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:
For the next several minutes he rode the wave, eyes closed, his head lolling back and forth. Occasionally he would make a soft
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.
