Asari and Turian.
Psychosphere Restoration
Entering the medbay, Shepard immediately approached the bed where the turian lay supine.
Chakwas handed the first mate a reader with a condition summary.
The special forces captain spent several minutes studying the short text.
And once again confirmed how masterfully Karin could explain medical “complexities” in simple, understandable language for a non-specialist:
“Does Nihlus know?” the first mate asked quietly.
“No.
I haven’t told him anything.
The medbay is isolated.
He hasn’t left his cabin once.
Communication lines are blocked.
The VI checked recently — the isolation is complete,” Chakwas replied.
“John, what are we going to do?
Two Citadel Council Spectres on our ship is clearly too many.”
“More than too many, Karin.” Shepard typed a short text on the reader and showed it to the doctor.
“They know each other very well.”
“I see.
And if something happens, this young one will come to me to ‘demand his rights.’ And — find out why I couldn’t save his mentor?”
“I’ll explain it to him in simple terms, Karin,” the first mate objected.
“And he’ll leave you alone quickly and for a long time.
It will be enough for him to know that you, Doctor, are not a narrow specialist in psychology and psychiatry.
Nor in what concerns the sanitation of the psychosphere in aliens.
He’s capable of understanding that in any case.
And — in almost any state,” Shepard replied.
“I hope so, John.
Let’s go over to her,” she indicated with a glance the asari, sprawled supine on the next bed.
“You were right to quickly apply splints to the fractures and coat the wounds with several layers of medigel with panacelin.
Those layers also performed…
immobilization.
And isolated the injuries.
I also wanted to thank you for her gentle transport.”
“Don’t mention it, Karin.” Shepard took another reader handed to him by the frigate’s doctor and began studying the texts, diagrams, and tables.
There was more information here: the asari had suffered to a greater degree.
“You, Karin, even managed to determine that he was the first to fall under programming and external control,” a glance at the turian, “and then she became the victim of this ship and its pilot?!” a glance at the asari.
“I take my hat off to you.” Shepard said sincerely and quietly.
“Few instructors at the N7 Academy’s Medical Faculty could compete with you.”
“I still feel powerless, John,” Chakwas replied.
“If I can somehow manage physiology and anatomy, then with the psyche after something like this…
My knowledge, skills, and abilities are clearly insufficient here.
This is the first time I’ve encountered such deep warping of the psychosphere.”
“Alright, Karin.” Shepard straightened up, re-entering the “String” configuration.
This time — not a combat one.
“I’ll need up to five minutes for each of them.
Maybe not much more.
I’ll tell you right away: I’ll only remove the deepest, most fundamental, most important damage.
So that the psychospheres of the turian and the asari can regenerate.
Afterwards, the psychospheres of both will handle the remaining problems themselves.
And don’t worry.
There won’t be any shamanism here.”
“I know, John.” Chakwas stepped away from the first mate.
“I’ll be nearby.
Begin.”
Shepard’s gaze slid over the body of the elderly asari lying supine, and he concentrated on her face.
In the man’s consciousness, on the now-familiar “screen,” the basic data on the physiology and anatomy of representatives of this race flashed up.
Indicators, read directly from the injured asari’s information field, lined up.
The first mate, suppressing his quite understandable amazement and surprise, realized: a new part of his unusual, newly acquired capabilities and abilities had activated.
Some of the indicators immediately turned red, obediently unfolding into diagrams and tables indicating blockages in the psychosphere.
Having confirmed that the identified blocks were unnatural in nature, Shepard carefully began to examine their surroundings, so as not to miss traps and hidden surprises.
The “anchors” reliably pointed to the ship’s pilot and the ship itself.
The double “anchor” attachment guaranteed sufficient submissiveness and loyalty from the asari.
Even in the event that the Reaper’s captive somehow managed to inflict harm — either on the “squid” or its control center.
Having removed the main “blocks,” Shepard traced the connections in both directions, carefully examining the surroundings, looking for “sleeping guards.” Finally, having made sure there were no surprises throughout the victim’s body, Shepard began to carefully free the asari’s mind and essence from all the identified secondary and tertiary hooks that ensured direct control over the rescued person’s personality and body.
The work did not take much time.
Exactly six minutes later, Shepard “surfaced” from the state of extreme concentration, regaining relaxation in his body and allowing his brain to switch to normal mode.
“Karin, check the readings.
I’m done with her,” Shepard said in a low voice, taking a few steps towards the turian’s bed and allowing the ship’s doctor to approach the asari’s bed.
“Keep her asleep as long as possible,” the first mate added.
“That will allow her to recover on her own.
The rest is up to you.”
“Understood, John.” Chakwas nodded, already studying the indicators on the reader.
“I’ll do everything I can.”
Shepard approached the turian’s bed.
The alien lay motionless, his breathing shallow and even.
The captain concentrated, and the familiar “screen” lit up in his mind again, displaying the turian’s physiological parameters.
The damage to his psychosphere was less extensive than the asari’s, but still significant.
The “anchors” were the same — the ship and its pilot.
Working quickly and precisely, Shepard removed the main blockages and freed the turian’s consciousness from the alien influence.
After a few minutes, he straightened up.
“He’s done too,” Shepard said.
“Now they both need rest.
And time.”
“Thank you, John,” Chakwas said quietly.
“I don’t know how you do it, but…
thank you.”
“Just doing my job, Karin.” Shepard turned and left the medbay, leaving the doctor to monitor her patients.
“Good, Shepard.” The doctor activated her omni-tool, checking the readings taken by the medbay’s automatics before and after the first mate’s manipulations.
“You’ve made my job much easier.”
“I hope it helps her.” Shepard leaned over the turian.
“But here I’ll have to work more deeply.
Karin, tell the commander to ask the archaeologists to hold off on entering the new sector.
I’ll need an extra half hour.
On top of the twenty minutes I already mentioned.”
“Will do, John.” Karin stepped away from the asari lying supine on the hospital bed, returned to her work table, and typed a short message on the desktop omni-tool’s keyboard.
“The commander got your message.
He’ll pass it on to the head of the archaeological team.
I don’t think the scientists will mind.
I’m glad you can spare the time for the patients, Captain.”
Shepard paid little attention to the doctor’s last words.
He had already immersed himself back in scanning the turian’s psychosphere.
The half hour he’d requested was the absolute minimum needed.
The Spectre, the first to fall under direct programming, had implants in his body that created a truly monstrous cocktail of effects on his body, organism, and psyche.
These implants had nothing in common with any he had seen before as a captain in the marine special forces.
So Shepard made sure to isolate them from influencing the organic sentient’s core body and brain systems.
Severing the connections was difficult.
The implants dotted nearly the entire turian’s body, forming a kind of secondary skeleton that duplicated the natural one.
He had to concentrate first on those closest to the brain of the patient, who was sleeping under medicated sedation.
Once their influence was neutralized, he could slowly work on the rest, firmly embedded in the turian’s limbs, torso, and head.
He knew Chakwas was recording positive changes with her sensitive instruments.
But he preferred not to react to that knowledge, continuing to disable more and more connections.
Finally, the turian’s brain and spinal cord were completely free of the implants’ influence.
Having disabled the conductors controlling the turian’s core systems and torso organs, Shepard scanned the patient’s head, face, and body, searching for hidden devices.
There weren’t many.
A second scan revealed a few more “sentries” and traps.
Shepard knew the time — that half-hour reserve — was running out fast.
It was always like this when he was fully absorbed in his work.
But he couldn’t stop now: any pause could activate an unnoticed device and destroy a vital organ.
Having freed the turian’s torso from the influence of the devices and numerous foreign implants, Shepard swept his “scanning” gaze over the Spectre’s powerful legs.
More devices and implants were found there too.
The “Cuttlefish,” piloted by a ruthless pilot, had done everything to ensure the turian couldn’t offer the slightest resistance.
And, if necessary, couldn’t even move his upper or lower limbs.
Disabling the connections and conductors with precisely dosed pulses, Shepard’s gaze gradually moved down to the turian’s feet.
After disabling the last two “devices,” the captain scanned the Spectre’s body several more times.
Finding no surprises, he allowed himself to relax.
“John…” Karin’s quiet voice came.
“You have no idea what you possess.”
“Maybe, Karin, maybe,” Shepard said quietly, turning slowly to see the frigate’s doctor, her eyes radiating kindness and concern.
“But I don’t need any stimulant shots.” The marine captain’s hand found the shoulder speaker on his suit.
“Commander, I’m done.
I need a few minutes… to pull myself together.
Then I’ll head down to the hangar.
Ask Steve and my landing team, with Corporal Jenkins, to be there too.
Have the archaeologists guide their column by our shuttle’s beacon.
I’ll transmit the updated coordinates over the audio channel.”
“Understood, John,” Anderson’s voice was unusually quiet and gentle.
“Thank you.
You have sentients who owe you their lives.
And their freedom.” With those words, the captain cut the channel.
Chakwas’s omni-tool beeped.
“John,” the doctor said, reading the incoming message.
“Anderson told the archaeologists.
They agree to wait for the shuttle launch.
They understand you’re busy.
Please, at least let me give you some herbal tea.
It’s not a stimulant, it’s a general restorative.
You’re exhausted, John,” Chakwas added.
“Karin, has anyone ever told you that you’re always extremely persuasive?” Shepard asked without a smile, accepting the cup of tea from the ship’s doctor.
“After witnessing the miracle I just saw — no one has,” Chakwas answered honestly, watching the landing team commander drink the tea in small, unhurried sips, then carefully set the cup on the bedside table.
“I believe we can now remove most of the implants from his body,” she said, nodding toward the turian.
“Yes, Karin.
I can’t help with that,” Shepard said, a faint smile touching only the corners of his lips as he felt the warmth of the tea spread through his body.
“That’s your domain, Doctor.
He’s probably the most complex… patient.
With her,” he glanced toward the asari, “it will be easier.”
“You’re right, John.” The doctor gave Shepard a careful look.
“The tea will take effect in a few minutes.” She pressed a key on the wall panel and glanced at the small information screen that lit up.
“Ingvar is free right now.
He’ll escort you to the shuttle, Captain.
I can’t let you leave the medbay alone.”
“I understand, Doctor.” Shepard raised both hands to shoulder level in a playful gesture.
“I submit.”
“Good.” Chakwas stepped aside, letting the ECM specialist who had entered offer his shoulder to the captain.
“Good luck, John,” she said softly.
His answer was a deep nod from the captain as he stepped over the medbay’s threshold.
The door slid slowly back into place.
A red, access-denied signal flashed on it.
“If it weren’t for him, I’d have two corpses in my medbay.
And an interspecies scandal to follow,” the doctor said quietly, sorting through the instruments in her surgical kit.
“Well.
He did his job.
Now it’s my turn to work.”
Chakwas pulled on fresh sterile gloves and covered her face with a mask.
“But the moment he’s back on board, he becomes my patient.
He needs rest and sleep.
It would be good if he could doze off on the flight to the dig site.” The doctor adjusted the light over the bed where the turian lay and picked up a thermal scalpel.
“Let’s begin.”