Miranda massaged her leg as she looked down at the husk. Pain slid over her. She hated days like this above all: she would do everything right and pain would steal over her anyway. She especially hated it on report days.

The Illusive Man swirled his glass. "I understand you are making some progress." The stress on the word some was almost imperceptible, but Miranda had been working for the Illusive Man all her adult life and knew his moods as well as anyone could. He was disappointed.

"We've managed to induce relative docility by altering the levels of various chemicals within the husk and adjutant form. Not that different from hormone therapy in humans, really." Except for the husks being disgusting, but there was no help for that. "The treatment wears off between seventy-two and ninety-six hours later, depending on the original species of the husk."

"And what could be causing this?"

"My hypothesis is that they have some as yet undiscovered self-repair mechanism. The good news is that it doesn't seem to give them immunity. We've been able to reapply the treatment. So far, one of our asari-based adjutants has displayed no aggressive behavior for two weeks."

"Hm." He took a long drink, and Miranda fought to keep her expression neutral as the silence wore on. "And how could we move from simply pacifying the husks to controlling them?"

Miranda bowed her head. "The husk and adjutant neural systems are unlike anything I've ever seen. They don't map onto the biology of any known species. Creating activity in certain areas of the 'brain' is different from inhibiting behavior. It continues to elude us." She raised her head and set her shoulders. "For now. And if we can devise an airborne delivery system, we should be able to significantly decrease the effectiveness of Reaper ground troops. I've already drawn up a prototype."

He waved her away. "No, our focus must be on controlling them."

Miranda gripped her cane. He couldn't be serious. They had a means to pacify one of the Reapers' biggest weapons, and he didn't want to put money into research? "It could give us a significant advantage when the war comes."

"Not nearly as significant as controlling them. Think! For every husk we subvert, the numerical imbalance between us and the Reapers decreases by two: they lose a soldier while we gain one. The raid by Anderson and the turians was a significant hit to our resources. We have to concentrate on what produces the most gains for humanity. Control is our path to victory, both against the Reapers and beyond."

She wondered if that was how he had convinced John to give him the Collector base: promises that humanity would emerge even more powerful after the war. Power was good. It enabled humanity to chart its own destiny without being beholden to the whims of the Council. But sometimes she wondered if the Illusive Man was so focused on assuring humanity's postwar position that he forgot that the war had to be won first.

"I appreciate your caution," he continued, "but these are desperate times. Batarian systems are already going dark. The Hegemony claims an Alliance plot, but you and I know better. The Reapers will be here soon. We have to do everything we can. This research is vital."

Pain shot up Miranda's leg, and she winced. "I—I understand sir."

"Do you? We're all going to have to make sacrifices and take risks in the days ahead. Kai Leng is already training to resume combat duty. The implants make him faster and stronger than before, quite equal to the Lazarus implants. And the lack of pain and attendant medication means that he can work longer. Something for you to consider." He turned the QEC off.

Miranda stumbled to her workstation. Her leg throbbed. Thrice-damned debris! She was supposed to be better than this. Henry had given her endurance and health beyond that of normal people. She was supposed to use that to accomplish great things for humanity, not to barely be able to keep up with the likes of Walker because she had only been crippled instead of killed outright.

The door opened. Chambers walked in. "The general is on the comm—" Her eyes widened. "Are you all right?"

I will be once I'm high on painkillers and had a nap. "I'm fine. Patch him through."

"Miranda, you look like hell," Oleg said. His lips thinned. "I can call back later if I need to."

"I'm fine. If you're calling me at work, it must be important." She looked around to make sure Chambers had gone and forced herself to smile. "Though I'm afraid I won't be much company tonight. Flare-up."

"Ah." He looked so helpless for a moment that Miranda wished he was here in person so she could put a hand on his shoulder and reassure him that she would be all right. "When I was a young man, I wondered if there was an enemy I couldn't beat with enough preparation. Now I know what it looks like."

There it was again. Those dramatic, almost romantic statements, tossed out as if he were discussing the weather. "It's not your enemy. It's mine."

"I know." A shadow passed over his face. "But it is difficult to watch those I care for suffer." She knew without asking that he was thinking of Nikolai lying motionless in a hospital bed while the rest of Shanxi celebrated liberation. He straightened suddenly. "We found Patriarch. He's being quite combative and refuses to meet regardless of any threats or inducements I offer."

Damn krogan honor. "Did you tell him that I invoke the rights of krannt?"

"I did." Oleg rubbed the back of his neck. "His response was… not something I care to repeat. Say what you will about krogan bloodthirstiness; they're quite inventive when it comes to swearing. I don't think he believed me when I claimed to speak on your behalf."

"I'm in no condition to go down there. And, knowing Patriarch, he'll find himself a new hole to crawl into just to spite you. Looks like we've lost him. For now."

Oleg smiled. "Perhaps not." His image winked out for a moment, and when he returned he was holding a sphere in his palm. "The latest from our communications research lab on Noveria. Think of it as a combination camera drone and comm. It can be sent to almost any location on the station and allows two-way communication with anyone within a ten meter range. I haven't had a chance to field test it properly. Perhaps you would like to do the honors? I have two sets. I'll use the other so we can both speak to him. Assuming he doesn't have an equally colorful response to you."

"He won't. Bring it here."

Fifteen minutes later, she watched through the eyes of the sphere as it zoomed down the streets of the Doru District. The streets there were in particularly bad shape, the concrete broken up in places. Miranda mouthed a silent thanks to Oleg and the Noveria team. It would have been nearly impossible for her to walk there even on a good day. Half the neon lights were out. Another one of the "forgotten places" of Omega that even someone like Aria had considered it wiser to ignore.

The drone stopped in front of a rundown tenement. Inside, paint peeled off the walls. The lights flickered dangerously. But the floors were curiously free of debris, and there were small signs of habitation: a data pad here, a shirt lying over the back of a chair there. At the kitchen table sat Patriarch. He had gone down in the world, his clothing the cheap, brown garb common to the laborers on this station rather than the relative finery he had worn as Aria's lapdog. And yet, he sat straighter and his eyes were brighter than they had been when she had met him in the back room of Afterlife.

He watched with some interest and no fear as the drones materialized. His eyes narrowed when he saw her. "I remember you. The woman with Shepard. What happened to you? You look like your face got torn off by a varren. Never mind. Happens often enough on this rock. And I see you brought the pompous little penguin with you."

Oleg glared but didn't say anything.

"Patriarch, I require a favor." Miranda spoke slowly and carefully, willing the pain not to show on her face. It was a delicate balance. She could neither afford to offend his pride nor to appear too weak and unworthy of his respect.

"And why should I help the people who have taken over Omega? Put up force fields everywhere and made it impossible to find decent ryncol?

"Because I fought those assassins on your behalf. That makes me kraant. You owe me."

He laughed, but there was no humor in it. "Kraant only by the most technical definition and only because Shepard ordered you. But bonds are bonds regrettably. What do you want?"

She looked at Oleg. He cleared his throat. "I want to know how I can bring order to Omega."

Patriarch laughed again, real laughter this time they shook the cup in front of him. "Order to Omega? This rock doesn't do order. All you can do is steer the currents and hope you don't get crushed."

"We're serious, Patriarch," Miranda said. "The general wants to bring law to Omega. Cut down on trafficking. Make it safe to walk the streets." She dared a sideways glance at Oleg. "Turn it into the Citadel of the Terminus, if you will."

"And here I thought you were just turning it into your own private fiefdom and making our lives miserable for the fun of it."

"Everything I've done was necessary to keep control of the population. We all must make sac—"

"Spare me, penguin. I can count. You don't have the manpower to hold on to Omega by 'keeping control.' You need friends. Even Aria had her little organization. Do you know how Aria managed to keep power for five hundred years? By convincing most of the mercs they were better off with her than without her. Profits would go up for everyone as long as she got her cut."

"Disgusting. I'm trying to break their power, not help them."

"And fortunately for you, Shepard did nine-tenths of the work for you. So, get yourself another power base. The Talons are the big thorn in your side, right?" Oleg nodded, and Patriarch continued. "Kandros is trying to sell herself as a champion of the downtrodden. You need to convince those downtrodden that you're a better deal for them than she is."

"I am a better deal. Cerberus is the only thing that can protect them from the Reapers."

"You think some giant robots dreamed up by a soldier who's sitting in an Alliance prison are going to scare them? Most people here are more concerned about getting shanked in an alley or where their next meal is coming from. And you're doing a lousy job on that second part. That synthetic swill tastes awful."

"It's the best we can do," Oleg muttered. "I have to eat it too."

"Ever thought of mentioning that? You can get away with a hell of a lot more if people know that you're not getting rich off being here. Especially since you want to be some kind of savior. Beyond that, keep them safe, keep them fed, and keep them happy. Ease up on the red sand restrictions."

"Do you have any idea how many lives are ruined by that poison?"

"About as many as are ruined by drinking, gambling, and all the other little vices that sentient beings can't seem to do without. But either the mercs are running it where you can't see or you're running it and it's nice and regulated and nobody's getting shot over it. Or running guns or…"

"You made your point," Oleg barked. "Panem et circenses it is." He stroked his beard. "We'll have to do more than that. The roads here are in shameful shape. And Omega's outer defenses will be no match for a Reaper. Or even the sort of forces Aria will likely bring to bear when she inevitably tries to retake the station. But we don't have the manpower to make the improvements."

"Then you've got yourself an opening. Hire people to do it. Credits, extra rations, doesn't matter. And make sure that they know they owe their jobs to you and that they'll be back to being miserable if you get thrown off the station."

Miranda thought. "And there are dozens of medical doctors on my staff. Dr. Abrams took over Mordin's clinic. We could offer ourselves out as volunteers. Two or three hours a week for each of us, and loan of the medical equipment as needed. Specialists are rarer than platinum in the system." Her hip twinged. Though I won't be able to start anytime soon.

"You're finally getting the hang of this. And now I think I've paid my debt."

"Not quite," Oleg said. "Suppose I were to offer you a… let's call it… a consulting role on my staff? Nothing official, but well-compensated enough. You must still know some of the people to deal with."

"A real advisor?" His voice was distant. "Not even Aria ever offered me that. I'm surprised a Cerberus officer would be willing to hire an alien."

"I pride myself on an eye for talent, regardless of species. Now do we have a deal?"

Patriarch only smiled.

Miranda turned off the drone and was back in the lab. The twinge in her leg increased, enough to tell her that it would be a good idea to go home now if she wanted to have any hope of working tomorrow. She would ponder the strange mix of idealism and populist politics she had gotten herself into later.

When she returned to her quarters, the door was unlocked. Miranda tensed automatically, watchful for any potential burglars or assailants. But they only visible addition was a small covered dish affixed with a handwritten note.

I know you're exhausted and in some pain, so it seemed unfair to expect you to join the rest of us in the dining hall. Sleep well. –O.

Heat pricked at Miranda's eyes. Why did he have to do these things? And worse yet, why did the words stick in her throat whenever she began to object?

Because he's not John, and I like being treated as if I'm more than a convenience. I might as well enjoy it while I can. The good things never last.

"I have good news and bad news, ma'am."

Miranda rubbed her temples. The intense pain of last week had subsided, but her reward for that was a mountain of paperwork and data to sift through. There were times she wished she could leave the project in the hands of Barrington and devote herself fully to Oleg's improvement plans. Part of her still believed that he was tilting at windmills, but at least it didn't involve trying to make zombies tap dance on command.

"Good news first, Dr. Barrington. God knows we need some."

Barrington slid her a datapad. "We're finally making some progress mapping the husk neural system. We've isolated the parts of the brain responsible for interpreting sensory data. We may be able to use it to cause 'hallucinations' for lack of a better word. At the very least, it should be useful for developing protocols for engaging or avoiding possible Reaper forces."

Which is exactly what the Illusive Man doesn't want. "Good work. What's the bad news?"

"We're running short on suitable corpses for experimentation. The shortage of batarians is reaching critical levels."

Miranda raised an eyebrow. "The population of Omega is one-third batarian. It shouldn't be that hard to find enough. Place a call to the clinics."

Barrington turned pink. "I already tried. Most batarians use the clinic in Gozu when they need medical attention, so I tried to work out a deal with them. Dr. Abrams nearly threw me out. Something about us not respecting batarian religious beliefs."

Daniel would be stubborn, wouldn't he? "I suppose the cybernetics count as mutilating the eyes. I'll give Dr. Abrams a call and see if I can't work something out."

Daniel looked frazzled and tired, but his eyes were hard and his face was less open than it had been a year ago. "Ms. Lawson, what can I do for you?"

"You can hand over any corpses you come in contact with for the next month. Especially batarian corpses. We'd be willing to pay you a premium."

"You, too? I'll tell you what I told the other Cerberus doctor. My patients would consider anything that damages the eyes of the corpse to be blasphemy. It traps the recently-dead batarian in his body and—"

"I have a working knowledge of batarian mythology, thank you."Oleg was Catholic, but Miranda couldn't recall him ever being quite so annoyingly stubborn. "But would you rather help actual, living batarians or their ghosts?" She leaned forward in her chair. "I'm going to let you in on a secret, Doctor. Next week, a Cerberus supply convoy will arrive. On that convoy are going to be nine thousand units of melanarin. That supply is supposed to last for three months."

His eyes widened. "But the station has used over twelve thousand units every summer for the last five years. You're engineering a horrific shortage."

"I'm not engineering anything. The requisition form was for twelve thousand, but the factory had to be partially repurposed to mass produce more medigel. I believe in making the best of a situation." She took a deep breath. This particular bargain had sprung to her mind almost the moment she had heard about the shortfall, but she had hoped she would never have to make it. "When I hang up, I'm going to make the same offer to the medical center in the Kima district. Whoever fills the quota first gets the supplies."

"No!" he shouted. Then, more calmly: "The med center serves mostly wealthy patients. They'll be able to get their supplies from the black market. We can't afford to deal with them. Hundreds of people, maybe more, will die if you don't give us those drugs."

"I know. I would prefer to deal with you because you do need those supplies and because Mordin liked you. But everything has a price."

"Shepard would have given them to me for free."

Miranda froze. The hell of it was that he was probably right. John had a genius for making things go his way. The unstable krogan that she had dismissed as too dangerous to awaken had become a valuable ally. He had successfully shouted down the Admiralty Board rather than allow either Tali or her father to be disgraced. He would have delivered the drugs and enough corpses would have simply fallen into his lap. "I'm not Shepard. Give me the bodies and those hundreds of people will have long and happy lives thanks to you."

Miranda watched as the battle between two conflicting tenants of medical ethics played out on his face. "I suppose you don't have to mutilate the eyes, right?"

"Right." The lie fell quickly and easily from her lips.

"Well, then I'll—I'll see what I can do."

"Good man." She turned off the comm. "Dr. Barrington? You'll have your corpses."

She stepped through the door. "I heard the whole thing." She looked down at the floor. "Would you have actually denied him the supplies?"

"If it came to that? Of course I would. I always do what I have to for the sake of the project." She brought up the form that would authorize the transfer of supplies to the Omega Clinic. "Thank whatever gods you believe in that it didn't come to that. And see what you can do about getting an airborne version of the neutralization agent. If the husks go insane, I want a quick-acting defense, no matter what the Illusive Man says."

Barrington nodded and withdrew, and Miranda was left alone.

When she had first started with Cerberus, such unfortunate bargains and threats had been par for the course. Support Tarak in his coup attempt in exchange for help getting Oleg back from the Blue Suns. Assassinate a politician supporting an unwise war with the Hegemony. And then…

…And then in 2176 she had found herself pregnant. Freak failure of the birth control, the gynecologist said. She had been terrified of what the Illusive Man would say and ready to abort the child so she could continue with her work, but the Illusive Man had seemed almost…pleased. He had promised her a relatively safe position overseeing a science team working on refinements to the L3 implant. And so she had kept the baby, growing more and more attached with every sonogram. She had found her vocation as a scientist. By sheer force of will, she had been revolutionizing biotics.

The child had lived three days. She had named him Peter. The science assignments kept coming, and Miranda had helped humanity and slept easily at night. Until the Collector Base.

"Could you tell Matthews to get the car ready? I think I'm going to watch the work on the purification plant." At least that was clean and uncomplicated.

Beta Sector had been one of the first areas pacified when the occupation began. It was a low-income but predominantly human area that had been fought over viciously by the remnants of the Blue Suns and Blood Pack before Cerberus had arrived. It was here that Oleg had chosen to begin his plans for revitalizing Omega's infrastructure. The sector shared water purification facilities with three other, more compromised sectors. Hopefully this would take the strain off the facility and convince others that cooperation was in their best interest.

The dust was thick on the ground, and steel girding jutted out of the Omega skyline. A small crowd of locals had gathered at a safe distance to watch the construction crew work. Three or four soldiers were nominally on guard duty, but they wore no helmets and spent more time cracking jokes with a few of the workers than standing sentry. Like anywhere else where there was a large collection of people, someone had figured out a way to make money. Someone had set up what looked like a makeshift hot dog stand.

"Get your turkey sandwiches. Made with real turkey!"

One of the soldiers looked longingly at the stand before his partner jabbed him in the ribs. "Don't even think about it. Petrovsky would kill us. Besides," he added with more hope than certainty, "it's probably fake."

Miranda smiled to herself and moved among the crowd. There was a curious benefit to her injury. Every other time she had been to Omega, she had attracted stares. She could use her body as a weapon, as she had during her days as a con artist, but she could never be anonymous. A crippled, scarred woman in a nondescript black blazer had the benefit of fading into the crowd and moving as she pleased. Just another victim of the violence on Omega.

"So what do you figure Cerberus' game is?" said one bystander.

"Who knows? Nobody does anything for free on Omega."

Never let it be said she passed up an opportunity to defend her employer. "Maybe they just want to make sure you have better access to water. And if this goes well, maybe they'll fix up the rest of the station."

"There's no fixing Omega. Just you wait until—"

"You'd better pay for that you little thief!"

Miranda turned her head to see what the commotion was about. A boy of nine or ten tore down the alley, sandwich in hand. The red-faced sandwich vendor kept shouting after him, but it was no use. Miranda smirked. Some things never changed.

The boy ran on, keeping his eyes on the sandwich vendor. He was less than a meter from the field that cordoned the sector off from the rest of the station. Miranda saw the spilled oil on the ground half a moment before he stepped into it. He skidded like a bad ice skater. Closer and closer he came to the wall of energy. Miranda shouted for help and tried to push her way through the crowd. Her leg throbbed in protest. Damn it! She should be able to do something.

The boy froze suddenly as a sphere of biotic power enveloped him. Miranda turned around, but the Good Samaritan was nowhere in sight. One of the soldiers finally noticed what was going on and ran up to the boy. The sphere fizzled once he had the boy safely in hand. Miranda exhaled. Too close, far too close. There had to be a better way to quarantine problem areas.

There were going to be incident reports to file and safety protocols to review; and, regrettably, Miranda was the highest-ranking officer here. A few "excuse me's" and subtly showing off her cane got her to the front of the crowd. She showed her ID to the nearest guard.

His eyes popped out of his head. "Operative Lawson? I—I turned my back for just a moment and he was sliding toward the force field before I knew what happened. I'm not going to get reassigned for this, am I? I like not getting shot at."

"I very much doubt it. Is the boy all right?"

"I'm fine," he said in a small, terrified voice. "My sandwich is ruined though." He looked forlornly at the soggy remnants of bread and turkey as oil soaked through.

"You shouldn't have stolen it in the first place."

"I know." He shoved his hands in his pockets. "But I haven't had real turkey in forever. You're not going to throw me in one of the camps are you?" He shot a fearful glance at the guards. "They say that's what Cerberus does to bad people."

"Only to the very bad ones. She wished she could kneel down to his level. Henry had always loomed over her, a distant god who might exact terrible retribution for any slight at a moment's notice. She settled for putting a hand on his shoulder and hoping she projected the right combination of firm disapproval and maternal warmth. "We take little boys who shoplift back to their parents. Where are yours?"

He looked down at his feet. "They died when the adjutants came. I've got an uncle, though."

Oh. Another casualty of the stupidity on Avernus. "Take me to him. He'll be worried sick about you."

The sandwich vendor charged into view "He's not going anywhere until he pays me the credits he owes." He looked at Miranda. "Are you in charge here?"

"Regrettably."

"He stole from me! Are you going to put him in a detention camp or something?"

Why is it that everyone has an obsession with the detention camps? Do they think we want to bring back the Bloody Code? Next, they'll expect me to order a hanging for stealing sixpence. "I don't think that will be necessary. I think his brush with the force field taught him that stealing isn't very smart. Isn't that right?"

The boy nodded enthusiastically.

"But my credits!"

"We must be making some progress if shoplifiting is expected to be punished now," Miranda muttered. "How much does he owe you?"

"Three credits."

Miranda raised an eyebrow and fished out her credit chit. "Here you go." Her voice lowered to a whisper. "And if I were you, I wouldn't scream too loudly about shoplifting when I'm smuggling in fresh food."

The guard cleared his throat. "Do you want me to see if I can find out who put up the biotic field? There aren't any registered biotics in this sector."

"No," Miranda said quietly, looking from the boy to the vendor. "Cerberus values mercy and heroism as much as we do order. I think it's time we showed that." She took the boy by the hand and hobbled down the street.

The apartment he led her to was rundown, but cleaner that anything in this sector had a right to be. Miranda rang the doorbell and listened to the sound of soft thuds and clanks and not-so-soft curses. A heavyset man in his mid-fifties opened the door. His eyes widened when he saw the boy. "Peter? Where have you been? I was so worried about you!" He shook with a mixture of anger and terror.

Peter? His name was Peter? Miranda felt a chill wash over her. It was just a coincidence. Peter was a ridiculously common name.

"I'm sorry, Uncle Matt. I just wanted to watch them build stuff, and then I got hungry and—"

"And then you stole a sandwich and nearly ran into one of the containment fields." She turned to Peter's uncle. The anger had disappeared from his face, and terror was solidly winning. "No one was hurt and I took care of the shoplifting, but I thought the inevitable lecture would work better coming from you."

"Oh, it will," he said grimly. "Peter, go to your room. I'll be in in a minute, and you and I are going to have a very long talk about stealing." When Peter had gone, he added, "Can I offer you some water? It's the least I can do for keeping my nephew out of trouble."

Miranda licked her dry lips. Why not? It gave her an excuse to stay away from the lab and the mountain of corpses. "I'd be delighted."

The apartment was cramped, and it was only through careful maneuvering that Miranda avoided tripping over her cane as she sat on a faded couch. She sniffed. Everything smelled faintly of sawdust.

"Peter's a good kid, said Uncle Matt as he returned with the water. "It's just that between losing his mom and dad and the blockade, things have been hard."

"He mentioned he hadn't had real turkey in some time."

Uncle Matt swore. "I can't afford black market prices. Not much call for a woodcarver these days."

"You're a woodcarver?"

He shrugged. "Souvenirs for tourists, mostly. You wouldn't believe how many rich kids come here looking for a little excitement and want something to prove they made it for a week or two in the big, bad space station."

"Oh, I would believe it." The kind all too willing to believe that having dinner in a dingy club with a well-dressed brunette constituted sampling the local culture. It had been a pleasure to take their money.

"Anyway, that's all dried up now with the occupation." He looked around nervously. "But I shouldn't say anything."

"It's all right. I hardly think Cerberus is going to come crashing through your door." She had always known intellectually that the blockade would produce some hardship. But it had looked so neatly manageable on paper, with the food dispensers and minifacturing stations. But here was a human worse off than he had been before. It was unfortunate, a terrible tragedy that Cerberus should harm the very people they sought to protect through the simple facts of war. But there was nothing she could do…

Or was there? A sudden image came to her of Oleg waiting on a report from one of the techs, and moving an imaginary bishop across the desk. She smiled. She could do nothing about the war or the privations they all had to endure, but she could mitigate this one particular case of poverty. "I wonder, do you ever carve chess sets?"

Nyreen watched from a distance as the civilians Cerberus had hired continued their work. That had been close. Aria would have called her stupid for risking her cover to save a boy from the force fields. Maybe it was stupid. So was leading a resistance when the occupiers had you outnumbered and outgunned. A turian always did her duty, even if she had very different ideas on what that duty was than the rest of the Hierarchy.

Strange that Cerberus appeared to be working on legitimate infrastructure projects. Sidonis had been so sure it was a trap, maybe a means to get more subjects for the adjutant experiments. But even those had apparently died down, with the rumor now being that Petrovsky preferred execution by firing squad.

Perhaps it had something to do with the scarred woman who had arrived a few weeks earlier. Miranda Lawson. The Shadow Broker contact Nyreen used to keep her apprised of the Cerberus supply ship schedule had refused to give up information at any price. Some on the station had been more forthcoming. She had been on Omega as part of Commander Shepard's team, and had suffered some kind of injury between then and now. She was supposed to be brilliant, which meant she was probably in charge of whatever experiments threatened the civilians.

Whatever the reason, Petrovsky was providing much-needed water to the people of this sector. It didn't change anything regarding the war; this was an illegal occupation and small children shouldn't nearly get their flesh melted off because they slipped in some oil. But she would be careful to only hurt them and not the good they were doing for whatever reason.

"Boss," Terian said over her earpiece. "Grizz just showed up. He wants to talk to you.

"Spirits," she muttered. "I'll be right there."

The Talons were the largest group opposing the occupation, but not the only one. Remnants of Aria's organization had stayed behind and had rallied around her former "fixer." Nyreen hadn't been in a position to turn away help—especially help that kept them well-armed, but there were times she wished they could have left it at gun-smuggling.

Grizz was pacing furiously by the time she returned to base. "Have you seen what Cerberus is doing?"

"Building a water purification plant from looks of it."

"Turning the civilians against us, that's what they're doing! Bribing them with red sand and a few credits. If this keeps up, they aren't going to be helping us out anymore. They'll be more likely to be helping Cerberus instead and you can kiss your little rebellion goodbye."

"The people of Omega don't like being oppressed. Some might become more sympathetic to Cerberus, but as long as the force fields are up and Cerberus is doing who-knows-what in their labs then we have a power base."

"Oppression? Omegans follow whoever keeps them fed, happy, and in line. The merc bosses didn't listen to Aria because of some blather about freedom. She was the strongest and everyone followed her. Maybe it's time we remind the people how strong we are."

Nyreen narrowed her eyes, as a warning chill crept up her back. "What are you suggesting?"

"The human holiday of Armistice Day is next week. If we did something flashy like, say, taking out a few collaborators…well, it would keep Cerberus busy and teach the people that they better work with us and not them."

Ice flooded Nyreen's veins. Aria had favored lieutenants who were cruel and intelligent, but this was beyond even that. "We do not target civilians. That would make us no better than Cerberus."

"War isn't pretty. You want to win, you've got to learn to play a little rough."

He sounded so much like Aria when he said that. She had made Nyreen feel so powerful, so very useful. It had been easy to toss grenades into a clump of mercenaries who were refusing to give Aria their protection money. It would be easy to shoot a few people working on the water purification plant. It might even work in making sure that no one else was willing to work for Cerberus or pass them information. But after a while, she had started looking for excuses to kill those mercs. How long before she viewed the civilians as threats instead of people she had a duty to protect? That was why she needed rules—feelings were unreliable.

"We'll win, but we'll do it like we always have: by making sure the civilians are safe." She turned her back to Grizz. "Excuse me, I need to get to work on monitoring the detention centers."