Mass Effect: Ascension

by Drew Karpyshyn

  Crying out in surprise, Jiro tried to pull away. Hendel—disoriented but somehow still conscious after a direct hit from 100,000 volts of electrical current—held on, twisting Jiro’s wrist up and in, forcing him to drop the pistol.

  Jiro kicked at his prone opponent. The first blow hit him squarely in the ribs, causing the bigger man to grunt in pain and roll onto his side, releasing Jiro’s wrist. A second kick caught him in the stomach, but Hendel managed to wrap his arms around Jiro’s leg.

  Thrown off-balance, Jiro fell to the ground. Then Hendel was on him. They wrestled briefly, grappling at close quarters as they rolled away from where Gillian lay. The security chief was bigger, stronger, and better trained. But Jiro still had his stunner.

  He jammed the weapon against the other man’s ribs and fired again, just as Hendel brought his elbow up hard into the side of Jiro’s temple.

  Jiro recovered first, woozily scrambling to his feet. Swaying to keep his balance, he saw that Hendel, unbelievably, was struggling to rise. The younger man still had the stunner clutched in his hand, and he used it for a third time, completely draining the battery. Hendel fell face forward on the ground, where he lay motionless.

  Unwilling to take the chance his enemy might not be out completely, Jiro turned and ran into the surrounding trees. Tossing aside the now useless stunner, he ran with an uneven, stumbling stride through the trees, still trying to shake off the lingering effects of the sharp elbow to his head.

  Kahlee’s lungs were burning by the time she reached the entrance to the atrium. She had tried to keep up with Hendel in the race from his office, but with each of his long, powerful strides she’d fallen farther and farther behind. Within seconds he was out of sight, and a minute later even the sound of his footsteps had vanished.

  She’d continued on, racing through the halls and stairwells until she reached the atrium…and now she didn’t know where to go. So she simply stopped and waited, trying to catch her breath and wondering what to do next.

  Calling for backup was an option; there was an emergency call box at the entrance to the atrium. But if Hendel was the security chief, and if he wanted backup, he would already have called for it.

  You’re probably overreacting, she told herself. All you know for sure is that Jiro lied to you. It might piss you off, but that doesn’t mean you should call in security.

  She began to pace back and forth, frustrated by her inactivity, but still not having any useful plan. She could go look for them, but there were several paths and trails; she could easily choose the wrong one and miss them. However, there was only one entrance to the atrium, so as long as she stayed put they would all eventually come to her.

  And when they do, I’m going to get some answers!

  Hendel couldn’t feel his body. He didn’t know if he was asleep, awake, alive, or dead. His head was a bubbling cauldron of disconnected, incoherent thoughts and sensations. And then one clear image came bubbling to the surface.

  Gillian.

  He took a deep breath and held it for three seconds, then slowly let it out. The action was pure instinct; an exercise to calm and focus the mind ingrained by years of biotic training. Another deep breath and the world around him became still, the fragmented pieces of his awareness settling into position.

  He was lying facedown on the ground. Every muscle in his body burned with lactic acid, exhausted and utterly spent.

  He hit you with a stunner. The son-of-a-bitch hit you with a stunner.

  He was tired. He needed to sleep it off. Nothing else he could do.

  Don’t you dare black out, you worthless son-of-a-bitch!

  The words were his own, but the voice in his head was that of his first drill sergeant from basic training. Whenever he faltered during his Alliance career—pushed to the limits of endurance by a 20k run, or exhausted after hours of biotic training—he would hear that voice, relentlessly driving him onward. But those days were over. He’d retired. He wasn’t a soldier anymore.

  Don’t give me that BS! Once a soldier, always a soldier! Now get your lazy ass up off the ground and move!

  Somehow he found the strength to push himself up onto his hands and knees. That’s when he saw Gillian, still lying on the grass. She wasn’t convulsing anymore. She wasn’t moving at all. She wasn’t even breathing.

  He reached down and pressed the emergency alert button on his belt. Security and medical teams would dispatch immediately, homing in on the signal. Response time to the waterfall in the atrium was seven minutes.

  Too slow. She can’t wait that long.

  He started crawling toward Gillian, his muscles screaming in agony, too weak to even attempt to stand.

  Jiro uttered a prolonged string of profanities in his native tongue, cursing the thorn-covered branches that were tearing at his clothes as he tried to pick his way through the atrium’s forests. But he didn’t stop; he didn’t know how long Hendel would be down, and he needed to find a way off the station before the security chief woke up.

  There was an emergency shuttle at the docking bay that could take him down to the planet’s surface. If he thought up a good excuse he might be able to charm or bribe the pilot into making the trip. Failing that, he’d need to hijack or steal it. It was a crazy, desperate plan, but he was a desperate man. He had known from the moment Hendel found him in the clearing that his only option was to get clear of the facility.

  He burst from the undergrowth back onto the running trails, less than twenty feet from the atrium’s exit. He didn’t notice Kahlee standing off to the side until she called out to him.

  “Jiro? What happened to you?” she asked, coming down the path toward him.

  She was staring with guarded curiosity at his torn shirt, the scratches on his face and hands, the welt on the side of his head from where Hendel had elbowed him.

  “Jiro,” she said again, her voice stern. “I want some answers. Where’s Hendel?”

  “How should I know?” he said, with an easy laugh. “He’s your friend, remember?”

  If she came just a little closer he might be able to grab her, overpower her before she could run for help. Instead, she stopped just out of reach.

  “You signed Gillian out of her room. Where is she?”

  Hearing the accusation in her voice he realized he wasn’t going to talk his way out of this one.

  “Get out of my way,” he said coldly, dropping all pretense. “Or you’re going to get hurt.”

  “You’re not going anywhere,” she told him, setting her feet and dropping into a fighting crouch. “Not until I know what’s going on.”

  Jiro quickly weighed the situation. He had shaken off the effects of his fight with Hendel; he was young, fit, and he outweighed Kahlee by fifty pounds. He knew she’d had combat training in the military, but he figured the odds were still in his favor. He smiled and shrugged, pretending to give in. Then he leaped at her.

  He’d hoped to catch her off-guard, but she hadn’t fallen for his simple ruse. Instead, she met his charge with a hard kick to the knee as she spun out of the way. Staggering and off-balance, he swung at her with a fist but caught only air as she slid under his clumsy blow. He whirled to face her, preparing to lunge once again.

  He never got the chance. Kahlee shot forward, her left fist jabbing toward his face. He ducked to the side, into the path of an uppercut delivered with her right. It caught him on the side of his jaw, and he grunted in pain, stumbling backward.

  His opponent wasn’t about to let him get away that easily. She followed up with a flurry of short, quick kicks and punches, deftly blocking and redirecting his ham-fisted counterattacks. A chop to his throat left him gagging for air, a leg sweep sent him crashing to the ground. As he attempted to rise to his feet she landed a knee to his groin, ending the savage, one-sided confrontation.

  Kahlee stepped forward and stared down at him where he lay crumpled on the ground, curled up into a fetal ball and clutching at his wounded privates. He tried to beg for mercy, but when he ope
ned his mouth all that came out was a long, low moan of unintelligible pain.

  She knelt down beside him, reached out with two fingers, hooked them into his nostrils and gave a slight pull. The pain was excruciating, and he whimpered in terror.

  “Now, darling,” Kahlee said in a tone dripping with mock sweetness, her fingers still hooked into his nostrils, “I’m going to ask some questions. And you’re going to give some answers.”

  Pain is a good thing, maggot! Lets you know you’re still alive!

  Reaching Gillian’s body, Hendel tilted her head back and forced two hard puffs of air down her throat, then compressed her chest ten times in rapid succession, pressing hard with the heels of his palms just above the bottom of her breastbone. He forced two more puffs of air down her throat, then resumed compressions.

  He knew CPR wouldn’t start her heart or get her breathing again—those kind of miraculous recoveries only happened on the vids. All he was trying to do was keep the blood circulating and oxygen reaching her brain until real help arrived.

  Just keep her alive. Keep her here.

  The compressions were exhausting; anything less than one hundred per minute was too low to save her. It was nearly impossible to keep up the grueling pace for more than a few minutes, even under normal conditions. In his present condition it was hopeless.

  Don’t you dare quit on me! Nobody quits in my army!

  His breath was coming in wet, ragged gasps. Beads of sweat from his brow were crawling down his forehead to sting his eyes. The muscles in his arms twitched and trembled, threatening to cramp up with each compression. The world around him dissolved into a hazy cloud of pain and exhaustion as he pumped Gillian’s heart for her.

  OneTwoThreeFourFiveSixSevenEightNineTen—Breathe-Breathe

  OneTwoThreeFourFiveSixSevenEightNineTen—Breathe-Breathe

  OneTwoThreeFourFiveSixSevenEightNineTen—Breathe-Breathe

  And then hands were on his shoulders, pulling him away. He fought them for a second, feebly, before realizing they were there to help. As soon as he was clear, the two EMTs dropped down by Gillian’s side. The first ran his omnitool over her, taking her vitals.

  “Code Twelve,” he noted, his tone clipped and efficient.

  His words spurred both men into action, their efforts perfectly coordinated through hundreds of hours of training. The first snapped open his medic’s kit, yanked out a syringe and injected Gillian with a hyperoxygenating compound to replenish the dwindling supplies in her bloodstream.

  The other pulled a small, palm-sized device from his belt—even in his hazy condition, Hendel recognized it as a portable defibrillator—and then pressed it against her chest. The EMT hesitated just long enough for his partner to finish injecting the needle and pull clear before flipping the switch, jolting Gillian’s heart with a series of concentrated electrical impulses in an effort to restart it.

  “I’ve got a pulse,” his partner said a second later, announcing the readings coming off his omnitool. “Oxygen levels look good. I think she’s going to pull through!”

  Hendel, still half-sitting, half-lying on the ground where the EMTs had dragged him away from Gillian’s body, didn’t know whether to laugh with joy or cry with relief. Instead, he collapsed onto his side and slipped into unconsciousness.

  TWELVE

  Grayson staggered into his living room. He was wearing only his housecoat, with nothing on beneath. His head was still floating from the lingering effects of the red sand he’d taken last night, but when he tried to make the pen on the coffee table dance it just sat there motionless, mocking him.

  You’re coming down. Can’t even move a pen. You’ll be sober in another hour if you aren’t careful.

  He wanted another hit, but instead he forced himself to check for incoming messages. He wasn’t surprised to see that Grissom Academy had tried to contact him yet again while he was sleeping.

  Or maybe you were so stoned you just didn’t hear the call.

  This was the fourth time they’d called. He didn’t want to listen to the message; the first three had all been about the same thing. Something had happened to Gillian, some kind of accident in the cafeteria. Something to do with her biotics.

  The news hadn’t come as a surprise. He’d been expecting something like this ever since Pel had shown up with the new dosage. The Illusive Man was patient, but Cerberus had poured too much time and too many resources into Gillian with too few results. The new drugs were evidence that they were escalating the program. Someone had made the decision to push the envelope, to test his daughter’s limits in the hopes of forcing a breakthrough. It was inevitable something would happen, good or bad.

  You’re pathetic. You knew this could harm her, but you went along with it anyway.

  He’d accepted the decision because he believed in Cerberus. He believed in what they stood for. He knew there were risks, but he also knew that Gillian might be critical to the long-term survival of the race. The ability to unlock new and amazing biotic potential could be the advantage humans needed to rise above the other species.

  Risks had to be taken. Sacrifices had to be made. The Illusive Man understood this better than anyone, which was why Grayson had followed his orders without question. This morning, however, he couldn’t help but wonder if that made him a patriot, or just a coward.

  That all depends on who gets to write the history books, doesn’t it?

  He made his way over to the vid screen on the far wall, then reached down and pressed the button to activate the message playback.

  “Mr. Grayson? This is Dr. Kahlee Sanders from the Grissom Academy.”

  By default he had video conferencing capabilities disabled; he preferred the privacy of audio-only communications. But even without visual cues, he could tell from her tone something else had happened. Something bad.

  “I’m not sure exactly how to tell you this, Mr. Grayson. Gillian was in the hospital, recovering from her episode in the cafeteria when…well, we think there may have been an attempt on her life. We think Dr. Toshiwa tried to kill her.

  “She’s alive,” Kahlee’s voice quickly added. “Hendel got to her in time. She had a seizure, but she’s okay now. We’re keeping her under medical observation. Please, Mr. Grayson, contact the Academy as soon as you get this message.”

  The recording ended with a click. Grayson didn’t move or react, but merely stood frozen in place as his mind tried to wrap itself around the implications of her words. We think Dr. Toshiwa tried to kill her.

  Jiro’s only contact with Cerberus was through Grayson; they had no way of reaching him directly…at least, none that he knew of. This was standard operating procedure: fewer operatives with direct access meant less chance of a security breach. And if one of their own people compromised the mission it was easier for Cerberus to figure out who the traitor was.

  Jiro’s not dumb enough to turn on the Illusive Man. And even if he did, trying to kill Gillian doesn’t make any sense.

  There was another possible explanation: the new medication. If it had caused the seizure, and if they caught Jiro giving it to her, then they might think he was trying to kill her. But did that mean they had Jiro in custody now? And if they did, how much had he already told them?

  He pushed the button to play the recording again.

  “Mr. Grayson? This is Dr. Kahlee Sanders from the Grissom Academy. I’m not sure exactly how to tell you this, Mr. Grayson. Gillian was in the hospital, recovering from her episode in the cafeteria when…well, we think there may have been an attempt on her life. We think Dr. Toshiwa tried to kill her.

  “She’s alive. Hendel got to her in time. She had a seizure, but she’s okay now. We’re keeping her under medical observation. Please, Mr. Grayson, contact the Academy as soon as you get this message.”

  All the other calls had come from the security chief. He didn’t know if it was significant that this one was made by someone else.

  Did Jiro rat you out? Are they setting a trap? Trying to lure you in?


  He couldn’t put it off any longer; he had to make the call. And this time he’d need to reactivate visual communication. He made a quick scan of the room to verify he hadn’t left a needle or a baggie of red sand in view of the vid screen. Then he checked himself in the mirror—he looked tired and disheveled, his eyes bloodshot. But if he sat in the chair on the far side of the room it shouldn’t be noticeable. At least, that’s what he hoped.

  With everything in position he sat down and placed the call. A few seconds later the image of the Illusive Man appeared, filling the vid screen. He had a face born for the screen: his silver gray hair was cut short, framing and accentuating his perfectly symmetrical features, which were highlighted by the sharp line of his clean-shaven jaw and a perfectly proportioned nose.

  “Grayson,” he said by way of greeting, his voice smooth. If he wondered about the fact that Grayson was sitting on the far side of the room for the call, rather than the customary six to ten feet away from the screen, he didn’t show it.

  “Something’s happened with Gillian,” Grayson said, studying the Illusive Man’s reaction carefully. Is this new information? Is he surprised, or does he already know? Of course the Illusive Man’s steely-blue eyes gave nothing away; his face was an emotionless, unreadable mask.

  “Is she all right?” he asked, his voice showing just the slightest hint of concern, though that could have been for Grayson’s benefit. It was possible he already knew everything that had happened.

  “She had a seizure. The new medication was too much for her.”

  “Is that what Jiro said?” His face showed just enough care and worry to make the question not seem callous. Again, Grayson wasn’t sure if it was an act.

  “The Academy called to tell me. Jiro’s been compromised.”

  There was a flicker of emotion across the Illusive Man’s face, but it was gone too quickly for Grayson to identify it. Anger? Surprise? Disappointment?