Mass Effect: Retribution

by Drew Karpyshyn

  The Illusive Man let the hint of a satisfied smile cross his lips as he spun in his chair to better enjoy the magnificent view while finishing his cigarette.

  Kai Leng bit his tongue to keep from commenting on Aria’s abrupt end to her call with the Illusive Man. He suspected she had done it to try and get a rise out of him, and he wasn’t about to give her the satisfaction.

  “One of our operatives will contact you through the extranet once I’m off the station,” he said, reiterating the Illusive Man’s terms. “She’ll make arrangements to transfer the funds.”

  “Why are you so eager to leave?” she asked. “We should celebrate this partnership. At least stay and enjoy a drink in the club. On me.”

  “Our business is done. I’m ready to leave,” Kai Leng insisted.

  He had no desire to stay any longer in her presence than was absolutely necessary, and he wasn’t worried about offending her with his honest answer. Aria had made the logical decision to accept the deal; she wasn’t about to change her mind because of a little rudeness on his part. She was far too smart to let emotions get in the way of business.

  The asari shrugged indifferently, confirming his theory.

  “As you wish. Sanak, escort our anonymous guest out.”

  The batarian led him from the private room, through the club, and back to the entrance. Kai Leng was only too happy to retrieve his weapons and leave the pounding music of Afterlife behind for the crowded Omega streets.

  He made his way down the street for several blocks in the direction of the nearest spaceport, keeping an eye out to see if he was being followed. Once he was satisfied Aria hadn’t put a tail on him, he changed course.

  Despite what he’d told Aria, the Illusive Man had given Kai Leng specific instructions to remain on Omega after the meeting.

  “Keep an eye on Aria and her people,” he’d said. “Make sure they keep their end of the bargain.

  “If they don’t,” he’d added, “take matters into your own hands. Do whatever it takes. Grayson cannot be allowed to live.”

  FIFTEEN

  When Grayson came to he was sitting slumped forward in the pilot’s seat of the turian shuttle, his chin resting on his chest.

  He raised his head slowly, the muscles in his neck stiff and sore. His mouth was dry, he had a pounding headache, and he was sweating profusely: the familiar first stages of red sand withdrawal. With Cerberus no longer refilling the dispenser pumping the drugs into his system, his body was on its way to becoming clean again.

  Lifting himself carefully from the seat, he reached his hands up to the ceiling to try and stretch out his aching back. Only then did he recall the injuries he’d sustained during the attack: the broken hand; the rounds in his shoulder and legs … injuries that had miraculously healed themselves while he had slept.

  It took a few seconds before the full implications struck him. The Reapers had repaired his body while he was unconscious, but now he was the one standing and stretching! He was in control again!

  The Reapers were still there. He could feel them deep inside his mind, slumbering like some great beast. The outburst of biotic and physical energy had forced them to withdraw into the dark recesses of his subconscious to rest and recharge.

  This proved their power was not infinite, but he knew that when they attempted to seize control of him again they would come back stronger than ever. The cybernetics in his body were spreading … growing. Soon the Reapers would dominate him absolutely; he wouldn’t have many more windows of opportunity left.

  Sudden spasms in his stomach and bowels caused him to double over: another side effect of the red sand withdrawal. Moving quickly but carefully, he made his way to the head at the back of the shuttle. Turian and human physiology was similar enough for him to use the toilet, something he was grateful for as his body tried to purge itself through both ends.

  It was nearly ten minutes before his stomach settled enough for him to feel safe leaving the bathroom. Even though the Reapers were dormant, he could sense their instinctive revulsion at the graphic display of organic weakness. Grayson didn’t enjoy it, either, but his withdrawal gave him hope. Without the red sand clouding his thoughts, he’d have a better chance of holding the Reapers at bay when they tried to seize control of him once more.

  He didn’t know what the Reapers wanted. Their persistent presence in his mind gave him no insight into their ultimate goal. But whatever it was, he was determined to stop it.

  Suicide was the quickest solution, of course. End his life now, and the threat would be eliminated. The easiest way would be to end it with a single shot to the head, but the Reapers had jettisoned the turians’ weapons along with their bodies. He wondered if this was just coincidence, or if they had done this in anticipation of his reaction.

  There were other options available to him, though. He got up and made his way over to the emergency kit in the back of the shuttle.

  Something is wrong.

  The Reapers sensed the changes in the brain waves of their host through the synthetic network monitoring his mental activity. They recognized the pattern flashing through his synapses: hopelessness; self-destruction. They had lost a vessel once before like this. This time they were prepared.

  Grayson opened the metal emergency kit and examined the contents. There was medi-gel; a massive overdose could put him into a coma from which he might never wake. But would that even stop the Reapers? Or would they simply animate his flesh and send him stumbling around like some kind of zombie?

  Dismissing the drugs, Grayson let his eyes fall on the next available option: the emergency kit’s long, jagged utility knife. But it couldn’t be a simple slit on the wrist; the incredible healing properties of his own flesh would betray him. He would have to slash his throat, making a cut so deep he bled out before the Reapers even realized what was happening.

  The avatar cannot be allowed to harm itself.

  The Reapers understood that Grayson had grown more resistant to their overt attempts to control him; his mind was adapting, developing new ways to protect itself from their domination. But there were other forms of control.

  Tapping into his body’s unconscious systems, the Reapers increased the levels of hormones being released into Grayson’s system even as they subtly manipulated the electrical impulses in the brain to alter his emotional state.

  Grayson’s heart began to pound. He tried not to think about what he was going to do in case he lost his nerve. As he picked up the knife, his hands were shaking. He raised the trembling blade to his throat and closed his eyes.

  A bizarre mix of emotions flooded through him. He’d expected to feel fear, and there was plenty of that. But he also felt an odd sense of hope and elation. He felt inexplicably energized. Defiant. Triumphant!

  He tossed the blade back into the kit and opened his eyes. He refused to end it like this. Suicide was the coward’s way out. He was better than that.

  Marching back up to the pilot’s chair, he sat down in the seat and took a look at the nav systems to get a sense of where he was. If he could figure out where the Reapers were heading, maybe he could figure out what they were up to.

  To his surprise, he was deep inside Council space, orbiting a mass relay only one jump away from the Citadel … and from Kahlee.

  He knew she was on the great station that served as the heart of the civilized galaxy. It was the only way to explain how the turians had found him. She must have passed the Cerberus files he’d sent her on to someone she trusted; that person had recruited the turians to help them.

  He quickly plotted a new course for the shuttle—one that would take it in the opposite direction. Away from the Citadel. Away from Kahlee. He didn’t have a destination in mind. Instead, he planned to send the shuttle out into the most remote, sparsely populated region of the galaxy. With any luck it would be a one-way journey; he would run out of fuel and be trapped floating on the edges of space, never to return.

  It was another form of suicide, but now he w
as driven by the urgent need to put as much distance between himself and Kahlee as he could. He had to protect her.

  As a further precaution, he decided to send her a message. He didn’t activate the shuttle’s video feature; he didn’t want her to see what kind of monster he’d become. Instead, he’d send an audio file to her extranet account.

  He had to warn her to stay away from him, no matter what. He had to tell her not to look for him; not to try and help him.

  He has feelings for her.

  The Reapers made another slight alteration to Grayson’s thought pattern. Instead of his rational, conscious mind doing what was morally right, he momentarily succumbed to his primal, subconscious yearnings and desires.

  “Kahlee, this is Grayson. Listen closely—I need to see you. Right away. Send me a reply as soon as you get this.”

  Grayson ended the recording and sent the message off, completely unaware of what the Reapers had done.

  “Listen up!” Sanak shouted at the crew assembled in the cargo hold of the frigate. “ETA is five minutes. Expect resistance to be armed and organized.”

  Cerberus estimated they’d have about twenty soldiers to contend with. Just to be safe, Aria had sent forty of her best people on the mission—a mix of batarian, krogan, and asari mercenaries.

  “Turians don’t believe in surrender,” Sanak warned them. “So expect this to get messy.”

  There was some knowing laughter from his team; they were eagerly looking forward to the carnage. Between the element of surprise and their superior numbers, they wouldn’t have any trouble winning the battle. That wasn’t what Sanak was worried about.

  “Remember the primary goal—capture the human alive! Is that clear? Capture the human alive!”

  A chorus of assent rumbled back to him, but he wasn’t satisfied yet. He knew how easily things could get out of hand, particularly when krogan were involved.

  “This isn’t a suggestion. It’s not even me giving you an order. This comes down from Aria herself. The human ends up dead, and so do we.”

  He could see from the expressions on their faces that the importance of what he was saying was sinking in. Just to be safe, however, he repeated it one last time.

  “Capture the human alive!”

  The bunk in the room Anderson had chosen for his quarters was comfortable enough, but he wasn’t able to sleep.

  It wasn’t just the strangeness of the situation, though being on a Cerberus station manned by turians was more than enough to shake him. And there was something disconcerting about claiming the sleeping cabin of someone whose corpse was likely piled against the wall in the station’s docking bay.

  The issue keeping him awake was much more personal, however. He was worried about Kahlee.

  She was obsessed with scouring the research files, trying to fully grasp everything that Cerberus had done to Grayson. The turian scientists and techs were doing their best to help her, working in alternating ten-hour shifts. But Kahlee hadn’t taken more than a handful of ten- and twenty-minute breaks since their arrival. She was pushing herself too hard, and if she didn’t take a break soon she was going to collapse from exhaustion.

  Anderson had urged her to slow down, arguing that with each passing hour she was becoming less productive and more inclined to make a mistake. He pointed out that the turians could continue to pull files while she rested, giving her a completely fresh batch of data to analyze when she came back. As expected, she listened politely to his concerns, then brushed them aside with the reassurance that she knew her limits and a promise to stop whenever she reached them.

  Knowing he had no chance of convincing her to take a break, Anderson had retired to try to get some much-needed shut-eye. Instead, he lay on his back, staring up at the ceiling in the dim light of the cabin.

  It wouldn’t have been so bad if he didn’t feel so useless. His skills weren’t suited to research and analysis; he was a soldier. He didn’t like feeling helpless; he wished there was something he could do.

  A second later he regretted that thought as alarms began to ring out through the station.

  He sprang from the bunk and ran out into the hall, still in his undershirt and boxers. Several turians were emerging from the surrounding cabins, roused from their slumber by the emergency sirens.

  With no clear idea of what was happening, Anderson raced down the halls until he reached the lab. Kahlee was there along with several armed turian soldiers, though the techs and scientists were gone.

  “What happened to Sato and the others?” he asked, yelling to make his voice heard above the alarms.

  “They went to grab their gear,” one of the turian soldiers explained. “We’re under attack!”

  It wasn’t surprising that the techs and scientists would have brought their combat gear with them: military service was mandatory for every turian. Given the nature of the mission, it was likely everyone on board except for Kahlee and Anderson was still in active service.

  “What do we know?” Anderson asked, looking for a situation report.

  “Single ship closing in. Medium-sized frigate. Not responding to hailing frequencies. Looks like they’re going to try and board us.”

  The irony of the turians being on the other side of the equation this time was not lost on Anderson. He just hoped that this time the station’s defenders would emerge victorious.

  “You think it’s Cerberus?” Kahlee asked.

  Anderson shook his head. “I don’t see how they could have mounted a counterattack so soon. Not after the kind of damage we dealt them.”

  “Whoever it is, they’ll be here any minute,” the turian warned. “The captain wants us to rally here by the lab. Keep our forces together and face the enemy as a single unit.”

  “Understood,” Anderson said. “Where do you want us to set up?”

  The turian shook his head. “You stay in here with the door locked until the battle’s over.”

  “We both have combat training,” Kahlee protested. “We can help!”

  “You don’t have body armor or combat suits,” the turian reminded her. “You don’t know our tactics. You’ll just get in the way.”

  “He’s right,” Anderson said, cutting Kahlee off before she could object further.

  He didn’t necessarily agree with the turian, but he knew that nothing was more disruptive to a fighting unit than individuals questioning orders.

  “Can you at least spare some weapons just in case?” he asked.

  The turian handed Anderson his assault rifle and pistol, then disappeared out the door. Anderson handed the pistol to Kahlee, hit the wall panel, and punched in the code to seal them inside.

  He took a second to familiarize himself with the weapon: standard turian military issue. It was a good weapon, efficient and reliable … though if it got to the point where he had to use it, he suspected it would mean the battle had already been lost.

  “Now what?” Kahlee asked him.

  “Wait and hope that the next time someone comes through that door, they’re on our side.”

  Except for the whooping of the alarms, everything was silent for the next few minutes. Then the sound of gunfire erupted from the hall, deafening even through the closed door. It continued without pause for several minutes, punctuated by the faint shouts of soldiers barking out orders and the periodic explosion of a grenade.

  When it finally ended, it didn’t taper off. Rather, it came to an abrupt and sudden halt. A few seconds later the alarms stopped, too—either shut off at the control room or disabled by someone hacking into the system remotely.

  “Take cover,” Anderson whispered.

  He crouched behind one corner of the massive computer console in the middle of the room, resting his assault rifle on the edge and training it on the door. Kahlee took up a similar position with her pistol on the other side of the console.

  They heard heavy footsteps in the hall beyond, then the unmistakable sound of someone hacking the door’s access panel from the other side.
When it slid open to reveal a krogan in heavy armor, both Anderson and Kahlee opened fire.

  Instead of falling back, the beast charged their position. He managed to take three loping strides toward them before their combined fire penetrated his kinetic barriers. His momentum carried him two more steps forward, then they finally brought him down less than a meter away from the console.

  Anderson vented the heat clip to keep his weapon from overheating, waiting for the next attack. A pair of batarians, one on either side of the door frame, peeked around the corner and lay down suppressing fire, keeping the two humans pinned behind their cover long enough for an asari to step into the room and unleash a biotic wave.

  The console rocked backward from the impact, and Anderson and Kahlee were spent sprawling toward the rear of the lab. Anderson managed to scramble back to one knee to take aim again. Out of the corner of his eye he saw Kahlee roll over onto her stomach and wrap both hands around the butt of the pistol so she could fire from a prone position.

  Neither of them managed to get off a single shot before they were enveloped in a biotic stasis field launched by a second asari waiting in the wings. The powerful opposing gravitational and magnetic forces inside the stasis field held them completely immobilized for several seconds, allowing plenty of time for the batarians to rush in and disarm them.

  One charged up to Anderson and slammed him in the face with the butt of his shotgun just as the stasis field dissipated, sending the admiral toppling backward to the floor, barely conscious. Beside him he heard Kahlee scream as the other batarian brought his foot slamming down on the pistol clasped in her hands, crushing her fingers beneath his heavy combat boot.

  Anderson, his head spinning from the blow, tried to get up to fight. But before he could, the batarian landed on top of him, his knee driving into Anderson’s chest and pinning him in place. Turning his head, Anderson saw Kahlee in a fetal position, writhing in pain, her mangled fingers clutched tight against her abdomen.

  To his surprise, the attackers didn’t kill them. Instead, they hauled them to their feet, forced their hands behind their backs, and slapped cuffs on their wrists.