twenty-two

"Herald Station, this is M.E. Katrien Niftrik. Formerly of the frigate Bataille."

The message continued, following standard protocol. She stated the nature of the disaster, classed the flare and accompanying wind, and included an estimate of how long the colony had before the outer edge of the radiation reached them. Fourteen hours.

She hoped they would not ask how she had survived the destruction of the Bataille.

"Copy that, M.E. Niftrik. Please stand by." The answer sounded thin against the backdrop of hisses and pops. Kat smiled at her wrist, anyway, delighted by the fact she'd been able to do something, speak to someone. The act of reaching out had shaken off the sense of nightmare that gripped her.

"We got through," she said to Shepard, feeling the need to celebrate the success with her collaborator. "Maybe they can send someone out to the asteroid to pick me up." Her bubble popped as she calculated the number of hours they would need to reach her. "Shit."

She had lasted a day without food. If Shepard could collect more water for her, or somehow extract some nutrients from the soil of the asteroid, she might last a week. One hundred and sixty eight hours. It would be subsistence. By the end of the week, she would be in full hibernation mode. Any ship dispatched from Clobaka would need at least half that to circle around the flare. Maybe more. If they could spare a ship.

Maybe Shepard could carry her toward the planet.

First, he had to dig her out of the asteroid. Enough of the chimney remained that he had been able to collect the signal from her omni-tool and boot it, tight-beam, toward the last planet in the system. They would have to widen it substantially to extract her and her protective bubble.

Fifteen minutes later, her omni-tool hissed again. "M.E. Niftrik, this Comm Officer Franseza, Herald Station. Data confirmed. Evacuation begun. Please report current status. Telemetry puts you on object GTH678BDF10457D2." The comms officer enunciated each letter military fashion, drawing out the designation of Rocky to ridiculous lengths. Then, he concluded, "Do you require assistance?"

Kat gave the answer Shepard had helped her prepare. "Yes. Escape pod hull fractured. Using an eezo barrier to maintain integrity. Have limited supplies. Require rescue at soonest."

Fifteen minutes later, Franseza replied. "Acknowledged."

Closing the connection, Kat said, "You have more personality than he has."

Will take that as a compliment.

She chuckled, then, as she read Shepard's continuing reply, laughed.

He'd typed: I've had over two hundred years to work on it, after all.

"The histories don't really mention the fact you had a sense of humour."

Out of practice. Glad you are amused.

She was. But, they still had the problem of how she would survive until rescue. Sobering, Kat said, "I don't suppose you can bake rock into bread?"

No. Not Jesus.

Yeah, this guy was a hoot. But he raised an interesting point. "What can you do? I mean, you've done something other than drift around for two hundred years, right? Is this your thing? Rescuing damsels in distress?" What about Finch, for that matter. Why hadn't he rescued Finch? "Did you know there was someone else on the ship with me?"

Finch.

"Yes, Finch."

Her throat closed and her chest ached. Finch. He'd been such a nice guy. A big teddy bear. Kat knew they'd have probably gone their separate ways when the job finished, but she thought they'd remain friends. Fuck, she'd even wondered if they might look for another job together. They made a damned good team, and they liked each other. That was rare.

Thin, gummy tears burned the corners of her eyes. Kat reached up to swipe at them and blinked as her hand bounced off her helmet, sending a small, blue shockwave across the bubble of eezo. She sniffed instead and let her chin dip toward her chest.

"Why didn't you save him?" she asked.

Not what I do.

"Fuck that, you're a hero. Heroes save people." Her head snapped up. "Are you seriously telling me you chose not to save my friend?"

Not a hero. Not anymore.

Nothing fed a temper like fatigue and the shredded feeling left behind by stress. Balling her fists, Kat lifted her chin and growled, the sound high-pitched like a constrained scream. "Then fuck off, just go, will you? I don't want your creepy ass looking over my shoulder or wrapped around the walls or whatever. Just fucking go!"

Even as the words tripped off her tongue, Kat knew she was being needlessly spiteful. She knew that if Shepard withdrew his presence from the cavern, the roof would probably collapse on her and kill her. She was too damned tired to grapple with the bigger picture, though. The implications of what had happened to the Bataille. Why Finch was dead, why she was alive.

Then, as quickly as it had risen, her temper faded. She sat down with a bounce and jerk and curled into the rocky overhang, the jagged edges cushioned by the feedback bullshit of the barrier Shepard had wrapped around her. Disconsolately, she waited for spongy feeling to dissipate. Evidence the former hero had decided to fuck off and do his questionably good deeds elsewhere.

He didn't leave.

"Why are you still here?"

I chose to save you, Kat. When it was not my place to choose. Now I choose to stay.

She felt her brow wrinkling, the dry crinkle of skin across her forehead. Man, she was probably a mess. Filthy, smelly, chapped skin, cracked lips, red nostrils that probably shone with grease and sweat and tears. Why that should matter, especially now, she had no idea. The dry pull of skin across her forehead had distracted her, was all. Tired, so damned tired. And hungry.

"What do you mean it wasn't your place to choose?" And thank you for staying, even though I really don't want you to, but sort of do and fuck, what if this is just all me talking to myself?

Kat wrapped her hands around her helmeted head and rocked back and forth slowly, methodically. Silence answered her. Yawning and empty silence. Ha! she thought. He doesn't have an answer for me. Then she remembered his responses came by way of quiet orange letters flicking into being over her wrist. Kat lowered her arms and looked at the stream of type hovering against the dusty atmosphere outside the barrier.

I exist for one purpose. To control the Reapers. They are in dark space, retired. Now I wait, observe. I hope that in 50,000 years I will not be insane.

"Oh, my God."