this.”
“The sender of the message was one of the instructors at the Academy. A man long since retired. Preliminary follow-up indicates he is not germane to the investigation — he was likely only acting on orders of the recipient, and likely knew nothing about why the information was being sent.
“Though I have no proof, I suspect the recipient is Kahlee Sanders’s father. As a high-ranking Alliance officer, he would have had the means to systematically cover up their relationship, and do so in a way that would make it difficult to track. However, I was not able to determine why the father and daughter chose to alienate themselves from each — ”
“Please,” he begged, cutting her off one more time. “All I want is a name. Don’t say anything else. Just tell me who received the message, and where I can find him.”
She blinked again, and from the change in her expression Anderson thought he might have hurt her feelings. Mercifully, though, she did as he had asked.
“The message was sent to Rear Admiral Jon Grissom. He’s on Elysium.”
CHAPTER TEN
“This is a private club, batarian,” growled the krogan security guard who stepped in Groto Ib-ba’s way as he tried to enter the doors of the Sanctuary.
“Tonight I’m a member,” the batarian mercenary replied, holding up his financial access card to the scanner and letting it deduct the four-hundred-credit cover charge directly from his bank account. The krogan didn’t move, barring his way until the transaction was approved. He only took his eyes off Groto for an instant, to glance at the name and ID picture that flashed up on the screen. He was checking to see if the access card had been stolen. But the ID image was clearly that of the batarian standing before him; there was no mistaking the blue sun tattoo emblazoned on his forehead, just above his left inner eye.
It was clear from the krogan’s expression he still didn’t want to move aside and let Groto in. “The cover charge only grants entrance to the club,” he noted. “Any services will be an additional fee. A significantly additional fee.”
“I know how it works,” Groto spat back. “I have money.”
The krogan considered for a moment, hoping to find some other way to keep him out. “There are no weapons permitted inside the club.”
“I said I know how it works,” Groto snarled. Still, the guard hesitated.
The batarian spread his arms out wide and held them in place. “Just search me and get it over with.” The krogan stepped back, beaten. “That won’t be necessary.” He tilted his head to the left, a batarian
sign of respect. “My apologies, Mr. Ib-ba. Helanda at the counter in the back can attend to your needs.”
Groto lowered his arms, a little surprised. It was amazing the kind of respect money could buy. If he had actually thought it was possible to get in without being searched he would have smuggled a pistol in under his belt. Or at least slipped a knife in his boot.
Instead he slowly tilted his head to the right in acknowledgment of the apology, playing the part of a man whose honor had been insulted. He boldly walked past the doorman and into the most exclusive
whorehouse on Camala, trying to appear calm though his heart was racing.
Part of him had been afraid they would simply turn him away even if he paid the cover charge. It was obvious he didn’t belong here; the Sanctuary was reserved for the rich and elite — those with fortunes, not soldiers of fortune. For the most part the cover fee kept men like Groto out. There were plenty of other places on Camala to buy companionship for the night, none of them nearly as expensive as the Sanctuary.
But the Blue Suns’s new employer had paid a substantial fee for their exclusive services over the next few months, including a large bonus after the attack on the Sidon military base. Groto hadn’t been directly involved in the attack, and he hadn’t been in the warehouse when their employer had met up with Skarr. If he had, he’d know who was paying them, but he might also have been one of the unlucky mercs who ended up dead at Skarr’s hands.
The Blue Suns paid every member an equal share anyway, so Groto hadn’t missed out on anything but the chance of getting killed. And the mercs who’d been at the warehouse were still on the job: they’d been contracted as personal bodyguards for the anonymous moneyman. Groto, on the other hand, was free to go out and enjoy his share of the credits. And, for once in his life, he was going to experience a pleasure reserved for those far more wealthy and powerful than he.
He’d spent part of the bonus on new clothes, but even so he began to feel self-conscious as he crossed the room. He didn’t fit in, and the clientele — most of them batarians — were regarding him with open suspicion and curiosity. Societal caste was an important part of batarian culture, and Groto was openly defying the conventional norms. But when he noticed that even the employees were looking at him with contempt, his embarrassment transformed into self-righteous rage. Who were they to look down on him? Nothing but servants and whores!
As he marched up to the counter in the back, passing several more krogan security personnel, he vowed he’d make somebody pay. Once he had his whore in a private room, he’d turn her scorn into fear and terror.
“Welcome to the Sanctuary, Mr. Ib-ba,” cooed the young batarian woman behind the counter. “My name is Helanda.
“I apologize for the incident at the door,” she continued. “Odak sometimes takes his job too seriously. You have my personal assurance he will be properly respectful next time.”
“Good. I expect better treatment in a place like this.” There wasn’t going to be a next time, but Groto wasn’t going to tell her that.
“We have a wide variety of services available,” Helanda explained, smoothly glossing over the doorman’s indiscretion and moving on to the business at hand. “The Sanctuary aims to satisfy the
desires of all our clientele, no matter how… esoteric. If you tell me what you are interested in, I will personally help you select an appropriate consort — or consorts — for the evening.”
“I’m interested in you,” he said, leaning forward on the counter, responding to the unspoken invitation. “That is not my role here,” she said curtly, taking a half step back, the lids of her inner eyes flicking
quickly in distaste. He realized her charm was nothing but an act; a game she was playing with him. Her
involuntary reaction exposed the truth: she felt the same revulsion he’d seen in the other employees.
From the corner of his eyes Groto noticed one of the krogan guards casually moving closer to them, and he decided now was not the time for retribution.
He forced a laugh, as if he found her stinging rejection amusing. “Actually, I’m interested in a human female.”
“A human female?” Helanda asked, as if she wasn’t sure she had heard him properly. “I’m curious,” he replied coldly.
“Very well, Mr. Ib-ba,” she said, touching a button behind the counter that brought up a small screen in front of her. “I should advise you that there is a premium charged for all interspecies requests. The appropriate fees are listed beside each consort.”
She spun the screen to face him. The display showed several prospects, along with the allotted price for each. Groto had to check himself to keep from choking in shock when he saw the amounts. Unlike the whorehouses he usually frequented, hourly rates weren’t an option here. A full night at the Sanctuary was going to cost several hundred credits more than his entire bonus. For a brief second he considered turning around and just walking out, but if he did, the four hundred credits he’d paid at the door were gone for good.
“Her,” he said, pointing at one of the pictures. There were less expensive options, but he was damned if he was going to let them bully him with their prices. He was never coming back here, so he was determined to get exactly what he wanted. Truthfully, he didn’t know all that much about humans. But something about this individual appealed to him. She seemed fragile. Vulnerable.
“An excellent choice, Mr. Ib-ba. I will have someone escort you to your room for the evening. Your consort will be up shortly.”
A few minutes later Groto was alone in one of the soundproofed private rooms, pacing back and forth and slamming his fist into his hand. He was thinking back on all the humiliations he had suffered since arriving at this
