It felt like he was being ripped apart at the subatomic level. Anderson knew if he didn’t get out of the shifting fields, they’d cause all the cells in his body to hemorrhage and rupture.

  Ignoring the pain, he popped up from behind cover and fired off several rounds with the shotgun. Grayson fired back with the pistols as he dove for cover. The kinetic barriers in Anderson’s enviro-suit shielded him from the opposing fire, allowing him to fall back into the hall.

  He backpedaled quickly, putting some space between himself and the door, then dropped to one knee and took aim at the opening, waiting for the enemy to emerge once more.

  Grayson could feel his heart fluttering erratically. His lungs were drowning in blood from his wounds. He knew the only things keeping him alive were the cybernetic implants and the irresistible will of the Reapers.

  He thought the wounds might cause their hold on him to slip, but if anything they were holding on even tighter. Try as he might, he could find no purchase in his efforts to wrest back control of his body. It was like grasping at thin air; there was nothing left for him to seize onto.

  The Reapers knew their enemy was lurking just outside the door. Another well-placed hit from the shotgun and even the synthetic elements of their avatar might begin to fail. So rather than step out into the hall, they waited, gathering their strength for one last attack.

  TWENTY-FIVE

  Nick couldn’t get comfortable in his seat. He kept casting glances over at the cafeteria door, where Captain Jimenez stood watch.

  He’d seen the gun in Miss Sanders’s belt, but her fingers were all bandaged up. There was no way she’d be able to use it. What was she going to do if she ran into the kidnappers? She wasn’t even biotic.

  Focusing on the glass on the table in front of him, Nick briefly gathered his strength, then caused the glass to slide across the surface toward him. He caught it with his hand just as it was about to topple off the table’s edge.

  I could yank the guns right out of the kidnapper’s hands. Send them flying back to smash against the wall. But they want me to sit here like I’m some kind of kid!

  He glanced over at Yando, who was sitting beside him. The younger boy was staring at him with wide eyes.

  “You’re not supposed to do that,” he whispered.

  Nick knew he was referring to the trick with the glass. The instructors would have called it a “gratuitous display” of biotic ability, something that was frowned on in the Ascension Project. They didn’t want kids to push themselves too far by experimenting on their own. But for Nick, moving a glass was easy. He’d been using biotics for years. He knew what he was capable of, even if nobody else believed in him.

  “Hey, Yando,” he said, getting a sudden flash of inspiration. “I need your help.”

  “With what?” The younger boy was suspicious. He was always worried about getting in trouble, but in the end Nick knew Yando would do whatever he told him to.

  “I need you to go up to Captain Jimenez and tell her you’ve gotta use the bathroom.”

  “The bathroom’s right over there,” Yando said, pointing to the rear of the cafeteria.

  “I know. Just tell her you gotta go, but you’re scared. Tell her she has to come with you.”

  “She’s a girl! She can’t come into the boys’ washroom!”

  Nick gave an exasperated sigh.

  “She’s a security guard. She can go wherever she wants. Let me finish.”

  “Sorry,” Yando muttered.

  “Go inside the bathroom and count to ten. Then start crying and screaming like you’re freaking out.”

  “What? No way! Everyone will make fun of me for being a baby!”

  “I won’t let them,” Nick assured him. “You know I’ve got your back.”

  It was true; Nick had been watching out for Yando ever since he got here. But the younger boy still wasn’t entirely convinced.

  “Come on, buddy. I need you to do this. It’s important.”

  “Why? What are you going to do?”

  “I can’t tell you,” Nick said. “That way, if I get caught you won’t get in trouble.”

  Yando thought about it, shaking his head slowly back and forth. But when he spoke, he didn’t say no.

  “Okay. I’ll go tell her.”

  “Attaboy,” Nick told him. “I knew I could count on you.”

  Nick turned in his seat to watch the action as Yando got up and crossed the cafeteria to speak with Captain Jimenez.

  He was too far away to hear them talking, but he could see Yando shifting uncomfortably from foot to foot, just like he had to pee and was fighting to hold it in.

  For a minute he thought Captain Jimenez was going to refuse or maybe send him with someone else. Then she took a quick glance around and took Yando’s hand, leading him off to the restroom.

  Careful not to move too quickly, Nick got up and made his way over to the door. Nobody paid him any attention. The younger kids were half asleep in their seats. The older ones were sitting in tight little groups, excitedly discussing the evening’s strange events. The instructors and security guards were distributing food and drinks to the kids and trying to act like they knew what was going on.

  He stood off to one side, trying to appear inconspicuous. And then he heard a high-pitched wailing coming from the rear of the cafeteria as Yando delivered on his promise.

  As everyone turned to see what was happening, Nick opened the cafeteria door and slipped out into the hall, quietly closing the door behind him. He knew Yando wouldn’t rat him out, and with so many kids to worry about he didn’t think anyone would even notice he was gone.

  Impressed with himself for carrying out such a brilliant plan, he realized there was one fatal flaw: now that he was free to go after Kahlee, he had no idea where she’d gone.

  He hesitated, trying to figure out what to do next. Going back to the cafeteria wasn’t an option, not after he’d worked so hard to get out. So he headed down the hall back toward the dorms, hoping he’d figure something out or simply get lucky and stumble across either Miss Sanders or the kidnappers.

  Kai Leng had never been to the Grissom Academy. Fortunately, the school was designed to accommodate unaccompanied visits from parents of the students. The walls were marked with maps showing the general layout to help visitors unfamiliar with the station find their way around.

  It was easy enough to guess that Grayson had gone to the Ascension wing, given the history of his daughter. Using the maps, Kai Leng was able to find his way there without any real difficulties.

  The halls were completely deserted; not even a security patrol crossed his path. Kai Leng considered that a stroke of bad luck—if he had run into some guards he would have been able to arm himself with some kind of weapon. As it was, he had nothing to go on at the moment but his training.

  When he reached the Grissom Academy’s entrance, he briefly studied the map on the wall. There was no way to be certain, but his instincts told him Grayson would be heading for the large area marked Restricted Area.

  He wound his way through the halls, but before he reached his destination he heard a young man’s voice coming from behind him.

  “Don’t move unless you want to find yourself thrown through a wall.”

  Kai Leng stopped and turned to face the unexpected threat. A young teenager with dark, messy hair was standing in the hall.

  “I’m a biotic,” the kid warned. “I can bounce you around like a basketball!”

  His words were defiant, but it was clear to see he was terrified.

  Kai Leng had no doubt he could close the distance between them before his opponent could gather himself and unleash a biotic power. But violence wasn’t always the best solution.

  “You’re one of Kahlee’s students,” he said.

  “You know Miss Sanders?” the boy replied, a look of uncertainty coming over his face.

  “I came here with her. We’re working together.”

  The kid let out a deep breath and relaxed. “Sorry. I thought you were one of the kidnappers.”

  Kai Leng wasn’t exactly sure what he was talking about, but it was easy enough to play along.

  “If I was a kidnapper, wouldn’t I have some kind of weapon on me?”

  The kid shrugged. “Maybe you don’t need one. You look like sort of a badass.”

  “This badass is on your side,” he assured the young man. “I need to find Kahlee. Do you know where she went?”

  The kid shook his head. “She had security take us all into the cafeteria, then she ran off. But I snuck out to help. I’m the strongest biotic in the school.”

  “I don’t doubt it,” Kai Leng said with a nod. “What’s your name?”

  “Nick. Nick Donahue.”

  “My name is Steve. Maybe you can help me.”

  “Sure,” Nick eagerly agreed. “What do you need?”

  “The maps on the wall have a section marked off as a restricted area. You know what’s there?”

  “If I tell you,” the kid replied, “you have to take me with you.”

  “Deal,” Kai Leng answered, knowing it couldn’t hurt to have a powerful biotic around—even one as young as Nick—if he ran into Grayson. Plus, he could always use him as a hostage if he got into a tight situation.

  “That’s the lab and data archives,” Nick explained. “You figure that’s where Miss Sanders went?”

  “There’s a good chance. Care to show me the way?”

  “Sure thing. Follow me.”

  Kahlee rounded the corner and stopped when she saw Anderson crouched in the middle of the hall. He was facing away from her, his shotgun pointed at the door of the lab.

  She was about to call out to him when Grayson suddenly came barreling through the door. Anderson fired with the shotgun, but the bullets were repelled by a shimmering biotic barrier. Grayson thrust his fist out and a rippling biotic wave rolled down the hall.

  Her brain had just enough time to register Anderson hurtling backward in her direction as if he had been fired from a cannon before the wave struck her, too. Fortunately, she was far enough away to be spared the brunt of the concussive impact; much of the energy had dissipated, and she was only knocked off her feet. But Anderson had been much closer to Grayson when the power was unleashed, and had been hurtled a good twenty meters before landing in a crumpled heap beside her.

  Kahlee grunted in pain as she had to use her fingers to struggle back up. At her feet, Anderson didn’t move or make a sound. Before she could check on him, however, Grayson was standing in front of her, pointing a pair of pistols in her face.

  Grayson knew the Reapers were going to kill Kahlee, and there was nothing he could do about it. They had locked him inside his own body, helpless to affect the physical world.

  In desperation, he tried one last time to exert his influence over the alien machines controlling him, in what he realized might quite possibly be the final act of free will before they devoured him completely. But instead of struggling for physical control, he threw all his energy into projecting a single thought: Kahlee is too useful to kill.

  He didn’t know if his gambit worked, but he suddenly felt the Reapers pawing through his mind, digging up everything he knew about Kahlee Sanders. Not even knowing if it was possible, he tried to direct and influence their search.

  She knows more about the Ascension Project than anyone else. She’s studied the children for years. She’s analyzed the data from every conceivable angle. She’s one of the most brilliant scientific minds in the galaxy. She’s worth far more alive than dead.

  Instead of squeezing the trigger, the Reapers tucked one pistol into Grayson’s belt. With their free hand they grabbed Kahlee by the forearm in a viselike grip, causing her to gasp in pain.

  “Come with me,” they said, dragging her away.

  Kahlee didn’t argue as Grayson seized her by the arm and led her off down the hall. He seemed to have forgotten all about Anderson, as if he had suddenly become entirely focused on her and her alone.

  She had no way to know if Anderson was still alive as they left his motionless body behind and marched back up the hall, but she wasn’t about to draw attention to the possibility that he might be.

  Once they had rounded the corner and Anderson was out of sight, she dared to speak.

  “Grayson, please—I know what’s happening to you. I want to help you.”

  “Grayson is gone,” the man pulling her along replied.

  They were moving so fast he was practically carrying her, her feet scuffling along the floor in a desperate attempt to keep up and take pressure off her arm.

  “Slow down! You’re hurting me.”

  To her surprise, they did slow down. Just a fraction, but enough so that she was able to keep pace. In her mind, there was only one possible explanation: somewhere, deep inside the abomination manhandling her down the Grissom Academy halls, a tiny part of Grayson still lived.

  TWENTY-SIX

  David Anderson’s return to consciousness was not pleasant.

  It began with a sharp, stabbing pain in his left side that flared up intensely with every breath. His mind wasn’t thinking clearly yet; it couldn’t quite remember where he was or how he’d got here. But his soldier’s training allowed him to focus on the pain and try to make a self-diagnosis.

  Broken ribs. Collapsed lung.

  Neither condition was fatal, but either would definitely slow him down. He rolled gingerly onto his back and tried to assess the extent of the damage by reaching up to feel around with his right hand. The simple motion nearly caused him to black out.

  Fractured collarbone. Possible dislocated shoulder.

  He felt like he’d been hit by a high-speed monorail.

  Or one hell of a biotic push.

  Everything came back to him in a flash. He didn’t know how long he’d been out or why Grayson hadn’t finished him off, but he was still alive. And that counted for something.

  Come on, soldier. On your feet.

  Trying not to twist, which would aggravate his ribs, and careful not to jar his arm, which would set off his collarbone, he tried to get to his feet … only to fall back hard to the floor as the torn ligaments in his left ankle collapsed under his weight.

  As he hit the ground, he was swallowed up in waves of pain so intense they made him vomit inside his helmet. The reflexive spasm of his stomach caused his broken ribs to scream out, which started a coughing fit that squeezed his collapsed lung even tighter, making it feel like he was being strangled by someone inside his chest.

  Knowing that the only way to stop the chain of injuries from setting each other off like toppling dominoes was to lie still, Anderson somehow forced his body to quit writhing despite the throbbing pain in his ankle, chest, and shoulder.

  He opened his lips and took several slow, shallow breaths, ignoring the foul taste of his last meal that coated his mouth. As bad as the taste was, however, the stench inside his helmet was worse.

  When the excruciating pain finally subsided to a dull agony, he very slowly took his one good arm and unbuckled his helmet, letting it fall to the floor beside him. Fighting the urge to take deep, greedy gasps of the clean air, he very carefully maneuvered himself up into a sitting position.

  Using the nearby wall for support, he managed to stand up, keeping all his weight on his right leg. He spotted his shotgun on the floor a few meters away.

  The enviro-suit was releasing a steady trickle of medi-gel into his system. It was regulated to keep the doses small; too much of the wonder drug and he’d slip into unconsciousness. The limited doses weren’t enough to heal his injuries, but did make it easier for him to cope with the pain.

  With slow, careful steps, he made his way over to pick up the shotgun, wincing each time he put weight on his injured foot. He was able to hold it with his injured arm. The weight of the weapon pulling down in his grasp caused jolts of pain to shoot through his broken collarbone, but he had no other way to carry it. Not when he needed his good hand to help support his weight against the wall.

  Gritting his teeth, he hobbled down the hall in the direction of the landing port, hoping to catch up to Grayson before he escaped. The collapsed lung limited him to short, shallow breaths, making his creeping pace as exhausting as an all-out sprint.

  It wasn’t long before the painkillers coursing through his body were going into overdrive, staving off shock and giving him a nice little buzz as well.

  Stay focused, soldier. No R and R until the mission is done.

  Kahlee was trying to think of a way to reach Grayson. When she’d tried to appeal to him directly, the Reapers had shut him down. But when she’d asked the Reapers to go slower, Grayson had been able to exert some kind of subtle influence over them. It almost seemed as if making the Reapers focus on something external loosened their hold on Grayson, allowing him some limited type of freedom.

  “Why are you here?” Kahlee asked. “What do you want from us?”

  She wasn’t sure if the Reapers would even reply. All she was hoping for was that she might be able to engage the Reapers enough to give Grayson a fighting chance. A fighting chance to do what, however, she couldn’t say.

  “We seek salvation,” Grayson said, much to her surprise. “Ours and yours.”

  “Salvation? Is that what the Collectors were doing? Saving those human colonists? Is that what you did to Grayson?”

  “He has been repurposed. He has evolved into something greater than a random assortment of cells and organic refuse.”

  “That randomness is what made him unique,” Kahlee countered. “It made him special.”

  She noticed that their pace had become more measured and deliberate. If Grayson was still inside there, if he had any influence at all, he was using it to slow the Reapers down. He was trying to buy her time to escape. The best thing she could do was try to keep them talking.