military. Grayson may have given you a list of Cerberus agents he knew of, but what about all the people under the Illusive Man’s thumb he doesn’t know about?
“The Illusive Man is smart. He’s got a contingencyplan in place for something like this. We start arresting people, or gearing up for a raid on these locations, and he’ll know about it almost before we do.
“If we’re lucky we come up with a handful of low-level operatives. But we’ll never get close to anybody important. And if Grayson is still alive, we might just spook them into killing him.”
“You’re telling me you can’t do
anything?”
Her voice rose sharply at the end of the question, her anger and frustration spilling out.
“If you stay here on the Citadel, I can keep you safe,” he assured her. “I’ll handpick a team of four or five soldiers I trust to watch over you.”
“It’s not enough,” she said, shaking her head in a stubborn defiance he remembered even after twenty years. “I’m not going to spend the rest of my life hiding from Cerberus. And I’m not going to give up on Grayson. There has to be a way to get to the Illusive Man.”
“Maybe there is,” Anderson exclaimed as a sudden flash of inspiration hit.
The ideal solution would be to call on Shepard for help, but that wasn’t an option. The commander was off the grid, doing God knows what, God knows where. But there was another option.
He jumped to his feet and extended a hand to help Kahlee up.
“Do you have somewhere safe we can stay for a few hours?”
“I’ve got a place in the Wards,” she replied, her eyes suddenly alight with eager expectation. “Why? What’s your plan?”
“The Alliance can’t help us. But I know someone else who can.”
“We need to see Ambassador Orinia,” Anderson told the turian receptionist. “It’s urgent.”
He recognized the young male behind the desk, though he couldn’t remember his name. Fortunately, the turian recognized him as well.
“I’ll tell her you’re here, Admiral,” he said, sending a message through his terminal.
It was well past supper time; most of the embassy offices were empty. But Anderson knew the turian ambassador would be working late.
“Go right in,” the receptionist said, though he did give Kahlee what Anderson assumed was the turian equivalent of a suspicious glance.
Orinia’s office was smaller than Anderson’s—not surprising, given the fact he held a much higher position than her in the Citadel hierarchy. Like his own, it was functionally Spartan in décor. A desk and three chairs—one for the ambassador, two for guests—were the only pieces of furniture. Three flags hung on the walls. The largest was the emblem of the Turian Hierarchy. The second represented the colony where Orinia was born; its colors matched the markings on the hard carapace of her bony skull. The third was the flag of the legion she served in during her military career. A solitary, bedraggled plant stood out on the balcony, sorely neglected. If Anderson had to guess, he would have said someone had given it to her as a gift.
Orinia was already standing to greet them. Warned by her assistant’s message, she showed no surprise at Kahlee’s unexplained presence.
“I’m sorry you missed today’s negotiations,” she said, extending her hand. “Has Din Korlak become too much for you to handle?”
Anderson ignored the joke as he clasped the ambassador’s hand. As always, the exchange was both awkward and clumsy. Orinia had readily adapted the familiar gesture of greeting in her dealings with humans, but she had yet to truly master the art of the handshake.
“This is Kahlee Sanders,” he said by way of introduction.
“Welcome,” the ambassador said, though she didn’t extend her hand.
Anderson didn’t know if Orinia had sensed his reaction to her handshake and decided not to repeat the effort, or if turian culture somehow viewed Kahlee as unworthy of the gesture.
You’d know all this
“The Illusive Man is smart. He’s got a contingencyplan in place for something like this. We start arresting people, or gearing up for a raid on these locations, and he’ll know about it almost before we do.
“If we’re lucky we come up with a handful of low-level operatives. But we’ll never get close to anybody important. And if Grayson is still alive, we might just spook them into killing him.”
“You’re telling me you can’t do
anything?”
Her voice rose sharply at the end of the question, her anger and frustration spilling out.
“If you stay here on the Citadel, I can keep you safe,” he assured her. “I’ll handpick a team of four or five soldiers I trust to watch over you.”
“It’s not enough,” she said, shaking her head in a stubborn defiance he remembered even after twenty years. “I’m not going to spend the rest of my life hiding from Cerberus. And I’m not going to give up on Grayson. There has to be a way to get to the Illusive Man.”
“Maybe there is,” Anderson exclaimed as a sudden flash of inspiration hit.
The ideal solution would be to call on Shepard for help, but that wasn’t an option. The commander was off the grid, doing God knows what, God knows where. But there was another option.
He jumped to his feet and extended a hand to help Kahlee up.
“Do you have somewhere safe we can stay for a few hours?”
“I’ve got a place in the Wards,” she replied, her eyes suddenly alight with eager expectation. “Why? What’s your plan?”
“The Alliance can’t help us. But I know someone else who can.”
“We need to see Ambassador Orinia,” Anderson told the turian receptionist. “It’s urgent.”
He recognized the young male behind the desk, though he couldn’t remember his name. Fortunately, the turian recognized him as well.
“I’ll tell her you’re here, Admiral,” he said, sending a message through his terminal.
It was well past supper time; most of the embassy offices were empty. But Anderson knew the turian ambassador would be working late.
“Go right in,” the receptionist said, though he did give Kahlee what Anderson assumed was the turian equivalent of a suspicious glance.
Orinia’s office was smaller than Anderson’s—not surprising, given the fact he held a much higher position than her in the Citadel hierarchy. Like his own, it was functionally Spartan in décor. A desk and three chairs—one for the ambassador, two for guests—were the only pieces of furniture. Three flags hung on the walls. The largest was the emblem of the Turian Hierarchy. The second represented the colony where Orinia was born; its colors matched the markings on the hard carapace of her bony skull. The third was the flag of the legion she served in during her military career. A solitary, bedraggled plant stood out on the balcony, sorely neglected. If Anderson had to guess, he would have said someone had given it to her as a gift.
Orinia was already standing to greet them. Warned by her assistant’s message, she showed no surprise at Kahlee’s unexplained presence.
“I’m sorry you missed today’s negotiations,” she said, extending her hand. “Has Din Korlak become too much for you to handle?”
Anderson ignored the joke as he clasped the ambassador’s hand. As always, the exchange was both awkward and clumsy. Orinia had readily adapted the familiar gesture of greeting in her dealings with humans, but she had yet to truly master the art of the handshake.
“This is Kahlee Sanders,” he said by way of introduction.
“Welcome,” the ambassador said, though she didn’t extend her hand.
Anderson didn’t know if Orinia had sensed his reaction to her handshake and decided not to repeat the effort, or if turian culture somehow viewed Kahlee as unworthy of the gesture.
You’d know all this
Similar Books
