Mass Effect: The Complete Novels 4-Book Bundle (93 page)

Gillian’s first task therefore was to choose a supplier. A first-rate manufacturer with the resources to amp her overall effectiveness by at least ten percent. With nowhere else to go she checked into a boxtel. It was noisier than she preferred, but finally began to quiet down around 1:00 a.m., allowing her to fall asleep.

When morning came, and she awoke, it was to a renewed sense of purpose. Gillian took a shower, left the boxtel, and ate breakfast in a small cafe. From there it was onto a public shuttle and off to visit the high-rise building where the asari-sponsored Armali Council was quartered. The council represented a number of manufacturing guilds, one of which was dedicated to making and installing what many considered to be the finest biotic implants available in the galaxy.

Having exited the shuttle Gillian walked a short distance to the building and paused to look up. The structure was hundreds of feet tall and looked like a cluster of crystal shafts. They were of various lengths and joined together at the center.

The high-rise made Gillian feel small. But she gathered her courage, made her way up a flight of stairs, and followed a turian inside. The lobby was huge. An asari stood behind a slightly curved reception counter. Gillian thought of herself as homely and wondered what it was like to be so beautiful. The receptionist smiled politely. “Can I help you?”

“I would like to talk to a member of the Biotics Guild about acquiring some new implants.”

The expression on the asari’s face changed fractionally as if she was looking at Gillian in a new light. “Of course. Please proceed to the twelfth floor. I’ll let them know you’re coming.”

An elevator carried Gillian and half a dozen other people up past transparent offices to the twelfth floor. An asari in a sleek ankle-length lab coat was waiting to greet her. “Welcome to the Biotics Guild. My name is Nomi E’Lan. And you are?”

“Gillian Grayson.”

“It’s a pleasure to meet you. I understand that you’re interested in acquiring an upgrade. Is that true?”

“Yes.”

“And you are a level?”

“Three.”

“Excellent. Please follow me. The first step is to take readings on the implants you have now.”

That made sense so Gillian allowed herself to be steered down a hall and into a well-equipped lab. “Please step behind the screen and remove your clothes,” E’Lan said. “Then I’d like you to lay facedown on the table.”

Like most biotics Gillian had a port in the back of her neck that could be used to access the tiny amplifiers that were located throughout her nervous system. They functioned to create the mass effect fields that enabled Gillian to manipulate dark energy. And some implants were better than others. So it wasn’t unusual for biotics to buy upgrades when they could afford to do so.

Once on the table, with her hair pulled to one side, Gillian gritted her teeth as a probe was inserted into
her neck port. There was a brief moment of pain, followed by a tingling sensation, and some involuntary muscle contractions as electronic impulses were sent to various parts of her body. Then E’Lan pressed small paddles against the points where implants had been inserted so that a computer could measure the amount of resistance in between them. The diagnostic process continued for about five minutes before the needlelike instrument was withdrawn from Gillian’s neck port. “Okay,” E’Lan said, “you can get dressed now. I have what I need. Thank you.”

Gillian stepped behind the screen where she buckled the belt containing the Beryllium slugs around her waist before putting her clothes back on. “So,” Gillian said as she emerged, “what do you think?”

E’Lan was standing in front of a podium-style terminal eyeing the data that scrolled in front of her. “It looks like you’re equipped with solid Level Four implants complete with virtual intelligence chips. It’s a good setup, better than average actually, but we can improve on it.”

“By how much?”

“I think you could expect a ten percent or better increase in power—along with an equivalent improvement where duration is concerned. But I’ll be able to give you a better idea after we receive a technical download from the facility where your amps were installed.”

Gillian frowned. Would the academy cooperate? And if so, how much time would the process consume? “How long will that take?”

“Oh, a couple of weeks should do it,” E’Lan said
breezily. “Then we’ll put you on the schedule for an upgrade.”

“You don’t understand,” Gillian said tightly. “I need the amps
now
. Today.”

It wasn’t clear how they had been summoned, but suddenly two additional asari entered the room, and they were dressed in matching suits of light armor. And even though nothing had been said Gillian sensed that they were biotics.
Powerful
biotics. E’Lan smiled gently. “Then I’m afraid we won’t be able to help you. We require a full workup before we can perform an upgrade. The ethical guidelines we adhere to are very clear in that regard.”

Gillian was down on the street ten minutes later. She was very disappointed. But not about to give up. “Where there’s a will there’s a way.” That’s what Hendel liked to say. And Gillian would find the way.

Kai Leng was going to kill both Gillian Grayson and Hal McCann—but had chosen to kill the ex-Cerberus employee first. Because McCann could leave the Citadel at any time and Leng figured the teenager would stick around for a while.

Then, once both sanctions were completed, Leng would go to work on retrieving Grayson’s body. A much more difficult task since it was being held in the biological evidence section of C-Sec’s Forensic Lab. A reality that the Illusive Man wasn’t aware of or didn’t care about. Not that it mattered because Leng took pride in solving such problems.

So as darkness settled over the Citadel, and most of the population went to their various homes, what Leng thought of as the night people began to take
over. Some, like Leng, were predators. And some, like McCann, were prey. And finding them, especially on such a huge space station, would require patience.

Still, on most planets the wild game could be depended upon to visit a watering hole come sundown, which in this case meant a bar or club. The problem was that there were hundreds if not thousands of such establishments on the Citadel.

But as Leng left his apartment, and went down to the street, he had a pretty good idea of how to narrow the possibilities. McCann was an inveterate gambler. As such, he was likely to favor those establishments that offered games of chance as well as alcohol.

The first place on Leng’s list was a club called Flux. It was easy to reach from the upper wards and was located near the markets. A cane was a sign of weakness. So Leng left it at home. Each step produced a twinge of pain. But a limp could attract the wrong sort of attention too—so he forced himself to walk normally.

Leng knew where he was going but stopped to consult a public terminal so he could check his six. It was silly. He knew that. But the comment about the cane had wormed its way into his head. Just as the Illusive Man had intended.

What made the situation so ridiculous was the fact that spotting the individual assigned to watch him wouldn’t make any difference. He would still do what he had been assigned to do the way he planned to do it. But the fact that he could be watched without detecting the person carrying out the surveillance was not only an affront to his pride but dangerous, because Cerberus had enemies. Lots of them.

The effort was to no avail. Either the Illusive Man’s operative was very, very good or had the night off. So Leng followed a steady stream of people toward the markets before taking the turn that led him to the Flux. It was a relatively new nightclub with a bar and dance floor on the main level and a casino on the mezzanine.

The music was loud, the place was packed with young professionals, and, as Leng entered the bar area, there was no sign of McCann. But that wasn’t too surprising, because if the ex-Cerberus employee was present, he would probably be one level up. Still, it paid to be careful, so Leng checked the men’s room before climbing the stairs to the casino.

It wasn’t as crowded as the first floor, but was still doing a respectable business, judging from the fact that most of the tables were in use. At this point more stealth was called for because Leng had no way to know how McCann would react to the sudden arrival of a Cerberus operative. Would it be a case of hail-fellow-well-met? Or would the life support tech bolt?

Leng had left
all
of the Forbes identity back at the apartment, including the peel-off face that made him look fifteen years older than he actually was. But he couldn’t wander around looking like himself, not if he planned to kill someone, so he was wearing a second disguise. One that had the effect of pushing his hairline back, flattening his nose, and emphasizing his cheekbones. It was a tough-looking face and appropriate for hanging out in bars. It was also attractive, to some women anyway, and it wasn’t long before Leng felt someone touch his arm. “Hi, honey, it’s good to see you again.”

They had never met, and both of them knew it, but Leng played along. “You too … I like your dress. What there is of it.”

The woman’s hair was an unlikely shade of green and she was wearing a dress that consisted of two tubes of elastic cloth. One hugged her breasts and the other covered her hips. The fabric sparkled as light hit it. The compliment produced a smile. “Less is more.”

“How true … Can I buy you a drink?”

“Yes, please. A Nova would be nice.”

Leng left her standing next to a waist-high table and went over to the casino’s bar. Then, as the bartender came over to serve him, he activated the omni-tool. The picture of McCann was ready. “Have you seen my buddy? We were supposed to meet up here.”

The volus shook his head. “I’ve had no contact with that individual.”

“Okay, thanks. I’ll have a Nova and a shot of sake. Honzo if you have it.”

Armed with the drinks Leng returned to the table. The woman’s name was Marcy, and he let her natter on about her job as a hairdresser for a while, before punching up the picture of McCann. “This guy owes me two hundred credits. Have you seen him? He likes to gamble—so he might visit the casino from time to time.”

Marcy looked at the picture and shook her head. “No, I haven’t.” When she looked up at him Leng realized that her eyes matched her hair. “What will you do to him?”

“I’ll squeeze him until my credits come out,” Leng responded.

“Squeezing can be nice.”

Leng grinned. “We were made for each other. Will you be here tomorrow?”

Marcy looked disappointed. “Probably.”

“Good. I’ll have my two hundred credits by then and you can help me spend them.”

Marcy brightened. “That sounds like fun.”

“It will be,” Leng promised, as he finished the sake. “Be careful out there.” And with that he left.

The next place on Leng’s list was the Dark Star Lounge. It was located on the twenty-eighth floor of a high-rise with a spectacular view of the Presidium ring. And as Leng made his way past a fancy restaurant and into a very quiet bar, he realized that the Dark Star was an unlikely habitat for a working stiff like McCann. Still, he was there, so it made sense to stroll between the gaming tables and eyeball the formally clad clientele. As expected, McCann was nowhere to be seen, and that included the casino area, where muted applause signaled a win.

So having checked the Dark Star Lounge, Leng left for what he hoped would be a more productive hunting ground. And that was the dive called Chora’s Den. The trip took a good twenty minutes but the moment he walked inside Leng knew it was the sort of place McCann would gravitate to. There was a central bar with private booths all around the perimeter of the room. And each booth was equipped with a terminal on which a wide variety of virtual games could be played.

Slowly, so as to avoid attracting undue attention, Leng circled the room. But much to his disappointment McCann was nowhere to be seen. There were
other bars. Lots of them. But rather than leave for the next place on the list Leng decided to rest his leg and hang around for a while. He took a seat that offered an unobstructed view of the main entrance and ordered a sake.

Some bars were set up to cater to a specific race, but Chora’s Den had a very diverse clientele. And while Leng didn’t like most aliens, there was no denying that the asari dancer who occupied the platform at the very center of the bar was fun to look at, and when she winked at him he winked back.

But in spite of the entertainment the next hour passed slowly,
too
slowly, and Leng was about to leave when Hal McCann walked through the door. Leng put his head down as the ex-Cerberus employee paused to look around. Then, having seen Leng but not recognized him, McCann made his way to an empty booth. After shoving a chip into the terminal he began to play. The light from the screen gave his face a bluish cast.

Now there was a decision to be made. Leng could sit down next to McCann, engage him in conversation, and slash his femoral artery. McCann would lose consciousness in about thirty seconds—and bleed out within three minutes. Plenty of time for an escape. But McCann might make noise and it was impossible to know how the other customers would react.

The other possibility was to wait for McCann to go to the men’s room and take him out there. That could get complicated if the can was being used by others—but Leng figured he could schmooze McCann long enough to get him alone.

There should have been a
third
option, which was to follow McCann out onto the street, but Leng wasn’t sure his leg was up to a brisk walk, never mind the possibility of a chase. So he ordered another shot of sake and settled in to wait. Fifteen minutes later McCann was still sitting in his booth and Leng needed to pee. So he went into the filthy men’s room, and was standing in front of a urinal, when McCann stepped into the slot right next to him. Leng flushed and zipped his fly. “Hey, Hal, how’re you doing?”

McCann turned to look at the stranger and frowned. “Do I know you?”

“It’s your old friend, Kai Leng.”

McCann had stepped away from the urinal by that time. The first expression to appear on his face was one of pleasure. The second reflected concern. “You’re wearing a disguise.
Why?
”