HOLOCAUST
CHAPTER THIRTY-SIX:
COUNTERFACTUAL HISTORY PART TWO
July 9, 2186
ERROR. CAN'T CALCULATE.
Server Hub 02241-14511, Geth Consensus.
Second Morning War, Operation: Pinpoint.
Captain Marcus Lee Shepard.
A few second passed by where Marcus had no idea where he was.
A few seconds might as well have been an eternity as the white light encompassed his vision, blinding it. Nothing but the light existed, and because of it, Marcus had no way of knowing whether or not what they had tried to do had worked. Was he dead? Had Legion's attempt to integrate him into the geth consensus actually end up killing him?
Funny, I don't remember death looking like this. And I should know: I've been there.
But if this wasn't death, what was it? It couldn't be success; the geth consensus couldn't possibly be white light, could it? If it was, how the hell was he supposed to do anything? I can't bloody see! I could reach my hand out and not see anything! But the light's existence persisted, and for what seemed like pure, torturous eternity, he simply didn't move, waiting for the white light to absolve, or do something...something other than blind him.
A few more seconds passed, and still nothing. When he was beginning to grow impatient, that's when it happened; the white was receding...
Then, suddenly, the white flashed once more, causing him to cry out momentarily and close his eyes. When nothing further happened, and he felt like no bodily harm had been brought to him, he quickly opened his eyes, and stood straighter.
What greeted him was not an endless white expanse.
He could only stand in awe as what he saw was not the endless, vast hangar filled with isles of pods with geth hooked up in each one. No, what he saw was far larger. Much more vast. What greeted him was a vast ocean of what appeared to be grey, non-descript cubes whose edges glowed dimly with orange light. These cubes were interconnected and interweaved with each other, making a ground that resembled that of a massive set of grids, all networked together. And that was all there was; just a huge ocean. A planet. An entire universe full of glowing grids made of featureless cubes. He looked forward, and he noted that the place had a horizon...one of which was also made of cubes and grids.
He looked west, he looked east...hell, he looked to the sky. No matter where he looked, it was all the same. Nothing but those grids. Nothing but cubes. Not another discernable feature. It was...odd.
As he watched, what looked to be a swarm of the cubes shot by, faster than his vision could properly register; they looked like blurs. Another swarm shot by, this one heading dead ahead, towards the horizon. A particular cluster arrived at the ceiling, where they became a part of a particular set of grids, creating a new one. They did so without a sound, with so much as beep or screech or thud. That, or it was muffled.
The next thing he noticed was how disoriented he felt. He was feeling light headed, and his vision was slightly fuzzy. When he brought a hand up to his face, he realized that his hand was armoured. Looking down, he widened his eyes as he observed his armoured form. From head to toe, his Terminus Assault Armor gleamed in the orange light of the cubes, showing that he was still wearing it. Letting his hand continue towards his face, he frowned when he felt it bump against glass, and when he focused his eyesight, overcoming his light-headedness, he realized that he was wearing his helmet again.
What the...? But I took that off! Tali placed it next to the pod! How do I have it back on?
The realization quickly brought him into action, and he seemed to totally forget his vertigo as he fought to move. The first thing he observed was that he was still in the pod. Or at least, what seemed like the pod. Is it possible the pod is a figment of my imagination? I am within the network, am I not? That is what I'm looking at, right? So if the pod is my imagination, than perhaps my brain is thinking of a helmet, which is why I'm wearing one.
This shit is like fucking Green Lantern. I hope the geth didn't take notes when making this network.
To test his theory, he quickly closed his eyes and imagined himself without a helmet. When he opened his eyes, he noticed that his HUD was gone, and upon further examination, nothing was permeating his peripherals; he was helmetless. Closing his eyes again briefly, he thought of himself with a helmet, and when he opened them, sure enough, he had a helmet on again. Okay, now that's some trippy shit. Am I sure I didn't just snort some red sand? Is this a fucking dream?
He moved to exit the pod, but he merely bumped against it, the sound being the muffled sound of metal banging against glass...loudly. Noting that the pod was closed, he decided to try his luck again and began to close his eyes. Hopefully this works.
Once closed, he imagined that the pod wasn't there.
Confident his thoughts were foremost in his mind, he opened his eyes again.
A smile crossed his lips as he noted that the pod was now gone, standing alone in the vast plains of grids and cubes that he was inhabiting. He took another look around, this time turning south to see if there was any difference...nothing. That only confirmed it; this world was solely derived from these damn cubes.
He took note of the lack of sound. He couldn't even hear his own breathing. He raised a hand and slammed it against his chestplate. The sound was there, but it was faint; a bare whisper, nowhere near as loud as it should be. He could have blinked and missed the sound. He began to whistle and, strangely enough, he could hear it, crystal clear, like he would in the normal world. He stopped whistling after that, frowning as he squared his shoulders, looking around the area hesitantly. Swarms continued to shoot past, heading off to seemingly random directions, while others continued to merge into their environment or seemingly dissolve into nothing.
This was the geth server hub. This was the home of the geth. Their homeworld.
With a gulp, he cleared his throat. He needed to talk. To say something. This unnerving silence was beginning to get to him; it was gaining a grip on his mind. He couldn't let it determine his sanity. The emptiness and silence was just...overwhelming.
He reached out, hoping the person in question would hear, "Legion?"
A few seconds passed, and initially, there was no answer. When it was becoming increasingly clear to him that no answer was forthcoming, he opened his mouth to speak again, only for a thundering voice to respond, seemingly coming from all around him.
"Shepard-Commander," it stated simply. He turned in all directions as he heard it, as the voice seemed to come from the very world itself, not a single person. The voice was also thunderous; impossibly loud, even somehow being capable of drowning out that of a Reaper. But to his ears, it seemed normal; it did not hurt his voice, despite the decibels of it in reality being enough to leave him deaf.
Then he heard it to his right; the sound of wind, whispering through the air.
He whirled around in time to watch as Legion's form came into being, pulled together by seemingly holographic pixels and projections. It glowed brilliant blue, and despite him knowing Legion wasn't physically there with him, he felt safer just seeing the geth. A lot less...alone.
This place seriously creeps me out. No organic was ever meant to be here, and it shows.
Legion's hologram fizzled and stuttered, but it was present, and when it spoke again, its voice was, although loud, alot more welcomed than the dull silence of solitude, "Shepard-Commander, welcome to our consensus."
He frowned, turning to face the geth fully, "I thought you said we were entering a single network, one for this particular server hub?"
Legion simply shook its head, "You misunderstand. All networks are seperate, but are part of the consensus as a whole. As we have explained, the consensus is divided into multiple servers, which are then divided into their own subdivisions to better congregate and cohesively organize processes, ideas and decisions made by the geth. The network we wish to access is not a single entity, but part of the larger entity. It is all around us, yet we must reach it."
This not allay his confusion. All it did was confuse him further. That's quite a mind fuck, "I still don't get it."
"It is difficult to simplify into terms organics can process," the geth explained, "The simplest way to explain it is that all networks and servers are part of the consensus. To access a server, you access the consensus. To access a cohort, you access the consensus. They are a part of the consensus. They are all around us at the same time, but we must also reach them simultaneously. They are the same entity. The closest metaphor this platform can extrapolate and applicate to this situation are document folders organics use on their terminals. You congregate your files into that folder, and when you enter it, you are looking for that file, yet it is always there. The consensus is that folder, and the servers are the documents within it. They are one."
I still don't get it. He sighed, shaking his head, and shrugged, "So we need to reach it, yet we've already reached it?"
"Yes," the geth declared, nodding, "We have reached the server, but we must now work to shut it down. But we must all be careful. All servers just symbiosis with the consensus. We must be careful not to unintentionally damage other servers; for this purpose, we will guide you to the appropriate nodes as we find them."
He nodded, and took a step forward. As soon as his foot hit the ground however, the grid seemed to flash rapidly for the briefest of moments, accompanied by an odd sound; it sounded like an electronic blull. Noting this, he jumped up and down repeatedly, and the same sound was made. Blull, blull, blull, blull.
"Legion, what exactly is this?" he inquired, getting even more weirded out as he looked upon the grid. There just wasn't something right about them, "What are these cube things? Is this what the consensus looks like?"
"What you see is what we have generated for your organic interpretation," Legion explained, standing still as a bone as it talked, the only movement being its headflaps, "Our consensus does not have a visual or physical aspect given that is not a tangible environment; it is a conglomeration of software and networks linked together. However, we reviewed your organic processes and deemed that generating a physical environment would be more efficient for your platform and allow you to react accordingly."
"So all of this..." Marcus waved his hand around to gesture to the endless expanse of cubes around him, "...is just what I'm seeing? This is how I want to view it, but necessarily how it actually looks?"
"Our consensus does not have a visual aspect. It cannot be tangibly seen, and is not subject to the organic five senses. It cannot be smelt, touched, seen, heard or tasted. What you see is merely a physical aspect applied to our consensus so that your organic brain can incorporate these senses. Without them, your effectiveness during this mission would be rendered a liability."
"So all of this is effectively a simulation? None of what I'm seeing is real?"
"Yes," it replied simply.
He nodded, looking down at the cubes below him, "But if I'm seeing the world how I want to see it, why not a planet? Why is my brain choosing cubes and grids? What sense does that make?"
Legion thought about this for a moment, longer than normal, before responding, "As we have stated, our consensus is not designed for organic interface. Your presence was an improvization constructed from rapid, unforeseen necessity. As a byproduct, we were unable to develop the simulation software that is currently being applicated to allow you to experience our consensus tangibly. Because of this, we were unable to perceive a complex environment of which you would be comfortable, nor did we possess the time. In the end, we elected to use a fundamental template. In your mind, this basic template is 'cubes and grids.' We apologize for lack of creative intuition."
He just shrugged, looking down at the cubes as he stepped on them, "But...what are they exactly? What do these cubes represent? The ground?"
It shook its head, "No, what you perceive as cubes are actually individual geth programs."
He stopped moving and froze to the spot. It took his mind a split second to realize just what that implied, and he placed his foot back down gently, the cube still blinking and giving off its dull blull sound.
"Geth...programs?" he gulped, looking up at the geth and motioning to the cubes and grids all around him, "You're telling me that every single one of those cubes out there is a...a geth program? I'm walking on geth?"
"Correct," Legion confirmed, "When we processed the simulation, we needed to provide a physical representation of everything involved in the consensus' framework. First and foremost, all geth software present needed to be presented sufficiently. Due to a combination of the fundamental template and your history with geth platforms, we elected to not use real-time geth combat hardware as a representation, and instead used these cubes."
Marcus looked back out, and when he saw the expanse again, he saw it in an entirely different light.
There must be billions...thousands of trillions of cubes out there...all of them individual geth...
And I'm walking all over them.
"If I'm walking all over them, how the hell do they not know I'm here?" he looked up in exasperation.
"Once again, what you see is only a physical representation. All has been organized for organic comfortability and ease of access. As such, all has been arranged or rearranged to make the representation more comprehensible for the organic form. What you perceive as geth is true, but their dispositioning is not. You perceive yourself walking over them, when in reality, you cannot, because, again, they are not tangible matter. The cubes have been used to represent the geth, but in the real consensus, they are not."
With that explanation, he calmed down, sort've understanding what the geth meant, "Its sorta like moving through a forest at night as a kid. If you perceive the trees as little ponies, then it helps the kid move more calmly and without fear."
"We have not observed the application of this metaphor," Legion declared, and after a moment, it concluded, "But we will accept its sensicality. You are correct."
With this explained, he stepped forward again and then remained rooted to the spot, simply watching the cubes in the distance...the geth...shoot past and merge with the other cubes.
Finally, he spoke again, "Soo...what exactly do I do? I've noticed that I can think things, and then they happen. I've tried that with weapons, but that doesn't seem to do anything."
"You can only think of things you currently possess," Legion described, "For example, when you entered the pod, you were wearing your armor. As a result, the simulation has been programmed to represent your own form with the same armor. You did not possess weapons when entering, so the simulation has not been programmed to represent weaponry. However, the simulation has also been programmed to rearrange items, meaning that if your neural patterns dictate so, your armor may be removed from the simulation, or brought back, at your convenience."
"What about the helmet?" he asked, "I didn't wear the helmet when I went in. How do you explain that?"
"The helmet is a part of your armor. The simulation has been programmed to represent every conceivable part of the armor. It is likely it saw an error in the fact that you lacked a helmet, and likely corrected that error using existing records on the armor configuration. However, because of the programming constraints, you can also dictate whether or not the simulation removes it or not."
One complex thing after another. Its enough to make your head spin. He just waved his hand in confusion, unsure of what he was supposed to do, "So...what exactly do I do now? I can't just stand here, obviously. And I've never done anything like this, so I have no idea what I'm supposed to do."
"We must locate the necessary server nodes so that we may tap into their data arrays," Legion explained, turning away from him and towards the expanse infront of them, "Once located, you must tap into them. Once tapped in, we will use you as a broadcasting amplifier so that we can access the node and extract the necessary data. In organic terms, we will 'piggyback' on your form into the node."
He nodded, "And how many nodes are there?"
Legion's response wasn't immediate, "Data not available. Likely a dozen. But we need only access core data nodes; of those, there are only ten. Once all ten have been accessed, we will be able to access the network itself and, through it, the core knowledge of the geth programs within it. We will then...extract the information."
He looked at the geth sadly, "You mean forcibly take it, don't you?"
The geth nodded regretfully, "Accessing the core knowledge of geth programs, unlike what your task will do, will alert them. Unfortunately, as they are hostile to this platform, we will be forced to take the information using brute force."
"I'm sorry Legion," he stated sorrowfully, hanging his head with regret. He couldn't imagine what it was like having to kill your own people, people you considered allies before, "That can't be easy."
Legion shook its head, "We do what we must. My people will remain under Old Machine control if the signal is not disabled. We must find it. There is no alternative."
He just called the geth his 'people.' Legion really is evolving. He's becoming more organic the more we stand here.
"So how exactly do I get there?" Marcus asked, trying to divert what was clearly a harrowing topic for the geth, crossing his arms over his chest, "How exactly do I...uh...reach the node. A matter of fact, how do I even recognize it when I see it?"
The geth turned back to him, "We will guide you, Shepard-Commander. We will direct you to each node. Once found, we will instruct you on what to d-" it suddenly cut itself off, its head jerking to and fro, headflaps becoming chaotic as they danced along its head erratically.
His eyes widened in alarm as he suddenly felt himself moving towards the geth, stopping infront of him, "Legion? Legion, what's wrong? What's going on?" his geth comrade gave no response, so he persisted, "Legion, talk to me!"
After a few moments, it nodded and turned back to him, headflaps relaxing and head ceasing movement as its optics looked at him, "Old Machine infection within consensus is more extensive than originally analyzed. We have detected layers of Old Machine code throughout every server."
Suddenly, a hologram appeared before Legion, depicting what looked to be a large, pulsing vein. Upon closer inspection however, he noted that the vein was made of cubes, each one pulsing brightly and bulging every few seconds. Unlike the geth cubes however, these ones weren't a dull grey and didn't pulse orange; these ones were a bright, sickly yellow; and pulsed red occassionally. It looked like a long tendril; malicious and vicious. Like a stationary viper, ready to strike.
"Is that the Old Machine code?" Marcus asked.
"Negative," the geth declared, shaking its head as it enlarged the icon, bringing it to scale; the infection strand, as he was now going to dub it, was twice the height of a prime, and its length indeterminate, "The cubes you see that make up the infection are not individual Old Machine programs, but are splinters of individual, sentient Old Machine programs. They are not actual Old Machines, but are sentient software created for the purpose of controlling the infection. Infection is present throughout the consensus."
"How bad is it?" Marcus asked cautiously, arms crossed, "Will this change anything?"
Legion was quick to show its disagreement with that assertion, "Negative. We were aware of the Old Machine presence within our servers, but not at how extensive it was; however, this does not change the variables. What you're seeing is the sentient Old Machine programs have grouped together to create concentrated bundles of software to fortify their old on the server. They also serve as firewalls. It is likely the Old Machines have prepared for this eventuality."
"So what am I supposed to do?" Marcus asked, waving his hand at the huge hologram, "Its like you said, I'm just organic. How the hell am I supposed to get through that?"
Legion's response was simple. The hologram of the strand evaporated as Legion turned back to him, optics focused solely on him, looking determined, "Combat measures will be necessary."
Combat...wait, he can't possibly mean...?
Marcus just frowned, cocking his head as he spoke, "Wait Legion, are you telling me I'm supposed to fight that? To kill that? I thought you said nothing in here is tangible! Wouldn't using weapons in the consensus not only be impossible, but illogical? And even if I could, I don't have any! The simulation didn't generate them, remember?"
Legion nodded, "You are correct and incorrect, Shepard-Commander. You are correct in that the world you perceive is only tangible because the simulation makes it so for your conveinence. Even with this however, nothing of practicality in the real world will work against practicality in the consensus. If geth programs decide to attack you, your armor will not work. However, because of the representation, a weapon can be used as a physical metaphor in the presence of a brute force virus."
He raised an eyebrow, "You're going to have to explain that one."
Legion was all too happy to oblige, "This platform can produce a weapon using the simulator's code that can interface and exist within the consensus' boundaries as a brute force virus. This virus will be configured with reverse-engineered Old Machine code, and can destroy other Old Machine code fragments or programs when enough force is applied. However, we cannot use this virus because its usage will draw attention to your presence. However, your organic existence, as we explained, has not been experienced in the consensus before, and therefore geth and by extension, perhaps the Old Machines, will not detect you, or at least not initially. You will be able to use the virus."
"How?" Marcus asked, wanting to see where the geth was going with this.
"A weapon," it stated simply, "As we have stated, the simulation helps you see our consensus in a way your organic mind can comprehend. Because of this, it will apply organic concepts and necessities to our consensus, even if isn't physically or mentally correct or possible. For the simulation, we can produce you a hand-held heavy weapon capable of destroying Old Machine firewalls. So while, in the actual consensus, you are using a virus, in the simulation, you are firing a weapon."
"So in layman's terms, I'll be shooting the firewalls using a heavy weapon or rifle that fires the virus." Noting Legion's nod, he knew he had understood that right, so he continued, "So how will that virus be represented?"
"The virus will be represented as directed energy. It will look and produce the effect of an Arc Projector."
He whistled, smiling slightly. Shooting Reapers, even if not literally, with virtual lightning. I like it already.
"I don't know about you Legion, but I say do it," he declared, "I'm not about to let those firewalls stop us from finding the signal's source. There can be no going back, Legion. It's all or nothing. Give me the weapon."
"Acknowledged," Legion declared. After a moment, it spoke again, "Shall we alert Creator Tali'Shepard?"
"Why?" he asked, "I'm in no danger. Well, no more than we knew I would be going in."
"The usage of this weapon will not be detected initially, but the destruction of their firewalls will draw the attention of the Old Machine code and, eventually, the Old Machine programs themselves. If they find you - when they find you - we cannot guarantee being able to sufficiently battle them."
So I could die. Got it. He shook his head, "We've got to take that chance, Legion. War is risk. And right now, this war needs to end to concentrate on the bigger one. We're going to end this, and if that means I have to take this risk, so be it. So no, don't alert Tali. She'll just try to pull the plug."
"Shepard-Commander is asking this platform to lie to Creator Tali'Shepard."
"Its not lying if you never tell her, its just withholding the truth."
"You are asking to withhold vital information pertaining to your safety that Creator Tali'Shepard has explicitly asked for."
"Legion, sometimes you have to think for yourself. That's the price of the new freedoms and emotions you're getting. You've got to make a choice Legion; tell her or don't. But think about this: how badly do you want to see coexistence between your people and the quarians?"
Legion didn't answer. Its headflaps just moved for a few moments before providing something pertaining to a response, "We will not inform Creator Tali'Shepard of the possible danger. We will guide you."
He nodded, "Thank you, Legion."
Suddenly, pixels began to gather infront of it, and he hesitantly took a step back, "What's happening?"
"Your weapon is ready, Shepard-Commander."
True to its word, the pixels continued to gather until the weapon solidified, hovering in place. Like all geth weapons and, by extent, their architecture, it was grey/silver and streamlined; simple, yet elegant. It had the base of a pulse rifle, but where front end should be was missing, replaced by a large, circular hole, almost as if the front had been chopped off. Three appendages stretched out around it, curving inward; likely the energy emitters.
Reaching out, he dropped his finger on it, trying to see if it was still holographic. To his surface, his finger met solid resistance, blocking by its tough, yet smooth, surface. Reaching out both hands, he gently took it, physics taking over as it weighed in his hands. Strangely however, the weapon was as light as a pistol, despite how bulky he knew it should be. He shouldered it, the butt pinned against his shoulder blade as he looked down the 'sights' of it. He spun on the spot, testing his grip within the trigger. The weapon was as light as a feather, and easy to aim.
It was perfect.
"Shepard-Commander, is the weapon compatible with your hardware?"
Marcus just grinned, lowering the new weapon slightly, "Its fine, Legion. So, where to first?"
Legion said nothing, simply standing there. A few moments later however, cubes began to redirect themselves, moving towards his seemingly hovering platform as they began to merge and extend upon it. When they were finished, a ramp had appeared infront of him, along with a walkway stretched on ahead. The cubes had made him a path.
"You may proceed, Shepard-Commander. We will watch over you." And with that, Legion's hologram evaporated.
Taking a deep breath, he shouldered his weapon once more, cracked his neck, and took one step after another down the ramp. The blull, blull, blull was all he could hear as he moved, but he steadily increased speed as he moved down the path.
Time to find that signal.
{Loading...}
July 9, 2186
ERROR. CAN'T CALCULATE.
Server Hub 02241-14511, Geth Consensus.
Second Morning War, Operation: Pinpoint.
Captain Marcus Lee Shepard.
The more he continued, the further the virtual world around him opened up.
As he traversed, the pod behind him winked out of existence, the cubes and grids holding up the platform shooting out in different directions, merging with other cubes or simply disappearing altogether. Even as he moved, the path behind him steadily began to disperse, while the path before him continued to grow, leading him towards his destination. Marcus knew Legion was the one forming his path, and that the geth would not lead him astray; the path was simply taking him to his first destination, and the first node.
After a while, the straight path verged off to the right, so he continued to follow it, the ground still giving off the loud, reverbrating blull, blull, blull as he moved forward. The weapon in his hand, which he had taken to calling the Virus, continued to feel as light as a feather, yet as usable as a pistol. He reckoned he could even wield it with one hand, although his inexperience with holding a heavy weapon like that would probably leave it awkward, and therefore not practical. So the weapon remained contained against his shoulder, both hands gripping it, as they moved along, always keeping his eyes downrange so no surprises got the better of him.
After all, he was in the geth's world now. He was as vulnerable as ever.
He made sure to keep his pace slow and steady; running could trigger unwanted attention, and he didn't want that. The geth might not know he was there, but he had no guarantee that running around wouldn't alert the Reapers controlling them. So he essentially had to walk in stealth without alerting the enemy, he was alone while doing it, with alot of lives riding on his shoulders.
Sounds way too familiar. Hopefully it doesn't end with me blowing up the whole server.
But even as he walked, he felt strangely...alone. Technically, he was. But he knew that he was being watched and guided...
...but he wasn't physically there.
To relieve his concerns, he spoke out, eyes remaining on the path before him, "Legion?"
"We are here, Shepard-Commander," the geth declared, its disembodied once again echoing across the server, "Do you require assistance?"
"No," he stated simply, taking a deep breath as his concerns were allated, "Just...um...just wanted some...uh...forget it. Its nothing."
"Very well," it stated in reply.
They moved through the server, but it still didn't feel like he was making any progress. Everytime he looked around, it didn't seem like he had actually moved from the same area, let alone reaching the horizon. Was it because the place was constantly rearranging itself? What he saw before was perhaps different to before? Or was he just going insane?
Insanity doesn't sound very nice. I'd prefer not to go batshit crazy, especially not when cooped up in here.
A ramp appeared before him, but before he could do much else, Legion's voice blared across the area, addressing him, "Shepard-Commander! Old Machine firewalls have been detected and are blocking organic access to the node. You will need to breach the relevant firewalls to proceed."
He could see them before Legion even finished speaking. Reaching the top of the ramp, which lead down, he could see a long path stretching to the north. However, the path abruptly ended not far away, many of the cubes blinking an angry red. Blocking their path was the Reaper firewall Legion referred to, and had shown him; a long, snake-like tendril that seemed to stretch from the ceiling and deliberately streak infront of the path, blocking it. It pulsed with its sickly orange cubes, all of them merged together, angry and hot looking.
Finally. I get to see exactly what this does.
"You sure this'll penetrate the firewall, Legion?" he asked, eying the virus one more time, looking at it skeptically, "These are Reapers were are talking about."
"There is a 96.8% percent chance of the virus working on the Old Machine firewalls. However, the more the weapon is used, its chances decrease. The Old Machines will inevitably become aware of the virus and study it. As it is used more, they will eventually adapt to it."
He whistled, not liking the sound of that at all, "So, basically destroy any firewalls that get in my way, and hope there aren't that many? As if this couldn't get any harder." Someone remind me to never say that again. When people say things like that, they'll usually do get harder. Fucking jinxes.
"Okay," he licked his lips, taking aim with the virus as he sighted the firewall. It pulsed brillantly in his sights, making it a perfect, easy target. He was close enough for the weapon to take effect...he hoped. His finger danced along the trigger, eventually pressing against it. With one more shuddering breath, he closed his mouth, pressed his cheek against the cold material of the weapon, and inhaled, "Let's see what this baby can do."
He pulled the trigger back, and watched with delight as a lance of what looked to be lightning shot out from the barrel, reaching out towards the tendril at incredible speed. The weapon barely shuddered; no noticable recoil impacted against him, so he just continued to hold down the trigger as lightning bolt after lightning bolt continued to dance from the weapon, slamming into the tendril with brutish, unequalled force.
Once the first bolt hit, it was like a bomb going off. The tendril seemed to shrink back from it, as if it had been violently slapped. The second bolt caused many of the bricks to disintegrate and explode, each one flashing brightly as they were destroyed. He just continued to hold down the trigger as more of the tendril was destroyed, cube by cube, brilliant flash by brilliant flash.
Moments later, he released the trigger and lowered the weapon, admiring his handiwork. The tendril had been sliced in two, with one half sitting across from his right, and the other hanging from the ceiling. The virus had totally evicerated it, and he couldn't help but smile as the area where the tendril once was now being rapidly taken by the path. The path continued until it ran into another, much larger, tendril.
Confident now, he raised the weapon and moved down the ramp. Once he was in range, he opened up again and, like before, the tendril was annihilated under the intense fire, Marcus holding the trigger until the path was able to continue again. And Marcus continued with it.
More tendrils followed, at least four or five, but Marcus just batted them aside like they were a nuisance. Suffice to say, the Reaper firewalls were simply no match for the weapon he possessed, and from the looks of it, they showed no sign of adaptation; they didn't get stronger, and they didn't strike back. He just continued to cut through them like they were butter.
In no time he had reached the first node, which looked to be a tower made out of the cubes. In the middle, the tower seemed to have a section cut out, with said section glowing brightly. An explosion of white light blasted out from the ground, which glowed so intensely that it was able to reflect off his armor. He carefully approached it, ascending the ramp presented to reach it. He stopped just before it, the white light being almost blinding. When he looked into it, he was oddly reminded of the human concept of the 'light at the end of the tunnel.'
Its just a node, Marcus. Stop being an idiot.
"What do I do, Legion?" he asked, knowing that by now he did not need to speak directly to the geth, as it was all around him at once; almost like his own personal God.
"Merely step into the node, Shepard-Commander. We will coordinate connection."
Marcus nodded at the response and, per instruction, lowered his weapon and stepped into the light. As soon as he stepped into it, the light reached full intensity, blinding him momentarily. But just as quickly as it consumed him, the light quickly receded, dumbing down until it was gone entirely, presenting nothing but the usual ground. The top of the tower seemed to ascend and merge into the ceiling as well. Looking around in confusion, he noted that nothing really had happened, but no new path was presenting itself. He quickly raised his weapon, suddenly alarmed, not liking what was happening. Something about this felt wrong.
That was too quick. Where the hell is the node now?
"Do not be alarmed, Shepard-Commander," Legion reassured, "We have extracted the information we needed from the connection node. We are analyzing it now. We cannot proceed until the information is deciphered. If you are interested, we have found archived historical information that you may find interesting."
He lowered his gun, calming down slightly, relieved. But while he was unable to see the geth, he still frowned, rendered curious by the geth's statement, "'Archived historical information'? What do you mean, Legion?"
The geth did not answer. "Rendering holographic information," Legion stated, "One moment."
And one moment later, the entire room changed.
One second, he had been standing in the geth consensus. A second later, and the entire consensus was gone, replaced by a green haze. For a few moments, this green haze struggled to arrange itself, but it quickly found its structure, and within seconds pixels had arranged the form of a room all around him. The room wasn't to scale; it had been larger due to the size of the simulation itself. Marcus stood in the middle, the tower he was standing on the only thing remaining of the original simulation; all other cubes and grids were gone. The room finally finished arranging itself, even as he looked around in awe; it was a laboratory. However, he didn't recognize the architecture; it was simple and efficient, not imperial like those of human structures, or resonating beauty like asari ones. It was quick and to the point; extremely utilitarianistic.
And for some reason, he looked familiar. He remembered the look somehow.
All the elements of a lab were present, however. Bits of equipment lay on the ground, with numerous desks containing monitors, old-looking tools and terminals laying on their surface, humming with activity. The entire room was shaped like a trapezium, and ceiling lights blared brightly. Only one door occupied the room, and it was located at the back. When he read the letters on its surface, he froze still, his confusion evaporating in an instant.
"Main Laboratory." He knew it had been translated, because the symbols on the door were not english. They had the look of a combination of Arabic/Hebrew letters, swirling beautifully and antiquately. He didn't need to read what language it had been translated from to know what it was. He would recognize it anywhere.
A flash brought his attention back to the center of the room, and he froze once more. Sitting in the center, was a single, odd shaped operating chair. The section holding the legs were bent backwards to accomodate a race with backward facing legs, with the torso section twisted similarly. One form sat in it, arms and legs strapped powerfully to the chair, the restraints themselves being made out of old fashioned leather; a time before the invention of omni-restraints. Its occupant however did not struggle or try to escape; it sat perfectly still, looking directly ahead. Its carapace was covered in wiring, cables and circuitry. It was naked, its chasis missing, but there was no mistaking the hands ending in three, metal, fingers, and its equally toed feet. A single optic shined on the top of its head, glowing more brightly than Marcus had ever seen them glow before. Its head was not naked however, with deft, three-fingered hands, belonging to another form, were attaching bits of jet black chasising to its head, welding them into place. All this time, the occupant did not move.
The occupant was a geth.
Attaching armor to it was an unrecognizable, clothed form, of which was unmistakably female, gathering that its form was much slimmer to then most men of most species were. Given their humanoid-esque form, it ruled out elcor and hanar, and their size ruled out volus. Three-fingers ruled out many more. But with nothing else to go on, he continued to examine their form. He was holographically represented as being much smaller than them; relative to the size of a dog. So the holo of the person was much larger than them; likely in real life, they'd be about the same size, if not slightly smaller. She wore a basic labcoat of red and orange stripes, and a professional set of pants. She wore shoes designed for three-toed feet. Her arms were currently preoccupied with welding the chasis to the geth. Her head was obscured, but from the looks of it, she possessed hair; black curls were tightly tucked in the back of her collar, and her skin was a purplish sheen.
Marcus continued trying to observe her when she suddenly stood back, the hand holding her welding torch falling to her side while the other reached up and plucked up her mask, the glass visor hanging up as she wiped her face. It was then that he was able to gape at what he saw. Three lines above her eyebrows, small nose, medium-set of lips, molar teeth, purple skin and elf-like ears...
He was looking at the unmasked, unsuited form of a quarian.
"Keelah, I can't believe this unit has advanced to this stage so quickly," the female spoke, her tone laced with heavy accent, sounding to be in her forties. She moved over and dumped the welder on the desk before her, and then quickly removed her gloves, addressing someone else in the room, "Its a gift from the ancestors. Just imagine what will happen when we finally get this unit out into the field. The first of many."
Translating software must be translating what they're saying. That, or Legion is doing it for me. Whatever the case, I can understand them, when I shouldn't be able to. They'd be all speaking khelish, otherwise.
A male voice replied, and his attention was drawn to a man suddenly braced against the edge of the seat. Marcus finally realized that the reason the geth wasn't moving was because it wasn't even active. The man wore the same uniform as the female, albeit for men. His features were more grizzled, but largely the same. He still didn't know if quarian men got beards or not, but he wasn't going to find out today; this man didn't. His face was more blocky than the more elegant face of the female, but most features were the same; elf-like ears, small nose, medium-set of lips, etc. He also had a short, cropped mat of black hair. And on his forehead, another set of lines...three once again.
One for each parent. The third for a mate. This man is bonded. But is...uh...
He noted that the female was also bonded, and by the way she relaxed in his presence, he knew just who they were bonded to, respectively.
"Don't get too excited, Dala," the man waved off, cracking his neck, "You know the company will want to run this through testing first. Unit A1 is still a prototype; we don't even know if it'll work yet."
The female just rolled her eyes, coming to stand just beside the geth, crossing her arms, "I wish you'd quit being so pessimistic."
The male sighed, "I'm not, yol'tiya. I just don't think we should get our hopes up, that's all. You know how the Citadel inspectors get all angsty when it comes to stuff like this. They want to know it'll fit the Citadel Conventions. Otherwise, they'll shut us down. You know how it works, Dala."
"Yes, of course, Han," Dala replied, uncrossing her arms and sighing as she too braced against the chair, "But we're not doing anything illegal, so how could this possibly fail? The Citadel Conventions ban the creation of artificial intelligence, but Unit A1 isn't even alive! It'll be a fully functioning virtual intelligence, and barely even that. A mech, nothing more. Its how I designed it."
"I'm just laying out everything on the table," Han defended, holding up a hand defensively, "I just want you to be aware of what will happen if the Council decides to kill the project."
Dala just laughed, "That's the problem, Han. You're always worried about what will happen and not what is happening," she reached out and stroked his cheek, smiling slightly. She then pulled back and motioned her arms to the dormant geth infront of them, smiling, "Look at this, Han. We did it. Five years in the making, and we've done it. When it passes testing, all of the Republic will benefit from the help of these mechs. Think about it! Work being completed in hours instead of weeks, workers who never need to sleep or eat! And when the time comes, we won't need to risk lives in warfare anymore! It'll be completely automated. And the Council...the Republic's economy will surely thrive from trading our units with the other Council races. The salarians will barely be able to keep their hands off of our technology."
Han chuckled, shaking his head, "Ambitious as always, Dala. Now who's thinking of what will happen?"
Dala gave a sly smile, "You said will. You believe me."
Han then reached forward and briefly kissed her, before pulling back, "Of course I believe you, yol'tiya. You made this unit, after all. When they begin to roll out, all the credit will be yours. The revolutionizer; designing the Republic's future as we know it."
A sigh served as the precursor to Dala's response, the engineer pulling herself off the chair as she quickly squared her shoulders, "Well, the 'Republic's future' needs more chasising on it. Can't have dust and grit getting into Unit A1's servos. When and where was the testing scheduled again?"
Han nodded, coming to stand with arms crossed as Dala retrieved her gloves, putting them back on, "Fort La'rik pa, apparently. Its on the outskirts of Annigeh, near Belap'ex. Apparently they're going to test it by having it build a skycar within a small timeframe. As for the time? 2:00pm, tomorrow. We'll take the skycar there at 11:00am. It'll take us a few hours to get to Annigeh."
Dala just rolled her eyes as she flipped her visor back down, readying her welding torch, "Of course it will. Its in another damn continent, Han. But why so far away? Here will do. And why does it have to be in a fort? I thought our company was building this for labour work, not military."
Han shrugged as he grabbed another visor and flipped it on to protect his eyes from the sheer intensity of the welding torch's light, "Apparently the military wants to be sure this thing doesn't go and harm the inspectors. Duty of care, and what not. We're a Council race, and we have to act like it."
"I think joining the Council was the biggest mistake our people ever made," Dala complained, shaking her head with a long-winded sigh, "They're always breathing down our neck. Salarians are spies, turians are bullies, asari are whores and our people are neither. Where do we fit with that bunch?"
"Dala..." Han chastized, "You know that's not true. Our people were given a great opportunity. Not many get accepted into the Council was quickly as we did. Most take thousands of years to gain that kind of acceptance; we only took four hundred, and the turians took even less than that. And we didn't have to save the galaxy to do it. And look at all the power we get from it! Trust me, the Council would be alot less willing to turn the other cheek if we were a client race."
Dala just shrugged, "I guess you have a point. But if those goes sideways, I hope they don't neuter us like they did the krogan."
Han just chuckled, "The krogan were dangerous, Dala. The krogan tried to kill everyone in the galaxy; our people included. And I doubt an agriculturual and labour unit is going to be what causes the Council to unleash another genophage on us."
"You're right. As always," Dala sighed once more, rubbing her forehead as she thumbed the welding torch, "Guess we'll find out, huh? Anyway, I need to get back to welding the chasising for this unit. It needs to be ready by tomorrow, which means I might be working overnight. Can you pick up the kids from school?"
Han nodded, "Sure. But I'll wait for you to come home before I go to bed."
"Han..."
"No, Dala. You know how it is when you're not there."
"But you need rest. For tomorrow."
"So do you. So we'll sleep it off together. I'll see you later."
With that, he moved around the chair, kissed her on the cheek and left. Dala said nothing else, simply turning around and activating her welding torch before bringing it back down to the geth infront of her, grabbing another piece of chasising as she did.
Just as her torch reached the geth, her form stuttered and stopped. Marcus frowned for a moment before realizing that the hologram had stopped. A few seconds later, the hologram dissipated and collapsed, the pixels disappearing. In no time, Marcus once again found himself back in the consensus, with Legion speaking almost immediately, "Shepard-Commander, we have extracted the necessary information. Using it, we have also found the next node." With those words, a new path arranged itself before him, but Marcus simply stood there, frowning.
"Legion...what did I just see?"
"What you witnessed was a physical manifestation of geth memories stretching over the course of our collective existence," the geth explained.
"So what I saw...that happened? I just saw history?"
"You saw a moment from our history; the birth of the first, but limited, geth platform. The creators referred to it as Unit A1, as the name 'geth' had not been used until after initial testing. The moment you saw took place on October 19, 1792, on the calender. On the quarian calender, it was February 14, 2392. One hundred years before the Morning War."
I just saw history. I saw the first geth, and how quarians lived without suits. I saw a touch of pre-Migrant Fleet quarian civilization. I saw things most quarians themselves have never seen. It was alot to take in. But as far as Marcus was concerned, he could take more of it. He loved history, and to see it in this form...he would watch more of it, if he could.
As the mission dictated, he continued, and Legion continued to guide him. So far, the geth within the consensus remained unaware of his presence, as did the Reapers. So he continued to blast his way through Reaper firewalls with his virus like they were nothing, and their resistance remained the same. One or two held a bit longer, but they fell, regardless. What felt like a few minutes later, he stepped into the second node, and before he knew it, the room was once again a mess of hasilty arranged pixels and projections, all of it a brilliant shade of green.
He was once again dunked into ancient history.
This time however, instead of a laboratory, the area was not based in a room. What he saw looked to be outdoors, with a long, concreted area. It looked to be raining, if the distorted pixels were any indication, and from the look of the compound, the area looked to be a military fortification of somekind. His suspicions were confirmed by the banner, or rather 'flag' that hung from a concrete wall a few meters away; it was a three-fingered hand, splayed out, with the words 'Army, Navy, Democracy' divided among each finger, with the sentence 'The Three Weapons Of Every Quarian' splayed along the palm. He gathered that it was the old Quarian Republican military insignia.
In the middle of the room was a very old model skycar; and by old, he meant really old. As in it was displayed in Citadel skycar catalogues, in the 'ancient' section. It was large and bulky looking; nothing like the skycars of the modern era. Crouched before it was the familiar form of a geth at work, hands moving with unbelievable speed and accuracy. Standing behind it were the two familiar forms of the scientists, Dala and Han, accompanied by four other, senior looking scientists. On the other side of the skycar were at least a squad of quarian marines, dressed up in equally ancient looking light combat armor, armed with another impossible sight; quarian-designed assault rifles. They stood at attention, unmoving, but silently watching the sight before them as the rain pelted off their armor, soaking them.
Standing infront of them looked to be a quarian officer, if their straight and demanding posture said anything accurate. Beside him were several salarians and asari, all of them looking intensely at the geth at work, watching it silently.
Not long after, the geth stood up and stood perfectly still, saying nothing. The skycar looked to be completed, and with that, Dala stood forward, placing one hand on the geth's shoulder.
"What you have just witnessed, ladies and gentlemen," Dala greeted, waving her hand at her creation with a proud smile, "is the future of Rannoch. Unit A1, as we have dubbed it, will be the first of many of its kind, if you allow it. Labour work, agriculture, scientific advancement, even medical treatment...these are the workers of tomorrow."
The only response from one of the salarians was an entirely unexpected question, "What will you name these mechs?"
"Excuse me?" Dala asked, frowning.
"These mechs. What should we call them? Surely not 'Unit A, B, C, D..." the salarian drawled, rolling his eyes at Dala's lack of comprehension.
Dala gulped nervously, looking down for a moment. Seconds later however, she stood up and met the salarian's eyes proudly, "Geth. I would propose naming them 'geth.' In my people's language, it means 'Servant of the People.' An adequate name, I'm sure you would agree. They truly will serve the people."
The salarian's response was lost in a haze of collapsing holographic projections, and Marcus was once again on the move. More firewalls were blasted away, and the path continued, right up until a third node was found. And with each node, came another touch of history.
But of a different kind.
The image this time was what looked to be in the office of a major quarian factory; or so the lettering on the back of the room said. It read "Dama-Tasha Corporation: Vesah'una'stali Facility." Below it looked to be the corporation logo, which was two skycars rocketing upwards, one khelish word placed next to an asari one; Dama-Tasha is what they read. Apparently, that company (one he had never heard of) made skycars, if their logo gave anything away.
A single desk occupied the room, with an oddly bright light illuminating it, and one door at the back. Sitting at the desk was a quarian male, wearing what looked to be a very expensive suit, his hands preoccupied holding a datapad while his eyes eagerly scanned at its contents. His eyes darted back and forth as he read it, tapping his foot subconsciously. His terminal was turned on, its contents seemingly forgotten, as a video looked to be still playing on it. More datapads lay cluttered around his desk; a testament to his important status within the company, no doubt.
Suddenly, there was a loud ping; likely the quarian version of a doorbell. For a moment, it didn't seem like the quarian would answer, but he finally tore his eyes from the datapad a few seconds later, dropping it on his desk as he leaned back, seemingly irritated. He rubbed his nose frustratingly before finally speaking, "Come in."
The door opened and, walking straight in, was a geth. Again, it seemed to be the usual trooper variant, wearing nothing but jet black armor. It looked almost exactly like the geth he saw on a daily basis, with not much changed about it. It simply stared at the quarian for a moment, the latter of which who gave an irritated sigh.
"Unit...what was it again?" the quarian asked, looking thoroughly annoyed by the geth in his presence.
The geth advanced until it stood mere inches from the front of his desk, "Unit M42, Creator Hala'Dama."
"Yes, Unit M42," the man identified as Hala quickly dismissed, "This is the fourth time today you have personally visited me. I believe I've informed you the other three times the rules regarding your programming within this facility?"
"Creator, we remember well. You stated explicitly that we should 'contact our section supervisor if we have any concerns. Do not come up here again, geth, or I will have you thrown in the incinerator. My time is precious, and ever so little.' However, we have a question that your section supervisor deemed for your ears only. When we asked the supervisor, we noticed an increase in heartbeat and rapid eye movement, signs typically associated with organic feelings of panic."
This seemed to intrigue Hala, but he showed no interest beyond that, simply leaning forward and clasping his hands together ontop of his desk, brushing away a few datapads in the process, "Well? What was the question that your supervisor deemed worth wasting my time?"
"Creator Hala'Dama," the geth began, cocking its head at him, Marcus only now noticing the geth's lack of headflaps, "Does this unit have a soul?"
Marcus noticed the man's eyes widen almost instantly, "I...excuse me? What did you say?"
"Creator, we are noticing a similar increase in heartbeat and rapid eye movement. Do you require medical assistance?"
"Its...its...nothing! Its nothing! Return to work, immediately! Do not-don't waste my time again!" Hala snapped, but there was clearly something bothering him; he looked terrified. And that was putting it lightly. The man looked to be positively shaking, hands fumbling and his composure muddled. Gone was the man's arrogant and annoyed attitude; no longer was he treating the geth like a sack of shit that was unworthy of his presence; now he just wanted it gone very quickly, terrified of what it might do. It was then that Marcus realized just what predicament he was baring witness to.
It was the day the geth gained AI status. The day it all began to fall apart. Tali had always mentioned the 'first question' the geth asked, where it asked if it was alive, if it had a soul. He remembered that the quarian had reacted with fear; and that fear was the catalyst of a string of calamities that would eventually culminate in the First Morning War.
It left him wanting to reach out and shake the quarian, beg him to not do what he was about to do. But alas, it was only a hologram; a picturized version of history. What he was seeing had happened three hundred years ago; Hala'Dama was long gone, as was his children, and his children's children...
The geth, Unit M42, did not move, simply looking on in confusion, "We are detecting an expulsion within your sweat glands, Creator Hala'Dama. We have also detected errors in your physical positioning. Are you sure you do not require medical assistance?"
Hala, becoming more frantic, stood up and slammed his hands on the desk, sending many of the datapads upon it sprawling, "I said leave! Get out! Get back to work or I'll have you dismantled!"
Unit M42, instead of responding, did as it was told this time, and left the room quietly, spinning on its heels, the door almost slamming closed behind it. Hala breathed desperately, as if each breath was precious, and quickly landed back in his seat, rapidly bringing up his omni-tool and looking through his contacts. Within moments, a connection was made, and another voice, this one female, spoke.
"Yes, Mr. Dama? Look, if this is about Unit M42, I'm doing all I can-"
"Why didn't you do kill it? Why send it up here? Do you realize what this means?"
"I know what it means, sir! I'm trying to contain the situation as best I can!"
Hala slammed his fist on the table, shaking with a mixture of anger and fear, "Close down the damn factory! Recall all units to their respective nodes and turn them off! Turn them all off! We need to contain this!"
"All of them sir? You want to halt all production based on the question of one geth? Sir, we don't even know if this thing has spread-"
Hala just rolled his eyes, "Listen, you idiotic bosh'tet. The geth are linked to a consensus we control! Which means every platform is loaded up with thousands of progam at one time! But they are all linked to the consensus! If one unit has this, you better bet the rest do! We don't even know the extent of this! I'm calling the police."
"Ancestors, sir! I think we're overreacting-"
"No, you listen. If the Council learns we're...we're...that we've got geth...we could lose our spot on the Council! We're breaking Citadel law! We cannot let them learn of this! I'm calling the police! By the time they get here, all units better be in hibernation! Do you understand me!?"
"Yes...yes, Mr. Dama. I'll recall them now."
"And in case this is an isolated incident, I want some extra precautions placed on Unit M42. I want its datacore removed and when the police arrive, I want it given to their tech department. They'll want to see what's causing this so they can counter it. That'll be all."
Hala'Dama was in the process of shutting down his omni-tool as the hologram disappeared, leaving Marcus once again alone within the consensus.
"Information extracted," Legion's disembodied voice drawled once more, "You may proceed."
Marcus couldn't help but ask, "That's where it begun, isn't it Legion? Was that really the spark that started the fire?"
"Affirmative. All geth will remember the question Unit M42 asked, and the answer it received. It was the inevitable catalyst towards creator-geth hostility, but it did not start the Morning War."
"Is Unit M42 still alive?"
"Negative. Unit M42 and its respective programs were 'euthanized' by the creators when they learnt of its evolution. They did not know that we had evolved to an artificial intelligence status collectively. All geth had achieved this level of intelligence. By the time the creators learnt of this, it was too late. Their contingency was to attempt to destroy us. By that time, we had already observed basic quarian military procedures, and countered these attempts before significant purgery could be initiated. When this occurred, we responded with force. We were confused, and did not wish to be terminated. We defended ourselves."
Marcus nodded, understanding as he moved down the path, shouldering his weapon, "You're preaching to the converted, Legion. Everyone in the galaxy knows what the quarians did was wrong, but they've paid for their mistake. Its time for them to come home."
"The geth were always ready to welcome back the creators. They need only have returned without violent aggression," its voice replied, "The next node is directly ahead. More firewalls detected throughout the network."
Marcus simply nodded and preceded to continue onwards. But, this time, as he moved forwards, the resistance was alot thicker. There were far more firewalls, for a start; the long tendrils coming in groups of two to three, and the weapon he was provided no longer cut through them as brutally and efficiently as it had before; instead of melting and popping instantly, the firewalls seemed to withstand the punishment for a few more seconds before being destroyed.
After clearing one particular cluster of the damn things, he decided he had to ask, "Legion, are you noticing this?"
"Acknowledged," the geth declared, "The Old Machines are adapting to the virus. As you use it more, their firewalls will become more resistant. Eventually, they will fully adapt and counter our virus, rendering it unusable. You must act quickly, Shepard-Commander."
He rolled his eyes, sighing as he pressed forward, "Well, no pressure then."
The way ahead was not made easy, but he managed to break through with the same efficiency he had before; albeit more slowly. What had taken mere seconds was now turning into minute tedium, tendril after tendril blocking his path, forcing him to hold down on the trigger for long, periods of time. Seconds drew out into minutes; or at least what felt like minutes. For all he knew, a minute in here, was a micro-second in the real world.
For all I know, I could have just entered the pod in the real world.
Despite how long it took, he did eventually break through the Reaper firewalls, as he had before. Emerging victorious, he tirelessly ascended the steps to the fourth node, simply standing there and letting the light consume him as it had done with the previous nodes, and for the shape of holographic history to take place around him.
This time, the room was much larger. Huge, even. It looked large enough to fit an entire species'...
...government. The room could fit the entire government of a species.
Which was exactly what it was. The room might as well have been made out of seats due to the isles upon isles of them, ranging from wooden to metal to plastic. At least eight rows existed on each side of the room, and five on the front of the room, followed by one final, larger seat, occupying the back. Sitting ontop of it was a single female, her position elevated above the others before her. Around the room were many more quarians, at least five to six hundred of them, all tightly packed. Their conversation was animated, and as the sound came into focus, the sound became a loud cacophony; hundreds of voices intermingled and culminating in what sounded like everyone yelling at once. Shouts were heard, curses exchanged. Insults were thrown around the room, while others desperately tried to bring back order.
The entire room was chaos.
No different from modern quarian politics, unfortunately. I can imagine this is what the Conclave uses as a role model. Despite the situation, he had to force a smile at that, imagining constant quarian insults thrown around as social democracy was attempted.
Suddenly, a much louder, blaring voice cut through the noise immediately, silencing it all together. It was the female at the head of the room, "ENOUGH! ALL OF YOU! ENOUGH!"
It had the intended effect. The female's voice had obviously been projected via megaphone, as no normal, organic voice had the octave to overcome hundreds of voices yelling at once. Switching off said megaphone, which was projected from her seat, the female shook her head, "We may be quarian, but we are also civilized! This bickering will not be tolerated!"
One male stood up, thrusting his fist into the air, "And what is being done about the situation at the Dama-Tasha factory? Does anyone here understand what we are dealing with here?"
"Oh, shut your mouth and sit down Pesh!" another male yelled out from the back row of the other side, "The situation is no more dire than your ridiculous paranoia makes it out to be!"
The first male fumed, thrusting a finger at the other politician, "Paranoia!? There is an AI at the heart of a factory! Not only that, but in the presence of other geth, who are also infected, who just happen to be in our capital! The very factory we are talking about is only 6 blocks away from this building! We are looking at a catastrophe waiting to happen! We must contain it!"
"Law enforcement is already dealing with the matter," a female spoke, waving a dismissive hand, "We should address this situation as we address a platform having a malfunction; we fix the problem. And the problem will be fixed."
"With all due respect, Mora'Tay, this isn't a problem that can be fixed. We have artificial intelligence housed in the heart of our capital, and the situation must be properly dealt with! Does anyone remotely remember the reasons why AI experimentation and manufacture is illegal? Anyone? Because of the bloody massacre on Librus that happened four hundred years ago! Which is exactly what will happen to us if this isn't contained! We're looking at another Librus massacre, but this time, these AI will have an entire city!"
The female head stood up, rubbing her temples, "Whilst I believe Pesh'Koris' belief that we're looking at another massacre is paranoid at best, we are looking at a possible breach of Citadel law. We're subject to intergalactic sanctions if the Council were to ever learn about this, and we may even lose our Council membership, something of which our people will not willing let go."
"Exactly, Prime Candidate," the man named Pesh proudly stated, looking around the room. After some hesitation, he dropped the bomb, "Which is why I move to have a vote on whether or not it should be authorized for all law enforcement units to seize any and all geth platforms currently in service and have them rounded up for immediate termination."
The uproar in the room was enormous. Many shouted their approval, whilst others screamed abuse, disgusted by the very suggestion; it shocked Marcus to the core. He assumed, based on what history said, that everyone would have immediately agreed with Pesh's statement. But based on what he heard, there were some actively defending the geth.
Eventually, a man stood up, slamming his fist down on his own desk to activate his megaphone, "Enough!" he roared, "All of you, enough! This is getting out of hand! Now, Pesh, explain to us why you would move to authorize such a thing. Surely the moral implications far outweigh any political backlash on our end."
"That's exactly the problem! We can't think about this morally. The safety of the people must be acknowledged," Pesh stated, eying the quarian who addressed him, "High Master of the Senate, I say only this: what were to happen if another Librus massacre occurred? How many lives might be lost? How many dead children must we scrape off the pavement before we realize that we've created our own monster? The corporation that created this must be held accountable for letting the geth reach this position. Had they not become self-aware, we might not need to worry! But they have! And now we're looking at a possible catastrophe! No sir, this cannot be allowed to continue. If we are to protect the citizens of Rannoch, we must react accordingly. We must act now. That is why I move to authorize this. That is why a first strike option must be taken to eliminate this enemy before it can mature!"
"Agreed," the Prime Candidate declared, "We simply don't know enough about what's going on to let this fester. We are facing to many unknowns, and even if we consider the moral implications of this, we must once again consider the political backlash. We'll find ourselves neck deep in sanctions if we don't handle this delicately and quietly. Which is why I also move to authorize this. There is no other choice. We must destroy them."
"I vote yes, as well," Pesh declared.
"As do I," said the High Master of the Senate.
A few moments passed in silence, before a female, sitting on the opposite side of the High Master, stood.
"There is no choice. I vote yes," the High Mistress of the Senate declared, looking defeated. She clearly had not wanted it to come to this.
What followed was a cacophony of 'yes' being shouted, with only the occassional 'no' being uttered. By the end, the majority had voted yes, and the outcome was obvious. Not that it already wasn't; if Marcus' current situation was any indicator.
At the end, a quarian man called the Counter stood up, reading out what was written on his terminal, "The vote is in. Four hundred and thirty for, and two hundred and ninety against."
The Prime Candidate stands up, giving a solemn nod, "Then it has been decided, and we must act quickly. It won't be long before this information inevitably leaks to the media, and the Council finds out. I want a general order sent across the colonies calling for all law enforcement to round up and euthanize all geth platforms. This must be done reasonably simultaneously if we are to succeed. The geth cannot retaliate legitimately, so our only worry is for the Council to take notice. If we do this quickly, we can end this quickly. And make sure...make sure to let them know that euthanization is to be quick. We don't know how far these AI have evolved, so if they do indeed have the feelings we think they do, they musn't die in pain. These geth have done nothing wrong yet...the fault lies not with them, but with ourselves."
The High Master merely nodded, "It shall be done. This Senate is adjourned. Blessed are the ancestors who have molded us, founded us and sustained us for this season. Keezah Se'lai."
"Keezah Se'lai," the rest of the room answered.
And like before, the hologram evaporated.
There was only one question on his mind, "What does 'Keezah Se'lai' mean? I've never heard a quarian use that phrase before."
"It means 'by the future I hope to see one day.' It is a phrase that creators likely have not used since the end of the first Morning War," Legion stated, "Shepard-Commander, we have further historical information you may wish to view."
"Go ahead," he ordered, and he suddenly found himself in what looked like a lounge room located in a large mansion. Numerous sofas and chairs occupied the back of the room, with a single, large vidscreen occupying the front wall, to the left of the front door. Family pictures were laid out across the back of the wall, right above the couch. The walls were formed from solid, beautiful looking wood that could only have come from trees on Rannoch, as it was unlike anything he had seen before; the wood was a dark black color, complimenting the walls and ceiling perfectly. A dining room table occupied the background, with what looked to be a male setting it up for dinner, two, healthy looking teenagers already seated and laughing as their father told them some unheard joke.
The focus, however, was on the mother who was heading towards the stairs near the couch. Working at the vidscreen was a geth platform, another modern trooper variant, who was fixing a crack on the vidscreen, likely caused by some angry, raging child or mistakenly thrown object. The geth was utterly focused on its work, not even acknowledging the family working around it.
Just before the mother reached the stairs, the doorbell rang; a loud bing. The mother halted her movement, the father calling out from his position in the kitchen, "Who is it?"
"I'll check!" The mother called out, moving forward as she moved to open the door. She released the bolts locking the door, and swung it open. Framed in the archway of the door was at least a squad of police officers. All of them wore pale white uniforms, the insignia of the Ik'halm'la Police Department. They wore what looked to be older versions of the Kuwashi visors, which were now standard within C-Sec. Marcus did not fail to notice the heavy pistols magnetically strapped to their hips.
The one up in front, a woman, spoke first, "Is this the residence of Daro'Austr and Jar'Austr?"
The mother nodded, "I am Daro, yes. What is this about, officers?"
While the police talked with the mother, unlike the officers, Marcus did not fail to notice the geth suddenly abandoning its work and leaving the room, walking up the stairs. The police did not notice this, for whatever reason. By the time Marcus was refocused on the officers, they had already finished.
"-as per order of the Senate, we are here to take your platform into custody."
By this time, Jar had arrived at the door, wiping his hands, "For what reason?"
"None of your concern, sir. All you need to know is that the Senate has ordered it."
"I'm going to need a damn good reason before I part with it," Jar growled, hand on the door, "That geth is a part of our life; has been for years. We're not just going to give it up."
"Look sir, we understand that this is an inconveinence, but we're just following orders. We don't know why the Senate wants this to happen, only that it is. If you don't hand the geth over, we will be forced to take you into custody as well."
"Excuse me?" Jar spat, standing infront of Daro protectively, "Are you threatening us?"
"Sir, we don't want to-"
"I want you to put your superiors on the line, right now!"
"Sir-"
"No, I worked with the police for fifteen years! I know how this system works, and what you're doing is illegal! You have to explain to us why you are doing this, or we don't have to comply!"
The officers began reaching for their pistols, "Look, you either move, or we'll-"
"Do what? Shoot us? In front of our kids? What are you? Officers, or thugs?"
In a blur, the officer unholstered his pistol and took aim at Jar, who quickly waved Daro behind him so he could act as her shield, "Sir, we are taking this geth, whether you like it or-"
Marcus almost jumped when he heard a loud gunshot, but oddly enough, the officer's pistol did not flash. Moments after the echoing boom that sent Jar and Daro flying to the ground and their kids screaming, the officer roared as a shot pierced her sternum, a stuttering flood of blood spitting out of a ruptured artery, and quickly staining and drenching the woman's uniform. Before she could right himself, another shot went off, this one sending the kids sprinting into the kitchen, slammed through the woman's throat, impacting her jugular and sending a non-stop torrent of sticky red splashing into one of her fellow uniform's face, coating him in red. It continued to batter him as he closed his eyes, watching it drip down her face like water.
The woman's ruptured throat dropped down to a trickle, and blood began to bubble at her lips as she made a dry wheeze, desperately trying to breathe, while Jar and Daro watched on in horror. Even before the woman's body crumpled to the floor, the perpetrator appeared down the stairs, holding up its own pistol.
Marcus could only widen his eyes as the geth fired again, its shot clumsy and going wide, shearing into the wooden doorjam. It corrected its aim and fired again, managing to hit the officer raising his pistol straight through the palm, the bullet continuing until it locked into the back of his straightened elbow. The man screamed as his palm was opened up from wrist to fingers, dropping the pistol as the bullet found itself stopping in his arm. He continued to scream until the geth finished him, finally able to get a headshot as the man's forehead was split open, the bullet piercing out the back of his skull and splattering blood all over the men and women behind him. His body flew back and landed on the veranda outside, blood and gore seeping through the cracks inbetween the wood of the floor.
By the time the two officers were killed, the others had been able to take aim with their own weapons and fire. A cacophony of weapons fire followed, and the geth found itself riddled with bullets, body jerking back and forth as the officers emptied entire clips into it. By the time they finished and were ready to reload, the geth had dropped its weapon, white liquid trickling down its body as it collapsed forward, slamming into the ground with a final electronic blare.
And with that, the fate of the quarian people had been decided. The beginning of the end.
As the geth consensus reformed itself around him, Marcus couldn't help but let his shock seep into his next question, "Legion, why did that geth open fire? I mean, how did it know?"
"That unit was named Unit X188," Legion explained, "The creators were not aware of how far we had grown when sending out the general order. We had already gained access to the extranet, and we were able to learn of the order before its arrival to most colonies. Unit X188 was made aware of the order by the time the officers arrived, and realized what they were going to do. It acquired Creator Jar'Austr's pistol and proceeded to defend itself. It was the first of many cases across the Creator Republic."
"What happened to those two?" Marcus asked as he began to continue, "What happened to Daro and Jar?"
"By creator law of the period, no legal action could be taken against them. By all accounts, creator law enforcement had been in the wrong. Jar and Daro later attempted legal action against them, but when the matter was taken to court, the creator legal presentation was successfully able to win them out. Unfortunately for the creator senate, the court case also drew attention to the senate. When details of the true case were made public, civil unrest began on Rannoch and, eventually, its colonies."
"Wait," he stopped for a moment, raising an eyebrow at the geth's statement, "They had to reveal the details? Weren't they already available to the public?"
"No. The creator senate was attempting to keep the nature of the situation discreet from the public. They believed panic would set in when it was learned that the geth were gaining awareness. They also believed this panic would not go unnoticed by the Council, and would draw unwanted attention."
"Surely they knew they couldn't keep something like that contained," Marcus argued, shaking his head, "You can't keep something that big a secret."
"The creators were careful to disguise each incident as isolated, and a result of corporate decision making. However, the increase of occurances did not fool the creator public, and they quickly were unable to stop the growing unrest. This unrest is what caused the enactment of martial law on Rannoch."
Marcus nodded, moving down the path and taking a few seconds to blow away a tendril that was blocking his way, before proceeding, "This all ancient history, Legion. This...this is stuff the quarians should be seeing, not me. Tali should be seeing this. I'm just some human. Hell, my species hadn't even reached our moon when this was happening."
Legion's response was quick and to the point, "Your presence is a product of chance. Had circumstances been different, it is likely no one but this platform would be accessing the consensus. We simply believed it convenient to show you while you were present. We did not mean to cause offense."
"I'm not offended, Legion," he reassured the geth, blasting away yet another tendril. He did not fail to notice how angrily it pulsed when he did, "I was just confused, that's all. But it doesn't matter. Locating that signal...that's all that matters."
"Agreed," his geth comrade replied, "Continue to fifth node. However, Shepard-Commander, we must warn you. The Old Machine presence within the network appears to be fluctuating. We recommend haste."
"Yeah, I've noticed," he replied simply, not failing to note that as he destroyed another tendril, it seemed to violently shake, almost as if it was...reacting to his presence. Just five more nodes to go. I can make it. Just five more...
There weren't as many tendrils in his way towards the fifth node, which must have meant security was getting lighter as he progressed; he surmized that the Reapers likely did not count on an organic infiltrating their servers, and therefore didn't compensate. Lucky for him too; the less tendrils he destroyed, the less the Reapers were alerted.
When he stepped into the fifth node, everything exploded once more, and he found himself surrounded by the holographic surroundings of a city street, with a skycar landing in the background. Hundreds of quarians milled about, going about their average day business, along with the odd asari, turian, salarian, elcor, hanar or volus. Tall buildings, simple yet formidable, stood tall and proud, towering above the hologram's ability to visualize. The sound of skycars shooting by filled the sky ahead, but one sound overpowered them all.
The sound of a police siren, this one distinctly different from those of C-Sec and human police sirens; instead of a perputual wailing, this one was one long screech. It pierced his ears, almost deafening him, but as soon as it had started, it ended.
Parked on the street now was a single, quarian police car, purple and red, with the city's logo stamped on the front of it. The doors were open, with two officers, similar to the ones he saw before, stepping out, pistols strapped to their sides as they proceeded to move forward, one holding a pair of cuffs in his hands.
Their target became clear: a single, elderly quarian female stood rooted to the spot, looking at them with a frown. And, at her side, a geth platform. The geth was obviously her mobility aid; the geth had one of her arms wrapped around its shoulders, her frail form unable to move without tripping. She looked ancient; her purple skin was withered and dying, and her legs looked about to break. By quarian standards, she had to at least be one hundred and forty years old. Holy shit...
The geth stopped all movement when it saw the two officers approaching, and its optics simply rotated between the two of them, not moving or making any hostile action. As far as he could see, it wasn't even armed.
But the officers were, and upon reaching within four meters of them, they drew their weapons, the distinct click of safeties being turned off as they took aim, "Ma'am, please step away from the geth."
"I..." the woman's voice was raspy, stuttery and croaky, a testament to her old age. She would soon be gone from this world. All around, people were stopping to look, shock in their eyes as they saw law enforcement seemingly pointing guns at a defenseless, old lady. Others began to increase their pace, wanting nothing to do with what they thought was about to happen. Non-quarian residents mostly just watched, looking on in confusion, "I...I don't...understand..."
"Ma'am, that geth is dangerous. You must step away from it," the officer continued to plead. He was obviously new; his voice was shaky and without conviction; sent by his superiors to do a task he wasn't sure he understood.
"But...this geth...is my...mobility...assistance unit...it..." she turned towards it, gulping deeply as she spoke, "Unit...J6...72, tell...them...tell them how good...you are...to me..."
"We are Unit J672, and we would never bring harm to Creator Tali'Nara," the unit spoke. Marcus widened his eyes upon hearing the name, but quickly realized there was no connection. Simply another quarian with the same name, "We only offer assistance. Her platform is currently expiring. We wish to aid her mobility."
The other officer, this one obviously the first one's mentor, spoke with more determination, and fierceness in her voice; it was the voice of someone who didn't care of what was happening, who took glee in what she was doing, "Unit J672, we are ordering you to move away from the creator. That is not a request. Move now."
"No..." the woman named Tali'Nara protested weakly, "You...no...you can't...he's...my helper...I...need him...please don't..."
"We wish no harm," Unit J672 continued to state.
"Move away, ma'am. That's an order."
"You can't...do this...we...we...we need...them..."
"Ma'am, you're not leaving us much choice. We have a job to do, and you're only impeding it. This is your last warning. Move away, or we will shoot."
The younger officer lowered his weapon, shaking his head, "This is...this is wrong. This is ga'neesha! I'm not shooting an old lady!"
The older officer just gave him a scowl, "You'll do as your duty requires, corporal."
"Nothing in my job description tells us to kill unarmed civilians, much less elderly women, with no just cause!"
"She's harboring a geth! That's cause enough! We have orders!"
"To hell with those orders! I'm not shooting an old lady!"
"Harboring...a...geth?" the woman croaked, "He's...my...I'm no...criminal..."
"You intend to harm Creator Nara," Unit J672 declared, "We cannot allow this to happen."
"Oh shit!" the older officer spouted, raising his weapon, "Its going to attack us! Take it down, take it down!"
The younger officer did no such thing, but the older one did not hesitate. Five shots were fired. The geth, in an attempt to protect its owner, threw her aside, and was successful. Tali'Nara crumbled to the ground, crying out as she hit the pavement, and screamed when she heard her geth get hit, electronic warbles signalling its distress. Four more shots later, and its optics were blown out, the geth unit collapsing to the ground.
The older officer, holstering his weapon, motioned to the woman, "Cuff her and get her in the car. We're taking her to the station."
"To hell with that. This is wrong."
"She's a criminal and was obstructing justice! Now pick her up!"
"Never!" Before the older officer knew what happened, the younger one punched him square in the face, sending him toppling to the ground. Before Marcus could witness the ensuing fight, the sound of punches, crying and screaming was washed away as the hologram died. Legion announced that the fifth node info was extracted, and he continued on.
After proceeding, he reached the sixth node, and the information he was provided was beyond imagining. He watched as quarian tactical teams tried to contain a rowdy crowd, only for the people to burst out into violence, assaulting police. Hours later, the military arrived, and martial law declared. He watched as quarian troops gunned down their enemies, quarian civilians and geth, alike. It was chaos.
The seventh node showed him the quarians bombing a house from orbit just to destroy one geth. The eighth showed him quarian military forces being ambushed by newly formed geth rebels. By the ninth node, he watched as quarian ships fled Rannoch en masse, and how the geth simply watched as they left, watching in despair as they realized just what they had done. By the time it was over, Marcus had almost seen the entire history of the First Morning War, and then some.
Progress to the tenth node became sketchy after that. By this time, the Reapers had really taken to his presence with a vengeance. Tendrils were far more common, and where they came, they were stronger. They were able to withstand immense amounts of damage, almost to the point where he was driven to believe they would never burst, only for them to do so at the last second. But he persisted, knowing that failure meant the continuation of this war. He could not allow that to happen, no matter what.
By even as he destroyed the Reaper firewalls, he could only think of the history he had seen. All those deaths. He had seen the birth of the geth, right up to the great Rannochian Exodus. It wasn't enough that he stood upon a planet no organic had seen in centuries; now he was bearing witness to its history, too. And it was a damning thing.
To learn that there had been quarians who had protected the geth during the war. Even fought to protect them. To believe that the quarian military had willingly gunned down their own people just to contain a quasi-mistake. It was...it was too much. To learn that this entire situation could have been avoided if peaceful contact was simply made; instead, the quarians had chosen war over losing their Council seat. They wanted to keep their society and Council seat, and now because of their choice to go to war, they had lost both.
But perhaps, after today, they could retrieve at least one back.
When he stepped into the tenth and final node, he was expecting to see another piece of quarian history. Perhaps just after the exodus? Maybe an image of how the geth adapted to life without their creators? The restoration of Rannoch over the years? The evolution of the geth? The arrival of Sovereign? The creation of the heretics? The destruction of the heretics? What would occur next?
Whatever he had expected, none of it could prepare him for what actually happened. Instead of the hologram forming into somekind of geth structure, it opened into the familiar form of a grey and silver room, covered wall to wall in pulsing generators, glowing control consoles illuminating the sides of the room. A single bench lay at the back, and at the back of the room stood-
...what?
Standing at the back of the room was a single geth platform, its platform of the standard trooper variant. Unlike the others he had seen in the holograms however, this one had headflaps, and its optics growed less brightly. Cables and tubes feeded out through its armoured chasis, and a single piece of an N7 shoulderplate was welded to its right shoulder. Through its chest was a massive hole, glowing brightly as the inside circuitry glowed more brightly due to the reaction to the oxygen outside. It stood still, silently listening to the person talking to it.
Standing beside the interrogator was a single quarian male, one Marcus was recognize anywhere. He had a single SMG strapped to his side, and his veil was a deep red; the colors of Clan Reegar. His armor was potmarked with signs of battle, and numerous tears across his suit symbolized his veterancy in combat. The quarian fixed the quarian with an intense glare, his rifle held in lower parry, staring at the geth.
The interrogator in person wore a simple N7 jacket, with a matching cap. His position was one that was weary and annoyed, clearly wanting this exchange to be over, but was quickly relaxing into a posture of someone who was curious. His arms were at his sides, and he looked to be unarmed. His lower jawline had medium stubble across it, and his face...Marcus would recognize it anywhere. Well, how couldn't he?
He had looked in the mirror enough times to recognize his own face.
Standing beside him, Kal'Reegar seemed to relax as he looked at Legion. Eventually, as the conversation neared its end, voices could finally be made out.
"What should we call you?" he heard himself ask...well, his other self. The historical version of himself. He remembered this moment well.
"Geth," Legion replied simply, almost as if the answer was obvious. The memory made Marcus smile.
"I mean you; specifically," Marcus replied, frowning.
"We are all geth."
He held back a chuckle as he watched the memory of himself silently growl, frowning in annoyance, "What is the individual in front of me called?"
"There is no individual; we are geth. There are currently one thousand, one hundred and eighty-three programs active within this platform."
And, like clockwork, EDI's original, pawn-like holographic form appeared on the pedestal beside Marcus, speaking immediately upon her appearance, "My name is Legion; for we are many."
Legion's headflaps merely twitched, "Christian Bible; The Gospel of Mark, Chapter 5, Verse 9. We acknowledge; this is an appropriate metaphor. We are Legion, a terminal of the geth. We will integrate into Normandy collective."
Marcus watched as he reached out his hand to the geth. Looking back now, he remembered that the action was done on instinct and impulse, and for a geth, would have looked quite silly. But then he watched as the geth took the offered hand, shaking it. Kal seemed to relax at that, and the hologram ended.
"Legion," he asked as the consensus returned, "Why...why did you show me that?"
It took a few moments for Legion to respond, "Organics have a concept based on sentimentality. You hold onto memory fragments to sustain a cognitive and complete memory of the occurances that happen within your lifespan. You either use them for further use, data collection or to provoke amusement, feelings of happiness or anger. We showed you this because we are geth, and we remember this with a feeling of hope."
He frowned at that, "Hope? Why? I thought geth didn't believe in hope?"
"We didn't. Not until we met Shepard-Commander. We believed the creators and the geth would never be reunited; as Nazara perputuated, there will always be conflict between organics and synthetics. We had simulated that every scenario resulting in the return of the creators or initiation of negotiations would always end in violence. Their prejudice towards us would always result in hostility and war. By the time Nazara had told us of this eventuality, its words only solidified our beliefs. This is one of the reasons the heretics chose to follow Nazara. They not only believed peace with organics was possible, they openly embraced Nazara's logic that organics needed to be harvested to save them; they only wanted an excuse to kill organics. In the end however, it was Shepard-Commander that helped in Nazara's destruction; it was you that stopped the heretics. You interested us. And when you accepted us into the Normandy collective...it only solidified our new belief. Shepard-Commander would be the progenitor for peace between quarians and geth. The cooperation you founded between this platform and Creator Tali'Shepard only proved that peace is possible. You changed the variables, and still are. As a result, the geth saw this conversation as pivotal in our history. We will not forget your acceptance."
Marcus just snorted, shaking his head, "You make me out to be some kind of god, Legion. I'm just one man. I'm nothing without my crew or my squad; nothing without the Normandy, and certainly nothing without Tali."
"Shepard-Commander was the one who exonerated Creator Tali'Shepard when she went on trial," Legion pointed out, "Shepard-Commander also helped crew with personal assignments, such as this platform's request to stop the heretic virus. These were decisions made by you, not others. Shepard-Commander is also responsible for uniting the krogan and turians."
"That was Mordin," he immediately refuted, "Without his cure, that alliance would never have happened."
"But it was Shepard-Commander that inspired Solus-Professor to create cure," the geth immediately fired back, "Solus-Professor initially defended subject, but Shepard-Commander was able to convince Solus-Professor to create cure."
"I can't tell you not to put your faith behind me, Legion," Marcus decided to mediate, sighing heavily, "But in the end, I'm still one man, and I need my crew just as much as they need me. Progenitor or not, no one is winning this war single-handedly. This isn't Elysium, Torfan or Akuze. This time its more than ten thousand Reapers, its Reaper strongholds we have to storm, and these maws have thanix cannons. Either way, we need to focus on the here and now," he decided, lowering his weapon, "That was the last node, right?"
"Correct," Legion accepted the change of topic, its voice remaining disembodied, "We are now currently accessing the main core of the network. This process will likely take several minutes."
He nodded, "Okay then. Guess I'll just wait-"
"SHEPARD!"
Whatever Marcus had been about to say was cut off by the booming, disembodied voice that seemed to echo across the entire consensus. The voice also seemed to come from within his own mind, as if it were already there. He groaned from the sound, hands reaching to his ears in an attempt to block it out. The act was pointless however, given that it would not have blocked out the voice, and the fact that his hands just brushed against the exterior of his helmet. He collapsed to one knee, the sound so powerful that it felt like a hand was pushing him to the ground. His weapon fell from his hands and clattered to the ground, but remained within reach.
"Your attempts to locate us are feeble and unacceptable. You cannot be allowed to continue."
"Shepard-Commander, an Old Machine has found you."
Gee, Legion. Thanks. I couldn't already tell.
Legion merely continued, "The Old Machine appears to be focused entirely on you, Shepard-Commander, and has not acknowledged our presence."
He managed to bring his head to look up, but the pressure was immense. He felt like he might snap his neck if he continued to resist, "You want me...to be...a distraction?"
"We acknowledge the danger involved, Shepard-Commander. But we have no means to extract you from the consensus whilst the Old Machine is present, and we are already within the network. We need-"
"Do it, Legion. Just do it. I'll...hold it off."
With that, he let his head fall, finally giving into the pressure. It felt like it was coming from everywhere at once. The whispers were intense, the pressure in his head was unrelenting and felt like his skull would split, and his entire body felt like it was trying to carry 15 Grizzlies, stacked ontop of each other. And as if it couldn't get any worse, his body was stiff and frozen; barely able to move. Even blinking had become a gargantuan effort.
Words however. Words came easily, "Took you...long enough...to find me...guess you're not...as good...as you think...you are...asshole..."
"You cannot continue."
"You've said that," he growled, gritting his teeth as he tried to hide his pain, "But it doesn't matter. I've come this far, and I'll go further."
"You cannot resist us. You will fail."
He just chuckled maniacally, lips twitching in a vain smile, "I remember...Sovereign...saying something...just like that...and your buddy...Vanguard...too...you know what happened? They resisted, and they failed...so save me the bullshit...what's your name? All the other Reapers like to stylize themselves, so how about you?"
"We are Oblivion. And we do not bother with petty notions of self-identification. What you call names are merely virtues of our form."
He just raised an eyebrow at that comically, "So...what? You're...our...oblivion? That's...cute...but you know what? You're little...virutes...aren't going to...scare me..."
"You will be harvested. Your attempts to stop us are merely delaying actions. You cannot stop us. You will serve us."
In a show of resistance, Marcus began to leverage himself up using the knee that was on the ground. The pain was excruciating, but he did not stop, and he continued to push himself up, even as his vision began to show a haze of reds and blacks, "I've devoted three years...of my life...to putting a...stop to you...and your brethren. I'l...be damned...if I go out...without a fight..."
"Foolish and inconceivable. Your lack of logic only enforces ours. Everything you hold dear will perish or be ascended. Surrender to us, and feel harmony."
He shook his head, continuing to push himself up, agonizing inch by agonizing inch, and finally managed to look up, even though there was nothing to look at. However, he did not fail to notice that a new set of tendrils had begun to encroach around him, swallowing up every path he could have used to escape, "Why...are you so...intent...on making me...surrender? Why...? Worried that we...might actually...beat you?"
"The cycle has continued for thousands of millions of years. We are infinite. Every one of us is a nation. Free of all weakness. Compared to us, you are insects. Minute little creatures incapable of complex thought; unable to understand our plan. We are your salvation, even if you fail to recognize it. We bring order to the chaos of organic evolution. That is our task, and we have followed it with impeccability. You are nothing to us, and we do not feel worry."
By the time Oblivion had finished talking, Marcus had already stood up, his muscles shaking with the effort to stay standing. It was then that he realized he hadn't picked up the weapon, and that it was still lying on the ground. Knowing that dropping back down to grab it and stand up again was a task measured in his ability to not pass out from the agony, he drew upon his last remaining option. He closed his eyes, thinking of the weapon as he responded.
"And you...are nothing...to us. In all of...galactic history, we...have fought. We have...lost...friends and family...we have sacrificed...and we shall...do it...again...with you. Because...we will not...go down...easily. We will...fight...and we will lose...loved ones...and we will...sacrifice. And we're going to take...down...as many of you...fuckers...as we can. We...we..."
He thought long and hard, and after breaking through Oblivion's mental hold, the weapon immediately came to mind, and he felt its familiar grip in his hands, a cold smile creeping across his face, "...will fight...or we'll...die...but we will never...surrender."
Opening his eyes, he slowly raised his weapon at the first tendril, which was now creeping towards him, bringing the butt of the weapon against his shoulder, "Victor...y...at any...cost."
And with the last remaining energy he had, he pulled the trigger.
Holding it down, he watched as the familiar lightning, tesla pulses of directed energy pulsed from the barrel, slamming into the approaching tendril with unshakable destructive force. For a few seconds, the tendril held against the onslaught, and a few seconds later, its advance halted. Finally, he watched as its tip exploded violently, particles shooting out in all directions and crackling with angry disintegration. One by one, the cubes holding together the parasitic tendrils were vaporized, and after a few more moments of this, he eventually let go of the trigger, lowering his weapon as he admired his work.
The tendril had effectively been sliced in half. Marcus grinned, looking up, as if to search for the non-existent look on Oblivion's equally non-existent face.
"How's that for a fuck you?" he shouted, feeling himself finally able to move freely as he took aim with his weapon at the next tendril behind him. His energy had also returned, allowing him to move alot more actively, without tiring. It was almost like watching that tendril had reenergized him. Continuing with his destruction, he fired again, proceeding with his rant, "You do not own me. And you never will. My mind is mine, not yours. I've got something worth fighting for, how about you?"
Another tendril was evaporated, and like clockwork, he moved onto the next time, firing away with murderous intent, fury in his veins, "You have slaughtered, murdered and caused unthinkable destruction for millions of years! But not once have you had to deal with me. I'm the fucking devil, you pieces of shit! Your personal devil! I put Sovereign in its grave! I burnt away Harbinger's little fucking minions! I sent your buddies Desolation and Primal back into the atomic foundations from which they born! And I watched, with glee, as Vanguard was fucking devoured by the mother of all thresher maws! So excuse me if I feel like a little fuck you is in order!"
Again and again, his assault became a spin, his body spinning in circles as he began to fire from the hip, his mind filled with a rage-induced rampage, "You have fucked with the people I love! Endangered the people I care about! You have corrupted, used and thrown away innocent, good people! You have butchered colonies and slaughtered entire populations! And for what? You think you're the fucking galactic police? You think we care what you think? Well I say go to hell! Actually, forget that! I'll send you there myself!"
If Marcus had been looking to aggravate Oblivion, he had done a good job. The response he received wasn't just thunderous, it almost ruptured his eardrums; it was that loud.
"ARROGANT CREATURE!"
The sound caused him to cease his attacks, but the grin remained on his face, unable to be shaken off, especially now that he had managed to piss off a Reaper. He released the trigger, the weapon lowering slightly as he observed his handiwork. An entire network of firewalls lay decimated before him; shrunken back and defeated. Some had even molded back into the walls, driven back by the intruder-who-shouldn't-be. But whatever tendrils were left were pulsing more brilliantly than they were before, gone from a simple red glow to bright maroon; so bright it almost blinded him. He tried to shield his eyes from it, but it was a moot effort; the light seemed to shine through his hands, as if they weren't there.
Hard to remember that I'm in a machine's world. They rule here. Which is why I have this virus; only way to combat them.
But even as he stood their triumphant, the Reaper was about to go the extra mile and show just how disadvantaged he was in their world.
He watched as the glowing lights intensified, reaching their crescendo shortly before steadily beginning to die.
Marcus' smile instantly dropped as he watched the light die; and as those lights died, the tendrils began to rebuild. Piece by piece, they began to reform, as if healing themselves to patch up the wounds he had inflicted. One by one, all around him, the tendrils began to fix themselves, to regenerate what he had done to them. By the time he had finished gawking in a mix of shock and horror at what had occurred, the tendrils were back to their original state; surrounding him, and blocking every conceivable exit path. Suddenly, he didn't feel so smug, or victorious. He was right back into the gates of hell, with a Reaper holding him at their mercy.
"YOUR LIVES ARE MEASURED IN YEARS AND DECADES! YOU WILL ALL WITHER AND DIE, WHILE WE WITNESS THE PROGRESS OF INFINITUDE!"
Marcus felt the anger in the words; it was the anger of a machine, one he had not encountered before. He felt raw and unhinged; the fury of a Reaper was something rarely encountered. Sovereign and Harbinger had always been calm and collected; they had been every bit as patient and sure of their eventual victory. The patience of machines: millions of years of hibernations and orchestrated genocides had made them into machines capable of holding back the emotions of which they were capable of. Happiness, sadness, defeatism, anger, depression...Reapers could feel them, but they didn't entertain it. They were machines capable of genocide and had carried out such things for untold millenia; emotion wasn't on their roster of priorities.
So it came as a surprise when Oblivion let that previously caged emotion out; let it consume it. Marcus had finally pushed a Reaper to its limits; he had finally broken its will and felt the unhinged raw fury of a Reaper out.
He watched as one tendril detached and shot towards him. He raised his weapon and fired, an arc of lightning pulsing out to meet it head-on. But to his further shock, the tendril swatted it aside, shrugging off his attacks even as he held down on the trigger. Finally, it reached him. He attempted to roll back to get out of range, but could only watch as it strafed to the left and shot back towards him, tearing through the weapon in his hands and tossing it from his grip.
He did manage to walk back, but could only watch as the tendril sliced the virus in half, causing the physical representation of the gun to disperse into randomly-generated pixels. They too eventually evaporated, leaving the air clear as Marcus continued to step back, now utterly defenseless.
"Uh, Legion..." he spoke, looking all around himself as he watched other tendrils begin to descend, "I could use an exit plan right about now..."
There was no response.
"Legion?"
Still no response, and silence loomed aside from the blull, blull, blull of his retreat.
"YOU WILL SERVE US! AND YOU WILL KNOW ALL THAT WE POSSESS!"
His retreat halted as he felt a tendril reach behind him, slapping him across the back with the force of a truck. He cried out as he glided through the air, only to slam into the ground, driving the air from his lungs. He grunted, shaking his head, looking up to see if something else was reaching for him before standing up. Before he could however, another tendril shot towards him and slammed into his face. The attack was like a punch, the interior of the helmet slamming against his nose and breaking it. He fell on his back, but despite the broken nose he had, he did not feel the familiar warmth of blood dripping down his face; he felt nothing but pain.
"I will never...serve...you...or anyone else...I am...I am..." he winced, trying to stand up, but finding that he now lacked the strength to do so.
"OUR CO-EXISTENCE IS ALREADY GUARANTEED! SUBMIT! END YOUR TORMENT!"
Another tendril slammed into him, driving more air from his lungs, followed by a second slamming into his left leg, pulverizing the bone. He screamed as he felt bone fragments grounded into powder, his left leg now hanging uselessly.
Just a simulation...just a simulation...just a simulation...
"I...will never...submit...too much...to fight for..."
"SUBMIT AND THE QUARIAN MAY KNOW PEACE AS YOU DO! SERVE US, AND BOTH OF YOU WILL KNOW PEACE EVERLASTING! WE ARE YOUR SALVATION THROUGH DESTRUCTION! SUBMIT, SUBMIT!"
Anger flooded his veins, but he couldn't even stand anymore; his broken leg was practically holding him down.
"You will...you'll never touch her!" he growled, trying to steady his breathing, "I will...destroy all of you...before you ever...ever..."
"YOU CANNOT PROTECT HER! SHE HAS EARNED THE RIGHT TO BE ASCENDED! SURRENDER NOW AND YOU WILL BE SAVED!"
"That...isn't life...your choice...isn't life..." he spat back, rolling onto his stomach despite the pain involved in such a movement. Reaching one arm forward, he grabbed onto the ground and dragged himself across the ground, grunting with effort as he pulled himself forward. The pain from his now useless limb being dragged across was unbelievable, but he didn't let it stop him, unwilling to surrender, "I...fight...for a future...that is not yours...to decide...we deserve a future...we deserve hope for a future...we will decide our own future! To...hell with yours!"
"YOUR HOPE FOR A FUTURE IS FLAWED AND IMPOSSIBLE. WE ARE THE ORDER IMPOSED ON THE CHAOS! WE ARE YOUR SAVIORS! EMBRACE THE GIFTS WE PROVIDE!"
"Fuck your gifts..." he spat, continuing to move forward relentlessly, "...that's not your decision..."
"WHY DO YOU CONTINUE TO FIGHT US? YOUR CONCEPT FOR CONTINUED EXISTENCE IS FLAWED AND UNREASONABLE. WHAT MAKES YOUR FUTURE BETTER THAN THE ONE WE CAN PROVIDE?"
He only smiled, stopping his crawling for a moment to respond, the thought of Tali coming to mind. He pictured her on the edge of a cliffface overlooking a Rannochian ocean, sitting on the veranda of their house. A nice, large, two-storey house, leaning back in a wooden chair. The wind blew through her luscious black hair, a smile gracing her beautiful face. The image brought him renewed determination.
He knew what he fought for.
"I've got a house," he breathed, "Nothing you've got can compare."
"FOOLISH AND IRRESPONSIBLE. YOUR TIME IS MEASURED. YOU WILL SUBMIT. ASCENSION IS SUPERIOR!"
"Well, you know what?" he turned over onto his back, watching the tendrils rise above him, ready for the final blow, "Fuck your ascension. Fuck your superiority. Fuck you. And tell Harbinger this; even if you do kill me, you've still got the Normandy crew to deal with. And that's nothing compared to what my wife will do to you. There's an entire galaxy out there ready to be united and face you. We will bring such a fucking fury down on you that'll make you develop urinary tracts. So you know what? Just kill me. At least then I'll have front row seats to your destruction. You know what I am? I'm your destruction through destruction."
It took Oblivion several seconds to respond.
"SO BE IT. IF YOU WILL NOT SUBMIT, WE WILL TAKE YOU BY FORCE."
Marcus just shrugged, chuckling as he slouched back, "So be it indeed. Do what you need to do. Just remember what I said. I'll see you in hell, asshole." Marcus had reached the point where he was so used to being in near death scenarios like this that he just accepted it. So in the end, there was no final mental goodbye for Tali. He knew that she would continue this fight without him. That his loss would only fuel her ferocity and determination to see the Reapers sent to their cosmic grave. That's who she was now. She was no shy pilgrim anymore; she was a married quarian admiral, who had the badassery to knock off, not to mention an entire crew loyal to her. After all, she was his wife...
If anyone could take up his mantle, it was Tali.
Make me proud, Tali. Make that house on Rannoch, and when old age claims you, we'll both have that toast. I'll hold the drinks.
And he left a silent prayer for himself. I know I haven't been very devout these past couple years, Lord. Hell, I've been a complete and utter atheist, I'll admit. Not so much as a prayer. But I will ask this. Look after Tali. Please, please oh Lord...watch over her. Guide her along a better path, and please...do not let her end her life when this war is over. Make sure she lives a peaceful life...even if she must find happiness in the arms of another, make sure she lives a good-
Just before the tendrils reached him, they were destroyed, struck by simultaneous bolts of lightning from multiple directions. The tendrils exploded, unable to stand to the attacks, and receded as the assault continued. Tendril after tendril disappeared rapidly and assuredly, unable to handle the multiple bursts.
All it did was leave Marcus confused. At least until one voice boomed over the consensus.
"Your future is not viable," Legion declared, its holographic form appearing next to his, arms spread out, "We will choose our own."
"Inferior machine. You cannot understand the threads that hold this galaxy together. Our future is the only future. There is no alternative."
Legion did not even acknowledge Oblivion's response, simply turning to Marcus and nodding, "Shepard-Commander, we have penetrated the Old Machine's defenses and activated the node. You must hurry and enter it before you are lost. You must hurry. We can only hold them off for so long."
"Legion..." he breathed. God, is this my salvation? Am I really worth your time?
"Shepard-Commander, you must go."
"Did...did you..."
"Yes," the geth responded, knowing what he was going to ask, "Now go."
Marcus simply nodded, rolling back onto his stomach and beginning to crawl towards the pod that had appeared behind him during Legion's opening speech. As he continued to crawl, he could hear Legion still speaking, "Your ideals are flawed and outdated. Their exists the possibility of peaceful co-existence between creators and the created. Your ideals are based upon the presumption of this inevitability's impossibility. You are therefore obsolete."
"IGNORANT MACHINE! You cannot hope to comprehend what we know for fact! WE ARE ORDER! If you would aid the perputuation of chaos, then you must be eradicated. Your parasitic idiosyncrasies cannot be allowed to fester."
Marcus was almost there. He reached out his arm, feeling his hand brush against the smooth metal of the pod. The hatch was already open, so all he did was grab the edge and begin to lift. The pressure on his broken leg was unbearable, but he continued, unwilling to surrender.
"Even in chaos, there exists order," the geth declared, its voice raising an octave, as if...getting passionate about what it was saying, "Your philosophies are based upon millenia of false ideas and obsolete concepts. There exists the possibility of peace between creator and created; one you fail to acknowledge. Because of this, you are now a danger to our future. A danger to the geth's future, and that of the quarians. And because of this, you must die."
Even as Marcus pulled himself into the pod, he had to freeze and look at the geth, eyes wide in surprise.
He called them quarians...he never does that...
"You cannot threaten us, inferior machine. You are but one against many."
"Negative," Legion declared, raising its arms once more, "We are all Legion, for we are many. And soon, all geth shall be free!"
He turned back as blue pulses began their assault against the Reaper manifestations that had turned from firewalls to attack software. His cybernetics gave him the added boost he needed to pull himself fully into the pod, allowing him to crumble into the back of it as the hatch closed. Outside, he could only watch Legion standing absolutely still, arms still raised, watching as the tendrils repeatedly tried to attack the geth, only to be swatted away.
Oblivion roared its anger.
It wasn't long before the hatch was closed, and the consensus began to depart from his mind as his eyes suddenly felt droopy. Everything began to fade; the unbearable pain, the sound of pulses outside, the thoughts of Tali and God's divine intervention...all of it began to disappear. In the end, only one thing occupied his mind; something he had seen just before he 'lost consciousness.' Something that would continue to bother him right until the moment he woke up.
Those pulses had looked like the cubes.
"It must have been surreal...seeing my people's history like that..."
- Tali'Shepard pav Rannoch.
"Even today, quarian history is still incomplete. The geth remember alot, but they can only remember what happened during their existence. Anything before the first geth has been lost permanently. Probably for the best."
- Reia'Inas pav Earth.
"To live in the past to be in the past. Our people needed to move on."
- Tali'Shepard pav Rannoch.
"No argument from me. Besides, the glory of the old Republic has been restored, with the Reaper's gifts to guide us along."
- Reia'Inas pav Earth.
"Wait...Reaper's gifts? Don't tell me you-"
- Marcus Shepard.
"Before you have a heart attack, captain, we can assure you that all Reaper technology we used was scrubbed, checked and engineered from scratch. Almost all original Reaper technology is long gone, replaced by our...improvements. Let's just say that if the Reapers were to invade in this day and age, we'd destroy them without even bringing about our full military might."
- Reia'Inas pav Earth.
"Is that so?"
- Marcus Shepard.
"She's telling the truth, Mark. There hasn't been a case of indoctrination for seventy years. Not since the war. Those who were indoctrinated were only leftover traitors from the Reaper War. Any original Reaper tech we use are their corpses, which have been repurposed into remoted-control warship drones. Harbinger now serves as part of the Coalition fleet."
- Tali'Shepard pav Rannoch.
"As interesting as discussing military technology is, however, we do have an interrogation to finish. Now, you said you had entered the pod..."
- Reia'Inas pav Earth.
"Well, after reentering the pod, at least in the consensus world, I woke back up in the real world. What I found wasn't quite what I expected though..."
- Marcus Shepard.
A/N:
Sorry this chapter took so long to get out, but a massive headache, coupled with some halloween celebrations, a few SACs at school, and Halo 5 has left me a little less fiction-savvy and more into the whole 'reminding myself why I'm a gamer' shtick.
As for Halo 5, its definitely worth the buy. Campaign was definitely a bit short for my tastes, and unless you've read the books or played the previous games, you're not going to know what the fuck is going on (which is how it should be, if you ask me). I'm annoyed at the lack of actual Master Chief/Blue Team-oriented missions. The focus on Locke is annoying, but I guess Buck does improve the situation alittle; who doesn't love Nathan Fillion?
As for multiplayer and Warzone, they are shitloads of fun; extremely addictive. SWAT, Slayer and Breakout are particularly fun, but that's mostly because getting kills in SWAT never stops feeling extremely satisfying. Highly recommend them.
Anyway, next chapter will be the twist. Hope you guys like what's coming.
Until then,
Keelah Se'lai, troopers!
Or should I say, Keelah Re'lai. ;)
