Complicationes
A sliver of light shone through the gap between the doors, cutting a slice through the darkness and dissipating a few feet beyond, the fog having climbed up higher to meet the escarpment. James hovered back from the cusp and listened; there was only the murky whistle that rode on the damp, earth-laden air seeping from the cavern. Someone, or likely someones, waited for them on the other side, ready to catch them in the fatal funnel of the threshold. The soldiers from Kodiak One queued behind him. They stood ready to file in zipper-style with Lieutenant Palmer's team, who were lined up at the opposite door.
Palmer's eyes tightened as he tilted his head toward the door. He gestured to the Commander, indicating there was someone on the other side. James nodded and quietly holstered his assault rifle, pulling out his stalwart shotgun, its brassy receiver worn at the edges and corners. He eased toward the opening. Pointing his gun ahead of him, he checked the wedge of space visible from his position. The glint of a shoulder plate gave the mystery merc away.
Sweat beaded above James' prominent brow; he feared who stood on the other side—not that they would overpower him or take him by surprise, but that it would be another lanky kid, coerced into to doing the bidding of a cruel man. What choice was there? Put his unit in harm's way? Risk the lives of the other children? The dizzying thoughts made him sick as he signaled for Palmer to go in after him. Lock the thoughts away and throw away the code.
James pinpointed the merc's position and took a step out, away from the door. In one smooth movement he bounded through the threshold, catching them off guard. There wasn't time to register their identity—female, male, young, old—only time for a blast to the head. The merc fell back, arms flying out as they thumped to the ground. James rushed for the nearest pillar, which was thick and square to support the cavernous entrance. No sooner had he pressed his back against the concrete when his comms went off.
"Command, this is Piper. Requesting evacuation of victims. What is your status? Advise, over." Miranda was still in play.
Just the worst fucking timing. "This is Command! Contact with hostiles!"
Palmer had followed right behind as told. Spotting Jok making a break for James, he swung his arm out to disarm him, a rush of energy rippling away in violent waves. The krogan stumbled back. As Jok tried to shake it off, Palmer threw him clear across the room, setting of a white hot biotic explosion. Its throbbing warble resounded through the space and temporarily drowned out every noise.
James barked into his comms, "Piper, proceed to evacuation point—" Without warning, a streaking bolt careened into him like a cue hitting the eight ball—corner pocket—toward the entrance. He flew back, saliva forced from his mouth and spritzing the inside of his helmet. With the wind knocked clean out of him, he lay on the floor clutching his bruised lower ribs, as Montrose's biotic muscle, Kerstin Minami, plunged to the ground with a punishing flourish. James flew back again, colliding with Corporal Sadowski. Palmer, engaged with a merc in the far west corner, was in no position to help.
Recognizing the danger of the pile-up, Kamau dispatched an attack drone. She hoped to engage the enemy long enough to let the Commander and the Corporal get to their feet. Private Santos, Corporal Roth, and Private Prasad darted around the two men to get inside.
Meanwhile, the drone circled Minami. She spun to shoot but missed, letting the drone stun her with a surge of electricity. The crackle depleted what little was left of her barrier. Shields still holding, James wheezed—his lungs two angry sacks of bees—and pushed himself off the floor. Before he could zero in on the vanguard, a wave of mercs pushed through the security doors at the other end. Jok had managed to shake himself off and was leading the charge. Two more krogans and a line of humans donning Nightmare armor—sleek and gleaming—fanned out behind him.
All hell broke loose as a flurry of gunfire tore through the cavern. With precious little cover, the fight was a tangle of footsteps and deadly projectiles, bodies in constant motion across the floor.
Behind the doors, de Luca lay on his belly and reloaded his sniper rifle. He shouted over the din, "DOESN'T THIS SEEM DANGEROUS? WE'RE IN AN ACTIVE MINING AREA!"
"CAN'T SAY WE HAVE MUCH CHOICE!" James bellowed back. "JUST DON'T THROW ANY GRENADES!"
"DID YOU SAY THROW GRENADES? THAT'S A BAD IDEA! "
"NEVERMIND!"
James didn't have time to clear up the misunderstanding. Minami had rallied back to full strength and was coming back for blood. He growled as he fortified his armor, frustrated that the mission had gone so horribly off-script. Directly ahead of him, one of the krogans lobbed a smoke grenade, adding more confusion to the chaos. If the grenade was an attempt at a joke, he was not amused.
Miranda rushed through the access tunnel and toward the mine entrance. She grimaced as her shoes sponged up the stagnant water that stained the ground; it was like having a cold, wet blanket wrapped around her foot, each step pressing water between her toes and giving her the shivers. The tunnel began to narrow. The further she went, the more the walls seemed to close in around her, like a scene from Alice In Wonderland. But there was no Wonderland here, no talking animals or flowers, no walking chess pieces or cards. Instead there were telltale faults and slips, seeping groundwater, and dangers that could not be seen with the naked eye.
With all the mercenaries called out to defend the compound, there was no one to check the status of the actual mine. While Montrose had spent extravagantly to outfit his personal army—a symptom of his own self-aggrandizement—he had been too cheap to install surveillance in the work area, trusting that his personnel would keep the children in line at all times. What choice did the children have, anyhow? There had been no escape from this prison. But now it's warden was dead and his lap dog alongside him, and freedom was an 1800 meter ride up to the surface.
Miranda whipped down the long, metal staircase that lead to the mine. She'd made so many turns she was nearly dizzy, and she shuddered as she came close to the bottom, the temperature having fallen at least a few degrees. The fevered voices of the children overlapped one another as she came down the last step. If she closed her eyes she could have been in a school gymnasium instead of a shoddy platinum mine.
Miranda cleared her throat, then whistled to get their attention. "Children! Thank you for following my instructions. As I explained before, I'm here to help you leave this place. I know you must be frightened, but there are more people on their way to help you."
Dozens upon dozens of eyes gawked at her. The mood was skeptical and expectant as they waited for more explanation. She'd spoken to plenty of large groups before, but a throng of deprived children looking to her for guidance left her feeling incredibly vulnerable.
"Who's coming?" asked a young girl, her eyes wide and imploring.
"Soldiers from the Alliance," Miranda replied. "Like the ones that fought the Reapers."
Her statement had induced murmurs as the children shuffled from foot to foot, eager to hear the details. For the first time since arriving on Terra Nova, Miranda saw hope light up their tired faces.
"Is Commander Shepard here?" asked an older boy. There was a swell of chatter as the other children considered the prospect of being rescued by the famous Commander.
Miranda cocked an eyebrow. Their enthusiasm about Shepard at a time like this confused her. "No, no, Commander Shepard isn't here. She's having a well deserved rest back on Earth. Someone who served under her—Commander James Vega—is here today. He and his unit are fighting the baddies as we speak."
There was more indistinct chit-chat at her answer, but Miranda could sense their collective disappointment.
"Before we go, I need everyone to listen very carefully. You cannot leave without removing your control devices. I will disable them for you, but you will need to physically remove the device from the back of your neck yourselves. If you can't do it yourself, have another boy or girl assist you. Everyone, please form an orderly queue in front of me. Youngest first."
Accustomed to organizing themselves at the behest of adults, the children arranged in rough order of height. The boy who stood at the front stared up at Miranda. The corners of his mouth were turned down, and his lower lip quivered, its pink flush standing out against his smudged, ashen skin. Miranda feared he would break into a bawl and scare the others if she didn't do something. It was obvious he was afraid. Perhaps he'd experienced the immense pain his device was capable of inflicting. Miranda knelt down to meet his gaze and took his hands in hers, squeezing.
"What's your name, young master?"
"Lucas."
"And how old are you, Lucas?"
He glanced sideways, then held up slowly held up six fingers.
"I see, so you're six years old. Well, Lucas, I know this is scary, but I want you to know this isn't going to hurt at all. I promise."
He sniffed and shook his head.
"I'll tell you what—what if we get one of the older kids to go first? Will that make you feel better?"
Lucas nodded, still looking wary.
"I'll go first." Yasmin, the oldest girl from the girls' quarters, raised her hand.
"Thank you, Yasmin."
Yasmin shuffled to the front of the line. Grasping her long hair in one hand, she held it up to reveal a small, silver square protruding from the back of her neck. Miranda swept her omnitool over it, then checked the display to ensure it had successfully deactivated.
"There. Try pulling it? Just straight out."
Yasmin reached back, clawing her fingers around its beveled edges, and pulled. She scoffed, her mouth wide open in relief. Bringing the device to around to her face, she examined it, then threw it down and ground it into the floor with a satisfying twist of her foot. She smiled at Miranda, who smiled back.
Lucas, having observed that Yasmin was unharmed, proudly turned around and waited for Miranda to deactivate his device.
"There? You see? Nothing to be afraid of."
Miranda worked through the line of children, who were calm and cooperative despite being anxious to leave. Three-quarters of her way through, Miranda's comms sounded off.
Fitpatrick's upbeat voice piped up. "Piper, this is Mako Team One. Request status, over."
"Mako Team One, Piper here. Ready to begin evacuation, over."
"Roger, Piper. Proceed to the ventilation shaft. Hoist is safely installed. Harnesses for up to five children at a time. Corporal Tyler will come down to assist. Acknowledge."
"Acknowledged, Mako Team One. Out." Miranda hurried to finish the last of her work. "Alright, you heard that, right children? We need to head toward the ventilation shaft at the—"
KA-CHUNK. KA-CHUNK. KA-CHUNK. KA-CHUNK. KA-CHUNK. The children flinched as the deep sounds bounced through the mine.
"What the hell was that…"
Fitzpatrick cried out in a panic. "Piper, this is Mako Team One! Ventilation shaft has been sealed! We'll try to get it open. Acknowledge!"
Shit, the ventilation doors! "Mako, this is Piper. There are five doors between the surface and the mine. You're going to have one hell of a time getting past them safely. We need the control room. Over."
"Uhhh….Piper, wait." The hesitation in Fitzpatrick's voice did not bode well.
As the silence stretched from seconds to minutes, Miranda worried what their plan might be.
James and several of his men had made it past the security room, having successfully killed at least half the mercs and driven the rest farther back into the facility. Jok and Minami had eluded them completely, having retreated somewhere into the bowels of the complex.
In cover behind the upper level railing, James reloaded as Fitzpatrick explained the problem with the shaft. "Piper, this is Command!" he said to Miranda over the comms. "Is there another way out? Over." A burst of shots fired past; Corporal Roth had made quick work of a merc from beyond the security door.
"Another way out?" she scoffed, tossing protocol tossed right out the window. "Montrose was a hack and a cheapskate. There are only two viable ways out of this mine—the ventilation shaft, or the production ramp. The ramp is sealed at both ends at this time of night. And I don't think the smaller children can make it that far—we run the risk of being caught in the middle."
James leaned out toward the stairs and let loose on a merc exposed at the bottom. The merc returned fire, his assault rifle spitting disruptor rounds just past James. One of them grazed his arm, rippling his shields. "Mierda!" he rasped. Leaning out again, he fired back, hitting the merc in the neck.
"Commander, I need those shaft doors open," Miranda insisted.
Huffing, James peered around the corner to make sure the merc was down. "Roger, Piper. Will update soon. Out."
He scanned the area, his eyes falling on Corporal Kamau, who had just set up a sentry turret at the security doors. "Kamau! I need you to get to the control room and open the ventilation shaft, NOW! Palmer, cover her!"
Jerking her head up, Kamau replied, "Yes, sir!"
She darted to the control room, passing James on the left and dodging the spate of fire being exchanged along the stairs . She turned the corner and squatted by the door; it was locked, protected behind several layers of heavy encryption. Her breath quickened as her fingers danced over her omnitool and unlocked the first layer.
"Kamau!"Lieutenant Palmer called out. A mercenary had emerged from the neighboring office. Palmer snarled as he pulled the merc back, then vaulted him to the ceiling with unbridled biotic energy. The merc plummeted to the first level, striking the body of another. Palmer sprinted for the Corporal; she was exposed on at least two fronts with no weapon in hand.
"Keep going! I'll cover you from here!" he said, ducking behind the railing.
She nodded and finished unlocking the second layer, followed by the third in swift succession.
As the doors slid open, Kamau shoved into the dimly lit control room, still without her gun in hand. Four cold, black eyes glowered at her from behind a locker in the corner of the room. She froze, then dove back toward the door, recognizing the danger too late. Dath Gornah fired. The disruptor ammo struck her, bypassing her armor and lodging deep into her upper thigh. Kamau cried out. Still crouched behind the railing, Palmer swiveled to see what the commotion was.
"SHIT!" He gaped at Kamau laying prone on the ground and dragged her back with one arm, then hurried for the control room in a low scurry. He witnessed the batarian—pistol held up in one hand—frantically working the controls.
Kamau yelled over the uproar outside, "No! We might need him!"
It was too late. Dath Gornah had looked up just in time to see Palmer pull the trigger. The engineer crumpled, his head bashing the edge of the work station on the way down. A gaping wound opened between his eyes, the warm blood seeping out into a thin flood on the concrete floor.
"Come on!" Palmer wrapped Kamau's arm around his neck and towed her back to the control room. Easing her into a chair, he laid eyes on her thigh. "Ooh, that's quite the wound," he said, panting.
"Medigel deployed. Should be fine." She took a deep breath."Lieutenant? Will you cover me? I feel a bit lightheaded. I do not think I can watch the door."
"I've got you," he replied. Blood squelched under his boots as he yanked the batarian's body to the corner of the room.
The gunfire outside continued. James' strained voice was layered over the racket as he shouted something at Private Santos.
"I will be as fast as possible, but I need to concentrate." Corporal Kamau closed the doors remotely and locked them. "The batarian engineer was very skilled. I can see he added his own security measures to the existing system."
Palmer stood near the threshold and looked on as her fingers flew across the keys. "You make it look so easy."
His comment didn't seem to register. Kamau had aimed her tunnel vision squarely at the display. Even a loud thud from behind the door—as if someone had been thrown against it— didn't rattle her. Palmer spun around and readied his pistol in case anyone came charging through. There was only one person who could easily salvage this situation and she was in this room; he would do whatever it took to keep her safe.
Kamau radiated quiet confidence as she toppled one obstacle after another. That was a look Palmer had seen once before.
Their first month aboard the Normandy, the crew had had a friendly competition. The goal was to hack one of the ship's maintenance drones and have it spell out a short phrase in morse code. The winner would get their choice of sleeping bunk for an entire quarter. Kamau was taciturn and unimposing; no one had expected her to win.
That was when Palmer had seen that look. The one that said I know who I am and what I am capable of. Kamau had kicked everyone's asses, winning in forty-five seconds flat. Her message read: "Raise your words, not voice. It is rain that grows flowers, not thunder." She humbly thanked everyone for letting her participate, then disappeared back into the depths of the engineering deck. In the end, she chose not to take the prime bunk. It was the one at the farthest corner of the crew quarters, and by extension the least noisy; she had offered it to de Luca, a notoriously light sleeper.
"The system will take a few minutes to reset itself." Kamau eased her helmet off and set it on the back of the console. Sweat beaded along her high hairline, some of it streaking down her forehead in tiny rivulets. She let out a long breath. Her gaze drifted to the wall, her eyes settling there, frozen and unfocused.
"You alright?" asked Palmer, glancing back at her.
"Yes, sorry, fighting a dizzy spell. I will be fine."
"Hey, you're doing great," he said in a soothing tone.
She gave a small smile before wincing in pain. Her eyes fluttered up to the display as the system data scrolled by in a steady stream, the orange glow flickering like candlelight across her face. She stared as if entranced. "Lieutenant? There is something I must tell you," she said, still idly watching the waterfall of letters and numbers.
"What's that?" asked Palmer as he reloaded his pistol.
"Before, in the shuttle bay…"
He cocked his head. "In the shuttle bay?"
Rolling her lips together, she turned to face him. "Do you remember how the shuttle's on-board system was damaged during our training exercise? On Invictus? And the Commander was distressed to lose use of the shuttle? I offered to inspect it when Lieutenant Park took leave. I was inside Kodiak Two that day, making the repairs. I heard voices, and I looked out to see who it was. You were speaking with Commander Vega."
Palmer's throat went dry as he realized what she was talking about. Had she overhead their entire conversation?
"There was such pain in your voice, and the things you were saying… I felt it was wrong to interrupt. So I stayed quiet. I tried not to listen, but I could not avoid it," she said as she looked down at her hands. "I am ashamed to say this now. I feel I have violated your trust for not telling you sooner. I'm…I'm sorry. "
Palmer clutched his fingers tighter around his rifle and pursed his lips. "D-Don't worry about it. I'm sure you didn't mean any harm." He tried to reassure her with a nervous smile, but a nascent horror overcame him at the thought of her hearing his story, and in such lurid detail.
"No one should be made to feel less than. Especially a child. A child should be loved and cherished. Always. You deserved that as much as I did, as much as anyone does." Kamau locked eyes with him. It was an unusual act from the reserved corporal.
Palmer had never talked to anyone about the abuse he suffered—apart from his therapist, and now the Commander—and he'd never intended to. He thought it far too much baggage to foist into someone else's lap. But Kamau wasn't fazed. She had heard it and treated him the same regardless. Not like a broken thing, or a wounded bird, or someone deserving pity. And as violating as it might have felt, there was an unbearable relief in being seen.
Palmer relaxed his grip. "Your parents must have loved you very much."
"They did, truly. I am grateful to them. I like to think that wherever they are, I am making them proud." Closing her eyes, she smiled softly.
An unfamiliar feeling percolated in his chest and blocked his throat. In a near whisper, Palmer said, "Nia, you—"
"Ah! The reset is done!" she boomed.
Startled by the timbre of her voice, Palmer snapped back to reality. The firefight outside seemed to have abated, at least judging by the sound. "Is the ventilation shaft open?"
"Not yet. But it will be." The corporal's movements were stilted over the haptic keys. She pressed the heels of her hands to her brow and took a deep breath. "Done."
Palmer alerted Fitzpatrick. "Mako Team One, this is Palmer. Confirm ventilation shaft doors are open. Over."
"Palmer, this is Mako Team One. Ventilation shaft is open! Commencing rescue operations. Out." Fitzpatrick had perked up over the good news.
"Brilliant work, Corporal," said Palmer, beaming.
"Thank you," she replied. "Wha-what did you say earlier? I did not hear…I..I think I…" She leaned her hands against the console and let her head hang down.
"Kamau, alright there?"
Her cheeks had turned pale.
"Kamau?" When she didn't answer, Palmer held the back of his hand to her forehead. It was cool and clammy, and her breathing had become shallow. "Shit, this isn't good…I think you might've gone into shock. We need to get you out of here!"
The beeping of the door lock caught Palmer's ear. Someone was trying to get in. He listened, then pulled back from the doors.
"I'm going to pick you up. This will be unpleasant, forgive me," he said hurriedly. He hoisted Kamau from the seat—her flaccid limbs hanging over his arms like a marionette's—and set her down in the corner next to Dath Gornah. Kamau's head rolled to the side as she fought to remain conscious.
Palmer's body thrummed blue as he stood firm, prepared to fight whoever came through those doors.
"Everyone, get your asses here, NOW!" James shouted over the unit's comms. He crouched behind a long crate of rock bolts, the barrel of his shotgun pointed down between his legs.
Several voices overlapped one another in a dire collapse of protocol. "Yes, sir!"
"Commander! We can't get there, we're pinned down near the control room. Kamau is non-ambulatory," Lieutenant Palmer crackled over the comms.
"Fuck! Prasad, do you have eyes on them?"
Prasad's voice was tired and thin. "I'm trying, sir, but it's wall-to-wall jacked up krogans and mercs past the security room. Can't even get a drone past,"
After Kamau and Palmer had locked themselves in the control room, Minami re-emerged with a batch of fresh faces in tow. James left cover to save Santos, whose mild leg injury had become a full fracture during close-quarters melee. Nearly crushed by a krogan, Santos tried to scramble away, but was hampered by his busted leg. James barreled down the corridor, clocking the krogan in the face with the butt of his shotgun. Wedging the gun's omniblade under the krogan's face plate, he jerked down, leaving a searing wound that left the merc bloodied and howling. But the ill-timed attack had cost them their position; the whole unit was forced to retreat back toward the entrance.
"We can't hold here for long, Lieutenant! Can you carry her?"
"Yes, I can!"
"Ok, hang tight! We'll try to draw their fire." The Commander wasn't going to let anyone die on his watch today, not if he could help it. "But I need you to find your way to Miranda. She's still evacuating kids."
"Roger!"
Exhausted and aching, James steeled himself for another drawn out gunfight. An N7 leads soldiers into the mouth of the enemy. This is the job.