Chapter 45

Miranda

The Human Alliance State Department building looked just about the same as all the neighboring structures clustered near the wide expanse of the central Presidium gardens. The flag of the Systems Alliance flying outside the entrance, next to one adorned with the Council seal, was the only obvious element that identified the place as the current home of humanity's legitimately recognized government. That and the four heavily armored Alliance marines stationed outside the door.

Miranda emerged from the sublevel transit terminal, strode across the connecting footbridge, and exchanged a polite nod of greeting with the marine fireteam leader.

"Good morning, Sergeant," she said, her expression a carefully calibrated neutral.

"Ma'am," the big soldier said, the hint of contempt in his voice almost entirely masked by his helmet's integrated speakers. Miranda had grown accustomed to it. Mbeki, the name tape stamped on the left chest plate of his armor read. In truth, she was a little impressed he came close to successfully concealing his disdain for her. But he was a professional, she supposed. At any rate, she didn't spare the effort to take it personally. Her presence among civilized Alliance society elicited all sorts of subtle commentaries, spoken or otherwise. Besides, she was no hypocrite. She understood perfectly well it wasn't all that long ago that a chance encounter between her and this soldier's unit would have almost surely ended in violence.

Miranda passed Sergeant Mbeki and his men without another glance and stepped through to the lobby where the building's general security checkpoints were situated.

Inside, she was met with the typical smattering of curious glances and the occasional vaguely hostile stare. The main lobby was always busy these days, crowded with visitors, various governmental dignitaries, staff arriving for work, and a sizeable detachment of security personnel tasked with processing everyone entering the building.

After more than a month on the job, the guards were accustomed to her and too busy to engage her with anything more than the usual formalities. The visitors were the ones more likely to gape. Most were merely curious to catch a glimpse of the striking woman whose name kept popping up on the network vids. But there were almost always one or two others, people with longer memories or stronger prejudices who looked at her and saw only a terrorist.

She ignored them all and approached the checkpoint reserved for State Department staff, scanning here ID at the entrance and giving the young female corporal stationed there a faint smile.

Styled in her typically figure-flattering black and white business suit and heels, Miranda had nothing except her personal hand terminal to surrender at the security screening kiosk. The provisional Alliance military rank of major was still technically hers, but here on the Citadel and while officially working for State the title was little more than an honorific, without the implied honor. In fact, representatives of the fleet had gone out of their way to strongly discourage her from wearing the uniform at any time while on the station. That was fine with her. Her Navy-issued BDUs weren't the most comfortable garments hanging in her wardrobe. But as if to prevent any thought from creeping into her mind that she was truly accepted as one of them, she'd also been expressly forbidden to carry a sidearm while in any public space.

She allowed herself an internal, wicked smile at the idea. As if she needed a service pistol strapped to her leg to pose a deadly threat. Her body was her primary weapon. And despite the best efforts of the SAIS to neuter her powers, and thanks to the treatment Mordin had developed for her before he died and that Doctor Chakwas continued to administer, Miranda's biotic abilities were feeling as sharp as ever.

She breezed through the weapons, chemical, and bio-hazard scanners and collected her datapad before marching to the bank of elevators at the other end of the lobby. Emerging on the seventh floor, she strode through another long corridor and scanned her ID at the secure door to her department, the heavy locking bolts releasing with a solid click.

Inside, a few members of the research and analysis team were already there, seated at their desks and head-down in their work. She greeted them as she passed and made straight for her office at the back.

Is was a big space, taking up half the floor's square footage and capable of accommodating dozens of workstations. As the counterintelligence chief reporting directly to Councilor Goyle, Miranda had been granted considerable resources and allowed to operate however large a staff she deemed necessary. But, other than a steadily growing network of contractors and confidential sources spread throughout the galaxy, she had decided to keep her Citadel-based branch lean at less than a dozen agents along with a handful of support staff and analysts.

When Anita had first approached her with the idea of building the department entirely from scratch and independent of the structures that the ruined SAIS had sprung from, Miranda had known the team would have to be kept small and the local operations highly streamlined. Even if she could confidently vet a significantly large number of Alliance intel people there simply wasn't much of a pool to draw from. As with every other government and military service, the ranks of experienced operatives had been decimated during the opening months of the war.

At least, that was the superficial logic behind it. The truer explanation was that the larger the department grew, the more difficult it would be to keep her eyes on the work. And she needed to see everything.

Like most of the executive office suites along the building's Presidium-facing side, Miranda's was generously spacious. Much of it was open floor space, an almost obscene luxury for a floating city in space that was growing more overcrowded by the day. The walls were polished, artificial wood textures, and white marble accents. Gentle, full-spectrum lighting illuminated the room even as artificial sunlight streamed in through the floor-to-ceiling windows dominating the far wall. Her desk, several chairs, a plush sofa, and a low coffee table made up most of the furnishings. There was even a private, attached bathroom, complete with a shower that looked like it belonged in a spa. The same vaguely tropical floral scent found throughout much of the Presidium was pumped through the air vents, as if the Citadel was the largest orchid in the universe.

Miranda spared a quick glance through the windows that overlooked the Presidium's parks and waterways cutting through the center of the massive ring and then settled in behind her desk where the integrated terminal recognized her and came to life instantly. A moment later, there was a soft chime before the office doors slid open, the sound of familiar footsteps entering. She glanced up to see her chief assistant walking toward her, a datapad under one arm and a cup of tea in the other.

"Good morning, ma'am," the young woman said in her distinctive Gloucester accent.

Miranda gazed at the cup of tea placed on the desk in front of her and sighed. "Clara, how many times do I have to tell you that your responsibilities here do not include fetching me tea in the mornings," she said, reaching for the cup. "But thank you."

"It's no trouble, ma'am," the other woman said, taking one of the seats across from Miranda's desk and crossing her legs, her tablet already out and ready.

Lieutenant Clara Manning had been one of the first staff additions Miranda had made when she'd started building out the department, finding the young woman's file buried amongst a hundred other personnel records she'd been sifting through.

Equipped with no formal intelligence or special operations experience whatsoever, Miranda had plucked her from a dead-end posting as a logistical officer at one of the auxiliary ports in Zakera Ward. Only in her mid-twenties, she'd graduated from the Naval Academy and officer training program at Luna with solidly mediocre marks. She was smart, the Navy records indicated but failed to stand out in any of the combat tactics modules and displayed only passing proficiency with the most advanced technologies the military dealt with.

But where the Alliance had seen only an average cadet with a low ceiling, Miranda recognized the young woman's analytical aptitude and half a dozen other subtle markers buried in her dossier that added up to the potential of an excellent intel officer. Beyond simply sharp and attentive, Manning had a knack for identifying patterns in the noise of extremely complex datasets and was adept at finding the subtle relationships that other, more seasoned analysts tended to miss. Besides Kasumi, who still refused to consider herself as anything more formal than a hired freelancer, the lieutenant had quickly become Miranda's right hand in the department.

"We were right about Ariake Technologies," Manning began without preamble, just the way Miranda preferred it. Right down to business. "There is a link between their subsidiary on Bekenstein and a known Cerberus-run credit laundering operation. I think this might be the missing piece to the transportation funding side of the coup attempt."

"Brilliant. Let's get started on the usual process and freeze those accounts. I want warrants from the local authorities right away."

"Already underway, ma'am."

Miranda gave a brief smile and nodded. "Our friends in Salarian Intelligence?" she said, moving on.

"They're still claiming they've identified and arrested the last of the Narra collaborators on the station. But I don't think they're being entirely forthcoming or honoring our data-sharing agreement. It looks to me like they're still running active hunt-and-kill ops in Tayseri and Bachjret Wards. They're being very clever about it. All the deaths appear to be natural with historical medical records spliced in to cover their tracks. But I believe the evidence is there. These are definitely organized assassinations."

Miranda frowned and took a sip of her perfectly brewed tea. She knew Councilor Goyle hated the idea of this sort of frontier justice taking place onboard the station, but she didn't see a particularly graceful way to intervene and still maintain a close enough watch on all the potential Narra faction sympathizers who remained in the region. The methods the salarians were using to purge the opposition weren't pleasant, but part of Miranda's job was to keep Anita's hands clean. Unless her counterparts in the STG got carried away, she could continue to look the other way.

"Let's give them the space to clean up their own house, for now," Miranda said. "But the intelligence data is another matter. Narra's failure here and her exposed collaboration with Cerberus may have wrecked her faction's chances on Sur'Kesh, but that doesn't mean she's totally off the board or that her movement's dead. While she's at large, she's a threat to the coalition. And I'm not going to put our indoctrination theory to bed just because their intel people refuse to accept it. We need to know if any of that sensitive tech they're so protective of has fallen into Reaper hands and if they're still compromised from within."

Clara nodded. "The patterns are there. They just don't know where to look."

"Or they don't want to look," Miranda agreed. "The notion of indoctrination frightens them more than any other species. They don't like the idea that their technical countermeasures are useless in defending against it. It's creating a blind spot. Keep pushing them for that intel, Clara. They'll complain every step of the way but let them know if they fail to honor our agreements I'll be forced to intervene in their extracurricular activities on the station."

"Of course, ma'am," Manning said and swiped her finger across her datapad's screen, moving along. "Still nothing unusual being reported by our agents in place on Eden Prime. The excavation sites remain secure, and our rotating surveillance hasn't flagged any signs of hostile penetration."

Even before Liara had assembled her research team and the first of the science vessels pulled clear of Citadel Space, Miranda had organized an advance unit of covert agents and sent them on their way to Eden Prime. Once they'd made planetfall, they'd gone about the business of blending into the local population and constructing the surveillance networks and infrastructure Miranda demanded. The details around the vision Shepard had been shown by the Prothean artifact, what had led them to the human colony world, were a tightly held secret. But there was no way to know for certain what Cerberus or any other interested party already knew about the dig site's existence. The Alliance military was steadily increasing their presence in the system, but soldiers weren't adept at detecting the sorts of threats she and her people were. After everything that had already happened, she wasn't about to take anything for granted or leave the task of watching over T'Soni's work to the admirals and generals.

"Good. But don't let our people become complacent watching Dr. T'Soni's team dig their holes. The work being done there is vital. We can't afford any leaks."

"Yes, ma'am," Manning said. "I'll see to it. Oh, and on an unrelated note, Mr. Massani has missed his last two scheduled comm opportunities. I just tried him again this morning, but he's not responding to the requests."

"Typical. And don't call him mister, Clara. He's just Massani."

Zaeed was somewhere in the Terminus, Miranda could at least be certain of that. She'd last heard from him eight days ago while he'd still been traveling through Sigurd's Cradle, moving along his judiciously planned approach to Omega Station. However, the exorbitant salary he was earning from her office didn't appear to be enough motivation for him to check in with any sort of regularity. As of now, she couldn't be certain if he'd made it safely to the Cerberus-occupied starbase or been delayed somewhere else along his path.

She sighed. "Very well. Maybe he's been drunk for a week or dead in a ditch somewhere. Most likely he'll make contact right before deciding on some absurd course of action that's likely to get him killed. But on the off chance that I'll feel compelled to step in and rescue him, keep the rapid-response team in the region on alert."

Together, Miranda and Lieutenant Manning spent another fifteen minutes going over a half dozen different adjacent operations and the rest of the day's agenda. Finally, the younger woman stood, starting to leave, but then hesitated.

Miranda gazed up at her expectantly before realization washed over her and her shoulders slumped a fraction. She leaned back in her seat and crossed her arms. "Let's hear it, Lieutenant. What do I have to look forward to on the nightly vids?"

"I'm afraid they're going to run another exposé on you and Captain Shepard, ma'am," Clara said with an apologetic grimace.

"Bloody hell. Do we know the specifics?"

"It seems the focus will be on a previous relationship you allegedly had with another member of the Normandy's Cerberus crew. A former Alliance officer by the name of Taylor? I think the spin is going to be something about an imagined conflict and, uh, love-triangle between you, Captain Shepard, and this Taylor fellow."

"Bloody hell," Miranda repeated, throwing her head back and looking up at the ceiling. After spending the entirety of her professional life happily anonymous, working along the fringes of society, the last month on the Citadel had been a near-constant reminder of just how exposed she was now, her life laid bare for all to see. It was maddening. "That's just brilliant. How did they manage to dig up that rubbish?" It wasn't really a question.

"I'm sorry, ma'am. We're reaching out to our usual contacts in the media to try and squash the piece, but I'm afraid it's likely going to air this evening."

"Lovely," Miranda said. "Thank you, Clara. That's it for now. I'll see you at the mid-morning staff briefing."

"Yes, ma'am," Manning said, turning on her heel to leave, closing the office door behind her.

Miranda watched her assistant leave, clasped her hands on her desk, and turned her head to look over at the sofa to her right. "I can literally hear you smirking."

Kasumi dropped her cloak, her form materializing in a pixelated, disorienting sequence of light and pattern. She was lying on her back, legs draped over one arm of the sofa, a wicked smile on her lips. "Ooh, I cannot wait to watch tonight," she teased. "I'll bet it's going to be the best one yet! I mean, it has Jacob. I don't know whether to swoon or throttle you with jealous rage."

"Oh, please do shut up. You have no idea how tiresome this is becoming."

"How am I not a source for this? I would love to spill the beans about Jacob. Oh, the stories I could tell. Really, they're missing out. Some real sloppy reporting on this station these days. It's a disgrace."

"Are you finished?"

Kasumi swung her legs off the sofa and sat up. "You seem extra tense this morning. What's up?"

Miranda held her friend's gaze for a moment, the scowl on her face easing, then looked away. "Normandy is deploying tomorrow."

"Ah. And you're stuck here." Kasumi shook her head. "Well, you know that's your own stupid fault, right?"

Miranda shot her a fresh glare but said nothing.

"Don't look at me like that. You know darn well you could have figured out a way to stay on that ship. But instead, you decided to play the martyr."

"We've been through all this," Miranda said. "You know perfectly well the importance of our work here. Normandy needs safe ports to come back to. That doesn't happen on its own. And all this rubbish about the two of us on the vids only proves my other point. The trouble I'd cause for Shepard would go well beyond the simple distraction these media-created controversies pose. They could take his command, drop him on some battle carrier as a platoon leader. Or something worse. Believe me, Kasumi, most of these Alliance admirals are living in a permanent state of extreme agitation. They're not above exercising a little petty cruelty. Even Hackett wasn't going to stand for me remaining after more suitable officers became available. That man is no fan of mine."

"Please, Miranda. Like they'd be able to take that ship from the two of you. EDI wouldn't have it."

"We're not mercenaries, Kasumi. Not anymore. There are some rules we still need to follow. Maybe not for much longer if things keep up as they have been. But for now, this is how it must be. If by some miracle we stop the Reapers, Shepard has a future and a career ahead of him."

"You can keep telling yourself that, Miranda. But from here, it looks a lot like you're punishing yourself for no good reason."

"It's a perfectly good reason. You just refuse to acknowledge it. And with the network we're building here and the resources we have at our disposal, we might actually be able to get ahead of the Illusive Man for once. I can stop the next Leng before someone else we care about is lost."

Kasumi tilted her head and frowned. "Miranda, you need to stop beating yourself up about Thane."

Miranda fixed her gaze on a point just past Kasumi's shoulder. "I should have seen Leng coming," she said. "I'm not going to forget that. That is on me. I lost focus and people died because of it."

"I know you've got these standards for yourself and all, but the idea that you could have anticipated what happened here is a little silly, Miranda. You were busy on the Normandy, you know. You can't watch everyone's back at once or predict every threat."

Miranda gave her a smile that didn't quite reach her eyes. "Says who?"

Kasumi blew out an exasperated breath. "Don't be a jerk about this, 'Randa. You're making a lot of excuses. That's all I'm hearing."

"Can we just drop it, please?" Miranda said. "It's done. The decision's been made. Shepard's crew is set and I've made commitments here."

Kasumi gazed back at her with a look that said she could keep this up for hours. "Sure, we can drop it," she said instead. "But just so you know, the future that you think only you can protect, the version of that Shep cares the most about is the one that has the two of you together. So, don't forget it."

Miranda inhaled, leaning her head back in her chair and closing her eyes. "So, what do you have for me?"

Kasumi hesitated another moment before Miranda gazed back at her expectantly. "Fine. So, there's definitely something fishy going on in the Hanar Embassy."

Miranda rolled her eyes. "Cute. You're on this to make sure the Spectre gets it right, Kasumi. Not to make fish jokes."

Kasumi shrugged. "I can do both. Anyway, Bau's on the right track, now that he has enough details to link those mystery transmissions to Kahje to one of the hanar who was along for the ride into batarian space. Now we just need to deal with the whole face name-soul name business, which is proving tougher than you'd think. The big jellyfish don't make a habit of publicizing a decoder key or anything like that, you know. We're probably going to need deeper access to directories on Kahje or maybe a drell informant who's really well connected."

Miranda nodded thoughtfully. "Sato at the exo-linguistics desk can help with that," she said. "I'll get her on it today."

Kasumi kept her eyes on Miranda but said nothing.

"Was there something else?"

"Tell me you're not going to keep sitting on this information, Miranda? The Alliance got away with a massacre. Batarian civilians and security forces all the same. I know there's a war going on and all that, but someone has to go down for it."

"Someone will. But now is not the time. We have to tread carefully with this information. Some of the people who orchestrated that raid on the batarian lab are in critical roles today and have a lot of influence. But I promise you, this will be exposed. In time."

"You know I hate that answer, Miranda. Don't you think Anita should know? You're keeping this from her, aren't you? She has to work with these people. She should know what they're capable of."

"The Councilor knows quite well the kind of people she deals with at Command. I make certain of that. But she doesn't need to know about the raid. Not yet. She would feel compelled to act on it and that would only serve to earn her enemies. She can't be vulnerable. Part of my job is to keep her protected from all manner of threats. Including the ones that might come from within. I'm sorry, Kasumi. I know the cost of discovering this information, for you especially. But we have to wait."

Kasumi held Miranda's gaze for a long moment, staring back from under her hood. "I get it," she said. "But you should be careful with this game you're playing, Miranda. Anita trusts you. Don't screw that up."

"You don't have to worry about me," she said, gesturing at her expansive office. "This is me going straight, remember? But please, stay on this. If hanar leadership is compromised, we need to know. The natives of Kahje may not be capable of offering much to the war effort but the drell specialists they provide are another story entirely."

"Yup, you got it," Kasumi said, jumping up from the sofa and standing in front of Miranda's desk. "I could have gone with Zaeed, you know. I'd keep that big lug in line and wouldn't have to be cooped up on this dumb station. Win-win."

"To Omega?" Miranda said with a gentle smile. "But I need you here. Besides, I wouldn't wish that pisshole on anyone other than my worst enemies. But Massani is right at home there."

"Cerberus knows he's been helping you and Shepard, that it's been more than just contract work. You know that. They're going to kill him if they find out he's there."

"He might not even be there yet. If the bastard would check in on schedule, I'd have a better idea. But he knew the risks when he accepted the contract and he knows how to keep his head down. Zaeed's a survivor. That man will probably outlive us all."

Kasumi waited another moment and then finally turned to leave. "Oh, and you better keep a careful eye on that Manning girl," she said over her shoulder. "She's too smart for her own good. She'll be coming for your job before you know it."

Miranda snorted a laugh. "She can bloody well have it."

Kasumi gave a quick smile and winked before activating her cloak and disappearing out through the door.

Miranda looked at the empty space and sighed. The thief was getting cranky and looking to pick fights with her more frequently. She understood it wasn't personal though. Boredom was part of it. But she also knew that beneath the cavalier attitude was a deep, painful loss. It wasn't a thing they talked about. Not yet. It was still too raw.

The friendship the two had developed was something that still surprised Miranda. What had begun as a sort of mutual professional admiration had blossomed into an easy closeness, something quite unlike any other personal relationship she'd experienced before. Next to Oriana and Shepard, Kasumi was the closest thing to family she had.

That was an interesting idea. Family. She turned the idea around in her head, examined it, and then filed it away before the lump forming in the back of her throat distracted her any further.

She glanced at the time displayed on one corner of the huge wall screen. A few kilometers away on the Presidium, Shepard would be learning the details of the coalition forces' ambitious plan to relieve the pressure on Palaven.

After he'd left their flat earlier that morning, off on his usual pilgrimage to the Normandy's docking bay, she'd spent nearly an hour sifting through the aggregated intel from her networks and sources. The broad strokes of Operation Chimera weren't difficult to discover, not for her anyway. Her hooks were already deep in the military's systems, leaving very little obscured from her. But the Normandy wasn't among the assets being committed to the complex web of interconnected missions.

It was an annoying little mystery, not yet knowing where Shepard and Oriana would be flying off to. But it was something only temporarily hidden from her view. She could be sure of that.

Kasumi was wrong about one thing. If she was patient and committed enough, Miranda was certain she'd be able to predict the next threat before it could harm the people she loved. She wasn't going to settle for anything less.

Miranda was still at her desk, studying the proposal Brynn Cole's research team had put together for the Alliance Navy on a new stand-off weapon design when the tritone of the intercom sounded.

"Miss Lawson, Councilor Goyle is here for you," Lieutenant Manning announced.

Miranda made a swiping motion with her hand, deactivating her terminal, and rose from her seat. "On my way," she said, throwing her suit jacket over her shoulders and fastening the single button on the front.

Humanity's new Councilor to the Citadel was a relatively common sight in the office. She was close enough, after all. The old human embassy in an adjacent building complex was still undergoing repairs after Ashley Williams and company had thoroughly wrecked the place while capturing former Councilor Udina. Until the renovation was complete, Goyle and her staff of diplomats were occupying a sizable portion of the State Department building just a few floors above Miranda's offices.

"Councilor Goyle," Miranda said, finding the older woman in friendly conversation with Lieutenant Manning just outside her office door. In the presence of her staff, she made a rule of always maintaining formality whenever Anita was around. "It's a pleasure to see you. What can I do for you today?"

Goyle turned and smiled. "Hello, Miss Lawson," she said. "Sorry to drop in on you out of the blue but I was wondering if I could steal a few minutes of your time."

"Of course," Miranda said. "My time is yours." With a quick nod to Manning, she led the Councilor back into her private office.

After Goyle took the offered seat in front of the desk, Miranda sat in the chair beside her and crossed her legs. The big screen set into the wall was playing a news channel with the volume muted, images rendered as an occasionally macabre slide show cycling past. The two women made idle small talk for a few moments, allowing Clara time to sweep in and deposit a tray with a teapot and two cups before leaving them in privacy, shutting the door behind her.

"So," Miranda said, pouring a cup of tea and handing it to the Councilor, "what brings you down, Anita? Something related to a certain joint-military operation, perhaps?"

Goyle took a sip of tea with one lifted eyebrow in answer and smiled amiably. "That girl really is something, isn't she? Are you sure you're not wasting her talents?"

"Clara has many gifts. Not the least valuable being an ability to brew an exceptional pot of tea. Don't worry, she's put to good use here." Miranda took a sip of her own cup, a faint smirk upon her lips. "So, are you going to spit it out, or am I going to have to dig a little?"

Goyle was well over twice Miranda's age and shouldering the burden of running the human government at a time the species was badly losing a galaxy-spanning war. Still, despite the weariness evident in the dark circles under her eyes and a constant, low-level state of heartsickness, the older woman radiated a competency and fierceness that tended to spark confidence in the people who surrounded her. It was a devastating time to have to be the one to lead but there was no doubt the woman was meeting the moment she was born for.

"No need to flex your investigative muscle, Miranda," Anita said. "I wanted you to hear it from me personally and to save your Captain Shepard from having to violate any directives around operational security."

Miranda leaned back in her chair. "So, the Normandy then. This is why she wasn't included among the operation's assets. And you're leaving the station? With Shepard." She tilted her head slightly. "Where?"

"The Perseus Veil," Goyle said with an approving smile. "The quarians are our mission."

That got Miranda sitting up straighter. "The Migrant Fleet," she said, her mind collating all the possible implications. "Well, that is interesting. I suppose it's no surprise the navy would salivate over all those warships and support vessels. But why are the quarians back in the Veil now?"

"The prevailing theory is they're weighing the benefits of attacking the geth in the region and making an attempt to retake Rannoch."

"That's madness."

Goyle shrugged. "I think so too. But perhaps they're desperate. Or, they feel they have some sort of advantage they didn't possess before. Whatever the truth of their motives is, it will be my job to discourage them from this course of action and negotiate a formal alliance on behalf of the Council. Certain members of the quarian admiralty class have backchanneled a desire to meet, so it seems there may not be consensus on the geth issue among their fleet. I'll be bringing a small team of negotiators with me. But, given his history with the quarians, Captain Shepard will likely serve a critical role in all this."

"That goes without saying," Miranda replied. "But asking the quarians to join the war they've been able to successfully avoid up to this point? That's a tall ask, Anita. What's being offered?"

"To start, a seat on the Council," Goyle said. "We're expanding membership. It's long overdue. The quarians will have equal status, along with the other new partners. The krogan, volus, and elcor. The hanar too, if they commit to granting the drell a fully independent state. There's also going to be a promise of finding the Migrant Fleet a suitable system to permanently settle within. Once the war is behind us, that is."

Miranda blinked. "I'm impressed you got the turians and salarians to agree to that. Those people hate the quarians. What about the asari?"

"We're negotiating with the Illium-based confederacy. If they can reach consensus, they're in. I don't like cutting Thessia out like that, but they're not leaving us much choice in the matter. We need to make the Council whole again and I have only so many olive branches left in my quiver."

"They do seem resolute in their new path toward isolationism," Miranda said. "You know I still believe they're hiding something. Something big. There aren't many plausible motives to explain why they would choose to throw away centuries of diplomatic leadership."

Anita smiled agreeably and sipped her tea. She'd heard Miranda's suspicions about the Asari Republics more than once over the last few weeks. "I don't doubt it for a moment, Miss Lawson," she said. "And I am confident that when we finally do get to the truth of the matter, you'll be in the middle of it. But that's a problem for another day."

Miranda's eyes lost focus for a moment, her mind busy sifting through possibilities, a dozen different potential scenarios playing out in her mind. She realized she was chewing her lip nervously and met Anita's expectant gaze. "What?"

"I just lost you there for a moment, Miranda," Goyle said. "I know what you're doing. You're bombarding yourself with details and logistical problems to be solved. But you're also dancing around some elements of my not-so-surprising news that are more personally sensitive to you."

Miranda gave her a look. "You think I'm cross that you're flying off on the Normandy with Shepard while I'm left to mind the store here on the Citadel? For god's sake, why does this keep coming up today?" She leaned a bit forward in her chair. "Councilor, I am a big girl who understands duty and one who's not prone to bouts of jealously when her lover leaves on a business trip."

Anita clasped her hands in her lap and gave her a look that said she was a little disappointed over the misread. Miranda swallowed and had to resist the urge to shrink back a measure in her chair. If there was anyone in her life who came close to acting in the role of a surrogate mother, it was Goyle. She couldn't even begin to unpack the emotions that that dynamic provoked in her and, as a personal rule, avoided doing so. It was uncomfortable in too many ways to count.

"Miranda, if I thought so little of your emotional maturity you would be nowhere near this building or even likely allowed to remain on this station," Goyle said. "You're projecting something on me and, I'm guessing, on others as well. I know perfectly well you will fulfill your responsibilities without complaint. I also know you don't see Captain Shepard as so vulnerable that he can't manage his own command and missions. A woman like you wouldn't waste a moment of her time on such a man. But he's not the only one who means something to you who will be leaving tomorrow."

Miranda's shoulders slumped a degree. "Oriana."

"I understand she completed the accelerated program with flying colors and is ready to begin her official assignment aboard the Normandy."

Miranda couldn't resist beaming, her pride in her sister's considerable ability bubbling to the surface. "She's very excited."

Goyle nodded encouragingly. "You've moved heaven and earth to protect her," she said. "You've watched over her and sacrificed a good part of your life to keep her from harm. But now you're being forced to watch her wade into a war without you."

"Thank you for pointing that out, Councilor," Miranda said stiffly.

"It's not my intention to wound you, Miranda," Goyle said and inhaled deeply. "I like to think I've grown to know you well over this last year. You've earned my respect and my affection. I know you can handle all the suspicion and insults directed at you from the Alliance establishment. But the stress of having to let your sister go beyond your reach is a different kind of beast. You can't ignore it or try to suppress it. If you do, it's going to eat away at you and lead you down a dark path."

Ah. The darkness, Miranda thought but didn't say. Of course. Anita knows the depth of it for me. The stain she'd never be able to completely wipe clean. The older woman was right to worry. It would always be there. Like an old friend waiting to embrace her. If she lost Oriana or Shepard, she'd go willingly to it.

"I do have some experience in these matters," Anita continued, "and I can tell you that bottling up your anxiety is no way to cope." She reached out and put her hand on Miranda's. "It's alright to worry. You can allow yourself that. But she's heading back out there armed with the skills you've taught her. You've prepared her in ways the academy could never begin to match."

Miranda gave a gentle squeeze of the other woman's hand and then stood up, crossing over to the window. Goyle got to her feet and joined her. They stood together in companionable silence for a long moment, gazing out at the Presidium's gardens and fountains.

"I hear you, Anita," Miranda finally said. "And I know I can be difficult, but I will take your words to heart."

Goyle waved her off. "Please. Negotiating a trade deal with the volus ambassador is difficult. You're a holiday in comparison."

Miranda laughed softly, startling herself. She laughed so infrequently. She gazed back at Goyle and felt something shift in her chest, a sudden impulse to embrace the woman washing over her. She cleared her throat instead. "Well, you'll be needing a full workup on the quarian admiralty and civilian leadership. The politics of the Migrant Fleet are extremely complex. I'll put the packet together myself and have it to you by the afternoon."

"I'm sure I'll have plenty of time to read it. I understand it's going to take at least three and a half weeks just to reach the proposed rendezvous point in the Veil, and that's only if none of the relays along the route are compromised. Which, apparently, seems overly optimistic to expect." She groaned softly. "Have I mentioned how much I hate space travel?"

The two women said their goodbyes and shook hands, the shroud of formality falling back into place, and Goyle made to leave.

"Anita," Miranda called to her before the other woman had reached the doorway. "I'm glad you'll be there with Oriana. It… gives me comfort."

Goyle nodded to her sharply. "We'll be back home before you know it," she said and was gone.

Miranda watched the door slide shut behind Goyle and frowned. She was getting tired of watching other people march out of her office, leaving with a purpose. She glanced over at her desk. There were still half a dozen encrypted data tablets stacked on it she needed to deal with before the day was through and an insistent, pulsing light on her terminal made it known more messages had arrived in her queue while she'd been meeting with the Councilor.

She went back to work.

By early that evening, Miranda's mind was feeling thoroughly fried but her body was crying out for some kind of release.

She almost jumped when her Omni-tool's haptic interface in her arm buzzed and she glanced down to read the incoming message mirrored to her hand terminal. It was Shepard. He was wrapping up at the Normandy for the day and going to join Garrus and some of the others at a lounge on the Strip for a round of drinks. He didn't say who else would be among them. Did she want to join them?

She sighed, considering the invitation. Garrus and her had managed to find their way to terms that very nearly approached true friendship. It was a relief to her in that the awkwardness that had long lingered between her, Shepard, and the turian was now mostly gone. She enjoyed the company of others on the senior staff, but she had no desire to see Ashley Williams. Things would probably never be right between her and Chief Adams.

More so, a crowded bar wasn't what was calling to her. She declined the invite and told Shepard to have fun and she'd see him at home later.

She stretched her arms high over her head and felt the gratifying pops in her neck. Rising from her chair, she made her way to the door and surveyed the empty office floor beyond. The place was dark except for the glow of the terminals and the lights at the doorways. Outside, the Presidium was transitioning to its nighttime cycle, the artificial sunlight shifting from a red-orange sunset-simulating glow to twilight.

The version of Miranda who would have gone derisively by the 'Ice Queen' would have expected her direct reports to leave only after she'd gone home or otherwise given approval. But early on after forming her department, she'd made a point of telling the team that she wanted their days balanced and to leave work at reasonable hours. Take work home with them if they must, but make time to see families and friends. It was the kind of gesture she was trying on for size to see if it made her feel more normal. It almost worked.

This evening, she knew that Lieutenant Manning had been the last one to leave, which was often the case. But that had been something like an hour ago, or so she guessed. The longer Miranda was on the Citadel, the more muddled the passage of time felt.

She retreated to her office and straight to her private bathroom where she stripped off her work clothes and changed into the training attire she kept there. A few minutes later, with her hair tied behind her head and a small tote bag over her shoulder, she made her way to the building's gym located several floors below.

The fitness center was vast, spanning an entire floor and its extended ceilings rising two full levels. Free weight and resistance machines of every conceivable type were arrayed in one section, treadmills, stationary bikes, and rowing machines in another. A generously large climbing wall dominated one corner and an ample collection of more exotic pieces of training equipment popular with turians and salarians another.

The place wasn't crowded, with only a handful of people working out and none of them from her own staff or who she otherwise recognized. That was a win. She didn't feel much like talking shop or feigning interest in anyone's personal life.

She spent a few minutes stretching before moving onto a routine of resistance work. The wall screens encompassing most of the space were showing a variety of sports and entertainment vids or newsfeeds. When she began to spot her name popping up on the 'coming up next' chyrons of screens tuned to tabloid networks, she made straight for one of the big immersive VR treadmills.

She jumped on the machine and set the big one-hundred-eighty-degree display in front of her to a rugged forest trail on an intentionally generic garden world. The speakers arrayed around the treadmill blocked out everything else in the gym and she began to run, gradually working up to a pace that most physically fit humans would find unsustainable after more than a few minutes.

An hour later, she settled into a slow trot, sweat dripping off her forehead, and her chest heaving with every breath. When she switched off the display and stepped off the machine, she noticed there were a few more people around than when she started her workout. Across the gym, a rail-thin woman with auburn colored hair down past her shoulders walked into the women's locker room with a towel thrown over one shoulder. Miranda thought there was something familiar in how she moved, a memory itching at the back of her mind, but she couldn't see the woman's face. A minor urge to follow her into the locker room crossed her mind but was gone in an instant. She was only looking for distractions, she decided.

Instead, she spent a few more minutes stretching out her abused muscles while she considered the private shower back in her office and the assortment of clean, casual outfits she kept handy there. But again, the idea felt overly self-indulgent and a little like she was stalling. Once she felt her body had cooled down enough, she pulled on a light sweatshirt she extracted from her tote, zipping it up over her tank top, along with a cap she tugged down low onto her brow. She was in no mood for gawkers on the rail line home.

Sweeping out of the fitness center, she took the wide stairway leading down to the building's lobby. She nodded a quick goodnight to the guards, ignoring the ones who tended to fix her with inappropriately curious stares that bordered on outright leering, and was through the main doors, escaping into the artificial night.

When she walked into her flat in Silversun sometime later, Shepard was there, sitting at the little kitchen table, his focus glued to something on his hand terminal. He smiled at the sound of her arrival and looked up from his work. "Hit the gym after work, I see," he said.

She unzipped her sweatshirt, her shirt underneath still a little clingy with perspiration, and tossed it over the back of one of the chairs along with the cap she'd abandoned once she'd reached their building. "Whatever gave you that idea?" she teased, moving around him, brushing an arm over his shoulders and kissing his forehead while crossing into the kitchen space. The workout had improved her mood, along with managing to remain blissfully anonymous during her journey back to their rooms.

"And yet, you still smell amazing," he said. "The same can't be said of me, I'll bet."

"You don't smell like booze if that's what you mean. Maybe just a little ripe though," she said playfully. She took a glass from the cabinet, poured herself some cold water from the dispenser, and turned back to face him, leaning back against the counter. "I thought you might still be out with your crew. The night's still young and all that."

There was a tiny flicker that crossed his expression. Something he might have wanted to say about her and the ship. She was glad when he didn't.

"I stayed for a couple of rounds but wanted to be here when you got home," he said.

She smiled and joined him at the table, sitting across from him. She looked down at his arm and frowned. A little gash was visible along his forearm, below his rolled-up uniform sleeve. It looked haphazardly treated with medigel and there was some bruising along his knuckles. "Tell me you didn't get in a scrap at the bar."

He followed her gaze and laughed softly. "Nah. Just being clumsy. Spent some time in the cargo hold at the end of the day with Vega and the marines, getting their equipment squared away how they like it. We may have indulged in a bit of sparring at the end." He gave a meek smile and shrugged. "My workout for the day."

She reached out across the table and touched the ragged little wound on his arm, tracing it with her long fingers. "Well, this is pitiful work. I supposed you treated it yourself."

"Guilty."

She moved her hand down his arm and let him take hold of it in his own. His skin was rough and warm like flannel all at the same time. She swallowed and met his gaze. "So, going to make nice with the quarians again, are you?" she said.

Shepard hoisted an eyebrow and a grin began tugging at the corners of his mouth. There wasn't a need to comment on how she was always so well informed. It was expected. The surprise would have been if she'd somehow remained in the dark about it. "This time should be interesting," he said. "It feels a little overly ambitious, what we're going to do. I'm not so sure they'll end up being interested in what we're selling."

"Goyle seems confident. But I suppose we'll see."

They sat quietly while the moment stretched on. The mixture of affection and sorrow in his eyes reflected in her own. Suddenly, the table between them was a vast distance, stretching on for a thousand light-years, as if the Normandy had already gone.

Talking about it might have helped him accept things for the way that they were. But they'd done that already and it would only frustrate her and turn her mood foul again. She appreciated that he didn't press. The flood of endorphins from here workout was dissipating and a sort of hollowness was creeping into her chest. She knew it would have been difficult not to weep like a child.

"Do you want to go back down and rejoin the crew at the bar?" Miranda said, breaking the silence and reaching for her glass. "Give me a few minutes to freshen up and we can go together."

She still didn't feel drawn to see Garrus or any of the others. She'd made her plans with Oriana for the next day already, but her sister wouldn't be on the Strip anyway. She just wanted to be near Shepard now, wherever he wanted. To be close to him until the choice was out of her hands. "Or, if you're hungry, we could get some takeout from the Indian place on the corner."

Shepard's admiring gaze remained fixed on her, the glint in his blue eyes taking on a new meaning. She felt the warmth begin to spread in her cheeks.

"Or," he said, stretching the word out, "I can ditch these sweaty CDUs, get you out of those clothes, and have my way with you in the bedroom."

Miranda smiled with her lips on the glass, sipping her water. "Well, have it your way, Captain."

Eleven days after the Normandy had left the Citadel and begun its long journey out to a remote sector of the Perseus Veil in search of the quarians, Miranda's life had settled into the rhythm of a predictable routine.

It was odd how so much could remain unchanged while everything did. She got up early every morning, brushed her teeth, put on a fresh set of clothes, and ate breakfast in her little kitchen. She arrived at her offices on the Presidium before most of her staff got in and set to work managing the activities of half a dozen different special operations teams scattered across four systems and systematically dismantling whatever she could find of the clandestine Cerberus presence in nearby systems. She remained on the job into the early evenings and often spent more time in the building training in the fitness center.

It was all becoming very ordinary, the systematic nature of her days on the station.

She hated it.

Every day when she returned home to her apartment, she was alone. There were no random drop-ins from Garrus or James Vega. She wouldn't occasionally find Moreau and EDI watching video streams from the sofa. There wouldn't be any calls from Doctor Chakwas to discuss the latest round of tests she wanted to conduct, searching for a solution to the issue of Miranda's fertility. Oriana wouldn't come by late at night asking for her feedback on a particularly challenging take-home assignment from the Alliance's DCO program. Shepard wouldn't be there waiting for her at their little kitchen table.

It was a strange feeling, the veneer of normalcy her life had briefly taken on during her time residing on the Citadel with Shepard and the others. She hadn't even fully appreciated it until it was gone. But the irony of her discovery did little to soften the blow of her loneliness.

The woman who she'd been before would have relished the solitude, content in her own company, seeking out others under her terms or none at all. Now, she was occasionally finding herself handling the clothes Shepard had left in their closet, pulling out the garments that still smelled a bit like him and holding them close to her face, breathing in the scent. It was pathetic.

Kasumi was spending almost all her time on Bekenstein with Koylat in support, leading the local effort to rip as much of Cerberus' roots from the ground as possible. Brynn Cole and her team had been relocated to one of the new, secret deep space research and development hubs the Alliance Navy had hastily put into place. Even Jack was in the wind again, having returned to the recently repaired Grissom Academy with her small group of gifted biotics.

The idea that she was missing her antagonizing encounters with Jack felt like a special kind of low to Miranda.

The only other person left on the station she was reasonably close to was Kahlee Sanders. But the commander was just as busy and overwhelmed by the scope of her responsibilities as she was. Even still, they'd managed to meet for dinner and drinks a couple of times after their shifts. But after their second date, when Miranda had nearly tossed a particularly aggressive tabloid reporter into a massive glass fish tank, she'd decided to stay out of the public eye as much as possible was the sounder strategy.

If she had been out with Shepard, it would have gone differently. He changed the nature of a space just by walking into it. No matter what narrative or scandal the entertainment press was currently painting her with, she was insulated from the worst of it just by virtue of sharing his orbit.

So Miranda spent even more of her time within the walls of her Presidium office. So much so, it was beginning to feel like a cell.

With Councilor Goyle eating up most of the bandwidth on the Normandy's QEC, the messages she received from Shepard and Oriana were in the form of recorded videos sent over the patchwork of comm relays the coalition forces were barely managing to keep intact. Messages that were days old by the time she received them in her inbox.

She watched them all, recorded her replies, and dutifully sent them off, even when a part of her wanted to pretend the messages weren't real. For her, they often only highlighted the vast distance that separated her from the only people in her life she loved and forced her to confront the attachment she no longer felt capable of living without. It was a vulnerability of her new life that the previous iteration of Miranda would never have allowed.

Stepping out of the elevator and into her department after her regular bi-weekly one-on-one meeting with Kahlee Sanders, Lieutenant Manning intercepted Miranda halfway to her office. "Miss Lawson, you're two o'clock is here a bit early," she said with an apology. "She's in your office already."

Miranda glanced down at her calendar on her hand terminal. "Right. That's fine, Clara," she said. "Wait, who is this again and why am I meeting with them?"

"Ensign Brooks, ma'am. She's the new Staff Analyst lead to Commander Forrest in Electronic Warfare and Defense. She's here to collaborate on the intelligence exchange process planning session we have set up with their team at the end of the week. The one on the Cerberus data decryption task force we're running."

"Ah yes," Miranda said. "Eager about that, aren't they?"

Manning smiled. "Yes ma'am."

"Very well. Thank you, Lieutenant. I'll take it from here."

Miranda strode through the door of her office, eyes down, reading the pre-meeting notes Lieutenant Manning had put together for her on her hand terminal. "So, Ensign Maya Brooks, is it?" she said. "And you'd like to help figure out how your people and mine can play nice together."

She looked up and froze in her tracks halfway to her desk, a little surge of electricity shooting up her spine. The other woman was at the far window, her back to Miranda, wearing a set of Fleet blues impeccably tailored to her thin frame. But neither the uniform nor the perspective hid the truth of the woman's nature. She felt the tingle in her fingers as a reflex, her biotics straining at the leash and eager for release.

The woman turned to face her, a subtle grin on her lips that looked like a threat. "Oh, I think we both know you're not known for playing well with others, don't we Miranda."

The moment of silence stretched for only a heartbeat and when Miranda spoke again, it came out like a hiss.

"Rasa."

Author's note:

So, in my excitement to get this story a long overdue update I may have taken for granted that not everyone reading has necessarily consumed just about every thread of official mass effect content like I have, including the more obscure stuff like the Foundations comic series. I'm also probably making too much of a presumption that everyone's played through the Citadel expansion for ME3 or at least understands the broad-strokes of the plot. So, if you're confused about who the hell I mean by 'Rasa' at the end of this chapter, I'm sure you're not alone. My apologies. That's on me.

If interested, check out the ME wiki and search for Maya Brooks for a quick and dirty rundown of the relevant bits

In a nutshell, the character Maya Brooks introduced in the Citadel game expansion for ME3 is a former Cerberus operative who over the years has gone by quite a few different aliases. What the Citadel expansion fails to make clear but what's pretty well-documented in the Foundations comic series is that Brooks and Miranda have a history and, you guessed it, it's an antagonistic one! Back in the day, Miranda knew Brooks as 'Rasa'.

I hope that clears things up a bit. Cheers!