Mass Effect: Revelation

CHAPTER TWELVE

Anderson and the Spectre sat in the kitchen, staring across the table at each other without speaking. The living room would have been more comfortable, but none of the chairs in there had survived the krogan’s rampage.

Like all turians, Saren’s face was covered by a mask of hard cartilage. But Saren’s mask was the pale color of bone; it looked like a skull. He reminded Anderson of the old Earth paintings depicting the Grim Reaper, the embodiment of death itself.

Kahlee was in the back, tending to Grissom’s wounds. The admiral had tried to protest, but he was weak from loss of blood and she’d managed to get him to lie down. She found a military field kit in his medicine chest with enough medigel to stabilize his condition, and now she was dressing his wound.

She’d wanted to take him to a hospital, or at least call an ambulance, but the Spectre had adamantly refused. “After you answer my questions” was all he’d say.

Anderson knew right then that he didn’t like Saren. Anyone who would use the prolonged pain and suffering of a family member for leverage was a sadist and a bully.

“He’s resting now,” Kahlee said, emerging from the back. “I gave him a sedative.”

She entered the kitchen and took a seat beside Anderson, instinctively aligning herself with one of her own kind. “Hurry up and ask your questions,” she said tersely, “so I can get my father to a hospital.”

“Cooperate and this will be over soon,” Saren assured her, then added, “Tell me about the Sidon military base.”

“It was wiped out in a terrorist attack,” Anderson answered, jumping in before Kahlee could say anything incriminating.

The turian glared at him. “Don’t play me for a fool, human. That krogan who nearly killed you all is a bounty hunter named Skarr. I’ve been following him for the past two days.”

“What does that have to do with us?” Kahlee asked, her voice so innocent Anderson almost believed she really didn’t know what was going on.

“He was hired by the man who ordered the attack on Sidon,” Saren replied with a scowl. “They sent him to eliminate the only survivor from the base. You.”

“Sounds like you know more about this than we do,” Anderson countered.

The turian slammed his fist down on the table. “Why was the base attacked?! What were you working on there?”

“Prototype technology,” Kahlee offered before Anderson could speak. “Experimental weapons for the

Alliance military.”

Saren tilted his head to the side, puzzled. “Experimental weapons technology? That’s all?”

“What do you mean ‘that’s all’?” Anderson sputtered in disbelief, running with the lie Kahlee had so deftly handed him.

“That hardly seems like justification for attacking a heavily armed Alliance base,” the turian replied. “We’re on the edge of a war in the Verge,” Anderson insisted. “Everybody knows it’s got to be us or the

batarians. Why wouldn’t they want to attack our primary weapons research base?”

“No,” Saren said flatly. “There’s something more. You’re hiding something.”

There was a long pause, and then the turian casually brought out his pistol and set it on the table. “Perhaps you don’t understand the full extent of Spectre authority,” he said ominously. “I have the legal

right to take any action I deem necessary during my investigations.”

“You’re going to kill us?” Kahlee exclaimed, her voice rising in shock and disbelief.

“I have two rules I follow,” Saren explained. “The first is: never kill someone without a reason.” “And the second?” Anderson asked, suspicious.

“You can always find a reason to kill someone.”

“Biotics,” Kahlee blurted out. “We were trying to find a way to turn humans into biotics.”

The turian considered her explanation for a moment then asked, “What were the results?”

“We were close,” the young woman admitted, her voice getting softer. “We found a handful of human subjects with latent biotic abilities. Children, mostly. Far weaker than what we’d measured in other species, but with the amplification nodes and proper training we still hoped to see results.

“We just completed the implantation surgery on several of our most promising candidates a few weeks ago. None of them survived the raid.”

“Do you know who ordered the attack?” he asked, changing tack.

Kahlee shook her head. “Batarians, probably. I was on leave when it happened.” “Why are they coming after you now?” Saren pressed.

“I don’t know!” she shouted, banging her fist on the table in exasperation. “Maybe they think I can get the program up and running again. But they destroyed the files. Killed the test subjects. All our research is gone!”

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.”

“Was he manic?”

“I don’t think so. I never saw any sign of it before. But suddenly we were integrating all sorts of new hardware into the systems. Our research started going in totally different directions — we completely abandoned conventional practices and went with radical new theories. We were using prototype technology and designs unlike anything we’d ever seen before.

“At first, I just thought Dr. Qian had made some kind of breakthrough. Something that got him all fired up. In the beginning it was exhilarating. His excitement was infectious. But after a while I started to get suspicious.”

“Suspicious?”

“It’s hard to explain. Something about Dr. Qian was different. Altered. I worked with him for almost two years. This wasn’t like him. There was definitely something wrong. He wasn’t just working harder. He was obsessed. Like he was being… driven by some.

“And it felt like he was hiding something. Some secret he didn’t want anyone else on the project to know about. Before, if he needed something from you he’d go into excruciating detail about why your work was important. He’d tell you how it interconnected with every other department on the project, even though I think he knew nobody else could really grasp the full complexity of what we were working on.

“The past few months were different. He stopped communicating with the team; he’d give orders but no explanations. It just wasn’t like him. So I started digging into the data banks. I even hacked into Dr. Qian’s restricted files to see what I could find out.”

“You what?!” Anderson was shocked. “I can’t believe you… how is that even possible?”

“Encryption and security algorithms are my specialty,” she said with just a hint of pride. Then her voice became defensive. “Look, I know it was illegal. I know I broke the chain of command. But you weren’t there. You can’t understand how strange Dr. Qian was acting.”

“What did you find out?”

“He hadn’t just taken the project in a radical new direction. Our research was completely off the grid. All the new theories, the new hardware — it was all based on preparing our neural networks to link into some kind of alien artifact!”

“So what?” Anderson said with a shrug. “Pretty much every major advance we’ve made in the last two decades was based on Prothean artifacts. And it’s not just us — galactic society wouldn’t even exist if it wasn’t for compatible alien technology. Every species in Citadel Space would still be stuck inside their own solar system.”

“This is different,” she insisted. “Take the mass relays. We only have a limited understanding of how they work. We know how to use them, but we don’t understand enough to try and actually build one. At Sidon we were trying to create an artificial intelligence, possibly the most devastating weapon we could unleash on the galaxy. And Dr. Qian wanted to introduce an element to the research that was beyond even his comprehension.”

Anderson nodded, recalling the infamous Manhattan Project of the early twentieth century from his history courses at the Academy. Desperate to create an atomic weapon, scientists on the project unwittingly exposed themselves to dangerous levels of radiation as a matter of course in their experiments. Two researchers actually died on the project, and many others were stricken with cancer or other long-term consequences from prolonged radiation poisoning.

“We weren’t supposed to repeat the mistakes of the past,” Kahlee said, making no effort to hide the disappointment in her voice. “I thought Dr. Qian was smarter than that.”

“You were going to report him, weren’t you?” The young woman nodded slowly.

“You were doing the right thing, Kahlee,” he said, noticing the uncertainty in her expression. “It’s hard to believe that when all my friends are dead.”

Anderson could see she was suffering from a classic case of survivor guilt. But even though he felt sorry for her, he still needed more information.

“Kahlee… we still have to figure out who did this. And why.”

“Maybe somebody wanted to stop Dr. Qian,” she offered in a whisper. “Maybe my investigation tipped someone else off. Someone higher up. And they decided to shut the project down for good.”

“You think someone in the Alliance did this?” Anderson was horrified.

“I don’t know what to think!” she shouted. “All I know is I’m tired and scared and I just want this all to be over!”

For a second he thought she was going to start crying again, but she didn’t. Instead, she stared right at him. “So are you still going to help me figure out who’s behind this? Even if it turns out the Alliance is somehow involved?”

“I’m on your side,” Anderson promised her. “I don’t believe anyone in the Alliance was behind this. But if it turns out they were, I’ll do my best to take them down.”

“I believe you,” she said after a moment. “So what now?”

She’d come clean with him. Now he had to do the same. “Alliance Command told me they think whoever attacked the base was after Dr. Qian. They think he might still be alive.”

“But the vids are saying there were no survivors!”

“There’s no way to be sure. Most of the bodies were vaporized at the scene.” “So why now?” Kahlee asked. “The project’s been running for years.”

“Maybe they just found out. Maybe Qian’s new research tipped them off. Maybe there’s some connection to that alien artifact he discovered.”

“Or maybe I forced them to make a move.”

Anderson wasn’t about to let her go down that road. “This isn’t your fault,” he told her, leaning in and grabbing her hand tightly. “You didn’t order the attack on Sidon. You didn’t help anyone bypass base security.” He took a breath, then spoke his next words slowly and emphatically. “Kahlee, you are not responsible for this.”

He released her hand and sat back. “And I need you to help me figure out who was. We need to find out if anybody else knew about this Prothean artifact.”

“It wasn’t Prothean,” she corrected. “At least, not according to Dr. Qian’s notes.”

“So what was it? Asari? Turian? Batarian?”

“No. Nothing like that. Qian didn’t know what it was, exactly. But it was old. He thought it might even predate the Protheans.”

“Predate the Protheans?” Anderson repeated, trying to make sure he’d heard her properly. “That’s what Qian thought,” she said with a shrug.

“Where’d he find it? Where is it now?”

“I don’t think it was ever at the base. Dr. Qian wouldn’t have brought it in until he was ready to integrate it into our project.

“And he could have found it anywhere,” she admitted. “Every few months he’d leave the base for a week or two. I always assumed he was giving some kind of status report to his superiors at Alliance Command, but who knows where he went or what he was up to.”

“Somebody outside the base had to know about this,” Anderson pressed. “You said Dr. Qian changed, took the research in a whole other direction. Was there anyone not on the project who might have noticed something out of the ordinary?”

“I can’t think of… wait! The hardware for our new research! It all came from the same supplier on

Camala!”

“Camala? Your supplier was batarian?”

“We never dealt with them directly,” she explained, speaking quickly. “Suspicious hardware purchases anywhere in Citadel Space are red-flagged and reported to the Council. Throughout the existence of the project we used hundreds of shell companies to place individual orders for each component; orders too small to attract attention on their own. Then we configured them at the base and integrated them into our existing hardware infrastructure.

“Dr. Qian wanted to avoid compatibility issues in the neural networks, so he made sure almost everything could be traced back to a single supplier: Dah’tan Manufacturing.”

It made sense in a convoluted way, Anderson realized. Given the current political tension between batarians and humans, nobody would suspect that the primary supplier of a classified Alliance research project would be based on Camala.

“If somebody at the supplier noticed a pattern in the purchases,” Kahlee continued, “they might have

figured out what we were up to.”

“As soon as Grissom gets us off this world,” Anderson declared, “we’re going to pay the Dah’tan facility a little visit.”