Path book 1 Igor

"Well, I don't have that much experience in patching and repairing equipment that is falling apart from old age! I don't understand at all — how do you manage to keep your fleet in working order?"

"As you say, Mishan, if you want to live, you won't get so excited yet! We just don't have a choice."

"What have you heard from the fleet?"

"The Conclave is in a state that can be described in one word! Should I say which one?"

"Let me guess... they fucked up, right?"

"Ha ha ha ha! Well... approximately. They are stunned by the news from us. Everyone who came here has already adapted and signed up for the fleet. I have been inundated with letters asking me to intercede with the corporation — there are already about one and a half million applications for settlement!"

"What about the bosses?!"

"Uh-oh! There's such a mess brewing... but I think they'll agree to take a hundred thousand. You know the politics— settlers are just for jobs. They even want to put a new plant under this case, and you won't believe it — Belov said that the issue of building a shipyard is being considered...."

"Shipyards! The shipyard is very serious... although with your fellow tribesmen it can become a super-profitable business! Well, everyone else will not be left out. You know, buddy, the world is based on people like you. If it weren't for you, your Quarians would still be in the navy, dreaming of returning to Rannoch. Although I think it would be good for you and the Geth to make peace. Agree?"

"I agree, Mishka.... But you better convince our admirals of that, especially hawks like Rael'zora. If you convince them, maybe we'll make up. Although they didn't quarrel with us. It was us who distinguished ourselves, no matter how sad it is to realize this...."

I'm putting the bike back together, and Aegich is sitting in an armchair listening to music coming from the garage. There's a dreamy smile on his lips-he's probably thinking about Helen again....

Igor (end of July 2366)

It's time for my Turian friends to leave. They fly to Palaven, to the training regiments. Azat has his last year left, and his service awaits him. As he said, in deep intelligence, but somewhere the hierarchs know. With a smile, I reminded him of an old Russian proverb that our business is to fight and die, but somewhere the tsar knows. We'll be there wherever we're ordered. Azat laughed, hugged me, I snuggled up to an old friend and realized with terrible clarity that I would not see him for a very long time ... for a long, long time!

"Azi, I have a feeling that you and I are saying goodbye for a very long time — maybe forever."

"Drop it, Snake! Next year, before I'm sent to the active units, I'm supposed to take a three-month vacation, and Azat promised me that he would spend it here with us."

Basma came up and snuggled up to Azat.

"I'll come too, Igor, we'll play at the competition again and still take the main prize, okay?"

"It's a deal," I whisper back.

Strong arms wrap around my shoulders. The right one is covered with a complex pattern of tattoos — even on the carapaces of the keratinized forearm skin, everything is patterned. The deep voice of our best soloist asks softly:

"Are you a snake? Just like a little boy, he was all scared!"

"Don't pay any attention, Ali. It's just that I'm in a bad mood, and all sorts of stupid thoughts are coming into my head, and I'm dumping them on you."

My friend turns me around to face him, and I look straight into his green, malicious eyes. He hugs me tightly. Everything starts to swim before my eyes. I'm just not able to deal with the foreboding.... Pictures of an adult friend together with some green-eyed girl, a Turian, flash before my eyes. Anxiety flares up in Ali's emotions. Looking at me, he asks once more:

"Is everything okay, Igor?" I just shake my head in response.

"We have to go, Ali," Azat's voice is heard from the ramp.

My friend leaves, but at the bottom of the stairs he looks back, we meet eyes — and all my anxiety seems to be transmitted to him. His gaze flashes green, and he turns and disappears aboard the shuttle.

We're flying home on our flyer. Denis is driving, Leshka is next to him, I'm with Nasar, Lina and the girls, with Cassia in the back seat. Aunt Kasia hugs me and asks softly:

"What's the matter, Igor? You weren't yourself at the spaceport, did something happen?"

"Aunt Kasia, I've been having bad feelings for a week now. And the further you go, the stronger. Sometimes it's just unbearable!"

"And the dreams? Did you have a new dream?"

"No. Only my terrible dream where I can't find you all — I dream about it again almost every night, and I hardly sleep."

"You know, I've been having some kind of concern for a long time — we've been well trained in using intuition in the training regiment. Although we girls were trained more as technicians and engineers with doctors, the basics of survival were firmly hammered into us. And you know, intuition just screams to me that danger is coming!

"Aunt Kasia, what have you heard from Grandpa?"

"Arthur writes that he brought up all his contacts in the intelligence and counterintelligence of the Alliance, connected Steve. But there's something strange there-it feels like half the corporations in known space are ganging up on us. Even the Salarians are involved, not to mention the Asari corporations from Illium and the Batarians."

"Has Cerberus surfaced?"

"But what about without him! After all, our existence is a direct challenge to their doctrine of racial superiority. Exo-Genie is heavily involved, and they are the offspring of Cerberus. Someone hired half of the famous pirate clans of Terminus and took them somewhere. And that's a few thousand scumbags."

"And what should I do?! It turns out that they are already preparing a strike!"

"Let them come — we have something to meet them with, Igor."

"Your grandfather did a good job with the population, even for mercenaries, today's Mendoir militia is a dangerous opponent, not to mention pirates, for this fraternity we can be a deadly surprise. Note that by order of the governor, the ban on the use of thermoclips in civilian weapons has been lifted, and if we consider that the majority of the adult population is armed with Mantis B, then we surpass even the regular army in terms of the quality of hand weapons. Add in the ultimate motivation, and you'll have an extremely dangerous opponent for any current Citadel Space army."

"So we're going to fight back?"

"Must."

"Should they?.. This is if you're preparing to punch — and you get hit with a baseball bat... or even a sledgehammer!"

"Pirates and corporations don't have sledgehammers, daughter... but there might be a bat. And then — keep us all safe, Spirits."

"Aunt Kasia, what have we done to stop them all? After all, all the races of Space participated in the creation of the colony. Even the Hanars have fish farms on the ocean coast. And a blow to us is a blow to all races at the same time. Plus, Mendoir is in Asari space, and the matriarchs are extremely sensitive to attacks on their worlds."

"The Republic's society is split, and in general, their entire civilization is at a standstill. Mendoir is an attempt to find a way out. Not just for the Asari, but for everyone else... and it was a good attempt. Many people in the Republic (and not only there) do not like this. It is a pity that the Hierarchy cannot openly intervene — our success has opened the eyes of many at home. But father contacted Primarch Fedorian, and he promised that at the first signal, several ships of our Fifth Fleet would come to the colony's aid.

"What?! Did your father just contact the highest head of the Hierarchy?"

"Well, it's not exactly easy... but yes, they know each other."

"Is you father familiar with the primarch?!"

"Igor, after all, Fedorian was not always the primarch — he was once the Spectr of the Council, then he and his father met."

"Unbelievable! It feels like everyone in this galaxy knows each other... or at least my friends do."

Cassia looks at me with a smile.

"Won't the Asari be outraged, Aunt Kasia?"

"Let them be indignant. In this case, the Hierarchy is in its own right, a fourth of the colony's population are Turians. Our people will simply reply that they are acting in accordance with the law on the protection of their fellow tribesmen. The main thing is to hold out for a few hours before they arrive."

"Let's hope we don't have to hold on."

My aunt hugs me tightly, feeling anxiety and fear.

"Let's hope so, Igor..."

Earth, San Francisco

Exo Tower, headquarters of Exo Geni Corporation, 220th floor

The office of the Chairman of the Board of Directors of the corporation, Brandon Zhou

The dim office was an amazing mix of European, North American and Chinese styles, however, thanks to the talent of the designer, they did not conflict, but complemented and shaded each other. A young-looking man dressed in an expensive double-breasted suit stood at a huge panoramic window overlooking the Pacific Ocean and looked at the lights of the Golden Gate Bridge. His slightly slanted eyes revealed his Asian roots. Nearby, an old man was sitting in a wheelchair suspended in the air. The old man had a pronounced Asian appearance, and his brown eyes burned fiercely on his deeply lined face.

You're making a mistake, Brandon. An attack on Mendoir could be disastrous. If the Russians find out (and they will sooner or later), they will stop at nothing to take revenge. And you are the last of the Zhou family. The family has been moving towards today's power for centuries, and one mistake can ruin everything!

"Grandpa Ho, we have everything taken into account — the tracks will lead to Cerberus and hang on the Ghost. This mercenary, this arrogant Laowai, Jack Harper, has become too much for himself! He even dares to challenge the decisions of the board of directors! The impudent creature..."

"There are powerful people from Congress behind him, grandson."

"These "influential people" owe us so much that they'll even bark in unison at my first word. Nobodies who think they're masters. I hate it!"

"Russians are not like that. You know that all these corporations of theirs are a screen behind which the industrial machine of the Soviet Union is hiding, and this was done for the convenience of working with foreign markets."

"I know! But they need to be stopped, or at least slowed down, because they are already working on the creation of several more colonies of this type, only in the Hierarchy space. And no pirate will go there — it's certain death. If the Russians and the Turians come to an agreement, they will become the strongest in the Alliance and will be able to dictate their will to all of us. This is unacceptable!"

"Maybe it was worth agreeing and trying to work together?"

"I tried. But I was told that an indispensable condition for working together is to break off contacts with the Hegemony and stop supporting Cerberus. But I can't do that — too many projects are tied to Cerberus, and trading with the Hegemony brings us a third of the profits."

"An attack, then?"

"Yes. This will slow down the influx of settlers and strain relations between the races, because among the pirates we use, there are equally Batarians and humans."

"Arthur Hackett is on the Ground, and the old wolf is digging his nose into the ground. And due to the fact that half of the general staff are his friends and students, he can dig up a lot and create serious problems for us."

"The admiral will be taken care of, Grandpa Ho."

"You're striding wide, grandson, look — you'll tear your pants! Touch the admiral, and even a fool will know that his death is connected with the attack on Mendoir."

"There is no choice. The Cerberus command Council approved the operation. They even allocated mercenaries to capture several facilities. Money has been allocated, and M777 howitzers and their shells have been removed from long-term storage arsenals."

"It's an incredible piece of junk!"

"This junk is enough for the colonists."

"Anyway. It's a gamble, and a crazy one at that. Border guards may intervene, and all this dirt will surface, covering everyone around. The Asari, upon learning, will raise a cry in the Citadel Council, because this is their world."

"We agreed with the matriarchs — they will keep the talkative and loud ones. And the border guards won't budge-Admiral Raeder promised me that personally."

"Have you contacted Raeder? With this unfinished fascist? He doesn't consider all non-whites to be humans, but treats xenos like animals! I hope your contacts haven't been fixed?"

"No. I know perfectly well, Grandpa, that if my contacts with this fucking Nazi surfaced, the whole family would turn away from us."

The old man turned his chair around and quickly flew out of the office, but turned around on the threshold.

"This is crazy, grandson. I have a feeling that we're all going to regret what we did very soon. Is the operation definitely unstoppable?"

"No. It's too late — the ships have gone to Mendoir, they will attack in two weeks, and there will be no contact with them until the end of the operation."

"May the spirits of our ancestors protect us all. I hope this is the last such operation. The family doesn't want to get involved in this kind of filth, and Brandon, I hope you'll listen to our opinion.

The door clicked shut behind the old man, and the young man was left alone. He walked over to the luxurious leather armchair by the table and sat down in it. He folded his hands on the polished tabletop, clasping them, and thought about something.

"Mr. Zhou, you have a call from a Ghost caller. Connect it?"

The secretary's voice came over the intercom.

"Yes."

A hologram of a rather young blond man dressed in a modern light suit slowly appeared in front of the table. His eyes stood out unnaturally in his calm, intelligent face. It would not be difficult for knowledgeable people to understand that bioprostheses were used instead. The man held a lit cigarette in his hands and periodically inhaled, releasing clouds of smoke.

"Greetings, Mr. Zhou. The operation started successfully. But I am tormented by very big doubts about the success of its completion."

"Mr. Harper, I'm not interested in your doubts. When we hired you, we expected you to follow our orders accurately and on time, and coordinate the work of our departments to avoid duplication and waste of effort and resources. You are constantly challenging the decisions of the board of directors and my personal ones."

"With all due respect, sir, but if some of your decisions are wrong, then I, as a responsible employee, must warn you about this, and I am surprised by your irritation. Our organization doesn't have the best reputation as it is, and if it comes out that we were involved in an attack on the colony, I'm afraid to even imagine the consequences."