"I have heard ballads of great battles, and poems about the beauty of a charge and the grace of a leader. But I did not know that war was nothing more than butchery, as savage and unskilled as sticking a pig in the throat and leaving it to bleed to make the meat tender. I did not know that the style and nobility of the jousting arena had nothing to do with this thrust and stab. Just like killing a screaming piglet for bacon after chasing it round the sty. And I did not know that war thrilled men so: they come home laughing like schoolboys after a prank; but they have blood on their hands and a smear of something on their cloaks and the smell of smoke in their hair and a terrible ugly excitement on their faces.

I understand now why they break into convents, force women against their will, defy sanctuary to finish the killing chase. They arouse in themselves a wild vicious hunger more like animals than men. I did not know war was like this. I feel I have been a fool not to know, since I was raised in a kingdom at war and am the daughter of a man captured in battle, the widow of a night, the wife of a merciless solider. But I know now."

Philippa Gregory

July 14th, 2188

Susan Rizzi

__________________________________

Susan spat blood and broken teeth onto a primitive cell floor already covered in feces, urine, and rotting flesh. She'd been stripped to her undergarments and systematically abused by her captures, but they hadn't killed her or inflicted mortal wounds—at least not yet. After her capture, she was faced with the fear that the Krogan that had taken her were too stupid to care what she was doing in the area, but then a call came down. Apparently a Warlord, or someone equally as important in the chain of command realized she might be of use to them—lucky for her, lucky for everyone.

It was difficult to make out her surroundings. The light was dim, and what she could see was doubled or blurred by the effects of a severe concussion. It was possible that her skull was fractured. A funny taste in the back of her throat was especially troubling. She suspected it was cerebrospinal fluid, and if that was the case, she didn't have long. Medical treatment was unlikely.

Shaking and sweating, trying to keep herself from vomiting, she crawled to the farthest corner of her cell in the hopes that she could stay out of sight and not attract the attention of one of the Krogan guards. She had her biotics, though they were of little use in her current condition. There was no temptation to attempt an escape. Susan wasn't even sure of where she was. It had all been a blur since her patrol had been jumped.

A voice, wretched and deep, resonating like a sickly bullfrog, croaked out of the darkness beyond her right shoulder.

"Human," it said. "What are you doing here?"

She took a rattling breath through broken ribs before she answered. "What does it look like?"

The Krogan grunted. "I haven't seen an alien on Tuchanka in months."

It was painful to talk, but Susan felt obliged to follow the thread of the conversation.

"Where did they all go?" she asked. "The Relay is still closed."

The Krogan made a sickening sound with his mouth. "Food supplies being what they are, they were butchered and eaten."

Susan made no pretense of being shocked. She'd gotten a firsthand look of Tuchanka these past few days. What had been a desolate world prior to the Reaper War had turned into a burned out graveyard over the course of the last year. The Krogan had rushed headlong into having children as soon as the Genophage was cured. Unfortunately, after the destruction of the Reapers and the damage to the relays meant there was no way to bring the millions of newborn Krogan food and much needed medical supplies. Society had fallen apart in short order.

The isolation of their race, the barrenness of Tuchanka, and their warlike nature, had all joined forces against them, bringing about a level of savagery and unprecedented suffering that was shocking even by Krogan standards. Shortly thereafter, the Krogan Clans had turned against each other. The rules that Wrex had put into place were abandoned when Urdnot Torsk became the leader of Clan Urdnot. Females and children had been slaughtered indiscriminately when the fighting broke out. If the relay wasn't opened soon, the Krogan race would go extinct.

Susan found herself in a strange juxtaposition. In her estimation, the Krogan race didn't deserve to be saved. Allowing them to get back on their feet was a mistake. They had proven, beyond a shadow of a doubt, to be incapable of civilized behavior. However, General Vakarian was her immediate superior. He'd given an order, and Susan would obey it despite her personal misgivings. She was willing to give up what life she had left to fulfill her mission. It was about being a good soldier. It was about loyalty.

The Krogan in the cage next to her spoke up again. "How did you get here, human?"

"Long story," she answered. "I came here to help."

He grunted again. "Foolish way to die."

"Right," she said. "But orders are orders. Who are you, and how did you get on the wrong side of this cage?"

"I'm Urdnot Mok," said the Krogan.

Susan grinned through swollen lips. "Doesn't ring a bell."

Mok snorted. "Nor should it. I am no one."

"Ah," said Susan. "How does no one end up in a cage when other Krogan are being slaughtered?"

"Long story," he answered sardonically.

"Touchè," said Susan, wondering if the translator would handle such an unusual term and translate it to Krogan.

It was then she realized her translator bud had been removed. She stared at the Krogan in shock.

"You can speak English?"

The Krogan showed his sharp teeth. "English, Mandarin, German, Japanese, Arabic, Russian, most of the romance languages of course, and a smattering of minor dialects. I am fluent in thirty-two dialects of the Asari tongue as well, and several branches of Turian and Salarian, and a host of other tongues. I also understand the rudimentary basics of Geth communication."

Susan was suitably impressed. "I didn't know Krogan had linguists."

"There are few of us," he admitted. "Thus I am too valuable to kill."

"Ah, I see," said Susan.

She was wondering why the Krogan would bother keeping a prisoner after interrogation. Now it made sense.

Mok laughed. "They believe I could be useful when they begin their campaign of revenge and conquest. It is all a delusion of course. We've doomed ourselves, but I see no reason to hasten my death by stating the obvious."

Susan shook her head. "Your mastery of English is astonishing. Have you been to Earth?"

The Krogan chuckled dryly. "I've never left Tuchanka."

Susan positioned herself near the bars to his cell, lowering her voice so she wouldn't draw the attention of the guards. "Did you use alien tutors?"

Mok shook his head and tapped his own skull. "I have an ear for tongues, and I watch cinema. Asari and Human, primarily, of course."

Susan cocked her head. "Really?"

The Krogan grinned again. "Yes, I've always dreamed of making films of my own. I've studied the art in depth, all the masters, D'Strata, Ibeth, T'Lonna, Leone, Coppola, Arinthe, Kubrick, Bannoche, Uma Dirth, Malick, and, ah, I could go on..."

Susan laughed. Mok cocked his head, his expression souring, as if he had taken offense.

"Don't mind me," said Susan. "I'm chiding myself. I was wondering if your species had any motivation at all, other than killing and war, and now I'm sharing a cell block with a Krogan linguist, an aspiring artist no less. You're the first ray of sunshine I've seen in this bleak hellhole."

Mok shook his head. "Typical human, full of judgement and hypocrisy."

Susan was incredulous. "I didn't mean to offend."

Mok snorted in contempt. "Say what you will about my species, but don't put yourselves above us. When my people question you, human, they may cause you physical pain in order to extract the information, but no Krogan would violate a female, not even an alien. It would be a gross dishonor. In the entire history of my world you would be hard pressed to find a serial offender or sexual sadist, let alone a defiler of children. No, that is entirely the province of Asari, Humans, and Batarians. Krogan kill, but we are not perverse. We don't rape."

Susan gently brushed her aching head. She hadn't thought about it before. Was that true?

Mok moved closer, staring at Susan intently. "Yet no one, aside from Batarians, consider your race a predominant threat to the galaxy, and the Asari, oh the Asari, they cover up their indiscretions all the time, shut them away so they can keep up the veneer of civilization, but behind every criminal or unjust act in this galaxy you are sure to find an Asari. Too many races discount them because they see beautiful females, but they are more than that. They are female only in the primordial sense. In truth, they are an entire race of plundering males wearing female skin. The galaxy spins in the direction that the Asari dictate, and they allow us lesser races, for we are all lesser in their eyes, only the freedom they wish us to have, and all of us foolishly march to their tune."

Susan considered Mok's words. "Strange, usually when I hear a Krogan discuss politics it amounts to crushing Turians and Salarians."

"My people are shortsighted," said Mok. "The Salarians made the Genophage, and the Turians pulled the trigger, but behind it all I know there was an Asari planting the seed, watering the roots, and giving it all the manure and sunlight it needed to grow and bear fruit. I'd bet my life on it."

Susan didn't have long to consider what Mok had to say. The sound of grinding metal reverberated through the cell block as one of the bay doors slid open. Several armed Krogan entered. The leader, a warlord by the look of him, bore down on her cell.

"Human!" he snapped.

Susan turned, glaring at him defiantly.

The soldiers behind him were sliding a metal chair into the center of the room. The chair had several torture instruments attached to it. In addition two metal trays were hoisted onto a nearby table. A short, gnarled Krogan played at one of the trays. He had a wicked gleam in his eye that betrayed his practice. Susan set her jaw and began to mentally prepare herself.

Before the cell opened, she sent a parting shot in Mok's direction. "What were you saying about sadists?"

Susan didn't put up much of a fight when two Krogan took hold of her. There wasn't really an advantage to resistance. By the time they stripped her underclothes off and strapped her to the chair, she was far away, in a place she hadn't been since her last surgery, when was it, five, ten years ago?

The Krogan Warlord was talking to her, explaining how it would be easier if she cooperated and answered all the questions like a good little pyjak. Susan pretended she didn't understand. The torture followed soon thereafter. As it expected, it was unsophisticated and brutal from the onset. Her chief concern, however, wasn't the pain. It was her immediate survival. If she died before they could extract the information from her, then it would all be a waste.

____________________________________

By the time Susan Rizzi had surrendered the crucial information to the Krogan, her body had sustained an incredible amount of punishment. It was difficult to assess the damage her torturers had inflicted, but it had to be extensive. She was ready to let go, hoping that her captors would simply end her life once they were confident they'd received what they wanted. It was the merciful thing to do, even if Krogan weren't necessarily noted for their mercy.

She was in shock, so the pain wasn't as overwhelming at it had been at the start. Her eyes were full of her own blood, the right so damaged that the blood was of little consequence, thus she wasn't in the position to examine her surroundings. As expected, the Krogan weren't exactly the most sophisticated interrogators she'd gone up against. They were butchers, not artists. Hell, she'd been through worse torment in N7 training, though, admittedly, it hadn't been nearly as gruesome.

Susan Rizzi's violent end was fitting. She'd gone out just like her father, tortured beyond reason, masticated like a piece of rotten meat in the jaws of a scavenger. Insane as it might sound, she found comfort in the symmetry.

'Always get the job done, even if the work is dirty,' she thought.

Yea, dad would be proud, proud of how tough she was, of what she could endure, of what she had done for a dying race. General Vakarian would make sure that the crew knew that she'd lived up to the rank of Commander of the Normandy, that in her own way she was as much of a hero as the great Shepard.

Susan had always lived her life with a purpose, with something to prove. She wanted glory and acclaim, and she wasn't afraid to admit it to herself. This was a good death. If there had been anything left of her face she might have smiled.

'They'll remember me now.'

Susan had retreated somewhere in the back of her mind to prepare herself for death when all hell broke loose. She was so detached from her surroundings that it took her some time to realize what was happening. She was certain she could hear the sound of gunfire, and then several explosions, most certain grenades, followed by the distinctive shouts of Krogan. The sound of large bodies hitting the ground nearby, and then the familiar crash of a biotic charge that nearly rattled her remaining teeth out of her jaw.

And then hands were on her, a man's voice was shouting.

"Mouse, can you hear me? I've got you. Oh, fuck, fucking hell, what did they do to you, what the fuck did they do to you?" said the voice.

It took her a few seconds to place the voice. It was Striker, Steven James, her guy. What was he doing here? He shouldn't be seeing her in this condition.

"James, don't move her yet, let the medic do the work, and then we'll get the hell out of this damn place," said Garrus.

Susan's mottled brain was trying to make sense of her surroundings. Garrus shouldn't be here, that wasn't the plan. Had something gone wrong? Susan began to panic. Had she gone through all of that for nothing?

As she was cut out of the chair, Garrus spoke to her. "Hang on Rizzi, just a little ways to go."

She answered as best she could, trying not to choke on her own blood. "General, why are you here?"

Garrus silenced her. "Torsk is moving his forces exactly where we want them to be. They're walking right into the trap Wrex and Eve set for them. Even better, our reinforcements arrived early. They're already in orbit."

Susan couldn't believe her ears. It was perfect, almost too perfect. Her head buzzed in alarm.

"So, according to plan," she muttered.

"Careful with her, she's a mess," said Wind.

'Maggie is here too?' thought Susan.

Steve was getting edgy. "What the hell do you mean, according to plan?"

Garrus brushed him off. "Susan will explain it to you when she's on her feet again. When can we move her?"

"It's bad, but I can stabilize her," said Maggie. "Internal bleeding is minimal. Obviously, they took off an ear and pulled most of her teeth out. Aside from that, fractured skull and cheekbone, broken ribs and, missing digits on hands and feet, and the right eye is badly damaged, probably burned, fucking Krogan primitives. She'll live, and we can repair all the damage, but we need to get her back to the ship and into surgery ASAP."

'So, I'm not going to go out like a hero,' Susan thought bitterly. 'I'll waste away from the damn cancer after all.'

"What the hell, Garrus, why did you come for me?" she asked in an accusatory tone.

"The relay will be open in a few days, Susan," he explained. "We could be back on Earth in under a week."

Susan was weighing her response when Maggie stuck her with a needle. Anesthetic filled her bloodstream. Her pain and confusion ebbed away like a receding tide as she succumbed to unconsciousness.

______________________________________

When she awoke, she heard and felt the familiar thrum of a Kodiak shuttle, as well as an abundance of com chatter.

A particularly savage sounding Krogan was roaring over the din of the com traffic. "That's it, keep pressing, drive on; crush them. Now is the time to break their flank!"

She could hear the shuttle crew commenting on the com chatter.

"It's all over now," said Garrus. "Grunt has them on their heels."

"That was a hell of a gamble, Sir," said another voice.

Susan didn't recognize it, but it was distinctively Turian.

"I prefer the term calculated risk," said Garrus. "Ok, Lieutenant, try them again."

"Hen, this is blackbird, starboard ballpoint pitch 32—approach vector 87.54. Uncover the nest, I repeat, uncover the nest."

There was a pause.

"Joker, are you there? What the hell is going on?" said Steve.

"There's only half a dozen on the Normandy," said the other Turian. "They might not have all the stations covered.

"The VI should be engaged though, and picking up my call sign. Something's not right," said Steve.

Garrus agreed. "I've got a bad feeling about this."

Steve was bewildered. "What, who would... oh shit, do you see that? It's a body. Someone got spaced."

Susan was alarmed.

"Did they get boarded?"

"No chance," said Garrus. "Torsk and his cronies are using old retrofitted civilian ships. They're no match for the Normandy in any respect."

Rizzi began to realize what was happening. Despite the state she was in, her instincts were still sharp. Garrus probably understood the danger as well. She thought back to her first days on the Normandy and her perception of her duty.

She forced herself into a sitting positon. "Sabotage," she said. "Is the relay still vulnerable?"

Garrus looked back at her and nodded.

Steve hadn't pieced it together yet. "Susan, what are you saying?"

"Not everyone on the Council was on board with the Krogan situation," said Garrus.

The other Turian spoke up. "Trakeus, you son of a bitch."

Garrus looked up. "It makes sense. He's trained in spec ops, and he's the only pure solider left on the ship. No one on board could stop him if he went rogue. Dammit all, and he's from Digeris, I should have covered my ass on that account alone. Lieutenant James, bring us up under the cargo area. We'll have to override the auxiliary hatch and board the Normandy."

"There's no time to get out there and fiddle with the hatch," said Steve. "If he's got control of the ship, he can pitch us off and go into stealth."

Susan, who was fully alert by now, had snatched a set of gear and began dressing, though she was making little progress.

She pleaded with Maggie. "I need you to get me on my feet."

"Simi, you crazy? Lay down," said Maggie.

"No," said Susan. "We're all dead if he gets away with the Normandy."

"You can't do anything from here," Maggie protested.

"The hell I can't," said Susan. "I'm the only one who has a shot at making it over there, but I need my biotics, so