"Fine." No greeting; no cordial 'how are you' or 'may I come in.' She merely marched in, seized the desk chair, and spun it against the worktable so fast it bounced off with a clang.

"Sorry?" Bewildered, he carefully saved and closed the genetic sequencing he was working on. "Okay?" he asked.

Shepard glared at him halfheartedly. "Fine. Teach me Covus."

He blinked at her, still nonplussed. "Why?"

"I thought you wanted to."

"True," he admitted, though he looked at her suspiciously. "Seem upset. Why now?"

"Can't sleep."

"Ah." He nodded. "Can't sleep, so want to learn a language." His eyes twinkled, though he looked concerned. "Bad dream this time?"

"Don't want to talk about it," she said shortly. "So what's the deal with Covus? You said there's like a thousand tenses?"

"Conjugations," he corrected. "Eleven tenses, four conjugations per tense, ten tenses involving modifiers, with eleven modifiers."

She shook her head. "How do you keep track of it all?"

"Don't," he said frankly, reaching up and detaching his main display, popping out a stylus and beginning to write. "Drop most modifiers once status and identity of all parties is established."

"What, you just don't conjugate it?"

He shook his head. "Conjugate it, but leave off modifier."

"How do you know who's saying or doing what, then?"

"Context."

She snorted. "That's it? Context?"

"Context very important in salarian languages," he told her. "Keeping track of context in conversation very crucial." He eyed her warily. "Context of situations also crucial. Like lack of sleep."

She rolled her eyes. "I said I didn't want to talk about it," she snapped.

He raised his hands, still holding the display and stylus. "Don't mean to pry," he said quickly. "Just concerned." He frowned. "Just looking for distraction?"

"Why do you think I came in here asking for you to teach me Covus?"

He shrugged. "Point taken." He set the display on his worktable again and began scribbling.

"Is that a tense chart?" she asked, and he nodded.

"Eleven tenses, eleven modifiers," he said, tapping the grid he was writing on. "Start with tenses - modifiers not needed if you won't be speaking it."

"Really?"

"Primarily used to establish identities of speakers," he explained. "Or to establish formality - or, in some cases, to insult."

"You can insult someone through tenses?" she asked incredulously, and he chuckled and nodded.

"Continuing to use formal tense and modifiers after identities established considered rude," he stated. "Implies dull-wittedness; implies you must remind what's going on in conversation."

"Weird," she muttered as he continued to write.

He scribbled for a moment before she spoke again.

"Hey, Mordin?"

"Yes?"

"What does Covus sound like?" she asked. "I've heard you speak small phrases a few times, but… what does it sound like?"

"Hm." He tapped the stylus to his chin. "Bem bup pymed salaria, momi zia kaw turia, asaria, bataria; qete heit genesiat - chieh tu genesi, quket bem lemn - me bem lefehlogi, chyalee med show biamn á sag ziyp, bem bup pymed salaria."

"Salaria… turia, asaria, bataria - Hey!" she exclaimed. "That's your song, isn't it."

He smiled and nodded. "I am the very model of a scientist salarian." He half-sang the line. "Melody and syllabic rhythm not work in Covus, though."

"Are there a lot of Covus songs?" she wanted to know, and he grinned.

"Many of them."

"Can you sing one for me?"

"Hm." He tapped the stylus to his chin again. "Have to give me a moment to think."

"Can't imagine you don't have several memorized," she remarked, and he smiled at her.

"Have to pick one." He sucked in a breath, then nodded. "Think I know which one." He set the display down, stylus on top, then interlaced his fingers behind his back and began to sing a slow, gentle melody. "Keikia bemke baw ra, shia ziaebia, noh ilusheiak shah, noh iluban bat, laroh bat, laroh bat, laroh bat, sehk, ilubemak shat."

Shepard sat back and listened to the short verse, toying with the edge of the worktable, listening to the delicate, somewhat breathy language. "That sounds really nice," she told him when he was done, and he gave a small bow.

"Thank you."

"What does it mean?"

"Ah - hm. Roughly translated, of course… Means 'there is light at the end, if we don't give in, we will be there soon, and you can breathe; just breathe, just breathe, just breathe, we will be okay.'"

"Sounds… nice," she repeated, and he frowned slightly.

"Don't like it?"

"Hm? Oh, no. No, it's not that." She heaved a sigh. "It did sound really good. I like the way Covus sounds, honestly. Breathy but not hollow, you know?" She shrugged, and leaned her elbows on the worktable. "It just… feels a little unattainable."

"Too idealistic?" he asked kindly, and she shrugged.

"I guess so."

"Thought it would be a good song for you, though."

"Yeah?"

"Yes." He inhaled sharply again. "Stressed, obviously. Idea of 'light at the end' possibly comforting."

"So long as it's not me dying," she said sourly, and he grimaced.

"Preferably not."

"What's the song called?"

"'Bemke baw ra,'" he said. "'The light at the end.'"

"Bem-ke baw ra."

"No. First syllable cross between b and v ," he explained. "Odd sound in English. More similar to Spanish."

"Oh. B… beh… bhemke?"

"Good. Then pronounce 'h' sound, like in hm."

"'Bheh-mke. "

"Good. Same with baw." He tapped his fingers together. "Salarian has accent mark that acts like a letter 'h' - technically sounds like slurred version of bah-u ."

"Bheh-mke bah-w?"

He nodded appreciatively. "All together?"

"Bhehmke bahw ra, " she repeated, and he nodded and clapped his hands together.

"Perfect."

"The pronunciation feels weird," she complained.

"Salarian muscle - including tongue and lips - more flexible. Makes sense." He shrugged. "English pronunciation weird to me."

She snorted. "I could make a joke there," she mumbled absently, and he waved a hand.

"Garrus-like joke," he quipped, and she grinned.

"What else can you tell me about Covus?"

"Hm." He leaned on the table, elbows bowing slightly outward. "Compared to English, has fewer tenses, actually, but more conjugations. Also has more simplistic word order."

"More simplistic?"

He nodded. "In English, can have the same sentence with many different arrangements. Word order in Covus more prescribed."

"Huh. Can you give an example?"

"Hm. 'I could make a joke there,' or 'A joke is something I could make there,' for example, but in Covus, only 'could make joke there' is grammatically correct. As very simple explanation."

"Does it ever get confusing?"

"Not for me. Simple language at its core. Efficient for information."

"That fits," she mused, and he nodded again.

"Information primary cause for identity modifiers, too," he noted.

"Also makes sense."

"Language follows function," he agreed. "Different sociological needs, language evolves in different ways."

"What got you so interested in this, anyway?" she asked him curiously.

"Translators," he answered simply. "Don't like them."

"So you've said." She stretched, and leaned on the table. "But why?"

He paused. "Don't like information lost in translation," he said finally.

"Is that all?" she asked suspiciously, and he gave a funny half-shrug.

"Must there be more?"

"Seems an awfully simple answer for the trouble you've taken learning languages." She gave a lopsided grin. "Plus, your body language is leaning to the left."

He shifted his weight from one foot to the other. "Perceptive," he finally said evenly, and she pressed her lips together.

"Should I not?"

He paused, then relented and shook his head. "No," he replied. "Okay - just surprised." He shifted his weight back. "Not many humans bother picking up on salarian body language like that."

"I like to know my crew," she said mildly. "That involves how they communicate."

He gave her an odd look. "Would have made a good scientist," he stated after a moment, and she laughed.

"I doubt it."

"No, serious. Attention to detail. Would have made good sociologist or psychologist," he told her honestly.

"As sciences?"

"Of course as sciences." He leaned forward on the table. "Sociology, psychology - both underrated sciences."

"I guess I shouldn't be surprised," she mused. "You're quite the odd one, you know."

That drew a laugh out of him. "So have been told."

"Are you going to tell me about the translators?" she wanted to know, and he grimaced.

"Maybe," he said.

"I'm quite curious. But I also won't pry if you really don't want me to, body language or not."

"Body language cannot be faked," he told her plainly. "But appreciate it."

"Like, at all?"

"Like human trying to fake yawn. Typically easy to spot."

"Humans can fake yawns," she said, and he shook his head.

"Sometimes can trigger yawns," he conceded, "but rarely fake them fully."

"I guess. I can't say I've ever really paid attention to people's yawns," she admitted, and he chuckled.

"Get the point, though, yes?"

"Yeah." She shrugged. "Does that mean I can keep prodding about the translators?"

He rolled his eyes, but didn't deny her. "Why so curious?"

"Partly because that's an awful lot of trouble to go through just to avoid translators," she remarked, "but also partly because I want to know if it's going to be any trouble. If we find someone who doesn't speak a language you know, will there be an issue?"

"Ah," he said. "Practical."

She winced. "Sorry. Not to go all 'Commander' on you."

"No worry at all," he said rather gallantly. "Appreciate it."

"Really?"

"Means you're paying attention," he said, reaching up and tweaking her nose. "Means you want team to work."

"Of course I do."

He shook his head. "Leadership quality," he noted. "Not all people see that way."

She made a face. "Well, I do."

"Appreciate it," he repeated. "Translators."

"Translators," she agreed. "Tell me about it."

"Earlier statement still true - don't like information lost," he told her. "Don't realize how much information lost until reading or hearing things literally. Cultural information, grammatical information - some languages have tenses others do not, some languages have words others do not, all gets approximated by translators." He chuckled. "Also, don't like lack of lip sync," he quipped.

"Lip sync?"

"Ever noticed how someone's lips may still move after speaking?" he asked lightly. "Means sentence is longer in native language."

"Can't say I have," she admitted.

He gave her an admonishing look. "Pay attention to it," he told her. "Information lost."

"Weird. But it makes sense."

He nodded. "So - don't like approximation." He shook his head. "Irritating."

"Does it ever get irritating for the rest of us to always have translators?" she asked him, and he shook his head.

"Sometimes." He tapped a finger on his worktable. "Only when translators cause misunderstandings."

"Yeah," she commented. "One of my sociology classes back in the academy actually had a lesson section on that."

"Good," he approved. "Important to know. Avoid conflicts if based on misunderstanding rather than intent."

"Yeah." She nodded slowly. "So… don't like approximation. What else?"

"Don't like things in my head."

She paused. "It's not, though, is it?" she asked curiously. "It's just audio."

He shook his head slowly. "Information," he said. "Information fed directly to you, modified by tech…" He continued to shake his head. "Incorrect information fed real-time. Don't like it."

"Incorrect information?"

He grimaced. "Remember how sociological needs shape language?" he asked, and she nodded. "Language influences thinking, too." He splayed his hands across the worktable. "If language has no word for something, makes it difficult to think of that thing, no?" He tapped his fingers on the table, expression thoughtful. "For example - Mandarin Chinese has word for individual attention, needs fulfilled, consideration to familial ties to allow familial thriving that has no English word." He furrowed his brow, thinking. "Covus has similar concept, though. In Mandarin - tǐ tiē - and in Covus - kirlirakh. Technically different meanings, but very similar." He glanced at Shepard. "Concept conceivable for you, but haven't thought of it as singular thing until possibly now."

"Okay," she said slowly. "But if the concept exists, then…"

"Ah," he said, holding up a finger, "but doesn't, as singular concept. Only as compound, something made of other things. Like only thinking of number five as 'two plus three' instead of independent concept of five."

"Ah." She leaned forward onto her elbows. "So it's like a limited understanding of the thing."

"Exactly." He nodded. "Extrapolate that. Translators may feed incorrect information, influence way of thinking." He inclined his head, still tapping his fingers on the table, inviting her to add to the line of thought.

She complied. "So if translators give you incorrect information, then you're worried they'll give you incorrect ideas about the world," she realized.

He snapped his fingers and pointed at her. "Exactly." He shook his head. "Don't like things in my head. Prefer to know exactly what is going on."

"That's a really rounded way of looking at things," she observed. "Kind of makes me worry about my own translator."

"Can always teach you language," he offered with a slight smile, which she returned.

"Might take you up on that," she admitted. "Besides, it wouldn't ever hurt to have a backup in case the translators fail."

He inclined his head in agreement. "True."

"With your emphasis on language, though…" She glanced to the side, pensive, then back to him. "Why do you phrase it as 'don't like things in my head?'"

He smiled, the expression tired, but looked begrudgingly approving nonetheless. "Caught that, did you."

She shrugged. "Curious."

He leaned back and steepled his fingers, then held that pose for a minute. She let him; he needed to think. "Private matter," he finally said. "Will tell you next time."

She looked surprised. "You don't have to, you know."

"Important information. May affect a future mission if encountering someone with no common language."

"Are you sure?" she wanted to know. "The rest of us have translators; we could make do."

"No." He shook his head. "Were right, about the body language. Forlia - 'clan secret,' invites exploration, suspicion, compared to forkes, 'clutch secret,' dangerous secret." He gave her an odd look, a mix of approval and sheepishness. "Well caught."

"Oh." She looked at him strangely, taken aback. "Well - thank you, I guess."

"Will tell you next time," he promised. "Next time."

Author's Notes: Now we get to Covus!

First of all, many thanks to my friend Alec who allowed me to translate a line of his song, Light at the End, for this chapter.

Second, another note about Covus pronunciation: they have an accent mark that acts like the letter H, but spelling that out turns things into a spelling nightmare. Example: "Keikia bhehmke bahw ra, shia ziaebhia, noh ilusheiahk shah, noh ilubhan bhaht, laroh bhaht, laroh bhaht, laroh bhaht, sehk, ilubhehmahk shaht" is Light at the End. (Every "bh" is pronounced like a cross between a B and a V.)

Third, canonically, salarians have two sets of body language regarding secrets: one invites exploration and suspicion, and the other discourages it, reserved for secrets deemed "dangerous" in some form or another. I headcanon that inclinations to the left are a rough rule of thumb for the "exploration and suspicion" one, to the right for the "deemed dangerous" one. Not exact, but a rule of thumb.

Fourth, don't get me started on how language limits your thinking. If you don't know what "newspeak" is, google it, and you're in for a trip. It's fictional, but psychologically, language does change how we think. Anyway - it's very fun to google "words with no translation" or something like that and see what pops up. Mandarin has some interesting ones.

And finally... Mordin singing. I love it. I had to. I've been listening to Gilbert and Sullivan and just imagining Mordin singing all the songs.