Grayson staggered into his living room. He was wearing only his housecoat, with nothing on beneath. His head was still floating from the lingering effects of the red sand he'd taken last night, but when he tried to make the pen on the coffee table dance it just sat there motionless, mocking him.
You're coming down. Cant even move a pen. You'll be sober in another hour if you aren't careful.
He wanted another hit, but instead he forced himself to check for incoming messages. He wasn't surprised to see that Grissom Academy had tried to contact him yet again while he was sleeping.
Or maybe you were so stoned you just didn't hear the call.
This was the fourth time they'd called. He didn't want to listen to the message; the first three had all been about the same thing. Something had happened to Gillian, some kind of accident in the cafeteria. Something to do with her biotics.
The news hadn't come as a surprise. He'd been expecting something like this ever since Pel had shown up with the new dosage. The Illusive Man was patient, but Cerberus had poured too much time and too many resources into Gillian with too few results. The new drugs were evidence that they were escalating the program. Someone had made the decision to push the envelope, to test his daughter's limits in the hopes of forcing a breakthrough. It was inevitable something would happen, good or bad.
You're pathetic. You knew this could harm her, but you went along with it anyway.
He'd accepted the decision because he believed in Cerberus. He believed in what they stood for. He knew there were risks, but he also knew that Gillian might be critical to the long-term survival of the race. The ability to unlock new and amazing biotic potential could be the advantage humans needed to rise above the other species.
Risks had to be taken. Sacrifices had to be made. The Illusive Man understood this better than anyone, which was why Grayson had followed his orders without question. This morning, however, he couldn't help but wonder if that made him a patriot, or just a coward.
That all depends on who gets to write the history books, doesn't it?
He made his way over to the vid screen on the far wall, then reached down and pressed the button to activate the message playback.
"Mr. Grayson? This is Dr. Kahlee Sanders from the Grissom Academy."
By default he had video conferencing capabilities disabled; he preferred the privacy of audio-only communications. But even without visual cues, he could tell from her tone something else had happened. Something bad.
"I'm not sure exactly how to tell you this, Mr. Grayson. Gillian was in the hospital, recovering from her episode in the cafeteria when. . well, we think there may have been an attempt on her life. We think Dr. Toshiwa tried to kill her.
"She's alive," Kahlee's voice quickly added. "Hen-del got to her in time. She had a seizure, but she's okay now. We're keeping her under medical observation. Please, Mr. Grayson, contact the Academy as soon as you get this message."
The recording ended with a click. Grayson didn't move or react, but merely stood frozen in place as his mind tried to wrap itself around the implications of her words. We think Dr. Toshiwa tried to kill her.
Jiro's only contact with Cerberus was through Grayson; they had no way of reaching him directly. . at least, none that he knew of. This was standard operating procedure: fewer operatives with direct access meant less chance of a security breach. And if one of their own people compromised the mission it was easier for Cerberus to figure out who the traitor was.
Jiro's not dumb enough to turn on the Illusive Man. And even if he did, trying to kill Gillian doesn't make any sense.
There was another possible explanation: the new medication. If it had caused the seizure, and if they caught Jiro giving it to her, then they might think he was trying to kill her. But did that mean they had Jiro in custody now? And if they did, how much had he already told them?
He pushed the button to play the recording again.
"Mr. Grayson? This is Dr. Kahlee Sanders from the Grissom Academy. I'm not sure exactly how to tell you this, Mr. Grayson. Gillian was in the hospital, recovering from her episode in the cafeteria when. . well, we think there may have been an attempt on her life. We think Dr. Toshiwa tried to kill her.
"She's alive. Hendel got to her in time. She had a seizure, but she's okay now. We're keeping her under medical observation. Please, Mr. Grayson, contact the Academy as soon as you get this message."
All the other calls had come from the security chief. He didn't know if it was significant that this one was made by someone else.
Did Jiro rat you out? Are they setting a trap? Trying to lure you in?
He couldn't put it off any longer; he had to make the call. And this time he'd need to reactivate visual communication. He made a quick scan of the room to verify he hadn't left a needle or a baggie of red sand in view of the vid screen. Then he checked himself in the mirror — he looked tired and disheveled, his eyes bloodshot. But if he sat in the chair on the far side of the room it shouldn't be noticeable. At least, that's what he hoped.
With everything in position he sat down and placed the call. A few seconds later the image of the Illusive Man appeared, filling the vid screen. He had a face born for the screen: his silver gray hair was cut short, framing and accentuating his perfectly symmetrical features, which were highlighted by the sharp line of his clean-shaven jaw and a perfectly proportioned nose.
"Grayson," he said by way of greeting, his voice smooth. If he wondered about the fact that Grayson was sitting on the far side of the room for the call, rather than the customary six to ten feet away from the screen, he didn't show it.
"Something's happened with Gillian," Grayson said, studying the Illusive Man's reaction carefully. Is this new information? Is he surprised, or does he already know? Of course the Illusive Man's steely-blue eyes gave nothing away; his face was an emotionless, unreadable mask.
"Is she all right?" he asked, his voice showing just the slightest hint of concern, though that could have been for Grayson's benefit. It was possible he already knew everything that had happened.
"She had a seizure. The new medication was too much for her."
"Is that what Jiro said?" His face showed just enough care and worry to make the question not seem callous. Again, Grayson wasn't sure if it was an act.
"The Academy called to tell me. Jiro's been compromised."
There was a flicker of emotion across the Illusive Man's face, but it was gone too quickly for Grayson to identify it. Anger? Surprise? Disappointment?
"How much has he told them?"
"I don't know. The message came in last night. I called you as soon as I heard it."
"We need to play this out," the Illusive Man told him after a moment's consideration. "Assume he hasn't blown your cover yet."
It was a reasonable assumption. Jiro was new to Cerberus — they'd only recruited him a few years ago — but he understood how things worked. Two things would help ensure his silence, for a while at least: his loyalty to their cause, and his fear of the Illusive Man's retribution.
It was inevitable he'd tell them something — sooner or later the Alliance would break him. But the longer he could hold out, the more time he gave for someone to clean up the mess. If he held out long enough for the mission to be salvaged then he didn't have to worry about Cerberus coming after him to extract its revenge. As long as he kept his mouth shut, he could even cling to the hope that the Illusive Man might send someone to rescue him. It had happened with key operatives in the past, though Grayson figured Jiro would ultimately be deemed expendable.
"Contact the Academy," the Illusive Man instructed him. "Tell them you're coming to take Gillian out of the program. We've gotten everything we can from the Ascension Project. It's time we took direct control of her training."
"Yes, sir." He'd hesitated only a split second before answering, but this was enough for the Illusive Man to pick up on it.
"What happened at the Academy was an accident. A mistake," he said, his face morphing into an expression of sincere apology and regret. "We don't want Gillian to get hurt. She's too valuable. Too important. We care what happens to her."
Grayson didn't answer right away. "I know," he finally replied.
"We always feared there could be side effects with the new treatment, but we didn't think anything like this would happen," the Illusive Man continued to explain. "Monitoring her from a distance, analyzing all the results after the fact… it increases the risks of something going wrong. Once you bring her in, we'll keep her under constant observation. We can be more cautious with our tests. Bring her along slowly."
He was saying all the right things, of course. And Grayson knew there was at least some element of truth in his words.
He's just telling you what you want to hear! He's playing you!
"I give you my word this won't happen again," the Illusive Man vowed.
Grayson wanted to believe him. He needed to believe him. Because if he didn't, what options were left? If he didn't turn Gillian over to Cerberus, if he tried to take her and run, they'd find him. And even if they somehow managed to stay hidden, what then?
Gillian needed order and routine to function. He couldn't even imagine how she would cope if she had to live the life of a fugitive, constantly fleeing from one location to another in an effort to stay one step ahead of their pursuers. And what would happen as her power continued to grow? Could she ever learn to control her abilities? Or would she always be some kind of biotic time bomb, waiting to go off?
"I know Gillian is different," the Illusive Man added, as if he was reading Grayson's thoughts. "I don't know if we can cure her condition, but the more we learn about it the more we can help. We won't turn our backs on her. She means too much to us. To me."
"I'll call the Academy," Grayson answered, "and tell them I'm on my way."
Gillian needs expert help, Cerberus understands her condition better than anyone. This is what she needs.
You re rationalizing, a bitter voice from the dark corner of his mind chimed in. Just admit the truth. What the Illusive Man wants, the Illusive Man gets.
The bag Pel was carrying was heavy; he kept switching it from hand to hand but he couldn't deny his arms were beginning to get sore. Fortunately, he was only a block away from the small two-story warehouse Cerberus was using for their base of operations on Omega. It was conveniently located along the edges of a small, unregulated spaceport in a district controlled by the Talons, a predominantly turian mercenary band.
On principle Pel didn't like dealing with any non-human group, but the Talons were one of the best options for freelancers looking to gain a foothold on Omega. The warehouse was in a prime location: their proximity to the spaceport allowed small ships to come and go without drawing undue attention, and they were within walking distance of a monorail linked to several other sections of the city. The Talons charged high rates for rent and protection, but they didn't ask any questions or stick their beaks in where they didn't belong. They were also one of the few factions strong enough to keep a firm hold on their territory, reducing the chances of riots or uprisings that sometimes swept through Omega's less stable districts.
Although the district was officially classified as turian, there was a smattering of other species on the streets as well. A pair of batarians walked toward and past him, casting a wary glance at the hated human and the bag he was carrying. A single hanar floated up from behind and brushed by his shoulder, moving quickly. He instinctively shied away from its long, trailing tentacles. There were even a handful of humans scattered about, though none of them worked for Cerberus. The five men and three women assigned to Pel's team tended to stay inside the warehouse; especially now that they had a prisoner to interrogate.
He was only a few feet from the door to the warehouse when a familiar figure stepped out of the shadows.
"What's in the bag, friend?" Golo asked.
"How did you find this place?" Pel demanded, setting the bag down and letting his hand rest casually on his hip, just above his pistol.
"I have been keeping tabs on you," the quarian admitted. "It wasn't all that hard to discover this location." He didn't know if quarians smirked, but Pel imagined a smug look on the alien's face beneath his visor.
He wasn't really that concerned; Golo didn't pose much of a threat to what they were doing. But he didn't like being spied on. Especially not by the alien equivalent of a gypsy-thief.
"Why are you here?"
"I have another business proposal for you," Golo replied.
Pel grimaced. "I'm still pissed off about the last deal we cut with you," he told him. "That pilot we captured on the quarian ship isn't giving us the codes we need."
"You have to understand the culture of the Migrant Fleet," Golo explained. "Quarians are reviled by almost every other race. They can only rely on each other to survive. Children learn at a young age to value family and community, and loyalty to your home ship is prized above all else."
"No wonder they kicked you out."
Pel couldn't tell if his jab stung or not; the quarian's reaction was hidden behind his mask. When he spoke, he continued on as if he hadn't heard the insult.
"I'm surprised you haven't been able to pry the information out of him. I assumed you would be well versed in getting prisoners to talk."
"Torture's not much good if your subject is delusional and hallucinating," Pel answered, a little more defensive than he intended.
"He caught some kind of virus or something. Now he's mad with fever," he continued, his voice becoming dark and dangerous. "Probably happened when you cracked his mask."
"Allow me to make amends," Golo replied, un-fazed. "This new offer is one I don't think you'll want to turn down. Perhaps we can go inside and talk?"
"No chance," Pel shot back. "Wait here. I'll be back in five minutes."
He picked up the bag again, then stared pointedly at the quarian until he turned away. Once he was sure the alien wasn't looking, he punched in the access code for the door and stepped inside.
It was actually closer to ten minutes when he reemerged, but Golo was still waiting for him. Pel was half hoping he would have grown frustrated and left.
"I'm still curious, friend," the quarian said by way of greeting. "What was in the bag?"
"None of your business. And we're not friends."
In actuality, the bag had contained nothing more than ordinary groceries. There was a full stock of rations and emergency supplies inside the base, and while they were nutritionally adequate for survival, they were bland and tasteless. Fortunately, Pel had discovered a shop in a nearby district that stocked traditional human cuisine. Every three days he took the monorail to the store and bought enough food to keep his team well fed and happy. It wasn't cheap, but it was an expense he had no trouble justifying to Cerberus. Humans deserved real human food, not some processed alien mishmash.
There was no harm in sharing this information with the quarian, of course, but Pel wanted to keep their relationship adversarial. It was to his advantage if Golo wasn't sure where he stood.
"You said you had some kind of proposal," he prompted.
Golo looked around, clearly nervous. "Not here. Somewhere private."
"What about that gambling hall you took me to last time? Fortune's Den?"
The quarian shook his head. "That particular district is currently under an ownership dispute. The batarians are trying to push the volus out. Too many shootings and bombings for my taste."
Par for the damn course, Pel thought to himself. "Violence is inevitable when different species try to live side by side," he said aloud, spouting a common Cerberus axiom. If the Alliance could ever figure that out we wouldn't need someone like the Illusive Man to watch out for us.
"This opportunity is quite tempting," Golo assured him. "Once you hear the terms I'm sure you'll be interested."
Pel just crossed his meaty arms and stared at the quarian, waiting.
"It involves the Collectors," Golo whispered, leaning in slightly.
After a long pause, Pel sighed and turned back to the warehouse door. "All right. Let's go inside.'*