Chapter Nineteen
Colony of Shattered Dreams

SSV Normandy SR-2

Scuttlebutt ran rampant throughout the Normandy as soon as the crew learned that their destination had changed. Although everyone knew that Chasca was no longer their first port of call, no one on the lower decks had any clue as to where they were headed.

Fresh from shore leave, the overall mood on board the frigate was optimistic, possibly even eager. The old hands finally felt rested. They'd had their time to mourn and recharge. The FNGs in the crew were anxious to prove themselves in action.

Speculation about their latest mission ran from the plausible - the Normandy was being deployed to respond to a surprise attack on a human colony, to the equally probable rescue of a stranded vessel. When the latter rumour was expanded to include a troupe of asari dancers bound for a pleasure club on Ilium, everyone knew that it had originated with a certain Flight Lieutenant.

Always somewhat of a pragmatist, Sam Traynor felt that her wartime experiences made her less likely to be given to flights of fancy. Her journey from the sheltered world of R & D to serving on the front lines of the war aboard the Alliance's most famous frigate seemed to be the stuff of dreams…or nightmares. Whichever way Sam looked at it, her life had become a surreal pastiche. Despite earning every one of her experiences the hard way, she felt like someone living a life that was not meant for her. Sam wasn't a hero in the same vein as Shepard or Commander Williams, she was just a soldier who had found herself on the Normandy by chance.

Sam splashed an extravagant amount of lukewarm water over her face before pausing to stare at herself in the mirror. Her wet hair clung to her scalp. It was slick and almost long enough to reach her shoulders. She was long overdue for a haircut. Despite rolling out of bed only fifteen minutes earlier from a deep, dreamless sleep, she still looked exhausted. Unlike the rest of the crew, Sam felt flat. Try as she might, she could not even summon the enthusiasm to join in with the banter that filtered around the lower decks. Although it would have been extremely pleasant to lose herself in daydreams of rescuing grateful asari, Sam went about her motions with methodical movements. She let the towel fall from her still damp body and set about clothing herself in her Alliance uniform. The door to the women's bathroom swished open and she glanced across to see Bethany Westmoreland enter with a clearly enthusiastic expression on her face. Sam sighed. Bethany was at the end of her shift with nothing but chow, and rack time to look forward to. Just as Sam was thinking that the Corporal didn't need to rub it in, she paused and wondered when exactly had she stopped enjoying her work?

"Hey, Chief." Westmoreland grinned and dumped her toiletries down. She then leaned jovially against the washbasins and made no move to do anything other than stare at Sam.

"Hey," Sam replied warily, watching the other woman out of the corner of her eye. "Either you're really bored or you know something I don't."

The grin widened and Bethany's dark eyes flashed conspiratorially. "Perhaps I do. Perhaps I know why we're not going straight to Chasca."

Sam tugged on her jacket and zipped it up impatiently. "You too? Quit it with the asari porn fetish, Beth. We're not out here to have fun, we've got a bloody job to do."

Bethany straightened and held up her hands in surrender. "Woah, sorry. I didn't realise that you got out of bed on the wrong side, Traynor."

Sam was annoyed that she had lost her temper. She usually had a lot of time for Bethany. While Sarah Campbell was prone to being hot-headed, her fellow marine was often a voice of reason. "I'm sorry. I guess I haven't settled back into being back on active duty yet."

"No worries," Bethany replied quickly. She narrowed her eyes. "Although you were pretty damn quick to jump straight to the 'asari porn fetish' rumour." As Sam's cheeks coloured, the teasing remained mercifully brief. "This isn't just scuttlebutt. I overheard the Commander saying something about a distress call yesterday, then she gave Joker the final coordinates just before I finished my shift. Sam…it's Horizon."

It was like a punch to the gut. Hope tainted with the sting of fear. Although she was still yet to receive any official confirmation, Sam knew that her parents were dead. Horizon, her childhood home, was nothing more than a graveyard. However, despite all of this, Sam found herself moving toward the door in a brisk walk. Bethany's reminder that she had left her belongings in the washroom fell on deaf ears as she broke into a run toward the elevator.

"EDI, where is Commander Williams?" she demanded, sparing no pleasantries for her disembodied friend.

{The Commander is in the shuttle bay,} EDI replied. {Sam, you sound-}

"Stow it, EDI," Sam interrupted in a terse tone. She had no time for EDI's patently ingenuous form of questioning. As well-meaning as it no doubt would be, she wanted answers not an inquisition.

When Sam emerged in the shuttle bay, she belatedly realised that her bare feet were protruding from the bottoms of her trousers. Not caring that she was probably breaking dozens of Alliance health and safety regs, Sam scanned the cavernous space. She found Ashley almost immediately. The Normandy's Commander was hunched over the weapons bench. Her lithe frame was clad only in a skin-tight compression suit and her prized Black Widow was laid out reverently in front of her. As Sam marched forward, images from the dream that had made it difficult to even be in Ashley's presence were stubbornly shoved aside. By the time the other woman turned at the sound of footsteps behind her, there was only a resolute expression fixed on Sam's face.

In typical Ashley fashion, her gaze was immediately drawn to Sam's feet. "I think you've forgotten something, Chief."

Sam had no sooner asked herself how the hell Ashley had known when she answered her own question. The sound of bare feet on the deck. They didn't make her a SpecTRe solely for her prowess with big guns. "Sorry, ma'am. It won't happen again. But…scuttlebutt says we're going to Horizon."

She wasn't usually so forthright, but the combination of fear and hope made her desperate.

"Scuttlebutt, or a certain pilot?" Ashley asked, trying to keep her tone light. The visit from Sam had been anticipated. She turned around fully and leaned casually against the bench, discreetly studying Sam's defensive posture, the urgency in her movements and her gaze. "I'd wring his scrawny neck if I wasn't so worried about breaking it."

Ashley's quip failed to calm Sam. Instead her gut churned. In that moment she realised that the Commander already knew the question that had yet to leave her lips. Likewise, Sam already knew what the response would be. She had asked Shepard the same question once, and received the same answer. You're not a soldier, Traynor.

After several moments of silence Ashley peeled herself away from the weapons bench and shook her head softly. The sigh that whispered from Sam's lips was one of defeat. She watched without a word as Ashley turned her back on her and walked away. Her shoulders sagged. At least Shepard had done her the courtesy of making up a bullshit excuse as to why she would be left behind. Ashley would not even do her the courtesy of looking at her. As her nails dug into her palms, a part of Sam wanted to rail against the injustice of it all. To scream, to shout, to vent some iota of the helplessness she felt.

Angry, hurting, Sam reacted almost a split second too late as a large object came hurtling toward her.

"What the-" Not gifted with sporting abilities, it wasn't going to go down in history as a good catch. It was, however, a catch. Sam looked down at the light but bulky object and her eyes widened in surprise. Ashley had thrown a chestplate at her.

"Standard-issue Alliance hardsuit," Ashley called across the shuttle bay. Her voice was muffled as she rummaged in one of the lockers. Sam was still staring at the first piece in disbelief when her Commander returned with the rest of the suit cradled in her arms. "Ceramic-plated, self-regenerating shield capacitors and, most importantly, size small. Don't just stand there and gape, strip and we'll see if this kit fits you."

"But…ma'am…"

Ashley paused in the middle of laying the pieces of armour out across an empty work surface. A frown creased her flawless brow. "Don't tell me you weren't coming down here to ask if you could be on the ground team?"

"Yes – I mean no-" Sam winced as she lost track of what she was trying to say. "I was, I'm just…surprised."

"Don't make an offer if you're not prepared to back it up, Chief," was Ashley's blunt reply.

"No, ma'am." It was an order from her commanding officer and Sam moved to comply almost immediately. At first her fingers were uncooperative as she struggled with the fastenings and zips on her clothing. Eventually her movements became mechanical, ignoring the fact that Ashley was standing only a few feet away. The inane dream was forgotten, pushed to the bottom of a pile of concerns far weightier than her non-existent sex life. "I expected you to say no," Sam offered as she let her uniform fall to a pile on the deck. As she accepted the thick compression suit from Ashley's outstretched hand, she looked her in the eye. "Like Shepard did."

The Commander sighed as she studied Traynor's earnest expression. "I'm not Shepard, Sam," she said quietly. "But that doesn't mean I'll be any less pissed off if you screw up down there and get yourself killed. Clear?"

"Crystal, ma'am."


Horizon, Iera System

The actual reality of what Sam had agreed to do did not sink in until several hours later when she found herself being buffeted in the Kodiak on the way down to Horizon. Her armour clashed and scraped against the marines jammed in beside her – the real marines. Sam couldn't help but feel as though they were all staring at her. In her mind their accusatory gazes demanded to know why she, a former lab rat, was jeopardising the mission. The unfamiliar armour chafed at her neck and the Mattock assault rifle lying across her lap seemed light years away from the Avenger she'd used in boot.

Sam was on the verge of a panic attack when she glanced across the shuttle and caught Ashley's eye. The reassuring nod she received alleviated her fears. When Sam cast another glance around the interior of the Kodiak, she realised that most of the other marines didn't give a damn about her presence. The expressions on their faces told her that they were too caught up in their own concerns to pay any attention to her. The two 'freshies', Hwang and Swift, were obviously nervous on their first live op. Both tried to emulate the stone-faced stares as perfected by seasoned veterans like Lieutenant Fleeting and Gunnery Sergeant Petrova, but their obvious pallor made it into an expression of fright. It also made Sam realise that, while she too was nervous, she was not scared. Horizon had been her home. She was undeniably grateful to Ashley for understanding her need to be on the mission.

Even if they found nothing, Sam would be satisfied with the knowledge that she had tried.


On the opposite side of the shuttle, Ashley had surprised herself with how effortless it had been to reconcile her conscience with her decision to allow Traynor to be a part of the ground team. Although she had only caught the tail end of the conversation between Shepard and Traynor almost a year earlier, she had immediately recognised the pain in Traynor's voice for what it was. Ash knew that, if it had been her family down on Horizon and she had been denied the opportunity to find out first-hand what had happened to them, she would not have handled it well. She had a suspicion that she would have been up on charge for striking a superior officer. When Liara had been taken from Alcyone, Shepard had moved heaven and hell and eventually sacrificed herself to save her bondmate. While Ash did not want to go as far as to label Shepard a hypocrite, she could not bring herself to deny Sam this chance. If that made her less of an officer than Shepard, then she didn't care. If the squad was to encounter trouble on the surface, the young woman would be surrounded by trained marines.

The thought that did disrupt her usual concentration was her brief comment to Sam. I'm not Shepard. It was a truth that Miranda had been striving to get her to admit for months and it had come without fanfare or any sense of relief. It was simply a fact. Just because you've finally admitted to yourself that you're not Shepard, doesn't mean you can go and fuck everything up, she admonished herself. The weight that settled on her shoulders felt entirely different, but it was no less substantial.

Miranda. The Normandy's return to active duty had left Ash with very little time to herself. She craved the persistent activity, but a part of her resented it all the same. There were very few moments to simply stop and think – to appreciate what she had. It wasn't correct to say that she didn't have the time to miss Miranda. Ash felt her absence underlying everything she did. An emptiness that left her constantly hungry. The time that they had been apart during their relationship outstripped the time that they had been together by a cruel amount. Doubting whether their circumstances would ever change left Ash floundering under the crushing weight of hopelessness.

"Commander Williams?"

Up front, Cortez was trying to get her attention. Grateful for the distraction, Ash rose to her feet. She navigated the heaving, bucking deck of the Kodiak like the seasoned vet she was.

"What have we got?" Ash gripped onto the back of Cortez's seat and leaned in close. She recognised the verdant plains of Horizon below.

"We've got groundside communication."

"The origin of the distress call," Ash assumed.

"No, ma'am," Cortez replied. "It's the Alliance, and they don't sound happy to see us."

A deep frown creased Ash's brow as she slipped into the vacant co-pilot's chair. She wasn't sure what she had been expecting in agreeing to investigate at Councillor Tevos's suggestion, but it wasn't the angry voice that barked over the comm a few seconds later.

{Unidentified vessel, you are not authorised for approach. Turn around now or we will open fire.} The terse command set Ash's teeth on edge. {This is your last warning.}

Restraining herself from making a kneejerk response, Ash opened a channel. "This is Commander Williams, of the SSV Normandy. We are investigating a distress call from your location-"

{This facility does not require assistance, ma'am.}

Despite the interruption, the tone had shifted. Both her name and that of the Normandy carried weight regardless of the situation. It was that respect that she planned to use.

"Nevertheless you will allow us to land," Ashley responded.

{I'm afraid you don't have the requisite clearance, Commander Williams.} The voice was almost apologetic.

"I think you'll find that as Council SPecTRe I have all the clearance I need." Ashley had been saving that particular trump card. She had hoped not to have to play it in order to keep the Normandy's presence within Alliance tenets. "Your defences will stand down and you'll transmit the vector coordinates for landing."

{Err…yes ma'am. Transmitting the coordinates now.}

Ashley turned back to regard Cortez. Her pilot was wearing a broad grin but she could not bring herself to share in his amusement. "Something about this smells off."

"Expecting trouble?" Cortez asked.

"Always," was her concise reply. The eyes of her squad were on her when she emerged from the cockpit. Ash searched out Sam and gave the young woman a reassuring nod. She had to believe that this wasn't going to turn into a giant fuck up. "We're not going in hot, weapons stay holstered, and everyone will follow my lead. As far as I can tell, these are friendlies."

"Friendlies? Then why are we even here?" Petrova asked with a slight scowl. Ash immediately thought her question masked the disappointment of a marine spoiling for action.

"What do you think we'll find down there, ma'am?" Fleeting asked, deftly rephrasing the Gunny's demand into something more appropriate.

Ash didn't want to admit that she had no clue, but she knew Horizon. It was the type of place where everything had a habit of turning to shit. Her first stint – surrounded by colonists who viewed her mere presence as Alliance interference – had been hell. The colonists had remained hostile even as the Collectors attacked, abducting most of the colony. Then there had been her own conversation with Shepard, bitter and angry when she ought to have been overjoyed to see her friend. Ash hated Horizon.

"Just stay sharp, marines," was all she offered.


Dr Carlson Snow's mood hovered somewhere between apoplectic and furious as he watched the Alliance-blue Kodiak come in low toward the landing platform. His dark eyes narrowed in irritation. He heard footsteps further along the corridor and turned away from the window to watch the young comms officer's approach.

"Would you mind telling me exactly why there is currently an unscheduled landing taking place on my station?" he demanded in an acidic voice.

"Well, it's from the Normandy, Dr Snow-" he started to explain.

"I can see it's from the Normandy, Lieutenant! What the hell is a squad from the Normandy doing on Horizon?" Snow demanded. "I sincerely doubt that they're here to reminisce over fond memories! How the hell did they get authorisation?"

The young man tilted his chin upwards in an almost defiant gesture. "Commander Williams…she's a SPecTRe. It's all the authority she needs-"

"I don't need that bitch here interfering in our work.!" Snow spat angrily.

He ran a hand through his black hair and turned his attention back to the shuttle. From his vantage point, he could clearly see the marines filtering out of the shuttle. The tall woman at the forefront he immediately recognised. Although he had never met Ashley Williams, she was famous, her face plastered across recruiting posters from Earth to the Traverse. Snow let a sigh escape his lips. The facility had always operated on a limited timeframe, but they were supposed to control the manner in which everything ended, especially the dissemination of information to the outside world. As it was, he was going to have a difficult time convincing the SPecTRe of the value of the work they had carried out.

"Do you want me to contact HQ?" the Lieutenant offered. "Fleet Admiral Kessler would-"

"No. Kessler will find out soon enough." Snow was not looking forward to that conversation. "You should have consulted me before making the decision to allow her to land. As it is there's nothing to be done but bring everything into the open and implement procedures for closing the facility. You'll no doubt be answering to your superiors on Earth, Lieutenant. Return to your station, I'll deal with this."

Snow's lips pursed together in a tight line as he attempted to formulate the right words in his head to avoid the situation turning into a disaster. Their final plans had originally involved a purging of the facility once studies were completed. Cerberus's research data would be cached and the survivors would be allowed to live carefully controlled existences provided they adhered to a set of rules. This was about to be thrown out of the window. His only option was to plead the 'greater good' and hope that Commander Williams could be made to see reason. He knew very little of the woman other than the persona that had been created by the Alliance PR machine.

He was all smiles by the time he made his way outside onto the landing platform. Having been made to wait pending his arrival, Williams had an unimpressed scowl fixed on her face. The squad of marines behind her were all fully armed and armoured. Snow had to resist the urge to sneer.

"Commander Williams!" he welcomed her with an outstretched hand. "Dr Carlson Snow. I apologise for the delay. We were not expecting your visit and needed time to fulfil the necessary protocols." She accepted his hand in a crushing grip. He had to fight to keep a neutral expression. He tucked both hands behind his back so she could not see him flexing the one she'd almost crushed. "With your history I do not think I need to introduce you to Horizon."

"No, you don't," she replied curtly as she let go of his hand. Her voice was sharp and nasal. "I've already seen enough of this colony to last a lifetime. You can start by explaining what the hell kind of operation you've got going on here since, I presume, you are in charge?"

Snow stiffened. "It's an Alliance facility-"

"It was a Cerberus facility," Williams interrupted him in an arctic tone. "Thousands of civilians were murdered here. So I'm going to ask you again, Dr Snow, what the hell are you doing here? Sanctuary should be a fucking big hole in the ground."

Williams was hard, unyielding. He would have called her a bitch to her face had she been any other upstart Alliance officer making such demands of him. As it was she was humanity's sole SPecTRe, possibly the most famous marine still living, and clearly not someone who would accept a bullshit explanation. Snow was beginning to regret his decision not to seek Kessler's advice.

"I think an explanation will be most effective whilst accompanied with a demonstration, Commander," he offered. "If you'll agree to leave your squad behind and accompany me, I think you'll find that we've been doing nothing except righting the wrongs perpetuated by Cerberus."

Snow continued to talk as they moved down into the bowels of the facility. He could not help but notice the firm set to her jaw as she studied their surrounds with barely concealed disgust. Most of the Cerberus plant and equipment was still in place – the reception areas which had welcoming unassuming refugees and below ground where the tanks and holding pens remained. Snow seldom ventured into that pit. For the most part it was sealed off, the manufactured creatures were dead, their ghosts left to linger in their own private hell.

"The Alliance orchestrated a clean-up of the facility in the wake of Commander Shepard's raid-" Williams snorted disparagingly – probably at the use of the word 'raid'. He ignored her as he continued, "Most of the lower sections were simply sealed and torched. At that stage of the war, there was neither the manpower nor the time to clear them out conventionally."

She offered a non-committal grunt in reply – clearly not wanting to agree or disagree with his reasoning.

"With the war over, Horizon was top priority for resettlement. Unfortunately, what Cerberus did here left lasting damage, not so much ecological, but in terms of the survivors-"

Snow had reached out to press his palm to a door mechanism in front of them when he felt a vice-like grip around his upper arm. The SPecTRe dragged him around to face the unrestrained fury in her gaze.

"What the hell do you mean by survivors?" she demanded harshly, urgently.

A single jerk of his head sufficed as an answer for the time being. Once she followed the direction of his nod, it took only a split second for her to lose interest in listening to him. He watched as Williams was instinctively drawn forward as though there was a tether around her waist, winching her toward a nearby balustrade. She stopped and placed both hands on the railing. He could not fail to notice the way her gloves went tight over her clenched hands.

He hovered behind her, watching her as she slowly scanned the scene in front of her. Snow had no need to see what he already knew so well. The 'cells' Cerberus had built for Sanctuary's refugees had the illusion of being compact but comfortable rooms, conveniences and comforts packed into a small space. However, nothing could really disguise the fact that they were essentially prison cells. The balcony overlooked five stories of cells, all stacked upon one another like the inside of a bee hive. The glass frontages offered the civilian occupants very little privacy.

"The clean-up team found them…the lucky ones anyway. The majority were tagged for processing, some had already been processed, others were in the midst of…experiments. My science team was brought in to do what we could for them. We lost dozens in those first few weeks, the transformations were unpredictable and…I lost people as well. We kept them here, isolated, safe, while we monitored, treated, did what we could for those who were suffering." The Commander did not turn around as he spoke. Her eyes remained fixed on the people on display within the panopticon front of her. None noticed the presence of a SPecTRe on the observation deck, they were all so used to being watched. "Those that are left are probably clear from infection-"

"Probably?" Williams whispered in a low, dangerous voice.

It was all the warning Snow had before she turned and, in a split second, had her gloved hand wrapped around his throat. She threw him bodily against the wall. The impact was accompanied by a sharp grunt of pain as the back of his head struck the hard surface. The fury of her reaction was reflected in her burning dark eyes.

"These people have been imprisoned here for almost eight months!" she spat. "How much longer are you planning on keeping them here on the chance that they may spontaneously turn into husks?"

"We don't...know-" Snow spluttered, struggling for breath around her tightening grip as well as trying to force the words out.

"You're the goddamn scientist! What the hell have you been doing with them? Do their families even know they're alive?" Williams demanded.

"Gah! It was...felt that-"

Her fingers tightened. "A yes or no answer is all I'm looking for, doc."

"No!" he gasped, more a hiss of air than an actual word.


Ashley felt a sudden wave of nausea wash over her. No? Her fingers twitched and released Snow suddenly, as though someone had simply flicked a switch in her brain. The doctor was left to slump against the wall - gasping for breath with angry red welts on his neck. In disbelief, Ash turned her back on him to refocus her gaze on Horizon's colonists. It was only several minutes later that she realised she was standing with her mouth agape, slowly shaking her head. Her voice sat like a lump in her throat.

When the words finally came they were so thick she had to force them out. "Release them."

"I'm not authorised-" Snow's voice rasped.

"I am," Ashley interrupted harshly. "Let them out now. I don't care if one of them starts turning into a husk in front of you." One could rip your face off and save me the trouble. "If you or any of your staff so much as looks at them in a funny way, I'll make sure you know what it feels like to spend months in confinement."

"Yes, Commander Williams," Snow murmured quickly, almost inaudibly. His response reminded her of a petulant child – sullen as opposed to repentant – but Ashley could not summon further wrath. "What should I…what should we do with them?"

"Take them home," Ashley replied without thinking. Then she realised that they were already home. In their place, she would not want to remain on Horizon. "Wherever they want to go - Earth, another colony. The Normandy crew will oversee the logistics."

With Snow's unrepentant obedience galling on her, Ashley was desperate to escape his company. The gazes of the Alliance personnel she passed flickered between suspicion and awe, but very rarely shame. She supposed that most of them thought they were simply following orders. The time-honoured soldier's excuse. Ashley scoffed. One of the more important lessons that she had learned from Shepard was that following orders was not always mandatory. While the same such approach to military service did not sit as easily with her, she was beginning to understand why such decisions were necessary. As Ash automatically made her way down towards the small crowd of bewildered, hollow-eyed colonists emerging from the main compound, she was overcome by the realisation that she and the Alliance were about to have a major divergence in opinion. It was an unsettling thought, especially with the fact that she had never considered any other career options for herself.

The gut-wrenching feeling worsened as she descended into the crowd of colonists. Upon seeing her Alliance issue hardsuit – customary blue with white stripes – they silently gave her a wide berth. Ashley felt her shoulders slump with the knowledge that they equated her with the people who had held them captive for months. She couldn't blame them. As she watched the faces move past her – full of fear and trepidation – a thought suddenly washed over her. With a determined expression on her face she started forward into the crowd, searching each face in turn for something familiar.

"Traynor? Does anyone know the Traynors?"


"This is bullshit."

It was one of the new marines speaking. Sam didn't know Hwang or Swift well enough to tell apart their clipped tones without looking at them. Shifting uncomfortably in her hardsuit, she turned to see Swift with a disgruntled expression on his face as he paced beside the shuttle.

"I thought we were going to see some action," he muttered. He spoke to his buddy, Hwang, but his voice was intended to be just loud enough to carry to the rest of the group.

Gunnery Sergeant Petrova turned and gave the young man a stern glare. "Just make sure that hard-ass attitude of yours holds up under fire, Swift," she said in a no-nonsense tone. "If you're crying like a baby when the gun fire starts up, I'll happily remind you of how much you wanted to see some action. Now stow it!"

"Ma'am, yes, ma'am!" Swift barked quickly. His pale cheeks deepened to a rather violent shade of red before he turned away.

Sam on the other hand was grateful for the lack of action, if not the inactivity. The squad had been standing on the platform for the better part of forty-five minutes after Ashley had disappeared inside. By now most had settled down into more relaxed poses. The old hands had all adopted an air of casual relaxation, although Sam suspected that they would be ready for action at the drop of a hat. Only Fleeting, as second-in-command, looked slightly apprehensive. With every passing minute that Ashley did not return, he cast another glance toward the facility. Oddly enough, Sam was unsettled but not as a result of Ashley's absence. She suspected that if the Commander was in life-threatening danger, they would have seen the resulting explosions and gunfire. Instead, there was an odd prickling sensation at the back of her neck that refused to disappear.

"Any war stories from the old Normandy, Chief?"

It took Sam several moments to realise that Petrova was addressing her. She blinked rather gormlessly at the striking but sharp-edged blonde. All the while she struggled to appreciate the fact that Petrova was speaking to her as an equal. There were no gulfs between the techie and the marine, instead they were just two veterans who had both fought in the same war. Despite the realisation, Sam knew that as soon as she opened her mouth she would ruin this perception. Especially given that Sam could not think of anything to share that would resemble Petrova's definition of a 'war story'. A myriad of flashes burst like explosions in her mind. Most involved anxious hours spent at her station on the CIC whilst listening to the events taking place ground side. The most gut-wrenching had been Shepard's communication that James Vega was dead and Liara had been taken by Cerberus – hardly an exhilarating war story to be shared. From a first-hand perspective, Sam's experience was limited to the desperate moments on-board the Normandy itself when an indoctrinated Miranda Lawson had taken her hostage. Sam was still of the view that those particular events should be limited to the specific people involved. She felt that it would be a breach of Miranda's privacy to share those moments.

"Um…well…" She was mercifully spared from continuing her pathetic attempt at a response when Fleeting finally spotted the Commander emerging. The squad leapt into attentive poses with the abrupt order that followed.

"Who the hell has she got with her?" Petrova squinted. "Looks like a couple of civilians."

Sam had lagged behind the marines and had only just spun to face the main compound when Petrova spoke. Unlike the expressions of suspicion or curiosity that the others worse, Sam's face immediately opened with wide-eyed, slack-jawed disbelief as she tried to process what she was seeing. All three figures were intimately familiar - Ashley with a pale, stoic expression on her face and the two individuals with her. Both seemed so small and frail whilst walking next to Ashley in her hardsuit. Sam's feet moved faster than her brain. They had her moving across the courtyard before she realised entirely what she was doing. Ignoring her squadmates at her back, and even the relieved expression on Ashley's face, Sam heard a carefree laugh bubbling from her throat as she ran.

Unused to the clunky hardsuit, she lurched and stumbled her way toward the pair.

"Mum! Dad!"


Mindoir Approach, Attican Traverse

Miranda Lawson loathed sentimentality – or at least that was what she had always purported to think. Her father had instilled in her an aversion to attachment of any kind – whether it was possessions or people. She had vivid recollections of one of her childhood instructors, Gray Spencer - an ex-N7 who had been left with an artificial arm in the wake of the First Contact War. While she had spent much of her time hating the man for his strict, almost cruel teaching style, as she had grown older she learned to appreciate the fact that his lessons were purely designed to help her survive and flourish within her father's regime. Even though he remained bitter, gruff and aloof, Gray was by far the kindest individual in her life – surrogate father, pseudo friend, and confidant. Miranda had been thirteen when her father explained, with a hint of delight in his voice, that Gray had been arrested for a chain of unspeakably violent crimes against young women. Despite her youth, Henry Lawson had spared no detail in his explanations. The overwhelming evidence had earned him several lifetimes in prison and the vehement hatred of his former pupil.

There were other 'lessons' as she grew older, several with equally callous implications for those involved, but Gray remained at the back of Miranda's mind. She recognised her father's manipulations even before dissecting the fabricated evidence herself. Having escaped her father's yoke, with Cerberus' resources at her disposal, Miranda had tracked Gray down. She had been devastated to learn that he had recently died in a violent penal colony in the Terminus Systems, her search having come scant weeks too late. It was a cruel remainder that she could not afford to care about anything, or anyone.

Although Miranda had physically escaped her father, the emotional prison he had created would take her decades to even begin to erode. Over the years, she had stubbornly clung to her privacy, her independence. Sentimentality had no place in her life – friendships, romance, there was no time for such inane distractions.

Now this claim seemed hypocritical to maintain in the face of her current state of mind. She had loathed such things, now she was unable to quash the swirling emotions beneath her calm exterior. Miranda's sole concession to the turmoil she felt, was to tug at the stiff collar of her uniform in an effort to stop it chaffing her neck. Her expressionless gazed remained fixed on the orb seeming to hang below the ship – the mottled colours slowly coming into focus as distinct landmasses nestled amidst vast oceans.

"Looks almost perfect from up here."

It looked like a shithole. Mindoir was light years from anywhere significant and, most importantly, it was a hell of a long way from Ashley. Miranda was well aware of the speaker standing just behind her but she had far too much on her mind for a conversation – even if she had wanted one in the first place. The time that it would take the small transport to make the descent and landing was her last bastion in which to find solace. It was her time to lose herself in thoughts of her distant lover, not spend in idle conversation with someone she had already endured beyond her limited patience.

"I said, Mindoir looks almost-"

"I heard you the first time," Miranda interrupted curtly. "I didn't care then and I certainly don't care now." She felt a slight trace of annoyance when she realised that she ought to apologise for her tone. However as she turned to regard the civilian captain of the freighter, she was reminded just how much she disliked the man. The MSV Hamilton's primary consignment were supplies for the colony, Miranda was the sole passenger. She was not gracious company at the best of times and her manners had steadily worn thin throughout the journey.

With several muttered words which may have been either indignation or apology, the captain retreated and left her to contemplate her view in silence. For the remainder of the trip, she managed to lose herself in memories of her recent shore leave, stopping only when she felt herself on the verge of giving into tears. While actually crying was absurd, Miranda felt an odd sort of pleasure in the fact that, had she been inclined to, she could have cried. Despite Henry Lawson's best efforts, her innate sentimentality had not been stamped out in childhood – just well buried. Although she would have not admitted it to anyone, even her lover, it was not too far-fetched to imagine a future where she could simply live, laughing and crying over life's joys.

By the time the freighter landed at Mindoir's tiny, functional spaceport, Miranda had erased all traces of emotion from her face, straightened her uniform and settled into the no-nonsense façade that was almost effortless for her to maintain. When she gratefully disembarked the ship, her first reaction to Mindoir was that it was staggeringly hot. She had to resist the urge to strip off her jacket as she hefted her sea bag onto one shoulder and picked up her heavy armour case with the other hand. She had no sooner reached the bottom of the ramp than she felt a thin sheen of sweat form on her face. While there was some activity toward the rear of the freighter as several loaders jostled into place to begin accepting the Hamilton's cargo, Miranda could see no corresponding welcome for her. With the temptation strong to seek out the nearest shade, Miranda began humping her gear toward the terminal building. Once probably architecturally striking with swathes of glass, the battered façade had simply been patched with scrap metal. Inside was almost deserted and a lack of climate control meant that it was even hotter than outside.

Miranda dumped her sea bag on the ground unceremoniously. Her armour case she set down with more care, and started in the direction of an officious looking woman with a datapad. She had gone no more than a few steps when her initial assessment of Mindoir as a shithole was proved accurate by the sound of a familiar voice.

"Just when I start to think the Alliance and I have reached our happy place, they go and fuck everything up all over again."

There was absolutely no need for Miranda to turn around to discern who had spoken. The voice was one that she would recognise even in the middle of a crowded room – albeit for all the wrong reasons. Rather than respond immediately – the resulting altercation would result in brig time at best and a court-martial at worst – Miranda paused and gave herself time to gather her emotions under control. She closed her eyes as she listened to the sound of heavy footsteps approaching, closing in on her. The damn bitch could never walk anywhere quietly. A single deep breath – in and out – was all she allowed herself. You can do this, you're an adult, she's an adult, Miranda thought purposefully as she turned to face the smaller woman approaching her. Who knows, she might have changed-

"You have got to be fucking kidding me!" was the equally venomous continuation. "What the fuck are you doing here, Cheerleader?"

Jack – biotic wunderkind, Subject Zero, and complete antithesis of everything Miranda Lawson stood for – had not changed. Although her appearance clearly had. Although the sides of her head were still completely shaven, she now sported a strip of hair down the centre, culminating in a ponytail. In her typical style, Jack wore an approximation of an Alliance uniform – the short-sleeve jacket worn over a white vest with cargos that were clearly several sizes bigger than the ones she ought to have been issued. Her combat boots were only loosely tied. Her stance complemented her tone. She held her arms at her sides, both fists clenched. The expression on her face was stormy and openly hostile.

"I could ask the same question of you," Miranda replied coolly. She was trying to be nonchalant, but she had always found it difficult to retain her composure in Jack's presence. "I thought you'd be dancing in a cage somewhere, but no, you're here, making a mockery of that uniform and wasting my time."

"Ha!" Jack snorted. "That same uniform does nothing for your figure, Cerberus bitch. Are you sure you don't want something a little tighter so you can flaunt your assets?"

Miranda bristled. Her Cerberus catsuit had been designed for optimal functionality and comfort – not so she could flaunt anything! It was pure coincidence that she looked stunning in it. "Reverting to acting like a child, typical." Miranda folded her arms across her chest, determined not to sink to Jack's level. "Not that it's any of your business, but the Alliance has seen fit to post me to Mindoir."

The resulting smile that creased Jack's face made Miranda decidedly uncomfortable. "Gotta be my business, seeing as I'm your CO."

She shook her head in disbelief as she fumbled for something coherent to say. "Sorry…what?"

Jack straightened, the smile broadening until she bared teeth. "I think you missed out a 'ma'am' somewhere along the way Second Lieutenant Cheerleader."

It was only at that point did Miranda notice the faded Captain's bars on Jack's scruffy, definitely non-regulation jacket. She was unable to stop the colour draining from her face. "You have got to be kidding me," she whispered.

"You have got to be kidding me, ma'am," Jack replied smugly. She folded her own arms across her chest in a relaxed manner. Miranda's own stance had become a tight knot designed to keep herself from keeling over. "Seems as though someone further up the chain saw fit to promote me for 'outstanding wartime service.' It's Captain Zero, I know, sounds fucking lame, I've got everyone calling me Jack…but in your case I think we'll stick to ma'am."

"In your dreams, you tattooed freak," Miranda hissed instinctively.

Across the space of a few minutes, she was prepared to throw away all her hard work in suffering through basic training, OCS and her future career with the Alliance. She remembered her justifying her decision to join up, but now it was all irrelevant. Serving under Jack was inherently impossible. The Hamilton would be leaving in a few hours. She'd gladly suffer the captain's company if it meant getting off Mindoir and away from her.

As Miranda gathered up her gear, Jack frowned. "Okay, minus you, where the hell are the rest of my reinforcements?"

Miranda looked over her shoulder. "What do you mean? There was only me."

Jack's smug expression slipped altogether. "You're shitting me? I was promised two full squads and they sent me a fucking Cerberus whore."

"Fuck you, Jack," Miranda responded. She was thoroughly annoyed that simply being in Jack's presence was enough to reduce her to behaving like a cretin.

"Why aren't you still walking away, Cheerleader?" Jack sneered. "Go on, piss off then. There's no one to pamper you here – you'll only find sweat, boredom, and MREs."

It had been Miranda's intention to walk away. However, there was something in the other woman's expression that gave her pause enough to reconsider her impulsive behaviour. Walking away would be admitting defeat. She sighed and turned fully to face her new CO. If staying pissed Jack off, then she'd bloody well do it – regardless of all the times she'd have to bite her tongue or restrain herself.

"I'm not walking away…ma'am," Miranda replied, adjusting her sea bag so it was more comfortable on her tense shoulder. She could feel the first twinges of a headache.

Jack straightened and she responded with a curt nod that could not be called friendly by any stretch of the imagination. She muttered something that might have been 'follow me' and proceeded to walk away at a rapid pace, without offering to help Miranda with her gear.

"So…" Miranda fumbled for something to say as she followed Jack. It had nothing to do with filling the silence. She was more interested in proving that she could handle the situation like an adult, and also that she was not having difficulty in keeping up with her despite the mountain of gear she was lugging.

"Shit, you're not seriously going to ask how I am or what I've been up to?" Jack looked over her shoulder and scowled.

"Maybe I'm curious as to what someone like you would have done during the war," Miranda replied.

Jack offered another snort in reply. For several minutes Miranda thought that was the end of any conversation between them. "Got offered a gig by the Alliance after the shit that went down through the Omega-4 relay," Jack eventually offered in an almost civil tone. "Teaching kids - biotic kids - on Grissom Academy."

Miranda had to stifle a snort of her own at the thought of Jack teaching anyone. However as the conversation continued, she was surprised by the affection in Jack's tone as she spoke of 'her kids.'

"When the war broke out, Cerberus showed up on our doorstep pretty early on. They wanted the kids, wanted to sign them up. When they didn't go willingly it turned into an all-out shitfest. Those Cerberus cunts tried to take them by force, not caring how many they killed in the process…but I don't need to explain Cerberus's tactics to you."

The other woman was clearly bitter. "I never condoned killing children, Jack," Miranda said quietly. They'd already had their disagreement over whether Miranda knew anything about Pragia. She didn't, but that had not mattered to Jack who had been spoiling for a fight and looking for someone to be a scapegoat.

Ignoring Miranda's comment, Jack continued, "A distress call went out, I suppose I was hoping for the Normandy to show up – you know, old friends helping each other and all that shit – but I guess the great Shepard was too busy off saving the rest of the Galaxy."

"You can't seriously expect Shepard to have turned her back on her work to evacuate a handful of students," Miranda said incredulously. She said it even though she knew it was exactly the sort of thing Shepard would have done had she known about it. Miranda resented the implication in Jack's tone. Shepard had helped her on Horizon, but it was simply fortuitous that the Normandy's mission had coincided with her own private battle against her father.

"Fucking ridiculous right?" Jack agreed with her. "Guess I just thought…well, fuck, I shouldn't speak ill of the dead. Knew you'd side with your old fuck buddy though."

"Can you not just have a conversation without resorting to insults and cheap shots?" Miranda demanded heatedly. Even though it was true, hearing Shepard referred to as her 'fuck buddy' was almost enough to send her straight back to the space port. She drew in another deep breath. "What happened on Grissom?"

"The Alliance eventually did send a team in, got the remainder of my kids out. Wasn't much of a mercy though, they were saved just so they could be thrown into the front lines against the Reapers." Jack rubbed at the back of her neck. "When the war ended, someone was grateful enough to let me choose somewhere quiet." She gave Miranda a long look. "Quiet? Ha! I wouldn't have come within a million miles of this place if I'd known you were going to end up here. What did you do to deserve this honour, Cheerleader?"

Miranda studied what little she could see of Mindoir. So far all she had seen was the interior of the space port and several dirty, streets with clusters of prefabs. However in the immediate distance she could see an abundance of the colour green. Beyond that, barely discernible, were the mountains that Alves that had referred to. Now that Miranda knew Jack was here, she realised that she had been sent to the colony to both get her out of the way, and possibly even to make her suffer for some unidentified transgression. Her gear suddenly felt as though it weighed several tons. She didn't know what she had been thinking in trying to forge a career in the Alliance for herself.

"I'm here to do my job, ma'am," she replied in a tight voice, refusing to look her nemesis in the eye. What would Ash do? As well as she knew her lover, Miranda couldn't decide whether Ashley would bite her tongue and follow orders, or resort to her fists to sort out her differences. She resolved to believe it would be the former. Are you going to find this hilarious, Ash, or just plain wrong? "You give me space to do my job, and this will be bearable."

Jack grunted disparagingly. "I give you seven days, Cerberus bitch, a month at the most. If you step out of line in that time, I will put you down."

"I'd like to see you try," Miranda retorted. She'd seen Jack in action on all too many occasions. The petite psycho was undoubtedly talented, but she was also unpredictable and undisciplined. Miranda was innately confidant of her own abilities.

Despite her resolve, Miranda already harboured her doubts. Without Shepard to mediate between them, she suspected that she and Jack would be tearing each other to pieces in a matter of days, not weeks.

"Fuck you, Cheerleader."

"Fuck you, Jack."