7. OPTIONS

Heels clicked against the deck plates of the CIC, ticking out a rapid approach to intercept. "Shepard. Officer Vakarian."

A tiny part of Shepard's brain gauged the distance, evaluated relative foot speeds, and voted to just grab Garrus and make a run for the elevator.

The much larger part that cared about things like morale and team-building overruled it.

"Miranda," Shepard said, and laid her helmet down on a vacant console. Garrus came to a halt behind her.

"You were off the grid for three hours and twenty-eight minutes." Miranda crossed her arms over her chest. "Can you please explain where you were, and why you needed to cut off all possible means of communication?"

Shepard had spent the walk back to the Normandy arming herself for the inevitable pissing match with Miranda over her absence, and was locked and loaded, ready to fabricate and prevaricate and throw her weight around and deploy words like 'time-sensitive' and 'mission-critical' and 'need-to-know basis.'

But now— looking at her XO's tense and unhappy posture, the frown line in between her immaculately groomed eyebrows— Shepard couldn't bring herself to start. There had already been more than enough lies and bullshit to go around for one day.

"I wanted to talk to Garrus in private," she said, rubbing a hand over her face. "We snuck out to the wards and had drinks."

"Wh—" Miranda's arms dropped to her side. "...Oh. Well."

Shepard gave her a moment to regroup.

"...You could have at least set your comm to mute," Miranda said, deflating. "In case there was an emergency, and we needed to reach you."

Shepard pointed at the ceiling. "Pretty sure EDI is never on mute."

EDI's hologram popped up on top of the console by the elevator. "That is technically correct. Although I do not actively listen when communication links are muted, I maintain a passive runtime that filters audio for pertinent content."

"That's very comforting," Garrus said.

EDI flickered. "...The vast majority of the data is discarded."

Shepard ignored it, and looked at Miranda. "There hasn't been a moment to decompress since I first opened my eyes. You know I'm never going to sit down and talk about my personal bullshit with Cha— Kelly. I needed a bit of time for myself." She pointed with her thumb at the angular turian looming over her. "We both did."

Miranda gave Garrus a skeptical look. "You have strange taste in counselors. Both of you." She pushed an errant lock of hair back from her forehead. The frown line was still there. "Is this going to happen again?"

Shepard looked back at Garrus. Garrus looked at her.

"It's likely," she said.

Miranda sighed. "Shepard, I had no idea where you were, or if anything had happened to you. I was about fifteen minutes away from contacting our local operatives to form a search and rescue party. For the future, we need to figure out a way to keep a line of communication open that will satisfy both of us. It doesn't have to be much. Even omni-tool messages would be acceptable."

"That's extremely fair," Shepard said, surprised. "Thank you, Miranda. I'm sorry I didn't warn you."

"Well. I'm certainly not happy about it." Miranda gestured wearily at the Cerberus logo on her uniform. "But you had your reasons."

Crap. Shepard stepped forward, and pressed a hand to her shoulder. "Miranda. You're a hell of an officer, and a goddamn dream as an XO. I'm proud to have you on my team."

"But you don't trust me," Miranda said.

"I don't trust your boss," Shepard said. "I trust you."

She actually almost meant it. Miranda was mixed up with rotten people, but she herself had always acted in the best interests of the mission. A little ruthless, but utterly reliable. If only she'd joined up with the Alliance, instead of Cerberus—

But then, if she had, she wouldn't be Miranda. The Cerberus operative respected competence, not seniority, and if something got in her way she pulled out her pistol and shot it. The Alliance tended to take a dim view of their commanding officers getting riddled with bullets.

Shepard really, really needed to win her loyalty. It would be more than just a poke in the eye to Cerberus; Miranda got shit done. With her strategic mind and her network of informants and operatives, she would be a major asset in the fight against the Reapers.

Not to discount the value of a poke in the eye. Shepard bet the look on the Illusive Man's face would keep her warm at night for years afterwards.

She squeezed Miranda's shoulder once, and let go. "I didn't mean to leave you in the lurch. I'm sorry. Next time I want to disappear, I'll let you know ahead of schedule, and we'll work something out together. Deal?"

"Acceptable," Miranda said. "Thank you, Shepard."

"Actually on second thought, disregard that." Shepard waved a hand towards the hatch. "Next time, you're invited. I'm pretty sure I owe you a drink. Or two years worth of drinks."

"Two years and three months." Miranda raised an eyebrow. "All right. But I'm picking the bar."

Inside the elevator, Garrus made a small thoughtful noise.

"What," Shepard said.

"Impressive use of diplomacy."

"I bet you say that to all the girls." She punched the down button. "It wasn't. Bullshitting takes work, and I'm just too tired right now."

"And drunk."

"Am not," she said automatically.

He tapped a finger on his chin. "I seem to recall someone trying to key in the exit code for decon four separate times before giving up and yelling at the AI to 'just fucking open it.' "

"Funny," Shepard said. "I seem to recall a big strong turian having to hold on to a squishy little human for support on the walk over. And a number of near-misses with pedestrians."

He huffed. "It's a high-traffic area. These things happen."

"Uh-huh," she said. "I'm gonna grab something from the mess before I pass out. Want to join me?"

His mandible and upper lip flared out in an eloquent gesture of distaste. "I suppose I have to. Since you didn't properly show your gratitude for your tour guide today."

"You're never going to let this dinner thing go, are you." The elevator doors swooshed open.

"No one holds a grudge like a turian," he said lightly, following her out.

Shepard got a second wind after the meal. It remarkable how something as simple as food could make you feel so much better about everything.

Well, food, and also a tenuous truce with your single remaining friend in the galaxy, forged of lies and misdirection and copious amounts of drink.

Anyway. Time to stop dwelling on it. She needed to sit down and look through her dossiers and upgrades and mission briefings. Figure out a plan of action for the next few days. But first, rounds.

She wandered through the bright, shining decks of the Normandy, exchanging greetings with the crew. Patel and Rolston were milling around, pretending to look busy while Patel cooed over baby pictures. They both stiffened when Shepard walked past. "Evening, ma'am."

She slowed and stopped, enjoying the looks of mounting dread on their faces. "Crewman Patel. Rolston. Is there something you need to be doing right now?"

"Ah—" Rolston floundered.

"Are you scrambling to make up something that will satisfy me?"

"Of course not—" Patel sputtered.

"Let me see that," Shepard said.

Rolston gave up, and took his hand out from behind his back to show her the holo. A cherubic, black-haired infant in the arms of a beaming woman.

Shepard smiled down at the picture. "Cute kid. Your family got evacuated safely, I heard?"

"Ah— yes, ma'am. They did."

"That's wonderful," she said. "You're very, very lucky."

She lifted her head slowly. "Remember. We're going to find all the others who weren't so lucky."

The crewmen stood rigid. "Yes, ma'am."

Shepard leaned in closer, pressing all the force of her multiple lifetimes into every word: "We're going to find the Collectors where they live. We're going to reduce them into their component molecules. We're going to get our people the hell out of there, and bring them home to their families."

She stepped back and looked around the wide, mostly empty deck, its gleaming steel surfaces and pristine white walls. "Things are quiet right now. We have a bit of room to breathe. But it won't stay that way for long." She handed the holo back to Rolston. "When the time comes, I know you'll both do everything in your power to help."

"Yes, ma'am," he said quietly.

"Yes, ma'am," echoed Patel.

She gave Rolston a pat on the shoulder. "Thanks for letting me see your family. It's important to remember who we're fighting for."

Shepard walked away, smiling as Patel's whispered "Holy shit" reached her ears.

Deck 2. Hadley and Matthews were on for evening shift, and ribbing each other as usual. "Gentlemen," she said with a nod. "Evening, Commander," they returned in cheerful unison.

Joker spun around in his chair as she stepped into the cockpit. "Hey, Commander. Heard you and Garrus snuck out to the bars right under Miranda's nose." He held up his hand. "Nice."

"Sure did," she said, and gave him a gentle high-five. "Next time, I'm sneaking out with Miranda. You want in?"

"Wow. Uh. No thanks."

Shepard grinned. "No? I bet you two would have lots to talk about." She slouched back against the wall. "How're you and EDI doing?"

"Well, aside from the period when it couldn't find you on the Citadel and was freaking out— which was hilarious, by the way— it's status quo. EDI's good. I'm miserable."

"What now?"

EDI's synthetic voice piped out from the overhead speakers. "Since my discovery that Mr. Moreau performs at greater efficiency under duress, I have been endeavoring to optimize conditions in the cockpit for enhanced performance."

"Notice anything different about the place?" Joker said, folding his arms.

Shepard squinted around. "New coat of paint?"

He scoffed. "Come on, Commander."

"Now that you mention it..." Shepard gave him a surprised look. "It's kind of cold up here, isn't it?"

"It's freezing! You run around all day shooting things up and yelling and throwing people around with your mind, get your blood pumping. Of course you think it's just 'kinda cold.' I'm stuck here in this chair, slowly turning into a human popsicle."

"EDI," Shepard warned.

"Mr. Moreau's response time has increased by eight percent since the reduction in ambient temperature," EDI said primly.

"Feel free to refrigerate the entire ship if the Collectors are on our ass. Until then, let's keep it livable." Shepard nodded to Joker. "I'll come back later to make sure you're still breathing."

"I am not interested in harming Mr. Moreau," EDI said. "That would be counter-productive."

Shepard blinked. Was it possible for an AI to be offended? There was something almost pissy about the way that sentence had been delivered.

Huh. "Glad to hear it. Keep up the good work, you two."

"See ya, Commander."

She poked her head into the Armory, said a quick hello to Jacob, who was wrist-deep inside that complicated-looking shotgun she'd scooped up a few planets ago. She wandered over to the Tech Lab to flick through the list of upgrades, gave Mordin a cordial nod.

Hmm. Amp firmware tweaks. Omni-tool power boosts. SMG disruptor charges. Raining death and destruction upon her enemies, and seeing them crumble before her. How to prioritize?

"Shepard." The doctor's voice behind her gave her a start. "Apologies. Know you're busy with mission. Have urgent matter."

Mordin began to pace back and forth, his coat flapping with each turn. "No, strike that, critical matter. Too important to wait. Complex situation. Still receiving data. Analyzing scenarios. Not sure how to begin." His fingers drummed on the table. "Have a moment?"

"Take it easy, Mordin. Of course I do." Shepard followed him back over to his work table. "What's up?"

She thumped her fist on the battery doors and barged in. "Garrus!"

"Wha—" He jerked in surprise, flinging his datapad out of his hands, but he managed to snap out a long arm and grab the pad before it could crack against the wall.

"Nice," Shepard said, impressed.

Garrus clicked his jaw at her, and sat up on his cot. "What the hell, Shepard? I could have been sleeping."

"But you weren't, right? You're still in your armor." She sat down on the edge of his bed, shoving his feet unceremoniously out of the way. "Listen. Something's come up with Mordin, and I'm taking us to Tuchanka tomorrow. We need to stealth our way into a Blood Pack base and rescue his former student. You want in?"

He narrowed his eyes. "Stealth?"

Shepard grinned.

"Ah. So, gunfire, explosions and screaming, then," he said, and pulled his knees up into a more comfortable position. "You know krogan aren't my specialty, right?"

"What do you mean? You put bullets in them good enough for me," she said, puzzled. "And Mordin can do some pretty vicious things with tech. He modded the shit out of his omni-tool. We'll rip apart anything that stands in our way."

"Krios is a fair hand with a rifle, too," he pointed out. "And he can stop krogan from regenerating with that biotic thing he has. I can't do that."

Shepard frowned. "So? I can." She tilted her head. "Don't you want to come? We're going to drop by the Urdnot camp. I was hoping we might run into Wrex."

Garrus perked up at that. "Really? It would be nice to see him again. We can compare scars."

Shepard's frown deepened. He'd come along for Wrex, but not for her?

"Well, regardless." She leaned back against the wall. "Thane is good, but he's a bit squishier than you, and he's used to fighting one-on-one. I'd be worried about him against a horde of krogan. I'd rather have you at my back for this one."

She wasn't sure what she'd expected from Garrus, but it wasn't the look of profound irritation that crossed his face.

"'Thane,'" he repeated.

"...Yeah?"

"What happened to the rule about personal hell?"

"Huh? Oh." She shrugged. "We've been talking a lot. Did you know he was married before? Like, with a family and everything. I didn't realize he was so much older than us."

"Of course I didn't know," he said sharply. "I don't make a habit of wandering into other people's bedrooms late at night for a heart-to-heart."

Garrus leaned into her before she could manage a retort, his voice lowering to a purr. "But I certainly wouldn't want Krios to get hurt. So, yes. I'd be happy to step in tomorrow and face down a horde of angry krogan for you."

She glared at him. "What the hell is your problem, Vakarian? I thought we were good."

He returned her glare briefly, but then sighed and sat back. His shoulders slumped against the wall. "...No. We are. Sorry, Shepard. I'm just tired."

"Fine." She pushed herself up. "I'll stop bothering you. Have a good night."

"Hey," he said, arresting her halfway to the door. "What time? I'll be there."

"1300. It's a long trip. You can sleep in."

She hit the controls, shutting the door behind her. Stared out into the bright, sterile hallway for a long and empty moment. Resisted the urge to rip out handfuls of her hair.

It was like Shiala had said. Why couldn't anything ever just be fixed?

Shepard stalked down to the mess, banged around inside the cabinets, and marched herself and two cups of steaming, fragrant tea over to Life Support.

"Thane," she said shortly.

He glanced up. He was sitting cross-legged on the floor, barefoot and elegantly compact, in loose-fitting clothes. Meditating.

"Siha," he rasped, and blinked at her. "Good evening. To what do I owe the pleasure?"

She sat down in front of him, a respectful distance away, and mirrored his pose. "Hi. I'm sorry to interrupt."

She slid the tea over the floor to him with both hands. A ritual offering. "I could really use a story right now. Tell me about you."

A slow hint of a smile. Amused, but gracious. "Certainly. I'll start on Kahje."

"Siha." A gentle voice near her ear. "You're drifting."

"Nnh—" her head jerked upright, nearly colliding with his. He was kneeling in front of her, his fingers brushing the air above her shoulder. "Oh, shit! Sorry, Thane."

He took her hands, and helped her up.

"I always do this to you," she said, shaking herself awake. "Stomp into your space, ask a bunch of nosy questions, and then zone out halfway through the answers." Shepard put a hand to her forehead. "But I can't believe I actually fell asleep. You should have kicked my ass out the door."

He was far too polite to do that, and they both knew it. "Your mind is tuned high," he said. "I noticed that when we first met. You find it difficult being idle with your thoughts, so you seek out the company of others, even when exhausted."

"Huh," Shepard said. That sounded... accurate.

He looked at her, his black eyes impenetrable. "You would benefit from meditation."

Silence. He chuckled at her mutinous expression. "But until that day arrives, I'm happy to serve." He followed her over to the doors. "And I'm flattered that you find my presence so... relaxing."

"Don't put this all on me," she retorted, one hand on the exit panel. "Maybe if your stories had more shouting and fiery explosions, I'd be able to stay awake until the end."

"If my stories had more shouting and fiery explosions, I would not be a very good assassin," he replied, unperturbed. "Goodnight, Siha. You should get some sleep."

Shepard stood in the hallway, rubbing her eyes. A stack of mission briefings still awaited her attention upstairs.

She felt scattered to pieces. Cerberus. Collectors. Colonists. Mordin. Miranda. Jacob. Jack. Garrus.

All she ever did was run full-tilt from one problem to the next, and it was getting harder and harder to set priorities. She still didn't have any leads on how to pass safely through the Omega 4 relay. People were dying every second. Who knew how many colonies went dark every time she pulled the ship off-course for one of these personal detours?

Including her own personal detour. The dusty apartment on the Citadel had provided a rare moment of peace. But due to her last-minute attack of cowardice, it hadn't actually fixed anything.

She still had to watch herself around Garrus. She still couldn't rely on anyone else. How many dead colonists had it cost for her to figure out what she already fucking known?

Maybe Thane was right about her. She slapped her cheeks a little, trying to feel alive, and went to knock on the door to Starboard Observation.

She could stand to pick up a lesson in serenity before bed. And she could stand to forge some connections with her new squad. The Justicar would be a good start.

The mission briefings stayed ignored through the morning, then mid-morning, then lunch, and then it was time to go.

They assembled in the hangar. She kept a close eye on Garrus, but he was being his normal self— slouching against the side of the shuttle, exchanging wry banter with the pilot. Whatever his deal was, it seemed like he'd gotten over it.

Fine. She wasn't going to invent problems where there weren't any.

Tuchanka was a blasted waste.

"Charming," Garrus muttered, peering out the window of the shuttle.

The earth was rust-brown and the air not much lighter. Dust storms flashed with lightning at the murky edges of the horizon. Remnants of skyscrapers and satellite dishes and highway overpasses littered the landscape. Jagged chunks of concrete and rusted-out rebar stuck out at odd angles. The skeletal, arthritic remains of a once-great civilization.

Shepard pressed her forehead to the glass to see more. It reminded her a bit of home.

Mordin fidgeted on the bench. The edges of his armored coat tapped rhythmically against the metal. It was an improvement— it had taken a semi-serious threat of violence to get him to stop pacing. Shepard watched him out of the corner of her eye.

No one knew exactly what they would find down there. But no matter what, she had to handle this flawlessly. Find out how much, if anything, the krogan already knew about the genophage adjustment. Secure Mordin's student, along with any and all data. Then perform damage control the best way she knew how: by laying waste to everything and everyone connected.

Not a very salarian tactic, but it'd serve their purpose. There could be no loose ends.

This was exactly the kind of opportunity she'd been hoping for. If she kept a cool head and managed this well, Mordin would be hers.

She'd have to send Maelon a thank-you card for getting himself kidnapped.

The shuttle banked and slowed, dropped down into a massive steel-walled tunnel, and settled. Shepard and Garrus shot each other simultaneous looks that said be ready. Mordin inhaled, then stood, drawing himself up to his full, reedy height. Shepard blinked up at him. He was usually hunched over his monitors; she'd never realized that the elderly doctor was even taller than Garrus.

Mordin slid the heat sink out of his Carnifex, inspected it with a practiced eye, and slapped it back home. "Yes. Ready."

The shuttle door popped open with a hiss of hydraulics. Shepard took a cautious breath. The air smelled musty, dry, like hot sand and dirt and a lot of animals living in the same space.

They stepped out onto a pile of rubble in a rusted-out shell of a cavern. Faint, dusty light filtered down from tunnels in the ceiling.

A krogan in battered armor eyed them warily. "The clan leader wants to speak with you."

Shepard folded her arms. "Good. I want to speak with him."

Holy fucking god, it was Wrex. She could only see a sliver of him behind the guards that planted themselves in her way, but there was no mistaking that blood-red eye, that gravelly voice, that vast, ancient impatience at being surrounded on all sides by fools.

The eye blinked. "Shepard?"

"'Scuse me," she said to the guards.

Wrex stood, pushing the other krogan to the side. "Shepard!"

"Wrex!" She found herself grinning like an idiot as she clambered up to meet him.

Krogan didn't hug, which was regrettable. But he slapped her shoulder with such enthusiasm that it was hard to mind too much.

Fucking finally, someone who was as happy to see her as she was to see them. After receptions from her closest friends that had ranged from lukewarm to disbelieving to openly hostile, this was—

It was really nice.

"You look well for dead, Shepard. Glad you finally decided to stop wasting everyone's time in the underworld."

"Shit, Wrex." She thumped him on the forearm, still grinning. "I close my eyes for two years, and you run off and crown yourself king of Tuchanka."

"It didn't take me two years," he rumbled. "Just a few months. You've got a lot of catching up to do." He shifted, looked at something over her shoulder. "Is that Vakarian?"

Garrus ambled up beside her. "Royalty suits you, Wrex. You're looking good."

"Wish I could say the same for you. What happened to your face?"

Garrus gave him a fanged half-smile. "The Blue Suns. But they're dead now."

"As it should be," Wrex said, satisfied. He resettled his massive bulk on his throne, and fixed them with a red stare. "So. What brings you here? Who's the fidgety salarian?"

Ah, yes. The actual reason they were on Tuchanka.

Mordin stood a short distance back, observing their reunion with keen interest, despite how he had to be churning up inside with worry over his student. Shepard waved him over. "Wrex, I'd like you to meet my esteemed colleague, Doctor Mordin Solus. We have a favor to ask."

Blood Pack everywhere, swarming like rats. Garrus whipped out a tech Overload. Circuits fizzled.

The vorcha Pyro glanced at his fuel pack in alarm a moment before it detonated.

"Ha!"

It was shaping up to be a pretty good day.

Shepard ducked under a haphazard spray of bullets, and sank behind a chunk of blasted concrete. "Mordin! Light those fuckers up!"

"With pleasure," the doctor replied, and an instant later the two vorcha were flailing and hissing, trying to beat out the smoldering embers that ground through their armor and burrowed into their flesh. Shepard grinned and peppered them with a quick burst from her SMG. Two down.

Her grin faded as an absolutely enormous Blood Pack merc stepped out from behind a far pillar. Vorcha corpses crunched under his feet as he approached.

"Krogan," Garrus warned, and unloaded a rifle round into the merc's forehead. The hulking krogan just blinked and scowled. Like someone shrugging off a bug bite. Jesus.

"I see him," Shepard called back, and signaled Mordin to throw down another plasma blast. That time there was an answering howl of rage from the krogan. She leaned out from around her cover to fire off a Warp and hung out a second longer, gauging the merc's speed, the distance between them, the terrain. "We're okay. Stay in cover, Garrus. I'm on it."

"You better be," he muttered. When they'd rounded the corner and run into the nest of vorcha, he'd ended up in front. He looked uncomfortable. Shepard smirked. Poor thing.

The krogan trudged closer and closer, shotgun raised, rivulets of orange blood glistening down his face and hump, absorbing their combined fire with nothing more than snorts of irritation. His eyes were fixed on Garrus's position.

"I see you hiding, turian," he bellowed over the howling wind.

"Shepard," Garrus said, glaring back at her from behind his cover. "Krogan."

"Now you understand what it's like to be me," she said sweetly, and unloaded half a clip into the merc's head. "Waiting around for backup while enemies flank you left and right. All because your sniper wants to line up the perfect kill shot, and he's too lazy to just move his skinny ass."

Garrus clicked his jaw at her, and fired off another round into the merc's blood-spattered face. "You think my job is easy? I don't just sit around waiting for targets to pop into scope, you know."

Mordin fired his Carnifex in a steady, precise stream at the advancing merc. "Have served many years as field operative. Also as medical doctor. Would like to offer professional recommendation: Less casual banter. More bullets."

"We're doing fine, Mordin," Shepard said, but she leaned out and sprayed the other half of her clip into the merc. "Garrus, half the time when I look back at you, you're just sitting there filing your nails. Claws. Whatever."

"Shepard." His voice dropped into a liquid purr. "Were you checking me out in the middle of a firefight?"

Ah, shit. She'd walked right into that one. "If you didn't distr— Fuck. Garrus, krogan!"

The merc came in range, lowered his head and charged. Garrus lunged back, firing a round into the base of the krogan's unprotected throat. Shepard hurled a Throw like a right hook and knocked the massive creature to the ground, a scant meter and a half from Garrus's position.

She stepped out and looked down at the body. The streams of blood were coagulating into orange gelatin. The bullet holes were slowly closing up, puckering, forming fresh scars. A muscle in the krogan's neck twitched.

Shepard reached out with both hands and made a sharp twisting movement. The air shimmered and crunched. The bullet holes stilled, and stayed open.

She glanced back at Mordin, confirmed he was unharmed with a quick exchange of nods. Garrus was up and dusting himself off.

He stalked over and pointed a long, sharp finger at Shepard. "You could have done that anytime. You let him close in. That was uncalled for."

"...A bit. Sorry." She tilted her head to one side, smiling a little. "But I wasn't going to let him touch you. Still think I'd be better off with an assault rifle, instead of biotics?"

He sighed, and rested a heavy elbow on her shoulder. "No. You can fling krogan around with your mind all day long, as far as I'm concerned." He shook his head. "Spirits, that merc was like a walking tank. I'm going to have nightmares."

She wiggled him off. "I'm not your armrest. Toughen up, Vakarian. We got work to do."

Scars and dents pitted the thick, unfinished concrete walls. The ground was sticky with dried blood and other fluids, indistinguishable in the low, flickering light. The operating tables and equipment were blackened from years of oxidation and neglect.

The Weyrloc hospital was as silent as a cave, and rank with the smell of rotting meat.

It wasn't long before they came across the first body. A human. Shepard blinked. What the hell?

Mordin knelt down, and delicately uncurled the corpse's limbs. His omni-tool bloomed to life; long, tapered fingers flicked over the keyboard. "Sores. Tumors. Ligature at wrists and ankles. Track marks at injection sites." He paused. "Test subject. Involuntary."

Shepard crouched beside him while he pored over the data. The test subject had been male, maybe late thirties. Plain, sturdy features. Plain, sturdy clothes. Probably a colonist.

She let out a short, sad laugh. The perfect victim. No one would notice a few more missing colonists.

Garrus gave her an odd look. Mordin pointed out deliberately cultivated mutations. Deduced that the Weyrloc were working on a genophage cure. And that their research was on the right track.

"Well, crap." Shepard helped Mordin to his feet. "It's Virmire all over again. I hope the new Normandy has nukes. Didn't think to ask."

"But why use humans?" Garrus rumbled behind her, as they strode down to the lower levels. His voice was rough, agitated. "Why not krogan, or varren, or something else native to Tuchanka?"

Mordin's clipped voice echoed in the narrow hallway. "Humans useful as concept test subjects. Genetically diverse. Single stimulus produces wide range of responses." He sniffed. "But this— unethical. Unnecessary. Sloppy. No place in proper science."

In a wide, low-ceilinged room riddled with bullet holes, they found a console with experiment logs and preliminary findings, and some data from earlier efforts that confirmed Mordin's hypothesis.

"Clever," he murmured. His forehead wrinkled.

"You're starting to sound a bit impressed by this researcher," Garrus said, eyes narrowed.

"Methodology horrific," Mordin said sharply. "But principles sound. Genophage brilliant, complex, finely tuned piece of work. Modification an order of magnitude more difficult than creation. Curing it altogether— likely even more difficult than that." He inhaled. "Progress made here... repugnant. But remarkable."

"Garrus," Shepard said, touching his arm.

He made a distressed rumbling noise in response.

"Garrus. The death and suffering here falls on the heads of Clan Weyrloc and their scientists. We will pay them back in kind. Mordin had nothing to do with it."

His good mandible pulled tight to his face. "Of course, Shepard."

"Move out."

They picked their way through a maze of overturned operating tables, stepped over piles of rusty tools, broken consoles. Corpses. A female krogan. A volunteer. God. Garrus looked sick with anger. Shepard just shook her head. "...We can't help her. Let's move."

They moved. Mordin drew up by her side. She gave him a questioning look.

"Shepard. Pragmatism... unexpected," he said quietly. "Human test subjects. Appalling methods. Had anticipated outrage. Accusations of responsibility."

Shepard let out a bitter laugh. "This human's seen way too much to be surprised anymore. If there's actually a point behind the brutality, then as far as I'm concerned, we're having a better day than average."

She looked up at him. "What happened here was in reaction to the genophage. But that doesn't mean it was your fault."

"Yes. But—" Mordin glanced away.

Shepard frowned. But what?

"Genophage itself, ethically... difficult," he continued. "Involved personally with modification project. Prevented krogan from making a natural recovery. Know you are close with Urdnot Wrex. Revulsion, anger, would not be surprising."

Ah.

"Mordin. Do you think you did the right thing?"

"Yes," he said immediately. "Had to be done. Genophage, or genocide. No other choice. Ran countless simulations. All data pointed to one thing: galactic war. Either obliterate krogan entirely, or krogan obliterate everyone else." He took a deep breath. "Untenable."

Shepard walked beside him, waiting.

"Instead, with genophage... everyone lives." He gazed out into the murk of the laboratories. "But fewer than before. And sadder."

"It's not simple for people like you and me, is it," Shepard said quietly. "Just about every decision we make means someone suffers, somewhere."

She looked up at him. His rust-brown skin was creased with age, slashed with scars. He'd lived a long life in thought and deed, if not in years. And he'd witnessed first-hand the depths of despair and grief he'd caused in service to the galaxy.

Shepard exhaled. "Mordin. Even the best possible decision— the one that causes the least damage, saves the most people— can still cost too fucking much."

"Yes," he said, looking down at the blood-stained floor. "Difficult to sleep, some nights."

"But that is the price of responsibility. So we pay it." Shepard met his eyes. "We carry the weight of our decisions with us. We don't sleep well at night. We move on, but we never forget. That is how we honor the sacrifices."

"...Yes," Mordin said, again. He blinked down at her. "Yes. Thank you, Shepard."

She smiled at him. "Yes."

Shepard slid the heat sink out of her pistol, judged it adequate, and jammed it back in. "Not to say that the person who did this gets to keep breathing. Let's move."

Several dead Weyrloc clanguards and one clan leader later, they found Mordin's student alone in a grimy operating theatre, in front of an enormous bank of monitors glowing with line graphs and streams of data. He was alive, unhurt, uncoerced. And surrounded by bodies.

"Explain," Shepard ground out.

He explained.

Garrus tilted his head to one side. "I see. So you tortured all these people out of the goodness of your heart."

"What we did to the krogan was cultural genocide. It was wrong!"

"This is wrong," Mordin spat. "Imprisonment, live experiments, executions. Unconscionable. Disgusting."

"We already have so much blood on our hands. What's the blood of a few more, when my work here could save millions? Save them from what we did. What you taught me to do."

"Our work did save millions," Mordin said. "Had to be done." He pulled out his pistol. "Have to preserve it."

Garrus glanced over at Shepard. She stepped back and folded her arms.

Dark green blood and gelatinous chunks of brain matter splattered against the display.

"I'm sorry, Mordin," she said quietly.

Garrus was staring at her, his expression unreadable.

Mordin looked down at the corpse. Like his mentor, Maelon had been tall and spindly. His long, fragile limbs lay twisted beneath him.

"Never taught him this. Never knew he'd fallen so far." Mordin shook his head. "Should have talked to him, after project. Should have helped him... carry responsibility."

"Maybe," Shepard said. "Maybe not. He became a butcher. Talking to him might not have been enough to fix what was wrong with him."

Mordin shook his head. "Speculation unproductive." He stepped over the body, and tapped out a few keystrokes on the console. "Maelon dead now. Matter closed. Research only loose end. Should wipe data."

Shepard looked up at the display. "...You said the methodology was sound."

"Yes. Immoral. Vile. But sound. And a security risk."

Lay waste to everything. There could be no loose ends.

She thought for a moment, looked down at the blood-stained floor.

It had cost too fucking much.

"Keep it," she said instead. "Hide it somewhere safe. If it's with you, I know it'll be in good hands."

Mordin looked at her for a moment, then nodded, and began syncing the files to his omni-tool.

She contemplated a vision of King Wrex, and a green, fertile future for Tuchanka.

You never knew. The universe could change a lot in a thousand years.

They picked their way back over the rubble.

"What," she said to Garrus.

"I didn't say anything," he said.

"Precisely. Something's up. And you're not telling me what it is."

He sighed. "...I don't want to be like Alenko."

"—What?"

"Questioning your every move and motivation."

Oh. Christ. Of course that's what he'd meant.

She nudged him with her foot. "Garrus, just spit it out. You can be honest with me."

She watched him struggle internally for a moment.

"This played out a little differently than the last time we took down a salarian mad scientist."

"Saleon." She'd already guessed. It would have been eating at him ever since they found the first corpse.

"He wasn't a conflicted former STG operative trying to erase his bad deeds. He was a criminal nobody and a complete monster. And you didn't let me shoot him."

She looked up at him. "Garrus— it wasn't that Saleon didn't deserve to die. He did. But I wanted him to go through due process. To be treated like the criminal nobody that he was. I wanted him to rot in jail, day by day, hour by hour, until his sentence was finally carried out. I wanted him to spend every remaining moment of his life bored and helpless and scared out of his filthy, twisted little mind."

Garrus made a low noise. "...I see."

Shepard sighed and kicked a rock out of her path. "I was always mad that he forced our hand when he attacked us. Executing him was too easy. It gave him too much dignity."

"So it wasn't that you distrusted my judgment."

"Of course not."

"And it wasn't mercy."

Shepard raised an eyebrow. "Does it sound like it was mercy?"

"So why did you let—" Garrus gestured at Mordin, who was trailing some distance behind them, muttering and fiddling with his omni-tool.

Shepard glanced back at the elderly doctor, and then further back, at the dark and dirty laboratory receding into the distance.

"Because Maelon was different," she said. "He was messing with something that could plunge the entire galaxy into war again, and he didn't give a damn if it did. What he knew was too dangerous. If he went to jail, all he'd have to do is get one message out, and the entire krogan race would be fighting tooth and claw for his release." Her face hardened. "This has to stay quiet, and Maelon's death was the best way to assure that. We can't afford any distractions now."

He laughed softly. "Only you would call a second Krogan Rebellions a 'distraction.'"

"Compared to the Reapers, everything's a distraction."

"You know what I like best about you, Shepard," Garrus said. "Your sunny optimism."

She elbowed him in the side. "Wiseass. Shut up for a bit and help me think. Wrex is going to want to know what we ran into down there."

His voice lowered. "You're going to lie to him?"

"I was hoping to just... leave some parts out. But yeah, I might have to lie." She watched him for a moment. "Do you have a problem with it?"

His good mandible flexed in and out. "I don't like it. But I've been around the other races long enough that I've come to terms with the concept. And we don't exactly have a lot of options, here, if we're trying to avoid galactic warfare."

"No. We don't." She reached out and touched his forearm. "Look, I won't ask you to back me up. I'll do all the talking. You can leave whenever you want to. You can even leave right now, if you prefer."

"I'm staying," he said.

"Okay." She gave his arm a grateful squeeze. "And hey— if it'll cheer you up, you can push the button for the nuke."

"Not necessary, Shepard," Mordin piped up behind them. They stopped and turned, and he hurried to catch up. His omni-tool beeped softly. "Have exchanged communications with STG. Operatives will come in to cover tracks, run interference. Much more subtle than a nuclear detonation."

Shepard smiled. "Great. That's a huge relief, Mordin. Thank you."

"Happy to help. Salarian mess. Salarian clean-up only appropriate." A hint of a rueful smile. "Have the most experience in the business, after all."

"What happened out there, Shepard?" The blood-red eye regarded her steadily. "I heard some interesting rumors."

"You heard right." Shepard folded her arms, expression grim. "The Weyrloc were trying to develop a genophage cure. But it wasn't a laboratory. It was a slaughterhouse."

"Corpses everywhere," Mordin said quietly. "Riddled with tumors. Blood and death."

"Turns out undoing something isn't as easy as doing it," she said.

He looked down. "It never is."

"...I'm sorry, Wrex."

He waved her sympathy off. "It's not the first time we've had a massacre in the name of a cure. And it sure as hell won't be the last."

Shepard pushed the guilt down deep. Kept her head up high. "No. Probably not."

"Well." He thumped down from his throne, and came over to stand in front of them. "It's over now. I'm just glad the bastard who did it is dead."

"Oh, speaking of," she added. "We killed Weyrloc Guld. Hope that doesn't cause any problems for you."

"Hell, no," Wrex said. "Always hated that guy. But I'll have to meet with the female clan leader about absorbing the Weyrloc survivors." He thumped her shoulder, knocking her off-balance. "Well. See you around, Shepard, Vakarian. Solus. Good luck saving the galaxy. Wish I could come."

Shepard sighed, and shifted her shoulder guard back into place. Yes. She did too.

But she understood. If he left Tuchanka, everything he'd built would crumble back down in an instant.

"Ah, Wrex," she said as a thought occured to her.

He turned. "Yeah?"

"I have a krogan on my team. Tank-bred, genetically perfect, kind of a special case. He's been acting all pissy for the last few days. I think he might be sick. Or something." She fidgeted. "Could you, uh... take a look at him?"

It was hard to decipher even simple krogan expressions, but Shepard had seen that particular one from Wrex a lot. Usually when some puny, short-sighted creature was being an idiot, and was too puny and short-sighted to even realize it.

It warmed her heart to see it again. Even if it was being directed at her.

"Bring him here," Wrex rumbled. "I'll look at him." He shook his head. "Genetically perfect, huh? Guess that's what it takes to replace me."

She smiled. "Wrex. Be serious. No one could replace you."

That time, his thump to her shoulder knocked her off her feet.

Mordin begged leave to go back to the Normandy, citing cell cultures that required his attention. Shepard went up with him to wait for the shuttle.

Thrusters hissed and powered down. Grunt hopped off, greeted them with a silent scowl, and wandered away.

Mordin paused at the hatch, one hand on the door. "Shepard."

She stepped closer. "What is it?"

"Have been thinking. Asked for help. Received it, swiftly. And more than that. Have been given... new perspective." He looked down at her. "Worried about whether project was right decision. Agonized over involvement. Wanted, like Maelon, to erase past. Started clinic on Omega for that reason."

She tilted her head, waiting.

"Agonizing now over Maelon. Perhaps failed him, in some critical way. Will reflect. But no longer need to erase past decisions. Can't, anyway, and shouldn't. Will carry them instead."

He paused, looking out at the dust and rubble that surrounded them. "...Will embrace both pride, and regret. Lives gained, and lives lost. Together." He nodded at her. "Thank you."

She nodded back. "Anytime, Mordin."

The shuttle lifted off.

On her mental list, Shepard ticked a checkmark by the doctor's name.

She meandered back to camp.

"So," Garrus said, leaning back casually against a cracked pillar, ignoring the hostile glares from the krogan surrounding him.

"So," she said. "What'd you find out about Grunt?"

He grinned. "Feel like helping a boy become a man?"

Shepard put a hand to her face. "Oh my god. Seriously?"

He nodded. An amused, trilling hum sounded from his throat.

"I'm going to murder Okeer."

"Already dead," Garrus pointed out helpfully.

"Doesn't matter. I'm going to storm my way into the underworld and murder him all over again." Shepard sighed. "What do we have to do?"

"Don't worry," he said. "You'll like it." He put a conspiratorial hand on her shoulder, and leaned in close. "They won't tell me the details, but I'm pretty sure it involves killing big things."

"Hmm." She clicked a fresh heat sink into her SMG, and smiled. "You're right. I do like it."