The shuttle shuddered around them as it came out of the Relay jump, the sensation felt deep in Jacob's bones. Miranda had taken her seat up in the pilot's chair, leaving the door to the cockpit open as she flew.
That did, of course, leave him watching over Shepard. His ribs were still aching from her sudden biotic attack, and he wasn't sure how to feel about nearly being killed by someone he respected. And she would have killed him if Miranda hadn't stepped in - he'd seen it on her face when she'd tossed him into the wall. He was Cerberus, and to Commander Shepard 'Cerberus' was still very much in the 'shoot on sight' category.
How did you dislodge that kind of hatred out of someone?
Shepard stared steadily at him. Even handcuffed to a shuttle seat and her amp sitting in his pocket, she didn't look a prisoner. Even after just having roused from the sedative Miranda had stuck her with. Her shoulders were straight and her chin tilted slightly back, her mouth twisted with what he could only imagine was contempt.
With the shuttle set on autopilot, Miranda climbed out of the pilot's seat and stalked back into the troop compartment. Her eyes met Shepard's - and Jacob shifted uncomfortably. It was like watching an unstoppable force meet an immovable object.
"I need to ask you some questions."
"Commander Emilia I. A. Shepard. Service number five-nine-two-three dash A-C dash two-eight-two-six."
His heart sank in his chest.
Miranda rolled her eyes. "Save me the theatrics, Shepard."
"Do we have to do this now?" Jacob asked, "She's been through a lot today - and I've fought alongside her. Her skills are obviously intact."
"Skills are only part of the picture. It's been two years - we need to ensure her neurological functions are intact."
"Two years?" Shepard demanded. A dozen emotions cascaded over her face, shattering through her practiced calm. Fear, anger grief, all tangled up together. Jacob felt a throb of sympathy. Couldn't be easy, waking up to all this. Drug-addled, confused and surrounded by people you saw as enemies.
"I'm afraid so," Miranda said crisply. "It's 2185."
Shepard blanched. "What happened?"
"What do you remember?"
Shepard opened her mouth. Closed it.
"Shepard," Miranda said, a hint impatiently, "I'm not trying to ferret Alliance secrets out of you. I'm checking your memory."
Shepard's jaw clenched, and her eyes dropped to the floor of the shuttle, unfocused. "We were...attacked. I ordered the ship to be abandoned. It's all fragmented. Fire, destruction. Joker was in trouble. I remember feeling cold. That's all."
Miranda nodded. "Understandable. The Normandy was destroyed, and you were trapped while going back for Moreau. Your oxygen tubing was cut. Your injuries were...extensive."
Shepard breathed in unevenly. "And my crew?"
"There were some casualties -"
"How many?"
"Twenty-two," Jacob said gently. "The damage control personnel and a handful of others were killed in the lower decks. The rest were killed when the CIC depressurized, including your Executive Officer and Master Chief. I'm sorry."
Shepard's shoulders slumped. "I want to know who."
"I'll get the list for you once we get to the station," Jacob promised. He knew what it was like to lose people you were responsible for. It killed a little bit of you every time.
"Thanks," she said stiffly. He hoped that took him one step out of the Murder Zone.
"Ask the questions, Jacob," Miranda broke in.
He sighed and looked at his omnitool. "What year did you enlist?"
"First year I could. 2172. I was eighteen."
"In 2176 you were on leave with your first platoon command. Do you remember what happened?"
"The Blitz," she answered promptly, then frowned, blinking rapidly. "I...thought we were all going to die. I wanted to make it mean something. So I convinced them to come with me to..."
Her face scrunched up.
"Planetary Defence Battery 23. One of the anti-air towers," Jacob supplied, and something in her expression eased.
"Don't give her the answers, Jacob," Miranda cut in.
"In 2178-"
"No." Shepard's voice was sharp and cold. That calculating, predatory look was back when he looked up at her face. "You don't get to ask me about that while wearing that symbol."
Her eyes fixed on the stylised O on his chest.
"Look, Shepard," he said earnestly, "I know what the Alliance says about us, but we're trying to do some good work here. There's some shit goin' down right now that the Alliance can't or won't address."
She studied his face. "You really believe that, huh?"
"I wouldn't be here if I didn't."
"Where are you taking me?" Now she just sounded tired.
"Another Cerberus facility," Miranda answered.
"Are you gonna let me out of these cuffs?" Shepard rattled them for emphasis.
Miranda raised one eyebrow. "Are you going to attack Jacob again?"
"That depends where you're taking me," Shepard said dryly. He would've thought she'd recovered from the shock of hearing how many of her subordinates she'd lost, but Jacob could see the grief lurking in the corners of her expression, packaged neatly away. He knew compartmentalisation when he saw it, and whatever he and Miranda might want, Commander Shepard still considered herself a POW.
"You require further medical attention, and the Illusive Man wants to talk to you. Whatever specific questions you have should be directed to him."
"So you'll let me out?"
"Do you think I'm an idiot?" Miranda asked archly.
"No," Shepard sighed, settling back in her chair. "But I was hoping."
"While I understand that you wish to have Commander Shepard on the battlefield as soon as possible, the reality is that she is a recently awoken coma patient." Karin Chakwas met the strangle blue eyes of the Illusive Man with her own steely gaze. She was a Naval Medical Corps Captain - she'd stared down Generals and Admirals and politicians. "She cannot simply get off the table and begin running spec ops raids."
"Lawson and Taylor reported her combat ability appeared to be intact," he observed, taking a puff from his cigarette.
"Mechs are one thing," she said dryly. "An opponent that can think is another. Lawson also reports that Shepard is suffering from confusion, headaches, and fatigue. She hasn't finished healing, let alone the physio she might require."
"The longer we wait, the more colonists die," the Illusive Man reminded her.
"And I regret that, but my medical judgement stands."
Smoke drifted from between his lips. "Very well. You should head over to the shuttle bay. Lawson may need your help."
"Of course." She stepped out of the QEC room and hurried towards the bay. If she knew Emilia Shepard, her reaction to finding out exactly who had her in their clutches would be somewhat violent. Hopefully, she could prevent anyone from being unnecessarily warped.
"-put that thing near me, and you'll be eating your teeth for lunch!"
Despite herself, Chakwas smiled. Shepard's talent for imaginative threats was at least intact. She rounded the corner. Shepard was surrounded by a handful of Cerberus medical personnel, restrained by handcuffs. Despite that, they all cringed away from her, as if from a wild animal. Likely for the best - Shepard was very capable of carrying out that threat if they got too close to her.
"I hope you weren't about to take Shepard's blood without her consent," Chakwas said mildly. The medics jolted away from the Marine, and she forced down the instinctive flicker of anger. She was half-convinced these people had joined Cerberus because they'd failed their ethics classes. She would have none of those butchers in her medbay.
Shepard's head snapped to look at her, surprise splashed right over her features. Oh, but the seams where the skin hadn't grown in fully over the weave had to be painful. She'd need to get her some cream for that.
"Chakwas?" she asked softly.
"Let's get you patched up. Are the handcuffs necessary, Lawson?"
After a moment of consideration, the other woman stepped forward and unlocked them. "I'm keeping your amp for now. There are guards posted throughout the facility."
"Understood," Shepard's voice was clipped, but she didn't resist when Chakwas took her by the elbow, leading her towards the medbay she'd taken over.
"Just this way, Shepard."
Shepard glanced at her warily. "What's going on? Why are you here?"
"One moment." She keyed the door open. Once they were inside, she looked at Shepard. Really looked at her. The red-gleaming scars and irises, the lack of muscle tone - but still Shepard. Still that same presence, the same determined calm in the face of insanity. Fears that had mounted in her over the past few months eased somewhat. "I watched the Normandy crumble with you onboard."
What an awful, awful day. One of the worst she could remember in her long career, rivaled only by when her Forward Surgical Team had been sent down to Shanxi, after the bombings and subsequent liberation. Waiting for hours to hear which friends, which colleagues were dead. She'd had breakfast with Pressly only hours before the attack.
"It doesn't feel real," Shepard said softly, "like I might wake up at any moment."
Chakwas squeezed her shoulder. "Shirt off if you would, Commander. I need to examine you."
Shepard mechanically pulled her shirt off, wincing when she rotated her right shoulder.
"Pain in your shoulder?"
"Yeah. Doesn't feel a hundred percent."
Somewhat expected. That shoulder had been ripped apart in the crash. "Any other pain?"
"Yeah. To be honest, Doc, everything hurts-" Shepard looked down and cut off. Revulsion cut through her composure. At some point during her fight off Lazarus Station, the skin across her ribs had split and exposed the red gleam of the cybernetics beneath. Dried blood clung to her dark skin. "What the fuck did they do to me?"
"Cybernetics," Chakwas said calmly. "With time your skin should finish healing. Thankfully the weave beneath provides a barrier - or there'd be no way I would let you walk around like this."
"What the hell is going on?" She'd never heard Shepard sound so lost, not even when they'd stolen the Normandy. Not even when they'd found Corporal Toombs. "What are you doing here? Last I checked you were a dedicated naval officer, not-"
"A terrorist?" Chakwas raised an eyebrow. "You're right. I am still the same person you served with, and I'm here for you, Commander. Whatever you decide, I am with you. I just ask that you get all the facts before you act."
Shepard's eyes hardened to steel. "I'll hold you to that, Doc."
"I expect nothing less. Now, sit still. I need to check your blood glucose levels."
"You look exhausted, David."
The dark skycar with the tinted windows hummed around them as it shot through the early 'morning' Presidium traffic.
Anderson craned his neck until it audibly cracked. "I'm always tired these days. Stayed up to one with those goddamn reports."
Concern flashed very quickly across Master Chief Dah's stony features. They'd been friends far too long for him not to see it, but when she spoke her voice was wry. "Used to be we could stay up to three in the morning at bars and be up for formation in the morning."
He smiled. "Those were the days. Drink a tanker full of beer at night, kick doors in for a day job." Things had been simpler back then. The enemy had been clear, and he'd been allowed to shoot them. Nowadays it was all politics, giving advice to those who didn't hear it, meetings and fancy dinners where everyone was there just to be seen. "And if things went wrong, we could just blame intel or the brass."
"Now look at us. Enough brass to make a church bell." Dah reached over and flicked one of his stars with a dull clack.
"Sir, we're on approach to the Tower," his driver, Logistics Specialist Third Class Chen, announced through the divider.
"Thank you, Chen."
"I hope Udina is too damn busy to stick his nose in our business," Dah muttered. Her dislike of the Councillor was pronounced.
"He's busy negotiating that trade deal," he assured her. That, unlike military affairs, was where Udina shone. He was a shark at the negotiating table, and he wasn't entirely sure that the human Councillor wouldn't walk out with the shirt off the back of one of the other delegates.
If the reports he'd read last night were true, Udina would have a new political crisis on his hands. What worried Anderson was how the man might choose to 'solve' that problem.
"Good," Dah grumbled. "I envy you for getting to punch the smug bastard."
Anderson chuckled. "You know they made me promise to never punch him again as a condition of my promotion?"
"They put that in writing?"
"Of course."
The Tower rose towards them, filling his window with silvery, elegant metal. The scars from the battle two years ago had been patched, smoothed over. It was as if it'd never happened, which was exactly what too many people wanted to pretend. But everything had changed.
The skycar paused for CSec scans and for his credentials to be forwarded, and then arced gracefully towards the parking bay.
"Are you alright?" Dah asked, uncharacteristically hesitant. "I know if it this was about Ivan..."
"She wasn't my daughter," he said abruptly.
"She might as well have been," the Master Chief said firmly.
The car settled onto the ground as Anderson rubbed his face, exhaustion sinking deep into his bones. Jill was right. She usually was. He'd known Emilia Shepard when she was a round, giggling toddler that reminded them all of Izzy so much it was painful. When she'd driven Hannah close to insanity - his friend's analytical mind had never done well with the chaos that was a teenage girl - he'd been the one to find her and bring her home. He'd been the one to tell her that she needed to take that commission offer, use that bright mind for the benefit of those around her.
Their last conversation lingered in the back of his mind, sour as curdled milk.
If you don't trust me -
It'd never been about trust. He wished he'd told her that.
"I'm angry," he said at last. "That someone is trying to use her image like that. There've been enough people trying to tarnish her memory." She'd saved everyone on this damn station - might've saved everyone - and the whispers of instability had begun before her body was even cold. An already stressed mind under too much strain, he'd heard.
"We'll find out who's responsible."
They climbed out of the skycar together, resplendent in their white dress uniforms with ribbons marching across their chests, red stripes down one arm. The Tower was all about appearances. The medals had become their own kind of armour.
As soon as he entered his office space, Anderson was quickly swept up in the mundane. Paperwork, paperwork, and more paperwork. It was times like this that he was glad that Hackett had done the decidedly unconventional and given him operational command over a handful of the special operations teams that were detached for their covert task force. It was the closest he'd get back to a N7 team or a ship again unless he managed to wrangle a SASOC billet after his time as military advisor was up.
The call he made shortly before 12:00 would've been a much-needed reprieve from politics if it wasn't for its subject.
"Sir."
N7 Master Chief turned Corsair Captain Joseph Coyle was a whipcord thin man, with eyes like brittle slate and a face like an axe blade. He'd cut throats all across the Traverse and Terminus Systems, having long ago decided that he wasn't much fit for the society he'd dedicated most of his life to protecting. His words. The last time he'd spent much appreciable time in Alliance space had been to bury his friend.
Anderson wished he wasn't excavating old wounds by calling him, but he needed someone who was both trustworthy and able to move around the Terminus Systems freely.
"Captain. I have a mission for you."
Coyle squinted at him. "You know I'm right on the arses of the Taharak brothers, right?"
Another pity. The Taharak brothers had been on the Alliance's hit list for a long time. They'd caused untold amounts of sapient misery, and the day they caught bullets was a day Anderson would crack open a nice bottle of champagne.
"I understand, but this is important. If you can hand if off to another Corsair crew..."
"Liu's crew might be able to follow it up," Coyle admitted reluctantly, "What's so damn important?"
"I've heard some disturbing rumours. People who've said they've seen Emilia Shepard in the Terminus Systems, alongside the goddamn Hell Hound."
The Hell Hound. Another person on the Alliance's shopping list of terrorists, slavers, and warlords. A Cerberus agent without a name, history, or origin, but one that was irritatingly good at staying one step ahead of Alliance intelligence. Black hair, blue eyes, Australian accent - not much to go on.
Coyle was silent for a long time. The first report had punched Anderson right in the gut.
"Emilia Shepard is dead, Commodore. We were both there when they put what was left of her in the ground."
There'd been nothing left recognisable as human, let alone the fierce little girl he'd first met, or the headstrong, brilliant woman she'd grown into. They'd had to use DNA testing to determine who the scorched bits of bone had belonged to.
"I know. But someone out there is using her face and her name. If it's Cerberus, I want to know how, who, and why. And I want them stopped."
"Aye aye, sir." There was a glint in Coyle's eyes that said this was very much personal.
After the call ended Anderson leant his chin on his fist. He almost felt sorry for whoever was responsible for these rumours. Coyle was not a man you wanted to be on the wrong side of - he just hoped he could deal with the problem before it came to the attention of Udina, Hackett or god help him, Parliament.
"Hunter is calling in, sir." His aide called.
"Patch it through."
"Hunter Actual reporting, sir." The comm screen resolved into an image of First Lieutenant Ashley Williams in full battle dress, albeit with her helmet off. When he'd first met the then-Staff Sergeant she'd been both traumatised and somewhat starstruck by himself and Shepard. Now she met his gaze steadily - but there'd been a price for that composure.
"Sitrep."
"Primary objective has been completed, sir. We're en route to rendezvous - no sign of pursuit thus far. Think they took the bait."
"Good to hear. Any trouble from the...package?"
Williams smiled sharply. "No, sir. I think my shotgun left an impression on him."
Anderson chuckled. "Well, keep me posted and don't take any risks."
"Aye, sir."
He paused, thinking of that report buried at the bottom of his briefcase. Williams had been close to Shepard - too close, really. If he'd found out about it when Shepard was alive, he wouldn't have minced words with her about how much of an idiot she was being, sleeping with her MARDET sergeant, but he hadn't said anything to Williams afterwards. Between Shepard and the other three Marines killed during the Alchera Ambush, Williams had come perilously close to the line of what she could take.
She'd clawed herself free of that deep grief and the recklessness it'd caused in her. Anderson was proud of her for that - for the strength and sheer obstinacy it'd taken.
Williams noticed his hesitance. "Is there anything else, sir?"
If he told her about the report, it'd reopen those scabbed over wounds, and she was in the middle of the Traverse dragging along a batarian scientist with SIU on her tail. Worse, it could give her false hope. "Nothing further, Hunter. Anderson out."
Shepard ran, her breath coming in spurts, her feet thumping rhythmically against the treadmill. Pressly was dead because she'd asked him to stay on the bridge while she went below to launch the distress beacon. Negulesco was dead because she'd gone to oversee the evacuation of the bridge crew.
Her chest was full of broken glass. She stepped off the treadmill and bent over, gasping for breath. Waaberi, Gung Ho, Dubyansky. They'd been there from the start, followed into her hell and back. It was too much. All of it. She felt like she was back aboard the troop carrier, staring at all those body bags, staring into a void she knew could eat her whole.
"Ten more minutes."
And then there was that. She couldn't even enjoy running because there was a beady-eyed Cerberus fuck watching her with a clipboard in hand. Like a hamster on a wheel.
She gritted her teeth. She wanted to be petty - tell him where exactly he could shove his head. Instead, she started to run again, jaw clenched. Each step was agony - she hurt all over, the dull ache of exertion overlaid with sharper pains. At least she'd healed enough in the past few weeks that twisting the wrong way didn't tear her skin open.
And Lawson wasn't here today - the way the other woman looked at her made her feel like a science experiment, which she supposed she was to her. A science project that'd gotten up and started walking around.
At least Chakwas was around sometimes, even though she wasn't a physiotherapist. She still wasn't sure what to think about that - joining a bunch of terrorists didn't fit her image of a woman who'd joked that the Alliance was her spouse, and a far more satisfying one than any person at that.
Shepard felt...weak. She'd honed her body until it could do almost anything she asked of it - now it felt like anything more than this brisk jog would have her falling on her face. She wasn't at the level she'd been after basic training, let alone what'd been required to pass N School.
Ash would laugh at her, wiggle her eyebrows, say we need to work on your cardio, Skipper-
Shepard decidedly veered away the thought. She needed to concentrate on escaping, and that meant cooperating with the rehab and not losing herself in what had been done to her or what she'd missed, what she'd lost.
Cerberus wanted her for something. Something big. You didn't spend all that goddamn money without wanting a payoff.
Shepard had to be ready to take her chance.
Codex Entry
Casualties of the Alchera Ambush:
Bakari, Jamin, 24. Leading Electrician's Mate. Killed by explosion while attempting to repair shield generators. NOK: Abasi Bakari (father).
Barret, Germeen, 19. Communications and Information Systems Technician. Killed when bridge/CIC depressurized. NOK: Siobhan Barret (mother).
Chase, Addison, 20. Gunner's Mate. Killed when Forward Gunnery compartment was destroyed. NOK: Kelly Richards (mother), Thomas Richards (stepfather).
Cosby, Silas, 22. Senior Gunner's Mate. Killed when Forward Gunnery compartment was destroyed. NOK: Billy Crosby (father), Maryanne Crosby (mother).
Draven, Rosamund, 23. Damage Controlman Third Class. Killed attempting to prevent nuclear meltdown. NOK: Talitha Draven (wife), Anna Draven (mother).
Draven, Talitha, 26. Marine Staff Sergeant (N5). Killed after returning to look for DC3 Draven. NOK: Rosamund Draven (wife) - KIA.
Dubyansky, Alexei Andreyevich, 24. Marine Sergeant (N5). Killed when bridge/CIC depressurized. NOK: Valeriya Dubyansky (wife).
Emerson, Hector, 19. Yeoman. Killed when bridge/CIC depressurized. NOK: Kiera Emerson (grandmother).
Felawa, Robert, 19. Damage Controlman. Killed attempting to prevent nuclear melt down. NOK: Janet Felawa (mother).
Gladstone, Harvey J, 21. Senior Electronics Technician. Killed when bridge/CIC depressurized. NOK: Jeremiah Gladstone (uncle).
Grenado, Caroline, 22. Sub-Lieutenant (flight officer). Killed when bridge/CIC depressurized. NOK: Alejandro Grenado (brother).
Grieco, Marcus, 20. Senior Steward. Killed when Normandy exploded. NOK: Carmen Rodriguez (mother), Diego Greico (father).
Laflamme, Orden, 21. Senior Damage Controlman. Killed attempting to prevent nuclear meltdown. NOK: Colette Aurier-Laflamme (mother), Jerome Laflamme (father).
Lowe, Helen M, 20. Combat Systems Operator. Killed when bridge/CIC depressurized. NOK: Diana Lowe (mother).
Negulesco, Monica, 45. Command Master Chief Petty Officer. Trapped below decks while orchestrating evacuation of Engineering. NOK: Andrei Negulesco (husband).
Pakti, Abishek, 22. Leading Electronic Warfare Specialist. Killed when bridge/CIC depressurized. NOK: Saanvi Abishek (wife).
Pressly, Charles, 43. Lieutenant Commander (Executive Officer). Killed when bridge/CIC depressurized. NOK: Lin Pressly (wife).
Rahman, Mandira, 37. Chief Master-At-Arms. Killed by explosion. NOK: Sai Mandira (father), Anaya Mandira (daughter).
Tanaka, Raymond, 25. Lieutenant (Executive Assistant). Killed when bridge/CIC depressurized. NOK: Hai Tanaka-Lee (husband).
Tucks, Carlton, 26. Lieutenant (Supply Officer). Trapped below decks during evacuation. NOK: Tammy Richards (sister).
Waaberi, Amina, 23. Marine Corporal (N5). Hit by shrapnel during evacuation, DOW. NOK: Absimil Waaberi (father), Caaliyah Waaberi (mother).