Drew Karpyshyn - Retribution

Kai Leng felt the opposite emotion as he watched Grayson emerge and wander off in the direction of his apartment alone.

Several patrons near the back of the line gave up in disgust, stepping out of the queue in search of other entertainment. Kai Leng blended in with this crowd to avoid drawing attention, heading off in the opposite direction Grayson went. He continued around a corner until he was safely out of sight; he didn’t want to risk Grayson noticing him if he happened to glance back for any reason.

Reaching up, he activated the two-way transmitter looped over his ear with a light touch.

“Target has left the club alone,” he whispered, knowing the receivers worn by the rest of his team would automatically amplify his words so they could be heard clearly. “The plan is go.”

Grayson made his way back to his apartment, his pace quickening with every step. He didn’t feel right.

Tense. Restless. Frustrated.

Leaving the club had been the right decision; the scene at Afterlife held no appeal for him tonight. But he still felt bad about brushing Liselle off.

She’s right about Kahlee, you know. You always get moody after you talk to her.

He nodded to the guards at the district’s gate as he passed, but didn’t bother to speak as he blew by, his mind too caught up in his own thoughts.

Kahlee was a link to his old life; speaking to her was a way to keep the connection with his daughter alive. Their conversations were a reminder of what he’d once had … and what he had lost.

Those days are gone. Quit torturing yourself.

He reached his building, punched in the code, then quickly ran up the stairs. By the time he reached the door of his apartment he was breathing heavily. But while his physical exertion had raised his heart rate, it had done nothing to quell his inner turmoil.

Inside the apartment he locked the door, pulled the shade down in the sitting room, then stripped off his boots, shirt, and slacks. A few beads of perspiration had broken out on his skin; standing in his underwear in the middle of the room, he shivered in the cool air wafting down from the climate-control vents in the ceiling.

Part of him wanted to call Kahlee again.

Great idea. What are you going to say? You think she cares about your emotional bullshit?

She was probably asleep by now. There was no point in waking her up. And calling her might not make him feel any better; it might actually make things worse.

You’re so messed up you don’t even know what you want. Pathetic.

He began to pace back and forth in front of the couch, trying to burn off the restless energy.

Just leftover adrenaline from the job. You need to relax.

This feeling wasn’t completely new to him. On edge. Wired. During his days with Cerberus, he’d felt this way most of the time. It wasn’t hard to guess the cause: psychological stress.

Working for Aria was a little too close to what he used to do for the Illusive Man. He was falling back into old patterns.

What are you going to do? Tell Aria you quit? You really think she’ll just let you walk away?

Leaving Omega wasn’t a realistic option. He’d just have to find ways to cope. Like he did while working for Cerberus.

One quick hit of red sand and it’s all good.

He couldn’t deny the truth — he was an addict. He’d never last the entire night. Not with the drugs right here in the apartment. But there was a solution: replace one addiction with another.

Making his way into the bedroom, he activated the extranet terminal and tapped the screen to send out a quick call. Liselle answered on the second ring.

“I knew you’d call back.”

Her voice was distorted slightly, the two-way transmitter in the bracelet she wore on her wrist struggling to filter her words out from the background noise of the club’s dance floor.

“I’m sorry I was acting so weird,” he said. “I just felt a little … off.”

“Feeling better now?” she asked, her voice dripping with insinuation. “Want me to come over?”

“As fast as you can” was his earnest reply.

“I’ll be there in twenty minutes.”

The call disconnected, and Grayson pushed himself back from the terminal. Twenty minutes. He could last twenty minutes.

Kai Leng and his team — four men and two women — stopped at the gate leading into the district where Grayson lived. The turian guards studied them with something between boredom and contempt, not even bothering to raise their weapons.

It would have been an easy matter to take them out, but unfortunately, eliminating the guards wasn’t an option. They were part of Omega First Security, an independent company hired by wealthy residents to provide protection in a handful of neighborhoods on the station. Each guard post had to check in with the main dispatch every twenty minutes; failure to do so would trigger an emergency response of two dozen reinforcements descending on the district.

“Name,” one of the guards demanded.

“Manning,” Kai Leng replied. “Here to see Paul Johnson.”

The turian glanced down at the screen on his omni-tool. “He didn’t put you on the list. I’ll have to call him to get clearance.”

“Wait,” Kai Leng said quickly. “Don’t call him. This is supposed to be a surprise. It’s his birthday next week.”

The turian hesitated, then gave the seven humans standing before him a closer look.

Kai Leng had dressed his people to fit their cover story. Nobody wore body armor; instead they were attired in colorful clothing befitting current Omega fashion. Instead of a weapon, each member of the team carried a gift wrapped in brightly colored paper.

They were armed, however; each team member had a small tranquilizer pistol carefully hidden somewhere on his or her person. Stunners were smaller and would have been easier to hide, but the tranqs had better range and weren’t limited to two or three shots before needing to be recharged.

“This is a breach of protocol,” the other turian said, though his tone wasn’t one of flat refusal. “We could get fired.”

“We’re not looking to get you in any trouble,” Kai Leng replied, holding up a pair of hundred-credit chips. “Just do us a favor and pretend we were never here.”

Omega Security paid its people well, but that didn’t mean they were immune to bribes under the right circumstances. The group before them looked harmless, and the offer was just enough to tempt them, but not so much it would arouse suspicion.

“Let me look in those gifts first,” the turian said, snatching the chips from the human’s outstretched hand.

Kai Leng had briefly considered having his team hide their weapons inside the gift boxes. Fortunately, his understanding of alien nature had made him reconsider. He knew the turian guards wouldn’t be able to resist asserting their authority over a group of wealthy humans.

For the next few minutes, the turians pawed through the gift boxes. They tore off the wrappers and rummaged around inside, thoroughly — and roughly — inspecting the contents. Their search revealed several bottles of expensive wine, a watch, a pair of cuff links, and a box of premium cigars. When they were finished, the gift boxes had been reduced to shreds of brightly colored paper and a pile of crumpled cardboard strewn about the feet of the guards.

“Clean up this mess and you can go,” the second turian said.

Kai Leng bit his lip and nodded to his crew. One further humiliation: picking up garbage off the street while the guards literally looked down on them. To their credit, his people took the insult without comment, knowing the mission was more important than their burning desire to punish the turians for their alien arrogance.