Chapter Ten
Triple Word Score

Melbourne, Australia

Three fucking days. Ashley Williams was unable to keep the bitterness from her thoughts as she mulled over the pathetic amount of time that she had been permitted to spend with Miranda. It had been three amazing days, but it was a great deal less than the week's leave that she'd been promised.

There had also been far less fucking than she had planned.

With an impatient snort, Ashley eventually gave up standing at attention and folded her arms across her chest. When she glanced at the time on her omni-tool, she saw with some disgust that she had already been kept waiting for almost forty-five minutes. She ceased standing in front of the large desk in the room and crossed to the window. The floor to ceiling pane of glass offered her a bird's eye view on Alliance Defence Headquarters, Melbourne. While most of the functional tower block that she was currently in had already been completed, she could make out ant-like figures labouring an equally soulless building adjacent. Some attempts had been made at planting spindly trees in the plaza far below, but greenery was otherwise largely absent in this post-war world. Having grown up on a colony world covered in lush forests, Ashley missed the colour green desperately. She idly wondered whether this new world would be dominated by concrete, glass and steel. If that was the case, then she could not wait to return to the darkness of space and the reassuring familiarity of the Normandy.

Ash allowed her thoroughly bored mind to ruminate on the sort of life she wanted to share with Miranda. Beyond the initially disastrous conversation about kids and an acknowledgement that they had a future together, they had no plans. If they wanted to remain in the military, then they would eventually have to come clean about their relationship. Potentially halting any further career progression for either of them.

I shake off one Williams curse, Ash mused sardonically. Only to invent another one of my own.

There was an attraction to leaving the Alliance behind altogether. The prospect of returning to Sirona, finding a house like the one she'd grown up in and raising a family seemed to be the ideal dream.

And it's going to stay a dream, she told herself firmly. Miranda would be bored out of her mind on Sirona and we'd tear each other to pieces.

Almost instinctively, Ash activated her omni-tool. She scrolled through several files and selected the one she needed to see. Taken just the previous evening, the picture neatly captured the ebullient atmosphere she remembered. While Abby was primly trying to take a decent picture with her omni – beaming smile fixed firmly in place – the rest of the subjects were less cooperative. She and Lynn were engaged in some sort of tussle, neither looking at the camera. Miranda sat stiffly at her side, looking at the camera but obviously unsure whether to smile or grimace. With a grin forming, Ash reached up and mimed brushing her fingers against Miranda's flawless face.

"Making yourself at home?"

Utilising every iota of her carefully honed reactions, Ash deactivated her omni and whipped her body around to stand at attention. She had to make a conscious effort to maintain her non-expression when she found herself staring at Cristiane Alves.

"Yes, ma'am!" Ashley snapped off a reply before she allowed herself time to think. Shit. "I mean, no, ma'am." Now would be a brilliant time to stop talking. "With all due respect, I've been waiting in here for almost an hour."

Alves raised her eyebrows as she crossed behind the desk. Rather than fold her lithe body into the chair, she remained standing with her gaze fixed very squarely on Ashley. Without glancing downwards, she picked up a datapad that had been sitting on the table in front of her. She remained silent. The only sound in the room was the absent tapping of one of her nails against the side of the datapad.

"You were requested to report at 0900, Lieutenant-Commander. You turned up at 1000. I had another appointment scheduled for 1000, hence the wait. Were your orders not sufficiently clear enough?" Alves asked, her voice betraying little emotion.

Ashley could practically hear her own teeth grinding. "No, ma'am, crystal."

"Then would you care to explain?"

What, explain that I was late due to a last minute fuck with my girlfriend? You'd love that wouldn't you? Ashley contemplated behind mask of her own. "I lost track of time saying goodbye to my family. It won't happen again."

The Captain's facial muscles finally moved, one corner of her mouth curled upwards into a small smile. "At ease, Williams. Before you burst a goddamn blood vessel."

Although she shifted her stance, Ash did not return the smile or allow herself to relax. With the datapad in hand, Alves moved back around the front of the desk and took up a casual position leaning against it. In doing so, she positioned herself awkwardly close to Ash. There was very little the marine could do in response without her discomfort showing. Instead she was forced to meet Alves' disconcertingly vibrant gaze. The Captain's dark eyes flashed in accompaniment to her smile.

"I trust your family are well?" she asked. The emotionless voice was no longer, replaced by a perfectly friendly tone that could have belonged to an old squadmate.

Taken off guard by the person nature of the question, it took Ash several moments before she could formulate a response. "They are, ma'am. Thank you."

Alves shook her head slowly. "Drop the 'ma'am', Williams. You say it with such disdain that you might as well just not bother."

As the Captain's smile broadened, Ashley wondered if she was being patronised. She remembered the feeling all too well from her years as an enlisted marine. With the Williams curse ensuring that she consistently received the least desirable postings, she was also guaranteed to end up with NCOs and officers who were far from the best the Alliance had to offer. Some were just stupid, others were openly sadistic and delighted in tormenting the lives of those serving under them. While Ash had expected to endure a certain amount of KP duty, lung-sucking hill slogs and dressing-downs by meat-headed buffoons during her time in boot, she had not expected it to continue when she earned her place in the corps. Ash resisted the urge to find solace in anger. Alves was certainly not a meat-headed buffoon, but nor was she someone that Ash was about to trust – regardless of the uniform she was wearing.

"Abby…Lynn, and Sarah. Am I correct?" Alves continued.

Why would she bother with that kind of homework? Ash asked herself as she nodded. "Yes, ma-" She thankfully cut herself short. Nor was she eager to offer the other woman any further information on her sisters.

"You're lucky. There would be very few families who made it through the war intact," Alves mused in a matter-of-fact tone.

Ashley couldn't detect any hint of empathy in Alves' voice. The woman was the Butcher of Torfan, it wouldn't be a stretch to imagine her simply incapable of it. While her recollection of most of the facts was hazy, Ash knew that the casualties on both sides had been catastrophic. The incident had also put the Alliance in a bad light – the story of the slaughter of Batarians following their surrender had run rampant across all the news agencies. While Ash had no love for Batarians, she did take issue with besmirching proud military tradition and honour.

Then again, Ash remembered Miranda's brief mention of Alves' being the sole survivor of a massacre on Mindoir. Such hatred would run deep.

"Boyfriend, Williams?"

"Ma'am?" Ashley spluttered, the question catching her completely off guard.

Alves' eyebrows lifted in response to Ash's silence. "Girlfriend?"

"Um…I hate to fit the stereotype, but I'm married to the corps," Ashley replied, managing to collect her wits.

Alves looked vaguely disappointed before she thrust a datapad towards Ash. "Dossiers. On your new crew. Most of them will be arriving in Melbourne over the next few days. We've given you some seasoned hands to balance out those who are fresh out of boot. Your new XO in particular saw a great deal of action during the war, twice decorated for gallantry – the perfect man to join the crew of the Normandy."

I'll be the judge of that, Ash thought as she gave the introductory material a cursory glance. A frown creased her brow as she noticed something. "It says here that the Normandy isn't scheduled to depart until the 7th." The date was still over a week away. "With all due respect, my leave was cut short. I expected an urgent mission, not being called in to sit on my ass in port for a week."

If she was speaking out of turn, Ash didn't care. She met the Captain's stare with one of her own, pleased to notice that she was noticeably taller and that Alves was forced to look up at her.

"You won't be sitting on your ass as you so eloquently put it. You'll also find in there a schedule of media and PR appearances for yourself. It's the trade-off for being allowed back in the field I'm afraid." Alves did not sound particularly apologetic about it. The smile returned as she closed the already insignificant gap between them. "Interviews and recruitment drives – easy enough. Just be your charming self, Williams."

My charming self? Obviously, she doesn't know me very well. On top of her anger at being made into a show pony, Ash was confused. She had absolutely no desire to play games with the Butcher of Torfan – none whatsoever. A house on Sirona, kids and buttermilk pancakes were starting to look more appealing with each passing moment.

She was on the cusp of making a decisive step backwards when the office door flew inwards in a spectacular fashion. Her step became a stumble and the smug smile was wiped from Alves' face in a heartbeat when she saw the bulky figure of Fleet Admiral Kessler stride into the room. With consummate professionalism, Ash recovered quickly and snapped into yet another smart salute. In contrast, Alves merely leaned nonchalantly against the desk as though annoyed at the interruption.

"Williams." Kessler's single, curt word could hardly be called a greeting. "I need to speak with Captain Alves alone – immediately."

"Yes sir." Ashley couldn't make her reply quickly enough. While she wasn't overly astute at interpreting people, Kessler was doing a crap job of concealing his agitation. Combined with Alves' behaviour, Ash was grateful to escape the office. With the datapad tucked beneath her arm, she left without a glance behind her.

Although she made no move to linger and eavesdropping on the pair had not actually crossed her mind, Kessler's next words were spoken in haste as she closed the door behind her.

"We have a serious situation in Alberta!" His frustration and anger were obvious.

For some reason Ashley's curiosity was piqued. As much as she dared, she slowed the speed at which she closed the door.

"What the hell has happened?" Alves demanded. Her tone made Ash wonder exactly who was the superior officer out of the pair.

"She's escaped," Kessler replied.

"What? Fuck! I thought Dr Stone had everything under control?" Alves replied, unable to keep the surprise from her own voice.

The door clicked shut and the conversation was reduced to little more than urgent murmurs. For a few moments Ash paused and strained to make out what they were saying before her behaviour caused a passing officer to give her a wary glance. Berating herself for the blatantly unprofessional conduct, Ash moved away from the door at a brisk walk. She glanced down at the datapad in her hands and re-read the instructions as she walked. The overheard conversation was quickly forgotten as she unleashed a string of internal expletives at the thought of her time with Miranda being cut short for no good reason.

Being recalled so I could go save lives? Ash felt like throwing the device against the wall. That I could have accepted. Being recalled so I can smile and stick my tits out for the fucking cameras? They can all kiss my ass.


Vancouver, Canada

"No shit," Lynn Williams exclaimed in disbelief.

Both she and Abby watched as Miranda Lawson placed the small plastic tiles on the battered board with almost painstaking precision. When she had finished arranging each of her tiles, she straightened and stared at the pair with a hopeful expression on her face.

"Chutzpah?" Abby read the word out whilst slowly shaking her head. She and Lynn glanced at one another and both their shoulders slumped in tandem.

"Yes…it means shameless impudence," Miranda explained with a shrug. "Or extreme self-confidence…" Her voice trailed off in case the sisters thought she was making a thinly veiled reference to herself. She winced. "It is a word."

Lynn whistled through her teeth before she hunched forward on the sofa and began toting up Miranda's score. "The "z" is on a double letter score…thirty-seven, and you've also managed to hit two triple word scores-" Her face scrunched up while she mentally calculated "-that makes…shit...three hundred and thirty-three."

"And don't forget the additional fifty points for using all seven of her tiles at once," Abby pointed out helpfully.

"Three hundred and eighty-three?" Lynn announced as she gave Miranda a long, steady stare.

Miranda wondered if she had missed something. "I thought the object of the game was to score as many points as possible?"

"Three hundred and eighty-three? For one bloody word?" Lynn repeated, she threw her pen down and folded her arms around her chest. "Remind me never to play scrabble with you ever again, Miranda Lawson."

"I'm sorry, did I do something wrong?" Miranda asked, looking across to Abby for help. The elder Williams had a broad grin on her face as she watched her scowling sister. I knew this whole board-game business was a bad idea, she thought to herself, hastily searching for an excuse that would get her away from the game and out of the room.

"You just riled up the sore-loser, that's all." Abby laughed, patting Lynn on the shoulder in a placating manner. "Take it easy, sis. Admit it; Miranda is better at scrabble than you."

"She's never even played before!" Lynn protested.

Miranda washed her hands of the argument, wondering how something so insignificant could matter so much. Having completely missed out on the highs and lows of competing against siblings, she had no idea how she was supposed to behave. She briefly wondered if she ought not to have played the word to give Lynn a chance at winning. Then I might have lost. Given how repugnant that thought was, Miranda realised that she too was probably just as sore a loser as Lynn Williams.

"Let's just call it quits and concede that Miranda won?" Abby suggested tactfully. Clearly the diplomat of the family, she had an effortless calm about her that never failed to win people over.

"Loser makes dinner?" Lynn asked hopefully.

Abby paused before nodding reluctantly – she was the one losing by a large margin. Her sister grinned triumphantly and threw her arms outward and around the shoulders of the two women sitting on either side of her. She gave both a hearty squeeze – much to the amusement of one and the discomfort of the other. Even though it was only half a hug, Miranda was unused to anyone other than Ash hugging her. And Shepard, she thought with an ache. While a part of her appreciated the gesture, she could not simply allow her body to relax against Lynn's. Liking Ash's sisters was one thing, loving them was something else altogether. Miranda wasn't quite ready to go there.

She extracted herself from the hug under the pretext of reaching for her bottle of water. Once she had made her escape, Miranda busied herself tidying away the game pieces.

"You aren't up for a rematch?" Lynn asked hopefully.

"Actually, I was thinking of heading out for the afternoon," Miranda replied. As much as she liked the Williams sisters, being cooped up in the boxy little apartment was starting to grate on her. She was in desperate need of fresh air – even if it was just a walk amidst the rubble.

"I wish I could come," Lynn announced with a groan. "But I've a stack of papers that aren't going to grade themselves before school tomorrow." She flopped against her sister's shoulder and closed her eyes. "I can't face those little shits. I think I'm in the wrong line of work."

Miranda was honestly relieved. She didn't want company. That was the whole point of going out for a walk alone. Or a run, she thought with sudden enthusiasm.

"Hun, you love those kids," Abby tousled Lynn's hair before she turned to Miranda. "Stick to the main thoroughfares, it can get a bit rough out there sometimes."

Miranda raised her eyebrows. If she was being honest with herself, the thought of cracking the skulls of a couple of miscreants appealed immensely. Following a promise to be careful that at least sounded sincere, she gratefully escaped out onto the streets of Vancouver. She didn't bother with a warm up before breaking into a brisk jog, relieved to find that her muscles had not grown overly stale following a few days of inactivity.

Not quite inactivity, Miranda mused as her body settled into a smooth rhythm. Sex with Ash was often just as much of a workout as going for a run or hitting the gym.

A day had passed and she'd heard nothing from Ash. There was the distinct possibility that the Normandy had shipped out already. Although she knew full well that Ash was big enough to take care of herself, Miranda couldn't help but feel the knot of worry that dwelled at the back of her mind attempt to push its way forward. To combat this she pushed her body a little harder. Her legs pumped faster to create a pace that was at the limit of what she could maintain. With her breath coming in loud, controlled bursts, she succeeded in pushing most thoughts from her mind. It became easier to ignore the annoying anxiety and find a measure of peace.

Prior to becoming involved with Ashley Williams, Miranda had always found it effortless to slip into a business-like persona that subsumed everything else. Personal relationships and her own emotions took a back seat to her work. They had seemed trivial when measured against the goal she set for herself – perfection. However even before she met Ash, that life had started to come apart at the seams thanks to another marine. Commander bloody Shepard – grade A self-righteous hero and first-class pain in the arse.

Almost an hour later Miranda had turned to head back to the apartment when she caught sight of someone across the street. She did a double take when she recognised a figure with an all too familiar posture. The woman was walking in the opposite direction and Miranda was forced to turn in order to watch her. She was dressed in an Alliance uniform. Miranda's lips parted in surprise. There was no mistaking the way the woman carried herself, it was almost identical to that of her daughter.

Without knowing entirely what was driving her, Miranda crossed the road and jogged to catch up. "Ma'am? Rear Admiral Shepard?" It was only after she opened her mouth that she realised she had no idea what the hell she was doing.

Miranda had only met Shepard's mother once - at her daughter's funeral. From the scant information Shepard had offered, Miranda expected to find a machine as opposed to a mother. However, she distinctly remembered Hannah being surprisingly warm in her interactions with the Normandy crew – far warmer than Shepard had let her to expect. Having never known a mother of her own, Miranda felt woefully ill-equipped to analyse the Rear Admirals actions from anything other than a clinical perspective. She had seemed professional, exceptionally intelligent and the very model of an Alliance officer.

When Hannah Shepard turned to face her, it was like a slap in the face. The passage of time made the resemblance between mother and daughter shatteringly painful. Miranda watched the play of emotions across the other woman's face – shifting from uncertainly to astonishment in a matter of seconds. The open reactions were then gone, replaced by a mask that Miranda could not see through. Before their proximity became awkward, Miranda brought her hand up in a salute.

"Ma'am, you may not remember me. I'm-"

"I know exactly who you are," Hannah interrupted swiftly. "What can I do for you, Second-Lieutenant Lawson?"

Miranda was well used to hostility, but she had not expected it to come from Shepard's mother. She was also taken aback that the older woman was aware of the exact progression of her military career – which meant that she had to have been keeping tabs on her. Schooling her own emotions, she squared her shoulders before replying, "I'm sorry, ma'am. My only intent was to-"

"Chat?" Hannah arched one of her immaculately formed eyebrows.

I don't chat! Miranda thought indignantly. The uncertainty of her purpose was blatantly laid bare as she struggled to force anything remotely intelligent past her lips. The way Hannah Shepard stared at her so disdainfully reminded her eerily of the tactics employed by her own father. Miranda was reminded of the way he managed to make her feel like an incompetent failure without so much as opening his mouth. When the Rear Admiral stepped forward into her space, Miranda was driven onto her back foot.

"No, ma'am," Miranda said with a shake of her head.

"Let me make one thing very clear, Lawson," Hannah said coldly. "If it were up to me, I wouldn't let you near a goddamn Alliance uniform. This institution isn't so desperate that it needs to call on individuals like you to defend humanity. When it comes to that, then we are truly lost."

Miranda stiffened. The words didn't wash over her as effortlessly as she would have hoped. Regardless of her past affiliations, her actions throughout the months and years leading up to the final defeat of the Reapers had been nothing but altruistic. Aside from her pursuit of Ashley, Miranda had done nothing for herself. It had not escaped her mind that she could have found a quiet corner of the galaxy in which to hide, yet she had risked her life to help Shepard. If she hadn't earlier, she now fervently regretted crossing the road.

"Evan didn't share the same sentiment," Miranda replied diplomatically. She delivered Shepard's name like a slap in the face.

An angry response flickered across Hannah's face. She pressed forward again, but Miranda did not move a second time. "If you respect my daughter's memory then you'll walk away from your commission. Surely desertion won't mean anything to you, Miss Lawson." Hannah pressed a hand to Miranda's chest and looked her squarely in the eye, stripping Miranda to the bone with the intensity of her gaze. "Walk away – from the Alliance, from Earth...from everything."

Miranda couldn't stop the memories of Ash flooding her senses. There's no way in hell she knows, she thought, schooling her face into an unresponsive mask. However even as she struggled with her anxiety, she noticed a subtle change in the pressure against her chest. While it increased, it was not enough to force her to take a step backward.

"With all due respect, ma'am-" Miranda's gaze hardened "-I am not walking away from my commission."

Hannah Shepard shook her head. "It seems as if I have over-estimated your intelligence, Lawson. If you had any respect for my daughter at all then you will consider what I have said. The Alliance isn't the place for you...and Evangeline would have agreed with me." Hannah removed her hand and began backing away. Her lips curved upwards into a cold smile. "Have a nice day."

"Ma'am," Miranda replied in a tight voice.

It wasn't until the Rear Admiral had turned her back and started walking away from her that Miranda realised she was chilled to the bone. The sweat that she had worked up while running had cooled on her skin. She wasted no time in returning to her stride to both restore some warmth to her body and try and relieve some of the tension that griped her body.

Even as she ran she could not escape the feeling of Hannah Shepard's fingers burning into her chest.


London, Earth

David Codrington did not know whether to laugh or cry at the almost comical way his teeth chattered against the glass he was trying to drink out of. He finally managed to drain it to the dregs. He misjudged the edge of the table when he went to place the glass down. It slipped and fell. Although David knew it was coming, his body jerked in shock when the glass smashed against the pre-fab's bare metal flooring.

Get a grip, Dave. As he ran a shaking hand through his thinning hair he rose to his feet. He had no purpose for standing other than to start pacing the depressingly tiny length of his living space. From the kitchen table to the edge of his bed was five steps. Back was ten. To the bed again was fifteen. David made it to fifty before he gave up and sat down heavily on the bed.

He half-heartedly considered ignoring the curfew and heading out for a walk. He could blag his way through any check points with a lie about an emergency at one of the pumping stations. Perhaps head for one of the underground bars he had frequented a handful of times with Hardy. Anything would be better than sitting alone and waiting.

David did not know precisely what he had expected in the wake of his message to various news agencies, but he had expected something. Whether it was a simultaneous frenzy of reporting or simply a throwaway story on the late-night bulletin, he had expected someone out there to give a damn that Shepard was alive. Even if none of the outlets had trusted the tip enough to run the story, surely someone would have hounded him for further information. News reporters were supposed to be like dogs with a bone. The Shepard story would have undoubtedly been the biggest to break since the end of the war.

Instead there had been nothing, and David had existed in a sort of limbo. He'd called in sick for work even though there was no such thing as sick pay in a post-war environment. On an inexplicable whim he'd packed everything he could into two duffels and moved out of what had been a reasonably comfortable, brand new apartment. For some reason David could not shake the fact that he was being watched with every move he made. His paranoia had developed to the point where it felt as though he was being hunted. He knew he was supposed to have died in the blast that killed Hardy. The fact that he was still alive he simply put down to the fact that they dismissed him as a nobody who posed little threat. Other than send poorly worded messages, what could he do? David supposed he could stand on a street corner proclaiming that Shepard was alive. He snorted at the obvious religious connotation this brought to mind. Everyone would think he was insane.

I just need a decent night's sleep, he told himself as he flopped backward onto the bed. Clear my head, get back to work and face the music. I'll wake up and it'll be like I never found her in that damn tunnel.

Her. Shepard. She haunted what little sleep he did manage to have. Her blue eyes implored him to do something, anything, to help her. David felt sick to the stomach when he realised that he was probably the only person outside of the Alliance who knew that Shepard was alive. Of all the potential people who could have found her, she'd been unlucky enough to be found by the civil engineer with thinning hair, a paunch and virtually no backbone of which to speak. Sorry, Commander, you definitely lucked out in being found by this slob.

A sudden knock on the door instantly turned his blood cold. David had told no one where he was going and he had paid a month's rent up front. He highly doubted that one of his neighbours wanted to borrow a pint of milk. Cursing himself for his less than stealthy physique, David manoeuvred off the bed amidst several loud creaks. He felt a palpable terror grip his entire body as he opened the cupboard beside the bed and reached inside. The pistol he'd picked up over the black market sat uncomfortably in his palm. Although he'd had to fire a weapon in anger during the war, the only targets he'd had were Reapers. Opening fire on another person? That was a different prospect altogether.

"Dave?"

The voice was vaguely familiar. David advanced slowly toward the door when a second, harsher knock made him jump again. Although he had maintained an excellent working relationship with his crew, Hardy was the only one he could have called a friend. Outside of work, there was no one. His heart was pounding like a freight train and every fibre of his being screamed at him not to open the door.

"Hey, Dave? It's Jake – you in there, mate?"

Jake? David remembered the new kid from his crew. Why the hell would he be here? A nagging feeling crept into the back of his mind about the day Hardy died. He forced himself to ignore the banging on the door and concentrate on his scattered memories. Jake had been in the tunnel that day. He'd offered to go topside and fetch the forgotten datapad containing all his calculations. Had David taken Jake up on his offer, he'd had been at the tunnel face when it collapsed. He froze.

When someone began hacking into the door lock, David knew he had to find an alternate exit. There was just one, a window that overlooked the alleyway below. Tucking the pistol into the back of his jeans, David tried to jerk the window open. He'd never tried before and the runners were thoroughly jammed up. With a grunt of effort, he finally managed to open a gap that may have been able to fit his hefty frame. However, when he began climbing out he was nerve-rackingly reminded of the fact that pre-fabs were designed to be stacked. Although his was only the third in the stack, the ground still seemed a hell of a long way away. He practically thrust his body out of the narrow gap, cursing when the carelessly wedged pistol was driven out of the back of his jeans and sent crashing to the ground below. David was anxiously clinging by his hands when the door opened and he saw Jake stride into the room. The eager-faced young kid was gone, replaced by a killer in dark leather. His own pistol was already raised. It was the shots aimed at his head which drove David to let go. He let out a sharp cry as he fell - abruptly cut off when he slammed into a pile of rubbish and had the wind driven from his lungs. He was still picking himself out of the slimy morass when he heard more than one pair of boots thudding on the makeshift staircase on the other side of the stack.

Shit, how many guys did they send? David rolled to his feet, wondering how the hell someone like him warranted more than one hitman. He'd already been only moments from opening his door and inviting Jake to shoot him. A hasty search for the fallen pistol turned up nothing other than rotting refuse. Empty handed, David urged his heavy frame into something resembling a sprint. A chill wind whipped through his light t-shirt as he ran, although he was thankful at least that he was still wearing his boots. As to a plan, he had nothing other than a vague desire to keep living – even then he wasn't sure why he bothered.

As he navigated his way blindly through the twists and turns of what could only be referred to as a slum, David wondered how long it would take the Alliance patrols to notice the disturbance. He did briefly consider seeking them out, until he wondered whether that would be tantamount to signing his own death warrant. As his lungs began to burn, concern for his own safety was banished behind the thought that he had left the tattered picture of his family propped up against his bedside lamp. Having lost the gun, he had nothing other than the scant clothes on his back and a sorely depleted credit chit in his back pocket.

David tried to cloak himself in darkness, but his clumsy movements were enough to draw the attention of even the worst assassin. He could sense his pursuers closing in on him, but he had no idea exactly where they were. Somewhere in the vicinity a short, sharp scream rent the air. It was followed only moments later by the muffled sounds of footsteps, then another cry and a sickening thud that David speculated might have been the sound of a body hitting the ground from height. His thoughts were interrupted as something whizzed past his ear and pinged off metal. Someone was shooting at him. When he cast a terrified glance over his shoulder, he saw at least three figures in pursuit.

He rounded yet another corner, having long since lost all track of where he was running in the unfamiliar neighbourhood. His heart sank when he found himself confronted by three sheer walls, all of which were too high to climb. Turn around Dave, he urged himself. You're not going to let these bastards shoot you in the back. Although he still heard the footsteps, they were punctuated by several urgent exclamations in voices that sounded as terrified as he felt. A blue light suddenly lit the alleyway, illuminating everything for several seconds before it slammed into one of his pursuers. David watched, transfixed, as the figure was thrown savagely against a nearby wall. The impact brought with it a jarring crack and whoever it was did not move once they hit the ground.

Everything that followed happened within the space of less than a minute. As David tucked himself into as small a target as possible in one corner, he watched and listened to the violent struggle. For a split second he would see a pale human face, eyes wide with terror before they were either picked up and thrown or silenced by more intimate means. There was one shadow moving amongst them that he could not make out. At times it appeared to be lit with the unmistakable aura of biotic energy but the hood the figure wore swallowed all light. David eventually recognised the slender figure of Jake - more calculating than the rest, he advanced on David even as his companions died around him. At the moment that David saw the muzzle flash in front of him, the shadowed figure slammed into the young man. There was no struggle, just a sharp crack as his head was twisted savagely to one side. His limp body dropped to the ground like an empty sack.

With his legs trembling violently beneath him, David forced himself to stand up. Although this individual had killed the men pursuing him, whoever it was could very well simply be tidying up loose ends. There was very little light in the alleyway, he could see nothing other than a lithe figure clad in a hooded cloak. The cowl was pulled down low and David thought there was also a mask covering the face.

"David Codrington?"

The voice was like steel-edged velvet. Unmistakably feminine, the sound startled him speechless.

"Are you David Codrington?" She repeated, advancing several more steps.

"Y-yeah…I am," he croaked. Without warning, she lifted her arm and levelled a wicked looking pistol in his direction. David thrust both his hands into the air. He was too terrified to meet his fate with more dignity. "W-who are-"

"You made the claim that Commander Shepard is still alive," she interrupted harshly. "Why?"

David frowned in confusion. "I saw her…spoke to her…before the Alliance took her away."

"Do you have any proof?" she demanded. "Speak! Or you will end up like the others."

He shook his head hopelessly. There was no proof other than a memory and a plethora of nightmares. "She said something…a name!" he blurted out desperately. "It sounded like Li…Liara something. I think it sounded alien…Tee Sonny." David's brow furrows deepened as he struggled to remember the exact sounds that Shepard had whispered. "Liara…T'Soni," he finished hopefully.

Several seconds passed during which David saw a noticeable shift in her posture. He thought that perhaps she seemed less threatening as she straightened her body out of her fighting stance. Finally, she slowly lowered the weapon. Although he was no longer facing down the barrel of a pistol, David could not bring himself to relax, especially not when she stepped forward into the weak light. Her entire body was shrouded from head to toe in black combat leathers. Whoever she was, she was suitably terrifying.

"You believe me?" David asked in disbelief. The first threads of hope started to appear. He felt brave enough to risk lowering his hands. "Why?"

Her response was to holster her pistol. With a fluid movement, one hand reached to peel back her cowl while the other removed the mask from her face. David's jaw dropped when he saw her head crests, pale blue skin and facial markings. Asari! For all her breath-taking beauty, her cold blue gaze felt like it was stripping him bare.

"Because I am Liara T'Soni."