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Wow, this Normandy is BIG, Morgan Shepard marveled to herself. And all the personnel I’ve met so far have been respectful and friendly. All-in-all, not quite what I expected of a Cerberus crew. But the elevator is still slow as hell.
When the doors opened onto the crew deck, she strolled out to continue exploring. There were heads for each gender, crew quarters with bunks and a break area, and two lounges. That must be the med bay. Pretty much the same spot, but brighter with all that glass. I wonder if Wilson would have been part of the med staff if Miranda hadn’t shot him. Well, whoever’s in charge, let’s see if they’re in.
Shepard tried to take in everything at once as she stepped through the doorway. More treatment beds, some biosafety hoods for lab work and experiments, and a woman sitting at a terminal, back to the door. Figure trim, with a classic bob of dark hair just starting to gray. Wait…it can’t be—
“Doctor Chakwas?” Shepard blurted, stunned into a sudden stop. Holy shit! Is it really her?
The chair swiveled, and the woman’s face came into view. Her rather stern expression became fond. “Morgan! I watched the Normandy crumble with you on board. It’s so good to see you alive.”
The doctor stood and closed the distance, placing a hand on Shepard’s shoulder. “I must admit, I wasn’t sure Cerberus was telling the truth about bringing you back.”
The affectionate gesture gave Shepard her first moment of true connection since “waking up,” allowing her to shake off the mute amazement. “Doc, it’s great to see you, and I’m so glad you’re here. But I’m shocked! You’re serving on a Cerberus vessel now?”
“Surprising, even to me. Yet, here I am.” To Shepard’s senses, both Chakwas’ tone and countenance expressed calm confidence in the decision. Witnessing it gave her a stronger sense of…grounding in this strange new reality.
“I have so many questions—” Shepard began.
“Of course you do,” the doctor inserted with a chuckle.
“—but I have to get the Cerberus stuff out of the way first.” I can’t trust Mr. Illusive to give me privacy, she knew, looking around for cameras or bugs. Seeing EDI’s guided-tour interaction point just over Chakwas’ shoulder, Shepard led the doctor to the opposite side of med lab, by the patient beds.
“Joker was a surprise, though understandable once he explained,” the commander began, volume low. “But you? Serving on a Cerberus vessel? You’re not the Cerberus type, Doctor.”
Chakwas straightened slightly, her tone sharp, almost fierce. “I don’t work for Cerberus; I work for you—on a mission that may be crucial to the survival of the human race.” Expression softening, she continued, “I have faith that your dealings with Cerberus will be ethical. I trust you, Commander.”
How to explain I might not deserve such certainty? Voice barely audible, Shepard forced out the questions spinning around her brain. “Are you sure…that is…how do you know…. How can you be sure I’m the commander you trusted on the SR-1? Is there any way you can tell if I am 100% me? Really me? I haven’t known what to think or who to believe since Lawson ‘woke’ me. I could be a clone, or an AI, or maybe even just a really smart VI. And even if I’m really me, I could still have a control chip or something. Lawson said I didn’t but—”
“Take a breath, Morgan,” Chakwas interrupted, gently grasping both of Shepard’s hands. “I empathize with the confusion you’re feeling, coming to in a Cerberus lab, in the midst of combat. Discovering two years have passed since your last concrete memories.”
She lifted one hand to Shepard’s jaw. “I could say in all honesty that simply asking those questions provides the answer you seek. Only a sane person wonders if they are crazy. Only a good person wonders if they are acting with compassion and integrity. But knowing you, that response is not sufficient. Follow me.”
Shepard found herself tugged toward the doctor’s desk, Chakwas took a seat and opened an interface. “Courtesy of Miranda Lawson, I have full files on you, including your entire Alliance medical record. Under different circumstances, I would find that data breach maddening. On this new Normandy, however, the information will be helpful.”
Her voice then dropped to a whisper. “I also have my own copies of your medical examinations on the SR-1, so I will know if Cerberus tampered with the official record.” Resuming her typical no-nonsense delivery, she concluded, “Ms. Lawson also shared your ‘Lazarus’ files with me. Not the secret of how they accomplished your revival, but all the data I might need to treat you.”
“Have you drawn any conclusions?” Shepard’s eyes closed, as if that reflex could protect her from unwelcome news. Even if she says I’m the real Morgan Alannah Shepard, I’m not sure I’d believe it. Who knows what Cerberus might pull off, with all the horrible, experimental fuckery I know they’re capable of.
The doctor again reached for the commander’s hand. “Morgan, relax,” she softly urged. “Ms. Lawson only transferred the files earlier today. I haven’t had an opportunity to go through all the information. And I’d like to conduct a basic exam with some scans before I dig deeply into the data she provided.”
Shepard’s eyes popped open. “Oh.” How odd. I’m not sure if I’m disappointed or relieved. “Well, aside from issues caused by my general weirdness, do you have everything you need in this very bright, shiny med lab?
“I believe so,” Chakwas answered with satisfaction. “This medical bay seems very much like the sick bay on the original Normandy.” She raised an eyebrow, shooting a bit of a smirk Shepard’s way. “I can even black out the windows for finicky patients who prefer less light and more privacy.” The smirk disappeared with a bit of a sigh. “The only thing missing are my private reserves. I even had a bottle of Serrice Ice Brandy that I was saving for a special occasion.”
Shepard whistled. “Wow, I hear that’s quite the excellent elixir. I’ll keep an eye out for a replacement bottle.”
“Oh, you needn’t. It’s expensive, and we have much larger concerns ahead. Though, as always, I appreciate your generous impulses.”
Shifting gears back to medicine, the doctor asked, “Are you willing to have the baseline exam and scans now, or would you prefer to come back later?”
“Well, that depends on whether you intend to jab me full of needles,” Shepard grinned. Cerberus can’t possibly know about this routine we always go through…can they?
Doctor Chakwas smiled in return. “Alas, it is nothing invasive. Well, perhaps just a little.”
God, it feels good to laugh. “Split the difference? I want to meet more of the crew. Get more of a feeling for the ship. How about the exam and scans now but a conversation on your findings later? Is after dinner okay?”
“After dinner is fine, Commander. Just remember to breathe while you become acquainted with this new Normandy. Now, hop up on that first bed, and we’ll begin the exam.”
***
Several hours later, Shepard reentered med lab with a theatrical flourish. “The prodigal commander has returned, to be pricked and prodded in all kinds of nasty, ghastly ways.”
Doctor Chakwas shook her head in mock exasperation. “It’s good to see your humor and fondness for the ridiculous haven’t changed. But you well know all the prodding already took place.”
Suddenly pensive, Shepard asked, “Have other, more important things changed? Or been changed?” My stomach isn’t sure I really want to know. Feels like dinner’s going to come back up.
“I moved an extra chair near my terminal. Take a seat, and we’ll compare today’s data with exam results from two years ago and from even further back. After that we can tackle what seems most important in the Cerberus data on ‘Project Lazarus.’”
Okay, relax. Take a deep breath. It’s just information, and more info is always good. “It’s your show, Doc. I’ll sit and try to be good.”
“Do try, Shepard, at least for the ten or fifteen minutes you’re able to sit still.” An arched brow and small smile soothed any sting from the teasing.
“Now, let’s begin with what’s the same,” Chakwas stated, settling into informative mode. “Starting with the most easily verifiable, the healed break in your left leg is still present; age indicates it occurred in childhood. The thickened scar tissue in your right primary rotator cuff muscles is also still present. Saving a colleague during N7 training should have resulted in a citation and medal, I believe, in addition to the shoulder dislocation and muscle tears. But back to the point, in these two cases, the evidence of prior injury is identical in both the new exam and your older records.”
“Those damaged muscles will always be a pain, Doc, but right now they are one of the few things that make this body feel like mine.” Out of habit Shepard rolled the troublesome shoulder and rotated her neck. Hello, body aches, my old friends.
“I understand, Shepard. But as I was always reminding you two years ago, various types of therapeutic massage on a regular basis could break up that scar tissue and encourage healing.”
Shepard grinned. “I doubt Cerberus placed a masseuse on staff. Though my quarters could have a massage table; I haven’t been up there yet to check. If not, do you think we could get away with requisitioning one?”
“Ahem,” Chakwas vocalized, a little more loudly than usual. “If you are finished pulling us off course? Then on to more complex comparisons. Your brain waves in response to basic stimuli are nearly identical to the last time I examined you, just a few days before the…the loss of Normandy.”
Shepard was startled by the small break—Doctor Chakwas was always unflappable. Shouldn’t be surprised, I guess. She lost friends in that attack, too. Like Pressly. Should remember I’m not the only one with trauma.
The doctor continued, “And before you ask, some small changes are to be expected over time. Even so, going back to the full medical workup when you first enlisted, your brain waves have an identifiable pattern that is unique to you. Any expert comparing older records to today’s would determine they all belong to the same person. And to my knowledge, there is no way to fake or duplicate these results. They show that you, sitting here now, are without doubt Commander Morgan Shepard.”
That should be a big relief, but…some things feel off. And if Cerberus brought me back, who knows what else they can do. “Thanks, Doc. But I know my combat capabilities have changed. At Freedom’s Progress, my reaction times were faster. Pretty sure I was even moving faster.”
“You’re jumping ahead. We are focusing on what’s the same. Some things are indeed different, and we’ll get to them.”
“Okay. Patience is not my strong suit, unless I’m sniping,” Shepard admitted, fidgeting in her seat. “Putting more effort into being good.”
Chakwas smiled. “If you want to stand and pace at any point, feel free to do so. I know you’re feeling the impulse; the toe tapping gives you away. Another part of you that hasn’t changed.”
“I know I’m 28,” Shepard grumbled. “Or am I 30? I’m not really sure. Anyway, whatever my age, right now my inner child wants to stick her tongue out at you.”
“And this is ‘good?'” The doctor stared, one eyebrow raised, until Shepard subsided. “Continuing, the nature of the exam earlier today was mostly non-invasive, so I do not have data on the DNA present in your internal organs. But I did take several skin samples for comparison. Cloned tissue is identifiable, due to a consistent pattern of DNA degradation. That decline becomes more and more noticeable over successive cloning generations, so the rate of decline is mathematically predictable, even backwards to the first generation.”
“I’m familiar with the concept.” Shepard stood and started pacing, taking up Chakwas’ offer.
The doctor turned her swivel chair to maintain some eye contact. “You have additional physical damage documented in the medical records. It comes mostly from your mission on Akuze, which left you with serious acid splash burns.”
Shepard raised her own eyebrow. “Not something I’m liable to forget, Doc.”
“Well,” Chakwas resumed, “sometime during the last two years, a fairly large acid burn on your back has been reduced in size by the use of skin grafts. I don’t think Cerberus was trying to heal the burn for cosmetic reasons—”
“You sure about that? Lawson and Taylor could be fashion models, and even TIM is kind of handsome, if you can get past the slime quotient.”
Chakwas shot Shepard a stern look but otherwise ignored the interruption. “—rather, they were likely repairing an area further damaged by atmospheric…reentry and subsequent exposure…to frigid conditions.”
Fuck, could have done without that reminder.
After a deep breath, the doctor moved on. “My analysis shows the repaired skin is a perfect match to your DNA, with no sign of cloning degradation. That means Cerberus used your own healthy skin from another part of the body, typically the thighs or stomach. Healthy skin regrows, with healing occurring in both the damaged and donation areas. So, even in a part of the recovery process less central to identity, where cloning tissue could have been very convenient, Cerberus chose to use only your own skin. From all this, I would argue that Cerberus was highly motivated to bring you back—as much as possible—completely unchanged.”
“But the partial disappearance of the scar should be in the ‘change’ category, Doc, not in the category of ‘same.’”
“It’s a similarity made identifiable by difference. That’s called a segue, Shepard.” The doctor’s smile was almost…snarky.
“Hey, I’m supposed to be the comedian here,” Shepard complained. Chakwas chuckled at her very exaggerated pout.
“All right, on to the changes. As I believe you’ve already heard, Cerberus needed to make use of bio-synthetic fusion in your recovery. More specifically, nanotechnology to support your neural network.”
What? I’m part…android now?
“But before you begin imagining the jokes Jeff might make about robots and such, let me reassure you that less than five percent of your nervous system required such help.”
Okay, maybe five percent isn’t that bad.
“In some key areas, however, this cutting-edge technology was needed to override damaged nerves, making sure data could be transmitted to the brain, with appropriate responses received in turn.”
Key areas, huh? Guess five percent could still be bad, especially if I can’t live without it.
“As a result, most things about your body now function a bit faster than before. Faster metabolism, faster adaptation to your environment, and—as you already noted—faster response times and faster sprinting. In the coming weeks and months, we will both continue discovering the advantages and disadvantages of your nanotech assist.”
Shepard had paused pacing at the mention of biosynthesis. “Question: can the tech be removed at some point in the future? And how do I know Cerberus can’t send commands to my body? Make it supersede my will?”
“Unfortunately, nanotechnology is now thoroughly embedded in your nervous system. Perhaps after another technological leap like discovery of the prothean ruins gave us, medicine might someday have the capability to heal your more damaged nerves and remove the nanodes. But I wouldn’t hold our hope for those achievements anywhere in the near future. As for Cerberus controlling you, I’ve detected no unusual energy signals to indicate the nanodes could serve as receivers for some kind of external transmission. So I repeat, my sense is that Cerberus seems very invested in preserving your identity, your individuality, your morals and beliefs. However, I cannot give you a guarantee.”
“You sure know how to kick a girl when she’s down,” Shepard moped as she joined Chakwas at the desk.
“Getting back to the advantages and disadvantages: one drawback is that my store of painkillers and surgical anesthesia will no longer serve you well—or at least, not for very long. Your increased metabolism will throw off standard dosing, and your adaptability might make some medications ineffective if used more than a handful of times. Therefore, I will need additional exams in order to better understand how you body will react to injury and medications.”
“A-ha! As I suspected: we’re back to me getting pricked and prodded in all kinds of nasty, ghastly ways.”
“Alas for you; for my part, I am breathless with anticipation,” Chakwas teased, logging out of the interface. “But as we’re winding down, I have one unrelated medical matter to discuss with you.”
“Might as well take care of it while I’m here.” Shepard resumed pacing and rotating the bad shoulder.
Chakwas jumped right in. “You are no longer protected by the Alliance military’s standard birth control implant in your upper left arm.”
Shepard jerked to a stop. Fuck, fuck fuck, I hate these conversations. Aware her mouth was open, she snapped it shut. More vigorous pacing commenced.
“According to Ms. Lawson, it was removed because it was no longer routinely releasing the necessary hormones. So I will need to secure another implant. I should be able to find some on the Citadel, or at least arrange an order for delivery—”
“You really don’t need to bother.” Shepard knew she was being rude, not slowing down or even glancing at the doctor. “The last time I had sex was years ago, not even counting the two-year nap.”
“Really? I was under the impression that you…never mind. It’s not important.”
Hmm. Chakwas has a reputation for tight lips—pretty necessary for a doctor—but I kinda wonder what she heard.
The doctor continued, “I know this is a Cerberus ship, but Alliance regulations require birth control for all troops—aside from those who are building families—and consensual sex isn’t the only worry.”
“Yeah, yeah, I know.” I’m not going to win on this. Should save my energy for more important battles. “Put me on your schedule when the implant is on board.”
The doctor nodded, then fussed with items on her desk. “Forgive me for going beyond my role as doctor, but…I suspect, since waking, you have likely felt pulled in many directions. May I suggest that you prioritize reporting to Councilor Anderson or Admiral Hackett? As someone designated MIA or KIA, regs require you to make contact with the Alliance as soon as possible. And on a more personal note, I know Anderson would very much want to see you with his own eyes.”
“I don’t mind the nudge; there IS a lot of stuff in my head right now,” Shepard admitted. “So thanks for going above and beyond. I did send a note to Fleet Command, but I’m not sure TIM let it through his sticky web. I’ll take us to the Citadel as soon as we’ve gotten the dossier candidates from Omega, since we’re already in the Omega nebula.”
“TIM?” Chakwas sounded puzzled. “You mentioned that earlier. Is it a…name?”
This time, Shepard made sure she was close to EDI’s interaction point. She wanted Cerberus to hear. “Acronym for The Illusive Man. I hate pretentious names. I think TIM suits him.”
The doctor smothered a broad smile. “Understood.”
“I have one last question, for now at least. If it’s none of my business, just say so. You’ve been with the Alliance for years, Doc. Really, why leave now?”
Chakwas leaned back in her chair, eyes closed. “After Normandy was lost, the surviving crew was reassigned. I was stationed at the Mars Naval Medical Center. A very respectable position, but it wasn’t on a starship.”
“Colonial military life isn’t for you?” Shepard could imagine it: the doctor in the midst of a busy hospital, saving more lives day-to-day, week-to-week than would ever be possible as the medic on a frigate.
“I’ve spent most of my life on warships, never knowing what the next mission might bring.” Eyes now open, Chakwas gazed up at the med lab ceiling, looking…wistful. “I’m used to the hum of engines, the creaking of bulkheads, that subtle vertigo when the momentum dampeners kick in. Life planet-side is just too static, too boring.”
Shepard opened her eyes wide, assuming an innocent air. “Not enough tough soldiers with piercing eyes and sensitive souls?”
The doctor leaned further back in her chair, turning her head toward Shepard. “I truly regret saying that to you. But how was I to know at the time what a rogue you can be?”
“I have a stealth cloak,” Shepard smirked. “Rogue goes with the territory.”
Laughing, Chakwas stood and walked toward Shepard. “I had somehow forgotten how a conversation with you can seem like an athletic event. I need to be fast on my feet to keep up! But I must admit, I enjoy it…and I’ve missed it these last two years.”
The laughter in her tone disappeared. “Just as I missed you, my friend. I don’t want to lose you again, but here we are, on a mission that carries great risk. Please, Shepard, do all you can to take care of yourself.”
“I’ll try, I promise.”
As if embarrassed by overt emotion, Chakwas cleared her throat and slipped back into the comfort of pragmatism. “And come in again soon, so we can begin work on the medical impact of your nanotechnology.”
“Will do, Doc.” Anything for my favorite medical officer. And now I need to find some Serrice Ice Brandy. Hope they have some on Omega.
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