"Grissom Academy, this is Paul Grayson. Do you copy?"

"Copy, Grayson," a voice came back over the intercom. "Long time no see."

Grayson didn't recognize the guard's voice, which meant the Reapers didn't either. But it wasn't unusual to have the guards remember him, even though two years had passed since Gillian had been part of the Ascension Project. While working for Cerberus, Grayson had played the role of a wealthy parent and frequent benefactor to the Academy, and Gillian had been one of the more unique students at the facility. Any visit from her father was likely to stand out in the minds of the staff.

"I tried to let you know I was coming, but the message wouldn't go through," the Reapers lied.

"All our network connections are snafued," came the reply. "Haven't been able to link in for the last four hours. We're in a grade-two lockdown until the techs get it fixed."

The Reapers picked through Grayson's memories, reaching back to the days when Gillian was still attending the Academy. A grade-two lockdown was a relatively minor security precaution. Normally parents could visit their children at the Academy at any time, but in a grade-two lockdown they needed to get clearance from someone on staff.

"Kahlee Sanders told me to meet her here," the Reapers explained, spinning a story out of the bits and pieces they had drawn from their host. "She's supposed to arrive in the next hour or so. I'm guessing you didn't get the message."

"Affirmative. Like I said, nothing from the comm network for the last four hours."

"I know it's against protocol," the Reapers said, "but is there any chance you'd let me dock my shuttle and wait for her on board the station? I'd like to get out and stretch my legs. It's getting a little cramped in here."

There was a brief hesitation before the reply, probably the guard checking with one of his superiors. Grayson prayed they would deny the request.

"Sure thing," the guard's voice chimed a few seconds later, and Grayson knew the unsuspecting young man had just signed his own death warrant. "Bring it around to bay three. But you'll have to wait in the security clearance area until Miss Sanders arrives."

"Roger that. Much appreciated."

Grayson's fingers flew effortlessly over the pilot's interface as the Reapers brought the shuttle around to align with one of the landing pads of the exterior docking bay. It touched down with only the faintest bump. Unlike the docks of Omega, here there was no mass effect field separating the Grissom Academy from space. Arrivals had to wait for one of the covered docking platforms to connect to the vessel's airlock in order to enter the station.

While waiting for the docking platform to get into position, the Reapers had Grayson rise from the pilot's seat and dig out the emergency kit stashed beneath his chair. He noticed that despite the fact that all his recent injuries were completely healed, he was moving much slower now. It had been several hours since the Reapers' frantic rush to escape Omega; obviously that hadn't been enough time to fully recover.

Inside the emergency kit was a knife with a long, heavy blade. The Reapers tucked this into the front of his belt before making their way toward the back of the vessel.

He could sense them picking through his mind for details about the security of the station. Technically, the Grissom Academy was a school, not a military base. But there were still enough security staff on-site-not to mention the biotic instructors of the Ascension Program-to pose a legitimate threat to the Reapers in their weakened and vulnerable state. Unable to simply overpower their enemies with irresistible biotic displays or incredible physical prowess and martial skill, they would need to rely on subterfuge and stealth to achieve their goals.

He couldn't say for sure whether the Reapers had selected this particular vessel during their escape from Omega in anticipation of this eventuality, though he knew it was possible. But by design or chance, they had ended up taking a standard passenger shuttle. Given their familiarity with the turian vessel they'd hijacked at the Cerberus lab, Grayson wondered if the Reapers simply had an affinity for that particular species.

In the back of the vessel was a sleeping cabin, with an assortment of clothes hanging in a small closet. The Reapers rummaged through the collection, looking for anything that could effectively cover Grayson's unnatural appearance and conceal the knife from the guards.

From the cut and style of the garments, it was clear the owner of the shuttle had been turian-unsurprising given the make of the ship itself. None of the pieces would fit Grayson in a way that could hide what he had become.

There was a soft chime from the overhead intercom, indicating the docking platform had connected with the shuttle's airlock.

Realizing the disguise had to last only long enough for them to get through the docking bay's security doors, the Reapers whisked the cover off the bed. As if it were a shawl, they draped the blanket over the back of Grayson's head, neck, and shoulders like a cape. Pulling the open sides at the front together and tucking the material beneath his chin left only his eyes and face exposed, peering out from a small opening in the formless tent of material.

As the Reapers passed through the shuttle's airlock and made their way slowly along the covered docking platform, Grayson speculated on what might happen to his new form if it was exposed to the unforgiving environment of space. Did the Reapers even need his organic systems to continue functioning anymore? He had seen ample evidence they were capable of repairing damaged organic tissue at an incredible rate, but at this point the cybernetics were so deeply ingrained in his body he felt as if he was more machine than man. As their avatar, could he somehow survive without oxygen in the freezing temperatures outside the docking platform?

He knew he was far from indestructible. But if his lungs and heart shut down while the synthetic network woven into the synapses of his brain remained undamaged, could the Reapers continue to animate his body? Or might there be a point where massive damage to the life-giving systems of the physical shell would cause them to finally abandon their host?

If the Reapers were aware of his speculations, they gave no sign. Perhaps they simply didn't care. They had absolute control of his physical form, and they had no intention of doing anything but plodding slowly along the ramp, swaddled in their bedspread cowl.

The docking ramp led him through another airlock and into a small hallway that sloped upward for several meters before turning around a corner and emerging inside the security screening area.

It was a large, open room. Behind him was a wall with a window built halfway up, overlooking the docking bay. Before him was a reinforced glass wall. In the center of the wall was an open doorway equipped with a security scanner. All arrivals had to pass through the door in order to clear security.

Beyond that was another room with a small security booth built off to one side and another open doorway leading into the main section of the Academy. The security booth was on a raised platform, giving anyone inside a clear view of the docking bay through the glass wall and massive exterior window.

One of the guards-probably the young man he'd been talking to over the radio-had come down to meet him. He was standing on the other side of the glass wall, just beyond the security scanner. Grayson could see the head and shoulders of a second guard, this one a young woman, watching from the security booth.

The Reapers made a quick evaluation of their closest opponent. He seemed fit, and possessed the confident stance of someone who had received some basic training. At his side was a pistol, but instead of a combat suit he was wearing a Grissom Academy staff uniform: dark pants and a blue shirt emblazoned with the school's insignia.

Moving even more slowly than before, the Reapers approached the security scanner. They stopped a few steps before it, as if waiting for the guard's instructions before passing through.

"Uh ... you okay, Mr. Grayson?" the guard asked from the other side of the scanner, taken aback by their guest's strange attire.

"Caught some kind of flu," the Reapers replied from beneath the blanket. "Can't stop shivering."

Obviously satisfied with the explanation, the guard noted, "That's an interesting shuttle you're flying. It's turian, right?"

Grayson's cover while working for Cerberus had been that of a high-ranking employee for Cord-Hislop Aerospace, a shuttle manufacturer that served as one of the Illusive Man's many front companies. Knowing this, the Reapers were able to come up with another plausible explanation.

"We're considering a merger with one of our turian competitors," they informed the guard. "Testing out their product before the deal becomes final."

The guard nodded, once again buying the story-a little too conveniently, Grayson thought. He wondered if the Reapers were somehow manipulating the young man, exerting a subliminal influence on his thoughts and emotions that made him more predisposed to believe their lies.

"I don't feel so good," the Reapers said, causing Grayson to sway unsteadily on his feet.

He stumbled forward and braced himself against the wall. Concerned, the guard took a step halfway through the security scanner to see if he was okay. The Reapers slowly toppled backward. The guard leapt forward and caught Grayson, supporting his weight with a grunt.

"Hey," he called out to his partner up in the security both. "I think he's really sick. Bring me the med-kit."

The young woman sprang into action, grabbing the med-kit and rushing down to help.

The Reapers kept the blanket clutched tightly around Grayson's body as the young man carefully lowered him to the floor. The woman ran up and crouched on the other side of him, setting the med-kit down beside her.

She turned her head to open it, and the knife now in Grayson's hand thrust up through the blanket, impaling the young man in the chest as he leaned forward to examine the patient more closely. He grunted in surprise, then let out a long, low gasp as the blade was withdrawn.

The young woman's head snapped around in surprise, and her eyes flew open in horror as she realized what had happened. The Reapers shoved the dying man aside and sat up, slashing out with the knife in an attempt to disembowel the female guard.

But the supernatural speed the Reapers had possessed on Omega was lacking, and she managed to scamper back out of range. The blade left a long gash in the belly of her uniform, but failed to make contact with the flesh beneath.

Scrambling to her feet, she ran toward the emergency alarm built into the wall right beside the security scanner. The Reapers brought Grayson to his feet, then snapped his arm forward. The knife flew from his grasp, end over end, before burying itself between the guard's shoulder blades.

She sagged to the floor, her hand desperately stretching out toward the alarm she would never reach before falling limp to the floor.

Ignoring the corpses of the two dead guards, the Reapers passed through the scanner and moved quickly up into the security booth. It took them less than two minutes to log in to the primary systems and disable the intercom and alarm systems across the entire station.

Next, they brought up a schematic of the Academy and committed it to memory. Returning to the security clearance area, they retrieved the knife sticking out of the dead girl's back as well as each guard's pistol.

Finally, they picked the blanket up from the floor and wrapped it around Grayson once more, reversing it to hide the bloodstains. On close inspection the large tear left by the knife was still visible, but Grayson suspected that anyone who got close enough to notice would already be as good as dead.

Moving with long, easy strides, the Reapers left the security clearance area behind, passing through the door into the main Academy as they headed for the wing of the Ascension Project.

TWENTY-THREE.

"Grissom Academy, this is Admiral David Anderson of the Alliance. Do you copy?"

Anderson knew that the fact they were getting no response was a bad sign. They were close enough to the Grissom Academy to attempt to make contact through direct radio transmission, bypassing whatever technical glitch had isolated the school from the comm network. The silence on the other end meant something had gone wrong on the station itself.

"Try it again," Kahlee said, stubbornly refusing to accept the truth.

Knowing it was futile, Anderson closed the comm channel. They'd been trying to get a response for the past five minutes, ever since they had dropped out of FTL.

"There's no point," he said, hoping some hard truth might help to prepare Kahlee for whatever scene awaited them on the station. "We'll be there in two minutes anyway," he added to soften the blow.

"You won't be able to stop Grayson alone," Kai Leng warned them. "Untie me and let me help."

Neither Anderson nor Kahlee bothered to respond.

The ship's sensors projected an image of the exterior docking bay onto the vid screen. Three of the bays were empty; the fourth was occupied by a small passenger shuttle.

"Turian," Anderson muttered, though everyone on board knew who the pilot had been.

He brought the shuttle in slowly. Without a signal coming in from the Academy, he had to land the shuttle freehand, relying on instrument readings and dozens of tiny manual adjustments to their course. A delicate operation at the best of times, it was made even more difficult by the fact that Kahlee was standing behind his chair, leaning over his shoulder and staring intently at the screen. She didn't say anything, but he could sense her urgency, as well as her frustration at how long it was taking. Despite all his care, when he finally touched down, the shuttle landed with a heavy thump.

They waited a few seconds to see if the docking ramps would connect to the shuttle's airlock, but sensors picked up no movement.

"Nobody manning the docks," Anderson muttered. "Going to need an enviro-suit."

"There's one in the back," Kai Leng offered. "A shotgun, too."

Kahlee glanced down at him in surprise.

"I want to stop Grayson as much as you do," he assured them. "Even if you leave me bound to this chair, I'll do whatever I can to help."

"Keep an eye on him" was all Anderson said as he got up from his seat and headed to the rear of the shuttle.

The enviro-suit was right where Kai Leng had promised. The resilient, insulated fabric easily stretched to fit over Anderson's clothes, and when he slipped the helmet over his head and flicked it on, it formed an airtight seal with the rest of the suit.

He touched the side of the helmet to activate the transmitter. "Kahlee, do you copy?"

"Copy," she replied from up in the cockpit. "Maintain radio contact at all times."

"Roger that."

He picked up the shotgun, the weight of the Sokolov noticeably heavier than the old Hahne-Kedar model he'd used during his tours in the First Contact war. Then he made his way over to the shuttle's airlock and stepped inside, closing the interior door behind him. There was a loud rush as the atmosphere whooshed out. Even through the insulation of his suit he felt the temperature drop, though it wasn't enough to make him uncomfortable.

He opened the airlock's exterior hatch and stepped down carefully onto the floor of the docking bay. The enviro-suit had magnetized boots for space walks, but they weren't necessary here-the artificial gravity generated by the station's mass effect fields was still active.

Scanning the dock for targets, he made his way over to the nearest airlock leading into the station. Fortunately it wasn't locked, and within a minute he was inside a small hall filled with heated, breathable air.

"I'm inside," he said to Kahlee, lifting the visor of his helmet.

He proceeded up the gently sloping passage, emerging in what served as the Academy's security clearance area for all passenger arrivals. The two bodies lying on the floor only confirmed what they had all suspected.

"We've got casualties," Anderson said softly, knowing the transmitter would amplify his voice enough for Kahlee to hear every word clearly. "Two. Look like security guards."

Keeping his shotgun at the ready, he crept toward the security booth, crouching low to the ground. He pressed up close to the wall beside the open door, then poked his head around the corner for a quick peek.

"Area is clear," he reported, some of the adrenaline-fueled tension fading from his muscles.

Making his way over to the control panel, he found the manual overrides and activated one of the docking ramps. Through the glass wall he watched as it slid into position, clicking tight on the shuttle's airlock.

"Docking ramp is in place," he told Kahlee. "Might as well come aboard."

"What about Kai Leng?" Kahlee asked. "You think it's safe to just leave him?"

"Don't see any other choice," Anderson replied. "Just in case, bring that knife from the first-aid kit with you."

"Copy that. I'm on my way."

Anderson debated stripping off the enviro-suit, then decided not to bother. He was already sweating under the airtight fabric, but the suit was equipped with standard kinetic barrier technology. If he ended up getting into a firefight, he'd need the protection.

He hustled down the steps from the guard station back to where Kahlee would emerge in the security clearance room. She probably knew the murdered guards; he wanted to be there for support when she came across the bodies.

He arrived just a few seconds before Kahlee. He didn't say anything as her eyes came to rest on the fallen guards, letting her mourn their deaths in silence.

She walked slowly over to the first body-a young man stabbed through the chest-and got down on one knee. Despite his glassy, unblinking eyes she pressed her fingers against his throat to check for a pulse. Finding nothing, she reached up and gently closed his eyes, then let her head drop.

Getting to her feet, she made a similar examination of the second body before coming over to stand by Anderson.

"Erin and Jorgen," she told him. "Good kids."

"Grayson did this to them," Anderson said, knowing it was something she didn't want to hear. "If we don't stop him, others will die."

Kahlee nodded her head in agreement.

"You don't have to worry about me," she assured him. "If we have to take him out, I won't hesitate."

Anderson didn't like the sound of that "if," but he knew it was the best he'd get from her. She still couldn't bring herself to admit Grayson was beyond salvation.

"The bodies are still warm," she noted. "And the blood is just starting to congeal. My guess is that Grayson came through here less than ten minutes ago."

"Do we set off the alarms?" Anderson asked.

Kahlee shook her head. "It's night-most of the students and staff will be in their rooms. That's probably the safest place for them. We set off the alarm and they'll all come pouring out into the hall to see what's going on."