Mass Effect: The Complete Novels 4-Book Bundle (110 page)

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?”

“Yeah.”

“My name is Foster. Mick Foster. I’d like to talk to you.”

Leng was suspicious. And for good reason. He was surrounded by criminals. “About what?”

Foster smiled. His teeth were yellow. “About Cerberus. May I come in? It’s cold out here.”

Leng hesitated for a moment. He had heard about Cerberus. It had once been the code name for a black ops group that had been part of the Systems Alliance but had since gone rogue. According to the rumors the shadowy figure in charge of Cerberus was determined to make sure that humans weren’t pushed aside or overwhelmed by the freaks. Leng stood to one side and gestured for Foster to enter. “Watch your head. The roof is kinda low.”

“Ah, but it keeps the rain off,” Foster said as he stepped down onto packed dirt.

Kim, who had been sitting next to the fire repairing a hoe, looked up. “The name’s Foster,” the man said as he reintroduced himself. “You must be Cory Kim.”

Kim looked surprised. “Do we know each other?”

“Nope,” Foster said. “Not yet. Mind if I sit down?”

“Go ahead,” Leng replied, and pointed to the handcrafted chair where he’d been sitting a minute earlier.

“Ah, that feels good,” Foster said, as he settled into the chair and held a pair of filthy hands out toward the crackling fire. “Home sweet home, eh?”

“Not exactly,” Kim said as she placed the hoe on the floor. “No offense, but what do you want?”

“And none taken,” Foster assured her. “Oh, wait a minute, I have something for each of you … Gifts from Cerberus.” And with that Foster reached under his ratty cape, felt around, and brought out a pair of flick knives. Razor-sharp stainless-steel weapons equipped with five-inch blades. Each knife was worth a fortune inside Hell’s Half Acre and Leng liked the weight of it. But rather than tuck it away he looked Foster in the eye. “There are no gifts. Not in this place. What do you want?”

“You,”
Foster said simply. “Both of you. I’m a recruiter. For Cerberus.”

Kim frowned. “A recruiter?
Here?
”

“Where better? For our purposes at least. There are others such as yourselves. People who were thrown into prison for crimes against things you would expect to see in a zoo.”

Leng looked at the knife and back to Foster. “How did you get these things in here?”

Foster chuckled. “Some of the tools are Cerberus sympathizers. The rest can be bought. Not cheaply mind you, but bought nevertheless. And that brings us back to you two. If you agree to work for Cerberus we will buy your freedom. You could be off Misery in a matter of days.”

Kim wasn’t sure. “Let’s say we agree … What would we be asked to do?”

“The same sort of things you did as a member of the Alliance Marine Corps. Except that every mission you participate in will be dedicated to strengthening
and protecting the human race. The freaks can look out for themselves.”

“I like it,” Leng said. “I’m in.”

Kim paused for a moment and nodded. “Me too.”

Kai Leng was removed from Hell’s Half Acre in order to receive special medical treatment three days later. Shortly thereafter Cory Kim was assigned to a work detail outside the fence and never returned. Cerberus was two people stronger.

The Illusive Man had returned to his home. If the Spartan office on a remote mining world could be described as such. There were a lot of things to work on including a new guerrilla marketing campaign aimed at Alliance-held worlds, the construction of a new space station, and the need to monitor the steady stream of reports from his field agents. And that was what he was doing when Jana entered. “Sorry to interrupt, sir … But there’s a message that you’ll want to see.”

The Illusive Man looked up. “From whom?”

“The Biotic Underground. They have Leng … And they want money.”

The Illusive Man nodded. “Of course they do. But how did they know where to send the message?”

“They didn’t. The message went to half a dozen of our front organizations all of which passed it along.”

“Understood.” There was a momentary flare of light as the Illusive Man lit a cigarette and touched a button. A computer-generated image appeared, shattered, and came back together again. Though human
in appearance the avatar had an androgynous quality. “Greetings,” the messenger said. “I represent the Biotic Underground. We are holding one of your top operatives. A human named Kai Leng.”

At that point the video dissolved to a shot of Leng sitting on a cot in what looked like a cave. The camera was located above him looking down. He seemed to be unaware of it but there was a strong possibility that Leng was ignoring it. The avatar reappeared. “As you can see Leng is unharmed, and he will remain that way, assuming you follow my instructions.”

The Illusive Man said, “Pause,” and turned to Jana. “Were we able to trace this message?”

“It originated on Omega but that’s all the information we have.”

The Illusive Man flicked the ash off his cigarette and said, “Play.”

The holo continued. “We want ten million credits,” the avatar said, “to be paid in the form of Beryllium slugs on Omega. The payment will be delivered by the Illusive Man, and
only
the Illusive Man, so as to ensure that all of our conditions are met.

“We realize that the Illusive Man may be, and probably is, somewhere other than on Omega. With that in mind we will give him three standard days to arrive here. Once he’s in position you will send a message to the contact number that will appear at the end of this holo. Final arrangements will be agreed on at that time. Or, if you would prefer to save the ten million credits, let us know. We’ll shoot Leng and leave his body where your operatives can find it.”

The avatar disappeared at that point and a string of numbers appeared. They seemed to waver as if viewed
from underwater. “We have the number,” Jana said grimly.

“So now we know,” the Illusive Man said, as he stubbed the cigarette out. “They want money.”

“Maybe. It could be a trap.”

“True,” the Illusive Man agreed. “Although an attempt to get money would be consistent with the attack on T’Loak’s bank. They’re building a war chest.”

“There does seem to be a pattern,” Jana agreed.

“So what would
you
do?” the Illusive Man inquired. “Pay the ransom? Or let them kill Leng?”

Such questions were intended to test Jana, and force her to consider complex issues, since she was being groomed to take on more responsibility in the future. Her features hardened slightly. “All of us are expendable.”

The Illusive Man nodded approvingly. “That’s true … And Leng is no exception. He
is
valuable, however. I wouldn’t pay thirty for him, or twenty for that matter, but
ten
? Given all that he has accomplished, and may accomplish in the future, ten is a reasonable price.”

Jana stood her ground. “What you say makes sense in many respects. But doesn’t this situation call Leng’s competence into question? He was taken prisoner by a third-rate group of biotic whackos.”

The Illusive Man smiled. “You’re tough, Jana. I like that. But consider this … Leng has no way to know if we’ll pay the ransom or not. So he’s sitting in that cave cursing his own stupidity. And if we pay he’ll be grateful and determined to avoid making the same mistake again. Loyalty is a very valuable thing.”