Mass effect, p.60
Mass Effect, page 60
The current cut off suddenly and Grayson went limp. Every nerve in his body was still on fire; it felt like his skin was peeling away to reveal the muscle and tendons beneath. But despite the agonizing pain his body remained absolutely still; he wasn’t even able to scream—completely paralyzed, yet fully conscious and aware.
“We have to replicate the procedures of the Collectors as closely as possible,” the Illusive Man explained. “I’m afraid this is going to be … unpleasant.”
He felt thumbs on his eyelids, lifting them open. With Grayson unable to control his muscles, they stayed that way, staring up into the excruciating brightness of the operating lamp. The silhouette of the female scientist momentarily blocked it out as she leaned over him to remove the strap from his chin. She opened his jaw and forced a long, flexible tube deep down his throat before stepping away, leaving him to be blinded by the light again.
“The Collectors implanted their victims with cybernetic Reaper technology. This allows the Reapers to communicate with and eventually dominate the organic host, even from across the galaxy.”
The tube in Grayson’s throat began to pulse as some type of viscous fluid was siphoned down into his stomach.
“Their technology is incredible,” the Illusive Man continued. “Are you familiar with quantum entanglement? No, probably not. It’s a complex field of study.
“Basically, there are particles in the universe that share certain complementary properties. If one has a positive charge, the other has a negative charge. Reverse the charge on one particle, and the other also reverses instantly, even if the particles are thousands of light-years apart.
“Humanity explored the phenomenon throughout the twenty-first century, but the cost of identifying and creating the particles was astronomical. In the end, the field was abandoned as impractical.
“But the Reaper technology we recovered from the Collectors is far more advanced. They’ve combined entangled particles with self-replicating nanotechnology, allowing them to infect, transform, and dominate organic hosts even while they’re trapped in dark space.”
Someone peeled the electrodes back from Grayson’s skull; he felt them pulling at the skin as they were removed. Then he felt the sharp prick of a heavy-bore needle against each temple. There was an unbearable pressure as the needles burrowed into the soft tissue, penetrated beneath the skull, and finally buried themselves deep inside his brain.
“You’re being implanted with self-replicating nanides. Their numbers will increase exponentially as they graft themselves onto your neurons and synapses. Eventually they will spread throughout your body, transforming you into a tool of the Reapers. You will be repurposed into a synthetic-organic hybrid unlike anything any of the Council races could possibly create.
“We need to study this transformation. Learn from it so we can defend ourselves against this alien technology. It’s the only way we can hope to stand against the Reapers.”
Grayson heard the words, but he could no longer understand them. His mind was being ripped apart. He could feel the nanides spreading through his head: alien tendrils wrapping themselves around his very thoughts and identity, strangling them out of existence until everything went black.
“He’s catatonic,” Dr. Nuri barked out. “Stop the procedure!”
The Illusive Man sat impassively as the scientists scurried to shut the equipment down. He waited silently as Dr. Nuri checked the screens monitoring Grayson’s vitals.
“It’s okay,” she assured him after a few tense minutes. “No permanent damage.”
“What happened?”
“It was too much for him to handle. It overwhelmed his system; he shut down.”
“You pushed him too far.”
“We knew the initial implantation would be traumatic,” she reminded her boss.
“I told you to be conservative with your estimates,” he reminded her. “We can’t afford any mistakes. The Reaper technology is too powerful.”
“We have no baselines,” she answered defensively. “No data to extrapolate from. It’s all theoretical. Nobody’s ever tried anything even remotely close to this kind of procedure before!”
“That’s why we must err on the side of caution.”
Chastised, Dr. Nuri replied, “Of course. I’m sorry. It won’t happen again.”
“You said there was no permanent damage?” the Illusive Man asked, satisfied he’d made his point.
“He should rest for a few days. After that we can continue.”
The Illusive Man nodded.
“Seal the room, but keep him hooked up to the monitors. I want him under observation at all times.”
He stood up to leave.
“We’ve reached phase two of this project,” he reminded the doctor. “The subject isn’t human anymore. He’s something alien now. Something dangerous.
“If you see anything unusual or unexpected—if you have any doubt or uncertainty at all—exterminate him immediately. I’d rather see the entire project fail than risk having this thing we’ve created break free. Do I make myself clear?”
Kai Leng stepped out from the shadows where he had been silently observing the experiment.
“I understand,” he assured the Illusive Man. “Grayson will never leave this facility alive.”
SEVEN
Admiral David Anderson was, above all else, a soldier. He understood the true meaning of words like honor, duty, and sacrifice. For twenty-five years he had served the Alliance without question or regret, giving up the chance for love and a family in order to protect humanity as it struggled to find its place in the galactic community. He’d served multiple tours of duty on godforsaken worlds. Fought in more battles than he could remember. Put his life on the line countless times without any hesitation.
Whatever his mission, whatever his assignment, he’d followed orders to the best of his ability and without complaint. But if he had to spend one more meal in the diplomats’ lounge listening to the elcor ambassador drone on about his volus counterpart, he was going to go snap.
“With true sincerity,” Calyn said in the ponderous style of his species as he sidled up to Anderson’s table, “it is good to see you here.”
The elcor were a large, heavyset species from the high-gravity world of Dekunna. Standing nearly eight feet at the shoulder, they used their long forelimbs to help their short back legs support their massive girth, giving them the appearance of gray-skinned gorillas walking about on all fours. They had no neck; Calyn’s large, flat head seemed to be pushed back into his shoulders.
Though he was still technically an admiral in the military, Anderson hadn’t seen active duty in several years. With the restructuring of the Citadel Council, he’d become one of humanity’s key political representatives—a “reward” for all his years of dedicated service.
Over the past few months Anderson and Calyn had both been involved in a series of ongoing trade negotiations between the Alliance, elcor, volus, and turians. Anderson was little more than a figurehead at the talks; the Alliance had plenty of real politicians to handle the delicate negotiations. But that hadn’t stopped Calyn from striking up a conversation whenever they met outside the conference room.
Every day, when Anderson would leave his Presidium office and come to the lounge for lunch, the elcor ambassador would invariably show up and plot a slow but relentless course over to his table to join him. Upon arrival, he would immediately begin grumbling about the volus ambassador.
“Without exaggeration,” the elcor said, jumping right into it as he settled in across the table from Anderson, “Din Korlak is the rudest individual I have ever dealt with.”
“I know,” Anderson said through gritted teeth as he shoveled a forkful of food into his mouth. “You’ve told me. Many times.”
As a result of evolving in such a high-gravity environment, the elcor moved—and spoke—with a painful deliberateness that Anderson found maddening. Listening to Calyn vent his frustrations was like hearing a recording played back at one-quarter speed.
His frustration was compounded by the fact that the elcor had no concept of how to use inflection or tone in their speech. Among their own kind they relied on subtle body gestures and subvocal sounds below the threshold of human hearing to convey meaning and subtext. Unfortunately, these nuances weren’t relayed through the universal translators that allowed the various species of the Citadel to communicate with each other. As a result, anything the elcor said invariably came across as a flat monotone devoid of any and all feeling.
To make matters worse, their faces were almost featureless. Their small, wide-set eyes and the vertical skin flaps where their mouths should have been revealed no discernible emotion, making it nearly impossible to read their mood.
“Genuine apologies,” Calyn droned in reply to Anderson’s objection. “It is not my intention to irritate you.”
Anderson bit his lip and considered his next words carefully. Even without any contextual clues, it was clear he’d offended his dining companion. And even though he couldn’t understand all the complexities of the negotiations, he knew enough to realize that they needed the elcor on their side.
The volus and the turians had a long history of cooperation; centuries ago Din Korlak’s people had petitioned for military protection from the turians in exchange for preferential economic status. If the Alliance was going to make any headway in the negotiations, they needed the full support of Calyn’s people.
“It’s not you,” Anderson lied. “The negotiations are just wearing me down.”
“Understandable,” the elcor replied. “Our jobs can be very stressful.”
That’s the understatement of the century, Anderson thought.
He was a man of action, not words. He liked to have a plan and implement it. But in the world of politics nothing was ever that simple. Among the ambassadors and Council members he was out of his element, drowning in a sea of bureaucratic red tape.
Calyn had accepted Anderson’s apology, but it was impossible to tell if he was still feeling slighted. In an effort to smooth things over, the admiral decided to offer his own feelings on the volus ambassador.
“I probably shouldn’t say this,” he said, “but I share your opinion of Din Korlak. He’s an arrogant, self-entitled whiner.”
“With humorous intent,” the elcor replied, “just be glad you do not share an office with him.”
It was a classic military ploy: strengthen an alliance by focusing on a common enemy. Anderson was relieved to see that at least some of what he’d learned as a soldier could be applied to his new role.
“Next time that little butterball interrupts one of us at the talks,” he told Calyn with a grin, “I should smack him hard enough to send him rolling out into the hall.”
“Shock and horror,” the elcor responded, his monotone words explicitly stating the emotional state completely absent from his appearance and demeanor. “Violence is not the answer.”
“I wasn’t serious,” Anderson explained quickly. “It was a joke.”
He’d managed to go twenty-five years as a soldier without stepping on a mine, but as a politician he couldn’t even manage one meal without blowing himself up.
“Humans have a disturbing sense of humor,” the elcor replied.
They continued the rest of the meal in silence.
By the time Anderson got back to his office after lunch, he was seriously thinking about retirement. He was only forty-nine; thanks to advances in science and medicine he had at least another twenty years before age began to take any significant physical toll. Mentally, however, he was exhausted.
It wasn’t hard to explain. As a soldier he had always understood the value in what he did. As a politician, he was always frustrated by his inability to get anything done. In fact, the only time he ever felt like he made any difference whatsoever was when something went wrong … like with Calyn.
“How was your lunch, Admiral?” Cerise, the receptionist at the human embassy, asked as he entered the building.
“Should have stayed in the office,” he grumbled.
“Be glad you didn’t,” she corrected him. “Din Korlak and Orinia came by looking for you.”
Anderson wasn’t sorry he’d missed the volus ambassador, but he wouldn’t have minded speaking with Orinia. Anderson’s turian counterpart during the ongoing trade negotiations was a former general. And even though they had seen action on opposite sides during the First Contact war, they shared a common set of military values: discipline, honor, duty, and a barely hidden contempt for the political bullshit they now endured on a daily basis.
“Do you know what they wanted?”
“I think Din wanted to file a formal complaint about something one of your aides said during the last session of negotiations.”
“You think?”
“When they found out you weren’t here, Orinia managed to talk him out of it.”
Anderson nodded, certain he’d still get an earful from Din about it at the next round of negotiations.
“That reminds me,” he said, trying to appear nonchalant. “Might be a good idea to extend a formal invitation to the elcor delegation to join us here at the embassy after today’s talks.”
“Why?” Cerise asked, suddenly suspicious. “What did you do?”
She’s a sharp one. Can’t sneak anything past her.
“I think I offended Calyn with a joke.”
“I didn’t know the elcor had a sense of humor.”
“Apparently they don’t.”
“Don’t worry,” the young woman assured him. “I’ll take care of it.”
Grateful, Anderson took the elevator to his office. He had thirty minutes before the scheduled meeting with his advisers to prepare for the afternoon’s talks. He planned to spend the entire time alone, just savoring some much-needed peace and quiet.
When he saw the blinking light on his extranet terminal indicating a message waiting for him, he nearly picked it up and threw it out the window. He thought briefly about ignoring it; he had a list of ten people he could imagine it being from, and he didn’t want to hear from any of them. But in the end his soldier’s training wouldn’t let him be derelict in his duty. He logged on to the terminal, hanging his head in resignation.
“David: I need to see you right away.”
His head snapped back up in surprise as he recognized the voice of Kahlee Sanders.
“It’s important. An emergency.”
He hadn’t spoken to her since Grissom’s funeral. Even then, they had exchanged only a few pleasantries, carefully avoiding any mention of their time together on the run twenty years ago.
“I’m on the Citadel. I can’t say where. Please—contact me as soon as you get this.”
Before the message had even ended he was sending a reply. Kahlee wasn’t the type to overreact or blow things out of proportion; if she claimed it was an emergency, it had to be something very serious.
She answered immediately, her face appearing on the view screen.
“David? Thank God.”
He was relieved to see she wasn’t hurt, though it was easy to tell from her expression that she was upset.
“I just got back to the office,” he said by way of apology for keeping her waiting.
“Is this a secure line?”
Anderson shook his head. “Not really. Standard diplomatic protocols. Easy to hack.”
“We need to meet in person.”
There was a long pause, and Anderson realized she didn’t want to openly suggest a location in case someone else was listening in.
“Remember where we said goodbye after Saren filed his mission report from Camala?”
“Good idea. I can be there in twenty minutes.”
“Give me thirty,” he replied. “I need to make sure I’m not followed.”
She nodded.
“David? Thank you. I didn’t know where else to turn.”
“It’s going to be okay,” he said, trying to reassure her … though of what, he couldn’t even begin to guess.
The call disconnected. Anderson rose from his chair, locked up his office, and headed back downstairs.
“I have to go, Cerise,” he said to the receptionist on his way out. Remembering the concern etched on Kahlee’s features, he added, “Don’t expect me back for a few days.”
“What about the trade negotiations?” she asked, taken aback by his sudden departure.
“Udina will have to take my place.”
“This isn’t going to make him happy,” Cerise warned.
“Nothing ever does.”
Anderson took three monorails and two cabs, transferring between four different levels of the Citadel space station to make sure he wasn’t followed. He didn’t know what Kahlee was afraid of, but the last thing he wanted to do was get careless and lead whoever she was hiding from right to her.
Once he was confident nobody was tailing him, he made his way back up to the Presidium. In addition to the embassies for all the species residing in Council space, the Citadel’s inner ring also housed a spectacular park. Grass, trees, flowers, birds, and insects from dozens of different worlds had been chosen and carefully reengineered to coexist in a verdant paradise where diplomats, ambassadors, and other functionaries could go to escape the stresses and pressures of government work.
In the center of the park was a shimmering lake. Twenty years ago he had met Kahlee there on the shore only minutes after learning his application to become the first human Spectre had been rejected because of a report filed by Saren Arterius.
Anderson didn’t consider himself a vindictive man, but he couldn’t help but feel a smug satisfaction knowing the turian who had derailed his candidacy had eventually been revealed as a traitor.
He made his way across the grass to the edge of the lake. He didn’t see Kahlee. Knowing she was probably lurking nearby in an inconspicuous hiding place, he sat down, removed his shoes and socks, then dangled his feet off the bank. The temperature-controlled water was just cool enough to be refreshing.
A few minutes later Kahlee sat down beside him.
