A second to comprehend what he saw.
"The arsenal!" Nihlus gasped.
Four seconds later, we were looking at Councilor Sparatus's face, which was positively glowing with anticipation. And even though he was trying to make his usual stone face, but his eyes... Hey, what eyes he had!
"Advisor." Nihlus politely inclined his head, looking suspiciously into sparkling eyes.
The spectr of Nihlus, the spectr of Irene... I must say, you surpassed all my expectations yesterday... expectations.
Oh mo-o-other... He's already been tipped off... That's just why he's got such a happy-happy face... Or does he really get high when Pallin scribbles to him on the Spectr of the cart? I don't believe he calls his subordinates every time to fuck up. He must have taken a fancy to us...
"I was sent an EXTREMELY entertaining video about yours... resolving the conflict in the market." a hard smile. "Fifty-four bodies."
How much?! Apparently Nihlus was also impressed, because his face fell.
"I'm sorry, Counselor. It was self-defense."
"I saw." the grin became just carnivorous. "I'm waiting for you in the Council Chamber. In fifteen minutes. Three of them."
And the connection is gone.
For several long, agonizing seconds, we stared at the disabled omny-tool, digesting what was said. A strange conversation... What was he calling for? Just to tell us what's in store for the Council Chamber in fifteen minutes?
Stop!
Fifteen minutes. The Council Chamber.
Holy shit! It takes half an hour to get from here to the Council Tower by taxi! Nihlus's green eyes widened at the realization of the situation, and he swore dully. We flew out of the arsenal on the second day.
"Garrus! Get dressed!"
The guy sat up in bed, looking at our contorted faces in surprise.
"Sparatus has ordered you to the Council Chamber! Everyone!"
"And?" Vakarian did not understand the setup.
"IN FIFTEEN MINUTES!"
A moment of realization, light blue eyes open wide, and Garrus flies up from a prone position.
"I have an aircar." Nihlus gasped. "We can make it! Sparatus, you brute!"
We've never been going so fast! We swept through the wrecked apartment like a tsunami, managing to put on the missing pieces of clothing, grab a weapon, a key card, and identification cards, close our lives, and roll down to the hangar.
I will remember the flight to the Council Tower for a long time! They say a Shepard player driving a Mako is evil. I declare authoritatively that a real Nihlus running late at the helm of an aircar is much scarier! We raced at the maximum speed for this car over the very houses, dodging between slow vehicles, skidding between tall trees, not risking climbing higher, where the main transport routes of the Citadel passed. I don't know which guys were flying after us, or how the C-SEC didn't try to slow us down, but exactly ten minutes later, a black aircar almost crashed into the square in front of the Council Tower under the surprised gazes of the walking sentients.
We stormed down the long staircase and into the elevator, thanking the Reapers for the first time for this slow torture device. While he was crawling up, we managed to catch our breath, put our clothes in order, look more or less decent and calm down.
There was a closed meeting in the Council Chamber, as the Turian C-SEC informed us. We looked at each other uncomprehendingly. It's not like Sparatus to make such a setup. And then the fighter, looking at our surprised faces, must have figured something out, because after a skeptical look, he asked:
"The spectr of Nihlus Krayk, the Spectr of Irene Shepard, Garrus Vakarian?"
We nodded.
"They're waiting for you."
And he let us through.
There are no advisers in the Room... There was no one there. Don't you understand? What are they gathered for? After walking along the long platform, we froze in front of the Council, silently and questioningly looking at the three intelligences endowed with supreme authority.
And then...
the soft deep voice of Councilor Tevos solemnly said:
"Garrus Vakarian. Step forward..."
Chapter 27: Accidents
Two hours before the Council meeting
The soft beep of an incoming signal broke the silence of the office, attracting the attention of its owner. Advisor Sparatus opened the interface and looked at the name of the caller who had been calling him so persistently in the early morning. Director of C-SEC. The mandibles twitched and slowly crawled to the sides. Sparatus smiled broadly and touched the answer button, already guessing what his old friend was so eager to tell him. A window opened above the table, showing the face of the C-SEC director. The narrowed eyes, the mandibles pressed tightly to the cheeks, and the sudden movements clearly showed: Venari Pallin is furious.
"Advisor Sparatus." Pallin examined the room carefully.
"I'm alone, speak freely. What happened?"
A short pause, a deep breath, and...
"What happened? Your scumbags happened!" Venari exhaled sharply with a low growl, almost imperceptible to a human ear. "I have fifty-four corpses and more than three dozen wounded! Do you even know what they're doing?!!"
Sparatus raised his head shields in surprise.
"Who are we talking about?"
"Krayk and company."
Sparatus choked.
"Krayk, Shepard and Vakarian?"
"They are."
"Are you saying that these three killed so many people for no reason?"
Pallin grimaced.
"I didn't say there was no reason."
"Who did they kill?"
"Mercenaries and gang members from the Markets of the Lower City."
"Threesome?" Sparatus asked skeptically.
"Take a look for yourself."
The interface of the connected node flashed, informing about the forwarding of the video file. The advisor activated the holographic projector and brought the broadcast to it. A three-dimensional projection unfolded on the table: a taxi aircar landing and three sentients getting out of it, barely standing on their feet.
"Are they drunk?"
"Before losing touch with reality."
Then the two of them watched: the three of them pushing through the crowd, the Batarian, shouting, raising his gun, the Vakarian, waking up for a moment, shooting him in the forehead with one shot, the short stupor of those around him, the well-known Krogan, the leader of the gang, a short order and.. a massacre. Sparatus zoomed in on the image, rewound it a bit, and restarted it. The words rang out loudly in the silence of the office:
"Spectrum — do not touch. Kill Vakarian."
A short incomprehensible stupor of the trio, a surprised female voice:
"Garrus... And they want to kill you."
And the answer, spoken in a halting, vibrating voice.
"They always want to kill me."
Sparatus chuckled at this philosophical calmness and continued to watch very carefully as the young Turian, swaying slightly, raised his pistol and opened fire. The cold gray-green eyes stared intently, hard, analyzing and noting the amazing accuracy of the shooter and the economy of his measured movements, the well-coordinated work of his partners covering him. He still did not understand what exactly Shepard had done, causing short-term stupor and panic among the attackers, and noted the actions of Nihlus, shrouded in unnaturally dark biotic fire, which he had never shown before. But the young Vakarian got the most attention.
The recording ended when the trio got into a taxi. Sparatus stared thoughtfully at his friend's angry face, tapping his claw on the table.
"Interesting."
"Is that all you can say?" Pallin jumped up.
"What do you want to hear? It was self-defense. I saw it myself."
Pallin grimaced.
"Saw. The Spectr's are not subject to jurisdiction, but the Vakarian is completely. If desired and properly trained, he can even be convicted of self-defense."
Sparatus straightened up, looking at his friend's face with slight displeasure.
"Who?"
"The younger Vakarian has many enemies. All I needed was an excuse."
"Is that so?" The counselor frowned.
I am being asked to press charges.
"Krayk and Shepard won't leave him without help." Sparatus said the obvious fact for both of them.
"I understand it." Venari grimaced. "I have enough problems without two vengeful Spectres."
"I will solve the problem with Vakarian."
Pallin stared intently at his old friend's face. And the longer he looked, the more surprised his eyes became.
"You're not going to..."
The counselor chuckled.
"He will be a worthy addition to the Turian corps."
"He is uncontrollable and unpredictable!"
"So much the better." Sparatus raised his hand, interrupting the other's objections with a gesture. "Venari, did you know that the Spectrum Turian corps is the smallest?"
The C-SEC director blinked in surprise.
"no."
"Three times less in number than the Salarian and five times less than the Azarian. Finding a worthy candidate is a great success. Many do not stand up to the test and are eliminated. Those who remain..." Sparatus shook his head. "In the last ten years, we've only assigned three Specters from our race, and we've lost twelve!"
"I didn't know." Pallin was unpleasantly surprised.
"The younger Vakarian was put on surveillance six years ago. He fits. I can't throw away such promising candidates."
"What about the regulations?"
"He works with active Spectr's and has completed missions on Therum and Noveria. Krayk has been unofficially appointed as the curator. The regulations have been observed."
Pallin sighed and bowed his head.
"Do as you see fit. But hurry up."
Venari Pallin switched off. Sparatus thought about it, staring intently at the figure of a young kinsman, frozen with a raised pistol. Anticipation flickered in the gray-green eyes for a moment.
"What an opportunity..."
We literally led Garrus out of the Council Chamber by the hand under the understanding and extremely pleased gaze of Sparatus. Valern watched us with interest, but Tevos just smiled. I agree with Nihlus. Sparatusss... You bastard! He could have warned in advance or prepared at least a little mentally! But no... Look at the pleasure he gets from watching a confused Garrus who has fallen into a stupor. With fatherly affection, indeed!
The appointment surprised me, but not so much. I was secretly expecting something like this, but not so fast. Apparently, there was some reason that accelerated the events, but there was no particular desire to find out, although I assume that the massacre we staged at the Market was to blame. I'm afraid if we find out the truth, we'll have to stay at the Citadel, and someone will probably die. Sparatus is not someone who will rush or do anything rashly. There must be a reason. And the reason is serious.
Apparently, Nihlus had similar thoughts in his head, as he walked frowning and gloomy. Garrus was still out, mechanically shuffling his feet and going where he was being led, and returning to Nihlus' trashed apartment passed him by. Our sniper woke up only when he was forcibly seated on a sofa and a glass of strong alcohol was inserted into his hand.
"Drink up!" Nihlus muttered.
Garrus blinked, looking in surprise at the mess around us, turned his gaze to his kinsman, but obediently drank in one gulp. He choked and coughed, sucking in air with a wheeze.
"Feeling better?" I asked, carefully taking the glass from my convulsively clenched fingers.
The light blue eyes blinked.
The guy rubbed his face.
"thanks." a short pause and a confused: "It was... suddenly..."
Grabbing his right hand, I sat down next to him, slowly pulled off a short fingerless glove from his hand and threw it on a chair. Garrus paused, looking at me with surprise in his eyes as I examined his brush. He opened his mouth, but after thinking about it, he closed it and said nothing, allowing me to do what I want.
I hadn't had a chance to take a closer look at the Turian before. They rarely allowed outsiders to see their bodies at all. And it's not about embarrassment or any moral and religious prohibitions, but simply because representatives of other races react to them... not too adequate. They even wore gloves in public, even though I knew they were quite uncomfortable and annoying.
Garrus stared intently at my face while I felt his hand with interest. And what was he waiting for? Was he thinking up some kind of heresy again and patiently waiting for its confirmation? She looked into bright blue eyes. Well, exactly! He's used to being shunned by untrained people. Nihlus watched us for a couple of minutes, kicked away the bottles that had rolled across the floor and sat down on the armrest of the sofa next to me, and I felt clawed fingers digging into my hair, barely touching my scalp. Nice...
Where did the bad idea that Turians are prickly come from? Nothing like that! The exposed skin is dense, but very soft, velvety to the touch. Chitinous plates are smooth, hot, slightly rough, but by no means prickly! I stroked my hand with my fingertips, studying Garrus' reaction. He was perfectly aware of touch, not only on exposed skin, but also on chitinous plates, although not so acutely. It's interesting. I turned his hand upside down. A strong, broad male hand, with small chitinous plates on the back of the palm, forming a kind of natural knuckles with strong knuckles, but the inner side is soft. The fingers are long, flexible, twice as long and thicker than mine, counting the massive, strong claws. Anyway, the brush is larger, but the outlines are pleasant to the eye. The wrist is narrow, turning into a strong forearm, protected by a kind of shield made of solid chitin on the outside, darker than on the hand and much more durable, with a clearly visible metal patch. The elbow is sharp, ending in a predatory-looking short three-centimeter spike. The shoulder is strong. Under the natural exoskeleton, powerful muscles are visible, much stronger than those of a person of similar build. Turians are indeed much stronger than humans physically, second only to Krogan in sheer strength. And then, not much.
"Is it interesting?" Nihlus purred in my ear.
I leaned back, tilted my head back, meeting the gaze of bright green eyes.
"Very! I couldn't see it this morning. And then Sparatus, a kind soul, tore us off the spot."
Nihlus snorted.
"He's not going to let go that easily now. Working as an adviser sometimes causes him wild boredom. So he's having fun to the best of his vast abilities and sick imagination."
"And here we are?"
"yes."
"What's his interest?" Garrus asked.
"He's amused by our drinking sprees and Venari's screams." A clawed finger gently stroked my chin. "I believe Pallin sent him the recordings from the Market cameras."
