Rebirth The Mass Effect is old

"There is a logic to this. But... Do you have any proof?"

"Besides the Reaper that flew off Eden Prime before our eyes? No."

Liara stopped abruptly, as if she had crashed into an invisible wall, and now stood silently gasping for air. Kayden and Ashley exchanged glances.

"I'm sorry... WHAT?"

"Before our eyes, a Reaper flew away from the Eden Prime spaceport."

Raising my head to the ceiling, I said quite loudly:

"Jeff, give me the picture from my camera on the terminal."

"Just a moment, Captain."

The holographic screen unfolded. We stared at the static for about twenty seconds while the Joker searched for the right recording and displayed it on the screen, and then he appeared in all his glory: The Lord of Nazara, starting in an extravaganza of red lightning with a roar and disappearing into the bloody sunset sky.

"This is the Reaper."

"But if the Reaper is already here..." Liara waved her hand vaguely. "Then why didn't he attack?"

"I suspect that he has ALWAYS been here, watching over us and waiting for the hour when he should send a Call to his kin and begin the Harvest. A kind of overseer. His activity is more worrisome. And the fact that he was able to bend the Spectrum under himself, forcing him to look for a Channel for him. Apparently, for some reason, the Reaper can't find it himself. Or the linings that got loose."

"Do you think the Channel is on the Citadel?" Nihlus asked, earning a suspicious look from Liara.

"Most likely, yes. But the importance of the Citadel lies elsewhere."

"In what?"

"But that remains to be seen. We will return to the Citadel in eight days. In the meantime, rest. Tali, take Dr. Liara to your cabin."

The Quarian nodded in agreement.

"Rene, we need to talk." Nihlus stood up, gesturing for her to follow him.

I nodded and followed my colleague out. As the door was closing, I heard Liara's question:

"Excuse me, but who is Naylus Kraik?"

And Ashley's response:

"The spectrum."

Under Liara's soft yelp, the door slammed shut, cutting off all sounds. Nihlus snorted.

* * *

Entering his cabin, the Turian waited until the doors slammed shut and activated the pyramid of a funny device that cut off any opportunity to eavesdrop or spy on what was happening in the coverage area. Jeff's curiosity is already well known to him, as well as his capabilities.

"What happened?"

"You tell me." Nihlus carefully sat up, growling involuntarily at the sharp pain.

"Does the wound hurt?"

"I stirred it up a bit." Spektr leaned back in his chair.

"You do realize that if I tell Dr. Karin about this, you won't leave the infirmary until you fully recover, right?" I asked with some kind of fanatical interest.

"What about you?" Nihlus cocked his head questioningly.

"Should I?"

A quiet chuckle.

"No."

"I hope." A light golden glow passed over his hand. "No exercise is planned before the Citadel, so you will have an accelerated course of treatment."

"What are the consequences?"

"No."

"For you." said the Turian.

"Weakness and lethargy if I pump out a lot. If you overdo it, then..." I waved my hand vaguely.

The green eyes narrowed.

"You do understand that if I tell Dr. Karin about this..." Quoting me, Naylus murmured with a barely perceptible grin.

"What about you?"

"Should I?"

It was surprisingly easy to communicate with Nihlus. Fortunately, at least the officialdom fell off him in a couple of days, and the Turian quickly switched to informal communication, throwing off the mask of the Spectr. There are no pitfalls, hidden meanings, piles of useless verbal lace hiding unsightly meanings. A clean and open conversation, honest words that do not need to be literally disassembled by sounds, trying to grasp the hidden meaning. A powerful mind did not require an explanation of the obvious, it was enough just to report the fact so that the green-eyed Turian himself would build the right chain of events and assess the prospects. He was not moved by my cynicism and a certain callousness that had developed over long lives and the contemplation of other people's deaths. I loved it. It's not so easy to find someone who takes your word for it, just because one day he decided to trust you. Or is this a feature of the Turians as a race? Who knows? The Turian was silent, watching me with barely noticeable interest. This is how a wildcat looks at the world around him: with calm curiosity, appreciating every little thing.

"No, don't do that. I know my capabilities." Nihlus obediently leaned back in his chair, allowing me to come over and examine the wound. Blue blood appeared in patches on the elastic bandage, glistening slightly in the bright white light.

"Apparently, you didn't wake her up a bit." Nihlus shrugged his shoulders.

"When you know that you survived only by a miracle, you look at it calmly." The Turian twitched his mandibles slightly. "It's a strange feeling."

"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."