Semper Vivum*

Still coming down from the panic of nearly being trapped, the children gawked up at the mine's ventilation shaft with bated breath. The air whispered into their ears as it breezed past. Waiting for Corporal Tyler to descend was like waiting for Santa to come down the chimney. There was the promise he would come, but the time between now and then felt like an eternity, and a wordless uncertainty gathered as the children questioned whether this fman existed or not. Finally, from the dark abyss, Corporal Tyler materialized. He was attached to the line they would use to hoist the children out of the mine. The moment his feet touched down, there was a collective sigh of relief.

"Ms. Lawson? Corporal Tyler," he said, as he undid the buckles of his harness.

Miranda nodded. "We're ready to go, Corporal. No time to waste."

Corporal Tyler signaled to Fitzpatrick, who lowered the remaining length of cable with four more harnesses attached. Recruiting a volunteer to go first, he demonstrated the proper way to do up the buckles; doing so would allow he and Miranda to work simultaneously.

Miranda strapped the next child into her harness and secured the the large buckles that ran under each leg. "There, snug fit. Comfortable?" she asked as she tightened the last strap.

The little girl nodded, then hugged Miranda tight around the waist, squeezing with what little strength was in left in her arms. "Thank you," she murmured.

Miranda looked down in surprise. The girl had squeezed the pit in her stomach up into her chest. It was warm and heavy there, a comfortable burden she wished she could hold in her arms. She stroked the top of the girl's head with a soft hand. "You'll be ok. Now wait here, the others are almost done."

As Miranda urged the next child to put his arms through the shoulder straps, Tyler was helping another boy tighten the buckle at his chest. From the direction of the stairs, the thump of heavy, uneven footfall reverberated through the work area. Tyler's head shot up, and Miranda dashed for the landing, her body cocooned in a lambent, blue corona. She expected one of the mercenaries to come barreling down, but was instead met by Lieutenant Palmer, who huffed with Corporal Kamau thrown over his shoulder like a sack of flour.

"You scared the crap out of me, Palmer. What's going on?"

"I think Kamau's gone into shock. We need to get her to the surface ASAP."

Miranda took a quick scan of her vitals with her omnitool. "I think you're right. Let's get her to the ventilation shaft. Quickly."

Pressing through the crowd of remaining children, she explained the situation, thanking the children for their continued patience. Kamau was sweating profusely now, her face pallid and her breathing becoming less audible.

Corporal Tyler called in to the surface team. "Mako Team One, this is Tyler. Kamau is in shock. Sending her up now. Evac immediately, over."

"Roger, Tyler."

Palmer held up Kamau's limp frame while Tyler and Miranda fit the harness over her and secured the straps. As soon as they finished, they hooked her to the line and radioed for Fitzpatrick to haul her up. The children would need to wait until she was safely in the shuttle.

Palmer watched her disappear into the darkness, the corners of his mouth pulling down into a worried grimace as he furrowed his brow. He was sweating too, if only from the sheer exhaustion of shouldering Kamau through the long tunnels and down the winding stairs. Miranda knew he'd burned a lot more energy than that though. She understood that kind of exhaustion inside and out, like your body would yield to gravity if you stopped for more than a minute—the spent calories, the diminishing returns, racking up a debt that would be paid for in vulnerability. Palmer's skin was pale, his eye sockets were hollow, and most tellingly, his speech and reaction time were slow. Biotics could do a number on you if you pushed yourself too far.

Coming up from behind, Miranda touched Palmer's shoulder lightly. "She'll be alright, Lieutenant. There's still time to treat her."

He pressed his lips together and nodded. "I'll stand guard at the stairs."

"Don't overdo it, Lieutenant. Weapons first. We still need you."

Miranda signaled Fitzpatrick. "Mako, can you spare anyone else? We're going to need another gun down here. They'll be headed this way soon, I'm sure of it."

"Sorry Piper, it's a bare bones crew at the backend. The Mako's got two soldiers aboard, and we've got two here at the surface. Lieutenant Park's loading up the shuttle, I'm operating winch.

"Damn it." Miranda scolded herself for agreeing to let the front team take the brunt of the attack, but everyone thought trying to funnel too many soldiers through the ventilation shaft was risky—too easy to get trapped and leave no easy way out for the children.

Miranda and Tyler finished with the first group and waited patiently for Fitzpatrick to send the line back down with Lieutenant Park. Anymore snags in their plans and they would run out of time to evacuate all the children.

Now locked out of the control room and pushed back toward the entrance, the unit hunkered down in the security area in an attempt to regain some ground. Palmer had managed to escape with Kamau, but James worried that some of the mercenaries might have followed them. Even if they placed little value in the children, they weren't going to let Miranda get away. Alternatively, if they hadn't pegged her as the catalyst, they'd be too stupid to realize that their mining operation was close to collapse. James could only hope that was the case.

Ducked behind a wide, metal desk, he titled his head against the drawers for a much needed breather. The tips of his fingers stung. He hissed as he upturned his hand and examined the raw skin, which was tender and abraded. The tips of his gloves had torn when he and Sadowski tried to force the control room open. Not his brightest idea, but losing that advantage had cost them.

James took several slow, drawn out breaths. He needed to increase his oxygen levels. Too much time spent inhaling the dank air was weighing him down, his usual vigor drowned by the heavy moisture and excess carbon dioxide. N7 training had prepared him for a variety of extreme conditions, however, and this was nothing in comparison. He imagined his team must have felt much worse.

"Commander! There's something happening outside!" de Luca shouted over the comms. The sound of heavy gunfire and whirring tires poured in through the gap in the blast doors. The unmistakable boom of the Mako's cannons shook the ground, followed by a fiery flash in the dark. The cannon went off once again and another resounding explosion lit up the early morning sky.

"Mako Team Two, this is Command. What's happening out there?"

There was no immediate answer. Instead, Miranda's clipped voice came through the comms. "Command, this is Piper. We've evacuated more than half. We need at least twenty more minutes. Over."

James' responded with his own huff of words. "Better make it fast—faster if you can. Unit's out of steam. Not gonna last much longer like this." He peered around the corner of the desk and down the open corridor. The merc who had been firing at him seemed to have retreated behind cover just the same.

"Acknowledged. We'll do our best. Out."

James addressed his team. "Everyone: we need to buy time. That means we need to be smart, be conservative. Defense is the game right now. Understood?"

"Understood, sir."

The moment James shut his mouth, a figure cloaked in midnight black came gliding up the stairs. It was Minami again. She'd made a strategic withdrawal, only to make her resurgence all patched up and wearing brand new gear. They weren't likely to win against her and her krogan companions—not in a head-to-head—but James was ready to wear them down to a nub if it meant giving Miranda the time she needed.

He made a quick nod at Roth and Sadowski, who were flanking him from further back. Peering around the desk again, he saw Minami standing at the top of the stairs with her legs in a wide stance. A bold move, to place herself directly in the line of fire. A storm of energy sheathed her lithe silhouette. She swung an arm back.

"OUTTA THE WAY!" James thundered, but it was too late. She had hurled a burst of biotics like a bowling ball, the succession of shocks popping off in powerful spheres. Thrown back from the desk, James was laid out on the floor. Roth and Sadowski had been flung clear to the threshold leading to the antechamber. James shook his head as he struggled to re-orient himself. Striding forward through her newly cleared path, Minami's heels clicked as she pointed her pistol at James.

Unable to run full speed on his swollen ankle, Private Santos was well hidden behind the contraband locker. He shot at Minami from the outside corner—his breath heaving—nearly losing his grip on his weapon when he pulled the trigger. The spray of fire broke her shields. She growled; her head swiveled toward the locker.

Minami was poised to pull him from cover when the diffuse, orange glare of an omniblade shone behind her. It slashed a deep diagonal across her neck, then plunged point-first into her side. A cloud of electricity fizzled away as Lieutenant de Luca's cloak faded and Minami collapsed to the floor.

Head clear, James rolled for the safety of the desk. He glanced at Minami's body still buzzing on the floor. The visor of her helmet had flicked open and revealed her dilated, bloodshot eyes. Minagen X3? When it was safe, he snatched the spare clips from her body and flipped the visor closed.

Corporal Sadowski narrowed his eyes. He could barely make it out over the noise in the security room, but a low squeal had caught his attention. Glancing over his shoulder, he observed the blast doors. The squeal graduated to a scrape as they dragged against the cavern floor. He called out to James, then sprinted towards the doors, which were almost shut.

"FUCK! Someone get on those doors!"

The whine of the Mako's wheels could be heard through the narrowing gap. The vehicle fired but to no effect; the doors had sealed completely. Whoever had wrested control of operations hadn't been able to get past Kamau's blocks, but had found a way to override the blast doors.

Now it was clear Minami had been sent as a diversion. They'd been herded in, the doors snapping behind them like a live trap—no easy way in or out. James' breaths shortened as the walls cinched tighter around him. The rapid frenzy of the Mako's gun continued, and de Luca shouted something while Fitzpatrick was barking questions over the commlink, and the sounds clogged his ears as they tried to enter all at once. He ejected his gun's empty clip and let out a frustrated roar. With his anger temporarily purged, he apologized to his soldiers, then took stock of what was left. He estimated they'd run out of ordnance within the half hour if they were being prudent.

"Listen up. We're going to keep going as long as we have the ammo. De Luca, I need you to plant the charges. We'll keep them busy. Strategic withdrawal into the cavern entrance. Alternate exit plan, got it?"

"Understood, sir," replied de Luca. De Luca had been making himself useful at the rear of the pack, mounting ranged attacks and guarding the explosives, apart from his Hail Mary save of the Commander.

They would exit via the grate Miranda had identified early in her time at the facility. From what they could make of the plans, it connected to a larger air intake that spat out near the edge of the escarpment. The Mako could pick them up from there without trouble.

"We're almost there, guys. Hang in there." Still crouching, James held up a fist and listened. It was quiet.

"We've got room for one more. Ms. Lawson. Why don't you go first?" Corporal Tyler handed her the last harness.

"I'd rather go last if you don't mind. My biotics aren't burnt out, I'd be more useful here."

"Lieutenant Palmer?"

Miranda jerked her head toward the cable as she eyed Palmer and held out the harness. He dipped his head in defeat, letting her press the tangle of straps into his hands.

As he lifted a leg into one of the openings, he froze. His eyes sharpened. He signaled to Miranda and Tyler. Quiet—there's someone coming down the stairs. The four children, who were dangling in the darkness of the shaft, remained silent upon hearing the sounds. Boots scuffed and tapped against the metal staircase, giving the mercs away with every step, each one amplified by the long, narrow tunnels.

The three adults made themselves scarce and tucked themselves into crevices in the stone wall. Soon, a line of mercs came down single file, arcing their weapons across the space as they fanned out at the bottom. From a blind, unlit corner, a lick of electricity illuminated the mine. It vaulted from merc to merc in a swift take down of their shields. They stumbled back, stunned. But there would be no break for them now. A shockwave ripped through their ranks, outright killing two, the other three hanging on by a klixen's claw. Three prompt gunshots finished the job.

Palmer surfaced from the shadows first. His arms hung limp at his sides, and his skin had taken on the cardboard gray tone of a bad MRE. Corporal Tyler hurried over to help him into the harness, clicking the buckles together to save him whatever strength he could.

Miranda pilfered a sleek Scorpion from one of the dead mercs, then called up to the children who were still silently suspended in the dark, unable to do anything but wait. "Are you children alright up there?"

"Yes, ma'am," a voice squeaked out. "Are the bad people gone now?"

"Yes, they are. We're going to get you out. We just need to load one more person, ok?"

Tyler clipped Palmer onto the line and asked Fitzpatrick to reel them up. "That's the last of 'em," he added.

"Understood, Tyler. I'll drop the line once the shuttle is ready to take off. Over."

Tyler saluted the Lieutenant as he was swallowed by the limitless dark.

Letting out a big sigh, Miranda leaned her back against the wall and slid her hands down the sides of her face. It had been days—maybe even weeks—since she'd had a proper rest. She closed her eyes for a minute, hoping to regain some oxygen and a little bit of clarity. When she opened them again, Corporal Tyler was looking up into the ventilation shaft, waiting for the line to come back down.

"Can't wait to get out of here?" she asked.

"Truth be told, Ms. Lawson, this place gives me the heebie-jeebies. Something ain't right about it. Like it's going to collapse at any moment. I know that sounds crazy, but I can feel it in my bones."

"Oh, it doesn't sound crazy at all. This entire facility is structurally unsound. You've just articulated what I've learned through weeks of observation and study." Miranda rubbed her temples. "I suppose there's no accounting for intuition."

"Tyler, this is Mako Team One. Sending the line down now, over."

"Thank heavens," replied Tyler.

When the cable appeared, Miranda and Tyler each grabbed a harnesses, neither saying a word as they strapped themselves in; it had been a long night and an even longer morning, and talking seemed like a waste of precious breath in this foul air. Tyler clipped himself onto the line first, then signaled for Fitzpatrick to raise it for Miranda. She stepped up to the line and reached for her d-clip. As she hooked herself onto the cable connector, a clatter of footsteps banged down the metal stairs. Miranda groped for the new pistol tucked into her belt.

"Mercs!" she whisper-shouted at Tyler.

"What?"

"MERCS!" she shouted as the first one spotted her. Leashed by the safety line, she overloaded their shields before they could grasp the situation. She tightened the screw lock on the d-ring and called for help. "Fitzpatrick, reel up NOW!"

The line zipped up the ventilation shaft, air streaming across Miranda's skin as her stomach dropped in the pitch black hollow. She could feel a buzzing too as the winch's motor strained— a humming vibration traveling down the length of cable. The near silence broke when a spate of gunfire blasted toward her. Miranda cried out. A round had grazed the back of her calf; it stung, and blood trickled down her leg before blowing away somewhere below.

Then, a halo of light appeared, diluting the terrible darkness. Miranda squinted as she dangled just below the top, waiting for Tyler to be removed from the line. With her eyes straining to see, she heard the clear rumble of a spacecraft taking off above.

The quiet after Minami's attack was beginning to make James nervous. According to his count, there were at least three krogans left standing, if not more, and likely more mercs on their way back from the work area.

Santos tried to take weight on his bad foot, but stumbled. "I don't think I can run."

Without looking back, James said, "Sadowski, I need you to help Santos. Let's start moving back."

"Aye, aye, already on it sir." Sadowski draped Santo's arm over his shoulders. The two men hurried as fast as Santos could bear, with Prasad close behind and pointing her rifle toward central operations.

Getting up to reach the vent was its own ordeal. Sadowski and Prasad scoured the cavern for anything they could stack—olds crates, a rickety chair, an empty shelf. Even with everything they'd managed to find, the fragile column was still too short—they'd need someone to boost Santos. Sadowski climbed up first. Prasad followed; being the lightest, she climbed atop his shoulders, sitting on them to undo the fasteners encircling the grate. Holding onto Prasad's calves, Sadowski concentrated on keeping still atop the upturned chair that capped the stack.

Lieutenant de Luca had already finished placing the charges and was hanging back behind the crate of rock bolts in the antechamber, his sniper rifle set to target any enemies coming in or out of security. Inside security, James hunkered down behind the desk. He would blunt any incoming attack and bring up the rear to make sure everyone had escaped safely.

With his ears tuned in for odd sounds, he stiffened. Lumbering footfall approached. He remained hidden behind the desk, sensing the krogans had made their overdue return. His head throbbed as he took deep breaths to steady himself, understanding full well that there wasn't much standing between them and his team. Shotgun at the ready, he leaned out from the desk, one eye spying what lay beyond. Jok and two of his krogan companions appeared. They took cover behind the walls of the threshold as they peered into the seemingly empty security room.

An imperceptible thwip sailed past James. One of the krogans—the largest—doubled over, stunned by disrupter ordnance fired from the cavern entrance. Jok sneered as he stuck his head out to see where the shot had been fired from. Their other companion began to charge; he hadn't made it past the desk when another shot sailed past and struck him through the head.

The fallen krogan was aware and upright again. Taking advantage of the break, James leaned out from the desk and aimed for a swift kill. Jok responded by taking a few potshots from behind the wall, but James had been too quick for him to get a good lock.

"Everyone, go now!" he said into the commlink.

"Still trying to get this grate off, sir," Prasad replied.

"Well, you'd better damn well hurry—I have a feeling this isn't the end."

The clang of metal echoed through the cavern. "Nevermind, got it!" she crowed. Prasad proceeded to crawl into the vent. She would help with the trickiest part: getting Santos up and out. That meant de Luca would need to help him climb up the stack and onto Sadowski.

With de Luca preoccupied, James was on his own. He had to get out of the cramped security room if he was going to stand a chance of defending himself. Shields still holding, he fortified them for good measure, then took a long glance behind him as he plotted his retreat to the antechamber. Stick to the wall, get behind the locker, make a break for the doorway.

"AAAAAAH!" Santos cried out. He'd lost his footing and folded his injured ankle.

Prasad held her arm out as Sadowski pressed Santos upwards. "Give me your hand!" she said.

"What's going on?" James asked in a curt tone.

"Santos slipped," said de Luca. He was at the bottom of the stack spotting the ersatz acrobats. "Don't worry, we've got him."

Refocusing his attention, James could see the tip of Jok's elbow peaking out past the threshold's corner. He'd been lingering there for what seemed like an eternity. Was he waiting for backup? Fuck it. Let's go. James strafed low toward the wall, then made his way back to the contraband locker. Before he could exit the room, a stampede of boots resounded on the stairs.

"Y'all had better hustle. There's trouble coming," he whispered into the comms.

De Luca answered right away. "I'll watch your six, Commander."

The words snagged at a loose thread in James' heart. Milque's face pale face flashed in his memory. Did the lone survivor under his command make it through the war?

James cleared his throat. "I want you in the vent after that. Understood?"

"Yes, sir."

Still tucked behind the locker, James waited for the incoming group to come closer as he checked his suit's environmental censors. Current levels of dangerous gases are within safe limits.

"Yo, de Luca—fire in the hole!" he said with a tinge of glee. James sent a frag grenade scudding toward the bank of mercs. The sudden bang launched two mercs toward the stairs; they fell back, then stumbled to the bottom. The one who had been leading the charge went down as soon as she got up again, iced by an alert and accurate de Luca.

"Two more—they're out of my sight," he barked at James.

"I got it!" James leaned out and fired, catching one in the neck but not the other. The merc left standing made a beeline to his position. Coming out from cover, James clocked him under the chin with a horizontal butt stroke. Jok turned the corner of the doorway before he could finish the job.

"Krogan charging!" de Luca shouted. He fired a disrupter round. Jok stopped in his tracks, still upright as he fought the shock coursing through his body.

James bolted for the cavern's entrance. "De Luca, go, now!"

"I'm not leaving you alone, Commander!"

Running past de Luca, he hollered, "I said, GO! I can handle him."

"Aye, sir!" De Luca did as he was told and fled for the teetering pile.

James found the crate of rock bolts again and crouched. He leaned his back against it—the barrel of his shotgun pointed down between his legs—as he breathed deep to increase his oxygen levels again. Half-smiling to himself, he felt a sense of relief. The children had been evacuated and his team was nearly in the clear. There was one last hurdle to jump and they'd be rid of this place forever.

Her eyes were still adjusting to the morning light. Miranda unbuckled the last strap around her thigh by touch, then shimmied out of the harness and stood tall atop rough hewn rock. The air was thin, but clear. It had been at least two weeks since she'd breathed fresh air. She took a long inhale through her nose and savored it.

"I imagine that must feel nice," said Fitzpatrick as she began dismantling the winch.

"Oh, it bloody well does."

"Um, speaking of blood…. did you know your leg is bleeding?"

"It is."

Lieutenant Park, who was keeping watch, stepped over to speak to Miranda. "The shuttle for the Normandy should be here soon. The other one's gone to the Shanghai."

"I take it all the kids have boarded safely?"

"Yes, ma'am," he replied.

"Any news on Kamau?"

Fitzpatrick tucked her bolt wrench into its case. "She's aboard the Shanghai too, more medical personnel there. They think it's a pulmonary embolism."

"Treatable, then. She should thank her lucky starts Lieutenant Palmer acted so quickly. What about the Commander?"

"Nothing. The remaining team is trying to exit via the vent system. The Mako will be there to meet them." Looking down toward the mine's entrance, Fitzpatrick could make out the back end of the vehicle.

"I'm sure Vega has his hands full. It's unfortunate we can't help him from out here." Miranda peered down, following Fitzpatrick's gaze. "What the hell is all that mess down there?" Blackened heaps of metal stained the rocky ground.

"Transport vehicles. Montrose's mercs had some backup on the way. The boys in the Mako made quick work of that, though." Fitzpatrick stood up and slung her tool kit over her shoulder "I wouldn't worry too much, Ms. Lawson. Commander Vega's a strong guy. Strongest I've ever met. Strongest I've served with for sure. If I didn't know any better, I'd say he was part krogan. He could probably take one on in hand to hand combat, if he had to."

Miranda cocked an eyebrow. James was strong, to be sure, but that seemed quite the embellishment.

"Had enough of me yet, you puny pyjack? Look at you! Nothing but skin and bones!" The krogan laughed as he grabbed James by the arm and flung him to the floor like a wet rag.

James' shotgun skidded across the floor and came to a stop near a dead merc. He huffed as Jok loomed over him. But he wasn't going to let the smug krogan play cat and mouse with him like that. No, this play thing was going to fight back, even if it was dirty. The first step was to play dead.

James held his arms up against his face and squirmed away, feigning defeat. Jok grinned. As the krogan brought his foot up to stomp, James made a quick log roll and snatched his ditched shotgun. Without thinking, he fired, but the shot merely scraped Jok's hump, leaving him blemished and enraged.

Jok growled and popped a round off as James scrambled away. "You get your ass back here so I can kick it!"

Shields down, James took cover behind a pillar and glanced up at the grate. The bottom of de Luca's boots hung from the opening. He wasn't the only one who noticed, though.

"So that's your game, huh? Got some pals hiding up there?" Jok pointed his rifle toward the open vent, a menacing chuckle escaping his mouth.

"Hey, dipshit!" James waved the end of his shotgun from behind the pillar. "I'm right here. Come and get it!"

"Commander! I'm coming back for you!" de Luca said in a panic.

"Keep going! I'm right behind you," James whispered into his commlink.

"Sir!"

"That's an order, soldier."

James leaned out from the pillar to see Jok snarling and pounding his rifle across his chest. He threw the rifle down to the floor with a careless flick, then threw his pistol down too, and stood with his arms held out at his sides, his enormous shoulders rolling forward.

So, this guy wants to dance? Alright then. James threw his guns down where Jok could see them, then pivoted out from the pillar to face him. Holding his arms out to show he was weaponless, he cocked his head, the corner of his mouth hooked into a small smirk. The krogan narrowed his eyes and snorted. Jok stepped one foot forward and wound himself into a full charge from the far end of the cavern. James sprinted toward him, belting out a long cry, his low note pealing through the cavern like a monk's chant through a monastery.

The instant they collided, James lowered his shoulder and leaned in. He spun off, his feet performing a nimble whirl to run past Jok and toward the far end of the cavern. He thrust his hand out for Jok's rifle as he continued into the security room and took cover behind the wall of the threshold.

Jok's yellow eyes saw red as he realized he'd been taken for a fool. "COWARD! GET OUT HERE AND FACE ME LIKE A MAN IF YOU HAVE ANY PRIDE!"

Taunting him from around the corner, James belted, "Oh, I didn't tell you? I used to play football in high school. You should try it sometime. They've already got some krogans in the pro-leagues." Now he was just having fun.

"Well, guess who's got your gun now, smartass? Think you're so damn smart…" Jok held up James' shotgun. He aimed for the vent, but nothing came out. He tried again, then shook the gun with a violent rattle. "What is this piece of crap!"

James popped out of cover and sent a barrage of fire toward Jok. Three shots hit him in the chest, dwindling his shields to nothing.

"Sorry, man! I guess I was out of ammo." Before James made his headlong run, he had ejected the half-used thermal clip and stashed it behind the pillar. It served Jok right for being so foolish. James popped out again to fire once more, but his opponent had finally gained the good sense to find cover behind a pillar.

The trick was the last straw for the krogan merc. He threw the Wraith to the ground in a rage and stormed for toward his pistol. Sensing he would come rushing through to security, James made a head start for the crate of rock bolts, skirting around a body as he dove for cover. He wasn't going to let himself get caught in a small room. Jok's shields were down and he needed to hit him fast. James stood up and let a spray of fire loose, but Jok wasn't there. Squatting down behind the crate again, his mind raced, wondering where the hell the krogan was hiding.

He peered around the corner. He didn't see any sign of him—only the bodies of dead mercs, some massed together like beachrock on the shore. Just as a thought arose, James felt the full weight of a grown, armored krogan careen into his side. He struggled to breathe as Jok straddled his body and held his arms down; he'd been struck by a rolling boulder, then crushed underneath its weight. Pinned to the ground, he was defenseless as Jok slammed his head against his helmet. The brutal jolt rattled his skull and blurred his vision.

"Well how 'bout that, I found you. Surprise!" The krogan slammed his head down again.

Blood trickled fromthe side of James' mouth. He spat, then grinned, as he realized what a terrible mistake he had made. Tactically speaking, the choice to take Jok on mano a mano was textbook stupid. Witless. He didn't really know why he had done it. Maybe history was repeating itself. He'd taken Archuk on in a duel, after all. But he'd had back up on Fehl Prime, and Milque had saved his ass by sniping Archuk in the head at the last second. There was no Milque here now, no de Luca. Alliance Lieutenant Commander James Vega was alone in his decision to protect his people.

James' grin seemed to make Jok even angrier. Standing up, he picked him up by the collar and hurtled him against the nearest wall, knocking the helmet clean off his head. James slid to the ground, painting a long tract of blood beneath him. He lay face down, cheek pressed into the gritty rock. The grit caught under his fingernails as he scratched at the ground to get up. His nerves had erupted into flames, the pain so overwhelming it soon died to a permeating numbness.

As he gripped to consciousness, the next few seconds stretched into minutes, and James retreated into his mind. He'd done his job—as a soldier, as an N7, as a leader, and as a human being. He'd saved innocent lives. The lives of those who could go on to do the same for others. And his entire team had made it out. Not a single one lost.

An eerie calm seized him, like a spotlight shone into the pitch-black woods. Or the diffusive moments before a crash, when all the world sharpens to vivid, almost lurid detail—the light, the air, the sounds, the colors in one's field of vision. There is no light without dark, no joy without sadness. There is no life without death.

There is no point in prolonging the inevitable.

James' head is dull and foggy, like he's been asleep for too long—as if someone has woken him up in the middle of a dream. He tries to open his eyes, but they're too heavy. At least it's warm, wherever he is. He feels like he could lay here forever, contented.

There is a soft swish rising and falling, repeating in an endless loop, somewhere in the distance. It grows louder until he remembers why it sounds familiar. At last, he can open his eyes. The light is too bright, and he brings his hand to hold over his brow. He's laying on his stomach in the sand. He hears a child's laughter. He pushes himself up to stand, then brushes himself off. Everything is blurry at first, but the world comes into focus as his eyes adjust.

He's at the beach, and a little girl is playing in the distance. It looks like she's making sandcastles in the sand. The water comes up to meet her legs, barely missing the edges of her creations. James approaches. She's waving. She has long blond hair, and a big, toothy smile.

"April?"

"James! What took you so long? Come help me! I'm making a big sandcastle."

"Heeeey, soldier! Sorry to keep you waiting. I just had a few things to do.

"Were you helping someone? 'Cause you're really good at that!"

"You know what? I was."

April scrambles to stand and gives him a grand salute.

James—a grin touching his eyes—salutes back, the waves lapping at his feet, and the golden sun warming his face.

END NOTES:

*Sempervivum is a species of succulent. The name translates to "live forever" or "always alive". There is an irony in their name in that they are a monocarpic plant, meaning once they bloom, they die. But sempervivum deserves its name for its incredible hardiness. It's an evergreen plant that keeps its leaves in winter and is incredibly drought and heat tolerant. It is very difficult to kill this plant. It also produces numerous offsets during its lifetime that grow into their own complete plants.

Author's note: If you've read this far, you're probably wondering why the hell this fic ends like this. I know, it doesn't have much of a denouement. I mentioned at the start that this story can be read as a standalone, but it does fit into the larger universe of my longfic, Taproot. Part II, Chapter 9 will address some of the fallout from James' death and will include his memorial, so if you're looking for more answers or some closure, you might be interested in reading that chapter when it comes out.

I had always planned for James to die, way back in Part I of Taproot. If you've read it, you might recall his raucous, drunken night out with Shepard in Tokyo in the chapter "Last Bloom". Shepard debates whether she should go out because she has duties early in the morning, but decides in the end she should have fun with her friend, because she might not see him again for a while.

Why did I chose to do this? Honestly, it's very simple. Realistically, in their line of work, someone in Shepard's circle is bound to fall, and James' jobs is especially dangerous given the tenuous circumstances after the war. I also wanted to give him a bit of comfort and self-redemption, given how he felt about what happened on Fehl Prime. I'd watched "Paragon Lost" and used some of that to inspire my story.

I was very naïve and thought I could bang this story out in three weeks. It took me nearly two months. Not only am I new to writing, but I am new to writing action. What's more, I didn't want to screw up the death of a character I actually like. James grew on me lots when I played the games and I wanted his ending to be befitting of him. I hope I did that here. Thank you for reading :)

Song: "This Is Why We Fight" - The Decemberists
This is why / Why we fight / Why we lie awake / This is why / This is why we fight
And when we die / We will die / With our arms unbound / And this is why / This is why we fight / Come hell