章 8: Non-standard.
Helgan, the capital of which is the city of Pyrrhus, today decided to indulge its inhabitants with a relatively tranquil atmosphere, and the metropolis nestled in the Bowl failed to assail its citizens with the cacophony of wind gusts whistling through the crevices between the colossal structures.
Aircraft and motor vehicles traversed the urban landscape with a measured rumble of wheels and a whisper of tires, while the occasional fortunate proprietors of a private automobile could savor the journey without the strain of squinting to gauge the distance to the vehicle ahead. A day devoid of tempestuous conditions, with the sun's rays piercing through the metallic and concrete skeletons of the skyscrapers, presented a peculiar experience for the majority of Helgasts.
The very core of the Empire lay in the Black Square, but the seat of power in the Helgast State was the Palace, from which decrees and directives were dispatched along information channels. A sombre edifice rose in the place of the elegant city of Vekta, but few mourned this transformation, for it served as a reminder of the era before the establishment of the Empire, and instead, many clenched their jaws in anger.
Within the Palace were housed the ministries responsible for various domains, as well as the headquarters of the Imperial Fleet. In the vicinity, the Radek Academy served as the base for the Army, with an unspoken "cold war" ongoing between the two branches for an extended period. To fully grasp the extent of this rivalry, one must consider the consistently strained relations between Colonel Radek and the naval officers, particularly Admiral Orloc. Additionally, it is worth noting the numerous instances where the Fleet headquarters inadvertently received ceremonial uniforms meant for infantry, rather than their customary dark blue attire adorned with velvet trim and gold accents.
Nonetheless, the state was not strongly unified by the military might — there were rather peaceful structures adjacent to the palace compound: the edifice of the Imperial Bank, the Ministry of Resources, the Board of Planning, and the Ministry of Supply…
***
The first thing a helgast perceives at birth is the sound of the mother's heartbeat, or perhaps the rumble of passing vehicles.
In my mind, a haunting melody was playing, causing me great irritation and a desire to shatter the singer's jaw, but the singer was far removed from the palace.
The logistics director of the northwestern sector stretched her neck, cracking it, straightened a stray lock of dark hair, and, with a distant gaze, returned to work. "For once, the weather is pleasant."
I was about to embark on a tedious task: endless charts and tables merged into a never-ending stream of data before my eyes.
Five wagons containing spare parts for drilling equipment and water regeneration systems had been dispatched to the city of Konstantin, while a shipment of mushroom extract amounting to ten wagons had returned. Five tanks of Petrusite solution had been sent from Konstantin to the newly established mining settlement F-813 on another line.
— How much is it, exactly? — the girl gasped, taken aback by such blatant breaches of protocol. There were just over a thousand inhabitants in the settlement. And while they received their "domestic" electricity through conventional power lines, underground utility lines, mining operations generated their energy in a different manner.
Catalytic generators were regularly dispatched to the settlement, providing energy for the mechanisms. The monthly consumption was exceeded by a factor of three, leading one to believe that not only was the universe and stupidity boundless, but so was arrogance. It was inconceivable that a generator could require such an amount of fuel!
Cluster 813 was one of the most recent additions to the colony, located in a remote area that was only connected to civilization by land transportation. Consequently, during its construction, utmost attention was devoted to protecting the buildings from natural elements, with specially fortified structures and robust underground facilities.
There was supposed to be an underground roadway, but it had not yet been initiated. The girl contemplatively clicked her fingers. It was not an appropriate gesture for someone of her stature, but it was a habit she had acquired from her military training.
Petrusite, petrusite, petrusite. The curse and blessing of Helgan, the reason why the ISA had not eradicated the rebellious settlers. Yesterday's rebels, under the threat of starvation, had extracted valuable resources for the colonial government, while other colonies watched in horror as the self-proclaimed Vectans succumbed to cancerous tumors due to inadequate medical care.
The young woman's mind was diverted from historical recollections, and she began to type a query on the information terminal console with a frown, requesting verification of the administrator for the F-813 cluster. The supervisor of the security division inquired about her specific interest: substantial payments for what appeared to be a minor matter...
A response arrived shortly after lunch, as she was finishing her afternoon tea. While it is debatable whether the tea tree cultivated on Helgan truly qualifies as "tea," as far as this individual was aware, true tea is brewed from leaves, not wood.
Greetings, my dear!
You have encountered a highly dangerous, cunning, malevolent, and resourceful agent of the SIB. I am well aware of the F-813 cluster, and even your esteemed father is cognizant of it.
We have a minor construction project underway here, which is considerably larger than what is indicated in the documents. Indeed, the entire complex is, in fact, a military installation. So, if you notice any discrepancies from the norm, please let me know so that I may take appropriate action against my agents in the planning department…
Hera Skolar Vizari, head of logistics for the northwestern sector, restrained herself from spitting on the floor, as befitting a princess. A thought suddenly occurred to her:
"And the military is currently engaged in military exercises… Shooting…"
***
Earth. The seat of the Alliance. The conference chamber.
Hackett rubbed his nose wearily, casting a glance at the coffee maker standing to one side, but with a force of will he suppressed the impulse to brew himself another cup. The admiral's blood already contained an abundance of caffeine.
"Steven, we must make a decision," Kahoku said, surrounded by holographic data screens displaying images of the empire's military assets. "The media will have a field day soon."
The arrival of a trio of vessels in the very heart of Alliance territory had added gray hairs to everyone's head. Mikhailovich, stationed on Earth with the Fifth Fleet, had not been able to ignore such a grave threat to humanity and now pressed Hackett, urging him to adopt a decisive stance.
Admiral Mikhailovich, in a fit of anger, brought his heavy fist down on the table, exclaiming, "Those red eyes did it on purpose!"
Recently, we had the misfortune of engaging in diplomatic negotiations with them. We delivered a fighter aircraft from the Citadel to the Normandy squad, and Mikhailovich spat out the name of the ship as if it were a curse.
Now, what do we get in return? Kindness? No, they treat us like their inferior! They board our newest vessel, and we are left feeling threatened!
"Boris," Kahoku interrupted, breaking away from the stream of data, "if you were in my position, you would not hesitate to confront these Turians with a diplomatic visit! There is no need to deny it!"
Mikhailovich retorted, "I have no intention of excusing my actions! Yes, I would like to teach those 'tourists' a lesson! But I have a good reason for it!" They, too, do not hesitate to play tricks on us in memory of the war.
There is a show of strength for the sake of showing strength! Economists have estimated that land exchanges have declined by five percent, across the board on the planet!
"Boris!" Hackett interrupted Mikhailovich, "You're not an economist..."
"But I am a military man," Mikhailovich retorted, "and I'm sure your inbox is full of emails, phone calls, and other attempts to figure out 'what the heck is going on?' and 'what's happening with the negotiations?' And in some instances, something along the lines of 'why did we finance this?'."
Kahoku agreed with him. "Stephen, you know how politicians are about this: if you make a minor mistake, they get hysterical. 'You're a soldier, why were you trained, why do we need to fund you so much, we put our voters' safety in your hands...'
"Let us set aside our emotions," said a participant in the "Admiral's Council" who had remained silent until now. "I believe we have almost forgotten about ourselves in our desire to express our feelings. Let us also admit that we have greatly overestimated our capabilities and underestimated the strength of the Empire."
Hannah Shepard tapped on the holographic keyboard, her fingers dancing across the virtual keys. Above the conference table, a hologram of Earth hovered, with three dots representing the ships of the Imperial fleet. After arriving, the ships had descended from orbit, descending to an altitude of one kilometer, causing further alarm among the engineers and ship builders of the Alliance. They had then landed their troops at an Alliance military base near London, targeting the Alliance control systems.
Following this, two monsters resembling crossbreeds between centipedes and bagels, each measuring two kilometers in length, had risen into a higher orbit, now providing stable updates to the dispatch services regarding their position, "for the sake of traffic safety."
The «limbo» had been in place for several days now: the Helghan soldiers were studying the terrain and training in overcoming obstacles, but their activities were confined to the designated area.
Colonel Radek, head of the delegation, had been «engaged in soldier placement», and refused to leave the base. Several times he was seen personally bypassing security checkpoints, so the network was filled with photos of the Colonel taken outside the base, looking menacing and severe.
One particularly popular photo showed the Colonel turning over his shoulder to look at the photographer, with the helmet visor glowing scarlet in the setting sun. Hackett couldn't quite put his finger on it, but there was something about the image that made him uneasy.
The Helgasts did not venture into the city. They performed their duties with utmost meticulousness, having already put down a particularly zealous reporter — mercifully, not fatally. Lilia Fritz, a tenacious journalist, suffered a severe electric shock to her posterior region and endured several hours of agony in a makeshift isolation cell, converted by the Helgasts into a temporary holding area.
And now, the media were heaping scorn upon the accursed helgasts. To be fair, it must be noted that the helgast certainly went too far, and there was no need for the use of electric shock rounds — though many Alliance soldiers would have gladly paid a month's wages for the chance to treat members of the media with similar candour.
The scribblers now vied to depict the appearance of helgasts in their writing: gas masks with tinted lenses, according to them, concealed not human beings, but entirely alien lifeforms.
"They never showed their faces! Why, oh why did they not remove those masks that resembled skulls with crimson eyes? Did you wish to oppress me even further? Well, you failed!" — indeed, journalist Fritz took pleasure in receiving attention.
While perusing her article «Alone with the Empire», Hackett found herself torn between laughter and tears, captivated by the vivid imagery of «eyes burning with flame», «fluttering charcoal-grey overcoats reminiscent of shrouds», and the «glare of light reflecting off fixed bayonets».
The Helgasts, silent and aloof, ignored the attempts of their fellow military personnel at the base to engage in conversation, feigning ignorance of the English language. Yet, according to records of negotiations, the Helgans employed this language as frequently as their native tongue.
It was clear that the Helgasts were anticipating something. Mikhailovich speculated that «the red-eyed pirates hope that we shall come crawling to them on bended knee, begging for their technology». Hackett's phrasing was more diplomatic, but the sentiment was the same.
Mikhailovich sought an ally in his argument, turning to Hannah for support.
— In what manner? That the "imperial" factions have behaved like mindless adolescents, determined to demonstrate their prowess? The woman's countenance twisted in a grimace. — Indeed, I concur. We can expect to be inundated with urgent requests from the Citadel to allow research expeditions into the Skillian Limitation, which in reality are nothing more than spies from the races of the Citadel.
It is a certainty. And they will exert pressure not solely through diplomatic channels; they will undoubtedly offer incentives to our officials in the form of lucrative contracts with the UAC Corporation and other industrial giants.
This is all due to the Helgasts' inability to tolerate the situation, leading them to stage a display and satisfy their ego. However, I fail to comprehend your suggestion.
"The Helgasts must pay for this!" we are addressing them now, initiating negotiations! During these negotiations, we offer them a place in the Alliance, as their emperor desired — on favourable terms — and in return, we demand that their army and navy be transferred to the Alliance's command, and …
"Ha ha ha!" Kahoku, usually so composed, burst out laughing. The admiral's unusual reaction caused Mikhailovich to feel embarrassed and, to some extent, calmed down.
"Did I say something amusing?"
"Well, how can I put it …"
"Gentlemen, let's get along!" Hackett cursed, cursing the soul of his coffee-loving counterpart, and flipped a switch on the coffee maker. "The Helgasts sit on their base, not showing their faces. They're waiting for the negotiators – we'll have a negotiator too. They want us to make the first move – the crown won't fall off our head!"
The question remains: who will be sent? The Alliance Council has entrusted the negotiation task to the military, as they already have established contact with them, and I convinced them to abstain from interfering. The prospect of establishing another base in the Skillian limit, albeit at a significantly lower cost, proved extremely appealing to them.
Anderson is still unavailable, and it would be inappropriate to divert his attention from the Normandy project... Kahoku tapped his fingers against the keyboard in a rhythmic pattern.
"Normandy," Mikhailovich couldn't help but comment, dismissively referring to the construction of the frigate. However, upon catching Hannah Shepard's significant, narrowed gaze, his demeanor changed, and he seemed to wither.
We could have dispatched someone from the high command, but the security service stood firm, unwilling to risk their own safety. Rear Admiral Jason is livid, cursing them with his final words, but there's nothing he can do about it.
"What?" Shepard responded, her gaze fixed on Mikhailovich with an unwavering intensity. Mikhailovich, realizing his error, began to fidget uncomfortably in his seat.
Stephen let out a sad sigh. Unlike her childlike naivety and piercing candor, Hannah Shepard possessed the ability to switch into a mode of venomous wit that elicited howls of both admiration and fear from friends and foes alike.
"He should not have mentioned Normandy in her presence…"
The tale of how she reduced a Batarian diplomat to tears during negotiations had been passed from mouth to mouth, and Hackett, present at the encounter, recalled the event for a week afterward with four wide-eyed stares.
"If you wish to accomplish something, do so yourself!"
Hannah, "How about a brief stroll to the Red Room?"
***
"FROM: James Port
TO: Kimberly Port
Greetings, my dear!
I have been quite busy here, which is why I have not written for such a long time. With these new arrivals… I have seen the news – half of it is ridiculous nonsense.
Firstly, I noticed some of the newcomers without masks once – they looked like people, albeit very pale with a greyish tint. And it also appeared to me that they had black streaks on their faces, as if their veins were swollen – I cannot be sure, I did not see clearly.
Secondly, they don't seem to be causing any trouble – on the contrary, they march in formation and remind me of turians – if you were to equip turiks with heavy armor.
Yesterday, I saw Admiral Hackett and Admiral Shepard driving to the base – I was a little apprehensive…
Overall, everything is calm and peaceful. They do not interact with us, but our outpost is adjacent to one of theirs. So we restrict ourselves to friendly nods when we meet – nothing more. I believe I have already learned to differentiate between them based on the condition of their gas masks!
I anticipate that, with the high command of the Alliance in attendance, a resolution will soon be reached, and I shall finally be granted a legal holiday!
It is not agreeable to have to postpone it for the third time.
Until then, adieu!
P.S.: By the by, when you have a moment, take a glance at their armaments. The photographs have already been posted online. It appears peculiar, but it is fascinating! However, I have not yet seen your preferred sniper rifles...
***
"Colonel? There are two soldiers of the Alliance requesting an audience with you!"
Radek acknowledged the messenger with a nod: "Is the mess hall available, if I am not mistaken? Escort them there!"
"It is!"
Radek cast a skeptical glance at the data tablet, which contained instructions personally issued by the Emperor. "...after arriving for a period of three to five days, contact should be limited to domestic and household matters. Ideally, avoid contact altogether. They must be the ones to initiate communication, preferably through a face-to-face meeting. Remember, we need them more than they need us..."
***
The citadel.
The Embassy of the Helgan Empire.
Vitaly Kurtz cast his gaze upon the tablet containing the trade proposal that lay before him. His eyes then shifted to the Asari who had placed it there. He returned his attention to the document.
"I... perhaps I misheard you," he began, or perhaps you have misunderstood something?"
The Asari responded with a practiced smile. "No, you heard me correctly. The company I represent has been in business for two centuries, and such an opportunity comes along infrequently. You understand, the competition, and the variety of races in this galaxy are far from infinite, I mean, quite advanced races!"
Kurtz, mentally congratulating himself, interjected, "You know, this falls somewhat outside my area of expertise. Yes, area of expertise."
Throughout the conversation, the diplomat did not lower his gaze to the décolletage of his interlocutor, who was rather voluptuous. She seemed somewhat disconcerted by this. Or perhaps not.
The diplomat often found himself at a loss when conversing with Azari, unsure whether he was dealing with an adult or a «young» individual (who might well surpass him in years). Accordingly, his communication style had to be ad-libbed.
«However, I will convey your proposal directly to Stahl Corporation and Visari. Their sales teams will deliberate and inform you; please provide your contact details.»
«Thank you!» said Azari with a smile, sending the documents to the ambassador's terminal and departing…
«Toy ships, soldiers' figurines, and equipment models? Are you serious?»
Kurtz mused. No, he had toyed with similar items as a child, like most boys. But a multi-billion-dollar contract for such a trivial item?
— On the contrary, there is an entire galaxy of potential customers here. Kurtz approached this matter from a different perspective. — Indeed, to demonstrate that the empire is not reliant solely on its fleet. Let all races learn the lesson that it is prudent not to antagonize Helgan from an early age!
The data packet embarked on a protracted journey through the relay stations…
***
The board of the Normandy under construction
"Um… nice?"
Shepard shook her head in disbelief. "You know, for someone who has never travelled between the stars before, your reaction to the ship is quite calm."
Rynych raised his hands in a gesture of conciliation. "I'm sorry, but it's just that it's quite small in comparison to our ships."
"Well, yes – light, agile, fast…"
"And is reliability and durability among its strengths?" Shepard was amused at this statement.
Overall, it was worth noting that despite his shyness, Rynych was a competent soldier. However, precisely as a "soldier" – and to be part of the landing party – courage and willingness to take risks were essential.
It was peculiar that a more prepared individual had not been dispatched to them — but as Shepard understood, the primary focus of the Imperial Army was on safeguarding their planet and ground forces. Paratroopers were merely an auxiliary component of the fleet, and the most skilled among them were currently subduing persistent journalists in London with tasers.
Upon learning of this, Rynych merely shrugged his shoulders. "Let her be grateful she escaped with a taser," he remarked. "The individuals from the landing party are typically intriguing individuals with a vivid imagination..."
"Where did you obtain this information?"
Rynych hesitated for a moment. They were now in the future BIC, where the work had concluded, but the diagnostic equipment remained in place, and cables lay like snakes in a den.
"Rynych, you pique my curiosity!" The girl's emerald eyes sparkled with anticipation for a captivating tale. "Well?"
I, in my fourteenth year, was part of a group of five young boys who, on a whim, ventured into the domain of an amphibious unit that was just being established. We sought to witness the new equipment in action.
Jane, our friend, shared our enthusiasm, having herself previously explored fighter dock facilities. However, this time, the technicians proved more adept at catching the mischievous girl, managing to apprehend her only on the third attempt. Her mother, in response, imposed strict surveillance for an entire month, ensuring her safety.
Helgast, with a thoughtful expression on his face, remarked: "It was a foolish decision. The paratroopers likely anticipated such an occurrence and laid traps. Of course, these traps are relatively harmless, akin to a makeshift tripwire that uses spider venom instead of explosives."
"Those spiders?" I inquired.
"Yes, those very spiders," he replied. "I've heard tales of a creature known as a skunk, whose scent is quite pungent. And then there are the dogs..."
Hellgast began to scrutinize the Galaxy map that had been activated in test mode, seeking for anything out of the ordinary.
"Rynych," Shepard said, "stay focused!"
"Yes, dogs," Rynych replied. "Hellgan dogs."
Shepard raised her eyebrows. "Oh, my god! Are they poisonous, do they spit electricity, and have teeth like knives?"
Rynych shook his head. "No, but they are fast, and they have an exceptional sense of smell. They also have programmable control units in their brains for better controllability."
"Muzzled, of course," Shepard added. "They're not animals!"
She frowned at the mention of control units. The Alliance used them, and sometimes pet owners used them too, but Shepard believed that real owners should communicate with their pets personally.
"Well, there you go," the second lieutenant said with a grimace. "I come home smelling of dirt and mud, and I have to cover my tracks."
My attire required laundering — fortunately, the odour, albeit unsettling, was effectively removed by standard cleaning agents. I camouflaged the scratches on my countenance to ensure they were not discernible.
My parents were absent from home. In the evening, I received a mild rebuke for having been absent — I had managed to evade their notice...
Rynych sighed, "Only this morning we were awoken by the doorbell, and Shepard froze in anticipation of a dramatic conclusion. The result was a veritable tableau: a paratrooper stood outside the door, demanding in a level, weary voice for the beacon badge."
"What?!?"
"Well, the beacons were on the dogs, and they are usually firmly attached, but apparently the one that followed me had some sort of malfunction, and its beacon ended up in my coat pocket. As a result, they initially thought that a combat dog was wandering around the city, which was bound to lead to trouble sooner or later. And due to urban conditions, they could not track the beacon for sure."
The dog was later found within the same base's territory. Helgast grimaced, "Oh, I was in trouble then..."
Jane attempted to smooth over the uncomfortable memories, "Don't worry, Lieutenant, sometimes I remember..." but they did not allow her to finish.
The speakerphone system activated, emitting a hoarse and smoky voice, which began broadcasting:
— A man and a woman, alone on a spaceship, sharing stories about how their butts were kicked in the past... I have some porn here that starts the same way!
— …?! — Shepard's elongated face, rapidly turning crimson, pleased Rynych, but she didn't want to embarrass her subordinate too much.
— Joker! How long have you been eavesdropping here?
— I've been here since morning. Adjusting my seat — you know, it's my main working tool.
— And I thought a pilot's main working tool was the steering wheel?
— If a pilot is as skilled as me, all they need to control is a comfortable chair. Everything else is secondary. — The mysterious interlocutor replied.
"Uh... Captain, who's this?"
— Come on, Jane grinned. — Let me introduce you to our pilot.
***
Upon entering the cockpit, Rynych was greeted by the discordant sounds of some sort of military march emanating from the speakerphone, which, rather than producing a melodic composition, created a cacophonous blend of percussion and wind instruments, rendering the experience somewhat disconcerting.
Shepard introduced Rynych to Helgast, the pilot, who remained seated with his back to them.
"Meet Junior Lieutenant Rynych, known as the Snake," Shepard said, addressing Helgast.
In response, a voice, deliberately nasal and hoarse, echoed through the cabin. "Hello, loyal Stormtrooper of the Empire."
Slowly, the chair turned, revealing a dark figure seated within, their hooded presence pointedly crossing their fingers beneath their chin.
"Are you prepared to serve your emperor faithfully, and to embrace the dark side of the Force?"
Rynych's mind raced, recalling instances from his career where he had encountered cases of detained individuals with mental health issues. But Shepard remained calm, suggesting that all was well.
The figure emitted a sigh and swept back the hood of the black civilian jacket, revealing a face. Feminine and slightly angular, it was beautiful in its very angularity and imperfections. The scar that ran along the nose from one cheek to the other, as if the nose and surrounding bones had been broken several times, did not detract from its charm.
However, a sarcastic smile that seemed to be permanently affixed to the girl's lips caused Shepard to tense up internally — he had seen this expression on his superior's face before.
"Captain, we have a broken Imperial Stormtrooper for you!"
"But only from the original trilogy — at least from the prequels — but definitely not from the seventh episode onwards! Everything gets really bad there…"
"Allow me to introduce you to Rynych, Jennifer 'Joker' Moreau — our pilot."
Shepard's smile conveyed the anticipation of fun in his infinitely blue eyes.
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