Mass Effect: Reaper Dreams

One Last Chance

"There is no such thing as paranoia. Your worst fears can come true at any moment."

Hunter S. Thompson

May 10th, 2188

Susan Rizzi, Normandy SR-2

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"I'm sorry, Commander, but the results are conclusive. You have multiple high grade gliomas," said Dr. Chakwas.

Susan began dressing. Her hands, feet, and ears were cold. She should have seen it coming. She wouldn't go down like this. She couldn't allow it, not after all she'd come through.

Dr. Chakwas continued. "The bad news is that they are developing rapidly. I would hazard a guess that they started as parenchymal lesions. This is why the Alliance has such strict regulations regarding G-C3's and Bipacs."

Susan was frustrated. "Lesions are common with Biotics. I don't understand how it went sideways so quickly."

Dr. Chakwas sighed. "Commander, as you know, Alliance Naval officers are constantly exposed to harmful radiation, especially on a mission like this. You've been on several dangerous spacewalks, not to mention the ancient Asari wreck, and the firefight on Cascadia Graves. That's why we are so cautious about lesions in space, and with your history..."

As Susan pulled on her boots, she noticed her hands were shaking. Concentrating, she stared at a single spot on the floor, focus, breathe, remain calm—she'd work through it but first she had to get her emotions under control.

Dr. Chakwas shook her head and sighed. "You're very lucky we caught it early. We can begin treatment first thing in the morning."

Susan shook her head. "Oh, no, I'm not going through that out here, no fucking way. I'll be out of commission for months."

Dr. Chakwas frowned. "You have no choice in the matter, Commander. Your chances of survival are over seventy-percent if we begin treatment within the week. After that, they plummet exponentially."

"If I don't undergo treatment, how long can you keep me on my feet?" asked Susan.

"A few months perhaps, but that isn't an option. As an Alliance Medical Officer I am duty bound to treat you. If you refuse, I can still disbar you from duty for psychological reasons, and I will, because refusing treatment is suicide. It's not rational, Commander."

"I'll state my case to General Vakarian," said Susan.

"I've already sent him the reports and my recommendation, and if I know Garrus, he'll lock you in here under guard before he'll let you throw your life away," said Dr. Chakwas.

"We'll see," said Susan.

Susan walked out of med-bay without another word. She was nearly to the elevator when Ensign Tabaaha tracked her down. Nascha Tabaaha was a short, muscular woman with strong Native American features. She wore her thick, black hair in a large, twisted topknot bun. When she washed or combed it out, it fell well past her waist and nearly to her knees. It was a familiar sight to Susan, since Nascha was her bunkmate and also shared the same shower shift.

"Commander Rizzi, the General wants to see you. He's in the... well, Ma'am, he's calibrating the ship's main gun," said Nascha.

"Thanks, Ensign," said Susan.

Susan turned on her heel and headed to the Normandy's Main Battery room. As she approached, the door slid open and then sealed again as she passed through. She found the General at the weapons bench working on a massive sniper rifle. He glanced over his shoulder and motioned for her to come on over.