Three days later, it was all over. The last defenders of Klos are either dead or in the cages where they previously kept slaves. The palace is captured. Victory has come, the enemy is defeated, humiliated, and brutally killed. After which they were dominated and a grand drinking session was arranged, exhausting the managerial food supplies.
The palace was crushed, including via the evacuation tunnel, which they not only blew up but also made themselves a new entrance through the station. And escaping across the surface, in the kill zone of the defensive guns, was not a very smart decision to begin with. Those who wanted to leave under the wind that flips cars and under fire didn't get far.
And so I look through the eyes of Vorhess at the Batarian governor nailed to the wall with pickaxes along with his colleagues and commanders, forming an interesting installation. At the bloodbath arranged in the palace, the corpses of both friends and foes, and I think about what's next. A red flag flies over the building, but is this the end?
No, this is only the beginning. You took power, well done. Another week, maybe a month to celebrate. And then comes the work. You need new social institutions; you need those who will make this system work. Not just workers, but officials, bureaucracy, armed forces, and a navy. Those who will find and deal with enemies and criminals, and those who will watch the observers. Those who will work in the fields and shafts, and those who will sell and buy. If you've decided to break the old system, these are pressing questions.
Part of this can be obtained thanks to both Citadel advisors and your own efforts, through trial and error. At the same time, there will always be dissatisfied people who find themselves on the sidelines of the power sharing and never received the promised benefits. There will be those who sold out to Khar'Shan or are simply corrupt. There will be Khar'Shan itself, striving to take back its own and return everything to how it was. Criminals, the incompetent, the dissatisfied will tear this system apart for years.
One could say that this victory is a happy ending to the Batarian story, but it is only the beginning. The beginning of crises, conflicts, civil strife. Blood will be shed, murders, wars will shake these territories for years, decades.
The finale of the story is still far off, and I don't know if it will be a happy one, or if their society will split and be absorbed, or die in crises to be reborn into something else. Of course, both the Citadel and the UNSC, as direct participants in the events, will have agents of influence and pull the blanket over themselves. But that is a completely different story. One day it will come, but not in the coming months or even years. For now, there will be blood, sweat, and dust. We will watch their progress. Because you have to keep an eye on your neighbors. And if necessary, break dreadnoughts while they are still tea kettles.
Shift of attention priority.
Eden Prime. A planet outside human domains and points of interest. Officially. Humans have no colony here, only a small research camp digging up Prothean ruins. Officially. Unofficially, things are a bit more interesting.
And now The Possessed in the depths of an ancient Prothean complex is striding through huge dark halls. More accurately, not striding—there are kilometers and kilometers of blocks here, previously filled with stasis pods, but now simply empty and dark. Holes are cut in the airlock doors between blocks, through which we move in the darkness of the passages. We are riding in a cargo M12 Warthog, essentially a truck based on an army jeep. The driver knows the way and is quite well-oriented here; he's not particularly talkative, which suits me.
One can look around, noting that the place is not as abandoned as it wants to seem. Cameras and sensors in the niches left from the pods, reinforced unstable zones. Although the darkness is pitch black, of course, and the air composition is not the best for a human, so the driver and I are in masks.
"Sector C, test labs. Approaching," said the soldier with the emblem of a regular marine on his shoulder, a private. Well, of course, I believe it.
I smirked; with enhanced vision, the darkness of these corridors doesn't bother me at all. ONI acted cleverly: the tunnels closest to the exit look as if they are empty, gutted, and abandoned by the expedition. Cutting marks, pitch darkness, stale air, and emptiness. You have to go quite far along the correct route to get into the huge, bright, multi-level laboratory complexes built inside the stasis complex. There are docks for frigates here, and numerous research laboratories. And good protection against a siege, its own military contingent, and a prison for "volunteers" from among the inmates.
ONI has such a lovely practice: being imprisoned for serious and especially serious crimes, you can sign a contract to participate in experiments. If you survive—you're free. That's what it says in the contract. In fact, you might know too much, so this road is always a one-way trip, and you won't like the end of it. But there are enough volunteers, as well as laboratories for their disposal.
Anomalous materials lab, artifact labs, test zones, anomalous gas and radiation labs. Here, in the darkness and silence of the Eden Prime stasis vaults, at a depth of hundreds of meters, very interesting research is being conducted. Which is what I need, or rather what the command wants, wishing to observe the process through The Possessed.
We stopped in the dim light of external lamps, in the sights of turrets. Essentially, the hall is blocked by a sturdy wall with embrasures, turrets, and guns. And that's not to mention the traps in the floor for uninvited guests. But I have an invitation. The Possessed stood up and said loudly:
"Good morning. Even if it's evening now. Let me in, I know the magic word: tunts."
The turrets retracted, and not the main door, but an inconspicuous metal niche to the side of the large transport airlock slid into the wall. The guard who looked out waved to us:
"Good evening. Come in, we're ready to start. They're waiting for you, Curator. You're late."
I jumped down onto the metal floor, every step on which is clearly audible. I flicked my tail and walked quickly toward the soldier.
"My apologies, we were busy concealing the artifact site. I'm ready, let's go through the scan and head to the test zone."
One has to make it look like we finished the excavations and flew away.
"Of course, Curator," the guard nodded, "please follow me. You know the rules."
The rules include identification, checking identity at least twice, moving strictly near the guard, and not stepping away. Otherwise, you'll be detained.
Inside, the complex is large, bright, and assembled from typical 3D-printed panels. The halls of the Prothean stasis complex were large, hundreds of meters long, about forty high. So you can easily accommodate multi-story buildings. Moreover, the shielding there is such that on the surface no one will understand or notice anything, although there are a couple of reactors and a lot of energy-intensive equipment in these halls. I am interested in two rooms, two test zones. A bit of gray-blue corridors, two security posts, and we found ourselves in a room divided into two parts.
In the researchers' section, behind armored glass, stands Yalorae and a group of scientists. The insectoid, as usual, makes those around him nervous. I joined them. Exchanging nods, I asked:
"How is the test going?"
The professor, bald, old, in glasses and a white coat, said:
"Verrry well. We have connected a crrrystalline device to the subjects, which trrransmits various things, and we are testing their trrransmission. We have succccessfully managed to trrransmit simple skills through the device. Today we are tesssting the trrransmission of a memorrry."
His assistant nodded.
"Yes, Curator. If it goes well, we will transmit the recipient's memories, emotional coloring, and skills."
"The device is functional. Primitive. But functional, given the limited perception of the species," added the giant figure of the alien.
"He's the same as always," the assistant said irritably.
I, however, am interested not in that, but in the process itself. The victim is sleeping on a chair, at the head of which, on a stand, is a small triangular column half a meter high with a half-meter side. No contact or direct connection.
The crystal glows, the air around it vibrates. Effectively, an influence is exerted on the unconscious recipient, forcing them to relive an event. Not just watch, but precisely relive, feeling the emotions, remembering the movements—look, the limbs are trembling. Not just a picture, but a full-fledged upload of experience into the brain through total immersion in the event.
The first subjects did not survive the procedure; the device, tuned to a Prothean, burned out the recipient's brain during the information upload.
or damaged a human brain. With Yalorae, we managed to calibrate the mechanism. To simplify it to primitive human perception, as the insectoid put it. Not forgetting to mock how limited our view of the world is. And I can understand him; I am not limited by human perception.
Meanwhile, I glanced at the instruments; everything is going normally. Yes, the subject's brain activity is much higher than usual, but the patient is in no hurry to become an idiot, die from brain destruction, or suffer a stroke.
"Not bad, not bad," the Possessed nodded, "which one is this?"
"Two hundred and thirteenth Squad 'Dno' of test subjects," the professor replied, "we expected it to be harder."
I can understand. Before this, humans worked with brain digitization to create AI, and that process is fatal for the one being copied. Here, it's the reverse procedure, and the user must not only survive but also become smarter. And the process must be safe if we want to use it everywhere, including on minors. And there is definitely progress in creating such a rapid learning mechanism, as reported from the laboratory. One of the factors of success was the volunteer's sleep, so that the user perceives information better and is not distracted.
"Upload complete. You can wake him," the assistant reported a minute later, showing vitals returning to normal, "alive, relatively healthy. And should be in his right mind."
Well, let's see.
"Proceed," the professor agreed.
Chemistry was injected, and the user, a man in a prison robe, began to wake up.
"What memory and skill were implanted in him?" the Possessed clarified, "he won't be able to lie?"
The professor chuckled, looking through the one-way mirror at the "volunteer" who had jumped up from the cot. He began to look around in a panic, twitching.
"He won't," the assistant nodded, pressing a button. A low hum sounded. The patient jumped and began to look around frantically, tried to look through the window on the door, searching for the source of the sound, trembling.
"They aren't here? Those screams, those Brutes. They aren't here? This sound. They've arrived! Let me out! Let me out! Faster! I don't want them to be here! Such... Such... Hey, is anyone alive? Hey?"
Satisfied with the reaction, the scientist flipped a switch. The chattering of infected insectoids sounded. The man hid on the bed, looking around convulsively, saw the speaker, felt under the bed for a throwing knife, and without a wind-up, placed it exactly on target; the sound stopped. A second speaker started up, this time with footsteps.
"No, no, they won't find me, they won't hear me!" the man whispered, huddling deeper, then diving under the bed, wrapping himself in a blanket.
Then he crawled out, propped the door with a chair (a column had retracted into a hatch in the floor), and hid under the bed again, shaking.
While the scientists, in total delight, recorded the results, I asked Yalorae:
"Something from the memories of Glassing?"
The insectoid creaked:
"Correct, machine. An attack on our underground complex. They killed everyone, turned them into Husks."
Everything is clear with you, gentlemen vivisectors. He knows that humans handle the load of feelings and emotions from realizing the destruction of a civilization from a first-person perspective poorly, to put it mildly. It's not just an image; the user literally lives through the events, feels how everyone around is dying, tastes and smells.
I know for a fact that command is testing other applications of the technology besides training. Both as a torture tool (not very successfully, as the object must be constantly monitored to prevent them from going insane) and for attempts to rewrite a personality to a pre-recorded template (here, everything hits the fact that the brain receives serious damage from such an overwrite, and the target doesn't live long). But the ONI scientists are persistent guys and are already trying to solve the problem with implants. That's a matter for the future.
Now, another laboratory interests me. In it, four emitters, using a lens system, lead a blue laser to a massive experimental weapon. A massive beam gun, a prototype of human energy weapons of combined action for ground vehicles. The scientist responsible for the project and the Possessed were positioned at a terminal behind a protective screen.
"This time you brought us new radiators, curator."
The Possessed nodded.
"Two people have already suffered frostbite from contact with the radiator."
The woman sighed.
"I hadn't heard about that. Who was it this time?"
"Loaders," my doll replied easily, "one smart guy decided that instructions aren't meant to be read. His fingers froze to the bone, and he also broke the ice. Well, he'll be buying a prosthetic with his own money."
The scientist, a blonde in her forties in a suit and augmented reality glasses, cursed quietly.
"Disgusting incompetence. What were they hoping for with that approach?"
I don't know either. The radiator cools a test chamber with a volume of twelve cubic meters from plus twenty to minus twenty in two minutes, taking into account the air conditioning system's operation in forced mode. The worker's hand, being in direct contact with the material, froze very quickly, after which he dropped the equipment along with his fingers. And since this is a consequence of his stupidity, it's not an insurance case; he'll even end up owing money. You have to think when you work in a laboratory. Но that has nothing to do with the test, so we can begin.
"Technical zone to test zone. You may begin."
Excellent. We both looked down from the cupola located a level above into the tunnel, where the emitter stood in a long hundred-meter tunnel. At the end of the tunnel were targets—plates made of different materials. Granite, concrete, steel, Titanium-A. Having received my permission, the woman's fingers danced across the keyboard.
"Generators normal, radiation stable, no overheating. Lenses... normal. Starting emitters. Done."
Blue beams struck from the generators to the weapon, focused inside the unit into a single laser. And from the weapon, a denser bright blue beam headed into the distance. Judging by the cloud of smoke and glowing liquid, the target began to melt.
"Phase one complete, curator. Standard lens, observing overheating. Target hit. We can move to operating power."
I nodded, confirming what was shown on the instruments.
"I see, cooling is uneven; the inner part of the lens is cooling slower. Begin, this is also part of the test."
The woman nodded, turned on the polarization of her glasses, and pressed a large red button. The weapon hummed strainingly, and then, with a hiss, a blue dot raced along the laser and struck the granite block with a bright flash.
"Hit confirmed."
I nodded. A melted hole about one and a half meters in diameter appeared in the granite cube. Everything was within expectations. So far, the test is going according to plan.
"Come on, second volley. Is the lens intact?"
The woman looked at the readings.
"Overheating of the inner surface, ten seconds to cool down."
After cooling, another shot was fired. And another. On the fourth, the weapon switched to rapid fire, and the lens began to crack and exploded. The scientist shook her head.
"It's always like this. The laser itself holds up, even if it heats up. But when a bolt is transmitted along the beam, it disrupts the structure."
And the bolt is important. It sharply increases damage to the target. Essentially, transmitting energy along a laser beam like a guide is the path to creating more stable beam weapons for atmospheric vehicles. But the lenses melt from such treatment. And ground vehicles need compact but powerful radiators. We can't install a power system like on a ship.
"Mount the second lens. Let's see what it can do."
The scientist gave the command and asked.
"Do you think it will work?"
I just spread my hands.
"In theory, yes. In practice, we haven't tested this material under such loads yet. How it will behave in such conditions, we simply don't know."
Now the woman looks at the new lens with interest. Segmented, a complex combination of lenses and cooling systems made of multidimensional metal. An elongated mechanism based on composite multidimensional matrices, which should provide much better absorption of excess energy. Albeit at the cost of a small loss in laser lethality.
"Mounting complete. We are ready."
The replacement took about an hour; during this time, the block also had time to cool down, and the workers replaced it as well. We also managed to fill out several documents for the write-off of equipment destroyed during the tests and a report on one not-so-smart loader. It's clear the scientist is nervous.
"Management will be displeased, curator. If this sample doesn't work."
I just waved it off.
"This is a very pure sample."
"Which is not guaranteed stability. You said yourself that you don't know all the properties of the material."
"That's why we're here," the Possessed reminded, "our materials scientists create new materials, and here, in the anomalous materials laboratory, you turn them into new equipment."
"Weapons," the woman corrected, "we turn them into weapons."
The Possessed snorted.
"You're mistaken. A weapon might result, or it might not. But powerful radiators will be useful in many different fields. This is already happening. The UNSC are no angels, I won't argue. But even they have to take into account the advantages of mass production. Many civilian technologies started as military. Or hit the market as surplus."
The woman sighed.
"Madam curator, I know this even without history lectures. As well as the fact that we are assembling a weapon here. A powerful weapon. We are ready, by the way."
And this test went much more briskly. The complex lens with cooling elements made of multidimensional metal successfully withstood single volleys. The Possessed grinned.
"There, that's how it works. Now let's do rapid fire," the granite block was pierced through and could no longer serve as a target, "and use a titanium plate as the target. Let's see how the armor handles it."
The woman nodded.
"Shots every five seconds. At normal temperature, I'll reduce it to four."
The weapon shifted, aiming at the new target. Shot. Shot. Shot.
"There is overheating, but it's not critical. We can continue."
"Proceed," I nodded.
Shot. Shot, shot... After two minutes of continuous fire with energy bolts, the lens began to take damage.
"Tsk, not bad, but not good either..." the scientist said thoughtfully, "we need more tests. Reduce the rate of fire, try alternating lenses, maybe we can reduce the load; the melting of the lens is a problem."
I nodded.
"Agreed. We need more tests. But we are on the right track."
Shift of attention priority.
Our squad returned from a visit to Kahje. The goal of the mission is to sink a floating city that the Covies are using as a base. The ship carrying the Drell was successfully mined, and good luck to the Citadel forces studying it. Even humans don't always succeed here. And they clearly have bonuses to understanding technology from the Forerunners that the Citadel doesn't have. And who throughout their lives have never created anything like it.
Meanwhile, we are sitting in the bridge of a Covenant ship and modeling the attack. The attack itself will be later, and without my participation. We have other tasks, I'll tell Noble Team after the meeting. The Hanar spoke:
"This one is certain that the structure is stable. Hanar floating cities are reliable and airtight. This one doubts the easy destruction of the target."
Noble One calmly waited for the Hanar to finish, already familiar with the species' peculiarity over these weeks, and replied:
"Anything can be destroyed; the main thing is to apply force correctly and use more explosives."
Tela Vasir, standing by the wall, threw in:
"So, we need to blow up the local Covenant branch? Something tells me they will be guarding it. Including underwater."
The Avatar nodded.
"Guarding it, and they've placed anti-aircraft guns all around. After we stole their ship and had some fun on Rakhana, control has become tighter. BUT! They don't know one small detail."
"And what is that, friend, hmm?" the Asari asked with a suggestive smile, playing along.
The latter is just too pushy. Since we started moving the camp to a place less known to the Covies, Tela Vasir hasn't left the human part of the squad. And while she backed off from the Spartans quickly—apparently she couldn't influence them, and the guys don't take off their armor. Which means the pheromone trail that Asari leave won't affect them.
But besides the Spartans, there is also the Avatar and the humans. The Avatar literally doesn't care, but the humans need to be watched. And the Asari needs to be reminded that she can't do everything here.
I smiled widely, on the edge of a smile and a snarl:
"Geth. When we left, the Geth left a direct connection to the Hanar systems."
Tela giggled, stepping closer.
"Devious, I like it. So, we have access to their security systems?"
I made a "roughly" gesture with my hand.
"Only to the Hanar part. But the fact is that to install new systems, the structure needs to be partially dismantled. The Covies simply didn't have the opportunity to do that, and the ventilation is controlled precisely through the Hanar network. As are some other systems where the Geth have access."
The Asari took another step closer and rolled her eyes dreamily.
"Magnificent power, warrior. Power, cunning, fury. And three beautiful tails. I like it. And also healthy cynicism and complete disregard for those who are not the target."
The Avatar grinned fully this time.
"Tela-Tela-Tela... Let's leave all that for after the operation, shall we?"
"Of course," she smiled widely and immediately became serious, "so what's the plan?"
A Drell took the floor, white and red scales; judging by the peeling and folds, he is not young.
"The defense system of our cities was developed by Drell, including against Drell. That's why the Covenant managed to catch us so easily. Now that the defense system is under control, it will be easier."
I countered:
"Not under control. But we can create... let's call them holes in the defense line. Wait, one minute."
I was distracted by new orders from the Vice Admiral. The Noble commander immediately tensed up. It looks like we'll have to act faster than we thought.
"Orders from command?"
I nodded.
"We need a team on the Salarian world of Erinle, Noble One. The magic word is 'run.' We'll leave the mission on Kahje to the locals. I think the Madam Spectre can handle it."
Tela stepped forward:
"I could help you, Night," oh, another name, "as a Citadel Spectre, I will have high access to many places where you can't just walk in. With Spectre codes, you'll go further and faster than without them."
"Then who will take the mission?" the Drell clarified.
A Turian, also from the Citadel forces, who had been listening to us attentively and silently until then, stood up from the crate he was sitting on.
"Me and my squad. If we are provided with proper support."
Noble One and I exchanged glances.
"We'll provide it. But plans need to be adjusted. Let's get to it, time doesn't wait..."
It's still a long flight to Erinle. Preferably in one piece.
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