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Requested by : Laurel

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Rather than skip back up to orbit, the old, ruddy-orange colored Kodiak that picked them up shot along just a few hundred feet above Tuchanka's broken surface. The three survivors of Aralakh company sat at the back of the cabin, talking to each other animatedly. Tar was in their middle, bloodied and battered but talking like they'd come from a party rather than a battle where most of their unit had died, and some of them had lost fingers.

All of which tracked for Krogan, honestly.

John sat at the other end, in one of the two open doors. One leg was braced firmly against the decking, but the other lay along the door's edge, his armored foot just barely toeing outside. Just barely catching the start of the drag from the air as the Mass Effect field of the Kodiak ended and proper momentum took hold. It was a stupid thing to do, he knew. While even if something happened the ME fields would certainly keep him relatively stable, he could still over-correct and end up with his foot outside entirely, yanking him back with right around a hundred kilometers an hour worth of speed. Or they could fail, if they were shot, and he could fall out before he could recover. Even so… He stayed, pursing his lips and toeing the line, enjoying the wind that managed to get past the barriers and breeze across the more open parts of his armor.

"Doe." He looked up as Grunt joined him, dropping to the floor and leaning back against the partition that separated the cockpit. "Credit for your thoughts?"

John just shrugged, adjusting his loose grip on the Mattock he'd borrowed from one of the Krogan to 'keep a look-out'. "Just thinking."

"About?"

"It's nostalgic is all." He shrugged, thinking of all the very improper rides he'd taken during training, riding with the ramp of their training Pelican down and a foot hanging off the edge. Shrugging again, he said, "I'm just…"

"Tired?"

For the third time, he shrugged. But this time, he took the space to change the topic before it edged more into uncomfortable territory and asked, "Where are we headed?"

"Camp about ten more minutes out." Grunt answered, "Chieftain ordered us there to meet him and discuss another operation."

"Another?"

"Something, something, Cerberus digging in the ruins a few hundred kilometers away." Grunt shrugged, "Details are… Scarce."

"That sounds…" He pursed his lips and cocked his head the same way he'd seen Grunt do in their short time together, along with the other Krogan, and enunciated, "wonderful sounding, Grunt."

"Mhm." Grunt rumbled, "Briefing in the morning."

"And tonight…?"

"Resupply, rest, party." Grunt shrugged, "What do you normally do between runs?"

"Nap."

"There you go." Grunt shrugged again, chuffing quietly, "Simple as."

"I suppose…"

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He watched the clouds, thick and pregnant with water from evaporation sped up by plasma fire out at sea, where the planet's fisheries had been abandoned and burned. Beside him, the old ODST sucked in a long breath and rumbled, quietly, "Rook…"

"Sir." He answered, adjusting the grip on his rifle and turning to look down at the mangled man.

"You aren't…" Gage sucked in a wheezy breath, "Supposed to be here."

"I was sent to verify-"

"Earth needed you, Doe." He ground out, grabbing John by his arm and pulling him down to press their visors close together. The younger Trooper tried to pull away, but Gage held on, inhumanly strong in spite of his injuries. Injuries that bled a pool of red around him as he snarled, "Earth needed you, but where are you?"

"I-"

"Tuchanka!" Gage yelled as the sky around them darkened and Banshees howled over-head, circling like sharks who'd caught the scent of blood and were come to feast. He struggled more while Gage yelled, rising above John and shoving him into the shallow pool of blood he'd shed. "Not Earth! And what is happening to them now, while you are out here?"

"I-I…"

"And you left it twice!" Gage roared, looming over him, more shadow than mass now. "Twice, abandoned! Billions left, twice! You don't deserve to be called a soldier!" He raised a hand, hefting an energy sword, and snarled, "You don't deserve to breathe!"

He thrust it down and-

John shot up, scrambling up the wall he'd fallen asleep leaning against at the edge of the scattered, ruins-speckled Krogan camp. A few Krogan, early risers with the sun barely peeking over the edge, flicked him looks from behind visors, under armored masks and, in one case, from under a chained veil that shifted quietly a few feet away. This Krogan was thinner than the others, just barely, with sharp silver eyes that narrowed as he checked his knife and flicked looks around the camp, calming down now he was awake.

"Sorry, uh…" He shrugged as he turned to them, "Bad dream."

"I could tell." They said in a light, airy voice, gesturing at his hands with one of their own. "Your fists would not relax."

"Ah…"

"Are you alright?" They asked, straightening and coming over to stand with him to talk more quietly. When he only nodded, they leaned their head back in a Krogan display of disbelief and chuffed a laugh. "I have raised more than enough young to know bravado when I see it, even on a Human face. So I shall ask again and if you intend to retain your pride, you will at least say the answer. Are you alright?"

"I'm fine." Now, he didn't add, changing the subject before they could press the matter any harder. "My name is John."

"I know who you are, Human." They chuckled, light and airy. Gesturing around the camp, they explained, "This is one of my clan's many smaller emergency holds. I made it my business, as is tradition, to know who I admitted to the hold I keep under my personal watch."

"Just you?" He blinked, confused, "How is that safe? Wouldn't other clans take it?"

"Your understanding of Krogan goes only so far, I see." They sighed, turning and taking a seat on a piece of fallen rebar behind them. Quietly, they explained, "Male clans would war even over this little sand-shield, yes. But female clans are not so… Short sighted as to fight over every last little scrap of land."

"Female…?"

"Indeed." She inclined her head, "I am Atakan Ona. This is my camp, where I oversee relations with nearby clans to the North who wish to speak with us."

"I see…" He knew, loosely, about the female clans. But a lot of that had been locked away with the vast majority of Shepard's 'lighter' memories by Liara, and the scant rest had come from the Extranet and his readings. Quietly, he nodded his head and said, "It's, uh, a pleasure, ma'am."

"Indeed, but that isn't why I have explained this to you." She crossed her arms, "No, I explained that because this is one of several young-hides where we keep newborns during Clan wars. I know a night terror when I see one, and what it can do."

"I'm-"

"Not being judged." Ona cut him off, turning and taking a pouch from behind her waist. She held it up and said, "Krogan men adore Ryncol, but Humans cannot ingest it safely. Too powerful, it shreds the organs."

"Right…"

"This," she held the bag up, "is it's sister. Atha. Krogan take it by the tankard, to relax and avoid blood-rage. However, studies have shown that a watered down shot can have the same effect on Humans."

"Are you offering to drug me…?"

"Yes." He grunted a surprised snort and leaned back, and the Krogan shrugged. "Krogan do it all the time. It's not a sedative, even in larger doses you'd stay conscious. It's more like… A mild relaxant."

"Doing alien drugs on deployment isn't a good idea." He shook his head, shrugging after, "Besides, drugs and I don't mix."

"Ah, you have a… What do Humans call it?"

"Addictive personality?"

"Yes." She nodded, "That."

"You could say that…" Not particularly, but he was paranoid about risking it with so much at stake as he grew up. Too much was at risk to do it. And that had never changed. But that was too much to levy onto a random alien woman he'd just met, so he just shrugged and, once more, changed the topic a bit, "Personally, I prefer whittling and tinkering regardless."

"Whittling…?"

"Wood carving." When he could get it, "Otherwise, I just work on tuning my weapons. Cleaning, oiling, checking them over."

"A consummate warrior." Ona hummed, setting the little water-skin aside. "Stern, modest, and abstinent in favor of duty. I admit, I am impressed. Most Humans I have met were either scientists in search of their own fame, or mercenaries. Often higher than the clouds, rushing into whatever fight was coming."

"A good way to get killed, that."

"You are afraid of death?"

"Of course I am." He rapped a finger on his chest plate, "Or else, why the armor?"

"Yet it does not slow you…"

"If I fight, I might die." He shrugged, "But if I don't, I definitely will later. The Co- The Reapers," he caught himself, frowning behind his visor, "aren't going to exactly let me retire in peace."

"Wise." She hummed, "You said you enjoyed carving?"

"Wood, yes."

"Have you ever tried stone?"

"I did but…" He shrugged, "Its heavy to carry, and needs more tools. So I never caught on with it."

"I see." She rose, paying him a nod, then cocking her head to the side and gesturing with a hand. "Follow me, if it pleases you, John."

She left without waiting for a response and, for a moment, he only watched after her. More confused by… Everything that had just happened than anything else. But, after a few seconds of considering it, he sighed and made to follow her. What was the worst that could really happen?

If she wanted him dead, she'd just have killed him in his sleep, after all.

She lead him a few yards out of the camp, to a mound of rubble twice as tall as he was with a long, flat hunk of wall laid across it. Hundreds of etchings stretched along two-thirds of it, of everything from Krogan to Turians and Salarians, to Varren and Thresher Maws, and even to more… Impressionist items, like swirling patterns, flowery shapes, and birdlike creatures. Some weren't even carved at all, but rather burnt on in a spray of oily colors silhouetting their subjects. A scattering of chisels, hammers, metal spikes, and rusted knives lay all across the ground at its base and Ona stooped to retrieve a little cylinder from the mass, turning and pressing a button. It ignited in a little burst of blue-ish plasma that made him flinch on old, very nearly literally burned in memory, but Ona ignored it if she noticed it at all. Extinguishing it, she turned and held it out to him.

"I…"

"Carve." She instructed, "Until your nightmare is forgotten, as two centuries of Krogan young come here have done."

"I'm not a child…"

"I said young." She chuckled, sighing almost… Wistfully. "Not children. These were all done by adult warriors, passing through on their way to whatever duty or venture they had in store. All of them plagued by anxiety, night terrors, the like. Come to their Nan for… Help."

"Nan…?"

"I am infertile." She inclined her head, "But… That does not mean no Krogan has called me 'mother', Human. And mothers tend to those they see in need far beyond when they are mere children. But, as you say, you are no child. Do as you wish. I only offer advice and an outlet. I won't force your hand."

He considered what she'd said, for a long moment, before gingerly taking the plasma-chisel and asking, "The Krogan won't mind?"

"Any that do," she chuckled as she turned to leave, "can say so to my face."

Somehow, as she left him behind, he didn't expect anyone would dare.

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Gently, slowly, John traced out the out edges of a broken, shattered Pelican more melted into the dirt than buried in it, the space where its nose should have been at the bottom of the furthest corner from the other, Krogan pieces. He was aware of the heavy footsteps behind him, but ignored it while he traded out the simple chisel he'd been using for pre-work for the plasma-cutter and cut out the shapes he'd traced, tilting it to scorch around it for definition. Satisfied, he set the tools aside, retrieved his helmet and pulled it on, almost immediately missing the warm breeze he'd been enjoying in his steadily growing hair, and turned.

But, instead of Ona or even Grunt…

He met Chieftain Wrex's gaze where he stood, arms crossed and head turned so he could survey John's work with one eye. Quietly, he rumbled, "I didn't believe it, when Old Ona said she brought you here…"

"She said no one would mind…"

"No, she told me she said anyone that did mind could say it to her face." Wrex corrected him, huffing a laugh. "Two did. She broke one's nose, and one's leg. Both will heal, of course, Krogan being… Well, Krogan."

"Ah…"

"Don't look down." Wrex snorted, "Krogan rough each other up. Forget it."

"Right." He nodded, standing and asking, "Why are you here, though?"

"To brief you, while Grunt briefs what's left of Aralakh proper and a few others I pulled into the fight." Wrex rumbled, squatting in the dirt to tap an armored finger against the man laying mostly prone, and clearly broken even in an etching, at the back of the ship. "Something from… Back home?"

"A man." John nodded, "Gage Yevgenny. An older ODST. He… Was on one of my first drops."

"What happened?"

"He crashed, and then told me a story. His story, in fact." John explained quietly, looking at the smooth-fronted shoulders of the man's shoulders - a far cry from his more modern, segmented variant. "Then he told me he'd done it to keep me there, so no one saw me coming in and shot me. And then he showed me a detonator and told me to run, while he set off a nuke to kill… I don't even know how many aliens and traitors."

"A good way to go out." Wrex rumbled, flicking him a look, "Must have left one hell of an impression."

"You could say that…" He sighed, turning and changing the subject for the umpteenth time that day, "The briefing, Chieftain?"

"The short of it, which is most of what we technically, legally know…" Wrex stressed the words and let them hang, to make his meaning clear before he went on, "Is that the Turians fucked up, back when the Genophage was put in place. They put a nuke down in the Kelphic Valley."

"What…" He shook his head, something… Hot broiling in his gut, "One genocide wasn't good enough? They needed an encore?"

"Whatever their reasons, they sent a special forces unit to destroy it." Wrex went on quietly, watching John with an appraising eye and then humming. Turning, he plodded away while John followed just behind him and he went on. "They failed. The survivors came to me, their commander explained everything, and… Well, we're going to take it back."

"Back…?" John murmured, "From who?"

"From Cerberus." Wrex rumbled, turning to give him a look, "Before the Reapers take it and set it off themselves."

"The Reapers?!" His eyes went wide, "When-"

"A week ago." Wrex answered, turning to move on again. "A few transports made a run. Most went down along the valley's edge, taken out by interceptors, but crashing wasn't enough to kill all the Husks. And we couldn't handle the Destroyer they shielded on the way in."

"A Destroyer is on Tuchanka…?"

"It's being monitored, but…" He sighed, "One problem at a time, Doe."

"Right." He nodded, "Orders?"

"Technically, you don't have to follow my orders now that the gun has been taken back…" Wrex rumbled, "Not until I get ahold of Shepard and renew your deployment."

"I know." John nodded, "So, orders?"

"Heh…" Wrex barked a laugh as they reached the camp, where two dozen Krogan and half a dozen Turians were readying themselves for combat. Wrex stooped to grab a Mattock and shoved it into John's hands, and rumbled, "We're hitting the bomb-site, and putting it out of commission. For good. You hear me?"

"Yes, Chieftain." He nodded, "When do we move?"

"Twenty minutes." Wrex grunted, nodding at a small, black crate set aside from the already open ones Krogan and Turians were eating out of. "Food, water, ammo. Stock up, eat up, and be ready."

John nodded and turned to do just that.

It was time to get back to work…

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Something of a quieter chapter, to interim between the gunbattery mission and the next one. I understand some may dislike this, but to point - I want to build out Krogan culture a bit more than I did in the original. There, John mostly just vibed with them because I said so and he sympathised with their suffering to an extent. HERE, I am fostering a proper appreciation and participation of Krogan culture. Two items were offered, a drink he declined for personal reasons and stone-working, which seems fitting enough a cultural hobby given Tuchanka's state.

If you have other ideas, feel free to share.

As can be seen, John is taking part in most of the direct conflict aspects of Priority : Tuchanka. But rest assured Shepard is off doing her thing, too. She just trusts John - bias is obvious here - and is instead working on diplomatic causes and more indirect measures to encourage the alliance from the game. You all remember the random 'go find X' quests, Citadel work, and stuff? Basically that. Details will come later, as needed.

Anyways, hope you enjoyed!

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