Mac Walters

Said’s skeptical expression communicated clearly what she thought of that. She handed the gun to another of her soldiers. “That’s asari-made armor, too,” she said, looking Cora up and down. “You some kind of bluepie?”

“What?”

“Asari fetishizer. Groupie, into the blue? Where have you been that you’ve never heard that, some frontier hellhole?”

Cora resisted the urge to sharpen her voice. Earthers think everybody cares about their stupid pop culture. “I’m from the Traverse, yeah, but I spent four years with an asari commando unit on Thessia as part of a joint program between our government and theirs.”

Said snorted, and Cora suspected she’d just confirmed herself as a “bluepie.”

An Alliance marine, Lieutenant James Vega, received a commendation for his efforts to save the colonists, although those efforts proved ultimately futile. Requests for more information from Councilor Udina’s office have not been answered at this time.

“I guess I should make some kind of motivational speech,” she said, “but I’m no good at that kind of thing. Anyway, there’s no time. You know how this has to go: Run, or you die. Don’t fall behind, or you die. Work together, or you die.”

“And the damage inflicted by the effects of the blood-rage was exacerbated by the blunt-force trauma you sustained just before Captain Ariokis retrieved you. To put it frankly, when you arrived here, you had been poisoned by your own broken-down muscle tissue; several of your organs had begun to fail. There was some thermoelectric damage to your brain stem from implant feedback—”

Cora held up a hand. “Okay. Let’s… let’s just go with FUBAR.”

“Very well, Lieutenant. You were FUBAR. But I am pleased to see you up and walking again.”

“Good job putting me back together,” she said, looking at her hands. No overwhelming urges to kill anymore either. “I wouldn’t be—” Human. “—here if not for you. You’re pretty awesome.”

“Thank you,” SAM-E said, sounding pleased. “It’s nothing a little micro-reconstruction, gene therapy, neurotransmitter blocking, and—”

“Yeah, we talked about this.”

“…anti-FUBAR treatment, then. Forgive me, I had been given to understand from Alec that humans prefer honesty to euphemism.”

Alec raised his eyebrows, taken aback. What a question. But… he frowned. An impulse had come upon him, and while he wasn’t normally the impulsive type—Ellen had always said he couldn’t take a dump without a plan—he’d learned to trust his instincts over the years.

“I don’t have time to die.”

In other news, a strange series of reports from Omega, where a number of witnesses insist they saw the infamous Commander Shepard—reported Killed In Action almost two years ago—alive. Could this be fallout from the new drug hallex, which is reportedly at epidemic levels of usage on Omega and is known to cause hallucinations?

At least SAM-E hadn’t died for nothing. Now Alec knew that no one would be able to inherit Alec Ryder’s personal SAM—the most advanced of them all, and the one he hoped would unlock humanity’s ultimate potential—except someone who shared his genetic makeup. Harper could not become the new Pathfinder, but forewarned was forearmed. Now Alec just needed to decide which of his two children would end up burdened with the future of their entire species.

“Oh. And thanks for saving my life,” Alec said, off-handedly.

Harper lifted an eyebrow. “That’s what you hired me for, isn’t it? Among other things.”

“Thanks for being good at those things, then.”

She looked amused. “I’ll be sure to add ‘Saving stubborn Pathfinders and stealing back their stolen illegal tech’ to my resume.”

“I’d be happy to provide a recommendation, if you need it. For your future employers. In another galaxy.”