Capítulo 8: The Ashfords - Ⅱ
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The entrance of the archaeological site was a fountain of activity. Amidst the flurry of action, the nearly-thousand-strong team all had their respective jobs to do, no matter how small or grand it was, everyone had a sense of purpose.
Cargo was swiftly unloaded, temporary structures erected, and the air thrummed with the sound of hammering and construction. It was as if a vast swarm of bees had descended upon the site, each member diligently working to build a gargantuan monumental hive of productivity.
Through the organized chaos, in the center of it all, a circle of individuals clad in high-visibility clothing and hats of assorted colors stood in solemn assembly. These were the leaders, the overseers of their respective domains–construction, excavation, archaeology, science, security, resources, and lastly logistics.
Though they had only just arrived at their destination, after many hours out in the sand, they wasted no time in convening, gathering to discuss the tasks that lay ahead. After the initial orders that they delegated to their teams, they all joined together, ready to consult the next steps.
Among them stood a young figure who stood apart from the rest, his long blonde hair tied back in a loose knot, his crimson eyes alight with intent and resolve. His confident smile strengthened the charismatic aura the man radiated.
As the discussions unfolded, all eyes turned to him, recognizing his unique position within the hierarchy. Despite his unconventional role and appearance, there was no doubt that he held a crucial place in the success of the expedition.
"So, Mister Ashford, what's the plan from here?" The man in bright blue, the scientist asked first, curious about their next main course of action.
Andrew Ashford, the focal point of attention, took a moment to collect his thoughts before responding. "Please, call me Andrew instead. Firstly…" Andrew picked up a small device seated on the table just beside him before presenting it to the group. "Does anyone recognize this type of gadget?"
A brief silence fell over the assembly as everyone examined the device. Finally, the blue clad scientist spoke up. "That looks like a type of electromagnetic force detector, an EMF device."
"Partially correct, you're completely right in the fact that this was an EMF device, but it's been specifically modified and fine tuned to solely detect one particular frequency that the majority of conventional tech could not pick up." the young man answered with a smile.
The woman wrapped in neon yellow, the construction manager, posed her question, her curiosity evident in her tone. "A particular frequency? What's that boss?"
Andrew's smile widened, a flicker of excitement dancing in his eyes as he responded. "We don't know! Which is the precise reason why we're here. This mysterious frequency was only detected several months ago. The reason that it was just detected now is the real discrepancy, the true anomaly."
Taking a moment to wet his parched throat with a sip of water, Andrew continued. "The cause for it to be such an anomaly is simply since this "frequency" if we can even call it that, has been present in our world this entire time. The reason why our equipment failed to pick it up until recently? It simply lacked the 'density' to register. One moment it's invisible, the next…voila! Like magic!"
Swiveling his chair around to straddle it backward, Andrew rested his forearms on the backrest, his expression becoming more serious. "Whatever this thing is, it's growing. That's why we can discern it now. This brings us back to these handy new thingamabobs that come into play." He slides the tool to the middle of the table.
"Since we're capable of feeling this phenomenon, I told the boys back home to figure out how to pinpoint its source. Hence, the birth of these beauties–'FLDs.' or 'Foreign Locator Devices.' Best part? They're cost-effective! Just be careful not to break 'em; we've got a limited supply." He cautioned.
A contemplative silence hung in the air, each person digesting Andrew's words before the security director, dressed in black and white, broke the stillness. "So, Andrew, you're suggesting that these 'FLDs' led us here and that this 'frequency' originates here?"
Andrew stroked his chin thoughtfully, picking his next words with care. "Yes and no. This 'frequency' permeates everything–air, ground, water, even me and you, it's everywhere! It confused me and the boys back home a lot! But here's the kicker!
Andrew slams his hand down on the center of the table, his tone brimming with intensity. "Excuse my crude language, but right here? There's an absolute fucking shit tonne. Here, compared to anywhere else in the world is like comparing a single raindrop, to the entire goddamn Pacific Ocean! It's as if it's saying 'Come here! Come here!' So we fucking did!"
The tent buzzed with a mix of astonishment and intrigue, but Andrew pressed on, undeterred. "Our mission, plain and simple, is to uncover the truth behind this enigma. Once we unravel that, we can chart our next steps. Any questions thus far?" He inquired, scanning the faces around the table.
With no objections or further queries, Andrew cleared his throat, commanding attention. "Let's focus on getting operations up and running. Once we're set, we can delve into the mystery at hand. Agreed?"
"Sounds good."
"You got it, boss."
"Aye."
With a nod of satisfaction, Andrew dismissed the group, each member dispersing from the tent, to attend to their respective duties. As they left, a taste of unity lingered, their collaboration a testament to their symbiotic relationship, bound by their joint cooperation.
Now, by his lonesome, Andrew decided that the next best thing for him was to tackle all that recent paperwork he's been avoiding. With a resigned sigh, he reached out to lift the several mountainous stacks of texts out from the nearby drawer, he looked upon this endeavor with a strained smile. God forbid, he wishes he could just lay down and take a nap, but duty calls! Or so he told himself.
Skimming through the first few pages, Andrew's initial impressions were unremarkable. The pages were filled with lengthy requests for his signature and approval, All ostensibly for the betterment of his family and conglomerate. Of course, Andrew knew better than to blindly sign away his authority. He skimmed the opening lines of each document, a practiced eye discerning whether they aligned with his objectives or posed potential risks. It was a tedious process, but one that he approached with the rehearsed diligence of a seasoned leader.
With each passing document, Andrew's hidden weariness grew, but he remained steadfast in his scrutiny. Occasionally, he would come across a clause that raised an eyebrow–a subtle alteration in wording, a hidden implication–but nothing that couldn't be addressed with either a quick annotation or a decisive crumple, he addressed any discrepancies, forging ahead with machine-like proficiency. Despite the monotony of the task, Andrew found a sense of familiarity through it all. A feeling that he longed for.
Amidst the sea of forms, a particular phrase caught Andrew's eye as he skimmed through the near hundredth document: 'Dear Logan Ashford, I hope this message finds you well. I am reaching out to kindly…' Simultaneously, Andrew felt something slip from his grasp–a trail of blood, evidence of the unnoticed strain in his grip. With a detached indifference, he observed his self-inflicted injury, the pain registering only as a distant sensation. A stark reminder of the burden he placed on himself.
With a resigned exhale Andrew rose from his seat, pushing his chair back in place with a weary hand. He made his way to the first aid box affixed to the wall, his steps heavy with fatigue. There, he tended to his wound, a small but tangible reminder of who he truly was.
As he attended to his injury, the entrance to the tent swung open, but Andrew, initially ready to resume his facade as the energetic leader, chose not to. He recognized the soft steps approaching him, a familiar presence he didn't need to turn around to identify. Petite arms wrapped gently around his back, allowing him to relax, allowing him to be himself again.
"Sarah…" He murmured quietly, his voice deep and resonant, yet tinged with sincerity. The arms wrapped around his waist only squeezed tighter, offering comfort in their embrace. His head hung low, resigned.
"Idiot." her voice whispered softly, yet with a power that belied her small frame. Sarah had entered the tent intending to playfully mess around and tease her older brother, but the unmistakable scent of blood caught her attention. A quick glance at his desk revealed all she had to know.
She pressed her face into his back, seeking solace in his presence. "You're not alone here. Don't forget that I'm here. Please don't forget that." she pleaded, her voice momentarily cracking with distress.
His bandaged hand snaked his way up to his waist, grasping her hand with his own. Despite the stinging pain from his hand, he didn't care. She was here now, and that was more important to him, more than anything else in the world. He thought to himself, accepting that delusion.
"I'm sorry." he replied. His grasp on her became more worn by the second, her hand becoming slightly moist from the blood seeping through his bandage.
"I know you miss him, feel guilty about him, feel as if you need to do something about him. I do as well, but…" you don't have to become him. That is what she wanted to say, but she couldn't bring herself to say that to him. This was his revenge after all. His self-imposed quest, A pilgrimage he concluded that he had to do.
The Ashford family had once been larger. After all, there was another brother, the eldest. A terrible victim of a disaster.
Logan Ashford.
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