The kitchen in the Nechaevs' house was not quiet. Semolina porridge was quietly bubbling on the stove, stirred by an automatic whisk, and bacon was cheerfully sizzling in a cast-iron skillet. To the hum and melodic hiss of the rendering fat, Zinaida's kitchen knife beat out a cheerful trill, chopping a medium-sized onion.
"And I told you to be gentler! You've completely worn out our guests with your re-education. Both of them have eyes like an owl that saw a whale tear a flounder. Even though one of them even goes to the toilet in her 'cliff'," the sharply honed blade scraped against the cutting board, sending the finely diced onion into the skillet.
The married couple, sitting at the kitchen table and listlessly slicing bread for breakfast, grew even more dejected.
"Mom, we were a little too harsh..." Sergey began to justify himself, but was interrupted by his mother-in-law.
"Harsh is when you give a killing blow to a head separated from the body," she said, shaking the knife admonitively. "You... you'd better have just torn their asses without Vaseline, it would have been more humane, you little brain-twisters."
Katya wanted to protest such a crude comparison, but the words got stuck in her throat under her mother's ironic gaze, leaving her only to sigh.
"And I'm being gentle. You've completely stopped catching mice in CERBERUS! You need to be gentler! A little to the side, a little to the side, one leg - and they would have figured it out themselves... Something in the past didn't please you very much when someone crawled into your soul? Why did you mentally rape them, you fiends?"
"We acted according to directives," Sergey remarked, disregarding the danger.
"I'll hit you with a frying pan!" Zinaida hissed, instantly reaching her boiling point. "And I'll whip you!"
Her daughter choked on her words again, and the woman continued to shave with gusto, not caring at that moment that these two were causing a mild bowel movement and most of the galaxy. To her, they were spoiled children, even though they had already managed to reproduce and get gray hair.
Two people, capable of killing a division with their bare hands, silently endured this scolding, despite their ranks and titles, knowing full well the seriousness of the threat. Although Zinaida couldn't bend metal with her hands, she didn't need to.
"I didn't spank you enough... But it's too late, and you've gotten fat, and I can't throw you over the bench! What were you looking at? To hell with this Neanderthal! He wears round things and rolls square ones! Who is the practicing brain-twister, and who inherited the tendencies from their dad?!"
"Mom!!!" Katya finally exclaimed, immediately regretting it.
The rolling pin described a beautiful arc and delivered a blow to the back of the super-soldier's head, causing her to bite her tongue in surprise.
The woman's gaze went from simply furious to simply incinerating.
"I see you've completely relaxed, and those skirmishes, which still cause aliens to break out in a rash, haven't straightened your brains out?! You've completely gone wild on your expeditions... Don't worry, we'll fix it. I'm returning to active duty! And no..." Sergey swallowed his remark this time. "I won't become a marshal of this madhouse! My epaulets will be enough to put this whole outfit in the position of a drinking deer... But you will answer me now, how will you fix it, my dears!"
Ensuring he wouldn't be silenced again, Sergey said, "We just won't push it on them anymore. They'll snap out of it themselves. All their complaints are from an abundance of impressions in a short period of time, but it would be a sin not to take advantage of such an opportunity!"
Pleased that he had finally managed to get a word in and hadn't been hit on the head, Sergey looked defiantly at the woman, whom he respected for her professionalism and for what she had done for him. Only because of this did the squad commander tolerate this disgraceful scolding. If anyone else, especially an outsider, had tried to yell at him like that... It turned out roughly the same when someone tried to confront Zinaida. The woman, who alone during the war, even while wounded, managed to destroy more than two dozen Germans, could not be meek by definition.
"That's the only reason I didn't kill you right then and there," his mother-in-law accepted his argument.
Everyone understood the absurdity of the situation. The younger generation accepted the arguments, enduring the scolding, while the older generation demonstrated their concern, albeit in their own way. But it was clear!
"Then why..."
"For the task!!!" the mother interrupted her own daughter. "You walked a thin line! Have you forgotten that you're not playing marbles? Your friend, Mordakonya, also thought he was the smartest, and where is he? He lost his mind from some fanatics!!! To die so miserably and dump problems on others - you have to be able to do that!"
"We understand we got carried away!" Katya snarled. After all, half the blood in her veins was from her mother, making it volatile. "It's just that everything turned out very successfully. The first ideological conditioning worked well on them. That's why we decided to set them on the right path right away."
Sergey placed his hand on his wife's shoulder, signaling her to calm down, and said,
"Nothing will happen to these scoundrels! Their brains weren't so thoroughly washed with propaganda at home."
"You spin a good yarn, but not all drums are trump cards," Zinaida remarked. "I don't want to receive death notices for you."
"Mom," the man raised his hands. "We're as resilient as cockroaches..."
"Except I almost buried you once," she reminded him of an unpleasant line in the couple's biography.
"That was a long time ago. We've been beaten," Sergey tried to reassure her again, changing the subject. "But that young man with the burning gaze could use a good beating. He's too insolent. Who could he be related to?"
He raised an eyebrow, hinting at whom exactly, to which he was met with a fist.
"I agree," Katya said, secretly pleased by the change of topic, supporting her husband. "Anton is too hot-headed and reckless. Brother lacks proper discipline."
"That's why Dima did the right thing by asking this oaf," he gestured towards Sergey. "...to give him a recruit's training course."
"Otherwise, the boy wouldn't have a single unbroken bone left in his body. And I and the Wizard would have to treat him. We know your educational methods. It's all exclusively for his own good," poison practically dripped from the man's lips.
The mother-in-law merely grunted at the response.
"Fair enough. At least his ass is intact, but I've soaked the birch rods..."
"That's not pedagogical!" her daughter objected, wincing at the memory.
"But it's effective, if done in moderation..." her mother countered, beaming with malicious glee. "It only took you once. As soon as you got a taste of it on your backside, you never touched a cigarette again until you were of age..."
"That's all well and good, but our second guest has woken up," Sergey said casually, changing the subject again. "Considering the 'fifa' has been wrecking her tablet for an hour, it could get... interesting. Let's check how the conditioning went."
"Let's do it. Based on the results, we'll see how much of a screw-up you are..." Zinaida gave in again, turning on the projector screen in the kitchen...
Morning had just begun. The radio was already broadcasting, marking the start of the third physical training shift. The house had long been awake; after all, it was already seven in the morning. The younger residents, having quickly washed up, had joined the general morning run.
Ferryon, who had only fallen asleep towards morning, was awakened by the slam of the front door. If there was one thing the Turian was, it was a light sleeper. Especially since that sensitivity had been well-developed by the overseer's boot to his ribs. Therefore, the former prisoner woke up not only instantly at an unfamiliar sound but also ready to act according to circumstances.
Freezing motionless, his gaze fixed on the dimly familiar wooden ceiling, he tried to understand where he was. The legionary relaxed, allowing his mind to calmly emerge from his short sleep. Five minutes later, he jumped out of bed, stretching his whole body, transitioning from standing to a "plank" position, which he had observed during his friend's training with his wife's brother. If he had been skeptical about push-ups before, he now appreciated the exercise after a clear demonstration and explanations from an expert who had trained more than one warrior.
Having circulated blood through his veins with a couple of sets, completely shaking off the morning drowsiness characteristic of his species, the Turian, checking the local clock, dressed and went for breakfast, having splashed water on his face beforehand. Although he didn't have as many sweat glands as other races, it didn't mean he could afford to neglect basic hygiene.
Descending from the second floor of the house, where all the bedrooms were located, he went down the stairs to the common hall, where the dining table and a large projector with armchairs stood. In one of the soft armchairs, curled up with her legs tucked in, was a Quarian, furiously typing on a tablet.
Judging by the way Lyra's fingers drummed on the screen, her search was clearly not going well.
"Good morning," Ferryon greeted her hoarsely, his throat slightly strained from singing local songs with the inhabitants yesterday.
The girl practically jumped, flinging her hands up in surprise, almost dropping the device in fright, caught off guard. The figurines from the starter set "Hammer and War," painted by the eldest son of the Nechaevs, wobbled in the glass display cabinet from her somersault. A model of a strange ship, whose design reminded the Turian of an overly pompous temple, gleamed with gilded ramming stars, gently swaying on threads, thanks to which it hung over a diorama of a ground battle.
"You scared me!" the girl shrieked too sharply, causing the glass doors of the Venetian wall unit to vibrate in time with her voice. Realizing herself, she abruptly lowered the volume. "And good morning to you too..."
Chuckling, the legionary's gaze slid over a poster, which, as he had been told, was from the fifth season of the "Hammer and War" universe series, depicting the moment the wounded Leader of Nations was imprisoned in the Golden Sarcophagus, where he continued his fight against the Ruinous Powers, frozen between life and death. The Turian did this deliberately to tactfully allow the Quarian to turn off the device's screen before finally descending.
Inhaling the pleasant smell of the wooden log house, he approached her, creaking the parquet floor, looming over her. The girl flinched, pressing the tablet to her chest, and said nervously,
"I was just looking for..." she blurted out too nervously.
The legionary chuckled again, slightly raising his mandibles and tilting his head to the side, freezing and simply staring at a single spot on Lyra's mask, where her forehead should have been. He would never have risen to the rank of tessera if he hadn't known how to interrogate privates when he suspected them of something like this.
"And what were we looking for?" his voice purred like a second baritone.
"Okay!" the exposed agent exclaimed in a whisper, embarrassed that she had been caught doing this beyond measure, instantly forgetting all instructions. "I was looking for local porn!"
The homeowners, who were observing this scene via camera, slapped their faces in unison. "And you were worried, Mom. They quickly moved on from high matters. That's what marinating in capitalist culture does!" Sergey retorted slyly via a mental image, so as not to scare away the free show with noise.
"You cracked quickly," the legionary was even a little flustered, expecting more resilience from the spy.
"Amateurs," Zinaida commented, who, if she had really needed to, would have already known everything, and the guests would have put on an entertaining show called "interrogation" as subjects of interrogation, when a quiet voice from the darkness politely asked in her ear all the meeting points and passwords, warming up the anal cryptanalyst, also known in common parlance as a soldering iron.
"It's better this way than making noise," the Quarian observed reasonably.
"I won't even ask... why," the Turian replied with a sigh after a minute of silence, still drilling her with his gaze.
Katya, without hitting her head too hard against her husband's shoulder, sending a silent image of the violation of all rules of psychology and field interrogation into space, received a malicious response from her mother: "Right! I also want to hit a tree! Just do it quietly, I want to watch...!"
"It can't be so... perfect for them! They really only have petty theft as crimes, and considering the size of their territories, it's practically nothing!" Lyra exclaimed dramatically, her remark clearly conveying: "How can this be?!" "I searched their forums all night, read news sites, looked at social media... Nothing!!!"
From indignation, the girl even jumped out of her chair, starting to pace back and forth.
"It's impossible! It feels like, by local standards, dirt is practically nothing compared to what we consider 'ha-ha'!!!" So I decided that the locals are just hidden perverts, after your stories about treatment!" she hopped.
"Alternative logic!" was the choral mental image response from the owners, which remained unheard by her. The tessera at that moment understood the meaning of the local word "охуел" (fucked up) more than ever.
"And you decided to find... porn?" Ferryon asked too calmly.
"Yes. But not only is there no equivalent word in the local language, but this smart local browser doesn't understand what I want from the descriptions!" the Quarian exclaimed indignantly, also annoyed that she couldn't master the local technology for so long.
The Turian sized her up again. Silently.
"Give me the tablet. Now I'm curious too..." he demanded, extending his hand, causing the locals to roll their eyes in unison.
Taking the device, Ferryon thought for a minute, recalling everything he had learned about the locals before typing the query "Berries" into the browser's search bar.
"Movies about making love? Are you serious?" the girl whispered incredulously.
"The locals make love, not sex," the legionary explained, seeing that the browser had accepted the query.
"And what's the difference? No, I understand... but to love is... oh, come on?!" she almost shouted the last part, seeing the search results.
Ferryon merely shrugged, replying,
"We'll find out now," he declared, pressing his finger on the first link to the first episode of the series "Santa Barbara." "Let's see how intelligent beings intricately love each other over two thousand one hundred and thirty-seven episodes..."
All three observers exchanged glances and, just as silently, went to prepare their breakfast. The show promised to be long. The fried eggs would probably get cold while they were still waiting for the porridge. Bread and circuses – what else do you need for a good morning?
"This... this is beautiful," Lyra sniffled, touched, as soon as the first episode ended.
The girl was deeply moved by the plot, though unpretentious and simple, it was presented very skillfully by "Lysenko Brothers Studio." They managed to turn something inherently vulgar into such a beautiful work of art that it overshadowed some cult cinematic works from Citadel Space on the same theme.
Moreover, the cinematography and composition were only emphasized by rhythmic German music with choral singing during the most intense moments of the narrative. The coarse language added texture to the tender and airy story about the love between a housewife and a plumber. The viewer, in the person of Lyra, completely dissolved into this narrative, enjoying the embedded emotions, forgetting, in fact, why she had started watching this film...
The legionary, in a state of shock, now understood another meaning of the word "охуел" and said nothing. He hadn't expected what was happening on screen to surprise him in any way, but... What hadn't he seen there? As it turned out, even a professional Asari courtesan was an amateur and a cheap whore in comparison! A very cheap whore.
What he saw was a high-quality series where the bedroom scenes were in place, like a spice to the plot. The plot itself captivated from the first second, playing so masterfully on the viewer's emotions that he only came to his senses during the final credits. After that, pornographic films from Citadel Space forever seemed like laughable attempts to him, devoid of any artistic value!!!
The tessera, with belated shock, caught a fleeting thought that this series would be good to watch in the officers' wardroom. The lightness of the plot was simply relaxing, while some details, like the magical rabbit painting zeros with a brush, evoked philosophical reflections.
"Wait, did I just think of that as porn?" his own thought echoed...
Katya, Sergey, and Zinaida were also sobbing. They laughed silently, afraid to embarrass their guests, but more so to disturb the action.
Seeing Ferryon's lost expression, which, despite the Turian's scarcity of facial emotions, illustrated complete bewilderment, the locals couldn't hold back, roaring with laughter, wiping away happy tears.
"Oh..." was all the Quarian could manage, realizing they had been watched the whole time...
After this scene, breakfast went much more cheerfully. While Sergey and Katya simply giggled, exchanging mental images filled with self-deprecating jokes, Zinaida was in her element. The woman sometimes imitated the specifics of German in a general way, and sometimes switched to the language entirely, addressing the Quarian.
The girl felt out of place, her face darkening from the blood rushing to it from shame. Her blush intensified, and her ears practically ignited when the younger generation joined them for breakfast. The children looked at them so ironically that there was no doubt: they had witnessed their disgrace.
While Anton and Yuri diligently copied Zinaida's smirk, Sveta simply said:
"It's nothing to be surprised about. This series was shown on TV in the evenings..." dealing the final blow to the aliens' pride.
Zinaida's son wanted to add something, but Katya silenced him with a look, hinting that he had gone too far. Anton reluctantly continued to scoop porridge, deflating even further under Sergey's ironic gaze.
The elder Sechenov was absent from breakfast. Dmitry Sergeevich, as the chief coordinator and de facto head of the entire USSR, occasionally went on business trips. Not all problems could be solved from his office or through a virtual meeting in "The Collective."
Even with the ability to command any non-sentient robot in the Union, he had to occasionally attend important events, perfectly understanding the power of his image. The Wizard, being a wizard, even by doing nothing but being present, increased the productivity of everyone around him.
Therefore, as the senior man, Sergey today sliced bread and served food to everyone's plates, and only then began to eat himself, having first checked, like every local, the neural network's recommendations for his diet, considering what tasty and healthy things he could eat for lunch...
After finishing breakfast, the guests and the Nechaevs, along with their children, loaded into an aircraft and set off on a pre-planned tour of Earth's cities. While the cheerful crowd was loading into the "Perseida," a heavier and more spacious version of the "Comet" produced at Ford's factory, Lyra was gently taken by the elbow by Zinaida, who was escorting her away from the bustle.
"They'll gather without you, and we'll talk about our own, women's affairs..." she explained to the girl before launching into a short but potent reprimand about her professional suitability as a special agent. It wasn't that the woman simply destroyed her, but a lot of bile was poured out regarding Lyra's behavior. The most hurtful thing for her was that every word, though spoken rudely, was to the point.
"You're still young. You have potential. You shouldn't have been embarrassed by all this, even if you were caught filming while playing a role! You should only take off your mask among your own! You, with your customs, should understand this better than others... And so, just think, do you really need all these games. You can help your people in different ways. Sometimes it's enough to just be a mother. Think about it at your leisure," were her parting words.
The girl, for the umpteenth time during her stay in the USSR, fell into thought. "Do I really want to contribute in this way? I need to stop being careless," she concluded for herself as they flew towards Moscow.
She liked the ancient city, but not "wow." It reminded her somewhat of the cities her people had left on Rannoch. The layout was similar, along with the convenience of the infrastructure.
The museums sparked mild interest, and the Mausoleum didn't touch her at all.
However, Tula impressed her much more, and so did Ferryon. The arms museum was impressive even by its building alone. Most of all, she liked how the factories harmoniously blended with residential areas, and she could talk for hours about the quality of the local roads, which could withstand colossal loads.
She was surprised by the locals' transition from primitive firearms to energy weapons. Even though it was all explained by polymers, the leap commanded respect for the Union's industry.
They met lunch in Berlin. After noisy Moscow and business-like Tula, this city seemed small and cozy, even slightly provincial. The relatively small population, which had only just recovered from all the hardships of the past century, was evident. Intelligent beings settled very reluctantly in the epicenter of Europe's former burial ground, but life gradually took its course.
Perhaps that's why the city looked more down-to-earth and traditional. Instead of asphalt, there was good old cobblestone, and houses rarely exceeded three stories, although this was not typical of Soviet architectural tradition. Usually, all buildings were optimally five stories, with exceptions for private residences and official buildings.
They stopped to eat at a centuries-old tavern, where the Quarian tried local alcohol for the first time, after disinfection, of course. She liked the local beer. The drink provided warmth, wasn't bitter, and had a pleasant aftertaste, while only gently touching her head.
Since she ate faster than the others for obvious reasons, she began to examine the tavern with interest. Her gaze wandered over the rough stone walls and beams before spotting something unusual.
"And who is that? I haven't seen such intelligent beings before," she pointed at a poster.
Sergey glanced at it briefly, chuckled, and replied,
"And no wonder. There are even fewer intelligent penguins in the Union than primates. It was very rare for them to become intelligent, and they have some problems with reproduction. There was a snag with birds during the 'Ascension'... They agreed to become intelligent, but their intelligence is mostly hive-like and not at a high level. Their flocks help clean cities of garbage and protect fields from pests. In principle, like sentient plants."
"These particular penguins are members of the 'P' project unit in the army's department. This quartet once saved this city from a terrorist attack, about forty years ago," Katya added.
"Among the prominent ones are two scientists. One is from these parts, and you will see him on Mars... But if you see a platypus in a hat, specifically in a hat... That's the last thing you'll see. He is the only one of his species to become intelligent and, concurrently, a top-class special agent and liquidator. It's not a guarantee that I could defeat him one-on-one if he attacked first," Nechayev added casually. "Although if you see a bunny in a hedgehog jacket or a girl with a bear... nothing will help you then. We once went toe-to-toe with them. We parted in a mutual knockout."
Ironically, the aforementioned platypus was at that moment receiving an assignment on a certain girl, whose birth had become a thorn in the side of several intelligent beings, leading to many future events, but Sergey remained unaware. Although there was a saying about him that if he remembered, he would appear...
The heroes were headed for Washington, and from there, after visiting a few more landmark places, they would go to Atlantis, beginning their tour of the system.