And that proved to be the case as at least a dozen Skulls dashed out through the main hatch. T’Loak’s forces were waiting and cut them down with ruthless efficiency. That put a stop to the escape attempt. T’Loak opened her mike. “Let’s go in and get the rest of them.”

  The mercs who had been assigned to act as T’Loak’s bodyguards were ranked to either side of the asari as she left the relative safety of the doorway and began to zigzag across the open area in front of the crawler. Seconds later she jumped a body and joined the rest of the troops who were rushing the massive machine.

  A trio of Skulls appeared in the main hatch, all firing automatic weapons, and one of T’Loak’s operatives was snatched off her feet. But the return fire swept the entrance clean so that the attackers could step over the dead bodies and enter the crawler. Thick smoke made it difficult to see. “Spread out,” T’Loak ordered over the radio. “Search every compartment. Kill all of them except for Tactus. I want him alive.”

  There were rooms on both sides of the dimly lit main corridor, each of which had to be checked and cleared. The first space T’Loak entered was empty, and judging from the look of it, had been used as a ready room. As she backed into the hall T’Loak heard the rattle of an automatic weapon on her left and turned to see a merc stagger as he took a burst of projectiles in the back. Then there was a flash of light and a loud bang as one of his buddies tossed a grenade into the compartment and the firing stopped.

  And so it went as the invaders fought their way deeper into the machine. T’Loak allowed others to take the lead, but did her share of the fighting as they climbed an access ladder up to the second deck, and the living quarters there. That was when Immo emerged from the swirling smoke. She nodded. “How’re we doing?”

  “Well, so far.”

  “And Tactus?”

  “No sign of him yet. We came across the woman you interviewed at the bank though. She’s in the sickbay along with two others. I wasn’t sure how to handle that so I put a guard outside the door.”

  “Show me.”

  So Immo led T’Loak a few feet down the corridor to the point where a merc was standing outside a hatch. The word “SICKBAY” had been scrawled onto the metal next to the opening. The guard stood aside so that T’Loak could enter. The medical facility was small but well-equipped. There were four beds against the far bulkhead, two of which were in use. A turian who was hooked up to a respirator and appeared to be unconscious occupied one of them. And a human, who T’Loak recognized as Shella, was propped up on the other. A pillow supported her right knee. “So,” T’Loak said, “we meet again.”

  Shella was scared. T’Loak could see it in her eyes. But the human was determined to maintain her composure and nodded in response. “There was no point in trying to run.”

  “No, there wasn’t.”

  “So what happens now?”

  Shella feared the worst. T’Loak could see it in her eyes. “I believe you told me the truth about what happened to my daughter. So I will keep my word. Immo will make arrangements to have you transferred to an appropriate medical facility.”

  Shella looked both surprised and relieved. “Thank you.”

  “You’re welcome.” And with that T’Loak left the room. Tactus was still on the loose. But as her troops pushed the Skulls deeper and deeper into the crawler’s belly it wasn’t long before the turian was cornered. Having been summoned to the scene T’Loak found herself in a poorly lit corridor. An intermittent buzzing sound could be heard as a batarian stepped in to brief her. “We believe that Tactus and two of his men are trapped in a compartment at the other end of the passageway. A couple of grenades would finish them off but we were told to take Tactus alive.”

  “That’s correct,” T’Loak said. “Standby for further orders.” Having cupped her hands in front of her mouth, T’Loak shouted down the corridor. “Tactus … It’s T’Loak. Can you hear me?”

  “Yeah,” came the reply. “I can hear you.”

  “Good. There’s no way out of here except my way. So if you want to live, put the weapons down, and come out with your hands behind your head.”

  There was a moment of silence. “Okay. Don’t shoot. We’re coming out.”

  T’Loak turned to the batarian. “Put some additional light on the other end of the corridor. It would be a mistake to trust the bastard.”

  A handheld spot snapped into existence, wandered across the overhead, and focused on the partially opened hatch just in time for Tactus to emerge. His hands were behind his neck, and as he came forward, two additional Skulls appeared to stand next to him. T’Loak raised a pistol and fired twice. Heads jerked and the men fell. Tactus looked alarmed. “You promised!” he said accusingly.

  “I promised to spare you,” T’Loak replied. “And I will. Hold your position.”

  Immo had arrived by then and T’Loak turned to speak with him. “I want chains on Tactus. Lots of them. Then, once he’s ready, parade him through the streets. It won’t take long for the news to get around. Understood?”

  Immo nodded. “Understood.”

  “And find whatever is left of my money. I want it back.”

  And so it was that the once proud Tactus was marched through the streets to the Afterlife club, where he was placed in a cage for everyone to stare at and make fun of. Word of the turian’s humiliation spread quickly and the message was clear: Anyone who chose to attack the Pirate Queen would pay a steep price indeed. Normality, such as it was on Omega, had been restored.

  The Blue Marble restaurant was a mess. The front window had been shattered and there were hundreds of pockmarks where projectiles had flattened themselves against the concrete facade. And as Mara Mott watched from the other side of the street workmen were already in the process of making repairs under the supervision of a portly human. The owner? Yes, Mott thought so and crossed the busy street to speak with him. “Hello … Are you the proprietor by any chance?”

  As the man turned to face her Mott saw that he had a unibrow, a bulbous nose, and a five o’clock shadow. “Who wants to know?” he inquired belligerently.

  “My name is Hoby,” Mott lied. “Karol Hoby and I’m interested in what occurred here.”

  The man frowned. “Why?”

  “I have a client,” Mott replied. “A person who wants to know and is willing to pay. Assuming you’re the owner that is.”

  A gleam of what might have been avarice appeared in the man’s eyes. “My name is Garza and I’m the chef. The manager was killed in the fighting. Come … My kitchen is intact. We will have tea and talk. This location is far too public.”

  Mott knew Garza was correct. If she was watching others might be as well. So she followed the cook past the workmen and into the Blue Marble’s interior. It was empty of people, and judging from all the damage, the interior was going to require work as well.

  But true to the chef’s word the kitchen had been spared. And there, against the back wall, was a small table where the restaurant’s employees could take a break. Garza put water on to boil before sitting opposite her. “How much will you pay?”

  “That depends on what you know,” Mott replied. “If you can tell me who organized the attack, and why they did so, I’ll pay you five hundred credits.”

  “A thousand.”

  “Six hundred. And that’s final. Remember, this is found money. I doubt anyone else cares who launched the attack.”

  Garza looked cautious. “Yes and no. I can think of one person who might care … An individual who would be very upset were I to talk about them.”

  “I promise I won’t tell.”

  “You drive a hard bargain citizen Hoby … If that’s your name. Six hundred it is. Would you like cream and sugar with your tea?”

  “Yes, please.”

  Having served his guest Garza sat down. Their eyes met. “There was a man. He came into the restaurant, sat down, and ordered Mexican food.”

  “Describe him.”

  Garza did so and Mott felt her pulse quicken. Because the description fit Leng to a T. “Okay. He sat down. Then what?”

  “A salarian came to the back entrance,” Garza said, as he jerked a thumb at the door behind him. “He told me that an attack was about to take place and said we could warn our customers.”

  “Except for the man who was eating Mexican food?”

  “Exactly. I told the manager and he passed the word.”

  Mott frowned. “Why would the attackers warn you? It doesn’t make sense.”

  Garza eyed her over the rim of his cup. “The manager ran the Blue Marble, but he didn’t own it.”

  Mott felt a rising sense of excitement. “Who does?”

  “Aria T’Loak.”

  “So she attacked her own restaurant?”

  “Yes.”

  “Why?”

  Garza shrugged. “She wanted to kill the man I described earlier. It didn’t work though. A lot of people wound up dead but the man she was after escaped.”

  There were more questions and more answers. But none of them explained why T’Loak wanted Leng dead. So Mott paid Garza, left the restaurant, and resumed her investigation. It didn’t take long to find out about the attack on the Grim Skulls and the way Tactus had been dragged through the streets.

  Was there some sort of connection between the attack on the Skulls and T’Loak’s attempt to murder Leng? Mott couldn’t see one but knew that Jana and the Illusive Man would expect her to follow up on every possible lead.

  With that in mind Mott went looking for people who had firsthand knowledge of the attack on Grim Skull headquarters, only to discover that most of the mercs were dead. And T’Loak’s personnel weren’t talking. But her legwork did succeed in turning up one possible lead. And that was a Skull who had not only been spared by T’Loak but taken to a hospital by the Pirate Queen’s personnel. The obvious question being why T’Loak would kill all of the Skulls with the single exceptions of their leader and a lowly foot soldier?

  So Mott set off for the so-called Chop House, the much storied medical facility where Omega’s poor were cared for, but everyone else sought to avoid. The front of the plain two-story structure was decorated with a faded sign that read OMEGA GENERAL HOSPITAL, and some poorly patched combat damage. As Mott approached a narrow, six-wheeled “meat wagon” was pulling away.

  The patient who had been left behind was on a gurney, and judging from the bloody bandages on his chest, had been shot. Mott followed as a couple of orderlies pushed the cart into the hospital. They continued on, heading toward the brightly lit emergency room off to the left, but Mott paused in the lobby. It was a madhouse. At least twenty people where waiting to be seen, and a long line led up to the reception desk, which was staffed by a single harried-looking asari. A constant babble of conversation filled the air. It was punctuated by terse announcements and the incessant wail of a sick child. The overall impression was one of chaos, misery, and hopelessness.

  So rather than join the line that led to the reception desk Mott strolled past it and made for the set of double doors that led to the first-floor wards. Once inside there were very few staff members. That meant patients had to rely on family members and friends for the majority of their care. And with so many people coming and going Mott was free to go wherever she chose.

  Mott hadn’t been able to obtain a picture of the woman named Shella but she knew the Grim Skull was human and female. So she could ignore human males, turians, batarians, and all the rest. But after making her way through the wards, and eyeballing every patient not hidden behind ratty-looking curtains, Mott had seen only three possibles. All of whom denied being Shella-Shella and didn’t match the description the operative had.

  So she rode a blood-splattered elevator up to the second floor where Mott continued her search. Conditions were similar to those on the floor below. Some of the patients directed wistful looks her way, clearly hoping that she was a doctor come to examine them, while others frowned resentfully.

  But when success came it wasn’t what she expected. The woman coming her way was dressed in street clothes and, if it hadn’t been for the crutches she was using, would have been able to pass Mott without attracting attention. But the Cerberus operative knew that the person she was looking for had been shot in the knee, and moved to block the way. “Excuse me … Is your name Shella?”

  The woman had extremely short hair and pinched features. “Who’s asking?”

  “My name is Hoby. I’d like to ask you some questions.”

  “About what?”

  “The Grim Skulls, the attack on the crawler, and why you were spared.”

  “I have nothing to say. Please get out of the way.”

  Mott remained where she was. “There are better medical facilities on Omega.”

  “And they cost money.”

  “Answer my questions and you’ll be able to afford one.”

  Shella was silent for a moment. “I need an operation. They can’t perform it here and I wouldn’t want them to.”

  “How much?”

  “Ten thousand.”

  “Done.”

  Shella’s eyebrows rose. “I should have demanded fifteen.”

  Mott smiled. “Something is better than nothing.”

  “Give me half up front and I’ll tell you everything I know.”

  “I’ll give you a thousand up front,” Mott said. “And I’ll get you out of here.”

  Shella paused but only for a second. “It’s a deal.”

  “Shall we get your belongings?”

  “What belongings? I’m wearing them.”

  Half an hour later the women were seated across from each other in a comfortable restaurant with Shella’s leg propped up on a chair. The food in the Chop House had been awful so Shella took the opportunity to order a hearty meal. Immediately after their drinks arrived Mott began to ask questions. “You were a Grim Skull. And T’Loak killed all of the Grim Skulls except for you and Tactus. Why were you spared?”

  Shella took a sip of caf. “Remind me. Who are you working for?”

  “A person who can afford to pay you ten thousand credits,” Mott replied. “Please answer the question.”

  Shella shrugged. “Okay … Have it your way. The Skulls teamed up with a group called the Biotic Underground in order rob a bank owned by T’Loak. And the plan worked. Except that I was shot in the knee and left behind.

  “T’Loak was going to have me killed. But I had information regarding her daughter’s death. So I offered to tell her what happened in exchange for my life. And she agreed.”

  Mott felt a rising sense of excitement. “The knowledge you referred to. How did you come by it?”

  There was a long pause—as if Shella was considering her options. Then she spoke. “I used to be a freelancer. And at one point I worked for a very secretive group. An organization called Cerberus.”

  The answer was so unexpected that Mott knew there was a look of surprise on her face. “Cerberus? The human advocacy group?”

  Shella produced a snort of derision. “That’s how they describe it. But Cerberus does a lot more than promote human rights. They carry out all sorts of operations against people and organizations they perceive to be a threat.”

  “So where does T’Loak’s daughter come in?”

  “She doesn’t. Not directly. But she was romantically involved with a man named Paul Grayson. And, for reasons I’m not entirely sure of, Cerberus was out to get him. So the operative in charge assembled a team and we broke into Grayson’s apartment.”

  Mott’s chest felt tight. “And his name was?”

  “He went by Manning on Omega. But I doubt that was his real name.”

  Mott battled to keep a straight face. She knew Manning’s real name and it was Leng. She was close. Very close. A few more questions and she would know why T’Loak was after Leng. “So, you broke in. Then what?”

  Shella looked away before bringing her eyes back into contact with Mott’s. “Grayson got away, but someone put a tranq dart into T’Loak’s daughter, and she was laying there. Manning slit her throat.”

  Mott frowned. “Why?”

  Shella shrugged. “I don’t know. Maybe he had orders to kill her. Or maybe he was in the mood.”

  “So you told T’Loak and she let you go.”

  “Yes. Twice.”

  Mott thought about what she’d been told. Leng had killed T’Loak’s daughter. No wonder the Pirate Queen was out to get him. “You’re a lucky lady.”

  “Am I? I don’t feel lucky.”

  “Maybe an additional nine thousand credits will make you feel better,” Mott said. “Then, after that operation, you might want to leave Omega. It’s a very dangerous place to live.”

  Keys rattled, the door opened, and Leng was ready. Once a day he was allowed to leave his cell and accompany Cory Kim down the spiraling pathway to the floor of the cavern. Sometimes they walked back and forth across it and on other occasions they walked in circles. Leng wasn’t wearing restraints nor was there a need for them since Kim or any of the other biotics could slam his ass anytime they chose to.

  But that didn’t mean Leng couldn’t escape. All he needed was some help. And Kim could supply it. That was the plan anyway as they arrived on the main floor and began to walk back and forth. It was the only time during the day when Leng could talk to Kim without being monitored by the pickups in his cell. That made every second precious. “So tell me something,” he began. “Are there times when you miss Hell’s Half Acre?”

  Kim looked sideways at him. “You must be kidding.”

  Leng smiled crookedly. “Not the prison. That was horrible. I meant you and I.”

  Kim eyed the ground ahead. “Maybe. Sometimes. But was it real? We were trying to survive. So it made sense to team up.”

  “That’s true,” Leng said as they were forced to turn, and start back. “But there was more to it than that.”

  “Really? I never felt sure.”

  “You left me. Not the other way around.”

  “No,” Kim said. “I left Cerberus. There’s a difference. Or there used to be anyway.”