Rebirth The Mass Effect is old. part 24

The speakers clicked, and Jeff's voice said:

"Rin, it's an hour until the tunnel exits."

"Understood." I replied, barely able to open my eyes.

That's right... How did it pass me by?! I blinked, but reality didn't change. Bright light blue eyes looked at me with interest. Is that when Garrus showed up in my cabin?

Someone fidgeted nearby, and there was a muffled curse, uttered in a familiar, low, vibrating voice. Oh my... And Nihlus is here...

"How are you feeling?" Garrus asked, helping me sit up.

How's that? Yes, it's good! It's one thing to rob one person, but it's quite another to rob two.

"Great."

The sleepy face of Nihlus came into view.

"What did I miss?"

Garrus answered my question by telling me the following. About four hours later, after Nihlus came to check on my condition and didn't come back, Garrus decided to ask where he was. Found out. On what basis it was launched VI is a mystery shrouded in darkness, but I seriously suspect that our inquisitive pilot is involved. Anyway, I came and saw this picture: Nihlus, who was thoroughly frozen, unconscious, and I, who was not far from the deceased in terms of body temperature. Garrus was visibly scared, but then Nihlus came to his senses and dedicated our precious sniper to the essence of the problem. After that, I unloaded me to him, and he curled up into a compact ball and fell asleep. By the way, it is quite a normal reaction of the body to such losses: to sleep off and warm up. Garrus himself was only slightly frozen: my reserve was already almost full, and I didn't need much energy. True, he was already being robbed by Nihlus, but very weakly and almost imperceptibly.

The most interesting thing is that Garrus told all this with a bit of humor and considerable irony, not forgetting to hint a couple of times that such consequences should be reported before it was too late. There was a simple answer to my attempt to thank you:

"That's what... friends are for."

We had cleaned up and eaten in an hour, and now we were lazing around. I checked on the matriarch: Lady Benezia was still in a state of deep sleep, the cords that had been sharpened yesterday had disintegrated, but the drill was still sitting tight, although not as much as before. Really, three days of work, and it can be safely deleted. Leaving the Lady in the infirmary under Karin's care, I ran all over the ship. I checked the queen: rahni was sleeping peacefully in her box and didn't cause any problems. Rex dug himself into the arsenal and, at my request, compiled a list of what we could use to get from the large arsenals of the Special Corps at the first opportunity. At the same time, he handed over a list of spare parts for our Mako, compiled by Garrus, who repaired the all-terrain vehicle for nothing. Tali and Adams were discussing some technical issues. Liara ran off to the infirmary to her mother. Peace and grace...

And then the most unpleasant part began: checking the crew. I walked slowly around the ship, talking to people, surreptitiously scanning their minds.

I hate this kind of scan... For the sake of a single piece of information, you have to shake up a lot of thoughts and emotions. Anyone who thinks it's interesting can dig in the trash. It feels very similar.

People don't even understand what's really going on in their head. Conscious thoughts are just a tiny tip of a huge iceberg, the results of the work of a whole layer of thoughts, instincts and reactions of the body. For example, a guy named Robert, who is currently checking navigation systems, thinks about his colleague Elena, who is sitting at the next terminal. A conscious thought is quite decent: the guy thinks that the girl is very beautiful. But here is the foundation hiding under this idea... There's a lot here. The natural reaction of a young man's body: reaction to the smell, to the appearance, to the motor skills and plasticity of the movements of the object of lust. This is followed by unconscious instincts and images in which the subconscious very clearly shows exactly what it wants to do with this young lady: desire and lust. Conclusions that are practically conscious of the mind: it is suitable for procreation. The result of reflection is an attractive girl. A separate stream is the analysis of her personality: spiritual qualities, mind, character. And all this entails a simple statement of the fact that the girl is beautiful... But there is also a third layer — these are emotions, an analysis of the environment... I'm just ecstatic about it all! And, most importantly, do not filter out all this stuff! I'm already silent about the fragmentation and confusion of thinking, which makes the hair stand on end all over the body.

At least the unnecessary analysis results can be simply erased without cluttering up the memory. I can live very well without knowing how the crew members spend their free time. There's nothing interesting anyway, and I already know the gossip: Jeff, out of the goodness of his heart, throws me excerpts of particularly interesting pearls from the idle chatter of the crew. To know exactly how these gossips formed in the brains of the alternatively intelligent crew members... Come on to the demons! I caught one of them out of the corner of my eye, and it was amazing. And he looks like such a calm and proper guy...

I can still understand the gossip that I'm sleeping with both Turians. It's not a problem to find a reason, especially considering their touching care and spending the night in my cabin. On Egros, a pale, trembling mentalist sitting with someone in an embrace was a common and natural phenomenon, like clouds in the sky. But that's how Rex and Tali got mixed up in our cute threesome... especially Tali, who can't last long without her spacesuit and doesn't actually get out of the maintenance bay, my imagination is stalling. And there are discussions about who has whom, how and in what positions... it's better for the fighters not to know this, otherwise, I'm afraid, someone with a very sick imagination will fly into outer space without a spacesuit.

It's necessary... Rex, it turns out, was trying to clean the faces of both crested for a place in my bed. (Apparently the author got fed up with the comments.) I can't fucking get up! And the ideas of what Garrus does all day long under "Mako" generally amazed me to the depths of my soul and led me into a stupor. Yeah, with the Krogan... who just won't fit there physically in SUCH a position. If Rex or Garrus finds out, the Normandy will wash itself in blood. Literally. For such an insult, any Turian would kill on the spot. And the Krogan, too. And I won't even stop them.

I understand everything: abstinence, prohibition, a new female captain and a bunch of aliens on board, but you need to know the measure! A haven for old, depraved gossips, not the crew of a battleship... It's a good thing that Ashley and Kayden aren't involved in this, but you can see from their guilty faces that they know, but they're silent. And they are right to remain silent. They understand what this means.

If I want to kill the whole crew, it will be enough for me to show all this happiness to Rex, Garrus and Nihlus. They themselves will throw these idiots into space and will watch the swimming with interest.

Wearily rubbing the bridge of my nose, I focused on the scan. Pressley turned out to be clean and had no bad thoughts, which pleased me immensely. Whatever he was, he might have been itching about the unacceptability of so many xenos on board, but he was doing his job properly. And with all my might. Having puzzled the guy by compiling a list of absences for those who did not take a walk on our last visit to the Citadel and having taken the ship's condition report from him, I went to the Joker to cool off, not forgetting to go through the brains of the crew sitting in the navigation compartment.

One of the operators knocked on the Alliance's superiors. At first, I had the idea to stuff him with all sorts of joy, but I decided to regret his sound thinking and lack of a bad fantasy and made do with a filter bookmark that was not dangerous to the mind. The information about Benezia will go away in a generalized form and without specifying my digging into her brain, the guy will safely forget about the suspicious box, and in a couple of hours he will be picked up from the ship. When I entered the control room, the Joker was just arguing with the Citadel dispatcher, trying to squeeze out of the queue of traffic.

"I'm sorry, but we can't provide you with a hallway." An irritated and tired voice answered. "Frigate Normandy, you belong to the Alliance fleet and will be moved in..."

"We have a Spectr of Advice on board." Joker immediately reported, carefully circling the Asari's hefty, sprawling trough.

The dispatcher hesitated.

"There are a lot of Spectres coming to the Citadel right now. You will be moved..."

"We have TWO Spectr on board!"

A short pause.

"Please provide their names."

"The spectr of Nihlus Krayk and the Spectr of Irene Shepard." The pilot said with a pleased face.

The dispatcher was silent for about a minute, apparently checking the information. Finally, a slightly surprised response:

"A permanent berthing area number 7-9834-38 has been allocated for you in the area of the Special Tactical Intelligence Corps. Hallway..." next is a long number. "Citadel Control, over and out."

End of communication.

The Joker, humming a song to himself, stretched contentedly, and then noticed me.

"Captain!"

"Are you taking advantage?"

I leaned against the ever-empty copilot's seat.

"There's a queue for clocks even for warships!"

"And why are you so happy?"

"The permanent site is attached to the ship, regardless of whether it is on the station or not. It's like a private parking space." the pilot explained willingly. "Now we won't have to hang out in queues."

At least something good.

"Apparently, your mission is important enough for the Council, since we were allowed into the ports of the Special Corps." Jeff shook his head.

"Our mission is VERY important."

The Joker nodded, and pulled out a datapad from somewhere under the chair. The anticipatory smile with which the pilot handed me this quite ordinary device made it clear WHAT was written on it.

"Again, or what?"

"It's a real holiday today!"

I sat in the copilot's seat, turned on the datapad, and started reading. By the end of the rather lengthy file, my eye was twitching and my fingers were twitching nervously from the desire to rip out someone's tongue. Taking a slow, deep breath, I turned off the datapad and shoved it into my pants pocket.

"You know, if Nihlus finds out, at least... I'm just not talking about Garrus or Rex... We will not wash the ship of blood."

The Joker nodded. But he couldn't help but chuckle.

"It's not funny, Jeff," I said, closing my eyes to calm my anger. "They'll just kill them, and no one in Citadel Space will blame them for that. Does Kayden know that they've already gotten to him?"

"Not yet."

"And where did they get such a sick fantasy from?" I asked resignedly.

The Joker laughed, but said nothing, steering the ship towards the huge station. It's funny to him... He just doesn't understand how it can end! He thinks the fighters are laughing and that's it. Nothing like that! And fuck them if they just thought nasty things and quietly rustled in their cabins, but no... The crew members were discussing it in the canteen! Do they even have an instinct for self-preservation? I know for sure that Garrus has a long knife hidden in his shoe, which only falls a little short of the definition of a "short sword". Although the handle looks organic among a bunch of fasteners and bells and whistles, it is not particularly hidden. Nihlus has a knife too. And a sword that can easily cut through light armor. He wears it on his hip without hiding it at all. And these assholes think Nihlus is just messing around. The idiots. Turians don't know the concept of "decorative weapons" at all! And they know how to use all the weapons they carry on themselves! Always. No exceptions!

What were they taught at all?

At least the XO, Ashley and Kayden don't suffer from such idiocy... Pressley looks at the predatory blade with respect and a degree of hostile apprehension, as well as at Nihlus himself.

This time, the Normandy approached the Citadel from the other side, taxiing to the attachment point of one of the "petals", where the ports of the SPECTR were located. The density of the flow of ships here was low, and for the most part there were personal ships of the Spectr at the berthing sites.

Nihlus came into the control room. The Joker nodded at him in greeting, without distracting himself from his work.

"Is your ship here too?" I asked.

"Yes. It's three tiers lower, in the hangar. Ships that are preparing for departure are at the mooring sites. The rest are being dragged to hangars so that they don't take up space."

A short jolt signaled the activation of the grapples: the Normandy moored to the site. Garrus was already waiting for us near the airlock, dressed in civilian clothes and with a powerful pistol on his belt. Liara chose to stay on the ship with her mother this time.

The ports of the Special Corps were practically no different from similar sites of the military port, except that no one approached us, and the C-SEC fighters standing at the elevator doors glanced at us indifferently, but showed no particular interest.

"Have you contacted the Council?" I asked when the doors closed and the elevator went down.

"Yes. The advisor is already waiting." seeing my surprise, Nihlus explained. "Sparatus oversees our assignment, and we report to him. There are many spectr in the Galaxy. The Council cannot meet for every report."

It makes perfect sense.

"Why him?"

"Spectr's are usually recruited from the races that have joined the Council: Salarians, Asari, and us. Operatives report to an adviser of their own race, which makes it easier to work and understand, but there is no human adviser, and you need to work somehow. Since I was supposed to be your supervisor, you were assigned to our corps after you were awarded Spectr status."

"It's interesting..."

That's the twist... It turns out that I've been assigned to the Spectr Turian Corps. A human! Cool! If the real Shepard were in my place, there would be no conflicts... download it. Just brilliant!

"Whose idea was it?"

"Valern." Nihlus chuckled.

"Did he kindly decide to plant something nasty on a colleague? And Sparatus agreed?"

"Surprisingly, he agreed. He's human, though... not that he hates, but he dislikes, that's for sure. Especially after some kind of murky story with Saren."