Chapter Thirty
The Here and Now Part I
2208 CE
SSV Gallipoli, in orbit Micah System
Following a generous two hours of sleep, Sam Traynor found herself back in the War Room. Although some of the fog had lifted from her brain, she felt strangely worse for having had the brief respite. As though it had been a reminder of how fucked up the whole situation was. She had drifted off into a world of warmth and surprisingly pleasant dreams. Oriana had been there – not as she was when Sam had known her over two decades earlier, but as she was now. Her subconscious had obviously pieced together Oriana's more mature features from their brief vid conversation days earlier. She was even lovelier than Sam remembered, fine lines around her eyes adding to her warmth and charm. The dream was not sexual, nor did Sam remember any conversation, everything was about the imagery as she lingered on simple things like Oriana's smile or her hands wrapped around a hot cup of tea. And throughout was a general feeling of safety and permanence. Almost like a glimpse into what might have been had things not fallen apart between them.
Waking from such a dream was cruel in every sense. Her alarm ripped her away from safety. Reminders of the present situation immediately flooded her thoughts. All she wanted to do was crawl further under the covers and return to her dream, but a sense of duty drove her out of bed.
As soon as she re-entered the War Room, it was like she had never left. Sam paused in front of the haptic display which was unchanged. The recently arrived Reapers remained in position surrounding the Moon - facing off against the original Reapers and the tiny shape that represented the Gallipoli. It felt like the calm before the storm.
Sam allowed herself to close her eyes – just for a moment – and linger on the warmth of her dream.
"Admiral Traynor? Ma'am?"
Sam's eyes snapped open as she cursed herself for her inattention. She turned to find Karim, her Comms Specialist, looking at her with an expectant expression and hoped that he had had not been trying to get her attention for long. Karim looked as exhausted as she herself felt – no doubt he was well into a double shift.
"What is it, Specialist?"
"I've got General Vakarian on vid comm, ma'am. Would you like me to patch him through here?"
The timing of the call made Sam wonder if Garrus had already called once while she was asleep. She had to bat aside her irritation at not being woken. "Yes…please," Sam replied. "And as soon as you've done that, grab some food and hit your rack. We need everyone alert, not dead tired or relying on stims."
When Garrus' face materialised in front of her, she felt a small amount of weight lift from her shoulders. However, the expression on his face clearly said he had no good news for her.
"Let's not waste anytime telling each other how crap we look," Sam began purposefully. "What's the sitrep, Garrus?"
"Not great," Garrus was not one to waste words. "There's very little to update you on other than the fact that we've finished sealing off the LZ. If the Reapers come for us, they're going to have a hell of a time digging us out. And I regret to say that Ashley decided to go looking for Liara and the rest of the squad. She left without word before we could fully seal off the LZ."
Sam drew in a breath in lieu of uttering a choice expletive. Another setback – but she had suspected that Ashley would not simply sit around while Liara was in danger. "So…" Sam rubbed at the bridge of her nose. "We're surrounded by a fleet of Reapers that could either be friendlies or hostiles, almost half the team are lost somewhere inside that damn moon and we're still no closer to knowing why we came here in the first place. It is just me, Garrus, or has this turned into a giant shitshow?"
"That's an apt description. Have you got any further orders from Alliance High Command?"
"What? Other than 'hold position and await further orders'? They haven't got the foggiest clue what to do here…I think they were relying on us to provide all the answers. And we've got bugger all." Sam regretted her negativity, especially as Garrus remained patient throughout. She managed a small smile. "Good news is that Alliance reinforcements are en-route. Unfortunately, they are at least six hours out. So, hold position, old friend, and hope that someone comes through for us. The Moon wanted Miranda for a reason…perhaps it is a matter of waiting to see what happens?"
"That is a terrible plan, Sam," Garrus replied with nothing but compassion in his voice. He paused for a moment, before his eyes narrowed in thoughtful determination. "I'm not Alliance, if I were to go looking for-"
"Garrus," Sam interrupted in a warning tone. "Don't even think about it. We can't afford to lose you too. I need you to hold the LZ and ensure that Liara, Ashley and the others have somewhere to retreat back to."
Garrus sighed and nodded in understanding. "Spirits, I know. I was just feeling a little…gung-ho as Ashley might say."
Sam opened her mouth to reply with a pithy comment that had not quite formed in her head when she heard urgent footsteps behind her. She turned around and was surprised to find Karim leaping down the steps with a grin on his face.
"Karim? I thought you were hitting your rack?"
"I was, ma'am, but I was side-tracked by an incoming call on an encrypted frequency," Karim explained in a breathless, excited rush. "It was weird, because I immediately recognised it as a slight variation on an old-school one that you showed me a few years back. You'll want to take this call, ma'am. It's Dr Lawson!"
The Reaper Moon, Micah System
Miranda was both grateful and reluctant to leave the compact familiarity of Shepard's apartment. The small space was claustrophobic, but it was also effortless to imagine herself back on the Citadel – far removed from her precariously situated present. Although she knew she had been brought to the Moon for a purpose, she could not help but dwell on the opportunity she had been presented with. All those years of mourning Shepard, and now she was presented with a living, breathing version of the woman. It was a colossal headfuck.
That woman now walked slightly ahead of her as they made their way back to the elevator that seemed to be the only way in or out of the space in which Shepard's apartment was built. In that moment - before she had to face up to whatever it was that the Intelligence demanded of her – Miranda was focused on Shepard. The woman was clearly uncomfortable, shifting her limbs in a futile effort to adjust her borrowed armour. The same suit which had been too big for Miranda was much too small for Shepard. Still, despite the sizing issue, it looked damn good on her. Miranda on the other hand, was facing whatever was to come in casuals raided from Shepard's wardrobe. Together they presented an unlikely pair heading off to save the Galaxy. Shepard turned around and caught Miranda shaking her head in disbelief.
"What is it?" Shepard asked with a furrowed brow.
"Oh, nothing. Irrelevant really," Miranda replied quickly, slightly irritated at being caught out. She changed the subject, "So…about that explanation? How do I interface with the Intelligence?"
Shepard did not reply immediately, occupying herself with opening the elevator door – or at least pretending to. Miranda did not buy it – it was just an elevator. Surely Shepard could talk and open the damn door at the same time? It was not until they were inside and moving – up, down, in circles, Miranda had no idea of the direction – that Shepard met her gaze.
"Like I said," she began, still tugging at one of her shoulder guards. "I can't explain everything, nothing really beyond the basic mechanics. It's as though everything is in there…but I can't make sense of it. I mean, I am…was an Engineer, but this is another level of tech that the human brain can't comprehend. The Intelligence designed a means by which organics could interpret its complexity, I guess as a sort of diagnostic tool. That's what you're going to use."
It was Miranda's turn to frown. "Why would the Intelligence design a diagnostic tool for organics to use?"
"It will make more sense when we get there," Shepard said with an apologetic wince. She finally stopped trying to adjust the armour and leaned back against the side of the elevator. "I'm sorry for all the cryptic nonsense. Since coming back I've been obsessed with why the Intelligence chose me as its template. The only conclusion that I can reach is simply because I was there. Then I ask myself had Anderson lived, would he have been the better choice? Is the Intelligence failing because of me…because I wasn't suitable in some way?"
Listening to Shepard doubt herself, Miranda finally appreciated the weight of responsibility that the Commander carried. It was nothing new – it felt like there had always been too much resting on those shoulders, broad as they were. Now, even in death, the Galaxy was making demands of her.
"Shepard, you were the only choice," Miranda offered in response. Her mind worked, trying to find the right words. "From the moment you saw the visions on Eden Prime, you set yourself on a collision course all the way to the confrontation in the Crucible. It was always going to be you making that choice."
Shepard cocked her head to one side, narrowing her eyes with faux suspicion. "Are you talking about fate? You can't possibly tell me that you, Miranda Lawson, believe in fate?"
Miranda scowled in irritation. "Don't be facetious, Shepard. I simply meant that you were the one who was driven to find a solution to the Reapers, and you did. If the Intelligence needed a template, it could not have done much better. You were the perfect…"
Miranda paused for a moment, realising that she was about to descend into an unabashed recounting of Shepard's many qualities. It would reveal how much time she had spent dwelling on those qualities.
"The perfect what?" Shepard probed gently, mirth dancing in her eyes.
While Miranda was pleased to have snapped Shepard out of her funk, she did not enjoy being placed in a position where she had to give away her secrets. Mercifully, she was spared further interrogation, at least immediately, with the door opening. If Miranda had expected to find herself somewhere surprising, she was disappointed to see yet another corridor.
Faced with the prospect of more walking, Miranda steered their conversation in another direction – one she hoped would be interesting enough to appease Shepard.
"At the risk of further overinflating your ego, you were right about one thing," Miranda spoke up as she followed Shepard down the corridor.
"Just one thing?" Shepard smirked over her shoulder. "What was that?"
Miranda opened her mouth to continue but felt suddenly self-conscious. Her words eventually tumbled out in a rush. "The sexual tension between Jack and I."
Overcome with surprise, Shepard stopped walking. She turned to Miranda with raised eyebrows. "You were with Jack?"
Miranda shook her head. "Not with. We fucked a few times. At one time, a few years after the War, I wanted something more…maybe Jack did too…but she couldn't get past what Cerberus did to her. And I was always a reminder of that."
Shepard resumed walking, but she continued the conversation, "You said you tried to help her?"
"Yes," Miranda nodded. "I built a hospital to treat biotic degradation. I wouldn't go as far as to say that I built the hospital for Jack…but she was the first patient and -" Miranda sighed "-okay, I built an entire hospital for Jack." The admission came easily, as did most things relating to Jack. She shook her head and smiled softly. "For so many years, she was the most important relationship in my life. I guess, in a manner of speaking…I was with Jack."
It felt good to talk about her lost friend, especially in the calm before the unknown - it was a way of ensuring that Jack was there with them. There was no doubt in Miranda's mind that Jack would have been the first to sign up for this crazy as hell mission. Trying to explain to Jack that there was no plan and a high probability of getting killed would have been like waving a carrot in front of her.
"Hey."
Shepard's gentle prompt drew Miranda's attention back to their present situation.
"We've arrived," Shepard offered up, gesturing ahead.
"Arrived where?"
Miranda's gaze followed the direction in which Shepard was pointing. She had been so focused on thinking about Jack that she had not noticed a significant change in the architecture of their surroundings. The alien elements, which had been prevalent throughout the interior of the Moon, had been replaced by ones which were more familiar to human eyes. In fact, Miranda could have been walking down the corridor of a Systems Alliance flagship. Out of curiosity, she peered into an open doorway and was surprised to find a small, but adequate cabin complete with a berth and desk.
"Shepard…what is this?"
She let the question go unanswered as her attention was diverted by what lay ahead. Leaving Shepard behind, Miranda slowly walked forward to realise that the cabin was not the only element that was out of place. The corridor suddenly opened out into an expansive space that resembled a super-sized War Room. Further keeping with the aesthetic, workstations were set up with grav-couches and haptic consoles – all eerily inactive. Miranda had never seen such interfaces on a Reaper vessel. She turned to Shepard, who was staring at the space with a wistful expression.
"Why did the Intelligence create all of this?" Miranda asked. "It's almost as though humanoids were here…or were meant to be here."
"They were," Shepard replied softly. Further explanation was not forthcoming as she scanned the space before walking forward, down a set of steps, to place her hand almost reverently on the back of one of the grav-couches. "The Intelligence designed all of this in the expectation…or perhaps the hope that one day Reapers and humans would work side by side. I don't expect that will ever become a reality now. Even if we emerge on the other side of this without tearing the Galaxy apart, the Reapers will never be trusted in the same way."
"We will get through this," Miranda said emphatically, managing to sound more confident that she felt. "What will the Reapers do?"
Shepard shrugged. "That's up to the Intelligence."
Miranda paused, considering the words. She remembered Shepard saying that the Intelligence had downloaded its consciousness into the body to prevent it from being overwhelmed. The implications of what that meant lingered at the back of her mind. Unwilling to dwell on what it meant for Shepard, she turned her attention to the technology surrounding them and a possibility formed.
"Shepard, can we contact the Gallipoli from here?"
"Yes, absolutely," Shepard nodded, already moving toward a nearby console. Miranda followed and took up position just over Shepard's shoulder as she slipped into the grav-couch. "Our only challenge is the very real possibility that any comms could be intercepted by the malfunctioning Reapers. We'd have to encrypt the call, but with something that can be quickly deciphered at the other end."
"Well…" Miranda pursed her lips for a moment, the solution came quickly. "Of course, Samantha Traynor is on board the Gallipoli. You could use something she would recognise, something you used on the old Normandy?"
Shepard grinned as she booted up the console. The haptic display flared into life vigorously, as though it had not lingered dormant for decades. "Miranda, you are as brilliant as you are-"
Shepard bit her lip to keep the obviously word from escaping, but it lingered between them nevertheless. Beautiful, Miranda's subconscious supplied it for her and her cheeks warmed in response.
"Okay," Shepard continued quickly, masking her discomfort with purpose. Her fingers flew over the haptics – clearly she had lost none of her engineering skills. "The encryption I'm using is one that Sam herself devised. Unless she has spent too long as an Admiral not getting her hands dirty, it should be a cinch."
"I have no idea how the hell we're going to explain your presence," Miranda said pointedly to Shepard.
"Gotcha, valid point. Perhaps leave me out of things for the time being?" Shepard suggested, rising from the grav-couch and offering it instead to Miranda. "Seeing me is only going to cause a huge stir and we don't have any time for explanations."
Miranda slipped into the seat Shepard had vacated. As she settled herself, she felt Shepard's hand on her shoulder. The touch last for only a few seconds, and it was probably subconscious on Shepard's part, but it felt right. She felt bereft when it was gone.
After first getting through to a fresh-faced young Comms Specialist, Samantha Traynor's face materialised on screen only a minute or so later. Even with her features smoothed out by the poor connection, the Admiral looked exhausted.
"Miranda? I didn't believe it when I heard you had established contact, but there you are – in one piece." Traynor's relief was evident in her voice. "Are you okay?"
"I'm in one piece," Miranda replied. "Although I have learned that I am definitely too old for this shit."
"What the hell happened?" Sam continued. "The rest of the team reported that you were separated and subsequently disappeared. I know you're resourceful, but…well, I am bloody glad to speak to you."
"I must have unknowingly triggered an elevator," Miranda started to explain, omitting the fact that she had been whisked away from the rest of the team by a long-dead war hero. "I've stumbled across some sort of control room. I don't want to make any promises, but I may have found a way to communicate with the Intelligence – an interface of sorts."
Sam visibly sighed with relief. "Miranda…that's encouraging. Can you give us your location so the rest of the team can get through to you? I don't like the thought of you on your own."
Miranda discreetly glanced to where Shepard was standing, just beside the console. The Commander shook her head, mouthing something that Miranda could not make out.
"Um, no. I don't think so, or at least I'm not sure. Are the rest of the team safe? Please tell me they're not scouring this place trying to find me?"
"Garrus ordered them back to the LZ shortly after you disappeared," Sam explained matter-of-factly. Miranda only nodded in understanding, she would have done the same thing. "But the squad was attacked – splitting them in two. Liara and a small group of marines were forced in a different direction. While Garrus and the bulk of the marines made it back safely, Liara's group is still missing. It won't surprise you to learn that Ashley disobeyed orders to go looking for them."
"I don't know that I can help them either, but I'll see what can be done." Miranda was startled when she felt a small tap against her leg as Shepard gave her a small kick, admonishing her to hurry up. "Sam, I need to go. The sooner I can find out what the hell is going on, the sooner this will all be over. I'll call you back when I'm done."
"Understood, good luck, Miranda."
The contact disengaged, and Miranda was left sitting in the grav-chair staring at a blank screen. A part of her regretted not asking Sam to pass on a last message to her family, but she felt she had already said her goodbyes.
She glanced up at Shepard. "A kick? Seriously?"
"What did you want me to do?" Shepard shrugged in typical fashion. "Get your attention by making silly faces over the console? You were right, time is of the essence. Although we are relatively safe here, we will eventually draw Reapers to our position, and we can't let this place to be overrun."
"I understand, but is there anything we can do for Liara and Ashley?" She hated the thought of her friends stumbling blindly through the interior, surrounded by Reapers. And Ashley was alone. "The two of us can't exactly mount a rescue mission, but there must be something you can do?"
"It will depend on where the hell they are," Shepard began, moving towards another console nearby. "But I might be able to engineer it so they are on a collision course toward one another."
Miranda rose from the grav-chair, observing hopefully as Shepard worked rapidly on the haptic interface. An image formed on the display, a complicated spider web of interconnecting lines. Miranda supposed it was a map of the station's interior, but it made little sense to her. Thankfully, Shepard did not appear to have the same problem.
"This must be Liara's group, moving slowly through sub-level gamma-delta-five," Shepard explained, pointing towards a small cluster of red lights on the screen. She sighed. "Although they are going in approximately the right direction for the LZ, there's no way down from there." She traced her finger along a thick line. "This bulkhead has no egress. They'll eventually be forced to move even higher. And Ash…" Shepard's deft commands zoomed the image out for a moment, before homing in on a dull, solitary light. "Ash is here, five levels below and moving more rapidly on a parallel path. I can close off these corridors here…and here, giving her no choice but to move higher. Unless she turns around, she will eventually catch up to Liara's group. That's the best I can do…for now at least. You and I need to focus on our own task."
"And what exactly are you doing, Shepard?" Miranda was unable to resist, the levity took away some of her anxiety at what was to come.
Shepard had the grace to look slightly sheepish before she realised that Miranda was only teasing. "I'll be watching you…oh, was that supposed to be some kind of joke? Follow me, Lawson. Let's get you in this damn tank before your jokes get even worse."
"Tank? What do you mean tank?"
Miranda's question was eventually answered. Shepard led her to a contraption that could only be described as a tank. It was bare metal, completely unadorned, a little longer than Miranda was tall, and twice her shoulder width. It was on a slightly raised pedestal, putting it level with Miranda's waist. When she peered in, she found it filled almost to the brim with a yellow-tinged gel. It was an object built for a purpose, and nothing more.
Shepard saw the apprehension on her face. "Not quite what you were expecting?"
"I'm not sure what I was expecting, maybe a little less…yellow goo?" It was obvious what she was expected to do, and the thought was not a comforting one. "I guess it makes sense, the resulting connection will be…comprehensive." Another thought struck her. "Although it would be more effective without any kind of barrier…"
"I'm afraid you're right. In order to interface, it requires uninterrupted physical contact," Shepard explained awkwardly. "Which means…"
"No clothes," Miranda finished acerbically. "Fucking fantastic."
There was very little point in standing on ceremony. With decisive movements, Miranda began undressing. First kicking off her shoes, before stripping off the hoodie, leaving it haphazardly across a nearby console. It was only as she began unzipping her bodysuit that Shepard finally reacted, cheeks colouring in the split second before she turned her back. Miranda paused in the middle of peeling the suit down her body, dwelling on Shepard's reaction for a moment and on her own thoughts in response. They swirled around in her head. Some were fleeting enough – what the hell was she getting herself into? Is it too late to back out? No, of course not. While others lingered longer - you don't have to turn your back, Shepard. I want you to see me.
With her skin bared to the air, Miranda soon realised that the ambient temperature inside the Moon was quite cold. Goose flesh soon covered her body and she hurried to complete her task. Only when finished, did she feel self-conscious for the first time.
"Do I just…climb in?" Miranda asked trying to keep her teeth from chattering. Like a fucked-up bath? She left the last part unsaid in an effort to feign nonchalance about the whole situation. "Christ!" Miranda gasped as she stepped in and started to lower herself into the gel. Her nonchalance disappeared. "It's bloody freezing!"
By the time Shepard glanced discreetly over her shoulder, Miranda was submerged save for her face. It was an uncomfortable sensation. The gel was icy cold, but it did not feel wet. It felt like she was being cradled by the gel as it moulded to her body.
"What next?" Miranda moved her lips as little as possible, not wanting to accidentally swallow the stuff.
Shepard's expression was apologetic as she fully turned around. "You're not going to like it."
"I'm already not liking it," Miranda replied testily. Shepard's voice was muffled by the gel in her ears. The stuff also felt like it was crawling over her skin in an unsettling manner. "I'm naked in a vat of gel, I'm not sure how it can get worse. Surely the Intelligence could have found someone else more suited to this? Ashley? She knew Shepard longer than I did, and she was a marine, a Council Spectre, and she's still very much a stubborn badass."
"Ash is all of those things, and a dear friend," Shepard began. "But she didn't put Shepard back together again after Alchera. I'm sorry, Miranda, but it has to be you."
"I know that," Miranda said with a shaky sigh. "I just felt like making one last protest before…well, before whatever happens next. Let's get on with it then. Just don't tell me I need to swallow any of this stuff-" Miranda caught the subtle shift in Shepard's expression "-bloody hell, Shepard. The next time the Intelligence needs to design an interface, it should really start with a couple of focus groups first – to ensure it's not designing someone's worst nightmare."
To her credit, Shepard managed a small smile that both reassured Miranda and made her feel wretched for complaining. After all, she was talking to a woman who had given her life to save the Galaxy without hesitation.
"I guess there's no point in holding my breath?"
Shepard shook her head. "Relax, embrace it. I'll be right here throughout."
It was easier said than done. The need to hold her breath was instinctual as she lowered her head beneath the gel. If it had felt unpleasant against her skin, the sensation was magnified tenfold as she swallowed it. The gel, viscous and alive, slithered down her throat. She fought to remain calm as it filled her airways, hoping that whatever was supposed to happen would happen soon.
There was nothing except for the very real sensation of drowning. Miranda lost track of how much time had passed, but she could no longer force her body to remain submerged. She burst through the surface and turned to retch over the side of the tank. Shepard was there almost immediately, a gentle touch on her back and shoulder. As she heaved, huge quantities of the gel was expelled from her body. By the time she had finished, she was exhausted and her throat felt red raw.
Miranda twisted her head to look at Shepard, peering at her through her stinging eyes. "I'm sorry…"
"You don't have to be sorry for anything!" Shepard responded fiercely. "We'll find another way-"
She shook her head weakly. "No…I'm sorry that you're going to have to hold me down."
Shepard opened her mouth to protest. Miranda could see her mind working, dwelling on the wretched task that was being asked of her. Eventually, she offered up a small nod.
This time when Miranda lowered herself beneath the gel, she felt the firm weight of both Shepard's hands against her skin – one pressed against her chest, the other just beneath her breasts. Miranda knew better than most how strong Shepard was. Even as she instinctively started thrashing in an effort to regain the surface, the weight of Shepard's hands did not budge. A scream tried to escape from her throat, but it was defeated by the gel. Her body started to spasm from the lack of air and Miranda had to wonder whether the Intelligence's creation was not functioning properly. There would be no interface…only an unpleasant death.
Abruptly and mercifully, the sensation of drowning was gone. Not only could she now breathe easily, but she also no longer felt the cold, or the gel, or even the burning in her lungs. It was as though the nightmare of the past few minutes had never happened. Also gone was the reassuring weight of Shepard's hand against her chest. She felt only a curious sense of weightlessness. When she glanced down to look at herself, she found only empty space where her body should have been. The sensation of being nothing more than a disembodied presence was unnerving.
Nor was she in total darkness. Somewhere below her, or perhaps surrounding her, was an intense, graceful pattern of illuminated lines. Although she had little concept of space, the pattern seemed to fill her entire view. The white lights pulsed but remained static and together they formed a cohesive whole. Recognition took all of a few seconds. After all, it was a map that Miranda knew well.
A nervous system…or, more specifically, Shepard's nervous system.
She understood why the Intelligence had needed her specifically. As the only survivor of the Lazarus project, there was no one else alive who knew such a map as well as she did.
Okay, so we've come this far, Miranda mused, still unnerved at being disembodied. What now?
She found that she could move simply by thinking about where she wanted to go. It was not like any movement Miranda had ever experienced. The nervous system unfolded beneath her and she found herself following the thick peroneal nerve. Without knowing exactly what she was looking for, Miranda reasoned that she should start with any anomalies in the system.
If she had worried that the anomaly would be difficult to detect, that worry was proven unnecessary when she saw a swirling mass at the tip of the ulnar nerve. The white light was shot through with an intense red, something akin to forked lightning – as though the neurons had gone completely crazy.
Miranda hovered at a distance for a moment, trying to decide if it was a good idea to approach. She eventually decided that nothing would happen if she did not initiate contact. And now was not the time to be cautious – especially not after the torrid time she had experienced initiating the interface in the first place.
She felt like a small child, experimenting with the forbidden, as she tentatively reached out to the mass. When one of the forks shot out toward her, she instinctively jerked away.
It was too late.
The light overwhelmed her senses as it consumed her. At first, there was nothing but the light. Then it started to shift, minutely at first, before swirling around her in a maelstrom of colour. Miranda's breath was stuck in her throat as the colours solidified around her. Then her body was both falling uncontrollably toward a solid surface below and having it rush toward her at speed. She struggled to scream in the split second before impact would render her a mushy pile of flesh, but nothing emerged in the silence.
And then she was standing on solid ground, staring down at her feet for a moment before the reality of the situation hit and she crashed to her knees. Although she heaved, nothing but bile came up. As Miranda slumped over, she gradually became aware of her surroundings. The palms of her hands pressed against pitted and broken concrete. The strangest element of all was that she did not recognise the body she wore. Slowly, she rose to her feet, swaying slightly as her stomach gave another lurch.
Miranda stared down at her hands. She wore a pair of ragged fingerless gloves covering hands that were not her own. The fingers were thick, the nails were short and encrusted with dirt. Everything else she wore was equally as ragged, especially the boots which felt several sizes too big. She reached up to drag a hand through her hair and found only a closely shaven scalp. Okay…where the fuck is my hair?
A dark shadow rushed in front of her and she had to stifle an undignified yelp. However, when she looked up saw only a young girl, possibly in her early teens. The kid peered up at her with worry showing clearly in her wide, green eyes. Her unkempt red hair was stuffed beneath a woollen hat.
"Kane, you okay? Hey, you look sick or something!"
The kid's rapid patois was barely intelligible at first. Still trying to work out whose body she was in, Miranda could only stare dumbly as young girl stared back.
"Yo, you in there?"
"What…no, I'm not sick…oh my god." Miranda was shocked to find a deep and decidedly masculine voice emerging from her throat. "Fuck me."
The kid folded her arms across her chest and narrowed her eyes suspiciously. "Hey, you on something, man? You promised me you quit that junk for good."
Miranda shook her head – or at least she tried to, the swaying motion made her feel nauseous all over again. "No, I'm not on anything. Just a…headache."
That seemed to placate her. She nodded in understanding. "Cos you haven't had nothing to eat all day. Told you not to give Dris that last ration bar. That little shit stain ain't never done nothing for us."
The nausea gradually faded as Miranda let the kid's mouth run away with her – she was too busy slating some other kid called Dris to notice Miranda staring around at their surroundings and at the individual standing in front of her. The girl was dressed much the same way as Miranda, dark, ragged clothes that were too big for her. Nevertheless, beneath the bulky outline, Miranda could tell there was very little to her tall, willowy frame. There was something familiar in the shape of her face, the way she held herself. Combined with the red hair and green eyes…
Of course! "Alice," Miranda said simply, still unused to the sound of the voice that emerged from her lips.
The girl scowled in response. "Fuckin' told you not to call me that, Kane. Only those suits at the orphanage ever called me that and I ain't going back to that prison. It's just Shep, nothin' else."
"Shep, yes of course," Miranda replied quickly.
Kid Shepard was still staring at her with unveiled suspicion as though she – or more correctly, Kane – was on some kind of drugs. Miranda did not blame her. She caught sight of herself in a broken window nearby. The face staring back at her was that of a boy not much older than Shepard, his cheeks were smooth, with only the barest suggestion of dark fuzz across his upper lip. Yet the way she was holding herself, the way she spoke, she was still very much Miranda Lawson. She caught herself propping one hand on her hip, shifting quickly to folding her arms across Kane's broad chest.
"You acting real scanny, man," Shepard remained unconvinced, but she had relaxed slightly.
"You're the scanny one," Miranda replied, injecting some levity into her voice. She found herself wondering what Jack would say. Jack's thoughts always went to straight to violence…or food. "So…what the fuck are we doing? I'm fucking hungry, you look hungry, let's go eat."
Shepard laughed. "Unless you've got actual credits on your chit, how the hell are we going to do that?"
"Leave that to me, Shep."
With absolutely no idea where she was going, Miranda started walking. After a moment or two, she heard Shepard's footsteps scrambling to catch-up. It was a concerted effort to keep her movements loose and casual in an effort to walk like a teenage boy. Her mind worked at the same time, trying to remember the scant information she had about Shepard's childhood. The Commander herself had always been reticent to talk about it. Miranda knew they were in London, although she recognised none of their surrounds. She also had no idea what Kane meant to Shepard. The name had never come up.
Miranda turned her head discreetly to study the girl walking beside her. Then she spotted it, a recognisable object poking out of one of the capacious pockets of Shepard's coat.
"We could sell that damn book," she suggested, waiting for Shepard's reaction.
Shepard scowled and drew her coat tightly around her. "Fuck off, man! Just 'cos you finished teaching me how to read, doesn't mean I don't want it no more!"
Miranda remembered a conversation with Shepard in another lifetime – "one of the older kids in the Tenth Street Reds taught me how to read and write using this book…"
"Just kidding," Miranda added quickly. "Besides, your handwriting is still shit."
They rounded a corner up ahead. At the other end of the dirty alleyway, Miranda could see what looked like a street. There had to be food vendors of some sort. While she had never stolen anything in her life, she reasoned that it could not be that difficult. Plus, Kane's body felt as though it could run fast enough when needed to. It was still weird, but she was getting used to being someone else. Hell, it was even a little fun. A part of her was already anticipating explaining this encounter to adult Shepard. The same Shepard that would have been nearby, probably still touching her. Miranda squared her shoulders – she was not here to have fun playing at being someone else, she had a job to do. I just don't know what the hell that job is.
Miranda noticed that a trio of young men had turned down the alley from the street ahead. Ordinarily she would have paid little attention to other pedestrians, but she felt Shepard tense at her side. Clearly this was the type of society where children had something to fear from their elders. Miranda clenched Kane's thick fingers into fists and squared her shoulders as they approached but quickened their pace at the same time. Shepard scurried along, sticking close to her side.
Closer now, Miranda could see that the youths themselves were quite young. They all wore clothes that fitted properly, with brightly coloured, flashy jackets. Drug money, Miranda mused. None of them looked particularly dangerous, but there were three of them. They fanned out and blocked the path ahead, two of them wore lazy grins in anticipation of something to come.
"Hey, street rats!" Their leader was obviously the tall one in the centre.
"Just fuck off, we have places to be." In Kane's voice the dismissal sounded far more threatening than Miranda could have ever managed.
The youth held up his hands, "Hey, we don't want any trouble here. Just want to know whether you've reconsidered our offer. Come on, Kane, be smart. The Reds are on their way out, I mean look at the pair of you! They can't even provide for their own. Run with us, man, run with the Peckham Boys and you'll get a share of the spoils that will keep you and your little girlfriend in more credits than you'll know what to do with."
"He doesn't want any part of your shit!" Shepard elbowed past Kane, stabbing her finger towards the leader in an accusatory fashion. It reminded Miranda of adult Shepard. "We know where your filthy credits come from. Taking girls off the streets, selling them fuck knows where!"
Traffickers then, even worse. Miranda clamped a hand down on Shepard's shoulder, stopping her in her tracks and dragging her backwards. She tucked the kid safely behind her and squared off against the trio.
"Look, my answer's the same as it was last time. I'm good where I am. Just let us be on our way."
"Just let us be on our way?" the leader scoffed, mocking her pattern of speech which probably did not sound 'street' at all. "Tell you what, we'll let you be on our way if your girlfriend takes care of us. I'm sure she already knows her way around a cock. And we might even toss you a few credits as a thank you for the service."
His friends' grins broadened, and they began making suggestive gestures. One was already unzipping his pants as he moved forward.
"Try it, and I'll bite the fuckin' thing off!" Shepard growled, although Miranda could also hear the fear in her voice.
At the moment one of the trio drew out a wicked looking knife – an old service blade – Miranda knew that they were in desperate trouble. She instinctively shifted into a fighting stance, earning guffaws in response.
"Look at this little punk! Thinks he's some kind of hero!"
"What you gonna do against the three of us, little man?"
"What are we going to do?" Shepard hissed. "Run?"
"Just stay behind me," Miranda said in a low voice, starting to strip off her coat.
Although Kane was young, Miranda had already felt his innate strength. Beneath his bulky coat, his muscles were lean, no doubt honed in the tough street environment. And she had been sizing up the three Peckham Boys since the moment they had approached. Despite the knife and their flashy clothes, they looked soft. She suspected they used intimidation rather than their fists.
It was obvious that the three young men were underestimating her. Despite his frame, perhaps Kane was not known as a brawler? Well, Kane was not at home. Although she did not have her biotics to fall back on, it hardly mattered. Miranda's 'education' had included hours of brutal hand to hand combat from the finest instructors money could buy. And all three of these idiots had managed to piss her off spectacularly in a short space of time.
Her coat was off, but she did not set it aside. She launched it suddenly at the head of the tough with a knife. It would not do much, but it was enough to create confusion and distract him while she surged forward to ram her fist into the leader's gut. As he doubled over, she brought her knee crashing up into his face. With a howl of pain, he stumbled backwards clutching at his nose. She was already aware of the guy with the knife coming for her, twisting to avoid it as the third tried to land a punch. Miranda ducked easily, darting away from both before aiming a kick at the hand that held the knife. There was a flash of metal as it spun away and a dull clink as it hit the ground.
The trio of Peckham boys may have been soft, but there were still three of them and Miranda was trying to adapt to wearing a strange body. Kane may have been powerfully built for a teenager, but that also meant his body was slow. Miranda was used to her own quick reflexes and lithe moments. Now she had to fight like a battering ram, with brute force.
In the midst of the melee, Miranda was aware of Shepard scrambling out of the way. One day Shepard would grow up to fight her own battles, but for the time being, Miranda was grateful that she had the good sense to know where she did not belong.
Miranda lost track of how many minutes had passed, the only way she could track the passage of time was by how bruised her knuckles were. She had taken several blows, mostly due to not being quick enough. Her right temple was smarting from a left hook that sent her reeling. A solid kick to her stomach had left her winded for a moment, but it had not been enough to break any ribs.
In contrast, her opponents were barely standing. She had brought her foot down as hard as she could on the knee of one of the goons as he lay on the ground. His resulting screams had said that he would not be getting up again in a hurry. Another was stumbling about as though drunk, his ears no doubt ringing as Miranda's fist had caught him squarely on the jaw with all of Kane's power behind it. Their leader, blood caking his face from his broken nose, was eyeing her warily.
It was then that Miranda caught a flash of light gleaming off metal. At some point he had retrieved his knife. She was backing off slightly when she felt a forearm wrap around her neck. The goon she had punched had recovered enough to get the drop on her. He was trying to pin her in place while his boss gutted her like a fish. Miranda wrapped her hands around his forearm, even as she struggled to breathe, and threw him over her shoulder to send him crashing down on his back.
Miranda had to admit that she had held her own, but it was simply a matter of numbers. Three was too many – there was always going to be something she missed, something she could not keep up with. She had a split second to react before she saw the remaining guy driving his knife towards her. Miranda had time to wrap her hands around his wrist, but she could not arrest the forward momentum. The blade plunged deep into her stomach. The pain almost tore her apart but all she would concede was a strangled grunt. Rather than twist the blade in deeper, the tough backed off. Miranda had been right all along, the guy did not usually do his own dirty work. She took advantage of his slackened grip to seize the slick hilt of the knife. The blade hurt even more on the way out than in, but she pushed past it. She caught a flash of surprise in her opponent's eyes in the moment before she brought the knife up in an arcing blow. The tip sliced into the side of his neck. Miranda felt a hot spray of blood hit her in the face. The guy screamed and stumbled backwards.
Static flooded her hearing as she stumbled backwards, rendering her unable to hear his continuing screams. She was dimly aware of the panic that she had created as the two barely functioning goons responded to their boss's distress. The last she saw of the trio, they were stumbling back down the alley leaving a trail of blood.
Miranda's only thought was for Shepard. She turned to see the girl emerging from behind a pile of rubbish and breathed a sigh of relief to see her unharmed. Shepard glanced back and forth between Miranda and the fleeing Peckham boys, her eyes wide with disbelief.
"Woah, how the hell did you do that?" Shepard asked, her voice heavy with awe. She turned around, noticing for the first time that Miranda had a blood-soaked hand pressed against her stomach. "You gonna be alright, Kane?"
It was worse than she had first thought. Miranda looked at her hand to find it dripping with blood. She guessed that this body had less than a minute before it bled out. Her strength gave out and she slumped to the ground. Somewhere in the distance, Miranda could hear the shrill sound of a siren and the screeching of tires. Already jaded by her brief time spent as a street rat, she doubted whether they were there to help someone like Kane. All Miranda was thinking about was whether she had fucked up the interface already.
"Hey, down here!" Shepard's shout was shrill and urgent. "My friend needs the meds! He's been stabbed!"
"Hey, Alice," Miranda said softly.
This time, Shepard did not correct the name. The kid stopped waving and knelt down at Kane's side. She kept ducking her head, clearly unwilling to let Kane see her cry. Tears fell thickly down her cheeks, and she swiped at her nose with her sleeve.
"It's okay. Look at me."
"Those cunts are going to pay for this," Shepard hissed angrily. "I promise you, man. I'm going to kill every last one of those motherfucking Peckhams!"
"No, you're not!" Miranda said it so emphatically she winced as a stab of pain shot through her body. "You promise me you're not going to do a damn thing other than live…and get the hell out of here."
"But…this is fucking wrong," Shepard sniffled, gesturing toward her dying friend.
"Yes," Miranda replied – the thought of kids dying on the street was unconscionable, but clearly the real Shepard had managed to claw her way up and out of the mire. "But it's not always going to be like this."
"What d'ya mean? This is just the way it is," Shepard's shoulders sagged as she said it. "Ain't nothin' else."
"There's only nothing…if you give up-" Miranda was interrupted by a coughing fit, she tasted blood bubbling from her lips. "And you're not the kind of person who gives up easily. Things can be different…"
"Really?" Shepard said, sounding so terribly young.
"I promise…" Miranda wanted to say more. She had left Shepard with very little actual advice and nothing to help guide her out of the situation in which she was in. However, the words would not come.
"Hey…Kane, look at me, man. Kane! Hold on, the meds are coming now!"
It was testament to the life that Miranda had lived that she recognised herself as being on the verge of death. She had been there once before – bleeding out on Sanctuary's cold, hard floor after being ignominiously skewered by Kai Leng's blade. Although this was not her own death, she still felt a sense of regret. She was dimly aware of young Shepard shaking her shoulder and hated the thought that she was watching her friend die. Miranda tried to push Shepard away, but her limbs had long since lost the ability to function.
Death did not come quietly. It was a riot of colours and light as Miranda felt her consciousness drawn out of the scenario in which she had just lived and died. Mercifully, the pain was gone. She found herself floating once more, again looking down on the network of pathways below.
As she swooped overhead, searching for her next destination, the thought briefly crossed her mind that the whole experience could have been enjoyable. After all, she was weightless and flying above what looked like a beautiful light show. It was her sense of purpose that pushed that thought away, she was here to do a job – even if she was still unclear on what exactly that job was.
There! Miranda focussed on another cluster with the same pattern – a cluster of bright white light shot through with angry swirls of red. As she swooped toward on her destination, she tried to prepare herself to face the same brutal transition as the first. However, even though she knew what to expect, the unsettling momentum stripped away any preparations. Once again she found herself hurtling toward impact. It was accompanied by the same intense feeling of nausea. When she came into contact with a solid surface, her stomach again heaved relentlessly to no effect. The intense lights did not disappear, hurting her eyes. This time they were accompanied by a rolling crescendo so loud Miranda had to clamp her hands over her ears. It felt like her skull was splitting apart. A shockwave knocked her flat and she instinctively curled her body into a tight ball to protect herself.
With the initial shock of arrival receding, Miranda tried to orientate herself from her precarious position. She soon realised that she had been thrown into the middle of a familiar concert. The sounds whistling through the air and crashing down all around her were those of an artillery barrage. Further details became clear - it was light artillery, the mobile kind used by shock troops…and mercenaries. Moreover, it was night – the bright lights were artillery shells exploding.
It was a war zone. This Miranda thought she could deal with. At least until she realised she wasn't wearing the expected hardsuit. Far from it. Miranda felt nothing against her skin other than a thin layer of fabric – a dress. Her feet were almost bare save for a few straps securing something to her feet. When she glanced down, Miranda found a pair of expensive looking stilettos. She could feel every bit of the grating texture of the concrete beneath her. Great, I'm in the middle of a war zone dressed like a socialite. Do I fail the test if I end up being blown to smithereens within seconds?
There was finally a lull in the shelling and, with all of her limbs still intact, Miranda risked dragging herself to her feet. Despite her lack of recent practice, she was relieved to find that she could still run in the ridiculous footwear – albeit without the ease or speed that a sensible pair of boots would have allowed. With her red dress swirling around her, Miranda picked a direction and ran.
As she moved, Miranda gradually realised that her outfit was not incongruous with her surroundings. This was clearly not meant to be a war zone. The street on which she ran was littered with the ruins of people's vacations. Restaurants and bars stood waiting for their patrons to return, those tables that had not been hit were still heavy with food and drink. Vibrant neon signs added to the bright lights. Somewhere in the distance she could hear the pulsing beat of music, albeit almost drowned out by the chorus of shouting and screaming she could now hear.
Miranda had been here before. She distinctively remembered sitting at a table on a street not too dissimilar as she waited for a contact, idly twirling the umbrella in her drink. Elysium – holiday destination of choice for so many, even after the events of 2176.
Wait, 2176? Miranda stopped running to focus on what was happening around her. Overhead, miles above the planet's surface, she could see the tell-tale signs of ship-to-shop conflict. Lights flashed, followed by brilliant explosions, and the trails of dying vessels as they fell from the heights.
At ground level, Miranda heard the steady chatter of gunfire and the resulting screams of terrified civilians. It was a fast, brutal onslaught that had come without warning. In the midst of it all, she found herself staring at her reflection in a nearby shop window. There, wearing a red dress and a fancy pair of shoes, was a stunningly beautiful young woman with blonde hair falling around her shoulders. She had obviously dressed for the night of her life and had found herself instead in the middle of the Skyllian Blitz.
Her only warning was a short, sharp whistle overhead. Miranda's reactions were always going to be too slow. The shell struck the ground, only a few metres away from her. The concussive force sent her flying through the air. As she crashed to the ground, a cry ripped from her throat. She felt skin burn and tear, once again she tasted blood in her mouth.
With her ears ringing, Miranda tried to pick herself up from the ground but her limbs were uncooperative. She pushed against the ground, but it felt as though her body weighed a ton.
Then, suddenly, she was weightless. Someone had their arms around her, lifting her back to her feet with a strong grip. Miranda wobbled unsteadily on her heels but managed to stay upright with the continued support of a steadying hand around her waist.
"Thank you-"
Anything else she might have said died on her lips when she finally looked at her saviour. Unlike the previous scenario where recognition had taken time, it was now all too obvious. Miranda was staring at Alice Shepard. An adult now, younger than Miranda had ever known her, but already possessed of a fierce determination. The kid that Miranda had left in the streets of London was long gone.
Shepard too was dressed for a night on the town. Her long, red hair was loose rather than pinned back into something suiting military regulations. She was wearing a leather jacket and a bright white shirt which a generous amount of her creamy chest bare. The only element that did not fit with the look, was the shotgun she carried. Miranda recognised it as a model favoured by mercs – obviously a spoil of war. Miranda then remembered that Shepard had been on shore leave on Elysium when the mercs had hit.
"Are you okay?" Shepard asked in a concerned voice.
"Um, yeah," Miranda managed to reply in another voice that was not her own. Her Australian twang was gone, replaced by a General American accent.
Shepard turned to look over her shoulder and made a curt signal. Movement followed, at least two dozen people emerged from cover to converge on Shepard. Miranda tried to take in each in turn. Many were also dressed in party clothes, more tourists. Others were wearing plain casuals, one a chef's uniform, and another the uniform of a security guard. They were all armed with an assortment of weapons taken from mercs, indicating that they had already been carving a bloody path through the city.
"Right, we keep moving forward as planned – as far as Grissom Square. There, we dig in and give the civilians enough time to get clear. Those mercs aren't taking another step into this city! Are you with me?"
There was a chorus of assents in response to Shepard before her troops began moving once again. Shepard turned to face Miranda, all the while she had been holding her by the waist.
"If you follow this street behind you, you'll come to a barricaded subway entrance. You'll be safe from the shelling down there."
Miranda shook her head. "No, it may not look like it, but I can fight. I'm coming with you."
Shepard grinned. "I don't doubt that at all, although dressed like that? Here…"
The young woman stripped off the leather jacket she wore and handed it to Miranda. She also produced a pistol which had obviously been tucked into the waistband of her trousers.
"Welcome to the resistance…?"
"Um, Miranda." It did not make sense to invent a name and she was still trying to process everything.
"Nice to meet you, Miranda." Shepard clamped a hand on her back and propelled her forward down the street. She continued talking as they moved at a brisk walk, "I'm Alice. Usually it's Second-Lieutenant Shepard, but I'm supposed to be on holiday."
"Some holiday!" Miranda responded, tugging the jacket on over the red dress.
It was easy to lose herself in the preparations for battle. After all, she had plenty of practice in taking orders from Shepard. As the group dug in, the met sporadic groups of mercs – advance forces sweeping the streets. There were several brutal firefights, an indication of what was to come. They picked up more recruits – including several members of a football team and a group of friends who had been celebrating an eighteenth birthday.
It had not escaped Miranda's notice that most of their group were young, some much too young. Everywhere she looked she saw youthful faces staring back at her. Despite their bravado, most were terrified. They were not soldiers, they had simply been drawn to the magnetic presence that was Alice Shepard.
Miranda checked the pistol she carried as she hunkered down next to a ruined skycar. It looked to be at least a decade old, but she had a full thermal clip and her aim was not compromised by the amount of make-up she was wearing.
"Hey."
Miranda looked across to see Shepard tuck in beside her. The marine was bleeding from a light head wound but was otherwise unscathed and still somehow managing to smile.
"Tell me you're some sort of secret agent in your day job, Miranda," Shepard joked. "Or are you just a natural with that pistol?"
"I'm just a privileged kid who took lessons," Miranda replied with what was essentially the truth.
"Well, I'm damn glad you decided to come with us. Most of these kids didn't know one end of a pistol from the other. Still, they've learned fast."
The smile was gone as Shepard settled back against the side of the skycar and closed her eyes. For the first time Miranda realised that the woman was exhausted. No doubt she had already been fighting for hours and had probably been out making the most of her shore leave prior to that. Miranda had to stop herself from reaching out to press a hand to Shepard's cheek.
"Alice," Miranda said softly. "Everything will be okay."
Shepard did not open her eyes, but she did sigh. "Will it though? Oh, I have no doubt that the Alliance already have reinforcements en-route and they'll kick the hell out of these fucking mercs, but how many more are going to have to die before that happens?"
When she opened her eyes, they were shining with unshed tears. Miranda knew this woman all too well. She was unafraid to show her emotions, even when her profession said otherwise.
"They train us officers to send our troops into certain-death situations, but that's what they signed up for." Shepard stopped talking and looked around at her new conscripts for several moments. "That guy over there, he probably expected the worst part of his night to be a customer sending his food back to the kitchen. Those two kids-" Shepard nodded to a pair of young women huddled close together – "they were on their second date tonight. And those ball players? They won the cup final earlier today – I was there, it was a fantastic game. And you, Miranda, you had somewhere to be tonight – somewhere special by the looks of it. I've already set up half a dozen other barricades, all manned by people who shouldn't be there. None of you should be here, caught in the middle of this hell."
Suddenly faced with Shepard's direct gaze, Miranda was tongue-tied for a moment before she managed to reply, "Whatever I was doing before all of this, it doesn't matter. In the here and now, we're your troops, Alice. We signed up for this."
"But these kids…fuck…I've had parents pleading with me to make their kids go with them instead of me-"
"Everyone here has made their own decisions, just as you've made yours."
"I didn't have a choice-"
"You did," Miranda interrupted. "But all the other options – running, hiding - were unconscionable because that's not who you are. You, Alice Shepard, are one of the best leaders I have ever met. Not because you're stupidly brave, which you are, but because you inspire people to be the best versions of themselves."
Shepard was staring at Miranda with an odd expression on her face. Too far, Miranda thought guiltily. I've pushed things too far.
"Have we met before?" Shepard asked softly.
Miranda shook her head. "I'm just a good judge of character."
Shepard was still staring at her, as though trying to place her from somewhere – and she no doubt would have continued to stare if not for the sound of dozens of heavy footsteps approaching their barricade. A last glance passed between them, Shepard expressing her gratitude with a mouthed 'thank you.' Then the time for talking was over, now there remained only action.
The first shots came from Shepard, and then all hell let loose from every direction. Once or twice Miranda found herself instinctively starting a mnemonic as a precursor to a biotic attack, before reminding herself that she was not that woman. Instead she lost herself in the simple motions of the firefight. The old pistol in her hands soon ran hot. After all, she understood this game all too well. And in the midst of it all, a part of her revelled in fighting at Shepard's side once more.
When she noticed the telltale signs of the scenario ending, she felt a sense of regret that she was leaving. As the unseen force wrapped its tendrils around her again, Miranda was grateful that she did not have to die a second time. The last thing she saw before she was snatched from her surroundings was Shepard standing strong and confident at the head of her ragtag squad of soldiers, rallying them to drive the Batarians back from the barricade. What happened from that point on was well-known, not just to Miranda but humanity. By rallying civilians to fight with her, Shepard had succeeded in buying enough time for reinforcements to arrive. Although at the cost of the lives of many of those who had decided to fight alongside her. For her actions, Shepard had been awarded the Star of Terra, a bona fide war hero.
Miranda found herself back in the in-between place, hovering above the network of lights as she searched for her next destination. This time, she had some distance to travel before she located it. It was near the head of the network, representing the top of the spinal column. The maelstrom she encountered was more intense than the two that had come before. The lights swirled and eddied, seeming to swallow space around it. Miranda did not need to approach it, instead it drew her in like a whirlpool.
This time, Miranda was prepared for the strange shifting sensation. Although she felt the same nausea, it no longer overwhelmed and disorientated her. She even had the presence of mind to wonder which of Shepard's memories she would be thrown into next. She worried that it was growing increasingly difficult to remain detached.
Miranda felt something solid beneath her feet. The colours around her gradually settled into place, forming walls and furniture around her. Before they had fully solidified, Miranda was struck by a realisation – I know this place.
Miranda found herself standing in the XO's office on board the Normandy SR-2. She glanced down to gratefully find her own body – several decades younger of course - wearing the black and white tactical suit that had always fit her like a glove. The Cerberus logo was stark on her chest. Her gaze roamed over the space and she found it as though she had never left. The space was pristine, as she always kept it, but very much lived in. This was her space. She was surrounded by her belongings. It was a simpler time, where everything had been focused on one purpose – defeating the Collectors.
{Operative Lawson?}
The sudden interruption in the midst of reminiscing caused her to jump. Her cheeks flushed with embarrassment when she recognised the voice she had not heard for a long time. "Yes, EDI?"
{You did request that I notify you when it was 0200.} Even a perfunctory message did not dilute the AI's sultry tones. {That is not the only reason for my interruption. You also requested that I notify you of any crew behaviour that could be detrimental to the Normandy's mission.}
"I did?" Miranda replied, confused. Somewhere at the back of her mind she recognised what EDI was saying, but it remained tantalisingly out of reach for now.
{I have analysed Commander Shepard's behaviour and I can find no logical reason for her current activity.}
Realisation hit like a slap to the face. Miranda had found herself in the middle of that incident. The night before the Normandy went through the Omega-Four relay. Of all the memories she shared with Shepard, this was one that she did not want to relive.
{Operative Lawson?}
Ah, what did I say? "Um…report, EDI."
{Commander Shepard has been standing outside your quarters for one hour and seventeen minutes.}
"Thanks EDI…for…um…bringing it to my attention. I will deal with it."
Miranda remembered how it had played out from this point. She knew that when she opened the door she would find Shepard standing outside in a state of agitation. The woman was agitated because she had come to confess to Miranda that she loved her. Shepard had been vulnerable and honest – and Miranda had shot her down in the cruellest way possible. Miranda closed her eyes and drew in a breath to fortify herself. She could not imagine herself doing that to Shepard for a second time.
Her hand trembled as she pressed the door mechanism. Sure enough, she found Shepard on the other side every bit as agitated as she remembered. Her old self had scowled in irritation, this time she could not even summon a glare. She noticed how tired Shepard looked and felt nothing but a swell of concern.
"Hello Shepard…c-can I help you?"
"Fuck." Shepard paused, an animal caught in a bright light. She rubbed her tired eyes. "Can we speak in your quarters, Miranda?"
"Of course," Miranda replied, waving Shepard inside, almost eagerly.
Everything about the situation unsettled Miranda. This was not simply another of Shepard's memories. It was her memory just as much as it was Shepard's. During the first two scenarios she had played along, acting in a way that felt right without really knowing what she was supposed to do. This time around, she knew exactly what had happened. Was she now supposed to let things unfold as they had in reality?
"I'm in love with you," Shepard suddenly blurted out.
It was not hard for Miranda to feign her original surprised reaction. Even though she had known exactly what Shepard was there to say, hearing those words again for the first time shook her to the core.
"I mean…I think I'm in love with you. I think I have been from the moment I saw you standing over Wilson with a smoking gun in your hand."
As the one-sided conversation unfolded, Miranda realised that there were so many small details that she had forgotten about. The way in which Shepard's hands were clasped together, as though that would somehow be enough to keep her feelings locked away tight. The awkward, stunted laugh that escaped before she could continue.
"I thought I had it under control, just another thing I could compartmentalise, but I can't. Not this."
One thing Miranda did remember was her irritation at not implanting Shepard with a control chip. It was a cruel, irrational thought – born purely out of fear. She would be forever grateful that she had not made such a horrible mistake.
"Fuck, say something," Shepard said, her desperation spilling out into her words. "You're making me feel like an idiot standing here."
Miranda remembered what had happened next – all too clearly. She had called Shepard a sentimental idiot. A selfish child. Accused her of trying to ruin the mission by engaging in meaningless fucking. In response, Shepard had been devastated. It was only testament to her determination and strength that she had been able to pull herself together – a lesser person would have crumbled completely. Miranda opened her mouth to speak, reminding herself that she was simply acting a role and that this Shepard standing in front of her was not real.
"I can't do this again," she murmured softly, shaking her head.
Shepard frowned. "Again? Miranda…I don't understand?"
At the forefront of Miranda's mind was the thought that she might be dooming the real Galaxy to war with the Reapers. However, something else told her that everything was going to be alright. She now knew that she was not taking part in mere scenarios, these were all Shepard's memories. And there was no way that she could have acted in the first two according to how they had actually played out. Therefore, she deduced that this particular memory did not have to have the same unhappy conclusion as it had in reality.
Her whole body trembled as she closed the gap between them. She was embarrassed, until she took Shepard's hands in her own and found that the Commander was also trembling. Somehow Miranda was able to meet Shepard's intense gaze. The hope that she found there almost drove her to her knees. How could she have been so cruel and callous all those years ago – especially when they had both wanted the same thing?
"I've loved you for even longer," Miranda admitted, her voice soaring as the weight of denial was finally lifted. "From the moment you opened your eyes on Lazarus Station I loved you." She watched as tears brimmed in Shepard's eyes. Miranda quickly lifted her hands to swipe them away before they could fall down Shepard's cheeks. "And I'm sorry that I wasn't strong enough to be honest with you a long time ago."
It soon became futile to try and stem the flow of Shepard's tears. They fell first onto Miranda's hands, and then her lips as she started kissing Shepard – gently at first, before she responded to the tiny groan of longing from her own throat.
As her body thrummed with arousal, just for a moment Miranda wondered whether the Intelligence had somehow found a way to send her back in time. That this was not just a reconstructed memory, but that actual point in time. From here she would have a second chance to do things differently. Not just to change this moment, but to somehow find a way to save Shepard in the War to come.
"Miranda…" Shepard's whisper grazed her lips. "Will you stay with me until its time to go through the relay?"
"Yes," was the eager reply. "Yes. Now…and always."
That elation was suddenly ripped away from her. She was brutally torn from Shepard's arms by an unseen force which grabbed her and dragged her backwards at speed. Unlike the earlier kaleidoscopic shifting of colours, this time everything seemed to collapse in on itself. Substance, form, colours – it was all drawn into a vortex of nothingness – once again creating a sensory overload.
Miranda fought and clawed at the memory as it disappeared around her, but it was all in vain. Her body slammed painfully against a solid surface. When she opened her mouth to cry out, she found herself drowning once again. She struggled to draw a breath, but there was only the horrible sensation of her airways thick with the gel from the tank. Her eyes were open, but she saw only a featureless dull light with no beginning or end. Black spots encroached on her vision and she found herself sinking into oblivion.
The next thing she felt was the return of the piercing cold. Her face was pressed into a hard surface as her entire body heaved, expelling copious amounts of the gel all the while she shivered uncontrollably. There was a solitary voice somewhere above her, admonishing her to breathe.
With the last of the gel expelled, gentle hands turned Miranda over. Her eyes were open, but everything she saw was blurred. Instead, she felt rather than saw what was happening. She left the cold floor behind her as she was lifted up, her body pressed against cold, unforgiving ceramic plates. Even though every touch was tender, there was no warmth to be found and she could not stop shivering.
"Hold on, Miranda. I need to get you warm. Just stay with me."
Miranda held onto Shepard's voice, trying to draw strength from it even as it felt like life itself was ebbing steadily away. Her lips were moving as she tried to speak, to tell Shepard how she felt.
I love you, Alice. I love you.
But the whispers that emerged were unintelligible save for one word…
"Alice…"