Chapter Nine

Vancouver, B.C., Canada, Earth

Kingston Bar and Grille, January 13, 2179, 1402h

Lawson had checked into her hotel after Charon had dropped her off and given her the location for their meet. The sports bar wasn't too bad; it had a patio with plenty of umbrellas as well as shade and naturally inside were several huge vid screens airing multiple games. She immediately knew where he was sitting; a bottle of Cloudy Bay Sauvignon Blanc sat in a bucket with ice beside him. He was currently enraptured with a few data pads, and it wasn't until she approached the table that he looked up.

With a snap of his fingers, the waitress that had been standing by the door spun around upon her heel and brought out two chilled Riedel wine glasses. She offered to pour the wine, but he silently held up a hand and shook his head 'no.'

"Thank you for coming. Have you had lunch yet?" he inquired and removed the bottle to do so.

"I had some before I left the hotel. The food there was passable, though I'm not sure if I'd partake in any of the evening meals that they offer."

"This place is all right, if you can tolerate the noise."

"Yes, I have to admit that I was rather curious why we'd be meeting here and not somewhere more…upscale," Miranda remarked as she looked about the restaurant.

"Business with pleasure, remember?" He held up his glass to offer her a silent 'cheers' and inhaled the wine's light bouquet. "Ah. I smell a hint of citrus in there. Thoughts, Ms. Lawson?"

Miranda also lifted the glass up to her nose. "Grapefruit, perhaps?"

"Your olfactory senses are still quite superior," he chuckled and tasted some of the alcohol.

She gazed upon the bottle's label. "Now I know you're stroking my ego and trying to win some sentimental points, Charon. A Sauvignon Blanc from the Marlborough valley…I haven't had this…well, it's been years."

"Strange that a common sports bar would have it on hand, isn't it?"

"Not so much," she shook her head and let the wine ease down her throat. "I saw the bottle sitting in your rental when you insisted upon putting my luggage in the trunk yourself."

"Perhaps you could've been an investigator in another life. I'm rather fond of how my generation used to view the fairer sex, before biotics came into play and made us all potentially equal. What do you think I want from you, Miranda?"

She laughed and crossed one leg over the other. "I was supposed to ask that from you next, you cheeky bastard."

"Touche."

"How's your latest protege faring? Her name hasn't come across my dossiers too often since she botched Project Skywalker."

"Ah, Serena. She's been doing some piloting for my other agents' missions recently and not so much field work ever since then, actually."

"She did complicate things with Harkin. However, we did manage to eventually plant someone else in C-Sec despite that." Miranda's fingers traced random patterns onto the foot of the glass.

"Observe the company we keep inside, if you can." His eyes led hers to the crowd of rowdy Alliance marines participating in the sporting events. He remained quiet while she studied them all for the next minute or so. "The possible targets I have in mind is one Jacob Taylor, that black cadet over there who just recently joined the Alliance. The other on the opposite end of the bar with the dark brown hair and without a red beret is 2nd Lt. Shepard, a veteran who's been in their ranks for the past eight years."

"The one with the flawless profile, square jaw, and stubble?"

"That's the one, leaning against the barstool." He paused to clear his throat. "I just so happen to have their service records upon my person today. Would you perhaps care to take a glimpse?"

Before Miranda could answer, he slid the data pads over to her. She moved her glass of wine to the side and quickly read them. "Shepard was in the battle of Torfan, so I'd say that he's the sort that believes that the end can justify the means. However, he has been with the Alliance longer than Taylor," Charon went on. "He'll be much more difficult to convince."

"Yes, it says here that Taylor has a problem with authority. He just graduated from the Academy last month and had several demerits listed here," Miranda observed. "Perhaps exploiting his distrust for politicians or the Alliance's abilities to hold power over alien races would serve as a fruitful tactic for you. Both he and Shepard are biotics, although it looks as if Shepard's got a few more talents listed here than Taylor."

"He's young, so there's room for improvement, but we could always use more people with biotic talents."

"Taylor's less of a gambit than Shepard, that's for sure. Neither of them have any siblings or are married, so that's better for us. No family means no reasons to stay tied down to any Alliance bases or to a home planet. I'd need to speak to either of them to get a better picture of their motivations or character."

"So whom do you think I should approach? That's why I asked you here. Your first impressions are usually the right ones, Miranda. Neither soldier appears to know the other, so that's an advantage that I already have in the cards, so to speak." He took another drink of the wine, as did she.

"Why not both?" she shrugged. "I'm quite surprised that you haven't asked me to do so myself, Charon."

"You've never been much of a people person, Miranda. That's one thing about you that I could never see change."

"Hmm, well, it's too bad that you didn't mention this after my first glass was already gone. I might have tried to talk to Shepard myself; you know how much I like a challenge." The corners of her mouth widened ever so slightly. "He's not unpleasant to look at, even from a distance." She gave him a second glance and clicked her tongue to up to the roof of her mouth. "But now you'll never know, will you?"

Lawson finished the glass and arose. "Thanks for the drink; I'll be on my way back to my hotel. I've got some work to do."

"Wait, wait, there. You're not getting away so easily from me." He lifted his index finger skyward, and her left eyebrow arose in question. "Something tells me that you're withholding some information."

"How-"

"Remember how you came to be from whence you came." He drank some more of the wine.

Miranda rolled her eyes. "Speak plainly, Charon. I'm not in the mood for the sagacious act you're putting on."

"Then perhaps you'll come clean with me. You don't normally give men a second glance unless you're mildly interested in something that he has to offer. Whether you're thinking about business or pleasure, that I cannot tell right now, but-"

"Fine." Her brusque response told him that she was desperately trying to hold back an embarrassed flush from her face. He'd immediately see that as a weakness and exploit it somehow. She wouldn't dare to give him the opportunity. "Operative 14 has informed me that something went very wrong with a relationship that Shepard and some asari shared. As a result of it, another officer was demoted and banished from Captain Anderson's service. She and her entire party of visiting colleagues were also expelled from Arcturus Station."

"Did he say what specifically went wrong with the relationship?"

"No, but it's fairly obvious." Her hand went to her hip.

"Thank you, Miranda. That intel will help me a great deal." He beamed widely. "Could I drag you away from work for dinner tonight? It'll be on me, of course; it's the least I could do for making you come all this way to see me."

"As long as you bring that wine with you, you can count on it. What time shall we meet?"

"I'll pick you up at your hotel around six thirty this evening. The Alliance ceremony that both soldiers will likely attend begins at four, and I don't expect that it'll end until five thirty. Traffic here like in any big city is murder during rush hour."

"I'll see you then, Charon."

As she left, Miranda threw a backward glance over her shoulder back at the bar; Shepard caught her eyes for a few moments. They seemed to pierce right through hers as if he wanted to worm his way right into her very thoughts, but as one of his cohorts tugged upon his shirt, he quickly turned his attention back to the baseball game. He's not an Alliance cardboard cutout. There's something about him that's different, like he's got a magnetism about him, she thought. He would be most useful to us. I wish Charon luck; recruiting him will certainly be no easy task.

When she turned her head back around to depart the bar, little did she know that his eyes swept up and down her body with a second gaze that was extremely heated.

Alliance Base #4, North America, Earth

Just outside the memorial cemetery, January 13, 2178, 1737h

Shepard stared at the medal and the piece of paper that he had just received during the award ceremony to commemorate the lives of those who had either given their lives, performed some brave actions during the Skyllian Blitz, or other campaigns. The paper now informed him that Anderson had truly vouched for his conduct during the last mission on Fehl Prime; he was now a 1st Lieutenant. Having one of the most decorated officers in the Alliance put in a good word for his actions certainly did help him, but this was proof that he had truly earned his way. Maybe Uncle Harvey was right.

Anderson patted Shepard on the shoulder as they walked outside the bronze gates that led to the cemetery. "Congratulations, Lieutenant. What do you say to another steak dinner?" he gave his underling a huge beam.

"Thank you, sir. But I think that I'd like to try something a little different tonight. Maybe we could try something with a little more panache."

"Panache?" Anderson's eyes twinkled. "Corporal Beckett's really been rubbing off on you these days, hasn't he?"

"That doesn't bother you, does it, sir? I mean, we are dressed appropriately," he glanced down upon his dress blue uniform. Anderson naturally had more chest candy, but Shepard also had a pretty impressive amount upon his own that hung above his left breast.

"What've you got in mind, Shepard?"

"Have you ever been to a place called Bridges Restaurant? I think it overlooks the harbor of English bay. I happened to run across it this afternoon while I was browsing the extranet."

"No, but I'm always open to trying new places to grab some decent chow. Get the driving directions and we'll head over there ASAP. Let me go get the car." Anderson gave him another smile and left to complete his task.

"Excuse me, Lieutenant Shepard?" A man with salt and pepper colored hair and a very distinguished pin striped suit approached him. His jet black trench coat's collar was up; the coat itself parted slightly more, and Shepard saw an amber split hexagonal logo upon both of the suit coat's lapels. The man was also sporting a pair of tinted glasses over his eyes. "Might I have a moment of your time?"

"What do you want?" Shepard's defenses immediately went up; he wasn't sure if he liked this man or not. He seemed to be putting on airs; his expression was difficult to read.

"Congratulations upon your acts of valor and upon your new promotion."

"Praise from a total stranger can only lead to trouble." Shepard's eyes narrowed. "Come out and say what you have to say; you've got thirty seconds to keep my attention."

"Today you've been awarded a medal for what you've done, Lieutenant. But what if something happened that wasn't you fault? They'd strip you of your medal, honor, court-martial you, and throw you into the brig faster than you can say mass relay," Operative Charon stated with a matter of fact tone. "A soldier like yourself that belongs to the special forces unit doesn't belong in jail. There's a reason why you've risen up in the ranks so quickly."

"Yeah. I earned them, and your time's running out, buddy."

"I've seen this happen to more Alliance soldiers than I can count on all of my fingers." Charon held up both hands.

"Good for you. And so can I; wrap it up," Shepard tersely stated.

"All that I ask is that you meet me at the address listed upon this card at the allotted time. Time is a commodity, and I don't wish to waste yours any longer. Thank you, Lt. Shepard." Charon gave him a closed mouth smile and presented Shepard with an old fashioned business card.

"This whole thing sounds like a sham, and you're a little too much of a charlatan for my tastes," he scoffed as he studied the card. "Next thing I know, you're gonna tell me that you can pull a rabbit outta that same pocket your card came from."

"I represent an unofficial branch of the Alliance, Lt. Shepard. Everything we do is aboveboard and given their sanction."

"Is this address your headquarters?"

"No. It's a place that we'll meet in order to get to a base of operations in this fine city. Good day to you." With that, Charon spun upon his heel in the opposite direction just as Anderson pulled the car up to the curb. He opened the door for Shepard and gave Shepard's visitor an odd look.

"Who was that?" Anderson demanded.

"Just some salesman," Shepard replied ambiguously and shoved the card into his trouser's pocket as he got inside.

Neither commanding officer nor subordinate said another word until they arrived at Bridges Restaurant. Their hostess seated them directly near a window at a table set for two and lit the power cell candle on the center of the table with the flick of a switch on the bottom. "Your server is named Michelle, gentlemen, and she'll be with you shortly," the hostess told them after handing them two separate data pads that served as the menus.

"Wow. I'm not quite sure what to think of all this stuff," Anderson said as his eyes speedily read over the information. "I don't even know what half of the menu says."

"There aren't any explanations on yours beside each entry? There are on mine," Shepard replied with a wrinkle in his forehead. "Well, I meant that there are to an extent; I'm no expert on the French language. And I've yet to delve into their culinary expressions."

"Maybe that's because you're looking at our French menu," their waitress observed as she came to their table. "I apologize, sir. Let me adjust that for you." She hit a couple of quick keystrokes on the data pad, and the language instantly changed.

"Thanks a lot," Anderson laughed at himself and scratched the back of his head. "I knew that you could do that, but I just wasn't sure which shortcut I was supposed to use. All the companies that make these nowadays should just adhere to one standard; it'd be much easier for everyone."

"Tell me about it; that's the only thing our guests complain about," Michelle returned gently and eyed the table's occupants. "We've got a drink special today of two for one, and all Alliance soldiers or officers get a twenty percent discount. What can I start you gentlemen off with?"

"Dewar's on the rocks-make it a double. Shepard, pick your poison."

"Alexander Keith's sounds good. I've never had it before-it's domestic, right?" He made eye contact with Michelle as she filled their water goblets.

"That it is, sir; it's made all over the provinces but is headquartered in Halifax, Nova Scotia."

"I'll have the lager, then. Anything on the menu you'd recommend to go with it?"

"Hmm…let me fill those drink orders, and I'll be right back with my two cents." She gave them both a genuine smile and strolled into the next room towards the bar.

Shepard stared at the view of Vanier Park for a few moments and then broke the silence. "I'd say that this is romantic, sir, but…"

"Yeah, that's a little…awkward. How about we just say that we both enjoy the vista instead?"

"Sounds good; when our drinks get here, I'll make a toast to that."

"And to your new promotion," Anderson agreed and lifted his water up to his lips to drink. When he finished, he set the goblet back down. "Now, Lieutenant, I think we should talk man to man."

"Sir, didn't you say that…well…never mind," Shepard shrugged and placed the serviette into his lap. "What did you want to talk about?"

"You, son. I know that you've physically got yourself all together, but you just lost yet another relative and also got burned by a woman all in less than a week's time. You've got to be hurting, and I don't want to see those emotions bottle up inside of you and explode."

Shepard's eyes went from his superior's to English bay as did his head.

"I'm concerned about you is all," Anderson went on. "Have you talked to anyone about all this?"

Again, Anderson was met with a taciturn response; this time Shepard did look at him, though. "Look, this is weird, I know, coming from your CO. But I don't want to see you wash out or do something rash on the battlefield because of all these things are eating away at you. I'm here to talk off the record, Shepard; tonight anything goes."

Michelle brought their drinks back, and they ordered. After Shepard had consumed about half of his first bottle of beer, he sighed and ran a finger over the empty place setting in front of himself. "Okay, sir, off the record?"

"You bet, Shepard," Anderson nodded a 'yes'.

"Can I ask if you've ever lost someone close to you, I mean, besides that partner of yours and probably your parents, right?"

"Actually, both of my parents are still alive and are doing well back on Earth." Anderson took a sip of his drink and set it back onto the table. "But, I had a wife once."

"What happened to her?" Shepard's fingers went to play with the spoon.

"Well, let's just say that sometimes the men aren't the only ones to play around while on tour." Anderson took a large gulp of his scotch. "By the time I came back home on furlough, she was gone from the house. The only thing that she left was my recliner and a stack of papers this thick on the kitchen table from a lawyer." He held up his thumb and index finger about half an inch apart to illustrate his point.

"Filed for divorce, huh? Sorry, sir. Was it bad, I mean…did she try to take you to the cleaners?" The spoon now jerked spasmodically up and down as well as from side to side upon the linen tablecloth.

"I'm still paying her alimony every month," Anderson grunted. "No pre-nup agreement; I was such a goddamned fool who was head over heels in love at the time."

"That's bullshit. Uh, sir." The spoon suddenly fell out of his control and fell onto the floor about a foot away from the table. As Shepard bent down to pick it up, he felt someone brush by him. He reclaimed the spoon, set it near the edge away from his place setting, and watched with complete fascination at the woman who had just bumped into him. "Sorry," was all he could come up with.

"No harm done," the brunette replied, making complete eye contact with him, but then quickly followed the man in front of her to her own table. It was about fifteen feet away from Shepard and Anderson's. The captain went on with his unfortunate tale.

Thankfully, she chose to sit facing Shepard, and her companion had his back to Shepard. Her slate blue eyes stared at a wine list, which Shepard thought was odd; her companion had brought a bottle with him already. Shepard was not the greatest judge of character, but he knew that he liked what he saw on the outside already. This was a confident woman who probably put business first always and self second.

She wore a black and white suit that had honeycomb patterns upon it; the outfit covered her entire body. Well, it covered most of her body, except for the bust line and the fingers. Her skin was a fair alabaster, which was an extremely rare find, as were blue eyes. Those were recessive genetic traits; most humans now had darker tones of skin.

He unconsciously licked his lips as his thoughts darkened. Damn. I wonder what she does; I don't think that I'd be able to focus very well on anything during a meeting but those two damned enticing-

"Shepard? Son? Hello?" Anderson's voice snapped him back to reality. He waived his hand in front of his underling's face, and Shepard shook his head from side to side erratically.

"Sorry, sir. What were you talking about?" he sheepishly grinned.

"Cynthia." Anderson sighed and finished his drink. "Never mind." He turned his head to try and see who on earth could possibly distract Shepard like that among the throng of patrons in the restaurant. There were several attractive young women in the place, but he did not single Shepard's eye candy out. "Are you fishing again, Shepard?"

"Not on purpose, no."

"Hmm, well, it can't hurt to cast out the old net again-just be careful. There was a woman I…well, it wasn't too long after Cynthia that I became involved with. She was kind of a rebound, I guess."

"Relationships are sure complex, aren't they, sir?"

Their server came back with their food as well as a replacement for Shepard's fallen spoon and was off without a word. "Damn straight, they are. You know…we wanted to…go further but, well…let's just say that we're on a friendly basis now."

"So you didn't-"

"No, Lieutenant, we didn't." Anderson's eyes told him that he was entering dangerous territory that was edging upon the borders of propriety. "I met her on a mission, and everything stayed professional."

"Yeah, I should've done the same thing." Shepard shook his head. "Celeste was…a bit too friendly now that I think of it. Did you see it coming?"

"Which part, Shepard?"

"The fact that the bitch wasn't a one way street." That sentence spat out like venom from a spider's fangs, and Shepard shoved a forkful of meat into his mouth after he cut it. "Or the fact that she wasn't in the least bit sorry about it."

"I was pissed off, too, but no, I didn't see that one coming from a mile away." Anderson picked up his knife and began to cut into his own meat.

"Well, I'm never gonna hook up with one of those aliens again," Shepard huffed and consumed some more beer. "Or if I do, she won't be anything much more than a fling. Those Asari have really long lives, don't they?"

"That they do, Shepard. But understand this, son; you shouldn't be so quick to judge their species by just one individual's actions. Most of them that I've met or interacted with are quite reserved with approaching relationships…with any species, not just ours."

As Anderson droned on about the various alien races he'd met or come into contact, Shepard's eyes wandered towards Miranda Lawson's table again. Their bottle of wine lay in an ice bucket; she seemed to be sharing a very deep conversation with her date. The guy was wearing a similar outfit to the man who had given him that sales pitch as well as the paper business card, but from this angle, he could not be positive about identifying him. His hair was also styled in the same manner. But Shepard spent enough time worrying about him; he was much more interested in the person he could actually gaze upon. Who is the mysteriously beautiful and elegant woman that doesn't seem to smile very much?

She looks familiar, too; have I seen her somewhere before? he wondered. Hell, those lips are amazing. Oh crap; she's seen me staring. Smooth work, Ace. Look back at Anderson now so that you can reclaim at least one shred of your dignity.

With that, Shepard returned his attention to his superior. Thankfully, Anderson had just finished his monologue, and Shepard dived in for the catch. "Do you know if the Alliance has any…" he lowered his voice to a whisper, "black ops?"

"Well, Shepard, like many governmental organizations, the Alliance has many clandestine things going on that even soldiers like us don't see or don't know about." Anderson shoved some peas onto his fork with his knife and lifted them up to his mouth. "Why do you ask?"

Shepard shrugged casually. "Just wondering."

After Anderson successfully shoved the fork into his mouth, he chewed upon them pensively. "Wait a minute. Was that what you meant about earlier when I asked who that man was that was talking to you? You called him a salesman."

He dug the business card out of his pocket and eyed the embossed printing. "Maybe. I think I'd call him a mountebank now that I think of it."

"Does that card have his number?"

"No, it's an address and time." The Alliance soldier flipped it around and held it closer for Anderson's inspection. The captain merely glanced at it and went on with his meal.

"Do you plan to make a follow up with that sales pitch?"

"We'll see," Shepard replied vaguely and pocketed the card again. He also now began to concentrate upon his dinner but had noticed that for the last few moments of his conversation, the mysterious brunette had been watching him the entire time. She must have noticed the card, too, Shepard thought.

But now that neither of them spoke, her attention went back to her date. I'd almost consider going over there and trying to pick her up if it weren't for him.

"Before I completely forget, sir….thank you for dinner."

"I was hoping that you wouldn't say a lovely evening or else I'd really have to question how strong that scotch was," Anderson joked.

**A/N**-Okay, this was a very difficult chapter for me to write. I've been to Vancouver, B.C. but not to Bridges' Restaurant. I've seen it but never had the chance to go eat there. The menu looks absolutely delicious as does the vista (check out the website online if you can). At first I was just going to have Anderson and Shepard eat there, but then, the little devil's advocate spoke up and said 'psst, include this or else'. So, sorry, they didn't actually speak (Shepard and Miranda, I mean), but there were many long gazes from afar. I may address this in later novels to come. Secondly, as you might have noticed, this is not the first time I've mentioned the beer Alexander Keith's. If you're able to purchase it and like beer, BUY! A.K. by far surpasses ANY American beer that I've ever tasted, and I did visit that factory in Halifax...not that I can remember too much of the end. Also, I have no idea what Cloudy Bay tastes like, but I just read the description, and it sounded like a really nice summer wine, clean and crisp. I was also going to have Shepard throw the card out in the trash after he had his talk with Anderson at the end of this chapter but decided to leave it open instead. Did he ever have that meeting with Charon or not? Hmm...

Anyway, thanks for reading so far. Reviews are always treasured.