Dear readers - sorry for the massive posting gap. Winter blahs, burnout, loss of mojo ... no fun. But my buffer has been rebuilt, and posting will be on Wednesdays going forward. Thank you for sticking with me!
When Shepard finally had a chance to check her email, it was just after dinner. She was scrolling through reports from Miranda and Joker and Jacob and a couple of jokes Garrus had sent and a nice but stiff note from Liara when she saw an unfamiliar name. Jeirt? Who was Jeirt? It was titled "You changed my life." How had she changed someone's life today? She hoped it was for the better. She certainly seemed to have changed Liara's, and that hadn't been a benefit to her friend, it seemed.
Clicking on the email out of curiosity, she found it was from one of the salarian workers in Dantius Towers. Only it wasn't meant for her—really, it was meant for Thane. The assassin had been the one to save the salarian from the Eclipse mercs; Jeirt's description of the way Thane had attacked was surprisingly poetic: "He moved like a dancer, grace and power in constant motion." Shepard could see that in her mind's eye, see Thane's movements. He did have a certain grace, a deliberateness and a fluidity of movement that were rare. She wondered if that was unique to him or if all drell moved in such a manner.
Jeirt went on to say that after watching Thane work, his own life as a custodian seemed empty. He wanted to find "something that lets me capture what I saw in him, that beauty, that aesthetic perfection." Shepard had to smile at the description. Most people wouldn't call an assassin at work beautiful—but she had seen it, too, when Thane attacked the Eclipse people in Nassana's office. No movement wasted, perfect control. It had been quite impressive. Jeirt finished by asking her to pass on his thoughts to Thane, or as many of them as she thought appropriate, and since she hadn't yet found a moment to welcome their newest crew member, this seemed like as good a reason as any.
She went down to the crew level and knocked at the door of the life support bay.
"Enter!" He nodded as she came in. "I thought it would be you."
"Do you have a few minutes to talk?"
"Certainly. We haven't had a chance since I joined. No doubt you have questions."
"A few. I imagine you do, as well."
"Possibly. Please." He gestured at the table that had been set up. There was a small cot in a corner, but otherwise the room was bare.
"Do you have enough space in here?"
"I am an assassin; I am used to taking what corners are available. This is more comfortable than many places I have made my base of operations."
"Well, let us know if there's anything you need. And tell Rupert if you have any dietary requirements." She smiled. "He'll probably ignore them, but you might find the conversation amusing."
"I'll keep that in mind in case I require entertainment." He had a cup of some type of liquid in front of him, and he pointed at it. "Would you like some refreshment?"
"No, I'm fine, thank you. I came to tell you I got an email from an admirer of yours."
He raised the green plates above his eyes in surprise. "Of mine? That's new."
"One of the salarians you saved in your progress through Dantius Towers. He said you changed his life, as well as saved it. Very poetically, he said watching you work made him want to do more with his life than be a janitor."
Thane looked down into his cup. At last he raised his gaze, his eyes soft. "Well. Then the day was a success, I suppose."
"Any day you can inspire someone to be more than what they are is a good day."
"You would know."
"Oh. No. No, I'm not sure I do." Shepard thought of Liara again, of Kaidan. Of Garrus. "I seem to have ruined everyone's lives by dying."
"Hardly your fault. It would seem that should be their burden."
"It is. But if I had still been here—"
"It is difficult to know what could have been."
"No, I suppose you're right. I … Now that the topic has come up," she began awkwardly, and then could have bitten her tongue off, but Thane smiled.
"I told you that I am dying."
"Yes."
He nodded. "I thought you would want to know more."
"You said it isn't contagious."
"It isn't. What I have is called Kepral's Syndrome. It is a condition of the lungs."
"Is it genetic?"
"No. You see, my people are native to an arid world, our bodies adapted to dryness. But most of us now live on Kahje, the hanar homeworld. It's very humid—it rains every day. Our lungs can't handle the moisture. Over time, the tissue loses its ability to absorb oxygen. It becomes harder to breathe; eventually, we suffocate."
He described it so calmly. Shepard supposed if she lived with her own certain death, perhaps she, too, could be calm about it. In a way she did—going after Saren had carried with it a high probability of death, and certainly contemplating a trip through the Omega 4 relay promised the likelihood of death, and she just kept working and didn't think about it. Perhaps Thane did as well.
"Is there nothing they can do to mitigate the effects?" she asked him.
"The hanar have funded a genetic engineering program—they should be able to adapt us eventually. But the project has only been running for a few years." He shrugged. "I don't believe my body will still draw breath by the time it bears fruit."
"Could we do something here? The Normandy has a state-of-the-art medical facility."
Thane smiled, gently, as if it were a foolish question. "It is being attended to. If the finest medical minds in the hanar Illuminated Primacy can't solve the problem, I doubt your ship's medic could."
"If you say so," Shepard said doubtfully. She'd get Dr. Chakwas on it, anyway, and Miranda, too. If they could bring her back from the dead, surely they could find a way to repair a set of drell lungs. "If there's ever anything you need, or any way we can make you more comfortable—"
"Thank you. I appreciate your offer, and your concern."
"So will you be all right to the end of the mission?" she asked. It felt like an intrusive question, but she had to know how long she could count on his assistance.
He nodded. "I should be. Estimates are that I ought to be fine for another eight to twelve months. The more time my body spends in humid environments, the faster it progresses." Another smile, this one dryly amused, tugged at the corner of his full lips. "I think it is safe to say that by the time my body is incapacitated we will either be victorious or dead. Either way, I won't be a burden to you, nor should this affect my performance."
"I have to say, you don't act like the popular conception of a dying man," Shepard told him.
With a husky chuckle, Thane said, "Well, you have the advantage of me there, Shepard. You've already died. Perhaps later you could give me some suggestions. Although one could say you don't act like the popular conception of a dead woman—or one risen from the dead."
"You make a good point," she conceded.
Thane got to his feet, moving to the window and looking out at the machinery, his hands clasped behind his back. "I can do nothing to alter my fate. That has become clear to me. What I can do is choose the course of my life up to its end." Thoughtfully, he added, "One advantage of my training is that I've always to some degree considered myself dead."
"Have you?"
He turned toward her. "It is difficult to kill people and be fully present in one's body. It requires a certain … detachment. Don't you find that, commanding people to go forward into the line of fire?"
"I do," Shepard agreed, "but I don't think it's the same. If I thought of myself as dead, I would be more likely to think of my soldiers that way as well, which would lead me to use them less wisely. Lives are the most precious resource at my command—I have the responsibility to care for them as I do my own."
"Yes. You have that reputation. Which is why people are willing to sign on with you. You also have the reputation of someone who gets things done, which is another reason."
Shepard got to her feet. "I'm glad you decided to join us, then."
With that courteous nod she was coming to know, he responded, "And I am glad you chose to offer me the spot. I will do my best to earn it."