Chapter 33
Port Hanshan, Noveria
Miranda and Oriana walked side-by-side, moving along at a leisurely pace as they navigated the sprawling, glass-enclosed marketplace nestled within the heart of Port Hanshan's commercial district.
Pausing occasionally to gaze into one storefront or another, Miranda couldn't help but reflect on how radically different her previous visit to Noveria had been. It was little more than six months since she, Kasumi, Liara and the others had launched their desperate mission to rescue Shepard from SAIS custody only to see him spirited away by Ashley Williams and Captain Dah's task group.
At the time, when she herself was only just beginning to recover from the abuse suffered at the hands of Major Richter's rogue outfit, seeing Shepard slip through her grasp had left her with a deep resentment for this frozen world.
But now, months removed from the frantic firefight in Port Hanshan's lower planetary space docks, spending the day casually shopping with her younger sister, Miranda found that a small measure of that pain was melting away. If not for Private Westmoreland's presence a few meters behind them, acting as their ever-watchful escort, she might have even convinced herself that there wasn't a horrific war raging beyond the system.
A few days earlier, after first stopping at the massive refueling station permanently situated along the system's heliopause, the Normandy had made her way to Noveria. Once in orbit, the Alliance frigate docked at one of NDC-run anchorages, began taking on fresh supplies, and started the process of rotating crew down to the surface for some well-deserved shore leave.
Tucked away in a relatively inconspicuous and strategically unimportant region of space, the Reapers hadn't yet appeared in the Pax system, instead focusing their efforts on juicer, more densely populated targets in human and turian space. It was this lack of conflict near Noveria, paired with its close proximity to Sur'Kesh and Tuchanka that made it an ideal location for the Normandy's crew to catch their breath.
Nearly as important, the corporate-run world was rich with pharmaceutical labs and bioengineering research facilities which could provide the necessary equipment and materials Mordin needed to finish his work on the Genophage cure. It all came with a steep price, but one that was well worth it in Shepard and Miranda's minds. Doing business here, a world steeped in the tradition of shielding its clients from Citadel Council scrutiny, was exactly what they needed to move the mission along.
With the ultra-controversial nature of the endeavor, it was critical they maintain as a low a profile as possible. Admiral Anderson had warned of the likely resistance they'd face from within the Alliance, but both Shepard and Miranda knew that that would only be the start. Nearly every culture of note in the galaxy would line up to oppose curing the Genophage, and more than a few would likely attempt some sort of intervention to prevent its deployment. That potential for an aggressive response was exactly why staying clear of Council space and controls was absolutely necessary if they hoped to deliver what they'd promised to the krogan.
What little support they did have for the mission was based on a massively fragile foundation.
The turians were on board, but only just, the dire situation on Palaven all but forcing their hand. If there had been another means to get the krogan into the fight, they'd surely take it. A Genophage cure was the last thing Victus wanted, but a price he knew had to be paid if he hoped to have any chance of saving his world from complete destruction.
Anderson's thinking was much the same, knowing firsthand that Earth couldn't hold out much longer without the kind jolt an organized krogan combat force could deliver. Still, he was schooled enough in galactic history to know that a resurgent krogan empire was not the sort of thing to take lightly. He was behind the effort and ultimately ready to support Shepard's decision, whatever the long-term consequences, but he was also largely cut off from the rest of the surviving human leadership and his influence could only stretch so far.
But even if the Admiral had still maintained his spot on the Council, the other members were unlikely to be moved by the crisis unfolding in human and turian space. Tevos had made it abundantly clear that the asari were vehemently opposed to the concept. She'd even joined the salarian Councilor, Valern, in claiming that the potential for a Genophage cure had helped to instigate the bloody civil war raging on Sur'Kesh.
Even Admiral Hackett was lukewarm on the idea. He knew what they were facing with the Reapers, but the grizzled military man wasn't keen on exchanging one overwhelming powerful enemy for another potential scourge for expediencies' sake. He didn't try to squash the idea outright, perhaps partially because he knew Shepard would ultimately follow whatever path his gut told him to take, but he had urged restraint while the Admiralty conducted their due-diligence on the matter.
But Shepard and Miranda were committed. There were few others in the known galaxy that understood the nature of the Reapers more intimately than they did and they knew there could simply be no delay in getting the krogan into the fight. The risks were valid, but, in the end, irrelevant. Waiting around for bureaucrats and military careerists to debate the wider implications of ending the Genophage would only speed along the enemy's advance. They had to act now and worry about the rest later.
They immediately suspended regular Alliance and Council reports, limiting their outbound comms to only the most critical, personal transmissions, and kept Mordin and Eve's continued presence on the Normandy a closely guarded secret.
If everything went as planned, most of the galaxy wouldn't even know the deed had been done until it was long over with.
But that was a seriously big if and Miranda knew it.
Beyond the nature of their work toward a Genophage cure, extraordinary levels of secrecy were rapidly becoming the norm on board.
For obvious reasons, Shepard had refused to make any sort of official report to the Alliance Admiralty about Miranda's presence or her being named XO. That matter was kept strictly internal, his officers ordered to exercise the highest level of discretion when it came to her position on the Normandy. He knew that his absurdly unconventional command prerogative wasn't something easily explained and had little desire to risk her freedom by testing the Navy's stomach for challenging Spectre autonomy. He'd have to square it with his superiors at some point, but for now, the matter was on hold.
Between their current mission's divisive nature, Miranda's presence on board, the temporary transport of the former Cerberus researchers, and the laundry list of other secrets the Normandy was concealing, they were testing the limits of EDI's ability to scrub all outgoing comms from the crew, ensuring that nothing inadvertent—or intentional—was released out into the wild.
For her own part, Miranda had little trouble operating under the rather shadowy conditions they'd instituted. Compartmentalizing her role on the ship with her broader status beyond the Normandy's hull came relatively easy for her. After more than a decade as one of Cerberus's most elite operatives, it was little more than instinct and reflex.
But for Shepard, it was more of a challenge.
Keeping the Council at arms-length wasn't much of an issue. Shepard had never seen eye to eye with his nominal superiors since joining the ranks of the Spectre office. But the willful deception he'd been forced to employ when dealing with Admiral Hackett was something else entirely.
Shepard still felt indebted to the man and maintained a strong sense of loyalty toward him. The Admiral had been one of his greatest champions during his rapid accent up through the Alliance Marines and was a pivotal supporter when he'd butted heads with both the Council and the Navy in 2183.
Shepard trusted Hackett and being forced to hold back certain truths from him was starting to become taxing on his conscience.
But Miranda's experience was different. She still harbored a deeply-entrenched distrust for the Alliance's supreme military leader and privately took a small degree of satisfaction seeing Shepard stray just a little farther from his influence.
Perhaps she still resented the Admiral for ultimately sending them into Bahak. Or, maybe it was her refusal to accept that he couldn't have done more for Shepard while he'd been imprisoned on Earth, isolated and marginalized during such a critical time. Whatever the reason, in the end, she decided she simply didn't like the man. Whenever she heard him speak or saw his face on a vid, her intuition seemed to perk up and alarms bells sounded in her head. There was something off. She just didn't know what yet.
Still, she preferred not to have to see Shepard in such a conflicted state. Keeping her presence on board the ship was one thing, holding back key strategic intel from his superiors was quite another entirely. If nothing else than for his peace of mind, she hoped they wouldn't need to carry on all these deceptions for terribly too much longer.
But for the crew, the arrival in Noveria's orbit was a welcome respite. After the roller-coaster of Earth, Mars, Palaven, Gellix and Sur'Kesh, the mostly young and formerly inexperienced collection of sailors and Marines on board the Normandy were beginning to show signs of significant tension and combat stress. So, as soon as the ground rules were established—namely, keeping quiet about Miranda's status as XO or letting slip that a krogan female had taken up residence in the Med Bay—Shepard had begun allowing groups of a dozen or so at a time to make the trip down to the surface and enjoy some well-deserved shore leave.
Miranda had spent the first several days of their time in orbit overseeing the resupply and helping to arrange for the procurement of materials Mordin needed to complete his work. But once the bulk of those critical tasks were complete, she finally joined Oriana among the last group of Normandy's crew dispatched to the surface, welcoming the opportunity to get off the ship and stretch her legs.
Added to that, the stop on Noveria offered the Lawson women their first opportunity to visit a proper marketplace since coming aboard the Normandy after their hasty evacuation from Gellix, where they'd been forced to leave so much of their gear behind inside the smoldering wreck of the Cassandra. It was a welcomed opportunity to acquire some much-needed personal supplies and clothing beyond what was readily available from the shipboard quartermaster.
And though Noveria tended to be a generally safe, nonviolent world—aside, of course, from the Peak 15 incident of 2183 that Shepard had been so intimately involved in—Shepard had stressed exercising reasonable precaution to the crew when mingling with the locals. For Miranda and Oriana, his wariness meant the presence of an armed Marine while they went about their day in Port Hanshan.
Shepard had insisted upon the escort, fearing the possibility his XO might be spotted by some would-be bounty hunter chasing the hefty payday offered by the Alliance. It wasn't likely in a place like Port Hanshan, where corporate espionage was the norm and the company-owned security firms were mainly interested in protecting their employer's secrets, but Miranda was someone that tended to get noticed in a crowd and he wasn't about to take any unnecessary chances.
As for Miranda, her father's continued obsession with recapturing Oriana was more than enough reason for her to acquiesce to the added layer of security.
The two Lawson women and Westmoreland were all dressed in civilian attire, not looking to advertise their status as members of the Normandy's crew just yet. Still, the Marine was wearing a fair amount of un-marked light battle armor in addition to the heavy pistol and shotgun clipped to her belt. Miranda and Oriana were similarly armed, but being a little more discreet about it, concealing their firearms under their jackets.
A few hours later and several boutiques behind them, the shopping bag slung over Miranda's shoulder was getting heavy. She paused just outside another shop bordering the upper concourse to peer inside, judging if it was worth a visit, while she maintained a small, slowly rotating orb of electric-blue biotic energy above her palm.
Oriana joined her a moment later and glanced down at her sister's casual display of dark energy manipulation. "So how's it feeling?" she said. "Like before, or different?"
Miranda pulled her attention away from the storefront and frowned, allowing the tiny biotic singularity to dissipate harmlessly before it winked out of existence altogether. "No, not like before. It's more of a struggle to gather the initial charge of dark energy and maintaining the mass effect field's integrity requires a good deal more of my concentration. Tapping my bio-amp to weaponize the energy is another thing entirely. It's like I'm learning to use these powers all over again." She sighed. "Mordin and Karin said it would take time though. But you know me, I'm not exactly patient about these things."
Oriana snorted a laugh. "Really? I hadn't noticed."
Miranda smirked and took Oriana's arm, leading her away as they continued their stroll through the busy mall. It had only been a few days since she'd begun taking the revised serum Mordin and Doctor Chakwas had synthesized for her. And even though she was frustrated by the slow progress, she already felt about a hundred times better about her condition than she had before. Just beginning the process of using her biotic powers again reminded her just how much she'd missed that part of herself. It was like recovering the use of a long-dead limb or regaining the sense of sight after being blinded by some horrible accident. She'd never take those abilities for granted again.
She still hadn't quite reached the point where she was confident unleashing her biotics wouldn't do irrevocable damage to her immediate surroundings or jeopardize the safety of anyone nearby, but the small steps forward were encouraging. And though Mordin and Karin had both urged her to maintain reasonable expectations about her recovery, understanding that she might never regain the same level of deadly precision and power she once commanded, she was determined to claw all the way back out from the hole the SAIS had left her in.
"I knew they'd figure it out," Oriana said, beaming as they walked along. "And don't worry, I'm sure you'll be knocking heads together with your biotics in no time at all."
Miranda laughed softly and gave her sister a playful push in the arm, adding a tiny biotic spark to the gesture that made Oriana jump and yelp overdramatically.
Oriana rubbed her arm and shot Miranda a disdainful look before glancing around the expansive indoor marketplace. "I'm still a little shocked over the quality of shopping they have on this Popsicle of a world," she said. "It's no Illium and doesn't hold a candle to the Presidium, but they're surprising up on most of the current fashion trends. I kinda figured we'd have to make due with some crappy convenience store or sad little hotel gift shop, dodging corporate eggheads in baggy jumpsuits."
"Well, the NDC does fund this emporium, but they make a point to invite in a wide range of vendors and multi-species brands. The people that work here are some of the highest paid in the region and have plenty of disposable income. The corporations also regularly host very high profile clients and investors, hence the collection of high-end luxury hotels nearby."
"Well, I for one am thrilled. That Alliance-issue underwear is godawful—and so uncomfortable."
"On that, Ori, we can agree."
"Oh my god!" Oriana cried, skipping over to a nearby display window. "I don't believe it. They have F'allessie handbags!"
Miranda rolled her eyes, following Oriana over to the window, glancing indifferently at the designer asari purses. The handbags were becoming all the rage of late, the retro fad having gained significant traction with both the asari and human demographics. And though she was more than willing to indulge in her fair share of extravagance from time to time, a sparkly purse wasn't one of them.
Oriana gazed longingly at the exotic purses but her enthusiasm died when she caught Miranda shaking her head disapprovingly. "Alright, alright," she said. "I know. They're totally impractical and way too expensive."
"Thank you for recognizing that."
Oriana groaned wistfully one last time, tearing her gaze from the colorful merchandise, and glanced back to where Westmoreland was standing a few meters away. The Marine was stone-faced, playing the eternally vigilant sentinel, but the younger Lawson could have also sworn she'd caught her giving the shop window a brief, interested look.
"Don't you think it's weird Bethany's still just a Private?" Oriana said, lowering her voice. "I mean, she's not that young and seems to have a lot of experience. She's smart too."
"There's a reason," Miranda said. "But it's not your concern, Ori. You're a junior member of the Normandy's crew now and the details of your crewmates' personnel records are not something appropriate for your eyes."
Oriana blinked. "Oh," she said, looking mildly disappointed. But she knew there was no use pumping her sister for gossip, so she dropped it.
"Come on," Miranda said. "Let's get moving. We don't have all day to linger down here and I still have some essentials to pick up."
The women continued on through the mall, picking up the pace, with Westmoreland trailing them faithfully.
"So, the biotics are coming along, but how's that other thing going, Miranda?"
"What do you mean, Ori?"
"You know what I mean, Randa," Oriana said, reaching a hand up to gently touch the back of her sister's neck. "Don't play dumb. It doesn't suit you."
Miranda recoiled slightly and half-swatted Oriana's hand away. "It's fine. It's done. I'm not even having the nightmares all that often anymore. You don't have to worry about that."
Oriana sighed impatiently. "Right. Don't you think it's about time you drop the tough-chick act, Miranda? You're not doing yourself any favors bottling up what you went through. You need to let someone in. And if not me or Kasumi or Anita, then it damn well should be Shepard. He loves you. He wants to help."
Miranda looked half horrified, half embarrassed at her sister's frank assessment. She gave a curt nod, averting her eyes. "I'll think about it," she said quietly.
Oriana smiled. "I'll take that."
A minute later they came upon a food court of sorts where both familiar and exotic aromas drifted through the air. There were nearly a dozen different small restaurants—mostly salarian, turian, human and asari cuisine—all situated around a central square. And at the far corner, a stream of excessively loud music was blaring from a raucous-looking bar filled with late afternoon customers.
Obviously a popular spot among Port Hanshan's blue-collar workers, Miranda easily picked out turians in garage maintenance uniforms and humans wearing space dock ground crew jumpsuits. There were salarians and a few asari within sight too, likely members of independent freight transport crews. Even a few familiar faces from the Normandy were present. This was a haven of sorts, a place to unwind after a long shift or to enjoy a cheap drink and hear the latest news not fit for corporate broadcast.
"Oh hey, it must be happy hour!" Oriana said excitedly and then scurried forward, poking her head halfway into the noisy tavern.
Miranda winced and shook her head before chasing after her. "Sorry, Ori," she said, taking the girl's arm. "This place isn't on our agenda. If you're hungry or thirsty, there are more civilized places we can visit."
Oriana rolled her eyes. "You're no fun at all anymore, Randa."
Miranda raised an eyebrow but wasn't about to take Oriana's bait. The seedy bar was exactly the sort of place she would have frequented in her past life, trolling for information or arranging back-alley deals. For those who had the right contacts, it was a gateway, leading to the shadowy underworld that invariably existed on every habitable planet of note. It was not, however, any place for her sister, no matter how savvy she'd become.
Instinctively, Miranda quickly surveyed the faces in the crowd. The presence of a few of her people didn't surprise her. Navy crews were frequently acquainted with these kinds of dives. After long stints in space, confined to tight quarters and strict regulations, it was natural to seek out a place that offered little in the way of formality or restriction. Most came for relatively innocent reasons; looking for the kind of booze the corporate lounges refused to serve, to be dealt into an unsanctioned card game, or, at worst, to find a prostitute for the night. The crew of the Normandy was no different. However, one particular patron seated at the back of the bar piqued her curiosity.
Greg Adams was leaning across a small cocktail table and carrying on a heated conversation with a salarian Miranda didn't recognize. The Chief was agitated for sure, casting his eyes around nervously. Then he saw his XO staring back at him and he flinched.
Adams shared a quick parting word with his companion and then abruptly stood up from the table and stormed out of the bar, nearly knocking over one of the petty officers from the Flight Ops crew who was standing near the entrance, causing the young woman to spill half her brightly colored drink on the floor.
"Ma'am," he said, giving a curt nod, not bothering to slow down or salute.
"Chief," Miranda said coolly. Her eyes narrowed on the man's back as she turned her head and watched him march off down the concourse until he turned a corner and disappeared from sight.
"What the hell is his deal?" Oriana said.
Miranda didn't seem to hear. She had turned her head back and was scanning the interior of the bar, looking for the salarian Adams had been talking to. But the table was empty and there was no sign of him.
"Miranda? What is it?"
"What?" Miranda said, snapping out of it. "Nothing. It's nothing. Come on. Let's go find a quieter spot to have a bite before we head back to the ship."
Huerta Memorial Hospital, the Citadel
Ashley sat in the chair of her hospital room, gazing out at the Presidium's finely manicured greenbelts and water features, the simulated morning sunlight casting long shadows across the Citadel's premier stretch of real-estate.
The private suite was a luxury given how crowded Huerta Memorial had become over the first weeks of the war. The hospital was practically bursting at the seams, struggling to contain the ever-growing influx of patients arriving every day.
After waking from her medically-induced coma, Ashley had witnessed the wounded streaming in from her bed. Later, after she'd regained enough strength to get vertical again, she'd gotten a more intimate sense of how bad things were going for the unlucky people caught in the Reapers' path.
Shuffling around the halls in her hospital gown with an IV line sticking out of her arm, Ashley watched with grim curiosity as Huerta filled up with half-maimed humans, battle-weary turians, and a handful of asari commandoes who looked like little more than the walking dead. There were soldiers and civilians, men, women and children. It was equal opportunity slaughter out beyond the nebula.
She would make her rounds, covering more ground with each passing day as her energy slowly increased, and stop to talk with the wounded Alliance men and women. Some wouldn't make it. Some would end up wishing that they hadn't. But Ashley tried to offer what little comfort she could provide. But seeing all that suffering was beginning to wear on her. And watching as the trauma wards became more crowded was making her feel more and more uneasy about the comfort of her own private recovery room.
She was an officer in the Alliance Navy, but she didn't feel that she deserved any special treatment when there were a few hundred other grunts crammed into a place meant to accommodate a fraction of that number. And she certainly wasn't the highest ranking trooper wounded in action or someone important enough to be prioritized over any random civilian in need of a soft mattress and attentive nurse. She knew her primary physician, Doctor Michel, from before. But that hardly seemed good enough reason for her to be pampered when there were so many others in need of care.
But Ashley was finally getting out today. After three different surgeries—none of which she remembered—more than two weeks of intensive post-op care, a few preliminary therapy sessions and two brain scans a day, she was finally being discharged. For her, the bright, comfortable room she'd be saying goodbye to was nothing more than a prison cell. She was more than happy to pass it along to someone more deserving and get back to doing what she was trained to do: Kill bad guys.
Glancing up at the vid screen mounted on the wall, she barely registered the carousel of destruction. The networks were cycling through one horrible image after another, all depicting the irresistible advance of the Reapers on Earth and Palaven and half a dozen other colony worlds.
She'd already seen the images a thousand times, feeling the punch to the gut on every single occasion. She was helpless, unable to contribute in any useful way to the war or stand alongside her brothers and sisters in the Alliance military. The frustration had been steadily eating away at her with each passing day.
And even though she was eager to be rid of Huerta's plush comforts and round-the-clock care, she wasn't entirely sure what the immediate future would bring.
There'd been little word on her wayward ship, the Normandy, since she'd been dropped off on the Citadel. After Ashley woke up in Huerta, Shepard was already long gone, dispatched on some ultra-secret mission under Council Spectre authority. But she still had contacts over at Admiral Kaneda's office. They'd clued her into the fact that the skipper had been sent out to run the Reaper blockade around Palaven and extract a turian Primarch. They'd also informed her that he'd made Captain, almost the moment he'd stepped foot on the station after their run out from Sol.
That bit made her feel a little prickly. On the one hand, she was happy for the man, especially after all he'd been put through after Bahak. But she felt a twinge to her pride too. She'd worked her ass off to get the Normandy sorted and ready for active combat duty before the Reapers swooped in. Then, less than twenty-four hours later, and while Earth was being ravaged, she'd been knocked out of the action by fucking Cerberus. Then, when she finally wakes up to find that she's not dead after all, her ship's already long gone and Shepard along with it.
She felt stranded on the Citadel, cutoff from the few friends she had left in the galaxy. She wasn't even sure if she'd still have a place on the Normandy by the time it made it back—if it ever did.
But missing the familiar comforts of the Normandy wasn't the only thing making her feel adrift. Even worse was not knowing what had happened to her mother and sisters after she'd been ordered to flee the system along with Shepard and the others. There'd been no messages through the nets before Earth was cutoff and she'd been combing through the refugee and casualty reports every chance she got, hoping to come across some kind of news. But there was nothing.
With her status as a naval officer and her family's deep ties to the Alliance, her mother and sisters would have been more well-informed than most civilians leading up to the attack and likely would have had a slightly higher evacuation priority. But the invasion had been so sudden and crushing that it probably hadn't made much difference. It must have been absolute chaos back home.
But she wasn't giving up hope, not even close. She prayed every day that they'd managed to secure passage on an evac shuttle or civvie transport and that they'd latched onto the exodus fleet the Ninth had become. She wouldn't allow herself to consider the alternative. It was too awful to imagine, knowing exactly what happened to humans who were left in the Reapers' way.
But the reports that managed to get off-world before the local Sol-based buoy networks went completely dark were pretty bleak. The Reapers were raining down enough troop transports to blot out the sun when the Normandy was breaking out of Earth's upper atmosphere and they hadn't let up after Shepard had pushed them through to Mars. The billions of people that were left behind, who weren't able to get off-world, were in for a horrible, horrible ordeal.
The thoughts of her family back home invariably led to Edge, as well. He'd been with the Home Fleet's tactical defense air wing, based out of the Pegasus, when the Reapers had shown up. With the frenzied effort to shove off from Yeager before the station was blown to hell, she hadn't had a chance to get a message off to him. But she knew her boyfriend would have been in the thick of the battle in orbit, screening for the big ships in his F-17 Tomahawk space superiority fighter with the rest of his squadron.
She figured he was probably dead.
Before they'd slipped past the Reaper blockade around Earth and set out for Mars, and before the Alliance military TacNets went completely to shit, she'd seen the losses the fighter wings were taking. Nearly seventy-five percent of the Tridents and newer Tomahawks that waded into that maelstrom had been lost, overwhelmed by the massive numbers of Oculi drones the Reapers had saturated the skies with. Odds were that Edge was among the KIA. It was simple math, a cold, logical equation.
The despair she felt thinking about it surprised her at first. Back on Earth, she hadn't been convinced of how much the man meant to her. She certainly hadn't thought she was in love with him. But now, when she realized she'd likely never see him again or feel his arms wrapped around her, the regret over things left unsaid threatened to suffocate her.
She'd already lost so much. They all had.
The chime at her door shook her from her dark thoughts. She quickly wiped away the tears that had begun to well up in her eyes and glanced at the door. "Come in."
The door slid open a moment later and Private Sarah Campbell stepped inside. She came to a textbook Marine attention and snapped off a crisp salute. "Commander Williams, good morning," she said. "May I have a moment of your time, ma'am?"
Ashley gave a tired smile and halfheartedly returned the salute, not bothering to get up from her chair. "Of course, Private. But stand at ease for god's sake. Or take a seat or something. I'm still way too tired to deal with formality."
Campbell flashed a brief smile and relaxed her stance before sitting stiffly at the edge of the hospital bed. "Thank you, ma'am," she said, looking more closely at Ashley. "How are you feeling, Commander?"
"Like I was run over by a Mako and dragged for a few hundred klicks. How about you?"
"Back in one piece," Campbell said and shrugged. "I've got a couple kilos worth of fresh bio-synthetic skin grafted on my side plus a brand new kidney and gall bladder, but I'm not complaining. All things considered, I think I'm pretty lucky. That Reaper gun could have sliced me clean in half."
Ashley grimaced. She remembered seeing the girl lying in the alley after she'd been hit by the Reaper trooper's energy weapon. At the time, she'd thought for sure she'd been killed. "Well, I'm glad to hear you're okay. You definitely took a nasty hit back on Earth. But you did good in a fucked up situation. You're a solid Marine, Campbell."
"Thank you, Commander. That means a lot to me." She shot Ashley a tentative look. "But, I was wondering if I could ask you a favor."
"Of course. What's up?"
"Well, now that I've completed my physical therapy and passed all the tests, the docs are ready to sign me back into active duty status. I'll probably end up shipping out in a few days after that. But I'm an orphan now. My previous duty station was Olympia, and since the station isn't much more than a cloud of debris orbiting Earth, I'm likely to get plugged into some depleted unit stationed out at one ass-end of the galaxy or another, begging your pardon, ma'am."
"You want to go back to the Normandy."
"I do, ma'am. From what I hear, Bethany—Uh, Private Westmoreland—is still on the ship. And, well, she's probably the only other trooper from my unit that's still alive. If it's possible, I'd like to stick to a duty station that's at least a little bit familiar. Besides, I doubt that frigate has a full complement of jarheads yet and I'm fully spaceborne ops certified."
Ashley gave the young Marine a sympathetic look. She knew what it was like to lose your post unexpectedly. Hell, she knew what it was like to see her entire unit wiped out. She remembered the day the Collectors blew the original Normandy out of the sky too. It had been like Eden Prime all over again. Now, looking back at the young Marine, she was reminded that her own situation wasn't unique in the slightest.
"Well, to tell you the truth, Campbell, I'm not a hundred percent sure that I'll still be XO of the Normandy by the time she gets back in to port. But, I'll see what I can do. I'm sure I can at least delay having you shipped out somewhere else before we know what's happening with Shepard's command."
Campbell looked relieved and smiled. "Thank you, ma'am. I really appreciate it." She glanced around the room. "Are they letting you out of here soon?"
Ashley nodded. "Yeah, later today, actually. I still have a week of physical therapy to get through before I'm qualified for active duty status, but I don't have to be in residence at the hospital for that. I'm looking into lining up temporary quarters somewhere in the Wards."
"Great. Well, I hope to see you again soon, Commander. And thank you again. Take care of yourself, ma'am."
"You too, Private."
Campbell saluted and hurried out of the room.
Ashley watched her leave, her thoughts already turning back to the Normandy and her family as the door slid shut behind the Marine.
"Everything is looking really good, Ashley," Doctor Michel said, glancing at the datapad in her hand as she stood in front of Ashley's hospital bed. "I'm very pleased."
"Great," Ashley said, zipping up the front of her Alliance officer's smock. She was sitting on the edge of the bed. Doctor Michel had arrived a few minutes earlier to give her a final work-up and update a few scans before signing off on her discharge. "So, I'm good to go then, doc?"
"Absolutely. There's no need to keep you here any longer. But I do still need you to complete the physical therapy regimen we talked about before I can officially recommend you fit to return to active duty."
"Not a problem. After lying around in bed for the last few weeks, I could totally go for running a marathon or doing the extreme gravity obstacle course at the Luna Base's spec ops training facility."
Doctor Michel smiled. "Nothing too strenuous at first, Commander," she chided good-naturedly. "You need to ease back into things after the trauma you sustained."
Ashley smiled back. "Message received. I'll do whatever you say as long as I can get out of here and stretch my legs."
"Good," Doctor Michel said, making a few notes on her tablet. "Then you're all cleared and free to go. But there's a man here that wants to talk to you first." She glanced at the glass wall that separated the room from the hallway outside. "And he wasn't at all pleased when I told him he'd have to wait until after our scheduled exam." She tapped a nearby sensor and shifted the glass to the one-way setting, allowing them to look out but keeping the exterior wall opaque.
Just outside the room, standing stiffly in the hallway, was an older uniformed man of clear Asian descent. His hat was tucked tightly under one arm as his gaze danced around the busy hospital corridor.
Holy crap, its Admiral Kaneda, Ashley thought to herself.
Michel looked from the Admiral to Ashley and sensed her surprise, mistaking it for apprehension. "Do you want me to send him away, tell him you're not well enough for the visit?"
"No—no, thank you, Doctor Michel. It's fine. I know him. You can let him in." Ashley sprung up from the edge of her bed and quickly smoothed out her uniform. "Thanks again, doc."
"Of course, Ashley. I'll see you again soon."
Doctor Michel then left the room, nodded to the Admiral, and disappeared down the hallway. Kaneda stepped in a moment later.
Ashley came to attention and saluted. "Sir!"
Kaneda returned her salute with a refined, practiced motion. "At ease, Commander," he said and then nodded to the nearby chair. "Please, have a seat." It was more of a command than a suggestion.
Ashley relaxed, glanced at the chair hesitantly, and then sat down, keeping her posture rigid. "Is there news on the Normandy, Admiral?"
"There is," he said, remaining standing, his hands clasped behind his back. "The Normandy successfully completed a mission to extract the turian Primarch from the besieged Trebia system and delivered him to an emergency summit with the salarians and krogan."
"The krogan? I wasn't aware they'd been given a seat at the table."
"They weren't. Not officially. But the turians insisted on it. The Hierarchy is in as much need as we are and see krogan support as a necessary means to ease the pressure on Palaven. But there's a price for their help. They're demanding a cure for the Genophage."
Ashley went slack-jawed. "And we agreed to that?"
"Captain Shepard did, without consulting the Admiralty," he said. "We've also learned that he managed to become involved with the situation on Sur'Kesh. Apparently he was there to extract krogan nationals the salarians were holding at one of their secure STG R&D facilities. His intervention there has put the Alliance in an awkward position, to say the least."
Ashley was beginning to get uncomfortable about where this conversation was heading. She cleared her throat and tried to gather her wits. She hadn't been prepared to debate the skipper's unorthodox methods when the Admiral had arrived, but she suddenly felt an old, nagging sense of loyalty for her captain. "Pardon me, sir, but it seems that Shepard is just doing what's necessary to bring in enough muscle to hit back at the Reapers," she said, careful to keep her tone deferential. "I mean, the idea of krogan mercenaries multiplied by about a thousand running around the galaxy scares the hell out of me, but it sure seems like we've got bigger things to worry about than the long term consequences of curing the Genophage. I mean, we did just get our asses handed to us on our home turf—sir."
Kaneda studied Ashley for a long moment, his gray, intense eyes boring into her. "There's more," he said. "Before proceeding to the arranged Summit coordinates within salarian space, and with the turian Primarch under his care, the Captain conducted an unauthorized mission to the Arrae system where he engaged a Cerberus frigate in orbit above the planet Gellix. Afterward, he launched a rescue mission to the surface of the planet where a number of his former Cerberus colleagues were encamped. The wanted fugitive, Miranda Lawson, was among them. We've just learned that he's installed this woman as his Executive Officer on board the Normandy."
Ashley felt her mouth go dry and the blood drain from her face. If the Admiral was looking to shock her with news of her captain's rogue behavior, he'd definitely succeeded. Diverting to a frontier world like Gellix with a high value figure the likes of the turian Primarch on board was an incredible breach in responsible protocol. Even for Shepard, who'd built a career on taking enormous risks, it was a negligent act and one hard to excuse. But if he'd done it all simply to get to the Lawson woman, and then put her into a leadership role—her leadership role—it was beyond anything she could easily wrap her head around. She was speechless.
"Other than basic telemetry and the transmission of his crew's personal mail, Shepard hasn't checked in since pulling out of Sur'Kesh. However, we do know that the Normandy was in port at Noveria, resupplying and procuring equipment intended to aid with the Genophage cure. It appears he's intent on following that path regardless of what his superiors or the rest of the galaxy might have to say about it."
"How do you know all this, sir? If he's gone dark, where are you getting the intel about what's happening on the ship?
"I'm afraid I can't tell you that just yet, Commander. But let's just say that not everyone on board that vessel is blindly loyal to a man that behaves so recklessly."
Ashley made a face, but said nothing.
"The Captain is a Spectre, which affords him a certain amount of autonomy. But the Normandy is Alliance Navy property and he's acting on behalf of humanity's greater galactic interests. Even still, his decision to bring the krogan into the war effort isn't something that I necessarily disagree with. In fact, I fully support rolling back sanctions against that species and permitting them a greater voice among the Citadel diplomatic corps. However, ending the Genophage and allowing for their kind to reproduce at dangerously unsustainable levels is another thing entirely. Add that to Shepard's renewed relationship with his former Cerberus handler and I'm sure you can appreciate how uneasy he's making the Admiralty."
Technically, the Normandy was Cerberus property seized by the Alliance, Ashley thought to herself. Not that she felt the least bit badly for that awful organization or intended to correct the Admiral on the point. Still, she liked to work with the facts. "Are you planning to relieve him of his command, Admiral?" she said aloud.
"No," Kaneda said. "At least not immediately. Captain Shepard is a highly skilled commander and wields a great deal of influence with our allies." He grunted softly. "The turians practically view him as one of their national heroes, especially after assisting their Primarch. Removing him from his position right now would be detrimental to the war effort. Personally, I find the man's behavior erratic and have deep concerns over where his true loyalties lie. Still, I cannot deny the results he consistently produces.
"However, once the Normandy returns to the Citadel or makes port at another Alliance Naval facility, he will be required to hand Miranda Lawson over to the authorities for prosecution as an enemy combatant. At that time, you will be reinstalled as ship's XO. And in that role, we would see that you file regular fitness reports on the Captain and alert the Admiralty to any further shifts in his behavior or signs that he may be beholden to other parties beyond the Alliance and the Council.
"I'm telling you these things because I believe you are entitled to know exactly what you will be walking into when you return to the Normandy. I'm not convinced Captain Shepard will be as forthright with you about these unconventional decisions and affiliations he's made. You're invested in that ship as much as anyone, having overseen some of the most critical work of the refit. In fact, I believe you deserve to command her yourself one day. You impressed me greatly during your time on my staff, Commander. I'd like to see you rewarded for your steadfast commitment to the Alliance Navy."
Ashley swallowed. The conversation had strayed down a wholly surreal path, one that she wasn't at all ready for when she'd seen Kaneda standing outside. The Admiral didn't say it outright, but the suggestion was clear: Watch Shepard, get the dirt, we'll take care of the rest. Play ball and we'll give you one of the most prestigious commands in the Navy.
It was absurd, of course. But he didn't know what she did.
He didn't know about the fully self-aware AI that was literally embedded in the very fiber of the Normandy. And EDI was loyal to Shepard—and Miranda Lawson too, she supposed. She'd learned that firsthand during the invasion of Earth. That ship belonged to no one. And if he thought handing the Lawson woman over to Alliance Security was anywhere within the realm of possibility, he was in for a big disappointment. The skipper would do just about anything for her, she was sure of it now.
"I understand, sir," she said stiffly.
"Good," Kaneda said and gave a curt nod. "Well, I believe I've delayed you long enough then. I'm sure you're eager to be free of this hospital room. I look forward to working with you again, Commander Williams. We'll talk again soon."
Ashley rose from her seat, exchanged salutes with the Admiral, and watched him exit her room.
When he'd gone and the door had slid shut again, she sat back down heavily in the chair, her legs suddenly feeling unsteady.
Zakera Ward, the Citadel
Several days later, Ashley bypassed the elevator and jogged up the stairs leading to her sixth floor Zakera Ward apartment. She was coming from her most strenuous therapy workout yet, but was still looking to push herself at every opportunity. Being laid up at Huerta for nearly three weeks had made her feel way too soft and she was eager to get back into fighting shape, even if it meant blatantly violating Doctor Michel's insistence that she ease into things at a gradual, measured pace.
Ashley didn't do slow.
She practically crashed through the door of her flat, panting heavily and dripping with sweat, making a beeline for the small kitchenette. She peeled off her sweat-drenched tank top along the way and tossed it into the hamper in the corner before pulling open the fridge and seizing a bottle of water.
Plopping down in the nearby armchair, Ashley guzzled down half the bottle and clicked on the wall screen to see what the talking heads on the vids were prattling on about this morning.
It was more news on the developing crisis in the Pranas system where the two dominant salarian bloodlines were still battling for control of Sur'Kesh. An asari reporter was interviewing someone representing the Narra faction, who was going on about how destructive the Linron regime had been to their civilization while at the same time assuring the galaxy that their new government would uphold the obligations and treaties the Union had in place with the Council.
It was all bullshit. Ashley wasn't all that well-connected on the Citadel, but she knew enough to understand that these Narra assholes were some of the most isolationist-leaning and xenophobic of their kind. If they managed to wrest full control over the salarian home system, it was all but guaranteed that they'd recall the salarian fleets from other Council-controlled regions of space, bring them back to Sur'Kesh and other major colony worlds, and cutoff trade with all their traditional allies.
As far as the war effort went, it was critical that the Linron government retain their tenuous hold on power. But no one had seen or heard from the Dalatrass since the coup began and most people were now assuming she'd been assassinated along with dozens of her key political allies that were already confirmed dead.
It was no wonder why the crisis in the Pranas system was such a huge story, but, when the Reapers were busy ravaging Earth and Palaven, it was light years away from being the most pressing issue affecting the galaxy. Still, the Citadel-based media seemed fixated on the political turmoil consuming a core Council race. The local nets were saturated with it, relegating that other big story to a few brief, sporadic cut-in reports and a bunch of mundane information scrolling along the ticker at the borders of the screens.
Ashley shook her head, sickened by what she saw as a willful, pathetic attempt to dodge the uncomfortable reality. Granted, civil unrest of this scale was huge and had major political implications. But the zeal with which the news correspondents were going about reporting the story was over-the-top. It was as if they were relieved to have an event of its scope to cover and distract from the truly awful truth of the Reaper invasion. She supposed it was a lot sexier than the grim business of a malevolent, genocidal race of mega-starships raining destruction in human and turian space.
And almost just as disturbing, barely a word was being whispered about the near total eradication of the batarians. It was as if they had never even existed at all.
But, considering the surreal mood on the Citadel, the behavior of the media people wasn't all that surprising.
Ashley had felt it almost immediately after her release from Huerta. Stepping out onto the Presidium, the state of blissful ignorance was palpable. It was almost as bad when she got to the commercial and market districts of Zakera. Besides the steadily growing refugee centers that had sprung up in the auxiliary docks, warehouse districts, and sub levels and the hospitals that were absorbing the bulk of the wounded soldiers and colonists, it was business as usual on the massive station. The people here seemed utterly incapable—or unwilling—to consider the immensity of the tragedy unfolding in the galaxy.
After what she'd seen on Earth, the whole atmosphere on the Citadel was making Ashley feel uneasy and thoroughly impotent. Still, it fueled her desire to regain her strength and recapture her edge. She needed to get off this bizarrely serene station and feel the cold, simple comfort an assault rifle in her hands provided. She was nearly jumping out of her skin, waiting for the Normandy to get back or some other orders to come through that would deliver her from this godforsaken, peaceful environment.
Deciding she'd had enough network vids for one day, Ashley clicked off the wall screen with the remote, drained the rest of her water and stood up from her chair. Tossing the empty bottle across the room and into the waste bin, she began to pull her sports bra over her head and make for the shower when the visitor chime at the door stopped her in her tracks.
Not expecting anyone or feeling especially social at the moment, Ashley let out an annoyed sigh, readjusted her top, and stomped over to answer the door, completely unconcerned with how little she was wearing. Not bothering to use the viewing port to see who was waiting outside, she slapped the panel to open the door with far more force than necessary.
The door slid open to reveal a tall, silver-haired woman standing just beyond the threshold. She was an older woman, maybe in eighties, and wearing a conservative but perfectly tailored business suit that fit her just so. Ashley thought she looked familiar, but couldn't quite place the face.
"Uh…" Ashley said, words failing her.
The woman gave her a kind, if somewhat amused smile. "Hello, Commander Williams," she said. "I apologize for dropping in on you unannounced but I was wondering if I might have a moment of your time."
Ashley hesitated, her hand on the edge of the door. "I'm sorry, but who are you?"
The woman gave her another patient smile. "My name is Anita, Anita Goyle. And I have some information about the Normandy that I'd like to share with you."
Realization dawned on Ashley like a club to the head. Holy shit, she thought. Anita Goyle—humanity's first ambassador to the Citadel. She's visiting me and I'm standing here like an idiot in my training shorts and underwear, dripping sweat and needing a shower. Classy, Williams. Real classy.
"May I come in, Commander?"
"What?—yes!" Ashley said aloud, shaking herself. "Of course, Ambassador. I'm so sorry. Yes, please come in." She stepped back a bit, allowing Goyle to enter. She went to hit the panel to shut the door, but paused for moment, feeling a subtle little breeze across her skin. She poked her head outside to look around the hallway, saw nothing, and then shut the door.
Goyle walked to the center of the modest studio apartment, her hands clasped in front of her, and cast her eyes around the spartan interior. She turned to face Ashley, still smiling benignly.
"I'm sorry, Ambassador," Ashley said again. "I must look like a wreck." She quickly retrieved a light gray hooded sweatshirt from the nearby coat closet and pulled her arms through it.
"Not at all, Commander. I'm the one invading your privacy. However, I am glad to see that you're recovering so thoroughly from your injuries sustained on Mars."
Ashley flashed an inquisitive look as she zipped the hoody up over her chest. "You know about that?"
"I do," Goyle said, offering no further explanation.
Ashley stared back at her for a long moment. There was a deep curiosity in the woman's emerald green eyes. And there was steel behind them too. The kind that announced she was not someone to be taken lightly.
"Please," Ashley said, gesturing to the arm chair, "have a seat, Ambassador. Can I get you something? Coffee? Water?"
Goyle tipped her head slightly and sat down on the edge of the chair, studying Ashley the entire time. "No, thank you."
Ashley pulled one of the simple, plastic chairs from her kitchenette over and sat down opposite of Goyle. "You said you have news on the Normandy?" she said, frowning. "I don't think I understand. If there's word, it should have come through the Fleet Ops Center. How is it exactly that you're informed about its status—ma'am?"
"I understand your confusion, Commander. And I realize how irregular this is. But I've spoken to Captain Shepard directly and I'm here, in part, at his request."
Ashley flinched. "You've talked to Shepard?"
"He asked me to drop in and check on you, to make sure you were doing well and to bring you up to speed on what's happening on the Normandy. He knows how difficult it must be to be separated from the ship and wants to assure you that you haven't been abandoned. He wanted me to tell you that your place is still on board."
"Really?" Ashley said and made a noncommittal noise. "That's what he said? And is my place still ship's XO, because I hear that position's no longer available."
Goyle inhaled deeply. "You're referring to Miranda Lawson's presence, of course."
Ashley cocked he head to the side but said nothing.
"I understand how that must appear to you, Commander. I can also appreciate your distrust for Miss Lawson, given her extensive, rather murky history. But I can tell you that she's also taken some extraordinary risks in support of the Alliance over the course of her time working with me."
Ashley opened her mouth slightly, but she was momentarily at a loss for words. She was well aware that Lawson had been operating on the Citadel after Admiral Anderson had struck some kind of deal with her. But learning that Anita Goyle, one of the most well-known, well-respected figures in the System Alliance's history was personally working with the operative was almost too much. The irony of it was just nuts.
"You're Lawson's handler?"
Anita chuckled softly. "Well, I wouldn't put our working relationship in quite those terms. Miss Lawson is a particularly headstrong woman, not unlike yourself, and not someone that can be coerced into doing something she doesn't agree with. She's certainly not one to be handled. However, yes, I do serve as something of her nominal supervisor, in a quasi-official sense. But I'd characterize our association as more of a partnership."
Ashley shifted uncomfortably in her seat. She didn't like being compared to a Cerberus operative, even in an off-hand, casual way. "Okay," she said slowly.
Goyle sighed softly. "I've made you uncomfortable. I apologize. I don't pretend to be an expert on your history or how it applies to this situation, but I can imagine this is all very awkward. But let me say this, neither the Captain nor Miranda have any illusions about the long term viability of her place on the Normandy. Trust me, she's not there to undermine the position you've earned. In fact, she's made it quite clear that she's simply filling a critical post until they're able to return to the Citadel. I know you're aware of how short-staffed they are."
"If that's all true, Ambassador, why isn't he telling me this himself? Why haven't I heard from Shepard directly?"
"Because, as you no doubt realize, much of what the Captain is engaged in at the moment is completely unsanctioned by the current Alliance military leadership. The extraordinary step of naming Miranda his interim second-in-command is proof enough of that. And given that conventional comm buoy transmissions, even over the secure military channels, are susceptible to interception, he's communicating these facts to me exclusively through QEC nodes, which you do not have access to."
Ashley was chewing on her lip, gazing back at Goyle, taking it all in. "You said that relaying the message from the skipper was part of the reason you're here. What's the rest of the story?"
Anita didn't immediately answer her and instead seemed to appraise Ashley more thoughtfully. "I know that you're frustrated by this whole situation, Commander," she finally said. "I imagine you feel quite powerless while you're here on the Citadel and the war is far out beyond the black."
"It's not that far away, ma'am. Not like the vids are making it out to be."
"Oh, it's even closer than you know, Commander Williams. But as to why else I'm visiting you this morning, it's to offer a warning. People are dying back home, but there is also a very dangerous game being played out here on the Citadel. It's a very high stakes contest for the future of the Alliance and humanity's place among the other major spacefaring civilizations. And whether or not you realize it yet, you've become a pawn in this game. I don't believe this is the sort of position you ought to be in, the unwitting piece on the board. Neither does Admiral Anderson."
Ashley narrowed her eyes. "Have you talked to the Admiral too? Is he safe?"
"I'm afraid I haven't spoken to David since before the Reapers took Earth. But Captain Shepard has. The Admiral is still fighting, organizing the resistance back home." She looked pained for a brief moment, her age suddenly showing. But the hint of weakness vanished almost as quickly as it had come. "He's spoken very highly of you, Commander. Under these circumstances, I believe he'd approve of my visiting you and encourage me to extend you my trust.
"I am in need of people that possess certain abilities and strength of character. Though Miss Lawson is currently away and has acted as our operational leader in the field, I still maintain a small team of elite agents here on the Citadel, working toward a common goal."
"Which is?"
"Preserving the heart of the Systems Alliance," Goyle said simply. "With Earth cutoff and the Parliament at Arcturus lost, a massive vacuum of leadership has formed. The interests of some rushing to fill that void are proving to be more than a little dubious as the factions form and begin angling for power. Right now, humanity should be rallying and steeling itself for the long dark of the war, but instead, many with influence and the requisite resources seem intent on putting our civilization on an even more dangerous path. They would see us become a far more martial state, and one that capitalizes on the current galactic tragedy to gain an advantage over the other Council races. It's not just a matter of Cerberus anymore, Commander. Men and women with long, storied histories within the Alliance are apt to act with misguided zeal, pursuing strategies that will tear us apart from within. We're trying to prevent that."
Ashley stared back at Goyle for a moment before speaking. "Miranda Lawson was working toward that goal?" she said, raising an eyebrow.
Anita gave a thin smile. "In her own way," she said. "But as I was saying, my operation is still active. If you're interested, I believe there's a contribution you can make to it."
"Wait, are you offering me a job?" Ashley said. "Ambassador, I'm flattered that you came to visit me in person, but I'm just a soldier. I know how to point my rifle at the bad guys and have learned a fair bit about how to run a small warship, but I don't see how those skillsets transfer to dealing with bureaucrats on the Citadel or playing secret agent."
"You're being modest, Commander. Even though I'm officially retired, I still maintain some of the highest security clearances ever instituted by the Systems Alliance. I have a comprehensive understanding of your background and the exceptional work you've accomplished over the last year."
Ashley stared at her. She was talking about her work to infiltrate the SAIS and to watch over Shepard. Posing as a member of Richter's outfit on board the Persephone, watching the skipper be tortured for intel, wasn't a part of her career she liked to reminisce about all that often. But now, learning that Anita Goyle and Miranda fucking Lawson had been working to take down the SAIS at the exact same time, she suddenly realized just how much she'd simply been a cog in a very big wheel.
"And I wouldn't characterize what I'm offering you as a job per se," Goyle continued. "Think of it more as an opportunity to consult. Your place is on the Normandy. I think that's what you want and I agree that you're most needed there. But in the meantime, and until the Captain returns to the Citadel, you can do more than simply wait around."
Ashley drew in a long breath. "If there's some kind of power grab going on, why should I trust you anymore than the Admiralty or Councilor's office? It seems to me that you might just be another player looking to take advantage of the situation."
Goyle gave her a look that Ashley swore was admiring. "I helped build the Alliance into what it is today, Commander. Or, at least, what it was before the Reapers arrived. But it's a fair question. For now, all I can say is that you will likely have some hard decisions to make in the near future. I'm offering you a chance to find the information you'll need to make those choices. But you may have to make something of a leap of faith first." She stood up from her seat and reached into the side pocket of her jacket, producing a small, printed card—an actual paper card—and handed it to Ashley.
Ashley stood up and took the card. It had a Tayseri Ward address printed on it.
"If you so choose, you can learn more at this address," Goyle said. "Now, I think I've taken up more than my fair share of your time, Commander. Thank you for speaking with me." She smoothed out the sides of her jacket and walked across the room toward the door.
Ashley looked at the card for another moment and then followed the Ambassador to the entryway, hitting the switch for the door.
"Ambassador, you weren't in the least bit surprised that I already knew Miranda Lawson was on the Normandy. I'm guessing you also know about the visit Admiral Kaneda paid me my last day at Huerta. You know he's looking to have Shepard removed from command and wants my help to get it done."
Anita smiled. "Admiral Kaneda is a man of integrity, but also one who is incredibly rigid when it comes to matters of the Navy and the code he follows. His disapproval of Shepard's methods is not surprising, nor is his inclination to see him removed from a position of influence. However, his knowledge of Miranda's extraction from Gellix is more… problematic. Thank you again, Commander." Goyle extended a hand toward Ashley. "Good day, Ashley."
Ashley shook the Ambassador's hand and then watched her walk purposefully down the hallway before disappearing into the elevator.
Closing her door, Ashley turned around and leaned back against the wall. She looked at the card in her hand again and shook her head. "So, this day just got weird," she said to herself.
Kasumi materialized from her cloak a moment after the doors to the elevator car slid shut. "Well, you sure gave that one a few things to ponder," she said. "You think she'll go for it?"
"What do you think, Miss Goto?" Anita said. "Do you think Commander Williams can be trusted?"
"She seems like a good egg to me," Kasumi said. "But she's definitely got some seriously conflicted feelings about this whole mess and where she fits into it. I don't blame her. It's a tough spot, being separated from the people you've come to rely on. Seems like she's the kind of girl that's been used to taking direction from others most her life, so maybe she'll see you as someone to follow. But on the other hand, she might just as easily dial up Kaneda's office and let him know about this little chat."
"That's true. We've taken a risk reaching out to her in this way. But now that I've spent some time with her, I feel confident that she wants to do the right thing. We just need to help her see what that is. I believe she's someone that can add great value to our cause. I also think she's more of a leader than you give her credit for. But I do believe we made a mistake in allowing Kaneda to visit her first."
Kasumi shrugged. "Guess we'll see," she said. "How do you figure the Admiral knew about Miranda, anyway? The Normandy's been sealed up tight since leaving Gellix. There's no way that EDI's letting a peep get out. And Cole's people are completely isolated. Thane and I have seen to that."
Goyle nodded slowly, deep in thought. "It's troubling, but not altogether surprising. Miss Lawson is a tremendously polarizing figure. It's likely that not everyone on the Normandy is willing to support her presence on the ship as much as Captain Shepard might like." She exhaled heavily. "However, we do need to learn more about what's going on inside the Admiral's office, Kasumi."
"Oh thank god," Kasumi said. "Finally, a decent opportunity to sneak around again. I'll get right on it."
Anita gave a thin smile and nodded. "Good. But be careful, Miss Goto. These waters we're treading are getting more treacherous by the minute. I fear there are dangers lurking below the surface that we may not be able to see until they're upon us."
The SSV Normandy, Pax System
Half a galaxy away, the Normandy was accelerating out toward the edge of the Pax system, rapidly approaching the local mass relay. The ship's stores had been topped off, she was fully fueled, and her crew reasonably rested after the break on Noveria.
In the Starboard Cargo Bay, Miranda was dressed in her training clothes, hair tied back in a ponytail, directing a focused mass effect field to lift an empty deployment crate off the deck.
The large crate rose three meters off the deck, rotating slowly amid a halo of blue-shifted waves of energy as the rapidly shifting micro-mass effect fields attacked the object at the subatomic level. It then shuddered violently before collapsing in on itself, crumpling into a ball the size of a grapefruit and dropping to the floor with a resounding clank.
"Holy shit!" Oriana shouted. "That was awesome!"
"Yes, excellent, Miss Lawson," Mordin said much more calmly. He was nodding approvingly, eying the readout on a datapad linked to the bio-monitors Miranda was wearing.
Miranda looked at what was left of the crate and gave a satisfied smirk, sweat beading on her forehead, and then glanced back at Mordin. "There's still something off. It's like there's some kind of wall keeping me from achieving the power output I had before. And this headache is getting worse."
Mordin scrutinized the information streaming in through the datapad. "Your hormone and endorphin levels are good. Well within safe thresholds. Neural activity also within acceptable tolerances. Headaches to be expected, but likely will diminish in severity over time." He looked up and met Miranda's gaze. "Give it time, Miss Lawson. Your body is relearning techniques, stretching out muscles that have atrophied. Patience."
Miranda frowned and nodded rapidly. She'd been gradually ramping up her biotic training since starting the new treatment plan, spending an hour or two a day in the mostly empty Cargo Bay, tossing about inanimate objects under the salarian's supervision.
It was exercise that she found both incredibly satisfying and totally frustrating. Satisfying because of the long months without her biotics that she'd been forced to endure. Using her powers again felt like a gift. But also frustrating because of the slow pace of her recovery and the obvious deterioration of her abilities. She'd known that much of the damage the SAIS had inflicted upon her was likely permanent, but being reminded of it every day now was maddening and depressing.
Oriana sidled up beside Miranda. "I know you think this is taking way too long and that you're not feeling the same kind of oomph as before, but that was pretty badass what you just did."
"Thanks, Ori," Miranda said, giving a faint smile. "And I'm grateful for what Mordin and Karin have been able to accomplish, but this is all so very humbling."
Oriana smiled reassuringly and nodded, handing Miranda a towel.
Traynor's voice boomed through the PA speakers a moment later. "XO to the CIC," she said. "XO to the CIC."
"Well, I suppose that will have to do for today," Miranda said, wiping the perspiration from her forehead with the towel. "Duty calls."
Miranda swept into the CIC a minute later, still wearing her sweats and tank top.
She found Shepard standing near the center of the CIC, near Specialist Traynor. He turned with the swoosh of the elevator doors and watched her enter, an admiring grin slowly creeping across his mouth. "So this is the new uniform?" he said. "A bit casual, but okay."
She rolled her eyes and stepped closer to the array of tactical screens. "What do we have?"
"Traynor was scanning relayed comms from beyond the system and came across something," he said. "It's an emergency evac request from Grissom Academy."
Miranda looked at him. "Grissom Academy? What happened? Reapers?"
"No, we don't think so. But there's more," he said, looking at his Comm Specialist. "Traynor, bring it up for the XO, please."
"Yes, sir," Traynor said and punched out a few rapid commands, sending a stream of complex data to the primary screen near Miranda. "The distress call from Grissom has already been disabled. But, almost immediately after the station went dark, we picked this up. It's a transmission from a vessel claiming to be turian. They say they're already on-scene and have the situation handled. I thought there was something off about the signal so I asked EDI to check my work."
Miranda narrowed her gaze, studying the data in front of her. "Am I seeing what I think I am, EDI?"
"You are, Miss Lawson," EDI said. "The same error in the code used to draw us to the disabled Collector cruiser is present in this signal. The transmission originated from a Cerberus vessel, not turian."
Miranda shook her head in disgust. "Sloppy," she said and then looked over at Traynor. "Nicely done, Specialist."
"Thank you, ma'am."
"We're headed to Elysium, then?" Miranda said, glancing back at Shepard.
"Joker and EDI already have the fastest course plotted. We can get there within five hours if we really hustle."
"Which we will."
He nodded. "Which we will."
Miranda glanced at the screen again, deep in thought. "Shepard, Jack's on that station," she said. "Or, at least, that's where she'd been heading when last I saw her."
"You're joking."
She shook her head. "I wish I was."
"You think they're there for her?"
Miranda let out slow breath. "I don't know. Maybe. There are a lot of gifted people on that station, many with abilities the Illusive Man would covet. But Cerberus wouldn't do this without having first completed a thorough recon of the target. Either way, they'll know Jack is there. I'm sure of it."
Shepard exhaled and looked over at the galaxy map. "They may end up wishing she wasn't," he said and tapped the intercom. "Helm, CIC. Joker, engage the course to Grissom. There's an old friend there who needs our help."
Author's note:
So, a little bit of catchup here and a bit of setup for what's going to happen over the next few chapters, including Grissom Academy and the reimagining and expansion of the Citadel Coup. Tuchanka is coming as well, but might not be a mission I spend a lot of time in the weeds with. I'm more interested in getting us past the coup phase and on to some more original story elements. That said, if you're a big fan of thresher maw-on-Reaper action, let me know and I'll try to prioritize some of that content…
I'm opting not to go with Ashley as a Spectre. Instead, I'd like to play up the juxtaposition of her and Miranda, putting them in some situations where they might have to cooperate or work together. We'll see how that develops.
I also wanted to portray the Genophage cure pursuit as something that ruffles a few more feathers and potentially leads to more conflict. It's a big deal, allowing the krogan to reproduce normally, and should be met with more resistance than exists in the canon story.
As always, thanks for reading and reviewing!