glowing eyes

At twenty-one hours and thirty minutes, the silence of the frigate’s compartments was broken by the simultaneous sounding of emergency and combat alarm sirens. This time, the ship’s virtual intelligence used its capabilities almost to the maximum: people were knocked off their feet. The complexity of the introductory courses was a continuous stream. The ship was completely immersed in darkness, dissected only by the dim rays of the helmet lights of the spacesuits and the narrow beams of lasers. Fires reigned in five compartments at the same time, and multiple gas and chemical attacks were added to them. Only at eleven o’clock did VI turn off the virtualization complex and turn on the usual lighting in all compartments. “It’s not bad, but it’s not enough,” Captain Anderson said after reviewing the text of the training analysis provided by VI. The two senior officers retreated back to the commander’s cabin. “Sorry. We can’t afford more than that. An hour later, we take up position at the repeater. I suggest giving the crew an opportunity to have dinner and prepare for combat work.” “Yes, Sir.” Shepard rattled off dozens of orders over the broadcast. “We’ll have to have a discussion over dinner.” “We’ll arrange it. It’s necessary,” Captain Anderson confirmed. “Come on.” The discussion took place and took a little over fifteen minutes. But what minutes they were! The officers spoke little, concisely, clearly, perfectly aware of how much important was hidden behind this not too familiar laconicism. And if they felt it, then they understood: the jokes and words were over. Real, combat work begins. After dismissing the officers, Shepard and Anderson lingered at the table for a few minutes. The watchman put dishes and appliances in the washing machine, disinfected tables and chairs with a portable medical radiator. Unhurried heavy footsteps were heard. A Spectr Turian stepped onto the deck. He was heading straight for the table where the senior officers of the ship were sitting. Stopping at the table, he looked with displeasure at first at Anderson, but then concentrated his gaze on Shepard. “I don’t advise you to look at me like that, Naylus,” Shepard said, quickly regaining his usual state of tautness“Strings”. “Why am I not allowed to contact the Council?” Kraik asked. “What are you going to report to him about?” Shepard looked up at the Turian directly, and the Spectre clearly didn’t like that look. “You are on a military reconnaissance ship that is not on a training cruise. There is a command here.” “I am the Spectr,” the Turian said. “We’re aware of that,” the XO replied. “I repeat once again: you are not an officer of the ship, so that we take into account your wishes to the maximum extent.”Shepard stared hard at the Turian. “You’re a passenger. Guest. A civilian,” the XO muttered. Andersondid not interfere in the conversation, but carefully observed what was happening, remaining calm and somewhat detached. “I am a member of the Special Corps,” the Turian said these words with a clear threat. “I repeat once again: we are aware.” Shepard did not change the tone and volume of his voice. “And we know perfectly well what your organization was involved in.” The XO, pressing a few keys on his omny-tool, turned on the wall screen closest to the table, on which the summary lines on the most problematic operations of the Special Corps over the past few decades appeared. “Are you trying to play the saint, Naylus? Are you trying to lead and command us humans, earthlings? Are you trying to make children out of us?” “I’m not going to answer these questions, human,” the Turian was trying to remain calm so far, but Shepard could see and clearly feel the tension in the Corps operative’s nerves. “We don’t need your answers, Naylus Kraik. We know that your mentor, Spectr Saren Arterius, repeatedly oversteps the law, using its imperfections for his own personal interests.” Shepard launched a new sequence of texts and images onto the screens from the omny-tool. One screen displayed information in Turian, the other in English. Captain Anderson read the English version with interest. A lot of things became clear to the frigate commander. “You Turians are afraid,” Shepard continued, not changing his position. “You are afraid that your strength will not be enough. Don’t tell me, Kraik, that the combination of old galoshes that we humans met at the output repeater is your Fleet, or at least part of it.” The Turian twitched nervously at the XO’s words. “Don’t,” Shepard repeated. “We are well aware of your thirty major Fleets, Naylus. And we also know about the fifteen reserve ones,” he clarified. “I remember you tried to move one such Fleet to our star system borders. Only a direct order from the Citadel Council stopped him. But you don’t know, or maybe you just don’t understand, for a number of reasons, Nilus. My colleague and commander won’t let me lie.” Shepard didn’t exchange a glance with Anderson. “There is not a year in the history of mankind when fighting between people was not conducted on our home planet. We have been at war for almost our entire human history. They fought among themselves. We fought to the limit of our capabilities, using literally everything to win: all technology, all science, all human capabilities. We fought, losing millions of people. Decimating the human gene pool is better than any radiation or epidemic.” The Turian twitched once more. Shepard noted this immediately. “Better and more effective,” he repeated. “Yes, we humans don’t have that many ships. But on the other hand, we are very good at fighting, using human capabilities and abilities.Your Turian Hierarchy pushed through the Farixen Agreements behind the scenes because you Turians understood: We are able to “close” our Solar system with thousands of dreadnoughts. Yes, we will build them, forcing all mankind to starve. Yes, it will be difficult for us to keep up the pace in other areas. Yes, it will be a great strain for a lot of people. But we humans will do it, Naylus. And you Turians have felt it. The main thing is that we will have five crews for all these ships. For every ship of any class. Although for us, the army is not the foundation of society, not the foundation of the state, not the foundation of the management system. You Turians have felt it all too well.” Shepard displayed tables of contract restrictions on the screens. “Have you seen it?” The XO asked. We saw it. I know, I see, I feel that I have been seen more than once, Naylus. Who has the most ships? At you. Who has the most dreadnoughts? At you. Who has the most cruisers? At you. You Turians, for whom the army and navy are everything. And for us, earthlings, everything is a human society. And do you think that we will not be able to resist in such “contractual” conditions?” The corners of Shepard’s lips curled into a mocking smile. Next to me is my commanding officer, Frigate Captain David Anderson. Who do you think pushed through his assignment to this frigate? Well!” “The Turian... hierarchy...” Naylus said forcefully, who was unable to resist Shepard’s pressure at that moment. “May I tell you the reason for the appointment of Captain David Anderson to this post? Or will you do it?” – Shepard continued to “press” the Special Corps operative. “We expected that Anderson’s service on this ship... would be short-lived.…” Naylus managed to say. Captain Anderson clenched the fingers of both hands into fists, but did not look up at the Turian standing not far from the table. Shepard kept his eyes on Naylus, clearly seeing how much trouble it cost him to say even this, which related to the not-so-minor mysteries of the Turian Hierarchy. “Excellent, Naylus,” the XO said. “Your tribesmen give Captain Anderson a “half-frigate” and expect him to complete his earthly journey soon. For various reasons that seem to have a lot in common with natural ones. And what kind of frigate did you give us? More precisely, they slipped it to Captain Anderson? Intelligence, right? The Turian nodded nervously. “Do you know what an interesting attitude there is among so many people, Naylus?” Shepard was now openly mocking the operative. You don’t know, Naylus. You don’t know, because if you did, you would have bypassed this frigate as soon as Captain Anderson appeared on board.We have an interesting country on Earth with a very complex and ambiguous history. It is still called Russia. So there is such an expression, such, if I may say so, an attitude.” The XO paused briefly for a few seconds and said, as if every spoken word was a blow from a heavy hammer. “Don’t believe it. Don’t be afraid. Don’t ask.” Shepard enjoyed watching the Spectrum’s body shake violently with every word he said. ”And we, the Europeans, know why in Russia these are not just words. We Europeans also have similar expressions. But they are not so clear and definite. Both in sound and meaning,” the XO paused once more. “So that’s it, Naylus. We earthlings don’t believe you, the aliens. We have a very powerful xenophobia against which you have no vaccine. We are not afraid of you aliens. If we were not afraid to fight among ourselves for all the thousands of years of earth’s human history, being trapped on a single planet in a relatively small star system, then we are not afraid to fight any enemy who came to the Solar System from outside. We have no fear. We have a desire to win. In many armies of our planet, warriors of any rank have a tradition: to take the enemy to the grave with them. And we’re not asking you aliens for anything. It was you Turians who asked us to moderate our belligerence. It was you Turians who “pushed” the Farixen restrictions through the Citadel Council. It was you Turians who found yourself in front of our intelligence fleet, being unprepared for Contact. It was you Turians who tried to impose under-frigates, under-battleships, and under-dreadnoughts on us, realizing that very soon we humans will be able to dot the Hierarchy with our ships, against which you, the main military force of the Citadel Council, will not have an adequate response. And you, Naylus Kraik, came here to shine your crust? The crust of the Spectr? The crust of a militant operative of the Citadel Council? The crust of a chain mutt? Yes, Naylus, I did not misspoke and I will not take back my words. Chained. The mutts. Advice. The Citadels.” Shepard “spat out” through his teeth, watching the growing fear and impotence in the Turian’s eyes. “Do you think that if you, your Turian Hierarchy, gave us this ship, then you can play the role of master here?” Shepard’s gaze bored into the Turian’s eyes and he recoiled. “What an honor for us plebeians! What an honor! The master deigned to stay with the slaves on the under-frigate! A terrible risk for a higher being! Is that familiar, Naylus?! Familiar, I see! Over the decades, you have become accustomed to the fact that before the Spectr, all intelligent organics of any race “pull” into line and all serve them simply by the fact that they have a specific intelligent identifier of the Council Spectr. But we humans have a different tradition. The other one is the Spectr of Naylus Krajc.” Shepard switched back to a hammer-like style of speech. “Any authority, any reverence, any worship should be fol-low-ed. Practical actions. A practical risk. Practical stress. Captain Anderson is a professional. And this title, this level, is not in our earthly qualification reference books. This is something that we humans feel more deeply than with our skin. Deeper than the eyes, deeper than the mind. Did you want to humiliate him, trample on him, drive him into the mud, “pushing through” Anderson’s appointment to the post of commander of this reconnaissance frigate? It didn’t work out, Naylus. It didn’t work out. For our professionals, working on the most problematic ships is the norm. Working with the most problematic crews is the norm. Working in the most dangerous areas is the norm. We humans, for the most part, don’t flaunt our titles and positions. We’re just wor-ki-ng. Over the years, the commander of the Normandy has earned not only authority, but also the sincere respect of hundreds, thousands of people. Yes, holding different positions. But they are clearly aware that he, David Anderson, is a professional. Note that he, the commander of the frigate imposed on him by you Turians, did not in any way show his negative attitude towards you, the representative of the Special Corps. Although he has every conceivable reason for this. And since we’re all aware of the situation here, And since we’re all aware of the situation here, Naylus, I think you should immediately and deeply understand that you’re a passenger here, a civilian. Not an all-powerful sultan, shah, maharaja or emperor.” Shepard paused briefly, enjoying the sight of Kraik weakening. “We, the people, have our own powerful legislative framework, which you, as an operative of the Special Corps, are aware of, but thoughtlessly assume that a wave of the “crust” of the Spectr ID leaves everything behind. No, Naylus. Not all. We humans have been seeking recognition from the Council for a decade now. And you Turians, the Turian Hierarchy, represented by your Councilors,”Shepard tapped a few sensors on his omny-tool and displayed data on the wall screens about the Councilors from the Turian Hierarchy, “you are desperately trying to resist our desire, our aspiration, our right. The right to take its due place among the other races of the Milky Way. You are afraid, Turian Naylus. You’re afraid of people. You’re afraid of us.” “In my functions...” Kraik began, but Shepard did not let him finish. “Oh, yes, it’s your job to keep track of where your investments have gone. The investments of the Turian Hierarchy have become a noose around the neck of humanity, Naylus.” The commander of the landing crew and the senior assistant commander of the frigate spat out, as if hammering eight-inch nails into the Turian’s body. “We, the people, spent two weeks on a protocol “presentation” addressed to you personally, and in your person to the Citadel Council. And you were satisfied.” Shepard brought up the texts of the reports Naylus had sent. “As you can see, even on an understaffed frigate, we humans have enough specialists who are able to crack the Spectrum cipher efficiently and, most importantly, quickly. Your functions, Naylus, according to secret instructions, include what in our human language is called betrayal, backstabbing and sabotage.” New data flooded the plates of the turned-on screens. New screens flashed up, revealing new texts and tables with graphs. Anderson, glaring at them, frankly did not understand where Shepard could get such information from, but he was in no hurry to ask yet, watching as the two-meter-tall Turian was crumpling in front of a table where two Earth officers were sitting. He hesitates and begins to realize that his lordly position has come to an end. “You still don’t understand who you Turians and the Citadel Council are up against, Naylus. They didn’t understand,” Shepard said. – Do you know what a “catalyst” is? “A substance capable of turning a chemical reaction in a certain direction and contributing to the achievement of certain, pre–calculated results,” Naylus rasped. “Limited, but true. So that’s it, Naylus. You have encountered humanity as a catalyst for processes that are beyond your control, guidance, and understanding. We humans will not play by your rules, Naylus, after the humiliation you Turians have inflicted on us. We won’t. Don’t get your hopes up. And we’ll start with the fact that on our military and civilian ships, the status of Alien Spectr’s will be reduced to the status of a civilian with no authority other than basic physiology.Since, according to my data, there are not so many Spectr in the vastness of the Solar System now, we have already calculated them all and taken them under observation. And you, Naylus Kraik, we have deprived you of the main thing – communication.” “I have…” “Oh, yes, there is an order from the Citadel Council.” Shepard, without moving from his place, looked up at Naylus with a different look. Totally different. “An order to take away from us humans, found on a planet belonging to us, humanity, a Prothean lighthouse.” Shepard was delighted to see how much the arrogant Turian twitched. “To take it away, because someone there, on the Citadel, or maybe somewhere further away and higher, decided that we humans were not old enough to have such information repositories on our territory. Because you, the Turian Hierarchy, as well as the other members of the Citadel Council, are terrified that you won’t be able to control how we use this information.” The XO hesitated. “Yes, Naylus. It took us, the Earthlings, a long time to “break through” to you, the Old Races, to activate the repeater. We humans have a saying: “Even an unloaded gun can go off.” At the most inopportune moment. To put it simply: a closed repeater can be opened. And you weren’t ready to activate it. Totally unprepared, Naylus Kraik. Should I tell you the names of those who decided that humans were not worthy of owning the rarest Prothean artifact?” Shepard placed the fingers of his right hand on the keyboard sensors of his omny-tool. We have more than just names. We have direct and irrefutable evidence. Well!” “Not. We must,” the Turian managed. “But it started out so well,” Shepard said mockingly. “The master-Spectr-Turian goes to the naval-army terran serfs to demand a report on the work done and information about the immediate and not so immediate plans. And him more than sure, no, him even convinced that the slaves will give him this information. Why, he, Naylus Kraik, is a Spectre, a celestial. An unsupervised being. I’ll beat up all the stupid people in one fell swoop. Mind you, Mind you, Naylus, I’m not getting personal yet. My commander already guesses that I have a lot of interesting things there. What I can say about you personally, Naylus Kraik.” Shepard stiffened, braced himself. “So, are we going to continue playing the celestial?Or will you now quickly and silently return to your cabin and never again try to exceed the status of a disenfranchised civilian on a warship?” “The cabin,” Kraik said after a few seconds. “You can go now, Naylus.” Shepard lowered his gaze, felt the Turian slowly and obviously reluctantly turn his back to the Earth officers sitting at the table. “Remember that any attempt to harm us humans will be punished with all severity.” After waiting for the Turian to leave the deck, Shepard relaxed.: “I’m sorry, Commander. But there was a direct need to drive this subject into a safe framework,” Shepard said without looking at Anderson. “We have less than a quarter of an hour left before combat activation. To have this slug behind us means putting everything important, valuable and necessary for us humans at unjustified risk,” he typed in a code on the keyboard of his omny-tool. “His cabin has already been cut off from any communication and information lines. There is a bathroom there, if he pretends to be an army soldier, let him endure the hardships of military service.If necessary, I’ll put him into a coma with an energy pulse.”