Awakening

~Shepard~

The shuttle ride from Dantius Towers back to the Normandy feels too long, too awkward.

Our newest squadmate, Thane Krios, sits alone, his long body bowed over his steepled fingers as he gazes out the starboard viewport. Jacob Taylor paces, shooting occasional dark glances at the silent drell while Miranda Lawson and I prepare our report for the Illusive Man.

"Nassana Dantius had a lot of enemies. Cerberus won't need to fabricate anything to throw the authorities off our tails," Miranda's glossy hair spills over her forehead as she studies her datapad. She brushes it back, looks up at me with piercing blue eyes.

"Illium's 'authorities' – the ones that actually care – seem stretched pretty thin as it is," I muse. The remote asari colony world is beautiful but treacherous, a cultural marvel and a hub of gray-market economics. 'Gray,' only because Illium has sidestepped most criminal concerns by legalizing and regulating trades such as drugs, arms, prostitution, and slavery. Unfortunately, trying to regulate such trades brings a whole new mess of red tape.

"Indeed," Miranda nods. "Krios did everyone a favor disposing of Dantius, given how many dead business partners and employees she left behind. The security force in Nos Astra would be smarter to hire Thane than to throw him in jail. Regardless, I'll assign an operative to encourage the investigation around her death in a more...advantageous direction."

Jacob scowls at the curvy young woman. "Just make sure no innocent bystanders end up in jail for his crimes." He jerks his head in Thane's direction.

"Please," Miranda sniffs. "I'm not a rank amateur."

"I'm sure Miranda will find a good villain to frame," I try to reassure him. His frown deepens.

"We'll need to proceed with caution in Nos Astra, regardless. We still have to recruit the asari justicar." Miranda pauses and lowers her voice, "And, there's the other matter we discussed..." Her eyes flash with an unspoken reprimand; she's angry that I didn't see to her request to relocate her sister, Oriana, before tracking Thane to Dantius Towers.

"We'll get it done, Miranda – all of it – as soon as we finish this report and get our new friend settled in." I glance over at Jacob, who stiffens at the word 'friend.' I suppress a sigh, making a mental note to not assign Jacob and Thane to the same mission squad for a few weeks. Jacob has his winning qualities, but – as I am learning to my disappointment – he is prone to snap judgments. I can feel a headache coming on as I look forward to refereeing yet another pissing match between members of my growing crew.

Thane glances up. "I will not trouble you for long. My needs are few." I start at his low, rough voice. I'd assumed he wasn't listening to us.

The man has made a career of attention to detail, I remind myself. What is an assassin, if not painfully observant?

Probably dead, I smile.

"Don't worry, Thane," Garrus calls over his shoulder from the cockpit. "You'll be living in style on the Normandy. Award-winning field rations lovingly prepared by the ship's plumber, the softest fold-out cots this side of the Terminus System, and a state-of-the-art A.I. to remind you which bathroom you're supposed to use. Cerberus spares no expense."

Thane blinks, his face unreadable. "Garrus..." I warn.

"Okay, fine. We also have a fully-stocked bar," the turian concedes, "and the biggest damned guns a ship her size can carry."

"It seems as though we're going to need them," Thane replies. It could be my imagination, but I think I can see a ghost of a smile touch his lips. Garrus chuckles, turning back to the controls.

I nod. "Them, and a hell of a lot more. But we're going to bring it."

Jacob stops his pacing and turns toward Thane. "That's why we're looking for the best. I've heard impressive stories about you, Krios. Sounds like you'll be an asset to the team." He crosses his arms and shoots me a pointed glance. "That is, if you're comfortable having an assassin watch your back."

Thane gazes, unblinking, out the window. "I've accepted a contract," he responds, his voice grave. "My arm is Shepard's."

I notice the temperature in the shuttle seems to have increased by a few degrees. Garrus has probably been tampering with the environmental controls again, I dismiss.

Jacob continues, unconvinced. "Uh huh. Don't know about you, but I'm loyal to more than my next paycheck." Thane makes no response, continuing to look out the viewport as the shuttle approaches the Normandy.

I prickle with irritation. "Obviously, Thane is, too." My voice is sharp as I remember the drell's vow:

"I'm dying," he turns away, eerily haloed by the glow of Illium's rising sun as it spills through the panoramic windows of Nassana Dantius' penthouse. "The galaxy is a dark place. I wish to make it brighter before I go."

"He's doing this mission gratis," I continue, staring Jacob down. "What's your concern?"

Jacob shuffles under my gaze, but refuses to back off. "I don't like mercenaries. An assassin is just a precise mercenary."

Thane's voice cuts in like jagged metal. "An assassin is a weapon. A weapon doesn't choose to kill. The one who wields it does."

Looks like Jacob hit a nerve, I note. Thane's odd disconnect from responsibility for killing gives me pause. I'll need to follow up on that. However, I'm still more concerned by Jacob's attitude than Thane's philosophies.

"I've had several mercenaries under my command. Wrex, Zaeed, Kasumi – all trustworthy, all remarkable at what they do – hell, in my Alliance days, I'd have considered you and Miranda mercs, too. Unless you actually buy into Cerberus's core values," I say, my voice taking a dangerous edge. Jacob looks away.

Miranda smiles. "Cerberus doesn't require fanatical devotees – just professionals who can get the job done."

"We're ready to dock," Garrus calls from the cockpit. "I suggest you sit your asses down and strap in."

~Shepard~

The briefing room Q.E.C. shimmers off, and Miranda and I step back from the platform. The conference table rises and clicks back into place.

"The Illusive Man sends his regards," I inform Jacob and Thane.

Miranda crosses her slender arms across her chest. "Shepard, if I'm no longer needed..."

I nod at her. "Get a good night's sleep, and be ready to return to Nos Astra at 0700 tomorrow. We'll see to your business first. The justicar can wait." Miranda rewards me with a small, satisfied smile as she departs. Only then do I realize that Thane has been watching me, waiting patiently for an opening.

"Where shall I put my things?" he asks. "I prefer someplace dry, if anything is available."

A glowing blue sphere blossoms from the console before him. Startled, he takes a rapid step backward, his right hand hovering at his hip.

EDI's voice fills the conference room. "The area near the life support plant on the crew deck tends to be slightly more arid than the rest of the ship."

"Ah," Thane breathes, relaxing. "An A.I. My thanks," he bows to the blue sphere. Without another word, he exits the briefing room.

"He seems quite civil," EDI tries to make conversation. Jacob rolls his eyes and continues to scowl. EDI disappears back into the console.

"Well, you've managed to chase them all off."

"I don't trust him." Jacob is blunt.

"I could hardly tell. What I don't understand is why."

"Don't let his big innocent eyes fool you, Shepard – he's a cold-blooded killer."

"So am I. So are you. So is everyone on my damned squad, Jacob – it's part of the job description. How is Thane any different?"

"A couple years back, after the Alliance, but before Cerberus...I did some contract work for C-Sec."

"You were with C-Sec? This is the first time you've mentioned it."

Jacob nods. "I got a tip that a mid-ranking batarian slaver was spotted soliciting young, homeless quarian women down in the Zakera ward. He was weak – broke early in questioning, rolled on several of his superiors. He also provided details about a series of unexplained batarian deaths on the Citadel eight years earlier. Just so happens, he'd witnessed one of the attacks, described the perpetrator as a drell male, about 5'9", green-skinned, black eyes, black leather armor. And he named him - Krios. Apparently every slaver in the ring knew his name. I checked the cold case records to verify the story. Thirty-three batarian victims were found in Zakera and the Presidium within twenty-four hours of the date he gave me. Not just dead, Shepard. Tortured. Brutalized. "

"You think this batarian was a credible witness?" I narrow my eyes.

"He was pretty convincing. Had some...gory details about what he'd seen him do."

"Why didn't you mention this before, Jacob? Thane's name was right there in the Illusive Man's recruitment dossier."

"I didn't know if it was the same Krios. I wanted to see if he fit the description. He does."

"Still...a batarian slaver ring? He sounds like a vigilante, not a serial killer."

"The difference is just semantics, Shepard. The guy's a murderous sneak. Comes at you from the shadows and takes you when you're off guard. His victims die before they have a chance to run, or surrender, or defend themselves."

"And you'd prefer someone with different tactics?"

"I prefer a fair fight. What you see is what you get. No nonsense."

"Oh, is that so?" I stroll toward him. "Seems to me you've been a little less than straightforward – off the battlefield, at least."

His expression softens a bit, a small smile playing across his handsome dark features. "I thought we were on the same page about taking this slow."

I step closer. "What if I'm tired of waiting, Jacob?"

Jacob shakes his head. "Turning up the heat? I can take it. But I'm not going to change my mind."

I raise an eyebrow. "We could all die tomorrow. You wouldn't have any regrets?"

"We'd both regret rushing things, Shepard. I don't play that way. Didn't think you did, either."

I lean back on the console, silent. Maybe it's best not to tell him about your 'dinner' with Kelly Chambers. I smile at the memory.

He mistakes my reaction for agreement. "Ok, Shepard, I'll compromise. Meet me for coffee later in the mess hall?"

"'Coffee,' is it?" I inquire.

"Coffee," he says firmly.

"I'll take it. Give me a couple hours," I agree. "Oh, Mr. Taylor..."

Turning to leave, he pauses, looking back over one shoulder. He's caught my shift back into commander mode.

"Back off on Thane," I order. "We need all the help we can get. He's not what I expected in an assassin. He may surprise you."

Jacob furrows his brow. "Yeah," his voice is flat, "And he may not." He stalks out of the conference room.

I lower my head and remain a moment, thinking. Jacob's reaction to Thane has put me on edge like a mosquito bite I can't scratch. Jacob's story is disturbing, but it's also hearsay. I'm not about to condemn Thane on the third-hand word of a batarian slaver. I need to form my own impression of the mysterious drell, and so far, my gut is telling me the opposite of what Jacob is suggesting. Not trusting the Illusive Man and his Machiavellian schemes is one thing – I'd had my own doubts about his insistence that we recruit an elite assassin. Those doubts had evaporated somewhere between Thane's silent drop from the rafters above Nassana and his soft oath that he would join our suicide mission "free of charge."

Free of charge. Thane could have asked anything, and the Illusive Man would have paid it. Kasumi and Zaeed are collecting impressive fees from Cerberus, and Jacob's said nothing about it. Hell, I'm technically on Cerberus's payroll – though admittedly most of those funds have been spent on equipment upgrades.

My call should be enough for Jacob, but his tiptoeing around our mutual attraction and his continued suspicion of Thane both suggest little faith in my judgment. As if I don't already know what I require of my squad and my personal relationships. As if I need to be protected, from myself, and from others.

Or maybe Jacob is just too much like Kaidan. Playing it safe, keeping things "professional," denying what's emerging in a vain effort to guard against loss – and then one of you is gone, and it's too late, and it hurts just as much knowing you can never get that missed moment back.

I shake it off. Kaidan is dead, and Jacob – I'm not sure what Jacob is, but I've got enough on my plate to keep me busy until he decides what he wants us to be.

And maybe you'll still be around when he figures it out.

~Thane~

I stand in the hallway outside the briefing room, feeling foolish. Having left somewhat abruptly, I now realize I have no idea where I am going. Signs on the wall indicate that the right-hand exit leads to the tech lab, and the left-hand to the armoury. However, there is no clear indication of the route to the crew deck.

Not wishing to subject myself to another round of Mr. Taylor's baffling vitriol, I avoid returning to the briefing room to ask directions. Instead, I glance about, attempting to locate a computer terminal.

A familiar disembodied voice sounds in the corridor. "Do you require assistance, Sere Krios?" The A.I.

"Curious." I examine the hallway. "You must have monitoring and listening devices throughout the ship. They are well-concealed." I can spot the apparatus now, shielded by holographic blinders that make the equipment appear a mere continuation of the wall panelling.

"They would be undetectable to all but the most astute observer."

"Indeed – Cerberus was very thorough. However, I see you have now detected the ones in this corridor." There is a hint of what sounds like irritation in the A.I.'s voice. "I shall have to rearrange them."

"I would advise against it. An overhaul would be costly and labour intensive, and will not prevent me from locating your devices."

"We shall see," the A.I. sounds ominous.

"Continual ship-wide audio and video surveillance must be...informative," I remark.

"Very," EDI purrs, confirming my suspicion. Nothing I do on this vessel will escape the A.I.'s notice. It is fortunate that in this new role I expect little need for secrecy.

"Perhaps you could direct me to the crew deck?" I ask her. "You'd mentioned a suitable location."

"Of course. The life support bay." A glowing schematic appears projected on the wall before me. "Here is a comprehensive map of the interior of the Normandy, with all major points of interest clearly marked. Given that you are drell, I assume you will have no difficulty recalling the image."

"You are correct," I nod, the image now encoded in my memory.

"Nonetheless, I would be remiss if I did not offer an official tour of the ship."

"A tour?" I pause. "There is no need. I am certain I can find my way now."

"It is not a matter of need, but of courtesy," EDI corrects me.

"I see," I concede.

"I will summon Yeoman Kelly Chambers to guide you."

"Wait - I do not wish to intrude on any of the crew's duties."

"Seeing to the needs of the Normandy's crew is Yeoman Chambers's primary role. You will not be intruding."

"Very well," I murmur, unable to think of a polite way to decline.

"However, you will be intruding if you enter the women's restroom facilities on the crew deck. In that event, I will alert security at once."

I blink. "I assure you, that won't be necessary..." I begin.

"That was a joke."

"Ah."

"You are not laughing," the A.I. observes.

"No," I say, apologetic.

"It appears I must continue to revise my humour algorithms," she muses. The door to the tech lab slides open. "Hello, Yeoman Chambers," EDI greets the young human female as she approaches me.

"EDI, I just talked to you five seconds ago in the C.I.C.," an exasperated look flits across Miss Chambers' face.

"I was identifying you for Sere Krios's benefit," EDI explains.

"I think I can take things from here, EDI," Miss Chambers says. "As you wish," the A.I. replies, sounding sullen.

"Sorry about that," Miss Chambers rolls her eyes, which I note are ringed with the dark cosmetic paint many humans and asari employ to make their small eyes appear larger. "I'm Kelly Chambers. It's a pleasure to meet you, Sere Krios."

"The pleasure is mine. And Thane will suffice."

"Only if you call me Kelly."

"Agreed." I nod. "There is no need to apologize for your A.I. She is quite sophisticated."

"Yes...sometimes a little too sophisticated," Kelly grumbles. "That said, there are times we're really glad to have her on board. You'll get used to her."

"I expect there are many things that will require getting used to. I have never served as part of a military operation. I imagine privacy is a scarce commodity here," I muse.

"You imagine correctly," Kelly nods. "Fortunately, we'll be setting you up in the life support bay. Except for EDI, you'll have the place all to yourself."

"I am grateful."

"Hold off on your gratitude until you've spent the night in there. I hear the O2 recycler gives off a high-pitched whine that drives some species up the wall."

I blink at the yeoman. "Drives them up the wall..." I attempt to picture what she is describing. "Is the artificial gravity lower on the crew deck?"

"Sorry," she grins. "That's a human saying. It means they find it really annoying."

"Ah," I nod. "I am sure I will adjust."

"Of course you will!" Kelly says with a bright smile. "Now, let's get started on that tour. I'll bet you're eager to get settled in."

"Yes."

"You've already met Jacob, so I won't take you through the armory tonight – he spends most of his time in there. You can come back up later if you want to make any repairs or modifications to your equipment."

I nod, but find myself hoping there will be room to set up my own workbench in the life support bay.

"Let's head through the Tech Lab. I'll introduce you to Mordin." Kelly beckons me to follow her. I oblige, keeping an eye out for more of the A.I.'s surveillance devices.

As we enter, I note a spindly, aging salarian darting about the cluttered laboratory. One of his cranial horns is missing. I deduce from the scarring that it must have been lost in a battle or laboratory accident. He looks up, a squirming, birdlike device clutched in one hand.

"Mordin, this is our newest team member, Thane Krios. Thane – Dr. Mordin Solus."

"Thane Krios. Drell. Assassin. Impressive kill record. Dossier says activity slowed over past ten years. Reason unclear." Mordin speaks in an idiosyncratic, rushed dialect that is not typical of other salarians. He jams a long metal skewer into the device in his hand. Its wing-like protrusions quicken their buzzing, and the unit emits a high-pitched wail. He makes a frustrated noise and lets the device loose behind a shimmering containment field.

"Collector seeker probe," he explains. "Had theory – disrupt central processing core with localized physical trauma. Ineffective."

"Pleased to meet you..." I begin.

The salarian approaches me, glancing me up and down. "Vocal sub-resonance over-pronounced. Breathing rate increased over normative drell baseline. Cardio-pulmonary obstruction. Viral infection? Maybe." He touches my throat. "No. Temperature normal. Long professional disruption suggests chronic course, physical deterioration. Not deterred by low survival odds on Omega 4 relay mission. Terminal? Hmmm. Drell. Born on Kahje, hanar homeworld – drell on native planet Rakhana all extinct. Primary employers hanar. Kahje excessively humid, prolonged occupational exposure..." Mordin pauses, takes a breath. "Kepral's syndrome?"

"Stage three," I confirm, impressed.

"Unfortunate." A grieved expression crosses Mordin's face, then vanishes. "Will research cure in spare time. Make no promises. Research on Collector technology first priority."

"I appreciate the sentiment, but please do not take time away from the mission on my account. I have accepted my fate," I urge him. "The hanar have been researching Kepral's syndrome for over a century, and have yet to find a cure. It is unreasonable to expect others to find one where they have failed."

Mordin continues undeterred, pacing back and forth. "Will request raw data from hanar. Have contact through STG, owes me favor. New eyes, may prove useful. Have...considerable expertise in bioengineering, genetic resequencing. Interesting challenge. Only one live test subject, no control group. Will make do. Share findings with drell, hanar if successful." He stops, looks up at me. "See Dr. Chakwas in meantime. Normandy's chief medical officer. Can apply effective antibiotic series, organ transplants. Forestall mortality until Collectors dealt with."

"Mordin," Kelly appears aghast. "Thane just arrived. I don't think he wants to spend his first night here recovering from transplant surgery."

"Medical examination, standard recruitment procedure," Mordin lectures. "Important for Thane. Shepard's mission, high level of demand, physical, emotional stress. Could accelerate progression of symptoms if precautions not taken."

"He is correct," I reassure the copper-haired yeoman. "Thank you, Mordin. I will pay a visit to the ship's physician at the earliest opportunity."

"Excellent. Now, back to work. Testing hypotheses. Reprogram seeker drones. Turn to our advantage. Find additional weaknesses in Collector technology. Running out of time." He zaps the buzzing probe with an electrical device, and it begins to emit a low, crunching noise. Mordin winces. "Voltage too high," he mutters. "Welcome aboard."

I incline my head, and Kelly and I take our leave, heading toward the forward exit.

"Oh my god. I'm so sorry about that," Kelly apologizes. "I didn't realize you were sick. It sounds serious."

"It is terminal. Few are aware of my condition, though I have informed Shepard. She has the right to know, given the gravity of her mission."

"Is there anything I can do to help?"

"Thank you, but for the time being I am well. With Arashu's grace, I will be able to adequately perform my duties."

"Okay. Well, if there is anything you need, please let me know." We cross the threshold into a cavernous, activity-filled room. "This is the combat information centre – the C.I.C.. My station is over there, by the star map," Kelly points to a computer terminal flanking a high platform overlooking an enormous holographic image of the Milky Way.

"Impressive bridge design," I remark.

"We have the turians to thank for that," Kelly explains. "The original Normandy, the SR-1, was a joint initiative by the turian and human military, sort of a peace project following the First Contact War. Cerberus replicated the design as closely as possible."

"I recall reading that turians favor architectural reminders of the command structure," I note, gesturing toward the high command platform.

Chambers chuckles. "Yes, turian aesthetics lack a certain...subtlety. Would you like to visit the cockpit?"

"Lead the way."

We travel toward the forward section of the deck, passing several curious crew members. Beyond a long, narrow catwalk, we emerge behind a dark-haired, bearded human. Seated before an enormous haptic control panel, he wears one of the tightly-fitted, round-brimmed caps which human youths favor for informal occasions.

"Release the lockout, EDI!" he brandishes an angry finger at a familiar glowing blue sphere to his left.

"Mr. Moreau, I warned you that my security protocols would engage if you made further attempts to tamper with the environmental controls."

"But it's freezing in here!" he protests.
"288 degrees Kelvin is the optimal temperature for maintaining the navigational controls,

cyberwarfare unit, and electronic defense suite."

"Of course you think 288 Kelvin is optimal – you don't have a nervous system!" the young man grates.

"The current temperature is adequate for human habitation. You will not experience any ill health effects."

The pilot swivels in his chair and notices our presence in the cockpit. "Do you see this?" he demands. "Do you see what I have to put up with?"

I watch as Kelly fights to suppress a smirk. "I'd be happy to bring you a sweater, Joker."

"I'll need an environment suit if she keeps this up," he growls.

"A sweater is a reasonable compromise, Mr. Moreau," EDI lectures. "Thank you, Yeoman Chambers."

"Joker, this is Shepard's newest recruit, Thane Krios. Thane, this is the Normandy's pilot, Jeff Moreau. We call him Joker." Kelly introduces me to the sullen pilot.

"Nice to meet you, Thane," Joker extends a hand. As I reach out to complete the traditional human greeting ritual, he interjects, "Not too hard. I've already had two fractures this week."

I freeze. "I have never unintentionally fractured another's bone," I say, wondering what rumours he may have heard.

"Yeah – usually only krogan have that problem. But I have Vrolik's syndrome - 'brittle bone disease.' My skeleton's not very sturdy," Joker explains.

"I see. I will bear that in mind," I shake his hand with care. He looks down at his hand, then back up at me, smiling. "Welcome to the Normandy. Be sure to tag EDI if there's anything you need. Night or day. Big or small. Substantial or petty...in fact, especially if it's petty."

"My quantum processors are sufficient to handle all the crew's 'petty concerns' without any loss of operating efficiency, Mr. Moreau. Sere Krios's needs are unlikely to create a distraction you can utilize to your advantage."

I watch the exchange in silence. Kelly interjects, perhaps assuming I am uncomfortable. "It's getting late. We'd better show you around the crew deck before Dr. Chakwas turns in for the night."

"Agreed," I nod. "It was good to meet you, Joker."

"See ya around," Joker swivels back to face his consoles.

"Joker's never forgiven Cerberus for installing EDI on his ship," Kelly lowers her voice as we leave. "He still thinks she's going to rip the controls away from him during a big firefight."

"Is that a possibility?"

"She claims it isn't, but Cerberus has placed a lot of security restrictions around her specialized functions – restrictions even Shepard can't bypass with her command clearance. There's a lot about EDI we don't know yet."

"I can see why that might be a concern," I note. "However pleasant she may be, her benefactors have a reputation for duplicity."

"The Illusive Man invested a lot rebuilding the Normandy and Shepard," Kelly defends. "His methods may be a bit drastic at times, but he wouldn't throw away an investment like that."

"Rebuilding...Shepard?" I query, confused. My translator must have malfunctioned.

"Oh, sorry! You probably don't know much about the commander yet."

"I recall Alliance news reports of her demise two years ago. I assumed they were in error."

"Technically, they weren't," Kelly explains. "Come on. I'll bring you up to speed while we tour the crew deck."

Intrigued, I follow Kelly into the elevator.

~Shepard~

I exit the elevator and unlock my cabin. Stepping inside, I let out a long breath. Peace and quiet, at last.

My tropical fish frolic through the glowing blue tank. I'm happy to see that Kelly has been keeping her promise to feed them. I feel a brief pang of guilt as I remember the time when, following an exhausting string of back-to-back missions, I returned to find my Prejek paddle fish belly-up in the aquarium. Now, thanks to Kelly, my new friends are thriving. I watch a moment as they dart through long ribbons of seaweed.

Descending the steps to the lower level of the cabin, I unfasten the bindings on my armor, pulling loose the gauntlets, greaves, and shoulder guards. Lifting the breastplate over my head, I toss it down on the mattress. Stepping out of the skintight armored leggings, I bundle up the discarded pieces and place them in the refresher.

Finally free, I look forward to the comfort of my shower. Standing for longer than necessary under the falling hot water, I feel my sore, overtaxed muscles begin to unknot. With combined fascination and dread, I look down at the glowing red scars crisscrossing my torso, arms, and legs. I wonder if I'll ever get used to seeing them there. Miranda had done her best to repair my destroyed skin using a combination of cloned grafts and nanotechnology, but her efforts had been cut short. Dr. Chakwas has assured me that the remaining scars and lesions will heal with time, but they are still quite noticeable.

Maybe you shouldn't be in such a rush to jump in bed with Jacob, I think. So far, only Miranda and Chakwas have seen how bad the scarring is under your clothes. It's probably not a turn-on...

I push the self-pitying thought away with contempt. A few scars and cybernetic implants are a small price to pay for not being dead. I think of Garrus, uncomplaining after half his face was blown off by that mercenary gunship on Omega; of Urdnot Wrex, his pitted reptilian hide marred with reminders of hundreds, perhaps thousands of battles; of Jack, her victories and defeats written on her skin in scar tissue and ink; of Zaeed, his livid sightless eye and sloppily-grafted cheek testifying to his sheer will to survive.

They wear their scars like badges of honour. You could learn something from them.

Shivering, I exit the shower enclosure, returning to my locker. The air is cool against my skin as I sift through my casual clothes. Cerberus may spare no expense on the weapons and tech, but they aren't winning any awards for fashion design. I settle for the least awful garment – a long, fitted tunic in Cerberus's white, gray, and yellow motif over ribbed gray tights and tall boots.

Ugh. You should ask Miranda to recommend her tailor. I chuckle, mentally picturing the young operative's sharp, functional executive dress suits as I pull on the tights and boots, and shrug into the drab tunic.

A soft chime rings from behind the glass model ship display case dividing the upper and lower portions of the cabin. The case is a carry-over from the Normandy SR-1. The original captain's quarters were first occupied by my old C.O., David Anderson, who has a notorious fondness for model ship building. I've attempted to keep up the tradition aboard the Normandy SR-2, but I seem to be acquiring boxes of models faster than I can build them. There is a growing stack of unopened dreadnoughts and battlecruisers cluttering my desk.

The chime sounds again, signalling unread messages at my extranet terminal. Sighing, I retrieve my steel coffee mug from the bedside table, carrying it up the steps to my makeshift "office." I flip on the coffee dispenser, fill the mug, and settle in. There is only one new message. I pull it up, resting my chin in my hands as I scan the text.

From: Jeirt

Greetings, Commander Shepard

Liara T'Soni gave me your contact information. I was one of the cleaning crew in the Dantius Towers. You helped me get out of there. According to T'Soni, you also found Thane. He took down some of the Eclipse mercs trying to gun us down, and I wondered if you could pass along my thanks.

The way he moved...one was dead before they even knew he was there. He snapped another's neck, then shot a third, all in the space of a few heartbeats. It was incredible. He moved like a dancer, grace and power in constant motion.

Seeing him changed my life, woke up something in me I don't fully understand yet. I don't know what I'm going to do, but Salarian lives are too short to waste as custodians, especially when there's so much out there. I'm going to find something that lets me capture what I saw in him, that beauty, that aesthetic perfection.

I'm also going to buy some nice clothes.

So if you could tell him that...or just whatever parts of that you think appropriate...I'd appreciate it.

Sincerely,

Jeirt

"Oh my," I murmur, a slow grin spreading across my face as I read. I send a brief response.

Jeirt,

Very glad to hear you made it out alive and well. Thank you for sharing your observations about Thane – we're lucky to have him on our team! I will be sure to send him your regards.

Stay safe!

Shepard.

Sipping my coffee, I lean back in my chair, pondering Jeirt's message. The timid salarian man's description matches my own assessment. Though I'd only seen Thane in action for a few seconds back on Illium, that was all he'd needed to take down Nassana.

A sinewy figure, green-skinned in black leather, drops from above. His hands fly out, seizing the nearest guard's forehead and jaw. A sharp, sickening crack, and the guard slumps to the ground. A biotic field flares from the fingertips of his left hand, sending the second guard hurtling toward the wall as he lashes out with his right, striking the third guard in the carotid artery. He pirouettes and a Shuriken submachine gun appears in his right hand, pressed to the fourth guard's forehead. He fires, and a spray of crimson paints the picture window behind the stunned asari commando. His left arm snakes out, catching Nassana by the throat, and he pulls her close, looking into her eyes as he jams the Shuriken into her abdomen and pulls the trigger.

She goes limp, and he catches her in his arms. With surprising tenderness, he lays her upon the console, closes her eyelids, and folds her arms across her breast. His head bowed, he begins to whisper.

I feel gooseflesh crawling on my arms. He'd dropped Nassana and her four guards so fast not one of them had managed to fire a defensive shot. And then, afterwards...he had prayed. For his own soul.

Setting my mug down, I decide I'd like to get better acquainted with my new recruit without Jacob hovering like an angry wasp. I download Jeirt's message to a spare datapad, and tuck it under my arm.

"EDI," I call out.

"Yes, Shepard?" The A.I.'s glowing blue form emerges from a console near the aquarium. "Is Thane set up in the life support bay?"

"The maintenance crew is bringing up portable furnishings from the cargo bay as we speak, and security is running surveillance scans on his footlocker. I've instructed them to carry it up to the crew deck."

"Is he there right now?" I prod her.

"No. He is in the medical bay with Dr. Chakwas."

I start, "Is everything okay?"

"Yes, Commander. He is attending a routine medical examination."

"Are they almost done?"

EDI pauses for a moment. "Yes," she responds. "Dr. Chakwas has finished running imaging scans on Thane, and has found evidence of widespread early-to-mid stage vital organ damage. They are now discussing the particulars of drell eidetic memory."

"EDI!" I reprimand the A.I. "Med bay recordings are confidential. Don't share personal health information over the comm!"

"You are in command of the Normandy. You have security clearance to access to the crew's medical records, including audio recordings from the medical bay."

"No, EDI," I insist.

"Very well, Shepard."

Shaking my head, I retrieve my mug from the desk and refill it before exiting the cabin.

~Thane~

The striking, silver-haired human physician disengages the imaging scanner positioned above my torso, swinging it clear so I can sit up. She downloads the readings onto a datapad, and frowns down at the graphic.

"The organ damage has progressed since your last examination," she tells me, her voice gentle, her blue eyes creased with sadness.

The room is cold, sterile. Unaccompanied and laid out on a bio bed, I clutch an inadequate paper gown about me. A vain attempt to preserve my non-existent dignity.

This is ridiculous, I think, angry. I'm wasting my time.

My doctor returns – *he who attends to need with vigilance.* Appointed by my hanar trainers, he has cared for me since I was a small boy. Rose-hued tentacles move in gentle waves. They pulse dazzling ultraviolet as he approaches me.

This one is filled with sorrow at the news this one must deliver, he shimmers. The source of your fatigue and lightheadedness has been revealed. It is as this one feared, Kahje has saturated your body, as it has with too many of your brethren.

A cold, empty sensation spreads through my body. "Kepral's syndrome." The doctor

glows a mournful affirmative.

A small, bitter smile cracks my face.

It is no more than I deserve.

All that can be done for you, will be done, the hanar doctor promises. You are strong, *blade who bears the sadness of cutting.* You will prevail many years yet. And when the means of this existence have reached their limit, you will bask in the eternal light of the Enkindlers.

No, I think, though I make no reply. And Kalahira will not receive me, either. I am unworthy. The Wheel of Fire shall mill my ruined soul. I will fall into the oblivion to which I have condemned myself. My passing marked by no one.

Irikah's voice echoes in my mind. Adamant as she was in life.

No, my love. You are lost, not ruined. You believe you walk alone, but Arashu watches over you still. She will show you the way to Kalahira's shore.

She will lead you back to me.

I twist my face away from the doctor. My fists curl into tight balls.

"Mr. Krios?" Dr. Chakwas places a firm hand on my shoulder. I return to my body with a start. Chakwas is standing close now, holding a small medical scanner near my temple.

"Doctor. Forgive me," I say, attempting to hold my voice steady, forcing my hands to relax.

"Are you all right? You appeared to be experiencing a mild seizure, but my scans aren't detecting any neurological abnormalities."

"I am fine. I was reliving a memory," I explain.

Chakwas lowers the scanner. "I knew drell had eidetic memory, but I had no idea the recollections could override your cognitive and motor functioning to that extent. Are the vocalizations voluntary?"

"Not always," I admit.

"That must be inconvenient," she empathizes.

"At times, yes."

Worried realization crosses her face. "Does this ever occur during combat? Or while you're piloting a vehicle?"

"No, doctor. The recollections can be consuming, but I must indulge them first. Drell have meditative techniques which suppress the process when it is unsafe to experience it."

"That is good to hear. I'm sorry to have intruded on such a...personal recollection, and for all you've suffered, Mr. Krios," the doctor sighs. "I wish I had more to offer you, but without that transplant surgery..."

"No, " I cut her off. "There are too few drell who die in sufficient health to donate vital organs. A staggering number of my people are afflicted with Kepral's syndrome." I look down. "Many of them are children. I will not extend my time at their expense."

The doctor opens her mouth as if to protest, and then closes it, looking long into my eyes. At last, she nods. "Well, I've got a few more tricks up my sleeve. I have a colleague on the Citadel who has developed some experimental antibiotics we can try. And I can use the same nanotechnology Cerberus developed for Project Lazarus to repair some of the cellular damage."

Project Lazarus...

"I ask only that you assist me to continue long enough to fulfill my vow to Shepard," I insist. "Beyond that, my survival is of no consequence."

"If it's all the same to you, I don't intend to give up. Not until we've run out of options." Her face takes on a stubborn set. "You shouldn't, either."

"There is little recourse left for this body." I pause. "Yet...I still have hope."

~Shepard~

The door to the medical bay hisses open. Dr. Chakwas and Thane are deep in a conspiratorial huddle as I enter. An expression I've learned to dread creases Chakwas's face as she regards the somber drell assassin perched, mostly undressed, at the edge of a bio bed. They stop speaking and look up as I approach. Thane drops from the bed to his feet. Even caught off guard in the middle of a medical exam, he manages to do so with stunning grace.

"Shepard," he bows in greeting.

"Thane. I...shouldn't be interrupting." My cheeks feel hot. Dammit, EDI, you said they were almost done...

"Not at all," he reassures me. "Dr. Chakwas and I were concluding our discussion." Sinewy muscles ripple along his striped back as he reaches down to collect his discarded leather armor.

Chakwas is busying herself clearing away various instruments. I speak to her to avoid staring at Thane as he dresses.

"Everything check out?" I ask, intentionally oblique.

Chakwas shoots a questioning look at Thane. He nods his assent as he finishes donning his reinforced leggings and begins tucking several small knives and devices into various concealed holsters.

"Mr. Krios is doing exceptionally well given the circumstances, Commander," my old friend reports, gazing down at her datapad. "He remains in superb physical condition despite the progression of his illness. For the time being, he is more than capable to serve in direct combat."

She turns to address Thane as he shrugs into his complicated armored jacket. "That said, I strongly recommend you avoid entering high humidity environments without a moisture filter. You say your recon hood has been modified to serve this function – keep it with you whenever you're deployed groundside. Blood loss is also particularly hazardous for individuals with Kepral's syndrome."

She approaches him, reaching down to adjust a familiar device embedded in his left wrist. "I'm upgrading your omni-tool to carry a heavier grade of medi-gel; if you sustain a

serious wound, it must be applied at once. Please be careful to recheck the levels frequently." Chakwas straightens and looks back at me. "Aside from that, my advice is to deploy Mr. Krios as frequently as possible. Brisk cardiovascular activity will prevent rapid progression of the disease, and it is easy to fall idle when you're cooped up on a starship."

"We'll keep all of that in mind. Thanks, doc." I nod to her.

Thane has finished fastening the last few catches on his complicated garments, and is watching me with glittering, inquisitive black eyes.

"It's a pleasure to have you aboard, Mr. Krios," Dr. Chakwas says. "If any new symptoms or concerns arise, please let me know immediately."

"Of course," he bows. "You have my thanks, doctor." Thane starts for the door, and I fall in step beside him.

"Mind if I join you for a bit?"

"Not at all."

I gesture toward the mess hall.

"Have you eaten?" I inquire.

"Not for some time," he admits.

"Neither have I. Come on, let's find the cook." I beckon Thane to follow me. He looks puzzled as I lead him away from the mess hall.

We round the corner and I poke my head into the women's restroom. Finding it empty, I cross to the port side of the corridor, peeking into the men's room. I find Rupert Gardner on his knees, swearing at a mechanism behind the men's toilet and bashing it with a large wrench.

"Shepard, the women's restroom is on the starboard side of the ship," EDI's disembodied voice lectures.

"Thank you, EDI," I dismiss her. "Rupert?"

"Oh – Commander!" Gardner straightens up, looking sheepish. "Sorry – the recycling unit's jammed again. Stopped it from flooding the deck, but I can't get the blockage cleared. Damned krogan..."

Thane turns his penetrating gaze on me. "I'd assumed Garrus was joking about the ship's plumber preparing the food," he says in a low rasp.

I wince a little. "I'm afraid not."
"Looking for some dinner, Commander?" Gardner asks.

I force myself to nod. Gardner deposits his wrench on the metal toilet tank and follows me out to the corridor.

"I see we've picked up another wayward soul," Gardner smiles good-naturedly at Thane.

"Rupert, this is our newest squadmate, Thane Krios. Thane, this is Mess Sergeant Rupert Gardner – ship's cook, janitor, plumber, and jack-of-all-trades."

"Hello," Thane inclines his head at Gardner.

"Good to meet you. I hope you like salisbury steak. Or at least, it's the closest thing I could get to steak..."

"You'll have no complaint from me. I once survived for three weeks on badly-charred varren meat." A peculiar, distant look crosses Thane's face, his mouth twisted with a rare expression I can't interpret. After a moment, he looks up at us and blinks. "Batarian mercenaries are not known for their culinary arts."

Gardner scratches his head. "Well it's not varren. Uh... pretty sure it's not varren."

I clap Gardner on the shoulder. "I'm sure it will be delicious, Rupert. Your cooking is really starting to shine since we picked up those supplies from the Citadel."

Gardner beams as we approach the kitchen. Circling around to the sink, he scrubs his hands, pushes up his sleeves, and, whistling a jaunty tune, sets about preparing our rations.

~Thane~

Following a rapid, silent repast in the mess hall, Shepard leads me to the life support bay carrying a fresh, steaming mug of the bitter stimulant beverage most humans seem to enjoy.

I try not to stare at her.

Two years...

The tale Kelly Chambers imparted about Project Lazarus and Shepard's reconstruction beggars belief. For all

intents and purposes, the human woman leading me to my new quarters has been brought back from the dead.

Yet aside from glowing red seams exposing cybernetic implants beneath skin grafts that have yet to heal, there is little about Shepard to suggest anything but youthful vitality. Kelly insisted in her recounting that Shepard had been restored – at the Illusive Man's instructions – to the precise condition she was in prior to her death. Identical in body, mind, soul.

I burn with questions I don't dare ask.

Had she merged with the sea? How can she have returned whole, the same soul she was? How is it that Kalahira would relinquish her? What might she have brought back with her across the expanse?

For what purpose...?

Shepard strolls into the dimly-lit bay, inspecting the furnishings brought in by the maintenance crew. "Not bad," she smiles. I notice her eyes, their inky, shimmering liquid depths reminiscent of the Encompassing, Kahje's teeming, endless sea. They crinkle at the corners when she smiles. "We need to find you some chairs."

"Agreed – but this will do nicely for now." The shelving and table should suffice for storage and equipment maintenance. The cot, while narrow, is superior to many of the accommodations I've tolerated in the past. I cross to the window, looking out at the glowing orb with curiosity.

"That's the Tantalus FTL drive core," Shepard explains. "I have no idea how it works, but it's got my engineering staff excited." She takes a seat at the foot of the cot, drawing her knees up to her chin and taking a sip of her beverage.

I'm surprised by her lack of formality. My impression was that military officials tended not to socialize with their subordinates. Perhaps humans have different conventions around authority and command hierarchies than the other council races. I realize there are still gaps in my knowledge of Earth's history, culture, and philosophy. I decide to address these at my earliest convenience.

I retrieve my footlocker from the entrance and set it down on the table. Flipping the catches and opening the lid, I lift away floating trays filled with smaller tools and possessions, and begin to unload my arsenal.

"I have kept my standard infiltration loadout in good repair, but my other weapons have not been used for some time," I explain, examining an older M-93 Mantis sniper rifle.

Shepard's eyes widen. "That's a Mark III – issued five years ago?"

I nod, and she sighs. "I really miss that gun. I lost mine when the Normandy SR-1 went down. Loading mechanism catches a little, but the targeting V.I. was poetry in motion. The new tracking scope on the Mark V drifts to the right."

I look at her with wonder. "Agreed! I've had to apply modifications to compensate. I would still be using this Mark III, but the ejection coil needs replacing, and I've had difficulty locating the necessary component." I place the older rifle on one of the utility shelves.

Her mouth drops open. "You found a mod for the scope? Where?"

"I could not find one, so I built it myself." I lift my newer Mantis from its holster on my back, placing it beside her on the cot. Setting her mug on the floor, she lays the rifle across her lap, running her fingers over the compensation module affixed to the scope. She lifts it to her shoulder and cocks the barrel, careful to point it away from me. Peering through the scope, she moves the rifle side to side, varying the movement speed to test the V.I.'s response.

She lets out a whistle. "This is amazing. Your scope's tracking is even more intuitive than the Mark III."

I feel my inner eyelids begin to flutter at her compliment. "Yes, though note the delay. It

takes several milliseconds for the modulator to compensate for the drag. The Mark III tracking V.I. is still superior."

"I'll make you a deal," Shepard sets the rifle down. "You make me a mod for my Mantis V, and I'll keep an eye out for your ejection coil. Jacob might even have one up in the armory."

I look down. "I am loathe to trouble Mr. Taylor. I can carry out my maintenance tasks on my own."

The corners of Shepard's mouth tighten. "Thane, I'm sorry about Jacob. He..." she pauses, looking troubled. "He isn't usually like that."

"Ah – you mean arbitrary, combative, and self-righteous?" I say it a bit too sharply, and then soften. "It is not your apology to give – but I appreciate your wishing to."

"You're right to be angry. He was way out of line. He..." Shepard pauses, a conflicted look crossing her face. "He heard something about you. From a batarian slave trader. Something he claimed you did ten years ago on the Citadel. I'm hoping he heard wrong."

My blood turns to ice, and I turn my face away from her. "Whatever he heard, it is...likely he heard correctly." I had not realized word of my actions a decade ago had reached the ears of the Normandy's crew – or anyone else. I had believed all the loose threads had been...trimmed.

"What happened?" she asks, her voice soft, absent of the judgment and disgust I had anticipated.

"I..." the words will not come. My mouth seems filled with sand. I struggle to ground myself against a threatening flood of recollection. "I am sorry, Shepard. Those memories are...difficult, painful to revisit. I vow that I will tell you all, in time. For now, know that the atrocities Mr. Taylor has revealed are those for which I seek atonement. My soul has been marked, and must be cleansed with pain and sacrifice to become whole again. For those lives ended at my soul's own choosing...I burn with remorse."

Shepard is silent for a long time, troubled. At last, she speaks, "It's not my place to condemn you or forgive you for your past. I can only judge you based on what I see. So far, that's been in your favor." Her voice turns to steel, "You pull any unauthorized massacres on my watch, though, and I'll put a bullet in your head myself."

"You have my word it will never come to that, Shepard." I bow my head, "Let the Wheel mill my soul if I fail you."

"For what it's worth, I believe you." She softens again, "From now on, we're a team, Thane. You won't have any more trouble from Jacob – or anyone else on the squad. You have my word on that."

"You are kind to care about this, Shepard. However, if Mr. Taylor chooses to continue to be hostile, it is not your responsibility."

"It is," she says with passion. "The quality of our team will be what makes or breaks this mission. I'm not just talking about the abilities, but our trust in each other. Each of us needs to know that the squad has our ass covered, no matter what. It's my job to set the example. Otherwise, this whole thing falls apart. "

I cannot take my eyes from her as she speaks. After a long moment I manage to locate my voice. "I...still have much to learn about this operation."

Shepard smiles at me. "You'll be getting a detailed briefing from Miranda. That should help. Anything else, you'll pick up as you go along. I'll bet you're a fast learner."

"Yes," I say, then realize this sounds arrogant. " All drell tend to be," I qualify.

Shepard sets the Mantis back down on the cot beside her and reaches for her mug. She gives a start. "Shit! "

I freeze, regarding her with caution.

"I forgot, I'm supposed to meet Jacob for coffee," she says, rising to her feet.

"Is that beverage not a stimulant?" I ask, puzzled. "You've consumed two refills in the past hour."

"Three," she corrects me. "Coffee is my life blood. It gets credit for about half my military reputation," she chuckles. "I'm sorry to cut this short, Thane, but I should go. We'll talk later."

"I...would like that," I say.

"I'll get you that coil," she promises. "Be ready at 0700 tomorrow. We're returning to Illium. Oh - and before I forget..." She hands me a datapad with a mysterious smile. "Looks like you have an admirer."

I take the datapad and watch her go.

I find myself unsettled by the size of the space she leaves behind.