Chapter Ten – All the World's a Stage
Fucking finally. Only took me two years to do a Miracle of Sound reference.
Outtakes can be found in my tumblr: heteronormativityoff. Also, some info about discharge stations taken from Mass Effect: Revelations p.91 of paperback.
Just another routine mission.
Or at least, that's how it always starts.
Shepard was out of the sleeper pod and in her armour by the time the first of the attacks struck the hull. Glad she'd chosen the pod over the bed inside the captain's cabin this time. The abrupt jerk of the Normandy dodging a particle beam from the enemy would have sent her slamming onto the floor, disoriented.
Might have—would have died before she even realized they were under attack. Not good for crew morale.
"Shepard!" Liara's voice struck her like a thunderclap, chasing away the last of her grogginess. She slipped her helmet on and gave the screen a last cursory look-over, taking deep breaths to quell her nerves.
"Distress beacon is ready for launch."
"Will the Alliance get here on time?"
She hesitated, an empty reassurance on her lips. They'll be here, she thought. They damn well better.
A nearby explosion shook the floor and caught her off-guard. Landing against the wall, the console biting against her back, she braced herself and steadied the asari who was suddenly far too close for comfort, her body unbearably warm against Shepard's. She was fortunate that her helmet obscured her; their sudden proximity had turned her red-faced with embarrassment, and if the helmets had been off she might have done more than gape.
She might have kissed her right then and there.
Funny how near-death situations could make certain inhibitions go away.
The flickering screen from behind her drew her attention. She pulled away, picking up a fire extinguisher and handing it over to Liara, nerves still humming from their brief contact. "The Alliance won't abandon us. We just need to hold on." With renewed focus, she set about on her earlier task made all the more difficult by the ship's failing backup systems. Reallocating the sleeper pods' power supply to the distress beacon, she paused and glanced briefly at Liara. "Get everyone onto the escape shuttles."
But the asari would not be moved. In a defiant voice, she said, "Joker's still in the cockpit. He won't evacuate. I'm not leaving either."
Frustration bubbled inside Shepard's chest. "I'm not going to lose you now."
"Well that goes both ways!"
She jammed her fist against the launch button and strode over towards Liara, her stomach twisting into painful knots. "Someone needs to get Joker. And someone needs to make sure the rest of my crew reach the evac shuttles." Tentatively, she rested a hand on Liara's shoulder and said in a gentler tone. "I can't do both."
"Shepard . . ." She could hear the resignation in Liara's voice and knew that she had already won.
"Liara, go. Now."
They parted ways, Liara to the shuttles, Shepard to the CIC. Skirting around some debris which had started floating out towards the wide, open space, she slowed, heavy steps adjusting to the lighter gravity. She saw a force field up ahead and was relieved to find Joker still alive.
"Come on, Joker! We have to get out of here."
"No!" he growled, glancing up at her. "I won't abandon the Normandy. I can still save her!"
"The Normandy's lost. Going down with the ship won't change that."
He paused, staring blankly at the console in front of him. Sighing, he said, "Yeah . . . okay. Help me up."
An arm slid around her neck as she eased him to his feet. Looking past her, he yelled, "They're coming around for another attack!"
"Shit!" Throwing caution to the winds, she hastened her pace, bringing him to the escape shuttle connected near the cockpit.
"Watch the arm!" Joker protested, feeling her grip tighten as the beam connected with the CIC, halving what was left of the Normandy. She pushed him into the shuttle and braced herself for another explosion, feeling the ship rattle and careen to one side. Instinctively, she moved to cover Joker from the onslaught of heat and debris flying everywhere, slackening her hold on the shuttle. A more concentrated blast threw her off her feet; she slammed against an adjacent wall and twisted away just as a beam of light went through the floor.
"Commander!"
Fingers scraped across heated metal, finding purchase near the emergency escape button. For a moment, the gears of time seemed to slow to a stop as Shepard assessed the situation, her sharp mind considering every possibility and every outcome. They all led to a single, logical conclusion.
There would be no escaping death this time around. She had almost died during the Battle of the Citadel. She would definitely die now.
He must have read her mind because he shouted, "Shepard, don't you fucking—"
The door slid shut, ejecting the last of the escape shuttles.
She drifted farther away and watched the great alien warship looming above the Normandy. She wasn't a fan of tradition, so it seemed ironic that she would be sinking aboard her dying ship all the same.
If only—
But she could not turn back time. Could not change what had already happened. She could only take comfort in knowing that she had done what she could for her crew. For Joker. For Liara.
. . . Just another routine mission.
She thought of Liara with her sun-bright eyes and dizzying smile. Her curiosity. Her passion. The fascinating lapis lazuli blue of her skin, electric to the touch. She thought of Liara, flummoxed at yet another human concept, cheeks darkening, hands fidgeting—embarrassed. She thought of Liara and the quiet moments they spent, shoulder to shoulder, reading on some article or another, content to bask in the other's presence.
Stars above, but why couldn't it have stayed that way?
Traffic was worse than ever. Although the place was close to where the Normandy was docked, it had taken her half an hour just to clear customs and get a shuttle to the holdings area of Docking Bay E-24. She walked past the weapons detector, used to the familiar prickle of static on skin, and nodded at the two turians guarding the entrance.
"Sam!"
Samantha grinned. Kathryn Zhang. A woman of sharp angles, she was tall and narrow-faced, all bony limbs and torso as she gave Samantha an enthusiastic hug. "Kathy, it's good to see you too."
"I didn't think you'd make it. Figured you were busy"—she stopped in mid-sentence and cleared her throat—"what with the Reapers and all."
"We are busy," Samantha admitted. "So I'm making the most of my free time."
"By spending it with me?" teased Kathy. She bumped hips with Samantha and winked. "It wouldn't have worked between us, love."
"Please. You're not my type."
"And what is your type exactly?" Kathy led her down the steps towards the Memorial Wall, an arm around her shoulders. "Smart, sexy, Shepard-shaped?"
Samantha laughed and punched her playfully. "Who isn't attracted to her?" She shook her head. "She's nice but . . . she's also my commanding officer. It's a pleasant fantasy but it'd be extremely awkward if it actually happened, you know? Besides, her girlfriend is also kind of right up there in the chain of command." She raised her hands, looking very much like someone backing away from a dangerous animal. "And a total badass when it comes to biotics. I'd be playing with fire."
Kathy snorted and covered a broad smile. "You've given this some thought."
"I have." Samantha shrugged, leaning against the taller woman. "And you? Got a pretty man you've been hiding from me?"
Kathy glanced at the Memorial Wall, expression softening. "His name is Basil. Basilius, actually. He's a turian."
"Oh." Samantha shifted uneasily. "Oh. Is he—?"
"Out there in some rocky outpost in Menae." She breathed out a sigh. "There's nothing that I can do for him, and I hate it. Me? The goddamn Penelope to his Odysseus?" She squeezed Samantha's shoulder. "I'm not a soldier, Sam. Not like you."
"You can fight better than I can," Samantha pointed out.
"With a sword and a quarterstaff," she retorted. "Some hand-to-hand too. Antiquated, that's what I am." She sniffed and wiped away errant tears with the heel of her palm. "I gave him a sword, Sam—a fucking side-sword before he left. I just . . . it was how we met. He was interested in learning, and I was teaching part-time."
"It's to remember you by," said Samantha.
"Yeah, it is. Told him it . . . completed the outfit." Kathy smiled, lips quivering. "Maybe I should have given him a gun instead."
"It wouldn't have been as important to him."
"Maybe not but it might keep him alive." Kathy tilted her head and beckoned towards the large windows overlooking the Citadel's arms. "Come. I'd rather not linger on what-ifs. He isn't dead yet."
Arm in arm, they left the Memorial Wall, their conversation turning to lighter topics. For a while they talked about the new Karpyshyn novel—they were both fans of his Star Wars books, a franchise that had persisted well into the 22nd century—but even that could not shake off the gloom that had descended upon them both. Eventually, they fell into a companionable silence, walking idly past refugees huddled in small groups.
They found a terminal nearby which had the toothbrush Samantha sometimes raved about—an indulgence Kathy found exasperating. While Samantha haggled with the batarian merchant manning the terminal, Kathy continued to walk around, smiling at some of the folk she'd talk to before.
She wasn't a soldier. Not like Basil. Not like Sam. Oh she knew a little of the fighting arts, but what she did know was confined to the past: a hobby, nothing more. Still, she had wanted to do her part in the war, and if that meant volunteering to deliver food and medicine sometimes to the refugee camps, well, it was the least she could do.
"You gotta admit though, that Shepard VI was pretty damn impressive," she heard someone say.
"Too bad we didn't get a chance to meet the real deal," rumbled the woman's companion. He was a turian, the white of his tattoos a stark contrast to the dark bronze of his skin. He met Kathy's gaze briefly and inclined his head, moving aside to let her through.
"You mentioned a Shepard VI?" she asked, eyes lingering on the curve of his mandibles and the slant of his face plate. Curious, the kind of nuances she could find among turians now; they really did look different once you knew how to distinguish them apart.
He hesitated, colouring under her scrutiny. "Yes, we did."
"As in, Commander Shepard, hero of the Citadel, first human Spectre—that Shepard. Someone made a VI of her?"
"What's it to you, lady?"
Kathy laughed. "Oh, I just happen to know someone who's a big fan."
The woman grinned, waggling her eyebrows suggestively. "Who isn't?"
Embarrassed and annoyed at having to endure Ezra's ribbing, Janus hastened his pace on their way back to the shuttle. "She did not have a crush on me," he growled once they were by the elevator.
"Well, she was certainly more interested in you than she was in me," said Ezra.
"So you've finally realized that the universe doesn't revolve around you? My condolences for your deceased ego," he said. The elevator door opened, prompting them both to step inside. "Besides, she was more interested in the Shepard VI than in either of us. Look, can we not talk about this?"
"Do I detect jealousy there?" Ezra danced out of the way of Janus's swing. "Alright, alright. Consider the subject dropped."
"Thank you." He folded his arms and frowned, missing the familiar weight of the M-92 Mantis on his back. "You really don't mind? About Tactus I mean."
Ezra scratched her shoulder and flinched. Janus swatted her hand away and arched a brow plate, imitating human-expectant. "The refugees need all the help they can get. I may be an asshole, Jane, but that doesn't mean I can't do nice."
"That, and women tend to find acts of altruism charming."
She shrugged with her good shoulder. "Hey, you take what you can get right?"
They bickered over trivial things as they made their way towards the Huerta Memorial Hospital, falling into a familiar pattern. Their employer, the ever elusive Miranda Lawson, had found rough schematics for a medi-gel formula that could benefit the hanar and the drell. Finding no time to deliver the formula herself, she'd given it to them along with a hefty severance bonus. Ezra wanted to sell it to the highest bidder. Janus wanted to hand it over to his former commanding officer. As with most things, they settled their differences with a drinking contest.
Janus found the experience surreal. Having declared the challenge, Ezra disappeared from the common room and came back with Miranda's old crew who were more than eager to share a glass or three of alcohol. Ezra, distracted by wild, likely fabricated stories about their employer, hadn't realized Janus had switched to a less intoxicating brand midway and was, by then, drunker than a volus on a tub of Afterlife's best swill.
"Hey, mind if I stay outside?" Ezra asked, eyes already straying.
"I don't think it matters whether I mind or not." He made his way to the front desk while Ezra postured confident beside a pair of asari doctors sharing a smoke. After a smile and a quick word to one of the ladies by the desk, he was directed to a human doctor who was more than willing to take the formula off his hands. For a price of course.
He turned down the credits for a list of suppliers selling meds by the bulk. With private practices and hospitals like Huerta Memorial prioritizing wounded soldiers, refugees had to make do with whatever inferior wonderdrug they could find. Tactus was lucky he knew a couple of vets willing to put their scrubs back on, but with a buyer for his combat grade medi-gel—how anyone convinced the old dog to part with them Janus could only wonder—Tactus needed another source. And a benefactor.
Ezra and Janus were just the first among many volunteers who turned to mercenary work to keep the refugee camp running. Apparently Citadel resources were stretched thin, which meant they needed a work force to keep their people fed and sheltered. To appease them, Systems Alliance opened their program to mercenaries willing to work in small, specialized teams lead by their N7s. Once Ezra's shoulder was fully healed, Janus knew they would be following suit. Best to keep HQ well-stocked for now.
He found Ezra loitering outside, nursing a bruised jaw. "Trouble in paradise?"
"Paradise was a six foot Amazonian goddess in blue with a vibranium fist and mercurial attitude," Ezra said, her voice pitched low.
"Can you stop it with the Blasto impressions? It's really weird, especially when you use the human dubbed version. What the hell's a vibranium anyway?"
"It's a kind of sex toy."
Janus rolled his eyes. "Very funny."
They took a skycar to the Presidium Commons. Scuttlebutt was an arms dealer was fronting an appliance store near Meridian Place. Ezra wanted to take a look at their wares before they went bar-hopping. Her M-11 Wraith was a bitch to maintain and she hoarded what extra parts she could find in case it needed replacing. Not that Janus could complain. His Mantis was equally beloved.
Ezra let out an appreciative whistle. "Think we can drop by"—she glanced at the sign—"Apollo's Cafe? I am just about starved, yeah?"
Janus gave her a very human-like grin. "Did you want another serving of knuckle sandwich?"
"Oh fuck off."
Aethyta could tell she was being watched. It was a familiar prickle at the back of her neck, one honed during her days as a mercenary. For the moment, she ignored its source, throwing a predatory smile at the young human trying to flirt with her.
"You up for a quickie, runt?" The woman turned a deep shade of red and glanced up at her companion: a turian whose wide-eyed look of terror told Aethyta he wasn't expecting his friend to hit on the asari matriarch. He had likely assumed that she would go for the younger asari—the same one who'd been eyeballing Aethyta for the last half hour.
"See that chick over there?" At the woman's flustered nod, Aethyta leaned forward and pitched her voice low, aware that the rough, sandpaper quality of her voice was a turn on for some. "That's my kid right there, and she would love nothing more than a full-on demo on the hows of baby-making, yeah?"
"Was that really necessary?" Liara asked after Aethyta's howls of laughter dwindled into the occasional snicker.
"The human's got balls, I'll give her that." Aethyta admitted, her expression krogan-like. "Unlike a certain someone who's been brooding in my cafe. Those tables are for paying customers, brat."
"I could put you out of business."
"I'd like to see you try."
Liara bristled and crossed her arms. "We need to talk." Before her father could come up with another quip, she added, "In private."
"Morse, get your scrawny ass out of here," Aethyta hollered. "I don't think I've ever met anyone so goddessdamned lazy." Beckoning for Liara to meet her by the exit, she disappeared into the kitchens to give her salarian assistant an earful.
Her father reappeared a moment later, wiping what looked suspiciously like salarian blood from her knuckles. "It's some kind of human condiment," she said offhandedly when she caught Liara staring, throwing the greenish rag she had used at the nearest trash bin.
"I'm sure it was."
The walk back to Liara's apartment was a short one, being so close to the Presidium Commons. Aethyta noted with some dread that it was a floor below hers: an unlikely coincidence. Athame's tits. She's the fucking Shadow Broker. Nothing's ever a coincidence with her. "You can't blame the matriarchs for wanting to keep an eye on you, especially not after what Benezia did." It was cowardly, shifting the responsibility to the other matriarchs, but she had little love for them, and it was mostly the truth anyway. She'd only volunteered for the job because she was less likely to do anything about Liara's dubious activities.
"I am not my mother."
"You did threaten to flay someone with your mind once."
Liara practically stalked into the meagrely-furnished apartment. "And I do not take kindly to people bugging my office."
"Yeah? But recording videos of me is totally ethical, right?" Aethyta eyed the Thessian Temple Liara had taken out of a cupboard with apparent disdain. When offered a cup, she declined, adding, "That's more watered down than hanar piss. You got anything stronger?"
Liara wordlessly produced a bottle of batarian ale, an increasingly rare commodity since the start of the war.
"I know you didn't just corner me for a drink, kid. What is it you really want from me?"
"Advice actually." Liara stared at her glass, her face unreadable.
It was ominous—coming from a brood of Benezia's. Aethyta knew Liara had her mother's pride. If she wanted advice, normally her estranged father would be the last person she would go to. Was she keeping secrets from her crew?
Aethyta was drawn out of her thoughts by the sound of Liara's glass clinking on the kitchen counter. The asari maiden had moved past her, activating a nearby console that projected a number of star charts across the living room. Her slender form eclipsed the bright holoview, her back to Aethyta. "If you had known Benezia was in trouble, would you have gone after her?"
She narrowed her eyes in sudden comprehension.
It didn't surprise her that the human Spectre was once more at the centre of all of this. Oh, her daughter could be fishing for some lingering sentiment that she might still have for Benezia, but that seemed unlikely given how grim she looked. No. Something had happened to Shepard—of that Aethyta was certain.
"She put herself in that fucking mess." Aethyta drawled and watched idly as Liara's hands curled into fists. "Why should I?"
She stood her ground as the room was engulfed by an immense pressure. Her skin warmed from the heat of her own biotics pressing against the untamed energy, which danced and curled around Liara. "Did my mother mean nothing to you?"
"Have I ever been a reliable source of information?" she asked, lips quirked in a self-deprecating smile. "We both know this isn't about your mother." Satisfied that Liara would not lash out, she added in a soft, sympathetic tone, "How long? How long has your human been missing in action?"
"Almost two weeks, Galactic." The holoview flickered with activity. Lines of text sprang from a number of star charts even as others disappeared from view. A star system was magnified, its planets' descriptions examined while Liara remained silent, considering her next words.
"Well, you're certainly not lacking in assets," Aethyta teased.
"I inherited quite a number of them from the previous Shadow Broker," Liara said, pointedly ignoring her double entendre. "It's a pity his interest in Cerberus had always been tangential. If he had planted a few moles . . . well, I suppose it doesn't matter now."
While humans showed surprise through their raised eyebrows or gaping mouths, the asari showed theirs through the resonance of their swirling biotics, which pulsed ever-present on the surface of their skin. To the appraising eye of a human observer, Aethyta appeared indifferent to the situation. To an asari, sensitive to the rise and fall of another's dark energy, they would have noted the shock with little difficulty.
So the Illusive Man had Shepard. Ironic—considering the two had been working together just months before. It could be worse, Aethyta thought, reigning in her emotions. At least with the Illusive Man, Shepard has a fighting chance. She didn't think the Reapers were interested in keeping Shepard alive.
"If you're asking for my blessing, kid," she took a swig of the Batarian ale and paused, eyeing Liara thoughtfully, "it's not like I can stop you."
"Ah," Liara paused, one hand hovering over a fist-sized planet. "That wasn't—" She breathed out a frustrated sigh and rubbed her neck, her other hand shutting the holoview down with a well-practised gesture. "What I mean is . . . if you had to choose between"—her shoulder lifted in an awkward human-shrug—"saving someone who means a lot to you or doing what's best for everyone, which would you choose?"
Aethyta snorted, dark energy pulsing exasperation. "Kid, we're talking about your fucking girlfriend here. I would think it's in everyone's best interest if you save her first."
"W-well, I didn't want to be presumptuous!"
"Uhuh. So you thought playing XO to Shepard's crew means you have to stay in control of the situation all the fucking time? We have a word for that, kid: it's called delegation. How else do you think your girlfriend manages to play big goddessdamned heroes all the time? Pretty sure her old XO wasn't just for decoration, even if she did have one of the best tits and ass I've seen in a while."
"Dad!"
Aethyta's expression softened. "I understand. You're frightened. You lost your drell friend to the Shadow Broker because you had to save her, and now . . . you might have to make that sacrifice again." She closed the distance between them and rested a hand on Liara's shoulder. "But you can't keep beating yourself up over what's already happened. All you can do right now is keep moving forward and trust in the decisions you've made." She pulled her close, tucking her head under her chin. "I knew you'd be special, kid. Any daughter of Benezia's . . . ." She exhaled noisily. "You know, I told her: you're treating her like a baby bird, Nezzy. She's going to raise one hell of a storm with those little wings."
"Little Wing?" Aethyta felt her daughter relax against her, Liara's breath tickling against her neck as she giggled lightly. "Thanks, Dad."
"Any time, kiddo."
James straightened at the sound of the door whirring open. Despite his looming presence, neither asari noticed the young lieutenant waiting by the door of Liara's apartment. They exchanged quiet farewells and went their separate ways, one towards the lower level of the Presidium Commons to resume her barista cover, the other towards her apartment. "Yo." James waved once she had spotted him.
"What are you doing here?"
He gave a nervous laugh and scratched his cheek. "Security detail. I've been assigned to escort you to the rendezvous point."
"How long have you been waiting?" Liara asked and beckoned for him to lead the way.
"Eh, not too long." James grinned and elbowed her. "So, who was that pretty asari you were talking to earlier?"
She shot him a glare and huffed. "That was my father you were ogling at."
"Y-your old man?" James chocked. "Damn. Well, you know what they say about asari matriarchs."
"I'd rather not confirm my suspicions." Liara sighed and shook her head. "Anyway, you didn't have to come pick me up. It's not like I'm in any real danger while we're in the Citadel."
"Not even from Cerberus?"
"I don't think they'd go that far."
"Whatever you say, Blue." He feigned indifference, knowing better than to argue when Liara was in that kind of mood. Privately, he thought a healthy dose of paranoia was better than getting blindsided again. With so much at stake, losing her to Cerberus now would put them further back in their war against the Reapers.
I just gotta do my job properly.
James Vega wasn't much of a thinking man. Oh, he was quick on his feet, and he could read a situation better than the average grunt. He wouldn't have made it all the way to lieutenant otherwise. Or survived Fehl Prime for that matter. All the same, he disliked thinking too much about things that he had little control over.
Like Cerberus.
He was plenty angry about Cerberus.
But being angry all the time helped nobody. So he tried not to think about it. Well—tried not to, in the same vein that a child might plug his ears and sing loudly and off-key in an attempt to ignore the problem.
"I heard Citadel control's in pretty bad shape right now."
"The refugee situation isn't letting up, so it's to be expected."
He gave Liara a lopsided grin. "Apparently it's to do with the quarian liveships and them blocking up traffic on nearby systems this time." Citadel traffic was always pretty bad, even pre-Reaper invasion. Discharge stations, in particular, were heavily congested. Since buildups were common among ships that generated mass effect fields for FTL travel, they were required to discharge their drive cores every twenty to thirty hours. This prevented the core from over-saturating, which would result in the core releasing a massive energy burst that would cook anyone on board, burn out all of the electronic systems, and even fuse the metal bulkheads.
Typically, ships dispersed the buildup by grounding on a planet or through close proximity to the magnetic field of a large stellar body such as a sun or a gas giant. Unfortunately, none could be found close to the Citadel. So people had to make do. And then the war started.
With the refugee ships coming in and out of the Citadel, along with military personnel carrying supplies and much-needed information for their various masters, traffic was starting to look like the kind of hell that had already frozen over. Others were now making pit stops at nearby star systems, knowing better than to try for the discharge stations.
Of course, even with the quarians coming in, the danger of ships crashing into each other still wasn't that big of a problem so long as they stayed far away from the Citadel. However, it did mean a stronger organic presence near the Serpent Nebula, which made plenty of people sweat bullets. Everyone might have differing opinions over a number of topics, but their intelligence agents all agreed on one thing: the Reapers liked to focus on heavily-populated areas.
"They're all here?" Liara asked incredulously.
"Shiala tells me Oriana's team is already on it. Apparently they have a protocol in place in case something like that came up?" James leaned against the elevator they were taking to the rapid transit hub. "Alliance also sent some people from Tactical. They want to develop large-scale evasion strategies in case we need to resort to mobilizing the civilian populace. What's left of it anyway."
"Thank the Goddess for Oriana Lawson."
An up and coming bar, the Purgatory was a popular hangout among soldiers. It also offered rooms for those who desired privacy, a commodity among the officer types who might need a more casual setting for their discussions. Since both crews agreed to keep mum about Shepard's abduction, the Citadel Embassies would not be an ideal place for everyone to meet up. Furthermore, they did not have access to any of the Spectre facilities—not unless they wanted to sneak in, as Kasumi often did.
Fortunately for them, Oriana knew Purgatory's owner through the vast network of contacts available to the Shadow Broker. After a few words with the volus Ardeth, along with a reasonable sum, they had gotten one of the rooms reserved for them, with all of the facilities that Purgatory offered.
As Liara and James neared the entrance to Purgatory, a familiar pair stumbled out of the open doors, one of them singing off-key. " . . . But no matter what scars you bear, whatever uniform you wear," the human bellowed, taking a swing at an imaginary foe, "you can fight like a krogan, run like a leopard, but you'll never be better than Commander Shepard."
Liara huffed at the sight of the careening duo and hastened her pace, dragging a bemused James with her.
"You okay, Blue?" James asked once they were inside.
"Let's just say you weren't the only one ogling my father earlier," Liara muttered darkly.
"Right. And the song has nothing to do with it?"
She frowned. "Shepard's popularity is only to be expected given the circumstances. After all, she's defied the Reapers not once, but twice. Three times if you count their brush-in with the Reaper destroyer in Rannoch recently."
"That doesn't explain why you're upset about it." When Liara refused to answer, James sighed and scratched his head. Glancing at the asari next to him, he crossed his arms and said, "You know, the song's practically true." He gave her a tentative smile. "Commander Shepard is the best out there. Not even Cerberus can break her."
Briefly, Liara matched his smile before palming the lock to the private room. Inside, Feron perked up from his seat and waved. "Oy. Finally some company."
"Are we the first to arrive?" Liara asked, taking a seat beside her old friend.
"The elder Lawson dropped by earlier. Said she had a few errands to run."
"The elder Lawson," Kasumi drawled, wisps of colour shimmering briefly around her as she deactivated her cloak, "was snooping around the Normandy docking bay earlier."
"Is that so?" Feron leaned forward, intrigued. "And here I thought appropriating one ship was ballsy enough. Guess our 'captain' is a little greedy."
"She's probably trying to figure out where I've hidden her sister." Liara tilted her head and frowned. "And your captain?"
"Kirrahe was relieved of his post earlier today. He handed the captaincy over to me." Miranda arched an eyebrow at Feron who shrank under her gaze. "Gossiping already?"
"It's nice to see you again, Miranda," Liara said, voice soft.
"Under better circumstances, perhaps." They eyed each other warily. Brushing back a few loose strands from her face, she said, "I heard Mordin was also taken."
"You heard correctly."
Miranda stood across from them, as if a defendant before a military tribunal. Strange. You'd think she was the one being accused.
"Let's not point fingers again, shall we?" Kasumi said in a tone that made Miranda bristle. James wondered if a prior confrontation had already happened to spark such a reaction.
"Yeah, what's done is done," he agreed, cutting in before the conversation could go south. He looked at his companions, daring them to protest, but no one seemed willing to argue with him now that the elephant in the room was out.
"So . . ." Feron broke the awkward silence. "What's the game plan then? Do we just bust in every known Cerberus base and hope for the best?"
Miranda rolled her eyes. "As if it could be that easy."
"We'll have to be discreet about this," said Kasumi. "It won't do for morale if word of Shepard's abduction became public knowledge."
They all nodded, some a little more reluctantly than others. "The Council will pull all of their support if they think their favoured Spectre can't deliver."
"We'll have to use a different ship then. The Normandy is too well-known these days, even with its superior stealth capabilities."
"Shouldn't be too hard to find a ship." Four sets of eyes turned towards Miranda. "I guess that means you'll be leading the search party, Boss," Feron said, grinning.
"Actually, I was hoping you would take command of the Normandy in my stead."
They all turned, this time to stare at Liara. "You can't be serious, Blue!" James protested. "I mean, I guess you could be, seeing as Shepard is your"—he gestured vaguely and huffed—"but I mean, who's going to keep that stubborn old krogan in line, eh? And the Primarch actually fucking respects you. Hell, you were the only one with the cojones to give the asari Councillor the finger. How're we going to keep all of them from making a mess of things if you're not there?" He glanced shyly at Miranda. "No offence and all, but I don't know you."
Miranda shrugged. "None taken."
"I'm sure—"
The door to the private room whirred open, admitting a furious Tali muttering about "bosh'tet Councillors" underneath her breath, a bemused Garrus at her heels.
"So no embassy for the quarians then?"
"No embassy for the quarians," Garrus confirmed.
"Well, it's not a definite no," Tali hedged, though she still looked crestfallen. "Councillor Sparatus and Councillor Tevos were willing to negotiate."
"But Udina would rather deal with the commander than talk to Tali," said Garrus, taking a seat next to James. "Valern's the only one who's being a real stick in the mud."
Liara's lips quirked slightly at the human idiom. Next to her, Kasumi gave a Cheshire grin. "So, do we kidnap the Councillor and pretend to be him then?"
Miranda shook her head, smiling wryly. She'd heard about their gamble with the quarians. "We'll keep that as plan B for now."
"Or maybe a familiar face will get him to reconsider."
The temperature seemed to drop inside the room at the sight of the woman by the door. The sound of a leather chair sliding backwards shattered the quiet, though no one heard it; everyone's attention was trained towards the short, stocky woman standing before them.
Shepard.
"My apologies for deceiving you," EDI said, turning her cloaking off, before any of them could speak.
"Where the hell did you get her likeness?" Miranda demanded, immediately on the defensive.
"An illegal VI that has been circulating for some time now." EDI said. "I found one dismantled amongst the Commander's things. Our comm specialist got me a working copy."
Liara silently thanked James for dragging back her chair and sat down, keeping her shaking hands underneath the table. "I-I see they've made improvements on the VI."
"You knew about this?"
"Shepard got me a copy just before she went back to Earth."
James refrained from making a suggestive comment. The idea of a Shepard VI keeping their XO happy was a hilarious – if hot – one but teasing an already upset asari was like playing with fire. "Think you can do a Shepard, EDI?"
"Quite. I have been immersing myself in her work recently. It was . . . very enlightening."
"What brought this on?"
EDI's face was eerily still as she processed Miranda's question. "I was designed by Cerberus. I do not take moral stances that conflict with orders from my executive officers. But when Jeff removed my AI shackles, I became capable of self-modifying my core programming. I once asked Jeff if he thought I should change anything now that I can. He deflected the question with humour.
"I was planning on asking for Shepard's opinion once she returned. However, upon learning that she had been abducted by Cerberus, I found myself in a moral quandary. Should I remain silent about what I had learned or should I confront our XO regarding her deception?"
"You knew about the abduction?" asked Liara.
"I know everything that goes in and out of my ship." EDI glanced at each of them, but it was Shepard's face that they saw, her stiff expression an alien one. "Care to give it a try?"
"The lighting isn't quite right," Tali pointed out, a moment later. "If you look closely enough, anyway."
"It's a pity the sculpted features of my true face cannot mimic Shepard's," said EDI.
"You're just about the right body type though," said Miranda, eyeing her with renewed interest.
"You'll have to watch vids of the commander if you want to act the part," Feron added.
"Something I'm sure our XO will be happy to provide." James gave Liara a teasing grin and received an elbow to the ribs in exasperated reply.
"And you'll probably want to keep your public appearances to a minimum." Garrus leaned forward, fingers tap-tapping thoughtfully. "Your cloaking will need some calibrating"—there was an audible groan from Tali—"to match Shepard's features, but even if we can fool people, we're still taking a huge risk."
"Shepard's a hero. Hell, she's a bloody icon." Miranda shook her head and laughed softly: a private joke. "I say we take advantage of this opportunity."
"How so?" James asked, admiring the way she tilted her head and smiled.
"Well, I heard the Alliance is experimenting on their N7 program, adding auxiliary units from the other races . . ."
Donnel Udina stared moodily at his personal terminal, fingers laced, the soft blue glow of the screen throwing shadows across his brown, leathery skin. With a heavy sigh, he pushed his synthleather chair aside, and stood up, stretching the kinks out of his back. He crossed the distance from his desk to the office balcony, drink in hand, melancholy thoughts at his heels.
The Alliance News feed played in the background, muted by the hubbub coming from below, the foot traffic dense with worried citizens and personnel alike. He felt a moment of triumph at the number of humans he found loitering underneath his balcony, many of whom were in their positions now because of him. It was a temporary triumph, however, one that was quickly overshadowed by the despair that stirred in his chest. It reminded him of the years following Anderson's inauguration as humanity's first Councillor: a bitter memory that he would nurse for years to come. It burned in his gut and made his despair even more pronounced like the spirits that he now detested but could not stop consuming.
He turned with a violent swing of his torso, glowering at the terminal before him. Mindful of the security cameras that recorded his every move, he relaxed his tense shoulders and returned the glass on the nearby sink, his hands trembling as he recalled the breathing exercises his therapist had taught him.
Though he was loath to admit, the true instigator of his dark mood was not his former . . . colleague. Anderson was a sore topic, true, but now that he was out of Donnel's hair—what little of it was left anyway—it was easy to put him out of Donnel's mind as well.
No. Cerberus was the instigator.
Cerberus, the organization responsible for his initial appointment as humanity's ambassador in the Citadel. Cerberus, the organization that now plotted for the demise of his fellow Councillors. His stomach twisted at the thought. But what could he do? Cerberus was right. The other Councillors would simply get in the way. He had tried asking for their help already in relieving Earth of the brunt of the Reapers' attack but his attempts had been futile; they would not budge. Their home-worlds were more important. (Never mind that they were stronger together. A bunch of self-concerned jackasses indeed.)
He jerked in surprise as the door to his office whirred open. About to reprimand the intruder, he stopped cold at the sight of Shepard standing by the doorway. He folded his arms to hide his shaking and leaned against his desk, eyeing her as one might eye a predator. "I wasn't aware you had returned, Commander."
Shepard's lips twisted in a sardonic smile. "And lose the element of surprise?" She stepped inside and shifted into parade rest in front of him. "I'll be sure to announce my presence next time I visit the Citadel, Councillor."
Donnel didn't miss the mocking tilt of her tone at his title though he did not rise to her bait. "See that you do."
"I apologize for the delay in my last report," she said, her playfulness gone. "A trap in Benning had me out of commission for a while. You would think the Reaper destroyer would cause me more trouble. Human ingenuity still triumphs over brute strength it seems."
He nodded. He had glanced over the report earlier that day, and remembered frowning at the mention of Cerberus troops in one of their colonies. "Harder to shoot at a wolf when he's in sheep's clothing."
"Even harder still, when they are sheep forced to act like wolves."
He froze, his heartbeat thundering in his ears. Did she know? he wondered. But Shepard simply continued to stare at him with a bland expression. "If we could stop the Reapers somehow from indoctrinating our people . . ."
She inclined her head. "It would bolster our morale," she said softly. "But more than that, it would open the possibility of studying the Reaper parts we've acquired so far."
He relaxed his shoulders, glad that he had read the situation correctly.
"I heard the quarians sent an envoy . . ."
As if you didn't have a finger in that particular pie. "You heard correctly, Commander." He smiled thinly. "I could not show my support so openly of course. It would not do to appear so overeager."
"So you support the quarians' bid for an embassy in the Citadel?"
"Whatever helps humanity." He waved his hand, dismissing her. "You are easier to read than you think, Shepard. I know you are fond of the quarians. Though I cannot promise your quarian the embassy seat now, come to me again once their contributions to the war effort become more apparent and I will change my stance on the matter."
"Ah." Shepard relaxed from parade rest. "And should you deny them again?"
"You would threaten me as unhappy Spectres with too much power are wont to do."
"Tali did suggest I let my fist do the talking,'" Shepard admitted.
"Then, I will delegate that consequence to my future self, should I choose not to honour our agreement." Though I suspect, he thought as he watched her leave, such things will not matter in the end. His eyes fell on the the bottom right cabinet underneath a quartet of screens that showed Reaper activity in the past twenty hours. He had chosen to hide his spirits there behind a false panel.
He returned to his desk, a Thessian drink in hand. It was called Sorrow's Companion—an appropriate drink for the occasion. Here is to hoping we shall never see each other again. He raised his drink in silent toast. You always did get in the way of my plans, Commander.
