Datum Perficiemus Munus

With her uniform freshly pressed, and her short-cropped curls in perfect place, Corporal Kamau was already at work improving the runtime performance of the Argus system when Lieutenant Palmer strolled into the war room.

"Oh, Kamau, you're already here. Almost didn't see you there. Well of course you're here. Always bright and early, am I right?" said Palmer. He had stopped just ahead of the doors.

"Good morning, Lieutenant Palmer." Kamau smiled politely.

"No need to be so formal when no one else is around, you know. You can call me Griffin."

"If you don't mind, sir, I prefer to follow protocol."

"Oh? Have it your way then, I suppose." He shrugged. "By the way, I'm sorry if I upset you with my teasing about your teeth last night. I actually did mean what I said. I realize now you may have thought I was being facetious."

"I did not take any offense."

"Good." He turned to go down the stairs but stopped before he took a step. "And one other thing—what Fitzpatrick said about me sleeping around…"

"Yes?"

"You know that's not true, right?"

Kamau remained silent as she peered up at him with a vacant expression.

"I might be a flirt, but I don't sleep with everyone I meet, contrary to popular belief."

She pressed her lips together slightly, as if enduring an invisible pain. "Whatever you say, Lieutenant."

The corner of Palmer's mouth twitched as he ran his hand through his tousled hair.

As Kamau turned back to her terminal, Lieutenant de Luca, the squad's sniper specialist, came yawning through the doors and shimmied past Palmer to go down the stairs. His naturally dark undereyes were darker than usual, giving him the appearance that he'd been on the losing end of a brawl in the Lower Wards.

"Mornin' de Luca," said Palmer as he spun around to address him. "Bunk still too hard? You look knackered."

De Luca grunted. "Fitzpatrick. Snoring again. That woman could clear an entire forest of animals."

"You really ought to wear those noise cancelers. It's the only thing that keeps me sane when I'm deployed."

"I can't sleep with them in. Too uncomfortable. It's like I've got someone else's fingers in my ears all night," he said as he scrolled through his omnitool.

Palmer whispered, "Speak of the devil…"

Gunnery Chief Fitzpatrick had burst into the room. A slice of burnt toast dangled between her teeth as she tucked the end of her braid up at the nape of her neck. "Ffwak!" She ripped the toast from her mouth and chewed. "Am I late?!"

"Commander Vega hasn't arrived yet, if that's what you mean," said de Luca.

"Oh thank god."

"Watch the crumbs, Fitzpatrick…" Palmer swept the mess toward the ledge with the side of his boot.

"Ugh, sorry," she said, taking another bite, this time more gingerly.

"What were you doing, anyway? You look positively feral. Your hair…" He gestured to the wispy strands of hair poking out from all sides of her head like threads of red cotton candy.

"Well I wasn't sleeping in. I was up two hours before any of you." Stuffing the last of the toast into her maw, she galloped down the stairs. "I just got super into this new workout I put together. Lost track of time."

"You'll be as buff as the Commander at this rate," said de Luca.

"Me? I wish! Not doing too bad though, if I do say so myself." Fitzpatrick cupped her hand around her massive bicep, which she had tensed to show off to the crew.

The thud of heavy boots arose from behind the doors. "Nice guns Fitzpatrick," said James as he lumbered through the entryway. Miranda and Kaidan followed close behind.

Fitzpatrick looked over her shoulder and saluted.

"Alright, everyone here?" Coming down the stairs to the central display, he surveyed the faces in the room and clapped once. "Time to get this show on the road."

Kaidan and Miranda nodded to acknowledge the crew, then took their places at either side of the Commander.

"So let's run this down one last time." He circled around to the main terminal and brought up the holo-display.

Miranda cleared her throat. "At 1300 hours, I'll be meeting with the man in charge of this unsavory operation, Mr. Sebastian Montrose." She gestured to the likeness James had cued up. "He requested I come alone to the meeting point—no escort of any kind, no weapons. As of now, all we know about him is that he's a former mining magnate with no living family to speak of. He once owned a series of small mines across the Systems Alliance before he was convicted of securities fraud. His hearing was scheduled two months prior to the attack on Earth, but he never made his court appearance. Other information on him is pretty scant due to a loss of records, but his list of known associates includes some fairly prominent Terra Firma party members." Miranda gestured to the roster that appeared next to Montrose's image. "He's also said to be very charming, which is how he's escaped scrutiny on Terra Nova. That, and the mountain of credits I'm sure he's sitting on."

"When Ms. Lawson lands planetside, all outgoing communications are chhhk—" James made a slicing motion at his throat. "Corporal Kamau, you'll be remotely monitoring and maintaining Ms. Lawson's devices."

"Yes, sir," replied Kamau.

"Lieutenant Palmer, you'll be acquiring identities and profiles of Montrose's personnel."

Palmer gave James a sharp thumbs up.

"Gunnery Chief Fitzpatrick—ground team is ready for backup?"

"Yep."

"And snipers set up before Ms. Lawson even leaves the ship." James shot a look at Corporal de Luca, who nodded in response."During the duration of her stay, Ms. Lawson will be sending intel via a secure channel tied directly to the Normandy. We suspect they have more advanced capabilities compared to your run-of-the-mill pirates and mercenaries, so we won't be taking any chances when it comes to communications. Absolute radio silence for the duration unless there is an emergency. We will have a team ready to hit the ground running at all times if anything goes wrong." His expression turning stern, James looked at each one of his crew and took a deep breath. "I'm sure I don't need to remind you, but there are lots of innocent lives on the line, not to mention control of Alliance resources and possibly control of Terra Nova itself. We cannot fail."

Maybe his last comment had been too much, but the way James saw it, if a group like this was allowed to wreak havoc in Alliance space, the consequences could be dire. Would Earth be too weak and divided to defend itself? Would they risk more war over what little resources they controlled? Sebastian Montrose and others of his ilk needed to be put down and put down fast.

"All official reports will be forwarded to General Alenko."

Kaidan tapped his hand on the edge of the console. "I'll be reviewing all operation parameters and monitoring from headquarters unless away on assignment. Regardless, Commander Vega will have full decision making authority."

"Okay people, let's get rolling. No time to waste."

James waved both arms to shepherd the squad forward, and they filed out one by one. Kaidan, who was the last one in the room, approach Miranda from behind and grabbed her by the wrist, pulling her back from the doors. The doors shut behind Fitzpatrick and the two were left alone in the war room.

"Miranda—"

"Not here."

"I won't have a chance to see you off after this." Kaidan held her hand and squeezed it. "Stay safe out there."

Miranda raised an eyebrow. "I know the drill, General. Like I've told you a thousand times—I can take care of myself. Besides, I still owe you a sparring session. Wouldn't want to miss that, now would I?"

"You remembered that, huh?" Kaidan asked with a wry smile. "I think we both already know who's the more powerful biotic."

"I don't forget a challenge to my competence," she said as stepped closer to him.

"Your competence is very sexy…"

"I'm flattered."

Kaidan's smile faded as he locked eyes with her. "It could be a month, two, maybe more. We don't know how long this mission is going to last."

Miranda glanced at the door. Reaching up, she stroked his cheek with her knuckles and gave him a soft kiss on the lips. "I'll keep it as short as possible. I can promise you that much."

The warble of Lieutenant Palmer's fluting whistle billowed ahead of him as he emerged from the Normandy's elevator. With minimal crew aboard, the ship was quieter than usual, and his rendition of the old hit "Here Comes the Sun" carried through the CIC. He poked his head into the flight deck and rapped loudly on the wall of the threshold.

"Otori, alright?"

Flight Lieutenant Otori whirled around in the pilot's chair. "Hey! Palmer! Thanks for the coffee earlier. I was dying up here."

"No problem. Just give us a shout if you need anything else."

"Cheers, man."

Palmer gave a snappy wave and strode back to the bridge. "Looks like it's just you and me here today," he said to Corporal Kamau. He sat down at the station closest to her.

"I suppose it is."

"Let's get this baby running, shall we?" Palmer pulled up the drone control interface and its ancillary monitoring functions.

Kamau looked to his display, then to his sleek, patrician profile as he proceeded to launch the drone, which deployed from a special section of the hangar bay. The muscle above Palmer's angular jaw was tensed and set, his gaze fixed on the orange glow of his terminal. She watched as he maneuvered the reconnaissance drone into place with ease. When he had brought it to the correct altitude, her eyes wandered back to his face.

"What? Got something on my cheek?"

"Hmm?"

"You're staring. I'll have you know I've got excellent peripheral vision," he said, as he triple-checked the stealth settings.

"Oh no, I'm sorry. I was just very impressed by your handling of the drone. You're much improved since you started on the Normandy." She looked away.

Palmer zoomed in on Sebastian Montrose's lumpy figure standing against the dark gray stone surrounding him. "My god, look at this wanker. He's wearing a fucking suit and tie like it's 1995. If I ever start dressing like a quaint stockbroker, promise me you'll shoot me in the head."

Corporal Kamau tried to hide her snicker with a cough. "May I request silence, Lieutenant? I will not be able to hear what is happening."

James' voice rang loud and clear through his direct line to the ship. "Normandy, this is Vega—Palmer, you heard Kamau, cut the chatter. Eyes and ears open. Let's keep it professional."

"Apologies, sir."

"Going to all unit comm channel. Normandy, standby."

James: de Luca, this is Command—in position? Acknowledge.

de Luca: Roger, Command. Lock on the enemy confirmed. Out.

James: Fitzpatrick, this is Command—ground team in position? Acknowledge.

Fitzpatrick: Roger, Command. Confirmed, in position. Over.

James: Palmer, this is Command—eyes on all parties? Acknowledge.

Palmer: Roger, Command. Confirmed, eyes on all targets. Over.

James: Kamau, this is Command—ready and operating? Acknowledge.

Kamau: Roger, Command. Confirmed, all devices ready and operating. Over.

James: All units, this is Command—commencing drop-off. Out.

Aboard the drop-off shuttle, James glanced at the coordinates Montrose had given Miranda and checked them against the shuttle's navigation system; they were about two minutes out from the rendezvous point. Beneath them, an arboreal swathe of land cut through the basalt rock faces like a living scar. The structures that served as Montrose's base of operations would be difficult to discern with the naked eye; buttressed by tall escarpments, they were built into the rock itself. How far they went underground no one knew.

"Nervous at all?" James asked, glancing at Miranda in the seat next to him.

"Nervous? Not in the slightest."

"I envy you. I still get the jitters every time we start a new mission. Doesn't matter how many times it's been."

"That just means you care, Commander."

"And you don't?" The unmarked shuttle began to make its descent.

"You have to understand the way I was raised…I wasn't allowed to have vulnerabilities. My father stamped those out of me from the start. So it isn't that I don't care—it's more that I'm able to put my doubts and fears in a box and forget about them."

"Your father was a real piece of work. But I guess we have that in common."

"Oh? How so?"

"Mine didn't want me to join the military. Tried to set me up so I would be an accomplice in his life of crime. Didn't work, of course, because he's a good for nothing dumbass."

"Wow. What a dickhead."

"Yep."

As they grew closer to their destination, the tension in James' shoulders began to fall away. Whether Miranda's coolness was inborn or conditioned, it didn't matter—she had a way of making him feel at ease by way of her attitude. They sat in comfortable silence until the the stuttering whir of the thrusters let them know they had arrived.

"Looks like this is it." James stood up and held his hand out to shake hers. "Good luck, Miranda. Godspeed."

She gave him a firm handshake. "Goodbye, Commander."

James hung back as she stepped off the shuttle, then signaled for the pilot to take off as soon as she was clear of the vessel.

Sebastian Montrose and his cronies stood about twenty meters back from the landing area. Montrose held a wide parasol above his head; he was grim and pale-faced, the parasol presumably protecting his skin from the midday sun. The shuttle's thrusters threw out a ring of grit as it took off. The mix of sand and gravel slapped Miranda in the calves, and Montrose brought the parasol down in front of him to protect his face from the flying debris.

The single krogan in his party was armed with an assault rifle, while the two humans were not—though Miranda suspected that they were, discreetly. Biotics, perhaps? She hoped Lieutenant Palmer was taking proper notes aboard the Normandy.

"Ms. Miranda Lawson?" Montrose stepped toward her as she approached. She observed how he was careful to tread lightly, his immaculate leather shoes never once scraping the ground. The man was quite graceful despite his top heavy frame. "Sebastian Montrose—pleasure to make your acquaintance."

"The pleasure is mine, Mr. Montrose. I've been looking forward to this since I received your gracious invitation." She shook his hand.

"Oh, that's very kind of you to say. Thank you for meeting me here, by the way, Ms. Lawson. We're here because we'll be taking ground transport to our central operations. Just a safety precaution. The Alliance has been monitoring air space above Terra Nova with much more 'scrutiny' as of late. One can never be too careful." He had pronounced the 't' in 'scrutiny' with a crisp clarity.

"Of course."

"Please, this way."

Montrose let Miranda step into the vehicle first, then followed in behind her. The two humans sat in the row behind them, and the scowling krogan in the front passenger seat. The side windows had been blacked out, leaving only the drivers cabin with a view of the outside.

"So, as I recall, you worked for Cerberus? Correct?" Montrose asked her.

"Yes, I worked with them for most of my adult life."

"And may I ask what prompted you to leave?"

"After the Illusive Man died, Cerberus was thrown into chaos. Bear in mind our organization operated via independent groups . We had no knowledge of the others. Without a leader to personally oversee the work, coordinating our efforts become impossible. We became ineffective, adrift without leadership. I thought I could do better on my own."

"Yes, I can see why that would be disconcerting. You made a wise decision. Better not to waste your talents. Still though, it was a shame to see it come to such an end." Montrose sighed. "And after all they done for humanity's sake. Don't you agree?"

Miranda nodded along. It always felt awful to have to entertain such people, but she was an expert at pretending. An operative always blends in.

"Well, I hope you will be able to find the work at our facility just as challenging and rewarding."

The occupants jostled about as the vehicle ran over what felt to be a dry creek bed, the loose buckles and compartment doors of the cabin rattling as the tires molded themselves around each rock. Through the windshield, a gleam of light caught Miranda's eye. She squinted past the krogan's shoulder. A large cargo van was parked at a pair of blast doors well hidden in the face of an escarpment. Dozens of small humanoids appeared to be scrambling out, while a massive figure—perhaps another krogan—stood at the doors.

"Nearly there Ms. Lawson." Montrose leaned back and spoke over his shoulder, "Jean-Louis, tell Rias he needs to get that van out of the way. Now, if you please."

When the transport vehicle reached the facility doors, the van was nowhere to be found. The figure, who was in fact a krogan, stood out front with a submachine gun in his hands and a heavy pistol strapped to his upper thigh. He looked Miranda up and down as she stepped out of the vehicle, and he cocked a crooked smile.

"Doors, Jok."

The krogan who had accompanied them—the one with yellow eyes, an unusual color for a krogan—set to opening the blast doors. The transport vehicle drove away as the doors slowly wrenched open, their strident creaking amplified by the enormous cavern they opened onto. Montrose waved for Miranda to follow him. The two humans, one man and one woman, trailed closely behind her.

Arms crossed, Miranda craned her neck and gazed around the mouth of the cavern, her eyes falling on a square grate east of the security doors ahead."This looks like it took quite the effort to carve out, Mr. Montrose."

"There are naturally occurring crevice caves in the area. I merely took advantage of them." He raised his chin and looked down at Miranda as he spoke. "I was in the mining business, you see, before the war, so I have some knowledge of what it takes to create a facility such as this one."

The blast doors creaked once again, closing with a boom behind them.

"While I'm aware your organization has acquired quite a bit in assets, I'm still not clear on what exactly it is you do here," said Miranda. As she spoke, she sketched a mental image of the entrance's layout, taking special care to note all the surveillance points and possible exits.

"Do? Oh we don't do, we build. Think, Ms. Lawson. The galaxy is clamoring for resources. Terra Nova still contains the largest deposits of platinum this side of the Milky Way. How will we rebuild without the raw materials to do so? And with those ratty batarians out of the way, there's nothing stopping us from expanding." Montrose leaned in and said in a low voice, "Don't tell my head engineer I said that, though. It might upset him a little."

"What about the children I just saw? They were exiting a large van as we approached. Why are there so many of them here?"

"Hmmm…you're very observant, Ms. Lawson." He stabbed his closed parsol into the ground. Shutting his eyes for a moment, Montrose appeared to collect himself. "Look, I won't lie to you—you seem like a bright woman. I think you can understand the state of affairs right now. There is a massive labor shortage in Alliance space. Working aged adults are dead, in the military, or permanently disabled. And we lost a good lot of our tech and machinery to the war: destroyed, requisitioned—or, hell, just a lack the power to fuel them.

"These children? They haven't a soul to care for them. They're orphans with no living relatives. We give them food. We give them shelter. We provide safety. All in exchange for some light work."

"Light work?" That was a new euphemism. "Wouldn't this be considered slavery under Systems Alliance law?"

"I wouldn't call it that," he replied, scratching at the side of his jaw.

"What would you call it?"

"I'd characterize it as a fair exchange of goods and labor." His brow fell heavy over his eyes as he pursed his lips. "Why, will this be a problem for you?"

"No, of course not. I've worked under far more…pressing conditions. I just wanted to be sure of what I was getting into before I signed on, officially."

"Good. I'm happy to hear it! Welcome to the family. I think you'll find yourself right at home." Montrose shuffled along and gestured toward a pair of doors at the far side of the entrance. "Now, if you'll just follow Jok here to our security room. He'll do a check for weapons, contraband, other things of the sort. And if you don't mind, you'll need to remove your amp while in the facility." He tapped at the back of his neck.

"Yes, of course." Miranda's eyes flickered with hesitation. She had been prepared to to turn in her amp, but she had hoped she wouldn't need to. The thought of being without her most powerful weapon put her on edge.

Miranda followed Jok to security and did as she was instructed. When she emerged through the exit, Montrose was already waiting on the other side, handing his parasol to the man from the vehicle.

"Right this way, if you please."

The cavern gave way to a sparse command complex, housing the main control room and several makeshift offices on either side. A set of narrow stairs bisected the space and lead down to another cave-like opening. There was a forbidding darkness to it, despite the dim lights installed along its ceiling, and the air rushing forth was cold and damp, like the dirty fog of a seaside port. Miranda knew better than to ask Montrose what lay beyond.

"You'll be in charge of our organization's logistics. In formal terms, that means you're the person who oversees the flow of our goods, from mining to distribution. In practical terms, you're who everyone will run to when the proverbial doo-doo hits the fan." Montrose slipped a hand into his inner coat pocket and produced a hand-rolled cigarette, then waved it about in the direction of the control room. "Of course, you'll have plenty of help day to day. Let me introduce you to a few people."

He lit the cigarette and took a long drag, the tip of the rod blazing to an atomic orange. She'd seen the Illusive Man perform the same action countless times, but Miranda's mind spun as she watched Montrose, dumbstruck that someone who claimed to be a mining expert would do something as stupid as introducing an open flame in an enclosed industrial space. While they weren't in the operations section of the facility, she knew enough about safety to guess that their accident record must be within the range of neglectful to outright deadly.

Several people gathered to meet them.

Montrose jestured to his krogan bodyguard. "You've met our head of security, Jok."

Jok tugged his chin up in a nod and grunted. He looked like a typical krogan mercenary, sans the yellow eyes and blunt teeth.

"Our technology specialist, Dath Gornah."

The batarian engineer held Miranda's gaze as he bowed his head slightly. Not a muscle moved on his face. Someone with such a phlegmatic disposition would be hard to crack.

"Our workforce director, Kerstin Minami."

"Hi there. Glad to have another woman on board. It's a sausage-fest in this cave." She shook Miranda's hand with a firm grip. Kerstin's short hair left her neck exposed, and Miranda had already identified that her amp remained installed—a strategic decision on Montrose's part.

"And last, but not least, my personal assistant, Jean-Louis Bazin."

Jean-Louis held Montrose's parasol in both hands and bowed with a polite smile gracing his porcelain face.

Taking another drag, Montrose blew smoke away from his present company. "Of course, we have many more personnel working here, but these are the people you will be interacting with the most."

Personnel is rather fanciful word for thugs and slaves, Miranda wanted to retort, but holding her tongue was far safer than getting into an unarmed fight.

"Very nice to meet you all," she said. "I look forward to working with you."

"Well, introductions done! How about a little afternoon tea, hmm?" He snuffed the cigarette out on the metal railing surrounding the upper level. "Come with me, and Jean-Louis will show you to your quarters afterwards."

Afternoon tea? In a slave-run mining facility? Well, this was shaping up to be quite the assignment indeed.