It had been a little over a week since the abdominal pains had begun, and though the irritating rash Shepard had suffered all of the week previous had begun to go away thanks to a healthy helping of medi-gel and an assortment of soothing savs, the nausea and the pain had continued. Unfortunately, the fact that the rash was beginning to clear up only made the nausea seem to be getting worse by comparison, and though Shepard was certain she knew what was causing the discomfort – stress was the easiest explanation, and made the most sense – she suspected that her shameful lack of sleep and poor eating habits were probably dependable contributors as well.

Even during her days on the Normandy SR1, during the initial race to warn the people of the impending Reaper attack, she had never had as reprehensible a diet or as poor a sleep schedule as she had now. Not that she had not expected this turn of events, considering the impending proverbial end of all things; however, she had to admit that she was disappointed in her body for reacting so poorly to it when, now more than ever, she needed to be functioning at her fullest capacity for the sake of her galaxy and crew.

Shepard was stubborn by nature, and, as anyone would attest, she loathed to admit defeat – but when the pain and nausea had finally gotten to a point where it could no longer be avoided, she had decided that she would bring it up to Dr. Chakwas in passing the next time the two of them happened to be alone together. And so, later that evening, over a cheerful helping of fruit salad, Shepard had explained her symptoms to Chakwas, whose gaze never left the Commander as she spoke. Then, having finished explaining her symptoms, Shepard fell silent, her fork suspended over her plate, forgotten, speared with two types of fruit she had never seen before but trusted Gardner enough to believe they were edible and not poisonous to humans.

Taking a small bite of the red unidentified fruit from her own plate, Chakwas chewed it thoughtfully for a moment, before pointing at Shepard with her fork. "Have you had your implants checked recently?" she asked, careful not to show her food as she spoke. Swallowing, she shifted the fruit around her plate, looking for a certain type, before picking out a cube of watermelon and cantaloupe for her next bite. "Yours seemed to be doing quite well, from what I remember of our time with Cerberus," she added, bringing her fork to her mouth again. "But as with everything, I've heard horror stories. Discomfort is one of the less potent signs that something might be wrong."

"What are some of the others?" Shepard asked, finally bringing her neglected bite of fruit to her mouth and starting to chew. It was not nearly as bad as she had feared – the foreign fruit had a sweet taste, and a texture like a soft meat. Eaten alone it would probably have been inedible, but mixed in with other fruit it was not half bad.

"Oh, just the usual sorts of things you would expect from full-scale bodily rejections," Chakwas answered offhandedly, prodding several pieces of honeydew onto the end of her fork. "Skin splitting apart in various degrees of severity… cosmetic features like ears and noses shrivelling and falling off… massive internal bleeding, usually traceable by vast amounts of blood in one's urine…" Shrugging, she took her healthy bite of honeydew, before looking up at Shepard, whose fork hung slack in her fingers, her face frozen in a look of horrified shock.

"I'm sorry, Commander," Chakwas said politely, finishing her bite and swallowing. "Was it something I said?"

Once Chakwas had finished her dinner, and Shepard had been coerced into doing the same, the two had retreated into Chakwas' office, which had undergone very little updating since the good doctor had moved back in only a few days prior. There were new medical digibooks on the few, sparse shelves that lined the walls, and the desk was decorated with small pieces of memorabilia, matching pen sets, and digital photo frames showing pictures of happier times. Settling into her familiar chair, Chakwas shifted a few things around on the desk before pulling up her hologram computer screen and scrolling through her medical files, looking for the one on Shepard.

"Is everything okay for you down here, Doctor?" Shepard asked, trying not to sound too awkward as she waited for Chakwas to find her file. "Everything still working the way you remember it?"

"The Alliance team cleaned up and restocked, but it's still my old medbay," Dr. Chakwas answered fondly, taking a quick glance around, as if to reassure herself that she were really back on the Normandy and it was not all just part of an overlong dream. Then, turning around again, she returned her attention to her medical database, selecting a file from the list. "Feels like home. But, let's get down to business – no use wasting time talking about the way things used to be."

"There's nothing wrong with me, is there?" Shepard joked, watching as Chakwas pulled up what appeared to be a medical program on her glowing omni-tool.

"Not that I know of," Chakwas answered honestly, syncing the program on her omni-tool with the computer file she had pulled up, before waving away the computer screen and getting up from her chair. "But we should keep an eye on all of those cybernetic implants Cerberus had grafted into you."

"Expensive stuff, bringing me back," Shepard commented, offhand.

"And worth every penny," Chakwas replied. "But, let's double-check that everything is okay, just to be safe. I just want to make sure some sort of rejection of the cybernetics is not what's causing you to feel so…"

"Blegh?" Shepard suggested.

"That description works as well as any," Chakwas conceded.

"I guess a checkup never hurts," Shepard agreed. "Just… no scalpel this time, Doc." In all honesty, she was hoping that some sort of cybernetic rejection was what was causing her to feel so on-and-off sick – it was becoming more and more difficult to hide her discomfort from other members of her crew, and she knew that even the least observant of them might begin to suspect something if she kept disappearing to her quarters or to the medbay on a regular basis. Gardener was a good cook, and a good friend, so she could not fall back on the go-to explanation of 'food poisoning' for fear of hurting his feelings, which left her with very few other excuses as to her sometimes urgent disappearances at the most inconvenient of times.

"Alas, to my great disappointment, it is nothing invasive," Chakwas returned in a droll deadpan. "I'm just going to run some diagnostics on your implants, and it'll take a few readings." Passing her omni-tool over Shepard's upper body, she allowed it to scan the Commander's information into the program. Then, letting out a series of beeps, the program began to spit out a scrolling sequence of readings, which Chakwas studied, her expression impassive, making it difficult for Shepard to clue in on what was going on on the screen. "Good," Chakwas finally conceded, turning her attention back to Shepard as her omni-tool flickered out at her side. "Your implants are showing little sign of rejection. There are a few anomalies I will have to study and get back to you on, but for the most part it looks as if your body has accepted the Cerberus upgrades. You appear to be the picture of health."

"I don't feel like the picture of health," Shepard replied, making a face.

"Well, this was only a test to see if your implants were working correctly," Chakwas admitted. "Would you like me to run an organic medical test, to see if I can figure out what's making you so ill?"

"I…" Shepard started to say, but her voice quickly trailed off, her gaze shifting from Chakwas' face to the medbay window behind her, where she could clearly see Javik staring back at her from the mess hall. His bright yellow eyes were fixated on her, though the rest of his demeanour could not have seemed less interested. Still, Shepard could not help the feeling that he had no intention of leaving his post anytime soon, and especially not for the sake of making her feel any more comfortable. "Maybe some other time," she answered, offering Chakwas an awkward, apologetic half-shrug. "A little bit later. When we can have, uh… a little more privacy."

Chakwas raised her pencilled brows, surprised. Then, turning, she looked to see what it was that was putting Shepard so on edge, and, spotting Javik, she let out a soft, unsurprised little sigh before crossing her arms and turning her tired attention back to Shepard. "Yes… he does that," she conceded. "I don't much care for it, but I figure as long as he's out there and I'm in here he can't really do much to disrupt my work."

"I guess that's true, but… I'd still feel weird getting a checkup with him watching me," Shepard admitted, making a face as her gaze drifted back to Javik, who still had not moved from his sombre, brooding perch. "I do want that checkup, though, so… I'll come back."

The dish Gardener had prepared for their lunch that day was chicken soup, or at the very least, a creamy, broth-like formula that smelled like chicken soup. Soup, it seemed, was the only meal which trial and error had proven to be the one thing Shepard could consistently keep down, and though she knew that meat rations were so low that there was no way there was any actual chicken in the recipe, she still suspected that Gardener had probably caught wind of the fact that she had been feeling under the weather recently, and this was his way of showing that he could always be counted on to help in any way he could. It was a gesture she would be sure to give him proper thanks for later.

Javik stood in a corner of the mess hall, his thick, plated arms folded sternly across his tapered breastplate, his hard yellow eyes watching Shepard as she ate. Across the table, Liara sat motionless, her spoon poised, ready, in her delicate hand, watching Javik even as he watched Shepard, until finally, realizing he was being observed without his consent, the prothean gave a derisive snort, turning away from the two of them and heading towards the elevator to go back to his room on the floor below.

"He does that," Shepard told Liara, breaking the silence, repeating Chakwas' dismissive sentiment as she glanced up at her friend from the line of her bowl. Bringing another spoonful to her mouth, she blew on it, cooling it, before taking the bite and returning the spoon to her lunch, stirring the ingredients together to even them out.

"Why?" Liara asked, her malt-blue eyes fixed on the elevator, as if staring hard enough at it would grant her the ability to suddenly see through to the other side. "Did you say something to him to make him do that?"

Shepard shook her head, poking at her bowl of soup before bringing up another spoonful, blowing on it, and downing it as well. Liara watched her for a moment, as if expecting more. Then, seemingly no longer hungry, the asari set down her spoon, instead folding her soft, gloved hands in front of her, her heart-shaped blue lips pursing into a thin line. Shepard paused in her eating, looking up at Liara for a moment in an attempt to read her. Then, her brows drawing together into a faint, somewhat confused frown, she sat back in her chair, blinking a few times before setting down her spoon on the mess table with a bemused clatter.

"You're jealous," she said suddenly, sounding surprised by the revelation. Liara turned her head sharply at this, seeming almost startled, but said nothing, her only reaction the gentle raise of her thin, painted brows. Shepard scoffed, an incredulous, humourless smirk splitting her face as she rested her elbow on the table in front of her. "You're actually jealous that Javik is paying attention to me," she said, shaking her head. "Unbelievable, Liara. Absolutely unbelievable."

"That's not true," Liara snapped, her gentle, wispy voice suddenly curt with embarrassment. A faint purple hue had risen to her freckled, light-blue cheeks, and she quickly looked down at her hands in her lap, trying to hide the blush, but to no avail. "I… I simply wish he would be more open with me, that's all," she said, her voice rushed with humiliation. "He seems to have taken quite well to you, and I… I just wish he would do the same for me." Looking up at Shepard again, she twisted her hands together, her thin fingers lacing and tangling between each other as she wrung them anxiously.

"I only want to study him," she said. "I just want to know more about his culture, about his life, about him, but he… he just makes it so difficult for anyone to get close to him. But you, with you he… he…"

"He stares at me from across the room," Shepard interjected, her incredulous frown deepening. "He makes weird, vague statements about me that I can't figure out, and then treats me like I'm stupid when I ask him what he means." Leaning back in her chair again, she retracted her hands, lacing her fingers together over her ribcage before giving a tired, indifferent shrug of her thin shoulders. "He's hasn't taken quite well to me at all, Liara," she said, waving a dismissive hand in Liara's direction before allowing it to fall to rest again. "If anything, he's messing with me, and it's driving me nuts."

"Messing with you how?" Liara asked, picking up her spoon and beginning to skate it distractedly over the milky surface of her broth, disrupting the surface. "What exactly does he say?"

"He keeps making really strange comments about my 'physical condition'," Shepard answered frankly, her gaze fixed distractedly on the spoon in Liara's hand. "Sometimes it's not so bad. Sometimes he'll just tell me I should probably lie down for a while, which—"

"Is nice," Liara provided.

"Is kinda considerate, I guess, sure," Shepard consented. "I don't always feel particularly tired when he tells me to do it, but I guess I might look more tired than I feel sometimes—"

"You do look tired quite a lot," Liara agreed.

"Thanks," Shepard returned, trying hard to hold in a dubious little laugh. "Sometimes, though, he'll tell me things like… that I should get myself checked? That something about me is off, or seems off, or however he says it, and that I should probably correct it as soon as I can. But Chakwas said there was nothing wrong with my implants, so as far as I can tell I'm still in fit fighting shape."

"You haven't been feeling well lately, though," Liara told her, matter-of-factly. "You told me so, yourself."

"I'm getting better," Shepard countered. "Besides, I hardly need some Prothean sixth sense to tell me I've got a common stomach bug. I could kinda figure that one out for myself."

"It seems to me like he's only trying to help," Liara replied, finally taking a spoonful of the soup she had up to this point only been playing with. "Nothing to be so offput about. Seems to me you're overreacting to something as simple as polite concern on his part."

"Polite nothing," Shepard scoffed. "He told me that whatever it was that was throwing me off physically was messing with my brain chemistry as well. He basically called me sick and crazy, Liara, and he refuses to tell me what he means by it apart from that. I have no idea what I'm doing wrong that he's so tied up in knots about, and he won't tell me."

"Perhaps that's part of his culture," Liara suggested, lifting her malt-blue eyes to Shepard's face, something patient and motherly in her tone that only served to make Shepard even more irritated. "Perhaps he doesn't know any better to clarify. Perhaps you should ask him what he means."

"He knows, Liara," Shepard returned. "He knows perfectly well. He does it on purpose."

Liara gave a gentle, frustrated little sigh, leaning one elbow on the table and dipping her spoon back into her soup bowl, stirring it around once before picking it up and blowing on it gently again. "I guess we'll just have to agree to disagree on that point," she answered, simply, before bringing the soup to her mouth.

"Yeah," Shepard agreed, looking down and stirring her soup absentmindedly, no longer hungry. "I guess so."

The door to Javik's room slid open with an easy hiss, and instantly a fine wave of mist wafted out, curling around Shepard's ankles and enticing her inward. The entire atmosphere of the room was thick, warm, and humid, the cool vapour settling heavily on her skin as she entered, and she could not help but feel an odd sense of displacement as she moved further into the room, looking around for its occupant. The room had completely changed since the crew of the Normandy had housed Grunt in here almost half a year ago; the windows looking out into the hangar had been sealed up with metal tiling, making the room darker and almost claustrophobic, and the hardtop artillery tables had been converted into what looked like small water basins, their surfaces disturbed by a series of tiny, constant ripples from what appeared to be some sort of self-contained filtration system. Javik stood in front of one of these basins, washing his hands in the near-still water, his four bright yellow eyes fixated on his repetitive task. As Shepard approached him, she could see the faint shift in his demeanour, his rigid shoulders straightening into a hard line as the obvious sound of her footfalls on the grated floor reached his ears.

"Can I help you, Commander?" he asked, not bothering to turn to look at her as he spoke, the wariness in his voice poorly masking how completely disinterested he was in whether he could actually assist her or not. Shepard faltered, a bit taken aback, before regaining her composure and propping her hands on her hips, casually authoritative.

"You can," she answered, straightforward. "And you can start by explaining to me why you seem to take so much issue with me lately."

For an instant, Javik was quiet, considering her forthright answer. Then, lifting his hands from the basin, he shook them out, beginning to dry them. "Issue?" he asked, innocuous, wringing the remaining moisture from his hands back into the reflecting pool. "I have no issue with you, Commander."

"Clearly you do, Javik," Shepard retorted, irritated by his false indifference. "Clearly something I did is bothering you. Otherwise why would you be acting the way you have for the past week? What did I do to cause you to have such animosity towards me?"

"I do not understand, Commander," Javik answered her, still vague. "I have not been acting any particular way, either this past week or otherwise. However, if you believe there is an issue with my behaviour, I will gladly take note of it and attempt to correct it in future—"

"I'm not in the mood to play games right now, Javik," Shepard cut over him, feeling her frustration levels begin to mount the longer he denied his nettling behaviour. "If you just tell me what's wrong, maybe we can straighten this whole thing out. We're both professionals; we can settle this thing like professionals."

"There is nothing to settle, Commander," Javik returned, his attention still fixated on his hands. "I told you before; I have no immediately pressing issue with you." He was quiet for a moment, thoughtful, considering the rippling reflection pool. Then, turning to face Shepard, he stared at her, his expression direct. "I merely question certain of your decisions," he told her, frank. "And I wonder if you truly understand the repercussions that may result from such. That is all."

Shepard faltered, a bit shocked by his answer. Not that she had expected something different, admittedly, but the way he had worded his concern made it sound almost, as Liara had forcibly implied, polite. However, even under the guise of a well-meaning worry, there was something unmistakeably needling about his implication, something notably pointed and derogatory, that made her metaphorical hackles stand on end. "If you've got a problem with me as a leader, Javik, you can tell me to my face," she quickly shot back, finally fed up with the maddeningly repetitive conversation. "I'm sick and tired of talking in circles with you. Either tell me what your issue is, or stop brooding around like you've got a bone to pick. I honestly don't care which one you do at this point. I just can't take any more of this cryptic, passive-aggressive bullshit."

For a moment, Javik seemed taken aback, each of his gleaming yellow eyes seeming to flicker independently as the uncomfortable staring match dragged on, his six eyes evenly matched against her intense two. Shepard clenched her fists, refusing to back down, until Javik finally broke the silence, giving a dismissive huff of breath from between his tightly-filed teeth. "I suppose I simply do not see the merit of cross-species proliferation, Commander," he informed her, sounding just as poised as ever. "And I wonder what you see in it that makes it so appealing to you that you continue to carry on with it, despite the inevitable ramifications."

This had been the last answer Shepard had expected to hear, and she faltered, taken aback, her hands unclenching at her sides as she took a step backwards, dropping her defensive stance. Pursing her lips, she ran the question over in her head, trying to come up with an appropriate response, but, she was finding it hard to shake his irritating, self-righteous attitude on the subject. While she knew she had a responsibility to be a leader to her crewmembers, she was also well aware that that responsibility came with the expectation that they would offer the same sense of camaraderie in return, a sense of camaraderie that was sorely lacking in Javik's pointed criticism of matters that neither involved him, nor concerned him.

"What I do in my spare time has no effect on the quality with which I perform my duties," she finally told him, stern. "Should it ever begin to have some effect on the quality of my work, I will attend to it at that time. But until such a time arises, and such a dilemma presents itself…" Taking a step forward again, Shepard leaned in towards Javik, setting her jaw, causing him to lean back away from her slightly, wary. "Stay out of my goddamn personal business," she told him, firmly.

Javik frowned, his wide, scalloped mouth drawing into a thin, taut line as he stared at Shepard, unsure of what to say in response. Then, finally, he gave another indifferent snort of breath, before lifting his chin proudly and turning his gaze away from her. "Yes, Commander," he said.

"Good," Shepard answered, taking her defensive step backwards again. "Now suit up. We're about to reach Sur'Kesh and you'll be coming planetside with me and Liara."

"I do not like salarians," Javik argued, the edges of his upper lip curling in disapproval. "Or asari. Especially your asari."

"I don't remember asking," Shepard returned, indifferent, before turning away and starting to head towards the door of his quarters. "Now suit up. Drop is in twenty minutes. See you in the hangar."

Shepard wiped a thin film of saliva from around her mouth with the back of her wrist, making sure for the hundredth time that no trace of vomit still clung to her lips or chin as she made her way down to the hangar to prepare for the drop onto Sur'Kesh. A feeling of imminent, debilitating nausea had struck her down just as she had started to change out of her casual garb and into her armour, and she had spent the next ten minutes curled around the bowl of the toilet trying to feel normal again. The sickening feeling had not completely passed by the time she forced herself to her feet again, slugging her way slowly but surely through the donning of her armour, but by the time she checked her finished appearance in the bathroom mirror, making sure her assembly was in smart order, the unexplained nausea had died down enough that she felt assured that she did not have to worry about it rising back up again during the course of the mission.

As far as she was concerned, the last thing she needed was her teammates worrying about her over something as embarrassing as puking during a gun fight. With any luck, they would be able to stop off in a major marketing port after this mission and she would be able to pick up some standard flu medicine to help quell the nauseating feeling her body had been plaguing her with since their return from Manae. The idea had crossed her mind that perhaps this sickness was something she had caught while on the turian moon, and she had almost brought the possibility up to Doctor Chakwas more than once, but the probability of her catching a virus in a war zone, not to mention an alien war zone with alien viruses, was so completely slim that she felt foolish even thinking about it, and had quickly pushed the thought to the back of her mind, along with her feelings of worry that the nausea might pop up again at the most inconvenient time during their upcoming mission.

She knew well enough that worrying only served to make matters worse, but it was still undeniably one of her biggest flaws – Shepard was a worrier at heart.

Cortez and Liara were already waiting for Shepard when she arrived in the hangar. She could hear Liara's silvery chuckle from the elevator, reacting to something Cortez had said, but the conversation volume was too low for her to hear any of what was actually being said otherwise. The subject matter did not seem to be too important, however, as the conversation was quickly dropped as soon as the two spotted the Commander, Cortez returning to his task of checking the engines one last time for debris as Liara approached Shepard, offering her a soft, genial smile.

"Wrex is already on board," Liara informed her, motioning towards the Kodiak with a thumb over her shoulder. "Didn't feel like waiting around like the rest of us… what did he call us? Nearsighted plebeians?"

"That sounds like Wrex," Shepard commented, hardly able to contain a fond smirk. "Is everybody else ready to go, too? Got everything? Your weapons and everything?"

"Triple-checked and loaded," Liara replied reassuringly. Glancing back towards the elevator, she considered it for a moment, waiting for the last of their party to come down and join them, but, after a moment of nothing happening, she turned her gaze back towards Shepard again, folding her arms and giving a soft, patient little exhale. "Feeling okay?" she asked, offhanded, trying awkwardly for casual conversation while they waited.

"Feeling just fine," Shepard answered, brusquely. She checked the mods of her Avenger distractedly, trying hard not to appear paranoid over what was likely just a throwaway question. "Where's—?"

"He said he'd be down shortly," Liara answered, propping her hands on her hips and giving a pensive little twist. "Just getting a few last-minute things done."

Shepard frowned, jamming the brunt of her palm against the side of the Avenger, making sure everything stayed in place, before returning it to the magnetic holster on her back. "You talked to him?" she asked, listening for the lock to click into place.

Liara hesitated, seeming taken aback by the question. "Yes," she replied. "Is that unusual?"

"And he… talked back?" Shepard asked.

At this, Liara frowned, confused, and crossed her arms across her chest, cocking her head to one side. "Yes," she answered. "Why shouldn't he?"

"No reason," Shepard answered quickly. "I just didn't realize you were quite so chummy with—"

"We ready to go?" Garrus' voice was bright and eager as he sauntered into the conversation, his rifle clutched fondly between his clawed fingers. "Just needed to finish up a few things in the gunnery control," he explained, giving a dismissive toss of his crested head to one side. "You know how that is. Always busy down there."

"Garrus?" Shepard asked, frowning, confused.

"Present," Garrus quipped. "Kind-of a last-minute notice you had here, though. Almost didn't make it. Not that I mind, just – would prefer more prior warning next time. Make sure I'm not in the middle of something when it's time to suit up and go."

"Garrus… what are you doing here?" Shepard insisted. "I thought I told Javik to—"

"Javik told me you wanted me to suit up and head down here," Garrus answered, checking the mods of his rifle to make sure they were all still firmly in place. "Conveyed your message just fine, to his credit. Still a little weird, since usually you're the one to let me know the game plan, but I figured you were busy and asked him to do it for you. Not my first choice for a messenger, but beggars, choosers…" Collapsing his rifle again, he tucked it over his shoulder, listening for the magnetic locks to click into place before letting go of the grip. "First time I've seen him out of his quarters in a while," he added, offhanded. "Almost jumped out of my skin when he started talking to me. Didn't even realize he was there at first. You have to admit, the guy's unnaturally quiet for an alien his size."

"Quiet isn't really the word I'd use for him," Shepard returned, irritated.

"SHEPARD!" Wrex leaned his broad head out of the Kodiak, causing the vehicle to give a creak and a groan as it leaned faintly to one side under the krogan warlord's weight. "GET YOUR ASS IN HERE AND LET'S GO!"

"I'm coming, I'm coming!" Shepard called back, shifting her weight backward onto one foot. "Don't get your quad in a twist!" Then, waving an apathetic hand in the direction of the elevator, she turned away from the gathered party, starting to head towards the Kodiak instead. "Let's just get this thing over with," she sighed. "I don't have time to deal with this now. I'll figure it out when we get back." Climbing aboard the ship, she dropped herself into one of the seats, taking hold of a vertical railing and stretching her legs out in front of her with a sigh. "Shouldn't take too long," she added, more to herself than to her team. "It's just a standard pickup mission."

"That's what you said about Akuze, too," Wrex grunted.

"Thanks, Wrex," Shepard retorted, shooting him an irritated look. "That was really helpful."

"'S what I'm here for," Wrex answered with a dark chuckle. "Just doin' my job."

Shepard could have sworn that their arrival on Sur'Kesh had been double, triple, and quadruple checked, but it seemed that somewhere along the line, a dire miscommunication had still taken place, as it was to a cold welcome of beady red sniper sights that the Kodiak hovered in towards the landing pad. Wrex, unimpressed with the salarians' idea of diplomacy, had taken it upon himself to speed the process along in the only way he knew how – without subtlety. As could be expected, this only served to make matters even worse, as the krogan's rash entrance only seemed to stir up the salarian panic even more, the alarmed, high-pitched whining of guns powering up reaching Shepard and crew's ears even before the Kodiak had finished fully landing.

Diplomacy had never been Shepard's strongest suit, and as such she was convinced that it was nothing short of a miracle that she managed to talk herself and her team out of immediate dismissal from the planet's surface following her krogan crewmate's hot-headed show of theatrics. It was with a sense of gritted-teeth accomplishment that she finally found herself free to roam the research facility, her reinforced underarmour sticky against her skin in the planet's humid, green atmosphere. She felt uneasy among all the salarian computer research stations, as if she might break something merely by touching it, and so it was a welcome distraction when she saw something out of the corner of her eye that she finally recognized – a familiar, green-brown salarian with a distinctive scaling pattern on his forehead, crouching over a hub, tinkering distractedly with something inside.

Moving up behind the salarian at the circuitry hub, Shepard smiled, propping her hands on her hips and giving an easy chuckle of greeting. "Captain Kirrahe," she said, getting his attention and causing him to turn to face her, surprised. The surprise soon vanished from his face, however, as soon as he saw who it was who was addressing him, and he quickly got to his feet, brushing himself off distractedly. "Didn't expect to see you hanging around this nerd station," Shepard commented, looking him up and down. "You look good."

"It's Major Kirrahe now," Kirrahe answered with a smile, offering Shepard a warm, familiar handshake. "And keeping track of nerds is what I do. You should know that better than anyone, Commander. I helped your team out on Virmire, after all."

"You helped us?" Shepard asked, returning the friendly handshake. "I think you mean we helped you. Who's the nerd now?"

Kirrahe chuckled, shaking his head, before turning his attention to two figures approaching from behind Shepard. Shepard did not even have to turn to know her teammates were behind her – the familiar sound of the hefty chinking and flapping of their outfits was more than enough to alert her to their presence. Without waiting for an invitation, Garrus stepped forward past Shepard, holding out a friendly hand towards Kirrahe. "Good to see a friendly face, Major," he said, obviously having listened in on Shepard's earlier faux pas. Shepard could hardly contain a smart, playful remark about him being a kiss-ass, but she held her tongue, not wanting to spoil the pleasant reunion.

"Garrus Vakarian," Kirrahe exclaimed, taking the hand offered him and giving it a hearty shake. "Always a pleasure. And the same to you, Doctor T'Soni."

"Major," Liara returned with a smile.

"It seems the Reapers have a way of bringing us together," Kirrahe commented, lighthearted.

"Sure seems that way," Shepard answered, wondering inwardly how much more small talk was socially necessary before she was allowed to delve into important questions. She had little time for chit-chat, and even less intuition on the correct way to do it. Her mother had always taught her to get to the heart of the matter first, and worry about the niceties later – work before play. "How'd you get posted to this base, anyway, Major?"

"I led the team on TuChanka that found the females," Kirrahe told her, matter-of-factly. "Nasty business. Maelon may have meant well, but his operation was crude. Test subjects were unaccounted for. The females easily escaped his lab."

"And what do you think about bringing the female krogan here?" Shepard asked. She was glad that Kirrahe was as much a military professional as she was, and had no problem tackling hard questions head-on – it made talking to him about things that mattered that much easier when she did not have to skirt around the issue.

"Our scientists say it's important to preserve the females," Kirrahe answered, sounding suddenly oddly detached from the subject as he raised his hands to form half-hearted air-quotes. "'Evolutionary paradigms'. I say when people know you're hiding something valuable, they'll want to steal it. Either way, I have my orders. They'll be your problem soon enough."

Recognizing this send-off as her invitation to leave the conversation, Shepard nodded, curt but professional. "Good seeing you again, Major," she told him, starting to turn away, but Kirrahe's hand suddenly shot out, resting on her shoulder, causing her to turn back towards him again.

"Commander," he said. "Listen. Regardless of what the politicians decide, you can count on my support retaking Earth."

Shepard faltered, taken aback, blinking a few times in an attempt to regain her composure. "You'd do that?" she finally asked, her brow furrowing.

"Consider it my way of returning a favour," Kirrahe replied, taking his hand from her shoulder to grasp hold of her own hand and give it a good, reassuring shake. "It would be an honour to fight alongside you again—"

"Commander Shepard."

Shepard and Kirrahe both turned at the sound of her name, just in time to see a second salarian approach them, stepping self-importantly between Garrus and Liara to reach the Commander. He was younger than Kirrahe, with dark reddish-brown skin and a higher, harsher voice, and as soon as Kirrahe saw who it was, he frowned. "Ah, yes," he said, trying his hardest to sound professional, but Shepard could tell he was none too thrilled to see this new arrival. "Shepard, this is Lieute—"

"I'm Lieutenant Tolan," the younger salarian cut him off, not even bothering to look at Kirrahe as he rounded on Shepard, isolating her from the rest of the group. "I've heard about your exploits against the Reapers."

"All of it good, I hope?" Shepard replied, half-joking, offering the new salarian her hand, but he did not return the gesture, simply letting it hang awkwardly in the air, unattended.

"Your mission on Virmire holds special renown in STG," Tolan responded, sounding thoroughly unimpressed by this fact. "The assistance you lent our team then tipped the balance. But now I'm not so sure."

"The Commander has done nothing but help our cause," Kirrahe informed him, clearly trying to keep his irritation in check.

"The Commander has revealed the existence of krogan who are immune to the genophage," Tolan returned, unmoved. "Word will get out. She's made us into a prime target. And you're not helping by supporting her."

"This is the only way to get the turians and krogan to cooperate," Shepard countered, wondering if her attempts at diplomacy would make any difference at all when not even Kirrahe seemed able to get through to this hardheaded irritant.

"And us?" Tolan retorted, turning his attention sharply back to Shepard. "Will we pay for your political expediency?" He scoffed, giving Shepard a dirty, disapproving look. "The krogan females from Maelon's experiments should have been eliminated when we found them on TuChanka," he told her. "Unfortunately, our scientists wanted them brought back for study. Waste of time, if you ask me. I don't need science to know that fertile krogan will be dangerous. I hope we don't pay for misguided mercy."

"Lieutenant," Kirrahe cut over him, loudly, causing Tolan to turn his censorious attention back towards the Major. "Why don't you take the Commander and her team down to the labs? I'm sure the four of you will have plenty to talk about on your way down there."

Tolan bristled at this suggestion, momentarily appearing as if he were ready to stand his ground and tell the Major he could take the team down to the lab himself if it meant so much to him – but then, begrudgingly seeming to realize what a terrible decision that would be, he instead deflated a bit, turning his large, almond-shaped eyes towards Shepard and her team. "Come with me," he told them, sullenly, before turning on his heel and starting towards a long, wide hallway lined with what appeared to be cages and tech stations. Shepard clenched and unclenched her hands anxiously as she walked, taking in the containment posts and trying in vain to read the text on each screen as they passed.

The sound of machines whirring and whining overhead was almost overwhelming to her senses, and Shepard could not help but wonder if this was normal for a salarian research base, and if so, how long it took the salarians to get used to all the noise, or if their hearing was simply less sensitive than hers in general. A high-pitched shout of "Careful! Watch the containment shield!" suddenly caught her attention, and the Commander and her party faltered before allowing a wide berth around an electrically-charged cage as it docked into one of the empty slots along the wall. Inside the cage, an angry-looking, nude brown-grey yahg fought to retain its footing as the cage locked into place beside all the others, the yahg howling angrily at the onlookers as it tried to figure out how to free itself.

"Brings back memories," Garrus commented, wary.

"Yes," Liara agreed, frowning gently. "I had hoped to never see one of those again."

"Who is the overseer for these yahg?" Shepard asked, straightforward, trying hard to hide her mortification. She had no interest in earning herself a reputation as a soft-shelled bleeding heart, but she still could not help but feel that, as savage a species as she knew the yahg to be, there was no reason for any creature, especially an intelligent creature, to be treated that way.

"That would be Padok Wiks," Tolan answered, the name sounding bitter on his tongue. "He's a quack, and a twisted one at that. Wasting everyone's time and resources trying to prove some… crazy theory on evolution. Disproving natural mutation as being the primary contributor to the evolution of the species, or…" He hesitated, before waving an irritated, dismissive hand. "Ridiculous theory," he said, curt. "Doesn't matter. Waste of time."

"Only to those with little vision and even less patience," a voice from behind them argued, causing the four of them to turn simultaneously to see who had spoken. The new salarian was light brown, almost beige, with one horn of his crest curled almost entirely inward; his eyes were narrow and shifty, but he did not seem nervous or devious, only awkward. "I am Padok Wiks," the salarian introduced himself, evenly, holding out a hand for Shepard to shake. "And the work I do here is just as important as anyone else's. Don't let this naysayer tell you otherwise."

Tolan scoffed, giving an agitated little shift, before shaking his head and waving an indifferent hand in Wiks' direction. "Fine," he told him. "Why don't you take them down to the lab, then? Give them a tour. Show them exactly what kind of work it is you do around here." Then, before Wiks could protest, he turned away, shuffling off past Shepard and her team and back towards his original post.

"He couldn't get rid of us fast enough, huh?" Garrus commented, causing Shepard to give a soft snort of agreement.

"Oh, don't mind him," Wiks told them, shaking his head as he returned his attention to the three visitors. "With war on everyone's minds, our people are understandably on edge. If you'll follow me, though, I'll go ahead and take you down to the lab. Get you set up. Show you around a little bit."

"Actually, we're just here to see the female krogan," Shepard told him, having to skip half a step to keep up with his eager pace.

"Oh," Wiks returned, sounding only a little bit disappointed. "Well, in that case, I'll send a request for clearance. That part of our lab is our highest security. Everyone needs clearance before they're allowed down – even you, Commander. Even me."

"Fair enough," Shepard answered, nodding.

"I can't think of any reason Mordin wouldn't let you come down, though," Wiks added, punching the request into his omni-tool. "He's been pretty good about letting people come down to see the female krogan. Says it's important for her to be well-socialized while tests are being run on her so she doesn't wither away from a lack of emotional connection, or… something like that."

"Mordin is here?" Shepard asked, barely able to contain her excitement at the prospect of seeing another familiar face. "Right now? In the lab?"

"Yes," Wiks replied, allowing his omni-tool to flicker out again at his side. "I've heard the two of you have some history, Commander. Something about… Collectors? A suicide mission?"

"Something like that," Shepard answered, vague. The thought of seeing Mordin again was enough to give her spirits a much-needed lift, and she quickly caught up to Wiks' stride again with a newly revived, bouncing spring in her step. "So, Wiks," she said, wetting her lips as she tried in vain to find a place for her hands, flustered, before finally just letting them clench loosely at her sides. "If you don't mind me asking – what kind of work goes on here, exactly? Tolan wasn't exactly forthcoming with the details."

"No, he never is," Wiks replied, sighing. "If you ask me, it's because he doesn't know all the details. Trying to save his posterior from embarrassment. But, to answer your question, evolutionary trials are the majority of what goes on here. Morphological simulations. Exogenetic assessments."

"And what type of work do you do here?" Shepard asked, wishing suddenly that she had not brought quite so many guns with her. The way this salarian walked, it was no wonder he was so notably thin. "Tolan was just telling us your main body of work has to do with… evolution…?"

"Evolutionary intervention," Wiks answered, giving a curt nod. "My government calls it 'uplifting' – guiding the development of other species to suit our own purposes. Until recently, I evaluated life-forms to determine whether they were suitable for uplift."

"You don't anymore?" Shepard asked.

"My work raised more questions than it answered," Wiks replied, frankly. "Now I'm searching for the underlying principle that directs evolution itself."

"In the yahg?" Shepard asked.

"Why not?" Wiks challenged. "Discovering the process of evolution is a major breakthrough in any species' development. Why should the yahg be any different?" Finally reaching the elevator, he stopped, turning to look back at his tagalong group, thoughtful. "I differ from most of my colleagues in this regard," he informed Shepard, solemn. "I believe that curing the Genophage will bring closure to the whole issue, this… ridiculous congenital rivalry between krogans and salarians. In the future, the krogan may yet play some role we can't even imagine. We should let the evolutionary process decide who lives and dies, not galactic politics. Alienating them now, when we have the chance to fix things instead, will only cause us undue headache then."

"And you believe the same to be true about the yahg?" Liara asked, her brow furrowing, doubtful.

"What is it that all of you have against the yahg?" Wiks asked, exasperated.

"Experience," Garrus answered, frankly.

"Listen," Wiks said, suddenly dead serious, pointing a reproving finger. "I worked as a scientist for the STG at the same time as Mordin Solus. I helped with the Genophage, although I disagreed with it, and I also helped in the search for a cure, however disappointing the outcome was and continued to be, because I believed in it… but it was never my passion. Evolution is, and always has been, my passion." Dropping his hand back to his side, he let out a sigh, considering them, wondering if they were worth explaining his ideas to at all. "My previous career, before all of this, before STG, revolved entirely around the ideal of uplifting lesser species," he told them, self-opinionated. "In fact, I was one of the highest-regarded experts on the subject. Which is why that is now my current area of expertise."

"What made you decide to quit the STG?" Shepard asked, shifting uncomfortably to try to pry some pockets of cool air free in her skin-gripping underarmour. "That seems like the perfect place to study the evolution of the species."

"It's not the same thing at all, Commander," Wiks answered solemnly, holding up a hand and shaking his head. "I regret deeply all of the work I did during my time working for the STG, and I wouldn't go back if given the chance. The work we did there… it was a terrible mistake, a terrible blow to the evolutionary process of a species we once worked so hard to uplift. My fellow salarian STG members were… arrogant, honestly, to believe they had the right to interfere with the destinies of the krogan in such a way – or any other lesser species, for that matter. As a result of what they'd done, what we'd done, the krogan grew too smart too fast, and began using technology we weren't prepared for them to use before they, themselves were fully prepared to begin using it. Their ambition overpowered our readiness."

"Which was bad news for you," Shepard returned, following along.

"And which is exactly what I'm trying to prevent with my work with the yahg," Wiks told her, nodding his head. "They're already intelligent, they pick up on things very quickly… but, unfortunately, they're a savage race. If we can teach a select few particularly clever ones to be more civilized, then who's to say that in four, three… maybe as few as two generations, we won't be calling their race our allies? Trading with them, allowing them political sway?"

"How is that any different from what you did with the krogan?" Shepard asked. "Giving them the knowledge to compete with the rest of the galaxy before they're fully prepared for it…"

"It's—it's not the same," Wiks explained, exasperated, fidgeting as he tried to find a comfortable resting place for his thin, anxious hands. "The yahg – they're not capable of developing the way the krogan have. They're incredibly self-reliant. Have you ever heard of a network of yahgs?"

"I've heard of a yahg's network," Garrus answered under his breath, causing Liara to smack his arm lightly with the back of her hand, scolding.

Just then, Wiks' omni-tool gave a soft beep, and he looked down at it, checking it, before shaking his head and letting his tool collapse again. "Nevermind, it's—nothing. Nevermind," he said. "Clearance has been received for you to head down to the labs. All it needs is a retinal scan to make sure you are who you say you are."

"As opposed to what, a clone?" Shepard joked, stepping up to the retinal scanner attached to the elevator doors. With one quick sweep of the laser reader, the scanner gave an approving beep, and the projected holo-lock on the elevator door turned green, indicating that the weight sensors would now work. No sooner had the hefty elevator door opened for her, however, than a loud, blaring bass of an alarm began to go off, reverberating through the research station and causing a startled flock of winged fauna to take flight out of a small gathering of nearby trees. Turning quickly, alert, Shepard watched as a salarian aerial craft took off, followed by another, the automated voice over the P.A. system announcing that a threat condition had been declared and calling teams to respond.

"What's happening?" Shepard demanded, rounding on Wiks, ready to reach for her gun should the situation call for it.

Wiks faltered, bringing up his omni-tool again, and checked the automated feed, frowning concernedly. "Sensors have picked up activity on the perimeter," he answered quickly, looking back up as he let his omni-tool flicker out again. "We should get moving, Commander." Ushering Shepard and her crew into the elevator, Wiks, pressed a button on the wall, sending them down towards the bottom floor, before stepping back to his original place, trying hard to keep from fidgeting anxiously. "Hopefully this is nothing," he added, more in an effort to reassure himself than his companions.

"Hopefully," Shepard agreed, wary.