Mass Effect fanfiction: Lonely Heart - Chapter 51

Chapter 51 – Weyrloc

Carefully they headed down the stairs. Garrus stole a look over the railing and spotted the source of the noise.

“A varren,” he informed Shepard and Mordin. Leaning over the railing he took aim and placed a shot through its head. “Dead one.”

Shepard rolled her eyes to him and shook her head as they continued down.

When they rounded a corner at the base of the stairs an unexpected—and rather unwelcome—sight greeted them: a dead human was lying on the floor.

“That body,” Mordin said, hurrying ahead of the others. “Human. Need to take a look.”

Shepard knelt next to Mordin, while Garrus kept watch, listening in to his companions’ conversation intently.

“Sores, tumors, ligatures showing restraint at wrists and ankles,” Mordin listed. “Track marks for repeated injection sites. Test subject. Victim of experimentation.”

“I don’t suppose there’s a way to tell who this poor bastard was?” Shepard asked.

“No tattoos or ID,” Mordin said. “Maybe slave or prisoner. Maybe merc or pirate. Irrelevant now. Clearly part of krogan tests to cure genophage.”

“Why would they use humans?” Garrus asked, glancing over his shoulder.

“Humans useful as test subjects,” the salarian replied matter-of-factly. “Genetically diverse. Enables exploration of treatment modalities.”

“Wouldn't something native to Tuchanka work better?” Shepard asked. “Varren, maybe?”

“Yes,” Mordin said. “Human experiments strictly high-level, concept testing. Native Tuchanka fauna likely used later, in development stages. Wise to delay use of varren until necessary. Powerful bite.”

“What can you tell about their experiments from looking at the body?”

“Position of tumors suggest deliberate mutation of adrenal, pineal glands,” Mordin said. “Modifying hormone levels. Counterattack on glands hit by genophage. Clever.”

The professor’s last word hit Garrus, but he wasn't sure if it was because of the reluctant admiration in the salarian’s voice or the implication that...

“Do you think they’re close to curing the genophage?” Shepard asked, apparently having gotten to the same conclusion Garrus had been thinking.

“Can’t say,” Mordin replied. “Need more data. Conceptually sound, though. Genophage alters hormone levels. Could repair damage with hormonal counterattack.”

“You said humans are genetically more diverse,” Garrus pointed out. “How?”

“More variable,” Mordin replied, but it didn't tell Garrus all that much. “Peaks and valleys, mutations, adaptations. Far beyond other life. Makes humans useful test subjects. Larger reactions to smaller stimuli. Never used humans myself. Disgusting, unethical, sloppy.”

“I imagine you had to do some live-subject testing while developing the new genophage,” Shepard pointed out and Garrus thought he heard a trace of accusation in her voice.

“No,” Mordin denied. “Unnecessary. Limited tests to simulations, corpses, cloned tissue samples. High-level tests on varren. No tests on species with members capable of calculus. Simple rule, never broke it.”

“Whatever,” Shepard replied. “Using any living beings as involuntary lab rats is wrong. Now we've got one more reason to shut this place down.”

“Focus on Maelon,” Mordin suggested. “Too late to help the dead.”

They went through a door and found themselves in a huge hallway, where several krogan and varren tried to stop them.

“Damn,” Shepard cursed when she took cover near Garrus. “I would have preferred to do this quiet-like.”

“I don’t think that is an option when dealing with krogan,” Garrus replied aiming a high-impact shot to one of their opponents, whose shield had been taken down by Shepard.

“Tell me something I don’t know,” Shepard sighed, leaning over her cover and taking out a varren that was a bit late for the party. “Clear.”

When they stepped into the next room a group of krogan, accompanied by several vorcha entered it on a balcony at the other end.

“I am the speaker for Clan Weyrloc, offworlders,” one of them announced loudly. “You have shed our blood. By rights, you should be dead already. But Weyrloc Guld, the Chief of Chiefs, has ordered that you be given leave to flee and spread the message of our coming.”

“Krogan don’t generally let people go,” Shepard said, staring hard at the speaker. “What does Clan Weyrloc have planned?”

“If you walk away now, you can tell your children that you saw Clan Weyrloc before our Blood Pack conquered the stars,” the krogan replied proudly.

“Doesn't sound too good,” Garrus whispered to Shepard and the woman nodded.

“You think the Urdnot impressive?” the krogan mocked. “They are pitiful. Weyrloc Guld will destroy them! The salarian will cure the genophage and Clan Weyrloc will spread across the galaxy in a sea of blood!”

“Appears they discovered Maelon’s work,” Mordin muttered half to himself, half to his companions. “Unfortunate.”

“It doesn't have to happen like this,” Shepard said, but Garrus knew the krogan fanatics were beyond reasoning. “I can understand wanting to cure the genophage...”

“No, human!” the krogan interrupted. “You understand nothing! You have not seen the piles of children that never lived! The krogan were wronged! We will make it right, and then we will have our revenge!”

“Half the galaxy sees the krogan as victims!” Shepard argued. “If you start a war, you’ll lose their support!”

“We have the Blood Pack, and we have the salarian!” the krogan shouted angrily. “When our clan numbers in the millions, we will not need support. When we cure the genophage, Weyrloc Guld will rule all krogan! The Krogan Rebellions will become the Krogan Empire!”

“The fuel tank,” Garrus whispered. “Below the balcony.”

Shepard gave him a microscopic nod and glanced casually toward the indicated direction.

“The surviving races will frighten their children with tales of what the Blood Pack did to the turians!” the krogan shouted and at that second Garrus took his shot at the tank.

“See, human?” the krogan laughed. “Your turian cannot hit a simple target!”

“You talk too much,” Shepard warned, taking a shot of her own and incinerating the fumes that were rising from the fuel. The edge of the balcony flashed with brilliant fire and the speaker for Clan Weyrloc screamed when he caught on fire.

The battle with the remaining krogan and vorcha was short but heated, as their opponents were furious for the death of their leader.

“Krogan charging!” Garrus warned and he and Shepard rolled over a piece of cover to place it between themselves and the enemy.

The angry opponents lacked any sort of coordination and common purpose beyond their obvious attempt to kill Shepard and her friends, which would have made them easy pickings if they had been less tough than krogan. But with unified efforts Shepard’s team took them out.

“Sorry about that shockwave, Mordin,” Shepard apologised, pulling the salarian up from behind a broken crate. “But that last krogan would have flattened you if I hadn't done it.”

“No apology needed, commander,” the professor replied, shaking dust from his clothes. “Labs likely through there. Can smell antiseptic, hint of dead flesh.”

The three of them climbed up the ramp that had been damaged by the exploding fuel and went through the door where the krogan had come in. They came upon a laboratory, which didn't look much like any laboratory Garrus had seen previously. It was rather dark and dirty, and there was more broken equipment than functional. But what little appeared still usable was definitely medical items. A lone active computer console was blinking in the room.

“Active console,” Mordin said, approaching the machine. “May contain useful data. One moment. Genetic sequences. Hormone mutagens still steady. Protein chains, live tissue, cloned tissue. Very thorough.”

Somehow that didn't sound good to Garrus.

“Standard treatment vectors,” the salarian continued, not noticing a worried glance his two companions exchanged. “Avoiding scorched-earth immunosuppressants to alter hormone levels. Good. Hate to see that.”

“Most people wouldn't be so casual about developing a sterility plague, Mordin,” Shepard pointed out sternly.

“Not developing,” the salarian corrected indignantly. “Modifying. Much more difficult. Working within confines of existing genophage. A hundred times the complexity. Errors unacceptable. Could cause total sterility, malignant tumors. Could even reduce effectiveness. Worse than doing nothing. Had to keep krogan population stable. One in one thousand. Perfect target, optimal growth. Like gardening.”

“Gardening?” Garrus snapped sharply. “You’re talking about murdering millions!”

“No,” Mordin argued. “Murdered no one. Altered fertility, prevented fetal development of nervous system. Have killed many. Many methods. Gunfire, knives, drugs, tech attacks, once with farming equipment. But not with medicine.”

“What was it like, working on the genophage modification project?” Shepard asked, and Garrus knew it was a sing of the same horrible curiosity which made people stop and gawk at the scenes of terrible accidents.

“Best year of my life,” Mordin said dreamily, without noticing Shepard’s horrified expressions. “Wake up with ideas. Talk over breakfast. Experiments all morning. Statistical analysis in afternoon. Run new simulations during dinner, set data runs to cook overnight. Laughter. Ego. Argument. Passion. Galaxy’s biggest problem, massive resources thrown at us. Got anything we wanted.”

“I've heard enough,” Shepard said—her voice revealed to Garrus, she had heard far more than enough. “Let’s keep going.”

“You okay?” Garrus asked when they scouted ahead.

“Yeah,” Shepard said with a strained voice. “Just asked one too many questions. Curiosity killed the cat, as we humans say. Let’s get this over with.”