Drew Karpyshyn: Retribution

“I better go,” she said, standing up quickly.

Uncontrollable erections were perfectly normal for someone Nick’s age, but the last thing she wanted to do was make an awkward situation worse by drawing attention to what was happening. Better to just make a quick exit.

“Yeah, okay,” Nick answered, his voice noticeably strained.

She flicked off the light and shut the door behind her, giving him some necessary privacy.

Once she got back to her own private quarters, she downloaded Nick’s data into her private terminal, where it would automatically be relayed to the central database inside the Ascension Project’s main laboratory.

The numbers were encouraging. Initial testing had indicated there was an upper limit to what each individual biotic could achieve. However, recent results from students like Nick seemed to imply that with hard work these so-called upper limits were hardly set in stone.

As she charted the latest results from her other students, she couldn’t help but wonder what would have happened with Gillian Grayson if she had stayed in the program.

Although she was autistic, Gillian’s potential had dwarfed the other children’s in the Ascension Project.

Kahlee suspected her remarkable talent and her autism were somehow linked, though it was also possible her abilities were the result of the drugs her father and Cerberus had been secretly pumping into her system.

In the end, Grayson had chosen his daughter over his loyalty to Cerberus, and with his help Kahlee had managed to get Gillian onto the crew of a quarian deep-space exploration vessel … one of the few safe places in the galaxy beyond the Illusive Man’s reach.

Kahlee understood how hard it had been for Grayson to send his daughter away; it had been hard for her to. But Gillian wasn’t alone: Hendel Mitra — the former security chief of the Grissom Academy — was with her, and he cared for her as much as her own father did.

Kahlee’s train of thought was derailed by the soft beeping of an incoming call over the extranet. The point of origin was blocked, but she had a pretty good idea of who was on the other end of the line.

She tapped the bottom right corner of the hovering interface screen to accept the call, activating the video feed on a separate screen. Staring back at her was Grayson himself, as if Kahlee’s thoughts about his daughter had somehow conjured him up.

“Kahlee,” he said, his face brightening as he spoke her name.

For the past three years, Grayson had called her every two or three weeks. Though he would never openly admit it, she knew he was checking up on her. She suspected that after Gillian was gone, he’d struck some kind of bargain with the Illusive Man to guarantee her safety … though what that bargain was, or what it had cost him, she’d never been able to find out.

From the image on her screen, it looked as if he was calling from a computer station set up inside a small bedroom. She couldn’t make out any other significant details, however; Grayson was always careful to give her no clue as to where he was calling from. So she studied his physical appearance instead.

He seemed to be wearing some type of body armor or combat suit, though it was hard to be sure with only his head and shoulders visible. She was relieved to see that his pupils and teeth were white, with no trace of the rosy pink hue that would indicate he had started using red sand again. Yet his face looked lean and haggard, as if he was under a great deal of stress.

“You look good, Grayson,” she said, letting a smile slip across her lips to sell the white lie.

“I’m keeping busy,” he responded, as vague and evasive as ever. “How have you been? Everything going well on the Ascension Project? Nothing unusual?”

“Unusual? You mean other than teaching children how to move objects with their mind?”

Grayson forced a polite laugh. Kahlee could see he was on edge.

“Is something wrong?”

“No,” he answered quickly, shaking his head. “Everything’s fine. Just got back from a job. Always leaves me feeling a little off.”

“What kind of job?”

“The kind that pays my bills.”

There was an awkward moment of silence as Kahlee debated whether to keep pushing for more information. In the end, she decided to let it go.

“I was thinking of Gillian when you called.”

A wave of conflicting emotions flickered across Grayson’s face at the mention of his daughter: longing, regret, and happiness ran in rapid succession across his features.

“I’m always thinking of her,” he said softly. “Have you heard anything? From the quarians? Or Hendel?”

“I’m sorry. No.”

After a pause, Grayson gruffly insisted, “It’s better this way.”

Kahlee couldn’t help but feel like he was trying to convince himself, not her.

“You’re welcome to come visit the Academy,” she reminded him. “I’ve put you on my precleared-visitors list.”

Grayson’s association with Cerberus had never become known to anyone at the Academy other than

Hendel and Kahlee, and she knew those days were behind him. As far as the rest of the staff knew, he was just the father of a former student … and a major donor to the program.

“I know how much you miss Gillian,” she pressed. “Maybe coming here and meeting some of the other students and seeing the advances we’ve made would make things easier somehow.”

“It’s too dangerous,” Grayson replied, refusing to even consider her offer. “For me and for you.”

“I wish you’d let me help you,” she said. “You don’t have to do this alone, you know.”

“I wish that were true. Goodbye, Kahlee. It was good seeing you.”

And with that, the call abruptly ended.

Kahlee flicked off her screen and tried to turn her attention back to the files she’d been studying, knowing it was a lost cause.

Grayson wasn’t exactly a friend. He had a dark history, and she was certain he’d done things that would horrify her. But they had a strong connection through their feelings for Gillian, and through the traumatic experiences they’d shared while on the run from Cerberus.

She knew he was trying to turn his life around; she truly believed that in his own way he was seeking redemption. Unfortunately, there was nothing she could do other than hope he someday found it.

Grayson sat for several minutes in front of the terminal after disconnecting his call to Kahlee, his mind filled with thoughts of his daughter.

She was in a better place now, and that gave him some comfort. But he couldn’t help remembering all the terrible things that Cerberus had done to her. All the things he’d helped them do to her.

The familiar guilt washed over him, followed quickly by the inevitable self-contempt. There was nothing he could do to change the past; feeling bad about it was a waste of time. He considered himself a practical man, and he needed to stay focused in the here and now if he wanted to stay alive.

Unfortunately, rational arguments held little sway over matters of the heart, and — as he so often did after speaking with Kahlee — he felt hot tears streaming down his cheeks.

He had sworn he’d become a better person for Gillian’s sake. And while it was true he’d turned his back on Cerberus, was what he was doing now really so different? He was a paid mercenary for a ruthless crime lord on the most dangerous, deadly space station in the galaxy. Did killing someone for credits become less amoral if the target had probably done something to deserve it?

In some part of his mind, the answer must have been yes. The nightmares that had plagued him during his time under the Illusive Man were gone; on some level he must have been more accepting of his new position. On the other hand, there were times when he felt fractured, as if he were two people. He knew the kind of man he wanted to be, but part of him — the little voice in the back of his head — wouldn’t let him forget what he once was.