Mass Effect: The Complete Novels 4-Book Bundle (43 page)

The girl seemed to have taken to Lemm. She had started following him around, or just sitting and staring at him whenever he sat down or caught a few hours of sleep. Gillian didn’t initiate conversations with him, but she answered promptly whenever he spoke to her. It was unusual, but encouraging, to see her responding so well to someone, so neither Kahlee nor Hendel had tried to stop her when she’d come up to the cockpit to join them.

The Migrant Fleet, with its thousands upon thousands of ships flying in tight formation, showed up on the nav screens as a single, large red blob as they approached. Lemm punched up their thrusters, and they began to move steadily toward the flotilla.

When they reached a range of just under 150,000 kilometers the nav screen showed several smaller ships detaching themselves from the main armada, arcing around on an intercept trajectory with their own course.

“Navy patrols challenge every ship approaching the Fleet,” Lemm had informed them earlier. “Heavily armed. They’ll open fire on any vessel that doesn’t identify itself or refuses to turn back.”

From what Kahlee knew of quarian society, their reaction was completely understandable. Deep in the heart of the Migrant Fleet floated the three enormous Liveships: gigantic agricultural vessels that supplied and stored the majority of the food for the seventeen million individuals living on the flotilla. If an enemy ever damaged or destroyed even one of the Liveships the inevitable result would be a catastrophic famine, and the grim prospect of slow starvation for millions of quarians.

Lemm responded to the quickly approaching patrol by thumbing open a comm channel. A few minutes later it crackled with a voice speaking in quarian, though of course the tiny translator Kahlee wore as a pendant on her necklace automatically converted it into English.

“You are entering a restricted area. Identify.”

“This is Lemm’Shal nar Tesleya, seeking permission to rejoin the Fleet.”

“Verify authorization.”

Lemm had previously explained to them that most quarians who left on their Pilgrimage tended to return to the flotilla in newly acquired ships. With no records of the registration or call signs for the vessel, the only way to confirm the identity of those on board was through a unique code phrase system. Before leaving on his right of passage, the captain of the
Tesleya,
Lemm’s birth ship, had made him memorize two specific phrases. One, the alert phrase, was a warning that something was wrong, such as hostiles on the ship forcing the pilot to try and infiltrate the Fleet. The alert phrase would cause the heavily armed patrols to open fire on their vessel immediately. The second phrase, the all clear, would get them safely past the patrols, where they would join the densely packed mass of other ships, shuttles, and cruisers.

“The quest for knowledge sent me away from my people; now the discovery of wisdom has brought me back.”

There was a long pause as the patrol relayed the exchange back to the
Tesleya,
somewhere deep inside the flotilla, for confirmation. Kahlee’s palms were sweating, and her mouth felt dry. She swallowed hard in the silence and held her breath. Grayson’s shuttle was built for speed and long-distance travel; it had no weapons, no GARDIAN defense systems, and virtually no armor on its hull. If Lemm had mixed up the alert and all-clear codes, or if something else went wrong, the patrol would tear them apart in seconds.

“The
Tesleya
welcomes you home, Lemm” came the reply, and Kahlee let her breath out in a long, low sigh of relief.

“Tell them it’s good to be back,” he responded, then added, “I need to contact the
Idenna.
”

Again there was a long pause, but this time Kahlee didn’t feel the same unbearable tension as she waited.

“Sending coordinates and hailing frequencies for the
Idenna,
” they finally replied.

Lemm verified receipt of the message, then disconnected the comm channel. They continued their approach to the Fleet, and the single giant red blob on the nav screens became countless tiny red pixels jammed so close together Kahlee wondered how the vessels they represented avoided crashing into each other.

Moving with a steady, expert hand their quarian pilot maneuvered them into the mass of ships, working his way slowly toward where the
Idenna
floated along with the rest of quarian society. Twenty minutes later he flicked the comm channels open again and sent out a hailing call.

“This is Lemm’Shal nar Tesleya requesting permission to dock with the
Idenna.
”

“This is the
Idenna.
Your request is granted. Proceed to docking bay three.”

Lemm’s trifingered hands flew over the controls, making the necessary adjustments to bring them in. Two minutes later they felt the slight bump as docking clamps fastened onto their ship to hold it in place, followed by a sharp clang as a universal airlock connected to the airlock of their own ship.

“I’m requesting a security and quarantine team,” Lemm said into the comm channel. “Make sure they wear their enviro-suits. The ship is not clean.”

“Request confirmed. The teams are on the way.”

The quarian had warned them about this, too. The quarantine team was a necessary step whenever a new vessel was first brought into the flotilla. The quarians couldn’t risk bacteria, viruses, or other impurities from former nonquarian owners accidentally being released into the flotilla.

Similarly, requesting a security team to inspect your ship upon first arrival was considered a common courtesy among the quarian people—it showed you had nothing to hide. Typically, the team would come aboard, introductions would be exchanged, and no search would ever actually be conducted.

However, this situation was as far from typical as it could get. In the three hundred years of their exile, no nonquarian had ever set foot on a flotilla ship. As much as Lemm wanted to bring Kahlee before the captain of the
Idenna,
it simply wasn’t in his power. And the unexpected sight of humans on a ship that had slipped past the Fleet’s patrols was likely to cause shock and alarm.

There was no protocol for this unprecedented event, but Lemm had explained that there were procedures that could be followed to minimize the risk to both the crew of the
Idenna
and the humans on board the shuttle.

“Let’s go meet our guests,” Lemm said, standing up awkwardly on his injured leg. “Remember, just stay calm and everything will be fine. We just need to take it slow.”

The four of them made their way into the passenger cabin, and the three humans sat down in the seats. Lemm made his way to the airlock to greet the security and quarantine teams coming on board.

Again, Kahlee felt the stress of being forced to sit and wait. What if Lemm was wrong about how the other quarians would react to their presence? What if somebody saw the humans and panicked? They were putting a lot of faith in someone who was, technically, not even an adult yet in the eyes of his own people.

I think he’s earned a bit of trust after everything he’s done for us.

Kahlee couldn’t argue with the infallible logic of her own mind, but it did little to quell her fears. She could hear voices coming from the airlock, though they were too far away to pick up what was being said. One of the voices was rising, either in anger or fear. Someone—it sounded like Lemm, though she couldn’t be sure—was trying to calm the upset speaker down. And then there were footsteps coming through the airlock and into the ship.

A few seconds later four masked quarians, one female and three males, entered the passenger cabin, armed with assault rifles. The one in front, the female, actually did a double take on seeing the humans, then turned back over her shoulder to speak to Lemm, who was standing just behind them.

“I thought you were joking,” she said. “I really thought you were joking.”

“This is unbelievable,” one of the others muttered.

“What were you thinking?” the female, clearly the one in charge, wanted to know. “They could be spies!”

“They’re not spies,” Lemm insisted. “Don’t you recognize the woman? Look closely.”

The three humans sat silently as the female quarian stepped up to get a better look. “No … it can’t be. What’s your name, human?”

“Kahlee Sanders.”

There was an involuntary gasp from the other quarians, and Kahlee thought she heard Lemm chuckle.

“My name is Isli’Feyy vas Idenna,” the female quarian said, bowing her head in what seemed to be a gesture of respect. “It’s an honor to meet you. These are my ship mates, Ugho’Qaar vas Idenna, Erdra’Zando vas Idenna, and Seeto’Hodda nar Idenna.”

Kahlee bowed her head in return. “These are my friends, Hendel Mitra and Gillian Grayson. We are honored to be here.”

“I brought Kahlee here so she could speak to the captain,” Lemm interjected. “This meeting is my gift to the
Idenna.
”

Isli glanced over at Lemm, then turned her mask back to Kahlee.

“Forgive me, Kahlee Sanders, but I cannot permit you to board the
Idenna.
That decision must come from the captain, and he will want to consult with the ship’s civilian council before deciding.”

“So what are you saying?” Hendel asked, judging the mood to be calm enough for others to join into the conversation. “We have to leave?”

“We cannot allow you to leave yet, either,” Isli told him after a moment’s consideration. “Not without the captain’s approval. Your shuttle must stay here in the dock, and you must stay aboard your own vessel until a ruling is reached on this matter.”

“How long will that take?” Kahlee asked.

“A few days, I would guess,” Isli answered.

“We’re going to need some supplies,” Hendel said. “Food, primarily. Human food.”

“And they will need suitable enviro-suits when the captain finally decides to let them onto the ship,” Lemm added, taking the optimistic view.

“We will make every effort to accommodate your needs,” Isli told them. “We don’t have any stores of nonquarian food aboard the
Idenna,
but we will contact the other ships to see what we can find.”

She turned once more to Lemm. “You will have to come with me. The captain will want to speak to you in person.” Then she turned back to the humans. “Remember, you are not to leave the confines of this vessel. Either Ugho or Seeto will be posted outside your airlock at all times. If you need anything, they can help you.”

And with that, the quarians, including Lemm, left them alone. A minute later they heard a loud clang as the door to the
Idenna
’s external airlock slammed shut, sealing them inside the shuttle.

“Hmph,” Hendel grunted, “that’s a hell of a way to treat a celebrity.”

NINETEEN

Even with all he had done for Cerberus, even after hundreds of missions and almost sixteen years of service, Grayson could count on one hand the number of times he had met the Illusive Man face-to-face.

As charismatic and impressive as he appeared over a vid screen, he was far more imposing in person. There was a seriousness about him, an air of authority. He possessed a cool confidence that made it seem as if he was completely in control of everything that unfolded around him. There was unmistakable intelligence in his steely eyes; coupled with his silver-gray hair and his daunting presence, it gave the sense that he had wisdom far beyond that of ordinary men.

This impression was further enhanced by the surroundings of the office the Illusive Man used for his personal meetings. The room was decorated with a classic dark-wood finish, giving it a serious and subdued, almost somber, feel. The lights were soft and a little dim, leaving the corners obscured by shadows. Six black meeting chairs surrounded a frosted glass table on the far side of the room, allowing him to accommodate larger groups.

This meeting, however, was a private session. Grayson was seated in one of the two oversized leather chairs in the center of the office, directly across from the Man himself. He’d noticed a pair of guards posted just outside the door as he entered the room, but inside the office it appeared to be just the two of them.

“We haven’t found any hard evidence to back up your story yet,” the Illusive Man said, leaning forward in his own chair with his elbows resting on his knees and his hands clasped before him.

His features were sympathetic and his voice understanding, but there was a hard edge just below the surface. Grayson once again found him to be compelling yet intimidating at the same time. He made it so that you
wanted
to confide in him. Yet if you chose to lie, his eyes seemed to say, he would know … and there would be grave consequences.

Fortunately for Grayson, the truth was on his side.

“I stand by my report. I pulled Gillian from the Ascension Project as ordered. During the mission, I was forced to alter the plan because of interference from Kahlee Sanders and Hendel Mitra, who insisted on coming with Gillian. I made arrangements with Pel to deal with them, but when I arrived on Omega he imprisoned us all so he could sell us to the Collectors.”

The Illusive Man nodded as if agreeing with every word. “Yes, of course. But I’m still not clear on what happened next.”

The question was innocent enough, but Grayson recognized it as a potential trap. Within two days of receiving his message, Cerberus had sent an extraction team to bring him from Omega back to Earth to meet with the organization’s leader. Considering Pel and his entire team were dead—some of them by his hand—it was an invitation he wasn’t given the option of refusing.

Upon landing they had hustled him into a waiting car and taken him directly to the nondescript office tower that served as the corporate headquarters of Cord-Hislop Aerospace, the legitimate business front for Cerberus. Virtually the entire building was staffed with everyday men and women engaged in the business of manufacturing and selling ships and shuttles. None of them had any idea they were really working for an anonymous individual who inhabited the secure penthouse at the very top of the building, above the privately accessed suites of the more well known corporate executives.

Grayson had been itching for a sand hit during the seemingly endless elevator ride to the top of Cord-Hislop. But it would have been sheer idiocy to dust up before a meeting as important—and dangerous—as this one. He had one chance to convince the Illusive Man that Pel was a traitor. If he failed, he likely wouldn’t leave the building alive, meaning he’d never see Gillian again.

“I’ve told you everything I know about Pel’s death. An unknown person or persons, probably quarian, broke into the warehouse. I presume they helped the others escape. Most of Pel’s team were killed during the escape. During the battle I broke out of my cell. I killed Pel and one surviving member of his team myself. Then I contacted you.”

The Illusive Man nodded again, then stood up slowly. At just over six feet tall, he towered above Grayson, still seated in his chair.

“Paul,” he said softly, gazing down on him from on high, “are you addicted to red sand?”

Don’t lie. He wouldn’t be asking if he didn’t already know.

“I wasn’t high on this mission. I wasn’t hallucinating when I shot Pel, and I didn’t kill him and his team to cover up some mistake I made while stoned. I just did what was necessary.”

The Illusive Man turned his back to him and took a step away, pondering his words. Without turning back to face Grayson, he asked, “Do you care for Gillian?”

“Yes,” he admitted. “I care for her as much as any father cares for his child. You told me to raise her as my own, so I did. It was the only way to get her to trust me.”
And you already knew the answer to that question, too.

The Illusive Man turned back to face him again, but remained standing. “Do you ever have doubts about what we do here at Cerberus, Paul? Do you ever feel conflicted over what’s been done to Gillian?”

Grayson didn’t speak for several moments, trying to carefully formulate his response. In the end, he couldn’t find the words to answer while evading the question, so he replied as honestly as he could.

“It tears me apart whenever I think about it.” Then he added with conviction, “But I understand why it must be done. I see how it serves the greater good. I believe in our cause.”

The Illusive Man raised one eyebrow in surprise, tilting his head to fix his gaze on the man sitting before—and beneath—him.

“Your former partner would never have given me an answer as honest as yours.” Grayson wasn’t sure if the words were meant as a compliment or an insult.

“I’m not like Pel. He made a deal with the Collectors. He betrayed humanity. He betrayed Cerberus. He betrayed you.”

Grayson felt a small hint of relief when the Illusive Man sat down again.

“We’ve had no reports on your shuttle’s location since it left Omega. Not a single sighting at any space station or colony in either Council Space or the Terminus Systems.”

“I think I know why,” Grayson announced, exhaling a breath he didn’t even know he was holding as he played his trump card. “I think they’re hiding amid the quarian flotilla.”

Again, the Illusive Man raised an eyebrow in surprise. “I’m curious as to what led you to this rather unlikely conclusion.”

He didn’t have a good answer. His theory was based on a few pieces of highly circumstantial evidence: the shotgun he’d found at the warehouse, the prisoner in the basement, and the unshakable certainty that he just
knew
where Gillian was.

“Instinct,” he finally replied. “I feel it in my gut. The quarians took my daughter.”

“If they did,” his boss replied, “then she is beyond our reach.”

Grayson shook his head, silently refuting the other man’s statement. “I found Pel’s mission reports in the warehouse. I know he was gathering information to infiltrate the Migrant Fleet, and I think that’s what drew the quarian rescue team to the warehouse. But they left one of their own behind; a prisoner Pel had tortured to the brink of insanity. He gave me a transmission frequency and what I believe to be some kind of pass code before he died.

“Pel’s reports also mentioned a quarian scout ship he’d acquired, the
Cyniad.
I think we can load a team onto the ship and use the frequency and code to get inside the flotilla and get Gillian back.”

The Illusive Man didn’t try to deny the purpose of Pel’s mission. Instead, he considered Grayson’s plan, most likely weighing the risks against the potential rewards. “It could work … assuming you’re right about the quarians taking Gillian.”

He stood up again, but this time the action seemed to signal an end to their meeting, as if he’d gotten what he wanted out of Grayson.

“I will have some of our operatives in the Terminus Systems see if they can find any information to support your theory. If they do, we’ll send an extraction team to get her out.

“We have a quarian contact on Omega who could help us,” he added. “I will give him the code to see if he can verify the authenticity.”

Grayson had achieved half of what he wanted from this meeting: Cerberus was sending troops to bring Gillian back. But that wasn’t enough for him this time; he was done letting others control his daughter’s life while he sat idly by.

“I want to be part of the extraction team.”

The Illusive Man simply shook his head. “The mission will require exacting precision and flawless execution. The smallest mistake could put the entire team at risk. And I’m concerned your feelings for Gillian have compromised your judgment.”

“I need to be part of this,” Grayson insisted. “I need to get my daughter back.”

“I give you my word no harm will come to her,” the Illusive Man assured him, his voice slipping into a low, soothing register. “We’ll do everything to keep her safe. You know how important she is to us.”

That’s what I’m counting on.

Gillian represented over a decade of intense Cerberus research. Tens of thousands of hours and billions of credits had been invested in his little girl in the hope she would one day become the key to unlocking new frontiers in the field of human biotics. The Illusive Man wanted Gillian back just as much as Grayson, though for different reasons. And that gave the father something few people ever had when dealing with the Illusive Man: leverage.

“You don’t have any other choice,” Grayson warned him, delivering his ultimatum in a sure, steady tone. “I won’t give up the pass code. Not until I’m on a ship heading right into the heart of the Migrant Fleet. If you want to get Gillian back, then I’m your only shot.”

It was a dangerous gamble. They could always torture him for the information, and their techniques would make the methods Pel had used on his quarian prisoner seem merciful by comparison. But Grayson could still be useful, especially when it came to Gillian. Cerberus knew of his daughter’s condition; they knew she could be unresponsive to strangers. Her father was worth keeping around … or so he hoped.

“You are very dedicated to her,” the Illusive Man said with a smile that didn’t quite hide the rage beneath it. “I hope that does not become a problem later on.”

“So I can go?”

The Illusive Man nodded. “I will set up a meeting with Golo, our quarian contact on Omega.”

He motioned with one hand and Grayson stood up, fighting to keep his elation well hidden. It was quite likely there would be repercussions for his defiance somewhere down the road—the Illusive Man had a long, long memory. But he didn’t care about that now. He was willing to pay any price if it meant he could get his daughter back.