twenty-eight
She was officially dead. The report had been filed. Jormangund had turned in the paperwork three hours ago, while she slept on a dusty couch in an abandoned shack on Tungel. Life got weird sometimes, but this took the proverbial fucking cake.
"So, I'm dead? Really dead?"
Yes.
"No one is coming to rescue me."
No.
Shepard's short answers seemed to perfectly gauge her mood.
"I can change it, right? Turn up somewhere and say, 'Hey, I'm not dead, it was a mistake'."
I had to do that once.
"Really?"
Paperwork was a bitch.
He was messing with her, wasn't he? "I liked you better before you found your sense of humour."
Kat reached up to rub the back of her head. The lump was still there, but diminished. Not as painful to touch. Her head felt clear. Food and rest had made her feel human again. Able to cope. Pushing her tank and knickers through the sonic shower had freshened them enough that she smelt human again, too. She dreaded putting her suit back on, but she couldn't live out her non-life in a shack on Tungel. There was no goddamned coffee in the kitchen for a start.
"What am I going to do, what does a dead person do?"
Anything they want.
"My credits, my stuff!"
Shepard's last message faded, the space over her wrist echoing oddly, as if his words had acquired sound and the lack of them meant silence. Then he began typing again.
I can... The two words flickered and faded, then appeared again. I can get you credits, a ship, a home. Anything.
Kat snorted. "Is that what you choose to do, John?"
I feel responsible.
He was and he wasn't. Fuck, he wasn't. If he hadn't answered the call of the Octopus of Doom, she'd be dead. She wouldn't have survived the destruction of the Bataille, the black shit would have consumed her dead body and she'd be… Hell, if he hadn't turned up, she/he/it would have probably eaten the asteroid by now and started sending tendrils toward the nearest planet.
Kat shuddered and pulled her hand away from the back of her head so she could scrub at her cheek. Both hands met in the middle of her face and she bent forward, fingers closed over her eyes, and breathed.
Then she looked up, hands dropping to her lap. "Did I thank you?"
Shepard didn't answer.
"I probably didn't. Too busy bitching. So…ah, thanks. You know, for saving me. I'm dead, but not dead, because of you."
The gratitude felt weird, like an obligation, but not. Kat realised part of it was that she didn't normally thank people for stuff. She just took. She gave back, sometimes. She'd been nice to Finch. She'd liked Finch.
She thought she liked Shepard, too, as weird as he was.
A line of letters glowed over her wrist. She angled her arm down to read them. You're welcome.
"So, what's next?"
A choice.
The hint of a smile curved her lips. "Uh huh. And what's that?"
Fix a shuttle, fly to the next system, do a bunch of paperwork.
"Or."
Stay dead. Follow Wessel Kessler, figure out what the entity was, what his plan was.
"I'm no hero, John."
You don't have to be. I'll help you.
"Yeah? Why would you do that?"
Got nothing but time, came the immediate response. Then, when that faded, he typed, No one does this shit on their own, Sunshine. A hero isn't a single person. It's…
Silence pulsed.
It's about making choices and they won't always be the right ones. A hero isn't perfect. And I'm done with the philosophising.
"I get it." At least, she thought she did. Kat had no delusion regarding her own capacity to be a hero, but she figured she could keep the ghost of one company for a while. Do the right thing, for a change. Not for credits, or even for the satisfaction of exposing some evil plot. She'd do it for Finch, and for herself. Hell, she'd do it for the adventure. A dead woman didn't exactly have a schedule to keep.
"Okay, let's do this thing, John. Let's you and me figure shit out and make sure Wessel Bloody Kaufer isn't nesting planet eaters across the galaxy."