Sitting down in her work chair and turning on her omni-tool, Chakwas already understood: yes, Benezia had fallen in love with Shepard.
A woman can always sense when another woman has fallen in love with a man.
That’s how nature wanted it, that’s how evolution decreed it.
Yes, in her story, Karin had particularly drawn Benezia’s attention to the fact that Shepard loved a girl named Dana.
And, most likely, would in the future become her husband and best friend.
But would that have been enough to stop an asari matriarch?
Shepard is young, but he is far from a youth.
He has a great deal of life experience.
And if an asari matriarch has fallen in love with him, it means he is truly unusual, valuable, and important not only to Dana, but also to many other sentient organics.
John, pulling the asari and the turian out of — almost — oblivion, risked his very essence and his life.
So there is nothing surprising in the fact that Benezia wants to repay her savior.
If only she, the frigate’s doctor, knew how Saren Arterius would react to Shepard’s role in his own fate…
Yes, Karin remembered that Benezia was married to Aethyta.
But…
For asari, as the doctor also understood, such formalities had never played a decisive role.
Aethyta, the Rebellious Matriarch, was absorbed in public activities.
That’s why she was now rarely and briefly by Benezia’s side; Liara, for instance, hadn’t spoken to her mother in fifty years.
And about her father — she probably knows for certain only that he is an asari.
About the rest, Benezia, for reasons known fully and accurately only to herself, prefers to remain silent — even in communication with her own daughter.
So if Matriarch Benezia T’Soni has fallen in love with Shepard, then only the two of them can choose how to live next.
Grown sentients, they’ll figure it out and decide for themselves, — thought Chakwas, delving into the reading of the patient monitoring indicators compiled into tables and diagrams.
The panels and consoles above the doctor’s worktable unequivocally indicated that both patients in the Medbay were recovering.
While Chakwas filled out the medical “forms,” she had time to think that for the crew and team of the frigate the Normandy, the confrontation with the Reapers, marking the end of another Cycle, had already begun, had already moved from the realm of possibility into the realm of reality.
Perhaps many of the Normandovtsy already believed that peacetime was over — and now it was wartime’s turn.
Conventions of perception and understanding…
Yes, they had managed to stop the Reaper from stealing another Prothean Beacon.
Now this Beacon could actually be handed over to the Citadel Council.
Karin did not approve of the Councilors’ policies on many issues, but she acknowledged that for the sake of good neighborly relations, one could go so far as to hand over such a valuable artifact to the Council.
And then, of course, specialists, researchers, and scientists would take care of it.
Although Chakwas, with the cynicism characteristic of medics, also assumed that the Beacon might be locked away in some repository.
And later — simply forgotten.
Forgotten for a long time.
Against the backdrop of the collision of a human prototype ship with a Reaper, such a prospect no longer seemed unacceptable or impossible.
It was unlikely that the sentient organics inhabiting the explored part of the galaxy would now, in the pre-war period, have enough credits and other resources to properly dig into the depths of this artifact.
Which, meanwhile, many knowledgeable sentient organics called one of the pinnacles of Prothean technology.
If the asari was calm, or rather, more or less calm about the fact that she was completely naked under the cover draped over a light wire frame, the turian’s embarrassment and shyness did not escape Chakwas’s attentive gaze.
These bony, bird-faced creatures were well-versed in matters of gender.
And they had ingrained ideas about what was permissible and impermissible in this area.
Chakwas saw how tense Saren was.
He was probably uncomfortable lying naked even in front of a doctor.
A man, albeit an alien.
The shyness displayed by the turian, who had barely regained consciousness, prompted Chakwas to think about quickly solving the problem of clothing for the Medbay’s patients.
Underwear, light clothing, jumpsuits.
Karin didn’t want to turn to the locals of Eden Prime: the situation developing around the Reaper lying not far from the frigate was too tense and unclear.
Therefore, such a request would have caused more misunderstanding than a desire and willingness to actually help.
Turning on a second desktop omni-tool, Chakwas called up on the screen a list of crew members who could sew minimal sets of clothing for the unexpected patients of the frigate-cruiser’s Medbay.
A tendency towards self-sufficiency was in the traditions of the Alliance Reconnaissance Fleet.
Of course, one could argue about how complete such self-sufficiency was compared to a similar tendency inherent in, say, the same Imperial Russians, but still, such an opportunity should not be ignored.
The ship’s VI didn’t let her down: a second later, a detailed list appeared before the frigate’s doctor.
After tinkering with it, Karin left only five lines on the screen and sent a pre-prepared package of files with a request to each of these crew and team members.
The turian and the asari were sleeping soundly, the diagnostic complex noted no signs of deterioration in their condition.
So it was quite possible to calmly wait for an answer.
Chakwas was used to spending long periods alone in her Medbay.
To some extent, she agreed that many of the Normandovtsy considered her a “Medbay recluse.” At the same time, she felt and understood — all the inhabitants of the prototype frigate knew: the Medbay was a special territory, it was not a place for idle conversation or — for being there without a necessary reason.
Like most normal, more or less healthy people, the ship’s crew and team members had no particular desire to become patients or even visitors to the Medbay.
Karin was used to having to force the Normandovtsy, almost by force, time and again, to undergo regular medical check-ups and controls, to give control tests and samples.
And — to follow dozens of medical recommendations.
Yes, the Normandy was ostensibly a military ship, but it was also a reconnaissance ship.
And among scouts, martinetism, drill, and excessive deference to rank are not respected beyond the minimum necessary limits.
Simply put, Karin could, of course, “put in their place” by virtue of her rank and position — any Normandovets.
But — she rarely used that opportunity.
She preferred to persuade and convince.
That, she could and wanted to do very effectively.
She didn’t want to disturb the silence of her medbay, so she used neither audio nor video channels.
She made do with file transfers.
And a short explanatory text message.
Perhaps, after several days of flight, not all of the Normandy’s crew had grown accustomed to this method of communication with the head physician of the medbay.
But Shepard’s appearance, the attack on the Reaper.
And also the fact that the Normandy was still on Eden Prime and that its stay there, by many parameters, completely shattered most templates.
All of this gave the Normandovtsy reason to look at things a little differently — both at the situation as a whole and at its component parts.
Few of the frigate’s inhabitants ignored the news that sentient aliens, caught in a difficult situation and therefore placed in the medbay, had appeared on board the scout frigate.
Almost all members of the crew and command understood: in such a situation, there was a very high probability that their clothes and underwear, shoes, and headwear would be unsuitable for further use.
Therefore, the issue of replacing the damaged wardrobe with something minimally acceptable had to be resolved as quickly as possible.
Preferably something new, never used before.
Chakwas knew that far from all of the Normandovtsy were calm and well-disposed toward the fact that they now had to tolerate the presence of two more aliens on board an Earth ship, in addition to the turian Nihlus Kryik.
Although thirty years had already passed, that used to be considered a long, even enormous, period of time, back when most Earthlings lived no more than seventy or eighty years.
But now, when the average human lifespan had reached one hundred and fifty years — thanks in part to advances in medicine — that period was considered very short.
Especially since a person didn’t always know precisely and clearly about their own xenophobia and its scale.
More often than not, it took an encounter with aliens of many races to bring it out.
A simple peaceful meeting or… Or a fight.
The inertia of human thinking and activity hadn’t gone anywhere.
Thinking about this, Karin had no doubt: the permanent inhabitants of the frigate would now have to get used to the presence of aliens on board.
Nihlus Kryik, as well as Saren Arterius and Benezia T’Soni, were only the first non-human sentients who might receive permanent residency on the Normandy.
Chakwas doubted that Benezia would get such permanent residency: the asari was thoroughly civilian.
But Saren Arterius was a different matter.
He was a predator, a warrior, a Spectre.
And Nihlus Kryik’s mentor.
Yes, Shepard had had to harshly remind Kryik of who he was on board.
But now the young turian would be dealt with by the recovering and strengthening Saren Arterius.
Who owed both his life and his personal integrity directly to Shepard himself.
Among the “bird-faces,” it was customary to value and even love such sentients: not every organic got the chance to actually save a turian’s life.
Caroline Grenado, a commissioning engineer, threw up her hands when the text of Karin’s letter appeared on the screen of her desktop omni-tool.
The gesture did not go unnoticed.
A ring immediately formed around the worktable.
The women, of course, knew how emotional Caroline could be, but such a reaction from their friend clearly interested them.
Several pairs of eyes read the short message.
Carolina sent both the text of the letter and all its attachments to her friends’ omni-tools.
They opened their screens and, settling into chairs and bunks, began to read attentively.
The letters and supplements sent by Chakwas did not go into the omni-tool archives: the ladies set about studying their contents.
“We need to help them,” said Monica Hegulesco, an electronic equipment technician.
“I remember the quartermaster had something among his supplies…”
“You’re right,” Sergeant Amina Vaaberi replied, raising her gaze from the screen.
She was the only female military servicemember from the police contingent.
“We’ve dealt with turians before, helped them adjust their uniforms to our Earth human standards,” the woman’s fingers ran across the omni-tool keyboard.
“I still have the materials.
I’m sending copies to all of you.
Let’s think.”
“We need to do more than think.
We need to act,” Mandira Rahman, the propulsion system support operator, said thoughtfully.
“I understand that we’ve all, even subconsciously, latched onto the chance to help dress the turian.
He’s a man, attractive to us women, say what you will.
But we can’t forget about the asari either.”
“Turians live about as long as we humans do,” Yelena M’Lavi objected.
“So it’s easy for us Earthlings to communicate with them.
Despite the sharp and, let’s be honest, bitter memory of the First Contact conflict.
But with an asari, and a matriarch at that… a member of the Matriarchy.
I’m very cautious about politicians.
And, like it or not, Benezia is a politician.
That means she can be very insincere.
I don’t like politicians, especially insincere ones!
So, most likely, I’ll focus on helping the turian.
But the asari… No, I still can’t overcome my ingrained negative attitude toward aliens like her.”
“Then I’ll take it upon myself to supply the asari with all the necessary wardrobe,” Amina Vaaberi said, rising from her chair.
“You girls are too harsh.
If I understood correctly, Benezia fell under the press of indoctrination and nearly became a full-fledged ‘irreversible’ husk.
That kind of influence changes a sentient organic profoundly.
If not for Captain Shepard, we would have had two husks of different races on board.
And thanks to the first mate’s selflessness, as far as I could understand from Karin’s message, we got perfectly adequate passengers.
If you look into the ship’s archives, you’ll find, friends, that Benezia is a mother; she has an only daughter, born shortly before pregnancy and childbirth would have become very problematic.
And she hasn’t spoken to her daughter in fifty years, friends.
Fifty years!
A third of our lives!
I have no doubt that now the asari matriarch will want to restore her relationship with her daughter on a normal scale.
And we must help her achieve that reunion.
She wasn’t born a politician, friends.
She was born an asari, capable of creating life!”
“We understand you’ve made a decision,” Monica turned to her.
“And I’ll say this.
While we’re near the defeated Reaper, on a perfectly comfortable and equipped planet that’s also inhabited by sentient organics, we have time to do something useful.
So — I propose we don’t divide our passengers by race.
And help them both.
With collective effort.
Let’s look into the situation, check the ship’s quartermaster’s supplies.
By the way, girls, he’s a normal man now.
Not that former ‘creature’ that, in my opinion, wasn’t worthy of being called a man.
I think the current supply officer won’t refuse to help us.
I’m also sure the ship’s commander will assist.”
“To work, colleagues,” Caroline supported her friend.
The cubicle, traditionally considered the women’s quarters on board the small ship, soon emptied — the women and girls, after a brief consultation, headed for the hold, into the domain of the quartermaster-policeman.
A quarter of an hour later, its inhabitants gathered again around the table with the omni-tool, laying out the bundles they had brought.
While Monica composed a reply to Karin, typing it on the keyboard of her wrist omni-tool, the other ladies began printing the “appendices” onto plastopaper sheets — Chakwas had sent, in separate files, the exact body measurements of the asari and the turian, so it was quite possible to do without fittings.
“This is a challenge, girls,” said Yelena, bending over a length of fabric with a thermal cutter in her hand.
“For me, at any rate.
I rarely sewed anything without a fitting.”
“Don’t go on, Lena.
With collective effort, we’ll figure everything out in the best possible way,” Monica replied.
Having received the reply from her friends, Chakwas relaxed with satisfaction, leaning back in her work chair and resting her head on the headrest.
Now the problem of clothing for her patients had begun to be solved practically.
Glancing at the status indicators of the asari and the turian, the ship’s doctor confirmed that everything was in order: recovery was proceeding normally.
Thinking for a moment, she rose from her chair, walked over to the asari’s bed, extended her sleep for a few more hours with a light hypnotic influence, and simultaneously performed a traditional manual examination of the recovering patient.
Approaching the bed where the turian slept, the doctor confirmed that he was sleeping soundly enough on his own.
And had no need for additional stimulation of deep sleep.
Even if he woke up first in a few hours, that wouldn’t be a problem: he already knew the asari was recovering.
And so far, he showed no desire to go for her throat again.
Or to otherwise threaten her health and safety.
Still, Shepard had thoroughly cleansed their psychosphere: who better than a doctor, a specialist in treating aliens, knew how important the correctness and precision of the initial therapeutic impact on a patient was.
And the first mate had delivered that impact — not on the body, but on the souls of the patients — with super-professional skill.
Thinking about how well and fundamentally the current first mate of the Normandy had been taught many wisdoms by the Academy’s mentors, Chakwas returned to her worktable, settled into her chair, and, going still, prepared to wait.
Maintaining almost complete stillness during her shifts was nothing new to her.
Of course, in an hour she would have to conduct another inventory of medications and equipment, but that was routine daily work.
Yes, much had changed on the prototype frigate.
Not long ago, Karin had sincerely believed that her craving for solitary time in the medbay was a way to overcome the consequences of her confrontations with several members of the Normandy’s crew and command.
She didn’t want to use combat hypnosis, didn’t want to display the abilities and capabilities available to her as a top-class medic.
So, to avoid an extreme escalation of yet another situation, she had to return to the medbay.
After all, she was only the doctor on board, not the commander.
And not the first mate.
Anderson understood her, covered for her, and, at times, reined in the frigate’s crew members who wanted to vent their irritation on the medic.
Karin could feel how much David disliked everything connected with the absence of a first mate on the ship.
It was only after the short stop at Arcturus, when Captain Shepard stepped on board, that Anderson was able to calm down.
Before that, David had often had to rein in the Normandovtsy: not everyone liked a life where there were far more questions than answers.
And then there was this Nihlus with his “airs”…