Immaculate – Miranda Lawson and Allele
–
The clock on Miranda's console clicked to mark the passage of four hours, and she awoke. She rose from her bed, fully alert, and checked her amplifier, her omni-tool, her pistol, her datapads. All were in order. In her mind's eye, she saw the clock counting down on the morning routine she'd programmed into it years ago. She waited for another click.
Click.
Twenty seconds to make the bed.
The clock clicked just as she finished tugging the last wrinkle out of place.
Thirty seconds to stretch.
She stretched, her long, graceful body melting between each pose before holding like a statue. Her mind remained blissfully empty, her muscles having long since memorized the length of each movement.
The clock clicked.
Forty-five seconds to dress. Miranda's Cerberus uniform slipped on easily, skin-tight over her already skin-tight gray underclothes. As flimsy as the suit looked, it was actually remarkably strong protection, weaved out of smart fibers inlaid with circuitry and tiny, hexagonal packets of a non-Newtonian fluid armor. It wasn't a hardsuit, by any means, but she and the Illusive Man had agreed that the effect her perfect body had on people was too valuable to hamstring beneath bulky ceramic plates. Everything about her outfit was calculated for maximum utility – even the geometric patterns were chosen to show her sculpted curves with the greatest detail. She pulled her boots and gloves on and fastened her belts.
The clock clicked again, and Miranda settled onto the floor. Her exercises were as fluid and mechanical as the rest of her morning routine. One hundred crunches, each repetition performed perfectly, without the tiniest wavering. One hundred lunges. One hundred leg lifts. No part of her body or mind was idle - tiny flickers of blue lanced on her fingertips as her hands moved from mnemonic to mnemonic. She counted down the time in her head, the spaces between each second filled with memorized lists of facts. She recited the previous evening's credit exchange value of twenty of the galaxy's most important currencies, then moved on to the names and titles of the members of the Alliance Parliament. Planetary governors were next.
The clock clicked again exactly as her mental count reached zero, and Miranda rolled onto her hands. Her body was stock still as she lifted it straight up, heels together, and held it for a few seconds before lowering it again. In her head she moved onto math, calling to mind the critical equations for FTL travel, economic formulas, and everything in between. It was the same lengthy mantra she'd recited every morning for fifteen years – one of the few remnants of her old life she still carried.
She always did it without error. She always finished each part at the appropriate second. She did not improve, nor try to – she was already there. Already perfect.
The few children her age she'd known as a child had called her a robot.
There was a knock at her door. When she did not answer the door opened and Jacob entered. She stared at him, upside-down, her lips still silently moving around each muttered fact. She always hated people to see her exercising – the mantras brought her a sense of comfort and utility and kept her mind and body well-honed, and yet having an audience had always made indulging in them feel like a weakness to her, like something of which she should be ashamed. True to his nature, though, Jacob did not take the opportunity to look at the shapely woman standing on her fingertips in front of him, but crossed his arms and waited, eyes politely averted. Miranda was grateful for his respectfulness.
The clock finally clicked and rolled over into a new countdown (arm pulls and the names of every capital ship in the Alliance fleets) until Miranda shut it off with a lightning-quick jab of her finger. It had taken quite some time before she was able to stop the program between modules (and she still couldn't bring herself to quit during an exercise in progress). Her muscles burned the tiniest bit, and a thin film of sweat clung to her skin as she finally acknowledged Jacob's presence.
He met her gaze. "Sorry, Miranda," he said, looking genuinely regretful. "I know you don't like to be interrupted."
"I'm fine," she said, trying and failing to brush the dreadnoughts out of her mind. "What do you need?"
SSV Elbrus, SSV Everest, SSV Fuji, SSV Aconcagua…
Jacob must have noticed her lips moving, for he shook his head. He looked almost sorry for her. "What is it this time?" he asked, ignoring her question.
SSV Kilimanjaro, SSV Orizaba, SSV Shasta, SSV Tai Shan…
"Ships," she said. Unbidden, her mind moved onto the cruisers.
SSV Alexandria, SSV Almadabad, SSV Cairo, SSV Cape Town, SSV Chicago, SSV Dallas, SSV Emden, SSV Frankfurt, SSV Istanbul, SSV Jakarta…
"Sorry," he repeated. At her impatient look, he continued. "I was just wondering where you were. We're going after Okeer. Shepard's already at the shuttle."
Miranda frowned. "He didn't tell me…" In between ship names, her mind rifled through the possibilities. Surely Shepard wasn't so short-sighted that he'd shelve her.
She felt her anger spike. Of course he was. Goddamnit, Shepard.
"Maybe he forgot?" Jacob said hopefully.
Miranda rolled her eyes and began to pace in a short circle. Her mental list sped up.
SSV Koln, SSV Lagos, SSV Madrid, SSV Manila, SSV Montreal, SSV Moscow, SSV Napoli, SSV New Delhi, SSV Osaka, SSV Perugia…
"Well… Let's go talk to him," Jacob said.
Miranda's fists curled but she continued to pace. Her mind was filled with quiet anger, but she had to finish the ships. At least to the end of the cruisers.
Recife Salvador Santiago Sao Paulo Seoul Shanghai Singapore Sydney Tokyo Warsaw.
As soon as she finished (she imagined the clock clicking over in her head) she stormed out of the room, Jacob on her heels. The whole crew deck seemed to smell her mood and she was given a wide berth.
"The ships thing?" Jacob said from behind her. "Not good for you."
Miranda pressed the elevator control panel. "It was never about being good for me."
12 days previously…
–
Tank Mother awoke and the Voice resumed. The krogan was waiting for her. As soon as he heard the telltale clicking signs that always preceded a new lesson flicker across his mind he started to shiver in anticipation. Today would surely be the day he would be given a name. Surely. He grinned as sensations flooded his mind, blocking out the blue-green haze that normally filled his whole world. The electrodes placed across his body began their work and his limbs started to twitch.
A creature appeared before his eyes. Instantly the krogan tried to categorize it, analyze the threat it presented. It was not an alien he'd seen before. Somewhat larger and more muscular than an asari, but thinner than most batarians. It was armored, he noted. Holding an assault rifle. The krogan wondered fleetingly if the Voice was pleased with him, but as usual the Voice only talked, never listened. The picture gained detail as the Voice went on.
Human, it said. Enemy, it said.
The krogan's mind was suddenly filled with instruction for how to kill it. The thin part below the round part at the top (neck, the Voice supplied) was easily broken. A suitable impact would kill the creature, or at least paralyze it. If he was strong enough. If he was the perfect krogan. The krogan felt his muscles contracting of their own accord, building strength, and imagined the human's neck cracking between his fingers. The Voice continued, low and rumbling, as it explained more ways to kill a human. Later it would click and change topics. It never stopped to let the krogan ask questions, never waited to see if he understood. Just constant whispering in his head.
The krogan kept everything in his memory as well as he could, doing his best to mask his disappointment as each click heralded a new imprint but still no name. Maybe tomorrow.
Presently…
–
Miranda entered the hangar, mind awash with angry possibilities. The roar of one of the cranes drowned out the chatter of a dozen crewmembers bustling about with crates of equipment. Miranda pushed past them without a second look, leaving Jacob apologizing in her wake.
Shepard was leaned up against the side of the Kodiak, fully armored and ready for battle. His assault rifle gleamed on his back.
"I don't know, Mordin!" he was shouting over the noise. "I've never operated equipment like this before!"
"Said you wanted me to remain here, continue investigating neutralization options," Mordin's voice boomed back, amplified by the sound equipment mounted behind his head. "But if needed, could accompany you and operate." The salarian emerged from the shuttle and headed for a toolbox atop a nearby crate.
Shepard shook his head. "No no, we need those countermeasures ASAP."
Mordin sighed audibly as he selected his tool of choice. "Then scanning your responsibility," he said, "Okeer's technology may be immobile. May refuse to part with it. Will want accurate scans either way."
"Alright, alright. We'll figure it out." Shepard said, standing up straight as he caught sight of Miranda. His expression hardened.
"Commander, I-" Miranda said, managing to restrain her anger and sound civil. He held up a hand, silencing her as their newest squad member approached, arms laden with a stack of heavy boxes.
"Garrus, you got it?" Shepard asked, approaching the turian. Miranda seethed quietly as the commander helped get the equipment loaded. He was putting her on hold, asserting his dominance by showing that he could make her wait. She knew the move well – the Illusive Man did it to her all the time – and she hated it. Part of her wanted to haul off and punch the arrogant man in the face, but she restrained herself. She had to play nice. The Illusive Man wanted her to get along with Shepard and so she would try.
Damn if he wasn't making it hard, though.
"That's the last of it, Commander," Garrus said once they had everything aboard. The turian's beady eyes flitted to Miranda's face for a moment. His plated face betrayed no emotion that Miranda could recognize, but she felt her anger rising all the same.
"Good. Hop in and see what you can figure out about those scanners. We leave in five. Jacob!" he said, turning. Jacob stepped forward, saluting. "Make sure Hawthorne has everything ready to fly us down there. I want this mission high and tight. No AA guns involved."
"Aye aye, Commander," Jacob said. He bustled off to do Shepard's bidding, but not before tossing Miranda a pitying glance. She just glared.
"Commander," Miranda repeated, voice impatient. At length, Shepard turned back to face her, a mockingly innocent look on his face. "Is there a reason you did not request my assistance on Korlus?"
"Yeah, Miranda, yeah there is," he said, absently picking at a peeling seal on his wrist. "I heard you were working up a report for your boss. Thought you could use some extra time to finish it." He glared defiantly at her.
"You thought no such thing," she said darkly. "I complete my obligations to the Illusive Man on my own time, not yours."
"Just being cautious, Miranda. I wouldn't want him to be misinformed," Shepard said, crossing his arms across his chest. She was almost caught off balance by the steel in his gaze. "Are you sure you've told him everything?" Shepard asked, frowning. "How many times I've gone to the bathroom? I lost count a few days ago but I'm sure you can check your cameras."
"Listen, Shepard," Miranda said, changing tactics. "Whatever your personal feelings for me or for Cerberus, you have a responsibility to act in humanity's best interests. My skills are valuable and you are foolish to refuse them."
Shepard shook his head, not buying it. "Your skills are irrelevant if you aren't on my side," he said, continuing to stare her down. Daring her to disagree. He was looking better today – still a bit pale, but there was an intensity to him Miranda hadn't seen before. His eyes were starting to heal up, the blue-gray color they'd held in life starting to reappear over the glowing red of machinery beneath, and Miranda thought she caught a momentary glimpse of who the man in front of her had been. This was the savior of the Citadel. This was the man who'd talked Saren Arterius into killing himself. The man who'd been to the ends of the galaxy and back, who'd already stopped the first wave of a Reaper invasion before Cerberus even knew they existed. A man who right now was angry with her. Anyone else might have been paralyzed by the idea. "I don't have time to argue this, Miranda," Shepard said. "Korlus' day is half over and we need to get moving." He stepped up into the shuttle. "We'll talk when I get back.
His eyes never left her as he palmed the close door button. Look what I can do, they said. I'm in charge. Miranda just stared back, breathing deep to bottle her anger up as best she could. Now was not the time to blow up. They both had responsibilities to humanity – and at least she took hers more seriously than petty disagreements.
"Look on the bright side!" Shepard called over the sound of the door hydraulics. "This'll give you something new for your report. Say hi to Tim for me!" The shuttle closed with a noisy hiss, cutting off any possible retort. Miranda's fists clenched in rage.
"Please evacuate the hangar," EDI's voice calmly intoned. "Shuttle is departing."
7 days previously…
–
Tank Mother had been asleep a long time, and the krogan worried. The silence unnerved him. It left his mind open to fill with his own thoughts instead of the Voice, and his own thoughts did not appeal. They were tentative, filled with holes that he had no way to fill. Instead of seeing what the Voice wanted him to see, he saw only the algae-encrusted glass surface of his world and the murky shapes moving beyond. He heard the gentle bubbles and the chatter of machines in his ears. Usually he slept through the moments of silence and awoke to the Voice but now… only silence in his head.
He wondered what his name was. Maybe tomorrow. Maybe tomorrow.
Without warning the Voice sounded, and the krogan's eyes opened wide. The Voice was… different. Muffled and quiet, from somewhere out beyond the edge of the world, from out among the shapes. It rang in his liquid-clogged ears, not in his head like usual. But it was the Voice – he would recognize it anywhere. He tried to channel all his focus into hearing, into making out the words.
Imperfect. Hesitance, something about hesitance, and Warlord Moro. The Voice sounded angry, filled with frustration. Disappointed. The krogan felt terrible. Had he disappointed the Voice? Was he imperfect?
Imperfect.
Another voice, quieter, higher than the one he knew so well. Frightened. He could not make out the words. The two voices shouted at one another before quieting. The krogan's mind reeled to keep up. His hearts beat faster.
The krogan's ears suddenly filled with a horrible noise. The droning of machines, louder beyond metaphor than anything he'd heard in his short life. It roared in his head and he reflexively cried out, choking. He stared up and watched in terror as the bluish liquid that had cradled him his entire existence began to recede. His world was shrinking. The goo drained away rapidly, dipping below his head, and he began to cough violently. Emptiness filled his lungs. Dazzling lights and sounds appeared, blaring in his brain.
The liquid was gone, and the world opened up. Some fleeting part of the krogan's mind told him he had to stand up, had to use his… legs… but it was too late and he collapsed, falling out of Tank Mother. A solid surface met him without mercy. He did not move.
"Get him out of my lab," the Voice growled in his ears. Louder, more pure and real than he'd ever heard it. It was beautiful. "He is unworthy to sit next to my masterpiece. My… perfect krogan."
As he felt the many hands grab him and drag him away, the krogan looked back into the bright emptiness that was this new world and saw his Tank Mother, split open and empty. Dead. Next to her, another Tank Mother. Filled with another krogan.
The perfect krogan.
Presently…
–
The Illusive Man's image puffed quietly on the last embers of his cigarette. Miranda, standing in the ship's communicator room, remained silent, watching him think. Waiting for him to say something.
"Unfortunate," he concluded finally.
"Unfortunate?" Miranda asked, exasperated by his calmness. "Shepard's shutting me out! What are we going to do?"
"Unfortunate," the Illusive Man repeated quietly, staring at her with his glittering eyes, "but not entirely unforeseen. We never expected this would be easy." Miranda just smoldered. "We wanted Shepard back, just as he was, and we got him."
"You wanted him back just as he was. If you had just let me implant the control devices-"
The Illusive Man actually stood up. "No!" he barked, cutting her off. "Enough, Miranda. That argument is over."
Miranda quieted, and at length the Illusive Man retook his seat. She glowered at the Man. For a moment, with his face obscured by the shadows of his office, he looked very much like her father. Both of them were tall men, sharply dressed and handsome. And both expected her loyalty without question.
The Illusive Man crushed out his cigarette and produced another from a hidden pocket. He lit it and took a decadent puff, closing his eyes and savoring as he exhaled.
Miranda's father had never smoked, nor drank, nor caroused, nor gambled. Her father had never married and Miranda could count the number of times she'd seen him with a woman at all on one hand. Miranda could hardly remember ever seeing her father smile when he wasn't acting in front of a guest. Miranda could not deny that she was similar – she was practically a clone, after all. She hated frivolities. Waste. Hedonism.
Yet somehow the Illusive Man's weaknesses for pleasure made him better than her father.
One of many reasons he was.
Miranda was no fool – she knew the Illusive Man and her father were the same in many ways. She wasn't stupid enough to think The Illusive Man actually cared for her any more than her father had. They both saw her as a tool and little more, whatever they might say to her.
And yet there was something altogether unsatisfying about being a tool for someone so small as Henry Lawson. He was close-minded, ignorant of the bigger picture. His universe extended no further than the reach of his own arms. Miranda was too good for him, her talents wasted on his arrogant goals.
A tool could not be smarter than its master.
So she served the Illusive Man. Everything her father was, the Illusive Man was ten times more. His quiet intellect dwarfed the rest of the human race, made them all into tools for his use. Miranda had long ago understood she was a tool. All people were, to their own capacities, and the fact that Miranda was a great tool changed nothing. Great tools had a place in the universe, serving great causes, and The Illusive Man's was the greatest of causes. In his hands was where she belonged.
The Illusive Man spoke at length. "Garrus Vakarian," he said, "can we trust him?"
"I haven't spoken with him. You'd have to ask Chambers."
"I'm asking you. Can we allow him to remain on the Normandy?"
Miranda was quiet for a moment, thinking. "We have to," she concluded. "He's devoted to Shepard and a damn sight smarter than the doctor or that idiot pilot, and letting him stay will be making our job that much more difficult. But Shepard needs him. I don't think we can risk acting against him, even in secret, if we ever want Shepard's allegiance."
"You can accept having a turian on board?"
"The turians have their uses," Miranda said. "They aren't unpredictable. They have a place. As long as we keep that place in mind, there is no reason we can't get along." Miranda had never considered herself racist per se, in that racism implied that discrimination was unjustified. Whatever the turians were, they weren't humans, and so Miranda was quite justified in placing their concerns secondary. But she had no more interest in purposefully harming aliens than in harming the weapon on her belt.
The Illusive Man looked satisfied with that answer, and nodded. "I expect you to continue working on Shepard," he said. "The control device you mentioned – we aren't in disagreement over the results, only the method. We need Shepard on our side. Eventually."
"What am I supposed to do?" Miranda asked, annoyed.
"You know very well what you're supposed to do. You're just going to have to work harder at it. You're used to working on men way beneath your league. Shepard's an actual challenge, but not an insurmountable one. He isn't going to fall for it as easily, but it doesn't mean he won't fall for it at all. You just need to try harder."
"He hates me already," she said despondently. "I'm afraid charisma isn't one of my skills."
"Men are predictable, Miranda. You know that. Shepard may be the best man out there, but he's still just a man. Play things right and he'll do whatever you want."
"It'll be hard to play things at all if he won't let me near him."
"Figure it out. Give him time. Let him be angry at you for now. Do things right and he'll be eating out of your palm in no time." He gave her a look that from any other man might have seemed lecherous, but his face was as devoid of feeling as ever.
Miranda frowned, crossing her arms uncomfortably. There was an awkward silence.
"If you can't do it, Chambers will," the Man said after a moment, voice suddenly serious. His hand moved to hover over the control panel on his chair, the sign that the conversation was about to end. "By the way, in light of Shepard's apparent soft spot for ruthless mercenary killers," he said, voice dripping with sarcasm, "I've forwarded you a new dossier. A human bounty hunter. I've arranged for his loyalty and explained the situation. Consider him on your side." His fingers twitched. "Don't disappoint me, Miranda."
6 days previously…
–
His name was Allele. That would be his name. He'd heard the quiet, second voice, the voice of the blue woman (asari, his mind corrected) say it as he'd been dragged to Jedore's training ground and fitted with armor. He didn't know what it meant, but it sounded right on his tongue.
Allele.
"Pay attention to me when I'm speaking to you, krogan," Jedore snapped. He stared dourly at her from behind his new helmet, ignoring her bluster. He liked the helmet. It darkened things. Reminded him of Tank Mother. Still, in the darkness it was easy to forget to… breathe. He was still getting used to that.
Jedore paced around the room like a predator, waving her gun haphazardly about. The five or six guards behind her followed her movements with worried looks on their faces. Allele ignored them all, staring instead at the other krogan – helmeted and armored just as he was – standing stoically in the back of the room. Even if they could not see each other's eyes, there was a silent understanding between them. Allele wondered what the other krogan's name was. He would ask if he got the chance, and perhaps offer one of the other words the asari had said if they were needed (though he was saving some of these words for special occasions.)
Jedore stared up at Allele, eyes squinting in anger. She was small, even for a human, but her temper vast. The Voice had said there were many like her in the galaxy. Individuals who believed they were greater than they were. People who did not know they were weak, imperfect. "As I was saying," Jedore said, waving her gun under Allele's chin, "you are now a soldier in my army. You will follow my commands."
Allele ignored her. The suggestion was patently ridiculous – if the Voice had made nothing else clear, it was that everything hinged on strength. Strength was worthiness, strength was perfection, and Jedore was a puffing little creature of arrogance and greed, a nuisance to be stomped on and ignored. She was unworthy of him, imperfect though he might be. Allele looked to the other krogan again, wondered what he thought of Jedore.
Go for the turian first, the Voice seemed to whisper into his memories. Grab the crest and yank forwards. Tear his gun from his grip and toss his body into the two humans. Shoot Jedore, then take cover behind the console. Survive. Survive. Kill them to survive.
Allele's arms were still shackled behind his back. The commands were impossible. "Jedore does not have an army," he said instead, parroting the Voice.
Jedore glared at him, furious. "You will refer to me as Commander or Warlord only!" she shouted. "You are my soldier! You are my property! You must prove yourself to me! WARLORD." Beneath his helm, Allele's eyes widened and his blood began to boil with an anger he could not explain. That word… it was not hers to have. It was no alien's to have.
Jedore and her entourage could not smell the two krogans' fury fill the room. One of her guards, however, shook his head in exasperation and spoke. "Come on, Jedore. They obviously don't like that word. We haven't gotten even one of them to say it. It isn't going to happen."
"Silence!" she snapped. "It will follow my commands or it will die!"
Jedore was not a large woman, and the impact of three hundred kilograms of imperfect krogan sent her flying into the wall. Shouts of anger and surprise came from every direction as the two krogan attacked, upending consoles and stampeding over guards. Allele's brain seemed to explode with anger. He would not die. He would survive.
Gunfire rang out. Allele felt the shots tear through his body, and blackness took him.
Presently…
–
Miranda sat at her desk, staring at the half-finished document on her screen. Her fingers hovered over the haptic keys, but her mind was elsewhere. Still with the Illusive Man.
She did not like the idea of seducing Shepard. In fact, she never liked the idea of seducing anyone. Whatever the Illusive Man claimed, she simply wasn't good at it. Half the jobs he thought she'd pulled off with charm and looks alone she'd actually pulled off at the end of a gun. It was true she had assets that often loosened male tongues, but if they didn't work, Miranda was lost.
She wasn't about to pull a gun on Shepard, but she couldn't try and seduce him either. The man already hated her for all the lies she'd had to tell him. Something told her that he'd see through her best attempt in a heartbeat and she'd just have given him another reason to hate her.
She removed her hands from the keys and cradled her head. She didn't like being like this. She wanted Shepard's approval just as much as Jacob did, but unlike him she had certain responsibilities. She had a place. The fact that she didn't like that place didn't change that. All her talents, all her insight, only trapped her tighter in the world. Jacob could do what he wanted.
Jacob can't do everything he wants, her conscience reminded her, and she felt her cheeks. As little as she bothered to engage socially, Miranda wasn't stupid. She saw the way her lieutenant looked at her, the torch he still carried, despite his claims to the contrary. She didn't deserve his adoration. Their brief relationship had had its moments, but she'd managed to cut it apart and end it – as she had ended so many other things – in the name of her work.
Of course when she'd broken things off Jacob had managed to convince himself that it was for the best, that he wasn't good enough for her, and that fact made Miranda feel an unwelcome and persistent guilt.
She knew it was the other way around. Despite all the social training her father and the Illusive Man had put her through, all the strategies for lying and conciliating your foes, all the ways to use her sex appeal to get ahead in the business world, when it came to connecting with a man she actually valued, she had proven woefully inadequate to the task. Jacob had done everything for her and yet she hadn't been able to conquer her own distrust. Every time he tried, every compliment he gave her just brought her back to the 'dates' her father had arranged for her back at his estate. The hollow, vacuous men of wealth and power he'd set her out to stud with like she was a bargaining chip in a business merger. Men who weren't even her father's intellectual match, let alone hers. Their empty praise had fallen on deaf ears – she knew she was beautiful, she knew she was talented, couldn't they tell her something interesting?
Then, after she had escaped, there had been other men; base, hormone-driven excuses she'd thrown herself at in her determination to defy every dimension of her father's plans for her. She'd told herself she enjoyed it, that the physical pleasure of her brief flings overcame whatever mental component they were lacking, but she'd known even then it had been a lie. In time she'd been forced to concede that she could not base her identity on being the opposite of her father – she had to learn to hate him and love herself without forgetting that they were nearly clones.
She knew Jacob didn't deserve to be compared to any of those men – not her father, not the rich dullards, not the one-night stands, not even the Illusive Man. And yet she couldn't get it out of her head.
There was a knock on the door, pulling Miranda out of her self-loathing spiral. "Come in," she said, putting on a neutral face.
Yeoman Chambers entered, smiling as usual. "You called for me, Miranda?" she asked, sitting when Miranda gestured at the chair.
"Yes," she said at length, pretending to finish up her report.
"I had the most fascinating conversation with Dr. Chakwas this morning!" Chambers exclaimed, almost trembling with excitement. "Did you know she once got to treat Andre Kaygn?" She growled lustily, grinning ear to ear. "He was actually shooting a scene aboard a decommissioned warship when he got knocked out by an emergency door. He didn't want to break character so he demanded to be treated by a military doctor. Isn't that exciting!?"
Miranda looked blankly at her. "Fascinating, Yeoman Chambers," she said.
Chambers seemed to sense the menace in her voice and fell silent. "Sorry, Miss Lawson," she peeped, folding her hands between her knees.
"I want you to stop sleeping your way across the ship and get to work on Shepard," Miranda said.
Chambers feigned a hurt look. "Now that's not fair, ma'am," she said, "I haven't slept my way through even half the ship yet." She grinned.
"Yeoman Chambers…"
"Kidding, ma'am. I've been good. I've talked to Shepard a few times. I think he's warming up to me, but he's actually quite introverted. He comes across as so smooth and confident when you talk to him, but inside he's just a nervous little boy. Definitely slow to trust, himself most of all. I wonder if he was betrayed… Anyway, he called me Kelly the other day, so I think I'm breakin' 'im down."
Miranda just stared at Chambers' toothy grin. She'd never liked the Yeoman. She knew the woman had talents – her memory, her good looks, and a surprisingly thick resume, considering her young age – but she was just such a twittery, flakey idiot. Somehow the same hedonism that made the Illusive Man seem so real and perfect made Chambers seem so… useless. "I'll put it simply, Yeoman Chambers," Miranda said. "You are here to convince Shepard he can trust Cerberus. That is the only reason you were hired. Stop screwing around and get it done or I will see to it that you are removed from the Normandy."
Now the hurt that crossed Chambers's face was genuine. "I…I was hand picked by the Illusive Man for this mission," she said, voice quiet. "I'm the psychologist."
"Don't be naïve. You're practically a girl. What place do you think you have aboard Commander Shepard's ship? Do you really think your qualifications stand next to the rest of the crew's?"
"I… umm…"
"Let's look at a few at random, shall we? Jeff Moreau. Graduated Arcturus Flight Academy with honors at age nineteen, number one in his class, leaving behind eleven course records, seven of which still stand. Devi Patel, former Alliance AI specialist, prodigy programmer, and the only reason the Hannibal system didn't wipe out Armstrong. Lawrence Hadley, three time winner of the Asimov Prize in heuristic scanning and cyber-defense and inventor of the di-photon DS spectrographic camera." She raised a mocking eyebrow. "Need I go on?"
Chambers was silent. Miranda knew she'd struck a nerve – Chambers obviously had considered how paltry her own accomplishments looked next to the rest of the crew. Miranda had argued at length with the Illusive Man over including the woman at all – he had been confident she was the best choice, even after Miranda had brought him a list of thirty more qualified psychologists, many with military specialties or other talents that Chambers simply couldn't match. In the end she'd been overruled, but she hadn't given up the quiet hope that her concerns would be borne out, that Chambers would crack under the pressure and need to be replaced.
"You were put here because the Illusive Man thought Shepard would have a thing for redheads," she said. "Nothing more. Now do your job."
Chambers nodded and stood to leave, but stopped in the doorway. "I'm sorry the Commander shut you out, ma'am," she said quietly. "I hope yelling at me helped."
–
Allele stared impassively as he felt the batarian struggle for its life. The flimsy creature grasped futilely at his steel-fingered grip on its neck, trying in vain to pry it away. Allele was not perfect, but Allele was stronger than this batarian. He tightened his fingers a little more, watching the merc's face change colors. A little more. A little more.
The merc went limp. Allele dragged its body to the nearest pit and tossed it in, listening to it bounce off the steel walls to the ground far below. A quick scan of the area found him his gun, which the batarian had managed to kick from his grip during their brief struggle. That shamed him, at least a little. The perfect krogan would have held onto his weapon.
Allele had been fighting the mercenaries for several days now. After attacking Jedore, he'd awoken atop a pile of corpses in the shadow of a disassembled engine. Holes still riddled his armor from where he'd been shot, and yet, aside from a roaring pain in his belly, he found himself more or less intact. He was distilled from strong lines, lines known for their regenerative abilities. Imperfect or not, he was stronger than Jedore. He would survive. The other krogan had not been so lucky, however – Allele had found his body not five meters away, his helmet cracked and great, smoking holes obscuring his face. Allele had stared at his friend's body for many hours, waiting to see if he would awaken, but when two days passed and the krogan remained still, he knew he had to move on. He named his friend Decant and left him where he lay. He'd killed every merc he'd seen since then, taking their weapons for himself. He'd imagined Decant was with him.
As Allele stooped to examine the batarian's assault rifle he heard the sounds of gunfire coming from a distant tunnel. He did not follow them. That was not his goal. The mercs would come to him or they would not. Either way, Allele would not kill them unless they threatened him. He would survive. He was not perfect, but he had a purpose.
Instead he sat on one of the sunniest ledges he could find and stared into his feet, listening to the fighting approach.
An hour passed and Allele lifted his massive head to see three blood-stained figures emerging from the tunnel. Allele grabbed his gun and dutifully rose to his feet, ready to fight. The warriors coming through – two humans and a turian – were not the same colors as the mercenaries, but Allele could smell the krogan blood on them from a distance. They were a threat. They would have to die, so Allele could survive. He was quiet as he approached.
He would survive. The Voice would be proud.
–
Miranda was halfway through Zaeed Massani's dossier when she heard the telltale rumble of the ship's hangar opening. She ignored it, too deep in concentration (and angry at Shepard) to care.
She heard the shuttle depart and return several times before, late that evening, Shepard finally came to visit her. The commander was back in his Cerberus uniform and freshly showered, though he'd apparently forgotten his belt (or been too tired to bother with it). He knocked on Miranda's door and, when she beckoned, flopped into the chair.
They were silent for a time, Miranda staring at Shepard while he stared somewhere past the floor, lost in thought. The Illusive Man's orders echoed in her ears. She had to get along. "How did Korlus go?" she asked quietly, breaking the silence.
"Okeer is dead," Shepard grunted without looking up. "Poisoned himself to save his work."
"I see…" Miranda said. "Did you obtain what the Collectors had given him?"
"Maybe. Not very damn much of it, anyway."
Miranda did not let herself feel a wave of pride at how poorly the mission had gone without her. She genuinely did want Shepard to succeed, regardless of their personal situation, and they'd been banking on Okeer's Collector technology to be critical evidence for Mordin's research.
Shepard finally met her gaze with his own.
"We did, however, come back with something else. A bio-engineered krogan."
Miranda's eyes widened. "Alive?" she asked.
"Mordin says so, at least. In a pod for now. We set him up on the lower decks. I want you to help Mordin analyze him, see what he's good for."
"The Illusive Man would s-"
"I don't care what the Illusive Man would say," Shepard interrupted, waving a hand. "I want you and Mordin to tell me what the krogan is capable of. If he can be useful to us. Can you do that?" Shepard's eyebrows rose expectantly.
Miranda recognized what he was trying to do. It was a gesture of peace, a chance to get back in his good graces. A chance to switch her loyalties.
She frowned. The man thought she was so easily manipulated? Thought he could force her into choosing him over Cerberus just by making her sit out a mission or two? He was grossly misinformed. Miranda was not one of his lovey-dovey ultraloyal devotees who would follow him anywhere just because he took the time to ask about their pasts and stared at them oh-so-honestly. "Sorry, Shepard," she said, glaring defiantly at him. "I'm not quite finished counting how many times you've gone to the bathroom."
Shepard frowned for a moment, searching Miranda's eyes for something that wasn't in them. Then he slammed a hand on her desk in anger, the look on his face that of a man who'd gambled and lost. "Right," he said, "Take all the time you need."
4 hours previously…
–
Allele blinked in Korlus' harsh evening sunlight. A thick layer of blood was caked over his face, casting the world into an orange hue. He could feel the bloodrage roaring through his head, pounding against the walls in fury at the severity of his injuries.
He looked down at the smoking mess where his chest armor used to be, remembering vividly the explosion pluming. The strangers-who-were-not-mercenaries did not hold back. As soon as they'd seen him the one in front, one of the humans, had hefted a grenade launcher and put him down in a single shot. Allele remembered the way his hearts had sunk when he saw the shot arcing towards him, leaving a trail of smoke in its path. He had made a mistake, and he would die for it. Imperfect.
Now… he did not know. He was not dead yet, though he did not relish the idea of meeting anyone else. He stayed still, ignoring the angry hunger in his stomachs as his body rushed to repair itself. He even felt the tickle of leaked battery acid burning at his exposed skin, but did not lift himself from his position, splayed out across the floor.
He lay like that for a long time, eyes closed and mind filled with memories of the Voice.
He heard the scuff of boots and opened one eye. He watched motionlessly as the source of the noise – a human Blue Sun, carefully set up a rocket launcher, training it on the door through which the three strangers had gone. Allele did not make a sound.
Minutes later voices came from the door and the Blue Sun tensed, ducking down to avoid being seen. Allele opened his other eye. The strangers were back, accompanied this time by several other humans in gray and black. A salarian strode at the fore, calling out orders and gesticulating with his spindly arms as the humans pushed a mass effect sled laden with a massive machine of metal and glass.
Tank Mother. Allele blinked repeatedly, shocked to recognize the Voice's perfect krogan, still inert in Tank Mother's quiet embrace.
The Blue Sun poked his head up, hefted his rocket launcher, and took aim. Allele's eyes widened in shock. He was going to destroy the perfect krogan! He was going to destroy the Voice's perfect krogan! Allele's blood surged with new purpose.
He leapt to his feet without a beat of hesitation and dove for the human just as the missile left the barrel. An explosion blossomed at Allele's feet as his hands wrapped around the shocked mercenary's head. Allele saw the superheated shrapnel tear through him but felt nothing, his pain hidden under anger and drive. Even as the force of the rocket sent him and the human tumbling over the edge, Allele's only thought was on protecting the perfect krogan. This was his purpose. He had to kill the weak and protect the strong. It was what he was for.
Perfect.
–
Codex Entry: Excerpts from the notes of Dr. Rana Thanopsis
Page 45. Day 418. Korlus facility.
- - Ran mark assay on lung epithelial tissue extracts from subject batch 12. Data workup will wait until protein identities can be confirmed, but error bars look within acceptable levels. At least four of the subjects exhibit submaximal expression levels. Suspect redundancy mechanism at play for lung function tests show no deficiencies, but Okeer is not satisfied with that explanation and ordered them purged.
- - Sequencing of batch 13 fetuses finished. Mutation rate calculated at one per 8x10^8 bases. Only marginally improved over batch 12. Rapid krogan mutation mechanisms well-established in literature, likely not avoidable even with Okeer's technology. Genetic therapy corrections possible for 8 out of 12 units – will broach the subject with Okeer. Do not expect much.
- - Despite Okeer's insistences, I have continued to study his unusual equipment and am convinced it is of Reaper origin. It is frighteningly similar to the samples Saren had instructed Dr. Alluviun and myself to study on Virmire. The material is otherworldly –it is as hard as cruiser armor but in your hand it is light, like chalk. I can feel the mass effect fields coursing within it, even from across the room. Out of curiosity, I cast a small field upon its surface. It crashed to the ground, its weight increased many fold. Seconds later it appeared to reassert its own field and I could lift it again.
Signature: R. Thanopsis.
Read and understood by:
Page 177. Day 501. Korlus facility.
- - Sequencing on batch 23 fetuses finished. Polymerase engineering reduced mutation rate to approximately one per 3x10^13 bases. Batch 23 fetuses display almost no deviation away from the base genetic donors Okeer seeks! Point mutations are reversible on all but two subjects, who have since been released to Jedore. Okeer has agreed to move on to the next stage.
- - Stage four technically not as complicated as stage three engineering – it is primarily a matter of distributing the traits of the different donors in the right combination. Satisfying Okeer, however, is obviously not going to be easy. Was Shiagur's temperament perfect, or was Kredak's? His definition of perfect is either very specific or completely amorphous, and reaching it is going to be difficult when he refuses to discuss his reasons. Krogan minds are not my place to know, he says.
- - Growth acceleration and analysis of new individuals is astonishingly quick with Okeer's Reaper technology, and the data he had on the krogan genome is perhaps the most comprehensive genetic analysis of a sentient species ever completed, but correlation of specific traits to specific genes is still an extremely complicated matter. Okeer is largely uninterested in the science behind the project.
- - Work on the revised in vitro training system is going well. The connection with Reaper indoctrination remains a worry, but so far I have detected no evidence of the neural breakdown observed on Virmire. I managed to recreate much of Dr. Alluviun's work for Saren's krogan. Okeer disapproved of much of the content, of course, but the technology is more or less in place to present any desired sensory input into a subject's brain. Okeer insists upon recording all of the information himself and, to be fair, has not needed assistance on the process in more than two weeks. Some of his requests for extranet information are infuriatingly obscure, however. How does he expect me to find unclassified footage of the Battle of Canrum while juggling two hundred krogan embryos? I asked him to hire more aid, but he says I am uniquely qualified as the only surviving researcher from Saren's facility. Call me crazy, but his praise is of little consolation.
- - Jedore is becoming a problem. Her funds have, of course, been invaluable, or I imagine Okeer would have killed her already for her intrusions.
Signature: R. Thanopsis.
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Page 251. Day 651. Korlus facility.
- - Okeer has acquired fifty additional tanks. That brings our total to five hundred forty tanks, five hundred eleven of which are filled. Many of the oldest surviving krogan fetuses (subjects 3, 8, and 12 from batch 25) are reaching adult size, but I estimate less than 1% are allowed to make it that far before Okeer finds some arcane fault and kicks them out to free up space for a new try.
- - I have given up trying to understand Okeer. Most of his demands are mutually incoherent. If he has a rhyme or reason, he won't share it with me. My efforts to remove the genophage markers were not appreciated. I maintain that it would take me less than a month or two to engineer it out of new subjects with the Reaper instruments, but when I mentioned my preliminary data to Okeer he nearly broke my neck.
- - Aside from Okeer's arbitrary rejections, the subjects' development is proceeding normally. Most are exceptionally healthy and take to the physical and mental conditioning treatments with no difficulty. Rejected krogan are capable of walking and operating weapons within a few minutes of decanting. Their mental development is, quite predictably, stunted, and my repeated suggestions to give them time and training after decanting to calm their unpredictable outbursts have been entirely ignored by Okeer and Jedore alike.
- - Another one of Jedore's krogan went berserk yesterday and apparently killed her guard captain. Three of her guards cornered me in the lab this morning, blaming the incident on my training protocols. I feared for my life, and my best explanations were reduced to stutters at the point of a gun. Okeer saved me. He tore all three men limb from limb and told me to get back to work. I am not sure whether to be grateful, especially after he ate one of the mercenaries' arms and left the rest to fester in my lab. Still, he remains only the second worst lab master I have worked for. Saren would have let me die and promoted my assistant to dissect my remains.
Signature: R. Thanopsis.
Read and understood by:
Page 411. Day 706. Korlus facility.
- - Okeer has ejected all but three of the krogan, including more than a hundred that were not yet viable and had to be discarded. Their remains form a pile taller than I am. What a waste of life.
- - Okeer is getting crazier and crazier. I risk the hope that he may finally be satisfied with these final three before I am asked to begin a new batch. Subject 6 of batch 28 appears to be his favorite. He is one of the largest we've made – his armor had to be specially crafted – though he is otherwise physically indistinguishable from his failed brethren, which now number almost a thousand. Clearly his 'perfection' is more in Okeer's analysis of his mental state than his physical.
- - Jedore is increasingly unstable as well. I do not know what her purpose for the krogan was, but I am utterly relieved that she has been unable to harness them.
Signature: R. Thanopsis.
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–
UPDATED 09/26/21 – Readability and minor continuity fixes (no longer mentions Zorya). Also adjusted the first section to better reflect my original intent re: Miranda's exercises.
A/N: Chapter 7! So, this was a tough one to write, because I think the character is very complicated. Miranda never quite gelled for me in game, but I think she has a lot of potential. I hope I can ultimately unlock some of that potential in ways the game did not (for me, at least). Do let me know what you think.
So... I've gotten a number of comments asking when this Tali/MShep story is actually going to feature Tali and MShep in the same scene. I apologize to those looking mostly to score some interaction scenes between them - I did not mean to falsely advertise. That said, it is coming, and soon. More than that you'll have to read on to find out, but I promise to get Tali worked back into the story as soon as is reasonably possible. Good things come to those who wait, yes?
As before, many thanks to my beta Angurvddel, who continues to be invaluable.
Chapter 8 is coming along well, and focuses on a character I really enjoy writing. I've decided to stop saying "Character X is unpopular" because every time I do I end up being wrong, but I can confidently say character X from chapter 8 is not popular in proportion to his badassery