Samara is excellent at encouragement, instantly pulling me out of a neutral state of mind and into an aggressive application of the Force. Although, I am tormented by vague doubts that someone cleverly made me, against my will, use all my accumulated skills against the crowds of enemies, thereby significantly increasing the squad's overall effectiveness.
It's funny that all it took was a slight poke at my Sith pride to instantly "unlock maximum motivation." In other words, the need arose to use all my skills in battle, even if it meant an irrational expenditure of stamina.
There's no particular difference – killing all the enemies in a minute or in ten seconds. The signal to detonate the self-destruct bomb never came, enemy reinforcements were not expected, there were no hostages to save. And I hadn't specified a timeframe for completing the punitive mission.
But since I promised to impress, I have to keep my word, right?
Using Force pushes, combat acrobatics, and engaging my brain's processing capabilities at full power, I tore through all the geth I encountered almost instantly, slicing the synthetics to pieces. Some of them managed to aim, but not to fire. I had significantly increased my kill speed by absorbing energy from the dark side of the Force. And even though many of my techniques were impossible to use with two blades in hand, it didn't matter – I was betting on the quality of my techniques, not their quantity.
Synthetics are easy to deal with, but soon a new, more durable type of enemy appeared – krogan. It was unexpected to meet them, and a little sad.
Considering that Saren was never known for his wealth, he most likely lured them to his side with false promises. What kind exactly? A mystical cure for the genophage. It's almost like genocide, only less radical, but far more cruel.
Death is not only the cessation of life's path, but also liberation from suffering. The genophage, in turn, acts like a slowly killing, incurable disease, forcing one not to live, but to survive in constant agony. Moreover, the krogan weren't treated this way for any specific reason. Instead, there were conjectures, fears, and analysts' predictions along the lines of – "we think so."
True, they had grounds for thinking so.
Before the genophage, the krogan's reproductive functions allowed the Citadel Council to rapidly build up combat-ready troops without significant investment. That was a dark era. Our galaxy was threatened by a mortal danger from the cosmic race of the rachni.
The krogan heroically exterminated them, wiping them out completely. They became famous as saviors, those who saved the entire galaxy from destruction. But what happened next? The threat passed, the galaxy returned to its usual stability, and it seemed – everything would be as before. However, the Councilors noticed that the cannon fodder, that is, the krogan, now posed a threat due to their rapid reproduction and excellent combat skills.
Salarian scientists received an order and funding to create a cure for the "krogan threat." Rumor had it that the choice was between a virus that would completely destroy them, and a drug that reduced their reproductive functions. In the end, they settled on the second option: they synthesized a virus and sprayed it on Tuchanka, the krogan homeworld. Not even a few months passed before the virus spread, causing mass sterilization of the population.
To this day, one can still find krogan capable of conceiving and bearing a child. However, most often, the offspring are stillborn. Only a few are born – not thousands, not hundreds, but units. Everything is heading toward the krogan eventually dying out completely, as any research into a cure for the genophage is strictly prohibited and punishable by death.
Perhaps they are being conducted somewhere in secret, but no results are visible yet.
Horrible, isn't it?
But the world is not without "kind" charlatans promising a cure in exchange for service. Saren could well have lured a couple of krogan clans to his side... or not. The krogan I encountered seemed much weaker than usual. When I clashed with them, I could feel their inexperience, which was akin to a "miracle."
On their home planet, every krogan goes through a bloody coming-of-age ceremony, where they receive all the necessary skills for survival. These ones looked like inexperienced youngsters.
What options are left? The real creation of a cure and the secret breeding of krogan for slaughter via incubators? Or, surely Saren hasn't created technology for cloning krogan?
Such technologies cannot be kept secret for long. By the time you create them, you could get busted by the Council three, if not four, times, no matter how many times over you're an elite Spectre. Unless, of course, this technology was given to him by the Reapers. Their technological level of development is higher than ours. After all, they destroyed the Protheans.
Finishing running the last arguments through my head, I ran into another group of krogan. A whole armed squad of "crocodiles" blocked my path. I had to get more serious and attack faster.
— We're losing...
— Monster!
— Don't retreat!
No matter what anyone said, I continued to swing my two light blades and move between the enemies, using Force dashes. If you think about it, they only differed from the geth in their ability to talk during combat. Therefore, without slowing down, I tore them apart one by one, remaining true to my craft – Death.
If the enemies are just "domestic rabbits" or clones, then giving them a chance to reveal their combat skills made no sense. They simply don't have any.
A swing, another one – and with a final slash, I killed someone who resembled their commander. I hope I didn't feed too much on the Dark Side in the process. The Dark Side is not something mythical or religious, but a very real power that has its price.
The more we absorb the darkness, the stronger its physical and mental influence. The eyes turn orange, deformities appear on the body, the internal organs begin to rot. With the mind, it's even worse: the changes can be much more significant. If you don't go into meditation in time and restore balance, you can wake up a monster, uglier than Darth Sidius.
— A-a-a-a! - screamed a krogan who had fallen on his back, starting to fire his assault rifle wildly in all directions, hitting allies and the air.
He didn't hit me: with a rotational movement of my palm, I spun one of my lightsabers, and threw the other like a projectile, a boomerang. The blade sliced off this "explosive crocodile's" head, flying in a low semicircle.
When the saber returned, I deftly caught it and simultaneously deactivated both blades.
— I thought you would move serenely, and your enemies would start exploding from the inside, - Samara shook her head disapprovingly. — Instead, you stopped "waving your hands," but started waving... light blades? With energy plasma?
— Samara, - I spoke calmly, closing my eyes. — Enlighten me, among the asari justicars, are they all so insatiable?
Her face became even more impenetrable.
— I don't understand what you're talking about. All justicars are fair and impartial in their decisions. And judgments, - she stated, lifting her chin like a judge reading a verdict.
My composure became shaky.
If I don't achieve balance through meditation, I'll have to involve Samara in other practices. To some extent, more tempting ones at the moment.
Oh...
There was such chaos in my head that I was no longer thinking about our thousand-year age difference.
On Earth, of course, there is a certain ethical code for such cases. What do they call men who prefer older women? Something familiar... Milfhunter? Damn subculture. So many terms accumulated in the twenty-second century, you can't remember them all.
— Wait! - Tali'Zorah cut in. — I understand everything, but there's no need to quarrel over... a difference in standards. I understand, - she continued to dig the hole of misunderstanding deeper. — That some have them big, and some have them small.
Small standards, huh?
— It's hard to argue with that. Some are content with little.
Woman, tonight I will make you take those words back. And not just the words.
Shaking my head, I tried to channel the energy of the light side of the Force through my body. Otherwise, Saren might slip away due to my delay in this hangar. For somewhat... ahem, non-standard reasons.
— Time to move out, - I waved, regaining my mental equilibrium, and headed forward as the vanguard.
This time, the blades were put away, but using simple telekinesis made no sense. It's like repeating a perfectly honed technique - useful, but you don't learn anything new.
Taking off my gloves, I ran through the lightning control techniques in my memory. It all depended on the accumulated energy and the manifestation of negative emotions. The more perverted they are, the greater the area of effect.
My lightning discharges didn't look impressive at first, but by absorbing energy from the fallen geth, I gave them more and more power. Thus, approaching an open platform with a view of a stunning waterfall, I became the darkest cloud, not in the sky, but on the ground. Lightning struck in direct hits, in arcs, and a couple of times I managed to recreate Force ball lightning, which struck everything around with discharges as it flew.
None of the enemies were left in a state unprepared for burial.
But from such a number of deaths – living and dead; from the very act of killing... My head was spinning, as if from alcohol intoxication. Saren probably shouldn't test my stress resistance any further.
I have excellent control over my words, actions, and behavior – in almost any situation. But sometimes my thoughts are in such chaos that it's hard to keep myself on a leash. After all, even if you poke the most trained snake with a stick for a long time, its instincts will make it attack.
— Starkiller, - the turian's semi-mechanical voice rang out at the next turn. He was sitting on a large container, one foot propped up on it, and he looked, it must be admitted, extremely displeased. Which is not surprising: uninvited guests had come to him and ruined all his plans to find the Conduit.
An entire army had been slaughtered... Why did he need it?
It wouldn't be surprising if he wanted to capture or attack the Citadel. No, that's more of a suicidal attack. If he doesn't have hidden reserves or a superweapon, it's better not to approach the Council. Serious security and defense systems wouldn't leave a chance even for an entire fleet of ships.
One army isn't enough; you need an ace up your sleeve. And my judgments don't come from nowhere: once, about two years ago, I planned to kill all the members of the Council to seize power in the galaxy. It seemed to me it would be easier to develop the space program and return to my galaxy for revenge. But after long deliberation, I came to the conclusion that then I would be no different from those I had sworn to destroy.
I'm no saint: I've killed rebels, Jedi, clones. No one escaped death at my hands, and my conscience never bothered me. However, there is a line – a boundary, Vader and Sidious. I don't want to become them, or worse than them. Except maybe "a little better." Their final deaths could satisfy me, but for that, one way or another, I'll have to step over heads. The path of a saint is not for me. But neither is that of an outright scoundrel.
— You lost all your preparations because of your overconfidence. I offered to discuss everything peacefully without bloodshed, but you rejected my offer and were the first to pull out the hatchet, shooting down my ship, - I said, putting my gloves back on.
— No need. We've known each other for years, I'm well aware of your talents for subjugating sentient races to your will, - he shook his head. — Are your girlfriends aware that they are mindless puppets, carrying out your every whim, eh, Starkiller?
— I do not feel that I am being controlled, - Samara replied calmly.
— Wait, he controls the minds of living beings?
— Didn't you see for yourself? He ordered Saren's soldier to give up the coordinates, and he obediently did everything, even though he had been arguing fiercely before that, - the justicar explained.
— Ah... So that's how you found me, - the Spectre sighed. — I had hoped until the last moment that you would continue to stay out of the Citadel's affairs, but first you become a Spectre, and then you interfere in my business. What are you trying to achieve? Power, money, status, survival? I can provide you with everything, you just have to ask. And in return, you will help me. Your talents will compensate for all my losses today.
— In this galaxy, no one can give me what I truly desire, - I put my hands behind my back, looking up at the blue sky.
On my home planet, Earth, it's so dirty that it's nauseating to look at. The ecology is destroyed, and because of overpopulation, soon there won't be room to swing a cat. But the factories will get more orders and accelerate the planet's destruction. But that's just one world that can be sacrificed. After all, now humanity has the opportunity to freely move to another place – and trash it. And then move on to the next. However, if the Reapers destroy all sentient races, there will be nowhere left to go, because there will be no one left.
— So, we can't make a deal?
— On the contrary. The Reapers have brainwashed you somehow. Up close, I can feel the alien influence on your mind more clearly than when talking to your hologram. And I can state with confidence: any action or decision you make now is only bringing their plans closer to fruition. I don't know what exactly they want, but I know the consequences: the extermination of all life in the galaxy. Death is already hanging in the air, permeating the places where lifeless bodies will soon lie.
— No one controls me. Sovereign has taken control of many, but not me. And you know why? Without me, they will never achieve what they want. They need me, I am essential. That's why Sovereign offered me a deal: help in exchange for saving the few I point out.
— Seriously? - I was surprised. — Give me three turians, and I'll work on their minds in such a way that they will believe in their own importance until death. They will live and die as puppets, convinced that they are somehow better than the rest. The chosen ones.
— You are not them.
— And you are one of the victims, - I spread my arms wide. — Judge logically. The Reapers are trying to destroy all life, and you want to bring them into our galaxy, hoping for salvation. It sounds absurd. What reason do they have to keep their oaths? Who will condemn them for oath-breaking if everyone is dead? I haven't found all the pieces of the puzzle yet, but please, trust my foresight of total genocide. You are not special. There are no irreplaceable pawns. If not you, they'll find a hundred other ways. But you and I – we are both elite fighters, and unlike most, we understand the scale of the threat. The two of us can stop them and fight back.
Continuing to stall for time, I influenced him with the Force, penetrating his mind and trying to understand the reason for the brainwashing. At the same time, I searched for the source and ways to eliminate the alien influence. And frankly, I was quite surprised.
The influence is coming from within the Milky Way, not from the far reaches of space. But it's not directed straight at the mind, but at the implants, and through them, directly into the brain. That is, the Reapers do not possess mystical power, only the power of technology.
As for eliminating their influence, that's difficult.
I rewrote the mind itself as best I could, but immediately after, new data packets came into it. And how to save those who have been affected by technology? Maybe put up a few barriers that strengthen the mind. Even helping Saren alone could be called an achievement. But what about the millions like him?
Eh, we're in deep shit.
— No! Get out! - he screamed, clutching his head.
Looks like he felt the influence at maximum power. I had to close my eyes and raise my hands, delicately tuning the memory defense. I fussed with it for about five minutes, during which Saren managed to fall off the container, roll around on the ground a fair bit, and... probably... fall into a coma.
I wasn't really monitoring his condition, nor his convulsions – I was busy fighting.
— Is he alive? - Samara asked when I finished. Walking over to the prone Saren, the asari gave him a light kick.
— Alive and will come to soon. But I learned something about the Reapers: they don't influence the mind directly, but use something like a hacker attack on implants to gain access to the victim's mind. I had to put up a mental defense, but it won't hold for long. It will have to be renewed once a month.
— Does that mean that now everyone who has implants...
— Are potentially spies and our enemies. And that's just what we learned from Saren, - I nodded in his direction. — If they have other tools of influence, even ordinary animals will become a threat to us. Let's say, there's some kind of emitter or something similar.
— Like in a science fiction movie?
— Almost, - I shrugged. — We had thousands of books in the science fiction genre on Earth. But after the discovery of element zero, almost all of them became scientific papers. Yeah, we'll have to deliver Saren to the Citadel and put our heads together.
— But we don't have a ship, - Tali reminded me.
— Does Saren have one? - I asked, then addressed the turian's unconscious body. — Can we borrow it? Silence is a sign of consent.
— You steal from sleeping people?
— I'm confiscating it in my capacity as a Spectre, - I raised my finger in an important gesture.