But thousands of monuments had been added since then, making the small body of water all the more remarkable. It was, some said, a moat. Put there to keep lesser beings at a distance. Others saw it as a testament to the size of T’Loak’s ego, an effort to manage her own passing, and a sign of poor taste. And all of those criticisms are correct, T’Loak thought to herself, as the cortege came to a stop. Not that it matters.

  The pyramid-shaped structure was made of black granite, and harkened back to a much younger version of herself, a person who had something to prove and thought that extravagance was the way to do it. It was the sort of immaturity typical of someone who is only a hundred years old and on the make. Now, as an asari matron, T’Loak thought the place was overdone. But to change it would be to apologize, to betray her younger self, and that was something she steadfastly refused to do.

  T’Loak waited for the driver to come back and open the door before getting out and leading the other mourners to the point where they could remove the ceremonial stretcher from the back of the hearse. Liselle’s eyes were closed. Makeup concealed the horrible cut across her throat and her hands were clasped in front of her chest. I will not cry, T’Loak thought to herself. Crying is a sign of weakness.

  After lifting the stretcher the female pallbearers followed T’Loak down a steep ramp and into the circular chamber below. It was cool there. The lighting was intentionally subdued, and water gurgled as it spilled out of the vessel at the center of the room and cascaded into a pool.

  Equally spaced chambers were set into the wall like spokes in a wheel. Some were occupied and some weren’t. A capsule had been prepared for Liselle and was waiting. Slowly, using great care, Liselle’s body was lifted up and in. Once the process was complete, T’Loak bent to kiss her daughter’s cold lips. “I won’t give up,” she promised. “Not until I know the truth.”

  Then as the casket was closed and pushed into the wall, the woman who wasn’t going to cry began to do so. Deep sobs racked her body as she stood head down in front of the name that had been chiseled into the marble. But none of the others dared embrace her, or to offer words of solace, because Aria T’Loak was the Pirate Queen. And to touch her was to die.

  ABOARD THE FREIGHTER PICTOR

  As the freighter Pictor shot toward the mass effect relay at a speed of nearly fifteen kilometers per second, it was little more than a momentary blur. Then there was a sudden flare of light as the ship’s element-zero core was taken off-line and its mass effect fields were snuffed from existence. Like a projectile fired from a rifle the Pictor flew toward what looked like an evil eye floating in the blackness of space. Two communications masts stood straight up from a structure that consisted of two gigantic rings that rotated around a glowing sphere.

  Slowly at first, and then with increasing speed, the rings began to spin as the ship closed in. Then, once the Pictor was about five hundred kilometers away, the relay fired and the freighter was consumed by a vortex of dark energy. It shimmered and disappeared.

  But because Anderson was busy making love to Kahlee he missed the transition from one state to another. The big passenger liners didn’t serve Omega. So anyone who wanted to travel there from the Citadel had to have a ship of their own or book passage on a freighter like the Pictor. Like most of her kind she was equipped to carry both cargo and a handful of passengers.

  The fact that the emphasis was on freight rather than people meant that the cabins were so small and cramped that there was barely enough space to walk around the bed. So it was the natural place to sit. And once they sat on the bed one thing led to another and it wasn’t long before the couple were on a journey of their own. A very pleasant interlude that was barely over when someone began to thump on the hatch. And that was necessary since neither the intercom nor the doorbell worked. “Yeah, yeah,” Anderson grumbled, as he pulled his pants on. “Just a minute.”

  Having pulled the blankets up over her breasts Kahlee watched the hatch cycle open to reveal a portly volus. He was the ship’s steward and none too pleased. “Your Earth friend is causing trouble.”

  “Hendel Mitra? Causing trouble? That’s hard to believe,” Anderson said.

  “There was a fight in cargo hold two. Human Mitra attacked four crew members and two fellow passengers. Then he locked himself in the cook’s storeroom. He refuses to come out.”

  Anderson swore and looked back over his shoulder. “Did you hear that? You know Hendel better than I do. What’s going on?”

  “I don’t know,” Kahlee said. “Close the hatch so I can get dressed. I’m coming along.”

  It took fifteen minutes to throw some clothes on and follow the steward down into the depths of the ship where some of the passengers and crew had been gambling and drinking in a half-empty cargo compartment. An overturned table and some mismatched chairs lay strewn about. “The fight took place here,” the volus said accusingly, as if Anderson and Kahlee were responsible somehow. “According to witnesses the Mitra person attacked the others for no reason. Then, when they attempted to defend themselves, he ran.”

  Kahlee didn’t believe a word of it. Hendel was one of the most disciplined and dependable people she knew. He had been born on Earth in the suburbs of New Calcutta. His mother had been accidentally exposed to element zero dust during her pregnancy and rather than the birth defects that some “dust” babies wound up with, Hendel was born with biotic powers.

  His capabilities weren’t on a par with what prodigies like Nick and Gillian could do, but were sufficient to qualify Hendel for Biotic Acclimation and Temperance Training, also referred to as BAaT. It was a rather draconian program that involved a conscious effort to alienate students from their families. A strategy that was so successful where Hendel was concerned that he refused to interact with relatives years after the BAaT program was shut down.

  Subsequent to that Hendel enlisted in the Alliance military where he served with distinction prior to leaving for civilian life and a job as head of security for the Grissom Academy. Then, in an act of selfless loyalty, he volunteered to serve as Gillian’s guardian during the time she was forced to hide aboard the quarian ship Idenna. “Save the bull for someone else,” Kahlee said sternly, as she eyed the steward. “You said Hendel locked himself in a storeroom. Take us there.”

  The volus turned and led them into a passageway between two of the ship’s holds. It led to an intersection. And that’s where two crew members were waiting next to a hatch marked STOREROOM. One was turian, the other was batarian, and both looked as if they had been knocked around. “The bastard is still in there,” the batarian rasped, as he slapped a palm with a shock baton.

  “You get the door open and we’ll make sure he gets back to his cabin safely,” the turian said as if to mitigate his companion’s words.

  “I think you should return to your duties,” Kahlee said sweetly. “I’m sure the captain could use your help.”

  The batarian opened his mouth but the steward preempted whatever he was about to say. “I will call for you should that become necessary.”

  There was some grumbling but the crew members did as they were told. Kahlee turned to the steel hatch. “Hendel? It’s me … Kahlee.”

  There was no response. So she tried again. “Open the hatch, Hendel. I want to talk to you.”

  Five seconds passed followed by a whir as the lock was released. Anderson pulled the door open and Kahlee went in. Hendel was sitting on the deck with his head in his hands and his back against a shelving unit. His face was bloody and bruised. “There were six of them,” he said dully. “I threw one against the bulkhead but the rest of them swarmed me.”

  “Passengers are not allowed in the storeroom,” the volus said insistently. “You will remove him now.”

  “He’ll be gone soon,” Anderson said irritably. “Now shut up and get out.”

  “I will report your behavior to the captain,” the steward responded importantly.

  “You do that,” Anderson said. “And while you’re at it tell him that we plan to press charges against him and the crew members who attacked citizen Mitra.”

  The steward made a snorting sound and left.

  Kahlee was kneeling next to Hendel by that time examining the cuts and abrasions on his face. “Were you drinking?” she inquired. Although the answer seemed self-evident.

  Hendel winced as she touched a bruise. “I had a couple.”

  “More than a couple,” Kahlee responded. “You smell like a brewery. This isn’t like you Hendel. What’s wrong?”

  One of Hendel’s eyes was swollen shut. The other one stared back at her. “Gillian.”

  “What about Gillian?”

  “I failed her. It was my job to protect her and I didn’t.”

  The truth was that Kahlee hadn’t thought about Hendel lately. Or the effect that recent events might have on him. He was just there. Rock solid and eternally dependable. Until now. And as Kahlee looked at Hendel’s badly battered face something occurred to her. Something she should have thought about earlier but hadn’t. Hendel had spent his formative years in the strict BAaT program, followed by a career in the Alliance military, and a job as security chief for the Grissom Academy. All were jobs that provided him with context, purpose, and goals to strive for.

  Then came the assignment to protect Gillian during her time with the quarian fleet, followed by what? Nothing. Gillian had departed without so much as a good-bye—and when Hendel went looking for her he had been searching for himself as well. “You mustn’t blame yourself,” she said. “Gillian is an adult. Legally anyway. You did all that anyone could.”

  “Come on,” Kahlee said, as she motioned to Anderson. “Give me a hand. We’ll take Hendel to his cabin and get him patched up.”

  “And sobered up,” Anderson put in, as he came to help. “Damn, Hendel … you look like hell warmed over.”

  “Oh, yeah?” Hendel replied, as they helped him to his feet. “You should see the other guys.”

  “We did,” Kahlee replied. “Some of them anyway. And they aren’t very happy.”

  “Screw ’em,” Hendel said thickly.

  “See?” Anderson said, as he helped Hendel out of the compartment. “He’s feeling better already.”

  Kahlee laughed. And together they shuffled down the passageway.

  SEVEN

  ON OMEGA

  Nick was standing in front of a run-down building in the Gozu district just beyond the flow of foot traffic. The air was thick with the stench of uncollected garbage, ozone that was being emitted from a secretive shop a few doors down, and the combined odors of at least six food stalls located across the street. But he was happy. Because on Omega, for the first time in his life, Nick Donahue was a somebody.

  That was evident in the light Level III Hydra Armor he wore, the Brawler pistols that hung low on both hips, and the fact that they were backups rather than his main armament. That was his ability as a biotic, which had earned him a place in the Biotic Underground.

  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.”