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 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.
'How much has he told them?'
'I don't know. The message came in last night. I called you as soon as I heard it.'
'We need to play this out,' the Illusive Man told him after a moment's consideration. 'Assume he hasn't blown your cover yet.'
It was a reasonable assumption. Jiro was new to Cerberus — they'd only recruited him a few years ago — but he understood how things worked. Two things would help ensure his silence, for a while at least: his loyalty to their cause, and his fear of the Illusive Man's retribution.
It was inevitable he'd tell them something — sooner or later the Alliance would break him. But the longer he could hold out, the more time he gave for someone to clean up the mess. If he held out long enough for the mission to be salvaged then he didn't have to worry about Cerberus coming after him to extract its revenge. As long as he kept his mouth shut, he could even cling to the hope that the Illusive Man might send someone to rescue him. It had happened with key operatives in the past, though Grayson figured Jiro would ultimately be deemed expendable.
'Contact the Academy,' the Illusive Man instructed him. 'Tell them you're coming to take Gillian out of the program. We've gotten everything we can from the Ascension Project. It's time we took direct control of her training.'
'Yes, sir.' He'd hesitated only a split second before answering, but this was enough for the Illusive Man to pick up on it.
'What happened at the Academy was an accident. A mistake,' he said, his face morphing into an expression of sincere apology and regret. 'We don't want Gillian to get hurt. She's too valuable. Too important. We care what happens to her.'
Grayson didn't answer right away. 'I know,' he finally replied.
'We always feared there could be side effects with the new treatment, but we didn't think anything like this would happen,' the Illusive Man continued to explain. 'Monitoring her from a distance, analyzing all the results after the fact… it increases the risks of something going wrong. Once you bring her in, we'll keep her under constant observation. We can be more cautious with our tests. Bring her along slowly.'
He was saying all the right things, of course. And Grayson knew there was at least some element of truth in his words.
'I give you my word this won't happen again,' the Illusive Man vowed.
Grayson wanted to believe him. He
Gillian needed order and routine to function. He couldn't even imagine how she would cope if she had to live the life of a fugitive, constantly fleeing from one location to another in an effort to stay one step ahead of their pursuers. And what would happen as her power continued to grow? Could she ever learn to control her abilities? Or would she always be some kind of biotic time bomb, waiting to go off?
'I know Gillian is different,' the Illusive Man added, as if he was reading Grayson's thoughts. 'I don't know if we can cure her condition, but the more we learn about it the more we can help. We won't turn our backs on her. She means too much to us. To me.'
'I'll call the Academy,' Grayson answered, 'and tell them I'm on my way.'
The bag Pel was carrying was heavy; he kept switching it from hand to hand but he couldn't deny his arms were beginning to get sore. Fortunately, he was only a block away from the small two-story warehouse Cerberus was using for their base of operations on Omega. It was conveniently located along the edges of a small, unregulated spaceport in a district controlled by the Talons, a predominantly turian mercenary band.
On principle Pel didn't like dealing with any non-human group, but the Talons were one of the best options for freelancers looking to gain a foothold on Omega. The warehouse was in a prime location: their proximity to the spaceport allowed small ships to come and go without drawing undue attention, and they were within walking distance of a monorail linked to several other sections of the city. The Talons charged high rates for rent and protection, but they didn't ask any questions or stick their beaks in where they didn't belong. They were also one of the few factions strong enough to keep a firm hold on their territory, reducing the chances of riots or uprisings that sometimes swept through Omega's less stable districts.
Although the district was officially classified as turian, there was a smattering of other species on the streets as well. A pair of batarians walked toward and past him, casting a wary glance at the hated human and the bag he was carrying. A single hanar floated up from behind and brushed by his shoulder, moving quickly. He instinctively shied away from its long, trailing tentacles. There were even a handful of humans scattered about, though none of them worked for Cerberus. The five men and three women assigned to Pel's team tended to stay inside the warehouse; especially now that they had a prisoner to interrogate.
He was only a few feet from the door to the warehouse when a familiar figure stepped out of the shadows.
'What's in the bag, friend?' Golo asked.
'How did you find this place?' Pel demanded, setting the bag down and letting his hand rest casually on his hip, just above his pistol.
'I have been keeping tabs on you,' the quarian admitted. 'It wasn't all that hard to discover this location.' He didn't know if quarians smirked, but Pel imagined a smug look on the alien's face beneath his visor.
He wasn't really that concerned; Golo didn't pose much of a threat to what they were doing. But he didn't like being spied on. Especially not by the alien equivalent of a gypsy-thief.
'Why are you here?'
'I have another business proposal for you,' Golo replied.
Pel grimaced. 'I'm still pissed off about the last deal we cut with you,' he told him. 'That pilot we captured on the quarian ship isn't giving us the codes we need.'
'You have to understand the culture of the Migrant Fleet,' Golo explained. 'Quarians are reviled by almost every other race. They can only rely on each other to survive. Children learn at a young age to value family and
