Omega 6

This wasn't quite how Mordin had envisioned his day going. Breaking into a Blood Pack base on Omega to rescue a Council Spectre. Accompanied only by two unfamiliar biotics, a human and a turian. Badly outnumbered, woefully unprepared. A far cry from his usual routine at the clinic.

Should be exciting.

He breathed in, held the air in his lungs for a second, then exhaled slowly.

He'd missed this, he realised. Work on the clinic was important - vital, in fact, for his patients in the Gozu District and beyond - and had its share of challenges, both intellectual and otherwise. But it didn't lend itself to the same rushes of adrenaline he'd grown used to during his time in STG: long hours of cutting-edge scientific discussion interrupted by news of unexpected krogan scout patrols; flashes of insight alternating with pitched battles or desperate pursuits.

As their cab pulled up outside the building Kandros had indicated they went over the plan again. Simple extraction mission, in theory. The turian Spectre that Shepard had come to Omega with - Vakarian, he reminded himself - was somewhere inside, guarded by Garm and his Blood Pack. They'd infiltrate the building, find the Spectre, recover him, and get out before any of the krogan realised what was going on.

From outside, the building Kandros had brought them to seemed derelict. Hardly the sort of place Mordin would have imagined that the Blood Pack would choose to guard a valuable prisoner. Curious. After the initial unpleasantness with the gangs that had followed his arrival on Omega, Mordin had largely stayed clear of the Blood Pack. He hadn't had much interaction with them before Omega either, though the Blood Pack had representatives on Tuchanka as well: outriders in Clan Weyrloc, Clan Nakmor and others. But the Blood Pack on Tuchanka kept to the centres of population, registered landing zones and heavily armed Clan camps. The very places that Operation Firebreak had wanted to avoid. Perhaps Blood Pack resources less extensive than they advertise?

"Scans aren't picking up anybody near the entrance," Kandros whispered quietly, glancing at her omni-tool. "Let's move."

However the building had looked outside, inside it looked worse. Run-down and dilapidated, even by Omega's low standards. It was hard to believe that this was an active base for any street gang, let alone a mercenary company with the power and influence of the Blood Pack. Just a shell.

"You sure this is where they're holding him, Kandros?" Shepard asked, looking around the almost empty interior. Her tone was respectful, but Mordin thought she seemed sceptical.

"This is the place," the turian said confidently. "Look at the dust."

There was a lot of dust, in fact, covering the floor and the walls and the few shattered storage crates that littered the floor. Mordin didn't quite - ah, of course. Obvious. The dust didn't, in fact, completely cover the floor.

"There's a path," said Shepard, just a moment later.

A faint trail led across the floor from the entrance, cutting through the dust. The dust here had been disturbed, smoothed away by the recent passage of large, heavy footsteps. The trail did indeed form a path, leading clearly from the entrance of the building to … a brick wall.

A dead end? Ah, no. A false wall. "Should search the area for access panel," Mordin suggested, "Perhaps-"

Shepard and Kandros glanced at each other and without speaking they both stepped forwards, twisting fingers and talons in mirrored gestures. On the far side of the room the false wall collapsed in on itself, bricks and mortar billowing away like smoke.

"-or could do that." Mordin finished. At least this way they wouldn't have to worry about the entrance being locked behind them.

Beyond the wall, once the dust cleared, lay the remains of an old elevator shaft, sides rusted and stained with years of disuse. There was no sign of the original elevator, but somebody - recently, Mordin thought - had lined the walls of the shaft with a spiral of steel pitons and wooden planks, forming a crude set of stairs leading down into the darkness. The steps looked precarious, but presumably the structure was robust enough to support the weight of krogan. Should be good enough for us.

Mordin glanced at Shepard as they began to head down. He hadn't forgotten that she'd suffered a bad fall only recently. A salarian would have recovered from such an experience quickly; remembering it, of course, but no longer troubled by it once the immediate danger had passed. But humans, he suspected, were rather more like turians in that regard. Emotional memories, delayed shock, post-traumatic stress … need to keep under review, he reminded himself. He thought the human looked a little paler than usual, but she headed down the makeshift stairs without complaint.

"These are the old eezo mining tunnels," said Kandros. "Aria told me about them once. They're old, even for Omega. Hasn't been anything worth mining on this rock since before the Hierarchy was founded."

"Fascinating!" Mordin breathed, staring at the tunnels around them. Omega, he knew, had once been a rich source of element zero. A long, long time ago. If anything, Kandros was understating the antiquity of the site; Omega was said to be tens of thousands of years old; far older than not just the Hierarchy but any turian civilisation. Or salarian, for that matter.

"Aria won't be happy the Blood Pack are here," Kandros said. "This was meant to be her secret."

Mordin shook his head slightly. Hubris, he thought. For all the asari's power and ruthlessness, Aria was only the latest in a long line of self-proclaimed rulers of Omega, a line that stretched back thousands of years. None of its rulers could hope to know all of Omega's secrets, and equally surely none could expect a monopoly on the few secrets of the world that they were unable to unearth.

They walked in silence for a few minutes, careful to make as little sound as possible. There was little sign that the tunnels were occupied; except for a few crude torches burning at the points where different tunnels joined together, and some fresh tracks in the dirt and dust that lined the tunnel floor. In fact, Mordin was becoming worried. No guards on the top level made sense - the whole point, surely, was to make the entrance seem deserted - but he'd expected at least a token patrol here. Something happened here. Or still happening, maybe.

Kandros led them through the tunnels at an even pace, always heading down when they could. Eventually that path led them to some sort of hub: a row of consoles and terminals in a central pit, where the three of them stood for a moment, surrounded on all sides by the balconies and walkways that lined the stone walls. Good place for ambush.

Kandros checked her omni-tool again. Mordin suspected she'd had a similar idea. While the omni-tool's scanning functions would be limited down here below the surface, it should at least suffice to pick up anything in the immediate vicinity.

"Well," the turian announced, after an almost imperceptible pause, "There's obviously nobody here." She tapped her left hand against the side of her leg twice, talons splayed open, a gesture which Mordin didn't recognise but which made Shepard's eyes widen. The human nodded to Kandros and - without speaking - turned slowly towards the balcony behind her.

Mordin's pistol was in his hands even before he was conscious of the decision to draw it. Just like old times.

"So, Professor," said Kandros pleasantly, "I guess we're all ready to leave now?"

"Ah, yes," said Mordin. "Of course. Just need to-"

There was a sudden squeal from one of the upper platforms. On the periphery of his vision, Mordin could just make out Shepard, half-hidden behind an array of computer terminals, fingers splayed apart and pointing upwards. Blue energies arced over the metal platforms above them, tumbling over crates and storage units. Behind the detritus, a single vorcha huddled, crouching low to the ground, eyes wide open and teeth bared wide.

For a moment, the vorcha seemed paralysed - eyes darting back and forth from the human below him to a ventilation access point on the wall behind him. Then with a wordless cry he acted: throwing himself forward, up and over the railings at the side of the balcony. Teeth bared, claws outstretched, eyes only on the human below.

Shepard reacted almost immediately, rolling out of the way even while she pulled up a barrier around herself. Mordin reacted a fraction faster. His pistol fired just as the vorcha cleared the edge of the upper platform. Just like old times. The vorcha crashed to the ground where Shepard had been with a wet thump, lifeless eyes still frozen open.

Kandros shook her head, looking around the room thoughtfully. She checked her omni-tool again, apparently more satisfied with the results of the scans now.

"This looks like some sort of operational centre," she said briskly. "The Blood Pack must have had a presence here. Maybe we can hack into their security systems. Find out what's going on. Professor?"

"Doctorate in biology, not tech!" he objected. It was worth a try though. He hurried to find a working console.

"You know Cabal hand and arm signals?" Shepard asked Kandros, curiously.

"I'm a turian and I'm a biotic," said Kandros flatly. "So yes, I know Cabal signals." She didn't seem inclined to elaborate.

Mordin reflected on the rumours he'd heard about the turian. Turian mercenaries and freeloaders were a common sight in the Traverse, for all the Hierarchy's propaganda about strength and unity. Biotics though … turian biotics were uncommon enough in Council space, and were a truly rare sight in this part of the galaxy, despite their less than favoured position in turian society. He wondered what had driven Kandros out to Omega. Not important, he reminded himself. Focus on mission.

The body of the vorcha he'd shot lay just a few feet from the only console that still seemed to be working. He wondered what had made it charge them head-on when it might have fled. Orders, instinct, some combination of the two? If it had just broken for the ventilation passages, it might have lived. Stupid. Senseless waste of life.

Alive, vorcha were fearsome: snarling jagged teeth, claws, screams. In death, it was easier to remember how young all vorcha were, how short their lives were even by his people's standard. Rest, young vorcha. Find whatever waits beyond this life. Find someplace better.

"Fascinating species," he said quietly, barely aware of his fingers tapping out commands and queries on the console. "Biologically unique. Highly adaptive, capable of thriving in almost all conditions, immune to almost all disease. Difficult to imagine such abilities developing naturally. But short-lived, territorial, quick to anger and prone to destructive violent outbursts. Makes vorcha ideal shock troops, cannon fodder for mercenary bands. No real possibility of stable, independent vorcha government. Implications unpleasant."

"You think the vorcha were - what, genetically engineered?" asked Kandros, coming to join him by the terminal. "Who by?"

He thought she sound dubious. Though many species had legends attributing the founding of their civilisations to an external presence - the hanar's worship of the Enkindlers, the asari's Athame Doctrine, the batarian heretic movement's reverence of the Architects - few people outside these species took the claims seriously as scientific explanations. Certainly intelligent space-faring life had flourished in the galaxy long before the asari and the salarians: the Citadel and the mass relays alone were proof of that. But there was no firm evidence to suggest that either the Protheans or anybody else had taken any active role in uplifting any of the galaxy's current space-faring races.

"Only a possibility." he said absently, attention focused mainly on the console in front of him. "Would have happened thousands of years ago, perhaps tens of thousands, if at all. Impossible to speculate as to details or history. Hope suspicion incorrect; difficult to imagine ethical justification."

"Interesting to hear a salarian stress the importance of ethical considerations when tampering with another species' genetics." There was an edge to Kandros twin-toned voice that Mordin hadn't noticed before. "Or do different rules apply to krogan?"

"Same rules!" he said, eyes flicking up to the turian's for a second before moving back to the console screen. "Different circumstances, different conclusions, perhaps, but principles same. Genophage introduces checks on krogan growth; unchecked growth leads to conflict, war, extinction. Genophage prevents that!"

"I guess all the sterile krogan on Tuchanka can count their blessings that they're not subject to war and conflict, then." If anything, the edge was more noticeable now.

"State of present day Tuchanka result of krogan reaction to genophage, not genophage itself." Mordin countered. And genophage not sterility plague. "Problems on planet predate salarian presence. Caused by inter-clan conflict, caused by traditional krogan militarism, caused by scarcity of depleted resources. Not by genophage." Not by me.

"But deliberately engineering intelligent life form as a tool, a weapon-" Mordin forced himself to slow down, to breathe evenly, probing the limits of the console's security systems as he spoke. "-unconscionable. Inexcusable."

"Like uplifting the krogan to fight the rachni?" asked Kandros.

"Initial salarian contact with krogan regrettable, in hindsight," Mordin acknowledged. "Council was desperate, fearful. War against rachni progressed poorly. Stability of whole galaxy in doubt. Decision understandable. But short-sighted. Unwise. Like giving nuclear weapons to cave dwellers. End results tragic: galaxy still unstable, rachni extinct. Whole point of genophage was to avoid repeating this mistake."

"If I remember my history lessons, it was the Hierarchy who decided to use the genophage." Shepard's voice took them both by surprise. The human, who'd wordlessly positioned herself as a look-out at the entrance to the security hub, hadn't spoken since they'd started arguing. Mordin glanced up, saw her looking back at Kandros oddly.

"Which they'd never have had the chance to do if it wasn't for the salarians-" began Kandros.

Shepard shook her head, turned to look back into the tunnels outside.

"I'm with the doctor on this," she said, voice soft but deliberate. "The last thing the galaxy needs is more krogan."

Not the point, Mordin thought, wearily. All life precious. But Universe demands- He shook his head. It was an old argument, old before any of them were born. Wrong to take personally.

In any case, this wasn't the time to be arguing medical ethics.

"System security disabled." he said, quietly, staring at a row of green lights on the console screen. "Access granted."

"And only a few minutes ago you were trying to persuade as you weren't a tech expert," Kandros said, voice light. Whatever had prompted her earlier irritation with him seemed to be forgotten. Perhaps he'd imagined it. But perhaps not. Despite her current employment, he knew Kandros could be oddly idealistic at times, almost naive. Strange traits for a turian mercenary to possess.

"No need to be an expert to break into these systems," he replied, shaking his head sadly. "Designer was sloppy. Took shortcuts, made mistakes."

And now those mistakes were going to get people killed.

Having broken into the security system, Mordin could see and hear everything that the base's cameras were capable of picking up. Something was interfering with the system though, so he could see and hear much less than he'd have hoped. Visual displays were almost non-existent, audio kept cutting in and out. He kept an eye on the feed as they moved down into the base's lower levels, kept up a running commentary of the more interesting developments.

⟨⟨ … anyone hear me? If you're alive, get your arses back here - they're readying another assault. ⟩⟩

"Base under attack," he explained. "Assailants unknown. Not us. Upper levels abandoned. Blood Pack entrenched on lower levels. No mention of Spectre."

⟨⟨ Any coward who … have to answer Garm when this is over. You … exactly. ⟩⟩

"Vakarian will be on the low levels," Shepard said. "They'll want to keep him safe for the Shadow Broker."

"Forces attacking base might actually belong to Shadow Broker," Mordin suggested. "Perhaps Blood Pack have held onto prize for too long."

"If the Broker had forces of his own, why hire the Blood Pack to begin with?" objected Shepard. Good question. Perhaps third party?

"The Shadow Broker's never used the Blood Pack before," said Kandros. "Never acted this openly on Omega. Whatever makes your friend special, the Broker must think he's pretty valuable. Any ideas why?"

Shepard didn't say anything. Understandable. Military secrets. But the emotions playing out on her face suggested she was as confused as they were.

It was a mystery. Why could make a single young turian - even a Spectre - so interesting to the Broker? Could it be related to the Prothean artefacts Shepard had begun talking about earlier? Too many unknowns, he concluded. Too many variables. This wasn't something he'd be able to figure out yet. Always interesting to speculate though.

The tunnel they'd been following opened out onto a large, cavernous space. A deep fissure, cutting through the rock. And over the chasm, several long narrow walkways, each leading out over the darkness to another tunnel entrance on the far side. Long way down, he thought, gazing over the edge.

Mordin considered suggesting Shepard stay behind. Not for long though - he could tell he'd only be wasting his time. Still, good to keep eye on her. Watch for erratic behaviour.

They'd made it almost halfway across - Shepard grim-faced but uncomplaining - when the audio feed of the hacked security system crackled back to life.

⟨⟨ Trouble down by the pit … more of … going to check it out. ⟩⟩

Kandros glanced down at her omni-tool, expression grim. "Picking up movement at the other side," she warned. "Something big. Krogan. Four, maybe five."

"Keep low," Mordin whispered to the other two. With luck, the arriving krogan wouldn't notice them from the far side of the chasm if they pressed down against the guard rails and didn't move. None of what he'd been able to hack into had suggested the Blood Pack were aware of their presence. These new arrivals were likely focused on whatever force was attacking their base.

Even if they came out to investigate, there were several walkways and they might not check them all. Optimistic, he chided himself. He knew they'd have to be ready to fight. The air shimmered slightly as Kandros faded from view. Tactical cloak, he realised. Useful. That meant only Shepard and himself would have to hope to stay hidden.

The noise at the far side of the fissure intensified. Four armoured krogan emerged from the tunnel, suits scarred with soot and fire damage. The krogans' attention wasn't on them, but focused instead on something behind them. Somebody in pursuit?

After a hurried conference amongst themselves - one that, frustratingly, Mordin wasn't able to listen in on, even with access to the security system - the krogan filed onto one of the walkways. Not ours, he realised with relief. The four Blood Pack fighters headed across the chasm on a walkway a few metres to their right, wide eyes now focused ahead of them.

Shepard and Mordin waited in silence, frozen in place behind their walkway's guardrail, until the sound of the krogan's passage had faded into the air. Then they began making their way slowly forward again. They'd almost made it to the other side when they heard more noises coming from the passageway that they were moving towards.

Ah, nobody in pursuit, Mordin realised, just a little too late. Waiting for straggler to catch up.

It was just bad luck that the fifth krogan ran on to the exact walkway that they were waiting on. This time there was nowhere to hide.

"More of you?" the krogan snarled. Despite the bluster, he seemed nervous. Afraid? Not typical krogan reaction.

"No, wait," he continued, shaking his head slightly. "Not asari. Doesn't matter. Dead either way."

The krogan pulled a shotgun from behind his back and began to rush towards them firing wildly as he advanced. Weapon ineffective at that range, thought Mordin, critically. Poor tactical choice. The krogan's footsteps echoed loudly on the metal walkway, and the whole edifice seemed to shake under his weight.

The air shimmered again - not next to them, this time, but behind the krogan. Kandros hadn't waited as long as they had, and she was already on the far side. She gestured, and the krogan's shotgun jerked backwards, sparks flying from the chamber and loading ports. The krogan cursed, shook the now useless weapon angrily, then threw it over the edge of the walkway in disgust.

He looked behind him at the lone turian, and then in front of him, where Shepard and Mordin waited. His nostrils flared,

Blood rage, recognised Mordin. Going to charge-

The krogan bellowed, lowered his head, and - froze in place, held motionless against his will by shimmering bands of blue energy. Next to him, Mordin saw Shepard's hands splayed out in front of her, face pale, arms slightly trembling. The energy needed to keep a charging krogan in place was considerable, Mordin knew.

The human was visibly perspiring with the effort, he saw; a jarring reminder of just how alien his patient was. Strange species, he thought. Interesting, but strange.

"You think you can get past him, doc?" Shepard asked. Mordin paused, considering his chances. If Shepard could keep the stasis field up, perhaps- but she couldn't. Even as he calculated, the krogan's eye grew wider until, with a roar, he broke free, taking one step forward, then another. Then another. He was building up to charging speed when - biting back what sounded like a curse - Shepard made an abrupt chopping motion with her left hand and a biotic field threw the krogan across the width of the walkway.

The krogan slammed head-first into the guardrail, which buckled under the continued biotic pressure, filling the air with the creaking sound of twisting metal. Then the metal sheared away, and the the krogan fell into the black space below. If he screamed, Mordin didn't hear it. He didn't hear a body land, either.

He looked over at Shepard, face still pale, heart rate obviously elevated. Mordin was no biotic expert, but he didn't think she had much more to give.

"Him or us," he said quietly.

"Yeah," she said, peering down over the edge cautiously. "Hell of a way to go though."

They'd moved two levels further down when Mordin's hacked security feed finally honed in on the target of their search. The Blood Pack's fight against their mystery attackers seemed to be going poorly: the air was full of the sound of wailing alarms, and the ground rumbled with the echoes of distant explosions.

⟨⟨ I don't know where you managed to recruit a band of asari commandos, ⟩⟩ the krogan voice snarled. ⟨⟨ Frankly, I don't care. When they show up, you'll call them off, or I'll break your neck myself. ⟩⟩

"Found Garm," he whispered. "Suspect he's with our target. Reluctant to ask, but were either of you expecting asari commandos?" The krogan they'd fought on the bridge earlier had mentioned asari as well, he remembered.

Kandros and Shepard both shook their heads. Another puzzle, then. Aria, maybe? Although … no, surely not. Council reinforcements?

Soon they reached the source of the audio transmission he'd picked up earlier - a long narrow corridor with a row of identical steel doors, all but one hanging open, the cells behind them empty. The only closed door was at the end of the corridor. Mordin nodded. "Signal came from here," he said.

One of the biotics - Mordin wasn't sure which - blasted open the metal door with a wave of her hand. The small room inside was dark, the air humid and foul even by the standards of Omega.

A turian lay immobile - or dead? - on the floor of the cell, cuffed to a metal chair that lay on its side next to him. Towering above the prone turian stood a krogan, eight feet tall, armour glowing almost purple with barely suppressed biotic energy, red eyes glittering as they reflected the light shining from the open doorway. Garm, Mordin recognised. He'd only spoken to the krogan once before, but the Battlemaster had made something of an impression. Garm held a huge shotgun in one hand, almost casually, its muzzle resting squarely on the turian's head.

"Not another step," Garm growled. "Unless you want me to end this turian." He blinked, tightening his grip on the shotgun as his eyes refocused on Shepard.

"You!" he said. "But you're-"

The human ignored him, her attention focused elsewhere entirely.

"Garrus!" she shouted, flinging up an arm, fingers outstretched. The big krogan went flying backwards, crashing hump first into the concrete wall behind him. Shepard looked almost as shocked as the krogan, who pulled himself to his feet almost instantly, shaking his head in disbelief.

"You've got a quad, human," he growled. "More so than the turian, that's for sure. I don't know how you survived our last fight, but this time I-"

The rumbling echo of another explosion made the whole floor shake. This one sounded closer than the others. Much closer. That explosion was followed by another one a few seconds later, then another. Another. Then the whole wall behind Garm dissolved into a fine mist of grey dust and smoke.

As the dust began to settle, Mordin saw that four figures now stood where the wall had once been.

Ah, he thought. Group attacking the base reveal themselves. Must have routed last of the Blood Pack defenders.

Sure enough, the new arrivals were asari. Commandos, if not mistaken.

"Krogan." the foremost asari said coldly. "Surrender or die. This will be your only warning."

It could only have been meant as an insult. Krogan - outnumbered, injured, surrounded, or all three - simply didn't surrender. And however else he differed from his species, Garm was no exception to that rule.

"You think I've never faced an asari commando unit before?" he snarled. "I'll tear you apart. I'll grind your bones into dust. I'll-"

The asari moved faster than Mordin thought possible. Speed biotically enhanced? One moment she was standing several feet away from the raving Battlemaster, the next she was standing right next to him. Instinctively Garm pulled his head back, readying himself to headbutt … but the asari moved aster, punching up and through the side of the krogan's jaw with a fist wreathed in blue fire.

Mordin had learnt a few things about killing krogan in his life, both before and after his time on Tuchanka. Had killed krogan with bullets, fire, high explosives … even with farming equipment, on one memorable occasion. And of course he'd heard the persistent rumour that there was a soft spot, somewhere on a krogan's head, which could fatally incapacitate a krogan if properly excised. Anatomically correct, in fact - the weak spot was the last remnant of some long-abandoned vestigial organ in the krogan's evolutionary history - but he'd always assumed that it wasn't actually possible to take advantage of this fact in combat. Had dismissed accounts of those who claimed to have done so as nothing more than self-aggrandising bravado.

Apparently is possible. Interesting.

The asari's momentum carried her up past Garm, even as he fell face down onto the concrete floor of the cell. She twisted in the air - seemingly effortlessly - to avoid his flailing arms and claws, flipped herself up and over the collapsing Battlemaster, and landed smoothly on her feet. She looked down at Garm, her face still expressionless.

"Embrace eternity." she suggested, almost gently.

The light in the krogan's eyes grew dim. He opened his mouth as if to reply, trying to struggle back upright, but only slumped wordlessly to his knees. Secondary nervous system failing, Mordin diagnosed. The asari turned her back and slowly walked away.

While Kandros rushed forward to make sure the Battlemaster was truly dead - always a sensible precaution with krogan - Mordin turned his attention to the other turian. The Spectre. Injured, bleeding, but alive. Emergency treatment with medi-gel, bandage wounds, then … Vakarian was conscious, but disengaged, barely aware of his surroundings.

As he worked, he heard footsteps behind him. The sound they made was irregular. Suggested hesitancy, trepidation The turian looked over Mordin's shoulder, eyes widening in surprise.

"Shepard," he breathed. "I thought you were d-" His mouth shut.

"Shepard very much alive," replied Mordin. "Thanks in part to excellent medical care. Same will be true for you. Can thank me later."

They both ignored him. The Spectre's eyes stayed focused on the human standing behind Mordin's shoulder. Mordin may not have been an expert in interpreting turian body language, but he didn't think he needed to be in this case. He moved aside to let them see each other better.

"Blood Pack wouldn't let me borrow a mirror," the turian said, two parallel lines of bright blue blood dripping from the ruined mandibles around his mouth as he spoke. "How bad is it?"

The human stared at him without speaking. But her physiological response - a barely audible gasp of breath, widened eyes, dilated pupils, skin visibly paling in response to sudden alpha-adrenoreceptor stimulus - was answer enough. Mordin thought he saw the turian flinch. He finished bandaging Vakarian's wounds quickly, then edged away before he overheard anything he shouldn't.

The truth was, the turian's injuries weren't anything life-threatening. Nothing Mordin wouldn't be able to treat back at his clinic. Vakarian would most likely be up and walking within hours. He'd be scarred, of course; mandibles damaged for life, facial injuries likely to require cybernetic treatment. To a turian, Mordin was dimly aware, that was quite important.

Then again, Mordin thought - absentmindedly rubbing the stump where his cranial horn used to be - there were worse things in the galaxy than scars.

He found Kandros talking in hushed whispers with the lead asari commando.

"Salarian," the asari said, sounding slightly puzzled. "What business do you have here?"

"Was curious," said Mordin, simply. No advantage in lying about it. "Unusual patient, found by assistant in strange circumstances. Wanted to know how she came to be here; wanted to know what would happen next."

The asari shook her head dismissively. "You are not my concern," she said. She turned aside, dismissing him, and Kandros nodded to him in greeting.

"So," she said. "Garm's dead, the Blood Pack base in in ruins … this really wasn't the plan, was it? So much for subtlety."

"What now?" he asked her.

"Well," said Kandros thoughtfully. ""I guess l go back and tell Aria that I defied her orders and helped rescue the Spectre. Unless we can blame it all on these asari." She didn't seem very hopeful about that.

"Aria unlikely to be pleased," he said.

"Oh, I'm sure she'll forgive me," she said lightly. "You, on the other hand …"

Kandros shook her head. "You might want to consider staying away from Afterlife for a few weeks. And staying off Omega altogether would be even safer. The Blood Pack's been hurt today, but they'll be back. And they'll be looking for revenge. Hard to be sure there aren't any witness to our presence here, given all the cameras."

He nodded, slowly. Acted impulsively, he thought. Should have considered ramifications for own future, for clinic.

"Might go with Shepard and the Spectre," he said. "Both still need medical attention, after all. Understand that they'll be meeting with the Council. Can spend some time on the Citadel myself."

"Look after Shepard," she said, the tones of her voice betraying an emotion that seemed familiar. "She - well, let's just say I owe her."

"Hope you'll keep an eye on clinic?" he asked.

She nodded and Mordin relaxed slightly. Whatever their disagreements, he knew Kandros would make sure that Jella and the rest of his staff were safe from any reprisals.

On the other side of the room, the asari had begun to interrogate Vakarian, who stood awkwardly next to Shepard. Surprised to see him standing up already, Mordin thought. Looking closer he realised the Spectre wasn't simply standing close to Shepard, he was leaning on her shoulder, using her as support. The human, for her part, kept her eyes mostly on Vakarian. For all the confidence she'd projected earlier, Mordin suspected she'd not really expected to find him still alive.

Mordin nodded farewell to Kandros, and walked back towards his patients.

"You are the Spectre," he heard the asari say. It didn't sound like a question. "We have been searching for you for some time."

Vakarian nodded carefully, clearly trying not to disturb his freshly bandaged injuries. His slight grimace suggested he'd only been partly successful.

"My name is Shiala," the commando said. "I serve Matriarch Benezia. The unit I lead are searching for the Matriarch's daughter, an expert in Prothean artefacts."

"Oh?" the Spectre's voice seemed thinner than it should. Mordin noticed the human seemed to tense as well. He wondered if they'd had some sort of encounter with the Matriarch before.

"Her name is Liara," the asari continued, "Liara T'Soni." But why did that make the human relax?

"She is presently in the employ of a volus, Kumun Shol," Shiala continued. " I believe this individual is known to you both."

Shepard's face was impassive, but Mordin noticed her eyes, that had stayed focused warily on the asari after the mention of a daughter, briefly flickered back towards the turian next to her. Vakarian nodded slowly after a slight pause.

"Where can he be found?" Shiala asked. Asari were famously self-composed, but Mordin thought she sounded eager, almost desperate. He wondered how long her search had taken, how far she'd travelled.

"The last I knew Shol was on Klencory," Vakarian said. "We spoke to him a few days ago. Maybe your bosses' daughter is there as-"

"She is not there," the asari said, frowning. "Nor is Mr. Shol. Klencory was the first place we thought to look, the first place we visited. There was evidence of a small habitation, a camp, but it was long abandoned. Scans detected no sign of life anywhere else on the planet. Nobody has been living on Klencory for months."