Chapter Twenty-Three
Playing Silly Buggers
Omega, Sahrabarik
Shepard's eyes blinked open to an inky darkness. She tensed for a few moments before a litany of familiar smells set her at ease. The apartment was still vaguely musty. Her own sweat mingled with a hint of Liara's pleasant fragrance. This was home.
A cat-like stretch made her aware that almost every muscle in her body ached. It was a half-forgotten ache - the kind that could only be earned through physical violence. The knuckles of her right hand felt raw and painful as she scraped them against the soft bed sheets. Both shoulders were stiff in their sockets until she eased her arms above her head. With a few pops and soft groans, she coaxed her body into a semblance of working order.
Dim lighting greeted her when she sat up and swung her legs over the side of the bed. Her earlier stretches had already revealed that Liara was not lying beside her. In fact, beyond her own patch of body warmth, the bed was cold. She dressed in a pair of loose cargos and a long-sleeved thermal top before venturing beyond the room. With the door to her left closed, she presumed that Liara had set Mycea up in the spare bedroom.
When Shepard found Liara seated on the sofa pretending to be engrossed in a datapad, she felt an immediate twinge of surprise. Guilt followed when she realised that she expected her bondmate to be working despite the disruption to her ordered routine. In reality, the concern on Liara's face was palpable. The asari quickly set the pad aside and shifted her body, perching expectantly on the edge of the seat.
Why does she look so guilty? Shepard frowned as she approached. "Hey you. How long was I out for?"
Liara nodded in agreement. "Almost eight hours. An unheard of luxury for you."
"Except for that time I slept for two years," Shepard replied flippantly. "And then there was the six months I was in stasis beneath London – I guess that could be thought of as a kind of sleep."
"You are being facetious, Evan," Liara replied in a tense voice. "It is hardly appropriate considering I still have no idea what happened to you yesterday."
Shepard's first thought had been to join Liara on the sofa and reassure her that she was fine. However she bristled in response to Liara's tone, preserving the distance between them. "I'm surprised you didn't hack into a security feed and watch the incident already."
"It's Omega, not the Citadel," Liara replied curtly. "All I know is that you stumbled across the threshold carrying someone with a gunshot wound. There was a scorch mark on your jacket indicating that someone also narrowly missed you. Are you angry that I would dare to be concerned about you?"
"Angry?" For a moment Shepard had been hovering on the verge of losing her temper. Then she remembered that the underlying vitriol in their conversation had originated with her, not Liara. Shepard shook her head. "No…Li, I'm not angry, not at all." She finally did make the choice to sit beside Liara, close enough so that their thighs pressed together. "Myke and I had a visit from some mercs in Aria's employ. Suffice to say, I didn't feel inclined to comply with their demands and things turned sour pretty fucking quickly."
Liara's facial expression did not change, indicating that the explanation was expected. She did however reach out and place her hand atop Shepard's. Her palm was cold. "The Queen of Omega is not renowned for her patience. Although I cannot claim to be pleased about the situation, you were right to refuse her."
"I know," Shepard said with a self-satisfied nod. "I may not like it, but I do know a thing or two about political manoeuvring." Without thinking, she reached out and touched Liara's cheek with her left hand. "I learned from the best. If Aria summons me once, then she will have me at her beck and call."
Only in hindsight did Shepard realise that she was touching Liara with her artificial hand. She was a hairsbreadth from snatching it away when she stopped herself. Instead she stroked the vibrant blue skin with a light swipe of her pale thumb. The touch registered on a physical level, but emotionally Shepard felt a distinct thrill. When she let the hand fall, she did not tuck it out of sight as was her habit. Liara rewarded her with a dazzling smile.
Half a dozen important conversations were rolling around in her head, but Shepard's primary concern was the young asari who had been hurt in her company. "Please tell me you didn't put Myke on that rock hard bed in the spare room?"
The guilty expression returned. "Actually, Evan…she is gone. We ate together, then I went up to check on you and she slipped out without a word."
Shepard's jaw dropped slightly. "You let her leave? She has a gunshot wound, Liara. How long ago?"
"About three hours ago," Liara admitted. She quickly tilted her head defensively. "I did not simply give her up as gone. I tasked one of my agents with locating her. She was seen entering a clinic in the Fumi District, I presumed that she would be well taken care of. I would apologise if I thought it was wrong to let her leave, but she was not our prisoner."
"No, of course not. You did everything you could," Shepard shook her head. "Myke is stubborn and independent. I should have known that she wouldn't stay here and let us take care of her." She eased her aching body from the sofa. "I'm going to look for her though. I need to check for myself that she's going to be okay."
As she fetched her boots from near the door, Shepard glanced back to find that Liara was still sitting on the sofa with an odd expression on her face. "I am curious as to what the two of you talked about while I was asleep."
"Various, trifling things," Liara replied quietly. "We are…very different."
A quiet laugh escaped Shepard's lips. "Yeah, you might as well be two hundred years older than her instead of just a decade. Still...she does actually remind me of you when we first met…a little. Having spent her whole life on Omega I would have expected her to be harder…more street-wise. Instead she's innocent, almost naïve…just like you were." Liara opened her mouth to protest, but stopped when Shepard fired a teasing glance in her direction. "Although you did have your biotics to fall back on, even then." Shepard paused whilst tugging on her boots and frowned thoughtfully. "Are there many asari born without biotic powers?"
The eyebrow-like markings on Liara's forehead shot upward. "Few enough to make it relatively rare. There are varying degrees of potential, but for it to be absent altogether? Like being born Ardat-Yakshi, it is another possible adverse result of being born of two asari parents. With the stigma attached to purebloods, being born without biotics is especially rare in my generation."
With her boots on, Shepard stood and regarded Liara with a level stare. Her bondmate's expression was largely blank, save for the slight furrowing of her brow which indicated she was deep in thought. "Hey…" Shepard drew Liara's attention. "I haven't forgotten that we need to talk, Li. I just need to do this first."
Liara inclined her head slightly. "I know, Evan."
"You could come with me you know," Shepard suggested. "I'm always pestering you to take a walk with me."
"I have-"
"Work to do," Shepard finished, smiling wryly. "As always. I don't think I'll be long." She retrieved her Phalanx pistol from their small weapons locker by the door. "And I'm armed. Look, perfectly well prepared."
Liara offered her bondmate a reassuring smile in the moments before she stepped outside. The expression came easily because she could so clearly see the woman she loved standing in front of her. Shepard's smile was one of old, from a time before the Reaper War. It reminded her of those heady days aboard the Normandy SR-1. Saren. Benezia. Kaidan Alenko. Therum. Noveria. Ilos. Old names that no longer seemed to belong to this life. The stakes had been high even then, but life had seemed simpler.
As she made her way up the stairs with the firm intention of returning to work, Liara had the distinct feeling that everything was going to be alright between them. Shepard was healing, slowly but surely. Liara continued walking, but managed to make it barely past the top of the stairs. She paused at the door to the spare bedroom whilst still staring at the door to her office. With only a moment's hesitation, she palmed it open. Having never been used, the bed was bare. However the only other differences from the room that she shared with Shepard were the lack of windows and accoutrements of life. Although Liara had no intention of residing on Omega permanently, she realised that more of an effort could be made to make the apartment more inviting. I will spend less time working, she promised herself.
A concerted effort consigned work to the backburner. Liara gathered up crisp, clean sheets from a storage cupboard and lost herself in the simple task of making up the bed.
Shepard located the small clinic in the Fumi District with relative ease. She watched the door for several minutes. Only a limping turian emerged, hobbling away at a painfully slow pace. Her entrance a few moments later seemed to go unnoticed. When she stepped into the dimly lit interior, she was met with an array of chemical smells, all reminding her that she did not like doctors or places of treatment. The first room was obviously intended as a reception. It was cramped and spartan, little more than four empty walls containing several battered chairs. However, unlike most places on Omega, every surface was pristine. The open door on the other side of the room beckoned, Shepard knocked lightly on the frame.
"Hello?" She peered beyond but saw only a closed privacy curtain.
Silence was her only reply for several moments. She was about to call out again when a gruff voice responded. "Not dying are ya?"
"Um…no," Shepard replied. "I'm looking-"
"Be with ya in a minute then," was the curt reply. "Unless you'd rather I left this poor sod's guts hanging out?"
"No, by all means…finish…whatever it is you're doing."
By the time Shepard heard the sounds of movement beyond the door, she was feeling slightly faint from the clinic's aromas. A gnarled old turian emerged, still wearing an operating gown and nonchalantly wiping his bloody hands on a towel. His flanges twitched in surprise when he saw her. Shepard suddenly missed that bastard Garrus Vakarian. She fervently hoped he'd found something to calibrate on Rannoch.
"You sure you're not dying?" he demanded. "Are humans supposed to look green?"
"What? Green? No, I just don't like that smell," Shepard said as she made a vague gesture in the air.
The turian sniffed deeply, flanges twitching furiously for a few moments. "What smell? Nothing but disinfectant and anaesthetic. Guess it is a change from the usual shit and garbage outside. So, what can I do for you, human?"
"I'm actually looking for someone, a young asari. I believe she came in here a few hours ago."
The response was like a door being slammed in her face. With his arms folded over his broad chest, the turian shook his head. "Can't help you."
Shepard frowned. "Can't or won't? Her name is Mycea Kasos." The turian's expression was especially unreadable, even for a turian. She sighed. "I guess anyone could walk in here and say they're a friend of someone. If you see her, can you let her know that Evan is looking for her? She'll find me, she always does."
"Evan huh?" His words interrupted her mid stride. "Might be that she mentioned ya once or twice…or possibly in every second sentence. Damn asari thinks you're some sort of hero the way she talks. I expected someone…taller, or at least more impressive."
"Is she here?" Shepard asked, masking the expectancy in her voice.
He shook his head regretfully. "Came in asking for medigel and dressings. Does it all the time. I expect she's probably found yet another lowlife lying in a back alley with a stab wound. Dunno why she bothers trying to help them. I always tell her she's only prolonging the inevitable. But she keeps asking and I keep giving it to her." He shrugged to emphasise the fact that he probably wasn't immune to Myke's persuasive powers.
The doctor's explanation both heightened Shepard's concern and piqued her curiosity. "I didn't know."
He grunted at Shepard's ignorance. "It's only me working here so she volunteers sometimes, lends a hand…less since she's been tagging around with you." The accusation was blatant.
Shepard ignored the tone. "So you must know her fairly well. Dr?"
Another contemptuous grunt followed. "I ain't a doctor. Name's Prax. I just happen to be the only fool around here stupid enough to waste my time patching people up for free. Aria may be Queen, but she doesn't give a fuck about the provision of clinics on Omega. It's supposed to be survival of the fittest around here."
"You mustn't believe that or else you wouldn't waste your time trying to help your patients," Shepard pointed out.
Prax shrugged and looked awkward for a few moments. He coughed and returned to Shepard's original question. "I know Myke well enough, better than most. She's been hanging around these Districts as long as I can remember. Helping me for the better part of a decade. Don't know too much about her past other than what I've heard – damned long asari life spans and all. Rumour has it her mother was this big shot mercenary. 'Bout sixty, seventy years ago, no one knows why, she tried to take Aria down. Guess she must have been deluded." He laughed derisively. "I don't know how familiar you are with Aria T'Loak, human, but she isn't known for her mercy, especially not to those who threaten her domain."
"I may have heard a few things," Shepard nodded nonchalantly.
"Well, word has it that this was one of the bloodiest operations since T'Loak came to power – a total annihilation. Aria's forces routed the rebels. Damn near flayed their leader alive, strung the corpse up and left it to rot in the marketplace. If it's all true I dunno why Aria would've spared a kid in the midst of all that, but that's the rumour."
"Myke never mentioned any of that to me," Shepard eventually said in a numb voice.
"Did you ask?" Prax fired back. "Anyway, we done here, human? I got shit to do." He jerked his thumb over his shoulder, probably where he'd left the aforementioned sod with his guts hanging out.
"Just one more thing. Do you know where to find her?"
He gave her a level stare for a moment, as though judging her. Eventually he responded with a curt nod. "Try Doru, sector 5b."
Without a further word, Prax disappeared into the rear of the clinic. Shepard was left to see herself out. A heavy weight settled on her shoulders as the turian's brief story lingered in her head. Her mind filled in some of the gaps left by his scant exposition. She tried to equate the optimistic young asari she knew with someone who had seen her mother killed and displayed in such a horrific fashion. Two such individuals were incongruous. All Shepard could think about was Myke's obvious delight at having been shot and the brief insights she had gleaned from Prax. Nothing explained her blithe ignorance and naivety. For some reason the thought of passing the information onto Liara for further investigation made her apprehensive, but she now realised it was a necessity. Her instincts told her that there was more to the whole situation.
A map on her omni-tool guided Shepard to sector 5b in the Doru District – near the central support column for the entire station. The industrial milieu that greeted her was stark. Everything had largely fallen into a state of decay. Machinery that had either been damaged during the Cerberus takeover, or possibly even prior, sat idle. There were no essential systems in her immediate vicinity, nothing other than a warren of dead circuits, empty vats, and catwalks leading nowhere. Shepard's lonely bootfalls echoed as she explored. It was the only sound save for the distant rattle of Omega's ventilation systems. There were no residential buildings or even slum tenements. Even the desperate would not choose to live there. For some reason Prax had lied.
Shepard paused as a view opened up beneath the catwalk she was standing on. A sea of lights glittered below, all hazy neon and the fleeting glimpse of passing sky cars. She could feel the vibrant hum of Omega despite the distance. Even with the recent occupation still hanging over it, the station practically teemed with life. The view was breath-taking, almost beautiful. What she could not feel was the threat of violence, that ubiquitous sense of danger at every turn. Suddenly the deserted environs did not feel so insentient and bleak. She realised that Prax had told the truth even before she sensed a presence watching her.
"I can take care of myself you know."
The sudden sound surprised Shepard by coming from somewhere above. She spun, finding a familiar face staring down at her from an adjacent catwalk. Myke was perched on the edge with her feet dangling down just above Shepard's head. The dim, yellow lighting made it difficult to ascertain whether she was alright, but Shepard was pleased to hear the defiance in her voice.
Shepard replied with a shrug. "I'm just admiring the view."
Mycea snorted. "No one comes here for the view."
"Then why are you here?"
"Because no one comes here," she replied, resting her chin on the railing directly in front of her. "You are checking up on me."
"Liara said you left without saying goodbye. I thought you might stick around and, you know, see if I was alright when I woke up?" Shepard suggested, deftly avoiding mentioning the gunshot wound.
The asari's hard stare finally relaxed into her trademark smile at the suggestion. "As if you wouldn't be! You took on four mercs by yourself, hardly earning a scratch. Those morons limped off, dragging their wounded." Myke punched the air in front of her, once, twice – then promptly winced in pain as she accidentally used her injured arm. "Fuck," she muttered irritably.
Shepard's own expression sympathetically mirrored that of the young asari. She folded her arms across her chest. "You shouldn't be out here. Go home, Myke…rest," Shepard urged. "I'll walk you."
Mycea lowered her gaze. "I am home."
"This is home?" Shepard asked in disbelief, looking around her.
She had already admitted that the view was nice, but in all other respects there was very little to recommend it as anything other than an industrial wasteland. Myke refused to meet her eyes. Shepard realised that she had completely and utterly jammed both feet into her mouth in a spectacularly witless display. Without offering a word of her own, Myke rose slowly to her feet. She did not flee from the scene so much as trudge. Shepard accepted the slow pace as an invitation to follow, finding a set of connecting stairs to take her up onto the higher catwalk. An apology remained unspoken on her lips as she followed at a discreet distance.
The meandering path took them further into Omega's bowels to the point where Shepard knew she would have difficulty finding her own way out. They left the spectacular view of the station behind them, trading it for the security of concealment and seclusion. Scattered light tubes became few and far between. Some were broken, while others flickered in a vain attempt to be useful. Myke paused at a door up ahead. Much to Shepard's surprise, when the asari placed her palm against the locking mechanism it suddenly whirled into life. With a grating protest, the door slid open to reveal darkness beyond. Myke ushered her through.
With Shepard's eyesight adjusted to the darkness, a sudden soft glow of light seemed harsh and blinding. She blinked rapidly, clearing her vision until she could see the space around her and take everything in. In more prosperous times the space had probably been used as a foreman's office. The bones of such use were still there – cabinets along one wall, a desk, and a few lockers. The desk had been converted into a bed with a lumpy mattress, while the cabinets held assorted trinkets and potentially useful items that had obviously been salvaged from across Omega. One of the locker's hung open, revealing a few neatly hung clothes. Overall, however, the space was mean, saved from being miserable only by Mycea's hopeful face in the midst of it all.
"It's…cosy," Shepard managed.
Mycea smiled nervously. "I had somewhere nicer, with an actual window, but when Cerberus took over the station it was destroyed along with all my stuff. There's a bathroom though…water works most of the time…and it's free…" She paused and stared at Shepard without saying anything for almost a minute. Her expression crumpled along with her body as she sat heavily on the corner of her bed. "Although now that you're here, it all seems kind of pathetic."
There was one chair in the room but Shepard did not know whether it would hold her weight. She elected to lean against the wall. "It's home," she replied tactfully.
"I guess, yeah, it is." Myke nodded. "How did you find me? You can't exactly look this place up on the extranet."
"Paid a visit to Prax. He recognised my name, guess he trusted me enough to tell me where you were," Shepard explained.
"That old turian bastard," she growled good-humouredly. "He probably told you I talk about you all the time huh?" Shepard nodded and Myke winced. "Nothing that might make him realise that you were the Commander Shepard though."
Shepard elected not to quiz Myke on her mother, especially not when she noticed the dark bags beneath her eyes and the sag to her shoulders. Despite her stubborn determination, the asari was clearly exhausted and needed to rest. Although the little space was homely enough, Shepard could not bring herself to leave Myke there and return to her spacious, comfortable appointed apartment. However she could not think of a convincing argument that wouldn't come across as patronising.
"The first time we met, you offered to work for me – run messages and such. Was that an honest offer or were you just bullshitting me?" Shepard asked.
Myke straightened and tilted her chin upward. "I don't bullshit…well, sometimes yeah I do…but that was a straight up offer. Why?"
"I'm thinking of taking you up on it. You wouldn't be able to stay here though, it's too far away to be convenient-"
"I'll find a closer place!" Myke interrupted, sitting forward.
I'll find you a closer place. Shepard inclined her head in a business-like manner. "And the pay wouldn't exactly be a fortune-"
The asari's jaw dropped. "Pay? You'll pay me?"
"That's the definition of a job." As Shepard said it she couldn't resist a smile. "You get paid. In the meantime, Liara and I will put you up at our place for a couple of days. We've got a spare room."
When Shepard saw the first glimmer of hesitation appear on Myke's face at her suggestion, she wondered if her poorly concealed ruse had failed. The entire offer was nothing short of condescending. Myke had probably lived this way for decades. Shepard was essentially telling her she couldn't look after herself.
"You throw in a meal allowance and you got a deal," Myke eventually said, the apprehension was banished behind yet another grin.
Well...maybe she couldn't look after herself.
"Deal."
Shepard could convince herself that she was doing this because Myke was wounded on her account. Hell, jumping on the turian's back had probably turned the course of the fight. There was a momentary flash of concern that she hadn't asked Liara first, but that passed as she lost herself in the elated expression on Myke's face. It was the right thing to do.
SSV Normandy SR-2
"Haven't you got something, you know, a little smaller?" Sam protested.
She hated the querulous tone in her voice. Ashley was giving up a portion of her scant downtime. So far she had complained about the time (it was 0300, the middle of her sleep cycle), being made to wear armour, and now the size of the weapon being pressed into her hands. The beast of a gun was completely terrifying. Even holding it with both arms, she could barely carry it let alone try to lift it to her shoulder.
Ashley's face broke into a shit-eating grin. "Just having you on, Sam. I don't doubt your strength, but you wouldn't be able to fire this gorgeous baby without physical augmentation."
Sam gratefully passed the Back Widow back to the grinning Captain. "Doubt my strength all you want, ma'am. I'll readily admit that I have none whatsoever."
It was true enough. Regular training sessions had done very little to enhance her spindly physique. She continued to fall off the treadmill at the end of a run, still wheezing and gasping as severely as she had the first time. The lack of progress had frustrated her at first, now she simply accepted that her physical form was not meant to change. Unfortunately her CO didn't agree. Which was why she now found herself standing in the Normandy's shuttle bay at 0300hrs, kitted out in a combat hardsuit, about to undergo her first rifle training since basic. Ash had insisted she do things properly from the outset, hence the suit.
Sam stared dubiously at the M-96 Mattock extended toward her. It was the same weapon she'd carried down to Horizon, but in that instance she hadn't expected to fire it.
"Chief?" Ash prodded. "Unless you'd rather go back to bed?"
"That's an option?" Sam asked, eyes wide with hope. Too late she realised that Ashley was being sarcastic.
Ash scowled. "Do you want to do this or not, Traynor?" Her harsh bark surprised Sam enough to prevent an immediate reply. Her face softened. "I'm not trying to transform you into SpecOps material. There are times when I'm going to need my tech specialist in the field. I don't want to send you out there without preparing you."
Sam accepted the assault rifle. She tucked the butt purposefully against her shoulder. "Righto, ma'am. No more playing silly buggers. Teach me how to drill someone between the eyes at a hundred yards."
"You do realise you have to crawl before you can sprint?" Ash asked dubiously. The Captain then saw Sam's lips crinkle into a slight grin. "Let's settle for painting the target accurately first."
The Mattock had been modified for training, fitted with a laser targeting system that was aligned to the corresponding target at the other end of the shuttle bay. When Sam positioned herself according to Ashley's instructions and jerked the trigger, the gun jumped soundlessly in her hands. The target responded by glaring at her with an accusatory red light.
"You're breathing too hard," Ash said gently, reaching out to adjust Sam's grip slightly. "Slow down. The rifle's an extension of you, it reacts with each breath, each twitch. Squeeze the trigger, don't yank on it."
Sam held her breath and gently depressed the trigger. The rifle jumped again and the target rewarded her effort with flash of green. It was a little off centre, but Sam felt a surge of pride. Her confidence bolstered, she sent a quick flurry of shots in the direction of the target. All but one missed and she scowled in annoyance.
"Good enough to keep heads down while you advance," Ash reassured her.
The Ops Chief turned to flash her CO a relieved smile. "Why couldn't I have had you in basic instead of sadistic arseholes who constantly yelled in my ear?"
"The breed sadistic arseholes especially to scare the bejesus out of FNGs," Ashley quipped in reply.
An hour passed with Sam barely noticing the passage of time. Under Ashley's patient instruction, her world became limited to the Mattock and the target. There was no miraculous transformation into a sharpshooter, but Sam felt confident that she could at least hit a stationary target. Several times Ash had surprised her by clapping her hands close to her ears. Once she had even gone as far as throwing an un-primed inferno grenade in her direction. The squawk of terror and graceless combat roll had earned mixed results. The roll was good, the squawk was not. Each time, without fail, Sam's aim was spoiled and she was reminded just how far she still had to go.
As Sam stripped the rifle at the end of the session, she was pleased that she had dragged herself out of her rack at 0300. With Ash's positive instruction, she felt sure that she could eventually change her status as a liability in combat. Her CO sat beside her, deft fingers cleaning the mechanisms of her beastly sniper rifle. As far as Sam could tell, the Black Widow was already perfectly clean.
"Thanks for this."
Sam suddenly felt awkward breaking what had been a companionable silence.
"It's for my own benefit as much as yours," Ash replied bluntly. "I need a well-trained squad at my back. One I can trust to get the job done. Especially in times like this." Her gaze misted over as she stared at an indeterminable point in the distance. "Especially now."
"I won't let you down," Sam said earnestly.
"I know you won't, Chief. You're family." Ash's voice was sincere.
Sam bit her lip. "Speaking of family…how is Mir…Second-Lieutenant Lawson?"
"Dunno," was the curt answer. "I'm the last person to find out how she's doing, or even where the hell she's posted. Could be some top secret R & D facility for all I know."
Sam's thoughts automatically went to the last time she had seen Miranda. She vividly remembered the docks in Sydney and Miranda's mention of receiving her posting. It was all the information Sam had, but it was currently more than Ashley knew. "Ma'am, I…" The admission died on her lips. If she told Ash anything, she'd be forced to explain the chance encounter. The promise that Miranda had extracted from her in Australia would be broken. "I'm sure you're not far from her thoughts, wherever she is."
Ash's mouth was set into a grim line for a few moments. "I'm beginning to doubt that." Even as Ash said it, she had difficulty believing her own words. Regardless of the lack of communication, she knew undoubtedly that her time with Miranda had not been a lie. A shadow of unease began to creep into her thoughts. Should she have spent the last few weeks concerned as opposed to angry? Miranda had always been resourceful, but she was still just one woman. Damn, why did my brain have to go there? Ashley cursed. She turned to see that Sam was staring at her with an optimistic expression on her face.
"Chief…Sam…I need to ask you for a favour…only on the proviso that you can say no," Ashley began. "I'm not asking you to break regs or do anything illegal…"
Sam's stomach twisted into a painful knot as she listened. Ashley was inadvertently bringing up the indiscretion that Sam had been trying to forget. However she also knew what Ashley was about to ask and saw an opportunity to partially atone for her crime.
Ash gave Sam a hopeful glance as she continued, "Can you find her for me?"
Mindoir, Attican Traverse
Jack Zero had an instinctive reaction whenever she laid eyes on the Cerberus whore. Her eyes narrowed, one corner of her lip curled up. Even here, on Mindoir, literally light years away from their past, she continued to associate the woman with everything Cerberus had done to her on Pragia. Her mere presence was enough to bring back memories of the isolation and torture that represented her childhood.
If Jack was being honest with herself, she did it deliberately. Didn't want to stop either. The bloody perfect cheerleader may as well have had a target painted on her forehead. Although Miranda was wearing an Alliance uniform (fucking perfectly pressed even in this shithole), with her hair drawn back into a painfully neat knot at the nape of her neck, she was still essentially the same woman Jack had tried to smear across the walls of Normandy's subdecks. Miranda had tried to do the same to her in return. With just a few choice words, Jack had stripped away the Operative's carefully maintained poise, reducing her to a wild harridan intent only on violence. The resulting biotic mêlée had pushed them both to their limits. Jack had blown out almost every light on the deck, reducing them to fighting in the semi-darkness of emergency lighting. Miranda had slammed Jack hard enough against an internal bulkhead to buckle it.
Jack had the whiff of victory from the outset. Daddy's manufactured biotics were good, but they were outdated compared with the decades of Cerberus research that had been poured into her slight frame. The cheerleader must have known, yet she had fought a losing battle. It was the only time Jack had ever respected the bitch.
One of Jack's most cherished memories was the look of pure panic in Miranda's eyes when she pressed her back against the wall. Her small hand, wreathed in biotic energy, was wrapped around Miranda's neck in a choke-hold. There was a moment when Miranda realised that Jack hated her enough to continue squeezing. The way her lips mouthed 'please' had been exquisite.
She'd never had the chance to find out whether killing Miranda would have excised some of her demons. Shepard had intervened, bodily tearing them apart. The Commander's rage had been palpable. Jack had presumed that she was concerned about her fuck buddy, but Miranda had been dressed down just as severely.
All of these memories kept Jack's mind busy as she watched Miranda through narrowed eyes. Her fellow Alliance Officer (a fucking joke) skirted around the edge of the dusty yard that served as a training area. Jack was supposed to be overseeing a squad in hand-to-hand combat training, but she had a better idea.
"Lawson!"
Miranda winced at the harsh sound of her name being screeched out over the distance. Jack Zero's voice had always grated her nerves, today was no different. When she stopped and stared defiantly at the smaller woman, she guessed the intent behind the challenge immediately. She could already see a smile of anticipation spreading across Jack's face. Remaining composed, Miranda could see the attraction in letting off some steam. However she knew that neither her arm, nor Jack's inherent psychopathic tendencies would allow any sparring session to end well.
Jack sauntered toward her, chin thrust forward, hands clenched into fists at her sides - a posturing braggart who unfortunately had the talent to back it up. Although she had not seen Jack in action for some time, Miranda doubted that the other woman had lost her edge.
"What d'ya say we go a few rounds? Show these guys how a couple of biotics can own a fight?" Jack looked around approvingly as several cheers went up from the assembled marines.
Or how you can own me, Miranda thought. Her pride would simply not allow it. The one and only time they had fought, the only witnesses to her humiliation had been Jack herself, and Shepard.
"My apologies, ma'am," Miranda replied with remarkable cool. "I have duties to attend to."
Miranda left it at that. Simply turned her back and walked away. The knowledge that Jack would be left seething behind her was almost tempting enough to make her turn around. Not wanting to prod the angry predator, she resisted the temptation.
Her satisfaction lasted only as long as it took to walk back to the prefab that served as her quarters. She tried to close the door, only to find it barred by a lean, sinewy arm. Jack was leering at her, clearly riled at having her sport ruined. Miranda recoiled, retreating into her room.
"I won't fight you, Jack." Miranda wouldn't continue to call Jack 'ma'am' in private.
"Clearly. Cos you're chicken shit," Jack taunted.
The insult was weak. Even Jack knew it wasn't true. She'd seen Miranda fight. Seen her crack the skulls of mercs on Omega without batting an eye. Watched her slog her way through the hordes of Collector forces until her face was slick with sweat and twisted with the pain of over exertion. Her perfect features rendered haggard as she left everything on the battlefield. Just because that particular insult wasn't true, did not mean she hated Miranda any less.
"Don't want to break a nail?" Jack pressed.
Miranda fought the urge to make a crack about not wanting to break Jack's face, knowing it would push the volatile biotic over the edge. "Do you honestly consider it appropriate for enlisted personnel to watch their officers smear each other across the yard?"
Jack smirked predictably. "Fuck yeah."
"Then go play in someone else's toy box." Miranda waved Jack away in a bored fashion. "I've long since outgrown your games."
"You know of any other Cerberus whores on Mindoir? Just point them out and I'll happily go deal with them first," Jack retorted.
Miranda sighed. "I see you haven't outgrown any of your old tendencies. Especially the need to assign blame. Cerberus doesn't exist. The Illusive Man, the Operative network, everything is gone. This revenge you're seeking? You won't find it."
"Won't I?" Jack narrowed her eyes. "You're still here. Wearing an Alliance uniform like there's no fucking problem with it. Switching allegiances is like tapping a button for you isn't it? I guess it's easier when you live your life without consequences, without a thought for those you trample beneath you."
"There are always consequences," Miranda insisted. She thought of Shepard, of the rescue, and the lingering suspicions carried by Christiane Alves.
"Ha!" Jack snorted. "How much prison time did you do?"
"The Alliance had every opportunity to imprison me at the end of the war. I did not hide." Miranda was growing impatient. This conversation was cutting into her precious downtime. "Speak your mind, Jack, or get out."
"Why don't you go crawl under a fucking rock?" Jack was clearly running out of insults. She was still desperate for the fight.
"Because, Jack, that would be the easy route," Miranda said calmly. It was difficult to keep the conceit from her voice, but she managed it. She had to admit that it was a tempting thought. Any rock would do, so long as Ashley was with her. There was nothing but an inane sense of duty that kept her tied to Mindoir, kept her close to Jack Zero. Miranda regarded the other woman with a calm, impassive gaze. She saw the unbridled fury that gripped her entire body. The hatred radiated from her tattooed skin, almost like a heat wave. Jack was a hornet's nest, and Miranda's mere presence was the stick poking it repeatedly. She was determined to be the better person. "There's nothing I can say that will erase what Cerberus did to you, but it is imperative that we find some common ground, some way to work together."
Jack's lips peeled back into a snarl. Miranda hadn't simply poked the nest, she'd whacked it from the tree.
"Cerberus kidnapped me from my fucking family, you arrogant cunt! Tortured me as though I was some piece of meat instead of a goddamn kid."
A piece of meat. Miranda could sympathise. She remembered clearly how Henry Lawson would look at her. He never saw his daughter, only his legacy. She did not want to compare herself to Subject Zero, but they had both been intended only as a product. "I am truly sorry."
Jack let out a guttural growl. "Argh! Get fucking angry dammit! Why the fuck can't you be normal?" she demanded in a savage voice.
Miranda was stunned into a momentary silence at the unexpected question - or at least at the fact that it originated from Jack. "Normal, Jack?" she asked in a scorn-laden voice. "You are the last person I would have expected to use that word. Can you explain to me your definition of normal? Should I get a tattoo or start wearing my uniform in a non-regulation fashion?"
A mocking sneer twisted Jack's features. "Non-regulation fashion," she repeated, mocking Miranda's accent. "We're on fucking Mindoir and you still act like there's a stick jammed up your ass. You want people to like you? You want to know my definition of normal? It's ripping that stick out and loosening up! Even this goddamn room is so fucking neat it gives me a headache just looking at it!"
Jack crossed to the neatly stacked piles of datapads and books on Miranda's desk. With a contemptuous swipe of her arm, she knocked them askew. One book fell to the floor, landing with the thud at their feet. Miranda's entire body twitched in response. She had to deliberately stifle the intense urge to restore her perfectly ordered environment. Her gaze travelled to the floor and her eyes widened when she saw that it was her leather-bound copy of Tennyson's poems. The antique volume lay with its binding splayed open. It had been a gift from Ashley. As she reacted, dropping to the floor to retrieve it, Jack's booted foot came crashing down atop the book. The heavy sole crushed the fragile binding.
The calm that Miranda had displayed earlier disappeared and her biotics finally flared. Wreathed in blue, she ignored her own internal admonishment to restrain her temper. All she could think of was pummelling the callous expression from Jack's face. Anger thumped through her veins. With an inhuman effort, she wrestled her emotions under control. You are the better person, she promised herself.
With the mantra keeping her temper in check, she was unprepared for the blue brick wall that rushed forward, slamming her backward against her locker. The force was such that the door buckled inward. With the air knocked out of her lungs, Miranda's own field died and she dropped to the floor like a stone. Jack gloated over her with a lazy grin on her face.
"Bitch please. If you're not going to use it, don't bother summoning it."
She dropped into a crouch, bringing her down to Miranda's eye level and close to the fallen book. Without taking her eyes from Miranda, she seized the book by its cover. The pages fluttered. Miranda was momentarily relieved to see that it was still intact. Then a single square of thin plastic dropped from between the pages. As Jack casually scooped it up, Miranda's insides turned to ice. Of all the sentimental items she had to keep poorly hidden, it was the one she wanted no one to find.
The expression on the ex-convict's face did not change as she studied the image imprinted on one side. Miranda had stared at the image herself so often that she could summon it at will. Taken during their brief time in Australia, the photo was an intimate snapshot that perfectly captured the emotions associated with a pair of lovers. Ashley was wearing nothing more than a white tank top, stretched tight over her otherwise unencumbered breasts. She was laughing as she took the photo because Miranda had surprised her by nibbling at her earlobe. Miranda herself was in profile, only one naked shoulder visible. Her hair was wild and unkempt.
When she asked herself why she hadn't left the photo on her omni-tool, Miranda already knew the answer. She desperately wanted something tangible to hold onto instead of fleeting digital memories. Now, because of her sentimental foolishness, Jack was devouring the private memory with her eyes. The individual she hated with a fiery passion, enjoying an insight into her life with the woman she loved.
Half a dozen reactions flashed behind her eyes. Some involved lashing out, others involved denial. Attempting to diffuse the situation with humour failed even in her head. There was only one option available. Miranda hated being the supplicant. Jack would get off on it. She swallowed her pride and asked. "Can I have the picture back? Please?"
Bruised and aching, Miranda simply stared at Jack with a resigned expression on her face. She held out her good arm. Jack was usually an open book. Her expression was unreadable as her gaze passed back and forth between Miranda and the picture. Eventually a tiny furrow appeared on her brow. It gave her thoughts away. She was trying to reconcile the women she hated with the one in the picture.
After a few seconds, the other biotic rose to her feet. Without a word she casually flicked the picture to the ground. Miranda retrieved it slowly, disbelief registering on her face.
When Jack turned to leave, she paused before opening the door. Looked over her shoulder. Her expression was unreadable in profile. "This stays between us, cheerleader. I don't care who you're fucking."
