She couldn't quite place the sound at first. She'd been running through a long, metallic grey corridor that seemed to shrink and press down around her the farther she went. There'd been a fight, she remembered that much. She was bleeding a little, but the wound wasn't too serious. She couldn't seem to feel it at all. Some distance up ahead, through the gloom, there was a body on the ground. Green and broken. She looked upon the dead man and something shifted in her chest. Her heart? Then she couldn't move anymore, and the shadow enveloped her. A hot and sour wind stung her neck like a dragon threatening to torch her with its breath.
But then the sound. Distant at first, then becoming stronger. Everything went cloudy and the dread she'd been feeling began to fall away.
With her eyes still shut, she reached across the nightstand and slapped the little clock that had dragged her from the all-too-familiar dream. The urgent, pulsing alarm fell silent and her head sank back into the pillow, her mind teetering on the edge of consciousness.
Miranda rested there for a while, listening to the ambient sounds of her bedroom, resisting the urge to drift back to sleep but knowing what was waiting for her if she did. Death. Sorrow. Regret.
She drew in a long breath through her nose and slowly blinked her eyes open. Giving a little sigh, she gazed up at the smooth, high ceiling of the bedroom and pushed the fragments of the dream from her mind.
She rolled onto her side, the synthetic silk sheets clinging to her body, and draped an arm over Shepard's chest. He was still sleeping soundly, unmoved by something as trivial as a bedside alarm clock. If it had been the alert klaxon on board the Normandy he'd have bolted up even before her. But the latest emergency had passed. They were on the Citadel now. Safe.
Miranda watched him sleep for another few moments, her lips gently brushing against his shoulder. Then she extracted herself from the tangle of covers, sat up on one side of the bed and stretched her arms over her head. She rose to her feet and wandered over to the big floor-to-ceiling windows that made up the entire western wall of the flat.
"Open twenty-five percent," she said softly. The shades built into the panes of ballistic-resistant glass shifted on their horizontal axis and light from the surrounding Silversun Strip streamed in. Vibrant neon shades of pink and blue painted shifting, dancing shapes on the wall and ceiling behind her, framing her silhouette. It was the early morning cycle on the station, but the relative hour of the day made little difference here. The streets and concourses a few floors below her window were crowded as ever. The Citadel, more than any other deep-space station, never truly slept, especially here on the Strip.
Silversun was the beating heart of Tayseri Ward's upscale residence and entertainment midtown district. And not even an intergalactic war or the recent Cerberus assault could significantly disrupt the rhythm of the place. High-end boutiques, ultra-exclusive clubs and casinos, and restaurants that demanded reservations months in advance dotted The Strip. It had long been a prime location for the galaxy's wealthy and powerful to gather. It still was, but now soldiers on leave from every spacefaring species imaginable had found their way here as well, rubbing shoulders with the elites and seeking some small respite from the war.
It was The Strip's exclusivity that had been the primary draw when Miranda had originally leased her flat in Tiberius Towers all those years ago. Back then, when she'd been dedicated to advancing the Illusive Man's agenda, there was no better place to develop sources and keep tabs on her marks. But all that was in the past. Now, the apartment was simply a comfortable spot for her and Shepard to call home, however temporarily that might be.
Fleet Command hadn't shared her fondness for the arrangement. Ever since news of Shepard's relationship with Miranda had broken, the Alliance Public Relations division had been left scrambling, trying in vain to contain the scandal. Before, the Normandy's classified mission status in one far-flung corner of space or another had helped to keep the story somewhat in the abstract. But now the advanced frigate was in dry dock at the Citadel fleet yard, technicians busy repairing battle damage sustained from the action near Tuchanka as well as finally completing the refits the Reaper invasion of Sol had cut short. That meant the crew had an extended reprieve from the war's front lines, enjoying the relative luxury of temporary posts on the massive space station. It also meant Shepard and Miranda were stationary, so to speak, and subject to the unforgiving spotlight of the interstellar media.
The Alliance Navy would have greatly preferred to have maintained some measure of containment of the situation by having Shepard and Miranda accept their assigned quarters in the Citadel's human military complex. At the very least, within the security zone, the Fleet PR people could control access to the couple while they were on compound grounds. But living in the Alliances' drab, utilitarian barracks was a non-starter for Miranda. After one quick look, she'd politely declined the tiny room and its communal bath facilities located on a floor reserved for new inductees and enlisted personnel. Despite her official rank, the military clearly had little interest in allowing the infamous Operative Lawson to mingle freely with other command-level officers.
It didn't really bother Miranda. She never had any intention of living among Alliance soldiers and sailors outside of the Normandy. And she had very little interest in the grudges and pettiness of rear echelon staff officers and clerks. She was happy to allow them their imagined victory.
As a Fleet captain, Shepard had been afforded far superior accommodations on base. His rooms were nearly as spacious as his quarters on Normandy, complete with a private bathroom and modest workspace. But, except for special allowances granted to married soldiers, navy regs strictly forbid the cohabitation of couples in the barracks. But again, that hadn't been much of a dilemma for Miranda. She'd simply flashed a sardonic grin and explained to Shepard that he was free to spend his evenings wherever he chose, but if he cared to continue sharing a bed with her, he could find her in her private residence in Tayseri Ward.
He hadn't spent a single night in his official quarters since their return to the Citadel.
Gazing down at the throngs of people moving along the Strip, Miranda marveled at their resiliency. Some saw it as something else. A willful ignorance in the face of an ominous future? But she'd spent enough time on the Citadel to know better. Still, it had only been five weeks since Cerberus combat mechs and mercenaries prowled the adjacent neighborhoods, slaughtering anyone they came across. This apparent return to normalcy might seem a bit jarring, but, more than ever, people needed something normal to cling to.
What everyone was now calling the Second Battle of the Citadel had lasted nearly three full days, costing the lives of more than two thousand civilians and wrecking whole swathes of the station's infrastructure. Residence towers, businesses, government offices, port and warehouse facilities were all hit hard. Most every corner of the immense station had been impacted in some way or another by the highly coordinated attack.
The loss of civilian lives and destruction of property was bad. The blow to C-Sec and other first responders had been staggering. The Citadel's law enforcement organization lost almost six thousand of its constables during the battle. From the outset, the relatively vulnerable officers were priority targets for the Rampart Mechs Cerberus deployed on the station. The mechs, equipped with advanced armor and shields and a lethal assortment of weaponry had easily overwhelmed the surprised C-Sec forces. Local substations along with the central police headquarters were all hit early. Even the private residences of a handful of senior officers were targets for assassination units and merc bands.
The people Shepard and Ashley Williams had led during the resistance hadn't come away unscathed either.
Thane was gone. So too was Corporal Hincapie from the Normandy's embarked marine detachment, killed while Garrus and Vega's squad fought to secure the Alliance Naval Dockyard. Two marines from Ashley's group died late on the first day of fighting, Privates Hardy and Moskowitz. Sergeant Westmoreland, Lieutenant Vega, and Kasumi had all suffered significant injuries but would recover.
After the fight at the Council Archives, Miranda logged another eleven hours-straight behind the stick of her Dragonfly with only a couple of short breaks to refuel and rearm mixed in. It had been a grueling day, one of the hardest of her life. But it was the sort of extreme, physically demanding effort her genetically engineered body and mind had been designed to endure. Shepard, Ashley and the others on the ground had had it even worse, consistently outgunned by a hostile force that had been building and planning toward the moment for many months. Eventually, C-Sec response teams rallied under Commander Bailey's leadership, joined by a handful of Spectre agents and private security contractors. Once their charges were safely shut away within emergency bunkers, the bulk of the Turian and Salarian Councilors' personal guard details joined in the fray. Together with the Normandy's crew, they'd managed to hold the line long enough for reinforcements to arrive.
Just under half a day after the Normandy's teams had set foot on the station, Rear Admiral Navarro's Jon Grissom battlegroup stormed through one of the local relays and began asserting its will. Cutoff from a quick escape route, the collaborating salarian warships immediately turned tail and fled out into deep space. The handful of human vessels Kaneda had left to guard the station's approach were thrown into disarray. Fortunately, the command crews of those particular ships had been ignorant of the admiral's betrayal and his alliance with Cerberus. Once they realized what was really happening on the station, they'd quickly surrendered to Navarro's authority. Most of those men and women would still face a reckoning for following illegal orders. Tribunals would be convened, and careers dismantled. But no further blood was spilled in the space immediately around the Citadel.
It was a small sliver of good fortune for the Alliance on an otherwise disastrous day. If Kaneda had managed to crew those human warships with Cerberus agents and sympathizers, the fighting wouldn't have been contained to the station's interior. Either way, the overall outcome was never in question. A few outdated frigates and destroyers posed little threat to the Grissom's massive arsenal. But a firefight in Citadel local space between human starships would have been an exceedingly ugly affair.
Farther out along the outer reaches of the nebula, the good news came to an abrupt halt.
By the time Captain Dah and the Dunkirk arrived at the site of the falsified Reaper signal, she found little more than the wrecked hulls of half a dozen turian ships and a handful of escape pods. Every Human Alliance warship under Admiral Kaneda's command was gone, along with the Cerberus gear and ships used to lure the Fleet into the trap. Nine precious Alliance warships had vanished, hijacked by Cerberus, including the priceless dreadnought Elbrus.
Miranda kept watch on the activity down on the strip for a little while longer, anonymous to the outside world through her flat's one-way glass, letting her mind drift awhile before focusing on the day ahead. She inhaled deeply, wrapping her arms around her torso, hugging herself, and then glanced over her shoulder toward the bed.
Shepard had come in late again the previous night, long after she'd already turned in. It was like that almost every day since arriving back on the Citadel. They shared this comfortable, near-luxurious living space, but their individual responsibilities and the demands on their time usually meant they had very little left over to spend together. The arrangement was familiar. It had been much the same on the Normandy where most of the time they'd shared physically near one another had been while on duty in the CIC. The intimacy they enjoyed had more to do with the dramatically confined space of the ship than with the precious few hours they spent locked away inside the captain's quarters.
But she wasn't complaining. Other actively serving military couples would have killed for the kind of time she and Shepard had together on the Normandy.
She smiled weakly at that thought. Was that what we are now? A military couple.
As effortlessly as she'd stepped back into the role of Shepard's XO on Normandy, and as quickly as she'd gained the respect of the Alliance sailors she commanded, she couldn't quite get herself there. The disciplined, formal structure of the Navy suited her nature, but she still didn't consider herself a true member of the community. She'd worked against the Alliance's interests for far too long. A hastily given battlefield commission and a brief stint as executive officer to her lover's command wouldn't be nearly enough to wash her Cerberus past away.
She was an imposter. Her provisional rank of Major remained, but she knew the Joint Chiefs viewed her as little more than a reluctantly tolerated novelty who owed her status almost entirely to Shepard and a few well-placed allies. She was a necessary evil to endure, a tool useful only in a galaxy inhabited by demons and monsters. By Reapers.
Miranda turned and made her way to the bathroom, stripping off her underwear and tossing the garments in the hamper. A few moments later, the hot water was flowing in the oversized shower and steam began to fill the space. She stepped under the hot water, her mind already beginning to feel burdened with what awaited her beyond her flat's walls.
Active combat operations in the Serpent Nebula were behind them now, at least for the time being. Life across the Citadel had stabilized, settling back into a predictable rhythm. The Silversun Strip embodied the superficial shift to normalcy as well as anywhere. There were other districts scattered throughout the station that felt like their own little islands amid the chaos. But no other place felt quite so garish and extravagant than the neighborhoods surrounding Miranda's building.
But just beyond Silversun's borders, there was no mistaking that the Citadel was a far different place than it had been before the Reapers arrived in the galaxy.
Thousands of refugees were arriving every day, testing the station's capacity to feed and care for them all. Most were housed in vast emergency shelters spread out among half a dozen auxiliary dock and cargo levels. Human, turian, asari, salarian, batarian, and a handful of other species crowded together, all sharing the common experience of having fled from the Reapers as their homes were obliterated.
The evidence of the Cerberus attack was still present as well. In every ward and across much of the Presidium, walls pockmarked with bullet holes and scorched by explosives remained. Maintenance crews were busy day and night, attending to the hundreds of business storefronts, warehouse facilities and private residences destroyed during the fighting. Even the Keepers seemed daunted by the task ahead of them. Weeks after the catastrophe, funeral services were still being held. The station was as crowded as it had ever been but many of its inhabitants now seemed to be going about their lives in a daze, reeling from what had occurred there.
Nearly as jarring as the collective trauma the population had sustained was how suddenly and dramatically the political hierarchy had been altered. Despite Udina's complicity, the Cerberus plot had failed to tear the Human-Turian-Krogan alliance apart or to alienate the salarians from the rest of the galaxy. The situation they all faced was too desperate. But the abandonment of the station by Councilor Tevos and the rest of the Thessian-based asari government had been a seismic shift in the station's traditional leadership structure.
The resource drain alone the asari government's retreat from Citadel space had created was a massive problem. The Alliance and Hierarchy had already been struggling to address the extreme shortage of technical and command specialists the war had created when the asari pulled their best people out. Now, the human and turian administrations were left desperate to fill some of the most critical posts on the station. It was a situation that left people like Miranda, checkered past an all, in high demand.
With her vast array of abilities and experience, Miranda had had her pick of several desirable positions in humanity's provisional government. Or, she could have chosen to remain among the Navy, accepting the XO post aboard the Boudicca Captain Dah had offered. Put simply, she had options. But the Normandy was no longer one of them. After seeing to the initial phase of the frigate's repairs and upgrades, Miranda officially transitioned the post to an extremely eager Lieutenant Commander Ashley Williams.
Stepping away from the Normandy had been her choice, convincing herself that remaining would continue to chip away at Shepard's support among the Alliance's military command network. She may have been a coveted human asset during a time of unprecedented crisis, but there were still plenty of Shepard's superiors at Fleet who'd happily see her thrown out an airlock. By staying, she'd exasperate the lingering doubts those commanders had about him. She couldn't allow that. And in truth, her talents had been desperately needed elsewhere. But in the end, surrendering her place on the ship and among its crew had been more difficult than she'd anticipated.
Still, there was little question that Ashley had been the right choice to succeed her. She'd been originally tapped for the post by Admiral Anderson and, at the outbreak of the war, had been training for the command for more than a year. The political collateral Shepard gained by bringing her back was nothing to scoff at either.
But even though Miranda and Ashley were finally pulling on the rope in the same direction, bitter rivalries didn't die overnight. Regardless of the grudging mutual respect they now shared, their relationship would likely continue to be a frosty one. They'd simply stood on opposing sides of a conflict for far too long.
It was all perfectly fine by Miranda. She wasn't looking for another friend. But Williams represented something else as for her well—a blindingly bright flare to call attention to all the issues her presence close to Shepard created. In fact, it didn't take much of a leap of imagination to recognize Williams as exactly the sort of woman Shepard ought to be matched with.
The younger officer was intelligent, strong, beautiful, and fiercely ambitious. She also got bonus points for a traditional military pedigree and for lacking any sort of significant personal baggage. For instance, she'd never been labeled a terrorist or enemy of the state.
The Alliance could have had a field day producing all sorts of inspiring recruitment imagery built around Williams and Shepard. Humanity's greatest soldier alongside the plucky, attractive Marine he'd personally rescued on Eden Prime. Miranda could picture it all in vivid detail—the two of them clad in sleek, gleaming armor, Ashley striking a vaguely provocative but aggressive pose next to Shepard, gazing up at him doe-eyed with a rifle in hand.
She made an amused little sound at the absurd thought while she massaged shampoo into her long, raven-black hair.
As it turned out, Miranda and Shepard were having no trouble at all capturing the media's imagination. Isolated and unreachable while out among the stars on board the Normandy, the rumors of their relationship hadn't amounted to much more than a minor curiosity for a few tabloid outlets. But after their rather dramatic return to the Citadel, it had taken only a few days for the confirmation that the two were romantically involved to explode into a major scandal.
To say that the people at Alliance Fleet Command were a tad bit irritated by the whole situation was putting it mildly. Instead of recruitment-drive-inspiring narratives dreamt up by overly ambitious PR specialists, they were in full damage-control mode as stories of the romance between humanity's greatest living hero and an infamous former Cerberus operative played out on the nightly vids.
Too bloody bad for you, Miranda thought bitterly.
She smiled at the sound of Shepard stepping into the shower behind her and began squeezing the shampoo from her hair. "Good morning, Captain Sleepy Head," Miranda teased. "I was beginning to consider a biotic push to get you out of that bed." Then his hands were at her sides, gently tracing the contours of her body.
"No need for violence, Major Lawson," he said. "Seems like the morning's all I'll have with you and I don't aim to waste it."
"Wise decision," she said, leaning back into his chest and taking his hands from her hips, drawing his arms around her. Her skin tingled under his touch, vanquishing all those irritating thoughts of Ashley Williams, tabloid journalists, and red-faced fleet commanders. At that moment, she decided she had no more time to worry over any of it.
Miranda knew her place in Shepard's life was a godsend for the tabloids and a minor emergency for the Alliance. But those were all trivial issues as far as she was concerned. She was finished apologizing for who she was and the things she'd done. She might be ready to swallow her pride in order to do what she thought was best for him, but that didn't change the fact that he had chosen her, that he loved her. She was worthy of that. Of that much, she had no more doubts.
Miranda cursed and yanked her singed finger away from the skillet and plunged it into her mouth. She knew her way around her own kitchen well enough, but cooking wasn't among the skills she considered herself an expert.
But nobody was perfect.
Between the two of them, either Miranda or Shepard usually attempted to pull together some kind of simple meal whenever they had the opportunity. Today, she had set about the task of making breakfast. Unfortunately, even with state-of-the-art kitchen appliances and cookware, she rarely ended up producing anything she considered better than merely edible.
At least the tea was good.
A minute later, Shepard came trotting down the stairs, barefoot and only half-dressed in his uniform.
"That smells… Interesting," he said with a grin, eyeing the scramble concoction Miranda had whipped up.
"Careful, mister," Miranda warned.
He put his hands up in mock surrender before fetching a mug from the cabinet and pouring a steaming cup of coffee. He walked closer to Miranda, putting his free arm around her waist and pulling her body in close to his. "Just giving you a hard time," he said, planting a kiss on the side of her neck.
"I thought we'd finished with all that upstairs," she said, laughing softly at her own bad joke. Then she spun around in his arms, kissed him on the lips, and pushed him gently away. "Now, try to choke some of this down and make me feel better," reaching for the plate she'd prepared for him and putting it down on the big kitchen island where they usually shared meals.
"Aye, aye, ma'am," he said and took a seat on one of the stools arranged around the island, tossing his Alliance-issued PDA haphazardly onto the countertop surface.
They sat together and chatted for a few minutes, Shepard wolfing down breakfast like a good soldier while Miranda mostly just sipped her tea and picked at her food. The vid screen set into the wall was tuned to the daily Alliance News Network feeds with the volume turned way down. Much like every other day, the coverage was wall-to-wall reporting from war zones all over the galaxy.
Shepard's PDA chirped and vibrated with a new message at the precise moment his subdermal Omni-tool node pulsed. He stuck another spoonful of food into his mouth and reached for the little device, scrutinizing the new message while he chewed deliberately.
"Orders," he said after a moment. "Normandy's deploying in thirty-six hours."
"Where to?" Miranda said tightly.
"No details yet," he said. "This is just the initial alert to expedite final provisioning and recall any crewmembers still on leave. But everything on my schedule for today just got dropped. They're bringing in every Fleet command officer in the region for a briefing at ANCOC at 0930 Zulu."
"That doesn't give you too much time. Are you still going to stop by the port to see the Normandy before you go?"
"Yeah, I think so. I can collect Ashley while I'm there." He furrowed his brow, cycling through several screens on his PDA, before firing off a message to his XO and department heads he'd pre-written and saved for the occasion three weeks ago.
Shepard glanced up from the little screen and studied Miranda's face for a few moments. Her expression was neutral, her demeanor shifting instantly to business. She had her guard up now, her mind busy processing the news. It was inevitable that the Normandy would deploy again sooner or later—without her—but the knowledge it was coming didn't necessarily dull the sting.
Shepard opened his mouth to say something else when the entryway chime sounded through the apartment's overhead speakers, announcing a visitor outside the door. He glanced toward the hallway and frowned. "You expecting someone?"
Miranda shook her head. "No," she said and glanced at the clock on the wall. "But you've got less than ninety minutes before that briefing and you still need to finish getting dressed. I'll see to the door. You get back upstairs and make yourself presentable."
"Copy that," Shepard said with an affectionate grin, rising from his seat and planting a kiss on Miranda's lips before jogging back up the steps to their bedroom.
Miranda watched him ascend the stairs, her jaw clenched tight, and then took his plate from the counter. She dumped the remains of Shepard's half-eaten breakfast into the recycler and dropped the plate in the sink with a little more force than was necessary. She took a moment to rinse her hands under the faucet before drying them off with a towel and proceeding over to the entryway. Glancing at the surveillance vid feed displayed near the door, she gave a little sigh at the image of the woman standing outside. She tapped the panel to grant access.
"Diana Allers," Miranda said. "We weren't expecting you. If you're here for an interview you know those all need to be cleared through Alliance PR now."
"No, no," Diana Allers said. "Nothing like that. And I'm sorry to drop in like this first thing in the morning. It's just that I only have a few hours before I head back off station and this was the only chance I was going to have to see you and Shepard before I left." She peered over Miranda's shoulder. "He hasn't left already, has he?"
"No, he's still here," Miranda said, holding the other woman's expectant gaze for an awkward moment. "I apologize. Please, come in, Diana."
"Thanks," Allers said and flashed a hesitant smile before following Miranda through the small foyer and into the kitchen. She whistled softly, glancing around at the spacious apartment. "Nice place, Lawson."
"Thank you," Miranda said. "Can I get you some tea? Or was it coffee you preferred?"
"Coffee would be amazing," Allers said and wandered from the open kitchen into the attached living space. "So… This is the infamous Shepard-Lawson lovers' hideaway the tabloid vids are obsessed with. It's cute." She looked over her shoulder and shot a mischievous grin Miranda's way.
Miranda eyed the other woman with a stony glare while she poured the coffee.
"Sheesh. Don't be so sensitive. You're going to boil my skin off with that look. I'm only teasing."
Miranda made a little noise before joining Allers in the living room, handing the other woman the mug. "I hadn't realized you'd returned from Bekenstein."
Allers took hold of the mug with both hands, bringing the steaming liquid up to her nose, and inhaling deeply. "Oh, I find that just a little hard to believe, Miss Lawson," she said. "How have you been?"
"I'm well," Miranda said, giving the reporter an appraising look. Her hair was pulled back in a ponytail and she was sporting a pair of casual, synthetic cotton trousers and a slim-fitting technical blouse—Utilitarian dress and a far cry from the woman's hallmark studio look of overly-tight miniskirts, plunging necklines, and high heels. "Busy."
"I'll bet," Diana said and took a sip of her coffee. "Mmm, this is good," she said. "Really though, this is a damn nice apartment. I'm guessing the lease dates back to your previous life, huh? Just about impossible to get a pad like this these days unless you're really well-connected or some kind of bazillionaire. But aren't you worried a Cerberus hit squad's going to up and knock on your door one day?"
Miranda shrugged. "It's a concern, but no more so here than anywhere else on the station. If they come for me, they come for me. My address won't make much difference. But security in this building is excellent, as I'm sure you noticed on the way in."
"Hard to miss a pair of fully armored marines in the lobby. And I suppose I wouldn't have been able to picture you slumming it in the Alliance barracks anyway."
"Please, have a seat," Miranda said, gesturing toward the sofa.
Allers gave a grateful nod and sat down at the end of the sofa. "So, how are things at State? Still busy running down leads on your old boss and chasing Cerberus out of Boltzmann?"
After her time on the Normandy came to an end, Anita Goyle, now serving as Humanity's Councilor to the Citadel, had asked Miranda to head up a new counterintelligence unit working directly out of a revamped State Department. With the previous Systems Alliance Intelligence Service in ruins, there was no one better suited to the task or whom Goyle trusted more.
Miranda took a seat on the edge of a chair opposite of Allers. "Yes," she said in a clipped tone. "It's been very busy."
Allers held her mug close to her lap and frowned. "Come on, Miranda," she said. "Relax, will you? This isn't an interrogation. I just want to catch up a little, okay?"
Miranda studied the other woman's face as one might look at an interesting bit of data. But then she softened her expression and smiled apologetically. "I'm sorry," she said. "Old habits die hard and I suppose I've got my guard up a bit this morning."
"Oh?"
"Normandy's heading out again soon," Miranda said more abruptly than she intended.
"Ah," Diana said, tossing Miranda a sympathetic look. "I'm sure that's not going to be easy on you."
Miranda shrugged. "It's just war. Redeployment was inevitable."
"Sure, but you are doing really important work here, Miranda," Allers said. "You know that, right?"
Miranda glanced down at the cup of tea cradled in her hands and nodded before looking back up and meeting Diana's gaze. "Yes, of course," she said. "And you're not wrong about our work. We're still focused on unraveling all the links between the attack and Cerberus." It was an understatement of sorts. From day one, Miranda had been fixated on the task of ripping out the roots of the Illusive Man's organization in the Serpent Nebula. She'd made it her personal mission in life and didn't plan on resting until the job was done.
Allers nodded. "Well, I for one am glad you're on the case. Those knuckle-draggers from the old Alliance Intel Service were the same assholes who happily looked the other way while the rot and corruption ate Bekenstein alive. I know it's early, but I already saw a lot of positive signs back home. That's you, Miranda. So, thank you."
"A compliment, Miss Allers? I'm flattered."
"You should be. I only have a limited supply of those in the tank."
Miranda allowed a tiny grin to play upon her lips and took another sip of her tea. Despite an ingrained disdain for media people, she'd grown to respect Allers. Hell, she even liked her a little. But Diana certainly wasn't your average network talking head. Over the course of their time together on the Normandy, she'd learned there was far more depth to her than the practiced studio persona suggested. She also figured the war correspondent knew quite a lot more about what had been happening on Bekenstein than she was letting on.
Soon after she'd accepted her new role, Miranda's small team went to work exposing the myriad of ties that connected several of Bekenstein's highest-profile mega-corporations to the Citadel attack. Within a matter of days, they'd discovered that the vast majority of the funding and logistical support had originated from the planet and that nearly all the mercenaries and synthetic troops deployed during the assault had passed through its spaceports. None of which was particularly surprising to the fledgling department, least of all to Miranda.
During her time at the Illusive Man's side, she fully appreciated the importance of the wealthy colony world to the organization. For nearly two decades, Cerberus had prioritized its influence there, siphoning trillions of credits while manipulating the local political structures to ensure only the most compliant governors remained in power. Labor groups were exploited and markets were rigged. The hyper-aggressive capitalist foundation Bekenstein was built upon made it ripe for skilled operatives like Miranda to employ all manner of extortion and intimidation tactics.
But that was the past. Miranda's mandate from Humanity's new Councilor left no question about her authority. The planetary assault task force positioned in high orbit didn't hurt either. She had been given free rein to pursue the investigation, wherever it might lead. With Parliament extinct and Udina behind bars, the political alliances that once ensured Bekenstein's elites were shielded from scrutiny were rendered meaningless. Besides, with the very future of the species weighed in the balance, Goyle had no patience for the trivial artifacts of a shattered world. All over the planet, massive, privately held corporations were nationalized by the provisional government while arrests and indictments piled up. Assets and facilities that once funneled incredible wealth into the accounts of shareholders were seized. Production that used to be geared toward sending luxury goods to the Citadel markets was halted to transform the manufacturing plants into something capable of supporting the war effort. From her office on the Presidium, stepping out of the shadows and into the light, Miranda directed it all.
"Diana," Shepard called down from halfway down the stairs. He was still busy tucking his maroon-colored beret under his left shoulder board, the one signifying his status as N7 Special Forces. He stepped into the living room to join the two women, greeting the visitor with a broad smile.
"Captain," Allers said, rising and snapping off a half-mocking salute before giving Shepard a brief but fierce hug. "You look like you're ready for action."
Shepard grunted an acknowledgment and sat down on the sofa with Allers. Along with his standard Alliance Fleet CDUs, he was wearing a light-armored vest, leg and knee protection. His service pistol was holstered on his thigh along with a clutch of spare magazines slotted on the opposite leg. After the latest attack, the new standard practice on the station was that all active duty Alliance, Hierarchy, and Salarian Union military personnel be armed at all times and ready to respond to another crisis. "It's the new norm around here," he said. "Everyone's still pretty tense. But enough about that. How was your holiday? Your family doing okay?"
"Just flew in on the shuttle half an hour ago. And they're doing well, thanks. All things considered, you know, living under the shadow of imminent doom and all."
"That's one of the most well-defended systems in the whole of the galaxy," Shepard said. "With all the new hulls they're racing to piece together in orbit, there's probably no safer place to be."
"Earth was well defended," Diana said. "How'd that work out for them?"
Shepard winced. "Fair point," he said. "All I'm saying is we're a lot better equipped to deal with trouble there than we are just about anywhere else. I'm sure you've got a pretty good idea about how thin we're stretched. But believe me, everyone at Fleet knows if we lose Bekenstein now, we're well and truly fucked."
"That's comforting," she said, taking a sip from her mug. "Or terrifying. Probably both."
Shepard studied the journalist for a few moments before glancing at the chrono on the wall. "You're always welcome, Diana," he said. "But it feels a bit early for a friendly house call. Or are you here on business?"
"No interviews this morning, Captain. I'm off the clock for a few more hours still. Just taking the opportunity to say goodbye before I head off on my next assignment. My place is actually pretty close by, so this was on the way." She shot a sideways look at Miranda. "And don't pretend you didn't know where I lived, super spy."
Miranda gave a little shrug, sipping her tea.
"Heading out of the system?" Shepard said.
"I am," she said. "Embedded on Pegasus. Destination's still classified, so I've no idea where we'll end up. I'm catching the shuttle over in a few hours to report to the XO, get my berth squared away, find a spot to set up the studio, the usual. Fortunately, I'm pretty much still all packed up and ready to bounce."
"Pegasus, huh," Shepard said, a thoughtful look on his face. "That's a big lady. You're definitely going to have more elbow room on board her than you did on Normandy."
Diana shrugged. "I don't mind it cozy. But I suppose you're right. I hear the food's better too."
Shepard laughed. "Of that, I have no doubt."
"Listen," Diana said, her tone growing a bit more serious. "I really just wanted to swing by and say thank you, Shepard. You weren't obligated to let me on the Normandy way back when I jumped you at the port. And after your name had gone through the wringer, you certainly didn't have much reason to trust the press. But let me tell you, that stint on your ship turned into the best assignment of my life. With things as dicey as they are now, I didn't want to leave again before telling you that. Both of you. Truly, thank you."
Shepard held the woman's gaze for a few moments. "I appreciate that, Diana. You were a tolerable passenger," he said, smiling. "You sure there isn't something else bothering you, though?"
Allers inhaled and glanced down at her mug. "I'm fine," she said. "It's fine. Really. It's just a lot, you know. Everything that's happening. All the people we've lost already. But I had plenty of quality time with the folks and my brother back home. Almost too much quality time, if you know what I mean. But that helps."
She laughed, shaking off the melancholy mood like she was shooing a fly. "You know, I've spent time on over a dozen different Fleet warships over the last few years. Little tin can patrol boats all the way up to supercarriers like Pegasus. Let me tell you, Shepard, not one of them compared to Normandy. You've got something really special going there. Sure, maybe it's a little unorthodox sometimes, and that unshackled AI is just a tad bit unsettling, but there's no denying the charm."
Shepard started to say something but Allers held up a hand. "Wait, let me finish my moment here," she said. "None of that comes together without you, Shepard. I know you never asked for all this attention or were looking to catch the hero label. But you wear the fame pretty damn well, my friend. And it's important you keep at it. People need it more than you know. Most of them are just trying to hold onto their sanity, waiting for their little patch of colony dirt to be the next one the Reapers wipe off the map. Seeing that you're not backing down or giving up means a lot.
"Like it or not, you're a symbol in a galaxy that's desperate for something to latch onto. I know you can't save them all, Shepard. People understand that. But a little simple hope is important and you're keeping that alive for people like my parents." Diana shrugged and gave him smirk. "As corny as all that sounds."
Miranda beamed over at Shepard, who looked vaguely mortified by Diana's impromptu speech and cleared her throat. "Well, I didn't devote two years of my life seeing that he got back on his feet for anything less," she said wryly. "I agree with your assessment, Miss Allers." She took another sip of her tea and winked at Shepard.
Shepard gave an uneasy laugh and shifted in his seat. "Okay, Diana," he said. "I think that will do. And no pressure or anything, right?"
Diana snorted a laugh. "Fuck that. You've got all kinds of pressure, my man. But you'll survive." She stood up abruptly and started wandering around the living room, leaning in to inspect some of the obscure artwork Miranda had arranged on the walls. "Hey, but don't worry too much about all this tabloid coverage you're catching," she said over her shoulder. "I know just about all those producers. They're just trying to mix in something that's not so soul-crushingly grim and give their audiences a little distraction from wall-to-wall tragedy. I'm sure Fleet brass is pissed, but honestly, the coverage I've seen has been a lot tamer than I expected. Trust me, over the last week, I've spent way more time than I care to admit catching up on all the vids I missed when we were out on deployment, even the trashy ones. Alright, especially the trashy ones."
Allers spun around and flashed a wicked smile toward Miranda. "And don't think you're getting a free pass here. You've become something of a star yourself, you know."
This time it was Miranda's turn to shift uncomfortably in her seat. "Meaning?"
"Meaning, half the station's female population and a fair number of the dudes would gladly put a shiv in your side to get you out of the picture. Not because of any of the Cerberus bullshit, but because you managed to pull this lug into your orbit."
Diana ignored the glare Miranda was giving her, continuing. "Relax," she said. "I'm only teasing. Apparently, I like playing with fire. I totally get that your old boss didn't make it easy on you when he dumped all the juicy bits of your record out on the extranet, but I honestly don't think it had the desired effect."
"Thanks to the Reapers," Miranda said. "Most people have more pressing concerns than worrying over my work history."
"Sure, that's part of it, but who cares," Allers said, fixing Miranda with a shrewd look. "Let me clue you into to a little something you're probably not quite grasping, Miranda. You're a hero to a lot more people than you might think, especially the ones who've been living along the fringes out on the younger colonies. The things that have leaked out, what you've done after you were finished with Cerberus, some of the stuff you did for Cerberus, what you've sacrificed. It's a big deal to them. You're probably the last person on this station who needs an ego boost, but I'm telling you, there's no shortage of folks who'd like to be you. Just wait, before long, black and white catsuits are going to be all the rage around here and we'll be overrun by packs of insufferable teenage girls going around scowling incessantly and talking in lousy Australian accents."
Miranda rolled her eyes but couldn't hide the hint of blush in her cheeks. She caught Shepard glancing at her with an amused look. "Not a word," she warned.
Allers threw herself back down on the sofa next to Shepard. "This is so weird."
"What's that?" Shepard asked.
"This," she said, gesturing to her surroundings with one hand. "You two, off the ship, all cozy in this ridiculous living room and nobody barking orders. And just look at Lawson here making like Betty Homemaker with the delicious hot drinks." She leaned in across the coffee table, a wicked twinkle in her eye. "Are there doilies in the cabinets too? Please tell me there are doilies."
Shepard chuckled. "No doilies that I'm aware of. But I'm happy to bark a few orders in your direction if it'll make you more comfortable."
"That's generous of you, but I'll pass. I'm just making observations." Allers sat back with a sigh, sinking deeper into the sofa. "So, how's that plucky little sister of yours doing, Lawson?"
