With a quiet hiss, the door opens, having read my biometrics. Stepping over the threshold, I stop the two bandaged mummies with a gesture from trying to snap to attention.
"At ease," I reinforce the command verbally and with a thought-image, looking at Miranda and Shep, wrapped in garlands of IV drips and sensors. The sight is damn unpresentable, but I've been through worse. I myself recently looked like a Christmas tree in a similar state.
I push aside the chair, kindly left by the medics for visitors, and plop down on it, causing the furniture to creak, but it held the weight of my armored body. Grimacing at the white, slightly glowing walls of the ward, I glance again at the two battered figures, calculating in my mind.
Deciding that since they have regained the unconditional reflexes of any soldier, I can ignore the doctors' conclusions, I start from a distance. Ah, beautiful distant future, why are you such a scoundrel?
"How's your health, lovebirds?" I try not to make my voice too sarcastic, although I could walk around to compensate for my natural malice and resentment. Now, my mother-in-law will honestly give me three dozen slaps for finally realizing the obvious. The comedy of their relationship has dragged on for too long, giving everyone who was even remotely interested time to bet.
The "Collective" naturally flared up with embarrassment. One could see these sparks in real space, though without the screams, as when I released a mouse into the women's restroom in school, where ladies were smoking.
The answer was two slightly blurred images of embarrassment, which could be translated as: stably bad, but ready for duty. And the two mummies stretched so comically through the neural network that they involuntarily brought a smile, which the patients misunderstood greatly.
Their emotions darkened and intensified, preparing for a reprimand. If my unforgettable mother-in-law, whose character completely deteriorated after Katya's brother was born, were in my place, she would not fail to conduct an inquisition. For her, it's simple: if you feel guilt, you've messed up somewhere.
"That's good," I allow myself to play on the nerves of the wounded. "Things are a complete mess."
With these words, I discard the package of memories and my reflections. The eyes of the bandaged lumps became slightly clouded, losing their clarity, trying to digest such an incredible amount of information. Miranda was the first to snap out of it. An investigator, after all.
"Is everything that bad?" she asked in a hoarse voice, which for someone whose nervous system was burned to hell was an amazing result.
"Everything is much, much worse," now I felt sour. Maybe I should file a report on myself again to be demoted to the lowest officer? Being a regular operative is much better than being a squad leader. How tired I am of all this shit.
Ensuring I was being listened to attentively, I began to pour out my understanding of the operational summary:
"The scoundrels didn't sit still for a week. While the scandal was there," I roll my eyes to the ceiling, "everything was still civil. The shit hit the fan when they released the version for the media. They couldn't officially blame us. No matter how you twist it, the USSR ships didn't let them have the Citadel while everyone was busy with the ballet of cows on ice. This circumstance prevented them from unleashing the official news aggregators on us, but the fed bloggers and armchair analysts had a field day. Globally, you understand, it doesn't matter, but it was demonstrative. Many idiots believed it."
"That was understandable," Shep remarked the obvious. "They couldn't just let the destruction of the Citadel go unpunished. Who was officially appointed the scapegoat?"
"And here the opinions of our friends diverged," I said, and I feel the whole disgust of these words myself. "The blues blamed their former knights. The toads are cunningly silent, but quietly transferring fleets, according to intelligence. The suits are doing the same, deciding to wrap things up while they are not globally needed, but the overall temperature in the Fleet is support. The bone-heads have turned their shit machines towards us, building more 'chocolate factories' on the fly, trying to disguise the fleet's movements under this guise, which is supposed to hit the suits when they finish all the dirty work. The Hierarchy is officially planning to sit out the upcoming shitstorm."
"But they must understand that after the Asari, they will be next?" Miranda said, more affirmatively, adding a mental image of her conclusions, which were more like an analytical report.
"Apparently, they have a good woodpecker somewhere that pecks at the primarch's brain every day. The last intelligence game under the guise of the Ghost did not pay off. Not everyone was liquidated," if any Turian heard this, I would be beaten. These semi-reptiles or semi-birds (who can figure out these jaw-faced creatures) are too sensitive to the death of several of their rulers in a row at the hands of assassins. "The primarch is definitely clean from any Reaper tricks, only he's shocked: this fact doesn't stop ordinary Turians. War, and a guaranteed victorious one, is the only way to relieve the pressure in the cauldron. Otherwise, in a couple of months, at most a year, they will have a civil war. Therefore, as much as I want to let you rest, people were needed yesterday."
"If not the day before yesterday," a thought flashes in my mind, which doesn't stop me from assembling another mental package with the task cut out for them.
"So, the Republic?" Shep radiated feigned cheerfulness.
"Your SPECTRE powers are still active and will help pull out everyone who is needed," I nod, sending another layer, tired of grinding my tongue.
The Asari are simply closer to the Reapers, so they will finish first. The machines, which we kicked well, will first suppress all the stirrings in the rear before dealing with us. We have nine months, at most a year, although I would take even half a year as a mark to let the meat grinder turn and gather everything available into a mighty pile. Therefore, we need to quickly turn shit into butter.
No matter how much we dislike each other, the Asari are a valuable asset, and frankly, these women are pitiful. They will quickly be turned into liver-machines, leaving so many biotics without control. Thanks to Tevos, who leaked the necessary contacts in his homeland. Now we know who needs to be urgently pulled out, and who is useless.
The Matriarchs knew about the Reapers and were preparing to throw the galaxy to them. If we had touched them, we would have risked accelerating the enemy's pace.
"Understood," was my synchronous reply.
The engine room of the Normandy filled with sounds. The engines awoke from a short sleep, setting the void ship of the USSR in motion. Perfectly tuned mechanisms were music to a Quarian's ear.
Tali'Zorah checked the readings on her engineering tablet once more, adjusting the parameters under the watchful, approving gaze of the senior engineer, bringing the machine's efficiency to maximum values with a light touch. She felt a little awkward about this silent gaze, but the young girl showed no sign of it, doing her job…
For almost a month now, she had changed her name, adding the ship's name, according to her people's customs. The Quarian was grateful to the cruiser's captain, who, seeing a stranger who, albeit out of fear, attacked a crew member, decided to keep him on board rather than throw him overboard.
Although Tali had apologized four times to Joker, who merely waved his hand, saying, "It happens," the girl remembered the piercing, cold, tired gaze of Lieutenant Colonel Pastukhov. This memory made her give her all at her post, thereby trying to justify the trust given by the captain and this strange crew.
The beings inhabiting the decks and corridors of the Normandy were, to the unaccustomed Quarian, insane and silent. Reading her great-grandmother's diaries and fiction books, she understood that it was nothing like being in the same compartment with these sentient beings. Reality, however, as always, held many nuances that became clear only with experience.
As it turned out, the citizens of the Union were not fanatical, in some ways extremely religious in their own way, cold beings. Yes, they spoke little, but only with those not connected, but in their "Collective" they could chat for hours, exchanging not words, but the very essence of words, as Shus-mi, who took her under her wing, once put it.
When the giant, multi-armed snake-woman appeared the next day to give her a tour of the ship, Tali thought she would die of fear! The behemoth was four times her size and taller than even the giant Drell or the terrifying Sharls she had seen through the ventilation.
The Quarian had time to think a lot, regretting that her weapons had been taken away and handed over to the ship's arsenal while this tour was going on, but minute after minute passed, and no one was going to eat her. At some point, curiosity took over, and she began to ask questions, receiving quite detailed answers…
The snake politely answered even the silliest questions, just like any crew member, and was extremely friendly. Yes, Shus-mi was more shy than Tali, who proudly tried not to show what she thought was a flaw.
The girl couldn't help but smile, remembering how her friend had gone to great lengths to ask for a hug. The snakes were very tactile, but the other crew members weren't too eager to make contact. The impulsiveness of the snakes themselves was to blame, as they could sneak up and hug very unexpectedly. This incident broke a number of prejudices and gave the girl the courage to start questioning.
She was curious to learn about this strange state and its inhabitants, which was perhaps the only ally of her race. To her surprise, the crew members turned out to be ordinary. Despite their collective mind, they were exactly the same as the inhabitants of Space, although there were plenty of nuances. In the girl's opinion, the inhabitants of the USSR were very close to the Quarians.
Despite their outward harshness, the crew members were friendly, kind, and generous. Each silently came to each other's aid with advice or deeds. The sailors and officers simply took and did what was needed. On the other hand, when the battle alarm siren sounded, these unhurried kind souls transformed, regardless of race.
In battle, they acted quickly, sharply, and cruelly, still showing camaraderie. Tali could only think of a machine with many bodies.
Their lack of fear of death both frightened and fascinated her. Although the Quarian understood that for them death was not the end, to rush forward like that, knowing you might not return, was too much for her… Something she couldn't fully comprehend. And there were many such things, no matter how you twisted or read them. They were just like that, familiar, but different. Kind, but ruthless. Caring, but retaliatory. Open and hidden…
"Very good," the chief of the engine room expressed everything and nothing in one phrase, praising her actions and pulling her out of her memories.
"Thank you," she sincerely thanked him for the pleasant assessment of her work.
Her superior wanted to say something else, but instead tilted his head slightly to the side, as he always did when communicating with someone through a neural link.
"You're being summoned to the bridge," his voice was businesslike and dry, but Tali understood from his facial expressions that nothing terrible threatened her. This calmed her a little. She was still a bit afraid of the ship's captain.
"Try not to be afraid of operative 'Argentum'. He can tear apart a squad of Asari marines by himself!" the young Quarian encouraged herself, handing over her duties and heading to the bridge.
Everyone on the ship respected Pastukhov, but Tali sometimes had dreams about this man, and these dreams were sometimes far from nightmares, so her cheeks burned with embarrassment in the mornings. It was good that she was given a separate cabin and no one saw this.
The man who scared her was captivating in his strength. A training session she had once witnessed of this warrior had left an indelible impression on her. His scarred figure, moving so that the beginning of his movement was imperceptible, and only the flying mannequin was visible, was alluring…
"It's a shame he has a partner," a too bold thought crossed the Quarian's mind, making her blush again. Although the books she had read directly stated that such interspecies relationships were not welcomed in the USSR, and she herself understood their wrongness, the image was too charismatic and impressive for a young heart.
"Yes, our commander is like that," the ship's synthesized AI voice chuckled from the ceiling, making her jump. It was very difficult for the Quarian to accept the existence of this machine. Very, but Tali tried, reassuring herself that synthetics were also different. The girl regretted once again that she didn't have her pistol.
"Although it wouldn't help if this iron thing decided to attack," a cold thought flashed through her mind, raising a herd of goosebumps despite the environmental control systems of her suit.
"I didn't…" the young Quarian tried to find an answer, and suddenly realized that she really hadn't.
"Oh, come on," the AI replied lively. "As if I don't have sensors! You don't need to be an empath to understand what's going on in your head. Our commander knows how to impress. It's a natural reaction to fear, within expectations, and it's good that you understand this."
"No artificial intelligence has ever tried to cheer me up before," Tali admitted, realizing how foolish her inner turmoil had been due to the suddenness and absurdity of the situation.
"It's female solidarity, and psychological support protocols… a little," was the answer. "You need a stable psyche. Madness is only funny in books."
"But I…"
"I know, but we'll talk after you're given your assignment on the bridge. Then we'll see how resilient you are," the artificial intelligence cut off, disconnecting from her suit's systems…
"Done," Suzy's mischievous voice sounded in Shepard's head.
"One less problem. If only it were always like this," a thought flashed through his mind.
"It's good that it was you," Miranda remarked. "It was easier to work. And I almost feel sorry for the girl."
"Are you going to hold this over me forever?" the lieutenant colonel sent back a thought-image.
"I'll think about it," the investigator's thought-image was very ambiguous.
As a good comrade, Shus-mi reported to the commander about the new engineer's well-hidden fear, so Shepard, who knew what could lead to this, had no choice but to, as a senior comrade, uncover and clean it up painlessly before it fully formed in one direction or another. Although the decision to keep the Quarian was impulsive and based more on pity, she was now destined to play an important role.
His conscience didn't allow him to use another sentient being's feelings as a stimulus, although with his experience it would have been easy… Shepard clenched his hands until they crunched. "I am a monster, but I will not use others like this," he affirmed to himself. "We teach, but we do not manipulate, although, at times, the line between them is vanishingly small. At least we won't lie to ourselves, accepting the pangs of conscience for our sins."
The recent events had left a strong mark on him. It wasn't every day he killed those who had, in a way, replaced his father…
Tali appeared on the bridge. "A child who thinks she's an adult and threatens to grow into a strong leader of her people," was his thought.
"Let's get to business. I need your skills," Shepard began to voice not the best plan.
"I've only just started mastering your systems," the Quarian quickly blurted out, no longer afraid, exuding a clearly discernible composure, without a trace of anything negative.
"But your skills with Citadel systems are top-notch," he stopped her, raising his hand as if to appease her. "We need to disguise a mechanism by transferring it to the chassis of a service bot manufactured in Space."
"Then I don't see any difficulty, but why won't someone else do it?" the girl reasonably remarked, showing that behind her modesty lay a strong personality that noticed the obvious.
"Other crew members simply can't do it naturally. However, you won't have to do it alone…" the human finished his sentence, seeing another sentient being enter the bridge.
Tali followed his gaze, turning around… and froze.
"Kila! Is that a geth?!" she exclaimed.
"Greetings, creator," the synthetic replied imperturbably, respectfully bowing what served as its head, and as Shepard knew, Legion did this sincerely, not mockingly…