A/N: Once again, kudos to Ieldra for helping me get this particular chapter out in record time (relatively speaking). My thanks goes out to fongiel as well for his story suggestions, and Aeowyn for giving the whole thing a look-through.
Chapter 3
2195 CE, Elysium (Present Day)
She woke up with a jerk, the memory of a half-forgotten nightmare conspiring to pull her down again. Panicking, she tried to fight it, all four limbs splayed out haphazardly, the sensation of gritty earth beneath her fingers finally giving a solid enough grasp of reality to hold her in place.
Wait a minute...
Oriana opened her eyes, and found herself in a dimly-lit enclosure with corrugated sheets of metal for walls and an impossibly high ceiling criss-crossed by support beams. It looked like an old warehouse of sorts, with a portion cordoned off into a room. She stood up, and had to fight against the momentary vertigo and nausea.
Dismissing the discomfort, she began walking the perimeter of the room, thinking furiously at the same time. The state of the warehouse and the lack of telltale ambient noise said she was likely still on Elysium. But who would want to capture her? She thought she was free from her father's pursuit. It's been five years since the last attempt, an attempt she'd never told Miranda about.
The last thing she remembered was signing off her chat with Miranda. Outside, storm clouds were gathering with a speed that wasn't unusual with Elysium's climate. She'd decided she was going to fix that shutter after all because knowing her older sister she'd just get nagged at until the task was accomplished.
That was when the attack came, a blur of movement as someone tackled her. The masked assailant had been expecting a soft target, but Oriana had taken a number of self-defence classes. Courses mandatory for work in Terminus Systems notwithstanding, she'd been prepared for the eventuality of failing to stay one step ahead of her father's henchmen. A fair fight against a skilled attacker may be out of the question, but people tend to underestimate her genetically-augmented strength and reflexes, which made for a good element of surprise.
Not this time. A haphazard blow against her aggressor's midriff was rewarded by a female-sounding grunt. The next minute of close-quarter struggling or so saw her unable to gain an edge as her assailant met her blow for blow. And then came that awful smelling cloth pressed into her face...
She took a deep breath, fighting the urge to throw up, and noted down the features of her prison. There was only one exit, a sturdy metal door, unless climbing over the wall was an option. It seemed that her incarceration here was meant to be temporary; there was no bed, nor sanitary accommodations—unless all this was intentional. She shuddered and pushed that thought away.
Not tying her up? Big mistake. She'd failed to get the upper hand the first time round, but all bets were off now.
Oriana saw with satisfaction as a closed fist gesture summoned dark energy washing faintly over her body. That she was a biotic was a well-hidden secret, something even her older sister didn't know about. When she manifested the ability at a young age, her parents had panicked. Discrimination against biotics in human communities was a real danger, and the result was almost every biotic-capable child end up interned at the Jon Grissom Academy, orbiting high above Elysium as a matter of fact.
Living on an asari world where biotics were a dime a dozen, it was far easier to keep her ability under wraps. As a child, Oriana had hated it; attending schools where she was the odd human out, taking lessons from a disgruntled asari tutor hired to teach her not to use her biotics, but rather to hide them.
If it was a gift, why should she be ashamed to show off? At the back of her mind, she had sworn that one day she'd get her bio-amp implanted and undertake proper training. That childhood ambition had long since faded when she'd found new things that interested her and terraforming became her true calling.
But through painstaking trial and error, she'd managed to master a fine control of her ability, something fully-trained and surgically-augmented biotics rarely concerned themselves with because their powers worked on several levels of magnitude above hers. This was her ace in the hole. Great things can be accomplished by a subtle application of force at the right place and time; it was all about strategy and precision.
So... what's the easiest way out?
She walked to the door, and peered through the gap where the lock would be on the other side. It was a simple metal latch, and she could see the bar clearly. Narrowing her eyes, she concentrated on altering the mass of the metal until it was light enough for her to apply a lifting effect. Slowly, she rotated the piece counter-clockwise before pushing the whole set up back onto its resting position.
Knees quivering with relief, Oriana pushed the door open and got her first glimpse of a giant warehouse devoid of any else. Unfortunately, she'd used more strength than was necessary and felt, too late, the door shuddering, its heavy inertia wrenching it out of her grasp. It emitted a loud groan that reverberated through the empty space before getting jammed on the uneven floor.
Oh shit!
In a distance, there was a clatter, like the sound of something being dropped, and then the pounding of running footsteps. She turned around, her eyes widening in shock at the sight of the person barrelling towards her. It was the only reaction she could muster before she was slammed to the ground and her consciousness fled away once more.
-~o~-
2195, MSV Daedalus (Present Time)
Miranda was seated in the mess, nursing a mug of the swill known as synthetic coffee. The place was tiny by ship standards, and none too clean, but far roomier than the coffin-like berth she'd been assigned. They were one day out, making good progress across interstellar space towards the Voyager Cluster Relay. The freighter was now cruising comfortably on in FTL mode with the semblance of normal shipboard life gradually falling into place.
And as she was beginning to find out, half a day more to reach the relay with nothing to distract her gave her thoughts ample opportunity to run amok...
The chrono had counted down past the time for the freighter to begin its journey. In the holding area just past the airlock, Miranda paced the small space, wondering what was the cause for the delay. She looked up from checking her omni-tool as the first mate of the ship, a batarian, walked pass.
"Why haven't we undocked yet?"
"Captain says wait," came the curt reply. "Last minute arrangements."
That covered just about everything and nothing. Before she could demand more information, the first mate slipped through the airlock as though on urgent business. With a huff of impatience, she sat down on one of the inbuilt seats equipped with safety harnesses that lined two adjacent walls.
After a long while, there came sounds of commotion from beyond the airlock, and the faint whirring of the boarding ramp finally being retracted.
Rattling echoing off the metal gantry was her only warning before Shepard and his co-farmer, a man known to her as Shan, stumbled into the holding area. Burdened by knapsacks, both men had boots slung around their necks and sported hastily-donned pants with belt buckles undone. Shan wore an inverted t-shirt while Shepard was unabashedly bare-chested.
"I never want to do that again." Shan gasped as he unwound boot laces from around his neck.
"Forgot all about decontamination," Shepard grimaced, equally breathless. "I think my balls got seared off back there."
He stopped short when he realised who the other person in the holding area was. Beside him, Shan subsided promptly and slid unobtrusively onto a seat at the far end to busy himself with his attire.
On her part, all Miranda could do was stare.
The spell was broken when the first mate walked in and barked, "Strap in! We're running late as it is."
Walking to a control panel, he punched a button, green-lighting the liftoff. Immediately, the freighter roared to life. With scant seconds to spare, Shepard scrambled onto a seat opposite of hers. Almost self-consciously, he retrieved the pullover draped across his shoulder to put it on before pulling the harness around himself.
G-forces started piling up as the freighter cleared the vicinity of the space station and began making the velocity burn that would carry the vessel to the outer reaches of the system and into FTL mode to the nearest mass relay.
They stared at each other over the roar of the engines and across the space that separated them. Conversation of any sort would have to wait until the freighter cleared the system, but there was more than ample time to mull over this latest change in development.
The initial shock she'd felt at seeing Shepard had been replaced by a qualified wariness, even tired exasperation. Why the hell was he here now? The suspicion of delayed histrionics came unbidden, perhaps unjustly, to her mind, but quiet consternation was written all over Shepard's face. There was even a clarity to his eyes that wasn't there before, a sobriety of intent in the way he directed his gaze at her.
Dare she trust this move for what it was? That it fundamentally proved his willingness to assist her save Oriana? Or was there something else more twisted? If this was Shepard she knew from before the war, she'd have dismissed the notion. She had no idea what to think now. And if this was going to be another stunt, she couldn't begin to imagine what she'd do.
After thirty minutes of hard burn, the g-forces finally ebbed away. In what seemed like a trademark attitude, the first-mate entered the holding area again and gestured for them to follow him. Entering the tight confines of the ship proper, he pointed out the berths and gave laconic directions to the mess and sanitary facilities. Then without waiting for acknowledgement, returned to the foredeck again.
A quick glance confirmed that the allocated space was pathetic. Each room comprised of two bunks lined on top of one another with scant standing room to spare. Miranda was in the process of stepping into her assigned bunk when Shepard cautiously snagged her sleeve.
She gazed at his hand like it was a foreign object, and then transferred that look onto him.
"Let go."
He released his hold immediately. Taking a deep breath, he said, ""Can we talk? I have an accounting I think you'd want to hear. Please?"
She looked down the corridor. It seemed like they were the only passengers this trip. Which meant several days of close-quarter interaction, unless she stayed holed up in her bunk for the duration and ignored Shepard.
If he is really here to help, pretending he doesn't exist won't do Ori any good at all.
"Fine. But this doesn't change anything."
It was the only courtesy she could muster for him right now.
For answer, he opened his hands in a conciliatory fashion.
Reluctantly, she led the way into the tiny cubicle. Shepard shut the door as she deposited her duffle and settled down on the lower bunk. After a brief inspection, he sat down quietly on the floor.
"You have ten minutes."
He gave a nod of acknowledgement, and kept his head bowed for a moment before speaking.
"I'm here to help with Oriana. No strings attached. You were right. I can't expect you to be my crutch. So I won't." He took a deep breath. "I'd also like to give an accounting for my conduct."
Here, he looked up at her, as if waiting for permission. She didn't trust herself to look him in the eye, so she settled for a grudging nod. His tone when he began was a near monotone.
"I didn't resign my commission. I was unofficially stripped of my rank pending a trial to assign blame for what happened during the Reaper war. I was the one who gave the order that resulted in the five billion deaths on Earth. All this time on New Canton, I was on parole."
He balled up one fist to grip it tight with the other as he continued.
"I didn't tell you any of this because I was afraid you'd leave when you found out. I know it's stupid to think I could hide it from you. But I got all caught up over what I should be doing—if I should stay and await the trial, or break parole and risk becoming a fugitive."
As he said all this, Miranda had found herself gradually undergoing a battery of emotions: dismay at hearing about the charges against him, indignation that he hid something so momentous from her, and overlaying all that, that initial wariness that compelled her to wonder if she could trust what he was saying.
Indignation won out.
"So that's the catch? That you broke parole to help me?"
Shepard looked at her, jaw agape before he closed it. Raising his hands, he rubbed his face. Immediately, she wished she didn't know him well enough to read that gesture as his way of maintaining control.
"There's no catch. I'm sorry it took so long to get my head out of my ass. I just want to say that for all it's worth, I've made up my mind."
The pieces that had been bothering her finally went click as he said this. She made no pretence at understanding how much those five billion lives weighed for him. And if that wasn't enough, to be condemned by the very organisation that'd defined much of his life—it was unimaginable. And that just served to further fuel her outrage. It wasn't that he said those things about Oriana. Or that he was, for all intents and purposes, hell-bent on a cycle of self-destruction. The cosmic joke here was none of that needed to take place at all if he even thought to share those burdens.
"The same way you made up your mind that I'd leave if I found out about your secret?" She retorted, cold as ice covering a pond in deep winter.
He'd stared at her in dismay, but didn't make any attempt to defend himself this time.
"Why did you have to cover all that up? All those things you said—did you think your trust so misplaced that you had to go to those ridiculous lengths to hide your secret?" She couldn't help the rising inflection of her voice. "Why didn't you just tell me?"
Shepard swallowed and then lowered his head in an unspoken admission of guilt. Too tired to pursue her advantage, Miranda turned away, refusing to bear further the sight of him. Shortly after, he spoke up again, his low voice drifting into earshot.
"Someone once told me there's no point apologising if I keep making the same mistakes. So I'm done apologising. I'm not expecting your forgiveness. Maybe you don't think I deserve it, and that's fine. I'm here to lend a hand with Oriana and I'm doing it because I want to." A brief silence followed a deep intake of breath. "Do I at least get that chance?"
How on earth did we end up here?
But no matter how Miranda struggled against it, that deep sense of tragic incredulity wasn't able to replace her anger or her abject disappointment. In the end, one thought overruled everything else: she won't look a gift horse in the mouth. Not when she had no idea of the kind of opposition she'd face in the upcoming mission.
She took a deep breath and looked him in the eye.
"You have it."
Carefully, Shepard nodded his thanks.
"That's all I ask for."
The knowledge that he would be along for the ride had slowly settled in during the last twenty-four hours. There was no denying the relief that she finally got the backup she wanted, despite her trepidation about working with him again. Her last covert mission had been seven years ago, and it was likely Shepard hadn't seen much personal action in that time either. Re-acclimatising themselves to the work, finding that sense of partnership again wouldn't be easy. Not to mention the enormous chasm that'd crumbled the ground between them.
No, everything else had to wait until Oriana was safe. And if she was willing to admit, she wasn't ready to plunge into that emotional whirlpool. Not just yet. Maybe not ever.
A polite cough interrupted her spiralling thoughts. Shepard entered the mess and made his way to the coffee machine. Wrinkling his nose at the mug he'd picked up, he filled it and took a long drink. Miranda eyed him with reservation as he walked over to sit at her table.
"Do you have any new intel to share? I'd like to get a feel of what you have in mind and how we can plan our next move. I also imagine we're going to need to shop for things like personal armour, weapons and specialised equipment."
"We can do that now," she said, relieved that he was keeping it professional.
"Mind if I bring Shan in on this?"
Here she frowned and voiced the question she'd been dying to ask.
"Who exactly is Shan? And why is he here with you?"
"Guess I forgot to mention," he muttered into his mug before lifting his head. "Shan's a marine the Alliance assigned to watch over me. I gave him the choice of coming along so he could find a way to salvage his career after I left New Canton."
She could only give him a look that said he was out of his mind.
He chuckled. It was the first sign of spontaneity from him in what felt like ages.
"I like Shan. He's a nice fellow, easy to read. I can count on him to mean it when he says he'll watch my back."
Shepard always had that knack of knowing what made people tick. It was how he'd kept a ragtag bunch of misfits pointing their guns in the right direction in the years before the Reaper war. So she acquiesced with a cautious shrug.
A few minutes went by as he went off to locate Shan. The younger man, when he finally appeared, was visibly hesitant.
"Ma'am," he tipped his head at her respectfully then took awkward seating on the opposite side of the table.
Miranda studied him, a kind of attention Shan was obviously not comfortable with. Despite her willingness to go along with Shepard's judgement, she couldn't get rid of feeling that she had to play it safe.
"John tells me you're his parole officer. I need his help to get to my sister. Is that going to be a problem?"
"No, ma'am."
She waited until it was evident no more information was forthcoming.
"What's to stop you from reporting to your superiors when you have the chance?"
Shan shifted in his seat.
"I don't think I would, ma'am," he said earnestly. As if sensing her frustration at his reticence, he darted a look at Shepard who was sitting beside him before adding enigmatically, "I'm still hoping I can have my cake and eat it."
She threw Shepard a questioning frown which he returned with an expression that said I'll explain later.
"How about we start off with information we have so far?" Shepard queried. "You said Liara gave you new intel?"
Miranda played along, but not before giving him a significant look.
"She said someone matching Oriana's ID booked two express tickets to Sydney. It'll take them two days or so to reach Earth."
Shepard's eyes grew intent.
"Do you know if she was alone when she made the booking?"
"Liara's agent said she was." Miranda frowned as she clasped her hands together. "I'm thinking Ori could've been coerced. As a registered terraformer, she gets priority booking on passenger berths."
"That seems most likely. I can't imagine anyone would go to lengths to impersonate Oriana just to jump a queue."
She shook her head at the improbability.
"I'm more concerned with the fact that they're days ahead of us," she muttered, looking down at her hands. "It'll take at least two more days for us to reach the Attican Traverse. We can't begin to find berths on a new ship until we dock. By the time we reach Earth, anything could've happened."
"You mentioned Sydney is their destination?" Shepard cleared his throat, apparently finding something very interesting in his mug. "I remember you saying you had to go back to Australia."
She glanced up at the mention of the memorable night they quarrelled and bit her lip.
"Yes. But the final destination won't be Sydney. I was born in Tasmania. That's where my father's ancestral home is. And that's where we have to go if I believe what that note says about where it all began."
Shepard raised his head to look at her.
"Do you believe it?"
She returned his gaze with a lift of her chin.
"I know what you're thinking. It all ties up too neatly."
"No, I think you're right," he said quietly, his voice almost too low to be heard. "It's a lure you're meant to take. The trap will only spring when we get there. Not before."
It was Miranda's turn to look away. The implication behind his words was obvious: he wanted to retract the ill-advised statements he'd made before. But right now, she could only wonder at their apparent inability to walk the professional path without stumbling over personal pebbles every few steps.
Shan, who has been watching the whole exchange between them, wore a look of confusion on his face, coupled with a fidgety stance that said he could sense the undercurrent going on and would rather be elsewhere.
Taking the momentary silence for an opening, he finally coughed and addressed her tentatively, "You say we're going back to your hometown, ma'am? Is there a connection we can use? Relatives of yours who could help maybe?"
Shepard's head came up almost as fast as hers did. Even as his look questioned her, Miranda's mind went into overdrive. No, she couldn't possibly contact the law firm en route to Earth. Even if she could, there was no way to provide credentials to prove her identity.
"We should make the trip to the lawyer's office first." Shepard said quietly but firmly.
He didn't take his eyes off her after and it took her a moment to realise he was waiting for her final decision. It was an inevitable conclusion. But also a frustrating one in the further delay it posed. Nonetheless, any advantage they could get over the unknown assailants was far more valuable than rushing in blind.
"We'll do that," she conceded.
Shepard exhaled softly.
"I guess weapons and supplies will have to wait till we get to Earth; far wider selection, and less checkpoints to get pass." A deep grimace contorted his face. "I'm also going to have to do something about getting a doctored ID. Wouldn't do us any good if we leave a blazing trail for Alliance law enforcers to follow."
Inwardly, she couldn't help but groan at the possibility of another delay but almost immediately, the glimmering of an idea took hold. A simple check would reveal to the Alliance that Shepard and Shan left New Canton and were bound for the Attican Traverse on board the MSV Daedalus. There was no way to tamper with that record without setting off warning flags. But past that point—no, she decided, they needn't wait that long.
"Pass me your IDs. I'll try and corrupt the chips so they register an error. There are many reasons for a faulty or even missing ID nowadays. We could probably pull it off until we reach Earth and get properly doctored ones."
It was a guess, but an educated guess based on her observations and the memory of Oriana complaining about queues at the colonial office. The thought of Oriana now fuelled her awareness of time slipping by more than ever. With an effort, she pushed that concern away to concentrate on making sure they'd managed to cover all existing contingencies.
Across the table, Shepard's eyes took on that distant cast that said he was doing the same.
"I think that should cover everything for now," he murmured just as she arrived at the same conclusion.
She couldn't help her wry smile which he caught and returned with a wary look of his own. Suppressing a faint sigh, she concluded the briefing by stating, "I'll finish up by drafting a shopping list of things we'll need."
Likely they'd have to alter their plans once they got to the ground. That was, however, the norm for any blind mission. They dispersed to their various errands and Miranda returned to her berth. She was sitting on the lower bunk typing out the equipment list on a portable console when a knock sounded on the door and Shepard's muffled voice said, "I have the IDs you want."
"Come in."
He entered to hand her the IDs before saying, "I'm guessing you'll want an explanation about Shan."
"Yes." She gestured at the clear space on her bunk. "What was that all about?"
Shepard's brow furrowed in thought as he sat down at the edge of it.
"I can't be sure yet. But he's sympathetic to my plight. And he grew up on Horizon. He knows what we did back then."
She frowned in disbelief.
"And the Alliance still assigned him to watch over you?"
"He was the one who distracted the shadow surveillance so I could get on the station to talk to you," he said quietly, looking at her. "I feel I owe it to him to try and help him escape the charge for abetting my escape. Besides, we could use another hand in this."
Retrieving her own ID to run her omni-tool over it, Miranda replied just as quietly, "I'll take your word for it."
Shepard brightened up momentarily and then frowned.
"Why are you tampering with yours?"
"The Alliance will try and trace your whereabouts by tracking mine. I'll have to sabotage all our IDs."
Belated realisation dawned on his face.
"This implicates you. Why didn't that occur to me?"
He ran both hands through his short-cropped hair and began shaking his head in self-remonstration.
The impression of Shepard she'd known from before had come so strongly to mind when he was talking about Shan it almost took her breath away. And now, they were back at this again. Suddenly, Miranda was tired of the undercurrent of guilt that kept rearing its head whenever she thought they were making progress towards tentative understanding.
"You said you were done apologising," she said accusatorily.
There remained a certain satisfaction in watching him gape, but she didn't dwell on it. Instead, she held her ID up in view.
"This is something I'd have to do even if you'd agreed to help straight away and I had known about those charges."
For a long time, he remained silent.
"I didn't think you'd want my help once you found out the truth," he admitted softly.
Is it going to be like this from now on? Three steps forward, two steps back?
"Look, I'm finished with finger-pointing. If you're looking for fuel for your guilt trip, I suggest you look elsewhere," she said with heavy finality. "We can tread glass around each other, or we can wipe the slate clean and learn how to work together again. You're no good to me otherwise."
For the briefest instance, she saw a spark of anger he locked eyes with hers. It was eventually replaced by a look of wry contemplation.
He nodded once in confirmation and rose to his feet.
"You're right. I am done apologising," he reached the door and turned to her, the faintest of smiles ghosting across his lips. "Thanks for the reminder."
2195 CE, Tasmania, Earth (Present Day)
Oriana decided she'd seen enough of industrial complexes to last her a lifetime.
Thankfully, the trip to this particular one didn't involve her getting carried in comatose. But after her failed escape the last time, it seemed her perpetrator had decided to take no chances. She was brought blindfolded into the complex. Unless they were taking extra pains to fool her senses, she remembered a series of bewildering turnings and flights of stairs, the ground changing constantly underfoot from concrete to metal and back, suggesting that even if she found herself free of her bonds, it'd be far harder to look for the exit. The prevalence of orders quietly issued and muffled footsteps also destroyed her impression that this was something concocted without prior planning.
She was now incarcerated in a small room, evidently created by cordoned off a larger area again. This time, however, smooth solid walls, a ceiling overhead and an electronic door that would resist her paltry biotics was going to be far harder to break out of. A metal-framed bed at the corner of the concrete-lined space and a dirty but functional washbasin also brought home the awful feeling that she might be here for a while.
Oriana rubbed her wrists in an attempt to get rid of the phantom chaff of bindings that'd encircled them. At least within the confines of this room, she was allowed the luxury of moving about freely. Without a warning, the electronic door blinked green and the partition slid open. She looked up warily as her assailant walked in with a tray of food and placed it unceremoniously on a bolted table in the middle of the room.
"Wait." Oriana called out as the other woman prepared to leave.
"What is it?"
Oriana tried for an insouciant shrug.
"I just want to talk. Staring at four walls gets boring after a while."
It'd been a nightmarish few days, an impression ironically mitigated by the surrealistic tone that'd coloured the entire experience. The initial shock that she'd felt had gradually abated until it was now replaced by a deep sense of intrigue. Given what Miranda had told her about her origins, something like this shouldn't have blindsided her the way it did. In fact, if anything, Oriana could only curse herself for how her insatiable curiosity seemed to have pushed even the regard for her own safety into the background. From the time they'd boarded that passenger ship to arriving in Sydney, she could have tried to make known the fact that she was, in fact, being kidnapped. But all she could think of was trying to tease out the identity of her abductor and the reason why this whole set up was necessary.
But for all her ability to charm her parents into getting her almost anything she wanted, or exasperate Miranda to the point of helpless distraction, the woman in front of her had been absolutely impervious. Which just served to fuel Oriana's efforts to ferret out her back story.
"How about a name for starters?"
Cold eyes returned her scrutiny.
"I've been a willing accomplice all this time. Don't you think you should throw me a bone?"
A snort answered her attempt at flippancy, but then her captor moved to lean against a wall in a posture that said she was willing to play this out.
"It's Cordelia."
Now we're getting somewhere. Too bad it took this long.
"Well, it's nice to finally put a name to your face, Cordelia. I'm Oriana, but I'm guessing you already know that."
She couldn't help but shiver at the patently false smile that enveloped the other woman's face.
"I must say your attempt at subtlety is coming across as paltry as your biotic abilities," Cordelia murmured in an academic tone.
Ouch. Looks like she takes no prisoners.
Was that an attempt to push her buttons? If it so, it was a pretty good try. With difficulty, Oriana clamped down her quick temper.
"What can I say? There were more important things in my life than developing super powers."
"Perhaps if you had, you wouldn't be in this predicament in the first place. Convenient for me, I guess."
Oriana couldn't contain her ire this time.
"Why the hell are you doing this?"
"Good question. But you've already gotten your bone for cooperating. What can you offer for me to answer this one?"
Temper, temper.
Almost immediately, Oriana regretted her outburst. From the previous stonewalling, Cordelia was becoming downright talkative. And Oriana was getting the sinking feeling that she'd underestimated her opponent all this time. The idea that this was a simple abduction scenario went out of the window quite a while ago, but she hadn't given serious thought to the additional layers. And now, Oriana didn't think she dare risk giving this woman more information until she knew what was at stake.
"A chance to indulge me?" She tried for just the right level of engagement. It was a gamble, but she had nothing else to offer. "It's not like I'm going anywhere, right?"
Eyes that could barely contain their disdain glanced at her and then flicked away. But Cordelia showed no sign of taking her leave.
"This is probably the most eventful thing to have happened to me in a while." Oriana continued her wheedling. "Barring the war of course. That must've put a cramp on your plans."
"You are quite persistent, aren't you?" The other woman gave forth that thinly-veiled smile again. "Fine. I'll bite. Ever heard of Cerberus? Or would that lie beyond the event horizon of your uneventful life?"
A cold sensation radiated from Oriana's stomach as the word Cerberus was mentioned. It could only mean one thing; Miranda was somehow tied to all this. Carefully, she sieved her tone of all emotions.
"You mean the human supremacy group that got exposed just before the war?"
Before she knew it, Oriana found herself shoved onto the bed with Cordelia's enraged face just inches away from hers. Brilliant blue biotic energy radiated off the other woman so thickly until the glow coloured both their faces in an unearthly hue. A pair of hands snaked out to grip her neck and began to squeeze.
"Don't you use that phrase in front of me. Even the term terrorist is too good for them. For ten years they used me, fucked me like a bitch in heat and then discarded me. My greatest regret is how I couldn't put the Illusive Man down for the rabid dog he is. Couldn't even get to his body to shove my fist up his ass and form a singularity so I could watch his body parts disintegrate."
Oriana gasped for air and tried to claw the hands away from her throat. Except her fingers found no traction against strung tendons and she began to black out even as she could feel her windpipe beginning to cave in. But just as sudden as it came, the pressure eased.
Through blurring eyes, she saw someone haul Cordelia away by the shoulders.
"She's no good to us dead."
The newcomer was a man with strong Chinese ancestry stamped on his features. He must have entered during the scuffle for the door to the room blinked into lock mode as he spoke.
Cordelia glared at him before raking hair away from her face.
"What is it, Kai Leng?"
"Found an interest article on the extranet. Likely Shepard's with her."
"You'll get what you want then."
On her part, Oriana could only curl up on the bed, coughing as pain wracked her throat with every breath. Her existence was ignored by the other two parties. Which was just as well. Stifling her reaction the best she could, she listened in on their conversation carefully.
"That still hinges on your ability to lure the bitch here for this." The man known as Kai Leng jabbed a thumb in Oriana's direction.
"I wrote a message on this one's console before leaving Elysium." Cordelia's voice drifted across, cool and composed again. "Don't worry. I've done my homework. She will come."
"I'll go prep a reception for them then."
"Save some of your mercs for later. This place is a slug heap. The goldmine is in the tower. But I'll need them to open the way for me."
Shortly after, there came the sound of the door opening and then closing smoothly on its tracks. Oriana laid on the bed until the fit eventually passed and she could make her way slowly to the washbasin to swallow handfuls of water.
She couldn't wrap her head around Cordelia's obsessive anger against Cerberus. Neither could she dismiss the cold eyes of the man known as Kai Leng when he raked his gaze over her like she was just another object. But all of that failed to supersede the dawning realisation that she was being used as bait to lure both Miranda and Shepard into this.
For the first time in a very long time, she was afraid.