Mass Effect: The Complete Novels 4-Book Bundle (45 page)

“What’s going on over there?” she asked.

“Essential items, such as food or medicine, are stored separately,” Seeto explained. “We need to keep track of our reserves to make sure we always have enough for everyone in the colony.”

“What happens when the reserves run low?” Hendel asked.

“If we manage them carefully, they never will,” Seeto replied. “Weekly shipments arrive from the Liveships to provide for our basic needs. And specific or luxury items are acquired by the scout ships we send out to explore the worlds of the systems we pass through, or through trading with other vessels in the Fleet.”

They boarded the elevator and began to ascend, leaving the trading deck behind them. When they reached the next level the elevator door opened, and Kahlee’s jaw dropped at the sight before her.

They were on what would have been the crew deck of an Alliance cruiser. But instead of the expected mess hall, sleeper pods, medical bay, or rec room, she got her first good look at how the vast majority of quarians lived.

Most of the interior walls of the deck had been torn out to maximize the use of space. Replacing them was a massive grid of cubicles, arranged in groups of six: three running fore and aft along the ship’s deck by two running port to starboard. Each individual cubicle was maybe a dozen feet on a side, with three walls fashioned from steel plates that ran three quarters of the way up to the ceiling. The fourth side, the one facing out toward the aisles that crisscrossed fore to aft and port to starboard between each group of cubicles, was open, though most had heavy sheets of bright, multicolored cloth hanging down from the ceiling like curtains to cover the opening. The noise that had been absent from the markets seemed to have migrated here, a general din of sound and voices that rose up from each cubicle.

“This is the deck where I live,” Seeto told them proudly as Isli led them down one of the aisles running through the center of the cubicle grid. As on the trading deck, the lanes running in both directions were crowded with people. These individuals moved with more purpose than the idly browsing shoppers, though they were still unfailingly courteous in making way for others.

As they passed cubicle after cubicle, Kahlee wondered if the colors and intricate designs sewn onto the cloth curtains that served as the doors had any significance, such as identifying individuals from a specific clan or family. She tried to look for signs of common or repeating patterns in the artwork that might hint at meaning, but if it was there it eluded her.

Many of the cloth curtains were only partially drawn, and Kahlee couldn’t resist the urge to glance from side to side at each cubicle as they passed, catching occasional glimpses of ordinary quarians living their everyday lives. Some were cooking on small electric stoves, others were tidying up their cubicles. Others were playing cards or other games, or watching personal vid screens. Some were gathered in small groups, sitting on the floor while they visited a friend’s or relative’s space. A few were even sleeping. All of them were wearing their enviro-suits.

“Are they wearing their suits because of us?” Hendel wondered.

Seeto shook his head. “We rarely take off our enviro-suits, except in the most private settings or intimate encounters.”

“We work hard to maintain our ships,” Isli added from up ahead, “but the chance of a hull breach or engine leak, remote though it may be, is something we must be constantly and acutely aware of.”

On the surface her explanation made sense, but Kahlee suspected there was more to it. Hull breaches and engine leaks would indeed be extremely rare, even in older, run-down vessels. And simple air-quality monitors, combined with element zero detectors, could alert people on board to don their suits in the event of an emergency long before any serious harm was done to them.

It was quite likely wearing the enviro-suits had become a deeply ingrained tradition, a custom born from the inescapable lack of privacy on the overpopulated ships. The masks and layers of material could very well be a physical, emotional, and psychological buffer in a society where solitude was virtually impossible to find.

“How do you go to the bathroom?” Gillian asked, much to Kahlee’s surprise. She had expected the girl to withdraw into herself in an effort to escape the crowds and overabundance of noise in the unfamiliar surroundings.

Maybe she’s getting some kind of psychological privacy from her mask and enviro-suit, too.

“We have bathrooms and showers in the lower decks,” Seeto explained, in answer to Gillian’s query. “The room is sealed and sterile. It is one of the few places we feel comfortable removing our enviro-suits.”

“What about when you’re not on a quarian ship?” Gillian wanted to know.

“Our suits are equipped to store several days worth of waste in sealed compartments between the inner and outer layer. The suit can then be flushed, discharging the waste into any common sanitation facility—like the toilet on your shuttle—without exposing the wearer to outside contaminants.”

Seeto suddenly darted up ahead and pulled back the curtain on one of the cubicles. “This is my living quarter,” he said excitedly, ushering them over.

Peering inside Kahlee saw a cluttered but tidy little room. A sleeping mat was rolled up in one corner. A small cooking stove, a personal vid screen, and a computer rested against one of the side walls. Several swatches of bright orange cloth hung on the walls, the color matching the curtain that was used to block the open entrance.

“You live here alone?” Kahlee asked, and Seeto laughed again at the foolishness of humans.

“I share this space with my mother and father. My sister lived here for many years, too, until she left on her Pilgrimage. Now she is with the crew of the
Rayya.
”

“Where are your parents now?” Gillian asked, and Kahlee thought she heard a hint of longing in her voice.

“My father works on the upper decks as a navigator. My mother is usually part of the civilian Council that advises Captain Mal, but this week she is volunteering on the Liveships. She will be back in two more days.”

“What about all the orange cloth hanging from the walls,” Kahlee asked, changing the topic away from missing parents. “Does it mean anything?”

“It means my mother likes the color orange,” Seeto chuckled, letting the curtain fall back into place as they continued on their way.

They made their way through the remaining cubicles until they reached another elevator.

“I will escort the humans alone from here,” Isli informed Seeto and Ugho. “You two go report back for normal work detail.”

“I’m afraid this is where we part company,” Seeto said with a courteous nod. “I hope we shall see each other again soon.”

Ugho nodded, too, but didn’t bother to speak.

The elevator opened and they followed Isli aboard. The doors closed and it whisked them up to the bridge. As they stepped off, Kahlee was surprised to see several more cubicles built along one side of the hall running from the elevator. Apparently space was so valuable that even here, only a few dozen feet from the bridge itself, every available inch was used.

“Those are the captain’s quarters,” Isli pointed out as they walked past one of the cubicles toward the bridge, filling the role of tour guide now that Seeto was no longer with them. The blue and green curtain was completely drawn, blocking any view inside. But based on the width of the corridor and the two steel plates that formed the side walls, Kahlee estimated the captain’s room was the same size as every other.

When they arrived on the actual bridge Kahlee noted with some surprise that this was the one place the ship didn’t seem unusually crowded. There were still a lot of bodies crammed into a small area—a helmsman, two navigators, a comm operator, and various other crew—but the same could be said of any Alliance vessel. The captain was seated in a chair in the center of the bridge and Lemm, his injured leg still encased in the protective boot, stood just behind him. The captain rose and approached as they entered, while Lemm clumped along behind him.

“Captain Ysin’Mal vas Idenna,” Lemm said, making the introductions, “allow me to present Kahlee Sanders, and her companions Hendel Mitra and Gillian Grayson.”

“You and your friends are welcome aboard the
Idenna,
” the captain said, extending his hand to each of them in turn. Once again, Gillian didn’t flinch or shy away from the contact, though she didn’t find the courage to speak this time.

It has to be the enviro-suits,
Kahlee thought.

Captain Mal looked, to Kahlee’s eye, exactly like every other male quarian she had met. She knew her observation was more than just interspecies bias. Even accounting for the fact that many of the physical differences were obscured by their environmental suits, it was a safe generalization to say that quarians all tended to look pretty much the same. They were of an almost uniformly similar size and build, with far less variety than what was found in humans.

Apart from Lemm, who was easy to identify because of his boot, she had learned to rely on specific subtle differences in their clothing to tell the quarians apart. For example, Seeto had a small but noticeable discoloration on the left shoulder of his enviro-suit, as if it had been rubbed or worn at constantly over many months. However, if Hendel and Grayson were both wearing enviro-suits, it would have been easy to tell them apart without relying on similar tricks—Hendel was half a foot taller and seventy pounds heavier than Gillian’s father. That same degree of variance simply didn’t exist in the quarian population.

It’s like that with all the other races,
Kahlee thought to herself.
For some reason, humans just have more genetic diversity than the rest of the galaxy.
She hadn’t really noticed it before, not consciously, but here on the bridge of the
Idenna
it seemed to strike home.

It’s happening to us, too,
she realized as Hendel shook the captain’s hand. The big man’s mix of Nordic and Indian ancestry was the norm on Earth now, and the inevitable genetic by-product was a more physically homogeneous population. In the twenty-second century, blond hair like hers was a rarity, and naturally blue eyes were nonexistent.
But with hair dye, skin toning, and colored contact lenses, who really cares?

“I extend to each of you the warm welcome of my ship and her crew,” the captain was saying, causing Kahlee to snap her mind back to the present. “It is an honor to meet you.”

“The honor is ours, Captain Mal,” Kahlee replied. “You have taken us in when we had nowhere else to go.”

“We are wanderers ourselves,” the captain replied. “We have found safety and community here in the Migrant Fleet, and I offer that safety to you now, as well.”

“Thank you, sir,” Kahlee replied.

The captain bowed his head in acknowledgment of her gratitude, then reached out and placed a hand on her shoulder, drawing in close so he could speak to her in a tone so soft she could barely hear it through the voice modulator of his mask.

“Unfortunately, the safety of the Migrant Fleet is a false one,” he whispered.

Kahlee was caught off-guard by the cryptic warning, too surprised to give a reply. Fortunately, he didn’t seem to expect one. He took his hand from her shoulder and stepped back, resuming the conversation in his normal voice.

“Representatives from the Conclave and the Admiralty are coming to the
Idenna
to speak with you,” he told her. “This is a great honor for my ship and my crew.”

From the tone of his voice, Kahlee suspected he felt the honor was more of an inconvenience.

“Sir,” one of the crew members informed the captain, “the
Lestiak
is requesting permission to dock.”

“Send them to bay five,” Mal replied. “We’ll meet them there.

“Come,” he said to Kahlee and her companions, “we shouldn’t keep such important visitors waiting.”

TWENTY-ONE

Once again Kahlee and her companions were led through the ship by three quarians. This time, however, their escort consisted of Isli, Lemm, and the captain.

They took them back down to the lower levels and over to the docking bays. Instead of going back to Grayson’s shuttle, however, they made their way to one of the other occupied bays, where the
Lestiak,
along with its crew of VIPs, was already waiting for them.

Considering the political status of those on board, Kahlee was surprised to see the captain didn’t request permission before opening the airlock and entering the vessel.

“I guess the captain gets to go wherever he wants on his own ship,” Hendel whispered to her, making note of the strange behavior as well.

Inside the shuttle they were brought into a large conference room that appeared to be set up for what looked to be some type of official inquiry.
Or a court-martial,
Kahlee thought. There was a long, semicircular table with six chairs behind it. Five of the chairs were occupied by quarians, though one on the end was empty. Several armed guards stood at the back of the room, behind the seated dignitaries.

Mal led them to the center of the room, where they stood while he made a full round of introductions. Kahlee didn’t bother trying to remember all the names as they were tossed out. She did, however, make a point of noting which three of the quarians in attendance were elected representatives from the civilian Conclave, and which two were members of the military’s Admiralty board.

She also noticed that when Mal introduced Lemm, he referred to him as “Lemm’Shal vas Idenna” apparently the young quarian’s Pilgrimage was officially over, and he had been accepted into Mal’s crew.

When the introductions were finished, Mal went over and sat down in the lone unoccupied seat at the table. Isli went and stood behind him, joining the other honor guards watching over the scene from the back wall. Lemm didn’t move, but stayed with the humans who remained standing in front of the table.

“Kahlee Sanders,” one of the Admiralty representatives asked, beginning the proceedings, “do you understand why we have brought you here?”

“You think I might know something about Saren Arterius and how he was able to control the geth,” she replied.

“Could you describe your relationship with Saren?” another representative asked, this one from the civilian Conclave.

“There was no relationship,” Kahlee insisted. “I only met him briefly two or three times. As far as I knew, he was just the Spectre assigned to investigate the activities of my mentor, Dr. Shu Qian.”

“And what were those activities, exactly?”

“Qian had discovered some kind of alien artifact,” she said, choosing her words carefully. “It might have been Prothean. Maybe it even predated them. None of us really knew.

“He thought it was the key to creating a new kind of artificial intelligence. But he kept the rest of us in the dark; we were just lab monkeys for him, running data he gathered from his tests and experiments. Qian was the only one who knew any of the details about the artifact: where it was, what it was, what it did.

“But Qian went missing, and he was never found. Neither were his files.”

“Is it possible Saren found his files?” one of the Conclave asked. “Is it possible he found this artifact, and used it to gain control of the geth?”

“It’s possible,” Kahlee answered, somewhat reluctantly. The idea had occurred to her before, but she didn’t like speculating that she had played some role, however small, in the devastation wrought by the geth.

“Have you ever heard of a species called the Reapers?” the first quarian wanted to know.

Kahlee shook her head.

“There is word coming from the Citadel that Saren’s flagship,
Sovereign,
was actually an advanced AI. It was alive; just one of an entire race of enormous, sentient ships called the Reapers.”

“Those are just rumors,” Hendel interjected. “There’s no proof to support those theories.”

“But it could explain why the geth followed Saren,” the quarian countered. “An advanced AI might have been able to override the geth’s rudimentary intelligence systems.”

“I can’t really say,” Kahlee answered. “I don’t know anything about the geth, other than what I’ve seen on the vids. And I have no idea why they followed Saren.”

“But if
Sovereign
was a Reaper,” one of the Admiralty members pressed, “then there could be more of its kind. They could be lying dormant in unexplored regions of space, just waiting for someone to accidentally discover and awaken them.”

“Maybe,” Kahlee said with an indecisive shrug.

“It seems obvious to me that this is something we would want to avoid at all possible costs,” one of the Conclave representatives chimed in. “One Reaper nearly destroyed the Citadel. Another could finish the job. The galaxy already blames us for the geth. We don’t need to give them another reason to hate us.”

“Or maybe if we found one of these Reapers,” Mal countered, joining the conversation for the first time, “we could use it as Saren did—to take control of the geth! We could return to our homeworlds and reclaim what is rightfully ours!”

There was a long silence, then one of the Admiralty asked Kahlee, “Is Captain Mal correct? Do you believe it might be possible to discover a dormant Reaper and use it to gain control of the geth?”

Kahlee shook her head, bewildered. “I can’t say. There are too many unknown variables.”

“Please,” the quarian urged, though his request seemed more like a command, “speculate. You are one of the galaxy’s foremost experts in synthetic intelligence. We are eager to hear what you think.”

Kahlee took a deep breath and considered the problem carefully before answering. “Given what I knew of Dr. Qian’s research, if Saren’s flagship was the alien artifact we were studying, it might have been possible to use it to control the geth. And
if
there are more ships out there like
Sovereign,
then yes, it is logical to assume they could also be used to control or influence the geth … assuming that’s what Saren did.”

It was difficult to read the body language of the quarians at the table while their expressions were obscured by their masks. But Kahlee thought she detected anger or frustration in several of their postures. Mal, however, seemed to be sitting taller than before.

“Is there anything else you can tell us, Kahlee Sanders?” one of the Admiralty asked. “Anything about Saren, or the geth, or Dr. Qian’s research?”

“There’s really nothing to tell,” Kahlee said apologetically. “I wish I could be more helpful.”

“I believe we have everything we need,” Mal said, standing up. “Thank you, Kahlee.”

Realizing they weren’t going to get anything more out of their guest, the rest of the participants deferred to his decision and similarly rose from their seats.

“We thank you for your time,” one of them said. “Captain Mal, we would like to continue this discussion with the rest of the Conclave. We hope you will accompany us.”

Mal nodded. “I am eager to speak with them.”

“We should leave as soon as possible,” one of the other quarians noted. “Perhaps you could have your security chief escort the humans back to their shuttle?”

“Kahlee and the others are honored guests of the
Idenna,
” Mal said pointedly. “They do not need a security escort. They are free to come and go as they please.”

There was an awkward silence that was finally broken by one of the Admiralty. “Understood, Captain.”

Having won his point, Mal turned to Kahlee and the others. “As long as you are careful not to interfere in the operations of the ship, I am granting you free run of my vessel. Should you wish to have a guide, Lemm would be honored to show you around.”

“Thank you, Captain,” Kahlee said, eager to get off the
Lestiak
and leave the increasingly tense situation behind.

“Perhaps when I return from the Conclave, we can speak again,” he said.

“Of course,” she replied. “You are always welcome on our shuttle.”

Unsure if there was some kind of formal protocol still required before they were dismissed, Kahlee simply stood there until Lemm gave her elbow a gentle tug.

“Come on,” he whispered, “let’s go.”

Mal and Isli stayed behind as he led them away. Once they were beyond the airlock and back on the
Idenna,
Hendel turned to Lemm.

“What the hell was that all about?”

“Politics” was the short, and uninformative, answer.

“You can’t be a little more detailed?” Kahlee pressed.

“I’m sure the captain will make everything clear when he returns from the Conclave,” Lemm assured her. “Please, just be patient for a few more days.”

“It’s not like we have any other choice,” Hendel said with a grunt. “But my patience is growing awful thin lately.”

Grayson didn’t like Golo.

The Illusive Man had arranged a meeting between Grayson and the quarian on Omega to plan their assault on the Migrant Fleet. The meeting was taking place in a small rented apartment in the Talon district, not two blocks away from the warehouse where he had killed Pel. The room was empty except for two chairs, one table, and the two of them.

“You might as well give up,” Golo declared to start off the conversation. “Infiltrating the quarian fleet is impossible.”

“They have my daughter,” Grayson replied, keeping his voice neutral despite the bile in his throat. “I want her back. I was told you could help us.”

Golo may have been an ally of Cerberus, but he was a traitor to his own people. Grayson couldn’t respect anyone who would turn on his own kind simply to make a profit. It went against everything he believed in.

“There are fifty thousand ships in the Migrant Fleet,” Golo reminded him. “Even if they do have her, how are you going to figure out which vessel she’s on?”

“The pilot of the scout ship, the one Pel tortured for information, said his name was Hilo’Jaa vas Idenna. I think the
Cyniad
was a scout ship for the
Idenna.
Whoever came looking for him was part of the same crew. They’re the ones who took Gillian.”

“That makes sense,” Golo admitted. Something about the way he said it made Grayson feel as if he were being played, as if Golo already knew all this. “But it hardly matters. You won’t get anywhere near the
Idenna.
Even if you’re in the
Cyniad,
the patrols will shoot the vessel down if you don’t use the proper codes and hailing frequencies.”

“I have the frequency and the code,” Grayson assured him. “The pilot gave them to me before he died.”

Golo laughed. “How do you know they’re real? What if he gave you a false code?”

Grayson thought back to the quarian he had discovered in the cellar. Pel had possessed a sixth sense for knowing when his victims were lying under torture; interrogation had always been one of his strong suits.

“The information’s good,” he said. “It’ll get us past the patrols.”

“Your confidence is inspiring,” the quarian replied, and Grayson could hear the smirk in his voice. He knew Golo had been Pel’s contact on Omega. He’d been instrumental in acquiring the
Cyniad,
and Grayson couldn’t help but wonder what else the quarian and Pel had been involved in together.

“We’re offering ten times what you were paid for the last mission,” Grayson said, struggling to keep his rising anger in check.

He needed Golo. Having the codes wasn’t enough; if the mission had any hope of succeeding they had to have someone familiar with the protocols of the Migrant Fleet on the ship to keep them from making a mistake that would expose them. And they needed someone fluent in the quarian tongue on the radio to relay the codes back and forth with the patrols; an automated translator wasn’t going to cut it.

“Ten times?” Golo said, considering the offer. “Generous. But is it worth risking my life for?”

“This is also a chance for revenge,” Grayson reminded him, sweetening the pot. He’d read Golo’s profile in Pel’s mission reports. He knew the quarian harbored a deep hatred for the society that had exiled him, and he wasn’t above exploiting that hatred. Not if it helped him get Gillian back.

“The Fleet banished you. They cast you out. This is your chance to strike back at them in a way they will never forget. Help us and you can make them pay.”

“A man after my own heart,” Golo said with a cruel laugh, and Grayson felt his stomach turn.

“Does this mean you’re in?” Grayson demanded.

“We still have several problems to consider,” Golo said by way of confirmation. “The
Cyniad
and the codes will get us past the patrols. But we’ll need some way to disrupt the
Idenna
’s communications after we dock so they don’t alert the rest of the flotilla once the assault begins.”

“We can take care of that,” Grayson said, knowing Cerberus had that technology readily available. “What else?”

“We’ll need blueprints of the ship’s interior layout.”

“It was originally a decommissioned batarian Hensa class cruiser,” Grayson replied, relaying information the Illusive Man’s agents had already gathered in preparation for the mission. “We have the layout.”

“Impressive,” Golo replied. “There is a chance this could work, after all. Provided you and your team do exactly as I say.”

“Of course,” Grayson said through gritted teeth, offering his hand to symbolically seal the deal. “I wouldn’t have it any other way.”