Mass Effect: Ascension

by Drew Karpyshyn

  A soft electronic chime from the navigation panel warned them a second before the ship dropped from FTL flight. They felt the faint surge of deceleration, and then the navigation screens came alive as their vessel began picking up nearby ships, small asteroids, and other objects large enough to register on the sensors.

  The enormous mass relay showed up as a blinking blue dot near the center of the monitor. Despite the muscle tremors, Grayson’s hands moved with a quick confidence over the controls as he plotted their approach.

  “You going to check the messages?” Hendel asked, the question a none-too-subtle reminder of his suspicion.

  “Just need to locate a comm buoy…okay, got one. Linking in.”

  There was a short beep, and one of the monitors flickered to indicate a new message had been downloaded from the interstellar network of communication buoys used to transmit messages across the vast expanse of the galaxy.

  “Play it,” Hendel told him.

  Grayson punched a button, and Pel’s face appeared on the screen, his voice filling the cockpit.

  “Got your message. Sorry things fell apart, but I warned you about getting sloppy,” he said, raising one eyebrow. “Lucky for you I think I can help. I’m sending the coordinates for a landing pad near my warehouse on Omega. I’ll be there with some of my crew to meet you when you touch down.”

  There was a brief pause, and then Pel laughed. “You understand this is going to cost you, right? You know how much I hate cleaning up someone else’s mess.”

  There was another beep from the monitor, and the image froze, the message ended. In his mind, Grayson breathed a sigh of relief, though he gave no outward indication of how he felt. He’d expected Pel’s message to be discreet; Cerberus operatives were well versed in the art of ambiguous double talk when using non-secure bandwidth. But with Hendel looming over him, he’d still felt a tingle of apprehension when he’d pushed the playback.

  “Pretty vague,” the security chief muttered.

  “This is a public channel,” Grayson snapped back at him, his nerves still on edge and begging for a quick hit of red sand. “Did you really think he’d admit to being a drug baron?”

  “I think that’s as much confirmation as we’re going to get,” Kahlee told her partner.

  Hendel considered for a long moment, then nodded. “Okay, but I still don’t like it. Take us through the relay.”

  Grayson bristled at being given what sounded like a direct order; this was his ship, after all. But he did as he was told, initiating the course he had programmed before picking up the message.

  “You look like you need some sleep,” Kahlee said to the security chief. “You go lie down. I’ll keep an eye on Gillian.”

  And on me, I’ll bet, Grayson thought. But he wasn’t about to try anything now. He could simply wait until they landed at Omega, and Pel and his team would take care of everything.

  As their ship shot forward to be snatched up by a twisting, shimmering bolt of energy unleashed from the mass relay, he couldn’t help smiling at how well things were going to work out. He noticed Kahlee, unaware of what he was really thinking, smiling back.

  Lemm peered through the binoculars at the nondescript warehouse. He’d been watching it for several hours now, perched atop the roof of a tall, four-story building on the next block. So far, he’d seen little to indicate anything unusual was going on, though all the windows were made of tinted one-way glass, making it impossible to see inside.

  “I haven’t noticed any guards on duty,” he muttered.

  “They’re there,” Golo assured him. “Heavily armed. Pel doesn’t trust nonhumans.”

  Lemm didn’t bother to ask why a xenophobe would set up operations in a place like Omega; greed could overcome almost any prejudice.

  The warehouse, like most of the surrounding buildings, was a short, squat structure only two stories high.

  “If I can get close enough to scale the wall, maybe I can sneak in through one of the second-story windows,” he said, thinking out loud.

  “They’ll have security cameras on the street,” Golo warned him. “You’ll do better coming in from above.”

  He realized the other quarian was right. From their current perch he could leap over to the neighboring three-story building, dropping down one floor to land atop it. With the way the block had been laid out, he could continue on from there, hopping from rooftop to rooftop until he reached the warehouse.

  “Good idea,” he admitted.

  He still didn’t like the other quarian; Golo would always be a despicable traitor in his eyes. But he had to admit that he had been extremely helpful in planning Lemm’s assault on the warehouse. It was almost enough to make him start trusting him; almost, but not quite.

  Golo seemed determined to prove himself, however. He’d even managed to acquire architectural plans for the warehouse’s interior: a mind-boggling mess of twisting halls and stairwells that doubled back and forth, seemingly in an effort to confuse and disorient anyone inside. Despite the convoluted layout, Lemm had already memorized the blueprints. In simple terms, the front half of the building was divided into two floors. Offices had been converted into barracks on the ground level; the second story consisted primarily of small storage rooms. The rear of the building was an open, high-ceilinged garage large enough to hold scores of shipping crates and several vehicles.

  As he watched, the garage door rolled up and a pair of rovers sped out, heading toward the nearby spaceport. He didn’t bother moving; there was virtually no chance they would spot him lying flat on a rooftop hundreds of yards away.

  “What are they doing?”

  “Picking up a shipment, maybe?” Golo suggested.

  Lemm briefly considered his chances of trying to sneak in to have a quick look around before they got back. Golo had told him there were five men and three women working for Pel—nine humans in total. He had no idea how many had gone off in the vehicles, but it was likely only a few had been left behind to guard the building. If the crew from the Cyniad were being held as prisoners inside, as he suspected, this might be his best opportunity to rescue them.

  “I’m going in.”

  “Don’t be stupid!” Golo hissed, grabbing him by the shoulder as he tried to stand up. “It’s broad daylight! They’ll see you coming!”

  “There’s probably only two or three people in there now. I like those odds better than nine against one.”

  “Those vehicles could come back at any time,” Golo reminded him. “Then you’d still be outnumbered, and they’d be the ones catching you by surprise.”

  Lemm hesitated. His gut was telling him to make his move, even though everything the older quarian was saying made logical sense.

  “Stick with the original plan. Go in tomorrow night. You’ll have more time to prepare. Plus, it’ll be dark and most of them will be asleep.”

  With a sigh, Lemm settled back down and resumed his vigil. He didn’t like sitting around doing nothing, but Golo was right yet again. He had to be patient.

  The vehicles returned less than thirty minutes later. They disappeared into the garage, the heavy steel door slamming shut behind them.

  “We’ve seen all we’re going to see,” Golo told him. “Let’s go. You need to get some rest so you’re ready for tomorrow night. You can sleep at my apartment.”

  Clearly sensing Lemm’s hesitation, Golo added, “I know. You still don’t trust me. Just keep your shotgun under your pillow if it makes you feel safer.”

  Grayson brought the shuttle in to land with a long, slow approach. The sensors picked up two vehicles parked just beyond the wall separating the docks from the interior of the station; he assumed they belonged to Pel and his team.

  They landed with the softest of bumps. He shut down the controls, killed the engines, then made his way from the cockpit back to where the others were waiting.

  Hendel and Kahlee were standing on either side of Gillian, the three of them waiting for him in the ship’s airlock. Gillia
n had changed out of the hospital robe into one of her old sweaters and an old pair of her pants they’d found in the back of the ship. She’d obviously grown since she last wore the clothes—the sleeves stopped halfway down her forearm, and the pant cuffs stopped several inches above her ankles. She was still wearing the sandals from the hospital.

  She smiled as Grayson approached, and he stepped in beside her, intentionally placing himself between his daughter and the security chief, who scowled.

  “Let me do the talking,” Grayson warned him as he activated the airlock.

  The door behind them snapped shut, sealing them in. There was a rush of air as the ship’s systems equalized the interior and exterior pressure before opening the outer door and extending the covered landing platform that would take them safely through the vacuum of the docks and into the breathable air of the station.

  With Grayson and Gillian in the lead and Kahlee and Hendel following, they walked slowly down the ramp until they were standing on the level ground of Omega’s surface, where Pel and five people Grayson didn’t recognize were waiting for them: three men and two women, all wearing armor and carrying guns. Despite the military gear, they seemed relaxed and at ease. A few of them were even smiling.

  “How’s it going, Killer?” the big man said, coming over to greet them.

  “Killer?” Grayson heard Hendel mutter, but he ignored the comment as he stepped forward to shake Pel’s offered hand.

  “This is it?” Pel asked with a toothy grin, his hearty grip nearly crushing Grayson’s fingers. “Everyone’s off the ship and ready to go?”

  “Just the four of us,” Grayson confirmed, wincing slightly as he pulled his hand free and took a step backward. “Let me introduce…”

  The words died in his mouth as Pel and the others all brought their weapons up simultaneously, pointing them at the new arrivals in an unmistakable gesture of hostility. Their casual attitude had vanished, replaced by one that was hard and dangerous.

  Grayson swore silently to himself; he’d told Pel to act with discretion so he didn’t upset Gillian. He was about to say something to this effect when he suddenly realized one of the women was pointing a weapon at him, as well.

  “What’s going on, Pel?”

  “Everybody stay calm and nobody gets hurt,” Pel warned. To one of the men on his team he said, “The big man and the girl. They’re biotics. Put them out first.”

  The man holstered his weapon and pulled out what looked like an automated, multicartridge hypodermic. He stepped up to Hendel, moving with well-trained precision.

  “Hold out your wrist,” Pel ordered.

  Hendel simply glared at him.

  “Hold out your wrist or I shoot the woman,” Pel clarified, aiming his pistol at Kahlee’s face. The security chief reluctantly complied, extending his arm with his palm up.

  The man grabbed the tips of his fingers and bent them down slightly, then reached out with the hypodermic and pressed it against the exposed underside of his wrist. There was the sharp sound of a high-tension spring releasing, and Hendel grunted softly as the tip of an unseen needle penetrated his skin, injecting him with some unknown drug. A second later he swooned and collapsed, unconscious.

  “Hendel!” Kahlee shouted, leaping to catch him before his head smacked the ground. She staggered under his weight and fell at the feet of the man with the hypodermic, Hendel’s body sprawled on top of her.

  The man reached down and pressed the hypodermic against her neck. There was another sharp recoil from the spring, and a second later Kahlee slumped over unconscious.

  “Daddy?” Gillian called out, her voice trembling. Her eyes were wide with fear and incomprehension.

  “The girl!” Pel snapped. “Quickly!”

  “Please, don’t,” Grayson pleaded, but his former partner wouldn’t even turn to look at him. The woman holding the gun on him gave a slight shake of her head, warning him not to move.

  The man grabbed Gillian’s wrist and roughly extended her arm. Her face twisted in agony at his touch and she let out a long, wailing scream. Oblivious, the man jammed the device against her skin and released another dose of the fast-acting narcotic. Gillian’s scream was cut off and her features went slack as she passed out in the man’s arms.

  He lowered her until she lay on the ground, not gently but carefully. Then he came over to Grayson.

  “Did he at least say why?” Grayson asked, standing motionless as the man reached out with the hypodermic and pressed it against the side of his neck.

  “We don’t take orders from the Illusive Man anymore,” Pel replied.

  There was the now familiar sound of the spring’s recoil, and the world slipped away before Grayson had time to ask what he meant.

  He had no idea how much time had passed before he finally woke up, but it felt like he’d been out for several hours at least. The familiar craving to dust up was there waiting for him, but it was more mental than physical. Red sand was a drug that tended to clear the body’s system quickly; the physical symptoms of withdrawal usually faded within twelve to sixteen hours.

  That was probably a good thing, considering that he now found himself lying on the floor in what appeared to be a makeshift holding cell. There was a door, presumably locked, on the far wall, and the only illumination came from a high-efficiency LED light overhead. The room was devoid of all furniture and decorations, though there was a small camera up in the corner to keep an eye on him.

  Pushing himself into a sitting position, it took a moment for his still groggy mind to register the fact that he wasn’t alone. Kahlee was sitting with her back against the wall in the opposite corner.

  “Guess your friend is going to hand us over to Cerberus after all,” she said.

  He was confused for a moment, until he realized she hadn’t heard his final conversation with Pel. She still thought he was a drug dealer, and she had no idea who Grayson was really working for.

  “I don’t think he’s working with Cerberus,” he admitted, figuring that small bit of information could do no harm. “Do you know what happened to Gillian?”

  She shook her head. “I haven’t seen her or Hendel.”

  Grayson chewed his lip, thinking hard. “Pel knows they’re biotics,” he muttered. “He must be taking extra precautions with them. Probably keep them both unconscious until…” he trailed off, realizing he had no idea what Pel had planned for them.

  “You checked the door?” he asked her.

  “They disconnected the access panel. It only opens from the outside.” She shifted and crossed her legs, trying to find a more comfortable position on the hard floor. “Any idea how we can get out of this?”

  The only answer he could give her was a shake of his head. There wasn’t anything more to say, and so they sat like that for a good ten minutes before the door opened with a loud swoosh, startling them both.

  Pel came into the room, accompanied by a pair of armed guards, and set a small wooden chair down in the center of the floor. As he settled into his seat the guards took up positions on either side of the door, which remained open.

  “Figured I owed you an explanation after all we’ve been through,” he said.

  “Where’s my daughter?” Grayson demanded angrily, not caring to listen to Pel’s attempts at justifying his betrayal.

  “Don’t worry, she’s safe. We wouldn’t want to hurt her. She’s too valuable. Same with your friend,” he added, turning to Kahlee.

  “How much is Cerberus paying you?” she asked.

  Pel laughed, and Grayson felt his stomach clench. “Cerberus pays pretty well,” the big man admitted. “Isn’t that right, Killer?”

  Kahlee looked over at him, but Grayson couldn’t meet her gaze.

  “So Hendel was right,” she said, her voice hopeless and defeated rather than angry as the truth dawned on her. “You and Jiro were working together. How could a father do that to his own child?”

  Grayson never even considered defending himself by claiming that he
wasn’t Gillian’s real father. There was no biological link between them, but he had raised her from infancy. For ten years he alone had cared for her, teaching and nurturing her until she’d been accepted into the Ascension Project. She had been, and still was, the center and totality of his world. There was no doubt in his mind she was truly his daughter; if she hadn’t been, everything would have been so much easier.

  “It was never meant to be like this,” he said softly. “Gillian is special. All we were trying to do was help her tap into her biotic abilities. We just wanted her to reach her full potential.”

  “Kind of sounds like your Ascension Project, doesn’t it?” Pel said to Kahlee, grinning.

  “We would never do anything to endanger the life of a student!” she shot back at him, finally showing some anger. “Nothing is worth that risk!”

  “What if it meant helping dozens—or even thousands—of other lives?” Grayson asked quietly. “What if your child had the potential to be a savior of the entire human race? What is that worth? Then what would you risk?”

  “In other words,” Pel chimed in, still grinning, “if you want to make an omelet, you have to break a few eggs.”

  “They’re not eggs!” Kahlee shouted. “They’re children!”

  “Not everyone can be saved,” Grayson said, repeating the words of the Illusive Man, though he stared down at the floor as he spoke. “If humanity is to survive, sacrifices must be made for the greater good. The Alliance doesn’t understand this. Cerberus does.”

  “Is that what we are?” Kahlee demanded, her voice filled with contempt. “Martyrs to the cause?”

  “Not really,” Pel said, gleefully interrupting once more. “See, Cerberus pays well. But the Collectors pay better.”

  “I thought the Collectors were just myth,” Kahlee muttered, as if she suspected Pel was toying with her.

  “Oh, they’re real. And they’re paying good money for healthy human biotics. We’ll make enough off that girl and your friend to live like kings for the rest of our lives.”