Omega 4
"-ultiple fractures. But no sign of intracranial hemorrhage. No sign of brain parenchymal damage or of ..."
Everything hurt. That was important though, that meant something. She just couldn't remember what. The words she was hearing - spoken rapidly, urgently - meant something too. But it hurt to think, hurt to pay too much attention. Easier to just let the grey mist roll over her and through her; easier to ignore everything else.
I'm alive, she thought suddenly. It hurts - I hurt - so I'm alive.
"-and apply medi-gel. Also possible pneumothorax - need to …"
She forced her eyes open. The light was too bright; she blinked back sudden tears. She wasn't immediately sure where she was: her head was full of images of fighting, running - nightmarish creatures stalking through tunnels, cities on fire on the horizon. For a moment she wasn't sure what was memory and what was dream.
She was lying on an unfamiliar bed in a room she'd never set foot in before. That seemed bad. She wasn't immediately sure what she'd done to end up here. I'm on Omega, she told herself. We were fighting krogans, then …
Her amp was gone. Somebody must have taken it while she was unconscious. That was definitely bad. Her pistol was gone too, and she'd been dressed in unfamiliar clothes that didn't seem designed for a human body.
Soldiers of the Hierarchy weren't supposed to be captured alive. If they were, they were expected to make their captors regret it. Resist by all means available, she recited to herself. She could almost hear the voice of the old turian drill sergeant barking the orders at her and her fellow recruits in basic training. Escape if you can, or hinder the enemy to the best of your ability. Never cooperate. Never give up. Never lose faith in your unit.
Without an amp or a weapon, the best of her ability wasn't likely to be much, she suspected. But she could still fight, if she had to. She took a deep breath. At least the air smelled comfortingly normal: sterile and disinfected. Almost like being back on board a ship.
The voice she'd been hearing in the background was that of a salarian, she realised. It seemed oddly familiar. But where-
"Awake? Excellent!"
The salarian suddenly loomed over her shoulder. She hadn't realised just how close he was. This close, she could see that his face bore old scars; possibly the result of the same accident that had cost him a horn. She felt sure the face should be familiar, and yet...
"Hello again," he said. "Might not recall; spoke briefly outside Afterlife. Told you about clinic. Surprised to see you here so soon. Wish it were in better circumstances."
She remembered him now. Gozu District. She didn't think he was with the Blood Pack. But she didn't think she remembered his name. And she couldn't make sense of his presence. The last thing she remembered was ... her head swam, the whole room seeming to spin slightly. She remembered falling.
The salarian, whatever his name, frowned as she tried - and failed - to sit upright.
"Suggest avoiding undue physical exertion," he said, reprovingly, "Have experienced significant trauma. Combat injuries, fall from great height-"
"... name ..." she whispered. Her throat burned with the effort of speaking, of swallowing after.
"Memory loss?" the salarian looked concerned. "No evidence of cognitive damage in scans. Saw strange beta wave patterns, but no evidence of connection to recent injuries. Dismissed as benign. Suspect-"
Not my name, she thought, trying to shake her head. "... yours … " she managed to cough, hating how feeble she sounded. She tried to sit up again, this time with slightly more success.
The salarian brightened. "Ah, of course. Forgot to introduce myself at previous opportunity. Professor Mordin Solus, at your service. Welcome to Gozu District."
Sitting up had made her dizzy again. She sat on the bed - No, she realised, The operating table - quietly, letting the salarian's words wash over her and looking around the room. The walls were painted white; though mostly covered in shelves and other storage units. She could see scanners, surgical equipment and medi-gel dispensers, among other devices that she couldn't identify. The ceiling was higher than she'd expected, covered with fluorescent light strips that hurt her eyes when she stared at them. There weren't any windows. No way out of the room except a single metal door on the far side of the room.
Her fingers twitched uselessly at her side as the salarian spoke, describing the scope of her injuries in rather more detail than she'd have liked. But she noted he didn't say anything about how she'd been brought here. She frowned, still trying to put things together herself. The Blood Pack, she told herself. They killed Shol's asari contact. Tried to kill us - no, tried to kill me. They'd wanted Vakarian alive.
The big krogan, Garm. The biotic. He'd said something about the Shadow Broker, hadn't he? He'd said - she had a sudden visceral memory of krogan fingers around her throat, a moment of panic as the white walls suddenly loomed oppressively close and she forgot how to breathe.
The salarian paused, looked at her carefully. "Should consider yourself fortunate, in truth."
"Don't feel … fortunate," she croaked, forcing the words out despite the pain.
"Fortunate!" he insisted. "Given extent of injuries, must have fallen a considerable distance. Falls from heights often fatal, even with biotic protection. Landed well; limited damage to skull or spinal column. As noted, still some damage to other organs: spleen, liver, but - query: do all humans only have one- no, no, not urgent, another time."
" .. where … turian?" she managed.
"Turian?" The salarian looked blank. "No sign of any turians where you were recovered. Found dead vorcha, two dead krogan, but no turians."
The krogan had wanted to capture the turian Spectre, not to kill him, she reminded herself. Perhaps he was still on Omega. Perhaps there was still time to rescue him. She looked around the room again, head still groggy. Nothing on the walls to give any sense of how much time had passed. It didn't feel like she'd been unconscious for more than an hour or two, but … was that enough time for her to have been found, brought to the clinic, and examined? She wasn't sure it was.
"How long …" she started to ask. The salarian started replying before she finished.
"Not long - recovery remarkably rapid." he said, "Only brought in three days ago."
Three days. Her heart sank. That was more than enough time for the Blood Pack to have taken their prisoner off-world and through a mass relay. He could be anywhere now, even if he wasn't in the Shadow Broker's clutches yet. I'm sorry Vakarian she thought, bleakly.
The salarian continued talking, but she'd stopped listening. Especially when the door on the other side of the room opened and a monster walked inside. The doctor - Mordin Solus, she reminded herself - followed her stare across the room, and trailed off.
"Problems with my assistant?" he asked.
"I …" she started. She couldn't help staring.
"My fault," Solus continued rapidly, "Should have realised. Inter-species relations between humans and batarians understandably strained at present. Should apologise to you both for any, ah, awkwardness. Jella," - that must have been the batarian's name, she realised - "Suggest you wait outside."
Shepard thought she saw a flash of resentment in the batarian's eyes, but she nodded and backed back out of the room all the same.
"Jella the one who found you, actually," said Solus after a slightly strained pause. "Called me at once. Good assistant; hard worker, resourceful. Likely saved your life."
Shepard wondered if the batarian had been the one to undress her after she'd been brought to the clinic. She really hoped not. Just the idea was enough to make her skin crawl.
"Where's … my amp?" she asked. Speaking was getting easier now, she thought.
The salarian frowned slightly. "Ah, yes. Had to remove amp - standard precaution when treating unconscious biotic individuals. Happy to return now, of course, though suggest not refitting until recovered."
The doctor turned around to examine the shelves, and Shepard experimentally slid her feet down to the floor.
"Careful on that leg," the salarian warned, back still to her. "Broken in three places when you arrived, plus significant ancillary muscle and ligament damage. Should be fully recovered in a few weeks, thanks to surgery, but might have a slight limp until then."
That's okay, doc, she thought. I never was much of a dancer anyway. It didn't matter if she limped or not. She just had to be able to move forward.
"Amp design underwhelming, frankly," he added, still rummaging in the boxes stacked alongside the wall. "Turian implementation of outdated asari principles; functional, of course, but plenty of scope for improvement, redesign … aha."
He pulled something out of one of the boxes: a sealed plastic case with her amp inside. He handed it over to her with a small bow, and Shepard eyed it warily. She didn't want anyone 'redesigning' her amp, however outdated they claimed it was. She'd have said as much, but the salarian hadn't stopped speaking. She got the impression he never did, with or without an audience.
"By the way, curious. Didn't realise any human languages were excluded from Citadel translation program."
They weren't, as far as Shepard knew: at least, not any languages that anybody in Council space spoke. Not all the languages of Old Earth had spread to the colonies before the Charon relay went dark, but anything still spoken by humans on this side of the galaxy should been archived by the Council long ago. Almost anything. She had a feeling she wouldn't like where this was going.
"You slept, after treatment," Solus continued, "Still under medical observation of course. Heard you call something out. Dreaming. Didn't recognise language; translators couldn't identify either. Recording available, if interested."
Not again, she thought. At least it wasn't another attack like the one she'd had back on the Citadel. Things had happened so fast after they found Doctor Thanoptis that she'd still not really had the time to come to terms with the fact that nobody was going be looking at her head anytime soon. Except that you're talking to a medical expert right now, she chided herself. Shol's paranoia made it easy to start thinking of what had happened to her as a secret, something that couldn't be discussed with anyone else. But if there was anything that Professor Solus could do to help...
"It's a long story, doc," she said slowly, hoping it wouldn't make her sound as crazy as Shol. "I was on an away mission recently on a human colony world, Eden Prime. A terrorist group had dug up something … old. It did something, messed with my head a little."
"Ah!" the salarian's eyes brightened. "Exposure to ancient artefact - Prothean in origin? Could explain beta wave pattern identified earlier."
She blinked. That wasn't the response she'd been expecting. Somehow she doubted the doctor got many reports of exposure to Prothean artefacts in his clinic on Omega. Suddenly Shol's paranoia didn't seem so ridiculous after all.
"Renewed interest in subject over last few years," the salarian said thoughtfully, "Find it hard to understand motivation.. No significant new findings or publications in last few decades. Unless classified, of course. Interest primarily seen among turians and allied species, which suggests … hmm."
The salarian paused thoughtfully, and they were both quiet for a minute. Shepard stared wordlessly at the amp in her hands. She didn't know what she was going to do next. She could probably get a public transport shuttle back to Council space, she thought. She still had a few credits to her name, after all, and relations between the Terminus System and the Council weren't bad enough to prevent all traffic. Once in Council space, she could make her way to the Citadel, or to the nearest Hierarchy base, explain what had happened. Make this somebody else's problem.
"Know anybody on Omega?" Mordin asked, breaking the silence. "Anybody you want to contact, perhaps communicate with while recovering?"
She didn't know anybody on Omega, of course. She didn't know anybody in the Terminus systems, except perhaps for a handful of Hierarchy military personnel who might be raiding Hegemony space. Well, she told herself, You know Ish. The salarian who had set them up was hardly her first choice for conversation though. At least not the sort of conversation he'd end up walking away from.
She felt so tired. Even leaning up against the operating table seemed to be exhausting. She wasn't sure she could make it to the door right now, let alone a shuttle bay. And Vakarian… She tried to imagine reporting back to the Council that the turian had been captured by hostiles and she'd chosen to run away. She didn't think they'd take it well. She didn't think she'd take it well, either.
Never give up, she reminded herself. Even if the odds were against rescuing him, she had to try. If the Spectre was still on Omega, she'd find him. And she knew where to start.
"Afterlife," she said, hoping that she sounded more confident than she felt. "I want to talk to Aria."
Aria, it turned out, still didn't want to talk to her.
She'd made it out of the clinic later that day, after Solus finally pronounced her sufficiently recovered to venture outside. Her armour had been damaged beyond repair - and cracked in several places as a result of her fall, as the salarian had been at pains to point out - but he'd surprised her by opening up some storage lockers to reveal a nearly complete set of almost undamaged mercenary armour: turian in design, but just about able to be customised to fit.
A donation, he'd described it as. She decided not to ask him about the burn marks.
He'd also insisted on accompanying her all the way to Afterlife. That was a less pleasant surprise.
"Still convalescing," he said, when she protested. "Not to mention possible side-effects of exposure to Prothean technology. Important not to overexert yourself. Can offer medical support if necessary."
She'd been pulling the borrowed armour on when the batarian slipped into the back of the room. Shepard hadn't acknowledged her, had refused to look at her. She'd looked at herself in a mirror on the wall instead. Her reflection had looked back at her steadily, looking calmer than she felt. She'd picked up a few bruises, she'd noted absently, and her hair was unwashed and uncombed, but she'd mostly recognised the face that frowned back at her.
She'd also been able to see the batarian, reflected in the corner of the mirror, still staring at her silently from the corner of the room. For a minute she'd thought the batarian - she wouldn't use her name, even in the privacy of her head - was going to leave without speaking. She'd moved back towards the door she'd entered by, but paused before stepping outside.
"I saw you falling," she'd said suddenly, her voice softer than Shepard had expected. "There was fighting in the old factory. I saw you fall."
In the mirror, the batarian's head had tilted to the right in a familiar gesture. But Shepard had found herself unable to match her body language to her tone; she hadn't been sure what she was hearing there. The batarian assistant's voice had been oddly quiet, her words pitched low but clear and precise.
"Halfway down," she'd continued, "You just stopped falling - at least for a second or two. You hung in the air, floated, and you shone like blue fire. I've never seen anything like it."
The batarian had slipped back out of the door before Shepard could respond. But she'd recognised the tone; it had been the same one she sometimes heard in the voices of the new recruits. I don't remember, she'd thought, numbly. It felt wrong to earn respect for actions you couldn't remember afterwards.
Doctor Solus had arrived to lead her to Afterlife a few minutes later, and once they were airborne she did her best to put the whole thing from her mind..
The cab set them down on the promenade, right outside the club. Shepard guessed that they were only a few feet from where they'd first met, while she'd been waiting for Vakarian to finish his meeting with Aria. She wasn't planning on waiting outside this time.
She strode up towards the entrance as confidently as she could. The elcor bouncer on duty - she couldn't tell if he was the same one from her previous visit - watched her impassively, only speaking when she was almost face to face with him.
"Observation: you have been fighting."
The elcor looked her slowly up and down, pausing slightly to take in her scars, her limp, and her burnt and borrowed armour.
"Additional observation," he said. "Probably not well."
"Yeah, well," she muttered, "You should see the other guys."
"Witheringly", the elcor drawled slowly, "If they look anything like you, I would much rather not." Elcor weren't supposed to be able to convey emotions through spoken word - that was the whole reason they needed the translators to add emotional context - but Shepard was sure he sounded smug.
She just rolled her eyes in response. Spirits save me from elcor who think they're amusing. "Can I go in?" she said, impatiently. "I have to speak to Aria. It's about-"
"Insincerely," the elcor interrupted, "I regret to say that Aria has left strict instructions that you are not to be allowed in. Under any circumstances."
She paused, momentarily nonplussed. Now what?
"Ah," beside her, Professor Solus cleared his throat. "Would be happy to talk with Aria on your behalf. Though would need to know details of request, of course."
He paused, expectantly. Shepard wasn't sure what to say. What was I going to say?
The truth was she didn't have a plan, not really. She'd told herself that Aria could help - if the Queen of Omega didn't know where to find the Blood Pack, who would? But she'd not really stopped to ask herself why Aria would want to help. She didn't have anything to offer in trade; any threats she could make would be laughably empty. She frowned, trying to think.
"Human." an unfriendly voice growled behind them.
Shepard had only half-turned to face the speaker when the voice spoke again. This time it sounded much less hostile, and much more surprised.
"... Shepard?"
The speaker was a female turian; shorter than average height, with a thick red stripe painted down the centre of her face. There was something familiar about the way she stood that seemed familiar to Shepard, but she wasn't able to place it.
"Have we met?" she asked slowly.
The turian's mandibles twitched, almost as if she was amused, but her eyes didn't change.
"Once or twice," she said with a shrug. "I wouldn't expect you to remember."
Shepard wasn't sure how to respond to that. The turian looked at her carefully.
"Nyreen Kandros," she introduced herself. "I … well, these days I help solve problems for Aria."
Shepard had the impression that she'd planned to say something else. But she didn't think she'd get anywhere if she tried to press the issue. But if she knows Aria,,,
"Maybe you'd be able to help solve this problem," she said instead. "I came here with a turian Spectre, he-"
"Vakarian?" Kandros said. "I'm afraid Aria won't be helping you with that one." She sounded frustrated, almost angry.
"Wait," Shepard was confused. "You know what happened to him?"
"The Shadow Broker happened to him," replied Kandros flatly. She looked over Shepard's shoulder, at the elcor bouncer and the salarian doctor, then beckoned Shepard closer.
The two of them walked a few steps further into the darkness, stopping only when Kandros coughed delicately.
"You've walked into a bad situation," she said, almost apologetically. "Normally, Aria wouldn't stand for the Shadow Broker trying anything here. The Broker's always seeing how far he can push; trying to subvert Aria's agents or spy on her operations. That sort of thing doesn't endear you to Aria. She tends to react ... violently."
An incongruous half-smile passed swiftly over the turian's face.
"But this time-" Kandros cut herself off, eyes narrowing slowly as if she was afraid she'd said too much.
"This place has a bad spirit," she muttered softly instead. Shepard nodded, although she wasn't sure if the comment was directed at her. If she'd ever been anywhere with a bad spirit, this was it.
"By the way," Kandros said quietly, "Do you know who the salarian you came here with is?"
"The salarian?" she said, confused. "He's just a doctor, isn't he? Helped patch me up after…" she trailed off.
"Mordin Solus," Kandros nodded. "He's a doctor all right, among other things. Ex-STG. Aria ran a background check on him when he arrived. Had me put quite the background dossier together. Claims he came out to spend his retirement on Omega; don't ask me why he thought that was a good idea."
Shepard blinked. She'd heard any number of stories about the salarian Special Task Groups over the years. Though the Salarian Union never made official announcements about the STG's work, they were popularly credited with a number of sensational clandestine operations. They operated - so far as she knew - in much the same way as the Council's Spectres, or the Hierarchy's own Blackwatch program. Mordin Solus was not what she'd expected.
Salarians are weird, she thought - she didn't realised she'd also muttered it aloud until she saw Kandros nod in reply, mandibles flickering in amusement.
"Well," Shepard said, "Thanks for letting me know, anyway." She'd have to find some other way to help Vakarian, she told herself. She was about to walk away, had actually taken a step towards Solus, when the turian's voice called her back into the shadows.
"I said Aria wouldn't help you," Kandros said. "I never said I wouldn't."
Shepard waited, cautiously. Kandros seemed to take that as an invitation to elaborate.
"The Blood Pack are holding your young Spectre in one of their hideouts in Kenzo District. It's not far from here."
"Can you tell me where it is?" she asked, trying to hide how pleased the news made her. This was more than she'd hoped for. Vakarian was still alive. She could still rescue him. Somehow.
"I could tell you," Kandros said, "But I was planning to show you."
"Show me?" she asked.
"If we move quickly, we can be at the Blood Pack hideout in an hour. I've got the building mapped out: we can hit them hard and be out before they realise what's happening."
"Just the two of us?" Shepard said, dubiously.
"Two biotics," said Kandros confidently. "So we outnumber them where it counts. Besides-"
"Unacceptable!" Solus's voice rang out suddenly, much closer than Shepard had expected. "As medical practitioner overseeing recuperation, cannot countenance this. Foolhardy plan. Dangerous.".
He coughed, delicately, and Shepard thought she saw him smile slightly. "Of course, if there were three of us, assessment might be different..."
After a moment Kandros nodded, ruefully. "The Professor would be useful," she admitted. "And I know he can handle himself."
This felt like too much. Shepard looked at Kandros closely, trying to remember where and how they might have met. Could this be a set-up? She couldn't make sense of it if it was. Why would anybody go to all this trouble?
"Why?" she asked, finally. "Not that I'm ungrateful, but ... why help?"
"You were on Torfan," said Kandros, after slightly too long a pause. "It would be-"
Her mandibles twitched, betraying an emotion that Shepard couldn't quite identify. "-an honour."
Shepard nodded slowly, telling herself she'd push harder for answers if and when they'd got Vakarian out. She looked over her companions thoughtfully. If Kandros was a biotic, and Solus really was ex-STG, then maybe they had a chance after all.
They weren't the team she'd have chosen - she'd have given a lot to have Jennifer Nicollier at her back, and maybe Lilihierax or Sidonis as well - but it was more than she'd expected. More than she deserved. Hold on, Vakarian, she thought. Help is on the way.