Author's notes: Mass Effect, Mass Effect 2, Mass Effect 3 and all related characters and trademarks are property of EA/Bioware. Rated M for language, violence and suggestive themes.
Signing Up
Skycars buzzed through Elysium's rapidly darkening skies, thousands of tiny white lights cutting straight lines through the deep indigo backdrop. Close to the horizon, the faint oranges and reds of the sunset sent their last few gleams of light darting across the planetary capital of Illyria. As the day said its farewell to the city, a final streak of luminous green raced from one horizon to the other, a ribbon of stellar radiation that skimmed the outer limits of the planet's atmosphere. The phenomenon, known to the more culturally inclined as 'The Spears of Okeanos', and to the day-to-day populace as 'The Emerald curtain', was a daily occurrence on Elysium, a by-product of the local star's unique chemical composition and radiological output. Tourists came from all corners of the Galaxy to see the wonder, while the local inhabitants barely gave it a second glance, its spectacle lost on them after the first hundred times they had seen it. Even so, evening time often saw a tide of goggle-eyed Humans, Asari and Turians clog the streets, all heads turned directly upwards.
The glory of the sight, however, was completely lost on the inhabitants of the bar, tucked away down a dingy back alley in one of Illyria's commercial districts. Out of the way of the usual tourist-filled crowd, this particular establishment was favoured by the planet's locals, its location rarely disclosed to outsiders. Even so, an outsider had found his way there, seeking a quite corner of the Galaxy from where he could slake the unending thirst he'd been nursing for the past few months.
Flight Lieutenant Jeff 'Joker' Moreau cradled the half-full glass of beer, staring into its foamy depths in silence. The buzz running through his mind wasn't nearly loud enough, so he quickly drowned the rest of his beverage, then ordered another.
Through the mist reaching into his mind, he felt his omnitool shudder. He spared the device a quick glance before turning away. Another message from Tali. Even after returning to her people on the Migrant Fleet, the Quarian had tried to keep in touch with the squad, the social drives that came naturally to her pushing her to reach out to her crew, her 'family'. In spite of his fondness for the alien, Joker ignored the message.
Of course, some of the crew had naturally drifted since the Citadel. Wrex had returned to his home planet, a determined gleam in his eye. Tali had gone on to finish her Pilgrimage, and Garrus had returned to C-Sec, although he'd been noticeably quiet since then. In the end, only Kaidan and Liara had remained of the Commander's squad, remaining with the crew until… until that day.
A pang of sorrow mixed with guilt stabbed the pilot, making him wince visibly. Behind the bar, the Turian barman flinched, his hand twitching ever so slightly as he glanced to the mop he kept handy. The Human had been going through the hard stuff since early in the afternoon, and his unhealthy complexion warned that he'd been working on his drunken stupor since long before that. Every unexpected twitch sent the Turian reaching for the bucket, just in case.
Joker ignored the alien, instead keeping focused on his drink. He wasn't drunk, not properly so. He'd done that once, after his graduation from the Academy. One moment, he'd been warily eyeing a drink that was literally glowing bright green, and the next he'd woken up in a bus shelter, his right arm in a cast and his ankle swollen up to twice its size. Everything in between was blank. He'd have given anything to be able to do that again, to switch off his brain and awaken to find that days or even months had passed, but there was no liquor strong enough to drown out his brain, to silence the voice that accused him day and night, his own voice.
"You look like a man with the world on his shoulders. Need somebody to share the load with?"
The voice was silken, soft, with just a hint of an Australian accent behind it. And not the fake accent that colonists from half of the Verge put on, either. True Australian, from a first or second generation space-faring lineage. All of this registered in Joker's mind, even with the fog of alcohol numbing his extremities. A figure leaned against the bar next to him, a white sleeve all that he could see while he maintained his intent glare on the drink before him.
Parts of the flight lieutenant's body responded instinctually to the purring voice, complemented by the feeling of heat radiating from the body mere inches from his own. Even so, his brain refused to respond. He said nothing.
"Don't bother with him, lady." The barkeep chimed in. "He's been coming here for four months now. Hasn't said a friendly word since he arrived. I don't think he knows how."
Everything the Turian muttered was true, Joker's mind agreed silently, no shame touching his heart. Four months now, and he hadn't said a word to anyone, save for summoning the next drink. He'd even reduced that to a silent nod after the first week. Truth was, he didn't know whether he could hold a conversation anymore, and he didn't want to find out.
Responding to the Turian's words, the new arrival turned to face the alien. There was the slither of shifting hair, followed by the waft of floral scent mixed with the aroma of femininity, something that would normally have instantly secured Joker's attention.
"There's a Krogan in the corner who seems to be having an adverse reaction to his ryncol. Maybe it's the red sand he took before coming in here. Perhaps you'll want to deal with him before we have a berserk, biotic Krogan destroying the place?"
"Shit…" The Turian sighed, hurrying off. Soon Joker's ears were greeted by the sounds of a scuffle, followed by a couple of the spinning whomps he associated with biotics after his time working with Kaidan.
The barkeep dealt with, the presence turned her attention back to the despondent pilot.
"Now, where were we?" She waited for a moment, an awkward silence filling the gap her words left. "Not a talker, I see. That's no problem. I can do plenty for the both of us. So-"
"Look, lady-" Joker finally took his eyes off his drink, turning to face his unexpected partner.
She was gorgeous. Not in the same way as the models on the front of those glossy magazines so popular on the Citadel, but in a more natural way. Her looks hadn't been crafted through tiny nips to the skin here and artificial pigmentation there, but rather she'd been born a ten out of ten stunner. She didn't wear her looks like an outfit, but rather exuded glamour and raw sexuality as easily as breathing. Even in his despondent frame of mind, Joker found his lungs tightening as his pulse quickened.
Her icy blue eyes took in every facet of his reaction, before a smile creased the milky smoothness of her face.
"Miranda."
"S-sorry?"
"My name." Amusement sparkled in her eyes. "Miranda Lawson."
"Right, right…" Joker's mind ground its gears for a moment. Eventually, he found the right commands to engage his mouth again. "Look… Miranda… I'm sure you're a very nice lady, but you've picked the wrong guy tonight."
"I don't think so." The smile remained, just a little too still. A sneaking suspicion began to itch in the back of Joker's mind. "I'm never wrong."
"You don't even know me!"
"Oh but I do, Mr Moreau." She glanced away, surveying their surroundings idly as she listed off a series of statements. "Flight Lieutenant in the Alliance Navy. Born on Tiptree, out in the Terminus Systems. Your father was an agricultural engineer, and your mother was a contractor. One sister, no brothers, no childhood pets. Graduated from the Academy with exceptionally high marks, and went on to garner the attention of Captain, now Councillor, Anderson. If you like, I could list your achievements as pilot of the SSV Normandy."
"Wha-?"
"Trust me, Mr Moreau, I know you. Very well." She turned, pinning him with those icy blue eyes. A lot of the warmth in her smile had gone, now replaced by a serious scrutiny.
"Alright, what is this?" The pilot's voice rose unsteadily, but a furtive glance from the brunette before him inspired him to keep it down. "I knew you were too hot to be cruising the bars. Government, right?"
"Excuse me?"
"You're here on behalf of the Alliance, come to drag my sorry ass back and stop me being a disgrace to the uniform. Well guess what, sister? I don't give two craps about the uniform anymore. They can take it back for all I care. I quit!"
"I don't think you-"
"Ground me, will they?" The pilot had turned back to his drink, his nose dipping into the froth of his beer as his words dropped into a low mumble. "I'm the best damn pilot they had, and they wanna take me out of the picture, al because of that bastard Udina. We got Humanity their seat on the Council, and now he wants us gone before we can remind everyone of what Shepard would want us to do with the kind of power. And with Shepard gone, whose gonna stop him?"
"That's actually what I wanted to-"
"So you know what? Here!" He reached into his pocket, pulling out a set of pips and dropping them on the bar unceremoniously. He reached back into his pocket, pulling out another small metallic object, but stopped. He stared at it for a long moment before shoving it back in his pocket. As it flashed in his palm, Miranda caught a glimpse of an outline of the Normandy. "You can have the pips, but I'm keeping the medal. And tell Udina-"
"Mr Moreau, I am not here on the Alliance's behalf!" Miranda's voice rose just a little more than she intended. Thankfully, the bar's denizens took no heed. They all had their own little universes full of incredibly important issues to deal with, like how they planned to settle their tab at the end of the night.
Joker's face creased in confusion at her words, his eyes squinting with the effort it took to think clearly.
"Then why are you here?" He asked. "Did Anderson send you? A shrink, to sort me out?"
"I'm afraid not." She explained carefully. "I've been sent here by another party. One who is interested in the final months of your career. Specifically, those months you served under Commander Shepard."
"But if you're looking for me because of my work with the Commander, then-" Joker's eyes widened. "Aw crap. You're someone Shepard pissed off, aren't you? What is it? Some merc gang? Terra Firma? Cerberus? Not that bunch of crazies who followed that Kyle dude?"
"I can assure you, I'm not here because of some grievance between our group and yourself or the Commander." Miranda tried to soothe the drunk. "Far from it. I've come here to offer you a job."
"A job?" The pilot chuckled. "That's rich. And you still didn't answer my question. I'm not too drunk to notice that. Who're you with?"
"I can see there's no fooling you." Miranda released a theatrical sigh. "I work for Cerberus."
"Er-err!" Joker grunted. "Wrong answer. No way I'm working for a bunch of terrorists. You must be forgetting all of the times I saw your experiments up close and personal. Well, not exactly the experiments, just what the Commander would wash off his armour after a long day's killing…"
"Rogue teams, working outside of our mandate." She replied quickly, almost automatically. Joker got the strong impression it was an answer she was used to supplying.
"And that mandate is?"
"Advancing Humanity, nothing more."
"Uh-huh. You know, I think I once heard somebody say exactly the same thing, not too long ago. I think it was that villain in the new Blasto movie. You know, the one who committed all those atrocities and ended up getting a blast of Spectre justice to the face?"
"Please, Mr Moreau!" Miranda chuckled. "This is the real world we're talking about here. Is it so hard to believe that our intentions may actually be genuine?"
"Why don't you go and ask Admiral Kahoku's family that exact question?"
"All I am asking is that you give us a chance." Miranda's tone grew sincere, her expression earnest as she clasped Joker's wrist, keeping his glass from his lips. "You never know, you could find your perception of our organisation completely changed."
Joker paused, the conviction in the woman's tone choking the denial in his throat. He looked to her, looking past the expression and into her eyes. Through the muzziness of his recent bingeing, the sharpness in her stare reached out to him.
"You sound just like him, you know." He sighed. "The way you speak about what you do, you really believe in it. Just like he believed in what he did."
"Tell me about him." She invited.
"If you already know everything you can learn about me, then I really doubt there's anything you don't already know about the Commander's life." The pilot tried a smile, but the muscles in his face were so heavy, so tired, he just couldn't do it. "But do you know how he died?"
"An unidentified ship attacked, and you had no time to defend yourselves. Shepard went down with the ship."
"Sure, that's what the official story is." Joker took another sip from his glass. "And it's true, for a given measure of 'true'. Doesn't tell the whole story, though."
"Oh?" Her curiosity was genuine.
"The ship was crippled from the start, there was no way we could have escaped." The pilot explained, taking a deep breath as he relived those few moments. "The bastards tore a goddamn hole all the way through the CIC. There was nothing left of the Command Deck except for vacuum and a big goddamn hole. And me, still in my chair."
"You stayed at your post?" Her eyebrow lifted. "If the ship was already lost, why stay?"
"I didn't want to give up on her." He shrugged. "The Normandy. Y'see, I got this condition, can't even stand up straight without a brace. Can't do much more than shuffle around, really. But you already know that."
She nodded, keeping silent. This wasn't the time for her to speak.
"But when I'm behind the controls of a starship, I can move faster than anything else around, I can dodge rockets that would level entire city blocks, I can dance through the sky!
"When life outside of it is so crappy, it's not a surprise if you get attached to that chair. The Normandy, she was my baby. Without her, I'm back to being the crippled loser who gets stuck on the sidelines. So, when those assholes came along and tried to take my ship from me, I couldn't let go."
"What happened then?"
"Shepard was busy making sure the rest of the crew got out safely. As soon as he heard I was being stupid and trying to play hero, he came back for me. He dragged me out of that chair and stuffed me in an escape pod." Joker closed his eyes as the next memory rose to the surface in his mind. "Then the ship took another hit. The killing blow. Shepard got knocked clear, but used the last second he had to launch my pod. I sat there, in that pod, watching the Normandy fall apart with the Commander still on board. I saw the shrapnel rip through his suit, leaving him with no air. I watched him die, right there in front of me."
He paused, taking a long swig of his drink. He grunted in annoyance as the glass emptied, but the barkeep was nowhere to be seen, so no refill was forthcoming. He returned to his train of thought without a hitch, his tone growing more harsh.
"All because of a stupid ship! I got Shepard killed, all because of a lump of metal and wires. How stupid do you have to be to sacrifice a friend for the sake of a goddamn ship?"
"A ship can mean a lot to her crew." Miranda tried to reason. "It's home, for many. Sometimes it can feel like the only refuge you have in this Galaxy."
"But a ship is not a person!" The pilot protested. "No matter how well designed, or how long you've been serving on it, it's just armour plating and an engine. A ship is not worth someone else's life!"
He turned to face her, eyes full of fire.
"Shepard is dead, and it's my fault. The Alliance tried to make it all better with a bunch of crappy medals and a nice fat promotion to a desk job. If you've done your homework, then you'll already know that I turned that down. So what does Cerberus think that it has that the Alliance didn't?"
"Well, first off, we can get you flying again." Miranda listed off on her fingers. "We find ourselves in need of a skilled pilot. Cerberus only settles for the best, and you're it. Secondly, we can do something about your Vrolik's Syndrome for you. Not a cure, but an improvement, certainly."
"So a bunch of meds that you probably got by torturing a bunch of orphaned kittens first, and a job as an interstellar pizza delivery boy?" Joker chuckled. "You make a convincing offer so far. What else?"
"Well… we also have Commander Shepard."
Silence was the only response Joker gave for a long moment. When he finally spoke, his tone had lost its inebriated slur, his brain suddenly dead sober.
"Say that again?"
"Commander Shepard."
"How?"
"He's badly injured, and it's taken this long to put him back together. We've had to invest a lot of time and-"
"Show me."
"I thought you might say that." She relaxed a little, some of the tension flowing out of her muscles. "There's a shuttle departing from the spaceport in three hours. Meet me there."
"It'll take me longer than that to pack up and-"
"Your belongings have already been taken care of for you, as has your rental agreement on that apartment you were living in."
"Sounds like you knew I was going to come with you." Joker's eyes narrowed. His suspicions remained, but if she was telling the truth…
"Like I said before, Mr Moreau, I'm never wrong." She smiled as she stood up, turning away from the bar. "I'll see you at the spaceport. Remember; three hours."
Joker glanced back to his empty glass, uncertain of what to think. Had that all just happened? Or had he finally passed out, his beer still unfinished.
The Turian barkeep returned, nursing his side gingerly. He glanced to the Human pilot, noting the empty glass.
"Need another refill, pal?"
"Not this time." Joker sighed, getting to his feet. "I got someone I gotta meet."
Author's Note: A little diversion I cooked up this evening. Thanks go to dpmeggers on the BSN for the idea. Let me know what you think!
As always, this happens in the ITU continuity, so uses ITU Shepard.
Fainmaca Out.