Mass Effect™: Ascension

by Drew Karpyshyn

  “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.

  The quarian shuttle was packed with ten highly trained Cerberus commandos, along with Golo, Grayson, and a pilot trained to fly the quarian modified vessel. Everyone on board was wearing a full combat hard-suit equipped with kinetic dampeners, and they each carried a heavy assault rifle.

  “Open the hailing channel,” Golo instructed, and the Cerberus pilot did as he was told. Grayson was technically in charge of the mission, but for much of it he would be deferring to Golo and his greater understanding of the quarians.

  A few seconds later the radio crackled with the challenge of the quarian patrols. “You are entering a restricted area. Identify.”

  “This is the scout ship Cyniad, of the Idenna,” Golo responded, “seeking permission to rejoin the Fleet.”

  “Verify authorization.”

  Grayson held his breath as Golo recited the code phrase. “My body travels to distant stars, but my soul never leaves the Fleet.”

  Several seconds passed before they got their response. “Idenna confirms your identity. Welcome back, Cyniad.”

  Golo flipped off the comm channel. “Bring us in nice and slow,” he instructed the pilot. “We don’t want to spook anyone.”

  Locating the Idenna amid the armada of ships was surprisingly simple. Every vessel in the Fleet transmitted a short-range homing signal on a unique frequency. As a scout ship, the Cyniad was preprogrammed with the Idenna’s frequency, so that the vessel showed up as a green pixel on the nav screen, in contrast to the red of the other ships.

  As they drew close, Golo opened the comm channel again. “This is the Cyniad, requesting permission to dock with the Idenna.”

  There was a delay of several seconds before the radio crackled with, “This is the Idenna. Your request is granted. Head to docking bay seven. And the captain says it’s good to have you back.”

  “It’s good to be back,” Golo replied. “Better send a security and quarantine team,” he added, before clicking the comm channel closed.

  “A security team?” Grayson asked, suspicious.

  “Standard protocol,” Golo replied. “If I didn’t request one, they’d get suspicious.”

  “Will they be armed?”

  “Probably, but they won’t be expecting any trouble. Your squad should be able to take them down
without too much difficulty.”

  Grayson felt his stomach clenching as they drifted into the docking bay. For the first time in several days he felt the sudden craving to dust up, but he pushed it aside by focusing on the mission.

  The three men in the cockpit were silent until they heard the docking clamps secure the ship in place.

  “Lock onto your target,” Grayson instructed, and the pilot nodded. “But hold fire until my order.”

  Cerberus had made some additions to the Cyniad, including the addition of a small but powerful short-range laser. One well-placed shot could knock out the Idenna’s tight-beam transmitter, killing the ship’s external communications and preventing them from alerting the rest of the Fleet.

  The timing had to be perfect, though. The Idenna would still have internal communications, and as soon as the transmitter was knocked out the bridge would alert everyone on board. Grayson wanted to wait until the security team coming to meet them had been dealt with before that happened.

  “Alpha team,” Grayson said into his combat helmet’s transmitter, “you’re going to have company when the airlock opens. Report in as soon as you take them out.”

  A few seconds later they heard several sharp bursts of gunfire coming from just outside the ship.

  “Enemy is down,” the Alpha team leader replied. “No casualties on our end.”

  “Take out the transmitter,” Grayson said, and the pilot fired the laser, shearing off the dish in a quick, clean cut. The shipboard alarms kicked in almost immediately.

  “Now the fun begins,” Golo said, and behind his mask Grayson knew he was grinning.

  TWENTY-THREE

  “What’s happening?” Kahlee demanded, shouting over the distant alarms.

  The captain listened intently to an incoming message, then relayed the news to the rest of them. “The Cyniad, one of our scout ships, just docked with us. They knocked out our tight-beam transmitter.”

  “I was searching for the crew of the Cyniad when I found you in that warehouse,” Lemm told them, speaking quickly. “I thought your captors had some connection to the scout ship.”

  “Cerberus,” Hendel said. “They’re coming for Gillian.”

  “What about the security team you sent to meet them?” Kahlee asked, remembering the captain’s earlier instructions. “Isli and the others?”

  “No response,” Mal said, his voice grim. They all knew what that likely meant.

  “If it’s Cerberus, they’ll be coming straight for this shuttle,” Hendel warned them. “They’ll want to grab Gillian and get out quick, before you can organize any resistance.”

  “Do you have any weapons on board?” Lemm asked.

  Kahlee shook her head. “The rifle we took from the warehouse is nearly out of ammo. Hendel’s biotic, but that’s all we’ve got.”

  “Call for a security detail,” the big man said.

  “They won’t get here in time,” Mal replied. “The Cyniad’s only two bays over.”

  We can’t even seal the shuttle and make a run for it, Kahlee realized. We’d never disconnect the docking clamps in time.

  “Come on,” she said, jumping to her feet. “We can’t hold them off in here.”

  The five of them—two quarians and three humans—raced from the shuttle through the airlock out into the landing bay of the Idenna. Hendel had to half-drag and half-carry Gillian to keep up; the alarms were disorienting her, and she was moving with slow, distracted steps.

  “Trading deck!” Mal shouted. “We have weapons in the storeroom.”

  As they ran through the crowded halls and corridors of the ship, Kahlee couldn’t help imagining what would happen when the Cerberus troops arrived to find Grayson’s shuttle empty. The quarians had no reason to ever expect an attack inside the confines of their Fleet vessels, and ready access to firearms in such crowded living conditions was normally a recipe for disaster. As a result, no one except a handful of security details carried weapons. If armed Cerberus agents started searching for Gillian through the populated decks, it would turn into a massacre.

  Mal was shouting instructions into his radio, trying to organize reinforcements to drive back the enemy.

  “We need to make a stand!” Kahlee shouted. “Hold them on the trading deck. If we don’t, hundreds will die.”

  He nodded, and relayed the instructions to the bridge.

  How did they find us here? Kahlee wondered as she ran, followed quickly by, Is there nowhere in the galaxy Gillian can escape them?

  The Cerberus team arrived at Grayson’s old shuttle to find it abandoned.

  “They must have gone into the ship to hide,” Golo guessed.

  “How many quarians on board?” Grayson demanded.

  “Between six and seven hundred,” Golo estimated. “But only a couple dozen will be armed. You stay here with a small team to secure the shuttle, and I’ll take the rest with me. We’ll find Gillian and bring her back here.”

  Grayson shook his head. “She’s my daughter. I’m coming with you.”

  “Forget it,” Golo replied. “We don’t need you in there.”

  “I’m in charge of this mission,” Grayson reminded him.

  “And I’m the only one who knows his way around a quarian ship,” Golo countered. “You can’t do this without me, and I’m not going in there with you as part of my team.

  “You’re too emotionally involved,” he continued, almost apologetic. “You’re not thinking straight, and you’re not ready for this.”

  Grayson didn’t argue the point. He’d barely slept since escaping Pel’s warehouse; he was just a duster running on adrenaline and desperation. Exhaustion and withdrawal would slow his reaction time and impair his judgment, putting the entire team in jeopardy.

  “If you really want your daughter back,” the quarian added in a sensitive whisper, “the best thing you can do is wait here and get the shuttle ready for our escape.”

  Golo was playing him; pushing his emotional buttons. The quarian didn’t care what happened to Gillian. He was just a lying, manipulative, son-of-a-bitch who was only looking out for his own self-interest. But that didn’t mean he was wrong.

  They’re better off without you. For the sake of the mission—for Gillian’s sake—you have to sit this one out.

  “You, you, and you,” Grayson said, pointing to the pilot and two others. “Stay here with me. The rest of you go with Golo. Remember, we only have thirty minutes to get off this vessel.”

  “If the humans went into the ship they’re probably wearing enviro-suits,” Golo noted almost casually.

  Grayson swore silently at the extra complication. “The Illusive Man wants Gillian alive and unharmed,” he reminded the eight soldiers going with Golo, stressing the point to make sure they understood. “Don’t shoot at anything smaller than a full-grown quarian.”

  “Not unless you’re close enough to count the fingers,” Golo added with a laugh.

  “The bridge is sealing off sections of the ship,” Mal told them as he passed out the guns stored in the stockroom with the food, medicine, and other carefully tracked supplies. “It won’t stop them, but it might slow them down. The civilians are being evacuated to the upper decks, and I’ve ordered all security teams to meet us down here.”

  Kahlee took the assault rifle he handed her, hefting it to test the weight. It was a cheap volus knock-off of a turian design—a substandard weapon, but it was better than nothing.

  Glancing around the room, she considered their chances. There was only one entrance onto the trading deck from the loading bays: Cerberus would have to come straight down a long, narrow hall right to them. But if they got past that first door, they would find plenty of cover among the oversized crates and bins used to store merchandise that were scattered all about the room. A well-organized strike team would have no problem spreading out and trying to flank Mal’s people. And if they had to fall back there was only one place to go—up to the heavily populated living quarters of the deck above.


  Two quarian security teams were already on the trading deck. By the time Mal had finished passing out weapons to Kahlee, Lemm, and Hendel, four more security teams had arrived from the decks above.

  “Everyone spread out and find cover,” the captain ordered. “Hold the doors to the landing bay for as long as you can. If I give the order, fall back to the level above.”

  The quarians scrambled to find their positions, and Kahlee turned to Gillian. She wasn’t moving or looking around; she simply stared straight ahead at nothing, her arms hanging limp by her sides.

  “Do you remember where Seeto’s room is?” Kahlee asked, trying not to think about the fact that the young quarian, along with Isli and Ugho, was probably already dead.

  Gillian didn’t answer her at first, but simply stood still and quiet, gazing off into the distance from behind her mask.

  “Gillian!” Kahlee shouted. “This is important!” The girl turned her head slowly toward her.

  “Do you remember when Seeto showed us his room?” Kahlee repeated. The girl nodded once. “Do you know where it is?”

  “The deck above us,” she answered, in a flat monotone that indicated she was slipping farther and farther away from her surroundings. “The first cubicle in the group along the fourth column and the sixth row.”

  “I need you to go there and wait for me or Hendel to come get you!” Kahlee shouted. “Do you understand? Go to Seeto’s room and hide!”

  Gillian gave the familiar single nod, then turned and walked slowly over toward the freight elevator.

  “The stairs, Gillian,” Kahlee shouted after her, knowing the elevator wouldn’t be operational with the ship in emergency lockdown. “You have to take the stairs!”

  The girl didn’t look back at her, she simply altered her course and headed for the stairs.

  “You sure about sending her off alone?” Hendel asked, checking the sights and autotargeting system on his own weapon.

  Kahlee wasn’t sure. In fact, she hated it. But she didn’t see any other option.