Mass Effect: The Complete Novels 4-Book Bundle (100 page)

Their leader was a fierce-looking turian named Sy Tactus. The left side of his face was badly scarred, as if by fire, and his right hand was missing. In its place was a chromed grasper. Light twinkled off the prosthetic as he made a gesture. “So we have both an objective and a date. That leaves the issue of how the spoils should be divided. Given the fact that the Skulls will have to do most of the heavy lifting we should receive a larger share. With that in mind a seventy-thirty split is appropriate.”

When Zon laughed it had a harsh quality. “I love your sense of humor,” she said. “You know what we’ll be up against. The place will be lousy with powerful biotics. How many do you have anyway? One? Two? And how strong are they? Not very is my guess. I’ll tell you what, Tactus … I’ll put my weakest follower up against the best biotic you have. If my man wins we split the loot fifty-fifty. If yours wins we’ll go with a seventy-thirty split. What do you say?”

The metal pincer produced a loud clang as it hit the metal table. “A fight to the death! You’re on.”

Nick was watching Zon out of the corner of his
eye. He saw her frown and realized that the asari had miscalculated. She’d been visualizing a test of biotic skill similar to those that Nick and his friends engaged in all the time. But Tactus had a different type of contest in mind. And Zon couldn’t back down without looking weak. So one of the Level 1 or Level 2 grunts was about to get a workout. Nick wished him or her well. That was when Zon turned and looked straight at him. “Nick, give the sigil to Kim, and your pistols too. Don’t toy with whoever they put up against you. Kill them quickly.”

All sorts of thoughts and emotions collided inside Nick’s head. First, he was amazed to learn that Zon knew his name. Then came the sudden realization that she planned to trick Tactus by sending her
youngest
rather than weakest follower into battle on the theory that the turian would mistakenly equate age with power. Finally, there was the stomach-churning knowledge that he was supposed to kill someone. The very thing he had been looking forward to—but suddenly realized that he didn’t want to do. “Go get ’im killer,” Kim said, as she took control of the sigil. “And don’t screw around. This ain’t no game.”

One minute later Nick found himself at one end of the space that separated the two tables. Directly across from him was a willowy-looking salarian female rather than the turian he expected to face. And while Nick was busy thinking about that his opponent plucked him off the floor and threw him against a steel bulkhead. It knocked the air out of him and left him gasping for breath as he fell to the deck.

A roar of approval went up from the Skulls as Nick struggled to regain his feet. He heard Kim yell “Kill
the bitch!” as he struggled to focus. It felt as if every bone in his body had been broken, but logic told him that couldn’t be true since he could stand. Painful though the surprise attack was, it helped to the extent that it made him angry. And scared, because had the salarian been any stronger, Nick knew he would have been dead. Now he had two or three seconds at most in which to respond or she would hit him again.

So Nick raised his hands, gathered the energy necessary to pick the Skull up off the ground, and hold her there for a moment. Then, as her feet kicked helplessly, he slammed her down. The salarian uttered a cry of pain, and was clearly injured, because as she got to her feet she couldn’t put much weight on one of them. But she was game and, as her hands came up, Nick knew he had only seconds in which to prevent a counterattack.

A solid “throw” might have been sufficient. But Nick was angry and conscious of the fact that people were watching. So he employed a shockwave instead. Rapid pulses of dark energy surged across the compartment, pummeled the other biotic like a series of physical blows, and knocked her off her feet. There was a sickening thud as the salarian fell and her head hit the metal deck.

At that point a Skull went over to check her pulse, looked to Tactus, and shook his head. The turian made a face. “All right, a deal is a deal. We’ll split the loot fifty-fifty.”

That wasn’t the end of it. Not by a long shot. Because even as the dead biotic was towed feetfirst out of the compartment, Tactus and Zon were already in
discussions about how and when the loot would be divided.

Meanwhile, Nick, who felt decidedly sick to his stomach, had been forced to resume his duties as standard-bearer. And the reality of what he’d done continued to weigh heavily on him even as Zon led her delegation back onto the busy street.

But rather than be left alone to deal with his emotions Nick soon found himself on the receiving end of congratulatory backslaps, celebratory man hugs, and a compliment from Kim. “Good work two guns—but strike
first
next time.”

It was heady stuff. And one aspect of Nick’s personality enjoyed it. But nothing could dispel what felt like a dark place deep inside of him. Because while it would have been one thing to defend himself against street thugs, he had allowed himself to be used as a pawn in a business dispute, and a person had been killed as a result.

Once the group arrived home Nick slipped away, went to his room, and locked the door. Then, while lying on his bed and staring at the ceiling, Nick thought about his parents. He should contact them—and Kahlee too. Or maybe he shouldn’t. What would
they
think about what he’d done? The thought followed him into a troubled sleep, and a place where people fought each other for reasons they didn’t understand, as part of a war that nobody could win.

The ship was small, fast, and registered to a Cerberus-controlled company. Just the thing for moving agents, prisoners, and cash from place to place. And thanks to the high-priority fee already paid to Aria T’Loak’s docking facility, the sleek little vessel was able to enter a berth without delay.

A beautifully dressed woman and two heavily armed men left the ship twenty minutes later. And because she was clearly in charge, those who were paid to monitor such comings and goings saw what they were
supposed
to see, which was a female executive followed by two bodyguards.

None of the street scum who haunted the docks were stupid enough to approach the woman, so the trio was able to make it down and into the space station very quickly. A mixed force of humans, turians, and batarians were waiting for them and were quick to surround the executive with a wall of protection.

And it was during that interlude when one of her original bodyguards slipped away. Moments later Kai Leng was lost in the crowd. A bounty hunter perhaps,
or a merc, on some errand or other. Omega was populated with thousands of such individuals. His leg was feeling better and he set a brisk pace.

Leng’s duties had required him to spend a great deal of time on Omega over the years, but conditions on the space station were always in a state of flux. Favorite restaurants had disappeared since his last visit, what had been through streets were blocked off, and the Blue Suns were running the area he was in. Something that could be discerned from how many of them were on the streets—and the absence of street thugs.

Fortunately there was one thing Leng could count on and that was the Cerberus safe house waiting for him. After Leng murdered Liselle, and Grayson fled Omega, it had been necessary to close all of the organization’s hidey-holes on the assumption that the entire network had been compromised.

New safe houses had been established since then, but Leng didn’t know what to expect as he followed a narrow street into a district favored by upper-class criminals. Security people stood on corners, in doorways, and on roofs. All watching as the operative made his way up to a nice three-story building that was protected by a blast wall, metal gates, and a brace of krogan. They eyed Leng suspiciously as he paused for a scan and turned their backs on him when the gate rolled open.

Another scan was required before Leng could enter the building. After taking a lift up to the third floor it was necessary to enter a four-digit code into the keypad to open the door. The apartment was what Leng had expected it to be. And that was a hotel-like one-bedroom,
one-bath suite with a small sitting area and kitchenette. The whole thing was comfortable but impersonal. Even the air had an institutional flavor to it. But that was fine with Leng, who didn’t intend to stay there for very long.

Like any large organization Cerberus was dependent on a small army of functionaries. People who could arrange for the sort of distraction that allowed Leng to slip away, rent safe houses for operatives to stay in, and carry out dozens of other activities that were critical to success. And Leng was reminded of their role as he went over to examine the items that had been left on the coffee table.

There were toiletries, all according to his preferences, and three sets of clothing. He was already wearing a very serviceable set of light armor, and carrying a Kassa Fabrications Razer pistol. But, per his request, a Sokolov shotgun and a Vesper sniper rifle had been left for him. Boxes of ammo and two cleaning kits were available as well. It was the sort of service that only a top operative could expect and Leng took such things for granted.

A tone signaled an incoming call. But from whom? The answer was obvious. The Illusive Man. It was a reminder that Leng was still under surveillance. He turned to the apartment’s holo-pad. “Accept call.”

A swarm of light motes materialized in the air and flew together to form an image of the Illusive Man. A frozen wasteland had been visible in the background the last time Leng had seen the Illusive Man. But now his superior was silhouetted against a rusty red planet. It appeared that he was on an errand of some sort, the
purpose of which would remain unknown. “I’m glad to see that you arrived safely,” the Illusive Man said.

“Thank you.”

“Hendel Mitra, Kahlee Sanders, and David Anderson are on Omega or will arrive there shortly.”

Leng shrugged. “That’s to be expected. They’re looking for Nick Donahue and Gillian Grayson. I’ll kill them when I have time.”

The Illusive Man was holding an unlit cigarette. He caused it to twirl through the fingers of his right hand and back again. “Just before they left the Citadel Kahlee and Anderson were summoned by Council member Dia Oshar.”

“Interesting.”

“Very. The obvious question is why? But, until such time as we know the answer, I want you to leave them alone.”

“I understand.”

There was a moment of silence as the Illusive Man looked off camera. Then his steely blue eyes came back to meet Leng’s. “Gillian Grayson wants to kill me. And I think it’s safe to assume that Oshar and other members of the Council would like to see that happen.”

“Probably,” Leng agreed levelly. “But I’ll find Gillian, and when I do that part of the problem will be solved.”

“Now that your other assignments have been carried out you can turn your full attention to the matter,” the Illusive Man replied as he lit the cigarette. “There is a great deal of work to do Kai … Wrap it up as soon as you can.” And with that he disappeared.

Having broken the link Leng spent a few minutes at the apartment’s computer terminal prior to loading the shotgun and returning to the street. The purpose of the heavy artillery being to serve as a deterrent to street thugs and to give him an edge if forced to defend himself against a gang.

The krogans were still out front, and everything looked normal, as Leng set off to visit the Beggar King. His name was Hobar, he was a volus, and something of an institution on Omega. The title stemmed from Hobar’s position as the proprietor of a large network of professional and semiprofessional beggars, all of whom paid the volus ten percent of their daily take in return for what he liked to call “management services.” That included the assignment of a corner or other location where a particular beggar was authorized to ply his or her trade, the “protection” payments that had to be made to the various gangs in order to operate in their constantly shifting territories, and some rudimentary medical care.

But Hobar had a secondary line of business as well. His network of beggars was so ubiquitous that they saw everything worth seeing. And there were those who were willing to pay good credits for information about their enemies, business associates, and in some cases their friends. A capability that Leng planned to take full advantage of.

Hobar’s headquarters were located at the back of a cafeteria-style eatery where the emphasis was on quantity rather than quality—a surefire business model where many of Omega’s residents were concerned. And thanks to his long-term patronage, not to mention that of the beggars who came and went
each day, Hobar’s favorite booth had been modified to accommodate both his rotund body and the power chair that stood in for his missing legs.

No one knew how or why the bilateral amputation had taken place, although there were dark rumors that the volus had his legs removed in order to look more pitiful. If so the strategy had been successful, because Hobar had taken the money given to him by passersby and parlayed it into a successful if shabby empire.

Leng, who had made use of the Beggar King’s services before, entered the steamy embrace of the restaurant and followed a long warming table loaded with bins of food back to where Hobar’s chair was parked. The table in front of him was strewn with half-eaten plates of food, printouts, and other bits of office paraphernalia. In spite of the environment suit he wore, the rank odor of unwashed flesh tainted the air. A sleek computer terminal sat to Hobar’s right and two guards were leaning against the wall behind him—one was human, the other batarian, and both were well armed. They were watchful but made no attempt to intervene as Leng hung the shotgun on a wall hook and took the bench seat opposite Hobar.

The Beggar King was known to have an excellent memory and that was apparent as he spoke. “Mr. Manning … It has been awhile. Your last endeavor went well I hope?”

During his most recent mission to Omega Leng had broken into Grayson’s apartment and murdered Liselle T’Loak. The Manning persona had been useful then and could be again. “Yes, thank you.”