She dropped her head down onto her arms, crying against the table. “And now everybody’s dead,” she mumbled between sobs. “All my friends. Dr. Qian. All of them… gone.”

Anderson placed a comforting hand on her shoulder, while the turian just sat there watching impassively. After several seconds he pushed himself away from the table and stood up.

“I will find out who ordered the attack,” he told them as he put his gun back into his belt and turned to go. “And why.”

At the door he paused and turned back to them. “And if you’re lying to me, I will find that out, too.” A moment later he was gone, disappearing into the night.

Kahlee was still sobbing. Anderson pulled her close, trying to offer her comfort. She’d done a good job with Saren, spinning lies with just enough strands of truth to make them hold together. But there was nothing false about her reaction now. The people at Sidon had been her friends, and they were all dead.

She pressed her head up against him, seeking solace in the closeness of a fellow human being. A few minutes later the tears stopped, and she gently pushed herself away from him.

“Sorry about that,” she said, giving a nervous, rueful laugh and wiping her eyes.

“What’s going to happen now?” she asked. “Are you going to arrest me?”

“Not yet,” he admitted. “I meant what I said to your father the other day. I don’t believe you’re a traitor. But I need you to tell me what’s going on. And not the story you sold to that turian. I want the truth.”

She nodded and sniffled. “I guess it’s the least I can do after you risked your life for us. But can we take my dad to the hospital first?”

“Of course.”

It turned out getting Grissom to the hospital wasn’t going to be easy. He was a big man, and the sedative Kahlee had given him had made him groggy. He was nothing but dead weight. Uncooperative dead weight.

“Leave me alone,” he grumbled as they struggled in vain to lug him out of bed and get him on his feet. Kahlee stood on one side of the bed holding his uninjured arm. Anderson was on the other, awkwardly

gripping him around the waist and back to avoid touching his wounded bicep. Each time they tried to

pull Grissom to a sitting position, he simply flopped back down.

His daughter tried to reason with him, grunting each time they hoisted him up. “We have to… unh…

get you… unh… to a hospital. Ungh!”

“Bleeding’s stopped,” he protested, his words thick and slurred from the sedative. “Just let me sleep.” “Let’s try something else,” Anderson said to Kahlee, standing up and coming around to her side. He sat

down on the edge of the bed, facing away from the admiral as he pulled the older man’s good arm up across his back and over his shoulder. With Kahlee’s help he managed to stand, taking Grissom’s not inconsiderable weight in a modified fireman’s carry.

“Put me down, you bastard!” Grissom moaned.

“You were stabbed in the arm and thrown against a wall by a pissed-off krogan,” Anderson said, taking an unsteady step toward the hall. “Someone needs to check you out.”

“You stupid son of a bitch,” Grissom mumbled. “They’ll figure out Kahlee’s hiding here.”

Anderson hesitated, then staggered back a step and half sat, half fell onto the bed, letting Grissom slip back down onto it.

“No,” Anderson said, panting slightly from the exertion. “But he’s right. We take him in and you’re finished.”

“What are you talking about?”

“The ports are already on increased alert because of the attack on Sidon. We bring an Alliance legend like Admiral Jon Grissom into a hospital with these kinds of injuries and security goes through the roof. There’s no way in hell we’ll be able to get you off the planet without being recognized.

“I believe you’re innocent, Kahlee, but nobody else does. They’ll arrest you on sight.”

“So I’ll just stay at the house,” she said. “Nobody knows I’m here. Nobody even knows we’re related.” “Yeah, right. Nobody but me, a Spectre, that krogan… We all figured it out, Kahlee. How long before

somebody else makes the connection and comes snooping around? Before all this, nobody knew who you were; nobody bothered with you. Now you’re a suspected traitor — your name and picture are on every news vid out there.

“Reporters will be digging into your past, trying to find out everything about you. Sooner or later someone’s going to figure out the truth.”

“So what can we do?”

It was Grissom who chimed in with the answer. “Get the hell off this planet,” he muttered. “I know people who can sneak you past port security. Just need to call them in the morning.”

With that, Grissom rolled over and began snoring, finally giving in to the sedatives. Anderson and

Kahlee left the room and headed into the kitchen. “Your father’s a pretty smart man,” Anderson said.

Kahlee nodded, but all she said was “You hungry? If we’re stuck here until morning we might as well have something to eat.”

They found some bread, cold cuts, and mustard in his fridge, along with thirty-six cans of beer. Tossing one over to Anderson, Kahlee said, “He’s probably got something stronger hidden around here if you’re interested.”

“Beer’s fine,” Anderson replied, cracking it open and taking a swig. It was a local brew, one he’d never

tried before. It had a strong bite; bitter, but no aftertaste. “Should go good with the sandwich.” “Not much of a meal,” she apologized once they were sitting at the table.

“It’s fine,” he answered. “Tastes a little odd with the cold bread, though. Who keeps their bread in the fridge?”

“My mother always did,” she answered. “Guess that’s the one thing my parents could agree on. Too bad you need more than that to make a marriage work.”

They ate in silence after that, letting their minds wind down. When they were done Anderson collected both plates and took them over to the counter. He grabbed them each another beer from the fridge and came back to the table.

“Okay, Kahlee,” he said, handing her the can. “I know it’s been a long night. But now we have to talk. You up for this?”

She nodded.

“Take your time,” he told her. “Just start at the beginning and work your way through. I need to know everything.”

“We weren’t working on biotic research at the base,” she began softly, then smiled. “But I guess you already know that.”

She has a pretty smile, Anderson thought. “A good cover story for that Spectre, though,” he said aloud. “If he found out what was really going on… ” he trailed off, remembering Ambassador Goyle’s warnings about the Spectres.

Saren had saved their lives. He wondered if he really could have brought himself to murder the turian if it had been necessary to keep humanity’s secret. And even if he tried, could he have succeeded?

“Let’s just say that was quick thinking on your part,” he finally told her.

Kahlee took the compliment in stride and continued with the story, her voice slowly growing in strength and confidence as she spoke. “Sidon was dedicated to one very specific task: the development and study of artificial intelligence. We knew it was risky, but we had rigid safety protocols to make sure nothing could go wrong.

“I started as a low-level systems analyst at the base two years ago, working directly under Dr. Qian, the man in charge of the project.

“People use the term ‘genius’ all the time,” she said, making no attempt to hide her admiration. “But he really was one. His mind — his research, the way he thinks — it’s on a level so far above the rest of us we can barely even grasp it. Like most of the people there, I just did whatever Dr. Qian told me to. Half the time I didn’t even fully understand why I was doing it.”

“Why weren’t you at Sidon when it was attacked?” Anderson asked, gently nudging her toward the relevant part of her tale.

“A few months ago I noticed some changes in Dr. Qian’s behavior. He was spending more and more time in the lab. He started working double shifts; he hardly slept. But he seemed to have this endless supply of desperate, frantic energy.”