So Nick raised his hands, gathered the energy necessary to pick the Skull up off the ground, and hold her there for a moment. Then, as her feet kicked helplessly, he slammed her down. The salarian uttered a cry of pain, and was clearly injured, because as she got to her feet she couldn’t put much weight on one of them. But she was game and, as her hands came up, Nick knew he had only seconds in which to prevent a counterattack.

  A solid “throw” might have been sufficient. But Nick was angry and conscious of the fact that people were watching. So he employed a shockwave instead. Rapid pulses of dark energy surged across the compartment, pummeled the other biotic like a series of physical blows, and knocked her off her feet. There was a sickening thud as the salarian fell and her head hit the metal deck.

  At that point a Skull went over to check her pulse, looked to Tactus, and shook his head. The turian made a face. “All right, a deal is a deal. We’ll split the loot fifty-fifty.”

  That wasn’t the end of it. Not by a long shot. Because even as the dead biotic was towed feetfirst out of the compartment, Tactus and Zon were already in discussions about how and when the loot would be divided.

  Meanwhile, Nick, who felt decidedly sick to his stomach, had been forced to resume his duties as standard-bearer. And the reality of what he’d done continued to weigh heavily on him even as Zon led her delegation back onto the busy street.

  But rather than be left alone to deal with his emotions Nick soon found himself on the receiving end of congratulatory backslaps, celebratory man hugs, and a compliment from Kim. “Good work two guns—but strike first next time.”

  It was heady stuff. And one aspect of Nick’s personality enjoyed it. But nothing could dispel what felt like a dark place deep inside of him. Because while it would have been one thing to defend himself against street thugs, he had allowed himself to be used as a pawn in a business dispute, and a person had been killed as a result.

  Once the group arrived home Nick slipped away, went to his room, and locked the door. Then, while lying on his bed and staring at the ceiling, Nick thought about his parents. He should contact them—and Kahlee too. Or maybe he shouldn’t. What would they think about what he’d done? The thought followed him into a troubled sleep, and a place where people fought each other for reasons they didn’t understand, as part of a war that nobody could win.

  EIGHT

  ON OMEGA

  The ship was small, fast, and registered to a Cerberus-controlled company. Just the thing for moving agents, prisoners, and cash from place to place. And thanks to the high-priority fee already paid to Aria T’Loak’s docking facility, the sleek little vessel was able to enter a berth without delay.

  A beautifully dressed woman and two heavily armed men left the ship twenty minutes later. And because she was clearly in charge, those who were paid to monitor such comings and goings saw what they were supposed to see, which was a female executive followed by two bodyguards.

  None of the street scum who haunted the docks were stupid enough to approach the woman, so the trio was able to make it down and into the space station very quickly. A mixed force of humans, turians, and batarians were waiting for them and were quick to surround the executive with a wall of protection.

  And it was during that interlude when one of her original bodyguards slipped away. Moments later Kai Leng was lost in the crowd. A bounty hunter perhaps, or a merc, on some errand or other. Omega was populated with thousands of such individuals. His leg was feeling better and he set a brisk pace.

  Leng’s duties had required him to spend a great deal of time on Omega over the years, but conditions on the space station were always in a state of flux. Favorite restaurants had disappeared since his last visit, what had been through streets were blocked off, and the Blue Suns were running the area he was in. Something that could be discerned from how many of them were on the streets—and the absence of street thugs.

  Fortunately there was one thing Leng could count on and that was the Cerberus safe house waiting for him. After Leng murdered Liselle, and Grayson fled Omega, it had been necessary to close all of the organization’s hidey-holes on the assumption that the entire network had been compromised.

  New safe houses had been established since then, but Leng didn’t know what to expect as he followed a narrow street into a district favored by upper-class criminals. Security people stood on corners, in doorways, and on roofs. All watching as the operative made his way up to a nice three-story building that was protected by a blast wall, metal gates, and a brace of krogan. They eyed Leng suspiciously as he paused for a scan and turned their backs on him when the gate rolled open.

  Another scan was required before Leng could enter the building. After taking a lift up to the third floor it was necessary to enter a four-digit code into the keypad to open the door. The apartment was what Leng had expected it to be. And that was a hotel-like one-bedroom, one-bath suite with a small sitting area and kitchenette. The whole thing was comfortable but impersonal. Even the air had an institutional flavor to it. But that was fine with Leng, who didn’t intend to stay there for very long.

  Like any large organization Cerberus was dependent on a small army of functionaries. People who could arrange for the sort of distraction that allowed Leng to slip away, rent safe houses for operatives to stay in, and carry out dozens of other activities that were critical to success. And Leng was reminded of their role as he went over to examine the items that had been left on the coffee table.

  There were toiletries, all according to his preferences, and three sets of clothing. He was already wearing a very serviceable set of light armor, and carrying a Kassa Fabrications Razer pistol. But, per his request, a Sokolov shotgun and a Vesper sniper rifle had been left for him. Boxes of ammo and two cleaning kits were available as well. It was the sort of service that only a top operative could expect and Leng took such things for granted.

  A tone signaled an incoming call. But from whom? The answer was obvious. The Illusive Man. It was a reminder that Leng was still under surveillance. He turned to the apartment’s holo-pad. “Accept call.”

  A swarm of light motes materialized in the air and flew together to form an image of the Illusive Man. A frozen wasteland had been visible in the background the last time Leng had seen the Illusive Man. But now his superior was silhouetted against a rusty red planet. It appeared that he was on an errand of some sort, the purpose of which would remain unknown. “I’m glad to see that you arrived safely,” the Illusive Man said.

  “Thank you.”

  “Hendel Mitra, Kahlee Sanders, and David Anderson are on Omega or will arrive there shortly.”

  Leng shrugged. “That’s to be expected. They’re looking for Nick Donahue and Gillian Grayson. I’ll kill them when I have time.”

  The Illusive Man was holding an unlit cigarette. He caused it to twirl through the fingers of his right hand and back again. “Just before they left the Citadel Kahlee and Anderson were summoned by Council member Dia Oshar.”

  “Interesting.”

  “Very. The obvious question is why? But, until such time as we know the answer, I want you to leave them alone.”

  “I understand.”

  There was a moment of silence as the Illusive Man looked off camera. Then his steely blue eyes came back to meet Leng’s. “Gillian Grayson wants to kill me. And I think it’s safe to assume that Oshar and other members of the Council would like to see that happen.”

  “Probably,” Leng agreed levelly. “But I’ll find Gillian, and when I do that part of the problem will be solved.”

  “Now that your other assignments have been carried out you can turn your full attention to the matter,” the Illusive Man replied as he lit the cigarette. “There is a great deal of work to do Kai … Wrap it up as soon as you can.” And with that he disappeared.

  Having broken the link Leng spent a few minutes at the apartment’s computer terminal prior to loading the shotgun and returning to the street. The purpose of the heavy artillery being to serve as a deterrent to street thugs and to give him an edge if forced to defend himself against a gang.

  The krogans were still out front, and everything looked normal, as Leng set off to visit the Beggar King. His name was Hobar, he was a volus, and something of an institution on Omega. The title stemmed from Hobar’s position as the proprietor of a large network of professional and semiprofessional beggars, all of whom paid the volus ten percent of their daily take in return for what he liked to call “management services.” That included the assignment of a corner or other location where a particular beggar was authorized to ply his or her trade, the “protection” payments that had to be made to the various gangs in order to operate in their constantly shifting territories, and some rudimentary medical care.

  But Hobar had a secondary line of business as well. His network of beggars was so ubiquitous that they saw everything worth seeing. And there were those who were willing to pay good credits for information about their enemies, business associates, and in some cases their friends. A capability that Leng planned to take full advantage of.

  Hobar’s headquarters were located at the back of a cafeteria-style eatery where the emphasis was on quantity rather than quality—a surefire business model where many of Omega’s residents were concerned. And thanks to his long-term patronage, not to mention that of the beggars who came and went each day, Hobar’s favorite booth had been modified to accommodate both his rotund body and the power chair that stood in for his missing legs.

  No one knew how or why the bilateral amputation had taken place, although there were dark rumors that the volus had his legs removed in order to look more pitiful. If so the strategy had been successful, because Hobar had taken the money given to him by passersby and parlayed it into a successful if shabby empire.

  Leng, who had made use of the Beggar King’s services before, entered the steamy embrace of the restaurant and followed a long warming table loaded with bins of food back to where Hobar’s chair was parked. The table in front of him was strewn with half-eaten plates of food, printouts, and other bits of office paraphernalia. In spite of the environment suit he wore, the rank odor of unwashed flesh tainted the air. A sleek computer terminal sat to Hobar’s right and two guards were leaning against the wall behind him—one was human, the other batarian, and both were well armed. They were watchful but made no attempt to intervene as Leng hung the shotgun on a wall hook and took the bench seat opposite Hobar.

  The Beggar King was known to have an excellent memory and that was apparent as he spoke. “Mr. Manning … It has been awhile. Your last endeavor went well I hope?”

  During his most recent mission to Omega Leng had broken into Grayson’s apartment and murdered Liselle T’Loak. The Manning persona had been useful then and could be again. “Yes, thank you.”

  “Good. How can I assist you?”

  “I’m looking for a young woman. A human. Chances are that she arrived on Omega during the last few days.”

  “You have a picture?”

  “I do,” Leng said, as he slid a chip across the table.

  Hobar scooped it up. “That will be five thousand credits if we spot her and provide you with a location.”

  “Two thousand five hundred.”

  “Four thousand—and not a credit less.”

  Leng smiled thinly. “Three thousand.”

  “Three fifty.”

  “Done.”

  Hobar’s facial expression if any was hidden by the mask that covered most of his face. But Leng could tell that he was satisfied. “Your contact information?”

  “It’s on the chip.”

  “Excellent. Have a nice day, Mr. Manning. And don’t forget to give to the poor.”

  With the exception of those on guard duty all of the members of the Biotic Underground were gathered in the old hotel lobby or up on the mezzanine level where they could lean on the rail and look down onto the main floor. There were seventy-three of them including Nick, who was on the mezzanine standing next to Lem.

  Nick was feeling a little bit better by that time, but still regretted killing the biotic the Grim Skulls had sent against him, even if such deaths were, as Mythra Zon liked to put it, “an unfortunate but necessary part of the revolution”—meaning the process by which the biotics would eventually supplant the Citadel Council. That would take money of course. Large quantities of it. Which was why the biotics and the Grim Skulls were going to rob a bank.

  And not just any bank. But a bank owned and operated by none other than Aria T’Loak. The Pirate Queen. A daring act, which, if successful, would not only provide the Underground with some much needed capital but lift the organization up into the middle ranks of Omega’s criminal hierarchy. “So,” Zon was saying as her eyes roamed the faces all around, “the bank is heavily guarded. The Skulls will provide most of the conventional firepower. But we should be ready to assist them if necessary.

  “That being said,” she continued, “our primary task will be to confront and defeat T’Loak’s biotics. Based on information collected by both the Skulls and our people it looks like we’ll be up against at least twelve Level Three or better practitioners.”

  “No problem,” one of the men on the main floor said. “We’ll have them for lunch.” The comment was followed by a chorus of supporting comments.

  “Yeah, that’s right!” “Bring ’em on.” And, “We’ll crush the bastards.”

  “Talk is cheap,” Zon responded critically, “and overconfidence is stupid. Plus I would remind you that we will have to leave a third of our people here to defend the hotel. Because within an hour of the robbery, two at most, T’Loak’s forces will attack this building. And the Skulls’ headquarters as well. So we’ll send about fifty people. Roughly ten of whom will be prime talents like Nick Donahue.” The comment produced a round of applause.

  Was Zon aware of his doubts and trying to pump him up? Nick didn’t know. But when the asari looked straight at him, and said his name, the teenager felt a sense of pride so intense he would have done anything for her. And that included robbing a heavily defended bank.

  The meeting continued for another fifteen minutes as Zon and second in command Kathar went over the battle plan, communications protocols, and the post-robbery exit plan. Because breaking in was one thing—getting home with the loot was another.

  Then it was time for the biotics to leave the hotel and make their way to the bank, which was about three kilometers away. But rather than march through the streets in an effort to draw attention to themselves as they had in the past, the biotics were divided into three teams, each of which was to follow a different route to the objective. Nick was in the third group under the command of Arrius Sallus.

  The ten-hour-long artificial night was almost over as Sallus led his subordinates through the nearly deserted streets following a route that he had checked the day before. In spite of the early hour other predators were out and about. They could be seen lurking here and there, eternally ready to roll drunks, mug those on their way to work, or prey upon each other should the opportunity present itself. But they knew better than to attack the heavily armed group as it jogged through alternating pools of light and shadow.

  Eventually, having arrived at a predetermined assembly point, it was time to integrate the Skulls with the biotics and make final preparations for the assault. There was one team for each point of T’Loak’s triangular bank building. It had been a temple originally, built by members of a long-forgotten cult and surrounded on all three sides by pedways and streets. The open spaces made it impossible for people to sneak up on the structure—and provided what amounted to a free-fire zone all around.

  And making the objective that much harder to take were the weapons emplacements—one at each of the building’s three corners. They had been added by T’Loak seventy years earlier, and used only once, when a defunct gang called the Black Jacks attacked the “east” side of the bank. Not a single one of the attackers had been able to enter, or so legend had it, which explained why none of Omega’s many criminal organizations had attempted to break in since. So the direct approach was out, as was some sort of underground assault, because T’Loak had defenses down there as well.

  Simply put, T’Loak’s treasure trove was impregnable. That’s what the Pirate Queen believed anyway, although the assumption was about to be tested. And Nick was going to be part of the combined team that would either succeed where the Black Jacks had failed or die trying.

  “Okay,” Sallus said, as about thirty biotics and Skulls came together. “You know the drill. Teams one and two will fire on the northwest and northeast corners of the building from positions on the opposite side of the street. Our job is to drop the hammer on the ‘south’ end of the bank. How ’bout it, Skulls? Are the charges ready?”

  “They’re preshaped and ready for placement,” a helmeted noncom said stolidly.

  “Good,” Sallus responded. “Now remember … Once the path has been established it will be important to go in fast. If the weapons emplacement is still in operation we’ll take it out. If it’s out of commission we’ll head for the control center. Meanwhile the defenders at the other end of the building won’t be able to respond without exposing their sectors to a possible breach. There will still be plenty of opposition though, so keep your heads on a swivel. Okay, follow me.”

  Nick felt his heart start to beat faster as he followed Sallus and the Skulls between two nondescript buildings to the base of a fifty-meter-tall column. There were dozens of them all across Omega and this one was positioned directly across the street from T’Loak’s bank. “Place the charges,” Sallus said, as he consulted his omni-tool. “Detonate on my command.”