Oleg stumbled into the dining hall at seven the next morning, still half-asleep. His body had been too cold and his dreams too fevered to allow for more than a few fitful hours' rest. He cursed everything he could think of: himself for rerouting the power, Kandros for making the force fields necessary, Shepard for giving the order that had crippled Miranda. But what could he do? Things were as they were, and the power needed rerouting. At least the synthetic ham tasted as if it came from a pig.

Miranda stood just outside the entrance, leaning slightly against the wall. She didn't seem to notice his approach, so Oleg took the opportunity to drink in the sight of her. She was pale beneath her makeup, not like ivory, but the sickly pallor of someone suffering from too little sleep and too much pain. And there were the scars of course. He could hardly help noticing them. On a man, they would have been called badges of honor, but too many confused chivalry with condescension when a woman was disfigured.

Slashes cut across her forehead and the right side of her face as if she had been attacked by a tiger. They were deep, trenches of flesh dug out of her face. But her eyes were still the same blue-grey they always had been. Intelligence, humor, and unbridled arrogance brimmed therein, promising the world to any man who could keep up with her. And it was that that drew him back time and again. Beauty faded or could be marred, as it had been marred in her. But the mind, that vital spark, burned as strong as ever. De Troyes and the other troubadours of ages past had been gravely mistaken. It was not beauty or breeding that could make a man battle dragons or risk his honor and position for merely a glimpse of his lady's face. It was passion. And that Miranda had in abundance.

"You like what you see?" she asked with a lazy smile. "I thought it was usually women who had a weakness for scars."

So he hadn't been unobserved after all. He blushed. "I apologize. I didn't mean—"

"To stare?" Her smile grew wider and there was a predatory glint in her eyes now. "I want you to stare. As much as you like." Her voice dropped to something low and husky he had only heard in his dreams. "Or more than stare." She gripped her cane and took a slow, deliberate step forward.

Miranda didn't kiss at all like he thought she would. In his fantasies, she had always been wild and frantic, shoving him against the wall and having her way with him. She started slowly, cupping his cheeks and molding her mouth to his. She tasted like vanilla. Her tongue explored the edges of his mouth, but she didn't seek entrance as her fingers followed the lines of his face. She's studying me. Well, he could do some studying of his own. He brought an arm around her waist, careful not to upset her balance. His hand roamed her back as he traced the lean muscle. Not how he thought it would be at all.

She pulled back, a smile playing across her lips. "I should have done this years ago." She ran her hand over his chest. "Well, we'll have to make up for lost time, won't we? But for now, we should go in. I'm starving."

Oleg watched in a daze as she straightened her clothing and walked inside. He had once read an article in a popular science magazine about a physicist who theorized that the fundamental natural laws that governed the universe in fact existed in a finite bubble and that if one went far enough out or expend enough energy, one plus one might equal three. This must be what it was like to live in such a place.

Miranda smiled and nodded coolly at those members of the staff that she knew and discussed some article or other with Dr. Barrington as they took their seats at the table reserved for senior staff. She smiled politely at Oleg as she sat next to him, but her hand skimmed his thigh under the table in a way that made Oleg shiver and mischief danced in her eyes.

"Glad to be working with you again, Lawson," Michelle Barrington carried her Cambridge education in her very voice. In a world where someone like Oleg might trace his ancestry equally from the Ukraine and India and Ghana, she was as purely and unreservedly English as they came. "Though I'm not sorry that I missed out on Lazarus." She thought for a moment. "Though this assignment might be just as fatal, come to think of it."

"How many have you lost?"

"Too many," said Major North, who had taken over for Colonel Ashe as Oleg's second-in-command and was an improvement in that role in the way that being shot in the foot might be said to be an improvement over being castrated. "We lost most of the original Avernus team. And thanks to those thrice-damned Talons we don't have enough manpower to secure both the station and the base beyond the relay. And, thanks to the general here, the Illusive Man won't send us the reinforcements we need."

Miranda raised an eyebrow. "The Illusive Man insists on accepting the implants as a precondition to receiving reinforcements," Oleg explained. "If we're requesting more manpower, then we should be willing to try everything. So we've been forced to move the labs here."

"Which is practically an invitation for massive casualties. We only showed up here in the first place because the adjutants wanted to overtake the station. Well, now we've practically thrown open the doors and invited them to have us for dinner. If getting stuffed with Reaper tech that makes us stronger and faster is the price we pay for getting enough men to do our damned jobs, then I'm fine with that."

"And I'm not fine with subjecting my men to dangerous and unproven technology. The last thing we need is a repeat of the Grayson affair." Such were the burdens of command. An officer had two objectives: firstly, to accomplish his objective and secondly, to safeguard the lives of his men. He had chosen the more cautious course in hopes of sparing more lives because caution—attending to the wisdom of those who had come before him—was usually the more successful course. Usually. There was always the possibility that the Illusive Man was right, innovation was called for, and he was spending his men's lives needlessly."

"Don't worry," Miranda said. "I'll get these adjutants of yours under control. I don't fail."

"You'd better not," North muttered darkly. "Thanks to you, we're in even more danger. Expanding elevator access into the labs—if those things can figure out starship controls, I'm pretty sure they can figure out how to press the up button."

Cold anger welled up within Oleg. "You will retract that immediately, Major."

But Miranda held up a hand before North could answer. "I'm quite sure they could figure out how to use the elevator. Or find their way through the mining tunnels. Or, if the reports of their strength in the briefings I read are accurate, punch through the wall. We're dealing with an incredibly dangerous creature. But I'm very, very good at dealing with danger. I brought a man back from the dead and helped end the Collector threat once and for all. Can you say the same?"

"You don't lack for confidence, do you?"

Something dark flickered in Miranda's eyes. "Not about things like this."

Oleg made a mental note to ask her what she meant by that, but before he could say anything more the sound of a klaxon filled the air of the dining hall. "Threat condition Delta. Containment breach in Laboratory 2."

Oleg swore. "Speaking of adjutants…" He stood from the table. "I'll deal with it. Perhaps that will assuage your fears about my commitment to the safety of my men." He looked at the sea of faces. "I need six volunteers to deal with the outbreak. "

One by one six people stood up. Matthews. Goldstein. Hadley. Hawthorne. Rolston. Patel. Miranda saw them too and looked at him with mild surprise. Oleg smiled at her. "The bravery of your former crew does you credit."

"It does them credit. Good luck, General," she said with stiff formality. Under the table, though, she put a hand on his knee and squeezed.

Oleg put his hand over hers. "Thank you, Ms. Lawson."

He took part in ground engagements only rarely, but donning his armor was like riding the proverbial bicycle, and Oleg was ready for action in minutes. He checked the sights on his rifle one last time before clipping into his back. The Saber had a slower rate of fire then he was comfortable with, but it' stopping power was unmatched by anything short of a sniper rifle. And the adjutants were fast enough that it was wise to assume he only had one shot anyway.

He cleared his throat. "The labs are open and cover is fairly sparse. Given the creature's speed and agility, that gives the terrain advantage to the adjutant. But we are armed and armored, and it isn't. Keep your distance and keep firing. Stay out of melee range at all costs. The thing doesn't want to kill you. It wants to transform you."

If not for the kinetic barriers sealing the labs off from the station as a whole, Oleg would have said that it was a false alarm. The labs were mercifully deserted at this hour. The staff would have been torn to pieces like the one at Avernus. Miranda could have been here. Oleg shook his head. That didn't bear thinking about.

The absence of other people gave them a tactical advantage as well. Except for the quiet hum of the life-support systems, it was utterly silent. Oleg strained to listen, but didn't hear the distinctive tha-thunk of the adjutant's footsteps.

The only warning they had was the groan of metal on metal before two meters of the wall was simply ripped away. The adjutant stood there like a great lumbering monster from Lovecraft's nightmares, tentacles pouring from its mouth and eyes glowing with blue light like a husk's. It leapt forward with a swiftness that shouldn't have been possible for a creature of its size and Oleg just barely dived out of the way as its claws slashed air.

"Fire!" he panted. "Don't hold back."

He brought the rifle up and squeezed the trigger. The bullet hit home. Six more joined in quick succession. The creature rocked backwards and let out a groaning noise. He fired again, aiming for the bulbous mass rising up like a hump from its spine. It still didn't go down. Black blood oozed from its body. It glared at the table where Rolston crouched for cover and extended its hand. A flash of biotic power—wait, adjutants had biotic power now?—extended from its hand, and Rolston was lifted into the air.

He screamed. Matthews grabbed his leg, but it was fruitless; Rolston was rising too high, too fast. The creature leapt for him, its cry a mixture of pain and triumph, and they were entangled together in a mass of claws and limbs. Rolston screamed and thrashed uselessly as the adjutant pinned him. The men stood frozen for a long moment, terrified of hitting their comrade.

Oleg fired. "Keep shooting."

"We'll hit him, too!"

"If you're fortunate. Do you want your friend turned into that?"

A hail of bullets was his answer. This time, the creature's eyes flickered. Another round. The light died as it fell on top of Rolston, black and red blood mixing together in an unholy sludge. The chime sounded the quarter hour. Their battle had taken less than five minutes.

He heaved the body of the adjutant off Rolston. Miranda or Barrington would probably yell at him for damaging a valuable sample, but they could wait. Rolston groaned feebly and his breath was a harsh death rattle. Oleg's heart hammered in his chest. Not again. When he had come to Omega to put down the first adjutant invasion, he had lost too many good men to the creatures, watching them transform into a monster he was forced to euthanize for the safety of the others. Even Ashe had been a loss in his fashion. How many more was he going to lose?

He looked down. Rolston had sustained a bullet wound to the shoulder and a slash that had torn away the top two layers of his chest plate. Black and red mixed freely in the blood that pooled around his body, but the blood oozing from the wounds was simple, human red. The beast had wounded him, but it hadn't been able to begin the transformation process. He would only die. That was what passed for victory these days.

"My daughter…" He coughed and sputtered.

"Will know that her father died in defense of humanity." As they all were prepared to do.

Rolston stilled. Oleg closed his eyes. The final grace any commander owed his men. He shoved his emotions into the little box in his heart and locked it tight. The pale, shocked faces didn't need a man right now; they needed a general. "Get a cleanup crew down here. Inform the rest of the staff that I'll be in my office drafting a condolence letter to Serviceman Rolston's family. We will hold a memorial service as soon as practical. Those of you who knew him better are welcome to consult with Ms. Chambers about the details." He rose, stiff and formal. "But for now, we can best honor him by doing our duty."

Miranda sat at her desk. It would have been easier to say that the facts and figures on the datapad swam before her eyes as she drifted in a haze of pain and shock. But the facts and figures made perfect sense. The loss of her staff always sharpened her mind. There was no room for the catatonia of grief in Cerberus. You acknowledged the loss of your comrades and did better for them and moved on, or you died yourself.

"I want an autopsy on that thing. I want to know why the control implants failed." Her predecessor's notes were a disorganized, jumbled mess. Barrington told her that some of the initial data had been lost when the Avernus team was slaughtered, and some of it was simple sloppy record-keeping. Miranda made a contemptuous noise. Sloppiness begat disasters like Overlord. You got in a hurry and started caring more about getting the results as soon as possible instead of getting reliable data and having a care for safety protocols. Miranda had always preferred the methodical approach. She sometimes took longer than the Illusive Man preferred. She was often overbudget. But none of the experiments she had performed ever led to the deaths of entire teams and threatened stations. Wilson had been a failure of intelligence, not of the scientific method.

"Yes ma'am." Dr. Hezekiah Walker looked as if he should be just out of high school, not several years out of the medical school at the University of Mumbai. "I suppose it would be crass to say that it's an honor working with you, under the circumstances."

"Yes, it would be crass. And I don't need flattery, Doctor."

"It's not flattery." He pulled up the chair opposite her. "May I?" Miranda shrugged, and he sat down. "It's a shame most of the Lazarus data was lost. I suppose we'll have to wait a bit before everyone gets a resurrection of their very own."

"It was never going to be 'everyone.' Even discounting development costs, Lazarus would cost over a million credits to replicate." Acid crept into her voice. "The only people who were going to be rising from the dead because of it are people like my father." And even more mundane helpful applications were years or decades away. In the first desperate weeks after her injury, she had broached the prospect of using the procedures that had restored John's skeleton and nervous system to repair her own damaged leg. The data had been lost thanks to Wilson's treachery.

"But we're not interested in raising the dead right now. We need to find a way to make the dying work for us. Before our budget gets slashed again and we can't afford to buy more murderers from prison ships so Petrovsky can soothe his conscience by only experimenting on bad people."

"I spent five hours on one of those ships during a prison riot. We're doing the galaxy a favor." Miranda rubbed her temples. "Does this line of discussion have a point, or are you simply trying to decide whether you want to flatter or irritate me?"

"They did say you were charming." His voice was lazy and casual, and Miranda automatically set up a little straighter. John had used the same tone of voice when he was about to have one of the ideas that was either going to pay off handsomely or get them all killed. "Not all the data was destroyed. I got a look at the specs for Nyarlathotep. I think it could pay off here."

Miranda's head shot up. Nyarlathotep had been the codename for the control chip technology she had intended to implant in John once he woke up. She had believed it a necessary safety precaution for dealing with an Alliance soldier, but the Illusive Man had had more faith in John's pragmatism. Well, the Illusive Man had gotten the Collector technology he wanted and Miranda had been cast aside by Shepard as soon as he got what he wanted. There was a joke in there somewhere. "Nyarlathotep was designed to make the subject receptive to suggestion when exposed to certain aural cues. Namely the Illusive Man or myself uttering a specific trigger phrase."

"Yes, but if we can modify it… Those things used to be sapient, and they still have an advanced enough nervous system that we were able to give them biotics. If we can adapt your technology, we can finally have the shock troops we need to make Cerberus great."

Miranda's eyes widened in disbelief. "You can't control adjutants now, and you chose to make them more dangerous by giving them biotics?"

Walker shrugged. "Our efforts to control them weren't progressing. Our efforts to make them more effective in combat were. We do the best we can."

Miranda glared at him. There were times she wished she shared John's penchant for seizing a man by his shirt collar and threatening him into decency, but that required a presence and energy she didn't possess. "Let me be clear. As long as I'm lead on this project, we will not make the adjutants more dangerous until they are under our control. We do not needlessly endanger the lives of the soldiers charged to protect us and this station. That's merely giving aid and comfort to the Reapers. Understood?"

"Understood," he said in a pleasingly small voice.

Chambers walked in. She was pale, and her eyes were red-rimmed from crying. "Miranda I—" she noticed Dr. Walker. "I'm sorry. I can come back later."

Miranda waved dismissively. "I was just apprising Dr. Walker of some of our new operating procedures. He's returning to his workstation right now." Walker took the hint and scurried out of the room with a murmured goodbye, and Miranda leaned forward at her desk. "What do you want?"

Chambers shifted uncomfortably. "I just wanted to make sure you were doing okay. I mean Vadim died your first full day on the job. That can't be easy."

Miranda softened slightly. Just the usual polite condolences. She could deal with that. "I'll be fine, thank you."

"The rest of Lazarus Cell had a meeting and… and we'd like you to say something at the memorial service."

Miranda's brain ground to a halt as shock did what grief couldn't. "Me? I'm not even your cell leader anymore."

"You were our commanding officer before Petrovsky was."

"No I wasn't. I was a liaison who was just there to look out for Cerberus interests. Commander Shepard was your CO." And John would have been so much better at this sort of thing. He had had the easy charm that she lacked, playing poker with Donnelly and Daniels and getting drunk with Chakwas. Miranda had moved in the background, making sure they had food and fuel. John had smiled over Rolston's pictures of his daughter and assured him that they were all going to make it home. Miranda had handled the paperwork regarding the daughter's transfer from New Canton to Earth. And it was John that the crew had followed into hell.

"Shepard isn't here." Chambers swallowed and stared at Miranda's face. Miranda was suddenly conscious of every ragged scar. "And he's not the one who held off a squad of Collectors while we boarded the Normandy."

I was just doing my job. Strange how that was what had made an impression. They could call it courage or heroism, but it was just another order to be followed like the order to go beyond the relay in the first place or the Illusive Man's insistence that she makes regular reports on the crew's status. That that particular order had led to her injuries didn't matter. It was a risk all Cerberus officers took. But Chambers looked at her with that faintly reverent expression.

Isn't that what you wanted? said a voice in her head. To be the one that they would follow into hell? Miranda threw up her hands. "Fine. I'll come up with a little something."

Oleg had transformed one of Afterlife's private rooms into it officer's lounge, and that in turn had been transformed into a makeshift chapel for the memorial service. Someone—probably Patel—had scrounged up a holo of Rolston in his dress whites, smiling pleasantly out at them. A closed coffin emblazoned with the Cerberus emblem stood at the front of the room. The coffin was, of course, empty. Like all who died from wounds inflicted by creatures created during an experiment, Rolston's body would be kept for further study. About twenty-five or so people were in attendance: Rolston's former colleagues from Lazarus Cell, Oleg, North, Walker, and a handful of other soldiers.

Patel stepped forward. "It was my privilege to serve with Vadim on the SR-2. He was more than a colleague; he was a friend. He talked about his daughter Megan. He was so happy when she got off New Canton. Played the recording of her giggle for hours until Hawthorne threatened to hit him over the head with it. He couldn't wait until his deployment was over and—" She wiped her eyes. "Excuse me."

It was Miranda's turn. A sea of faces stared at her, waiting for the inspirational speech. But what was inspirational about this? A loving father had died because Cerberus couldn't be bothered with safety protocol. Again.

Miranda turned off the datapad containing her prepared remarks. They felt hollow now. "Vadim Rolston died bravely, and I don't want to take anything away from that. But it was a death that didn't have to happen. He died because of foolish recklessness, because results were prioritized over safety. And over the last year, I've seen that happen too many times. We've come here to honor his memory, but the only honor I can think of is to promise you that we will be careful." She gripped the podium with one hand. "It was my department that failed him, and as head of the department, I promise that we will devote as much effort to keeping you protected from the weapons we develop as we do developing those weapons. We will no longer pursue results at any cost. I wish I could promise you that he'll be the last to die. I can't. But he will be the last who dies because we are stupid."

Silence. Miranda hobbled back to her seat as a badly synthesized version of "Amazing Grace" playing. She could feel Oleg's gaze on her. Not disapproving, but studying. Walker fumed silently at the other end of the row. Well, let him. It was no less than he deserved. Overlord. Avernus. Now this. How many more people had to die before her fellow operatives stop confusing reckless stupidity with scientific brilliance? Well, she could force some good to come from this.

The others began to file out, but Miranda stayed in her seat. She pulled out the datapad and brought up the operating parameters for Project Zephyr.

PRIMARY OBJECTIVE(S): To develop shock troops for use in fighting the Reapers, principally those created by use of the adjutant virus.

SECONDARY OBJECTIVE(S): To assist in the containment of Omega and facilitate access to the technology beyond the Omega-4 relay as needed.

And to this Miranda added:

To study how the death of Cerberus and allied forces from adjutants and other Reaper troops might be prevented.

To investigate whether control chip technology ("Nyarlathotep") might be useful in accomplishing the above.

To develop other strategies for controlling and subverting adjutants and other Reaper forces, both those created by Cerberus and those under her command of the Reapers.

"Miranda," Oleg said softly, "work can wait."

She switched the datapad off. "I'm going to make good on that speech. If I have to personally dissect every adjutant we have, I'm going to make Rolston's death mean something."

"I hope you do." He said down beside her and put a hand on her good knee. "Every friendly fire death is a tragedy. This project is supposed to save their lives."

She covered his hand with her own. "And it will."

"We were so close with the rachni and the husks. The perfect shock troops. Of course we can't use the rachni now that we know they're sentient, but there were no deaths on Binthu or Chasca before…" He trailed off as he realized how that sentence had to end.

"Before my ex-boyfriend shot up your facility and slaughtered the staff?" Miranda raised an eyebrow. "Remind me never to date a man who tried to kill my colleagues. It never ends well." They both laughed. It felt good to laugh again.

And, yes, they had been close, on Chasca especially. A case of Bekensteinian Flu had spread rapidly among the pioneer team, leaving nothing but corpses in its wake. ExoGeni had provided the dragon's teeth, and the Illusive Man had dispatched a science team to uncover the secrets of the frightening new geth weapon. The project had reported success in reducing the husks to a state of nonaggression before John showed up. Miranda's mind whirred as things clicked into place. "Oleg, you're a genius."

"Pardon?"

"We were close to subverting husks. What are we doing here but trying to control organics transformed into mindless slaves by the application of Reaper technology? And the Collector base was stuffed to the brim with dragon's teeth and God knows what else. I'm going to have a read through the data we collected on Chasca and see if there's anything useful we can use as a starting point for the adjutants. The similar blue glow in the eyes and skin suggests that the Reapers might be using a similar process in both cases. Control one, and we might be able to learn how to control the other."

"It's a sound plan. And, if nothing else, we could end up with some husks." His mouth quirked upward. "Though I would remind you that your orders are to develop adjutants."

She returned his smile. "No, my orders are to develop shock troops. Principally adjutants. If the Illusive Man objects, he should learn to craft his orders more carefully."

Oleg shook his head, his eyes filled with amazement and a pride that filled Miranda with warmth. "I hope I never have to go to battle against you. You're a clever one."

"I learned from the best."

"Flatterer." He sobered. "You're going to have to use technology from the base."

Miranda felt herself go pale. "You heard about the vomiting?" She had been there when one of the colonists had been pulped into her genetic components. She had vomited at the sight. John and the Illusive Man had had stronger stomachs. "I wanted that place gone. The thought that there's even the possibility someone else could be tossed in those pods…" She shivered. "I'd rather not use the control chip either, but I will." She nodded toward the coffin. "I'd rather sacrifice a good night's sleep then another one of their lives."

"As any good commander should." He looked down at his hands and exhaled. "I'll postpone those drinks, then. You'll be buried in work."

Miranda shook her head. "No, I want you with me. And I can't pull the all-nighters I once did. Exhaustion and lack of sleep are as bad as the cold." And I need to feel human again.

She kissed him. Slowly and patiently, telling him as best she could with her lips that they had time and could afford to be patient. The experiments and sex were all of a piece. Her injury had weakened in diminished her, but today she would begin transforming back and what she always had been: the brilliant operative who mastered death itself without going mad and who desired and was desired in turn.

"I'll see you tonight."