Saren gently placed a hand on either side of the batarian’s head, then gave a savage twist at an awkward angle, breaking his elongated neck. A quick and painless death.
After all, he wasn’t a monster.
ELEVEN
Anderson disembarked on Elysium with the three hundred other passengers who had booked a seat on the public-transport shuttle from the Citadel.
The landing port teemed with people. The densely packed crowd was a mix of every known species in the galaxy; some arriving, some leaving, most waiting in the long, winding lines to clear customs and border stations. Security had always been tight on Elysium, but with the attack on the nearby Sidon base things had been elevated to a level Anderson had never seen before.
Not that he disapproved. Ideally located near the nexus of several primary and secondary relays, Elysium was a major hub for travel and commerce that the Alliance could not afford to expose to possible terrorist attacks. The colony was only five years old, but already it was one of the busiest trade ports in the Verge. The population had exploded; recently passing one million, if you included all the various and varied resident aliens who accounted for nearly half the total inhabitants. Unfortunately, that also meant a disproportionately high number of visitors to Elysium were nonhuman, and subject to heightened screening procedures.
The extra security made arrivals and departures a long and cumbersome experience for most travelers. Even humans were subjected to major delays; the staff taken away to help process the alien visitors meant fewer people left behind to deal with the Alliance citizens.
Fortunately for Anderson, his military ID gave him the luxury of bypassing the long lines. The guard at the Alliance station scanned his thumbprint and studied his identification for a few seconds before saluting and waving him through.
Officially, Anderson wasn’t here in any authorized capacity. He was just an Alliance marine taking shore leave, a believable enough cover story to avoid drawing any unwanted attention and hide the true purpose of his visit.
Jon Grissom was Kahlee Sanders’s father. It was pretty obvious they were estranged, but there was still a good chance Grissom knew something that could help Anderson’s investigation. Sidon was only a few hours away from Elysium. There were records of Sanders booking a passage here when she went UA. And even though it looked like Grissom hadn’t communicated with his daughter in at least ten years, it was public knowledge that the Alliance’s most recognizable soldier had taken early retirement and become a recluse on humanity’s largest colony in the Verge.
Anderson still couldn’t wrap his head around the idea that Sanders was a traitor. The pieces just didn’t add up. But he knew she was involved somehow; her sudden disappearance had to be more than coincidence. Maybe she had gotten in over her head and panicked when things got out of control. He could imagine her arriving on Elysium: scared, alone, not knowing who to trust. Estranged or not, her father was the most likely person she’d turn to for help.
After checking his gear at the hotel, Anderson rented a car and drove out to the isolated estates on the outskirts of the city. It took him awhile to find Grissom’s house; the addresses in the area were so inconspicuous as to be almost hidden. It was obvious the people who lived out here valued their privacy.
Exiting the vehicle, he began the long walk across the grounds of the estate toward the surprisingly small domicile located as far back from the road as possible. Anderson didn’t understand Grissom’s desire to withdraw from the public eye. He respected the man and his reputation, but he couldn’t imagine any way to justify simply walking away like he did. A soldier didn’t turn his back on the Alliance like that.
You’re not here to pass judgment, he reminded himself as he reached the door. He rang the bell and waited, involuntarily standing at attention. You’re just here to find Kahlee Sanders.
It took several minutes before he heard someone coming on the other side, grumbling as he approached. A moment later the door opened, revealing Rear Admiral Jon Grissom in all his glory.
The salute Anderson had been on the verge of snapping off by way of greeting died at his hip. The man before him wore nothing but a tattered housecoat and dirty boxers. His hair was long and uncombed and his face was partially hidden behind a three-day stubble of gray and black hairs. His eyes were hard and bitter, and his face seemed frozen in a scowl.
“What do you want?” he demanded.
“Sir,” Anderson replied, “my name is Lieutenant Commander David And—”
Grissom cut him off. “I know who you are. We met back at Arcturus.”
“That’s right, sir,” Anderson acknowledged, feeling a faint surge of pride at being recognized. “Before the First Contact War. I’m surprised you remember me.”
“I’m retired, not senile.” Despite the joke, there was nothing humorous in Grissom’s tone.
There was an awkward pause as Anderson tried to reconcile his memories of the iconic figure of Grissom’s past with the disheveled grouch now standing in front of him. It was Grissom who filled the silence.
“Look, kid, I’m retired. So go back and tell the brass that I’m not going to do any interviews or speeches or appearances just because one of our military bases got attacked. I’m done with that crap.”
Anderson pounced, convinced the other man had already slipped up. “How do you know Sidon was attacked?”
Grissom glared at him like he was a fool. “It’s all over the damn news vids.”
“That’s not why I’m here,” Anderson said, trying to hide his embarrassment. “Can we talk inside?”
“No.”
“Please, sir. It’s a matter I’d rather not discuss out here in public.”
Grissom held his ground, blocking the door so Anderson couldn’t enter.
The lieutenant realized tact and diplomacy weren’t going to be any use here. Time to be blunt. “Tell me about Kahlee Sanders, sir.”
“Who?”
The old man was good. Anderson had been hoping to see some reaction at the name of his long-lost daughter, his only flesh and blood. But Grissom hadn’t even flinched.
“Kahlee Sanders,” Anderson repeated, his voice becoming noticeably louder. It was unlikely anyone would hear him—the neighbors were too far away. But he had to do something to get inside that door. “Your daughter. The soldier who went UA from Sidon mere hours before it was attacked. The woman we’re looking at as a traitor to the Alliance.”
Grissom’s scowl became a grimace of pure hatred. “Shut up and get your ass in here,” he muttered, stepping aside.
Once inside, Anderson followed his reluctant host into the small living room. Grissom settled into one of the three padded chairs, but the lieutenant remained standing, waiting for an invitation to do the same. After several seconds he realized the invitation wasn’t forthcoming, and he took a seat on his own.
“How’d you find out about Kahlee?” Grissom finally asked, speaking as casually as if they were discussing the weather.
“There are no secrets in this day and age,” Anderson replied. “We know she was last seen here on Elysium. I need to know if she came to talk to you.”
“I haven’t spoken to my daughter since before she was a teenager,” Grissom replied. “Her mother didn’t think much of me as a husband or a father, and I couldn’t really argue with her. I figured the best thing was to just get out of their lives.
“Hey,” Grissom suddenly recalled, “last time we met you said you were engaged. A girl waiting for you back on Earth, right? You must be married by now. Congratulations.”
He was trying to throw Anderson off balance. Grissom knew damn well how hard it was for an Alliance soldier to make a marriage work; his innocent question was meant to rattle his guest. He may have looked like a harmless, burned-out old man, but there was still plenty of fight left in him.
Anderson wasn’t about to rise to the bait. “Sir, I need your help. Your daughter is suspected of being a traitor to the Alliance. Doesn’t that mean anythin
g to you?”
“Why should it?” he shot back. “I barely know her.”
“I found out you two were related. Eventually somebody else is going to make that connection, too.”
“What? You think I’m worried about my reputation?” he scoffed. “You think I’m going to help you because I don’t want people to know the great Admiral Grissom had an illegitimate daughter who’s accused of treason? Ha! You’re the ones who care about crap like that. I really couldn’t give a damn.”
“That’s not what I meant, sir,” Anderson replied, refusing to be provoked. “I tracked Kahlee here. To you. That means someone else can track her here, too. I came to you because I want to help your daughter. But the next person who comes after her—and we both know there will be others—might be looking to harm her.”
Grissom leaned forward slowly and placed his head in his hands, considering Anderson’s words. Several long moments went by before he sat up straight again. His eyes were moist with tears.
“She’s not a traitor,” he whispered. “She didn’t have anything to do with this.”
“I believe you, sir,” Anderson said, his voice sincere and sympathetic. “But not many others will. That’s why I need to find her. Before something happens to her.”
Grissom didn’t say anything, but simply sat there chewing on his lower lip.
“I won’t let anything bad happen to her,” Anderson reassured him. “I give you my word on it.”
“She came here,” Grissom finally admitted, taking a deep breath. “She said she was in trouble. Something to do with Sidon. I didn’t ask her any of the details. I guess…I guess I was afraid of what she might tell me.”
He leaned forward and clasped his head in his hands again. “I was never there for her when she was growing up,” he mumbled, sounding as if he was on the verge of tears. “I couldn’t turn her away now. I owed her.”
“I understand, Admiral,” Anderson said, reaching forward to place a comforting hand on Grissom’s shoulder. “But you have to tell me where she went.”
Grissom looked up at him, his expression naked and vulnerable. “I gave her the name of a freighter captain down at the ports. Errhing. Captain of the Gossamer. He helps people who want to disappear. She left last night.”
“Where was she going?”
“I didn’t ask. Errhing takes care of all the details. You need to talk to him.”
“Where is he?”
“The Gossamer left this morning on a trade run out near the Terminus Systems. He won’t be back for weeks.”
“We don’t have weeks, sir.”
Grissom stood up, his posture a little straighter than it had been when Anderson first arrived, as if his muscles were trying to remember what it was like to stand proudly at attention. “Then I guess you’ll just have to get your patrols out there and find him, soldier. He’s the only one who can lead you to my daughter.”
Anderson jumped crisply to his feet. “Don’t worry, Admiral. I won’t let anything happen to her.”
He started to salute, but Grissom turned his head away.
“Don’t,” he muttered, ashamed. “I don’t deserve that. Not anymore.”
Anderson extended his hand instead. The older man hesitated a moment, then reached out and clasped it in a surprisingly firm grip.
“You’re a better man than I ever was, Anderson. The Alliance is lucky to have you.”
The lieutenant didn’t know what to say, so he only nodded. Grissom took him firmly by the elbow and led him out of the living room to the front door.
“Remember your promise,” he said as his parting words. “Don’t let anything happen to my daughter.”
Grissom watched the lieutenant leaving his home on the vid-screen for the security camera over his door, only turning away when the young man got into his vehicle and sped off. Then he made his way slowly to the back of the house and knocked once on the closed door of his bedroom.
A second later Kahlee opened it and asked, “Who was it?”
“Some Alliance snoop who figured out we were related. I sent him on a wild-goose chase. He’ll spend the next two weeks out near the Terminus Systems chasing down an old friend of mine.”
“Are you sure he bought it?” Kahlee asked.
“I gave him exactly what he wanted,” Grissom said with a cynical smile, “the chance to help an old, broken-down hero remember something of who he used to be.
“But he’s not the one we have to worry about,” Grissom continued. “Things won’t get tough until we run into someone involved in the attack on Sidon.”
Kahlee reached out and grabbed his hand, pressing it firmly between her own palms. “Thank you,” she said, staring up into her father’s eyes. “I mean it.”
He nodded, and shifted uncomfortably until she released her grip. “We’ll wait a few more days,” he said, turning away and leaving her to the privacy of her room, “then we’ll figure out some way to get you off this planet.”
A large, dark shadow crept quickly and quietly across the moonlit grounds of Grissom’s estate, making its way toward the home.
Skarr could move silently when he had to, even in full body armor. It slowed him down, but he usually relied on strength rather than speed anyway.
There were no lights on inside the small house of the man Skarr now knew to be the father of his target. He’d been surprised when his batarian information broker had come up with the name of an Alliance hero, but it didn’t really change the job. It just meant there’d be more fallout when he was done.
The krogan didn’t know if Kahlee Sanders was inside, but even if she wasn’t her father probably knew how to find her. Skarr was confident he could make the human talk…as long as he didn’t accidentally kill him first. That’s why he was traveling light, armed only with a pistol and his favorite knife.
He paused outside the only door, listening for signs of life. From his belt he pulled out his omnitool, using it to hack in and disable the security system and override the electronic lock. He slid the omnitool back into his belt, exchanging it for his pistol, and pushed the door open.
His eyes still adjusting to the darkness, he put one foot across the threshold. The shotgun blast took him square in the chest.
There was a blue flash as the reflexive system of kinetic barrier fields reacted to the impact, deflecting most of the rounds harmlessly away. A few tore through the kinetic barriers only to ricochet off the ablative plates of his body armor, or bury themselves into the thick padding underlay. A handful penetrated every layer of protection and tore into the flesh beneath.
The force of the blast lifted the krogan off his feet, knocking the pistol from his grip and hurling him back out the door to land heavily on the ground.
Grissom jumped up from the chair where he’d been holding a nightly vigil ever since Kahlee had arrived and raised the gun for another shot. He’d recognized the blue flash as the intruder’s kinetic barriers that absorbed most of the initial blow. But the point-blank hit would’ve drained the shields, and one more good shot should finish the job.
Lying on his back, Skarr yanked the knife from his belt and flung it end over end at his attacker. The blade sank deep into the muscle of Grissom’s left bicep as he squeezed the shotgun’s trigger again, knocking him back and throwing off his aim. Instead of blowing away the krogan’s head, he left a scorching hole in the ground just beside him.
The shotgun’s barrel slipped from Grissom’s suddenly nerveless hand. Skarr was on his feet and back inside the house before the old man could use his one good arm to bring the weapon to bear again. Bellowing in anger, the krogan slapped the gun away with one massive fist, sending it skittering into the living room. He grabbed the human and flung him against the wall hard enough to crack the plaster.
The blade slipped from Grissom’s arm as he slumped down to the floor, all the air knocked out of his lungs. The alien loomed above him, turning its head slightly so it could fix one of its cold, reptilian eyes on him. Grissom was no c
oward, but he felt fear grip his heart as he stared up into the dead, black pupil.
Then he heard a loud crack, crack, crack—the familiar retort of an Alliance Hahne-Kedar P15-25—and the krogan staggered away. He’d been shot three times in the heavy hump of muscle and bone on his back, but he was still standing.
Lieutenant Anderson stood in the doorway, pistol drawn. He came into the room, firing the pistol a half dozen more times as the krogan turned to face him. He aimed low, looking to take out the legs. One of his shots found the exposed joint at the knee where the hard plates of body armor were connected by a flexible, but vulnerable, padded mesh.
Roaring in rage and agony the krogan crashed to the ground, clutching at his wounded joint.
“One move and the next shot goes right between your eyes,” Anderson warned, taking a bead on the bony ridge running along the top of the krogan’s skull.
Grissom was impressed. It wasn’t easy to take a human in full body armor down with a pistol, never mind a krogan.
“I’m glad to see you here,” he managed to gasp once the wind returned to his lungs.
“You didn’t honestly expect me to be fooled by that little performance you gave the other day,” Anderson replied, never taking his eyes or his weapon off the krogan in the corner. “I’ve been watching this place ever since I walked out your door.”
Grissom struggled to his feet, his left arm still dangling uselessly, his right pressed against his heavily bleeding wound. A moan of pain escaped his lips.
“Your friend is hurt,” the krogan growled.
Anderson wasn’t distracted, even for an instant. “He’s tough. He’ll live.”
The krogan was bleeding from the shot to his knee. The armor on his chest was peppered with small holes, the padding beneath scorched and burned. Dark blood oozed from three of them. Anderson guessed at least one of the shots to the back had penetrated deep enough to do some damage as well. But he’d seen krogans take a hell of a lot more punishment than this and keep coming.
Mass Effect™: Revelation Page 13
