Drew Karpyshyn - Ascension

"Isn't anyone worried about what they're doing behind that relay? They could be making powerful new genetic weapons. What if they're studying species to learn our weaknesses and vulnerabilities so they can invade?"

Golo laughed, the sound reverberating off his mask with a distant, hollow timbre.

"I have no doubt they are up to something unpleasant," he admitted. "But they've been doing this for five hundred years. If they were planning an invasion, it would have happened by now."

"But aren't you even curious?"

"The curious try to go through the Omega-4 relay," he reminded his human companion. "And they don't come back. The rest of us here on Omega are more worried about getting killed by our neighbor than what's happening on the far side of the galaxy. You need to stay focused to survive out here.'*

Good advice, Pel thought. The Collectors were definitely intriguing, and he wouldn't be surprised to learn that the Illusive Man already had agents looking into them somewhere. But that wasn't his mission.

"You said you could lead me to people who can give me those transmission codes."

Golo nodded eagerly, glad the subject had turned back to their current business.

"I can set up a meeting with a crew from one of the scout ships from the Migrant Fleet," he promised. "Just make sure you take one of them alive."

The flight attendant greeted him with a cheerful smile, her voice warm and inviting. "Welcome aboard, Mr. Grayson. My name is Ellin."

He didn't recognize her, but she could have been a recent hire; he didn't use the corporate shuttle very often. Ellin had striking green eyes — probably tinted— and long, lustrous golden hair — probably dyed. She looked to be in her early twenties, though of course there was no guarantee she was anywhere close to that young.

"Pleased to meet you, Ellin," he replied with a nod. He realized he was smiling at her with a goofy grin. Always was a sucker for blondes.

"We won't be leaving for a few minutes yet," she informed him, reaching out to take the briefcase from his hand, "but your room is ready. Please follow me and we can get you settled while the pilot makes his final preflight checks."

He studied her figure appreciatively from behind as she led him down the narrow corridor toward the private VIP chamber in the aft of the vessel.

"I hope everything is to your liking," she commented on reaching their destination, stepping forward and holding the door open so he could enter.

The room bore almost no resemblance to the simple, often crowded bunks found on military vessels or the common sleeping rooms of long-distance mass-transit shuttles. Equipped with a luxurious bed, state-of-the-art vid screen, private shower and hot tub, full wet bar, and just about every other conceivable amenity, it compared favorably to any suite in all but the most expensive planet-side hotels.

"We'll be arriving at the Grissom Academy in about eight hours, Mr. Grayson," Ellin continued, setting his briefcase in the corner. "Can I get you anything before lift-off?"

"I think I just want to rest," he said. Every joint in his body ached, and his head was pounding — classic signs of red sand withdrawal. "Wake me an hour before we arrive."

"Of course, Mr. Grayson," she replied, then turned and left him alone, closing the door behind her.

He stripped off his clothes, suddenly aware of how much he was sweating. There was a faint tremor in his left hand as he unbuttoned his shirt. But the idea of dusting up never crossed his mind; he wouldn't let Gillian see him stoned. Naked, he collapsed on the bed, too hot to bother crawling under the soft, silk sheets.

He heard the deep rumble as the pilot fired up the engines. Grayson could have flown himself, of course… he still knew how to handle a vessel like this. But Cerberus needed him to play a different role now. His cover was that of a high-level executive with Cord-Hislop Aeorospace, a midsized starship manufacturer based on Elysium. This allowed him to travel across the galaxy in private vessels without drawing undo attention, and offered a reasonable way to explain the large donation he'd given to the board of the Grissom Academy in order to get Gillian accepted into the Ascension Project.

The days of pretending to be a private pilot for up-and-coming politicians were long gone; now he was the one enjoying the luxurious room and service from a personal flight attendant. The Illusive Man looked after those who pleased him.

I bet Menneau thought that, too. Right before Pel killed him.

Grayson sat up in bed, his mind going back to Pel's recent visit. Maybe his old friend had told the Illusive Man about the red sand after all. Cerberus wouldn't just sit by if they felt his addiction jeopardized the mission.

Was Ellin really just a flight attendant? Thousands of everyday people worked ordinary jobs for Cord-Hislop without ever suspecting it was a corporation controlled by a shadowy paramilitary group. Hardly anyone at the company — or anywhere else, for that matter — even knew an organization like Cerberus existed. But hidden within the rank and file of employees, scattered across all rungs of the corporate ladder, were dozens of the Illusive Man's agents. Maybe Ellin was one of them. Maybe she was waiting outside the door to stick an ice pick in his neck, just like he'd done to Keo.

He rolled out of bed and pulled on the terry-cloth bathrobe hanging on the wall, then pushed the call button. A few seconds later there was a gentle rap on the door. Grayson hesitated, then waved his hand in front of the access panel. He resisted the urge to jump back as the door slid open.

Ellin was standing there, armed only with her relentlessly cheery smile and perky attitude.

"Is there something you need, Mr. Grayson?"

"My clothes. . can you have them cleaned and pressed for me?"

"Of course, sir."

She stepped into the room and collected his discarded garments, picking them up with a cool, practiced efficiency. There was a confidence about her; a professionalism that could be a sign of specialized military training… or it could have simply been part of her job. He tried to watch her without being seen, hoping to catch her surreptitiously watching him. If she was working for Cerberus, she'd have been instructed to keep close tabs on her passenger.

Ellin stood up and turned to face him, the bundle of clothes in her arms. The well-practiced smile fell away from her face, and Grayson realized he was still staring at her intently.

He shook his head to clear away the dark thoughts. "Sorry. My mind was somewhere else."

Her smile reappeared, though her eyes looked nervous. "Is there anything else, Mr. Grayson?"

He picked up the slightest waver in her voice. Either she's just a scared little stewardess, or she's very, very good at pretending to be one. The thought was quickly followed by another: The red sand's making you paranoid.

"Thank you, Ellin. That will be all."

The relief on her face as he stepped aside to let her exit was obvious. Once she was safely outside the door, she hesitated, then turned back.

"Do… do you still want me to wake you an hour before we land?"

"That will be fine/' he said abruptly, closing the door before she could see the flush of embarrassment creeping up his neck and into his face.

Get it together, he chided himself, removing the robe and falling back onto the bed. Quit jumping at shadows. This missions too important to screw up.

The sound of the engines had changed. Staring up at the ceiling, he could feel a slight pressure on his chest pushing him down into the soft mattress. The ship was taking to the sky, battling gravity and atmosphere as it headed for the stars. The room that had seemed so hot before was suddenly cold; he shivered and crawled in under the blankets.