Miranda's footsteps echoed dully as she made her way down the companionway within the ship they'd chartered. Thoughts of what lay ahead ran through her mind. Virmire had a connection with Shepard and he'd told her enough about the place to know something about it, but she felt somewhat apprehensive now as they rocketed through space en route to that far flung place. There was little to no information to go on. She couldn't identify threats or come up with contingency plans in case of exigent circumstances. There was simply no credible intelligence to detail what lay ahead. Nor did she understand the connection. There may not have been any real cause for concern. But she had no idea what to expect. The tiniest fraction of anxiety was tugging at her since they'd departed Earth.

The information had not been easy to get. Just as she assumed. She reached out to an intelligence Major with the Systems Alliance, one she'd gotten information from in the past via a physical relationship. He was surprised to hear from her and, not surprisingly, rather upset. She'd used her charm and engineered good lucks to wriggle her way into his life when she was with Cerberus. They started a relationship and he had developed feelings for her, ignorant of her true identity or purpose. Once she'd gotten the information she wanted she disappeared in the night, leaving him mystified.

He conducted his own investigation into who she was and it wasn't long before he realized she was a Cerberus operative and he had compromised classified information because of his willingness to part with information resulting from her seemingly innocuous questions- questions he thought were born from pure curiosity. At that point he had two options: hide the fact they'd ever met or disclose everything to his superiors. He chose the former. He had to scramble to cover up his involvement with her, risking his career in the process. Now, many years later, Corinna Donovan was asking for more information, only now she was calling herself Miranda Lawson. At least this time she was being honest about her identity. His investigation had confirmed her real name long before.

After apologizing, she was forced to endure his scathing rebukes. He chastised her for making him feel something, manipulating him, taking his feelings and using them for her own purposes. He turned to alcohol after she departed; partly over heart break and partly over fear and apprehension for the future of his career. "Nothing has been the same since you came into my life," he told her. And yet there was the smallest remnant of those feelings lying dormant within. The tiniest ember, quietly residing in the depths just waiting for the moment to be rekindled. The sound of her voice and the niceties she leveled on him were enough to rustle those seemingly ancient memories. And he helped her, even if it was against his better judgment. "Diego Breytenbach operates at the head of a new organization that he activated two years ago; according to intelligence reports gathered in the Traverse. They're heavy hitters and have done contract work for local colonial governments. Everything according to the data I'm looking at says they're above the board. These aren't your standard cash for trash mercenary types like the Blue Suns or the Blood Pack. There's no indication of nefarious activity, no ties to the drug trade, illicit arms sales or smuggling. They only work for Citadel recognized governments or corporations with solid reputations."

"Who are they working for currently?" Miranda asked even-toned.

"A construction and development corporation based on Virmire. The owner is a human billionaire by the name of Kaiser Immelman," he replied. He was hunched over his data console in a burned out old office building repurposed by the Alliance for use as an HQ while they attempted to restore order and rebuild Shanghai.

"Virmire?" She sounded alarmed.

"Yes. This Immelman guy is pursuing some very ambitious development plans out there. It escaped the Reaper war basically unscathed and the radiation contamination from Commander Shepard's visit is localized... it's a veritable paradise," he explained with a sigh, wishing very much he could find his way to some paradise free from the long list of concerns and stresses that populated each of his days. The absurd thought of him and Corrina- er Miranda- sharing laughter and Mai Tais on a beach somewhere entered his brain. He quickly dissolved the thought.

"So why does he need a mercenary company?"

"Simple, it's a frontier planet. Too close to the Terminus. Raids by slavers or pirates is common and the place has been used as a base of operations for multiple outfits of bad guys. No sense in having a huge investment on the planet if you don't have a means to protect it," he told her with a hint of the professional sounding intelligence officer lining his voice. Maybe that assessment would impress her.

"I see. So this company is there now?" she asked.

"Affirmative."

"Thanks for the information, Michael," she told him in a voice void of any real emotion. It wasn't the same sounds that escaped her lips in their short, but passionate affair. Every syllable she uttered then had seemed like it was soaked in affection. "I'm sorry about before. I hope you understand it wasn't personal."

That was the worst part of all. He knew it wasn't personal. She had used him without any hesitations and seemed to harbor very little real guilt. His feelings for her were real, but hers were just a ruse. And it hurt. But nevermind that. "I understand," he told her. "But do me a favor and never call me again." He hung up the phone, feeling very morose and in need of a drink.

Miranda trekked down the lengthy, well-lit passageway way of the MSV Erebus until she arrived at a set of double doors with the words "Observation Deck" stenciled over the frame. Coming aboard the Erebus had been an altogether interesting affair when Miranda and the others had sought out transportation off-world. The best place to do so in the region they were in was Singapore, which had suffered gravely after the Reaper invasion. Still, there were a smattering of different transport ships offering passage. Miranda found a jovial Russian ship Captain with a weathered face, scraggily beard and considerable paunch which hung over his belt buckle and rumbled whenever he laughed- which he did often. When he introduced them to the crew Miranda was put off. The pack of them were whore mongering in the less reputable districts of the city and had imbibed a considerable amount of liquor in the process. "Don't worry about that," Petrov assured them. "They're the picture of professionalism once we're out of port."

That may have been true, but the crew eyeballed their three new passengers with an awkward hunger when they came aboard the ship the next day. When they saw the considerable amount of firepower the trio brought along, however, it seemed to encourage disinterest and Jacob theorized that their armaments would be enough to keep any of the shadier characters from trying anything untoward.

Now it was the middle of the night, at least according to the clock maintained aboard the Erebus. Most of the crew was fast asleep, but Miranda found herself wandering the confines of the midsize craft. When the doors to the observation deck slid open she was surprised by the spacious space that lay beyond. Unlike the Normandy, which had decks on the port and starboard side of her hull, the Erebus' maintained only one but it was on the top deck of the ship. A large, reinforced transparent bubble was positioned overhead on the dorsal axis of the ship. It allowed for a breathtaking, expansive view of the space beyond. It may have been a structural weakness, but the Erebus was not a warship and so it served as a popular place for passengers to congregate in an attempt to get away from the cramped confines of their quarters. At the moment, however, any view to the stars beyond were distorted by the red shifted light thanks to the Doppler Effect produced by the Erebus' faster-than-light travel.

Miranda was surprised to see Zaeed sitting alone upon a table in one of the lounge areas across the open space. He took notice of her entry, but quickly went back to whatever thoughts were occupying him. Miranda made her way over to the table and took a seat nearby.

"Trouble sleeping?" she queried disinterestedly. She had more pressing questions in mind for the mercenary, whom she still did not trust and regarded with a great deal of suspicion. But she needed to sound at least somewhat affable and create conversation in order for her to probe deeper into his motivations for joining their little off-world excursion. Those he'd given at the bar back on Earth had not satisfied her.

"I suppose," he grumbled. "They're running off Citadel standard time and it's got my sleep schedule buggered."

"I know the feeling."

"So is that what brings you up here in the middle of the night?" he asked dispassionately. He wasn't sure he really cared, but then he supposed if he was going to work with Jacob and Miranda he may as well make the effort to acquaint himself with them. He hadn't bothered with conversation during his stay aboard the Normandy. He'd kept to himself mostly then. Only Shepard had made regular visits to chat. He enjoyed sharing his experiences with the Commander. That was a man that could appreciate a good war story. But there was a condescending edge to Miranda's personality and Zaeed found it apparent enough to make conversation with her unpleasant.

"Just wandering the ship," she exclaimed. "I'm a curious person."

"You don't say? Maybe a side effect of being an intelligence officer for Cerberus. Information is the life blood of the intel community after all and you can't be too successful in that racket unless you're thirsty for it," Zaeed offered.

Miranda was surprised by his insight. It was true enough. "Speaking of curiosity," she began. Her index finger traced an innocuous pattern on the surface of the table. The action was very much like a guilty-minded child attempting to appear innocent. "I'd like to know more about your connection with this man, Diego Breytenbach."

Zaeed shrugged. "Like what?"

"You worked together, as you said, but that doesn't really characterize your relationship," she continued, clearly in intelligence gathering mode. "Were you friends? Comrades in arms with strong ties thanks to unit cohesion and shared dangers? Or just colleagues working together for a paycheck?"

Zaeed's mouth curled into the faintest of smirks. "Thorough."

"It's important to me, Zaeed," she told him almost commandingly. It was beyond important for Miranda Lawson. Trust did not come easy to the former Cerberus operative and she was loath to put her life in the hands of a man that made a living by working for the highest bidder. Establishing the nature of his relationship with Breytenbach was doubly important because it was very likely that Breytenbach was somehow tied to the organization that had abducted Archer from Jacob's home. If that were the case then it meant he would be an adversary. Zaeed's past ties with his former mercenary pal could certainly affect how things unfolded should a confrontation occur in the future.

Zaeed was no fool. He fully understood Miranda's reasons for curiosity and he knew she didn't trust him. It was rare for people to trust a gun-for-fire and after many years he'd become very skilled at ferreting out the truth when people professed just how much they actually thought he was when on the rare occasion they told him he was trustworthy. Only Shepard had seemed legitimately sincere in recent memory. That alone was almost enough to garner Zaeed's loyalty. "Breytenbach was Alliance. Like me."

Miranda nodded. "You said that on Earth."

The old mercenary looked down at his gloved hand. Unconsciously he flexed his fingers, his mismatched eyes concentrated on the palm of his hand. "In the early years I didn't realize the gift I had for killing," Zaeed started, his voice rusty and reminiscent, his mind a million miles away. "I came to the Alliance 'cause I wanted to see the galaxy and I damn sure didn't have a bloody chance at that growing up on the streets running with the yobbos.

"It didn't take long for the blokes in charge to see I had a knack for soldiering. I was an old hand at shooting and could soak up the worst they threw at me. Once I was posted to the fleet I got better and better. I could memorize the nomenclature of any guddamn weapon they stuck in my hands. And I could run a squad of commandos better than even some of the most veteran muckers in the unit," his voice was hoarse as his mind traversed the decades-old memories. "We got in a handful of violent punch-ups with slavers and the like and I proved myself well enough; first in combat on some derelict fueling station and then on a rundown pirate vessel. After a few runs like that I got the attention of a special purpose unit called the Voortrekkers," Zaeed grumbled at length. He paused for a moment and drew a cigar from a sustainment pouch somewhere on his body. He nibbled on the tip then lit it with an old zippo lighter. "Damn things never taste as good without a match."

"Voortrekkers? I've never heard of an outfit with that name," Miranda said curiously, her voice indicating interest in what he was saying.

"You wouldn't have. Back in those days there weren't many N7s and the trekkers were meant to fill in the gap between regular forces and what the N7s provided."

"I thought that's what Delta handled."

"They came along much later."

"So what kind of work did you do?"

"Mission profiles were mostly long-range recces. Alliance Navy didn't have the ships to keep up with the rapid expansion of colonies. Guddamn colonists were getting bushwhacked all over the bloody place and people were up in arms over the Alliance not protecting 'em," Zaeed remembered with some disdain. "Pirates, criminals, batarians, everyone was taking runs at human colonies that pushed to the fringes of controlled space. So they inserted small trekker teams onto backwater planets to look for signs of trouble."

"That doesn't sound very practical," Miranda offered with a sigh. Alliance brass never made very logical decisions in her mind. She thanked her stars for never serving. A lot could be said about Cerberus and the Illusive Man, but one thing was certain, she never had trouble with autonomy. Overarching goals were set by the Man but how that goal was achieved was on the project leader.

"It was, actually," Zaeed mused, his eyes glazing over with the memories for a moment as he exhaled a cloud of smoke. "Before these colonies were attacked the criminals usually put spotters on the deck to reckon how tough the nut would be to crack. We would spot them and call in quick reaction forces. Other times we were inserted onto even dodgier worlds to seek out and destroy the enclaves these bastards operated from."

"Okay," Miranda assented, then paused. "What does this have to do with Breytenbach though?"

"Keep your knickers on," Zaeed groused. "I'm getting to that." Another cloud of smoke escaped his lips. "I was with a four man recce team, inserted into the far end of some bloody savage valley. Job was to get in close and identify some batarian slaver. The boss man, they said. Only when we reached the objective we were compromised. Spent the next six hours in a running gunfight while we tried to egress out of there. Felt like the whole guddamn gang of batarians were on our arses."

He paused again. Took in a heavy drag of his cigar and blew the smoke out of parched lips. The memory of that day was burned more deeply in his mind than any event that came after. Sepp, Fedotenko, and Sadat. All killed. And I survived… It was to be the first time Zaeed was the lone survivor of an operation, but it became a hallmark of his later life. He led a fated, if not cursed, existence. But on that day the pain of loss was fresh. And very real.

"So what happened?"

"Bastards blew a hole in my chest the size of a guddamn football," Zaeed remarked sourly. He stubbed out the cigar on the surface of the table then put the still unfinished remnants back in his sustainment pouch. "And right before they killed me the cavalry showed up. Only it wasn't any cavalry. Just one man. An N7 type by the name of Breytenbach."

Miranda's eyes widened a bit at the revelation. So Diego Breytenbach had saved Zaeed's life long before he ever worked with him in the Grim Angels. That was troubling.

"They called the recce a failure and scrubbed the mission. I heard the slaver got smoked in a card game gone wrong a few weeks later. Who knows? I spent some time on a hospital ship and then they mustered me out of service with nothing but a shite military pension," Zaeed's voice was even and he scratched at his nose errantly. But Miranda detected the underlying bitterness over his post-mission treatment.

"And then?"

"And then I got into the bounty hunting racket. And business was good," the same old rusty chuckle rose up from his bowels and he seemed to have shed the somber manifestation of his old memories. "Ran into Diego years later. He got tore up real bad in some classified nonsense he wouldn't tell me about, but the Alliance left him high and dry like they did me. So we did some jobs together, I showed him the ropes of the trade and we went our separate ways."

"But this was before the Grim Angels?"

"Yeah," Zaeed confirmed. "Years later we ran into each other again and he told me about the outfit he had started with a lads. So I signed up for a hitch and did some time with the lot of them. And the rest is history."

Miranda eased back in her seat. Her face contorted into a veneer of contemplation. There was a lot of depth to their relationship; whatever reasons made Zaeed part ways with Breytenbach after the destruction of the Grim Angels there was no reason to believe the mercenary didn't harbor some degree of partiality toward his former cohort. But then, she had to admit her own appraisal of the man was that he didn't bother with niceties like personal loyalty or dependability. So was she wrong about him altogether? Was she harboring unfair sentiment toward Zaeed, born of her own distrust and misgivings about mercs? Or was there a special connection that existed because Breytenbach had saved Zaeed's life when he was much younger? It was hard to know and she didn't bother asking. The old warhorse was unlikely to reveal how he really felt, even though he'd been surprisingly forthcoming.

"Thank you for telling me all of that," Miranda expressed with some sincerity.

Zaeed shrugged. "All you need do is ask."

"I guess we didn't really get to know each other aboard the Normandy," Miranda admitted somewhat sheepishly. Truth be told she hadn't bothered getting to know much of anyone aboard the Normandy except for Shepard. She spent more than enough hours toiling away at her personal terminal filing after action reports and coordinating resupply. She had welcomed the solitary haven her own quarters provided, but there was always a secret feeling deep within that hoped Shepard would drop by to converse.

"No, I don't suppose we did," Zaeed agreed in his gravelly tone. "Don't worry your pretty little head too much about it, though."

Miranda's lips curled into a pretentious smirk. "I won't. But maybe we can remedy it this go around?" She rose from her seat at the table. "For now I think I'll get some shuteye."

"G'night," she heard Zaeed say as she made her way for the door. She wasn't sure if she felt better or had reason to be more apprehensive about the situation after their conversation. Whatever the case, she was confident in her ability to deal with trouble as it arose and she would be on guard as things developed. At least she knew she could rely on Jacob.