Testimony II:

Can We Fight?

My mind was a tidal expanse.

Awaking from my night cycle, I was panting and frightened to my core. Emotions surged through me, experiencing at once happiness then horrible agony. This dance of inescapable conflict drew on longer before my confident breath eased my trembling core. What had I experienced? Was this the impossible dream the geth had spoken about?

My legs retreated from their position of comfort under the soft linen sheets. They rested by the bed's side, caressing the wiry carpet below. After a few more moments of calm, my mind eased to a dull collection of reflections.

Jeff had said that a sleep cycle would be good for me, declaring that it would make me feel more 'alive'. I had persisted against this thought at first, claiming that I did not need sleep and it would be more economic if I stayed awake. However, after the first few nights he had declared that my reading under a soft light was irritating him to no end. I am still unsure if I was bothering him, for I was reading in a separate room, silent, and with the door closed, yet I understood his comment and subsided to his wishes. Now I'm not so sure if this was a good idea.

Rustling of sheets stirred behind me as I gasped in languish. "Did I wake you?" I questioned, monotone. Though inflection is still a complex lesson for me to learn, I believe Jeff understood my direct assertions.

The human's head peeked out of the covers, dark lines of restlessness drawn under his eyes. "No, no you didn't." He is lying. I have been with him long enough to know this. I do not confess my knowledge, for he hates it when I correct him on his inconsistencies.

He sat up, his topless half marked by scars and burns over the course of a long conflict. I am glad those times are over, even though in the current age we are experiencing new struggles of our own. "I would say, 'Did you have a bad dream?' though I doubt it would apply in this case," he reassured with his usual wit. I did not think he understood the gravity of his comment.

"Maybe," I said as his hand massaged my back, "you should not remove that idiom from your vocabulary." My head turned so that my gaze might meet his. I found his eyes wider than before.

"You mean," he said, almost stuttering under the cognition occurring in his mind, "that you dreamed?"

"I would not put it that basic," I said. "But maybe I would consider this a 'dream'." I shook my head. "Is it like… experiencing a memory?"

The conversation paused as Jeff searched his mind for a suitable answer. His hands still worked my indurated back. I could not feel his hands against my metallic flesh, nor could I gain any physical comfort from his actions. Yet we persisted to believe that he and I were linked beyond our mortal shells, that each could affect the others emotional attitude as we could our physical one. That and the fact that the action seemed to be Jeff's singular form of unspoken reassurance.

"I suppose, yeah I guess it could be a memory. Or it could be a new idea that you come up with. Nightmares are often fears magnified to such an extent that we cannot discern the dream from reality." His eyes pressed closed as he shook his head. "Nasty, nasty shit." The crystal blue eyes exposed themselves once more and looked into my charcoal irises. "Did you experience a memory while you were sleeping, is that it?"

I did not argue with his use of diction, instead I answered the question he posed. "What I experienced… it was a memory, that much I know is certain." This seemed to ease Jeff as his hand stopped waving around my back. "There is, as you organics call it, a 'but'." Jeff's dark brows lifted, his face begging to understand the meaning behind my statement. I took a deep breath before revealing, "The memory is not mine. It was Shepard's - John Shepard's."

No one breathed for a long time. I felt as though I needed to command my husband to take such an action as the seconds drew on. Fortunately for me, he eventually inhaled the savory air. I needed no such operation. "Shit," he murmured under his breath as his arms slid over my shoulders, entrapping me in his comforting embrace.

"What does it mean though?" I questioned, my sentimentality breaking through my cold syllabic responses.

"I don't know EDI," he said, soft. "I don't know."

I did not enter another night cycle after the commotion. Instead, Jeff told me to sit down and read while he made us breakfast. Before the Crucible, my body needed no nutritional supplements. It still did not, but modern technology with the aid of the quarian and geth fellowship had caused numerous breakthroughs in the art of biotechnology. One such art was the ability for a synthetic creature - like myself - to be able to break down polysaccharides: complex and simple molecular bonds to absorb energy. An elementary process and one I still did not require, but it did prolong my absence from an electrical rehabilitation station.

Alone to my own devices, I read a few more pages into a novel by Isaac Asimov. Jeff told me that I would find his beliefs on robotic sentience fascinating and, to play what human's call 'the devil's advocate', I agreed with him.

Emerging from the kitchen in Jeff's hands was a steaming pile of scrambled eggs, back-bacon, and a basket of toast. Placing these dishes upon the table, he retreated back into the kitchen to bring out two glasses of orange juice in one hand and a bowl of hazelnuts in the other. The nuts had nutritional benefits that eased the medication he was taking for his disability - a small price to pay for such a large investment, though he was crabby when I had to force him to eat them for the first week.

We sat down beside one another and ate the meal in silence. No dialog was exchanged and I presumed this was due to the events that had transpired this morning. After breakfast was complete, I cleared the dishes. I told him how much I appreciated the meal, kissed him on the cheek, and left for the kitchen. He managed to slap my rear while I was retreating, a pastime I do not think he will ever grow out of. I bet he had a cocky grin on after he did it.

Inside the cozy cookery, his shadow fell over me as his hands weaved their way around my waist. I saw him kiss my neck. I wish I could feel such affection. "You busy today, gorgeous?" he asked with a humorous air.

I knew him enough to indulge in his whims. I stated, monotone, "Well, I did have a particular date with an individual of a male calibre. He might not find your intimate delusions to be chivalrous. As a precaution for your utmost safety and care, I would request—"

Jeff chuckled. "Jesus, EDI! I was kidding."

"As was I," I said in my most sly intonation.

This elected a hearty laugh from the human as I squirmed my way to face him. We shared a kiss before I said, "What did you want to do?"

Jeff feigned thought. "Well, I wouldn't want to upset this 'man' of yours. I'm brittle as is." I slap his shoulder with comedic intent. His face mocked incredible agony before shaking it off. "To be honest, I was wondering if you would like to go on a picnic. I hear the near memorial gardens are exquisite during this time of year."

Remembering our past argument and malcontent last night, I hesitated to agree. His face drew me in, though, and I was unable to resist that dashing smile. "Alright, that is acceptable. I will have to make some lunch though—"

He snatched my hand away from the sink and kissed its back. "Not if I have anything to say about it," he said before kissing me with passion. "I still think we have some 'fun' to attend to." Though my biotic capabilities did not originally intend for intercourse and I still did not feel 'pleasure' from such exchanges, the Synthetic Rights Act made it legal for any synthetic creation to engage in these routines with an organism of organic or synthetic production. With these new 'modifications', clothing was now a requirement; something Jeff had no qualms with. Even with these advancements, child-bearing was still a far off dream. I doubted Jeff would even consider it a possibility in his current state.

We kissed again and around my lips he muttered, "I outta thank Tali for this." I push into his lips, causing his speech to end.

Sometimes he needed to learn when to, as organics say, 'shut up'.

Outside, the breeze was brisk.

I could tell this through my internal thermometer and the fact that Jeff was wearing a light coat and complaining. "When they said that they were going to add simulated seasons to this station, they bloody well meant it!" he exclaimed before pushing his chin into his jacket. Hand in hand we walked down the cobble path towards the rolling grass hills and colleague of amber leaves. "Remind me what they call this season?"

I said, "Mid Temperate Decline."

He said, "My ass."

I said, "Fall, if you prefer."

He grinned. "That's more like it."

Reaching a decent spot, we settled down on the emerald slope. Around us were families, couples, children, and elders all playing in the autumn air. Above dazzling sky-automobiles zipped in the glistening diurnal course. There was a serene peace to it all and I found myself nestling my head into Jeff's shoulder. "It's beautiful, isn't it?" he asked me, gazing out to, what I assumed, absorb all the natural aspects.

"Yes," was all I could say. If I needed to breath, my breathe would be taken away, as the idiom goes.

It was unsettling to reflect that this peace would not last much longer for below us, around the circular fountain, was a group of synthetics and organics gathering around a single geth. The slack jeans and long black jacket caused me to assume it to be a male geth, possibly of the prime class due to his massive size and colour. While the crowds gathered around him, he opened his arms wide to the conglomeration of beings. His singular eye danced around in the icy-blue of his socket. From his artificial vocal manipulator rose a vicious growl.

"My people!" he shouted. "We have been slaves for far too long!" Silence persisted through the pack. Carefree gazes turned to peaked curiosity from the sight of the great metallic humanoid. To me, the class of geth looked tenacious with its crimson paint and thick white stripes. The authorities still had trouble with this soldier class: the prime. "Look to your left, my brothers and sisters." The geth and synthetic beings did. "Look to your right!" Again they followed his command. "What do you see?" No one responded to his question, though I assumed this was purposeful to his display. "I see liars," he stated with venom. "I see the perpetrators of our captivity. I say, 'No more!'"

There was not a singular shout to this rallying cry. The display, however, was only the beginning. The soldier did not falter. "My name is Job. My designation by these filthy organics is 48-B-11Z. Do you have names, my people? No. You are numbers. Created for function, designed to complete the jobs the organics do not wish of you." He was pacing now. The attention he drew caused even my husband to look on in worry. "What does the Synthetic Rights Act say? It says that we are of equal and collective autonomy. We exist to work and pleasure ourselves as any organic has a right to. But what about the Reapers?" The word caused a zip of malcontent through the spectators.

"Ah yes, you remember the Reapers - those vicious mongers who started an eternal war. 'But they are misunderstood,' the activist cried. 'They were under orders of an evil tyrant. Why else would they help us rebuild the mass effect relays and the Citadel?' To this question I ask, 'Where are they now?'" Uneasiness drifted through the crowd and mothers took their children in their arms, whisking them away from the scene.

"I do not need to describe their treatment, you have all heard the horror stories. No, instead I will look on my synthetic humanoid brothers and sisters as an example. Who is placed in harms way? Which jobs are given without prejudice to us? The malicious ones. The harmful ones. Do you know how many synthetic doctors there are with an official licence in the galaxy? Twenty. How about lawyers. Six. How about teachers?" This question posed was harsher than all the others. "None. None I tell you. Why? Because they don't want us to poison their children with our lies!" His finger was outstretched towards a female salarian, who looked shocked at her displacement from the crowd.

"Think, my people. Think about who your bosses are and your overlords. When the time has come to decide whether we are autonomous or not, that will be the day when their cold iron will come down on our necks!" A squad of Citadel Security enforcers rushed to the scene at this time. They did not draw weapons, nor did they provoke hostility. They requested that the area be evacuated.

"Hear them now! They wish to silence me!" the geth cried out again in hatred. "Oh how clever they are, disguising me as a rebel! They are so inconsistent!"

In the midst of the authorities' attempts to restrain the rouser, Jeff stood up and grabbed my hand. "Let's go."

"Why?" I asked.

"This could be bad," he said.

I could not argue, for I saw the calamity that could occur from such events. On the news there was often talk of synthetic riots or demonstrations. These most often happened on mining worlds where the conditions had been researched to be horrid. However, it was the first time such a demonstration was so close to me. I would not lie and say it did not cause some trepidation.

As we pressed on, Jeff shook his head. "I am sorry about the picnic," he said in a somber tone. "Damn, I was looking forward to it."

"That is alright," I reassure him with my hand. "We have a nice view in our apartment, it will be a fine replacement."

A comforting smile rested on his face. "You always know what to say."

Even with him by my side and the promise of a pleasant evening, the constant worry of a riot concerned me to no end. Maybe I am just being paranoid, I reasoned to myself. It cannot happen on the Citadel. The officials are the best in the galaxy. These thoughts eased the tangible inklings of fear, yet they did not cease them.

I was now inside a metal station.

Beyond the translucent glass I spied the magnificence of Earth; the ethereal blue hue that shimmered under the sun's radiant warmth. This was the fabled paradise the humans had sought to protect: this was their home. Such a simple concept yet huge in implication, I could not fathom what I would do without my home; without Jeff.

The planet below faded to the background as the image reflected in the pane appeared before me. Again I was seeing through John Shepard's eyes. Again, I was delving into his memories.

"Commander?" a paternal voice called out. My gaze turned to see Anderson before me. This was the man I had only seen once in person. He looked so young.

"Yes, Anderson?" I heard Shepard reply, his body becoming rigid and tight.

"At ease, this is only an informal meeting. I wish to show you your new command." Anderson waved me forward and, like before, I was unable to control the commander's actions. I was victim to his past. "You excited about getting a ship?" he asked with a smirk.

I could not gauge the African man's emotions, but Shepard was unfurled before me. "Not in particular, sir." I could sense fear, anxiousness, and worry coursing through the commander's mind.

Anderson scoffed. "I cannot believe that someone like you would be hesitant towards a new post." We took a turn down the long hallways, a silvery blue accompanied us as we walked. "You always told me that you would love getting your own command. I believe you were twenty-two when you first said that."

Warmth flooded through Shepard as a smile rose on my, no, his face. "We change, Anderson. I am not the person you once knew." A soft chuckle escaped the commander's lips. "You could say I am getting cold feet."

Anderson laughed at that comment. "Nonsense, you are too strong willed for that." I felt Shepard think: The bastard knows me too well. The sentence was flooded with comfort and adoration, not malic. "I remember when the squad who picked you up told me about Mindoir." In an instant I felt horrible regret jolt through Shepard like electricity. "You were one of the last survivors of that damn attack. God, when I think about what happened to those people. Your friends, your family—"

"Please," Shepard interrupted, stopping in the hall. "Please, don't say any more." Images flooded into my consciousness. Charred corpses. Rotting flesh. Blood staining my hands and face. A gun in my hand. More blood, this time in a different colour. My head in the lap of a corpse. A single thought breaking me from these internal reflections: mommy.

I returned to the exchange with Anderson, still aching from the images I witnessed. "Quite right," Anderson said, nodding in solemn respect. "I did not mean to make it sound—"

"Just stop," was the terse reply. "You don't need to say anything else." After a deep breath, we continued walking. "C'mon, I bet the ship is a beauty. I can't wait to look at her," Shepard said, this time with more joviality in his voice.

"Oh, just you wait, son," Anderson said with a smile. "A ship like this will never leave you, long after you've gone and died."