Realizing they wouldn’t be able to leave the camp anyway, the men stopped.
The two police officers approached them, spoke to them, and, threatening them with their weapons, forced all three to head toward the lieutenant.
“We haven’t done anything wrong,” said one of the frightened ‘farmers.’ “We come here often, watch… The season’s over and there’s little work in the fields… And here — you hand something over, bring something, hold something.
That’s how it is… And that ship… it fell after your frigate shot at it, right?” the man asked, seeing the Normandy insignia on the lieutenant’s suit.
Alenko nodded.
“Sergeant Williams, why are outsiders on the camp’s territory?” Kaidan turned to Ashley.
“Outsiders?
What outsiders?” Ashley was surprised by Kaidan’s reaction to what seemed like a routine, perhaps even familiar situation for a colonist.
“They’re locals.
They’re here…” Ashley looked at the lieutenant.
She immediately lost the desire to continue on this topic.
“Awaiting orders, Lieutenant.” She snapped to attention, turning to Kaidan.
“Search them.” Kaidan was now watching one of the three detainees very closely.
The police officers performed a standard pat-down of the ‘marked’ local’s clothing and body, after which a perfectly functional pistol came to light.
One of the police officers bagged the weapon in a transparent pouch.
Before the pistol’s owner could protest, he found a fist wreathed in biotics right in front of his face.
“Spill it.
Who’d you get the gun from?” Kaidan hissed.
“I… it’s… Well… Vaclav Trebsten.
He’s here… nearby… on… I meant to say… lives close by.
I got it from… him,” the frightened ‘farmer’ finished his disjointed monologue.
“Very interesting things going on around here, Sergeant.” Alenko turned to the frozen Williams.
“In a scientific archaeological camp under military guard, locals with combat weapons are wandering around freely.
And smuggling is thriving, too.” The biotic officer turned to the armed ‘peasant’s’ two companions.
“For now, you have a chance to talk without a formal statement.
That ‘piece’ isn’t the only one.
So…”
“Prefab five.
Where the hull panel is coming loose… We set up a stash there.
A warehouse,” one of the other two ‘farmers’ replied, trying to speak clearly.
“We… it’s…” he faltered, sensing the officer’s displeasure.
“Your fate will be decided by the local authorities.” Kaidan looked at the head of the archaeological team.
“Are you going to deny that all of this,” he indicated with his gaze the pistol, now bagged and in one of the police officer’s hands, “happened without your knowledge?”
“I’m one person.
I physically can’t keep an eye on several dozen employees at once,” the researcher-administrator replied.
“You show up all nice and quick in your ship’s shuttle.
And we’ve been sitting here for a month before that.
Without leaving!
And now we’re completely cut off from communication!
And on top of that, those berserk drones… They nearly shot us all.
And all you newcomers care about is protocol, rules!” the woman cried out.
“Yes…”
“Stop.” Kaidan said it so quickly, sharply, and clearly that Warren shut up instantly.
“You, Sergeant,” he looked at one of the police officers accompanying him.
“Find two witnesses and confiscate everything you find in that ‘warehouse.’ Under protocol and recording, of course.
Carry on.” He waited a few seconds.
“You, Shtrahl,” he looked at the second police officer, “along with Webst, escort these gentlemen,” he indicated the three detained men with the barrel of his pistol, “to one of the prefabs.
Let them sit and think for a while.
Inform the local authorities; they’ll get a channel opened from the frigate.”
“Yes, sir.” Both police officers approached the ‘farmers,’ formed them into a column, and led them away.
“Sergeant, post a guard at the prefab where these men will remain until local law enforcement arrives,” Kaidan ordered.
“Yes, sir.” Williams made a vague gesture with her hand — and Alenko noted that the two enlisted marines standing at a considerable distance correctly understood their commander’s order, given in this semi-civilian manner: the sergeant’s curious subordinates headed toward the prefabs to guard the detained ‘farmers.’
The head of the archaeological expedition, who had been silent until now, tried to say something, but catching the biotic officer’s gaze, decided not to tempt fate — Alenko was clearly ‘on edge.’
“Let’s go to the Beacon,” Kaidan said and was the first to step back onto the ‘path’ paved with hastily riveted tiles.
“It’s going to be… fun around here,” he said, noting the artifact’s spire ahead.
“Is that,” Kaidan, without stopping, pointed the barrel of his pistol at a man in work clothes standing a few meters from the beacon, “also a local?”
“That’s Powell,” said Doctor Warren.
“He’s a dock worker.
Comes by occasionally.” She tried to say it calmly, seeing that Kaidan was extremely displeased with what was happening around the artifact.
“Just occasionally.”
“Hmph.” Alenko stopped.
“And how, Doctor, do you ensure the artifact’s security if it’s not fenced off, not guarded, and any curious person can walk up to it?” Kaidan’s hands began to glow.
“Do I need to start reminding you of the protocol provisions?”
“We had…” Warren tried to object, but thought better of it and didn’t continue.
“Yes, yes,” said Kaidan, not taking his eyes off the worker standing by the beacon.
“‘Prawns’ flying around, drones going out of control, indoctrinated PhDs preaching like followers of some worn-out apocalyptic cult.
In short — total darkness.” Alenko turned to Williams.
“Sergeant, please clear the area around the artifact of unauthorized personnel.”
“Yes, sir.” Ashley sighed, trying to make it as inconspicuous and quiet as possible, then headed toward the man standing by the Beacon.
“Sir, I must ask you to leave.
The camp,” the platoon commander clarified.
“Or you will be detained.”
“Alright, alright,” Powell nodded and began to retreat hesitantly from the Beacon.
“It’s humming strangely, and it’s giving off… a strange influence.” The man turned and quickly walked away along the path, past the prefabs that surrounded the square where the artifact was installed.
Looking at the screen of her wrist-mounted omni-tool, Ashley confirmed that Powell had indeed left and hadn’t stopped somewhere behind the nearest prefabs.
The girl looked around, sighed once more, and snapped the device’s cover shut.
She had to check the security perimeter after all, activating the omni-tool’s additional sensors.
The sergeant headed toward Alenko.
“I see.” Kaidan stopped Ashley with a short gesture as she was about to formally report the order’s execution.
“For now, we’ll pack up the artifact.
Then we’ll transport it to the frigate.”
“So you’re taking it after all…” said Doctor Warren.
“As I understand it, you’re following the orders of the Citadel Councilors.”
“For now, we’re not taking the Beacon off the planet.” Kaidan didn’t approach the beacon; he surveyed the artifact from a distance.
“Just to the frigate’s hangar.
Given what just happened… There’s no definitive decision on removing the Beacon from Eden Prime anymore.” The officer opened his omni-tool and entered a few commands.
“The ship’s shuttle will be here shortly.
It will deliver the Beacon to the frigate.
The loading will be carried out by members of the Normandy’s crew and team.” Alenko saw the approaching shuttle and waved his hand, signaling the pilot to begin the process of taking the artifact onto an external sling.
“And…” Ashley said hesitantly.
“Lieutenant…”
“You’ll both be present while I secure the Beacon to the sling,” Kaidan replied, approaching the bundle of ‘harness’ dropped from the shuttle hovering over the square, and enveloping himself in a biotic glow.
“And then… Then we’ll deal with your local problems.” He stepped toward the Beacon.
“It looks like… his presence and the presence of his companions here will drag on for a long time,” said the head of the archaeological team.
“And you…” Warren drawled discontentedly.
“I’m just a sergeant.
He’s a lieutenant, in case you haven’t noticed, Doctor,” Ashley replied.
“And since he’s a biotic… I think many of the Beacon’s influences aren’t as dangerous for him as they are for us non-biotics.
The frigate definitely knows who to send to handle these kinds of issues.”
“He’s coming on too strong…” Warren grumbled.
“And I haven’t noticed yet…”
“Yes, yes.
All you want is a stack of various plastipapers… with seals and signatures.
So you can bury your gaze — and your nose, if possible — in them and forget about the changeability and inconstancy of the surrounding reality.” Ashley silently studied the head of the archaeological team for a few seconds.
“Doctor, have you completely forgotten that a Reaper recently landed on the planet, which was only immobilized, not destroyed?!
And it seems to me it didn’t fly here for no reason, if half the people in our camp are walking around like they’re lost!”
Ashley turned to the head of the archaeologists:
“Our drones, with a VI that, until recently, even professionals and specialists thought couldn’t be reprogrammed in principle, turned against all sentient organics inside the camp’s perimeter!
And I see only one reason for this…”
“The Reaper,” Warren said.
“Finally, a sound judgment.” Williams barely restrained herself from an indignant snort as she read the texts of reports and briefings on the small screen of her wrist-mounted omni-tool.
Including those about dealing with the aftermath of the drone attack.
“And I think you’ll have to reduce the freedom of behavior for your subordinates.
Lieutenant Alenko,” Ashley placed a very noticeable emphasis on the rank and surname, “is right.
It’s unacceptable to have so many outsiders in a camp guarded by Alliance marines, who can freely and calmly approach even the artifact.
I assume the Normandy crew will be staying here on Eden for a long time, and since the Beacon will be moved aboard the frigate…”
“Don’t worry, my dear,” Warren, realizing that the marine platoon commander had found unexpected support in the form of the officers and sergeants from the military reconnaissance frigate that had arrived on the planet, was now simply seething with malice and irritation toward her interlocutor.
“There are plenty of various artifacts here on Eden Prime.
I’m sure not only Prothean ones.
There will be work for me and my people.
And I’ll be simply delighted.
Because you were foisted on me by the smart-alecks in the Alliance brass.
Only for the duration of the work on the Beacon.
No Beacon, my dear, and you’re not around me.
Or my people!”
“Ladies, don’t quarrel.” Alenko suddenly appeared next to the sergeant and the doctor.
“The Beacon is packed.
The shuttle pilot will now begin a careful lift of the artifact.
And deliver it slowly to the Normandy.
I’ll sign all the documents in your prefab, Doctor.
And you, Sergeant, I won’t keep you any longer.
You can return to your subordinates.
And attend to your duties.” He saluted.
“Yes, sir.” Ashley returned the salute.
“As ordered, sir.” Stabbing Warren with a look full of antipathy, she did an ‘about-face.’
Then she quickly walked away along the metal-plastic prefab path toward the tents where the soldiers of her platoon were quartered.
Noting how Warren was looking at the Beacon, hanging in its strap harness under the frigate shuttle’s belly, Alenko said nothing aloud.
Let her see, let her know that the Beacon was on the sling and would be airlifted to the frigate.
It could be loaded into a container right by the ship.
That would even be faster and more efficient.
Let the other Edenites see the Beacon too, let them know what exactly had been found on their planet.
Perhaps, seeing the artifact on the Normandy shuttle’s sling, they’d look it up on the Extranet, on its planetary ‘mirrors,’ to find out what it was, and then… Then it wouldn’t be far from understanding the proximity of war.
Forcing himself to ‘disengage’ from the half-philosophical thoughts, Alenko made himself ‘pull himself together.’ Ahead of him lay the signing of numerous documents, which, as always, needed to be checked, coordinated, and corrected.
Routine officer’s work.
The main thing was that the Beacon was safe.
He could handle the rest.
Kaidan caught himself thinking more and more willingly now, not about the Beacon, not about the upcoming work with important documents.
He was thinking about Sergeant Williams.
Or, more precisely, about the girl named Ashley, for whom service in the army was not a whim, but a true calling.
And he thought about Ashley…
warmly.
Very warmly and softly.
Even—tenderly.
Not as a junior army commander, but as a person.
A person he, Kaidan Alenko, liked…
very much.
“So, are we going to sign the documents, Lieutenant?!
Or…” The question, asked by Warren, brought Alenko back to reality.
“Yes, yes.
Let’s go.
Show me where your office is.” Alenko didn’t look at the impatient head of the archaeologists, but stepped after her toward the path.
A few minutes of walking—and they were surrounded by the familiar office environment.
Kaidan sank into a chair, glanced at the screen of the desktop omni-tool turned toward him, at the printer, already ready to spit out sheets of thermoplas.
A routine bureaucratic procedure lay ahead.
Pushing thoughts of Ashley to the depths of his mind, Kaidan took out his personal stylus-codator and thanked the Highborne for the fact that he could now go around the clock without those terrible headaches.
Whatever the nervous and physical strain, he was now free of those pains that had, time and again, reliably laid him on a hospital bed and robbed him of freedom of movement and thought.
The archaeologists’ camp was gradually regaining its former orderly appearance.
Scientists and technicians checked equipment, tested data banks and storage devices—who knows how they might have suffered during the small skirmish with the berserk drones.
Technicians—within the camp and its vicinity—were collecting the remains of the drones.
The treaty with the local administration clearly stated the requirement that archaeologists undertake to maintain order and cleanliness—both at their place of deployment and at the excavation sites.
Ashley received the reports and dispatches, gave the necessary orders and commands.
She visited the field infirmary, spoke with the infantrymen who had received light and moderate wounds.
“Sergeant, representatives of the local administration have arrived,” reported a space marine who had approached.
“Escort them to Doctor Warren’s office, Private,” Ashley ordered, tearing herself away for a few seconds from checking the fastenings of the storage “pyramid” with the platoon’s property.
“Yes, ma’am,” the soldier turned and left.
Williams watched him go, thinking that the calm and fairly measured life of her unit had, in all likelihood, come to an end.
Now the pilgrimages would begin.
Yes, now access to the camp would have to be closed to all outsiders.
Kaidan, even if he had sharply expressed his displeasure about it, well, he was right!
It wasn’t a camp, it was a regular thoroughfare!
So, she would need to gather the platoon and conduct some explanatory work.
Much had changed, too much.
It was quite possible that the frigate could have sent a container for the Beacon right here, to the camp, but…
they did it differently—they sent the Beacon on a sling to the frigate.
Yes, it was risky, yes, it was unsafe, but…
In all likelihood, the military personnel who arrived on the frigate, even if they were scouts, were specialists accustomed to solving such situations correctly, quickly, and precisely.
Probably, the Beacon was already at the frigate and being loaded into a container, which would then end up in the hold of the warship.
No, still, it was interesting.
Yes, an order, yes—the will of the Citadel Council, the governing body for several races that were quite ancient compared to humanity.
Alien races.
She, Ashley Williams, flinched every time, albeit imperceptibly, when she thought that humanity had finally been convinced of its non-exclusivity as a bearer of intelligence.
Cruel, but convinced.
Those turians, salarians, asari, and all the others, more than a dozen in number…
they were complex subjects for interaction.
It was a good thing she was on a planet placed under humanity’s administration.
There were comparatively few aliens here, and they were not the masters here, but guests.
Other marine units of the division were, as Williams knew, much less fortunate—they were stationed on planets where humans were no longer the primary, key race.
Yes, humanity had begun active colonization, but so far these were only the first steps.
And now…
Now there might not be any steps ahead.
Because ahead lay not long years of relative peace, but war.
A war, frightening to think, of galactic scale.
Not some perfectly ordinary situation of military confrontation between two or three, five races, but a war with an enemy that had come into the Galaxy from outside.
If this enemy had many ships like that…
It would be very hard to hold out.
And even harder—to win.
The soldiers of her platoon had hardly suffered.
Just a few lightly wounded, two or three soldiers with moderate injuries.
The medics—military and civilian—would do everything to get them back into the ranks as quickly as possible.
A normal situation.
With the archaeologists…
it was more complicated.
As Williams sensed, they were ready to relocate.
Fine.
Her platoon had accomplished its main task—it had protected the archaeologists who had dug up the Beacon.
They had, of course, tried to study the find, as best they could and knew how, but…
The artifact was simply too unusual.
And—impenetrable.
They had managed to understand and learn little.
And what they did understand…
was alarming.
The Beacon…
had nevertheless shown the smart one archaeologists a very short recording.
A video recording—that’s one way to define it.
A terrifying recording.
One that could be taken as documentary evidence of the beginning of some conflict between races—there had been plenty over the last few thousand years.
But in this recording shown by the Beacon, there was something else: a conflict…
of a galactic scale.
Yes, several races were shown, bearing little resemblance to those currently known and actually existing.
That’s why the people who watched the recording understood that it was about races now extinct.
Or, more precisely—perished in the fire of that very same galactic conflict.
A confrontation with a powerful, extra-galactic enemy.
Ashley had seen this recording.
She had seen it several times.
Under different circumstances.
Yes, the recording…
was terrifying.
And now…
Now, after the archaeologists and the soldiers of her platoon, and she herself, had witnessed a battle between an Earth scout frigate and a Reaper, which had been considered the product of the sick imagination of a drunk sentient organic.
After the attack on the camp’s inhabitants by drones that had gone berserk, somehow reprogrammed.
After she had seen several people—both civilians and military—driven mad by an influence unknown to Earth science…
She understood that all this was only the first chords of the catastrophe descending upon the galaxy.
Recalling the details of what had happened—the most varied details, not yet assembled into a stable whole—she understood that both Lieutenant Alenko, who had arrived at the camp, and his three accompanying police officers…
They had experienced a moment that…
a large number of Earthlings would hardly have been ready to experience normally.