"I'm not going to play 'Believe It or Not' with you anymore, Shep," the operative stated, helping him assemble another trap from improvised materials. "Your imagination is s-p-e-c-i-f-i-c."
Mo tried to stylize the last word to imitate the speech of a famous comedian. If the intelligent shark played brilliantly with his voice, his smile was typical for his species. For sharks, all facial emotions looked like they were about to eat the interlocutor.
"You haven't met my commander," the captain said somewhat distantly, creating another part for a makeshift mortar from polymer. "He's the one with the specific imagination. Even more so than Argon. The stories are still going around."
"We used to tell them when we were little, under the covers. 'And then the black uncle Ghost came – and everyone died!'"
Shep even stumbled when Mo uttered this phrase. Artyom still couldn't get used to how these mountains of muscle could play with their voices, reading not only quotation marks but all implied emotions. Seeing that he had inadvertently embarrassed his interlocutor, the shark changed the subject:
"I didn't know pure polymer could be used like this."
"That's nothing," the captain waved his hand. "I just made a stick, a stick, a stick, a little cucumber – and got a trebuchet. I'm not up to Blesna or Comrade Sechenov's bodyguards yet. For now. The commander's wife once, on a dare, reproduced a Kalashnikov rifle from standard polymer, and it shot! True, it only existed while she was in meditation and controlled all the parts down to the last detail, but the fact itself…"
"She's strong!" the fighter admired. "I only had enough patience to learn to create a ball."
"Not everyone can do that. For you infantry – it's good. Put a module in your glove – and you're happy. 'Sphere,' discharger, 'Frost.' But we – we do it all ourselves," the operative said, but interrupted himself, receiving a call on the temporary communication channel he had set up with his small squad. "Shep, on the line!"
"Shep, it's Risa. Those mangy ones pulled the armored vehicle out of the swamp, and now our guys are in trouble. They're also being attacked from the air," the cat quickly reported.
"Go," Mo nodded vaguely somewhere to the side. "Haib, like all wolf-hednars, is tough, even if he's a slob, but he won't be able to handle it alone. And here – I'll be enough by myself."
Pastukhov nodded, blurring into space. Only a light breeze told the shark that the man had been here a second ago. Sighing (as he, like any representative of his kind, disliked killing), the fighter mentally released the blocks of consciousness, letting the inner beast out.
His eyes filled with red from the blood rushing to them, and his muscles swelled. His fearsome muzzle snapped its jaws, testing the sharpness of his teeth. The shark dropped to all fours and rushed into the dense forest, moving in jerks, using his tail as an additional limb, pushing off, almost flying over the undergrowth.
When the gray giant shadow flew out of the forest and simply swept away the fighters at the head of the column, disappearing with the screaming victims into the dark forest, the pirates were stunned. Descendants of not the highest castes and clans, the bandits were superstitious. And how could they not be stunned when their accomplice was a moment ago ahead of you, and now his heart-rending screams were tearing through the night silence.
The lanterns, attached to the armor and weapons, fumbled helplessly at the trees and bushes, trying to find the danger, but only blinded the rapists and murderers themselves. They didn't start shooting only because they didn't know where to aim, although they really wanted to fire a burst.
The gray mass flashed again, flying through the center of the column. A cry full of pain was heard. One of the gang's rookies was simply torn in half, and now he was trying to stuff the remains of his guts back in. It was already scary, but the Batarians recoiled when they saw that the wounded man was missing all four eyes.
Completely terrified, they opened chaotic fire, trying to huddle together like a herd. This was exactly what the enraged shark needed.
The gray shadow dragged another one into the darkness, and against the backdrop of his horrific, pain-filled screams, no one heard the sound of a grenade falling onto the forest floor. The explosion lit up the night.
Those who were lucky were instantly broken and killed, but the infernal device had an unusual filling. As soon as the released aerosol touched living flesh, it immediately ignited.
Instantly, most of the pirates turned into cremated alive, still living corpses.
The shark was no longer hiding and was leisurely, with a certain laziness, finishing off the survivors.
Vos'Ar was furious. These… even swear words started to shake in him – the creatures were simply wrong! They refused to die just like that!!! Even on the ruins of their ship, choking, they resisted. In the dark. In smoky or depressurized compartments. Wounded. In groups or alone. His fighters were spitting blood, dying, but couldn't finish off the crew of the crippled ship!
Even the fear of the Ravager himself began to falter. The pirate rabble was openly grumbling at him! Cowards! The dock scum were shouting that they hadn't signed up for THIS! And somewhere deep in his soul, free from rage and thirst for blood, the corsair captain understood them.
He used to consider the Hierarchy soldiers stubborn fanatics, brave to the point of madness, but these… Let them be of different species, sizes, and races. One thing united them – an absolutely impenetrable stubbornness and a desire to see his guys' guts! Even if it meant dying himself! They detonated grenades. They mined their dead. They set traps. Yes, khur'tash, these psychos, without thinking, played the role of suicide bombers, just throwing themselves at his fighters, covered in grenades.
But space was only a shadow of the nightmare that was happening on the planet. Here, they really let loose! Not pressed against bulkheads, they showed all their cunning.
The Ravager was familiar with fear. He loved to use it as a weapon, thinking he had achieved mastery in intimidation. Bullshit!
As soon as they landed – his gang began to thin out, and the enemy wasn't even visible. He hadn't seen such sick imagination even in the Asari under the red sand! They used absolutely everything to kill as many of his guys as possible and in the most horrific way. Only screams were heard in the bushes. Squads sent in the direction of the shooting found abandoned and mined positions – if they returned. Mostly, they found only their death.
Damn snipers! Another of his corsairs fell headless, fertilizing the forest with his brains!!! Vos'Ar wasn't even happy that he had cornered one of the groups of fugitives. They underestimated him!
It took some effort, though, to deal with the roadblock… For a moment, he was shocked when he saw how many fighters were there. One. One howling bastard, who died surrounded by three dozen of his pirates!!!
Never mind. He would catch up with the fugitives, and then he would quench his thirst for blood…
With a beastly instinct, he sensed danger and fell from the armored vehicle. A moment later, the multi-ton machine was lifted, flattened, and torn into pieces without the usual biotic special effects!!!
Pieces from a single beat of his heart hung in the air, and then fell, killing and maiming his fighters.
Gunfire lit up the forest with a ragged light, allowing him to see only individual scenes.
Here, three Batarians were pierced by a tree, impaling them on a branch.
A flash of lightning illuminated five writhing figures in agony.
One of his bodyguards exploded into frozen crumbs.
Two suddenly opened fire on their own, shooting in the back, only to be rolled into bloody balls by an invisible force a second later.
From time to time, pits appeared in the ground, catching his fighters.
And then everything was flooded with crimson flame. There were no more shots or even screams. Silence descended, broken only by the sounds of elemental destruction.
The fire finally revealed a solitary figure, a humanoid encased in a spacesuit.
The Ravager felt a heavy gaze on him, frightening in its indifference.
The humanoid slowly walked towards him, holding a long knife in his hand. His steps were like thunder. The armor gleamed like red-hot silver. Instead of a face – terrifying glints of flame reflected from the mirrored coating of the triplex helmet.
The pirate fired, jumping to his feet. The enemy only shifted as much as necessary, letting the streak of the weapon pass. Vos'Ar didn't have time to fire a second time.
The opponent was suddenly next to him, as if teleported.
"A-a-a-a-a!!!" the corsair captain howled in pain as his two arms were ruthlessly broken, and his wrists separated. Darkness fell in his eyes, but the pain in his legs didn't let him pass out. The warrior broke them too, knocking the pirate onto his back.
The victor leaned over the vanquished, peering at him through the mirrored glass. With a sharp movement, he took something from his belt and plunged it into Vos'Ar's neck.
Cold ran through his veins, taking the pain with it and clearing his mind. He managed to see the restraints being fastened onto his broken limbs when a strong but precise blow extinguished his consciousness.
Artyom wiped his hands on the prisoner's clothes with disgust, wiping off the blood. Glancing again at the creature, who was dressed too ostentatiously in his opinion, he mentally smiled ominously, feeling the emotional space sway. The USSR fleet had arrived to punish and reward.
Among the minds, he felt his comrades and the commander of "Argentum." Well, Plutonia would like his little "gift."
The captain of the raider "Thresher Maw's Dream" froze, paralyzed by fear. The scanners were literally choking with marks of ships arriving in the system. Dozens, hundreds… but all this paled before the monster that filled his entire bridge view.
"It's half the Citadel…" he said in shock.
Suddenly, the deck gave way beneath his feet, heaving up with the raider.
"It's pulling us towards it…" his assistant shouted in panic.
Somewhere in the virtual expanse of the "Collective," Motherland froze with her hand raised.
On the avatar of the collective consciousness of all USSR citizens, it was not the usual dress, but a full-fledged medium military spacesuit. Her ripe wheat-colored hair was not flowing freely in the wind but was tied in a tight bun.
The woman's face was stern. Soft features sharpened. This was not a caring mother. This was Nemesis. A Judge. And today, the artificial intelligence was going to judge the enemies of the Union.
She directed computational power, allowing the fleet base's gravitational beams to draw the remnants of the enemy fleet into their giant maw. A little more – and all citizens would learn… why these murderers attacked, disregarding the greeting.
"What freaks you are," I thought, as soon as I descended from the shuttle and got a better look at the prisoners herded into the center of the damnably large hangar of the fleet base. Against the backdrop of colossal spaces, this rabble simply got lost.
Artyom hurried towards me with his friends. He always gets into history, or finds friends, or sometimes both. You could make an propaganda poster out of him right now.
"Comrade Commander…" the captain began, but I interrupted him, raising my hand.
"Artyom, let's drop the ranks. We've been eating the same gruel without canned meat for years from the same pot… This 'protocol' is stuck right here. At least you don't disfigure it…" I said tiredly.
"No decency at all," Katya said demonstratively, rolling her eyes, though in her emotions, she completely agreed with me. "He's still the same boy he always was."
"He and decency? Are we thinking about the same person?" Bugai chimed in with his two cents. I shouldn't have given in to his requests and taken him into "Argentum," although he annoyed me for six months, rusting from boredom.
"Fine," Shep could only agree, clearly feeling out of his element. Not to mention his buddies. Shark was trying to hide behind him. Unsuccessfully, for a four-meter-tall carcass.
"What's new?" I asked my subordinate and friend, to tell the truth.
"Stubborn and cheerful bastards. And they die cheerfully," Artyom stated, sending us an image, flashing with sadness.
"Yeah," was all I could say. Feeling comrades die, their lights of consciousness extinguish, the anger of those who managed to wake up in the "Collective" – it's hard. You can't get used to it. And if you get used to it, then we'll come for you. You're no longer sentient, comrade, but a monster.
"The cruiser captain also managed to send me an image. A tough guy – that man. He'll just need a long time to recover. A third of his body is necrotic ice. So, your thoughts and his are similar," I shared my conclusions with my subordinate. He could also see the image. Thirty billion people have already watched it, and the number of views continues to grow.
"I'm glad he survived with part of the crew. They saved us," my friend said with a sigh.
"Rotten situation. Just like the cargo of these idiots," I nodded towards the disorganized group of sentient beings, who were now actively being attended to by all available medics. Four hundred souls, crammed into one of the transport ships almost like stacks. By the time we arrived, some were already dead, but couldn't fall. Bastards.
"Bastards," Shep echoed my thought.
We had just reached the prisoners. Glancing at them with an experienced eye, I saw that Artyom had shackled some of them. What could be done… His teenage years were difficult. He had seen all sorts of shit in service. So he's being overly cautious.
"Who do you suggest we start with?" I asked, essentially a rhetorical question.
"With this one," Comrade Pastukhov nodded at a particularly broken specimen. "He had the most gold trinkets on him. Apparently, he was the leader or something close."
"For the leader of proud pirates… he looks too shitty. Well? Shall we dive into the shit? Bugai, hold the sick one?" I addressed the sentient robot.
"What won't you do for the cause. Then I'll have to wash the manipulators," the spiteful piece of iron quipped, but fulfilled the request.
No longer listening to his muttering, I began. A force of will – and red polymer began to ooze from the glove, enveloping my hand in a net. On an inhale, I touched the alien's head…
His mind tries to resist, but purely on instincts. Oh no, you bastard!
My will breaks all his attempts, and the tendrils of my consciousness invade the core of his personality. "Motherland, I need your help!" I address the collective mind, preparing for not the most pleasant minutes. "Connecting," the concentration of minds of all citizens of the Union replied.
I was seized by a cramp when a stream of images went through me. The alien's life flashed before my eyes, trying to crush my "self" with a turbulent flow, dissolving me within itself. Frames from this bastard's past were filtered by an effort of will, and Motherland helped turn the alien memory into a conveniently readable archive data packet.
"I haven't seen such filth in a long time…" my wife said, trying to suppress the urge to vomit.
Artyom also looked, to put it mildly, not fresh, as did the comrades around us who saw all this character's artistic creations now. Some were frankly nauseated by disgust.
A wave of revulsion spread through the fleet, returning to us as a tsunami of anger and fury. The storm of emotions began to spread throughout the "Collective," weakening in color, but conveying the essence. The old wound of our civilization had just been generously salted and stirred.
Not only are they bandits, damn it, not only are they the wildest capitalists, but rapists and slave owners… And what they wanted to do to our comrades…
I, barely restraining myself, lifted the pirate leader by the neck, trying not to strangle him. For now.
"I know you understand me well enough," I began to speak in their rough language, which stung my throat from unfamiliarity. "You just don't understand what you've done…"
"I am a prisoner of war, by the laws…" he croaked, but I interrupted him, shaking him like a pear.
"You remembered the laws just in time, you scum, but here's the catch. You are on our ship, therefore, on our land, and our laws apply here. And they are straight as a stick. Slave owners and rapists, as well as structures that abet slavery and sexual crimes, are subject to destruction along with all those involved in the most demonstrative and bloody manner, regardless of gender and age."
The pirate was not stupid. Therefore, he understood instantly.
"But that's not all… You, my friend, attacked us first when we extended a hand in greeting. Your fighters killed our comrades, and we felt their pain. Therefore, I congratulate you. With your actions, you have doomed the Hegemony to a bloody bath. Even if it takes centuries, we will not rest. We will uproot your state like a rotten stump, destroy it to its foundations, and on its ashes, we will reforge you yourselves. Only… you won't see it!"
The recent prisoners, who had not yet recovered, tired, beaten, and humiliated, watched as the pirates who had tormented them were thrown out into space one by one. As slowly, unhurriedly, a breathing mask was put on each, their hands were tied so it couldn't be removed. Some kind of drugs were injected into each pirate, as their saviors explained, so they wouldn't freeze immediately. They watched as machines calmly and methodically carried the bandits out of the hangar's air-holding field and gently pushed them away from the ship.
The process was precise, methodical, and merciless. The executioners of the pirates, these strange sentient beings, despite belonging to different species, felt invisibly related in their cold fury.
The former slaves greedily watched as the bodies of their tormentors perished in the cold of space, but the all-penetrating cosmic cold was only the beginning of the torment. The giant ship deliberately approached so that the planet's gravity could pick up the discarded… cargo. The oxygen supply in the masks was supposed to be enough for each pirate to enter the atmosphere still alive, feeling in their own skin what it was like to be cremated by the atmosphere alive.
The pirate leader did not get off so easily. Vos'Ar was put in a spacesuit so that he would definitely survive until entering the dense layers of the atmosphere…