Queen's Gambit Accepted - Ch 18: Helpless

Let's see here... 13 to one odds I get thrown out an airlock? Maybe… eight to one I get a creepy ESP reading where I'm told I would have made an excellent slave or something.

Three to one I unsuccessfully avoid wetting myself.

Taking a few cleansing breaths, Samantha clenched and unclenched her fist.

"Are you all right, dear? You look pale," Dr. Karin Chakwas inquired at Sam's elbow. The two women were sharing a very slow (and yet, too fast) elevator ride down to the Engineering Deck. Sam swallowed and smiled unconvincingly at the older woman.

"Just a little ...anxious. I don't fancy pissing off the second angriest person in the galaxy by botching a comm implant." At least Shepard already has all her implants.

Karin studied Sam's face before softly asking, "What colony was it?"

"How did you know?" The comms specialist was incredulous. Was I that obvious?

"Traynor, I know exactly what you've been through. Your face is like looking in a mirror." Sighing, Chakwas ran her own nervous fingers through her bob of white hair. "Myself, I was a prisoner on the Collector base. The things I saw. Heard. Felt. So trust me when I say: I know what you're feeling right now."

"How are you so calm, then?"

"I focus on what's at stake. And rather than fear Javik... I empathize with him. He has lost everything. Literally everything. And still fights with us."

Huh. Fair point.

The lift doors opened on an empty hallway though the large, long window revealed a Shuttle Bay below bustling with activity. Shepard was tinkering at the weapon bench and half-dressed in her hardsuit. Vega and Cortez were huddled near an open panel of the Kodiak. Assessing some damage, no doubt. A few seconds later, Steve dropped to his knees and slid under the low vehicle while James held several tools at the ready.

Shepard's crew was about ready to rejoin the Primarch's son and his platoon on the desolate Tuchanka surface. The Normandy had been in orbit over the assault site for a few hours now. Preparations were nearly complete.

Just a few things left to do.

One of those included equipping their new team mate with some bare necessities: an Omni-tool and an auditory implant. The resident physician wanted to get a complete biometric scan of Javik in order to actually clear him for active duty. But also to maybe answer more than a few lingering questions that the resident Prothean expert aboard might have about his long-extinct physiology.

Liara owes me one. A big one. Dipped in chocolate.

"Ready? I'll administer the scan first. Make sure there aren't any lingering issues from his long sleep in that stasis pod, or adverse reactions from being woken up," Dr. Chakwas explained patiently. "Then I'll assist with your comm implants."

"How much do you know about Prothean ears, Doc?" Sam tried to chuckle to keep from passing out from the anxiety.

Karin was neutral and professional. "I'll know more once the scan is complete. At a glance, I don't have enough information to tell if an asari or turian style implant would be better suited. Or if we need to create one from scratch. How's your tech work, Traynor?"

Fair to middlin', Doc. A pang of sorrow hit Sam in the chest when she thought of Specialist William Corday back on Arcturus. He was the Hands of her R&D group, the tech craftsman who made their experimental work a reality. And now he's dead.

"I can hold my own, ma'am. We were researching mental comms implants based on asari physiology before I joined the Normandy retrofit team. Very tiny pieces. Nanocircuitry almost. Complex to work with and repair. …Though the military application arm of the Alliance was far too interested in the mind control aspect of the implant over the stealth implications." Samantha was rambling. And slightly bitter. It had been Corday's pet project, a neural comm unit capable of integrating with a squad for quicker relay of orders and reaction time.

Though the hiccup had been turning the damn thing off. Or filtering thoughts. Unless you wanted your CO hearing everything you were thinking.

About how attractive you thought your CO was.

…wait, what?

Clearing her throat, Sam amended. "What I meant to say was: I'll cross that bridge when we come to it. I'm ready." As ready as I'll ever be.

Karin led the way to Javik's quarters at the port side of the deck. Sam chanced a longing look down the hall at Diana Allers' room in the Starboard Cargo Hold. A stupid conversation about nothing sounded pretty good compared to poking the last Prothean with a stick.

The Port Cargo Hold had changed a great deal from the empty room it had once been. The atmosphere was more humid. Several of the low tables had been converted to more artful water features in a feeble attempt at making the room more homely. A screen at the back of the room now had details and specs about the Normandy ticking by.

He's doing his homework.

Is that reassuring or terrifying?

"Good morning, Javik. I am Doctor Chakwas and this is Specialist Traynor. Commander Shepard has cleared you for combat… pending a medical examination." Karin was cool, collected, and straightforward.

Samantha was anxious, sweating, and skittish. She peered over Karin's shoulder to study the Collec—Prothean, who had turned from his vigil at one of the tables.

His accented voice was a reverberating hum while his four eyes flicked from woman to woman. "We had worker drones like you in my cycle, the densorin. I still cannot comprehend that humans have become warriors and physicians and mastered space travel. Your race was only adept at climbing trees last I saw you."

Well. That's good to know. At least we're getting off on the right foot.

Dr. Chakwas activated her Omni-tool and approached Javik slowly but purposefully. She sidestepped his snide remark. "We've come a long way. Now, I am logging your biometrics in the Normandy's system. It will better equip us to treat your injuries with medi-gel and monitor your vitals. May I administer a scan?"

Crossing his arms, Javik tilted his head. He did not respond, but did not move to stop Karin either. An orange glow traced over his form for a few seconds before retreating back into the doctor's Omni-tool. Her wrist gave a satisfied beep, and she echoed the sentiment with a nod. "I appreciate your cooperation. We would also like to offer you an Omni-tool implant."

Javik scoffed. "You primitives and your tools. You still communicate using letters and numbers. It is highly inefficient."

Chakwas glanced at the holographic screen on her wrist, studying the notes as she spoke. "Commander Shepard mentioned that you had a VI of your own named Victory. Would you prefer to use your own technology?"

The woman should have been a diplomat. She is beyond cool.

The Prothean's evil tongue stilled at the mention of his old friend. "Victory was tied to the stasis pods. I have retained a few essential programs and weapon designs in the memory shard, but too little was salvageable without power. Victory is gone."

No, it isn't. We've got Shepard, Sam's stupid mind couldn't help but think as it interpreted his words literally.

There was a trace of sadness, but it was quickly buried under the usual disdainful mask. Javik gestured to the table to the women's right where a small fragment of metal was suspended behind a protective barrier.

Sam finally decided to speak up. This is ridiculous. He is the complete opposite of a Collector. They never spoke and he never shuts up.

And now I'm just as awful as he is. Bloody hell.

"We have a bracelet version so you aren't stuck with an implant if you'd prefer. Either will make connecting with our comms much easier. Especially if you hope to join Commander Shepard in combat."

A veiled threat to cooperate. Ballsy, Traynor. Possibly stupid, but ballsy.

"Ah, the other primitive speaks. I had thought you a mute, or maybe even a helper monkey for the doctor. What is your role, Specialist… Traynor?" If he hadn't been so serious, Samantha might have taken Javik's tone for sarcasm.

Sarcasm would have been much better than being sincerely asked if Sam was a helper monkey.

She wanted to bite back, but the jitter in her stomach flared up. It was very good at overriding Sam's hot anger with timid deference.

"I'm here to connect you with the rest of the ship. The rest of the galaxy, really. Normally, a communicator implant also serves as a translator… though I'm not sure many of us speak Prothean. And I don't know how you'll speak volus, elcor, or quarian without them nearby."

Shit. I probably should have thought of this problem sooner. His magical ESP-through-touch ability is a bit of a handicap, despite being really neat. Should we just drive to the Citadel and let him loose to grope all the species he's never seen?

That'll take care of it.

Sighing lightly, Javik gestured to the memory shard. "Fear not, meek Specialist. Victory knew some of your races would be thriving in the next cycle. I have a language matrix used amongst our slave races to speed integration into the Empire. It should serve your purpose." He mumbled under his breath. Something about surprise that the fat volus ever managed to master space flight.

Sam approached the small Prothean shard, though was shouted away from touching it with bare fingers. His bark made her shrink and she nearly fled the room, but the comms specialist bit back tears and fired up her Omni-tool. It took a few moments for her scans to understand how to extract information from the small shard, but indeed there was a translation matrix based on a simple mathematical formula sitting at the surface.

The commentary that we are considered slaves to Protheans is noted.

…Ass.

Luckily, Javik was less resistant to the comm implant process than Sam feared. His ear canal was disguised in a fold on the side of his head much like the asari. Brushing up against the rough skin made Samantha tremble slightly, as did being so close to those bright yellow eyes. But Dr. Chakwas rested a reassuring hand on Sam's shoulder and offered to implant the tiny black nodule.

The comms specialist had already logged the implant's serial number and after Karin injected it, a diagnostic was run. It worked blessedly perfectly. Javik was suspicious that we would be eavesdropping on all his conversations, to which EDI unhelpfully decided to chime in. "All communications on the Normandy are already recorded for posterity."

His spark of rage was quickly tempered when Samantha showed the Prothean how easy it was to turn on and off with the help of the Omni-tool bracelet. He did not accept Sam's help to learn how to use the device, but he was very shrewd and intelligent and soon had the orange face glowing with newfound information.

You're welcome.

Javik dismissed both women with a wave of his hand and turned his back to them. He seemed eager to dig through his new spy tool. Joker's smart-assed nickname for the Prothean drifted back into Sam's mind as she and Dr. Chakwas exited the room. Have fun (re?)conquering the galaxy with just an Omni-tool, Prothy.

Holding open the elevator politely, Karin started to praise Sam for her courage. But the comms specialist had an idea. She paused at the lift. "You take this one. I'm going to pop over and say hello to Diana before the next mission. She goes a little stir-crazy when she's on self-exile during mission blackouts."

The doctor accepted that answer and nodded. It made Sam feel a little bad. The comms specialist took a few steps down the hall to the Starboard Cargo Hold. She glanced around, made sure the coast was clear, then darted through the door to the drive core. Descending the hallway stairs, Samantha snuck over the secret cot under the engineering deck.

Coast is clear!

After flopping onto the bed, Sam quickly checked her messages. Still another hour until Shepard was heading to Tuchanka.

Just enough time to take another crack at the Normandy SR-1 black box data. For the fifth time.

Thank God Liara didn't have a deadline for this little side project. Though I'm sure a few more weeks compared to three years without justice for Shepard is a drop in the bucket for asari.

The (alleged) spy bastard had been downright elusive, but Sam wasn't ready to give up yet. She'd found the fake turian signal by looking for things that were meaningless but still out of the ordinary. It had to work again. She began probing internal comms and emails again. It was the same place she'd been for the last week, but something didn't feel right. She just couldn't figure out what it was.

Maybe "looking for things that aren't there" is the problem, Traynor.

Shut it. There has to be a good reason Shepard was kill—Shepard died—Shepard was in the wrong place at the wrong time.

Because on the surface, all the SR-1 communications were downright ordinary.

Although…

What?

Although… is it a little odd to have a requisitions officer aboard? Isn't that something better left to colonies? And bases?

Who is this guy?

Poking around the personnel files, Requisitions Officer Chris Postle was listed aboard the Normandy SR-1 as a mechanic assigned to maintaining the M35 Mako. She skimmed his file further. Nothing exceptional. But he did serve aboard the SSV Agincourt with the Normandy's Navigator, Charles Pressly.

Okay. Old shipmates. That's not a crime. But it is a link. And a mechanic dealing armory licenses on the side could be something?

Chris Postle was curiously absent of correspondence. He never communicated with anyone other than forwarding the armory licenses Shepard had acquired on her travels. And trading shipments of upgrades, armor and amps. Postle only used ship-wide update memos and nothing else.

Okay. Maybe he doesn't have a family. Lots of people don't have families.

Navigator Pressly, on the other hand, was an active communicator. He had a daughter he vid-chatted with regularly. An ex-wife. Old friends on other ships. And some of his emails signed off with "P.S. Spero inter lilia."

Sam scanned the extranet for some sort of book or quote to match that statement to since it sounded significant. Nothing.

Weird.

Every email with that postscript had an extra layer of encryption. It went to its intended recipient, but it was odd. Sam started throwing filters at Pressly's and Postle's correspondence, trying to peel away some of the Alliance code.

And there it was. A message. Something had been deleted. She found it in Postle's memo about new amps. A keylogger had recorded his message, and it had been retroactively deleted. Sam's scrubber algorithm pulled it from the garbage bin and pieced it back together:

"spero inter lilia."

They're using a code.

But what the hell does it mean?

Sam was simultaneously elated and irritated. Finally, she had something tangible to bring to Liara. It just wasn't proof of anything. Pressly and Postle could have been war buddies. Or lovers. Or just in on the same dumb in-joke.

"Specialist Traynor, please report to the war room immediately. Specialist Chen Xian requires your assistance coordinating the communication feeds for the turian, krogan and Alliance," EDI paged over the intercom.

Duty calls.

Saving her progress, Sam sighed. She hurried up the steps while simultaneously cursing the rotten timing. …it only took a few weeks to come across one mysterious, possibly useless phrase buried in an email. I'm sure with a few more years I'll have something worthwhile to tell Liara.

Well, maybe she'll know what to do with it.

Sam vowed to swing by Liara's cabin after the mission. It was time for actual work.

The war room was livelier than usual. It seemed to be divided neatly into thirds, with the turians, krogan and Alliance sprinkled around the central and perimeter consoles. Everyone had something to monitor for their faction. Sam just hoped they were all on the same team. She had to resist the urge to wrinkle her nose at the male turian seated at her favorite console.

How much do you want to bet he's responsible for the Turian Hierarchy poking around my feeds?

How much you got, Traynor?

Lt Victus and the Ninth Platoon were already on the ground by the time Shepard sped down to the surface in the Kodiak with EDI and Javik. Sam watched the feeds for the Hierarchy to interfere. Sure enough: their code was there. But rather than creeping in to monitor, it was resolutely around the border.

...Wait, they're not keeping me and Xian out.

They're keeping other signals from getting in.

Does this mean we finally get to know what the big secret is?

"Tell me about this Cerberus bomb," Shepard suddenly demanded into her comm connection to Tarquin Victus.

What?!

They're flying straight to a bomb?! But Shepard wasn't worried. The Commander asked for a sitrep like she was asking for the score to a biotiball game. …and that's why she's in charge.

Tarquin Victus rumbled back in response. "It's not Cerberus, Commander. It's …turian."

What?!

Oh, you've got to be fucking kidding me.

Shepard asked incredulously, "What do you mean, 'turian'?"

"It was planted centuries ago after the Krogan Rebellions. It was a safeguard against another galactic war."

There was a long pause on the comm, before Shepard responded. "Makes sense. Couldn't trust the krogan to play nice. But right now we focus on disarming that bomb."

Sam was glad Wrex wasn't in the war room to eavesdrop on the conversation. The krogan chief had been on a tear over all the poking and prodding he was getting from the salarian doctor in the Med Bay... A part of the ship Samantha usually avoided, and not just because of her lingering phobia of hospitals. Plus the doctor's work seemed so big and important that idle chitchat with the comms geek seemed silly.

"Yes, but Cerberus found it. Detonation would mean all-out war between my people and the krogan," Victus continued.

Ugh. Sam was horrified. How bad had things been almost a thousand years ago that they had a bloody contingency plan for genocide? They were talking complete and utter krogan extinction.

And now Cerberus had their finger on the button.

"Fucking Cerberus."

Sam was inclined to agree. She tracked the blip of the Kodiak to a small abandoned area with destroyed buildings. Cerberus troop comms were lighting up like fireworks in the area. Sam did not envy Xian being responsible for keeping order on the comms. Her job was consolidating feeds and forwarding relevant updates.

Speaking of fireworks, the comms on the ground were just impossible to hear once the enemy was engaged. It was an all-out war zone with noisy explosions mixed with the pinging of bullets on shields.

She had a windowed view of the battlefield through Shepard's hardsuit cam. The Prothean turned out to be a (shockingly) bossy team mate. Javik gave orders as often as Shepard did, demanding the need for cover and pointing out enemy positions.

The waves of troops were cut down by the Prothean's rage, Shepard's brute force, and EDI's control. Javik's biotics were unlike anything Sam had ever heard of: a crushing prison of energy that poisoned everything around him. She detected Cerberus scout chatter similarly bewildered and awed by the Prothean's abilities. You're just mad we got him first.

Finally, the chaos finally gave way to speculation by Javik.

"The turians must have truly feared the krogan to plant such a weapon."

EDI supplemented. "While morally questionable, the strategy is sound."

Of course. Of course EDI and Javik would get along. Soon they'll be holding hands and singing "Daisy Bell" and planning our pending enslavement to our synthetic and Prothean overlords.

Around the corner, Sam was (permitted to be!) tracking the Ninth Platoon. Victus's troops were careful and methodical. Their tracking blips were splayed out in tight groups and carefully cut down each group of Cerberus troops before continuing the next. Very efficient.

Until it wasn't. The entrenched Cerberus troops had mortars and decimated a quarter of Victus's men in seconds. The turians backed off and circled around just as Victus demanded assistance into his comm.

Everything was dire, but a Cerberus comm Sam intercepted almost made her burst out laughing. They were ready to arm the bomb (not funny) but then gave orders to "contain Shepard." The brief mental image of Shepard in a fish tank for observation was part of it. The other was just the absurdity that they could somehow muzzle or harm Shepard.

Especially considering the Commander and her team pushed through their ranks without stopping.

Probing the Tuchanka feeds netted some signal spikes around the perimeter of the bomb. Sam scanned channel arrays and finally landed on the frequency where Cerberus was broadcasting an emergency notification. To start evacuating the area.

Oh God.

Sam forwarded the information to Specialist Xian in the CIC. Information the resident comms specialist kind of needs to know.

Victus made note of Cerberus first. "We're getting a lot of comm chatter. They're prepping for evac."

Xian's light tenor popped into Shepard's squad comm, "Commander, our intelligence also confirms that a Cerberus evacuation is in progress." And then he just cut out. Very professional, out of the way, concise. Sam admired it. Normally she was too terrified to talk on the comms, preferring instead to forward her findings to EDI to report.

"I don't like the sound of that." Shepard stated, though it was confirmed when Javik then barked over the comm. "Cerberus is retreating!" He sounded annoyed but also slightly exhilarated. "We should move to higher ground!"

You do know that means a bomb is about to blow up, right? That's a thing that's in danger of happening.

Pops of gunfire peppered the channel as did the hum of drop ships taking off. The patter of footsteps ground to a halt when Shepard and her team discovered the unearthed bomb. The specialist next to Sam, Jason Gentry, was the sitrep analyst. Even he gasped at the situation he had to report: the measurements of the bomb were nothing sort of a planet-killer. And it was out in the open and armed.

"It has been strategically place for maximum yield," EDI evaluated coldly, before prodding. "I advise haste, Commander."

No shit.

Sam counted two more Cerberus ship signals bugging out of the bomb site. A stupid part of her wondered if they'd been bored, waiting around for someone to arrive to stop them. Then Shepard and the turian platoon have to go and show up at the last minute. Jerks, Sam thought sarcastically. She changed her fictitious tune when a pair of ships suddenly reversed trajectory, probably aware that their bomb was in danger of being thwarted by some meddling kids.

"Cerberus made a mistake. They should have made sure we were dead first." Again, Javik was gleeful. But all Sam could pinpoint on the map was a lone turret. A laughable roadblock that was quickly mowed down. They met up with the turian platoon at the bomb control panels. Specialist Gentry noted the bypass needed to override Cerberus lockdown: Victus's plan was to reprogram the trigger mechanism to render the bomb useless.

Shepard sounded tense. "Are you sure you can disarm the trigger?"

"Yes. It's old tech. I know what to do," Victus snapped back. "Just buy me a few minutes, Commander."

"I put my team at risk to get you here, Lieutenant. You better deliver." Shepard was scathing. Protective. Even Javik, who had nothing to lose and owed no loyalty to the Commander, was shielded by Shepard's "Team" label. A fleeting pang of envy struck the comms specialist.

He just shows up and immediately becomes one of the crew. It took me weeks just to get a relatively unawkward conversation.

Except, Traynor, all it takes to get in Shepard's good graces is to risk your life for her. No big deal.

Victus grumbled. "I know what's at stake, Commander." But he softened with appreciation. "Thank you… for making sure I get this chance."

Then Sam's comms feeds went haywire. A big surge of Cerberus troops was inbound, complete with signal dampeners to delay or cut her comms. Oh, no you don't.

Do they realize they're going to die? Either at Shepard's hand or from the bomb? Are they just that dedicated to the Cerberus cause? Or what?

She suddenly remembered some communications Shepard had intercepted awhile back on Sanctum. A journal chronicled a newcomer to the Cerberus organization who had been apprehensive and excited and more than a little concerned that he was expected to keep a cyanide capsule in his teeth. All his uncertainty had dissolved by the next entry, when his free will had been completely overridden. Were all of these soldiers like that boy? Once volunteers and now just husks?

Shepard handled the ensuing firefight like a normal person would divide up household chores. Javik on point, EDI on the left, Shepard up the middle. The Prothean drew incoming fire while Shepard charged in, shotgun blazing. The AI and her decoy suite covered the Commander's back when Cerberus started flanking. It was a dizzying spectacle, and instead of Shepard keeping plates spinning she was keeping troops from invading.

Another gasp from Jason on Sam's left distracted the comms specialist from her own subdued air-pump of victory after an Atlas mech exploded. Switching comms, Samantha discovered what the fuss was about: Cerberus had overridden the trigger and a countdown was in progress. With one minute left.

Oh God. Oh God oh God oh God.

What are the odds?

Oh God…

The odds, Traynor. You can do it. Focus.

A dull coolness came over Sam, that intense surge of attention when she had a problem to solve. It was a much better attitude than hand-wringing over Shepard about to be blown up.

But still… Oh God.

Traynor!

Let's see… If the turian can make it to the detonation platform by about the 25-second mark… I'd give it… 20 to one.

Can we do any better?

That's …not up to me.

Indeed, Sam had stopped studying her comm feeds and was just blatantly looking over Specialist Gentry's shoulder. He had a holographic GUI display of the entire bomb site. Red blips of swarming troops surrounded the four blue dots of Shepard, Javik, EDI and Lieutenant Victus. The turian leader had started to disengage the bomb platform after partially-ejecting the trigger mechanism when suddenly a large exclamation point appeared on one lone arm of the bomb.

He's not going to make it. It's jammed.

Shepard, EDI and Javik are about to be vaporized.

...Would EDI feel pain? Her mind is here. That's just her body. It would probably be more of an inconvenience, especially all that we went through to get that bloody body working.

And the irony of the last Prothean dying only a day after being reawoken is just too painful. …Laughable? …Horrible.

And Shepard... no… not again... Nausea hit Samantha's stomach hard, as though it had just sunk down as far as it could go. She jumped up out of her seat, unable to take just sitting anymore. The timer ticked down.

"18 seconds," Gentry reported as a digital timer linked from EDI's feed appeared.

Oh God… Shepard…

"15."

I still have her hoodie. I haven't given it back yet. Oh God, I'm a thief. A dirty thief.

It hasn't been the right time! That bloody thing is a trap! I can't just waltz around the Crew Deck with it! People might notice!

Sam looked away from Gentry's console and squinched her eyes shut. She couldn't watch. If she did, she'd probably just throw up.

"10."

I should have given it back.

She tried to force herself to recalculate the odds, but the comforting numbers wouldn't come. Sam's breathing had escalated, nearing hyperventilation.

"6."

But something in her breathing triggered a memory. It was suddenly calming. With her eyes closed, she could almost see Shepard's face. And Sam's own hitched exhales sounded like… like… Shepard. Like that little noise she always seems to make around Sam. The Commander's terse equivalent of a laugh. So tiny and brief and… lovely.

I didn't tell her I—I think—

"Victory… at any cost." It crackled into Sam's comm and then was gone. It made her freeze, because the timer hadn't stopped. But there were no sudden exclamations around the war room of mourning or anguish.

Rather, a cheer erupted.

"Traynor!" Gentry had grabbed Sam's forearm and shaken her eyes open. Sam cautiously pried an eye open to look at the sitrep holo: the bottom part of the bomb had detached and fallen harmlessly down the mineshaft.

Sam spun on her heel to look for the Primarch on the opposite end of the room. His small turian entourage had parted, allowing the father space to drop into a nearby chair. He just… he just lost his son.

She wanted to go over there. To hug him. It was a silly, childish thought. She was a stranger. They'd never even spoken. And, at a time like that, all words would be inadequate anyway.

"I'm sorry for your loss." Awful. "He was very brave." He knows, he saw.

Instead, Samantha fell back into her own seat and tapped back into her comms feeds. The krogan chatter that had been a mild trickle suddenly flooded her screen. She forwarded the report to Joker, who relayed the message to a (wonderfully alive) Shepard that was already back in the Kodiak.

"What the hell did you do?" It was Urdnot Wrex. He had stormed into the war room, limping slightly. The krogan chief had been an unfortunate pincushion for science over the last week or so, his eagerness to volunteer for the genophage cure waning considerably. And the perfect outlet for his pent-up anger was the turian leader.

The Primarch's security forces hefted their rifles in an effort to curb the krogan's angry charge. Wrex skidded to a halt a few inches in front of them and pointed angrily at the glowing holo of Tuchanka in the middle of the war room. "The genophage wasn't enough? You had to plant a bomb on my planet?"

"The decision was made hundreds of years ago. So much has changed," Victus replied. He was exhausted. Unprepared.

Wrex rumbled back. "Not enough to tell us about the bomb, you coward!"

The Primarch only sat there, his shoulders slumped. Wrex continued to rage. It angered Sam until she realized something.

Maybe Wrex doesn't know. Why doesn't someone tell him?

Listening to her comms, Sam decided to let someone the krogan chief claims to trust break the news. She patched in the Kodiak comm feed into the war room intercom. And flipped the broadcast switch. Shepard's voice rang into the room and silenced everyone instantly.

"The price of war is high. We lost a lot more than a few buildings, EDI. The Primarch's son included."

Javik's low hum supplemented. "Lieutenant Victus fought for a cause he believed in. A soldier can't ask for more than that. He died well. And saved many."

"Nobody dies well." Shepard growled back with muted anger. "I'm tired of saying otherwise."

Disconnecting the feed, Samantha stood up and glared defiantly around the room. Wrex seemed to be chewing over the new perspective. He then shouldered past the turian guards to where the Primarch sat. And extended a three-finger hand. "…in your place, we probably would have done the same damn thing. If anyone understands the pain of losing children, it is the krogan."

The turian leader's mandibles seemed to flex and clench with suppressed emotion. "My own son died trying to make this right. I hope you understand the secrecy." But he stood, inhaled sharply, and shook the war chief's hand. The two men only nodded in acknowledgement before Wrex turned on his heel and went over to his two krogan advisors, mumbling about a clean-sweep of Cerberus from Tuchanka.

Adrien Victus shooed his hovering security detail away and walked over to the large round holo in the middle of the room. He studied the holo of Tuchanka glowing from the device, leaning pensively against the railing. After several long minutes, Primarch Victus finally had the energy to speak again. And he did so to Samantha. Very quietly. His dark eyes glittered even from across the room.

"My son… he died with the respect of his men. I want to thank Shepard for that. His sacrifice will be recorded in the histories of the ninth platoon. Something any father would be proud of."

Nodding with empathy, Samantha saluted politely. "Yes, sir." She watched the Primarch for a few more seconds, nodded, and returned to her seat.

Sam started to shut down her work station. Now was about the time the Kodiak returned to the Normandy and they had a little down time before the next mission. When Shepard gets back, I have a few grievances to air.

The big one being scaring the shit out of your comms specialist. That's just rude. She had to be mentally flippant just to distract herself from the stress, the fear, and the unspoken—

Wait, what?

She heard Joker ask, "Cortez, what's your ETA?"

It was Shepard who responded. "We're not going back to the Normandy just yet." Oh that's just—wait, what?

Stop thinking that, Traynor.

"Uh… what?" was Joker's classy response. Ha! I'm not the only one! "What do you mean? Where the hell are you going, then? Pleasure cruise?"

"Intel says more Cerberus is on Tuchanka. It's time we paid them a visit, and show them what we think of blowing up krogan."

"We don't have enough fuel for a sight-seeing tour, Commander," Steve interjected. But the holo of the Kodiak (yes, I'm still looking at Gentry's screen. I'm a bloody screen-watcher, okay?) changed its trajectory to an old military compound only a few hundred kilometers east of the Shroud facility. Noticing an incoming transmission, Samantha ran a bypass and tossed it Xian's way. She held a hand to her ear to eavesdrop on Admiral Hackett's brief chat with Shepard.

…Great. A military installation with a ground-to-space cannon, now under Cerberus control. Sam dug through her feeds and, sure enough, located some familiar comms signals. The Cerberus forces that had been extracted from the bomb site had headed straight for the old krogan base as reinforcements.

I'd admire their strategy. If they weren't so bloody evil. And almost killed Shepard.

And EDI. Can't forget EDI. I'd miss her terribly.

Shepard's orders were simple. "Kill anything that gets in our way." Javik's old glee had returned. "This, I can do."

Cortez was sent off to investigate the target of the facility's cannons. Xian asked Samantha for intel, and boy did she find it: a Cerberus cruiser inbound. And it was a big one. That was now shielded by a massive cannon clearing the way.

Scratch admiring their strategy. Bombarding krogan resistance that are fighting Reapers? That's just pure idiocy. Since when did pro-human become "help the Reapers wipe all other species off the galactic map?"

This isn't evil. This is cartoonish supervillainy. And we already have the Reapers for that.

For a giddy moment, Sam wanted to send in the superhero dream team of Archangel, The First Human SpecTRe, The Last Prothean, and Mecha-EDI onto that Cerberus cruiser in a ball of flame and have them heroically blow it up from the inside out then make an amazing dive out an airlock to then be rescued by the Normandy.

That's all it'll take, right?

"It's time to test this cannon." Shepard's voice brought Samantha back to reality. She chanced a look over at Gentry's console, which confirmed an absence of red dots in the area. But it was going to be a short-lived victory; already Sam could hear comm chatter of Cerberus drop ships and Tomkahs inbound.

Sam had her fist ready to uplift in victory, until a series of comm bursts cut her celebration short. Enough forces had poured out of an underground tunnel to cut the cannon power before Shepard could reconfigure the cannon.

After more nail biting as Shepard scrambled to get the ancient generators back on, Sam just slumped down in her seat. I can't handle all this excitement. All these near misses with failure and death. Or failure meaning death. How do these people do it? All the time? Without stopping? She was unfortunately having flashbacks to the Reaper invasion Earth. Yet another time when Sam felt hopelessly overwhelmed.

It's not going to get better or easier, Traynor. Administering the genophage cure won't be a breezy, jammy affair. We suck it up and follow Shepard, yea?

I can—I can do that.

"Cortez to Normandy, come in Normandy. We need Dr. Chakwas to meet us in the Shuttle Bay.

Shepard's hurt. I repeat: Shepard is down."