Saren’s train of thought was momentarily broken by the sound of Jella coughing and gagging in her bed. Dark specks spattered the inside of the ventilator mask, blood and pus expelled from her lungs with each choking breath.
There was more to the raid on Sidon than batarian nationalism or antihuman terrorism, he realized. Edan didn’t mix politics and business. And it wasn’t just about money — Edan had plenty of other ways to make a profit that didn’t incur the risk of Spectre involvement. There was something strange going on here. Something he wanted to investigate in more depth.
Jella’s body began to convulse; the beeping of the machines became a single high-pitched whine as her stats dropped below critical levels. Saren stood motionless, watching as her numbers plummeted while he considered his next course of action.
Edan had built a magnificent mansion near the city of Ujon, Camala’s capital. Saren doubted he’d find him there now. Edan was a careful, cautious man. Even if he was sure nobody knew about his connection to Sidon, he’d have gone into hiding the moment he learned someone survived the attack, just to be safe. He could be anywhere by now.
No, Saren corrected himself, ignoring the frantic beeping of the machines and the violent spasms still rocking Jella’s body. Edan wouldn’t have risked trying to clear port security. Not if there was even the slimmest chance someone already knew about his involvement. Which meant he was probably still hiding somewhere on Camala.
But there were plenty of places Edan could hide on this world. He controlled a number of mining and refinery operations; enormous plants spread across the entire surface of the planet. Most likely he was holed up at one of these. The problem was figuring out which one. There were literally hundreds of those facilities on Camala. It would take months to properly search them all. And Saren suspected he didn’t have that kind of time.
Jella was still thrashing uncontrollably, trapped in the throes of her ravaged body’s desperate struggle to survive. But she was growing weaker now, her strength ebbing away. Saren idly twirled the hypodermic that might save her between his fingers, still considering the problem of Edan as he waited for her to
It had been obvious the humans didn’t know who was behind the attacks, so Saren didn’t see any reason to share this latest information with the Council. At least not yet. He’d tell them about the illegal AI research at Sidon, of course. It would cause serious trouble for the Alliance, and draw attention away from his own continuing investigation into Edan’s involvement. But until he knew exactly why the batarian considered the rewards of this mission worth the incredible risk, he’d keep Edan’s name out of the reports. Now all he had to do was figure out how to find him.
Two minutes later, Jella was finally still. The turian checked her body for any signs of life, confirming what the monitors already told him: she was gone. Only now did he take the syringe and inject it into the IV, knowing it was too late to have any affect. Then he carefully placed the empty needle in plain view on a small table near the bed.
He walked slowly to the door, unlocked it, and turned the knob. Outside, the doctor in charge of Jella was waiting, pacing anxiously in the hall. He turned to face the turian as he emerged from the room.
“We heard the machines… ” the doctor said, trailing off.
“You were right,” Saren told him, his voice showing no hint of emotion. “Jella was too weak. She didn’t make it.”
Ambassador Goyle marched purposefully across the rolling green fields of the Presidium toward the Citadel Tower rising up in the distance, her brisk, compact strides at odds with the gentle serenity of her surroundings. The tranquil beauty of the simulated sunshine reflecting on the central lake did nothing to calm her mood. She’d received Anderson’s warning less than an hour before she’d been given the summons to appear in front of the Council. The timing couldn’t be coincidence; they knew about the AI research. And that meant there was going to be hell to pay.
She ran through various scenarios in her mind as she walked, planning what she would say when she faced them. Pleading lack of knowledge wasn’t an option: Sidon was an officially recognized Alliance base. Even if they believed her false claims that she knew nothing about their research, there was no way to separate the base’s illegal actions from humanity as a whole. It would only make it appear as if she
was a figurehead with no real power.
Being contrite and apologetic was another tactic, but she doubted that would have any influence on the severity of the punishments the Council would levy against humanity and the Alliance. And, like feigning ignorance, it would come across as a sign of weakness.
By the time she reached the base of the Tower, she knew there was only one option. She had to go on
A scale model statue of a mass relay stood off to her left; a twenty-foot-tall replica of the Protheans’ greatest technological achievement that welcomed visitors approaching the heart of the galaxy’s most magnificent space station. It was a striking piece of art, but the ambassador was in no mood to stop and admire it.
She marched up to the guards standing at the Tower’s only entrance, then waited impatiently while they confirmed her identity. She was pleased to note that one of the guards was human. The number of humans employed in critical positions throughout the Citadel seemed to grow every day; further
evidence of how valuable her species had become to the galactic community in only a few short years. It strengthened her resolve as she entered the elevator that would rocket her up the outside of the Tower to the Council Chamber.
The elevator was transparent; as she shot heavenward she could see the whole of the Presidium stretched out beneath her. As she climbed even higher she could see beyond the edges of the Citadel’s inner ring. In the distance were the flickering lights of the wards, extending out of sight along the Citadel’s five arms.
The view was spectacular, but the ambassador did her best to ignore it. It was no accident that the grandeur of the Citadel was on full display here. Though they held no official power, the three individuals who made up the Council were for all intents and purposes the rulers of the civilized galaxy. The prospect of meeting them face-to-face was a humbling experience, even for someone as politically savvy as the Alliance’s top ambassador. And she knew enough to understand that the long elevator ride to the apex of the Tower had been carefully crafted to make visitors feel awed and overwhelmed long before they ever got to meet the Council itself.
In less than a minute she was at the top, her stomach lurching slightly at the deceleration as the elevator slowed, then stopped. Or maybe it was just nerves. The doors opened and she stepped into the long hallway that served as an anteroom to the Council Chamber.
At the end of the hall was a broad staircase leading up, with wide passages branching off to either side at its foot. Six honor guards — two turians, two salarians, and two asari, a pair of each species represented on the Council — stood at attention along either wall. She passed them by without acknowledging their presence; they served no purpose beyond pomp and circumstance.
One step at a time she climbed the stairs. As she ascended, the walls fell away, revealing the glory of the Council Chamber. It resembled the Roman amphitheaters of ancient Earth, a large oval with seats for thousands of spectators lining each side. Built into the floor on either end were raised platforms hewn from the same virtually impervious material that made up the rest of the station. The stairs she was climbing right now would bring her to the top of one of these platforms: the Petitioner’s Stage. From here she would look across the vast chamber to the opposite stage, where the Council would be seated to