Oleg arrived an hour before the execution. Technicians hustled below the observation platform, doing last-minute checks on the equipment. Everything was a sterile white. He shifted uncomfortably. The experiment would hopefully be of immense benefit to humanity, but he was old-fashioned. Execution should be by firing squad or hanging. Or, considering the circumstances, perhaps the asari should be handed over to her victims. This was too sanitary, too removed from the brutal truth of what they were doing.

Miranda stood observing the technicians with an icy stare. She wore black, but there was no other trace of the passionate and playful woman who shared his bed. She inclined her head in greeting. "General."

He clasped his hands behind his back. "Operative Lawson. I trust everything is going according to procedure?"

"As much as it can under the circumstances. The prisoner was offered the last meal and a mild sedative. Both were refused. Chambers has drawn up letters to notify victim's families of the execution. We've inventoried the prisoner's belongings so we can return them to her next of kin when the blockade is lifted." She scowled. "Samara's just going to love that."

"Perhaps she can take some comfort in not being forced to kill her daughter." He sighed. "I'll write that letter myself."

By the time the restraint team brought the asari in, Oleg's muscles tensed with the urge to pace. She wore an ill-fitted gray jumpsuit that was the best they could do for a proper uniform. In addition to the usual handcuffs and shackles, she wore a neural inhibition collar to prevent use of her biotics and mind-altering abilities. Her expression was cold and disdainful. If she were frightened of the transformation unit standing in the middle of the room, she didn't show it. The techs swarmed around her like worker bees, attaching devices to monitor everything from breathing rate to hormone levels. "Clear!" shouted one of the techs.

Miranda pressed a button on her omni-tool, and a small holographic image of the asari appeared. "We're receiving."

Oleg nodded. "Ask the prisoner if she has any last words."

The tech stared at him, and Miranda raised an eyebrow. "We're not savages. There are rules as to how executions are conducted, and we will uphold them regardless of the circumstances as long as it's safe to do so. Ask her."

The tech opened his mouth to do just that, but the asari spoke before he could. "You think you're so much better than me. Well, at least I know what I am, and I take pleasure in it." Her eyes flew upward. "Petrovsky. Lawson. I know you're there. Do you honestly think that this is just? I know about Teltin. And I know about how your boss was the one who let monsters onto the station. I even know about the chip you wanted to stuff into your boyfriend's head."

"Liar!" Miranda trembled with barely suppressed rage.

"He's a very chatty drunk. Mind control. Isn't that how Henry Lawson made his money? Mind altering drugs and implants sold to the Alliance? And here you are doing him one better by taking my mind from me while your little lapdog of a general nods and smiles and pretends he's doing the right—"

"Technicians, begin!"

The restraint team marched her into the transformation unit and closed the pod door. The glass was clear, and Oleg forced himself not to turn his gaze away from the asari's face as she glared at him. So proud. Regret scraped at him. She was a murderer who had preyed upon the innocent for centuries, but she was also a creature of immense grace and power. A life that had begun when the United North American States were all still colonies was about to end. The predator would be extinguished, not in combat, but by the push of a button. Fate was often cruel.

A low hiss filled the air as needles extended from the back of the pod to inject the virus. There was a moment, just the barest fraction of a second, when her eyes widened in fear. Oleg had seen it many times: the moment when someone knew they were going to die painfully and could do nothing about it. The asari yelped in pain. Yelps became screams. Her body convulsed, and her head banged on the glass like a child's broken toy. She began to change. The lithe, feminine body grew in height and breadth until it was a great, hulking beast. The eyes glowed bright blue. Tentacles spewed from the mouth. And through it all, the screams. No longer those of a sentient being, but of a wild animal in pain.

Miranda had gone pale. The holographic image she stared at had gone red. "Breathing and heart rate accelerated. Cortisol levels: nine nanomoles per milliliter. Adrenaline levels…" Her eyes widened. "That can't be right."

The screams filled the air and then suddenly there was only silence. The adjutant stared out of them, its expression blank. It raised spindly claw, like an infant reaching for her favorite toy—or a beloved stuffed bear. No, he would not compare this…tool with Nikolai.

"Time of death: 0907," Miranda announced dully. "Take the thing to the storage unit until further notice."

"Aren't you going to install the control device?"

"Leave that to Dr. Barrington." A tremor had infected Miranda's voice. "I need to check these readings." She hobbled into a side room.

Oleg followed her, his mind racing. He had never known Miranda to be particularly squeamish. This had been difficult to watch, but she had seen dozens of her fellow Cerberus members impaled on dragon's teeth. Was this really so different?

He found Miranda staring at a computer console. Numbers raced down the screen too fast for him to comprehend them. "What's wrong?"

"I've seen these readings before." Her voice was businesslike, but there was a brittleness just beneath. "The asari adrenal system is almost identical to a human's. The Chasca team reported similar spikes. I think this is how the Reapers transform us. The dragon's teeth, the virus: it's all the same thing. They're manipulating our hormone levels in order to speed conversion. And we may be able to alter husk biochemistry the same way. I can't be sure. I have to get husk samples to make sure."

"That doesn't explain why you look like you're about to throw up." His voice softened. "You know she was lying. I memorized Henry's file after you came to us. He was a greedy, arrogant, monster who experimented on his own child. You actually care about humanity."

"Of course she's lying. That's what she does." She ran her fingers through her hair. "The procedure reminded me a little too much of when I saw those colonists melting. The screaming didn't help." She managed a weak smile. "I think the Reapers must purposely design the technology in order to give us nightmares. The things we do for humanity."

"Indeed." The echo of the screams reverberated through the air. Oleg shivered despite himself. "Tango squad apprehended a turian stabbing a salarian. Walker wanted him too. With your permission, however, I think I'll simply have a firing squad set up. The body is yours to do with as you see fit."

"Acceptable. We can test our theories and still get some shock troops. And maybe the screaming won't keep us all up at night. Come on, don't we have a meeting to attend? Deal with some mechs?" But as they passed the technicians as they sterilized the room, he thought he heard her whisper. "I'm not like him at all."

The office had once been Aria's private domain. Oleg had thrown out the couch and replaced it with something that didn't look as if it had been designed by a sandblasted elcor, but Afterlife's origins as a club were impossible to disguise. The floor below him where even now Hadley and Patel were setting up practice dummies for the demonstration still glowed an unsightly neon that hadn't been fashionable on Earth for two centuries. He sniffed. Repeated cleaning attempts have proved insufficient for getting the smells of smoke and sex out of the place.

North sat reading a datapad, his scowl deepening as he did so. Miranda pretended to lounge on the couch. She was still pale. Oleg considered whether he dared sit beside her and put an arm around her. It had been detestable, if utterly predictable, the way the asari had lashed out at them. Henry was a brute and a savage who wasn't fit to lace his daughter's boots. And dragging the Illusive Man into it… the initial adjutant invasion had been a tragic failure of protocol. The Illusive Man treated the lives of his agents with the care any competent commander would show. Hence his current obsession with the implants. He and Miranda were all looking out for humanity as best they knew how. And Oleg was no lapdog.

Discretion won out and he remained where he was. He hated waiting, and there wasn't even paperwork that might have kept him busy.

North swore, and Oleg raised an eyebrow. "Something I should know, Major?"

"Report from the Kima District. Talons got two more of our men last night him and vanished into the tunnels. And we can't go down there because of the radiation levels. Damn turians. I'm sick of losing people to Kandros. Some days I think we ought to just let the adjutants have them the first time."

Oleg glared at him. "These people are under our protection."

Miranda's lips twisted into a dry smile. "Well, if you're lucky, will be able to send the new mechs down in your place. If not, we could always send Walker."

North laughed. "I think you've just given me motivation to sabotage the presentation. Did you know he wanted to see if he could give adjutants the ability to turn invisible? As if we aren't having enough trouble. Which reminds me: he was looking for you, Lawson. Something about a prisoner scheduled for execution?"

Miranda looked at Oleg with a mock-pleading expression. "Why can't we send him down into the tunnels again?"

Oleg fought the urge to smile. Miranda could be the very devil incarnate when it suited her. "I think they're ready for us."

The lower floor of Afterlife had been transformed into a makeshift target range. The practice dummies had been dressed in a mockery of Talon armor, and plastic tubes had been affixed to their hands to simulate firearms. One of the new LOKIs stood deactivated near the bar. It carried a shotgun and the armor had a faint red sheen, but it looked otherwise identical to the standard model.

The tech in charge of the project was a willowy blonde who strode toward them and extended her hand. "General, I give you the Rampart. Your containment problems are solved."

Miranda fingered the arm gingerly. "It looks like the same model that I kept blowing up the last time I was on the station."

"And you look like the Phantom of the Opera's younger sister, but we all know you're a genius. Looks can be deceiving." She powered on the mech, and it stood at attention. The lights in the headpiece were long red slashes they gave it a faintly sinister air. The red sheen became an outright glow, as if the Rampart was wreathed in fire that did not consume. It readied the shotgun.

"We use the same ablative armor that covers the transports, so the mechs are able to pass through the force fields freely. They're thirty percent faster than the original model, and much more accurate. As I'm about to demonstrate."

She pressed a button, and the Rampart sped to the nearest target. As promised, there was none of the slow, lumbering gait of the earlier LOKIs. It moved toward the target with a relentless precision that could almost be called graceful and fired a half-dozen shots in quick succession. Pellets shredded the dummy's face and torso.

"The thing can hit the broadside of a barn now?" Miranda muttered. "But how will it hold up when dealing with people? The Talons won't be so obliging about standing still."

"I assure you we—"

North's communicator sprang to life. "Major, we've got a situation in Tango Sector. Some civilians are pissed about the food dispensaries malfunctioning, and they're refusing to disperse. Requesting backup."

The tech's eyes glittered. "If I may make a suggestion? You want to see how the Rampart performs in the field? We have five ready to go. Send them. I'll patch us into the security system, and you can observe them firsthand."

"Without putting any of my men at risk," Oleg said. "Make it so."

Miranda frowned, but didn't say anything. North clapped her on the shoulder. "Don't look so grim. If this works out, we can use the mechs to keep the adjutants under control and you won't have to attend any more funerals."

Miranda pulled away and crossed her arms. "Maybe."

Ten minutes later, they were watching security footage of the Gozu District. A handful of dirty, raggedly-dressed turians were blocking the alley. "We want food and we're not leaving until we get it."

As promised, five mechs marched through the force field single file. "Disperse," said one, its mechanical voice reverberating through the air. "You are violating containment protocols."

"What the hell is that? Looks like it came straight from the Void."

One of the other turians squared her shoulders. "Does it matter? It's just Cerberus trying to scare us away. Well, I'm not going to let them scare me." She grabbed a piece of trash and threw it at the Rampart.

The Rampart began to glow. "Armed response detected. Hunter-killer mode engaged." An omni-blade unfolded from its and ran the turian through. The turian crumpled to the ground as violet blood pooled beneath her shirt. "Disperse."

Cold rage sliced through Oleg. "What is the meaning of this? That did not warrant armed response."

The tech turned pale. "It performed extremely well in the trials."

"A pity that it's not performing so well now." He balled his fists and forced his breathing to remain even. "I'm afraid I'll have to decline further use of the Rampart." He turned to North. "Get a squad down there. Alpha containment protocol. Do everything you can to avoid further casualties."

"Aye, aye," North said as he hurried out the door.

Oleg rounded on the tech. "Your services are not required for the moment."

"I have a question before she goes." Miranda's voice was casual, but Oleg could almost feel the ice beneath. "How did you know to have the mechs ready?"

The tech went even paler. "We-I knew you would want to see the Rampart in action. It was just one lousy food dispenser. No one was supposed to get hurt."

"But someone did get hurt." Oleg sat at his desk. "Because of your carelessness a civilian is dead. And if that does not move you, then we have a possible riot situation that could threaten the security of the district, and the Talons will be able to use this in their recruiting. I do not tolerate such incompetence and disregard for sentient life. You are dismissed. I want you off this station on the next supply transport."

The tech skulked from the room like a scolded child. Oleg buried his face in his hands. How many more deaths by stupidity would they have to endure? Cerberus was supposed to defend humanity, not behave like the jackbooted tyrants of the twentieth century who had been all too willing to fire on their own people.

A warm hand touched his shoulder. Miranda smiled at him. "It wasn't your fault."

He covered her hand with his own. "Are you the only competent scientist we have?"

"I could call Brynn and Nicholas. Though I'd still be the most brilliant competent scientist you have."

The chuckle tore from his mouth almost against his will. "You are a paragon of modesty, my dear." He sobered. "Kandros is going to have a field day with this."

"If we're lucky, she won't be able to get much traction. Most of those turians were scared out of their minds." She shuffled to the nearest chair. "Here a question arises: whether it is better to be loved rather than feared, or feared rather than loved. It might perhaps be answered that we should wish to be both; but since love and fear can hardly exist together, if we must choose between them, it is far safer to be feared than loved.' We were never going to win any popularity contests."

He shook his head. "So you were paying attention when I talked about Machiavelli. But do you remember what comes next? 'However, it is important above all to avoid being hated.' We are perilously close to that."

"Well, you are trying to impose law on a station that's never had it. Aria ruled for over five hundred years, and the station was a pisshole even before that. Maybe it can't be changed. Maybe the best we can hope for is to do our experiments and get out."

Miranda always had been a pessimist. As long as it was only her own abilities that were being put to the test, her confidence was boundless. But speak to her of human nature and she no longer saw any reason for hope. "What city on Earth has the highest per capita income?"

"Mumbai. But I fail to see the relevance."

"One of these days I will convince you of the value of studying history. In the twentieth century, and the early part of the twenty-first , large parts of the city were little more than a slum. Filth everywhere. Children naked in the streets. Human trafficking was not uncommon, both for prostitution and domestic work. And now it's one of the safest, most prosperous cities in the world, with the finest medical school humanity has to offer. In time, I believe Omega can be just as grand. The—"

"—Citadel of the Terminus, I remember. And I promised to help. But let's be honest: you're talking about nation-building. Do you know how many empires have dashed themselves on the rocks over some bit of idealism that never panned out ?" She raised an eyebrow. "I did read some history."

"And yet, we have to try. Not to bring democracy. I don't think any of us have the patience for an Omegan Constitutional Convention. But…" He ran his hand through his hair as old memories were dredged to the surface. "Article 17 of the Alliance Charter of Human Rights: 'the right to bodily integrity shall be respected, as shall the necessity of consent for sexual, medical and other purposes,'" he recited. He drummed his fingers on the desk, wishing desperately for something to do with his hands. "Do you think the children serving as drug mules gave their consent?" He swallowed hard. "You were one step from becoming a whore or a mercenary, and that's if you were lucky. If you had ended up as some junkie or selling yourself…"

She didn't say anything. They hardly ever spoke of those days anymore. He remembered a seventeen-year-old girl offering to share his bed if only he could keep her safe. And he remembered that sick fraction of a second where he considered it. In that moment, he had understood why man needed law: passion was unreliable. And how many others were there who weren't smart enough to survive as long as she had without getting crushed by some strongman or other? And now he was a strongman. Now he could prevent the crushing.

"You can't do this with just an army," she said at last. You need someone who knows how to manage this herd of cats."

"That would be you?"

"For once, no." She smiled the same smile she had when she had spoken of resurrecting the dead or controlling husks. "But I know someone who does. And he owes me a favor."

"Everyone owes you favors, don't they?"

"Up to and including the Shadow Broker. And now you know the real secret to success in the intelligence world."

The door opened, and Walker charged in. "Operative Lawson. North told me you were here." He glanced at Oleg. "General, I was told that there are executions by firing squad scheduled?"

"Correct, Doctor."

"But we need more live subjects. Response to the control implants has been mixed, but I'm sure that if we can just refine the process a bit more, we'll be able to perfect it."

Miranda glared at him. "So far that refinement process killed the previous science team, one of my men, and nearly killed General Petrovsky. May I remind you that the purpose of Cerberus is to advance and defend humanity? That generally involves looking for ways to reduce casualties, not increase them. For the moment, I believe we can make adequate and safe progress running tests on corpses. I will tell you when that changes. Am I clear?"

"But Operative Lawson—"

"Am I clear?"

"Yes ma'am." He shoved his hands in his pockets and went for the door. "No wonder the Illusive Man doesn't trust you anymore. No respect for scientific advancement."

Miranda watched him go. "Are you absolutely certain we can't send him into the tunnels?"

"I can arrange for him to be on the front line of the barricade it the Talons ever try to attack here. Of course, if they manage to make it this far, then I'm afraid we have much larger problems than Walker." She didn't smile, and he walked over to her. "The Illusive Man will see your value once again."

"And if he doesn't?"

"He will." Oleg knew that the way he knew the proper method of flanking the enemy. Tolstoy had had no use for the great men of history, but Oleg knew better. The Illusive Man took what could have been the chaos of billions of people desperately struggling to get ahead and brought vision and purpose. Oleg would have been another frustrated Alliance officer who watched helplessly as slavers preyed upon the colonies. Who trembled because he knew the Alliance was not strong enough to bear a full-scale war with the turians if they ever decided diplomacy didn't suit them. The Illusive Man recognized those who followed his vision and gave their all in the service of humanity. Miranda had done more for humanity than anyone Oleg had ever seen. "Give him time. And if nothing else, at least you're here with me."

"There is that." She kissed him, a long, slow kiss that left him scrambling to keep his balance and cursing his decision to throw out Aria's couch. "I have some numbers to crunch, but I'll arrange a meeting with the friend I spoke of. And I'll see you tonight."

Oleg followed her as far as the entrance to the command center. The Rampart stood uselessly by the bar. Miranda gave it a contemptuous glare. "I hate the idea of depending on those things anyway. No match for a decent marksman."

"Oh?" Anything to get her mind off the idea that the Illusive Man had no use for her. "Would you care to demonstrate?"

In answer she backed up forty paces and drew the sidearm concealed in her jacket. A single shot severed the mechanical head clean from the body. Oleg shielded his eyes as the mech exploded in a shower of sparks. Miranda surveyed her handiwork with satisfaction. "I'd say an explosion radius of three meters. And mechs do seem to adore attacking in conveniently clustered packs. If one of those protesters had been armed, poor Major North wouldn't be on containment duty." She holstered her gun. "I'd suggest getting someone to write a VI program more sophisticated than 'stand around and get blown up' if you really want to deploy those mechs."

"You could have done that earlier."

"If I'd known about this stunt with the food dispenser, I would have. But it would have been petty otherwise. Really, the Phantom of the Opera's sister? I'm not even musical."

Oleg laughed and ran his lips over her scars. This time she didn't pull away.

It may take a few extra days to post new chapters. I acquired a second beta and a new puppy who is demanding my attention. I'm writing chapter 17 (of 18) so the story won't be abandoned, but updates may not be a strict Monday/Thursday.