things go south like everyone says, you'll get some more giant monsters to fight."

"Assuming we're in any shape to fight after this war," Wrex muttered. "Don't tell anyone I said that, though."

"Your secret's safe with me," I winked.

"I heard Grunt managed to get out of there with a few scratches," Wrex said a little louder.

"Him and whatever's left of Aralakh Company. You should be proud of him, Wrex."

"Oh, I am," he nodded. "You know, Grunt wasn't just the leader of Aralakh Company. He was also Clan Urdnot's representative."

"Somehow, I think that made a lot of waves, politically speaking," I said.

"Yeah, but between all the battles he'd faced while helping you against the Collectors and the way he completed his Rite of Passage, he'd earned it. Don't worry, Shepard. We'll get them patched him and back in the fight. Along with the rest of Aralakh Company"

Figured Wrex was trying to make a point to the more conservative elements amongst the krogan, even though Grunt had undoubtedly deserved it. "I hope so," I said. "We'll need them. And the First Division—Admiral Hackett told me you committed hem to retake Earth. Thanks."

He waved that off. "I should thank you. Between Tuchanka and Earth, there'll be plenty of opportunities for them to overcome clan rivalries by fighting a common foe. (1) But that'll come later. Right now, I got things to do. Keep me posted, Shepard."

"Sure thing—"

"Shepard, tests verified. Results promising. Can synthesize for universal krogan immunity."

That was Mordin. He'd strolled in, spotted me and headed my way while giving me a sitrep. All in a matter of seconds, of course.

"Good," Wrex grumbled. "Then you can put your knife away."

"Something wrong?" I wanted to know.

"Mordin," he said, shifting uncomfortably. "He got his tissue sample from me all right."

Oh.

"Let's just say scalpels were never meant to cut where he cut."

Victus and I flinched. Mordin looked around blandly. Miranda tried to hide a smirk—and failed.

"The cure's ready?" I asked, getting back to the business at hand.

"No," Mordin shook his head. "Still need transmission vector. Cure useless unless given to entire species."

"Yeah, I'd say so," Wrex said.

"You're usually full of ideas, Mordin," I said. "There must be a way." (3)

"Of course. Always possibilities. But time limited. Can't create new infection strain from scratch, especially with limited facilities on Normandy."

I couldn't take offense to that. The Normandy's sickbay was for basic battlefield medicine and stabilization of patients until they could be moved to a proper medical facility—like in Kaidan's case. Small wonder that it wasn't equipped to manufacture a new virus.

Mordin immediately began brainstorming out loud. "Groundwater? No, too slow. Automated drones to fire cure through darts? No, too much time needed to reconfigure drones. Intended patients would regard that as hostile act. Voluntary inoculation risky, population too scattered for airborne vector unless, wait, yes, yes, yes!"

Sounded like he had come up with something.

"The Shroud." Mordin's fingers flew over one of the holo-table's computers as he talked. "Constant global dispersion of air particles. Built by salarians to repair atmosphere of Tuchanka." An image of a tall spire appeared, spewing said particles like some kind of fountain."

Mordin looked up and hesitantly added "Also used by turians."

Everyone looked at Victus. "We used it to secretly spread the genophage virus," he admitted. "It ended the Krogan Rebellions."

Miranda conveniently situated herself between Wrex and Victus under the pretense of getting a closer look at the Shroud. A brave move, considering Wrex outweighed her by a considerable margin and didn't look very happy. "I'd be careful who you tell that to," Wrex growled.

"I know your people were desperate, Primarch," I said, "but it's times like this that make me understand why the krogan want to shoot everyone in sight."

Victus bowed his head in shame. "Those were desperate times." With an effort, he raised his head and looked at Wrex. "Many mistakes were made."

For his part, Wrex seemed to accept that apology. At least, he stopped crowding into Miranda's personal space, much to her carefully concealed relief.

"Yes, yes, but useful now," Mordin insisted. "Original genophage strain still in storage at Shroud facility. Can use it as transmission vector, then use Shroud to blanket Tuchanka with cure!"

"You clever little pyjak," Wrex said in admiration. He leaned on the holo-table—which made an audible creak—and took a closer look at the Shroud. "That's our best shot, right there."

"Then finish your preparations and be ready to go, Mordin," I said.

"Of course. Synthesis will require another week. Will be in med bay with Eve if you need me."

Mordin left the War Room as quickly as he came. Wrex followed after a notable pause, much to Miranda's amusement. While she wandered towards another computer, Victus moved to talk to me. "Commander, I never got the chance to compliment you on your skillful extraction of 'Eve' from Sur'Kesh."

"I had help," I replied modestly. "It really was a team effort. Plus, Mordin Solus knew what he was doing."

"Yes, Garrus mentioned the doctor was on your mission through the Omega 4 relay." Victus shook his head in mild astonishment. "I'm surprised a salarian cares about the krogan."

"War is full of surprises," I offered.

"Rarely the good kind," Victus chuckled ruefully. "I'm just happy this one played to our advantage."

"Commander, Admiral Anderson is available on vid comm," Traynor announced.

"That's all for now, Primarch," I said.

"Of course, Commander."

"Shepard," Anderson greeted me. "So I imagine by now you've wiped the galaxy clean of Reapers and we can all come up for air?"

"Funny," I said dryly. "You really think you can pile all the work on me like that?"

"Ah, you're young. You can take it."

I let myself smile before things got serious. "Not quite. There have been a few complications."

"Aren't there always?" Anderson asked rhetorically. "Hackett filled me in on the Crucible and your latest reports. Sounds like you've got some knots to untangle."

"Yep, plenty of the Gordian variety," I replied. (4) "I'm just glad I could take care of one of them for you. If you don't mind my saying so, sir, I gather you and Kahlee Sanders are close."

"I owe you for that one, Shepard," Anderson said gratefully. "Kahlee and I met almost twenty years ago. We even had a run-in with Saren in his early days. I think I mentioned that to you before?"

"You did," I nodded. (5)

"Kahlee and I were… are… more than close."

"She misses you," I offered.

"I miss her," he said quietly. "End of the world has a way of reminding you what you forgot to do. Things you put off because you thought they weren't important or they could wait. And then something like this happens and you realize how much you took for granted. Maybe when this war's over, Kahlee and I will do something about that."

"You'll see her soon," I tried.

Anderson and I both knew those were just platitudes, but he seemed to appreciate the gesture. "I can hope," he said. "But you've got a bigger problem right now—like a galaxy full of scared bureaucrats."

"It's what you hired me to do," I shrugged. "Though if I knew how scared they would be, I might have put up more of a fight."

"And I wouldn't blame you. You were hired mostly to kill Reapers. I hope you haven't been sidetracked by all the politics."

"Nothing I can't handle."

Again—more of what Anderson needed to hear, regardless of whether or not it was true. "What about you? What's happening on Earth?"

"I'll spare you the details," he sighed. "But let's just say a lot of cities around the world have stopped checking in."

"That bad?" I winced.

"You and I knew what we were in for, but everyone else… I don't think the shock's worn off yet."

"Are you safe?"

"That changes by the hour. I caught a shuttle evac out of Vancouver after the Normandy departed. Now we're running from foxhole to foxhole, just trying to stay alive."

"What about the Reapers?" I asked. "What can you tell me about them?"

"They're harvesting everything that moves," Anderson replied. "They're focusing on the big cities, though, which does give us some room to maneuver. Beyond that… we've been too busy moving to gather any meaningful intel on numbers or troop composition."

"You think you can hang on? Put up a fight?"

"Hell, we're still just trying to talk to each other," Anderson shrugged. "Right now, all we can do I organize the resistance at a local level. The situation's too chaotic for anything else. No lack of volunteers at least. Everybody knows what's at stake."

"I don't know how we'll win this yet, but we will," I promised. "Even if it kills me."

"Well, you've already died once and that didn't slow you down," Anderson said, trying to inject a note of levity in his voice. "But let's not tempt fate. Keep yourself safe, Shepard."

"You too, sir."

"We'll talk again soon—and discuss this bad habit you've developed of calling me 'sir.' Anderson out."

I liked to think the last thing he heard as he cut the comm feed was the sound of me laughing. We all needed to hear some laughter right now.

It was pretty clear that the war was weighing down on everyone's mind. At least I wasn't the only one. Small comfort, though.

"When this war is over," Campbell said as I left the War Room, "I hope we find every race that sat back while we bled and get some payback."

"Yeah, that's a great plan," Westmoreland snorted. "Follow war with more war."

"I'd be lying if I said I disagreed entirely," I told them. "But the reason some of those races are sitting back is because they're still getting payback for past grievances. We'd be making a lot more progress building alliances if we didn't have to waste time breaking all these vicious cycles."

"Yes, sir," Campbell said, looking rather chastened. "Sorry, sir, just—"

"Thinking out loud," I dismissed. "I'm not going to court martial you for that, Private."

"Yes, sir. Thank you, sir."

With that, I began my rounds. As usual, the first conversation of interest was in the cockpit. "Don't worry, EDI," Joker was saying, "once the krogan are gone, we'll get rid of the smell."

"While this body has olfactory sensors, I do not have positive or negative associations with any specific scent," EDI corrected.

"Oh." Joker digested that for a moment. "Well, lucky you."

"Something I should know?" I asked.

"You know how Dr. Chakwas improvised a triage centre for Grunt and the other krogan in the mess hall?"

"Actually, I do. She kicked me out because I was 'getting in the way'," I replied. "What about it?"

"Well, I never realized it when Wrex was around, but Grunt and the others? They're a bit loud. And smelly. And loud. Deck Three's never been more empty."

"Oh."

"Speaking of Grunt, how is the big doofus?" Joker asked. "Our little tank baby's all grown up, huh?"

"Apparently he'll be on his feet and killing again in no time." I paused and shook my head. "God, I can't believe I just said that."

"Well, he learned from the best, Commander. Every time he incinerates someone with a shotgun and does that little laugh, he'll think of you."

"Thanks. I think."

"You're welcome. By the way, EDI says it was rachni down there?"

"Yeah."

"I thought they were on our side after you saved the queen on Noveria."

"It wasn't her fault," I defended. "She got captured by the Reapers. She's with us now."

Joker snorted. "Until the next time the Reapers sing a sour yellow note of… whatever."

I couldn't really blame his skepticism. But it really wasn't their fault. All I could do was give them one last chance and hope it didn't all fall apart on me. Though with all the balls I was juggling right now…

"Shepard, I had a question about human behaviour."

Silently, I thanked EDI for the distraction. "Why is it you never have questions about asari or turian behaviour?"

"I tried asking Liara questions about the asari bonding process," EDI admitted. "She said I do not guard the secrets of the Normandy's crew carefully enough for her to entrust me with such private information. The asari word she used translates as 'blabbermouth'."

No comment.

"I think she has become a more private person since becoming the Shadow Broker."

"Tell me about it."

She did. Extensively. So much so that we never got around to talking about turian behaviour or addressing her question about human behaviour. Apparently even AIs can be distracted. Go figure. Joker finally took pity on me and started telling EDI a joke about krogan and salarians so I could resume my rounds."

As usual, the second interesting conversation was with Traynor. (6) "Hi, Traynor. How's it going?"

"Do you know what the hardest thing with integrating krogan combat data with our boards is? It's not the language barrier or setting up a compatible middleware program or even a formatting issue. No, no, no—it's the krogan. I don't think they have any IT professionals. Wait, scratch that—I don't think they have any concept of information technology. At all!

"'Where am I supposed to send this? Where's the Normandy? I can send the data to you even though I don't know where you are in the galaxy? Really? Why is this taking so long? What do you mean I only have so much bandwidth? Do I really have to compress the data? Because I like to let my quad breathe a little if you know what I mean. How do I log into the database? How do I restart this program? Where's the 'on' switch?' I swear to God: when this shift is over, I need a cocktail and a lobotomy—and not necessarily in that order!"

By the end of her little speech, Traynor was waving her arms wildly and her voice was raised enough to attract more than a little attention. Which she suddenly realized, judging by the way she blushed. "And now I'm ranting in your face and making a scene. Which will end in three... two... one..." She took a deep breath and composed herself. "Sorry, Commander."

"Don't worry about it. I did ask how it was going, remember? Listening to problems kinda goes with the territory—and the pathetic bump in salary. Anything else on your mind?"

"While you're being so patient, I suppose I should mention that Urdnot Wrex was… not entirely helpful when I explained my plight," she said somewhat delicately.

"Oh?"

"His eyes glazed over almost immediately and he started going 'Uh huh, uh huh, uh huh' automatically."

I buried my face in my hands and groaned, which was why I kinda missed what Traynor said next. It sounded like 'This is why I gave up on men,' though. Judging by the slightly-too-innocent look on her face, I had a feeling I'd heard her correctly. Rather than address that, I simply said: "Anything else I need to know?"

"Actually, yes. The rachni. My lab studied them, you know. Long-distance communication with no time-lag, the ability to control workers and, at close range, the queen can even speak through dead or dying members of other species."

"So I've seen," I replied. "On many occasions. Glad they're on our side."

"If we can develop instant long-range communication without quantum entanglement... just think of the possibilities. Maybe when this war is over..."

"Maybe," I agreed.

When I arrived on Deck Three, I began with Life Support—which was empty, of course—then moved to the Port Observation Lounge. To my surprise, Garrus had taken a break from his seemingly perpetual calibrations. He was sitting across from Ensign Copeland. "Wasn't the first time I've faced them," he said.

"Really?" You should've seen how large Copeland's eyes grew. "You've seen them before?"

"Few years back on Noveria," Garrus confirmed. Then he saw me. "Shepard, you remember the last time we bumped into the rachni."

"Ah yes," I sighed. "The good old days when the most pressing thing on my mind was chasing Saren Arterius. He was the Council's former golden boy, Copeland, before we proved he went rogue."

"Saren and his minions were trying to extract information from the rachni queen," Garrus continued.

"You saw the queen?" Copeland sputtered.

"Hell, we spoke to her."

"You spoke to her?"

"Technically, we spoke to her through a dying asari that she used as a translator," I added. "Otherwise, it would've been gibberish."

"You spoke to her through... I can't imagine that. The things you've done, Commander... sir... they're, well, amazing."

"Well, it didn't seem that way at the time," Garrus said modestly. "Mostly you're just clawing your way out of one mess and into another, hoping your ass comes along for the ride."

Copeland looked at me. "Close enough," I shrugged. "I try to plan things out. But I usually find myself making it up as I go along."

While Copeland digested all that, I wandered over to Garrus. "How's it going?" I asked.

"Just one word, Shepard: 'Grunt.' There'll be a lot more dead Reapers now."

"Whatever helps you sleep at night," I grinned, before remembering my own troubles in that department. I quickly shoved that thought aside.

Garrus didn't seem to notice, though. "Siding with the giant spiders again, huh, Shepard? Let's hope this finally pays off."

"Amen, Garrus," I groaned. "Amen."

"You know, most people have never even seen a rachni. The Normandy? We're a regular safari tour."

"We should charge tickets," I suggested. "Maybe we could finally afford to buy the good weapons from the start instead of all this waiting and scrounging."

"Maybe," Garrus chuckled, shaking his head. "If I never see another spider again, I'll die a contented turian." Then he frowned. "Unless they have spiders in the afterlife. Damn."

Now it was my turn to chuckle. I did so all the way over to Liara's office. Mostly because I was going clockwise and the other rooms were empty. "Have we found any new engineers for the Crucible, Glyph?" I heard as the doors opened.

"Five ex-Sonax Industries scientists who attempted to reverse-engineer Prothean technology stolen from the planet Garvug," Glyph replied. "They are technically still wanted by the Council for hiding Prothean technology and for questioning regarding the role of Sonax Industries in instigating an illegal war on Garvug." (7)

"I'm sure the Council will forgive that in exchange for their help on the Crucible," Liara said. "Extend those scientists amnesty—and an invitation."

"Right away."

With that settled, I stepped in and got Liara's attention. "Hi, there. You busy?"

"I have time if you'd like to talk." She paused. "In fact, I could use the distraction."

"Somehow, I get the feeling the distraction you're talking about isn't me setting something on fire." Liara didn't crack a smile. "All right: game face on. What's on your mind?"

"How long it took the Reapers to eradicate the Protheans... and how long they'll need for us," she replied, getting to her feet and pacing back and forth. "It took them centuries, you know. We're not quite so widespread, but it would still take at least 100 years. It's selfish, but I keep thinking that if we fail... I'm only 109, Shepard. I could live to see the entire cycle come to an end."

"Only 109, huh?"

"I know," Liara relented. "It must seem strange to complain about a thousand-year life span. I used to think it was sad that most aliens lived such short lives. Maybe it's not a privilege to outlive so many... to witness so much death."

"You do realize that our situation's a little different," I said. "We've seen more action and violence and death over the last couple years than most people would in a lifetime—even an asari's lifetime. Maybe in another life, we'd see something else."

"Another life? One where the Reapers weren't swarming over everything in their path?"

"Don't drive yourself crazy about this, Liara," I told her. "We're still in the fight."

"Only because you're still driving it forward," Liara pointed out.

"Only because I'm too stubborn to do otherwise," I retorted.

She shook her head, partly in amusement. "We finally have other leaders on our side, but none will take us as far as you can. Sometimes I wonder how you do it."

"I did mention I'm too stubborn, right?" When Liara raised an eyebrow, I threw up my hands in mock surrender. "Okay, okay. You're not the only one with doubts. I've got loads of them. And there are times when I have no idea how the hell we've survived this long or gotten this far. I certainly have no clue how we're gonna win this thing, or whether that's even possible.

"But then I think of the people I care about and what will happen to them if I do nothing. Maybe what I'm doing now won't do any good in the long run. Maybe I'm just wasting my time. But it's better than the alternative. Remembering everyone who's important to me—that helps keep me going. Even if it's just one blind step at a time."

"I'm glad I'm among them. I hope..."

"Absolutely," I said firmly.

Liara smiled—a real smile of relief and renewed joy. "I feel better already. Thank you for coming by, Shepard. Why don't we talk later?"

"We'll do that," I nodded.

While she got back to work, I snuck a quick peek at her terminal. Just to see if she'd missed something when she was distracted. There were a few supply manifest reports here, an amusing transcript over Grunt addressing new Aralahk Company recruits there. And a few diary entries—spread out over several years—regarding her thoughts on the Protheans. The most recent one was… revealing, to say the least:

If what Javik says is true, his people were imperialists who left the rest of the galaxy quaking in terror. And I think he would sacrifice all of us without a thought if it could bring them all back again.

I reviewed my old notes today. They're so childish. Did we romanticize the Protheans because we were dazzled by the technology they left behind? Are these really the people I dedicated my life to studying?

The thing with Liara's old job was that a certain amount of guesswork, speculation and, yes, romanticizing was inevitable. We're talking about studying past societies, recovering and analyzing any artifacts, ruins and materials of various sorts. To get a better understanding of how they developed and, in turn, how the development of modern societies was influenced by them. But without the chance to actually interact with them, of course some mistakes and misinterpretations would be made.

Now we had a real, live Prothean. One who could shed light and perspective on his civilization in a way that archaeologists in other fields could only dream of. Only the few revelations Javik had deigned to reveal so far had only tossed all of Liara's hypotheses and theories upside down. Small wonder she was so confused.

I thought about bringing it up, since it obviously—and understandably—affected her. In the end, I kept my mouth shut. If she wanted to talk about it, I'd be there to listen. If I could segue into that subject, then maybe I would. Otherwise, this might be something she would have to figure out for herself. (8)

Since Garrus wasn't in the Main Battery, there wasn't any point dropping by. So I went straight to sickbay. "Shepard," Mordin greeted me. "Eve ready for travel to Tuchanka. Cure still needs work, but will be ready when you arrive."

"Good," I approved. "We'll need to be ready when we reach the Shroud. Is there anything else you can tell me about it?"

"Climate regulator. Counters radiation damage to Tuchanka's atmosphere from nuclear war. Particles emitted from main tower. Form layer that mitigates ultraviolet bombardment, prevents atmospheric escape of necessary elements."

"And your people put it up."

"Yes, when uplift process began," Mordin nodded. Demonstration of goodwill to krogan. Stabilized climate, impressed population. Combined with technological gifts, easy to gain krogan support against rachni."

We exchanged a little more chit-chat before I said my goodbyes. "Nice talking to you, Mordin."

"Will be here if you need me. Continuing to study Shroud in meantime."

My last stop was the Crew Quarters. Dr. Chakwas and Lt. Adams were there again. This time, Chakwas wasn't in tears. Guess she finally started—or resumed—her healing after the traumatic experiences she endured in the Collector Base. "Stop beating yourself up," she told Adams. "It was crazy of me to ask you to join the Normandy back then."

"But I let you down," Adams said. "I let Shepard down. I let everyone listed on that memorial wall down. You had the courage to support Shepard. Joker did. Garrus and Tali did."

"But Kaidan didn't," Chakwas pointed out. "Liara didn't. Nor did Wrex. Were they cowards? I think not." She reached out and patted him on the arm. "Greg, you are one of the bravest and most loyal men I know. There is no shame in what you did in the past. Rest assured that you were meant to be here, right now. We have a war to win, you and I. So clear your head and focus."

"Okay, okay," Adams finally laughed, throwing his hands up in surrender. "You win. It will not be mentioned again."

This time, it was Adams who hadn't shared everything with me and had to confide in someone else. This time, it was Chakwas who was offering support and reassurance. This time, it was Chakwas who I exchanged knowing looks with before quietly leaving.

Lately, making the rounds on Deck Four didn't take up too much time. The only places that had any notable amounts of conversation were in the two cargo areas. This time was no exception. "So... the rachni," Traynor's voice came over the comm. "That must get your mouth watering."

"Can't talk about it," Emily groaned. "That's as classified as it gets."

"I suppose it would cause a panic. But wouldn't the news drive up recruiting?"

"It would also have every Alliance official and politician screaming for my head, give Shepard one more thing to grind his teeth over and, most importantly, piss off a krogan who could pound me into a coffee cup and get away with it because he has diplomatic immunity. No, thanks. I'll just stick with my latest article."

"Which is?"

"The progression of MREs over the last couple centuries. (9) Woohoo."

"Sorry, Emily," I apologized, making my presence known. "I know this wasn't what you signed up for. But I'm hoping you can have a big, juicy breaking story after we leave Tuchanka."

"You'd better," Emily scowled.

"Careful, Commander," Traynor laughed. "She knows where to find you."

"Whose side are you on, Traynor?" I asked in mock annoyance.

"KKrarleghargiogdhsssssssss... what was that, Command-d-derrrrrr... ssssssssshhhhhhhhhhh... you're breaking up. Pffttt... I can't hear—"

Rolling my eyes, I left to pay Javik a visit. "Whatcha thinking about?"

"The rachni. In our cycle, we used them as weapons."

Aw, crap.

"Biological proxies," Javik explained. "It was before I was born, but every Prothean had heard the stories."

"Go on."

"When we knew of them, the rachni spent their lives 'singing' thoughts to each other. But our scientists were more interested in their biology. The rachni were well-suited to harsh conditions, as we discussed on Utukku. So we bred them for violence, selecting the most cunning and warlike of the queens. Then we unleashed them upon our enemies. For a time, it worked—until they became too cunning and warlike, and turned on us.

"We put them down before they could develop any further. We thought they had been exterminated. Yet it seems our experiment evolved into this cycle's nemesis. Along with the Reapers, of course. Rachni prove the universe favours the strong. Our cycle tried to exterminate them, then yours—and they still survived."

"Of course," I said, stifling a groan. So the Rachni Wars could be chalked up to more Prothean tampering. Wonderful.

"There was no such thing as trusting the rachni in our cycle," Javik added. "They were nothing more than animals. But if they will fight the Reapers now, so be it."

Well. As long as we were all in agreement.

After that, my last stop was Deck Five. I'd found that there was a fifty-fifty chance that I'd walk into the middle of a conversation between James and Cortez. Today was neither—I arrived just at the beginning. "Hey, Esteban, for your shuttle being so stealthy and all, you sure do get shot at a lot."

"Well, the UT-47A's stealth systems only internalize heat and high-band emissions." Cortez said that matter-of-factly, without the slightest hint of defensiveness. "So while few sensors can pick us up, our cover is blown as soon as someone looks up."

That might be true. Certainly the Normandy's stealth systems worked the same way. And one could argue that it was a lot easier to see a shuttle flying through a planetary atmosphere thanglimpse a starship soaring through space. Still, you couldn't tell me that hostiles spent their free time staring up into the sky looking for shuttles and could instantly mobilize the second they saw one. I mean, real life just doesn't work like that. At least, I don't think it does.

Though if it did, it would explain a lot of things.

"Time for an upgrade," James said flatly.

"Most scanners and tracking systems don't operate in mid-range frequencies," Cortez pointed out. "Sure, maybe we've been shot at, but we haven't been shot down."

"Yet," James snorted. "Lucky for you, you're almost as good a pilot as you think you are."

"Well, yeah. There's that too."

"How 'bout we assume that the 47A's can buy us a few seconds, tops," I suggested. "Anything else is a bonus."

"Eh, fine, whatever."

"Works for me."

"Still nothing we can do to up the stealth factor, though?" I asked Cortez.

"Not really," he shrugged. "I guess I could do some more extensive work. Move up the annual maintenance, take out components, strip them down and give them a thorough cleaning and calibration, that sort of thing. Other than that… no, we just don't have the equipment or manpower to do anything else."

"Do it," I decided. "We have another shuttle now. As long we have one operational shuttle, we have time to tinker with the backup."

"Can't argue with that," Cortez admitted. "I'll get right on it."

I thanked him before heading over to James. He only had a few things on his mind. "Rachni?" he asked when he saw me. "Really? Of all the things to—it's like you've got the opposite of a horseshoe up your ass."

"What can I say?" I spread my hands helplessly. "The universe has it out for me."

"I'll say," he snorted. "But you're not the only one who's got lousy luck. Or needs a shrink. Grunt is crazier than you—and that's saying something. You're better looking, at least."

"Well, thanks. I think."

The next day or so was fairly uneventful. We rendezvoused with a freighter Wrex hired to take Grunt and the rest of Aralakh Company back to Tuchanka. (10) From all accounts, they were doing well.

Any relief from that good news was short-lived, though. The next day, Liara found out that the colony world of Tyvor had been wiped out. In response to the Reaper invasion, Tyvor's own colonists detonated nukes inside their cities. Brought a new definition to the phrase 'pyrrhic victory.' That was a Friday, as I recalled. The same day that the casualty reports were updated for review on the Memorial Wall. For the last couple Fridays, I noticed a more somber mood amongst the crew during my rounds. People would crowd the Memorial Wall, accessing the MIA and KIA lists. Invariably, someone's shoulders would slump. They might burst into tears. And someone else would gently take them away.

I was starting to hate Fridays.

Certainly Privates Westmoreland and Campbell grew a little frustrated about the state of the war. As they pointed out to each other, the Reapers and Cerberus were mobile forces with no fixed territory or homeworld. That meant no supply lines for us to disrupt or no worlds for us to bombard. It was difficult to fight an enemy that was so, well, elusive. Never mind two. And when both enemies had such a sizable technological advantage, well, it was no wonder we were in such dire straits.

Javik was his usual cheerful self. "It seems you believed Protheans built the mass relays," he told me. "The Reapers are cunning in their deception. Allowing life to flourish, century upon century. Letting us believe ourselves the masters of the cosmos… then the truth becomes known: there are monsters in the dark spaces. And we are their prey."

Yeah. Lots of doom and gloom to go around.

Saturday came around soon enough, though. And things started looking up. We spent most of the day zipping around the galaxy—and no, I hadn't forgotten how bad things were right now. The mysterious Orion had struck again, sending me an e-mail with systems to scan. Not that I told anyone—as far as they were concerned, I was just being my usual self until Mordin's cure was ready.

By that point, Miranda had successfully upgraded the Normandy's suite of passive and active scanners—which were prompted by a previous incident in which our efforts to scan a system drew in a Reaper. (11) She didn't admit it, but I had a feeling she was making up for the past: during our efforts to prepare for the assault on the Collector Base, Miranda had created the Argus Advanced Mineral Scanner. It was basically an orbital multistatic grid of 100 radar-emitting micro-satellites that could compile planetary data for combat missions, geological and biological prospecting, archaeological research or covert surveillance. I used it to strip-mine planets for resources. However, I found that the Argus never made a significant difference in my efforts.

In contrast, Miranda's upgrades were a vast improvement. A single scan was enough to highlight anything of interest within a standard system. Much of it was wreckage from various ships or depots that had fallen victim to Reaper attacks. We scavenged what we could in terms of salvage that could be sold for credits or fuel to replenish the Normandy's supplies. As distasteful as it might be, the painful fact was that they wouldn't need it any longer and there was no point letting it go to waste.

We also found some random items. If it wasn't for Orion's e-mail, I might have missed them entirely. At the time, I didn't know what they were or how important they were. I just knew they were something to hang on to. Their value would become apparent to me later on.

As a result, Glyph had plenty of stuff to look through and found a couple items worth examining on the Intel Terminal. Well, he called it the 'information network terminal,' but you know what I mean.

The first item alone made up for yesterday: it came from the remains of a Reaper destroyer. That's right: 'remains.' As in this Reaper was no more. It had ceased to be. It had expired and gone off to meet its maker. It was an ex-Reaper! (12)

Ahem.

Anyway, we'd sent drones to study its remains-as my mission last year retrieving a Reaper's IFF device had proven that even a supposedly dead Reaper could indoctrinate people. Glyph and EDI had analyzed the leftover tech and reverse-engineered a way to increase the efficiency of our biotic amps, various omni-tool functions and certain combat-related apps. Basically, we could dish out the hurt a lot faster. Or I could make TPTB happy by destroying the remains, for which they'd award me a Citadel-wide merchant discount.

I chose the former. Because I gotta be me.

We'd also salvaged some telemetry data from Arcturus Station—before it was destroyed. Using that data, our VIs could optimize our weapons to increase overall damage or refine our shielding to more efficiently withstand Reaper weapons. Again, I chose the first choice, rationalizing that it would be better to kill the Reapers faster than soak up more bullets. I used a similar method of thinking when choosing how to use a one-time weapon upgrade kit.

Meanwhile, Liara enlisted Miranda's help in decoding some Crucible designs. While Liara was undoubtedly the Prothean expert, she had no knowledge in theoretical particle physics or base-twelve mathematics. And Miranda was more approachable and helpful than Javik.

Mordin continued to brainstorm out loud as he refined his cure, censoring side-effects or anything potentially troubling with nonsensical murmurs. While it might have eased Eve's state of mind, the sheer amount of talking certainly kept her up.

She didn't mind it all the time, though. During one round, I walked in just in time to hear her request that Mordin sing 'the song.'

"Again?" Mordin asked. "Trying to calculate amino acid decay rates."

"You said you would once the tests were done," Eve reminded him.

Mordin sighed loudly, but quickly complied. He took a deep breath. "Ohhhh… better to die to a thresher maw, with shotgun-blasting-roaring-raw, than to play ambassadorial games, with the blood of Shiagur in her veins…

"Off to fight since turians can't, with diplomats instead of a krantt. But she'll be true to Tuchanka's dream, and live and die a krogan queen!

"For… she is the krogan queen! Hurrah, hurrah for the krogan queen! And it is, it is a glorious thing to be the krogan queen!"

It wound up being more of a short ditty than a song, but it was still amusing regardless. Eve laughed warmly in appreciation. I gave him a round of applause. "Still prefer patter songs," Mordin insisted.

"Of course," Eve humoured him. "I really had to twist your arm."

That was less… disturbing than a conversation I overheard during the next round. "Certainly possible," Mordin was saying. "Would require strengthening exercises. Get muscles to support weaker bone structure."

"Right," Joker's voice came over the comm. "Yeah, I can do that."

"Alloy of EDI's body not flexible like organic tissue. Could cause unintentional damage. Recommend pillows, cushions, possibly gel packs."

Was... were they talking about… what I thought they were talking about? I looked at Eve in growing horror. Unfortunately, I couldn't quite make out her reaction, what with the robes and all.

"Okay, that's a little weirder, but… yeah, all right. Cushions."

"Positioning critical to success. Can forward EDI charts, videos with relevant data."

Oh God.

"No, no, no!" Joker hastily said. "Let's, uh, uh… E-EDI's pretty busy with, you know, stuff. Let's… let's… uh, just send that to me. You're not gonna tell anyone about this, right? Like, like Shepard? Shepard doesn't really need to know."

Mordin looked at me. "Ah. Guarantee Shepard won't learn about it from me."

I could picture Joker's head dropping. "He's standing right there, isn't he?"

"I wish I wasn't," Eve sighed.

One wondered why Joker was trying to go to such lengths to hide this from EDI. Even if EDI's mech wasn't right next to him, she was more or less omniscient where the Normandy was concerned. She could see and hear just about everything that happened through the various sensors and Alliance-approved security systems—unless she chose not to know. Regardless, it was clear that Joker's relationship with EDI was growing increasingly more… complicated.

Javik wasn't exactly the chatty sort, but he did have a few thoughts to offer—when I cajoled, prodded and wheedled them out of him. "Your 'Liara' asari asks many questions," he stated during my first round. "You would think she'd never seen a Prothean before. For one who claims to be an expert on my people, your asari knows very little."

"How do you see with only two eyes?" he asked during the next round. "Evolution has taken a strange turn in this cycle."

And then there was this gem: "Your 'Joker' pilot insists I call myself 'Prothy the Prothean.' I insisted he allow me to throw him out the airlock. Seeing all these primitives flying spaceships is… unexpected. And very dangerous."

On my way back up, I decided that we'd spent enough time wandering around. Given the timeline Mordin had given, now was as good a time as any to drop by the Citadel. I was about to access the galaxy map and begin plotting a route back when I saw Traynor staring at it. "Something on your mind, Traynor?" I asked.

"Look at that galaxy map," she said. "Do you know how many strategy games are built from that interface?"

"A lot?" I guessed.

She nodded. "I don't play a lot of strategy games myself, though. Most are too flashy for my taste. But there are a couple that caught my fancy. I prefer chess. You know, I have a set made from rose quartz and hematite back home. I like the feel of something solid in my hands."

"Well, now that I know your weakness, we may have to try a game," I suggested.

Her eyes twinkled. In hindsight, that should've been a warning. "It'd be more fun than playing EDI," she grinned. "EDI doesn't sweat."

"You sweat when playing chess?" I asked.

"Depends on how much fun we're having."

Laughing, I headed for the elevator. The doors had just hissed open when Traynor called out for me. "Yeah?" I asked, turning back.

"Admiral Hackett would like to speak with you…"

(1): Another example of Wrex's vision and gift of foresight.

(2): A cynic would point out that this offer was also a calculated move to curry Alliance favour for the krogan cause without actually committing any troops right there and then.

(3): Shepard was evidently uncertain whether Mordin had told Wrex about his role in perpetuating the genophage and wanted to keep things quiet.

(4): A legend of the ancient human civilization of Phygian Gordium associated with Alexander III of Macedon (more commonly known as Alexander the Great), surrounding an ox-cart belonging to Phrygia's king that was tied to a post with an intricate knot. After struggling to untie the knot, Alexander used his sword to slice through it. The term 'Gordian knot' is often used as a metaphor for an intractable or impossible problem that can be solved by cheating or thinking outside the box.

(5): This would be when Anderson asked Shepard to intercept a handoff of information between Cerberus operatives on Illium. The specifics have been discussed in another compilation of logs and need not concern us at this time.

(6): This should not be construed as a slight against any of the other men and women who worked on Deck Two. Rather, it was a simple fact that Shepard's relationship with them was more formal, restricted to work and could easily be finished within a minute.

(7): A Terminus Systems world populated by approximately 40% krogan and 30% vorcha, Garvug was targeted by a consortium—consisting of Binary Helix, Guanghui Solutions and Sonax Industries—that sought to overthrow the krogan clan-based government in exchange for unrestricted access to the planet. After six months of war, the consortium ceased hostilities and began withdrawing from Garvug. It was later discovered that Guanghui and Sonax were concealing a cache of Prothean technology, which they discovered on Garvug and had planned to use for their own private financial gain. A few weeks later, Citadel Council investigators formally charged 14 of 24 board members, along with Sonax Industries supreme commander Lira Speight—who subsequently died on Omega from a massive stroke.

(8): Shepard succinctly described the dilemma I was facing. I appreciate his willingness to let me come to terms with Javik and the truths about the Protheans on my own.

(9): Meals Ready to Eat.

(10): It seems that Dr. Chakwas and Wrex had some disagreements earlier about whether they were ready to be transported. The resulting verbal altercation was surreptitiously recorded and uploaded onto the extranet. Dr. Chakwas became something of a minor celebrity, much to her chagrin.

(11): I had a few nightmares after that close encounter, though I shouldn't complain considering what Shepard went through.

(12): A reference to the 'Dead Parrot Sketch,' also known as the 'Pet Shop Sketch' or the 'Parrot Sketch' from the human sketch comedy series 'Monty Python's Flying Circus,' which aired from 1969 to 1974.