Chapter 19: Taking Care of Business

After a not-so-delightful jaunt around the Citadel's ugly twin, it was time to pay a visit to the Citadel. Or maybe that should be going from Omega to the prettier twin of Omega. Whatever. We had a few things to do there, mainly installing the Thanix and the multicore shields and the...

I should probably explain all that, shouldn't I?

Whenever I wasn't gallivanting around the galaxy or risking my neck, I'd been researching and manufacturing various upgrades. At least, that's what I did once I'd strip-mined enough planets for the requisite minerals—hadn't had to probe a planet for weeks, thank God! Wait. That sounded dirty. Eh, you get the idea.

So, upgrades. Some of them were just items that only a few people could use—like a fancy omni-tool for Mordin or a jacked-up biotic amp for, well, Jack. Other things were for the Normandy herself, because I like spoiling her with any gift that will keep her pretty little hull—and my pretty little face—intact for another minute or two. I've already talked about the Thanix cannon—courtesy of Garrus—and how it could basically shoot streams of liquefied super-heated metal at super-high velocity. But there were a few other toys as well.

Jacob had used a few old contacts to get a hold of the specs for Silaris heavy ship armour. Asari in design, it was basically composed of carbon nanotube sheets scattered with diamond chemical vapour—whatever the heck that is—and crushed by mass effect fields. (1) The result was something that could be attached to the hull of the Normandy and shrug off the heat and kinetic energy of most starship weapons—rather than merely vaporizing away like standard ablative armour.

Another thing that needed upgrading was our kinetic barriers. See, standard kinetic barriers are designed to stop, well, kinetic energy. Like the kind accompanying mass accelerator rounds or torpedoes. Unfortunately, they're not so good against extreme levels of heat or radiation. Stuff like, say, the particle weapons of Collector ships. Tali's solution was the implementation of Cyclonic Barrier Technology. Basically it enhanced our existing mass effect field projectors so they could fire in rotation, creating a set of kinetic barriers that rapidly oscillated around the Normandy rather than keeping them stationary. As a result, these "spinning shields" could deflect attacks rather than just halt them. The best part was that if any of the emitters acted up, the whole system could default to a standard shield array. All the best parts of a prototype with the proven benefits of the ol' originals.

The only problem was that we hadn't actually installed any of the Normandy's upgrades. Oh, our fabricators could construct most of the components. But there were a few key items that required more sophisticated machinery. Plus, there were a few steps in the installation process that required the Normandy to be stationary and (mostly) powered-down. So either we shut down and drift helplessly through the emptiness of space or we find a place to dock. Oddly enough, I chose the latter. Oddly enough, I chose somewhere other than Omega.

Yeah, I know. I'm funny that way.

That was a month ago. Since then I'd gone on several more missions, endured multiple fire-fights, picked up an unexpected squad member and... had whatever relationship I might have had with a certain XO take a blind quantum leap into the unknown. I had no idea what to do with the last part at the time. Still didn't. So it was time to get some advice or, at the very least, find a sounding board to bounce thoughts off of. And there was only one person I could think of that I could trust.

The fact that I'd been meaning to reply to that person for the past several months ago since receiving her message was surely a coincidence:

So I have to find out my child is alive third-hand from the Alliance brass? Where the hell have you been?

I figure whatever you're doing is classified, likely part of your Spectre Operations. Just stay safe out there, and keep doing your mom proud. And sneak something through a secure channel next time.

Love,
Your mother, Captain Hannah

The only problem was that part about the secure channel. Don't get me wrong: I'm sure the encryption channels on the Normandy were top-notch. Unfortunately, I was also sure that Cerberus had the decryption subroutines and the money to pay drones to do nothing but monitor those channels.

Thankfully, I had a Plan B.

"Shepard," Anderson greeted me warmly. "How are you doing?"

"Same as usual," I replied dryly. "I don't know what I'd do with myself if I didn't fly around the galaxy, tangle with trigger-happy goons or set something on fire. How's life on the Citadel?"

"Spinning in circles, tripping over red tape and setting off a minefield of PR disasters," Anderson sighed. "Thank God I can pass some of that off on Udina. I swear he thrives on it."

"He's a sick, sick man," I said.

"True enough."

We held it together for about a minute before laughing out loud. I'd forgotten how good that felt. Or the last time I'd done that. (2) "So," Anderson chuckled, wiping a tear from his cheek, "what can I do for you?"

"I need to make a private call to an Alliance military vessel. Preferably without Cerberus listening in."

Anderson considered that request for a moment before pulling up a schedule. "Udina's in a meeting finalizing details on the next round of joint human-turian patrols. His office should be free for the next hour or so." He rummaged around to find a blank OSD, which he loaded into his computer. After a bit of digital magic, he pulled it out and handed it to me. "This will grant you access to Udina's computer and automatically engage the real-time communications software."

Exactly what I needed, with diplomatic-channel priority to boot. I thanked him, went to Udina's office and popped in the OSD. It only needed a minute to load up the program and access the nearest comm buoy, plus another minute to set up a connection to Mom's ship. While I waited, I may have propped my boots on Udina's squeaky clean desk. Hee, hee.

"Captain Hannah Shepard, SSV Orizaba—wait a sec… is that really you?"

I swung my boots down with a thud. Hadn't realized that this thing gave me a real-time video feed as well as audio. "Hi, Mom. Long time no see."

"I'll say," Mom smiled. "Being a Spectre must really keep you busy if you were deep cover for two years."

"Um… about that…" How the heck was I supposed to explain what had happened?

Mom came to the rescue. "Tell me everything. From the beginning."

I looked at the screen long enough to see that she was in her quarters—so I did program the call correctly—and complied. It didn't take as long as I'd thought it would.

"So let me see if I understand," she said. "Councillor Anderson wasn't kidding about the Reapers. They really do exist and they really do mean to come and end life as we know it. The only reason they failed was because of the Protheans, who, by the way, didn't build the Citadel or the mass relays. So then they got Saren and the geth—no, a rogue faction of geth—to do their dirty work, but you stopped them. Good job, by the way. I never got a chance to tell you how proud I was of you. Anyway, after that plan fell apart, the Reapers sent another Big Bad—the Collectors—to blow up the Normandy and space you. (3) Then the Collectors started rounding up random human colonies. The Alliance isn't doing anything to find out why or stop them. The Council won't do diddly aside from reinstating your Spectre status. So you're stuck with a boatload of Cerberus terrorists and whatever miscreants you can scrounge up."

"That's about it."

"I'm sorry, dear. That sucks."

"Tell me about it."

"That sucks."

"Very funny."

"I thought so. What else is on your mind?"

"Huh?"

"You didn't call me just because you were really, really late in responding to my e-mail. What else is on your mind?"

She's good. Must be a Mom thing. "Well… I met a girl. Woman. You know."

"Finally. Never thought I'd see the day. Tell me about her."

"Um… her name is Miranda… and… uh…"

"Is she smart?"

"Smarter than I am."

"Good. Is she funny?"

"Not really. Unless it's a really dry form of humour."

"Eh, can't win 'em all. Good-looking?"

"Gorgeous."

Whoa. Did I just say that out loud?

"So what's the problem?"

"Who said there was a—"

"Don't make me come over there and smack you."

"She's my XO."

"It's been known to happen. Just make sure you have someone to act as a tie-breaker or assume command if the two of you mix your personal and professional lives. Next."

"Did I mention her lack of a sense of humour?"

"Did I mention that you can't win 'em all? Next."

"Um… she's working for Cerberus."

"Is that it?"

I stared at her for a moment. "Whaddya mean, 'is that it?'"

"You've been making up excuses not to date people since you were a child. Granted, the few times you did go out either ended in disaster or proved that they were witless bimbos—damn it, there goes my New Year's resolution. I mean, they proved they weren't worth your time. Still, you're a Spectre now, so rules against fraternization are more like guidelines in your case."

"So the part about her being Cerberus isn't a big deal?"

"Oh, it's a big deal all right, but I think you're using that as an excuse. I think you're afraid that something good might have entered your life and, if you stop to enjoy it, you'll get rejected and hurt. Again."

"But…"

"Life's too short. And there's never enough joy in it. If you've found some, you should grab it. So the question is: have you found some?"

"Well…"

"Simple question. Have you found some? Yes or no?"

I had no idea. It wasn't as if I had a lot of experience with that sort of thing. Finding out the object of my affection was already involved with someone else—lost track of the number of times that happened. Being asked some variant of "Why can't we just be friends?"—been there, done that. Heck, I've even been told "You remind me of my brother."

I've been on the flip side, too: I was practically an expert when it came to going out with someone only to find out they were idiots, simply naive or didn't have any spark with me whatsoever. And don't get me started on the unwanted attention being the so-called Hero of the Skyllian Blitz got me on the social front. All of a sudden, every Tina, Darla and Henrietta wanted a piece of me, just so they could get some time in the limelight (not because they actually gave a damn about me).

I tried to tell myself I didn't care. That it kept me single, free and not shackled with a ball and chains. That it wasn't meant to be. Believe it or not, that usually worked. For a time. Then I'd stumble across some couple making out. Or doing some big romantic thing together. Or just holding hands. Then it would hit me. Hard. And I'd go staring at them, wondering why something like that could happen to every lucky bastard except me and what I'd screwed up in a past life to deserve such a fate.

So I really had no way to know whether I'd 'found some.' I thought about it for a long time before finally giving up, taking a flying mental leap into the unknown and said the first string of words that popped up before my mind could catch up: "I guess. Yeah. So what should I do?"

"What do you think you should do?"

"I dunno… I guess—"

"Oh for crying out loud! You're thirty-one years old and you can't even—look, clear the air with her. Ask her, flat out, where this relationship is going—assuming there is a relationship at all. Maybe it means something. Maybe it's nothing. But at least you'll know for sure."

"And if it's nothing?"

"Then you'll feel like someone sucker-punched you and ripped your heart out. Again. But you'll recover, you'll learn and you'll move on. You have to, because to do otherwise would be a real lousy way to go through life."

"What if she's just playing me? Because Cerberus said so or because she's just bored and—"

"Kneecap the bitch, drag her to the nearest airlock and space her sorry ass."

That's my mom. Paragon of diplomacy, especially when her baby kid was involved. (4)

"I know it won't be easy for you, honey. But it's better than leaving that question dangling over your head. And you need your head clear, especially if this mission is as dangerous as you say it is."

"Yeah, I know," I sighed. "I guess I just needed to make sure I wasn't crazy."

"Oh, you're crazy all right. But if it's the real thing—it's worth it."

"Right." With that depressing thought in mind, I changed the subject. "So, what else is new?"

"Well, Ellie got married six months ago."

"You mean she finally tied the knot with Captain—"

"Please don't call him that. It's disrespectful. Even if it's true."

Mom and I chatted for another hour. We finished before Udina came back—I'm still not sure whether that's a good or bad thing. Then I had to catch up with the squad. I found them outside some Japanese noodle place. Kasumi was staring at the food longingly.

"You know what I haven't had in ages?" she asked wistfully. "Ramen."

Grunt leaned forward, sniffed and grimaced. "This is what passes for food out here? My tastes run more along the lines of 'edible.'"

"My grandmother used to make the best ramen. Delicious."

"Looks like worms. Dead ones. This a human thing?"

"Thinking back, I really should have stolen her recipe."

"Ugh. I'll pass. I'll eat almost anything, but I stress almost."

Kasumi turned and stared up at Grunt. "What are you talking about?"

"What are you talking about?" Grunt growled back.

Gardner—and the rest of the crew—would be relieved to find out that there was something Grunt wouldn't eat. Our stomachs would be a lot less empty and a lot more happy. I was about to ask if the noodle shop did bulk deliveries when I overheard a nearby volus.

"*hiss* This clanless is a thief *hiss* and I want her arrested. *hiss*"

"Wha—I was just walking by!"

Looking around, I saw a volus, a quarian and a bored human C-Sec officer. Curious, I walked over. The C-Sec officer tried to wave me away. "I'm sorry; I'm trying to take a statement here."

"*hiss* There's nothing to talk about! *hiss*" the volus insisted. "She stole my credit chit. *hiss* Arrest her! *hiss*"

"I did not!" the quarian said hotly. "Just because I'm a quarian—"

"I need you to stop and take a deep breath," the C-Sec officer recited in an automatic calm-the-complainant-down tone."

"*hiss*You're mocking *hiss* me, *hiss* Earth-clan! *hiss* Just because the Vol-clan need respira—"

"It was a poor choice of words, sir," the officer said automatically. "I apologize."

I decided to let the C-Sec officer grovel to the volus and turned to the quarian. "You say you're falsely accused, Miss..."

"Lia'Vael nar Ulnay," she identified herself. "I was walking to the used ship dealer when this volus barged into me outside the Sirta Foundation. He didn't stop or say he was sorry." Her tone became increasingly indignant as she continued. "A minute later, he runs up with C-Sec and accuses me of stealing his damn chit."

I'd passed by that shop before. The oily-looking volus who ran the place kept trying to sell me used shuttles. Even offered to throw in a model ship for free. "Any particular reason why you were checking out the used ship dealer's shop?"

"They've got a lot of nice models," Lia'Vael replied. "I'd like to buy one and take it back to the Fleet but..."

Not surprisingly, Tali figured it out. "Your Pilgrimage isn't going so well, is it?"

"No. I... I came here thinking there'd be a lot of work. EVA stuff. Salvage. Fixing all the damage the geth attack caused. Everywhere I went to apply, signs said 'Not hiring quarians.' And the other people would give me dirty looks."

Boy, that sucked. I would have said as much, but somebody had to maintain the appearance of impartiality. "And you are?" I asked the volus.

"*hiss* Kor Tun."

"Kor Tun," I repeated. "Is it possible the chit fell out of your pocket outside the Sirta Foundation?"

"No," he scoffed. "*hiss* She stole my credit chit. *hiss* When I left the Sirta Foundation store, she ran right into me. *hiss*"

"And that automatically means she stole it?"

"*hiss* That's how pickpockets work. *hiss* They bump into you *hiss* and use that as a cover for rifling your pockets. *hiss* You can't turn your back on these *hiss* clanless quarians. *hiss* Thieves, *hiss* all of them. *hiss*"

Definite bias here, but his concerns about pickpocket tactics weren't entirely unwarranted. My thoughts were interrupted by Tali, who barged forward to stare down at Kor Tun. "Quarians are only forced to steal when people like you won't let them have real jobs," she snapped.

"*hiss* And to think my taxes pay *hiss* to you here," Kor Tun sneered. "*hiss* Go back to your fleet, *hiss* clanless. *hiss*"

"I am clan Zorah," Tali corrected him coldly, "crew of the starship Neema. And you are an idiot."

"Tali," I murmured quietly. "Not helping."

"My brain agrees with you," Tali replied. "My gut says I should jack his suit's olfactory filters so that everything smells like refuse."

Garrus casually took a step away from her. "Remind me never to get on your bad side."

"Can you really do that?" Kasumi asked curiously. "I know some people who... nah, forget it."

"Officer Tammert," I said, reading the ID on the C-Sec officer's badge. "Do you know who's telling the truth?"

Tammert cast a disparaging look at Lia'Vael. "My omni-tool can tell the quarian doesn't have a chit on her. But she could have stashed it to recover later. You know what quarians are like. And she's definitely a vagrant. I'll run her in and see what Bailey wants to do with her."

"She's not a vagrant," Tali protested. "She's on Pilgrimage. It's a tradition in which—"

"Look, you can take your traditions and cram them," Tammert cut in rudely. "Every time a quarian shows up here, it's trouble." (5)

Oh yeah. Definitely needed someone impartial here. "You know what?" I said brightly. "I've got some spare time. Why don't I look around and see if I can find out what happened?"

"Sir, this is a C-Sec matter," Tammert responded automatically. "We'll do all we—"

"*hiss* Bah," Kor Tun interrupted.

"—all we can to resolve this," Tammert continued without a hitch. "We don't need civilian help. If you do happen to find the chit, please let one of our officers know."

I decided not to bother correcting Tammert. Motioning for the others to follow me, I took a few steps away. "Team Two, keep an eye on them and make sure they don't go too far. Team One—and Tali—come with me."

"Why can't I stay here?" Tali demanded.

"Because I don't want you to succumb to your gut and give Kor Tun an irrefutable reason to grumble."

"Fine." Tali said that rather sulkily, I thought, but I decided to let it pass and led the team to the Sirta Foundation. Unfortunately, the clerk didn't recall anyone accidentally losing anything. So I decided to wander around and try some of the other stores.

"Ah, my favourite customer!" Marab grinned as I walked into Saronis Applications. "What can I do for you?"

"A volus was in here not too long ago," I replied. "Did he drop a credit chit by any chance?"

"Oh! Yes! He bought some environmental system drivers, then left without his chit. I didn't notice he'd left it until he was already gone. If you see him, tell him I have it here behind the counter."

"Great," I nodded. "He'll be glad to hear that. Thanks!"

"Not a problem," Marab beamed. "Have a good day."

I hurried back to find Lia'Vael and the others. As it turned out, I didn't need to hurry. They were still in the same spot, merrily arguing away. Tammert was the first one to notice me. "You again? I told you that this is an official C-Sec matter. What are you doing back here?"

"Just basking in the glow of your compassion," I replied before promptly ignoring him. "You forget your credit chit at Saronis Applications," I told Kor Tun. The clerk is holding it for you."

"*hiss* Oh. *hiss* Well. *hiss* The quarian could've stolen it."

The hell?

"I'll close this event report." Tammert tapped his datapad before giving Lia'Vael a scowl. "But I'll be watching you. Get a permanent residence or I'll run you in for vagrancy."

Oh that was just too much. "Are you kidding me?" I burst out. "I can't believe you guys are actually serious!"

"*hiss* What are you talking about? *hiss*"

"You falsely accused this girl of stealing from you," I said, glaring at Kor Tun. "And when you found out you were wrong, all you have to say is that she 'could have' stolen it?"

"*hiss* Now just a min—"

I shoved Kor Tun aside and grabbed a handful of Tammert's uniform. "And you," I continued, pulling him towards me. "She gets harassed and insulted by this guy and you just side with him? And throw in a threat to arrest her for vagrancy?"

Tammert apparently didn't appreciate being dressed down like that. Or he just didn't like anyone wrinkling his uniform. "How about I run you in for ob struction of justice?" he snapped.

I gave him a cold smile. "You think you're going to 'run in' a Spectre?"

Tammert's face suddenly turned very pale. About time, the little prick. "I think both of you should get out of here. Now."

Kor Tun waddled off without a word. Tammert just shuffled away with a muttered "Son of a..." Lia'Vael watched them go before turning back to me. "Thank you," she said softly. "I... I wish I could give you something more than words."

"What the hell was that C-Sec guy's problem?" I asked, looking at her and my squad. "He had no evidence that you did anything wrong."

"I don't know," Lia'Vael sighed. "Everyone's been like this since I got here."

"The Citadel has never been tolerant of quarians on Pilgrimage," Tali explained. "The geth attack two years ago must have made it worse."

I nodded my understanding and looked at Lia'Vael. "Can you take care of yourself from here?"

"I guess," she shrugged. "I mean, most nights I eat nutrient paste in a turian shelter. But I'm surviving."

"The rations I have right now aren't much better," Tali offered. "Good luck, Lia'Vael."

"Thanks." (6)

We ran into another case of C-Sec brilliance on our way back to the Normandy. I had just finished a sweep of the stores for any goodies when I passed a pair of asari. "I can't believe these humans," one of them grumbled. "No-fly lists? What have they turned this place into?"

Coming to a stop, I doubled back to them. "I'm couldn't help but overhear you talking," I confessed. "Having a problem, I take it?"

"It's a private matter," the asari who'd spoken earlier replied firmly.

For once, someone actually recognized that I was sticking my nose in places where it didn't belong. Not that that would stop my rapacious curiosity. "Fair enough," I nodded, "but give me a chance. Maybe I can help."

"I don't see why you would," the asari said coolly. Her companion gave her a nudge. They exchanged a look. The self-appointed spokeswoman sighed and gave in. "Since your kind gained a seat on the Council, they've taken over C-Sec Customs. There are hundreds of new security checks and travel restrictions. We've been flagged as a potential risk for geth infiltration. They won't let us board a ship back to asari space."

"Why would they consider you a risk?" I frowned. "You're obviously not geth. Did you have anything with you or go anywhere that might have suggested that?"

"This is the first time we left Thessia in a decade," the asari complained, "and we haven't been anywhere other than here. I don't know why they flagged us because they wouldn't say anything! We got on a list somewhere, for some reason, and they won't tell us anything because 'it's classified!'"

"Where did you find out about this?"

"Some pencil-pusher at the shuttle port told us," she sniffed. "The one outside the C-Sec station."

"Why don't I see what's going on?" I offered. "If you give me your names, I can try and get it sorted out."

"I'm not holding my breath," she sneered.

The other asari spoke for the first time. "I doubt you can help us, human, but you probably couldn't make matters any worse. I'm Valera Salir and this is my friend, Kalara Tomi."

"Valera Salir; Kalara Tomi. Got it."

"Bitch," Jack muttered as we left.

"Maybe, but she might have a reason to be so pissed," I shrugged. "Let's hear the C-Sec officer's side of the story."

"You just wanna be a goddamn hero again," Zaeed snorted.

"It's a bad habit of mine," I admitted.

It didn't take long before we found the 'pencil-pusher': a bland, wooden-faced human woman. "Can I help you?" she asked politely.

"It's been a couple of years since I passed through here," I said, deciding to start off with a related question instead of jumping straight to the point. "Security seems to have tightened a bit."

"After the geth attack, there was a review of security protocol," she replied. "A few minor changes were made to reduce the risk of geth infiltration. We apologize for the inconvenience."

Legion had only recently joined the squad and they hadn't actually participated in any combat. (7) That's the only reason why it didn't occur to me that there might be a potential disaster until Legion stated "Geth do not infiltrate."

Uh oh.

The C-Sec officer turned to look at Legion. I braced myself for the worst.

"You should leave your personal synthetic assistant at home," the C-Sec officer advised me. "They're not allowed on public shuttles anymore."

...

Oh for crying out loud.

I could tell Legion was perplexed by this development by the way they tilted their head and flared their face-plates. "Geth do not intentionally infiltrate," they finally amended.

"Is there anything else I can do for you?"

Out of the corner of my eye, I could see some of my squad shaking their head. I couldn't blame them. If she was so rigid as to enforce policy without knowing what said policies were looking for, how could she possibly help me? If I had known beforehand—aw, screw it. I was already here.

"I talked to a couple of asari—Valera Salir and Kalara Tomi. They say customs won't let them leave the station, but they weren't told why. Can you help me out?"

The C-Sec officer didn't even reach towards her console. "I'm sorry, sir," she said automatically, "but all matters related to station security are classified. We can't risk geth infiltration."

A bit too late for that.

"Revealing why someone is on a watch list might compromise the safety of C-Sec's undercover agents."

"Did you talk with them?" I asked. "Checked out where they'd been? What they'd done? Did they seem like geth agents to you?"

She rubbed her forehead. Clearly she wasn't used to someone challenging her with common sense. "Well, no," she admitted, "but you can never be sure."

Oh for crying out—I'm all for security precautions, but only when they're applied properly. This willy-nilly approach just defeated the whole purpose for those precautions. I took a deep breath to calm myself before I blew up my last few neurons by banging my head on the desk. "Look, miss," I said, "I don't understand how you can classify them as geth agents without any tangible proof. As for the issue of them being geth infiltrators, well, I've fought hundreds of them. I can assure you that they are not geth infiltrators. The lack of flashlight heads was kind of a giveaway."

That last part might be a risk, given that there was a squad mate with a flashlight head to my right, but something told me I didn't have much to worry about.

"I'm not saying it makes any sense," the C-Sec officer said, displaying the first sign of intelligence since this conversation began. "Those are the rules I have to enforce." (8)

"And there's nothing you can do?" I asked sceptically.

She sighed and reached for her console. Leaning over, I could see her accessing Salir's and Tomi's files. "I can't get them cleared," she said, "but I can flag the case file for review. That will allow them to travel in the meantime."

"Sounds like the best you can do under the circumstances," I nodded.

"Is there anything else I can do for you?"

Thankfully, not. "I'm fine. Thanks for your help."

"Next."

Gratefully leaving this poster child for bureaucracy behind, I went back to deliver the good news. The two asari looked at each other in astonishment. "You what?" Tomi finally said, slowly getting to her feet. "How did you do that?"

"I explained how their methods are flawed," I explained simply. "I've fought a lot of geth in my time."

"Few have," Tomi marvelled. "How unexpected." She turned to Salir. "We should get ready to leave," she told her. "There should be another ship heading to Thessia tomorrow."

With that, the two left. I was starting to wonder if their mothers had forgotten to teach them any manners when Salir doubled back, pressed a thousand credits into my hands and ran off to catch up with her friend.

Well, it wasn't as verbal as a 'thank you,' but I suppose it would have to suffice.

It took a while before I could muster the nerve to visit Miranda. In my mind, the longer I put it off, the longer I could avoid the chance of getting sucker-punched and having my heart ripped out. Again. Seemed logical enough to me. Too bad logic had nothing to do with this… whatever it was. Eventually I took the elevator down to Deck Three. I took a deep breath and walked into Miranda's office. "Hey there. You have a minute?"

"I do," she nodded. "I suppose we should talk."

"Yeah."

…

…

"Well—" I said.

"I don't know what this is," Miranda started, standing up and gripping her chair tightly. "If this is stress or blowing off steam or…"

"I don't know," I said mildly. "I didn't mind."

"It was a mistake," she burst out.

Ouch. That hurt.

"Oh don't look like that," she sighed, pacing over to her bed. "You know it was a mistake. This is no time for emotional entanglement! You and I know more about the Collectors than anyone. We know how unlikely it is that we're coming back alive! That... that kiss... I shouldn't have done that."

Still feeling hurt. And a little angry. "If it was that big a mistake," I snapped, "then why the hell did you kiss me? Because you were bored?"

"No, I—"

"Because you wanted to fool around with my head? What—all that time spent putting me back together wasn't enough?"

"No, it's not that—"

"Then why?"

"Well—"

"WHY?"

"BECAUSE I WANTED TO!"

...

...

...

Oh.

Wow.

Miranda numbly sat down on her bed. There was a sheer look of horror and panic on her face—something she probably hadn't experienced in a while. Like that kiss. Which probably made it that much scarier.

"Did I say...? I didn't mean... oh no. This is... this is ridiculous. Absolutely... what idiotic bunch of hormones thought now was a great time for lo…?"

That string of uncharacteristic babble came to a complete and abrupt halt. Miranda's eyes widened. Her mouth dropped. Either because it had sunk in that she was actually saying all this or she had realized it might be true and that she really lo…

Oh.

Wow.

Now it was my turn to widen my eyes, drop my jaw and freak out.

We stood there for a good minute. Or hour. Or something. Eventually, it occurred to me that one of us had to break the silence. And it looked like that lucky bastard was gonna be me. My only consolation was the fact that she wasn't trying to screw with me—oh. Geez. Poor choice of words.

"Look, I want this," I said at last, surprising myself with the truth behind that statement. "I want to see where it goes. I want to see how far it'll go. And I think you do, too. At least, I think you do. You do want this, don't you? I mean, okay, on a scale of one to ten, where one is you'd rather stick your head in a blender and ten is—"

"Yes."

"Huh?" After indulging in my own uncharacteristic bit of babbling, it was nice to return to simple, one-word responses.

"Yes. Ten. Whatever."

Clearly simple, one-word responses worked for her as well.

Miranda took a deep breath before continuing. "I meant what I said earlier: I want this. All of it. It's like… I wanted to ensure Oriana's safety. Her future. Her life. But I didn't realize I wanted to actually see her. To talk to her. To get to know her beyond hacked vid-cam recordings and official records. I never realized how painful it was to watch her from a distance but never be a part of her life until I heard her talk. Not just some recording of her in a random conversation either—she was actually talking to me. And all of a sudden, I wanted a real connection with my sister so badly. I guess… I guess I want this too."

"Good to know," I offered, somewhat lamely. I guess I was relieved that the odds of her pulling a fast one on me or turning me down were continuing to drop.

"Yeah."

"Okay."

"Okay."

More silence. "So now what?" Miranda finally asked.

I'd been so preoccupied with this elephant on my shoulders, I hadn't actually thought that far. "Um… most people go on a date. Or grab some coffee."

Miranda bit her lip. "I'd rather keep this between us. It's, well, I'm a very private person."

"Really?" I raised an eyebrow. "I hadn't noticed."

Her lip twitched. She looked so cute doing tha—oh boy.

I had it bad, didn't I?

"I don't want to broadcast this over the extranet or anything either," I agreed, "but you do realize we're on a ship, right? Scuttlebutt's going to pick up on this and spread it around sooner or later."

"I know," she sighed, "but I'd rather go for later. If nothing else, it might distract them. Which is another thing—"

"Our personal… whatever-this-is can't interfere with day-to-day operations, command decisions or the overall mission," I interrupted. "Agreed." I didn't want that either. The odds of us surviving this mission were catastrophically low as it was. We didn't need to make it even more difficult by going all googly-eyed at each other when we should be watching out for bullets. Besides, the last thing I needed was another excuse to get cold feet. "Anything else?"

Miranda shrugged helplessly. "Only that I have no idea what to do next. Normally, I'd suggest what you did—a date. A cup of coffee. Something. But all of that will raise too many questions. If we're going to do this, I just want something quiet. Just the two of us, without witnesses."

An idea germinated inside my noggin. I let it grow and flourish before finally opening my mouth. "I have an idea…"

It was an hour before the next shift change. Gardner had retired for the night and everyone else was either still on duty or getting ready to start the graveyard shift. Which meant no one was around when I snuck into the mess hall, found what I was looking for, grabbed it and headed over to Miranda's office.

Sure enough, Miranda had placed two cups and two plates on her desk. She raised an eyebrow when I deposited the goodies I'd liberated—apparently, one normally doesn't pair jasmine tea with chocolate-dipped, triple-chocolate brownies—but took a sip of the tea anyway. Sitting down, I took the datapad Miranda handed me, thumbed it on and took a bite out of the brownie. While I chewed, I started filling out the various maintenance and status reports that she had downloaded. (9)

"Thanix cannons are installed and operational," I said idly. "Apparently it's doubled the power draw of our weapon systems."

"Will they be a problem?" Miranda asked.

"Nah," I shook my head. "Ken said something about tweaking the forward capacitors to compensate. I'm surprised we don't have the same issues with Tali's shield upgrades."

"Actually, those upgrades had built-in capacitor sub-systems," Miranda corrected, "so any additional power draw would be minimal."

"That's what Ken and Gabby said," I nodded. "Though that means we won't be able to take on an entire fleet and survive."

"Exactly. As befits a stealth ship, the shields were designed to deflect any attacks the Normandy might take during insertion or extraction. This upgrade simply means that we'll be able to deflect stronger attacks now."

"As long as that includes anything the Collectors can throw at us, I'm fine with that."

"Agreed."

A few minutes passed while we worked, ate and drank in silence. At some point I looked up to see a slight smile on Miranda's face. It looked good on her.

"Something I can do for you?"

"Huh?" I asked.

"You were staring."

"I was?"

"You were."

"Oh. You were smiling."

"I was?"

"You were."

"Oh. Crewman Rolston sent a thank-you for my efforts in expediting his family's relocation."

"Right," I recalled. "They were on New Canton—oh geez." I jerked up, half-remembering a conversation I'd heard during my meanderings. How could I have forgotten? "The Collectors hit New Canton. Did they—"

"They were relocated in time," Miranda reassured me. "Their shuttle touched down in San Francisco a week ago."

Phew.

"Rolston attached an audio clip," she added. She must have opened it, as the next thing we heard was a girl giggling away over the speakers. Rolston's one-year old daughter, if memory served. "That's kinda cute," I had to admit.

"Yeah. It is."

We sat there quietly, long after the clip ended. "What about the armour upgrades?" Miranda asked. "Did they require any adjustments in the Normandy's operations?"

"Yeah," I shrugged. "Something about the added weight throwing off the gravimetric profile, but it was fixed with some Gilbourne and anterior intakes."

"Rebalancing the Gilbourne coefficients and adjusting the anterior intakes on the second tier stabilizers?" Miranda guessed.

"Yeah, something like that. Hopefully whatever they did worked."

"If not, Mister Moreau will have something to do besides surf the extranet for porn."

I jerked my head up again. "You mean you know about that?"

Miranda gave me a look.

"Right. Of course you knew. Never mind." I turned my attention back to the datapad. "I don't know why he bothers," I said, signing off on the receipt for three cases of ramen. "Couldn't he just fill out a subscription to 'Fornax' or something? It only costs four creds per issue."

"I'm delighted to hear you're so knowledgeable about that," Miranda said dubiously.

"I'm not," I replied defensively. "That's the price quoted on Marsh's kiosk back on Omega."

"Uh huh."

"I'm not into that sort of thing."

"Mm, hmm."

"Seriously. Hanar don't turn me on."

"Good to know."

"Are you making fun of me?"

...

"Well? Are you?"

(1): As a point of interest, the construction of this armour also compensated for the inherent brittleness of diamonds.

(2): So had I, to be honest. Admiral Hackett and numerous other colleagues had advised me that laughing was a key part of getting through each day with my sanity intact, particularly in my current career. After my meeting with Shepard, I vowed to laugh more often.

(3): A rather obscure term from late twentieth-century popular culture referring to a notable adversary or nemesis.

(4): Captain Shepard was offered a promotion to admiral following the death of her son. She declined, with much more tact than presented in this conversation; explaining that the offer was more likely politically motivated and that that she could better honour her son's memory as a 'mere' captain.

(5): Regrettably, some failings are truly universal. Thankfully, there are several other individuals—Shepard, included—who truly represent what humanity stands for.

(6): Shepard later reported this incident to Captain Bailey. As this was not the first such incident, Officer Tammert was temporarily relieved of his duties and responsibilities and ordered to attend a variety of prejudice-reduction seminars—several of which were on other planets; all of which were paid out of his own pocket. Following that, Tammert was reassigned to rotate through the other Wards of the Citadel, which had a much greater non-human population.

(7): This is the first time that Shepard specifically refers to the entity known as Legion in the plural, rather than including both the singular and plural forms of address, probably to make his logs more streamlined and less cumbersome.

(8): There were numerous complaints about these rules and regulations, which ate up an inordinate amount of my time. I must shoulder some of the blame for that, however, as I ultimately allowed them to be enacted in the first place without proper review and consideration.

(9): Shepard would subsequently take a great deal of pleasure in telling overly curious reporters, paparazzi, colleagues and friends that he spent his first date with Ms. Lawson in her office/quarters reviewing status reports.