Disclaimer: I claim no ownership over the characters, settings, or intellectual property of the Mass Effect series.

Chapter 2: The Illusive Man

Miranda and Jacob sat across the cabin from Shepard as the stars streaked by outside the shuttle windows. Jennifer stared, dumbfounded at the red glow that reflected back into the dark compartment from her eyes. This was the new Shepard. Was it a little less human? Or was there something deeper, beyond physical form.

Seeing Miranda's face brought back a haunted experience of "not being alive anymore." There was a voice in her being. Not a voice, but an expression of thought that seemed to come across as a voice. But it was her voice. But, then again, it wasn't her voice. Her "mental voice" was constantly appraising the tactical situation, evaluating the terrain for any possible flaws, ambush points, anything that she (or an enemy) could exploit. But this voice was not that voice. It was . . .

"Before you meet with the Illusive man," Miranda spoke over the hum of the drives, "we need to ask you a few questions to evaluate your condition."

"Come on, Miranda," Jacob frowned, "more tests? Shepard took down those mechs without any trouble," he argued, "That has to be good enough."

"It's been two years since the attack," Miranda replied, "The Illusive Man needs to know that Shepard's personality and memories are intact. Ask the questions."

Jennifer suddenly shot a look of alarm at Miranda, "Did you say two years?" It seemed like only moments had passed, although she knew it had to be weeks at the very least. But to find out the length of time was measured in years took her aback. "I've been gone that long?" No wonder her physical coordination was shot. She had been laying on a slab for two years while her skills atrophied.

"Two years, twelve days," Jacob corrected, "and you were on an operating table for most of it."

. . . She was dead. There was no doubt now. She had experienced something that few people even thought was possible. Her perception of the passage of time was inconsequential. It didn't really matter to her that she had been totally detached from being alive for that time. What made an irrefutable impact on her mind was that she wasn't just "legally dead" on an operating table. She was dead; the permanent sort. She hadn't been revived. She had been . . . resurrected.

What she experienced on the other side was no small matter either. She had stopped existing, but continued anyway. There was something frightening there. Something beyond what she could fathom at the moment. But it was just as well, since Miranda's decisive voice cut her deep thoughts out of her mind . . .

"We should have done weeks of testing to confirm the success of Project Lazarus," Miranda spoke with clinical accuracy of the ordeal. To her, this was the continuation of her project. And Jennifer was the subject. Her every move was being appraised, as though any wrong move would prompt Miranda to scrap the "project" and start over. Then again, Jennifer found herself just as anxious to see if this miracle of technology actually did work. The dim glow of her eyes as she watched the reflection in the see-through surface of the shuttle door window was a stark reminder that not all of her had "survived" and her personal disappointments with her ability to perform the normal motions she was so familiar with had concerned her. Perhaps what was in order now was a thorough examination of every aspect of her revived state to determine what was lacking and what was sound. But under the circumstances, "A few questions during the shuttle ride will have to suffice," Miranda finished.

Jennifer rarely reminisced. There simply wasn't much time for it. The now was too pressing a matter to revert to what had once been. . . . once. That word again. The formless existence that wasn't, where she was, not too terribly long ago (if there was an "ago"). Time was all messed up. She remembered the things she had done in her past as though she has the stats written up in front of her. She could recite the specifics without pausing to wrack her brain for the slightest detail. It was all there. . . . she had just seen it; just relived it before her death. But that feeling was starting to fade now, and she wasn't sure how she felt about that.

"Okay," Jacob started, "Records show you grew up on Earth. Tough environment, no parents." He scanned down the readout, "You enlisted and won a medal fighting Batarians during the Skyllian Blitz." He looked up, "Do you remember that?"

"A lot of lives depended on me holding that position. I still keep in touch with most- I used to keep in touch with most of the civilians."

Time was all mixed up in her head. She had experienced the passing of her life as a single episode, as though all events took place in the same place and time – the sum total of her life. From her first skinned knee to the last shot Saren put into her bicep. From the place she called home to the home she called space. From the entire period of her first tour of duty across the galaxy to the summer afternoon she spent closely examining a ladybug in the garden. It was all there as one very long, very wide-spread moment. And she seemed oddly detached from it. It was still part of who she was. It's just that . . .

"Virmire, where you destroyed Saren's cloning facility," Miranda was setting the stage, "You had to leave one or your squad behind to die in the blast."

Jacob turned to her again, "Lieutenant Kaiden Alenko was killed in action. It was your call. Why did you leave him behind?"

Kaiden . . . She paused a long while before answering. "I didn't." They gazed at her for a moment, then exchanged looks. "I made the call. I gave the order. He gave his life for the rest of the team." Her face was impassive. This wasn't a bitter memory, just a sad one. "But I didn't leave him behind." Her tone was calm and even. There was remorse at the loss, but no emotional suffering attached to it. There never was. "Kaiden's unique blend of abilities were what I needed in the place I needed them most. And I was the commander of the strike force that needed my skills and abilities." She finally glanced out the window, "My team knew the risks when they signed up. They each volunteered to take the bullet for the rest of the team. But only one was to die that day."

She looked back at them and repositioned herself in the seat. "That was the way it had to be, because that was the only way that it would happen." She stared darkly at both of them now, "But thank you for reminding me of what the Reapers still owe me."

"We understand commander," Jacob finally said, "And I wasn't judging your decision. Everybody at Cerberus knows that cloning facility had to be destroyed."

They didn't understand. They were taking this as a bitter resentment of losing a friend. They perceived her to be emotionally torn about sending a member of her team to certain doom. But they didn't understand Jennifer Shepard enough to realize one of the secrets of her style of command. She doesn't send men to their deaths, she empowers heroes to do what they do best. Losing life to fate at the threshold of victory is the highest honor she could hope for herself, she would not dare deny it to others.

For a time, the other questions seemed intrinsically unimportant. Her mind had fixated on a point in time where her hand was hitting the safety to the escape pod containing her friend, Joker. That was her last conscious act. She had done what she could. Maybe a little more than she could. She had saved her friends, at least. . . . victory.

"Your memory seems solid. There are other test we really should run—" Miranda seemed disappointed that she could not explore the depths of the results of her project. But it was apparent that time had shifted into a more critical aspect as they approached the alternate Cerberus base.

"Come on Miranda," Jacob intoned with an air of weariness, "Enough with the quizzes." He clearly didn't want to be bothered by the scientific lab work that Miranda seemed to enjoy so deeply, "The memories are there, and I can vouch for Shepard's combat skills personally."

'Really?' Jennifer thought. She decided that his standards were lower than her own if he thought her as combat capable as she had once been. Then again, he had never seen Shepard in action as she once used to be. . . . once . . .

"I suppose you're right," Miranda conceded, "We'll just have to hope that the Illusive Man accepts our little field test as evidence enough." It was clear that what Miranda really wanted was to sit behind the control panel of something in front of a window on the other side of which Shepard would be getting pushed to the edge of every envelope just to see how far those limits of hers would stretch. Strangely, Jennifer kind of liked that idea. She felt herself to be extremely ill-conditioned. She had never let herself get this badly out of shape. Even after the Skyllian Blitz, she was on her feet far sooner than most, to the chagrin and agitation of her doctors. They often accused her of courting death. . . . there it was again. Right back to the thing that she had been thinking in every spare moment that was not filled with strategic evaluation. That thing she had never really been afraid of – death. And now . . . Now . . .

The shuttle decelerated into the flight space of an orbital station.

They disembarked into the shuttle bay lobby, where Miranda tapped a control panel a few times. A nod and she raised her head.

"The Illusive Man is waiting for you in the other room," she said.

Shepard walked forward, noting the slight list to the right with every other step. That hip wasn't just making complaints to her nervous system. Now that she was out of a combat intensive situation, she could more closely examine her off-kilter gait. She needed to favor the leg. Something was wrong with the joint, it had not healed properly. Or it was out of place somehow. Whatever it was, the situation caused her to move with a slight limp.

Now she was in a dim, closed chamber. A holographic imager started scanning her form as she stood there. She watched it creep up her legs in a technical grid design while patterns of energy played across the surface tension of her bio-electro-magnetic signature. The room darkened a bit more and the holographic image of a man lounging in a personalized seat, smoking a cigarette, loomed into view. "Commander Shepard."

"Illusive Man," she droned back, "I thought we'd be meeting face to face."

"A necessary precaution," He dismissed casually, "Not unusual for people who know what you and I know."

The exclusivity gambit. Make the conversation turn to a place where you are both on the same side. Very politically savvy.

"Is this the part where we agree that we're partners or buddies or something, Illusive Man?" she put one hand on her hip, "That seems so formal since we're friends and all. Do you mind if I call you Lu?"

"You need to put your personal feelings aside." Obviously, he sensed that she was not impressed by his initial move. Since his first pawn had been taken, he decided to appeal to the authoritative approach. She's a soldier after all – soldiers follow orders. "Humanity is up against the greatest threat of our brief existence."

These last words struck a chord. Fury and suppression both ran full tilt into each other and for a split-second she was taken aback. Brief existence. She had received an extension to that existence – an unpleasant extension. But at the same time, it was in regards to a point of interest that, she couldn't deny, had followed her into the afterlife. A matter of importance to the existence of all things. "The Reapers."

"Good to see your memories are still intact," he moved to tip the ashes of his vice, "How are you feeling?"

She answered with a pointed silence. He had won the first round, that was certain. His apparent false-interest in her state of being was a slight jab in the game of power-play they were engaged in. But his question intruded upon something that she absolutely would not allow him to touch.

"That's a good question considering I shouldn't be feeling at all right now – considering your defiance of the laws of nature and whatever gods rule the heavens, I suppose I should be asking you the same thing, so . . . how do you feel?"

He stared back with a small silence of his own. He was very good at playing this game. But the odds were higher than the usual issues that people dealt with during this kind of encounter and they both knew it. "Cerberus isn't as evil as you believe," he had cut through a considerable amount of useless small talk in one quick statement. He had pulled the rug out from under her accusations and again placed them both on neutral ground around a great chasm that she was not ready to dismiss just yet. But to punctuate the point, he proclaimed, "You and I are on the same side; we just use different methods."

"Oh," Jennifer replied, the sarcasm thinker than a krogan skull-plate, "I'm sure if you take away the extortion, murder, terrorism, and unconscionable acts of dark science, you guys are just the life of the party." The Illusive Man did not react to any of these claims, but remained calm and composed. "Let's cut to the chase," she joined him in his dismissal of the petty matters that lay between them, "What are the Reapers doing that made you decide to bring me back?"

"We're at war," he rose from his seat, "No one wants to admit it, but humanity is under attack." Now they were on equal footing. The petty matters between them were laid aside and the issue was coming forth. "While you've been sleeping, entire colonies have been disappearing," he clarified, "Human colonies." Even though the holographic image took away the normal visual characteristics, the oddly mechanical eyes peered at her across a vast expanse of space. "We believe it's someone working for the Reapers. Just as Saren and the geth aided Sovereign." He cocked his head to the side, "You've seen it yourself. You've bested them all." There was an intense sincerity in his voice, "That's just one reason we chose you." Despite whatever else may have been playing out in the background, it was clear that the matter of entire human colonies being taken by alien interest disturbed this illusive man. She could tell, he had set the game aside - a mark of honor toward her. He wasn't going to insult her by trying to play the averages or get a little more "give" from her side. This was a sincere plea for help.

But Jennifer had some sincere thoughts to offer as well, "Well, unfortunately for you, the reputation of your organization precedes you." She unfolded her arms, "The name, Cerberus, is synonymous with the most heinous acts on the scoreboard." She put her hands on her hips, "Even the Batarians have a hard time keeping up." The Illusive man continued to stare from his odd flickering likeness. "Your honeyed words pale in comparison to your actions. You can really stand there amidst the smoking bodies of the millions you've tread on to get where you are and petition for my buy-in? What makes you think I even believe your story?"

The man stared impassively for a moment, "I'd be disappointed if I could persuade you that easily," he confessed, "Go see for yourself." He turned and walked back to his luxurious lounge chair, "I have a shuttle ready to take you to Freedom's Progress, the latest colony to be abducted." He started to sit, "Miranda and Jacob will brief you."

Shepard crossed her arms again, "And if I don't? What if I should just decide that you're not worth the effort and walk? Do I get a free ride off of your little paradise up here? I guess it's pretty easy to give orders when you hold all the cards, huh?"

"You always have a choice, Shepard. If you don't find the evidence we're both looking for, we can part ways." She couldn't help but smirk. They had sunk several large fortunes into her rejuvenation, no one is willing to let an investment that big walk away. But the fact of the matter was, you can't track a stealth unit, and you can't track a cloaked operative under a stealth field. And she knew that he knew that. The technology just can't operate both ways. She had the means to leave at any time now that she had access to the station. (And even if she didn't have access there were those who did, and they could be worked with.) So she was under no restrictions, she could walk out right now. "But first go to Freedom's Progress." The Illusive Man broke into her train of thought, "Find any clues you can," he gestured with his cigarette, "Who's abducting the colonies? Do they have any connection to the Reapers?" He remained as calm and rational as when she first entered the chamber. "I brought you back. It's up to you to do the rest."

He reached over and tapped a control and the conversation was over.

Executive Suite: Trade Floor – Illium

Blue lips parted to emit a sultry voice, a voice that seemed cushioned with gentle tones and inflections. But the message was in stark contrast to the voice. "The information you desired was harder to obtain than our estimates originally placed, based on your initial bid and instructions."

The vid-screen showed a human with a distressed look on his face. His hands flailing about to add emphasis to his emotional state, "But that's over three times what you originally quoted!" His look was incredulous, "I can't afford cred's like that?"

"Then, perhaps," the female voice continued, "we may find someone who can." His position was now very weak. He clearly wanted the information and had put money up in advance for it when he asked an information broker to dig it up.

"Now just a minute," the other party wailed. His finger was poised to make a comment of rejection.

"If you had made it known at the outset of our bargain that the data disk was under triple security and guarded by krogan mercenaries then perhaps our dealings could have been more," she tilted her head slightly, "amenable." She turned slightly from the view screen, "but now the situation has become more severe," she looked back to the screen. A blink from the console caught her eye, the pattern was familiar – she knew it to be an incoming call regarding her special project. "You stated in your interview that the information was of a personal nature." She continued briskly, but gently, "And now we find that there are legal matters involved, and possibly political angles to your goals as well. I'm afraid our overhead has increased dramatically because off your omission."

"But . . . "

"The terms are no longer negotiable," she cut him off again, this time with more urgency, "Because of your dubious intentions, our professional relationship has been compromised. Please let us know if you intend to continue with your pursuit with full payment."

A cobalt-blue finger moved over the control, disconnecting the call. Another move and the audio-feed from the new call sparked into life.

"Yes?" she asked simply, "You have something to report?"

An ethereal voice flowed through the comm. unit, "This one is distressed to announce a recent disturbance at the facility you have asked to refer to as "Station S."

The asari's eyebrows furrowed, "What kind of disturbance?"

"This one's contacts have reported that monitoring of life readings for routine crew at Station S have been listed as deceased within the hour."

"All at once?" she asked, clearly alarmed, "What about Project Lazarus? What is the status?"

"This one has never been able to connect monitoring to the subject of Project Lazarus," the ethereal voice altered slightly in inflection, "This one apologizes," then he continued, "But failing life signs have been recorded at a steady rate over several hours across Station S. The current status of Project Lazarus remains "pending." It is still several months behind schedule according to the monetary traffic this one has been tracking."

She paused at the knowledge, thinking what to do next. Finally, she concluded that there was nothing she could do. Nothing except to wait . . . and hope.

"Maintain surveillance," she ordered, "Report if there is any change in the fate of Station S, and especially that of the subject of Project Lazarus." She added as an afterthought, "There is a bonus available in ascertaining any knowledge of this subject." "That one has done well, thank you."

The blue hand ended the call using the same controls.

Unconscious steps were taken that lead her to her chair where she sat, her heels outward – a sure sign of worry. It had always been an outside chance. That Cerberus could complete Project Lazarus successfully. That they could rebuild that mind – that mind! The wonderful layering of thought within her brain. So complex, yet so simple. To have gotten this far, only to lose her . . . again . . .

No! She couldn't bear it. She had to put that thought away. Her course was set, after all, and she could do nothing to alter it now. Two years it had taken her to orchestrate all of this. But if it was all for nothing . . . Well, if it was all for nothing, she would exact a greater revenge than she had initially intended to. She would peel the flesh back like the strata at a dig site. She would transfer some of her own pain to those who had done this.

But her bitterness had already started to evaporate – the whole point was to bring her back. That taboo of humankind: resurrection. That's what she did all of this for.

Moments slipped by, unannounced to her troubled mind. They swayed back and forth over conflicting emotions.

Maybe it was better this way, she thought. She always wondered how she could bear seeing her again. Maybe now she wouldn't have to. She could move forward with her life.

There was just this one last thing, one final act that would seal off this chapter of her life.