The impact of the explosion sent Kahlee reeling through the darkness to slam face first into an unseen wall, knocking out one of her teeth and breaking her nose. She dropped to the floor and brought her hands up to her mangled face, tasting the blood flowing down her chin.
And then she noticed a small sliver of light coming from the edge of the door. The explosion must have jarred it off its hinges. Ignoring the pain of her injuries, she jumped up and backed away until she felt the wall behind her. Then she took three hard steps and threw herself shoulder first into the door.
The damage to the frame must have been extensive, because the door gave way on her first attempt, sending her sprawling into the room beyond. She hit the ground hard, landing on the same shoulder she’d used to knock open the door. A jolt of pain shot through her arm as the shoulder popped out of the socket. She sat up, shielding her eyes from the sudden brightness of the room after all the hours she’d spent in absolute darkness.
“Kahlee!” she heard Anderson scream. “Grab the gun! Shoot him!”
Squinting in the light, half blind, she fumbled around on the ground and wrapped her hands around the barrel of an assault rifle. She pulled it in and grabbed the handle as an enormous shadow suddenly loomed above her.
Acting on instinct, she pointed and pulled the trigger. She was rewarded with the unmistakable sound of a krogan roaring in pain, and the immense shadow fell away.
Blinking desperately to restore her vision, she was just able to make out the form of Skarr stumbling away from her, clutching at his stomach and looking at her in rage and disbelief.
And then Anderson stepped into view right beside him. He jammed the nose of his pistol against the side of the krogan’s skull and fired. Kahlee turned away an instant too late—the sight of Skarr’s brains being blown out through the far side of his head and splattering across the wall was one that would probably haunt her nightmares for the rest of her life.
And then David was there, crouching on the ground beside her.
“Are you okay?” he asked. “Can you walk?”
She nodded. “I think I dislocated my shoulder.”
He thought for a second, then said, “I’m sorry for this, Kahlee.” She was about to ask him for what when he grabbed her by the wrist and collarbone, yanking hard on her arm. She screamed in agony, nearly passing out as the shoulder popped back into place.
David was there to catch her so she didn’t fall over.
“You bastard,” she mumbled, flexing her fingers to try and work the numbness out of them. “Thank you,” she added a second later.
He helped her to her feet, and it was only then that she noticed all the other dead bodies in the room. Anderson didn’t say anything, but simply handed her one of the dead men’s assault rifles, then grabbed his own weapon.
“We better take these,” he told her, remembering Saren’s grim advice about shooting civilians. “Let’s just pray we don’t have to use them.”
TWENTY-TWO
The explosion in the refinery core had exactly the impact Saren was hoping for. Panic and chaos descended over the plant. The alarms had sent people fleeing for the exits, frantic to get away from the destruction. But while everyone else was running out, Saren was working his way farther in, moving against the flow of the crowd. Most of the people ignored him, concentrating only on their own desperate flight.
He had to act quickly. The detonation he’d set off had only been the first in a chain reaction that would cause the vats of molten ore to overheat. When they erupted, all the machinery in the processing core would ignite in flames. The turbines and generators would overload, triggering a series of explosions that would reduce the entire plant to burning rubble.
Scanning the crowd Saren at last saw what he was looking for: a small group of Blue Sun mercs, heavily armed and moving together as a single unit. Like Saren, they were heading deeper into the plant.
All he had to do was follow them.
“What are we waiting for?” Qian screamed, almost hysterical. He held up a small metal case and waved it frantically in Edan’s face. Inside was a flash drive containing all the data they had gathered on the project. “We have everything we need right here. Let’s go!”
“Not yet,” the batarian said, trying to remain calm despite the claxon’s ringing so loudly he could barely hear himself think. “Wait for our escorts to arrive.” He knew the explosion in the core was more than just a coincidence, and he wasn’t about to go running out into a trap. Not without his bodyguards.
“What about them?” Qian shouted, pointing at the two mercs standing nervously just outside the door of the room in which he had been holed up ever since the attack on Sidon.
“They’re not enough,” Edan replied. “I’m not taking any chances. We wait for the rest of—”
His words were cut off by the sound of gunfire from the other room, mingling with the alarms and shouts from his guards. This was followed by a second of silence, and then an unfamiliar figure appeared at the door.
“Your escort isn’t going to make it,” the armored turian said.
Even though he’d never met the man before, Edan instantly recognized him. “I know you,” he said. “The Spectre. Saren.”
“You did this!” Qian screamed, pointing a shaking finger at Saren. “This is your fault!”
“Are you going to kill us now?” Edan asked. Surprisingly, he wasn’t afraid. It was as if he’d known this moment was coming all along. And now that his death was upon him he felt only a strange sense of calm.
But the turian didn’t kill them. Instead, he asked a question. “What were you working on at Sidon?”
“Nothing!” Qian shouted, clutching the metal case to his chest. “It’s ours!”
Edan recognized the look in Saren’s eye. He’d made his entire fortune off that look: hunger, desire, the lust to possess.
“You know,” he whispered, realizing the truth. “Not everything. But just enough so that you want to know more.” A faint smile creased his lips. There was a chance he might still get out of this alive.
“Shut up!” Qian screamed at him. “He’ll take it from us!”
“I don’t think so,” Edan replied, speaking more to Saren than the raving scientist. “We have something he wants. He needs to keep us alive.”
“Not both of you,” Saren warned.
Something in his tone pierced the veil of Qian’s madness. “You need me,” he insisted in a rare moment of lucidity. “You need my research. My expertise.” He was speaking quickly, desperate and scared. However, it wasn’t clear if he was more frightened of death, or of losing out on the chance to continue his obsessive research. “Without me you’ll never understand it. Never figure out how to unlock its power. I’m essential to the project!”
Saren raised his pistol and pointed it straight at the babbling human, then he turned his head toward Edan.
“Is this true?” he asked the batarian.
Edan shrugged. “We have copies of all his research, and I have my own team studying the artifact. Qian is brilliant but he’s become…erratic. I think the time has come for him to be replaced.”
No sooner were the words out of his mouth than Saren fired. Qian went rigid and toppled over backwards, a single bullet hole in his forehead. The metal case fell from his hands and clattered to the floor, the flash drive inside well-protected from the impact by the padded interior.
“And what about you?” the Spectre asked, aiming the pistol at the batarian.
When he’d thought there was no hope of survival Edan had been calm, resigned to his fate. Now that he saw a chance to escape with his life, the gun pointed in his direction filled him with a cold fear.
“I know where it is,” he said. “How will you find it without my help?”
Saren nodded his head in the direction of the metal case. “There’s probably something in there that’ll tell me what I need to know.”
“I…I have resources,” Edan stammered, scrambling to find anot
her argument capable of staying the executioner’s hand. “People. Power. Money. The cost of the project is astronomical. If you kill me, how will you fund it?”
“You aren’t the only one with wealth and influence,” the turian reminded him. “I can find another moneyman without even leaving the Verge.”
“Think of how much time and effort I’ve put into this!” Edan blurted out. “Kill me and you’ll have to start from scratch!”
Saren stayed silent, but he did tilt his head slightly to the side as if considering what the batarian had said.
“You have no idea what this thing is capable of,” Edan continued, pressing his point. “It’s like nothing the galaxy has ever seen before. Even with Qian’s files you won’t find anybody who can just step in and resume work on the project.
“I’ve been involved from the beginning. I have a fundamental understanding of what we’re dealing with. Nobody else in the galaxy can offer you that.”
From the expression on the turian’s face it was obvious he was buying into Edan’s argument.
“If you kill me, you don’t just lose my financial backing, you lose my experience. You might find someone else to fund the project, but that will take time. If you kill me, you’ll be starting over from the beginning.
“You’re not going to throw away three years of my groundwork just so you can have the satisfaction of shooting me.”
“I don’t mind waiting a few extra years,” Saren replied as he squeezed the trigger. “I’m a very patient man.”
Kahlee and Anderson were still inside the main building of the refinery when the second explosion came. The blast originated near the processing core’s vats of molten ore; a geyser of fiery liquid erupted from the heart of the facility, shooting up three hundred meters into the sky. The glowing pillar mushroomed, spreading out to illuminate the night before collapsing to rain red hot death down over everything within a half-kilometer radius.
“Keep moving!” Anderson shouted, straining to be heard above the shrieking alarms. The plant was already structurally weakened by the first two explosions, and more were sure to follow. “We have to get outside before this place caves in on us!”
He led the way, one hand clutching the assault rifle, the other clenching Kahlee’s wrist as he dragged the weakened young woman along with him. They emerged from the plant, racing for the perimeter fence, the lieutenant frantically scanning the area around them for any signs of pursuit.
“My God!” Kahlee gasped, pulling up short and forcing Anderson to do the same. He glanced back and saw her staring out into the distance. He turned to follow her gaze, then whispered a small prayer of his own.
The entire work camp was ablaze. Shielded by the roof and walls of the refinery, the two humans had been protected from the deluge of molten ore. Those outside the plant—the men, women, and children in the work camps—were not so lucky. Every building seemed to be on fire; a fierce orange wall of flames ringing them in.
“We’ll never get through that,” Kahlee moaned, collapsing to the ground, overwhelmed with exhaustion and fatigue.
Another explosion shook the facility. Glancing back Anderson saw the plant was on fire now, too. By the light of the flames he could see dark vapors crawling out from the windows—toxic chemical clouds released by the destruction.
“Don’t give up!” Anderson shouted, grabbing her by the shoulders and hauling her to her feet. “We can make it!”
Kahlee only shook her head. He could see it in her eyes; after everything she’d already been through since the destruction of Sidon, this was finally too much for her. She didn’t have anything left; she’d finally given in to despair.
“I can’t. I’m too tired,” she said, slumping back down. “Just leave me.”
He couldn’t carry her the rest of the way; they had too far to go. And with her draped over his back he was afraid he wouldn’t be able to move fast enough to get through the flame-engulfed work camp without them both burning to death.
Kahlee hadn’t enlisted to serve on the battlefront. She was a scientist, a thinker. But all of humanity’s soldiers went through the same basic training—before they became part of the Alliance they had to endure months of grueling physical ordeals. They were taught to push themselves to their limits and beyond. And when their bodies threatened to simply keel over from fatigue and exhaustion, they had to find a way to keep going. They had to break through the mental barriers holding them back and push further than they ever imagined was possible.
It was a right of passage, a bond shared by every man and woman in the Systems Alliance Military. It united them and gave them strength; transformed them into living symbols—flesh and blood manifestations of the indomitable human spirit.
Anderson knew he had to tap into that now. “Damn it, Sanders!” he shouted at her. “Don’t you dare quit on me now! Your unit is moving out, so get up off your ass and get your feet moving! That’s an order!”
Like a good soldier, Kahlee responded to his commands. Somehow she got back to her feet, still clutching her weapon. She broke into a slow, lumbering run—her will forcing her body to do what her mind told her it couldn’t. Anderson watched her for a second to make sure she wouldn’t topple over, then fell into step behind her, matching Kahlee’s pace as they raced toward the smoke, screams, and flames coming from the buildings in front of them.
The work camp had become Hell itself. The roaring of the flames rose up from the conflagration to mingle with shrieks of pain and keening cries of terror and loss. The horrible cacophony was punctuated by the occasional earsplitting thunder of another detonation from somewhere inside the plant.
Greasy black clouds rolled across the rooftops and down to the ground as the fire leaped from building to building, devouring the entire camp, one structure at time. The heat was like a living thing, clutching and grabbing at their limbs, scraping searing claws across their skin as they ran past. Acrid smoke stung their eyes and crawled down their lungs, choking them with each breath. The sickly stench of burning flesh was everywhere.
Bodies lay strewn about the streets, many of them children. Some were victims of the molten ore that had rained down, charred husks lying in bubbling puddles of their own melted flesh. Others had succumbed to the smoke or flames, their corpses curling up into the fetal position as muscles and sinew shriveled and burned. Still others had been trampled by the stampede of those trying to escape, their limbs broken and bent at grotesque, unnatural angles; their faces smashed to a bloody pulp beneath the heedless feet of their neighbors.
For all the combat Anderson had endured, for all the battles he’d fought, for all the atrocities of war he’d witnessed firsthand, nothing had prepared the lieutenant for the horrors he saw during the remainder of their flight from the refinery. But there was nothing they could do for the victims; no aid they could offer. All they could do was put their heads down, crouch low, and keep running.
Kahlee stumbled and fell several times during their desperate flight, only to push valiantly on each time Anderson hauled her back to her feet. And by some miracle they made it through Hell alive…arriving just in time to see Saren tossing a small metal case into the back of the rover.
The turian looked at them in surprise, and in the glow from the fires of the burning camp behind them, Anderson was convinced he saw the Spectre scowl. He didn’t say anything as he climbed into the vehicle, and for a second Anderson thought Saren was going to drive away and just leave them there.
“Get in!” the turian shouted.
Maybe it was the sight of the automatic assault rifles they both still carried. Maybe he was afraid someone would find out if he abandoned them. Anderson didn’t really care; he was just glad the Spectre waited.
He helped Kahlee up into the vehicle, then scrambled in beside her. “Where’s Edan?” he asked as the engine roared to life.
“Dead.”
“What about Dr. Qian?” Kahlee wanted to know.
“Him, too.”
Saren slam
med the rover into gear, the wheels kicking up small bits of sand and gravel as they took off. Anderson slumped back against his seat. All thoughts of the small metal case slipped from his mind as he surrendered to utter exhaustion.
The rover sped away into the night, leaving the grim scene of death and destruction farther and farther behind them.
EPILOGUE
Anderson stepped out from the offices of the Alliance embassy on the Citadel and into the simulated sunshine of the Presidium. He made his way down the stairs and out onto the green grass fields.
Kahlee was waiting for him down by the lake’s edge. She sat on the grass, barefoot so she could dip her toes. He came over and sat down heavily beside her, yanking off his own shoes and plunging his feet into the cool, refreshing water.
“Ahhh, that feels good.”
“That was a long meeting,” Kahlee said.
“I was afraid you might get bored waiting for me.”
“Nothing else to do,” she teased. “I already had my meeting with the ambassador. Besides, I figured I’d stick around.” In a more serious voice she added, “I owe you that much at least.”
“You don’t owe me anything,” he replied, and they lapsed into a comfortable silence.
It was four days since they’d fled the refinery on Camala. The first night had been spent at the medical facility near the spaceports. They were treated for smoke inhalation and possible exposure to toxins released into the air during the explosions, and Kahlee was given intravenous fluids to fight off the dehydration she’d suffered during her imprisonment.
The next morning they’d been met by a contingent of Alliance representatives: soldiers to provide protection and intel officials to gather their statements. They’d been whisked onto a waiting frigate and taken to the Citadel to deliver their reports and individual accounts to the powers-that-be in person: three days of meetings, hearings, and inquiries to determine what had happened…and who was at fault.
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