Pt. 10 Urban Legends

1900 Hours, Monday, April 25, 2185 / {TOP SECRET LOCATION} Minuteman Station, {Undisclosed System}, Horsehead Nebula, Earth Systems Alliance Space / 1 year, 28 days Pre Reaper invasion of Earth

Inadvertently, Jacob had been correct in his assessment of Shepard's curiosity. Understandably considering the length of time the lieutenant commander had spent unconscious on an operating table, however insatiable his intuitive nature actually was.

Of course evidence of fully functional cognitive processing could not be detected until he was reinstated to complete consciousness. Shepard's body had naturally prolonged his first few sleep cycles after the mech incident on Lazarus in a much-needed effort to recover from shock and detox as his doctors aboard Minuteman Station weaned him off opioids. And even with implants attempting to stabilize his neurotransmitters, withdrawal was certainly not a pretty adverse reaction during his revival.

The first and second times Shepard had reawakened in a quaint, softly lit yellow hospital room, he had still been slightly incoherent.

When his doctors and I tried to offer introductions and orient him to the location and date, he had struggled with immediate recollection of the information. Shepard responded to flashes of pain with grimaces, but hardly ever a sound. No groans or whines of discomfort, but at times he would sit up and mumble a request for fluids or ask a poorly pieced together question. He opened his eyes to the echo of our voices only to stare listlessly back at his helpers, but his movements were fairly normal-if a bit stiff. Then he would succumb to sleep, his teeth chattered, and he shivered with cold sweats until he received another blanket and his episode passed.

But by our second evening aboard Minuteman Station, Shepard felt well enough to be up and about. And therefore, prepared for conversation.

Carrying a stack of data-pads filled with medical reports and galactic news articles detailing a few key events of the last two years, I found him adorned in a white t-shirt and comfortable drawstring pants, loitering in the upper starboard observation room within sight of the infirmary. He towered a handful of inches over Jacob, who in turn was nearly half again as broad. Shepard's face practically pressed against the glass, fogging the pane with each exhalation. The commander leaned as far forwards against the railing as he possibly could to get a better view of a pair of maintenance techs working away at a HUD on the hull.

The fascination in his movements seemed nearly trifling as the pair rallied back and forth in discussion. And if I didn't know any better, I'd have said they had already begun to bond.

"Maybe they'll let you join them, Commander," Jacob jested, folding his arms across his chest.

Shepard withdrew slightly and aimed an index finger at the crew. Though I could not see his smile, I could discern the light-heartedness in his rebuttal. "Out there? Oh. Nah thanks. I'd probably drop something important. Like a grate face, or the one wire that keeps kinetic barriers online. Or I'd probably forget where I set a tool because I didn't tether any to my belt. Have all of my equipment float away right out from under my nose."

"Well." Jacob shrugged slyly. "They have helmets. I'm sure those don't suddenly disappear."

Shepard snorted. "Sure. Laugh at the guy that thought he'd just been spaced."

Jacob suddenly straightened his broad shoulders, erecting his just previously relaxed posture like a practiced marine in the presence any senior officer. "I meant no offense, sir."

"None taken. Seriously. I can handle a joke," Shepard insisted a little too quickly with a dismissive wave of his palms, followed by another direct gesture at the window. "I'm just saying, maintenance would definitely fire me within the week for incompetence. Getting rid of me would be so much cheaper than resupplying."

"I'd have thought a spacer would be more accustomed to keeping better track of his outdoor toys," I interjected, gripping my wrist behind my back.

Both of them turned to face me. Jacob's rotation just a fraction smoother than his companion's, but his eyebrows had not shot nearly as high. For the briefest of moments, Shepard opened and closed his mouth before offering me the broadest, most genuine smile I had ever seen. It curled upwards unevenly on the left side of his face with the practiced ease of intact muscle memory and a great deal of mirth lingering in his eyes that I could now tell for certain were green. They still sustained the diluting, red glow of cybernetics, but with expression and warmth there was hardly anything unsettling about such innocent, ivy irises and flecks of cocoa-colored freckles skirting across his olive cheeks.

And that was all the more reason to be mindful of Commander Ernest James Shepard.

Illuminated scars scaled Shepard's exposed skin and nearly silhouetted his features against the starlit backdrop. His body language was open and humorous as he tilted his shaven head to the side. "That's an unfortunate stereotype," he attested. "We spacer kids were never even supposed be outside. All those rumors about vacuum exposure and breaking a leash were enough to send anyone running home. Even after mag-boots came around. Wandering around a vacuum unsupervised was very taboo stuff."

I narrowed my eyes, grinning just slightly. "And did you listen?"

"I listened. My friends at the time might not have been so accommodating to station rules. Of course I couldn't let just them get into any trouble." Shepard waved nonchalantly, lining up with my general assessment of his tolerance for obedience.

"Without you?" I surmised.

He tried to hide the truth with a perfect mask of innocence. "Getting into trouble—or, you know, getting caught—takes the fun out of stuff. But, if you had the opportunity to get just a little bit closer to the stars, could you pass that up? They're amazing."

"If they led me somewhere important, no," I told him.

Jacob stepped forward. "Commander Shepard, this is-."

"Don't tell me. Let me guess," the commander chattered gleefully. He closed one eye roughly and pointed at me in thought. "Miss… Lawson? Miss Miranda Lawson."

I made a small, intrigued sound. "You've drifted in and out of consciousness for two days. I'm mildly impressed."

"I wouldn't be," he announced honestly. His eyes holistic and penetrating in nature. "One of my nurses said you were in charge here. And Jacob here told me you were the one that, uh…." Shepard glanced sideways at my lieutenant. "How'd you put it earlier?"

"Pieced you back together," Jacob reminded him.

"Right. Pieced me back together," Shepard echoed, still wearing that ridiculous grin. "Makes me sound like puzzle, but thank you for, uh, saving my life. At the moment, I'm not quite sure how I'll repay either of you. I'm sure I'll think of something eventually, but for now I feel like I should get you both gift baskets. Are there any shampoos either of you like? Any vids? Oh, I know." He snapped his fingers. "You're a book person, huh?"

Shepard's smile proved contagious for Jacob, and the marine released a hearty laugh.

He offered me his hand, and with a suspiciously raised eyebrow, I accepted. Fingers having grown readjusted to autonomy without automated stints and cybernetics, his grasp was firm and solid. Not overturned in dominance, nor palm-up in submission, but straightforward. Shepard greeted me as an equal.

And there was the ever so subtle aura that clung to all people like us.

The same aura he clearly detected in me.

His eyebrows, the only two patches of tawny hair currently visible on his head, rose in excitement. "Are you a biotic?"

Jacob stepped forwards, confident as ever. "Miranda Lawson is one of the most talented biotics I've ever had the pleasure to meet…. And fight with."

I shot a pointed glare at him and withdrew my hand. I kept just a trace of terseness in my voice. "Thank you, Jacob."

"That's awesome!" Shepard exclaimed, either unaware of or ignoring the sharp look I'd thrown at Jacob.

I couldn't help but wonder if he would find my abilities so 'awesome' if he knew how I'd obtained them.

"They are impressive," I admitted.

"Finding so many of us in one place is like stumbling across a space unicorn…. Rarer than a regular unicorn…." He coughed into his palm and I was suddenly aware of the fact that Shepard had the spectacular ability of making himself uncomfortable. "I'm one, too."

I raised an eyebrow disbelievingly. "A unicorn?"

Faint redness flooded his complexion, and he rubbed the back of his neck. "A biotic. But, yeah, I guess you would know that, huh? You did apparently put me back together again."

"I know just about everything there is to know about you." I wasn't sure if the smile that nearly tugged at my lips stemmed from a minor sense of amusement, or the supercilious idea the extent of my knowledge.

"Ah, well, I doubt that. There's always more you can find out about someone. I bet I can surprise you."

"I don't like surprises," I informed him.

Jacob grinned again, goading me. "When we have you feeling a bit better, Shepard, we'll have to see you can top her with that new L5x of yours. She sure as hell can kick my ass."

If he'd been blushing before, the commander's cheeks completely flushed, and he immediately averted eye contact with me. Then the rest of Jacob's sentence registered, and he did a double take, suddenly holding the tension and apprehension in his shoulders I had sensed was truly present. His gaze narrowed with a flash of suspicion. "I'm an L3."

An uncertain grimace washed over Mr. Taylor's features, and he took a reflexive step backwards, folding his arms across his chest.

"Not quite," I said, answering Shepard's unspoken question.

"Not quite?" he parroted, no hostility, simply confusion.

"We have quite a bit to discuss regarding your… accident. Nonetheless, welcome back, Shepard. Or do you prefer Ernest? I sure hope you didn't give your parents too much hell for that. It's actually not the worst name I've ever heard."

The air was taut between the three of us for just a moment before he smiled at me again, a hidden trace of gratitude in his expression. "Really? What's the worst name you've ever heard?"

I pulled the answer off the top of my head, my mind's eye witness to a hard, four-eyed, midnight stare and a needle-toothed grin as she spits at my feet and tells me she hopes the dainty human can handle the cold. "Sigrun Krobak," I told him.

"That's actually quite lovely." Shepard paused, catching the incredulous eyebrow I had raised. He shrugged his shoulders, grimacing with the stiff motion, and insisted, "Well, I wouldn't give the name to my firstborn, but for a batarian it's very eloquent."

"If that's your definition of eloquence, Commander, I beg you not to name any potential future child you may have."

"As you wish, Miss Lawson. But, to answer your question, either works." He glanced at the data-pads in my grasp, and tilted his head in a pointed gesture. The red glow of his repaired retinas dilated as he tried to decipher the date. His voice lost a portion of the jovialness, replaced by uncertainty. "Um, now, if you don't mind me asking, what's the date?"

I exchanged a quick look with Jacob and said, "I think the Illusive Man would be more than happy to answer that question. He'd like to speak with you."

"Uh, who?"

The three of us stepped into the illuminated circle of Minuteman's private conference room. Holo-emitters immediately leapt upwards, absorbing our images in a flurry of bright lights and small hums.

A concerned nurse had tailed us through the hallways with a chair should Shepard have needed one. But leaning heavily against a wall or two, what I had quickly amassed to be an unforthcoming, perceptive, overgrown child had insisted he was merely taking in the sights of the station. He did ask several questions about the base operations, but when he heaved a heavy sigh and prodded at the thin markings scouring his flesh, the discomfort he had been experiencing became potently obvious.

Now, though, Shepard flexed his hand backwards under the rapid beams, and stared with raised brows. He whistled lowly, "Well, I've never seen that before."

"Quantum Entanglement Communicator," said a raspy voice, an air of pride in his voice. "Fairly new technology. Very expensive. Very valuable."

Seated casually in his chair, the Illusive Man's illuminated blue eyes held steady-devoted to a single member of our small party. And in them I witnessed a flash of something subtle and… indiscernible. An expression I had only seen him deliver a few times. One I nearly dismissed for simple intrigue.

Beside me, Shepard's body jerked backwards, and his eyes widened, absorbing every little detail of his new environment: The dwarf star that blended his scars into obscurity, the vastness of the panorama windows, and the sole figure with a double-breasted jacket, just opposite of him.

"Whoa," Shepard breathed before scrutinizing the Illusive Man with wide, pensive eyes. And unlike several others before him, Shepard did not recoil or appear the slightest bit disquieted by such eldritch orbs. In fact, he smiled. "I've read theories on entangled subatomic particles. What makes them so valuable?"

"Regular comm channels are flocked with day-to-day communications. There are significant delays with priority between Council communications, governments, the highest bidder, and are easily monitored by anyone within a light second of buoys. A QEC makes real time communication possible at any distance." The Illusive Man tapped his ashes into the tray on his armrest. "How are you feeling? Would you care to sit down?"

Temptation seeped into his features, but with a second's pause, Shepard shook his head with a raised palm. "That's alright, thanks. I think I've laid down enough these past few days."

"I assume you haven't had much time to be oriented," said the Illusive Man. He gestured in my direction. "Operative Lawson informed me of your little misadventure aboard Lazarus Station. I want you to know, it was never my intention to place your life in jeopardy."

Wilson's fiasco was your failure, Miranda, I told myself for the umpteenth time. In spite of my rigorous training to mask involuntary expressions, my eyebrows shot upwards and I bit down hard on my lower lip.

And then Shepard placed another bout of undue praise and trust upon me. He murmured, "She and Jacob saved my life."

Does he have no idea how much danger he was in? What kind of gamble I played with his health trying to wake him up-at the cost of my staff, no less? A rumble of frustration tore through my core.

The Illusive Man still did not fully address Jacob or myself, merely glancing over us. But I found no contempt or fault in his stare. "They're two of my most competent operatives, and they performed exactly to the level I expected of them. Namely, keeping you safe and alive at all costs." He gestured towards Jacob. "In case they have not made you aware, Mr. Taylor is a former Alliance marine. He served in the Second Frontier Division in the 232, alongside your former associate in the 212."

"I'm glad you got out of Eden Prime," Shepard told his new companion. "I might have caught fire or something if it weren't for you."

Again, I thought, recalling the terrible burns that had marred Shepard's skin the day Liara T'Soni had brought his body aboard my station. And that's all he had been then—a lifeless, broken husk with an exemplary record. There had been no airy, mystified tenor or deflective sense of humor.

"Miranda would have gotten to you," Jacob said. "Of course, you might not have had time to look for your helmet."

The galaxy's savior released a vexed snort.

"And Miss Lawson was in charge of your resurrection," continued the Illusive Man.

From the corner of my eye, I watched Jacob flinch as the phrasing settled in with the commander. His wide, green eyes grew doe-like with wounded innocence, and he forced a hard swallow.

"I'm sorry. Did you say, 'resurrection'?" he gawked, turning to me for confirmation. I was surprised his voice did not break.

Suddenly, I understood Shepard's hesitation. The term must have sounded so mystical and paranormal. Impossible even, save for the sparse tales many species had woven of their deities or heroes arising from the ashes like a phoenix reborn. But it had been done. My staff and I had made it possible.

"When you were brought to us two years ago, after the SR-1 was destroyed, your body was in a state of massive deterioration," I said.

"I don't know all of the medical stuff involved in bringing you back, but you were basically nothing but meat and tubes when I got a look at you," Jacob confirmed softly.

I opened my mouth to continue spouting the scientific jargon involved in Shepard's recovery, but paused when I noticed how surprisingly pale his rich complexion had become. His eyes glossed over, a greenish tinge overwhelmed his cheeks, and for the first time, his smile completely vanished. I watched the tempo of his respirations quickly rise, and for a brief instant, a part of me was concerned he would tip over once more in a loss of consciousness.

"I… I think I'll sit down now," Shepard's voice had lost all traces of jovialness. Hands quivering ever so slightly, he lowered himself to the floor and sat cross-legged, drawing his knees up to his chest in a supportive barrier.

Jacob almost immediately joined him, earning a nod of acknowledgement.

The air in the room held silent as the Illusive Man provided Shepard ample time for memories of the attack to surge forward. Three chairs were ushered inside the QEC by attendants, and Jacob and I gently helped haul the commander to his feet. My touch seemed to only briefly break his trance, and his breath caught as my fingers laced beneath his lean, implant-developed triceps, the expression in his irises practically indiscernible.

Rubbing his scarred face in his hands, Shepard glanced upwards after a long while. "I lost two years of my life."

"Two years and twelve days," said Jacob.

"But… no." Shepard pressed two fingers to each temple, slumping forwards in his seat. "Did everyone make it?" It was a plea, not so much a question. "Did everyone make it off the Normandy in time?"

"Twenty-three of the forty-four crewmembers managed to reach escape pods in time. They were rescued by an Asari Republics vessel, the ARV Lidanya, and shortly passed along to an Alliance hospital vessel, SSV Mercy," I told him.

Unequivocal remorse darted across his expression, and this time he did not try to mask the expression with placid undertones. Shepard wondered, "Who…? Do you know who all was on those escape pods?" He released a hollow laugh, one I was surprised he knew how to give. "Like it makes it any better to say whom survived over who."

"I have a list here." I passed him one of the data pads in my lap, and he immediately sought to scour its contents. "But, I believe the entire ground team survived."

"As did your pilot and onboard physician," my boss added. "They'll be very pleased to know you're awake. I'm sure they'll be inclined to see you before the end of the evening if you feel up to visitors."

That caught Shepard's attention. Relief swelled in his eyes and clogged his throat. "Chakwas and Joker are here?"

Joker? I wondered, fleetingly recalling my brief first meeting with Mr. Moreau several months ago aboard Lazarus Station. His green eyes—darker than Shepard's—had been hollow and reminiscent as he stared at the slab of self-repairing skin grafts and monitors the commander had been adorned with. He had wanted to know if Shepard had been in any pain and I assured him, he was not. But that still had not fully convinced the small-framed pilot who seemed as far from comedic at the time as one could possibly be.

The leader of the organization I had devoted my life to took a casual drag on his cigarette and spoke once more. "Dr. Chakwas has been under Cerberus employment since early January of this year, and Mr. Moreau has been with us since late July of 2184."

"That's great!" Enthusiasm had returned to Shepard's inflection, clearly thankful for some of the names he found on the roster. Then he blinked.

For the briefest instant I expected Shepard, even in his partial strength, to surge forward with a biotic wrath powerful enough to rip a tear in the bulkhead. To leap forward in the name of the Alliance and all things it stood for. Too proudly and ignorantly accost Cerberus for all their evil deeds. After all, that's what so many Alliance crew cuts did—at least the ones that didn't join us, or were too shortsighted to understand our purpose.

But Shepard was proving to be something else.

"I admit I'm a tad flabbergasted," he confessed. Then he grinned again. "Isn't that a delightful word? It just rolls right off the tongue."

I was suddenly compelled to double check with Dr. Chakwas to be sure Shepard had not sustained any permanent brain damage, or if rambling was simply a nervous habit he had always possessed.

"Reasonably so," the Illusive Man said. "Your short period of interaction with Cerberus was composed of quite the misunderstanding."

"Yes," Shepard muttered, cheeks reddening as he scratched behind his scarred neck. I made a mental note to prevent him from afflicting any skin breakdown. "I, uh, I'm sorry about… intruding like that. I suppose I would have fired at me, too. But, I do recommend putting up signs maybe." He lifted his hands. "Perhaps, 'Warning: Trespassers will be shot on sight. Survivors will be shot again.' It would be very helpful."

The smallest of smiles curled the Illusive Man's lips. Not the same calculating expression I had watched him study others with, no condescendence, only amusement and perhaps… fondness?

No, I decided. That's ridiculous. It couldn't be real. Shepard is an asset.

"We'll take that into consideration," my employer said, much to my chagrin. "And I'd also like to offer my sincerest apologies for Admiral Kahoku's passing. It was never my intention to have my people upset the balance of the Alliance hierarchy. They were never given the order to execute him."

Shepard's eyes narrowed, examining the man that had paid for him to be brought back from the dead with the clear intent of finding any reason to distrust him. Pensive and serene, he once again adapted what seemed to be the ability to see through someone.

"I believe you," he said. And then he completely astonished me—not an easy task. "And thank you. I'd like to know more about Cerberus: What you are, where you came from, what you're about, why you chose to help me. But if you spent the time and money to bring me back, to hire two of the best people I've ever known, and already employed two more people that earned my trust, you can't be all that bad. It seems like I owe you all a great deal. I'm not sure how, but I'll do whatever I can to repay my debt and gratitude to you."

"There might be one way," the Illusive Man murmured before I could make sense of Shepard's promise. My boss leaned forward in his seat, and announced, "Humanity is under attack."