Miranda led the way towards the bar. The Massanis all split off to look over weapon mods at one of the kiosks, and the two quarians looked with interested at the specs a volus was bargaining for, but otherwise everyone stayed with her.
The bar she was supposed to meet her contact was up a few flights of stairs, but there was no way they could all take one elevator. And she couldn't dare risk letting Jack and her doubles out of sight.
In the hallway outside the bar was an asari who struck Miranda as vaguely familiar. "Oh crap, I knew it was going to be a bad day today. Now my bar is going to become a warzone."
"Are you referring to us?" Miranda glanced over her shoulder, and seeing the three Zeroes, plus two krogan and a giant badger, not to mention all three Vakarians in full armor, they somehow looked a little more intimidating here than they had in the docking corridor. "We're not here to start trouble."
"No, but I bet you'll finish it," the asari complained. "I better call my insurance company now."
"What was that all about?" Garrus asked, stepping up behind her.
Miranda just shook her head in confusion, turning to the left and entering the bar. Only to stop several steps inside the bar, staring in pure, open-mouthed shock.
To the right was the tiny dance floor. A trio of men was sitting at a table with a rather bored asari dancer, but they seemed to be tipping well. Crowded at the other small tables around the dance floor were several asari, turians, and one quarian. But the entire area in front of the bar , spilling over to the more secluded left side of the room, was a gaggle of people dressed in a way she could only hope was supposed to be flattering.
There was at least twenty of them, all wearing various obviously knock-off versions of N7 armor. Specifically the ones most of the Shepards had worn in their chase after Saren. Most, but not all, of them were humans, with hair that was cut, dyed, and styled into various patterns after their favorite Shepard – including, possibly, the asari with a poorly attached wig reminiscent of Lilitu's dark braid. Then there was the salarian with either face makeup or a truly painful amount of facial tattooing to make him appear more human. His wig was better, but the salarian horns sticking up through Quistis' shockingly bright red hairstyle were more jarring.
"Suspect unhealthy emotional attachment," Mordin muttered.
"Obsession, attempt to improve self-esteem by acting as hero," Ishell agreed.
"Pathetic," Heplik finished.
"You," Garrus said, loud enough to draw everyone's attention. Stepping out of their group, he pointed at one particular blond, whose hair wasn't quite long enough to fit Jared's flowing hair. "I recognize you, from the Citadel. You hung around in the markets every time the Normandy docked, trying to get a full set of pictures and autographs."
Beaming, he stepped forward. "Wow, you remember me! Right, I'm Conrad Verner. You're, um, Varanian, right?"
"Vakarian," all three of them growled, their voices blending and fully silencing the bar. The dancer, Miranda noticed with amusement, had dropped off the table and was now hiding behind the salarian of her trio of patrons.
"Whoa, so it is true," one of the women said.
"We decided to take up the mantle of the Commanders Shepard," Conrad said, thrusting his chest forward in a manner clearly meant to be impressive or intimidating, and succeeded in merely looking needy and pathetic. "Roaming the galaxy, righting wrongs, standing up for the common person against an uncaring galaxy of monsters!" He took a half step forward, clenching one fist and raising it dramatically.
Everyone from the Normandy stared in continued shock. Then Jack burst out laughing, giggling so hard she slumped to the floor against the wall, tears rolling down her face. Her doubles, and all the humans except for Miranda and possibly Hunakai also burst into laughter of varying degrees of intensity. Garrus just ignored them all, shoving through the crowd to the bar and plopping down in front of the matriarch.
Roughneck stepped out, cracking his giant, furry knuckles, only to be stopped by a squealing noise. One of the women burst from the pack, hunting furiously in her backpack, only to pull out a furry-looking mask. "This is so awesome! Look, I picked Havok, he was always my favorite!" She continued talking as she pulled the hood-like costume over her head, the faux fur fabric fortunately fading her voice to meaningless babble.
Roughneck stared for a moment, then turned to motion at the Normandy group. Everyone cleared an aisle, and the woman's cheerful nonsense was cut off as the badger grabbed her by shoulder and hip, lifted, and hurled her bodily out the door and down the stairs. The other Shepard copycats froze in fear and shock as he turned back. "Pathetic," he said. He stepped forward, causing them to move out of his path in a manner similar to cockroaches to a light, as he joined Garrus at the bar.
"Are you bunch of fools really trying to do good in the galaxy?" Bera'Zorah asked, cocking his head and staring at the group. "Do any of you even have real weapons? Or real armor?"
"This armor is real," complained the salarian.
Xola's pistol was pointed at his midsection a moment later. "Then this won't hurt," she said.
"Hey!" Everyone looked over at the matriarch behind the bar. "Put the weapons away. I've got seven hundred years of practice with singularities, and I'll toss the whole lot of you out that window."
Sighing, Miranda stepped out to the front, pushing the quarian's pistol towards the floor with one finger. "Listen, Mr. Verner, if you're really out to do good in the galaxy, then do it as your own self. Not as a bad copy of someone who deserves better than this." She waved her hand dismissively in their direction on the last word.
Turning away, she headed towards the back room. Her contact should be in there, and hopefully the privacy would let her calm down a little, before she started warping their costumes right off the lot of fools. Miguel and Ophelia fell in behind her, letting Titus close the door and stand guard outside.
Lanteia looked up from her table in the back room and waved them over. Ignoring the other asari, and lone quarian in the room, Miranda wove through the tables over to her and sat down. "What's wrong?" she asked.
The asari grimaced. "I got a message from your friend Niket. He said your father knows that Oriana is on Illium, though not where. He recommended a change in schedule."
"That doesn't sound good," Ophelia said. "Last thing we need is Daddy Lawson getting involved now."
"How do we know we can trust this Niket?" Miguel asked.
"He's the only person who helped me before I escaped from my father," Miranda snapped. "If he's not trustworthy, no one is."
Lanteia shook her head. "We don't have time for this. If you're going to accept his schedule change, it has to be done now. Eclipse mercs are already searching the docks for her. Niket was going to accompany them personally."
Miranda hesitated for a moment, thinking it over. She wanted to believe it was coincidence that her father had hired mercs on the very day she was moving Oriana to safety … but she knew better than to believe in random coincidence. "Do it. Give me the new schedule."
She reviewed the information as it streamed into her omni-tool, copies distributing automatically to the other six members of her team. "Alright. Eclipse forces are spread thin. If we strike here, in the cargo area, we can draw some of them off, and still be close enough to intercept if they actually find her," she said.
Miguel made a few notes. "Miranda, I hope your old friend is trustworthy, but, well," he paused, glancing at Ophelia. "One thing we both learned over the last two years was to have a contingency plan for anyone going renegade."
"Including yourself," the other Lawson said quietly.
Lanteia looked between them in confusion. "I won't pretend to know what that was about. All the information is here, and thank you for your business, Ms. Lawson. Good luck."
Rising from her chair, Miranda walked closer to the door, still browsing the floor plans of the cargo area and making mostly mental notes. Ophelia drifted away, butting into the conversation between two asari and a quarian at one of the other tables, a very Shepard-like move.
"So, you think we can do this?" Miguel asked quietly.
Miranda blinked at him in surprise, wrenching her train of thought onto a different track. "Can we keep my sister safe, or can we take on a couple dozen Eclipse mercs?" She sniffed in clear disdain. "Eclipse have overblown reputations. We saw that rescuing the tank trio."
He chuckled. "We have better equipment than they do, that's for certain. Alright. So, go in guns blazing, make a nice big obvious target, and kill Eclipse until they get bored and go home?"
"You make that sound easy," she said.
"Easier than doing the same with husks. They don't get bored. Not enough brain power left." He stopped leaning against the wall next to the door as Ophelia approached, smiling in bemusement. "Something funny about the quarian?"
"No, the corporate rep. Some people will do almost anything if you can point out the good PR they'll get," she said. "Are we ready to save your sister?"
Miranda halted her movement towards the door control. "Ophelia, I am sorry your sister was taken by the Reapers," she said quietly.
The other Lawson shook her head. "Nothing for it. It's months too late for her, but we can still save your Oriana." Her smile was brittle, but there. "I don't blame you, nor do I blame Titus for being able to save his brother, either. It is the fortunes of war."
Opening the door, they looked around quickly to make sure they were actually in the right bar. Aside from the bartender, the entire place had been emptied out, and she was now leaning over the bar and glaring at the three of them.
Angela, Neville, and Victor picked that moment to walk into the bar. "Oh hell no," the asari said, dropping a singularity right in the middle of the trio. "Go pretend to be Commander Fucking Shepard in some other bar." The singularity exploded a moment later, hurling all of them back out of the door in a tangle of limbs.
"You do realize that they actually are Commander Shepard? Not imitators?" Miranda asked.
"I've got more singularities," the bartender said. "Out."
"Whoa, we're going, we're going," Miguel said, holding his hands up placatingly as they left the bar. "I don't think we're ever drinking there again," he said.
In the hallway, the Shepards were picking themselves up. "Something we should know?" Angela asked.
Miranda sighed. "Apparently, you have people who think the best thing in life is to put on a set of costume N7 armor, dye their hair, and pretend to be you."
"Or Havok," Miguel said cheerfully. "I'm kind of sad none of them had on a fake horn to pretend to be Polarity."
Angela dropped her head into the nearest hard surface.