But the match was far from over as became apparent when the salarian’s turian opponent was “lifted” off the cushioned floor and brought back down with considerable force. “Five, four,” the voice proclaimed. “Advantage Atilus.”

  “I don’t see Nick,” Kahlee said, as she peered over the edge. At least a dozen biotics were down on the main floor sitting or standing along the walls. Some of them clapped as the point was scored, but were forced to scatter when the turian took his revenge, and the salarian came flying their way. “I think the office is in the basement,” Kahlee added. “Let’s see if he checked in.”

  Having made their way down to the main floor, and from there to the basement, the pair found themselves in a dimly lit office. A roly-poly volus was ensconced behind a messy desk. “Earth-clan biotics are welcome here. One membership or two?”

  “None,” Kahlee answered. “We’re trying to locate our son, Nick Donahue. Has he been here today?”

  The volus turned to his terminal, entered the name, and turned back. “No, he hasn’t. You could extend his membership though. Two hundred and fifty credits for six months.”

  “Thanks, but no thanks,” Anderson said firmly. “Tell me something … Does our son have friends here? People he tends to hang out with?”

  The volus shrugged. “I don’t have time to track personal relationships. But I have seen your son with Ocosta Lem and Arrius Sallus. They work out together.”

  “Who are they?” Kahlee wanted to know.

  “Lem is a salarian, and Sallus is a turian. Both are listed as Level Threes.”

  “Have they been in today?”

  The volus consulted the terminal. “No.”

  “Where do they live?” Anderson inquired. “We’d like to speak with them.”

  The volus hesitated as if reluctant to part with the information, but when Anderson placed both fists on the desk and frowned, the volus complied. Three minutes later the humans were back on the street. Kahlee eyed the slip of paper. “Lem and Sallus share the same address.”

  Anderson didn’t like that. Not one little bit. But he decided to keep his concerns to himself as they dropped two levels down and made their way through increasingly claustrophobic streets lined with bars, strip joints, and sim clubs. Some of the people who swirled around them watched the couple the way predators eye their prey. But appearances were everything. And thanks to the fact that Anderson and Kahlee looked like they knew what they were doing they were allowed to pass unimpeded.

  “Here it is,” Kahlee said as they arrived in front of a seedy-looking structure. The sign out front read SUNSU ELECTRONICS. A commercial building seemed like an unlikely place for the biotics to live.

  Anderson opened the door and they went inside. A middle-aged woman was seated behind the front desk. She smiled. “Can I help you?”

  “Yes,” Kahlee replied. “We’re looking for Ocosta Lem and Arrius Sallus. We were told they live here.”

  The receptionist frowned. “There must be some mistake. Nobody lives here. Other than the duct rats that is … and they don’t have names.”

  “You’re sure?”

  The woman nodded. “I’m sure. There are three employees and we all go home at night.”

  They thanked her and left. The moment Kahlee was outside she made another call and got the same result. Nick was missing.

  TWO

  SOMEWHERE IN THE CRESCENT NEBULA

  The Illusive Man was seated in front of an oval portal that looked out onto the frozen wastes of a planet in the Crescent Nebula. He could see the ruins of an abandoned mining operation in the foreground and a line of jagged peaks in the distance. It was a miserable place, but one that would help ensure his privacy, which was very important to him. A tone sounded and a female voice said, “Kai Leng is here to see you.”

  The Illusive Man turned toward the door. “Send him in.”

  The hatch hissed open and Kai Leng appeared. The operative had proved himself many times and was a very important part of the Cerberus operation. He had black hair and brown eyes that harkened back to his Chinese ancestry. But the shape of his face and the color of his skin hinted at what might have been some Slavic DNA as well. The guest chair sighed as he sat down. “You sent for me?”

  “Yes,” the Illusive Man said, as he removed a silver cigarette case from the surface of the metal desk. “We need to talk.” The head of Cerberus selected a cigarette, set fire to it, and took a deep drag. He liked the process, the taste, and the feel of nicotine entering his bloodstream. Words mingled with smoke. “A call came in a few minutes ago. From an operative on the Citadel. It seems that Paul Grayson has been testifying against us.”

  Leng’s eyebrows rose. “I find that hard to believe. I put two projectiles in his head.”

  “Yes, you did,” the Illusive Man agreed, as he flicked ash into a tray made of black oynx. “But you may recall that we were forced to leave Grayson’s body behind as we fled the space station. That allowed David Anderson and Kahlee Sanders to preserve the corpse and use it as part of a presentation to the Citadel Council. And in spite of Anderson and Sanders’s efforts to warn the Council members about the Reapers, they blame Cerberus for what took place. I don’t like that. Our credibility is at stake.”

  Another operative might have said something unnecessary at that point. But not Leng. He just sat there, his face empty of expression, waiting. The Illusive Man liked that. He took another drag and let the smoke emerge with the words. “And there’s something else too. The Council gave Anderson and Sanders permission to continue their investigation. So I want you to go to the Citadel, keep an eye on them, and retrieve Grayson’s body.”

  Leng stood. “Is that all?”

  “Yes.”

  The Illusive Man waited until Leng had left before touching a button. A beautiful brunette arrived one minute later. She was wearing a nicely cut jacket, miniskirt, and knee-high boots. A bottle of Jim Beam Black and a single glass were sitting on the tray, which she placed on his desk. Then, having poured three fingers of the amber liquid into a glass, she left.

  The Illusive Man watched her go before picking up the glass and turning toward the portal. The icescape was like the universe itself. Cold and inimical to human life. But the race will survive, the Illusive Man thought to himself, no matter the cost.

  ABOARD THE SLAVE SHIP GLORY OF KHAR’SHAN

  The Glory of Khar’shan was more than a hundred years old and not especially pretty to look at. But her hull was sound, her drives were practically new, and she was well-armed. That was important in a galaxy where slavery was frowned on and ships like the Khar’shan were targeted by governments and pirates alike. But the Khar’shan’s virtues were lost on Hal McCann and the other one hundred and thirty-two beings crammed into her stinking hold.

  It was a gloomy place; what little light there was emanated from a row of disks that ran the length of the compartment. Curved supports gave the impression of ribs, so that from McCann’s position it looked like he was imprisoned inside an enormous beast. The way condensation oozed down rust-stained walls, and the unrelenting stench of unwashed bodies, added to that impression, as did the intermittent rumbling noises which the plumbing produced just prior to a “wet down.” The wet down consisted of a monsoon-like rainstorm that was supposed to cleanse the slaves and flush their waste materials into the ship’s recycling system. So, as one of his fellow slaves put it, “We can drink our own piss.”

  But what was—was. All McCann could do was try to carry out a regimen of isometric exercise, fantasize about regaining his freedom, and doze. And that’s what he was doing when a batarian backhanded him across the face. “Wake up, Cerberus scum! Or would you like to lose your feet?”

  McCann swore and brought his head back around. The batarian was humanoid, if it was possible to refer to something with four eyes, eight nostrils, and bulging cheeks as “human.” “Screw you, four eyes,” McCann said, “and your motherless caste.”

  That earned McCann another blow as machinery whined and a formfitting cage was lowered over each slave—all of whom had to sit up straight and pull their feet back to avoid injury. The restraint system was designed to allow the slave masters to isolate and control troublesome individuals, and to protect them if the ship was forced to execute high-gee maneuvers. So McCann knew the batarians were preparing for one of those possibilities. But which one?

  The answer came as a tone sounded and a voice was heard over the intercom. “This is the captain. Secure the ship for battle. All crew members will report to their battle stations. Primary weapons are armed. Secondary weapons are armed. Tertiary weapons are armed. Estimated time to contact forty-seven minutes. That will be all.”

  Now the slaves knew more. But some critical pieces of information were still missing. Were the batarians about to be attacked? Or about to attack someone else? And if so, what were they after? There was no way to know. A woman started to pray, a turian told her to shut up, and McCann found himself in the strange position of hoping that his captors would win the upcoming battle. Because if they lost, and the Khar’shan was destroyed, his life would be over.

  ABOARD THE QUARIAN SHIP IDENNA

  Gillian Grayson was on duty when the alarms went off. Drills were a common occurrence aboard the Idenna, so she assumed that Captain Ysin’Mal Vas Idenna was putting the crew through yet another simulated emergency, until he spoke over the intercom. “This is not a drill. I repeat … This is not a drill. What may be a pirate or a slaver is closing with us and, based on our preliminary sensor readings, will make contact in about forty-two minutes. All adult personnel will report to their battle stations—and all minors will enter the Creche. Keelah se’lai.” (As our ancestors will it.)

  At eighteen Gillian qualified as an adult, although her status as one of only two humans on board put her in a slightly different class, as did the fact that she was a Level 3 biotic. Which was to say the only Level 3 on the Idenna. And that was why she’d been assigned to the ship’s boarding party along with her tutor and guardian Hendel Mitra, who had been both an Alliance soldier and security chief for the Ascension Project. It was an important assignment because the boarding party would play a critical role in defending the ship should they make hull-to-hull contact with their attackers.

  And that was the thing about both pirates and slavers. In order to profit they had to board and take over. There was no profit to be made by destroying their prey. Only geth raiders would do something like that. So Gillian rushed to don the human-style kinetic armor that the quarians had given her. It was orange, and included a sleek almost quarian-like helmet and visor combination, plus a tight-fitting torso protector. After donning a sculpted air pack Gillian was ready to fight in a vacuum if need be. Just like the quarians who swarmed all around her. They were accustomed to the human by then. So much so that they had given her the name Gillian Nar Idenna—Gillian, Child of the Ship Idenna.

  With the armor in place it was time to remove the human-manufactured Hahne-Kedar pistol and holster rig from her locker and buckle it on. Hendel had arrived by then and stood head and shoulders above the quarians around him. His armor was white with black markings, and his personal arsenal consisted of a Sokolov shotgun and Hahne-Kedar pistol. He smiled grimly. “What were you thinking? Orange isn’t your color.”

  “I think they wanted to see me coming.”

  Hendel laughed. The sound was muffled as he pulled the helmet over his head. It was, Gillian reflected, a very different type of conversation from the adult-child interactions so typical back at the Grissom Academy. She had been a very unstable twelve-year-old when they first met. Now, some six years later and thousands of light-years away, the relationship had matured. It had been difficult for Hendel, but bit by bit he’d been able to evolve away from stern authority figure to something more akin to a wise uncle. And she had grown as well, both as a person and a biotic, although she still had a tendency to lose her temper. But so did he.

  A male named Ugho was in charge of the boarding party. He completed a quick head count, said “Follow me” and led the team out into the main corridor. From there it was necessary to pass through the equivalent of what would have been the crew deck on an Alliance warship. But rather than the usual galley, sleep pods, and medical bay the space had been divided into cubicles. They were arranged in groups of six, separated by half-walls, and accessed through openings that were normally sealed off with colorful curtains. The fabric partitions had been pulled to one side and secured lest they slow the ship’s damage control parties.

  Then the group dropped to what the quarians referred to as the “trading deck.” It was lined with lockers, one for each member of the crew, where they could store items they weren’t using but were willing to share with others. A “take what you need” system that served to put goods in the hands of those who needed them and was consistent with the limited amount of space on a ship like the Idenna. Like the living spaces located higher up, the trading deck was clear and the lockers were closed.

  “Okay,” Ugho said, as the boarding party came to a stop in front of the main hatch. “You know the drill. If the ancestorless scum try to take control of the ship it will be through this lock. The rest are too small for more than two people at a time to pass through. Our juveniles could handle that. So get to work on those barriers. They won’t move themselves. Gillian, we need to chat.”

  The barriers were a little over one meter tall, about two meters long, and ninety centimeters thick. They were mounted on rollers so they could be moved easily and were equipped with hooks that slotted into the decking. Once in place they would channel the boarders and provide the defenders with much needed cover. There was a loud rumbling noise as the barriers were moved onto the outlines already spray-painted onto the deck.

  Ugho wasn’t known for his sociability, so Gillian knew that rather than a “chat” she was about to receive some orders. It was impossible to see Ugho’s face through the reflective visor, and Gillian was equipped with one as well, so there was no such thing as eye contact. His voice was flat and matter-of-fact. “The captain will try to destroy the enemy before they can close with us. That’s our advantage. We can use our primary armament and they can’t if they want to capture the ship intact.

  “But if they manage to come alongside, and blow the lock, we’ll have to hold them off until reinforcements arrive. You humans are the only biotics we have and your skills could make a critical difference. Especially if we can take them by surprise. So stay back, conserve your energy, and wait for my order. Got it?”

  Gillian could tell that Ugho was worried and felt the weight of some very adult responsibilities settle onto her shoulders. Could she do it? Was she good enough to make a difference? There was a hollow place where her stomach should have been. She nodded. “Got it.”

  “Good. Let’s get to work.”

  ABOARD THE SLAVE SHIP GLORY OF KHAR’SHAN

  Captain Adar Adroni sat at the center of the Khar’shan’s U-shaped control center with his first officer to the left of his thronelike command chair and the navigator on the right. A curved screen was situated in front of them. On it they could see a computer-generated display that included images for all of the local planets, an icon that represented the ship they were pursuing, and lines of data that scrolled down both sides of the monitor.

  The Khar’shan had been on its way to deliver a load of slaves to a mining operation when a host of alarms sounded. The whole thing was a matter of luck really. Good luck for Adroni and bad luck for the gas-sucking quarians.

  So thanks to his good fortune Adroni was about to pick up a substantial bonus. Quarian slaves were especially sought after due to their sophisticated tech skills, and their ship had value as well. Adroni’s thoughts were interrupted as the first officer spoke in his ear. “Two disruptor torpedoes are coming our way, Captain. ETA one minute and twenty-two seconds.”

  Adroni nodded. “Fire four interceptors. Two apiece. That should take care of it.”

  And he was correct. Both of the incoming missiles were destroyed in a pair of overlapping explosions. Then, as the range began to close even more, the quarian vessel turned on the batarians and opened fire with two magnetic accelerator cannons. They were very dangerous weapons, especially at close range, and the devastating projectiles they put out couldn’t be intercepted by a missile. So all the batarians could do was take the punishment as the distance between the combatants continued to close.

  But Adroni’s ship was equipped to deal with such situations. The Khar’shan was powered by a standard Tantalus Drive Core and equipped with H-fuel cells that could deliver the extra power required to stop the hail of incoming projectiles.

  Still the onslaught put the batarian barriers to the test as a shield went down exposing the ablative armor beneath. The incoming shells were busy chewing their way through that layer of protection when Adroni gave the order the weapons officer had been waiting for. “Fire the drive killers.”

  Drive killers were very specialized weapons designed to shut down but not destroy a ship’s propulsion system. In order to make good use of such weapons it was necessary to get in close lest those in the other ship have time to intercept and destroy the small missiles. But that requirement had already been satisfied and Adroni uttered a grunt of satisfaction as one of two drive killers made it through the incoming fire and hit the other ship’s hull. Not just anywhere, but at a location intended to sever the connection between the engine’s drive core, and the rest of the ship. The damage could be repaired but it would take time—and the gas suckers would have to rely on backup power until then. “Close with them,” Adroni ordered, as the fugitive ship lost power. “And send the boarding party. There is work to be done.”

  ABOARD THE QUARIAN SHIP IDENNA