Drew Karpyshyn - Revelation

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 slammed 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.

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.

Anderson suspected the high-level political fallout would continue for months, maybe years. But with the end of this final meeting in the ambassador’s office, it was officially over for him. For both of them.

This was the first chance they’d had to be alone since that hellish night. He wanted to reach his arm around her shoulder and pull her close, but he wasn’t sure how she’d react. He wanted to say something, but he couldn’t figure out what to say. So they just sat there, side by side on the edge of the lake, not speaking.

It was Kahlee who finally broke the silence. “What did the ambassador say?”

“About what I expected,” he said with a sigh. “The Council rejected me as a candidate for the Spectres.”

“Because Saren screwed you,” she said, disgusted.

“His report doesn’t paint a very flattering portrait of me. He says I ignored the true goal of the mission.

Claims I blew his cover by tipping off the mercs inside the base by going in too soon. He even manages to blame me for the explosion.”

“But it’s all lies!” Kahlee said, throwing her hands up in exasperation.

“With just enough truth mixed in to sell it,” he noted. “Besides, he’s a Spectre. One of their top agents.

Who are they going to believe?”

“Or maybe the Council’s just looking for an excuse to keep humans out of the Spectres. Holding the Alliance back again.”

“Maybe. But that’s Goyle’s problem now.”

“And the alien technology he discovered?” Kahlee demanded.

“The Council had its own experts study the files from Sidon,” Anderson explained. “It’s all theory and conjecture. They don’t believe there ever was any alien technology.”

“What about all the research he had us doing?” she protested. “What was he trying to accomplish?”

Anderson shrugged. “They say Qian was unstable. They think he conned Edan with wild claims and false promises based on his own psychotic delusions. And they think he was just dragging the entire

Sidon project deeper and deeper into his own private madness.”

“What did the ambassador say about you?” Kahlee asked after a moment’s hesitation, her voice growing softer.

“She wasn’t too happy at first,” he admitted. “I didn’t get into the Spectres, and this mission left a hell of a political mess for her to clean up.”

“What about all the civilians who died in the explosion? The Alliance isn’t trying to pin that on you, are they?” There was no mistaking the concern in her voice, and Anderson regretted not putting his arm around her earlier.