Siccerta - A large (average size 3-4 metres in length, 100-150 kilos), desert dwelling lizard-analogue known for its long fringe, which it can extend out to impress mates or intimidate competitors, and its dual toned, raspy hiss. The mythos on the Siccerta's origin is that the leader of one of the great ancient clans called all his rival clans to a gathering on neutral ground. While they slept, he ordered his people to slaughter the other clans down to the babes in arms. The praela's having witnessed the horror of his treachery, punished his entire clan by turning them into beasts and exiling them to the desert.
508 Days ASD
It didn't matter how many times Garrus visited Haestrom, the place gave him what Shepard called the willies: the superstitious, irrational tingle down his spine. It became even more unreasonable when he never went down onto the hellish surface of the planet. The Archangel/geth run shipyard remained fixed on the dark side of the planet to avoid the worst of the solar radiation.
Garrus shifted as he stared out the Normandy's fore-facing ports. If he had any say in the matter, he'd never set foot on that graveyard. Unlike the devastation that it visited upon Rannoch, the war passed over Haestrom. The people who lived there during the Morning War fled at the first sign of incoming geth, so all their colonial, slab architecture remained standing. From orbit, the deserted shells, smoke drifting up from the rock as the sun baked the planet to death, felt haunted, as though warning the living to keep their distance.
His eyes shifted from the planet, looming large before them, to the sun. There it was, the reason the system incinerated his every nerve like dry fir needles in a fire storm.
Dholen …
… dying early for no apparent reason, as if some great, dark intelligence of the universe just reached out a hand to decree the system's annihilation.
"Three hundred cycles ago," Tali said from just behind Garrus's elbow, her voice hushed, almost reverent, "Dholen was a caretaker, a source of life. Now it's betrayed its charges, a monster intent on extinction. The geth say that dark energy is concentrating within the core, and the process is accelerating." Out of the corner of his eye, he saw her wrap her arms around herself, stiffening as if she felt the same specter hanging over them as he did. "The sun has only cycles left to live before it tears this system apart." She nodded toward the relay. "And if the relay is destroyed or thrown into space like the one to Ilos, my people will be months at FTL from the rest of the galaxy."
Joker glanced back at them. "The Passchendaele is hailing, General."
Garrus nodded for the pilot to open the channel. "Passchendaele, this is Vakarian. Go ahead."
"Hey boss. Glad you're here," Martin called. "The tracker died, so we have no idea if that shuttle is still on the surface, but it didn't move the whole time the tracker was transmitting. What's the plan?"
Garrus stepped forward, bracing a hand against the back of Joker's chair. "Have you picked up any transmissions?"
"Nothing, not even from the shipyard, which appears to be completely shut down. We scanned it, but not a single reading, not even the power core. It's dead in the water. I called back to home base and asked when the yard last reported in."
Garrus found himself holding his breath. Their biggest shipyard, at least a hundred workers of all races and their families, thousands of geth platforms containing hundreds of thousands of runtimes, one dreadnought, a cruiser, and two frigates nearly ready for delivery. Spirits. "How long?" he managed to ask past the talons of dread and guilt that closed around his throat.
Looking down at Joker, he said, voice mimicking the dry rasp of a siccerta, "Scan the shipyard for lifesigns, our ships, and active power signatures, please, Joker."
"Yes, sir."
"Omega last heard from the shipyard the day before we left." Martin answered. "Not even a distress beacon or a partial call for help. It just went dark. It's a safe bet there's no one left alive. Do you want us to board?"
Garrus shook his head. "Who knows what we'd be walking into." He raised a talon despite Martin not being able to see him. "Give me a minute." Garrus paced as he waited for the word from Joker. So many Archangel personnel working with the geth onboard that station. Wouldn't they have tried to get out some call for help if attacked? Although, with the number of platforms, if the geth turned on them, they wouldn't have stood a chance. Not to mention that the geth could easily have jammed communications.
Everything he'd eaten in the last week tried to force its way up his throat. All the families he'd sent there … .
"No lifeforms, the ships are gone, there are no power signatures and no computers. The station is dead, General." The pilot pulled up a screen displaying the scan results and looked back, shrugging a little. "Maybe the geth downloaded themselves back to the servers on Rannoch? Maybe they took the ships?"
"Reroute Weaver's call to the comm room, Joker," he called, already striding out of the cockpit. "Ask Anderson, Alenko, and Nihlus to meet me there." On his way past, he snagged Tali's forearm, asking her to follow with a gentle tug.
"The ships, Garrus," she said, nearly whispering. "They could be anywhere."
He nodded, not needing her to remind him that depending upon which set of hands controlled them, those ships could be running silent in orbit of Rannoch or headed for the flotilla. One of the frigates was the prototype of a new Stinger class. It would drop the shields on even the most protected ships in the flotilla with a single hit. Combine that with the dreadnought's firepower and a surprise attack, and live ships would be nothing but chaff before the heavy fleet even responded.
He strode into the comm room, his talons cutting a rushed, irregular triangle across the deck plating as he paced.
Think, Vakarian. Think. Xen doesn't have the firepower or the bodies to take out the station and run off with so many ships. That leaves the geth.
Could the heretics really have been infesting the consensus the entire time, picking off any geth who began to suspect?
He looked up. "Martin, send me everything on that datapad you found when Arox was taken. Then I want you and the Passch to head back to Rannoch." He activated his omnitool. "I'm sending you my access codes. Go through my files—here's the path data—get the IFF and transponder frequencies for those ships. When you find them, send them to all vessels, Normandy included. If any of our boats appear, disable them. Don't try to hail. Don't ask questions. Take out their weapons and engines then worry about their intentions."
"Yes, sir. Are seven heavy frigates going to be able to take that dreadnought?"
"Take out the Stinger first, then the dreadnought." Garrus spun toward the door. "Get moving, Martin, and fill in Kal'Reegar." He stopped, suddenly realizing he'd misplaced his thief. "Where is Kasumi? Is she still on the planet?"
"Yes, sir. She wanted to stay and keep an eye on the geth base," Martin replied.
His one mandible fluttered in a faint smile. She might prove more of an asset than he'd imagined. Reality splashed sharp and jagged as the comm room door opened, cutting off the brief levity. "It might be a very good idea for Kasumi and Kal'Reegar to move the expeditionary team into the caves under the ruins, and to make sure they are all armed. Both you and Kasumi need to check in with the Normandy on the hour."
"Aye, sir. Anything else?" Martin's voice trembled a little, but steadied.
Spirits, you'd be proud of him, Kahri.
"Take care of yourself and keep sharp. Good hunting." As the call ended, Garrus spun to face the captain and the Spectre. "We have a new problem." The Mako balanced on his shoulders rolled backward, and he stumbled, sitting down hard in one of the chairs.
"Because there aren't enough knots tied in this string already." Nihlus sat in the chair next to Garrus, Anderson in the one beside that, both of them watching him. "What's happened?" the Spectre asked, his scrutiny supportive, but Garrus could see the unknowns wearing at the his calm.
Drawing in a breath, Garrus checked for the scent of alcohol, then cursed the unconscious habit. No, it wasn't the habit of checking Nihlus for signs of drinking that he hated, it was the accompanying expectation and then disappointment. Damn. As functional as Nihlus was drunk, he couldn't lead a team. He probably shouldn't even be allowed on the mission.
Garrus held his reply for long seconds, the silence roaring in his ears, the Normandy's pulse throbbing a deep bass counterpoint to his. Questions started marching through him, pounding through his head before moving down into his chest, chanting to that two-fold beat. How had he let things get so far out of hand? Why hadn't he seen these possibilities and been ready for them? Why had he allowed families onto a base controlled by geth? Why had he been so quick to trust?
"General?"
Anderson's voice dropped through his thoughts, a heavy stone stilling the turbulent water, and he inhaled, a quick exclamation of breath, in the vacuum that followed.
"Our shipyard is dark," he said. "No lifeforms, no power. I think it's safe to assume that anyone remaining there is dead." He looked up as he opened a channel to the cockpit. "Joker, what are the conditions aboard the station?"
"Gravity is out," the pilot reported. "Low levels of oxygen, high concentrations of carbon dioxide and methane, but pressure is nominal. Temperature is minus fifty centigrade and dropping."
"Thanks, Vakarian out." He looked to Anderson. "Mind if I borrow Alenko and four Marines? We need to go over and try to figure out what happened before we put an armed space station and possibly four of our own ships at our back when we head for Haestrom."
The captain nodded. "They're yours, General."
Garrus looked over at Alenko. "We have no idea what we're walking into other than what Joker just told us. Have your people prepped—one weapon with tungsten and one with incendiary ammunition—and ready to go in an hour." He looked to Tali. "You coming?"
"Chaktika and I will meet you at the shuttle." She stood and beckoned to Kaidan. "Come on, you can put the incendiary rounds in my shotgun for me. Last time I caused a spark and burned a hole through my suit."
Garrus nodded when Kaidan looked to him. "Dismissed, lieutenant."
"General? The Passch just hit the relay," Joker reported. "Are we all alone out here, expecting to get our asses shot off by our own ships?"
"That's about the shape of it, Joker. Stay sharp."
And keep your eye on the sun. Shadows move across its surface.
Garrus shuddered as he watched Tali and Alenko leave, and tried to knock away the sharp, bony finger that dug into his gut, working its way under his plates. When the door shut behind them, he turned to Nihlus. "How much have you had to drink?"
Anderson cleared his throat and stood. "I'll be out in the CIC watching your backs. Be careful over there."
"Thank you, Captain." Garrus's focus followed Anderson until he stepped out of view, then turned back to Nihlus. "How much? Do I need to leave you behind?"
"I'm fully in control of my faculties, Vakarian." Nihlus stood and strode to the door.
"If you want to join the mission, report to the doc, and get some of that crap flushed out of your system. Then meet me in the shuttle. You can second my team."
Nihlus whirled around to face Garrus, eyes flashing, mandibles lifted and spread in fury. "Report to you?" His laugh hit hard enough to sting. "Is the title going to your head, General?"
Garrus leaned back and sighed. "Would you like to punch me, too? I still have a good mandible you could tear off." Brow plates lifting, he shrugged. "I've told you how it's going to be if you want to come on my mission, Nihlus. Throwing a tantrum and trying to hurt my feelings isn't the best argument for your sobriety, either, just for future reference." He stood. "So, if you want to go aboard the station, get your ass in gear, Kryik."
Letting out a resigned, weary breath, Garrus waited to see which spirit Nihlus would listen to—the one insisting on breaking Garrus's other mandible, or the one whispering to just go sober up and be ready for the mission.
A helical zephyr—a draft from the air vent?—curled between them, carrying a glimmer of sound, a sigh like silver dust, on its back. Garrus saw Nihlus freeze, knowing from the way the torin's mandibles dropped and fluttered that he'd not only heard but understood that sound. The Spectre nodded, spun into a rigid, military turn, and strode out.
"Do you speak to him?" he asked the air, turning a slow circle. "Do you come to him, even when he's awake?" His voice rose, a fist balling in his throat, strangling both larynges. "Why? Damn it, Shepa—" Jealousy? A harsh cough of laughter smashed through the block. After all those months, after watching her go on dates and share the bizarre relationship of the visions, it took an imagined whisper to provoke his jealousy.
"You're losing it, Vakarian, and you can't afford to," he grumbled, heading for the crew deck. He needed a shower and some food before he left the Normandy.
As he stood under the hot spray, steaming billowing around him, he closed his eyes only to discover the image of Dholen etched onto the inside of his eyelids. The surface seethed, exploding outward in rage, screaming in the face of its death.
And the shadow. Always the shadow slithering beneath the light like the endless fathoms of black beneath the bright sparkles and reflection of the ocean. Cold, pitiless—
"General, aren't you twenty minutes from a mission?"
Garrus jumped, his entire body spasming so rigid that he slipped and left talon gouges in the deck plating. Scrambling, he caught himself and glanced over at the crewman … Rawali? One hand grabbed for his towel as the other slammed off the water control. "Yeah, thanks. It's been too long since I had a decent shower, I guess. Thanks. Who knows how long I'd have been there." He chuckled, the sound so cold that even Rawali's lips just thinned as he retreated out the door.
"Yeah, definitely losing it, Vakarian." He dressed and ran to grab some meal bars and change his ammo.
He kept the ports shut on the way to the shipyard, using sensors instead. No matter how much he told himself that he was being a superstitious idiot about the system, looking out chilled him to his core and hollowed him out. That was no way to go into battle.
The shipyard's shuttle bay door stood open, a mouth gaping in a silent scream. Decompression when the power went out and the forcefields died had set the station drifting, its massive bulk tumbling slowly through the black. It crept toward the light, a corpse hungry for warmth and life. Garrus knew that once the sun touched its skin, it would discover only something colder and more terrible than any death. The shadow would skitter into its soul, peeling back the layers of what it had been, transforming it—
Garrus growled low in his throat and rolled his neck. High time to stop doing that.
"Absolute cold and darkness just crawled right into me, C-Sec," Shepard whispered, still clinging to him. He could feel her trembling through the touch. "I couldn't do anything to stop it. It spoke to me. It was afraid. I felt that it considered me a threat, and it was trying to figure me out, discover my weaknesses."
Indoctrination?
No, he just needed to calm the hell down and focus on the mission, rather than superstitious jitters. There was nothing on the Normandy, or the shuttle, or even in the system to indoctrinate him.
"Get it together or you're going to get someone killed," he whispered to himself, forcing his focus onto the controls. He saw Nihlus glance at him, but felt no need to explain. They'd followed Shepard to hell and partway back, and she'd had a lot more crazy going on than just talking to herself.
Spirits, I miss the crazy, Kahri.
Garrus's scowl deepened as he swung the shuttle around, steering past a couple of shuttles, zero-g lifts, and an assortment of small equipment expelled during the decompression. He guided the shuttle into the bay, the searchlights on its front corner panels sweeping across the absolute black. Shuttles hung suspended, their awkward postures unnatural and sinister as the lights glared off the planes and threw the angles into deep shadow. Passing through the huge door, he maneuvered between them, setting it down just inside the interior doors.
"We're going to get beaten to hell getting through their airlocks, even if they were vented before the outer door field went down," Nihlus said as he unbuckled himself and stood.
Garrus nodded. "I brought a power cell. If there's no back up power source for the airlocks, Tali and I will be able to rig something. We have some moderate skill with tech."
"You're a pretend engineer, aren't you?"
Everyone put on their helmets, then Garrus vented the air from the shuttle. The hiss of the vents echoed, a deep exhalation that whispered from every dark corner. When he opened the hatch, he felt as though he'd gone blind, the black so absolute that it swallowed the light from inside the shuttle before it even reached the next object.
He pulled Roger from his back and turned on the flashlight. Shuttles, and pieces of equipment reflected back his light, but no bodies. Not even any of the detritus he'd expect from combat, but then, maybe the fighting just hadn't gotten that far.
"All right," he said, stopping a few metres in. He turned back, facing seven expressions that mirrored his own. "We're going to break into two teams of four. Alenko, you'll take Tali, Peterson, and Englestein to engineering. See if you can get the power turned back on. Teung and Rogers will come with Nihlus and I. We'll head to the bridge. Everyone go slow, keep your eyes open, and watch for survivors. It's extremely cold, so there's always a chance."
Nodding to Tali, he headed for the airlock. Next to the door, he crouched and removed the panel cover. "We need to restore power to this airlock."
She nodded and crouched at his side. "They almost always have backup power cells. Can't have people getting locked in and suffocating during a power failure." She examined the inner workings. "Someone took out the power cell."
Garrus nodded and pulled the spare from the pouch at his waist. "I just happen to have one." He stuck it into the slot, and hit the button to switch over to secondary systems. The door control lit up. "Success. We make a good team."
She straightened. "Sure, when you're not lying to me and insulting my government." Despite the frostiness of her words, her tone came across warm and teasing. Too bad the elbow that knocked him in the back of his head didn't.
"Hey," he groused despite being grateful for the lightening of the mood, "I'm still healing here."
"Get wise enough to leave your visor at home this time?" she asked, hitting the controls to cycle the airlock.
"No choice, it's in three pieces. Your committee owes me a new one. Maybe one of the new PanOptiks 4500X." A quick tilt of the head ushered the others into the airlock. "Let's move, people."
"Aye, sir," Rogers groaned, her gaze darting so quickly that she stumbled backing into the airlock.
Garrus grabbed her shoulder, holding her upright. "Slow your breathing. Yes, it's dark, but there isn't anything on this base that you haven't faced before." He leaned down and stared into her eyes until some colour began to return to her face and her breathing slowed. Once she'd regained control, he nodded. "Good. Let's go."
"If the geth turned on the people here," Nihlus said, "some would have hidden, but most would have tried to get their families to safety. They would have rushed the docks, tried to get onto shuttles. Judging by the number of shuttles still in the bay, they didn't make it that far." He let out a long breath and pushed through to the inside door as Garrus shut them in and began the cycle. "Be prepared for what could be on the other side of this door. Especially if the heretic geth had dragon's teeth like on Eden Prime."
Garrus winced. That possibility hadn't even occurred to him. Did the husks give off energy signatures before the dragon's teeth lowered them? The conversion spikes had to, though. The Normandy would have picked them up.
The fight to get out of the main chamber on Ilos flashed through his mind. The Reapers' capacity for creating horror knew no bounds. He joined Nihlus at the front of the airlock. The red light on the panel turned to green. Raising Roger to his shoulder, he brought the assault rifle's scope to his helmet, ready. Seven safeties clicked off, and the sound of breathing, harsh and quick, filled the airlock. Hand leaving the gun, he pressed his talons against the door control.
It slid open, letting out a slight hiss that plucked his nerves, making him stiffen. Sucking in a thin, hissing breath, Garrus cursed his own jumpiness and stepped out. Roger's muzzle swept a wide arc across the dock waiting room. His visions of heaped bodies, mowed down in a panic, or a mob of roaring tech zombies vanished, replaced by a reality far more terrifying.
The large waiting area sat empty, the room in perfect order—the furniture bolted to the floor. Not a body, not a drop of blood, no damaged geth platforms, not even scorch marks on the walls awaited them.
"What the hell happened to everyone?"
"Captain Shepard, my name is Miranda Lawson," the familiar voice called across the vast, black chasm. "Can you understand me? If you understand me, open your eyes and blink twice in a row."
She didn't want to open her eyes, and she certainly didn't want to bark, clap her flippers, and balance a ball on her nose. No, the darkness wrapped around her, warm and comforting. She'd stay inside it.
"Captain, I need you to do this for me. I must assess your neurological stability." A hand gripped her forearm, the touch smelting her insensate, stoney flesh into magma.
Shepard's eyes sprang open at the agony flowing out from that contact. Blinking twice against an orange light that burned into her skull, she used the simple motion to beg the woman to release her. She opened her mouth, trying to force out words, any words to make the pain stop, but only a series of garbled moans tumbled out.
The woman lifted her hand and turned away, her form solidifying into focus. She keyed information into her omnitool at dizzying speeds, muttering to herself about neurological bleed, synaptic transfers, and delta waves.
Confusion warred with fear. Why couldn't she talk? She tried to move her hands, but couldn't even feel them other than the fading pain where Miranda touched her. Why couldn't she move? It all had to be a dream. Surely, she was dreaming.
More moans and stuttered sounds slumped from her lips, unformed lumps of clay that meant nothing. Fear kicked her adrenaline into overdrive, the hormone insisting that she flee or fight, but it just turned her immobile body in on itself.
"Captain Shepard." Miranda leaned over her. Blue eyes stared down from a pretty face framed by the sort of flowing black hair that always made Shepard want to yank it from spite. "Please take slow breaths and try to calm down." An unconvincing smile curved the woman's lips. "What did you think about? What did you remember the other day that helped you calm down when you were in so much pain?"
Just breathe. Just be here. Here with me.
Oh. It was him. The voice had calmed her down. It reached down inside her, slowing her heart. Who was he? His voice filled her with so many things: warmth, safety … love. Why didn't she remember more than his voice?
"Spirits, Shepard." A soft touch traced her collarbone. "You're a mess."
"Very good, Captain," Miranda said. "That's it. Just like that. I need to explain a few things, okay? Can you blink twice for me if you understand?"
Focusing back on the chill, professional, blue eyes, Shepard blinked. Twice. She understood the words perfectly well. What she needed were some answers.
"You were shot." Miranda brought up an x ray and turned it so that Shepard could see. "The bullet entered just under your jaw and exited out through the base of your skull. It destroyed your brainstem and upper spinal cord."
Shepard scowled at the screen, feeling a mild flush of relief when her face muscles moved. With that injury, she should be dead. Beating her mouth into submission, she managed to get out, " … d … ehd."
Miranda nodded, the expression on her face one of pride as she said, "Yes, you died. Your crew buried you in space three days after you passed. We recovered your body." She lifted a hand as Shepard opened her mouth to force out another word. "Don't try to talk for now. I understand it must be difficult, but I'm hoping to get your implants calibrated so you can speak."
"What are you doing, Miranda?" The man hurried in from out of Shepard's field of vision to square off against Miranda across Shepard's bed. "We nearly killed her two days ago just moving her."
"Wilson, two days is my limit for listening to you whine and question my every move," Miranda shot back, her tone cold and hard enough that Shepard waited for the sound of a gunshot. "Stand there and shut up. I've nerve blocked her from the neck down …"
But, then why had her touch seared Shepard's arm the way it did?
"… and, as you can see, she's perfectly calm. Get to work on the new batch of nanites." Miranda threw a careless hand toward the other end of the space. "We need to accelerate her tissue healing so that I don't have to paralyze her to have her awake and functional."
Shepard listened, watching every shift in the black-haired woman's face. Miranda considered her a challenge, a puzzle, a science experiment. Not a trace of humanity or compassion looked out of those eyes or softened the lines around that perfect mouth.
Miranda looked back down, another one of her pasted-on smiles apologizing for the interruption. A faint line creased her forehead for a moment, her eyes shifting down. Trying to remember where she was, no doubt.
"We recovered your body and began the process of bringing you back. It's been a long road, but we achieved independent neural function three months ago. Ever since, you've experienced continual improvement." The calculated smile returned. "You're still several months from full healing, but we'll be waking you from time to time, like today, to run tests."
Tests? If she could move, Shepard would run a test to see how far up Miranda's ass she could shove her foot. How dare they? How dare they snatch her body out of the black like an unclaimed piece of luggage and run experiments on it for who knew how long before they managed to Frankenstein enough of her together to call her alive?
Flashes of faces flickered past like a bad vid, people she couldn't put names to, but somehow she knew they'd all mourn her. No, it wasn't right. It wasn't natural. If you died, you died.
Do you trust me, Shepard?
The moment the voice murmured through her head, she knew the answer. Whoever he was, she trusted him implicitly. That trust flickered and glowed down at the very core of her.
You're the bravest person I've ever met.
She let the anger go, breathing slowly until it evaporated.
"Okay, Shepard," Miranda continued, oblivious. "Even though it was unexpected, having to move you the other day yielded some of the best data we've gotten in months. It's allowed me to calculate new settings for the implants that replaced your brain stem."
She sighed, almost sounding annoyed that she had to interrupt her brilliant science to explain things to the dead woman. "We were able to use stem cells to repair your spinal cord, but had to develop extremely sophisticated technology to take the place of your brain stem. You now basically have a miniature super computer directing traffic between your brain and your body."
Shepard wondered if the woman would look as excited about the whole thing if she'd just been told that she'd been brought back from the dead with a computer running the show. Somehow, she doubted it. The desire to stab the woman with a screwdriver or writing implement twitched down her arm. Sweet baby Jesus, how could Miranda be so cavalier about destroying the laws of nature?
Miranda turned back to her omnitool. "I'm going to adjust your implants to see if we can help you talk." She paused, the line appearing between her flawless brows again. "Understand, Captain … you died and remained brain dead for just over a year. We kept your body alive and rebuilt it, but your brain suffered a massive trauma and an extended period of oxygen deprivation. You are going to have to relearn everything, including talking, walking, reading, and writing." A small shrug tugged at her shoulders. "Everything."
'Then why did you bother?' Shepard's stare demanded. 'Why didn't you just leave me dead?' A cold, bleak wind blew through her guts. What was she? Had they even brought Jane Gwendolyn Shepard back, or was she just an empty shell run by a computer programmed to believe it was Shepard?
"What I need you to do is repeat the sound 'da'." Miranda stared at her, brows raised, mouth open as if to form the sound herself, as if she could somehow prompt Shepard to follow suit.
Letting out an inner sigh, Shepard opened her mouth and forced out a drunken sounding, "Deh."
"Very good," Miranda coaxed. "Just keep repeating it."
Over the next hour, as Shepard's brain became fuzzier and fuzzier, a headache building up like a hurricane circling her brain, she repeated sound after sound. Despite the frustration and her skull feeling ready to split open, the exercise yielded results as her voice became clearer and her mouth cooperated with greater ease.
"Very good, Captain. Can you try to say 'She sells seashells' for me?" Miranda asked without looking up from her omnitool.
Shepard raised an eyebrow. Seriously? Ma da ra had proved an insurmountable challenge. Still, she took a breath. "Scheh schellch schehschellch." Maybe they should give her six or seven shots of alcohol. Her diction might improve. It certainly couldn't get worse. Acidic tears burned behind her eyes as terror and frustration erected a strangling dam in the back of her throat.
A harsh sob escaped before she could stop it. Burning with anger and embarrassment, Shepard pressed her eyes closed, not wanting to see Miranda's reaction to her science experiment breaking down.
"I know it doesn't seem like it, Captain, but you're doing far better than I anticipated. You should be talking shortly."
Shepard peeked out of one eye, but the woman still wasn't looking at her. Instead, she looked up at the other side of the room. "Wilson, are you done with those nanites? I want to get them started on the speech center."
Nanites? In her brain? "Nooh," she protested, the fear setting off every nerve in her body, a thicket of nettles … or a billion tiny limbs all waking up, struggling to help her defend herself against the abomination of what they were doing to her.
Miranda just smiled that terrible, empty smile. "I'm going to put you back to sleep now, Shepard. Rest well."
"Noh!" She struggled to get any part of her body to move. She didn't want to be sent back to oblivion while they stuffed machines into her body, warping it further from what it had been meant to be.
No amount of fighting or hoping did any good and the darkness rose up to claim her. Just before everything disappeared, throwing her back across the chasm, he spoke:
It's all right, Shepard. Go to sleep. I've got you.
She prayed he did. Oh sweet voice, I really hope you do, because I don't even know what they've turned me into.
(A-N: I am fail. LOL Obviously did not get this chapter out Wednesday. But I will get the other chapter out later today or in the wee hours of Saturday. It will still be N7 Day somewhere. So, happy N7 day, everyone. It just happens to also be my birthday... I guess I was fated to be a ME fan. :) Have an awesome day, and play lots of ME and read lots of awesome fanfic. *hugs* Thanks to my betas, you are amazing ... and always, all the love.