On the streets of Omega, however, they seemed to be on every other corner. Since leaving Cerberus, Grayson had worked hard to overcome the xenophobia that had been drilled into him by the Illusive Man. But old habits died hard, and he was in no hurry to embrace the “four-eyed menace.”
Fortunately, he and Sanak didn’t have to like each other to work together. Aria had made that clear to both of them on several occasions.
“Seven targets in total,” Liselle’s soft voice chimed in his earpiece. “All members in position and awaiting orders.”
Grayson felt the familiar rush of adrenaline coursing through his body in anticipation of the kill. Beside him he sensed Sanak training his weapon onto the ship, mirroring Grayson’s pose.
“Go,” Grayson whispered, the single word triggering a barrage of gunfire from the far side of the warehouse as Liselle and her team went into action.
A second later four turians stumbled into view from around the far side of the vessel. Their backs were to Grayson and Sanak, their attention and their weapons focused on Liselle’s ambush.
Grayson released the air in his lungs in a long, slow breath as he squeezed the trigger. One of the turians dropped, the kinetic barriers of his combat suit too drained by Liselle’s opening salvo to stop the sniper round that took him in the back of his bony skull.
An instant later two more went down, courtesy of a pair of perfectly placed shots from Sanak.
I may not like the bastard, Grayson thought as he took aim at the final adversary, but he gets the job done.
The last turian had just enough time to take two steps toward the cover of a nearby crate before Grayson took him between the shoulder blades.
There were several seconds of absolute silence before Grayson spoke into his mouthpiece. “Four targets neutralized on our side.”
“Three more over here,” Liselle responded. “That’s all of them.”
“Let’s move,” Grayson said to Sanak, leaping out from behind the cover of the crate and racing toward the fallen aliens.
The turians were members of the Talon gang, and the warehouse was a building deep inside Talon territory. Given the time of night and the remote location, it was unlikely anyone had heard the shots. But there was always a chance, and the longer they stayed the more likely they’d have to deal with reinforcements.
By the time he and Sanak reached the bodies, Liselle and the two batarians that made up the rest of her team were already rifling through their victims’ clothes.
“Five kilos so far,” the blue-skinned asari informed Grayson, holding up several plastic bags tightly packed with a fine, rosy powder. “Ninety, maybe ninety-five percent pure.”
From personal experience, Grayson knew it took only a small pinch of refined red sand to get a human high. Five kilos was enough to keep an entire apartment complex floating for the better part of a year. A stash this size could easily fetch six figures back in Council space. Which was precisely why Aria had ordered this hit.
There were no actual laws on Omega, no police force. Order was maintained solely by the gangs that ran the space station. But though there were no laws, there were rules. Rule number one: don’t cross Aria T’Loak.
“Two more kilos on this one,” Sanak said, pulling another tightly wrapped brick from inside the vest of the corpse he was searching.
“This one got caught in the cross fire,” one of the other batarians said, holding up a bag so Grayson could see the grains of sand streaming out of the tiny hole in the side.
“Patch it up!” Grayson snapped angrily, taking a quick step back.
Red sand had no effect on batarians or asari, but one good whiff and he’d be dusted for the rest of the night.
“Aria wants it all,” he reminded them. “The whole shipment. She’s sending a message.”
Known as the Pirate Queen, Aria had been the de facto ruler of Omega for over two centuries. Every other gang paid tribute to her in some form or another for the privilege of doing business on the station. Those that tried to cut Aria out—say by refusing to give her a piece of their red sand trafficking business—suffered the consequences.
“That’s it,” Liselle declared, standing up as she finished her examination of the last body.
Even though his mind was focused on the mission, Grayson couldn’t help but be struck once again by the ethereal beauty of the woman before him. The asari as a whole were gorgeous by human standards: the mono-gendered species closely resembled human females, though their pigmentation was typically blue. Instead of hair they had sculpted, flowing folds of skin covering their scalp, but that did little to take away from their sexual appeal.
Liselle was considered extremely attractive, even among her own kind, and her form-fitted combat suit accentuated every curve. The part of Grayson’s mind that still harbored the Cerberus-bred mistrust of aliens couldn’t help but wonder if it was merely her physical appearance that was so stunning, or if it was something more.
In addition to being a species of biotics, the asari were known to have subtle yet powerful empathic—almost telepathic—abilities. Some believed they used these talents to influence the perceptions of others, making themselves appear more attractive than they actually were. If that was in fact the case, then Liselle was exceptionally skilled at the art.
“Secure the sand and move out,” Grayson ordered, snapping his mind back to the task at hand. “Stay tight, stay alert. Remember—we’re still in enemy territory.”
Following his instructions, Liselle, Sanak, and the other batarians stuffed the packets into their gear before falling in behind him.
With Grayson in the lead and Sanak taking up the rear, the small troop filed out of the warehouse and onto the district’s shadowed streets. Moving quickly, they made their way down the twisting labyrinth of alleys and back lanes, eager to reach friendly—or at least neutral—territory.
It was late, well into the middle of the space station’s night cycle. There were only a handful of people out on the streets. Most would be civilians, ordinary men and women from various species who—for whatever reason—lived or worked in the Talon-controlled neighborhood. These were easy to spot: seeing the heavily armed squad, they would turn away or slip into the blackness of a doorway, eager to avoid confrontation.
Grayson noted and dismissed these people with a single glance. He was on the lookout for Talon patrols. Any response to the attack on the warehouse would be random and disorganized; the Talons couldn’t have expected Aria to strike at them here, in the heart of their own turf. But the turian gang was one of the few that regularly sent armed cadres out to walk the streets of their territory, as a way to remind people who was in charge. Armed and outfitted as his people were, Grayson knew that if they came across one of these patrols, the turians would immediately open fire on principle alone.
In the end, they were lucky. They crossed over from Talon territory into one of the central districts of Omega without incident. Just to be safe, Grayson kept them in formation for several more blocks, wary of signs of pursuit.
It was only when Liselle put a hand on his shoulder and said, “I think we’re clear,” that he let his guard down.
“Aria’s waiting for us at Afterlife,” Sanak pointedly reminded him.
Grayson knew full well where their boss was. And that was the problem—everyone knew.
Afterlife was the social epicenter of Omega, a club where the wealthy and powerful mingled with the station’s common folk, all in the pursuit of pure hedonistic satisfaction. Patrons came in search of music, sex, drugs, and even violence, and few left without finding at least some of what they sought.
Aria T’Loak was a fixture at the club, presiding over the pulsating chaos of the crowd from her private booth nearly every night. Her presence was part of what made the club what it was: Afterlife epitomized Omega, as did Aria herself.
“We’re not strolling into the club loaded down with twenty pounds of red sand,” Grayson replied. “We need to stash it someplace s
afe.”
It wasn’t likely the Talons would be able to mount a retaliatory strike so quickly; even if they did, he doubted they’d have the balls to take a run at Aria in her own club. But the Talons weren’t the only ones he was worried about.
Security kept a tight rein inside the club, but shootings, stabbings, and random acts of violence were common in the streets and alleys surrounding it. Junkies desperate to score or street thugs too stupid to consider the long-term consequences wouldn’t hesitate to go after Grayson’s crew if they thought the payoff was big enough. It was a small risk, to be sure, but Grayson was all about minimizing risk at every opportunity.
“We hide the sand at my place,” he declared. “Then we report to Aria and arrange a pickup for tomorrow.”
Sanak’s lip curled in disapproval, but he didn’t say anything. Liselle, on the other hand, nodded her agreement.
“Lead the way, Paul,” she cooed. “The sooner we drop this off, the sooner we can hit the dance floor.”
It took them about fifteen minutes to reach Grayson’s apartment. Several times he checked to make sure they weren’t being followed; each time he did so, he couldn’t help but notice Sanak rolling all four of his eyes.
That’s why Aria put me in charge, he thought. I worry about the details.
It was just one of the many valuable lessons he had picked up from the Illusive Man.
His apartment was located in one of Omega’s safest, and most expensive, districts. The guards at the district gate—a pair of heavily armed turians—recognized him and stepped aside so he and his squad could enter.
Reaching his building, he punched in the access code at the main door, instinctively shielding the keypad from Sanak and the other batarians as he did so. The position of his body gave Liselle a clear view, but he’d already given the asari his building code several months ago.
The door slid open, revealing a small hallway leading to a set of stairs and a single elevator.
“Third floor,” Grayson said. “Take the stairs. The elevator’s a little slow.”
He led the way, with Liselle, Sanak, and the others following behind single file. At the top of the steps was another hall, with a single door on either side. There were only two apartments on each of the building’s five floors; that was one of the things Grayson liked best about this building—only a handful of neighbors, and they all respected one another’s privacy.
He went up to the door and placed his hand on the pad in the center. He felt a faint warmth as the biometric scan read his palm; then there was a soft click and the door slid open.
The well-furnished apartment beyond wasn’t large, but Grayson didn’t need a lot of room. A small entry-way where visitors could take off their boots and coats led into a sitting room with a single couch and a vid screen. A small window looked out over the street below. Beyond the sitting room was a half-wall separating it from the functionally simple kitchen. Through the kitchen was another small hallway leading to the bathroom and then to the bedroom in the rear. The bathroom was small, but the bedroom was large enough not only for Grayson’s bed, but also for the chair, desk, and terminal he used whenever he wanted to patch into the extranet.
“Just put the bags inside the front door,” Grayson instructed, eager to keep the batarians from traipsing through his home. “I’ll figure out someplace to hide them.”
“What’s the matter, human?” Sanak growled. “Don’t you trust us?”
Grayson didn’t bother to answer.
“Aria’s waiting for our report,” he said. “Why don’t you and your friends go fill her in.”
Liselle waited until the batarians were gone, then came over and draped her arms around his neck, pressing herself close against him. He could feel the heat emanating off her, and the faint perfume wafting up from her neck made his head spin.
“You’re not coming to the club?” she whispered in his ear, disappointed.
Grayson could imagine the sultry pout playing across her lips, and he felt a flush rising up his neck and into his cheeks. Liselle always made him feel like a cradle robber, despite the fact she was at least a full century older than him.
It’s different with asari, the churlish part of his mind admonished. They mature slowly. She’s still a babe in the woods, and you’re a weathered geezer pushing middle age. She’s probably got more in common with your daughter than with you.
“I’ll be there,” Grayson promised, giving her a quick kiss even as he unraveled her arms from his neck and gently pushed her away. “I just have to take care of a few things first.”
She turned away from him, letting her fingers trail along the length of his arm as she did so.
“Don’t take too long,” she called out over her shoulder as she headed for the door. “You might find me dancing with a krogan if I get bored.”
When the door closed, he took a long, slow breath to clear his head. The lingering scent of perfume filled his nostrils, but without Liselle pressed up against him it didn’t have the same overpowering effect.
Back to business, lover-boy.
He had to find somewhere to hide the red sand. It wasn’t likely anyone would break into his apartment, but there was no sense leaving it out in plain sight.
First, however, he had to make a call.
TWO
Kahlee Sanders knocked lightly at the door of Nick’s room.
“Come in,” he called from the other side, his adolescent voice cracking on the second word.
She passed her hand over the access panel and the door whooshed open to reveal Nick and Yando, one of the newest students at the Grissom Academy, sitting side by side at the desk in the corner of the room.
“It’s past curfew,” Kahlee said. “Yando should have been in his own room thirty minutes ago.”
“We’re studying,” Nick said, pointing at the haptic interface screens projecting up from the terminal on his desk.
Kahlee glanced at the assignment floating before her, then at the two boys. Nick stared back at her, his expression one of total innocence.
Nick had just turned fifteen. Always small for his age, he looked at least a year or two younger. His shoulder-length black hair and the wispy, curling bangs that fell down across his forehead did little to offset the impression of youth. But she knew he was mature beyond his years; if any of the students could look her straight in the eye and lie to her without giving anything away, it was Nick.
Yando, however, was another story. Eleven years old, he had had his amplifiers surgically implanted only a few months ago. Everything here was still new to him, strange. The instructors of the Ascension Project still filled him with a sense of awe, towering figures of authority looming over this unfamiliar world. Kahlee wasn’t above using that to get to the truth.
“Yando,” she said, keeping her voice low but firm, “what were you really doing?”
The young boy looked from Kahlee to Nick and then back to Kahlee, his eyes wide and white against his dark face.
“We were playing Conquest,” Nick admitted with an exasperated sigh, letting his young companion off the hook. “But only for, like, ten minutes. Before that we studied for two hours at least!”
“You know the rules, Nick,” she replied. “No extranet after curfew.”
“It was just ten minutes!”
“I can check the logs,” she reminded him. “See if you’re telling the truth.”
“I am!” he snapped back defiantly, before adding in a lower voice, “Well, maybe more like twenty minutes.”
“Am I in trouble?” Yando asked, his lower lip trembling slightly.
Kahlee shook her head. “No. You’re not in trouble. But it’s time to get into bed, okay?”
The younger boy nodded, and she took him by the hand and led him to the door. Then she turned to Nick.
“We’ll talk about this when I come back to take your readings.”
“Yeah, right,” he said, his voice dripping with teenage sarcasm. “Hate to go one whole week w
ithout someone jabbing a needle in my neck.”
Kahlee led Yando to his room and tucked him in, but her mind was on Nick the entire time.
She wasn’t sure if she should punish him or not. In his first two years at the Grissom Academy, Nick had been a holy terror. Always ahead of most of his classmates in the biotic Ascension Project, he had been arrogant, selfish, and prone to bullying the other children. In the last year, however, something had changed. Nick had gone from a problem child to a model student, the perfect example of everything the Ascension Project was trying to achieve.
Among humans, biotics—the ability of some individuals to use their mind to affect the physical world through small bursts of dark energy—was a commonly known, but still misunderstood, phenomenon.
Many erroneously believed that biotics were mutants blessed with superhuman telekinetic powers. Urban legends told of out-of-control biotics upending vehicles with a mere thought, or using their abilities to cause earthquakes while unleashing rampages of destruction that decimated entire city blocks.
The truth was much less terrifying. For one thing, contrary to what popular action vids portrayed, generating biotic fields took time and focus; it wasn’t something that happened instantly. And without the surgically implanted amplifiers wired into their brains and nervous systems, most biotics could barely tip over a cup of coffee.
With the amplifiers and years of intense training, talented individuals could learn to generate dark energy fields strong enough to lift a full-grown man from the floor and toss him roughly against a nearby wall, but doing so required intense amounts of physical and mental energy. Two or three such displays were all that typical biotics could manage before total exhaustion would set in, leaving them as helpless and vulnerable as any other man or woman.
Making the general public aware of these limitations was one way the Ascension Project tried to bridge the gap between rumor and fact. The hope was that understanding would lead to acceptance, allowing biotics to integrate into normal human society without suffering the irrational mistrust and persecution they currently faced. Indeed, outside of the military, most human biotics preferred to keep their talents hidden whenever possible.