Mass effect, p.49
Mass Effect, page 49
“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.”
TWENTY-TWO
Three more days passed before Mal returned to the Idenna. Kahlee had spent much of that time exploring the quarian ship, becoming more familiar with its inhabitants and their culture.
She had come to realize that most of her previous beliefs about the quarians were either outright wrong or gross distortions of the truth. She had always considered them to be scavengers, beggars, and thieves: a culture of petty criminals not to be trusted. Now she saw them simply as resourceful and determined. They were a people struggling to survive with limited space and resources, yet they refused to allow their society to degenerate into selfishness and anarchy. To accomplish this, they clung fiercely to their powerful sense of community.
There was something noble in this unity, enforced though it might be by their circumstances. Every quarian truly believed they needed to work together to survive. The strong family bonds among shipmates, and the willingness of individuals to sacrifice for the greater good, were values Kahlee thought other species could aspire to … should they ever learn to see past their own prejudices and preconceived notions about the quarians.
While Kahlee was exploring the ship, Hendel and Gillian spent most of their time on Grayson’s shuttle practicing biotics. Even while wearing her enviro-suit, Gillian still wasn’t entirely comfortable around strangers, and she preferred to stay isolated in the more familiar surroundings.
Occasionally Lemm or Seeto would come to visit, though both were closed lipped when Kahlee or Hendel tried to pry information from them about the quarian political situation. It was frustrating, being a pawn in a game she didn’t fully understand, but Kahlee was confident they would get some answers soon: Captain Mal was finally coming to speak with them.
Kahlee, Hendel, and Gillian were all wearing their enviro-suits in preparation for his visit to their shuttle. Lemm had suggested the idea yesterday as a way for them to show respect for quarian customs and traditions in honor of the captain’s arrival. Until they knew more about the purpose of this meeting, Hendel had noted, it was probably best to do whatever they could to stay on his good side.
With some reluctance, Kahlee had agreed. She didn’t like wearing the suit if she didn’t have to, although she couldn’t quite say exactly what she disliked about it. The suits were fully climate controlled, so she never felt hot or sweaty while wearing it, and the thin, pliant material barely restricted her movement. And with the vis-glass of the faceplate and the audio enhancements in the helmet, she could actually see and hear better while wearing the suit than without it.
Still, she never felt comfortable in it. The suit completely cut her off from normal tactile sensations, like the feel of the warm leather under her palm when she placed her hand on the arm of her seat, or the cool, hard metal of the tabletop as she drummed her fingers against it. It even made it impossible to run her fingers through her hair.
In contrast, Gillian seemed to love wearing the suit, only taking it off once since their meeting with the captain on the bridge. She even wore it during her biotic training with Hendel. Kahlee knew the security chief found her behavior odd, but he put up with it for her sake. He did, however, insist that she remove the helmet and mask during their sessions. Gillian had complied, though not without some grumbling and complaining.
The mere fact that she grumbled and complained, rather than mutely obeying, was further evidence of how much she had changed. Kahlee had commented to Hendel on how much improvement Gillian had shown, and she’d even shared her theory that the suit might make the girl feel psychologically safe and more confident. Hendel, however, had offered a different theory.
“I think she’s just getting better because Cerberus isn’t drugging her anymore.”
The thought was disturbing, but Kahlee was surprised she hadn’t come up with it on her own. It was doubtful Gillian’s condition could be blamed solely on whatever chemical concoctions Jiro had been feeding her, but it was very possible they had made her symptoms worse. Somehow that knowledge made what Grayson had allowed them to do to his daughter seem even more monstrous.
The sound of the airlock opening startled her out of her recollections.
“Not big on knocking, are they?” Hendel muttered, rising from his seat to greet their visitors. Kahlee and Gillian did the same.
Kahlee had been expecting some kind of honor guard or security detail to accompany the captain, but if they came they must have stayed outside the ship. Apart from Lemm, Mal was alone.
“Thank you for this invitation,” he said, once handshakes had been exchanged all around.
“We’re honored to have you here,” Kahlee replied. “Please, sit down and make yourself comfortable.”
There were only four chairs in the passenger cabin, so once all the adults took their seats, Gillian hopped up into Hendel’s lap. Yet again, Kahlee was amazed at how far she had come in a little less than two weeks.
Before any of them could speak, they were interrupted by a short, muffled beep coming from behind Mal’s mask—the sound of an incoming message transferred to his in-helmet radio. He held up one hand, asking the others to be silent as he listened to the message. Kahlee couldn’t hear what was being said in his ear, but she saw him nod.
“Send them to docking bay seven,” he instructed. “And tell them it’s good to have them back.”
“Forgive me,” he said a moment later to Kahlee and the others. “I have to approve all arriving vessels before they can dock.”
“Do you have to go?” she asked.
He shook his head. “Isli and her team will greet them. We can continue our business.”
“And what exactly is that business?” Hendel said, casting tact and decorum aside. Kahlee couldn’t blame him; she was about ready to do the same thing. Fortunately, Mal seemed willing to be completely candid.
“The Migrant Fleet is dying,” he said flatly. “It is a long, slow, almost invisible death, but the facts are undeniable. We are nearing a time of crisis for our species. In another eighty or ninety years, our population will be too large for our ships to support.”
“I thought you had zero population growth,” Kahlee said, remembering Seeto describing the universally enforced policies of birth control during one of her tours of the lower decks.
“Our population is stable, but the Fleet is not,” the captain explained. “Our ships continue to age and break down faster than we can replace or repair them. Little by little we are running out of livable space, yet neither the Conclave nor the Admiralty are willing to take action. I fear that by the time they finally realize something drastic must be done, it will be too late to stem the tide.”
“What does that have to do with me?” Kahlee wanted to know. “Why were they asking me all those questions about the geth and Reapers?”
“There is a small but growing coalition of ship captains who believe we must take immediate action if the quarian nation is to survive,” Mal explained. “We have proposed that several of the Fleet’s largest vessels be equipped for long-distance voyages. We want to send them on two-to five-year journeys into uncharted regions of space or through unexplored mass relays.”
“Sounds dangerous,” Hendel noted.
“It is,” Mal admitted, “but this could be our only hope to secure the long-term survival of the quarian species. We need to find life-bearing, uninhabited worlds we can call our own. Or, failing that, we need to find some way to return to the Perseus Veil and reclaim our home from the geth.”
“Do you really believe you’ll find one of these so-called Reaper ships somewhere on the fringes of unexplored space?” Hendel asked.
“I believe it is better than doing nothing, and waiting for our numbers to begin an irreversible decline.”
“Seems logical,” Kahlee admitted. “So why is there so much opposition to sending out these ships?”
“Our society is extremely fragile,” Mal explained. “The smallest change can have huge repercussions. Sending away several of our larger vessels will weaken the Fleet as a whole, at least until they return. Most of the representatives in the Conclave are not willing to take that risk.
“Their caution is understandable,” the captain admitted. “For nearly three hundred years the Admiralty and the Conclave have fought to protect what little we have from crumbling away. They had no choice but to adopt careful and conservative policies.
“Those policies served us for a time,” he continued, “but now we need to adapt. We need new policies if we are to survive. Unfortunately, the weight of tradition hangs heavily over the Fleet, and there is a widespread fear of change.
“That is why your testimony before the representatives was so important, Kahlee,” he added. “We need to win others over to our cause, to make them see that taking a risk is our best chance to survive. Even if we don’t find the Reapers or discover a way to drive the remaining geth from the Perseus Veil, we still might find new worlds we can settle.”
“But my testimony was meaningless,” Kahlee objected. “It was all speculation and maybes. I don’t know anything useful about the geth or the Reapers. And I never said sending ships into the uncharted void would help you find them.”
“That’s beside the point,” Mal explained. “People believe you have knowledge that can defeat the geth; it doesn’t matter if you really do. You have become a symbol of hope for the future among our society. If other captains see you allied with me, it will win support to our cause. That is why those who oppose us want to see you leave the Idenna.”
“Leave?” Hendel said worriedly. “You mean they’re kicking us out of the Fleet?”
“They won’t do that,” Mal assured him. “It would turn you into martyrs for my cause, drumming up even more support for those of us who advocate change.
“But there are many captains who oppose us,” he continued. “Several have offered to give you sanctuary on their vessels, should you choose to leave the Idenna. They believe if you travel with them, it will gain support for their side.”
“I don’t like being a political pawn,” Kahlee muttered darkly.
“I understand,” Mal said sympathetically, “and I am sorry I have put you in this position. If you really don’t want to be involved, you are free to leave the Fleet.”
Kahlee frowned. Leaving the Fleet wasn’t an option; not while Cerberus was still looking for them.
“Please, Kahlee,” Lemm added. “Sending out the exploration ships is the best hope for my people to survive.”
Lemm probably could have gotten her to agree simply by saying she still owed him for saving them on Omega. But Kahlee had learned enough about quarian culture to realize he would never try to force her like that. Still, she did owe him. And Mal’s arguments made sense to her.
Before she could answer, however, they heard the distant but unmistakable sound of the Idenna’s shipboard alarms.
“We’re about to find out if your information is reliable,” Golo whispered as the Cyniad’s nav screens showed several patrol frigates breaking off from the main body of the Migrant Fleet.
