The assault crew commander didn’t insist, either in the salon or now, that Anderson immediately share with him the reason for his silence.
But there was a reason.
And apart from Anderson’s direct involvement in the events connected with this ship, Shepard could find no other reasons.
“Yes.
Today,” the first mate replied, “we still have time for all sorts of preparation.
Less than twelve hours remain until midnight.
Tomorrow we’ll have to act both by plan and be ready.
For improvisation, and for active counteraction, Commander.”
“Good.” Anderson summoned the duty officer.
“Let’s go to my cabin, Captain.”
Shepard nodded and walked to the left and behind the ship’s commander, who was striding widely.
Entering the cabin, he, catching the permissive nod, locked the doors.
Anderson, from the desk Omni-tool, turned on the wall screens.
Shepard brought up the needed data on them.
“In the CIC I couldn’t ask you about much, Captain,” Anderson said.
“But I clearly understood that you already had a plan ready.
One that provides not only for masking and moving from planet to planet, that is, what you discussed with Pressly.
I suspect you wanted to conduct several full-scale alarms and exercises, carrying them out both today and tomorrow.”
“You’re right, Commander,” Shepard said.
“I do indeed have a plan that provides for real combat with this ship.
Permission to speak frankly, sir?”
“Only that way.
And no other,” Anderson said.
“If we’re to risk the ship, the crew, use combat weapons, then we should know precisely what, how, and when to do,” Anderson nodded.
“According to the data from the same observation, communication, and control posts that received the scan data of the ship heading to Eden Prime that you know of, I managed to understand that the ship possesses a powerful energy source.
I’m certain it’s very powerful, if compared to the best currently known in the Galaxy.
It’s precisely this that allows that superdreadnought not only to be absolutely invulnerable even to a coordinated attack by several of our dreadnoughts in space.
But, as you’ve already seen, I don’t hold the opinion that this ship will operate from Eden Prime’s orbit.
And, due to certain premises, I’m certain that on the planet’s surface this ship is more vulnerable.
And it will make a landing — of that I have no doubt whatsoever.”
“And what are your premises?” Anderson grew interested.
“Sending such a ship to an agricultural planet just to shoot at its surface from orbit — that’s too unlikely a course of events, though, I won’t deny, a possible one.
I don’t understand why the superdreadnought is following exclusively through our zone of responsibility.
I don’t understand why it’s aimed with such precision specifically at Eden Prime.
Usually ships of this class don’t travel empty and, especially, alone.
They travel with powerful escort, in a ‘formation.’ Which means everything necessary this giant has not around itself, but inside itself.
And among all that necessary, I’d give priority to assault forces.
The command of such a ship is probably capable of understanding that burning fields, destroying agricultural settlements and entire cities with the forces of even one huge and powerful ship — is too exotic and adventurous an occupation, frankly speaking.
Which means: the arrival of this monster on the planet Eden Prime pursues some other goals.
Far more important than arranging mass conflagrations.” Shepard switched the screens, bringing up information about the Prothean beacons.
“I’ve already said, Captain, that I know the true reason for using our ship specifically in the Eden Prime area.
The Prothean Beacon.”
“You’re right, Shepard.” Anderson nodded.
“The leadership of the Systems Alliance made the decision that the Prothean beacon found by Earthlings on Eden Prime will be handed over to the Citadel.
For conducting joint research on this artifact, left behind by a race that went extinct fifty thousand years ago.”
“Am I to understand this gesture of goodwill by the Alliance as an attempt to raise humanity’s political rating among the Citadel races?” Shepard inquired.
“That’s also a factor.
Unfortunately,” Anderson said.
“As an officer of the Alliance VKS, I don’t like hiding such things from the frigate’s crew.
But if they know about it — it won’t add to their calm.
Since our ship is equipped with the newest system providing invisibility from detection, including optical tracking sensors, the Alliance VKS command tasked specifically us with the extraction of the beacon and its high-speed delivery to the Citadel.
At any rate, whoever I received instructions or orders from — they all referenced precisely our invisibility system.
I’m certain their superiors ordered them to do so.
Who, quite possibly, never served in the army.
Not a single day.
And therefore much…
They don’t understand.
And — don’t know.” Anderson was silent for a few seconds.
“The archaeological team is already waiting for us.
According to the latest telemetry — they’ve already fully excavated the beacon.
In an undamaged state, fortunately.
If we humans are at all capable of competently understanding what state can be defined as undamaged for it.”
“When we excavated the Prothean outpost on Mars, Captain,” Shepard said, “we also found something like a beacon there.
At any rate, thanks to the Prothean information obtained from the outpost, we managed to find and activate the Charon relay and reach Arcturus.
Does that mean we, Earthlings, expect to have a share in the information obtained from the undamaged beacon, working in partnership with the major races of the Citadel Council?”
“As an ordinary common man, Shepard, I wouldn’t count on any share at all,” Anderson replied.
“But as an Alliance officer and the commander of a frigate, I’m obligated to be guided not by personal preferences, but by a more important level of interests.
In any case, I still don’t know for certain whether any other beacons like this have been found anywhere in the galaxy.
There are, of course, certain reports of varying degrees of reliability, but…
Our beacon on Mars is more than just a beacon.
It’s not an ordinary transmitter-receiver.
It’s a repository of information.
We humans spent several calendar years reading a few pages of some text, using that information to find the Charon Relay, activate it, and reach Arcturus.
And now, quite recently, as a result of excavations on Eden Prime, we’ve found an intact, undamaged beacon.
Exactly what it most likely should be.
And unactivated, at that.
Within Alliance leadership circles, there are various scenarios for how events might unfold from here,” the ship’s commander clarified.
“I understand that this beacon would be very useful to us Terrans, to humans, ourselves.
But unfortunately, we are now definitely not alone in the universe.
And we are obligated to learn interstellar diplomacy.”
“As I understand it, Commander,” Shepard said, “the Citadel Council considers the discovery of a beacon in Earth’s area of responsibility undesirable.
Unless, of course, the beacon is transferred to the Citadel and, accordingly, handed over to the Council.”
“Yes, Shepard.” Anderson nodded.
“We’re too young a race for the Citadel.” He looked at the Omni-tool screens.
“The asari have three thousand years of spaceflight, the turians a thousand years, the salarians two thousand years of manned long-range flights through explored and unexplored parts of the galaxy.
Naturally, they won’t — all together or individually — want to give us humans the chance to freely and exclusively use the information that is undoubtedly contained in this beacon.
No matter what.
No matter how good-neighborly relations between us, humans, and the Council races are now.
Or were in the recent past.”
“Then, Commander, I’ll ask you directly.” Shepard straightened up, but didn’t assume either a position of attention or a stance convenient for quickly activating the String state.
“Does the Council know about this ship?” He indicated with his gaze the screen, where a nearly two-kilometer-long shrimp, wrapped in a six-kilometer cocoon of space dust, was crawling on a course toward Eden Prime.
“They’re keeping quiet about it, Captain Shepard,” Anderson replied.
“I suspect they’re either reliably hiding something.
Or they don’t know how to explain ‘it.’ Or they’re afraid.
Because even the Destiny Ascension is a launch against a superdreadnought like that.”
“That’s not what I’m talking about, Commander.” Shepard didn’t shift his gaze to his interlocutor.
“I’m talking about the role you personally played in this ship now prowling through our areas of responsibility.
And heading for the jewel of Earth’s agricultural colonial infrastructure.”
“You found that out too,” Anderson remarked without emotion.
“Very well.
Since this is now part of our job, I’ll tell you.” He sat more comfortably in his chair.
“To tell the truth, it was rather unpleasant for me to see how easily you uncovered what I would have preferred to keep as closed as possible.
At least until my own biological death.” The commander was silent for a few seconds.
“I know this ship, Shepard.
Its name is Sovereign, though it’s also sometimes called Nazara.
It first became known as an artifact discovered by a scientist, Doctor Xin Suo.
That doctor, for certain reasons, became obsessed while working with this artifact-ship.
The work was conducted at a secret Alliance base located on the planet Sidon.
It’s a large planet with a thin atmosphere.
There, under dome protection, an Alliance base was built where the research was carried out.
Officially, in the field of artificial intelligence.”
“Xin Suo?
The galaxy’s leading specialist in AIs?” Shepard became interested.
“Or, at least, considered the leading one?” the captain-special forces soldier clarified.
“Yes, Shepard,” Anderson confirmed.
“That project on Sidon was quite dangerous for the Alliance.
After all, artificial intelligence, as far too many people were convinced at the time, could subjugate all of humanity.
And then all other organic sentient races, if we didn’t learn to control, limit, and effectively manage its development.” Anderson paused.
“I wouldn’t have put it that way.
But I had to intervene in that project, in its work, when Xin Suo fell under the influence of this ship.”
“Mental influence?
Soft reprogramming?
Indoctrination?” Shepard asked.
“If you already know what those terms mean…” Anderson said.
“Then I doubt I have anything to add.
Yes, Doctor Xin Suo fell under the influence of this monster.
It turned out that the ship possesses an effective technology for influencing the mind, and consequently, the behavior of a sentient being.
Simply put…
It can subjugate them.
And control them.
This ship was discovered not far from space that had by then been occupied by the geth.
Kahlee Sanders was working alongside Xin Suo.
Officially, she was a representative of the technical staff.
But unofficially…
Who knows, who knows.”
Anderson paused for a few seconds before continuing his story.
Shepard made a note in his memory.
“Noticing the inadequacy of Xin Suo’s behavior,” the commander continued his account, “she began trying to report this ‘non-standard behavior’ to the Systems Alliance.
Taking the data from the top-secret research being conducted at the time, Kahlee fled to Elysium.
Everyone there was obsessed with security at the time, and Kahlee thought she would be protected there too.
And by the time Sanders was already on Elysium, the base on Sidon was attacked by the Blue Suns.
You understand, Shepard, that Sanders, who had fled the base shortly before the attack began, became one of the prime suspects in its organization.
Even the fact that the Blue Suns themselves wanted to capture Kahlee didn’t give the official, so to speak, state law enforcement forces grounds to clear her of suspicion.”
Anderson now spoke in a ragged manner, pausing frequently in his narration and taking small sips of water from a large glass:
“There was another character there.
Doctor Qian.
He captured Kahlee, hoping she would help him with his research.
I had been put forward as a candidate for Spectre at the time.
The Spectre Saren Arterius was assigned as my mentor.
It was I, under a false name, of course, who smuggled Kahlee off Elysium.
And it was I — along with Saren — who had to storm the zero element production plant.
Actually, a mining and processing plant.
And you, Shepard, I’m sure, know very well how huge and difficult they are to storm with small forces.”
Anderson fell silent for a few seconds, gathering his strength and his thoughts:
“That was when Saren showed himself…
In all his glory.
I refused to blow up the plant because at that moment there were still workers on it, in its workshops and on its grounds.
And Saren…
He not only blew up the plant.
He also set me up, reporting and, I think, convincingly proving to the Citadel Council in his own way that it happened because of me.
Kahlee…
She was there.
That Qian was holding her there.”
Anderson took a sip from his glass:
“As a hostage, a prisoner.
I don’t know exactly what he considered her to be then.
But he held her — tightly.
Later, after my Spectre candidacy was revoked, Kahlee and I only met a few times.
And each time I felt her pulling away from me.
She transferred to the Academy named after her father, Admiral Grissom.
Worked there as a consultant.”
Anderson took another sip of water from his glass:
“It’s all complicated.
I thought I would never meet that monster again, Shepard,” the commander raised his gaze to the screen where the silhouette of the monster ship glowed.
“And it…
It’s extremely unpleasant for me to say this, but Kahlee and Saren…
They’re the same age.
I don’t know why.
But it’s unpleasant.”
Silence fell in the cabin.
Shepard was mulling over what Anderson had said.
The ship’s commander continued to drink water from the large glass in small sips.
“John, go.
See to the crew and the ship.
I need to be alone.
To decide what to do next,” Anderson said when more than half an hour had passed.
“No matter what, we’re going to have to fight.
And, if we can, then win.”
Shepard stood up silently, nodded to the ship’s commander, and left, closing the door of the captain’s cabin tightly behind him.
Lieutenant Alenko was already hurrying toward him.
“Captain, sir.
Permission to report?” The officer stopped two steps from Shepard, snapping to attention.
“Report, Lieutenant.” Shepard turned to Kaidan.
“Corporal Jenkins has finished his training,” Alenko said clearly.
“Along with him, five military policemen have partially completed their training.
What are your orders, sir?”
“Continue the training.” Shepard internally tuned his String.
“Order all trainees to don full combat suits and armor.
Also, to take real but unloaded weapons.
Continue training only in suits, armor, and with weapons,” the captain clarified, seeing the surprise on the lieutenant’s face.
“After training, let everyone rest and have lunch.
I order you to draw up a schedule for daily combat duty.
For our rapid response group.
From the landing party complement — three to five people.
While on duty, all group members are to be in armor, suits, with helmets on and combat weapons.
Is anything unclear, Lieutenant?”
“Sorry, sir,” Alenko replied.
“Maybe it’s not that important right now, but I don’t feel any migraine at all.
Before, at this pre-lunch time, it was literally eating me alive.”
“Glad to hear it, Lieutenant,” Shepard’s lips twitched in a barely perceptible smirk.
“I assume that, having gotten rid of the migraine, you can now devote almost full days to working with the crew.
And with the landing group in particular.
Any other questions?”
“No, sir.
Permission to go?” Alenko straightened up even more and saluted.
“Go, Lieutenant.” Shepard returned the military mirror salute in response to the lieutenant’s greeting and slowly headed toward the pilot’s cabin.
Unlike many crew members, Jeff Moreau, nicknamed “Joker,” was more acutely aware of the danger emanating from the landing party commander.
So, the moment John Shepard touched the VI hologram of the airlock hatch lock leading to the pilot’s cabin, Moreau was already standing facing the entrance.
And trying not to show how uncomfortable he was.
“Good day, sir!” Moreau greeted the entering Shepard, giving the regulation salute.
“Hello, Lieutenant.” Shepard mirrored the salute precisely.
“What’s the situation?”
“On the ship or on the course?” Moreau couldn’t resist a jab.
And too late, to his regret, he realized he shouldn’t have done it.
“Lieutenant?!” Shepard’s voice clearly began to boil.
“In my police team, there’s a destroyer pilot.
With five years of practical experience.
And combat participation.
Or do you still think you can’t be held accountable for hijacking a spaceship?” Shepard was transforming into that very figure who had scared Corporal Jenkins half to death.
If Jeff Moreau had previously seen this figure radiating deadly, grave-like cold on a console monitor screen, now no more than a meter and a half separated him from it, completely real and quite tangible.
“I need a pilot in your seat, Lieutenant Moreau, not a voyeur.
And I will get one.” Shepard managed perfectly without exclamations or shouting.
The captain walked over to the co-pilot’s seat and entered a short command on the console:
“I will not allow you to fill the ship’s computer system memory with porn,” the first mate watched as Jeff slowly paled, realizing that his lovingly assembled collection was being erased, and completely, with the freed space being overwritten with wild gibberish.
“Since the CIC now has a full complement of specialists, your task, Lieutenant Moreau, is not to monitor what’s happening on the ship.
But to perform purely piloting functions.”
Shepard’s fingers on both hands performed a complex dance on the keyboard of another console.
Moreau watched as the additional screens went dark:
“Calculate an approach course to the relay into the Utopia system, but so that we stop to the side, in a safe zone, and can conduct covert reconnaissance.
I await your report on the course.
And the planned and calculated approach maneuvers.
In fifteen minutes.
On my Omni-tool.” Shepard, ignoring the pilot’s astonishment, hissed through barely parted teeth.
“Want to keep this seat with your rank and position?
Then you’ll work.
Until you drop.
And efficiently.”
With these words, Shepard turned toward the entrance to the pilot’s cabin:
“And just try gossiping with anyone over the Extranet,” the captain entered a complex command on the side panel.
“Consider the Extranet — in its previous volume — gone for you.”
The first mate stepped over the threshold of the cabin.
The hatch cover cut off a noisy exhale from the direction of the pilot’s seat.
Once outside, Shepard mentally thanked the instructors of the N7 Academy, who had instilled in him a love for programming and studying all kinds of technology.
If it weren’t for the draconian training he’d had to undergo in just one year, the conversation with the pilot might have dragged on.
“Erich Geben, report to Captain Shepard,” the landing party commander said quietly into his shoulder speaker.
A minute later, one of the policemen who had confirmed his destroyer pilot’s diploma to Captain Anderson was standing before the first mate.
“Erich,” the special forces officer addressed him.
“I order you to take the co-pilot’s seat.
And monitor Lieutenant Jeff Moreau’s actions.
He is to spend all his time only on his direct duties.
I’ve assigned him to calculate the course to the relay.
And determine the approach maneuvers.
To pinpoint the ship’s covert parking location.
With the condition of conducting remote reconnaissance activities in the Utopia system.
From now on, he is obligated to devote all his working time to improving his professional skills and abilities.
You yourself are an outstanding pilot.
So you can ride him hard.
The position of co-pilot of the frigate Normandy is now assigned to you, Geben.
If Lieutenant Moreau doesn’t handle it, the position of first pilot will pass to you.
And Moreau will be assigned other duties.
Not related to piloting.
In accordance with paragraph two hundred and fifty-four of the Combat Regulations of the Alliance Aerospace Forces, for the duration of your duties as co-pilot, you are promoted to the rank of Lieutenant in the VKS.
Questions?”
“No, sir!
Thank you, sir!
Permission to carry out, sir?!” The newly minted lieutenant caught Shepard’s nod of approval and rushed into the pilot’s cabin.
Shepard smirked with the corners of his mouth: he knew well that the imperturbable and pedantic Erich could neither be provoked nor won over by Joker.
Besides, a pilot always remains a pilot: even in the second seat, Erich could show Joker what a real combat pilot was.