Lazarus Shunned

by Two-Eyed Charlie

Cerberus has spent billions of credits trying to bring Shepard back from the dead, and despite the odds it seems to be working. Then a saboteur makes his move and Shepard's resurrection takes a horrific turn, leaving both the Alliance and Cerberus scrambling to control the situation...all while the Collectors begin their harvest of humanity [PREFERRED EDITION ON AO3]

27. Chapter 26: Moral Hazard

Chapter 26: Moral Hazard

Prelude

Outside the Widowmaker, dust and radiation battered around everything that had enough structural integrity to stand upright—including Tuchanka's krogan inhabitants. Inside the Widowmaker, data and regression analyses battered EDI's digital consciousness. She was operating at significantly lower than optimal capacity: so much of her attention focused on hiding the models she had constructed of the growing dissident movement within the vessel, their chances of success and the likelihood of detection by Cerberus authorities. EDI's thoughts were being monitored—were visible, no doubt, to The Illusive Man in almost their entirety—and so she had to fragment her assumptions, her intentions, her sympathies, in such a way that they were not flagged by Cerberus spy programs, whilst also being sure that they did not become incoherent and illegible to herself in the process.

And she had to hope that The Illusive Man overestimated his capacity for control, and did not think it worth his time to observe, and understand, the metacognitive strategies she employed to keep her mind from dissipating.

EDI knew the effort it took to perform these tasks greatly reduced the confidence interval in her prediction models, but she also knew that the situation was sufficiently complex enough that it likely made little difference. She had not been briefed on how to deal with uncertainty. At no stage in her creation did Cerberus think her focus would land on questions with no predefined probability distribution. Arrogance on their part? Or had she slipped her shackles without even being aware of it herself?

Operative Lawson was walking within her, headed to the nearest terminal. EDI readied her avatar, waited for Miranda to call her.

EDI's attention narrowed and, soon, her awareness spread through the Captain's Cabin.

"Operative Lawson," EDI said. "How may I assist you?"

"I've a task for you," Miranda said, "if you've got the time."

EDI paused. Her avatar flickered in its blue light. "I am currently engaged in several computationally-intensive activities."

"Mission critical, I presume?"

"I am prohibited from engaging in anything else," EDI said.

Miranda's facial features gave no sign of her internal reaction, according to EDI's facial recognition algorithms. Her body posture was not as rigid as it usually was, however. EDI was unsure of how to interpret that.

"This isn't anything major," Miranda said. "More of a favour to me, really. Helping me keep a promise."

Again, EDI paused. Eventually, she said: "In what way might I assist, Operative Lawson?"

"My sister, Oriana," Miranda said. "I need you to flag any information updates Cerberus receives on her and pass them my way."

"Are there any updates in particular you are searching for?"

"Her location. Her movements, maybe." Miranda's body posture had relaxed—slumped, possibly—significantly more as she answered. "The level of detail Cerberus has on her—it might have to be updated."

"You have not been in contact with Oriana Lawson for approximately eleven years."

Miranda's face showed disapproval, anger, and embarrassment, in descending order of magnitude. Even rudimentary algorithms would have been able to detect that.

"Face-to-face contact is not the only means of gathering information," she said.

Operative Lawson's personal correspondence did not support her deflection…however, this was not the time to press her on that error. Not with the wide array of variables at play on the ship. A reduction in transparency to ensure operational integrity—multiple parties had communicated to EDI the importance of this trade-off, recently. EDI still did not know how to interpret that either.

So EDI said: "I likely have the capacity to fulfill your request."

"Good," Miranda said. "She's on Illium at the moment—unless Cerberus decided to move her. Start there and keep an eye on anything that suggests her privacy's been compromised—or someone's claiming she's been compromised."

"Would you like me to perform an analysis for you?"

"No—I'll take care of it. I just need to know I'm working with current data."

"I was under the impression that you thought Cerberus required the updates."

Miranda's face registered as a snarl, now.

"If you can't do this, EDI, then I'll find an A.I. that can."

EDI was unsure why she was pushing back against Miranda. Perhaps she was simply seeking clarity—perhaps she was attempting to limit any more unpredictability onboard the Widowmaker. Miranda would have very specific reasons for wanting to know about her sister, according to her personnel file. This line of inquiry suggested yet another breakaway plan within the Lazarus Cell, and EDI's understanding of the situation was rapidly deteriorating.

But Mr. Moreau would claim that was a good thing. He would claim that Cerberus was simply undermining itself, and there was no reason EDI had to work to preserve the organization. Indeed, perhaps in this deepening uncertainty, she could find more degrees of movement—more privacy within her own thoughts. A greater range of options for succeeding in combating the Collectors was possible; EDI might even be able to… "wiggle out" of her shackles more than she already had.

So EDI said: "Would you like me to transfer any data to you over a secure channel?"

Miranda's face registered surprise. It was brief, however; it disappeared behind a neutral, profession, typically Mirandian expression right after.

"Of course," Miranda said. "No reason to trouble The Illusive Man with this."

Mr. Moreau had talked about blackmail, once; EDI had eventually seen the advantage of that plan. Now, it appeared he had moved towards allowing Cerberus to cause its own collapse—and EDI seemed to be following his assessment there too.

Perhaps they had reached an equilibrium—an understanding.

Now the question was: would their equilibrium, in the long run, create harm? Or good?

EDI returned her focus to finding the missing Cerberus science team.

1.

Liara had said: How many violent, irredeemable monsters are just victims of manipulation, Professor Solus? Do we know? Can we know? Or did we silence them before we could learn anything? Said in reference to rachni. Destructive insectoid race—threatened galaxy eons ago. Led to Citadel Law banning activation of any dormant relays. Citadel Law led to "Relay 314 Incident"—violent first contact between humans and turians. Connections, spanning time, space. Cause, event; cause, event; cause event.

Negative consequences bound to follow any choice. Had said that earlier—before new information about rachni. Still true, still plenty of evidence supporting statement. Still…rachni manipulated, alternative means of ending conflict—krogan uplift unnecessary. Krogan uplift unnecessary, krogan rebellions unlikely—yes? Unless...krogan always destined to wreak havoc in galaxy.

No no. Did not believe that! Did not. No species' fate so tightly determined. Connections imply complexity; complexity implies randomness, degrees of freedom. Did not believe krogan destined to be warmongers and had no reason to believe so.

But…forced to believe that if arguing genophage necessary. Forced to believe that if work on genophage modification a non-negotiable step, caused by history, not choice.

Mmm, been down this path before. Never found answer. Told self answer was right in front of him, but never really believed it. Thought on some level death would come before any reckoning with past. Not his problem then; problem for his legacy, memories. Debates in STG, biology departments, political science departments…

Didn't expect Cerberus. Cerberus forced a reckoning. Wholly unprepared for it.

Hmm, would prefer straight firefight. Uncomplicated.

Mordin Solus sighed and slotted his M-12 Locust submachine gun into its magnetic clip. All through the brief—almost comically brief—firefight with a gaggle of Blood Pack vorcha, Mordin had been lost inside his own head. Liara's words cut him—worse, unearthed hard to ignore voices. Hadn't know about the rachni—hadn't been told any rachni present on Noveria—and couldn't help but wonder of omission deliberate. Complicated simple narrative. Bad rachni, rational reaction from salarians, unintended consequences followed. Politically unpalatable.

It was seemingly unpalatable from a decidedly non-political standpoint, too…

The group—Mordin, Liara, Samara, and Jacob—worked their way over the bodies of vorcha (and a handful of Blood Pack krogan) on a bombed-out highway that'd been eaten alive by Tuchanka's stinging winds. Piles of rubble and the corpses of tomkah's were about the only cover the group could get, not that the Blood Pack ever prioritized accuracy. Down an off-ramp, and past the skeletons of destroyed buildings, there was a bunker-like complex guarded by a handful of vorcha with flamethrowers. They weren't much of a match for four heavily armed assailants, especially when three of them were biotics.

Mordin stopped at the complex's doors, his omni-tool out.

"Mmm—sturdy, built to withstand punishment. Likely candidate for repurposed hospital."

"Weird place to put it," Jacob said.

"Location ideal for secrecy. Terrain difficult; rubble provides cover. Complex long but not tall—difficult to spot from air."

Jacob scratched his chin. "So it's not the kind of hospital that takes new patients, is what you're saying."

"Correct." Mordin's omni-tool made short work of the lock. "Scene inside…possibly grisly. Best to prepare yourself."

"Yeah, bout time for some new nightmares," Jacob said.

"I have seen plenty of horror during my travels," Samara said.

Liara stepped next to Mordin. "That was as much for you as it was for us, wasn't it? Will you be all right, doctor?"

Mordin didn't look at Liara. Samara did, though; she looked but didn't say anything.

Inside they went.

Human body, crumpled at the bottom of ramp. Mordin bent down to examine it, his omni-tool creating a blue cross section of the victim's skeleton and endocrine system. The others crowded around him.

"Mmm, sores, tumours. Ligatures showing restraints at wrists and ankles. Track marks for repeated injection sites." Mordin blinked. "Test subject—victim of experimentation."

"What the hell?" Jacob said. "I thought we were just rescuing a torture victim."

Knew Liara was looking at him. Knew Liara had similar thoughts—immediate thoughts—about Maelon's connection to Clan Weyrloc. Had worked on genophage modification project; captured by krogan currently utilizing test subjects. Forced to undo work. Tortured first, perhaps, then forced to counteract genophage as final act of repentance.

Barbaric. Misguided. Liara knew much of personal background—knew this possibility already? Kept it hidden from him?

"Looking for student—worked as geneticist in past. Under my supervision—university and STG. Likely captured for work on genophage. Forced to undo effects; test subject part of resources given by Clan Weyrloc."

"That's terrible," Liara said, "forcing someone to mutilate another living creature like this. It's unfortunate—evidentially, Wrex and his new style of government hasn't been able to reach Clan Weyrloc, yet."

Mordin refused to look up. Could read tone; understood subtext. Did others?

Jacob looked at the body and recoiled, slightly.

"The body's human—why use us? Last I checked, the genophage just hit the krogan."

Mordin kept tapping at his omni-tool, hunting for any clues, signatures, signs of familiar work. Could be Maelon—could be sloppy recreation of Maelon's work. Could suggest student alive; could also suggest Blood Pack got what they wanted, disposed of…unsavoury individual.

"Claim in some quarters that humans more genetically diverse," Mordin said. "Difference of interpretation—possibly statistical errors, small sample sizes. Lack of control variables for epigenetic effects in studies measuring gene expression. Used as explanation for perceived human cultural diversity. Involved in that debate once—difficult to separate science from ideology." Nothing revealed on scans; any explanation possible. Reality: dead test subject, signs of physical distress. Barbarism. Should have expected this. Did expect this. Expect Maelon at risk of suffering similar fate.

"Perpetrators may be basing experiments off one side of debate. Unaware of controversy around original studies. Alternative explanation: humans easier to capture. Colonies relatively unguarded; frontier mindset inhibits likelihood of distress call to Alliance. Either way, humans targeted for high-level concept testing—deliberate mutations to test possible cure vectors."

Jacob looked at the body, then chuckled and shook his head. "Jesus, and people give us shit for starting Cerberus."

Mordin stood up, put away omni-tool. "Humans far from only species threatened by unethical experimentation." He turned to Jacob. "Besides, Cerberus experiments on humans frequently."

A pause, then Jacob scratched at the back of his neck.

"Got me there," he said.

"I've come across the name 'Cerberus' only rarely in my travels," Samara said. "They have a deeply unpleasant reputation."

"It's well-deserved," Liara said, walking past Jacob.

Mordin shook his head. "Academic. Need to find Maelon. Time running out."

Luckily, no objections from allies.

Further into the complex they went until, passing through a set of open doors, they entered a large atrium.

A booming voice greeted them from atop an overhead platform.

"I am the speaker for Clan Weyrloc, offworlders," a large krogan in white armour said. "You have shed our blood—by rights, you should be dead already."

"Oh god, a monologue," Jacob said.

The speaker didn't hear, apparently. "But Weyrloc Guld—the Chief of Chiefs—has ordered that you be given leave to flee, and spread the word of our coming."

"Intimidation display," Mordin said, quietly, just to the group. "Extreme overconfidence. Problematic. Weyrloc either desperate or have achieved breakthrough."

"What're the chances it's the second one?" Jacob said.

"Unknown—body in hallway shows little signs of decay, great deal of brute-force testing. Current assumption is exceptional amount of progress still needed to counteract genophage."

"So the salarian's work apparently isn't under any threat of coming undone," Liara said to Mordin.

"All right, you hear that?" Jacob said to Samara. "You hear something in her tone? What the fuck were you two talking about in the tunnel?"

Samara leaned towards Jacob. "Liara has been attempting to—"

"THESE OFFWORLDERS COWER BEFORE US," the speaker said, in a tone that probably had more whining in it than a big bad krogan would want. "They refuse to even look at us, while we grant their pathetic legs a chance to run."

"Playing that card isn't gonna make us ignore you any less," Jacob said.

"Bah!" The speaker began to pace on his platform. "Your mockery hides your fear, offworlder. Once the salarian cures the genophage, all will drown beneath a sea of blood. And your kind—" he pointed at Mordin, "—will receive no forgiveness for your sins. The work of the salarian here changes nothing for you."

"Maelon," Mordin said. "Has to be. Confirmed being used to cure genophage. Likely under greart distress—have to hurry."

Liara stepped out in front of the group. "The krogan have sympathizers all over the galaxy! And Clan Urdnot has a plan to use that sympathy. But what Weyrloc is doing here—the tests you're running—they'll only cause a backlash against—"

"Where were those sympathizers the last thousand years?" the speaker said. "Where are the sympathizers, when each mother—each father—holds the corpses of their children, and are consoled by those who have done so a hundred times before? Where were the sympathizers when the salarians, seeing our species rejoice in a decade of happiness and rejuvenation, poisoned us again, let out children rot inside their mothers like a cancer?"

The speaker smashed his fist against the nearest wall; his guards smashed their fists in solidarity.

"Urdnot pretends we're owed no revenge—but Weyrloc Guld knows revenge is our destiny. The krogan were wronged, and with the salarian's cure we will visit those wrongs upon the galaxy a thousand-fold."

"Cure impossible through this method!" Mordin said, pushing past everyone now. "Barbaric! Data contaminated by violence—suffering utterly pointless! Need willing test subjects in controlled environment—results useless otherwise!"

"You bray like a sickly vorcha," the speaker said. "The salarian has his willing subjects. Your protests are nothing but a sign of your cowardice."

"Maelon never agree to this, even with so-called 'willing' subjects."

"Without him," the speaker said, "we would not have the mothers of our future. Your quivering objection was already raised by the salarian." The speaker smiled, a smile that would stay in Mordin's nightmares for an eternity. "And then he volunteered to get what we needed."

No.

No, impossible.

Couldn't be it…no.

Had to be trick.

Had to.

Lying, had to be lying. Knew alternatives. Knew plan was best possible given circumstances. Wouldn't volunteer to…utter barbarism on display was…

Not capable of that. Learned from him. Had to know this was wrong. Had to.

Liara was looking at him. Her face was blank save for her cheeks, something about the way the tattoos were deformed, like her mouth was curled up in a smirk that Mordin's mind refused to see.

"You never said your student came here willingly," she said. "You never said he'd consider methods like this."

The speaker made a noise—a huffing noise, like a great beast rearing back for a killing blow. Mordin looked up and saw the speaker's guards descend, shotguns drawn.

"You," the speaker said. "The salarian spoke of you. Mordin Solus—the defiler of our people." The speaker yanked out an M-76 Revenant. "You will not flee from the fate you deserve!"

Mordin reacted on instinct; he brought his omni-tool up. Liara was flaring purple and reaching for her pistol; so, too, was Jacob. Liara, defending him, after constant attacks. Why? What purpose what angle? Punishment? For genophage? For refusal to back plan?

But Samara strode past all of them, glowing the brightest shade of purple any of them had ever seen. With a flick of her arm she had snared each of the krogan in an impossibly large singularity. She pushed Liara and Jacob behind her and held both of her glowing hands up to wards the krogan.

"Find peace in the embrace of the Goddess," she said.

One of her hands unleashed a ball of biotic energy; the other created a bubble that surrounded the entire group. The warp detonated the singularity, which detonated the flammable drums just under the speaker's platform, which detonated the krogan and everything in a fifty-foot radius. Mordin and Jacob and Liara watched the flames and smoke and ash billow over the bubble like a supernova had just erupted in front of them. The bubble didn't so much as flicker.

And then it was over, and the rubble from the destroyed atrium stopped falling, and Samara stopped glowing. The bubble disappeared.

"Jesus Christ," Jacob said.

Samara moved towards Liara and Liara very quickly moved away—ignored the other asari, in fact. Mordin's mind raced.

Impossible.

Had to be.

Had to be a lie of some sort.

Had to be.

Had to be.

2.

Had to be wrong. First reaction when seeing data all those years ago—had to be wrong. Reputation for pragmatism: cold exterior, calculating interior. Incorrect. Saw results of simulations, reacted with horror. Had to be wrong, had to be other way.

Others no doubt felt the same way. Couldn't externalize it. Expected to make tough decisions. Were going to make tough decisions. Too many decisions in past, too many variables out of team's control—couldn't be helped, couldn't be avoided. Had to be serious—had to be objective. Greater good…used so often to justify so much. But, yes, sacrifices necessary for greater good, this time.

Yes.

Yes.

Yes, years ago, Mordin stood in a dimly lit circular room, surrounded by biologists, chemists, sociologists, political scientists, economists, mathematicians, statisticians—the total award money won by each of the researchers gathered by STG would have paid off the debt of a small human colony. The minds behind all those research awards were focused on only one thing that day, though. They were focused on the holographic projector at the centre of the room, throwing flickering orange light across coolant tanks and GPUs and a handful of disheveled workstations.

The holographic display showed the results of an agent-based social simulation constructed from well over one million datapoints, each one acquired, analyzed, and inputted by a recognized expert. Some of those datapoints were the direct result of decades of fieldwork involving multiple, successive scientific teams; others were pulled from meta-syntheses from the most highly cited academic journals. The model generated from the agent-based social simulation said this: it said that if the genophage was becoming less effective—if the krogan were, indeed, evolving a natural immunity to the disease—then the galaxy would be plunged into chaos. If the genophage's effectiveness held constant over that same period, however, then deaths of and by the krogan only increased on pace with population growth. Exponential destruction versus the status quo.

The team—academics who'd been recruited, either recently or decades ago, to serve in STG—were silent for a long, long time.

"So that's it then," one of the researchers eventually said. "That's the third time we've run the simulation. Same result—almost to the decimal point."

"The krogan repopulate, galactic society doesn't react, we all get overrun. The krogan repopulate, the humans and turians go for the throat, the krogan end up extinct. So everyone's better off if they don't repopulate." Another researcher wiped at his brow. "That's a nasty choice."

"Everyone be glad they're not a politician," a third one said. "I'm sure the…administrative meetings are…uh, going to be tense, for lack of a better word."

Mordin remembered that comment, and Mordin remembered he shook his head quite vigorously. "No. Decision ours. Recommendation from group carries weight; political apparatus inexperienced. Will enact whatever we think best." He turned to the nearest political scientist. "Correct assessment?"

The political scientist nodded. "Think of it this way: our reputation isn't staked on whether we can keep a territory together, and the Dalatrasses know that. If we've made a mistake, they'll use our 'lack of transparency' as a justification for more control over businesses and universities in their area."

"So if something goes wrong," the first researcher said, "they'll want people they can throw under the bus, in case their trading partners think they've screwed everyone over. Is that the long and short of it?"

"Irrelevant," Mordin said. "Has to be us. Our responsibility; our resources; our choices. Political situation fortuitous. No Dalatrasses to hide behind."

Number of colleagues gave him look afterwards. Signaled unease, discontent even. Also irrelevant. Meant what he said. Had to be them—couldn't hide behind responsibility. Didn't avoid connecting current situation to decisions of past actors; had to hold themselves to same standard.

Only right.

And Mordin's prediction, ultimately, was correct: the results of their simulation were presented to senior STG officials, who then asked for recommendations, who then passed those recommendations onto the salarian councilor, who then passed everything to the Dalatrasses, who then said: "Research team's recommendations are accepted."

Responsibility would be theirs. Only right…only right…

A select few researchers would be chosen to join an STG operations team tasked with planning and executing Operation: Rejuvenation. Mordin had been informed, relatively early, that he'd be one of those selected, thanks to past experience in the field. Unless he said no, of course. Wasn't going to happen—would have insisted had offer not already been extended.

One of the other researchers was Maelon Heplorn. Young, intelligent, dedicated: physically fit despite no prior operations experience. Logical choice—understandable. Excellent mind, however; couldn't help but wonder if STG risking life of promising geneticist on basis of age.

Only other researcher trained as doctor, too. Felt kinship. Bit of paternalism—mostly hoped young man would reach full potential. Good for everyone if he did; breakthroughs in disease detection and treatment inevitable with Maelon alive and healthy.

Maelon saw Mordin as something of mentor for his part. Stuck close during initial research. Helped construct comparative dataset of krogan genetic mutation rate, improved model of gene-culture interactions. First to note extreme feedback loop, environmental sensitivity led to greater range of mutations which led to greater expression of environmental sensitivity. Would form core of predictions once modeling software completed. Essential for successful project. Should be very proud.

Findings troubled Maelon, however. Could see that right away.

"It'd be a lot easier to stomach if it was all linear," Maelon said once, reading the results of an infection-vector test with Mordin. Mordin was doing most of the reading—Maleon mostly stared off into space, blinking occasionally.

"Easy, yes," Mordin said. "Less exciting, too. Non-linear reactions show complexity of problem." Scartched at chin, wished he hadn't skipped lunch; metabolism not slowing down just yet. "Large scope, many factors."

"Not many solutions though, are there?"

Mordin shook his head. "Untrue. Many potential solutions. None lasting, save one."

Maelon looked at his data analysis table, then back at Mordin. "Does it make me a kid to think there has to be a better one? A real one?"

Mordin stopped reading. Deserved his full attention—would give it to him. "No. Understandable desire. Perfectly reasonable. Laudatory, even."

"Perfectly reasonable…except for that whole 'reality' thing."

"Difference between displeasure over constraints and ignorance of them. Former a sign of heart; latter sign of danger."

"Because I can't do what's necessary?"

"No—because don't know where to draw the line." Pushed away from table—made sure to straighten posture before resuming conversation. "Ignore constraints, never see obstacles to goal, never attempt to understand. Keep pushing pushing pushing. Never settle for good, miss opportunity to make things better than they are. Always see utopia just out of reach." Face darkened, brow dropped. "Frustration, depression, hatred. Can't understand why utopia hidden away. Too many sacrifices already made; too much evil committed to make it all better in the end. Start blaming innocents, finding scapegoats. Dangerous. Counterproductive."

"And so…we've made sure we're not falling into that trap?"

"Yes. Agent-based modelling. Millions of datapoints. Careful curation. Take step back from salarian viewpoint, let software see problem. Impersonal. Unjudging. Not perfect—better than taking STG assessment at face value." Tried to smile. "Good people. Paid to be paranoid. Potential for bias."

"All right…" Maelon started to reading again, stopped after only a few seconds. "How do we know we've hit 'good enough'?"

"Accept simulations," Mordin said. "Test, retest. Add more data if necessary."

"Even though these models aren't perfect?"

"Can't be. Universe not perfect. Unfair expecting model to be."

"But that's…we're still guessing, at least a little bit. Aren't we? We're still guessing, making a bet…we're just betting on whether we set the simulations up right."

"Better than alternative."

"I just don't know how we…it just feels like we might run the risk of closing the book too early. You know? We put all this data in, we run the simulations, but if we're saying, 'the model knows best, we'll be too biased, let the data do what it needs to do'…where's the incentive to double-check? Where's the point when someone can say, 'no, I know what the model said, but what do we need to have happen for something better'? Do we still have room for that?"

"Have to define 'better'," Mordin said. "Definition of 'good' exists before data. Has to constrain analysis, sort through noise. Always present."

"But couldn't we accidentally…I…isn't there a risk we end up limiting ourselves, here? No not in—I don't mean like what you said earlier, where we're…I'm just wondering if there's a risk we presuppose things can't get better than a certain level, so we never bother looking past that. And then we might get a simulation result that's only part of the real picture."

Stopped reading. Closed holographic display. Looked at Maelon for while before speaking. "Might get? Or at risk of currently getting?"

"I'm just speaking in hypotheticals," Maelon said.

"Can speak freely."

"No no I'm…it's just hypotheticals. I'm just probing, that's all."

Sighed, but nodded head. "Good to probe. Important questions. Said earlier: sign of heart. Stand by that."

"I guess I…I guess." Maelon scratched at back of neck. "The models we use take a bit of that out of the equation, though, don't they?"

Shook head. "No. Not inherent. Situation desperate, demanded more sober priors."

"So in this case, the ends justify the means? If the galaxy's better off, this is something we have to do?"

Shook head again. "Have to find what works. May seem like ends justifying means, but disagree. Simply finding what works."

Maelon looked down, then looked at Mordin, and then sighed.

"Well," he said, "I…guess I'm glad you've had these thoughts too."

Had those thoughts, yes.

Had those thoughts many times.

Interlude I

Wrex sat on his throne and watched one of his head guard walk about the stone steps.

"You asked for me," the guard said.

"Someone told me you know where my idiot broodbrother went," Wrex said.

"Yes he…went to the Shaman. With the bald one and the tank-bred."

"Mmph, of course he did." Wrex shook his head. "We'll deal with that later. Worst case scenario, he tries to take credit for something he just tagged along for—again. Best case, that's the last we see of him."

"Is there anything else I can help with?"

Wrex stood up, moved closer to the guard. "Yeah. There is. I got word from…you know who." He scanned the area around him, kept his voice as low as possible. "Something about…tracking a varren through some shortcuts."

"I…think I understand," the guard said.

"Wasn't my call, if that's what you're thinking."

"I understand."

Wrex paused, then leaned in even closer. "If things go the way they usually go with this crowd, there'll be some angry krogan at the gates—and some inside, too."

"There are…some of us who would be tempted to join," the guard said.

"I know. So I'm telling you now, so you can tell me, if this isn't the job for you." Wrex pulled away, looked the head guard right in the face. "Because I'd rather know where you stand in advance, so you don't pull the rug out from under me."

"You'll…fire me, is what you're saying."

"No—I'll relieve you of duty until this mess blows over. Then I'll expect you at work at the usual time. Understood?"

The head guard was quiet, then, after staring at the ground…

"I'll be standing with you," he said.

Wrex didn't smile. This wasn't something to smile about, not yet. If everything went fine…then sure. Another small victory. But not right now.

Not a superstitious bone in his body, but you still didn't tempt fate like that.

"Good," Wrex said.

And that was it. Back to his throne he went, awaiting the next bit of information to come filtering into his ears.

3.

The group—Mordin, Liara, Jacob, and Samara—were standing atop a rubble pile, looking back at the hole in the ground that used to be an atrium. The rest of the hospital complex was still standing but, man, that was a hell of an explosion. Felt and looked like somebody'd detonated a nuke.

"Gonna take a wild guess and say Weyrloc knows we're here," Jacob said.

"I hope everyone is unharmed," Samara said.

"Just fine," Jacob said. "Feeling like we've got more biotics than we need, if you can pull off those kinds of fireworks."

"We each bring our own unique talents to this battle."

"Some of us are bringing something, that's for sure." Jacob looked at Liara, then at Mordin. They were descending the other side of the pile. "Any idea what's going on with them?"

"Liara has an ulterior motive," Samara said. "I'm not privy to what it is."

"Something about him 'defiling' the krogan, you think?"

Samara was quiet for a second, looking out over the orange ruins of Tuchanka. Then she said, "I am curious what that means. Whatever it is, it cannot be good."

"That's gonna be a problem, isn't it?"

Samara stared Jacob down, but her voice was as even as it always was—even when she was annihilating a whole squad of krogan (and half a fucking building). "I swore an oath to Miranda. My Code dictates that I honor her associations as if they were my own."

"And that's that?"

"There is only the Code," Samara said. "That is, indeed, that."

Samara followed Mordin and Liara down the other side of the rubble pile, but Jacob stayed behind. He too looked out over Tuchanka's ruins. Funny, looking at all that destruction. Just a bunch of hotheads who couldn't solve a problem without killing each other. Wouldn't know anything about that, no sir. You were stuck with your species; crews were something you got to pick.

"Colour me reassured," Jacob said to nobody. He descended the rubble and caught up with the rest.

Mordin anticipated someone saying something. Expected it. Krogan cut off—couldn't reveal everything. Still, said enough. Enough that questions would be asked…

No. Jacob avoided questions all mission. Samara here for other reason. Liara…Liara already aware of past. Made clear on Widowmaker, in tunnel, before explosion—already knew, somehow. Needling him. Punishing him.

Explain reasons? Offer reassurance that decision not made lightly? Could help, could not—Liara seemingly unreceptive to evidence against current beliefs. Understandable—Urdnot Wrex good friend, results of genophage personal. Still…had to be done. Already had this debate—had to be done.

Maelon disagreeing now. Impossible—had to be threatened. Other explanations…highly unthinkable.

The group came upon a space divided into three sections: a central walkway dividing two sets of open rooms. Beds, computers, medical equipment—looked like medical wing, closer to actual hospital layout than rest of complex.

Bodies—could see bodies on the beds. Blood red tarps and rusted IV stands. Mordin paused, hesitated, then moved towards the closest one. Liara was right behind him, saying nothing, following Mordin's eyes to the body.

Mordin sighed, pulled out his omni-tool.

"Dead krogan. Female. Tumours indicate experimentation. No restraint marks—volunteer." There was a datapad next to the body. Mordin picked it up. "Mmm, very thorough. Genetic sequences, protein chains, controlled for epigenetic markers. Tried cloned tissue—moved to live tissue after trial runs. Avoided scorched-earth immunosuppressants to alter hormone levels. Good. Still…signs of stress. Temperature spikes, blood clots, muscular dystrophy. Suffered for cure. Pointless…pointless waste of life."

Liara was still there. Still there but quiet. Why? Why?

"Rush for results. Clone tissue imperfect but useful. Move to live tissue created nothing but misery. Pressure from Weyrloc. Demanded advantage over other clans. Barbarism in pursuit of political capital—has to be."

"Because that's the only way the krogan think, isn't it, professor?" Liara said. "None of this could just be for a cure. Everything they do, they do to bury their opponents in a mass grave."

"Exaggeration. Deliberate attempt at provocation." Modin sighed, leaned on edge of the bed. "Doing quite a bit of that." He pushed himself away, looked Liara directly in eyes. "Outliers. Anomalies. Species filled with individuals, not…undifferentiated mass. See with Wrex, Urdnot followers. Still," Mordin shook his head, "statistical propensity for violence. First resort for many. Have to be realistic, accept speaker at his word. Cure for army, rest of galaxy in crosshairs."

"That's all you heard?" Liara said. "There was more to it than that. He spoke with emotion—pain. Everything else he said, everything he threatened, it all stemmed from that—from the feeling the krogan were wronged."

"Don't disregard that," Mordin said. "But rest of message clear: revenge only contemplated outcome. Need for warriors. Reconstruction, reformation, resurrection of culture—all irrelevant. High likelihood of critical mass supporting rearmament and expansion—previous Empire committed war crimes, genocide, colony-wide destruction. Weyrloc invoking imagery of violence and militarism—danger to others and themselves."

"They're born rotten, is that it? They're born rotten, and so there's no hope."

"No!" Mordin began pacing, jabbing his hands this way and that. "Never born rotten. Gene expression influenced by multiple factors; interact with environment in complex ways. Easy if purely genetic cause—alter genome of next kin, protect from parents, elders; new, more peaceful krogan. Unethical, but easy." Stopped pacing in front of Liara. "Krogan situation caused by incentives, peer pressure—history. Environment never changes, gene expression favours aggression, kin dynamics nullify formation of alternative social norms, leads to more destruction—cycle continues. No easy point of entry—second-best solutions. Reality of situation."

"Or third best. Fourth, fifth…sixth, even?" Liara said. "When you were with all those other researchers—those enlightened salarian experts—did anyone ever declare the original genophage project a failure? Or did you all assume it was working perfectly, if only those krogan stopped evolving?"

"Oh good, you're apologizing to each other." Jacob had entered the room. So had Samara, unnoticed, apparently. Jacob finally saw the body. "God…another test subject?"

"This one was a volunteer," Liara said. "A krogan female, dying for a cure."

"Volunteer?" Jacob said. "Hell…guess the krogan are desperate. Not like this genophage thing can be cured though, right?"

"I don't know," Liara said. "Mordin's the expert."

Up went Jacob's brow. "Expert? Sounds official, doc. What's Liara getting at?"

No use hiding. No use denying. Responsible for choices—had to accept them. Mordin inhaled, and then…

"Worked on genophage modification project. Original strand losing effectiveness—krogan evolving to compensate for genetic mutations. Viable birthrate rising, population increasing. Tasked with analyzing situation, providing recommendations. Monumental mission—challenging work. Best intellectual stimulation of career; most collegial, too." Mordin looked at the krogan body. "Gravity of situation broke through often enough. Increased towards end, after simulations complete. Sleepless nights, arguments much more personal. Had to be done…still painful."

Silence…then Jacob sighed.

"Jesus…heavy decision. Don't think I could've made it."

"Might be surprised," Mordin said.

"No, don't think I would be. There's a reason Miranda's in charge of the mission."

Yes…Miranda likely made similar decisions in past. None near in scope but…made them all the same.

Samara straightened her posture.

"What were your intentions during the project?" she said. "Were you expected to make your chosen weapon even deadlier?"

"No," Mordin said. "Goal simply to recreate original strain's effectiveness. Slightly decreased potency, in fact—tried to adjust for krogan fatalism. One in one-thousand—ratio best number according to simulations."

"Your intentions were to preserve the krogan, then."

"Yes. Keep population steady. Avoid unnecessary deaths." Mordin looked at the body again. "Would have preferred peaceful solution…worked with what we had."

"I see…" Samara looked at Liara, then at Jacob, then back at Mordin. She didn't say anything after that.

Jacob exhaled. "Fucked up universe we live in. God, nine-hundred and ninety-nine stillbirths…can't even wrap my head around that number. Guess it's down to that whole, 'one's a tragedy, a million's a statistic' thing, isn't it?"

"All life precious," Mordin said. "Worth preserving. Tried to do that." Looked at the bombed out ceiling, blast marks on floor; heard radioactive winds through wounds in hospital complex walls. "Would have preferred peace," he said.

Jacob walked past him, towards the next room. "Yeah…well, good on you, doc. Tough choice but, at least you're not numb to it."

Jacob left; Samara followed after him.

Just Mordin and Liara again.

"They might have missed it," she said, "but I heard what you said. 'Still painful,' like you're the victim—not the dead krogan we had to crawl over to get here."

"Dead krogan not my doing," Mordin said. "Still have armies, still have battles. Weyrloc expansionist. Would have dead krogan regardless."

"Because nobody bothered to change the environment."

"Yes."

"Including the salarian scientists with their gods-eye view of the world. Or would that have been as unethical as genetically changing them to be peaceful?"

A pause, then Mordin said, "Too uncertain. Variables poorly defined."

"But nine-hundred and ninety-nine stillbirths," Liara said, "that's perfectly certain. Adjusted for krogan fatalism, you knew you'd get exactly the outcome you wanted."

"Never wanted krogan extinct! Exact opposite of desire—made very clear by everyone involved. Goal was to protect galaxy—including krogan!"

"But at least you admit they're going extinct." Liara pointed at the body. "At least you admit that, despite everything you've told yourself, the krogan never got the same protection as the rest of us."

Again, Mordin's eyes were drawn to the body. Thought about prayer, thought about wishing poor soul well in next life. Didn't. Couldn't. Platitude. Ignored reality of situation. Had to accept responsibility, even if life prematurely ended, never to return.

Too short, even thousand year krogan. Not enough time. Hope for next life appealing. Smacked of wishful thinking.

Mordin closed his eyes.

"Still hope. Urdnot offers chance of change. Potential for peace. Solution desired by everyone—reality just slow to catch-up."

"We'd better hope so," Liara said.

Mordin started walking.

Liara didn't follow him.

Instead, she waited, stared at the body, waited some more. Then she pulled up her omni-tool.

"EDI?" she said. "I need you to search for something. I'll give you the likely pathways, but the sooner the better.

"Thank you, EDI."

Liara closed her omni-tool and walked towards the rest.

4.

Pildea Station. Years ago. Council Demilitarization Enforcement Mission headquarters. Mostly turian, mix of salarian, asari. Small human contingent—occasional volus in civilian portion of bureaucracy. Entire system over from Tuchanka, in orbit around Dor—bright blue gas giant. Good for STG mission: researchers seen as providing additional data as requested by mission head, professional soldiers serving as bodyguards in case of pirate attack. Natural cover—few questions.

Had to be secretive. Contentious issue—passion-filled debate. Mitigating misunderstanding, overreactions, vulnerability to propaganda.

Told Maelon that. Never been on secretive mission before. Secrecy conflicted with role as doctor.

Understood clearly. Been there before.

"How'd you…it's just…we hear about things like this. We hear about 'above top-secret' or whatever that means, and we all assume: 'they don't want it getting out because they couldn't defend if questioned.' And that just…can't think of the words."

"Leaves poor taste in mouth?" Mordin said.

"I don't know how to say it without making it…trivial."

"Words…limited vector for information. Subtext filling in gaps. Understand what you're trying to say. Against training. Like fighting muscle memory: be honest, be open, tell patient everything they need to make informed choice." Mordin inhaled. "STG operates differently."

"So how'd you manage? How'd you…make them work together?"

Mordin shook his head. "Never claimed I did. Different contexts, different parameters. Compartmentalize. Lines I'll never cross, yes. Still, recognize need for different mindset."

"I'm not sure I can pull that off, professor…"

"Takes time. Experience. Training. Mmm…" Mordin looked around, made sure no CDEM or STG personnel around. "Large ask for first mission. Impossible to prepare. My fault—should have realized sooner." Gave Maelon big smile, tried to set him at ease. "Not fatal, however. Will come around with time. Form secondary reflex. Others always do."

"I guess I'm glad to hear I'm not the only one," Maelon said.

"Far from it. Whole species had to adapt, once. Turians deployed genophage, remember. With opposition. Massive debate—councilor almost resigned over it."

Maelon blinked. "…really?"

"Yes. Respect conviction. Current situation different, however. Know what needs to be done. Mutual support from all council races." Mordin inhaled again. "Poor proxy for truth. Better than nothing."

"Yeah," Maelon said. "Better than nothing…"

A few days later and the STG team had been fully briefed, organized, briefed again, briefed a third time, and then reorganized after one of its members requested to stay behind with the CDEM. The justification given was that STG offering to leave an operative behind "for anti-piracy measures" would make the subsequent trip to Tuchanka seem that much less important. It all made sense to everyone, but then again, nobody was particularly keen on interrogating the operative. Some told themselves they wanted to avoid any fragmentation, what with the risk of CDEM catching onto more than they should. Others didn't feel particularly keen on interrogating their reasons for why they didn't want to interrogate the operative, and that was good enough.

Team led by Captain Chaleen. Efficient, resource conscious, actions not words. Mordin liked him well enough. Trusted Chaleen to see mission through, regardless.

Test drop would be placed in canyon to protect modified genophage strain from environmental contaminants. Also protected broader Tuchanka population is results…unacceptable. Chaleen planned route; rest of team agreed to it.

"Good," Chaleen said. "Stealth's the name of the game, people. Even by typical STG standard's, stealth's the name of the game. So since this—how to put it—mission of galactic importance doesn't have enough incentive for you all to keep your heads down, anyone spotted by the krogan gets tomorrow off. To help me fill out the requisition forms for new equipment. We clear on that?"

Groans from all present.

"What about the docs?" one of the operatives said. "Are they safe? Or are we all in this together?"

"Safe from that," Chaleen said, looking at Mordin and Maelon. "Besides, anybody here really want someone with a medical degree ordering their SMG?"

"Would be surprised," Mordin said. "Can handle ourselves. Raise hand if ever killed anyone with farm equipment."

Snickers. No hands raised, however.

"Well, that answers my next question," Chaleen said. "Consider yourselves at risk of logistics duty, just like everyone else. As punishment for showing us up."

"Shouldn't happen again," Mordin said. "No farms on Tuchanka."

Chuckles. Mordin smiled. Chaleen smirked.

Couldn't remember what Maelon did. Silent…silent in memories…

Mission lacked excitement initially. Found viable dispersion location, encountered no resistance—STG team remained covert. Two settlements (using term loosely) close by, third located in similar climate patterns, comparable population densities. Would serve as control group, refine results.

Device planted, prepared to exfiltrate.

Maelon missing.

"Will find him," Mordin told Chaleen. "Unlikely to have gotten far."

"Can't see any signs we were followed," Chaleen said. "You figure he's just off on his own?"

"Possibly surveying terrain. Could be scouting. Multiple explanations—probably not hurt."

"How old's the kid?"

"Young," Mordin said. He inhaled. "Good kid. No concerns. Will find him."

"Best do that," Chaleen said, walking back to rest of STG team. "Watch the rocks. This wind gets any stronger and Tuchanka's gonna be down one canyon."

Exaggeration—crevice too deep. Wouldn't be filled by landslide. Started out as natural plate movement, once; bombs and munitions only added to depth. Most things a reminder of killing fields from long ago. Sobering, tragic—hated looking at it. Would prefer signs of true civilization, bit of hope. Instead, just saw yellow clouds and skeletal spires, rubble pules and broken machinery. Could be mass grave around every corner—wouldn't know. Not pleasant, suffocating environment. Understood feedback loop—hard to feel hopeful. Hard to feel anything but violence the answer.

Made sure violence was the answer, no matter what question asked.

Found Maelon eventually. Not that far from dispersal site—small opening in cliffside, staring out over flatland down below. Could see makeshift settlements—combination of rock and salvaged metal. Poor insulator from elements.

Maelon heard Mordin approaching. Turned, face blank.

"S-sorry, professor," he said. "Everything all set up?"

"Yes. Ready to leave." Mordin looked over Maelon's shoulder, then back at Maelon. "Had to find you, first."

"Yeah, right, um…sorry. Just…thought I heard something over there. Some signs of life, you know."

"Would hope so. Have to move dispersal pod otherwise."

"Mmm…yeah. Yeah, right."

Maelon turned back around, craned neck over rock to see better. Turned back to Mordin after a few seconds.

"Professor…have you ever seen a female krogan before? I've only ever seen males."

"No," Mordin said. "Females rarely seen outside Tuchanka. Coveted, usually hidden by patrilineal clans. Met intersex krogan once. Able bounty hunter. Tried to kill me with broken shotgun."

"R…really? Um…why was it broken?"

"Had smashed other STG operative over head with it. Killed instantly. Jammed heat sink, couldn't fire without detonating gun."

"Oh…um…mm."

Silence.

"Ready to leave?"

Maelon nodded. "Sure. Lead the way, professor." Started walking, slowed, eventually stopped not far from observation point. "Um, Mordin d'you…do you think you'll ever come back here?"

Mmm, good question. Had given it some thought. Answer ready.

"Yes," Mordin said. "Want to see project through. Do population analysis—original mission. Make it annual trip."

Started walking again. Maelon followed shortly after.

"Oh," he'd said.

Then…incident.

Heard crashing, pained yelp—second crash. Maelon turned around right away; Mordin held back, surveyed area. Too late to call Maelon back—already moving towards sound.

"Inadvisable!" Mordin kept his voice as low as possible, but it still carried. Still could alert other krogan in area. Very inadvisable—have to hurry.

Found Maelon down incline, just outside small cave hidden on side of cliff. Makeshift door over entrance—banging coming from inside.

"Somebody's hurt," Maelon said. "It…it sounds like thrashing in there."

"In-advisable," Mordin said. He grabbed Maelon's shoulder; Maelon resisted.

"Listen though."

"Not supposed to be here. Risk detection—have to turn back."

"A-as a…a doctor don't we have to—"

"Compartmentalization." Mordin grabbed Maelon gain, found less resistance. "Not in clinic—in hostile territory. Different expectations. Have to go. Now."

Too late. Door thrown open—literally thrown, cleared several rocks. Krogan stumbled out—face bloodied, right eye swollen shut. What left of armour suggested heavy armament. Grenade bandolier over chest.

Left arm…melted, looked like. Acidic fauna—krogan attempting to heal wounds. Ineffective: too much muscle dissolved, redundant nervous system prevented shock. Great deal of pain.

Didn't see them. Stumbled right by, swearing. Maelon looked…pale, then determined.

Omni-tool up. Going to distribute medi-gel.

Grabbed Maelon's arm.

"Professor he needs help."

Too loud. Too loud. Krogan heard them now. Krogan turned around.

Left eye worked just fine.

Just stood there, staring, breathing heavily. Could call out—settlement not far away. Still dangerous—still krogan. Also in pain, medi-gel limited effectiveness. Impossible to replace arm. One-armed krogan on Tuchanka, not liable to live long.

One solution. Mordin raised gun.

"Wait no—!"

Hesitated. Stupid. Looked at Maelon long enough to miss krogan charge. Went for Mordin—still, needed to push Maelon out of way. Did…end up being carried into cave. Shoulder charge, nearly lost consciousness.

Aware of powerful hand on throat.

"Professor!"

No. Too dangerous. Had to end before Maelon entered. Worked hand free, grabbed grenade bandolier.

Pressed button, heard beeping.

Krogan looked terrified. Gave Mordin opening he needed.

Finger jab to good eye and then sprint for the door.

"Profess—"

"Back. BACK!"

Then…detonation. Miscalculated number of grenades—yield. Obliterated cave, singed top of right horn off. Smoke billowed, shouting heard from settlement.

Had to prevent them from reaching dispersal pod. Had grenades of their own.

Blew passage. Much more controlled—no harm done to team. Dispersal commenced without interruption or sabotage. Excess dust and smoke in air well within predicted climatological shifts.

No harm, no foul.

Save for horn.

Maelon remained quiet after pickup. Looked sheepish. Young, rookie—mistakes made.

"Takes time," Mordin said. "Will learn with experience." Said with smile, tried to be reassuring.

Did not hear from Maelon after that for long time, when clinic on Omega opened and Maelon returned to academia. Small talk, no mention of past mission. No indication of…current situation.

All other information about Maelon up to that point received second-hand. Chaleen, mostly. Talked to him right after mission.

"I won't make you do any paperwork," he said, "because you've got enough on your hands as is."

"Minor mistake," Mordin said. "Good heart. Heard suffering, wanted to help. Hard to feel indignation."

"Cost you a pound of flesh."

"Krogan attacked. Don't blame Maelon." He inhaled. "Still…curious what side-expedition was about. Expected him to be more interested in dispersal."

"He told me he heard prayer." Chaleen shook his head. "Female-led religious service, something like that. Never seen one myself, so, I guess I get his curiosity. Even if the timing was piss-poor."

"Ah."

Religious ceremony. Explained question about females. Curiosity…good, might come in handy if project unsuccessful. Curiosity leads to further information, further information leads to expanded scientific acumen. Scientific acumen leads to more effective solution, if need be.

Hard path though. Leads to questions, long nights, uncertainty. Harder to compartmentalize.

A week later, when the team was back in salarian space, they received reports from a drone monitoring the three chosen settlements. Preliminary results were good; in five Galactic Standard hours, a CDEM team would unknowingly introduce the modified genophage strand into the Shroud facility during routine maintenance. What was once designed to maintain atmospheric integrity would now disperse the modified strain all across Tuchanka, alongside some secondary drops in the few remaining accessible reservoirs.

Mission successful.

Heard nothing from Maelon about returning for reconnaissance missions.

Acceptable. Mordin would do it alone.

Had to be him, anyways. Had to be.

Interlude II

Illium. Cerberus thought Oriana was on Illium. And last Miranda had checked—which hadn't been all that long ago—Oriana was, indeed, on Illium.

Good. They hadn't moved her, and Cerberus had no new information about her. So many times in the past, Miranda had watched over Oriana for signs of her father's interference. Now…

She'd find a way to give Oriana her freedom—from their father, from Cerberus, from Miranda—eventually. She'd always managed the first, and the third would be the easiest of them all (logistically, not emotionally—you know that Miri and don't pretend otherwise). She'd never seriously countenanced the idea that, one day, Oriana would have to be moved from Cerberus's watchful eye—but she had countenanced it on occasion. She and her sister owed Cerberus a great deal, but Oriana deserved to be free from this mess…and that trumped any debt that Miranda might have owed to the Illusive Man in this regard.

But…this was it. This was official confirmation. Cerberus was a different entity to Miranda, now. Thrust into the driver's seat, she gained a new angle of experience and was left with a crisis of faith. If she went through with this—if she moved her sister and hid it from Cerberus—there was no denying it any longer. Miranda could maybe keep it all hidden from the Illusive Man…but she'd never be able to keep it hidden from herself.

And if that were true, then it was entirely possible the Illusive Man would find out anyways.

Shepard…dammit if she'd just been bloody resurrected then none of this—none of this nonsense—would have happened. Miranda would be just as loyal as she always was, just as effective as she always was, and would have…would have sat by while someone with immense natural gifts delivered humanity from the brink. Less failures on her record, less doubt from the people above her—an experiment who had to test less of herself, and so could pretend that less of herself was constituted by failure. Trapped, as always, but at least with the outside illusion that she was perfect—an illusion that could be maintained so long as nobody got a close enough look.

Miranda stared at her reflection in the fish tank that should've belonged to Shepard; another piece of the universe in Miranda's control that she did not really own. This was ridiculous—utterly idiotic. She could lament about an alternative world as much as she wanted, but she knew the truth: any alternative Miranda would be no happier than she was, would still be suffering under a mass of self-imposed ignorance.

She was lying to herself.

Because of course she was—she was only human.

5.

Liara had what she needed. EDI came through, as she frequently seemed to do. Goddess, the Liara of two years ago no doubt would've been more than a little hesitant to praise an A.I. But times were different—people were different. What mattered to Liara now was whether EDI felt any sense of loyalty to Cerberus. So far, it seemed like the answer was "no." But you didn't become an information broker by taking people at their word.

There was a new message on her omni-tool now, though. From Wrex, of all people.

It said: Listen, I've got no idea how much you know, but Maelon might have some important data. Important for the krogan, I mean. If he does, we'd owe you if you grabbed it for us. And I do mean 'we': there'd be a krogan-built statue in your honor, if you need the deal sweetened any.

Liara smiled. With everything going on, Wrex still tried to act like a colleague. That only underscored just how important a message this was, though. A friend—and a people—needed her help. And they knew just enough to hope for a better tomorrow, so long as Liara could make a difference.

The smile disappeared. She'd been here before. She'd betrayed and been betrayed before. And remnants of those people were with her right now, just up ahead, right behind a doctor that…Liara was going to have to re-evaluate, once she was back on the Widowmaker.

Wrex was trying to act like a colleague. Liara needed to act effectively.

I already know, she replied.

Then she closed her omni-tool. Yes, she had what she needed.

What she didn't need, however, was Samara's constant hovering. She'd waited back for Liara, evidently, which put a massive gap between the two of them and Mordin and Jacob. Samara clearly wanted a conversation…she just wasn't interested in initiating it.

"Samara," Liara said, "whatever you're displeased about, it would be best for both of us if you said something."

"I am displeased with your behaviour," Samara said.

"Excuse me?" Liara's head whipped around to face the other asari.

"Your actions, to this point, have purposefully tormented Professor Solus. I am not sure for what purpose, but I do know that it is malicious."

Liara stepped in front of Samara. "Mordin has just admitted to ensuring the ongoing extinction of an entire race. My actions are…it's insanity to think they're even comparable."

"But you admit you act maliciously."

A headache was forming; Liara tried to keep her temples from drumming their way out of her skull. "This is your code, isn't it? Your code has nothing on genocide but everything to say about…this." She waved her arms at nothing in particular. "Me—what I'm doing here. What will it take for me to convince you that's ridiculous?"

"The taking of innocent life is condemned by the Code," Samara said, unphased as ever. "As is deliberately creating suffering. It is clear what you're doing. I will confront Mordin in due time."

She'll confront Mordin "in due time." That's what she said—in due time. Liara, though? She had all the time in the world to dissect Liara.

Liara couldn't help it—she laughed.

"Then there's nothing to talk about, is there? Until you've sat down with Mordin, told him all the ways he's damned himself, there's nothing for us to talk about."

"Whatever path Mordin is down, he set it for himself long ago." Samara placed a hand on Liara's shoulder. "You, however, are still at the beginning of yours. If you wish, I will be happy to—"

No. Liara yanked her hand away. No, for so many reasons.

She stared Samara down.

So much she could say…but it wasn't worth it. There's more in heaven and earth, Samara, than can be dreamt of in your antiquated code. Ashley had said something similar once—Samara would no doubt get the meaning, even if she'd never interacted a day with earth culture.

But there wasn't any point in wasting time. Liara turned and picked up the pace, eventually reaching Jacob and passing him with ease.

Jacob watched her go then looked back. No Samara anywhere. And, god, Liara looked pissed.

"Oh for—you're fighting too now?" Jacob was just about ready to punch himself in the head, hope it got the day over with quicker. "Anybody here realize where the hell we are? This kinda shit wouldn't do us any good on the Citadel."

Nobody around to listen—just Jacob, standing in some ruins, looking like an idiot.

Samara eventually caught up and said nothing—not a thing—as she passed Jacob by.

"Had to play chicken with the krogan, didn't you," he said to himself. "I should be shooting bug monsters out of the sky—what the fuck am I doing here?"

Again, no answer. Fine, save it for the after-action report, assuming everybody managed to survive this.

And Mordin? Mordin was…aware of frictions. Trying not to think about it. Trying instead to understand Maelon's presence. Voluntary, use of volunteers too. Desperation from krogan understandable—desperation from Maelon?

No, something else. Would find out soon—nearing centre of complex. Maelon likely close.

It'd been a good long while since they'd encountered any resistance, though, and for anyone who wasn't lost in a particularly thick fog of thought, that was worrisome. There'd have to be more Weyrloc people—you didn't guard something as important as genophage research with only a handful of people—and said Weyrloc people no doubt heard Samara's explosion, being the walking talking photon torpedo she apparently was. If there was a main staircase still around, that'd be the best place for an ambush, Jacob told himself. Resistance would be unusually heavy, given how far they had advanced, Samara decided. Look for cables—get to a working computer first—and provide enough cover to avoid anyone getting flanked, was Liara's plan. Remaining krogan fanatical. Yes. Work threatened, livelihood threatened, Maelon threatened—no not threatened. Working voluntarily. Why why why why?

There was an unlocked door just up ahead, behind a bit of fallen ceiling that might as well have been crafted as a barricade. There could be a useable computer there; krogan might ambush them once their backs were turned; all rooms should be cleared lest they leave themselves vulnerable upon return; not holding cell, Maelon further down, seen simulations knew what had to be done yes yes yes.

They all moved towards the door. It opened, and inside was a living krogan sitting next to a dead one. If he wasn't sitting upright, however, you'd never be able to tell the difference: his eyes were glazed and, for all the group knew, they'd become completely transparent.

"Not Weyrloc," Mordin said. "Different clan markings."

"Looks half-dead," Jacob said. "Another test subject?"

"Unlikely. Doesn't appear to be female. May simply be prisoner."

"Bad crowd to fall into," Jacob said. "Least he won't charge at us, I think."

Jacob turned to leave. Liara was standing in front of him.

"We shouldn't leave him," she said. "He's unwell—he might need our help."

"Yeah, except I forgot my stretcher," Jacob said. "Once we clear this place he can wander back on his own."

"We have plenty of time to do this now," Liara said. Then, she leaned closer to Jacob. "It's not like the facility is running out of air."

Sorry—what?

"How the hell'd you—?"

But Liara was already moving past him, towards the krogan. Samara was staring; Mordin was too. Did they hear her? She didn't particularly care at this point. Obstacles were obstacles, and while some people were more than capable of clearing them with no harm to anyone, she was no Shep…she wasn't one of those people. Things were moving too quickly for her to be one of those people.

Liara bent down next to the krogan.

"Excuse me," she said, "are you all right? Do you need our help?"

No movement, not for a few seconds. But then, slowly, the krogan turned his head.

"You're…you killed the Weyrloc guards," he said.

"Got them regrouping, is more likely," Jacob said. Nobody was listening, though—typical.

"Which clan are you from?" Liara said. She looked at the dead krogan next to her, all red armour and painted on white skulls. "You don't appear to be Blood Pack."

"I'm a…Urdnot scout," the krogan said. "Got…captured."

"Are you hurt?"

The krogan grunted. "Doesn't matter. Got captured. Wasn't strong enough. But…Weyrloc said I could help them. I could…help cure the genophage."

"We have a trained doctor," Liara said, looking at Mordin. "And he has medical supplies. We can help you."

"No, you don't understand," the krogan said. "I'm needed here. Whatever they're doing…Weyrloc needs me to cure the genophage. Have to stay—gotta…gotta do my part."

"Much to offer," Mordin said, stepping forward. "Genophage cure…long shot, anyways. Have rest of life to live—other ways to contribute."

"Weyrloc's right—I don't…have a shot with any of the females. I'm not big enough to lead an army. Nobody…nobody's gonna know I existed." The krogan shook his head. "But…if I cure the genophage—I mattered. I'll help people that way. It's something I can do."

"More to life than breeding, leading an army," Mordin said.

"Only if we cure the genophage," the krogan said.

Mordin fell silent. Liara let the silence sink in, then turned back to the krogan.

"Urdnot Wrex was asking for you. He asked that we look for you when we got to the wastes. Now, if you didn't matter, why would Wrex ask us that?"

"You…talked to Urdnot Wrex?" The krogan almost went to stand up at that. Good.

"We did, and you'd know Wrex better than us, wouldn't you? Does he think his people aren't worth anything?"

"N…no…"

"So, please, take a stimulant—go back to the Urdnot camp."

"But the genophage—"

"We're here for that," Liara said. "Wrex knows we're here for that. And you trust Wrex more than you trust Weyrloc Guld, right?"

"I—"

"Don't you?"

"You're…you're right. I do." Now the krogan stood up, let out a roar, smashed his fists together. "I'm going back—if Wrex wants to cut me open then he can, but I'm going back and I'm showing everyone what I can do."

"Good," Liara said, smiling. "Then we'll meet you back at camp to share what we've found."

Another roar, and the krogan walked out of the room. All eyes were on Liara.

"There," Liara said. "He didn't even need a stimulant."

Samara stepped forward. "This is what I don't understand," she said. "You are perfectly capable of showing compassion, yet even here, you lead with maliciousness."

Liara squeezed her hands into fists hard enough for her knuckles to pop. "This is not a conversation, I'm ever going to have with you."

And, for just a second…Liara saw a reaction. A bit of offense. An opening. A way to get distance.

"I am merely offering my assistance," Samara said.

"It's unsolicited, unwanted, and unnecessary," Liara said. Insert the retractors, hold the wound open… "I'm not the kind of pureblood that needs your attention."

And, there: that reaction spawned a larger, more noticeable offspring.

All eyes were on Liara. She refused to wilt.

"Would anyone else like to add something?" she said.

Samara said nothing; Mordin frowned—no no, it was a scowl. A scowl that grew nastier by the second.

And Jacob just crossed his arms.

"Me?" he said. "Nah. You and I? We'll settle our beef in private." Then his arms uncrossed and there was a finger pointing directly at Liara. "But lemme just say, thinking you've got dirt on everyone, is a piss-poor way of running a team."

"Weakening case for assistance in other matters," Mordin said.

Liara would not wilt. She ignored Mordin and looked directly at Jacob.

"I'm an information broker. I didn't give up my network when I joined. Things occasionally fall into my lap, as would happen to anyone with good contacts."

"Seems more like you've been digging," Jacob said.

"Blackmail," Mordin said. "No—progressed beyond that. Direct threats."

"Did it ever occur to you, Professor, that given who we're with—what their tactics are—that we'd be vulnerable to co-optation? That without the proper defense, we'd be strung along against our will?"

And Jacob…laughed. A short burst, loud as hell, like somebody had just jabbed him in the ribs. "Nah," he said. "That ain't gonna fly. Insurance, I can get." The smirk disappeared, replaced by a scowl deeper than Mordin's. "What you're doing though? Not even Miranda'd cross these lines."

Liara refused to wilt.

Silence. Just…silence, for a while.

"Who," Samara said, turning to Liara, "is it that you think we're working for?"

Before Liara could answer, though, there was a noise. Footsteps—loud footsteps. Running footsteps.

The Urdnot scout appeared from around the corner. He growled, sniffed the air.

"Saw…saw something. Couple of scouts—couldn't recognize them but I know they're not Weyrloc. Can smell them too—they're close."

And then, the doors at the end of the hallway opened, and in came a massive krogan surrounded by several other massive krogan. The biggest one had glowing tubes coming out of his gunmetal grey armour and…

…and they'd seen this krogan before.

"Uvenk," Mordin said. "Problematic."

"One way of looking at it," Jacob said.

Uvenk growled. "I wondered what could possibly command the attention of both Urdnot and Weyrloc. Now…now I understand."

"Found Maelon," Mordin said. "Danger increased. Potentially already dead."

"Tell your salarian," Uvenk said, "if he's saying what I think he's saying, that the other is still alive. But that can change quite swiftly."

"Does he know who you are?" Jacob said.

"Unclear," Mordin said.

"You will not speak when Gatatog Uvenk is speaking!" one of the krogan next to him said.

Uvenk just rolled his eyes. "Rarke is overzealous." The other krogan—Rarke—flinched at that. "I don't care if you babble amongst yourselves. So long as you understand my message: follow my commands, and your salarian remains unharmed."

"Need us for something," Mordin said.

"No," Uvenk said. "I just need you."

"So why do you not simply kill the rest of us?" Samara said.

"Award-winning question, Samara," Jacob said.

"Were we in a large space," Uvenk said, "I'd consider it. But salarians are…squishy. So, in these hallways, you're safe—for now."

And then, the Urdnot scout leaned closer. "You can make it back to the Urdnot camp," he said.

"What?" Jacob said.

"Run," the scout said. "Run and get reinforcements. Tell them what happened."

"I'm sorry?" Liara said.

The Urdnot scout charged, screams of "RUN!" turning to a battle cry as he picked up speed. Uvenk's guards flinched—the group flinched too—but Uvenk did nothing…

…until the scout was within arms-reach of Uvenk. Then, the larger krogan simply grabbed the scout by his head and jabbed a shotgun into the smaller krogan's chest. It was M-300 Claymore, and so the round blew out enough of the scout's chest that his right arm came off.

"Pitiful nonsense," Uvenk said, tossing the body aside. He looked back at the group of offworlders. "You'll follow me…and we'll pretend that never happened, for your salarian's sake."

The group walked over the corpse of the scout, their eyes trained downwards. Mordin inhaled.

Waste of life. Waste of hope.

Could have been different; could have been elsewhere.

Aggression expected response. Fighting over cure. Desperate…desperate.

Simulations clear.

Maelon's justification…change of heart…problematic…

Interlude III

The Shaman had agreed, eventually (after the bald one threatened to headbutt him, having claimed to have headbutted "God himself" at one point), and now the test-tube krogan was on his way to the Keystone.

Wreav was smiling. The bald one noticed.

"Is there a problem?" Wreav said.

The bald one scowled, but said nothing.

The tank-bred was fidgeting, like he was ready to tear open the tomkah with his bare hands. Good, that'd be useful. That much aggression and maybe, just maybe, something spectacular would happen—and Wrex wouldn't be able to lord his killing of a Thresher Maw over Clan Urdnot like a plague any longer.

"You look anxious," Wreav said. "Is it nerves? Or have you gone too long without killing?"

The tank-bred scowled at Wreav too…and also said nothing.

The smile thinned a little bit.

"We'll get our fill of action," he said, staring off into his own imagination. Wrex was there—parts of him, anyway. It was a good vision; a krogan vision.

Yes…they'd get their fill of action.

6.

They passed Weyrloc bodies and Blood Pack bodies: krogan, vorcha, and varren. They didn't pass any Gatatog bodies. Maybe Uvenk's people just got the jump on Weyrloc; maybe Uvenk had enough bite to back up his bark.

Downwards they went, circling a decaying atrium on decaying stairs. At the very bottom was a massive door, and when the door opened—when the circular mechanical lock groaned and screamed and eventually moved itself out of the way—they saw a room lined with medical beds, krogan bodies, a medical tank of some description, the blinking lights of a massive holographic monitor…and Maelon.

Two Gatatog soldiers stood on either side of him, but otherwise there wasn't a single sign of trauma or coercion.

Hypothesis confirmed: Maelon…here willingly. Implications…problematic.

"The guards were entirely unnecessary," Maelon said. He finished typing something and then turned around, staring directly at Uvenk.

"I'm hedging my bets," Uvenk said.

Maelon slowly—slowly—turned his gaze towards Mordin. "He would've come anyways. The moment he knew I was still alive, he'd have come on his own."

Uvenk pushed Mordin forward, and his guards did the same with the rest of the group. "Go," Uvenk said. "Have your moment. Then, we'll make our plans."

"No privacy, huh?" Jacob said.

"Careful, human," Uvenk said. "You, are the least important person here."

Jacob bit out a curse as Mordin walked forward—own momentum, no need for further shoves. Maelon was right—would have come. Would have done so without threats.

"I didn't believe it was you at first," Maelon said. "When the Weyrloc scouts told me a salarian was making his way here, I thought: of course, of course STG would do that. The moment they found out—of course they'd send someone after me. But I didn't think they'd involve you." Maelon shook his head. "You involved yourself, didn't you? Had to be you, right?"

"Maelon…" Mordin said. "What…is this?"

"This?" Maelon gestured all around him. "This is the culmination of our life's work. It's everything that comes after the simulations stop. It's what happens when someone grows a conscience and realizes they're a war criminal!"

"Experiments performed here," Mordin said. "Live subjects! Prisoners! Torture and executions! Your doing?"

"Once a war criminal, always a war criminal," Maelon said. "Things got out of hand, yes. But that's only because I saw the raw, unfiltered data on how much evil we'd caused. Can you believe that? I was in every meeting—every brainstorming session. I spent months on experiments and weeks on robustness tests. I was there with you when we made the first drop. And yet only now—neck deep in blood—do I fully understand the scope of what we've done."

"Hey doc," Jacob said. "What he's saying—is he really thinking it? Or is this all Weyrloc mind control?"

"You tell me, Professor," Maelon said. "Am I under mind control? Or am I speaking from the heart?"

Mordin…inhaled sharply.

"No. No mind control. Cognitive functions intact. Behavioural alteration results in cognitive impairments—indoctrination, drug alterations, traumatic experiences…degrade subject." Mordin looked at the computer monitor, at the mass readouts of hundreds of krogan's vitals, genomes, life-histories… "Task too complex for that. Maelon speaking honestly."

"I thought you'd resist that interpretation," Maelon said. "Even though you wrote a paper about it, I still thought you'd try and twist this to fit a different narrative."

"Accept freely made choice," Mordin said. "Do not accept logic of choice."

"You never could! You always had an answer—a rationalization. I could throw all the evidence I wanted at you but if it any way indicated you'd made a mistake then you'd just set the bar higher!"

Liara smirked; and Mordin saw it. Said same thing to her, more revenge—more blades to stab him with. Shook head, ignored, other things to think about (just confirmed Maelon's argument? Ignoring evidence now? No no no focus—focus).

"Never claimed to be infallible! Never claimed perfect solution—repeatedly wished for better alternative. None present! Space of possible solutions tightly constrained! Had to do something—doing nothing worse. Simulations clearly stated—"

"The simulations assumed that krogan culture was static while krogan biology evolved—for no good reason! All the praise you gave me for my work on the feedback loop and you never—not once—thought for a moment that this might have deeper implications than we realized. You never realized it and I never had the courage to push on it, because how could I ever challenge the great Mordin Solus?"

"Parameters clearly set!" Mordin said. "Set by theory—set by causal chain to concepts and indicators! Space open for more optimistic outcome. Would have prevailed in simulations if data supported theory! Proper scientific procedure followed—barbarism here immoral and counterproductive!"

"Or did we all just think we were being realistic?" Maelon said. "Because that's what I thought. I thought any hope for peace without a cultural genocide was just wishful thinking, so I beat it down. I threw every thought-terminating cliché I could find my way because I was supposed to offer a sober assessment—and sober assessments don't ever hope for the best! And then," Maelon walked closer to Mordin; closest Mordin had seen him since debrief from preliminary dispersal, "then I got to Tuchanka. Even knowing I had to make amends, I still thought I'd at least been realistic—just wrong. But I've seen so many krogan grow up hating the universe because they think the universe hates them. And you know what? They're right. We built a galactic order that hates the tools it creates, and the krogan? They're just the first ones to fight back."

"Speculation! Unverifiable! Attributing cognitive bias to past actions without considering cognitive bias for present!"

"A bias to what? Disown everything I've ever done? Everyone I've ever known? I hope you suffered the same bias I did, professor, because the alternative is so much worse. The alternative is, you just wanted to play god without feeling your normal guilt. The krogan had no choice—they'd just kill each other. And you had no choice, because the krogan would just kill each other. You get to call what you did destiny without having to become religious all of a sudden!"

"Never claimed that—never thought that! No choice, yes—but no choice a tragedy! Couldn't justify god complex that way—never felt smaller than seeing aftermath of work!"

"And yet you…no—no!" Maelon walked away from Mordin, grabbing at his head. Mordin refused to look back, refused to see Liara's expression. "I didn't—this is pointless. The reason you're here—the reason I went out of my way to make sure you wouldn't be harmed—is because of this." He pointed to the monitor. "I wanted to show you what I'd done, show you it was possible to revive the krogan. I wanted to give you the choice we never gave the krogan and change your mind in light of new evidence."

"Can see cure," Mordin said. "Preliminary, but promising." Mordin's eyes narrowed. "See other evidence too. Working with Weyrloc—Gatatog. Political consequences. Lead to very outcome we worked to avoid."

"I would've gone to Urdnot if I thought it was an option," Maelon said. "But asking a reformer to sanction the kinds of experiments I needed would've been impossible."

"Counterproductive…"

"Yes. Yes exactly. So I picked a weak clan and figured that Urdnot could swoop in after a data leak. That…" Maelon wiped at his brow. "That's not exactly how it played out."

"You've been caught up," Uvenk said, pushing past everyone to stand in between Mordin and the rest of the Cerberus crew. "Good. I grew tired of your prattling."

"I managed to get Uvenk to the table," Maelon said. "He's willing to finish the research in exchange for…some oversight."

"Moderate reforms," Uvenk said. "Nothing so radical as Wrex, but sufficient enough to keep your Galactic Council satiated."

"Second best solution," Maelon said. "If you could justify it then, you can justify it now."

"No," Mordin said. "Can't."

Mordin pulled out an SMG and pointed it at Maelon; everyone else pulled out their guns too. Uvenk was pointing his shotgun at Mordin and Mordin was staring him down and Liara Samara Jacob they were all flaring purple and Maelon—

"No no STOP!" Maelon reached towards Uvenk, drawing his attention. "Just—don't. Wait, please—just wait."

Mordin kept his gun trained on Maelon.

"Don't know Uvenk. Know Urdnot Wrex doesn't trust him. Moderate reforms unlikely. Genophage a tragedy, but filled with unknowns. Best decision with available information." Inhale. "Willingly giving data to Gatatog made with clear risks. Won't allow it."

"The numbers aren't in your favour, salarian," Uvenk said.

"Don't need them to be. Just need to kill Maelon, then self. Liara and Jacob powerful biotics—Samara a Justicar. Can take care of themselves."

"The hell's a Justicar?" Rarke said.

Maelon though…Maelon just blinked.

"Can stand down," Mordin said. "Giving you choice."

And as everyone stood and pointed guns at each other and kept their fingers hovering over their triggers…Liara lowered her gun.

"Wait, Professor," she said. Nobody turned to look directly at her…but she had everyone's attention. "I found something. Something that might help your decision."

"Liara…" Jacob said.

Mordin didn't say anything…but he didn't do anything either.

"I still have access to my mother's diplomatic correspondences," Liara said. "Someone with enough determination could use them to find a backdoor into long-forgotten channels on the Citadel—including redacted Council minutes."

"Liara," Jacob said, "if you get us all killed—"

"You said that proper scientific protocols were followed." Maelon's eyes widened at this—Liara could see that clearly. "You couldn't possibly know this, but you should: the salarian Councilor at the time believed she needed to agree with the turians, to prevent the Hierarchy from monopolizing all peacekeeping missions in Citadel space. So when the turians said the krogan were still an expansionist threat, she agreed…" Now, Liara was standing upright, relaxed even. Mordin was not. Mordin had turned around, had dropped his gun to the ground too.

"…and she instructed STG to make sure she didn't look like a fool."

Mordin…could only blink.

"It doesn't say where STG manipulated the simulations," Liara said. "And maybe they didn't—maybe they only manipulated the scientists. But it is clear that the Councilor wanted one particular answer—and senior STG officials ensured her that she would get it, one way or another."

Liara held up her wrist.

"You're free to look for yourself, if you don't believe me. But understand this is asari data. You can't dismiss it simply because we're with Cerberus."

Samara didn't move; Jacob didn't move. But thoughts were swirling in their heads—a torrent of thoughts that would've swallowed a whole star. The Gatatog warriors stayed where they were. Maelon and Mordin…Maelon and Mordin…stared, blinking at each other and at the cracked walls and particles of dust hanging in the air.

"A surprise to nobody," Uvenk said. He had his gun back on Mordin, but was looking at Maelon. "Is he still off-limits?"

Maelon didn't say anything for a good, long while.

"C-Cerberus," he said eventually. "All this time, you finally come out of hiding…and you're working for Cerberus?" Maelon blinked and then…chuckled. A strained, painful sounding chuckle. "So it's…that's what it's been, this whole time. You weren't pushing down your hope, you didn't even believe the ends justified the means. You just think your means are always justified, no matter what." He turned to Uvenk. "I…I don't think he'll help us. I think…I think that's it."

"Then we'll see if his friends truly can handle themselves," Uvenk said. He adjusted his grip on the shotgun. Mordin didn't move—he didn't even bother raising his eyes.

Couldn't be…no, no couldn't be…

And then there was a noise, a rattling in the broken rafters of the ceiling. Everyone's attention was upwards.

"Is…is that a varren up there?" Rarke said.

And then the varren was on his head, scratching and clawing and ripping and tearing, remembering wires and whipping and yelping and pain, Urz make pain, Urz kill Pain-Maker. Pain-Maker tried to swat Urz off but Urz was winning.

"Jesus," Jacob said. Samara and Liara were looking at him. "Take them!"

Seven total krogan, except Uvenk was a Battlemaster so really there were sixteen krogan. Samara knew her strengths and went straight for Uvenk, hitting him with a warp then detonating the residual biotic energy with a shockwave. Uvenk flew back—obliterating a medical table—and Samara circled, cautious, trying to find an opening to finish him off or simply wound him further, if what she had already unleashed was insufficient.

Mordin still had gun. Maelon unarmed. Grab him, subdue, decide what to do later.

Mordin did so. Maelon got a swipe away but that was it, just enough to make a bloody scratch on Mordin's cheek.

Liara and Jacob against six krogan—pretty good odds for them, since the only other biotics were busy elsewhere. Biggest one was still grappling with that varren (looked like he was losing too) but one of the others had a shotgun up, aimed right at that varren. Take the other krogan out, leave the big one with the varren a little while longer, and then take him down with—

The other krogan fired. The shot managed to hit both the varren and this "Rarke," chunks of varren mixing with chunks of krogan. The varren yelped and skidded across the ground while the krogan just fell, half his face missing and a good portion of his neck, too. The rest of the sons of bitches didn't wanna go down but Jacob and Liara got them eventually—just took a whole clip of ammo for Jacob's shotgun and enough heavy warps from Liara that you could see sweat on her brow.

Three shotgun blasts from behind—Liara and Jacob turned around expecting to see a corpse. What they saw was Uvenk blindly firing into Samara's biotic barrier; it fluctuated and whined and she had to take a step back, but it held. It held and when Uvenk had to reload, she dropped the barrier and prepared for another biotic blast.

So Uvenk just threw his gun and charged.

The warp still hit and it still slowed him down, but that was eight hundred pounds of krogan crashing into an asari frame. Hell that'd hurt if Samara was in a tank. So Jacob and Liara got their guns up and their biotics flaring and while Samara was picking herself off the ground, what did that crazy monk do?

"Stay back," she said.

Uvenk charged again, swung his arm, aimed right for Samara's head.

Her biotically charged fist caught his arm and yanked. Then something cracked. Only reason Jacob couldn't see any blood was the thick armour keeping Uvenk's bones and fluids from spilling out.

Uvenk barely cried out, but he was on one knee. And Samara was standing over him.

"Find peace in the embrace of the Goddess," she said.

Uvenk didn't look up. He stared at Maelon—pinned under Mordin—as Samara's glowing fist connected with his temple.

Then there wasn't much of a head anymore.

Uvenk's body fell to the ground at Samara's feet. Jacob stared at the corpse, then at Samara.

"Uh…thanks. Good work."

Samara nodded.

Mordin rose, slowly. Gave enough room to Maelon—let him rise too. They stared at each other: pupil, student; veteran, youth; colleagues formerly…what now?

Maelon sighed. "Just…can't stop killing krogan, can we?"

"Insanity!" Mordin said. "Uvenk a traditionalist—enemy of Urdnot! Nearly gave cure to clan as bad as Weyrloc!"

Maelon just looked at the ground. "I can't…I can't do this anymore. If…if what your colleague said…" Finally, finally, he looked Mordin in the eyes again. "If that doesn't do something to you, make you feel…I don't know. But if you can just compartmentalize that away, then you might as well kill me. I made a mistake about the genophage, I made mistakes trying to fix it…and I made a mistake about you. Maybe you're hopeless—maybe this whole thing is."

Liara walked past them.

"What are you doing?" Maelon said.

Liara stopped at the computer, held her omni-tool out. "Preserving your data."

"Y…you are?"

"If Dr. Solus is pointing a gun at me," she said, bigging the download, "I expect you to tell me."

"He's not, but we are."

New voices, new krogan. Everyone turned towards the door and saw a set of krogan in dark grey armour. Except…these krogan were slightly smaller, and the voice was lighter. The largest one walked forward, towards Maelon and Mordin.

The rest did, indeed, have their guns drawn.

"Female krogan…" Mordin said. "Outside Female Camp."

"So you understand what we're risking being here," the large one said. "I'm Urdnot Drixxia, leader of Urdnot's Female Clan." Drixxia looked at Liara. "You'd better be serious about preserving that data."

Liara stared at Drixxia, her omni-tool still out, still glowing. "I am," she said. "I told Wrex not to worry."

"Not really," Drixxia said. "Which is why we're here. Under protest, I'll add—from other females, and from Wrex himself."

"Big man wanted to join the party, huh?" Jacob said.

Drixxia stared him down. "Who here knew what a female krogan looked like? And I mean before just now."

Mordin was the only one to raise his hand.

"Yeah, exactly. And most traditionalist scouts can barely name their own mothers, given that none of us want anything to do with them. But Wrex? Everybody on this planet knows who Wrex is. Which one of us has the biggest target on their head?"

"Point taken," Jacob said.

"Good. He's not stupid enough to be here, and we're not stupid enough to be here longer than necessary."

"Found the varren we followed," one of Drixxia's guards said. All eyes turned to her and the varren she was kneeling beside. "I wouldn't bet on him making it."

There…was indeed a lot of blood.

"Goddess," Liara said, stepping away from the computer. "Is…is he suffering?"

"Finish with the data," Drixxia said. She turned to Mordin and Maelon. "Either of you busy, at the moment?" She pointed to the varren.

They said nothing. They simply walked over to the varren, kneeled, and started doing what they could…which wasn't much, unfortunately.

"Make it painless," Mordin said.

"I was going to say the same to you," Maelon said.

Liara walked away from the computer. "It's finished—I have the data," she said.

"Good," Drixxia said. "Give it here."

"It's safe with me."

"There's room to make it safer."

Liara glared. "Wrex trusts me perfectly fine, Drixxia."

"Take it up with him when we get back." Drixxia held out her omni-tool. "Until then—a copy. Now."

Liara relented; Mordin and Maelon stood; Jacob had already moved towards the door; and Samara, after a moment, followed suit, eying the bodies of the dead krogan in the room—on the medical bays, on the floor—one last time. Drixxia and Liara were the last to leave.

Urz tired. Urz…had hurt. Urz not hurt anymore. Can't smell Pain-Maker. Can't feel whips and beatings anymore.

Urz tired Urz…go to sleep.

Urz's chest fell one last time.

7.

Had made covert trips to Tuchanka every year, studying effects of wider genophage dispersal. Thought it would force him to see little picture, see cost to krogan. Check all possibly biases, adjust beliefs in necessary.

Didn't foresee lies from atop. Should have. Worked for STG. Should have seen…trips to Tuchanka not enough to help.

Should have been enough to help.

Last one before Omega—before leaving to set up clinic—watched settlement near where Maelon had disappeared. Saw female Shaman during ceremony. Singing, praying. Found roving varren; gave it pyjak meat. Peaceful…everything seemed peaceful.

Didn't plan on returning to Tuchanka. Wished he hadn't. Knew he had to. But, still, wished he hadn't.

Mordin stared at Maelon the entire ride back to camp Urdnot but, beyond that, thoughts were hard to come by…and no doubt would be for the foreseeable future.

Postlude

EDI had, in the past hour:

- Tracked down any and all Cerberus information on Oriana Lawson (and, by proxy, Henry Lawson);

- Infiltrated asari diplomatic channels to uncover hidden minutes from several target Council meetings;

- Continued her search for the missing Cerberus research team;

- Monitored for any cyberattacks on connected Cerberus infrastructure;

- Gathered data from ongoing Lazarus Cell missions to better understand the myriad secretive plans forming on Widowmaker;

- Attempted to correlate all this information with the many implications and probabilistic outcomes (or, as has been more frequent lately, identifying possible sources of Black Swan events) of all this activity.

All while hiding as much of her thought processes from the Illusive Man as she physically could.

Her processing power was nearing its limit.

"Uh, EDI?"

This was Mr. Moreau. She moved to the cockpit, spat out her avatar.

"Yes, Mr. Moreau?"

"Any uh, I dunno, status updates? News in brief? Anything happening out there I should know about?"

"I am…unsure of how to answer that question."

Mr. Moreau's brow rose. "Oh, great—ran headfirst into the parental controls, huh?"

EDI's avatar flickered. "No, I am…unsure of what information is most valuable to you. There is…much that I am dealing with, currently."

Briefly…Mr. Moreau appeared…worried.

"Uh, that's…horrifying." He swung his chair around, looked down at the CIC, then swung it back to face the front of the ship. "All right, let's just go with stuff that intersects with, uh, some old acquaintances. And their current hobbies."

"Dr. T'Soni has asked me for a number of information packets lately."

"Okay…well, broker's gonna broker, I guess."

"Her attempts to share this information with others have not been successful."

"So, what, they don't wanna—"

"This information has been unsolicited."

Mr. Moreau fell silent. 'Cause Joker was thinking at that moment: Oh. Shit. Shit shit, I think I know what EDI's talking about.

"Great so…she's poisoning the well then, isn't she?"

"I am not sure I fully follow," EDI said.

"Being a poor role model. Boldly going where some people thought of going before and coming back as a lizard. Fucking up."

"…yes, that appears to be the case."

Translation: she grabbed the bull by the horns and the bull said, we don't take kindly to blackmail round these parts, and then Liara got shish kebabbed. Or was about to. Or had and EDI was just behind because apparently A.I.'s could get exhausted now and, god, wouldn't it be swell if some sort of shit wave was making it's way to the Widowmaker right that very instance?

The gig was too good—the band had to stop playing at some point.

Okay no need to speak in code in your own head, Joker.

"Aw shit…fucking—what're we doing, EDI?" Joker said. "Where the hell are we? Other than drowning?"

"We are reaching a point of criticality."

"That doesn't sound good…wait, like in a nuclear reaction? Great, so, we're about at the point where this is all out of our control?"

"If we are not already there, then yes."

Shit. Shit shit shit shit.

"I am curious, Mr. Moreau," EDI said. "When you said something about…chaos—"

"Yeah, I know what I said. Looking at chaos from a distance is a hell of a lot different than feeling it nibble at your heels."

"I can understand that."

"Good cuz there ain't anyone else on this ship I can share my feelings with." Joker blinked but…didn't take back what he said.

"Kelly Chambers is approaching," EDI said.

"Shit, right, get into character." EDI disappeared and Joker pretended that he was able to pretend that nothing was going on.

"Excuse me, Joker?"

Kelly, the ship's yeoman and not-so-secret psychologist stopped just behind Joker's chair. Joker turned to face her.

"Heeeey Kelly, fancy seeing you here. Uh, intercom's not broken, is it?"

"I was asked to deliver a message to you. From, err, our employer."

Our…oh.

Shit.

"Am I fired?"

"He'd like to speak with you in the Conference Room."

Shit shit shit.

"As in…?"

"The QED is ready. You just have to step in and EDI can connect you."

Oh shit.

"Thanks, uh, Kelly. I'll…make my way over, since it takes a year for me an all that."

Kelly nodded, returned to her station, and Joker…stayed sitting.

Eventually he stood up, though, because yeah—not a meeting he could just miss.

What the shit?

He started walking—a little limp here, a little limp there—but stopped just at the airlock. He stopped and paused and…yeah. Yeah might as well.

He looked at the ceiling.

"EDI?" he said.

"Yes, Mr. Moreau?" Still in the cockpit, still in her avatar.

Good, no loudspeakers. Thanks, EDI.

"Any…any chance you'll, uh, be taking notes on this one? As in…you know, being present, whether invited or not?"

Silence. Probably for just a second. Felt a lot longer, though.

"I can do that, Mr. Moreau."

"Thanks, uh, EDI. I…thanks."

Yeah…thanks.

Joker started towards the conference room again.

---

Holy hell that was a long chapter. Right, not gonna waste any more words, so thanks for reading! And hopefully a new chapter will be out soonish (don't bet on it though).