Mal led them to the center of the room, where they stood while he made a full round of introductions. Kahlee didn’t bother trying to remember all the names as they were tossed out. She did, however, make a point of noting which three of the quarians in attendance were elected representatives from the civilian Conclave, and which two were members of the military’s Admiralty board.
She also noticed that when Mal introduced Lemm, he referred to him as “Lemm’Shal vas Idenna” apparently the young quarian’s Pilgrimage was officially over, and he had been accepted into Mal’s crew.
When the introductions were finished, Mal went over and sat down in the lone unoccupied seat at the table. Isli went and stood behind him, joining the other honor guards watching over the scene from the back wall. Lemm didn’t move, but stayed with the humans who remained standing in front of the table.
“Kahlee Sanders,” one of the Admiralty representatives asked, beginning the proceedings, “do you understand why we have brought you here?”
“You think I might know something about Saren Arterius and how he was able to control the geth,” she replied.
“Could you describe your relationship with Saren?” another representative asked, this one from the civilian Conclave.
“There was no relationship,” Kahlee insisted. “I only met him briefly two or three times. As far as I knew, he was just the Spectre assigned to investigate the activities of my mentor, Dr. Shu Qian.”
“And what were those activities, exactly?”
“Qian had discovered some kind of alien artifact,” she said, choosing her words carefully. “It might have been Prothean. Maybe it even predated them. None of us really knew.
“He thought it was the key to creating a new kind of artificial intelligence. But he kept the rest of us in the dark; we were just lab monkeys for him, running data he gathered from his tests and experiments. Qian was the only one who knew any of the details about the artifact: where it was, what it was, what it did.
“But Qian went missing, and he was never found. Neither were his files.”
“Is it possible Saren found his files?” one of the Conclave asked. “Is it possible he found this artifact, and used it to gain control of the geth?”
“It’s possible,” Kahlee answered, somewhat reluctantly. The idea had occurred to her before, but she didn’t like speculating that she had played some role, however small, in the devastation wrought by the geth.
“Have you ever heard of a species called the Reapers?” the first quarian wanted to know.
Kahlee shook her head.
“There is word coming from the Citadel that Saren’s flagship, Sovereign, was actually an advanced AI. It was alive; just one of an entire race of enormous, sentient ships called the Reapers.”
“Those are just rumors,” Hendel interjected. “There’s no proof to support those theories.”
“But it could explain why the geth followed Saren,” the quarian countered. “An advanced AI might have been able to override the geth’s rudimentary intelligence systems.”
“I can’t really say,” Kahlee answered. “I don’t know anything about the geth, other than what I’ve seen on the vids. And I have no idea why they followed Saren.”
“But if Sovereign was a Reaper,” one of the Admiralty members pressed, “then there could be more of its kind. They could be lying dormant in unexplored regions of space, just waiting for someone to accidentally discover and awaken them.”
“Maybe,” Kahlee said with an indecisive shrug.
“It seems obvious to me that this is something we would want to avoid at all possible costs,” one of the Conclave representatives chimed in. “One Reaper nearly destroyed the Citadel. Another could finish the job. The galaxy already blames us for the geth. We don’t need to give them another reason to hate us.”
“Or maybe if we found one of these Reapers,” Mal countered, joining the conversation for the first time, “we could use it as Saren did—to take control of the geth! We could return to our homeworlds and reclaim what is rightfully ours!”
There was a long silence, then one of the Admiralty asked Kahlee, “Is Captain Mal correct? Do you believe it might be possible to discover a dormant Reaper and use it to gain control of the geth?”
Kahlee shook her head, bewildered. “I can’t say. There are too many unknown variables.”
“Please,” the quarian urged, though his request seemed more like a command, “speculate. You are one of the galaxy’s foremost experts in synthetic intelligence. We are eager to hear what you think.”
Kahlee took a deep breath and considered the problem carefully before answering. “Given what I knew of Dr. Qian’s research, if Saren’s flagship was the alien artifact we were studying, it might have been possible to use it to control the geth. And if there are more ships out there like Sovereign, then yes, it is logical to assume they could also be used to control or influence the geth…assuming that’s what Saren did.”
It was difficult to read the body language of the quarians at the table while their expressions were obscured by their masks. But Kahlee thought she detected anger or frustration in several of their postures. Mal, however, seemed to be sitting taller than before.
“Is there anything else you can tell us, Kahlee Sanders?” one of the Admiralty asked. “Anything about Saren, or the geth, or Dr. Qian’s research?”
“There’s really nothing to tell,” Kahlee said apologetically. “I wish I could be more helpful.”
“I believe we have everything we need,” Mal said, standing up. “Thank you, Kahlee.”
Realizing they weren’t going to get anything more out of their guest, the rest of the participants deferred to his decision and similarly rose from their seats.
“We thank you for your time,” one of them said. “Captain Mal, we would like to continue this discussion with the rest of the Conclave. We hope you will accompany us.”
Mal nodded. “I am eager to speak with them.”
“We should leave as soon as possible,” one of the other quarians noted. “Perhaps you could have your security chief escort the humans back to their shuttle?”
“Kahlee and the others are honored guests of the Idenna,” Mal said pointedly. “They do not need a security escort. They are free to come and go as they please.”
There was an awkward silence that was finally broken by one of the Admiralty. “Understood, Captain.”
Having won his point, Mal turned to Kahlee and the others. “As long as you are careful not to interfere in the operations of the ship, I am granting you free run of my vessel. Should you wish to have a guide, Lemm would be honored to show you around.”
“Thank you, Captain,” Kahlee said, eager to get off the Lestiak and leave the increasingly tense situation behind.
“Perhaps when I return from the Conclave, we can speak again,” he said.
“Of course,” she replied. “You are always welcome on our shuttle.”
Unsure if there was some kind of formal protocol still required before they were dismissed, Kahlee simply stood there until Lemm gave her elbow a gentle tug.
“Come on,” he whispered, “let’s go.”
Mal and Isli stayed behind as he led them away. Once they were beyond the airlock and back on the Idenna, Hendel turned to Lemm.
“What the hell was that all about?”
“Politics” was the short, and uninformative, answer.
“You can’t be a little more detailed?” Kahlee pressed.
“I’m sure the captain will make everything clear when he returns from the Conclave,” Lemm assured her. “Please, just be patient for a few more days.”
“It’s not like we have any other choice,” Hendel said with a grunt. “But my patience is growing awful thin lately.”
Grayson didn’t like Golo.
The Illusive Man had arranged a meeting between Grayson and the quarian on Omega to plan their assault on the Migrant Fleet. The meeting was taking place in a small rented apartment in th
e Talon district, not two blocks away from the warehouse where he had killed Pel. The room was empty except for two chairs, one table, and the two of them.
“You might as well give up,” Golo declared to start off the conversation. “Infiltrating the quarian fleet is impossible.”
“They have my daughter,” Grayson replied, keeping his voice neutral despite the bile in his throat. “I want her back. I was told you could help us.”
Golo may have been an ally of Cerberus, but he was a traitor to his own people. Grayson couldn’t respect anyone who would turn on his own kind simply to make a profit. It went against everything he believed in.
“There are fifty thousand ships in the Migrant Fleet,” Golo reminded him. “Even if they do have her, how are you going to figure out which vessel she’s on?”
“The pilot of the scout ship, the one Pel tortured for information, said his name was Hilo’Jaa vas Idenna. I think the Cyniad was a scout ship for the Idenna. Whoever came looking for him was part of the same crew. They’re the ones who took Gillian.”
“That makes sense,” Golo admitted. Something about the way he said it made Grayson feel as if he were being played, as if Golo already knew all this. “But it hardly matters. You won’t get anywhere near the Idenna. Even if you’re in the Cyniad, the patrols will shoot the vessel down if you don’t use the proper codes and hailing frequencies.”
“I have the frequency and the code,” Grayson assured him. “The pilot gave them to me before he died.”
Golo laughed. “How do you know they’re real? What if he gave you a false code?”
Grayson thought back to the quarian he had discovered in the cellar. Pel had possessed a sixth sense for knowing when his victims were lying under torture; interrogation had always been one of his strong suits.
“The information’s good,” he said. “It’ll get us past the patrols.”
“Your confidence is inspiring,” the quarian replied, and Grayson could hear the smirk in his voice. He knew Golo had been Pel’s contact on Omega. He’d been instrumental in acquiring the Cyniad, and Grayson couldn’t help but wonder what else the quarian and Pel had been involved in together.
“We’re offering ten times what you were paid for the last mission,” Grayson said, struggling to keep his rising anger in check.
He needed Golo. Having the codes wasn’t enough; if the mission had any hope of succeeding they had to have someone familiar with the protocols of the Migrant Fleet on the ship to keep them from making a mistake that would expose them. And they needed someone fluent in the quarian tongue on the radio to relay the codes back and forth with the patrols; an automated translator wasn’t going to cut it.
“Ten times?” Golo said, considering the offer. “Generous. But is it worth risking my life for?”
“This is also a chance for revenge,” Grayson reminded him, sweetening the pot. He’d read Golo’s profile in Pel’s mission reports. He knew the quarian harbored a deep hatred for the society that had exiled him, and he wasn’t above exploiting that hatred. Not if it helped him get Gillian back.
“The Fleet banished you. They cast you out. This is your chance to strike back at them in a way they will never forget. Help us and you can make them pay.”
“A man after my own heart,” Golo said with a cruel laugh, and Grayson felt his stomach turn.
“Does this mean you’re in?” Grayson demanded.
“We still have several problems to consider,” Golo said by way of confirmation. “The Cyniad and the codes will get us past the patrols. But we’ll need some way to disrupt the Idenna’s communications after we dock so they don’t alert the rest of the flotilla once the assault begins.”
“We can take care of that,” Grayson said, knowing Cerberus had that technology readily available. “What else?”
“We’ll need blueprints of the ship’s interior layout.”
“It was originally a decommissioned batarian Hensa class cruiser,” Grayson replied, relaying information the Illusive Man’s agents had already gathered in preparation for the mission. “We have the layout.”
“Impressive,” Golo replied. “There is a chance this could work, after all. Provided you and your team do exactly as I say.”
“Of course,” Grayson said through gritted teeth, offering his hand to symbolically seal the deal. “I wouldn’t have it any other way.”
TWENTY-TWO
Three more days passed before Mal returned to the Idenna. Kahlee had spent much of that time exploring the quarian ship, becoming more familiar with its inhabitants and their culture.
She had come to realize that most of her previous beliefs about the quarians were either outright wrong or gross distortions of the truth. She had always considered them to be scavengers, beggars, and thieves: a culture of petty criminals not to be trusted. Now she saw them simply as resourceful and determined. They were a people struggling to survive with limited space and resources, yet they refused to allow their society to degenerate into selfishness and anarchy. To accomplish this, they clung fiercely to their powerful sense of community.
There was something noble in this unity, enforced though it might be by their circumstances. Every quarian truly believed they needed to work together to survive. The strong family bonds among shipmates, and the willingness of individuals to sacrifice for the greater good, were values Kahlee thought other species could aspire to…should they ever learn to see past their own prejudices and preconceived notions about the quarians.
While Kahlee was exploring the ship, Hendel and Gillian spent most of their time on Grayson’s shuttle practicing biotics. Even while wearing her enviro-suit, Gillian still wasn’t entirely comfortable around strangers, and she preferred to stay isolated in the more familiar surroundings.
Occasionally Lemm or Seeto would come to visit, though both were closed lipped when Kahlee or Hendel tried to pry information from them about the quarian political situation. It was frustrating, being a pawn in a game she didn’t fully understand, but Kahlee was confident they would get some answers soon: Captain Mal was finally coming to speak with them.
Kahlee, Hendel, and Gillian were all wearing their enviro-suits in preparation for his visit to their shuttle. Lemm had suggested the idea yesterday as a way for them to show respect for quarian customs and traditions in honor of the captain’s arrival. Until they knew more about the purpose of this meeting, Hendel had noted, it was probably best to do whatever they could to stay on his good side.
With some reluctance, Kahlee had agreed. She didn’t like wearing the suit if she didn’t have to, although she couldn’t quite say exactly what she disliked about it. The suits were fully climate controlled, so she never felt hot or sweaty while wearing it, and the thin, pliant material barely restricted her movement. And with the vis-glass of the faceplate and the audio enhancements in the helmet, she could actually see and hear better while wearing the suit than without it.
Still, she never felt comfortable in it. The suit completely cut her off from normal tactile sensations, like the feel of the warm leather under her palm when she placed her hand on the arm of her seat, or the cool, hard metal of the tabletop as she drummed her fingers against it. It even made it impossible to run her fingers through her hair.
In contrast, Gillian seemed to love wearing the suit, only taking it off once since their meeting with the captain on the bridge. She even wore it during her biotic training with Hendel. Kahlee knew the security chief found her behavior odd, but he put up with it for her sake. He did, however, insist that she remove the helmet and mask during their sessions. Gillian had complied, though not without some grumbling and complaining.
The mere fact that she grumbled and complained, rather than mutely obeying, was further evidence of how much she had changed. Kahlee had commented to Hendel on how much improvement Gillian had shown, and she’d even shared her theory that the suit might make the girl feel psychologically safe and more confident. Hendel, however, had offered a different theory.
; “I think she’s just getting better because Cerberus isn’t drugging her anymore.”
The thought was disturbing, but Kahlee was surprised she hadn’t come up with it on her own. It was doubtful Gillian’s condition could be blamed solely on whatever chemical concoctions Jiro had been feeding her, but it was very possible they had made her symptoms worse. Somehow that knowledge made what Grayson had allowed them to do to his daughter seem even more monstrous.
The sound of the airlock opening startled her out of her recollections.
“Not big on knocking, are they?” Hendel muttered, rising from his seat to greet their visitors. Kahlee and Gillian did the same.
Kahlee had been expecting some kind of honor guard or security detail to accompany the captain, but if they came they must have stayed outside the ship. Apart from Lemm, Mal was alone.
“Thank you for this invitation,” he said, once handshakes had been exchanged all around.
“We’re honored to have you here,” Kahlee replied. “Please, sit down and make yourself comfortable.”
There were only four chairs in the passenger cabin, so once all the adults took their seats, Gillian hopped up into Hendel’s lap. Yet again, Kahlee was amazed at how far she had come in a little less than two weeks.
Before any of them could speak, they were interrupted by a short, muffled beep coming from behind Mal’s mask—the sound of an incoming message transferred to his in-helmet radio. He held up one hand, asking the others to be silent as he listened to the message. Kahlee couldn’t hear what was being said in his ear, but she saw him nod.
“Send them to docking bay seven,” he instructed. “And tell them it’s good to have them back.”