The daily grind.

Helgan.

Cluster 813.

The sound of construction equipment in operation permeated the concrete walls, albeit with a slight attenuation in volume, as the ground portion of the complex served primarily as a diversion for the eyes. The true heart of the facility lay concealed beneath the surface, comprising a cargo terminal equipped with several underground tracks that remained uncharted on official maps. Additionally, there were barracks for soldiers, mess halls, and all other amenities necessary for the daily operations of three hundred adult Helgast.

Moreover, there existed a landing pad capable of accommodating a vessel comparable in size to a frigate belonging to the Alliance. In fact, a similar vessel was currently berthed there, its presence concealed by a movable caponnier, shielding it from prying eyes and the watchful gaze of optical surveillance.

Within a nondescript construction trailer, however, a conversation took place that merited a far more elaborate setting.

«Three tons of raw palladium and two tons of aluminium,» the tall and lean Helgast with a nondescript face consulted his tablet. «We have already retrieved our cargo and loaded it into your vessel's containers.

You may now depart with your team. The communication channel for future transactions is known to your superiors.»

«Is there anything amiss?» the equally unremarkable man replied with a smile, but was met with an impenetrably stoic expression.

«Would you like me to verify?»

«No, no… My superiors have suggested a meeting with yours. To speak, so to speak, directly with…»

The Earthling inwardly grimaced as if in pain.

«You didn't hear the rest!»

«There is no need for it. We maintain economic relations, and that is sufficient. Helgast, in his uniform with the white piping on the sleeves and collar, resembled a mountain lightly dusted with snow.»

«My superiors are content with this, and there will be no political or military alliances with your organisation. And now, you will depart, your team will leave this isolation ward and proceed to the ship.»

Helgast allowed the Cerberus operative to absorb the information. «I remind you that any deviation from the predetermined route is tantamount to an attempt at illegal entry into Helgan, which carries the penalty of execution on the spot. Have a pleasant day.»

Ten minutes later, Mike Wilson, the Cerberus operative, ground his teeth in futile anger as he sat in the control room of his vessel. The engineers had confirmed that the cargo was secure and matched the declared quantity precisely.

«We are taking off, heading for the nearest relay station, from where we will proceed via route three to the Vita-1 base.»

"Did it not work out?" The executive officer, who had spent two hours in the isolation chamber with the team, regarded the captain with empathy. Jason Acree had worked with Wilson for several years, and despite Wilson's apparent calmness, he could read his commander like an open book.

A caponier on the ship's superstructure began to dissipate, revealing a path to the leaden grey sky.

"No, it did not work out… the red-eyed devils!" Wilson suppressed the urge to spit, regretting that the floor had been polished by cleaning bots. "They don't want to deal with terrorists! They want to negotiate, but they won't do business! What nonsense is this?"

Indeed, if Cerberus leaked information about negotiations with Helgan, they would be torn apart, spitting on all agreements!

The ship's hull trembled slightly as the engines warmed up.

"I do not care," Akri replied, shaking his fiery red tresses. "Cerberus can acquire resources from them with no unnecessary inquiries or financial trace — through barter. That is all that matters, and we are in the clear."

***

**Report number:**

Upon exiting the isolation chamber, the crew of the vessel conducted a meticulous search of the space. Two surveillance devices were discovered, likely eavesdropping equipment. There were no manufacturer's markings on the devices. Based on an initial analysis of the footage, two members of the team identified the devices as such.

It is worth noting that one of the devices was installed in a haphazard manner, with the installer exhibiting signs of nervousness, making errors that would go unnoticed by an untrained observer, yet readily apparent to a trained professional. The second device, on the other hand, was placed with greater precision, requiring considerable time and effort to accurately locate even with the aid of scanning equipment.

Despite their distinct designs and appearances, the fundamental operation of these devices remains consistent: they resemble needles with sharp edges that penetrate surfaces, even concrete floors and walls, recording data. These devices also possess a relay function; for further details, refer to Appendix 1.3 of the technical report.

Moreover, one of the devices – the one installed by an untrained individual – could even perform holographic recording, not just audio recording. In any case, these were the findings of the technical team.

Walter Karg, head of the SIB, let out a deep sigh and began doing what he was paid for and what his position required. He thought.

"So… it's clear who the trained operative works for – Cerberus. Most likely, though not necessarily. And who does the other operative work for? Does it also belong to Cerberus? Did their superiors decide to deploy two operatives to set up wiretap devices?

Sure, wiretaps in the isolation ward are of little value, but as it turns out, these devices can function as signal amplifiers. One visit equals one node in the network, bit by bit…

Why send one operative and one amateur?"

Karg reviewed the footage – the technician who installed the more sophisticated bug was sweating, trembling, and acting… as if under duress.

"And what if it's someone else?"

And what — did you discover some dirt on this fellow and exert pressure on him, commanding him to fulfil a minor request? I would have done so myself!

Upon receiving the initial news from the Citadel, Walter Karg was perplexed: not only does each race maintain its own intelligence agency, but this is a well-established and comprehensible practice. Thus, each major corporation also maintains a sizable contingent of diverse security personnel — ranging from mindless thugs for menial and coercive tasks to specialists akin to imperial operatives!

Moreover, there exists a «Grey Intermediary», whose identity remains obscure, defying subordination and accountability! In such a conundrum, the Hag must first decipher the situation, followed by his successor, then the successor of the successor — and there is no guarantee of success!

Following Karg's articulation of his thoughts to Visari, a wave of paranoia swept through the security sector of Helgan, leading to a policy of strictly regulated trade relations through diplomatic channels at the Citadel.

Those few visitors who chose to conduct direct business and obtained permission to visit the planet were confined to a designated hotel complex, where their every move was monitored by cameras and sensors, ensuring a level of surveillance that was unprecedented.

Every room in which an alien guest resided was subjected to post-occupancy searches, scans, and electromagnetic pulse processing. The atmosphere of the city was charged with tension, reminiscent of a madhouse.

The unique nature of this work meant that no one within the SIB (Secret Intelligence Bureau) could definitively determine whether their measures were truly effective in preventing potential spies from operating, or if they were simply a futile exercise.

It is likely that the head of the Special Intelligence Branch (SIB) would have been far more satisfied had he been aware that the Global Operations Room (GOR), the intelligence agency of the Azarian Republic, and the Turian Hierarchy, had already designated Helgan as «impossible to operate» and «with minimal prospects for agent infiltration»…

***

Earth. London. A conversation. It has been a few agonizing weeks since the commencement of negotiations...

"So, are you content?"

"Almost. And you?"

A hint of a smile crossed Helgast's grey face.

Hannah Shepard glanced doubtfully at Hackett, whose gaze promised nothing good for the colonel. Despite the fact that Hackett had no chance of success, as the information about the subspace jump theory had already been shared, the leaders of the major corporations were lined up, and the Alliance had entered into a military alliance with the Empire.

Of course, their collaboration was limited to joint operations against pirates and batarians, but it was a start. The Empire had been recognized as the dominant power in the Lama system and granted exclusive rights to develop resources, with the prospect of establishing a colony similar to Earth for their exclusive use.

While it was not a matter of transferring an existing Alliance world, if a suitable planet was discovered in the future by the Helgasts, they would receive it...

Hackett's rage was fuelled by the fact that, despite all the assurances, guarantees, and promises, the Red Eyes had maintained their monopoly on sub-space vessels. The documentation provided to the Alliance had been crafted in such a manner that it appeared as if the propellant for the so-called «warp engines» was an isotope of a known chemical element, with an extremely low rate of consumption.

For the Alliance, with its resources and technical expertise, acquiring the necessary propellant was a matter of time and effort. However, upon signing the contract, they discovered a loophole, revealing that the entire technology behind subspace jumps was rendered ineffective without access to a specific substance known as «petrusite».

And this substance was exclusively mined on Helgan, which meant that, despite its profound impact on quantum physics and scientific research in general, the package of documentation transmitted in the form of three terabytes of data was, in essence, a theory that was difficult to verify in practice, particularly without the assistance of the Empire.

Hackett and Shepard came to discuss this delicate issue with Radek, but the colonel remained deaf to their questions and requests, referring them to the directives of Emperor Vizari, stating, "You can submit a formal complaint through our embassy on the Citadel".

"It was quite a surprise," Hackett finally managed to articulate.

The admiral was no pushover. Indeed, he was among the select few who had successfully navigated a career in both the military and politics, wielding influence within the Earth Council, excelling in both roles, a feat that was exceedingly rare. Had he been born a few centuries earlier, he undoubtedly would have ascended to the role of a people's champion for his followers and a ruthless dictator for his adversaries.

Hackett, too, knew how to admit defeat, and now, as his emotions settled, he couldn't help but admire the manner in which he had been bested.

"It happens," Helgast said, his pale, colorless lips forming a semblance of a smile. "We are soldiers; unexpected turns are part of our lives."

The shadows beneath his eyes, exacerbated by two weeks of sleep deprivation, stood out against his pallid complexion, and his bloodshot eyes betrayed his fatigue. It was not to say that the alliance had suffered an outright defeat; by no means. Yet they had achieved less than desired.

"Tell me, what is your opinion on joint exercises?" Hackett was at a loss for words.

***

"Pam, pam, pam!"

"Miss Moreau, I appreciate that you have an unconventional sense of humour, but I must confess that I do not comprehend it." Rynych spread his arms in exasperation.

The scene was set in the hold of the Normandy, where Second Lieutenant Rynych was unpacking his weapons from a large container. The container contained a variety of weapons, ammunition, and several different types of protective suits. Rynych had been tasked with testing these items in front of members of the Alliance military, if possible.

Joker was simply playing around; most of the equipment had already been assembled, tested, and debugged multiple times. The young woman was amused by watching someone else's work.

"P-f-f-f!" she said. "What is this?"

"This?" Rynych replied. "A protective helmet. Why?"

The girl snorted, "Pf-f-f... Really? A protective helmet? I never would have guessed!" She added, "I mean, why is it so mean-looking?"

Snake regarded the standard helmet, to which a gas mask had been affixed, with a look of perplexity.

— Is that a coat?!

— It is a greatcoat, and it has built-in armour. It is constructed from polymer material and can withstand shots from...

— Fur?! Jennifer continued to tease. — And what sort of animal have you put on its collar, Herod?

Shepard's fiery red hair appeared from the elevator as he descended, followed by his imposing presence. He surveyed the working Helgast and the amused Jennifer, who was grinning.

"Commander! Lawlessness!" the Helgast exclaimed, his eyes widening at the revelation. "This individual allows cute furry creatures to wear collars around his neck!"

The Helgast tilted his head, as if viewing the sarcastic pilot through a new lens. Shepard approached, his gaze fixed on the peculiar garment.

A coat with long skirts, a dark gray color with square pixel camouflage and chevrons on the sleeves, one of the «triad» of the Empire and the chevron of Normandy, was a heavy and thick fabric. The material itself had armor plates inside, on the chest, abdomen, sides and back.

Shepard reached for the dark gray fur collar, which seemed to absorb the electrical lighting of the hold. It was clearly not meant for beauty but had a functional purpose — it rose and protected the head of the wearer from wind and snow.

"Rynych, where did such beauty come from?" she asked.

Rynych replied, "This is a standard uniform for cold conditions."

"I mean the fur! So cool! So soft!" The fur seemed to caress her skin with its softness. The young woman longingly recalled the prices of clothing made from animal materials: despite the fact that it was now possible to clone an animal, the positions of the environmentalists remained firm and unshakeable.

As for Moreau, Jane could not determine whether he was truly a lover of animals or simply enjoyed the company of eccentric individuals. Rather, she suspected that he did not mind the occasional meal of meat, albeit of natural origin.

"Let's just say..." Helgast hesitated, "do you remember when I told you about Hellgan spiders?" Jane stopped stroking the fur, which had suddenly become prickly and uncomfortable.

"For me... We must leave!" Moreau's expression changed, and he hobbled towards the elevator. "Are you allowing spiders onto your fur?" the commander asked as Moreau departed the hold.

"What?" Rynych exclaimed in indignation. "No, it's their uniform! In general, it's not really approved of…"

She hesitated again. Shepherd, who already knew there was something interesting behind this embarrassment, teased her:

"Ryn-y-ych?"

"Well... all the collars on these greatcoats are gray. But gray is not the same as gray..."

"And who has the right to wear such things?"

"Major... General..."

"What?" Shepherd's jaw dropped. "Major General?" She was about to start picking at the floor with her booted toe like a helgast.

Indeed, the armies of all worlds and planets were the same — there were countless cases when soldiers exchanged "officer" clothing items from storekeepers, not always legally.

What could I say if Shepherd in his time...

Shaking off the memory of a sergeant shouting at her, Shepherd shook her head.

"Yes, wear it for your health! I just remembered something..."

***

And she is amusing.

How she combines strength with innocence is a source of amusement. I have observed this during training — she does not simply run along a pre-determined route and fire. No, her actions are intelligent, accurate, and swift.

It is almost a shame that she is not a Helgast — although, were she a Helgast, any trace of innocence would swiftly dissipate.

Inject a touch of levity, share a few humorous anecdotes, stumble in embarrassment — sway, but do not blend.

And there you have it, Second Lieutenant Rynych, ready to go — cheers to your health. Essentially, it was a simple task — the Alliance was focused on London. Radek is likely engaged in negotiations with the Alliance, as instructed by the Emperor. I wonder, will there truly be no conflict?

If so, I will be both relieved and slightly disappointed.

Thus, I may have the opportunity to meet my end in a fitting manner. However, there is a complication.

This complication is named Jenkins...

***

Captain Anderson was absent, which was not unusual, as he had taken it upon himself to personally oversee the coordination with the quartermasters regarding the provision of contingent supplies to the Normandy. Naturally, no one would risk sending expired goods, non-functional fire extinguishers, or defective spare parts to the frigate.

However, during his tenure, Anderson had learned the simple military adage that "one does not ask for what one needs, but rather for what can be taken." Moreover, there appeared to be an issue with the MAKO spare parts: instead of the expected triple set, only one and a half were available, which, in the captain's estimation, amounted to "no spare parts whatsoever."

Thus, the executive officer was tasked with addressing all ongoing matters, including crew conflicts. It was at this juncture that the comfort of his seat at the captain's table in his private quarters seemed less so.

***

"Jenkins, are you being serious?"

"That's right, ma'am!"

Shepard regarded the luxurious black eye adorning the corporal's left cheekbone with an appraising gaze. "He's not who he claims to be! He's likely an agent of the Empire, I'm certain of it! I'm not afraid to say so!" Jenkins looked defiantly at Helgast, who stood at attention beside him.

"Rynych, take a deep breath. And refrain from eating with your eyes – it irritates me. Now, Corporal…" The commander's green eyes, usually filled with mirth and mischief, had turned into tactical visors, "explain these accusations of yours."

"Ma'am, can't you see? This red-eye is clearly no ordinary soldier!"

Rynych inquired. The commander directed her gaze towards the second lieutenant, who bore a split lip and a scarlet scar that stood out against the grayness of his face, his left ear jutting out sharply.

"Rynych – stand down!"

"Commander, with all due respect, this man is incapable of defeat!" The Imperial flared up in anger. "I am already aware that he was once considered a champion here in hand-to-hand combat, but to accuse me of espionage and special training merely because I gave him a bit of a challenge…"

"You have special training!" Richard clenched his fists. "For some reason, you are hiding it! An ordinary soldier, on the contrary, wouldn't be shy about showing off his skills, but you – you missed my strike, and intentionally!"

"Perhaps the soldiers of the Alliance only show off their muscles at every opportunity," Rynych replied with venom. "But on Helgan, they consider modesty the main adornment of a man… Perhaps you belong to the category of those who like to show off your… masculinity, if you understand what I mean. In that case, I can provide you with a couple of bottles of oil and some lace underwear."

Shepard turned to the commander in a fit of rage. "Both of you, shut up!"

"Jenkins, you are an imbecile! As far as I am aware, Rynych possesses combat expertise in engaging with brigands and smugglers. And yes, he is indeed no ordinary soldier, but an exceptional one! Experienced, unlike yourself!"

"Thank you for…"

"Rynych — be silent! You have also been acting foolishly! Was it necessary to provoke a conflict? The corporal is still a novice, after all!"

Jenkins' teeth had already been clenched at this point. "He insulted me!" the second lieutenant hissed. "The red-eyed freak, did he?" Yes, had he attempted such a remark on Helgan, he would have received such a beating that he would beg to be put out of his misery!

"We will not accomplish anything by this!" Shepard leaned over the table, attempting to confront the two soldiers. And while the corporal might have trembled slightly at this, Rynych, in his grey-black uniform, resembled an immovable pillar of stone.

"From this moment on, the two of you are a training pair. You, Rynych, shall learn to communicate without resorting to fisticuffs. And you, Jenkins, shall gain wisdom from your elder friend's intelligence and patience, and understand that one should not judge a person solely by their appearance.

At the same time, perhaps you may regain the 'championship title', so to say…

— I am a helgast, not human!

— Rynych, do not provoke me!"

Initially, Snake had intended to challenge the commander's decision, but upon observing the officer's fiery red hair standing on end with each word, he chose silence.

***

"Hello there, how are you?" the voice in the unchanging cap enquired as the thunder and lightning subsided, appearing through the doorway of the captain's quarters. The entire crew was already aware of the fact that the "fleet Jenk" had been struck by the "Imperial" during the training exercise. To be perfectly honest, Morro was one of those individuals who had organized a small bet within five minutes and even won a hundred credits betting on the dark horse of Helgan. However, it was not necessary for the XO to know this...

"It will do," Jane replied, stretching, giving a sweet yawn, choking on her loose locks and making a sour face. Occasionally, the Joker felt that the XO had been created in order to entertain the universe, which in turn protected her beloved clown.

"Indeed!" the pilot exclaimed, snorting. "He would have crossed his arms over his chest like this!"

The Joker deliberately squared her shoulders, crossed her arms over her chest, and adopted a friendly expression.

"Then I would say something along the lines of: 'You know, folks, we all have to look out for each other tomorrow. I wouldn't wish to send condolences to your families! Remember, we're on a warship, and once we leave port, we might well face perils and trials on patrol!'

And so..."

"No, I think I'd stick with the first part," the captain's voice chimed in from behind the pilot's seat. "But I do like the idea of expanding on it! I'll keep that in mind, if you don't mind, Morrow..."

Morrow appeared somewhat taken aback. "Yes, who's to stop you... By the way, how'd you bypass the airlock without triggering the alarm?"

Anderson stepped into the cabin, making Shepard and Morrow squeeze in. "There are ways. What did I miss?"

"Nothing out of the ordinary. Jenkins had a run-in with Rynych — I paired them for training. Jane handed Anderson a datapad.

— For what reason?

— Jenkins accused Rynych of espionage, there was a scuffle, and «fast Lee» was hit on the shoulder...

— Rynych, a spy?! Anderson playfully rolled his eyes. — Really?!

Shepard snorted. Neither the captain nor the XO doubted that the second lieutenant wrote reports to his superiors, pretending that nothing out of the ordinary was happening. Rynych might not be particularly intelligent, but he was a diligent employee, and even Anderson philosophically accepted the inevitable «accidental» encounters with Rynych near the engine room: Well, he'll report Helgast's suspicious behaviour, well, they'll send him back, someone else will be sent in his place...

Had he been a professional spy, he would have worried. But he wasn't. He was ordered to do something — he did it.

To a layperson, the special forces and the military appear to be monolithic, mechanistic, and utterly inhuman entities. However, having served for a considerable period of time, Anderson was aware that the animosity between citizens of various nations or ethnicities is far less pronounced than the antipathy felt by military personnel and intelligence agents towards their adversaries.

"I paired them together in training," he said. "Let them get accustomed to each other."

"Approved," said his superior. "A sound decision."

Additionally, a shipment was dispatched from London to Rynych, comprising equipment, arms, and ammunition, as far as Anderson could ascertain. The specifications for these items were received via the on-board computer, and in theory, they could manufacture cartridges for the weapons using fabricators on board.

David perused the materials. "Palladium, really? And also..."

"Yes, indeed. And this..."

David chuckled, "I see. It appears that there's even a sniper rifle in that shipment on the ZHMV..."

"I am not quite sure what kind of creature this is," the pilot inquired, still standing beside me.

"It's a promising development that went unnoticed after the discovery of the Mass Effect. Instead of gunpowder, it uses liquid propellant. The initial velocity is prohibitively high, but compared to Mass Effect weapons, it is significantly more difficult, less reliable, and requires more upkeep," David analyzed the specifications of the weaponry that had been transferred aboard by the Empire.

Anderson let out an unseemly whistle. "Wow, this thing fires hundred-gram, feathered 'flying needles' with a tungsten tip and is as precise as a Widow's rifle! Well, yes, if anything, it will quickly penetrate most shields. I'm not particularly fond of this one..."

Anderson gestured towards an item on the list.

"I would like Rynych to place these 'petrusite cartridges', which are used for firing from this infernal device, in a cryogenic container. He will determine the temperature himself. It is not advisable to store flammable liquids in the armory."

"Understood."

Anderson, a proponent of harmonious relationships within the crew, took great interest in understanding the perspectives of his subordinates on a variety of matters.

Moreau reflected on the situation. "Well, he's quite amusing. Moreau thought. His physique is remarkable. He could've been a postman, or perhaps someone from World War II... However, he wears spider body parts about his neck..."

What?

Oh, never mind.

***

I stood on a desolate plain, its colour a blood-red. The wind tousled my hair, now unadorned with the customary dye. When was the last time I had seen such a sight? I couldn't recall — a series of disguises, masks, deceptions...

But then the gusts receded, allowing me to hear a voice amplified by speakers. "Their world is dying, and ours is born!!!" The crowd responded in kind. A mindless and unforgiving mob, easily led by one. Such a state of affairs was not always a bad thing, for if one did not ride the mob, it might begin to think for itself. And when it did, nothing good could come of it.

I followed the voice. The world shook, fracturing into geometric patterns — and now I stood among the crowd. As always, they did not notice me, but out of habit, I tried to mimic their gestures and chant, though the words were clearly not in either the Alliance or Helgan tongues.

"We are the new humanity, and we shall bring an end to the Earth once and for all with the government that has drained all the life from us!"

The words echoed through the air, sounding eerily familiar. Yet, the scene before me was unlike anything I had ever seen. I was no longer on Helgan, and the atmosphere was distinctly different. None of those around me appeared exhausted, nor did they bear any trace of the genetic therapy that had sustained us in our new home. As screens flickered to life on the grand stage, revealing the speaker, I found myself utterly transfixed.

"What in the world?!" I stared in disbelief at a young man who appeared to be in his late twenties, sporting a well-groomed beard and mustache. His curly hair was clearly styled with hair gel, and a striking thin scar crossed his eyes. The sight of his sleek and polished appearance would have elicited laughter from me, had I not been so stunned by what I beheld.

KOTCH! KOTCH! KOTCH!...

Then, I awoke from my dream.

***

Junior Lieutenant Gorynych awoke and became aware of his surroundings. All was still.

The opulent chamber in the officers' quarters, by Helgan standards, was aesthetically pleasing, with potted plants adorning the walls. The time on the timepiece — one o'clock in the morning — brought a sense of contentment at the prospect of imminent repose.

Rynych shifted slightly, settled into the extraordinary comfort of his mattress, and surrendered once more to slumber. His final thought was, "What folly is this?"

Yet there was a silver lining — for the first time in an age, he did not dream of the girl with fiery red hair burning to ash…