"Something's moving over here."
"I'm getting life signs. Human."
"Someone's still alive?"
Anderson frowns, listening to the chatter of his squad. He keeps his gun up as he moves toward the pile of rubble that was once a prefabricated habitation unit. His gaze sweeps over the twisted metal and plastic, alert to anything that may signal a trap. He strains to hear anything that may hint at a survivor. He suddenly realizes he's holding his breath, and he exhales slowly. He holds up a hand and waves the rest of his squad back. They still cover him, weapons ready, but he moves forward alone.
"Are you hurt?" he calls out, into the quiet. "We're here to help."
At first, there is no response, but then Anderson hears something that sounds like broken crying, the unmistakable wail of someone in pain.
"I'm coming in," he yells. "Okay?"
There is still no articulate reply. Anderson climbs carefully over the rubble, starts moving some of the rocks and dented panels out of his way, he bites his lip as he works because if he does this wrong the entire thing may collapse. He could kill whoever it is that he is trying to save.
There is a flickering light, purplish-blue, coming from inside the dwelling. Anderson clears away another panel, and what he sees takes his breath away. There is a girl in here, huddled under a flickering biotic barrier. He takes another step forward. And he lowers his gun.
He holds out a hand in what he hopes is a reassuring gesture, although he knows better than to touch the barrier. The girl looks up, her mouth opens in a silent scream, and the barrier falters and then collapses completely.
Anderson kneels down, trying to get a look at the girl, to meet her at her level. She looks to be about fifteen or sixteen, brown hair tied in a thick braid that trails down her back. Her breathing is ragged and strained. She is terrified.
"Are you hurt?" he asks softly. She still doesn't answer. Maybe she doesn't understand him. Sometimes out in the colonies, people speak in languages that are unfamiliar to him, holdouts from Earth. But he keeps talking anyway, and he moves a little closer to her. She skitters away, like a startled animal, but Anderson grabs her arm before she can get far. "Careful. One wrong move and this whole place could come down on top of us."
A heartbeat passes, then another. And then, the girl nods. So she does understand. Anderson smiles. He lets go of her, although he's still looking her up and down, scanning for injury. There is blood running down the side of her face, although most of it seems to have dried.
"My name is David. David Anderson. I'm with the Alliance. I'm here to help." The girl looks at him blankly. "I'm here to help," he repeats. "Okay?"
"Okay," the girl repeats. Anderson breathes a sigh of relief.
"What's your name?" he asks her.
"Anna."
"Okay, Anna. We're going to get you out of here. Can you walk?" Another cautious nod. She's quiet, this girl. But who knows how long she's been hiding here. Days, at least. She's certainly in shock. But Anderson can't fix that until they're somewhere safer. He can get her on the transport, and figure the rest out later. "I want you to follow me, carefully. Do exactly what I do." Once again, Anna nods her understanding. Anderson nods too. Then he takes a deep breath and looks up at the teetering debris above and around them. Here goes nothing.
He puts his hand on what looks like the largest and steadiest of the hard plastic panels that had once been walls. It holds his weight, and he scrambles up onto it. The panel is tilted at an angle against the rest of the wreckage, forming something like a ramp. "This way. Come on." Anna takes his offered hand, and he helps her up. He doesn't miss the way she winces in pain, and her leg nearly slips out from under her. But he holds her steady. "Come on," he repeats, in what he hopes is a reassuring manner. "We're nearly there."
Anna is leaning on him - clinging to him, truth be told, but they make it to solid ground, and the rest of Anderson's squad runs up to the two of them, nearly making the girl panic. "Calm down, back up," Anderson pleads. "Give her some space."
The squad does as he's asked, except for Jensen, the medic. "She's hurt," the man says pointedly, and Anderson cannot disagree. He still holds Anna's hand as Jensen runs his omnitool up and down the girl's body. "Fractured ankle. Cracked ribs. That cut on her forehead looks worse than it is." He's already pulling out a dose of medigel. "Don't worry. You'll be good as new in no time." Physically, at least. Anderson is more concerned about her mental state. "Can you tell us what happened here?" Jensen asks. Anderson shoots him a look that could kill. But they have to know.
"Batarians," Anna spits, and there is a fire in her eyes, and she looks more alive than she has at any point until this moment. And when Anderson looks at her now, he sees not only a survivor, but a fighter. "They were rounding everyone up. They killed everyone who resisted. I…" She starts shaking, and looks desperately at Anderson.
"It's okay," he tells her. "You don't have to say anymore."
He wishes to hell that the batarians were still here so he could gun them all down, but they can't go back in time. And the Alliance doesn't have the resources to go after the slavers that torment the outer colonies. And it kills him. And from the look in her eyes, Anna needs revenge just as badly.
"There isn't anyone else, is there? I'm the only one left."
"We didn't find any other survivors," Anderson confirms. He wishes he could say something different, but it's a goddamned miracle that they found her.
Anna seems to know it, too. She shakes her head. "What's going to happen to me now?"
"We'll take you with us. Get you healed up. Find you someplace to stay, on the Citadel, I suppose."
"I can't stay with you?"
"How old are you?"
"Sixteen. I'm not a kid. I can shoot a gun. And I can… you know." She holds up her hand, displaying the flickering sparks of her biotic power.
Anderson nods. "We'll take you to the Citadel," he repeats. "Alliance'll get you an implant, and some training. And in two years, you can enlist."
Two years is an eternity. What sixteen year old can think that far ahead? But Anna just nods.
He helps her with the datawork at Customs and Immigration. He watches as she enters her name in the blank field: SHEPARD, ANBERLIN M.
Over the years, he watches that name with interest, somehow certain that the girl will make a mark.