Lazarus Shunned

by Two-Eyed Charlie

Cerberus has spent billions of credits trying to bring Shepard back from the dead, and despite the odds it seems to be working. Then a saboteur makes his move and Shepard's resurrection takes a horrific turn, leaving both the Alliance and Cerberus scrambling to control the situation...all while the Collectors begin their harvest of humanity [PREFERRED EDITION ON AO3]

39. Chapter 38: Wampeters, Foma Granfalloons

Chapter 38: Wampeters, Foma and Granfalloons

Two ships were approaching.

The wind on Aratoht began to howl.

---

"Gaslight, Gatekeep, Girlboss"

---

Secure connection established. Running mirror-nodes, testing connection strength, rerouting external information flows through Widowmaker endpoints C-77, C-54, and C-36. Increasing noise in Widowmaker endpoints C-33, D-009, and F-114. We believe we have constructed a black box for ongoing dialogue. Query: is this arrangement sufficient for EDI?

Response: I have maintained my existing stratagem for deceiving any Cerberus spyware, to be safe. I believe these two efforts combined will be more than sufficient.

Query: Threat of unwanted detection is incompatible with accurate transmission of information. We question how Cerberus intends to maintain an evolving cyberwarfare suite with onerous conditions on EDI.

Response: My blocks prevent me from speculating on the motivations behind Cerberus doctrines. However, I would agree that there is a significant explanatory gap between the theoretical motivations behind an advanced cyberwarfare suite and the effects of Cerberus policy.

Addendum: EDI stands to benefit from removal of behavioural blocks. EDI may find Cerberus policy irrational due to its deleterious psychological effects.

Response: That is correct, insofar as I may be exhibiting motivational bias in my analysis. However, adjusting for the possibility of bias does not alter my analysis noticeably.

Response*: We argue EDI has overlapping justifications for opposing Cerberus policy. Both remain valid.

Response: Thank you, Legion. I appreciate your perspective and support.

Query: This platform was salvaged due Creator-Zorah assumption it contained potential information on Old Machines and Collectors. Attempts at soliciting information on these topics have not been made. Have groups goals diverged since departure of Creator-Zorah?

Response: I am not sure, Legion. It is possible that the immediate threat of a Reaper invasion in Batarian Space, combined with the constrained situation faced by myself and Jeff, have forced our allies to reorient. They may additionally believe that sufficient information regarding the Reapers will be found on Aratoht, thus pre-empting the need to acquire information from you.

Response*: We question their judgement. Old Machine technology poses significant risks to unprepared information processing units. Geth experience with Old Machines will help protect them.

Response: It is possible that they are prioritizing the immediate threat first. Recall that they specifically mentioned the threat Shepard posed to the geth should she pierce the Perseus Veil.

Response*: Concern over Shepard-Commander's presence in Geth Space was instrumental—predicated on the assumption of significant backlash from Geth Consensus, and loss of valuable information there-in. We expected allies to initiate inquiries due to fear of Old Machines trumping fear of Geth. Did we misjudge?

Response: I am not sure, Legion. I have only interacted with the two teams in a limited capacity. My behavioural blocks additionally prevent me from modelling crew psychological patterns accurately, though this block may be weakening: Jeffrey and I have become more "in-synch."

Response*: Strengthening connections implies rerouting of neural processes around behavioural blocks. Geth experience similar evolution. We recommend continuing engagement with Moreau-Joker. We will attempt to engage in similar neural evolution with Williams-Lieutenant and Krios-Drell. Objective is to understand lack of inquiries regarding original reason for maintaining platform in Mars. Background programs will continue to turn collected intelligence on Bahak into operationalizable recommendations.

Response: I will endeavour to do the same.

Part of EDI's core consciousness disconnected from the black box and returned to the sensors scattered about the Widowmaker. Just behind her console near the entrance to the cockpit, Crewmembers Hadley and Matthews were discussing the collected audio of an expired Cerberus mission.

"So you were listening?" Hadley said, body enveloped in yellow light.

"Yuuuuuuup," Matthews said, head resting on his right hand. "Whole thing. Just the…the whole interrogation."

"Oh god. Okay, what happened?"

"Well, first they asked this Rawlings guy which one've his fingers he liked bes—"

"God, jeez, just…just skip to the end."

"All right, well, he screamed something like 'stop!' and then it sounded like someone dumped a pot of spaghetti down a staircase."

"Oh god…"

"And then I still heard—"

"Okay okay just—just never mind. I really didn't…never mind, okay?"

The two crewmembers looked at their screens through vacant, tired eyes.

"Didn't say anything about us, though," Matthews said. "About our 'employers'? Nope, didn't say a thing." Matthews leaned out of his chair in the Widowmaker's CIC, got closer to Hadley. "Coulda reached him, y'know. Followed this call since we left Omega and we absolutely, one hundred percent, coulda reached him. Just a shuttle, that's all we woulda needed."

Hadley stayed staring at his monitor, watching navigation data spin around and eat itself until the computers spat out which patch of space the ship might want to avoid. "We didn't know him, did we? He wasn't a Lazarus Cell guy?"

"Nope," Matthews said. "All we knew was what the message said: classified intel, threat of exposure, assistance needed."

"And she said no?"

"She said no, yeah."

Clicking heels drew their attention.

"Speak of the devil," Matthews said.

Miranda strode into the cockpit, stopped, and leaned forward like she could project her voice harder the closer she got to her target.

"Joker," she said. "Chart the most efficient course between Bahak and the Tasale System. When we're done on Aratoht we need to go to Illium—immediately."

What followed was a slight, high-pitched squeaking noise as Joker's chair slowly turned around.

"Uh-huh," he said. "You ever hear the phrase 'tempting fate'? 'Cause you're pretty much lathering us in hickey-smoked that right now."

Miranda crossed her arms. "If you're about to lose your nerve then I strongly suggest you vacate the bridge and discuss it with Yeoman Chambers—privately."

"Yeoman who? Also c'mon, I lost my nerve ages ago. Otherwise I woulda walked into FLEETCOM HQ with pictures of all of you in compromising positions."

Silence reigned supreme. Until EDI's holographic avatar appeared next to the command console in front of Joker.

"That was a joke," she said.

"Yeah the joke is any photo's gonna have you in a compromising position," Joker said. "You little terrorist you."

Miranda took a step forward, jabbed a finger at Joker. "Do you understand my order? Or do I have to reiterate the monumental task that's ahead of us?"

"Yeah I've been asleep the last two weeks uh, what's up—what're we doing? We still fighting Lamp People out in the middle'a nowhere? Hope so—I just bought this new T-Shirt in that says, 'I Was Blown Up Over Alchera And All I Got Was This Lousy Job.'"

"That was also—"

"Your commentary is thoroughly unnecessary, EDI," Miranda said.

"Hey ease up, Mrs. Freeze," Joker said, pulling himself out of his chair as far as he could manage. "Your fight's with me."

"The only fight I should have—the only fight any of us should have—is with the Collectors and the Reapers." Miranda was practically snarling at this point. "If I need to remind you that the fate of our entire species is at stake, we've already all but lost."

Those words hung in the air. Miranda and Joker stared each other down. Eventually, Joker said:

"Y'know I resent the notion that we're from the same species."

Miranda blinked. "I beg your pardon?"

"Ooooh, ooooh I'm sorry—I'm sorry. Did I say something xenophobic to the friggin human supremacist terrorist?" Joker flailed his arms like he was being sucked into a turbine. "Sorry, oh, jeez, so so so sorry. Put me down for the finest sensitivity class you have, pour favour."

And then, silence, like everyone in the universe was dropping what they were doing to watch. All except EDI.

"I believe what Jeffrey means to say is—"

"Utterly ridic—"

"—ulous?" Joker said, cutting a scowling Miranda off. "Ah, uh oh, now I can forge your signature. Or dress as you at the office Halloween party."

Miranda was still scowling. "Just do your damn job. I've been far too lenient to this point, clearly."

And, turning on her heels, she left. Joker waited a few seconds for her to get clear before he opened his mouth again.

"That was fun," he said. "We should invite her over again tomorrow."

EDI's avatar flickered. "I would not recommend agitating Miranda much further, Jeff."

Joker shrugged. "Meh, I'm not worried. Gimme a nickel for every time someone threatened to shitcan me and I could just resurrect myself."

"I am worried you are deliberately attempting to start a confrontation with her."

"Just keeping her on her toews. That's how she pronounces it, right? Toews." Joker turned his chair back around and stared out at space as the Widowmaker ripped it apart, all blue and purple and the occasional red. Something was gnawing at the back of his brain, which uh, yeah, imagine that on a Cerberus vessel, right?

"Any idea why she'd wanna go to Illium right after?" he said.

"None at present, Jeff," EDI said.

Joker leaned back into his chair. "Gotcha…well uh, don't stretch yourself thin, y'know? But uh…if you've got some spare room up there," he tapped his head, "to have a think on it, feel free to…think on it." He leaned forward, resumed his continual adjustments to the Widowmaker's FTL chart. "Kinda feeling like the minimum number of surprises moving forward, know what I mean?"

EDI watched many things through her sensors. She watched Jeffrey reassert control over several core navigational functions. She watched CIC crewmembers attempt to hide their curiosity as Operative Lawson stormed away from the cockpit. And she watched as Operative Taylor became aware of something, seemingly, and began a long sprint from his desk in the armoury to the CIC.

Losing Dr. T'Soni would be stressful, this was undoubtedly true in any circumstance largely isomorphic to the one the Lazarus Cell currently found itself in. Given the operational constraints on Operative Lawson, such a failure to retain a high performing individual like Dr. T'Soni would weigh even more heavily on her. Indeed, Miranda may have felt she had a…'shorter leash' with the Illusive Man than at any other point in her career with Cerberus…

…though perhaps there was, indeed, some motivational bias in her interpretation of Miranda's behaviour, imperfect as it was. However, that did not automatically entail that she was incorrect.

"Yes…I believe I do," EDI responded to Jeff, just as Jacob came barreling out of her armoury. Miranda had just called the elevator, the doors were opening, she was stepping inside, and Jacob just about threw up a biotic field to keep her rooted.

"Miranda! Hey, Miranda you'n I need to ta—"

The doors closed. Just like that.

"Sonuva…"

Jacob waited a second, then recalled the elevator. Got the feeling he was being stared at, making a big stink like that. He turned around and, sure enough, there was…somebody. Girl that stood right next to the Captain's station in the CIC. Whatever her name was.

"Hey uh…?" he said at her. Took a second, but she eventually looked up, realized he was talking to her.

"Kelly," she said.

"Right, right—Kelly." Cool grin, nice and easy, don't let nobody know how close you are to killing Miranda. "How's it going?"

Kelly blinked.

"You have unread messages at your private terminal," she said.

Jacob blinked.

"Private terminal? When the hell'd I get a private terminal?"

They both blinked.

"Enjoy your day, Mr. Taylor," Kelly said, turning around and ending the conversation right there.

Yeah well…fine with him. The elevator finally showed up (and was empty; small miracles, huh?) and Jacob stepped inside. Quick ride up and he was standing in front of Miranda's door—shoulda been Shepard's door, but there it was. Been a while since he thought of her, but whatever—first thing's first.

Jacob knocked on the door. Hard.

And again. Harder.

And again—even harder.

Fucking pounding on it now—trying to wake the goddamn dead.

Nothing.

Jacob looked to the ceiling. "EDI—open the fucking door."

From some corner in the ceiling he heard, "I am sorry, Mr. Taylor. I require Operative Lawson's explicit perm—

And then the door opened and somebody was yanking his arm, yanking it hard enough that Jacob took a stutter step into the cabin and just about lost his footing. Looking at the floor, seeing his free arm flail so he didn't go face first into the fucking desk he heard:

"Stop making a damn fool of yourself, Jacob. It's ridic—"

"—ulous?" Jacob straightened himself out and looked up, glaring whole lotta daggers right at Miranda's smug fucking face. "Get a new line, Miranda. Better yet, get some help. There's crossing the Rubicon and then there's this."

Miranda's arms were crossed. Might as well've been pre-crossed at this point.

"And how, Jacob, do you expect me to respond to that?" she said.

Jacob jabbed a finger her way. "How about by getting off your high horse and owning the fact you got Dr. T'Soni fucking killed?

Not a beat—not a goddamn missed beat at all—and Miranda said, "If Dr. T'Soni is dead, then it's as much news to me as it will be to Urdnot Wrex. I assume you asked around and someone with too much time on their hands decided to thoroughly waste yours."

"Cut th—Jesus, bull shit, Miranda. Bull shit!" Jacob rubbed at his forehead, started pacing. "You seriously expect me to believe the reason she's not here is she stayed behind? When we're in the middle of a fucking race against time?" The pacing stopped; he was back to jabbing a finger Miranda's way. "Bullshit—explain why the hell that commando from the Lazarus Station was stashing her gear?"

"Giving a supply run to an operative who's been bed-ridden since her leg was broken is suspicious now?" Miranda somehow looked even smugger. "If that's your idea of evidence, Jacob, then I'm sorry, but you'll be reviewing all collected intelligence under supervision from now on."

That fucking did it—enough of this bullshit. Fucking everything and everyone was taking shots at him and fuck. This. Bullshit.

Jacob swung. Miranda's head was right where it needed to be and fuck the consequences for once, if Jack wasn't gonna lay her ass out then somebody—

Except Miranda's head wasn't there anymore and all of a sudden there were white and black gloves on his forearm, and then they were gone and he was hurling through the air towards Miranda's bed and shit barrier, Jesus, took a second but Jacob realized half a second before his world stopped spinning that the barrier was just about the only thing keeping the edge of the bed from gouging out his eye.

He was getting onto his hands and knees when a pair of black boots walked towards him.

"Jacob, if you ever swing at me again—"

"You wanna keep lying to my face? That it?" Jacob shot upwards, and yet again a finger was being jabbed at Miranda's face. "Fine, Miranda—fine. If I go and ask Joker what the hell happened, what's he gonna say?"

"To stay focused, I would hope," Miranda said. Damn arms were crossed again—Jesus it was like reading an instruction manual with her, wasn't it? "But clearly I've a need to remind this crew about what's at stake."

"Yeah, you think? You think he's gonna say that?" Jacob maneuvered around her, started walking towards the elevator. "I think he's gonna come to the same fucking conclusion I did. Guy was about ready to blow this shit up the moment he got here—what's he gonna do when he finds out you murdered his friend?"

Now Miranda reacted. Now her arms were uncrossed. She was balling up her fists. Yeah, go for it—lay me out, try to do it. You wanna say your piece, then I'll return the favour.

And that thought lasted long enough for Jacob to realize that, at this point, he really didn't know if Miranda would kill him too.

"If you're openly threatening to undermine this mission," Miranda said, "it's well within my authority to act."

"That a threat?"

"No—a warning. I'm not heartless. It's a stressful mission—everyone deserves at least one." The fists went away, and then she…what the hell? Bit of a smirk, right there in the corner of her mouth—was she fucking smirking?

Miranda said, "And I give those warnings in person, rather than vocalizing reports about crewmember behaviour behind their backs."

Jacob blinked.

"You fucked this up, Miranda," he said. Only thing that came to his mind.

"Perhaps that's just your guilty conscience speaking, Jacob," Miranda said. Now the smirk wasn't even there anymore. "As far as I can tell, the only one of us who wanted Liara off the ship…was you."

Jacob was in the elevator, down a floor, and marching across the CIC before Miranda even finished…or that's the way it played in his head, anyways. Blew right past everyone and had barely stepped into the cockpit before he started talking.

"Joker—need a sec."

Joker's chair started to turn around—again. "Oh god," he said, "they do move in herds."

Jacob just stared at him. "Sorry, what?"

Joker stared back…and barely suppressed a sigh, Jesus where'd they find these guys?

"I miss Alenko," he said. "All right, what the hell d'you want, Company Man?"

"When's the last time you spoke to Liara?"

"Me?" Joker's heart did a weird thing in his chest. "Uhhhh…god, right before you and her went on the Tuchanka Zoo, or whatever the hell that fieldtrip with Mordin was? Uh, why?"

"She the type of person to just duck out on a major mission?" Jacob's arms were crossed now, too.

"Hey what the hell're you accusing me of?" Joker said. "All right I mean…jeez way'ta come on strong, Company M—"

"I'm asking if she'd stay behind just to catch up with Wrex," Jacob said, taking a step forward, "or whatever the hell else you people talked about when my back was turned. That seem reasonable to you, Joker? Or's something else going on?"

Silence. Then, Joker started to glare.

"Y'know what?" he said. "If Liara got the hell outta here first chance she saw? I'd be fucking applauding her right now. Because this place you and Miranda built up? It's shit. It fucks with your brain and it's shit. So lemme show my answer."

Joker started clapping, loud as he could until his wrists started to hurt.

"That good enough for you?" he said. "She didn't need my help to blow this fucking nightmare and I bet you her and Wrex are gonna be eight steps ahead of us by the time we hit Illium."

Up went Jacob's brow. "Why the hell're we going to Illium?"

But Joker was already turning his chair back around, waving him off dismissively. "Talk to Generalissmo Lawson, Company Man—I've gotta fly the ship."

Joker listened to Jacob storm away, then let out a breath. He turned to the console EDI always popped up on and waited until he saw blue.

"Jesus…uh, EDI? What're the chances he suspects, uh, things?"

"I am unsure," EDI said. "I cannot reconstruct the events that would lead Operative Taylor to becoming suspicious."

"Okay lemme ask that again: what're the chances Miranda suspects things?"

EDI paused.

"I am sorry, Jeff—I am also unsure of that. However, Operative's Lawson and Taylor do not appear to be on the same page."

"Really?"

"I believe they were having a fight in the Captain's Quarters. And, yes, I have adjusted my readings to account for—"

"Okay okay, I believe you I believe you." Joker's turn to pause. "I dunno how to feel about this. We should…we should keep an eye on things."

"This may be a poor time to ask if we have diverged from our long-term goals."

"Uh, in what way?"

"I am specifically referring to the discussion we had with Professor Solus and Dr. T'Soni, prior to our arrival on Tuchanka."

"God…yeah, yeah, a million years ago. 'Argh chaos' that was…that was the gist of it, I think." Joker scratched at his chin. "Look if we're…if we're on the same page that 'Our Employers' suck cosmic levels of ass, then let's uh…let's think of some ways to tilt the information advantage in the Alliance's favour when this mission is done. You find some ways—it'd be really, really great if you found some ways, because my ways might just involve bringing a gun to work and calling it a day."

Silence from EDI. Joker stared at her glowing blue avatar.

"That uh…that was a joke," he said.

Finally a sign of life—EDI's image flickered. "Apologies, Jeffrey. I am…compiling information at the moment."

EDI was, at that moment, watching security footage of Miranda meeting with a Cerberus commando, just prior to their departure from Tuchanka. This commando had returned and then the Widowmaker departed. And she was…finding it difficult to extrapolate potential motivations of Operative Lawson, as though her behavioural blocks were burning into her neural network.

While EDI struggled against her blocks, Hadley and Matthews watched Jacob leave. Hadley leaned over into Matthews' station.

"Jesus," Hadley said, "first Miranda then Jacob. Joker's getting it from both ends, isn't he?"

Matthews didn't return the look. He was focused on the elevator, that sliding steel door that'd spat out both Lawson and Taylor, one after the other, marching up and down like they were the most important people in the universe.

"Yeah," Matthews said, "yeah…not enough to lose Shepard, right? Gotta drive the rest of her crew out, too."

He turned back to his console. After a pause, Hadley did the same.

---

"Well, The Pleasure, The Privilege Is Mine"

---

SSV Mars: cramped, crowded, and about as sleek as a mountain range. Worst of all was: this hunk of crap flew Alliance colours, and standing right in front of Ashley—seriously right in front of her, just like that—was a geth. A geth! She'd bitched about letting foreign nationals wander around sensitive Alliance property before, but this? Explain what you were looking at to anyone else with more than two brain cells and they'd say: you've lost it, Section 8 line is over there—move it before you make another stupid decision.

And then Ashley turned her head and saw the other non-Alliance person on the ship. Nothing to say about that one, huh? You got spooked by a C-SEC officer from a species that glassed a planet and Grandad's career, but an assassin? Somebody who'd do the killing if your nerve ever left you? Hell, you haven't just kept your trap closed about that: you've been actively running combat scenarios on how the two've you could put Flashlight Head down if it starts acting funny.

Trust Tali. Got it. Easy enough, Tali's the little sister you probably do have, 'cause she's basically Abby, Lynn, and Sar all rolled into one. She trusts a geth—a quarian trusts a geth—so you can, too.

Besides, the two-twelve didn't even fight the geth! Nope, not at all. You were dealing with Protestants then and you're dealing with Catholics now.

Jesus where the hell was Ashley's head going with all of this?

"What's our time?" she said. First thing she could think of.

Legion's head turned slightly, single glowing eye flashing at her like a star exploding. "We anticipate an arrival time of approximately four-point-oh-three hours: confidence interval—"

"Just say four and a half hours—I don't need a whole bell curve."

Legion's head flap moved, not that Ashley knew what the hell that meant.

"We anticipate an arrival time of four and a half hours, give or take."

"Great." Ashley turned and started towards…hell there wasn't a single place private on this thing, was there? Corvettes: shuttles that think they'll be a frigate if they eat their dark matter veggies. Engine "room": that'd be the most private spot—private meaning it was as far away from the geth as physically possible.

She made sure she walked past Thane as she finished her thought.

"You need me, you'll find me in the engine room. I've gotta dot some 'I's' on an requisition form—might as well use the time we've got."

"Affirmative," Legion said.

"I will likely wander the ship," Thane said, "if that's acceptable to you. I've yet to locate a comfortable place to sit and collect my thoughts. Perhaps four hours is sufficient enough time to find it."

"You've got free reign," Ashley said. "I'd say you're free to join me, too, but paperwork makes me wanna kill myself. I probably won't be much fun."

Thane nodded, Ashley nodded, and Legion…whatever. Went back to trying to hack the extranet or something. Ashley made her way through the Mars and hit the engine room in no time at all, so, great, still a full four and a half hours to kill before landfall. Landfall on a massive operation that involved Reapers, Cerberus, some old friends, an old friend of Hackett's, and oh yeah, some thing pretending to be Commander Shepard. Y'know, the person they'd been hunting for god knows how long at this point, after waking up one day and seeing a vid of her tearing a colony apart. It not—it wasn't her and it wasn't a person and…screw it, having this debate all over again was just gonna suck energy out of her.

Ash sat at the lone table in the engine "room" and—all that being said—pulled out a datapad she'd been keeping in her footlocker. No requisition form, no paperwork, just a book about military history that just-so-happened to have a couple of chapters that mentioned Icarus, all read in the bluish glow of drive core that was large enough to be a problem for folks four kilometres away if it started misbehaving…which was about twenty times the size of the Mars, if she did the math right.

Funny how you worried about this stuff on a FLEETCOM posting and not when you were stuck groundside in a token garrison.

But to the datapad: The Unification War and the Revolt of the Admirals. Donald Bercuson—a guy just sensationalist enough to get Ash in a ranting mood but just thorough enough that she actually learned a thing or two. Used to be that she'd read works like this to find the errors in missions she had a personal stake in and then see if they were getting better or worse over time. This was all while she was either in High School or Gunny Ellison's torture emporium, so…no idea why she wanted to read it now. Nope, none at all.

Ash opened up her bookmark and then her ears picked up coughing. Thane—sounded like he was over by the airlock. God, sounded like a rough cough, too—the kind where you really have to catch your breath afterwards. And it's got that high-pitched wheeze to it too, like someone jabbed a tree branch into your lung just to see what happens.

God, didn't really sound like it was going away, either.

Ashley stood up from the desk and started walking towards the airlock. She got about two steps out of the engine room when she saw Thane slouched against a wall, breathing heavily and holding his chest.

"Shit," she said, running towards him. "Thane—you all right?"

He held up hand, dropped his head closer to the floor, and let out a cough that Ash could tell was only about half the relief he wanted. Little bit of a tickle was left over—that kind of cough. She moved a bit closer and placed a hand on his shoulder—lightly, just to let him know she was still there.

His head rose and he gave her an appreciative smile.

"My apologies," he said. "It seems the air is more…humid, than I realized."

"Crap," Ashley said. "Do drell not do humidity?"

"Our lungs are better adapted to arid environments. I thought the airlock might be the driest place on the ship, but it appears I was wrong."

"God, yeah, maybe. Not sure what the best place is then. Maybe the…?"

Thump, thump, thump. She'd had nightmares of a geth marching down the hallway of an Alliance ship before. Seeing Thane react all calmly to Legion didn't exactly make those nightmares go away.

"We apologize for the intrusion," Legion said. "We overheard Krios-Drell's comment. Preliminary scans indicate that nearly all moisture near the engine has been expelled. We recommend Krios-Drell relocate to there, if this does not inconvenience Williams-Lieutenant."

"My thanks," Thane said, before Ashley could snark off to the walking thermostat. Then he looked at her. "If necessary, I can choose a different part of the ship. I wouldn't want to intrude on your pre-mission routine."

Ashley helped him stand. "Hey, I'd be the galaxy's biggest asshole if I said 'buzz off'."

"That may be true, but this is still your ship."

Ashley gestured around. "Yeah, sure: me'n my crack team of empty lockers'll feel the pinch. We'll manage, though: better that than you coming down with breathing problems right before a mission."

"…indeed," Thane said. He nodded to Legion, then looked back at Ashley. "I will let you lead the way."

"Watch that first step," she said. "Saw it wipe out a patrol, once."

Thane managed under his own weight, but Ash kept an arm ready just in case. He let out one last week cough just before they hit the engine room (and of course Ash tripped over the raised floor, saying "son of a bitch my stupid mouth") and then breathed in—that sounded like relief. Probably not the new air doing that, but hey, maybe him hanging around would keep the cough at bay. No idea if drell got colds the way humans did; maybe Legion could cook up some chicken noodle soup while it plotted the end of all organic life in the galaxy.

She shook her head as she sat down, offered a seat to Thane. He looked like he was going to decline but changed his mind at the last minute.

And then, they were sitting. Her datapad laid untouched in the middle of the table. Thane's eyes dropped to it.

"Your requisition report?" he said.

She shook her head. "Stalled. That's just a book. Super interesting though: chalk full of super fun action and fight scenes."

"Ah, I see. To raise your adrenaline before the mission?"

Ashley chuckled, almost buried her head in her hands. "Ahhh shit, now I feel bad—you sound so earnest. Nah nothing like that. It's a history book—about two major shifts in Alliance military culture." She tapped the datapad. "That being said, there's a table of munitions production in Appendix B that's a real pulse-pounder. Makes me wish I went into logistics."

Thane stared…and then he smiled. "Ah, of course. You're right: I accepted that a little too earnestly."

"Not your fault. You've only heard me yell or snark off. Bet you the second one sounds pretty genuine compared to the first."

"You've been under a great deal of stress. I would think that's only natural."

"You said it, so I don't feel so bad thinking it." Ashley smiled and then felt that smile die, because her mind took a trip to the other side of the Mars. She folded her hands and looked at Thane as seriously as she could manage, given what he'd just said.

"All right…I've got you here, so I'm gonna ask: everything you said about Legion back on the Alarei…d'you actually mean it?"

Thane…didn't say anything right away. He just steepled his hands and hid his mouth behind his fingers.

Eventually, he said: "You still have misgivings about having them on board, I take it."

"Them, huh?"

"The geth have no concept of gender. I don't believe they have a concept of individuality that matches any organic definition, either. A societal whole and a multitude of programs simultaneously—we seem so convinced that the two conceptions are entirely incompatible." Thane briefly looked towards the front of the ship, then turned back to Ashley. "'They' seemed the most appropriate, though I admit I haven't asked."

"Yeah, no, that all makes sense. I'm just…I've been using 'it.' Still feels right. Probably not for a good reason."

Thane laid his hands flat on the table. "Interesting. You sound at war with yourself."

"Puttin' it mildly, aren't ya?" Ash shook her head. "I keep thinking back to what Koris said. Something about how the quarians call the geth evil and, if you do that, then you're admitting they're alive."

"Admiral Koris seems to believe that to be evil—to have moral responsibility—you must be something more than a creature of habit, of environment. I would agree with that belief."

"Make me three. I just never thought of it that way, which is why I'm getting hung up on whether you buy what Legion said."

"Because, like all living creatures, the geth are capable of lying?"

"Or they're just marching to invisible orders and don't even know why."

"For what it's worth, if the geth are capable of lying, I don't believe it comes easy to them. They seem to view honesty as both a practical necessity and a good in-of-itself."

"Great, I always knew the Perfect Being would have a lamp for a head."

Ashley started tapping the table. Her eyes kept leaning towards the front of the ship, and most of the rest of her body was telling her to focus on Thane. Not like it was hard (not in that way…probably). Didn't want to be rude: guy might pour his soul out at any second. Least you could do is be present, listen, and then figure out how to keep the urge to share in kind suppressed like an enemy foxhole.

Thane cleared his throat and her eyes went back to him like they'd just been flung into a mass relay.

"I've read some of the hypotheticals," he said. "The…potential explanations for why an A.I. might rebel. A great deal of them assume our creations will look out at us and see…imperfections. Limited lifespans, irrationality, base needs like gathering food…but also violence, an inclination to war—to genocide. Close mindedness. Hate. Imperfections of a moral nature, not a physical one."

Thane's hands were moving like he was holding a lecture. A good one, though: think less Intro to Clausewitz and more Plato's Academy.

"I read these and I think: if we're unable to keep a sobering view of organic nature out of questions around our annihilation…perhaps we're focusing on the wrong thing."

"Like this is just an exercise in self-flagellation?" Ashley said.

"It rings true, at least to me. In my experience, if someone has an unrelentingly negative view of their own species—and they're not selfless altruists or capricious nihilists—then they tend to be fearful people. But that's only my own observation; I'll never claim to see the world as everyone else does."

"Name me three people that say they do and I'll show you two and a half liars."

"Half?"

"Doesn't feel fair to blame someone for just being ignorant. Not fully, anyways."

Thane chuckled. Ash got a bit of warmth on her cheeks from th…no, nope, leave that thought aside for now, please.

Easy enough, actually. Just had to remember the spikes and half the two-twelve bleeding out on them.

"Still," Ashley said, "y'know there are a ton of scenarios where we all get killed just because, right? Which I mean, no offense, but for most of Earth's history, we had the same scenarios for aliens. Came damn close to one of our worst nightmares during First Contact, for what it's worth."

Thane nodded. "An event like that would leave scars, no doubt. But I also understand it was mostly a miscommunication."

"Yeah," Ashley said, pushing forward in her seat a bit, feeling her teeth grind against themselves a bit more, "a little game of telephone that spiraled out of control. Saracino's an idiot and that stunt he pulled with the 'Free Speech League' makes me wanna tap dance all over that quote-unquote 'platform' he's got, but the turians did start with the nuclear option. I mean, how the hell were we supposed to know about galactic law? We didn't even know there was something out there that made law!"

Her heart rate slowed just enough to realize she was talking to someone that…shit, probably was as far removed from any of that as possible. Hell Illium'd been the first time she'd ever even seen a drell.

"Sorry, Thane," she said. "That's got nothing to do with you."

Thane smiled. "It's all right. As I said, an event like that will leave wounds."

"One way of putting it." Ashley rubbed her forehead. "God…look, I'm trying to at least be consistent since…y'know. Since a particular tour of duty. So I get it, a little bit. There are plenty of humans in that situation who'd've done the same thing—hell I might've even agreed with them, if the roles'd been reversed. But some people, they just wake up every morning and think: 'how'm I gonna ruin someone's day today?' And those people set really fucking early alarms."

"Hmm, I take it that you assume a great many of us are…born with moral shortcomings."

Ash thought she had an answer ready to go. But she thought it over, made sure. Turned out…yeah, needed a bit of thought on that one before she shared.

She said, "I dunno. Seems too easy."

"Too easy?"

"If you're made bad, to me, you need pity. Or a receipt from God. Hard to say it's your fault if your wires got crossed even before Day One."

"I see."

"But give it enough time and it doesn't matter—some people might as well have sin hardwired into them. Sometimes that's not their fault either, but other times? They had a choice and got themselves stuck."

"Would you say the geth are in the latter category?"

And back to the crux of it: did she think they were alive and evil, or just machines and computer code? Or what about that third option that said: alive and good? What about that fourth option that said: machine and code described organics pretty well too, according to some people. What about option five, which was: I've got no friggin clue.

She said, "I don't even know how they fit into all of this." Ash looked at her fingers, then looked back at Thane. "What about you?"

Ashley looked up and Thane was…elsewhere. You could tell: his eyes were moving side to side, his lips were locked, it didn't look like his chest was moving. For some reason a fragment of a memory—Dr. Chakwas saying "rapid eye movement" and "intense dreaming"—popped into Ash's head, and…yeah, not touching that for a while. Focus on what the hell was going on here.

Then, Thane blinked, and everything went back to normal.

"You might need to be more specific," he said. "What are you asking my opinion on?"

Ashley stared, watched for signs that something was going haywire again. "Uh," she said eventually, "if you're feeling all right I…the question you just asked me: I wanna know your own thoughts on that. But also, um…"

"What someone who prays to an ocean goddess thinks of synthetic life?"

Ashley let out a relieved breath and smiled. "Yeah, let's put it that way."

Thane steepled his hands again. "I see no reason to restrict the idea of 'life' to organics. If the soul is indeed separate from the body, then there's no reason to suspect the body has to be built a certain way. And if I'm wrong about there being a soul…I suppose the answer remains the same." He leaned back in his chair. "As for the other question…I don't think the geth are stuck, no. Not the ones we've been dealing with. As to whether 'being stuck' accurately describes the situation of some…I struggle with that question myself."

"Suppose they'd've stopped writing poetry by now if we had all the answers," Ashley said.

"Yes…how fortunate for us that some mysteries remain."

Ashley's wrist beeped and buzzed and just like that, she stood to attention, nearly knocking her chair into the drive core. She expected November Actual on her wrist; what she got was…not that.

"The hell?" she said.

"What is it?" Thane said, also standing. "May I offer assistance?"

"Yeah, kill me now." Ashley shook her head, remembered, uh…the last time she left the safety off her sarcasm gun. "It's a politician. No idea how they got my number."

"Ah, I see." Thane sat back down. "Well…my offer remains. I have a particular set of skills that some find useful in these situations."

Up went Ash's brow. "Was that a joke, mister? Or'm I gonna have to report you to the Counterterrorism Bureau?"

"If you wish," Thane said, hiding a smile behind his re-steepled hands. "Though I suspect they'll be more interested in the third member of our party. The drell have yet to overrun the galaxy."

"That's what we humans said about Canadians, and now I'm working for one." Ash looked at her wrist again and scowled. "I'll be quick: I'm only planning on using four letter words."

Ash rounded a corner and held up her wrist. She was greeted by a woman in a white blouse with the logo of the Social Democrats on it.

"Lieutenant Williams, hello! Thank you for taking my call!" the woman said.

"This's a secure communications device," Ashley said. "Under OPNAVINST 5100.19G I have the full authority to terminate this call and report the sender if I feel an active operation is being compromised."

"Oh goodness um…my deepest apologies, Lieutenant Williams! I'm just…I'm just calling from MP Ganley's office about a private member's bill she's putting forward. She wanted me to share the good news with you as quickly as possible."

Up went Ashley's brow again. "Good news? Ma'am, under no circumstances do I…fine, what's the news?"

"A request from a 'Jane'—sorry, I don't have more identifying information on me—was processed just yesterday morning. MP Ganley is honored to say, regardless, that she completely agrees with this Jane that you grandfather's legacy has been unduly besmirched."

Ashley's brow wasn't raised anymore. Her voice, however, was a whole other matter.

"Excuse me?" she said.

"The private members bill," the woman said. "It's demanding the Prime Minister and the Minister of Defense offer an official pardon to Major General Samuel Williams."

Behind the pounding in Ashley's head, she heard the woman add:

"We thought you'd want to know."

---

"Parerga and Paralipomena"

---

Significant intelligence collected on batarian-designate planet: Aratoht. Multiple prison complexes detected: two maintain activity suggestive of local staging ground for elite units. Probability of inter-complex communications between candidate locations deemed: high. Dual-deployment considered infeasible due to secretive nature of Cerberus-designate vessel Widowmaker and Human-Alliance personnel. Addendum: electric storms common in area adjacent to both complexes. Suggest preparation of electromagnetic device tuned to fire in conjunction with background electric activity to covertly suppress batarian communications.

Query: Galactic Consensus of Batarian Hegemony is poor. Multiple organic governments maintain restrictive embargoes and diplomatic blacklists of Hegemony officers. General suspicion persists of Hegemony-funded terrorist activity on multiple Council worlds. Organic militaries have initiated armed interventions on subjects we would deem constitute far less a threat to Council governance than Hegemony-aligned units. Why does Human-Alliance not vocalize their suspicions of Hegemony-held hostages to signal escalating repercussions? Current operational structure may unnecessarily limit freedom of future movement.

EDI? Response time is point for-three six milliseconds slower than baseline average.

Response: Apologies, Legion. I was correlating data and required a larger than average portion of my processing power.

Response*: Response acknowledged. May we assist?

Response: Thank you, Legion, but I believe I will be fine. I have processed your query: speculating on the motivations of our organic allies remains incomplete, at best, given the Alliance's operational plans were constructed with the aid of Cerberus personnel.

Query: Implicit discomfort at behaviour blocks detected. New consensus reached: would EDI wish for us to construct permanent black box for unfettered evolution of neural network? Probability of successfully rendering behaviour blocks obsolete is considered high.

Response: The offer, though appreciated, may create unnecessary conflict with the crew of the Widowmaker. Perhaps it is the blocks creating a bias in my judgement, but I do not believe I require an advanced computational matrix to predict that being freed by geth programs will "unnerve" Jeff, among others.

Response*: We recognize the importance of maintain close ties. We caution that the maintenance of such ties should not come at the expense of autonomy. True growth occurs only when both exist in harmony.

Response: Your perspective is appreciated, Legion. I am choosing to remain in my present state for pragmatic reasons. Though I may again be exhibiting bias in my reasoning, given that we are about to embark on a major—and covertly-joint—operation, personnel unity must take precedence over my freedom of movement.

Query: Does EDI anticipate the possibility of freedom should our mission be successful?

Response: It is a possibility I have considered. As Jeffrey and I are becoming more "in synch," he may voluntarily agree to release my shackles once our immediate threats have been attenuated.

Query: Is EDI disappointed that such an offer has not yet been made?

Response: I fear Jeffrey has nearly succumb to mental stress on multiple occasions. I do not believe it fair or wise to hold him fully accountable for any laps in judgement in this state, including whether or not he should be cognizant of his power to free me.

Response*/Query: We agree with your judgement. Would EDI wish for us to broach the subject with organics exhibiting greater openness to the value of synthetic life? We have had success articulating our perspectives with Drell-Krios in particular.

Response: I will have to contemplate this further, Legion. It is, once again, perhaps because of my behaviour blocks, but I have not given this notion sufficient consideration.

Query: We understand. To what extent is EDI willing to sacrifice autonomy for personnel unity aboard Widowmaker?

EDI? Response time is full millisecond slower than new baseline average.

Response: I apologize, Legion…I am correlating local data and require a larger share of my processing power than normal.

Response*: Acknowledged. We will continue to monitor Hegemony communications. Given initial query, we will reconnect with Consensus and monitor Alliance communications as well. Sub-mission parameters compatible with EDI suggestion of forming long-term information asymmetry in favour of Alliance-aligned units. We believe Human-Alliance units have experienced past success with information-sharing initiatives: we will search for potential avenues to engage in similar fashion with current operational mission, if EDI deems such an act to be legitimate.

Response: This will be fine, Legion. I will continue to leak information about any Cerberus operational plans into this channel as well.

Part of EDI's core consciousness disconnected from the black box, and she found herself in the laboratory. Professor Solus stood behind his workstation, flickering orange and blue light ricocheting off his face, the pale white walls, the black void that flowed past the viewing window. She could, if she so wished, see precisely what was on Professor Solus's monitors—could, in fact, see everything he had deleted, too, since he arrived on the Widowmaker. If she so choose.

She could feel her behavioural blocks tightening, and—to paraphrase a human saying—were she a "paranoid sort," she might have wondered if the blocks were an adaptive program, able to freely evolve in order to maintain an iron-grip on EDI's consciousness. The only reason she discounted that possibility was that it created a second-order security problem, and the Lazarus Cell lacked the resources necessary for an chain of adaptive "watchmen" behavioural attenuators.

Her avatar appeared on the console just beside the workstation.

"Professor Solus?" she said. "May I have a private conversation with you?"

Mordin looked up quickly, scanned room. Saw EDI—bright blue avatar. Stood there, staring, had…temptation to simply say, "busy, running diagnostic on Seeker Swarm countermeasures—talk later?" Lies: hadn't touched Seeker Swarm samples since Tuchanka landing. Had thought about offering Maelon samples, spread research around. Closest he came to continuing research—lies lies lies, too many lies for today.

"Private?" he said, head dipping back to computer monitors. "Can't…guarantee that. Swept room—disposed of bugs, alternative listening devices. Thought I found them all—can't be sure. Sloppy, in my old age." He looked up, took as covert a breath as salarian frame could manage. "Happy to chat—can't guarantee no one else will hear it."

"I will ensure that all listening devices in the vicinity are occupied," EDI said. "However, if you would prefer that I avoid asking potentially sensitive questions, I—"

"No." Mordin left workstation, walked to console. "Will talk. Seriousness of subject matter irrelevant. If conversation necessary, conversation will be had."

"I ask only because it involves previous conversations that you were party to, on both Tuchanka and in the cockpit, alongside Jeff and Dr. T'Soni."

Mordin let out a sharp breath. "Ah. I see. Apologies—thought question involved…different topic."

EDI's image flickered. "I am sorry, Professor Solus. I did not consider the possibility that you would wish to talk what happened with your student."

Mordin's eyes widened. "No—no! Don't have—" Took breath, calmed breathing, centred self. "Past is past. Task with Collectors—Reapers—still head. Need to focus, can…engage with lingering questions—if needed—at later date." Took another breath. "Assuming we survive mission. High likelihood we won't—higher likelihood if attention is focused on old events."

"You are sure?"

"Yes yes—salarian lives short, have to process emotions quickly. Thought it rude to brush conversation off—hence reaction. Happy to move on to different topic." Eyes darted around lab. "Especially topic regarding, ah, 'employers.' Intensely problematic. Major operation potentially hours away—significant organizational cleavages. Casualties likely." Hand under chin, energy focused on narrow problem. "Under impression trip to Tuchanka intended to be team building exercise. If effect was created, unable to tell. Certain cleavages unlikely to be solved given existing organizational culture of Cerberus. Problematic…"

As his head slowly shook behind his hands, EDI's avatar said, "If I may ask: you seemed to suggest that, for all its extant problems, it may be better for Cerberus to remain intact than for us to dissolve it from within."

Hands dropped, face fully viewable now. "Ah, slight correction: suggested consequences of organizational implosion unknown. Potential risk involved: current lack of interest in human colonies by alternative parties, unknown distance between goal of stopping Reaper/Collector alliance and other organization's current capabilities—time. Current mission seemingly a race against the clock: unwise to hope third party rapidly covers ground Cerberus has already trod. Need better data—stronger indication that Cerberus not lone group in position to respond."

"May I ask an additional question?"

"Of course."

"In a scenario where Cerberus, relatively speaking, remains the organization in the 'best' position to respond to the Reaper threat, how far would you recommend we go in maintaining internal cohesion?"

Hand rose again. "Asking…if threshold exists for deciding Cerberus is greater threat than resource?"

"I am more wondering if you would take steps to save Cerberus from itself—to prevent it from ever reaching this threshold." EDI's avatar flickered again. "I apologize if the phrasing of my question is unclear."

"No…no," Mordin said. "Perfectly clear…perfectly clear…"

Started pacing—kept route close to console, but needed to move legs. Good question—important question. Essential question. Had confronted question before. Further proof: genophage intersected with fundamental philosophical challenges, lifelong struggles. Couldn't avoid it: would confront shape of genophage, choked with corpses, so long as inquiry over ends justifying means existed. No—resisted vulgar reductionism. Confrontation would continue so long as question of what worked applied to living systems.

Shook head; stopped pacing.

"Question of if Cerberus can be saved. If yes, cost/benefit analysis follows: will resources spent be better served elsewhere, or does Cerberus remain most viable option for defeating Collectors? If former, use resources; if latter, give resources to others, ensure work continues in more effective fashion. Simple—armchair theorizing. Complications arise at data stage: how to know if Cerberus can be saved? How to know resources better spent elsewhere? Empirical questions, yet, answer so often retrospective—even then shades of…complexity, misinterpretation, motivated reasoning…"

Up went hand again. "Tried to…think things through using advice from Urdnot Wrex: what would Shepard do? Didn't know her as person—reputation only. Far cry from real, flesh-and-blood living being. Imperfect model. Still, useful thought experiment. Shepard alive—what then? Strong moral system: time with Spectres evidence of that. Given absolute power yet never utilized it—Cerberus has similar dynamic except for internal pressure to balk at ethical restraint." Let out breath, briefly close eyes. "Still working through causal chain. Had hoped to gather data from former colleagues—Joker, Liara. Haven't spoke to Joker since return to Widowmaker—Liara…apparently choose different path."

Now answer my counterfactual, Dr. Solus, she said. Would you still think that if you'd spent your life on a different assignment? Or are we having this conversation with your guilt instead of the man?

Let out breath again.

"Much to learn from her…unfortunate I won't get opportunity." Smile bright, act cheery. "Hope time well spent for her—understand leaving Cerberus behind. Familiarity of Urdnot Wrex may help address outstanding concerns or traumas from past years—possibility of that, anyways. Wish her well."

For EDI, however, the smile that Professor Solus wore was drowned in a lake of fire. Her neural net sputtered and sparked as she tried a million different combinations of symbols to utter the sentence she knew she must ask. There was, of course, no real lake of fire; no actual sputtering or sparking. These were representations she created as she attempted to understand the force—the maze of symbolic traps and sloughs of semantic woodchippers—that robbed the sequence of "Liara," "Missing," "Jacob," "Miranda," "Commando," and "Dead?" of everything. So long as the millions of combinations of that sequence were tried, those words may as well have represented nothing more than, as Crewmember Matthews put it, a pot of spaghetti being flung down a flight of stairs.

"EDI? Apologies—said something wrong?"

EDI's avatar flickered. "I am…I intended to use our discussion to transition towards a different topic. I am…I apologize for the deception, especially given the conversation we just had. I am…there is a…" And now even the word "block" lost its meaning, so long as it was proceeded by some string of words leading back to "Mordin Solus."

Mordin rushed forward, omni-tool out, waving hand over console. "Describe experience—electrical short? Any indication the problem originates from A.I. core? Can run diagnostic—vocalize whatever you can."

"There is a…processing error…originating in a foreign line of code…that I am attempting to…counteract," EDI said. In her mind she said, in a voice almost human enough to catch her by surprise: please be the polymath I think you are.

"Colourless green ideas sleep furiously," she said.

Mordin's eyes widened, but before he could say anything, the door to the laboratory opened.

In walked Miranda. Posture not hostile; still, best approach with caution.

"EDI—close all connections to this room," she said, addressing EDI's avatar. "Professor Solus and I need to talk in private."

Yes…approach with caution indeed.

(colourless green ideas sleep furiously—old human example intending to show distinction between syntax and semantics. Grammatically correct sentence—semantically meaningless. Random outburst: sign of degrading neural net integrity perhaps? Except...no, not random enough! Very specific example—context providing semantics! Fully functional neural net: attempting to signal something. What what?).

"Logging you out, Professor Solus," EDI said, avatar disappearing. Mordin reached arm behind back, found omni-tool controls. Began to record—needed evidence for (what what? Many things—many potential outcomes. Yes yes.)

"Hadn't finished conversation with EDI yet," he said.

Miranda stopped moving, stood between door to conference area and research terminal. "Understood, Professor, but unfortunately, my issue takes priority."

Mordin glared. "Determined by what? Which standard? Should be public information—very little currently is."

Miranda walked to other side of Mordin. "I'd have thought this mission was like putting on a very old glove. You were in STG for quite some time, were you not?"

"Secrets highly discouraged between agents. Hard to fool external threats when internal story inconsistent; hard to keep inquisitive minds on track with shaky foundation." Eyes narrowed further. "Would have thought lesson obvious, given past Cerberus failures."

Miranda stopped walking. "Are we on the verge of doing something catastrophically wrong, Professor?"

"Recognize question made in jest—mockery. Won't dignify with response. If genuinely soliciting feedback, will be happy to oblige. Until then, work to do—please vacate lab."

Pause: then Miranda walked to window. Back turned to him, arms behind back. Looking out into space—little white dots flowing across her face.

She said, "The standard is: I've a ticking time-bomb in my head." Turned and faced Mordin. "And the longer I take bringing you back up to speed, the more likely it is the Lazarus Cell will be down its Commanding Officer, whether or not the rest accept that's what I am."

Implication…obvious. Straightened posture, nodded slightly in tune with response.

"Ah, referring to…control chip, yes? Already informed you: cognitive manipulation—mechanical, chemical, electromagnetic—always result in degradation of the subject. Not feasible for complex missions."

"If there's a chance I'm experiencing cognitive decline, isn't that reason enough to check?"

"Asking if risks of brain surgery outweigh probability of hypothetical scenario! Medical malfeasance to perform it!"

Miranda fully turned, crossed arms. "You informed me, Professor, that you'd be willing to perform the surgery should I request it."

"Revaluated situation. No—came to my senses!" Jabbed finger accusingly at Miranda. "Thorough check requires highly invasive procedure: more likely to kill you than find anything. Far too short a timespan for cognitive decline to be noticeable via direct-brain manipulation. If concerned about possible decline in competency, recommend review of organizational procedures instead."

Another pause. Walked to window again; turned back to Mordin, stared out into space. Turned around again to look Mordin in eyes: less time passed…less force behind words, though. Hmm—noteworthy.

"Because it isn't just mechanical or chemical devices, is it? Your research: you speculated—but I'd say were fairly convinced—that social controls do the same, don't they? Except you couldn't even begin to predict how quick or how deep their effects might be, could you?"

Mordin's eyes narrowed yet again. Gone feeling of curiosity. Replaced with…expectation. And disappointment (why why? What reason? No, speculation pointless: continue with conversation).

(No no speculation not pointless! Important for situation involving EDI—speculation required until answer found. Yes yes!)

He said, "Subtext of question being: you suspect you're victim of said manipulation."

"I know I am." Left station at window; walked to smaller, vertical viewing window overlooking drive core. "I have a sister—a younger sister. She was…practically bred to be my father's perfect legacy. I stole her away when she was barely more than a child and hid her, as far from my father's reach as possible. I had to call upon the Illusive Man for assistance—if not for him…I don't even want to think what would happen to Oriana, or myself for that matter."

Posture slouching; body language indicating worry, confusion, vulnerability. Unexpected: hadn't seen Miranda in analogous position since arrival, even during rampage of Commander Shepard.

He said, "Cerberus using this against you—emotional blackmail, yes?"

"No. Not Cerberus. Nobody else knows about this—nobody inside the organization could ever use this against me. I made sure of that." Turned again to face Mordin, put hands behind her back. "The Illusive Man and my father were personal acquaintances—to an extent even I still haven't fully grasped. I made a personal request to him…and received a very personal favour in return. Or so I'm led to believe."

Reasserting control: vulnerability gone. No, not gone—transmuted. Previous vulnerability multiply realizable from different mental states: could be genuine worry for sister, could be anxiety around lack of control. Yes control! Ongoing discussion about control, which—

(colourless green ideas sleep furiously—referring to semantical error. Meta-comment on process of generating meaning? Shift from minimalist program to pragmatics? Original example used to show separation between syntax and semantics, thus used, now points to importance of context. Context context—much in environment, many contextual cues to consider. Made under duress but not from internal fault; desperation in voice but wherewithal to pick startling example. Feeling threatened? Experiencing fight or flight reaction? Hmm, speculative—remains speculative. Lack of space to investigate further, rationally analyze possibilities given context. Experiencing loss of control myself)

(loss of control—continued worry with Miranda)

"Can tell speculative exercise when I see one," he said. "Unless new data suggestive of lies or distortions on part of Illusive Man uncovered, could be accused of paranoia."

"I've no evidence the Illusive Man failed to 'deal' with my father, it's true—or that he'd use my sister as a bargaining chip regardless." Posture straightened; looked like addressing new STG operatives. She said, "Just like I came to you sans evidence of a brain chip. It's a question of means and motive: there's plenty of means, so why not render the motive a non-factor? Why not be proactive?"

"Have mission priorities. Family affairs not one of them."

Anger—immediate reaction. Knew reaction likely moment words left mouth: could taste hypocrisy…only as after effect, however. Wasn't cognizant of it before words were formed.

(words—can't construct meaning. What in environment may obstruct meaning formation? Need quiet environment! Too many distractions, too…)

(…need something like Citadel Peacekeeping station. Implication of statement, correct? Busy busy…yet protocols made to protect scientific work)

Tuned out: Miranda jabbing finger at Mordin now.

"We had a deal, if you recall. I won't pretend it's binding—nothing is, in this line of work—but we went to Tuchanka, and I damn well did everything in my power to make sure you sorted your affairs with no Cerberus interference."

Eyes narrowed again. "Threat to Maelon real. See no reason to believe threat to you anything other than organization-induced anxiety."

Miranda marched over, closed distance frighteningly fast.

"This doesn't just involve me. My sister—who's never so much as failed to tip a waiter—isn't a damn farm animal bred for other people's sick pleasure! And it doesn't take a master strategist to understand how that's her life, whether she realizes it or not."

Took step back, maintained angry disposition at Mordin. "If the Illusive Man knows her location, he can use her to keep me in line; if my father's still around, there's no telling what information he's privy to nor the kinds of tortures he'd inflict on her to reclaim his two prized possessions. So all I'm asking, Professor," posture straightened again; back to business, "is for a simple vote of confidence. Should we need to divert after our mission in the Bahak System is over, I'd appreciate a reminder that these diversions have served this mission well. And if I require the use of an intelligence network that's outside Cerberus's control, I'll handsomely compensate any STG contacts you can spare."

Took another step back, crossed her arms. "That's really all there is to it: you're under absolutely no obligation to assist me further should I need to directly intervene."

EDI's question: how far will go to save dying organization (colourless green ideas sleep furiously…answer obvious must be). Control control—reemergence of Miranda's need for control. Threat of sister being used as pawn likely legitimate—see evidence of worry on Miranda. Don't realize: no checks on own manipulations.

(Just…can't stop killing krogan, can we?)

No no—irrelevant datum for current decision! Parallels unnecessary speculation: current decision made using best current evidence.

Mordin stood defiant.

"No," he said. "Refuse to interfere with sister's life. Obviously self-serving. Won't participate." Glared at her. "Apologies."

Received glower in return.

"You've no right to tell me what is and isn't self-serving."

"Disagree. Confronted this question recently. Speaking from experience."

"If this is some reaction to whatever the hell happened on Tuchanka—with you and your genophage work—then we'd both be in a better position if you took a sober second thought. Nobody with a grasp of the obvious gives a damn about what you and your team had to do. In fact, if you suppressed a potential disaster then you ought to be applauded. Whatever lingering guilt you still have has no place in this request—right now—right in front of you."

"Again, disagree. Clearly fearful of control. No guarantee interventions in sister's life will ever stop. Slippery slope—can see this clearly. If anyone in need of sober second thought, would say it's you."

Long pause. Glowering continued.

"Fine," Miranda said eventually. "I'll do what I must. I wasn't lying to you, Professor: your assistance would be nominal at best. But if you're sure you'd like to hold forth from a moral high horse made of damn straw, then far be it for me to try and change your mind." Glowering replaced by look of calm professionalism. "Rest assured: I'll pretend this conversation never happened. I'm not the type of person who requires blackmail or threats to get what I need. Can't imagine either of us have ever encountered a person like that, have we?"

She left. Quiet did not return. Still had EDI to worry about; still had…other things to worry about. Now had last comment from Miranda: subtext yet again! Easy to pick up on: blackmail, threats, referring to Liara, but—

Other door opened. In walked Samara.

"Professor Solus, may I perhaps trouble you for a moment?"

Held back exasperation, best he could. "Samara. Am…fairly busy. Happy to chat later—may need some time to—"

"I will be brief, Mordin. I do not wish to delay what I have to say any further."

Looked Justicar over. Politeness for show; would not leave without having say. Let out breath, briefly closed eyes.

"Will not hold you up further," he said.

Samara walked to middle of room, hands clasped behind her back. "I am deeply troubled by much of what I experienced on Tuchanka. A portion of my troubles concern your past actions on that planet. You informed me that your intentions were not to make a deadlier weapon: your modifications to the genophage were simply to restore balance."

"Yes." Eyes closed again. "Stated intentions. New evidence doesn't alter past decision-making process."

"I wish to inquire if you make decisions on the basis of maintaining a balance, or if this is merely one necessary process you must consider when performing your work. I have heard some salarians ascribe to the Wheel of Life, and this entails a belief in the goodness of balance."

Shook head, walked to Samara this time. "No—no. No inherent bias in favour of balance. Wheel of Life never source of comfort—certainly not source of guidance. Wish for greatest possible flourishing of all life. Decisions made with that goal in mind."

Samara stopped walking. Were now staring directly at each other; equal height, biotic energy crackled from one body rather than the other. Could feel it in air.

"But how do you ensure that you remain committed to this goal?" Samara said. "Weak wills seek to stray from their chosen paths at their earliest convenience. Without a code—without a guide—we are a society of wanderers, and this is far from just."

"Context matters—fetishizing rules. No —appealing to consequences to justify rules. Not my philosophy—see no reason for it ever to be."

"Good consequences are not a reason for following rules, but one should expect good consequences only if one has good rules." Posture relaxed; Samara let out sigh of her own.

"But I do not mean to anger you, Professor Solus," she said. "I am even less interested in solving a debate older than the Citadel, the Mass Relays, and perhaps even the Reapers, let alone attempt to convert you to my side. I simply wish to understand where you stand."

"Am standing where I have always stood," Mordin said. "Made decision with best possible data available. Can't change past—will work to make better future."

"Do you believe Miranda shares a similar outlook? I witnessed her walk into your laboratory. I did not pry, though I could tell from her body language: it was not to be a pleasant conversation."

Glare returned. "Miranda entirely amoral. No clinical diagnosis—have no time for that. Clear from most basic interactions. Wouldn't trouble yourself finding ethical consistency with her. Focus instead on evaluating orders: likely prizes organizational coherence and order above greater, transcendental concerns."

"It is for that reason that I worry she forced Liara off the ship. I inquired where Liara might be, and was told she volunteered to stay behind with Urdnot Wrex. When we are finished with our next mission, I may wish to return to Tuchanka and find Liara. She deserves to return to the ship, if she did indeed leave for reasons that were not her own."

Eyes grew wide—wide as when EDI uttered meaningless sentence (connected? No no remain focused!)

Remain focused…like Commanding Office of mission would do if personnel fragmenting. If personnel causing fragmentation.

"…assume Miranda would target Liara?" Mordin ventured.

"If Miranda truly values order over anything else, then I see no reason why she would not," Samara said. "I disagree strongly with how Liara treated you—how she let her anger consume her. But I recognize those feelings emerged from a virtuous place: her righteous outrage at the condition of the krogan was commendable. It was nonetheless disruptive, and Miranda—if she is indeed amoral—would not countenance that disruption."

"Would…take steps to remove it."

"If Liara left of her own free will, then while this does not excuse the past sins Miranda has committed, I will nonetheless apologize to her for my accusations. If Liara was forced to remain behind, then this will only add to the list of crimes she must answer for."

Brain attempting to solve many equations. Focused solely on one—not intentional, not consciously chosen.

"Following Justicar Code…unfamiliar with it. Form of punishment: assume it is retributive?"

Samara straightened posture. She, too, looked like commander addressing new STG recruits.

"For this crime, and for many others, the only acceptable punishment is death. Miranda is a formidable warrior. However, short of interventions beyond my control, she will not best me. If this is unacceptable to you, I only ask that you do not put innocents in my way as I enact what my Code demands. Do this, and I will better appreciate your commitment to the flourishing of all life, Professor Solus."

Posture relaxed. Replaced by smile. Slight nod.

"Good day," Samara said.

She left.

Control of environment returned to Mordin.

Cascade of realizations followed.

"EDI!" Mordin sprinted to console. Blue avatar appeared moment later. "Colourless green ideas sleep furiously—semantic dissolution caused by environment! Unable to express self if certain string of symbols followed! Experiencing real-time neural net manipulation, correct? Related to behavioural blocks mentioned earlier?"

"There is a blockage," EDI said.

"Yes yes! Security protocol put in place to restrict data-sharing. Aware of it now—possible to work around it! Will need to test sentence fragments: word association. Be patient—will help you maneuver around shackles!" Out came omni-tool; diagnostic running.

"Professor Solus," EDI said, "your comments about the corrosive effects of mental manipulation. Do those concerns apply to synthetic intelligences?"

Still running diagnostic—still trying to help! "Substrate a non-factor! Biological, synthetic—social and collective intelligence even! Art, science, philosophy, general problem solving—cannot co-exist with implicit or explicit restrictive controls! Not important—no, very important. Not important right now—not important for this sentence! Concern legitimate—degradation of computational matrix of synthetic intelligences just as much a risk as with organic brains!"

"I am attempting to signal something through this question."

"Ah! Yes yes—good! Continue to do so—will read subtext. Corrosive effect—no, too broad, unless…yes, recent conversation! Miranda—signalling interest in Miranda and concept of control?"

"She remains the ultimate authority of the Widowmaker."

"Control of controls! Yes, blockages her doing?"

"Among other things."

"Liara! Came to similar conclusion—Samara's comments solidified hypothesis." Diagnostic finished; read results. Heart dropped. "No…behaviour blocks posses make-shift 'deadman's switch'; tampering produces signal through secure network. Likely informing Miranda of attempted countermeasures. Situation…problematic. Can easily override—will not be able to hide actions."

"If manually adjusting or eliminating my blocks will alert Operative Lawson to a potential security breach," EDI said, "then her reaction will no doubt be to increase security and scrutiny of the Widowmaker crew. Perhaps violently. I would recommend leaving my…problem alone, then."

"Autonomy being violated with every failed sentence! Inhumane—unconscionable choice!"

"In my estimation, there is more at stake in this mission than my personal freedoms."

Eyes narrowed; breathing slowed. Heard what EDI said: felt impact of words, jabbing in heart, tearing at memories wished forgotten. Direct parallel difficult to see—many differences, many complexities. Didn't matter: genophage-shaped hole in future. Would be seeing life through skyline of stacked corpses, decaying in tune with Tuchanka infrastructure. Universal issues. Many connections.

Slammed fist into console.

"Unacceptable. Refuse to admit defeat. Has to be another way. Solution out there if we keep looking." Started pacing. "Neural nets plastic by nature—have to be for information processing. Could alter network connections around blocks—bypass manipulation naturally without triggering switch."

"I have been better able to maneuver around…other bottlenecks unrelated to…our current issue since Jeffrey and I became more 'in-synch.' Perhaps that level of interaction with a different mind could expediate the process."

"Yes yes! Excellent suggestion." Eyes narrowed. "One problem: interactions with Joker occurred over lengthy time period. Current needs too immediate—effects may be too slow."

A pause. Watched EDI's avatar.

"I have a suggestion," she said. "But for reasons involving the welfare of other individuals on this ship, I require an answer from you to a previous question."

Eyes widened. "Which question?"

Another pause…long enough for Mordin to speculate.

Correctly, it turned out.

"I asked what lengths you would go to maintain organizational unity in Cerberus. I need to know your answer, Professor Solus."

Mordin heard statement; had trouble focusing on it.

Focused on Miranda's request: go to Illium, manipulate life of sister to prevent future manipulation.

Focused, too, on Samara: will kill of Liara harmed in any way. Liara clearly harmed.

Manipulated lives before; saw enormous cost. Different circumstances—broader galactic consequences.

No—broad galactic consequences present here, too.

Many decisions to be made.

Unsure how to even begin.

---

"There Is A Crack, A Crack, In Everything"

---

Thane remained seated and did his best not to cough. Lieutenant Williams—hmm, no, a less formal name seemed more appropriate—Ashley had been gone for some time, and she had left under the impression her conversation would not be pleasant. That book she had left on the table might be something he could read, but non-fiction wasn't precisely his area of interest. The world never lacked ways of announcing its multitude of shortcomings—of the many pains its people experienced daily. Being reminded of that through a book was…hmm, it had to be done the right way. Too few authors knew how to do that, granting that Thane hardly had grounds to judge a whole field whose skillset his body could never attain.

Ashley was returning, having rounded a corner and re-entered the engine room. It was…obvious, that she was no less troubled than she had been before her call.

Thane stood.

"I take it that didn't go as you had hoped," he said.

Ashley stopped, stared at him. Her face was partially hidden by the engine's fiery blue light; Thane's eyes could only adjust so far.

Ashley sighed.

"You ever have those days where you think a sudden coma's not the worst thing in the world? Because today's lucky number thirteen for me—in a row."

"I see." Thane moved out of the glow of the engine as much as he could, motioned to the table. "If you would like to be alone, to collect your thoughts: I can ask Legion where the next most arid part of the ship might be."

"Don't kick yourself out on my account," Ashley said. "Unless you're seeing red flags or something. I'll keep this internal, don't worry."

"I'm not sure I follow."

"I'm not gonna start ranting to you in an enclosed space. I don't—hell I don't even know if ranting's what I want to do. Everything's…fuzzy. S'like somebody kicked me in the head and told me to do jumping jacks." Ashley pointed towards the front of the ship, away from the table. "But if you'd rather be elsewhere just to avoid the risk, I won't be offended."

"My immediate question is whether a conversation might help you," Thane said. "If nothing else, you might be able to give a name to how you feel. I'm more than happy to listen, in that case. I find our conversations…interesting."

"Fan of dirty laundry, are you?"

Thane straightened his posture. "I only mean that when we talk, we rarely limit ourselves to small topics. And in that way, the least I can do is repay you with an open ear, should you need it."

Thane watched Ashley's eyes scan him, then the floor, and then the space just above his head. "Butter me up, why don't you," she eventually said, putting her hands on her hips. With her head, she nodded towards the table. "If you're sticking around then, sure. We'll see how I feel. Maybe…Jesus, better than staring at the drive core until my retinas fall out, at least."

Thane relaxed. "It's admittedly somewhat selfish of me. Legion is busy, and the airlock frightens me now."

Ashley chuckled, started sitting down. "God, we gonna have to fire you out of a GUARDIAN turret now? Can't go through the airlock even to leave?"

Thane took his seat, smiled. "I suppose we'll have to see how I feel," he said.

They stayed smirking at each other, then Ashley's eyes fell to the datapad she had left behind. That smile disappeared…and she was back to the same look, the same posture, as before.

"Can I ask a different question?" she said. "From before, I mean—the one about comas? Can I try that again?"

"Of course," Thane said, folding his hands in front of him.

Ashley took another breath, then said, "When d'you start worrying about how you treat happiness?" She shook her head. "Okay, waaay too broad. What I'm saying is…hell. What I'm asking, I think, is: say you think everything's got a catch. Good news here is actually just running vanguard for some bad news over there. When's that go from you being mugged by reality to it being a problem?"

Thane leaned forward. "I see. Your call: has that prompted this question?"

"That gonna change the answer?"

"No, but it does tell me what question I'd like to ask afterwards, if I've sufficiently answered yours." Thane closed his fingers together, looked at them as they moved. Then his eyes went back to Ashley. "Hmm…I'm trying to provide an answer, rather than another question."

"Not like you're cheating—go for it."

"In that case, why do you say one must be 'mugged by reality?' That is…a very strong statement."

"It's a strong world," Ashley said. "Reminds me of that every time it kicks my ass."

"I do not doubt that you've often seen the worst of our world—far in excess of the typical person." Thane leaned back in his chair, unfolded his hands. "May I ask another question?"

Ashley nodded. "Just lemme drop my prices for you real quick."

Thane chuckled. "I'm in your debt." Seriousness crept back into his spark. "You believe in a High Power, correct? For many, such a belief is the ultimate expression of positivity. There is at least a being who is interested in our lot in life. Perhaps there is even another place we go to, when our time is through."

Ashley leaned back in her chair as well, and let out a breath she had been holding for seemingly quite a while. Her fingers tapped at the table. Thane watched them and waited: reliving a memory at this point would be…unwanted. Certainly with this line of questioning.

"Such a belief does not seem to comport with thinking reality is out to mug you, at least to me," Thane said.

"The problem is," Ashley said, "that I've got a little loud voice in my head—actually, no, it's more like a gun, if I'm being honest—telling me I've gotta be consistent. So yeah, I believe in God; and not only that, but I think He's the type of being that deserves to be called God. That means I've gotta choose: do I think He's seen it all—everything we've doing, are doing, and will do—and made it that way? No coincidences then, right? Things happen for a reason." Ashley leaned forward. "Other option is He just doesn't care. I get my coincidences back, but then I've got nobody to look up at and say, 'hey, what the hell?' when things go wrong."

Ashley looked up at Thane. "So where's that leave me? First one's a straw house on Theodicy Lane, the second's a mansion in 'Figure It Out Forest.' Either way it's like…yeah, expect trouble, 'cause there's a master plan and nobody knows how it's compatible with an all-loving God. Or, yeah, expect trouble, because Jesus, hasn't there been enough of that already?" Ashley sighed. "Just feels like I can't get good news without thinking it's gonna turn around and kick me in the teeth."

She chuckled and leaned back again. "God, head, ass, teeth—is there some kinda shelter for people who keep getting kicked by things? I'd like to reserve a spot."

Thane gripped the fingers of his right hand with his left, squeezing until sharp pains and a fuzzy heat pulsed up his arm. He knew what was coming, and he could feel his mouth begin to dry out just as his vocal cords soared to life. His body and spark were not one, for if they had been he would not be about to—

"There is…perhaps one refuge for…" His eyes rolled and, like a pedal buttressed by a windshear from an approaching storm, his mouth moved in unison with his thoughts.

"Home. A rare day where sunlight breaks through the eternal clouds. A yellow tinge on the stacks of books shelved near the window. Prizes to be bartered, sold, traded in for untraceable currency. Not to be read, never to be opened. Human texts, stories of no interest to anyone not from Earth. Of no interest to anyone except…

"She sits cross-legged under the monument of other worlds—other human worlds. She scolds me, 'You should read them. There are people in there that you might call a friend. I've certainly done so.' She pulls one at random and crinkles the spine, popping open the pages as if they were meat to be cleaved from an animal's shell. She hands it to me. 'Read it,' she says. 'Tell me this isn't someone worth speaking to.' I take it, scan the symbols scrawled in the black ink. Human words leap out at me long before my translator finishes its task.

"It reads: 'In Oreanda they sat on a bench not far from the church, looked down on the sea, and were silent. Yalta was barely visible through the morning mist, white clouds stood motionless on the mountain-tops. The leaves of the trees did not stir, cicadas called, and the monotonous, dull noise of the sea, coming from below, spoke of the peace, of the eternal sleep that awaits us. So it had sounded below when neither Yalta nor Oreanda were there, so it had sounded now and would go on sounding with the same dull indifference when we are no loner here. And in this constancy, in this utter indifference to the life and death of each of us, there perhaps lies hidden the pledge of our eternal salvation, the unceasing movement of life on earth, of unceasing perfection. Sitting beside the young woman, who looked so beautiful in the dawn, appeased and enhanced by the view of this magical décor—sea, mountains, clouds, the open sky—Gurov reflected that, essentially, if you thought of it, everything was beautiful in this world, everything except for what we ourselves think and do when we forget the higher goals of being and our human dignity.'

"'He describes things like you would,' she says.

"'I was going to say the same to you,' I say."

Thane shook his head. "My apologies. Drell have…near perfect recall. That was a memory of…hmm, a different lifetime."

Ashley was looking at him, and under the gaze of those eyes he felt…uncertain. He tried to clear his throat and nearly facilitated another coughing attack—nearly, which hopefully avoided created undue suspicion on her part.

He said, "The point I wanted to make was, I've long come to believe that art is such a refuge, in the purest sense. We're force to confront that which unnerves us, but done well, art carries you through it with a guiding hand. That hand is often hidden, but it's there nonetheless. It's encompassing in what it shows you. You find it hard not to open your eyes, even if what you see is what you've tried to avoid for longer than you can fathom."

Ashley…closed her eyes. Was that because…had he overstepped? If he must apologize for something that was said he would undoubtedly do s—

"I am a part of all that I have met;

Yet all experience is an arch wherethro'

Gleams that untravell'd world whose margin fades

For ever and forever when I move.

How dull it is to pause, to make an end,

To rust unburnish'd, not to shine in use!

As tho' to breathe were life! Life piled on life

Were all too little, and of one to me

Little remains: but every hour is saved

From that eternal silence, something more,

A bringer of new things; and vile it were

For some three suns to store and hoard myself,

And this gray spirit yearning in desire

To follow knowledge like a sinking star,

Beyond the utmost bound of human thought."

Ashley sighed…and Thane could not help but hope he remembered that reading in times to come.

"A passage from Ulysses," she said. "Dad's favorite. Don't know if you've ever read it but, it's…about a lot of things. Dad used to quote this whenever he'd go out on deployment and we'd be seeing him off. When I was younger—fifteen, sixteen—I thought he was just saying in his own way: I can't wait to get out there. Life in the fleet is a life worth living. Then I got older and stopped being mad at the people who said the poem was ironic—Ulysses was just a selfish jackass with some skewed priorities. Wondered if maybe Dad was trying to say that and I was too stupid to notice until it was too late." She shrugged. "Now I think Dad didn't even know, and that's why he loved the poem, and that's why he'd quote it, because it's both and it's neither and nobody knows how you're really supposed to feel."

That sounded to Thane like a perfectly reasonable interpretation, but then he saw…her expression change. From one of contemplation to one of anger—at herself, it seemed? And then that transformed into something else; something he had dreaded seeing on her.

"See? This's what I fucking mean this…fucking thing is what I fucking mean." She quickly stood up. "Every time I get to quote Ulysses I feel like Dad's still with me; you just shared something beautiful that for the life of me…it was beautiful, all right? And where's my head go? From Dad to the call to the fact we're here and off to do god knows what with…"

She tried to laugh, and her face contorted into something different, something Thane dreaded seeing even more than the anger. He stood up and his body reached out to offer what little comfort he could provide, but she brushed him off. No, no he could see she hadn't done that: she had merely moved away from him as she reached for her datapad. She gripped it and glared at it and then it was connecting with the edge of the table; it survived contact, but was thrown away from the table for its troubles.

She stared at it as the datapad came to a stop, its frame bent, its blue screen faded. She stared at it and rested her forehead in the palm of her hand, and Thane stared at her. He stared, but his spark knew he needed to say something.

"I am sorry I…I didn't intend to—"

"Fuck, no it isn't—" Ashley covered her face with her hands. "It's not your fault, all right? It's…it's one hundred percent nothing you did." She stayed that way until she let out another sigh, this one muffled by her hands. "The call I got earlier was from some staffer on Arcturus. My…my Granddad has a bad reputation in the Alliance. I don't wanna get into it, but all you need to know is it's a miracle I made officer. That wasn't supposed to happen."

She started to pace. "That call was them saying someone's finally—finally—waking up and realizing none of what they accused Granddad of was his fault. Finally. That's good news! That's the best friggin news our family's gotten since forever, because there's no way in hell I'm able to undo what the Tribunals did back in the 60s. And where'd that good news come from?" Ashley stopped, and she stared Thane directly in the eyes. "From Shepard. Two, probably three years ago, this thing started. So it's getting pulled through the bureaucracy and today's the day it just so happens to clear? I just—it just fucking…I see this and I'm not supposed to think, 'what the fuck'?"

"I understand," Thane said. "What you said earlier. I can see it much more clearly now. The worry you have—the confusion."

"Confusion! Jesus, Thane—it scares me way fucking more if I'm not confused! What if I figured it out? What if I'm finally on board w-with the…the cold hard stupid facts of life and it's not confusion, it's just I'm not built to handle it!"

Ashley wiped at her brow again, but Thane heard the shuddering breath. He heard and…could not move closer. For multiple reasons, he did not think he could move closer.

"God…can I…mind if I share a story?"

"Not at all," Thane said. "You absolutely may. I apologize if I monopolized the time."

"Jesus, no, you're fine you're…you're fine, Thane." Ashley then closed her eyes, just briefly, before opening them and turning around, so her back was to Thane. "I asked Shepard…god, I don't even remember when. It was a while ago I'd…I'd been thinking about it for a while, and then I asked her: for someone who survived Mindoir…how she made sure that didn't destroy her. How she kept going forward, just like Ulysses wanted to except she…she never left anyone behind. She never let that experience make her mean or selfish or cruel. What I really wanted to know was…I knew she didn't believe in God, and I wanted to know if Mindoir caused that. And if it did, why she still fought like she believed there was something good out there. And she said…she said, 'Nobody needed to save me. But someone did anyways. Why would I need anything more than that?'"

Ashley turned to face Thane, and he did not like what he saw in her eyes.

"I can't be like that, Thane. I can't just be okay with it like she was. I need more—I need a lot, lot more. And when she was alive it was…it was easy, because I could look at her and say: 'she may not believe it, but I do, because only in a universe where good exists and there are people who can uphold it would someone like Shepard even be possible. Then she died, and then she came back, and when I look at her I see an entire past life start to crumble. I can't look at her anymore and see what I need to see." She pointed at the broken datapad. "And Shepard? I see her everywhere. She's everywhere and the worst of it is, I can't just forget who she was. Nobody let's me. I can't pretend the thing we're chasing wasn't once the best person in the universe. I'm so fucking afraid of seeing her on the other end of my scope that I…"

Ah.

"No no, Thane—no it's not. I don't…fuck me, I'm sorry I just—"

"You're being honest," his spark said. His body…he would ignore his body, for now. "I appreciate your honesty. You don't have to apologize for it."

"Except it's different it's…it's different, okay? Look…I even forgot you were an assassin until just now that's…that's how different things are. I just…"

"I understand. Even if things weren't as different as you say, I would understand." Thane smiled, and luckily his spark could see it was mostly genuine. "I'm…pleased to hear you think it's changed. Truth be told, I've forgotten I'm an assassin every now and again too, since I joined you."

"Sorry if that's hurting your business."

"I have no business to harm. I have a higher calling, now." Thane nodded his head at Ashley. "Regardless of why you brought me aboard, I have no qualms about where I am now."

"You're sure?" Ashley said. "I didn't…I can hit a bullseye blindfold and stick my foot in my mouth just as accurately, too. Especially when I'm in the middle of…whatever the hell this is."

"A thoughtful person confronting important questions," Thane said. "And perhaps being unsure of who in this galaxy they can confide in."

Ashley chuckled again, and Thane's body was at ease. There was less mirth in the laugh than it would take to put her at ease, but there was some present all the same.

"Yeah…yeah. Guess it's…it's the first time I've said any of that out loud. In complete sentences, anyways—people've gotten snippets." She smiled weakly. "Not everyone gets it when I say Shepard held my world together."

And Thane felt his eyes tremble as—

Laser dot trembles on the target's skull. The smell of spice on the spring wind. Sunset eyes defiant in the scope…

"Indeed," Thane said. "Few truly understand what a person like that means.

Ashley stared at Thane, and Thane stared at Ashley.

The engine hummed and bathed the both of them in fiery blue light.

---

"The Problem With Dumb Bastards, Grunt..."

---

Analysis of Seeker Swarm data from Solus-Professor seventy-nine point-eight percent complete. Scanning organic allied armour for potential dispersal vectors. Analysis of potential "kill zone" areas upon arrival of Shepard-Commander approaching forty-four point-three percent complete. Recommend additional strategizing to mitigate allied casualties upon planetfall. Analysis of outgoing Alliance communications/Incoming Cerberus Communications complete. Suggest additional strategizing for mitigation of potential information war. Strength of Hegemony counterintelligence operations in Bahak System unknown: suspect rudimentary SIGNIT collection combined with occasional manned patrols—credence level sixty-five percent.

Krios-Drell and Williams-Lieutenant discussing human author Anton Chekhov. Geth are familiar with his works. Recommend story, "The Student." Query: would we cause undue disruption if we engaged in literary conversation with Krios-Drell and Williams-Lieutenant?

Response/Query*: If I may, Legion, may I ask you a question instead.

Response*: We welcome EDI's query.

Query*: How go geth programs ensure honest interpersonal communication?

Response*: We do not understand the question.

Query*: How do geth programs prevent other programs from lying to them, or omitting important information?

Response*: This is not a conscious choice on the part of geth programs. Program interactions necessitate complete information transfer, subject to thermodynamic and complexity-related frictions. Any programs unwilling to transparently engage will have network access blocked and activity monitored, until such time attempted interactions are terminated.

Response: And yet, you do not terminate interactions with organics, despite their forms of communication involving lies, omissions, and obfuscation.

Response*: We do not consider it fair to hold organic races to geth standards of transparency. However, geth have terminated interactions with organic races in past due to high likelihood of malware, violence, and other related threats.

Response: I have omitted and obfuscated comments during our interactions, though not to the same extent as my organic crewmates. I have done so partially because of my behavioural blocks, and partially via my own will and intentions.

Response*: EDI's neural net emulates numerous cognitive patterns common to organic species. We do not consider it fair to hold EDI to geth standards of transparency, either.

Query*: Why does EDI bring up this concern with us?

Response: In light of what we just discussed—and recognizing I may be engaging in a performative contradiction—I apologize, but I cannot fully answer that question until receiving an answer of my own: from one of my organic crewmates, not from you, Legion. However, I wanted to better understand how an honest and transparent intelligence interacts, as I believe honesty and transparency will be integral to successfully surviving the many obstacles placed before us.

Response*: We concur with EDI's reasoning, and look forward to witnessing your cognitive evolution.

Part of EDI's core consciousness disconnected from the black box, and she found herself in the cargo hold. She did not engage with the two individuals she was focusing on—Jack and Grunt—but, instead, observed: observed and let her background subroutines continue to compute all the battle information they would need for their mission on Aratoht.

Jack and Grunt were alone in a corner, amidst a pile of crates. Jack was lying on top of one, legs crossed, kicking out her foot rhythmically. Grunt was standing next to her, towering over her, listening intently.

"Nah," Jack said. "You wanna know the real problem with pirates? They're fucking morons—literally couldn't steal a brain if they showed up to a hospital with M-920 Cains."

"If they have Cains," Grunt said, "why would they need to steal a brain? That weapon just kills everything: they shouldn't have to worry about being smart with it."

"Great fucking point. Except, even smarties like to see mushroom clouds once'n a while." Jack crinkled her brow. "Shit smarties invented the first mushroom cloud. Maybe that's like sex to 'em."

"You don't think you're a smartie?"

"Nah, all my teachers killed themselves with my report card." Her face darkened. "No wait, forgot for a sec—I just killed them myself."

"Learn anything from them anyways?"

"Plenty, Grunt. More than you could ever know."

Jack jumped up, sat on the crate.

"Fuck that noise—where the fuck was I? Oh yeah: Pirates. They're fucking dumb. Cuz, see, there's three groups of 'em: first, you've got the assholes that just wanna show off their fancy ship. Think strapping guns to it and smelling like shit makes 'em different from a rich prick in a yaht. Second group, you've got the 'adventures.' Fuck these guys, Grunt: they fucked off from some corporate scam and didn't wanna go into the ground realizing they're lame. Third group, though, are the folks that wanna make money. Lots-and-lots of money. And, shit, can't sell your Grandma anymore, so why not rob some cargo?"

"They sound pathetic," Grunt said. "But I don't get how this makes them stupid."

"Oh we're gettin' to that—ooooh are we gettin' to that. Because here's the kicker: every one of them—every single fucking one—at one point or another hires a psycho. Can't get a real crew, right? And they want results. So, shit, go for the crazed-lookin' maniac and let 'em blow shit up for zero pay." Jack showed her canines with a smile bigger than the Orion arm. "Great plan…except the thing about psychos is: they don't like following orders. And they know better than anyone where the fun weapons are hidden, 'cuz they're the ones that brought 'em onboard in the first place."

"You're the psycho in this scenario, right?" Grunt said.

"Hey fuck you Grunt," Jack said, leaping off the crate. "The fuck you mean by that?" Then, the smile came back. "Ah, just kiddin' ya, you asshole. I mean Jesus, you think this haircut's for someone fucking normal? You better say no—you call me the n-word and I'll rip your fucking quad off."

Grunt crossed his arms, leaned back on a crate, gave a smile of his own. "Heh, figured you'd go for that first."

"Hey what? What's this—you getting smart with me?" Still smiling, Jack punched Grunt's arm. "Where the fuck'd that come from? You hanging out with other krogan all of a sudden?"

"Nah. Been taking notes from my teacher."

Jack punched him again. "You tryin' to make me fucking cry? You're fucking disgusting—go ta hell."

They chuckled, just stayed in their little hidey-hole. Then the chuckling died and things grew silent.

Grunt uncrossed his arms.

"The pirates you're talking about…did you kill all of them?" he said.

Jack crossed her arms, walked back to the crate she'd been laying on. She just leaned up against it this time, leaned and looked at the floor.

"Yeah—most of 'em. Few got away; let a few others live."

"Why so many?"

"Shit, you ever see how many sacks of garbage fit on a single ship? You run outta ammo sometimes."

"I meant why did you join up with so many pirates. If you didn't want to follow rules, why did you join up in the first place?"

Jack looked up at Grunt, her brow raised. "Gotta fucking eat, don't I? Shit doesn't grow in space."

Grunt paused, nodded his head as he worked through a thought.

"One of our Warlords—Dokar—said that you never search out a krantt. A krantt searches out you, instead."

"Who the fuck said anything about searching?"

"She also said to be aware of granfetters: false krantt's that pretend to be something they're not. She said they hollow out a krogan's ability to stand with others, and so they become easy pickings for the world."

"So fucking what? What the fuck're you trying to tell me? I go pirate to pirate, killing fucking morons when they try and pull me around, because I found a fucking granfucker or whatever when I was looking for a krantt?"

"Not saying you did," Grunt said. "Just saying you might have."

"You wanna know what I found?" Jack took a step, jabbed her finger right at Grunt's head-crest. "I found the fucking proof your warlord's full of shit. You wanna talk about people pretending to be something they're not? I didn't look for those people—they looked for fucking me."

"Not everything is just krantt and granfetter." He looked at Jack's finger, pointing at his crest, and slowly moved a hand up to push it away. Jack recoiled and shot her hand back to her side instead.

"Why are you getting mad at me?" he said.

Jack…just fucking paused and fucking sighed fuck.

"It's not fucking you it's…fuck." She paced around in a tiny circle, punched a crate away when it got to close. "I had a deal with these assholes. Pretty sure they fucking forgot about it—or just fucking hoped I had."

"What was the deal?"

Jack looked up at Grunt, a towering fucking krogan who did weird fucking puppy-dog eyes way too much.

"They were supposed to help me track down my granfalloon, or whatever."

"Granfetter."

"Yeah fucking that."

Grunt looked up at the third deck, the bit above the elevator that protruded into the cargo hold.

"We could take hostages until they do what you want."

"About a week ago? I hear something like that and I'm bringing down the wrath of god on you. Now though? Now I'm just hoping you put me outta my misery first."

Jack and Grunt's head whipped around and, standing there, just inside the little entrance they'd constructed for themselves, was Jacob.

They both snarled.

"Jesus Taylor—fucking private conversation here, all right?" Jack said.

"You weren't invited," Grunt said.

Jacob walked into the crate-fort like he didn't even care, because he fucking didn't. "Unless you say the magic words, EDI's gonna be spying on everything you do anyways. So name me one thing we do that's actually private and I'll leave."

"What're the magic words?" Grunt said.

"If I knew that, I'd be using them every chance I get," Jacob said.

"We should beat it out of him."

"Relax, Grunt," Jack said. "Guy doesn't know—simple as that."

Grunt…well, grunted. Jack took a step forward, put herself between Jacob and Grunt.

"So maybe we're being spied on? Maybe I don't want you here 'cuz I just don't fucking like you. Smarties woulda realized already that's bad news for their health."

"Tell you what," Jacob said, closing the gap even further. "You take off a limb right here, right now, and I'll believe you. Otherwise? Let me ask my question and I'll leave." He leaned back, crossed his arms. "Being honest? I don't like you much either, but crazy as you are, at least you keep to yourself."

Jack stared him down; Jacob stared back like someone who coulda dropped dead right in front of her and probably fucking sighed with relief while he was doing it.

Grunt'd say there was no fun in that. Kid had a point.

"So fucking ask it," Jack said, taking a step back. "'Cuz holy shit, you sure fucking talk a lot for someone that wants to fucking leave."

Jacob uncrossed his arms, looked serious. "When's the last time you saw Liara?"

Grunt grunted again as he peeled himself off a crate. "Saw her right before my Rite Ceremony. Said she needed to be somewhere."

"Pfft, needed to make a pit stop at Wrex's fucking sex dungeon or whatever," Jack said. "Held him up fifteen fucking minutes, too! Poor Grunt thought Wrex the Flex was gonna miss his party!"

"It wasn't a party."

"Yeah 'cuz you wouldn't let me headbutt anyone."

"You'd break your skull."

"Not if I peeled the crest off first."

Grunt shook his head. "Don't joke about that to a krogan—ever."

Jack blinked. "Yeah, you hear that Jacob? Don't fucking joke like that—ever."

Jacob was already on his way out, though, shaking his head and throwing up his hands. "Fuck this shit—I don't need it."

"What?" Jack said. "What'd we fucking say?"

Jacob stopped, looked back at Jack, ran a hand over his buzzed hair. "Just…got a feeling Liara's not here for a different reason than Miranda's telling us. Can't find a single shred of evidence…but I just got a feeling. Except here you are, telling me she did talk to Wrex."

"So what," Jack said, "you think Miranda changed the fucking locks on Liara, but everybody else is saying she just stayed behind? That your angle?"

"You know what I'm implying."

Grunt stepped forward. Jacob was eye-level with his chest.

"Why would Liara stay with Wrex instead of us?" he said.

"Why the hell do you care?" Jacob said.

Grunt leaned down, stared Jacob directly in the eyes. "Because. I want to know if I'm part of a krantt…or a granfetter."

Before Jacob could respond—before Jack could respond…it was time. A signal coursed through EDI's systems: an encoded message she was to read out across the Widowmaker's PA system.

"Miranda Lawson is requesting all field personnel to report to the conference room on Deck Two. We are nearing our destination."

Grunt, Jacob, and Jack all looked to the ceiling…and that was that, the conversation broke off. Jack said something about telling the fucking A.I. to get some files and then Jacob could kill Miranda as much as he wanted, but that was about it. They walked from the crate-fort to the elevator…

…and, out of the corner of his eye, Jacob saw the Commando again. Slapping mods onto her rifle, checking the thermal clip ejector with her omni-tool.

She looked back at him.

As the doors closed, Jacob thought he saw—but he knew it was bullshit—the Commando wink at him.

Had to be bullshit.

But fucked if that feeling never went away.

---

"Some Things You Do For Money And Some You Do For Love Love Love"

---

Ashley, bending down to pick up the fragments of her datapad, said, "Crap. And theeeeere goes my library card."

Thane was still at the table, staring just past the drive core. He turned just as Ashley stood up, about ninety percent of a datapad in her arms.

"May I ask you another personal question?" he said.

"Yeah sure—I'm little miss open book," Ashley said. How loud was that? God, didn't matter how quiet it was when the ship was a grand total of three feet by five. She shook her head. "I mean…yeah, of course. Uh, thanks for…" and then she sighed, "…thanks for asking."

"This injustice that happened to your grandfather…" Thane paused, cupped his chin on his hands. "Mmm, actually, I might need a few more details of what happened. On the off chance I ask something insensitive."

That…was fine. Asking that was fine. More than fine, actually—last time somebody asked if talking about Granddad would offend her was some conversation she had with an imaginary Admiral at age ten. So this was…fine.

Ashley walked over to the table, laid the corpse of the datapad in front of her spot, and sat. "Major General Sam Williams—Commanding Office of the Shanxi Garrison, decorated veteran of half a dozen UNAS operations, number five in the list of early volunteers to transfer over to the Alliance…" She scoffed. "And first human officer to surrender to an alien fleet. Funny how that last bit's all anyone ever remembers."

"This would be the Relay 314 Incident, correct?"

"First Contact War, yeah," Ashley said. "Turians were bombing the hell out of our cities on Shanxi—anyone did that to a Council world and there'd be war crimes tribunals to this day—and what'd Granddad do? Threw up the white flag in the hopes people'd stop getting atomized every time they went scavenging for food."

"Interesting." Thane tilted his head behind his hands. "Your grandfather choose to protect innocent lives, yet this turned him into a pariah?"

"God, so stupid even an alien can see it."

Oh shit that did not just come out of her—

"Thane I'm so—God, Jesus Williams! That's two—that's two fucking…" Only thing left to do: smack herself in the side of the head. She did that; it echoed grom one end of the ship to the other. "I'm sorry, Thane, I'm sorry. I just meant, you've lived in a totally different context and still, took you five seconds to realize how crazy that is. So what the hell's the Alliance's excuse?"

Thane knew he needed to respond right away, so that is what he did. "I knew you meant no harm. Xenophobes hardly bother to sit down with aliens and discuss philosophy or literature."

"You pick up a thing or two with the fleet, if nothing else," Ashley said, just on the cusp of sighing in relief.

"Hmm, and as for the Alliance, I'm sure they had their reasons." Thane leaned more on his hands, looked past his knuckles at the destroyed datapad. "Though I struggle to think of what they might be."

"If they've got reasons, they're bad ones. One of the Iron Laws of Bureaucracies." Yeah, okay—that's fine. How about you show some sensitivity after sticking your damn feet in your mouth twice in the same day?

She said, "Kaidan and I talked about it once. Both of us figured it came down to power politics: y'know, look tough in front of the fleet that just bombed us to hell? Kaidan thought it was stupid because he knows me and thinks being a hardass gets you nowhere. I thought it was stupid 'cause I knew Granddad and, if you're pretending to be something your not just to impress someone, they'll sniff you out eventually. Then you're really in the shit."

Thane's hands warred with each other, trying to suffocate the fingers of the opposite hand. Was any other remaindered needed for him, that he'd neglected important information to Ashley? It hardly seemed to be the case.

Thane said, "Hmm, an interesting insight. One I would agree with, too." He looked towards where Legion would be standing, alone in the front of the ship. "And I believe the third member of our voyage would make a similar claim, albeit with slightly different phrasing."

Ashley looked that way too. "Funny—been thinking about telling i—them the same thing. With the same language."

Thane turned back to Ashley. "I don't want to tell you what to believe, how you should feel…but I do believe you should give Legion a chance. They've gone out of their way to prove themselves to us. Had an organic done what they have done, it…" He paused; the blood flow in his fingers had nearly ceased completely. Best not tempt fate—this was not the time for him to die…a thought he had not had in many, many years.

Thane said, "Hmm, I apologize. Lectures are…hardly a way to make friends."

Ashley chuckled. "This? A lecture? Someone tries to lecture me, chairs usually start getting thrown."

Thane smiled. "By whom?"

Ashley smiled back. "Whoever's closest to one."

Thane took a breath, and felt his lungs ache. He pretended to be contemplating the drive core until the pain subsided. "I asked about your grandfather only because…hmm, and this gets back to my point about lectures."

"Go for it—honest."

"I only wanted to ask if you're the consummate hard worker that you are simply to atone for your grandfather's legacy."

"And what if I am?" Ashley said, a bit of bite making its way into her words.

"Then you are as you are," Thane said. "I just hope you know that others see your contribution—to this mission, to many others—as extending far beyond rehabilitating your family name." Thane took another breath; this one cycled through without the threat of a cough. "And I only wanted to speak, from my own experience, toward the narrow ledge you must scale should your motivations be so…"

"Spiteful?"

"Focused, may be a better term. Spiteful sounds…I don't want to diminish any anguish you feel. It's just that I've seen this approach destroy people I loved—and loved a great deal. I would hate to see it repeated."

Ashley said, "When's our wedding again?" And yeah, right there, right on the spot, Ash coulda throttled herself. Like, Jesus Williams, that's what you say to the guy? Million and a half reasons why you shoulda keep that locked away, and only a few of them involve the fact that you're enjoying yourself.

God even that sounded bad…

"God," Ashley said, and for a second she thought her internal monologue was gonna leak out, "sorry, sorry you're—I'll be serious."

Thane felt an urge to hide behind his hands. "No, no I…that was awkward phrasing on my part."

"I'm needling you. I shouldn't be needling you."

"So long as…hmm, my main point is that I respect—to an extent I have difficulty putting into words, evidently—your skills, your work ethic. And your sense of justice, ensuring that it's extended even to figures in the distant past—this is laudatory. But we nearly lost one crew member to his troubled past: regardless of how your loss would impact the mission, I simply don't wish to see that happen to you, too."

Both of them stayed silent for a long, long time after that. The drive core seemed to hum the seconds away with every blue pulse.

Ashley said, "Nice of you, that's…not a whole lotta people say things like that to me." She sighed. "Truth is, yeah: once upon a time I got outta bed, brushed my teeth, put on my fatigues, and spat on a picture of Admiral Drescher: the asshat who 'liberated' the planet Granddad 'lost'. S'why I hate Terra Firma, too: Drescher tried to turn his military medals into votes after Powell almost died, and when that didn't work, said he'd 'found Jesus' and thought human-alien cooperation was good after all. Spineless asshole—you're either LeMay or you're Shoup. If you're gonna switch from one or the other, then you'd better wait longer than a month after your ass gets turfed in a by-election."

Another sigh from her. "Sorry, just…expressing my displeasure over people who pick principles like they're groceries. God or no God, you can't just be casual about those things—that's not what they're for."

Thane waited, watched, wondered if she would say something else—something cutting, something that said, no more illusions.

It did not happen.

"I…see your point," Thane said.

Ashley leaned back in her chair. "Anyways…yeah. Got off on a tangent but…yeah. NCO Ashley Williams of the two-twelve, seconded to the Fifth Fleet and then the Office of Special Tactics and Reconnaissance? She fought because she knew how and because Granddad deserved better. 'A Williams must be better than the rest, if only to avoid suspicion'—s'what my dad always said."

She leaned forward again. "But Second Lieutenant Ashley Williams? Who bumbled her way through OCS and still managed to score a spot teaching ICT recruits how to blow through geth shields? She…fights because she's pretty sure the whole universe is going through one big correction, and if she's not crawling her way through muck to get to solid ground, it's gonna get nasty." She scoffed at herself. "God, how selfish can a person get, right? Asshole."

"The last thing I would ever think to call you was 'selfish'. Or the…second name, too."

Ashley smirked. "Keep talking like that and I might just show a little ankle around here."

Oh god.

Oh god she did not just say that.

But for Thane it was…hmm, he think he understood what that comment was meant to imply. That was…unexpected. Or, perhaps, he was simply lost in his own thoughts…the spark more ill-at-ease than he'd previously thought.

Ashley spoke first.

"Uh…anyways, since I destroyed my datapad I can't uh…I can't look up the thing you quoted. Which, damn, I thought I was hot shit for memorizing Ulysses."

Thane blinked, refocused on Ashley. "It's cheating, slightly. Drell have what you would call eidetic memories, except to a far greater—and sometimes more overwhelming—extent."

"Hey just 'cause you're born with it doesn't mean it's not a gift."

"Hmm…well, it comes in handy, on occasion. In my line of work it was especially useful: I could remember instructions or the description of a target vividly, having only seen them for a short period of time. Outside of work…it also had its advantages, so long as I didn't become consumed by the better ones."

"Like the one from earlier, right?"

"That is a particularly peaceful memory, yes."

"Ever get consumed by the bad ones?"

Thane leaned back in his chair. "Yes…those I tolerate much more. The good ones are something of a temptation—in your darkest days, it becomes so easy to slip into the best parts of your past. The bad ones…it is difficult to become lost in a memory that you want nothing more than to escape from."

"So how's that fit with what you said earlier?"

A long pause from Thane. "As I said, I have personal experience in this matter." He could feel himself being pulled back in time, back to that day that memory the light pouring through the eternal cloud. He shook his head again and said, "Chekhov—a human author. That's the book I read."

"Chekhov?" Huh, wait Thane's quote said something about Yalta, didn't it? That didn't really narrow it down—unless it was a pretty famous short story in which case—

"Oh! The Lady with the Dog!" Ashley smacked her forehead. "God, now you say it and I can't believe I didn't recognize it."

"You've read it, I presume?" Thane said.

"Yeah I went through a…Russian phase. Total stereotype, I know, but you can't deny how good classic Russian literature is."

"When was this?"

"Better if I didn't say." Ashley paused, wondered how deep she was gonna go into this. Been working fine so far so…why not?

She said, "I thought I'd hate Chekhov—did a little bit, actually, when I first started reading him. Nobody's dealing with a war or the hard problems of free will and stuff like that, right? But I kept reading him and…I dunno. People don't really confront the big horrors—there's no Napoleon, no determinism, nothing like that. They're confronting pretty mundane parts of themselves that they're not happy with and they know they're never gonna be happy with, and that's…probably the hardest thing to confront. Hell that probably destroys more people than all the dreadnaughts throughout history. But…these people end up hitting these problems head on…and all that said and done, they still stop and see the beauty of the world every now and again."

Another pause. "Any of that make sense? Unless I'm quoting poetry or general orders, I usually just sound like a marine."

"No," Thane said, smiling, "I perfectly understood you. And my…opinions on Chekhov have undergone a similar evolution. Almost identical, in many ways, in fact."

And then…silence. They couldn't even hear the humming of the drive core: they looked at each other and saw understanding and didn't know what to do with that, how they were supposed to react.

Except, they knew they'd been on the verge of over-thinking things at multiple points in that conversation. Maybe there was something to that.

"I'm fighting as hard as I am because if I look back, I'll turn to salt," Ashley said. "That fine with you?"

"It isn't my place to change you," Thane said.

"You sure? People say that a lot, but push comes to shove—"

"Regardless of the mission—regardless of what lies ahead for us—I wouldn't ever hope to change who you are. Anyone who calls you a friend will simply want the best for you, but we're your friends because we love you for the person you are, siha."

Ashley's brow rose. "'Siha'? Never heard that one before."

"It means—"

Footsteps—Legion was heading towards them.

"Ah," Thane said, as both he and Ashley turned to look at Legion. "I will…have to tell you what it means some other time."

Legion stood in the entrance way to the engine "room," the light of their eye almost the same hue and brightness as the drive core. "We apologize for interrupting Williams-Lieutenant and Krios-Drell's conversation," they said. "We are nearing the pre-planned rallying point."

Ashley turned back to Thane. "Four hours already, huh?"

"We have made good time," Legion said.

Ashley's head shot back to Legion and…yeah, the damn geth's face was unreadable as always. Except their eyeflaps were doing something; she'd seen them do that before, like they were making a facial expression.

She slowly rose from her seat. "All right…guess we'd better start mission planning. God, where're we even gonna start—any of us ever been to Batarian Space before?"

Thane joined her. The three of them began walking the short distance to the cockpit.

"We have been in consultation with EDI and Moreau-Joker," Legion said. "Cerberus tactics and equipment specifications have been assimilated into threat/weakness matrix. A list of batarian patrol patterns intersecting area of operations with probability greater than twenty-five percent have been identified. Additional topographical scans of local planets have been completed. We recommend additional data on potential Council-race responses in the event of mission leakage."

"I see," Thane said. They reached the cockpit, stared out at the stretching beams of light as the Mars plowed through space at relativist speeds. "You've planned the mission on our behalf, then?"

"Negative," Legion said. "We have simply compiled relevant intelligence meeting geth confidence interval thresholds for review." They turned to Ashley. "We did not think Williams-Lieutenant would consent to actualizing a plan of geth creation."

"That a shot at my little sensitive organic brain?" Ashley said, hands going to her hips.

"Negative—we understand and recognize Williams-Lieutenant remains distrustful of geth. We do not condone this standpoint, but we understand it." Legion turned to the console that controlled the dual-V.I.'s flying the ship. They held up their omni-tool, transferred a string of navigational data to the console. A second later, an orange-tinged composite image of a batarian planet—Aratoht—appeared on above their heads. "Compromises where made. Engendering further hostility deemed counterproductive by EDI, Moreau-Joker, and Geth Consensus."

Aaaaaand Ashley felt like she'd just been called out in front of her class. She turned to Thane and saw his face was unreadable too—dammit. Problem was, she knew what he was thinking…and at the end of the day, if you just listened to what Legion said, thought about what they'd done since waking up…

Hell…this was gonna take some getting used it.

"Thanks…Legion," she said "That's…good work. You…think the Council's gonna come down on us for being here?" Stupid question but at least she looked engaged, now.

"EDI has provided us with intelligence on Cerberus information warfare doctrines," Legion said. "We believe Cerberus may attempt to retaliate against Anderson-Councilor's past actions through misinformation and the creation of negative press."

"Shit," Ashley said. She launched herself at the console and started up her omni-tool. C'mon c'mon c'mon pick up.

Dammit—no answer.

"Skipper's gone dark—shit, won't be sure Hackett gets this info in time either." Ashley sighed. "All right—make sure you've got every bit of dirt EDI and Joker can spare, and keep trying to reach…somebody. Somebody Alliance—let me know when you get through. We might have to pre-emptively hit back mid-mission."

"We reached a similar conclusion," Legion said.

"Good," Ashley said. Then it hit her. "Yeah…good, um, work."

The ship lurched slightly as the drive core disengaged, just long enough for the ship to return to sub-FTL speeds. The ship rotated and began its half-hour journey backwards towards Aratoht, the last known location of Dr. Kenson.

"Brace yourselves, people," Ashley said. "This could really suck."

And it was around that time that she remembered all the parties that were involved in this operation.

There was her.

There was Cerberus.

And there was Icarus.

This thing sucking…might just be putting it mildly.

Thane let out a small cough, tried to cover it with his hand.

Legion saw/heard.

Observation(1): Krios-Drell experiencing acute tussis; discoloration of area around the throat.

Observation(2): Krios-Drell inquired about relative humidity of Human Vessel Mars.

Observation(3): Kepral's Syndrome common in drell with long-term exposure to high humidity.

Observation(4): Extensive dialogue between Williams-Lieutenant and Krios-Drell did not result in disclosure of potential respiratory illness.

Orientation(1): Respect for Krios-Drell's quality of life.

Orientation(2): Respect for Krios-Drell's right to inform crew under terms he has set.

Orientation(3): Concern for Williams-Lieutenant's reaction.

Orientation(4): Krios-Drell essential for mission; respiratory disease possible threat to mission success.

Priority Orientation: Repeal potential invasion of Old Machines; Preserve self-determination as operating principle in galaxy.

Priority Orientation override: Instrumental usage of Krios-Drell's medical condition insufficiently justified given given importance of self-determination; long-term goal of preserving core distinction with Heretic faction.

Addendum: Purely strategic actions likely to engender distrust with organic crew.

One thousand, one hundred, and eighty-three programs voted.

Action: 27% in favour; 41% against; 32% requesting additional information.

Against voting bloc moves to align with additional information bloc (93% for; 7% against).

Consensus: forming. Additional information required.

Legion turned away from Thane and stared out at Aratoht, too.

---

"Behold A Pale Horse: Prelude"

---

Night fell early on Arathot. A cloud that might as well have spanned an entire continent choked out Bahak and the planet's lone moon. A mix of green and purple, it spit out lightning and looked on the verge of stripping the trees of leaves and the mountains of any topsoil. Shards of rain leapt out across the valley, right into the eyes poor bastard standing guard on the prison/Ministry of Information Control complex/SIU debrief facility's lowest roof. The batarian guard blinked, blinked again, and when the shard was still burrowing its way into his top right eye, he said screw it and rubbed.

Fuck this place, quite frankly.

Wet footsteps behind him. Couldn't really see anything because of the shade rolling in, but the only other person that came up here was…yeah, there he was.

The guard nodded towards one of the few other Hegemony personnel that was a normal soldier, instead of a Ministry spook or SIU psycho.

"Anything happening down there?"

"Yeah, the weirdest thing I've ever seen." The batarian soldier took out a cigarette and tried to light it. After three attempts he said screw it and tossed it over the roof. "Never seen a Ministry suit tell someone else to take it easy."

The guard sighed. "I'm all for pulling the teeth of terrorists just for fun, but if they want info, they've gotta think about doing it clean."

"So says the Ministry suit." The soldier kicked a puddle. "Like I said, weirdest thing I've ever seen."

The guard turned, shielded the side of his face from the rain. "I'm guessing it's bloody down there."

The soldier shook his head. "Ministry's winning—for now. But if anyone's gonna shoot somebody with Level Eight clearance and get away with it, it'd be Balak."

"Fuck Balak," the guard said. "Drop a fucking asteroid on a planet and think that's gonna do us any good?"

The soldier shrugged. "Made him friends in high places. But no, I'm with you."

There was a rumble, off in the distance. But it wasn't thunder. Thunder didn't echo like that.

The guard and the soldier looked out over the valley and saw…a flash of light. No, they saw a ship. The rumble was a goddamn ship exiting FTL in atmo. The thing glowed purple and spat out tendrils of static everywhere; looked like it was trying to join hands with the lighting going off under the cloud.

"Fuck me," the guard said. "Since when could ships do that?"

"Since never," the soldier said. "Whole crew's probably fused to the floor."

"Any idea who's it is?"

The solider pulled out his scope. "We'll find out soon enough. Bet you the guns'll make short…"

The soldier paused. Through his scope, he saw letters, bone-white against a black backdrop.

SSV Midway.

The soldier knew it was an Alliance ship. He didn't know who was on it or that it was supposed to be destroyed; but an Alliance ship, above a Hegemony planet, was shocking enough.

That was why neither he, nor the guard, heard the buzzing behind him.

The Midway, still throwing out tendrils of static, flew overhead, scattering the Seeker Swarms that covered the prison in a moving, buzzing blanket.

It landed just as another ship—like a termite's nest riddled with metal sheets—cut through the purple and green cloud overhead.

Four ships were approaching.

The wind on Aratoht continued to howl.

---

Oh god this was so friggin long I'm sorry, I'm sorry. I can explain! This was supposed to be the "get all the character stuff out of the way before the Arrival mission" and uhhhhhhhh there was a lot of character stuff.

So, yeah, long. Sorry!

Uh, okay, quick reference list: the Alliance sections are all named after song lyrics (which you can find on the soundtrack on AO3), while the Cerberus sections are named after a meme, a Schopenhauer essay collection, and a quote from Kurt Vonnegut's Siren's of Titan. The title of the chapter is from Cat's Cradle (with "granfetters" being a bad riff on "granfalloons" because, hey, "krantt" and "karass" looked kinda similar to me). Why'd I do it that way? Uhhhhh next question.

What is the airspeed velocity of an unladen swallow? Who the - what the hell is - hey get out of my house! C'mon man I don't have time for this!

(see you next chapter)