The tip of a polished knife slowly emerged from around the corner. For a moment, the mask of a Quarian spacesuit was reflected in it, before the mirror steel disappeared. A moment later, a Quarian woman walked out of the dark alcove with a confident gait, and behind her, on stiff legs, almost crawled two of her kin, a very young boy and girl in worn-out gear.
The eldest of the trio had a stylized image of a five-pointed star on the right shoulder pad of her spacesuit. Such a symbol was worn by those nomads who underwent rehabilitation in the USSR thirty-one years ago. It was a sign of respect and gratitude to the country that saved them from slavery. Now, seeing such a mark even on the Fleet was a great rarity.
Alas, a Quarian's life is not too long. Although in perspective they could live a hundred years, now they rarely reached even fifty. Poor nutrition, a weak immune system, and a nomadic lifestyle took away these precious years. Only truly lucky ones managed to cross this threshold.
Raising her hand, she stopped her charges, listening to her surroundings. She didn't rely solely on the armor's electronics, and besides the devices, she tried to catch any suspicious rustle with her sensitive hearing. Life had taught her not to rely only on devices, because the enemy could simply throw an EMP grenade, depriving you of all equipment, leaving you only with natural senses. How many times this simple truth had saved her.
This Quarian was lucky not only to live to old age but also to get a chance to save many lives. Many years ago, she met sentient beings who took an idealistically minded girl and molded her into something more than just an executor. Just a couple of lessons gave her the foundation for her entire future career.
Not everyone is given to master the craft of a comrade and save young pilgrims from the dangers of space. It's not about bravery or skills. You need to have immense strength of spirit to go again and again to where you can be beaten, killed, tortured, and raped. If you're lucky, death will at least be quick in case of failure. There was no shortage of spirit in Lyra.
Not sensing anything suspicious, she commanded them to move again. This level of the Citadel was not a place to linger. Every minute threatened the failure of her mission.
All these years she had saved the lives of her kin, but today she realized for herself: she was getting old. Although the Union's medicine had prolonged her youth, the wounds and the birth of her son had undermined her health, although she only felt it now. Running had become somewhat difficult. Unpleasant shortness of breath.
"A couple more years, and I'll turn into a wreck," she thought somewhat too cheerfully, feeling the adrenaline coursing through her veins as if she were still young and on her first mission, which had become a turning point in her career. "It's a pity... but there's still time, and maybe I can save someone before I completely fall apart."
She knew that after all this running, there would be a day of lying down, unable to get out of bed, while her body shivered with chills, but now she needed to give her all. "What kind of wayward youth has come along... To get into such a mess!" Lyra thought mentally, moving her legs in rhythm to keep her breath.
She had reason to be indignant. In recent years, Pilgrimage had become much safer than it was in her time. It wasn't that all the Batarian slavers had been killed, and those who weren't, the USSR was still hunting them. At the suggestion of the same Union, the "Pilgrim" program was pushed through. Roughly speaking, several charitable foundations created a network of hotels, canteens, and medical posts for her people throughout Space and, moreover, helped employ young Quarians who went out into the big world.
The group emerged onto a lit street, where the probability of becoming lunch for ubiquitous vorkas or running into bandits sharply decreased, but it was easy to run into a patrol. They absolutely couldn't run into the cops. They were looking for them. "They had to be so trusting!" Lyra mentally cursed the youth, leading two frightened teenagers through the maze of passages, trying to choose the least used ones, avoiding cameras whenever possible.
In her youth, young people had to survive, not rely on luck, but think, calculate all options. Now, young good-for-nothings are increasingly resorting to brute force, putting not only themselves but also others in danger. Sometimes the famous Quarian mutual aid destroyed entire groups, when one fool got into trouble, and the others went to rescue him. In the past, assessing the danger, they could have simply abandoned such a person. Comrades are comrades, but the lives of many were more important. With the advent of the program, there were more opportunities for survival.
Positive results appeared immediately. In addition to a tenfold decrease in mortality, her kin practically stopped appearing in criminal reports, which immediately began to positively affect the image of the entire people, gradually correcting attitudes.
The benefits of the people's state, in addition to helping oppressed brethren and creating a positive image, were also obtaining information. After all, pilgrims not only returned with gifts to the Fleet, but often brought very interesting information, sometimes even more effective than GOR. They were simply not noticed or deliberately ignored.
"If you don't poke your nose into trouble!" she thought maliciously, crouching behind the garbage cans. The two police officers simply didn't notice them by a miracle. "They should have sat still and not stood out, if they lacked brains! They had everything. Both a home and a job. Except they didn't put brains in their heads!"
However, the "Pilgrim" program, although relatively safe, did not yield very large gifts, and youthful maximalism drove young Quarians into adventures. The desire to help the Fleet as much as possible was commendable, but not everyone could handle it.
"Naturally, the elevator was blocked!" she thought, examining another pair standing in plain sight. "Right. And who should they fear? Two little brats? If I wanted to, they would already be gasping with cut throats. Their omni-tools wouldn't help! They rely on them too much. Scanners and omni-blades with resatrons are good, but a steel stiletto is more reliable! Tested more than once!"
The young ones tried not to breathe unnecessarily so as not to anger Lyra. Suddenly, after a night in the cell, they began not only to do but also to think before that. On the other hand, they were choked by childish resentment. They just wanted to earn money, but who knew...
"They had to be idiots to fall for such an obvious lie!" the experienced Quarian thought, opening the ventilation with her omni-tool. "Like, really! Liquidation of a store! Warehouse sale of equipment... If a bank was selling, it would be understandable. Many took out loans when people started living well for this. And then they started going bankrupt. And so on and so forth... But to go buy from hand, especially to go somewhere to the very ass... Just idiots! No wonder the equipment turned out to be stolen, and the bandits selling it were in cahoots with the cops. So they put two idiots on two counters at once, after robbing them. Well, and put them in a cell so that the fools would mature!"
Anger, combined with mentally pouring a portion of poison (she wouldn't have enough breath to curse the young ones aloud), made the ascent through the shaft somewhat more vigorous. The stimulus of the future scolding of the two fools, which she would give them later, gave her strength, and the rest was a matter of habit. Lyra herself didn't know how many kilometers of communications she had crawled through in her life, but it was clearly hundreds of kilometers.
Reaching a "decent" level, the Quarian allowed herself to catch her breath a little, because from now on everything had to be done quickly. This wasn't like digging through a wall in prison...
With a deft movement of her hand, she removed the air intake grille with her stiletto, helping the youth to get out.
"And now, wiggle your asses," she hissed, literally pushing them by the scruff of their necks. "There are more cameras here than you have convolutions."
Down below, it was still possible to find an unobservable path left in the system specifically for criminals and various dubious individuals. Few politicians would want to be recorded during something illegal. But where they lived, every micron was already being monitored, which was surprising, but also out of fear, albeit for their own skin. It would be foolish to expect otherwise from a society where electronic segregation of citizens is the norm.
They would have only three minutes. One hundred and thirty-two meters and three turns separated them from safety.
"Let's go," she gave them a boost by clapping her hands on their backs.
Thanks to the fact that she didn't use her omni-tool, the cameras didn't detect them by its flash, only noticing them now and transmitting the information where it should go. And if she wasn't in the description, the silent young ones were. If they were in a simpler place, alarms would be blaring and strobes would be flashing, but here lived wealthy people who didn't like noise. Therefore, the alarm was quiet, but it was still an alarm.
Already turning towards the territory of the USSR representation, she saw four Citadel guards. What was even worse – these four were Batarians. Lyra did not want to deal with them under any circumstances, because it was difficult to find more evil, biased, and power-abusing cops. Moreover, they were very determined, which the Quarian determined by a fleeting glance at the angrily snorting four-eyed creatures.
However, they were her last concern. Now the comrade forced herself to think only one thought. As soon as she spotted the guards of the representation quarter, she mentally shouted: "Help needed!"
If the Naga, dozing in the warmth, and the wolfhednars playing dominoes, flinched when their "Thought" devices simultaneously picked up the silent call for help, then the dwarf, slowly sipping the famous meat beer, merrily boiling in a lead glass, continued to sip it. The short humanoid casually placed his hand on the defense system control panel and pulled a shotgun over his shoulder.
Lyra could see from the movement of their heads that they were communicating with each other using mental images. Having reached a common conclusion, the on-duty guards looked in unison at the guard rest room, from which a tall sentient dog with the rank insignia of a senior lieutenant immediately emerged. Assessing the situation, he nodded his head, inviting the fugitives inside, barking at the Citadel guards in a common, slightly creaky voice:
"Halt! Present your documents!"
"We are pursuing criminals! We don't give a damn about your documents, dog! Get out of the way!" the policeman tried to confront the senior, but immediately faltered when the entire guard detail took him under aim. The Naga demonstratively placed all four of her hands on the hilts of her sabers, smiling in a way that made it clear how much she wanted to rush into battle.
"Cho-cho!" the senior demonstratively cleaned his ear with a claw. "Who did you just call a dog? You'd better go while you're ahead, or you'll be busy writing papers and proving you're not a racist..."
The Quarian pushed the hesitant youth at the checkpoint, not listening to the show. "If they had an order, they would have shoved it in his face, but alas!" she thought maliciously, seeing out of the corner of her eye that a pair of sharks were literally floating out of nowhere from behind.
"Look, mother, if you messed up..." the darker one, who clearly had hammerhead sharks in his lineage, stated the obvious.
"I didn't even think about it. I'm a comrade."
"We know," said the second. "But order is order. What happened?"
She had no choice but to describe the entire situation in as much detail as possible. At the end of her story, the two sentient sharks just rolled their eyes, saying, addressing the young minds:
"You deserve a whipping. Go."
Only after moving away from the checkpoint and feeling safe, the girl, who had been silent until then, spoke:
"How could they..." – but was cut off by a heavy smack on the back of the head from Lyra.
"Oh, Kila! Give me patience... Shut your eating hole, you foolish child. You should keep quiet and just take it. If it weren't for me, you'd already be in position number one by evening," – Seeing the lack of understanding, the old quarian raised her eyes to the ceiling again, muttering something clearly abusive under her breath. – "Legs spread wide, eyes shamefully lowered. Did I say something funny?"
The second smack on the back of the head made the young man bite his tongue and hit the tip of his nose on the visor of his own helmet.
"You think they just finished you off? Oh no, my young and stupid friend. They would have rather... 'taken you for a ride' first, to make you more compliant. Consider all the repairs for the shit-catchers now yours upon your return to the Fleet! And now, my underage morons, I will tell you how wrong you are, and what awaits your asses!!!"
"For what?!"
"For the assignment! So that other contraceptives in a package, mistakenly called our youth, think before they act out. And your example will help them make the right decision. So get ready! Kila, why are these punishments for me?!"
***
The warm light of paper lanterns reflected off the lacquered wood. It smelled pleasantly of resin and sandalwood, which served as a background for the aromas of Earth's Asian cuisine spices. The panoramic one-way window offered the glow of a full moon, which, combined with the skillfully chosen decor of the restaurant's private room, created the effect of the jade tabletop being illuminated from within.
Advisor Tevos found the entire atmosphere of this establishment to be homey and cozy, allowing herself a small indulgence by visiting it after negotiations with Soviet special envoys. Here, she could not only rest but also observe a potential adversary with her own eyes. Analysts' reports were good, but the asari preferred to form her own opinion before opening them, so that nothing distorted her perception.
"Besides, besides good food, all my security can be accommodated here," she thought, dipping sushi into soy sauce before sending the roll to her mouth. Alas, the tribute of recent years had been too strict. After all, three Primarchs in a row had gone to their spirits. They were extremely unyielding, unwilling to make the right decisions in confronting the common enemy. That the Union was a threat, no one in power, doomed as they were, had any doubt.
The asari leaned back in her chair, remembering. With the appearance of this red plague, the galaxy had changed. What could be said, her people had changed beyond recognition!
As confirmation, three asari walked past the street, clearly visible through the panoramic window, whose clothing size exceeded that of a krogan. Their bodies were so voluminous that the buttocks of the representatives of her race had acquired a second and third level of roundness, as did their chins. But it was immediately clear that these representatives were anti-communists, which, however, did not prevent them from buying from their ideological opponent. Because in addition to being overweight, they were also extremely stupid. But they did everything to spite the USSR!
"But this is better than those traitors," the advisor sighed. It was very difficult for her to accept the fact that her race was now bisexual, like most conservative asari. Even harder was the realization that there were not one or two of these abominations, but hundreds. One man had started his descendants. Many young asari had decided to do this, creating harems, surrounding the degenerate with warmth and care...
And among the conservative representatives, things were not so calm either. And hundreds of years had not passed, and from a society of enlighteners, they had turned into a society of religious fanatics, hating everything that did not come from the hands of their people. Many cults were tearing the once united Republic apart. The Daughters of the Goddess movement almost started a civil war with the Spiral cult. The council of matriarchs had to take extreme measures...
No one would admit it, but the matriarchs had committed genocide against the liberated slaves of their race. They were dangerous because they could say something good about the USSR, and they were not needed by the Republic, which was forced to accept them to save face. Therefore, all former slaves were sent to develop new colonies, where they perished safely, for the most part, because no one there even thought about controlling the spread of drugs, alcohol, and the availability of medicine. A couple of technological accidents, with the elimination of the loudest ones, and the problem was gone.
It was harder to get rid of this fifth column among other races. The asari had to try to do this to preserve the unity of Space. If the problem with the salarians was quickly resolved naturally, aided by a sluggish near-civil war, then it wasn't so easy with other races. Framing one clan, allegedly for its initiative to destroy a life-extension drug production facility, was easy, but causing an epidemic on the nomad fleet was difficult. Here, some salarian clans helped, for supporting the Republic. The turians solved this issue themselves, filtering all former slaves of their kind. Even if they didn't physically eliminate them, the mercenaries who were forced to become such helped the Republic use its army less or request help from the Hierarchy.
Krogan... and what about the krogan? A third of the clans went under the protectorate of the USSR, but their number was small.
The advisor remembered all this, seeing a relic of a past era: a quarian with a star on her shoulder. "There is still a lot of work to be done...," Tevos stated, sending another portion of the delicacy to its destination.