Rebirth The Mass Effect is old. part 12

"To know that you should be dead?"

The Turian nodded. I took out a knife and easily tore open the bandages, exposing the wound that had begun to heal. She looked it... bad. The broken and twisted chitin on his chest, the swollen bluish edges of the wound, the bumps of the stitches, the purple-green bruises, the exposed muscles barely covered by the blue, cracked crust of dried blood stripped off along with the bandages. And this horror is all over my chest.

My palm lit up with an uneven golden glow, thin streaks of light flowing from my fingers. Concentrated vital energy. I raised my hand, practically touching the oily, shiny fresh blood with my fingers, watching as strands of energy stretched out, pouring into the startled Turian.

"Does it tickle?"

"From the inside."

"That's how it should be."

The visual effect didn't appear immediately, but it did. The wound dried up, being tightened by the delicate skin, the outlines of new plates of chitin appeared. The blood had coagulated and was falling off in layers. The healing was rapid, and I felt my strength disappearing just as quickly. In my opinion, that's enough. The calm, slightly rumbling voice sounded unexpectedly harsh. I pulled my hand away and cut off the power supply.

"And it's true. Three more times and you'll be completely healthy. We'll do it again in two days."

Nihlus nodded and stood up slightly, leaning back against the back.

"Rene, what do you know about the Channel?"

"It's like a one-way backdoor to the Citadel. Access to the station is via a repeater created by the Protheans from the planet Ilos. The channel on the Citadel is a monument repeater in the Presidium."

"Is he a worker?"

"Quite. But I have no idea where it leads. But not on Ilos. Perhaps it has some other functions unknown to me, after all, it was built by the Reapers. And Saren is clearly looking for a reason. I do not believe that the Sovereing of Nazara began to suffer from sclerosis in his old age, and forgot where they built the Canal. Getting to the Citadel is not a problem for the Spectr. Apparently, they need a Channel on Ilos."

"Where is this Ilos located?"

"The Pangea Space system. It's a long way from here. You can get in through a special mu repeater, hanging out somewhere in the nebula in the Terminus Systems. But I don't know exactly where. There was some kind of murky story, which is why this repeater was torn from orbit and shifted somewhere.

"And who knows?"

"Rachni."

"They're extinct."

"Saren dug up the queen's egg somewhere. So they're already quite alive."

"Where are they located?"

"A novelty. We will go there as soon as the message about the problems in the colony arrives. If everything goes as it should, we'll meet Benezia there. Or we might not."

"What about the other Reapers?"

"They're hanging out somewhere in intergalactic space." I shrugged my shoulders.

"What do they want from us anyway?"

"Good question. All I know for sure is that the Reapers are made of organics. Of the races they destroyed. We are their building material."

We were silent for a while. Nihlus was deep in thought about something, but I didn't bother him. The prospects looming brightly in the not-so-distant future frankly scared me. First, that swift death and getting caught by Cerberus. Yes, there is no getting around this fact... But you can turn around! Moreover, it seems that Liara will give them my carcass, hoping for resurrection. But what if...

"You still haven't told me what the future holds for us." The Turian asked softly.

Funny. It feels like he's reading my mind and putting questions into it.

"In three words: Reaper, Collectors, Harvest."

"Tell."

Not an order. Request.

"I told you about Sovereing Nazara. He's our supervisor. He must send a Call and activate the Citadel, summoning his kin to our part of the Galaxy. The Protheans did something to the Guardians, and now the Citadel won't respond to Nazara's orders, or the Harvest would have already begun. Apparently, when the station didn't respond, he was puzzled by the search for performers. And then Saren so successfully climbed on it, considering it to be just an artifact ship. For which he paid with freedom and sanity. You already know that.

The Turian nodded.

"Apparently, Saren is now trying to send a Call and deal with the breakdown of the Citadel by manually launching it into repeater mode. This feature is available from the station's command bridge. Why does he need a Channel? I don't know. In any case, we need to destroy the Sovereing, and it's not easy to do that. He will lay half the fleet, breaking through to the Citadel. By the way, the station will have to be closed, and the Sovereing will remain outside. If you don't slow down.

The council should know.

"And how will I tell them?" They won't believe me. But they'll believe me. Nihlus chuckled. "Sparatus will believe it. We can start preparing for war."

"When we arrive at the Citadel, talk to the adviser. Maybe he'll let you blow up the Channel? Just in case."

Nihlus chuckled.

"Maybe. What will happen next?"

"When we take down the Sovereing, the Alliance and the Council will pretend that the Reapers are my joke. So, the delirium of a brain inflamed by a Lighthouse. They'll declare him a superget and that's it."

"It's a sound idea. It will prevent panic."

"That's just it. But the problem is that they will believe it themselves."

"I'll take care of convincing the Council. If they don't believe me, they won't believe anyone. Although I've never noticed such idiocy in Sparatus."

"Do you know him?"

"Yes."

I stared into those mocking green eyes. THAT CAN'T BE RIGHT!

Don't tell me Sparatus is your kinsman!

"I won't tell. The Turian grinned, spreading his mandibles wide and grinning slightly maliciously."

"He can't be so lucky!"

"Sparatus is from a related clan." Nihlus shrugged his shoulders. "When I was able to become a Spectr, I was assigned to Saren, the best of the best, at Sparatus' request. A shadow crossed his face. "Saren..."

"We will resolve the issue with Saren when we meet with him."

Nielus nodded.

"What's next? After the destruction of the Sovereing."

"The Alliance's native authorities are sending me on a mission to check why the ships are disappearing. The Norma will be destroyed by the Collectors' cruiser, the crew will mostly escape in capsules, and I will be thrown overboard by the explosion. And I'm going to die."

Nihlus shuddered.

"It's possible... Change it?"

"I don't know. I doubt. I'm not going to die anyway. I'll go into suspended animation. But the result of this mission will be that my body will end up in Cerberus, a terrorist inhuman organization, where my carcass will be stuffed with metal and suspicious implants, presented with Normandy number two and sent to heroic deeds.

I winced at the prospect. That's what, but I would have done without Cerberus with pleasure.

"What can be changed?"

"First of all, I'm not going to fall under the Lazarus Project and allow suspicious stuff to be stuffed into my body. After a decade and a half, my soul will finally settle in, and I will regain my abilities to the fullest extent that this reality allows them. In any case, fine-grained controls are already available. And the mentalism will be in full force by the time you arrive at the Citadel. I can already initiate suspended animation. But I need a "cover" that will protect my defenseless body from the playful paws of maniacs from science."

"What's it?"

A protective property of the body. Something like a force field generated across the surface of a body. If I am fit at the time of initiation of suspended animation and protection, then I can maintain protection for ten years at full strength. Or two hundred years, if you turn on full power only when trying to cause damage.

"Can I punch it?"

"You can, of course. But as soon as I get into livable conditions, my body will automatically start to come out of suspended animation, and in two days I will, roughly speaking, revive. They won't have time to do anything in that time."

"How will they get your body?"

"Yes, there's some kind of story with a Gray Intermediary, Collectors and a Ghost. I don't remember exactly what happened."

"Leave it unchanged?"

I blinked, staring into the green eyes in surprise. I'm amazed at him sometimes! I'm telling you heresy by and large, but he believes me! And I am ready to help! Without a shadow of doubt or distrust.

"Yes. But you need to choose the return time correctly. When the Collector's attacks on human colonies begin."

"I'll make sure."

"That's all. I'll make sure. And it's hard to believe that he'll really follow up and do the right thing. He won't let you down, he won't set you up."

A mentalist has many advantages...

"Do you know what Collectors are?"

"Husky Protheans and other races from their "stream"."

Nihlus shuddered. He rubbed his comb and sighed.

"You know, sometimes your answers drive me... in a daze. I know. But I don't see the point in lying to you."

The Spectrum chuckled.

"What do they want?"

"They're building their own Reaper. From the populations of the colonies. It will have to be filled up before it is finished. The creature is still the same. It is located at the base behind the Omega 4 repeater. There's a real graveyard of ships under the protection of combat drones, so it would be ideal to go with a well-armed squadron. But where can I get it?"

"That's my problem. How many ships will be needed?"

"I have no idea. But the problem of Collectors must be solved radically. By the way, Cerberus will claim the base, and I absolutely do not want to give it to them. It's better to let the Council or your Hierarchy fuck her. By the way, the remnants of the Lord should also be disassembled and put into action. The Reapers will arrive pretty quickly. A year and a half after my "resurrection". And that's where the full ass starts. The war of annihilation that we're in... We'll lose."

"How do we lose?" Nihlus was taken aback.

"And that's it. The end and salvation are very great... They are strange and do not inspire confidence. To save ourselves, we need to build a Forge and dock it in the Citadel. By the way, we will fly to get his drawings after we meet with Saren on Vermire. Or before him, let's see. Saren is not going anywhere. A bugle is a ship. Chaos alone knows who developed it. But then the strangest thing begins. A Catalyst is required to activate the Forge."

"Do you know where he is?"

I couldn't help but laugh nervously.

"At the Citadel."

Then what's the problem?

"Now you will appreciate for yourself the depth and vastness of the ass we are in and the ephemerality of salvation."

Hysterical laughter erupted by itself.

"Rеnе!" the Turian growled.

"Nihlus, The Catalyst Is An AI! He's the creator of the Reapers! He controls them! And he will also give access to the control room of the Forge! Do you understand the depth of the cynicism of the situation? It all depends on the decision of this fucking AI! Whether we live or not! If this trash won't let me into the control room, the Forge is a useless and expensive attachment to the Citadel!"

Naylus sat in deep shock. An understanding of the horror of the situation appeared in his eyes and was replaced by a strange determination.

What are the options?

Salvation? According to this dirty trick, there are three: the first is to destroy the Reapers, the repeaters, the Citadel and all the synthetics of the Galaxy; the second is to take control and the third is the symbiosis of synthetics and organics into a new ideal form.

I'm going to die anyway.

Either I'll burn in a fire, or I'll be fried by lightning, and my personality will be digitized and a new Catalyst will be made, or decomposed into components and a mega-vaccine for the entire Galaxy will be made based on the genome. And all with the permission of the AI.

"That's bullshit." The Turian muttered. "Has no one been able to build a Forge during other Cycles?"

"That's it. They could. The Protheans definitely built it. But the result is zero. The catalyst slammed the Citadel into an armored bullet in their faces and waved goodbye! We need another option. Which guarantees, if not victory, then at least the survival of our species.

"In such an attack, only evacuation can give a chance for the survival of the species." Nilus muttered.

"It takes just a little bit — another way to conquer the interstellar expanses. Not repeaters, but something else."

"Similar studies have been conducted for a long time. At least in the Hierarchy." Nihlus told me the good news. "But I do not know if there is a result. But I will find out."

"Even if there is a ready-made prototype... we have three, four years at most for everything. You do realize that this is impossible, right?"

Nihlus did not answer immediately.

"I'll talk to the Council."

"And what will you tell them?"

"I'll find the words. But we need proof."

"We need Saren and Nazara. Or rather, his data banks." I met the gaze of green eyes. "Do you have any ideas how we can hack into the Reaper's brain?"

Nihlus choked on air and... thought about it.

* * *

Eight days flashed by in the blink of an eye. The crew rested for the most part, having little contact with the ship's crew, I slept off and ate off, so that I could give everything I had accumulated to Nihlus during the treatment. On the second visit, Karin observed this case, but found this method of treatment, although extreme, to be quite effective. But the doctor watched my health closely, noting the incessant changes in my body and genome. I did not share her concern and enjoyed the small benefits of the metamorph with pleasure.

Two days before I arrived at the Citadel, Ashley finally approached me. She's been watching our team all these days, but she hasn't said anything. The echoes of emotions gave hope that the girl would come to her senses or at least start thinking. And finally, Ashley decided to talk.

I was sitting in the recreation area, sprawled like a lazy amoeba on a wide sofa and listening to music. I found old Miracle of sound recordings and got high. I immediately remembered my first world.

Just an hour ago, I finished treating Nilus, and only ugly scars remained from the terrible wound. However, they can be reduced on the next visit, while they are still fresh and amenable to correction. A slight weakness set him up for a phlegmatic mood, there was a slight noise in his head, and his temples ached after restoring his shields. Just in time. I'll have time to rest up before arriving at the Citadel.