Chapter Forty-Two
Wrong Kind of Trouble
AHC Pserimos, Attican Traverse
The last gauntlet snapped snugly into place with a satisfyingly familiar sound. Shepard flexed her fingers, then her whole arm, before taking several steps forward. On a whim, she drove herself forward in a sudden burst of speed. The confines of the Pserimos' cargo bay soon brought her up short, but it was enough to hint at the potential of the Jorgamund armour.
The suit fit like a glove. It had been a pain in the arse to put on, but undoubtedly worth it. Less bulky than her old N7 or Kassa Fabrications suits, the ceramic plating felt as though it moulded to her body. The plates slotted together in a complex design that was both rigid and flexible, leaving none of the traditional weak spots. From an entirely inane point of view, matt black suited her in a way that red and gold never had.
As she walked back to the weapons bench, Shepard ran through a complete diagnostic. The display flashed up on her visor. Shields, storm speed, hand-to-hand capabilities - everything a soldier needed was at the upper limit of what was technologically possible.
It was perfect. After all, Shepard was quite fond of living.
Any exhilaration she might have felt at being back in armour was tempered by the situation. There was no time for a harmless jaunt or any sort of practice. This was it. The array of munitions she'd laid out on the bench was intended to inflict as much damage as possible. On armour, on flesh - Shepard didn't care. Having learnt from experience, she strapped additional frag grenades to her webbing...and one more, just in case. The only element that didn't quite fit the picture was the battered Cerberus Harrier that Myke had given her. She'd sanded it back to its original gunmetal giving it a crude, unfinished appearance. It worked perfectly though, and Shepard wouldn't have traded it for any weapon in the world.
The Harrier made her think about Myke. Guilt still lingered over the way she'd behaved towards her friend. However, regardless of how terrible she felt, Shepard couldn't afford to dwell on it. I'd feel a hell of a lot worse if something happened to that crazy kid.
Shepard removed her helmet and placed the Harrier down on the workbench. She picked up her backup weapon – a heavily modified M-11 Wraith – balancing its weight in her palms. In the past she'd favoured sniper rifles or heavy pistols as secondary weapons, but both relied on precision. Her range scores had always been excellent but not extraordinary. She would never be in the same league as Ash or Garrus, hence her preference for rapid fire weapons. A change in tactics was long overdue. Hence the shotgun.
The Wraith was brutal at close range and modified with a three-shot clip as opposed to the usual two. The modification added weight, but she considered it a worthwhile trade-off. Vega would have been proud, Shepard thought. She'd butted heads with the burly Lieutenant on more than one occasion, but he'd been a damn fine marine who knew his way around an armoury.
"I used to think you were a fraud."
Shepard turned, the only precursor to the interruption had been almost inaudible footsteps. She found Tasha Kurin approaching. The asari's leathers were rumpled, as though they had been slept in.
The statement was too vague for an immediate retort, Shepard opted instead for silence as the asari captain paused on the other side of the workbench.
"Dozens of my sisters died that day I met you. They died trying to get you and your squad through to the Temple of Athame. They continued to die holding the line while you completed your mission. All because they believed that you would save them-"
Shepard immediately bristled at the accusation. "Look, Kurin, I didn't make any claims-"
"And you didn't. Instead I watched them load your unconscious body onto a shuttle," Kurin continued, ignoring the interruption. Her tone was hard, as was her expression. "Your ass well and truly handed to you. You left us to defend our world with the few troops we had left. Those last weeks of the War were hell. No food. No water. No hope. It felt like all we could do was huddle in the rubble of our home world, waiting to die."
As Kurin paused to draw a breath, Shepard didn't try to speak. She simply set down her shotgun and folded her arms across her chest, waiting for the commando to say her piece.
"We were on the brink of collapse at the end, by the time the pulse reached us. I thought I'd finally lost my mind when I saw Reapers falling from the sky. I've never been much for religion, but even I thanked Athame for saving us. Turns out it wasn't the Goddess we needed to thank at all. It was you." Kurin shook her head softly. Her lips parted in awe. "How does one person do that?"
"One person doesn't," Shepard replied without hesitation. "I was simply an instrument. Humanity, the krogan, the turians…asari, you all fought back against the Reapers. You saved yourselves by putting aside your differences and standing together."
"Perhaps, but you were the one that brought them all together. Curing the genophage to get Krogan troops on Palaven. That was down to you."
"No, it really wasn't. It was a Salarian named Mordin Solus – a friend. He gave his life to ensure that the cure could be delivered. I simply kicked a few arses."
Kurin seemed to relax slightly as she took up a leaning position against the bench. "Can I ask you something?" At Shepard's nod, the asari continued, "Does it feel as though all your work has been undone? Humanity leaving the Council, human colonies under attack. It must piss you off."
"Yeah, it does," Shepard replied. She hadn't appreciated the extent to which it did piss her off. Her fists clenched of their own accord. It was an anger than she could use, but at the same time there was a dangerous risk of it being completely unproductive. As she relaxed, Shepard realised that her new suit was pinching her neck. A small price to pay, one that she could ignore for the time being. "It seems as though we managed to lose all the good people during the War," she commented. "And only the idiots survived."
Kurin snorted slightly with fake mirth. "Myself included."
"You're not an idiot, Kurin. From what I've heard and seen, you're a hell of a soldier." Shepard paused for a moment and regarded the asari with a measured stare. Kurin couldn't hold it, and looked down at the bench awkwardly. "Can I be honest with you?"
"Yes…of course," Kurin responded warily.
"You need to put what happened with Ash behind you, regardless of how you might feel about her, or vice versa. We're all under a lot of pressure, but the stakes are getting higher all the time. I need you at your best when we hit the ground. If your attention is focussed on your personal life-"
"I assure you, Shepard, my focus is on the mission at hand," Kurin replied in a sharp tone. "Not on that…" Her voice trailed off, descending into an unintelligible growl that belied her words. She paused and took a deep breath. "I promise I won't let you down."
Shepard nodded. Having seen what Liara could do and having fought against asari in the past, she was grateful to have a dozen commandos fighting alongside her. She would have liked three times that number, but they'd have to make do. She sighed. "I just hope we're not too late."
Mindoir, Attican Traverse
Miranda felt as though she walked through a ghost town. Streets which had been teeming with life the day before now appeared deserted. It was so quiet that she could hear each tap of her boot on the tarmac. With the activity stripped from it, Miranda was reminded just how crude life on Mindoir really was. The Batarians and the Reapers had left few permanent structures standing in the wake of their respective destruction. Out of necessity, the colonists made do with the ubiquitous prefabs found on human colonies throughout the Galaxy.
Progress was slow on the fringes of civilisation but they were a resilient bunch, with an undeniable reluctance to expend hard work on anything frivolous. There were none of the ornamental gardens or worthless edifices that bureaucrats loved to spend credits on - just simple, practical utilities.
As mean as everything was, Miranda had come to believe that this was a way of life worth defending. She paused and studied the deserted street behind her. Whether it was worth giving her life for was another matter altogether.
Urgent footsteps interrupted her thoughts. "Ma'am?"
She looked over her shoulder, saw Parker approaching with his helmet clutched under his arm. As usual, he wore an almost insolent grin.
"How are we looking, Corporal?"
"Five-by, Lieutenant. We're set to draw the fuckers into a channel. They come down here, they'll wish they hadn't bothered to get out of bed."
"Let's hope," Miranda murmured to herself. She resumed walking at pace. Parker joined her. "The aim is to hold for as long as possible, at least until back-up arrives."
"If back-up arrives," Parker pointed out unhelpfully.
Miranda responded with a disapproving stare. They were up against it, none of them needed to be reminded of the fact that they had no idea whether help was coming. She looked up. The sky was darkening, suiting the ominous mood perfectly. A shiver coursed down her spine. "Take your position, Parker. Pass the word around that every second soldier is to grab some sleep as best they can."
As Parker set off into the gloom at a brisk jog, Miranda continued her rounds. Her stomach rumbled and she was acutely aware that her fatigue was catching up with her, especially as she had to stifle a yawn.
"Ha! Saw that, Lawson!"
Jack lounged against a lamppost ahead, arms folded across her chest. Miranda noted that for once the younger woman was wearing an approximation of Alliance-issue armour – or at least the bits that she felt like wearing. As she walked towards Jack, Miranda realised with a sensation akin to horror that she felt a distinct sense of warmth. Whatever lay on the horizon, she was grateful to have the 'psychotic biotic' on her side. Even in a life as eventful as her own, being posted to Mindoir was possibly one of the best things that had happened to her. Besides meeting Ashley of course.
"Isn't armour supposed to cover your entire body?" Miranda retorted.
Jack shrugged in response. "Got shields haven't I? Something gets through that, then it's going to fuck me up regardless." Unfolding her arms, she flexed them in an exaggerated fashion. "More freedom of movement. So I can fuck them up first, right?"
"Right, Jack." Miranda humoured Jack. She personally preferred a full suit of armour.
"Besides, you can't talk. No one's forgotten what you used to run around in. All tits and ass."
Miranda rolled her eyes. Just when she was enjoying Jack's company, the conversation always went south. "That suit was a pinnacle of bioengineering, designed to - why do I even bother?"
She had to stifle another yawn, and failed miserably. It was usually the point at which she would have gladly injected herself with stims, but there were none to be had. Miranda had barely finished yawning when Jack seized her wrist and began to drag her bodily inside the nearest prefab. Even though she was hardly thrilled at the contact, Miranda was too tired to offer up anything other than a perfunctory protest. This died on her lips when she caught sight of something wondrous inside the small home – a sofa with cushions. Jack propelled her towards it and she sat down, armour and all.
"Just 30 mins, then promise you'll wake me," Miranda said as she stretched out. Despite the plates digging into her at various points, the manner in which the sofa cushioned her body felt like luxury.
"An hour," Jack countered.
"Fine." Miranda had already closed her eyes.
She felt a weight depress the sofa near her feet and shifted slightly so that Jack could sit down. Silence descended inside the prefab, the only sounds being her own quiet breathing as she effortlessly slipped into a half-slumber and Jack's boot tapping repeatedly on the floor. Her exhaustion was so complete that she couldn't bother to tell Jack to desist.
"What if I was wrong?" Jack suddenly asked.
Miranda merely grunted a sound that only barely resembled the obvious question.
"What if there's no one out there and I've dragged people out of their homes for nothing? I'll look pretty fucking stupid."
"Then I'll look fucking stupid alongside you," Miranda murmured. She cocked one eye open, Jack was resting her elbows on her knees. A hangdog expression on her face. "Stop worrying. You did good, Jack."
SSV Normandy SR-2
Stay calm, Steve. It's a just a small mess. Getting to Chasca is a matter of life and death. It's not even a mess really, just a little disorganisation. Steve Cortez regarded the sheer chaos in Normandy's docking bay and shook his head slowly. It's a fucking big mess.
He forced himself to draw in several calming breaths, trying to stave off his compulsion for orderliness. Instead he focused on ensuring that everything was at least safe, then finding the gear that he needed. If those idiots driving the loaders had just followed instructions…
While he worked, for a few moments Cortez allowed his thoughts to shift to more pleasant territory. He'd secured a solid four days of leave while the Normandy had been on Omega. It had been a chance to take a step away from work and get to know Greg Fleeting on a more personal level. Despite everything, the barest of smiles creased his face. Steve had thought that he'd never find happiness after Robert, but Greg was that and more. That was before he even got to the sex.
There was a smile and more than a hint of warmth to his cheeks as he continued checking off his manifest. It soon disappeared. So far at least half of their gear was missing or unaccounted for. He knew it was all somewhere in the chaos. Despite only having thirty minutes to get everything on board, Cortez had made damn sure that they were going into the op with everything they needed. He just had to find it.
An insistent tapping drew him out of his concentration. He lowered his manifest and followed it to the source. As he drew nearer, the tapping turned out to be more of an urgent thumping, accompanied by something that sounded like a muted cry for help. Cortez warily kept his distance, regretting the fact that he wasn't armed.
"EDI, can you tell me what's in crate…" He checked the manifest. "B56?"
{Heavy weapons. The crate forms part of the cargo obtained directly from Aria T'Loak, therefore its exact contents are unknown} EDI replied. {Scans reveal heat signatures within expected parameters, but the crate is shielded.}
"Who the hell authorised the loading of a crate with unidentified contents!" Cortez snapped, double checking his manifest.
{You did, Lieutenant, at 0727. Your exact words were 'just load the damn-}
"Point taken," Cortez interrupted irritably. "If there really are heavy weapons in here, then why the hell is it speaking?"
Without waiting for EDI to continue being unhelpful, Cortez marched up to the crate and palmed the locking mechanism with an angry slap. As far as he was concerned, if there really was someone in there, then they'd better be ready to deal with his considerable wrath. A huge mess and now a damn stowaway. The crate slid open and something tumbled out.
"Fuck," Cortez whispered.
To describe the atmosphere inside the CIC simply as 'tense' would have been a colossal understatement. Sam dared to cast a surreptitious glance out of the corner of her eye. It didn't require any special powers of observation to see just how worried Normandy's Captain was. Thankfully, at that moment in time, Ashley's attention was focussed wholly on the Galaxy Map. Sam could see that the Map wasn't displaying their destination. Instead it depicted Mindoir.
Sam bit her lip, as she had done several times in the past few minutes. Shepard's parting request kept echoing in her head.
"Promise you'll keep an eye on Ash for me. Keep her safe."
It was a responsibility Sam didn't think she could fulfil. Firstly, she had no idea what her promise even entailed. Since departing Omega, Ashley hadn't left the CIC. Sam had thought about discreetly contacting Dr Chakwas, but she was sure that would merely lead to a clash between doctor and captain. There was no way in hell she wanted to be responsible for something like that. A small huff of determination escaped her lips. Dammit. She'd made a promise to Shepard and she was personally invested in the success of the mission.
"Ma'am?" Sam breathed a sigh of relief as Ashley looked over her shoulder. There was no anger on the Captain's face, just an undeniable fatigue. "We're still over twelve hours out, you should get some rest. A few hours at least."
"Did someone make you captain while I wasn't looking, Traynor?"
Sam swallowed quickly. "No, ma'am. I just-"
Ashley smiled. It was altogether cheerless, not reaching her eyes. It did lighten her face and remove some of the tension. "Trust me, I would if I thought I'd be able to fall asleep," Ashley said in a quiet voice, clearly intended for Sam's ears only. She turned her attention back to the map. The image of Mindoir revolved lazily, seemingly realistic enough to reach out and touch. "I close my eyes and I see Miranda fighting for her life. How am I supposed to sleep in the face of that?"
"I really don't know," Sam replied honestly. "Sometimes I don't know how we ever sleep."
Any further conversation was interrupted by the distinctive sound of the elevator door opening. That was routine, but it was quickly followed by another sound – a voice that was both completely foreign and utterly familiar.
"I can walk without your help, you dumb oaf!"
Time stood still for a moment as Sam struggled to process what she was hearing. Her body tensed in the moment before she turned, still not sure of exactly what she wanted to see. Rather than peak over her shoulder, Sam surprised herself by moving her whole body to face the disruption. Ashley moved in tandem, although the expression on the Captain's face did not mirror Sam's own. While Sam's jaw dropped in a combination of horror and surprise, Ash descended from the platform with an expression of glacial fury.
"Cortez, what the hell is this? Who the hell is this?"
"I think it's a stowaway, ma'am." Cortez looked as though he'd rather be anywhere else.
"I'm not a bloody stowaway...okay, maybe you might see it like that, Captain...ma'am? I'm Mycea Kasos."
Oh, Myke. What the hell have you done? Sam thought. Defying all rational thinking, Myke was standing in Normandy's CIC, still wearing her leather pants and Alliance-issue hoodie, although this was accompanied by a broad grin directed at Sam.
A discreet but furious shake of Sam's head had the necessary effect. The grin disappeared, replaced by an eager, hopeful look that Sam was beginning to know well. It was also not the right expression for Myke's current predicament. Although Sam had a dozen questions of her own, she suspected that opening her mouth would be a bad idea.
"You met me once here, on the Normandy…well, we sort of met. I saw you…you didn't notice me-"
"I don't care who you are," Ashley interrupted, sharing none of Myke's obvious amusement. "All I care about is how the hell you got on my ship and how soon we can get rid of you."
"Get rid of me?" Myke's humour slipped, replaced by anxiety. "Hey, I'm here to help."
Ashley advanced until she was standing toe to toe with the young asari. Looking on, Sam winced and resisted the immediate urge to step between her captain and her new lover. Knowing Ash as well as she did, Sam doubted that Myke was in danger of bodily harm. Or at least she hoped as much.
"You've entered a military vessel unlawfully," Ash said in an eerily calm voice. "Which makes you a criminal. I've got every right to have you shown straight to the nearest airlock."
"You wouldn't? Okay, maybe you would…shit, you're even scarier than Samara – and she's bloody terrifying," Myke said in a small voice. She swallowed visibly. "Look, Captain Williams, I admit I was wrong in sneaking on board your very, very nice ship – although your security was a bit shit – but I've got good intentions. You're short of hands, I've got hands and I'm not afraid of anything – hard work, danger. I once took a bullet for Shepard and I've got the scar to prove it!"
Ash narrowed her eyes, studying the asari carefully. "Maybe I do remember you from the observation lounge."
Myke brightened. "So, you're not going to space me?"
A weary sigh emerged from Ash's lips. "No, but only because Shepard would be pissed. Cortez, escort our unwanted guest somewhere secure and ensure that she stays there."
"Hey, I know I deserve it, but I didn't go to all this trouble to get locked up. I have medical training!" Myke protested, shrugging away from Cortez. "Surely your doc could do with the help?"
Sam drew in a deep breath and finally ventured a comment of her own, "Ma'am? If things go south, Dr Chakwas is going to need all the hands she can get, plus she can keep an eye on Mycea."
"Fine," Ash muttered indifferently. "You've wasted enough of my time already. Traynor, get her to the medbay…and make sure she doesn't cross my path for the rest of this trip."
"Aye, aye, ma'am," Sam replied smartly.
She didn't quite allow herself a sigh of relief, instead she turned to her recalcitrant lover and motioned towards the elevator with a curt jerk of her head. Myke followed obediently, watched closely by an exceedingly grumpy Steve Cortez. The usually imperturbable Lieutenant was clearly annoyed at his own precious time being wasted. Sam could sense his disapproval.
As soon as the elevator door closed, sealing all three of them off from the battleground that was the CIC, Sam and Myke turned at the same moment.
"Holy shit, I thought she was actually going to space me!" Myke exclaimed, looking for all the world as though she was having fun. Her gaze softened slightly as she stared at Sam. "Hey, thanks for helping me out."
"What the hell were you thinking?" Sam demanded. Despite the situation, she was finding it difficult to hold her anger with Myke standing right in front of her looking...well, the way she usually did. She drew in a breath, calmed slightly, and fixed what she hoped was a stern expression on her face. "This isn't a game, Myke, this is my job."
Sam hated seeing the obvious hurt on Myke's face, but she knew that she couldn't laugh the whole scenario off. It wasn't just her job that Myke was messing with, this was a matter of life and death. Knowing that Myke had been safe on Omega was one consolation Sam had carried with her. Now her asari lover had seen fit to throw herself in the thick of danger. Sam realised that it was the main reason for her anger.
"Don't you think I don't know that?" Myke countered. "I'm sick of being dismissed by everyone. I just wanted a chance to do something worthwhile."
"I take it you two know each other then?" Cortez asked with an arched eyebrow. He was leaning against the wall of the elevator, with his arms folded across his chest.
Sam sighed. "Myke, this is Lieutenant Steve Cortez. Cortez, this is Mycea Kasos...my, umm, girlfriend. I'd appreciate it if you could keep that little fact between us. Under the present circumstances, if Captain Williams were to find out, I may very well join our stowaway in the airlock."
Myke's grin appeared promptly as she proffered her hand towards Cortez. The Lieutenant was unimpressed, but he allowed Myke to pump his hand in an enthusiastic greeting. "Thanks for not shooting me on sight. That would have ended my trip pretty quickly." Myke shot a look towards Sam. "Your girlfriend?"
"Was I not supposed to call you that?" Sam asked worriedly.
"No, it's brilliant." Myke turned back to Cortez and beamed. "She's my girlfriend."
"And I'm absolutely delighted for you both," Cortez deadpanned. The elevator door opened on the mess hall. "Now would the two of you piss off before you make my day infinitely worse?"
The presence of a strange asari on board the Normandy drew a fair few stares from passing crewmembers. Sam quickly ushered Myke away from prying eyes and into the relatively private confines of the medbay. Chakwas was busy stocktaking her supplies and initially spared them only a cursory glance. However, upon seeing Myke, the doctor stopped altogether and waited patiently for an explanation.
"Um, Dr Chakwas, could you use an extra pair of hands?" Sam asked, wondering what the hell she would do if the doctor said no to her request. "This is Mycea Kasos, she trained under Dr...errr."
"Prax," Myke added quickly. "Although he never trained as a doctor. He used to be an assassin so he's always had really steady hands. I think one day he just decided that he'd had enough of taking lives and wanted to try saving them instead. He's pretty good at it too."
As Myke looked around the medbay with unashamed fascination, Chakwas shared a look with Sam. There was a somewhat bemused expression on the doctor's face.
"This is a really nice medbay you've got here Dr Chakwas," Myke observed enthusiastically. "It's so clean."
Chakwas continued to stare for a good moment, as though trying to figure out exactly what kind of individual Sam had brought into her medbay. Her face soon relaxed into a warm smile. "Help is always appreciated. I take it you're with us for the duration of our trip?"
Myke saluted smartly. "Aye, aye, ma'am. Although do you mind if I have something to eat first? It felt like I was stuck in that crate for weeks." The asari patted her stomach with a sheepish expression.
"What crate?" Chakwas frowned.
Sam shook her head quickly. "Don't ask, Dr Chakwas. It's a really boring story."
Several minutes later, with Myke devouring an MRE at rapid speed, Sam knew she was well overdue to return to her post.
"Are you going to be alright down here?" she asked quietly.
"Am I ever? I'm on the Normandy, heading into battle, eating this really great food-" Myke paused to slurp at her rehydrated eggs "-I've got myself a job where I can actually be useful and probably won't get shot at. Not to mention the fact that I barely got in trouble."
"You are most definitely in trouble!"
"But the good kind right?" Myke asked with hopeful, wide eyes.
Sam refused to allow herself to smile. She absolutely dreaded the thought of returning to face Ashley. The prospect of the blame for Myke's little escapade being laid squarely on her shoulders was still a distinct possibility. At the least she would be looking at a reprimand for her poor judgement in finding a girlfriend with a complete lack of disrespect for rules of any kind. At worst she could probably say goodbye to any promotion for the next decade. However, Myke was sitting in front of her patiently, looking for all the world like the most beautiful sight Sam could lay her eyes on. Not to mention Myke was wearing the pants that hugged her ass so perfectly. Her stomach flipped and she knew it was time to remove herself from Myke's presence before she found herself in even deeper water.
Sam turned to leave. "I haven't decided yet."
Mindoir, Attican Traverse
"Fuck!"
Miranda's entire body shivered as a powerful, firm tongue ran the length of her sex. She ground her hips forward, searching hungrily for as much contact as possible. After so long without such ministrations, she felt like a beggar at a feast. The manner in which her hips jerked was unashamedly wanton. Miranda didn't care whether she looked and sounded desperate, she just needed more of everything. More of Ashley's tongue grinding against her clit. More of Ashley's fingers delving deep into her cunt.
How long had she been waiting? It felt like years. Maybe it was.
The ragged sounds emerging from her throat didn't sound quite human. They were primal, animalistic.
"Fuck! Ash, please." Her voice sounded hoarse. "Don't stop...don't ever stop."
And Miranda meant it. She wanted to live in these kinds of moments for as long as possible. The moments where they were both utterly naked, clothed only in their combined sweat and the delightful aromas of past, present and future fucking. The only thing Miranda had to worry about was her next orgasm. With Ashley working intently between her legs, that was imminent.
Miranda grabbed a fistful of dark hair, wrapping the strands around her fingers. She knew she was tugging firmly enough to hurt, but she didn't care. There was no way in hell she was letting Ashley go again.
She was on the cusp when the glorious attention suddenly stopped and there was nothing, only the loss she felt when Ashley wrenched free of her grip. With an anguished moan, Miranda sat up. "Ash?"
Ashley was kneeling in front of her, wearing full armour save for her helmet and gloves. Her lips were glistening and her hair was unkempt around her face. Even as Miranda extended a hand to stop her, Ash reached for her rifle.
"I'm late, M," Ash said apologetically. "I'm sorry. I don't have time to give you what you need."
"Late for what?" Miranda asked in a whisper. Her abandoned sex throbbed painfully.
Ashley was already rising to her feet, heading towards the door.
"Hey, you're not walking out like that. Ashley, look at me dammit! What the hell is so important? What is more important than me?"
Her protests were ignored as Ashley opened the door. Outside didn't lead to another room, or even a street, the door opened onto a full-blown battlefield. Whereas previously all Miranda had heard were the sounds of her own breaths and voice, now she heard the ear-shattered thump of artillery and the rattle of small arms fire. Everything was punctuated by the shrill screams of the wounded and dying. Even though she was naked, Miranda rolled off the bed and darted after Ashley.
Suddenly her lover's frame was silhouetted against a blinding white light. Then came the wave of heat and flame.
The last thing that Miranda remembered before she woke up was Ashley looking over her shoulder. Gone were the handsome features she loved, replaced by raw flesh and white bone. The grizzly features that used to be Ashley grinned.
Miranda fell, landing hard on her shoulder. She sat up in a panic. Darkness consumed everything. It was total and overwhelming. Her breaths came in short, sharp gasps. Her heart was pounding so quickly that it threatened to explode. Where the hell was she?
A door opened and a light blinded her. Miranda had to shield her eyes against the glare.
"Lieutenant Lawson? Ma'am, are you alright?"
Shit. It was Finch. Miranda remembered. She'd fallen asleep on a sofa and had rolled off onto the floor as she woke. "Yeah...just-" A bad dream? She wasn't about to let that slip - especially not to one of the grunts. She dragged herself into a sitting position. "I'm fine, Finch. What's the time?"
"It's approaching 0200."
Shit and fuck. Jack had left her to sleep for over four hours. When Miranda found the woman, she was going to have some very unfriendly words.
"Can I get you something, ma'am?"
"You can get that fucking light out of my face," Miranda demanded coldly.
Almost immediately the light died. For a few moments all Miranda could see were flashes sparking in front of her vision. She closed her eyes and scrubbed at them, only exacerbating the situation.
"I'm sorry, it's just that you sounded like you were in pain. I thought maybe that it had started. That they were here," Finch said. He sounded like even more of a kid than usual.
They. Miranda didn't even know who 'they' were. The entire garrison was acting on Jack's hunch. After the dream she'd had, Miranda wanted Jack to be wrong. She needed Jack to be wrong. All she wanted was to somehow get the hell off Mindoir and find her way back to Ashley.
"No, nothing like that," Miranda replied, feeling bad for snapping at the kid.
When did I get so old that I started calling other adults kids? Miranda mused. She was only approaching thirty-eight, and this was in a lifetime when she could reasonably expect to live over two centuries. Why did it still feel as though she was running out of time?
"Let's go find some coffee," she suggested.
It was rare that she indulged, and especially not with the floor scrapings that passed for coffee in the colony, but Miranda needed to take her mind off the dream. She couldn't think of a better way of doing that than listening to the inane chatter of half a dozen grunts.
"I think they've got a brew going over in the school," Finch replied, eager to help as always. "Mackintosh made it, so it tastes like piss but at least it's hot."
Once outside Miranda's eyesight had focussed sufficiently to allow her to see by the pale starlight filtering down from above. She cast her gaze skyward for a moment, even as a slightly brighter flash of light caught her attention. It was moving quickly, resembling a shooting star save for the fact that it was growing larger by the second.
The word was already on Miranda's lips when someone in the distance yelled it out, "Incoming!"
Instinctively, Miranda thrust out her arm and sent Finch flying into the lee of the prefab from which she had just emerged. At that precise moment, several high explosive rounds struck the street perilously close to her position. Miranda was lifted off her feet and thrown several metres in the opposite direction. Even as she flew through the air, the sensation of heat placed her back in her dream, running after Ashley. Her shoulders struck the ground first, then the back of her head hit with a sickening crunch. Black spots encroached on her vision, swarming inwards. A high-pitched buzzing filled her ears. Pain arced down her back.
Get up.
The buzzing gradually cleared. Other sounds took its place. Miranda lurched into a sitting position. Her head swam and her vision was filled with light.
You need to get up.
Stars now filled the sky overhead. Miranda knew that their usually benevolent light had been corrupted, but somehow she still found the picture beautiful. It was a ridiculous notion. A shape moved towards her, barely a shadowy outline amid the darkness and clouds of smoke. Miranda reached for the SMG at her side but before the servos could kick into gear recognition dawned.
"Get the hell up, M." It was unmistakably Ash's voice. As impossible as that was.
For a moment her heart leapt. "Ash?"
The smoke cleared. There was no one standing there.
Miranda swallowed, angry at herself for being so foolish. Her throat was parched and all she could taste was an acidic like bile rising from the back of her throat. However, it was the impetus she needed to drag herself back to her feet. The pounding in her head increased tenfold, accompanied by nausea as she attempted to walk forward. Miranda lurched suddenly, feeling uncharacteristically clumsy.
More lights darted in front of her face. It wasn't until one seared across her brow that she realised someone was shooting at her. She ducked down into a barely controlled roll, cursing herself for behaving like a hapless FNG. Anger surged through her veins, but she forced herself to remain calm and take stock of the situation. In the darkness it was almost impossible to gauge what kind of force the garrison was up against. All she could discern was that whoever it was possessed more than sufficient firepower.
Somewhere up ahead Miranda heard the tell-tale thump of a biotic explosion.
Jack.
With a mental note to never tell the other biotic that she had just spent the start of the battle scrabbling around in the dirt, Miranda started forward at speed. She caught flashes of movement, but it was difficult to distinguish between friend and foe amidst the darkness and cloying smoke. The attacking force were well organised and well-armed. Although the garrison had established a disciplined field of fire, they were up against seasoned veterans.
With her head sufficiently cleared, Miranda was beginning to feel more like herself. She wrapped her palm around the Tempest SMG at her side and it whirred into life. With her free hand, she summoned the delicious thrum of dark energy. It writhed and danced at her fingertips, crying out to be unleashed.
Finding Jack was effortless. All Miranda needed to do was head for the epicentre of chaos. It was a riot of noise and flying bodies. The carnage was almost beautiful. She narrowly avoided becoming one of Jack's victims before the other biotic recognised her, nodded, and continued with her work with barely a pause.
Miranda had forgotten what it was like to fight alongside Jack. Her fellow biotic was a maelstrom of carnage and unpredictability. Not to mention her irritating preference for operating alone despite being alongside another biotic. Jack favoured raw power attacks. Her signature move was ripping up the earth beneath an enemy's feet with a massive shockwave. Miranda tried, but could not establish any sort of rhythm with Jack – no priming each other's targets for detonation – they were completely out of sync. She had to settle for picking off the stragglers that escaped Jack's shockwaves, throwing them into panic with warp or overloading their shields. It wasn't as effective as they could have been together, but it worked after a fashion.
The Tempest submachine gun erupted as she jammed her finger on the trigger. It was pitifully ineffective compared to the N7 Hurricane, but the clip was primed with incendiaries. The plasma ate away at unshielded armour and primed her targets. Miranda cast overload on a writhing, screaming target. The currents detonated the plasma and she looked away as the body exploded into ragged chunks of flesh. It was a little trick she'd picked up from Garrus during her days as the XO of the Normandy – far messier than she preferred, but extremely effective.
Jack laughed appreciatively. "Nice!"
The pair moved closer together. They were exposed, but predictably enough neither felt threatened by the danger surrounding them.
"You were right!" Miranda yelled.
"Fucking hate being right," Jack retorted angrily.
"Who the hell are they?"
"Fucked if I know. I'm just killing whoever shoots at me."
Miranda narrowed her eyes. A blue glare lit up an oncoming body and there was a corresponding guttural scream. For a moment Miranda caught sight of a body wearing dark, apparently unmarked armour. The glimpse was gone when Jack sent the flailing body flying into the distance.
We need to restore some sort of order, Miranda thought. She could hear the rest of the garrison, their shouts and the coordinated bursts from Alliance-issue assault rifles, but it sounded as though they were being pushed back too quickly.
"Jack!" Miranda managed to get the other woman's attention. "We need to move!" She brought up her omni and accessed the garrison wide frequency. "Alpha and Bravo, rendezvous at my coordinates. Charlie and Delta, start making your way towards the Russell homestead, stick to cover."
"Ma'am! We've got a situation."
Miranda didn't recognise the distant sounding voice of one of her marines over the comm. "Speak!"
"...a dozen civilians...surrounded." The connection was almost indecipherable. "...silos..."
"Shit," Miranda whispered under her breath, even as she exchanged one exhausted heat sink for another.
A quick glance around her confirmed that Alpha and Bravo were gradually filtering into position. She felt a definite flare of pride as the marines took up orderly firing positions, returning a concentrated barrage down the street.
"Jack, we're moving out. We're needed elsewhere."
"Hey, who the fuck is the Captain here?" Jack demanded.
Miranda silenced Jack with an impeccably frosty glare. Trusting that Jack would have her back, Miranda began backtracking. Amid the flashes of light, she picked out Parker. She rapped on his helmet to get his attention.
"Parker, you've got Alpha and Bravo!" she yelled. "Hold them here for as long as you can, then start making an orderly retreat to link up with Charlie and Delta. Don't be a hero!"
"Five-by, ma'am!" Parker responded, punctuating his words with a burst from his Avenger.
Suppressing the guilt she felt at leaving half of her troops, Miranda took off at a run into the darkness. She managed to navigate through a combination of actual knowledge and dumb luck. Her boots rapped out on pavement, then were swallowed by the damp earth and lush grass as she moved across fields. She heard Jack loping along effortlessly at her side even though she could barely see the other woman.
"I forgot how much fun this was," Jack commented. She was barely even out of breath. "Nice moves back there, Cheerleader. Did you see the way those fuckers popped like firecrackers?"
Miranda wasn't amused. She hated being at a disadvantage. Their lack of knowledge about the whole situation both irritated and terrified her. For all she knew, they were fighting a doomed action against the vanguard of a much larger force.
She had no idea why the hell anyone would bother with Mindoir. There were no particularly valuable resources. All they had were cows. And people, Miranda suddenly thought. People to sell to slavers. She frowned as she ran. Mercs? On this scale?
Without warning, an impact knocked her from her feet. Miranda hit the damp grass hard, but she knew better than to lash out in response. Jack had her pinned, hand clamped over her mouth. Her breath came damp and fast against Jack's palm - not out of a sense of panic, more out of frustration that she had missed the danger through her own haste. With a gentle motion of her head, Jack pointed out movement in the distance. Miranda twisted her head, relaxing slightly when Jack shifted her weight and removed her hand. With the movement came sound. Harsh voices at first, then muffled sounds of pain and distress. Her body tensed again as she deciphered what was happening. The civilians that she'd been trying to reach had already been found.
While Miranda's reaction was tempered by a measure of caution, Jack possessed no such restraint. Before she could stop her, Jack was rising stealthily to her feet, like some sort of night time predator. Miranda made a useless attempt to grab at Jack's ankle, but the other woman was already moving forward with intent. She had no choice but to follow with a similar course of action, although sensibly choosing to move in the opposite direction.
Everything about her movements felt off – footsteps too heavy, breathing in sharp pants, bile continuing to rise at the back of her throat. It wasn't merely a case of readjusting to combat, Miranda knew that her initial concussion had been more severe than she had originally realised. She was operating at less than optimum. Unfortunately, it was probably going to get her killed.
None of that mattered when she drew close enough to hear the terrified voices of the civilians. There were less than a dozen, mostly young men with a few women. As she crouched in the lee of a rocky outcrop, Miranda made out only five featureless aggressors. Easy pickings if she and Jack hadn't had the hostages to contend with. The plan that she was formulating in her head was swiftly undone as two of the civilians tried to make a sudden dash for freedom, overpowering one of their captors, before sprinting for the safety of the shadows. Miranda winced as shots rang out, followed by sharp cries of pain. Both men were cut down like ragdolls, flopping motionless to the ground as the remaining captives either screamed with terror or huddled in silence.
"For fuck's sake!" A harsh voice rang out. "I thought I said no shooting the merch!"
The figure who had spoken removed his helmet, revealing him to be unmistakably human. He ran his hand through his short hair in annoyance.
"Yeah, and I don't take orders from you or your kind, pinhead!" another retorted, he had a firm grip on the arm of a young woman. "We were promised our share of the spoils and so far you've done nothing but dole out orders. My boys and I are sick of it. We're gonna help ourselves."
His last action was pushing the young woman to the ground. He barely had time to turn at a disturbance behind him. The next moment his flailing figure was swept into the air. Without waiting for Jack to follow up, Miranda cast reave. The resulting biotic boom pushed most of the civilians to the ground, leaving their remaining captors standing. Miranda followed up by targeting the helmetless human. She cast overload, hearing the satisfying manner in which his shields fizzled and died, and followed up with a quick burst from her SMG. The rounds struck him squarely in the chest, although it was her intention to disable rather than kill. In the meantime, Jack had made extremely short and very messy work of the remaining three. Two were dead, and the third was screaming in a high-pitched whine from behind his helmet. The colonists had sensibly thrown themselves to the ground.
Miranda emerged from the shadows. Her main concern was getting to the man she'd spared. She found him dazed and smelling strongly of burning hair, but otherwise unharmed. Before he could collect his wits to know what the hell had happened, Miranda seized his chest plate and dragged him into a sitting position. Somewhere nearby, she heard a single shot. The screaming stopped abruptly.
"Who the fuck are you?" she demanded, not bothering to conceal her fury. "Why the fuck are you here?"
Beneath the singed hair, the man could have passed for a marine. He was clean-shaven and healthy. His eyes were piecing in the darkness. "Fuck you, Alliance bitch. Ain't telling you nothin'."
"Fine," Miranda muttered, throwing the uncooperative man back to the ground. She looked up. "Jack, he wants to talk to you."
Miranda stood, feeling slightly dizzy as she did so. She turned her attention to the surviving colonists, having to suppress a stab of anger at their stupidity in not following the plan. Looking at their terrified faces, this reaction passed quickly.
"I can't spare any men to get you to safety. You'll need to find your own way to join up with the rest," she said in a hoarse voice. Miranda ignored whatever Jack was doing behind her. What she was hearing was more than enough to make her feel nauseous. "If you move quickly you should be able to make it away from the fighting by sunrise."
She watched as they picked themselves up quickly, all no doubt eager to get away from the muffled sounds of pain. There was a very good chance that they wouldn't make it, but Miranda didn't have time to babysit the colonists. Her unit was no doubt being overrun while its commanding officers lingered. Parker, Rousmaniere, and Finch with his handkerchiefs and abundant supply of underwear. They were all just kids.
"Fuck."
At the curse, Miranda turned her attention back to Jack. She could see little other than Jack rising to her feet. As she drew nearer, Miranda uttered a curse of her own. Their previously recalcitrant prisoner had gone from being quite alive, to very dead all in the space of a few minutes.
Jack wiped her bloody hands on her trousers and looked at Miranda with a defiant expression. "Fucker didn't know anything, or if he did he wasn't telling."
"Obviously."
Without the energy to pick a fight, Miranda crossed to another body - a neat hole in the centre of its helmet. She hunkered down and fumbled for the release on the helmet. She tossed it aside and her suspicions were confirmed. It was a Batarian - all four of his eyes staring wide in death.
"The fuck?" Jack hissed over her shoulder.
They did the rounds of the remaining bodies - one human, and two Batarians. On one hand Miranda could applaud the group for a sense of racial diversity. However, on the other she had to ask herself what the hell they were doing working together. The Batarian Hegemony had been torn apart before the War, courtesy of Shepard. Their leadership decimated. They had never been the friendliest or most cooperative of races, so a part of her wasn't surprised that the survivors would turn to doing whatever they had to in order to survive. Picking off weakened human colonies was apparently high on their list of priorities.
But the humans?
"Well armed," Jack mentioned, kicking at one of the bodies with her boot. "Not your average Terminus slavers. What the hell is going on here?"
"Your guess is as good as mine." Miranda relieved one of the dead slavers of his spare heat sinks. "We need to link back up with the rest of the unit." She studied Jack for a moment. It was hard to see any expression on the other woman's pale face. The only indication of fatigue were dark circles under Jack's eyes. "You holding up?"
Jack snorted. "I'm peachy. I should be asking that question of you, Cheerleader. You look like shit."
Miranda drew in a breath. She felt like shit. "I'm fine, Jack. Let's get moving before we miss the rest of the party."
AHC Pserimos, Mindoir Approach
"What have we got?"
Shepard approached the Pserimos' war table with a feeling akin to apprehension. She could already see the tension in the faces of those assembled. Well, everyone except Samara, the justicar wore her trademark non-expression. And Javik was scowling, which also rarely changed. She slipped into the group next to Liara, reaching out to touch her bondmate's hand briefly before turning her attention to the table.
"You'd better hope that new armour of yours is up to the task," Kurin commented wryly. "To say we're outnumbered is an understatement. There are three frigates orbiting Mindoir. They've not picked us up, but that's about the only good news I can offer."
"And do we have any idea who they are?" Shepard asked, directing the question mainly at Liara.
Her bondmate was hardly convincing with the worried frown marring her brow. "Two of the frigates are of an asari design ubiquitous throughout Council space - favoured by mercenaries, privateers and security forces. Both lack any identifying features and their serials have been scrubbed. The third vessel is a Turian frigate that was listed as having been destroyed during the War. So, in short...no, I can't tell you." The admission of defeat sounded painful for Liara to make. For someone who prided themselves on information, the decided lack of it had to be frustrating in the extreme. "But the evidence hints at mercenaries or slavers."
"Fighting is concentrated around this settlement here-" Kurin marked a spot on the three-dimensional map at the heart of the table "-and it looks as though it's been ongoing and brutal, but the damage is localised, contained...for now at least."
Shepard nodded. "What do you suggest as our course of action, Captain?"
"Me?"
"This is your op, I'm just along for the ride."
Kurin swallowed, visibly rattled before composing herself. However, when she did, she spoke with a calm, clear voice. "We're going to have the element of surprise, so I suggest we use it. Hit them as hard as possible at a number of strategic points - here...here...and here, make them think that we have the numerical advantage. I think we've got the firepower to do it. If we can rattle them sufficiently, we have a good chance of convincing them to pull out."
"It'll be our only chance," Shepard commented quietly. "We're putting all our eggs in one basket."
Kurin frowned. She looked immediately to Liara.
"Human saying," Liara explained. "What Shepard is trying to say is that we cannot afford to fail."
Shepard offered up a minute nod to show her support without making it seem as though Kurin needed her approval in order to progress.
"It's 1430 groundside," Kurin addressed the wider crew. Her commandos gathered in close. "We'll be touching down in less than 45 minutes so I suggest you ready your gear." She paused for a moment, studying their faces with a calm expression. "I know many would say that this isn't our fight, that we're putting our lives at risk for a race that have turned their backs on the Council. But we stood side by side during the War, there's no reason that shouldn't continue now."
The resulting murmur was completely one of agreement.
As the strike force broke up to attend to their final preparations, Shepard managed to steal a quiet minute with Liara. Their armour got in the way of intimacy, but Shepard allowed herself the barest of kisses. She needed it. Just when she had been allowing herself to believe that their lives had settled into a peaceful routine, they were on the verge of throwing themselves into battle yet again. Shepard supposed that it was the wakeup call she had needed to shrug off her complacency.
"Kurin is good," Liara said, nuzzling into Shepard's neck for a moment. "Reminds me of someone I know all too well."
"Mhmm, that remains to be seen. I think I might have lost my nerve, Li," Shepard admitted.
Liara drew back with a concerned expression on her face. "What makes you think that?"
"I think…" Shepard swallowed. "I think I'm scared."
"That is a good thing," Liara replied without hesitation.
Shepard stared in disbelief. "I just told you that I was scared. How is that a good thing?"
Liara leaned forward, pressing their foreheads together. "Because it means that you will be careful," she said quietly. "And that is a concept that I approve of immensely."
Although the thoughts were there, Shepard did not give voice to her fears. Instead she fixed a determined smile on her face to which Liara responded by kissing it gently. As Shepard watched Liara walk away she knew that she had too much to live for to die on Mindoir, or anywhere else in the Galaxy for that matter. Deep down, a part of her also knew that she could simply chose to remain apart from the fighting. A figurehead for the cause rather than the actual catalyst. Shepard suspected that few would feel any sort of resentment. However, that had never been her style and she wasn't about to start now. She preferred to be on the front lines, fighting alongside those who would die for her.
She suppressed a snort at her wayward thoughts. Don't buy into all of that shit. These commandos aren't lining up to die for you, Shepard had to remind herself. Her gaze travelled over the asari in the Pserimos' CIC. A few met her eyes but they looked away quickly. The only individual who held it for any length of time, was Kurin. The asari Captain gave her a firm nod of readiness. Shepard swallowed and returned it, but she refused to read anything further into the look, or the deference of other asari. She was simply a soldier who'd done the right things in the right places. Nothing more.
Then what exactly would they be dying for?
Mindoir, Attican Traverse
Ash hated being told that she was gorgeous. Miranda knew it, but she didn't care and she certainly wasn't inclined to stop saying it simply because she was told to. She smirked at that thought. Not on my watch, marine.
When she finally got out of this hell, Miranda made a mental note to remind Ash how gorgeous she was at least once a day. At that moment however, what she really wanted to do was sleep. Sleep, blissful, peaceful sleep. Miranda didn't usually allow herself more than four hours a night, but she felt as though she could easily stretch that to five...or even six. For once in her life, she was going to be lazy and enjoy it.
"M, you fall asleep and I'm going to kick your ass."
Miranda heard Ashley's voice as clearly as if her lover were sitting next to her. "That's not much of a threat." Her lips mouthed out the response. "You can kick my arse any day."
"Lieutenant?"
At the words, Miranda's eyes snapped open. She found herself being stared at by a pale young man, the lower half of his face caked with blood and dirt. Her confused stare lasted a split second longer than it ought to before she recognised Parker. The Corporal had taken off his helmet, the grime started where his visor had ended. Another few seconds later and the fog had clearly sufficiently for her to sit up straight and at least resemble someone who knew what they were doing.
"We're completely out of medigel, we've scavenged as many clips as we can but we're all down to a few each. Our heavies are almost out of ammo for the thump guns," Parker explained in a weary voice. "And...Finch died a couple of minutes ago. There was nothing more we could do for him."
Fuck. Miranda swallowed. Her throat was bone dry. She fumbled for her hydration tube, only to remember that she'd finished off the last of her water several hours earlier. Wordlessly Parker extended his arm, he was holding a canteen which she accepted gratefully. The water was tepid and tasted of metal, but it was still wet enough to satisfy her thirst.
"No one's coming for us are they, ma'am?" Parker suddenly said in a miserable voice. "Or they'll be too fucking late."
Miranda regarded him calmly as she passed the canteen back. She'd never much liked the guy, but Parker had proven himself during the relentless fighting. Like most of the grunts on Mindoir he'd never seen actual combat before today, but he'd handled himself like a vet. However, Finch's death appeared to be the final straw. Miranda hated the fact that the kid was dead, but she wasn't ready to give up. She stared at the Corporal, trying to remember actually reading the name on his file.
"Parker...Mark, I don't know about you but I have no intention of dying here." Miranda felt half-dead already, but that wasn't the point. "I'm getting the hell off this rock so I can spend the next month, or however long I want, reminding myself that I'm still alive." She smiled tiredly. "Mostly that's going to involve fucking my girlfriend."
Parker stared in disbelief, then a slow smile spread across his face. "That sounds like a good plan, ma'am. I think...I'm going to go home and tell my little sister not to be in such a hurry to grow up and join the service. War sucks."
"It most definitely does."
A sudden commotion drew Miranda's attention away from her conversation. She looked up just in time to see Jack throw herself over their makeshift barricade. The biotic was breathing heavily, sucking in deep, desperate gulps of air. Jack also looked like hell, but it was down to exhaustion as opposed to any actual wounds.
"We've lost the settlement," Jack puffed. "We need to get the hell out now, or we'll be surrounded."
"Right," Miranda replied, somehow feeling energised by Jack's presence. She turned her attention to Parker. "Corporal, you and Rousmaniere are in charge of the wounded - use whatever you have to in order to get them moving. Jack and I are going to provide a rear-guard for as long as we can. You make it to the treeline and disperse into small groups, always moving away from the civilians. We've got to keep them tied up as long as possible."
"Aye-aye, ma'am."
As the marines quickly stirred into action, Miranda turned her attention back to Jack. Instead of water, the other biotic had somehow found herself a can of beer and was gulping it down without pause. With the can drained, Jack tossed it aside and threw Miranda an expression of disgust.
"Don't judge me, Cheerleader," Jack snapped. "You're the one that just volunteered me for a suicidal last stand."
"Leave with the others then," Miranda replied as she dragged herself into a standing position. Her vision blurred for a moment, then mercifully cleared. "In fact, it's probably better if you do. They'll need you."
Jack snorted disparagingly. "And let you steal all the glory? Not a fucking chance."
Miranda holstered a Carnifex at her side and retrieved the same trusty Tempest she'd carried throughout the day. "You're a good person, Jack."
"Piss off, Lawson." Even as the words emerged, there was a small grin on Jack's face.
They flared blue in tandem. Jack burned a vibrant blue. The smaller woman seemed to possess infinite reserves. Miranda found it a struggle to maintain control over the dark energy coursing through her veins, especially when all she wanted to do was slump back to the ground and go to sleep. However, she took her cue from Jack, slamming one of her last thermal clips into her SMG.
Miranda had no idea how many of the attacking force had died during the course of the day, but as she and Jack broke cover it felt as though an entire army was concentrating fire on their position.
Still, it was a hell of a way to go. Two against an army.
A warp field left her fingers, arcing towards the target. Miranda felt a corresponding thrill at the way in which the power ate into the armour of the faceless threat in front of her. After following up with reave, the warp detonated with a satisfying thump. The explosion radiated outwards at the moment that Jack tore up the ground with one of her trademark shockwaves, sending a cluster of slavers flying. Miranda refrained from using her tech powers. Overloading shields would have been less of a drain, but she knew that if she lost her biotics now she wouldn't have the energy to summon them again. She needed to keep her field active, drawing some strength from it, but mostly using it to cause as much pain and destruction as possible.
A hail of gunfire drove her to find cover against an overturned vehicle. She listened to the pat-pat of rounds striking metal before looking across the street to find Jack – also in cover. With an urgent wave of her arm, she motioned for Jack to leave. Predictably, the other biotic responded with a defiant middle finger. Miranda didn't have the energy to spare to make a response. Instead she gritted her teeth and rolled out of cover. Immediately she drew fire. One round slammed into her corona and fizzled out, the next two however drove her to her knees. With a sharp cry of rage, Miranda pressed forward, tucking into another roll and coming up firing to send her opponents diving for cover.
If Jack had any sense, she would use the distraction to get clear.
Even though she was in the midst of a frenetic whirlwind of activity, Miranda felt oddly detached from everything. Usually in combat her enhanced senses were acutely aware of the sources of danger. Her mind would be racing, processing the details with inhuman speed. In other words, she had an edge. Now she felt sluggish and apathetic. She wanted to survive, there was no doubt about that, but it was too difficult to summon the energy to care.
Somewhere in the cacophony of sounds, Miranda was dimly aware of the whine of an incoming projectile. Before she could react, the rubble that formed her scant cover suddenly disintegrated. The impact sent her sprawling backwards, falling debris raining down all around her. Her barriers faltered but held, barely. With dust cloying her mouth and airways, Miranda struggled backwards on all fours.
You're not going to die on your fucking arse! You need to get up!
With a grunt of exertion, Miranda regained her feet. The dust cleared slightly, framing the image of Jack sprinting full tilt towards her. Apparently, Jack had ideas other than letting her face her death with dignity. Jack's biotic corona enveloped them both at the moment that their position was struck by a further hail of rockets. Her vision erupted in flame and fury.
"Get moving, Lawson," Jack yelled, obviously having decided that she was once again in charge.
Miranda was in no mood to follow orders. "Like hell." She flared too. Summoning her last reserves of strength to combine her corona with Jack's. "We're getting out of here together."
Using the last of the dust as cover, Miranda and Jack sprinted for the edge of the settlement. The treeline beyond was their best chance to find cover and evade their pursuers. However, as Miranda ran, it seemed as though the distance kept growing with each step. Even more dispiriting was the fact that her legs felt leaden and clumsy. The ultimate indignity was stumbling and falling behind Jack. Miranda pushed herself even harder.
For a moment it looked as though they might make it. Something kept Miranda's legs pumping even as her heart threatened to explode. Their barriers weakened with every strike. Some rounds were now breaking through, tearing up the ground around their feet. They were so close.
Miranda was already anticipating turning this into a great story. She and Jack saving each other's lives. No one would believe it without vid footage. The thought was almost causing her to laugh when it felt as though something kicked her right leg out from beneath her. She spun like a ballerina for a moment before crashing to the ground. Above her, Jack let out a roar of frustration.
She assessed everything in one second of cold logic. It had been a piece of debris penetrating her armour. It hurt like hell and would bruise like a mother, but she could still stand. That was inconsequential. They'd lost valuable momentum. Their barrier was gone. Miranda's processing was cut short, not by their pursuers, but by Jack. She found herself swept up in a storm of biotic energy, enough power to throw her backwards. Miranda hit the ground hard. The air was driven from her lungs, but she could still see Jack.
From that point everything played out in slow motion. In an incomprehensible display of strength, Jack picked up the field of debris surrounding her. Miranda only needed to turn and scramble the last metres to safety, but she was transfixed. She heard Jack's primal cry in her gut. The biotic powerhouse then sent the debris careening towards their pursuers. The next moment Jack's position was enveloped in chaos. Framed against the brilliant light, Miranda watched the small shape of Jack's body ragdolling through the air. Ignoring everything else, Miranda lurched to her feet. She ran towards Jack, her stiff leg dragging. She found Jack on her back, eyes closed. Miranda seized the limp form and dragged it into the shelter of a ruined wall. It would be a matter of seconds until they were overrun. Miranda knew that she had thrown away her chance to escape, but she couldn't bring herself to leave Jack.
"Look at me, you bitch!" Miranda hissed desperately. There was no way she was letting Jack die for her.
Jack was still breathing. Still alert. "What'd…fuck you do that for?" the smaller woman wheezed.
"We're doing this together," Miranda replied. She meant it.
"Fuck!" Jack's stoic expression suddenly shifted into one of intense pain. "This shit fucking hurts."
Somewhere behind her Miranda could hear urgent shouts. Her eyes slid closed as she weighed their scant options. Practicalities dictated that she put a bullet through Jack's head and then her own. It had to be preferable to the alternative. However, Miranda knew she'd never be able to pull the trigger. Not while there was an iota of a chance that she could survive what was to come.
Somewhere, outside of her thoughts and the limp weight of Jack's body, Miranda was dimly aware that something was wrong. Someone else was still shooting back. Miranda was too spent to join them. She kept her hand on Jack, needing to feel the rise and fall of the other woman's chest. Jack's breathing was erratic, eyelids fluttering as though it was a struggle to simply keep them open.
"Don't give up on me, Jack," Miranda urged desperately.
"Wouldn't…give you the satisfaction."
It wasn't fair. Jack had been by far the stronger of the two throughout the day. Miranda had to suppress her anger. The stupid bitch had a chance to get clear, yet stubbornly had remained at her side, dragging her increasingly useless self.
The urgency of their situation was critical, but she was so bloody tired.
"I just need a moment," Miranda whispered, only half listening to the sounds coming from somewhere in the distance. She was more intent on what was happening within her immediate surrounds. Within her own body, within Jack's – willing whatever was left of her strength, to be passed to Jack. "Then, one way or another, we're leaving this party."
There was no characteristically impudent retort from Jack, just the far more worrying sound of silence. Struggling against the rising strains of irrational panic, Miranda shifted out from beneath Jack's body and gently laid the other woman back on the ground. Jack's eyes were closed, her face a slack mask drained of all lifelike colour.
"Fuck you, Jack," Miranda hissed angrily, starting to tear at the fabric of Jack's clothing in an effort to assess her injuries. "You are not doing this to me."
With Jack's thin torso exposed as a ragged mess of flesh and blood, Miranda let out a cry of frustration. She had nothing to stem the flow of blood or to treat the wounds. Her sense of awareness had faltered to the point that she didn't see the rifle butt being aimed at her head until it was too late. She turned at the same moment that it violently connected, seeing only a dark blur. Her head snapped back and her body followed.
The fog that descended was almost absolute. Her head felt as though it was splitting apart, but something compelled her back to semi-consciousness. That something was her concern for Jack. She was already trying to push herself up when she felt rough hands on her body, keeping her down. Fingers raked through her hair, seizing a fistful and wrenching it painfully. Miranda bit her lip, refusing to allow anyone the satisfaction of hearing her cry out in pain.
"C'mon, just kill her and be done with it!" a harsh female voice hissed. "She's fucking Alliance, no use to us."
"Are you kidding?" a man's voice, heavy with lust. "Look at this bitch!"
"Fuck. Just hurry up then." The woman sounded jumpy. "It sounds like something's going down. There's no way I'm going to get caught out here with my ass hanging out."
"More for me," he announced gleefully.
Miranda focused on the guy as he tugged and sliced at her armour. Her jaw tightened. He grinned in response to her stare, saying some crap that she didn't hear over the roar of blood between her ears. A cold fury provided strength enough to reach for the service blade strapped to her thigh. The tips of her fingers found the hilt and she grasped it as firmly as she could. With a primal grunt of rage, Miranda brought it up and drove it towards an unprotected ear. There was enough force behind the movement to pierce flesh. Almost instantly the weight was gone and the knife was ripped from her grasp. The resulting scream conveyed pure agony. Miranda wasn't quite done. She desperately tried to summon dark energy, but it lay tantalisingly out of reach of her exhausted body. She rolled over and spied her Carnifex lying in the grass a few feet away.
"Fuck! You cunt!" her victim gasped in between pained whimpers. "Shoot her!"
As the wounded man's comrade brought a shotgun up to hip level, Miranda scrambled for the pistol. At the back of her mind she knew that she would pull the trigger second. That was irrelevant. It was the principle.
There was a sudden whump of sound that Miranda recognised all too well. Instead of pulling the trigger, the woman cried out as dancing blue flares licked hungrily at her body, shredding her armour. It was followed by a flash of movement and a biotic explosion as a vanguard's charge connected with the target. The newcomer was an asari who followed up with a shotgun burst of her own at close range. A limp body flew backwards and flopped to the ground with a dull thump. The first man, still clutching at his ear, didn't have time to respond before his body was riddled with rapid bursts from an SMG as a second asari sprinted forward.
All Miranda could do was stared in disbelief at the two asari as she sat, the Carnifex lying forgotten in her hand.
"Keep pressing forward with the others, Cyrene, I've got this," the second asari said in a gruff voice as she lowered her weapon. Although she paused near Miranda, her eyes scanned their surrounds for further danger. "Are you alright?"
Miranda managed a nod in response to the question, but when she tried to speak all that emerged was a pathetic wheeze. She was utterly spent. Too spent event to feel a sense of relief. Jack.…The Carnifex slid from her palm and she tried to crawl towards Jack's body.
Firm hands tried to get her to remain still. "Hey, you need to rest."
Miranda shook her head stubbornly. "Help…Jack."
There was a brief pause as the asari looked towards the motionless form lying next to them.
"I think it's too late for your friend. I'm sorry." The voice was compassionate, but matter-of-fact. "You I can help."
"Fuck!" Miranda snapped, shrugging away from the gentle grip. "Help her!"
There was a flurry of movement in response, accompanied by muttered curses as the asari saw what Miranda had seen a few minutes earlier. However, unlike Miranda, the newcomer had medigel which she began to apply liberally. Miranda tried to stand, but fell forward and promptly vomited a foul-smelling liquid into the grass. The heaves sapped the last of her strength and she flopped down onto the grass, breathing heavily. Her head lolled to one side and she confirmed for herself the persistent rise and fall of Jack's chest. A ragged sigh of relief escaped her lips.
As she lay in the grass, for the first time Miranda could clearly make out their rescuer - a stunning asari commando with dusky cobalt blue skin and vivid pink stripes cascading down her crests. She had no idea why asari were on Mindoir, nor was she interested in finding out at that point in time.
"Thank you." The words sounded distinctly ungrateful, if only for the fact that Miranda was unable to inject any emotion into them.
The commando turned her head and studied Miranda for several moments. Unexpectedly, her blue eyes widened in what was obvious recognition. "Goddess…you...you're her." There was a brief pause. "Miranda Lawson."
Miranda responded with a weak nod. "Do I know you?"
"No, you don't." Responding with a rapid shake of her head, the asari turned her attention back to Jack. "Shit, she's bad." She opened a channel on her omni-tool and spoke with clear authority, "I need a medic at my coordinates five minutes ago!"
"You and everyone else!" was the blunt reply.
"Goddess-dammit, this is a priority. If someone isn't here in one minute, you'll be busted back to private. Everyone last one of you."
"You're in charge," Miranda observed, finally finding a measure of gratitude.
She tried to struggle a little closer to Jack, but gave up. It required an immense effort just to keep her head and shoulders off the ground. The fact that they were possibly safe had not even begun to sink in. In fact, it wouldn't be a reality until she could confirm that Jack was going to live. Her friend's survival was all that mattered. No, Miranda thought with a sharp stab of pain. She's more than a friend.
"Sort of," the commando replied. "I'm Kurin, Captain of the asari frigate Pserimos…but I would say that she's the one who's really in charge."
Miranda followed the direction of Kurin's nod, but it took some time for her to make out anything about the approaching figure other than a set of black armour than seemed to swallow light. A battered Cerberus Harrier was slung over one shoulder and the individual walked with a distinct gait that Miranda knew she ought to recognise. An opaque visor obscured the face.
It wasn't until the person hunkered down at her side that Miranda realised who it was.
"Shepard." She exhaled gently. Finally, everything hit her. The realisation that someone had come for them. That it was Shepard. Miranda shook her head. "You shouldn't be here."
Shepard lifted her visor in response. Her face was covered in a thin sheen of sweat. In addition, a deep, worried frown marred her brow. "I'll be the judge of that, Lawson. You look as though you've been through hell."
"I'm fine," Miranda replied stubbornly. "The idiot over there is in worse shape."
Even as Miranda spoke, another two asari approached at a run. Under Kurin's direction, they immediately began attending to Jack. Somewhat reassured, Miranda turned her attention back to Shepard. Her friend looked good, far better than the skeletal shell she'd last seen in China. Yet, in a way, Shepard didn't appear to be herself. There was a gravity about her expression that Miranda didn't have the energy to fathom. Her thoughts soon flitted to another consideration, one of a more personal nature. She bit her lip for a moment, not quite daring to ask the question. It emerged anyway.
The hope in her voice was almost sickening. "Is Ash with you?"
Shepard's expression shifted, giving any the answer before she spoke. "No, you've got me. I'm sorry. Ash made the decision to-"
"No…I trust Ash's reasoning," Miranda replied stoically. Her throat was burning. "It's fine."
She had never been that kind of person. The weepy, melodramatic kind who couldn't handle a situation with her own resources. Without warning, something snapped inside. The wildly compressed events of the past dozen hours suddenly hit all – all played out in stark relief. Hours of intensive, brutal combat, dozens of marines dead, Jack saving her life, the fact that some sick fucker had tried to assault her in the midst of it all. Miranda hadn't even let the last act sink into her comprehension. She felt filthy. An uncontrollable shiver coursed through her body and she felt nauseous all over again.
"Miranda?" Shepard's concerned voice sounded as though it was coming from underwater.
Although she tried to avert it out of pride, there was nothing Miranda could do to stop the flow of tears. Her exhaustion meant that it emerged as a pathetic, blubbering sound. When she felt her body be drawn into Shepard's firm embrace, her last restraints fell away and Miranda surrendered completely.
The sounds of fighting continued in the distance, but Shepard couldn't bring herself to abandon Miranda. In all the years she had known the ex-Cerberus operative, she'd never seen Miranda so utterly broken. Shepard gently brushed a clump of matted hair away from Miranda's forehead. The hair had stuck to a deep gash on Miranda's forehead that was crusted with dried blood.
"Kurin?" Shepard inclined her head towards the medics, who were working feverishly on Jack's small frame.
The response was a simply a pained shrug. Maybe. Maybe not. Still, Shepard knew Jack. The tiny biotic was far stronger than she looked.
{Shepard?} Liara's urgent voice over the comm interrupted her thoughts. {Are you alright?]
"Yes, fine. I'm with Miranda and Jack. They're both pretty banged up, but-"
{We have no time for reunions, Evan,} Liara interrupted tersely. {The Pserimos has picked up more vessels incoming - at least half a dozen. Now might be a good time for one of your plans.}
Shepard looked up and caught Kurin's gaze. The commando was wide-eyed and hopeful. "You've got a plan for that?"
"No," Shepard admitted. "I really don't."
