Profile – Kelly Chambers
–
"Listen, Chambers..."
"Kelly."
"Whatever," Joker insisted, waving his hand. "If you're gonna sit up here you're gonna do it quietly. Your humming's getting optimism all over my dash."
Kelly grinned at the back of his head. Of all the crew, Jeff's dossier had been one of her favorites to read. It was full of colorful spots – mostly disciplinary reports describing the pilot's infamous smartassery – and Kelly could not help but admire his surety in the face of custom or authority. Kelly didn't think she was a doormat, per se, but she had made a career (a lifestyle, even) out of being a comforting shoulder, a patient ear, and sometimes she could not help but wonder if life might be easier if she could occasionally channel some of Jeff's orneriness.
Oh well. Even if she was too nice to come up with good sarcasm of her own, there was no reason she couldn't secretly enjoy his. "I thought letting 'Joker' wallow in grumpiness was just too ironic," she said, batting her eyes coquettishly. "You could use some optimism."
"I'll stick with the wallowing, thanks," Joker said, suddenly very interested in one of his displays.
Kelly saw through the deflection with ease. Poor Joker. She'd understood what kind of man he was before she'd gotten halfway down the first page, that first night she'd spent pouring through psych profiles, tabulating how she would help each crewmember with his or her own inner demons. Joker's personality was not atypical for the handicapped (which he certainly was) or the very gifted (which he certainly was also). He struggled with his condition, with his depression at all the things he couldn't do, by ensconcing himself away from it with walls of anger and sarcasm. He invested all his energy into flying, into being the best, because at the end of the day that was all he had. He'd never admit it, of course – he might not even know it himself – but Joker was lonely. Luckily it was nothing Kelly couldn't help him fix, given time. Her mind was already brimming with ideas of how to pull him out of his shell.
Kelly jumped in surprise as a sudden burst of machine gun fire shook the cockpit.
"Left left left!" Shepard's voice rang out, tinny and mechanical through the ship's speakers. The microphones on Shepard's hardsuit picked up every thud and scrape of battle – the commander's frantic footsteps, the sizzle of shields shorting out. Kelly blanched as another stream of gunshots roared.
"Krogan incoming," Jacob's voice appeared. Kelly could hear the krogan's stomping footsteps.
"Pin it down, Miranda." More shots rang out, so loud they shook Kelly's head, and she unconsciously stepped a little closer to Joker.
Kelly had never liked violence. She had not been a psychologist for long, and yet already she had seen too much of the trauma that war inflicted on people. Depression, substance abuse, hysterics, nightmares. She remembered one of her colleague's patients, a soldier who'd helped storm the batarians at Torfan. One look in his empty eyes had told her all she needed to know about the costs of war.
She was not naïve. She knew violence was a part of Cerberus. A part of the galaxy. She was utterly convinced that every problem could be solved with the right conversation, but people weren't always willing to talk, and sometimes they had to die so that others could live. That was fair, that was right. And yet the man's eyes… just empty. She liked to imagine what they'd looked like before Torfan.
The krogan in the speakers laughed cruelly. There was a crash, and Shepard's team was scattering. Heart rate monitors in their suits blipped franticly on Joker's dashboard. Kelly nervously touched the back of his chair. "Sh-should we do something?"
Joker looked up, unconcerned. "Like what?"
"I don't-" there was an explosion, and a bark of triumph from the krogan, "I don't know. Send help?"
Joker grinned at her frightened expression. "Nah. Commander's been through worse than this before. This is practically shore leave for Shepard."
"Fighting krogan?"
"Crazy, I know. I keep telling him he needs to find a hobby that involves fewer broken bones, but I'm biased. But, hey, whatever it takes to get the dude to relax, you know?"
Kelly found the pilot's levity disconcerting. There were more gunshots from the speakers, and the sound of Shepard's heavy breathing. "It sounds like he's losing," she said, her stomach feeling somewhere around knee-level, "doesn't it?"
Joker shrugged, staring mildly at one of the displays. "I've been listening to Shepard fight for a lot longer than you have, lady. I know what him losing sounds like, and it sounds a whole lot worse than this. He's fine."
A blue glow suddenly filled the cockpit as EDI materialized. "Actually, Mr. Moreau, given the Commander's physical state, Ms. Chambers' concern may be well founded. Before departing, the Commander expressed reservations about his physical endurance and requested stimulants from Dr. Chakwas. Heuristic analysis of his gait is consistent with hampered reaction time and hand-eye coordination. Further, he is attempting to infiltrate an army of mercenaries without proper intel on enemy strength or disposition"
"Is that all?" Joker asked, frowning at her.
"You have the deck, Mr. Moreau. Shall I dispatch aid?"
Joker did not have to answer, as there was another peal of assault rifle fire followed by a final, heavy thud as the krogan hit the ground. Jacob let out a triumphant cheer. "Dead and done, Commander!"
Joker grinned condescendingly at Kelly and EDI.
"See? Killing krogan. Shore leave." He gestured up at one of his holographic monitors, where icons for Shepard, Jacob, and Miranda confirmed no serious injuries. "Now both of you stop nagging me," he said, adjusting his earbuds and staring pointedly to his controls. "Floating weightlessly in orbit takes all of my concentration."
–
Kelly listened to the hum of the elevator as she descended to the lower decks, trying futilely to get the sounds of gunshots and death out of her head. Eidetic memory was a useful skill for a psychologist to have – it let her give her patients her undivided attention, storing observations in her head until she had the chance to write them down – but it sure made it hard to sleep sometimes. Kelly struggled every day and night to reign in her overactive mind. It had gotten a great deal easier since she'd begun reading drellic philosophy and practicing some of their easier meditation techniques, but it remained a constant battle.
"EDI," she said, a thought occurring.
EDI's spherical countenance appeared on the elevator console. "Ms. Chambers."
"Did Shepard really ask for stimulants?"
"Yes." The elevator doors opened to the crew deck.
"That isn't like him," Kelly mused, chewing on one finger. Everything she knew about Shepard (and that was a very great deal – his dossier was quite comprehensive and she'd memorized every word) pointed to the man's stubbornness, his refusal to accept anything he saw as a crutch. He was a man who insisted on owning his failures, on conquering them. It was not as if he'd never used stims before – Kelly had seen a detailed medical record of every chemical he'd ever put in his body – and yet to show that weakness on a Cerberus ship, even to his friend Chakwas, was atypical. Whatever he'd wanted in Omega must have been important indeed.
"Huh," Kelly finally concluded, filing that thought away for later. "I'm worried about him, EDI. Would you mind keeping an eye on him when you're not torturing Joker?"
"I have more than enough surveillance capacity to watch Shepard and torture Mr. Moreau simultaneously," she said.
Kelly grinned. It was astonishing, sometimes, just how expressive a computer could be. "Even better," she said, gently patting EDI's head (her hand passed through the blue light, but Kelly liked to think EDI felt it anyway). "Thanks." She stepped out of the elevator, all smiles as EDI blinked out of existence. She'd liked EDI from the minute she'd met her – machine or not, EDI had a great deal of personality. And she was so cute with Joker it gave Kelly goosebumps. She let that thought amuse her on the way to the mess.
It was just after the early morning shift change, the liveliest part of the Normandy's artificial day, and a line of sleepy-eyed crewmembers shuffled past Gardner's station for breakfast, plastic gray trays in hand. She fell in line behind them. Gardner, dressed the part in his batter-stained white apron, greeted each of them enthusiastically as they filed by to get their meals. His eyes glittered with genuine friendliness.
"Chambers! Good to see you!" he roared when it was her turn. His smile stretched ear to ear as he ladled some kind of grain meal into her bowl and carefully poured her a glass of bright yellow juice. His movements were perfunctory, almost automatic as he added the final touches, a pair of foil-wrapped bars and a handful of what looked to be multicolored candies. He smiled proudly at her, but frowned when Kelly picked one of the 'candies' up to her eye and read the medical text printed across the side.
"Pills?" she asked. "That's new."
Gardner buried his face in one meaty hand. "Don't remind me," he said, leaning back against the rear counter. "That salarian and I had a long, friendly chat." Kelly raised her brow, curious. Mordin had only been on the ship a matter of hours, and he'd already introduced himself to the mess sergeant? "Seems my meals don't provide the proper nutrition," Gardner continued, waving his hand in irritation, "so we've gotto do some supplementing for crew health, he says." He scratched the back of his neck awkwardly. "At least, I think that's what he said. Twiggy little biter talks a mile a minute."
"All these pills?" Kelly asked. It was quite a pile.
"Doctor's orders. As if we don't know how to feed our own people. Puh."
Kelly put the pill down and flashed him a smile. "I'll talk to him, Rupert. See if I can't get him to back off." Rupert's jovial nature returned in a heartbeat.
"Ahh, Chambers, if I weren't covered in grease I'd give you a hug!" He spread his arms out wide.
"Maybe later," Kelly said, laughing as he snapped a salute with his ladle. She took her tray and took a seat at the end of one of the tables. She deftly unwrapped one of the breakfast bars – in her experience, the most palatable food the Normandy had available – and chewed it slowly, her fingers absently pushing her pills into little piles. She glanced over the other crewmembers as they ate. Most weren't in Cerberus to make friends, and shoveled down their meals like they hadn't eaten in days. Others – Hawthorne and Patel and Hadley – talked animatedly. Sometimes Kelly joined them. Sometimes she just dropped eaves. She felt no guilt – it was her job, after all. Gossip was the Normandy's human pulse, no less important than the power core or engines, and Kelly was no less a specialist than the engineers.
As if bidden by her thoughts, Gabby and Ken rounded the corner, making a beeline for Gardner's station. The cloud of argument that seemed to precede them everywhere they went echoed across the deck.
"No, no, no, Gabby, ya stupid woman," Ken was saying, "You're not listening. The apical couplings route through the second hub. Last minute change in the diagrams. That way, they – thanks Gardner," he said, accepting his meal without missing a beat in his argument, "that way they make room for the local heatsinks on the nose-mounts. Brings the total to fifteen." Half of his food was gone by the time he'd sat next to Kelly.
"Sixteen, Kenneth," Gabby insisted, hopping forcefully onto the seat opposite her partner. "One more right between the impact attenuators." Neither of the engineers said a word to Kelly, which didn't bother her in the least. She loved watching the two quarrel – the ferocity of their bickering belied the obvious strength of their bond.
"The hell would they put a power dam between the attenuators?" Ken asked.
"Don't chew with your mouth full, Kenneth. You're spitting your food all over Kelly."
Ken turned to stare at Kelly, apparently just now noticing her. She gave him a little wave. He rolled his eyes, but obligingly swallowed his current mouthful before continuing. "Oh great," he said, waggling a finger at Gabby, then Kelly. "I see where this is going. Can't answer me so you start to team up. Gathering allies."
Gabby smirked, pulling a roll of paper from her back pocket and spreading it out on the table. Kelly was no engineer, but she recognized the schematics of the Normandy. "Don't need to team up, Kenneth," Gabby said, tracing her finger across the drawing. She tapped triumphantly near the ship's center. "Read it and weep."
Ken grabbed the schematic and studied it intensely, stuffing one of the breakfast bars whole into his mouth. "Breakin' out the schematics already? Don't know what you're tryin' to prove," he grumbled, eyes scanning. Gabby grinned at him like the argument was already won, and Ken's frown deepened as he sensed his own defeat. "I know my own trade. Wouldn't try an' tell you how the engines work, would I?"
"You tried this morning, Kenneth."
"That was different. That was…" he traced a finger around the spot Gabby had indicated and winced.
"Say it," Gabby ordered, looking enormously satisfied.
"Not sure what you're referring to, Gabby," Ken said, quietly rolling up the schematics. He was suddenly fascinated with picking up the last few crumbs of his breakfast.
"Saaaaaayyyyyy it," Gabby repeated, leaning in.
"Hey, look, pills! That's new." Ken turned around, away from Gabby's Cheshire cat smirk, and held up one of his pills, desperate to change the subject. "What's with the pills, Gardner?" Gardner shook his head sadly. Ken would get no help from him.
"Whatever it is she wants, got a feeling you should give it to her, boy."
Ken frowned. "Kelly!" he said, turning to her next. "Thoughts on the pills?" Kelly just shook her head, suppressing a grin to match Gabby's, and Ken's frown deepened. He hung his head, defeated. "Fat lot of help you guys are." He let out an exaggerated sigh. "Fine. I was wrong, you were right. Again."
"Ha!" Gabby laughed. "As always." She palmed Ken's head. "You should really know that by now, Kenneth."
"Yeah, yeah. Happy now?"
"You have no idea."
–
Kelly finished her meal (all of the pills included) and headed back to the main deck. She could hear Professor Solus in his lab as soon as she stepped off the elevator – the whirring of instruments, the clatter of reagents being reorganized, and the constant muttered observations of the salarian himself. She hesitated at the door for a moment. Mordin's psych profile made it clear he was a bit… eccentric. Perhaps she should let him have more time to adjust before introducing herself.
She quashed that thought as quickly as it appeared. Knowing Shepard's past company, she would never make it on his crew if she didn't develop a good attitude about the presence of deadly aliens. Besides, she had been close to aliens in the past. She would be the last person to let appearances get in the way of her job. She readied the blank pieces of paper in her mind, stepped forward until the science lab's steel door folded away into its frame, and entered.
"Professor Solus?" she asked. The salarian's head popped up from the far side of one of the workbenches. His bulging eyes blinked decadently, sizing her up. He nodded at her, his hands busy at work rearranging dozens of white bottles. In a flash he was done, and he rose to his not inconsiderable height.
"Human female," he said, striding towards her and mindlessly plucking a tiny glass vial from the counter. "One of twelve on the Normandy. Caucasian subtype, ectomesomorphic body structure. Approximately one-point-seven-five meters in height." His hands moved as quickly as his words as he screwed a plunger into the vial. "Three possibilities: Goldstein, Chambers, Curie."
Salarian, Kelly jotted down in her mind. One-point-nine-three meters in height, she added, effortlessly recalling the stats from his dossier.
"Kelly Chambers," she said out loud, extending a hand to shake.
He grabbed it gently, twisting it palm upwards. "Pleasure to meet you," he said, smiling. "May I?"
"Yes," she agreed without thinking, brows knitted in confusion. Before the word was halfway out of her mouth, she felt the prick of a needle. The plunger gave a hiss of escaping air as it filled with bright red blood.
Mordin is friendly and approachable, but his mannerisms are unusual, her mind's pen wrote. He appears to assume others follow his eccentricities as quickly as he does. Either that, or he does not care.
"Hello to you too," she said, watching the vial fill.
"Pardon rudeness," Mordin said. He pulled out the syringe and held it up to his eyes for a second before nodding, satisfied. "Testing for genetic markers. Just a moment." He released her hand and bustled to the opposite side of the lab, where he clicked her blood sample into a wide, expensive-looking canister. "Analytical ultracentrifuge," he explained, as if she knew what an analytical ultracentrifuge was. She just nodded absently, staring at the tiny drop of medigel the syringe had left glued over her puncture wound. Mordin pressed a button and the instrument started to whirr. He returned his attention to her.
"So good to meet you, Miss Chambers," he said, picking up a datapad. He glanced over it. "How do you feel?"
Mordin's mind works quickly. He appears uncomfortable pursuing only a single task at once. Not unusual for a salarian.
"I'm well. How are you?"
"Very good, very good," Mordin confirmed, face still buried in his reading. His fingers tapped out a patina of keystrokes. "Eaten already today? Took your pills?"
"I took them. What were they?"
"Did not read? Ingredients clearly printed. Would never prescribe them otherwise." He sighed. "All human crewmembers given vitamin supplement outside military issue. Also hormones, coenzymes specialized for individual needs. Calcitropic hormones in your case, Miss Chambers. Very important." He looked up, and his already wide eyes widened at Kelly's disturbed expression. "Nothing to worry about!" he insisted, putting the datapad aside. "Assist calcium homeostasis. Combat osteoporotic bone loss. Noticed several risk factors in your medical records. Nothing unusual. Made same recommendation to other female crewmembers. Human female, gracile build. Reason enough to take steps. Never too careful."
Mordin is clearly knowledgeable about human medicine and health. He seems to care for his patients' feelings.
"Thanks, I guess. I do have all the standard gene mods though."
"Gene mods excellent for correcting flaws of nature. Human bone loss flaw of society, not nature. Bone loss because of poor nutrition, life in low-gravity environments. Outside adaptive constraints. Not a physiological shortcoming. Calcium supplements, calcitropic hormones, regular exercise best solution." He smiled and tapped between his billiard-sized eyes. "Doctor's orders." Kelly was surprised at how quickly he could put her at ease.
Despite wearing a handgun in the lab, Mordin has a surprisingly tender bedside manner. Better than most human doctors.
"I was just coming to introduce myself, but you already know so much about me," she said, gesturing to the ultracentrifuge still processing her blood.
Mordin nodded proudly. "My job, Miss Chambers."
"Tell me about yourself."
"Ahh yes. Psychoanalysis time. Fair enough," Mordin said, scratching his chin. Kelly tried her best to conceal her surprise. Her classified posting as the ship's psychologist was not in her file, as far as she knew – it often made people nervous to know someone was watching them. Mordin seemed to pick up on her confusion. "Your stance," he explained, pointing at her knees. "Calculated to look conciliating to salarians. Subtle. Neck cocked, back straight, feet angled, knees slightly bent. Uncomfortable, unnatural for human physiology, but reads to salarian subconscious as gesture of peace. Engenders cooperation, trust. Implies extensive interspecies body language and diplomatic training. Ship psychologist most likely explanation. Visiting me to study temperament."
Mordin is extremely intelligent and perceptive. Any duplicity is likely to be detected, though he does not appear easily offended. I wonder how he will get along with Miranda – two opinionated geniuses living on one ship could cause problems. Hopefully they can respect each others' expertise.
"Wow," Kelly said. She hadn't even realized she'd been using salarian body language – it had become almost second nature to her by now. "No secrets from you."
"Hope not," Mordin confirmed. "Not for long, anyway." He sat down on one of the stools, inviting Kelly to take the one next to him. "Hopefully can convince you I pose no threat. What would you like to know?"
"This isn't supposed to be an interview, Mordin. I really do just want to be your friend," she said. Mordin looked dubious. "Even if I am a psychologist. Let's talk about whatever you want to talk about."
"Fair enough," Mordin said, thinking. "Read my file, I assume?" He was babying her, trying to gauge what part of his life she was smart enough to follow. He meant well, but she'd have to fix that.
"Yes, Mannovai Ansilta Got Anna Ipso Solus Mordin," she said, reciting his full name. It had its desired effect – his brows raised and he smiled.
Mordin respects intelligence in others.
"Impressive," he said. Kelly smiled proudly. "Familiar with work?"
"I read some of your papers," she said. She'd done it to try and find any clues to the salarian's personality, though she'd quickly been buried under reams of jargon and impossibly-complicated figures. "Much of your genetics work is way over my head, but I did get a kick out of what you wrote about indoctrination."
"Yes, yes. Proud of that one," Mordin said, smiling. "Good year of research. Mostly brain parasites from Antahe. Charming creatures, cause myriad of symptoms. Behavioral modification. Fascinating. Always enjoyed psychological sciences."
Mordin clearly has a broad repertoire of interests, but makes efforts to steer conversation towards me, rather than towards himself.
"Really?" she asked, face brightening. "Me too. Though I may be biased."
"Indeed. Alien psychology excellent field. Each species, its own way of looking at the world. Brings unity within species. Causes tension with others. Even so, each individual different, capable of forming own conclusions, building own perspective. Outliers. Marvelously complex. Difficult to study. Good profession, Miss Chambers. Worthy of respect."
"I am surprised to hear you say that," she said, staring at the neat stacks of chemicals on the bench. "A lot of my science-minded friends don't think psychology demands much honor. Not a real science, they say."
"Foolishness," Mordin said, waving a hand. "Real science is in attitude, not subject. Approach to studying universe, not which part of universe studied. True, psychology prone to pseudoscientific explanations. Magic, souls. Inexplicable free will. Mistakes, but not of psychology. Psychology itself not diluted."
"I see," she said, a little disappointed. "Fond of the biochemical side of psychology, then?" She had heard the attitude before – the wish to carefully quantify everything, thought and feeling alike, into numbers. Particles. She struggled to see eye-to-eye with people who believed as such, though she could see how it would be comforting in its simplicity.
"Only side," Mordin said, grinning widely. "Patterns of chemicals. Neurotransmitters interacting in complicated arcs. Stimulus, response, stimulus, response. Tree of branching complexity reaching to infinity, controlled by dance of atoms. Beautiful."
Mordin is fond of simple rules and internal consistency. He is dismissive of supernatural or otherwise non-empirical ideas, but passionate about what he considers beautiful. Philosophically, he is an extreme naturalist.
"But there is more to life than chemicals," she protested. "More to loving and caring and feeling and living."
"Of course," Mordin agreed. "Love, care, feeling, life – beautiful things. Does not mean too beautiful to explain naturalistically. No reason to invoke spirit, soul, heart. Flimsy, unacceptable explanations. Hard to explain, yes, but only better for it. Should be explored rationally."
"That viewpoint doesn't seem small to you? Does everything have to have an explanation?"
"Everything has explanation already," Mordin corrected. "Finding it up to us. Not found by calling it magic and ending inquiry. Found by studying objectively. Still, distinction only definitional. Changes nothing. Emotions you study no less important for it." He stared expectantly at her.
Mordin is confident in his perspective – he does not appear to consider any alternatives.
"An analogy:" Mordin offered after a moment of silence, "Biology essentially chemistry. Chemistry essentially physics. Physics essentially math. Math essentially logic. Right then to say biology 'only' logic. Still, happily call myself biologist, not logician. Recognizing biology as descendent of logic does not reduce biology's importance. Recognizing emotion as descendent of biochemistry does not reduce emotion's importance."
"I don't know, Mordin," she said, though she admitted she could not see any particular hole in what he'd said. "It all sounds too clinical."
"Science not heartless," Mordin said, leaning back and staring at her over steepled fingers. "Scientists people too."
"I know that."
"Found cure for plague on Omega because it was interesting, true. Also because it helped. Science necessary. Offers much to the galaxy."
Mordin considers himself a moral person and is quick to argue implications otherwise.
"I know that too, I just… I don't feel right calling everything just a big math equation."
"Compelling reason not to, then," Mordin said evenly. She looked at him, surprised. "Dabbled in irrational beliefs myself at times," he said, pointing to his tattoo with a bemused smile. "No other explanation for this. Later in life, too. Religions. Philosophies. Comforting to operate outside bounds of own cognitive limits. Offers freedom. Solace. Nothing wrong with it, just not science." His voice grew listless as he traced his metal-capped fingers over the ink on his forehead, clearly deep in thought. Kelly knew he spoke from experience, and she let him reminisce for a moment.
Mordin has a surprising perspective on philosophy. I was wrong – he admits to struggling with his place in the galaxy in the past – I wonder what happened in his life to make him doubt the perspective he so strongly embraces now?
Kelly and Mordin's thoughts were interrupted by a cheerful ding from across the room. In an instant, Mordin had popped to his feet. "Ultracentrifuge done," he exclaimed, beaming. He was all business again, his hands almost a blur as they unloaded the instrument and set it up for another run.
"How did you get that tattoo?" Kelly asked, grinning.
"Was nine," he said, smiling at the memory. "Young. Rebellious. Worried about future. No breeding contract. Angry at society, clan, galaxy in general. Symbol is Lystheni iconography, synonymous with civil unrest. Too busy in the lab to join gang, getting gang tattoo seemed next best thing. Dalatrass not amused. Did not help breeding prospects."
He paused, breathing deep.
"Quite fetching though. Worth it."
Codex entry: Scientist Salarian lyrics
Scientist Salarian, a parody of the Major General song (humans Gilbert and Sullivan, 1879) was written in 2171 by famed Salarian lyricist and part-time structural biologist Jokus Kirosa. The song was later featured as part of the 2183 inaugural gala celebrating humanity's contributions to the galactic artistic community, where it was performed for the council alongside other classics like Francis Kitt's All-Elcor Hamlet and Leonin Trebin's musical comedy rendition of "Jaynestown".
–
I am the very model of a scientist Salarian
I've studies species turian, asari, and batarian
I'm quite good at genetics as a subset of biology
Because I am an expert which I know is a tautology.
In four directions cardinal I know the blot routine-ry
I problem-solve with tools and guns and even farm machinery.
I'll sing your genome base to base, the purines and pyrimadines
I'll solve your ailments be you sick or stroking out or seizure-y
Chorus:
He'll solve your ailments be you sick or stroking out or seizure-y!
He'll solve your ailments be you sick or stroking out or seizure-y!
He'll solve your ailments be you sick or stroking out or seizure-seizure-y!
My knowledge is prodigious though I'm stuffy and professor-y
I'm fluent in the vorcha tongue and hanar luminescer-y
My xenoscience studies range from urban to agrarian
I am the very model of a scientist Salarian!
Chorus:
His xenoscience studies range from urban to agrarian
He is the very model of a scientist salarian!
You're still eating breakfast but I'm studying catalysis
My ideal date would finish with statistical analysis
I've mastered optic instruments, reflective and refractory
I don't begrudge the quarians their hypochondriact-ery
I've memorized – eidetic – all my patients' anamnesises.
I've written papers, scores and scores, and that's not counting thesises!
I'll toxify my enemies with nary an apology
Then spend my weekends brushing up on elcor enzymology!
Chorus:
He spends his weekends brushing up on elcor enzymology!
He spends his weekends brushing up on elcor enzymology!
He spends his weekends brushing up on elcor enzymolomology!
When I complete a surgery I sign my name in suturing
I've cut up more batarians than Torfan's famous butchering!
If knowledge is a library than I'm its king librarian
I am the very model of a scientist salarian!
Chorus:
If knowledge is a library than he's its king librarian
He is the very model of a scientist salarian!
When I know all the acids be they levo, dextro rotamers,
When I tell your asari child her genes are only sortof yours.
When I expound the theories that my colleagues find heretical
When I know all the finer points of therapies genetical
When I could cure your cancer with my brain just halfway functioning.
When I can fix mutating cells, the point, the nondisjunctioning!
In short, when I've a smattering of transgenetic strategy
You'll say another scientist has never yet been half of me!
Chorus:
You'll say another scientist has never yet been half of him!
You'll say another scientist has never yet been half of him!
You'll say another scientist has never yet been half been half of him!
My skeptics call me mad and though they always try to censure me
And even though I'm lucky if I live just half a century
Even on my offdays I'd outdo the best Noverian
I am the very model of a scientist salarian!
Chorus:
Even on his offdays he'd outdo the best Noverian
He is the very model of a scientist salarian!
–
UPDATED 09/25/21 – formatting, song meter, removed an unintentionally offensive comment.
A/N: I am aware that Kelly is not, in general, a real well-liked character, though I am not entirely sure why that is. Regardless, I found her a really difficult character to write. I am trying to interpret her as simultaneously a bit of a ditz and yet still a very intelligent woman. Perhaps that's just too much of a dissonance. In any case, I hope you enjoy my portrayal.
Chapter six is coming along really well. I'm proud of it so far and I look forward to sharing it in the next few days.
I've been a bit distracted lately with another ME related project I'm considering. I put a lot of thought into the science and detail of the ME universe and am contemplating the merits of trying to write it out comprehensively. It's something I'd want to argue with people on, however – maybe I should make a website for debating it and coming up with a reasonable fanon consensus. Or maybe I'll just do some of it myself. In any case, would anybody out there actually be interested in reading a huge block o' text about who, say, the turians are?
Finally, for those (like me) for whom 'anamnesis' is not a part of everyday vocabulary, it is a noun meaning medical history. I stumbled upon the word while working on the song and just had to use it. Also, I am aware the proper plural is 'anamneses', but I chalk it up to artistic license. Also also, while I fit in all the lines Mordin actually sings in the game, in the interest of keeping the original song's structure I had to split them up.