CONTENT WARNING: This part of the story contains allusions to and descriptions of child abuse.

Dolor

"Nice work, everyone. Ms. Lawson is inside the facility safe and sound. Now we play the waiting game," James said to the crew present on the CIC .

With everyone back on board the Normandy, it was back to business as usual. In two days they would rendezvous with what was left of the turian Blackwatch for cooperative cross-forces training. Until then, the crew would get some much needed downtime.

James was replying to a request from Admiral Bhatt when Kaidan approached with his standard issue bag in hand. "I'm heading out, Vega. Hackett is expecting me in Vancouver by evening. You're good here?"

"Yep, got everything under control, General. As long as Miranda's good, we're good. It kind of depends on her now."

Kaidan nodded. "She can take care of herself. But just as a precaution—keep close tabs, please? She's an important asset."

James understood there was more to it than that, but didn't let on. "Will do, sir."

"Thanks."

James saluted and Kaidan headed for the hangar bay.

For the rest of the evening, he busied himself with the files Palmer had dug up on Montrose's men. There wasn't anything of much use, except Kerstin Minami's Alliance service record. She was a talented biotic—a vanguard, no less—and had been present at the raid of Torfan in 2178. But she was given an other than honorable discharge two years later for a brutal assault on civilians at Arcturus Station. No one was sure what had set her off. The victims of the attack were unknown to her, and there was no precipitating incident to speak of. Minami had a reputation for being hard-nosed, maybe a little vengeful, but she had never been violent outside of her duties. With little to go on and a lack of cooperation from Minami herself, it was assumed she had suffered an extreme form of PTSD or other mental injury.

James couldn't fathom what would drive a person to the antithesis of the oath they upheld. It wasn't her assault that bothered him—such incidents were still commonplace amongst soldiers and veterans. It was the fact that she was actively helping a known criminal to kidnap and oppress children. That sounded like something he might expect Cerberus or even a CAT6 to do. Hell, maybe she was already one of them.

James would have worked into dinner, but Lieutenant de Luca had dragged him to the mess hall, insisting that the unit needed a 'grown-up' at the table. Of course he was only joking—Vega referred to his crew as 'the kids' on occasion—but meal time was boisterous as usual. He hung back as they cavorted about the deck, and they pivoted between the brash and the serious on a dime. Having a lively crew energized him. But tonight, their impetuous energy twisted up his insides, like a rope whose loops had contorted into sinewy knots. Untangling his mess of feelings wasn't on the to-do list today, so James kept it to himself.

"Hey Commander, a few of us are headed to the lounge. Gonna see if we can cue up some old vids. Care to join?" asked Palmer, who had stopped on his way to the elevator.

"Nah, I'm good. Thanks, though."

"You sure?"

"Yep, I'm sure."

"Be seeing you then, sir."

"Enjoy," he said, smiling to put the Lieutenant at ease.

He'd use the opportunity to duck back into the captain's quarters. He hoped to get a good night's rest. After turning the lights down, he set the room's ambient sound to a steady lull of waves; the azure glow of the aquarium rippled along the ceiling and created the illusion of being underwater. Familiar childhood days rose up from the depths of his mind—building sand forts all afternoon on the beach, watching the waves eat them little by little as the tide rose. The waves never stopped. They came up to lap the shore, breaking themselves over and over again, sometimes washing things away, sometimes bringing them right back again. What did it take for a wave to break? To be stronger than the wave that came before it? To obliterate a fort in one fell swoop?

Fuck it, these were stupid thoughts to be having in the middle of the night. James kicked off his sheets and threw on a pair of joggers, then wandered down to the galley hoping to find coffee. It was too late to be having caffeine, but he figured he'd already wrecked his circadian rhythm. What difference would it make?

The coffee in the carafe was predictably stale and lukewarm and tasted like the inside of a rusty pan. Too lazy to brew a fresh pot, he reheated the carafe, then sat down at an empty mess table, datapad in hand. The quiet of the crew deck was eerie. This part of the ship was always dead about now, and he was rarely here alone. Even the medbay was dark.

Heavy footsteps advanced from the elevator. "Hey Commander," blurted Fitzpatrick.

James raised his hand to acknowledge her and watched as she disappeared into the kitchen. A few minutes later she returned, cradling a jumbo bowl of popcorn in one arm and dangling a bottle from the other.

"You alright, Commander?" asked Fitzpatrick. "I was just getting some snacks, but you aren't lookin' too hot there."

"Yeah, yeah. Just been having a little trouble sleeping lately." He ran his hand over his head and mussed his hair.

"Something up?"

He was reluctant to tell her the truth. Like his predecessor, he ran a pretty loose ship, but the line between camaraderie and fraternization could be fuzzy. The best thing for morale was to play it safe. No one needed to see 'dad' second guessing himself.

"Fitzpatrick—do you happen to know why waves…break? Like on a beach. What makes them break?"

"Huh?" The freckles along her nose scrunched together. "Umm, if I'm remembering my science correctly, it has to do with the water depth versus the wavelength. When it gets close to the shore it gets taller, because of the shallowness. There's a ratio between the wavelength and the height that makes it break—the top is traveling faster than the bottom because of…friction? Then there's graaaavity…. I don't know, it's been a long time since I left school." Fitzpatrick laughed sheepishly. "Kamau would know better than me."

"Ah, that's ok, I was just curious."

Fitzpatrick shrugged, causing the overfilled bowl to spill some of its contents. "Ah shit, nearly lost the bowl there."

"Hey, don't let me keep you. I'm sure you want to get back to your vids." James took a sip of his coffee and grimaced at the nasty aftertaste.

"Sorry, Commander. Wish I could be more help."

"Don't worry about it, it was a dumb question anyway. See ya, Fitzpatrick."

"G'night, sir."

Four weeks after James had accompanied Miranda to the surface of Terra Nova, the ship received a hefty packet of encrypted files. It had been two weeks since Miranda's last communication, which was simply to let them know she was okay and had begun work on collecting as much information as possible.

Specialist Lu called to James from her seat in the CIC. "Sir, Ms. Lawson has made contact."

"Is she live?" James stepped down from the galaxy map platform.

"Looks like she tried to send some files three days ago, but the data was corrupted. We received the full packet about five minutes ago. There are two audio files and a large cache of images."

"Bring up the audio files, please."

Miranda's voice played through the CIC intercom. It was wispy and muffled, as if she had recorded it from underneath a heavy blanket.

Aethon, this is Piper. I 've successfully begun to integrate myself. I've learned that most of the children at the facility are between the ages of six and sixteen, though I believe there are a few a bit younger or older. So far I've counted sixty-four, but I'm sure there are more being shuffled about. The children are made to work twelve hour days in rotating shifts. They receive little to no rest. Each child is tagged with a control device. They seem to be a modification of the usual batarian sort, feeding directly into their nervous systems. We'll need to disable them before we can remove the children from the facility. I've included schematics as well as rough plans for parts of the facility. Will update again soon.

"Second audio file please, Lu."

"Yes, sir."

Aethon, this is Piper. Since my last recording, I 've discovered that some of the older children have been taken to separate facilities. I don't know what they are doing with them or why, but I suspect the abuse they are suffering is above and beyond the physical labor endured by the younger children. Hope that I am wrong.

James hung his head.

"I'll allow access to the images from your terminal, sir."

"Thanks."

James opened the first batch of images and began scrolling through. He wasn't ready for what appeared on his display. The children were rail-thin. Their eyes were sunken and hollow, adding years to faces that should have been plump and full of spirit. One boy—no more than seven or eight years old—was shoehorned into a sizable crevice. His hands were barely big enough to hold the large hand drill he pressed to the wall, presumably to make holes for explosive charges. All the children looked like they hadn't bathed in weeks: matted hair, dirt stained skin, clothes so soiled they were the same dolorous gray. Some had visible bruises on their faces and arms.

James sucked air in through his teeth and let it out in a long stream, as if to cleanse himself of the suffering that filled his eyes with grief and hatred.

"Specialist Lu, can you see if General Alenko is available?"

"Yes, sir."

"Those images are disgusting," someone scowled behind James.

James reeled. He turned around to Lieutenant Palmer's agitated face glaring at his display. "Fuck Palmer, you scared the shit out of me! Didn't know you were there."

"Apologies, sir, I just stepped off the elevator." His normally lilting voice took on a sinister rasp. "People who do that to children deserve to be flayed. To have their intestines cut out and strung along the trees like Christmas garland. I'd do it myself if I could."

"Whoooa there, Lieutenant. I agree those kids deserve justice, but let's take it down a notch." It shocked James to hear such a gruesome invective coming from his mouth; violent language was uncharacteristic of the Palmer he knew.

"Sorry, sir," he said, staring at his feet. "I would never actually do it…but my sentiment still stands. They need to rot in fucking hell."

Palmer's pinched, tearful expression didn't escape James' notice. "Palmer? Everything ok?"

He shook his head. "I'd rather not talk about it, sir. Not here."

"Yeah, of course. Um, just give me a sec." James directed a lazy holler at Specialist Lu. "Lu, any luck with the General?"

"He's in a meeting, sir. Headquarters will contact us when he's available."

"Thank you. Let me know if you hear anything else."

Palmer sniffed, then swallowed hard.

"Are you ok to talk now?" asked James as he leaned in. "I know a quiet spot."

"Yep."

James led the way to the elevator and the two men rode down to the shuttle bay in silence. They passed James' old station in the armory where Fitzpartrick stood hunched over a bench, modifying her shotgun. She looked up from her work and waved. She was about to speak when James shook his head and made a slicing motion at his throat. Her mouth agape, she watched them walk to end of the bay and around a corner.

The back of the bay was dim. There was nothing there but a few diagonal stanchions and a malfunctioning Kodiak. Palmer perched himself on one of the bases and rubbed the top of his head in apprehensive circles.

"Just to be clear, sir, this isn't a sob story. I only felt it right to tell you, considering the circumstances." Palmer averted his eyes. "Uhhh…my…my mum. She ran off when I was young. I don't know why, but I can guess. I don't really remember her. But she left me with my dad." A shaky breath fled from his mouth. "Oh he was a horrid man. An angry, abusive man. He'd find any old excuse to tear me apart. Once, when I was five, I refused to eat my veg. The broccoli was soggy, overdone, I hated it. First he hollered at me and called me an ungrateful fuckwit. Screamed my damn ear off. When I still refused, he snatched me by the hair and shoved the veg in my mouth, to the point of nearly choking. He held his hand over and forced me to chew.

"A year later he lost his job, on account of his nasty temper. Food was scarce. I often went to school hungry. If I complained, he hit me. If I was happy, he hit me. If I so much as breathed, he fucking hit me. When I was nine, I tried to run away. I went to a friend's house two roads over, like a twat, and asked if I could sleep over for the night, said my dad was alright with it. Well of course he found me there. Played nice with my friend's mum, chatted her up. He explained I'd misunderstood what he said, and I needed to go home because my nan was visiting. Then he yanked me home and thrashed the ever-loving shit out of me. He used a spade from the garden. I remember that one well because I've still got the scar." Palmer lifted his shirt to expose his midsection. A long, irregular line crossed from above his belly button to his upper right side body. "Pretty sure I had a couple of fractured ribs because breathing was excrutiating. I probably should have gone to hospital, but my dad couldn't be arsed. When I was sixteen I ran away again. I was successful that time. As soon as I turned eighteen I joined the Alliance."

""Fuuuuuuuuuck," said James in a low judder. He wiped his palm down his face. It was a lot to be hearing so suddenly. "I'm sorry, Lieutenant. I didn't know."

"I'm alive. That's what matters." Palmer rubbed his eyes. "When those images came up on your screen, I just… I wasn't prepared to see it."

"Walked into the wrong place at the wrong time... "

"Fuck these people. And fuck my dad."

James pressed his lips together and was silent for a few moments before speaking. "You had it much worse than me. But I know what it's like to have a shit dad. Seems like a common theme around here."

Palmer jerked his head up to look at James. "It doesn't ever really go away, does it?"

"No, it doesn't."

"I'm sorry, sir."

"I wouldn't be here if it weren't for him, I guess."

Palmer nodded. "Same, I suppose. In a fucked up way."

"Why didn't you tell me this before? When we were assigned this mission?"

"You want my honest answer?" Biting his lip, he said, "I didn't want you to take me for a headcase."

"What? Nah, never, man. You deserve the role you've been given. You earned it. Whatever happened to you when you were young doesn't matter on the job. What matters is what you're doing now. "

Lieutenant Palmer smiled ruefully and slid away from the stanchion.

"Commander Vega!" someone barked. Specialist Lu's sharp voice cut through the chilly, solemn air of the hangar and buzzed over the bay's intercom. "Commander, there's an incoming live communication from Ms. Lawson."

"What? Patch her through to the armory." James jogged over to the armory terminal and pulled up the communications suite. "Piper, this is Aethon. Acknowledge."

Miranda's voice cut in and out. "Com—ander Vega? Comman—we need to get out of here—SAP."

"Miranda, what's going on?"

"I don't ha—time—explain. I need Corporal Kamau to walk—through shut— the internal security systems. Now."

"Shiiiit! Specialist Lu, call Kamau up to the CIC ASAP."

This was it. It was go time.