The Normandy was oddly silent, save for three conversations.
###
In the medbay adjacent to the mess hall on Deck Three, Dr. Chakwas stood up from her position kneeling beside the bed groaning under the weight of Theseus, one of the eight Silvers that had come aboard with the remnants of Proteus battalion. One of the side effects of Raachok anti-senescent treatments was that most Humans didn't stop growing until their mid thirties. The doctor topped out at a respectable six foot eleven and yet the shortest of the Silvers was easily twice her height, weighing in unarmoured almost equal to a two seater skycar and necessitating the use of the specially reinforced and extended bed usually only brought out to treat Seu'Seun. Her expression was grim as she turned to Liara, hopping anxiously from foot to foot like she was back in university waiting for the marks of her degree course.
"I've done what I can, but his body took in enough radiation to instantly kill any normal Krogan. The DNA damage was bad enough that his body is attempting to regenerate to a flawed template. At the moment he's pumped full of anti-regeneratives but it is almost certain that he will eventually develop cancerous growths."
Behind the steely mask of Ocean, Liara died a little inside.
"Give it to me straight doc. What are the odds of him surviving?"
Chakwas sighed and looked down at the floor.
"I'm afraid all we can do is make him comfortable. He has a week at best, and he will be in a lot of pain."
Liara stepped forward and brushed aside the doctor, standing beside the unconscious form of Theseus.
"And there's nothing we can do?"
Chakwas shook her head. Liara flicked the blade out on her left wrist and positioned it on the throat of the dying Silver. For a moment she looked around, unsure.
"It's probably for the best. You would spare him a slow and agonising death."
The blade stabbed downwards, severing Theseus's spinal column at the base of his skull. He never felt a thing.
Liara fell onto the still warm corpse and wept.
###
The brig at the bottom of the ship was housing two people Saren didn't particularly like.
Usually he objected to unnecessary torture, which had clearly been visited upon the pair by the Turian Spectre's erstwhile crystalline compatriots while he had been fighting a zombie thresher maw, but after reviewing the facts his verbal dressing down of the decidedly sheepish Grassa had significantly less force behind it than he had originally intended. Nevertheless he couldn't help but feel some sympathy for the two of them.
Both had been stripped naked, but it was hardly as if their modesty was compromised - they were swaddled in bandages applied by a pair of livid medics after they had made the mistake of letting the Grassa alone with the prisoners, so much so they were probably exposing less skin than Saren, who was still in his full armour. As he approached the powerful kinetic barrier holding the prisoners back the slightly less wounded one, who also appeared to be the squad leader, stood very slowly and limped over to the boundary of the cell. Saren supposed she had been a Human ideal of beauty before the Grassa had gouged one of her eyes out, tore her ear off and burned most of her hair to the charred, cracking scalp. With a lot of expensive nanosurgery she could probably recapture some semblance of her former appearance. Once again, Saren found himself shocked to the core by the casual brutality shown by the crystalline race.
"Ms. Lawson, is it?"
Her voice came out in a dry rasp, barely intelligible.
"What ... do you ... want ... from me?"
"Why did you board my ship, Ms. Lawson?"
"Go ... fuck ... yourself metalhead."
Saren frowned briefly. He hated the mere thought of doing so, but ...
"Listen, this is a classic good cop bad cop routine. I'm the good cop."
She let out a chuckle that sounded like she was about to vomit up her lungs.
"Who ... bad cop?"
Saren made a point of looking over her extensive injuries.
"You already met bad cop. I assume you'd much rather deal with me."
By the way her one remaining eye widened in fear he knew he had her. She shuffled back over to the bench and sat down, groaning. Even pumped full of painkillers and Cerberus pain resistance training her entire body burned.
"I have ... nothing ... to say to you."
Saren growled.
"I'll go fetch Re then. You might want to warn your friend, I'm fairly sure it's her turn."
"Wait!"
Her outburst led to another fit of choking as she lurched to her feet only to tumble to the ground, crying out pitifully.
"I'll talk. Just ... leave ... her alone."
"Good. So. Why were you on my ship?"
###
The weathered countenance of Admiral Hackett appeared in the comm room as Anderson accepted the call.
"Admiral, sir."
"At ease, son. Where's Spectre Arterius?"
Anderson paused slightly.
"Interrogating a prisoner, sir."
"I see."
There was a brief pause as the Admiral brought up a data packet and sent it to the Normandy. EDI's avatar blinked on and off in the corner of the room, signifying successful retrieval as the information appeared on one of the screens dominating the room.
"Is this accurate?"
"Definitely. The Council were ... less than forthcoming with the information but once they passed it on we were able to verify it. That's where Benezia likely is. Be careful, son. Noveria isn't a friendly planet."
###
A/N: Short chapter is short. This is more of a link between Therum and Noveria. Next chapter, a little bit of fiddling around and then everyone's least favourite corporate hellhole, with a twist.