Drew Karpyshyn - Ascension

"Don't move or I blow your head off."

Knowing the shotgun he'd seen earlier could literally decapitate him from this range, Golo froze.

"Turn around, slowly."

He did as instructed. As he'd suspected, the young quarian from inside the shop was standing in the center of the alley, pointing the shotgun squarely at his chest.

"Are you Golo?"

"You wouldn't be holding a gun on me if I was someone else," he answered, seeing no hope in trying to lie his way out of the situation.

"Do you know why I'm here?"

"No," he answered truthfully. Over the past decade he had committed dozens of acts that might have caused another quarian to hunt him down in search of vengeance. There was no point in trying to guess which one had set off this particular young man.

"A scout ship from the Idenna was brokering a deal here on Omega last week. The Cyniad. They disappeared. I think you know what happened to them."

"Who are you? Are you part of the Idenna crew?" Golo asked, stalling until he could come up with a plan.

"My name is Lemm'Shal nar Tesleya," the other replied.

Golo wasn't surprised to get an answer to his question. Even on the flotilla, quarians tended to wear their enviro-suits at all times: an extra layer of protection against hull breaches and other disasters that could befall their rickety ships. As a result, exchanging names at every meeting was a deeply ingrained habit. He'd been counting on this, and knowing his adversary's name gave him something to work with.

He didn't recognize his Shal clan name, but the nar in Lemm's surname marked him as technically still a child, which meant he was most likely here on his Pilgrimage. Furthermore, he was associated with the vessel Tesleya, not the Idenna, which meant he didn't know the crew personally. He must have heard about them secondhand, possibly from another quarian he had run into during his recent travels.

Golo quickly formed a likely scenario in his head.

Someone had mentioned the disappearance of the Cyniad to him in passing. Now Lemm believed that if he could locate the missing scout ship and its crew — or at least discover their fate — then he could give this information to the Idenncfs captain. In return, he would be accepted into the Idenna's crew and his Pilgrimage would be over.

"What makes you think I know anything about the Cyniad}" he asked, hoping to bluff the young man into backing down.

"The Migrant Fleet doesn't do business with Omega," Lemm answered, not lowering the barrel of his shotgun. "Somebody must have initiated contact with the Cyniad to propose the deal that made them come here. Only another quarian would know how to do that. And you're the most infamous quarian on this station."

Golo frowned behind his mask. The kid was simply playing a hunch; it was only dumb luck that it happened to be right. He briefly considered denying his involvement, then realized he had an easier way out.

"I guess my reputation proceeds me," he admitted. "I contacted the Cyniad, but I was only the middleman. The individual actually behind the deal was a human."

"What human?"

"He told me his name was Pel," he said with an indifferent shrug. "He was willing to pay me to contact the Cyniad, and I was happy to take his money. I didn't really want to know more than that."

"Weren't you worried he was setting the crew of the Cyniad up? Luring them into a trap?"

"The Fleet turned its back on me. Why should I care what happens to any of them as long as I get paid?"

It was the best kind of lie; one spun with a thread of unpleasant truth. By honestly owning up to his callousness and greed it made his denial of direct involvement seem more believable.

"You sicken me," Lemm said. If he hadn't been wearing his visor, Golo suspected he would have spit on the ground. "I should kill you where you stand!"

"I don't know what happened to the crew of the Cyniad," Golo said quickly, before Lemm could work up his anger enough to actually pull the trigger, "but I know how you can find out." He hesitated, then added, "Give me five hundred credits and I'll tell you."

Lemm brought the shotgun up so he could sight down the barrel, then stepped forward until it was pressed hard against the other quarian's mask.

"How about you tell me for free?"

"Pel's renting a warehouse in the Talon district," Golo sputtered out. Lemm took a half step back, lowering the shotgun.

"Take me there. Now."

"Don't be stupid," Golo snapped, emboldened now that the weapon was no longer pointing directly at him. "What if he has lookouts? What do you think they'll do when they see two quarians strolling down the street toward their hideout?

"If you want to do this, you have to be smart," he said, his voice slipping into a slick merchant's patter. "I can tell you where the warehouse is, but that's the easy part. You'll need to scout it out. Figure out what's going on before you try to get inside. You need a plan, and I can help."

"I thought you didn't care what happened to the Migrant Fleet. Why do you suddenly want to help?" Lemm asked, clearly suspicious.

"I could pretend it's because I feel guilty that I might have accidentally led the Cyniad into a trap," Golo explained, spinning another half-truth. "But honestly, I just figure this is the best way to keep you from shoving that shotgun in my face again."

Lemm seemed satisfied with the explanation. "Okay, we'll try it your way."

"Let's get off the street," Golo suggested. "Find somewhere more private. Like my apartment."

"Lead the way," Lemm answered, collapsing his shotgun and slapping it once again into the clip on the small of his back.

Golo smiled under his mask as he led the young man from the alley.

Pel and his team will rip you apart, boy. Especially when I warn them that you re coming.

"Are you ever going to tell us where we're going?" Kahlee asked, startling Grayson from a fitful doze.

With the adrenaline rush of their escape fading, his body had crashed and he'd fallen asleep in the pilot's chair. Not that it really mattered; once the course was plotted there was nothing for him to do during FTL travel. Knowing an alert from the ship would wake him once they got within range of the mass relay that would take them from Council Space into the Terminus Systems, he had simply let his mind drift away.

"Sorry," he mumbled, his mouth dry and his tongue thick and woolen, "guess I drifted off."

Kahlee sat down in the seat beside him, and he saw her nose wrinkle as if assailed by a pungent odor. Grayson looked down at his shirt and realized he was soaked in sweat; the sour perspiration of a duster going into the first stages of withdrawal. Embarrassed, he did his best to lean away from her without being obvious about it.

"I was just wondering where we're going," Kahlee said, tactfully pretending not to notice the smell.

"I was wondering that, too," Hendel added from behind him.

Twisting in his chair, he saw the security chief standing at the cockpit doorway, his broad shoulders almost completely blocking the view into the passenger cabin beyond.

"I thought you were watching Gillian," Kahlee said, pointedly.

"She's sleeping," Hendel replied gruffly. "She's fine."

"I have a contact on Omega," Grayson said, turning his attention back to Kahlee.

"Omega?" Her voice was a mixture of alarm and surprise.

"We don't have any other choice," he said grimly.

"Maybe we do. I have friends who can help us," Kahlee assured him. "I know Captain David Anderson personally. I trust him with my life. I guarantee he can protect you and your daughter."