The turians tried to resist, but I was faster: I darted into their ranks at lightning speed, using my red lightsaber as intended – to achieve victory by exterminating opponents. Actually, in this regard, I can be called the best.
One movement was enough to sever the limbs of three at once. Half of their squad fell, never even getting a chance to unleash their combat abilities. Or even pull the trigger. I dealt with the rest more simply: I unleashed Force lightning at two, giving one a chance to flee. After all, I needed to interrogate at least one of them.
A couple of seconds later, I resorted to telekinesis, grabbing the fugitive and pulling him toward me. He hung in the air, his throat constricted by the Force, cutting off his access to oxygen. Victims usually become disoriented quickly when deprived of basic needs.
— Where is Saren? - I demanded, looking him straight in the eyes.
The turian thrashed, squirmed, exuding primal fear and terror. Good qualities for extracting a confession.
— I... - he whispered, trying to throw off the invisible grip crushing his throat. — Won't... tell...
A bad refusal for him.
However, he was just dragging out the routine. Passing my hand in front of his eyes and repeating the question, I used hypnosis. Under its influence, the turian almost stopped resisting, hanging like an item on a coat rack, and slowly activated the omni-tool built into his armor.
A multifunctional device – one of the basic ones in this world: they use it to repair tech, hack systems, transmit messages, and pay merchants. It looks like a holographic gauntlet, but it can also be used as a powerful melee weapon. Eh, you can't keep up with the technological progress in this world.
With its help, the turian transmitted Saren's ship coordinates to me, which marked the success of my mission. However, his chances of survival moved into the doubtful category. Alive, he was more of a liability than an asset. At the very least, he could send a message to my enemy about the impending trouble. And do I need that? Squeezing his throat even tighter with the Force, I broke his cervical vertebrae, killing the last of the six turians almost painlessly.
— You were saying something about mind control and how it's considered something mysteriously bad? - Samara calmly needled me, raising the suspicion that I wasn't much different from our enemies. Except, perhaps, in ideology. After all, I stand in the middle of dark and light, trying to balance these concepts for the sake of the result, not giving power over myself to one specific side of the Force.
— Samara, - I sighed sadly. — You don't understand... this is different.
— You... - the quarian spoke up. — Fist set me up. I'm afraid if it weren't for you, I wouldn't be alive right now.
— These are Saren's men.
— You're hunting a Spectre?
— I am also a Spectre. My duties include ensuring order and helping all those in need in the Milky Way. Sometimes using decisive measures, even against colleagues, - I flashed my credentials again, which were almost ultimate in this society.
— You were appointed a Spectre an hour ago, - one sly asari slightly diminished the significance of my legend.
— Many seconds have passed since I took on this burden, - I glanced at the club security that had run in at the noise. — Will you handle this?
— Yes, - she hmphed and walked briskly over to the guards, immediately attacking with her trump card. — I am a Justicar. Criminals were spotted in your club. Anyone who supports or protects them may find themselves among the suspects – the same criminals who are obliged to face the force of the law.
Using her position to intimidate ordinary working stiffs. I like it.
— I thought I wasn't going to make it out, - the quarian's voice trembled slightly. — If you're really hunting Saren, I'm willing to help. I have proof of his connection to the geth.
— In my capacity as a Spectre, I am prepared to accept any information about this case and use it to establish guilt and deliver a verdict, - I continued to play the role of Defender of the Galaxy, although it wasn't necessary. — But this isn't the best place to exchange information. The data on Saren's ship will be relevant for only a few hours. I suggest we discuss everything on my ship on the way to the target.
— An invitation to your ship? But that's too... I'm a quarian, - the girl faltered.
— I'm aware of your reputation. They say that to confirm your coming of age, you must go on a Pilgrimage, seeking out rare and unique technologies. Because of this, you are often classified as thieves and vagabonds, - crossing my arms, I waved my hand. — But those are just rumors, mixed with fiction. I, however, operate on facts and specific individuals, trying not to judge an entire race by their actions.
— R-really? - she wondered, looking at the turian corpses. Five of them had died from a laser sword and lightning, and the smell hanging in the air was, to put it mildly, disgusting. That's why I was trying to change the location for negotiations. — My name is Tali. Tali'Zorah nar Rayya. I'm a technician. And a very good one. I can help with more than just information.
The girl in the suit decided to give her full name – that's already significant progress in establishing a trusting relationship. Quarians usually limit themselves to one part of their name, rarely say the full one, and almost never use the "nar" prefix in front of outsiders. Of course, for every case, there are ten exceptions, but my experience with quarians is exactly that.
— Any help from a qualified specialist will be useful, - I noted, recalling my ship and its surprisingly bad technical staff. The good ones had long since been recruited by Cerberus or the Alliance. As for representatives of other races, they try to minimize contact with humans. On human ships, meeting aliens is sometimes as difficult as finding a volus at a dinner party on the Citadel. It happens, but rarely.
Having settled matters at the club, the three of us headed for the exit.
The Citadel had switched to night mode, and we could enjoy the bright lights of the city that never sleeps. Events, parties, and celebrations of the galaxy's richest and most influential individuals had begun in various places.
We headed for the transport, reached the port airlock, and found ourselves aboard the starship. Immediately upon arrival, I gave the pilot the coordinates for Saren's ship. Then we headed to the mess hall – neutral territory, suitable for conversations and introductions.
— I didn't think Spectres traveled on old ships. Is this for cover?
— After taking the position, I haven't had time to update the ship, crew, and equipment. Before this, I used whatever resources and time allowed, - I replied, mixing truth with unnecessary details.
I may be one of the most dangerous beings in the Milky Way, but element zero and tons of credits visited me less often than I'd like. However, one can always hide limited finances with the universal phrase: "Not enough time." A busy man, what can you expect from him?
— And this struck me as odd, - Samara chimed in. — For a man capable of destroying an entire army, turning a factory into a pile of scrap, and throwing garbage from the ground straight into space... You are surprisingly modest.
— If you think about it, modesty is my middle name, - my comment was met with skeptical looks. — Or third. Galen Marek, Starkiller, Modesty. So many names under one helmet.
— I'm sorry for meddling in things that aren't my business, - Tali looked around, took a deep breath, and asked: — Why are you in combat armor even on your own ship? Are Spectres always ready for battle? I know little about you, only rumors, and they are frightening. Sorry.
— No need for formalities and apologies. You are now a full-fledged technician on this ship. Speak openly, - I advised.
— But my question...
— Starkiller always wears his armor, as long as I've known him.
— You've known each other long?
— By human standards – a whole day, - Samara surprised herself.
— Many seconds, a whole day, - Tali drew out the words. — The galaxy functions quickly...
— It's hard to argue with that, - I shrugged, getting more comfortable at the table.
— But you can. It's been three hundred years since my people were forced to leave our home planet because of the geth. And in these centuries, no one has helped us, - the quarian quickly settled in and began to speak more openly. — To be honest, it's hurtful. The Citadel Council can resolve some issues in seconds, and drag others out for centuries.
Trying to distract herself from obsessive thoughts, she activated the omni-tool on her left hand and provided the evidence against Saren. Two messages, one of which mentioned the Reapers.
The first: "We achieved victory on Eden Prime. The Beacon has brought us one step closer to the Conduit," – that was Saren. The second, with a female voice: "Brought the return of the Reapers one step closer."
There is never a second of peace in the galaxy.
On our horizon, we have star wars with a race specializing in the destruction of others. I once saw a temple on Tuchanka where their ships were depicted. The sizes and shapes were awe-inspiring: I still don't understand how those not-quite-jellyfish function and fly with such a repulsive design.
— Starkiller said the galaxy is on the verge of destruction. And now we see direct proof of your suppositions. I believe they can be trusted, - the justicar said judiciously. — The Reapers. They are a legend. A mystical race that exterminated the Protheans, who created both the Citadel and the Relays. We revere our predecessors as the most technologically advanced, but even they met a stronger enemy and fell. And all the current races, due to constant rivalry, haven't even managed to reach the level of those who lost in that conflict.
— You predicted this?
— I see a limited future – only omens. If anything threatens all life, the Force will warn me in advance so I can prepare for the confrontation, - I replied, removing my hands from the table and tilting my head in an attempt to think the situation through. — But there is one important 'but'. The Reapers have somehow mastered the ability to control the consciousness of sentient beings. I sensed something in Saren that had seized his mind. And there are two possible reasons here: either the Reapers attacked with mental force from deep space, or one of them is operating in the Milky Way and preparing a beachhead for invasion. Hmm... A difficult situation.
— What if you are a descendant of the Reapers? That would explain your powers, - Samara suggested.
— Unlikely. I was born and raised on an ordinary planet, in an ordinary family. None of my ancestors possessed anything similar, - I rejected her hypothesis. — But the theory is interesting. True, if it turned out to be correct and thousands of beings like me appeared in the galaxy... Oh, it would be tough, but I would manage. Unless, of course, they all attack at once.
— You don't lack self-confidence...
— I'll lend you some, - I stood up from the table. — Tali'Zorah, inspect the ship and check its technical condition. Samara, inform your order about the emergency situation, ask them to begin full-scale preparations for war with a superior enemy. And I will try to activate old contacts.
Heading to the isolated room for video communication, I wondered if I should contact bad people. I had their contacts, obtained during one of my missions. Until now, I had kept them for an extreme case. It seemed that case had arrived too quickly.
Entering the data into the computer, I began to wait for a response. Aha, the request was accepted almost immediately and without much preparation. As expected from the leader of Cerberus, accustomed to thousands of calls a day.
— Illusive Man, this is our first meeting, - I looked at the serious man in the business suit. He was sitting in an armchair, and behind him, through the glass, an unstable star was visible – a perfect background to emphasize power.
— Galen Marek, - he named me, flicking the ash from his cigarette. — I asked you to contact me, but before your appointment, you preferred to wait. Now your position is strengthened, as is your influence.
— I want to propose an alliance against the Reapers, - I put forward, clasping my hands behind my back.
— The Reapers, - he repeated, taking a drag and, letting out a puff of smoke, grimaced slightly. — Your reputation is clean and impeccable. However, your information raises questions. Where is it from?
— It's enough to know that one of the Reapers is operating in our galaxy. He has taken control of a Spectre's mind, pursuing goals unknown to us. But we've learned something: there is a certain "Conduit," connected to the Beacon. Participants in the Eden Prime incident claim the artifact belonged to the Protheans. Consequently, one can assume the Conduit is also their creation. I need complete information about it.
— If we're going to start digging, the best place for it is the Citadel, - the Illusive Man stubbed out his cigarette, replacing it with a new one. Deftly lighting it, he pondered, crossing his legs. — What do you mean by the Conduit?
— An artificial object, connecting one thing to another.
— Almost like a Relay. The Reapers haven't been seen in our galaxy since the destruction of the Protheans. I don't think they're hiding here; more likely, they are in another galaxy and looking for a way in. The only known method for such travel is a Relay. But clearly not an ordinary one. A secret, more powerful one. Only the Council might have data on such a thing, and even then, in the most secret archives.
— Do you have people with access to the secret database?
— Who knows? - he dodged a direct answer. — If you showed a little trust in me and provided the Spectre access codes... Perhaps I could help.
— The Spectre who is being controlled has those codes, but the Conduit still hasn't been found. Giving you my codes is a waste of time; it will only aggravate the conflict.
— With whom and against whom? - he leaned closer. — You are human, like me, and everyone on our planet. We must help each other. That's why I am open with you, sharing my observations. It would be right if you reciprocated.
— We are in the same boat, but on different sides, - I shake my head, walking over to the device to disconnect. — Do your digging without my help, and I'll do my investigation without yours. The pieces of the puzzle that we find will be the reason for cooperation.
— I'll send one of my agents to you, if you don't mind. And I'll provide resources to achieve the goal, - a surprisingly generous offer.
— I need a ship and a crew. Without a criminal past.
— You want unclassified Cerberus agents? Your right. But I hope my investment pays off, - with these words from him, I cut the connection.
Well, there are going to be a lot more spies around me than I'd like. If I manage to win Saren over to my side, there will be even more.