Аннотация: A conversation with the Council about the Lighthouse. Udina's orders will arrive at the dock.
Chapter 10.2 Imrir's conversation with the Advisers.
However... As soon as we turned around and headed for the exit, something flew at my back:
"Spectre Shepard, hold on." The low, vibrating voice sounded completely unexpected.
"Advisor Sparatus?" I stopped and looked questioningly at the Turian.
After waiting for all the extras to come out, Sparatus asked a question that made me feel sick:
"Your doctor's reports say that after contacting the lighthouse, you received a huge amount of information. Is that true?"
This... My ass! Sparatus was interested. My chuika feels that until he squeezes me dry, I will not leave this hall alive.
"Yes, it is. Information overload is still affecting us. The data from the buoy has not yet been fully realized."
"A buoy?" the Salarian bastard noticed a slip of the tongue.
"This is not a lighthouse, but an information buoy. As far as I understand, its purpose is to store information and transfer it into the mind of any reasonable person who has crossed the coverage area. The Protheans built thousands of such devices when their extermination became apparent.
"What was in the lighthouse?" Tevos was also interested.
"Fragmentary visions and images pop up in my head during deep sleep. You should understand that I cannot guarantee that there is any real value in these visions."
The attempt to get off topic failed. The councilors exchanged glances and stared at me like hungry cats at a piece of raw meat. Oh, my God, I suddenly felt so bad! By God, it would be better if they were the same arrogant idiots as in the game. But now I'm facing three smart, cunning, and calculating paranoid politicians who have just been shown something interesting and potentially useful.
"What else do you see in your dreams?" Sparatus asked without a trace of humor or irony, glaring at me intently.
"Military chronicles. The massacre. Hefty bug-like creatures tearing sentient ones to pieces. Fleet battles with ships very similar to the one we saw on Eden Prime." Seeing the understandable question on Asari's face, I kindly informed: "The fleets were losing. Always. I guess these are the Reapers."
"What was the reason for this conclusion?"
"There is an immeasurable difference in the level of technology and total power." I honestly admitted. "If you compare the battle of the Reapers and the Prothean fleet, it's like a squadron of fighters with bronze spears attacking a spaceship. The paint might get scratched if you're very lucky, but that's all."
The councillors exchanged glances.
"What else?" Sparatus, the brute, clung like a vorloon to the victim! Okay, if that's what you want, listen up. Maybe you won't believe it and you'll leave me alone.
"The citadel. Repeaters. Exactly the same as now."
To my quiet horror and panic, the advisers only exchanged knowing glances, and I felt a chill. Do they really KNOW?
"Recent excavations and research have shown that the Citadel... much older than we thought before." Azari's soft and gentle voice seemed to me like the sounds of a harbinger of Doomsday. "Was there anything in your visions that would confirm this?"
They must have read the answer in my face. The Salarian's attempt to say something was cut short by a thin azure palm raised in an international call for silence.
"Tell us."
"The Protheans didn't build a Citadel or relays." I answered hollowly, closing my eyes. "There is a whole series of visions that are similar to the old military chronicle. There are very specific markings on the image. They show how the Citadel was opened." Looking up, I met the Asari's attentive gaze. "I saw an ABANDONED and EMPTY Citadel, in which there were only Keepers."
I wasn't lying here: I really had such visions. Only three.
"Your words confirm some of our findings in remote, previously inaccessible areas."
"Do you believe me?" I asked, surprised.
"We've already dismissed your words once." Sparatus frowned. "You have provided evidence. We don't want to make the same mistake now. From this day on, you are the Spectr. We believe and trust the Spectr. I see no reason why we should make an exception in your case." The Turian's creepy smile was unexpectedly reassuring. "You have been so persistent in seeking justice. We were impressed."
"I will do my best to justify THAT trust."
Sparatus inclined his head in satisfaction.
"If you find out anything else about the Reapers, Saren, or the Citadel, please notify us immediately." Asari's sensual voice made me strongly associate it with the siren song. "If there is even the slightest risk of repeating the fate of the Protheans, he must be eliminated. We cannot ignore SUCH a threat!"
"As soon as there are real confirmations, I will notify you immediately."
"You can be free, Spectr."
Sparatus' voice was filled with irony and satisfaction from a successful hunt. Bowing briefly, I walked stiffly out of the Council Chamber. I'll be damned if I didn't hear a soft purring chuckle!
The Ambassador and Captain Anderson were waiting for me at the elevator, talking quietly about something. A little to one side stood a frowning Garrus and a confused Tali, who was once again weaving figures from her fingers. Don't you understand? Did my precious former boss say something wrong? They'd be better off if that wasn't the case. I wasn't going to give up the idea of getting a brilliant sniper, who, besides, if he hadn't broken the canon, was an excellent tactician and a loyal friend. The real Vakarian commanded respect in half with affection, and he had a pleasant aura, which is quite rare, especially for those who kill a lot. And Garrus Vakarian killed a lot and without the slightest hesitation. I can't say for sure, I can still see the aura too faintly, but according to the dark fleur swirling at the outer borders, this kind guy's body count has long exceeded a thousand. Charming creature! Downright goodness in the flesh!
Remembering Sparatus' aura, she shivered. Yes, he personally killed a long time ago, but here's the trail... There was a trace... yeah. He's not even going to dissolve in so many years! I wonder who he was before he became an advisor? Obviously, he wasn't shuffling papers.
When I came down the stairs, Garrus perked up, looking at me questioningly. I spread my fingers a little and waved them in the air: the "wait" gesture shown to me by a bored Nihlus. The young Turian nodded slowly and stayed where he was, a look of genuine surprise in his blue eyes.
Neither Udina nor Anderson noticed anything. Tali just squeezed her fingers tightly into the lock, looking from me to Vakarian. I noticed, but I didn't say anything. Smart girl.
"Congratulations, Spectr," Anderson looked up from his conversation with the ambassador.
"Thank you."
"We have a lot to do." Udina was boring, and for the first time I wanted to punch him in the teeth, but I restrained myself. "You will need a ship, crew, and equipment..."
Oh, yes! This is the sacramental moment of handing me the Normandy, a ship studded with wiretaps from nose to ass, which I don't need for nothing! I'd rather use my last money to buy some kind of trough. Or I'll ask the Council. On loan. Sparatus, in theory, should not refuse such a request - he is not the type. Wait, though! I have a mentor who automatically becomes my mentor from the moment of my appointment, because he nominated me. Nihlus probably has its own ship! It was written in big letters in his eyes that he wanted to get off *Normandy*. In capital letters. I also want. I don't think he's going to leave me in this poorhouse: he's too responsible. He's supposed to teach me. And he's already started, though in small ways, because he still speaks with difficulty.
Suddenly, it dawned on me that there were some oddities in Udina's monologue. Emerging from my gloomy thoughts, I quickly rewound the conversation in my memory and was frankly horrified. This brute is going to arrange the official transfer of the ship to the first human Spectr! Moreover, to arrange this action with pomp, feeling, arrangement and a bunch of journalists!
My objections were casually brushed aside, and the ambassador, pleased with himself, literally ordered me to report to the dock in two hours. On that cheerful note, both Udina and Anderson left, leaving me in a state close to comatose.