January 27th 2185 C.E.
Illium Medical Center / Illium
Rodriguez stared at one of the nearby holo-screens in front of him; the futuristic flatscreen TV currently showing him the latest news about the missing colonists back on Ferris Fields. According to the reporter, there wasn't anything there they could find that would help implicate as to who was responsible for the colonists' disappearance, and that in just a few more days, the Citadel Council was going to cease all further activity in the area to help ease tensions there. The words the lead investigator said was troubling, to say the least. No bodies, no DNA, just plain nothing. He also told the news people that if it were up to him, he just needed a bit more time to find out what had truly happened. But eventually he and his men were overruled, and their final orders gave them only forty-eight Earth-standard hours to vacate the abandoned colony.
The former colonel just sighed. If only those bugs hadn't deleted everything, they would still have all the proof they need to show to the Council and the rest of the Systems Alliance. Sadly, as always, it wasn't meant to be. And the truth was probably going to die along with them. That particular thought of which he immediately put aside.
The news reports also hadn't made any mentions of him, what was left of his militia (which was down to only five men), and one of the missing shuttles, which was currently docked at the spaceport. He wasn't sure whether this piece of information was good news to all of them or not. They were probably never going to find out who they really were, anyways.
Before they arrived here at Illium, he had asked Cortez to scrub the Kodiak's IFF transponder of their real identity as a precaution at that time, thinking that those bugs were specifically targeting them because of where they lived. Now though, he was having second thoughts about that particular decision. If he had let the rest of the galaxy find out that there were survivors during that attack, would they believe them? Would they come to their aid without any further evidence as to who was responsible? It was a long-shot, he knew, but should he have taken that chance? And if he did, was he willing to risk the lives of his remaining men for the slim hope of help?
Damn it. He clenched his fists. I just hope I did the right thing.
"Mister Rodriguez?" Looking away from the holo-screens, he saw an official-looking asari standing near him, a datapad in hand.
"Yeah, that's me." He cautiously told her. "What is it?"
"Would you please follow me?" He gave the purple-colored alien a short nod, then proceeded to follow her as they walked through the various hallways inside the private medical facility. In truth, he wasn't really a huge fan of big hospitals. Just something about a place like this seemed…off, somehow. Like people who were coming in here became a different person once they were discharged. He couldn't quite describe what he felt whenever he was inside one of these places. Maybe it was the soldier inside of him talking, maybe it wasn't, but it really scared him nonetheless. If he had a choice at where he was going to die someday, he'd rather much prefer some place that wasn't depressing and creepy at the same time.
It took them about a few minutes to walk when they finally arrived. An office door with a nameplate showing him it belonged to one Doctor Greg Harrison M.D., a human, no doubt. The asari motioned for him to enter with a smile and a wave, which he did. And he was right. Inside, he saw a middle-aged man with gray hair sitting behind a desk, reading something important on his computer terminal. The older man barely even saw him approach and pointed for him to take a seat, which he also did wordlessly.
They were silent for about a few moments, the man across still in the process of his reading until he finally looked at him, clasping his hands in front of him to signify he had his complete and undivided attention.
"Mister Henry Rodriguez, is it?" The doctor had asked, to which he just gave out a nod. "I understand that you are the guardian of one—" he looked at his terminal "—George Hadley?"
"Yes, sir. I am." He simply replied, his voice neutral and never wavering. Doctor Harrison just gave him a brief look before proceeding to look on his terminal once more.
"Then I'm afraid I have some bad news for you, sir."
"What is it?"
"Whatever Mister Hadley has been through, it's taken quite a toll on him." The doctor turned his terminal screen towards him, and Rodriguez saw the former militiaman just sitting inside a room, looking at a section on the wall unflinchingly. Just seeing the younger man like this broke his heart, feeling somewhat responsible for his current predicament. Besides the video footage were a bunch of medical case notes and observations. "He's barely reacting to any external stimuli, his motor activity is nearly non-existent, he makes little or no eye contact with anyone, and to top it all off, he can't talk."
The former colonel couldn't take his eyes off the video footage, where Hadley is just sitting there in his chair, mouth agape, and his eyes completely and utterly hollow. There was nothing left in there anymore; the spark that he used to see in them a few days ago was gone. It took Rodriguez a while before he finally found his voice.
"Is…is there any way to fix this, doc?"
"Honestly?" Harrison looked at him apprehensively. "There is, but there's only a slight chance that it'll work. Post-traumatic vocal disarticulation is a rare case around these parts, and so are the treatments for it."
"Give it to me straight then, doc." Rodriguez tore his gaze away from the screen and into Harrison's eyes. "How does this work? And more importantly, how long will it take?"
"Well, to provide the patient with symptomatic relief, we have to give him high doses benzodiazepines as a first line treatment. After that, maybe a test dose of intramuscular lorazepam or zolpidem, depending on Mister Hadley's responses. As for how long, well," The doctor brought his elbows to his desk, with his held hands covering his mouth. "a few months, at the least. Maybe even a year, if we're lucky."
"Jesus Christ," Rodriguez said softly, his conscience quickly doing its work of making him feel a huge amount of regret for condemning the poor kid to a possible life of permanent mental disability. This was too much to take in. Doctor Watkins appraised him for a few more seconds or so before he spoke.
"Listen, I know this is a lot to ask, but, what exactly happened out there that made the kid endure so much psychological trauma?" With that, the former colonel looked deeper into Harrison's eyes, contemplating whether or not he should tell the good doctor what had transpired to him and the rest of his team a few days ago. They say that you could tell a lot by looking at people's eyes, and the ones he was currently staring at told him that the middle-aged medical specialist was genuinely concerned at his patient's well-being; which was rare here in Illium, considering that everything in this stupid place revolves around the principle of making a quick buck. Oh fuck it…
"Is doctor-patient confidentiality still a sacred thing around here, doc?" Harrison just chuckled.
"In some places, yeah." The doc said to him with a slight smile. "Though the asari thinks it's just another obstacle to get through to their profits. Don't worry about it, though. Believe it or not, I actually care about my patients." Taking a deep breath, Rodriguez readied himself for a few seconds until he finally opened his mouth to speak.
"You remember that thing that happened at Ferris Fields, right?"
"The missing colonists?" The doctor gave him a nod. "Yeah, I heard about it. Those poor people taken by slavers, I think." Harrison's expression then changed to one of curiosity. "Why? What about them?"
Without any further delay, Rodriguez wordlessly opened up his omni-tool. Accessing the interface, his fingers were hard at work at scanning its databases to look for a certain file. When he found it, he raised his arm so that Harrison could see it. It didn't take long before the doctor's eyes widened and his skin grew dangerously pale.
"You…" The doctor said to him, his voice almost like a whisper, "you…you were there?" The file he was seeing was part of Rodriguez's militia records at the colony, which included his rank, serial number, and other necessary credentials. The former colonel just gave him another nod and a sad smile before turning the glowing interface off. "What the hell happened over there?"
"I honestly don't know, doc. I don't even know what species they were."
"What were they like? The attackers, I mean." The doctor was suddenly revitalized now, his earlier stupor now gone as it was replaced with urgent interest.
"They looked like bugs." Rodriguez replied, trying to recall what he saw. "They had an insect-like exoskeleton, two forward limbs, they also had four eyes like that from a batarian, y'know? And a large elongated head. At least that's what I think I saw." Harrison listened to him intently, his eyes focused, his ears perking up to listen to every word he had to say. Taking it all in, the middle-aged man leaned back on his faux leather seat and sighed.
"Dear God," he breathed. "how'd you get out of there alive?"
And so for the next few minutes or so, the young man told the doctor everything that had happened to him and what was left of his command. The strange ship burning up on the atmosphere, the compromised radio links, the attack by those drone things and their subsequent crash landing, and their brief but exhausting skirmish defending the Kodiak. He also told him about how he was forced to leave his wife behind along with his unborn baby, something which Rodriguez found difficult, considering it took all of his substantial willpower to keep his voice from breaking as he told the guy everything.
In that moment, Doctor Harrison's facial expression changed. The excited curiosity that was once plastered on his face earlier now gone, turning to that of sympathy and understanding; feeling a bit awful as he tried to wrap around the things the man in front of him had to endure just to be here right now.
"For what it's worth, Mister Rodriguez, I'm truly sorry about what happened to your family."
"It's okay, Doc." He assured the middle-aged man. "What's done is done. Anyways, in regards to Hadley's upcoming treatments, what do I owe you?"
"You don't owe me anything, Mister Rodriguez." Harrison simply told him with an understanding smile, which ended up getting a questioning glance from the surprised former colonel.
"Doc, I just can't—"
"Oh, don't worry about it, son." The doctor gently cut him off. "I'd be damned if I billed you after what you boys have been through. Besides, my conscience would kill me. Just think of it as professional courtesy." Rodriguez didn't know what to say to the man, whose single act of random kindness had managed to lift his badly hindered spirits by a huge margin, for which he was truly grateful. He had actually planned on asking the good doctor for a long-term payment plan of some sorts, seeing as how he and the rest of the boys were kind of short on credits right about now. But he certainly did not expect this.
"Thank you, Doc. I just…thank you." The doctor just shrugged nonchalantly.
"Nah, don't mention it. So, with that out of the way, what're you guys planning on doing now?"
"I honestly don't know yet," Rodriguez softly answered, his hands clasped together on top of his knees. "we were kinda planning on going someplace, look for a job there as mercs or something. Which is silly, I know. But, we don't exactly have a choice in the matter, and we badly need the credits." He head hung low, unable to meet Harrison's gaze, feeling a bit ashamed that he was planning on resorting to this line of work just to just to make ends meet. It felt wrong, and every fiber of his being was disgusted that after all that's happened, it had to come to this.
He was half-tempted to enlist in the Alliance, where everything was all going to be taken care of with just a slight flick of his wrist. But it was practically next to impossible to alter both his facial features and fingerprints after his old Philippine Army service record was classified top secret, somewhere deep in the bowels of Arcturus Station. Plus, it would probably blow the local recruiter's mind right out of the water if the name and picture he'd taken from him was plastered next with the words, "LEVEL SIX CLEARANCE ONLY – PRIORITY ALPHA".
They'd probably call the MP's the second he got that message and arrest him, where they take him to a lab somewhere in the middle of nowhere, and dissect him piece by piece just because of his date of birth. And he wasn't planning on going through any of that, not if he could help it.
The doctor, who he'd half-expected to judge him because of his flawed choices, busied himself as he silently went through one of his desk's drawers, retrieved whatever it was he found, and threw the object right across the surface of the table. Rodriguez looked up and gave the thing a curious glance, then shifted his gaze towards Harrison.
"What's this?"
"That happens to be a credit chit, which belonged to a scumbag I patched up. He got arrested a few weeks ago for smuggling, and I was supposed to hand it over to the authorities here, but I guess I forgot about it." The doctor pushed the object further in Rodriguez's way. "Take it, son."
"You've done so much for me and my guys already, doc. I can't accept that."
"I insist, kid. It ain't much, but, it'll help you for a little while till you boys get back on your feet." The former colonel hesitated for what seemed like a long while. He was truly tempted on taking it, he really was. That single credit chit would probably be the solution to all of their problems. As he kept on thinking about the ways it could further alleviate their financial burden, his mind stopped. And all other thoughts of accepting this gracious gift evaporated in an instant as his mind suddenly made him a reminder of who he was. He was a soldier, not a damned beggar. And he wasn't about to start changing that now.
"I'm not taking that, doc." Harrison just gave him a confused look, and he explained further, his voice now carrying his proud confidence and conviction: "As tempting as it is, I'm not taking the easy way out of this shit storm. I promised myself that I'll get my men out of this stupid mess, and by God, I will get them out. But not like this." He stood up from his chair and extended a hand to the middle-aged man, a grateful smile in place. "I can't thank you enough, Doctor Harrison. For everything. I'm in your debt."
The doctor just sat there in apparent disbelief before a smile spread to his face as he also stood up from his chair and took the younger man's hand, which rewarded him with a firm grasp in return.
"Well, if that's your decision then, I'll respect that." Rodriguez took one last look of the kind-hearted doctor, and in a way, the man sort of reminded him of Patrick Knowles, Ferris Fields de facto leader who had a simple heart made out of pure, untainted gold. Even though he was gone, he couldn't help but think that the man's lovable spirit still lived on inside Harrison's life, and for that, he really missed the bearded man terribly. "Anyways, good luck out there, kid."
He gave the man one final nod before he turned around and left.
"So, we're really doing this then?" Johnson barely-contained gleeful voice asked. Once Rodriguez had left the doctor's office, he found the southerner, along with the rest of his men, already waiting for him at the hospital's lobby, having just arrived here a few minutes ago after they checked out of the hotel they were staying in.
"Yeah," He replied to his subordinate with a firm voice, before taking on a playful note. "unless of course you're backing out now? After all, this was your idea."
"I didn't say anything about chickening out," The young ex-cavalryman replied defensively. "just, trying to make sure, you know?" Rodriguez shifted his gaze towards his XO.
"What about you, Walters?" The man in question looked back at him, his sparkling green eyes showing unquestionable resolve towards his superior officer. He didn't even need to ask, but he just wanted to make sure.
"You know me, sir. I'm with you regardless of where we're going." The former regimental executive officer replied before looking at the former lieutenant. "Knowing him, all of us will probably regret this decision later on." Johnson just gave Walters the finger, which all the more reason made the former major give out a slight smile.
"Suzumi?"
"Well," the former corporal shifted on his feet uneasily, his head drooping low. "I'm kinda nervous at where we're headed, sir."
"Why is that?" Rodriguez asked.
"Without the hardsuits, and besides the K-barriers we salvaged out of it, what're we going to use for protection, sir?" And then Rodriguez suddenly remembered what the young militiaman meant. Right before they arrived here at Illium, he had asked all of them to discard any further equipment that would help trace them back towards Ferris Fields, which included their hardsuits, weapons, and other essential gear they had brought with them. The only thing they had for defense against people who were planning on messing with them was a single M3 Predator heavy pistol in Walter's capable hands, which he bought along with the new clothes they wore now.
"I understand your concern, Rye. But don't worry, I'm sure we won't have any trouble when we get there." His assurance must've worked, because Suzumi just gave him quick nod before shutting out his other worries. Last but not the least, he looked at the dark-skinned shuttle pilot standing beside the former corporal, whose gaze was looking out further ahead at the holo-screen he saw earlier, which was still replaying the news reports about the abductions. "Cortez?"
The former Alliance pilot slowly looked at him, his blue eyes staring right through his brown ones. Besides him and Hadley, Cortez was also greatly devastated during their narrowing escape from the lost colony, having forced to leave behind the only loved one he had left in his life. Like him, he nearly broke from enduring so much emotional trauma, but in the end, he decided to mask all the tremendous pain he felt and grieve for Robert later.
Rodriguez understood what the man was going through. He nearly lost his mind when he failed to save Therese, something which he always ended up thinking about every second of every day. It wasn't easy going through all that at first, but his consciousness reminded him that he still had a duty to his men, and like that shuttle pilot, he was going to sort out through all of his anguished grief later when he knew his men were safe and sound.
Cortez just gave him a military nod to signify his support on their latest decision before looking away, which was all he needed.
"Alright, come on." Rodriguez motioned with a wave for his men to follow him. "Spaceport's this way." As they headed towards the sliding glass doors, Johnson's lack of self-control, combined with his newfound excitement, made him echo out a sentence.
"Omega, here we come!"