"Yes, Commander. If you'll allow it, then about that—in your cabin," Shepard said.
"Let's go," Anderson tossed out curtly.
Entering the cabin, Shepard waited until Anderson, who came in after him, closed the door and switched on the prohibiting signal on the outer lock interface.
Without sitting down, Shepard brought up several schematics, graphs, and tables with illustrations on the wall displays.
"You believe," Anderson asked after reviewing the information presented, "that there were heavy battles here with such 'cuttlefish' and their accomplices?"
"Commander," Shepard said quietly and calmly. "The planet is literally strewn with the remnants of infrastructure whose age far exceeds the sixty to seventy thousand years humans are used to. That means there were developed settlements here—settlements of the strongest race of the previous cycle. An imperial race. The dominant race. Known as the Protheans," he уточнил. "The Beacon is much less important, Captain, than what I was able to sense. Feel, more precisely. Strange as it may sound, there are other priceless and extremely complex Prothean cultural monuments here on the planet—ones that have not yet been opened. While we were flying to that 'cuttlefish,' I reviewed the map of the official excavations. In my view, the sites were not always chosen optimally. A multitude of pits that turned out to be empty points to that. I know how difficult it is for archaeologists to even temporarily 'withdraw' these lands from agricultural use. Nevertheless, even now the planetary administration insists that the excavation sites that proved empty be reclaimed. And returned to agricultural use. And I'm inclined to admit that on this, the local administration—both planetary and district—is one hundred percent right."
"Knowing you, Shepard, I won't believe," Anderson said, "that you're ready to offer only an updated map of places that might not be empty. You have something more than just a map."
"I do," the executive officer didn't deny. "When I touched the armored capsule of the chip, my brain—at least that's how I'll put what happened into words for now, Commander—my brain then perceived information that millions of Protheans were transformed. In the Terminus Systems, representatives of a species calling themselves the Gatherers, or the Collectors, have been appearing for some time now—different dialects name them differently. Few have seen them in detail." Shepard tapped several keys on the mini-keyboard of his omni-tool, and the images on part of the wall screens changed. "But in general they look approximately like this. This is an approximate depiction that exists only as a drawing. Almost a sketch. It's good the artist had an excellent, tenacious memory. Collectors usually don't like being captured this accurately and completely."
"They guard their mystery…" Anderson said, surveying the sketch. "An insect."
"A fossil insect. This 'descendant,' barely different from the original, is fifty thousand years old. And that 'cuttlefish' is more than twenty million. By the most preliminary estimates."
"And you assume…" Anderson began. "Though I know you usually keep your assumptions to yourself for a time, Shepard. You know something that means far more than this sketch."
"Yes, Commander. And I thank all known and unknown gods that we managed to 'drop' that shrimp along with its geth landing force before they reached what now belongs only to humanity. To us—Earthborn. And is worth hundreds of thousands of times more than that Beacon, whatever information it may contain."
"Listening to you, I'm leaning toward only one option, Shepard," Anderson said thoughtfully.
"You're right, Commander," the executive officer confirmed. "It's a living, original, normal Prothean male. In cryostasis. In a capsule designed specifically for that purpose. At a depth of thirty-six meters below ground level. The area—I know it. To within a meter."
"Do you realize what you're saying, Shepard?" Anderson looked his first officer straight in the eye. "I see and feel: you do. What do you need from me?"
"Contact the archaeologists, Commander. Have them pack up and drive their equipment and gear at a full gallop to the area I indicate, and there they'll dig a shaft at the spot I'll indicate as well. Sorry. But for now I can't say anything more. The risk of active intelligence operations is too great. Both human and alien."
"I understand," Anderson answered. "Then we'll do this. Since the Beacon is already loaded, our mission here…"
"Will be completed later. And it won't end with loading our guest from the distant past aboard the frigate," Shepard interrupted the captain. "I'm afraid our mission here will continue."
"Fine. Agreed," Anderson said. "I'll speak with the leadership of the archaeological team. I think they'll be glad to take part in such an important project. I'll indicate that an orbital scan has revealed a suspicious site whose characteristics are very similar to a Prothean artifact. You taught me to love digging through databases. I've already studied some information on the local artifacts. Are we moving the frigate there?"
"No need to frighten our ancestor, in a sense, Captain," Shepard replied. "Let the frigate wait here, next to the 'cuttlefish.' I still believe reliable security for that ship is only possible with our frigate's forces—nothing less. While we're digging the shaft and pulling our ally out of oblivion."
"An ally? You're that sure?" Anderson asked.
"There's no reason to kill him. Between us and him there will still be fifty thousand years. And we, the present-day us, will become better and stronger if we can, together, overcome that gigantic distance in time and space," Shepard answered.
"Commander," Anderson's omni-tool came alive on his wrist. Lieutenant Alenko's voice sounded from the bracer speakers. "The Beacon is loaded into the container. No damage, everything is fine. I'm not observing any activation. The leadership of the archaeological party asks for the approximate area they should move out to. They're finishing loading onto transports. Approximately—in twenty minutes they'll be able to report readiness to move."
"Report received," Anderson replied. "Send me the updated contacts for the archaeological party leadership, Lieutenant." The commander paused, waiting for the omni-tool to chirp, signaling receipt of the file. "Good. Tell them we'll contact them soon. Let them prepare calmly for relocation."
"Aye, Commander." Alenko cut the channel.
Not long ago, Kaidan had arrived at the frigate by shuttle. He certainly felt Ashley's gaze on him when he boarded the craft, when the heavy armored cabin door sealed behind him. He felt that gaze much later as well, when the shuttle was already flying back to the frigate.
Aboard the Normandy, he had to push thoughts of Ashley as far back in his mind as possible. And attend to his duties.
The shuttle driver who had brought the Beacon to the ship said the trip to the "site" took far longer than planned—not only because such valuable cargo was hanging on the external mount. The ship's engineers and technicians voiced quite justified doubts that the Beacon should simply be set down on a site next to the Reaper. So a new plan had to be developed and carried out: a container was retrieved from the frigate's hold. Using grav-cushions, it was installed on another "site," located astern of the Normandy. There it was planned, using two shuttles, to load the Beacon into the container.
While all this was being prepared, the driver of the shuttle transporting the artifact was ordered to proceed toward the ship at the lowest speed.
Several dozen minutes were taken up by the careful, unhurried unfastening of the Beacon from its "harness," setting it onto a grav-platform, and sliding it into the container.
It was the results of this process that Lieutenant Alenko was reporting to the frigate commander.
Now Kaidan watched the container doors close, hiding the priceless artifact from prying eyes, and watched both Normandy shuttles lift from their pads to take the container on external mounts and carry it into the frigate's hold. This procedure also took about half an hour: the engineers and technicians controlling the transfer unanimously demanded the pilots exercise maximum caution and perform all maneuvers at the lowest possible speed.
"Not exactly optimal," Engineer Adams said to Lieutenant Alenko as he approached. "We 'lit up' the Beacon too much. I'm of the opinion we should've hauled the container to the camp. Packed it there. And then slid it straight into the hangar. This way… half the population of Eden Prime saw the artifact. Rumors spread fast."
"Agreed, sir," Alenko nodded, watching the two shuttles carefully carry the container closer and closer to the yawning mouth of the frigate's hangar. "But at the very least, we're doing it openly. And on a planet that belongs to humanity. If we were doing this on any other planet—then yes, you'd be absolutely right. We would have had to pack the Beacon into a container back at the archaeologists' camp. But here… I don't think it's fair to consider all Eden Prime residents complete idiots. They know something about Beacons. And after our frigate here ran into a Reaper, engaged it… I doubt we could have kept it secret that we loaded the Beacon aboard."
"It's good we aren't advertising our plans for that Beacon," the engineer said quietly. "A lot of Eden residents might think we're not taking the Beacon off the planet for nothing."
"They might," Alenko agreed. "And I suppose they have the right. Our job is to avoid giving them extra food for thought. And especially for conclusions."
"The Beacon will be aboard soon." The engineer checked his omni-tool and gave several orders over his speaker. "Not planning to return to the archaeologists' camp?"
"As the commander says, so I'll act, sir," Alenko replied. He himself was thinking about how he might, as quickly and, most importantly, as legitimately as possible, get back to Ashley—see her again, be near her. He understood he was being pulled toward that girl with terrifying strength. "No orders yet. And there's still plenty of work here. How are the geth?"
"Studying them bit by bit. What we can study without fully activating them. A networked mind. Dangerous," Adams said. "A ship that commands geth—with their network organization based on developed artificial intelligence and complete contempt for physical death… That's… power."
Nodding to the engineer, Alenko headed at an unhurried pace toward the other shuttle descending to its pad. It was necessary to coordinate questions of patrolling the surroundings of the site where the downed Reaper, the geth dropships, and the deactivated geth themselves—the landing force of the giant ship—now lay.
Thoughts of Ashley had to be pushed back again, but now the lieutenant enjoyed the ability to think fully, clearly, and deeply without fearing he would later be nearly incapacitated for hours by a brutal headache.
"How little a person needs to be happy," Shepard said. "Get rid of migraines, let him take part in a nonstandard military operation, give him a chance to prove himself. And the person is happy…"
"Isn't that wonderful, Shepard?" Anderson gave the executive officer a sidelong glance, then looked down at his omni-tool. "Dr. Chakwas is heading our way. I assume she has important news if she decided to come here herself."
The commander unlocked the door and offered the woman medic who entered to sit. "Karin, we're listening."
"I know, David," the doctor replied as she sat in the chair next to the officers. "As a medic, I did everything possible in the current situation. I had to place them both into a medicated sleep. The turian is easier—he has more than eighty percent implants, as was correctly noted earlier. That's why he got off relatively lightly. Minor fractures and contusions. But the asari… The fractures are by no means minor, and there are many bruises, cuts. And more." She fell silent for several seconds, collecting her thoughts, then continued. "The main thing isn't that. Colleagues, I can't restore the psychosphere of either of them. Its indicators are still 'suppressed.' Though the horrible picture we had earlier, I'm no longer observing now. There are positive shifts after the sixteenth digit past the decimal point. But that 'improvement' is extremely slow. Commander," the doctor looked at Anderson, "I ask you to tell me what the further plans are regarding both of them. What should I prepare them for?"
"Karin," Anderson said after a short pause. "We aren't going to kill them. And we aren't going to torture them. We have major work ahead on Eden Prime related to archaeological excavations. I can't say more right now. I don't yet know everything myself; the work, in fact, is only planned for now. So the frigate isn't leaving the planet. I think this work will take at least several days. That gives time to preserve the progress in recovery for both of your patients."
"Good, Commander." The doctor nodded, agreeing. "If you'll allow it, I'd like Captain Shepard to look at them both. I know… about his abilities. Monitoring Lieutenant Alenko and Corporal Jenkins's condition gave me quite a few results interesting to me as a doctor. I reviewed the relevant archives and knowledge digests. I believe we shouldn't contact Alliance and Citadel medical centers right now, and we also shouldn't use local medical facilities."
"We have fifteen minutes left until we have to give the archaeological transport column a heading to the waypoint, Karin," Anderson said. "Captain Shepard, without any doubt, will fly out by shuttle to that area. And he will take part in the excavation. We're planning that its duration—until the expected results are obtained—will not exceed one Earth day. Until then, I believe he'll be able to provide you any assistance he deems necessary."
"Yes, Commander," Shepard nodded. "Permission to be dismissed?"
"Granted, Captain." Anderson nodded, watching as the executive officer opened the cabin door for the frigate's doctor and stepped out after Karin, not trying to walk beside her.
The visit by representatives of the local authorities to the archaeologists' camp did not pass without consequences for Dr. Warren. From one of the officials she received a written order instructing her to relinquish the position of head of the archaeological party to Dr. Stashinsky. After that, she was to report to the director of the Center for Archaeological Research at the local university.
Having completed the unburdensome procedure of handing over her duties, Dr. Warren packed her things and left the archaeologists' camp. In any case, her former colleagues now had to relocate the camp, and the deputies for logistics and administration could handle that perfectly well.
As always, Dr. Stashinsky reserved for himself only general supreme leadership, intending to focus on his own research and the most direct participation in the upcoming excavation.
Sitting down in the seat of the runabout flier that arrived at the camp, Dr. Warren did not look back at the place where, only recently, the large settlement of the archaeological expedition had been located. On her omni-tool there was a file with an official invitation to work in one of Cerberus's scientific divisions. She would have to think about how to combine work at the Center with work in that organization. It was good the flight to the university would take several hours—there would be time to think it through in sufficient detail. Now she would be able to leave Eden Prime. And, possibly, return to Earth.
At last, Ashley received from her division command a file containing an order. The document stated that the platoon was to remain in its прежнее location "until further instructions are received."
She had to inform her people of the contents of the order, hand out dozens of instructions so that they wouldn't idle and wouldn't go looking for trouble in the camp or beyond it. Then—personally inspect the area previously occupied by the archaeologists' camp, simply as a preventive measure against all sorts of issues that could otherwise arise in the future.
Ashley already knew that the archaeological expedition that had excavated the Beacon would now be led not by Dr. Warren but by Dr. Stashinsky. And she sincerely regretted that she wouldn't be able, in the near future, to speak with that intelligent man, so deeply absorbed in science. He differed greatly from Dr. Warren. In Warren, Ashley constantly sensed some kind of "double bottom."
Ashley neither wanted nor could afford to dwell on that "bottom": a marine platoon commander had enough pressing tasks and concerns, far more important than problems connected with some civilian administrator "from archaeology."
Staying in the same place was not difficult for Ashley and her people. After the attack by the rabid drones, of course, they had to hand over several marines to the military medics, including the soldier who had tried so accurately to take shots at the approaching frigate shuttle. Now the doctors were studying the condition of the new patients, but for now they categorically refused to explain anything and, even more so, to give any extended commentary. Ashley understood: what Eden's military doctors had encountered was too new. So a quick solution should not be expected.
There was still no communications—neither with the central Alliance marines base on Eden Prime nor with the nearby settlements. Noting to herself that filtering such dense information traffic meant the frigate must have impressive processing capacity, Ashley went to the hospital where military doctors had placed the "problem" marines.
The visit to the wards, accompanied by the doctors, took Sergeant Williams several hours. Only upon returning to camp did she learn that the Beacon had been loaded aboard the frigate. Information on what the artifact's дальнейшая fate would be, it seemed, truly did not exist among Eden's residents.
After checking the posts and being present at the daily drill and combat training, Ashley returned to her tent and, sitting down on a folding stool, finally managed to relax a little.
Her thoughts returned to Kaidan on their own.
Sergeant Williams pulled out her omni-tool and began digging through the contents of her portable databases, intending to find at least some additional information about Alenko.
After reading every text that turned out to be accessible, Ashley shut off and folded the wrist device's screen.
She thought, staring at the tent flap.
The information was clearly incomplete. She had personally had the opportunity to confirm that Kaidan was a powerful biotic. But everything else… It began to seem to her that a significant portion of the data on Alenko had been "scrubbed" from the portable databases.
What was Kaidan hiding? More precisely—not what he was hiding, but why the thought wouldn't leave her that there had been some situation in Kaidan's past—perhaps more than one—that had significantly influenced his дальнейшая life and fate. There was no information about that situation anywhere in the general databases, nor in the military ones.
All right—if Kaidan Alenko were not interesting to her as a person, she wouldn't even have thought to spend time searching for additional information about him. In the end, she was a sergeant, commanding a marine platoon. She had her path in the army, and Kaidan Alenko, of course, had his. So neither she nor he needed to establish any additional relationships that went beyond the limits of army service protocol. Besides, he was a biotic, and she was not, and, frankly, she was a little afraid of biotics. You could read about them calmly and safely in books, sure. But seeing up close a real person who, with a light wave of a hand, could punch through a thick stone wall… That was tense.
That was why Ashley subconsciously didn't hurry to let herself go into feelings and emotions. Kaidan—yes, she liked him as a person and as a man; that much was clear even to her. You couldn't call it love at first sight—you couldn't. What love? Someone liked someone, yes, but to call it love right away? No—there were no prerequisites for that yet.
Astonished by her own office-like, bureaucratically phrased thoughts about Kaidan, Ashley turned off her omni-tool, stood up, and paced around the tent.