The days of pretending to be a private pilot for up-and-coming politicians were long gone; now he was the one enjoying the luxurious room and service from a personal flight attendant. The Illusive Man looked after those who pleased him.
I bet Menneau thought that, too. Right before Pel killed him.
Grayson sat up in bed, his mind going back to Pel’s recent visit. Maybe his old friend had told the Illusive Man about the red sand after all. Cerberus wouldn’t just sit by if they felt his addiction jeopardized the mission.
Was Ellin really just a flight attendant? Thousands of everyday people worked ordinary jobs for Cord-Hislop without ever suspecting it was a corporation controlled by a shadowy paramilitary group. Hardly anyone at the company—or anywhere else, for that matter—even knew an organization like Cerberus existed. But hidden within the rank and file of employees, scattered across all rungs of the corporate ladder, were dozens of the Illusive Man’s agents. Maybe Ellin was one of them. Maybe she was waiting outside the door to stick an ice pick in his neck, just like he’d done to Keo.
He rolled out of bed and pulled on the terry-cloth bathrobe hanging on the wall, then pushed the call button. A few seconds later there was a gentle rap on the door. Grayson hesitated, then waved his hand in front of the access panel. He resisted the urge to jump back as the door slid open.
Ellin was standing there, armed only with her relentlessly cheery smile and perky attitude.
“Is there something you need, Mr. Grayson?”
“My clothes…can you have them cleaned and pressed for me?”
“Of course, sir.”
She stepped into the room and collected his discarded garments, picking them up with a cool, practiced efficiency. There was a confidence about her; a professionalism that could be a sign of specialized military training…or it could have simply been part of her job. He tried to watch her without being seen, hoping to catch her surreptitiously watching him. If she was working for Cerberus, she’d have been instructed to keep close tabs on her passenger.
Ellin stood up and turned to face him, the bundle of clothes in her arms. The well-practiced smile fell away from her face, and Grayson realized he was still staring at her intently.
He shook his head to clear away the dark thoughts. “Sorry. My mind was somewhere else.”
Her smile reappeared, though her eyes looked nervous. “Is there anything else, Mr. Grayson?”
He picked up the slightest waver in her voice. Either she’s just a scared little stewardess, or she’s very, very good at pretending to be one. The thought was quickly followed by another: The red sand’s making you paranoid.
“Thank you, Ellin. That will be all.”
The relief on her face as he stepped aside to let her exit was obvious. Once she was safely outside the door, she hesitated, then turned back.
“Do…do you still want me to wake you an hour before we land?”
“That will be fine,” he said abruptly, closing the door before she could see the flush of embarrassment creeping up his neck and into his face.
Get it together, he chided himself, removing the robe and falling back onto the bed. Quit jumping at shadows. This mission’s too important to screw up.
The sound of the engines had changed. Staring up at the ceiling, he could feel a slight pressure on his chest pushing him down into the soft mattress. The ship was taking to the sky, battling gravity and atmosphere as it headed for the stars. The room that had seemed so hot before was suddenly cold; he shivered and crawled in under the blankets.
The artificial mass effect fields generated inside the ship’s hull dampened the turbulence and g-forces of their lift-off, but his pilot’s instincts could still feel the motion. It was familiar, reassuring. Within minutes it had rocked him to sleep.
“We have a new assignment for you,” the Illusive Man said, and Grayson realized he was dreaming once again.
They were alone in Grayson’s apartment, just the two of them…and the infant sleeping quietly in the Illusive Man’s arms.
“I was impressed with your work on the Eldfell-Ashland job. I know it was a difficult mission.”
“It was for the greater good,” he replied.
Even if he wanted to, there was nothing else he could say. He had believed it back then, with every fiber of his being. He still believed it, though the part of his mind that knew he was dreaming realized things weren’t as simple as they used to be.
“I have a special assignment for you,” the Illusive Man said, handing over the child. “She’s biotic.”
Grayson took the little girl in his arms. She was warm and soft, and lighter than he’d expected. Disturbed by the transfer, her eyes popped open and she began to fuss. Grayson shushed her gently, rocking her in his arms. Her eyelids drooped, she blew a small bubble, and then she was asleep again.
Based on her age he had no doubt as to how she had been exposed to element zero.
“You’re going to be working for Cord-Hislop as part of your cover,” the Illusive Man informed him. “Sales for now, but you’ll climb to the executive ranks over the next few years. We want you to raise the girl as your own.”
“Who’s my partner?”
“None. Your wife died when your daughter was born. You never remarried.”
Grayson wondered what had happened to the girl’s real mother and father, but he wasn’t foolish enough to ask.
“Do you understand how important this mission is?” the Illusive Man asked. “Do you see what biotics can ultimately mean to humanity?”
The younger man nodded. He believed in what he did. He believed in Cerberus.
“We went to a lot of trouble to find this particular girl. She’s special. We want her to look up to you. To trust you. Treat her as if she is your own flesh and blood.”
“I will,” he promised.
He had offered the vow without understanding the consequence of what it really meant. Had he known the true cost, he might not have been so quick to reply…although in the end the answer would have been the same.
The baby gurgled softly. Grayson stared down at her scrunched-up little face, fascinated.
“You won’t be alone in this,” the Illusive Man assured him. “We have top experts in the field. They’ll make sure she gets all the proper training.”
Grayson watched, transfixed, as the girl fidgeted in her sleep, her hands balling up into tiny fists that traced tight little circles in the air.
The Illusive Man turned to go.
“Does she have a name?” Grayson asked without looking up.
“A father has the right to name his own daughter,” he said, closing the door behind him.
Grayson woke, as he always did, with the echo of the closing door from his dream still in his ears.
“Lights—dim,” he called out, and a faint glow from the bedside lamps cast the dark shadows from his room. Only an hour had passed; seven more until they reached the Academy.
He climbed out of bed and pulled on the robe, then picked up his briefcase. He carried it over to the small desk in the corner of the room and set it on top, then settled into the accompanying chair and punched in the access code. A second later the case opened with a soft, depressurizing hiss.
Inside were several dummy documents to help with his cover as a Cord-Hislop executive—contracts and sales reports, mostly. He pulled them out and dumped them on the floor, then lifted up the case’s false bottom to reveal the contents underneath. Ignoring the vial Pel had given him—he wouldn’t need that until he actually saw Gillian—he reached for the small cellophane bag of red sand.
Grayson wondered how much the Illusive Man had actually known about the girl on that night he’d given him Gillian. Did he know about her mental condition? Did he know the Alliance was one day going to start a program like the Ascension Project? Had he given the little girl to Grayson, fully aware he was one day going to order him to give her up again?
He opened the baggie and carefully poured out a small pile of
the fine dust. Enough to take the edge off, nothing more. Besides, he had plenty of time to come down before they reached the Academy.
It was easy in the beginning. Gillian seemed like any other normal young girl. Every few months she was visited by Cerberus experts: taking blood samples and alpha-wave readings; checking her health; testing her reflexes and responses. But even with all the doctors, Gillian had been a happy, healthy child.
Her symptoms began to manifest sometime between the ages of three and four. An unnamed dissociative disorder, the experts told him. Easy to diagnose but difficult to treat. Not that they hadn’t tried, unleashing a barrage of drug and behavior therapies on the young girl. Yet their efforts had been in vain. With each year she grew more distant, more closed off. Trapped inside her own mind.
The growing emotional gulf between them should have made it easier on Grayson when Cerberus decided to give her over to the Ascension Project. It hadn’t.
Grayson didn’t have much he could cling to, apart from his dedication to Cerberus and his devotion to his daughter. The two were inextricably linked; after Gillian had been given into his care he had been pulled from active-duty missions so he could better focus on raising his daughter. Caring for the helpless infant had filled the void in his life. And as she had grown—as he had raised her from a baby to a beautiful, intelligent though troubled young girl—she had become the center of his world…just as the Illusive Man had wanted.
Then, two years ago, they had ordered him to send her away.
He resealed the plastic bag, stashing it safely away in the false bottom of his case. Then he got up, went into the bathroom and returned with the blade from his Ever-Sharp razor. Using the edge, he divided the pile of red sand into two long, thin lines.
The Illusive Man had wanted Gillian to join the Ascension Project so Cerberus could piggyback their own research on the Alliance’s cutting-edge work. And whatever the Illusive Man wanted, he got.
Grayson knew he had no choice in the matter, but it was still hard to let her go. For ten years she had been an integral part of his life. He missed seeing her in the mornings and tucking her in at night. He missed the rare moments when she broke through the invisible walls that separated her from the outside world and showed him genuine love and affection. But, like any parent, he had to put his child’s welfare above his own.
The program was good for Gillian. The scientists at the Academy were pushing the boundaries of biotic research. They had made advances that went far beyond anything Cerberus could have achieved on its own, and it was the only place Gillian could be properly fitted for the revolutionary new L-4 amps.
Sending his daughter away was also necessary for the greater cause. It was the best way for Cerberus to study the absolute limits of human biotics; a powerful weapon they would one day need in the inevitable struggle to elevate Earth and its people above the alien races. Gillian had to play her part in the Illusive Man’s plans, just as he did. And one day, he hoped, people would look back on his daughter as a hero of the human race.
Grayson understood all this. He accepted it. Just as he accepted the fact that he was now merely a go-between; a proxy who allowed the Cerberus researchers to get access to Gillian whenever they needed it. Unfortunately, acceptance didn’t make it any easier.
If it was possible, he would have visited her every week at the Academy. But he knew constant visits were hard on Gillian; she needed stability in her life—she didn’t deal well with disruptions and unexpected surprises. So he stayed away, and did his best not to think about her. It made the loneliness easier to bear, turning the constant pain into a dull ache hovering in the background of his thoughts.
Sometimes, however, he couldn’t help but think about her—like now. Knowing he was going to see her made him acutely aware of how much it would hurt when he had to leave her behind again. At times like these, he couldn’t dull the pain. Not without help.
Bending forward in the chair, he pinched his left nostril closed and inhaled the first line of red sand. Then he switched nostrils and snorted the second. The dust burned his nasal cavities and made his eyes water. Sitting up straight, he blinked away the tears. He grabbed the arms of the chair, clenching so tightly his knuckles went white. He felt his heart beating, slow and heavy: thump…thump…thump. Three beats was all it took before the euphoria washed over him.
For the next several minutes he rode the wave, eyes closed, his head lolling back and forth. Occasionally he would make a soft ngh sound in the back of his throat, an inarticulate moan of pure pleasure.
The initial rush began to fade quickly, but he fought against the urge to take another hit. He could sense the unpleasant emotions—fear, paranoia, loneliness—lurking in the dark corners of his consciousness, still there but momentarily kept at bay by the narcotic’s warm glow.
He opened his eyes, noting everything in the room had taken on a rosy hue. This was one of the side effects of red sand…but not the most significant one.
Giggling softly at nothing in particular, he leaned back in his chair, balancing it on the two rear legs. His eyes cast about the room, searching for a suitable target before finally noticing the documents he had scattered across the floor.
Careful not to tip over in his seat, he reached out with his left hand and twiddled his fingers. The papers rustled, as if fluttering in the breeze. He struggled to focus—never easy when floating in the red clouds. A second later he swiped at the empty air with his hand, and the papers leaped from the floor and swirled wildly about the room.
He kept them in the air as long as he could, his temporary, drug-induced biotic ability making the papers dance like leaves before a storm.
By the time Ellin knocked on the door seven hours later, he was sober once again. He had slept for a few hours, showered and shaved, and cleaned up the room, careful to leave no evidence of the red sand behind.
“One hour until we touch down, Mr. Grayson,” she reminded him, handing him his cleaned and pressed clothes.
He took them with a nod of thanks, then closed the door. Alone in the privacy of his room he made one final check to make sure he hadn’t missed anything incriminating.
That’s the difference between an addict and a junkie, he reminded himself as he began to dress, his hands now steady as they buttoned up his shirt. Both need their fix, but an addict still makes an effort to hide what he’s doing.
SIX
Kahlee couldn’t sleep. She told herself it was partly because she preferred her own bed, and partly because Jiro was snoring loudly in her ear. She didn’t bother to wake him, though—she was used to it. Their lovemaking usually ended this way, despite the fact that he was almost two decades her junior. He always started strong, full of passion and fire, but he didn’t know how to pace himself.
“You’ll learn eventually,” she whispered, patting him lightly on his bare thigh. “And all your future girlfriends will thank me for it.”
Moving quietly so as not to wake him, she rolled out from under the covers and stood, naked, by the side of the bed. Now that they weren’t generating body heat, the air in the room felt cool enough to make her shiver.
She began to hunt around for her clothes, no easy task. In his exuberance, Jiro tended to toss each piece haphazardly about the room as he undressed her. She located her shirt and pulled it over her head, then heard Jiro mumble something. Glancing over, she realized he was still asleep, his words nothing but unintelligible dream-talk. Kahlee stared at him for a long, lingering moment—he looked so young when he was curled up in his bed, and she felt a momentary twinge of guilt and embarrassment.
There was nothing illegal about what they were doing; they were both of age, and even though she was technically his boss, there was nothing in either of their employment contracts specifically forbidding their relationship. It was, as Jiro liked to say, an ethically gray area.
Kahlee sometimes got the impression that Jiro was only using her to advance his career, though there was a chance this was her own g
uilty conscience trying to suck all the fun out of the relationship. If he actually did believe sleeping with the boss would somehow help him, he was sadly mistaken. If anything, she tended to be harder on Jiro than the other researchers. But he was good at his job; the staff respected him, and the students all liked him. That was one of the things that had attracted her in the first place.
That plus his fine ass, she thought with a wicked grin.
She’d had other sexual partners over the years, of course—probably more than her fair share, to be honest. But like Jiro they were all just flings. Not that she’d ever been looking for anything serious. While she was in the military the Alliance had always come first, and once she became a civilian she’d focused on building her career rather than a long-term relationship.
Fortunately, there was still plenty of time. Thanks to medical advances over the last century, women no longer had to start their families before forty. If she really wanted to, she could wait another twenty years and still give birth to a perfectly healthy child.
Kahlee still wasn’t sure what she wanted, though. It wasn’t that she didn’t like kids; the opportunity to work closely with biotic children was one of the reasons she’d accepted the position with the Ascension Project. She just couldn’t see herself settling into a life of domestic bliss.
Get over yourself, she thought, and find your damn clothes.
She pushed the thoughts away. Spotting her pants dangling over the back of a chair, she pulled them on. She was still looking for a missing sock when Jiro woke with a sputtering yawn.
“You’re leaving?” he asked, still groggy.
“Just back to my own room. I can’t sleep here with you snoring like a sick hippo.”
He smiled and sat up, propping his pillow behind him and leaning back against the headboard.
“You sure this doesn’t have anything to do with Grayson’s visit?”
She didn’t bother to deny it, instead saying nothing as she continued to look for her missing sock. Finding her prize, she sat down on the edge of the bed and pulled it on. Jiro watched her silently, patiently waiting for her to speak.