Chapter 4: Miranda Versus the Cardinal Rule

I make plans. It's what I do.

I make plans because no one else will. Because they are too stupid. Or short-sighted. Or naïve. Too willing to mistake ignorance for surety, to dismiss unknown variables as inconsequential. To cling to blind faith in some intangible providence instead taking even the most elementary precautions.

I make plans to establish some iota of control. Because when your entire world, when everything you know, is at the mercy and whim of someone else, you need something to cling to. Something to keep you from succumbing to despair. (1)

I make plans to turn what might be into what will be. Because if you are observant enough, you can see the connections, calculate the likelihood of a given action and extrapolate the possible consequences. You can predict, manipulate or simply take advantage of how others will behave. Like a game of chess: determining how to move your pawns to provoke the desired response, moving towards the final and inevitable checkmate.

I make plans because, for all my talents, all my education and experience, sometimes things don't always go my way. Sometimes I'm wrong. Sometimes I fail. And when that happens, my plans help me compensate. My plans help me switch to other contingencies should the situation require it, either because they were specifically crafted with that development in mind or because there was sufficient overlap that I could repurpose it to suit my needs and turn a failure into a nothing more than a setback, thereby achieving a victory after all.

And maybe, just maybe, I make plans because I have a nonexistent social life. But I digress.

The mission as we had originally envisioned was complete: we had the Volkoff Industries accounts. But without the password or access codes, there was still a chance that the funds contained in those accounts could be used. Which meant the mission wasn't actually finished. We had to find Amad.

Fortunately, I had made a slight upgrade to the VI Carina gave me, something that would let me do more than simply search the mainframe of Anthony Amad's yacht. It let us fool the yacht VI into thinking we were authorized users, thereby expanding the options available to us.

Finding a computer, I began searching for Amad and his subordinate Figgins. "All right," I said, pulling up a three-dimensional wireframe schematic of the yacht. "We are here—"

"You sound like Avina," Carina murmured. "Or any other VI trying to help you find something."

I rolled my eyes. "—near the aft section of the main deck. And thanks to the tracker I placed on Amad, he is… here. In what appears to be his personal suite."

Carina peered at the holo-display. "Looks like he did a lot of renovation to merge the owner's suite on the main deck and the captain's cabin on the upper deck."

"Gives him a lot of living space," I agreed. "Now if I can tap into the ship's security feeds, I should be able to identify the locations of all the guards... there we go."

The holo-display, which had previously been showing two dots representing me and Carina and another two dots for Amad and (presumably) Figgins, suddenly began filling up with dots. Most of which were headed our way.

"Oh goody," Carina smiled. "The men who were entertaining us earlier have friends."

I looked at the four men in question, all now very much dead. "I hope you weren't planning on entertaining all of them. We can either shoot our way through all of them, or we can find an expeditious route to Amad and Figgins at the expense of skipping a few guards."

"We can't have both?"

Well, if Shepard were here, we would. Much to my chagrin and—eventual—resignation. (2) "No," I decided, just to be contrary.

"But I always do my best thinking when I'm getting shot at."

"Not that I've seen."

"Hey!"

"We have guards incoming," I warned, pointing at the map. I quickly set up a feed from the computer to my omni-tool so I could keep track of everyone while we were moving. "Perhaps we should prepare ourselves."

"Have a plan?"

"To borrow an over-used cliché, the best defence is a good offense."

"Woohoo!"

There were three guards, in fact, approaching the conference room. I don't think they expected us to launch an attack just as they were about to activate the door controls. They didn't expect to lose their shields, courtesy of Carina's EMP. And they certainly didn't expect to be set on fire from my omni-tool. It was laughably easy to finish them off while they were distracted. The only challenge was the last guard.

"What the hell is he doing?"

"Getting away… I think."

Actually, he was rolling himself down the corridor in an attempt to snuff out the flames, but getting away from the women who'd disabled his shields and set him on fire was probably a close second. It didn't work, but we managed to put him out of his misery.

As Carina and I raced down the corridor, I consulted my omni-tool and made the delightful discovery that there were another four guards approaching. Looking ahead, I found the most ideal location and quickly motioned for Carina to pick up the pace. Thanks to our efforts, we were able to find shelter and have our omni-tools and pistols aimed by the time the quartet of hostiles showed up. Once again, we disabled their shields, distracted them with plasma and picked them off one by one.

"Oh my god, I love this," Carina giggled.

She would.

Then we resumed our mad dash to reach Amad's chosen sanctuary. We passed several doors along the way. If Shepard were here, he'd investigate every single one for some kind of loot, whether they be credits, schematics for upgrades, weapons or even spare thermal clips.

"What are you doing?" Carina frowned after I opened the third door.

Testing to see whether I had a heretofore-undiscovered penchant for kleptomania to pair with my dormant streak of pyromania, I was tempted to say. (3) Though if that were true, I'd be quickly disappointed: there was nothing worth stealing or liberating.

"Two things," I replied. "First, I'm double-checking these rooms to make sure we don't have any surprises waiting to sneak up on us."

"Which the sensor feeds we tapped into should have found, but okay," Carina conceded. "And second?"

"Locking the doors so any pursuers will waste time unlocking and clearing the rooms."

"That could work," Carina agreed. "Though it looks like the next batch of guards are ahead of us, not behind us."

She was right. Five contacts, this time. I was just about to leave when I noticed something. "Well, what have we here?" I mused aloud.

Carina's eyes brightened.

We quickly arrived at a plan without wasting time proposing useless schemes or indulging in unnecessary banter—on Carina's part, of course—which indicated just how seriously we were taking this situation. Carina and I hid in the room and waited for the guards, who arrived in one minute, forty-two seconds. Just as they were about to pass the room we were hiding in, Carina opened the door. Understandably, the guards froze at this unexpected event and backed up to peer inside the room. The way they clustered made it easy for the next EMP and plasma attack to hit all five of them. Then Carina tossed the grenade I'd found out into the hallway. "Close it, close, it, close it!" she urged.

"I'm closing it," I told her. Honestly, I didn't know why she was so worried. Any shrapnel or damage from the grenade wasn't going to curve around the corner. Besides, she was the one who was so excited about finding the damn thing.

When we opened it again, all five of them were dead. And… spread out along the floor and walls and ceiling. Carina and I gingerly waded through the mess until we reached a clean section of floor again. Then I checked my omni-tool again. Most of the guards were either on the main deck and heading our way, ascending to the main deck or descending to the main deck.

As entertaining as it might have been to encounter hostile forces on a semi-regular basis, I had no desire to get involved in any more fighting than was strictly necessary. Furthermore, I had established that Shepard's questionable influence on me did not extend to a rampant desire for ill-gotten goods. "This way," I told Carina. "Around the corner and halfway down the corridor is a flight of stairs that can take us to the upper deck. From there, we can make our way to the suite while encountering a minimum number of guards."

"Not to mention a minimal amount of fun," Carina drawled. "I suppose I'll have to get my jollies some other way."

"Poor baby," I mocked as I led the way. To my surprise, I had an unbelievably good string of luck. We encountered no guards whatsoever on the way to the stairs. Or on our way up to the upper deck. And we met exactly zero guards on our way to Amad's suite.

It was once we arrived at the suite that our unexpected serendipity ran out. First, the door was sealed with an encryption system that was more robust than usual. More of a challenge than a serious problem, or so I thought.

"Um… Sarah?"

"What now?"

"We have three guards approaching our location, with another two trailing them. ETA of maybe twenty seconds for the first three and… forty-five seconds for the rest."

"Crap," I cursed.

"Don't worry," Carina reassured me. "I have a plan."

Against my better judgment, I had to turn my attention away from my hacking efforts to level an incredulous stare at her. "You?"

"Yep," she nodded. "I'll watch your back and shoot down anyone who tries to stop you."

Ah. Another exchange of ridiculous schemes. Something to be said for tradition, I suppose. "No, that's a terrible idea. You don't have enough firepower or cover to make any kind of effective stand."

"And you have a better idea?"

"Run towards them screaming in terror that there's a fire, lead them away, then double back later."

"I'm pretty sure there are safety procedures in place to deal with that," Carina said. "For some odd reason, fires and ships don't mix. Which means that amazing idea wouldn't fly, either. Now what's your real plan?"

I told her.

"Fine," she sighed. "You've got ten seconds."

While Carina made herself scarce, I activated my omni-tool, activated a nifty little program I'd been saving for a rainy day and set it loose on that pesky door. Meanwhile, I slipped off my right shoe, snapped the heel off with one hand while mussing my 'hair' with the other. Palming one of my knives in my broken shoe—which I thankfully did not buy because that would have been such a waste of credits—I took a step forward, then another and another, my trajectory growing increasingly indirect until I walked right into the door. Stumbling back, I repeated my movements. "Hello?" I called out, deliberately slurring my voice. "Hello? Anyone there? Hello? Anyone there? Hello? Hello?"

"Can we help you, miss?"

Whirling around, I forced myself to stumble into the wall. "Oh my God, I'm, like, so sorry. Maybe the four of you… uh, five," I amended, squinting at the guards and pretending to fail at doing a headcount. "Six? I dunno, I'm so wasted. I'm so wasted! Can you help me? I, uh, I'm trying to find the guy? You know, the guy. Said mixing ryncol with bourbon was a really bad idea. He was a guy… like you… really tall… like you… like a guy…"

Sure enough, they immediately dismissed me as a drunk bimbo. They were so overconfident, in fact, that they didn't even bother activating their kinetic barriers before moving in to apprehend me. I let them get close before making my move.

The first guard—who I mentally designated as Target One—was behind me, 13 centimetres from my left elbow. The other two were in front of me and on my right; Target Two was 58 centimetres away and Target Three 168 centimetres. I knocked the latter off his feet with a well-aimed Warp. (4) Target Two's eyes widened before he lunged towards me. Quickly sidestepping, I bent, grabbed, twisted and pulled him over my shoulder. While One managed to dodge Two in time, the resulting delay allowed me to turn my attention back to Three. He had recovered from my biotic attack with admirable speed. Sadly for him, he was unable to respond to my broken shoe, which I threw in his face. That gave me time to swivel around and plunge my knife in the centre of One's left carotid artery. Reversing my path, I shoved One in Two's path. Following my momentum, I made a full 360-degree turn with my arm extended and my blade firmly gripped in my hand, slashing Three's throat in an unconscious imitation of Carina's earlier attack. While Three rapidly exsanguinated out, I hurled the knife into Two's right eye. Needless to say, I didn't miss.

Targets Four and Five chose that opportunity to arrive. They took one look at me, glanced at the dead and bloody bodies of their compatriots, activated their kinetic barriers and drew their pistols. "Freeze!" Five yelled.

"Honestly: couldn't you think of something more original?"

They stiffened. Five kept his weapon trained on me while Four turned around. Or tried to—he had only made it halfway around before Carina drained his kinetic barriers, as well as those of his partner. I dropped to the ground, just in time to avoid Five's instinctive shot, before setting them both on fire with a well-aimed torrent of plasma from my omni-tool. There was a fair amount of screaming and twitching on their part—and a little shooting on our part—before they finally stopped moving.

And then the door opened. Right on cue. Well, not really, since I hadn't arranged it that way. Though if I had, I suppose the timing would have been adequate.

"Shall we?" I asked, tilting my head towards the door as I reloaded my pistol.

Carina did the same. "Yes. Let's."

In some ways, Amad's luxury suite was rather typical. White marble tiles, white walls, white tabletops. Leather furniture. Large bed covered in silk sheets that probably had a high thread count. The standard, typical arrangement you'd expect.

But there were a few distinct features that made it unique. The dark red-brown colour of the furniture. The red-and-gold Persian carpets. The mosaic of brightly-coloured tiles covering the walls. The giant gold—not real gold, of course. I could see the flecks of paint that had chipped off—statue of Tony Amad.

Speaking of which, Amad was sitting in the room with his good friend Figgins. Both of them looked somewhat annoyed. Probably because they had been chased to this luxurious hidey-hole instead of sitting down and watching while a bevy of beautiful women entertained them. And they were sipping what looked like water—though it could be some colourless alcoholic beverage such as vodka—instead of downing glasses of expensive champagne or wine. I pointed my pistol at Amad. Carina covered Figgins.

"The two of you are starting to annoy me," Amad announced.

"Only starting?" Carina asked innocently.

"Told you were slipping," I murmured. To Amad, I said: "Try spending a full hour with her. You'll be ready to throttle her by then."

"Or you'll have your clothes off."

I opened my mouth to rebut Carina's statement, paused, considered it, and had to concede that she did have a point. She did have a way of convincing men—and women—to strip down to their underwear, if not nude. Handcuffs might be involved. Actual sex… didn't happen as often as you'd think. Carina liked to say that any idiot could spread her legs for the target. A true expert could keep her clothes on and her legs together, but still make the target think he—or she—had the time of his/her life.

"ENOUGH!" Amad snapped. "This is your last chance to tell me who hired you."

"Today?" Carina asked.

"Yes, of course today."

"Today today?" I chimed in.

"Yes."

"Let's see…" I said slowly. "Today. Does today work for you?"

Carina shook her head. "No. No, it doesn't. How 'bout tomorrow."

"No, I have plans. Weekend, maybe?"

"That new club's opening up. You know the one? With the lights? Next to the place?"

"Oh, yeah, yeah. Heard great things about it. Definitely can't miss it. Next week, then?"

"At the earliest. Even then, it might not work."

Figgins definitely looked annoyed. Amad was this close to bursting a blood vessel, judging by the way he was twitching. And the vein in his forehead was definitely throbbing. "Well then," he hissed. "I guess that settles things." He didn't so much as tap his omni-tool as he stabbed it with his index finger.

"Drop your weapons. You have twenty seconds to comply."

Carina and I looked around for the voice. It was deep, bass. Definitely synthetic. But I couldn't see a mech anywhere. Neither could Carina, judging by the frown on her face. It could have been the VI or some synthesized voice over the public address system, but somehow it didn't sound like that. It sounded a lot closer.

"You now have fifteen seconds to comply."

Definitely closer. The voice was in this room. Was it from a cloaked mech? That wasn't unheard of. I had encountered geth hunter platforms before, so I was familiar with the concept of cloaked synthetic units.

"You now have five seconds to comply… four… three… two… one… I am now authorized to use lethal force." (5)

Then the gold statue cracked.

If this was a vid, the crack would spread, splitting and forking and spreading until the entire façade was covered in a spider web of cracks. There would then be a dramatic pause before the entire statue shattered with a deafening roar, pieces falling in slow motion to the ground. Or so Shepard told me: he kept meaning to rope me into a 'movie date,' whatever that was. I never had the chance to take him up on his peculiar offer. Too many things to do at the time. Now I wish I had.

But I digress. Since this was reality, the statue cracked into pieces and fell away. As Carina and I watched, a YMIR mech unfolded itself from its dormant crouching position.

Yes. A Model 34-A YMIR-class heavy mech. Because this mission hadn't been hazardous enough before.

By this point, I had faced so many mechs and geth that the protocols for combating them had long-since been generated, tested, refined and stored in my memory. So I automatically ducked down behind a couch, launched an EMP from my omni-tool and opened fire with my pistol.

Carina, on the other hand, was a little slower to respond. I suppose that, in the murky and secretive world of intelligence, dealing with your standard run-of-the-mill mech was one thing. Fighting giant heavy mechs was something else altogether. To her credit, though, she had found shelter beside me and sent her own EMP flying before the YMIR opened fire.

"Any thoughts?" Carina called out as the stream of bullets roared over our heads.

"Stagger our EMP attacks. Since we don't have any rapid-fire weapons, we'll have to settle for our shields. Once the YMIR's shields are down, concentrate on its head. The armour plating there is just as thick, but the internal circuitry is much more vulnerable. You should be aware that it will occasionally halt firing its mass accelerator cannons to let loose a rocket."

"Wow," was all Carina could say. "Either you've had way too much time on your hands or you've dealt with these things before."

"Both," I confirmed. "Which brings me to the most important point: like other mechs, it has no sense of self-preservation. It will try to advance on our position."

"Yeah, I can see that," Carina said, dread filling her voice. The loud footsteps told us that it was definitely stomping towards us. "And we are nowhere close to killing it."

Somehow, I spared a moment to close my eyes and pull up a mental map of the suite from my brief observations. "Then we'll have to keep moving. Our best bet is the chair 5.3 metres to our left with a marble pillar right next to it. We'll have plenty of time to let off several shots. From there, there are several options to retreat."

"Sounds good," Carina shrugged. "I'll get there first and cover you." Before I could say anything, the air around her seemed to flare with light.

Then she vanished. Apparently she had a tactical cloaking system. Perhaps she somehow had it built into her dress. Or maybe she had an implant or series of implants like Shepard. I managed to drain a little more of the YMIR's shields before I had to duck for cover. As powerful as my biotics were, they wouldn't last long against the sheer onslaught that the mech could deliver.

A trio of shots rang out. M-5 Phalanx, judging by the sound. 5.3 metres to my left, judging by the echo. The logical conclusion would be that Carina had made it to the shelter, just as we'd planned.

I don't think either of us had planned for the YMIR to halt, turn around and stomp towards her.

Later on, I realized that this behavior was similar to the other times Shepard and his squad encountered a YMIR mech. If he had cause to activate his cloak, the YMIR would reorient on someone else. When he decloaked, the YMIR invariably switched back to him. We appeared to see something similar here. Perhaps it interpreted Carina's decloaking as the arrival of a new threat. If so, perhaps its threat priority protocols determined that it should disengage from its current target and attack the 'new' one. Either that or, as Shepard would say, the universe had it out for him.

Whatever the reason, this presented an opportunity. "Carina," I said, speaking into my comm, "activate your cloak as soon as you can. If I'm right, the YMIR will keep moving back and forth between us. We can use that behavior to take it down."

"You sure that will work?" Carina asked skeptically.

"I have a few prior encounters that suggest it would be a viable tactic," I replied.

"First, a simple 'yes' would've sufficed," Carina replied. "Second, you must have been having a lot of interesting adventures during that deep cover job of yours."

"You have no idea," I murmured. "Ready?"

"Ready."

My plan did, in fact, work out. Though if I had any doubts, I wouldn't have mentioned it out loud. Still, I would have understood any skepticism. No one who hadn't actually witnessed this encounter or had any similar firsthand experience would have believed that two women could singlehandedly take down a YMIR by making it stomp back and forth between us and having whichever woman who wasn't under attack take advantage of the opportunity to score a few free hits.

But that is exactly what happened. Slowly, bullet by bullet, we whittled down its shields. Then we focused our fire on damaging and dislodging the armour plating around its head. I had just Warped the plating off when I felt two shots ricochet off my own shields.

Turning around, I saw Amad and Figgins firing at me with heavy pistols—M-6 Carnifexes, to be exact. Apparently, having seen the two of us hold our own and slowly gain an inexorable advantage over a foe that outweighed and outgunned us, they felt the need to intervene. Naturally, the YMIR was thundering towards me at that point.

Carina saw the predicament I was in. "Hang on, Sarah."

Yes. Hang on. Easy to say when you're not staring down an unstoppable force that could tear through your shields or barriers in the blink of an eye. Easy to do when you're not facing an insurmountable foe that could literally cut you to pieces with the sheer velocity of its overwhelming firepower. As the YMIR approached, I mentally reviewed the layout of the suite and began plotting various courses that would buy me as much time as possible. I heard it get closer… and closer…

…and closer…

…before it came to a grinding halt. I heard a hiss of hydraulics.

Then the YMIR opened fire.

But not at me. Daring to peer up, I saw the YMIR open fire on Amad and Figgins, who hastily took cover behind a large desk. The heavy mech proceeded to carve a series of grooves and dents into the finish, causing so much damage that no amount of restoration could possibly repair the damage. Turning around, I saw Carina beaming. "Check it out," she grinned. "I got that mech wrapped around my little finger!"

As much as I was loathe to admit it, she was right. With the YMIR's targeting protocols subverted, it was more than capable of keeping Amad and Figgins pinned down while Carina and I scored shot after free shot. I threw in the occasional EMP while Carina re-hacked the heavy mech whenever it rebooted its IFF protocols. (6)

After a minute and thirty-five seconds, I ran a quick scan with my omni-tool. According to the results, it was seriously damaged. It wouldn't take much to destroy it once and for all. The question was how: a single shot in the right place would cause a critical overload in its system, resulting in an explosion comparable to that of a tactical nuclear weapon or an M-920 Cain round going off. Despite the size of Amad's suite, it was still a fairly enclosed space.

"Amad!" I called out. "Call off the mech or I'll shoot it! In its current state, I estimate a 94% chance that it will explode and take us all out!"

"Let her shoot it!" Carina encouraged her. "I've always wanted to go out with a bang!"

For a moment, I thought Amad would take Carina up on her suggestion. Then the YMIR slumped down. If my enhanced hearing didn't pick up the sounds of an eezo core powering down, I would have thought it had received that one final impact that sent it over the edge. To my relief, the YMIR crouched down in its power-down mode. Amad and Figgins slowly stood up, pistols placed on the table and hands in the air.

To summarize: Volkoff Industries accounts seized. Passwords to said accounts acquired. And to make things even better, two bonafide Volkoff operatives captured alive and ready for interrogation. Could this get any better?

I turned around to look my partner. Which in this case happened to be Carina.

Oh. Right.

If this had been a well-planned operation, there would be an Alliance Intelligence grab-team standing by to take Amad and Figgins into custody before any other parties got involved. Unfortunately, any plan had been jettisoned out the proverbial airlock a long time ago.

Thankfully, Carina knew someone in C-Sec who was quite amenable to holding them in a cell, off the record, until Alliance Intelligence could scramble a grab-team. It seems that when you're an asari in your mid-400s, with a mother who is much respected amongst Thessia's matriarchs, you don't want evidence of a liaison with an 18-year old human hitting the extranet.

I wasn't quite sure how Carina got a hold of this evidence. She certainly didn't look 19. But I suppose all's well that ends well.

After handing our captives off, Carina left the yacht. With all the drinking and carousing and attractive individuals of both genders and various species. Very suspicious, I thought. I said as much.

"Oh, you know, I got bored," Carina tried. "After running and gunning, whining about stock options over a glass of bubbly just isn't the same."

Very true, but I had my doubts that that was the actual story. "Carina…"

"Fine," Carina huffed. "Since you insist."

That was easy.

"Let's say that, hypothetically, I know this woman."

"Only one?" I snarked.

"This woman claimed to be a top-secret, hush-hush agent with Alliance Intelligence," Carina continued, ignoring my sarcasm. "So cloak-and-dagger that her name wouldn't pop up on any official records. And almost none of the unofficial ones."

I started feeling a sinking feeling in my stomach.

"So, hypothetically, I may have done a little digging. What did I find? Glad you asked. I found out, hypothetically, that this so-called deep cover story was a load of bull. She wasn't deep-cover at all. She was, in fact, working for the enemy. Which meant that I was obligated to turn her in."

I upgraded the sinking feeling to plummeting. "And when did you find out about this hypothetical woman?" I managed.

"Oh, years ago."

Years. We'd had a couple encounters within that time frame. "You knew about this hypothetical woman for years? And yet you never turned her in?"

"Yes and no, in that order."

"Why?"

"I liked her."

I blinked. "Come again?"

"I liked her. Don't ask me why. She was so uptight, I could swear she had a rod jammed up her ass—and not in a good way. Could've subbed in for a VI, she was so goddamned literal. Totally clueless about how real human beings behaved. And absolutely no sense of humour whatsoever. Total snorefest."

"And yet you liked her."

"I'm weird that way," Carina shrugged. "And kinda freaky. Don't get me started."

Fine. I would not.

"But yes, despite all her many character defects, I liked her. So I didn't turn her in."

To be honest, I was a little preoccupied. It's not like I hadn't anticipated that someone might see through this fictitious tale I had concocted. That was why I had taken pains to limit my encounters with Carina or anyone else that might be able to see between the lies. The fact Carina had figured it out wasn't a surprise. The fact that she had figured it out and chose not to divulge this to anyone was.

Of course, she could be lying. She was an intelligence agent. Lying was what she did. But I didn't think she was lying this time. I'm usually a pretty good judge of character, and what I picked up told me she was telling the truth.

That same ability to analyze, what other people would attribute as an instinct or 'gut feeling,' also told me there was something more. "If you ever saw this woman again, what would you do? Hypothetically."

"Three things. First: it turns out that the phrase 'Alliance Intelligence' really isn't an oxymoron. Someone else figured it out who told someone who told someone who... well, you get the idea. Word's out. Your cover's blown. Technically, I should turn you in myself. That kind of coup would score me major brownie points with the brass." (7)

"You need to score some more brownie points?" was the first question that came to mind.

"Nah," Carina scoffed. "Well, maybe. I might be in a little hot water. Bringing you in would definitely help. But I did go above and beyond by completing my assignment and netting two sources of information—if not potential assets. That should be enough to get me back in my bosses' good books."

"I see we've dropped the 'hypothetical' aspect?" I noticed.

"Think it's run its course."

"Agreed. You mentioned three things."

"Right. Second: you've changed so much I almost didn't recognize you. I mean, you've loosened up. You tell jokes. And did I mention you've loosened up?"

"Have I really changed that much?" I protested.

"You were so stiff and rigid," Carina replied. "Any change would speak volumes. And that's a good thing. As fun as it was to wind you up before, dealing with this new you is better."

I had to admit that, at times, I felt better. Of course, there were now times where I felt worse.

"Of course, that all makes sense when you consider the third thing."

She said it so casually. Too casually, in my opinion. "And that would be..." I prompted.

"You broke the cardinal rule."

...

Oh. Right. She...

...

...right. The cardinal rule: never. fall. in. love. Because that was so unbelievably dangerous. To finish the mission, to stay safe, you could never fall in love. Never let someone in. Or get close. Never let yourself get so blinded by those pesky emotions that you miss the telltale signs that they're up to no good. That they're trying to use you or manipulate you in some way. To lead you away from their flaws or problems or agendas. Or even if those feelings are actually genuine and that person really is that kind and honest and funny and smart and good-looking—not that that list, which was certainly not a definitive list, was in any particular order, though the order did have a certain appeal and my God when did my supposedly trained and disciplined mind collapse into such a disorganized babbling state of anarchy? Answer: right now. Well, 12.1 seconds ago... 12.3... 12.4 stop it!—love has a terrible way of occupying all your time and attention and distracting you from looking out for other dangers and other threats and drawing those connections and conclusions that could warn you of impending peril.

I used to follow that mantra. I had to, because the original cardinal rule, as parlayed to yours truly by Carina, was that spies don't fall in love and I, despite the fiction that I had just been informed was dispelled, was not a spy. Or an intelligence agent. Or intelligence officer. Or operative or whatever term you wished to utilize.

But then I met Shepard. And things got complicated. And then they got better. I got better. And happy. Genuinely, honestly, I-can-relax-without-chastising-myself-for-letting-my-guard-down happy. And then Shepard was gone. Which made things simpler. And more painful. And more complicated. All over again. I did not like this state at all.

It occurred to me that I should probably say something, considering Carina had been waiting for a response for 53.2 seconds. "Yes."

"You fell in love?"

"Yes." I couldn't really manage anything more than that. Thankfully, a simple answer was adequate for such a simple question.

"Are... are you o—no, you're not okay. How are you... yeah. How are you?"

"It's complicated."

"And we've broken the one-word mark."

And the one-syllable mark, but who was counting? Aside from me, that is.

"You know why the cardinal rule exists, don't you?"

"Do you want the short but imprecise response or the long and thorough answer?" I returned.

Carina winced. "Neither. Both go on forever. You really do love the sound of your own voice."

Look who's talking.

"Just one question."

"I admire your restraint."

"Is he worth it?"

"Yes."

"That was fast."

It was. It really was. I didn't even think about it. Or analyze it—either for subtext or what it could imply. It just... came out.

Wow... this was—wait a second. "Why did you say 'he'? It could have been a 'she'. Brave new world, you know."

"It really should be galaxy or universe, but that just doesn't have the same ring to it," Carina observed. "To answer your question: lucky guess." Then, to my complete and utter surprise, she... softened, would be the best way to describe it. "It's kind of a relief, actually."

"You wanted me to break the cardi—to fall in love?" I asked, avoiding the term. Possibly for the first time.

"Actually, I meant that I spend all my time suspicious of everyone and keeping them at arm's length. Everyone I know does the same. Occupational hazard. So it's nice to see that the rest of the galaxy isn't like that."

"And you don't think the rest of the galaxy is deluding themselves with this romanticized ignorance?" I asked.

"Oh, I know the rest of the galaxy is in blissful denial," Carina said. "But sometimes I can't help but think how nice it would be to take the blue pill."

I had no idea what she was talking about. (8)

"So... what now?" Carina wanted to know. "Like I said, the jig is up. The Alliance is onto you."

Once upon a time, I would have thought about that. It wouldn't have appeared that way, of course. But I was well versed in the art of generating, theorizing, extrapolating, eliminating and refining multiple plans and contingency plans in a fraction of the time required by other individuals.

Now? Now... all right. I still went through that very same protocol, but much faster than usual. Partly because I had already initiated it some time ago, partly because I had already identified the desired plan of action.

"This is what I want to do..." I began.

Carina set it up. She couldn't believe it at first. Kept asking me to repeat it. Then again. Then she—I swear I am not making this up—put the back of her hand against my forehead and took my temperature. Then she actually scanned me with her omni-tool—and the measurements had nothing to do with my body proportions!

But she finally set it up. Which brought me to this boring, generically decorated, generically furnished room. Bland, pastel pre-fab metal-that-didn't-look-like-metal walls. And floor. And ceiling. And furniture. With a computer and a token plant, the latter of which was starting to shrivel.

Admiral David Edward Anderson—formerly the first human Citadel Councillor, formerly Captain—arrived at 2200 on the dot. Very punctual. Probably a result of that military training. I approved. "Miss Lawson," he greeted me. "Or should that be 'Agent Walker'?"

"Miss Lawson is fine," I smiled politely, standing up and shaking his hand. "I take it you have been apprised of the situation?"

"You were groomed—and more—to be the heir of the Lawson business empire, escaped to a new life with the pro-human terrorist organization Cerberus on the provision that they help you provide a safe and normal life for your sister and genetic twin, rose through Cerberus's ranks until you led your own cell and gained personal access privileges with the Illusive Man himself, pretended to be an Alliance Intelligence deep cover operative, brought Commander Shepard back from the dead, served as his executive officer and second-in-command while investigating the plague of human colony abductions that sprung up over the last few years, defeated the Collectors and their Reaper masters and wish to make a deal rather than be arrested for a multitude of crimes."

He said all of that in one breath. Without making it sound like a frantic ramble. Swear to God.

Out of the myriad possibilities that could explain this concise summary, there was one that seemed the most plausible. "You talked to Shepard. Probably before Agent Miller contacted you."

Anderson nodded. "I also read some of his official logs. Which were... sparser than the norm."

Probably because Cerberus was tapping into, reading and analyzing every log entry, paragraph, sentence and word forward and backwards. Anderson knew that too, though he was gracious enough not to mention it.

"Speaking of Agent Miller, her message contained an interesting proposal," he said, changing the subject and getting down to the purpose of this meeting. "Amnesty for any crimes you may or may not have committed and forgiveness of your affiliations with a known terrorist organization. That's a tall order."

"I have a great deal of information on Cerberus," I told him.

"A group known for its compartmentalization," he countered. "Which brings into question how much you know."

"I am in a unique position to tell you everything about the cell I ran," I replied, "the cell that brought Shepard back. I can also tell you about all the missions I performed over the last 18 years. Furthermore, I can confirm or inform you about some things that all aspects of Cerberus have in common. Communication protocols, steganographic encryption—"

"We recently discovered that last part," Anderson interrupted.

I gave him a look. "Do you seriously think Cerberus doesn't have a backup method?"

"I'd be surprised if Cerberus didn't have several," he said gravely. (9) "Delighted, but surprised."

"More importantly, we have to think of the Reapers."

If he wasn't sober and serious before, he certainly was now. "I read Shepard's reports on what happened in the Bahak system."

"He did everything he could," I found myself saying. For some reason, I felt the need to defend him.

"Of course he did," Anderson said simply. As if he'd already decided that that was what happened. As if nothing else would have been possible.

Which was true. "Then you know the Reapers are coming. They've been delayed, but they're coming. I can help. But not if I'm constantly on the run and looking over my shoulder or—worse—rotting away or being tortured in some Alliance black site."

"The Alliance doesn't—" Anderson began automatically. He had the decency to stop and look slightly ashamed before I gave him a scathing glare. "I see your point," he conceded.

"So that's the deal. Limited time offer."

Now he looked amused. "Spoken like someone who's done this before."

If he only knew... "Spoken like someone who's spent her entire adult life evading authorities, particularly now that she knows that she's actively being hunted."

"Fair enough," Anderson nodded.

"Besides, you have a fair amount of influence and political clout—even after besmirching your name in a vain but admirable effort to champion Shepard's and spread his warnings. And you have Admiral Hackett's ear, whose name and opinion carries considerable weight. So if you're here, without an army of guards to subdue me, then you've already made your decision."

"I have," Anderson admitted. "I'm prepared to listen to your proposal and pass it up to my superiors with my strongest recommendation—and Hackett's."

"But," I prompted.

"But I promised to give you this first."

He handed over an OSD. "Thank you?" I tried.

"I talked to Shepard before coming here."

"You talked to a man who's being court-martialled for supposedly abandoning his duty to join a pro-human terrorist organization and committing an act of genocide before meeting with a woman who was a member of said pro-human terrorist organization," I stated more than asked.

"Yes," Anderson said frankly, "because as necessary as this might be, you and I know both know it's bullshit."

That was when I finally decided to trust him. Shepard's opinion counted for a lot, but I still had to make up my mind for myself. I still needed that last piece of evidence, that final sign, that catalyst. Now I had it.

"He asked me to look up something on the extranet, download it and give it to you. So I did."

I looked down at the OSD, then back up at him.

"Now I won't insult your intelligence by claiming I didn't scrutinize it for any illicit links or viruses, but I will say I didn't look that carefully."

Despite my instincts, I found myself believing him. "All right," I said slowly.

Anderson got to his feet. "I'll give you a few minutes in privacy before we get started." He made it to the door before pausing. "One more thing."

"Go on?"

"I wanted to thank you," he said simply. "No matter what happens, you have my thanks. For bringing Shepard back, and for standing by him when we could—did not."

"You're welcome."

He gave me a nod, then left the room. I waited for 31 seconds after the door closed before sliding the OSD into the computer and opening the single file contained within. 0.19 seconds before a song began playing. Naturally. Shepard did enjoy his antiquated songs. For such a modern man, he did have some old-fashioned tastes. But he did have a penchant for employing the lyrics to say things he had difficulty articulating himself. Or, in this case, to say things he couldn't say because he wasn't physically present to say them himself.

I listened to the song in its entirety. Then I played it again.

"Well faith means little if
We have nowhere to stand.
This wound is deeper now
And I'm a broken man"

If I had to guess, I suppose he was saying that he wasn't giving up. Despite all the ludicrous idiocy and short-sighted politicking, he wouldn't give up the fight against the Reapers. Or what we had forged over the last year.

"You held your words. A knife
The weapon armed again.
But I'm not walking from
Our dream it grows as I begin."

I make plans. It's what I do. But none of them led to anything remotely like a happy ending. Every plan or projection I had generated resulted to doom, failure and death.

"Giving up. Not giving up. Giving up."
"Giving up. Not giving up. Giving up."
"Giving up. Not giving up. Giving up."
"Giving up. Not giving up. Giving up."

Try as I might, I don't have Shepard's optimism or his faith. His indefatigable ability to persevere despite insurmountable odds. His hope that things would get better.

"I used to feel us so on fire.
And now I feel heat for the truth.
With every flame of my desire.
I'm not giving up on you." (10)

But I could try again.

(1): Miranda is referring to her childhood under her father, Henry Lawson.

(2): The mind boggles.

(3): Thankfully, that was not the case. The galaxy might truly fall apart if there were two sapients who stole and burned on such a prolific basis.

(4): The naming of biotic techniques is similar to various martial arts and other forms of exercise. Readers will recall that Shepard made no such distinction during his many log entries. It is possible that he was unaware of the distinction, though that would be a rare exception to his usual hunger for knowledge.

(5): Shepard later told me that this line was pulled from the human science-fiction action vids RoboCop, which was released in 1987. Perhaps whoever programmed this mech was a fan.

(6): Identify Friend or Foe; the human acronym for an identification system designed to distinguish friendly and hostile forces.

(7): A hypothetical form of social currency earned by performing good deeds. The approval of other individuals, most often one's superiors, is common, but not required.

(8): A human science-fiction cultural reference from the 1999 vid The Matrix, in which consuming a red pill meant embracing reality—and the occasionally painful truth that went with it—while consuming a blue pill signified an acceptance of illusion or fantasy. I find the fact that Carina associated concepts such as love with fantasy rather telling. And on a completely non-editorial note, I'm sure that Shepard would have offered to slip a red pill in with a cup of jasmine tea.

(9): They did.

(10): 'Not Giving Up,' released by Royal Wood in 2012.