Kraik's cabin was in perfect order: things were neatly folded and put away in a closet, on a narrow table there was a single datapad lying absolutely flat and clearly at the edge of the table, and a weapon box against the wall. That's all. The bed is carefully made.

Strange. I didn't think Nihlus was so pedantic. Or is he like that on board an alien ship? Quite possibly, considering how merrily he was received in Normandy.

I suppose I'll still have the opportunity to find out his real character, because I sincerely doubt that the Spectrum will just leave me unattended. He had seen too many interesting things. There are too many strange things.

Should I worry about this? I don't think so. Nihlus Kraik is my supervisor. If... No, WHEN I am accepted into the Special Corps, he will be responsible for ALL my misdeeds, these are the rules of his race. It's in his best interest to make me a worthy addition to the elite of the Citadel Space intelligence service.

I could barely contain my laughter.

No, well, wow! I have a mentor again! The last one, a pretentious jerk from the academy, was eaten by ghouls when he showed me how to kill them properly. He showed it. I watched this, sitting on a four-meter-high fragment of a column, and then for two days I thought about how to get off my perch so that the undead wouldn't grab me.

This reality is definitely starting to make me happy.

The surge of emotions subsided as quickly as it had appeared. Mental instability, what can you do? I opened the locker. How lovely, I'm basically stealing clothes at the request of their owner!

The box I needed lay on the shelf and the silver emblem of the Special Corps sparkled invitingly. Next to it was a first-aid kit with the same logo on the side, and a stack of datapads of a model unknown to me. The most curious thing was that their touch screen was the size of the entire body and not that disgusting orange color like humans, but a dark blue pleasant to the eye. Is there a difference in the models? Or something more substantial?

I took the box and the first-aid kit, without touching anything superfluous, and carefully closed the locker door. And the box is too heavy! The first-aid kit weighed at least three kilograms, while the three times smaller box weighed one and a half times more.

Unlike the game prototype, on the real Normandy, the crew cabins were located in place of the game recreation area. Instead, there was only a narrow corridor, and where the eight capsule models were ostentatiously hanging, there was a dining room. The captain's cabin and the infirmary have not changed their location. Now I would not run into Captain Anderson: it would be difficult for me to explain what I was doing in the cabin of a barely alive Spectre, and even with his things in my hands.

Fortunately, luck was on my side, and Captain Anderson was on the bridge at that slippery moment and did not loom in front of my eyes. But I was met with a puzzled look by Darg, who was wiping tables in the cafeteria with a sour face, and Dylan, who was scrubbing the floor. Manually. Cleaning was usually done during the ship's night using a silent hybrid of a vacuum cleaner and a washing machine. It took very little time and effort, unlike the perversion that the gloomy Dare was engaged in.

"Have you done it yet?" I asked softly, passing by the fighter.

"Two outfits in the kitchen. Each." He muttered. "There's nothing to do there right now, so they came up with THIS."

"A soldier should always be busy, right, Darg?"

The fighter flared with anger.

"Darling, fuck your conscience!"

"That's necrophilia, Darg," I smirked.

In response, Dylan laughs loudly.

"So did Bonehead survive?" Darg nodded at the boxes in my hands.

What?

I looked up at Darg, and the burly man, whose head barely reached my chest, got nervous.

How I love people and the problems they create in the open! Especially on the basis of racial strife. Worlds are changing, but the problems are the same. Except that the situation is different and the faces of the participants in the conflict are different.

The situation is swinging!

I am a candidate for the Spectr's. I was nominated by the Turian Nihlus Kraik — Spektr, who is no less famous than his legendary mentor with a very specific fame.

I wonder why he did it? It is doubtful that he needs this personally: judging by Kraik's sour face, which I had the good fortune to observe before our conversation in the briefing room, he is not enthusiastic about this action. I wonder how much of his decision was voluntary? Or he was simply confronted with the fact: go and see who the Alliance is nominating for Spectrum status this time. So to speak, choose your own personal hemorrhoids from what they offer you there.

If I'm right, then Nihlus is in trouble. And then there's the atmosphere crackling with the intensity of friendliness. And my recipient... Oh, yes, my recipient...

And Nihlus is an extreme if he chose Imrir. Or were the other candidates even funnier?

I wonder if he'll answer if I ask.

I could barely contain my laughter. I'll definitely ask him as soon as he can talk without unnecessary pain. Now we need to deal with our fighters and put not only all the dots, but also other punctuation marks so that this does not happen again.

"grizzly." from my tone, both fighters tensed and braced themselves. "Nihlus Kraik is my supervisor from the Special Corps." I was silent for a couple of minutes, staring intently into the fighter's eyes, and added: "MY MENTOR."

It didn't take him much time to process what he had said. The definition of "mentor" that I gave to the Turian automatically changed his status in the eyes of the fighters from some incomprehensible freak who came with a fucking assignment to someone who for me becomes the first after God. Both Imrir and I treated the mentors about the same way.

For me, a mentor is not an object for jokes. If I wasn't mistaken in my assumptions, Kraik will be a good teacher and partner. And for a really good mentor, I will destroy anyone who dares to say something like that about him. In more than two dozen lifetimes, there were only five people whom I could call a Mentor with a capital letter. And what they have given me is truly priceless.

Nihlus has already taught me the first lesson, and this lesson actually cost him his life.

"It won't happen again." Derg replied seriously.

"Which one of you put the backlight on Alenko?" By changing the subject, I made it clear that the matter was closed.

"Well I." Derg muttered.

"Has the captain taken out the brain yet?"

The fighter grimaced.

"Through the ass."

"You know, hitting a staff officer is bad for your career. Especially in front of the bosses." I vividly remembered Major Kyle, whom Imrir almost shot on Torfan. "Look, if you hit me a little harder, you'll be court-martialed."

Darg grimaced.

"And wash it better. The divorces remain."

In response, there was a muffled mutter, addressed to no one in particular. He knows, if the captain sees a hack, he'll add another outfit on top.

Leaving the fighters to practice hitting Alenko's tambourine through senseless labor, I went into the infirmary, patiently standing in a small airlock while the disinfection procedure was going on. In the real Normandy, you can't just get into the infirmary, especially if there was a patient with serious injuries in it. And the room itself was divided by partitions into practically airtight sections, which, if necessary, could serve as a sterile surgical or intensive care unit.

Only one partition had been raised now, separating the far section from the main room. The doctor stood at the equipment and typed something on the datapad, glancing at the screens.

"Doctor."

I put a massive first-aid kit on the table and walked over to the Turian's cot, holding a metal box in my hands.

"This one?"

He blinked slightly in response.

Damn it, Nihlus is barely able to keep himself conscious! His condition has deteriorated dramatically.

What did I expect? He is still alive only because of the borrowed energy, which does not allow his body to fail. Once the recharge is interrupted, the Turian will not last an hour. I can't sleep or lose consciousness, I can't get injured, otherwise MY body will take over all the resources, automatically cutting off the leak. Nihlus won't survive this. It's amazing how he even lasted the fifteen hours I spent unconscious due to the effects of the lighthouse.

It is necessary to establish a full-fledged channel and enhance the return of energy.

"Dr. Chakvas, is there anything useful in the medicine cabinet?"

"There is. But that's not enough right now."

Not enough. In other words, Kraik is not a tenant. Interestingly, Nihlus himself understands this. Out, held in consciousness by sheer force of will.

The doctor will shake my soul out later.

I anchored the first one at the spaceport, tying myself to the Turian. It remains to install the second one and close the system, fortunately, the binding ritual is one of the simplest. Basic, so to speak.

I bit my finger, and under the doctor's indignant exclamation, I drew three angular marks on the Turian's stomach with my blood. The blood was instantly absorbed, leaving a barely noticeable trace that would disappear completely within a couple of hours. The anchor is installed. I started transferring energy, gradually increasing the power, the symbols lit up, but this time with a soft golden glow. Surprise flashed behind her, and the doctor gasped faintly.

For a person who had never encountered even the slightest manifestations of the supernatural, it looked, at least, strange. For me, the glow of the runes was natural and familiar. Nothing, they will go out now, as soon as there is a full connection to the recipient's power system, the losses in the background will become minimal and the overload, which was indicated by this glow, will disappear.

The diagrams on the monitors flickered and began to move, tracking the change in the patient's condition.

"It's stabilized." the doctor said in surprise, looking up from the instruments.

Nihlus raised his hand slightly, barely moving his fingers. A silent request is an order to approach.

"Now." I picked up the box and came over. "Relax your hand."

Wrapping my fingers around his wrist, I lifted his hand and, moving the box, placed it on the keyboard, which appeared when touching the touch plate. Nihlus dialed the code, and the lid came off. He took only one thing out of the box: a small prism made of matte gray metal, which hummed faintly when its bases were squeezed.

"May. Talk." Nihlus croaked almost inaudibly.

"Is there a wiretap on the ship?" I asked, surprised.

He closed his eyes in agreement.

I suddenly didn't want to become the captain of this miracle of technology. Not only is this an untested prototype, which has an experimental engine and a core capable of going haywire over any trifle, but it is also bugged from bow to stern!

How lovely!

I have no doubt for a moment that all the information I receive will be with Cerberus sooner than with my immediate command. Quite a lot of people are knocking on Comrade Ghost's door in the Alliance, and the saddest thing is that they are from the highest echelons of power.

Prospects — just download! If the Ghost finds out what I am... It's better to go straight to Saren and ask for political asylum from the Ruler.

Something else is interesting.

"Just fine." I rubbed my aching temples, frowning at the barely alive Turian. "I can understand wiretapping on the bridge and command deck or in the mess. But why put her in the infirmary if there's usually no one here?! Or is it just like that, just in case?" I shifted my gaze to Dr. Chakwas, who was frowning. "Tell me, was the ship supposed to go into space with a mixed crew?"

"Doubtful. The equipment in the infirmary is not adapted for Turian physiology."

"Then I don't understand. Or I don't know something."

We were silent for a while.

"Doctor." I called softly. Nihlus opened his eyes slightly, making it clear that he was still conscious and could hear us. "Until the circumstances are clarified, do not inform anyone that the Spectr has stabilized. If possible, thicken the colors. Let everyone who wants to inquire about Nihlus' health be absolutely sure that he has both feet in the grave."

"The reason?" a dry, hard question.

"I am more than sure that once the information leaves the infirmary, Nihlus will not live even a couple of hours."

Chakwas hesitated for just a moment:

"Commander, do you have any proof?"

"Evidence? No. I'm just trying to figure out what's going on on this ship. Either this is the blatant incompetence and negligence of the security service of the Arcturus station, on which the ship was built, or..."

The understatement hung in the air. The doctor folded her arms on her chest and looked at me gloomily, thinking about something, Nihlus... He should be sleeping and recuperating right now, but he's spending it trying to stay conscious.

"Call me paranoid, but this so-called "paranoia" has saved my life more than once."

"I understand your doubts." Chakwas replied softly. "There are grounds for suspicion." The doctor's gray eyes narrowed slightly. "Commander, answer me one question."

"I'm listening to you, Doctor."

"What did you do not so long ago?"

"I did everything in my power to ensure that the Nihlus Kraik Spectr survived."

Nihlus flinched slightly, staring at me intently. The hint was understood correctly: I KNEW what was coming. He's smart. He immediately understood what I said. As soon as he can speak clearly without choking on acute pain, I will be subjected to a thoughtful interrogation disguised as a conversation.

The conversation faded by itself.

The situation was very interesting: both Dr. Chakvas and Spectre Kraik REALLY wanted to ask me many, many interesting questions, but in private, not daring to start a veiled interrogation in front of each other. The funny thing is, they probably have about the same questions. And they can't come to an agreement in my presence either. And they won't.

"Nihlus." I called softly.

The green eyes blinked and cleared.

"Energy recharge is not a magic panacea." I replied calmly. "She doesn't heal. It only transfers to your body the pure vital energy necessary for recovery. Don't make my job harder. Go to sleep."

The Turian smiled slightly, clenched his fingers on the jammer's prism, turning off the device, and obediently closed his eyes. Just a minute later, he was asleep.

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