Ferrion stood on the observation gallery, peering into the impenetrable darkness. Traveling in a warp bubble was quite boring and without special effects. No colorful haze outside the porthole, no storms, not even strange voices. As the citizens of the Soviet Union themselves said, it sometimes shook when the ship passed near something that distorted gravity, and with it, space itself.
A seasoned Turian, who had been to the edge of the galaxy, had seen the "drop" beyond which began an absolutely empty interstellar ocean for millions of light-years, found the transition haze eerie. For him, it was an abyss, hidden under a layer of water that muffled sounds, harboring unknown dangers.
He loved to come to the observation deck, gazing for a long time at his reflection. The panoramic porthole against the backdrop of impenetrable darkness turned into a giant dark mirror. The tessaract found this activity extremely informative, as it's not every day that a legionary gets such a wonderful opportunity to think… Therefore, while his eyes indulged in examining his reflection, his mind wandered somewhere far away.
And he had so much to think about. In a year, his life had done a somersault, turning upside down. One captivity with the prospect of slavery in a fighting arena was something that could break many, but he passed this trial with honor. Moreover, when the opportunity arose, he decided to fight, dying in an attempt to regain his freedom, ending his life as a warrior. Only the spirits had other plans for him, as well as for the entire familiar galaxy.
The USSR not only saved him, smashing the overseer's head with Nechaev's hands, but also kicked the entire Citadel Space, publicly whipping the Hegemony, so much so that it took and died, plunging into the abyss of civil war. The familiar world would no longer be the same, as soon as the Red Army soldiers appeared on the horizon…
And now there were only a few minutes left before the ship would enter normal space, finding itself in the cradle and capital of this state – the Solar System. The turian didn't even guess how this journey would change him, but one thing he could say: it would be informative.
Only one circumstance cast a shadow over this adventure. An impudent, loud, extremely stubborn circumstance, which believed that everyone owed it something, wrapped in the form of a miniature, even for her race, quarian. This lady, despite her doll-like appearance, managed to immediately occupy the entire volume of space, no matter what room she entered. The daughter of the Admiral of the Civilian Fleet was not used to settling for less, causing a sensation and terror simultaneously with her appearance.
Lira, as his personal pain was called, played on his nerves and the nerves of those around her like musical instruments. Along the way, this miracle was a racist and sexist of extreme feminist persuasion. "They didn't beat her enough!" thought all the turians as one, listening to her tirades, and they were agreed upon by other former slaves, as well as the communists themselves. Moreover, her own kind nodded particularly strongly, grimacing with shame.
The admiral's daughter was utterly indifferent to the opinion of others about herself. These were not her personal problems, but those of others, unable to bear her concentrated magnificence. Captivity had only temporarily cooled her ardor. A slight beating and abuse had somewhat dulled her tongue, forcing her to "filter her speech," as Nechaev aptly put it. The threat of non-illusory consequences for her cherished body forced her to be more careful, revealing another quality of the young lady to the world – vindictiveness.
Possessing considerable intelligence, which was a surprise, she was a technician of the highest qualification, which is why the pirates who captured her paid dearly very quickly. Harboring resentment for the "humiliation," the underage psychopath retaliated against her captors…
Having gone through captivity, Ferrion understood that the little one was very lucky. If she weren't the admiral's daughter and the pirates didn't want to extort a ransom for her, her end would have been painful, but quick. Quarians are not the most resilient, which in some situations was a big plus for them. It wouldn't have been possible to beat her, torture her, and rape her for a long time, even with drugs.
"Besides, considering her personality, she would have bored the pirates to death with advice on how to rape her. And her comments would have made them impotent. Even a gag wouldn't have helped!" the legionary thought maliciously.
The turian felt not just simple dislike for this lady, but concentrated hatred. It was in an attempt to save her that his ship was shot down and boarded by a pirate rabble, and he himself fell into slavery. Nothing would have happened if this fool had simply obeyed the order to "shut down the engines." "I will not obey some scum, a bone-breaker!" was her answer. Here, her status as "admiral's daughter" protected her again, otherwise her wreck would have first received a warning shot across the bow, and then a shot to kill. But it was impossible! It would be a political scandal…
After liberation, the little princess had a surprise! The proletarians and workers were completely indifferent to whose daughter she was. No special treatment. She didn't deserve it. Period.
True, Lira didn't understand this immediately, perceiving the politeness and delicacy of the Soviet specialists as weakness. Recovering from captivity, the quarian began to demand preferences for herself, trying to ride the wave of gender and racial struggle.
"Want special treatment? Earn it," was her answer after a three-hour propaganda lecture from the senior doctor overseeing her group of former prisoners. Ferrion regretted not seeing her face at that moment. He, like all turians, obeyed discipline, did not cause problems for his rescuers, and even helped, thereby earning special treatment.
This did not affect their medicine and nutrition in any way. They were fed abundantly, considering the tastes and cuisine of their race as much as possible, and the doctors provided medical assistance of the same quality if necessary. Only their living conditions changed. Cabins for four instead of common barracks for twenty sentient beings, more accessible decks to visit, personal holographic projectors with access to the entertainment network, not just broadcasting news – a small thing, but pleasant.
The tessaract would not have known about Lira if she herself hadn't stumbled into their corner, simply getting lost. He then reported everything about her, but he didn't expect such consequences.
"If you know her, you know how to calm her down," his new friends told him, handing him a bracelet and putting another on the wrist of the quarian who was shouting about her rights. After waiting for her to run out of steam, they explained that if she moved away from him further than allowed, or stayed out of sight for too long, she would receive an electric shock – not fatal, but painful. Moreover, the tessaract himself could activate the shock on her bracelet in case of disciplinary violations.
"Use it, but don't abuse it!" they said as a parting instruction, leaving the legionary, who was experiencing schadenfreude, and Lira alone with the new reality. As Ferrion soon realized, he couldn't abuse it even if he wanted to. The bracelet not only metered out punishment but also allowed it to be applied solely for a reason.
Without inventing anything new, the turian, not without pleasure, gave the quarian a "Hierarchy recruit training course," with the help of his compatriots and to the approving hum of Lira's compatriots, to her indignation. The simple wisdom that a private should always be busy so that unnecessary thoughts don't come to his mind turned out to be very effective.
In just two weeks of "exercises," Lira's spirit subsided, but she accumulated enough venom for three, so she quietly picked at the turian's brain with a small dessert spoon, taking advantage of the situation, unable to change it.
Of course, she tried to remove the bracelet, but that moment was also foreseen by unknown designers. The girl only managed to slightly scratch the flexible fabric… and then woke up in the infirmary.
The turian was later reprimanded for not keeping an eye on his charge, which he agreed with and doubled the load. Because of this, the flight time passed faster, but it morally exhausted the legionary. He perceived the arrival at the final destination as salvation, albeit temporary. No one was going to relieve him of responsibility.
He was awaiting final treatment at a sanatorium-prophylactic. As the doctors said, they had fixed everything critical, but the consequences of exhaustion, beatings, and captivity could manifest in the future. If the turian planned to live at least to a hundred years, he needed to heal the consequences so that they wouldn't become chronic. Ferrion laughed at "at least a hundred years," but he didn't neglect the treatment. No matter how much he loved medical fuss, as a warrior, he could not tolerate a decrease in his usefulness to the Hierarchy.
In fact, arriving in the capital system would mark the beginning of his rest. Moreover, the Nechaev couple invited him to visit, albeit with this "snake," but it was an acceptable inconvenience…
The passenger liner entered the Solar System at three in the morning Moscow time. The bubble of warped space opened as soon as the ship passed the border of the Southern Gates. A giant ring, with a diameter of exactly one thousand kilometers, created a special gravitational zone, allowing the ship to be safely released with minimal risk, returning it to normal space.
Without precise AI calculation, warp travel is a dangerous undertaking. If the course is laid carelessly, and the spacecraft passes near a massive object that distorts space itself, the thin bubble will collapse, grinding the contents. To facilitate jumps, Gates were created.
By themselves, they cannot create a warp bubble, but they facilitate its formation in their operational zone, minimizing calculations and reducing the energy consumed by the engine. This allowed for a one-third increase in ship speed and jump range within a single leap.
Of course, one can do without them, which is what military ships did, preferring to use logistical routes but not be constrained by them. The cargo and transport fleet preferred to fly using the Gates, at least to finish in the destination system. Chance is absolutely random, and shields, even on civilian ships, are not a panacea for all misfortunes.
The Gates also served a signaling function, acting as a beacon marking the beginning of a safe fairway. The USSR qualitatively ensured the safety of its systems, so the presence of void minefields was widespread.
Ensuring greater communication stability was just a pleasant bonus. Integrated with the "OKO" system, they were not only nodes of information traffic but also colossal eyes, keenly watching into the darkness of space.
One of the defensive fortresses paled in comparison to the Southern Gates. Its radius of one hundred and twenty kilometers was lost against the backdrop of the massive Gate ring, but it did not make it any less deadly. The "Eastern Watchman" guns were capable of inflicting irreparable damage on a small fleet single-handedly, not to mention the rest of the fortified area. Moreover, the fortress's retinue consisted of an entire squadron of ships.
Therefore, the liner was met by the muzzles of "Motherland" class guns, looking directly at it. Even one of them would have turned the civilian ship into a cloud of gas, but there were far more than one. Three dozen of these monsters targeted the liner that had entered the ring, making Ferrion involuntarily shiver, and not only him. He had seen in the news how devastating even a single hit from one of them was to a massive battleship…
The turian, having read tourist brochures with a couple of encyclopedias, knew that such gates existed near all inhabited planets, and even several, albeit smaller, less colossal ones. He understood why they finished precisely here, on the border of the system, at the forefront of defense. Now, under the aim of the gun systems, the liner was being scanned, trying to find even a hint of a threat.
"Correct, there must be order," the legionary approved, but felt uneasy from the realization. He himself wouldn't have let a ship with strangers straight to the capital world, even if it had passed counter-intelligence checks three times. It's just a small inconvenience that can prevent problems in their infancy.
Only the children of Palaven could appreciate this action. Lira, with delight in her eyes, examined the giant megastructure, burying herself in technical manuals with rapture. The Krogans, glancing at the ring, just snorted, thinking: "Big." The Salarians appreciated the functionality, but that was all. Asari… The Gates were an extremely utilitarian structure, without any frills. They didn't need them. Therefore, the blue-skinned maidens deigned to give them only a cold, fleeting glance.
Ten minutes later, the liner deployed its solar sails and activated its nuclear engines, beginning its run to the capital. It slowly merged into the transport flow of other starships, expertly guided by dispatchers, breaking into echelons. Forty minutes of unhurried flight, during which the passengers were fed a light breakfast on board one last time before docking, ended near the orbital terminal of the orbital elevator.
— …they created a whole man-made continent under its base, — Lira said, mesmerized, but immediately recovered. — My people could have built something like this if they hadn't been exiled. If only a woman's hand managed everything…
Ferrion completely ignored this person. He handed the bracelet to the next person in rank below him with instructions to keep an eye on the quarian. He had a different path ahead of him than what awaited most former slaves. No less than a dozen towns were built for them, taking into account the climatic preferences of the races. Towns, not tent camps or barracks. "This will contribute to rehabilitation," specialists explained.
If at first the former slaves thought they would only be treated, they were greatly mistaken. First, the former prisoners were sorted into those who were captured and those who were born in captivity. There was a lot of work to be done with hereditary slaves, and this was no longer rehabilitation, but full training for a free life.
The rest underwent several more sorting procedures, separating debt slaves and mercenaries who had displeased someone. Only after that did the specialists begin with treatment, and then with rehabilitation, but it was not supposed to end there. In addition to healing bodies and solving psychological problems, the prisoners were to be taught, to return them to their native societies not just into an empty field, but to a strictly defined place for them, if necessary…
Waiting for the liner to dock with the terminal, the tessaract hurried to the airlock. As the senior, he had to ensure order, so that those sent to the prophylactic arrived without incident. Besides his love for order, he was also driven by a personal motive: he was told directly that if everything went without excesses, his and his legionaries' social credit limit would be increased. Not that the USSR's equivalent of money was of great use to them, but bringing something new to the Hierarchy would be beneficial.
It is unknown what trifle could be a threat or bring benefit to his people. Too little is known about the Union, and every detail or piece of information could benefit all turians. Therefore, the legionaries, although expecting a therapeutic leave, did not forget their duty to the Hierarchy.
The communists knew this well, which they used to their advantage, to everyone's pleasure. The unknown is frightening in its incomprehensibility. Living travelers are the best advertisement and a detail for a positive image after a not-so-peaceful start to acquaintance. Why fight when you can just coexist, not bothering anyone?
After passing through all sorts of scanners and personal inspection by customs, Ferrion found himself in the terminal itself. The scale, seemingly a normal logistical hub, was astonishing. The interior was decorated in the gray-white tones of the corridors and compartments of Union ships, but statues, smalt mosaics, numerous plants, and light music added a healthy luxury without diminishing functionality.
"About the same as in rich worlds and colonies, only… more thought out? Something is not like ours, but I can't figure it out," the legionary frowned, slowly heading towards the desired elevator. It took him a long time to realize what was missing. There was almost no advertising here, and what there was, he couldn't call it advertising.
Small posters or holographic displays would be better described as informational materials. They didn't urge you to buy, but simply told you about products and items.
The legionary had already made considerable progress in learning the "common" language of the Union, so he even understood without translation glasses from the fifth to the tenth. Translation is still not the same as a deep understanding of the language.
Noticing this, he instantly realized that he hadn't heard a single hawker, and the music wasn't interrupted by commercial announcements. For a turian accustomed to information-pressure consumption, this was difficult to comprehend. Even in his homeland, advertising oozed from everywhere.
Thus, lost in thought, he took his place in the elevator. Here again were differences. A steward walked around all the passengers and, despite objections, checked all the fastenings. Even though he was a robot, even this was not present in Citadel Space. One could expect a lawyer who would sue you for neglecting safety precautions rather than a check of those very precautions. It seemed like a formality, but it showed the attitude.
It was also surprising to the turian that the locals practically paid no attention to him. Time and again, as if his appearance had been known to them for centuries!
"Even the customs officers, when checking, didn't rush and were polite, some even smiled, albeit perfunctorily. It was as if I had returned to Palaven for a vacation," a thought flashed through his mind.
Slightly ahead, an indignant hiss was heard from an asari, who reacted very negatively to both the presence of the robot and its actions.
"I warn you, citizen," the machine stated in an indifferent voice. "My authority regulates the use of force in case of a threat to passenger safety. I understand your indignation, but I will check the seat belts, whether you want it or not."
"How dare you…"
"I dare and I will, although I could have simply used a manipulator, temporarily disabling you, instead of explaining," the robot interrupted her. "It's not like that here. In the USSR, they don't stand on ceremony with troublemakers. Because of you, the flight is already delayed by three seconds, which is unacceptable. Order must be in everything!"
The last phrase sounded incontestable.
"And this is a bit much… but it's right," the turian had to agree. On the one hand, the machine acted effectively and clearly. Without using force, with words alone, it made them adhere to the rules. On the other hand, the legionary, already familiar with the specifics of the Soviet system, knew that the machine would actually knock out the asari, and the citizens would even help her if he couldn't handle it.
"Sometimes with words and weapons you can achieve more than just words," the Hierarchy legionary concluded for himself, seeing how other former slaves of the asari race were indignant. For them, threats and the inevitability of violence are unacceptable… towards themselves.
If their diplomacy didn't work, they didn't hesitate to authorize the use of specially trained sentient beings, bringing this violence to dissenters. The turians were not called Knights of the Citadel for nothing. Therefore, Ferrion knew this firsthand. He was one of the bayonets in this punitive apparatus…
Meanwhile, the elevator gondola gently descended. The seasoned tessaract felt the familiar sensation of overload, which, however, immediately disappeared as the crystal song of the compensators began to sound. The elevator was clearly more comfortable than a shuttle, although with the same rows of seats and approximately the same volume.
"Although the seat is clearly more comfortable. And the fact that it automatically adjusts to the physiology of the sitter, even adjusting its size – is more than luxurious," the turian sprawled comfortably, preparing to doze off. However, he didn't even have time to close his eyes.
The compensators worked again as the gondola began to brake gently, stopping a few seconds later.
Looking at his personal terminal, attached to his wrist (like all refugees), he looked at the time, recalling the distances to geostationary orbit from Earth, and was surprised, spreading his mandibles. According to his calculations, they had covered the distance in four minutes of local time. He could only pay tribute to the local engineers.
"This is clearly more comfortable than a shuttle," he remarked, waiting for permission to release the straps.
The steward masterfully regulated the flow of sentient beings, preventing a crush at the exit, while simultaneously directing the former prisoners according to their group numbers.
Following the machine's instructions, the turian quickly found his greeter, who had his group number on a placard. The guide, a young feline girl, counted everyone, checking against the list, and, confirming with Ferrion that everyone had arrived, ordered them to follow her.
The miniature sentient cat, barely taller than the turian's knee, skillfully controlled the crowd, while answering questions, even if they were repeated many times. The feline showed no irritation or negativity, as if she were leading a group of tourists, not former slaves.
"I wasn't mistaken. They are completely indifferent to the fact that my kin had a space battle with them," the legionary made a note in his memory. "She even treats the batarian calmly, although… that's in their spirit. To repay, to make sure they don't harm, and to leave them alone. I couldn't do that, at least not right away," he stated.
After the death of the previous hegemon, the Batarians began to enslave their own kind again. Mostly for debts.
The USSR made no distinction for such slaves. All of them were victims of the ambitions of a rotten ruling elite, exploiting the working people, draining them of their lifeblood. At least, that's what their official propaganda stated, which was gradually disseminated in the media. Ferrion was still surprised by its extreme logical justification and evidence base. Even the popular column hosts did not recklessly accuse the Hegemony of anything, operating only with facts. "Do you have Citadel laws? Did they violate them? Then we were within our rights!" – that was the whole answer.
To the fair remark that the Hegemony did not recognize them, the answer was: "That's purely their problem!" The Union hated slavery, like any violence against a person – such as rape, drug trafficking, or psychological breakdown. Killing them was a less serious crime. "To kill is to interrupt a path or give a second chance in a new life. To disfigure the psyche is to turn life and the afterlife into hell!"
Lost in thought again, the turian entered the train car on autopilot and sat in his seat. After eating his lunch, which was served compulsorily if the journey was longer than four hours, he thanked another robot for the reminder not to forget to take a special pill. It allowed him to eat local food without the threat of poisoning, and he had to take it once a day. "It could have been done less often, but then there's a high probability that someone would forget and get poisoned," the doctors simply explained.
He had five hours of travel ahead of him, so the legionary decided to put all the events into a single picture. But for now, everything visible met with his approval, albeit with questions. But who was he to judge now? It's impolite for a guest to complain about the rules of someone else's house, but no one was stopping him from drawing conclusions to then compile a report upon his return to the Hierarchy.
"Let's see how they'll treat us..." he thought, having quenched his hunger, not yet knowing what awaited him in the Soviet health resort...