Shepard didn't like to make a habit of disobeying her superior officers, yet she couldn't discount the frequency with which she did was growing all the more regular. A facade of calm and resilience had given her remaining squad the courage to follow her onto a derelict Reaper to secure the IFF, without which they would not be able to forgo the friend or foe mechanism it triggered once they entered the Omega 4 Relay. A prerequisite suicide mission before the suicide mission. But now, grateful for her bangs, she hid behind them as the comm feed cut and Admiral Hackett faded from view. The memory of the debriefing was scorched behind her eyelids. Many emotions had passed over his graying features, but three were most prevalent: his worry had only lasted through part of her retelling of the events aboard the dead Reaper, quickly turning into outrage at her willingness to work with a mysterious geth unit they encountered while on board, and finally dissolved into disappointment at her denial to turn it over to the Alliance immediately for study and the safety of the crew. It wasn't something she could put into words - not yet anyway - but there was something significantly different from this variant drone other than the linguistic program it used to communicate with organics. And then there was the irking question of her armor - how in the hell had a geth acquired a piece of her old N7 suit, vintage from when she was spaced and pronounced dead those two years ago? Something was awry, and for whatever good it did she had vowed to Hackett she would get to the bottom of it.
What better time than the present?
Pushing away from the ledge of the alcove that housed her private terminal, Shepard made for the door but paused a few steps in. There it was again. Pinching the bridge of her nose she tried to force away the lingering, dull aching pressure that had built up behind her eyes. While the sensation returned occasionally, usually after taxing missions against the Reapers, it had grown noticeably in severity during their search for the IFF. Some pain killers before bed again, I suppose. It's starting to feel like a chore.
What attracted Legion to the AI Core, whether it be its isolation or its versatility, Shepard couldn't fathom. Still, it left the droid easy to find.
"We need to talk," she demanded, pounding her way over to where it stood.
"Shepard-Commander-"
"No. Follow me." Turning on her heel, she marched back the way she came, half expecting the doors to close behind her without accompaniment. Her fury ebbed slightly when the sound delayed long enough for someone to follow at a cautious distance.
"No visitors until we're through, EDI," Shepard called out as she exited the elevator.
"Yes, Shepard," the AI acquiesced, the Commander hearing the lock of her door click into place as she and her guest crossed the threshold. The geth had followed quietly behind her, stumped no doubt at her outburst on the Crew Deck. But she was looking to get a response out of him, not shocked silence. She strode to the desk that housed her private terminal, spinning on her heels to face the droid as she leaned against the counter's edge.
"Do you know who I was just on comm with?" Her words sounded like a bite, even to her.
"This platform does not have access to incoming or outgoing communications from this location. A cross-reference of comm buoy feeds might-"
"I just denied a direct order from Admiral Hackett of the Alliance Navy to hand you over."
The silence echoed off the walls as if she'd screamed at the top of her lungs. But patience rewarded her after several heartbeats.
"Thank you."
The Commander blinked. "What?"
"Thank you," was the synthesized repeat.
"I don't want your thanks, or anyone else's, for not doing my job."
A briefer silence separated their exchange. For supposedly being designed for interacting with organics, this guy wasn't so hot at volleying her responses. Or maybe it was just her.
"We do not understand."
"He seems to believe you're still a threat to not only me and my crew, but anyone else who intends to tangle with the Reapers."
"As previously mentioned, our goal is mutual. We wish to eradicate the Old Machines, as do you."
"What's stopping you from changing your mind and playing Benedict Arnold? Better yet, how do I know you're not collecting data at this very moment and sending it to some ship just waiting to take a crack at us?"
"You don't." It's tone was unwaveringly confident for having said such a profoundly unsettling statement. Before Shepard could think of a retort, it continued. "You have challenged our reasoning since reanimation of this unit was complete. Do you not trust us as initially assumed?"
"Trust is earned," she clarified.
"What has earned our place aboard your ship thus far? Does this gesture not imply a sense of trust?"
"Helping me, saving me and my team's life back on that Reaper gave me good enough reason to be open minded. I've also never seen a geth fire upon its own kind. That earned you some bonus points. But that doesn't mean I'm sold on the idea of one rogue geth coming to our rescue on an enemy ship having an entirely different loyalty and 'consensus' than every other geth I've ever encountered."
"There are other platforms such as this that believe the heretics to be incorrect in their worship of the Old Machines. The fact that you have not encountered them is not unlikely; having fought against Saren Areterius prior to the destruction of the Normandy SR-1, your mission centered around the annihilation of the heretics, which were the only geth to travel within organic space and therein pose as a threat. Unanimity of our sect dictated that we remain beyond the Perseus Veil until such a time that we might enlist the aid of organics to support our cause. Research led us to you, Shepard-Commander. You were and remain to be the most likely path to our success in ridding the galaxy of the Old Machines. This platform was then created to search you out. Others that challenge the heretics still lie within the Perseus Veil. We seek to dwell in harmony. Opposition to our existence has forced our hand, as it has yours."
This just keeps getting better and better, she mused. "Okay. Now just tell that to the Alliance Navy. Not literally," she assured in a rush, tugging the hovering three-pronged grip down away from its omni-tool. "You know Hackett will just want proof."
"We regret that we do not have additional data to offer your former superiors."
"I - they're technically still my superiors. Ergo the reason I'm trying to maintain contact with them. Death doesn't get you out of the navy, or, at least it shouldn't."
Facial fins flaring, the geth before her actually cocked its head in question, but chose to assess rather than inquire. "You do not like being thought of deceased or reanimated."
"Because it wasn't a death. Science and medicine brought me back. And a boatload of money; from what they tell me, I rang up quite a tab."
"You imbue comedy to retell your death."
"I didn't DIE!"
That-that one was a scream, she realized too late. An inch from the menace's head, she watched her breath coat its ocular orb with a fine sheen of fog. Her composure was already in the rear-view waving back at her - not that invading a synthetic's personal bubble was something she was overly concerned with, but she needed a moment to gather herself before telling him to beat it.
"You reanimated this platform." It was so loud in her ears, she questioned whether it'd come from an external source. But the culprit made to continue. "It was nonfunctional when you gained possession of it."
"Are you drawing parallels between yourself and I?"
"We are vastly knowledgeable in every aspect of your being; any and all history that has been shaped by you, we have access to. We were reanimated by you as you were by Cerberus. Are we incorrect in our assessment?"
"Your assessment lacks vital differences," she patronized. Angst seeped from her every pore - another headache, she dismissed. "It's written in the details. I was pronounced dead, unsalvageable. There's no reason for me to be standing here at this very moment."
"It is unlikely this is what's causing you ill-ease given your experience with near-death situations."
"No, no, no." Shepard swatted at the notion, turning her body and face away from the machine across her. Her hands on the coolness of her desk felt calming, familiar enough to draw strength from. "You were rebootable. I'm-I knew that one day that'd be it. I'd go as far as I could and then eventually, one day, that'd be it." Words as thick and heavy as her memories of her last moments formed a blockage in her throat, slowing her reminisce. "The last thing I remember is the suffocating. The pressure of the void replacing the oxygen in my suit. Then I wake up after being dragged into something no one should have found a way to dredge me out of. You have an immeasurable lifespan. I'm sure your kind could live forever if allowed to."
"If allowed to?"
Shepard stole a glance behind her. A solitary beam surrounded by upturned panels - inquisition, maybe? "Sure. I mean," wasn't it obvious? "Geth don't just die of natural causes, do they?"
"Our bodies do not deteriorate at a rate as exponentially short as human tissue, but we can be terminated."
"Anything can be killed," she agreed. Where was it going with this?
"Arguably, only sentient beings such as the Old Machines and organics such as yourself can be killed. Wherein lies the difference between ending a machine's 'life' and yours?"
"I'm not sure I follow," the Commander admitted.
"We are trying to comprehend your reasoning for differentiation. Are you implying that because the geth are not already living that when we cease to function it is not the same as, say, your own death?"
"Are you trying to say you're not alive?" she countered.
"Do you believe as such?"
"This is turning into a fencing match," exasperation profound in each syllable as she muttered it. "You're an advanced AI species. You rose up in self-awareness - a fact that led to the war between the geth and the quarians."
"The Morning War," the platform before her consented.
"The what?" she faltered.
"A term coined by the geth to depict the conflict between the geth and our Creators."
"My point exactly; your sapience is exemplified by the fact that your race can do such a thing. It doesn't matter whether you were programmed or lived in a cave, you still evolved into a people that knew they were alive."
"We... Acknowledged."
"Yet humans are meant to expire. We have limitations."
The droid considered that for several seconds. "Centuries ago, your species did not have the technology it does now. Fields of science and medicine that are present today did not exist. Your lifespans were even shorter; approximately equal to that of a salarian."
Her thoughts flew to Mordin. It was common knowledge that salarians had such a short blink of years to live. Sorrow stabbed at her chest at the connection between the facts and her crewmate.
"Medi-gel, organ transplants, prosthetics: none of this had been developed yet," it carried on, completely devoid to her internal havoc. "Why then should you view the procedure done to you as anything other than a scientific advancement developed to extend your life?"
Oh.
So that was the meat and potatoes of this whole thing. It believed that the differences between what happened to itself and her weren't all that different. And when put to her the way it had, she could see why.
"You know, I don't have any idea as how to address you."
"Meaning?"
"Your name would be decent place to start."
"Geth."
"I mean you, specifically."
"We are all geth."
You've got to be joking. "As an individual, the one I am talking to. I want to know what to call you."
"There is no individual. This platform is comprised of over one thousand active programs, each of which geth."
"Are you being cheeky?" Stamping a heel against the tile beneath her feet by means of not lashing out at the driod further, she was saved by a voice emitting from the corner of her hub.
"'My name is Legion, for we are many.'" The spherical dome had dropped in unexpectedly, but with a much-welcomed solution.
"Christian Bible, Gospel of Mark, chapter five, verse nine. We acknowledge this as an appropriate metaphor. We are Legion, a terminal of the geth."
"Thank you, EDI," Shepard acclaimed.
"For what purpose did you wish to address us, specifically?" Legion queried.
In a gesture she hoped the machine's intimate knowledge of the extranet would recognize, Shepard extended a hand between the two of them. "I wanted to thank you. Properly."
Unsure, it delayed a slow raise of the appendage mirrored to hers, slowly clamping its digits. The pressure was off from most handshakes, but it was surprisingly human in its bungling. She idly wondered why the semblance continued to surprise her. Trying to conceal the slow smile playing at her lips, she bowed her head in gratitude. "It's always nice to get a new perspective on things. This one, I think I definitely needed."
"We are happy to be of service." Released from each other's grips, the geth turned back the way they'd come, stopping short at the threshold. "We would also like to thank you for deeming us worthy of life."
"I'm just one person, Legion. My say doesn't really go all that far."
The fins above its orb turned inward, direct. "'It only takes one.'" And with that, it was gone.
A slow march to her bedside felt like she was moving boulders, falling to the mattress with a languid flourish.
"Only one to what?"
But the empty room held no answers for her. Not now.