Mass Effect: The Complete Novels 4-Book Bundle (99 page)

Nick swallowed the lump in his throat. “Got it.”

“Good,” Kim said, as she used the doorjamb to push the blade back into the weapon’s handle. “And one more thing …”

Nick brought a hand up to touch the spot behind his chin. His finger came away bloody. “Yes?”

“Nice throw at the barricade.
That
was a thing of beauty.”

Nick felt a sudden jolt of pleasure as Kim turned and left. It was, all things considered, a good day.

Having been forced to travel aboard a clapped-out freighter loaded with scrap metal, and share a claustrophobic two-bunk cabin with a woman who snored, Gillian felt a sense of exultation as she followed a handful of passengers out through the ship’s lock and onto a causeway. It led them down a ramp to one of the docking arms that protruded spiderlike from the space station’s bulk.

But the feeling of relief was short-lived. The first thing Gillian noticed was the absence of police officers at the entry point or any sort of customs inspection. Then came the realization that she was the only person in sight who wasn’t armed. That, plus the suitcase she was towing, made Gillian a natural target for every sort of street scum. As she put the causeway
behind her, and followed a graffiti-covered ped tube down into the asteroid, the locals took turns pitching her. “You lookin’ for a place to stay?” a grimy-faced street urchin inquired. “You can flop with my mom for five credits.”

That invitation was followed by one from a man who took Gillian’s elbow and tried to steer her into a side passage. “Hey, baby … Need a job? Your face ain’t much but that’s a nice body. I can line you up for six humps a day. How’s that sound?” A biotic nudge was sufficient to send him reeling away.

“Whoa!” a voice said, as Gillian increased her pace. “What’s your hurry human?” a turian inquired, pacing along next to her. “You need some happy? They call me the sandman. And my stuff is red.
Real
red. Ten credits for some sweet dreams.”

Gillian hurried to catch up with a pair of heavily armed batarians and fell in behind them. None of the hawkers, pimps, and dealers sought to bother
them
, which meant she was safe for the moment. But she was left to her own devices as the three of them arrived on the surface and the batarians entered a bar. “Hey, miss,” a ragged-looking beggar said, shuffling forward with his bowl extended. “How ’bout a couple of credits for a homeless veteran? I fought for the Alliance I did, and I need a place to sleep.”

Gillian gave him a credit. Now she realized that the suitcase was a liability. A magnet for all of the wrong kind of people. So having spotted a garishly lit pawnshop on the other side of the trash-strewn street she made her way over. A bell jangled as she pushed the old-fashioned door open and walked past a turian guard. Glassed-in display counters ran along both
sides of the room. And there, at the far end, the proprietor could be seen. He was human and appeared to be in his sixties. His head was entirely bald and a pair of high-mag zoom specs were perched on the end of his nose. The expression on his face was carefully neutral. “Yes, miss … What can I do for you?”

“I need a pack,” Gillian replied.

“Yes, you do,” he agreed. “There’s nothing like a suitcase to attract street flies. And you could use some heat as well. I have a used Hahne-Kedar handgun I could let you have for a reasonable price.”

“How much?” Gillian inquired.

The man told her and she shook her head. “I can’t afford that much. Just a pack please.”

So the shopkeeper gave her a nice pack, took five credits off as an allowance for the suitcase, and placed what looked like a very businesslike pistol on the glass in front of her. “It’s fake,” he explained. “I sell quite a few of them. Give me three credits and it’s yours. Make sure people can see it. Then come back and buy the real thing when you can afford to do so.”

It was a nice gesture and that gave Gillian the courage required to ask a pressing question. “Where’s a good place to stay?”

The old man frowned. “There aren’t any good places to stay. Not for a girl who can’t afford a weapon. The flophouses are dangerous. Especially for young females.”

Gillian wasn’t unarmed. Not by a long shot. But figured that it was best to keep her biotic capabilities under wraps for as long as possible. As she began to transfer her belongings from the suitcase to the pack,
an idea occurred to her. “Tell me something,” she said. “Do the quarians have a presence on Omega?”

The man gave her a curious look. “We’d be better off without them if you ask me. But, yes, their ships come and go on a regular basis. So they maintain a warehouse a couple of kilometers from here.”

“Can you give me directions? I’ll pay.”

That produced a snort. “Things are bad on Omega,” he said. “But not
that
bad. I’ll draw you a map. But don’t let people see you look at it. Otherwise you’ll attract the sort of attention you’re trying to avoid.”

Ten minutes later Gillian was back on the street wearing the fake pistol in a holster the old man had thrown in for free, and carrying her belongings in the sort of pack that locals used for everything from hauling groceries to carrying stolen merchandise. The good thing was that she had a destination. The bad thing was that it was a long way off.

But thanks to the changes Gillian had made to her appearance she was less noticeable now and no longer an obvious target for every hustler on the pedways. Having memorized the pawnshop owner’s map she hiked east, or what she thought of as east, although Gillian wasn’t sure the term meant much on the space station.

There was a lot to take in as Gillian marched along, not the least of which was layer after layer of architecture. She saw part of an ancient mining machine that had been incorporated into the side of a building, a long row of columns that rose to support something that didn’t exist anymore, and a building so alien she
wasn’t sure that the free-form structure qualified as a building.

But strange though the sights were, there was an intoxicating energy in the air, a sort of communal buzz that filled her with a sense of hopefulness. Because if Cerberus was anywhere, it would have to be represented on Omega. And once she found that presence she would track it back to the Illusive Man.

Gillian’s thoughts were interrupted by the rattle of gunfire somewhere up ahead and it was necessary to take shelter in a doorway as a flood of people rushed past. One of them was a salarian who stepped in next to her. “I hope you don’t mind,” he said mildly. “But stray rounds kill people every day.”

“No problem,” Gillian responded. “What’s going on?”

“The Blood Pack is battling the Talons for control of the Noro district,” the salarian answered.

His words were punctuated by the
pop, pop, pop
of rifle fire and a resounding
BOOM
as something exploded. Gillian knew it was dangerous to reveal her lack of knowledge regarding Omega but decided to take the chance. “Is there a way around it?”

“Yes,” the salarian answered. “I have a business meeting to attend on the other side of the Haze. You can follow me if you’d like.”

Gillian was confident that she could use her biotic powers to defend herself if it came to that, so she thanked the salarian and followed him into the maze of streets, pedways, and tunnels that was Omega. The sound of fighting could be heard in the distance as they zigzagged “north” and plunged underground to join the crowd using a defunct subway tunnel to pass
beneath the disputed territory. Having surfaced next to a dry fountain the salarian said good-bye. “This is as far as I go … Good luck.” Gillian thanked him and moments later he was lost in the crowd.

Gillian was a bit disoriented after the underground trip, and hungry as well, so she slipped into a noodle shop that was located in the corner of what appeared to be a block of apartments. That gave her an opportunity to eat a happy bowl
and
reorient herself using the pawnshop owner’s map. After finishing her meal she was ready to complete the arduous journey.

A meandering pedway took Gillian past the headless statue of a krogan, across a trash-littered square, and up to a windowless building. It seemed to shimmer, as if shielded by a force field, and was protected by a low wall and plenty of enviro-suit-clad guards. Gillian went up to the nearest one. “My name is Gillian Nar Idenna. [Gillian child of the ship
Idenna
.] And I request sanctuary.”

There was no way to know what was going on behind the quarian’s reflective visor, but the prolonged moment of silence spoke volumes. “You’re human,” he said finally.

“That’s true,” Gillian replied. “But I am also a member of the
Idenna
’s crew. Why don’t you check?”

The guard hesitated for a moment, said “Wait here,” and entered the building behind him. A long ten minutes passed while Gillian was forced to linger in front of the warehouse with nothing to do. Finally, after what seemed like an eternity, the guard reappeared. He had a superior in tow—and she came forward to greet Gillian. “My name is Elia Vas Ormona. [Elia crew of the ship
Ormona
.] Your name is on the
fleet list along with a photo and a list of your technical qualifications. Sanctuary is granted. Please follow me.”

The teenager felt a sudden sense of warmth. Because here, for the moment at least, was a place of safety. Gillian had arrived.

Nick was in a faraway place making love to Mythra Zon when the door to his room flew open and banged against the dingy wall. “Hey, two guns,” Kim said loudly. “It’s time to earn your keep. We’re going to a big meeting this morning. Be down front and ready to go in thirty minutes.”

The door slammed closed and Nick groaned. Such outings had become common and often came without much if any advance warning. It was like being in the military. Or what he imagined the military might be like. Life at the academy looked easy in retrospect.

Nick swung his feet over onto the cold floor, made his way to the sink to brush his teeth, and from there to a shower that never produced anything more than a lethargic spray of lukewarm water. Then, having dried off, it was time to get dressed, strap the gun belt on, and hurry downstairs for a quick meal at the communal buffet. The food was brought in from a restaurant a block away and wasn’t very good. But as Kim liked to put it, “You can eat this or go hungry. The choice is yours.”

After gobbling a cold breakfast wrap, and been nailed with a piece of fruit that his friend Monar had “thrown” at him, Nick hurried out onto the street where what he thought of as “the processional” was forming up. Sometimes Zon and the other leaders
were part of the very visible column of biotics and sometimes they weren’t. In either case the parade was intended to be a display of confidence and power. Both of which translated to clout within the criminal hierarchy that ran Omega.

On this particular occasion it soon became apparent that Mythra Zon, and her second in command Rasna Vas Kather (Rasna crew of the
Kather
), were traveling separately from the rest of the group. The whole notion of parading through the streets for the sole purpose of building a reputation seemed silly to Nick. But people like Sallus assured him that it was necessary, since the Biotic Underground was largely unknown to Omega’s population and needed to establish its credibility.

Nick was assigned to walk near the front of the twenty-person formation while carrying a pole topped by the group’s lightning bolt–shaped sigil. Some of the other biotics referred to the symbol as “the bullet magnet,” since bored guards stationed on surrounding rooftops had a tendency to use it for target practice. But Kim assured Nick that the position of standard-bearer was an important one. He wasn’t so sure, but was forced to accept the role or look like a coward.

A new recruit led the way followed by Kim, Nick, and all the rest of them. Every single person in the group had biotic powers, but many of the rank-and-file members were Level 1 or Level 2, which meant they would have to rely on conventional weaponry in any sort of serious battle. So, having been reclassified as a Level 3
and
having been chosen to carry the sigil,
Nick felt a natural sense of superiority where the other rankers were concerned.

The route selected for the procession passed within two blocks of the heavily fortified building that functioned as headquarters for the Eclipse Mercs. A well-established group that was said to control roughly twenty percent of that deck. The idea was to get their attention without pissing them off.

A projectile tore through the lightning-bolt sigil, and caused the pole to shiver in Nick’s hands, but the rest of the journey went smoothly. Fifteen minutes later, having followed a twisting-turning course through Omega’s serpentine streets, the biotics arrived in front of a huge crawler. The mining machine was at least three stories tall, and although the tracks had been removed was still very impressive. The vehicle had been taken over by a group called the Grim Skulls. Some of them were posted in prepared positions around the behemoth. They were dressed in skull-shaped helmets and medium armor that was painted to make them look like skeletons.

Having been assigned to guard duty before, Nick assumed he would be ordered to remain outside. But much to his surprise Kim told him to collapse the telescoping sigil and follow her inside the ship. Although the crawler was clearly hundreds of years old the interior was in surprisingly good shape. Power had been restored to the wreck and Nick could see what looked like batarian stencils on the bulkheads, along with an overlay of colorful graffiti and Grim Skull artwork.

After being led through a series of passageways Nick found himself in what had once been a cargo
hold judging from both the layout and fittings. Two tables were in place, one for the biotics, and one for the Grim Skulls. They were separated by about three meters of steel decking and lit from above.

Kim ordered Nick to stand near Zon’s right arm directly across from the Grim Skull who was holding
their
sigil, which consisted of a turian skull mounted on a metal pole. Even though he didn’t know the particulars of what was taking place, Nick could tell that Zon and her negotiating team had entered into some sort of agreement with the Skulls.