Pt.7 Redemption

Monday, April 28, 2183 / Omega Station, Sahrabarik, Omega Nebula, Terminus Systems / 3 years, 25 days Pre Reaper invasion of Earth

Unlike the theories and dramatizations of so many popular space vids I've seen over the years- or the few I somehow managed to find time for. Shepard was always proficient at making sure I provided my mind a rest every so often- empty space is dark. Blacker than the thickest velvet curtains covering a midnight window. Vids tend to portray even the most vast of solar systems as groups of still planetoids clustered tightly together, shining brightly, lit by a star vibrant enough to be seen parsecs away.

In reality, there is no ambient radiant source scattered around deep space, or past a certain point in a solar system. Light must always be created, be it from a star or reflection. On our colonies and home worlds we have atmospheres that scramble and dispense particles in every which direction.

Space doesn't have a sky capable of this feat. There isn't any atmosphere. As a result anything subjected to powerful enough illumination in the gravitational vacuum shines on one side in stark contrast to the deep shadow of its rear. Only visible as a silhouette. Otherwise, the craft, station, or planetoid is indistinguishable from the veil.

So was the view for the Venatrix on our way to intercept Liara T'Soni.

364 billion kilometers away, Sahrabarik's red dwarf was simply a spec on the distant horizon. Apart from the internal lights of the Venatrix, only Omega's artificial crimson halo offered us any visual interpretation within a thousand kilometers. Which was about the distance between the station and any meteorite. The reining warlords of Omega had never allowed any sizable planetoid within seven million kilometers. Kinetic barriers could only shield so much mass and velocity in an asteroid field.

And Omega's pirate queen would never allow any harm to come to her kingdom.

"Kind of looks like a Christmas tree." Jacob- Cerberus' newest operative and my current charge- peered out the cockpit window, staring intently at the space station carved into the husk of an asteroid. He stooped low, but not quite enough to invade our pilot's personal space.

"If we were flying right side up station-wise, it would look like a jellyfish," I added dryly without so much as shifting from my authoritative position in the center of the narrow cockpit. "Stings like one too, if you aren't ready for it."

"Been here before, Miranda?"

"A few times on business." I answered factually, folding my arms across my chest. "This place has got a couple of screws loose by most of the civilized galaxy's standards. Organized and random crime, slavers, piracy. So stay frosty."

"Worse than Cartagena... or Tortuga?" Jacob's quirked eyebrow amused me. I didn't believe entertained skepticism was one of his practiced facial expressions.

"I wouldn't say that." I pursed my lips thoughtfully. "Cartagena has some semblance of order with C-Pat, where Tortuga has none. Omega isn't complete anarchy. Aria T'Loak runs the show here."

"Who?"

"Omega's de facto ruler. So long as you don't cross her, you have nothing to worry about."

"De facto, huh?" He scoffed. "How does she keep a reign on things?"

"Her own private army and network of informants. They keep the Blue Suns, Eclipse, and Blood Pack in check."

But I doubt she knows who the Blue Suns are working for, I added silently in the presence of so many others left on a need to know basis.

"Does Cerberus interact with her much?" Jacob pegged me with a sharp glance.

I would eventually find the prospect of Cerberus' interference with Aria T'Loak rather ironic. But at the time, Cerberus and myself were so compartmentalized, I was certain I was correct when I told Jacob, "We tend to stay out of each other's way."

My attention shifted back to my pilots when a green flash erupted from Venatrix's navigational panel, signaling a desire from Omega's traffic control to hail us.

I exchanged a brief, knowing glance with my pilot, and he nodded obediently, tapping me into Omega's current traffic communications.

The voice on the other end of the line was surprisingly human. "Attention, Venatrix. This is Omega Control. You've entered designated flight space. Do you intend to dock?"

Venatrix was a private vessel as far as registration went. So was all other company owned property. There were no painfully obvious means of honest identification aboard, no insignias plastered to our operatives' chests, and certainly no calling cards left behind once a job was completed. Cerberus operated in silence, hidden in plain sight, only made known to our sponsors and members.

To have our presence made known on Omega at that point in time- or anywhere for that matter- was certainly undesirable. Most people, even outlaws, don't tend to care for terrorists. But, Afterlife was readily accessible to anyone with enough interest.

"Copy that Omega Control, this is Venatrix." I responded as I continued to traverse through other communications. "Requesting docking clearance in Gozu District for a thirty-three meter yacht."

Surprisingly, imbedding oneself into the network of the Terminus' capitol proved exceedingly more difficult than doing so on the Citadel. After all, the only firewalls I had to bypass there were those of C-Sec or the Alliance. It was child's play to go undetected aboard the more upscale station.

On Omega, however, there was hardly any way of feigning an added presence in traffic control's current database. To search for any outgoing or incoming transmissions with Liara T'Soni, I had to hack like a ghost during only the small frame of time the operator remained in communication with Venatrix.

"One moment." There was a lingering pause as the flight traffic controller scrolled through a list of available slips.

Venatrix lingered idly, small mass effect core still thrumming two decks below, prepared to pounce at a moments notice. It wasn't unusual for a corvette of Venatrix's size to request a marina amongst the towers, but the industrial docking bays frequented by traders, pirates, and slavers were certainly a more common request.

I glared steadily at the navigational board, confident the Omega worker would not detect my sweep.

'Jarutha requesting clearance for industrial district.' Drug smugglers.

'Ottowa requesting clearance for Kokomo Plaza.' Traders.

'Zyphr requesting clearance for Gozu District.' Partyers.

My results were empty. No sign of Liara T'Soni, or the Blue Suns.

And just in time, I was reminded that if Omega was good at one thing, it was making sure they received their money. "Alright, Venatrix. You are cleared to proceed to dock G75. Docking fees are eight credits a meter for one galactic standard day, and will be collected upon arrival."

Good, I decided. We're ahead of schedule.

The moment Venatrix was docked and locked down behind us, we made haste into the streets of Omega, dressed and prepped for the occasion. My four shock troopers, adorned in heavy silver and white armor and gunned to the teeth, casually dispersed themselves into the crowd. They slunk back only far enough to keep a steady eye on me as I parted the Red Sea of people with Jacob on the way to Afterlife's front entrance. One even opened up a pack of cigarettes, loitering like any other mercenary for hire.

In stark contrast to their gruff and overtly aggressive appearance, Jacob and I had taken a more subtle approach to impressing upon the pernicious in Cerberus-issued black body suits. I would have worn white had I not been weary of Omega defiling my preferred ensemble. The mesh fibers sewn into the fabric our clothes were just as impenetrable as Rosenkov Material's light Titan armor. Petrovsky's trusted M-3 Predator was strapped to my hip, and my recently reacquired batarian clip point nearly ran the length of my opposite thigh in its sheath.

Jacob's stoic almond eyes took note of my new accessory, but he refrained from asking. Instead, he wondered, "So how are we going to intercept T'Soni?"

"Easy," I muttered, parrying an Englishman's headlong collision course with a seething gaze. "You're going to follow her."

We halted a corner shy of Afterlife's front entrance. Beneath the soles of my boots and genetically enhanced perception of touch, the filthy metal ground pulsed in sync with muted, kaleidoscopic rhythms pounding from within. Though the horde of travelers made the steps difficult to distinguish, there was a clear line forming outside the door. If Jacob exuded the proper foreboding attitude, he could breeze straight through.

"I don't know Omega, Miranda."

I wasn't sure why Jacob felt the need to remind me of his lack of travels amongst the extraterrestrials. But if he was attempting to have me follow T'Soni with him instead of head her off, he was sorely mistaken. Not only did I want to avoid being spotted by Aria T'Loak, who's memory would have had to have been inherited from an elephant to recall someone she had met once many years ago- I needed to be sure I was the one meeting T'Soni on the other side of this assignment.

I scowled at this evening's patrons, bouncing back and forth on their feet, bored beneath the fuchsia neon lights- probably the most luminous on the entire station. "Keep in radio contact, feed me intel: When she arrives, what she's doing, wearing, who she's talking to, where she's going. Trail behind her, and we'll cover the entrances to flank her. If her contact works for who I think he does, and Shepard's body is still here on the station, he'll lead her away, distract her."

"What are you planning to do with her contact?" He asked with a suspiciously raised eyebrow, eyes glancing down at my combat knife for only an instant.

I matched his expression with vigor. "See what he knows."

Resolutely but still unsure, Jacob accepted my answer my answer with a sour nod. The marine been wary of the deceitfully restful dagger attached to my hip ever since our detour to Lorek. Or, maybe, it was me.

Jacob took advantage of our pause. "You never told me why you kept that thing? Doesn't Cerberus give us plenty of gear?"

Snow, sprinkling lightly like powdered sugar, is a constant on Anhur. Skies above are overcast and dreary. At least the bits I can see through the tops of the trees. The wind nips at the tips of my ears and nose, but my thermal suit keeps me insulated. Barely.

My white clothes- meant to camouflage me against the foreign silvery fauna of Anhur's woodlands- are tattering and burnt. We're running too low on supplies to solve that problem, let alone survive until next week. By necessity, I'm new to working this gritty type of field operation, and it frustrates me. This morning there were hardly any provisions awaiting us at our station. Our delivery for restock has lost touch, fallen off the radar, and is assumed MIA. Instead, we obtain five extra pieces of precious cargo to bring to safety, taking our party to a grand total of twenty-seven guides and runaway slaves.

Three of them are frightened, exhausted children huddled together around the flickering source of heat we can afford them as we're forced to skulk amongst the trees. I'm repulsed by the lack of prosperity on this world. Even amongst such a technologically advanced galaxy, the rural areas of backwater colonies feel no different than Earth's nineteenth century. Their coats are tattered and their faces are sooty. Orphans probably. No one really knows. They refuse to divulge much information about themselves.

The most outgoing of their band is a small girl with freckles, wide emerald eyes, and pigtails the color of sunlit straw, and she's been instructed by the elder and more stoic of two batarian boys, firmly grasping her hand, to remain silent. I feel a pang in my chest. She can be no older than Oriana. While she beams widely and dotes upon the smaller male, stroking his bulbous baldhead as he shivers and squeezes his four eyes tightly shut, the eldest leers suspiciously with the instinct to protect even though he has no weapon or biotic power to do so.

I find the interaction puzzling, and wonder why they've chosen one another, what possessed the eldest to not abandon the girl- so different and alien- to save himself and his brother. But then he offers the toe headed child his best needle-toothed grin and a scrap of the ration pack we procured for him, and I begin to understand. I mean to look away before they catch me staring, but not before Sigrun Krobak shakes her ridged head and redirects the crunch of my footsteps against the crystalized water fragments.

"Give it them," She instructs with hard midnight eyes, rewiring the net she is capable of projecting from her omni-tool.

"They're children," I protest.

"All the better," She disagrees.

I huff in agitation, but her persistence is compelling. Favor for a favor, I guess as my resolve gives way and I procure the crescent tipped dagger Sigrun had gifted me from the sheath on my hip. I lay the smooth, uneven blade across the flats of my gloved palms with a dour expression and offer it to the bristling adolescent.

"Here," I instruct flatly, extending to handle to the boy. He stares at me with four suspicious eyes. Beside him the girl's eyes widen, startled by the weapon, but I can't look at her without seeing wide blue eyes and raven hair. "You might need this. Keep them safe."

Almost reflexively, I dispelled Jacob's attempt of small talk. "I don't owe you an explanation, Mr. Taylor."

He snapped back, recoiling in offense as though I slapped him, and something like guilt dissuaded my inner thoughts. My cool exterior melted for only a second, and I tried to portray an ounce of an apology with my expression.

"Jacob…" I let his name linger in the air for a moment, unsure how to amend his personal feelings. But they were not my problem, and he was a grown-up. He could deal with the sour taste I left in his mouth on his own. My voice was slightly less icy. "We don't have time, okay?"

Brown eyes lit up. Jacob's dejected aura evaporated like ice in the Sahara. He nodded in understanding.

Why did I say that? I reprimanded myself for giving him the wrong impression. He's just going to think we'll talk about it later.

"Alright." He spoke with no signs of squandered resolve. "Well, how will I recognize Liara T'Soni?"

"For starters, she's an asari maiden. A native to Armali on Thessia, so she'll be speaking Lingua." I took the opportunity to sneer at anyone lingering too close to us. Thankfully, most people on Omega "I'm guessing she won't be dressed like a stripper, or really any of this evening's attendees. She'll likely be carrying a weapon, probably armored. Her body language may prove she's uncomfortable to be inside the venue."

Taylor tilted his head to the side questioningly.

"She's a scientist. How many professionally educated individuals do you honestly think you'll find snooping around the bar here?" I said, tilting my head towards the seedy nightclub. "But more importantly, look for her contact. Unless Feron is a permissive hanar rebelling against face name tradition, I'm assuming we're looking for a drell."

"Yeah," He agreed, scanning the horde of avid clubbers. "There aren't many of those outside of Kahje, or any hanar space."

I gave him a wry expression. "Then your task should be simple. Just be sure to keep up."

I was correct of course. Jacob's duty was a no-brainer, and he had absolutely no trouble in spotting a cloaked figure with very drell features whispering across the bar from a young asari. The pair exited the nightclub's main entrance at a brisk pace, Taylor several inconspicuous yards behind them. Turned right, and marched towards the lesser populated industrial area.

Split into two teams, my troopers and I flanked them through parallel alleys, streets, and walkways of varying elevation. Guns at the ready, my snipers took to the catwalks on their starboard side, while the rest of us traveled port on even ground, with Jacob taking point. Separated and hidden by meters, sometimes structures, fences, and shadows, we tailed them through a labyrinth of a vacant, run down manufacturing neighborhood.

Hiding from a target on Omega is simple. The constant reddish 'dark room' effect of the lighting, lifeless bulkheads, and numerous passageways leave plenty of nooks and crannies to conceal yourself in. But, sometimes those same passageways could be a detriment against a slippery assailant. Thankfully, most of my escort was smooth enough to play a successful game of cat and mouse with an agent of the Shadow Broker.

Or so I thought.

Suddenly, I came to regret Jacob's heavy foot as the wiry, taller figure spun, gripped the smaller, more feminine silhouette by the arm and dragged her back into a narrow space between two factories.

At any point we were blinded, I radioed in to be sure there were eyes on the target at all times. Now, it was urgent.

"Sound off if they're in your sights," I ordered when my group lost visual.

"This is Echo One and Two. We have a visual on the target."

"Jacob?"

"Negative. I can't see them right now, but…"

"Blue Suns!" As muffled as the scream was, my translator was hardly faulty when it came to deciphering the rare drell dialects.

And then a pop, like rocks pounding against a tin metal roof, split the artificial air.

My team bolted forwards, searching for another alleyway into the street on our right. Our choice was tactical- a road block for any escapees, a point of concealment from outside view, and a great place to monitor a practically empty road from a safe distance. Well, empty aside from the tussle between blue-armored mercenaries and a pair of unusual treasure hunters.

And a krogan with a heavy pistol pressed to T'Soni's temple.

The asari froze, simmering in a blue-white fire.

"Watch, those biotics, asari." The hulking reptile snarled, drawing up his large hump in a very krogan show of self-righteousness. "You so much as crackle any bluer, and you'll have more gauges in that pretty head of yours than you did the day you were born."

My hand went straight to ear. "Echo One and Two, do you have the krogan in your crosshairs?"

I received an immediate reply from my balcony team, "Yes, ma'am."

"On my mark, open fire."

T'Soni's biotics faded away as two more gangsters moved in to seize her arms. Though the thugs obscured my complete of view her, I could see her blue fists ball in anger behind her back. And she glared upwards in a fairly defiant manner for an asari. Not two yards behind her, her friend had nearly ceased his struggles against his own captors.

"You came a long way to the capitol of the Terminus looking for a dead man," The krogan loomed ominously inside Liara's personal boundary- exuding an arrogance not uncommon amongst the powerful warlords of his species. "The Shadow Broker wants to know why."

That was all I needed to know to be sure Shepard's body had yet to part ways between the Blue Suns and the Shadow Broker. They were trying to cut off T'Soni's trail before she could dig up another dead body.

I radioed back in. "Echo Two, target the merc holding T'Soni."

"My intentions are my own business," Liara T'Soni snarled in an airy voice. Her soft pitch, almost like that of a voice enraptured in a dream a tad too long, was resolute and surprisingly bordering fearsome. Almost. "Certainly not some half-witted gangster, and especially not an elusive information trader!"

Brave girl, I commended.

"Everything is my business, lady," The bulky biped boasted. "Especially this. Shepard's a hot commodity. Now talk, before I-"

"Fire," I drawled from a safe distance.

The krogan's head exploded.

One of the mercenaries screamed, and the street descended into madness. One by one, exposed and vulnerable in their artificial valley, the Blue Suns fell, aimlessly firing at the mystery snipers. A third set of opposing bombardment led me to believe Jacob had joined the fight.

"Feron, move!" The asari cried, flinging herself and her companion from harms way with a sapphire incentive. "Which way?"

"Just away!" The drell panted, rounding the bend my team and I had slid behind. The one we currently blocked any further access to. "Maybe this way."

Two figures came to a sudden abrupt a halt at the sight of two well armed troopers blocking their path, almost tripping over their own feet in the process. Their large, alien eyes grew round as saucers.

The drell's colorful reptilian head crests widened, gaping like a fish. He visibly swallowed and his raspy voice became small, "Or maybe not."

"No need to be alarmed, drell." I stalked forwards with my perfectly executed heel to toe stride. My head held high, brows arched superiorly, a slight smirk teased one side of my mouth. I imagine if Shepard's life was ever to be reimagined for vid by his sympathizers and worshippers, this appearance of mine would be the closing scene of the first film. His complicated and lethal love interest, cold, brilliant, beautiful, and devoted to the organization she had devoted a majority of her life to, slinking from the shadows of the galaxy's hellhole to join the quest to recover her future lover's body from Death's lustful grasp. "We're all on the same team today. There's a Spectre's body in need of recovering."

The moment she saw me, the only female human of the group and the closest in appearance to her own species, the asari tread forwards on light feet as though the soles of her boots rarely grazed the ground at all. Her voice was delicate but firm. "Who are you?"

For the first time in my life I got a decent personal view of Liara T'Soni.

About half a head shorter than myself, her minute scales the color of the ever-paling skies above Lake Mungo in the Outback- another pristine location my father could have disposed of me. Hairless with six crests crowning the top of her head. The colors of her wide asari eyes, slightly larger and rounder than those of a human's, matched. Two thin lines with stark resemblance to eyebrows, and several speckles running across her cheeks were the only facial markings I could find. If not for my slightly prejudiced opinion that most citizens of the Asari Republics favored themselves quite nicely, I found her very pretty.

"My name is Miranda Lawson, and I represent an agency that firmly believes in Shepard's cause," I began my introduction before feeding the archaeologist a line. "For humanity and the galaxy as a whole."

"For humanity…" I watched Liara start to connect the dots. Her clever eyes ran over the lot of us, taking in our weapons and distict lack of insignias, before lighting up with apprehension, "Wait. You're not with the Alliance, are you?"

"No," I confessed. "The Alliance has given up on Shepard. They're willing to sell him short, and obliterate any trace of the work he's done recently. Work you assisted him with, Doctor. We'd like to help him continue."

Liara bristled. "But Shepard is dead."

"Rumor has it, yes. But, Shepard's beaten the odds numerous times over. After all, isn't that why you came here, Liara? Because you believe in him?"

T'Soni's facial expression hung somewhere between wounded and skeptical. I understood. She was just beginning to grieve. Asari had always been a breeze for me to read. Alien, but human enough to seem familiar. "I came here because Shepard is…was my friend."

"Still is, Liara. My people and I may have a way to be sure of that," I corrected cryptically, rounding on my heel, and gesturing for the pair to follow me from the bowels of Omega's abandoned industrial district. "Now, we really should be going."

"Wait!" Liara called, taking two steps forward with an outstretched hand as though she considered catching me. Something in my eyes caused her pause, and she withdrew slightly, gaze still steely. She squared her shoulders. "What are you talking about?"

I glanced around at my detail with my peripherals. Though they minded their business, there were still classified details to this assignment that were not quite in the range of thei security clearance. So I told her simply, "Restoration."

"That's impossible," Feron spat contemptuously, intruding into our conversation before Liara had the opportunity to respond. "No one can bring back the dead. It's just fact."

Suppressing a sigh of impatience, I made an about face at the end of the catwalk, scanning the entire area for signs of more assailants. The probability of a second squad of mercs arriving was so likely, the prospect of not being several steps ahead when I very well could have been was suffocating.

I glared at the drell.

"For every fact there is an infinity of hypotheses. And my hypothesis: You're wrong." I countered before turning my attention back to Liara.

The asari's brow was furrowed in thought. The prospect of resurrection must have been tantalizing for the mind of a fellow thinker, but very conflicting with commonly held beliefs. I knew so from personal experience.

"How would…" Her question trailed off when she caught sight of her companion's disapproving shake of the head. "It does seem a little farfetched. Any project to attempt to bring back the dead would be an immense undertaking. It would take years... If it were even possible."

"Only a matter of resources."

"Resources?" TSoni echoed with a mildly amused laugh. "Oh, you must be joking. I can't think of anyone that has the money, or time, or space."

I nearly smiled, but years of stoicism kept the indication from manifesting. "We'll bring in the best team possible: Neurophysiologists, ophthalmologists, pulmonologists, cardiologists, any specialist you can think of. We'll have the best equipment: Nerve-stems, neuro-charters, life support. Whatever I need to get the job done, I will have."

"The only organization I could stand to think of that would ever dedicate so much enthusiasm to such unconventional progression would be…"

Her eyes grew wide as she trailed off, and she stared at me. Not with fear, but awe and bewilderment.

"It's alright." I allowed my features to soften ever so slightly. Just enough to convey sympathy, however much of it was sincere. "Binthu was unfortunate, but I assure you, I had nothing to do with Admiral Kohoku's passing."

"…Cerberus," She released the breath she had been holding.

"Very good, Doctor," I applauded dryly, barriers fully reestablished. "I see your time away from digging in the sand has yet to impair your critical thinking skills. Now come on, I've got someone who would like to speak with you."

"Hold on, Liara." The drell ordered, defiantly standing fast, leaving himself in my wake. "Isn't Cerberus some human-supremacist, hate group? Why the hell should we follow them? For all you know, they could just get their kicks by throwing us aliens out some airlock."

If my eyes could have rolled any further, they'd have been lodged in my frontal lobe. Behind me, one of my troopers even made a choking sound of laughter. Thankfully, the asari seemed to disagree with her informant, and matched me step for step on our return trip to Venatrix.

"I'd hardly call them a hate group, Feron." She gave my team a once over, and stared steadily into my eyes. "Maybe a tad eccentric and unorthodox…But they do seem to want to get Shepard back. Or, am I mistaken?"

"We're on the same page," I reassured, weaving my way into the cesspool of stench, iron walls, and dark red lighting. Somewhere in the dark, Jacob and my snipers moved about.

Grumbling under his breath, Feron broke into a canter to reach us. Even as we lurked from the manufacturing district, as he stood in the protective radius of my troopers, he tried to establish his case against Cerberus. "Because Shepard is human, Liara. The first human Spectre. The man that got them the seat on the Council. Would Cerberus weep if Shepard were a dead hanar, or a krogan… like the one they just used as target practice?"

"That's hardly fair, Feron," Liara rebuked him at once. Catching note of my raised eyebrows she added an addendum. Her faith in her rescuers was still conditional. "Those Suns would have killed us. We're lucky to have come out of that alive."

Feron's temper diffused, but he nevertheless glared at me as he asked T'Soni, "How do you know we can trust these listims?"

Drell not being a language I had bothered studying, I did find some difficulty in rendering phrases that fell through my translator. I believed listims loosely translated to traitorous bandits. No matter the insult, I was left unfazed.

How hypocritical. I gave Feron a hard, unforgiving stare. "If you'd like to wait around here all day for the next group of Blue Suns, be my guest. Otherwise, follow us, drell. We're not being picky today."

Feron harrumphed in agitation and folded his arms across his chest like an impertinent child. Despite the indiscernible expression on his scaly, reptilian face, his tone and body language certainly seemed frazzled. Especially when an almost an involuntary snigger wormed its way across T'Soni's face.

"At first, I thought I'd be friends with anyone looking for Shepard," Liara admitted. Her blues grew sharp as she stared the Illusive Man down. "But now I'm not so sure. Why is Cerberus looking for him? He can't be anything more than a corpse."

"Possibly," I acknowledged, stepping into the conversation. "But those Blue Suns certainly were trying to keep you away from him. Which leads me to believe the body is still on the station."

We stood side by side in the center of a black circle inside the QEC room aboard Venatrix. Outside in the lobby, Feron waited begrudgingly under Jacob's supervision. A bright white light outlined the place where holo-emitters transferred our images to Cronos Station, and vice-versa. Front and center, my boss sat surrounded by holographic display panels in a leather chair, classically silhouetted against a decaying star with the panorama windows.

Initially disconcerted by his glowing blue eyes, Liara now stood resolute. A hard glare had welded its way across her expression and her shoulders were squared away, glancing halfway over her shoulder as though to turn away at any moment. My own hands were folded neatly behind my back, a pair of data-pads grasped firmly in my palm as I actively observed the scene play out before me.

"Miranda has a good point." The Illusive Man tapped his ashes into the tray in his armrest, referring to the incident on Binthu. "Our past differences aside, Doctor, Shepard is incredibly valuable to the human race. And while I don't expect you to understand all of our customs- even those involving the deceased- we do have one very important reason to get to Shepard first: The person that sent those mercs after you, the one that hired the Blue Suns to hold Shepard's body, is the Shadow Broker. And he, or she, or they have made a deal with the Collectors."

Shock resonated from Liara's expression and she visibly became regaled by the same dilemma I had been. Her voice went up in pitch. "The Collectors?! Why would they want Shepard?"

The embers on the end of the Illusive Man's cigarette glowed red as he inhaled on the tobacco stick. His eyes darted upwards piercingly. "That's something we'd like you to find out…But we have our suspicions."

Liara blinked heavily, and glanced in my direction. Her voice was low as she whispered to me, "The Reapers?"

I nodded solemnly.

"Why me?" The asari wondered as her blue eye struck mine, gesturing towards me. "Why not Miranda?"

My ears perked in interest, but I gave no indication across my face, keeping a stony expression.

My boss stared with a confident smile. "Operative Lawson has her own important part to play. I believed she mentioned-"

"Bringing the commander back?" Liara interrupted. "Yes, she mentioned that, but resurrection is-"

"Impossible?" I asked, standing up a bit straighter. "The technology Cerberus and our associates have developed indicates otherwise. It will be a tedious, strenuous project, but I believe it will be possible to rejuvenate the Commander…in whatever state he may be currently be in."

The Illusive Man scrutinized me 2.4 seconds longer than normal. If I were anyone else, the man's intense artificial gaze would have had me quivering in my boots. But I was Miranda Lawson, his most trusted and successful operative. I was a power, a mind not to be trifled with, and I possessed an intelligence that easily matched his own.

Then he nodded, so subtly I doubt Liara ever notice. His decision was final. "Operative Lawson will direct and head the project we're devoting to Commander Shepard. She will oversee his progression, and manage the numerous resources I am willing to dedicate to the attempt. She will also act as your personal liaison throughout your search, and provide you with any necessary compensation for expenses along the way. You can rely on her expertise."

My mind took 1.34 seconds longer than usual to process the responsibility that had just been placed so resolutely on my shoulders. I had already known my duty would be dedicated to the commander's revival, but exact assignment had been unclear up until this point. His decision seemed so blasé and impromptu, yet I knew that his resolution had been anything but. Illusive Man had tirelessly weighed his options, deciphered the meticulous pros and cons of the operatives he could have charged with heading Cerberus' newest cell.

And he had chosen me to lead the project. I, his top agent, was to be his right hand. The magnitude of my responsibility settled straight into my thoughts, and I embraced it with vigor. I locked eyes with the Illusive Man, one of two people I had ever tried to live up to.

I won't let you down, sir, I would have said if only it had been him and I inside the QEC.

I believe he understood. His attention returned to Liara as he stood up from his chair, wandered towards our holographic images, and halted mere meters from us. "What about you, Doctor? Can Cerberus rely on you?"

Her gaze lingered on me and I found something akin to trust in their glossy depths. But when she turned back to the Illusive Man they were cold and indiscernible. "No…But Shepard can."

Monday, May 5, 2183 / {TOP SECRET LOCATION} Lazarus Station, Dark Space, Horsehead Nebula, Earth Systems Alliance Space / 3 years, 18 days Pre Reaper invasion of Earth

According to several members of my staff from the United North American States, the day Liara T'Soni arrived with Shepard's body was a holiday. Not one I had ever celebrated. Truthfully, I never really celebrated anything. When I had been a child, Father pretended my birthday was an extravagant affair for his friends, and he cajoled me into attending some of the holiday parties where his entrepreneurial associates sought after me and the business arrangements I presented with drooping tongues and eager hands. So I suppose it was a plausible belief that holidays and the like left a bitter taste in my mouth.

Stringent decorations were things I tended to shy away from. Especially when I had a job to accomplish. I had no time for petty informalities. There were medical histories to be obtained, dossiers, and resumes to review on both my staff and future project. Payrolls, housing, and boarding expectations were in need of projecting. Medical, technical, and prototype supplies were to be double checked on maintenance and productivity. So, I had limited festivities in the workplace to bar none.

There were of course ornamentations strung up in break rooms, living areas, and the mess hall. Not my doing, but I had begrudgingly allowed it…so long as there was no interference with actual duties. There was no interference per say, but that early evening there was a slight delay because of them.

Ping!

I was buried neck-deep in data-pads when a sudden alert sounded from my terminal, ignoring the monitors portraying a cheerful group of off-duty security officers in the mess. The sender information was encrypted and there was no subject. My thoughts ran straight to the scientist I had hired. There had been a lack of communication for nearly a week. I opened the email immediately.

'I have him. ETA 20 minutes.

'-LT'

Except for my chief tech, Doctor Andrew Wilson, four EMTs, and Jacob's small security squad, I paged my entire, on-call lead medical staff with instructions to rendezvous on stand by in the emergency surgical bay. I instructed the latter to meet me down in docking bay A3 expeditiously, and I careened out of my office.

Though Lazarus Station itself was not my only facility for the aptly named Lazarus Project, it was where a hefty percentage of supplies, surgical labs, and intensive care units were located. The walls of the clearly gridded map were an immaculate sterile white with dark gold trimming, the polished tiles of the floor were slate gray, and the freshly recycled oxygen smelled fresh. The sixty-five full time staff members currently on board were invigorated and lively. Especially the groups I passed as I stalked through the gangways, eating dinner and listening to what could only be mariachi.

Their behavior was a stark contrast from that of Liara T'Soni's.

She emerged from the loading ramp with a sealed, human-sized life support container drifting slowly in front of her. She was down a teammate, the drell completely absent, and from the look of her I knew the separation had been rather impromptu and drastic. The armor Liara had worn a week ago was scratched and new abrasions had etched themselves across her exposed skin. My technicians and security swarmed her and the unknown vessel the moment the hangar bay doors closed, collecting the pod and whisking it away to the surgical bay so the asari would no longer have to stare at the stasis container with dead, listless eyes.

I lingered only momentarily to watch two of the emergency medical techs run omni scans over Liara- who had been coerced off her feet for what I assumed to be exhaustion, shock, and dehydration. And to place a reassuring hand on her shoulder.

"Shepard obviously made some very good friends." I told her, allowing a flicker of respect to shine in my eyes. "You should know that I'm glad Cerberus put our faith in you. You've done a lot, and now it's our turn."

The vibrant blue of her scales had faded, and dark circles rimmed beneath her eyes, but she acknowledged me with a small pat and a slight smile that did not quite reach her eyes.

"Make sure she's properly accommodated," I ordered, turning my head sharply towards the detail surrounding her. Jacob, and most of his squad had escorted the still unidentified body back through the station. I gave the asari a distinct nod. "I'll meet up with you later."

The first thing I noticed when I reached the med lab a full 87.3 seconds behind Jacob, Wilson, and their teams, was how visibly shaken they all were. More than five of them had already succumbed to a case of dry heaves, but only two needed to find the loo. Thankfully, they both made it without causing a mess on my floor. Only four doctors were capable of working vigorously around the table, while two shakily prepped a rejuvenation tank. Even Jacob, whose complexion was always a rich chocolate, had turned white as a sheet.

As I lurked past, he caught my gaze with dilated ambers, shook his head, and mumbled, "Nothing but meat and tubes."

I was repulsed by their reactions. For these were supposed to be amongst the most brilliant minds in the galaxy. The doctors and scientists that pushed the boundaries of experimentation and implementation. The soldiers that had seen their share of mutilated corpses. I found them weak, but I said nothing to express such feelings. Maybe it was a moral compass kicking in, the one that told them they were going to conquer death. The death of beloved war hero that so many wrote home about.

The second thing that caught my eye was literally just that: A thing.

It was certainly not human in appearance, and no sentient- even the ones that found humans aesthetically repulsive- would have confused it for one. The naked slab of charred flesh, bone, and tendons that had been kept preserved by a malfunctioning pod was now placed squarely on an operating table. The flesh and muscle of the left leg had been sheared away about mid-calf, exposing a jagged black bone. More broken and mutilated appendages tore through what shat should have been skin, but appeared more like seared rubber. The body was contracted and mutilated beyond visual recognition of male or female. The relatively handsome face I had seen on vid casts was hardly in existence apart from shredded and frozen tissue. His classically angled nose was gone, but his eyeballs remained. Those magnificent, brightly colored eyes that I would one day find myself so madly in love with were sunken, vacant, and coated in a milky white haze. This was not a human.

And I was convinced I felt nothing.

Nothing for the ones who grieved him. Nothing for my team who still shivered in revulsion. Nothing apart from the paradoxical frustration over the fact that the damage was far worse than we had originally predicted, and the intrigued anticipation for an upcoming challenge.

"Well?" I asked through my mask as I concluded my own examination of the corpse

We would need to repair the internal damage first, specifically restart his circulatory system. Albeit, he was probably in need of several new organs. The rejuvenation tanks would sustain his exterior as bacta serum poured living bacteria from his own DNA back into his body.

Yes, this will work, I decided.

Wilson perked his head up from the DNA scanners while I removed my soiled gloves and mask, throwing them into the bin and washing my hands. He nodded once. "It's him."

"Very well." Relief settled in my chest, and my eyes ran across the others still debating with their gag reflexes. Under my cool gaze, the thirteen doctors and the sentry guarding the door stood up a bit straighter. I addressed each of them as I spoke. "Commander Shepard has been recovered. The Lazarus Project will proceed as planned."

A/N: Finally!

Nursing school has been a real pain in my 'poorly-chosen-camera-angle.' Plus, my cousin moved this weekend, so ugh. Sorry for the delay guys!

But, hey look! Shepard! and Liara! and DEAD SHEPARD!

I hope it was worth the wait. Gosh I'm tired. I'll start back up on reading everyone else's fanfictions tomorrow when I can read and type and not have it come out looking like thhihhhss.

Thanks everyone who faved/followed/reviewed last chapter! It meant a lot! You readers are awesome, and I'm glad to know that you guys enjoy what I write. Have an amazing day/morning/night/whatever the hell time it is where you live!