Chapter 3: First Steps

February 7, 2185 CE

Location – Classified

"What happened?" Operative Miranda Lawson allowed herself an intense look, restraining an angry glare.

The Illusive Man exhaled a small pillar of smoke. "Someone took the bait."

Lawson took a breath and got her expression back under control. "You didn't recruit me because you thought I was an idiot. You were underpaying and ignoring Wilson to make him an easy target for those seeking to infiltrate us. What I want to know is, why didn't your precautions work?"

He tapped the cigarette on his glass ash tray. "They were more determined than we expected. I limited the mechs that Wilson could access, but whoever compromised him provided technical support far beyond his abilities. That said, they clearly don't know who they're dealing with if they thought that would be enough to finish us. There has been no sign of a follow-up, which means they're underestimating us."

Lawson nodded slowly. "I… see. So, you expect that we'll be in the clear for a while?"

"I do. We carry on with the plan."

February 8, 2185 CE

Horsehead Nebula / Pax System / Minuteman Station

Consciousness returned slowly. There was something big and important she needed to think about, but unlike her former self, Shepard didn't rush up to greet it. Instead, she took the time to luxuriate in the feel of cool, expensive sheets and a full-sized bed, something she hadn't had the chance to appreciate since... since before she died.

She opened her eyes and sighed. Back to life. At least nobody was trying to kill her this time.

She pulled her legs out of the tangle she'd made of the sheets and slid around to put her feet on the floor. Her vision blurred as blood rushed to her head. It passed in a moment, but the rest of her body was still not back to normal. Blinding pain had receded into a deep throb and her limbs still felt almost... sticky wasn't the right word, but it was close. Slow. Rusty. She sighed. Life again. At least she hadn't gotten anyone killed this time around… so far.

If she stayed in bed, maybe it would stay that way.

"Good morning, Shepard." She glanced around looking for the tinny voice and found a speaker built into the wall at the head of her bed. "The Illusive Man would like to speak with you. Head down the hall and turn left; he's in the conference room, first door on your right."

By this point Shepard had woken up enough to take stock of her surroundings. It was small. There was a bed, a fancy desk, and a little closet. All obviously expensive, but also practical.

It told her a lot about the kind of people she was dealing with. They had money, they only dealt with the best, and they knew how to get the most of what they had. Not people to be messed with. And, she thought with a wry little smile that used up her emotional capacity for the moment, a taste for drama. The Illusive Man. Right.

Shepard picked herself up from the bed with a groan, and noticed she wasn't wearing her armor anymore. She shuddered and tried not to think about how she'd gotten into running shorts and a loose-fitted T-shirt, her usual sleeping attire. Whoever had put her in them had known her disturbingly well. Well enough that she knew it would freak her out later, when she wasn't unbalanced by the bigger issue of being dead. Or undead. Or whatever.

She noticed a logo on them though, some sort of orange shape, a pentagon inside part of another pentagon, the same symbol worn by Jacob and the others on the station. It looked familiar... Oh crap. Cerberus.

Just what she needed, a bunch of pro-human terrorists. No, scratch that. A bunch of pro-human terrorists angry at her for blowing up so much of their stuff as a Spectre. Well, she seemed to be stuck with them, at least for the moment, and they weren't trying to kill her. So, time to find out what was going on.

She found the attached restroom and took advantage of it, then headed out into the hallway. It was narrow, as all hallways were in space. Neatly labeled signs marked the rooms she passed as restrooms, a gym, a cafeteria, and more living quarters, until she hit an intersection. She turned left as instructed and found herself at a dead end, the edge of the station, where a viewport gave her a fantastic view of the stars. They were beautiful, but it only took a moment to recall the last time she'd looked up at them. She shuddered and took a step back.

To her right a doorway, painted to match the utilitarian gray walls, slid aside and the artificial voice from her quarters returned. "Please step inside."

Shepard took a deep breath and complied, and had just enough time to make out a ring on the floor before the door slid closed behind her, cutting off the corridor's light. Her instincts told her to be wary, but they'd had her at their mercy for a while now. She gave a mental shrug and stepped forward. All around her little lights popped into being, each slowly rising from the floor. The effect was disorienting, but its purpose was clear—she was being scanned. They deactivated just as abruptly, and she found herself surrounded by the projection of a gargantuan office. The backdrop was stunning, a close-up of a red supergiant star slowly dying out. It took Shepard a moment to notice the desk in front of her with such an awe-inspiring view behind.

"Commander Shepard."

The strong, cultured voice belonged to a human man sitting behind a desk made of real wood. He was graying just a bit, though on him it looked good. The smudges of lighter color worked with the artificial silver sheen of his eyes. His expensive business suit was mellowed by his relaxed, cross-legged posture and the cigarette which sent a little cloud of smoke gently wafting away to the invisible ceiling. The ash tray at his left hand was flanked by an old-fashioned bottle and glass. He looked her up and down critically, as if analyzing a piece of equipment.

Shepard crossed her arms defensively, and reminded herself that she was unarmed on a station full of his goons. Play nice, at least until there's an opening to run. "Illusive Man. I thought we'd be meeting face to face. Or are you changing your name to the Elusive Man now?"

The Illusive Man took a moment to flick some of the ashes from the tip of his cigarette. "This is a necessary precaution, for you as much as it is for me."

Shepard's eyes narrowed in irritation. "And why is that?"

"While there are advantages for me your being known to work with Cerberus, it could limit your operational freedom. Think of it as a show of faith to give you plausible deniability."

"Plausible deniability for what, exactly?"

The Illusive Man looked pleased she hadn't dismissed him out of hand. "We know that the Reapers are still out there, are still a threat. How are you feeling?"

So that was it. The Reapers. They were up to something, inevitably awful, and she had to stop it. Again. Couldn't they let a woman die in peace? The Illusive Man looked almost excited. All Shepard wanted to do was lie down again. Still. She sighed quietly and closed her eyes. Remember, he's a liar and a manipulator. He could be making all of this up. Play along until he gives you an opening to escape.

And even if he was telling the truth, what could she do about? Nobody believed a word of it when she was alive, how would they react if she came back from the dead to bug the Council or the human Alliance about it? The fact that she was currently talking with one of the most wanted terrorists in the galaxy with no guns involved would win her no points.

She brought her mind back to the question at hand. If the Illusive Man was behind those two years of reconstructive surgery, and there was little doubt that he was, that meant he could probably tell her how she was feeling, every little ache and pain, and why it hurt. He was trying to manipulate her.

"Cut to the chase. What have they been doing that made you bring me back?"

The Illusive Man re-settled himself into his chair. His voice was light, businesslike, but the move was a classic – he was trying to make himself more comfortable, which meant he wasn't comfortable talking about this stuff, as much as he had invested in his belief in it. The Reapers scared him. Good to know.

"We're at war. Nobody wants to admit it yet, but humanity is under attack. While you've been sleeping, entire colonies have been disappearing. Human colonies. We believe it's someone working for the Reapers, just as Saren and the Geth aided Sovereign. You've seen it yourself. You've bested all of them. That's just one reason we chose you."

Sleeping, huh? That was one word for it. And a known terrorist organization deciding to save all of humanity? Out in the open? Right. Shepard slouched, already tired of the posturing.

"Fighting a war doesn't seem like Cerberus. Why are you involved?"

The Illusive Man rose from his chair and stepped towards her. He stood up straight and stared directly at her projected image with his glowing silver eyes, speaking in the measured cadence of a well-rehearsed speech.

"We're committed to the advancement and preservation of humanity. If the Reapers are targeting us, trying to wipe us out, Cerberus will stop them. If we wait for politicians or the Alliance to act, no more human colonies will be left."

"If you're willing to come out into the open to fight," Shepard shot back, "then surely you're willing to come out and give your information to the Alliance?"

The Illusive Man nodded slowly. "A fair question, but they already know. Things have changed, Shepard. You had a hard time convincing the Council or the Alliance of the truth of the Reapers, but they both came face-to-face with a Reaper. Thousands died on the Citadel and the Alliance's Fifth Fleet took substantial losses against Sovereign, which was unlike anything they've ever seen. Even those who refuse to believe it was a Reaper concede it was a dreadnaught unlike any other, with capabilities far beyond what was thought possible."

Shepard frowned. "I'm not seeing how that's a problem."

The Illusive Man waved a hand theatrically. "Think of it as an overabundance of success. Because the Council downplayed your warnings, Sovereign hit them cold. The Council races are close to panic with the threat of the Reapers, and trust in the Council is at its lowest point in centuries given how catastrophically wrong they were about the threat. Each species is strengthening their own defenses, and while in public they nod when the Council speaks, pretending nothing has changed, behind the scenes it's every man for himself. The Council are keeping it quiet to avoid a panic but make no mistake – they are all preparing for war. The Alliance is frantically rebuilding Fifth Fleet and arming as fast as they can. But they're scared, Shepard. They recognize that unlike the Council races, humanity has something like seventy-five percent of its population on Earth. They're pushing colonization as fast and as hard as they can to make humanity a less concentrated target, but they can't afford to defend new colonies while they build up for the Reapers. They're counting on us to do that."

That was… a lot to take in. Shepard looked up at the ceiling and sighed. Deep down she could feel it starting again. Another big mission, another bunch of friends, more deaths. Always more deaths and more killing. She brought her gaze back down to the Illusive Man, who stood patiently waiting for her to refocus.

"Alright, I'll bite. Sovereign was trying to harvest all life in the universe. Why would the Reapers target just a few human-only colonies? And if what you've said is true and this is the Reapers, why wouldn't the Alliance go out and fight? And if everyone already knows the Reapers are coming, what do you expect me to do about it?"

To his credit, the Illusive Man kept any sign of gloating from showing. He had to know he had her now. Again, he'd gotten under her skin. Damn.

"Hundreds of thousands of colonists have vanished. I'd say that fits the definition of 'harvesting.'" He turned his back on her to look out over the red supergiant. "But the Alliance isn't fighting back because they think the attacks are being carried out by an enigmatic species called the collectors, not by the Reapers. I don't know why the Reapers decided to use the collectors or why they've suddenly targeted humanity." He glanced at her over his shoulder. "Maybe you got their attention when you killed one of them."

"Maybe. I'm still not seeing your angle on this."

The Illusive Man resumed his seat and steepled his fingers, choosing his words with care. "I know you don't trust me, Shepard. Frankly, I haven't given you much reason to, given your past… interactions with Cerberus, so I'll be candid. Cerberus benefits from this situation. The Alliance knows that we're gaining a lot of support out in the colonies where we are much more visible than the Alliance. But you've said it yourself, and the proof is in the battle against Sovereign – we can't beat the Reapers conventionally. You know it. I know it. The Alliance knows it. I'm all for them building up, but humanity needs an edge, leverage, information. And that is what Cerberus does best. If the Reapers are behind the collector attacks on the colonies, then this is our only lead on active Reaper operations, our only hope to learn their methods and access their technology before they strike. If you'll forgive the biblical metaphor, the Alliance is preparing to go toe-to-toe against goliath. It's up to Cerberus to find them a sling. And even if we're wrong and it isn't the Reapers, we may be able to save some of the colonies in the meantime, which is worth doing in its own right."

That… maybe made sense? She just didn't know. Her brain didn't feel right, she was tired and hurting and confused, and she didn't have any relevant information. But he made a good argument. "Alright, if what you say is true... if the Reapers really are behind this... I'd consider helping you. But I'll need to speak with the Alliance, first." All the qualifiers sounded flimsy even in her ears. The Illusive Man couldn't hold back the smile this time.

"I'd be disappointed if you accepted any of this without seeing for yourself. I brought you back, at great expense, but I need your willing cooperation if this is going to work, so I'll make you a deal, Shepard. I have a shuttle waiting to take you to Freedom's Progress, a colony I suspect will be hit soon. Go out and see it for yourself while Miranda sets up passive spy cameras to get the hard evidence on the collectors we need. Then by all means, head to the Citadel, speak with the Alliance, the Council, whomever you choose. See for yourself that I'm telling the truth. But when you come back, be ready to work with me. That's all I ask."

Gracious, even in victory. Shepard did have to admire him, just a tiny bit, for the way he'd maneuvered her. Throw out a reference to her old enemies, the Reapers, then prey on her need to understand what was happening around her. Not that it made her any less angry with him. No, a temporary victory. He's got to be lying about some of it, or all of it. I just need to get out of reach, get in contact with the Alliance, then we'll sort this all out.

The Illusive Man nodded, taking her silence for agreement. "Good. Miranda and Jacob will brief you."

Wait, work with his thugs? "Miranda killed Wilson in cold blood, and J-Jacob is just a gun for hire. You expect me to trust them? I had a good team, a team that trusted each other. Let me get them and we'll get results a lot faster."

He took a long swallow from the glass at his side then set it back down. "Wilson was one of my best agents, but he was a traitor. Miranda did exactly what I expected of her, and she saved your life in more ways than one. Jacob is a soldier; one of the best. He's never fully trusted me, but he's always been honest about it. You'll be just fine with them... for now." He paused to take a long drag on his cigarette. "As for your last team, that was two years ago, Commander. Most of them have moved on, or their allegiances have changed."

Shepard opened her mouth to disagree, but the Illusive Man cut her off with an imperious wave of his cigarette, this time with a look of impatience. "Alright, Shepard, I'll give you the rundown. Kaidan Alenko is still with the Alliance. Promoted, I believe. His file is surprisingly well classified, and he's undercover somewhere at the moment. Urdnot Wrex returned to Tuchanka and hasn't gone off-world in over a year. He's trying to unite the krogan clans. Tali'Zorah nar Rayya is back with the Migrant Fleet but is off the grid on a clandestine mission. And as for Liara T'Soni, my sources say she's on Illium making inquiries about, and possibly working for, the Shadow Broker. Either way, she can't be trusted."

"What about Garrus Vakarian?"

The Illusive Man closed his eyes for a moment, reigning in his temper. "The turian disappeared a few months after you were declared dead. Even we haven't been able to locate him."

"Okay, I get it. They're not available." Still, she couldn't resist a parting shot. "Is this a volunteer job, or am I being volunteered?"

"You always have a choice, Shepard. This won't work, otherwise. But first, go to Freedom's Progress. Help me find proof that the Reapers are behind the abduction of the colonists. Then speak with the Alliance and come back when you're ready to work with me."

Right, like you'd let how many million credits walk out the door? Not likely. You've got to have a hook somewhere. But before she could throw out a snide remark he reached out and cut the connection and she was back in the darkened room, scanners dropping back into the floor. The door slid open and she stepped back out into the hallway where a series of tiny blue lights illuminated, making a line down the far corridor. It didn't take a genius to figure out their purpose.

The lights led her to a small cafeteria where a steaming plate of food lay waiting for her. There were no other people in attendance, which was perturbing, but the smell of the food made her aware of just how hungry she was—she hadn't had a real meal since… in a long time.

After she finished the lights illuminated once again and led the way to the showers, where she took the opportunity to clean herself up, before following them on to the station's armory. Workbenches lay spread out neatly across the length of the room, each supporting its own supply of weapons and armor. And along the back wall hung what was unmistakably a copy of her armor.

The suit itself was a technological marvel. The innermost layer was a detachable black catsuit made of non-porous ballistic cloth complete with limited temperature control to allow for fighting in most hostile environments, and integrated waste disposal system. The squish skin, as it was known, was not especially comfortable or easy to get into, but the microframe computer that directed its stores of medigel to repair tears and wounds was a lifesaver.

She unzipped the back as far as it would go, pulled off her shirt and shorts, and climbed in. An uncomfortable minute later she considered the rest of her armor. The armor itself had multiple layers as well; the inner layer consisted of a thick weave of fabric armor and kinetic padding which functioned as both a thicker version of her catsuit and a frame on which to mount the outer layer of thick plates of ablative ceramic and kinetic barriers.

The kinetic barriers were the first, outermost line of defense, a system of shields designed to stop anything coming at her dangerously fast, attuned to the hypervelocities of mass-effect weapons. They were vulnerable to slower attacks, however, particularly close-quarter weapons. Having a personal shield wasn't particularly helpful when you had a knife in your stomach. That was where the hardened ceramic came in.

She pulled on the greaves and stomped to get her feet all the way into the heavy boots. Next came the torso section made of thick, interlocking plates. She closed the primary and secondary catches which automatically started the power-up process. Next came the gauntlets which slid up her arms. She was careful to ensure that the gap for her elbows was exactly in place to allow her maximum flexibility. The gauntlets were marked with the traditional N7 red-on-white slash down the right arm.

Next came the shoulder pauldrons, curved shells of more ablative ceramic over kinetic padding, which hooked into the chest plate. Finally, she picked up her breather helmet. Designed for spacewalks, or combat in atmosphere incapacitating to humans, the full helmet sealed seamlessly with the inner layer of heavy fabric armor on her neck. As the powerup finished, the hardsuit helmet lit up with a suite of communication, navigation, and battlefield awareness software which served as both heads-up display and access point to liaise with computer systems outside their own network.

Now that her defenses were in order, it was time for some offense. She turned from the workbench and considered her options. Despite the impressive number of weapons, there was a distinct lack of variety.

Huh. Even terrorists buy in bulk.

She reclaimed an M-3 Predator and placed it on the clip at her right hip. The next table held several submachine pistols, and Shepard picked one up and examined it. Similar to the Predator, the basic Elkoss Combine M-4 Shuriken Machine-pistol fired three-shot bursts designed to overwhelm kinetic barriers. That she placed on her other hip.

The next table over had assault rifles. By far the best model available was the M-8 Avenger, another Elkoss Combine creation. The venerable old rifle still sported the arced look she was familiar with. She set it back down—while the rifle's efficacy was undeniable, it wasn't especially accurate and was one of the loudest weapons she'd ever used. Long range wasn't her style, and you could only carry so many weapons before it slowed you down. The next table over held the M-23 Katana shotgun by Ariake Technologies. Shotguns were about as self-explanatory as a weapon got; get in close and unleash as many pellets as possible. Another keeper.

The final table before the door labeled "Ready Room" held the big guns. In this case, the ML-77 Missile Launcher by Armax Arsenal and the M-100 Grenade Launcher by Elanus Risk Control. Both weapons were semi-automatic thanks to multiple launch tubes on the frame for the missile launcher and a top-mounted barrel magazine for the grenade launcher. The ML-77 had a bigger magazine, while the M-100 had more kick per round. She thought about it for a moment—if she had to bust out this weapon, then she was up close and personal, and in serious trouble. The grenade launcher it is.

The weapon, like all modern weapons, automatically folded in on itself once she took her hand off the grip to allow for easier transportation. The grenade launcher attached nicely to the magnetic clamp on the back of her armor. All in all, it added significantly to the weight she was hauling around, and she was grateful for the assist of the armor's exoskeleton.

Shepard took a moment to look back over the armory. It was like so many others she'd been in on so many planets, ships, and space stations. It seemed like this was her whole life now, killing people. And, recently, being killed.

Was it really that bad? She tried to think back to the last time she'd done something most people would consider "normal."

She'd gone to a tourist destination on Eden Prime on a simple "give me" retrieval assignment... and been assaulted by Geth, had her nominal Spectre superior get killed, and seen a vision of an extinct race. Hmmm. She'd gone to that bar on the Citadel... what was it, Chora's Den?... and gotten into a massive firefight which left half the bar in shambles and bodies all over the place. If they hadn't made her a Spectre for it and thus untouchable, there was no telling how long it would have taken to get through that mountain of paperwork. She'd gone to do a simple fact-checking mission on Feros... and discovered and saved the last surviving queen of the Rachni, an alien race which had fought galactic civilization to a standstill.

She'd set off an improvised nuke, killed countless and saved countless more, destroyed a Reaper bent on galactic destruction, and she couldn't remember the last time she'd gone out for a night on the town with friends. She didn't even remember the last time she'd had friends. There were some definite downsides to her chosen career path. Still, it was better than the streets. There was always that.

She gave herself a little shake, stretched her right arm for the umpteenth time (her shoulder still didn't feel quite right) and headed for the ready room. It was empty, so she marched straight on through to the flight hangar and saw Jacob already inside and ready to go. The shuttle was a little different from what Shepard was used to, and she studied it as she walked to the open cabin.

The body of the thing looked like a pre-mass effect helicopter with separate open-walled cabin and sealed pilot compartment, though without anything as crude as rotors, of course. In their place were two sets of linked thrusters, one on the front facing forwards, and one on the rear. Together they rotated to allow for steering. The lift was provided by a small thruster in the bottom of the craft, though the real workhorse, as with most things these days, was a mass effect field.

She stepped inside and sat opposite her... companion... for the flight. Jacob looked up from his glowing omni-tool at her approach, evidently not surprised to see her there. "I'm glad the Illusive Man convinced you to join us Commander."

Shepard sat on the hard seat with a groan. She never got to ride on the soft civilian models. "I just want to find out what happened to those colonists. I don't trust Cerberus, and I haven't joined anything."

"Noted." He tilted his head slightly to the side, debating. "Do you trust me, Commander?"

"I haven't made up my mind yet."

He nodded. "At least you're giving me a chance. That's more than most former Alliance soldiers would do."

Well, now she was backed into a corner. She hadn't decided because she hadn't cared enough to think about it. Now, just to keep him from thinking she had decided he was worthless, she'd have to put some effort in. Great. She didn't let that train of thought show on her face, however.

"You said you served in the Alliance?" A good start; most people couldn't shut up about their war stories, trying to impress another soldier.

"Five years in total. Stationed all over the galaxy. Even spent a couple of years as a Corsair."

Shepard smiled. Worked every time. "I've never heard of the Corsairs."

"It was an Alliance initiative. They hired independent starship captains and used them for missions that fell outside Alliance jurisdiction. Technically we weren't part of the Alliance. If we ever got caught, they could disavow any knowledge of us. We were supposed to be free from restrictions and rules, but there was still enough red tape to sink a cruiser. I finally just gave up."

Well, if that was true at least he should know what he was doing. "So how did a Black Ops Alliance operative end up with Cerberus?"

Jacob leaned forward on his seat, elbows on his knees. "I guess I just got tired of never making a difference." He stared intently into space as he talked, taking the question seriously. "So much of what we did in the Alliance seemed pointless. I thought things would change after the attack on the Citadel. Humanity was finally invited to join the Council, but nothing changed. Politics, bureaucracy. Same bullshit, different leaders. Cerberus is different."

There was something in his voice. Pride?

"When colonies go missing, we don't commission a team to write a report to figure out what the hell to do about it. We just go and find out."

"Speaking of which, do you know anything about this colony we're going to?"

"It's called Freedom's Progress. Don't know much else about it." He shrugged. "Miranda's going to brief us on the way in."

That effectively ended the conversation. Shepard leaned back and waited for Miranda's arrival. She didn't wait long. A few moments later Miranda strode into view.

It was her first time getting a good look at the Cerberus agent, and she was even more stunning than Shepard remembered, enough that Shepard tried hard not shrivel a little. Shepard, the old Shepard, had been at least moderately attractive, but she had nothing on Miranda. The woman's face was perfectly symmetrical and airbrush smooth, framed by raven hair which curled exactly at her shoulders, with the kind of face that made your self-esteem take a hit as soon as it entered the room. She moved with confidence that emphasized an achingly perfect supermodel body. Oh, and she was a genius, too.

While Jacob remained in his armor from the Lazarus Project, Miranda had changed that ridiculous skintight outfit for more practical hardsuit armor. It was almost as form-fitting as before, but at least there were armored plates over her black base armor to protect her instead of relying entirely on a kinetic barrier. She didn't have a helmet, but a glowing orange ribbon across her eyes which served as both a heads-up display and targeting system for her omni-tool.

She glanced at Shepard then sat by Jacob. No girls-in-a-guy's-world instant friendship there. Without preamble she jumped straight into the briefing as he romnitool lit up into a small holosdispaly of a planet that, strangely, seemed to be sparkling. Meanwhile the pilot, with no command Shepard could see, lifted them off and rocketed them out into space.

"The colony of Freedom's Progress is located near the equator of Allure, the third planet in the Jamea system in Sigurd's Cradle in the Terminus Systems. The planet has gravity similar to that of Earth, but with lower average temperatures. It has two moons, one roughly equivalent to Luna on Earth, and one much smaller but much closer. Like all Terminus colonies, it is not officially an Alliance venture, and the Alliance offers only limited support in the form of bonuses to retiring marines that immigrate and form the core of their local militia, backed by surplussed mechs and security drones sold at cost. Allure's primary industry is cracking ice in the large polar regions to sell water and hydrogen. The planet has a thin zone that is on the cold range of habitable around the equator. The polar ice sparkles in the light from Jameas – hence the name. It is just warm enough to support some agriculture, and arctic animal life from Earth has been seeded. As of the last census two years ago, the local population was 912,810."

She paused and glanced at the small projection of the planet emerging from her omnitool. Her voice turned thoughtful. "Average in almost every way, really. Completely unremarkable." She shook her head and her tone turned businesslike again.

"The colony itself lies a few dozen kilometers from a lake which serves as the primary water source on the largest continent, here," she pointed. As she touched the projection it zoomed in to an overview of the colony itself. "We land here at the small spaceport and move into the heart of the colony. We have the surveillance equipment loaded and ready to go. Any questions?"

Shepard frowned. "Sigurd's Cradle… I don't know much about the Terminus Systems, but isn't that right near the center?"

"Correct," replied Miranda in a tone that would be at home in a lecture hall. "Sigurd's Cradle is only one relay jump from the Omega Nebula, which is the de facto capital of the Terminus Systems thanks to its many mass relays which give it easy access to most of the rest of the Terminus Systems. Sigurd's Cradle is home to turian, human, and asari colonies, though they tend to keep to themselves."

When no more questions were forthcoming, Miranda shut down her omnitool, settled further into her chair, and stared resolutely at the floor.

The next twenty minutes were rather uncomfortable. They all sat patiently on their hard benches, nobody speaking or looking at each other. Shepard was pretty sure they didn't know what to make of her, but that didn't explain why they were so cold with each other. Eventually Jacob fell asleep.

Miranda glanced over at him. "The typical soldier, sleeping whenever he can."

I guess it's officially okay to talk again.

Miranda shook her head and glanced at Shepard. "The Illusive Man is very impressed with you. I'm eager to see if you can live up to his expectations."

Impressed? She hadn't done anything. Maybe Miranda was trying to make up for her cold attitude. Or maybe she was trying to take control of the conversation, of their relationship, to influence the mission. Or maybe Shepard was paranoid. She didn't care about Cerberus, or much else at the moment, but she was not about to cede control to Cerberus of all people. Best to be clear on that from the very beginning. "Fair enough. So long as you don't try to tell me what to do, we shouldn't have any problems."

Miranda's eyes turned hard. "I know who I report to. As long as you don't do anything to betray Cerberus, I'll follow your orders."

Better than nothing. "Look, Miranda, where is this attitude coming from? It isn't helping anything."

"You look, Shepard. I have the utmost respect for your abilities—it's your motivations that concern me. I believe in what Cerberus stands for. Only time will tell if you prove to be an asset or liability to our cause."

Touchy, touchy. Time to try a different topic. "I guess we'll see. You already know everything about me. Why don't you tell me a little about yourself?"

Miranda, of course, went on the defensive. "Worried about my qualifications? I can crush a mech with my biotics or shoot its head off at a hundred yards. Take your pick."

Shepard narrowed her eyes in irritation—not so much at Miranda as at her defensiveness. Old habits were starting to reassert themselves. She needed to understand what made people tick, or she couldn't control the situation. If she couldn't control the situation, she died. She'd thought, briefly, that leaving the streets had left that particular truth behind. The Blitz had taught her differently. Well, what about that coldness between her and Jacob?

"Did you and Jacob train together in the Alliance?"

"No, the Illusive Man recognized my potential and recruited me at a young age."

"How old were you?"

"Old enough to know this was what I wanted."

Great. Okay, no personal life. Work, maybe? She seems like the workaholic type. "What about the Lazarus Project? I'd like to hear about it from the person in charge."

Miranda crossed her arms and leaned back in her seat, though somehow kept her posture perfect. "I wasn't in charge; the Illusive Man was. If I was running the show, I'd have done a few things differently."

"What would you have changed?"

"To start, I would have implanted you with some kind of control chip. But the Illusive Man wouldn't allow it." She grimaced, and her exaggeratedly slow, light tone dripped with mockery. "He was afraid it might affect your personality—alter your character somehow. He wouldn't let us do anything that might limit your potential in any way."

Well, wasn't that a thought. A control chip would let her treat Cerberus like the enemy, even if she couldn't fight it. The Illusive Man knew her too well for that; he'd manipulated her instead. Got her to decide to do it herself, which meant she couldn't fight, couldn't resist. Willing, if hesitant, obedience was far better than angry forced compliance every time. Miranda didn't know her nearly as well as she thought, for all her effort in putting Shepard back together.

"The Illusive Man is taking an incredible risk with you. I just hope his gamble pays off."

Shepard opened her mouth to respond, but Miranda didn't give her the chance. "I know what you're trying to do Shepard. I'm not looking for a friend. Stay focused on the mission."

Well, things were off to a good start.

A/N: As you can see, I've made some changes here. We're going to Freedom's Progress before anything happens there to get to know the people of the colonies, learn a little about why they're out there, and what Cerberus is up to when they're not doing comically evil science projects. And perhaps more meaningful are the changes in Citadel politics. They're hinted at here, but we'll learn more when we get to the Citadel and have a talk with the powers that be about what's going on. I hope you enjoyed! Let me know what you think about these changes.