Rebirth The Mass Effect is old. part 28

What can I say if the brightest moments in her life after school were the commendations of the commander for successfully and flawlessly completed missions.

"I'm sorry, Irene."

I waved it away.

"Not worth it. My life started all over again after Eden Prime. You know, the lighthouse really shook my brain. When you watch the death of an alien civilization over and over again, with all the emotions and feelings of the one who recorded these paintings... it is impossible to remain indifferent. I can't see them as strangers. The soul of that unknown protean hurt the same way as a human. Rage, powerlessness, horror, pain... Feelings, Karin, they are universal. The soul has no race. I still can't forget the pain that the Protean felt when looking at his burning homeworld."

Karin said nothing, absorbed in her work. But I knew she'd heard me. Emotions never lie. Even a thought may lie, but feelings never do. And now Karin was rethinking... a lot of things.

"We don't just wander around the galaxy. We have a mission. A mission that Irene would do anything to complete. If we fail, no one will survive. Neither Turians, nor Asari, nor Salarians, nor Vorka, nor humans, nor Batarians... nobody. We will repeat the fate of the Protheans. And then OUR worlds will burn." Karin jerked and looked at me in surprise. Unable to find a hint of a joke, the doctor frowned. "The enemy is millions of years old. Do you understand WHAT kind of enemy this is? We are saving the galaxy without any jokes or exaggerations. Along with the Alliance, by the way, from which there is no real help and a lot of problems."

"They gave me the Normandy."

"The council has prepared a ship for me. The spectrum is ALWAYS provided by a personal ship immediately after the appointment. Nihlus said that a corvette designed for fifteen sentients was waiting for me in the hangar at the Citadel if for some reason I refused this ship. It's exactly the same as Garrus' and Nihlus' own." I chuckled. "Karin. I don'T need the Normandy. I'm just showing respect for people by continuing to mess with the ship and its troubled crew. No more than that."

Karin thought about it, and I returned to the matriarch, who was sitting listlessly on a cot in the corner of the infirmary farthest from the door, hidden from prying eyes by a raised screen. It's time to finish with the drill. At my command, the matriarch opened her sightless eyes, and I slipped into her mind.

Charles Pressley is a hereditary military man. He spent his entire adult life pursuing a military career, and fulfilled his childhood dream of deep space by joining the armed forces immediately after graduating from high school and serving on spaceships. His current duty station was perceived by him as a great opportunity to see the galaxy and the races inhabiting it, to serve Humanity and represent its interests, albeit as the navigator of an experimental ship. Recent events and the new captain had somewhat unsettled him: the aliens on board were not happy, but he had come to terms with their presence, as well as with some of the captain's oddities.

Of course, he had read the characterization of Irene Shepard, but the dry facts about her unparalleled cruelty did not want to fit into his mind: Charles saw a young, very beautiful woman with bright green eyes and an unusual color of fiery red, almost red hair. The captain seemed to him to be a somewhat naive, cheerful woman, caring about her people and ... not people, with a violent temper and a bright character. He never saw any correspondence with what was written in her dossier. Until today. The demonstrative execution, actually brought to a logical conclusion, for a moment revealed to the senior officer a completely different face of his captain. And the fact that she interrupted the depressurization process did not at all smooth out her words and actions. The people in the airlock had suffocated and were now in intensive care in the infirmary.

The XO waited until the end of the watch, fortunately, there were only twenty minutes left before it, and went to someone who could give him answers to questions: to the pilot. The Joker noticed him right away:

"Senior assistant."

"Joker, I'd like to know the reason for today's incident."

The pilot hesitated.

"There's been a conflict between the crew and the Council Spectr, sir."

"On what grounds."

The Joker turned around, looked closely at Charles, and then simply handed him the datapad.

"This was collected by me in the last two weeks."

"What's here?"

"Gossip, sir. The crew."

Charles turned on the datapad and immersed himself in reading. Each entry was dated, indicating who had said it to whom. Charles read to the end, read the last entry from today twice, turned off the device and returned it to the Joker.

"Did the captain see that?"

"Yes, sir. Even before the last visit to the Citadel." The pilot hesitated. "The Turians saw it too."

Pressley flinched.

"Did they read it?"

"Yes."

For the first time, Charles couldn't find a decent answer.

"Why are they..."

"The captain was able to convince them not to touch the crew."

"Thank you, Mr. Moreau."

Joker nodded, and Pressley left the control room. Walking along the deck of the ship, he wondered how he himself would react to such an insult. He wasn't too pleased with the answer... The Turians showed amazing restraint and self-control, and the captain showed eloquence if she convinced the proud creatures not to bring the matter to blood. After thinking about it, the XO entered the elevator and went to the hold.

The Turians were indeed in the hold: the Spectr's were fighting. Sparring in full contact, without restraining strength, without sparing the opponent, using everything, even the dirtiest techniques for the sake of victory. Ashley and Kayden watched the fight with interest, Krogan sat a little to the side, bringing his shotgun to an unattainable ideal, keeping half an eye on the fighters. Pressley stopped at the elevator. It was the first time he had seen such a fight, although he had often heard that Turians and Krogan often fought in the hold.

The fight ended unexpectedly: both Turians froze, as if the fierce, swift, barely noticeable blows had not been there just moments ago. The reason turned out to be simple: the claws of Nihlus Kgauk froze on the opponent's neck dangerously close to the artery. Long, deep scratches had already filled with blood on Vakarian's neck, but Krayk was not without consequences either: deep lacerations from missed blows could be seen on his forearm and shoulders.

"You're distracted again." Krayk approached the ROVER, picked up the panacelin ointment from its side and threw one jar to his kinsman.

"I know." The sniper calmly unscrewed the lid, scooped up the ointment and applied it to the deep scratches. "Shooting gallery?"

Krayk gave his kinsman a long look.

"To compete with you in shooting is to be an idiot. You can't even miss when you're drunk."

In response, Vakarian snorted, picked up his visor and put it on his head.

"How long are you going to remind me of the Markets?"

"For a long time!" Krayk laughed. "Not everyone can make thirty-six corpses with a hole in their head while barely standing on their feet! I even got a recording from Sparatus."

"And he gave it?"

"Otherwise! I'll show Rin, let her be happy."

"Will you show us?" Ashley asked suddenly.

Nihlus blinked in surprise, and then shrugged his shoulders.

"And why not? I'll show you."

Garrus Vakarian snorted, shook his head in displeasure, and then noticed Pressley standing in the shadows.

"Senior assistant?"

"Spektr," Pressley came closer. "The reasons for today's incident have become known to me."

Garrus tensed at first, and then just waved his hand. Totally human. With a slight irritation.

"I want to apologize to you for the behavior of the crew."

The Turian suddenly turned abruptly, raising his hand, interrupting Charles.

"You have nothing to apologize for. You have not tarnished your honor in any way." Not by word or action. Garrus said calmly, gazing intently into the face of the man who was taken aback by such words with bright, intelligent light blue eyes. "I don't want to see you humiliated by young idiots who don't deserve such a sacrifice."

"I consider myself responsible for the behavior of the crew." Charles objected.

"In that case, you should tighten your grip on their throats if you want to save their lives. Otherwise, Irene will do it."

Pressley nodded. At this time, Nihlus Krayk sat down on a box next to Ashley and Kayden, who were leaning forward with interest. The instrumentron's interface lit up, the Turian selected the desired file and launched it. A hologram unfolded over his wrist, and people watched with interest and growing dumbfounded as three drunken fighters knocked out the attackers.

"They love you in the Lower Town. Look, they ran away as soon as there was a real chance to kill you." Nihlus grunted. "And that's where you almost got shot."

"See." Garrus grimaced. "It could have worked cleaner. And be the first to remove the fighters with shotguns and rifles. This one and these ones." A clawed finger touched the figures falling to the virtual floor.

"Haven't you forgotten? You were totally drunk."

"So what? I haven't lost my brain..." The Turian shrugged his shoulders. "Is this the first time?"

The recording ended when a Batarian fell to the floor, unsuccessfully trying to hold his open stomach with his hands.

"Why should he be stabbed with a sword?"

"There is no armor, but the shields are combat." Krayk shrugged his shoulders. "If you lose your gun, he'll put a shotgun charge in your stomach three times."

The intercom clicked, and Karin's voice said:

"The Vacarian spectrum. The Krayk spectrum."

"We're listening, Doctor." Nihlus replied

"Go up to the infirmary."

"Something happened?"

A short pause and a reply:

"Perhaps the captain will listen to you and take a break from work. Otherwise, I'll have to go to extreme measures and use a tranquilizer."

The Turians exchanged glances.

"We'll be right there."

The connection is gone. The Turians got up almost simultaneously and went to the elevator. The XO thought about it and stepped into the elevator after them.

In the infirmary, a nervous Karin was already waiting for them, frowning at Irene, who was sitting on the bed, clutching her nose with a piece of cloth already stained with blood. The captain looked terrifying: pale, almost transparent skin, through which blue veins could be seen, dark circles under her eyes, a slight tremor in her hands and a tired look in her dull and darkened green eyes. It was the first time Charles had seen the captain in such a state.

"Captain, what's the matter with you?"

Irene looked up at the first mate, blinked a little in surprise, but answered in a hoarse voice:

"Slight exhaustion. Nothing fatal."

Karin frowned.

"Irene, I want to remind you that I forbade putting such loads on the body last time! Nihlus, Garrus, escort your colleague to the cabin and make sure that she does not leave it for the next twenty-four hours! Irene must sleep! No operation planning! Sleep!"

Nihlus chuckled.

"Of course, Karin."

"It's unnecessary." Irene muttered, getting to her feet. "I'm quite capable of walking to my cabin on my own."

But as soon as the captain took a step, her legs buckled, and Shepard almost fell, caught in time by the Turian.

"I see you walking on your own." Nihlus effortlessly lifted the sluggishly resisting woman into his arms, looking disapprovingly at the blood flowing through her nose. "Karin, how long has she been sitting here?"

"Five hours before... this incident. And since then."

"Garrus..."

"I understood. I'll bring it to the cabin." Vakarian turned around and left.

Pressley looked at what was happening with a degree of incomprehension. How did the captain manage to bring herself to such a state?

"Dr. Chakwas. What's going on with the captain?"

The Doctor pursed her lips in displeasure.

"Irene is too responsible for her work and does not take care of herself at all. I have to influence her through her colleagues, since she won't listen to me!" The doctor's eyes shifted to the Turian. "Spectr Krayk, why are you still here? Your connivance may cost the captain not only his health, but also his life!"

"I got it, I'll fix it." He chuckled. "Don't worry, Karin, we'll make sure that Irene eats and goes to bed." He turned around and walked out of the infirmary.

Pressley didn't ask any unnecessary questions, just left the infirmary, frowning at the Turian walking ahead. The gossip I'd read came back to me. From the outside, such a picture could indeed be interpreted rather ambiguously.

"Pressley..." The captain's quiet voice rang out unexpectedly.

"captain?"

"I will be absent by... for technical reasons, about a day." Shepard whispered in a hoarse voice. "Take command of the Normandy until we return from Vermaire."

"That won't be necessary, Captain."

"There is. We will be away indefinitely. At least three days. If there are any problems, you will have to replace me for two or three weeks. If there are any problems, you will have to replace me for two or three weeks. In case of ANY problems, please contact Advisor Sparatus directly."

"I get it, Captain. It will be executed."

Irene nodded and closed her eyes wearily.

"Get some rest, Shepard. I hope I won't see you like this again." Unable to resist, the XO said.

The woman laughed softly.

"I can't promise."

Charles saluted, turned around and left. He has a lot to think about.

The XO's thoughtful face gave me hope that Pressley would take over the training of the crew, and I wouldn't have to take extreme measures. It's enough that Karin hasn't been able to pump out one jerk. I personally didn't care about them and was more of a nuisance, but right now I couldn't give up on the Normandy, even though the Turian corvette was actually waiting for me in the hangar at the Citadel and was much more convenient.

It makes no sense to change unimportant details if I have global interventions in the event chain ahead of me. Yes, reality is already acquiring some plasticity, but still, you should not tempt Fate in small things. So... I'm going for a ride on the Normandy. It's enough to know that an as-yet unnamed alternative is honestly waiting for me on the Citadel, as is its exact replica, Garrus. As Nihlus said, it was not difficult for the Council to order a hundred or two comfortable small warships at the Hierarch shipyards, and for the Turians to build and equip them, taking into account the specifics of the future owner's work.