Mass Effect: Retribution, Page 3

  Kahlee didn’t want children like Nick to grow up ashamed of their gift. But there was always the fear the pendulum could shift too far the other way, leading to an arrogant sense of entitlement or superiority among biotics. They could come to look down on others as inferior, making it even more difficult for nonbiotics to welcome them into society.

  When Nick first came to the program, Kahlee had feared this was the direction he was heading. But the Ascension Project focused on more than just maximizing biotic potential; the curriculum also concentrated on building moral character, and in Nick’s case it seemed to have made a difference.

  As he’d matured, the bully had transformed into a protector of the other students. He’d gone from sullen and selfish to helpful and cooperative. Now he regularly volunteered to tutor other students at the Grissom Academy—even the nonbiotics who weren’t part of the Ascension Program.

  In light of all the progress he’d made, Kahlee decided she wasn’t going to come down too hard on him for his latest minor transgression.

  When she got back to his room Nick was lying facedown on his bed, the nape of his neck exposed in preparation for the familiar procedure he was about to endure.

  “I never meant for Yando to get in trouble,” he mumbled into his pillow as he heard Kahlee come in.

  She sat down on the bed beside him, then reached over and carefully pinched the nape of his neck between her thumb and forefinger, wincing at the inevitable—but still slightly painful—static spark as she made contact with his skin. The Ascension Project had tried to find a way to regulate the excess electrical charge that built up naturally in a biotic’s body, but so far had experienced little success in coming up with a practical solution. For now, it was still a minor inconvenience the students and teachers simply learned to live with.

  “Yando’s still recovering from his surgery,” Kahlee explained as she inserted a long, slim needle between the young man’s vertebrae and into the tiny subcutaneous transmitter. “He needs his sleep.”

  The small ball on the top of the needle blinked green, indicating the data was successfully uploaded.

  “He doesn’t like being alone in his room,” Nick answered, muscles tense and teeth gritted against his discomfort. “I think he misses his mom.”

  He let out a long sigh when Kahlee extracted the needle, and his body relaxed.

  “I thought maybe if we played some Conquest he wouldn’t be so scared.”

  Kahlee smiled to herself and gently rubbed Nick’s shoulder.

  “You’re a good kid.”

  Still facedown, he didn’t answer, but she could see his ears turning red with embarrassment. He shifted slightly, and she realized he was trying to get more comfortable while being careful not to roll over, desperate to hide his body’s involuntary reaction to her touch.

  He’s not a little kid anymore, she reminded herself, quickly pulling her hand away as what was happening to Nick dawned on her. He’s a teenager practically drowning in hormones.

  Kahlee was aware enough to know that several of the older students had developed crushes on her. It was understandable: she offered them comfort and compassion, and though she dressed conservatively while at the Academy, with her shoulder-length blond hair and trim figure she was still an undeniably attractive woman.

  “I better go,” she said, standing up quickly.

  Uncontrollable erections were perfectly normal for someone Nick’s age, but the last thing she wanted to do was make an awkward situation worse by drawing attention to what was happening. Better to just make a quick exit.

  “Yeah, okay,” Nick answered, his voice noticeably strained.

  She flicked off the light and shut the door behind her, giving him some necessary privacy.

  Once she got back to her own private quarters, she downloaded Nick’s data into her private terminal, where it would automatically be relayed to the central database inside the Ascension Project’s main laboratory.

  The numbers were encouraging. Initial testing had indicated there was an upper limit to what each individual biotic could achieve. However, recent results from students like Nick seemed to imply that with hard work these so-called upper limits were hardly set in stone.

  As she charted the latest results from her other students, she couldn’t help but wonder what would have happened with Gillian Grayson if she had stayed in the program.

  Although she was autistic, Gillian’s potential had dwarfed the other children’s in the Ascension Project. Kahlee suspected her remarkable talent and her autism were somehow linked, though it was also possible her abilities were the result of the drugs her father and Cerberus had been secretly pumping into her system.

  In the end, Grayson had chosen his daughter over his loyalty to Cerberus, and with his help Kahlee had managed to get Gillian onto the crew of a quarian deep-space exploration vessel … one of the few safe places in the galaxy beyond the Illusive Man’s reach.

  Kahlee understood how hard it had been for Grayson to send his daughter away; it had been hard for her to. But Gillian wasn’t alone: Hendel Mitra—the former security chief of the Grissom Academy—was with her, and he cared for her as much as her own father did.

  Kahlee’s train of thought was derailed by the soft beeping of an incoming call over the extranet. The point of origin was blocked, but she had a pretty good idea of who was on the other end of the line.

  She tapped the bottom right corner of the hovering interface screen to accept the call, activating the video feed on a separate screen. Staring back at her was Grayson himself, as if Kahlee’s thoughts about his daughter had somehow conjured him up.

  “Kahlee,” he said, his face brightening as he spoke her name.

  For the past three years, Grayson had called her every two or three weeks. Though he would never openly admit it, she knew he was checking up on her. She suspected that after Gillian was gone, he’d struck some kind of bargain with the Illusive Man to guarantee her safety … though what that bargain was, or what it had cost him, she’d never been able to find out.

  From the image on her screen, it looked as if he was calling from a computer station set up inside a small bedroom. She couldn’t make out any other significant details, however; Grayson was always careful to give her no clue as to where he was calling from. So she studied his physical appearance instead.

  He seemed to be wearing some type of body armor or combat suit, though it was hard to be sure with only his head and shoulders visible. She was relieved to see that his pupils and teeth were white, with no trace of the rosy pink hue that would indicate he had started using red sand again. Yet his face looked lean and haggard, as if he was under a great deal of stress.

  “You look good, Grayson,” she said, letting a smile slip across her lips to sell the white lie.

  “I’m keeping busy,” he responded, as vague and evasive as ever. “How have you been? Everything going well on the Ascension Project? Nothing unusual?”

  “Unusual? You mean other than teaching children how to move objects with their mind?”

  Grayson forced a polite laugh. Kahlee could see he was on edge.

  “Is something wrong?”

  “No,” he answered quickly, shaking his head. “Everything’s fine. Just got back from a job. Always leaves me feeling a little off.”

  “What kind of job?”

  “The kind that pays my bills.”

  There was an awkward moment of silence as Kahlee debated whether to keep pushing for more information. In the end, she decided to let it go.

  “I was thinking of Gillian when you called.”

  A wave of conflicting emotions flickered across Grayson’s face at the mention of his daughter: longing, regret, and happiness ran in rapid succession across his features.

  “I’m always thinking of her,” he said softly. “Have you heard anything? From the quarians? Or Hendel?”

  “I’m sorry. No.”

  After a pause, Grayson gruffly insisted, “It’s better this way.”


  Kahlee couldn’t help but feel like he was trying to convince himself, not her.

  “You’re welcome to come visit the Academy,” she reminded him. “I’ve put you on my precleared-visitors list.”

  Grayson’s association with Cerberus had never become known to anyone at the Academy other than Hendel and Kahlee, and she knew those days were behind him. As far as the rest of the staff knew, he was just the father of a former student … and a major donor to the program.

  “I know how much you miss Gillian,” she pressed. “Maybe coming here and meeting some of the other students and seeing the advances we’ve made would make things easier somehow.”

  “It’s too dangerous,” Grayson replied, refusing to even consider her offer. “For me and for you.”

  “I wish you’d let me help you,” she said. “You don’t have to do this alone, you know.”

  “I wish that were true. Goodbye, Kahlee. It was good seeing you.”

  And with that, the call abruptly ended.

  Kahlee flicked off her screen and tried to turn her attention back to the files she’d been studying, knowing it was a lost cause.

  Grayson wasn’t exactly a friend. He had a dark history, and she was certain he’d done things that would horrify her. But they had a strong connection through their feelings for Gillian, and through the traumatic experiences they’d shared while on the run from Cerberus.

  She knew he was trying to turn his life around; she truly believed that in his own way he was seeking redemption. Unfortunately, there was nothing she could do other than hope he someday found it.

  THREE

  Grayson sat for several minutes in front of the terminal after disconnecting his call to Kahlee, his mind filled with thoughts of his daughter.

  She was in a better place now, and that gave him some comfort. But he couldn’t help remembering all the terrible things that Cerberus had done to her. All the things he’d helped them do to her.

  The familiar guilt washed over him, followed quickly by the inevitable self-contempt. There was nothing he could do to change the past; feeling bad about it was a waste of time. He considered himself a practical man, and he needed to stay focused in the here and now if he wanted to stay alive.

  Unfortunately, rational arguments held little sway over matters of the heart, and—as he so often did after speaking with Kahlee—he felt hot tears streaming down his cheeks.

  He had sworn he’d become a better person for Gillian’s sake. And while it was true he’d turned his back on Cerberus, was what he was doing now really so different? He was a paid mercenary for a ruthless crime lord on the most dangerous, deadly space station in the galaxy. Did killing someone for credits become less amoral if the target had probably done something to deserve it?

  In some part of his mind, the answer must have been yes. The nightmares that had plagued him during his time under the Illusive Man were gone; on some level he must have been more accepting of his new position. On the other hand, there were times when he felt fractured, as if he were two people. He knew the kind of man he wanted to be, but part of him—the little voice in the back of his head—wouldn’t let him forget what he once was.

  You can’t change what you are, the little voice chimed in, as if on cue. You’re a killer. A violent man. And one day you’ll die a bloody, violent death and the galaxy will be a better place because you’re gone.

  The acceptance of his own incorrigible nature was strangely reassuring. It confirmed his decision to let Gillian go with Hendel and the quarians; better to put her as far away from her monster of a father as possible. It made it easier for him to distance himself from his past; made it easier to do what had to be done to survive in the present.

  He wiped away the tears and got up from his chair. Liselle was waiting for him at Afterlife, but he wasn’t quite ready to face the club scene yet. And he still had to hide the packets of red sand lying just inside the door of his apartment.

  Maybe a quick dusting is what you need to pick up your spirits.

  Grayson did his best to ignore the voice. He’d been clean for three years now. His body no longer craved the chemical-induced euphoria of the red sand.

  But it was never really about the physical cravings, was it? Dusting takes away the pain. Makes things bearable.

  He’d cleaned himself up for Gillian’s sake. She didn’t deserve a junkie for a father.

  Gillian’s gone now. So who are you staying clean for? Liselle? Aria? They won’t care if you dust up, just as long as you don’t let it get in the way of a job.

  During his last nine years with Cerberus, Grayson had been using regularly. Over that time, he’d never once let his addiction interfere with an assignment. But things were different now. He wasn’t an undercover operative using his daughter to infiltrate an exclusive biotic training program. He was a man on the run; he had to stay sharp. Any given second of any given day could be his last.

  Cerberus will find you. It’s inevitable. So why not enjoy life until then. Ten kilos of red sand. Just one little hit. No one’s going to miss it. No one will even know.

  Grayson pushed the chair away from the extranet terminal and stood up slowly. He made his way from the bedroom down the hall, through the kitchen and sitting room, and over to the packets of red sand still piled just inside the door. He picked up all five bags, cradling them awkwardly in his arms, then took them back into the bedroom. Kneeling down, he slid them under the bed one by one. It wasn’t much of a hiding place, but it was better than leaving them out in the open.

  When he was done, he stood up and went into the bathroom. Looking at himself in the mirror, he noticed a small patch of pink residue on the front of his combat vest. He remembered that one of the bags had been punctured in the attack.

  Damn batarians couldn’t even seal it properly.

  Brushing it away, he felt the fine granules rubbing coarsely against his palm. Most of them fell into the sink, but some adhered to his skin.

  He held his palm up to his face, close enough so that he could make out each tiny, individual grain of sand clinging to his flesh. He stared at them for a long second, then shook his head and slipped his hands into the sink. The action triggered the faucet’s motion sensor, and a stream of warm water washed the temptation down the drain.

  Five minutes later he was changed into his civilian clothes and headed out the door. Walking at a smooth, easy pace, he reached the club in nearly twenty minutes.

  As always, there was a throng of people outside waiting to get in. Human, asari, turian, krogan, batarian, volus, elcor: Afterlife catered to individuals from every species. But Aria had strict rules about crowd control, and those outside clamoring to get in would have to wait for some of the revelers inside to leave—or be carried out—before the guards at the door would grant them access.

  The line stretched the entire length of the massive building, then disappeared around the corner at the end of the block. It would be hours before those at the tail end found their way inside. Fortunately for Grayson, friends of Aria didn’t have to wait in line.

  The krogan bouncer at the entrance recognized him, and let him in with a nod. Grayson passed through the short hall that led from the entrance into the ground-floor foyer, where a pair of scantily clad asari stood preening behind the coat check counter.

  The asari weren’t alone in the room, however. Two large, heavily armed and armored krogan flanked the sealed double doors leading to the hedonistic pleasures on the other side.

  Outside, the music from the club was so muted and faint it could barely be heard above the noises of the street. Here, however, only a single insulated wall separated patrons from the waves of sound. Grayson could feel the beat from inside the club thrumming in his teeth—low, heavy, and fast.

  “Anything to check?” one of the krogan growled, speaking loud enough to make sure he could be heard over the music.

  Grayson shook his head. Many of the club-goers preferred to leave their valuables with the asari behind
the counter, especially if they intended to end the evening too drunk or stoned to keep track of their belongings. Grayson, however, had no such intention.

  The krogan stepped aside as the asari pushed open the doors. Taking a deep breath, Grayson walked inside.

  The club consisted of four levels, each one made up of a large outer ring surrounding a square dance floor suspended by wires and walkways in the center. Each of the various levels appealed to its own particular crowd, with its own dance floor, unique musical style, and custom drinks and chemical recreations.

  The common theme, as befitted the club’s name, was the afterlife. The commingling of myths and legends from across the galaxy, including humanity, were represented in the club. On each level individuals could seek out the pleasures—or hedonistic debauchery—associated with Paradise, Heaven, Hell, the Halls of Athame, the Hollows, or any of a thousand other names for the promised realm allegedly waiting beyond mortal existence.

  Grayson never gave much thought to what waited for him after death, but it was impossible to deny the primal appeal of the club. He had been here too many times to count, yet he still felt it each time he walked across the floor. There was something surreal and otherworldly about stepping inside Afterlife. The music, the lights, and the crowd created a palpable energy that seemed to free you from yourself, unleashing inhibitions and wild, dangerous desires … most of which could be satisfied on the lower levels of the club.

  Adding to the exhilaration was the common knowledge that most of the patrons inside Afterlife were armed. Violence could—and often did—erupt without warning. Security forces were on hand to clamp down on riots and to prevent widespread chaos, but individuals were expected to look out for themselves. As a result, it was rare that a month went by without at least one death inside the club.