Mass effect, p.32
Mass Effect, page 32
“Who’s my partner?”
“None. Your wife died when your daughter was born. You never remarried.”
Grayson wondered what had happened to the girl’s real mother and father, but he wasn’t foolish enough to ask.
“Do you understand how important this mission is?” the Illusive Man asked. “Do you see what biotics can ultimately mean to humanity?”
The younger man nodded. He believed in what he did. He believed in Cerberus.
“We went to a lot of trouble to find this particular girl. She’s special. We want her to look up to you. To trust you. Treat her as if she is your own flesh and blood.”
“I will,” he promised.
He had offered the vow without understanding the consequence of what it really meant. Had he known the true cost, he might not have been so quick to reply … although in the end the answer would have been the same.
The baby gurgled softly. Grayson stared down at her scrunched-up little face, fascinated.
“You won’t be alone in this,” the Illusive Man assured him. “We have top experts in the field. They’ll make sure she gets all the proper training.”
Grayson watched, transfixed, as the girl fidgeted in her sleep, her hands balling up into tiny fists that traced tight little circles in the air.
The Illusive Man turned to go.
“Does she have a name?” Grayson asked without looking up.
“A father has the right to name his own daughter,” he said, closing the door behind him.
Grayson woke, as he always did, with the echo of the closing door from his dream still in his ears.
“Lights—dim,” he called out, and a faint glow from the bedside lamps cast the dark shadows from his room. Only an hour had passed; seven more until they reached the Academy.
He climbed out of bed and pulled on the robe, then picked up his briefcase. He carried it over to the small desk in the corner of the room and set it on top, then settled into the accompanying chair and punched in the access code. A second later the case opened with a soft, depressurizing hiss.
Inside were several dummy documents to help with his cover as a Cord-Hislop executive—contracts and sales reports, mostly. He pulled them out and dumped them on the floor, then lifted up the case’s false bottom to reveal the contents underneath. Ignoring the vial Pel had given him—he wouldn’t need that until he actually saw Gillian—he reached for the small cellophane bag of red sand.
Grayson wondered how much the Illusive Man had actually known about the girl on that night he’d given him Gillian. Did he know about her mental condition? Did he know the Alliance was one day going to start a program like the Ascension Project? Had he given the little girl to Grayson, fully aware he was one day going to order him to give her up again?
He opened the baggie and carefully poured out a small pile of the fine dust. Enough to take the edge off, nothing more. Besides, he had plenty of time to come down before they reached the Academy.
It was easy in the beginning. Gillian seemed like any other normal young girl. Every few months she was visited by Cerberus experts: taking blood samples and alpha-wave readings; checking her health; testing her reflexes and responses. But even with all the doctors, Gillian had been a happy, healthy child.
Her symptoms began to manifest sometime between the ages of three and four. An unnamed dissociative disorder, the experts told him. Easy to diagnose but difficult to treat. Not that they hadn’t tried, unleashing a barrage of drug and behavior therapies on the young girl. Yet their efforts had been in vain. With each year she grew more distant, more closed off. Trapped inside her own mind.
The growing emotional gulf between them should have made it easier on Grayson when Cerberus decided to give her over to the Ascension Project. It hadn’t.
Grayson didn’t have much he could cling to, apart from his dedication to Cerberus and his devotion to his daughter. The two were inextricably linked; after Gillian had been given into his care he had been pulled from active-duty missions so he could better focus on raising his daughter. Caring for the helpless infant had filled the void in his life. And as she had grown—as he had raised her from a baby to a beautiful, intelligent though troubled young girl—she had become the center of his world … just as the Illusive Man had wanted.
Then, two years ago, they had ordered him to send her away.
He resealed the plastic bag, stashing it safely away in the false bottom of his case. Then he got up, went into the bathroom and returned with the blade from his Ever-Sharp razor. Using the edge, he divided the pile of red sand into two long, thin lines.
The Illusive Man had wanted Gillian to join the Ascension Project so Cerberus could piggyback their own research on the Alliance’s cutting-edge work. And whatever the Illusive Man wanted, he got.
Grayson knew he had no choice in the matter, but it was still hard to let her go. For ten years she had been an integral part of his life. He missed seeing her in the mornings and tucking her in at night. He missed the rare moments when she broke through the invisible walls that separated her from the outside world and showed him genuine love and affection. But, like any parent, he had to put his child’s welfare above his own.
The program was good for Gillian. The scientists at the Academy were pushing the boundaries of biotic research. They had made advances that went far beyond anything Cerberus could have achieved on its own, and it was the only place Gillian could be properly fitted for the revolutionary new L-4 amps.
Sending his daughter away was also necessary for the greater cause. It was the best way for Cerberus to study the absolute limits of human biotics; a powerful weapon they would one day need in the inevitable struggle to elevate Earth and its people above the alien races. Gillian had to play her part in the Illusive Man’s plans, just as he did. And one day, he hoped, people would look back on his daughter as a hero of the human race.
Grayson understood all this. He accepted it. Just as he accepted the fact that he was now merely a go-between; a proxy who allowed the Cerberus researchers to get access to Gillian whenever they needed it. Unfortunately, acceptance didn’t make it any easier.
If it was possible, he would have visited her every week at the Academy. But he knew constant visits were hard on Gillian; she needed stability in her life—she didn’t deal well with disruptions and unexpected surprises. So he stayed away, and did his best not to think about her. It made the loneliness easier to bear, turning the constant pain into a dull ache hovering in the background of his thoughts.
Sometimes, however, he couldn’t help but think about her—like now. Knowing he was going to see her made him acutely aware of how much it would hurt when he had to leave her behind again. At times like these, he couldn’t dull the pain. Not without help.
Bending forward in the chair, he pinched his left nostril closed and inhaled the first line of red sand. Then he switched nostrils and snorted the second. The dust burned his nasal cavities and made his eyes water. Sitting up straight, he blinked away the tears. He grabbed the arms of the chair, clenching so tightly his knuckles went white. He felt his heart beating, slow and heavy: thump … thump … thump. Three beats was all it took before the euphoria washed over him.
For the next several minutes he rode the wave, eyes closed, his head lolling back and forth. Occasionally he would make a soft ngh sound in the back of his throat, an inarticulate moan of pure pleasure.
The initial rush began to fade quickly, but he fought against the urge to take another hit. He could sense the unpleasant emotions—fear, paranoia, loneliness—lurking in the dark corners of his consciousness, still there but momentarily kept at bay by the narcotic’s warm glow.
He opened his eyes, noting everything in the room had taken on a rosy hue. This was one of the side effects of red sand … but not the most significant one.
Giggling softly at nothing in particular, he leaned back in his chair, balancing it on the two rear legs. His eyes cast about the room, searching for a suitable target before finally noticing the documents he had scattered across the floor.
Careful not to tip over in his seat, he reached out with his left hand and twiddled his fingers. The papers rustled, as if fluttering in the breeze. He struggled to focus—never easy when floating in the red clouds. A second later he swiped at the empty air with his hand, and the papers leaped from the floor and swirled wildly about the room.
He kept them in the air as long as he could, his temporary, drug-induced biotic ability making the papers dance like leaves before a storm.
By the time Ellin knocked on the door seven hours later, he was sober once again. He had slept for a few hours, showered and shaved, and cleaned up the room, careful to leave no evidence of the red sand behind.
“One hour until we touch down, Mr. Grayson,” she reminded him, handing him his cleaned and pressed clothes.
He took them with a nod of thanks, then closed the door. Alone in the privacy of his room he made one final check to make sure he hadn’t missed anything incriminating.
That’s the difference between an addict and a junkie, he reminded himself as he began to dress, his hands now steady as they buttoned up his shirt. Both need their fix, but an addict still makes an effort to hide what he’s doing.
SIX
Kahlee couldn’t sleep. She told herself it was partly because she preferred her own bed, and partly because Jiro was snoring loudly in her ear. She didn’t bother to wake him, though—she was used to it. Their lovemaking usually ended this way, despite the fact that he was almost two decades her junior. He always started strong, full of passion and fire, but he didn’t know how to pace himself.
“You’ll learn eventually,” she whispered, patting him lightly on his bare thigh. “And all your future girlfriends will thank me for it.”
Moving quietly so as not to wake him, she rolled out from under the covers and stood, naked, by the side of the bed. Now that they weren’t generating body heat, the air in the room felt cool enough to make her shiver.
She began to hunt around for her clothes, no easy task. In his exuberance, Jiro tended to toss each piece haphazardly about the room as he undressed her. She located her shirt and pulled it over her head, then heard Jiro mumble something. Glancing over, she realized he was still asleep, his words nothing but unintelligible dream-talk. Kahlee stared at him for a long, lingering moment—he looked so young when he was curled up in his bed, and she felt a momentary twinge of guilt and embarrassment.
There was nothing illegal about what they were doing; they were both of age, and even though she was technically his boss, there was nothing in either of their employment contracts specifically forbidding their relationship. It was, as Jiro liked to say, an ethically gray area.
Kahlee sometimes got the impression that Jiro was only using her to advance his career, though there was a chance this was her own guilty conscience trying to suck all the fun out of the relationship. If he actually did believe sleeping with the boss would somehow help him, he was sadly mistaken. If anything, she tended to be harder on Jiro than the other researchers. But he was good at his job; the staff respected him, and the students all liked him. That was one of the things that had attracted her in the first place.
That plus his fine ass, she thought with a wicked grin.
She’d had other sexual partners over the years, of course—probably more than her fair share, to be honest. But like Jiro they were all just flings. Not that she’d ever been looking for anything serious. While she was in the military the Alliance had always come first, and once she became a civilian she’d focused on building her career rather than a long-term relationship.
Fortunately, there was still plenty of time. Thanks to medical advances over the last century, women no longer had to start their families before forty. If she really wanted to, she could wait another twenty years and still give birth to a perfectly healthy child.
Kahlee still wasn’t sure what she wanted, though. It wasn’t that she didn’t like kids; the opportunity to work closely with biotic children was one of the reasons she’d accepted the position with the Ascension Project. She just couldn’t see herself settling into a life of domestic bliss.
Get over yourself, she thought, and find your damn clothes.
She pushed the thoughts away. Spotting her pants dangling over the back of a chair, she pulled them on. She was still looking for a missing sock when Jiro woke with a sputtering yawn.
“You’re leaving?” he asked, still groggy.
“Just back to my own room. I can’t sleep here with you snoring like a sick hippo.”
He smiled and sat up, propping his pillow behind him and leaning back against the headboard.
“You sure this doesn’t have anything to do with Grayson’s visit?”
She didn’t bother to deny it, instead saying nothing as she continued to look for her missing sock. Finding her prize, she sat down on the edge of the bed and pulled it on. Jiro watched her silently, patiently waiting for her to speak.
“I’m more worried about Gillian,” she finally confessed. “Nothing we do seems to help her. Maybe the program isn’t right for her.”
“Whoa, just a minute!” Jiro exclaimed, suddenly very awake. He crawled across the mattress quickly and put a hand on her shoulder. “Gillian’s got more biotic potential than … well, than anybody! The Ascension Project was meant for someone like her.”
“But she’s not just a biotic,” Kahlee objected, voicing the arguments that had been running through her mind. “She’s a girl with a serious mental condition.”
“You’re not thinking of asking the board to expel her, are you?” he asked, looking horrified.
She turned and scowled at him. “That’s a decision her father needs to make.”
“So you’re going to talk to Grayson about it?” Much of the anxiety had left his voice.
“I’ll let him know what his options are. Gillian might be better off if she wasn’t trying to develop her biotic abilities at the Academy. He could get her a private tutor; someone trained to deal with her condition. Lord knows he can afford it.”
“What if he doesn’t want to pull her out of the program?”
“Then I’ll have to start wondering if he really has his daughter’s best interests at heart.” She regretted the words as soon as she said them.
“Now you’re starting to sound like Hendel,” he chastised her.
The remark stung more than it should have; Nick’s comparison of her and the security chief yesterday was still fresh in her mind.
“Sorry,” she apologized. “I’m just tired. I can’t keep coming here night after night.” Trying to make light of it, she added, “When you get to be my age, you need your sleep.”
“You’re kidding, right?” he asked, incredulous. “I hardly ever get to see you. You’re always working … or spending time with Hendel.”
“He likes to keep tabs on the students,” she explained. Especially Gillian.
“I’m starting to think you two are more than just friends,” Jiro said darkly.
Kahlee actually laughed out loud. She saw Jiro stiffen, and he turned away from her.
“I’m sorry,” she said, wrapping a comforting arm around his shoulder. “I didn’t mean to laugh. But trust me, I’m not Hendel’s type. You might be, though.”
For a second he seemed puzzle, a look of confusion on his boyish face. “Ohhh,” he said a moment later, grasping what she meant.
The phone in the bedroom beeped before either of them could say anything else. Jiro looked at the ID on the display, and his eyes went wide.
“It’s Hendel!”
“So?” Kahlee said with a shrug. “Answer it.”
He reached over and hit the button for the speaker phone.
“Hendel?”
“Grayson’s shuttle just pinged us,” the voice on the other end of the line snarled. “He’ll be here in an hour.
“Figures the son-of-a-bitch would be running on his own clock,” Hendel added.
Kahlee rolled her eyes. It was common for people visiting a planet or space station to schedule their visits so they would arrive at a convenient hour by the local time. But Grayson traveled a lot for his job, and constantly adjusting to different time zones could take its toll on a person. Gillian’s father wasn’t the only parent to show up in the middle of the night; he was just the only one Hendel complained about.
“Uh, yeah, okay,” Jiro answered. “I’ll get ready.”
“I tried Kahlee’s room, but she wasn’t there,” Hendel added. “I assume she’s with you.”
Jiro turned to her with a shrug and a look that seemed to say, What should I tell him?
“I’m here,” she answered after a long, awkward silence. “I’ll come down with Jiro to the landing bay to meet him.”
“Meet you both there in forty-five minutes.” The phone call ended with a click.
“How did he know about us?” Kahlee wondered out loud. She didn’t think anyone knew; she and Jiro had always been discreet.
“Wouldn’t be much of a security chief if he didn’t,” Jiro chuckled, getting out of bed and heading for the small shower in his en suite.
Hendel was gruff and surly, and he tended to be overprotective toward his charges, but no one could ever accuse him of being bad at his job. Still, Kahlee wasn’t satisfied.
“What do you think tipped him off?” she called out, stripping off her shirt.
Jiro popped his head out from the bathroom. “You, probably. I bet he can read you like an open book. You’re not that great at keeping secrets.”
“Maybe it was you,” she countered as she unbuttoned her pants. “You’re not much good at keeping secrets either.”
“I might be better than you think,” he said mysteriously. Then he laughed and disappeared back into the bathroom. A second later she heard the shower running.
Now completely naked, Kahlee crossed the room and entered the en suite. Jiro raised his eyebrows suggestively when she opened the shower stall door and squeezed in with him.
“Forget it,” she told him. “We need to get there before Grayson’s shuttle touches down. I’m afraid of what might happen if we leave him alone with Hendel.”
