At the moment nobody was even glancing in her direction. Not that this observation brought any comfort. She was in a tough spot, and a case of alcohol-fueled paranoia wasn’t going to make things any easier. Kahlee set her drink down on a small counter built into the bar’s wall and tried to collect her thoughts, taking stock of her situation.
Sixteen hours ago she had walked off the premises of the Sidon Research Facility without permission. Leaving the base was a minor infraction; things escalated when she didn’t show up for her assigned shift eight hours later. Dereliction of duty was serious enough to go on her permanent record. And in another four hours her status would officially become UA—Unauthorized Absence—a crime punishable by court-martial, dishonorable discharge, and even imprisonment.
She picked up her half-finished drink and took another long sip, hoping the alcohol might help slow her racing thoughts. Everything had seemed so simple yesterday when she’d left. Kahlee had proof that her superiors at Sidon were conducting illegal research, and she was determined to report them.
She’d caught a shuttle leaving the base, flashing a pass she’d forged by hacking into the restricted security files, and arrived here on Elysium a few hours later. It was somewhere on that trip that she’d started having second thoughts.
With plenty of time to consider the full consequences of her actions, she began to see that things weren’t as black and white as she’d first assumed. She had no idea how many people at the base might be implicated in a formal inquiry. What if people she worked with, people she considered her friends, were somehow involved? Did she really want to bring them down? Part of her felt like this was an act of betrayal.
But her hesitations went beyond loyalty to her fellow soldiers: she was taking a huge risk with her own career. She had evidence Sidon was conducting research way outside the scope of its official parameters; evidence obtained by illegally compromising top-security-clearance files, acting on nothing more than her initial suspicions and a wild hunch. Her hunch had turned out to be true, but technically her entire investigation had been an act of treason against the Alliance.
The more she’d thought about it, the more Kahlee realized she had no idea what she’d gotten herself into. She couldn’t say if her superiors were acting alone, or if they were just following orders from someone higher up the chain of command. What if she reported them to the very person who’d ordered the illegal research conducted in the first place? Would anything change, or would it just be covered up? Was she possibly throwing away her career, and risking some serious jail time, for nothing?
In truth, if they really wanted to find her, it wouldn’t have been that hard. She was on record boarding a shuttle heading to Elysium with her fake pass. But she doubted the Alliance would send anyone after her. Not until she was missing for more than twenty hours and it became a criminal offense. So she still had a little time to decide what to do.
Not that a few more hours would make much difference. She’d been struggling with this problem ever since she’d touched down. Kahlee was too wired to sleep, too afraid to go back to Sidon and face charges, too scared to press on. She kept moving from bar to bar, having a few drinks then walking it off to sober up. She never stayed in one place for long, fearful of drawing unwanted attention. Her path took her from bar to lounge to club as she hoped to find some sudden inspiration that would miraculously solve her problem.
She glanced up at the news vids showing on the screen set into the wall on the far side of the bar, her eye drawn by a familiar image. Although she couldn’t hear what the broadcast was saying, she recognized a file photo of the Sidon Research Facility. Puzzled, Kahlee furrowed her brow and squinted, trying to read the rapidly moving type skimming across the bottom of the screen.
…ALLIANCE RESEARCH BASE ATTACKED…
Her eyes snapped wide in alarm and she slammed her glass down on the counter, spilling what remained of her drink. Ignoring it, she stepped out from her little corner and shoved her way through the crowd, heedlessly pushing and elbowing the other patrons out of her way until she was close enough to hear the newscaster’s words.
“Details are still sketchy, but we have received official confirmation from Alliance sources that the Sidon Research Facility appears to have been the victim of a terrorist attack.”
Anxious to hear more, Kahlee pressed forward, jostling one of the other human patrons and causing him to spill his drink.
The man turned toward here, angrily exclaiming, “Hey, watch where you’re…” He trailed off when he realized the bump had been delivered by a comely young woman.
Kahlee didn’t even acknowledge him with a glance, keeping her eyes riveted on the screen overhead.
“The scene is still restricted pending the Alliance investigation, so we aren’t able to bring you any live images…”
The man looked up at the screen, feigning interest in the hopes of forming a connection with her. “Gotta be the batarians,” he said matter-of-factly.
The friend he’d been talking with chimed in as well, eager to impress the attractive newcomer to their conversation. “The Alliance has been predicting something like this for months,” he said, assuming the tone of an unquestioned authority on the matter. “My cousin’s in the military and he told me—”
A withering gaze from Kahlee shut him up. His silence secured, she turned back to the vid just in time to catch the tail end of the report.
“…there are no reported survivors. In other news, the human ambassador to Camala recently held a press conference to announce the signing of a new trade accord…”
No survivors. The words left Kahlee numb, stunning her like a heavy blow to the back of the head. She had been at the base yesterday. Yesterday! If she hadn’t run off on this foolish mission, she’d be dead right now. The room began to list to one side and Kahlee realized she was about to faint.
The man she had bumped into caught her as she teetered, holding her up while she struggled against the vertigo. “Hey, what’s the matter?” His voice showed real concern. “You okay?”
“Huh?” Kahlee muttered, not even aware that most of her weight was being supported by a complete stranger. The man helped her stand straight, then let go—though he was poised to leap in again if she fell. He placed a hand on her arm to comfort her, or maybe to help her keep her balance.
“Did you know someone at the base? Did you have friends there?”
“Yes…I mean no.” Too much booze, too little sleep, and the shock of what happened at Sidon had momentarily disabled her, but she was beginning to feel secure on her feet again. Her agile mind was clicking; the full implications of what had just happened were finally registering. She’d fled a top-security research base mere hours before it was attacked. She wasn’t just a survivor…she was now a suspect!
The two men were looking at her with a mixture of puzzlement and concern. She smoothly disengaged herself from the hand on her arm and gave them an apologetic smile.
“I’m sorry. That story caught me off guard. I…I know people in the Alliance.”
“Anything we can do?” the second man asked. She got the sense his offer was sincere, just a nice guy looking out for a fellow human. But right now all she wanted was to get away without doing anything else that could make anyone remember her.
“No, no. I’m all right. Thank you, though.” She took a step back as she spoke. “I have to go. I’ll be late for work. Sorry about your drink.” She turned and disappeared back into the crowd, heading for the door. Glancing back over her shoulder, she was relieved to see neither of the men made any attempt to follow her. They simply shrugged, dismissing the bizarre encounter, then resumed their previous conversation.
It was dark and chilly outside as she stepped out from the bar. The news of Sidon’s destruction had sobered her up, but she could still use a walk in the crisp night air to really clear her head.
The Black Hole was located on one of Elysium’s main thoroughfares. It was still early in the evening, and t
he sidewalks were full of people. She moved quickly down the busy street, not heading in any particular direction, just feeling the need to be on the move. Her head was still spinning as she fought her way through the heavy pedestrian traffic. Slowly the paranoia began to creep back into her thoughts until she shied away from every passerby and jumped at every unexpected sound. She felt vulnerable out here with all these strangers, needlessly exposed.
A deserted side street offered temporary refuge. She darted down the narrow alley, stopping only when she had gone to the end of the block. The noise of people and monorails coming from the main drag was now only a faint murmur.
The news about Sidon changed everything. She had to reevaluate her situation. Had her disappearance somehow triggered the attack? It was hard to imagine it was mere coincidence, but she didn’t see how the two events could be related.
One thing was certain: they’d be looking for her now. She had to cover her tracks. Find some way to book a flight off Elysium that couldn’t be traced back to her. She’d need to find a fake ID, or bribe someone to let her board a ship illegally. If she stayed here much longer someone was bound to—
Kahlee screamed as she felt a heavy hand slam down on her shoulder. She was spun around and found herself staring into the chest of a terrifyingly large man with a vicelike grip. Looking up, she met his eyes, cold and hard.
“Kahlee Sanders?” It was more an accusation than a question.
Alarmed, she tried to take a step back, squirming and twisting away in an effort to break free. Her captor shook her once, roughly, and she winced in pain as his nails dug into the flesh of her collarbone.
“Lieutenant Kahlee Sanders, you’re under arrest on suspicion of conspiring to commit treason against the Alliance.”
In her surprise it had taken Kahlee a second to realize what the man was wearing. Now she clearly recognized his uniform: Alliance MP. They’d found her already. He must have spotted her on the main road and followed her into the deserted alley.
All the fight went out of her. Her head slumped forward as she surrendered to her fate. “I didn’t do it,” she whispered. “It’s not what you think.”
He grunted as if he didn’t believe her, but he did drop his hand from her shoulder. She could feel the skin beneath her shirt bruising already.
Pulling out a pair of cuffs from his belt, he held them up for her to see. In a curt voice he ordered, “Turn around, Lieutenant. Hands behind your back.”
She hesitated, then nodded. Resisting would only make things worse. She was innocent, now she’d have to prove it in front of a military tribunal.
“Don’t try to run,” he warned. “I’m authorized to use lethal force if necessary.” His words drew her attention down to the weapon on his hip even as she slowly turned her back to him, complying with his commands. From the corner of her eye she was just able to make out the Ahial Syndicate–manufactured Striker pistol holstered on his hip.
Her mind screamed out a warning even as she felt the cuff slap onto her right wrist. The Hahne-Kedar P7 was the standard-issue pistol for all Alliance personnel, not the Striker!
The realization came a millisecond after she felt the second cuff slap around her left wrist. Acting on instinct and adrenaline, Kahlee threw her head back violently. She was rewarded with a wet crunch as it smashed into the face of the fake Alliance MP.
She spun around as the man dropped to his knees, momentarily stunned by her unexpected attack. His arms dangled limply at his sides and a river of blood was pouring from his mouth and nose, creating a moist, dark stain on his face: the perfect target as she brought her knee up, inflicting even more damage to the injured area.
The blow knocked him backwards, and he slumped down onto his side, gurgling and choking as the blood clogged his throat. His body twitched and he flailed his legs, trying to ward off his attacker. But Kahlee was remorseless. She didn’t know who this imposter was—mercenary or assassin—but she knew if she didn’t get away from him, she was dead.
Calling on memories of the hand-to-hand combat classes all Alliance personnel received during basic training, she easily avoided his feeble kicks. With her hands still cuffed behind her back her feet were her only weapon. She danced around the prone figure, moving in so she could deliver the steel toes and heavy heels of her combat boots to the vulnerable areas of his head and chest.
Her opponent rolled onto his stomach, trying to protect himself. Kahlee hesitated for a second, then spotted his hand fumbling at the holster of his gun. She leaped forward and stomped on his fingers, again and again, turning his digits into a mess of broken bones and mangled flesh.
She ignored the whimpers and burbling cries as the man tried to beg for mercy through blood and shattered teeth. He was still conscious, so he was still a threat. She kicked him hard in the temple, possibly fracturing his skull. His body spasmed once, then went limp. Another hard kick to the ribs evoked no reaction, assuring her he was really out.
She dropped down onto the ground beside the body, moving quickly in case somebody came into the alley to investigate the commotion. The fake MP had cuffed her hands behind her back, but he hadn’t done a very good job of it. The metal rings were loose enough on her wrists to allow Kahlee to slide them several inches up and down her forearms—there was just enough play that she might be able to get free. Squirming and struggling, she managed to contort her body enough to slide her chained wrists down past her hip bones and along the backs of her thighs to her knees. She rolled onto her back and side, twisting so she could pull her feet through. Her wrists were still cuffed, but at least they were now in front of her.
Suppressing a gag reflex, she crawled on her hands and knees through the blood of her assailant until she was directly over his motionless body. He was still breathing in shallow, half-choked gasps. Kahlee let loose the breath she didn’t even know she’d been holding. She felt no remorse over the savage beating she’d inflicted while fighting to save her own life, but she was glad she wouldn’t have this man’s death on her conscience.
Training and adrenaline had saved her. That, and the carelessness of her opponent. But as her adrenaline wound down and she took in the gruesome scene, she felt the first hints of panic. She was a soldier, but she’d never seen combat duty. She’d never encountered anything like this.
Come on, Sanders! The voice inside her head was that of her former drill instructor, though the words were her own. You’re not out of this mess yet.
She gritted her teeth, determined to finish the job. Even so, Kahlee shuddered as she fumbled around the man’s blood-soaked belt until she found the key to unlock her shackles. Releasing the cuffs proved even more difficult than sliding them around to her front, as she had to clasp the key in her teeth and try to fit it into the lock. But after several frustrating minutes she heard the click, and the bonds fell away from her left wrist. With one hand free it only took another second to unlock the other cuff and Kahlee was free.
Kahlee took a quick look around, relieved to see nobody had stumbled into the alley yet. She grabbed the gun from the man’s holster, checked that the safety was on, and stuffed it beneath her jacket and into her belt. She stood up, then froze.
She didn’t know who the unconscious man at her feet was working for, but it was obvious he had been specifically looking for her. That meant others probably were, too. They’d have the ports staked out, just waiting for her to try and get off-world. She was trapped. She couldn’t even go back to the main street. Not with her clothes covered in blood.
There was only one option left. Taking another breath to calm her jangling nerves, Kahlee left her assailant’s body where it lay, moving quickly in the direction away from the busy thoroughfare. She spent the rest of the night skulking through the back alleys of Elysium, careful to avoid detection, slowly making her way toward the house of the only person she could turn to for help. A man she promised her mother she’d never speak to again.
FIVE
Within a decade of its discovery
by batarian surveyors, Camala had become one of the most important planets in the Skyllian Verge. Unlike most colony worlds, where initial populations were small and settlers tended to congregate around a single major city, Camala boasted two distinct metropolitan regions of over a million people each: Ujon, the capital, and the slightly larger Hatre, location of the world’s primary spaceports.
The two cities were nearly five hundred kilometers apart, built on opposite sides of a wide, inhospitable desert—the source of Camala’s rapid growth. For below the thin layer of orange sand and the hard, red rock underneath were some of the largest deposits of element zero in the Verge. The rich deposits of eezo—the galaxy’s most valuable fuel source—drove Camala’s economy, drawing in colonists eager to seek their fortunes working at the hundreds of mining and refinery operations scattered across the empty desert. The majority of the world’s population were batarians, and only they enjoyed the full privileges of true citizenship under local law. But like any colony world with a prosperous economy, there was always a steady influx of visitors and immigrants from every recognized species across Citadel space.
Camala was easily the wealthiest of the batarian colony worlds, and Edan Had’dah was one of the wealthiest batarians on Camala. He was quite likely among the ten richest individuals in the entire Skyllian Verge, and he wasn’t afraid to show it. Normally he wore the latest in cutting-edge fashions: asari-designed ensembles made with the finest materials imported from Thessia itself. His preference ran to the opulent and extravagant—flowing black robes highlighted with splashes of red to bring out the hues of his skin. But for the meeting tonight he had donned a simple brown suit covered by a drab gray overcoat. For someone as infamously ostentatious as Edan Had’dah, his plain garb was an almost impenetrable disguise.
Typically, Edan would be enjoying a soothing nightcap at this hour, sipping the finest of hanar liquors in the den of his mansion in Ujon. But this night was positively atypical. Instead of relaxing in comfort and luxury, he was stuck sitting on a hard chair in a dingy warehouse in the desert outside Hatre, waiting for the Verge’s most infamous bounty hunter to arrive. Edan didn’t like waiting.
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