The heavy-metal-rich asteroid was an important source of element zero, which was why many groups had attempted to control it over the years. None of them were able to hold it for very long, however, forcing them to share it or be displaced.

  Now, thanks to both the element zero mines and its location deep inside the lawless Terminus systems, Omega served as a tax-free port where pirates, mercenaries, slavers, assassins, and criminals of every race could trade, rest, and enjoy their profits. And minus a central government, the space station continued to evolve in a haphazard fashion as various districts were created, fought over, and reapportioned according to the whims of various crime lords.

  The result was a place where 7.8 million people lived in crowded and dangerous conditions, each looking out for him- or herself in a society where everything imaginable could be bought, sold, or stolen. So, given that reality, it wasn’t strange that the bubbling cauldron which was Omega served as a refuge for groups with political rather than criminal objectives. Even if their methodologies were equally ruthless at times.

  And that had everything to do with why Nick and a senior member of the Underground had been left to help guard the front door of the low-slung building where the Blue Sun mercenaries were headquartered. A squad of armored mercs were present as well, all of whom seemed bent on ignoring the biotics while leaders from both groups met inside.

  Though not privy to the details of what was taking place, Nick knew that the Biotic Underground hoped to form relationships, which would enable it to overcome the most potent force on Omega. And that was the asari crime lord named Aria T’Loak.

  Nick’s thoughts were interrupted as a commotion was heard and the door opened. A human named Cory Kim exited first. Her head swiveled left and right as she checked to ensure that Arrius Sallus and Nick were in position. Having confirmed that everything was as it should be Kim spoke into a lip mike. “We’re clear. Over.”

  As Kim stepped down into the street Nick knew he was supposed to scan his surroundings looking for threats rather than eyeballing other members of the group. But he couldn’t resist watching Mythra Zon leave the building. She had a high forehead, wide-set eyes, and perfect lips. The asari was shapely as well.

  However, Nick’s infatuation with Zon was more than a case of teenage hormones run amok. There was an energy around the female. Something that emanated from deep inside her. Part of that could be attributed to her status as an adept. A level of biotic ability far superior to Nick’s. Still, the attraction was more than that however. Zon’s natural charisma was such that people of all races were drawn to her.

  “We’re headed home,” Kim said over the radio. “Nick will take point. Sallus will bring up the rear. Keep your heads on a swivel—and don’t forget to watch the upper stories.”

  Nick was young and inexperienced. And even he knew how dangerous the point position could be. Because if some group was laying in wait for the biotics, they would try to kill him first. But armed as he was with his talent and two pistols Nick couldn’t imagine anything like that happening. What he could imagine was some sort of attack in which he would heroically kill the assailants, save Zon from mortal danger, and earn her undying respect. That would be a good thing, and as Nick led the way, his eyes roamed the area ahead, eager to spot any sign of danger.

  The streets were crowded with salarians, turians, batarians, krogan, and even a few humans. The combined odors of their sweat and pheromones blended to form a stench so thick it caught at the back of Nick’s throat.

  Meanwhile, the sound of at least half a dozen languages, the unrestrained thump, thump, thump issuing from a nearby factory, and snatches of alien music all combined to create an unintelligible mishmash of sound. Foot traffic headed in the opposite direction was forced to part in front of Nick and the fifteen biotics following behind him. Most members of the crowd did so with the matter-of-fact nonchalance of water flowing around a stone. But a few took exception to the inconvenience and made a point out of passing close enough to deliver choice insults.

  Such encounters kept Nick on edge because there was no way to know if and when one of them might escalate into violence. Then, as a pair of surly krogan passed, he saw the barricade up ahead. It was a temporary structure made out of beat-up cargo modules, some metal office furniture, and the lifeless remains of a Hosker II power loader. The junk was arranged in the shape of an hourglass so that pedestrians would have to pass through a narrow gap and pay a so-called street tax. Proceeds of which would go into some gang’s coffers.

  Such obstructions were annoying. However, so long as the thugs who manned them kept the toll down to a pittance there was very little reason for people further up the criminal food chain to take action against them. But was the barricade the real thing? Or a clever setup for an ambush? Because once the group entered the choke point they would be very vulnerable. Fortunately for Nick it was Kim’s responsibility to make such decisions and her voice was hard as steel. “Clear that obstruction, Nick. We’re coming through.”

  Nick felt both a sense of anticipation and fear as he began to gather the necessary energy. Anticipation because he wanted to use his power, but fear because he’d never been in such a position before. What if he botched it? Right in front of Zon? What felt like cold lead trickled into his belly as he raised his hands and directed a bolt of energy at the point where half a dozen street toughs were standing. The “throw” sent them flying and Nick felt a sense of satisfaction as the rest of the gang ran for safety. He’d done it! And all by himself too.

  The pistols seemed to fill his hands of their own accord and he fired a shot from each. One of the slugs shattered a window in a building a block away and there was no way to know where the other went. The gunshots sent people scurrying for cover. “Enough,” Kim said, as Nick entered the narrow passageway. “Pay attention people, we aren’t home yet.”

  The rest of the trip was uneventful. But Nick was glad to see the building that the senior members of the Biotic Underground had chosen as the organization’s headquarters. It was a blocky flat-topped affair separated from the structures around it by what Kim called “an air moat.” By which she meant a gap invaders would have to bridge before they could attack roof to roof. Sentries armed with assault rifles could be seen on top of the building that was never left unguarded lest it be taken over.

  Like all of the structures on Omega, the five-story building had been used for a variety of purposes over the years, but the large lobby, second-floor arcade, and multiplicity of small rooms suggested it had been built to function as a hotel. Which was nice because it meant that even the most junior member of the organization had his own quarters.

  So that’s where Nick was, trying to wipe some of the grime off his face and neck, when he heard a knock. He turned to see Kim standing in the doorway. He was pretty sure the security chief had at least some Asian heritage, although her hair was brown rather than black and she was almost as tall as he was. Having taken the point position and performed well Nick was ready for some well-deserved praise. “Cory … Come in.”

  But as Kim entered Nick saw the look in her dark eyes. And it was anything but friendly. She crooked a finger. “Come here.”

  Nick, who was suddenly very unsure of himself, obeyed. Then, once he was within arm’s length, she slapped him across the face. Hard.

  His first instinct was to strike back, but before Nick could send the necessary messages to the rest of his body a snicking sound was heard. The spring-loaded slip blade looked like a pointer, or a swagger stick, but was actually a very dangerous weapon. Suddenly Nick found himself standing on tiptoes as the slip blade’s needle-sharp tip jabbed a point under his jaw. “Feel that?” Kim demanded. “All I have to do is push and the blade will go up through your tongue and the roof of your mouth into that tiny brain.

  “There was no need to fire your weapons. The use of excessive force is stupid. And it has a tendency to piss people off. What if the round that went through the window hit a gang boss? Or her lover? Or their child?

  “We’d be ass deep in trouble that’s what. Trouble we don’t need. All because some idiot fired a weapon he didn’t need to. And that raises another issue. Using a firearm is one thing. Hitting a target is another. You are going to spend some time on the range. Got it?”

  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.