Drew Karpyshyn - Retribution

In desperation, he tried one last time to exert his influence over the alien machines controlling him, in what he realized might quite possibly be the final act of free will before they devoured him completely.

But instead of struggling for physical control, he threw all his energy into projecting a single thought: Kahlee is too useful to kill.

He didn’t know if his gambit worked, but he suddenly felt the Reapers pawing through his mind, digging up everything he knew about Kahlee Sanders. Not even knowing if it was possible, he tried to direct and influence their search.

She knows more about the Ascension Project than anyone else. She’s studied the children for years. She’s analyzed the data from every conceivable angle. She’s one of the most brilliant scientific minds in the galaxy. She’s worth far more alive than dead.

Instead of squeezing the trigger, the Reapers tucked one pistol into Grayson’s belt. With their free hand they grabbed Kahlee by the forearm in a viselike grip, causing her to gasp in pain.

“Come with me,” they said, dragging her away.

Kahlee didn’t argue as Grayson seized her by the arm and led her off down the hall. He seemed to have forgotten all about Anderson, as if he had suddenly become entirely focused on her and her alone.

She had no way to know if Anderson was still alive as they left his motionless body behind and marched back up the hall, but she wasn’t about to draw attention to the possibility that he might be.

Once they had rounded the corner and Anderson was out of sight, she dared to speak.

“Grayson, please — I know what’s happening to you. I want to help you.”

“Grayson is gone,” the man pulling her along replied.

They were moving so fast he was practically carrying her, her feet scuffling along the floor in a desperate attempt to keep up and take pressure off her arm.

“Slow down! You’re hurting me.”

To her surprise, they did slow down. Just a fraction, but enough so that she was able to keep pace. In her mind, there was only one possible explanation: somewhere, deep inside the abomination manhandling her down the Grissom Academy halls, a tiny part of Grayson still lived.

David Anderson’s return to consciousness was not pleasant.

It began with a sharp, stabbing pain in his left side that flared up intensely with every breath. His mind wasn’t thinking clearly yet; it couldn’t quite remember where he was or how he’d got here. But his soldier’s training allowed him to focus on the pain and try to make a self-diagnosis.

Broken ribs. Collapsed lung.

Neither condition was fatal, but either would definitely slow him down. He rolled gingerly onto his back and tried to assess the extent of the damage by reaching up to feel around with his right hand. The simple motion nearly caused him to black out.

Fractured collarbone. Possible dislocated shoulder .

He felt like he’d been hit by a high-speed monorail.

Or one hell of a biotic push.

Everything came back to him in a flash. He didn’t know how long he’d been out or why Grayson hadn’t finished him off, but he was still alive. And that counted for something.

Come on, soldier. On your feet .

Trying not to twist, which would aggravate his ribs, and careful not to jar his arm, which would set off his collarbone, he tried to get to his feet … only to fall back hard to the floor as the torn ligaments in his left ankle collapsed under his weight.

As he hit the ground, he was swallowed up in waves of pain so intense they made him vomit inside his helmet. The reflexive spasm of his stomach caused his broken ribs to scream out, which started a coughing fit that squeezed his collapsed lung even tighter, making it feel like he was being strangled by someone inside his chest.

Knowing that the only way to stop the chain of injuries from setting each other off like toppling dominoes was to lie still, Anderson somehow forced his body to quit writhing despite the throbbing pain in his ankle, chest, and shoulder.

He opened his lips and took several slow, shallow breaths, ignoring the foul taste of his last meal that coated his mouth. As bad as the taste was, however, the stench inside his helmet was worse.

When the excruciating pain finally subsided to a dull agony, he very slowly took his one good arm and unbuckled his helmet, letting it fall to the floor beside him. Fighting the urge to take deep, greedy gasps of the clean air, he very carefully maneuvered himself up into a sitting position.

Using the nearby wall for support, he managed to stand up, keeping all his weight on his right leg. He spotted his shotgun on the floor a few meters away.

The enviro-suit was releasing a steady trickle of medi-gel into his system. It was regulated to keep the doses small; too much of the wonder drug and he’d slip into unconsciousness. The limited doses weren’t enough to heal his injuries, but did make it easier for him to cope with the pain.

With slow, careful steps, he made his way over to pick up the shotgun, wincing each time he put weight on his injured foot. He was able to hold it with his injured arm. The weight of the weapon pulling down in his grasp caused jolts of pain to shoot through his broken collarbone, but he had no other way to carry it. Not when he needed his good hand to help support his weight against the wall.

Gritting his teeth, he hobbled down the hall in the direction of the landing port, hoping to catch up to Grayson before he escaped. The collapsed lung limited him to short, shallow breaths, making his creeping pace as exhausting as an all-out sprint.

It wasn’t long before the painkillers coursing through his body were going into overdrive, staving off shock and giving him a nice little buzz as well.

Stay focused, soldier. No R and R until the mission is done.

Kahlee was trying to think of a way to reach Grayson. When she’d tried to appeal to him directly, the Reapers had shut him down. But when she’d asked the Reapers to go slower, Grayson had been able to exert some kind of subtle influence over them. It almost seemed as if making the Reapers focus on something external loosened their hold on Grayson, allowing him some limited type of freedom.

“Why are you here?” Kahlee asked. “What do you want from us?”

She wasn’t sure if the Reapers would even reply. All she was hoping for was that she might be able to engage the Reapers enough to give Grayson a fighting chance. A fighting chance to do what, however, she couldn’t say.

“We seek salvation,” Grayson said, much to her surprise. “Ours and yours.”

“Salvation? Is that what the Collectors were doing? Saving those human colonists? Is that what you did to Grayson?”

“He has been repurposed. He has evolved into something greater than a random assortment of cells and organic refuse.”

“That randomness is what made him unique,” Kahlee countered. “It made him special.”

She noticed that their pace had become more measured and deliberate. If Grayson was still inside there, if he had any influence at all, he was using it to slow the Reapers down. He was trying to buy her time to escape. The best thing she could do was try to keep them talking.

“Why can’t you just leave us alone? Why can’t you just let us live our lives in peace?”

“We are the keepers of the cycle. The creators and the destroyers. Your existence is a flicker, a spark. We can extinguish it — or we can preserve it. Submit to us and we can make you immortal.”

“I don’t want to be immortal,” she said. “I just want to be me.”

They were barely moving at all now. Grayson had managed to bring their hurried escape from the