The twosome were inside a minute later, and entering a shabby room shortly after that, as the fighting began to decrease and traffic noise increased. Gun battles were common, people had to work, and life went on. For most people that is, the exceptions being those who had been killed during the robbery.

  Nick sat on the bed, fought to suppress a groan as the girl lifted his feet up off the floor, and lay back against the pillows. “Tell me something.”

  The girl sat down next to him. Her eyes were brown and very serious. “What would you like to know?”

  “Your name.”

  “It’s Marisa. Marisa Mendez.”

  “My name’s Nick. Nick Donahue.”

  “I know. Everyone does.”

  “I want to thank you, Marisa. You saved my life.”

  Marisa looked down. “It was nothing.”

  Nick brought his left hand up under Marisa’s chin. Her eyes met his. He meant to say something but wound up kissing her instead. Her lips were soft, she smelled like soap, and the pain in his shoulder was momentarily forgotten. It felt good to be alive.

  NINE

  ON OMEGA

  Aria T’Loak was furious. She had returned from Thessia only to learn that her bank had been robbed the day before. Though a very small part of her net worth, the loss was irksome and might signal weakness. And that was never a good thing on Omega. The fact that the heist had been carried out by a low-rent gang like the Skulls, and a heretofore unknown group called the Biotic Underground, meant a loss of face. Both of the offending organizations had already been punished with reprisal attacks, but neither had been wiped out. That meant further efforts would be required in order to deal with them.

  So as the asari stood across from the bank and looked at the damage, she was angry. But something more as well. T’Loak was worried. Because when she climbed up onto the broken column that led across the street and straight to her bank she realized how elegant the plan had been. Not the sort of thing she expected from the Skulls. Had the idea originated with biotics then? Yes, she thought so. It seemed that there was a new and potentially dangerous player on Omega. One that would have to be watched.

  Fortunately her people had been quick to react to the attack. So while the bank robbers had been able to remove the contents of one vault the other two remained untouched. Still, the loss of material worth 2.5 million credits was nothing to sneeze at, and someone would have to pay. Even if T’Loak was partially to blame for failing to anticipate the way in which the column could be used. It was a lesson learned and one that would be applied to all of her other holdings. Anything that could be used as a giant club would be seized or purchased and destroyed.

  A very frightened batarian was waiting for T’Loak inside the building. Later, in the wake of the robbery, he had been apprehended trying to board a freighter bound for Khar’shan. That was why a pair of armed turians were positioned behind him. His name was Obo Pol and he’d been in charge of the bank on the day of the attack. T’Loak faced him across two meters of debris-strewn floor. “You’re alive,” she observed. “Why?”

  “They attacked without warning,” Pol answered lamely. “I thought they were going to try and enter through the north wall so I sent the quick response team there. That’s when they blew the column. And they had biotics. Lots of them.”

  “Excuses won’t cut it,” T’Loak said harshly. “The column was a surprise. I’ll grant you that. But once it hit you should have rushed reinforcements to the control center, yet you failed to do so. Not to mention the fact that you attempted to run rather than remain here and take responsibility. That’s why they’re going to hang you. And right out front too … So people can see the connection. Take him away.”

  Pol tried to run but the turians were ready. They stunned him, and with help from two additional mercs hauled the batarian away. The hanging wouldn’t repair the damage done to T’Loak’s reputation, but it couldn’t hurt, and would provide Omega’s citizens with free entertainment.

  Tann Immo had risen through the ranks of T’Loak’s syndicate to become one of her most trusted advisers. And that was why he had been brought in during the aftermath of the robbery to sort things out. Once Pol had been carried away he took the opportunity to speak. “We have three prisoners.”

  “Good,” T’Loak said irritably. “Hang them too.”

  “If you say so,” Immo said gravely. “But one of them claims to have been present when your daughter was murdered.”

  What felt like ice water trickled into T’Loak’s veins. “Where is this person?”

  “The prisoners are in a secured area at the north side of the building.”

  “Take me there.” T’Loak followed Immo down a passageway toward the center of the bank. Having left the column and the impact zone behind, things looked normal. They passed the offices associated with T’Loak’s profitable loan-sharking operation, and a data center that also functioned as a backup for computers located elsewhere, before entering the maze of small rooms that the guards lived in.

  One section of the residential area had been put to use as a medical clinic where the wounded were being cared for at T’Loak’s expense. Because she felt that just as incompetence should be punished, loyalty should be rewarded, which explained why the turnover rate in her organization was relatively low. “The prisoners are being kept here,” Immo said, as they passed a pair of guards. “They were wounded and left behind when the attackers were forced to withdraw. Two of them are Skulls. The third is a member of the Biotic Underground.”

  T’Loak nodded. “Which one claims to know about Liselle’s death?”

  “A Skull named Shella. She’s in the last room on the right.”

  A batarian was stationed at the door and came to something resembling attention as T’Loak approached. She gave him a nod and entered the room. It was empty except for a bed and the human female laying on top of it. She appeared to be about thirty or so and wore her hair in a military-style buzz cut that served to show off the elaborate tracery of tattoos on her scalp. She was skinny, her face had a pinched look, and T’Loak was struck by the look of defiance in her eyes. The human was sitting up with a pillow under her right knee. It was wrapped with bandages. “So,” T’Loak said, “your name is Shella. Do you have a second name?”

  “Yes,” the woman said. “It’s Shella.”

  T’Loak might have smiled on some other occasion but not now. “I see. Okay, Shella … I’m told that you murdered my daughter.”

  “No,” Shella said emphatically. “I said I was present when your daughter was murdered. There’s a big difference. The killing came as a complete surprise to me.”

  “I find that hard to believe,” T’Loak replied. “But go on—convince me. And while you’re at it tell me who slit her throat. More than that, make me believe it.”

  “I’ll tell you,” Shella promised. “But only if you allow me to live. Otherwise the name of the person who killed your daughter dies with me.”

  T’Loak didn’t like being forced to do things. And the fact that Shella had been among those who robbed her made the demand that much harder to stomach. But she wanted the information and wanted it badly. “Maybe I’ll agree to your proposal,” she said, “and maybe I won’t. I’m going to ask you some simple questions. The kind you’ll be willing to answer if you want to live. Then, if I like what I hear, the deal is on.”

  “Okay,” Shella replied cautiously. “Depending on what you ask.”

  T’Loak battled to maintain her composure. “Where did the killing take place?”

  “In Paul Grayson’s apartment. You knew him as Paul Johnson.”

  That was true. And Aria felt a slowly rising sense of excitement. Maybe Shella did know who the killer was. The Illusive Man claimed Grayson was responsible for Liselle’s death, and T’Loak had assumed the same thing, but was it true? “Something was removed from the apartment after the murder,” T’Loak said. “What was it?”

  Shella didn’t hesitate. “A large quantity of red sand. Your red sand.”

  That was enough. T’Loak believed her. The woman had been present. Maybe she was the killer and maybe not. She would agree to the deal. Then, if there was proof that Shella had been holding the knife, the asari would kill her. Personally. “All right … Start talking.”

  “So we have an agreement?”

  “Yes.”

  “How do I know you’ll keep your word?”

  “You don’t,” T’Loak replied grimly. “But you know my reputation. Everyone on Omega does. When I make a deal I honor it.”

  Shella clearly had her doubts but was in a jam. All she could do was take her best shot and hope for the best. “Okay, I’ll tell you everything I know. Before joining the Skulls I was a freelancer. Cerberus hired me.”

  T’Loak was already paying close attention. And the mention of Cerberus heightened her interest even more. “You worked for Cerberus? In what capacity?”

  “I was a communications tech working for an operative named Manning. The Illusive Man sent him here to collect Grayson and bring him in. I have no idea why. They don’t tell freelancers things like that.”

  If the Illusive Man was in any way responsible for Liselle’s death T’Loak wanted to know about it. “Go on.”

  “We found a way to get past the security guards out front. Then we managed to enter the apartment. Your daughter was present. One of our team members knocked her out with a tranq dart. Grayson was next. And that was when Manning did what he did.”

  T’Loak tried to swallow the lump in her throat. “Which was?”

  “He had a knife. From the kitchen. He used it to slit your daughter’s throat. He hadn’t gone there with the intention of killing her. Or so it seemed to me. But Manning is the only person who would know for sure.”

  T’Loak was determined not to cry. Not until later. When she was alone. She cleared her throat. “So, Manning is alive?”

  Shella shrugged. “How would I know? But yes, probably. He’s a survivor.”

  “Describe him.”

  So Shella described the man she knew as Manning, the way he handled himself, and his relationship with the Illusive Man, which she described as “close.”

  T’Loak’s perfectly shaped eyebrows rose. “How close?”

  “It’s like I told you,” Shella replied. “I wasn’t involved in high-level meetings. But I know Manning had direct access to the Illusive Man, and that’s rare.”

  “Yes, it is,” T’Loak said thoughtfully. She knew a thing or two about the Illusive Man, having dealt with him on a couple of occasions, and Shella’s description was consistent with what she had observed. “All right. You kept your word—and I’ll keep mine.”

  Having turned to Immo, the asari said, “Have her delivered to the Skulls.”

  Immo nodded. “And the other prisoners?”

  “They were interrogated?”

  “Yes.”

  “Do the biotics or Skulls have any of our people?”

  “No.”

  There was a long pause. Finally, just as the silence was becoming very uncomfortable, the Pirate Queen spoke. “Release them. There has been enough killing.” And with that she left the room.

  Omega’s streets were filled with people as another artificial day neared its end and the light began to fade. Most of the pedestrians were headed home but others were just starting to stir as Gillian left the ordered world within the quarian warehouse for the chaotic environment beyond. She had been pounding the pavement for two cycles by that time, searching for a way to connect with Cerberus, and ultimately the Illusive Man. But it wasn’t easy. Those who didn’t know were eager to sell her lies and those who knew, or probably knew, were very tight lipped.

  It was frustrating. Extraordinarily so, and Gillian was running out of options, not to mention money. But there was one more possibility. A long shot to say the least—but something was better than nothing. And that was the nightspot called the Afterlife. It was everything to everyone. It was said that the rich and powerful gathered there as well as the station’s common folk because, regardless of social standing, all of them were interested in the same things. And that included music, sex, and drugs. None of which had any appeal for Gillian.

  No, her interest stemmed from the fact that the Afterlife was owned by Aria T’Loak. The asari crime lord who was said to be the most powerful person on Omega. But more important, from Gillian’s perspective at least, was the fact that there was a connection between T’Loak, her father, and the Illusive Man. Because according to Kahlee the asari had agreed to kill Paul Grayson on the Illusive Man’s behalf. She hadn’t been able to do so, but the arrangement suggested some sort of ongoing connection, which Gillian hoped to take advantage of. The problem was how to get an audience with T’Loak, and if she managed to obtain one, how to pry the information out of her. These complexities explained why the visit to the Afterlife was the last item on Gillian’s to-do list rather than the first.

  So as Gillian let the flow of foot traffic carry her along, the plan was to buy some cheap street food and kill time before making her way to the nightclub. T’Loak typically arrived there about nine, or so people claimed, which meant there was no point in showing up earlier.

  Gillian had acquired some street smarts by that time and knew how to avoid the hustlers. One of the most important tactics was to keep moving. But as she walked past a store specializing in armor, she felt a strange tingling sensation between her shoulder blades, and paused to look around. It wasn’t the first time. Gillian had experienced a similar feeling the day before. Was someone watching her?

  The simple answer was “yes.” Everyone was watching everyone on Omega. Either in hopes of taking advantage of them somehow or in an effort to protect themselves from harm. So, having scanned her surroundings without identifying a specific threat, Gillian continued on.

  Though still in the process of learning her way around the space station Gillian had been on Omega long enough to develop a list of favorite street carts. One of which sold spicy pastry-wrapped sausages that were not only delicious but affordable. So after waiting in line Gillian collected her dinner, and was headed for the cluster of tables that a number of food vendors shared, when she experienced the tingling sensation for the second time. She turned quickly, caught a glimpse of a face she thought she’d seen before, but couldn’t place. Then the man was gone, swallowed up by the crowd. Gillian was inclined to write the episode off to the jumpiness she felt, but resolved to keep a sharp eye out just in case.

  She ate a leisurely dinner, washed it down with hot tea purchased from a neighboring cart, and sat with her hands wrapped around the warm cup. As she watched the people sitting at the other tables, and the couples strolling past, Gillian felt the way she always did, which was lonely. She had always been an outsider. First at the academy where the other children tormented her, then on the Idenna where acceptance only went so far, and now on a very dangerous habitat.

  There had been moments though … Brief moments when her father had come to visit. Gigi. That was his pet name for her. He was the only person who had bothered to give her one. And outside of Kahlee the only person she could speak freely to. In bursts usually, separated by periods of silence, during which Grayson sat beside her and waited. He’d been neatly dressed on such occasions, but gaunt, as if starving to death.

  Gillian’s right hand went to the green jewel that was hanging around her neck. The gift from her father had arrived shortly before she left the academy. The handwriting on the card had been shaky. “Dear Gigi,” it said. “Something pretty for a pretty girl. Love, Father.”

  Grayson wasn’t her real father, but he loved her anyway. And that meant a lot. So much that she felt compelled to do what any good daughter would do: avenge his death. The problem being that the person responsible was very hard to find.

  Her drink was cold by then, but Gillian felt warm, and ready to take the next step on the path she had chosen. The teenager was filled with a renewed sense of determination as she got up, dropped the cup into a disposal chute, and set off for the Afterlife.

  There were a number of reasons to feel frightened. The first was natural but would have seemed silly to her more worldly peers back at the academy. Gillian had never been in a nightclub before. And based on its reputation the Afterlife was a nexus for all of the things that Kahlee and Hendel had warned her against. Plus Gillian didn’t know how to behave in such a setting. There were bound to be norms, just as there were on the streets of Omega, but what were they?

  That uncertainty was bad enough. But making the situation even more difficult was the nature of her mission. Logic dictated that T’Loak would have plenty of bodyguards. How to break through? The question was still nagging at Gillian as she arrived in front of the nightclub.

  There were lots of people. Some entering, some leaving, and some just milling around. And as was the case everywhere on Omega the presence of so many people was a draw for vendors, street performers, and petty criminals. Although the latter were quickly identified by T’Loak’s uniformed mercs and chased away.

  Having gathered the necessary courage Gillian threw her shoulders back and made for the front door. She was wearing the best outfit she had. A red waist-length jacket, broad belt, and gray pants. Nothing compared to what the women entering ahead of her were decked out in but it was the best she could do.

  Massive krogans stood to each side of the entrance. They eyed Gillian as she passed between them but made no attempt to stop her as she was funneled through a weapons detector and onto the main floor. Dance music pounded Gillian’s ears, the smell of artificially flavored tobacco wafted through the air, and the lighting was dim.

  Being unsure of where to go, or what to do, Gillian paused to orient herself. There was a stage at the center of the room on which three asari dancers were swaying to the music. All of them were beautiful, nearly naked, and mesmerizing to look at. Having never been exposed to something like that before Gillian found the scene to be both fascinating and embarrassing at the same time. She couldn’t imagine doing what the asari were doing—and was surprised at how nonchalant the other customers were. In fact, many of those gathered around the bar that circled the stage were busy talking to each other rather than looking at the dancers. And there were more performers as well, dancing on a ring that was suspended from the ceiling, and hung level with the second floor. “Care for a drink?”