Things got blurry for a while. Shepard was okay with that. Blurry was nice, nonthreatening. Blurry didn't make unreasonable demands of her precious shore leave time, blurry wasn't out to brutally murder everyone she cared about, blurry didn't steal her ship, and above all, blurry wouldn't try to give away her hamster.

Slowly, ponderously, that phrase set her mind back in motion. Give away, she thought. Wouldn't it have been easier to just starve the little guy? Leave him in a dark corner somewhere? Space him out of spite? Someone's got a soft spot.

Immensely satisfied with her logic for reasons that escaped her now but were probably very clever and relevant, she gave herself over to blurry again.

Or tried. Something was batting at her face, low and heavy and cold, all sharp, clean angles. Something warm smeared at her temples, and a too-pleasant buzz set the edges of her consciousness vibrating, and then she was keyed-up, grabbing hold of that feeling and dragging herself back to its source, and all that waited there was a stray shot to the arm, a knife wound in the gut, a dozen minor concussions and hundreds of scrapes and bruises. Yeah, she knew what medigel overkill felt like. Bubbly didn't begin to cover it.

With a yelp, she sat up, nearly colliding with Garrus in the process, then slumped back, barely catching herself with her elbows as her head started spinning. He'd hardly moved at her dramatic response, just stayed crouched beside her, one hand still covered in the pinkish goo that medigel always became whenever it got mixed with too much human blood.

And his head was tilted so light glinted off his visor, deflecting attention from his eyes, his expression. It was a frustrating, childish habit. He got scared; she understood that. She did, too, but she always made a conscious effort not to close herself off. She'd meet his eyes.

A muted throbbing at her left temple reminded her about the whole getting-shot thing, and she raised a hand to probe carefully at the slimy, sealed wound. And then some. How much of this stuff did he slather on? The shattered polymer electronics on the ground told most of the story: the shot had crashed through the edge of her visor, leaving only a light gash in the skin, a few scrapes from shrapnel, and a sick-sore ache when she prodded too much that brought to mind lovely words like 'concussion' and possibly 'projectile vomiting'. She swallowed, hard, and tried to think of pleasant things. Meadows. Hamsters. Hamsters frolicking through meadows.

She exhaled. "I'm okay. Just got knocked for a loop. Humans bleed a lot from the head, remember?" Turians do, too.

Garrus cleared his throat, but took the hint and leaned back while she sat up. She glanced over, watched his face appear and disappear behind the glare of his visor as he toyed with meeting her eyes. "Rings a bell," he said, and his hoarseness made her reconsider the urge to tease him for his over-liberal application of medigel.

Well. She'd been putting it off, but there was no avoiding it now. She looked up.

The barrels of four guns stared back at her. As inanimate objects went, they were downright expressive in their disapproval of her.

"Ah," she said. "You're still here."

At least their numbers had been whittled down-all that remained was Brooks, a smug-looking sniper, one heavy sporting singed armor, and good ol' through-a-mirror-darkly, staring at her with a carefully blank expression. Ash stood a few feet away, assault rifle and sniper on the floor next to her, along with Shepard and Garrus's weapons and omnitools. A hell of a bruise was already welling up around her right eye-another person who could've used a good helmet. She met Shepard's gaze, for a moment, and quirked a guilty half-smile.

Like the smashed-up visor on the ground, all the pieces here told a story. Once they'd figured out what had happened, Ash and Garrus must have given up their positions to come charging in. Shepard couldn't quite bring herself to be annoyed. The wound may have been relatively minor, but people generally didn't aim for the head when they were shooting to disarm or disable, and the second shot would almost certainly have been fatal. For the most part, Shepard was very much in favor of stalling for time if it meant living another day. Or another few minutes, as the case might be.

Which begged the question: given that their enemies had the guns and the superior position, why weren't they all dead?

As a gentle reminder, the ship gave a violent, jolting shudder, sending crates crashing to the ground and making Shepard infinitely grateful she hadn't tried anything so physically taxing as standing up. Ash tensed, like she was going to jump all four of them at once, but the clone whipped up a combat drone to keep her busy, and then Brooks brought her Crusader around to bear with a broad grin. Very sensibly, Ash froze on the spot.

With a deep sigh that set a weird, sympathetic flutter echoing in Shepard's own chest, the clone crouched down, looking her in the eyes. "Tell them to stop."

Garrus, beside her, cleared his throat and moved a little more prominently between them-nothing overt, just making his presence known. The clone's eyes flicked to him, as did the muzzle of her Hurricane, almost instinctively. Even without weapons, a turian in heavy armor could do a hell of a lot of damage, and if this Shepard really had spent most of her short life in a Cerberus lab, the experience now must be more than a little overwhelming. But the moment passed, and the clone shifted her aim back to Shepard with an emphatic quirk of one eyebrow. Catching the hint, Garrus backed off.

Shepard found her voice. "You know, I'd love to, but these people are pretty terrible at following orders-"

The clone waved a dismissive hand. "Not them. Your friends attacking the ship. Tell them to call it off or we kill you here and now."

"Uh," said Shepard, and glanced over at Garrus, who shrugged, and at Ashley, who seemed just as perplexed. "I'd love to, but I have no idea who they are."

The ship shook again, and now even the throbbing in her head was taking a backseat to a growing sense of worry. Between a childhood spent growing up on spaceships and the Normandy's more recent misadventures, she was intimately familiar with the particular hollow, echoing thud of long-range projectiles smashing themselves to pieces against kinetic barriers. These shots had a buzzing undertone that brought to mind words like 'barrier overload' and 'hull breach' and 'horrible fiery death'. They weren't returning fire, which meant the other ship would be free to advance at will, and if it closed the range enough to use its GARDIAN lasers...

The clone was watching her, eyes narrowed, and Shepard summoned up a bright smile. Trying to figure out if I'm lying? Good luck with that. We've got a fantastic poker face. "All my friends are back at the Citadel, remember? Well, not all my friends." She paused. "Actually, yeah, pretty much all of them. I haven't been great about keeping in touch."

Ashley cleared her throat emphatically, and Shepard shot her a glare, on principle. After another moment spent watching Shepard, the clone brought her omnitool to her lips. "Marshall, what the hell is going on up there?"

After a loaded pause, Marshall-the pilot, presumably-replied, his voice pitched a little too high and nervous. "Uh. I was kind of hoping this was part of the plan."

"You thought our plan was to get shot down," the clone said, and Shepard had to admit that maybe she had a little more talent for deadpanning than the original model.

"Well," he said, "I just assumed that since they're Cerberus, they're with us."

The silence in the shuttle bay was absolute.

"I mean. Um. They are with us, aren't they?" Nobody said anything in reply to that, and, with the air of someone desperately trying to fill an awkward gap in conversation, he plowed on. "This is all a long con, right? Running from Cerberus? We were always meant to rendezvous with them later, right? They're just signalling their arrival."

The ship bucked under them again. The clone straightened, throwing her shoulders back and squaring her jaw-Neat trick. Have to start trying that in front of the mirror.-and barked, "Cerberus? Do these feel like fucking warning shots, you colossal dipshit?"

"That's, uh, I find that language a little hurtful, boss."

The CAT6 sniper made a noise that sounded suspiciously like a snicker. Garrus leaned in close and murmured, "Confusion to the enemy's always a good thing, right?"

Shepard pursed her lips. "Usually, yes."

The pilot cleared his throat. "Also, um, I just found the readout. CBT emitters are down, whatever that means, and conventional shields are at 12%. Next shot should take them down. Armor's intact, but the readings are kind of weird and, uh, I think I'm looking at a half-finished line of code here. Must still be under repairs."

Shepard sighed. "But on the other hand, sometimes confusion to the enemy just means you get horribly killed in the crossfire."

"Damn," Garrus said.

"Yup."

"Shut up," Brooks snapped.

"Okay," the clone said, and rubbed absently at her temple, the all-too-familiar sign of a headache even the damn cybernetics couldn't keep up with. "How did they find us, Brooks?"

Brooks frowned, and just for a second, Shepard caught a glimpse of the goofy, earnest Alliance officer she'd been pretending to be. Another mask, slipping into place without conscious thought. "Why are you looking at me?"

"Because you're very talented at double-crossing people," the clone said. "Because I don't trust you any further than I can throw you. Take your pick."

The moment wasn't anywhere near as tense as it should have been, and Shepard realized this had to be a conversation they'd had many times before. Brooks grinned. It wasn't a pleasant expression. "No. Wasn't me. Wish I'd thought of it, though. Could've probably made a fortune, selling you all out to Cerberus. Hey, Marshall, is it too late to get them on the line and signal that I'm giving you all up?"

"Don't even joke about that," the sniper put in, and she was definitely grinning somewhere behind that helmet. "Dipshit up there will actually do it."

"Okay, this is a really hostile work environment," Marshall said, and then paused. "Um, they're actually within communications range, though. What should I send?"

The clone was gnawing on her bottom lip. "Stealth system or not, they shouldn't have been able to track us through FTL without someone tipping them off via QEC or something-sensors can't scan faster than light. That means we've got a leak or bug or something feeding them information. I'm guessing they won't shoot us down while they have a chance at capturing the ship. Don't send anything, but keep an eye out for conventional outbound communications, just in case."

"Right," Marshall said. "Uh. You do know I'm pretty much just pilot because I got to the chair first, right? And, uh, I've never flown something with this many... buttons."

The clone sighed, this time rubbing both temples, then waved a hand at the sniper. "Tia, right? Go up there and walk him through it. We can handle these three."

Tia saluted smartly, then marched off toward the elevator. That just left Brooks, the clone, and the one remaining heavy, who'd deactivated his omnishield and appeared to be watching the proceedings with a sort of dazed interest. Not for the first time, Shepard wondered just how many of these CAT6 types were genuine Category 6 Alliance discharges, and what they'd done to earn that designation. They hadn't fought well, and their allegiance to the clone seemed shaky at best. Much like her entire plan, really. Capture my ship, steal my identity, and then what? Go on a galactic joyride while carefully avoiding everyone who's actually met me, all while the galaxy burns? A slow sinking in the pit of her stomach vied with the throbbing in her head for attention. Bad plans that belonged to the enemy were fantastic. Incredibly stupid plans that belonged to the enemy, on the other hand, generally meant someone was playing a longer game. That was never a good thing.

The ship jolted again, and this time the deck seemed determined to buck them off. Caught mid-step, the clone lost her balance, and Brooks automatically bent to catch her. The barrel of her gun drifted.

Shepard sometimes gave Joker crap about his claims of being so attuned to the Normandy he could predict the ship's every movement, but even as the inertial dampeners strained to take the hit in stride, Shepard found a steady footing in the shuddering, chaotic roll of the deckplates, and shoved forward, ignoring the lingering weakness in her knee, taking the off-balance clone in a clumsy tackle. Brooks, on equally shaky footing, went down in a heap with them.

The remaining CAT6 heavy, at least, reacted quickly, sending a frantic burst of assault rifle fire in her general direction, but her recharged barriers melted the shots before they could connect, and then the clone twisted with a curse, trying to bring her Hurricane to bear.

Shepard retorted with an instinctive punch to the face.

Despite everything she'd been through, she'd stubbornly hung on to her techie's aversion to CQC, and aside from the occasional sparring session with Vega (not to mention 'sparring' sessions with a certain gunnery officer), she was sorely out of practice. More through luck than skill, her punch connected, but her arm had been locked at the elbow, and the impact jolted painfully from joint to joint, all the way up to her shoulder. The clone fell back, spitting blood, and Shepard rolled away, trying to get her feet under her for some sort of clearing kick, half-doubled over her aching arm.

As it happened, she didn't need to make up the distance; Ash, having recovered her own balance, sent a spinning roundhouse into Brooks' side before she could get to her feet, and she fell with a whoosh of air. Garrus, on the other hand, had gone straight for the heavy, taking his feet out from under him with a well-placed hook of his armored spur, then delivering a precise blow to the side of his head that left him crumpled on the floor.

Clenching and unclenching her hand, Shepard straightened, kicked the clone's gun out of her questing hand, and tried to look like she'd planned the whole attack masterfully from the start. Looming was something she never did enough, she decided, standing over the clone with arms crossed. Looming was fun.

The clone sniffed loudly, then coughed. "Nice punch," she said. "I think you broke my nose."

Shepard rolled her shoulder, going for casual but probably falling a little short of the mark when she winced instead. "You're not trying to bring my guard down with flattery so you can get at your omnitool and set me on fire, are you?"

"Well," the clone said, "not now I'm not."

"Commander," Ashley called, and tossed Shepard her own 'tool and Hurricane from the pile of weapons, before crouching down and pinning Brooks to the ground. Garrus looked downright gleeful to have his weapons back in hand, although he very professionally tamped down his grin when he realized she was watching. She couldn't fault him for that; she'd felt utterly exposed without her omnitool, like the universe had suddenly realized she really was nothing more than a moderately quick brain in a squishy body encased in a thin shell of armor. She'd never liked feeling squishy.

Garrus nudged the CAT6 guy with one foot, and glanced up when he groaned. "Huh. Didn't kill him."

Brooks too was out of breath, but seemed to be coming around, judging by the glare she shot Shepard, which was surprisingly effective considering how thoroughly her face was mashed into the deckplates. And that was a problem, wasn't it? They weren't exactly in a position to take or keep prisoners, as the past few minutes had illustrated well enough. Shepard saw the exact moment the clone realized this, watched the dazed amusement in her eyes transition sharply into stubborn defiance. Does she think I'm just going to execute her?

She half-raised her weapon, watching the clone flinch in response, and a dark smear of rage and fear at the back of her mind uncoiled slowly, murmuring, Shouldn't I?

Ash and Garrus were being strangely quiet, she realized, and they were watching her so intently she suspected they were actually holding their breath. She swiped the back of her hand against the mess of blood and medigel dripping down the side of her face, but the bleeding had stopped, and even the headache was clearing. She imagined the whirring servos of the cybernetics, pictured them piecing together damaged tissue, repairing minute scrapes on the skull, transporting away the excess clotted blood. She wasn't the squishy engineer anymore, not really. A hard, cold machine lived beneath her skin and called itself by her name.

She looked at the clone again, the blood streaming from her nose, the screaming fury and bone-deep frustration in the tense lines of her body, and thought, with a weariness that surprised her, There but for the grace of God...

The clone's omnitool lit up with a new message, and Shepard nearly jumped as Tia's voice rang out when the call was patched through automatically. "Hey, boss, this is bad. They're staying put out there – probably think we're luring them in for some sort of trap – but before too long they're gonna be coming alongside to board. Still, no outgoing comms that we've been able to pick up."

It took Shepard an embarrassingly long time to realize she could just pick up the omnitool and speak into it without giving away the shift of power in the shuttle bay. About time I used this clone thing to my advantage. "Uh. What size is this ship we're talking about?"

"Big," Tia said, and Marshall chipped in to add, "I think it's a fast cruiser. Bigger than us."

The crew complement on a Cerberus cruiser was generally around a hundred. "Stand by for orders."

"Yeah, no rush," Marshall said. "It's not like, when they get here, they're going to board the ship about four feet away from where we're standing."

Shepard deactivated the comm, and frowned down at the clone. "So you have no idea whatsoever how they found us, how they've been tracking us?"

Again, the clone's eyes darted toward Brooks, but she shook her head. "I don't know if you noticed, but I have a pretty good reason to want to stay the hell away from Cerberus. We both do."

Brooks shrugged, having apparently tamped down her anger to look as casual as possible given that she was face-down on the floor with Ashley's knee pressed into her back. "They don't like me much at the moment."

"Shepard," Garrus murmured, and it was half-reminder, half-statement of support. Whatever she did in the next few minutes, he and Ash would be behind her. She knew that.

Great. We'll see how well that loyalty holds up when I lead the three of us right over a cliff.

She exhaled, slowly, and brought the omnitool back up, opening the comm link with Tia again. "Okay, we might have a little work to do to get the weapons up to speed, depending on how far along the repairs are, so you two had better get back down here. Grab what weapons you can find, make sure your shields are at full strength. If you can rig something to blow the airlock if they manage to come through, do it, but don't stick around too long." When they'd murmured assent, she toggled the comm system off again and looked down. "Do you have any others aboard the ship?"

The clone was staring at her like she'd just suggested they all attend a nice evening of elcor karaoke. Shepard didn't blame her, but she needed her to get past that confusion, so she repeated the question. "Uh, well," the clone said, and her features belatedly settled into stubborn defiance. "I'm not giving away our positions."

"I'll take that as a no," Shepard said, and sighed. "Okay. If I give you back your weapons, are you going to just shoot us and make us do the whole dramatic battle thing again?"

"Shepard," Garrus said, again, and this time there was more than a little doubt in his voice: he sounded downright aghast. Shepard glanced around, saw the way his jaw had dropped, then looked over to see a similar expression on Ashley's face. The clone's eyes were just as wide, and even the half-conscious heavy had stopped groaning. Only Brooks had taken on a serious, contemplative expression.

"Look," Shepard said, "I don't know what Cerberus wants, but I have a sneaking suspicion it's the Normandy. Call it a hunch. We all have a vested interest in making sure they don't get it, and I'd much rather deal with eight-to-a-hundred odds than three-to-a-hundred. We get the bigger threat out of the way, then we can we duke it out between ourselves later." And maybe this whole thing will turn out to be a moot point anyway, if the good guys ever catch up to us. We could use the cavalry about now. She shot a sidelong glance at Brooks, who for all she knew was thinking the same thing.

Garrus half-shook his head, drifting toward his patented skirting-with-insubordination tone. "I don't think that's a good idea, Shepard. I'm still not convinced they didn't plan this." Even after all these years, she sometimes still had trouble reading his vocal harmonics, but now he was practically vibrating with distress. He hadn't forgotten that she'd kept him from taking the shot when he had it.

Shepard looked away, glanced at Ash, and immediately wished she hadn't. She was pretty sure she was doing the right thing, for a given value of 'right' that boiled down to 'we all survive the next ten minutes', but Ashley had gone from surprised to... to calm. Understanding. Shepard knew she was remembering Horizon, remembering another Cerberus automaton who'd all but begged for a second chance. A chill ran up and down her spine, and she had to look away from the pity buried in that steady gaze.

In the end, she looked back to the clone, who was still wide-eyed, half-frozen in place, a wounded animal staring into the jaws of another trap. I don't owe her anything, she thought, trying the notion on for size. Distant echoes of another time, another place, when she'd been forced to weigh practicality against emotion. But I won't let fear compromise who I am.

She offered a hand to the clone, heard Garrus suck in a breath behind her, and hoped like hell she wasn't about to make the biggest mistake of her life.