Chapter Four: The Thing
As soon as the shuttlecraft made touchdown in the hanger deck, Jack popped open the side hatch, leaped out and was half way across the bay even before the remaining members of the team disembarked.
The two dark haired women watched in silence for a moment. Then Shepard spoke, "You're going to need to sort this out. I don't know what it is you two have between you, but I'm not blind, Miranda. She might have buried a few demons back there, but their corpses cast very long shadows."
Miranda turned to the speaker who continued to stare towards the double doors that lead out of the bay. She and Jack had been discreet with the hate sex, hell they even made sure things were kept on the very quiet side, when lust filled moments of passion overtook them. And there had been a lot of those moments, particularly after one or the other and most especially both had been on a mission
"Commander…"
"Let's pretend you're not going to deny there's something between you two. That it has nothing to do with Jack's well-deserved loathing for Cerberus and you being one of TIMmy's foremost loyalist, former or not."
Silence.
Shepard took a step forward, turned and looked at Miranda, her gaze darkened. "What happened down there…was unforgivable." There was a pause. "But then again almost everything Cerberus is involved with is morally bankrupt and more than dubious."
"I know." Then Lawson recognized the pause of breath between them for what it was. An unasked question. One that shouldn't be asked but had to be. "You want to know if I condone what happened down there? If I'll tell you sometimes sacrifices are necessary?"
Shepard gave her a sharp look. "Isn't that the Cerberus byline? 'Sometimes sacrifices are necessary in order to make humanity great again—to be equal with the aliens.'"
In fact, that was precisely what The Illusive Man had told her back during the days when Project Viper was in the works. The project's objective was to develop anti-toxin weaves for hardsuit body-sleeves and simultaneously to create toxic ammo to use against humanities' enemies… more specifically Cerberus's enemies.
The discovery of giant subterranean worms that could burrow under the ground at tremendous speed became the birth-child of Project Viper. The thresher maws were an apex predator. Their venom was powerful enough to cut through the durasteel chassis of a mako. It made for a very effective weapon. One Cerberus saw as very valuable. The question was how to effectively harvest this beautiful commodity.
The answer came with the Alliance. More specifically their marines. Akuze had a thresher maw nest. A breeding ground. Send a distress signal in to the heart of it and watch as the Alliance happily sent in the 'Calvary' to rescue the poor unfortunate souls that cried out in their pain and terror. The maws attacked the marines who had been led into the trap and then the miraculous thing occurred. One of the marines had survived. A corporal named Toombs: his body was flooded with maw venom. Jackpot. Without hesitation Lawson the Project's Lead ordered for Toomb's immediate extraction. Once the terrorized man was in one of the more secure facilities at the Minute Man station Lawson had ordered a battery of tests to be performed.
At the time she had never considered Toombs anything more than 'subject.' It was easier that way. Lawson had pushed down any feelings of guilt that threatened to bubble up into her heart like some necrotic disease. Sacrifice was necessary. The deaths of all those Alliance men and women, what Cerberus scientists did to Toombs, it all had a purpose.
Identifying with subjects as a human or whatever alien was in the labs was a weakness, it clouded one's judgment. Back then there was never a Thing to dog Miranda's heels or haunt her dreams. Instead Lawson busied herself with getting results.
If a single human could survive the venom of a thresher maw why not others? This went beyond antitoxin weaves and chemical ammunition. Lawson presented the notion if Cerberus troopers could be conditioned with treatments of venom they could very possibly become immune to other such toxins. Krogan and by lesser extent vorcha after all could shake off exposure to toxic chemicals and environments with laughable ease.
Dr. Vorschslagg's neo-troopers had been the first to receive the treatments. Of the dozen commandos, nine had survived. Of those nine each were cloned several times over. When the Reapers came Cerberus would be ready with an extended army, the likes of which Earth had not seen since the time of the Roman Empire.
Sacrifices were necessary. Lawson even tried to convince herself that Admiral Kahoku's death had served a purpose. It was only after Shepard gained prominence as a young Lieutenant who had newly earned the Star of Terra had that the Thing started to make its unwanted appearance. It was easy to silence it back then. It became harder and harder each time Commander Shepard rose in power and fame. Now the great Hero of the Skillian Blitz was a Spectre. The first human Spectre. All eyes of the galaxy were now on her, and her actions as the first Spectre of humanity.
As the dark haired N7 swept through the Skyllian Verge and the Attican Traverse, Lawson became even more a loyalist to Cerberus. Shepard was a bloody icon, a woman to admire even if she was leaning towards becoming an alien sympathizer.
Then after the defeat of the Sovereign and the rise of new Project: Caesar which later became known as Lazarus, Lawson started to ask questions of herself, of Cerberus and lastly of her mentor: The Illusive Man. The Thing had grown as larger as a destroyer class warship.
Never more than now was Lawson been haunted by that blasted Thing. And here it was again: with Jack, with what had happened in Teltin. She recalled the words of the Illusive Man echoing in her skull, raw and abrasive. At one-time Lawson had lapped up every syllable her great leader offered as if were ambrosia.
'Terror is the most effective political instrument …Cerberus shall spread terror by the surprise deployment of all our measures. The important thing is the sudden shock of an overwhelming fear of death especially if it comes from the hands of aliens. Humans must rise to dominance in all fields: military, science, information, politics.
'We will seed all infrastructures with our people in order to save humanity, to make it rise above all others. Humans are the babes in the woods, Miranda. We can not afford the luxury of remaining in awe of alien life and the vastness of space. Cerberus must be humanities guardian. What happened at Shanxi—the Skillian Blitz can never happen again.
'Cerberus will be there to insure this. We must have loyalists in our fold to lead all the xenophobic zealots that flock to us in droves. They are chattel, very useful if deployed properly. But they will all need to be herded. We hounds of war will do so.
'We must insure all adhere to the axiom: Obedience breeds discipline. Discipline breeds unity. Unity breeds Power. Power is life. Life is humanity's survival. Survival is Cerberus. Cerberus breeds obedience.'
Cerberus now carried the heritage of being shunned not only by the aliens but the Alliance as well and that had informed their interior society. Scorn had imparted to the members of the dark organization a conviction that progress came only to those who proved themselves not merely capable but predatory. Reaching the top of the food chain required that the bodies of the weak be used as stepping-stones. Once the summit was attained, it was held by seizing whatever resources were available and preventing others from grabbing them-so long as those resources coincided with those of Cerberus or rather The Illusive Man.
Those tenets were frequently offered as explanations as to how and why members of the organization like Lawson, Kia Lang and Rasa had risen so rapidly to the fore of Cerberus domination, whose signature was callousness.
Shepard never had to lead by terror, or fear or horror. She led by heroic will and example alone. Everyone aboard the Normandy would eagerly take point heading into the gates of Hell if Shepard ordered it. That now included Jack. Hell, it even included Miranda. Something Lawson barely managed to admit to herself, that she was now more loyal to Shepard than she had ever been to The Illusive Man.
And right now, after everything that had happened on Pragia, Jack would be a coiled ball of rage for everything or anyone who and anything to do with the double diamond that was Cerberus. And Shepard had just asked the Cheerleader to take point on the way to hell.
Damn.
Well it couldn't be helped, could it? The Normandy was a small ship and unless Miranda wanted to pack up and abandon ship and thus the mission, there was no way to avoid the bald young tattooed woman.
"I don't know what you want me to say to her, Shepard. Apologize for what happened to her…?"
"That would be a start." The N7 cut her off with close scrutiny. "I'd go with that." She said nothing more, nothing more need be said. The order was given and was expected to be obeyed.
Double damn.
ME~ME~ ME~ME~ ME~ME~ ME
Jack slipped through the halls like vaporous cloud. The crew either precognitively sensed her encroaching storm filled mind and made themselves scarce or were otherwise occupied. Either way the corridors were mercifully empty.
Instinct made the young tattooed woman go for her cubby under the stairwell to engineering. At once she came up short and stared; just stared it hadn't occurred to her until now that the exact layout of her cubby was a mirror of her cell back at Teltin.
The bed near the right bulkhead, the crates that made up a make-shift desk…even the crates near the opposing bulkhead were representative of the rest of the furnishings of her former cell.
In a heat of unrepentant impetuous rage, Jack slammed the heel of her combat boot into the crates that made up the 'desk' with a biotically enhanced kick. She hadn't even realized until now just how much she carried that fucking cell with her. She didn't even want to think of how many other places she had called home however temporarily had been clones of her cell.
Fucking cock-sucking Cerberus! Jack screamed her rage. She turned and blazed up the steps two at a time. Out in the corridor she slammed her fist into the button that would summon the lift, entered and with the same fist hit the button that would command the lift to go to the crew quarters.
It took an eternity.
Once Jack got to her destination she marched instead to the port observation deck. She wanted to get blind-fucking drunk. And the only bar aboard Q.O. 's precious warship, if it could be called a bar was nestled in the thief's claimed quarters.
Without preamble of explanation Jack barged in and went directly to the bar. Hardly taken by surprise Kasumi quietly activated her stealth-unit disappeared from view and swiftly and discreetly vacated the lounge.
She moved directly across the corridor to the starboard observation deck. No one was more silent, not even a mouse running on a shag rug than Kasumi when she wanted to go unnoticed. Samara wouldn't mind a guest in the room she had claimed as her quarters. Besides she had her earplugs, omni-tool and one of her favored novels. Yes, she had read the book at least a dozen times over but it was a very good story. Not to mention Kasumi had Kaji's graybox and visor. The thief could easily slip hours away, a whole day and night steeped in the very precious memories of her belated lover.
Unlike Jack, Kasumi didn't simply barge in the matron's (or was she a matriarch?) quarters. The question bugged Kasumi a little bit. She knew Samara was nearly a thousand years old. Shouldn't that make her a matriarch? Kasumi knew that being a matriarch wasn't just a title it was a stage in the asari life cycle. Perhaps it was true then that asari go through their stages of life at their own pace.
Granted for 400 years the Justicar had been preoccupied with hunting down her daughter – the rogue ardat-yakshi thus had not focused her abilities to ascend to the next stage. With a dismissive thought, guess it didn't really matter, all Kasumi knew or rather witnessed even if Samara wasn't a matriarch her biotics were nearly as powerful as one. And maybe being a Justicar was a greater title?
Irregardless Kasumi paid the much older woman respect. "Samara-san, do you mind if I crash here for…well until Jack leaves my quarters?" Out of habit born out of her own heritage she addressed the asari with highest respect.
"Not at all." Samara turned her attention to the thief. As was typical the Justicar had been deep in meditation. So deep that Kasumi wondered if this was how Samara 'slept'. Because the asari never seemed to sleep. At all. there was no evidence of sleeping accoutrements: no pillows, mats, blankets or sheet.
Another part of Kasumi's mind flickered to Kaji's graybox, was Samara's nearly constant meditation a way to delve into memories of a happier time in the Justicar's life, when her daughters were younglings, where her bondmate was still alive. Kasumi understood the need to reconnect to the lost.
"How does she fare?" asked Samara in an extremely rare indulgence of curiosity.
"Who? Jack? Don't know…"
"You hesitate."
A sigh. A moment of thought. Then: "She came back angry, but…her eyes…" another sigh. "were like yours after Shep helped you on Omega. Lost, resolved, knowing there was a finality to it all and not knowing what to do with it. She got to say goodbye to the monster that stalked her ever since she left that hellhole. Sorta like me too, I guess after Shep and I killed that bastard that murdered my Kaji."
Kasumi and Samara traded knowing looks.
"The ending of one's greatest pain can be disorientating and more disconcerting than one has prepared one's soul for." Samara said in a sage's voice sounding more matriarchal. Or rather how Kasumi assumed an asari matriarch should sound. Hell, for all she knew putting Morinth down now allowed the Justicar to ascend to the vaulted title and status of matriarch.
"Yeah." Kasumi said lamely. She took one of the sofas that aligned the far wall. She stretched out and moved to activate the graybox's visor but paused. "I think Shep's gonna have her hands full in the next few hours."
"I gather by the tone of your voice and the inflection of your words you are referring to the connection that lies between Jack and Miranda."
"Well yeah. Come on Samara-san you can't tell me you haven't spotted there is something going on between those two. Other than the gerr-arrgg one's Cerberus Cheerleader and the other's the adolescent psychotic-biotic."
"Perhaps it is best that supposition of relations between our fellow crew members be kept at a minimum."
"You know Samara-san you're no fun." Kasumi playfully stuck out her tongue with a cheerful smile and then activated her visor that would fling her mind into old memories.
Samara smirked at the friendly jib. The Justicar actually indulged in the game of 'what do you see?' It was something she had played even in her youth as a maiden running around with merc guilds. She would look at the public traveling to and fro and make up stores about what she saw. It was a way to pass time and train her observational skills. It was a private indulgence and so far, the only one she thought to share the pastime with was Shepard.
But Shepard had that affect on the people closest to her. She was a tractor beam or more like the gravitational pull of a singularity field. She drew people in and held them there—willingly, gaining their lambent every-present loyalty. Samara could only pray to the Goddess that this affect spread towards the inevitable quarrel that was only cusping on the horizon betwixt the young Miranda and Jack.
ME~ME~ ME~ME~ ME~ME~ ME
Of course Q.O. main stock of booze was mostly asari with a hefty stash of rynol which was nothing short of krogan gut-rot and whatever crap turians and quarians guzzled. But hell the blues knew how to brew their shit. The mead from some weird-ass monastery was strong as hell even if it was very sweet. Not to say Shepard ignored human booze. There was a good stock of brandy, whisky, wines, and beers, but Jack decided to stay with the sweet shit. On a moment of inspiration Jack decided to lace the mead with three shots of honeyed Jack Daniels. It was mostly because of the name.
After five such tankards EDI piped up reminding Jack that the women's restroom was on the starboard side of the ship, Jack promptly told the all-seeing-all-intruding AI to shove a hyper-spanner into her matrix. She slammed down a sixth tankard and that was her undoing.
Biotics allowed Jack to absorb alcohol at greater rates and swifter than norms, but sometimes there was a little too much in her system. Jack dashed from the lounge and barely made it to the head. She didn't care that it was the males or that she had just emptied her gullet in one of the urinals. She glared at a stunned corporal, wiped her mouth with the back of her hand and stomped back out.
The shaking hand of the corporal moved to the urinal Jack had just used to empty her stomach and flushed. His nose wrinkled and he forced himself not to gag in reflex when the glop in the bowl of the urinal didn't go down. It was just his luck. Wordless he moved to the cleaning closet in the head and retrieved the necessary items he'd need to clean the mess. No one appreciated the corporals who guarded the halls of Normandy. He might as well as be wearing a fracking red shirt.
Well that was not entirely true. Every time he paused in his patrols when Shepard came down to the mess, she always nodded at him and returned his salute. A couple of times she even smiled in his direction. As he cleaned every centimeter of the urinal he tried to imagine Shepard smiling at him in appreciation for his efforts. It made things—better. He even imagined Shepard commending him verbally for his efforts and for his discretion for one of the members of her flagship team and he stood just that much taller.
Jack wandered out of the men's head and looked towards the mess; her stomach would not take any sort of grub. She already puked everything she had in her gut in the piss pot in the guy's shitter. At one time the Cheerleader might have claimed the larger XO quarters for herself that was tucked in the corner, but that was now occupied by Scar-Face and Sparks. Lawson had her 'private' quarters located on the shuttle deck. Jack's lips pulled into pernicious grin as she recalled that the quarters were once made into a makeshift brig.
Jack wanted answers. Needed them. Answers that Teltin didn't completely give her. Making a better biotic, a more powerful one…those were hollow answers. Jack needed to know why as much as Aresh wanted to know. The Cheerleader said the place went rogue, but Jack didn't buy it. Those needle men were loyal to TIMmy through and through. Jack wanted the fucking Cheerleader to admit it. Just to say the words.
When she came into the small quarters her face eroded into a mask of acrimony. She looked at the dark-haired Australian with eyes that bore scathing fury and ridicule. Whatever buzz Jack had gained by the rapid consumption of alcohol was waning. Her biotic amps processed the booze swiftly. Come morning she wouldn't even have a hangover.
The Cheerleader had been expecting her. That much was obvious. Jack continued to stare and Miranda continued to pretend the intrusion was insignificant. It was a common dance between them. By acknowledging the fact such visits were actually welcomed was to recognize there was something growing between them that had nothing to do with mutual distrust and loathing. That day had long since past. And neither woman wished to name the day that it had happened.
Miranda glanced at her intruder and tried to construct her features into an expression of indifferent concern. Something that had been expected of her not only by Shepard but strangely by Lawson herself. It was strange to Miri to admit to herself that she was indeed concerned for Jack.
Miranda tried to imagine a day if ever it were to come when she came face to face with her father. What then would she do? And what would come after such an encounter? Miri figured she would be as Jack was now, dazed from a drunken stupor laced with anger, relief and an overwhelming since of what could only be expressed by an 'ahhhhhhhhhhhhggggg!'
"You're beyond drunk." Lawson said crisply.
"Good observational skills Cheerleader. Your Illusive Man teach you that or was it all that super DNA crap Daddy dreariest put into your petri dish?"
The words were deliberately made to provoke Lawson into retaliation. A dozen different words and responses rippled through Miri's mind. Shepard's orders to make things right between her and the ex-con tempered her tone. Answering in kind to Jack's baiting wouldn't help.
"I have my own skill sets, my own talents." Miranda said simply.
Jack smirked. "Yeah I know. Care to put those to use?"
"Not until you brush your teeth."
"Easily done, where's your toothbrush?"
"I'm not going to let you use my tooth brush." Miranda scowled, disgusted at the thought.
"Why not? You can just get a new one from Requisitions."
Miranda offered a tired expression that said: go ahead. "Fine, but you can get me another."
Jack shrugged indifferently. "Fine." She picked up both toothbrush and toothpaste then took the goblet of wine Miranda had been sipping from, dipped the brush into it and started to scrub her teeth.
Miranda had even a more disgusted expression crawl onto her face. When Jack spat back into the goblet she turned away. "Do you have to do that?"
"You wanted clean teeth."
Any surge of heat and passion Miranda felt stirring had all but evaporated. "You didn't come down here for a toss between the sheets. What do you really want?" She pressed for an answer.
There was a deep pain in Jack's chocolate brown eyes. "I want you to say the words, Cheerleader. You know what happened down there, you know what Cerberus did to me. You heard it all, saw it. Admit it. Just say it! Admit what they did was wrong!"
Miranda turned seething. She felt attacked from all angles. She knew the crews feelings about Cerberus, Shepard made it loud and clear about how she felt, and Jack. Of course Jack…had it worse. Guilt and rage rippled through Miranda in equal portions. At war with one another. In the end it was rage that took over the battleground.
"It wasn't Cerberus, not really."
"The hell it wasn't!" Jack snarled.
"You heard what they said down there. They were hiding things from the Illusive Man…"
"Yeah like not getting the results he expected. Say the goddamm words Miri! Say them!" Jack snapped. "Tell me what Cerberus did to me, to all those other kids was wrong!" Jack's body was burning with barely leashed dark energy; it pulsed and surged as a living thing.
Only very rarely had Jack ever uttered her nickname. This had been the first time in months that the soft name passed Jack's lips. The sound of it shocked Miranda.
"What happened to you was terrible, Jack…" She reached out to touch the younger woman on the shoulder in an attempt to calm her down. It only served to anger Jack further.
"Touch me again and I'll put you through the fucking wall, Cheerleader!" The rage overwhelmed Jack. She slammed a small table into the wall barely missing hitting Miranda.
"HEY!"
Both heads turned to see Shepard standing on the threshold of Lawson's quarters. Her own anger ever present, the damned AI must have said something to her or the perv Joker must have called in the single woman Calvary
"What in the hell is going on here?" it was an order.
"I came here wanting her to admit what happened down there was wrong. She wouldn't!" Jack turned to Miranda and then back to Shepard. "She won't admit Cerberus was wrong!"
Miranda turned to pin Jack with a glare. "I don't know what exactly happened down there, but clearly you were a mistake." The innuendo was clear enough.
"Fuck you!" Jack reared back to release a biotic punch but was stopped by Shepard's hand upon her wrist.
"Enough both of you. This ends now! Our enemies are the Collectors, not each other. We work as a team or this won't work. I will not allow the Collectors or Reapers to triumph because my people are locked in squabbling with one another like children."
Shepard ground her teeth against one another: "What went down at Teltin was an abomination, Miranda admitted as much to me. And Jack storming into Miranda's private space like some booze addled thug intent in slamming her into the bulkhead isn't helping, things."
Both women looked away, ashamed and secretly amused at the phrasing of slamming each other into a bulkhead. In the past being slammed up against the bulkhead had helped things, considerably.
Jack shook her head, frustrated. She started to storm out of the quarters but was stopped short by Shepard's hand on her arm. "Jack…you okay?"
"Just fucking dandy. Don't worry so much, I'll be there to kill the bugs for you." She glared at Lawson, "I'll play nice." she ripped her captured arm from the Spectre's grasp and left.
When she had gone Miranda looked to Shepard. "She's unstable."
"Yeah wonder whose fault that is?"
At the N7's sharp tone Lawson closed her eyes, and in that tiny fraction of a moment she heard Jack's raspy voice tell them how she thought the room beyond her cell was the rest of the world. How she pounded and pounded upon the glass, and screamed just to be heard, to have human contact
Shepard shook her head. "I told you to settle things, not to escalate them. All you had to do was to tell her what she needed to hear, what you needed to admit for both your sakes.
A wise man once said that you should never believe a thing simply because you want to believe it. You said it wasn't Cerberus, not really. But we both know that isn't true."
Miranda gave Shepard a quizzical look, wondering who the Commander had been quoting.
"I know…"
"Then why didn't you simply tell Jack that?"
There was no answer.
Shepard looked disgusted. "You know there will come a time Miranda, when your loyalty will be put to the test. Sooner or later you're going to have to choose which of the two commanders you follow; you can't be loyal to both of us."
"My loyalty to the mission or to you hasn't wavered, Commander." Lawson admitted softly.
"Hmm…." Shepard cocked her head to the side in such a slight way its meaning could not be missed. It said prove it. Prove you are not loyal to Cerberus. She said nothing as she turned and departed the makeshift quarters.
When she had gone Miranda looked up to the ceiling of the shuttle deck, her eyes automatically following the conduits, power cables and piping. Shepard's unvoiced challenge caused the Thing to rise.
There was full truth in Miranda's statement that she was loyal to the mission to stop the Collectors and to go to the Omega Four Relay. She was loyal to Shepard if for nothing that the N7 Commander had saved Oriana and insured that her adoptive parents were also safe and the family whole.
But then there was The Illusive Man. He had given Miranda purpose, a cause. Yes he remarked on her superior genetics; never let her forget that she was humanity's perfection. But with each reminder Miranda felt lessened. She had never gained her superiority honestly, not like Shepard; she had been given it by her father's tapering with genetics.
Shepard never commented on her genetics or her perfection past that first conversation. In the Spectre's presence Lawson never felt diminished that she was more than her engineered genetics. And when she had gained the disapproval of Commander it was a grievous wound. In the very rare instances when she had gained the same thing from The Illusive Man, Miranda had made reparations as well as could e but she never felt as if were emotionally bleeding out as she did today.
Looking at the wine glass with her toothbrush still jutting out of it like some bizarre swizzle stick Miranda wrinkled her nose in digest. Her disfavor was not reserved simply for the befouled toothbrush and wasted wine but for the moments that had followed the borrowing of the toothbrush.
Jack had been in a hell of a state when she intruded on Miranda's peace. No doubt the ex-con had been extremely drunk before she had vomited all the booze she had indulged in. Hopefully the younger woman had made it to the woman's head before her stomach had emptied
The past indeed had cast very long shadows. Made darker still by the needless argument.
Why hadn't I simply told Jack what she wanted to hear? Why did it feel like such a betrayal to say those words, to even think it? Her hand raised to her collar-bone and froze.
'We must insure all adhere to the axiom: Obedience breeds discipline. Discipline breeds unity. Unity breeds Power. Power is life. Life is humanity's survival. Survival is Cerberus. Cerberus breeds obedience'
Just as Jack had been conditioned by Cerberus, so had Miranda.
Cerberus was wrong. To think of the words felt like burning acid in the mind.
"Cerberus was wrong." To say the words felt like bile in the throat.
"Cerberus is wrong." to mean the words felt like freedom.
ME~ME~ ME~ME~ ME~ME~ ME
Marginally mollified that at least the two women were no longer at each other throats and were willing to see the mission out Shepard made her way through the ship heading for solace her quarters offered. Indeed, the N7 reminded herself that despite the lack of a congenial outcome of the confrontation she still held the loyalty of both women.
It was so hard to fathom a life in a cell for sixteen years. Let out only to be experimented on by the 'needle men' in the 'bad place' or pushed to attack other kids. Taught to kill and award if she did, punished if she didn't. Sixteen years of that, only to escape, captured once again, gang raped and sold into slavery.
Jack suffered betrayal after betrayal. Was it any wonder the young woman wasn't in a very good head space? Of course, she needed to hear that the people that did this to her were wrong, that she had some sort of validation. Shepard giving Jack a since of true purpose is one thing but that wasn't what had been needed. Now…
Well now not much could be done now that Miranda had denied Jack even the simplest of balms against the grievous wounds inflicted upon her by the monster cooperation. For now, at the very least there was a tentative peace between both women. It would have to be enough.
Without realizing she had arrived, Shepard was standing before the large bay door to the Captain's loft. There was one last mission to be complete before the Normandy could even dare to venture beyond the Omega Four Relay. They still needed the Reaper IFF. But boarding a derelict Reaper wasn't something Shepard was too keen on.
Admiralty Shepard had tried of thinking of ways to eschew going to the Thorne system of and the brown dwarf Mnemosyne. But dedication to duty prevented any such indulgence in so tempting dereliction. Not even the missions of pursuing the lost Dr. Chandana could be used as an excuse. They had been completed. Shepard was looking at the proof of the completed Firestorm missions.
The orb on the table that responded only to her touch had gone from several meters in diameter to the size of a miniature basketball—the sort used in gaming arcades. Proof Shepard idly thought that the Prothean beacons truly had changed her brain chemistry. There was a gentle hum to the chrome orb when ever Shepard touched it, a sort of 'whaahoome' sound emanated.
It was not unlike the orb found on Eletania in the Hercules System in the Attican Beta cluster. That lead Shepard to think of Shi'ara in another light, not the fact that yes Shepard had had sex with the woman but the fact that the Consort had some strange connection to Liara's creation. Of course, Matriarch Aethyta was the dominating siring parent in Liara's conception but still Sha'ira had been present during the melding.
Liara and Aethyta both persisted in claiming that Aethyta was Liara's 'father' and not Shi'ara who was only there to as the matriarch put it enjoy the ride. Who was Shepard to argue? It wasn't like asari paternity could be proven or disproved irregardless.
Not like the Commander's own paternity. That was yet another headache and one Sam was more than happy to ignore, and often medicate by indulging in the original draft of whiskey. Something she was going for right at this very moment. It had been a long day. She cracked the small plastic tray of tiny ice cubes she had withdrawn from the freezer drawer in the mini-fridge and plopped them one by one into the glass.
In many ways Sam thought it a relief not to be genetically linked to retired Major John Sheppard. She poured the booze from a crystal decanter into a hand-blown glass snifter and listened as the ice clinked against the sides. She always loved that sound.
John never wanted kids, hated them in fact. He barely tolerated his freak 'daughter' (guess its really step-daughter, Sam added as a bitter after thought) as it was. Hell, the bastard wanted to get rid of her the first moment Sam's biotic abilities manifested.
The hand that was reaching for the glass froze. Her mind with distorted memories surfaced. There were snatches of an overheard conversation after a massive biotic flare-up when she had just turned thirteen. Ever since she could remember Mom and John (he had forbidden her from calling him Dad or Daddy when she became seven. It was either Sir or John) were always bickering -mostly about her and mostly especially about Sam's biotics.
"….they have schools, places that can deal with this sickness," John Sheppard said.
"It isn't some goddamn sickness John. She's a biotic. It isn't her fault. Stop treating her as if it is. And stop blaming me."
"Biotics is a sickness Hannah! She isn't normal…she will never be normal! She IS a sickness. Hell, the little freak can't even be a normal in other ways. I know she's a fucking dyke."
Sam winced when she heard the slap. She knew her mother had backhanded John. It took a lot to piss her mom off that much; Sam had only seen her strike a batarian like that once when they were on a space station.
"You say anything like that, think anything like that again Jonathan Sheppard and I swear to my ancestors' spirits we're through," Hannah snarled. "I swear it!"
"Then maybe we should be Hannah. I didn't sign on for the long term, anyway. And maybe Hackett should be here and not me. I told you I never wanted a brat. I'd go along with the charade of our 'marriage' as long as there were no kids. Then you come along with a belly full of kid and top of that she turns out to be a freak. I did the noble thing and let it slide, let people think I squirted her into you. She's Hackett's blood not mine."
"Hate it or not but you're the only father she knows, John."
"Not by choice! I only did that to save all our fucking reps, yours, Hackett's and mine. Don't you go flaunting 'responsibility' at me woman. I have no responsibility to the kid! None!"
"No, you don't. I never forced you to, never even asked you to. In truth, I really didn't want you to. You could have walked, let people believe I stepped out on you, or better yet Sammy was made in a Petri-dish. But you chose to stay. You chose. Remember that part."
He took a deep sigh. "Maybe you're right; get her the amps. But you know I'm right as well. We can't keep hiding this thing that's wrong with her. You want me involved, because the kid thinks I'm her dad? Fine. Then I vote, we need to send her away to one of those institutions. They have this program called BAaT…"
"Brain camp? You do know it's run by turians? No, I won't send my Sammy there. Not only no, but hell no. No turian will get their talons on my little girl. Do you think for one moment they won't do something to our children because of the war? If you don't then you're a fool." Hannah's voice became dangerously low.
"Then there are other choices. Han, be reasonable and hear me out. I was approached by an officer from the Cerberus project. He somehow knew about the kid's powers. He said there is a special program for kids like her. They're looking for biotic kids." he suggested. "They are more than willing to take the kid. He said she could go under a special scholarship; we wouldn't even have to pay for it. Plus, no alien interference. It's for the kid's own good. Way I see it, its win-win."
"Cerberus? That's a worse idea than Brain Camp! What in the hell do a bunch of radical thinking xenophobes want with biotic children anyway? I may not trust the turians fully but I won't let those Cerberus assholes touch my Sam. No one takes my daughter from me, John. No one!"
"Then I'm done, Hannah. With all of it. I'll get a transfer—somewhere planet-side. Far from any spaceport you might dock with. I doubt Hackett will have any issue with it. He'll be glade to be rid of me just like he was with Zabaleta. And because I'm so goddamned deep in this shit now until the kid's eighteen as far as the Alliance Brass is concerned we're only separated because of work assignments. I sure as hell don't want my pay-packet to be docked for child-support for a fucking kid that ain't mine."
"Agreed. Until the transfer comes through I suggest you take furlough."
Sam's mind reeled as it came hurling back to the present with the sudden force of a biotic slam. She had been thirteen during that moment in her past. Had John had his way and sent her away to the Teltin facility, would she then been pitted against Jack. The younger woman was already there, granted she was all of five but still the she was the favored subject. Sam would have been nothing more than fodder used to increase Jack's power, just like all the others had been, others like Aresh.
How strange fate turns its wheels. Instead of becoming a victim of Cerberus or even of 'Brain Camp', Mom had gotten a private tutor from the Asari Republic As it turned out Sam's teacher came from none other than Matriarch Benezia T'Soni's own bastion. Fate is indeed a queer thing.
Sam did two things. She knocked back the drink in one gulp then slammed her eyes shut as a shiver of the booze's potency washed over her. By three she was ready to confront her mother. Then thought better of it. Instead she slammed three whiskies down hard and fast more until her mind rendered everything into very simple terms of putting more stuff in the thing that holds more stuff, and slammed down three more.
Then the room spun in topsy-turvy circles Sam landed face-first on her bed and decided to fuck the Thing. It hadn't been imported for all these years, it wasn't important now. Mom was mom Sam loved and respected her. Ma always made Sam feel amazing, that she could do anything. And in that moment Sam wanted to be that for her daughters. To make them feel amazing, wonderful—that she could do anything. Be anything.
Hackett well he was the Admiral whom she admired most. That didn't change. Besides thinking of Hackett as her Admiral rather than Dad …well her brain didn't fathom Dad. She never actually had one. Not really. Dad was just a made-up word.
Sam rolled over and looked up at the ceiling porthole watching the stars fly by in ribbons of white light. Looking out at the void Sam decided two things. Hindsight was only there to help you move forward. And people, well people don't change no matter what age or time they're born in only their version of the past does.
And Sam decided her version of the past was fine just as it was. John Sheppard wanted a transfer because his 'daughter' was a biotic freak. Ma had a lot of late night staff meetings with Hackett because that's because what CO's did with their XO's. Nuff said. Past was just fucking fine where it was. Don't go stirring up shit that doesn't need to be stirred up.
She'd be the Dad to her daughter, Mamma, Ma, Arda, Ada… She would be that person. Hackett, John Sheppard…fuck'em both, she'd show both men what being a Dad was. She'd show them how it was done! She'd show them!
Her call when it was made was to her wife.
She had to tell her babies that they were amazing, they were remarkable. And that she was proud of them, so very proud. And most importantly that she loved them. She was their Dad and goddess damned proud having the privilege of being so.