rampage.
Like all turians, Saren’s face was covered by a mask of hard cartilage. But Saren’s mask was the pale color of bone; it looked like a skull. He reminded Anderson of the old Earth paintings depicting the Grim Reaper, the embodiment of death itself.
Kahlee was in the back, tending to Grissom’s wounds. The admiral had tried to protest, but he was weak from loss of blood and she’d managed to get him to lie down. She found a military field kit in his medicine chest with enough medigel to stabilize his condition, and now she was dressing his wound.
She’d wanted to take him to a hospital, or at least call an ambulance, but the Spectre had adamantly refused. “After you answer my questions” was all he’d say.
Anderson knew right then that he didn’t like Saren. Anyone who would use the prolonged pain and suffering of a family member for leverage was a sadist and a bully.
“He’s resting now,” Kahlee said, emerging from the back. “I gave him a sedative.”
She entered the kitchen and took a seat beside Anderson, instinctively aligning herself with one of her own kind. “Hurry up and ask your questions,” she said tersely, “so I can get my father to a hospital.”
“Cooperate and this will be over soon,” Saren assured her, then added, “Tell me about the Sidon military base.”
“It was wiped out in a terrorist attack,” Anderson answered, jumping in before Kahlee could say anything incriminating.
The turian glared at him. “Don’t play me for a fool, human. That krogan who nearly killed you all is a bounty hunter named Skarr. I’ve been following him for the past two days.”
“What does that have to do with us?” Kahlee asked, her voice so innocent Anderson almost believed she really didn’t know what was going on.
“He was hired by the man who ordered the attack on Sidon,” Saren replied with a scowl. “They sent him to eliminate the only survivor from the base. You.”
“Sounds like you know more about this than we do,” Anderson countered.
The turian slammed his fist down on the table. “Why was the base attacked?! What were you working on there?”
“Prototype technology,” Kahlee offered before Anderson could speak. “Experimental weapons for the
Alliance military.”
Saren tilted his head to the side, puzzled. “Experimental weapons technology? That’s all?”
“What do you mean ‘that’s all’?” Anderson sputtered in disbelief, running with the lie Kahlee had so deftly handed him.
“That hardly seems like justification for attacking a heavily armed Alliance base,” the turian replied. “We’re on the edge of a war in the Verge,” Anderson insisted. “Everybody knows it’s got to be us or the
batarians. Why wouldn’t they want to attack our primary weapons research base?”
“No,” Saren said flatly. “There’s something more. You’re hiding something.”
There was a long pause, and then the turian casually brought out his pistol and set it on the table. “Perhaps you don’t understand the full extent of Spectre authority,” he said ominously. “I have the legal
right to take any action I deem necessary during my investigations.”
“You’re going to kill us?” Kahlee exclaimed, her voice rising in shock and disbelief.
“I have two rules I follow,” Saren explained. “The first is: never kill someone without a reason.” “And the second?” Anderson asked, suspicious.
“You can always find a reason to kill someone.”
“Biotics,” Kahlee blurted out. “We were trying to find a way to turn humans into biotics.”
The turian considered her explanation for a moment then asked, “What were the results?”
“We were close,” the young woman admitted, her voice getting softer. “We found a handful of human subjects with latent biotic abilities. Children, mostly. Far weaker than what we’d measured in other species, but with the amplification nodes and proper training we still hoped to see results.
“We just completed the implantation surgery on several of our most promising candidates a few weeks ago. None of them survived the raid.”
“Do you know who ordered the attack?” he asked, changing tack.
Kahlee shook her head. “Batarians, probably. I was on leave when it happened.” “Why are they coming after you now?” Saren pressed.
“I don’t know!” she shouted, banging her fist on the table in exasperation. “Maybe they think I can get the program up and running again. But they destroyed the files. Killed the test subjects. All our research is gone!”
She dropped her head down onto her arms, crying against the table. “And now everybody’s dead,” she mumbled between sobs. “All my friends. Dr. Qian. All of them… gone.”
Anderson placed a comforting hand on her shoulder, while the turian just sat there watching impassively. After several seconds he pushed himself away from the table and stood up.
“I will find out who ordered the attack,” he told them as he put his gun back into his belt and turned to go. “And why.”
At the door he paused and turned back to them. “And if you’re lying to me, I will find that out, too.” A moment later he was gone, disappearing into the night.
Kahlee was still sobbing. Anderson pulled her close, trying to offer her comfort. She’d done a good job with Saren, spinning lies with just enough strands of truth to make them hold together. But there was nothing false about her reaction now. The people at Sidon had been her friends, and they were all dead.
She pressed her head up against him, seeking solace in the closeness of a fellow human being. A few minutes later the tears stopped, and she gently pushed herself away from him.
“Sorry about that,” she said, giving a nervous, rueful laugh and wiping her eyes.
“What’s going to happen now?” she asked. “Are you going to arrest me?”
“Not yet,” he admitted. “I meant what I said to your father the other day. I don’t believe you’re a traitor. But I need you to tell me what’s going on. And not the story you sold to that turian. I want the truth.”
She nodded and sniffled. “I guess it’s the least I can do after you risked your life for us. But can we take my dad to the hospital first?”
“Of course.”
It turned out getting Grissom to the hospital wasn’t going to be easy. He was a big man, and the sedative Kahlee had given him had made him groggy. He was nothing but dead weight. Uncooperative dead weight.
“Leave me alone,” he grumbled as they struggled in vain to lug him out of bed and get him on his feet. Kahlee stood on one side of the bed holding his uninjured arm. Anderson was on the other, awkwardly
gripping him around the waist and back to avoid touching his wounded bicep. Each time they tried to
pull Grissom to a sitting position, he simply flopped back down.
His daughter tried to reason with him, grunting each time they hoisted him up. “We have to… unh…
get you… unh… to a hospital. Ungh!”
“Bleeding’s stopped,” he protested, his words thick and slurred from the sedative. “Just let me sleep.” “Let’s try something else,” Anderson said to Kahlee, standing up and coming around to her side. He sat
down on the edge of the bed, facing away from the admiral as he pulled the older man’s good arm up across his back and over his shoulder. With Kahlee’s help he managed to stand, taking Grissom’s not inconsiderable weight in a modified fireman’s carry.
“Put me down, you bastard!” Grissom moaned.
“You were stabbed in the arm and thrown against a wall by a pissed-off krogan,” Anderson said, taking an unsteady step toward the hall. “Someone needs to check you out.”
“You stupid son of a bitch,” Grissom mumbled. “They’ll figure out Kahlee’s hiding here.”
Anderson hesitated, then staggered back a step and half sat, half fell onto the bed, letting Grissom slip back down onto it.
“No,” Anderson said, panting slightly from the exertion. “But he’s right. We take him in and you’re finished.”
“What are you talking about?”
“The ports are already on increased alert because of the attack on Sidon. We bring an Alliance legend like Admiral Jon Grissom into a hospital with these kinds of injuries and security goes through the roof. There’s no way
