approximation
The emcee, Azari, bestowed a warm smile upon the audience as he chatted casually:
— Greetings, dear listeners! The Voice of the Citadel welcomes you! Here is the morning's most important news!
Our broadcast continues from the Citadel, where there is an unscheduled session of the Citadel Council in progress, attended by ambassadors from the Alliance and the envoy of the Helgan Empire.
Helgan, a planet that has emerged prominently in our galaxy, has garnered significant attention on multiple occasions. One of the key topics under discussion is undoubtedly the technology of so-called warp jumps.
Despite the fact that the Empire's legislation frequently conflicts with the fundamental tenets of the Citadel's races, the galactic community has welcomed them into its fold. The Empire maintains its membership status within the Alliance, engages in military cooperation, and has agreed to assume responsibility for space patrols in sectors adjacent to Helgan in the Scilian Limit region.
The impetus for this meeting was a conflict between an Imperial warship and a Batarian light freighter, which, to quote, «approached the cruiser «Greiten» at a dangerously close range and began conducting optical reconnaissance».
In response, the cruiser, according to Imperial military reports, «opened warning fire along the ship's course». As a result, the freighter sustained damage, and four of its crew perished due to decompression. Subsequently, the vessel was towed to the Alliance-controlled planet Nocturne, where surviving Batarian personnel were assisted by Alliance military personnel.
Sequential images were projected onto the screen, depicting the Batarian vessel «X'ra' Vilet», a freighter commonly used by quadrupedal humanoids, with its hull ruptured from one end to the other. The surviving Batarians appeared like mummies, wrapped in bandages imbued with medicinal compounds. For any space traveler, the experience of encountering these Batarian survivors evoked two nightmarish scenarios simultaneously: decompression and confinement in a burning vessel.
Beside the bundled and swathed Batarian prisoners, a doctor, in the guise of an Alliance representative, smiles with a most emphatic amiability.
"I would like to remind you that Scilian Limit is a vast expanse of Alyans space, the sovereignty of which is contested by the Batarian hegemony. Frequent skirmishes between the forces of the Alliance and the pirates sponsored by the hegemony have become a common occurrence, as well as clashes between vessels, yet this instance marks the first time the Imperial fleet has engaged in combat.
Of particular concern to the Citadel is the extreme level of secrecy surrounding Helgan. No reliable information is available regarding the size of their army and navy, their technological capabilities or their weaponry, but the mere fact that their vessels do not require repeaters is already altering the balance of military and political power, and in an entirely unpredictable manner..."
***
His eyelids parted with difficulty, but they did part, which was, of course, pleasing. One might say, "Oh, what a delightful evening it was last night!" But that would be disingenuous.
The entire evening was spent immersed in a can of beer, topped off with a glass of coffee, and watching the protagonist's favourite anime pornography, created by enthusiasts based on some of the most renowned Japanese masterpieces from the early twenty-first century. It was no longer pornography, but rather a retro style.
"Not perversion, but aestheticism, by the way," she thought.
She lay with her eyes open for a few more minutes, gazing at the ceiling. "The Unknown Ceiling", wasn't that the title of yesterday's fan-made film starring that dark-haired man?
She assumed an erect posture and proceeded to engage in her morning rituals. Each visit to the shower elicited involuntary recollections of a painful incident when, at the tender age of fourteen, she had inadvertently slipped and landed on an uncontrolled split, simultaneously imprinting the entire left foot against the wall, fracturing all five toes. Thereafter, all visits to the shower were undertaken in slippers that adhered firmly to the floor, akin to krogan boots.
After spending ten minutes under the shower, apathetically "polishing her tusks," the girl continued listening to the news broadcast from her terminal, albeit peripherally. She was indifferent to politics, as it did not affect her flights. However, the prospect of acquiring a vessel equipped with a warp drive and liberating herself from the dependence on repeaters had become a cherished aspiration for pilots within the Alliance. Despite her elevated status as the pilot of the "Normandy," she was not the sole candidate.
You should have seen the expressions on their faces when Moroe's sardonic vulgarity managed to outdo everyone during the final flight trials! In a fit of exuberance, she even administered a slap on the posterior of Lieutenant Brooks, one of the examiners who, incidentally, had conducted the trials.
Moroe pretended that it was perfectly normal for an extraordinary pilot to extricate her frigate from a perilous situation during the Scylla Blitz.
After emerging from the shower, Moroe dried herself with a coarse bath towel — a rarity in this era of mundanity! — and proceeded to the kitchen, unconcerned about her attire. It was still early, and her damp hair stood on end, adding a dozen points to her "untamed" appearance.
The scars from old open wounds adorned his arms, legs, and chest, a testament to his past battles. They could have been surgically removed, but my father insisted otherwise, claiming that they were the marks of his triumph. At times, it seemed as if my father had once been a Krogan in another life. Yet, a seasoned soldier who had spent two and a half decades in the assault division bore little resemblance to a Krogan — save perhaps in his predilection for heavy weaponry and his stoic demeanor.
Those who lead the charge against the enemy are granted certain privileges.
The emergence of each new species has sparked interest in its culture, history, political system, religious beliefs, and more. Following the conclusion of the War of First Contact, humanity's cultural identity became the focal point of attention. Now, the Galactic Community possesses a fresh addition to its repertoire, a captivating novelty. The fact that the Helgasts concealed their history, coupled with the recent revelation regarding the connection between Helgan and humanity's origins, has fueled further intrigue.
Even the Joker felt a sense of empathy for the red-eyed individuals — in their pursuit of obscurity, they resembled a masked figure adorned with New Year's decorations, for what can be more enticing than mystery? The girl attempted to delay the inevitable, but alas, she approached the bedside table and retrieved a syringe injector, inserting an ampoule within.
The injection, as instructed, was administered into a vein in the left arm. Owing to the electronic guidance of the needle, there was no need to fear missing the vein, as a system of three micromotors ensured its precise direction.
A concoction of substances with beneficial effects on her brittle bones spread throughout her body. Within a minute, a familiar sensation emerged: a tingling sensation in every bone of her body. The young woman collapsed back onto the bed, drawing her knees up towards her chin and assuming a fetal position — this allowed her to control her movements without the risk of injuring her joints due to the discomfort and attempts at scratching.
Ten long minutes passed.
Twenty minutes later, having taken a second shower to rinse away the perspiration, the young woman donned her pilot's uniform and her ubiquitous cap. She then departed her apartment, locking the door behind her, and paused for a moment, gazing at her keycard before tucking it into her pocket.
The dice carved from glass on the keycard quivered, jingling with a mocking air.
***
The citadel.
The Embassy of Helgan.
Vitaly Kurtz, a man of many talents, found himself handling the mail. Normally, this task would fall to the secretary, but at the moment, the secretary was occupied with other duties. Thus, Kurtz took it upon himself to sort through his correspondence.
"We invite you to attend the talk show 'Political Mosaic'…" Kurtz removed the message.
"...the finest women of various ethnicities will attend to your needs..." Kurtz's face hardened as he deleted the advertisement. "What audacity!" If someone dared to send such a message to the official email of a government agency on Helgan, they would find themselves in the presence of the police, who would swiftly count their ribs and prosecute them for hooliganism. He deleted the message without hesitation.
"Are you afraid of hearing 'Honey, I'm leaving you for a krogan'?" Kurtz erased the last message, his expression unyielding.
The communication module attached to his ear came to life, announcing, "Commander! An ambassador from the Hierarchy has arrived to see you."
The voices of the bodyguards were as calm, measured, and deceptively slow as ever. Alexander Linkov hailed from the Firka clan, and the «Firkovian» dialect of the Helgan tongue elicited a faint smile.
Yet, this manner of speech contrasted sharply with Linkov's demeanor in battle — he had amassed twenty-five verified kills to his name. And three of those were in hand-to-hand combat, in the depths of the dark corridors beneath Pyrrhus.
«Skip it.»
Kurtz mechanically adjusted the collar of his uniform, smoothing his sparse hair and adjusting the rack of information tablets.
«Something interesting is about to transpire…»
***
Ranus observed the well-trained guards of the Helghan Embassy, who stood at ease, their demeanor calm, with only the visors of their helmets glowing faintly as they subtly shifted their gaze, maintaining vigilance around the embassy.
In the early days of the Turian presence on the Citadel, there was a similar presence at the Hierarchy Embassy, which resembled more of a military outpost. The Turians were distrustful of the aliens, with the memories of the Unification Wars still fresh.
However, this approach was later abandoned, driven by both diplomatic considerations and economic needs, as soldiers were required elsewhere. Thus, the Helghast have the upper hand.
The Turian arrived at the diplomatic mission of the Empire with a specific purpose. Until a certain point, the Hierarchy had been more intrigued by the origins of the planet itself rather than by what it represented. The Empire was viewed as a peculiar entity, a group of individuals who considered themselves a distinct race simply because they inhabited a different planet! Not even the most resolute opponents of integration with the Hierarchy could have conceived of such an idea!
Nevertheless, everything soon took a turn. To be more precise, when the initial reports from agents on Earth began to reach the ears of MOUNTAINS, they swiftly ascended to the Council and ultimately permeated the Hierarchy itself.
Genetic modification was deemed illegal, and even the salarians, gritting their teeth in protest, signed a corresponding agreement. Such research was conducted in strict secrecy or on designated planets. It was not simply a whim — the balance of power ensured the comparative stability of the galaxy.
The asari are intelligent and cunning; the turians are strong and disciplined; the salarians are intelligent and the scientific vanguards of the citadel. If any race sought to gain an advantage through genome manipulation, long-term cooperation, treaties, and obligations would be jeopardized, as would the lives of billions of sentient beings.
However, Helghan openly declared its refusal to sign the agreement. Not only did this create a legal precedent, but there were also concerns about large corporations that had begun to explore the possibility of establishing laboratories on Helghan.
Ranus stood transfixed before a heavy, imposing door that appeared utterly alien in the midst of the realm of plastics and metals. Rather than sliding to the side or upwards, the door remained stationary.
Eventually, there was the sound of mechanical clicks and clanks from within, and the door — which surprised Ranus with its unexpected thickness — slowly and grandly ascended.
"Greetings, Ambassador Ranus," Kurtz greeted the Turian cordially.
Ranus had encountered Helgast on a few occasions, but he had not yet formed an opinion of him, as there was limited information available.
"I thought I'd have a cup of coffee here — would you care to join me? My assistant is currently absent, but he's already taught me how to prepare dextro beverages."
You are most kind. The Turian was aware that the office of the Helgan Ambassador had formerly been the headquarters of the Alliance Embassy. He had only visited here on a few occasions, preferring to conduct negotiations in the Presidium Building. Yet, Ranus recalled vividly how this chamber had appeared in the past — his professional memory as a scout was remarkably precise.
Indeed, much has changed since then. Firstly, the atmosphere of the office now exudes a more sombre ambience, with walls painted a shade of dark grey. The standard lighting panels have been replaced by gleaming fixtures that emit a coppery sheen in the warm glow of the lanterns. Secondly, it seems as though the walls of the chamber have slightly diminished in size. This is not simply a sudden manifestation of claustrophobia — the Helgans have chosen to reinforce the walls, and it is hardly just a mere layer of reinforced concrete.
So, this is where those armoured panels that were recently declared at the customs clearance went, is it not?
"Please," Ranus offered, giving the coffee brewed by Helgast a rating of seven out of ten. Not bad, he thought.
Helgast took a seat across from him, also with a mug of coffee. "I would like to discuss the Citadel Act 17-4889, 'The Law on Genetic Modifications,'" he began.
Ranus, with his diplomatic experience, could read people's faces well, and he saw that Helgast's expression was one of boredom. "The Empire has already spoken on this matter, and I have nothing further to add," he said.
"However, the Hierarchy might have something to say," Ranus replied, shaking his head in reproach. "Listen, your ships are engineering marvels. I know of at least two Salarian scholars who have gone mad due to nervous shock. But understand this — your defiant stance sets a dangerous precedent."
A precedent, Kurtz snorted, is that an entire race has sent a delegation to a council far away and for a prolonged period of time, and continues to engage in the trade of slaves. However, it is unclear what exactly you desire? That the Helgasts abandon their genetic modifications and revert to a time when life expectancy seldom exceeded thirty years and three out of every five children were crippled? Helgast practically growled as he concluded his speech.
Ranus reflected once again on how the Helgasts resembled the behavior of the initial Turian diplomats in many ways.
I understand that there is no alternative for the survival of the Helgans. The council is aware of this and does not venture to demand such measures. Nevertheless, some individuals from public organizations may raise objections. The Turian extended his three-fingered hands towards Helgast in a gesture of conciliation. However, that is not the crux of the matter. We are discussing large corporations, such as pharmaceutical companies.
Helgast's eyebrows shot up in astonishment:
— Yes, you have an entire planet full of clandestine laboratories doing all sorts of things!
— That is true, but firstly, they are located quite far away. Should there be an outbreak of any kind of infection, it would not be worth the trouble to contain it.
The Turian attempted to elucidate the entire issue to Helgast in great detail.
Firstly, the novelty has little practical utility in everyday life. Consequently, there is a small population, and in case of an incident, the casualties would be minimal. Secondly, the planet is under the ownership of the Development Corporation, which renders it a unique case.
Helgan also falls within the Scilian Limit, which itself is part of the Alliance, which in turn is part of...
You need not continue. However, it is important to note that Helgan has not entered into any formal commitments with the Citadel, but the Alliance has recently concluded an agreement acknowledging the Helgan Empire as a sovereign and independent entity. We are allied with the Alliance — not subordinate to them.
In legal terms, the situation is highly ambiguous. If so, then Helgan derives profits from these enterprises legitimately. Regarding security measures, I can attest that Scolar Vizari is cognizant of the risks and, consequently, mandates companies to submit to the oversight of the military and the Security Council in matters of company security.
"That was not my knowledge," the Turian admitted.
Few were aware of this fact. Kurtz frowned. "That's why only Tai Yun Medical, out of all the companies, has agreed to establish a laboratory for civilian prosthesis research, where the potential danger is minimal. The others are attempting to bribe and coerce our officials. These officials, in turn, accept bribes and even receive a modest percentage from them."
"Have you decided to enlist bribery as an ally? However, it carries risks..."
"It's risky to challenge the Imperial Security Service. Thus, officials accept bribes, remit them to the treasury, and receive a portion, while regularly reporting 'who, when, how much, and for what.'"
SIB has taken note of the company engaged in bribery and is beginning to investigate the reasons behind why such esteemed individuals wish to remain hidden on Helghan. We have identified several companies that procure test subjects from various races on behalf of the Batarians.
I have heard of this, but I was not aware that the Helghast were involved in this investigation. The Turian's eyes narrowed in suspicion.
We are engaged in business, not attempting to enhance our reputation.
The Helghast did not disclose that these companies are affiliated with the Alliance. It is also unclear how they managed to keep silent regarding the substantial compensation the Alliance provided to ensure that this matter remained undiscovered.
And of course, Kurtz was lying about Helgan's indifference towards his image. Unlike most other races, the Imperials had launched a "public relations campaign" among the personnel of the secret services, whose opinions carry far more weight than those of ordinary citizens. Ranus relished the irony of the situation: two rational individuals were blatantly lying to each other, both fully aware of it, while in between sips of their coffee, they washed down another serving of lies.
Helgast and the Turian conversed for another half an hour about the latest pieces of political gossip that were known to "everyone". Indeed, as befitting two serious diplomats and spies.
***
Earth, Alliance training ground, London neighborhood.
"Jenkins… damn it…" Rynych was about to utter a profanity, but in time remembered that he was wearing his gas mask. Matyukov had already disappeared, and Zmejgo thought it would be a great tragedy if Jenkins tripped and, say, broke his neck at the training ground.
Sadly, this scenario was out of the question — Anderson and Shepard were too concerned about their team. Even during training, they meticulously monitored the cadets to ensure that, God forbid, no one suffered sprains or injuries. While such occurrences were not uncommon at the Helgan Academy, it was customary to take pride in the scars acquired during training.
"With such an approach to war, how can they…"
However, the reality did not permit the Helgast to dwell on these thoughts:
— A MACHINE GUN! FOR TWO HOURS! — Rynych swiftly dropped to the ground and rolled to the side, seeking refuge behind a shelter he had previously spotted. Jenkins followed his example.
The holographic projectiles whizzed through the air, striking the boulder which served as both Helgast's and the man's refuge. Over the open radio frequency, the satisfied cackle of Shepard's automated turret control system could be heard.
Perhaps only the captain derived pleasure from the situation.
"Jenkins, what an infuriating fellow!"
"Speak up, red-eye, I can't make out a word."
Rynych stammered, casting an indignant glance at the Alliance member. He then responded with a snort.
"Spycraft is no match for a machine gun, there's no need to draw a fountain pen."
The second lieutenant failed to grasp the connection between the fountain pen and the explosion. Helgast even wondered if Jenkins, in the course of his well-intentioned espionage efforts, had temporarily lost his sanity.
What was in that bowler hat of his, anyway? Filthy handkerchiefs?
Nevertheless, he was correct.
The experience of operational and intelligence work in the current situation proved to be of no use. However, there was a prop grenade at hand…
— No problem. I have a plan. Jenkins looked at Helgast with incredulity.
— Well?
— Now you will leap heroically from behind the boulder, after which you will collapse, struck down by the machine gun fire from the training exercise. However, through your sacrifice, you will buy me time to flee to that ravine over there...
— Fuck you! — Jenkins, who had initially listened with interest, ended up looking as red as a tomato.
Helgast continued, — Well, what of it? Shall I remind you of who we ended up here, firstly, on the training ground, secondly, as a pair, and, thirdly, behind this boulder? I am simply reminding you that I proposed going around the hill on the right, as it is most convenient for an ambush. But, no-o-o... How could you back down when there is a girl watching? Helgast tried to inject so much venom into his words that he might have brought down a Krogan.
"Hark, desist your blasphemous chatter!" The rounds continued to pelt the stone, but the combatants paid them no heed. "Shepard is my commanding officer, do you understand? And there is some filthy fellow clinging to her, from some sordid planet... Who, incidentally, boarded the most advanced vessel of the Alliance...
The Joker's bane, indeed! A thimble-sized husk, rigidly coupled to Repeater, with a bare minimum of armaments, and all protection replaced by the capacity to flee from peril... Jenkins ground his teeth in frustration.
Rynych, however, paid him no heed. Before his indignant diatribe, he had "accidentally" activated the helmet for all-channel communication, and thus Helgast's reprimand was heard by Captain Shepard, in control of the heavy weapon. Naturally, curiosity got the better of her, and the gun fell silent...
Later on the Normandy, Jenkins reported that Rynych had simply taken off, as if propelled by a colossal spring. Or perhaps he possessed his own minuscule antigrav device.
Whether this was factual or not, Rynych merely responded to queries with a polite smile.
It is worth noting that Helgast, flying over the shelter like a basketball player in an awkward position, hurled a grenade from the air. His aim was impeccable, as the grenade landed precisely next to the gun emplacement. The grenade's trajectory was deliberate, allowing it to bypass the protective shield, which deemed it non-threatening to the turret.
Upon impact, the grenade exploded, unleashing a holographic wave that interacted with the sensors within the turret, causing sophisticated electronics to emit a mournful beep, signifying their defeat. Rynych's body sank into the ground with a resounding plop, creating a spray of moist mud.
"Captain, what do you think of the performance?"
At the checkpoint, Commander Shepard observed a slow-motion replay of Helgast's acrobatic leap with astonishment, her jaw agape. The spectacle was awe-inspiring, akin to the graceful flight of a swan — albeit not as poetic, yet far more epic.
Helgast, regaining her composure, responded with a hoarse laugh. "Judging by the sensation, I've strained my leg ligaments, bruised my lower back, and twisted my knee — the cost of boosting my self-confidence, it seems!"
Shepard, regaining consciousness, narrowed her brilliant green eyes. "Rynych, you're playing with fire! And what if I hadn't been curious?"
"Curiosity won't help; wonder will. I'd strip Jenkins bare and make him race around the field —"
"WHAT?!" exclaimed Shepard, her voice tinged with incredulity. "Are there those who remember that film?"
Helgast continued, "I'd rather fail a task than resort to such measures."
"Well, that's it. Just a couple more laps on maps three and five, and you're free for the day," said the instructor.
An hour later, Rynych and Jenkins finally emerged from the simulator. Shepard whistled upon seeing Helgast, who was wearing his signature "light" coat (actually an armored rain jacket) stained with mud.
"Is the weather really bad near Verdun right now?"
Helgast seemed momentarily taken aback. "Um… well, I suppose so. It's always the same at the equator…"
Shepard, accustomed to the parallels between Helgan and Earth cultures, sometimes found herself puzzled by coincidences. "Rynych, do you have a Verdun on Helgan?"
"Yes, near the equator," Helgast replied, dusting himself off while trying not to let the machine gun fall and wipe the goggles of his gas mask. "I've been there a few times. It's a miserable place – damp, cool with strong winds."
Jenkins had just emerged from the simulation chamber when he overheard a conversation by chance. He was so taken aback that he considered turning to the marine, activating his voice modulator to full volume, and explaining in no uncertain terms where he had seen the hapless intelligence officer's suspicions. The marine proceeded to the locker room, leaving Helgast to continue his tale:
"Well, prisons don't add to one's sense of well-being either..."
Shepard paused for a moment. "Prisons? Don't you manufacture most mining equipment?"
"Not quite, but that's about it," the man with red eyes remarked proudly.
"Then why do you have prisons? And why employ prisoners there? It seems rather unethical to me, and not cost-efficient, after all!"
Helgast was perplexed. "What an odd question! Our buildings are primarily constructed of concrete, with stones used for decoration. Although, the SIB building itself was crafted from marble. The prisoners."
Quarries for convicts are necessary, just as quarries for criminals are necessary. In a sense, they serve as a pedagogical tool for society at large and for the younger generation in particular.
Jenkins's face fell, as if he had been caught off guard. "Don't say that..."
Helgast removed his mask and cracked his neck. "Yes, they go on school trips there every six months. A useful idea, wouldn't you say?"
Rynych left the other Alliance members to ponder the information and briskly walked into the locker room. Five minutes later, he was standing under the scorching hot jets of the shower, which would be intolerable for an ordinary person. But helgast skin could withstand much harsher conditions.
It's true that the Alliance could be more comfortable in some ways, but it still has its advantages.
Helgast, immersed in his reverie, failed to notice Jenkins, whose eyes were bulging at the sight of the thermometer, which indicated that Helgast was standing in a temperature well below eighty degrees Celsius...