Drew Karpyshyn - Ascension

It took several seconds for her mind to process the situation, then the fear slipped away, replaced with her typical neutral expression. She nodded.

The four of them made their way through the hospital and down the corridor toward the landing bays. Five minutes later they were at security. Despite several curious looks from the guards on duty, they got through with a quick word from Hendel. Ten minutes after that they were on board the ship and pulling away from the station, Grayson at the controls while Hendel, Kahlee, and Gillian were strapped into the passenger seats near the back.

He had Gillian, and he was away from the Academy. And as soon as they accelerated to faster-than-light speed, it would be impossible for anyone to track them. Of course he still had to figure out a way to deal with his two unwanted tagalongs, but he was already working on a plan for that.

A physical confrontation was out of the question. Not only was the security chief bigger than him, he was also a biotic with a pistol strapped to his hip. And he knew from the personnel files he'd studied that both Mitra and Sanders had advanced hand-to-hand combat training.

If you hadn't been half-stoned when you started this trip you might have been smart enough to pack a weapon of your own up here in the cockpit.

He didn't have anything to drug them with, and even if he did he doubted Hendel would let down his guard long enough to take any offered food or drink without making sure it hadn't been tampered with.

Fortunately, Grayson wasn't alone in this. He typed in a quick coded message, then sent it off before plotting a course for Omega.

Let's see how Hendel deals with Pel and his team, he thought, feeling the faint push of g-forces pressing him into his seat as the ship accelerated to FTL.

Only then did he allow himself a long, slow sigh of relief.

Six standard weeks ago Lemm'Shal nar Tesleya had chosen, like many young and naive quarians before him, to visit Omega during his Pilgrimage. Foolishly romanticizing what life must be like outside the rigid confines of the Migrant Fleet, he had been fascinated by the idea of millions of inhabitants from all the different species and cultures living in such close proximity, unfettered by laws or government. He'd expected to find adventure and excitement around every corner, as well as the freedom to do whatever he wanted.

It hadn't taken him very long to discover the harsh reality: Omega was a cesspool of violence and depravity. Pointless, random death lurked in the shadows and alleys. The station was a haven for slavers, and he witnessed firsthand weeping men, women, and children being bought and sold like chattel. Within a week he'd come to understand that the so-called freedom of Omega was a perversion of the word. With no laws or government, Rule of Force was the order of the day; the strong thrived and the weak suffered horribly. But nobody can stay strong forever, and he knew that even those on top would one day find themselves brought low.

He had also learned that the inhabitants of Omega lived in constant fear, wrapping themselves in cloaks of anger and hate to keep it at bay. Driven by selfishness and greed, their lives were brutal, short, and miserable. He pitied their wretched existence, and gave thanks to his ancestors for the strong sense of belonging and community fostered among his own people. And so he had left Omega behind, continuing his journey across half a dozen worlds in the Terminus Systems.

He realized now that the new appreciation he had gained for quarian society, and its underlying tenets of altruism and sacrifice for the greater good, was at the core of the Pilgrimage. Many left the Migrant Fleet as children, inexperienced and rebellious. After seeing how other societies lived, most returned as adults: wiser and dedicated to upholding the cherished ideals of quarian culture. Of course, there were always a few who chose not to return, rejecting the flotilla's collectivism for the trials and tribulations of a lonely, solitary existence.

Lemm had no intention of being one of those, but he couldn't go back to the Fleet yet. For though he had learned an important lesson, his Pilgrimage was not yet complete. In order to return he first had to find something of significant value to quarian society, then present it as a gift to one of the ship captains. If his gift was accepted, he would lose the surname of nar Tesleya, and take the vas surname of his new captain's vessel.

That was why he had come back to Omega,despite his contempt for the place. That was why he was here prowling the streets, looking for a quarian named Golo.

The name was infamous among the inhabitants of the Migrant Fleet. Unlike those who chose to leave the flotilla of their own accord, or those who never returned from their Pilgrimage, Golo had been banished by the Admiralty. Branded a traitor to his people, Golo had gone to the one place in the galaxy that most mocked everything the quarians stood for and believed in. Somehow he had survived and even profited during his exile, though in Lemm's mind this only reaffirmed the decision to banish him. Anyone who could carve a life for themselves out of the vile fabric of Omega's tattered society had to be cruel, ruthless, and completely untrustworthy.

Lemm was traveling light. He wore a simple armored enviro-suit equipped with standard kinetic barriers, and a backpack of supplies slung over his shoulder. His most prized possession — a gift bestowed upon him before embarking on his Pilgrimage by the captain of the Tesleya —was his shotgun: a turian manufactured Armax Arsenal high-caliber weapon, customized with advanced autotargeting and reduced kickback mods.

His shotgun wasn't all he was armed with, however. Before leaving the flotilla, all quarians were given a rigorous, six-month program to prepare them for the weeks, months, or even years they might need to survive on their own before their rite of passage came to an end. The varied curriculum included weapons and combat training; lessons in the history, biology, and culture of all major known species; basic first aid; rudimentary instruction on piloting and navigation for a wide variety of common spacecraft; and specific technological skills such as decryption, electronics, and computer hacking.

Every quarian who left the safety of the Fleet was well prepared to face the dangerous situations they would encounter. More important, they were taught that the best way to survive trouble was to avoid it whenever possible. So when Lemm heard the sound of gunfire coming from several blocks away, his first instinct was to whip his shotgun off his back and dive for cover.

Crouched in the darkened doorway of what he hoped was a deserted building, he thought back to the last time he had come to this world. The streets of Omega had been busy and crowded everywhere he went, despite the constant threat of robbery, beatings, and even murder. Here, however, in a district caught in a bloody war between two rival factions, the streets were virtually empty. He had only seen a handful of people, scurrying from one building to another, hunched over and crouching low in the hopes of avoiding notice.

Their apprehension was understandable. Lemm himself had already been shot at twice by snipers hidden away in the upper floors of buildings lining the streets. The first had missed him completely, striking the ground near his feet. The second had launched a bullet that would have pierced his skull had it not been deflected by his armor's kinetic barriers. In both cases Lemm had responded with the only sane course of action — he'd ducked around the nearest corner, then fled the scene in search of a new route to his destination.

Doubling back through the twisting, confusing streets of Omega was a good way to end up lost; it was all too easy to accidentally wander down the wrong back alley and never come out again. Fortunately Lemm, like most quarians, had an excellent sense of direction. The haphazard, almost random way in which the city had been built up over the centuries was similar to the environment of his home. Many of the ships in the Migrant Fleet had evolved into convoluted mazes where every inch of available space was valued and exploited. Temporary walls were often used to transform halls or corridors into rooms, and everything was held together with makeshift repairs and jury-rigged materials.