Notes are at the end of the chapter :)

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3.

Across the void, hearing you


Soon, inquiries began to radiate space.

It wasn't difficult to pick up or define which single entity they originated from: he knew which code was of one and which was of another with eidetic minuteness.

Harbinger was no emperor; no one of his outputs knew the biting care of a tyrant – among his people. His will was shared unanimously in the network, just as every subject direct in it was endorsed by him.

Nothing that he knew – and much Harbinger had collected – held the serene adhesion that every one of them, limpidly, enriched.

His culture was the one of billions – each a nation –, all under the same flag.

However, it was in the algebraic logic of their circuits to realize that his words had been the last wills heard by those who had, a long time before, leaved the grid for the greater good.

The sound of a name hovered along their constant route, the electronic chant of the memory of one of them.

Nazara, they whispered, Nazara in deep space.

Nazara who wandered – in solitary, patient hunting – the ethereal soil of the asters, the bright, colorful paths of the mortals' stars, probing, scratching consciences, summoning them.

Nazara who he himself had dismissed, so much motions ago, to whom he had showed the course to a remote unity.

Speak for us, he had said, delve for us, a road to the heart of the galaxy. Lead this ensign, that the winds of mortals can't smack.

Nazara, sang the Reapers, in the ungraceful harmonics of computations.

Nazara, invoked the destroyers, seeking for her presence.

Nazara, hissed he, unlock the gates to our galaxy.

Harbinger travelled, legions surrounding him.

A vessel closest to him traced the trail he was ploughing across, such a small thing to the eyes of the most massive of the swarm: a black, sleek shell, housing his fire power, limbs folded, head bowed, almost hidden amid those.

Metallic legs that almost looked like pincers, a carapace of an elegance much more boxier, and only one vow to his existence: destruction.

Gentle feedbacks were caressing the membrane of Harbinger's firewalls, demanding, seeking.

Nazara, murmured the Destroyer.

Distant, answered Harbinger, close, reassured then.

Close to him, of which he sensed the voice without discontinuity, a string lying in space that lulled sums and subtractions of his methodical musing.

I hear you, said Nazara, I listen.

The Destroyer withdrew, going back to the clusters, spreading the awareness.

A soft ripple of branched equations roamed among the black multitude – observations, expectations.

Close, they said to each other.

I hear you, whispered Nazara from afar.

The long sleep has ended.


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Sooo… got an hell of a headache.

The more I translate from Italian to English, the more stupid I feel to have thought this language was easy.

I have a problem with pronouns, it's hard for me to tell when I have to use which or whom. Ok, one is for object, the other for people. Still, here we are technically talking of machines, but as you may have noticed, I refer to them as living beings. It's a choice, because they are the main characters here, they have thoughts (algorithms, equations, calculations?).

Also, there is Nazara, that is Sovereign (in ME2, Legion tells Shepard that its real name was Nazara), and I chose to use Her for the type of the name, and not for a possible distinction of gender (the same goes for Harbinger, to which I refer as He).

The reaper that approaches Harbinger, smaller and slightly different in shape, is a Destroyer-Class.

So. Again, I thank the readers, and mostly The Wandering Reader for his review. Good to read you find this intriguing :)

See ya!