A/N: "Epimetheus" means "hindsight." In Greek creation myths, Epimetheus was one of two Titan brothers that helped the gods create the world—the brother who, in contrast to the acute Prometheus, often looked back to realize he had made a terrible error.


XXIV

Light-Bringer: Epimetheus

As Shepard had planned, Joker had them in orbit over Tuchanka by the next afternoon. Garrus had been expecting a couple days off while Shepard and Grunt went down to the surface to deal with whatever was wrong with him, so it surprised him when he got a page to gear up for recon.

Still, he wasn't complaining. With the relays, the Citadel was hours away. He knew whatever the rest of the crew had to resolve—Taylor, Massani, Samara; he'd seen it—Shepard was planning to go there next. Sidonis was so close he could taste it. The sooner they resolved this situation with Grunt, the sooner they could look for Sidonis. And maybe there was a little thrill in going somewhere he was so likely to end up torn to pieces. Unhealthy, he noted somewhere in the back of his mind.

He met Grunt, Shepard, and Niels in the hold by the shuttle. The krogan was just about bouncing on the balls of his armored feet. His armor squeaked as it shifted around him. "Tuchanka!" he said. "The great krogan homeworld. I have wanted to see this place. Weird we've been given clearance to land, Shepard. Tank says only traders are usually allowed since the end of the wars, and only for a few minutes. After that, they make good target practice."

"Yeah, I wondered about that," Shepard admitted. "We had an Urdnot friend once. I hear Wrex went back to Tuchanka. Maybe he spoke up for us. Or for you, anyway, when we transmitted ahead about your problems focusing."

"You think Wrex is here?" Garrus asked, climbing into the shuttle after Grunt and extending his hand back to Shepard.

Shepard shrugged and took it, letting him swing her up into the shuttle. She took her usual seat by the door beside him. "I asked the Illusive Man where all of you were the first time I met him. To the best of Cerberus's knowledge, at least Wrex was here a couple months ago."

"Urdnot Wrex," Grunt repeated. "The krogan who fought by your side against Saren. A legendary warlord and soldier. He's lived a thousand years. Meeting him would be an honor."

Shepard told Grunt a little more about Wrex. Garrus said his bit—krogan or not, Wrex had won his respect in the time they'd worked together. He'd known a grand total of two krogan who weren't bloodthirsty thugs out to kill themselves crushing the galaxy, and Krul had been crazy in some other ways. Wrex was a warrior, one of the best Garrus had ever met. He was smart, and he did it all without being any less of a krogan.

But frankly, Garrus was more distracted by Shepard.

Does she know how close she's sitting? There was plenty of room on the shuttle bench for her to move; he'd given her that much. But she hadn't. It's not like either of us can feel it. Plate armor. But there her leg was, pressed right next to his—and somehow, he could. Their landing in Urdnot's camp came sooner than he wanted.

The camp was underground, of course. The surface of the planet was still consumed in a nuclear winter the krogan had set off a thousand years or more ago, fighting among themselves. Still, as Garrus jumped out of the shuttle after Shepard, he looked around and found it hard to believe that the krogan homeworld had been in this condition even before the Rebellions. "You brought the antirad?" he muttered to Shepard. The atmosphere on Tuchanka was breathable for humans and turians. They hadn't bothered with their helmets, but the air still made Garrus's plates tingle, and he knew it'd be worse for Shepard. He shivered. Cold, too.

"Applied a double layer before leaving the Normandy, and I've got more in my belt. But I hope we won't have to stay long," Shepard muttered back.

The outskirts of the Urdnot camp were raw and ugly, an open wound of broken concrete, dirt, and oxidized metal. No plants. No birds. The only animals here were varren—and for some reason, a pyjak a krogan fired and missed at darting out through a corner. And by a ramshackle recruitment booth off the docking platform, Garrus saw a krogan and a vorcha in the red armor of the Blood Pack. Great. Let's hope Liara really did keep what happened on Illium off the extranet and out of merc communications. Eclipse knew us by sight by the end. Not that I'd guess they're talking much to the Blood Pack anymore.

The path deeper into the camp ran down some stairs and to the left, but they were stopped just off the platform by an armored guard with a vorcha on a lead. He jerked his head at Shepard. "The clan leader wants to speak with you." His nostrils flared, and he glared at Grunt. "Keep your rutting pet on a short leash. Get him the Rite soon or put him down."

Grunt bristled, but Shepard grew intent. "You know what's wrong with him?" she demanded. "What he needs?"

The guard waved a hand. "There's nothing wrong with him. Just go speak to the clan leader."

EDI's voice came over the radio then. "Urdnot clan reports use weak encryption. I see references to a captured salarian in the logs of the chief scout. Also, I have been unable to access local medical records. I suggest asking the local clan leader for assistance with Grunt's problem."

Garrus glanced at Shepard. "Captured salarian?" he repeated.

"Yeah, we had a couple of reasons to come here," she admitted in a low voice. "A friend of the professor's has been captured. Grunt's more important right now, and I wanted to get a feel for how these guys would react before I brought a turian and a salarian down to the krogan homeworld."

"Happy to be your test balloon," Garrus murmured.

"I knew you would be."

The caution wasn't misplaced, though, Garrus thought as they made their way down a metal corridor. As they walked he heard two sentries talking about what they wanted to do to the turians someday. Perhaps it wasn't very creative, but it was a very vivid description. The upside seemed to be the two sentries were young and sheltered enough they didn't know what a turian looked like and didn't notice when Garrus walked right past them.

Grunt was usually quiet, but he stopped twitching as they walked, which made for a change these days. As they stepped into the camp, his fists clenched by his sides. "This is the great krogan homeworld?" he asked, quietly. "This is the land of Kradoc, Shiagur, and Viool? This chunk of rock is barely worth standing on!" He looked at Shepard, then down. "Never thought I'd miss the tank."

Shepard glanced back at him. "Real life doesn't often measure up to history and legend," she told him. "Krogan or human, we're better in stories than we are off the page. I'm sorry."

Grunt regarded her, then set his shoulders. "Let's find the clan leader and get this over with."

Garrus looked over the camp. Honestly, I could've expected worse, he thought. He heard snarling from a pit nearby and knew the krogan were fighting varren. There still wasn't a plant anywhere to relieve the oppressive gray and brown of the landscape, and the harsh, industrial lights shoved up through the rocks overhead didn't help. But he saw a mechanic working on a vehicle. A store. Guards on the perimeter and friends sharing drinks around a fire. "Tuchanka's in bad shape," he told Grunt. "But Urdnot isn't. Look around. I'll tell you: krogan on the Citadel and Omega don't look like this. These people have pride and purpose. They've got a community here. And they look like they're building something."

Grunt took a second look at the camp and made a noncommittal noise.

The clan leader's position was obvious. They had him set up on a dais, if a mound of pulverized concrete could be called that, and they'd made a big chair of larger slabs of concrete for him to sit in. Garrus couldn't see him too well, but he looked bored, leaning on a fist propped up on the arm of his chair while another krogan spoke to him.

A guard with a shotgun stopped them before they climbed to the top of the mound. "Halt. You must wait till the clan leader summons you. He is . . . in talks." The guard glanced with distaste at the krogan speaking to the clan leader, like he was as bored as the boss.

"You know what tradition demands," the standing krogan was saying. "Clan Urdnot must respond. Your reforms will not go unopposed. You risk appearing weak at a critical time—"

"Spirits, it's an ambassador," Garrus muttered.

"God," Shepard replied in the same disgusted tone.

The clan leader heard the unfamiliar voices. His head turned, and Garrus recognized him. Urdnot Wrex jumped to his feet, grinning. "Shepard!"

Shepard broke out into a smile herself. "Good enough?" she asked the guard, pushing past him. "Excuse me."

Wrex chuckled and clasped Shepard's forearm, pounding her back. "Shepard! My friend!" He pushed her back to arm's length to look at her and nodded approvingly. "You look well for dead, Shepard. Should have known the void couldn't hold you."

"Looks like helping me destroy Saren and the geth has worked out for you," Shepard responded. "Glad we didn't have to kill each other on Virmire."

"Bah!" Wrex scoffed. "You made the rise of Urdnot possible. Virmire was a turning point for the krogan, though not everyone was happy about it. Destroying Saren's genophage cure freed us from his manipulation. I used that to spur the clans to unify under Urdnot."

This wasn't just one clan, Garrus realized. He was standing in the dominant clan of Tuchanka, the culture setting the pace for krogan everywhere these days. But behind Wrex, the ambassador was fuming. "You abandoned many traditions to get your way. Dangerous."

Wrex turned on him. He closed the distance in two strides and headbutted the ambassador, hard enough to make his head snap back. The ambassador scowled, rubbing his head, but stepped back. "Speak when spoken to, Uvenk," Wrex growled. "I'll drag your clan to glory whether it likes it or not." He turned around then to look at Garrus, and Garrus stepped forward to clasp his old companion's arm in turn. "Garrus, still knocking around with Shepard?" Wrex laughed again. "Can't say you look as good. You've picked up some battle scars."

"A few. It's good to see you, Wrex."

"Watch your step on Tuchanka." Wrex warned him. "You're Shepard's crew, and she's under my protection, but a lot of krogan would like the chance to tear a turian apart, away from the Citadel and their fleet. I'll tear them apart if they try, but that might not help you much. Stay close to Shepard." His nostrils flared, and he smirked. "Don't guess that'll be a problem for you."

Garrus cursed the krogan sense of smell; wondered briefly whether Wrex was picking something up from him or from Shepard or both; and as Grunt started to frown, stepped in to fill the silence. "Your concern for my safety is heartwarming, Wrex. Don't worry: we only plan to kick up a little trouble."

Wrex laughed. "I'll bet. What brings you here? How's the Normandy?"

Shepard grimaced. "Destroyed in a Collector attack. I ended up spaced."

"Well, you look good," Wrex said again. "Ah, the benefits of a redundant nervous system."

Shepard smiled ruefully. "Yeah, humans don't have that."

Wrex blinked. "Oh, it must have been painful, then. But you're standing here, and you've got a strong new ship. Brings me back to the old days. Us against the unknown, killing it with big guns. Good times."

They fell into small talk, then, mostly about Wrex's position and plans for the krogan. As they talked, Garrus began to wonder if he should be more impressed or worried. Shepard seemed happy to find Wrex was the Urdnot clan leader, that the rest of the krogan clans were falling in line behind him, but she didn't seem surprised. But for the second time in two days, Garrus realized, they were standing at the epicenter of what could be a major galactic shift—Reapers or not. For the first time since the implementation of the genophage, the krogan on Tuchanka were organized. They were building. Wrex had scientists studying agriculture. He'd implemented breeding programs with other clans and the krogan females—which usually lived separately these days for their own protection. Clans that hadn't fallen in line were being disciplined, sometimes wiped out, by the ones that had. It's a whole new dynamic for the krogan, and it might just work. On the one hand, the Krogan Rebellions had completely broken the krogan people. It was good to see them coming back. On the other hand, Garrus wasn't sure the Council would agree. The unified krogan clans had once threatened the galaxy.

I liked Wrex. That was surprising enough. But I didn't know this was in him.

Eventually, Shepard got around to the reason they'd come to Tuchanka. She nodded at Grunt, and he came forward, chin lifted in a way that was more reminiscent of Shepard herself than any krogan Garrus had ever seen. Don't smile. This is a big deal to him.

"I have a krogan on my crew," Shepard was saying. "He has some kind of sickness and needs treatment."

Wrex stared at Grunt for a long, silent moment. His nostrils flared and relaxed. "Where are you from, whelp?" he said finally, more gently than you would've expected from any sentence containing the word 'whelp.' "Was your clan destroyed before you could learn what is expected of you?"

The other warlord, the ambassador, had come close again, and he was staring at Grunt, too. Grunt didn't acknowledge him but stayed focused on Wrex. "I have no clan," he said. "I was tank-bred by Warlord Okeer. My line distilled from Kradoc, Moro, Shiagur."

The other warlord, Uvenk, sneered. "You recite warlords, but you are the offspring of a syringe."

Now Grunt looked at him. "I am pure krogan. You should be in awe."

Wrex stroked his chin. "Okeer is a very old name, a very hated name."

"He is dead," Grunt said.

"Of course," Wrex said, like it was obvious. "You're with Shepard. How could he be alive?"

"I need Grunt back up to speed," Shepard told Wrex. "What's wrong with him?"

Wrex waved a dismissive hand. "There's nothing wrong with him. He is becoming a full adult."

Garrus sighed. "Adolescence?" Every species in the galaxy went a little insane going through puberty. They didn't have time to deal with whatever insanity came with a teenage krogan. "Can't we just take him to Omega and buy him a few dances?"

Wrex rolled his eyes. "I don't care what aliens call it. Krogan undergo the Rite of Passage."

Uvenk exploded. He thrust his claw in Wrex's face. "Too far, Wrex!" he cried. "Your clan may rule, but this thing is not krogan!" He spat in the cement at Grunt's feet and strode off the mound.

Wrex watched him go. "Idiot," he said mildly, and turned his attention back to Grunt. "So, Grunt, do you wish to stand with Urdnot?"

A clan—Grunt had talked about that since he'd first woken up. Not much that crazy krogan who'd made him had taken in his head, but that had. Of course, his dream was also to kill us all when he found one. But now Grunt hesitated, looking back at Shepard.

She shrugged, smiled slightly, though her eyes were guarded. No one else on the ship could bring the kind of muscleGrunt did. Not even Massani came close. If he joins Urdnot and bails on us, it'll be a hell of a blow to the mission. "Grunt, it's your choice," Shepard told him.

"Big of you," Garrus muttered.

Grunt ignored him. He looked out over Urdnot again, then back at Wrex, and this time, he looked more determined than disappointed. "It is in my blood. It is what I am for."

Wrex was pleased, anyway. "Good boy," he said. He pointed at a set of stairs off to the left. "Speak with the shaman. He's over on the second level. Give him a good show, and he'll set you on the path." His eyes gleamed, and he nodded at Garrus and Shepard. "You, too, Shepard. How many times have you stepped in a mess for your crew?"

Shepard frowned. "He needs a sponsor," she guessed. "Some kind of partner." She sighed. "Okay, I'm in."

Garrus didn't like to think about what kind of 'rite of passage' krogan teenagers might go through to be accepted into a clan. "I'm with you."

"Agh, you were always coming," Grunt growled, waving a hand, and the gleam of amusement in Wrex's eyes brightened. Grunt bounced on his heels. "Let's go. I want to see what this Rite's about."

Shepard shook her head. "Give us a minute, Grunt. If nothing's really wrong with you, there's something else I need to talk to Wrex about."

Grunt's eyes narrowed, but then he threw up his hands. "Ugh. Fine."

Wrex waited. "I'm also looking for a salarian," Shepard said in a low voice. "He was captured by the Blood Pack and brought here."

Wrex nodded slightly, and gestured across the camp. "My scout commander can direct you. He's probably near the perimeter running target practice. Don't take too much of his time. I need a constant watch on the other clans."

Shepard held out her hand, and she and Wrex shook again. "Thanks for your help, Wrex. Maybe we'll talk more later."

"Ah, get out of here, Shepard," Wrex said, waving them away.

Shepard led them off the cement mound and faced Grunt. "Look, I want to go see the shaman about getting you admitted to Urdnot," she said. "But the professor has a friend whose life might be in danger. If they haven't killed him already. You understand?"

Grunt frowned. "What's a salarian doing on Tuchanka?"

Shepard grimaced. "I didn't say Mordin's friend was smart."

"You want to help him first. If it's not too late," Grunt guessed.

"That alright?" Shepard asked quietly.

Grunt rolled his eyes. "He's probably dead. Aliens don't survive long on Tuchanka. Know that much from the tank. But I know you, Shepard. Fine. We'll wait."

Shepard smiled at him. "I appreciate you, Grunt. Why don't we head back to the Normandy? I don't know what the Rite of Passage involves, but it sounds intense. You could probably use some time to prepare."

Grunt agreed, and the three of them started to head back to the shuttle. Garrus watched Shepard carefully. She doesn't want Grunt with us when she looks for the professor's friend. Something's going on. "You and Mordin are going to need backup." Garrus kept his tone neutral.

The only reason Shepard would keep their krogan off a mission on Tuchanka was because there was something she didn't want him to know. She didn't classify much from her regular ground team; he only remembered one time back on the SR-1, when she'd received a call from the Alliance and gone down to Agebinium with Alenko and Williams—one of the only times she'd taken both humans in the ground team—and none of them had said a word about what they'd done. This wasn't a special Alliance operation, but a lone salarian on Tuchanka, friends with Mordin Solus? It wasn't a huge stretch to imagine it might have something to do with the STG.

"No vid, no reports," Shepard muttered back as Grunt climbed on the shuttle back to the ship, confirming his suspicions.

Garrus nodded. "You got it."


The glares they received as they walked back through Urdnot—a turian, a salarian, and a human female—were more toxic than the atmosphere. Mordin kept looking around, glancing longingly at the shadows, the empty space of no-man's land out beyond the perimeter. Garrus saw krogan fingering their shotguns as they passed, growling at their friends, gazing at his head fringe like they'd like nothing better than to pull it back from his head.

"I feel so warm and welcome here," he said in an undertone.

Shepard's lips curved up. "Just keep walking."

Wrex's scout commander was on the perimeter like Wrex had said, identifiable by a yellow stripe on the shoulder of his battered, mismatched armor. Beside him, another scout manned a gunnery post. He fired, and in the distance, Garrus heard the surprised, agonized screech of a pyjak. Pests near the food stores. It seemed like a waste of ammo to Garrus, but he had to admit he was impressed by the scout's accuracy.

Shepard cleared her throat, folding her arms and looking out into the dark.

The scout commander shot her a contemptuous glance. "What do you want, human? You're crowding my hump." He turned his shoulder toward Garrus and the professor, completely and obviously ignoring them. I feel like I should be really insulted, Garrus thought, with a trace of amusement. He wasn't.

"I'm looking for a salarian," Shepard said. "The Blood Pack captured him, and he was last seen around here."

The scout commander did look at Mordin then, with a trace of understanding. "I heard about that salarian. Poor bastard. If it's Blood Pack, then Clan Weyrloc has him. Sent one of my scouts to check it out, but he never reported back. Guess they got him too." He shrugged. "Chief told me to give you one of the trucks. Just follow the highway to Weyrloc's base, if you've got the quads to deal with him and the Blood Pack."

Shepard shifted. "What do you know about Clan Weyrloc? What are they like? And how are they involved with the Blood Pack?"

The scout commander snorted. "They're tough humps, and they're not friendly, like we are. You ever run into the Blood Pack? Mercenary gang."

"We might have run into them once or twice," Garrus said. Figures those scum have the professor's friend.

The scout commander looked at him then, with s-omething almost like respect, and he turned to face all three of them. "Clan Weyrloc started it," he told them. "One of the only gangs with an offworld presence. They're fanatics, totally devoted to Weyrloc Guld. Whatever they did with your salarian, Guld's behind it."

Shepard shot Garrus a little frown. He shrugged. "Intersystemic gangs have a different presence on every world, sometimes in every city," he told her. "On Omega, the Blood Pack are killers for hire . . . or muscle for even nastier killers. I never heard about Weyrloc Guld. Doesn't mean he's not big here."

Shepard turned her attention back to the scout. "Tell me about him."

"Lucky bastard," the krogan grunted. "He's got two children. One of them's a girl. Some people think he's got a destiny. Not me. I had a cousin who won twenty consecutive games of quasar. I'd ask my cousin for a loan, but I wouldn't swear allegiance to him. Luck, that's all it is. Same for Guld."

"Tell me about his base."

The scout commander gestured with his hand, indicating the general direction. "Last I heard, the clan was holed up in an old hospital. I haven't seen it, though. I've only seen Clan Weyrloc from a distance. If I'd gotten closer, I'd have taken a shot. You get inside, though, bring a big gun. Weyrloc's base is crawling with Blood Pack."

"And they don't like us anyway," Garrus muttered.

"No," Shepard assented. "But a hospital doesn't sound too defensible. Why'd they hole up there?"

The scout commander looked down at her, like he was amused anyone so stupid could talk and breathe at the same time. "Any hospital on Tuchanka has to be built well enough to withstand a bunch of enraged krogan. When an injury forces us to switch over to secondary organs, things get messy. Higher thought processes don't always transition properly. 'Blood rage,' they call it."

Shepard made a face. "Any idea what Weyrloc might be doing with the salarian?"

It was pretty obvious the scout commander couldn't care less. "I assume they wanted to torture him," he said, ignoring the professor's set mouth and stiffened shoulders. "You don't take somebody home just to kill them. It's messy. Maybe he pissed of the Blood Pack, and they brought him here for special treatment. No skin off my hump what they do with him. One less alien on Tuchanka."

Shepard didn't answer, but she stepped forward, situating herself so the scout commander would have to go through her to get at Garrus or at Mordin. The krogan met her eyes, and he almost smiled as she extended her hand for the vehicle key.

He swiped the truck key off the barricade and slapped it into Shepard's gauntlet. Only then did Garrus remember Shepard would be driving them over to Weyrloc's base.

"I just remembered, I'm not feeling great," he said, falling in step with her as they walked toward the line of trucks the scout commander had indicated. "Maybe I should head back to the Normandy."

Shepard's mouth twitched. "Shut up, Vakarian."

"Joke?" the professor guessed. "Unafraid to face Blood Pack—ah. Shepard has bad reputation driving ground vehicles."

"Nobody's ever died," Shepard protested.

"Run into a cliff, gone over a cliff, rolled over three or four times and into a ravine, driven straight into a rachni nest, and I spent an average of six hours after every ground mission repairing damage to the Mako." Garrus listed off, turning toward the truck that lit up as Shepard pressed the key fob. He circled the truck, opened the gunner's door, and sprang up into the seat beside Shepard's. "But nobody died." As the professor strapped himself into the back seat, Garrus took a chance and winked.

The driver's seat of the krogan truck almost swallowed Shepard. Her head was actually a little higher than some krogan, but she was so much smaller that she was perched on the very edge of the seat in order to reach the pedals, and there was such an enormous gap between her back and the seat back, that for sure the safety harness wasn't going to do her a lot of good. But she reached across and jerked down the gun controls in front of him, almost hitting the smirk right off his face, and gave him a sugary sweet smile. "That could always change."

Garrus laughed, and set his visor to download a plan for the gun, analyzing how it worked. He started it up as Shepard started the engine. There was a beep as the truck's intranet receiver got a destination from the scout commander. "Here we go," he said, loudly enough to be heard over the roar of the engine.


To Garrus's enduring disappointment, the drive to the Weyrloc compound the chief scout had sent him to didn't provide him with a lot of opportunities to mock Shepard. As they drove up out of Urdnot's camp and onto the surface, he saw a lot of crumbled tile and pockmarked concrete. The earth was pitted and scarred, a crazy quilt of of ugly browns and grays and ruins so devastated it was impossible to tell what had stood once upon a time. The sky was sullen and heavy. Lightning flashed in the opaque clouds, a muddy mixture of yellow, gray and brown. There wasn't a single vegetable or water source in sight. But there also weren't any mountains, cliffs, or ravines to get Shepard in trouble. The krogan truck rolled right over the debris in its path. The ride was bumpy, but nothing like the horrifying nightmare journeys Garrus had had on worlds like Casbin, Chasca, and Nodacrux.

Shepard's smirk grew as they drove further without incident. Garrus mentally added it to the list of her expressions that ought to be outlawed and didn't let go of his death grip on the gun controls for a moment.

Naturally, there came a time when Clan Weyrloc had built up a barricade around their base. Didn't want to leave enemies the option of driving in in force. They had to ditch the truck about a klick from the location of the hospital. Garrus slammed his door shut after Mordin got down, his skin already itching in Tuchanka's toxic breeze. Shepard made a face, unhooked her helmet from the back of her hardsuit, and put it on. The wind hissed over the top of the truck and the edges of their armor, but beneath the wind, Garrus could hear footsteps in the distance and deep-throated baying.

"Varren. Guess they know we're here."

"Guess so," Shepard said. She had out her Locust—against fast-moving targets, Shepard would almost always go for a fast fire rate and tech over accuracy. A missed sniper shot against a krogan or a varren could be the difference between completely fine and dismemberment. Looking side to side at Shepard and Solus, Garrus allowed himself a moment to wish they'd brought Grunt along after all. Or Jack or Samara. All three of us would be much happier keeping enemies at range, and these guys are going to want to get in close. Pretty sure we can handle it, but it's going to be close. What's the deal with the professor's friend? What does he know?

He crouched behind the wheel of the truck as the first varren came barreling around the corner. Solus's cryo blast hit right before his shot, and the body of the varren shattered off its legs. They fell backward to the ground like props. A krogan yelled, and a vorcha snarled.

The roar of a flamethrower started up behind the barricade. Shepard's wrist flexed, and there was an enormous explosion as a vorcha who thought it was a good idea to go up against them with a fuel tank strapped to his back found out how wrong he was.

They began to press forward, past the barricade and into a downhill lane toward the Weyrloc base. The Blood Pack had defenses set up, heavy cover. It made it hard to pick them off quickly, but it also slowed down the varren and krogan trying to charge at them. Shepard took point down the hill, slipping into cover with the professor and waiting for the varren and krogan charges to bring them out into the open. Garrus hung back, and when Shepard or Solus swung out to fire at advancing enemies and the entrenched Blood Pack popped up to fire, he was ready for them. It was just like the simulator at the C-Sec Academy.

"Who the hell are these guys?" a krogan yelled. "What are aliens doing on Tuchanka?"

"Arrgh . . . dying!" a vorcha shrieked, hoisting his shotgun high. Garrus's shot took him right under the left brow bone, and his brain matter exploded outward.

The path to the hospital curved around to the left, deeper into a hill, closer to the safe—or safer—Tuchanka underground. It was slow but steady going, with no real problems. Krogan were big, and flamethrowers were nasty, but one advantage of fighting Blood Pack was their general lack of imagination. No traps, no tricks, just straightforward barricades that could be used against the enemy just as easily, on a grade where they always had the high ground.

Up ahead, a vorcha kept going almost a meter after he died, his forward momentum carrying him on even after eight bullets had perforated his head and throat. The ground here was pitted and muddy—they'd passed the token defenses and had gotten to the place where people were regularly coming and going.

There were four more Blood Pack stationed around the entryway to a hulking, windowless block of cement that Garrus guessed was the hospital they were headed toward. He guessed it was the hospital only because it was the only building in the vicinity; there was no friendly neon sign or ambulance around here to provide a clue. Only a wrecked and gutted tomkah truck lying on its side, smoking slightly. Relic of the last people to try attacking? That's encouraging.

The last four vorcha wanted to catch them in a crossfire. They were stationed on either side of the entryway behind some last blockades Weyrloc had set up for cover. Unfortunately, before the entryway opened up, there were two cement pillars holding up the hillside. It was easy enough for Garrus, Shepard, and Solus to station themselves there and pick the vorcha off one at a time.

The last one fell in the blood and mud by the door about fifteen minutes after the three of them had gotten out of the Urdnot truck. Garrus straightened and followed Shepard up to the entrance. She stopped by the smoking tomkah for a moment, examined it briefly, unscrewed a piece of salvage from the undercarriage, and clipped it to the back of her belt. She didn't offer an explanation, and Garrus and the professor didn't ask. Out in the field, sometimes random usable parts came in handy.

Garrus waited by the door, and when Shepard nodded, he started the hack. A few seconds later, they were in.

The professor was on edge, Garrus noted. He was cool and detached enough in the lab, but Garrus had noticed the salarian developed close friendships. He often ate meals with the doc and welcomed visits from Goto, and Shepard had been late a few times on her rounds because she'd been talking with Solus. Garrus knew Shepard had been a tech specialist prior to her spec ops training, but he'd still been a bit taken aback by her willingness to spend additional time with a crew member. Solus made friends, and quickly. According to Taylor, the first thing the professor had asked of Shepard, back before he'd joined the Normandy, was for her to rescue a subordinate of his from the plague zone. Now this second favor was in line with the first.

Mordin's worry for his friend was evident in his unusual silence, in the way his eyes darted across the hallway ahead, looking for any sign of the salarian Clan Weyrloc was keeping here. The odds weren't great they'd find him alive, Garrus knew. Even if we do, he's probably not in the best condition. Nothing about this hospital looked friendly. The hard rock walls were bare and cold, the lighting harsh and industrial. There was dust and carbon scoring everywhere. From what Garrus knew about krogan medicine, most doctors followed the suck it up philosophy of healing—if a krogan could walk, it was time for him to get his ass out of the hospital. They were big on the strong surviving—less so on little things like hygiene and rest and recuperation.

Still, he could smell cleaning chemicals in the distance. Antiseptic and blood. It was clear this building wasn't a hospital now, but it hadn't been long.

In a way, a krogan hospital was an ideal military base. Mordin summed it up for them. "Repurposed krogan hospital," he said. "Sturdy. Built to withstand punishment."

Garrus gripped his rifle and considered the layout ahead. Honestly, he wasn't looking forward to it. "That's unfortunate. Hospitals aren't fun to fight through." Hospitals had small rooms and tight corners, plenty of room for enemies to hide and hamper movement. If the hospitals were active, there was also the danger of civilian casualties. He remembered one terrible day on the wards when he'd first started out at C-Sec and a perp that had been injured in the arrest tried to escape. Well. We'll hope the hospital really has been repurposed.

"What is fun to fight through?" Shepard wanted to know.

Garrus considered. "Gardens, electronics shops. Antique stores, but only if they're classy."

Shepard chuckled, but the banter stopped there. There was a body on the floor ahead—a body that shouldn't have been there.

There were probably five humans on Tuchanka at any one point in time. The krogan homeworld was basically the opposite of alien-friendly, and the traders and mercs that were willing to take the risk usually stayed in public areas—ports and markets, mostly. They didn't hang out in secured military bases. The human corpse on the floor wasn't just in the wrong place, he was in the wrong sector of space. He didn't look like he'd been dead long—maybe just a few minutes. He didn't even smell, and the open wound at his wrist was still oozing.

It wasn't hard to guess what had happened. Even krogan didn't tend to leave dead bodies in the halls of where they lived. No, this guy had been a prisoner, and he'd used the security breach the three of them had created on the Weyrloc perimeter to escape. The problem was, he'd already been in such bad shape he'd given out right here. There weren't any bullet wounds on him, but there were enormous, orange-purple growths on temple and torso that didn't look like anything Garrus had ever seen on a healthy human.

Mordin knelt by the corpse. "Dead body, human. Need to take a look. Sores. Tumors. Ligatures showing restraint at wrists and ankles. Track marks for repeated injection sites." He ran down the sorry catalogue without emotion or inflection, but hot anger was rising in Garrus's throat. Looking down at the corpse, he was reminded of Saleon's victims. "Test subject. Victim of experimentation," Mordin concluded.

Shepard's face was unreadable, but all of them knew the game might have just changed. This wasn't just about Mordin's friend, not anymore. Something much bigger was going on here.


A/N: This chapter was originally going to be longer, but it ended up working better to stop here. And you're getting it on an off-day—not Wednesday or Saturday—because I had all but the last five paragraphs written last week and meant to post it on Saturday for you guys but didn't. I know I've slowed way down. I was a little burned out after the Illium arc, and there's been stuff going on. But I'm going to try to do better and get chapters to you a little more regularly.

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Best Always,

LMS