“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?”

  Gillian turned to discover that a waitress was standing half a meter away from her. The asari was dressed in a slightly luminescent top, short skirt, and high-heeled shoes that glowed green. She was holding a tray with two empty glasses on it and had an expectant look on her face. Unfortunately Gillian had no idea what to do. Was it necessary to purchase a drink? Could she afford to do so? And what would she order?

  The waitress smiled engagingly as if to allay Gillian’s discomfort. “Have you been here before?”

  Gillian shook her head.

  “Right then,” the asari said. “Perhaps you would enjoy one of our nonalcoholic drinks. A Zesmeni Blush perhaps. That’s a blend of fruit juices with a touch of mint.”

  That helped Gillian find her voice. “Yes, thank you. And there’s something else as well. I would like to speak with Aria T’Loak.”

  If the waitress was surprised there was no sign of it on her beautiful face. “One Zesmeni Blush coming up … And I’ll pass your request along.” With that she left.

  There was an empty table nearby, so rather than stand at the edge of the circular walkway, Gillian made her way over to it. The closest customers, a trio of batarians, turned twelve eyes in her direction. Having registered her presence they resumed their conversation.

  Time passed and Gillian began to feel increasingly awkward since she had no drink and no one to talk to. Then, after what seemed like an eternity, the waitress returned. “Here you go,” she said, and placed a tall glass on the table. It was filled with an amber-colored liquid and topped off by a slice of fruit and a glittering stir stick. “That will be ten credits.”

  Gillian fumbled for the chips, found three of them, and placed them on the tray. She didn’t know how much to tip and hoped five was enough. Judging from the asari’s smile it was. “Thank you,” she said. “Miss T’Loak isn’t available but Mr. Immo has agreed to see you. He is one of Miss T’Loak’s senior staff members—and will be able to answer any questions you may have. Wait here and he’ll drop by as soon as he can.”

  Gillian didn’t want to see a senior staff member and knew he wouldn’t be able to answer her questions. But maybe she could talk the Immo person into facilitating a meeting with T’Loak. So she said “Thank you,” and watched the waitress walk away. Could she sway her hips like that?

  The question remained unanswered as Gillian took a sip of the drink, found it to her liking, and went back to watching the people who passed by. A half-drunk spacer paused at her table a few minutes later, called her “honey,” and was about to sit down when she gave him a biotic “push.” The nudge was sufficient to put him on his ass, much to the amusement of the batarians, who laughed and made what were probably rude comments in their own language.

  The human got up, told them what he thought of “bats,” and stumbled away.

  Five minutes later a salarian appeared, paused to look around, and spotted Gillian. Then, having approached the table, he produced the salarian version of a smile. It looked more like a grimace. “Hello … My name is Tann Immo. May I join you?”

  Gillian nodded. She felt impatient but slightly hopeful. “Please do. Thank you for taking the time to speak with me.”

  “It’s my pleasure,” Immo responded as he sat down. “How can I help?”

  “I wish to speak with Aria T’Loak,” Gillian replied.

  “Regarding what?” Immo wanted to know. “Maybe I can handle your request.”

  “No,” Gillian said tightly as the tension began to build inside of her. It was the wrong approach. The teenager knew that with her brain but her emotions were taking over. It was a problem that plagued her in school as well. But there was more than a lack of self-discipline involved. If she told Immo what she was after, and he told T’Loak, she would lose the only advantage she had. And that was the element of surprise. “I want to talk to T’Loak regarding a private matter,” she said. “And I wish to do so in person.”

  It appeared as though Immo was about to respond when a disturbance was heard off to the left. Two mercs appeared, closely followed by an asari, and two additional bodyguards. Their client had lavender-colored skin, and her face was decorated with a pair of lines that arced between her eyes, as well as a heavier line that ran from a well-formed mouth to the bottom of her chin.

  There was an immediate buzz of conversation from the surrounding customers and Gillian knew who the closely guarded personage was without being told. “Aria T’Loak!” Gillian shouted, as she came to her feet. “I want to talk to you!”

  The asari crime lord kept walking and didn’t bother to turn her head. But three of the four bodyguards stopped, turned toward what they perceived to be a threat, and began to draw their weapons.

  Gillian was amped up both emotionally and physically. Her response was as natural as breathing. Her hands came up, energy flowed, and surged outward. The “reave,” as biotics referred to it, was used to target an opponent’s nervous system. And because the guards were standing so close to each other, Gillian was able to hit all three at once. They dropped their weapons, doubled over, and collapsed. That was when all hell broke loose. People screamed and some of them stampeded out through the front door.

  Immo launched himself at the biotic, but lost all forward momentum as a stasis field locked him in place, and Gillian turned back to the task at hand. And that was to catch up with T’Loak. With that in mind Gillian left the table, stepped out onto the walkway, and was just about to go after the nightclub owner when what felt like a hammer hit her. It was a shockwave. And the force of the biotic blow knocked her down.

  But rather than remain on the floor she rolled right, scrambled to her feet, and found herself confronting two asari biotics. They were blocking the path that led toward T’Loak. Gillian felt a sudden surge of anger, raised her hands, and drew a picture in the air. As thought was transformed into purposeful energy three rapidly shifting mass effect fields came into existence. The “warp” tore the asari biotics asunder. One moment they were there, and the next they weren’t, as chunks of raw meat flew in every direction.

  The resulting blood mist was still floating in the air and would remain so for a few seconds as the half-executed “pull,” which the asari had been creating at the moment of their deaths, lost its coherency. But there was no time to think about that or anything else as a burst of projectiles whipped past Gillian and tore into the bar. Glassware shattered, wood splintered, and someone shouted “Kill her!” as the teen turned to face a new set of attackers.