Mass Effect: Retribution

  Finally, they picked the blanket up from the floor and wrapped it around Grayson once more, reversing it to hide the bloodstains. On close inspection the large tear left by the knife was still visible, but Grayson suspected that anyone who got close enough to notice would already be as good as dead.

  Moving with long, easy strides, the Reapers left the security clearance area behind, passing through the door into the main Academy as they headed for the wing of the Ascension Project.

  TWENTY-THREE

  “Grissom Academy, this is Admiral David Anderson of the Alliance. Do you copy?”

  Anderson knew that the fact they were getting no response was a bad sign. They were close enough to the Grissom Academy to attempt to make contact through direct radio transmission, bypassing whatever technical glitch had isolated the school from the comm network. The silence on the other end meant something had gone wrong on the station itself.

  “Try it again,” Kahlee said, stubbornly refusing to accept the truth.

  Knowing it was futile, Anderson closed the comm channel. They’d been trying to get a response for the past five minutes, ever since they had dropped out of FTL.

  “There’s no point,” he said, hoping some hard truth might help to prepare Kahlee for whatever scene awaited them on the station. “We’ll be there in two minutes anyway,” he added to soften the blow.

  “You won’t be able to stop Grayson alone,” Kai Leng warned them. “Untie me and let me help.”

  Neither Anderson nor Kahlee bothered to respond.

  The ship’s sensors projected an image of the exterior docking bay onto the vid screen. Three of the bays were empty; the fourth was occupied by a small passenger shuttle.

  “Turian,” Anderson muttered, though everyone on board knew who the pilot had been.

  He brought the shuttle in slowly. Without a signal coming in from the Academy, he had to land the shuttle freehand, relying on instrument readings and dozens of tiny manual adjustments to their course. A delicate operation at the best of times, it was made even more difficult by the fact that Kahlee was standing behind his chair, leaning over his shoulder and staring intently at the screen. She didn’t say anything, but he could sense her urgency, as well as her frustration at how long it was taking. Despite all his care, when he finally touched down, the shuttle landed with a heavy thump.

  They waited a few seconds to see if the docking ramps would connect to the shuttle’s airlock, but sensors picked up no movement.

  “Nobody manning the docks,” Anderson muttered. “Going to need an enviro-suit.”

  “There’s one in the back,” Kai Leng offered. “A shotgun, too.”

  Kahlee glanced down at him in surprise.

  “I want to stop Grayson as much as you do,” he assured them. “Even if you leave me bound to this chair, I’ll do whatever I can to help.”

  “Keep an eye on him” was all Anderson said as he got up from his seat and headed to the rear of the shuttle.

  The enviro-suit was right where Kai Leng had promised. The resilient, insulated fabric easily stretched to fit over Anderson’s clothes, and when he slipped the helmet over his head and flicked it on, it formed an airtight seal with the rest of the suit.

  He touched the side of the helmet to activate the transmitter. “Kahlee, do you copy?”

  “Copy,” she replied from up in the cockpit. “Maintain radio contact at all times.”

  “Roger that.”

  He picked up the shotgun, the weight of the Sokolov noticeably heavier than the old Hahne-Kedar model he’d used during his tours in the First Contact war. Then he made his way over to the shuttle’s airlock and stepped inside, closing the interior door behind him. There was a loud rush as the atmosphere whooshed out. Even through the insulation of his suit he felt the temperature drop, though it wasn’t enough to make him uncomfortable.

  He opened the airlock’s exterior hatch and stepped down carefully onto the floor of the docking bay. The enviro-suit had magnetized boots for space walks, but they weren’t necessary here—the artificial gravity generated by the station’s mass effect fields was still active.

  Scanning the dock for targets, he made his way over to the nearest airlock leading into the station. Fortunately it wasn’t locked, and within a minute he was inside a small hall filled with heated, breathable air.

  “I’m inside,” he said to Kahlee, lifting the visor of his helmet.

  He proceeded up the gently sloping passage, emerging in what served as the Academy’s security clearance area for all passenger arrivals. The two bodies lying on the floor only confirmed what they had all suspected.

  “We’ve got casualties,” Anderson said softly, knowing the transmitter would amplify his voice enough for Kahlee to hear every word clearly. “Two. Look like security guards.”

  Keeping his shotgun at the ready, he crept toward the security booth, crouching low to the ground. He pressed up close to the wall beside the open door, then poked his head around the corner for a quick peek.

  “Area is clear,” he reported, some of the adrenaline-fueled tension fading from his muscles.

  Making his way over to the control panel, he found the manual overrides and activated one of the docking ramps. Through the glass wall he watched as it slid into position, clicking tight on the shuttle’s airlock.

  “Docking ramp is in place,” he told Kahlee. “Might as well come aboard.”

  “What about Kai Leng?” Kahlee asked. “You think it’s safe to just leave him?”

  “Don’t see any other choice,” Anderson replied. “Just in case, bring that knife from the first-aid kit with you.”

  “Copy that. I’m on my way.”

  Anderson debated stripping off the enviro-suit, then decided not to bother. He was already sweating under the airtight fabric, but the suit was equipped with standard kinetic barrier technology. If he ended up getting into a firefight, he’d need the protection.

  He hustled down the steps from the guard station back to where Kahlee would emerge in the security clearance room. She probably knew the murdered guards; he wanted to be there for support when she came across the bodies.

  He arrived just a few seconds before Kahlee. He didn’t say anything as her eyes came to rest on the fallen guards, letting her mourn their deaths in silence.

  She walked slowly over to the first body—a young man stabbed through the chest—and got down on one knee. Despite his glassy, unblinking eyes she pressed her fingers against his throat to check for a pulse. Finding nothing, she reached up and gently closed his eyes, then let her head drop.

  Getting to her feet, she made a similar examination of the second body before coming over to stand by Anderson.

  “Erin and Jorgen,” she told him. “Good kids.”

  “Grayson did this to them,” Anderson said, knowing it was something she didn’t want to hear. “If we don’t stop him, others will die.”

  Kahlee nodded her head in agreement.

  “You don’t have to worry about me,” she assured him. “If we have to take him out, I won’t hesitate.”

  Anderson didn’t like the sound of that “if,” but he knew it was the best he’d get from her. She still couldn’t bring herself to admit Grayson was beyond salvation.

  “The bodies are still warm,” she noted. “And the blood is just starting to congeal. My guess is that Grayson came through here less than ten minutes ago.”

  “Do we set off the alarms?” Anderson asked.

  Kahlee shook her head. “It’s night—most of the students and staff will be in their rooms. That’s probably the safest place for them. We set off the alarm and they’ll all come pouring out into the hall to see what’s going on.”

  “What about security personnel?”

  “We should be able to alert them from the guard station,” Kahlee said.

  They quickly made their way into the small control room overlooking the dock. Kahlee flipped a few switches, then slammed her hand down on the console in frustration.
r />   “The whole system’s fried.”

  “Any other security stations close by?”

  She shook her head. “They’re spread out everywhere. It’d take forever to gather them all.”

  “Do you have any idea where Grayson is going?” Anderson asked.

  Kahlee thought about it for a moment before answering.

  “If the Reapers are just looking for information, he’ll head to the data archives. If they’re after more victims, he’ll head for the dorms. Either way he’s heading for the Ascension wing.

  “Come on,” she added, turning to rush off.

  Anderson grabbed her forearm, stopping her in her tracks.

  “Grayson took the guards’ pistols. We know he’s armed. You can’t go after him without a weapon.”

  “I have a knife,” she reminded him, showing him where she’d slid it into her boot.

  “You need a gun.”

  “This is a school, not a military base,” she explained. “The only guns on-site are carried by the guards.

  “Besides,” she added, holding up her splinted fingers, “I couldn’t fire one anyway.”

  “Where’s the nearest guard station?” Anderson asked.

  “Down the hall and to the right,” she replied. “But the Ascension wing is in the opposite direction.”

  “Then we split up,” Anderson declared, falling into the familiar role of an officer barking out orders.

  “You go alert the guards. Get them to help you search the dorms. If you don’t run into Grayson, round up all the kids and take them somewhere safe,” he added, knowing Kahlee’s primary concern would be for the safety of the children.

  To his relief, she nodded in agreement.

  “Take a left when you go out into the main hall,” she told him. “If you just keep following it you’ll end up at the main entrance to the Ascension wing.

  “When you get there, look for the map painted on the wall. The data archive is off the main research lab. Look for the large room near the center of the map marked Restricted Area.”

  There was an awkward moment of silence. Anderson didn’t know whether he should kiss her, hug her, or simply say “Good luck.” Kahlee resolved the issue by leaning forward and giving him a quick peck on the lips, then turning and dashing out the door and down the hall.

  Grasping the shotgun firmly in his hands, Anderson lowered the visor of his helmet and set off at a run in the other direction.

  Back on the ship, Kai Leng was working to free himself from his bonds. His wrists and forearms were tied to the arms of the copilot seat; his ankles and calves were lashed firmly to the supports underneath. He wasn’t completely immobilized, however.

  By straining against his bonds he was able to gain just enough play in the rope to allow him to wiggle from side to side in the seat. Each time he did so the rope pulled taut, digging painfully into his flesh … but it also rubbed against the rough metal on the underside of the padded armrests of the chair.

  He started slowly, rocking himself and twisting his torso, applying as much tension to the rope as possible, testing the limits of his movement. Then he began to pick up speed, side to side and back and forth, increasing the friction. In less than a minute the ropes had scraped his skin raw. After another they began to draw blood.

  The blood mingled with the sweat of his exertion, making a warm, sticky mess that quickly covered his arms and dripped onto the seat and the floor around it. Kai Leng was oblivious, however; all his attention was focused on working the rope against the metal fittings of the chair, fraying it one woven nylon strand at a time.

  It took nearly five minutes, but in the end the wear and tear caused one of the loops securing his left arm to snap. The others quickly went slack as he wriggled his arm, until they were loose enough for him to slide his crimson-soaked limb loose.

  He attacked the knots holding his right arm in place, the fingers of his left hand slick with blood and sweat. It was frustrating work, but after another minute he managed to free his dominant hand. Then he set to work on the ropes around his legs and ankles.

  The angle was awkward; he had to lean forward and down to reach under his seat. Unable to see what he was doing, he had to stop every twenty or thirty seconds to keep the blood rushing to his head from causing him to black out. In the end it took him longer to free his legs than it had his arms, but ultimately he was free.

  Breathing heavily from the exertion, he stood up slowly. His legs had fallen asleep from being held in the same position for so long. Gritting his teeth and clutching the bloody copilot’s chair for support, he gingerly walked it off, doing everything he could to get the blood circulating again.

  When the pins and needles finally faded, Kai Leng headed for the first-aid kit in the back of the shuttle. He wiped away the blood with a sanitized towel, then smeared a layer of soothing medi-gel on the gashed and torn flesh of his burning forearms.

  Then he paused to consider his next course of action. One option was to simply close the airlock and fly away, leaving Anderson and Sanders to try and deal with Grayson. This seemed to be the most sensible thing to do; he had no weapon and it was likely everyone on the station would be as much against him as they were against Grayson.

  But he knew that would displease the Illusive Man. There was a good chance Grayson would escape. Once he left the Academy, he would be virtually impossible to find … especially if he killed Sanders before fleeing.

  The more Kai Leng thought about it, the more he realized this might be the last chance Cerberus would have to stop the Reapers. And even if it meant confronting Grayson unarmed, he couldn’t let the opportunity slip from his fingers.

  With his mind made up, he didn’t waste any more time. Moving quickly, he passed through the docking ramp and airlocks and into what was obviously a security clearance room.

  Two bodies lay on the floor: one male, one female. A quick inspection revealed they had been killed with a knife. The fact that Grayson hadn’t simply crushed them with some type of biotic power gave Kai Leng hope; it could mean his enemy was exhausted and possibly even vulnerable.

  He felt the familiar spark of excitement flickering deep inside him. At heart he was a killer, a predator. He lived for the chase. And the hunt was about to begin.

  TWENTY-FOUR

  The Reapers were being cautious. Methodical. There was no need to hurry, so they didn’t.

  Eager to avoid unnecessary confrontations, they set Grayson off on a winding, circuitous route through the halls of the Academy, using the schematics they had downloaded from the guard station. It was night on the station, so they chose a route that passed by empty offices rather than dorm rooms where students would be sleeping.

  With the blanket still wrapped tightly around his body, Grayson was nothing more than a passenger along for the ride. He was grateful their route kept them from running into anyone else, however. He didn’t want to imagine what would happen if one of the students happened to stumble across them.

  Eventually they reached the door of the Ascension Project’s primary research laboratory. The door was closed, but the Reapers knew that the data archives for the entire project were stored in the room beyond.

  They had Grayson lean forward and press his ear against the portal. Through the door and the blanket, his hypersensitive hearing picked up voices coming from the other side. Scientists working late, most likely.

  They let the bloodstained blanket fall to the floor, then hit the panel to open the door. It slid back to reveal what was quite clearly a research lab. A bank of computer stations lined one wall. The opposite wall contained shelves of biological samples taken from the students to monitor their health and progress. In the back corner were various pieces of expensive equipment used to analyze the samples, as well as the electronic data collected weekly from the implants of every child in the program.

  Two men and a woman occupied the room. One of the men was seated at a computer station, his chair turned away from the screens as he conversed w
ith the other man and the woman. She was smiling knowingly, as if she’d just made a joke; the two men were laughing out loud.

  All three turned in Grayson’s direction as he came in. Their expressions transformed from laughter to fear, though it was impossible to say whether the cause was Grayson’s mutated appearance or the twin pistols he carried.

  The Reapers fired three shots in rapid succession. Each bullet was perfectly placed in the exact center of the forehead, causing instantaneous death. The three researchers fell to the floor, their lives forfeit simply because they had chosen this particular night to put in a few hours of overtime.

  Standing perfectly still, the Reapers listened for the sound of any response to the three pistol shots that had echoed in the room. There were no cries of alarm from down the hall; there were no sounds of running footsteps. Satisfied that the obstacles had been eliminated without alerting anyone else on the station, the Reapers turned and casually hit the panel to close the door.

  In the back of the lab was another door; beyond it were the data archives. The archives consisted of an OSD library and server array that contained every reading and every result from every test on every student who had ever participated in the Ascension Project.

  Not surprisingly, the door to the data archives was locked. Access to the information was restricted to only a handful of senior staff on the project, and required a keycard, access code, and biological identification confirmed via voice and retinal scans. It took the Reapers less than two minutes to hack the door open.

  Once inside, the Reapers began to access the data using the lone terminal in the room. As the information flickered on the screen, Grayson scanned it, processed it, and transmitted it instantaneously back to his Reaper overlords in dark space.

  The sensation was unlike anything Grayson had ever experienced. It was exhilarating. Intoxicating. Euphoric. Even a red sand high couldn’t compare with the rush of being a conduit for pure data transmission.

  But it was also taxing. Draining. Exhausting. Transmitting trillions of terabytes of data required a tremendous output of energy, and the Reapers knew their avatar was already weak. So they went slowly, taking their time, careful not to destroy their precious vessel.