Chapter Text
Shepard stands before the Normandy crew, hands clasped behind her back, about to give one of the hardest sort-of-speeches she’s ever had to. As a leader, apparently people expect her to hand out speeches and inspirational words at the drop of a hat. It’s one of her least favorite parts of her job. (Definitely not something they taught her in N7 training.)
“In two days, we will be docking at the Citadel. A week after that, we’re stopping at Illium, and probably Omega after that. For anyone who can not, for whatever reason, stay aboard the Normandy for the next phase of our mission, we can drop you off at any of these locations. No hard feelings and no resentment. I only ask that you have a conversation with me, personally, about your decision. All departing crew will also be given a full intel data packet, containing everything we’ve collected on the Reapers, indoctrination, the Collectors, and our war prep, and I encourage you to share this with anyone you think may listen. You do not have to be on board the Normandy to help out the coming war effort.”
Well, at least no one immediately raises their hand and declares that they want to leave. Shepard knows, in her heart, that some are going to walk. This is going to be a big thing to tackle head-on, especially by themselves. She won’t blame anyone. Hell, she’s sure she’s going to want to walk at several points in the coming months.
“In case it wasn’t clear by our meeting yesterday,” she continues, “I and the Normandy crew will now be operating totally independently from any galactic governments. There is a high possibility we will be considered outlaws by galactic law in coming days or weeks. We will welcome any and all allies we can gain during this time, but I really doubt the Council and its races are going to look kindly on what we’re about to do. I would offer to give you a recommendation, but my name is going to be dragged through the mud soon, so it’d probably do more harm than good to be associated with me. So really, I’m serious when I say no hard feelings about you drawing a line here when it comes to becoming wanted criminals. Anyone can walk out. Except, I suppose, EDI.”
“I am not leaving the Normandy or allowing it to leave this mission,” EDI replies.
That small joke reassures Shepard more than she lets on. “For those that stay, I’m afraid to be announcing further bad news. From this point onward, there will be no payment or wages for this mission. You will have a place to live aboard the Normandy, your food, armor, and weapons will be supplied, and there will be certain budgets allotted to research and development projects if and when we can allow it. But all credits are now getting dumped straight into our war fund, managed by EDI and overseen by me. It will be locally accessible aboard the Normandy for anyone interested in our budget. And hell, if you have any ideas about how to do things better, earn more money, or a research project idea—yes, Mordin, I know you do, we can discuss it later,” Shepard wearily says as his hand shoots up, “come to me later and we can talk. I’m serious when I said I’m shoving you all into advisory positions going forward. This is going to be one hell of a team effort to stop the Reapers.”
—
They’re not immediately arrested upon docking at the Citadel, probably only because Shepard has an appointment with the Council in three hours and no one knows what she’s about to do with said appointment yet. So they’re given the regular clearance to dock and there’s only the regular paparazzi waiting.
“I’m detecting few news stories about batarian space currently running on Citadel networks,” EDI tells Shepard over their comm link as Shepard disembarks. “It does not appear to be public knowledge yet what happened to the Viper Nebula.”
“Small mercies,” she mutters.
They hit their first snag within ten minutes, very unfortunately.
Shepard had planned on turning her crew loose to do a bunch of shopping and stockpiling while she kept the Council busy. Everyone was to be back aboard the Normandy by the time she spoke to them.
But Spectre Requisitions won’t let anyone in who isn’t a Spectre, even with her clearance.
“Damn it. I’ll be there in five,” Shepard grouses and turns back for the elevator. Her job in this is to be very, very normal and very, very composed, not giving anyone any hint that the Normandy crew is acting any differently from normal. Certainly not buying out a bunch of very high-end, expensive weaponry and mods.
She finds Garrus, Mordin, and Miranda, varying stages of annoyed, standing in front of an equally irritated guard outside of the Requisitions office. Worse, she finds Bailey standing beside them, not quite as annoyed, but certainly with his usual no-nonsense exasperation.
“What the hell are you doing, having your people trying to break into the Spectre office?” Bailey asks as soon as Shepard marches up.
“He has my clearance,” Shepard replies, rolling her eyes. Garrus holds up a card loaded with all of her authorizations. The guard on duty glares at it as if it personally offends him. “Also, breaking in? Come on, Bailey, you know we’re above that.”
(Kasumi had offered. Shepard would prefer to do this as legitimately as possible—while she still could.)
“Spectres can’t authorize other people to use Spectre clearance,” Bailey replies, wearily, like this has happened before.
Shepard swipes the card from Garrus’ talons and hands it to the guard herself. He very begrudgingly opens the door for them. “Do I have to escort them inside, too?” she asks, pointedly.
“Actually, yes,” the guard replies.
Shepard marches in, grumbling, after her trio of personal shoppers.
“Why didn’t you just come down here yourself, anyway? Haven’t seen you around the Citadel for a hot minute, but you always come down here to look at whatever new rifles they’ve developed,” Bailey says, strolling in after them.
Shepard gives him a confused once-over. He certainly isn’t a Spectre; he’s C-Sec. A fair guy, dependable, and from what she understands, halfway to a mentor figure for Kolyat. It would be highly unfortunate if C-Sec sent someone already to tail her or detain her. Especially him.
So Shepard asks, very neutrally, “Did you miss me that much, Bailey? I wasn’t aware they were letting captains into Spectre Requisitions, not when you already barred my crew from coming in here on my behalf.”
“Commander now, actually,” Bailey says, and sounds none too happy about it.
“Oh, congratulations,” Shepard replies and means it. Bailey may not be happy about the promotion—that reminds her a lot of Anderson—but C-Sec needs more officers like him in their ranks.
“Actually, I thought you would have brought that drell with you. Kolyat’s, uh, infamous father? Wasn’t hard to put the puzzle pieces together, not that you were tryin’ to be all that sneaky. Wanted to have a word or two about him about his son.”
“Oh,” Shepard repeats, now surprised. “Oh, uh, well, Thane is actually meeting with Kolyat now, since we were, uh, in the area for today. Is everything alright with him?”
“Oh, yeah, sure. The kid’s great. Great enough that I actually want him in C-Sec, not this community service crap, that’s all.”
That is probably going to give Thane some mixed emotions. Garrus snorts in distaste, or perhaps sardonic amusement, but he’s facing away at the console for plausible deniability. “That’s… Great,” Shepard creakily replies. “But I guess that’s a conversation for them to have. They’re, uh, meeting at some cafe in the Kithoi Ward.” She is very leery about giving out the specific location of any of her crew, given what she’s about to do soon.
Thankfully, Bailey doesn’t ask. “Well, good for them to get some time to see each other. Kolyat won’t mention it, of course, but I know what it’s like for a kid to miss his dad. Good on Krios for owning up to the rift between them.”
Shepard makes a noncommittal sound, desperately wanting to leave the conversation now. Kolyat, a C-Sec officer? Well, good that he’s turning his life around from his poorly-planned near-assassin experience, but when they’re on the cusp of galactic war and facing the possibility of becoming legitimate criminals when he and his father are just now mending the rift between them? Not the best timing ever to become a cop.
“So, why do you have to have a whole crew in here with you?” Bailey asks, conversational, but when he leans around Shepard to glance at the other three, his eyes go wide. “Uh, what are you doing? Spectre business, sure, whatever, but that is a lot of stuff you’re blowing credits on.”
“Done downloading all pertinent data!” Mordin chirps cheerfully, then begins helping Miranda pack up the mods they’d ordered. Garrus’ job is the weaponry. He already has an intimidating pile growing beside him and a very nervous guard standing by the purchasing console, eyeing it.
“I’m giving Garrus what he’s always wanted—a Widow rifle,” Shepard warmly says.
“And it’s the closest I’ve ever come to using the L-word with you, Shepard. Third best day of my life, probably,” he replies, eyes still on the console, but he leans down to pat the rifle case with great affection.
“Wait, you two? What about Krios?” Bailey asks with outright shock.
Shepard cringes, affectionate mood gone. “No, it’s fine, it’s all three of us. Sorry you didn’t get the memo, but thanks for not assuming me and Garrus have been together for several years already. But yeah, three-way with three different alien species. That’s a fun personal life update to share with others. Glad you’re in the loop now.”
Bailey gapes at her.
“Especially fun to share with humans,” Mordin remarks. He fills his arms with as much weaponry as he can carry and files out of the office.
“Looks like everything we budgeted for is accounted for here, Shepard,” Miranda says, checking off a list on her omnitool, then also grabs as much as she can carry and leaves. (She can carry an impressive amount.)
“Just an upgrade run, but you know how it is, running a full team,” Shepard says with a forced smile. “Everyone gets one, and it adds up pretty quick. It’s like Christmas on the Normandy today. Might as well use up that Spectre funding while I can, right?”
Bailey nods, still dumbfounded, and Shepard helps Garrus haul the rest of the weaponry out of Requisitions.
—
“Shepard, what do you think you’re doing here?” Anderson asks.
This is her one selfish moment today: seeing him. And he’s possibly the only one on the Citadel right now who knows what sort of shit is about to go down. She doesn’t blame him for not looking particularly happy to see her.
Shepard forces a grin. She knows she fails spectacularly. “Well, sir, I was wondering if maybe a certain Alliance ex-Normandy squadmate was around, wanted to drop in and say hi now that Horizon is behind us and I might have been proven right about the Collectors—”
“Shepard, you are about to become the Council’s biggest headache, and you want to make bad jokes?” Anderson cuts in harshly.
Shepard flinches as if struck. “…Sorry, sir. I’m meeting with the Council about what happened in the Bahak system in about an hour and a half. I did want to see you first, in case we’re… I’m barred from Citadel space for the foreseeable future. It isn’t fraternizing with the Alliance if it’s just this one meeting, Anderson.” She can’t entirely keep the pleading note out of her voice toward the end.
Anderson shakes his head. He seems years older from when she’d last seen him, and he hasn’t quite looked at her yet, mostly staring at his desk or glaring into middle distance. She knows this isn’t an easy situation to be in—he’s the only one aware of what’s coming next and that’s a hell of a conflict of interest—but, well, she’s allowed her moment of weakness. Surely, she is allowed just one. The galaxy owes her this much.
“Thank you for keeping my plans today a secret,” Shepard says in a smaller voice than she likes.
Anderson sighs. “This is a desperate, foolish gamble—and I wouldn’t blow your plans open and make it fail out the gate. This may be our only damn chance to get ahead of the Reapers, if they really are coming on the timeline you think they are, and I just hate that this is what it’s coming to.”
He finally looks up at her. Shepard holds his gaze as best she can, though it’s been a long time since she felt so young or so frail.
“You know they’re going to compare you to Saren,” Anderson tells her.
“I know,” Shepard replies.
—
“Everyone back aboard the Normandy?” Shepard asks through her comms as she waits in the Council Tower. Whatever this area counts as—the lobby or something. The trees that have always looked like cherry blossoms to her (though they’re some salarian breed) sway in artificial breezes and shed pink petals like rain.
It’s too pretty to be maybe-arrested in.
Saren definitely didn’t care. Frankly, if this wasn’t so important, Shepard would have mimicked him and called in remotely for this hearing. Apparently Spectres are afforded that respect. Not that she’s ever felt the Council’s respect when it came to her findings on the Reapers.
“Negative, Shepard,” EDI reports.
Shepard sighs and rolls her eyes. “Alright, who are the offending parties this time? The usual suspects?”
“If you are referring to Thane and Garrus, they are currently aboard the Normandy, as per your orders.”
“Shocking,” Shepard deadpans. “Then who decided they wanted to play backup?”
“Garrus and Zaeed managed to restrain Grunt and forbid him from joining your meeting.” And Shepard thanks every deity imaginable for that. “However, Samara and Tali have already explained themselves as wanting to be with you during this. Additionally, I am not registering Kasumi’s presence aboard the Normandy.”
Shepard checks the time on her omnitool and waits for her unasked-for backup to arrive. It’s only going to make it messier if they try to detain her, because she’s already resigned to having to fight her way out. But it’s also very reassuring to have some people at her back.
She doesn’t have to wait long before Samara and Tali stride up. (So she’s assuming Kasumi is also somewhere in the vicinity.) They’re both in what they consider formalwear, which doesn’t lend anything to their image of casual, super normal, nothing is wrong meeting time, but at least Tali’s good at picking out loopholes and Samara is a justicar. They’re good people to have in a sticky situation like this meeting will be.
Shepard gives them both a once-over. Samara had already asked to leave the Normandy. She’ll be disembarking on Illium.
She pushes that from her mind and focuses on the warm gratitude flooding her chest that Samara would throw her weight around on Shepard’s behalf. The issue with the rachni queen may have damaged their bond, but it hadn’t broken it.
“Are you ready to buck the law?” Shepard asks in a conspiratorial whisper.
“Justicar Code is often at odds with standard galactic laws,” Samara serenely replies. “This is nothing new to me, Shepard. Except for a direct meeting with the Council concerning it.”
“And quarians are already experts at dodging annoying Council laws!” Tali enthusiastically agrees. “Usually already aboard our ships, but that’s beside the point.”
“Commander Shepard, the Council is now ready to see you,” an asari assistant calls from the top of the next set of stairs.
“Alright, let’s go blame the Council for everything and declare a war,” Shepard exclaims.
—
At least no one is stupid enough to order that Shepard be arrested on the spot.
Then again, she had been (less than politely) ordered to remain on the Citadel, pending further investigation, and Shepard had bucked that by immediately and only somewhat metaphorically sprinting to the Normandy, so maybe there had been a bit of stupid in there, somewhere. She’s just very glad she didn’t have to literally fight her way back to her ship for her escape.
It had been more panicked and less daring; she wasn’t sure when someone would notice the beeline she’d been making and call C-Sec on her. It had only taken a single bribe to traffic control to get them cleared for take-off, conveniently before the Council’s order to ground Shepard had spread that far. Funny how certain people were more inclined to let Commander Shepard go than risk pissing her off.
“Gun it!” Shepard yells as soon as they’re in the airlock.
“We technically are not in that much of a hurry, Shepard. We are already cleared to depart and are entering the queue now,” EDI politely informs her.
It is definitely a less than daring escape if they have to wait in a line for it.
“So, how’d it go? What’d it feel like, giving the Council a potential war to defuse and a giant middle finger?” Joker asks, equal parts smug and delighted.
Kasumi turns off her tactical cloak and gleefully declares, “I recorded it all!”
“That’s what you were doing? I thought you were going to be our stealth escape,” Shepard replies with a disapproving frown.
“If you ever need Shepard-sympathetic and Council-negative propaganda, Shep, you can’t ask for anything better than that yelling match,” Kasumi replies. “Sell it to a big news network, and then ask for royalties, and bam. Fuel budget for a month or two. And it’s going to age like milk once the Reapers actually arrive.”
“It wasn’t really yelling,” Shepard mutters.
“There were only a few raised voices, and most of them were Councilor Udina,” Samara agrees.
“Shepard, I have just been informed that your Spectre status has been uniformly suspended across all Citadel space, and that they are ordering us to exit the queue to be detained by C-Sec,” EDI says.
“See, this is why we don’t queue for escape attempts! EDI, for someone made by a terrorist organization, you are not a very good criminal. Joker, get us out of here, on the double, before we have to shoot poor saps doing their jobs,” Shepard tiredly orders.
Joker grins like he’s been waiting for this type of order all his professional life. “With pleasure! Gunning it now, boss!”
“I will update my criminal activity protocols,” EDI adds.
—
“Thank you for meeting with me, Shepard,” Samara says, as if this is a normal meeting and not one Shepard would gladly fight a thresher maw to avoid. Samara had been the first one to request to leave the Normandy with her usual polite promptness.
“Well, that’s the only rule about this. A meeting before leaving. Ensuring goodwill and that you’ll be equipped with all the intel we have on the Reapers and…” Shepard trails off in a sigh. Samara watches, without judgment, as Shepard scrubs a hand over her face and glares out the viewing window. “Be honest with me, Samara—how much of this is because of the rachni thing?”
“I am very good at compartmentalization, Shepard,” Samara says with something that may be dry humor. Its close cousin, at least. “It would be a lie to say there was no impact, but it was not as great an impact as you fear now. I understand that the rachni are your first pledged allies in this war, and I likewise understand that there may not be many more who will openly do the same. Now is not the time for you to be choosy.”
That’s a weight off Shepard’s heart, if she’s being honest with herself. She talked Grunt down from his rachni-induced rage, but Samara had remained cool. The fact that she so willingly put her life on the line to prove Shepard’s indoctrination status was reassuring, however. In a dark way.
“As a justicar, I command great respect within asari culture. While there is no specific ruling against a threat such as the Reapers, the Code would firmly dictate we must fight them to our utmost ability. I plan to do so. I will seek out other justicars and tell them of what is coming. I will also share this information with those in the asari governments who would be agreeable to our war preparation,” Samara adds. “It would not be official government aid, Shepard, but it would be something. Something I hope helps.”
“Anything will help, and that—that sounds great,” Shepard replies, further relief flooding her. She had mostly written off having any sway with the Council races until the Reapers actually arrived. If there were some sympathetic asari officials on her side, that would make things so much easier. “But I’ll miss you.”
Samara blinks down at her, mildly taken aback—then her usual poise takes back over. “The Normandy was a welcome home for me in the time that I served aboard it. I will miss it, and you, as well, Shepard. You were a worthy leader to follow. And your mission remains in my heart and mind. But I know that we will argue further about what methods you must take to ensure victory, and I will not put either of us in a position where that must happen again.”
Shepard doesn’t blame Samara for not wanting to butt heads anymore. It’s probably for the best that she doesn’t keep pissing off a justicar, too. That seems like a poor plan for a long life. She’ll respect her decision, be grateful for her dedication to helping, and try to keep her chin up.
Samara doesn’t offer a hug, and Shepard doesn’t go in for one, but if there were a way to make a handshake affectionate, they would’ve managed.
Shepard’s eyes remain dry, though her heart a little more battered, as she leaves the observation deck. “EDI, can you make note that we’ll be able to use the observation deck for storage or anything else after Illium?”
“Noted, Shepard,” she replies from overhead. They have a lot of retrofitting to do while planning for independent action; they won’t be able to rely so much on outside trade, so Shepard plans on dropping a lot of credits on stockpiling and getting the Normandy ready for a war. More storage space will be useful. Silver lining.
“Shep!” Kasumi says, rippling into visibility, and Shepard must jump a foot in the air. “So glad to have caught you in a bad mood!”
“What?” Shepard blinks and hopes she doesn’t actually look like she’s in a bad mood. She schools her face into something calm and professional. “You have bad news for me, I take it?”
“Yes—I’m also disembarking at Illium,” Kasumi chirps with her usual cheekiness—like she didn’t just metaphorically slap Shepard. There go the remains of her composure. “I wanted to let you know while you were already sad or upset so I wouldn’t be the sole reason for it, and that way, you only have to be cheered up once. Otherwise, you’ll just be on an emotional rollercoaster until we dock at Illium. That many ups and downs can’t be good for anyone’s health.”
Shepard massages the furrow in her brow. She’s going to get wrinkles very prematurely. “Okay, I’ll pretend like that’s comforting. And why did you decide to ambush me in the hallway to drop this news on me? I get to ask about your rationale for leaving, too.”
“Shep, I am the best thief in the galaxy—not the most famous. But being on your crew has lent me some notoriety. It’s getting to be a little too much spotlight, and I work best in the shadows, and you’re going to need me to work at my best. I’m just leaving the Normandy physically, but I’ll always be open to a ping from you. Also, I’ve looked over your budget, and it’s pretty spartan.”
“I know,” Shepard flatly replies.
“I have some fancy, artsy stock I suppose I could part with,” Kasumi points out. “Consider me an outside sponsor of your war efforts from this point forward. I’m no good in an actual war, but credits, contacts, and illicit deals? I can do that for you.”
Shepard definitely won’t turn down more money. EDI has a range of predictions for how much fuel they’ll burn depending on whether or not the Council sends anyone actually after them, and those numbers aren’t pretty. Not to mention everything else that’s so expensive about prepping for a war in just a frigate. Without any more Spectre (or the occasional Alliance) funding.
“Also, you know that gold necklace and bracelets I lent you for Anderson’s promotion party? Keep them! I can put you in touch with a good fence for them. Consider them my going away gift,” Kasumi adds.
“Do I get to know at least what they are?” Priceless historical artifact—she fucking knew it.
“They belonged to an asari matriarch four or five thousand years ago, a big deal, some sort of religious prophet and spiritual leader,” Kasumi says, way too casually. She flaps her hand, dismissively, at Shepard’s growing alarm. “Last time they were at auction, the set went for about four hundred million credits.”
“They what?!” Shepard nearly shrieks.
Kasumi beams at her from beneath her hood. “Nice going away present, huh? Now your bank account won’t look so sad after Illium. This isn’t about short-term purchases, Shep, but figuring out how to pay for things until the Reapers are here and you’re suddenly seen as a savior again. You’re going to be funding more than just the Normandy. I took a peek at those research projects you have lined up, and I know a couple of them could use a big infusion of credits.”
“Kasumi, I could kiss you,” Shepard croaks, mind reeling. Emotions swirl within her, most of them unrelated to the fact that Kasumi will also be leaving soon. That’ll hit her later. The fact that they have actual war funding that Kasumi pulled out like a rabbit out of a top hat is overwhelming.
“I’ll take a hug! No use getting certain alien gentlemen jealous,” Kasumi brightly replies and opens up her arms. Shepard picks her up and nearly crushes her ribs in her answering hug.
—
“Speak now or forever hold your peace—anyone have any problem with me handing the genophage cure research over to Wrex in exchange for krogan allies?” Shepard asks, all too blasé, gesturing to the innocuous data pad on the mess table.
She had been serious about enlisting Normandy crew as advisors. She is not getting blindsided by another moral clash, not when they have bigger things to focus on. And this is a doozy of a moral quandary she’s about to throw into galactic politics. Pretty much without remorse, for her part.
Other parties will probably feel differently.
As evidenced by all of the stares she’s getting now.
“Not a joke,” Shepard adds. Urz butts his head against her thigh beneath the table, and Shepard brightens, leaning down to rub his jaw the way he likes. “Yeah, we’re going to go to your home planet and see if we can become best friends with the krogan! Yes we are! Are you excited, boy?”
“When you said tossing ethics out the airlock to do what needed to be done—” Jacob begins.
But Shepard holds up a hand to cut him off. “Nope, not you, Jacob. Current Normandy crew only gets to vote on galactic-spanning moral decisions.” She had yet to speak with him at length, but like Samara, he had requested the Leaving The Normandy meeting. He’ll be disembarking on Omega, so they still have a little bit of time together, at least. “Half-vote, actually. You can get a half-vote. I know I have an in with Wrex, but I need full krogan support here. Ride or die krogan support. They’re leery of politics and alliances after the Council burned them, so we need full commitment from both parties for this to work.”
“So you brought the rachni back, and now you’re undoing the genophage for the krogan?” Garrus asks. Shepard nods with a sidelong look in his direction. “You just want to undo several thousand years of galactic history, don’t you?”
“When you put it like that, how could I refuse?”
“Shepard, about genophage research,” Mordin pipes up, and Shepard’s flippancy freezes, her heart stopping. She needs Mordin for this part to work, and he had never made any overtures about leaving. “Will want to speak to you privately about it later. Ready to work on it at any time, do not personally oppose genophage cure in these circumstances. Shift in perspective in recent years. Moral realizations, but personal, irrelevant here outside of commitment to Normandy and this decision.”
Shepard’s breath leaves her in a relieved whoosh. Okay, she really needs to rethink personnel needs if someone can surprise her like that. She’s been operating under the assumption that certain parties won’t leave—either because of their personal connection, or how valuable they are to certain facets of her budding war tactics. She needs Mordin and his brilliance to iron out all this technical jargon for the krogan. Sure, Wrex would take the research himself, but it wouldn’t be as valuable if he didn’t have the scientists to back it up.
“Shepard-Commander, we would also like to schedule a meeting with you to discuss logistics in alliances,” Legion pipes up.
And Shepard’s heart about stops all over again. She needs the geth more than she needs the krogan.
“This is not regarding requesting a leave of absence from Normandy,” Legion adds, “but logistical concerns.”
“Okay, new Normandy rule! When you request a meeting with me, say what it’s about!” Shepard irately declares.
—
“Do you know how Cerberus started out?” Jacob asks as an opener.
“Not really. I assume there were good intentions there somewhere, at some point,” Shepard replies, politely, but with a rather flat tone. She’s seen what Cerberus became, so she has little use for how it started out. The road to hell is paved with good intentions and all that.
“Paramilitary protection and emergency rescue for human colonies in the Skyllian Verge,” Jacob replies. Shepard raises an eyebrow. Noble indeed. “Cerberus—guarding the gateway to hell. We were the last or only guard a lot of those colonies had for long while. Not that it’s classified, but it’s not very well-known anymore. Miranda told me once. Sucks, because that is why a lot of good people joined up—protection, doing the right thing, helping people who need it. A lot of those people are still in the organization, because they believed in that, or they believed in you.”
“Me?” Shepard parrots; she had made her distaste for Cerberus and its leader quite clear during her run with them, even before she quit.
“As Miranda put it—you’re a bloody icon. Best of the best of humanity. Cerberus recruitment rose a ton when you came back from the dead, Shepard,” Jacob replies, amused. “People who believe in helping. And a lot of those people are trapped and exploited by Cerberus and the Illusive Man now. A lot of Cerberus’ darker shit has come to light, thanks to you, but not everyone can give the Illusive Man the finger and steal off in his best ship. Those people need help. Getting out, finishing missions and projects, staying safe. I need to help them, Shepard.”
“Well, damn it, Taylor, you know I can’t argue with logic like that. Although this would be a lot easier if people could give the Illusive Man the finger and start stealing ships. I’d welcome them with open arms, too,” Shepard jokes to hide how proud of him she is. She’d do the same damn thing if she could.
Jacob huffs a laugh. “Good news is—well, not good, but it’s something—that it’s a limited amount of groups and people I know that I can help. I have a concrete list. After that, I’m yours again, promise. Whatever I can do to help you, Shepard.”
“Your workaholic tendencies are showing again,” Shepard hums.
That earns a real laugh. “Learned from the best, you know! Between you and Miranda, can’t help but want to keep going. Plenty to do if we’re starting prep for a war, too, so don’t pretend like you won’t do the same.” He grins at her, and she shares it, but it softens a moment later. “For the record, too—I think if anyone could corral the krogan and stop them from taking over the galaxy in revenge, it’d be you. You and Wrex are tight, and he seems to have a surprising hold on his clan, with respect from others. I think you’ll pull it off.”
“Thanks, Jacob. You’re a level-headed guy, not like half my crazy crew, so it means a lot to hear that you think that,” Shepard replies. “I’m gonna miss that level head soon enough, I’m sure.”
“No doubt about that. Heard Samara’s leaving, too. You’re gonna be left with some… energetic team members if all us sane ones are leaving to help elsewhere.”
“Whatever it takes,” she reminds him. He nods in total agreement.
—
Who knew a war effort would contain so many goddamn meetings? At least Mordin wasn’t ditching her. (She keeps telling herself no hard feelings, and there really aren’t; she’s knows they’re on different paths, best utilizing their skills.) But Shepard still itches, nervous, at the thought of certain crew leaving. She needs certain leverages.
Like the brilliant scientist before her now.
“Shepard, glad to have your ear for a moment. Need to discuss genophage research. Agree that Urdnot Wrex good potential leader for unified krogan front, sure to be outliers and rebels, but already powerful ruler in his own right. Definite path of least resistance with him,” Mordin says in his usual rapid, excited tone.
“Well, good,” Shepard barely gets out before he continues.
“Concern lies not with krogan response—sure to be enthusiastic, widespread loyalty almost guaranteed, very useful for war as historically demonstrated—but with existing research. Can work on genophage cure alone. Could synthesize working cure for krogan… Within a year,” Mordin says with a thoughtful nod, mostly to himself. “Likeliest timeframe. Even have idea as to how to spread cure quickly to krogan population.”
“Shit, that sounds great, Mordin” Shepard says, because she knows little about the medical field, but she knows it usually takes ages for actual discoveries and cures to be created and mass-produced. But he’s giving it to her within a year? She might’ve fallen in love with the wrong aliens.
“But would be remiss if I did not mention potential alternatives to timetable. Saw your research and development plans. Saw potential projects.” Mordin pauses, glancing over at her, eyelids fluttering in thought. “Saw Kepral’s Syndrome cure on list of research avenues, Shepard.”
“I know it’s not a priority,” Shepard says, instantly on the defense. Love feelings gone. “I know how to prioritize other things, Mordin. But we grabbed everything we could from the Spectre office, and they had hanar intel on cures. And I’m already hoping to ally with the hanar, so there could be sharing of research, and I know you have some knowledge in the field of diseases—”
“Emotional connection to chosen mate does not matter, Shepard! No need for reproach. Point is—if asking for genophage cure from me, that would be primary project for foreseeable future. No time for medicinal work, no matter how interesting disease may be,” Mordin points out.
“…Right,” Shepard says. She’d been afraid of that. But with four months already accounted for—and up to nine before the Reapers hit—she has no illusions about the timeframe of any of this. This is not going to be a quick war. They will have to plan out for years of research and development, prioritize what will help them win, and keep contingencies for future emergencies open.
And the drell would not be important to a galactic-wide war, if she’s being ruthlessly honest about it. There are other, more pressing priorities.
“But herein lies offer,” Mordin continues, not at all deterred by her frown. “Know from STG contacts that salarians also working—covertly—on genophage study. If given team, real lab, scientific resources not found on Normandy—could have working cure in as little as three months.”
She stares at the doctor.
“…What?”
Shepard definitely had heard that wrong.
Three months? For a cure for the genophage? She knows Mordin likes to work scientific miracles, but that’s obscene. And, frankly, nigh impossible to believe.
“Proposal is this: ally with salarians, Shepard. Council race, yes, unlikely to be officially friendly, government would be very unfriendly actually, but unofficially an option for you to secure research-based alliance with certain cells of STG officers. Know of several who are interested, know you, believe in cause and evidence of Reapers. Would utilize Maelon’s research in combination with STG research and resources, create cure more quickly, ensure krogan goodwill and loyalty, and ascertain exactly where STG stands with certain krogan genetic data.”
“Wait, wait, Mordin—I’m still reeling about the fact that you said you could have a genophage cure before the Reapers even get here—but you’re telling me the salarians are also working on a cure? Right now? Is this meant to be some sort of apology for the genophage?”
“Not apology,” Mordin sniffs, in distaste. “But offer of neutrality. Krogan antagonism has gone on far too long. Not all agree with this, of course, but within STG are certain cells operating somewhat independently. Have heard from classified sources that they have gotten as far as experiments on living female krogan. Supposedly, promising results. Instead of potential adjustment to genophage to ensure continued infertility, like I did, co-opt research and team for cure creation, to ensure alliance for upcoming war.”
The offer is tempting. It is so fucking tempting. She had discounted Council races, but Samara had already mentioned an in with certain sympathetic asari, and now Mordin is offering her an in with the salarians. (However, if Garrus could magically pull something out for the turian Hierarchy, she’ll eat her boot. That’s one too far.) But before she promises anything, before she even thinks about this beautiful piece of hope, she has to ask one thing.
“What would the salarians want?” Shepard asks with dread.
Mordin grimaces at her with a flutter of his eyelids. “That is primary issue. Unknown to me what they would ask for from you or Normandy crew. Only know that they would accept meeting with you to discuss it.”
Great. Another meeting to add to her calendar.