Ascension

see if you can survive a shotgun blast to the face from point-blank range. Either way, all you end up with is two hundred credits.'

Both sets of the batarian's eyes drifted slowly down to the shotgun, then back up to Lemm.

'Check the markets in the Carrd district,' he said.

Lemm reached into one of the exterior pockets of his enviro-suit, moving slowly so as not to startle anyone into thinking he was going for a hidden weapon, and pulled out two one-hundred-credit chips. He dropped them onto the bar, picked up his shotgun, and slowly backed out the door into the street, keeping his eyes on the batarians the entire time. There he retrieved his pack and headed back the way he had come, toward the monorail that, if it was still operational, would take him where he needed to go.

Golo wasn't surprised to find the markets in the Carrd district far busier than usual. With the ongoing war between the volus and the batarians in the neighboring district, merchants and customers alike had moved their business over to the nearby section of the station controlled by the elcor.

The extra crowds were an inconvenience, but there were few other places he could go. Quarian food was a rarity on Omega. While it was possible for him to safely consume a variety of turian products — the two species shared the same dextro-amino-acid-based biology — he still had to be wary of contamination. Bacteria and germs that were completely harmless to turians could be fatal to his own virtually nonexistent immune system.

Quarians leaving the flotilla had the option of packing travel rations: containers of highly concentrated nutrient paste they could ingest through a small, sealable feeding tube on the underside of their helmet. The paste was bland and tasteless, but it was possible to store a month's worth of rations in a single backpack, and it was commercially available throughout both the Terminus Systems and Council Space.

However, Golo, an exile with no hope of ever returning to the Fleet, didn't relish the idea of consuming nothing but tubes of paste for the rest of his life. Fortunately, he had struck a long-term deal with an elcor shopkeeper willing to bring in regular shipments of purified turian cuisine.

He had to fight his way through the crowd for several more minutes before he finally made it to the shop. Stepping inside, he was surprised to see another quarian on the premises. He was wearing armor over his enviro-suit — a surefire way to attract unwanted attention, in Golo's mind — and he had what appeared to be a very expensive shotgun strapped to his back. It was impossible to tell his age beneath his clothing and mask, but Golo suspected he was young. It wouldn't be the first time he'd encountered another of his own species who had come to Omega as part of their Pilgrimage.

He nodded by way of greeting. The other didn't speak but returned the nod. Golo proceeded to pick up his order at the counter. When he turned back he was surprised to see that the other quarian was gone.

Golo's finely honed survival instincts began to sound an alarm. His species were highly social beings. Their first inclination when seeing a fellow quarian on an alien world would be to initiate a conversation, not vanish without saying a word.

'I'll come back for these later,' he said, handing his sack of groceries to the elcor shopkeeper.

'Genuine concern: is something wrong?' the elcor asked him in the deep, toneless voice common to the species.

'Mind if I leave through the back door?'

'Sincere offer: You are welcome to do so if you wish.'

Golo moved to the rear of the store and slipped out the emergency exit into the alley. He hadn't gone five steps when he heard someone speaking in quarian from directly behind him.

'Don't move or I blow your head off.'

Knowing the shotgun he'd seen earlier could literally decapitate him from this range, Golo froze.

'Turn around, slowly.'

He did as instructed. As he'd suspected, the young quarian from inside the shop was standing in the center of the alley, pointing the shotgun squarely at his chest.

'Are you Golo?'

'You wouldn't be holding a gun on me if I was someone else,' he answered, seeing no hope in trying to lie his way out of the situation.

'Do you know why I'm here?'

'No,' he answered truthfully. Over the past decade he had committed dozens of acts that might have caused another quarian to hunt him down in search of vengeance. There was no point in trying to guess which one had set off this particular young man.

'A scout ship from the Idenna was brokering a deal here on Omega last week. The Cyniad. They disappeared. I think you know what happened to them.'

'Who are you? Are you part of the Idenna crew?' Golo asked, stalling until he could come up with a plan.

'My name is Lemm'Shal nar Tesleya,' the other replied.

Golo wasn't surprised to get an answer to his question. Even on the flotilla, quarians tended to wear their enviro-suits at all times: an extra layer of protection against hull breaches and other disasters that could befall their rickety ships. As a result, exchanging names at every meeting was a deeply ingrained habit. He'd been counting on this, and knowing his adversary's name gave him something to work with.

He didn't recognize his Shal clan name, but the nar in Lemm's surname marked him as technically still a child, which meant he was most likely here on his Pilgrimage. Furthermore, he was associated with the vessel Tesleya, not the Idenna, which meant he didn't know the crew personally. He must have heard about them secondhand, possibly from another quarian he had run into during his recent travels.

Golo quickly formed a likely scenario in his head.

Someone had mentioned the disappearance of the Cyniad to him in passing. Now Lemm believed that if he could locate the missing scout ship and its crew — or at least discover their fate — then he could give this information to the Idenncfs captain. In return, he would be accepted into the Idenna's crew and his Pilgrimage would be over.

'What makes you think I know anything about the Cyniad}' he asked, hoping to bluff the young man into backing down.

'The Migrant Fleet doesn't do business with Omega,' Lemm answered, not lowering the barrel of his shotgun. 'Somebody must have initiated contact with the Cyniad to propose the deal that made them come here. Only another quarian would know how to do that. And you're the most infamous quarian on this station.'

Golo frowned behind his mask. The kid was simply playing a hunch; it was only dumb luck that it happened to be right. He briefly considered denying his involvement, then realized he had an easier way out.

'I guess my reputation proceeds me,' he admitted. 'I contacted the Cyniad, but I was only the middleman. The individual actually behind the deal was a human.'

'What human?'

'He told me his name was Pel,' he said with an indifferent shrug. 'He was willing to pay me to contact the Cyniad, and I was happy to take his money. I didn't really want to know more than that.'

'Weren't you worried he was setting the crew of the Cyniad up? Luring them into a trap?'

'The Fleet turned its back on me. Why should I care what happens to any of them as long as I get paid?'

It was the best kind of lie; one spun with a thread of unpleasant truth. By honestly owning up to his callousness and greed it made his denial of direct involvement seem more believable.

'You sicken me,' Lemm said. If he hadn't been wearing his visor, Golo suspected he would have spit on the ground. 'I should kill you where you stand!'

'I don't know what happened to the crew of the Cyniad,' Golo said quickly, before Lemm could work up his anger enough to actually pull the trigger, 'but I know how you can find out.' He hesitated, then added, 'Give me five hundred credits and I'll tell you.'

Lemm brought the shotgun up so he could sight down the barrel, then stepped forward until it was pressed