Mass Effect™: Retribution (8 page)

“Names of agents inside the Alliance. Locations of key facilities and safe houses. Shell companies owned by the Illusive Man. Whatever information I could gather, no matter how small, is there.

“Some of the information might be out of date—locations move; new operatives are brought in. But in the right hands what I know could do real damage to Cerberus.”

A spark of hope flickered inside Kahlee. If Grayson was still alive, she might be able to use the files he’d sent her to figure out where Cerberus had taken him.

“Don’t try to rescue me,” the message continued, as if the recording could read her thoughts. “If you’re seeing this, then I’m as good as dead.”

Kahlee shook her head in an instinctive, unconscious refusal.

“You have to protect yourself. Get this information to someone in authority. Someone with the power to go after Cerberus. You have to destroy the Illusive Man; it’s the only way you’ll ever be safe.”

The message went silent for several seconds, and Grayson’s brow furrowed on the screen. Then he barked out a grim laugh.

“I don’t know who you can go to,” he admitted. “I wish I did. Cerberus has people at nearly every level
inside the Alliance. Anyone in a position of power could be working for the Illusive Man.

“But you’re smart. I know you’ll figure something out. Just be careful who you trust.”

The message ended abruptly, catching Kahlee off guard. There were no last words; no sentimental goodbyes. Grayson had told her what she needed to know, then simply ended the recording.

For several minutes she just sat in her chair, staring at the frozen image of Grayson’s face on the last frame of the recording as she tried to absorb the horrific news.

Once she felt more in control, she muttered, “Replay,” and watched the recording a second time to make sure she hadn’t missed anything important during her first emotional viewing.

When it was done, she loaded an optical scan disk into her terminal and copied the information from the attached file. Then she got up, went to her closet, and began to pack. She wasn’t panicking, but there was a definite sense of urgency in everything she did.

Despite the emotional shock, she was already thinking about a plan of action. She couldn’t stay at the Academy; it might put the children and other staff at risk.

There were a number of people she could go to. She was recognized as one of humanity’s most brilliant scientists; over her career she’d come in contact with any number of politicians and military liaisons who would listen to—and believe—her story.

But could she trust any of them? These weren’t friends; they were acquaintances at best. Any one of them could be working for Cerberus.

If her father had still been alive she would have gone to him. If Hendel had still been here she would have asked him for help. But they were gone, just like Grayson.

There was only one person she could turn to. Someone she hadn’t seen since her father’s funeral, and only a handful of times in the decade before that. But Kahlee trusted him absolutely. And she knew she had to get Grayson’s information to him as soon as possible.

Aria T’Loak stood motionless beside the bed, staring down at Liselle’s naked, blood-soaked body. Two salarian technicians crawled around on the bedroom carpet, collecting samples of blood, hair, and fibers. Another was processing the room’s extranet terminal while four more scoured the rest of the apartment, looking for any shred of evidence that might help reveal what had happened.

The signs of a struggle were obvious, though how many had been involved in the battle—and who they were—was impossible to tell. All they knew for sure was that the man known to them as Paul Johnson was gone, and so were the drugs.

That wasn’t his real name, of course. As the enterprising human had worked his way up the ranks of her organization, Aria had had him checked out. It hadn’t taken long to discover that Paul Johnson was an assumed name, but that hadn’t alarmed her. He was hardly the only person in her organization using a forged identity.

A few months of careful surveillance assured her that he wasn’t working for a rival gang or some law
enforcement agency looking to move in on Omega, but she never had figured out who he really was. She’d had her people take biometric samples: fingerprints left on glasses at the club; retinal, facial, and morphology scans from the station’s various security cameras; skin, hair, and even blood samples gathered by Liselle while Paul lay sleeping beside her. None of it came back as a match to any known database.

Aria didn’t like uncertainty. Her first instinct had been to have Paul eliminated, just to be safe. She’d even ordered Liselle to do it. But the younger asari had pleaded for Paul’s life. He had skills Aria could use, she’d insisted; he was valuable to the organization. Whatever his past was, he had left it behind when he’d come to Omega. He was loyal to Aria now, Liselle swore … as loyal as anyone who worked on Omega could be, at least.

In the end, Aria had let herself be persuaded. And now Liselle was dead.

Over the centuries, Omega’s Pirate Queen had seen thousands, if not millions, of bodies: both those of her enemies and her allies. She’d stood over more asari corpses than she could remember, many of them slain by her own hand. But it was rare she had to face the death of one of her own offspring.

At her mother’s insistence, Liselle had kept their relationship hidden. Aria didn’t want her enemies to use the knowledge against her, and she didn’t want Liselle to go through life with a target on her back. Yet in the end, it hadn’t mattered.

Despite the seething rage she felt over the death of her daughter, Aria wasn’t about to jump to any conclusions. There were too many possibilities in play.
This could have been a retaliatory attack by the Talons, though that didn’t seem likely. Why come to make peace with her, only to start the war up again? They were smarter than that.

Plus, the Talons had no reason to take Paul with them. If they were responsible, his body should have been lying beside Liselle’s. In fact, she couldn’t think of anyone who would want to take Paul prisoner … which meant there was a good chance he was in on it.

She turned and strode quickly from the bedroom, her face an emotionless stone mask as she left her daughter’s body behind.

Sanak was somewhere in the hall outside trying to find out if the neighbors had seen or heard anything useful. She’d sent a pair of krogans to accompany him—a not too subtle message that when Sanak asked a question, he expected a very thorough answer.

Unfortunately, there wasn’t much chance of his learning anything new. Omega First Security had already offered a five-thousand-credit reward for any information that could lead to the apprehension—or elimination—of those responsible for killing their district guards. So far they had no significant leads. Aria’s reputation was known to everyone on Omega, but if five thousand credits couldn’t make someone come forward, neither could the legendary wrath of the Pirate Queen.

She crossed the kitchen and entered the living room just in time to see Sanak returning. From the batarian’s expression she could tell his report wouldn’t please her.

“We spoke to everyone in the building,” he said,
tilting his head to the left in an unconscious gesture of respect peculiar to his species. “A few shots fired; a group of six or seven seen running from the apartment. All of them human. Nothing new.”

Aria could have lashed out at him for his failure, but there was no point. She would use violence and intimidation to get what she wanted; they were valuable tools in negotiation and in motivating those working for her. But she knew Sanak was doing everything he could.

Although not her most intelligent employee, he was loyal and relentless in the pursuit of her goals. Getting angry at him served no purpose. She didn’t berate her underlings without cause; it only led to resentment and eventual betrayal.

“So we still don’t even know if Johnson is a victim or a traitor,” she mused.

“My money’s on traitor,” Sanak offered. “You can’t trust humans.”

Rather than respond, Aria fixed him with a penetrating stare.

“Look at the evidence,” he continued quickly, realizing she needed more than just his personal hatred of a species to be convinced. “Liselle’s throat was slashed; she trusted her killer to let him get in close. And what about the drugs? I wanted to take them to you at the club. Johnson insisted we leave them here with him. Seemed kind of strange.”

“Bringing the sand to the club would have been a foolish risk.”

“It wasn’t what he said,” the batarian insisted. “It was how he said it. Seeing all that sand affected him.
He kept staring at it. His lip was twitching. He used to dust up. It was obvious.

“And he left the club alone,” Sanak added. “I saw Liselle there by herself.”

“Obviously you think that’s relevant,” she noted, impressed by how much thought he’d given this. “You have a theory?”

Sanak blinked his uppermost eyes, collecting his thoughts before he spoke.

“Johnson couldn’t resist the sand. Felt that old craving deep inside. So he called some old friends on the station. Invited them over for a party. Liselle showed up to surprise him. He knew he was caught. Had his friends hide in the bedroom. Invited her inside. Cut her throat. Grabbed the drugs and took off with his friends.”

Aria considered the explanation briefly before discarding it. “It doesn’t make sense. Why was Liselle naked?”

“Humans are sick, twisted animals. Probably raped her before they killed her. Or maybe after.”

“You said the neighbors heard gunfire,” Aria countered quickly, eager to push away the mental images of her daughter being violated. “Explain that.”

The batarian blinked all four eyes this time, struggling to come up with a plausible answer. Before he could, one of the salarians emerged from the bedroom hall.

“Extranet terminal. Wiped clean,” he reported in the staccato manner of his kind.

Sanak pounced on the new information. “Bastard was covering his tracks. He had to be in on it.”

“Get a trace from the network. I want copies of
every message going in or out of this apartment for the past month.”

The salarian shook his head vigorously from side to side. “Human was smart. Scramblers. Encryption. Impossible to rebuild messages.”

“We have nothing?” Aria exclaimed, her anger and frustration seeping into her tone for the first time.

“N-no m-messages,” the suddenly anxious technician stammered. “Identify callers, maybe. Find where messages sent. Best we can hope for.”

“Do it,” Aria snapped. “Find out who he’s been talking to. Understood?”

The salarian swallowed with an audible gulp. Unable to speak, he gave a quick nod.

“Clean up this mess,” Aria added as she turned to go. “And for the sake of the Goddess, somebody cover up Liselle.”

Consciousness came back grudgingly to Grayson. For a long while he floated in the half-world between wakefulness and sleep, until physical sensations began to intrude on the drug-induced blackness.

His mouth was dry. He tried to swallow, resulting in a painful, hacking cough as his parched throat nearly choked on his bloated tongue. His eyes fluttered open, then snapped shut as a searing light burned his pupils.

Even with his eyes closed, he could still see the brightness pressing insistently down on him. He tried to roll over to shield himself against it, only to find he was immobilized.

A jolt of adrenaline washed away the last remnants of the tranquilizer, and awareness came crashing in on him. He was naked and lying on his back atop a cold, hard surface. His arms were held down at his sides by thick straps on the wrists and elbows. His legs were similarly restrained at the knees and ankles. Three more straps—across his thighs, waist, and chest—completed his bondage.

He opened his eyes again, squinting to block out
most of the light. He tried to turn his head from side to side to get a sense of his surroundings, but it, too, was anchored in place. A strap under his chin kept his jaw clamped tightly shut; he couldn’t even open his mouth to cry out for help. Not that he expected any help to come.

There’s no escape this time. Cerberus will do whatever they want to you
.

A wave of panic swept over him, and he struggled madly against his bonds, straining and twisting in a futile effort to gain even an inch of play in the straps.

“You’ll only injure yourself,” a voice said, speaking from close by his side.

The brightness dimmed substantially and Grayson opened his eyes fully to see the Illusive Man leaning over him. He was dressed in his typical attire: an expensive black jacket over a white designer shirt unbuttoned at the collar.

“Liselle?” Grayson tried to ask, but with his jaw restrained all that came out was an unintelligible grunt.

“You’ll have answers soon enough,” the Illusive Man assured him as he leaned back, though it wasn’t clear whether he’d actually understood his victim.

With the Illusive Man no longer dominating his field of vision, Grayson could see a large lamp hanging down from the ceiling directly above him, like the kind found in an operating theater. It was off now, but it explained the unbearable brightness from before.

They weren’t alone. He could hear the sounds of
other people moving about the room, along with the low electrical hum of machinery.

He cast his eyes from side to side, trying to take in as much as he could before they turned the light on again. At the edges of his peripheral vision he could make out just enough detail to realize he was in some kind of hospital or lab. A man in a long white coat passed by on his right, heading toward a bank of monitors.

The Illusive Man was standing just to his left, blocking out most of his view in that direction. But he did manage to catch a glimpse of what appeared to be several strange and terrifying pieces of medical equipment over his shoulder. And then the blinding light came on again, forcing him to once more close his eyes.

“It’s been a long time,” the Illusive Man said.

With his eyes closed, Grayson had no choice but to focus on his enemy’s voice. The tone was calm, almost nonchalant. But Grayson knew the Illusive Man well enough not to be fooled.