“You want my permission to study him,” she said softly as the realization of what he was asking dawned on her. “You want to conduct autopsies. Take him apart and see what you can learn about their technology.”

  “This isn’t the same as what Cerberus was doing,” he insisted. “I don’t condone what they did to him in any way. But they were right about one thing: the Reapers are coming, and we have to find a way to fight them.

  “I promise he’ll be treated with respect and dignity,” he assured her. “But there are things we have to know.”

  “I understand,” she said softly.

  “There’s more,” Anderson continued. “I want you to come with me. You’re the most brilliant scientist in Alliance space. If we have any hope of figuring this out, we need you.”

  He paused to give weight to his words before continuing. “I need you.”

  “You’re asking me to leave the Ascension Project?”

  “I know you love these kids. And you’re doing good work here. But nothing is more important than this.”

  She mulled it over in silence for a few moments, then nodded her acceptance.

  “It’s what Grayson would have wanted.”

  “It has to be what you want, too,” Anderson insisted. “Don’t do this out of guilt.”

  “It’s not guilt,” she said. “I spoke to them through Grayson. The Reapers, I mean. They kept talking about a cycle. They said our extinction was inevitable. I’m not going to sit on the sidelines and let that happen.”

  “I’m glad,” he said, reaching out to take her wrist, then pulling her close. “I didn’t want to lose you again.”

  He held her head in his hands, then leaned in and gave her a long, deep kiss on the lips.

  “Better not let Nick catch you doing that,” Kahlee said with a soft laugh when he was done. “He’ll bounce you off every wall in the station.”

  EPILOGUE

  The Illusive Man sat in his chair, staring out the window at the brilliant blue sun the station was orbiting. It was a suitably stunning, and perfectly nondescript, background for the call he was expecting.

  Occasionally he would take a sip from the whiskey rocks in his right hand, or pull a long, slow drag on the cigarette in his left. He was thinking about everything Kai Leng had told him, and what the implications were both for humanity and for Cerberus.

  He knew enough about Admiral David Anderson to know he wasn’t going to ignore this. Finally someone other than Cerberus was going to start doing something about the Reapers. That didn’t mean the Illusive Man was simply going to step aside, however.

  Working with Anderson probably wasn’t an option. Not in the immediate future, anyway, though he wasn’t willing to rule it out entirely. But for the time being he needed to make sure his own work continued, even as he tried to rebuild his fallen empire.

  And that meant smoothing things over with Aria T’Loak. He couldn’t afford a war with her, and she had something he needed.

  He had just finished his cigarette and started another when he heard the soft beep indicating an incoming message. He spun his chair to face the holo-pad.

  “Accept call,” he said.

  A flickering, three-dimensional image of Omega’s Pirate Queen materialized in the center of the room. She was alone, seated in the same room she had called him from the last time they had spoken.

  “I’m not very happy with Cerberus right now,” she declared, skipping the formalities and getting right down to business. “You didn’t warn me what Grayson had become.”

  “It wouldn’t have been a problem if you hadn’t tried to take him alive,” the Illusive Man countered. “You’re the one who reneged on the deal.”

  “I’ve heard Cerberus has suffered some rather serious setbacks of late,” she said, changing topics in a blatant effort to rattle him.

  “The stories of our demise are greatly exaggerated,” he assured her, borrowing a quote from one of his favorite literary figures.

  “I lost a lot of good people because of you,” Aria told him. “I don’t forget something like that.”

  “A war doesn’t help either one of us,” he countered. “I thought you were smart enough to know that.”

  “Is that why you called me? To sue for peace?”

  “I have a business deal.”

  She laughed.

  “What makes you think I’ll say yes after the way the last one turned out?”

  “This one won’t cost you anything. No risk. Only reward. It’s a deal you can’t pass up.”

  “I’m listening.”

  “I want the research files from the station where you attacked the turians.”

  “That was your lab originally, wasn’t it? You used me to get revenge on them.”

  “I think we used each other. What about those files?”

  “Why should I turn them over to you? Maybe I’ll just keep them for myself.”

  “So keep the originals for yourself. Just send me a copy.”

  “Were these experiments really what I think they were?” she asked.

  “I don’t know what you think they were,” the Illusive Man replied evasively.

  “What’s your offer?”

  “Send me the files and I’ll give you three million. One up front, two on final delivery.”

  “Three million, and I can keep the originals?”

  “All I want is the data,” he assured her. “But I’ll know if you hold anything back. If you want to get paid, you send everything.”

  “You really believe in this, don’t you,” she said. “The Reapers. Galactic extinction. You don’t think it’s some crazy story.”

  “Let’s just say I’m not willing to take that chance.”

  “I’ll send you the files,” Aria agreed. “You’ll have them by tomorrow.”

  “I’ll put the down payment into your account tonight. Same as last time?”

  “The same,” she said with a coy smile. “Unlike you, I don’t care if people know what I’m up to.”

  Before he could reply, she disconnected the call. He laughed in spite of himself, amused at how important to her it was to get the last word.

  He spun his chair to face the viewing port and pulled out a cigarette. He’d half-finished it when one of his assistants arrived to slip a glass into his hand before quickly removing herself from the room.

  As he sipped his drink and smoked his cigarette, the Illusive Man’s gaze shifted from the glowing blue star to the cold black curtain behind it. One thought kept running through his head, over and over.

  The Reapers are out there somewhere. And they’re coming.

  Mass Effect: Deception is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents are the prodcts of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual events, locales, or persons, living or dead, is entirely coincidental.

  A Del Rey eBook Edition

  Copyright © 2012 EA International (Studio & Publishing) Ltd. Mass Effect, Mass Effect logo, BioWare and BioWare logo are trademarks of EA International (Studio & Publishing) Ltd. All Rights Reserved.

  Published in the United States by Del Rey, an imprint of the Random House Publishing Group, a division of Random House, Inc., New York.

  DEL REY is a registered trademark and the Del Rey colophon is a trademark of Random House, Inc.

  eISBN: 978-0-345-52645-8

  www.delreybooks.com

  www.bioware.com

  v3.1

  Contents

  Master - Table of Contents

  Mass Effect: Deception

  Title Page

  Copyright

  Dedication

  Acknowledgments

  Prologue

  Chapter One

  Chapter Two

  Chapter Three

  Chapter Four

  Chapter Five

  Chapter Six

  Chapter Seven

  Chapter Eight

  Chapter Nine

  Chapter Ten

  Chapter Eleven

  Chapter Twelve

  Chapter Thirteen

  Chapter Fourteen

  Chapter Fifteen

  Chapter Sixteen

  For my dearest Marjorie

  ACKNOWLEDGMENTS

  First a salute to Drew Karpyshyn for the excellent novels that preceded this one and made Mass Effect: Deception possible.

  Plus many thanks to Casey Hudson, Mac Walters, and Tricia Pasternak for their advice and guidance.

  PROLOGUE

  ON THE PLANET KHAR’SHAN

  Many weeks of effort had been required to track the object from the point where it had been stolen to the batarian homeworld and the ancient city of Thondu. There were lots of things Kai Leng didn’t like about the place, including the crowded streets, the asymmetrical architecture, and the food. But most of all he didn’t like the batarians themselves. Not because so many of them were pirates, slavers, but because they were aliens and therefore a threat to the human race. That made him an extremist, not to mention a racist, and that was fine with Leng.

  The auction house was located off one of Thondu’s serpentine streets. A flight of stairs led up to the front door. Because of an injury sustained during a recent and especially difficult mission, Leng was using a cane as he mounted the steps one at a time. Having passed through a pair of open doors he entered a generously proportioned lobby where he was confronted by a security checkpoint and two batarians. Each alien had four eyes, all eight of which stared at the human with open suspicion.

  Leng offered the invitation to the guard on the right who passed it in front of a scanner. The electronic document was real, having been purchased from a local businessman at considerable expense, and the batarian nodded respectfully. “You can enter, but the handgun stays here. And leave the cane too.”

  “No problem,” Leng replied, as he gave both items to the second guard. “Take good care of them.”

  “You can pick ’em up on your way out,” the other guard growled, as he placed both the pistol and the cane on a table loaded with weapons collected from other guests.

  At that point Leng was ordered to empty his pockets onto a tray. The effort produced three coins, a pill box, and a stylus. The first guard eyed the collection, uttered a grunt, and motioned toward a metal frame. “Please step through the metal detector.”

  Not having set off any flashing lights or buzzers, Leng was allowed to recover his belongings and proceed to the room beyond. It wasn’t that large, and didn’t need to be, since only a limited number of people were wealthy enough to buy the type of merchandise the auction house specialized in. With nothing else to look at all eyes were on Leng as he made his way to the front of the room and took a seat next to an elderly turian.

  It would have been nice if he’d been able to intercept the object before it was offered for sale, but having failed to do so, Leng was prepared to do it the hard way.

  Time seemed to drag as two additional guests arrived, took their seats, and waited for the auction to begin. Finally a well-dressed volus appeared and took his place behind the podium. “Good afternoon gentle beings. My name is Dos Tasser and I will serve as your auctioneer today.

  “All of you have had access to the catalog and are therefore familiar with the items that will be offered today. Bids will be submitted in increments of a thousand or a million credits and all sales are final. Are there any questions? No? Then the auction will begin.

  “The first item in the catalog is a Prothean Egg, which, when activated, opens to reveal a holographic star map. And because the map is not consistent with any part of known space, experts assume that the system depicted lies somewhere beyond our galaxy, and must have been important to the protheans.

  “If so, and if the purchaser is able to figure out where these planets are, they might be able to claim a technological treasure trove so valuable that the cost of the egg will be negligible by comparison. Bidding will start at ten million credits. Do I hear eleven?”

  There was a bid at eleven, followed by many more, and a final offer of fifty-two million, which was sufficient to secure the elaborately decorated egg for a beautifully dressed asari whose face was hidden by a carefully draped veil. Did she intend to find the star system projected by the egg? Or to place it on a shelf where it would serve as a conversation piece? Leng didn’t know and didn’t care.

  The next object was a vial of tears that had been shed by a turian saint. Or that’s what Tasser claimed, even though there was no proof of such a thing, and the liquid in the container could have been tap water. However, that didn’t stop the turian seated next to Leng from paying five thousand for the relic. And, judging from his demeanor, he was happy to do so.

  With that out of the way it was time for Tasser to take bids on the object that Leng was after. “And here it is,” the volus said, as he raised what looked like a crystal gemstone for the audience to inspect. Light reflected off the device and made a pattern on the walls.

  “Here, sealed inside a protective matrix, is the design for a DNA-specific bioweapon. The seller, who prefers to remain anonymous, claims that if released among the human population this disease would target a person known as the Illusive Man. An individual said to be the founder of Cerberus.

  “We, of course, cannot attest to the truth of that—nor be held responsible for the results should such a disease be released. So, ladies and gentlemen … bidding will open at five million. Do I hear six?”

  Leng not only knew about Cerberus, he worked for the organization, and had for more than ten years. And because of that he understood the threat. Not just to the Illusive Man, but to tens of thousands of people who were distantly related to him, all of whom would be equally vulnerable.

  And that was why Leng threw the coins. They struck the floor all around Tasser, producing a series of loud bangs and a cloud of dense smoke. Leng was already on his feet by then. A few swift steps carried him to the front of the room where the volus was just starting to turn away. Leng grabbed a wrist, took the matrix, and let go. A well-aimed kick put the auctioneer down.

  But Leng wasn’t the only person in the room who wanted the object, or was willing to commit violence in order to obtain it. Like Leng, the man who attacked him was unarmed, but he was strong, as became evident when he wrapped an arm around Leng’s throat.

  Leng grabbed on to the attacker’s arm with both hands and pulled down while simultaneously pressing his chin against his chest. That allowed him to take a precious breath while he bent both knees and lowered his center of gravity. Then he pulled, straightened, and felt the man flip up and over. He continued to hold on to the man’s arm, which caused the assailant to land on his back. Leng stomped his face, felt something give, and knew that part of the fight was over.

  Then, having turned toward the back of the room, Leng pressed the button on his stylus. His pistol, or what looked like a pistol, produced a loud BOOM as it exploded, hurling shrapnel in every direction. When he entered the lobby both of the batarian guards were down and one was clearly dead. “Don’t bother to get up,” Leng said, as he bent over to pick up his cane. “I’ll find the door on my own.” Then, having completed his mission, Leng limped away. His right leg was on fire. But the matrix was safe, the Illusive Man would be pleased, and he could leave Khar’shan. Life was good.

  ONE

  THE CITADEL

  “I don’t want to go,” Nick said stubbornly. “Why can’t I stay here?”

  David Anderson didn’t have any children of his own, and had the matter been left to him, the ex-navy officer would have ordered the teenager out of the apartment with possibly unpleasant results. Fortunately, the woman he loved knew how to deal with such situations. Kahlee was in good shape for a woman in her forties, or thirties for that matter. As she smiled tiny creases appeared around her eyes. “You can’t stay here because David and I may want you to tell the Council what happened on the day Grayson invaded the Grissom Academy. It’s important to make sure that nothing like that ever happens again.”

  Nick had been shot in the stomach during the attack and sent to the Citadel for advanced medical treatment. So he knew about Grayson firsthand. Nick, with shoulder-length black hair and a relatively small frame for a boy his age, looked hopeful. “Can I go to The Cube on the way back?”

  “Sure,” Kahlee replied. “But only for an hour. Come on—let’s go.”

  A crisis had been averted, and Anderson was grateful. As they left the apartment the door locked behind them. An elevator took them down to the first floor and out into the hectic crush of the lower wards. A monorail loomed overhead, the pedways were crowded with individuals of every species, and the streets were jammed with ground vehicles. All of which was normal for the huge star-shaped space station that served as the cultural, financial, and political hub of the galaxy.

  Anderson had been an admiral, and the Alliance’s representative to the Citadel Council, so he had spent a lot of time aboard the habitat. Everything was organized around a central ring. It was ten kilometers across, and the Citadel’s forty-kilometer-long “fingers” pointed from it to the stars beyond. The total population of the station was said to be in excess of thirteen million sentients, none of whom had played a role in creating the complex structure.

  The asari had discovered the station 2,700 years earlier while exploring the vast network of mass relays put in place by a space-faring species known as the protheans. Having established a base on the Citadel, the asari learned how to create mass effect fields, and made use of them to explore the galaxy.

  When the salarians found the space station a few decades later the two races agreed to form the Citadel Council for the purpose of settling disputes. And as more species began to travel the stars, they had little choice but to follow the dictates of the technologically advanced Council races. Humans were relative newcomers and had only recently been granted a seat on the Citadel Council.