Miranda Lawson
Restrained
Two shots dropped two more mechs, giving her a clear run. Gunfire and a scream from behind. Three more rounded the corner. She turned around, aimed. One. Two. Her pistol only beeped at the third pull of the trigger. The third mech opened fire. Her shields flared blue. As did her free hand: the first gesture lifted the mech into the air, the second smashed it into the floor.
The last mech in the hallway lay in sparking pieces, but the burning station trembled with the explosions of missiles and destroyed equipment. Miranda Lawson had to applaud Wilson for his audacity. She didn't think the simpering doctor had it in him.
"Help me, please!" someone wailed, but as muffled gunfire overtook their dying screech she raced through a door. The monitoring station had several holes in its wall of camera feeds. Even then some open windows displayed a grainy mess. Fortunately the one she came for remained: her special project, lying unconscious on an examination table.
She opened a communication line to that room. "Shepard, wake up."
She opened her eyes at seven o'clock sharp. A few blinks brought the features of her bedroom through the dark and into view. The curves of the unlit light on the ceiling. The corner where the ceiling met the wall. Without a complaint or a thought for the comfort of mattress and sheet she climbed out of her bed. Selected her clothes for the day. Showered, dried, dressed.
One key difference: after she zipped her red dress and put on her makeup, she pulled a long blue gown and a black trencher out of her closet, then set it aside on her bed.
Out the door, her father's servants skittered up and down the hallway like ants, scrubbing the hardwood floor, polishing the marble tabletops, shaking off the rugs. One of them, carrying a datapad, nearly tripped over a hunched back. When he recovered he spotted her, blushed, and bowed his head. "Miss Lawson."
Miranda glanced over her shoulder towards the cap and gown, then headed down to the ground floor of the Lawson mansion.
"Characteristic of Mister Garnsey to respond at the last minute." Her father, cup of coffee in one hand and open omni-tool in the other, spoke to a servant at his side of the breakfast table. "Ensure we have enough champagne for him and his wife."
"Of course, sir."
"How many are attending?" Miranda asked as the servant vanished through the doorway.
"A great deal. Various executives, government officials. They all want my good graces… and yours."
Miranda nibbled on a croissant. "They want to meet me?"
"Yes, the future CEO of Lawson Pharmaceuticals." Her father sipped his coffee, eyeing her. "I don't have to tell you how important this is."
The branded lesson came through her lips: his words, her voice. "First impressions are everything." If they saw weakness, a chance that the fabled daughter of Henry Lawson might prove more malleable, they'd pounce. "I'll make sure they don't get their hopes up."
I'm already your shadow in every way, she thought. It shouldn't be hard to act it.
"Good. First things first, though, the ceremony. I suppose you're glad to be rid of all your classmates."
All but one. Her father had argued with himself over sending Miranda to a school rather than sticking to the private tutors. In the end he decided she needed some experience with "personal interaction." What little she got of it—at the end of every school day, the tutors were still waiting at the mansion.
"Yes," she said. "But you have a speech to make."
"The easiest part of our day."
With matters to settle in the mansion, her father sent her on ahead. Thirty minutes in the skycar brought her to the wealthy suburbs on the outskirts of the Victorian Megapolis. A brief walk took her to the grassy field beside the school auditorium. Her classmates had gathered in small circles, occupying every inch of shade. Ignoring their laughter and cheer, Miranda sat by Aaron Gainsley's statue. The sun beat down on her with no breeze to temper the heat, but that, she supposed, gave the mortarboard hat two practical uses.
The traffic on the way served one purpose: the mercy of a short wait. At the dean's call, the graduating class of 2166 lined up around the auditorium's outer wall.
Just like rehearsal. A little walking and listening, then I can leave. For a battle with the powerful at her father's mansion, she reminded herself. Her classmates were shallow and small-minded, but harmless.
"Miranda."
She turned around and frowned. "This isn't your spot in line."
"Like they'll care," Niket said with a grin.
"Miss Devine'll tear you apart if she sees you here."
"I'm giving her a present. She deserves one, after all the detention she gave me." He leaned against the wall. "Besides, this is our day."
She thought she glimpsed her father's skycar landing. Meanwhile, beneath a tall oak, a mother dropped a colorful lei around her son's neck, and several students posed together for a camera drone. "If you say so."
"You're not even a little excited? I mean, you're sixteen and you're graduating high school."
Around the corner, the layered sounds of an organ began booming through the auditorium door. The line of waving caps and swaying gowns started its procession. Miranda let herself smile. "I guess I am excited," she said, taking the first step. "To leave."
Niket chuckled. "I hear you."
This was the last time she would ever enter the auditorium, with its carved columns of stained wood, its tall walls and long windows, its perpetually clean orange carpet. The applauding, gleaming audience stood between long rows of chairs as the class of three hundred marched in single file. Her father, face set in stone, sat on the far left. For a moment their eyes met.
Just like rehearsal, Miranda took her assigned seat. Now for the listening.
A speech from the president. A speech from the principal. And a speech from the valedictorian—a spot that Miranda could've claimed with her grades, but chose not to. Then the president returned to the podium. "Please join me in welcoming a very special guest: your keystone speaker, Mister Henry Lawson of Lawson Pharmaceuticals."
Miranda noticed the briefest of glances flicked her way as applause surged upwards. She offered slow, deliberate claps, keeping a flat face. Do they expect me to be excited?
Her father strutted down the side and took his spot with the same smile he used on his peers. "I suppose I can start this off saying…" He took a wide look across the audience while the sound system made his voice omnipresent in the auditorium. "'You did it.'"
This was the Henry Lawson of interviews and social functions. Miranda glanced aside at Niket and nodded at his apologetic frown.
For the next slice of eternity Miranda tried staring forward and willed time to fly by. Still, a few of her father's words cut through: "forge your own path," "take the next steps," "personal journey." By the time Henry Lawson closed his speech and left the podium, Miranda felt a sharp ache in her palms and found deep imprints of her fingernails.
Her anger had subsided once the ceremony ended and the organ sounded once more. This time, the temptation to break the practiced procession pace was almost too strong.
On the bright side, Miranda and Niket found empty shade outside. "So, what're you up to after this?" Niket asked.
"My father's throwing a party. For himself, really. I'll be spending the evening with all his corporate and political friends."
"Yikes. Real bunch of ball-twisters."
"If that's all they are, then I have no reason to be afraid of them."
"Guess not." Laughing, Niket spied something over her shoulder. "Looks like my family's waiting for me. Take care in the shark tank, okay?"
"Don't worry about me."
Niket walked past her, patting her on the shoulder. Miranda turned around, trying not to look at the waving couple. "Niket," she said.
He stopped. "Yeah?"
He acts so casually. The prep had practically begged Miranda's father to let her attend. Niket had to fight for every scrap of financial aid, to do all those things to secure his acceptance letter. His cap and gown looked garish and baggy on his stocky body and plain face, but he deserved them. This day wasn't hers, but it was his.
Miranda smiled. "Congratulations."
Niket replied with an even wider one. "You too," then walked away.
The moment his back was facing her, she went in the other direction, towards her father's skycar. Graduation was a battle, but the real one waited for her at the Lawson mansion.
An army of mechs later, the blue blips entering the shuttle bay on her map mirrored the sudden outburst of gunfire.
There had been others since she arrived. They didn't last. Miranda could've dispatched the security mechs herself, but better to keep them around as one last combat test. If her subject couldn't handle a few more LOKI mechs, then the Lazarus Project had failed. But the blue dots overtook the red, and muffled, heavy footsteps came into hearing. Miranda approached the door to her landing pad.
The lock disengaged and Wilson stood on the other side. The last thing you did right.
"Miranda," he said. "But you're—"
Miranda Lawson pulled the trigger, then faced down Commander Shepard's pistol until her explanation proved sufficient. That was the start of the real battle. Killing Wilson was simplicity's last hurrah.
