The experts back on Earth weren’t completely unprepared for this particular revelation; the existence and purpose of mass relays had been mentioned in the data archives recovered from the Mars bunker. In simplest terms, the mass relays were a network of linked gates that could transport a ship from one relay to the next, instantaneously traversing thousands of light-years. The underlying scientific theory behind the creation of mass relays was still beyond the scope of humanity’s top experts. But even though they couldn’t construct one themselves, scientists were able to reactivate the dormant relay they had stumbled across.
The mass relay was a door that could open up the entire galaxy… or lead right into the heart of a burning star or black hole. Exploratory probes sent through immediately dropped out of contact — not unexpectedly, considering the notion that they were being instantly transported thousands of light-years away. In the end, the only way to truly know what was on the other side was to send somebody through; someone willing to brave the great unknown and face whatever dangers and challenges waited on the other side.
The Alliance handpicked a crew of brave men and women: soldiers willing to risk their own lives, individuals ready to make the ultimate sacrifice in the name of discovery and progress. And to lead this crew they chose a man of unique character and unquestioned strength, one they knew would not falter in the face of untold adversity. A man named Jon Grissom.
Upon their successful return through the mass relay, the entire crew had been hailed as heroes. But the media had chosen Grissom — the imposing, solemn commander of the mission — to become the flag- bearer of the Alliance as humanity forged ahead into a new age of unparalleled discovery and expansion.
“Whatever’s happened,” Eisennhorn said, still hoping he could pull Grissom from his dark state of mind, “you have to believe we can deal with it. You and I never could have imagined that we could
accomplish all this in such a short time!”
Grissom gave a snort of derision. “We couldn’t have done a damn thing if it wasn’t for the Protheans.” Eisennhorn shook his head. While it had been the discovery and adaptation of Prothean technology that
had opened up these great possibilities, it was the actions of people like Grissom that had transformed possibility into reality.
“If I have seen farther, it is by standing on the shoulders of giants,” Eisennhorn countered. “Sir Isaac
Newton said that, too.”
“Why the obsession with Newton? He a relative or something?” “Actually, my grandfather was tracing our family’s genealogy and he — ” “I didn’t really want to know,” Grissom growled, cutting him off.
They were almost at their destination. The Arcturus space station dominated the entire window now, blocking out everything else. The docking bay loomed before them, a gaping hole in the gleaming hull of the station’s exterior.
“I should go,” Grissom said with a weary sigh. “They’ll want to see me come marching down the gangway as soon as we touch down.”
“Take it easy on those recruits,” Eisennhorn suggested, only half joking. “Remember, they’re barely more than kids.”
“I didn’t come here to meet with a bunch of kids,” Grissom replied. “I came here looking for soldiers.”
The first thing Grissom did when he arrived was request a private room. He was scheduled to address the entire graduating class at 14:00. In the four hours between then and now he planned to conduct private interviews with a handful of the recruits.
The brass at Arcturus weren’t expecting his request, but they did their best to accommodate it. They set him up in a small room furnished with a desk, computer workstation, and a single chair. Grissom was sitting behind the desk reviewing the personnel files on the monitor one last time. Competition to be accepted into the N7 specialist training program at Arcturus was fierce. Every recruit on the station had been handpicked from the best young men and women the Alliance had to offer. Yet the handful of names on Grissom’s list had distinguished themselves from the rest of the elite; even here they stood out from the crowd.
There was a knock at the door — two quick, firm raps. “Come in,” the admiral called out.
The door slid open and Second Lieutenant David Edward Anderson, the first name on Grissom’s list, walked in. Fresh out of training, he had already been marked for the ranks of junior officers, and looking at his file it was easy to see why. Grissom’s list was arranged alphabetically, but based on Anderson’s marks at the Academy and the evaluations of his training officers, his name would probably have been right at the top regardless.
The lieutenant was a tall man, six foot three according to his file. At twenty years old he was just
starting to fill out his large frame, still growing into his broad chest and wide, square shoulders. His skin was dark brown, his black hair cut high and tight in accordance with Alliance regulations. His features, like most citizens in the multicultural society of the late twenty-second century, were a mix of several different racial characteristics. Predominantly African, but Grissom thought he could see lingering traces of Central European and Native American ancestry as well.
Anderson marched smartly across the floor and stopped directly in front of the desk, standing at attention as he snapped off a formal salute.
“At ease, Lieutenant,” Grissom ordered, instinctively returning the salute.
back and his legs spread wide.
“Sir?” he asked. “If I may?” Even though he was a junior officer making a request of a rear admiral he spoke with confidence; there was no hesitation in his voice.
Grissom scowled before nodding at him to continue. The file showed Anderson had been born and raised in London, but he had almost no discernible regional accent. His generic dialect was likely the product of cross-cultural exposure through e-schooling and the info nets combined with a steady barrage of pan-global entertainment vids and music.
“I just want to tell you what an honor it is meeting you in person, Admiral,” the young man informed him. He wasn’t gushing or fawning, for which Grissom was grateful; he simply stated it as a matter of fact. “I remember seeing you on the news after the Charon expedition when I was only twelve. That’s when I decided I wanted to join the Alliance.”
“Are you trying to make me feel old, son?”
Anderson started to smile, thinking it was a joke. But the smile withered under Grissom’s glare. “No, sir,” he replied, his voice still sure and strong. “I only meant you’re an inspiration to us all.”
He’d expected the lieutenant to stutter and stammer out some kind of apology, but Anderson wasn’t so easily rattled. Grissom made a quick note in his file.
“I see it says here you’re married, Lieutenant.” “Yes, sir. She’s a civilian. Lives back on Earth.”
“I was married to a civilian,” Grissom told him. “We had a daughter. I haven’t seen her in twelve years.”
Anderson was momentarily thrown off balance by the unexpected personal disclosure. “I… I’m sorry, sir.”
“It’s hell keeping a marriage together when you’re in the service,” Grissom warned him. “You don’t think worrying about a wife back on Earth is going to make it harder when you’re out on a six-month tour?”
“Might make it easier, sir,” Anderson countered. “It’s nice to know I’ve got someone back home waiting for me.”
There was no hint of anger in the young man’s voice, but it was clear he wasn’t going to be intimidated, even when speaking to a rear admiral. Grissom nodded and made another note in the file.
“Do you know why I scheduled this meeting, Lieutenant?” he asked.
After a moment of serious consideration Anderson simply shook his head. “No, sir.”
“Twelve days ago an expedition fleet left our outpost at Shanxi. They were heading through the Shanxi- Theta mass relay into an uncharted region of space: two cargo vessels and three frigates.