Magistrall49
Eyes part 1

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  • Аннотация:

    John Shepard acquires superpowers and finds a Prothean base. After that, he begins to prepare the Citadel space for the war with the Reapers.

    /

  Chapter 1. captain MSF The Alliance Systems John Shepard.
  "John, thanks to you." girl has opened eyes, her a little sleepy view was touching faces young human, lying nearby with her. "you wizard. Well, what I had managed to arrive for to you. You are stressfuling?"
  "Yes, Dayna." Had said Shepard. "I have such feeling. What I now not soon had returned to the Earth."
  "That's your..." had said girl, rising up on the elbows and looking around semi - dark a room. It was early morning and through heavy drapes the dawn the sun breaking through with a big difficult.
  "Exactly. They held in reserve and now I have feeling, what's today or tomorrow order will arrive." Had confirmed John.
  - Then even more so good what have I done to come to you until how sent you away... Far, far away. You are guessing?
  - Yes. Us Special forces, usually on simple sides they don't prescribe. Means, there will be something complicated and problematic. - Young human hugged The girl By the shoulders. - Day, relax. I'm still around with you and courier from the headquarters did not arrived yet and he doesn't knock through the door.
  - John, it's been a long time... since...
  - Finish it, Dayna, finish it. - softly Shepard said. - I already... calmed down about it reason.
  - If that's what you want Johnny, then... It's been six years even a little more after that how did you get back from Akusa... - timidly girl said, caressing a young man face with her gaze.
  - You of course all these years far from being idle you barely got out of the hospital, but...
  - Dayna... I want to fly and Don't just sit on the planet and change polygon after polygon. - The captain said throwing back the blanket and sitting up in bed. Dayna immediately clung to his back. She put her arms around his shoulders and snorted lightly in the right ear. It was their special sign propensity. - The training ground for me - Good, but not enough. And... if I'm not mistaken. That's what the higher powers have prepared for me... a serious test.
  - Aren't you too...
  - No, Day. No. - Shepard shook his head pulling on sweatpants and getting up. - Thank you. We had a great night.
  - It's beautiful, Johnny. Agree. - Dayna turned over on her other side. She had sat up in bed, groped for her robe without looking. She stood up simultaneously throwing on his heated body. - Thank you too. She headed for the door bathroom, padding with bare feet on plastic tiles. Johnny, don't go around in the galley. I'll get everything ready.
  "Dana," Shepard said, a little reproachfully, turning and seeing as the girl disappears through the bathroom door.
  - I know, I know, but try anyway. - It came from behind the door.
  Shepard grinned with satisfaction. Dana was in her repertoire. She knew perfectly well. That he wouldn't let her go around in the galley - a small kitchen unit the captain's MSF bachelor apartment And he'll cook breakfast himself.
  Early breakfast. He had a day off today. There were no polygons in sight, official tasks have been completed completely and he could control himself for today in weekend mode.
  
  Dana was dropped out bathrobe and was stepped on an enameled pallet shower cabins, Slamming for yourself door and at the same time including water. She was satisfied. John gave it to her once again, a magical night and they spent nearby and together several very pleasant hours. They said, silent, hugged, kissed. For her John was the first with love. She was his first love, too. Since then, they have maintained a close relationship. Since they both left walls the orphanage.
  Standing under the steadily changing force and temperature of the jets. Dayna hummed a simple tune, exposing her back and chest to the sprayers. And she knew that John could hear her singing. He hears and rejoices - she certainly knew him.... as if it had been peeled off. The specifics of the orphanage - It's very difficult to survive there in any other way.
  
  John went into the kitchen, turned on the stove, and took out containers of semi-finished products from the cabinets. A few minutes - and a hearty breakfast is set to warm up. A slight sizzle is heard. Neither he nor Dayna liked anything particularly fried. Just a little bit to brown it. Removing the pan from the heat, Shepard put it on a stand. He put away the potholder and looked at the boiling kettle, which was singing its song. He opened a pack of tea - the kind Dayna loved. I poured the tea leaves into a cup, added two pieces of sugar - His Girlfriend wasn't a sweet tooth, but she didn't mind a little, very slight sweetening of her favorite drink. In this, their tastes coincided. John was quietly drinking tea of the varieties, which one she liked. And Dayna didn't mind spending a lot of time with the varieties, which one of tea he liked on rare occasions.
  After arranging the casserole on plates, Shepard rummaged in the small refrigerator. He took out butter, bread, and made sandwiches. Thinly sliced bread - so that it does not break, but also does not resemble uncomfortable biting off the "couscous" in Dayna's words. A thin layer of butter - directly cut off with a sharp knife from a piece wrapped in a plastic pack. Top with either cheese or sausage. Low-fat, not smoked, plain. The captain took out a basket of cookies and lollipops from the locker. Dayna loved both, and he knew her tastes well, guessing that she was aware of his preferences. When she was cooking - he was calm because Dayna clearly and completely guessed his mood in detail and was never mistaken which of the rather meager list of gastronomic preferences should be served on the table so that John would be satisfied.
  The murmur and splash of water was replaced by the hum of a hair dryer - Dayna dried her hair first - just a little bit, so that they were barely wet. She didn't like to overdo it. She always tried to comb them. She liked simple hairstyles. It was impossible to do anything else with her sports career, although there were several events at which Dayna appeared with a model haircut. Shepard was pleased and she knew that he would accept any of her. Life in an orphanage was not conducive to excess. And Dayna has been involved in sports schools since she was seven years old and traveled endlessly to training camps, training sessions, and competitions. Mode, limits, accuracy, clarity - It was as familiar to her as breathing air.
  "You've already made breakfast.", the girl appeared on the threshold of the bathroom, dressed in a T-shirt and sweatpants. Her flip-flops were open, and Dayna never bothered with pedicures. But she respected manicures as much as the requirements of the sports code allowed.
  Stopping at the table, she hugged Shepard, who came up to her, snuggled up to him, kissed him on the cheek and froze. "Thanks, Johnny. You are my joy."
  The captain nodded, hugged her, lifted her up, carried her closer to an empty chair, sat her down, and pushed her to the table.
  Dayna nodded - she liked the action, was completely satisfied with both the type of dishes and the aroma.
  "John, sit down. Let's have breakfast. What are your plans for today?"
  "I'm free, Dayna."
  "I don't have any urgent business either. And?" The girl looked at Shepard questioningly.
  "I would suggest, Dey, that we spend the day together today... well..." He squinted at the bed.
  "I don't mind, John." Dayna nodded, starting to eat. "I don't mind", she chewed on a portion of casserole. "Delicious. Thanks, Johnny."
  "I'm glad you liked it." Shepard also armed himself with a fork and knife, and began to devour the casserole. "I poured the tea into small cups. Or..."
  "Don't be big, Johnny." Dayna grinned, shaking her head slightly, causing her ponytail hair to whip over her shoulders. "Don't do it today."
  "Okay",- the captain nodded.
  
  After breakfast, Dayna went out onto the balcony, where she usually spent a quarter of an hour in complete immobility in the morning. Shepard didn't know if it was meditation or his girlfriend's habit. He wasn't interested in getting into the details - Dana may have her own reasons for doing this, but not otherwise - let her do it. Through the glass, he saw how the girl sat down in a wicker chair and, assuming a free, relaxed pose, froze. She must have closed her eyes.
  While she was "meditating," Shepard tidied up the table, washed and put plates and cups to dry. He did not look at Dayna - he respected her right to a calm "detachment from the world." She'll come when she wants to.
  "You're feeling a little better, Johnny." Dayna purred as they lay down on the bed and hugged each other again. "Probably..."
  "It's probably only because of you, Day." Shepard said softly.
  "Thanks, John." Dayna rubbed the tip of her nose against Shepard's nose and kissed him on the lips. "I am happy and satisfied."
  "Me too." the captain returned the kiss, hugged the girl harder. "We'll lie around..."
  "Yes. Until you get bored. And we won't get tired of it today for a very long time." Dayna declared.
  And it was absolutely true. They were lying on a large double bed and had forgotten very securely about everything in the world. Except for ourselves.
  ***
  The doorbell caught them... off guard. Dayna Shepard realized from the changed face that she had already set herself up for the worst that could happen now - a visit from a courier from headquarters.
  The captain silently got out of bed, pulled on a T-shirt and sweatpants, slipped his feet into flip-flops, went to the door, opened it. A courier sergeant stood in the doorway.
  "Captain Shepard. You need a package." the sergeant, recognizing the officer, handed over the envelope, waited until the landlord signed the bill, saluted, turned around and "spilled" down the stairs, ignoring the elevator.
  John closed the door, opened the package, and took out a folded sheet of plastic. A battle order. Not an ordinary one, but a combat one. Clear and incomprehensible. To go there then and there. Or rather, to arrive at the division headquarters at the Arcturus station. Exactly at twenty-three oh-zero of these days. Standard time.
  "A challenge?" - Dayna's quiet voice came from behind. "May I?" She grabbed an open plastic sheet. "Challenge. I knew it." There was bitterness in the girl's voice. "I'll walk you out."
  Instead of answering, Shepard turned to her. He hugged her and kissed her on the forehead. She clung to him trustingly, hugged him. "That's the end of our... free days...." She said softly. "For a long time... over."
  Shepard didn't nod, he just hugged the girl a little tighter, kissing the top of her head. He knew that she needed this kiss now and was more important than any words. And he was not mistaken - Dayna, who was sniffling, raised her head, fixed a gentle and questioning look into his eyes. "John... Come back... to me. I... will be waiting. And write to me... please."
  Shepard nodded silently, realizing that Dane wouldn't take anything he said out loud right now. Just that nod. She, like no one else, was able to read it on very deep levels.
  Satisfied with John's reaction, Dayna opened her arms and stepped back. She turned around and headed for the kitchen. Incorrigible - she's about to cook a whole bag of food. And it's useless to stop her. John has already seen this more than once. No, if he doesn't take the bag, she won't be offended. He would only close himself off, but for him, a closed Dayna... was unacceptable, and he would do everything to open her up. She knows about it.
  While assembling the alarming case, Shepard methodically checked the list, checked the expiration dates, and clarified the integrity of the packages. The combat order required such a procedure. You never know where you'll have to go from the Arcturus station.
  From this station, where the government structures and headquarters sectors of MSF the Alliance of Systems were located, ships could go to such God-forsaken corners of the Galaxy that ... one had to forget about the imminent return for a long time. So the pre-assembled briefcase - and Shepard also had it in his bachelor apartment - would have been useful if the question had not been about the flight to the Arcturus.
  When he finished packing his briefcase, Shepard put it by the door. He opened the closet doors and put on his uniform. The usual uniform of an MSF Alliance Special Forces officer. No, he did not attach the "En-Seven" sign to its designated place - there was no need for that. Those who need to know about his skill level, but the rest of us don't need to know right now.
  Dayna got ready too. A modest plain dress, a small handbag. A sports career teaches you to be organized - a girl got ready quickly and did not waste time on a complete makeover. So, I just "painted up" a little. Shepard could easily read the tension and excitement in her Girlfriend's eyes.
  "A military spaceport?" she clarified, bending down and adjusting the slightly stray strap on her shoe.
  "Yes." Shepard closed the omny-tool screen. "The flyer is already waiting."
  Dayna straightened up, nodded, picked up her purse, and took John by the elbow.
  They came out of the entrance. Autumn. Warm, slightly rainy. Rain was promised in the evening, but now the sky was just beginning to frown, confirming the Prognosis of weather forecasters. Settling into the cabin of the hired flyer, Shepard hugged Dayna and pressed the sensor on the remote control to allow the car to follow the route. Of course, he could have taken the controls himself - the status allowed him to pilot such machines in manual mode, but Dayna was too tense and he did not want to let her out of his arms. It is not yet known when he will be able to return to her, so let Dayna be with him for as long as possible.
  Hugging the girl, Shepard looked at the cubes of houses floating far below, at people like small bugs scurrying through the streets and alleys. Chester, a small town on the River Dee, was left far behind in just a few minutes. The British scale is, of course, significant, but compared to other countries... quite average.
  Dayna was silent. She was always silent at such moments, experiencing the sharpness and uncertainty inside herself. For her, John was familiar and valuable, she did not want to worry him once again. She's staying here, she's got a series of training sessions ahead of her, two training camps, and the next regional competitions in... what difference does it make now? And he has...What awaits John? Is it possible to say in advance?!... So she didn't try. She waited for him from Akusa, visited him in the hospital, then they met regularly when he was sent to the reserve of MSF the Alliance Command. Specialists like John are always kept in reserve.... When they keep it for a long time, when they don't. She was glad that John was here, that he was near, on Earth.
  Yes, he was swept around the planet - the service, everything. But Dayna was glad that John hardly ever left the atmospheric shield. He haven't left very often yet. And now... Now, as she clearly felt, there was a long separation ahead. There's a shuttle waiting for John, and there's...That's where Arcturus is, an Alliance of Systems government station. You can't get there that easily, but John's status allows him to fly there safely and freely. If necessary, of course. Just like that, John doesn't fly anywhere - only if there is a need and an order.
  ***
  Sighing, the girl rested her head on John's shoulder. The towers of the British military spaceport were already looming ahead. Numbered high-security object. However, for those who see off to the shuttle, everything is the same as at a civilian spaceport.
  She would have to watch John for a very long time as he walked away to the tunnel leading to the shuttle hall. That was the last thing she saw when he was on an emergency flight to Akusa... And then he returned from there by medical transport and immediately became a patient of a military hospital for a long time.
  How she was afraid for him then! After all, he was the only survivor of several dozen commandos. These worms are... threshers... Dana didn't know much about what had happened there, except within the information provided by Earth's news agencies. The news reports described the events in which John took part in different ways. And Shepard himself...He never "loaded" her with stories about what happened on Akusa. He hid it, he didn't want to worry, apparently. She was grateful to him for that, although she understood that it was very difficult for him there.
  And now it's not easy for him either. This order is incomprehensible. An incomprehensible shape. A battle order?! There is peace all around, humanity is not waging any war with anyone outside the Solar System - and suddenly this. Of course, John is a special person, an n-seven, a special forces soldier. Maybe such orders are common for them, but for her, of course, it's excitement and acute anxiety. And now it seems to her constantly, literally every second, that she will now meet John ... it will be a very long time.
  ***
  After disembarking from the flyer at the passenger terminal of the departure area, Dayna looked around: little had changed here. Of course, the spaceport was a military one, so special liberties were not allowed here, but, as she had assumed, there were no inexplicable restrictions for those who saw off the shuttles.
  Shepard adjusted his uniform, released the car by pressing several sensors on his officer's wristwatch omny tool, picked up an alarm case and a bag of provisions, and then looked at the tense girl.
  "Day?" he asked softly, seeing how she continued to look around. Shepard knew she was curious, and he didn't see anything wrong with that, considering it a common personality trait, but now Dayna was clearly stalling.
  "I'll... I'll be right there, John." She continued to look around, because there was something to see here - there was a beautiful view of the launch pads from here.
  Shuttles and shuttles took off, landed, hovered, people flew in, flew out, and worked in designated safe areas of the landing and launch area.
  "Few changes. Very little" She shook her head, causing her loose hair to cover her shoulders in a solid black wave. "Let's go" She said decisively, picking up her purse.
  At the check-in desk, Shepard presented the order to a dashing Alliance MSF chief. After making an instant identification, he nodded, returned the order form to the officer, and issued a boarding order - a small piece of thick grayish plastic paper.
  Dayna read the number and code of the boarding terminal from over Shepard's shoulder, looked around, singled out the right one, but did not hurry to leave the counter.
  Sheppard understood her reluctance to hurry, and resolutely headed for the rows of seats in the waiting area.
  "John." Dana looked up at her companion gently but insistently. "I'm uneasy.... I beg...Remember that I'm waiting for you... alive. The rest is not important. I'll accept anyone you want. The main thing is to come back. Come back alive... please," she did not try to make sure that he hugged her.
  That's how she's always been-independent and vulnerable at the same time. For John. For others, it is stable and solid. Few people knew Dayna the way John knew her.
  Shepard hesitated, then slowly, very slowly, so that she would remember, he nodded. He knew she would take the nod the right way. Without words. Words in their communication, in their attitude, have long played a minor role. Dayna understood him without words, and he understood Dayna without words.
  For several minutes they stood facing each other next to the "ribbons" of empty semi-upholstered chairs. The cosmodrome staff, accustomed to the scenes of farewell, passed by without pausing, without looking at the young man and the girl.
  ***
  A short melodious signal sounded, then a synthesized pleasant female voice clearly announced the arrival of a passenger shuttle at the exit indicated in the departure documents.
  A deliverer has arrived in Earth's orbit, a small military passenger spacecraft ship that carried out regular flights from the Arcturus station to Earth's orbit.
  "He's here," Dana breathed, taking her time to grab her bag. Shepard picked up his briefcase and bag from the floor, slowly turned around and headed for the right entrance terminal.
  The escorts were not allowed to go any further, and after presenting his documents and an order to the second lieutenant on duty at the terminal, he turned to Dana.
  The "junior" looked at the screen of his console - he understood that the officer needed to say goodbye to his companion here, since the way was closed for her.
  "Dayna... Thank you." John hugged the girl, who clung to him, hiding her desire to cry. "I'll... I'll be back. You write... I'll write to you," John promised. "As soon as possible... I will definitely write to you." He hugged her gently, and she hugged him tighter.
  Strong. Physically and spiritually strong and whole. A true girlfriend for him, a soldier and an officer. She doesn't know how to talk about trifles, she knows what discipline and order are from her own rich experience. And at the same time - able to open up to him, to appear gentle and vulnerable. Trusting him with all of herself over and over again.
  "Johnny..." Dayna called him as she had only ever called him. With the same intonation, with the same timbre as the first time... "Come back... alive. I... I'm waiting for you and I... love you. Come back," She looked up at him, let him wipe the tears from the corners of her eyes with his fingers, and stepped back, realizing that there was no more time. "Come back alive... please..." Her nervous fingers fiddled with the handle of her purse.
  "I love you, Dayna," Shepard said, picking up his briefcase and bag, turning to the opening doors of the boarding entrance and taking a step out the threshold. He wasn't very good at saying goodbye, especially to Dayna.
  ***
  In the shuttle's cabin, he nodded to the other officers and sergeants and petty officers-protocol and ritual, there was no escaping it.
  Civilian life, and now peaceful life, remained beyond the threshold of the boarding entrance arch. Where Dana remained, watching him go until he stepped onto the travelator's ribbon, which carried him down to the tunnels of the shuttle exits. He could feel her gaze-intense, loving, tender, inviting.
  Many people would consider such a relationship strange and unacceptable. Many. Shepard knew that it was not always those who became people's first love who later crossed the line of platonic relationships and embarked on a path leading to the formation of a family and the birth of desirable children together. But it was different for him and Dayna, the children of the orphanage. They had been building their relationship for several years and then, when they came out of the orphanage into an independent life, they got their first apartments and did not move away from each other.
  Shepard never put pressure on Dayna, did not limit her right to lead her own life, to meet with friends. And she... she decided to keep in touch with him. Not only to preserve, but also to develop. She accompanied him to the army when he flew to "training" from the same terminal of departure of the military cosmodrome. She wrote letters to him, she replied to his letters.
  Yes, rarely, but she wrote. After all, her life was stressful: she made the difficult decision to enter professional sports while still in the orphanage. And since then, a series of training sessions, training camps, field trips, competitions, championships, and Olympiads have become familiar to her.
  She quickly achieved significant success, became convinced that this life was suitable for her, that it was acceptable to her. Behind every medal, behind every diploma, there was her tremendous work. That's why Dayna understood Shepard so accurately, deeply, and completely when he decided to try to become a professional Special Forces soldier. Yes, they met very rarely. For a very short time. And Dayna was able to fill these minutes of meetings to capacity. Meaning. The content. A value. John was important to her.
  They hadn't thought about the baby or the wedding yet. We met and loved each other. Dayna knew a lot about John's work and service, and he knew a lot about her athletic career. And they talked about more than that over and over during the meetings. They talked about many other things. We went to museums, exhibitions, concerts, new films. They were free to choose and surprisingly suited each other.
  Shepard didn't rush Dayna. He didn't talk about the wedding or the children. Although, of course, he meant all this. But he didn't rush it. He did not insist that all this should happen like this - very quickly and in the very near future.
  Dayna was delighted and pleased to hear that her John had become a student at the N-Seven Academy. And then... then I sincerely congratulated him, my John, on being awarded the highest qualification category. It was very important to her - she never doubted John's ability to reach the top.
  Watching his shrinking figure, Dayna realized more and more acutely that now... now something very important and very big had changed. Not in their relationship, no. Everything remained the same here, and therefore she did not focus her attention on it.
  Here, in the departure hall of the spaceport, she felt that something black was standing in front of John. Something that would no longer allow him to write or fly to her as often. And this black can consume not only John, but also many other warriors. She felt very uneasy on the soul. She couldn't explain it in words, but... she was afraid, worried.
  Now John wasn't just going to serve, he was going... to war. Probably, only she knew what she should have said "to the war", to say inwardly, silently.
  She did not feel such fear for John even when he wrote to her that he had received an order to fly to Akusa. And then... then she found out about the deaths of fifty commandos who were attacked by threshers.
  Of course, there was a lot said in the Extranet news release... very streamlined, but she felt it. She felt it with her heart and soul, always and everywhere open to John.
  She felt that John had narrowly escaped death. She felt that he had flown to Akusa precisely to participate in this operation. About which so little was said in the general planetary "news". So, in a very blurry, fuzzy way. But she felt that people like John only go for such complicated and difficult operations...
  What did he say once? "Clashes." Fifty of his colleagues died as a result of an attack by snake worms. It took her a while to find out that he had survived. She wasn't sure, she was afraid, she was crying. She also had to prepare for the next competitions and participate in the training camps....
  She flew straight from the training camp to the hospital, where John was transferred. She saw him... spent several hours next to his bed and realized that he was the only one important to her. No one else. Yes, she had a lot of friends, acquaintances, but only with John could she afford to be herself to the fullest. He accepted her for who she really was when she wasn't trying to appear.
  And now she felt that John had gone to war. Which has not yet begun, but which has already moved towards the Solar system, towards the Earth. I flew away so that this war would not affect so many people. Civilians people. He flew away because he was always a warrior. She should know about this, because she accompanied him to the army, he wrote letters to her from the training division, and flew to her on rare leave and vacations. Who better than her?
  ***
  She couldn't remember how she got back to John's empty private apartment. Yes, she knew that John had secured for her the right to live here permanently - his status allowed it, after all, a special forces soldier, an n-seven, an officer, a captain. Therefore, she did not pack her things in bags, did not book tickets for a return flight to the town in the south of Britain, where her personal apartment was.
  She decided to stay here because John was all around here. There were traces of his presence everywhere. Let it be so. While. Until he sends a few letters, a few messages from the Arcturus. And if possible, then from where it will fly after the Arcturus.
  For a long time now, the Arcturus station has ceased to be just a government station. It was also a very large and one of the most important military stations of the Alliance's MSF. For thirty years, humanity has already been present in the Big Space. Thirty years old. A lot has changed, a lot has happened over the years in all sorts of ways.
  The Arcturus station was commissioned just two years after John was born. It was opened in the year two thousand one hundred and fifty-sixth, and John was born on the eleventh of April, two thousand one hundred and fifty-fourth. Dayna knew this date not only with her mind, but also with her heart. She always remembered her.
  Yes, as a woman, dates had a special meaning for her. Especially such ones. She never forgot to wish John a happy birthday. There wasn't a single year when she forgot to do it on time. Every day.
  A year later, the war of First Contact began - humans entered into an armed conflict with the first alien race, the Turians. This conflict was strange, and huge scientific teams are still working on understanding it. Since then, humanity has gone into Space. Dayna thanked all the gods she knew, and sometimes unknown ones, for the fact that John was still very young at the time.: she understood that if he were older, he would certainly try to take a personal part in this war.
  Yes, she used to be afraid for John, because... because she loved him. She has been in love since I felt the feeling of her first love, choosing John as the closest person to her. And she was very glad and proud that John had singled her out, Dayna, among the other girls-pupils in that small orphanage. He singled it out and made it my main one. Let's just... platonically, but he made her the main one.
  She basked in his feelings, in his emotions - he gave her the best of what was available to him at that time of growing up. She felt safe and happy. And she tried to make John happy. Yes, she knew that not all people cross the line of platonic relationships when the feeling of first love begins to fade, giving way to space, giving way to a big real main love.
  Maybe if they had both grown up in ordinary families, they would have gone their separate ways calmly and freely, but an orphanage is a special environment, its pupils are not much different from children who grew up even in single-parent families. And they are even more different from those children who grew up in families where there were both mom and dad.
  It's good that she had a job in the orphanage that she devoted herself almost entirely to - big-time professional sports. She had devoted her whole life to sports and knew that John had also made his choice - he wanted to become a special forces officer and in the last few years of his stay in the orphanage began to seriously prepare for the realization of his choice. Just as she began to prepare for entering the field of big-time sports.
  After leaving the orphanage, they both already had clear guidelines for their adult lives. She had a schedule of training camps, field trips, training sessions, and competitions, and he had a training plan for the elite special forces units that were part of the Alliance of Systems MSF.
  The day of April eleventh, two thousand one hundred and seventy-two, Dayna remembered for the rest of her life. This day was both John's birthday and the day he joined the Armed Forces of the Alliance of Systems. Yes, the two of them managed to celebrate Shepard's next birthday, sat in a cafe, then sat on the banks of the River Dee in Chester. Something drew Dana to this town, and Shepard, who knew about it, did not protest. And in the evening she accompanied him to the army. She cried, of course, but she couldn't help it. She was worried, nervous. John too... He was nervous, but he controlled myself.
  It was important to Dayna that he controlled his emotions. He always helped her, even with his mere presence, and when he acted for her and for her sake... she felt extremely happy. She often felt so happy, and even then, as she saw off a military passenger transport taking off, taking recruits to a training unit, she knew that she was happy. She happy with a special happiness: John has achieved his goal - he has embarked on the path for which he had been preparing for several years before. He was preparing consciously.
  It's only been five years - and there was an incident on Akusa. At the hospital, John was awarded his first medal. As the only surviving Special Forces soldier. There was a lot about this incident that was incomprehensible to those uninitiated in the details, but for Dayna it was only important that John survived and returned.
  Yes, he was brought in by medical transport in a serious condition. But he survived, he stayed alive, and he came back! She stroked the enamel and metal of his medal attached to his hospital pajamas with her fingers, and he smiled and said that now he had Olympic-level medals. Almost the same as hers.
  She was laughing. She laughed because she saw, because she believed that not only had he survived and returned, he had preserved everything she loved so much. He remained the same, the same for her, although, of course, he changed, became more stern, became less verbose. She took all these changes for granted, because John is a man, he is engaged in a man's business, he is a warrior, he is an officer. And she's right next to him.
  She's with him. Now they are both independent adults. He respects her right to decide about the children-she knows this for sure. She wanted children from him, she wanted to, but John... never rushed her, did not insist, did not push. And she was grateful to him for that. The year two thousand one hundred and eighty-three has arrived. Six years have passed since Akusa. John recovered, was in the reserve of the Alliance MSF Command for a long time, rushed around the training grounds and to various ground, fortunately, military units. He served, worked, acted, improved. He didn't like to be idle. And she was calm and happy, even if only occasionally, but he flew to her and they spent sometimes a few hours, and sometimes a few days together and side by side.
  The command and colleagues knew that Dayna was practically the first candidate for John Shepard's bride, but John himself never put pressure on Dana and never rushed her to make a final decision. Surprisingly, she remained free and at ease with him. She could communicate calmly and freely with other young people, and he... he wasn't jealous because he trusted her.
  He left on the Arcturus and she saw him off. She watched the shuttle take off, and then returned to his apartment and stayed there for several more days. Until the flight to Tokyo, for the next sports training camp. She didn't want to leave John's apartment earlier. She didn't want to and... couldn't. She was afraid, she was worried that this, all the contents of this bachelor apartment, might remain the only tangible thing that would happen after John... left. It will go over the Edge.
  Something very black was hovering over him. She felt it, but she hid it from John, understanding and knowing that he felt it too. He's just like that.
  She knew John wouldn't be staying on the Arcturus for long. That means he will be assigned to the ship, and then... then there will be a difficult and dangerous flight. Very dangerous.
  This blackness... was somehow special. So heavy that Dana herself, no matter how hard she tried, could not find in her memory and essence any analogues to this oppressive feeling generated by this blackness hovering over John. Even after Akusa, after Dayna sensed the deadly danger hanging over Shepard there, on this very inhospitable planet, she was not so afraid, was not afraid and was not worried. Something was wrong with John's latest "business trip." Something was wrong.
  Chapter 2. John Shepard, Captain of the Alliance of Systems MSF. Arcturus Station
  The flight from Earth to the deliverer didn't take long. Shepard, among the other passengers of the shuttle, went to the main cabin, took the seat assigned to him by the boarding order, strapped himself in and began to calmly wait for the arrival of the cruise ship at the station.
  Such flights had not been a novelty for him for a long time, he considered them to be working, so he did not pay much attention to the circumstances associated with them. Yes, of course, he thought about a lot of things during the flight, including Dayne, but even more preoccupied was the feeling of wrongness that had appeared, apparently related to the upcoming work at the Arcturus station.
  Yes, according to current practice, an officer of his status and rank could first be offered to work at the station in the structures of the Alliance of Systems MSF and only then decide on an appointment to the ship. Shepard, as he felt, was completely ready for both options, but now it was the second option that bothered him - something told him about the upcoming difficulties with the ship and its crew.
  ***
  Exactly at the time set by the order, the deliverer docked to a large space station. The chirping of a wrist band caught omny tool the captain's attention and brought up a clarification on the small screen: "report to the station personnel Department of the MSF." Shepard picked up his bag and briefcase more comfortably and headed for the Arcturus sector, which he knew well.
  A sleek colonel was waiting for him in the office indicated in the clarification.
  Shepard gave the proper military greeting, reported on the form - protocol and ritual, there's no escaping, it's not difficult to follow them.
  The colonel clearly saluted in response - the command of the MSF contingent stationed on the Arcturus blurted out discipline, but then handed the captain a blank reader with an order issued according to all the rules, which was not required according to the procedure approved by the Admiralty of the Alliance VKS, but a simple reader.
  On the instrument screen, Shepard saw only three lines of text that read: "Captain John Shepard of the Special Forces of the Alliance of Systems MSF will accept the post of senior assistant commander of the frigate Normandy."
  There were also alphanumeric encrypted station coordinates of the commander's office of this ship - standard practice.
  Saluting the senior officer for the second time, this time in farewell, Shepard turned around "on the spot" and left the office, not forgetting, of course, neither the briefcase nor the bag.
  The station's headquarters structures were already used to officers arriving at the Personnel Department directly from the delivery trucks, so they looked at the luggage with understanding, remembering, however, that according to the MSF Regulations, for some reason an officer should not come to such institutions "with things." As always, one thing is written in the rules, but in reality it is completely different.
  The fact that the colonel was a staff officer did not annoy Shepard at all. People work everywhere. And this colonel was not the first and not the last "parquet" officer seen by the captain during his service in the MSF. But the order, clearly "out of form," only added to the doubts and forced Shepard to take a closer look at the upcoming conversation with the commander of the ship, to which, as it turned out, he was now assigned.
  From the materials regularly distributed to the officers of the Alliance MSF bulletins, John knew something about this ship: a joint human-Turian development.
  At first glance, it was nothing special - an ordinary reconnaissance frigate, of which there were many in the divisions of the Alliance of Systems MSF. But this ship was distinguished, firstly, by the presence of an improved "invisibility" system, and, secondly, by the clearly too large core of the propulsion system, both in size and power, which made controlling this ship very problematic, requiring special training and constant increased attention from the pilots.
  At the n-Seven Academy, Shepard was taught that his future career would necessarily include problematic ships, problematic crews, and problematic assignments. This was the fate of the highest-level commandos, in the journalistic style used by scribblers for not particularly discerning readers.
  Corridor after corridor, passage after passage, elevator after elevator, Shepard approached the office of the commander of the ship. Meeting with this officer, traditionally the first on board after God, finally put a big and bold end to the uncertainty of the captain's position.
  It seemed that there really was service ahead on a troubled ship, which, of course, did not add to John's joy or satisfaction, but at least it removed many questions, making room for new ones generated by a sense of impending danger. No, not related to this ship, more global, more terrifying.
  It was difficult to determine the reason for this feeling now, and therefore, as Shepard moved through the Arcturus station to the office of the commander of the Normandy, he did not try to focus his attention on this feeling. He had previously been determined to a certain extent that such feelings would take place. Without a developed sense of danger, it was impossible to survive and maintain combat capability where commandos of his level most often had to operate.
  After leaving the bag in the storage room in front of the entrance to the Arcturus sector, where the ship commanders' offices were located - the usual cabins transferred via a complex system to all senior officers whose ships were temporarily or permanently assigned to the Station's fleets, Shepard paused for a few seconds in front of the right door and, having got close, knocked.
  "Come in," came a calm voice, slightly muffled by the pressurization.
  The captain opened the door, stepped over the threshold, stopped, waited until the door clicked into place and gave the required arrival report.
  "Report accepted," said the officer, who got up when Shepard appeared in the cabin from behind the desk, most often referred to as the office desk, and saluted in response to the guest's formal greeting. "Have a seat, Captain Shepard." He pointed to one of the two chairs next to the commander's desk. "I see you're unhappy."
  "Yes, sir. But for now, I would not like to talk about the reasons for my dissatisfaction. Perhaps it has no basis in fact." Shepard answered calmly and clearly, sitting down in the indicated chair.
  "Anyway, you've been assigned, Captain." the owner of the office sat down in his chair, turned on his laptop. "I am the commander of the Frigate Normandy, Captain David Anderson. Since we are of equal rank, you can address me as "Commander Anderson" or "Commander." Departure is in a few hours, everyone is already on board. I know you left your bag in the luggage room. If we go to the ship, you can pick her up. The departure of the Normandy is special, but not urgent. So you'll have time for that," the officer handed Shepard a "large" reader. "Here you can find all the materials on the ship and the crew. A kind of introductory information. I believe that after reading it, you will be able to get answers to your questions." Anderson stood up. "Come on."
  Shepard followed the commander out of the cabin. The feeling of non-standardness of the situation just screamed. It seemed that Anderson didn't want to tell him much right now, here on board the Arcturus.
  There could be several reasons for this: eternal competition between soldiers and politicians, the main inhabitants of the station, secrecy, and simply the desire of the commander to carry out the basic induction procedure directly on board his ship.
  To Shepard's satisfaction, Anderson did not forget about his promise regarding the storage room: the bag was in place and was handed over to the owner by a storage sergeant in record time.
  A few minutes later, the officers move to the part of the station from where shuttles traditionally departed to the ships stationed in the raid around the station.
  A shuttle bus took Anderson and Shepard aboard the frigate, and the ship's commander motioned for them to enter his cabin.
  "Have a seat," Anderson said, walking over to the cabin window and taking a quick look at the Arcturus station, part of which was visible behind thick armored glass. "They're in a hurry..." - the commander of the ship stroked the sensor for closing the armor with his finger, but did not press it, lowered his hand.
  Settling into the desk chair, Shepard noticed the movement of the cabin owner's hand and became alert. An invitation to sit down is common, but "in a hurry" is already interesting and not standard. It seems that the commander of the ship really feels more at ease on board the frigate than on board the station. This is familiar, but... confirms Shepard's suspicions and fears related to his appointment.
  "You've been assigned to the position of executive Officer, Captain." Anderson returned to his desk and sat down in his chair. "They were appointed... as part of an unusual procedure, which you have certainly noted. I won't hide it -I couldn't tell you much openly at the Station. The ship... was not even properly integrated into the reconnaissance frigate division subordinate to Admiral Mikhailovich. I still haven't seen any documents about his admission to the fleet, either paper or electronic, however, we, the crew and the crew of the frigate have been ordered to leave for Eden Prime in a few hours. The mission is special." Anderson hesitated for a few seconds, then continued. "The command of the Arcturian group is under pressure from the Presidium of the Alliance. They're having some kind of trouble with the Citadel Council, or rather, with the Spectr. With A Corps Of Spectr. Perhaps both with the Council and with the Corps. By the way, one of these "agents" is already on board the frigate. The Turian is Naylus Kraik." Anderson winced a little. "That's a bird-faced thing. The Corps, by the way, still does not consider it necessary to have its own ships and, for obvious reasons, tends to use ships of those races with which its agents have to interact. The Corps, by the way, still does not consider it necessary to have its own ships and, for obvious reasons, tends to use ships of those races with which its agents have to interact. Yes, the agent is a Turian, and the ship is also half more or less Turian. So there don't seem to be any particular contradictions here. To some extent, the Hierarchy does have some right to check how the ship, built according to the design provided by it, is operated. A common practice." Anderson was silent for a few seconds again. "The mission is specific, solely in the interests of the Citadel Council, to which the Spectre Corps is directly subordinate. You'll learn the details in time, Captain. In the meantime, I would like to note that there are more problems on the ship now than there are regulations. However, we will have to work with what we have now. And I'm glad to meet a colleague." Anderson laid an n-Seven badge on the table. Your personal badge.
  John looked at the other man's face, looked at the badge, read the number and the code. Anderson reacted calmly to the distrust shown:
  "Yes, Shepard. I am the same David Anderson," said the frigate commander. "He was born in the year two thousand one hundred and thirty-seventh, graduated from the Officer Academy in the year two thousand one hundred and fifty-seventh with the rank of second lieutenant, took part in the settlement of the incident in Shanxi. I was married and divorced my wife in two thousand one hundred and sixty-five. She was extremely unhappy that I was paying too much attention to military service." Anderson paused. "Then... I was looking for Kali Sanders in the Artifact case," there was another pause. This year, the Normandy SR-1 was finally launched, with its design and construction sponsored by the Citadel Council." The commander of the ship was silent for a few seconds again. "Political games... are incomprehensible to me, of little interest and of little value. It so happened that I was appointed to the position of commander of this ship after a long period of... inactivity." Anderson placed a small reader on the countertop. "There is a lot of information in a large reader. I'm sure you'll get to know her later, Shepard. And here," he slid a small reader across the tabletop to his interlocutor, "this information is presented in a shorter and more accessible way. The main thing is to keep it short. So check it out. And I think you should get to know the officers, and not only the officers, but the crew of the ship. It's time for a commander's tour soon, and we'll be able to do it together."
  Shepard nodded, turned on the device and went deep into reading the contents of the files.
  In this reader, the information necessary for the officer who took office was presented much more briefly and easily. Perhaps it was adapted by Anderson himself.
  "You're right, Shepard," the frigate's owner nodded. I "cleaned" the information myself. When I had to deal with the accepted ship and crew a few days ago," the cabin owner said quietly. "We got caught at headquarters... we had to fight our way through. "Anderson got up and went to the porthole. Apparently, he didn't want to stop his officer from getting to know the contents of the files.
  Ten minutes had passed, and Shepard turned off the reader and put it on the countertop. Anderson did not turn around, but looked at the Arcturus station. Silence fell in the cabin and Shepard was finally able to understand that his premonition turned out to be timely, correct and complete - he had been assigned to a really problematic ship.
  The fact that his commander turned out to be David Anderson, who was described in MSF the Alliance of Systems as a semi-legendary personality, was alarming and at the same time reassuring - at least he, Shepard, would work under the guidance of one of the best graduates of the N-Seven Academy, and not under the guidance of an ordinary naval commander of the ship.
  The problematic frigate under Anderson's control no longer seemed so problematic to Shepard - the n-sevens were taught to cope with less difficulties. They taught me well.
  Anderson came up to the table, pressed several sensors on the laptop, read the information from its screen.
  "I'll leave both readers to you, John." He waited while Shepard packed the devices into a waist pack. Almost everything is ready for departure on board. Let's go." Let's start getting to know the ship and the crew.
  
  Chapter 3. John Shepard, Captain of the Alliance of Systems MSF. Getting to know the ship and crew.
  The pre-flight inspection of the ship, as Shepard realized, was not an empty formality for Anderson. The commander was interested in the little things, asked his colleagues a lot of questions, listened attentively to the answers, studied the instrument readings. It all looked like John had no doubt that if he hadn't been with Anderson, everything would have been exactly the same.
  The first person the commander of the ship went to was the acting navigator of the frigate, Charles Pressley. The somewhat surprised look Charles cast at the officer standing a step behind the commander, Anderson interpreted correctly, briefly noting aloud that "this officer is the new senior officer."
  Shepard was sure that as soon as they moved away from the navigator's console located in the combat information center, most often referred to simply as the CIC, this news would become known to all members of the crew of the ship as soon as possible, and in the future the commander of the ship would not need to voice clarifications.
  After examining the instrument readings of the frigate's navigation section on the console, Anderson nodded to Charles and walked away, heading for the pilot's cabin. When they had moved a good distance from the "necklace" of the CIC consoles, the commander said quietly:
  "He doesn't like aliens. Oh, he doesn't like it. Especially the Turians. And we have Spectrum on board right now. He's a Turian. Well, okay, so far Pressley does not allow "going beyond the limits", and this is encouraging. And he's a very good officer and man. A professional. I think you'll work with him, Shepard - he knows his job and has never been a careerist.
  The captain only nodded slightly, trying to put in his memory what he had heard and seen in the CIC.
  The door to the cockpit opened, allowing the new XO to hear a fragment of a conversation between the ship's pilot and a lieutenant technician, in which Shepard, who had familiarized himself with the contents of the small reader, easily recognized Kayden Alenko, a biotic officer.
  By the way, Anderson noted in the files of the small reader that Kayden flatly refused to change his biotic implant of the El-Two series to something more reliable and secure.
  The frigate was preparing for departure. It would seem that the pilot and co-pilot, whose role, to Shepard's surprise, this lieutenant technician was trying to play, should have had plenty of official worries. However, both officers-the captain easily remembered that Jeff Moro was a lieutenant in MSF-were clearly idling. Moro continued to chat with Alenko about all sorts of trifles, Kayden also liked to talk, but, as Shepard understood, he was very unhappy that Moro categorically refused to let him "steer" the frigate during the departure segment.
  As soon as he saw Lieutenant Alenko, Shepard immediately determined that he was also suffering from severe migraines caused by a dilapidated implant. An unsuccessful series, an unsuccessful model, and even not very suitable for trouble-free removal. On the handrail of the chair in which the lieutenant-technician was sitting, Shepard noticed a package of headache pills secured with a narrow rubber ring to a plastic box. Half of the top blister was already empty-the lieutenant was eating pills several at a time.
  While the heavy hermo door to the cockpit was opening in front of the commander and the XO, Moro managed to declare:
  "Spectr are not good. I don't like that he's on board. Call me paranoid."
  "You're being paranoid," Alenko retorted. "The Council helped finance the project. They have the right to check what their investments have been used for."
  "Yes?" Moro looked surprised. "Were the two captains MSF in the Special Forces squad assigned on board just for a walk? They say that the officer who arrived is also a graduate of the n-Seven Academy and has the highest qualification rank of special forces - "n-Seven". Just like our commander. Are you picking up on the situation, Kayden? It is undoubtedly heating up and becoming more complicated. I feel it in my gut."
  "Are you discussing the new XO?" Anderson asked softly as he appeared in the cockpit. Shepard carefully maintained his distance, standing a step behind the commander of the ship and at the same time did not look at either Moro or Alenko.
  He was more interested in the interior of the compartment and the equipment of the pilot's cabin, the ship's control center.
  The captain had already realized that Anderson had not kept the AI on board, making do with the VI. However, the ship's commander himself was appointed to the post not so long ago and he clearly did not have time to make such significant changes to the frigate's equipment.
  "Captain Anderson, sir!" Alenko, turning around, was the first to jump to his feet, stretched out. Moro got up slowly, and Shepard clearly saw that it was difficult for the pilot to get up, so he climbed not only slowly, but also carefully. There was information in the small reader that Moro suffers from Vrolik syndrome, in other words, increased bone fragility, but he managed to be recognized as an active pilot and an officer of the MSF.
  There was also information about what kind of "test" flight this lieutenant had arranged for the frigate Normandy. If Shepard had been more impressionable, he would have been surprised, but now John was looking around, waiting for both officers - the pilot and the technician - to take an upright position.
  "Captain, sir," Moro responded in a formal manner, finally straightening up and steadying himself on his feet. - "I'm sorry."
  "Report the situation in the cockpit. Excuse me from listening to reports of your voyeurism, Lieutenant Moro," Anderson ordered.
  The pilot, while Anderson was getting acquainted with the readings of numerous instruments and listings of equipment operation protocols displayed on several displays, spent exactly three minutes on the report.
  Alenko was silent and carefully examined Shepard, who was interested in the ship's gunner's console and the navigator's console, but the captain, reading the data from the displays and comparing them with the notched normative indicators, did not react in any way.
  "Good. Keep working," Anderson nodded. Both officers sat down in the pilot's seats with relief. Now they no longer risked exchanging phrases about the Spectr's or about the new senior assistant. "Come on, Shepard," the commander crossed the threshold of the cockpit. The heavy hermetic door clicked into place. Both at anchor and while drifting, this compartment remained securely isolated from the rest of the ship, as required by instructions written, as is well known, in blood.
  "What he, Moro, had done on the frigate's test flights had taken the entire pyramid of the Alliance of Systems MSF Command and beyond to hiccup for several days." Anderson said softly. - "And Alenko... You're right, Shepard, he's suffering because of the implant. These constant headaches... I do not know how he overcomes this pain, which has become chronic, the pills obviously do not help much. He is trying to comply with the official framework and protocols, but ... this unscheduled flight "confused all the cards" for the crew of the frigate. The crew, by the way, as you have already seen, is not complete. Special mission. There are twelve policemen on board, and they, ahem, have taken the seats reserved for the ship's full-time crew specialists. The command of the MSF does not tire of assuring me that this is only for the duration of the mission. There are a lot of things I don't like about the job ahead," he resolutely headed for the elevator.
  ***
  After descending to the lower deck, the officers entered the engineering room.
  "Greg Adams, the ship's chief engineer" The man who was conjuring at the central console introduced himself to Shepard.
  "A god and a magician,"- Anderson added. "If he and Moro are on board, I'm calm."
  "Thank you, Commander. The core of the ship is really big by standards, but thanks to Jeff, we are quite able to perform most tasks of a general and special nature, and sometimes even do more than is provided for by the rules and regulations." Adams noted as Anderson pored over the instrument readings and Shepard surveyed the interior and contents of the engineering bay.
  "Are you ready for the transition?" Anderson asked after he finished reviewing the data displayed on the displays.
  "It's full, Commander," Adams replied firmly.
  "Great",- the frigate commander turned to leave.
  After leaving the engineering room and waiting for the doors of the cargo elevator to close -there was no passenger elevator on the frigate-Anderson looked at Shepard and said:
  "Since its arrival on board, the Spectr Kraik has been almost constantly in the Communications Room or in the hold. Where he is much less likely to encounter members of the crew of the ship," said Anderson. "My colleagues don't like him and are very wary of him. I do not consider it necessary to introduce you to him, since your appointment is our crew and ship's internal business and, in principle, it does not concern him. So that..."
  At that moment, the doors of the freight elevator began to open. Shepard heard the loud voice of a young corporal standing next to a female medic. The captain easily recognized Richard Jenkins, a member of the ship's ordinary crew, as the speaker, and Karin Chakvas, the ship's doctor, Major of the Medical Service MSF of the Alliance of Systems, as the woman.
  The corporal was getting hot, trying to prove that he was fully prepared to show his best qualities on the battlefield, to which the ship's doctor bitterly commented that Jenkins' fervor had already forced her to "patch up" the corporal in the sick bay more than once.
  For some reason, there was no information in the files of both readers viewed by Shepard about when the corporal had managed to distinguish himself so much during his stay on board the frigate, but for now it didn't matter - he had to personally get to know both "frigates".
  The corporal snapped to attention when he saw the officers approaching.
  "Dismissed, Jenkins," Anderson said.
  After waiting until the corporal had moved a good distance away, the ship's commander added softly, addressing Shepard:
  Actually, Lieutenant Alenko was supposed to take care of him and - very well - take care of him, but... as I already mentioned, because of the constant severe headaches, he has big problems with ensuring that all the duties assigned to him are fulfilled." After making sure that the elevator doors had already closed behind Jenkins, Anderson continued. "Karin... This is Captain John Shepard, a graduate of the n-Seven Academy, appointed to the position of senior assistant. At the same time, as I was told at the division headquarters, he will have to perform the duties of the commander of the amphibious unit."
  "Pleased to meet you," the medical major nodded affably at Shepard. "By tradition, you have to undergo a medical check-up. So, please come to my Medical Room." She looked questioningly at Anderson, who nodded.:
  "Go ahead, Shepard. Departure is coming soon, you will start work after medical control. While there is time... there is." The frigate commander turned towards the cockpit. "I'm waiting for you at the Star Chart in the СIC."
  Shepard saluted the commander, standing at attention for a few seconds.
  In the medical bay, Chakvas asked Shepard to strip to the waist, quickly conducted a medical check-up and, after waiting for the captain to tidy himself up, offered to sit in a chair next to his desk.
  In conversation with the ship's doctor, Shepard learned a lot of new, valuable and useful things for himself.
  Formally, Karin Chakvas was above the commander of the ship in rank, but as a doctor, she belonged to a different department of the Alliance's MSF and also specialized in treating aliens, and, as Shepard saw during the conversation, she was well versed in the treatment of humans.
  She also told a lot of interesting things about Naylus Krajke - Spektr.
   The Council of the Citadel, supplementing with his story the information already known to Shepard.
  Half an hour of conversation flew by completely unnoticed.
  "Go to your cabin for now, John. Everything is prepared for you there." Chakwas said. - "This ship is small in size, so it's not really a cabin, but just an enclosure. Here, those who can use cabins according to the state, calmly and freely refer to them as "enclosures". Perhaps this is against all written rules, but we are working, and not just stupidly following the rules. The upcoming flight, as I understand it, is also very stressful and specific. You will need to review many of the documents again. And after the start... Practical, real work will begin.
  Nodding to the ship's doctor, Shepard left the medical bay. Of course, he didn't show it outwardly, but inwardly... It seemed to him that he had spoken not to the ship's doctor, not to the senior medical officer of the Alliance MSF, but to his mother.
  There was a reason Anderson immediately addressed her by name.
  Karin Chakvas was important to all Normans, so important that neither the obscure status of the frigate nor the special mission could devastatingly affect this importance.
  Glancing at his omny-tool watch, the captain noted that there was not much time left before the launch and entered his the enclosure-cabin, immediately noticing a pile of readers and a laptop on his desktop.
  Chapter 4. John Shepard, Captain of the Alliance of Systems MSF. Departure for Eden Prime. The acquisition
  Shepard did not close the door to his cabin tightly. If he was assigned to this ship and to this crew, then it is necessary to immediately make it clear to the inhabitants of the frigate that the new senior officer is available for communication. Let them see that the door to the cabin of the senior assistant commander of the ship is ajar, that he does not hide anything from his new colleagues, is always ready to help, is always ready to answer a question or just chat, talk.
  Even when Shepard was walking away from Chakwas, he felt the watchful, studying, questioning and perplexed, in short, the most diverse views of his new colleagues. He considered this normal: a new person in such a post always arouses the increased interest of the old-timers, because now he is actually the second officer after the commander of the ship. All the Inhabitants of the frigate, who are below him in rank and status, will somehow decide for themselves an important question: how to contact John Shepard now. Of course, they will not make this decision immediately or soon, and not all ship's crew members will make this decision final.
  Anderson helped him a lot by giving him the opportunity to work with the "big" reader beforehand, study the materials of the "small" one, and now he has provided him with the materials of both the small and large readers for personal use, so to speak.
  The copies of the materials, as it turned out, were contained in one of the ordinary readers lying on top of this neat stack, which now "decorated" his desktop.
  Shepard also liked the new, never-before-used laptop of the officer class - the commander appreciates his assistant and wants him to have the best tools for his work.
  Shepard unpacked the bag that Dayna had packed and which had already been delivered to the cabin by the frigate's watchmen, put some of the food in a small refrigerator, and put some on the shelves of the kitchen cabinet.
  In the cabin, as it should be, there was a small service for six people - just in order to arrange a tea party or a meal together for the ship's officers. It will be very good to use the service when discussing many issues and problems. Beautiful dishes created according to civil standards are somewhat relaxing and at the same time create a more acceptable environment for communication.
  After sitting down in an armchair, Shepard made himself comfortable for a few minutes - now this chair will become a working chair for him for a very long time, he will have to spend many hours in it and he needs to get used to it.
  Having prepared herbal tea for himself in a large half-liter cup, Shepard took the cup by the handle, got up, and went to the porthole, which was covered with an armored tire. Of course, you could have dialed the code on the omny-tool or laptop and removed the lid, but the captain turned on the wall screen and selected the sensor camera built into the cabin window from the menu. It turned out faster, and the image of the Arcturus station could now be changed widely.
  For several minutes, Shepard stood motionless, getting used to this view, getting used to the idea that the assignment to the ship had once again taken place and now he was the commander of an amphibious unit of a special reconnaissance frigate, not just a special forces officer with the rank of captain, but the senior assistant to the commander of the ship.
  So far, there was no need to force habituation, and Shepard calmly and unhurriedly glanced at the contours of the station's hull, watched as military combat and auxiliary ships, boats, and shuttles approached and left the station's giant "pancake" mooring complex.
  When he "shadowed" Anderson during the commander's rounds, he tried to remain silent more, but carefully looked around, memorizing more details.
  Anderson probably liked this behavior of the new senior assistant: he clearly valued reticence more than eloquence, although he appreciated people who could speak clearly and to the point. If he, the best graduate of the n-Seven Academy, had to lead the crew of a problem ship, then, as the bypass showed, Anderson coped with the difficult task to the fullest. In a short time, he managed to bring both the ship and the crew "to their senses", to the standard, to introduce them into the framework and encourage them, and not only to make them work properly.
  Now Shepard had to maintain and develop this state of affairs, and he felt he was ready to do it the right way, and he was ready to learn a lot from Anderson.
  Distracted from the contemplation of the Arcturus station, Shepard activated most of the cabin's systems and control panels, customizing them to suit his needs and requirements. Major Chakvas may have considered the executive officer's cabin, which Shepard had inherited, to be an enclosure, but... each person has their own perception of the surrounding reality and their own priorities.
  After dimming the general and overhead lights to a minimum, the captain turned on the spotlight above the table, sat down in an armchair and pulled a stack of readers towards him. Working with documents was now becoming one of his main activities in his new position.
  Right now, he tried not to think about how abnormal it was to combine the position of senior assistant to the commander of a ship with the position of commander of a frigate landing group. Yes, he was taught to take such situations calmly, because in a critical situation there is no time to think about paper-thin bureaucratic regulations. And yet, a certain worm in the back of his mind clearly signaled: abnormal, abnormal, abnormal.
  Reading the lines of text files, Shepard typed texts on the keyboard of his laptop, filled out the "formatting" of documents, noting that, passing by the door of his cabin, members of the crew the frigate involuntarily slow down their steps, sometimes even trying to look inside the cabin. Well, he didn't mind, that's why he left a gap. Let them watch, let them listen, let them get used to it.
  The officer of the watch informed the crew of the Normandy over the ship's speakerphone that there were fifteen minutes left before departure. The frigate's departure time, as the captain understood, was constantly being adjusted, but for the first flight of the newest ship, which retained the status of "prototype", this was usual. Shepard, noting the new departure time on his omny-tool, spent another ten minutes reading the information from the last reader in the stack - he did it, although there were a lot of files in each reader and there was plenty of information in them.
  Rising from the table, the captain habitually changed into a light armored suit. Departure is departure. If you have to go to the Star Map now, then you need to be prepared for any eventuality. Yes, it may be unusual for the ship's crew members, but as the XO, he will now make sure that light armored suits become common for all the inhabitants of the frigate.
  Anderson won't mind-he'll get it right. And the rest of the frigate's inhabitants will have to get used to it. By the way, why the inhabitants of the frigate? "To the Normandians." It will be clearer, more resonant and more correct.
  After leaving the cabin, he closed the door completely. He felt the puzzled stares of the crew members. Nothing. Get used to. And then they themselves will be surprised at how they used to use uniforms instead of spacesuits.
  The helmet is attached to the belt and - forward to the Map. A few dozen steps and ahead is a pedestal on which a Star Map is installed. Anderson looks up from the screens located on the frame of the Map, nods, taking in the figure of the assistant with an attentive, even tenacious look.
  There are no chairs, Shepard thought, but it would be necessary to install at least two chairs here by the Map. Standing, of course, is good, even toning up to some extent, but the upcoming flight... will be difficult. So the chairs won't hurt.
  The XO stood next to the commander and connected to the ship's special communications network. The usual departure procedure, nothing special.
  The Spectr Turian does not appear in the CIC. Either the Normans had already taught him not to interfere, or something else.
  Many consoles of the "necklace" of the CIC are empty. Yes, there is a lot of information in the readers studied by John about the problems that arose on board due to the understaffing of the crew. They took those who are generally difficult to do without on board, and the rest ... left under various pretexts in the Parking Field, from where the Normandy came to the Arcturus.
  Military policemen in their dim uniforms froze at the portals of the entrances to the CIC. They are also very interested in the new senior assistant. They feel that he doesn't like their presence on the ship. They understand themselves that this is not normal. But - the order, the service, the protocol, the ritual. Twelve policemen instead of the same number of specialists from the ship's crew. It will have a very negative impact. Very. Shepard was sure of that. His even convinced.
  The frigate smoothly moved away from the station, went beyond the "outer raid" - the space allocated for parking for ships whose presence in the immediate vicinity of the Arcturus was not necessary. Turn, the ship clearly sets course for the repeater, accelerates. This maneuvering and acceleration, as Shepard understood, would take several hours. Of course, you can fly away from Arcturus in a "fire" order. This is a military station. This is not the situation or the case right now. Therefore, the Normandy leaves quietly. Regularly, as experts would say.
  Anderson watches as the XO works at the consoles and screens of the Star Map. Yes, the main space here is occupied by a virtual screen, which usually displays all navigation information in three dimensions, but there are plenty of screens and remotes in the "frame". Some are hidden, some are half-hidden. Only those who are currently being worked with and those whose information is important are open. The rest have been extinguished, put into standby mode, or deactivated altogether.
  "The ship is on course. Takeoff and departure are completed" The chief pilot of the frigate Moro reported on the audio channel of the commander's speaker. The speakerphone duplicated the report - the information is publicly available, so isolation was not required.
  "Accepted,"- Anderson replied, habitually raising his eyes to the ceiling for a few seconds - the sensors of video cameras and the "heads" of microphone complexes were traditionally located there. - "Shepard, you're free to go."
  "Yes, sir," the captain nodded and stepped off the pedestal.
  All. Now, for the next few hours, he really isn't involved in something urgent and mandatory. He should have walked around the ship himself, but... for several minutes he had been feeling a sense of danger.
  No, the ship or the crew were not in danger - there were no such signs. None of them were known to him, at least theoretically.
  He was in danger himself. Not from the crew members, no. From the inside. And it was annoying. Having now decided to circumnavigate the ship alone, Shepard strenuously recalled whether there was a room on this small-sized reconnaissance frigate that would not be occupied by one of the crew members now and in the very near future.
  Memory helpfully prompted and the coordinates of the small Salon, and the captain decided: if he gets worse, he will not go to the Medical Bay, but will try to reach this room with a panoramic porthole.
  So far, the commander of the ship has not given the command to close all the portholes without exception with armored tires, so it is quite possible that the porthole is also open there. It was a big porthole, if he remembered correctly. Probably, because of the presence of a "window to space", this room was called a salon.
  Moving from post to post, from compartment to compartment, exchanging short, strictly businesslike phrases with crew members, Shepard always tried to keep in mind the route to this cabin.
  When he came out of the engineering bay, the feeling of danger was gone. There is an understanding that it may come back later. In a few days. Maybe earlier.
  ***
  It's back. Exactly a few days later at the same time. Shepard had been feeling the threat of his return all these days. And when it hit... He tried to move to this salon as quickly as possible. I stood for a few minutes, resting from the overload caused by the fear of not being able to make it.
  The feelings and sensations were too new, this state was too new. He couldn't find any analogues to them in his memory, no matter how hard he tried. Probably, several pages of text could have been filled with a description of this "cocktail", but in those minutes when he was flattened in a locked salon, he was clearly not up to making detailed descriptions.
  Fortunately, according to the daily schedule, he had "free hours" that he could spend the way he wanted. Within the acceptable limits, of course, but...
  These few days... It was a good thing that there was no need for a military reconnaissance ship to rush headlong along the route to the exit point in the area of operations. Shepard consistently, no longer in a survey, but in depth and in detail, got acquainted with the ship and the crew. He did not like to consider himself a know-it-all and found many supporters of this position among those who taught him at the Academy.
  A new ship, a new crew required work, required study. They demanded attention. So, all this had to be given and provided. This is what John Shepard was doing for several days before he was "covered".
  It was difficult to describe all the feelings he had experienced during those few hours. I also had to think about the fact that this is an echo of Akusa. Most likely, it was. Shepard couldn't remember anything else in his life that was as complex and ambiguous, maybe even completely misunderstood by himself as it should be. Yes, when he felt like he was "covered" and walked slowly towards this salon, he already felt that his teammates were looking at him with concern and bewilderment. Not all of them, some of them. They look at him with concern, but they believe that he can handle it.
  For some reason, it seemed to Shepard then that Chakwas would not be able to determine exactly and completely what was happening to him then. It was also good that he did not lose consciousness, did not experience particularly severe physical weakness, but the fact that he was noticeably deaf for several minutes ... or maybe for several tens of minutes - it was. It was definitely there. And there was an external inhibition, too.
  It took him a long time to get out of this lethargy, this deafness. He went out slowly. And what was the hurry if he was still alone in this salon? The "free hours" are not over yet. The door to the salon is closed. No one bothers him. The chief mate needs to retire to a room other than his cabin-no questions asked, the cabin is empty, and there's not even much furniture there. So the Normans did not bother him. Somehow they understood. And how - Hes don't even want to specify - every intelligent being, as you know, has its own understanding. Own, personal. Few people remember this constantly and clearly, but they should....
  It took Shepard a long time to realize what he had gained in those few hours. He rinsed it out then in those lonely hours a little. And, as he realized, he would obviously not be able to learn how to use everything he had gained right away. You'll have to learn it gradually, maybe even situationally. Did he know then what he had received? No. I didn't know, but I had to use some of this newfound potential very soon. As it turned out, in order to overcome the annoying abnormality of the situation with the ship, crew and mission.
  And then he became deaf and half-blind, with great difficulty standing on his feet and feeling how he was twisting. He's twitching inside. Not only physically, but also mentally, and spiritually. Transforms, complements, and changes. He was able to track some things, but not others, because there were not enough human resources and capabilities for everything that happened to him at that time. Normal human resources and capabilities. The usual, standard ones. It wasn't until hours later, but days later, that he realized that next to these resources, he now had completely inhuman, and according to some signs, extragalactic ones. And then, in those moments, he just really wanted to remain the same person, and, as it turned out, he succeeded.
  
  Chapter 5. the transformation of Jenkins and Alenko.
  The soothing hum of the cannon touched the ears of Captain Shepard, who was standing at the porthole in the observation cabin. The frigate Normandy, which the Alliance staff had ordered him to report to a few days ago in a tone that brooked no objections, cut through the blackness of space.
  Shepard had been trying for several minutes to figure out why he didn't like literally everything that was happening around him. These people who moved like somnambulists, exchanging some kind of antediluvian readers, dressed in the same uniform and trying to maintain subordination. These conversations are over a poorly protected channel between Udina, the ambassador of humanity to the Citadel, and Anderson, the captain of the frigate. These desperate and, most importantly, numerous and constant attempts to wishful thinking. This increasing doom in the face of an unknown future, which was imagined to be at least somehow long-lasting. Captain of the landing crew...
  There are twelve heads of military police here! Twelve. Foreheads. He, the captain, had only two relatively sane men under his direct command: Corporal Jenkins and Lieutenant Alenko. That's it! They didn't give anyone else, having filled all the available places with policemen. All. The policemen. Who didn't know what they had to guard on a long-range flight. Two foreheads are at the radio room. One at each of the two entrances to the main ship stairs. There are two foreheads at the main airlock. They thought of putting two of them at the main battery, and they put two of them in the medical bay. There are two military policemen with the rank of sergeants in the medical bay, which is two. Are there ranks two levels higher than in a regular army?! Those who are sergeants only by stripes, and in front of them the first lieutenants stand - without breathing and at attention. Two military police foreheads were placed near the captain's cabin. The first after God on this single frigate of the Alliance of Systems MSF.
  And he, the commander of the landing crew, was given direct command of a biotic lieutenant, who had only one program working properly from constant migraines - "I serve the Alliance, sir!" and a half-educated Corporal Jenkins, whose teenage maximalism had not worn off and, as it seemed to Shepard now, did not want to wear off at all.
  Both "cadres" ... belonged to the category of inhabitants of the Alliance's military bases, from which even the squad leader ran faster than the monthly sixty-kilometer cross with full training and with the order to survive the threat of an orbital strike. No one wanted to take responsibility for the bearer of the el-2, the migraine lieutenant, who easily went off the rails and glowed brighter and scarier than the portable lamp of the ship's operational disinfection, and even more so for the boy, whose short trousers on the straps clearly showed through the Alliance corporal's uniform. Even without a frivolous checkered shirt. With short sleeves, which.
  Shepard was going wild, slowly, like rising water in high water. He, a graduate of the special academy, who had fought to snatch the highest-ranking n-Seven badge, was ordered to take command of the amphibious crew of a ship that could not be a warship by definition.
  In Shepard's mind's eye, the blueprints of the Normandy slid by. Such a sneak attack from the Turians... He couldn't have expected it in principle. For such a successful deception operation... he couldn't even afford another word right now.... By fooling the Alliance members who had power and influence... Every intelligent organic from the Turian Hierarchy's Psychological Warfare Directorate was worthy of an Earth Star. No less. It wasn't even worth trading for less.
  A frigate on which a camouflage system was installed, which became useless if the enemy had ancient but high-quality optical surveillance devices and scanners on board his ship. And harmful if any of the opponents of the frigate had simple and familiar portholes in the sides of their ships.
  This is how to wrap the cosmic armed forces of mankind with dry sandpaper lines of an Agreement, "squeezed out" in months-long negotiations. Under-frigate, under-destroyer, under-dreadnought, under-battleship, under-monitor. Gifts from advanced races to a neighbor who suddenly "spat out" the bluish fog of the forbidden repeater core. Very peculiar "gifts". More like the Danaean gifts.
  Shepard felt the air thicken around him as he stood in the empty small cabin by the observation window, becoming more viscous by the second. Somewhere on the far fringes of his consciousness, an inner, perhaps even his own personal, voice screamed that what was happening to him now was absolutely not human. What kind of condition, such behavior is not for a person, not for an officer, not for an n-seven. Somewhere on the far outskirts...
  Shepard ignored the screams. Where is the frigate going? Eden Prime? What for? Check out the pseudo-invisibility system? Why check it so far away? Take the frigate to the moon and check as much as you want. Anyone with enough intelligence and the necessary equipment will clearly see the frigate, desperately trying to become invisible. And none of these bystanders will even curl their lips in a grin. But because it's necessary. And who needs to know doesn't need to know. Live, exist, sniff in two holes and - don't mess around.
  Shepard's gaze slid over the sparkling scattering of stars behind the thick glass of the observation window. There were two days left before arriving at the destination. Two days. And he, the commander of the landing crew and the XO, already had cramps in the fingers of both hands. It hurt so much that he almost howled out loud from the pain. Because he knew.
  He knew that before the war with synthetics, these two miserable human twenty-four-hour days remained. He knew what the sleek uncles in admiral's uniforms were afraid to believe, who imagined themselves to be cool strategists and were guaranteed to faint because of a suddenly failed holoprojector in their living room. He knew what could provide an instant stroke with a heart attack "in one case" for any of the admirals, for whom the fifteen-centimeter heels of uniform model shoes had become more familiar than standard army boots. He knew what was a death sentence for eighty percent of the population of all human colonies, painstakingly built on planets that had somehow been developed and somehow legally secured to Earth, and therefore to humanity. He knew what was a funeral shroud for thousands of eighteen-year-olds who wore the uniform of the Alliance of Systems MSF. Not much more junior than Jenkins. They're going to burn in these cans. Proudly called boats, fighters, frigates, cruisers, dreadnoughts. They need to burn in the cramped cabins of artillery systems, posts and compartments of ships. They need to burn in landing pods. Them. Them. Them. Burning and dying, not even trying to survive. To have time to understand, to realize... If you don't accept it... Accept The Fact. The fact of the collision. The fact of a collision with a Machine Mind. For whom. Any. An intelligent organic is only an enemy. Only the enemy. Only an opponent that is subject to physical destruction.
  One thought was beating in the head of the brutal commander of the landing crew. It sounded like a bell. Not the fire-fighting ones. And the one that makes my back ache like a grater. One thought: "We Were. Not. Taught. To fight. With. Robots." And the thought was... There was bitterness. Twisting all the facial muscles into a terrible grimace. A grimace that foreshadowed rage. A cornered intelligent being is furious. Who decided to throw off the mask of Civilization and reveal another to the enemy. The second mask. The mask of the Beast.
  The fingers of both Shepard's hands clenched into heavy fists. Those who are now guaranteed to stop a sumo wrestler who is frozen at a low start. Two wrestlers. Three. Five of them. Stop them dead. In a split second. "n-Seven". The best. Super fighters. "At any time. Anywhere. Any task. To perform. Exactly. Completely. On time. And nothing. Otherwise."
  Shepard felt his shoulders flex soundlessly under his uniform jacket. How the muscles tense up. How the shoulder blades try to converge, pinching the spine in a vice. How the neck stiffens, straightening up to a strict vertical ninety degrees. How the chin takes the position of a bulldozer knife, which does not bode well for what will be in front of it. How the facial muscles barely relax, allowing the jaws to leave a few millimeters of free space between the teeth. Several. Millimeters.
  The heels of the boots clattered together. The toes of the shoes have habitually assumed their statutory position. The legs straightened completely, lifting the torso to the maximum height. His stomach tightened as usual, and his chest straightened, allowing his lungs to pump in some more air. The arms fell along the body, catching the conventional "lines" of the side seams and becoming one with them.
  A beacon blinked far away in the corner of his mind, flashing only one code: "Not human." "Not human." "Not human." And Shepard, who straightened up like a string in front of the observation window, was in no hurry. I was in no hurry to enter into exhausting, unnecessary, harmful discussions with this beacon. He knew. He knew one thing: "For that. To. Win. The robot. Need. Give it your all. Completely. As soon as possible."
  If only one of the Normans could see John Shepard, twenty-eight years old, an orphan who joined the Alliance immediately after his eighteenth birthday.... He would have been amazed. The figure standing in front of the wide-open salon porthole did not look like the former commander of the frigate's landing crew. She exuded the force of a hurricane and the power of a mudflow, the unstoppability of a storm and the sepulchral darkness of a crypt. And the scariest thing came from the commander's face, motionless and frozen like a shamanic mask. The whites of the man's eyes glowed, sparkling with thousands of sparks, and the pupils, in their blackness and bottomlessness, easily left behind the eyes of Asari and Drell.
  It was impossible to resist the force that emanated from the eyes and spread over several meters. One could only obey. With maximum accuracy, speed, and completeness.
  The captain's face didn't need to unclench his tightly compressed lips right now. No words were needed. The turn of John's head at that moment was already capable of collapsing the walls of a shipping container far below in the frigate's hold into dust. What if eye movement were added to the head movement... The container would simply cease to exist as a material body. Instantly. With any content. With all the contents. It was in this container that it was planned to enclose what the frigate Normandy was sent to Eden Prime for.
  A screen flashed and unfolded in Shepard's mind. The condition of the ship. The condition of the armament. The condition of the crew. Course and range. The location of the ship is in the space of the Milky Way and in this star system. An avalanche of data. The captain stood motionless, absorbing it, processing it, sorting it. Ten percent, you say?! Twenty?! Thirty?! Forty percent of the brain's power, you say, works for an average reasonable person?! Ten percent, you say?! Twenty?! Thirty?! Forty percent of the brain's power, you say, works for an average reasonable person?! And you don't want eighty?! And a hundred?! And the multiplicity?!
  To him, the commander of the landing crew. "n-seven". To the captain of the MSF. Some sleek colonel from the division headquarters handed over not an order on a blank reader in full form, but a scribble. A reader with three lines of text. A sample of clerical detachment from real life. Accept the senior position. The assistant. The captain. The frigate Normandy.
  This colonel. He didn't even understand it Hemself. What he passed on. In what form. And with what consequences. Such disregard for the rules of execution of command orders is permissible only during the war. And since this neglect is allowed. It means that the war is already underway. And he, John Shepard, is not just serving in the Alliance of Systems MSF. He is. Located. On. The war.
  "Corporal Jenkins report to the left side Saloon. To Captain Shepard," the lips of the commander of the landing crew spat out, slightly opening. The head did not turn. Only the lips were moving. And that, in the human body, which was supposed to form a voice order that was subject to instant execution.
  The speaker did not disappoint. The microphone was activated during. The system, obeying automation, picked up the sound vibrations, cleaned them from interference and transmitted them to the contours of the translator, which reset it to the transmitter. Just like that. Almost instantly. For a human. Not for the vending machine.
  In his mind's eye, on the screen of his mind, Shepard saw Jenkins freeze, who had been having a nice conversation with the frigate's doctor, Major Karin Chakvas. When he suddenly straightened up, abruptly stopped speaking, cut off his speech in mid-sentence, adjusted his beret, gave a military salute to the ship's senior medical officer, turned sharply to the right and, past the Sergeant of police who had not even changed his relaxed stance, marched up the stairs leading to the living deck.
  The footsteps of Jenkins, who was diligently typing a step, approached, almost breaking into a run as they approached their destination. Finally, the corporal froze on the threshold of the salon.
  "Corporal Jenkins, sir! Arrived on your orders, sir!" the newcomer rapped out and only then realized that something had changed a lot in the the newcomer rapped out and only then realized that something had changed a lot in the Saloon. And the center of this change is right in front of him. Captain John Shepard. Commander of the frigate's landing crew. His immediate commander.
  Shepard did not even turn around, did not change his stance, did not respond to the report of the junior officer.
  "Where were you born, Cor-poral?" - the officer's lips spat out.
  "On Eden Prime, sir! The frigate is heading there, sir!" Jenkins did not even try to go beyond the requirements of the charter and directly ask what had happened and what was the reason for the call.
  "Do you want to fight, Cor-poral?" There was a threat in Shepard's voice. Jenkins caught it.
  "That's right, sir! We've been in space for two weeks now, sir! And I'm assigned to the landing party, sir! I'm not a flier, sir!" Jenkins was desperately trying to figure out what this captain wanted from him. He already knew that Captain John Shepard, who had been appointed to the post of senior assistant commander of the Normandy, was the hero of Akusa, that he was a survivor, that he was the "n-seven". He knew a lot about Shepard now. What his superiors in rank and position allowed him to find out. But now there was another Shepard standing in front of him. Jenkins had never seen a paratrooper captain like this before. And now he was ready to pray to God, yes, that there was only one God - all imaginable and inconceivable Gods. To pray that he would never see him again.
  "Assigned?! That's exactly what you said, Cor-poral. Assigned. And I, your commander, need you not only to be assigned, but also to be a paratrooper. What task was assigned to you by your former commander?" There was a note in Shepard's voice that didn't give Jenkins any opportunity to delay the report.
  "To board the amphibious frigate Cape Town, sir! At fifteen thirty three weeks ago, sir! At the disposal of Lieutenant Welland, sir!"
  "And why am I, commander of the amphibious crew of the frigate Normandie, finding you aboard another ship a week after the Cape Town sailed, Cor-poral?" While Shepard was talking about it, Jenkins had the feeling that right now, this second, the captain would turn around and this would be the last thing Richard would see in his life.
  "I'm late, sir!"
  "Are you late?! Are you a corporal of the airborne forces MSF of the Alliance of Systems?! Are you late?!" There was no note of surprise or amazement in Shepard's voice-the tone was even and clear.
  "That's right, sir!" Jenkins positively did not know what else he should answer to the officer's question. The semi-darkness of the cabin began to frighten the corporal frankly. The blackness of space, barely illuminated by the stars, was eerily depressing.
  "The main motto of the amphibious forces of planet Earth. Quickly. Clearly. Separately" Shepard ordered.
  "At any time! Anywhere! Any task! Do it! Precisely! Completely! On time! And in no way! Otherwise!" With every word he literally shouted, Jenkins felt like something was happening to him. Bravado is disappearing somewhere, bragging has subsided somewhere, lightness and carelessness of perception have disappeared somewhere. The corporal saw that Shepard did not turn around, did not react in any way to the words he knew well.
  "It's you now, Cor-poral. You'll go to the hold and work there in the two hours left before lunch. With all diligence. A complex of high-speed work with weapons. To per-form" The captain spat out without changing his posture.
  "Yes, sir!" - Jenkins "automatically" turned around "on the spot" and quickly "swept out" of the Saloon.
  Shepard didn't turn around, knowing that Jenkins had even forgotten to close the door to the salon as he ran away. He knew what would happen to the corporal during those two hours of work at the limit of his current capabilities. He will be different. And he will live.
  If everything was simple with Jenkins, then with Lieutenant Alenko... It was much more complicated. Kayden was a biotic, burdened with artificial specialized implants. It's not a very good model. "Elle is the second." It consisted of several interconnected parts. Kayden flatly refused to change these biotic implants to a more advanced model, the El Trety, and now Shepard, standing in the same position at the porthole window, was examining Lieutenant Alenko's implant on the consciousness screen. The standard, now outdated model, without any "bells and whistles". Which gave rise to terrible migraines in Kayden, as the bearer of this model.
  Next to the image of the implant, in a separate field of the consciousness screen, there were lines of recommendations for extinguishing migraines, a sign of incompatibility between the implant and the carrier. Shepard read these lines, turning the implant this way and that in his mind. Now he did not think about why this screen appeared in his mind, why he, a paratrooper, an n-seven, was suddenly provided by unknown forces with such detailed and complete information about this implant and its carrier, accessible only to the most highly specialized doctors and technicians. If necessary, then it is necessary, and this information is now available to him. To make a decision. Shepard felt that he had calmed down a little, the sharpness of his sensations had dulled a little, and there was no longer such string-like tension in his body and soul. A string? Why not? Maybe if this state suddenly returns, it can be called a String. It is typical for a person, and now, as it turns out, and not only for a person, to immediately "label". Often, in order not to get lost in the abundance of information about the world around us. But now the XO felt that he would always have plenty of this information from a recent moment. Much more than the average level of development of a reasonable organic. That's what's changed about him. And if it has changed so significantly... This means that the world around him has changed no less significantly for him. Only because the Edge had come closer not only to him, an Earthling, a human, a special forces officer. She came close to all intelligent organics. And if now he has received such significant opportunities, he is still not able to help all other intelligent organics - they themselves must strain not to die, then he may well help some intelligent organics significantly. And first of all, to the crew of the prototype frigate Normandy.
  He knew that Lieutenant Alenko felt someone else's gaze on him, but he couldn't identify who that gaze belonged to. Apart from him, formally the co-pilot and the professional first pilot sitting next to him, there are no other people in the wheelhouse of the frigate. The only non-human aboard the ship is the Spectre Turian Naylus Kraik, but he hasn't been in the cockpit in the last few hours. Right now, Shepard wasn't interested in where this birdface was. He didn't want to use either standard or new features for this.
  Officer Alenko is in the cockpit seat. According to the combat schedule, he is the second pilot of the ship. Although he doesn't have any special rights, he doesn't have any special qualifications. Shepard knew that for sure. John was already able to recall everything he had ever read from the documents describing this lieutenant. The careerist. The staff officer. The formalist. He is not capable of combat work at the limit of his capabilities. He cannot effectively lead anyone, not even himself. A biotic who does not know what combat biotics are in real full combat use. Quickly exhausted, unable to dose blows with machine precision, achieving maximum results. All this is a consequence of using an ancient, low-quality, outdated model of a biotic implant.
  If he, Captain Shepard, was given these two subordinates, then he would force this lieutenant to change. For the better. At least so that this kid officer could just survive what's coming in two days. In less than two days. It is unlikely that the pre-war period will last longer. As far as Shepard was concerned, there were only two days left. Forty-eight Earth hours.
  Shepard reads the recommendations displayed on the screen of consciousness. He reads, no longer paying any attention to the fact that he, even having the rank of "n-seven", these recommendations should not be available in principle, since they are the lot of a team of extremely narrow specialists, to whom he, a paratrooper officer, does not belong in any way. He reads, at the same time mentally meticulously, carefully examining the implant and its connections with the body of a particular person. Reads, forming a command sequence.
  Finally, the captain makes a decision. The command sequence is running. Now Alenko knows that an outsider's gaze is not an accident.
  It's too late to figure it out, looking for the source. Late. Lieutenant Alenko's hands, which had been lying quietly on the armrests of the pilot's seat until the sequence was activated, dig into their covering with all their fingers, taking on the terrible nervous tension that bound the young officer's body with something like stasis.
  Everything was happening too fast. It was too fast for even Jeff Moreau, who was sitting in the first pilot's seat and was in fact the only sane, professionally trained pilot of the frigate, to notice that something unusual was happening in his cockpit.
  Finally, the cocoon of "stasis" releases Alenko, but the man does not go limp in the chair, but assumes a normal pose that does not indicate post-stress relaxation.
  Chapter 6. A conversation with Captain Anderson about the Reapers.
  Shepard doesn't feel like grinning. The captain barely has time to think that if the bureaucrats of the Alliance of Systems MSF decided to load him, the commander of the landing crew, with the position of XO, then they themselves did not know which airlock and what they had opened.
  Pilot Jeff Moro became the third on Shepard's list for educational work. On the screen of his mind, Shepard habitually "went through" his personal file. A colorful character. He hijacked the Normandy during flight tests, doing something like this on it... That for three weeks in a row made all the officers of the three Alliance MSF bases, from the platoon commander and above, tremble with fear of the consequences. Anyone who had anything to do with Lieutenant Moro and his escapade. And in the army, all reasonable organics wearing shoulder straps are involved in such antics. Even the innocent ones. Even the innocent ones.
  Because when there is no one to punish, everyone has to be punished.
  "Are you getting used to the status of the senior assistant commander of the frigate?" Captain Anderson's calm and somewhat matter-of-fact voice rang out from behind Shepard. After finishing the work with Alenko and Jenkins. Although, almost any reasonable organic would hardly have forced himself to even try to understand exactly what kind of work the new senior assistant and at the same time commander of the amphibious crew of the prototype frigate had done with their colleagues. After finishing his work, Shepard, taking advantage of his new opportunities - he had to somehow master what he had been given, or rather, what he now had at his disposal, began to get acquainted with materials that could be conditionally called "information for reflection."
  These reflections were already difficult, even for him, a high-class special forces officer. They firmly discouraged any desire to classify themselves, human, earthling, man, to some kind of "perfection". Now Shepard, quite possibly, did not understand himself what information he had gathered and from where - not only his consciousness, but also his subconscious mind was working at full capacity. The latter is even more so. Shepard already understood something. And this realization was even more bitter. The appearance of the frigate commander in the cabin did not interrupt the process of receiving and processing information for a second. As the XO realized, he had to parallelize, and he managed to do this without much effort and without the expected problems.
  "That's right, sir." Shepard spun around on the spot and stood at attention in front of the frigate's senior officer. His boss.
  Now the captain clearly remembered that the door to the cabin had not been locked. And even if he had locked it, the commander of the Normandy has plenty of opportunities to open any room and any container on the ship entrusted to him.
  "Are you trying to make Jenkins sweat?" Anderson continued to ask, without moving from his seat and looking at the senior assistant with interest. The commander of the landing crew had no doubt that the commander of the ship was sufficiently aware of the changes that had taken place with Shepard. That's right, sir," Shepard agonized over whether he should say something now or whether this explanation could be postponed. Finally, he made up his mind.
  "I beg your permission, sir, to speak frankly."
  "You are my senior assistant. So you shouldn't ask for permission to do this. I don't like misunderstandings with the officers who make up the command of the ship's crew," Anderson replied, gesturing for his junior colleague to sit on the jump seat and taking another seat next to it. "I'm listening to you, Captain."
  "I am put in a situation where I will have to combine two positions." After a few seconds of silence, the XO said. "It doesn't scare me. I was taught that. I've learned that." Shepard noticed that the door to the salon was now securely closed and the hologram of the lock was glowing red. This meant that the frigate commander, who entered the cabin, had already assumed something like such a conversation. This turn of events was encouraging. "Of course, I was more trained to be a paratrooper. And I know that the senior assistant commander of the ship is responsible for most of the practical work with the ship and the crew. I also know, sir, that the invisibility system test is a legend. In fact, we're following Eden Prime for a completely different reason."
  "And Shepard, can you even name that reason?" Anderson asked calmly.
  "Yes, Commander," Shepard dispensed with the legal and protocol formula for addressing the officer in charge of the ship. "Having accepted the status of senior assistant, I have no right not to know this reason and cannot but understand what is behind it. But I won't name her out loud. This is neither the time nor the place." he emphasized. - "According to my preliminary calculations, there are less than two days left before the arrival in the Eden Prime orbit. Commander, why isn't the Systems Alliance Fleet monitoring Eden Prime and the surrounding space if our frigate is heading there? We're intelligence."
  "You're right. We are intelligence. And Eden Prime is an agricultural colony of humans. And, to be honest, it is one of the most valuable for humanity. Shepard, you know perfectly well that protocol prohibits the Alliance of Systems Fleet from "hanging" military tracking satellites in the orbit of a purely peaceful planet."
  "Commander, when did you receive the latest information on the situation around the planet?" Captain Shepard asked, maintaining calmness and indifference in both posture and voice.
  "Half an hour ago. When I came to you, I studied them again. There are no changes. And by the way, what changes do you expect, Captain?" He looked at the XO carefully.
  "Big changes, Commander," Shepard replied. "The agricultural planet Eden Prime is marked in all catalogs as a planet with Prothean ruins. Very different. Even those that archaeologists have not yet reached."
  "As for the ruins, I agree. I even know what you're getting at, Captain." Anderson said softly.
  "May I use the Alliance Network, Captain? I want to show you something using both military and civilian net resources."
  "Permission granted." Anderson clicked his instrumentron, ran his fingers over the virtual keyboard, giving the command to the frigate's VI.
  Shepard clicked his omny-tool, opened his keyboard, and typed in a few commands. The picture of the depths of space on the observation window faded. The inner "cabin" curtain rose to its working position, covering the glass, and a screen lit up on its surface. With several commands, Shepard called up an image received from a number of Alliance surveillance posts and from sensors of several civilian tracking systems.
  In the center of the screen, which replaced the observation window, the main screen unfolded, around which smaller screens were placed. A few commands were typed on the command console, and all the small screens were combined in the center of the main screen.
  "This cloud of cosmic dust is now being observed by manual and automatic systems from thirty points," said Shepard. "Its dimensions exceed six kilometers in diameter. The cloud is moving slowly," he typed in several commands, tracing a course line. "His final destination is Eden Prime, Commander. You can check the calculation. The course has been accurate and unchanged for the last half a day."
  "Willingly." Anderson clicked on the keyboard of his omny-tool. "You're right, Captain. What are your conclusions?"
  "Here is a table of motion characteristics of this cloud." Shepard called up the named table on the screen, linking it to the image of the cloud and its course. "It tends to appear natural, but in fact its movement obeys artificial algorithms." he brought up another table on the screen. "Here is the proof of what I said using five formulas. Different formulas, Commander."
  "There are also some space objects that move according to a textbook," said Anderson.
  "I agree. But only in one case." Shepard typed a few more commands on the keyboard of his omny-tool. The image of the cloud began to spread across the entire area of the screen. "If it remains what it wants to appear under the scan filters. A cloud of cosmic dust." The senior assistant typed in a few more commands. "I ordered the military and civilian tracking systems to change the filter grid at this facility for a few seconds. The systems are switched on from sixteen points," he spread the central screen across the sixteen lobe screens, on which the same cloud appeared from different angles. And under it...
  "Reflection, play of light, unevenness" Anderson said, clicking off commands on his omny-tool. "So what? People can see anything there! Including the "shrimp"."
  "I agree." Shepard tapped out a few more commands. "I have connected to the Extranet databases on archeology." Next to the first, a second screen flashed with the same "daisy" of small screens. "Images of such "shrimps" are found on a wide variety of material surfaces, which date back thousands and sometimes millions of years." With several commands, he brought together the "petals" of the archaeological "daisy". Look, if you superimpose an archaeological image on "this", it will be "one-on-one". So this, Commander, is not a trick of the light." Shepard remained calm and spoke steadily. This is an artificial object. More precisely, a ship.
  "A ship traveling under the cover of a cloud of cosmic dust to Eden Prime?" Anderson asked, clicking off more commands on his omny-tool. "And how did the tracking services miss this? Wait, Shepard. My calculation shows..."
  "That this ship is likely to be over the planet in less than a day." the commander of the landing crew finished. "And we, the Normandy, will arrive there when this ship is already on the planet. As far as I understand, there is no way for us to accelerate for a number of reasons in order to arrive at Eden at the same time as the "guest". For a number of reasons."
  "What. Is. he. There. Have you forgotten?" according to the words, Anderson uttered in a completely uncharacteristic manner of speech.
  "Sixteen images from the Archaeological Base depict this ship during the time periods preceding the death of most intelligent and unintelligent life forms on planets where such images have been preserved." Shepard said steadily.
  "This can only mean one thing - with the arrival of such a ship on the planet, the..." Anderson paused heavily for him. A war in which native forms of intelligent and unintelligent life...
  "They were almost completely destroyed. Or enslaved. Without any prospect of liberation or salvation," Shepard finished.
  "An invasion?" Anderson gave Shepard a direct and precise look. "How did you manage to unearth this?"
  "He was standing. Watched. Thought. I compared the facts. I logged into the Extranet and looked at profile sites" Shepard replied, although he used an Extranet... very specific. Which one - he himself could not have clearly explained to the interlocutor. But certainly not galactic, which is familiar to most intelligent organics.
  Now the XO understood that the frigate commander would not "find fault" with the ways, methods and means of obtaining such a conclusion.
  "It turns out that we're going..." said Anderson thoughtfully.
  "Right into the dragon's mouth," Shepard said. "As far as I know, it's the off-season between harvest periods on most of Eden Prime's surface. And, anticipating your next question, Commander, I will answer: according to all the data that I have been able to find in open sources, there are no fleets on the entire course of this ship capable of stopping or even delaying it. I am not saying now that there are no separate ships capable of it, this "guest"." He pointed with a slight nod of his head at the screen, where a giant "shrimp" was glowing, "destroy. Also." With a few clicks on the keyboard of his omny-tool, Shepard made the lines of responsibility appear on the screen "The guest ship follows exclusively the Earth's areas of responsibility. And for us humans, thanks to the Farixen," The XO said this with ill-concealed malicious irony, "now there are no forces to stop his progress. According to control and surveillance posts, according to hardware tracking systems" He brought up several tables and graphs on the screens. "The armor of this ship is sixteen times more advanced than the armor of the "Path of Destiny" known to us. And this is the best ship in the explored part of the Milky Way, which can still somehow compete with this monster.
  "But the Asari won't give it to us. Neither for rent, nor for leasing," Captain Anderson remarked with obvious sadness in his voice. "They won't believe it." The commander was silent for a few seconds, staring at the pictures, diagrams, tables and graphs glowing on the screens. "Quickly, they won't believe you. That's for sure. But slowly... They just won't want to believe it. Among other things, they won't have enough time to realize... full, necessary-full awareness of this fact."
  "They will refer to the fact that this problem "climbs" to our planet and our area of responsibility. That's why it's our headache. Therefore, we, earthlings, should deal with all the consequences," concluded Shepard.
  "The damned Russian question: "What should I do?"" Anderson said.
  "Commander, I am more interested in the answer to another, no less Russian question, "Who is to blame"?" Shepard retorted. "More precisely, who is this guy who is trying to get to us on such a superdreadnought? This is clearly not a taxi like the same "Way of Destination"."
  "Jeff," Anderson looked up at the ceiling of the cabin. Shepard remembered that he hated calling his pilot by his nickname, "The Joker."
  "Yes, Captain," Moro replied immediately. It seems that the ship's pilot has already developed a conditioned (turning into an unconditional) reflex to respond to the frigate commander's appeal. And, most likely, the pilot has already accustomed himself to connecting to the communication and information systems of the compartment where the "first after god" was located at a particular moment in time.
  "The latest update on the presence of Alliance ships in the area of the destination planet," Anderson said.
  "Less than a day and a half before the frigate arrives, sir. There are no Alliance ships in the area," the pilot replied and turned off the channel.
  "You said it right, Captain," Anderson said after a few seconds of silence. "The Farixens. Using the weakest link..."
  "With maximum effect," Shepard summed up. ""There is a king in the world. This king is merciless...""
  ""Hunger is his name,"" said the commander of the ship. "Eden Prime supplies even the army and navy of Earth with agricultural products. If this monster has a ray gun..."
  "All the areas of the planet will be burned down as soon as possible," Shepard replied. "But the main thing is that a lot of peaceful civilians, agricultural workers, and farmers will die. Thousands of people. Back on Eden Prime, apart from shotguns, civilians - and not only people, by the way, never needed any weapons. The wildlife of the planet is not so dangerous that it is absolutely necessary to carry an automatic rifle," said Shepard.
  "And if no one but us, as an Alliance warship, meets this monster first..." said David Anderson, thinking. "Then we will have to believe that the invasion carried out by this ship is not brief, not exceeding the few hours allocated by its commander or pilot for the attack."
  "Although... looking at this carcass... You can't say that. Our frigate doesn't have anything to tickle." Said the commander of the ship, in whose voice there was now a sharp and bitter regret. And impotence.
  "Tickle?" - Shepard, having said this in a clearly questioning tone, abruptly straightened up even more. "Yes, sir. In order to tickle, there is."
  "Come on, Shepard." - Anderson "clicked" the images of "shrimp" on his wrist instrument, took a closer look. "According to my information, we are not compatible with this "shrimp" in any military confrontation."
  "And intelligence, Commander, does not need a military confrontation. It's bad for her." the commander of the landing crew replied. "We won't just shoot at him too much and for too long, but use other weapons. Our. Intelligence. And - sabotage." - Shepard, as Anderson understood from the concentrated look of the assistant, had already "scrolled through" kilometers of texts, hundreds of graphs and diagrams in his memory. "Really, Commander. And to do this, I ask you to allow me by any means necessary." here, Shepard made a well-marked and understandable stress for Anderson, "in the remaining time, bring both the ship and the crew into proper condition. If I have to combine two positions, then allow me, Commander, sir, to combine them not only in theory, but also in practice. By your order, I ask you to temporarily transfer all twelve policemen to my landing crew. If they were here, aboard a military reconnaissance frigate, then let them be useful. Instead of propping up the walls. Captain, sir, you've realized that we're going to have to fight one way or another. And there are no civilian organics on our ship."
  "We have the Citadel Council Spectr on board. Nilus Kraik" Anderson said emphatically, without emotion. "He may not be a civilian, although who they are, these Spectr will sort out who they really are by status."
  "It doesn't change things. He's on board our warship, not a "pleasure" boat. His rights don't apply here, but turn against him," Shepard said with conviction. "If the aliens do not let us humans into the Citadel Council, and restrict our activities in Outer Space, they have no right to command us, earthlings, because they command us in such a situation...."
  "It means to show violence towards us, humans, earthlings, humanity..." Anderson continued quietly but firmly, gloomily.
  "And we, earthlings, humans, and humanity, do not like violence..." Shepard supported the commander.
  "And we won't tolerate it," the ship's master finished, typing something on his wrist omny-tool. "You've convinced me, Captain. I saw the speed with which the corporal ran out of here. And he noted how he felt about it. You and Alenko have managed..."
  "Kayden Alenko." - Shepard stammered, corrected himself, forcing himself to speak within the framework of the statutory army protocol "Lieutenant Alenko is obligated," the XO emphasized the word in the tone of his voice., "be in good enough shape to command effectively and efficiently. Perform officer functions. Instead of lying on a bed in the Medical Bay with an almost constant severe migraine. Regarding everything else, I wouldn't want to specify in any way how I did it, but he won't have migraines anymore. Never," the XO emphasized. "I didn't interfere with the rest of his being. Shepard was silent for a few seconds. - "Adapts. We Normandians will need the full commitment of every person aboard the frigate right now. I guess we have even less than a day left."
  "Are you cutting down on the build-up time as much as possible?" Anderson asked. - "The question is rhetorical, don't answer it. Well," The captain bent over his omny-tool, typed in a few code phrases. "With my commanding authority, I have ordered that all your orders and orders be carried out with maximum speed, accuracy and completeness. And I'm sure you'll be able to get all the crew members to do it that way in practice. Well, then," Anderson stood up. - "If anyone can get us out of this unenviable situation... Then it's probably you, Captain Shepard. And - to the whining and screaming... if there are any... don't pay attention. There are no civilian intelligences on the frigate Normandy. Everyone on board knew what they had signed up for. What was it like in the old oath? "To endure the hardships of military service with fortitude." It is a pity that there are no such words in our current oath now."
  "But they are certainly implied, sir," Shepard said, standing up and assuming his former tense "string" pose. - "Thank you for understanding."
  "If we, the living intelligent organics, don't fully understand each other now..." said Anderson, looking at the "shrimp" that lit up on the screen again. Then ships like this... will bury us without any need for any conceivable understanding," the commander of the Normandy nodded to the commander of the landing ship crew.
  "Get started. I'm sure you know what to do," he stormed out of the cabin, heading for the bridge near the Star Map."
  Chapter 7. new police appointments. A conversation with Presley about the approach to Eden Prime.
  Shepard, keeping the tuning of the "string", went down to the engineering bay. Engineer Adams met him at his main console. He was already aware that Captain Shepard had received special powers from the commander of the ship, so he was not surprised when Shepard asked him to show him the updated characteristics of the main systems of the Normandy.
  A half-hour discussion took place between them, at the end of which Engineer Adams made many changes to the system settings. Several of the ship's most important parameters have been optimized, while others have been significantly improved.
  After finishing a brief business chat with other engineers and technicians of the ship, Shepard climbed the ramp to the doors leading to the main parts of the frigate and headed up the stairs to the deck of the combat information center.
  The policeman standing at the entrance to the deck apparently believed that Corporal Jenkins had exaggerated the power of XO Shepard's influence in his short story and therefore did not bother to come to attention in front of the ship's senior officer who suddenly appeared.
  Sheppard pretended not to notice the violation of the statutory requirements, but, taking exactly one step back, he abruptly turned to the offending sergeant.
  "Item one hundred forty-six of the Regulations of the Garrison and Guard Service of the Alliance of Systems, Sergeant. Should I remind you?" There was nothing but indifference in the captain's voice, which was clearly followed by cold rage. Not at all, sir! In a second, the sergeant dropped the look of a senior employee resting at his post and straightened up.
  "I'm sorry, sir! Ready to be punished, sir!" He clearly sensed the fury of the first mate.
  "Weren't you a good entrepreneur before you joined the army?" the captain continued to ask, slightly moderating the dissatisfaction bubbling up in him.
  "He ran his own general store in his hometown, sir", The policeman was genuinely surprised that the senior officer of the ship, a paratrooper, was aware of such details of his personal biography. "I had more than a dozen different suppliers," he clarified.
  "As the executive officer, acting on Captain Anderson's orders, I am relieving you of your duties as garrison and guard officer and transferring you to the position of Quartermaster of the ship. Now your workplace will be in the hold. There is a warehouse and everything you need to successfully work with suppliers and with goods. The problem with your separate housing will also be solved."
  Shepard was about to turn around and head for the next policeman, but he was stopped by an indecisive question from the sales sergeant.:
  "Sir, eh..."
  "Sergeant," the XO said in a calm voice. "I don't need you in the brig, which isn't on the ship. And not with a broom in hand," Shepard clarified. "You have been given a specific task: to take up a position and properly perform the duties of the ship's quartermaster. You have an hour to receive the property and determine what needs to be repaired, replaced or purchased in the near future. Collect all relevant data from the ship's crew members. Please provide me with a copy of the list. I probably won't be sitting in my cabin-you'll find me on the ship yourself. Either in person or by communication. Do it.
  "Yes, sir," the sergeant rushed to the stairs like a bullet, and soon his footsteps were already rumbling on the flagstones of the other deck.
  ***
  "Master Sergeant Whitman, sir",- a burly policeman approached Shepard, who was turning from the door. "I am the commander of the police force unit on the frigate. I wish you good health," he gave the customary greeting.
  "Hello, Master Sergeant." Shepard mirrored the greeting. "I assume you are unhappy that I have arbitrarily removed your subordinate from his post?
  "I would be displeased, sir," the interlocutor did not deny. "You're right, the Alliance supplier has been imagining too much about himself lately. You see, he buys the goods with his own money. I wonder where he got it from, a rear Alliance rat dressed in a paramilitary Alliance specialist uniform." Shepard clearly felt the unspoken clarification "due to a misunderstanding of clothes", "your money in such quantities. The master sergeant's hands clenched into fists that were not much inferior to Captain Shepard's fists. "They took him on a "test" flight, for two weeks, but I feel like this is not a test flight... it stinks. Excuse me, sir," the master sergeant straightened up. He's just robbing my guys. And he doesn't consider yours to be people at all....
  "He says they're holed up on a frigate, the flyers. Do we fly high and imagine a lot about ourselves?" - Shepard remarked emotionlessly.
  "You're a real XO, sir. To know such..."
  "This, Master Sergeant, is not a small matter. For me, anyway," There was a tinge of metal in Shepard's voice.
  "I'm glad to hear it, sir. Let me consult with you." The Master Sergeant took out his command reader. I saw you put my sergeant in charge of trading and supply on the frigate. Support. I believe him, I have repeatedly visited his town, where he was born and grew up. They trust him there, he has never cheated on anyone, always gives discounts and sells exceptionally high-quality goods, surviving on only two percent of the profit. Captain, I understand that maybe I'm meddling in something else. But I don't want you, XO, to think of my people as ballast. Whitman clicked the lid of the device, opened the screen. Here, take a look. A list of my suggestions. My guys are professionals.
  "I see it, Master Sergeant. And I really appreciate it. It's good that you came to me right now. Shepard said after reviewing the master sergeant's suggestions."
  "You know, Captain, to be honest, I feel uneasy. I've been in the army for twenty-five years. I've seen everything. And here... it's like a grave.", The Master Sergeant swallowed, nipping the next words in the bud. And very close... this grave. I don't want this rookie Jenkins to... become an invalid or... something even worse... to happen to him.... He's from Eden...."
  "I understand," Shepard said after a moment. "I see your guys don't just want to prop up the walls. Good. Master Sergeant, send copies of diplomas and certificates with your ID to the appropriate omny-tools of all members of the crew of our ship. I think that at such a moment, as a deep intelligence ship, we should not contact even through computers and request clarification on the central database of the Alliance's MSF. It's troublesome," the XO noted. "And those five, the youngest, who still have no professions or specialties other than army ones, send them to the hangar where Corporal Jenkins is currently working. The Ministry of Education and Science ordered Lieutenant Alenko to conduct a cycle of airborne assault training with them. - Shepard did not delay, opened his omny-tool, typed in a message, and closed the lid of the device. As we can. But the landing party must be made combat-ready, Master Sergeant.
  "I agree, sir," the master Sergeant nodded. "May I say, sir?"
  "Permission granted." Shepard nodded back at the other man.
  "Captain, my men and I... would like to express our... common opinion to you.... You just gave us the opportunity to become something more than army cops. And we won't forget it. We will do everything to ensure that our enemies are dead as soon as possible," the master sergeant raised his hand in a military salute, clearly turned around "on the spot" and walked away, heading for the hold.
  ***
  "Captain, sir!" A young man in a paramilitary uniform was hurrying towards him, almost dragging a burly military police sergeant who was holding him down with one hand. "Captain, they"-the visitor glanced warily at the escort-"confiscated all my goods and said they would now sell them at cost price. Captain, this is... This is a robbery! And they... They're military police... supposed to protect the law!" he stopped two meters away from Shepard, apparently seriously afraid to approach him.
  Shepard gave him a hard look, once again beastly:
  "Emphasis. Lying down. Ac-cept! One hundred and twenty push-ups. To per-form." Shepard's lips spat out, and his face turned back into the mask of an Indian god.
  Upon hearing the commands, the young man silently collapsed to the floor and began to do push-ups. On the eightieth ascent, he could no longer straighten his stiff arms and sprawled helplessly on the plates of the deck's metal floor, unable to move.
  "You. Quartermaster of the Rear Service of the Alliance of Earth Systems," The XO muttered. - "They used labor. Civilians. Movers. For loading and unloading operations. With your product. By doing this. Regularly. Constantly. Purposefully. Forgetting The Oath Of The Civil Service Of The Alliance MSF. You. Robbed. Soldier. The Alliance. Which. And so. They get it. Far from the most. Big. Salary. And those. Nevertheless. They continue to serve. And - do it honestly. Your duty. You. They arranged it on board. A combat frigate of the Alliance of Systems. Debt lawlessness. For two. The past. Weeks. So that's it," Shepard's fists slowly clenched. The police sergeant, standing behind the prone supply man, assessed their size and weight with obvious respect. "All the debts. None of my people. Those who are currently on board. The frigate. To return. To You. Will not be. No. Debts. In front of you. They don't. Stand up! Attention!"
  The supply man jumped up as if thrown by a catapult and, stretching out as far as possible, froze.
  "By the authority of the senior assistant commander of the frigate. Given to me based on Captain Anderson's orders," Shepard growled. "I'm suspending you. From performing functions and duties. The frigate's supplier. Your product and all assets. They will be assigned to a new supplier. All your debts. They will be saved. For you. From now on, you. Transfer to the category. The frigate's maintenance staff. For a position. Different. A worker. If I. Just once. I'll hear it. Or I'll feel it. What are you. You're not doing well. Their responsibilities. You will be thrown out. Into the airlock. Live. Will be. In the inventory room. Your capsule. Goes into use. The new supplier of the frigate. All aro-und. Run to the inventory room. March!" Shepard spat out the last command, not even paying attention to the commendable speed with which the former supplier disappeared down the stairs. Thank you for your help, Sergeant," the captain, instantly calming down, exchanged military greetings with the supply escort. "Return to your duties. The Master Sergeant will tell you the rest."
  "Yes, sir. Thank you, sir." The sergeant turned sharply and left.
  So. One policeman was transferred to the position of a supply officer. The Master Sergeant is right - such a specialist will be useful and valuable to us. I received five policemen, young men, as reinforcements for the frigate's landing party. It's not enough, but considering the starting conditions, it's already good. We are an intelligence, not an assault frigate. This means that six of the group of forehead policemen can be safely excluded. Shepard thought as he walked along the deck of the Combat Information Center and occasionally glanced at the officers and sergeants of the crew, who were getting used to the fact that sergeants of the Alliance military police stood next to them at the consoles. The remaining six, including the master sergeant, can be used in the CIC and in the posts of specialists of the frigate. Which is also good."
  Now there is not a single vacant workplace around the holographic image of the frigate, which occupies the central part of the "circle of consoles", more often referred to as the "necklace".
  Captain Anderson, standing on the bridge at the Star Chart, was pleased: the whole CIC was in front of him, all the people were at work, none of the frigates tried to shirk or not work at full strength.
  Stopping next to Presley, Shepard did not distract the navigator officer from his work. After waiting for him to finish entering data into the frigate's navigation subsystems, Shepard stood softly and silently to the left of the navigator.
  "Charles, let's go quietly and without ranks," he said softly. "What is your opinion about the procedure for approaching Eden Prime?"
  "Very well, Captain." Pressley said softly, too. "To summarize everything that I could hear and understand, there is a ship waiting for us there that is much superior to the Normandy, at least in terms of firepower. This means that we can't just show up and even show up in the system without preparation. In front of the repeater on the other side of the entrance is the planet Xanadu, but, as calculations and simulations show, at the expected moment of the frigate's exit from the repeater, it appears on the same line between the repeater and the planet Eden Prime. In this case, our possible departure to the planet Nirvana under disguise requires additional justification for its necessity," the navigator noted. "The planet Zion is a really large planet, in the shadow of which we could reliably and permanently hide the ship - at the moment the frigate leaves the repeater it will be far away, in another segment of the planetary system. If we're going to take the risk, and I think we're going to have to take the risk anyway, then we'll have to go from Xanadu in disguise to Arcadia. Hiding in its shadow, using the glare due to the luminaries of the star system and the corresponding radiation, you can disguise yourself. The size of Arcadia will allow you to disable your disguise and drift while in the shadows, occasionally turning it on only if necessary. I think, Captain, as a navigation officer, there's hardly anything I can add here right now. I will be able to give all other recommendations only when we approach the repeater leading to the Utopia system and conduct an initial remote reconnaissance without entering the repeater.
  "The atmospheric layer of Arcadia contains nitrogen and helium, according to the Alliance Navigation Data Set. The surface temperature is extremely high. How long do you think the frigate will be able to survive in the shadow of the planet?" Shepard asked, turning on additional screens on the navigator's console and displaying the necessary data on them.
  Presley peered at the lines of text and tables with diagrams, calculated something on his omny-tool:
  "A few days, Captain. Only a few days. I assume that we will have to leave the system for the repeater - in case of difficulties with Eden Prime - under disguise, the resource of which we will have to strictly dose. The Vault data indicates that we will not be able to discharge on Arcadia."
  "And Nirvana?" - Shepard changed the information on the additional screens. Presley pointed with satisfaction at one of the frames on the right screen:
  "The Code says, Captain, that it has no scientific or commercial value. The fuel imported for the automatic station is almost exhausted, the atmosphere is residual, just xenon and krypton. We can expect for a short time that the presence of iron oxides in the surface of the planet will mask the frigate and reduce the level of our own disguise involved, but I wouldn't rely on that much," he pointed to the corresponding table on the left secondary screen and fell silent.
  "And Xanadu? How can she perform the function of disguise? Shepard changed the information on the additional screens.
  Pressley calculated something on his instrumentation:
  "The atmosphere of methane and argon can help us hide the ship in medium camouflage modes immediately after leaving the repeater area. It is only necessary to accurately calculate the moment of transition in order to immediately slip into the shadow of the planet under disguise. The surface is ice, potassium and calcium. It's a little complicated, but since the planet is little visited due to its low value... I think even with the other ships moving through the repeater, we're unlikely to be found. Only here the dosage of the disguise will have to be done jewelry-wise. I don't think we'll be able to stay at Xanadu for long-a few hours at the most."
  "You're right, Charles," Shepard replied. "Calculate the approach times to the repeater, the drift time at the repeater, and the passage through the repeater so that we can glide to Xanadu. And calculate the movement and maneuvers to all the planets considered. So that we can have as little light as possible on the views from Eden Prime. Make maximum allowances for the masking operation so that we don't have to fly openly to the repeater from anywhere in the system. The rest is later."
  "Yes, Captain." Pressley nodded and went back to work. Yes, the new XO didn't say much, he didn't go into details, he made it clear the main thing: most likely, he would have to act according to circumstances.
  Chapter 8. A conversation with Anderson about the Reaper. Fighting with Jeff.
  Shepard looked at his watch-time was running out. Turning to Anderson, he noted that the frigate commander had heard and seen their conversation and agreed with Shepard's decision on the problem of navigation in the Utopia system.
  The XO took a few steps, climbed onto the pedestal, and approached the commander of the ship, who was leaning with his elbows on the handrail surrounding the Star Chart.
  "Sir. Pressley and I discussed only the first part of our work in the Utopia system. Only as far as navigation is concerned," the commander of the landing crew said quietly. "Before entering the repeater, we will need a short drift - from half an hour to an hour and a half, during which we will have to conduct a remote reconnaissance of Eden Prime and the situation in Utopia as a whole. In order to act only for sure in the future." Shepard moved the image of the Star Chart up, and called up the image of the "shrimp" in the vacant place. "According to the updated data, the size of this ship - along the vertical axis - is a maximum of two kilometers. This is also indicated by the primitive scale of the images from the Archaeological Data Set." Shepard called them up on the screens, combining them with the rulers. "I assume that he will not stay in the orbit of Eden Prime and will definitely land on the planet." Shepard, restraining himself from verbal explanations, quickly formed screens with text information in free space, visible only to the commander and the XO. "We will have to use the planet's infrastructure and climate." He paused briefly so as not to elaborate further on the possibility of "tickling" this superdreadnought.
  Deep down, Shepard, of course, hoped very much that he would be able not only to "tickle", but, quite possibly, to immobilize this ship. Make him unarmed and safe.
  "Are you willing to take the risk, Captain?" Anderson looked at the first officer without surprise.
  Shepard noted with satisfaction that Anderson must have recognized this ship with something very painful for his memory, otherwise the ship's commander would not have hidden it when talking in the cabin, when both images from the Archaology and images of the ship directly received from the observation stations with the disguise removed lit up on the screens.
  The commander of the landing crew did not insist either in the cabin or now that Anderson immediately shared with him the reason for his silence. But there was a reason. And besides Anderson's direct involvement in the events related to this ship, Shepard did not see any other reasons.
  "Yes. Today we still have time for all possible preparations. There are less than twelve hours left until midnight. Tomorrow we will have to act according to plan, and be ready for both improvisation and active counteraction, Commander," the XO replied.
  "Good." Anderson called the officer of the watch. "Come to my cabin, Captain."
  Shepard nodded and walked to the left and behind the striding commander of the ship.
  When he entered the cabin, he caught a nod of permission and blocked the doors. Anderson turned on the wall screens from his laptop. Shepard brought up the necessary data on them.
  "I couldn't ask you many questions in CIC, Captain," Anderson said. "But I clearly understood that you already have a plan ready, which includes not only disguising yourself and going from planet to planet, that is, what you discussed with Pressley. I guess you wanted to conduct several full-scale alarms and exercises, carrying them out both today and tomorrow."
  "You're right, Commander," Shepard said. "I really have a plan that provides for a real fight against this ship. May I speak plainly, sir?"
  "One way and no other," Anderson said. "If we're going to risk the ship, the crew, or use military weapons, then we need to know exactly what to do, how, and when," Anderson nodded.
  "According to the same surveillance, communications, and control posts that received the scan data you know of the ship heading for Eden Prime, I was able to understand that the ship has a powerful source of energy. I'm sure it's very powerful when compared to the best currently known by any organic intelligent race. It is he who allows this superdreadnought not only to be absolutely invulnerable even to the coordinated attack of several of our dreadnoughts in space. But as you've already seen, I'm not of the opinion that this ship will operate from the orbit of Eden Prime. And, due to certain prerequisites, I am sure that this ship is more vulnerable on the surface of the planet. And he will land, I have no doubt about that."
  "And what are your prerequisites?" Anderson asked.
  "Driving such a ship to an agricultural planet just to shoot at its surface from orbit is too unlikely, although I won't deny the possible course of events. I don't understand why the Superdreadnought follows our area of responsibility exclusively. I don't understand why he's targeting Eden Prime with such precision. Usually ships of this class are empty and, moreover, they do not sail alone. They are accompanied by a powerful escort, in a "warrant". This means that this giant has everything he needs not around himself, but inside himself. And in this regard, I would give priority to the amphibious forces. The command of such a ship is probably able to understand that burning areas, destroying agricultural settlements and entire cities with the forces of even one huge and powerful ship is too exotic and adventurous, frankly speaking, an occupation. Which means that the arrival of this monster on the planet Eden Prime has some other goals, much more important than setting massive fires." Shepard switched the screens, displaying information about the Prothean beacons." I've already said, Captain, that I know the real reason our ship is being used in the Eden Prime area. The Protean lighthouse."
  "You're right, Shepard," Anderson nodded. "The leadership of the Alliance of Systems decided that the Prothean lighthouse found by earthlings on Eden Prime would be transferred to the Citadel for joint research of this outstanding artifact, left over from the extinct race fifty thousand years ago."
  "Should I understand this gesture of goodwill by the Alliance as an attempt to boost humanity's political standing among the Citadel races?" Shepard asked.
  "And this is also the case. Unfortunately," Anderson said. "As an officer of the Alliance's MSF, I don't like hiding this from the crew of a frigate, but if they know about it, it won't add to their peace of mind. Since our ship has a state-of-the-art system installed on board that ensures invisibility from detection, including optical tracking sensors, the command of the Alliance's MSF instructed us to excavate the lighthouse and deliver it to the Citadel at high speed. In any case, no matter who I received instructions or orders from, they all referred specifically to our invisibility system. I'm sure they were ordered to do so by their superiors. Who, quite possibly, have never served in the army. Not a day. And that's why they don't understand and don't know a lot." Anderson was silent for a few seconds. "The archaeological team is already waiting for us. According to the latest telemetry, they have already completely dug out the lighthouse. In an undamaged state, thankfully. If we humans are at all capable of professionally understanding what condition can be defined as intact for him."
  "When we dug up the Prothean outpost on Mars, Captain," Shepard said "We also found something like a lighthouse there. Anyway, thanks to the information we received from the Prothean outpost, we were able to locate and activate the Charon repeater and reach Arcturus. Does this mean that we Earthlings expect to have a share in the information obtained from the intact lighthouse, working in partnership with the main races of the Citadel Council?"
  "As an ordinary person, Shepard, I wouldn't count on any share," Anderson replied. "But as an Alliance officer and frigate commander, I am obligated to be guided not by personal preferences, but by a more important level of interests. In any case, I don't know for sure yet whether such beacons have been found anywhere else in the galaxy. There are, of course, some reports of varying degrees of validity, but... our lighthouse on Mars is more than a lighthouse. This is not an ordinary transmitter with a receiver, but a repository of information. We humans have spent several calendar years reading several pages of a certain text, finding, guided by the information received, the Charon repeater, activating it and reaching out to Arcturus. And here, quite recently, as a result of excavations on Eden Prime, we find an intact lighthouse. Exactly as it most likely should be. Inactive, too. There are different scenarios for the development of further events in the circles of the Alliance's leadership," the ship's commander clarified. "I understand that this lighthouse would be very useful for us, earthlings and humans. Unfortunately, we are no longer alone in the universe and we must learn interstellar diplomacy."
  "As far as I understand, Commander," Shepard said, "For the Citadel Council, finding a lighthouse in Earth's area of responsibility is undesirable, unless, of course, the lighthouse is transferred to the Citadel and, accordingly, handed over to the Council."
  "Yes, Shepard," Anderson nodded. "We are too young a race for the Citadel," he looked at the omny-tool screens. "The Asari - three thousand years of space flight, the Turians - a thousand years of flight, the Salarians - two thousand years of manned long-range flights through explored and unexplored parts of the galaxy. Naturally, they will not want to give us, the people, the opportunity to make full use of the information that is undoubtedly contained in this lighthouse, either collectively or individually. No matter how good-neighborly relations between us, the people and races of the Council were now and in the recent past."
  "Then, Commander, I'll ask you directly." Shepard straightened up, but did not accept either the "attention" stance or the position convenient for the fastest start of the "String" state. "Does the Council know about this ship?" He glanced at the screen, where an almost two-kilometer-long shrimp was crawling towards Eden Prime, covered by a six-kilometer "cocoon" of cosmic dust.
  "They're keeping quiet about it, Captain Shepard," Anderson replied. "I believe that they are either hiding something securely, or they simply do not know how to explain it, or they are simply afraid, since even the "Path of Destiny" against such a superdreadnought is a boat."
  "That's not what I'm talking about, Captain." Shepard did not direct his gaze at the commander of the ship. "I'm talking about the role you personally played in the fact that this ship is now roaming our areas of responsibility. And he is heading for the pearl of the agricultural colonial infrastructure of the Earth."
  "You found out that, too," Anderson remarked emotionlessly. "Well. Since this is now part of our job, I'll tell you." He sat back in his chair. "To tell you the truth, it was quite unpleasant for me to see how easily you open something that I would prefer to keep as closed as possible, at least until my own biological death", The commander was silent for several seconds. "I know this ship, Shepard. His name is "Saveren", less often he is called "Nazara". It first became known as an artifact discovered by a scientist, Dr. Shu Chian. This doctor, for some reason, became obsessed when he was working with this ship artifact. The work was carried out at the secret base of the Alliance, located on the planet Sidon. It is a large planet with a thin layer of atmosphere. There, under the "dome" protection, an Alliance base was built, where research was conducted. Officially, in the field of artificial intelligence."
  "Shu Chian? The Galaxy's leading AI expert?" Sheppard was interested. "Or at least considered a leading one?" The special Forces captain clarified.
  "Yes, Shepard," Anderson confirmed. "This project on Sidon was very dangerous for the Alliance, because artificial intelligence, as too many people were convinced at the time, was capable of subjugating all of humanity, followed by all other intelligent organic races, if one did not learn how to control, limit, and effectively manage its development." Anderson hesitated. - "I wouldn't say that, but I had to intervene in this project, in its work, when Shu Chi'an came under the influence of this ship."
  "A mental influence? Soft reprogramming? Indoctrination?" Shepard asked.
  "If you already know what's behind these terms..." said Anderson. "Then I hardly have anything to add. Yes, Dr. Shu Chian has fallen under the influence of this monster. It turned out that the ship possesses effective technology for influencing the mind, and, consequently- the behavior of an intelligent being. Simply speaking... he is able to subdue and control them. This ship was discovered not far from the space occupied by the Geth at that time. Kali Sanders worked next to Shu Chian, officially she was a representative of the technical staff, but unofficially... Who knows, who knows." Anderson paused with the continuation of the story for a few seconds. Shepard made a mark in his memory. "After noticing the inadequacy of Shu Chian's behavior, she began to try to report this "non-standard behavior" to the Alliance of Systems. Taking with her the data on top secret research being conducted at that time, Kali fled to Elysium, the largest human colony in the Skillian Reach. All the inhabitants there were obsessed with safety at that time, and Kali decided that she would be protected there too. And by the time Sanders was already on Elysium, the base on Sidon was attacked by the "Blue Stars". Shepard, you understand that Sanders, who fled the base shortly before the attack began, became one of the main suspects in its organization. Even the fact that the "Blue Stars" themselves wanted to capture Kali did not give the official, one might say, state law enforcement forces any reason to clear her of suspicion." Anderson was now saying "jerky," making frequent pauses in his presentation and sipping water from a large glass. "There was another character, Dr. Qian. He captured Kali, hoping that she would help him in his research. At that time, I was promoted to the level of a candidate for Spectr, and Saren Arterius was appointed my supervisor. It was I who, under a false name, of course, took Kali out of Elysium. And it was Saren and I who had to storm the plant for the production of element zero, in fact, a mining and processing plant, and I'm sure you, Shepard, know very well how huge and difficult they are to storm with small forces." Anderson was silent for a few seconds, gathering his strength and his thoughts. That's when Saren proved himself.... In all its glory. I refused to blow up the factory, because at that moment there were still workers in it, in its workshops and on the territory. And Saren... He not only blew up the factory, but also framed me, reporting and, I think, convincing the Citadel Council in his own way that it was my fault. Kali... she was there. That Qian kept her there." Anderson took a sip from his glass. A hostage, a prisoner. I don't know exactly who he thought she was then. But he held it tight. Kali and I only met a few times after I was stripped of my Spectrum candidate status. And every time I felt that she was moving away from me. She transferred to the Academy named after her father, Admiral Grissom. She worked there as a consultant." Anderson took another sip of water from his glass. - "It's complicated. I thought I'd never meet that monster, Shepard." Anderson looked up at the screen, where the silhouette of the monster ship was glowing. "And I... I hate to say this, but Kali and Saren... They're the same age. I don't know why, but it's unpleasant."
  There was silence in the cabin. Shepard considered what Anderson had said. The commander of the ship continued to drink water from a large glass in small sips.
  "John, go ahead. Take care of the crew and the ship. I need to be alone. Decide what to do next," Anderson said when more than half an hour had passed. "Anyway, we're going to have to fight. And if we can, we can win."
  Shepard stood up without a word, nodded to the commander of the ship and left, closing the door of the commander's cabin tightly behind him. Lieutenant Alenko was already hurrying towards him.
  "Captain, sir. May I report?" The officer stopped two steps away from Shepard and stood at attention.
  "Report, Lieutenant." Shepard stopped and turned to Kayden.
  "Corporal Jenkins has completed his training," Alenko said clearly. "Together with him, five military policemen partially completed their training. What are your orders, sir?"
  "Continue training." - Shepard internally found the tuning of the "String". "Order all the trainees to put on a full set of combat suits and armor, as well as take real, but unloaded weapons. Continue training only in spacesuits, armor and with weapons," the captain asked, seeing the surprise on the lieutenant's face. "After the training is over, let everyone rest and have lunch. I order you to draw up a daily combat duty schedule. For our rapid response team. There are three to five people from the landing crew. All members of the group should be on duty in armor, spacesuits, wearing helmets and carrying combat weapons. Is something unclear, Lieutenant?"
  "I'm sorry, sir. Maybe it's not that important right now, but I don't feel any migraines at all. Earlier, in the afternoon, she literally devoured me," Alenko replied.
  "I'm glad for you, Lieutenant," a faint smile touched Shepard's lips. "I believe that by getting rid of migraines, you will now be able to spend almost a full day working with the crew. And especially with the landing party. Any other questions?"
  "Not at all, sir. May I go?" - Alenko stretched out even more, saluted.
  Go ahead, Lieutenant. Shepard gave a military mirror salute in response to the lieutenant's greeting and walked slowly towards the pilot's cabin.
  Unlike many crew members, Jeff Moro, nicknamed the Joker, was more imbued with the danger posed by the commander of the landing crew, so as soon as John Shepard touched the hologram in the lock of the entrance hatch leading to the cockpit, Moro was already standing next to the chair facing the entrance and tried not to show much how he felt. It's inconvenient.
  "I wish you good health, sir!" Moreau greeted Shepard as he entered, giving the required greeting salute.
  "Hello, Lieutenant." Shepard mirrored the greeting clearly. "What's the situation like?"
  "On the ship or on the course?" - Moro couldn't resist teasing and realized too late, to his regret, that he shouldn't have done it.
  "Ley-te-nant?!" There was a distinct edge to Shepard's voice. "I have a destroyer pilot in my squad of policemen. With five years of practical experience. And participation in military operations. Or do you still believe that you cannot be held accountable for hijacking a spaceship?" Shepard was turning into the very figure that had scared Corporal Jenkins half to death. And if Jeff Moro had previously seen this figure radiating a deadly sepulchral chill on the screen of a remote monitor, now it was no more than one and a half meters away, completely real and quite tangible. "I need a pilot in your place, not a voyeur, Lieutenant Moro. And I'll get it." Shepard excelled without exclamations and without shouting. The captain went to the copilot's seat and typed a short command on the console. "I will not allow you to fill the computer system's memory with "porn"." The XO watched Jeff slowly turn pale, realizing that the collection he had lovingly collected was being erased, and the erasure was complete, with a wild gibberish of symbols blotting out the vacant space. "Since the CIC now has a full complement of specialists, your task, Lieutenant Moro, is not to monitor what is happening on the ship, but to perform purely piloting functions." The fingers of both Shepard's hands performed a complex dance on the keyboard of the other console, and Moro saw the additional screens go out. Calculate the approach course to the repeater in the Utopia system, but so that we stand to the side, in a safe zone and can conduct covert reconnaissance. I'm waiting for your report on the course and planned and calculated approach maneuvers in fifteen minutes. On my omny-tool." Shepard, ignoring the pilot's amazement, said through clenched teeth, barely opening them. "If you want to stay in this chair with your rank and position, you will work hard and efficiently," with these words, Shepard turned to the entrance to the cockpit. "And just try to gossip with someone on the Extranet.," he typed a complicated command on the side console. "Consider that you no longer have an Extranet in the same volumes." Shepard stepped over the threshold of the cabin. The hatch cover cut off the noisy exhalation from the pilot's seat.
  After leaving, Shepard mentally thanked the teachers of the n-Seven Academy, who instilled in him a love of programming and learning all kinds of techniques. If he hadn't had such draconian training, which he had to go through in just a year, the conversation with the pilot might have dragged on.
  "Erich Goeben to Captain Shepard." The commander of the landing crew spoke softly into his shoulder speaker. A minute later, one of the policemen stood in front of the XO, confirming his diploma as a destroyer pilot to Captain Anderson. "Erich, I'm ordering you to take the co-pilot's seat and monitor the actions of Lieutenant Jeff Moro. At all times, he should be engaged only in his immediate duties. I instructed him to calculate the course to the repeater and determine flight maneuvers to clarify the location of the hidden parking of the ship with the condition of conducting remote reconnaissance activities in the Utopia system. In the future, he is obliged to devote all his working time to improving his professional skills and abilities. You are an outstanding pilot yourself, so you can chase him in the tail and mane. Now the position of co-pilot of the frigate Normandy is assigned to you, Goeben. If Lieutenant Moreau fails, the position of first pilot will pass to you, and he will take care of other things. Not related to piloting. In accordance with paragraph two hundred and fifty-four of the Combat Regulations of the Alliance MSF, you are assigned the rank of Lieutenant of the MSF during the performance of your duties as a co-pilot. Any questions?"
  "Not at all, sir! Thank you, sir! Permission to carry out, sir?!" The newly minted lieutenant caught Shepard's nod of approval and rushed into the cockpit. Shepard grinned from the corners of his lips: he was well aware that the "Joker" would neither provoke nor win over the imperturbable and pedantic Erich. In addition, the pilot is always the pilot: Erich, and "in the second seat" will be able to show the Joker what it means to be a combat pilot-practitioner.
  Chapter 9. a conversation with the gunners and the EW. Training alarms.
  Standing behind an electronic warfare specialist, police Sergeant Ingvar Tempe, Shepard made sure that he was fully comfortable with his new duties and was frankly getting high doing his favorite thing. The captain knew that the electronic warfare specialist's console was understaffed from the very beginning of the flight - few people believed then that the frigate would have to engage in combat operations, conduct active real reconnaissance, and organize counteraction to the enemy's desire to identify the spy.
  "Ingvar, give me all the information on the technical and electronic infrastructure of Eden Prime quietly on the screens. Everything that we can reach and use to our advantage. Without logging in-yet."
  "Easy, Captain." Tempke clicked on several sensors without turning around. "First of all, these are cosmodromes. There are officially three of them on Eden Prime. It's full of all kinds of electronics and technical equipment, there is a transport infrastructure. Secondly, these are power substations scattered all over the planet. There are also a lot of electronics there, but the main thing is powerful energy storage devices. Thirdly, it is a monorail, which also requires a significant amount of energy and corresponding complex control systems. And finally, the most delicious thing, in my opinion, is the weather and climate control stations. Electronics - wagons, powerful radiators and receivers, energy storage devices. It's just a song. I'm sorry, sir. I've been discussing it with the guys.... We also had a topic - climate wars using planetary technical infrastructure. I've been calculating along the way.: According to open data, the planet is agricultural, and the weather is being monitored very, very seriously, because if there are the slightest fluctuations in the climate, the losses will be enormous. It's the off-season, and harvesting won't start anytime soon. Even for early ripening varieties. According to my calculations, sir, if necessary, it is quite possible to arrange a local or planetary weather apocalypse in a few minutes. Thunder, lightning, torrential rain on a tropical scale with electrification of the atmosphere to the level of almost continuous breakouts. "Ingvar had clearly "got on his favorite horse" and now wondered why this strange commander of the landing crew was in no hurry to interrupt him. Suddenly, he remembered that Captain Shepard had recently been the ship's senior officer and instantly interrupted himself. "I'm sorry, sir. Got carried away."
  "You sound interesting, Ingvar. And most importantly - on business," Without a grin, Shepard said with absolute seriousness. "Calculate the situation with the local Apocalypse for me. The maximum height of the impact zone is six kilometers. The width of the zone is two kilometers. With maximum energy at six points of defeat. Consider that you must destroy an object that is eight to twelve times more secure than the Path of Destiny. The condition is to prevent this object from taking off or activating a beam weapon. Efforts should be made to disable or temporarily disable all of its electronics and gun systems. Up to and including heavy weapons. The level is a superdreadnought. Along the way, identify the points on the planet where the effectiveness of such an apocalypse will be maximum. Is the task clear?
  "Yes, sir!" Tempke, forgetting even to nod, enthusiastically set to work.
  Talking to Ingvar, Shepard had already known for several tens of seconds that the commander of the ship was standing next to him.
  Therefore, taking a step back, he looked questioningly at the senior officer of the frigate. Anderson just nodded silently and, with a sign that was barely noticeable to the other officers present at the CIC at that moment, asked the XO to retreat even further, to other additional "necklace" consoles that had not yet been activated. The main consoles, every single one, were already occupied and operational.
  "Are you getting ready?" Anderson asked quietly.
  "Yes, sir," Shepard said softly. "The repeater will have too many ears. But in the meantime, we have time."
  "What's the next point?" The frigate commander asked.
  "Main guns, sir," Shepard replied. "I know there are two policemen working there now. One is at the main console, the other is at the side console. I think two gunners are enough for our capabilities. Fire control will be organized from the bridge or from the cockpit of the frigate."
  "I agree. Come on, let's see what we can do there." Anderson turned around and the two officers walked slowly up to the second deck.
  ***
  Two policemen paused from their work at the consoles for a moment, nodded in greeting and looked questioningly at the senior officers who entered the compartment. Anderson, who was walking a little ahead, briefly waved his hand, which meant - work, there is no need for a report. Shepard leaned over the main console. Anderson went to the second one. What is the achieved accuracy of hitting with a two-shot salvo? - Shepard asked the senior gunner quietly.
  "We managed to upgrade from the third grade to the second grade. I think" the sergeant realized that the senior assistant commander of the ship was quite ready to allow an informal format of conversation. In two hours, Tom and I will be able to provide first class as well. I suppose you'll need precision and speed?
  "Yes, Bill," Shepard nodded, "we need to hit the target at the maximum range of the first class - a circle with a diameter of just over one and a half meters. Four charges in a minimum amount of time. Two volleys. Make it in time before the laser charging chamber is covered with armored curtains. The target is inactive by itself, but the armored doors will close very quickly at the slightest suspicion of aggression on our part. We will need to move the guns as soon as possible and strike as I just said. I'm afraid we won't get a second chance, Bill," Shepard stated calmly. - If the target activates the main radiator or closes it with curtains, the situation will become more complicated for us very quickly."
  "Shooting from what distance?"
  "If you take the maximum - ninety - one hundred and eighty kilometers. The frigate will move in an anti-aircraft maneuver, and I assume that small lasers, such as our search, will also work on us POISK."
  "Hmm. Small ones." Bill braced himself. "I'm sorry, Captain, it slipped out," the senior gunner's fingers quickly performed the necessary manipulations on the keyboard. "I believe that not even the first accuracy class will be needed, but the zero accuracy class. We will be able to provide this only by five o'clock in the afternoon. It's an interesting task, Captain. Just the kind I like. But..."
  "The frigate's pilot will do as you say. I have reinforced the pilot group with another specialist pilot. The two of them or one of them can handle it anyway. But I would not like to force the ship to perform unthinkable pirouettes in the immediate vicinity of the target."
  "I understand. We are a reconnaissance frigate, not an assault frigate."
  "Yes, Bill. Consider the two options. The first is to inflict maximum damage in the attacking version and the second is to inflict maximum damage in the finishing version. Please note that the target's charging chamber will not always be strictly vertical or strictly horizontal. The guidance node can also move chaotically."
  "Understood, Captain. Do you expect the target to snap back?"
  "I'm sure of it. And we need to do everything so that she can't snap anymore. Strike, and the target must be disarmed. Keep working. I am waiting for your results on my omny-tool. The deadline is seventeen ten."
  "Yes, sir!" The gunner nodded, catching the nod of agreement from his junior colleague, who had already spoken with Captain Anderson. A minute later, both senior officers left the frigate's main guns.
  ***
  "The commander, sir," a policeman with a chef's degree approached them. "Here's the lunch menu. For the entire crew. May I offer you some test dishes?"
  Anderson scanned the menu, signed with the encoder on the screen of the reader provided by the sergeant.
  - Come on, Captain. We will take a sample directly from the boilers" The frigate commander looked at Shepard. Let's come to you, Sergeant," he turned to the chef.
  "Yes, sir," the policeman stepped aside and walked to the left and slightly behind the senior officers of the ship to the enclosure now designated for the kitchen. Here," he handed over a long ladle and plates.
  Anderson scooped portions from the cauldrons one at a time, filled several plates, leaned over the kitchen table and slowly sampled the first, second and third courses.:
  "All right," he looked at the first mate. "Take a sample, John."
  "Yes, sir." Shepard took a ladle and, after tasting the first, second and third, smiled with satisfaction. "All right, Michael"
  He noted that Anderson was already signing the kitchen journal on the counter.
  "You can prepare the portions, Michael," Captain Anderson said. "I allow you to cook up to three portions of the reserve."
  "Yes, sir," the policeman-cook nodded.
  At that moment, Shepard's omny-tool sounded. The commander of the landing group turned on the small screen and got acquainted with the solution proposed by Jeff Moro. Anderson was also interested, and the officers moved away from the cook and began discussing the pilot's proposed solution in a low voice.
  "I think we can agree with Jeff's decision." Captain Anderson said. "I suggest you come to my cabin and have lunch." We'll discuss it at the same time."
  "Captain. I agree that we need to discuss the information we have received, but let's not ignore the need for our presence among the crew members," Shepard objected. "Sooner or later, officers, sergeants, foremen, and enlisted men will have questions. It would be better to explain the incomprehensible to everyone at once. Moreover, in three or four hours we will approach the repeater area. During this time, we have too much to do to prepare for all imaginable accidents that may await us on the other side of the repeater.
  "I agree." Anderson glanced at his watch. "It's two o'clock in the afternoon right now,- he looked at the cook. "Michael, announce the gathering of the officers of the crew for lunch."
  "Yes, sir," the cook nodded, turned on the ship's broadcast on his console and announced the standard invitation formula for officers.
  Over lunch, Captain Anderson and Captain Shepard briefly introduced their fellow officers to the planned actions before entering the repeater leading to the Utopia system. It was noticeable how much the ship's officers perked up when they heard that they were not going to have another tedious training, but real combat, reconnaissance, and sabotage work. Neither Shepard nor Anderson disclosed the details, but the ship's officers already understood that a lot would depend on what they could understand during an active remote search while parked in a hidden position at the repeater.
  "And one last thing, colleagues," Captain Anderson said. "After lunch, without the slightest exception, all members of the frigate's crew put on light spacesuits, armor and fasten helmets to their spacesuit belts in full readiness for use. First-aid kits and pistols must be carried with you. Lieutenant Alenko has drawn up a duty schedule for the rapid response team. I assume that later in the evening we will hold two or three training sessions for all crew members. The estimated time is seventeen thirty. The details will be communicated to the personnel directly during the training. Once again, I want to warn you: practice all your workouts to the maximum. There is a very high probability that we will actually have to engage in battle. Therefore, there will be no clarification on whether it is a training exercise or a combat one. Any of the future trainings will be able to become combat in the shortest possible time. My first assistant and I will punish you severely for any mistakes you make. Officers should check their subordinates' equipment. Helmets - prepare for the transition to a closed loop. As soon as possible. Any questions? No? Everyone is free," he motioned for the officers to leave their seats at the dining table. You were right, Shepard. The officers needed our presence.
  ***
  Exactly one hour later, the lights went out in all the compartments of the Normandy. The loud sound of the ship's siren broke the afternoon silence. Beams of powerful lanterns swept across the walls as the crew ran to take up their places according to the emergency schedule. Most of the consoles were de-energized.
  "The crew should switch to manual control! Close your helmets! Turn on autonomous life support systems. Keep quiet in the compartments! The ship is under threat of detection by the enemy" such texts appeared on the helmet displays of most frigates. "Reanimate navigation systems without turning on external sensors. Check the operation of electronic warfare systems according to the "Ray" and "Sphere" schemes. Identify and fix malfunctions in weapons systems."
  The introductions came one after the other. The commander of the frigate and the senior assistant moved around the ship like shadows, carefully observing the actions of the crew members.
  From the outside, it was not noticeable that such a large-scale training was being carried out inside the ship - Jeff Moro and his partner received a categorical commander's order on their omny-tools to observe the ship's previous course and speed.
  But inside the Normandy, it became hot in the truest sense of the word: depressurization mode was activated in many compartments. The crew members had to constantly prepare for rapid transitions from one part of the ship's rooms and compartments to another.
  No allowances were made for the fact that weightlessness reigned in the depressurized compartments, separated by bluish "lenses" of emergency insulating fields from the compartments that retained the atmosphere. Speed, quality, completeness, correctness.
  Fires of various sizes appeared chaotically in three compartments of the frigate - from a simple wiring fire to quite powerful and destructive explosions. Despite the fact that Captain Anderson did not allow the use of open fire in other compartments, it was quite difficult to guess exactly when the next fire would be and where it would occur, and what size it would acquire.
  The training session lasted exactly forty minutes. Finally, lines began to crawl across the screens of the helmet displays of the spacesuits, informing people about the end of the training, and the ship's siren briefly purred, notifying them of the shutdown of the simulation mode. The crew quickly and quietly took their seats according to the usual flight schedule. The emergency party eliminated the consequences of the fires, bringing the compartments allocated for fires to a normal state. The usual lighting turned on, and the remote controls, which had been de-energized for the duration of the training, started working.
  Captain Anderson entered his cabin and announced the general results of the training over the speakerphone. All the Normans got it. Without the slightest exception. The omny-tools of the crew members received files with a complete analysis of the actions of each of the officers, sergeants, petty officers and privates, a complete timeline of events, as well as a possible and realistic perspective of the mistakes and shortcomings made.
  "The first training session showed, colleagues, that the crew is ready for real combat operations with a rating of "mediocre"" Captain Anderson said over the ship's broadcast. The training will be complicated and repeated over the next three days." With that, Anderson turned off the ship-wide broadcast and looked at Shepard, who was sitting next to him. It's a good thing that Naylus Kraik didn't try to get out of his cabin." He was silent for a few seconds, as usual. "Okay, that's it, by the way. I'm more interested and worried about who would give us these three quiet days to train."
  "We only have a little over a day left, sir, before we have to fight," Shepard replied. "And, to be honest, I was expecting just such a result. It is mediocre. It's also good that it's not bad." Shepard slowly turned his head and looked around the commander's cabin. "At the very least, we now have a full complement of specialists who have more or less mastered their duties. This allows us to hope. Although hope against such a ship," he pointed with his gaze at the "shrimp" flickering on the nearest wall screen located above the commander's desk, "is too weak a basis for victory.
  "Now all the Normans will be on edge." Anderson said thoughtfully.
  "I don't think we'll be able to relax for long anymore, Commander." Said Shepard. "I do not believe that there is only one such ship. The archaeological base proves with certainty that there are at least several dozen such ships. The total life span of detachments of such ships, if you look at the age of the drawings, is generally difficult to imagine: more than thirty million years. There is a drawing from forty million years ago. This is an unimaginable figure for humanity.
  "For most of the intelligent organic races known to us, earthlings, the explored part of the Milky Way Space is the same," said the cabin owner. At best, two or three million years. But not thirty. Not forty." Anderson nodded, agreeing with the XO's opinion. "Do you think we'll need the support of Earth's fleets?"
  "No, Commander. Any movement of our fleets now will cause unhealthy and unnecessary interest in Eden Prime, provoke this ship to take active action - both against the planet and against the fleets. I do not believe that we will not be able to fulfill our task to the maximum. One ship against one ship with the support of the planet's infrastructure is fair. A fleet against one, even such a strong ship- is a sign of weakness and immaturity," Shepard remarked with conviction. "We cannot give the Citadels any reason to continue to be considered a "childish" race."
  "I wish I knew why this ship came to Eden Prime," Anderson said.
  "No matter why he arrived, his appearance on the planet can be confidently qualified as an invasion. Even without taking a position at the repeater, without conducting a full hardware remote reconnaissance, without using the Forecast complex in combat mode, you can be sure that someone else's ship has arrived for something very valuable and important. So far, I can't think of anything but a Prothean beacon, Commander," Shepard admitted honestly. "I wish I knew why he needed it."
  "We'll find out, Captain." Anderson turned on the additional screens "For now, let's think together about how to make another workout more difficult. I think it should be scheduled for half past five in the evening. The third training session will be held at half past nine in the evening. At eleven o'clock in the evening, the ship will dock at the repeater point. The duty shifts will start working with real data obtained during remote hardware reconnaissance. To be honest, I'm waiting for the frigate's equipment to "dig up" for us. I can already see that we won't be able to do without a clash with this ship." Anderson glanced at the flickering image of the shrimp, then looked at the executive officer.
  "I'm sure of it, Commander," Shepard agreed, turning on his omny-tool. Both senior officers of the ship began to form a scenario for the next training session.
  ***
  At half past five in the evening, the silence on the ship was broken by the bells of a loud battle. This time, the alarm was not an emergency, but a combat one.
  The frigate's virtual intelligence worked at full capacity, creating all sorts of tricks for the crew members working at the controls and extremely reducing the time for both decision-making and necessary actions.
  Anderson and Shepard participated in this training along with all the crew members on equal terms. The conditions and parameters of the training changed during its implementation. The ship's VI followed only the general plan, otherwise he was free to choose his options.
  ***
  At seven o'clock, a siren blared briefly to indicate the end of the training session. Helmet locks clicked, and the emergency blood-red lighting was replaced by the usual yellowish-white. Fifteen minutes after the siren, VI analysis of the training was posted on the wall screens. The information was also sent to the omny-tools of the frigate's crew members.
  "Not much better," Anderson said, meeting Shepard again in his cabin. "Now I see that the third training session is absolutely necessary."
  "Commander, allow me to report," the voice of the senior gunner rang out. "The zero accuracy class in the settings of the ship's artillery systems has been achieved and fixed."
  "Accepted. Prepare the artillery systems for effective fire," Anderson ordered. "Reduce the time to bring the artillery systems into combat position to a minimum. Even a second would be too much of a luxury for us. Go ahead.
  "Yes, sir," the senior gunner replied and turned off the channel.
  "Do you expect both an attack and a finish?" Anderson asked, having read the data transmitted from the ship's gunners' consoles on his omny-tool.
  "Yes, Captain. If the influence of the planet's infrastructure, including weather control stations and equipment for monorails and spaceports, is effective, then we will have to really guarantee that it is impossible for this ship to put up any effective resistance."
  "And indoctrination?"
  "Commander, I'm not going to erect paper castles, but after such a complex impact, rapid indoctrination is out of the question, in my opinion - the shrimp simply won't have enough energy for a pulse, and the landing group under my leadership will cope with the rest. A blow to the planet's energy infrastructure, a blow from the Eden climate installations, a blow from an exploration ship - three blows combined will be able to ensure the inactivity of this monster for a sufficiently long time. I assume that the ship will survive after such a complex strike, but will it be more than a hull?..."
  "I see something is bothering you, Captain." Anderson took a close look at the first officer. "Something that you don't want to accept as even a hypothesis yet."
  "Captain, I'm not sure how to put it exactly. I really want to believe that after the collision with this ship, we will no longer have such problems. And I can't. There is no feeling that this will be an isolated incident. Such a ship appeared in the space of the Galaxy when the Apocalypse was approaching for any intelligent race capable of leaving a clear image of it on some durable material medium. Which means that the ship did not use its weapons to the fullest. He did not immediately destroy intelligent, mostly, I think, organic life. He was... playing cat and mouse with her, or something. He was proud of his might, his invulnerability, his strength, his might. It was exhausting. The punishment," Shepard said thoughtfully but clearly. "What was he punished for? I don't know. It's not clear to me. Why was there no more evidence of these ships on the planets where descendants later found such images? Where are all the locals - reasonable and not so - residents? I know that archaeologists are not omnipotent, but any excavations proved the almost complete absence of remains. Does this mean that there was more than one such ship? Does this mean that he came to this planet accompanied by smaller ships? Who had other capabilities or performed other functions? I don't know. Something tells me that this ship is the beginning of a terrible period in the history of the Milky Way. And the fact that he moved to our human colonized planet... Does this mean that we humans, humanity, are in the forefront of destruction?" There was no tension or worry in Shepard's voice - it was even, but Anderson felt that the XO was not only speaking seriously after reflecting on what he had said, he was speaking from the heart, not caring. "I'm not ready to say that this is a pure machine driven by a program, Captain. And I'm also not ready to say that it's a living being. I have to assume that in order to defeat such a creature of unknown intelligence, we will have to combine the power of intelligent organic and synthetic life. I understand that none of the current races of the Milky Way will agree to a full-scale synthesis. Maybe we can manage with coexistence, partnership, and alliance. But only at the expense of organic life, its capabilities to defeat a horde of such ships.... I have no feeling that such a ship is the only one or there are few of them, Commander..." Shepard saw that Anderson was listening to him attentively and was satisfied with this attention, and most importantly, with his understanding of what was said. Still, it's good when the commander of a ship is a person equal to you, the senior assistant, in terms of level and profile of training. Until we can get artificial intelligence as our allies, we will have to work in regimes beyond the limits for organics. And there's this problem, Captain." Shepard pointed to the image of the repeater that had already appeared on the navigator's screen. "We humans are a young race by the standards of the Galaxy. And we... with an ease worthy of better use, have already "clung" to the repeaters. And, accordingly, almost completely stopped the development of engines and systems that make it possible to do without these catapults. If it weren't for this repeater, it wouldn't be necessary to move through the tunnel it broke through.... We could apply most of the intelligence techniques known to mankind. But the distances between the systems... Huge for our current capabilities. It is clear that in a year's time, Eden Prime may well be left a bare, stony cobblestone, devoid of atmosphere and almost all of the current infrastructure. Only a year and everything can change dramatically for the worse for us, intelligent organics. And for some reason, I know we don't have this year. And maybe not even a month. Not even ten days. If we don't show up on the planet tomorrow... this ship will fulfill its function. And I personally have no doubt that he will leave the planet. It will leave loudly and very painfully. It hurts for us organics. He will leave because he is sure that we have nothing significant to oppose him. For us, the intelligent organics of the Galaxy, I am sure that in just a few hours... information about the shrimp and its actions... will be a shock to the entire crew of our ship, without the slightest exception. According to my calculations, there are only a few hours left before this "shrimp" enters the range of the long-range scanners of the Eden control system. "Shepard did not voice the standard phrase, indicating regret for the unrealization of many already worked-out plans. "If you do not take into account many points, then, according to the standard scenario, the first thing this ship will do is "cut off" all long-range communications. The planet won't be able to call for help. The Idens will be calling, but they... won't be heard. I assume that this monster has a powerful system on board that filters information traffic. From the outside, almost everything will be as usual. But any hint of a call, of information about what happened, will undoubtedly be tracked and blocked by the Reaper. This planet does not have the latest military communications centers, nor does it have a developed military infrastructure. I believe that this is not a reason to calm down. Even systems like the Martian anti-space defense with its truly cyclopean guns will be able to do little against this "shrimp"."
  "Do you think that after landing on the planet, the ship will be more vulnerable?" Anderson asked, looking through the profile data on his instrumentation.
  "The large ships of most intelligent organic races known to me are generally unable to make any regular landings on planets for various reasons. Any of the possible and acceptable ones." Shepard asked. "Except in the event of a disaster, but this is no longer a standard landing. This is a fall. To keep such a Reaper ship in the position of immediate takeoff, I dare say, a significant part of the onboard energy will be consumed. If we imagine a "chain", then its first link is the landing of such a ship on a planet, the second is the absence of the need for such a ship to move around the planet, the third is the fulfillment of some short-term mission by the amphibious crews of the ship, the fourth is the lack of the "natives" the ability to significantly oppose both the ship itself and its The landing party. As a result, it is clear that even an automaton of the current VI level or even a minimal AI will not keep the shields at maximum - energy will be required for the banal constant balancing of the ship's position in space. These paws," Shepard touched the giant "appendages" with the beam of the laser pointer, "may well not be the supports of the ship in this particular case, taking on its weight. I suspect that they will be brought together. And the ship itself will barely touch the surface of the planet with its "paws". Perhaps, by doing so, they indicate the landing, misleading the locals, disguising themselves. Keeping a "cocoon" around the hull will allow it to launch immediately, without lengthy preparation. "Cocoon" - there will be, shields - there will be. But it's hard for me to imagine an automaton keeping its shields at maximum in such a safe atmosphere and on an almost unarmed planet. This is paranoia, and automatons don't suffer from paranoia," Shepard clarified. "Only the creators of automata can suffer from it, but it is very difficult to fully program paranoia."
  "I can't say that I completely agree with everything you've said, Captain," Anderson said after thinking about what he'd heard for a few minutes. "You're right about a lot of things, of course. I really hope that hardware intelligence will not give us grounds for any ill-considered and quick actions. Although, to summarize everything you've said about this," David took a quick glance at the screen image of the shrimp, "All I can say is that we will have to overcome any conceivable shock quickly and collect as much data as possible in a very short time. I doubt, I sincerely doubt, that we will be given much time to make decisions on the further action plan." The frigate's commander switched on the speaker audio link. "Ingvar, how long will it take to bring Eden's climate control systems into "local apocalypse" mode?"
  "If only through climate control - from fifteen minutes to a minute" An electronic warfare specialist responded.
  "A lot. Is there any way to reduce it to three or five seconds?" Anderson asked.
  "It is possible, but you will need to know exactly where the goal is and what its characteristics are. At least the most general ones."
  "You will know where the goal is. And the characteristics..." Anderson hesitated. "Consider that this is the maximum of everything you can imagine. We will need one strike that can completely secure the target."
  "Destruction?" - the specialist specified.
  "Yes, I think that's exactly what we need. I can tell you more precisely only after hardware intelligence, Ingvar," Anderson replied after a moment, "calculate the option of destruction and the option of maximum disarming. In every sense."
  "May I submit the decision to your screens in two minutes?" the specialist asked, clearly, as Shepard understood, sensing another extremely interesting and difficult task.
  "Permission granted." - Anderson disconnected the connection on this channel, but did not look up at Shepard. "You don't want to destroy this ship to the end, do you, Shepard? Am I right?"
  "Yes, sir." - Shepard did not lie and tell a lie. "If Charon gave us, humanity, access to Arcturus, access to other civilizations, then I am more than convinced that this ship will give us the experience of thirty million years of development. Which is orders of magnitude greater than the experience of any race in the Milky Way. Having such a device... Humanity will be able to prepare for war much better."
  "Do you really believe that he is not alone?" Anderson asked.
  "I believe. He's an intelligence officer, just like us. Observation. Control. Tracking. Whatever you want to call it. And if we manage to "pacify" such an active inner spy by putting him at the service of the inhabitants of the Galaxy, it will be more valuable than a metal or plastic corpse. Even a corpse like him. And something tells me that there are several more of these... corpses within the Milky Way. There is no need to add another one to their "community".
  "And..." Anderson cautiously remarked.
  "I understand that this sounds like a mystical revelation, Commander," Shepard clarified. "But I already feel that there are organics on this ship. Intelligent organics," The XO was silent for a few seconds. Anderson clearly felt that this was not a tactical pause, which was customary for communication between people. "It feels like their souls are... weak...."
  "Do you think they're... in captivity?" Anderson asked without looking up at his XO.
  "More than a prisoner. They're under his control, Commander. The Puppets," Shepard replied softly. "It's hard to formulate this verbally. Convention... grows by leaps and bounds. Many necessary meanings... are lost."
  "Indoctrination," Anderson said.
  "Yes, as an option," the XO agreed.
  "And can you specify the races they belong to?" Anderson still did not want to look at either the figure or the face of his interlocutor.
  "I can," Shepard confirmed, "but I don't want to disturb this ship's systems too much right now. I have no doubt about his perfection and I don't want to ruin the whole operation we are preparing. "He" might be wary. Then we will not be able to conduct reconnaissance, we will not be ready for effective and immediate actions. And there are thousands of people on the planet. The Earthlings. Not only Earthlings, which is also important," the XO clarified. "If the Reaper starts to "land" on the planet and its inhabitants with its ray... We, the inhabitants of the frigate, the Normandians, will never get clean." Shepard, Anderson clearly felt, was having a hard time keeping his voice calm. "There is only a suggestion, an educated guess, that these few reasonable... extraordinary individuals. I doubt that a ship of such high class would take on board mediocrity. Even as prisoners or slaves. No. They are clearly not the last ten personalities. And is their race really important?... There are always such personalities in any race. At any, Commander" Shepard repeated, for whom verbal repetition has never been something negative. In the orphanage, he often heard one phrase: "Repetition is the mother of learning. And it's not just the exercises." And he agreed with the meaning and essence of this phrase.
  "Commander, sir," Ingvar has contacted Captain Anderson. "I'm passing on the decision."
  "Accepted, Ingvar, thank you." - Anderson looked at the screen of his wrist omny-tool, turned off the speaker with a touch of the arm and stood up, moving closer to the big screen. Shepard rose next, also approaching the screen, on which the solution was already displayed line by line. "It might work.", Anderson said thoughtfully, reading and peering. "It might work," the frigate commander's voice was clearly filled with interest, mixed with satisfaction. "No, it might work!" he exclaimed. "Yes, it can! Now we need to conduct a third training session, finish preparing the ship for parking at the repeater, and we can solve this problem," Anderson caught a nod of agreement from the XO out of the corner of his eye.
  Chapter 10. Shepard's quarrel with Naylus about his rights on the ship.
  At twenty-one hours and thirty minutes, the silence of the frigate"s compartments was broken by the simultaneous sounding of emergency and combat alarm sirens. This time, the ship"s virtual intelligence used its capabilities almost to the maximum: people were knocked off their feet. The complexity of the introductory courses was a continuous stream. The ship was completely immersed in darkness, dissected only by the dim rays of the helmet lights of the spacesuits and the narrow beams of lasers. Fires reigned in five compartments at the same time, and multiple gas and chemical attacks were added to them. Only at eleven o"clock did VI turn off the virtualization complex and turn on the usual lighting in all compartments.
  "It"s not bad, but it"s not enough," Captain Anderson said after reviewing the text of the training analysis provided by VI. The two senior officers retreated back to the commander"s cabin. "Sorry. We can"t afford more than that. An hour later, we take up position at the repeater. I suggest giving the crew an opportunity to have dinner and prepare for combat work."
  "Yes, Sir." Shepard rattled off dozens of orders over the broadcast. "We"ll have to have a discussion over dinner."
  "We"ll arrange it. It"s necessary," Captain Anderson confirmed. "Come on."
  The discussion took place and took a little over fifteen minutes. But what minutes they were! The officers spoke little, concisely, clearly, perfectly aware of how much important was hidden behind this not too familiar laconicism. And if they felt it, then they understood: the jokes and words were over. Real, combat work begins.
  After dismissing the officers, Shepard and Anderson lingered at the table for a few minutes. The watchman put dishes and appliances in the washing machine, disinfected tables and chairs with a portable medical radiator.
  Unhurried heavy footsteps were heard. A Spectr Turian stepped onto the deck. He was heading straight for the table where the senior officers of the ship were sitting. Stopping at the table, he looked with displeasure at first at Anderson, but then concentrated his gaze on Shepard.
  "I don"t advise you to look at me like that, Naylus," Shepard said, quickly regaining his usual state of tautness "Strings".
  "Why am I not allowed to contact the Council?" Kraik asked.
  "What are you going to report to him about?" Shepard looked up at the Turian directly, and the Spectre clearly didn"t like that look. "You are on a military reconnaissance ship that is not on a training cruise. There is a command here."
  "I am the Spectr," the Turian said.
  "We"re aware of that," the XO replied. "I repeat once again: you are not an officer of the ship, so that we take into account your wishes to the maximum extent." Shepard stared hard at the Turian. "You"re a passenger. Guest. A civilian," the XO muttered.
  Anderson did not interfere in the conversation, but carefully observed what was happening, remaining calm and somewhat detached.
  "I am a member of the Special Corps," the Turian said these words with a clear threat.
  "I repeat once again: we are aware." Shepard did not change the tone and volume of his voice. "And we know perfectly well what your organization was involved in." The XO, pressing a few keys on his omny-tool, turned on the wall screen closest to the table, on which the summary lines on the most problematic operations of the Special Corps over the past few decades appeared. "Are you trying to play the saint, Naylus? Are you trying to lead and command us humans, earthlings? Are you trying to make children out of us?"
  "I"m not going to answer these questions, human," the Turian was trying to remain calm so far, but Shepard could see and clearly feel the tension in the Corps operative"s nerves.
  "We don"t need your answers, Naylus Kraik. We know that your mentor, Spectr Saren Arterius, repeatedly oversteps the law, using its imperfections for his own personal interests." Shepard launched a new sequence of texts and images onto the screens from the omny-tool. One screen displayed information in Turian, the other in English.
  Captain Anderson read the English version with interest. A lot of things became clear to the frigate commander.
  "You Turians are afraid," Shepard continued, not changing his position. "You are afraid that your strength will not be enough. Don"t tell me, Kraik, that the combination of old galoshes that we humans met at the output repeater is your Fleet, or at least part of it." The Turian twitched nervously at the XO"s words. "Don"t," Shepard repeated. "We are well aware of your thirty major Fleets, Naylus. And we also know about the fifteen reserve ones," he clarified. "I remember you tried to move one such Fleet to our star system borders. Only a direct order from the Citadel Council stopped him. But you don"t know, or maybe you just don"t understand, for a number of reasons, Nilus. My colleague and commander won"t let me lie." Shepard didn"t exchange a glance with Anderson. "There is not a year in the history of mankind when fighting between people was not conducted on our home planet. We have been at war for almost our entire human history. They fought among themselves. We fought to the limit of our capabilities, using literally everything to win: all technology, all science, all human capabilities. We fought, losing millions of people. Decimating the human gene pool is better than any radiation or epidemic." The Turian twitched once more. Shepard noted this immediately. "Better and more effective," he repeated. "Yes, we humans don"t have that many ships. But on the other hand, we are very good at fighting, using human capabilities and abilities. Your Turian Hierarchy pushed through the Farixen Agreements behind the scenes because you Turians understood: We are able to "close" our Solar system with thousands of dreadnoughts. Yes, we will build them, forcing all mankind to starve. Yes, it will be difficult for us to keep up the pace in other areas. Yes, it will be a great strain for a lot of people. But we humans will do it, Naylus. And you Turians have felt it. The main thing is that we will have five crews for all these ships. For every ship of any class. Although for us, the army is not the foundation of society, not the foundation of the state, not the foundation of the management system. You Turians have felt it all too well." Shepard displayed tables of contract restrictions on the screens. "Have you seen it?" The XO asked. We saw it. I know, I see, I feel that I have been seen more than once, Naylus. Who has the most ships? At you. Who has the most dreadnoughts? At you. Who has the most cruisers? At you. You Turians, for whom the army and navy are everything. And for us, earthlings, everything is a human society. And do you think that we will not be able to resist in such "contractual" conditions?" The corners of Shepard"s lips curled into a mocking smile. Next to me is my commanding officer, Frigate Captain David Anderson. Who do you think pushed through his assignment to this frigate? Well!"
  "The Turian... hierarchy..." Naylus said forcefully, who was unable to resist Shepard"s pressure at that moment.
  "May I tell you the reason for the appointment of Captain David Anderson to this post? Or will you do it?" - Shepard continued to "press" the Special Corps operative.
  "We expected that Anderson"s service on this ship... would be short-lived...." Naylus managed to say.
  Captain Anderson clenched the fingers of both hands into fists, but did not look up at the Turian standing not far from the table.
  Shepard kept his eyes on Naylus, clearly seeing how much trouble it cost him to say even this, which related to the not-so-minor mysteries of the Turian Hierarchy.
  "Excellent, Naylus," the XO said.
  "Your tribesmen give Captain Anderson a "half-frigate" and expect him to complete his earthly journey soon. For various reasons that seem to have a lot in common with natural ones. And what kind of frigate did you give us? More precisely, they slipped it to Captain Anderson? Intelligence, right?
  The Turian nodded nervously.
  "Do you know what an interesting attitude there is among so many people, Naylus?" Shepard was now openly mocking the operative. You don"t know, Naylus. You don"t know, because if you did, you would have bypassed this frigate as soon as Captain Anderson appeared on board. We have an interesting country on Earth with a very complex and ambiguous history. It is still called Russia. So there is such an expression, such, if I may say so, an attitude." The XO paused briefly for a few seconds and said, as if every spoken word was a blow from a heavy hammer. "Don"t believe it. Don"t be afraid. Don"t ask." Shepard enjoyed watching the Spectrum"s body shake violently with every word he said. "And we, the Europeans, know why in Russia these are not just words. We Europeans also have similar expressions. But they are not so clear and definite. Both in sound and meaning," the XO paused once more. "So that"s it, Naylus. We earthlings don"t believe you, the aliens. We have a very powerful xenophobia against which you have no vaccine. We are not afraid of you aliens. If we were not afraid to fight among ourselves for all the thousands of years of earth"s human history, being trapped on a single planet in a relatively small star system, then we are not afraid to fight any enemy who came to the Solar System from outside. We have no fear. We have a desire to win. In many armies of our planet, warriors of any rank have a tradition: to take the enemy to the grave with them. And we"re not asking you aliens for anything. It was you Turians who asked us to moderate our belligerence. It was you Turians who "pushed" the Farixen restrictions through the Citadel Council. It was you Turians who found yourself in front of our intelligence fleet, being unprepared for Contact. It was you Turians who tried to impose under-frigates, under-battleships, and under-dreadnoughts on us, realizing that very soon we humans will be able to dot the Hierarchy with our ships, against which you, the main military force of the Citadel Council, will not have an adequate response. And you, Naylus Kraik, came here to shine your crust? The crust of the Spectr? The crust of a militant operative of the Citadel Council? The crust of a chain mutt? Yes, Naylus, I did not misspoke and I will not take back my words. Chained. The mutts. Advice. The Citadels." Shepard "spat out" through his teeth, watching the growing fear and impotence in the Turian"s eyes. "Do you think that if you, your Turian Hierarchy, gave us this ship, then you can play the role of master here?" Shepard"s gaze bored into the Turian"s eyes and he recoiled. "What an honor for us plebeians! What an honor! The master deigned to stay with the slaves on the under-frigate! A terrible risk for a higher being! Is that familiar, Naylus?! Familiar, I see! Over the decades, you have become accustomed to the fact that before the Spectr, all intelligent organics of any race "pull" into line and all serve them simply by the fact that they have a specific intelligent identifier of the Council Spectr. But we humans have a different tradition. The other one is the Spectr of Naylus Krajc." Shepard switched back to a hammer-like style of speech. "Any authority, any reverence, any worship should be fol-low-ed. Practical actions. A practical risk. Practical stress. Captain Anderson is a professional. And this title, this level, is not in our earthly qualification reference books. This is something that we humans feel more deeply than with our skin. Deeper than the eyes, deeper than the mind. Did you want to humiliate him, trample on him, drive him into the mud, "pushing through" Anderson"s appointment to the post of commander of this reconnaissance frigate? It didn"t work out, Naylus. It didn"t work out. For our professionals, working on the most problematic ships is the norm. Working with the most problematic crews is the norm. Working in the most dangerous areas is the norm. We humans, for the most part, don"t flaunt our titles and positions. We"re just wor-ki-ng. Over the years, the commander of the Normandy has earned not only authority, but also the sincere respect of hundreds, thousands of people. Yes, holding different positions. But they are clearly aware that he, David Anderson, is a professional. Note that he, the commander of the frigate imposed on him by you Turians, did not in any way show his negative attitude towards you, the representative of the Special Corps. Although he has every conceivable reason for this. And since we"re all aware of the situation here, And since we"re all aware of the situation here, Naylus, I think you should immediately and deeply understand that you"re a passenger here, a civilian. Not an all-powerful sultan, shah, maharaja or emperor." Shepard paused briefly, enjoying the sight of Kraik weakening. "We, the people, have our own powerful legislative framework, which you, as an operative of the Special Corps, are aware of, but thoughtlessly assume that a wave of the "crust" of the Spectr ID leaves everything behind. No, Naylus. Not all. We humans have been seeking recognition from the Council for a decade now. And you Turians, the Turian Hierarchy, represented by your Councilors," Shepard tapped a few sensors on his omny-tool and displayed data on the wall screens about the Councilors from the Turian Hierarchy, "you are desperately trying to resist our desire, our aspiration, our right. The right to take its due place among the other races of the Milky Way. You are afraid, Turian Naylus. You"re afraid of people. You"re afraid of us."
  "In my functions..." Kraik began, but Shepard did not let him finish.
  "Oh, yes, it"s your job to keep track of where your investments have gone. The investments of the Turian Hierarchy have become a noose around the neck of humanity, Naylus." The commander of the landing crew and the senior assistant commander of the frigate spat out, as if hammering eight-inch nails into the Turian"s body. "We, the people, spent two weeks on a protocol "presentation" addressed to you personally, and in your person to the Citadel Council. And you were satisfied." Shepard brought up the texts of the reports Naylus had sent. "As you can see, even on an understaffed frigate, we humans have enough specialists who are able to crack the Spectrum cipher efficiently and, most importantly, quickly. Your functions, Naylus, according to secret instructions, include what in our human language is called betrayal, backstabbing and sabotage." New data flooded the plates of the turned-on screens. New screens flashed up, revealing new texts and tables with graphs.
  Anderson, glaring at them, frankly did not understand where Shepard could get such information from, but he was in no hurry to ask yet, watching as the two-meter-tall Turian was crumpling in front of a table where two Earth officers were sitting. He hesitates and begins to realize that his lordly position has come to an end.
  "You still don"t understand who you Turians and the Citadel Council are up against, Naylus. They didn"t understand," Shepard said. - Do you know what a "catalyst" is?
  "A substance capable of turning a chemical reaction in a certain direction and contributing to the achievement of certain, pre-calculated results," Naylus rasped.
  "Limited, but true. So that"s it, Naylus. You have encountered humanity as a catalyst for processes that are beyond your control, guidance, and understanding. We humans will not play by your rules, Naylus, after the humiliation you Turians have inflicted on us. We won"t. Don"t get your hopes up. And we"ll start with the fact that on our military and civilian ships, the status of Alien Spectr"s will be reduced to the status of a civilian with no authority other than basic physiology. Since, according to my data, there are not so many Spectr in the vastness of the Solar System now, we have already calculated them all and taken them under observation. And you, Naylus Kraik, we have deprived you of the main thing - communication."
  "I have..."
  "Oh, yes, there is an order from the Citadel Council." Shepard, without moving from his place, looked up at Naylus with a different look. Totally different. "An order to take away from us humans, found on a planet belonging to us, humanity, a Prothean lighthouse." Shepard was delighted to see how much the arrogant Turian twitched. "To take it away, because someone there, on the Citadel, or maybe somewhere further away and higher, decided that we humans were not old enough to have such information repositories on our territory. Because you, the Turian Hierarchy, as well as the other members of the Citadel Council, are terrified that you won"t be able to control how we use this information." The XO hesitated. "Yes, Naylus. It took us, the Earthlings, a long time to "break through" to you, the Old Races, to activate the repeater. We humans have a saying: "Even an unloaded gun can go off." At the most inopportune moment. To put it simply: a closed repeater can be opened. And you weren"t ready to activate it. Totally unprepared, Naylus Kraik. Should I tell you the names of those who decided that humans were not worthy of owning the rarest Prothean artifact?" Shepard placed the fingers of his right hand on the keyboard sensors of his omny-tool. We have more than just names. We have direct and irrefutable evidence. Well!"
  "Not. We must," the Turian managed.
  "But it started out so well," Shepard said mockingly. "The master-Spectr-Turian goes to the naval-army terran serfs to demand a report on the work done and information about the immediate and not so immediate plans. And him more than sure, no, him even convinced that the slaves will give him this information. Why, he, Naylus Kraik, is a Spectre, a celestial. An unsupervised being. I"ll beat up all the stupid people in one fell swoop. Mind you, Mind you, Naylus, I"m not getting personal yet. My commander already guesses that I have a lot of interesting things there. What I can say about you personally, Naylus Kraik." Shepard stiffened, braced himself. "So, are we going to continue playing the celestial? Or will you now quickly and silently return to your cabin and never again try to exceed the status of a disenfranchised civilian on a warship?"
  "The cabin," Kraik said after a few seconds.
  "You can go now, Naylus." Shepard lowered his gaze, felt the Turian slowly and obviously reluctantly turn his back to the Earth officers sitting at the table. "Remember that any attempt to harm us humans will be punished with all severity."
  
  After waiting for the Turian to leave the deck, Shepard relaxed.:
  "I"m sorry, Commander. But there was a direct need to drive this subject into a safe framework," Shepard said without looking at Anderson. "We have less than a quarter of an hour left before combat activation. To have this slug behind us means putting everything important, valuable and necessary for us humans at unjustified risk," he typed in a code on the keyboard of his omny-tool. "His cabin has already been cut off from any communication and information lines. There is a bathroom there, if he pretends to be an army soldier, let him endure the hardships of military service. If necessary, I"ll put him into a coma with an energy pulse."
  Chapter 11. Fight with the Reaper.
  Anderson's omny-tool came to life:
  "Captain, the ship is at the point," Jeff Moro reported. "The engines are ready to jerk to the repeater. Engineer Adams guarantees that we will provide peak power in a long-term mode and will be able to work out the Eden Prime without any problems."
  "Good." Anderson switched channels, activating the speakerphone. "Attention to all personnel. The ship is at the point. Switch the remote reconnaissance equipment to passive combat mode. Start scanning in passive mode. This is not an educational application. This is not an academic job. Activate the Forecast complex in combat mode.
  After listening to a few short reports, Anderson leaned back in his chair. Then, tensing up, he abruptly stood up and walked around the table.
  "Shepard, come to my cabin. We'll watch "passive" there. It is necessary to exclude the negative impact of shock information". He said, stopping next to the chair where the XO was still sitting.
  "Yes, Captain." Shepard got up and walked away from the table.
  Both officers entered the commander's cabin at the moment when the first data from passive long-range scanners appeared on the large wall screens. The mark of the giant ship shone like a red diamond.
  "Damn, he's at the backup spaceport." Anderson said as he looked at the coordinate grid. Judging by the ground-based planetary sensors, it maintains its position. Communication from the planet is jammed. It really filters the traffic in full. The weapon is not activated.
  "He doesn't need to use a weapon. This two-kilometer-long "shrimp" is a very good psychic weapon in itself. The spaceport is empty. Only corpses," Shepard said, increasing the resolution of the passive scan. And, by the way, here are the consequences of indoctrination," he pointed to some data in the table. "The brain activity of many people trapped in the "sphere" has the characteristics of external control with elements of suppression."
  "We'll see." Anderson turned on the additional screens. "The Forecast complex confirms your conclusions, Shepard. Jeff," The commander looked up at the cabin ceiling, "turn on the disguise. To the operating mode."
  "Yes, sir," the pilot replied.
  The indicators confirming the activation of the systems flashed on the dashboards of the commander's cabin.
  "I understand that this is stupid, but I really hope that the few reasonable people who are on board this ship" Anderson said, "they do not have access to optics or portholes. At this distance, it will be difficult to spot us with standard non-optical means. What's your plan, Shepherd?"
  "We are approaching Eden Prime, Commander, and we are delivering a coordinated strike on the shrimp with the radiators of the planetary climate system, the energy accumulators of the spaceport closest to the landing site of the shrimp, and the weapons of the frigate. Then, if necessary, the frigate landing force takes this "shrimp" is storming, unable to actively resist under such "pressure", under its control. I think the attack of our ship will provide this shrimp with a couple of large holes in the hull." Shepard clarified. "At a pace. The main thing is speed and onslaught. I know there will be significant new destruction and casualties on Eden, but we either need to capture this ship. Or - destroy it." The XO briefly outlined his vision of the scenario.
  Anderson thought for a few minutes, then stood up.
  "Come on, Captain. Our place is on the bridge of the Normandy. We'll get the latest data there and begin the combat advance."
  "I agree, Commander." Shepard let Anderson go ahead, left the cabin, followed the head of the crew into the CIC room and stood behind him on a pedestal near the Map. "Ready to work."
  "Attention on the ship. This is the commander speaking." Anderson activated the speakerphone again. "You have all seen our main goal. We have two choices: capture this ship or destroy it. You can't let it take off. We can't let him open fire. We can't let him go. This is a scout. He is alone. And he has to be alone. You can't let him transmit any information to the outside. We have to do all this. We are intelligence. We understand and know better than others how to resist intelligence. And we'll do it." Anderson disconnected the connection, switched the Map to tactical control mode, calling up the Utopia area in three-dimensional space. "Jeff, in disguise, in the shadow of the container ship Letran, heading for the Citadel. Hide the ship in the shadow of the planet Xanadu. Be ready for a dash to planet Nirvana or a direct dash to Eden Prime. Do it!"
  "Yes, Commander," the pilot replied.
  ***
  The frigate moved out of position, disappeared behind the wide stern of the container ship, and moved away from the huge carrier at the right distance so that the repeater would not connect the two ships during the "transfer" together. A minute later, the Normandy entered a corridor punctured by an activated repeater.
  "Three minutes, sir," Moro clarified over the audio channel of the commander's earpiece speaker. Letran is already preparing to launch. A decision, Commander. Are we going straight or are we going to Xanadu?"
  "Straight up, Jeff. Straight" Anderson said, rechecking the data coming from the Forecast complex on separate Map screens.
  "Yes, Commander," the pilot cut the channel.
  "Ingvar, Bill," Anderson called an electronic warfare specialist and a senior gunner for a conference call. "All the ship's weapons systems are in combat operational mode. Ingvar, you have the first violin. Make this ship crash and disconnect! I repeat: crash and disconnect! Do whatever you want with the infrastructure and weather of the planet, but the ship must be immobilized and disarmed! All the data on its capabilities that we have managed to collect has been forwarded to you."
  "I understand, Commander. Ready." Ingvar, who entered the "combat" mode, began to speak in chopped phrases. "The data is entered into the system. Ready for a coordinated strike. Bill?"
  "All the frigate's weapons are ready, Commander." The senior gunner reported on the audio channel. "The main emitter of this creature is in the sight of the main ship's caliber."
  "Jeff," Anderson called the pilot.
  "Ready, Commander. While we're heading towards the planet at full speed, Ingvar will do enough to keep the shrimp from leaving. And Bill will subdue her attempts to resist."
  "Here we go!" Anderson said abruptly.
  The frigate broke out of the repeater, passed by the hulking container ship and, gaining speed, rushed towards the planet, entering its orbit at the maximum allowable angle.
  "Commander, the ship is over the planet," Moro reported. "I'm watching our first coordinated attack on a guest. The shrimp is staggering. She obviously doesn't like it, but take off... The gods! She can't take off! Ingvar, I owe you!" Jeff put the Normandy on an attacking course. "Bill, I'll be at the firing point in thirty seconds. Point!" Moro exclaimed.
  The frigate's impact was terrifying. Enveloped in bursts of radiation generated in emergency modes by dozens of energy storage facilities, weather stations and radiators closest to the giant's parking lot, the two-kilometer alien ship trembled, trying to break the growing cocoon.
  Everyone who was on board the Normandy and many who were on the planet saw, both on the screens and through the portholes, and with their own eyes, how the shrimp was trying to open the huge doors of the armored shutters above its main radiator.
  At the moment when the first blood-red spark flashed deep in the black mouth of the radiator, indicating the activation of the pumping system, a volley of charges from the main guns of the reconnaissance frigate, the Tanix, hit the lens, followed two seconds later by a second, and then a third. All the crew members of the Normandy saw on the screens how, at the moment of the three hits, the voltage on the energy circuits increased, enveloping the uninvited guest with their tentacles.
  The alien giant staggered even more, began to tilt, and at that moment Bill fired three volleys into the shrimps' tentacles, causing the alien's armor plates to bend at impossible angles, crumbling drives and shorting power circuits. Several significant holes were formed in the giant's body.
  All this happened at the maximum allowable distances between the ships. Jeff even held the Normandy's slide towards the giant a little. At this moment of the ships' approach, Bill surpassed himself: he managed to organize and carry out a third approach in ten seconds: three additional volleys, the force of which proved unbearable for the alien.
  To the bass hum of growing energy fields, to the screech of metal structures straining and bending under radiation, to the moan of lasers from the oncoming frigate, the shrimp jerked all four paws and collapsed onto the structures of the monorail leading to the backup spaceport.
  The contact with the live parts of the Monorail led to additional damage, finishing off the alien ship's systems.
  The Normandy swept over the receding giant from the tentacles to the top, turned around, flew to the tentacles, turned around and froze, taking the shrimp under the sights of the main caliber guns and the SEARCH system lasers.
  "Commander, the alien's protection is lifted. There are two signals indicating the presence of intelligent organic life on board this ship," Ingvar reported. "Classifying... These are the Asari and the Turian, sir. They are alive, but they are in deep shock. Their vital signs... Crushed," the specialist clarified.
  "Commander," Moro peered at the screens, "I see Geth landing ship, sir. Three pieces. They left the shrimp's hull through the portals and are now trying to fly away from the collapsed giant's position, sir. Will you allow fire to kill?"
  "Permission granted," Anderson said. "Bill. Make sure that we don't have any problems with them."
  "Yes, sir," there was deep satisfaction in the voice of the senior gunner. "Let's do it!"
  Several volleys caused all the Geth's landing craft to crash onto the metal launch pads hastily prepared at the giant's feet. Hardly anyone except the automatons was able to mark the moment when they appeared there.
  Chapter 12. Evacuation of the Turian and Asari from the Reaper. Seizure of the shrimp pilot.
  "We doubted that the Geth had gone beyond the Veil" Captain Anderson said, looking at the final data processed by several of the frigate's VI on the screens of the Star Chart. "I think it's your turn to act now, Shepard."
  "That's right, sir!" said the XO. "I suggest that we first deal with these two intelligent organics on board the shrimp. A rapid response team led by Lieutenant Alenko... I suggest, Commander, that she head to the archaeology camp and take the Prothean Beacon aboard the shuttle. On the external suspension," the XO clarified. "We managed to prevent the activation of the Geth landing... It is now clear that the task of the Geth subordinates of the Reaper was indeed to evacuate the Prothean Lighthouse aboard the shrimp. After loading the artifact on board, it would immediately take off. Whether he would have started shooting at the planet or not is another matter. To answer it exactly... Now it's hardly possible. And it is hardly necessary."
  "Are you suggesting that the Geth are... indoctrinated?" Anderson asked.
  "These are mashins, sir. And a mashin with a mashin will always come to an agreement quickly. Almost instantly," Said the XO. "By human standards, of course. So the "Soveren" agreed." Shepard gave a few short orders over the audio channel of the earphone speaker. "Lieutenant Alenko, sir, took the first shuttle back to camp. He has three policemen with him who are supposed to be on duty today. I'm taking five policemen and Corporal Jenkins with me. On the shuttle, we will reach the hole in the hull that is most convenient for our purposes and enter the ship through it. Recent scan data clearly indicates that the ship is hollow.
  "Go ahead, Shepard," Anderson said.
  The captain saluted and in a few minutes the shuttle was already carrying him to the defeated ship of an unknown race.
  ***
  "We're on our way, sir!" the driver reported. This time, Shepard did not take Steve, the shuttle's regular pilot, with him, citing that the upcoming mission was very dangerous and it would be better if there was a military policeman in the driver's seat. Steve got it right. He did not object, giving up the chair to one of the policemen and remaining on the frigate. "It's huge. And we've made a good hole in it! It's a good thing I'm not alone. There is a choice." He brought the shuttle sideways to the sharp edges of the alien's outer armor. "Ready, sir. I'm opening a salon," By pressing a key, he unlocked the side door of the shuttle. "Shall I wait for you here, sir?"
  "Yes," the XO confirmed. "Just keep the car away from sharp edges. The rasp was barely audible, but it was there. No need to aggravate the damage. It's extra work for the technicians," Shepard said, getting up and habitually twitching the bolt of an assault automatic rifle. "Take one of the insulating containers. Close the helmets. Turn the spacesuit systems offline. Keep your weapons ready at all times. Don't click your beaks, look around carefully. And - listen. To his feelings and sensations, too," with these words, he was the first to jump down onto the scaly plates of the inner lining of the cuttlefish's interior. Let's go and "take" the central control unit first. We need to finally knock out this monster. Is the task clear?" The captain turned his head to the left to see almost all of his bandmates.
  He was met with silent, cautious nods. The Normans looked around, getting used to the sight of the alien's insides.
  "Jenkins, you're next to last," having given this order, Shepard almost ran along the route he knew only.
  There was nothing special about the fact that he knew exactly where to go, despite the fact that the path led through the rubble of pipelines, coils of cables, piles of boxes and various hard-to-identify "junk" for Shepard. The condition of the "String" allowed him to subtly feel the environment for many meters around, and it was impossible not to notice such a bright "spot" as the central control unit of the "shrimp" in principle. And his colleagues from Normandy were also used to the fact that the new second-in-command of the ship's officer knew and could do much more than one would expect from an elite commando.
  The XO was bothered by only one feeling: he knew that soon the alien would wake up and be able to resist. The time remaining until the Reaper's protection was reactivated was running out. I didn't want to wonder how much time was left before switching on - I had to act quickly and efficiently, and you'd start wondering "how much is up to zero?" "you'll die." Or, at least, you won't complete the task.
  
  Finally, a glowing armored sphere "appeared" ahead. With a short gesture, ordering his companions to stop, Shepard moved closer to the sphere. He peered as far as the cone of dim light from the helmet-mounted searchlight, adjusted to a quarter of the power, allowed into its surface. He ran the fingers of his arm, encased in an armored spacesuit glove, along the joints of the petals. He paused, without taking his hand off the rim surface. And with a sudden movement, he pushed one of the petals to the side, forcing the others to fold like a fan.
  In the ligth bluish-greenish glow under the petals, a transparent sphere was revealed, held strictly in the center of the now open armored cocoon. Reaching out to the sphere, Shepard pulled it out of the holding field and felt the tension inside the ship disappear.
  "Jenkins. Container. Quickly," Shepard ordered abruptly, without turning around, waiting for the corporal to come up and hand him an open isolation box.
  After placing the sphere in it, the captain closed the locks of the inner trunk, dialed one code, closed the locks of the outer trunk and dialed the second code.
  "Is he... dead?!" Jenkins asked quietly. "And we did it? Did they kill this monster?
  "The ship is dead. And his pilot." Shepard looked at the container. Jenkins caught his eye and looked the same way. "He's alive," He looked around at his shocked companions. "Now we are looking for two intelligent organics. I believe they were caught in the ship's control room by the impact. Come on, come on, follow me," The XO ordered. "We'll have to carry both of them in our arms, colleagues, so let's move as quickly as possible. We didn't take a stretcher with us, not even the simplest fabric ones," the XO noted. "Nothing. We'll take it out." Saying this, Shepard almost ran along the winding path that ran among the ship's parts torn from their fastenings, heading for the beacons that clearly flickered on the helmet screen-indicators of biological activity. "Quick, quick, don't stop!" Despite the fact that the pilot had been removed from the center of the giant ship's control system, Shepard was not inclined to think that there would not be an emergency control system in the depths of the Reaper, operating, of course, completely autonomously.
  We also had to hurry because the condition of the two intelligent organics was deteriorating. Although not so fast, it was getting worse. There was still time to return to the hole and board the shuttle, and that was all the time that could have been gone....
  After climbing several ladders and climbing the side wall that had become a floor, the disembarkation group entered the premises of the Shrimp central post.
  There was a Turian lying exactly under a work chair propped up on a bracket, "wrapped" in a heavy armored suit. Not far from him, an elderly Asari in a black and white robe with a strange headdress lay like a broken mannequin, slightly askew and revealing a large wound on her forehead.
  The medical monitoring indicator on the XO's helmet display showed that the Turian was in good shape, but in deep shock and unconscious, but the Asari... As Shepard realized, she clearly did not have time to sit down in another chair, which was now hanging on the "side" wall, so she suffered multiple injuries. With tight, precise gestures, the XO ordered two policemen to aim at the entrances to the central post, while he and Jenkins bent over the asari.
  "Nine hundred and fifty years... According to the standard chronology. The Middle Galactic. I can't believe it...." The corporal whispered as his drone received the first identification data taken from the Asari by the suit's automation.
  Meanwhile, Shepard was liberally smearing panacelin on the spots of the most serious damage identified by the autodoctor on the screen inside the helmet medical diagnosis.
  "She's nine times older than any of us!" The corporal added.
  "Get used to it, Richard. Now it's part of our work," The commando took a set of tires out of his assault shoulder pack and fixed the Azari's left forearm and right shin with several precise movements, not forgetting to add another layer of panacelin to the wounds in these places. "Okay, that's it," he turned and walked over to the Turian. "But it's more complicated here," the XO turned on his wrist monitor and showed the data of the identification chip to his companions on its large screen.
  - The spectr? - the surprised exclamation was not restrained by three policemen at the same time.
  Shepard nodded, agreeing with the opinion of his colleagues.
  "He's so tough! Although, according to the diagnostician, there are almost eighty percent of implants in it," said the senior policeman. "He's barely hurt. But I would..."
  "Work hard, Orestes," Shepard finished his thought. "We need to get him to the shuttle. It will be more complete. You don't need him to start pulling out on the way. We still have to rent it out with a chaperone."
  "I'll carry him, sir," the policeman injected the Turian with a full dose of immobilizer.
  "All right, Orestes." Shepard made sure that his colleagues would help the policeman and turned to Jenkins. "Richard, do you remember the way?"
  "Yes, sir," the corporal watched as a short policeman carried a two-meter-tall Turian almost effortlessly to the exit from the Central Checkpoint. "I remember, sir," he corrected himself, catching the questioning look of the group commander. "I'll go first, sir." I'll take it out, sir."
  "Go ahead, Jenkins." Shepard watched the corporal leave and, going up to Asari, lifted her in his arms. "Go ahead, I'll follow you," he told the other policemen.
  The journey back was predictably difficult. In particularly cluttered places, the limp bodies of both victims had to be handed over several times. Shepard looked doubtfully at the in-helmet indicator of biological forms, flickering with bluish light. There were no more living people inside the ship, and there were no corpses either.
  The ship, devoid of a control link, was silent. This silence alarmed both the policemen and the captain.
  The shuttle driver brought the car to the edge of the hole. The Asari and the Turian were placed on their backs on two benches formed by transformed chairs. The policemen, Jenkins, and Shepard stood all the way to the frigate.
  In the Normandy hangar, they were met by Major Chakvas, who went up to the cabin, scanned both patients with her medical omny-tool and nodded to Shepard:
  "Good. They may well pull through, John. Take them to my medical bay." Having said that, she exchanged knowing glances with Jenkins and the other policemen. Richard, as Shepard noted, no longer looked like such an omnipotent "hero," but he was commendably calm and collected.
  Chakvas, as the XO noted, liked the corporal's mood.
  "Yes, ma'am," Shepard nodded and picked up Asari in his arms again, this time being the first to step onto the ship's hangar slabs. Behind him, the senior policeman carried the Turian.
  A few minutes later, both victims were placed on medical beds in the Chakwas kingdom, and the major of the medical service ordered everyone, including Shepard, to leave the Infirmary with a glance.
  "May I go, sir?" The senior policeman and Jenkins approached Shepard as soon as the captain was the last to leave the Sick Bay.
  "Go ahead. Get some rest. Thanks to everyone," the XO shook hands with the policemen and the corporal.
  The first mission, involving landing on a completely unfamiliar ship, certainly excited all its participants, so the handshakes helped to moderate the tension somewhat.
  "Yes, sir," saluting the senior officer, the corporal and the policemen went into the forecastle. Shepard knew that now they would have enough topics to talk about.
  As Jenkins left, he placed a container with a control chip at the captain's feet. After placing the container in the frigate's isolation storage, Shepard dialed five lock codes and slammed the thick door of the safe. Captain Anderson approached him inaudibly.
  "His heart?" the commander asked.
  "More," the XO replied after a moment. "The mind. Pilot. Base," Shepard said, looking at the smooth surface of the storage compartment lid and wondering what-or who-was behind it. "I would never have believed it, sir. But... he's obviously not alone on the ship. I wanted to say that he acts as a single being, as a single mind.... But in fact, there are billions of them out there, these minds. To lock such a thing up in such a large building and send it to war. Through such unimaginable spaces for humans. How soulless do you have to be?!..."
  "We can... understand... how they are, the ones who made up this Reaper's corps...." Anderson glanced at the storage door, "... did they look?"
  "We can, Commander," Shepard replied after thinking about it. "But I don't think we're ready for that right now."
  "While you were there, I ordered the ship's crew to secure the shrimp crash site and close it to the colonists. A fence has been erected and a barbed wire fence has been put up. With all necessary equipment. We also additionally shielded the landing site of the Geth ships and the places where individual Geth fell. All this is included in the general security zone," the ship's commander clarified. "Local... They were sympathetic to our demand for the establishment of a "restricted zone" regime, Captain" Anderson said. "Moreover, this "shrimp" is clearly visible and visible from a very decent distance. There won't be any "I'm just looking at it" problems. As soon as you removed the "chip", long-range communication from the planet was restored, but from the moment you boarded the shrimp, I ordered the area to be "closed" for now and not to send information about what happened on board the frigate to the Alliance. On my orders, the EW post placed Eden-Prime under an "information blockade." Filtering of information flows has begun. Several more people joined the EW post specialists - it turned out to be a lot of work for the usual number." Anderson was silent for a few dozen seconds. "To say that the colonists and the administration of the planet are in shock is an understatement. They don't even make any usual, and therefore quite predictable, claims about destroyed or damaged infrastructure and crops. It seems that they understood what this "shrimp" could become for them.... I also ordered all units of the Geth Marines and their ships to be assembled, and access to the backup landing table was blocked, where they had all been transported by this time. Engineer Adams has already been there and says that for the first time he sees such advanced machines that have managed to develop independently based on AI. Network AI."
  "Artificial intelligence?" Shepard's attentive gaze touched the frigate commander's eyes.
  "Yes," Anderson confirmed. "Fully developed artificial intelligence, Captain. I don't understand in detail how this can be, but the engineering group of the frigate... is unanimous. I prefer to trust my men and their judgment, Captain," Anderson replied. "It looks like we have a third problem. If you count this monster as the first, and the two who are currently in the medical bay as the second, then the Geth... will be quite capable of solving the third problem."
  "A report from Alenko?" The XO asked.
  "He was, Captain," the frigate commander confirmed. I sent a cargo shuttle there a few minutes ago. He'll be back in the ship's hangar soon. Then we will remove the Lighthouse from the external suspension and load it into a container. I think that if necessary, we can load the Lighthouse into a container and outside the ship - we have the conditions and opportunities for this. So we can choose what is best to do. Let's not rush it. The archaeologists are happy that these "walkers" did not reach them. They dubbed these Geth paratroopers "Walkers." Alenko did an excellent job. And it seems he's got a match there." Anderson relaxed a little, hesitated. "Commander of a platoon of marines assigned by the Alliance Air Force to protect archaeologists. A certain Sergeant Ashley Williams. Alenko himself is happy and glad that now he does not suffer from migraines. He's able to think straight twenty-four hours a day. Although... next to Sergeant Williams, it's hard to talk about his sobriety...." Anderson chuckled... "Young people..."
  I believe that Corporal Jenkins can be granted a short-term leave until our departure, Captain." Shepard left the main decision to the discretion of the frigate commander. "He has a mother, a father, and a sister his."
  "Let's not let anyone off the ship for now, Captain." Anderson said calmly and quietly. "And, I suppose, something is bothering you very seriously again."
  Chapter 13. Lieutenant Alenko. The archaeologists' camp on Eden Prime. Meeting with Ashley Williams
  The shuttle driver nodded silently to the lieutenant who came up to the car. Kayden realized that not every Normandy soldier was used to the fact that now a biotic officer was not plagued by severe migraines almost every day.
  After boarding the boat, Alenko motioned for the three policemen accompanying him to take their seats in the cabin, sat down in a seat, buckled himself in, and nodded to the driver who looked out of the cab. A few minutes later, the car leaves the hangar, heading for the location of the archaeological expedition camp, which unearthed the Prothean Lighthouse.
  "But right now we could have been flying to the camp to remove the lighthouse. In completely different conditions," one of the policemen said to no one in particular.
  "They could have," another policeman agreed with his colleague's opinion. "Only now we are flying to the archaeologists' camp in completely different conditions. I'm afraid that the fall of the Reaper and our fight with that "shrimp" were very clearly visible from there."
  "And they're noticeable," the third policeman agreed. "In a variety of ways."
  "Lieutenant," the driver's voice cut through Alenko's speaker. "The audio frequency scanner shows activity from the archaeologists' camp. It looks like... no, definitely... They've got someone indoctrinated there. And, it seems, more than one. If we get closer, we'll find out more precisely, sir."
  "Let me hear it." Alenko looked up from studying the files "laid out" on the instrumentation screen. "Good. I can hear them. Yes, there are several Earthlings who have been indoctrinated. But judging by what I've heard, the indoctrinated are still behaving quite calmly."
  "The camp is ahead, Lieutenant," the driver reported.
  Alenko got up from his seat and went to the side salon door. The shuttle performed a traditional "box", choosing a place to land.
  "Damn, they shot at us with an assault rifle," The driver was able to quickly divert the car to the side and the route of charges passed to the left. "A queue. This is clearly not an accident."
  "If this is indoctrination..." One of the policemen said softly.
  "We won't land the car. Let's land, colleagues! From five meters away," Alenko specified that manually, without using automation, he half-opened the cabin door and, crouching behind the sash, estimated the flight altitude. "Just a little lower. That's it, okay," He told the driver when he was just over five meters from the ground. "Let's jump!" He turned to the policemen who had come to the door. "Take the car to the perimeter of the camp. Don't fly inside yet," The lieutenant looked into the cockpit doorway and noted that the driver could see the speaker in the mirror.
  "Yes, sir," the driver waited until the relieved car shuddered slightly for the last time - the biotic lieutenant jumped off last and, pressing the button to close the cabin door, took the shuttle away from the camp limits.
  "We jumped off a little bit from the center of the camp," One of the policemen noted, dusting off his knees and adjusting his rifle.
  "Alliance intelligence reports. Two hundred meters. For three hours," Another policeman reported, who was closely monitoring the situation around the group that had landed. "They're acting strangely...."
  "They're... reprogrammed, Lieutenant," The third policeman barely managed to jump behind a boulder, avoiding the beam of a combat laser. "Destroy it?"
  "Yes" Alenko, hiding behind another boulder, crouched down and, raising his rifle, caught the incoming drone in his sights.
  Three charges - and the robot shatters into small pieces. The policemen destroyed several more approaching drones with single shots.
  "So far, it's clear. The scanners and locators are clear," said one of the policemen, crouching down and cautiously looking around for new flying "troublemakers." "I don't understand," he lowered his gaze, scanned the recordings of the neural unit for objective monitoring of the situation. It turns out that the drones were patrolling here, but they didn't go into the camp?
  "Indoctrinated in the camp, shooting at the shuttle with a rifle, now these reprogrammed drones," another policeman summed it up. "Something is very not clean here."
  "And what can be clean here?! By the way, we found this huge ship already on the planet. It's a good thing they didn't let the Geth go far from the "shrimp,"" said the third policeman. "And it seems to me that these drones are herding the camp like prison guards. Neither the archaeologists nor the Marines can go beyond the perimeter, but..."
  "Very interesting. Can't they shoot those drones?" The second policeman asked, looking at his irrepressible colleague. "What's that supposed to mean? Have the Marines stopped being warriors already?"
  "Well... under certain conditions..." The third policeman hesitated, not knowing how to formulate and express his thoughts more precisely, and most importantly, more safely.
  "The conditions are clear. Complex ones," Alenko said abruptly, straightening up. "Traffic from the planet is filtered by the forces of the frigate, we managed to do this, although it is difficult to achieve the absolute silence of Eden Prime and we cannot count on the complete silence of the planet. So let's find out the situation in the camp," he took a step from behind a boulder. As for "certain conditions", we will learn to fight in real conditions, and not in the conditions of a training ground. As a duty group, we must be ready for battle."
  "And the fight is just beginning," the first policeman noted, listening. "They're shooting."
  "And the shooting is going on around the perimeter of the camp," One of the policemen asked, taking his rifle at the ready.
  "It seems that the soldiers of the archaeologists' dowry platoon have decided to deal with the demented drones, which have become too fully accustomed to the role of jailers." Alenko reloaded his rifle and listened. Forward. We will help the nearest shooters. And then we will solve our problem. We will not use the shuttle," the officer clarified.
  A few minutes later, Alenko's group helps two space Marines fend off the laser beams of the reconnaissance drones.
  "Sergeant Williams, sir, two hundred and twelfth Marine Platoon." A girl dressed in a medium-armored space suit introduced herself. "Help the others, Tom," she waved the second Marine away. He hurried to hide among the bushes. Somewhere in the distance, single shots could be heard as the confrontation between the drones and the Marines continued. "You've helped us out a lot", She saluted when she saw the lieutenant's badges on Alenko's suit, "Are you the leader of the incoming group, sir?"
  "Yes" Kayden returned the salute. "Lieutenant Alenko, landing group of the frigate Normandy. Do you command a platoon?"
  "Yes, sir," Ashley nodded. "But we have... difficulties that we haven't encountered before, sir."
  "Report back." Kayden waited for Sergeant Williams to turn on his instrument screen. After listening to the report, he thought for a minute. "We have orders, Sergeant. Pick up the lighthouse and sort out the situation. So let's go."
  Surrounded by policemen, the sergeant and the lieutenant walked closer to the camp.
  "Here, in this place, we found a lighthouse", Ashley pointed to a circle of tilled earth. "The archaeologists... worked for several days. My platoon was assigned to guard. So we didn't go into details, we were mostly located on the perimeter of the excavation area. And there... you'll see a little bit. And you'll understand even less. Archaeologists are great silent people."
  Listening to the story, which did not meet the requirements usually imposed on a military report, Alenko understood that the girl was scared. It was hard to expect a Marine sergeant to be prepared for what had happened in the archaeologists' camp in the past few hours. The sudden defiance of security surveillance and reconnaissance drones, the indoctrination of archaeologists and space marines - all these were just small parts of one problem that now had to be solved.
  "So it was... your ship... that brought down this "shrimp"?" Sergeant Williams asked the question that had been tormenting her for a long time, as Alenko understood, when they reached the first balok.
  "Yes", Kayden nodded, confirming his words. He didn't go into details now, but looked around the neighborhood with increasing interest. "These boxes..."
  "We don't understand, sir," the sergeant replied. "The virtual intelligences of the locks refused to obey even the service commands. These failures "covered" the camp in a few minutes and we were already forced to repeatedly just break the locks. Still." Ashley bent down, typed a certain combination of numbers and letters on the illuminated virtual keyboard, pressed the "enter" sensor, but there was no reaction - the lock remained closed. "You see, I enter the correct commander-level password, but VI refuses to open it."
  "Reprogramming," one of the policemen said softly.
  Ashley heard it. She straightened up. She turned to the policeman. I saw his sergeant's stripes and a police chevron.
  "Is... is that possible, Sergeant?" She looked straight into the policeman's face. He hesitated, then nodded curtly. The other two policemen continued to silently survey the surroundings of the camp, occasionally noting something on the keyboards of their wrist omny tools. Kayden realized it was time to step in:
  "This "shrimp", as we realized quickly enough, is capable of a lot", Alenko said quietly to no one in particular.
  "We have no contact with the bases of the troops and with the authorities of Eden Prime", Ashley said. "We're cut off here. That too?!..."
  "No", Kayden shook his head negatively, causing a look of genuine amazement on the face of the Marine sergeant. "This was done by the Frigate Electronic Warfare Service. The whole planet is silent now. We have severely limited the traffic from Eden, filtered it, and checked it. If you use the old, full format, then too many onlookers will come to Eden Prime. And we don't need it now. The fall of a ship like this "shrimp" onto a planet, and a clash with it are too ambiguous facts", He paused, lowering the volume of his voice to a whisper. "Sergeant, this is not for the press or for comments in smoking rooms. Bye," He paused a second time. We are on the verge of a major war with such semi-synthetic and semi-organic ships at the same time. This is the Reaper." Alenko fell silent, trying not to let the figure and face of the commander of the marine platoon out from under his gaze.
  "But... the Reapers are a legend," Ashley said softly.
  "Consider, Sergeant, that you have seen the legend in reality. And we saw that she was not only real, but also quite alive," Alenko replied.
  "So it's... not destroyed? He's still..." Ashley was worried.
  "I don't know." Kayden tried to keep his voice steady. "This is not my level of awareness. The frigate's command will decide. Where is the Lighthouse?"
  "Archaeologists recently moved it... closer to the center of the camp," Ashley said, pointing in the direction. "They didn't even have time to put it in a container. There was no special security around the new storage location. That's when it started... I don't know how to even define it in short."
  "Indoctrination," said one of the policemen, who was listening to the conversation between the two commanders.
  "Indo... what?" Ashley snapped, looking at the police sergeant with an indignant, questioning look. "Do you know more than us?"
  "We know," Kayden confirmed. "For example, we know that there may indeed be, and most likely are, quite a few indoctrinated people in your camp, Sergeant Williams. There are some among scientists and Marines," the lieutenant added.
  "You mean... what about your shuttle when approaching the camp..." Ashley's voice had lost even a hint of commanding volume and clarity. "But we... we're not..."
  "We're not either, Sergeant", Kayden answered. "What is that mumbling?" He listened carefully. "Who is housed in this trailer?"
  "This is the workplace of Dr. Warren and her assistant- Assistant Manuel." Ashley turned to the front door of the beam. "Manuel... It's his voice. That muttering again. He's been mumbling like that for a long time, but as far as I'm concerned, he's been mumbling like that for a very long time. Repeats the same thing. It's... unnerving for everyone. And civilians... and Space Marines."
  "Dr. Ilse Warren?" said Alenko, opening his wrist band. Yes... she's a scientist, the head of the Prothean Lighthouse excavation," Ashley confirmed.
  Chapter 14 The Archaeologists' camp.
  I am very glad that, thanks to your intervention, we are relatively safe," a woman got out of the next trailer. Seeing her official current portrait on the screen of his instrument, Alenko immediately recognized her as Warren. "Lieutenant Alenko?"
  "Yes. Are you..." the officer asked the reason why the head of the archaeological party suddenly found herself in another trailer instead of at her workplace.
  "They hid," Ilse hastened to declare. "We were afraid that these drones, which I am now sure are completely out of control... would start shooting at people who had taken refuge in the village itself...."
  "They didn't let anyone outside the perimeter?" One of the policemen asked.
  "Yes," Warren nodded, confirming the guest's words. "Exactly. We always have to do something outside the camp, but here... The drones refused to obey direct orders. And they started... shooting at people who repeatedly tried to leave the camp. As a result, we got into a blockade... work stopped... Why did they freeze up, they were actually stopped!" Ilse almost shouted. "And then the crazy Spacemen... also... started shooting. Well, at least not to kill, but so ... to warn something ... I had to go to the balok's, there was at least some way to escape from this unmotivated shooting. And its consequences, by the way. We..." Warren was clearly very nervous. We didn't know that people... would keep going crazy. So did my assistant, Manuel, too... did not escape this fate...."
  "Yeah..." said one of the policemen, approaching the door of the balok. "He mumbles again...."
  "He's..." Dr. Warren hurried to try to turn the conversation in a more acceptable direction, "a brilliant scientist, but now, apparently, also due to the fact that many Marines began shooting at almost all the people in the camp ... he is in a semi-insane state. And so, when he becomes enlightened... he is a successful and very productive scientist. In general, I think it's correct to say that a genius and a madman are just two sides of the same coin."
  "Perhaps..." the policeman, who was standing at the door of the beam, listened. "He's shouting, not just talking. In particular, he claims that the lighthouse is the heart of evil, and the time of people is over. I can hear it well enough. Every word. It doesn't sound much like mumbling, Lieutenant."
  "What did you call it... indoctrinated..." Dr. Warren said. "We call it more simply: drugged. He's... afraid to go out. He's sitting on a chair, rocking from side to side, and actually muttering and shouting. A few dozen minutes have passed, and he... still won't calm down. And it seems to me that his condition is only getting worse." Warren took a few steps forward and stopped in front of the beam door, turned to the policemen, Alenko and Williams. "Will you... come in?! You just... need to make sure."
  "Open the door." Alenko, having made a decision, put the assault rifle into the back fastenings of the spacesuit, stepped to the beam. "Open up, Doctor."
  "Maybe... don't?" There was a hint of uncertainty or pleading in the voice of the head of the archaeological party. "He's... not himself."
  "Open the door, Doctor," Alenko repeated. A pistol appeared in the lieutenant's hand. At the same moment, pistols appeared in the hands of all three policemen. "Open up!" the officer repeated.
  Warren punched in the code. The door obediently slid aside. Holding his pistol at the ready, Alenko carefully and quickly stepped over the threshold. Two policemen followed the lieutenant into the balok. The third remained outside, standing so as to keep the head of the archaeological expedition in sight.
  "I hear the whispers again. I hear the whispers again. Whisper. Whisper. Whisper. They're... talking to me. They... say that humanity's time... is coming to an end. There's very... very little time left for people. And - not only for people!" A middle-aged man sitting on a stool in a standard scientific jumpsuit with all the necessary Velcro fasteners did not pay any attention to the newcomers. "The lighthouse is evil! He must be given back. We must give it back! We must give it back!!! Ah-ah-ah-ah-ah!!!!!" The madman raised his head, looked at the policemen standing at the door, but there was not a glimmer of reason in his gaze. "Have you... have you come to make sure that humanity's time has come to an end?!" He cried out. "So know that it has really come to an end!!! And it's not just humanity's time! Time for all races! Everyone! Everyone! Everyone!" The man, who was shouting at the top of his voice, suddenly doubled over, collapsed from his chair to his knees, his arms hung limply, his palms awkwardly touched the floor, and his head dropped sharply. "All of them" He either growled or howled, finally quieting down.
  "Our doctor will have an interesting patient", said one of the policemen standing next to Alenko.
  "No," the lieutenant said. "We will not involve our doctor in this matter. There are plenty of other doctors here. Let them take care of it. Soon there may be a lot of such... "special" ones. We're going out. For now, it's safe. And I don't see anything so dangerous for him around." Kayden looked around the interior. "Yes, there is nothing dangerous here. And he doesn't look like a violent man," the lieutenant went out, closing the door behind him.
  "Are you sure?" Dr. Warren asked as the officer approached Ashley.
  "Maybe you're right, Lieutenant." Warren poured as much venom into the answer as she could. "You seemed to be interested in the Lighthouse."
  "Yes," Kayden nodded. "It looks like he will remain in this "twilight" state for a long time. I was interested," Alenko confirmed. "And - interested. Lead the way," He didn't put the gun away. "And, Doctor, don't be silly!" the officer warned. What kind of nonsense is there... under such circumstances," Warren muttered softly but angrily, moving away from the beam and stepping onto the path. "Come on."
  "Lieutenant," one of the policemen overtook the officer and pointed with the barrel of his pistol at three men dressed like ordinary farmers walking away at a brisk pace towards the forest. "These three... are clearly not from the staff of the archaeological party."
  "Dr. Warren." Kayden, without letting the departing men out of his sight, turned to the head of the archaeological party. "Yours?"
  "No," the research administrator shook her head, not hiding her irritation. "Local people. They're always here. They think we can get little Prothean artifacts out of the ground by the sack. And we had only one order: The Lighthouse. Otherwise, they wouldn't have given us a platoon of Marines to guard us. Usually we... work without soldiers in our immediate and distant environment...", She looked at Williams with displeasure. She tried to remain calm and neutral.
  "Then we will stop," Kayden made the decision. "Catch up and detain," He motioned for one policeman to stay by his side, while the other two ran after the departing "farmers." They accelerated their steps even more, heading for the border of the camp, but a Norman shuttle appeared over the hill.
  Realizing that they would not be able to leave the camp in any case, the men stopped. Realizing that they would not be able to leave the camp in any case, the men stopped. Two policemen approached them, talked to them and, threatening them with weapons, forced all three to go to the lieutenant.
  "We didn't do anything wrong," said one of the terrified "farmers." "We often come here to watch... the season is over and there is little work in the fields.... And then you serve it, then you bring it, then you hold it. Like this... And this ship... didn't it fall after your frigate fired on it?" The man asked when he saw the "Normandy" sign on the lieutenant's spacesuit.
  Alenko nodded.
  "Sergeant Williams, why are there outsiders in the camp?" Kayden turned to Ashley.
  "What kind of... outsiders are they?" Ashley was surprised by Kayden's reaction to a seemingly ordinary, maybe even familiar situation for an Earthling. "These are the locals. They're here..." Ashley looked at the lieutenant. She instantly didn't want to continue talking about this topic. "I'm waiting for orders, Lieutenant.", She straightened, turning to Kaidan.
  "Search it." Kayden was already looking very closely at one of the three detainees. The policemen conducted a standard "checkup" of the clothes and body of the "marked" local resident, after which a fully serviceable pistol was born.
  One of the policemen packed the weapon in a transparent bag. The owner of the pistol did not have time to be outraged, as he saw the lieutenant's fist bursting with biotics in front of his face:
  "Tell me who you took the gun from," Kayden hissed.
  "I... it's... Yes, that's it... Vaclav Trebsten. He's here... nearby... on... I mean... he lives right next. I took it from him," the terrified "farmer" finished his confused monologue.
  "You've got some very interesting things going on here, Sergeant." Alenko turned to the frozen Williams. In the scientific archaeological camp, which is under army guard, local residents with military weapons are quietly staying. Moreover, smuggling is flourishing," the biotic officer turned to the two companions of the armed "peasant". "So far, you have the opportunity to speak off the record. This "trunk" is not the only one. So that..."
  "The fifth balok. Where the skin plate comes off... We've set up a cache there. A warehouse, that is," one of the other two "farmers" replied, trying to speak coherently. "We... this..." he hesitated, sensing the officer's displeasure.
  "Your fate will be decided by the local government." Kayden looked at the head of the archaeological party. "Are you going to deny that all of this" he glanced at the pistol, already packed in a bag in the hands of one of the policemen "happened without your knowledge?"
  "I'm alone and I can't physically keep track of several dozen employees", The research administrator replied. "You appear beautifully and quickly on a ship's shuttle, and we've been sitting here for a month before that. And now we're completely out of touch! And those drones went berserk... we almost got shot down. And for you, who have arrived, the main thing is protocol and rules!" the woman shouted. "Yes..."
  "Stop." Kayden said it so quickly and so sharply and clearly that Warren immediately shut up. "You, Sergeant," he looked at one of the policemen accompanying him. "Find two witnesses and seize everything you find in that "warehouse". On the record, of course. Do it," he waited a few seconds. "You, Strahle," he glanced at the second policeman, "will escort these gentlemen along with Webst," He pointed the barrel of his pistol at the three detained men, "into one of the balok"s. Let them sit and think for a while. Inform the local authorities, the channel will be opened to you from the frigate."
  "Yes, sir," both policemen approached the "farmers", formed them into a column, and then led them away. Sergeant, set up your guard at the balok, where these people will stay until the local law enforcement officers arrive here," Kayden ordered.
  "Yes, sir." Williams waved her hand vaguely and Alenko noted that two ordinary Marines standing at a considerable distance correctly understood the order of their commander, given in such a semi-civilian way - the sergeant's curious subordinates went to the beams to take the detained "farmers" under protection.
  The head of the archaeological expedition, who had been silent up to this point, tried to say something, but, catching the biotic officer's eye, decided not to tempt fate - Alenko was clearly "on edge."
  "Let's go to the Lighthouse," Kayden said, and was the first to return to the canvas of the "path" lined with hastily riveted tiles. "We're going to have... fun here," he said, noting the artifact's spire ahead.
  "Is this," Kayden, without stopping, pointed the barrel of his pistol at a man in overalls standing a few meters from the lighthouse, "also a local resident?"
  "This is Powell," Dr. Warren said. "He's a dockworker. He comes to us occasionally," she tried to say it calmly, seeing that Kayden was extremely unhappy with what was happening around the artifact. "Only occasionally."
  "Well, yes." Alenko stopped. "And how will you ensure the safety of the artifact, Doctor, if it is not fenced, not guarded, and anyone curious can approach it?" Kayden's hands lit up. "Should I start reminding you of the protocol provisions?"
  "We have..." Warren tried to object, but decided it was best not to continue.
  "Yes, yes," Kayden said, without taking his eyes off the worker standing by the lighthouse. "Shrimps" fly around in different ways, drones get out of control, indoctrinated doctors of sciences broadcast like followers of some lost apocalyptic cult. In general, it is complete darkness." Alenko turned to Williams. "Sergeant, take the trouble to clear the space around the artifact from outsiders."
  "Yes, sir." Ashley sighed, trying to make it as inconspicuous and quiet as possible, and then went to the man standing at the Lighthouse. "Sir, I have to ask you to leave. From the camp," the platoon commander clarified. "Or you will be detained."
  "Okay, okay," Powell nodded his head and began to timidly retreat from the Lighthouse. "It hums strangely and it has a... strange effect," The man turned around and quickly walked away along the path behind the balok's surrounding the square where the artifact was installed. Looking at the screen of her wristwatch, Ashley made sure that Powell had indeed left, and had not stopped somewhere behind the nearest balok's. The girl looked around, sighed again, slammed the lid of the device. I still had to check the security perimeter by activating additional instrumentron locators.
  The sergeant went to Alenko.
  "See." Kayden stopped Ashley with a short gesture, who wanted to report in full on the execution of the order. "We'll pack the artifact for now, and then we'll take it aboard the frigate."
  "Still, you're taking him away..." said Dr. Warren. "As far as I understand, you are following the orders of the Citadel's Advisors."
  "So far, we are not taking the Lighthouse from the planet." Kayden did not approach the lighthouse, but looked at the artifact from a distance. "But only to the frigate's hangar. Due to what happened recently... there is no definite decision on the removal of the Lighthouse from Eden Prime now", The officer opened the omny-tool and typed in several commands. "A ship's shuttle is coming here now, it will deliver the Lighthouse to the frigate. The loading will be carried out by members of the crew of the Normandy. Alenko saw a small boat approaching and waved his hand, making it clear to the driver that he should begin the process of taking the artifact to the external suspension.
  "And..." Ashley said timidly. "Lieutenant..."
  "Both of you will be present while I pack the Lighthouse on the suspension," Kaidan replied, approaching the bale of "harness" that had been dropped from the side of the shuttle hovering above the platform and enveloping himself in a biotic glow. "And then... then we'll deal with your local problems," he stepped towards the Lighthouse.
  "It looks like... his presence and that of his companions here will be delayed for a long time." said the head of the archaeological party. "And you..." Warren drawled unhappily.
  "I'm just a sergeant. And he's a lieutenant, in case you haven't noticed by now, Doctor," Ashley replied. "And since he is a biotic... I think that many types of Lighthouse effects are not as scary for him as for us, non-biotics. The frigate is definitely well aware of who should be sent to solve such issues."
  "He's too cool," Warren muttered. "And I haven't noticed yet"...
  "Yes, yes. You just need a pack of plastic papers with all sorts of different ... with seals and signatures, so that you can bury your face in them, and if possible, then with your nose, and therefore forget about the variability and impermanence of the surrounding reality," For a few seconds, Ashley stared at the head of the archaeological party in silence. "Doctor, have you really completely forgotten that a Reaper landed on the planet recently, which was only immobilized, but not destroyed?! And it seems to me that he came here for a reason, if half of the residents in our camp walk around like they're lost!" Ashley turned to the head of the archaeologists. "We have drones with VI, which, until recently, even professionals and specialists believed, in principle could not be reprogrammed, turned against all reasonable organics who found themselves inside the perimeter of the camp! And I see only one reason for this...."
  "The Reaper," Warren said.
  "I'm finally hearing sound judgment." Williams barely restrained herself from snorting indignantly as she read the texts of reports on the aftermath of the drone attack on the small screen of her wrist instrument. "And, I think that you will have to reduce the degree of freedom of behavior for your subordinates. Lieutenant Alenko," Ashley emphasized her rank and last name, "is right. It is unacceptable that there are so many outsiders in the camp, which is under the protection of the Alliance Space Infantry, who freely and calmly approach even the artifact. I assume that the Normans will stay here on Eden for a long time, and since the Lighthouse will be moved aboard the frigate..."
  "Don't worry, my dear," Warren, who realized that the commander of the Marine platoon had found unexpected support in the person of the officers and sergeants of the military reconnaissance frigate that had arrived on the planet, was now simply fuming with anger and irritation at her interlocutor. "There are plenty of artifacts here on Eden Prime. I'm sure it's not just the protean ones. There will be work for me and my people. And I'll just be happy, because you were imposed on me by the smart guys from the generals of the Alliance only while working with the Lighthouse. There is no Lighthouse, my soul, and you are not with me and my people!"
  "Ladies, don't quarrel." Alenko appeared next to the sergeant and the doctor unexpectedly. "The lighthouse is packed, and now the shuttle driver will begin carefully lifting the artifact and slowly deliver it to the Normandy. I'll sign all the documents in your balok, Doctor. And I'm not keeping you any longer, Sergeant. You can return to your subordinates and attend to your duties," he saluted.
  "Yes, sir," Ashley returned the salute. "I'm listening, sir," stabbing Warren with a look full of hostility, she turned around "on the spot," and then quickly walked away along the metal-plastic composite path to the tents housing the soldiers of her platoon.
  Noting how Warren was looking at the Lighthouse hanging in a belt harness under the bottom of the frigate shuttle, Alenko did not say anything out loud. Let him see, let him know that the Lighthouse has been suspended and will be airlifted to the frigate. It can also be loaded into a container near the ship. It will turn out even faster and better. Let the Lighthouse be seen by other Idens, let them know what exactly was found on their planet. Perhaps, having seen the artifact on the Norman shuttle's suspension, they will ask on the Extranet, in its planetary "mirrors", what it is, and there... It's not far from understanding the proximity of war there either.
  Having barely "recovered" from his semi-philosophical thoughts, Alenko forced himself to "pull himself together." Ahead of him was the signing of many documents, which, as always, had to be checked, agreed upon and corrected. Routine officer work. The main thing was that the Lighthouse was safe. And he can... handle the rest.
  Kayden found himself thinking more willingly now, not about the Lighthouse, not about the upcoming work with important documents. He's thinking about Sergeant Williams. Or rather, about a girl named Ashley, for whom serving in the army has become not a whim, but a true vocation. And he thinks of Ashley... warmly. Very warm and soft, even gentle. Not as a junior army commander, but as a person. Which he, Kayden Alenko, really... likes.
  "So are we going to sign the documents, Lieutenant?! Or..." Warren's question brought Alenko back to reality.
  "Yes, yes. Let's go. Show me where your office is." Alenko did not look at the impatient head of the archaeologists, but followed her to the path.
  A few minutes of walking - and the usual office environment is around. Kayden sank into an armchair, looked at the screen of the laptop turned towards him, at the printer, ready to spit out sheets of thermoplastic. There was a routine bureaucratic procedure ahead. Pushing thoughts of Ashley to the back of his mind, Kayden took out his personal stylus encoder and thanked the Higher Powers that he could now manage around the clock without terrible headaches. Whatever the nervous and physical strain, he is now free from these pains, which used to place him securely in a hospital bed over and over again and deprive him of freedom of movement and thinking.
  The archaeologists' camp gradually regained its former orderly appearance. Scientists and technicians checked the equipment, tested data banks and information storage devices - you never know how they could have suffered during a small confrontation with rampaging drones. Technicians were engaged in collecting drone remains within the camp and in its vicinity. The contract with the local administration clearly stated the requirement that archaeologists commit to maintaining order and cleanliness in their location and in the excavation sites.
  Ashley received reports and reports, gave the necessary orders and orders, visited the field hospital, talked with the infantrymen who received minor and moderate injuries.
  "Sergeant, representatives of the local administration have arrived", A marine reported as he approached.
  "Take them to Dr. Warren's office, soldier," Ashley ordered, pausing for a few seconds from checking the fastenings of the platoon's storage pyramid.
  "Yes, ma'am," the soldier turned around and left. Williams watched him go, thinking that the calm and fairly measured life of her unit was probably over.
  Chapter 15 Ashley
  Now the pilgrimages will begin. Yes, now it is necessary to close access to the camp to all outsiders. Kayden, he may have sharply expressed his displeasure about this, but he's right! It's not a camp, it's some kind of passageway! This means that it will be necessary to assemble a platoon and carry out some explanatory work. A lot has changed, too much. It is quite possible that a container for the Lighthouse could have been sent from the frigate directly here to the camp, but... they acted differently - they sent the Lighthouse on a suspension to the frigate. Yes, it's risky, yes, it's unsafe, but...
  In all likelihood, the military personnel who arrived on the frigate, even if they are intelligence officers, are specialists who are accustomed to solving such situations correctly, quickly and accurately. The Lighthouse is probably already at the frigate and it is being loaded into a container, which will then end up in the hold of a warship.
  No, it's still interesting. Yes, it's an order, yes it's the will of the Citadel Council, the governing body for several races that are quite ancient compared to humanity. Alien races. She, Ashley Williams, cringes every time, albeit imperceptibly, when she thinks that humanity has finally become convinced of its non-exclusivity as a carrier of reason. It was cruel, but it proved to be true. These Turians, Salarians, Asari, and all the others, numbering over a dozen... are difficult subjects to interact with.
  It is also good that she is on a planet that has been handed over to humanity. There are relatively few aliens here, and they are not the hosts, but the guests. The other space infantry units of the division were much less fortunate, as Williams knew, they were stationed on planets where humans were no longer the main, key race. Yes, humanity has engaged in active colonization, but so far these have been only the first steps. And now...
  Now these steps may not be ahead. Because there are not many years of relative peace ahead, but war. A war, it's scary to think, on a galactic level. Not some completely ordinary situation of military confrontation between two, three, or five races, but a war with an enemy who came to the Galaxy from outside. If this enemy has a lot of such ships... it will be very difficult to stand up and even more difficult to win.
  The soldiers of her platoon were almost unharmed. So, several slightly wounded, two or three soldiers received moderate injuries. Doctors- military and civilian, will do everything to bring them back into service as soon as possible. The usual situation.
  With archaeologists... it's more difficult. As Williams felt, they were ready to relocate. Let. Her platoon fulfilled its main task - it protected the archaeologists who excavated the Lighthouse. Of course, they tried to study the find as best they could and as well as they could, but... This artifact is too unusual. And impregnable. We couldn't understand or learn much. And the fact that they understood... was alarming.
  The lighthouse... still showed the clever archaeologists a very short recording. Video recording - you can define it that way. A terrible record. Which could also be considered a documentary record of the beginning of some kind of conflict between the races - there have been few of them in the last few thousand years. But there was something else in this record presented by Mayak: a conflict... of a galactic, general galactic level. Yes, several races are shown that bear little resemblance to the currently known and actually existing ones. That's why those people who watched this video realized that we are talking about races that are now extinct.
  Or rather, those who died in the fire of that very galactic conflict. Confrontation with a strong, extragalactic enemy. Ashley saw this recording. She's seen it several times. Under different circumstances. Yes, the recording is... scary. And now... now, after the archaeologists and the soldiers of her platoon, and she herself, witnessed a battle between an Earth scout frigate and a Reaper that was considered a figment of the sick imagination of a drunken intelligent organic, after an attack on the camp's inhabitants by frenzied, unknowingly reprogrammed drones, after she saw several people - and civilians, and military personnel who have gone mad as a result of an impact unknown to Earth science... She understood that these were all just the first chords of an impending catastrophe in the galaxy.
  Remembering the details of what had happened-all sorts of details that had not yet been brought together into a stable unity, she understood that both Lieutenant Alenko, who had arrived at the camp, and his three escorts were policemen.... They experienced a moment that... hardly a large number of Earthlings were ready to survive normally. The recording from the Lighthouse and its contents acquired a special meaning and significance for Williams. There is a war ahead. Real, big, complex. And - long - lasting... Very long-lasting. If you have to fight with such an enemy who has... such ships... it will be difficult. It's very difficult and difficult. To everyone. To all reasonable organics. Not just people.
  If such a thing is... ahead... she understands very well now why Kayden was so cruel. Ashley remembered his fist wrapped in a biotic glow and now realized that Kayden was surprisingly calm at that moment. There was no anger in him, there was no irritation in him. He was just... just doing everything he could to solve the problem. May be... It can't be, but it sure is... Sure enough, he was tense, agitated. But he didn't want to kill other intelligent organics. I didn't want to kill yet. Biotic. The biotic officer. The lieutenant. One of those who serves on the Normandy, who somehow managed to bring the Reaper, who was known until recently as an obscure legend, to the planet. As the locals who came to the camp told a little later, the Earth warship was helped to lay the Reaper by a strange, unprecedented activity of the local infrastructure - the same, for example, energy storage. Ashley had also heard that climate control also played a role. She hadn't known before that it was possible to use quite ordinary units in such a non-standard way in order to immobilize such a giant. How many meters were there in it "from the top to the heels"? "One kilometer, two kilometers?" Quite possibly two.
  Ashley Williams was clearly and fully aware of the fact that this ship, which suddenly appeared over the planet and landed, was simply huge. Few Alliance cruisers would be able to attack the Reaper in space. And here, on the planet, he was confronted by a reconnaissance frigate. A small, nimble ship. It was not intended at all, and it was not adapted to fight "in the line." Especially alone against such monsters.
  The archaeologists were getting ready to move to a new location. They packed personal belongings, equipment, instruments, and tools. A column of trucks and passenger wheeled vehicles lined up at the perimeter of the camp. Ashley heard the scientists and technicians relaying Dr. Warren's instructions to each other: get ready to move to a new site. This means that the Alliance Space Marine camp will soon be left without these restless and unruly neighbors. Representatives of the local district administration arrived at the camp again. Dr. Warren is alone with them in her office. Balok's... Some of these quick-assembly houses belonged to the local government, some - a small one - three or five pieces, were under the supervision of archaeologists. Now these houses were being disassembled, parts were being stored, completeness was being checked, packing and loading on transporters were being carried out.
  Ashley managed to inspect several empty balok's. Bare walls. Everything is as usual. It was unlikely that she, the commander of a marine platoon, would be allowed to transfer some of her soldiers to these balok's. Unlikely. And there is no need to transfer them here to these houses. Tents... are much more familiar, more common.
  *Balok - a trailer house.
  And somehow closer to her and her people. Come to think of it... tents won't be enough for survival soon. We'll have to move to dugouts. Dig trenches, communication passages, crevices. If several such "shrimps" hover over the planet... only structures such as dugouts will be able to somehow help reduce personnel losses. Not to exclude, but to reduce. Now the Marines had to fight. With a real opponent. With the troops that will come to Eden Prime - and not only to Eden Prime - from the sides of such giants. And this landing force will be very numerous. Geth... Few people could have argued quite recently, a few days ago, that they would necessarily appear so far from the Perseus Veil.
  And now that the Geth were landing from this Reaper... it was clear that there was going to be a war with the machines. With robots armed not with virtual, but with full-fledged artificial intelligence. With robots that shoot without a miss, without fear, uncertainty, hesitation. They act quickly, often with a speed and accuracy that is beyond the reach of any reasonable organic. The war was going to be... terrible.
  Ashley thought about it while doing her usual daily commanding routine. She didn't really mention what she was doing or how she was doing it now, and she didn't really think about what she should do in the near future. Somehow all this... became automated or something... Yes, she always wanted to serve in the army, for her the army became a home, became a family. And now, becoming more aware of the fact that a real big war was approaching, Ashley asked herself if she was ready for such a war. It was she, the commander of the Alliance's Space Infantry platoon. The sergeant of the MSF.
  The answer "yes" looked... pale. Maybe if we were talking about an ordinary racial conflict, at least with the same Turians, Williams, the granddaughter of a military general, would be more confident and unequivocal in her answer. Having witnessed the confrontation between the frigate and the Reaper, having survived the drone attack on the camp's inhabitants, having seen indoctrinated, or perhaps drugged people who resembled patients of earthly psychiatric clinics, she realized more fully, more deeply and more acutely that she had not been prepared for such a war that was coming. They didn't cook at all, or maybe, at best, they didn't cook enough.
  The Normandy shuttle, which was carrying the Lighthouse to the frigate, returned. The driver put the car in, got out of the cab, sat on the grass, turned on the omny-tool.
  Kayden did not appear, the spacer on duty at the camp recently reported that the lieutenant was still working with documents. And if these representatives of the local administration visit him... Alenko will stay here for a long time.
  The shuttle driver is calm, he's not in a hurry. He's sitting there, reading something on an omny-tool.
  "Sergeant, the local police have arrived. The people detained by Lieutenant Alenko were handed over to them," A day marine who came up to Williams with quick steps reported. "With the knowledge of the lieutenant, Sergeant," the soldier clarified. Ashley nodded and saluted, allowing the soldier to be free.
  This means that this problem has been solved. The gun and the contents of that "cache" were probably handed over to the police along with the detainees. It is quite possible that the Marine soldier did not see everything and was not told everything, but what he understood was enough to realize that a lot would change very soon.
  Sitting down on a boulder, Williams took a pike briquette out of her duffel bag, opened the shell, put the briquette on the stone, waiting for the "stove" to finish its work. I didn't want to eat cold rations - there was time to warm up the food.
  Williams' thoughts kept returning to Kayden. She was very interested in him for some reason. And, as Ashley realized when she started eating, she was interested for a long time.
  "Do you mind if I invite you to the shuttle, Sergeant?" Alenko's voice rang out. Ashley almost jumped in surprise: the lieutenant had approached so quietly and unnoticeably. "There we can have a snack in more comfortable conditions."
  "I don't mind." Ashley stood up, shouldering her duffel bag. As she sat down at a table in the shuttle's cabin, she glanced at the lieutenant. "It looks like my platoon will be left alone soon."
  "The archaeologists are being transferred to another site," Kayden confirmed, unpacking his ration briquette and waiting for the stove to finish its work. "I'm sure there are plenty of Prothean artifacts in the area", He paused, picked up a spoon, and began to eat.
  There was silence in the cabin for several minutes, but Ashley noted that this silence was not forced, but natural. Yes, Kayden... can be different. He can be very laconic and... surprisingly unobtrusive. Yes, he had invited her, the commander of the Marine platoon, aboard the frigate shuttle, although he might not have done so. Maybe it really looks... standard.
  Maybe, but it's important to her: it wasn't her, he showed her attention, which, of course, he might not have shown. He's a lieutenant, an officer, and she's a sergeant. Distance, difference, subordination, and everything else gave him huge advantages that... quite possibly were neither essential nor necessary for him right now.
  Nothing much was going on: she, a sergeant in the Space Infantry of the Alliance of Systems Air Force, and he, a lieutenant in the Alliance of Systems Air Force-Ashley wasn't interested or interested in his specialty right now-were just having lunch, or maybe even dinner, on board the shuttle.
  Still, Ashley was pleased to feel that this was not just a joint "meal" between two commanders, even if they were of different levels, even if they were of different ranks. And when, in fact, do they, the commanders, even communicate, if not during these very meals? There is practically no free time, and there are a lot of responsibilities. Besides, it's clear that Kayden won't be here for long... He will definitely return to the frigate.
  If representatives of the local authorities visited the archeologists' camp and, as they managed, dealt with the local "troublemakers", handing these "outsiders" over to local law enforcement officers, then Kayden has very little reason to linger here, among the spacemen who are temporarily out of work. If...
  Unless she, Sergeant Ashley Williams, is one of those reasons for Kayden. And since there will be no work for the Marines of her platoon in the very near future, at this very place, she may well take a little break from the daily army cocktail and remember that she is not only a sergeant of the Marines, a platoon commander, but also a girl. And Kayden is not only a lieutenant, but also a young man. Interesting, attractive, pleasant... not just a conversationalist...
  God, why was she so fast? They barely know each other, and he tries not to look at her at all, concentrating on his food. She's looking at him, of course. With interest. He understands this and does not hinder her. The driver... is sitting with his back to the cabin, so... you can't underestimate him, of course, he can feel a lot.
  "Lieutenant, may I..." Ashley puts the package aside, wipes her fingers and palms with a napkin.
  "Williams, you and I are not on the parade ground. So let's do it for now... without ranks." Alenko leans back in his chair and looks at Williams. I assume you may also be transferred to a new location soon to complete a new task."
   "And so it will be." Ashley didn't know how to address Kayden at that moment. Yes, she understood the wording "without ranks," but just like that, she immediately addressed him, the lieutenant, by name.... Maybe she's worried unnecessarily?
  "Kayden... Excuse me... This fight..." Williams said timidly, overcoming her reluctance to switch to communication "without ranks" very quickly.
  "We were preparing for it," said Alenko. "Long before our ship appeared in this star system. We were preparing. And that's why... we were able to resolve the situation in our favor. Or... at least start solving it. So far, it is clear to me that the situation has not yet been fully resolved. The Reaper... is only immobilized, it is not destroyed, it is not subdued by us. So... things can still change very quickly", Alenko hesitated, "one way or the other. And the fight... We really used some of the capabilities of the planetary infrastructure. I understand that there will be a lot of restoration work."
  "That means..." Williams continued timidly.
  "This means that, most likely, the frigate will not leave the planet in the next day or two, Ashley", Kayden said, vaguely realizing that he was the first to give the interlocutor the opportunity to reduce the distance in communication very seriously and significantly.
  Hearing her name from the guest's mouth, Ashley experienced difficult feelings, and at that moment she was afraid to think logically about feelings at all. It was too good to hear her name coming out of Kayden's mouth. He was the first to take a big step towards her, calling her by her first name, not by her rank, not by her position. Although... he could, of course. Could. But he called me... by my first name.
  
  Chakwas saw on her indicators how Kayden's health status was changing and understood that the lieutenant... had fallen in love. He was certainly happy to realize that such acute and profound emotions would not have to be "paid for" by hours of terrible headaches, although at those moments he hardly thought about such things in any particular way. He was happy and enjoyed it to the fullest.
  
  "I'm glad, Kayden, that... the frigate will stay on the planet for a few more days", Williams said softly, looking straight into the face of the young man sitting across from her. "You won't mind if we walk around. Half an hour... we have."
  "I will not." Kayden stood up, led the way down the ramp to the ground, and offered Ashley his hand. The shuttle driver, who turned to them, saw how the Marine sergeant hesitated, leaned on the lieutenant's outstretched hand and, descending, as the hostess of the camp, led the guest to its border. Soon, Ashley and Kayden were walking slowly along the path.
  They talked for several tens of minutes. They talked alternately, without going into long drawn-out monologues. Ashley liked the way Kayden listened to her, how unhurried and calm he was. It seemed to her that he was even somewhat relaxed. Maybe because they had already moved far enough away from the camp with its artificial order and were now in the midst of a forest almost untouched by civilization, or maybe for some other reason.
  Williams really wanted to believe that Kayden would be with her for a long time. For a very long time. The premonition of war did not leave Ashley, it became familiar to her, won the right to permanent placement somewhere in the corner of her mind.
  If there is such a war ahead, then these peaceful, calm moments... will be very precious when you only have to remember them, reliving them over and over again. Then, when there will be a war around. A terrible war. With huge losses, destruction, losses. Almost continuous and heavy fighting. Digressions... Yes, yes, retreats, because the enemy, who has ships like this Reaper on his side, is unlikely to immediately begin to retreat under pressure from the forces of the Alliance of Systems, for example.
  There will be no endless retreats, but we will have to retreat... especially in the first hours and days. The enemy will have to show his strength and might in order to convince the inhabitants of the galaxy at least of the seriousness of his intentions, and only then of his ability and willingness to impose his will on them, intelligent organics.
  Ashley didn't feel ready to talk about occupation or captivity. Even internally. And that made her very nervous. The distraught people-both civilians and military personnel-made a difficult, heavy impression on her, the sergeant of the Space Infantry. If the enemy can just influence the psyche of intelligent organics like that... There will be no captivity. It will be either life or... death. Complete and final. Death is not of the body, but of consciousness, because a madman is already another, completely different person, despite the fact that outwardly he is often indistinguishable from a mentally normal person.
  Kayden... tell me... about yourself," Ashley asked, trying to detach herself from thinking about the unenviable fate of indoctrinated intelligent organics.
  "Good." Alenko went even slower. His story was unhurried. Williams understood that there was a lot Kayden wasn't saying, and yet there was a lot he wasn't hiding. "Now I am the deputy commander of the landing group. For amphibious assault work," the biotic officer finished his story. "Ashley, tell me about yourself."
  "Well." Williams did not stop, although at that moment she really wanted not only to stop, but also to look around.
  She also left out a lot of things in her story, not really hoping that Kayden wouldn't catch it, but she tried to reveal many points with sufficient completeness. "We were sent to Eden Prime to ensure the safety of the archaeologists, whose task was to extract some valuable Prothean artifact from the bowels of the planet. Official excavations, but requiring military protection. This is common for space marines, although such tasks are quite rare in our practice. It's also good that both the archaeologists and we were located close enough to each other, and we didn't start distancing ourselves. Geographically, we were close, but otherwise we tried to keep a sufficient distance. They work, we guard. And we don't interfere in anything else. Unless, of course, we are asked for something specific and the request does not contain anything... unacceptable. And the relations with the locals... well, the archaeologists are mostly from Eden Prime, we're here on a business trip," Ashley smiled faintly. "I had to let the locals do a lot of things. And avoid excessive bureaucratization of relations with both local authorities and local residents. So the errors have accumulated. It's also a good thing that the weapons found at the locals and in the makeshift warehouse... did not start firing at reasonable targets."
  "Yeah... good," Kayden nodded, stopping. "I'm sorry..." he put his hand to his ear, activating the speaker at the same time. "Lieutenant Alenko," he listened to what his interlocutor was saying. "That's right. I'm listening. I'll be at the playground on time." Lowering his hand, he looked at his companion, sincere regret could be read in his gaze. "The order is to return to the frigate. For now, go to the playground. There's work to do," he looked at the incoming shuttle. "Our people are already on board, this is for me. I'm sorry," he gently took Ashley's hand. "I hope to see you again. I really hope so," He spoke softly but clearly, turning and taking the first steps towards the landing ship, reluctantly releasing his companion's hand. "I really hope so."
  Williams watched Kayden go until the cabin door closed behind him and the boat lifted up and turned its stern to the Marine sergeant, lifting its nose and picking up speed. After following the shuttle's flight with her eyes, Williams stepped onto the path and, trying not to run, returned to the Marine camp. There were things waiting for her that could no longer be postponed. Some part of her mind was now firmly occupied with thoughts of Kayden. She... definitely liked him very, very much. She liked him much more than many other young people with whom she was brought together by her service or her stay in inhabited worlds.
  By now, she was almost certain that she had fallen in love with Kayden Alenko, a biotic lieutenant. And she felt, understood, realized that he loved her... mutual love, mutual affection... are rare. So she, the younger Williams, is very lucky. There are new meetings with Kayden ahead. There are new conversations ahead. She will definitely find out more about Alenko, his colleagues, and the frigate. He will learn and try to understand a lot.
  Chapter 16 Collectors and Protheans
  "Yes, Commander. If I may, we'll talk about it in your cabin," Shepard said.
  "Let's go," Anderson said shortly.
  Entering the cabin, Shepard waited until Anderson, who came in after him, closed the front door and turned on the forbidding signal on the external lock interface. Without sitting down in an armchair, Shepard called up several diagrams, graphs, and tables with drawings on the wall screens.
  "Do you think," Anderson asked, after reviewing the information provided, "that there were heavy battles here with such "cuttlefish" and their accomplices?"
  "Commander," Shepard said quietly and calmly, "the planet is literally littered with remnants of infrastructure, which is much older than the sixty to seventy thousand years familiar to earthlings. This means that there were developed settlements of the strongest race of the previous cycle. The Imperial race. The titular race. Known as a Prothean," he clarified. "The lighthouse is much less important, Captain, than what I was able to sense. Feel it, to be more precise. Strange as it may sound, here on the planet there are the most valuable and complex monuments of the Prothean culture that have not yet been uncovered. While we were flying to this "cuttlefish", I got acquainted with the map of the official excavations. In my opinion, the venues are not always optimally chosen. This is indicated by the many pits that turned out to be empty. I know how difficult it is for archaeologists to even temporarily "remove" the local lands from agricultural circulation. Nevertheless, the administration of the planet is already insisting that the empty excavation sites be reclaimed and returned to agricultural production. And I am inclined to admit that the local administration - both planetary and regional - is absolutely right about this."
  "Knowing you, Shepard, I cannot believe that you are ready to offer only an updated map of possible non-empty excavation sites. You have something more than just a map."
  "There is. When I touched the chip's armored capsule, my brain-until I verbally define what happened that way, Commander-took in the information that millions of Protheans had been transformed. Recently, representatives of the race have appeared in the systems of the Terminus, calling themselves Collectors - they are called differently in different dialects. Few people have seen them in detail." Shepard clicked his omny-tool, pressing a few keys on the miniclaviation. The images on some of the wall screens have changed, "but in general they look something like this. This is an approximate image - only in the form of a drawing. It's good that the artist has a wonderful memory. Collectors usually don't like to be captured so accurately and completely."
  "They keep the unknown..." said Anderson, reviewing the presented drawing. "An insect."
  "A fossil insect. This "descendant", hardly distinguishable from the original, is fifty thousand years old. And this cuttlefish has more than twenty million. According to the most preliminary estimates."
  "And you're suggesting..." said Anderson. "However, I know that you usually keep your assumptions to yourself for the time being, Shepard. You know something that means much more than this drawing."
  "Yes, Commander. And I thank all the known and unknown gods for the fact that we managed to "overwhelm" this shrimp with its giant landing force before they got to what now belongs only to humanity. It belongs to us, the earthlings. And it costs hundreds of thousands of times more than this lighthouse, no matter what information it contains."
  "Listening to you, I'm leaning towards only one option, Shepard," Anderson said thoughtfully.
  "You're right, Commander. It is a living, original, normal male protean. It is in a state of cryostasis in a specially designed capsule. At a depth of thirty-six meters from ground level. I know the area. Accurate to the meter."
  "Do you know what you're talking about, Shepard?" Anderson looked directly at his first mate. "I see and feel: You're smart. What is required of me?"
  "Contact the archaeologists, Commander. Let them roll up and drive the machinery and equipment in the "three crosses" gait mode to the area that I will specify, and there they dig a mine in a place that I will also specify later. I'm sorry, but I can't say anything else right now. The risk of intelligence activities is too high. Both terrestrial and alien."
  "I understand," Anderson replied. "Then let's do this. Since the lighthouse is already submerged, our mission is here...."
  "It will be completed later. And it will not end with the loading of our guest from the distant past on board the frigate", Captain Shepard interrupted. "I'm afraid our mission will continue here."
  "Good. I agree," Anderson said. "I will talk to the leadership of the archaeological party, and I think they will be happy to participate in such an important project. I would like to point out that the scan from orbit revealed a suspicious location, the characteristics of which are very similar to the Prothean artifact. You have instilled in me a love of digging in databases. I've already studied some information about the local artifacts. Will we move the frigate there?"
  "We shouldn't scare our ancestor, Captain," Shepard replied. "Let the frigate wait here, next to the cuttlefish. Nevertheless, I believe that reliable protection of this ship is possible only by the forces of our frigate, no less. While we're digging a mine there and getting our ally out of oblivion."
  "An ally? Are you so sure?" Anderson asked.
  "We don't need to kill him. There will be fifty thousand years between us and him anyway. And we, the current ones, will become better and stronger if we can overcome this gigantic distance in time and space together," Shepard replied.
  Commander, the omny-tool on Anderson's arm came to life. Lieutenant Alenko's voice came from the speakers of the bracelet.
  "The lighthouse is loaded into a container. There is no damage, everything is fine. I do not observe activation. The leadership of the archaeological party asks you to indicate the approximate area where you should move to. They are finishing loading onto the transporters. Approximately twenty minutes later, they will be able to report on readiness for movement."
  "I've accepted the report," Anderson replied. "Give me the contacts of the leadership of the archaeological party, Lieutenant," the commander paused, waiting for the drone to beep, signaling the receipt of the file. "Good. Tell them that we will contact them soon. Let them calmly prepare for the move."
  "Yes, commander." Alenko disconnected the channel.
  
  Most recently, Kayden arrived at the frigate by shuttle. He could certainly feel Ashley's eyes on him as he boarded the boat, as the heavy armored cabin door closed behind him. He felt that gaze much later, when the shuttle was already flying towards the frigate. At Normandy, he had to quickly put thoughts of Ashley far away in his mind and start fulfilling his duties. The driver of the shuttle that delivered the lighthouse to the ship said that the journey to the "site" took much longer than planned - and not only because there was such a valuable cargo on the suspension.
  The ship's engineers and technicians expressed well-founded doubts that it would be so easy to put a lighthouse on the site next to the Reaper. Therefore, it was necessary to develop and implement a new plan: a container was removed from the frigate's hold, installed with the help of gravity pads on another platform located astern of the Normandy, where it was supposed to load the lighthouse into the container using two shuttles. While all this was being prepared, the driver of the shuttle transporting the artifact was ordered to go to the ship at the slowest speed. It took several tens of minutes to carefully and unhurriedly unpack the lighthouse from the "harness", install it on a gravity platform and "slide" it inside the container.
  Lieutenant Alenko reported on the results of this process to the frigate commander. Now Kaidan watched as the container doors closed, hiding the most valuable artifact from prying eyes, as both Normandy shuttles rose from their platforms to take the container on suspensions and deliver it inside the frigate's hold. This procedure also took about half an hour: the engineers and technicians who supervised the transportation process unanimously demanded that drivers take maximum care and perform all maneuvers at the lowest possible speed.
  "It's not exactly optimal," Engineer Adams said to Lieutenant Alenko, who came up. "We've lit up the lighthouse too much. I am of the opinion that it was necessary to drag the container to the camp, pack it there and then immediately push it into the hangar. As it is... half of the population of Eden Prime has seen this artifact. Rumors spread fast."
  "I agree, Sir". Alenko nodded, watching as two shuttles carefully carried the container closer and closer to the mouth of the frigate's hangar. "But at least we're doing it all openly on a planet that belongs to humanity. If we were doing this on any other planet, then yes, you are absolutely right, and we would have to pack the lighthouse into a container back at the archaeologists' camp. And so... I don't think all the residents of Eden Prime should be considered complete idiots. They know something about Lighthouses, but after our frigate collided with the Reaper here and engaged in battle with it... it's unlikely that we could have kept the fact that we loaded the lighthouse onto the ship a secret."
  "It's also good that we don't advertise our plans for this lighthouse", The engineer said quietly, "Many of the inhabitants of Eden may think that we are taking this lighthouse off the planet for a reason."
  "They can," Alenko agreed. "And, I suppose, they have the right to do so. For now, our job is not to give them too much food for thought. And even more so for conclusions."
  "Soon the lighthouse will be loaded on board the ship." The engineer consulted his omny-tool panel and gave several instructions on the speaker. "Are you planning to return to the archeologists' camp?"
  "Whatever the commander says, that's what I'll do, sir." Alenko himself was thinking about how he could quickly and, most importantly, more easily return to Ashley, see her again, and be with her. He understood that he was drawn, with terrible force, to this girl. "There are no orders yet. And we still have enough work to do here. How about the Geth?"
  "We study a little bit. Something that we can study without fully activating them. The networked mind. Dangerous," Adams said. "A ship dominated by the Geth, with their network organization based on advanced artificial intelligence and complete contempt for physical death.... It's... power."
  Nodding to the engineer, Alenko sauntered over to another shuttle that was descending to its landing site - it was necessary to coordinate the issues of patrolling the vicinity of the site, which now housed the defeated Reaper, the Geth landing ships and the disabled Geth themselves, who made up the landing force of this giant ship. Kayden had to push thoughts about Ashley back into the background again, but now the lieutenant enjoyed the opportunity to think fully, clearly and a lot, without fear of losing almost completely out of action for several hours later due to a terrible headache.
  
  "How little a man needs to be happy," said Shepard. "To get rid of his migraines, to give him the opportunity to participate in an unusual military operation, to prove himself. And the person is happy...."
  "Isn't that wonderful, Shepard?" Anderson glanced sideways at the first mate, then back at his omny-tool. "Dr. Chakwas is on his way to us. I guess she has important news if she decided to come here herself." The commander unlocked the door and invited the female medic to sit in a chair. "Karin, we are listening to you carefully."
  "I know, David," the doctor replied, sitting down in a chair next to the officers. "As a medic, I've done everything I can in this situation. I had to put them both into a medically induced sleep. It's easier with a Turian - he has more than eighty percent of implants, as was correctly noted earlier. That's why he got off easy. So, minor fractures and bruises. But the Azari... Fractures are by no means minor, there are many bruises and cuts. And other things. That's not the main thing. Colleagues, I am unable to restore the psychosphere of both. Her indicators are still "crushed", although I no longer see the terrible picture that was before. There are positive developments after the sixteenth decimal place, but this is happening extremely slowly. Comander," The doctor looked at Anderson. "I ask you to tell me what are your future plans for both of them? What should I prepare them for?"
  "Karin," Anderson said after a short pause. "We're not going to kill them, and we're not going to torture them. Now we have a lot of work to do at Eden Prime related to archaeological excavations. I can't tell you more details right now, I don't know everything yet, and the work is actually only planned. So the frigate won't leave the planet. I think this work will take at least a few days, so both of your patients will have time to make progress in recovery."
  "Okay, commander," the doctor nodded, agreeing with the statements of the head of the ship's crew. "If I may, I'd like Captain Shepard to take a look at both of them. I know... about his abilities. Monitoring the condition of Lieutenant Alenko and Corporal Jenkins has yielded many interesting results for me as a medic. I've looked through the relevant archives and knowledge sources. I think we shouldn't go to the Alliance and Citadel medical centers right now, or use local medical facilities."
  "We have fifteen minutes left before we have to direct the convoy of archaeological party transports to the point, Karin," Anderson said. "Captain Shepard will undoubtedly take a shuttle to the area and take part in the excavation. We plan that their duration until the expected results are obtained will not exceed one Earth day. Until then, I believe he will be able to provide you with any assistance he deems necessary."
  "Yes, Commander," Shepard nodded. "May I be free?"
  "Permission granted, Captain." Anderson nodded, watching as the first officer opened the cabin door for the frigate's doctor and followed Karin out, not wanting to walk next to her.
  
  The visit of the local authorities to the camp did not go unnoticed for Dr. Warren. She received a written order from one of the officials to hand over the position of head of the archaeological party to Dr. Stashinsky, after which she was placed at the disposal of the director of the Archaeological Research Center at the local University. After completing the easy transfer procedure, Dr. Warren packed up and left the archaeologists' camp. Anyway, now her former colleagues had to change the location of the camp, and the deputies for economic and administrative affairs would be able to handle it. As always, Dr. Stashinsky reserved for himself only the general supreme leadership, intending to focus on his own scientific research and the most direct participation in the upcoming excavations.
  As Dr. Warren sat in the passenger seat of the traveling flyer that arrived at the camp, she did not look back at the place where the large settlement of the archaeological expedition had recently been located. In her toolbox was a file with an official invitation to work in one of the scientific departments of Cerberus. We had to think about how to combine work at the Center and work in this organization. It was a good thing that it was a few hours flight to the location of the University - there would be time to think about everything in sufficient detail. Now it will be possible to leave Eden Prime and possibly return to Earth.
  
  Ashley finally received the file with the order from the command of her division. The document stated that the platoon should remain in its original location "until further instructions are received." I had to inform the personnel about the contents of the order her received, and give out dozens of instructions so that people would not be idle and looking for adventures in the camp and beyond. Then, personally inspect the site previously occupied by the archaeologists' camp for... Yes, just to prevent all sorts of difficulties that might otherwise arise in the future.
  Ashley already knew that the archaeological expedition that excavated the Lighthouse would now be led not by Dr. Warren, but by Dr. Stashinsky, and sincerely regretted that she would not be able to communicate with this intelligent and extremely passionate man in the near future. He was very different from Dr. Warren, in whom Ashley constantly felt some kind of "double bottom". Williams didn't want to think about this "day" all the time, and she couldn't: the commander of the Marine platoon had plenty of worries that were much more important than the problems associated with a certain civilian administrator from archeology.
  Sit in the same place? It wasn't difficult for Ashley and her people. After the attack by the frenzied drones, of course, several Marines had to be handed over to the military medics, including the soldier who tried to shoot so accurately at the incoming frigate shuttle. The aesculapians were currently studying the health status of the new patients, but so far they categorically refused to explain anything, much less comment in any detail. Ashley understood that what the Eden doctors had to deal with was too new. Therefore, a quick solution to the problem should not be expected.
  There was still no communication, either with the Alliance's central marine base on Eden or with nearby settlements. Noting to herself that in order to filter such a dense information flow, the frigate must have impressive capacities, Ashley went to the hospital where military doctors housed the "problematic" marines.
  The visit to the wards, accompanied by aesculapians, took Sergeant Williams several hours. It was only upon returning to the camp that she learned that the Lighthouse had been loaded aboard the frigate. None of the Idens really seemed to have any information about the fate of this artifact.
  After checking the posts and attending the daily drill and combat training classes, Ashley returned to her tent and, sitting down on a folding chair, was finally able to relax a little.
  My thoughts returned to Kayden. Sergeant Williams took out her omny-tool and began to dig through the contents of her wearable databases, intending to find at least some additional information about Alenko. After reading all the texts that were available, Ashley turned off and folded the screen of her wrist device, thinking, looking at the canopy of the tent entrance.
  The information was clearly incomplete. The fact that Kayden is a strong biotic - she had the opportunity to see this personally, but everything else... It began to seem to her that a significant part of the data about Alenko had been "cleaned up" in the wearable databases.
  What is Kayden hiding? More precisely, it's not what he's hiding, but why she, Marine Sergeant Williams, is haunted by the thought that Kayden had some kind of situation in the past, and perhaps more than one, that significantly affected his future life and fate, but about which there is no information in general or in general military databases. Okay, if she wasn't interested in Kayden Alenko as a person, she wouldn't have thought to waste time looking for additional information about him. After all, she is a sergeant, commands a platoon of Marines, she has her own path in army life, and Kayden Alenko, of course, has his own. So neither she nor he needs to establish any additional relationships that go beyond the scope of army service protocol. Besides, he's a biotic, and she's not a biotic, and frankly, she's a little afraid of biotics. Of course, you can read about them calmly and safely in books, but you can see a real person up close, who with a wave of his hand can break through a thick stone wall.... It's annoying.
  Therefore, Ashley subconsciously was in no hurry to let go of her feelings and emotions. Kayden, yes, she likes him as a person and as a man, and she knows that for sure. You can't call it love at first sight, you can't. What kind of love is there? Someone liked someone, yes, but consider it love right away?! No, there are no prerequisites for this yet. Marveling at her clerical thoughts about Kayden, Ashley turned off the drone, got up, and walked around the tent.
  Chapter 17. The Azari and the Turian. Restoring the psychosphere
  Entering the medical bay, Shepards walked over to the cot where the Turian was lying on his back. Chakwas handed him a reader's summary of the fortune. The senior assistant spent several minutes studying the short text, once again making sure how masterfully Karin is able to present medical "wilds" in a simple and understandable language for a layman:
  "Does Naylus know?" The XO asked quietly.
  "No. I didn't tell him anything. The medical bay is isolated. He has never left his cabin, the communication lines are blocked, and VI recently checked that the isolation is complete." Chakwas replied. "John, what are we going to do?" The two Spectr's of the Citadel Council on our ship are clearly overkill."
  "It's more than enough, Karin." Shepard typed a short text on the reader and showed it to the doctor. "They know each other very well."
  "Yeah. And if something happened, this young man would come to me to get his license and find out why I couldn't get his mentor out?"
  "I'll explain it to him in a popular way, Karin," the XO objected. "And he will leave you alone quickly and for a long time. It will be enough for him to know that you, Doctor, are not a narrow specialist in psychology and psychiatry, as well as in the rehabilitation of the alien psychosphere. He's able to understand that in any case, in almost any condition," Shepard replied.
  "I hope so, John. Let's go to her." She glanced at Asari, who was sprawled on her back on the next bed. "You were right to quickly splint the fractures and lubricate the wounds with several layers of panacelin medigel. I also wanted to thank you for her gentle transportation."
  "Don't worry, Karin." Shepard took another reader, handed to him by the frigate's doctor, and began to study the texts of the diagram with tables. There was more information here: the Asari had suffered to a greater extent. "Karin, did you even manage to determine that he was the first to fall under programming and external control," a glance at the Turian, "and then she became the victim of this ship and its pilot?!" a glance at the Asari. "I take off my hat. Few teachers of the Medical Faculty of the En-Seven Academy could compete with you."
  "I still feel powerless, John." Chakwas replied. "If I can still somehow cope with physiology and anatomy, then it's with the psyche after this... Here, my skills and knowledge with skills are clearly not enough. This is the first time I have encountered such a deep distortion of the psychosphere."
  "All right, Karin." Shepard straightened up, regaining the "String" tuning, this time - not the combat one. "I'll need to spend up to five minutes on each of them, maybe not much more. I must say right away: I will remove only the deepest, most basic, important damage so that the Turian and Asari psychospheres can regenerate. In the future, the psychospheres of both will cope with the remaining problems themselves. And don't worry. There will be no shamanism here."
  "I know, John." Chakwas moved away from the first mate. "I'll be right there. Get started."
  
  Shepard glanced at the body of the elderly Asari lying on her back and concentrated on her face. In the human mind, basic data on the physiology and anatomy of the representatives of this race flashed on the already familiar "screen", and indicators were taken directly from the information field of the injured Asari.
  The XO, restraining his understandable amazement and surprise, understood: A new part of his unusual newfound abilities became active. Some of the indicators immediately turned red, obediently unfolding into diagrams and tables indicating blockages in the psychosphere. After making sure that the identified blocks were unnatural, Shepard carefully began to scan their surroundings so as not to miss traps and hidden surprises.
  The anchors reliably pointed to the ship's pilot and the ship itself. The double "anchor" hook guaranteed sufficient obedience and loyalty to the Asari, even if the prisoner of the Reaper somehow managed to harm either the cuttlefish or its control center.
  After removing the main "blocks", Shepard went through the connections in both directions, carefully examining the surroundings, looking for "sleeping guards". Finally, having made sure that there were no surprises in the entire volume of the victim's body, Shepard began to carefully free the mind and essence of the Asari from all identified secondary and third-rate clues that provided direct control over the personality and body of the rescued.
  The work did not take long, and exactly six minutes later, Shepard "emerged" from the mode of extreme concentration, finding relaxation in his body and allowing his brain to switch to normal mode.
  "Karin, look at the stats. I'm done with her", Shepard said in a low voice, taking a few steps towards the Turian's bed and allowing the ship's doctor to come closer to the Asari's bed. "Keep her asleep as long as possible," the XO added. "This will allow her to self-recover. The rest is at your discretion."
  "Okay, Shepard," the doctor turned on her monitoring instrument, checked the indicators taken by the automation of the Medical Bay before and after the manipulations of the senior assistant. "You've made my task much easier."
  "I hope it helps her." Shepard bent over the Turian. "But here I have to work more deeply. Karin, tell the commander to request the archaeologists to delay the exit to the new area. I'll need an extra half hour. Plus the twenty minutes mentioned earlier."
  "I'll do it, John." Karin stepped away from Azari, who was lying on her back on the hospital bed, returned to her desk and typed a short text on the laptop keyboard. "The commander has received your message, and he will pass it on to the head of the archaeological party. I think the scientists won't mind. I'm glad you can pay attention to both of them, Captain."
  Shepard didn't pay much attention to the doctor's last words. He plunged back into scanning the Turian's psychosphere.
  The requested half hour was the minimum required time. Spektr, who was the first to be directly programmed, had implants in his body that gave a truly monstrous cocktail of effects on his body and psyche. These implants had nothing in common with those that the captain of the special forces had already seen, so Shepard tried to reliably isolate them from affecting the main body and brain systems of an intelligent organic.
  Cutting the interconnections was hard. The implants dotted almost the entire body of the Turian, creating a kind of skeleton that duplicated the natural backbone. I had to first focus on those that were as close as possible to the brain of the sleeping patient with medication, and after eliminating their influence, he slowly dealt with the rest, which were securely implanted in the limbs, torso and head of the Turian.
  He knew that Chakwas was detecting positive changes with the help of sensitive devices, but he preferred not to react to this knowledge, disabling more and more new relationships.
  Finally, the Turian's brain and spinal cord were completely freed from the influence of the implants. Disabling the wires that controlled the main systems and organs of the Turian's torso, Shepard scanned the patient's head, face and body, looking for hidden bookmarks. There weren't many of them. Repeated scanning revealed several more "guards" and traps.
  Shepard knew that time, that half hour of reserve, was running out fast. This was always the case when he was completely devoted to his work. But it was impossible to stop now: any pause could activate a bookmark that was not noticed in time and destroy an important organ of the patient's body.
  After freeing the Turian's torso from the influence of bookmarks and a multitude of alien implants, Shepard slid a "scanning" gaze over the powerful legs of the Spectr. Bookmarks and implants were also found here.
  The Cuttlefish, led by a ruthless pilot, did everything so that the Turian could not put up the slightest resistance, and on occasion, could not even move either his upper or lower limbs. Turning off the interconnections and conduits with precisely dosed pulses, Shepard gradually approached the Turian's feet with his gaze. After disabling the last two "bookmarks", the captain scanned the body of the Spectr several times again and, finding no surprises, allowed himself to relax.
  "John..." Karin's quiet voice was heard. "You have no idea what you own."
  "Maybe, Karin, maybe," saying this softly, Shepard slowly turned around, seeing the eyes of the frigate's doctor radiating kindness and concern. "But I don't need any stimulant injections," The marine captain's hand found the shoulder-mounted speaker. "Commander, I'm done. I need a few minutes to... come to my senses and I'll go down to the hangar. Ask Steve and my drop team with Corporal Jenkins to be there as well. Let the archaeologists guide their column through the lighthouse of our shuttle. I will transmit the exact coordinates via the audio channel."
  "Okay, John," Anderson's voice was unusually quiet and soft. "Thank you. You have intelligent people who owe you their lives. And freedom," With that, the captain turned off the channel.
  Chakwas's omny-tool beeped.
  "John," the doctor said after reviewing the text of the incoming message. "Anderson informed the archaeologists. They agree to wait for the shuttle to leave. They understand that you are busy. Let me at least give you a decoction of herbs. These are not tonics, they are restorative. You're exhausted, John," Chakwas added.
  "Karin, has anyone ever told you that you are always extremely convincing?" Shepard asked without a smile, taking a vessel with a decoction from the hands of the ship's doctor.
  "After such a miracle, which I recently witnessed, no one," Chakvas answered honestly, watching as the commander of the landing crew slowly sipped the decoction, as he carefully placed the vessel on the bedside table. "I think we can remove most of the implants from his body now," she pointed at the Turian with a glance.
  "Yes, Karin. I can't help you here," Shepard grinned from the corners of his lips, feeling the warmth of the decoction spreading through his body. "You have the upper hand here, Doctor. He is perhaps the most difficult... patient. With her," a glance in the direction of the Asari, "it will be easier."
  "You're right, John," the doctor looked at Shepard carefully. "The decoction will take effect in a few minutes", She pressed a key on the wall remote and looked at a small information screen that lit up. Ingvar is free now. He'll escort you to the shuttle, Captain. I can't let you out of the Infirmary alone."
  "I understand, Doctor." Shepard playfully slowly raised both hands to shoulder level. "I obey."
  "That's good." Chakwas stepped aside, allowing the incoming electronic warfare specialist to offer his shoulder to the captain. "Good luck to you, John," she said softly.
  She was answered by a deep nod from the captain, who stepped over the threshold of the Medical Bay. The door slowly slid into place. A red light flashed on it, forbidding access.
  "If it wasn't for him, I'd have two bodies in the infirmary. And the interplanetary scandal afterwards," the doctor said softly, sorting through the instruments in the surgical stack. Well. He did his job. Now it's my turn to work. Chakwas pulled on fresh sterile gloves and covered her face with a mask. "But as soon as he's back on board, he'll be my patient. He needs to rest and sleep it off. It would be good if he could take a nap while flying to the excavation site", The doctor adjusted the light above the Turian's bed and picked up a thermal scalpel. - Let's get started.
  Chapter 18 Benezia and Saren. Awakening and the beginning of recovery
  Why she decided that Spectrum Saren Arterius, the Turian who had become a legend of the Corps, should be her first surgical patient, Karin herself would not be able to explain clearly even to herself right now. It was unlikely because, as a man, the Turian was physically more primitive, and therefore the traumatologist and surgeon was confident that she would perform the necessary surgical intervention for this patient faster and, perhaps, less traumatic.
  While working with a scalpel, Chakwas did not think about it. She was just acting. Now, during the operation, she was not interested in this, although some part of her mind was still working on such a question, using all the information available to the doctor at that point in time.
  Saren, according to the logic of the situation known to Karin, was the first to fall under the influence of the Reaper Observer. And he stayed under his influence much longer than Benezia.
  That's probably why Chakwas decided to operate on the Turian first, and the Asari second. And Shepard, as Karin remembered, repeatedly noted, albeit not always explicitly and verbally, that the Turian got more and his position was ... harder, or something. However, as the medic remembered, the XO did not insist that his point of view was the most correct one. However, as the medic remembered, the XO did not insist that his point of view was the most correct one.
  For Chakwas, as a military medic, it was easier and even more familiar to cut out implants from the body of an intelligent organic than to engage in routine fusion of fractures, removal of sprains and other bodily troubles. On the screens mounted on brackets above the operating field, the data from small automatic and semi-automatic medical scanners glowed, combined into large-scale graphic maps, which helped the doctor navigate the jumble of microcircuits dotted with the bones of the Turian skeleton. Routine movements, a proven technique. The main thing is not to miss an unnecessary or harmful implant, not to leave it in the patient's body.
  Karin worked, occasionally glancing at the Spectr status indicators. She knew that Shepard had already flown to the site of new excavations, the result of which was still unknown.
  The arrival of the frigate on Eden Prime this time was extremely unusual: no one, as Chakwas now understood, from the inhabitants of the Normandy, not even the Spectr of the Citadel Council Nilus Kraik, did not assume that the earthlings would have to shoot at a real Reaper. Karin was well aware that the frigate's crew members were still actively discussing the collision. Needless to say, the event was exactly what people usually call "out of the ordinary."
  These huge ships were actually considered legends, in which, as usual, few modern intelligent organics believed seriously and deeply enough. The legend, meanwhile, turned out to be... more than material.
  If it hadn't been for the quick response of the frigate's crew, if it hadn't been for the well- and fully implemented relay instrument and hardware reconnaissance of the situation on Eden Prime.... Chakwas would not vouch for the fact that so many Normandians survived right now. The Reaper would have been able to respond to the frigate's attack with its main caliber, and according to objective hardware monitoring, including video recordings, it was such that it was better for the reconnaissance frigate not to get under it in any conceivable situation.
  The Reaper turned out to be a great expert at bending intelligent organics to his will. Yes, Chakwas remembered that the Batarians, for example, almost massively used the chipping of intelligent organics who were captured by them and who most often became slaves of the four-eyed. And the Reaper... As it turned out, he applied more than chipping to Saren, putting so many implants into the Turian's body that, after reviewing the medical scanner data, Chakwas was forced to believe: and in the worst case scenario, Saren Arterius, as the humble servant of the shrimp, was practically invulnerable to most types of weapons possessed by intelligent organics today. Unless a large-caliber artillery piece could stop it with its charge. It looks like the same frigate "Tanix". Anything smaller was unlikely to have the desired effect: the Turian's backbone was completely covered with these implants, which together dramatically increased Saren's ability to survive under the most terrible bombardment.
  The Turian Spectre is enslaved by the Reaper Watcher. Chakwas couldn't even think of such a variant of the real situation before. And now she had to not only see this Turian, but also operate on him. The Reaper, by the way, has not gone anywhere either - here it is, quietly and, so far, calmly lying on the surface of Eden Prime.
  The pile of implants removed from Saren's body, placed on a gleaming white enamel medical tray next to the operating room, grew, and Karin tried to limit her field of vision only to the limits of the "operating area", although she occasionally returned to the realization that a huge number of implants did not benefit the patient, who, as it turned out, had been there before ultimate submission to the Reaper in many serious skirmishes.
  Saren's skull was repeatedly roughly operated on, the jaw was held on pins and plates and gave the Spectrum a frightening appearance. It is quite possible that Saren did not like to take off the helmet of his spacesuit because of this, and if he did, it was only when there was a special need.
  While removing unnecessary implants, the doctor looked at the patient's face, wondering whether it was worth doing maxillofacial surgery as well, to bring, in other words, the appearance of the patient's head to a more or less normal state. So far, Chakwas has decided to focus on leaving a minimum of absolutely necessary and quite common implants in the body of a Turian, and only then - to solve problems with the face and head of Arterius.
  After removing the implants, Karin performed the usual set of necessary procedures to ensure rapid wound healing and plunged the Turian into a deep, drug-induced sleep so that the patient could not wake up earlier than a few hours later. If necessary, it was now possible to increase the duration of sleep within any reasonable limits, which meant that enough time was freed up to work with Asari.
  Covering the completely naked body of the Turian with a canopy fixed on a light wire frame, Chakwas moved away from the cot on which the Spectr was lying and slowly approached the cot on which the matriarch Benezia was lying.
  Looking at the monitors above her bed, the doctor confirmed that the Asari had indeed suffered multiple injuries when the Reaper had fallen to the ground of Eden Prime. In their report, the members of the landing team indicated that Benezia T'Soni, in all likelihood, did not have time to sit in the chair and, moreover, her dress did not form a sufficiently rigid frame, unlike the spacesuit. So the Asari had plenty of problems with bodily integrity. Besides, Benezia's age was far from young, and healing, as Chakvas assumed, after examining the patient's body, would be long and difficult. Benezia Shepard's left forearm and right shin had already been fitted with a set of tires on the Reaper, and he had lubricated the wounds in several places with a thick layer of panacelin and medigel. He performed the necessary primary medical procedures, which, of course, greatly facilitated the professional doctor's subsequent work with the injured Azari.
  After completing the inspection, Chakwas carefully cut open the black and white dress and took it off, trying to preserve its integrity as much as possible. Of course, these cuts will have to be stitched later, but for now... the Asari may well use female human dresses. Technicians, engineers of the ship - women and girls - will help. The frigate's doctor was convinced of this. Underwear was also affected, but to a lesser extent. After removing it, Chakwas freed Asari's head from the ritual and ceremonial cap and began performing the usual preoperative manipulations.
  Shepard stated in the report that she was lying like a "broken mannequin." After scanning the matriarch's body with small scanners, Karin was convinced of the correctness of the conclusion made by the paratrooper: Benezia, in addition to fractures and sprains with bruises, had other bodily problems that appeared in connection with the fall, albeit from a small, but still from a height.
  It's also good that Shepard independently worked on the psychosphere of the former prisoners of the Reaper. Or maybe slaves, after all? Right now, Karin didn't want to answer that question, even to herself. It was necessary to start dealing with the injuries as soon as possible, of which the Asari matriarch had a lot.
  Never before would Karin have thought that a special forces soldier, officer, or Army soldier would be able to so professionally, safely, and most importantly, efficiently reanimate not the body of an intelligent organic, but its essence, its soul. While doing the usual manipulations, Karin recalled how she worked with the Asari and the Turian XO, once again convinced that if it hadn't been for his help, it was unlikely that she would now be calmly and freely doing her part, putting the bodies of both injured sentients in order. Of course, as is often the case, experts and simple, non-settled commentators did not agree on what exactly should be understood by husk's. Neither historical digressions nor logical calculations using arguments and proofs that were often far-fetched helped.
  Karin recalled and noted with some amazement that she had unexpectedly managed to see real husk's. It was the Husk's who were Saren Arterius and Benezia T'Soni. Husk's, obedient to the will and desires of the pilot of this gigantic (by the standards of most races of the modern Galaxy) ship.
  Husk's. If it hadn't been for Shepard, who risked himself, then both the Asari and the Turian would have remained in this state for a very long time, if not forever. It is unlikely that there would be specialists in the Galaxy now who would be able to return Arterius and Benezia to a normal state. Karin was inclined to evaluate what Shepard had done as nothing more than an embodied miracle, which she witnessed directly.
  In the few days since the new XO appeared on board the prototype frigate, so many important events have happened that Karin Chakvas could not remember in all her rich and diverse - not only medical - practice. Shepard, as the doctor understood, was focused primarily on continuous work, and high-quality and effective work. He quite possibly did not know how to rest, did not know how to relax. To some extent, this attitude was due to his specialty - a paratrooper and a special forces soldier. It could also be that Shepard was an orphan. As the head of the frigate's medical service, Karin, of course, looked through the personal file of the XO, rummaged through the special bases of the Alliance Air Force, but unfortunately there was little relevant information there that could shed light on many circumstances of the initial period of John Shepard's life.
  Chakwas knew about Akusa, she knew that Shepard still had a girlfriend on Earth. Her name was Dana, and she was a pretty famous professional athlete. So, on a personal level, John, quite possibly, as Chakwas believed, was not alone, but ... even now, approaching the middle of the list of necessary manipulations according to protocol, Chakwas remembered how Shepard warmly treated her, almost the only female senior officer on the ship.
  It was as if he had inherited his current commander, David Anderson, while he did not mechanically copy the attitude of the "first after god on board" towards her, the ship's chief medical officer, he treated her in his own way, so that Karin could not find a shadow of a given or "double bottom".
  It's possible that John Shepard fell in love with her a little. How David fell in love with her. Shepard, of course, as Chakwas was sure, drew attention to the fact that Anderson was the only one who almost always called her by her first name, and not by her last name or rank. And not only because she is a major, but the commander of the ship is a captain. Not only. But also because David loves her, Karin Chakwas. He loves, of course, with an adult, even and deep love. Mature love.
  Shepard, of course, loved Karin in his own way. He treated her like a mother he'd never really been able to get to know-the captain's file clearly stated that he'd become an orphan in infancy. Either his mother had abandoned him, or the situation had somehow developed that John was left alone, but now one thing was clear: John knew how to love. He knew how to love, he knew how to give love, he knew how not to demand anything for his love, for his wonderful attitude towards other reasonable people - and not only to people, nothing for himself.
  And Karin also noted that John does not impose his love on anyone reasonable. To nobody. It does not divide, it does not separate humans and aliens, the very xenos that humanity first imagined in a variety of shapes and colors, but when faced with almost a dozen alien races, it must be said bluntly - it was scared to a slight stutter.
  John is equally ready to help a human, an Asari, and a Turian. And, without a doubt, intelligent organics of any other race. He just loves intelligent organics, among other things, because he understands, knows that their life is not easy and it's not difficult to give them a little love, participation, and a good attitude.
  Probably, guided by the right of love, the right to give his love and knowing how not to demand anything in return for his love, John was able to help both Benezia and Saren in a way that professional doctors and professional scientists would not have helped them. The same Salarians, for example.
  John does not make his love a duty, he just gives his love, helps intelligent organics to live. Not only by action, but by your very presence. He devoted as much time to both the Asari and the Turian as it took to preserve them not as biological objects, as bodies, but as individuals, as essences, as souls.
  This, what John Shepard was able to do in her presence, Karin Chakwas... could hardly have been done by the best doctors of Earth or the Citadel. And he did it and flew away. He flew away, barely recovering after such a costly procedure for his soul and body. It was no wonder that she, the ship's doctor, considered it necessary for him to appear and stay in the medical bay after finishing work on these strange excavations.
  Shepard loves his Dana. Loves - Karin doesn't just see it, she feels it. And for John, there is no problem that Dana is actually his first love, and according to an unwritten rule that is well known to many earthlings, such love rarely develops into something big. For how many days Chakwas has known and watched John, what is there to hide, for so much time she understands: Shepard does not bind Dana to himself, he gives her every opportunity to live her own life, to have her own circle of acquaintances, friends, including very close friends who are quite capable of becoming main friends one day for this girl. What's the difference - polygamy or polyandry? Humanity is wise enough to understand that what doesn't kill the soul makes a person stronger. Both physically and spiritually.
  John loves Dana, it is clearly seen and clearly felt, but he does not bind her to himself - she is free in her life and in her destiny. If she likes being with John, then she stays with him of her own free will, and not because she owes anything to John or he, John Shepard somehow tied her to himself. He did not force Dana, as far as Karin understood now, to think about marriage, pregnancy, and finally. He was giving Dana himself, helping her, and, as Chakwas was now convinced, he wasn't demanding or asking for anything in return.
  Dana believes John, she knows him too well - after all, they grew up together in the same orphanage. She believes him, but she also surprisingly does not bind him to her, he is free.
  Of course, it is quite possible that here, in the reasons for giving Dana such freedom to John, one can count the fact that both Shepard and his companion are orphans. One can also consider the reason that from an early age both defined their life paths and chose professions. John is a soldier, Dana is a professional athlete. Discipline, regime, strict schedule. The framework of life, where can you go without it? Perhaps these circumstances also played a binding and perhaps cementing role in the relationship between Shepard and Dana. Right now, it didn't make much difference to Karin what Dana's last name was. For John, she was always-and. Chakwas is convinced that there will always be only Dayna. It's enough for him to know her name. To know, not with words, but with his soul.
  Dana understands that John is dating a lot of people and probably at least assumes that one day John will meet his true, complete, and only love. Maybe she's ready for it. She is ready because she knows that John will be able to make sure that she, his very close friend, will not suffer, will not feel abandoned.
  Chakwas saw John writing a letter to Dana relatively recently, perched in a corner of one of the frigate's compartments on a folding seat. He wrote thoughtfully, slowly, plunging into memories. And I saw him reading the letters in response from Dana. He was so happy with every letter, even a short note with just a few lines.
  Until the frigate stopped at the repeater at the entrance to the system where Eden Prime was located, John managed to receive too few letters from Dana. Too little, as Chakwas now acutely realized. Too little.
  Shepard loved Dana, and, as Karin was now convinced, he was capable of loving so many reasonable people. Not only humans, but also aliens. If he hadn't been so capable of loving the same aliens, he probably wouldn't have been able to help the Asari and the Turian so effectively and completely, who were going through difficult times due to the situation and circumstances. To those who survived and returned, thanks to Shepard's dedication and heroism, yes, yes, to his completely unprovoked, even somewhat everyday heroism, to ordinary life.
  Karin paused for a moment, glancing at the monitors hanging over the hospital bed, and felt with particular force that Shepard loved all Normans. They became his own for him. Yes, it was quite possible that he had paid special attention to her, the chief medical officer of the frigate, a major in the Chakvas Air Force medical Service. But he also paid attention to David - Karin noticed this automatically, maybe subconsciously.
  Shepard not only commanded and led, as befits the senior assistant to the commander of the ship and the commander of the amphibious crew of the prototype reconnaissance frigate. He was studying. Karin was convinced, and this conviction had just received additional-and more than one-proof that Shepard had decided to learn a lot from both her and David. To study imperceptibly, without focusing the attention of teachers and mentors on it, but to really, fully learn.
  Several days of Shepard's stay on the frigate had shaken up the crew. Yes, the new XO is tough, strict, insistent, even merciless - where would Jenkins or Alenko or Moro fall under his hand or gaze again and again. But the new XO is careful, attentive, silent, modest, and knows how to see and understand many of the good things that exist not only in every human being, but also in every alien. If he had been even a little more callous, he would hardly have been able to cope so well with the restoration of the Asari and Turian psychosphere. Many human psychotherapists and psychiatrists would not have been able, as Karin was now convinced, to do a hundredth of the useful and absolutely necessary things that Shepard had managed to do during those minutes spent on the bodies and souls of these two former huskies.
  Former ones. It is unlikely that now the Asari and the Turian will often recall these months of their powerlessness and impotence. They will remember them, these months. And they will remember that it was the earthman, the human John Shepard, who interrupted these times.
  While performing the final part of the surgical intervention protocol, carrying out the necessary manipulations, Chakwas thought that the Spectrum Turian was the reason for the success of the capture of the elderly Asari by the Scout Reaper and the reason for Benezia's transition to the category of captive and submissive slave of this Reaper. The standard chain was being built: Reaper - Saren-Benezia.
  Yes, later, after Benezia's meeting with Saren... I would also like to know exactly how this meeting took place... Benezia fell under the increasing psychic influence of the Reaper, which is still commonly referred to by a few narrow specialists as indoctrination.
  A few dozen minutes later, Chakwas covers Asari's naked body with a light canopy supported by a wire frame. Basically everything necessary has been done. Now it was important to understand how the healing would go. Moving away from the patients, Chakwas went to her desk, sat down in an armchair and called up the full monitoring data on the wall screens, which took into account both recent manipulations and their results in static and dynamic terms. The diagnostic complex performed a repeat check, the Medical Center processed the information received and displayed comparative tables and graphs.
  Reading the indicators, thinking about the revealed interdependencies, predicting the development of the situation, Chakwas waited. With Shepard's help, she hoped that in less than a few hours, first one and then the other patients in the Infirmary would come to their senses. Both literally and figuratively, they will return to this world. No longer huskies, but ordinary representatives of their races. Free from any outside influence and interference. If Nazara did not protest or oppose Shepard or her, Chakvas did not somehow try to block the desire of the ship's XO and doctor to return the Asari and the Turian to a normal life - and the Reaper certainly had such capabilities and abilities, then ... the interventions made allowed him to cautiously hope that very soon The patients will come back to life.
  Yes, the breathing of the Turian and the Asari is leveled, the pulse is no longer racing, there is no excess tension in the muscles, there is no tightness in the bones. Yes, both patients will have to spend several more hours on full bed rest without the right to move freely - and Karin is already convinced that both Saren and Benezia will be pretty excited about the fact and content of their release from the husky state in the full sense of the word.
  The design of the hospital beds in the frigate's Medical Bay took into account that they would be used to accommodate not only humans, but also representatives of many races now known to earthlings. Therefore, both the Turian's crest and the Asari's appendages were now sunk into special recesses at the head of the beds, which allowed patients to keep their heads straight and not strain the muscles and ligaments of their necks. Yes, Chakwas well remembered that the Turians' neck was a very vulnerable part of the body, but now, here in the medical bay, she could be sure that Saren had nothing to worry about.
  Nihlus, of course, will not slow down to appear, but it depends on her, the doctor of the frigate, what schedule of visits to patients - and, by the way, quite serious patients - should be established to ensure their speedy and complete recovery. Visits are important and necessary, but this is not even a matter of the near future. At least not for a few hours.
  Did she, the frigate's doctor, think that she would have to operate on real, serious patients a few days after the frigate left the "manning field"? No, I probably didn't. After all, for too long the galaxy has lived without tension, maybe even, as the Imperials like to say, "going with the flow." And now the breath of a galactic war, not a local one, is becoming more and more acutely felt. Many apocalyptic predictions are beginning to come true once again.
  Time passed unnoticed. Chakwas was fully aware of herself as a recluse of the Medical Bay, she liked being its sole owner and, if possible, the only inhabitant. She didn't need anyone's company, she was calm about the fact that until something extraordinary happened, none of the Normans would look at her.
  After all, a medic exists in order to be always ready to help a non-medic. Always be ready. So Chakwas was ready. And this willingness paid off. She had her first real, special, serious patients in a very long time. Who now, after the surgical interventions, have begun to approach the moment of their hopefully full recovery.
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