"Smile."

Helghan.

The "grey" corridors beneath the Pyre.

Dust, dirt and clutter.

When Pyrrhus was first being built, settlers literally lived where they worked. Even now, you can find photos in family archives of ancestors sleeping on mining machines or cooking over the flames of blowtorches.

Over time, the Pyr grew, deepening into Helghan, becoming a home and a living monument to the human perseverance of the Vektans - then still Vektans.

However, the old tunnels were no longer needed. After industrial production was established using the Shipyards' wreckage, some corridors in the rocks needed to be better located, and others needed to meet safety standards. Others threatened to collapse on the heads of hapless explorers.

Not to forget the "traffic jams" of heavy toxic gas accumulated here and there in these dark corridors.

However, there was a category of people who believed that deserted corridors - unlit, unventilated and often unmarked on maps - were the ideal place. For business, of course.

- Freeze! - The shotgun jabbed into the darkness of the corridor. However, thanks to the inbuilt military visor in the gas mask, Hans could see a lean, unsteady figure trying to move as quietly and stealthily as possible.

Actually, it was not necessary to threaten with a weapon - the "business partner" was already afraid of Hans, but it was not a bad idea to remind this creature who was in charge.

- Take it easy. It's me! - Hans "Tooth" Rokot grimaced in his gas mask.

The "business partner" who had come to the meeting pissed him off with his slobbering character and cowardice.

"Although - it's a sin to judge him, after all that happened..."

When you sell contraband on Helghan, you're either lucky or headstrong. Often the two qualities were combined, but not in Hans' case. The trader of forbidden goods was cautious to the point of paranoia and did business only with trusted people.

In addition to caution, Zub did not forget to "show his teeth" to competitors, severely punishing those who interfered with him.

But all the old supply channels collapsed after the "transfer", as this phenomenon was nicknamed on the planet. Of course, there was a positive moment: a couple of days before the catastrophe, Hans had received a double shipment of Vektan blue and managed to intercept a cargo of weapons from a now-deceased competitor.

But that didn't change that Helghan's shadowy side was going through dark times. What to say - if he, already not a young man in general, personally came to negotiate with not the biggest big shot about "business cooperation".

A small official was caught on a bribe - one of Hans's friends filmed it. Then, on his boss's orders, he started to "lead" this jerk. A week of observations resulted in a pile of small dirt - here, this clerk cheated with invoices and tampered with the accounting...

The apotheosis was a video of the grief lover sneaking out of his flat through the alleys - trying not to be seen by the guard and his wife - and then going to an interesting establishment.

All of this would have been foolishness and of little concern to anyone - except that the official was young, inexperienced, and nearly went into hysterics on receiving a message with certain hints.

"Boss, all clear. I don't see a tail..." - The guards in the neighbouring tunnels were equipped with the same military gear. The smuggler didn't skimp on his security.

- How do you do?" the official said ingratiatingly.

Hans would have liked to spit, but the gas mask wouldn't let him.

"I need that slug!"

- Good day to you, too. How are you? How's your health? How's the wife? How's work? - Hans began to press the official with hints.

- All right, enough already! What do you want from me?! - The official shivered - you could see it even under his baggy overcoat.

- Nothing in particular! - Hans grinned. - It just so happens that you, my dear fellow, occupy an unimportant but convenient position in the cargo terminal. And I am in the business of... Trucking.

- Smuggling.

- Yeah, smuggling. I'm a smuggler. - Hans loomed menacingly over the daring employee. - And you're an official. I'm afraid to imagine what your cellmates will do to you when they find out.....

- ... - "Overcoat" was already trembling openly. Although he was even a little taller than Hans, he was clearly inferior in the width of his shoulders.

- That's enough! - Hans gave the "client" a friendly clap on the shoulder. - I'm not asking you to spy.

Just a little business.

- You had to come here for "a little business"? - The official stopped.

- Well... Not so small... In short, there is a cargo. The cargo needs to be hidden for a week. I'll pay you $100,000, half before and half after the job.

- You're gonna leave a nuclear warhead in my terminal?!

- No, relax. What do you care what's in there? - Hans is looming over the clerk again.

- What do you mean, "what"? According to the new regulations, we have special scanners. I need to know what's in there to re-hide the boxes. You can't just put it down and leave it alone!

"Hmm, he's thinking."

- It's not a warhead, but it's explosive. "Vectan blue, ever heard of it?

- DRUGS?! - The clerk's dead. - They'll put us all on trial for that!

- Don't squeal! A week's work, a hundred grand in your pocket! - Hans, who was losing patience, bellowed. - The goods are already in the next tunnel, and the time is about to change the guard shift - at this time, you can even parade there!

And that's when the internal comms came alive...

"Boss, there's-- Shhhhhh!!!"

- Hey, what is it? - Hans was distracted for a second, habitually turning sideways to the stranger - so that he couldn't even see the movement of his lips...

Stupid - especially since Hans was wearing a gas mask.

"ALARM... AHHHHHHHHH!!!"

Something prickled in the smuggler's side.

His body went numb.

Hans started falling to the corridor's stone floor, but the official gently picked him up and lowered him. The smuggler remained conscious, but moving his eyes and blinking became difficult.

- You know, honourable - I was offered to just slap you. On the spot - "attempted escape." - The clerk hovered over the paralysed thug. - But I'm used to finishing the job.

"Fucking hell... Police or Customs? Who turned him in? Or did..."

- No, my dear man. I'm not police or customs. Imperial Security.

"****!!!"

- It was fun if you think about it. We've been wondering how we could get you, and then a petty official comes in and tells us all about it. Tempted by the amnesty and the possibility of a pardon.

"Bitch!"

- He'll probably get a pardon for his not-so-good deeds and some extra work from us. Are there a few other cases like this in the cargo terminal? - The voice of the "business partner" had changed too, becoming much harder, with no trace of the former softness and drollery.

The agent leaned over - the empty "eyes" of the gas mask stared into the paralysed bandit. It seemed that behind that mask, there was nothing - only emptiness ...

- Although you wouldn't mind relieving yourself by cooperating with the investigation.

***

From IRB correspondence.

From: Old man.

To: *unavailable*

...a window of opportunity we've never dreamed of.

Space communication between Helghan and other planets has effectively ground to a halt, but sooner or later, it will return to the old ways and even reach a new level.

Smuggling will again go to Helghan and from Helghan to other planets. And I want it to be OUR smugglers.

We've recruited some of them, the smallest ones. However, the middle and major ranks must be eliminated completely.

I authorise all necessary measures to interrogate them, who, when, to whom and for how much.

The Emperor is counting on us in this delicate matter, and I do not wish to disappoint him. And neither should you.

***

From: The Old Man.

To: *subscriber 18*

I know you're furious.

But try to understand - there's no other way, alas. "Smile" is our best employee, no matter who says what about him.

I realise he's extremely young, and I've seen his test results. I'm not just talking about performance reviews but OTHER tests.

And I'm more than confident he can contain his emotions - he's a "master of transformation" for crying out loud! After all, he played his part quite well in dealing with that Earthman - James Vega. Other staff members would have "dropped" that man at the first opportunity so that he "accidentally" cracked a couple of bones.

Speaking of accidents! Please spell out the members of Section Nine who dealt with Admiral Orlok.

"Accidentally" tripped on the stairs, went over the railing of the first floor of his house and hung his neck from the chandelier?

Seriously?

I understand they have their own sense of humour, sometimes quite peculiar. And I know they have a tradition - the bigger the "target", the more "accidental" its untimely death.

But this is getting way out of line!...!

***

Alliance transport ship DX-12.

Helghan orbit.

Passenger compartment.

- I've seen some arseholes in the galaxy, but not this dusty...

- Are you talking about your trips to the brothels?

- Oh, fuck you. You're a holier-than-thou.

What can a hundred or so military men do in the small space of a troop transport?

Chatting about who did what in their spare time on Earth, of course. In fact, that was the main topic for any male society - and it didn't matter that fifteen of the ninety-five Alliance soldiers were of the conventionally "weaker" sex. In the Alliance, the question of a soldier's gender has not been as acute as in the ancient armies of Earth.

- Do you think their women are beautiful? - Kyle was still going on. He loved women as much as he loved blowing the brains out of another Batarian. And if presented with the choice, "Which is better?" - he couldn't answer.

- Does it matter to you? You're going to go to them anyway, aren't you? - Alex, his old mate, snorted. - I'm waiting for you to get to the point of trying to seduce a female hanar.

- The only thing stopping him is that he can't tell the difference between a female and a male. - Alma waved her hands meaningfully in the air. - For there is a sad experience...

- Hey, hey, lady, you're hitting a sore spot! - Alex stood up for his mate, and Kyle was slightly embarrassed. The story about him hitting on a cute chick - who, as it turned out, wasn't really a chick - was true.

Fortunately, the brave Marine had avoided close contact with this... this person and was grateful to the alert bartender who quietly explained his mistake to the military man in his ear.

A composite company of the Third Airborne Regiment had been sent to Helghan to establish cooperation with the soldiers of the Empire. The Alliance and the Empire were unanimous in the opinion that treaties were treaties, but joint exercises, manoeuvres and exchange courses added more value to those treaties than loud statements.

And now the paratroopers are sitting habitually on their rudimentary belongings. And look out the window at the planet that will be their next test.

- How's it going? How's the mood? - A loud, booming voice ricocheted across the compartment.

- There is a desire to show the full might and power of the Alliance, sir! - Alex answered loudly and pathetically.

Lieutenant Grill smirked. The scar crossing his left eye was the mark of one Batarian bastard's attempt to finish off the lieutenant.

The four-eyed prick had taken a tungsten cartridge charge to the head then, and Corporal Alex Vance had been the one to send the charge to its destination.

- That's good. We land near their capital - it's an improvised spaceport. And there's some big shot meeting us there. - The lieutenant checked the tablet. - Colonel Mael Radek.

Alex snorted:

- A name like some villain from old comic books.

Oh, and in general - try to hold back on the jokes about the crappiness of this planet for now. Maybe they're vulnerable and don't get it.

***

A couple of weeks later.

Imperial Army training ground near Helghan's North Pole.

- Sir, may I joke about the shittyness of the planet? - Ice chips covered his armour and rifle cover, allowing the sniper to blend in with the terrain.

Short military snowshoe skis completed the look.

- Will it help?

- Well, it would make me feel better... - Alex looked doubtfully at the rest of the squad. - Or not.

The very idea of "friendly competition" belonged to Lieutenant Grill. After a cursory introduction to Colonel Radek (who earned the lieutenant's highest praise - "tough son of a bitch!") and placement in the barracks, the Marines began to get acquainted with their new home.

They had been given general information about the Helghan army before their departure, but the information was one thing, and seeing for yourself was another.

The Helghast were silent, reserved, and cold-blooded. More than once, the Marines had caught the sensation of an unpleasant look, but in words, any Helghan soldier was extremely polite.

Under the pretext of friendly competition, the Marines decided to "see the others - to show themselves".

The conditions are simple - one squad of 30 men.

The equipment is standard for each side for extremely cold conditions, with no technical means of transport.

The soldiers carry standard equipment, weapons and supplies, and the route before the trek was mapped out by both sides.

What followed was a veritable icy hell - at least, that's how the soldiers felt. Snowstorms, cold, navigation problems - the three-day crossing was not easy, but the Marines did not grumble - they were soldiers and experienced.

All the more so because the Alliance equipment was much more high-tech than what the Red-Eyes were equipped with.

It was not without reason that Hacket had ordered to send to Helghan those who had real combat experience.

The Helghast, travelling on a parallel course, was going like clockwork, making rare breaks. This silent confrontation irritated the "red-eyed": the Helghast hoped that the "earthlings" would give weakness...

Both sides were wrong.

At the end of the route - where two transports were waiting for them - the Helghast were officially the first to arrive, but the Alliance was just over twenty minutes behind.

***

Retreat.

Citadel.

Alliance Embassy.

- Should this be taken as a declaration of war? - Councillor Donnel Udina thought wistfully of a time when there was no Helghan in this part of the universe and life was simple and beautiful.

He made trade treaties with the Volusians, knocked down prices from the overly insolent Salarians, and schemed and intrigued with and against the Azari...

Until there was a problem.

The problem was tall, menacing, and had a penchant for firearms, so when Vitali Kurtz came to visit him, carrying the unfortunate plaque in one hand and an extremely menacing-looking pistol in the other, Udina didn't even realise what was happening.

- 'Um...' Donnel swallowed the lump in his throat. - I need help understanding...

- What's THIS? - Donnel stared at the sign.

It was the kind of signpost on the Citadel - and while it was easy to use a holographic, three-dimensional, beautifully glowing 'explainer', serious organisations traditionally preferred to announce themselves in this way: an austere metal plate with a minimum of information.

After all, why does Bank Irune need advertising?

Everyone already knows about it! And if someone doesn't know about it, that someone is an idiot who shouldn't be allowed near finances.

So the diplomatic missions had similar signs.

And right now, on Udina's desk was just such a plaque:

"Helghan Diplomatic Mission, Systems Alliance."

And just below the inscription, in the middle, was the symbol of the Systems Alliance.

- Mr Kurtz, but Helgan is already a non-permanent member of the Alliance, and I need help understanding...

- It's not "Helgan," it's the Helgan Empire. That's one. - Donnel froze.

If voices could kill - the entire Citadel was dead now.

- We are primarily involved in the economic affairs of the Alliance, and political squabbles between Earth and its colonies are your business. We stay out of them. That's two.

- And three. Just because we trade with you and have agreed to participate in three economic agreements does not make us members of the Alliance. - Kurtz spit that last phrase out like it was burning his throat.

- We are your allies in military affairs and fighting the Batarian gangs, and that's the only thing that officially binds us together so far.

- I advise you not to juggle terms and substitute them for each other - otherwise, someone will find themselves guilty of a major diplomatic scandal.

Have a good day.

Kurtz turned round, and on the doorstep, he added:

- Keep the plaque as a reminder of your blatant tactlessness and political short-sightedness.

Donnel Udina sighed a little more freely as the Helghast left his office.

"Perhaps we should consider shoving him into a separate building..." - the diplomat thought wistfully.

***

Earth.

Now.

Hacket was studying a candidate's file for the Normandy assault team without much enthusiasm.

And the fighter was concentrating on "eating the eyes" of the admiral, standing at attention.

"He's about to burn a hole in me with his gaze..."

The Helghast had finally allocated one of their fighters - and he had already passed all the relevant tests, showing excellent results. But the Helghast didn't bother - and sent a stormtrooper to the assault group.

In the worst possible way.

- So, Junior Lieutenant Rynych, what's your impression of our planet?

- It's, um, green, sir. Only greenhouses on Helghast have that kind of abundance, sir. - Tall and thin, which seems to be the norm for Helghast.

"Poor nutrition, again - I wonder what they've done to the genome."

His hair was dark, cut radically short, his face triangular, smoothly shaven. In principle, Rynycz even somehow disposed to himself by his simplicity.

From the reports, Hackett already knew that all the property of the younger man consisted of the standard equipment of an imperial soldier and weapons. Plus - a standard instrumentation with an extranet function, bought already on Earth.

And a couple of paper books - still need to be fully translated into Helghan's language. It is a history of planet exploration...

Junior Lieutenant Rynych arrived with a party of Alliance marines, who had previously had the honour of walking on this "pile of storms and rocks", as Lieutenant Grill clearly put it.

Rynych had little dialogue with anyone on the flight, and attempts by the female portion of the soldiers to bring him out into the open had come to nothing.

"It seems that they have few women in the army - because he blushed like a schoolboy the first time he saw a striptease" - said the same Lieutenant Grill.

But Rynych was polite and even a bit naive in communication - for example, according to the records, having bought a tool, he went to search whether Azari men are really one in a million, only the best of the race get them, and therefore the rest are looking for adventures on the side...

Hackett laughed out loud as he read that part.

The terminal on the desk came to life:

- Admiral Lieutenant Commander Shepard has arrived.

- Oh, by the way. - The Admiral nodded to the Helghast. - This is the XO of the Normandy.

- It's a pleasure to meet you, sir!

A moment later, the door opened, and a fiery red hair poked through the crack.

- Permission, sir?

- Captain, welcome new recruits! Junior Lieutenant Rynycz is now a member of your landing party. Lieutenant, this is Captain Jane Shepard, XO of the Normandy and a terror to the Batarian pirates.

"Shepard with her desire to do good and inflict justice and that soldier boy... Oh, Anderson, I almost wish I were here!"

Jane watched in amazement as the Helghast blushed slightly - given his greyish skin, it probably meant extreme embarrassment - and spoke up:

- Junior Lieutenant Rynych. Snakego.

***

A few weeks ago.

Helghan. Pyrrhus.

Morning...

Breathe in.

Open your eyes.

Realise he's still alive.

To feel quietly sad about it.

The service flat was nice - but three rooms was an unthinkable luxury for him. He knew that such a thing was a kind of advance from his superiors - "Here's a flat for you, come on: breed and multiply".

- The ongoing special operation of the Imperial Security Service had uncovered several irregularities...

The information terminal automatically switched to the news channel when he woke up. He didn't need it - he knew most of the news as it was.

And much better than those journalists.

However, the gleam in his eyes when the journalists reported the news even amused him.

The cold jets of the shower cleared his head and made his body light and fresh.

A squeezed toothpaste on a toothbrush and took three minutes to scrub his teeth.

- The friendly competition between the incoming Alliance soldiers and the Helghan Army units ended in a friendly draw...

He snorted: the reporters should have seen how furious Colonel Radek was. No, he did not shout or swear - the colonel was always extremely restrained, as a true military man should be.

However, all subordinates for two days went buttoned up "all the buttons" and communicated strictly according to the regulations.

A simple breakfast - mushroom pate, bread, a couple of pieces of yesterday's fried synthetic meat.

"We need to stock up today."

Another minute and it was as if nothing had happened.

"If only it were that easy with memories..."

Chewing his breakfast on the go, he dressed: work trousers, high-laced boots...

Now for the unpleasant part.

Brush applied organic glue to areas of his face. Then he waited fifteen seconds - and the artificial skin went on.

He looked in the mirror - a normal Helghast. He was probably good-looking: he didn't have a girlfriend to confirm or deny that.

The job was too twitchy.

A simple tight hooded jacket, popular with all sorts of people, a protective mask - check. He glanced at the indicator and shook his head: the filters had gone in the bin, and new ones had taken their place.

"I don't really need them, but the charter requires..."

His ID and pass card went in his pocket, and in his shoulder holster, his StA-7Comp, a lightweight version of the army submachine gun.

"Well - another day in the madhouse has begun..."

An evening of the same day.

- Have you studied the materials?

- Yes. I'd like to ask you a question.

- "Why me?"

- Mm-hmm. Yes, exactly.

- Because you're good at it.

The antique clock was ticking away.

The agent ignored the inappropriate desire to know how old this mechanical marvel was in such a serious situation.

- I-- Yes! When do I have to be ready?

- Two weeks. Do you need a refresher?

- A couple of training sessions should be enough. Is this all the information on the mission?

- Alas, we don't have much. - A bony old man's bony hand held up a data tablet. - Take a good look at these faces.

- I have. But it still needs to say what the priority is. Alliance liaison or Hierarchy liaison?

- I can't believe I will say this, but it's your choice.

The agent is shockingly silent.

- We need an unvarnished opinion from below. Unbiased and balanced.

- ... - The agent nodded briefly and was about to leave but was stopped by his superior's phrase.

- And yes - I know about what you're hiding. And where you got it from and why. - Walter Karg, the head of the SIS, stared intently at the Smile agent frozen at the door. - I also have a guess as to why THIS is still on your face.

The air became very thick.

"Screams. Very loud screams - and the moaning of dying women and children..."

- But I still know you'll make it. Or die doing the task because you go all the way. Don't you?

He smirked.

- Yes. How could I not?

- But still, THIS thing is very conspicuous. - Karg handed the agent a key card. - I know what this means to you. For the mission's duration, you'll have to walk around with implanted skin on top...

If you want, you can get it back after the mission.

It'll take a few days for the marks to wear off.

- I got it.