“Second, what are the biotics after? Information about Cerberus? Or something else? We need answers. Spend money. Do whatever needs doing. And let Jana know if you need some muscle.”

  Mott nodded. “Yes, sir.”

  “Good,” the Illusive Man said. “Viewing window off.”

  Motes of light swirled, twinkled, and disappeared. Jana was waiting. “Any further orders?”

  The Illusive Man’s chair whirred as he turned to look out through the viewport. “Yes. Assign someone to watch Mott.”

  Jana nodded. “Yes, sir.” Her heels clicked away.

  The Illusive Man blew smoke at the glittering space station that hung suspended in front of him. It was obscured for a moment—but once it reappeared Omega looked just the same.

  ON OMEGA

  Kahlee was frustrated. She and her companions had been looking for Nick and Gillian for days without success. That was understandable given the everyday realities on Omega. But she was surprised by the fact that Aria T’Loak hadn’t been able to find them either.

  Still, all they could do was keep looking, so as Anderson took his morning shower Kahlee sat down in front of the room’s terminal. Extranet access was expensive on Omega and the additional fee levied by the hotel made it even more so. But so long as there was a chance, no matter how negligible, that Nick or Gillian would send her a message, Kahlee felt compelled to check on a regular basis.

  There was a tiny bit of lag time, then her in-box appeared, and began to populate. There were at least half a dozen messages from Nick’s parents all marked “Urgent,” plus all of the usual dreck, most of which could be ignored. But nothing from either one of the missing teenagers.

  Then, before Gillian could go any further, the words SECURITY ALERT, popped up on the screen followed by, “Your account has been accessed by an unauthorized person or device. For a list of potentially compromised files click here.”

  As the list opened Kahlee was expecting to see evidence of a financial hack. An attack on her bank accounts for example. But that wasn’t the case. Only one folder had been accessed. And that was the one titled “Grayson.”

  Kahlee heard movement and turned to see Anderson emerge from the bathroom. He had one towel wrapped around his waist and was drying his hair with a second. “David … Come look. Someone hacked my computer and copied all of the Grayson files.”

  Anderson swore and looked over Kahlee’s shoulder as she showed him the security alert. “That shouldn’t have been possible,” he said darkly. “I pay one of the top security companies a lot of money to prevent things like that.”

  “Remember all of the bugs they found in the apartment?” Kahlee inquired. “The outfit you use is no match for organizations like Cerberus because they can buy the very best talent.”

  “So you think it was Cerberus?”

  “No,” Kahlee replied. “That doesn’t make sense. The Illusive Man knows everything there is to know about Grayson.”

  “Aria T’Loak,” Anderson said. “It has to be her. She wanted the information enough to trade Gillian for it. Maybe she said to hell with the deal and went for it.”

  Kahlee had turned to face him by then. “So she double-crossed us?”

  Anderson shrugged. “We should have known. She’s a crime lord after all. Once you confirmed that you had the information, and told her where it was, she couldn’t resist.”

  “Okay,” Kahlee agreed. “But what does she want?”

  “Let’s get some breakfast,” Anderson suggested. “Then we’ll go over the Grayson stuff again. Maybe we’ll be able to figure out what T’Loak is after.”

  “And if we can’t?”

  “We’ll go see her,” Anderson replied. “And ask her to come clean.”

  Kahlee frowned. “You think that will work?”

  Anderson grinned. “No, but as far as I know we don’t have anything better to do.”

  In spite of hours spent poring over the Grayson files Kahlee, Anderson, and Hendel hadn’t been able to figure out why T’Loak was so interested in them. So once dinner was over, and with nothing to lose, they went to the Afterlife club. It was busy as usual, and shortly after Kahlee and her companions were seated, an asari waitress arrived to take their orders. Once the process was complete Kahlee gave the waitress a five-credit chip. “Do me a favor, would you? Let Aria T’Loak know that Kahlee Sanders, David Anderson, and Hendel Mitra are here. And ask if we could have five minutes of her time.”

  The server smiled, made the chip disappear, and left. Ten minutes passed before the waitress returned with the drinks and a message. “Aria can see you in half an hour. A staff member will come down to get you. The drinks are on the house.”

  Kahlee tipped the server again and settled back to enjoy her drink. Anderson and Hendel were busy ogling the asari dancers, the music was good, and if it hadn’t been for the task at hand she would have been able to enjoy herself.

  A good forty-five minutes passed before Tann Immo appeared at their table, reintroduced himself, and led the humans up to the second floor. But before the party could join T’Loak in her private booth they were ordered to surrender their weapons. “What’s the deal?” Anderson wanted to know, as he gave his pistol to a krogan. “Last time we were allowed to keep the hardware.”

  Immo’s face was inscrutable as always. “That was then,” he said levelly. “This is now.”

  Anderson and Kahlee exchanged glances. If they needed proof that T’Loak was responsible for hacking Kahlee’s computer there it was. The asari knew they knew, or assumed they did, and wasn’t taking any chances. Hendel bristled at being asked to surrender both his shotgun and sidearm but did so at Kahlee’s urging.

  T’Loak looked beautiful as always, although there was something stiff about her expression, as if she was expecting trouble. “Please sit down,” the asari said. “Welcome back.”

  Having introduced Hendel, Kahlee got right to the point. “There haven’t been any developments regarding Gillian Grayson I take it.”

  T’Loak’s eyebrows rose slightly. “No. I would have sent word if there were. It’s as if she vanished into thin air. Perhaps she left Omega without being noticed.”

  Was T’Loak serious? Or was her comment an attempt at misdirection? All Kahlee could do was forge ahead. “Someone hacked my computer and copied the Grayson files.”

  T’Loak’s expression was unchanged. “That’s too bad. It sounds like you need a security upgrade.”

  Kahlee pressed harder. “Did you order your people to hack my computer?”

  The crime lord shook her head. “No, of course not. Why would I do that?”

  “Because you don’t have Gillian, and you wanted the information,” Anderson put in.

  T’Loak shrugged. “You have my answer. Is there anything else?”

  “Yes!” Hendel hissed, as he leaned forward. “Your bodyguards took my weapons, but I’m a biotic. Tell Kahlee what she wants to know or pay the price.”

  The stunner seemed to materialize in T’Loak’s hand. She fired, Hendel jerked spasmodically, and slumped against Anderson who struggled to prop him up. “Your friend is an idiot,” Aria said contemptuously. “Get him out of here.” The audience was over.

  The new day dawned the same way thousands had before it. Hendel was still suffering from the residual effects of being stunned so Kahlee and Anderson had breakfast without him. Then, having failed to extract any useful information from T’Loak, they went to see Harvey Nix. “It’s a long shot,” Anderson admitted as they left the hotel, “but maybe he knows what T’Loak is up to.”

  Having arrived at Nix’s cramped office they were forced to wait as the reporter completed an interview with a large flat-faced elcor. Once that transaction was complete, and the quadruped left, Nix came forward to greet them. Light glinted off his eye-lens as he shook hands, and judging from his friendly demeanor, he was hoping for another consulting fee. “Miss Sanders … Admiral Anderson. This is an unexpected pleasure. What can I do for you?”

  “We’re looking for some information about T’Loak,” Anderson replied. “The problem is that we don’t know what to ask. So, if you’re willing, we would appreciate a briefing. We’ll pay the same fee as before.”

  “Yes, of course,” Nix said eagerly. “Please sit down. Can you provide a time frame? T’Loak is hundreds of years old. And my knowledge is limited to the last five years.”

  “Let’s start with the last year,” Kahlee suggested. “Skip the minutiae and give us the highlights. We’re looking for major activities, problems, that sort of thing.”

  “I’ll do my best,” Nix promised. “Realizing that T’Loak goes to considerable lengths to ensure her privacy.” What followed was an interesting if somewhat speculative account of T’Loak’s business dealings, a rumored love affair, and a trip to Thessia.

  Kahlee interrupted at that point. “Aria went to Thessia? What for?”

  “There’s no way to know for sure,” Nix responded. “Some people suggest that it was a long-delayed vacation and nothing more. Others claim that she went home to bury her daughter.”

  Anderson sat up straight. “Aria had a daughter?”

  “Yes,” Nix replied, “although very few people were aware of it. T’Loak did her best to keep the relationship secret both to ensure her daughter’s privacy and to protect her from kidnappers. But sadly, in spite of those precautions, Liselle was murdered.”

  Kahlee felt her heart start to beat a little faster. “Murdered by whom?”

  Nix shrugged. “I don’t know. But according to the rumors the person who did it was human. And he worked for T’Loak.”

  Kahlee looked at Anderson. “Grayson worked for T’Loak. And Cerberus.”

  “That’s true,” Anderson said, “but he’s dead. And she knows that. So what’s she up to?”

  “Grayson didn’t do it,” Kahlee said. “Or that’s what T’Loak believes. And she’s looking for the person who did.”

  Nix looked from Kahlee to Anderson and back. The zoom lens whirred softly. “If that’s true the murderer is dead. Or soon will be.”

  Kahlee thought about that and knew it was true. But who was the killer? And where was he hiding? She was determined to find out.

  Kai Leng was laying on his back staring at the ceiling. Tool marks could be seen where something or somebody had burrowed into the solid rock. A single glow strip dangled from a metal hook and twisted back and forth in response to the flow of air from the small hole connected to a ventilation shaft.

  Other than the light, the bucket that had been placed in a corner, and the narrow bed, there was no furniture in the room. Nothing that could be transformed into a weapon, used as a pick, or otherwise turned against his captors. And Leng knew why. Cory Kim had been a prisoner—and knew everything there was to know about prisons.

  * * *

  He’d been a marine lieutenant back then. A member of the Alliance military who had been rated N6. Meaning that he was an elite special forces operative. And it was that training that got him in trouble, or saved his life, depending on how one chose to look at it.

  Leng, Kim, and a couple of their buddies had been in a bar on the Citadel that fateful evening doing what off-duty marines do. Which is to drink, hit on members of the opposite sex, and tell war stories. And that was what Leng was doing, telling a story about a raid on what he referred to as “some lizards” when a huge krogan emerged from the gloom. His voice had a throaty quality and the anger in his amber-colored eyes was clear to see. “Tell me something, human … What is a ‘lizard’?”

  Leng, who generally referred to all nonhumans as “freaks,” and was of the opinion that the Alliance should go its own way rather than surrender any of its autonomy to the other races, had been somewhat intoxicated. Not that it would have made much difference if he’d been sober. “Lizards are big ugly freaks that can’t reproduce because the turians neutered them. And a good thing too—since they were spreading like lice. Why do you ask?”

  The krogan was silent for a second as if unable to believe his ears. Then he produced a roar of outrage and attacked. Leng was ready. He ducked as a massive fist passed through the spot where his head had been and delivered a blow to the krogan’s midriff. It was like punching concrete. Given the difference in size the contest was bound to be one of strength versus speed and agility. Neither one of combatants was carrying a gun, but the krogan wasted no time in snatching up a bar stool, which he held like a club.

  That prompted Leng to pull the double-edged commando knife from the sheath strapped to the inside surface of his left forearm and look for openings. They were circling each other by that time, as their supporters shouted words of encouragement, and bets were placed on the outcome. “Only cowards run,” the krogan growled. “Stand and fight.”

  As tipsy as he was, Leng wasn’t stupid enough to fall for that. Because if he went toe-to-toe with the monster the contest would be over in a matter of seconds. Such thoughts were going through Leng’s mind when one of the bystanders tripped him. A freak perhaps, or a human with money on the krogan, not that it made much difference.

  Leng fell. And as he did the krogan rushed forward with the bar stool held high. It crashed down onto the spot where Leng had been seconds before and shattered into a dozen pieces. And it was then, as the krogan began to straighten up, that Leng slashed a leg.

  The laceration wasn’t very deep, but produced a grunt of pain, and a flow of blood. That was the first step in a process that Leng’s instructors called “the death of a thousand cuts.” Their name for the strategy that could be used to cripple a more powerful opponent.

  But the krogan wasn’t stupid. Far from it. Suddenly, as Leng danced around looking for a line of attack, the lizard threw himself forward and rolled across the floor. It happened so quickly that Leng’s feet flew out from under him and he came crashing down.

  The krogan was waiting. He pinned Leng down and powerful fingers wrapped themselves around the human’s throat. As they tightened Leng brought the blade in time after time. The point went deep, but the krogan was determined, and Leng knew he was about to black out when a biotic blow struck both of them at the same time. Kim had weighed in.

  The impact caused the krogan to loosen his grip and that was all Leng required. The knife entered the back of the krogan’s neck, severed his spine, and killed him. The big body jerked convulsively and went limp.

  A mixed chorus of cheers and groans was heard as Leng’s friends moved in to drag the lizard off of him. They were helping him to his feet as a squad of C-Sec officers flooded the bar. Leng was arrested, as were his friends, all of whom were handed over to the Alliance for disciplinary action.

  Leng didn’t take the situation seriously at first. Yes, he knew there would be consequences, but figured he could live with a negative fitness report or a loss of pay.

  So it came as a shock when the Alliance court-martialed Leng, broke him down to private, and sentenced him to twenty years on Misery. And, unlike the others who got off with little more than a written reprimand, Kim went with him. Because she was a biotic, witnesses had seen her raise her hands, and one of them had been hit by the resulting “throw.”

  Kim’s sentence was five years for aiding and abetting. All because the people in charge of the Alliance wanted to appease the freaks.

  * * *

  Leng heard metal rattle and sat up as Kim entered. She was carrying a tray loaded with food and was accompanied by two well-armed biotics. That was when the realization hit him. There was only one way to escape from this prison, and that was with the help of his old friend Cory Kim.

  “Ah,” Leng said lightly, “dinner has arrived. Or is it breakfast?”

  “It’s food,” Kim said curtly. “Which is all you need to know. Bon appetit.”

  There was a clang as the door closed and Leng was left alone again. He went to collect the food. It was cold and nearly tasteless. Still, he needed to consume some calories, and proceeded to do so with machinelike efficiency. In the meantime his brain continued to churn. The Biotic Underground had gone to considerable lengths to take him prisoner. Why? What did they hope to accomplish?

  The Illusive Man would be looking for him. Or would he? “All of us are expendable. But Cerberus must survive.” That’s what the Illusive Man said. So maybe he’d been written off and left to whatever his fate might be. Especially since he had not only failed to complete his mission but allowed himself to be compromised.

  The relationship with Kim went back more than ten years, to the brutal prison on Misery, where every day was a battle to stay alive. There were no cells, no kitchen facility, and no guards. Not inside the thirty-foot-tall electrified fence anyway. No, all of the “tools,” as the prisoners referred to them, were outside. All cozy in their fifty-foot-high observation towers where they could watch the prisoners kill each other off without getting their high-gloss Class-A combat boots dirty.

  Because Hell’s Half Acre, the name given to it by the inmates, was a “self-governing” facility run by the prisoners themselves. All of whom were human. That meant the stronger inmates were in charge, the weak were forced to join gangs in order to survive, and so-called tribes were in a state of perpetual warfare.

  Given his training Leng might have been able to seize control of a tribe and thereby carve out a place for himself as a leader in the prison’s power structure. He had chosen not to. Partly to avoid all of the dangers attendant on such a position, but partly because he had no interest in running things, and preferred to stay in the background.

  And Kim had chosen to pursue the same strategy. So by sticking together they had been able to secure positions in a tribe called The Blades. It controlled a significant chunk of the much-contested shantytown where most of the prisoners lived as well as a large garden that had to be defended night and day lest the other tribes raid or destroy it.

  And that was what they were doing, living together and trying to stay alive, when Leng heard a knock and went to open the door of the hut that Kim and he shared. The man standing in the opening was older rather than younger. Long straggly hair framed a heavily lined face. He was dressed in a homemade cape, bits and pieces of castoff military uniforms, and was wearing a pair of hand-carved clogs on his grimy feet. His staff was about six feet long and functioned as both a weapon and a means of support—since a great deal of Hell’s Half Acre was muddy at that time of year. A wisp of vapor drifted away from the visitor’s mouth as he spoke. “Are you Kai Leng?”