April 11, 2201 - Into the Great Wide Open
Erika offered a genuine smile. âIf this was a sale, Feltet would send someone more polished.â
A salesman or woman, someone perfectly dressed and coiffed, personality oozing from carefully reduced pores, a glossy new datapad for the client to keep, only a small section of which would contain the pitch and the terms and the contract. There would be wine and nibbles (they probably called them something other than nibbles) and a view. Not too distracting, but definitely distracting.
Erika knew how to make a pitch, in theory. She knew how to do a lot of things in theory. She also understood that her exotic looksâa canvas of smooth brown skin, dark brown eyes and hair, well sculpted features and a shapely frame, make a good sales tool. Unfortunately for the executives at Feltet, her poise ended the moment she left the laboratory. Â
The best that could be said about her was that she came across as earnest. Earnest did not sell medical solutions. Views and nibbles and free gifts did.Â
Leaning forward, dark hair spilling over her shoulder, Erika tapped at the datapad, tagging key phrases until she had a list of bare facts.
âThis is the no nonsense version,â she said quietly. âIâll walk you through it.â
And she did, from the risk of surgery to what could be expected from three possible outcomes: failure (not terminal), a successful transplant and the most optimal, successful integration. Risks were stated as bare facts. At the end, she showed him a small chart that she had compiled along the way, something like a cost-benefit analysis.Â
âIâve seen the scans of your brain. I rate the success of successful transplant at 57%. Successful integration is significantly higher, if you assume transplant.â She looked at the general, her brown eyes warm and kind. âAs you are now, you will never function as a biotic again. In addition, your condition might continue to deteriorate, particularly if the faulty implant is not removed. You have more than one decision to make, General.â
Fifty-seven percent.
Kaidan stared at the datapad, letting that number settle into his brain. Slightly better than fifty-fifty, but not much. Not so low that he'd be crazy to try it; not so high that he'd be crazy not to. Like Olhouser said, he'd never be a functioning biotic again, not without the transplantâbut if the transplant failed, he could end up being a non-functioning biotic with a permanently and thoroughly damaged brain.
"Yeah," he said, his voice quiet. He did have more than one decision to make.
Removal of the L2 had its own significant risksâhell, that's why they hadn't done it when he was admitted. After thirty years, it was part of his brain, despite his brain not really wanting it. Removing it was a frighteningly complex prospect.Â
Part of him was excited at the idea of a new implant, a proven one, one that didn't have the issues associated with the L2. Another part was mourning the abilities his L2 had given him; there was no question that it had had its benefits in combat, something the new implant would not likely allow. Would he still be able to reave? Or perform the other biotic tasks he'd trained so hard to do?
And still another part of him was scared. This wasn't a small decision. He had lived his life up to this point very aware of his luck regarding the L2. He found it difficult to sit here, now, contemplating how much brain damage was an acceptable risk.
"I'm gonna head back to my room," he murmured. "Can I keep this?" He pushed to his feet, his movements slow and awkward, and tucked the datapad under his bad arm. "Look, uh, Dr. Olhouser, I..." He paused. "Thanks. For coming here. It was, uh, nice to see you. Can I call you?" His brows twitched as he realized how that sounded. "When I'm out, I mean." That wasn't much better. "To talk about..." He lifted his left shoulder, indicating the datapad.















