The law as performed, Part 2

Somewhere, in some dark and grimy corner of the universe, the Vorcha had evolved. From what starting point? Who could say? They had risen from the muck and grime of their homeworld to cling to the underbelly of civilized space like barnacles. It wasn't hard to hate something that looked like a Vorcha did. Even the Batarians, a similarly scatological race in the scope of galactic diplomacy, had a sort of swollen homeliness that made them hard to despise. The Vorcha were all sharp angles, harsh fangs, and shrill voices that seemed less of a sound wave and more of a sound barbed wire. They also didn't respect basic decency when it came to a gunfight. There wasn't much grace or delicacy to sitting behind a shard of corrugated metal with an improvised explosive and waiting for a passerby, but it was effective.

Shepard caught the brunt of it with shields flared. Not enough to shrug off a palm-sized IED, but enough that if she was lucky, it wouldn't kill her.

Shepard had been notably unlucky, the device had focused less on concussive **** and more on shrapnel spread. Walking point, she had been able to swallow all of the projectiles that were strong enough not to deflect off of shields. The ones that punched through bounced when they hit armor, aside from a few chunks that caught her face and neck. She watched the Vorcha split and fall like a withering pumpkin before staggering back and dropping onto her butt.

"Shit!"

The voice came from behind her, somewhat distantly. Her ears were ringing, even with noise dampeners that was going to leave a mark. It had been too close to dampen completely. She unlatched the seals of her helmet, forcing it off of her shoulders and gasping for air. Jacob kneeled beside her and grabbed her by the bangs, turning her face to check how bad she got hit. Miranda followed more nonchalantly.

"She got peppered pretty bad, the neck especially."

Miranda leaned down and looked Shepard in the eye. "Can you feel any of it still in you?"

Shepard brought her gloved hand up to her neck, feeling the uneven terrain of pock-marked skin. Luckily, it seemed like most of it had either scraped and exited or punched back out. She pulled her hand away, lifting the helmet back up and angling the interior screens so they could give her a mirror to look at. It looked worse than it felt. She tried to shake her head, but her neck wouldn't move. Instead, she **** a croaking voice out.

"No."

Jacob's eyes narrowed. "She sounds bad."

"If she isn't dead, she'll heal. She can check in with Chakwas later, give her a minute."

Shepard didn't feel dead, but she didn't feel like taking a minute and walking it off was going to be her answer either. Before she could protest, she could feel the skin around her wounds tingling and burning. In the reflection of the helmet screen, she could see the wounds narrowing and the skin rejoining, even without medi-gel. In a moment, all that remained was the dried blood. Jacob seemed as surprised as she was.

"The fuck?" She rasped. Her throat was somehow only getting drier.

"Are you really surprised?" Miranda offered her a canister of water.

Shepard took a quick gulp and immediately grimaced as it stung the still-healing tissue. "A bit."

"You're too valuable to die to a fucking papercut, Shepard. Your body can respond to any number of things with a sort of accelerated replacement process. I'm surprised you didn't find out already from a hangnail or a canker sore."

"I suppose that's another switch you can turn off if I disobey."

"On the contrary, we needed you to be able to even if all of your other modifications failed. If you die, you're still dead, but anything that doesn't work faster than the processes isn't a huge threat to you."

"And how long are the processes?"

"Depends on what ails you. It all works down from the brain and prioritizes keeping you alive above all else. Cosmetic neck and face damage like that can be fixed in less than a minute. But something deeper will take longer. Sicknesses too. Catch a plague and it should be over in a few minutes. Get an STI from running around with Xenos and-"

"Does my getting along with aliens bother you?"

Miranda shrugged, "If it poses a threat to you. We don't want to lose you."

"Sunk cost fallacy?"

She shifted, offering Shepard a hand. "You're quick to write off the good in the name of the limitations. We wouldn't have sunk the cost we did into you if you weren't worth it."

Shepard accepted the hand, but responded: "I would be disingenuous to frame what I'm mad about as just limitations."

Miranda nodded, "You have good reason to feel the way you do, but so do I. Either way, this isn't the place to discuss this."

"And what would be the place to discuss it?"

"My door is open."

There was a shriek from down the hallway. A Vorcha had popped out of one of the residential doors and caught sight of them, sounding an alarm to what was likely a set of allies inside. They all froze for a moment as he grabbed something from his pack and heaved it at them with all of his might before ducking back behind the door. Shepard perceived the white-wrapped tape and plastic seal around an overheating energy coil. It was a **** trick some soldiers used, but these Vorcha weren't soldiers. Whoever was teaching them and arming them had an agenda. She put herself between her squad and the white oval. However, with nonchalant ease, a biotic shove sent it back away from them, then another sent it flying back into the door the Vorcha had retreated to. They all heard a trio of shrill screams before the cartridge popped loudly, spraying combusting fuel out into the room. There were a few more shrieks, then silence as the room crackled.

"Don't throw yourself in front of things you don't have to," Miranda chimed, "Things that hurt are still going to hurt, a lot."

Shepard nodded her thanks as Miranda passed her and probed the hall. "Even if these Vorcha are civvies, they're using military gear and tactics."

Jacob pushed ahead of both and threw a second explosive into the smoldering apartment for good measure. "Makes you question how in control of things Aria really is if she's got paramilitary squads marked as "minor rioting" in her ledger."

"Could be she doesn't know how bad it is down among the commoners," Miranda grumbled.

"That doesn't improve the outlook on her control."

Miranda shrugged, "Soft power is still power until you lean on the illusion with enough weight."

Shepard heard more Vorcha chattering and sighed as they approached the fan controls, "If this isn't enough weight, I don't want to see what is."

...

Mordin looked around his office with an unreadable expression. He was animated, especially once he had learned of their success. His face always seemed to emote with little restraint, but there were moments where the whole of his thoughts seemed locked behind shifting eyes. Even with a face that a human would recognize as a face, with the four sensory organs and the general shape, it was a different world to read than a human's. Part of Shepard suspected his facial animation was performative, done as much for their benefit as his own emotion. It would certainly be a way to put the humans around you at ease. And if you were going to be living and working surrounded by humans, being a species-pleaser would be a good trait to have. It also didn't stop him from ruffling feathers. He stepped into the room, leaving Shepard and the squad of Cerberus officers in the doorway. He stepped to the far wall and ran his scaly fingers up it slowly, then plucked a gossamer-thin point of light from the surface with all the casual dispassion of somebody cleaning. He stepped over to Miranda and grabbed her hand, placing the point of light inside and closing it around it.

"Bugs expected, but lazily hidden bugs an insult."

As he stepped back Shepard watched Miranda open her hand in disbelief, staring down at the near-microscopic chip he had handed her. He wandered around the room, admiring all of the other walls with the same sort of playfully mocking scan, letting Miranda try to explain and likely not paying great attention to her half-justification.

"There's general video surveillance everywhere public."

"Office public, obviously. Questions of doctor-patient confidentiality aside, bug in question not part of general loop. Private in nature. Could tell, different broadcast frequency, consumer model, more shoddily concealed. Placement additionally bad for actual monitoring, almost amateurish. Likely intended to be found, sending message."

Jacob cleared his throat sheepishly. "Actually, she got me to do that one."

Mordin's eyes brightened for a second, then seemed to twist into something like sympathy. "Unfortunate offense misplacement. General advice, favor corners, tune properly in future."

Miranda cut in, "I forgot the third when I did the initial run so I had Jacob handle it."

Mordin scowled, "Three too easy a number, obvious falsehood. Rule of threes human invention. Like four better. Rounder. Plumper even. Number of corners in most rooms. Five bugs reasonable minimum. Including red herring."

"You don't trust easy," Shepard smirked.

He turned to her confusedly, "Cerberus."

"The perception of us is only from people on the outside, I think you'll be impressed if you give us a chance." Miranda protested.

"Cerberus one of few groups apathetic to importance of image. Either willing to let image be bad as filter or incapable of subterfuge. Either option ill omen for partnership. Image everything to Alliance, Spectres, Matriarchs, most groups one would want to work with."

"In my experience, the Alliance's image comes at too high a cost," Jacob muttered.

"Image only half of power, **** also necessary, but easy to over-prioritize. Image without **** breeds resentment. **** without image, anger."

"Thanks for the lecture doc, if that's all, we need to get back to Omega." Miranda interrupted, seeing Mordin's eyes speed up as he started to wind into an excited motor-mouthed frenzy.

"Of course. Preliminary physicals can wait until return. Thank Aria for assisting the clinic."

"We have other business to take care of first, but when we get back to her, I'll send your thanks." Shepard nodded.

"Not to be forgotten. Woman who appreciates image above all else. Bent knee will keep clinic in her good graces."

When they left, Mordin was still checking the corners of his room for a fourth bug.