Scraps of Parchment

Brave New World (Shepard/Miranda, PG)

jtav — Wed, 18 Apr 2012 16:31:17 GMT

Title: Brave New World
Pairing: Male Shepard/Miranda
Rating: PG
Summary: Sometimes happy endings are possible. Portrait universe.

The boy—the Catalyst, Matt corrected himself—watched him silently with transparent eyes, as if he were waiting. Christ, it actually meant to let him make this choice. Pain fled to be replaced by a numb horror. It was one thing to choose to sacrifice the Destiny Ascension or to destroy the Collector Base. Those had been tactical calculations of risk versus reward. This was deciding the fate of all life everywhere. No one person should ever make that call.

"If you do not choose, the battle will continue. All you love will perish. She will perish."

Miranda. No. He had already lost too many. Ash. Thane. Tali. Legion. He wouldn't lose her as well. She was all he had left. "I can still save her, right?"

"If you choose now."

No getting out of it then. He looked to his right. A few shots at the tubing were all it would take to destroy the Reapers once and for all. This war that had consumed him, that had pushed out his art and nearly pushed out Miranda, would at last be over. He would come back to her and honor his promise. They would build a life together. He would paint her as she deserved. Just a few shots…

And the destruction of all synthetic life. No more EDI. No more geth. Matt inhaled, and fire spread through his chest. "Shepard-Commander, I must go to them." To destroy the geth now, just as awareness was beginning to dawn, would be genocide. The Butcher of Torfan would be a butcher in truth. And EDI, who was falling in love for the first time and to whom Matt owed his life a thousand times over. Gone with no more effort than it took to squeeze the trigger. No, Anderson had been wrong. Destroying the Reapers was not the way.

His eyes fell on the device the Illusive Man had planned to use to control the Reapers. There was power there, if the Catalyst was right. But it was the power of a lonely god cut off from all human concern. Miranda's voice echoed in his head. "I told myself that I was doing it for humanity, but installing that chip would have allowed me to control you the way Father wanted to control me. What a bloody hypocrite I was." And domination wasn't the answer here either, was it? He was an ordinary man. The Reapers might rebel against him before he even started. Or he might go as mad with power as Henry Lawson.

"There is another way, you know."

"I know," Matt whispered. He had done his best to avoid looking at the green light when he arrived, but now it filled his vision. "Turn us all into some kind of hybrid."

"It will bring peace between synthetics and organics. We will become more like you, and organics will become more like us. Our strength will be wedded to your empathy. The cycle will come to an end. My purpose will be complete." The Catalyst's voice was sad. "My tools, my children, will be free. It is the only way to create harmony from chaos. Creator and created are too opposed. If left unchecked, all life everywhere would be destroyed. You saw it yourself on Rannoch."

"Damn you. Damn your cycles." He took a halting step forward, and a knifelike pain radiated up his leg, as if his own body was begging him to stop. "Haven't I done enough? I've been the galaxy's errand boy since I was eighteen. Now you want me to die, too?"

"All that you are will be absorbed and sent out." The Catalyst cocked its transparent head to one side. "What do you think she would do?"

"Don't bring Miranda into this," Matt ground out. But he knew what Miranda—Miranda who put her life on the line to save humanity a dozen times over, Miranda who had an idealism he could never hope to match—would do. She would sacrifice her own life and happiness rather than commit genocide. And that, in the end, was why Matt dragged himself to the edge of the platform and jumped.

Green light enveloped him. There was no pain. Indeed, there seemed to be no physical sensation at all. He had been reduced to memory and thought alone. And those memories were racing past like currents of electricity.

He sketched Miranda with quick, clean lines. No wasted effort, just like the woman herself. Miranda fidgeted in her chair. This was the first time she has sat for him, his reward for particularly wide singularity field. But he found he scarcely needed her as a model. She had been burned into his mind long ago.

The Alliance recruiter's eyes glittered with undisguised greed. "The Alliance would be willing to overlook your, ah, brush with the law in exchange for service. Ten years in prison, or ten years of service. Your choice, Mr. Shepherd."

"Miranda, things are never going to be easy for us, but I'll always want you in my life." For the smallest fraction of a moment, he could see the disbelief and joy on her face. He watched her with disbelief of his own. Didn't she know by now that he wasn't going anywhere?

Tali pivoted, graceful as a dancer, and flung herself off the cliff. Matt heard his voice scream her name as she plummeted towards the earth. The last of the quarians and one of his oldest friends was dead. He was worse than a murderer. He was traitor who had allowed genocide because he couldn't find the right words.

Miranda stood over Henry's corpse. Her face was covered in bruises, but she had never looked so beautiful. A goddess, an avenging angel meting out the justice he could not. Sanctuary would be nothing more than a memory now, thanks to her. And she had given him Cerberus.

The holographic Miranda's fingers hovered over his cheek. "Finish this, Matt, and find me."

He would break that promise. The one thing he wanted was the one thing he could not have. He would be immortalized in art the way he had once sought to immortalize others. He would be called a savior, a redeemer. In a thousand years, somebody would probably start a religion with him as God. But Miranda was lost to him.

"Is she?" The Catalyst's voice echoed around him. "I said you would be absorbed. I never said you would die. You have a chance to find her, and she has a chance to save you. Let us see if you take it."

Matt blacked out before he could ask what the hell that was supposed to mean.

Two weeks later

Mordin bustled around the Lawson Biomedical lab as if it belonged to him. Henry Lawson would have been horrified to find a salarian in charge of his lab, but Miranda was grateful. The salarians had taken heavy casualties in the Disaster, and he was one of the few people with the medical expertise to help them piece together what had happened in the aftermath and the ability to keep up with Miranda's punishing schedule.

"Have finished examining patient. Your hypothesis correct. Found nanites similar to those of indoctrinated subjects in bloodstream. Self-repair properties likely responsible for survival of suicide attempt."

Miranda tensed. The massive casualties sustained in the battle for London, the destruction of the relays, and the as-yet-unexplained flash of green light that had given everyone eyes that glowed had driven many to suicide. Those who had chosen violent means such as turning a gun on themselves had largely been successful, but those who had poisoned themselves had simply refused to die. Their bodies had repaired the damage faster than the toxins could cause it. "So, we're all indoctrinated, then?"

That would be a perfect capstone to this tragedy. Earth's population had been cut in half in just a few months. The Charon relay had been reduced to debris, stranding the allied forces in the Sol system. No one but the asari or krogan would ever see home again. Galactic civilization as they knew it was gone. Miranda would never see Oriana again. Matt and the rest of the Normandy crew were presumed lost. The Reapers had quit the field for unknown reasons, but it seemed they had won after all. Organics were destined to lose their minds.

But Mordin shook his head. "Unlikely. Nervous system altered, but changes not consistent with autopsies performed on Cerberus personnel. Endocrine system normal. Evidence of possibilities for increased strength and cognitive ability, but not indoctrination. Only preliminary guess with small sample size. Will need to run study once crisis has passed." He smiled, and it was the first real smile Miranda had seen in two weeks. "Fascinating mystery."

"Indeed." If intellectual curiosity kept Mordin upbeat, then he should indulge. The science team that had worked on the Crucible had suffered over eighty percent casualties. Brilliant minds like Mordin would be invaluable to Earth's recovery, if Earth even could recover. Miranda would be invaluable. At least that was what she told herself. It made an excellent excuse not to put a bullet in her skull. And at least now she knew not to try poison.

He peered at her. In salarians the green light was little more than pinpricks against a vast blackness. "Dark circles under eyes. Skin paler than normal. Signs of fatigue in humans. Recommend sleep, or at least cessation of work for day."

If I stop, I might have time to think. "I've got some reports from Brynn to go over first." She left before he could protest.

Henry had been a scientist first, a businessman second, and a father a distant third. He had wanted his office close to the labs, the better to monitor progress. Miranda had often found him haranguing the nominal project lead over some point of genetics while he was supposed to be dealing with stockholders. His assistant had had to drag him away from an attempt to increase telomerase production after Miranda had broken her arm. His office had reflected his priorities. Computers were everywhere, but the furniture was spare and built for function rather than luxury. A QEC dominated the center of the room. There had been no personal effects for Miranda to clear out when she had decided to make this the base of operation for her and the surviving former Cerberus personnel.

The one concession to his position had been the spectacular view. Perth, Sydney, and Brisbane had been devastated by the Reapers, but the resort town of Coffs Harbour had largely been left alone. The sea was the clear blue of her childhood, and white sand dotted the beaches. No smoke wafted up from a thousand fires, as it had in London. One could walk the streets here without the certainty of being mugged, raped, or murdered. That was one of Miranda's few accomplishments. The remnants of her strike team had become an impromptu police force, imposing a rough order on her childhood home. An order harshly enforced, but order nonetheless.

Brynn's message awaited her.

We've begun work on tissue samples from those who were in an intermediate husk state but not yet fully converted at the time the Reapers left the system. Prognosis for reversing the process is grim. Most are effectively dead the moment they come in contact with Dragon's Teeth. We could possibly do something with those who had been integrated, but there have been no reports of Cerberus troops in the area. Focusing on those indoctrinated, but not implanted, is our most productive course of action given our extremely limited resources. That makes the data you grabbed from Sanctuary much less useful, but with all the weird stuff going on, maybe that's a good thing.

Miranda buried her face in her hands. So much for that. She had been so sure—no, she had desperately wanted to believe—that the research she had gotten from Sanctuary would save lives. After all, without her, that would have been no Sanctuary. The astonishment in Henry's voice had been audible even in recordings. The pathetic daughter he had discarded had been useful after all. Miranda's research into a means to control Matt had provided the foundation for Sanctuary's work. There would have been no Paul Grayson, no integration process, if not for Lazarus and her desire for a control chip.

It always came back to the control chip. When she was twenty years old, she had trained an unusually powerful biotic and aspiring artist named Matthias Shepard to use his power so that Cerberus could test the L3 implant. Fifteen years later, she had brought him back from the dead. But the chip and Sanctuary tainted everything she had done, just as the madness of the last year had tainted Cerberus. Any good she or they had done had turned to ash. Henry took the blame, but she was responsible. She was the one who had been too blind to see the Illusive Man or Cerberus for what they were until it was too late. She hadn't even seen how much of her father there was in her: the brilliant genius infinitely more concerned with results than people. Matt had been her lover as well as her student all those years ago. That hadn't mattered. Cerberus had needed Commander Shepard to work with them, and Miranda would deliver that by fair means or foul. Falling in love with him again, and he with her, had been a grace neither expected nor deserved.

Neither of them had ever called it love. It would have been presumption, a jinx. But Miranda had seen it in drawings and paintings, had felt it in the way he squeezed her hand before they made the final jump through the Omega-4 relay. He had wanted her, but it was more than that. He had looked at her as if he believed she really could improve humanity. He would help her build a new world and chronicle it. He had loved her not for her looks or anything Henry had given her, but for her passion. As she had loved him for his, the way he believed the entire world could be explained in color and line.

The rest of the galaxy had fawned over the soldier who saved them all or cursed the man who had left the Council to die. But he had been Miranda's brilliant, darling boy first; and it was the boy—the man beneath the armor—that she had loved. Matt, who had drunkenly said her eyes were the color of space. Matt, who had held her quietly after Niket's death. Matt, who had taught her that supporting human advancement didn't mean supporting Cerberus. He had made her world richer, broader. With him at her side, she could have both a cause and a love.

And she had lost him. "Damn you, Matt, for promising. And damn me for believing."

"You aren't...the only one who…honors her promises." The voice was garbled as if coming from underwater, with a synthesized quality like those of Cerberus troopers or David Archer when he was plugged into the Overlord device.

Miranda's head snapped up, but there was no one there, and it was a very strange thing for an intruder to say. She ran her fingers through her hair. She'd stooped to hearing voices. Fatigue and grief had chipped away at her sanity bit by bit. Mordin was right. She needed a rest.

"Not a hallucination. I'll prove it." A green wall of light about the size of a grown man appeared in the QEC. The light shifted and changed, shrinking and altering form as if it were a block of marble being shaped by an invisible sculptor. Miranda watched in shock and fascination as it resolved itself into the rough form of a man. Then eyes, tinged with the unnatural green light but still undeniably blue, appeared. A crooked nose, a thin mouth. Last of all was dark auburn hair, this sort she had loved stroking when she had passed. It couldn't be. It wasn't. Even Lazarus couldn't make this miracle happen.

"Hello," Matt said. "Did it work? Can you hear me?"

Miranda stared at him open-mouthed. This couldn't be happening. She had lost everything, so her mind finally broken and given her back one thing. Matt was nothing more than a beautiful, agonizing fever dream.

"I'm real, Miranda." His voice cracked as he stared at his glowing hands as if he'd never seen them before. "I've come back. The Catalyst said that…I never believed…Oh, God."

"No," Miranda rasped, her throat raw with a burning pain. "You're just an illusion." An illusion she was talking to. Damn it.

"Shit, I should've known this would happen. And me without a body to prove I'm real." The specter's brow furrowed the same way Matt's did when he was planning a painting or deciding the most effective way to flank the enemy. I really, really hope this works. Could an illusion do this?"

The terminal Miranda had been reading winked off, and an alarm sounded somewhere in the distance. Matt smirked. "Hope no one tries to break in the next 10.32 seconds. Your security systems are going absolutely nuts."

"This is insane," Miranda managed. "I'm insane."

The comm link sprang to life before Matt could say anything. "Ms. Lawson. We have a situation. The security systems went off-line for a bit. We're not exactly sure what's going on."

Miranda stared at Matt and he at her. This couldn't be real. Fate had never been kind to her. Miranda always lost what she loved, and it never came back. And yet...hope was the cruelest of all masters. "For just a little over ten seconds."

"How did you know?"

Miranda's operative training kicked in by instinct, and her voice was cool and professional. "Never mind. The situation is under control." She shut the comm link off with shaking hands.

Matt was here. Somehow the dead had returned to life once more. The world had ended, but Fate had seen fit to give her this one moment of grace. The wall of numb grief sloughed off like a scab, exposing the rawness within. Grief and elation intertwined so tightly that Miranda could no longer tell which was which. Hot tears poured down her face, for what she had lost and what she had gotten back. Miranda had neither the strength nor the will to stop them.

Matt's voice was soft and warm. "Don't cry. Please. I've come back."

"How?" Miranda whispered. Perhaps it was foolish to question, but Miranda was a scientist. All things were explainable with time. Even miracles.

Matt told her. His voice was low and rhythmic, the way it was when he tried and failed for the thousandth time to explain to her what he saw in a Caravaggio or Degas. It was an incredible story. AIs that wore the form of a child. Synthetics becoming like organics. The Reapers being set free. All life changing on a molecular level. "I'm not really sure how I came back. I guess you could say that I put myself back together. Bits of data pieced together to make a person. No body, but I can control tech. I'm not sure what you would call me."

Miranda wiped her eyes. Matt was watching her with a mixture of worry and affection. He was a human hologram, if what he said was true. A digital ghost. Half of a miracle then, bringing back the mind but not the body. But then, there was no such thing as miracles, were there? There was only the effort of talented people who refused to take no for an answer. "I'll bring you back."

His smile was a brittle, frantically hopeful thing that looked as if it might break into pieces at any moment. "An ambitious undertaking, Ms. Lawson." His voice cracked. "Is that even possible?"

Miranda smiled despite herself. "A matter of time and resources. It's always a matter of time and resources." Wild, fierce joy that had no right to be there bubbled up inside her. "And I have something I didn’t before."

"What's that?"

"Hope.”

Many years later

"And that is the Shepard myth that inspired this painting. Scholars believe it is a late addition to the cycle, tying the figure of Matthias Shepard to the development of the ability to upload and store personalities. It is an example of an…"

John let Dr. Prescott drone on as the rest the class crowded around the painting. He'd always been fascinated by tales of the Shepard, ever since he’d been a little boy on Horizon drinking in every word his grandfather said. He was older now, old enough to know that the relays had only gone dark instead of exploding. Now his concerns were more human. He wondered what the real Miranda Lawson has done. He wondered if there had indeed been a Miranda, or if she was just another construct. But whatever she was had faded into myth long ago.

And yet, some part of him wanted her to have been real, wanted this to have been real. Death was nothing now; just upload your most recent personality backup into a new shell and go on your way. Fantastic, practically speaking. But it meant grand romantic gestures like spending years resurrecting your ex-boyfriend or reforming yourself because you had promised your girlfriend that you would find her were really hard to come by. John wanted to believe that they had once been possible.

"Lovely use of line," Nick said. He brushed his hair out of his eyes. “And you can almost see her fighting the hope, can’t you? And the subtle green flecks in her eyes. Lots of painters, especially the neo-Luddites, will use a neon or sickly green to represent the first transformations. But it's deep and rich here. Like pine trees."

"I guess." John shrugged. Nick had always been a little weird. Obsessed with his painting and sketching. He was on his third degree though, and had been more than generous in sharing his notes and helping John pass art appreciation. “We still on for lunch later?”

“If you don’t mind Claire joining us. She finished the nanotech improvements early, and I promised I'd meet her.”

"You two enjoy yourselves." And this way I don't have to explain the puddle of drool. He looked back at the painting. "You ever think these stories are strange? I mean I know a lot of cultures appropriate myths, but the Shepard stuff seems to depend entirely on who's telling the story. The asari swear up and down that Miranda sold him out to this Cerberus, regretted it, and died in his arms. The krogan say that he cured the genophage; the salarians say that he only said he did and the cure was part of the Event.”

It was the Nick’s turn to shrug. "Tells you more about the culture of the tale-teller than anything. I'm betting most of these stories have exactly nothing to do with the real Shepard." He cleared his throat. "Assuming there was one. I could do without the asari version, though. All that dying. Saw an operatic version of it once. Last kisses, dying declarations of love. I thought Claire was going to vomit, it was so cheesy."

"Well, most versions of the story have one or both of dying. This is the only one I know of that has a happy ending. And even then, it's just the chance for one.”

"Messianic archetype. He—“ Whatever Nick was going to say was interrupted by the bell. John scrambled out of his seat and didn't think any more of the Shepard.

Until he saw Nick and Claire at lunch an hour later. They were outside of a small café, talking in low voices. Nick must've said something funny, because Claire threw back her head and laughed. John stopped. Everybody knew Claire Eldfell was gorgeous; she’d made the list of Sexiest CEOs fifteen years running for a reason. But this was different. She looked older, wiser than she did in the vids, like she was in on some great cosmic joke but not allowed to tell anyone for fear of spoiling it. She kissed Nick on the lips briefly, and he smiled at her. Speaking of cheesy…

And maybe that was why the myths stopped where they did. Even if the Shepard and his Miranda got a happy ending, it would have been full of mundane, stupid moments like this one. Anticlimax after defeating the Reapers. Better for the story if they both died as dramatically as possible. Throwing the possibility of a happy ending for the romantics, but let them die as dramatically as they lived. Who wanted to hear about the Savior of the Galaxy having lunch dates?

All the same, John hoped.

kink_bingo

jtav — Thu, 02 Jun 2011 18:25:35 GMT

No I'm not dead. I've been working on a multichapter fic. Not posting it here because LJ isn't really designed for it. But I have signed up for kink_bingo in an effort to get more comfortable writing sex.

Wish me luck.

takingitinturns

jtav — Sat, 26 Mar 2011 12:35:02 GMT

The takingitinturns fic is done and in beta. *throws confetti* Next up: a fill for the Mass Effect kinkmeme and some Dragon Age oneshots.

Introspection (Miranda/Liara, PG)

jtav — Tue, 01 Mar 2011 16:23:07 GMT

Title: Introspection
Pairing: Miranda/Liara
Rating: PG
Warnings: None.
Summary: Miranda reminisces. Liara has an offer.
AN: Originally written for the kink meme, but ended up not being kinky at all

Monitors everywhere. The scale of the Show Broker's operation astonishes Miranda. He had operatives on every settled world. Nothing happened without his knowledge. Lines of text race past, too fast for her to read, as those operatives send status reports. An entire galaxy's worth of information right here at her fingertips. Miranda licks her lips. Such an empire was wasted on the yahg. He cared for nothing but preserving the status quo and his own wealth and power. With these resources, he could have changed the galaxy, forced the galaxy to progress, instead of maintaining a stalemate that ensured the Council races stagnated. I could have done better. I wouldn't have squandered all this.

But these resources don't belong to the yahg anymore.

She feels a pair of slender arms encircle her waist. "What do you think of it?" Liara murmurs into her ear as she pulls Miranda against her.

Miranda shivers. "Remarkable," she whispers and means more than the operation. Liara smells of citrus and coffee. The physical part of their relationship is still new enough that the scent is nearly enough to undo Miranda. She wonders how long it will take for her to become accustomed to the fact that Liara T'Soni wants her. Miranda was infatuated with her almost from the moment they met. It wasn't just that she was beautiful. Miranda could have found beauty anywhere. Liara risked her life to recover the corpse of her former commanding officer. Miranda wanted a bit of that devotion for herself, wanted someone willing to sacrifice for her. She wrote it off as a pointless infatuation. It wasn't like they would ever see each other again.

And then Liara wrote to her. Miranda's still not sure how she managed to find the address. Liara needed some advice about a client who wouldn't pay. Miranda had written back. To see beautiful, brilliant Liara T'Soni crushed by the information business was an indignity not to be borne. So she'd helped. Liara had written back, requesting more advice. Another letter. Then Another. Slowly, little intimacies crept into their correspondence like ivy up a wall. Liara told her about the last fight she'd had with her mother. Miranda told her about her first mission with Cerberus, with the classified details carefully omitted. The letters became her link to the world beyond Lazarus Station. All while she was pouring out her knowledge of the information business in a desperate bid to keep Liara alive.

She didn't expect Liara to embrace her after meeting again. Didn't expect her fingers—still rough and calloused after two years away from dig sites—to trail up Miranda's throat. Miranda certainly didn't expect Liara to kiss her. She clung to the asari like a drowning woman. For a little while, it didn't even matter that she was probably going to die in a few weeks.

Miranda didn't die. She supposes her resignation from Cerberus is a kind of death, but she isn't inclined to think of it in such poetic terms. She doesn't really know what she'll do with herself now, unless she counts visiting the new Shadow Broker and plotting ways to get her into bed. Part of her thinks this is too good to be true. Liara wanting her is too much of a favor from the universe for it to be permanent. She'll wake up some day and find that this is all part of some scheme by someone who wants something from her, like every other gift she's gotten in her life. Or Liara will tire of her.

"Miranda, are you listening to me?" Liara is more amused than impatient.

Miranda turns in the embrace to look at her. "Sorry. Just thinking. You were saying?"

"I said the organization is more complex than I ever dreamed. I think I'm going to need more help besides Feron. Someone I can trust. Someone who will help me and run things the way they need to be run."

Miranda manages a half smile. "Look for a nonviolent krogan while you're at it."

"I—I have someone in mind." She steps back and takes Miranda's hands in hers. Miranda can feel the heat even through her gloves. "The old Broker wanted to recruit you. I think he was right in that much."

Miranda can't quite process what Liara is saying. "I'd never have worked for him. No vision. I need something to fight for. Not just money."

"And helping me stop the Reapers? Is that a big enough cause for you?" Her expression softens a bit. "You're the only reason I'm here today. I think the two of us together could do something great. I've already spoken to Shepard. She's fine with it." Liara smiles again. "She said something about not wanting to get in the way of a pair of love birds."

And then Miranda gets it. "We could change the galaxy with what we have here."

"We could make it so much better than it was before, even beyond stopping the Reapers." Miranda can see her own passion reflected in Liara's eyes. Finally, she has a kindred spirit, not just a lover. "So, will you?"

Miranda kisses her by way of answer. There are about a thousand ways this can go wrong. But if she's going to get her heart broken, it might as well be while she's trying to do something glorious. She has chance, here and now, to do more than she ever could with Cerberus, and to do it with the person who has utterly captivated her. Even Miranda isn't immune to temptation.

"Come on," she says when the kiss is over, "we have work to do."

Last Night of the World (Miranda/Liara, R) 1/1

jtav — Sat, 22 Jan 2011 03:07:11 GMT

Title: Last Night of the World
Pairing: Miranda/Liara
Rating: R
Summary: "I told you that it had once been customary to allow soldiers about to go into battle to spend the night with whoever they wished." Miranda prepares to face the Collectors. Liara provides the only comfort she can.

Suicide missions made people insane. That was the only explanation for the report in front of her, Miranda decided. Tali—their chief engineer, the best tech expert they had—was taking herbal supplements and receiving immunoboosters in preparation for consummating her relationship with Shepard. Miranda shook her head in exasperation. The IFF was a mere two or three days away from being ready for shakedown. And then, the relay. They'd need everyone at their best if they hoped to survive, but Tali and Shepard were risking her life for the sake of sex.

Is it any stupider than you getting shot at or hit by debris while Liara took on the Shadow Broker? Miranda rubbed her shoulder absently. Medigel and her own accelerated healing abilities had ensured she recovered quickly, but she still had several bruises courtesy of the Shadow Broker's desk. It had been worth it. Liara had been guilt-ridden on Lazarus Station, even though Feron had known the risks. She'd believed Shepard would despise her for handing him over to Cerberus. A silly worry. How could anyone hate Liara for the courage and devotion she'd shown for Shepard's sake? Miranda would have done anything for it. Perhaps now Liara could find some peace. As much as the Shadow Broker could ever have peace.

Liara was on the Normandy now, having accepted Shepard's offer of a tour. Miranda considered her office the safest place to be. Seeing Liara always made her feel too much at once. She'd lusted after the asari almost from the moment they met on Omega, and their brief meeting on Illium had proven that time had done nothing to dull her foolish infatuation. There were those who called unrequited lust an exquisite torture. For Miranda, it was mostly just torture.

The door hissed softly as it opened. Miranda looked up and felt a familiar tightness in her chest. Liara. She was looking better than Miranda had ever seen her. Her flesh was a rich, healthy blue, and Miranda could see no sign of the fatigue that had seemed to be Liara's constant companion for two years. Her eyes hadn't changed. They were still the same brilliant shade of blue Miranda had found so terribly distracting during their first metti

She smiled when she saw Miranda. "It's good to see you again."

"I—good to see you too." She was aware she was speaking rapidly. Not quite babbling, but clearly caught off guard more than she should have been by a simple greeting. She indicated the chair nearest her desk. "Would you like something? I have some cognac somewhere around here."

"No, thank you." Liara's voice was soft and quiet, an echo of the archaeologist she had once been. "How are you? We haven't really had a chance to talk since, well, everything."

I'm probably going to be dead this time next week. The Illusive Man sent us into a trap on a Collector ship. Your mere presence apparently dooms me to act like a teenager. Miranda said none of that. Instead, she said, "Shepard and Tali are acting like a pair of bloody idiots."

Liara's smile was small and more than a little wistful. "We spoke a little about that. I've never seen him happier. She's been in love with him for as long as I've known her. I'm glad they're happy."

"And planning to risk her health right when we can least afford it."

"I've been told sex and romance are natural reactions to high stress situations. Centuries ago, it was customary for asari soldiers going into a battle where death seemed certain to be able to sleep with whoever they wished." She shifted slightly in her seat and her expression grew serious. "I admit I didn't come here to discuss Shepard or Tali. Shepard told me that you were very close to taking on the Collectors. Is that true?"

Miranda couldn't see any reason to lie. "Yes."

Liara bit her lower lip. Miranda was suddenly reminded how very young a hundred and eight was for an asari. "And what do you think the odds are that... that you'll come back alive?"

"Why are you asking me? Shepard's the one in charge of this mission."

Liara's gaze was steady and unblinking. Miranda felt a heat in her cheeks that had nothing to do with desire. This must've been how Liara looked when she was analyzing Prothean artifacts. "Because you would tell me the truth," she said slowly. "I was a little frightened of you at first before I could tell the difference between coldness and dedication. Now I think you may be the only person on this ship who will give me an honest answer."

Miranda stood and crossed over to the window. Stars shone for as far as the eye could see. The sight made her feel strangely calm. Whatever happened, something in this galaxy would outlast even the Reapers. "We've tried to get the crew as focused on the mission as we can, but we still have no real idea of what will be facing on the other side of the relay. I expect that there will be substantial casualties." It felt strange to say that out loud. She'd never confided her doubts to the crew. It was her job as XO to be strong and certain at all times. Doubt made you look weak. She might have confided in Shepard, but they had never been truly close. Liara wasn't part of the mission, technically. And she had trusted Miranda to give her an honest answer.

"I—I see." Miranda heard Liara stand in the sound of her shoes as she came closer. "It's not fair. After everything Feron and I did, it turns out that it was just so Shepard could go on another suicide mission."

The bark of laughter escaped before Miranda could stop it. "I would think after all you've been through that you would know that life isn't fair."

"And that makes it right? You gave up two years of your life so Shepard could come back. You performed a medical procedure that until now would have been classed as either impossible or a miracle. And Cerberus sends you to die!" Liara's voice was hoarse, almost broken.

Miranda couldn't quite bear to look at her. She'd seen Liara angry, even petulant, on Omega. She never thought she would hear Liara expressing righteous anger on her behalf. She spent two years of her life searching for someone who betrayed her more than once. She can afford a little compassion for you. "If the old Broker's files on me are half as extensive as I think they are, you must know that I have a sister. If this mission gets her a better chance to survive when the Reapers come, then it's worth it. If my life is the price to save dozens of colonies, so be it." What good were her father's gifts if she didn't use them for the sake of humanity?

"But you deserve better. Surely you must want something for yourself before you..." She could hear Liara fumbling for the right word. "... before you go into battle?"

There were more footsteps. Liara placed a hand on her shoulder. Miranda could feel the warmth and the weight of it even through her uniform. She could remember doing the same for Liara once on Lazarus Station, a lifetime ago. "Just tell me if there's anything I can do for you, and I will."

There were two things. One of them was selfish and impossible besides. "Promise me that you'll never reveal Oriana's location to anyone, no matter how much they pay you." Her throat felt as if it had been scraped raw. She wondered if Liara realized the enormity of her request. The Shadow Broker had always sold to the highest bidder, and Miranda was asking her to compromise that neutrality for the sake of one person.

"Of course," Liara said, as if it were the simplest thing in the world.

"Thank you." Miranda didn't even bother to hide the relief in her voice.

"Is that all? I thought..." Liara trailed off. If Miranda hadn't known better, she would have said the asari was disappointed. Liara's hand left her shoulder and trailed up the side of her neck. Miranda shivered. Liara's fingers were rough and slightly calloused, another reminder of her former life excavating ruins. The sensation was exhilarating. The caresses—and there was no other word for these gentle, smooth strokes—continued.

"What are you doing?" The words came out more shakily that Miranda intended.

Liara didn't answer out loud. Instead, she gently turned Miranda to face her. Her breathing sounded very loud in the sudden silence. Her eyes darkened slightly. "Now or never," she whispered and covered Miranda's lips with her own. The kiss was gentle, almost hesitant. Chaste, really. It was still enough to undo Miranda. She made a small, pleased, noise in the back of her throat. I must be dreaming.

And, if she were dreaming, she might as well enjoy herself before she woke up. Miranda snaked one arm around Liara's waist and used it to pull her close. The asari was as soft and warm as Miranda had always imagined. She deepened the kiss, and soon Liara was making pleased noises of her own. She tasted of citrus and fine asari wines. She threaded her fingers through Miranda's hair. Miranda's nibbled gently on Liara's lower lip, tugging gently. This was, well, fantastic.

The sudden need for air was the first clue that Miranda might not be dreaming. The second was the way the Liara's eyes glittered with a smug amusement. Liara was never amused in these particular fantasies. "I was right," she said, more to herself than to Miranda. "You are attracted to me. I was afraid I'd misread you."

Miranda's head was still spinning. She felt as if she had been dropped into a bizarre parallel universe where nothing made sense. Liara had suspected her attraction, despite Miranda's best efforts to hide it. Miranda's smile had more than a hint of self-deprecation. Of course she suspected. You don't get to be a good information broker without learning how to read people. And she had enjoyed the kiss. "More than attracted," she whispered.

Liara colored slightly. "Then... Goddess, this is embarrassing." She cleared her throat. "I told you that it had once been customary to allow soldiers about to go into battle to spend the night with whoever they wished. I thought...maybe...you might want to..."

It took several seconds for Miranda to process Liara's words. "Are you offering to have sex with me?"

Liara smiled again. "If you want me."

Miranda kissed Liara again, a short brutal kiss with none of the earlier gentleness. She didn't want gentleness tonight. She wanted to take the tension, stress, and anxiety thrumming through her and pour it out onto Liara until they were both spent. Her nails dug into Liara's shoulder, eliciting short, breathy gasps. Miranda broke the kiss and stepped back, curious about the effect she'd had. Liara's eyes were half way glazed over and her lips faintly bruised. Pride and lust made for a heady cocktail. Got you now, Miranda thought with a predatory smile. She could see her own lust mirrored in Liara's expression. Perhaps this was a bit more than charity for the soon-to-be dead woman?

"Tell me what you want me to do." Miranda bit back a laugh. She was fairly certain Liara was attempting seductive, but it sounded like she'd stolen the tone from a cheap vid somewhere. But Miranda appreciated the sentiment.

"Take off your dress," Miranda ordered. "Your underwear, too." Liara obeyed. And now Miranda was absolutely certain she wasn't dreaming. Her fantasies of a naked Liara had been hopelessly generic compared to the real thing. Her freckles went all the way down her body. Miranda fought the urge to count them. Her nipples were a soft shade of lavender. Miranda licked her lips, imagining her mouth there. And just above Liara's tailbone was a small and inviting lump of flesh. Miranda knew exactly what she wanted to do with that. Oh, yes, this was going to be fun.

"Door: seal." The control pad on the door turned red. Nothing short of a shipwide emergency would interrupt them now. Miranda circled around to stand behind Liara, inspecting and considering what she wanted to do next. She shivered with anticipation. How many times had she dreamed of this before berating herself for fantasizing about something she would never have? Well, she hadn't now. She had to make this count. Make it good for both of them. This wasn't some quick fuck in an apartment with a man whose name she didn't know. This was Liara. She only had one night; but, dear God, she had all night. Miranda intended to savor it.

She pulled Liara flush against her and angled her head to kiss along her neck and shoulder. "You... like... that?" she murmured against Liara's skin. Liara made a noise of assent. Emboldened, Miranda covered every inch of skin she could reach with her lips. She reached around and cupped Liara's left breast with her palm. For a long moment, she simply held it, getting used to feel. Liara was very still and quiet. Miranda began circling and pinching the nipple. Liara shook, and her breath came in hoarse, ragged gasps. Miranda felt smug.

Until she realized that Liara wasn't shaking with arousal, but laughter. "That tickles."

Miranda stepped back and dropped her hand away. Her cheeks burned. Ticklish? She wasn't precisely experienced with asari—a few brief encounters during her university days—but none of her former lovers, human or asari, had ever complained when she did that. She hated these kinds of misjudgments. She was supposed to be the one who was experienced and in control, who could make Liara putty in her hands. She wasn't supposed to accidentally tickle her! She barely resisted the urge to bury her face in her hands.

Liara turned around. Her expression was halfway between amused and tender. "It's all right. This is about you, anyway, not me." She reached for the zipper on Miranda's uniform. "I think it's high time we took off your clothes."

Miranda shook her head. "Let me." She could be in control of this much, at least. She tugged the zipper down centimeter by centimeter. Liara's hungry expression was a sop to her bruised ego. Really, it had been stupid to assume Liara would like everything a human would. Come to think of it, the asari hadn't been all that enthusiastic during that part. Dear God, they'd been humoring the sheltered girl who had still been figuring what she liked. Wild hilarity bubbled up inside her. She didn't know which was better: wanting to laugh or finding that she could in spite of what awaited her through the relay.

"What happened to you?" Liara's voice was abruptly all tenderness and concern.

Miranda looked down. Damn it. Small, faded bruises dotted her chest. They would've been gone within a day or two. But they were here now for Liara to see. She extended a tentative hand to hover over a particularly nasty-looking yellowish contusion. "The yahg?" she asked.

"The yahg?"

"Oh," she said in a small voice. She looked from the bruises to Miranda's face and back again. "You didn't have to fight that day. No one would have said anything if you stayed behind to take command of the ship. Some would have said it was your duty."

"Of course I had to fight." Miranda could hear the low throb in her voice and cursed herself for her weakness. She didn't want to endure any platitudes about how brave and noble she'd been or what a sacrifice she'd made.

There were no platitudes. Suddenly Liara was in her arms and kissing her again. Miranda had no energy for cursing herself or for anything other than keeping up with the asari. Liara hands roamed freely, though she was mindful of the bruises. Miranda's skin tingled. She fell younger, more truly alive then she had in years him and. Liara trailed a series of hot, quick kisses from Miranda's mouth, across her cheek, and down her throat. She pushed the uniform down over Miranda's arms. Her hands trembled. Miranda could feel the lust spiraling through her, pooling in her gut like molten lava before radiating outward until it filled every inch of her. They stumbled toward the couch. Miranda didn't think she could make it to the bed. Her bra joined the rest of the discarded clothing on the floor. Miranda collapsed onto the couch and pulled Liara down on top of her. Skin slid against skin. Liara didn't let up. She seemed content to kiss and stroke her way down Miranda's body. Her nipples hardened under Liara's touch. She arched her back, offering herself up to Liara' like some ancient sacrifice. The still-rational part of her mind wondered exactly where Liara had learned to do all this and then promptly decided she didn't bloody care as long as Liara kept doing it.

It took some doing, but they managed to remove Miranda's panties and boots. Liara slid a hand gently, almost lazily, up her inner thigh, tracing intricate patterns as she did so. Miranda spread her legs slightly, granting Liara better access. She closed her eyes. The world narrowed to the feeling of Liara above her and the sound of her own labored breathing. Her skin felt too tight. She needed this. The thought was exhilarating and a little terrifying.

Liara stopped suddenly. A whimper escaped Miranda before she could stop it. You can't stop. Not now. Please. She looked up. Liara was gazing at her with a solemnity that would have been unnerving if it hadn't been so damn funny. "What?" Miranda asked, stupidly proud of herself for being capable of coherent speech under the circumstances.

"I, ah, I've never done this with a human female before. I mean, I know what goes where and we are sort of similar and I've done this before with another species and... and I'm afraid I'll screw it up."

Oh. Miranda felt strangely touched, impatience aside. She took Liara's hand and pressed it against her opening. Liara tried a few tentative swipes. The sensation of Liara's roughened fingers against her clit send a jolt of electricity through Miranda. Slowly, they established a rhythm. Liara was as quick a learner in this as she was in everything else. Miranda writhed under her. There was nothing left to do except us surrender and happily drown in the rising tide that was overtaking her The last thing she heard before orgasm completely overtook her was Liara laughing in relief and exultation.

Afterwards, they clung to each other. Miranda traced patterns of her own on Liara's back. She was warm and content for the first time since the Lazarus Project began. Whatever happened in the coming days, she was grateful for this particular moment. "Thank you," she whispered and brushed her lips against the top of Liara's forehead. "How long until Feron needs you again?"

"Not for a few hours yet. Why?"

A fiendish grin spread across Miranda face. "Then I have a chance to repay you." She was certain Liara would enjoy this. That hotel hadn't been named Azure for no reason. Her fingers moved down over the lump at the base of Liara's spine. The flesh was hot and almost satiny. Liara's eyes went black as she shuddered. "Feels...good."

The grin widened as Miranda summoned a flicker of biotic power. One could do quite a lot in a few hours, and Liara had promised her the night. "Oh, I'm just getting started."

Devil On My Shoulder (Kaidan/Miranda, PG-13) 3/7

jtav — Fri, 21 Jan 2011 00:05:17 GMT

Devil On My Shoulder (Kaidan/Miranda, PG-13) 2/4

jtav — Thu, 13 Jan 2011 13:19:06 GMT

Title: Devil On My Shoulder
Pairings/Characters: Kaidan/Miranda
Rating: PG-13
Warnings: Violence, some discussions of slavery, prostitution, and other facts of life on Omega
Summary: Kaidan teams up with a mysterious Alliance operative to continue the fight against the Reapers, but may have bitten off more than he can chew. Especially when that agent is Miranda and the Reapers have a plan of their own.

Previous

Arrivals

The ship had been Feron's. The Plain Dealer had been rechristened the Silver Zephyr, her registration and ID signal changed to foil any Shadow Broker agents. Liara's final gift to us. She said she hadn't needed the ship were she was going. It reminded her of Feron and the choice the Collectors had forced her to make. She'd never said as much, but I knew how to read people, even asari. Ridiculous to feel guilty over a lying, backstabbing drell who nearly got her killed more than once, but I wasn't going to turn down a fast, relatively inconspicuous vessel. Our bags had already been taken aboard. A pity about the destination.

But, perhaps, not the company. I glanced at Kaidan out of the corner of my eye. He was wearing the dark, well-tailored suit he'd been given as part of his cover as Mikael Seta, owner of a small but prosperous import-export business and fence of choice for the discerning thief who wanted to dispose of unique items. He hadn't with shaved in three days. Another piece of the disguise. He kept running his fingers over the beginnings of his beard, as if he couldn't quite believe it was there.

"Don't do that," I whispered. The docking bay was not especially crowded at this hour, but there was no such thing as being too cautious in undercover work. "You'll draw attention to yourself."

His lips thinned. Irritation and a hint of embarrassment, but he was trying not to show either. "Sorry. Just not used to it yet. I haven't tried to grow a beard since I was fourteen."

I didn't answer right away. Kaidan made the mission more complicated. He was a mission objective, just as the Reaper tech was. He was the reason I was here instead of on Lazarus Station. The Illusive Man believed that he would be an asset to Cerberus. I was inclined to agree. He was a decorated soldier and a highly skilled biotic. More importantly, he believed in the Reapers and knew what was at stake. He'd managed to keep his position despite those in power denying that the Reapers existed. Not the sort of man who was likely to be dominated by his emotions. His psych profile suggested he had a relatively positive view of aliens. Good. Too many people confused the advancement of humanity with rampant xenophobia. He'd be perfect for us.

If I could recruit him. Which meant I needed him to like me. I'd never been good at that. I'd never particularly wanted my subordinates to like me. Respect was adequate. I couldn't manipulate him like I had my occasional mark, not if I wanted a working relationship with him later.

You could always seduce him. He'd certainly seemed interested the first time we met. I gave him credit for at least trying not to act like a dog in heat. My looks were yet another thing my father had given me. He'd hired researchers to calculate the traits most attractive to the average heterosexual human male and given them to his daughters. He had to keep the bloodline going somehow. It had proved useful in my line of work, though not in the way you would think. I'd promised myself after I left Omega for the first time that I'd never sleep with anyone unless I wanted to. I honored my promises. Flirtation was another matter. Not that it would be much of a hardship to flirt with Kaidan. And, perhaps, there would be more later, if he was everything he was supposed to be and it didn't compromise the mission. Maybe.

I quirked my lips upward slightly. "Scruffy is a good look for you."

I was rewarded with a slow, easy grin that unfurled across Kaidan's face. No, this wasn't going to be a hardship at all. "Come on."

The Zephyr was as cramped as I remembered. She smelled of metal and the various fluids necessary to keep even a small smuggling vessel operational. At least someone had managed to find room for a second chair. The cargo hold was filled with unregistered small arms and bags of red sand. Another piece of our cover and material for bribery, if it came to that. She wasn't the most comfortable ship I'd ever been on, but she would serve well enough for the ten hour trip to Omega.

Kaidan took in the scene at a glance. I watched as his gaze fell on the small box I'd half-hidden under the pilot's seat. "What's that? It can't be cargo or you would have hidden it better."

My eyebrows went up. I'd placed the box there as a small test; I wanted to see how long it would take Kaidan to notice. He had exceeded my expectations considerably. I'd planned on giving him the contents once we reached on Omega, but perhaps he deserved a reward. "Actually, it's for you." I knelt, retrieved the box, and opened it. The omni-tool inside lay inert, with only the logo of the Serrice Manufacturing Council suggesting anything out of the ordinary. Kaidan shot me a surprised look when he saw it. "The Nexus 2300. Fastest, most efficient omni-tool in existence. It won't even be available to the general public for another four months."

He took it and strapped it on to his left arm with the ease of long practice. "I, ah, guess there are advantages to your line of work."

"You have no idea." Why not give him a taste of the wonders Cerberus was producing right now? Something to blot out the memory of our bases on Binthu and Sigma-23. Something unambiguously beneficial. "Our scientists have prototyped a subdermal omni-tool implant keyed directly to an individual's nervous system. Even higher performance and less conspicuous." I fought the urge to rub my arm. The operation had hurt only slightly less than the one that given me my biotics, but it had been worth it to have an omni-tool that was undetectable to all but the most advanced scans.

He thought for a moment. "I can see why the AIS would like that. Harder for any enemy agents to remove in case you get captured. A twenty-second century skeleton key."

"That too."

I sat in the pilot's chair while Kaidan took the other one. Neither of us spoke as I performed the necessary safety checks. Kaidan seemed content to watch me, and I was grateful. Too many people I'd been forced to work with spoke for the sake of speaking instead of for an actual reason. Kaidan was full of pleasant surprises today. I could only hope they continued once we reached the Terminus Systems.

"Ready?"

"As I'll ever be."

It was another thirty-five minutes before Citadel Control cleared us to take off. The roar of the engines and drive core filled my ears and we were off. It was marvelous to be flying again. For six months, I had been confined to Lazarus Station for six months, with only my staff and Shepard's corpse for company. Now I was hurtling through the infinite void of space toward a relay that could take me almost anywhere in the galaxy. The Zephyr was a fast ship, and she seemed to know what I wanted her to do almost the moment I decided. I could feel a fierce, wild joy springing up within me. It was as if I were a greyhound that had been caged for too long and suddenly allowed to run free.

--

I'd never been quite certain how I felt about Omega. As a teenager, I had seen it as a symbol of everything my own life wasn't. Species from every corner of the galaxy mingled freely. There were no rules except what you made yourself, no schedules planned down to the last minute. Even the station's very architecture was chaotic, a mishmash of styles collected over the millennia. Every year, millions of immigrants flocked to the station in search of a better life. Some of them even found it. Romantic fool that I was, I had believed the perfect place to hide from my father. It was one of the costliest mistakes I'd ever made.

Even knowing the truth, I couldn't deny Omega retained a certain rough grandeur. It was vast and millennia older than any sapient being now alive. It had played host to everything from miners to exiled kings and outlasted them all. Even from this distance, thousands of lights were visible. And there was a rough, brutal form of order here, enforced by Aria T'Loak. More than you could say for most of the Terminus, and it provided a staging base for illegal but essential activity. It was as necessary in its own way as the Citadel.

Kaidan leaned forward in his seat, taking in the sight before him. I couldn't blame him. The sight was impressive. Sensors picked up twenty-seven ships within a hundred thousand kilometers of Omega. Half of those were within visible range. Most of them were small, dirty freighters of one kind or another. The only exception was a ship of turian design about three quarters the size of an Alliance frigate. The ship was battered, but this served only to expose the multitude of weapons bristling from its hull.

Kaidan's eyes widened almost imperceptibly. "Pirates or slavers. Are we in any danger?"

"We would be if we weren't so close to Omega." The Zephyr had been built for speed and maneuverability, but even she couldn't outrun a disruptor torpedo at this distance. She was lightly armed and armored, too. We'd be helpless in a firefight. "Aria would obliterate anyone who attacked a ship this close to her territory."

Kaidan leaned back and gave a short bark of laughter. "When I was a kid, I used to watch this vid show—Galactic Defender, or something like that—about a bunch of guys who flew around the galaxy fighting pirates. It was always enough to blow them out of the sky. No mention of crime lords keeping them in check. I ate it up. Guess kids like easy answers."

"Indeed. The galaxy can be a very rough place, and idealism can make people feel better about it." Kaidan Alenko could be a very idealistic man, from all accounts. He'd counseled Shepard to go out of her way to help an internal affairs agent on Noveria and undertake truly heroic measures to save Feros. I didn't think he was noble to the point of being stupid. He had suggested leaving the Rachni Queen for Council experts to deal with. It had been Shepard who let her go. Still, it was best to make certain things clear. "We're here for the Reaper tech. Nothing else matters. No heroics. Understood?"

"Understood." His voice was slow and measured. "You'd think someone somewhere could find a way to do more to help the people down there. We can train people to move things with their mind, but we can only take isolated shots at slavers. Instead, humanity acts like the biggest bully on the playground. It's like the only thing that matters is power." He shrugged. "The strong enforcing their will on the weak and ignoring the big problems like the Reapers. I guess it really is inherent in the system."

I couldn't let an opening like that go to waste. The ship sped toward Omega. We'd be at the Talon docking bay within minutes. "Sometimes you have to go outside the system. There are people who are trying to fight the Reapers, but they're branded as traitors, murderers, and madmen. The galaxy is facing extinction. If we have to bend a few rules to save ourselves, so be it."

He took his time answering. Maybe too much time. "Sometimes the rules are there for a reason. How much does the AIS know about an organization called Cerberus?"

The subject was bound to come up sooner or later. Shepard had destroyed three of our projects, costing us millions of credits and killing several key personnel. She had also eliminated the last member of the rogue cell that had been responsible for the atrocity on Akuze, but neither she nor Kaidan had any way of knowing that. It was only natural that he had some misconceptions about the organization. The Alliance had alternated between painting us as terrorists and discreetly accepting our help since long before I joined.

"Let's just say we've crossed paths on occasion," I said. "What's on your mind?"

He ran his fingers through his hair. It was the first time I had seen him truly agitated. "We were investigating some strange samples ExoGeni sent to the Chasca colony. We were afraid they might have been overrun by more Thorian creepers. It turned out that the entire colony had been turned to husks. Cerberus was behind it. We found dragon's teeth scattered all over the place. A hundred and fifty colonists killed for no good reason. If the rules can stop things like that, then they're worth it."

They did what? When I had been assigned to the Lazarus Project, I had been briefed on the cells Shepard and her team had encountered. The team at Chasca had been assigned to the colony after it had been wiped out by a plague. They were to convert the bodies into husks and learn as much as they could about the process so we could defend against it. With luck, we would even have some shock troops use against the Reapers. No mention had been made of the Cerberus team actually killing them. Kaidan must have been mistaken. Or yet another project lead had gone beyond mission parameters. It was a risk Cerberus took. We gave the most brilliant minds in the galaxy nearly unlimited resources with limited oversight. Some abused that privilege. We dealt with them. I made a mental note to find out who had been in charge of the project and ask them a few questions. If they were so foolish as Kaidan implied them to be, then they had made my job recruiting him and gaining Shepard's trust that much harder. I was certain the Illusive Man would express his... displeasure in the strongest possible terms if he knew.

"We know what they did." I kept my voice neutral, allowing only a slight hint of disgust to slip through. "The worst thing is that nothing came of it. We stole a copy of the project files, and Cerberus still doesn't know any more about husks than they did before. We need to study our enemy so we can defeat them."

His brows knitted in thought. "I'm not saying we shouldn't. Just that we shouldn't cut corners. Cerberus cuts too many corners. Yes, I'm not able to do everything I'd like, but it's good that there's a system that can stop people from turning into monsters. Even when I hate that system," he muttered softly.

"And if you could find a group that fought the Reapers and actually protected the humans you're sworn to defend without cutting corners? What would you do then?"

"Pinch myself, probably." He smiled as he said it.

I smiled, too. I knew how I could win him over now. I was methodical. I'd tortured and killed. I didn't deny that. Mostly slavers and the other scum the Alliance spent most of its time fighting. Kaidan could hardly object to that. There were a few Luddites who would be convinced that the Lazarus Project would be going too far, but they were largely the same people that decried biotics as unnatural. Kaidan wouldn't share their belief. The construction of the SR-2 was harming no one. All I had to do was convince him that people like me were the true face of Cerberus and that those he had encountered before were aberrations. It wouldn't be hard. "I'll just have to see if I can find you one."

We were almost within hailing distance of the docking bay. I sat up a little straighter in my chair, getting into character. "Most businessmen out in the Terminus consider it beneath them to deal with docking personnel. Let me do the talking. And, whatever you do, don't call me Miranda anymore. And do your best to sound like a condescending idiot."

"Bring her in for a landing, Ms. Locke, and be quick about it." I shivered at the faint condescension in his voice. It reminded me too much of my father.

"Not bad. You're a natural."

His cheeks colored slightly. Charming, really. "Spend enough time on Noveria and you pick up a few things. I still wish I was playing the bodyguard."

My response was cut off by the sound of the radio crackling to life. "This is Terric Levenius of the Talon Mercenary Company. Identify yourself."

“Silver Zephyr. We prepaid for bay 5179. Week in advance."

"Stand by." There was a long pause as the turian confirmed our identity. "There's a problem. Docking fees have gone up a hundred credits a day since you made your deposit. We'll expect you to make up the difference or your vessel will be, ah, impounded."

I barely resisted rolling my eyes. Bribery and extortion were facts of life on Omega, more annoyance than danger. And the Talons were providing a more invaluable service than they could possibly know. This wasn't worth getting upset over. "Mr. Seta will be more than happy to pay, in exchange for adequate care for his vessel and cargo."

"Of course. Pleasure doing business with you. 5179 is fourth from the left, closest level from the top." The radio fell silent.

Kaidan raised an eyebrow. "Is it always like this?"

"Welcome to Omega."

"I thought Aria controlled the docking bays on Omega?"

"Most of them, yeah." I shifted in my seat. I'd changed into body armor an hour ago as the autopilot took us toward the Omega-1 relay. I would have preferred something lighter and more flexible, but looking imposing was more important to my current role than my personal comfort. Omega wasn't a subtle place. A bodyguard didn't just need to be deadly; she needed to be obvious about it. "This ship has a bit of a history behind it. The chance of detection is remote, but I'd prefer that Aria never be given the chance to put two and two together and start asking questions."

"What the hell did you do?"

Saved your CO from something far worse than being spaced. "Something I can't talk about right now."

His jaw clenched almost imperceptibly. "You know, the whole 'beautiful woman who never gives the hero a straight answer' thing isn't nearly as attractive in real life."

"Sorry. You get into the habit of being secretive if you work in clandestine services long enough. And I've been doing this half my life." And I was walking a very delicate tightrope. I couldn't risk compromising Cerberus until we had Kaidan firmly on our side, but the necessary secrecy also risked driving him away. "I'll answer any questions I can. Just not about past missions."

"Fair enough." He thought for a moment. "You said you'd been doing this for half your life. The AIS must've recruited you right out of high school. That doesn't seem common."

"It's not." He was even sharper than I'd given him credit for. I couldn't give him the whole truth, of course, but I had promised to be as honest as I could. A trade, then: a little of my privacy for a little of his trust. "I was a genius with computers growing up. I thought I could use my skills to make my fortune here on Omega. That didn't really work out. I had no idea how to survive in the Terminus. I was forced into petty crime—hacking, pickpocketing, the usual—to survive. Some days, even that was barely enough." If I thought hard enough, I could still smell the stench of unwashed bodies and refuse in the back alleys and remember how it felt not to have eaten in two days. How it felt to be desperate. And that I wasn't willing to share. Not yet, and maybe not ever. "Fortunately, I attracted the attention of some very powerful people. And here I am."

His eyes never left my face as I spoke. He was studying me, analyzing me. Almost as if he wanted to know the answer and this wasn't just some stupid power game. "Thank you."

"For what?"

"Your honesty."

We pulled into the dock. Showtime. Kaidan smoothed a wrinkle from his suit with one hand and used the other to pat the pistol concealed at his side. It was a civilian model, nearly useless against kinetic barriers, but inconspicuous enough that he wouldn't arouse suspicion if someone saw it. Providing firepower was my role, and one that still felt a little strange. Most of the time, having to fire my gun on a job means that I've already screwed up. My sidearm was a bulky Razer that had been loaded with specially designed antipersonnel rounds. Perfect for intimidation and firefights alike. And both of us could rip a man in half with our biotics if necessary. I hoped it wouldn't be.

Levenius was waiting for us when we emerged. He was tall, even for a turian, and carried an assault rifle that could probably blow our heads off from fifty meters away. His face bore the blue and white markings of the Gavog colony. That wasn't the most interesting thing. His mandibles were stained a telltale rose. Levenius was a red sand user, probably a heavy one. Those were a credit a dozen here. Kaidan glowered at him, his expression a near-perfect mask of cold superiority. There was something calculating in his expression, too. I could almost believe that he was the man accustomed to sizing people up so he could determine how best to use and discard them.

I glanced around the room. No visible cameras, listening devices, or windows to the outside world. Not surprising since most of the customers valued privacy above all, but it also meant that there would be no witnesses if things got violent.

"Seven hundred credits," Levenius said. I tossed him seven one hundred credit chips. He counted them up and nodded. "Pleasure doing business with you."

I turned to go, but Kiadan held up a hand. "Not yet, Ms. Locke." He could barely keep the disgust from his voice as he turned to Levenius. "I wonder if our... friend here would be willing to tell us if anything interesting has happened on Omega recently. It's been a while since we've been on the station. We might be a bit out of the loop."

It was all I could do not to show surprise. I'd received our most recent intelligence report on the state of Omega before I left for the Citadel, but the balance of power could shift very quickly indeed. I'd planned to discreetly ask my more trusted contacts to tell me what they could about our target. Erinys was small as mercenary companies went but very well-trained and well armed. They were made up of mostly former asari commandos and STG, and it was rumored they were looking to expand. Kaidan could save me valuable time if he didn't get us of shot.

"I'm not the Omega Tourist Board."

"I know. I'd be willing to compensate you for your time. He reached into his pocket and pulled out a small bag of red sand. I felt my face grow warm. When had he found the time to grab that? Had he had it on him since the Citadel? Why hadn't I noticed?

Levenius looked from the bag to Kaidan and back again. "What do you want to know?"

Kaidan thrust the bag at Levenius, careful not to actually touch him. He was playing the snobbish businessman to perfection. "I'm hoping to do some business with a group called Erinys. What can you tell me about them?"

"Money grubbing, arrogant bastards. Efficient, though. They've been making inroads in some of the districts that the Blue Suns and Eclipse use as a buffer zone. They've started up a nice little racket in the Anzu District. Prostitution, drugs, the usual. They've been stockpiling weapons like crazy. It's making the Suns nervous."

I bit my lip. The apartment I used as a safe house was in the Anzu District. This mission might prove more interesting than I had planned.

"I'll just bet," Kaidan said. He snapped his fingers at me. "Now, if you'll excuse me, Ms. Locke and I have a business deal to arrange."

Laying it on a bit thick, aren't we? I stepped closer to him all the same. Levenius was eating it up. He gave us a curt nod and exited through a side door. Kaidan kept his eyes trained on him until he left. He didn't relax until the turian was gone, and then only by degrees, as if the tension in his muscles was steam escaping from a valve.

"Cleverly done," I said. "Not bad for an amateur at all."

"Thanks." He frowned slightly. "That last bit was too much, wasn't it? I called you like you were a dog. You didn't deserve that. I'm sorry."

I shrugged. "Just don't overplay your hand. The red sand was a nice touch. Ours? I didn't notice you taking any."
It was his turn to shrug. "I picked some up from the cargo bay the last time I went to the bathroom. Thought it might come in handy if Omega's drug problem is as bad as they say. But I noticed that guy was a duster, I figured it couldn't hurt to use it to get some information out of him." He looked at me with a thoughtful, almost pained expression. “It's the sort of thing Shepard would have done."

Shepard. It always came back to Shepard. He'd accepted this mission right after I'd told him that it was what Shepard would have wanted. There had been rumors that she was more than his superior officer, but I’d never found anything to substantiate them. As best I could tell, they'd barely spoken from the time she defeated Saren until her death. And yet, Kaidan seemed obsessed with living up to her memory. It might have been merely his way of mourning a fallen comrade, but it might have been more. Either way, I was determined to find out. "I'm sure she'd approve."

He smiled, and we set off into the great swirling mass that was Omega.

Next

Devil On My Shoulder (Kaidan/Miranda, PG-13) 1/4

jtav — Tue, 04 Jan 2011 16:08:10 GMT

Prologue: The Citadel

Shepard had wanted to break every bone in Khalisah al-Jilani's face. I remembered because it was the last thing we talked about before Virmire and everything went to hell. I hadn't believed her. She'd been so unfailingly polite, even as she made al-Jilani look like a raving xenophobe. I'm a pretty calm guy, and I don't think even I could have pulled it off. I thought Shepard had some secret reserve of unflappability. I never would have guessed that she was barely restraining herself from punching a reporter on galactic television.

Shows what I know.

"Lieutenant Alenko? Excuse me, Lieutenant Alenko? Might I have a moment of your time?" The camera drone hovered beside her, bathing the walls of Zakera Ward in a harsh light. Shit. We were on the air. If I walked away, she'd edit the footage to turn me into a walking PR nightmare for the Alliance. I didn't mind looking bad, but a lot of people didn't like humanity very much right then. It wasn't undeserved, but I wasn't going to make it worse. Figured I owed Shepard that much.

I stopped and turned toward her. Clasped my hands behind my back and stood up straighter. The light was hot and almost blinding, like what police used in the old vids. My mouth was dry. "What can I do for you, Ms. al-Jilani?"

"He remembers my name. How charming." Her voice changed to something brisker and more businesslike. "I wanted to get your reaction to the Alliance officially declaring Commander Shepard to have been killed in action."

I relaxed a little. All she wanted was the usual pleasantries. I could give her those. I'd been spewing them for the last six months. "It was an honor to serve under the commander. The Alliance lost the best soldier I've ever known. The galaxy lost a committed Spectre. I hope all of us who knew her can find some closure." I was doing better. I didn't even gag on the words.

There was a calculating, malevolent glint in her eye that I didn't like. I was wrong. The pleasantries weren't going to be enough. "Some would say she wasn't a committed Spectre and that she betrayed the Council when she told the Fifth Fleet not to save the Destiny Ascension. That she deliberately engineered a situation where the old Council would be destroyed and humanity could seize power."

My teeth clenched. It wasn't the first time I'd heard that, but it still hurt. I took a deep breath. Getting angry wouldn't help anything. "Nobody was more committed to improving relations between humanity and the Council races than Shepard. If Sovereign hadn't been destroyed, the entire Citadel would have been lost. Shepard made a call."

"But you can't deny her actions have led to increased human-alien tension. There are those who say that her claims of a hereto unknown alien species known as 'Reapers' was merely a deluded attempt to create a threat that would force the other races to rally behind humanity."

I could feel a dull ache behind my eyes: my body's way of telling me to get out of there unless I wanted to be battling migraines for the rest of the day. But I couldn't lie either. Not when the politicians were busy forgetting what she did for them. "I saw what that thing did. Entire wards completely leveled. And Sovereign's silhouette doesn't match any other geth designs."

"But you weren't there, were you, Lieutenant? At the time that Shepard was supposedly communicating with this 'Sovereign' you were assisting a detachment of STG commandos. You held off geth reinforcements while Shepard fought Saren." She was speaking too quickly for me to get a word in edgewise, and I realized too late that ignoring her would've been better than what was coming. "I don't believe any of our viewers would think it was an exaggeration to say that you're taking the commander's words on faith. Does that have anything to do with your rumored romantic relationship with her? A relationship that occurred in flagrant violation of Alliance anti-fraternization regulations?"

"That's quite enough, Ms. Al-Jilani." The new voice was sharp and a little cold, the voice of someone who was accustomed to giving orders and having them followed without question. Al-Jilani and I both turned. My eyes nearly popped out of my head. I'm pretty sure that if Williams had been alive, she would've told me to put my tongue back in my mouth, too.

It wasn't every day that you saw a supermodel, even on the Citadel. The woman was wearing a dark business suit, but it seemed to accentuate her curves rather than hide them. Her hair was thick and dark, with a few strands falling in front of her face so artfully that it had to be deliberate. What struck me most were the eyes. Naturally blue eyes were all but extinct, and it was hard to pull off that mix of blue and gray even with tinting. I wondered how much it had cost her.

"Lieutenant Alenko has an urgent meeting to attend. Council business." And with that, she pulled me away from al-Jilani. I could see al-Jilani barely suppressing a smile. A gorgeous woman interrupting her interview? That was gold to people like her. I'd probably be engaged in a torrid affair with the mystery woman within twenty-four hours.

"So, is there really a meeting or are you just a good Samaritan?" I asked her when we were out of earshot. A gorgeous woman just happened to show up right when I needed rescuing from a reporter? My bullshit detector was going off.

She gave me a half-smile. She was enjoying knowing more than I did. "Oh, there's a meeting. Councilor Udina and Admiral Anderson want to speak with you. I'll let them tell you more."

"Can't you tell me?"

She shook her head. "Too risky. Every square centimeter of the wards is bugged. C-Sec can't actually catch anti-Council dissidents, but they've got to look like they're doing something."

I nodded. There was always the possibility that this was an elaborate set up, but I didn't think so. Whatever else you wanted to say about the new C-Sec—and I could say a lot of things—they were keeping petty crime under control. And, worse case scenario, I can do a pretty good job of taking care of myself. I was still running around blind."Can I get a name? ID would be great."

She sighed and pulled something from her pocket. The promised ID. Miranda Donovan. Alliance Intelligence Agency. Even her official picture looked good. I didn't know whether to relax or tense further. I was 98% sure that she was who she claimed to be. It was damn hard to fake official ID, and faking being AIA was a good way to end up dead. On the other hand, I wasn't really sure I wanted to know what Anderson and Udina wanted me for if AIA was involved. Most of what they did was vanilla analysis, but I'd heard rumors of presidents assassinated, civil wars started, and various other things that are supposed to be the province of the STG. Something told me I hadn't attracted the attention of the analysis branch.

"Satisfied?" she asked.

A mysterious, if stunning, woman who was a member of the closest thing we had to the STG was taking me to an impromptu meeting with the head of the Citadel Council. "I don't know if 'satisfied' is quite the word I'd be using, Agent Donovan."

She laughed a little at that, but the sound was harsh, like she wasn't used to doing it. "You're nervous. Good. Keeps you on your toes." She placed the ID back in her pocket. "You can call me Miranda." She looked at me out of the corner of her eye. "You would've been better off ignoring that reporter to begin with. Her kind is even less interested in the truth than most journalists and that's saying something."

"I, ah, figured that out a minute too late."

Miranda didn't respond. There was nothing left for me to do but enjoy the scenery, if you could call it enjoying. Zakera Ward had escaped major damage, but the rebuilding committee hadn't been able to resist a few changes. Gleaming new Avina and public extranet software. It was easier to install the monitoring software on the new machines. They said it was to help catch geth sympathizers, but you heard things, you know? There were a lot more C-Sec cops around than the first time I visited the Citadel. Mostly human. I counted a dozen uniformed officers on the way to the elevators, along with who knew how many plainclothes cops. Zakera Ward was heavily multicultural. It would've been smarter to hire turian and asari to feel more of the vacancies. I'd told Anderson as much, but Udina wanted to make a statement.

Not that anybody was doing anything. There'd been three riots since Shepard's death, but mostly people were just scared and angry. It'd boil over someday. We couldn't run the galaxy by ourselves, not forever. And that was if the Reapers didn't kill us first. We should have been building bridges not... whatever the hell we were doing. Before Shepard died, Anderson had talked about reforming the Council with a seat for every Citadel race. Then Shepard died, Udina got the Council seat, and nobody except for war heroes like me were allowed to say we believed in Reapers.

We stepped into the elevator. Something must have shown on my face because Miranda said, "Somehow I doubt this is quite how Commander Shepard planned for things to go. I don't mean the dying. If it had been up to her, we'd all be building a fleet to combat the Reapers, not playing petty power games. The destruction of the old Council gave us a unique opportunity to act, and we're squandering it." She looked at me. Her eyes burned with something that made her look more beautiful and scary as hell. At least I wasn't the only person pissed off about how things were going. "I sincerely hope that's about to change."

The Citadel Tower was almost unchanged. I guessed the new Council wanted some continuity with the old one. The same waterfall in the center. The same plants in the ersatz garden. Secretaries and a few low-level diplomats milled about in the halls. A few of them recognized me and nodded as we passed. Most of the men (and some of the women) stared at Miranda. I could almost feel her drawing into herself. She didn't smile, just kept her eyes straight ahead as she strode toward Udina's office. I made a mental note to at least try not to ogle her. Wasn't sure how successful I'd be, though.

Udina's office was a lot bigger than his old one at the human embassy. He'd taken the one that had traditionally belonged to the asari councilor. You could practically smell the money and power in the room. I thought I recognized some of the furniture from a special on the homes of the rich and famous. Hell, the chair Udina was sitting in probably cost more than I made in a month. Udina himself hadn't changed much. Unfortunately. Anderson stood at attention beside him. He looked years older than when I'd seen him last, with bags under his eyes and a faintly sick expression. Neither of them were looking at me. They kept their eyes trained on Miranda like she was a cobra that could strike them at any moment.

Anderson crossed the room in three brisk strides and gripped my hand. He might have looked a little worse for wear, but his handshake was as bone crushing as ever. It was all I could do not to wince. "Good to see you, Lieutenant."

My smile was genuine. "Likewise, Admiral." At least I had one friend in the room. Anderson shook Miranda's hand too, though I noticed he didn't linger any longer then was strictly necessary. Udina never took his eyes from her. I felt the skin on the back of my arms prickle. Something about this woman was making both a decorated war hero and a career diplomat uncomfortable.

"Now that we've gotten the pleasantries out of the way, maybe you could tell us what this is about Agent Donovan?" Udina's voice was almost a growl.

"All right." Maybe it was just a trick of the light, but I thought I saw a flicker of anger in her eyes. "Three weeks ago, we intercepted pirate radio chatter mentioning some kind of 'brainwashing device' they'd found on Virmire. Given the planet's connection to Saren and the studies on indoctrination that he performed there, we think it might be Reaper tech."

"There's no such thing as a Reaper!"

"Delude yourself if you must, Councilor." I couldn't believe it. Miranda was talking to Udina like he was a kid who was stubbornly arguing to stay up past his bedtime. I wanted to smile. "Sovereign's mind control capabilities nearly destroyed the galaxy. I've read the reports of Shepard's conversation with the VI on Ilos. Quite frankly, I don't find the alternate explanations of Sovereign's origin convincing. I'd rather prepare for war and be proven wrong than be caught unprepared and doom us all. Vigil spoke of how indoctrination ensured the Protheans downfall. We need to find some way to fight that."

Udina snorted. "You expect me to prepare for a war that existed only in the fevered delusions of a dead woman? That could send the former Council races into revolt. Humanity would lose everything it's gained."

Anderson slammed the edge of Udina's desk with his palm. "I won't let you talk about Shepard like that! I knew her, and I saw how much destruction that one ship caused. Play politics all you want, but it doesn't change the facts."

Miranda crossed her arms. "Listen to your advisor, just this once. Or, if you refuse to see what's right in front of your face, how about this: we sent a team to acquire the device from the pirates. They vanished. Four good men, all loyal to humanity. And we've received reports of a small mercenary band in the general vicinity of the operatives' last known location. They were making hard for Omega. We think they stole the tech and are looking for a buyer. Do you really want to take the chance of batarians or turians getting their hands on something like that?"

Udina stroked his chin. I could almost see the wheels turning in his head. "I suppose not. I'd hate to be blamed for geth technology falling into the wrong hands. Are you sure your intelligence is good?"

Miranda smiled. At least I thought it was supposed to be a smile. She looked more like a wolf baring its teeth. "Good enough that I was pulled from a very important assignment."

"I couldn't spare more than one or two men."

"One's enough." She turned to me. "How would you like to really do something about the Reapers? I want you to accompany me to Omega and help me find this device."

"What? Why me?" My head was spinning a little. I'd spent months walking the line between lying through my teeth and avoiding a court-martial because I believed in the Reapers. Now, the Alliance wanted me to investigate one. It was enough to make my head swim a little. "I never even saw Sovereign up close."

The smile turned genuine. I felt my heart rate double. Two thousand years ago, men would have fought wars for that smile. "I've read your file. Quite an impressive service record. More importantly, you have a personal stake in this." She touched my arm. "Shepard's gone, but somebody has to keep fighting. Don't you think she would have wanted it to be you?"

Yes. She would have. And Shepard had a way of making you do what she wanted. Even from beyond the grave. "I'm in."

Next

Sacrifices (Miranda's father, Miranda, PG)

jtav — Thu, 30 Dec 2010 12:40:38 GMT

Title: Sacrifices
Characters: Miranda and her father
Rating: PG
Warnings: some non-graphic discussion of child abuse
Word count: 1750
Summary: Evey father wants the best for his child. Miranda's father simply has grander plans than most.
AN: While this story can stand alone, it is part of the larger Persistence of Memory universe.

2160

Miranda looks terribly fragile in the bed. Her skin has always been pale, but today it looks like old-fashioned typing paper. Her head is swathed in bandages, and her closed eyes seem bruised. The bandages smell faintly of medi-gel. They'd had to shave her head for the operation. She hadn't cried when they'd done it, even though Fletcher said she'd been shivering and visibly terrified. She's a brave one, my Miranda, not silly like most girls. The machines monitoring her vital signs beep steady, reassuring rhythms. She'll live. That has never been in doubt. I paid a small fortune for her extraordinary healing abilities. Her mental state is the question. I've either given my daughter a true photographic memory or I've turned her into a gibbering idiot. Either way, it's the sort of thing I'd prefer to discover in person. Her left hand hangs off the edge of the bed, almost begging me to take it. I don't.

Loud footsteps echo behind me. Morgan clears his throat, as if he hasn't already given me sufficient warning of his presence. I don't turn around. "Come to view your handiwork, doctor?"

Morgan stands beside me. His face is lined and pale, and his white hair is askew. He looks like a very old man instead of one of the finest neurologists on Earth. No doubt he would say he's had a very rough sixteen hours. I don't pay him for the easy jobs. And for what I'm paying him for this one, he can afford a bit of fatigue. "Your daughter is doing very well, Mr. Ellison. Vitals are excellent. She awoke briefly about—"

I whip my head around. It takes considerable effort to keep my voice even. "Miranda woke up, and you didn't tell me?" I should fire him for this. I should ruin him. Maybe I will, when the next operation is complete. I need him for the moment, and that spares him.

Morgan must be able to see the fury in my eyes. He holds up his hands. "Your secretary said you were in an important meeting. And it was only for a few minutes. She would have been unconscious again by the time you got here." Even frightened, he can't quite keep the disapproval from his voice. I can practically hear the unspoken Other fathers wouldn't have left their daughter at all. Other fathers wouldn't have installed a greybox.

I'm not other fathers. I don't have the luxury of staying by Miranda's side, petting her while she sleeps. A company is like a garden. It requires regular tending. Miranda will need a considerable fortune if she's going to accomplish what I have planned for her, just as she'll need the photographic memory and the biotics. I'm willing to sacrifice to give her that. If everything has gone according to plan. If I don't have to lock her away as another failure. My other daughters were infants or toddlers when they were diagnosed as crippled or autistic. I barely knew they existed before I had to send them to Greyhaven so they wouldn't contaminate my next attempt. Miranda is different. I've gotten attached to her, in my way. I'll institutionalize her if I have to, but it will pain me. "Did she seem... normal?

"She knew her name. Better than I expected, at this point. We'll run full tests, and then I can tell you more."

I pat my suit pocket. "I have a test of my own, if you don't mind." Miranda is a mathematical genius. She's not quite ten and already doing algebra. She'll be starting trigonometry and calculus soon. I'm not the egomaniac the press prefers to paint me as, but I couldn't resist giving Miranda a few of my own talents. Permit a man his small vanities when he's trying to create the savior of the human race. It seems only right that this should be her first test.

Eventually, Miranda stirs and opens her eyes. She flinches when she sees me. I know she doesn't like me. Another sacrifice I've made. My daughter despises me. No use pretending otherwise. I'd set her a grueling regimen of study in every possible discipline—science, literature, even self-defense. I don't accept failure. I monitor her friends. Too many of her peers will grow up to be coke or red sand addicts or squander their lives and their fortunes on frivolous things. I won't have that for her. She hates me for it. She fears me, too. I've made it quite clear that I can take away the two things she values most in the world. I permit her her two little friends. Gail is clever and ambitious in the way only someone who comes from nothing and is sick of it can be, and almost as smart as Miranda is. They'll challenge each other. Niket is steady, the voice of reason. And I can banish them both if she doesn't perform to expectations.

"Father," she says at last. Her voice is weak, but the words are intelligible. I decide that now is as good a time as any to begin the test. I remove the datapad from my pocket. "Miranda, can you read this?"

"Mr. Ellison, I really must protest. Your daughter needs time to rest."

"And I need to know whether this worked." Miranda and Morgan both flinch. I turn back to my daughter. "Read this silently. Once, no more. Let me know when you're finished." She scans the screen and nods, too frightened to lie. I take it from her. "Now recite the contents back to me, in order."

Her eyes go wide. The first experience of a greybox must be terrifying, especially to a child. She'll adept. She has no choice. "The square root of 79 is 8.8882. The sine of a 30° angle equals 0.5. The value of pi to the first ten digits is 3.1415926535." Her voice is shaking. "How did I know that? It was just there, in my head."

It worked. The greybox has performed specification. "Miranda, you've been given a great gift. Now we just have to teach you to use it. Raw ability is nothing without training." And if this operation can be successful, then my other plan may be as well. I need to discuss something with the doctor. Rest up. If you're good, I'll let Niket come visit you, but only if you're good." She beams at the mention of Niket. He and Gail are the only things that make my daughter smile. That makes them more valuable than they can possibly know. I nod at my daughter. Neither of us say anything. Words are too valuable to waste, and most of the usual pleasantries would be a lie.

"Did that parlor trick of yours prove success to your satisfaction?" Morgan asks me once we're standing alone in the corridor. "And, of course, we still have no idea what the long term effects will be. She could end up with brain damage or worse." His medical ethics are getting the better of him. Dangerous, that.

"Or she could end up with a memory to rival a salarian or a drell. If she does, everything will be worth it." I let myself smile. "If were lucky, she'll also have biotics to rival an asari. I don't suppose you've made any progress on that front?"

Morgan manages to look pleased and sick all at once. It's really quite remarkable. "Our... friends have managed to uncover a krogan procedure that could give you what you want. Eezo nodules were implanted throughout the nervous system. Biotic potential was as strong or stronger than that of those who had been exposed to element zero in utero."

The smile grows wider. I've funded Cerberus generously since its formation, and they occasionally do me little favors like this. And why not? We want the same things after all. And yet, I notice one small detail. "You keep using the past tense. Is there something I should know?"

Morgan shifts uncomfortably. "The krogan discontinued the procedure after being infected with the genophage. The mortality rate was too high."

"Could Miranda survive it?"

"Theoretically, but it's much too risky for an elective procedure. I can't recommend it."

I can feel a sudden, cold rage engulfing me. It's all I can do not to seize Morgan by his lab coat. "Elective? I don't have a choice in this!" Morgan is the only surgeon with even a chance of pulling this off. I need him to understand what I'm doing, that I have plans for Miranda that are bigger than any of us. "The aliens have so many things we don't right now. Unless we want humanity to dance to their tune until the heat death of the universe, we need to find a way to be competitive. If that includes risky procedures to make our own biotics, so be it. My daughter will be the first, but not the last. I want you to begin preparations. We'll proceed as soon as she's properly recovered."

There's more to it than that, of course. I'm sterile. The doctors recommended adoption, if you can believe that. I did one better. I spent a fortune to grow my own. If you're to go to all that trouble, you may as well make the children exceptional. We've left our genetics to chance for too long. The first two were abject failures, I grant you. Every innovator must learn to cope with failure. Miranda... Miranda is better than a biological child. Faster, smarter, stronger. One of the superheroes of my boyhood comics brought to life. There's nothing she can't do with the proper training. I mean to see that she gets it. My daughter, my legacy, will be the savior of the human race. She'll be equally capable of discovering scientific marvels or crushing the aliens who want to see us crushed. If I have to take a few risks, if I have to push her to the breaking point, well I can live with that.

"I'm not going to pretend I'm going to sleep well doing this. Borders on medical torture."

I looked through the window at Miranda. She sleeps, ignorant of the marvelous future I have planned for her. "We all have to make our sacrifices."

And Everything Was Possuble (Miranda, G)

jtav — Tue, 28 Dec 2010 14:21:01 GMT

Title: And Everything Was Possible
Pairings/Characters: Miranda genfic
Rating: G
Warnings: discussion of canonical infertility
Word count: 525
Summary: The Lazarus Project presents infinite possibilities, particular for its director.

"Six million credits, and for what? So Shepard can get pregnant? What a waste of money!"

Miranda can feel a dull ache behind her eyes. She doesn't want to be having this conversation right now. What she wants is to be safely in bed. She hasn't slept in twenty-six hours, and the deprivation is beginning to take its toll on her. "We were tasked with bringing Commander Shepard back exactly as she was. That includes restoring her fertility."

Wilson scowls. Miranda has never particularly liked him. He doesn't believe in even a twisted form of Cerberus' ideals. He's nothing more than a mercenary in a lab coat. Miranda tolerates him because he's a competent mercenary in a lab coat, and Project Lazarus is too important for her to quibble about the motivations of her staff. "What's she going to do?" he asks. "Stop the Reapers while changing diapers? Does she even want kids?"

Miranda shrugs. She's studied every scrap of information she can find about Shepard, but the commander's feelings on children are not in the dossier. "We aren't going to take that choice from her. We're going to do our jobs. We're going to give the Illusive Man everything he asked for on this project." Her voice is sharp and cold, and she can feel anger flowing through her like ice water. "Understood?"

"Understood." Miranda can hear him muttering "six million credits" as he leaves.

Miranda sits down at her desk. Project Lazarus will be the greatest medical achievement in human history if it works. She will have accomplished something previously reserved for mythical gods. She will have given humanity its best chance to fight the Reapers. It doesn't matter if she has to go over budget to save humanity.

Of course, some tasks are more personal than others. Ten years on, and the letter is still burned into her memory. "We can confirm that the progressive damage renders you unable to conceive a child... several options available should you wish to consider the adoption of a child." It's not even that she particularly wants a baby. Her job is dangerous. It would be unfair to bring a child into the world when she could so easily leave it an orphan again. But her infertility remains neither more nor less than an insult. Her father implanted her nervous system with eezo nodules when she was ten. The operation that made her the fourth strongest human biotic on record also irreversibly damaged her eggs. Another choice her father took from her. She'll be damned if she'll let it be taken from Shepard.

And who knows? Cerberus' priority—her priority—is resurrecting Shepard and stopping the Reapers. But the technology they pioneer here today will someday trickle down to humanity at large. Synthetic skin that can shrug off a bullet. Cybernetic eyes indistinguishable from the real thing. A nearly indestructible skeleton. Miranda smiles. Even artificial eggs. Perhaps... perhaps once the Reapers are defeated, she'll avail herself of these wonders new technologies. She won't be Fate's plaything. She can make her own choices again, even if that choice remains no.

That night Miranda dreams of the future.

Engineered (Miranda's Father, MaleShep/Miranda, PG-13) 1/1

jtav — Mon, 27 Dec 2010 02:53:16 GMT

Title: Engineered
Characters/Pairings:Miranda's father, some MaleShep/Miranda
Genre: Darkfic
Rating: PG-13
Warnings: Brief discussion of abortion, possibly disturbing content
Word count 1150
Summary: Miranda's father considers his dynasty, his daughter, and the man in her life.
Author's note: This story requires some explanation. There's been speculation elsewhere that Miranda's infertility will be resolved via a miraculous pregnancy in ME3. I can imagine few resolutions I would like less, so I became determined to subvert the idea. I'm indebted to Elyvern for the idea for this story and to fongiel for reading it over and giving his thoughts.

The files are arrayed before me. I've managed to assemble quite the dossier on my wayward daughter. It would surprise her. Miranda imagines that because she was imperfect, because I was forced to replace her, that I'm no longer keep an eye on her. Nothing could be further from the truth. I never discard anything. You never know when someone will prove useful. I even keep Miranda's sisters, failures that they are, safe and provided for inside the Greyhaven Asylum in case I ever need them again. I track her every movement. I know everything she and Shepard do together. It's gotten harder in the last few months now that the Shadow Broker's agents aren't quite so cooperative, but I have my ways. It's something Miranda and I share, this talent for the collection and dissemination of data. I used it to build the largest media empire the galaxy has ever seen. Miranda imagines she's using it to create a better world. But she always was something of an idealist.

Of course, I know all about her little romance with Shepard. It wasn't even particularly hard to find out. Soldiers gossip the same as everyone, and it's impossible to keep secrets on a ship like the Normandy. Eventually that gossip found its way to me. The agent who told me imagined that I would be surprised. Miranda was always reserved and careful even as a child. Commander Shepard is the man who raves about Reapers that are going to destroy us all and has never met a regulation he wouldn't break. He would drive my daughter to madness, surely?

I know better. You must remember that I created her. Every one of her genetic modifications serves a purpose. I gave some thought to the future when I made her. I intend for my dynasty to last forever. My own version of immortality. Unfortunately, the methods I used to create the first generation aren't sustainable in the long term. Too much use of the same DNA increases the likelihood of genetic defect. Eventually, more traditional reproduction will be required if I want to maintain the necessary genetic diversity. And what father doesn't want the best possible partner for his daughter? So I made her desire only the best. Attraction is ultimately a biochemical process, and our biochemical processes eventually come down to genetics. Miranda desires strength. She desires courage. Above all, she desires someone with the force of charisma to make even someone as strong-willed as her follow him to the depths of hell itself. I never managed to give her a talent for leadership, and I'd intended to correct my mistake with the next generation. John Shepard—the man who rallied a ragtag bunch of colonists to defend against the Skyillian Blitz and who led the team that defeated Saren—is nothing if not a leader.

I can imagine her fighting the attraction at first. Miranda is a clever girl. She must suspect I bred her for this. But our genetic destiny is a hard thing to resist. It's a shame about the tumor that prevents an embryo from implanting in her uterine wall. I couldn't tolerate such a blatant imperfection, so I arranged for her to go live with her sisters. She ran and took Oriana with her. Joined Cerberus. I still don't know exactly how she came to be associated with Shepard or what he was doing during the two years he was declared killed in action. The two of them took Oriana from me a second time. The loss of my youngest daughter would have almost been worth it for the possibility of a Shepard/Lawson cross. Environment played its part, but there's something special about his makeup. There has to be. Her genes mixed with those of the closest thing we have to an exemplar of humanity... well, you can imagine the possibilities. A nearly perfect human and a true heir for my dynasty. And I would never see it.

Or so I thought until today. I'll let the recording speak for itself.

Miranda perches on the edge of the hotel bed. She's even paler than normal. Shepard sits beside her. They are clasping hands. Shepard looks at her with something that is probably concern, but Miranda seems to find her knees very interesting. "What's wrong?" he asks very softly.

"The OB/GYN's office sent the test results." She shifts slightly. "The good news is that I'm not going through premature menopause."

"Why do I get the feeling that there's a 'and the bad news is' coming up?" His fingers dig into her palm, causing her to look up. "You don't have cancer or anything, do you? I read an article on the extranet about a woman who lived with a benign tumor for twenty years before it metastasized."

She smiles, but only a fool would think that tight grimace is an expression of happiness. "What have I told you about getting medical advice from the extranet? No, I don't have cancer." She takes a deep breath. "I'm pregnant."

Shepard mouths the words but no sound comes out. He tries again. "You're—you're pregnant? But I thought—how?"

"Oh, the usual way." The smile vanishes. "I always thought my... condition was too far gone. Dr. Greenway said I had only a one in four hundred and twenty-five thousand chance to conceive. Obviously, my number came up."

"You're pregnant?"

"I thought we already established that. Can't say I'm thrilled about the timing. The Reapers..."

And those words seem to shock some sense into him. "The Reapers. The Reapers are coming and I'm going to be a father." He cocks his head to one side. "Are you going to keep it? I mean, I know I said I wanted to adopt kids someday, but I understand if you think it's too dangerous to have one now."

She thinks for a long moment. "Part of me thinks I should abort it. I have responsibilities to you, to humanity. But—"

"But you know this is the only shot we'll ever get at this," he finishes for her. She nods. Shepard removes his hands from hers and places them reverently on her stomach. "Then I guess I have one more thing to fight for now."

The recording cuts out, doubtless to spare me from the inevitable celebratory sex. I play it back twice just to make sure I've heard correctly. Miranda is pregnant. I'm going to be a grandfather. A wild, fierce joy springs inside me. The girl will be carrying the next generation of my dynasty after all. I've never been prouder of her. Even after all these years, these childish attempts to assert her independence, she fulfills my plans in the end.

Now, if you'll excuse me, I have to plan how to reclaim my grandchild.

Persistence of Memory (Miranda/Liara, NC-17) 3/8

jtav — Wed, 17 Nov 2010 20:01:41 GMT

Almost. Across the street, Liara sat at an almost identical table in an almost identical café. She was too far away for Miranda to see her expression clearly, but she kept crossing and uncrossing her legs. The listening device Miranda had placed underneath the table picked up the sound of rapid, shallow breathing. Miranda smiled grimly. Liara had brought this on herself. Dr. Coburn and his entourage had been due five minutes ago, which meant they wouldn't show up for another ten. Liara, damn her, had insisted on arriving early. She'd learn better in time. If she didn't have a panic attack first.

She removed the datapad Miranda had given her and laid it on the table. The datapad contained a copy of a Serrice Council Trading License issued to one Commander Ruth Shepard. It had also been modified with a microphone to pick up audio from the surrounding area and allow Liara to communicate with her in case of emergency. Any bodyguard worthy of the title would find the bug on the underside of the table, but they would never suspect the datapad of being anything other than ordinary.

Liara gaze darted around the area, as if she were searching for either Coburn, snipers, or both. Miranda had chosen this meeting place partly because would-be assassins wouldn't have a good line of sight to Liara. It was always possible that this meeting was an elaborate ruse and Dantius was using Coburn to draw a potential problem out. Miranda didn't think so, but it was always best to prepare for the worst. She felt the comforting weight of the Karpov beneath her jacket. Any assassins or kidnappers would have to work for their money.

Liara's gaze landed on her. Miranda gave her a curt nod. You'll do fine, kid. Or this is all going to blow up in our faces and you'll be running for your life. One or the other. Liara nodded in return and visibly relaxed. Nothing to do now but wait.

Dr. Coburn arrived ten minutes later, flanked by a pair of asari in dark suits. The one on the left was even younger than Liara, probably no more than seventy or so. She kept tugging at her collar as if she were sweltering in a nonexistent heat. Miranda was familiar with the gesture. The guard was wearing body armor under her clothes and self-conscious about it. She was probably a new recruit Eclipse was testing before giving her any assignments that were actually dangerous. Her partner was a bit older than Liara with deep purple skin. She looked bored. Boredom major sloppy. Neither of them would be a problem if it came to that.

Coburn himself was far more interesting. He was fifty-six but appeared ten years younger. His hair was a shade lighter than Miranda's, but graying at the temple. He was in decent shape for an executive who hadn't actually practiced medicine for at least five years. He'd been the head of Illium Medical Center's neurology department before leaving to become Dantius Enterprises VP of Research and Development. He' been arguing with Dantius ever since the latter had taken the reins of the company. His pet project had been developing a gene therapy program to boost the cognitive ability of vorcha. Dantius had killed the project, claiming that it cost too much for a minimal return. Coburn has been in a rage for weeks afterward. Miranda hoped he still was.

Liara rose to greet him. "Dr. Coburn. It's a pleasure to finally meet you." Her voice was soft and honeyed, the perfect gracious host. Almost too perfect. Don't overdo it.

Coburn didn't seem to mind. He gripped Liara's hand in his. "The pleasure is mine, Dr. T'Soni." He enunciated each word with a crispness that spoke of old money and private schools or at least years of elocution lessons. With his free hand, he motioned for the bodyguards to come forward.

They preformed a cursory sweep of the area. The younger one knelt down to search the undersides of the table and chair. She removed the bug Miranda had planted. "Sir! I found something." She seemed inordinately pleased with herself as she held it up for Coburn's inspection.

Liara stiffened almost imperceptibly but said nothing. Coburn took the bug and flipped it over in his hand. He studied it for a long moment before handing it back to the guard. "Nasanna is getting careless. Or she just wants me to know that she's still watching. No matter." He flicked his wrist in a gesture of dismissal. "Thank you, Tarina. I'll let you or Dalaya know if I need anything. Dr. T'Soni and I have business to discuss."

The two asari nodded wordlessly and took seats a few tables away, just inside Liara's field of vision. Several of the other patrons shot them sideways glances and fidgeted. Miranda thinned her lips. Their true role wasn't observation, but intimidation. Remind Liara that she was being watched and keep her off balance. They had the intended effect. Liara paled slightly. Miranda leaned forward in her chair, watching all four of them. If Liara couldn't learn to deal with such ham-fisted tactics, there was no hope for her as an information broker.

But Liara simply smiled and returned to her seat. "Working for an employer who...takes as much interest in her employees as Nasanna does must be very challenging. I can't imagine how you cope."

Miranda let out a breath she hadn't realized she'd been holding. Good girl.

"Yes, it can be challenging at times to work with someone who lacks the... business acumen I possess. Nassana has been particularly obstinate since returning from the Citadel." He leaned forward in his chair. "Her extreme aversion to risk has resulted in her shutting down any project that she doesn't perceive as immediately profitable, including the intelligent vorcha project I've spent the last sixteen months working on. She claims their utility as slave labour will be completely negated by advancing mech technology but she misses the point. If my project is successful and manages to incorporate the vorcha into the normal economy, can you imagine the size of the consumer base it would create overnight?"

"And you'd be helping them, I suppose."

"That too." He shrugged. "We could receive a badly needed PR boost, though the baseline organic and vorcha rights groups will try to oppose us. We'll win in the end and make a lot of people a lot of money. I might even make CEO sooner rather than later. If I can get this damn project off the ground," he murmured darkly. "I understand you might be able to help with that."

Liara said nothing. Miranda took a long drink of water. She wanted to cross the distance to Liara and grip her by the shoulders, or at least interrupt the conversation. I warned you that the world you were dealing with was unpleasant. Coburn was greedy and obnoxious, but far from the worst Ilium's corporate world had to offer. People worse than him would make up the bulk of Liara's clients and sources. There was no room for her brand of idealism. It was better that she discovered that sooner rather than later.

Liara looked from Coburn to the datapad and back again. "Commander Shepard killed Dahlia Dantius while attempting to eliminate the slaver organization she ran. Upon her next visit to the Citadel, she received this." Her voice sounded a bit strained, but it was likely to pass unnoticed by anyone who didn't know Liara. She slid the datapad over to Coburn. "Very interesting, wouldn't you say? Especially since Nasanna was one of only a twenty people on the Citadel at the time who could have authorized that."

Coburn read. "Very interesting, indeed. Nothing conclusive. There's no proof the two incidents are connected."

Liara leaned forward and placed her fingers of her left hand on Coburn's arm and took the datapad back with her right. "No, but the possibility of connection could make things very uncomfortable for certain people. I'm sure a man of sufficient intelligence could find a number of uses for this information."

"He could. And what would this hypothetical man have to pay to acquire a copy of this information?"

"No credits, Dr. Coburn. I deal in information. I understand the Dantius Corporation does business with the Palon family. If I were to receive a copy of their genetic data within the next two days, I'm certain an arrangement could be made."

"I believe that may just be possible."

Miranda listened as they hammered out the details and felt a twinge of pride and relief. Liara had done far better than she could have dreamed. Coburn rose from his chair, shook her hand, and left with his bodyguards in tow. Everything had gone off absolutely perfectly. Not so much as a close call. Liara might not have wanted to admit it, but she seemed to have a gift for this sort of thing. Maybe she should take Liara to Eternity and order a bottle of champagne to celebrate. She rose from her table and strolled toward Liara, preparing to offer congratulations on a job well done.

She was halfway there when she realized something was wrong. Liara seemed to deflate before her eyes. She looked tired, even ill. The pallor she'd had when Miranda had first seen her in her office had returned. She trembled slightly. She was watching Miranda with a strange expression. Half exhaustion, half disgust. Liara smiled weakly as Miranda approached. The disgust wasn't directed at her, then. "Hello."

"Hello." Miranda slid into the chair Coburn had occupied. "What's wrong? That went infinitely better than I expected. You did well."

"I don't feel like it. Does no one in Nos Astra think of anything but money and power?"

"Some." She thought of Niket. "Not enough." She wanted to say I told you so, tell her to run back to her dig site and her lecture hall. Remind her that Feron wasn't worth dealing with men like Coburn. Miranda was the one who was supposed to wade around in the muck. Liara's left hand pressed on the surface of the table. Miranda fought the urge to cover it with her own. She had promised herself not to let her emotions run away with her again after the incident in her apartment, but Liara looked so thoroughly miserable that the temptation to comfort her was almost overwhelming. In the end, she compromised. "Want me to buy you a drink? I always have champagne after a successful job. You've earned it."

Liara shook her head ruefully. "Maybe after Coburn does what he has to do. I've never been much for alcohol, I'm afraid. I think what I really need is to get back to work. Are you up to it?"

Miranda didn't need to ask what "it" was. The thought of melding with Liara for a second time was both better and worse. She knew what to expect now and then it probably wouldn't kill her unless something went very wrong. On the other hand, she knew what to expect: surging emotions not her own that Shepard didn't bother to control. Her own mind had been subsumed in Shepard's. She remembered the feel of memory-Liara's lips on hers. Shepard had been ready to rip her clothes off then and there. That Miranda had wanted it too scarcely bore thinking about. It didn't really matter what she wanted, did it? She nodded. "Your apartment isn't far from here. I can be there in ten minutes, if that's all right."

"That's fine, but I never told you where I live."

The edges of Miranda's mouth quirked upward. "I thought you'd have figured it out by now. The first rule of the information business is to always do your research."

She'd known Liara's apartment would be upscale. The building was in a neighborhood only one step down from the mansions that dominated Ilium's higher altitudes. It had been Benezia's before her death, but she seemed to have come to Nos Astra only rarely. The location was perfect for a daughter who wanted to convey wealth and refinement. And luxury. She took the sitting room in a glance. Plush light blue carpeting. Black and white leather upholstery on the couch and Ottoman. A winding marble staircase leading to the upper floor. She liked the smooth, elegant curves of the furniture. It had probably cost a fortune, but the design was understated and classic. Almost like being back in her father's house. Without the part where she almost died. "Nice place," she said and meant it.

Liara was standing beside her and flushed slightly at the compliment. "Thank you. My mother was responsible for most of this. The only things here that are mine are a few Prothean artifacts. I find it comforting to remember... happier times."

Miranda felt a slight tingling at the base of her skull and stiffened. The greybox was priming memories of a penthouse suite built long ago for the daughter of Earth's richest man. The occupant had hated it for being decorated according to her father's vision of what a well-bred girl should enjoy. Miranda dismissed the promptings with a thought.

Prothean artifacts were on display in a glass case near the stairs. Miranda wrinkled her nose and pointed toward one of them. "What exactly is that?" It looked vaguely like a miniature clay version of the statues found and looted after the rediscovery of Ilos. The mouth—if that black, gaping maw could be called a mouth—stood open in a silent scream. Sightless eyes stared at her. The face was twisted in what appeared to be unimaginable pain.

"That," Liara said slowly, "is Marikar. The closest human equivalent would be Frankenstein's monster or perhaps a very dark take on the Golem of Prague or the story of Tom Thumb. It's your standard 'hubris of mortal man usurping the role of the gods' the story. As best we can tell, this particular myth never spread beyond a few islands of what we think was the Prothean homeworld. The—listen to me rambling on. I must be boring you."

"No." And she wasn't. "You love this. Talking about the Protheans. I can hear it in your voice."

"I did. Do." She cleared her throat. When she spoke again, her voice was low and rhythmic. A storyteller's voice. "In those days, there lived a sorcerer-king who ruled over half the known world. He was a very wicked man, but also a very clever and diligent man. He had three sons who were as wicked as their father, but they spent their days whoring and gambling and drinking. The sorcerer knew that none of them were fit to rule. So, he decided to create a worthy heir. The secret of creating life was one of many he knew, though no one had ever tried to create a Prothean before."

She gestured toward the clay figurine. "The sorcerer labored for several weeks, sculpting his creation, and spoke to no one about what he was doing. He spoke incantations that ensured the creature would have all the knowledge of mortal men and be stronger and faster than anyone alive. He named the creature Marikar, which means either 'bright one' or 'conqueror', depending on the translation you're using.

"Marikar was eventually completed. The sorcerer said the proper incantation, and the boy set up and began to speak as if he had awoken from a long nap. The sorcerer was delighted. Marikar could discourse upon philosophy, handle a sword and shield better than a veteran soldier, and run faster and farther than any human. The only thing he couldn't do was perform magic. Even the simplest spells were beyond him, much to the sorcerer's frustration. Still, he thought it was a fair trade considering the boy's other gifts.

"Then one day, Marikar got into an argument with the sorcerer's eldest son. The sorcerer had never told his three children what he intended, but they still distrusted the newcomer and antagonized him at every opportunity. Normally, Marikar gave no sign that he had heard, but that day he reached across and snapped the older brother's neck as casually as you would snap a twig. The sorcerer had little love for his son but retained enough decency to be shocked and asked Marikar why he'd done it. 'Father, you did not give me a soul. Is that not reason enough?' He left before the sorcerer could answer.

"The next day, Marikar got into an argument with the second son and again he snapped his neck. The sorcerer asked him why he had done it and he gave the same answer as the day before. On the third day, he fought with the youngest son and killed him, again telling the sorcerer that he had no soul.

"By this time, the sorcerer was terrified. There was no one left for Marikar to kill but him. He did not wish to destroy the creation he had worked so hard on, and if Marikar did not ascend the throne after his death, then he would be forced to leave it to some stranger. So he went to a local priest to see what could be done and told him his story.

"'You idiot!' thundered the priest. 'Don't you know that souls are gifts from the gods alone?'

"'Never mind that. How can the boy reign after me if he kills everything that angers him? I don't care what he does to the people, but his line will die with him. He will snap his son's neck, if he doesn't strangle any wife I find for him first. And he will kill me.'

"The priest laughed. "'You deserve what you get, blasphemer. As for the rest, Marikar has no soul. He is not truly alive. Those who are not alive cannot create life. Your heir is useless to y—'" Liara's voice was suddenly panicked. "Are you all right? You look like you're about to be sick."

Sick. That was one way to put it. Shock, followed by a familiar cold fury, spread through Miranda as Liara spoke. Always the same prejudices. David Ellison had made no secret of his plans to create children who were superior to ordinary humans. He'd been denounced for usurping God, for trying to create a new master race, for not sharing the technology with humanity as a whole. That Miranda's sisters (and, the tabloids whispered, Miranda herself) had proved incurably, violently insane had been seen by some as poetic justice, even divine retribution. She hadn't been a person to them, any more than she had been a person to her father. She was a figure morality tale. And it turned out the aliens told the same tales, even the supposedly majestic and enlightened Protheans. There was a joke in there somewhere.

"I'm fine." She didn't even try to keep the snarl from her voice. "Why is it that when someone does something impressive on their own initiative in these stories, it's always an intrinsic evil? Marikar kills because he lacks a soul, not because his father figure is a madman. Much easier to hate him that way." She crossed her arms. "So what happened to Marikar? Was he torn to pieces? Tossed into a magical prison?"

"He killed the sorcerer and escaped, actually, but not before the sorcerer cursed him to wander the world forever, eternally alone and in pain. Hence the appearance of the statue."

"Ah." Another wandering, homeless wretch without a family worthy of the name. She felt suddenly tired. Liara had no way of knowing how closely the story paralleled Miranda's own life, but it still made her uneasy. Liara was studying her face carefully, as if she were some freshly discovered ruin that might give up its secrets to someone clever and diligent enough to discover them. Miranda let her look. Part of her enjoyed the attention. Liara might be clever enough to discover some of her secrets at that. She had a talent for being able to piece together seemingly random fragments to make a whole. She'd managed to deduce the true fate of the Protheans despite the Reapers best efforts and had caught on to Miranda's plan for getting the Palon family data with astonishing alacrity. Miranda suspected that was one of the reasons her infatuation with Liara had lasted as long as it had. Attractive people were not especially rare in the circles Miranda moved in, and good mostly for the occasional one night stand when she needed to blow off a little steam. Someone who could keep up with her intellectually was to be savored. Liara—beautiful, brilliant, unobtainable Liara—was nearly irresistible.

Miranda exhaled. She liked Liara even beyond the stupid desire to get her into bed. She might tell her something of her life before Cerberus someday, but it would be by her own choice and not because she overreacted to a children's story. And she needed to calm down before the meld. She looked at Liara. Her shoulders were tense and she was surreptitiously biting her bottom lip. She needed to be put at ease too. Miranda had a pretty good idea how to do that. She and Liara had something else in common. She'd dismissed it at the time as a minor coincidence, but it was something they could talk about without invoking any personal demons.

She crossed the room and sank onto the couch. It was surprisingly comfortable. Good. She stretched, draped an arm over the back. Her irritation subsided somewhat. If the mind wasn't quite the plaything of the body, it was close enough. Act calm and you will eventually become calm. Act furious and you will eventually become furious. An asari mercenary hired to train her in covert operations techniques had told her that when she had first come to Thessia years ago. She pretended to check her fingernails. "I'm afraid I was never much interested in Prothean mythology, or ancient history in general. Pre-Spaceflight Cultures sounded like a much more interesting way to fulfill my humanities requirement. If I'd known Dr. T'Kan was going to be such an ideologue, I might have chosen differently."

She watched as Liara made the connection. Liara gaped at her. "You went to the University of Serrice?"

Miranda suppressed a smile. It was always so terribly fun to surprise people. "Class of '70. My degree is in computer science, not archaeology and you were long gone by then." She shook her head. "Tell me one thing: was the food horrible when you were there?"

"Goddess, yes!" Liara sat down beside her. "We always said we would have called it prison food except—"

"—it was an insult to prison food. It wasn't all bad, though. I remember my senior project was designing a very crude AI to make stock picks. We tracked its decisions for six weeks. It beat the average mutual fund return by eight percent. That wasn't the best part. I felt like I was entering a rare and select group. One of the privileged few allowed to create an artificial intelligence." She leaned back. "Hubris on my part, of course, but it was still a damn good AI for a first effort. And Thessia was quite something to a kid who'd never left Earth. Humanity could learn so much from the asari if only we bothered."

There was something tight in Liara's smile now. She fidgeted. "The more I talk to you, the less it sounds like you should be a Cerberus operative."

"Why? Making humanity stronger somehow equates with hating aliens and being smugly superior? Cerberus were the ones who insisted I go to university off-world. I'd barely left my home before then, let alone interacted with other species. For the first time, I had colleagues. Equals. None of them were human. We aren't better than the other species, but I won't let us become dependent on them, either. The turians provide the backbone of the Council fleet. The salarians provide intelligence. Once they stop being so grateful to us, they'll expect us to start upholding their interests again and call it stability. And every single Council race looks for ways to advance its interests. At the expense of the others, if necessary."

"Has anyone ever told you that you're cynical?" There was no malice in Liara's voice, only bemusement and exasperation.

"Of course I am. It's the only way to stay alive in my line of work. Most people will do anything they can to get ahead. Most politicians are exactly like our friend Coburn, only worse." She arched an eyebrow. "How do you think the Shadow Broker has managed to stay in business? Everybody's looking for the chance to stab each other in the back. Someone has to watch out for humanity."

Liara did not speak for a long time. When she did, her voice was grave and seemed to belong to someone much older. "What does setting a thresher maw on human marines have to do with advancing humanity? Or murdering an Alliance admiral? Shepard won't see you as the protectors of humanity. She'll hate you for Akuze. And she'll hate me for handing her over to you."

"Look at me." She cupped Liara's cheek with her left hand and tilted Liara's head so she could look directly at her. Electricity raced upward from her fingertips. "You were nearly raped, nearly killed, I don't know how many times. For Shepard's sake. You put your personal feelings about Cerberus aside. For Shepard's sake. If she hates you for that, she's a fool." Do you have any idea how rare and precious the loyalty and devotion you've shown is? No one will ever do for me what you have done for her. How could she hate you?

"That's very kind of you to say, but you don't know how badly what happened on Akuze scarred her."

"Then show me." The thought was sudden and terrifying, but this was what she had to do, what she had to know if she was ever to understand Shepard. "Show me Akuze."

Still alive

jtav — Tue, 09 Nov 2010 02:33:10 GMT

I've be reading Under Heaven and Sailing to Sarantium for the last few days. I think I'm in love with Guy Gavriel Kay. Just...guh. Under Heaven was the first time I've cried while reading in years.

Persistence of Memory (Miranda/Liara, NC-17) 2/8

jtav — Fri, 22 Oct 2010 16:58:11 GMT

Previous

They spent the next few minutes making idle conversation. By the time Miranda left Halledan, the sky was choked with aircars as commuters made their way home. Miranda's rental car was a boxy, unstylish thing built for fuel economy and reliability instead of speed and maneuverability. Better than waiting for a taxi in this traffic, but not by much. There would have been a time when she would've been able to simply fly above the worst of the congestion and practically have the sky to herself. She thought longingly of the 2180 Tennokot she'd been forced to sell to an acquaintance. No need for a sports car on a space station. She wondered if she'd be able to buy it back when Lazarus was concluded, then pushed the thought away. There would be time later to mourn her petty luxuries.

Her apartment was two rooms in a neighborhood remarkable only for its complete ordinariness. A faint mustiness clung to the air. This place had never been intended as a home or a permanent base of operations. Her missions in Nos Astra were usually short-term: steal a prototype VI targeting system, plant a rumor that the chief of police was taking more than the acceptable amount of bribe money so that someone more amenable to Cerberus interests would take her place, assassinate a slaver preying on human colonies who thought her money and political connections made her untouchable. There had never been a need to personalize this apartment or similar ones on Omega or the Citadel. It was clean and secure. That was what mattered.

She took a seat at the desk in the far corner of her bedroom. There was much to do in the hours before Liara arrived. The most important of which was to make sure that her greybox was operating at peak efficiency. If there were any potential problems, she needed to know now so she could develop a workaround. "Lights: dim," she said. "Noise cancellation: 100%." The apartment lights obediently dimmed, transforming the walls from off-white to gray. The already faint sounds of Nos Astra's bustle fell silent. Memory retrieval could be done in any environment, of course; but like its organic counterpart, the greybox worked best when its user was free from distraction and unnecessary stimuli. Miranda closed her eyes and counted backwards from ten very slowly. The outside world fell away and she was lost to the memories.

Miranda had been among the first non-Alzheimer's patients to be installed with a mnemonic neural stimulator. Her father had wanted the best memory could buy. The salarians' eidetic memories made them the galaxy's premier scientists and spies. Simple genetic engineering would never allow humanity to compete, no more than those children who had developed biotic talent could compete with the asari. Surgery would have to pick up where nature left off. David Ellison had taken the daughter he had intended as an exemplar of humanity and pushed her beyond even that. She would never forget anything that happened from the date of the last surgery to the present. Her memories would never be stolen by dementia. And she was the only member of the Lazarus Cell who stood a chance of retrieving Shepard's memories.

There were side effects. Miranda did not think like an ordinary human. An ordinary person's mind was jumbled. He would remember what he had for breakfast that morning—a bagel and coffee. The coffee would remind him of his first wife, who always took it with cream. This would remind him that his current wife would be late because she was picking the kids up from baseball practice, which would remind him that he had tickets to Saturday's Bears game. Without conscious thought, he might suddenly find himself thinking of how his favorite player from a completely different team was doing. All from breakfast. Marketers had spent a fortune studying the haphazard methods of the human mind.

Miranda's wasn't like that. When Miranda thought of breakfast, the greybox supplied a litany of meals organized by date, location, or main course. If she focused on coffee, it would call up everything from drinking synthetic swill on Omega to an extranet report on the death of the CEO of Stellar Coffee that she'd read two years ago. But she had to choose to think of these things. She wasn't a drell. Memories could no longer flicker unbidden through her mind. The greybox stored information. It did not prod. Miranda's mind was a neat, orderly place. This was by necessity. She was still human. Her mind still made connections between seemingly unrelated things. The difference was that if her thoughts were left a jumbled mess—if any of those connections could be activated at any moment—then her brain would suddenly be forced to deal with twenty years worth of data. She would remember one thing and be forced to remember twenty others only tangentially related. Her synapses would burn out from the strain of vomiting up information.

Liara T'Soni, she thought. The greybox served up its accumulated data at what another part of her mind recognized was an acceptable rate. Her mind's eye saw them as row upon row of still images, like previews of videos waiting to be played back in full. In less time than it took her to blink, she had the one she wanted.

Miranda stood at the bow of the ship and stared at the viewport. Around her, the crew had fallen silent. Tension filled the air. Combat was imminent. Tazzik's ship sped toward the Omega-2 relay. Miranda's lips curved into a smile. He was fast, but they were faster. A display showed the ever-shrinking distance between them. 20,000 kilometers. 15,000, 10,000... A few more seconds and their disruptor torpedoes would be in range. It wouldn't take more than two well-placed shots to disable Tazzik's ship. She'd have Shepard's body and a highly placed Shadow Broker operative that she could interrogate at her leisure. She clenched the railing. "Fire on my mark."

"Wait." Even in holographic form, the Illusive Man retained an air of unshakable authority. "As much as we want Shepard's body, it's more important that we find out why the Collectors want it. If we stop the deal now, we'll never find out."

Irritation coursed through her. She'd caught the scent of blood, and it was painful to be denied her prey now. "Understood sir, but I still wish you'd let us—"

A new ship zipped into view. It was a small, lithe thing, less a spaceship and more an aircar given FTL capability. Miranda's eyes widened in recognition. "Feron and Liara. Let me follow them if you won't let me follow Tazzik." Someone needed to make sure that Liara survived this and that Feron wasn't just biding his time until he could stab them in the back.

"Patience, Miranda. We know where they're going. Let this play out." He smiled, his way of reminding her that he knew more and saw more than she did. "Besides, I have other assets that you aren't aware of."

The memory ended, and Miranda returned to the present with a gasp. She was once again aware of her hands resting lightly on the table and the feel of the chair beneath her. After a few seconds, her heartbeat resumed its normal rhythm. The greybox had performed perfectly.

The memory itself was more troubling. She had dutifully stepped back and allowed Liara and Feron to pursue Tazzik to Alignon without her. Suppose she hadn't. Suppose she had taken the shot. She pictured a disruptor torpedo ripping Tazzik's engine to shreds. He would never have gotten near the Collectors. Feron wouldn't have been captured. Liara wouldn't have been engaged in some suicidal quest for atonement. It had all been for nothing. Cerberus still had no better idea why the Collectors wanted Shepard's body than they had when she'd first received intel of their deal with the Shadow Broker. She wasn't to blame for all that followed. Feron had known the risks. She hadn't told Liara to wage a one-woman crusade against the most powerful being in the galaxy. And yet... Miranda was, perhaps, responsible. If she had disobeyed the Illusive Man's orders, Liara would be safe and happy somewhere far from Illium. If she'd followed them to Alignon, Liara would never have been forced to choose between Feron and Shepard. If...

She shook her head. That way lay madness. All she could do now was make the best of what had actually happened. Get Liara's memories and do her best to teach her what she needed to know to survive as an information broker.

Next was what she had come to think of as her Illium Ritual. She powered on her computer and waited impatiently as it logged onto the extranet. Like her omni-tool, the computer was slower and less powerful than what she was used to, meant only for temporary use. She made a mental note to buy new equipment. The apartment's spartan furnishings were one thing. Who cared what color the wallpaper was when you only saw it for an hour a day? The computer was different. It was useful. Only useful things are worth time and money. It was one of the few valuable lessons her father had intentionally taught her.

The computer logged on to the extranet. Miranda ran a local news search for Oriana. One result. She'd been one of the three human members of the Nos Astra Youth Symphony Orchestra that had played Rimsky-Korsakov's Scheherazade for a visiting turian diplomat a month ago. Miranda scanned the article and felt a lump form in her throat. Oriana had performed the violin solo. The diplomat had been reported as saying he was "enthralled by these extremely gifted young musicians."

Her sister was a skilled violinist. Clearly, she shared Miranda's passion for classical music. She wondered if their tastes were similar. Did she love Nielsen as Miranda did? There was no way of knowing except to arrange a meeting and ask her. The temptation to introduce herself to Oriana was one that she continually had to resist. She wanted Oriana to have a normal life. Having a sister who worked for what the Alliance classed as a terrorist organization was anything but normal. If she had no contact with Oriana, then that minimized the chance that one of Miranda's enemies would use her as leverage. It was Miranda's job to prevent Oriana from ever knowing how harsh the galaxy could be, not bring danger to her doorstep. These news articles were the only way she could ever know her. She ought to be grateful that she could even have that much.

She ran a search for Niket as well. No results. That wasn't a surprise. Niket had always had her genius for passing unnoticed to everyone except her. She'd teased him and told him that he should be a spy when he grew up. He'd blushed and shook his head. The Petersens had been groundskeepers for the Ellisons for over forty years, and his father would be crushed if he didn't carry on the family tradition. Gail had been astonished. Didn't he want anything better out of life? Miranda had been charmed. His lack of ambition meant he never wanted anything from her, either. She and Gail would run off to university someday and change the world. She'd had Gail for the excitement and thrill of staying up at all hours making plans to leave New South Wales forever. Niket was solid and dependable, someone she rarely had to think of but could always rely on. Miranda's lips thinned. He had proved to be the reliable one after all. He'd never take her father's money. Her fingers hovered over the keys. The temptation to type in Gail's name was suddenly overpowering. Miranda pushed it down. It was probably better not to know what she'd done with the Oxford education her father had purchased for her in exchange for leaving Miranda behind. Whoever said love is the most powerful force in the galaxy never saw my father's bank account.

Now to begin her work in earnest. Liara's most urgent problem was finding the Palon family genetic data within three days. That could prove problematic. Much of a clan's power rested in its ability to make useful dynastic and political alliances via reproduction. Genetic defects would weaken the next generation. A salarian with particularly good genes might be able to make an advantageous match far in excess of his actual wealth or power because his genes would strengthen the other family. Genetic data was a powerful bargaining chip and therefore jealously guarded. There were only a few places outside a family's personal archive where the data might be found. It wasn't unusual for families to share the data with pharmaceutical and bioengineering firms and contract them to remove undesirable traits from the bloodline. The companies took data security seriously, but it was still her best shot. First, she had to find out which firm the Palon family was using. She typed "Palon" into the search engine The extranet could at least provide background information.

Five minutes later, Miranda had what she was looking for. An article in Lucre dated four months ago reported thatthe head of the Palon family had signed a multiyear, multimillion credit deal with the Dantius Corporation. The accompanying picture showed a family representative shaking hands with the freshly installed CEO, Nassana Dantius. Wonderful. Dantius had been a diplomat on the Citadel for years. Miranda had never worked with her directly, but her contacts had. In addition to the usual political vice of being willing to sell her own grandmother if it would help her gain power, the woman had been a paranoid wreck. Her secretary had gone on a "vacation" from which she had never returned. Officially, the missing-persons case was still open. Unofficially, it was rumored that Dantius had had her killed when she had become a little too free with her gossip. Of course, it was also rumored that more than one of her siblings was involved in organized crime, so perhaps her paranoia was justified.

Liara arrived at 8:29. She'd changed out of her dress into a blue and white jacket with matching trousers. The outfit complemented her eyes nicely. Some of the color had returned to her face Her pupils had returned to their normal size. Liara's gaze swept around the room before landing on Miranda. Her hands twisted nervously. "Reminds me of my old dorm room. I was hardly there except to sleep." She spoke very quickly. Clearly, one of Miranda's lessons would have to be How to Make Small Talk Without Sounding As If You're Going To Have A Panic Attack. "The other girls on my floor were always throwing parties. Made it impossible to study, so I..."

"Calm down, Liara." Miranda rose from her chair. It's only me. You don't have to be nervous, she wanted to say, but didn't. "I have something for you," she said and briefly summarized her findings. "If I were Dantius, I'd keep the data on a closed system away from the main network."

"So we can't hack into it?"

"Not from here." She pursed her lips, thinking. "If I were doing this on my own, I'd release a virus into the main network, forge some credentials, and waltz through the front door as the information security expert that they called to troubleshoot the problem."

Liara stepped closer. "That's not an option for me. Even if I could successfully pass myself off as a computer wizard, I can't step outside of my office without being recognized as either Benezia's daughter or as part of the team that defeated Saren. Anything I do will have to be under my own identity."

"Right. You're a known quantity, which can be an advantage in some cases but seriously limits our options here."

"I suppose we'd have to break in and steal the information." To her credit, Liara made the suggestion in exactly the same tone as she would have suggested going out for dinner. Miranda had almost expected her to be visibly disgusted by the idea. "Dantius Towers is not the place I'd choose to commit my first felony." She smiled slightly at her own joke.

"Nor would I." She'd planned and executed break-ins in less than three days before, but those had been crude smash-and-grab affairs and she hadn't been working with a neophyte partner who intended to continue her high-profile life in the same city. "I'll think of something." She sat down again.

Liara bowed her head and steepled her fingers. "Nassana nearly got Shepard killed the first time they met. She told us that her sister had been captured and was being held for ransom by slavers. When we got to the coordinates we found a small army of pirates and slavers. Nasanna's sister was the leader. We found out later that she was blackmailing Nasanna." She looked up. "I'd like to repay her for that."

What? "Nasanna asked Shepard to kill her sister?"

"Technically, she asked her to kill the leader of the slavers."

"Irrelevant." Miranda waved the last part of the story away. "A prominent diplomat arranged for the first human Spectre to kill her sister. We need information from that diplomat. Why didn't you tell me sooner?"

"Because it doesn't matter," Liara snapped. Miranda shot her an incredulous look, so she began again. "She spoke with Shepard in private. I only found out about the conversation when Shepard told me about it. I don't have any proof that Nassana wanted her sister dead, nothing that would hold up anyway."

Miranda wanted to laugh. "You're thinking too much like an academic. We don't need proof. The worst thing that can happen to a CEO on Illium isn't to be arrested for murder. It's pathetically easy to conjure up some 'procedural irregularity' and get the charges dropped if you're wealthy or well-connected enough. No, the worst thing that can happen is for the company stock to nosedive." Miranda smiled in triumph. "And all that takes is a few well-placed rumors. You could ruin her life in less than a week. If you wanted to blackmail her, all you'd need to do is threaten to leak the information to the tabloids." She frowned. "But blackmailing her directly would be suicide because—"

Miranda watched as Liara followed her train of thought, could see the exact moment she understood. "—because the last person who blackmailed Nassana ended up dead. But Nassana hasn't been CEO for long. She's not very popular, either, from what I hear. She's bound to have enemies within the company. Highly placed ones with access to the data." Her eyes were alive with manic energy as she paced the length of the room. This must be how she had looked when she had developed her theory on Prothean extinction. "We trade the data for information that they can use to depose Nasanna at their leisure or hold in reserve in case they need a bargaining chip. They would be the ones in danger."

For a moment, Miranda could only stare at her. Then she smiled. "You're a natural at this, aren't you?"

Liara's face darkened. The energy that had seized her only a moment ago vanished. She seemed smaller, weaker, more fragile. "I hope not," she whispered. "But I'm a quick learner."

"Yes, you are," Miranda said. She wanted to add something encouraging, something that would let Liara know that she could and would succeed, but she couldn't think of anything that wasn't a lie, meaningless, or both. "I'll do some digging and see if I can find a likely prospect."

"Thank you. I'll want to know how you made the decision, if I don't kill you in the next few minutes." She sat down gingerly on the edge of the bed. "You don't have to do this. There has to be a safer way of making sure Shepard's personality is intact."

"Full of confidence, aren't we?" Miranda said with a lightness she didn't really feel. Now that the moment was upon her, her hands were cold and her mouth dry. She had never been afraid of her own death. She'd put her life on the line in the service of humanity for over fifteen years, and there were fates worse than death. This was different. She'd always been introverted, and life with her father and the constant, unspoken threat of the asylum had taught her to keep her thoughts and emotions well-hidden. She'd known intellectually that she'd have to join minds with Liara for this to work. Knowing wasn't the same as having Liara in her apartment, preparing to actually do it. She wasn't sure if it was better or worse that it was Liara she would be joining minds with. She knew Liara. She was attracted to Liara.

Worse. Definitely worse. I hope you're worth it, Shepard. Too late to turn back now, though. This was merely the latest, most personal sacrifice she would have to make to defeat the Reapers. She willed her heartbeat to slow to at least approximate normalcy. "Tell me what I have to do."

Liara patted the edge of the bed. "Come here. Sit by me." Miranda obeyed, angling herself so that she could look Liara in the eyes. Her right leg brushed against Liara's left. Liara took her hands in hers. Her touch was light, not at all the death grip Miranda had been expecting. Miranda did not pull away. Liara was reassuringly solid and warm, and Miranda needed the reminder of the physical universe just now.

"I spent a lot of time thinking about what to share with you." Liara's words seemed to tumble from her mouth. "In case we only got one shot at this. I wanted something that could sum up Shepard for you. Something you wouldn't see in the newsvids. But nothing too personal. I don't want to bore you or embarrass you. Not that Cerberus isn't interested in the personal details, I'm sure, but..."

"Just get on with it!"

Liara flushed a faint purple and closed her eyes. "Sorry." Three seconds passed. Miranda could feel her heart racing again, but this time she didn't even try to calm herself. Liara's eyes snapped open. They were black, but seemed almost to glow. It was like looking into an abyss, with the hint of something primal and unknowable awaiting her at the bottom. Miranda pulled back instinctively, but it was too late. "Embrace eternity!"

Some inexorable force drew her forward, and then she was no longer in the apartment. She could see nothing, not even the darkness. The warmth of Liara's hand on hers was the only sign that she still had a body at all. Unfamiliar emotions—grief, guilt, fear—brushed by her and were gone. Liara's emotions. She was aware of Liara's grip tightening. And then...

The image was blurry, as if she were looking at a reflection in water, but she recognized the scene: the crew deck of the Normandy. She could feel something hard pressing into her back. A locker. Dim flickers of frustration and anger passed over her, ghosts of Shepard's own feelings.

A shadow passed over her. She was not alone. Liara stood over her. The part of Miranda's mind that was still her own noted that Liara seemed much younger than she had when they'd met on Omega. Her eyes were brighter, her posture more relaxed. She frowned. "Commander...Shepard, I cannot believe they did this to you. I'm so sorry."

Her lips formed a smile that was only half-faked. Liara was here, and that was something. Even if the Council was made up of morons who were actively trying to doom the galaxy. "It's not you're fault."

"But it's not right! You did everything they asked and more. The Council owes you everything, and they repay you by grounding the Normandy."

"And gave Saren a free pass to find the Conduit. Don't forget that part."

Liara's expression turned thoughtful. "Perhaps we could appeal. Get them to reverse their decision. I've met Tevos a few times when she came to..." Her voice quavered, but only a little. "... to visit my mother. She always seemed reasonable."

She buried her face in her hands. "I've tried everything I know to do."

"And so now you'll just give up? You survived Akuze when everyone around you was dying, but you'll let Saren win because of a few politicians?"

She looked up, surprised. Liara was seldom angry, and never with her. It didn't really suit her. She'd gotten used to thinking of Liara as always even-tempered, counseling mercy even for those who didn't deserve it. Liara would probably find it in her heart to forgive those Cerberus bastards for everything they'd done. But her eyes were flashing now. She had let Liara down. The thought made her ashamed and a little sad. She couldn't let Liara down. "What do you want me to do?"

"Be the hero that I know you are." Liara's face softened, and she extended her hand. "I'm with you every step of the way."

Hero. Right. She needed to be a hero. The galaxy was counting on her. Liara was counting on her. Heroes didn't sit around moping while the bad guys tried to conquer the galaxy. She gripped Liara's hand and hauled herself to her feet.

The image flickered. Back in the physical world, Miranda was aware of Liara's nails scraping her palm. Miranda could feel the echo of her embarrassment. She was trying to pull away, push Miranda back toward Ilium and away from whatever private moment came next.

Liara wasn't quite fast enough, or strong enough or whatever it was she needed to be. The image resolved itself. She was standing now. She put her arms around Liara. "Every step of the way, huh?" she whispered against Liara's mouth and kissed her. Liara made a strangled sound in the back of her throat, but opened her mouth anyway. Heat spiraled through her. Like everything else in the memory, it was faded, distorted. It was still enough to make her shiver and her skin felt tight. "More," she whispered.

There was a sharp pain behind her eyes, and Miranda found herself thrown back into the physical world. She could feel the mattress beneath her, hard and unforgiving, and smell the stale air. Her mouth felt dry and her cheeks hot. Everything felt more real, more intense. The sensory overload was too much. She wobbled dangerously. Liara released one hand and put an arm around Miranda to steady her.

Liara's eyes were wide, and she looked as flushed as Miranda felt. "Are you all right?"

"I'm fine." The words came out as something closer to a croak than human speech. She was alive, at any rate. She'd process the rest of it later. Another stabbing pain lanced through her head. She sucked in a breath. Now I know what an L2 feels like. "Give me a minute."

They sat like that for a long time. The only sound was Miranda's hoarse pants. Liara seemed content to brace her and wait for her to recover at her own pace and not fuss over her. Miranda was grateful. Her father had provided her with an army of servants, tutors, and doctors whose job it had been to fuss over her—and make sure she was never truly alone. Deep breaths. In and out. Don't think about the pain. Think about something else. Liara. The memory you just saw. Liara kissing Shepard. She grimaced. Or not.

Gradually, the pain subsided into a dull throbbing. She was able to notice other things. Liara was nibbling her bottom lip and sneaking furtive glances at Miranda every few seconds. "What?"

"I—you were never supposed to see...that last bit. I was supposed to stop it, but I lost control. I made you feel that." She looked down and removed her hand from Miranda's. "And worse."

Worse? And then it hit her. A cold, hollow feeling welled inside her. Shepard had begged for more, but Shepard had been unable to speak. And yet, Miranda remembered a whisper. She had spoken aloud. She had let herself be controlled by her own lust. That memory of a kiss was as close as she would ever come to ever doing the same to Liara. She'd allowed herself to be carried away as if she were still a lovesick teenager. She hadn't even tried to fight it. She'd wanted it.

That was the most subtle danger she faced, that she would lose control and allow her feelings for Liara to cloud her judgment and interfere with the task at hand. Stopping the transfers wasn't an option, now that she knew that they wouldn't kill her outright. She'd never let her emotions rule her before. She wouldn't start now. "Just try not to bring up any 'intimate moments' in the future." Her voice was cool and professional, or as close a facsimile as she could manage under the circumstances. "I'll see what I can find on Dantius. Next time, I want to see something from Virmire. Can you do that?"

Liara nodded dumbly.

"We'll get through this." I'll see to that, no matter what I have to do.

Next

Persistence of Memory (Miranda/Liara, NC-17) 1/8

jtav — Sun, 17 Oct 2010 00:42:24 GMT

Title: Persistence of Memory
Characters/Pairings:Miranda/Liara
Rating: NC-17 eventually
Warnings: Violence and some discussion of child abuse in later chapters.
Summary: Liara has information critical to restoring Shepard. Miranda will do anything to get it. She'll even teach Liara how not to get killed. Facing her own past-and her attraction to Liara-was never part of the bargain.

Miranda checked the address one last time and looked up at the skyscraper towering above her. Liara had done well for herself. The Halledan Towers had opened the previous autumn, and businesses had raced to claim office space here. The location was excellent—within a few blocks of most government buildings and any officials that might need bribing—but it was a status symbol as well, proof that you needed easy access to all those officials. And Liara's office was on the twenty-first floor.

She'd been surprised to learn of Liara's change in career. The buying and selling of information was, at best, a morally ambiguous business. Liara had shown great physical courage three months ago when she'd retrieved Shepard's corpse, and no one could question her dedication or her biotic skill. She was also fiercely idealistic. She'd felt guilty about Feron's death even though the drell was just another agent for the Shadow Broker whose loyalty had been for sale to the highest bidder. Miranda had half-expected her to be dashing across the galaxy in search of his corpse. At least her current occupation made her easy to track down. She took one last moment to enjoy the feel of the sun on her face and stepped inside

The lobby served the same purpose as the lobby of every other major building in Nos Astra: impress or intimidate newcomers and inspire pride in those fortunate enough to work there. Halledan succeeded better than most. The floor has been overlaid with green Thessian marble. A vaguely humanoid statue, no doubt created by the flavor-of-the-week-darling of the art world, dominated the center of the room. The air was clean and cold and Miranda instinctively pulled her jacket close. Maidens and matrons in brightly colored dresses hurried past. Miranda almost smiled. Illium's business wear seemed to show more cleavage every year. A tall asari who couldn't have been older than one hundred and fifty sported a dress the color of champagne with a slit down the middle that left half of each breast exposed. Well, that was one way to distract her opposition during a negotiation session. Miranda wondered if the temperature bothered her, but perhaps the showing off was worth it.

The elevator was packed. Miranda squeezed into a spot against the back wall. Anxiety curled in her gut. She'd never expected to see Liara again, and certainly not just three months after the operation on Omega. That was before the Lazarus Project's latest attempt at a purely organic reconstruction of Shepard's nervous system had failed. They would be moving to a bio-synthetic fusion, augmenting various low-level processes with a VI. Theoretically, Shepard's personality and reasoning abilities would remain unaffected; but she would no longer be able to simply compare a scan of Shepard's brain taken before her death with a scan of the finished product to ensure her personality and memories were intact. Miranda needed to know every scrap of detail she could find about Shepard. Some things were a matter of public record. Others could be excavated and pieced together from classified Alliance intel. The important things were murkier. No intelligence report could tell Miranda what had been going through Shepard's mind when she'd left Ashley Williams to her death or why she had set the Rachni Queen free. She needed the memories themselves. She needed Liara.

How she was going to get Liara to provide those memories was as yet unknown. The elevator doors opened, and Miranda took a deep breath. She would find a way. She had never failed to complete a mission before. The Illusive Man believed that Shepard was the best option for combating the Reaper threat. He needed Shepard back exactly as she was when she defeated Sovereign. Miranda would deliver, no matter the cost.

Liara's offices were surprisingly modest. The outer office was bare of any of the expensive marble or art that had characterized the lobby. A large desk dominated the center of the room. A maiden Miranda supposed was Liara's secretary sat hunched over a console, the light turning her skin a sickly orange. Elaborate facial markings that reminded Miranda vaguely of warpaint covered her forehead and cheeks. Her dress was modest by Illium standards, covering everything from her neck to her shoes. The colors were dark and didn't quite suit her. If Miranda hadn't been staring right at her, she would've faded into the background. Odd, that. People came to Illium to be noticed. This one might bear watching.

Miranda approached her desk and stood over her. The secretary did not immediately look up. Probably her way of throwing Liara's potential clients off balance and giving her employer an edge in negotiating. It might work on an overly anxious middle manager, but not Miranda. She remained where she was.

Finally, the secretary looked up. Her gaze swept over Miranda. Once, twice, as if she were information to be sorted and cataloged. "Can I help you?" Her voice was soft and slightly fawning. Perfect for her job.

Miranda rested one hand on the edge of the desk. The metal was cool against her bare skin. "My name is Miranda Lawson. I'm here to see Dr. T'Soni." She disliked using her normal identity on missions—especially on Ilium, where anything she said or did might be recorded—but it couldn't be helped. Liara had known her as Miranda Lawson.

The secretary started. "So you're Miranda? Liara spoke of you often. She said you helped her with something after her gurlfriend died, but she wouldn't give me the details. She'll be delighted you've come, I'm sure. Friends are rare enough in her job."

Miranda thinned her lips and took in the new information. Liara spoke of her often. Strange. Miranda had assumed she'd want to forget everything associated with the operation on Omega and the Lazarus Project. Stranger still that she'd spoken of Miranda in a way that led the secretary to believe that they were friends. Liara had seemed consumed over her misguided guilt at handing Shepard's body to Cerberus the last time Miranda had seen her. No doubt Liara had imagined dozens of atrocities that Shepard would be forced to perform as payment for her resurrection. She had assumed Liara would hate Cerberus, and Miranda had been the face Cerberus for her. If she had spoken of Miranda with fondness... She closed her eyes. No. It meant nothing. No matter how much she wanted it to. Such thoughts would only be a distraction from her true purpose.

Still, it couldn't hurt to get a better sense of Liara's state of mind. Miranda lacked the charisma or oratorical skill to force Liara to do what she wanted by sheer force of personality. They would have to negotiate, and negotiations favored the party who was better prepared. The secretary might know something useful. "I haven't seen Liara in a very long time. I understand she's done well for herself."

The secretary nodded and smiled. Her teeth had the blinding whiteness normally found only in advertisements for various teeth whitening products. "Indeed. Liara has established herself as a promising information broker. There are those who say she's too ambitious, and that causes difficulty for her in some circles. She is very driven and resourceful. In time, she could become the most powerful woman on Illium if she weren't so focused on her personal goals."

"And what are her personal goals?"

The smile turned sly. "Why don't I let her tell you about that? She's finishing up a call to a client, but I'm sure she won't mind if you go on in."

Miranda responded with a smile of her own, betraying none of her frustration. Of course the secretary wouldn't tell her so easily. Secrets were Illium's unofficial currency, never given away freely but always bartered for something. Miranda, as yet, had nothing to offer. "I'll do that."

Liara's office was almost as spare as her secretary's. A coffeemaker had been shoved into one corner of the room. This smelled of the grounds still lingered in the air. The desk was crafted from unpainted metal. Sturdy enough, but unlikely to win Liara a place in the list of Nos Astra's most fashionable offices. The unoccupied chair similarly looked as if it had been designed to be used rather than as a showpiece. It was too well-padded and lacked the gleaming whiteness currently seen in the business fashion magazines.

Liara stood with her back to Miranda, facing a holographic image of a salarian. Perhaps it was merely a trick of the light, but her skin seemed paler than Miranda remembered. She smoothed a wrinkle from her dress. "I'll get you the information you want. I just need a bit more time." She didn't sound frightened, only tired. No, exhausted.

"And what do the asari consider 'a bit more time'?" The salarians lips curled into a sneer. "My clan doesn't have the luxury of waiting months while you find a way to get the Palon family genetic data. Reproductive contract negotiations start in four days."

"You'll have it by then. I give you my word."

"I see." He fixed his gaze on Liara and was silent for a moment. "I hope you are more honorable than your mother."

Liara's shoulders tensed. Her left hand clenched and unclenched. A flicker of biotic power passed over her and died just as quickly. "I'll contact you when I have the data." She waved a hand, and the transmission ended. She turned, and Miranda got her first good look at Liara T'Soni in months.

There was no mistaking it now; she was paler, her flesh a sickly teal. Her freckles stood out prominently against her skin. Her pupils seemed larger as well. Dilated. She's been taking stims, and recently. The emerald green dress she wore was modest by human standards, and downright prudish by Illium's. Everything from her throat downwards had been carefully covered up. Miranda frowned. Liara had always seemed the type to be more comfortable in her labcoat or armor than in a dress. She belonged at a dig site somewhere, poking through ruins light years away from civilization, not playing at being an information broker. It would've been easier to believe that the woman before her was a different person entirely.

Her eyes, though, were the same brilliant blue that Miranda remembered. Her fingers were still long and thin, almost delicate, though the small calluses betrayed of decades spent exploring and excavating. An old lust raced through Miranda, and she inhaled sharply. Liara had not changed quite enough. She was still beautiful. Miranda had hoped that time or distance would cure her of her inconvenient attraction. Obviously not. She shoved the feeling back down among all the other half-buried emotions she had no time for. Securing Liara's cooperation was critical to the success of the Lazarus Project. Now wasn't the time to fantasize about things she would never have. She nodded at Liara. "Good to see you again."

Liara simply stared at her, as if she were the one who had risen from the dead. She opened her mouth. Nothing came out. Not precisely the warm welcome that her secretary had predicted fo her but better than being thrown out on sight. Miranda tried again. "Mind if I sit down?"

The utter banality of the request was enough to galvanize Liara into speech. "I—yes, of course." She sat behind the desk, while Miranda perched on the edge of the chair opposite. She watched as Liara arranged her features into something Miranda assumed was supposed to be friendliness but looked like anxiety. "How are you?" How's Shepard? Have you brought her back? remained unspoken, but Miranda heard it all the same.

"Well enough. We've confirmed Shepard is salvageable, though there have been complications. I need your help."

That got Liara's attention. She went very still. "Are you insane?" she whispered. "You can't talk about Shepard here. This is Illium. Everything we say is recorded."

Miranda smiled. "Really?" The omni-tool she normally used on covert missions was less powerful and more specialized than the one she used on Lazarus Station, no different from the ones used by thousands of techs every day in Nos Astra and therefore far less likely to attract attention than a military-grade model. Still, it would do the job. She pressed a button. "For the next ten minutes, any listening devices on this floor are going to be assailed with so much junk data that we'll go unnoticed."

"Won't that attract suspicion?"

"Eventually. Fortunately, there are about a hundred people in this building alone who would dearly love to have a conversation without anyone listening in and have the skills to pull it off. I just bought you ten minutes worth of Nos Astra's most precious commodity: privacy."

Liara blinked. "Just like that? Though I suppose you must be skilled at foiling surveillance devices in your line of work."

"Among other things." The truth was she had always been skilled at using and subverting computers, omni-tools, and similar devices. How could she not be? It was in her blood. Her father was the President and CEO of Ellison Computing, and he had expected his designated heir to understand the devices they made. That her studies had made her even more useful as a Cerberus operative was a delicious irony. "I'll tell you all about it later. Right now, I need your help." She leaned forward slightly, careful not to overbalance. "Shepard needs your help."

Liara picked up a datapad and glanced at it. She did not look at Miranda. "I killed people to get Shepard back. I let Feron be captured so I could get Shepard back." Her voice was soft and monotone. "I let Cerberus have her even after I knew what you would do with her. Tell me, what else do you need me to do?"

Miranda steepled her fingers and thought. There was no way to make what she was asking less enormous that it was. She doubted Liara was the sort to appreciate some pretty lie. No tricks, then. "Shepard's nervous system was in worse shape than we thought. There was significant decay of large swaths of her brain. We were able to offload some reflexes and sensory data reception onto a VI, but—"

Liara went even paler, if that were possible. She clutched the edge of her desk with both hands. "You're turning her into some cyborg?"

Miranda felt the skin on the back of her arms prickle. Not this again. "Her higher brain functions—memory, personality, and such—will still be controlled by her brain. And what would it matter if we had to upload some of those higher brain functions? She would still be Shepard. My job is to bring her back exactly as she was on the day the Normandy was destroyed. I refuse to let that mission fail because we're limiting ourselves to organic means."

Liara pushed back her chair and stood up. "Are you certain? I'm beginning to believe I was right the first time. We should have let the dead rest. I was too blinded by grief to see that. It feels unnatural somehow."

Miranda bristled. Unnatural. Freak of nature. Inhuman. Insults used by those who feared change. She'd heard them all her life and done stupid things before she'd learned that nothing she could do would ever prove a thing to those Luddite wound was old and well-healed. Mostly. "No more 'unnatural' than a greybox or biotic implant." I'm as human as anyone. Shepard will be human, too. Please, be as intelligent as I think you are. Please.

Liara turned back to the window. "I know," she whispered. "You didn't come here for my permission. What do you really want?"

Miranda stood and followed her to the window. She owed it to Liara to at least look at her when she asked. Outside, aircars zipped by. The trading floor spread out below them like a cross between a fairytale kingdom and a bazaar that sold everything from designer clothing to red sand. The late afternoon sun bathed everything in a reddish-gold glow. Asari, volus, and humans blurred together in an indistinct mass of dots no bigger than her thumb. Oriana might be down there now buying her parents an anniversary gift. This was when she was fighting for. All these people—Oriana, Niket, everyone she had ever known and loved—would die if the Reapers were not defeated. Liara would die. Miranda's throat tightened. No, none of them would die. Not if she had her way.

"As I was saying, we were him and able to transfer some functions to VI, but it makes a simple before-and-after brain scan useless. I need an alternate comparison method. We'll be running extensive psychological testing, but the standard tests won't tell us everything we need to know. She placed a hand on Liara's shoulder, just as she had months ago when they'd first seen Shepard's corpse. Her dress was thinner than the lab coat and this time she could feel the warmth of her skin beneath the material. "I know she was your lover. I know you melded with her. You've touched her mind. That means you know her better than anyone." She took a deep breath. "And that means you're the only one who can help me. I need your memories of Shepard."

Liara's eyes widened, but she remained silent. Miranda glanced at her chrono. Four minutes gone already. "I know it's a lot to ask..."

Liara laughed at that. It wasn't an ordinary laugh. It was the slightly hysterical laugh of someone who was about to either burst into tears or go insane. "You want me to share these personal, private things just so Cerberus can use her for Goddess-knows-what? Even if I wanted to, the only way I could share those memories would be to pass them into your mind. Human brains aren't built to withstand that kind of stress." She turned. Miranda let her hand fall away. They were looking at each other now. She could see herself reflected in Liara's eyes. "I'd kill you, Miranda. I have too many deaths on my conscience already. I won't add yours."

Her throat tightened again. Liara cared whether she lived or died. How very... touching. Not that it meant anything, of course. She'd read the reports on Liara before the operation on Omega. All of them had mentioned her extraordinary compassion. She had expressed pity for Saren and counseled mercy at every opportunity during the hunt for the Conduit. Concern for Miranda was practically guaranteed. And entirely unnecessary. "It may not kill me. I've been augmented with a greybox. The added processing power and storage space should allow me to receive the memories safely." Theoretically.

She could practically see the wheels turn in Liara's mind. "Maybe... no, it's still too dangerous."

"More dangerous than running around Omega, getting shot at by Blue Suns, and sneaking into a Shadow Broker base?" She allowed herself a small smile. "I'd say you gave up the right to start talking about danger some time ago. Especially when you're playing at being an information broker in Nos Astra. Illium thrives on intrigue. It's a thousand times more deadly than Omega."

Liara's eyes flashed and her lips thinned. Her nostrils flared slightly. Miranda had seen that look before. It had normally been followed by Liara biotically crushing someone. "I'm not playing at being an information broker. It's the best chance I have of killing the Shadow Broker and finding Feron."

Miranda took an involuntary step back. Liara was planning on doing what? No. No. No one in their right mind would attempt to eliminate the Shadow Broker. He was the most powerful man in the galaxy. Cerberus wielded considerable influence, but even the Illusive Man had only spoken of thwarting the occasional scheme when the Broker's plans would prove particularly troubling. The rest of the time, he had been a necessary evil that they had used while trying to give up as few of their own secrets as possible. And then he tried to hand Shepard's body to the Collectors. Miranda would have dearly loved to see his head on a pike, but Cerberus didn't possess the resources to take on the Shadow Broker directly, even before the Lazarus Project. What chance did one person have? There were rumors of assassins and mercenaries who had tried to kill the Broker for one reason or another. No one had ever seen them again. And now Liara was joining their number. "And you called me insane. What is this? Some twisted form of asari nobility? Feron is dead because of you, so you're honor bound to throw your life away avenging him?"

Liara turned away. She clutched her arms, as if to ward off the cold. "I had a choice, Miranda. I could either save Feron or I could save Shepard. I chose the dead body. I've condemned Feron to either a slow death or something worse. And all because I couldn't let one human go." Her voice cracked. "The least I can do is make sure the Shadow Broker never makes another bargain with the Collectors. The Shadow Broker claims to be neutral, but all he's done is spread more death and misery throughout the galaxy. I can stop him. Shepard will never forgive me for handing her body over to you, but perhaps I can forgive myself. Besides, if I don't stop him, who will?"

"Look at me." Miranda seized Liara by the shoulders and spun her so that they were once again facing each other. Liara's eyes glittered, either with anger or unshed tears. It didn't matter which. She had to make Liara understand. The girl was too brilliant and driven to throw her life away. "I've been with Cerberus for over half my life. I've tortured people for information. I've had to kill people who didn't particularly deserve it because that was the most efficient way of accomplishing the task at hand. That's the world you're walking into. You'll be killed."

"And there's a very good chance you'll be killed if I give you Shepard's memories."

"I know." She shrugged. Sometimes sacrifices had to be made for the greater good. "I'm willing to risk it."

Liara's lips quirked upward slightly, and for a moment she looked precisely as Miranda had remembered her when they first met on Omega. Her chest jolted. "It seems we both have a death wish." Her eyes darkened, and the spell was broken. "Though I would prefer we both survived."

"So would I." And perhaps there was a way for Liara, at least, to survive. Miranda felt herself trembling slightly. Yes, there was a way. "Let's make a deal, T'Soni. If you give me Shepard's memories, then I'll teach you everything I know about acquiring information. I know a great deal: the proper way to bribe an official without giving offense, when to use charm and when to use force, how to find someone who can hack into the databases of a prominent salarian family and steal a copy of their genetic data..." She let the last few words hang in the air. Liara remained silent. "You say you want to survive this? Then let me help you."

Liara bit her lip, thinking. "No," she said at last.

"No?" Her voice felt hollow. She felt hollow. It was one thing to be thwarted when she wanted something. It was quite another to fail in a vital mission. She'd thought Liara was better than this, that she would do what she had to to ensure that Feron's sacrifice meant something. She wasn't supposed to be stupid and selfish. She wasn't supposed to be anything like Gail.

"No. I don't want you to tell me how to find someone to get the data for me. I want you to teach me how to get the data myself."

"Oh." Her voice wavered, and Miranda silence cursed herself. She should not be sounding like an overeager schoolgirl. And yet... Liara will help. Liara will help. I wasn't wrong. "I can do that."

Liara held up a hand. "One memory for one lesson. After that, we'll see how it goes. If I think the strain is proving too much for you, then I'll stop the transfer then and there. Understood?"

"Perfectly." It would not be too much for her. The mission was too important. She would teach Liara. Liara would either acquire the tools to survive on her insane quest and learn how to succeed as an information broker or she would give up after learning she had to get her hands dirty. Either way, she wouldn't die. Not soon. "We can start this evening. I have an apartment here in Nos Astra. More of a safehouse really." She tapped another button on her omni-tool. "My address. Is 8:30 acceptable?"

"Fine." Liara sounded a little dazed, as if she couldn't quite believe she had agreed to this. "You do realize that, even if this does work, and I don't accidentally kill you, that It will take time. Perhaps as much as a month. "

A month. A month with Liara. "I think you'll find I can be a very patient woman."

Liara smiled and nodded slightly. Miranda's omni-tool gave a warning beep. One minute more of privacy. They returned to their seats. "First lesson and this one's free: it's going to look very suspicious if I leave immediately after the surveillance system comes back online." Miranda arranged her features into the bright, uncomplicated cheer of someone reconnecting with an old friend. "It's been too long. We should go out for drinks sometime. This is your city. Where's a good place to go?"

Liara started, but only for a moment. "Eternity. I think you'll like it. It's not as...exotic as some of the other establishments in Nos Astra."

Eternity. Liara had good taste. It was quiet, the drinks were excellent, and the clientele was less obviously nouveau riche than those who frequented the nightspot of the moment. Miranda had met with Lantaeia there several times and used it as a dead drop location. Perhaps she and Liara could have drinks there eventually. "I can't wait."

Next

Vulnerable (Miranda/Male Shepard, PG-13)

jtav — Fri, 10 Sep 2010 21:51:22 GMT

Title: Vulnerable
Pairing: Miranda/Male Shepard
Rating: PG-13
Warnings: None
Summary: The assault on the Collector base is imminent. Miranda deals with her anxieties the only way she knows how.
Word count: 3000

The Normandy was suddenly very quiet; the only sounds was the hum of the engines and the blood pounding in Miranda's ears. When she spoke, her voice cut through the air like a sword. "What do you mean 'they took them all?'" This was a joke. It had to be. Every single crewman on the SR-2—Hadley, Patel, all of them—had been a decorated member of the Alliance Navy before they'd joined Cerberus. The Collectors couldn't have subdued and kidnapped them all in the two hours she and Shepard had been gone. The Collectors shouldn't have been able to find the Normandy at all.

But Joker bowed his head and closes his eyes like a man praying for forgiveness. "We did the best we could. If it hadn't been for EDI taking over the defense systems, they would have gotten the ship, too."

The day was getting better and better. She rubbed her temples. "Don't even get me started about unshackling a damned AI. You're lucky it didn't turn on you."

Joker's head snapped up. His eyes glazed with a fury Miranda never thought to see. "What else was I supposed to do? Break my arm at them?" His voice softened a little. "Besides, EDI came through. She's all right."

A small, still-rational part of Miranda's brain agreed with him. Joker was only one man and next to useless in a gunfight. Still, she let the anger course through her. Anger was better than the alternative, better than calculating her odds of survival for the hundredth time or wondering what Cerberus would tell Oriana if she didn't survive.

It didn't quite work. If the Collectors can defeat us here, what chance do we have against them on their home ground?

She pushed the thought away and looked at Peter. He laid a hand on Joker's shoulder. "You okay?" His voice was deep, reassuring. Almost fatherly. If he was angry or frightened, he didn't show it. But then Peter never really did. She'd seen him filled with righteous indignation when he'd threatened Herrot. She'd seen him thoughtful after Horizon. For her, he had been charming. He'd seemed to know exactly when to flirt with her and when to take her in his arms. Never in all that time had he been anything less than the competent, capable Savior of the Citadel that the Illusive Man had wanted. Miranda wondered how Peter managed it.

Joker nodded wordlessly. Peter smiled slightly. "You'll feel even better when we find them and bring them home." He leaned forward and placed one hand on the edge of the briefing console. "The Collectors think they can screw with us. They think they can kidnap our friends and we have no choice but to sit here and take it." His dark eyes glittered. With his fair hair and chiseled jaw, he looked as if he had just stepped out of the advertisements for an action vid. "We're going to prove them wrong. I refuse to let them take anything else. Return to your stations. We're going through the Omega-4 relay."

No one said anything for a long moment. Miranda opened her mouth to protest, but nothing came out. She wanted to remind him of some last task he had forgotten, but there was nothing left. The Normandy had the best armor and weapons technology could provide...

Not that it did the crew any good.

... Peter had spent weeks making sure that the rest of the squad weren't distracted by personal matters. He'd even convinced her to introduce herself to Oriana.

Not like it'll matter in the end. You'll be just as dead.

No. Miranda shook her head. She'd known since Freedom's Progress that their odds of survival were slim, whatever Peter said, but she couldn't act as if death were a foregone conclusion. That was as good as handing the Collectors their victory. She didn't have to survive, but she did have to win. The Illusive Man had made it clear that the abductions were to be stopped, no matter the cost. Miranda would stop them, even if she had to lie to herself to do it. Pretend just for a few hours that she wasn't about to die, that this was just another mission, and that she was free to do whatever she liked until then. Whatever she liked. However she liked. With whomever she liked.

Jacob and Joker saluted and filed out, Joker limping as he went. Peter watched them go before turning his attention to her. It was as if someone flipped a switch. His eyes narrowed as his gaze traveled the length of her. Tension coiled in his shoulders and upper back. His breath—short, shallow pants escaping through slightly parted lips—sounded strangely loud in the silence of the briefing room. She felt her own breathing quicken in response, but did not look away. People had watched and desired her all her life. Sometimes she indulged them for a night, or longer if it took her fancy.

She'd never been quite certain what Peter had wanted from her. He'd smiled and laughed as he'd told her that he was just trying to get her into bed. His idea of a joke. She liked that easy, light flirtation. Too many men treated her as a spoiled princess who needed to be pampered and indulged at every moment. Peter treated her like an ordinary human who could take a joke. Sometimes. Sometimes he waited outside a transport terminal for hours just so she could introduce herself to Oriana. After the assault on the Collector ship, she'd been half-panicked at the realization of how expendable they all were. Like some hormone-addled schoolgirl, she'd begged him not to die. She'd been expecting another bad joke. He hadn't said a word, just held her for a long moment before walking away.

Her lips curved into a smile. Oh yes. She knew exactly how she wanted to spend the next few hours. She'd thought about having sex with him and had planned for it as she planned for every other possibility, however remote. Thank God for that.

She darted from the room and toward the elevator without a word. Neither of their quarters would do. She'd placed the bugs in the captain's quarters personally, and she wasn't naïve enough to believe that her own room was unmonitored. Miranda didn't think anyone would care she slept with this close to the end or that the data from the surveillance devices would even be forwarded, but it didn't matter. This was private. She wouldn't share Peter with anyone or anything, even a spy camera. There were two clean places on the ship. Mordin doubtlessly planned on using his laboratory to fine-tune one last prototype. Which left the area surrounding the engine core. The drive core's electromagnetic field played havoc with any surveillance devices within fifteen meters. The windows in the laboratory, armory, and on the crew deck had been an attempt to mitigate the problem, but there was still a small area away from prying eyes. All Miranda had to do was make sure the area was unoccupied. She'd been irritated by the design flaw when EDI had first told her, but now she could only be grateful.

The engineering deck was as silent and cold as a cemetery at midnight. There was no immediate sign of Jack, Zaeed, or Grunt. Probably off somewhere plotting new ways to inflict mayhem and ruin her carefully crafted battle plans. Her footsteps echoed on the metal floor as she made her way to the engine room. She didn't stop. If she stopped, she would have time to think of Donnelly, Daniels, and all the others who were supposed to be here but weren't. A blast from a nearby cooling unit struck her in the face, and Miranda shivered.

She wasn't completely alone. Tali stood hunched over her station the same as always. Miranda suppressed a groan. She knew what it was like to retreat into the comforting familiarity of work, but she wished the quarian was somewhere else. Anywhere else. Their relationship had never been more than coolly professional, but Tali had barely spoken to her in days. Miranda thought she knew why. Crew gossip was that she'd confessed that she'd been in love with Peter since the day they'd met, or something like that, and he had turned her down. Peter had refused to talk about it, which was reason enough to believe the rumor. And I was the one who "won" him. Miranda hadn't known it was a competition until after it was already over. She paused, trying to think of a way to get Tali to leave without making it sound like she was gloating. Nothing came to mind. She could raise a man from the dead, but she would never have Peter's talent for smoothing things over or turning enemies into friends. Just ask Wilson.

Tali stiffened as she approached, but didn't turn around. "Hi," she said softly.

"Hello." Miranda clasped her hands behind her back. When in doubt, be professional and assert your authority. Her voice was clipped and cold. "I trust all the readings are normal?"

"Yes."

Miranda waited for an elaboration that never came. She didn't think it was possible for quarians to be so uncommunicative when it came to ships. Well, if Tali wouldn't provide an opening, then Miranda would create one. "I need you to leave. We'll need that shielding you installed, and I need to run some simulations to gauge how much punishment it can take in a firefight." The words tasted like cotton in her mouth.

Tali turned. Her face was unreadable behind her mask, but Miranda could almost see her brow furrow and her eyes darken. The girl would have lasted five minutes on a mission that required deception. Miranda wondered if she would live long enough to learn not to wear her heart on her sleeve, then brushed the thought away.

"Why would you need to run the simulations? That's the only thing the AI is good for. I don't care what Joker says. What do you really—" She glanced around wildly as if hoping for an answer and found the door to the engine core. Her shoulders slumped as she looked from the door to Miranda to the almost imperceptible camera mounted on the ceiling that watched them both. She thought for a moment, and her shoulders slumped further. "I see." Her voice was almost a whisper. She was no longer really speaking to Miranda at all. "Never stood a chance, did I?"

Miranda didn't say anything. There was nothing she could say that wouldn't sound like a platitude. She wasn't going to tell Tali about the weeks after Oriana's rescue when she had tried to keep Peter at a professional distance. Let her think Miranda had deliberately stolen her crush. It would have been better if it were true.

Miranda only ever got to keep what she stole.

At last, Tali seemed to remember that she was still there. "I'm, er, going to the armory now. Got to make sure my shotgun still works. Can't risk it jamming against the Collectors. Is it warm in here to you?" She scurried toward the elevator.

Miranda counted to fifty before following. No need to compound the awkwardness by sharing an elevator. She was halfway across the deck when Joker's voice rang through the ship. For once, he sounded like he belonged in the military. "Engaging FTL drives. Course set for the Omega-4 relay. ETA: two hours."

Two hours. One hundred and twenty minutes. 7200 seconds. It suddenly seemed like no time at all. Her steps quickened. Best make the most of it. She couldn't help but keep time as she walked. Thirty-seven seconds to reach the elevator. Another twenty-five waiting for it to arrive. Over a minute wasted already. She resisted the urge to strike the console. Barely.

The elevator arrived and Miranda stepped inside. Her thoughts darted around her mind like hyperactive hummingbirds. Her skin prickled with fear and anticipation. She took a deep breath. Think. She had to think. Seduction wasn't that different from covert ops. You never got what you wanted without coming up with a plan. Peter liked bad jokes and lighthearted seduction. The man's idea of a good pickup line was telling her that he liked admiring her body. She could oblige him. Hiding what you really felt behind a smile was vastly preferable to dropping to your knees and confessing undying love.

There's no guarantee this will work, you know. Images flashed through her mind in rapid succession. Peter staring at her in shock and reminding her that she of all people should know that now wasn't the time. Peter baring his teeth in a mockery of a smile, laughing as he said that he'd only ever wanted one thing from her and she'd been a fool to give her heart away. Peter lying on the metal floor of some distant space station and a Collector standing over his corpse. Peter...

Enough. She would drive herself mad if this continued. All those things might come true, or none of them. She'd already let Peter past her emotional defenses, had given him the capacity to break her heart the moment she had told him about Oriana. He would keep that power whether or not she had sex with him. She might as well and enjoy herself.

The door opened with a sudden whoosh, and Miranda looked up. Peter stood frozen mid-stride, staring at her. Years of training kicked in almost automatically, and she smiled at him. "Pardon, me, commander." She pitched her voice low and stepped closer to him. He sucked in a breath. The air felt thick and warm, and Miranda fought the urge to hold her own breath. She closed the distance between them and placed one hand on his chest. His skin felt warm even through his shirt. She let her fingers play across his chest for a moment, enjoying the feel of him under her. Pride and lust intermingled. This is my handiwork.

Now or never. She leaned in close. Her breath rasped against his ear. "I've cleared the engine room. Be there in five minutes."

She looked at him. His eyes were dark and unreadable. Her smile felt suddenly frozen. Miranda had always been able to get men to eat out of her hand when she wanted to, usually with nothing more than a batted eyelash and a few well-chosen words. Her looks were her father's most obvious gift, and she used them to her best advantage, just as she used everything else he'd given her. They had never failed her. Please let them not fail now.

A moment passed. Another. But then he grinned at her and shook his head. "I should have known that you wouldn't settle for the captain's quarters."

She wanted to throw her head back and laugh. Yes. She turned around and walked back to the elevator, taking her time. She could feel his gaze on her. Let him enjoy the view. At the last moment, she turned back to him and winked. A bit overdone, perhaps, but what did it matter? He was hers. Whatever happened in the coming hours or days, he was hers for these few moments. "I settle for nothing but the best."

"Neither do I."

--

Miranda pillowed her head on Peter's chest and smiled. Her limbs were pleasantly heavy and warm. The drive core rumbled above them, sending small vibrations through her. Peter stroked her hair. His breath caressed the top of her head. Neither of them said anything. Some distant part of her mind was aware that she ought to be getting up, but she couldn't muster the will. The Collectors and Reapers seemed to belong to another universe entirely. She'd had good sex more times than she cared to count, but this easy, peaceful atmosphere was a rare thing.

"Wow," Peter said at last.

Miranda chuckled against his skin. "That all you can say?"

"Well, my back feels like it's been scraped with a cheese grater." He pressed a kiss to her forehead. "You're worth it, though."

"It was... enjoyable."

"No." She lifted her head to look at him quizzically. He was staring at her again, but any trace of flirtation or humor had vanished. "You're worth it."

"Oh." The words escaped in a whisper. Heat spread over Miranda's cheeks and her breath caught in her throat. Why did he have to say things like that? Why did he have to mean them? Don't you dare die on me, Peter Shepard. I forbid it. She didn't trust herself to say anything more. Instead, she scrambled off him and began searching for her discarded clothing.

Peter sat up and reached for his trousers. "I won't let them take you," he whispered, so softly that she might have imagined it. She looked at him, desperate for some clue as to whether he'd said what she thought he'd said. But he was busy zipping up his trousers and not looking at her. She turned away, and they dressed in silence.

"Do me a favor, Miranda?" he asked when they were done. His voice was once again the easy, charming voice of the Savior of the Citadel. Shepard, not Peter. "Let me buy you dinner next time."

Next time? Next time. She liked the sound of that. "All right."

Long time no post

jtav — Mon, 09 Aug 2010 00:13:56 GMT

No I'm not dead. I just haven't had anything to say. Unfortunately, that includes nasty writer's block.

On the off chance that someone on my f-list is familiar with both Superman and HP: would you consider an HP story with the same basic plot of "For the Man Who Has Everything" a darkfic?

My birthday is in a few days...

jtav — Sat, 05 Jun 2010 03:14:27 GMT

I'll be 26 and am suddenly feeling very old. I've also been doing some thinking about my fanfic writing career, and I've come to a few decisions.

I really need to improve my proofing skills and find a beta.
No more exchanges or fests except for yuletide. At the end of the day, I don't like writing to order that much. The one exchange story I'm well and truly proud of is "My Father Before Me" and the idea of Cedric working in the Centaur Liaison Office predated the exchange by months. My recipients deserve better.
Related to the above: I need to stop caring what people think and write what I want. Not quite sure how to do this, especially now that I'm in a smaller fandom and fixated on a less popular character. Which means having literally no audience for some of the things I want to write is a real and scary possibility. The pairing I really want to write has literally never been done. I feel like I should be writing Miranda/Shepard because there's so little good stuff, but I really want to write Miranda/Thane.
I never wrote the sequel to that Peter/Felicia story. I feel terrible about that. But the story is so old, I wonder if I should bother.

Let You Go (Liara, Miranda, PG)

jtav — Thu, 03 Jun 2010 16:15:17 GMT

Title: Let You Go
Characters/Pairings: Miranda and Liara gen. Mentions of Liara/Male Shepard
Rating: PG for some violent imagery.
Word count: 1650
Summary: Liara wrestles with her guilt at handing Shepard to Cerberus. She and Miranda discuss their next steps. Spoilers for Redemption.

"Is that him?" The security chief—Jay? Jason?—shook his head in disbelief. "He looks like a piece of meat."

Liara ignored him and stared through the glass as technicians bustled around John's body. It didn't look like John. Long, clear tubes protruded from his neck, arms and torso. His visible flesh was red and pulpy. She shivered. A piece of meat, indeed. Not a person. Certainly not her lover. "That's him." Her voice sounded faded and distant. She felt faded, wanted to lie down and sleep for a year. She had a feeling she wouldn't be able to sleep for a long time.

"Commander Shepard. First human Spectre. Guy practically killed a Reaper. On foot! No wonder the boss is willing to spend a fortune to bring him back." Something dark and bitter crept into his voice. "At least Shepard actually does things. He's a hero."

That's not all he is. She wondered if the Illusive Man cared. She and John had spent two weeks together on the Citadel before the Alliance sent him to fight geth. It had been insane. Strangers stopped him in the store to ask for his autograph. The newsvids had been consumed with him. They all wanted to know about the famous Commander Shepard. How had it felt to kill Saren? What did he say to the accusations that he'd deliberately allowed the Destiny Ascension to be destroyed? Was he seeing anyone? They'd wanted to know all about the Savior of the Citadel, and by the time he'd left for the Terminus Systems, they'd thought they did.

They hadn't. Some dismissed him as the Butcher of Torfan: a bloodthirsty monster who had sent men to their deaths with a smile on his face and cared only for human advancement. Others, mostly human, hailed him as the exemplar of what sentient life could and should be. They envied the quickness and finality with which he dealt with problems. He was a hero or a monster or maybe both at once. No one seemed interested in the man. Except her.

The security chief was speaking again. "Wonder what the Illusive Man wants with him? I haven't been with Cerberus long, but I can tell you that he doesn't do charity cases."

Liara schooled her face into what she hoped was a neutral mask. "I haven't the slightest idea." Nothing pleasant, that was certain. She remembered the small army of creepers, rachni, and husks that she and John had been forced to fight through. Cerberus had murdered Admiral Kahoku to ensure their experiments would remain secret. They had injected an Alliance soldier with thresher maw venom just to see what would happen. John had called them murderers, traitors, and monsters. So they were. They were also the only people who were willing to resurrect him. They would demand payment for that, but not from her. She hoped he would understand. He loved her. He had held her in his arms after Noveria, had called her the only good thing in his life. He would forgive her for forcing him to work for Cerberus. Wouldn't he?

"Ah, Jacob. I thought I might find you here. Curious about our new arrival?"

Liara turned. Miranda stood in the doorway, her arms folded and a slight scowl on her face. She was paler than when Liara had seen her last and looked as if she too needed sleep. A lock of hair fell in front of her face. Liara fought the urge to reach out and brush it away. It seemed... unnatural somehow that anything should be allowed to escape from Miranda Lawson's control. She took a step forward. "I need to speak to Dr. T'Soni alone." Her voice softened and she looked at Jacob with something almost like amusement. "I promise you that you'll be seeing plenty of Commander Shepard."

"Right. I'm overdue for target practice anyway." He strode briskly out of the room.

Miranda moved to stand beside Liara. She watched the technicians working on John as if she saw such things every day. Maybe she did. She'd been casual about the violence on Omega, even cracked jokes about blowing a krogan's brains out. John had made jokes as well. He'd told her that it was either laugh or go crazy. All soldiers were like that, he said. The good ones, anyway. Liara didn't think she would ever be a good soldier. A good soldier would have found a way to save both Feron and John. John would have found a way. She closed her eyes. I should have been stronger. Next time, I will be stronger.

Miranda must have read the distress on her face because she rested a hand on Liara's shoulder. It felt warm and solid, and Liara relaxed slightly. "You did very well. Better than any of us could have hoped. I just wish I had better news to give you."

Liara's head snapped up. "Better news?" Her voice sounded faint, as if it came from inside a deep well.

"It's possible that we won't be able to restore Commander Shepard. Decomposition was far worse than I hoped." Contempt crept into her voice. "There were preservation systems in the pod, of course, but they were far from ideal. Closer to what you would use to refrigerate a piece of meat that to preserve a corpse."

And there was that word again. Meat. Liara jerked away and turned her back. It had all been for nothing. She had chosen to save John—no, his corpse—over a living, breathing drell. She had signed Feron's death warrant. Now Cerberus was telling her that they might not be able to bring John back? She hardly knew whether she wanted to laugh or punch something. "Then let the dead rest. Better to call the whole thing off than get your hopes up and drag out your disappointment. Dead is dead. You ought to have known better."

"Are you talking about me? Or yourself?" Liara heard the clatter of boots on metal. "The Illusive Man remains very hopeful about the prospect of success. We're willing to spend every credit we have to bring Shepard back. It may take years, but I promise you we'll try everything." She placed her hands on Liara's arms and gently turned her to face her. "It's true that no one has ever managed to bring back a human being who is quite as... damaged as Shepard. But there was also a time when humanity couldn't even travel to our own moon, let alone explore the galaxy. Now look at us. So don't you dare tell me that I shouldn't try."

They stared at one another. Miranda's eyes were dark, and she trembled slightly. She really did believe it. It must have been a human thing. Try anything, and damn the consequences. Commit yourself totally and completely to some impossible dream and worry about what would happen when you failed. Better to fail spectacularly than succeed mundanely, etc. "And what about Feron?"

Miranda's expression darkened and she took a step back. "The drell knew the risks when he offered to help us. I told you that we're putting everything into bringing Shepard back. We don't have the resources to mount a rescue effort. It's unpleasant, but sometimes sacrifices have to be made for the greater good. And Shepard is our best hope of defeating the Reapers. Feron is nothing to that. You and I are nothing to that."

Her voice was clipped and calm. Sacrifices must be made, but did Miranda have to be so calm about it? Feron had proved himself trustworthy in the end. He deserved at least a little of her grief. "So we leave him to the Shadow Broker?"

"We leave him to the Shadow Broker. If he's lucky, it will be a quick death." She frowned. "Quite frankly, the fact that the Shadow Broker was willing to hand over Shepard's body to the Collectors concerns me far more. He knows that the Collectors are agents for the Reapers. He has to. The Shadow Broker has always been mercenary, but there's mercenary and then there's insane. If the Reapers win, the Shadow Broker will be as dead as the rest of us."

"Then he should be stopped." Something cold ran through Liara. Knowledge was power. Fifty thousand years ago, the Reapers had used the census data and other information stored on the Citadel to hunt the Protheans to extinction. She had used her knowledge of the Protheans to help find the Conduit and defeat Sovereign. She, John, and the rest of the Normandy crew had denied the Reapers access to the Citadel's vast library of information. But if the Shadow Broker could be turned, that would be better than the Citadel. The Reapers would know every secret, every weakness in the galaxy. "Do you think it's possible that he was indoctrinated like Saren was?"

"Anything's possible." She looked genuinely disturbed by the thought. "If you are right, then we all made an even more powerful enemy that I thought. And Cerberus doesn't have the resources to stop him. I'm not sure anyone does."

Someone should try. "You said reviving John might take years?" So would taking down the Shadow Broker. Even if John despised her for giving his body to Cerberus, maybe he would forgive her if she eliminated the person responsible for attempting to sell his body to the Collectors in the first place. And if the Shadow Broker was working with the Reapers, she would still be doing her part to help save the galaxy. Her mother had been more than a powerful biotic. She had been well-connected. Powerful people owed her favors—favors they would be more than happy to repay to her daughter. None of them would know the Shadow Broker's true identity, but one of them might know someone who knew someone who could provide the first clue.

"Let me put it this way: I wouldn't sit around here waiting for Shepard to wake up."

Liara almost smiled. "Don't worry. I won't."

End in sight

jtav — Sat, 24 Apr 2010 12:59:19 GMT

End for H/G story in sight. Yippee. Think it's going to be slightly longer than anticipated. I wish I had the time and inclination to do the novella version. It was awesome.

Ugh

jtav — Fri, 16 Apr 2010 17:54:40 GMT

takingitinturns story is kicking my ass. I don't get it. It's simple. It's short. And giving me hell. This is not the fault of my recipient, who gave me a perfectly wonderful request. It's mine. flyingcarpet I promise you the story will be posted today if it kills me.

After that, I'm going on indefinite hiatus from HP. I feel like I've said all I have to say, and a couple of new fandoms have devoured my brain.

Be All Our Sins Remembered (Miranda/Male Shepard, R) 2/2

jtav — Wed, 31 Mar 2010 17:48:48 GMT

Title: Be All Our Sins Remembered
Rating: R for strong language, violence, and non-graphic torture
Characters: Miranda/Male Shepard, Jack, Toombs
Summary: Akuze, Chasca, Teltin. Tragedies all, but Cerberus had nothing to do with them. Miranda had nothing to do with them. Right?

"Anomoly detected."

Miranda let out a silent cheer. They had been surveying the Caleon Nebula for the last three days. It was rich in eezo, and they never had enough of that. That didn't make mining it any less soul crushingly monotonous. Stopping a missile from destroying a colony or recovering stolen cargo from mercenaries would be almost refreshing. If she were lucky, maybe she would get to shoot a few Eclipse mercs.

"What have we got, EDI?" Shepard sounded almost as eager as she felt.

"Scans are picking up two sets of radio chatter, as well as what appears to be a crude research facility. The first set of transmissions is using a slightly modified version of encryption protocols that were once standard for Cerberus operations requiring the highest security clearance. However, this particular protocol has not been in use for over five years."

That was odd. Encryption keys were changed every six months, more often if the Illusive Man felt that the Alliance or the Council was getting too close to cracking one. It was a constant arms race, and one every Cerberus agent took seriously. Cerberus wasn't the band of monsters people like Jack believed them to be, but they did things that governments were unable or unwilling to do. Secrecy was vital. Something serious must have happened. Or they were dealing with yet another rogue cell that didn't have access to current security measures. "You said there were two sets of chatter. What about the second?"

"It manages known Blue Suns protocols, though activity appears to be usually frequent. Would you like to patch you in?"

"Yes," said Shepard and Miranda simultaneously. They looked at each other, and Shepard smiled slightly before returning his attention to the CIC. "This should be good."

There was a crackle of static as they tuned in. "Requesting reinforcements at my position," a woman said calmly. These Cerberus bastards have me pinned down. Sorasky and Chen are down. That acid of theirs cuts right through our armor." Gunfire rang in the background.

"Affirmative. I'm down to one man, LT. Hope that's enough for you."

"Enough to cover us as we get the hell out of here, maybe."

"Oh, for the love of God!" cut in a new voice. "I'm not paying you to retreat. You told me there were six lab techs and scientists in there. My mother could handle them, Lieutenant Carver. I'm coming in there."

"You're welcome to try, Mister Toombs. God help you."

The channel fell silent. "Damn it, corporal." Shepard whispered. "What are you up to now?"

"Given Corporal Toombs psychological profile and personal history, as well as the fighting apparently ongoing, it is likely he believes those working at the facility are in some way responsible for the massacre on Akuze and is attempting to extract vengeance."

"That was a rhetorical question, EDI." He shook his head. "It looks like I didn't get them all. I want the shuttle ready in five minutes. Samara, you're with me."

"As you wish." Both of them marched toward the elevator.

"I'm going with you," Miranda said quickly. "If these people are responsible for Akuze, I want to deal with them myself. Cerberus takes care of its own, including its own problems." And I will prove to you once and for all that Cerberus is not responsible for what happened to you.

"Have it your way. Word of advice: don't tell Toombs who you work for. Say you're a bounty hunter I hired on Omega or something. He's not as discriminating as I am."

She had to hand it to the scientists. Taviz was the perfect planet if you wanted to be left alone to conduct illegal or unethical research. It was an unremarkable place, barely larger than an asteroid and completely devoid of economic or strategic value. The atmosphere was a thin layer of argon, and the environment was inhospitable to life of any kind. The planet was also bloody cold. The chill bit through her armor and worked its way inside her skin. Ice covered the ground as far as the eye could see. Whatever was happening inside the research facility, she hoped the heat still worked.

The facility itself stretched across a flat plain. It had definitely been a Cerberus installation at one time. Like all their secret facilities, it had been constructed from interchangeable, off the shelf modules, but there were patterns and markers even in anonymity: the placement of the entrance on the far side of the easiest approach so that intruders would be under fire longer, strategically placed crates and other objects ensured those intruders couldn't make a straight shot for the door, dummy communications towers that hid antitank guns. The remains of those guns sat watch over the landscape, twisted black metal against a sea of white. Whatever problems the Blue Suns were currently having, entering the facility hadn't been one of them.

The door control had been blown off, and the door itself stood open. Shooting the lock off instead of picking it. Miranda frowned. This was closer to Blood Pack handiwork than that of the Blue Suns. They usually preferred more finesse. Toombs must've wanted this job done quickly. Haste had made them sloppy. If they'd taken their time with the door, they might have retained the element of surprise. Idiots.

The corridors were long, bare, and clinically white. Her helmet's breathers filtered the worst of the smell, but the stench of burning flesh filled the air. Two bodies had been left to lie where they fell. The chest plates of their armor had been eaten away. Miranda could see their skin, red and puckered like hamburger meat. "What the hell happened here?"

"I think I know." Shepard knelt before one of the bodies. His voice sounded very far away. "It’s thresher maw venom. I'd recognize the marks anywhere. Looks like Cerberus is up to its old tricks. No wonder Toombs wants to slaughter them." He rose. "He isn't the only one."

Weaponized thresher maw venom? Lovely. One hit from that would cut through kinetic barriers and kill or disable anything short of a tank. It was no wonder a group of unarmored scientists had been able to hold off a band of mercenaries. The only way to survive would be not to get hit, and that would require luck. Miranda had always preferred being good being lucky. "Follow me. We don't stand a chance if we go in blind."

Cerberus facilities were like krogan. Everything had a backup. If one part was destroyed or overrun, then the secondary system could be accessed in an emergency. This included the security console. She should be able to find it and access the cameras get a better idea of what they were up against. Maybe she'd even find something that could help them. "Look for a room with a single terminal. No VIs, no extranet capability, but plenty of monitors."

She could hear the faint sound of gunfire coming from the west, so Miranda headed in the opposite direction. There was no sense looking for trouble. They passed storage rooms, offices, and what might have been a medical bay. Miranda kept one eye out for additional mercenaries or scientists, but they encountered nothing, not even so much as a combat drone. Were it not for the increasingly distant sounds of battle, she could almost believe that the facility was deserted.

Her other eye, she kept on Shepard. There was a tension in him that she had never seen before, not even when they were fighting for their lives on Horizon. It was not the coiling of a serpent waiting to strike. This was the preparation of someone who expected to be struck. His psych profile made no mention of posttraumatic stress disorder, but the Alliance and its soldiers was notorious for sticking their fingers in their ears when it came to mental disorders. The last thing she needed was for him to have a flashback if he did see acid flying at him again. "Are you going to be able to deal with this?"

"I've killed a Reaper. I think I can handle a few scientists." She could hear the smirk in his voice.

"That wasn't what I meant."

"I know." He sobered. "I can deal with it. I don't have a choice."

"Excuse me," Samara called from some distance ahead of them, "but I believe I have found something."

Miranda and Shepard jogged forward to find him standing at the entrance of a room about the size of a walk-in closet. It was empty except for a single terminal that would have been out of date a decade ago and a bank of monitors. Jackpot. Shepard eyed the computer clinically and activated his omni-tool. "I haven't seen anything this crude in years. You would think that the Illusive Man would have sprung for top of the line."

"It doesn't have to be top of the line. It just has to work. She pushed past him. "I suggest you find somewhere comfortable to stand. It will take some time to override the system."

The console beeped. "Access to all systems granted."

Miranda whipped her head around to stare at Shepard. "How did you do that?"

He shrugged. "I'm trained to hack into things. Well, and make weapons malfunction. Mostly hacking."

She shook her head. "Can you use that training of yours and get me logs or data or something to give me an idea of what's going on here?"

He could.

June 17, 2177

Alliance encounter with thresher maw a success. 49 casualties within 9.3 hours. Venom extremely effective against conventional armor. Recovered corpses have had their epidermis stripped away in areas they came in contact with venom. Have recovered one living subject for use in further tests.

August 24, 2177

We have begun injections into Subject 1. Venom appears to cause extreme pain when introduced into the bloodstream. Subject scream and appears to suffer convulsions. Mild cellular degeneration detected, but long-term effects are unclear. Further tests recommended.

November 21, 2180 -- Elijah Wayne's Personal Log

Toombs has escaped. I have ordered my team to scatter for the time being. He's likely to come after us, but I refuse to give up on weaponizing this venom. The potential is too great. [Reference to off-site personnel. Project lead access required] was right. We could revolutionize warfare. I've kept most of her and our notes. We should be able to reconstitute our findings easily enough.

[Communication from off-site personnel. Project lead access required.]

November 16, 2183 -- George Kemble's Personal Log

Wayne's dead. Can't say I miss him. He always treated me like dirt. He always treated me Turns out the other guy who survived the original attack is a Spectre now. I'm the last survivor of the original Project Ares. The Illusive Man would tell me we've already lost too many operatives on this, but I refuse to let their deaths be in vain. I'm going to finish what we started six years ago. If I have to kill another squad of Marines, I will.

April 23, 2185

Success. Prototype hand cannon is ready for field test.

April 25, 2185

Blue Suns mercenary team inbound. They'll do.

Miranda closed her eyes. More rogues and monsters. There was only one way to deal with them. "I promise you that I will personally purge this facility. What happened to you, Toombs, and the rest of your squad will never happen again. I swear it."

"Fighting to avenge Cerberus' good name, Operative Lawson?"

Not just that. "Of course. I told you, we take care of our own problems." She returned her attention to the terminal. "Let's see if we can find Kemble, shall we? I want a look at the security footage."

One of the monitors flickered to life. The picture was grainy, but Miranda could make out what was happening well enough. A man in a Cerberus uniform was crouched behind a long metal table, flanked by a pair of THOR mechs. Their appearance was cruder than that of LOKIs -- these bore a striking resemblance to Robbie the Robot-- but their aim was almost as good. The one on the left shot and hit a Blue Suns merc in the chest. He fell. Wonderful. Now they have to deal with not only the armed scientists, but an unknown number of mechs.

Mechs. Wait a minute. Wilson had shown her how easily mechs could be turned against their masters, and he had been able to reverse their friend/foe targeting en masse. If Shepard could do the same thing, it would make their job much easier.

Shepard must have had the same idea. He activated his omni-tool and studied the readings. "I might be able to use this terminal to broadcast a signal that will screw with their targeting computers. It'll be just like Lazarus Station. Fun times."

"Do it." Miranda watched as the mechs turned on the scientists. The resulting battle was short and bloody. Most of the scientists didn't even have time to be surprised. Miranda almost felt sorry for them. Almost. Shepard was right. They have gone rogue. For all she knew, they wanted to recreate Akuze. They deserved their deaths. This was the only justice some people ever received.

The sound of footsteps and labored, mechanical breathing startled Miranda from her reverie. A figure covered from head to toe in battered and scarred Blue Suns armor rushed down the corridor. Miranda put one hand on her pistol and saw the others do likewise. The figure didn't notice any of them until it had almost passed. Then it stopped short and stared at them. The next thing Maranda knew, she was staring down the end of an assault rifle. She drew her own weapon in response.

"Who are you?" said a woman Miranda recognized as Lieutenant Carver. "Nobody's supposed to be here except for the scientists, and you sure aren't one of those. You have until the count of three to identify yourself. One..."

"Easy," said Shepard. "We're on your side. Our ship picked up some of your radio chatter, and it sounded like you could use a hand."

"Two..."

"I'm Commander Shepard of the Normandy."

"Thr -- did you say Shepard?" Shepard nodded, and she lowered her rifle a fraction of an inch. "You're supposed to be dead."

"I get that a lot. And you are?"

"Lieutenant Natalie Carver, Blue Suns. You sound like Shepard. I was with the Dresden during the Battle of the Citadel." She lowered her gun the rest of the way. "I knew something was up. The Council pushed you to the side way too fast after you died. Six months later, and it was like you'd never existed. But some of us remember what you did. You're a damned hero." She shook her head. "Toombs is pissed at you, though. Thinks you joined up with Cerberus."

"Commander Shepard is part of a deep cover operation working to undermine Cerberus from within." The best cover was what your target wanted to believe in the first place. Miranda extended her hand. "Miranda Lawson, Systems Alliance Intelligence Command. Why can you tell us about what happened here?"

"Toombs hired us to clear this place out, said the scientists here were working on something really disgusting. His credits were good, and it sounded better than most of the jobs I've been on. My team went in fast and hard just like he wanted. It was supposed to be easy. But the scientists, they..." She trailed off.

"They had weapons you didn't expect," Shepard prompted.

She nodded. "Weird silver hand cannon things that cut through our shields and armor like butter. Chen looked like he'd been burned alive. I thought I was dead for sure, but the mechs started firing on the scientists. Was that you?"

Shepard nodded. "What about Toombs? Where's he now?"

"Labs. Down the hall to your right. He said he was looking for, and I quote: 'the bitch who started all this.' He screamed about Akuze a lot, seemed to think she had something to do with that, too. I wasn't listening too closely. Getting my men killed is not good for my attention span. I'm doing what I can to see if any of my men survived, and then I am out of here. Toombs can go to hell."

She left. "Guess that's our cue to leave," Shepard said. "Whatever Kemble was working on died with him, and Toombs can take care of himself."

"Our job isn't done. Not quite. We need to get to the labs." Rogue or not, this facility contained top secret Cerberus project data. She couldn't let it fall into the wrong hands. "I want to know what 'off-site personnel thought it was a good idea to send Alliance Marines to their deaths."

"I quite agree," Samara said. "Whoever ordered these experiments is just as much at fault as those who carried them out."

"Fine. But if there is someone else involved..." Shepard looked down at his pistol. "You remember what I promised?"

The labs turned out to be a large room. Two long metal tables covered with all manner of instruments and equipment dominated the room. A door at the back led to a private office. Tanks and canisters lined the wall. Liquid the color of vomit bubbled ominously within. Terminals beeped and whirred, still processing data that no one would ever examine. And then, there were the bodies: six men and women in Cerberus uniform lay scattered around the room. There flesh had been burned away where the venom had struck them, and the remains of THOR mechs littered the floor

As promised, there was one living figure among the carnage. An armored figure that she assumed was Toombs knelt over one of the bodies. "Which one are you? You can't hide from me forever. There's got to be ID cards or personnel records or something."

Shepard cleared his throat. "I don't think they have ID cards, corporal. Secrecy would have been paramount."

Toombs rocketed upward and rounded on them. For the second time in five minutes, someone was pointing a gun at them. This gun, however, was like none she'd ever seen before. It was roughly the shape of a hand cannon but large, silver, and bulky. He must have lifted it from one of the scientists. "Shepard! You lying, traitorous Cerberus bastard! I thought you'd know better than to show your face here."

"I'm not working with Cerberus. I'm..." he inclined his head slightly toward Miranda. "... undercover. Working to bring Cerberus down from within."

His suit gave Toombs laugh a tinny, hollow quality. "Do you expect me to believe that?"

Shepard stepped forward. "You know me, corporal. You know what they did to us. You saw me kill Wayne. Do you really think I would work with the people who wiped out my entire squad?" He extended his hand. "I was the one who set the mechs on the scientists. I want them dead much as you do."

Toombs didn't take it. "Then prove it. I didn't come here just shut down this facility and stop them from making these babies." He tilted his gun to the side. "That's just gravy. I finally found out who sicced the thresher maw on us in the first place. Help me find her, and I might start believing you. I want a nice long look at her corpse."

"You aren't the only one. Who are we looking for?"

Toombs spit out the words as if they were rotten varren meat. "Miranda Lawson. What happened on Akuze was her idea."

Time stopped. Miranda see nothing, hear nothing. Her entire world had narrowed to that one sentence: "What happened on Akuze was her idea." It wasn't true. It couldn't be true. She would never condone what had happened to those Marines. Killing them would have done nothing to advance the cause of humanity. And she would never do anything to harm the commander. The closest she had ever come was one memorandum on bioweaponry a decade.

Wait. She had suggested weaponizing the thresher maw venom in that memo. This facility had successfully weaponized thresher maw venom. This facility was a rogue Cerberus installation. Something vast and cold and empty clawed at her. That memo had only ever been shown to the Illusive Men, and he had dismissed it. He had the only copy, and it was virtually impossible to hack into his private databases. This has to be a coincidence. Dr. Wayne or one of his associates must have hit upon the idea independently. She was separate from rogue elements like him and the Teltin facility by a wall a mile wide and an inch deep. Never the twain shall meet.

Shepard's gaze bored into her. She could feel him mentally stripping away her armor layer by layer. His face was inscrutable behind his mask. Did he believe Toombs' ridiculous assertions? No, they were preposterous. This whole situation was preposterous. He knew her. Damn these stupid helmets. And damn her for wanting to see his face so much. Finally, he spoke, "Never heard of her." His tone was easy, casual, as if they were discussing nothing more important than quasar strategy.

"I figure she's got to be pretty high up in the organization. If you didn't just kill her, I bet she's stashed away on some garden world sipping piña coladas. Probably laughing about what she put us through. But I'll find her, and you and your crew are going to help me. I need someone to get into the terminal back there." He gestured at the office. "It's locked so that only the project director can get in. If there's any info on Lawson, it'll be in there. I figured that since you took care of the mechs, you might be able to get in."

I assure you that I am not laughing. "Our pleasure."

"Thought so. I need to find Carver. She has the access codes to the ship."

Toombs left. Shepard turned on her. His moves were halting and jerky, like the Tin Man in the remastered vids of the Wizard of Oz she had seen as a child. His shoulders hunched as he bowed his head. "It's not true, is it?"

"Of course not. I'll prove it." Toombs was right about one thing. If there was any information about who had ordered Akuze, it would be part of Kemble's private, encrypted files. She would find out who was responsible. This wasn't about Cerberus or rogue cells anymore. She needed to know for her own sake. If she refused to look, she would always wonder if it might somehow be true. So would Shepard. Miranda refused to be a coward. "I just need you to get me a look at those files."

The office was small and impersonal. There were no photographs of family or pets or unusual paperweights, nothing to break up the endless sea of gray and white. It could have passed for Miranda's own office on Lazarus Station. The thought made her feel faintly ill. Perhaps she would buy a plant the next time she was on the Citadel. "You can get them, right?"

"Of course I can," Shepard snapped as he pulled up a chair. He pressed a button on his omni-tool and was rewarded with a loud, high-pitched beep. "Damn it! I suggest you do find somewhere comfortable to stand this time. This is going to take a while."

Miranda walked back to the main laboratory. The bodies were easier to look at than Shepard. One of the mercenaries was sprawled face up in front of her. His chest had been burned away so that Miranda could see the bone sticking out. She had been right about one thing. The thresher maw venom was a brutally effective weapon in the proper hands. Humanity needed every possible advantage to maintain its independence. Galactic cooperation was all well and good, but only equals could cooperate. If the Alliance could not maintain military parity, they would become the Council's servants instead of their partners. To do that, humanity had to do what it did best: innovate. And they had.

Samara studied her intently, and Miranda instinctively straightened. The justicar had always made her slightly uncomfortable. Certainly, she admired her keen sense of purpose. Her competence was unquestionable, and she was considerably more stable than Jack. That didn't change the fact that she would kill the entire crew of the Normandy where they stood were it not for her oath. There was no room for Cerberus' gray in her black and white world. "Yes?"

"I was merely thinking about the accusations levied against you. You are holding up remarkably well for someone accused of murdering forty-nine people."

"That's because I didn't murder anyone. I only kill people who deserve it or when there's no other way. Sending those marines to their deaths made no sense. It drew too much attention." If she had been allowed to pursue her suggestions, she would have ordered tests against pirates or slavers. No one would miss them, and the galaxy would be a better place. But she hadn't been put in charge. Her memorandum was sitting safe and unread in the Illusive Man's databases.

"That depends on your definition of 'sense,' does it not? A military target would provide the best showcase of the thresher maw's power. If you want to know a weapon's capability you must test it against the strongest possible opponent. As for the attention, it took six years for anyone to know Akuze was anything other than a random and tragic attack by a wild animal."

Miranda opened her moth to respond, but was interrupted by a loud crash coming from the direction of Kemble's office. "Miranda!" Shepard yelled. He had found something, but it didn't sound like anything she wanted to hear. Miranda raced after him.

Shepard had knocked his chair to the ground. He stood staring at the terminal, unmoving except for clenching and unclenching his fist at regular intervals. "Look at this." He stepped back to allow her to pass. Miranda took a deep breath. She had promised herself that she wouldn't be a coward, but her boots felt as if they were filled with cement as she walked forward. Every instinct screamed at her to run. But there was nowhere to run, was there? She read.

Toombs has escaped. I have ordered my team to scatter for the time being. He's likely to come after us, but I refuse to give up on weaponizing this venom. The potential is too great. Operative Lawson was right. We could revolutionize warfare. I've kept most of her and our notes. We should be able to reconstitute our findings easily enough.

No. No. She wasn't reading this correctly. Or it was a fake. Her hands felt cold and clammy. Let it be a fake. She was supposed to eliminate those responsible for atrocities like Akuze, not inspire one. No one except she and the Illusive Man were ever supposed to know that she had suggested using the venom as a weapon. This wasn't supposed to happen. She kept reading.

Classified STG reports make mention of a creature called a thresher maw. It emits a highly corrosive acid from its mouth that is capable of destroying armored vehicles. I propose we investigate the possibility of replicating and mass producing it. It could prove vital protecting human interest in the Traverse or in case the Council races turn on us again.

Miranda had read enough to recognize her own words. She was the "off-site personnel" she had been looking for. Wayne, Kemble, and the others had twisted her words and arranged Akuze to test her theories. Toombs had been telling the truth. "Oh, God," she whispered.

"So it is true." Shepard turned away from her. His voice had that odd, robotic quality again. He seemed smaller somehow, less legendary, but this time he was anything but approachable.

She would not run. He had always understood her before. She would make him understand now. Miranda rose shakily to her feet and put a hand on his shoulder. "I didn't mean for --"

He jerked his arm away so quickly that Miranda nearly lost her balance. You didn't mean for this to happen?" He laughed, but it came out as something closer to a choked sob. "You wanted them to create more thresher maw venom. How did you think they were going to test it? Set up some targets at a firing range? God, I never thought you were stupid, Lawson. Or maybe it was just me."

"I thought they would be tested on batarian slavers. People who deserved it. Never the Alliance. Never you."

"Well, isn't that refreshing?" He turned back to face her. "You write a memo suggesting developing illegal biological weaponry, send it up the chain of command of a terrorist organization, and then you complain about who those terrorists test it on. I was wrong; you are stupid. How you managed to bring me back to life I will never understand. Tell me, what's the real reason you're in charge? Is the Illusive Man so hung up on creating the perfect human that he hired you for your genome and forgot to check your competence? You're nothing more than a mascot."

Miranda recoiled. So much for him being different from the rest. He would mock her just as cruelly as Jack. No, it was worse. He knew her, knew how hard it had been for that trust him with her insecurities and how much it mattered that he had valued her as a person. And he had thrown it back in her face. "Believe what you want."

"What I want? What I wanted to believe is that you're a good person! I wanted to believe you when you said you'd never do anything like this. I wanted to believe that I wasn't betraying my men because I was falling in love with the woman responsible for sending them to their deaths."

"Falling in --" Wait. That was irrelevant. "I wrote a memo. I sent it to the Illusive Man, but he refused to act on it. What happened afterward is not my concern."

"Always trying to evade responsibility. You are the real Cerberus." His tone was suddenly brisk and official. "But for you, there would have been know massacre on Akuze. Let's see, that's forty-nine counts of manslaughter at the very least, war crimes, and destruction of military property. Possibly treason. I'm still a Spectre. I should arrest you." He shook his head. "No, your kind never get justice."

"You're wrong, Shepard," said Toombs quietly. "They do if we kill them." Miranda heard something click. "Isn't that right, Agent Lawson?"

She and Shepard both turned. Toombs stood in the doorway, pointing the gun at her. "In between telling me how many ways that I could screw myself, Carver happened to mention that the commander here was working with an Alliance agent named Miranda Lawson. I always knew you were a snake, Shepard. Did you bring her here so she could kill me? Hush up the only person who could expose her?"

Miranda forced herself to keep her breathing slow and even. The first rule of covert operations was never to panic, even if your cover had been blown. The second was to evaluate and eliminate the threat as quickly as possible. The first order of business was to get that gun away from him. She flicked her wrist and sent a biotic pulse to rip it from his hands. Toombs sidestepped. His omni-tool sprang to life. Shepard took a step forward, whether to stop her or Toombs she neither knew nor cared. His own omni-tool was glowing as well. Miranda readied another pulse, larger and strong enough to dislocate Toombs' shoulder, and --

-- pain filled her. Miranda fell to her knees. It wasn't like normal pain. This was something hot and burning, molten lava that raced through her nervous system and enveloped her until it was the only thing left in the world. Miranda bit her lip. She would not scream. She would not give him the satisfaction.

"Try those fancy biotics of yours now." He crossed the room to stand in front of her. Perfect man stopper, they told me. I can deploy it in seconds, and nothing can stop it until it's run its course. "Don't worry, there won't be any permanent damage. Not that it matters. I just want you to know what it's like to be in so much pain that you can't breathe." His voice was suddenly soft. "I lived with it for three years. You can live with it for three minutes."

"Operative Lawson deserves to be punished, but not like this," Samara said. "No one deserves torture." She heard the sound of a clip being loaded.

"Why not? I was tortured on her orders. I want her to know what it was like. The way the venom burns as it runs across your skin. The fear.: He knelt down so they were at eye level. "I want you to beg like I begged. And then I'm going to kill you. And then I am going to kill every other Cerberus bastard I can find."

"Not...Cerberus. Not my fault."

"Shut up! I heard the scientists talking when they thought I was too sick to pay attention. Their Illusive Man wanted a superweapon, something to give them an edge against the Council races. He was going to be so proud of them, long as his 'pet' didn't find out what they were doing."

No, he wouldn't The Illusive Man would never have condoned killing Alliance soldiers unless there was no other way. He had shut down Teltin. He'd promised her that everything Cerberus did was ultimately for the good of humanity. They had standards. But why would Wayne and the others even say the Illusive Man authorized this project? There was no benefit. Toombs wouldn't have cared. The Illusive Man had refused to let pursue the project, and she was more brilliant than Wayne. That made no sense. He always assigned the most competent people to a project.

Unless you were the "pet." Samara's right. Tests on a military target would make more sense. How would you have reacted if he had asked you to organize the attack on Akuze? And how else did your memo make it into Wayne and Kemble's hands? Miranda shook her head. That was insane. The pain was making her delirious. "Rot in hell."

"Enough!" Shepard's voice cut through the air. Miranda could see his boots out of the corner of her eye. He had circled around the left of Toombs. "I'm not going to let you kill her, corporal. It's not worth it. This isn't what I wanted."

Toombs jerked his head around. "Not worth it?" You said so yourself: if it wasn't for her, there would have been no Akuze. It's not like she'll ever see prison. This is the only kind of justice she'll ever see." He pressed the gun to her skull and fired.

Nothing happened. Toombs pulled the trigger again. Still nothing. "What the hell?"

"I'm trained to make weapons malfunction, remember?. Now, stand down! I told you that I don't want her dead."

"It's not about what you want! It's about justice." He tossed the hand cannon to the side. "Guess I'll have to do it the old-fashioned way." Miranda heard the sound of a pistol being unholstered. The sound of a gunshot rang in her ears. She closed her eyes. She was not as frightened as she thought she ought to be. Death was better than pain. Certainly better than doubt. Only... I'm sorry, Oriana. Enjoy college for me.

"You can open you eyes now, Lawson. Toombs is dead."

Toombs was sprawled face up in front of her. A bullet had ripped a ragged hole in the side of his helmet. Shepard knelt beside him. "You deserved better, Corporal Toombs," he said quietly. "I'm going to have to apologize to Jack. I killed the guy who suffered more than I did, after all." He turned his attention to her. "Can you stand?"

Every cell in her body shouted an empathetic no "I... don't think so."

"Samara, help her up." He activated his suit radio. "Normandy, this is Commander Shepard. We have a man down. I want med bay standing by." He stood. "Come on, I've had enough of this place for a lifetime."

--

The next day passed in a haze of painkillers. As Toombs had promised, there was no permanent damage, but her muscles still screamed in protest every time she moved. Chakwas was in and out, but made no attempt at conversation beyond the occasional order to "drink this" or "try flexing your index finger." Miranda was grateful. She doubted she could explain what had happened down there. She could barely explain it to herself.

Toombs' words still nagged at her. She'd always believed that the Illusive Man had humanity's best interest at heart. She had met him only twice, but he had radiated purpose and conviction. Her judgments were always right on the money. And yet, she doubted. If she were wrong, then fifty Alliance marines were dead because she had trusted the wrong man. There was no doubt an e-mail from Cerberus Command waiting for her at her private terminal that would explain all this. Miranda doubted that it would be enough. She needed proof, not assurances. "EDI, can you find any references to Project Ares in Cerberus databanks?"

"I'm sorry, Operative Lawson. The blocks in my programming prevent me from accessing that information."

Miranda sighed. Of course, it wouldn't be that easy. Nothing ever was. There were less obvious channels she could try. Ish owed her a favor for saving him from being murdered by Aria. He had a tendency to overreach occasionally, but there was no denying his brilliance. He could go places and ask questions that she, as a Cerberus officer, couldn't without arousing suspicion. He'd consider it a thrilling test of his abilities.

Then the only question that remained was whether she wanted to ask him. Passing technically classified information to Jacob was one thing. This was something else. Even if Project Ares wasn't authorized, the Illusive Man would not take kindly to snooping. If it was authorized... well, she wouldn't let herself think about that. Perhaps it was better just to accept whatever the official explanation was and concentrate on the Collectors. She was not a child. She didn't need someone to hold her hand and tell her that everything was going to be all right. She was strong enough to deal with this temporary crisis of faith on her own.

Or too frightened to deal with it at all. You don't want the truth. You want to be exonerated. Suppose Ish corroborates everything Toombs said. Shepard would be right. Project Ares would be the real Cerberus. And so would you.

Shepard. She hadn't seen him since they'd returned to the Normandy. Perhaps that was for the best. She had nothing to say to him. Whatever intimacy they had developed over the last two months had been shattered. He had saved her life in the end, yes, but not before grinding her face in the dirt. There was no sense admitting her doubts or weaknesses to him. He would only throw them back in her face. The best she could hope for was the civil and professional relationship of commanding officer and his XO. She should never have wanted anything else. She didn't want anything else.

"Well, if it isn't the poor, crippled cheerleader licking her wounds." Jack's expression bore a striking resemblance to that of a lion faced with a tasty zebra. "Where's the doc?"

"In the mess. Eating dinner with the rest of the crew." Miranda forced herself into a sitting position. "I suggest that you do likewise. I have neither the energy nor the inclination to humor you. Please leave."

"Please." Jack sneered. "Awfully polite now that you don't have the commander around to rescue you. Heard he leaves the room every time someone mentions your name." She sauntered forward. "What happened? Did he finally figure out that you're a Cerberus whore?"

"I told you to leave."

Jack ignored her. "Thought you were a perfect little princess, didn't he? And then he finally figures out that you get off on torturing kids and killing people just the same as the rest of them. I knew it'd happen someday." She paused, obviously waiting for something. "Aren't you going to try to feed me the same old shit about 'rogue cells' and Cerberus not being responsible for anything that's not puppies and rainbows? Or are you finally going to admit that you fucked up my life?"

Miranda closed her eyes. The denial stuck in her throat. Jack wanted her to bow and scrape on Cerberus' behalf. She would be disappointed. Miranda refused to apologize until she knew there was something to apologize for, and she refused to apologize to Jack at all. But the prospect of Cerberus torturing children no longer seemed as remote as it should have, and so the denial would not come. Miranda felt suddenly tired. "You suffered horribly as a child. What they did to you at Teltin is repulsive."

"I don't need sympathy from you. Go to hell." She turned on her heel and left.

Miranda watched her. Or maybe what we did is repulsive. No, she wouldn't let herself think that. She couldn't let herself think that. Not yet. "EDI, I want you to pull up my contacts list. I need to find Ish."

"May I ask your purpose?"

"A... personal matter." She sighed. "Nothing to be concerned over."

Be All Our Sins Remembered (Miranda/Male Shepard, R) 1/2

jtav — Tue, 30 Mar 2010 17:38:28 GMT

jtav — Fri, 26 Mar 2010 18:05:35 GMT

I have signed up to do a prompt for lgbtfest. I am really nervous because this is pretty far out of my comfort zone. Wish me luck. It'll be posted May 2.

merry_marvels fic is done. I'll be posting it once I go over it again.

takingitinturns fic has been outlined. Shouldn't take too long to do.

help_haiti fics are giving me trouble still. The fact that I've lost interest in the fandom doesn't help.

.

takingitinturns and shiny new fandoms

jtav — Fri, 12 Mar 2010 00:28:54 GMT

I've come up with a takingitinturns outline that I'm happy with. I expect the fic will be rather controversial, however, so I hope my recipient likes it. The sad thing is that other than this one fic I have completely lost interest in HP. I don't want to write any other fics for it. I have a shiny new fandom that's completely eaten my brain in the form of Mass Effect. This is not making my charity pieces easy to work on. At all.