— Jane Shepard. She failed the mission on Eden Prime. You will meet on the Citadel, - after these words, the connection cut off.
— Are you a Spectre now? - Samara asked, but I decided not to answer.
"So that's who organized the mission on Thessia," I guessed, implying the councilor's involvement in putting forward my candidacy. I was torn between her and Cerberus – they could have tried to pull me to their side through Aria. And they would be racing: I am a living embodiment of a weapon of mass destruction against enemies. If one side missed, the other would definitely seize the chance. It was only a matter of time before some influential structure tried to recruit me.
Spectre... advantageous. A new ship, onboard cannons, modern equipment – from the list of non-prohibited items... With Spectre rights, I could get all this for free, under the guise of the importance of maintaining order. After all, this organization is famous for "feeding itself," "buying" weapons and equipment at its own expense and receiving only modest funding from cosmic taxpayers.
Spectres are above any galactic law, report only to the Councilors, and couldn't care less about the rest. Only the Justicars pose a threat to them – there have been times they've killed criminal Spectres. But here's the paradox: I'm covering my flanks with Samara.
I could put a little pressure on the Citadel merchants and suppliers – moderately, so as not to become famous as an extortionist...
But something doesn't add up.
Spectres must serve at least ten years in the armed forces or security services. Then their biography is checked, details clarified with the candidate, re-checked again to avoid inaccuracies. After that, a psychological evaluation is mandatory, a trial under the supervision of an experienced Spectre. But I don't meet half the criteria. I served a couple of years, left the structure, didn't undergo medical commissions, and didn't take exams under a mentor's supervision.
That is, not even half – I don't fit on this list of candidates at all.
I'm not following the rules, but the Force.
This is the way.
I decided not to wrack my brain and headed to the command bridge to give the order to head to the Relay. These technologies, created by a long-extinct race, allow travel across our galaxy from one device to another. They are like portals, but they work in a much more frightening way. If the pilot misses, they will end up anywhere but the blue sphere that ensures the transfer of ships.
The consequences would be unpleasant.
I would survive – I could sustain life in a vacuum for a while, then latch onto some ship and figure something out. But the crew could not be brought back. And you can't do much alone. Someone has to pilot the shuttle, maintain the power core, be responsible for refueling...
I want the ships from my home galaxy – without all these complications. Some of them could be piloted alone. But we have what we have.
— Do you always walk around in combat gear? - Samara asked as we approached the Relay zone.
— Ten minutes a day I walk without it, - I replied, ending the conversation.
A flash – and we were in a small system without planets, where the Citadel was located. The huge space station was striking in its fantastic beauty and uniqueness. It somewhat resembled a Relay, but was much larger. Five open platforms, forty kilometers long. Total mass – seven billion tons. The population is small, about ten million, but the real estate prices here... Buying an apartment on the Citadel isn't just difficult, it's fantastically hard. Some units cost as much as an entire starship – and one not picked up from a junkyard.
— Would you look at that, they allowed us to dock without any checks, - the crew rejoiced.
This meant I would have to be sad. Immediately after docking and exiting the ship, we were met by a whole group of armed turians.
— Do they meet all Spectre candidates like this? - Samara inquired, having decided to accompany me.
— And who is this? - the security officers nodded towards the justicar.
— My good acquaintance.
— Yes, we've grown incredibly close in just a few hours, - she joked coldly. — I am a Justicar.
— Oh, our apologies, we were ordered to deliver you in one piece, - they changed their tune to a more welcoming one, and politely led us past customs, scanners, and other checks. Straight to the shuttles that delivered us to the "powers that be." Not in terms of physical power – I am capable of crushing the three of them with the power of my mind. But in terms of real power: one word from them – and billions will die.
On the way to the upper level, almost at the Council chambers, I met an old acquaintance. Fiery red hair, green eyes, and a scowl.
My expression under the mask was no better at this meeting.
— Starkiller.
— Shepard.
— Traitor! - she declared without delay, pointing her finger at me. — Because you left the squad, a month later it... Everyone was killed! And you didn't even show up for the funeral of your former comrades.
— Life and death often go hand in hand. Not everyone can honor both the first and the second, - Samara noted tactfully. — And there is always a reason for it.
— Oh, and what might that be? - she asked, hands on her hips.
— This is the way, - I coughed. — On the path of war. At that time, I was on the krogan homeworld. I was trying to hone the art of fencing in an aggressive environment, even encountered a large pack of thresher maws. It was fun.
It was a glorious time on Tuchanka. Even though it's disfigured by nuclear apocalypse, covered in radioactive rubble, with an eternal smell of sulfur and burning, salty soil, and an almost complete lack of fresh water... But the body and spirit are tempered there... usually by radiation sickness...
— So you had fun? What about those who died because of you?
Shaking my head, I gestured for everyone to wait, and stepped aside with the girl to talk in private. No guarantee it would work – everything here is bugged, but it was still better than talking in front of a group of armed turians.
— Did I guide their weapons? Everyone is the master of their own fate. A soldier's right is to go into battle or retreat; a soldier's duty is not to complain about the consequences if the choice was wrong. Service in the Alliance seemed like a waste of time to me, so I left. They are at war with Cerberus, and a fratricidal war is the last thing I need in this life. Therefore, my choice was to leave humanity's crossfire.
— Are you supporting Cerberus? Vivisectionist terrorists who experiment on humans and all races of the galaxy, trying to create superhumans to rule the universe?
— I don't support Cerberus, but humanity as a whole. What's the point of participating in its schism, closing the borders of two fronts by liquidating one of the sides? That's the first thing. Second: Cerberus isn't just an organization, but an idea of human supremacy. No matter how many people you kill, the idea itself is extremely difficult to eradicate, to stop the pulled weeds from growing back. The result is an eternal squabble to the detriment of all Earth. Don't forget, we are newcomers on the galactic stage. It makes no sense for us to fall to the level of the weak volus, who lost their influence and even a separate office in the chamber of minor councilors. And yet they were the third to find the Citadel. Now they are even lower than us, who have only been in galactic politics for thirty years. However, why is that? The First Contact proved that we know how to fight and we are strong.
— It doesn't matter. Your betrayal cost my friends everything... I went through all the stages of depression. I even needed psychological help! And you... you were having fun on Tuchanka. And you left not for some important goal, but simply to avoid killing terrorists. That's how I see it!
— Understand it however you want. But know this: I am always on the side of humans, - I lied, without even blushing. In reality, I am on the side of those who strive for what will help improve space flight. Of all the organizations, only Cerberus is willing to do anything for results. I would even join them, but the problem is the serious consequences. They would immediately cut off my oxygen throughout the entire Milky Way, and that is unacceptable at the moment. Although, considering the cosmic storm and the threat to all sentient life, anything is possible.
— Wait. Why are you... What are you even doing here?
— They decided to make me a Spectre.
— Wonderful! I already know two traitors among the Spectres.
— Two?
— Saren. He's responsible for Eden Prime.
— Saren Arterius? The Citadel's attack dog? Did you personally see his betrayal?
— No, but there are reliable witnesses...
— Then I can't help without proof. By the way, the Council will tell you the same thing, so I advise you to play defense, not offense. Right now, you have the weakest position. However... hmm... He couldn't have pulled this off alone. There's an option to...
— Take control of his subordinates' minds and force them to confess everything, like in the good old days, before you ran away?
— I was a bad influence on you, wasn't I? - I sighed. — Straight as an arrow. No, we use them to get to Saren. I know him well; he feels hatred towards humanity, but destroying a peaceful colony just because he felt like it... I have a very bad feeling about this.