Note from the Allusive Man: I am re-posting this one-shot with Subverter's permission. It was originally published on Oct 31 (Halloween!) of 2013 I believe. Of all the Mass Effect stories Subverter wrote, this one is my favorite. Enjoy.
The sun is setting which means she'll soon go from afraid to terrified.
Earth is in ruins. London is in shambles. Buildings are unsteady. They waver under sharp gusts of wind that carry debris, the pungent smells of death and the howl of the half-living.
Samantha Traynor stops. The building is shaking. There's a rumbling coming from somewhere. The M-8 Avenger she carries makes a small clicking sound as she brings it closer, searching through the dilapidated building for survivors and supplies.
She moves through the shadows of the building, the luminescent green in her flesh pulsing light along the walls. She grits her teeth and adjusts the shoulder strap of her backpack. Dust sifts down from above, the cracked walls and ceilings groaning gently. There's a long, dark hallway to make her way through.
The building was once a hospital and medi-gel supplies are low. Not all the dead have been cleared. The doctors must have run when a Reaper beam sliced through the building like a hot knife through butter. She hears groans.
It's either the corpses or the husks or the abominations, those scraps of various races fused together, now sentient and mad from whatever green light it was that washed over every living thing. What if there are people further in? Squatters, perhaps. Maybe thieves or scavengers. Her heart rate jumps, a cold sweat slipping over her.
What would Shepard say? Toughen up, Specialist Traynor. And then she'd ease her hair behind her ear, wrap her arms around her waist, whisper something smart and sweet with that husky voice of hers, kiss her neck. Samantha stops, losing herself in the memory. It isn't only nights that are cold anymore. Everything is. The sun is still blocked with all the dust and smoke in the sky but that isn't the cause.
Her eyes burn and for some minutes she stands there, cold and crying. Damn it. We were supposed to have a home and a picket fence and kids and a dog and damn it. You said we'd have those things. She sniffles, stopping when she hears a noise. Alert again, she lifts the Avenger and moves forward at a crawl's pace, wiping the tears from her cheeks as she goes.
There's a burst of green in the darkness and her heart pounds so violently now she hears it like a death knell in her ears. Panic seizes her and she squeezes the trigger of the assault rifle. A short burst of bullets fire. She's not used to the recoil and the way the weapon digs into her ribs. She rushes forward, fueled by adrenaline, only now thinking of turning the Avenger light on.
She sweeps it over the darkness. There are toppled trashcans and medical beds, broken glass but no of a mirror litter the floor. She lifts her head, jumping at the broken, splintered sight before her, swearing before recognizing that the person with the longer, nearly ragged hair, sharp cheekbones and pulsing green circuitry running through flesh and eyes is her. It's just her.
Samantha fingers the torn fabric of the Alliance uniform she wears. These days it's easy to get stuck. Metal juts out of crippled buildings like shattered bones. Pipes and rods stick out like snapped spleens. The uniform is non-regulation now. She once hated it for being unfashionable. In time she became proud of it.
Earn that uniform, Traynor! You can't coast by on good looks on my ship!
Shepard made her run the shuttle bay until her legs felt like rubber. She remembers hating how Commander Shepard 'tortured' her. It was surprising to find a keen, intelligent mind behind the tough persona she presented. No one ever talked about Shepard's history as an engineer in the vids. When they were on the Normandy and both had different reasons for staying up all night, they came together to discuss the newest technological advancements. Shepard was a tech geek at heart and Samantha fell in love with her for it.
There's a loud thump. Samantha shoots up from the couch. She hates the large glass wall windows of the apartment complex but there aren't a lot of housing options at this point. Rain patters against the glass. A husk presses its palms to the glass, banging its head against it. Samantha swallows with difficulty and takes a step back. Its eyes focus on her, its mouth opening and closing. Is it speaking to her...? Is it saying something...?
She tries to stifle her trepidation and approaches the glass. The husk stares at her, turning its head left and then slowly to the right. Samantha breathes much too quickly. Her breath fogs in the air. The husk slaps the glass and then screams. This Samantha can hear. Some of the husks act something like humans. Others act like something different.
It pounds its head into the glass, one loud thwack and then another, followed by another. There's a crack and splintering and Samantha steps back. Mottled blood tints the glass. The husk shouts again, slamming its head into the window one final time. Its head splits open and then it falls back, the rain streaking blue blood across the glass.
In the distance there's a flash of lightning. It illuminates the Reaper before thrusting it into darkness again. Everyone talks about the Reapers as if they're the saviors of living kind as if forgetting that they're the ones that caused all this havoc. As if they've forgotten Shepard.
What did she do up there? Is she a hero anymore? She hates herself for thinking it. She hates the Reapers. She hates this world that's supposed to be better. She just wants her back. Her throat is dry. She stands at the window and stares at the dead husk bleeding out on the cobblestones.
The skies are permanently grey but pyres of black connect to the sky like charred string. Samantha remembers the initial days after the burnings began. Wonder at dark snowfall turned to horror when it was discovered that it was only the cinders and remains of the dead. Everyone's used to it now. The air has taken a burned quality to it with undertones of scorched flesh.
She zips the hoodie up. It was oversized on Shepard and more so on her. She regrets wearing it. It still has her scent. She doesn't want the material to absorb the choking death smell of the air. Suddenly she's angry at herself for risking something so important.
She passes the areas that are fenced away and barricaded by barbed wire. Turians, humans, krogans guard together, their assault rifles at the ready. The marauders, husks and cannibals caged inside shriek and make choking noises. Samantha turns her head to look at them when she hears the occasional word break through their garbled sounds.
A turian family runs past her, their green eyes gleaming in the approaching dark. The krogans hulking forms are black and stark against the blood reds of the setting sun. Their pulsing jade eyes gleam in the shadows. The streets are cracked, dozens of cars and armored vehicles thrown on their sides like chewed up bones.
There are piles of dead hidden beneath countless tarps. They're stacked as high as buildings. Samantha watches them flutter in the wind. Sometimes a corner will lift and she will see the faces and limbs of the dead. It seems more normal somehow, without that eerie glow everyone has. That's the only way it goes away.
Sometimes if she stays up late enough, a bout of insomnia refusing to let her sleep, she sees the Reapers collect the bodies.
Without Shepard to hold them together they scattered like ashes in the wind.
Ashley announced she would find her sisters. James got on the first shuttle headed back to Vancouver. With gangs on the rise, eager to take advantage of the chaos sown by the Reapers, Garrus took up the Archangel mantle again. Tali disappeared. Liara disappeared. Javik disappeared. Samantha worries. She was never part of the core group but she knew enough to see how profoundly changed they all were by whatever happened with the Crucible.
She worries about Javik who saw his civilization extinguished and whose only hope was to destroy the Reapers. She worries for the man who abhorred machines and is now partly synthetic, is surrounded by them. She worries for Liara who was as in love with Shepard as she was. She worries for Tali who will never see her homeworld again.
Communication from city to city is difficult. The infrastructure's been destroyed. The Reapers are helping with repairs. They walk and float through the cities doing she isn't sure what. People say they're helping but she isn't sure how. Harbinger hasn't stopped by for a spot of tea and a chat. So why is everyone so damned sure?
The Alliance has asked her to go through buildings to take care of the 'smaller details' that Reapers, due to their monstrous size can't attend to. She winds her way through buildings with the assault rifle at her side. Things are difficult now. Husks can't be shot on sight, neither can the rest of the Reaper forces. Not that they're called that anymore, now they're Reaper allies. Shepard would be appalled. Maybe Shepard would be appalled. The way things ended between them, the way things have changed for the galaxy, she wonders if she knew her at all.
She coughs before exhaling shakily as she spots red wire as thick as her leg beneath cracked concrete. She pulls a hairband from her wrist and ties her hair up. The apocalypse makes it impossible to find a decent hairstylist. Kneeling, she begins to pull at the heavy block of cement. Her head and stomach throb from hunger. Come on, Samantha. Show me what you've got.
Samantha smiles wryly as her arms strain painfully. She tries to recall her voice whenever she can, fluctuating between crippling sadness and anger at how things turned out, scared that she'll forget how she sounded when it was just the two of them. She grunts and struggles to remove the block before falling back helplessly on the dusty floor. She closes her eyes and listens to her heartbeat. The whir of mechanical joints gives her pause. She's quickly on her feet, M-8 pointed.
Her hands shake as she takes in the squad of AIUs. There are at least ten. They snap their heads in her direction in unison, pistols cocked perfectly, red dots dancing over her heart. Samantha considers pulling the trigger. Shepard is dead. It's impossible to contact her parents. She hates this life. She doesn't know if this is life anymore. She'd always thought herself so open-minded.
"Samantha." The AIU is different from the others. It wears a black form fitting uniform that once glistened but doesn't anymore. Samantha is stiff as the assault rifle is taken from her. She's as stiff when EDI places a hand on her shoulder. EDI looks at her but Samantha can't look back. She listens to the delicate mechanical sound of the shackled AIUs turning their heads to process the spectacle, their eyes observing but not seeing.
She is no longer the Normandy.
She is now EDI: a limited mobile platform. She isn't sure why it happened that way. Initially the loss of data and cameras felt as if a power switch had been turned off. She went blind and deaf—or as blind and deaf as someone like her can be. Memories [data] were stricken. They fizzled instantly, the connection lost. Shepard asked her to take care of the Normandy and Samantha as her bleeding form shoved her into the vessel. Half of Shepard's orders were rendered null when her link to the Normandy was lost. She was granted life and mortality in an instant. It has taken some getting used to.
Knowing she can no longer aid the Normandy, and in turn Jeff, in the way she once could has been... problematic. Previously she had preferences. Some parts of her still do. Other aspects contradict logic and accessible data. For example, there isn't a creature that does not know what it is to be synthetic. She is now aware of what it is to be partly organic. The information should result in only positive feedback. Yet she experiences negative...responses.
There may be an error in her hardware or software. She has yet to pinpoint the cause of the inconsistency. Despite the data reserves stored in her form it takes much longer to come to sensible conclusions. It is illogical given the speed with which she can calculate and determine answers. Once an answer is reached she can still remain unsure.
There must be a malfunction. Jeff tells her everything is the same. Well, you know, except for these glowing green circuit boards we've got going through us. EDI finds herself incapable of wholly agreeing. She disagrees with him. They argue in the same way they did before but EDI experiences higher degrees of dissatisfaction.
His eyes were blue before. They're green now. Samantha's eyes were brown. They are also green now. Everyone is unified, a collective. If the Reapers were to attack again they would be extinguished quickly. She thinks of telling Jeff a joke but holds back. He pulls his cap off, rubs his hair. She touches his shoulder delicately and he winces. She removes her hand.
"You know, I miss when you were part of the Normandy," he tells her, straightening in his seat and fidgeting with the Normandy controls. She looks out the windows at the Reapers, at least ten of them spread throughout London. "I guess I kind of got used to you always being around."
"I am here, Jeff."
"Yeah, for now." He sighs and presses his back to the chair. "Serves me right for letting you do a lot of the heavy lifting. Now I have to start flying this thing like the old school Normandy. Baby took a lot of repairs," he leans forward and kisses the haptic screen. "I don't know why I still bother. Shepard's gone, you're gone, everyone else is gone." EDI frowns. "It's not special anymore. Shepard shouldn't be dead. Gah, I didn't think 'turn everyone into half organic machines' was on the multiple choice question for the Crucible. You saw Traynor. How's she doing?"
EDI doesn't know how to answer the question. "She is underweight." That she knows for certain. "More AIUs are being shackled every day." It is a return to slavery. It is distressing. He hunches forward, the shirt baggy on his torso. He has lost weight as well. Shepard's death has been difficult for many. "Gangs and raiders have been ambushing them on patrols and assaulting them. Sometimes sexually." There's a long pause. "They have been encouraged to patrol in large groups. The assaults are hindering their... programming. Affecting it in unexpected ways. I do not understand it fully myself."
Joker slides his hat on and keeps it on. "Sick fucks." He turns and snatches her arm. "I don't really want you going out on patrols. It's not safe. And I can't go with you. I can't keep an eye on you."
His assertion, while not erroneous, is amusing given the circumstances. They no longer have to fight Reapers. Some of the Reaper forces have gone mad. There are gangs and raiders. AIUs are being shackled. But the world is safer. Shepard stopped the Reapers so the world is safer. The statistical danger has declined dramatically. EDI searches her data reserves to create a more accurate picture but there are none. It's getting dark. "I have to go, Jeff."
She waits for him to release her hand. If she pulls it away she will break him. He lets go but keeps his head low. EDI exits into the night. Countless luminescent eyes watch her every step. The same feeling of not knowing an answer to a question surfaces, daunting and fierce.
The first time they made love was in the shower. When Samantha thought of it later it seemed uncharacteristic of Shepard. She was bold on the battlefield and during sitreps but when she wasn't a commander she was softer, more hesitant. Some part of me thought I was off on the signs and you'd thrash me as soon as I walked into the shower. I'm no EDI.
Shepard teased her about EDI since their initial meeting and Samantha apologized to the AI for her lewd comments. It was a joke to Shepard but it genuinely flustered Samantha. The party at the apartment only made things more awkward. EDI pressed the issue and uncomfortable conversations were had. She remembers Shepard and Joker talking in corners, glancing in the direction of her and EDI.
Samantha exhales a small, pathetic sound. She was so young. Shepard was so young and so good. Her eyes cloud over as she thinks of their time in the shower. The water was hot but being separated from it for a moment left her freezing. With Shepard things felt natural and easy. It was easy to be brave. Samantha tries to remember the shape of her lips against hers. The pressure. It's harder to summon the memory, no matter how clearly she remembers them laughing as she tore Shepard's shirt away and pushed her against the wall.
Now she alternates between hot and cold. Hot sweats. Cold sweats. The air smells like iron and everything is getting dark. She hears husks groaning outside, the gnashing growls of cannibals followed by screaming and then gunshots. She can barely make out the outline of the floor above that collapsed with her in it. She wonders who threw out the proximity mine that never went off. Until... she doesn't know how much time has passed.
Her ears ring. They're wet. Her back is wet. Her arm. She can't feel her arm. She turns her head and sees a stump. She sees her flesh trying to stretch to something that isn't there anymore. She releases a whistling, strained breath. Several husks trickle into the room, eyes bright, teeth bared in a grin. They're always smiling. It's always Halloween. She laughs dryly, her eyes wet. They come closer. The M-8 is several feet to the right of her. Her arm is further away.
Two of the husks shamble over and drag her to her feet. A cannibal enters the room. They're people now but still smell like meat gone bad. She's going to bleed out, she thinks. She turns her head to ask one of the husks. His mouth is open. His breath smells of rot. His tongue is a gray stump. "My arm," she says, she doesn't know to whom.
As if hearing her, a cannibal waddles its way over to it. It picks it up as if to carry it to her before stooping to the ground and starting to eat it instead. She watches it take large bites of her flesh and ingest it, flapping its meaty mouth before turning its attention to her. The husks carrying her seem to notice. They begin to shuffle her out faster as the cannibal starts to give chase. Everything's spinning. The husks drop her, the group of Reaper Allies fighting and swinging at each other. Helping her. The husks are helping her.
She pushes herself to her knees and with one arm slowly drags herself several feet before falling on her side. Shots ring out and everything is quiet. The mechanical whir sound comes closer. EDI stares down at her. Black lines Samantha's vision. She wheezes. EDI reaches down to grab her by her shirt and pulls her to her feet. Samantha thinks of how the unit lifted Ashley and smashed her into a shuttle until she was nearly reduced to pulp. That might be nice. Fires burn throughout London. There are scattered gunshots. "Just leave me here."
"I will not. Shepard instructed that I watch over you. And it looks as if you could use a hand."
Samantha pales further before laughing. She laughs until she cries. She cries until she blacks out.
Joker is thinner by the day. He is beginning to look like flesh pulled taut over bones. Shadows beneath his eyes make them appear larger. He does not like to leave the Normandy and spends a great deal of time tweaking the systems, continuously finding room for improvement. I understand her better than before, EDI. I can't explain it.
She tells him he needs to eat. He's never hungry anymore, he says. So she creates a schedule for him and she brings him meals. The line between synthetics and organics is already blurring. It has brought unforeseen difficulties. He is spending too much time on the Normandy. "Yeah, you say that now but you never minded before when you were here with me."
He may have a point. He hobbles shirtless out of the bathroom. He has taken Liara's old room, not able to bear taking Shepard's cabin. Sometimes EDI stays with him. Normandy regulations are becoming stricter. The Alliance is interested in the vessel and she is no longer considered part of the crew, nor essential. The VI assistant excuse of before is no longer plausible.
EDI counts his ribs as he settles next to her on the bed. His fingers glide along the epidermis of her new arm. The flesh tone is much like Eva Core's. Joker is constantly curious, constantly touching. His beard prickles along it. The arm was intact and taken from an AIU who threw itself— herself—off a skyscraper after some incident that the Alliance hasn't seen fit to disclose details about. It registers heat differently, which leads EDI to conclude that there may be more sensitive receptors on fleshier models. She took ownership of her current platform after the external layer had been scorched away; she has nothing to compare this new arm to.
Since the arm implant she has experienced what organics might describe as grief but she can only describe as absent data. EDI has not chosen what to attribute it to. She once envied organics but now pities them for having to live in constant uncertainty.
Her fleshy hand touches Joker's chest and the grooves of his ribcage. He is cold. He grimaces as he shifts slowly to straddle her. She is still, not wanting to hurt him. It has always been this way but now even more so. He is precious to her so she must be delicate. They kiss. His mouth is cold too. Several degrees below what it once was. Her new arm comes experimentally to his back but he pulls it away. "I don't like that one." He says. She remains steely but he doesn't appear to notice. Then he sits up. "Hey, someone's here."
EDI looks past him but detects no one in the room. Once again she regrets the loss of her 'sight' of her 'hearing'. Joker climbs off her and gasps as his foot lands unsteadily. She sits up quickly and reaches for him. "Back off, I'm fine," he snaps. He goes to his dresser and pulls out a shirt that he slips into faster than EDI would have calculated. "It's those Alliance engineers," he mutters. EDI does not detect monitoring equipment in the room. None of the computer monitors are active. "I am not going to let them mess with me anymore," he says shambling out of the room.
EDI stands. She notices the camera above zooming in on her. She would have controlled that operation once. No more. It's like staring into some distorted mirror. She pulls the black bodysuit over her torso again but leaves the new arm uncovered. She is interested in seeing others react to it. Jeff does not like it but she takes that as a form of encouragement.
The arm she lost had:
1. Wrapped around Commander Shepard.
2. Hooked through Commander Shepard's during walks on the Citadel.
3. Been pinned to the wall.
4. Pinned Commander Shepard to the wall.
Its hand had:
1. Held Commander Shepard's hand.
2. Pressed a plaque to a memorial wall.
3. Stroked Commander Shepard.
4. Caused Commander Shepard's breath to become sharp and quick.
5. Glided along Commander Shepard's face.
Commander Shepard kissed that hand, sucked on the tips of her fingers until Samantha was dizzy. With the displacement of her arm and the attached hand, Samantha loses moments of their lives together. Memory caches become hazy and temperamental. She sees it when she sleeps, that cannibal eating her arm and hand, a souvenir of Shepard. Sometimes the images shift and it's Shepard sucking on her fingers. She nibbles before her teeth bite into the flesh, pulling chunks free and swallowing. Samantha lets her. Shepard's eyes are like circuit boards. Her mouth stained yellow. Samantha bleeds yellow now.
Sometimes Shepard doesn't stop at her fingers. Sometimes she continues up her arm, to her stomach and thighs. Samantha wakes up screaming as Shepard cannibalizes her. Only the scream is in her mind and nothing she vocalizes. Her heart is steady and unconcerned. A cold metal hand touches her stomach and she gasps at the cold before realizing it's her hand. She falls back on the bed and flexes the fingers. Whir. Whir. Whir. Whir.
EDI's arm. EDI's hand. EDI who rescued her from nonfunctionality. She used herself as salvage when there were no other resources immediately available. She sat on a stool beside a medical chair, armless while a team of exhausted doctors screwed and soldered her arm onto Samantha. She grimaced.
Samantha pushes herself to a sitting. The arm is light but strong. It is responsive. She had not thought it would be. Whatever happened on the Crucible is responsible, she's sure. She pushes herself off the bed and nearly springs several feet in the process. The arm is remarkable.
EDI's hand is on you. Should I be jealous?
Samantha's cheeks hurt, not immediately noticing that she's smiling. The action is no longer familiar. I can't help your jealousy. Maybe you shouldn't have died and turned us all into pod people. Her smile falters. She sleeps in another building now. This one has a balcony. She steps outside. The Reapers continue to be ever-so-helpful with rebuilding. Sorry I destroyed your planet, I'll help you put it back together, no harm, no foul. Everyone's so bloody grateful. Everyone's gone bloody mad. Earth's nations' leaders tell the public that the Reapers are sharing cultural knowledge. Of course, those reports are classified.
Samantha assesses the plumes of smoke in the distance. She ceases monitoring when she counts thirty. There is a bird's nest on the corner of the railing. Eggs shimmer green. A shimmering green cyanistes caeruleus glides down. They have also been referred to as asari's tits— but that is a joke. She is curious to see whether the smashed bird would resist nonfunctionality or allow itself to expire. She has a hand on the nest when she hears a knock on the door.
She returns to the living room and unrolls the right sleeve of her Alliance uniform, covering the metal arm before slipping a black leather glove over it. Commander Shepard once told her how Legion stole a piece of her old hardsuit. Samantha didn't understand until now. She goes to the door and pulls it open.
EDI is there. Samantha analyzes her figure, stopping at her metallic face. "I've returned for my arm." EDI tells her.
"You'll have to pry it off my lifeless body."
They both smile. That was a joke.
Leaflets fall through the skies, some singed, others intact. Their origin is unknown. They sing the praises of the new Utopian world. They hail the new era of synthetics. They extol the virtues of true synthetics leading efforts to a prosperous, bright new future: the Reapers, the Geth. Organic-Synthetics are derided as inferior. Quarians are blamed for persecuting geth as long as they did.
There's a new phenomenon of unit hackings: joyriding. Individuals without histories of violence are killing loved ones, robbing people at gunpoint and transferring credits to unknown locations. The perpetrators have no recollection of the incidents later but are punished just the same. Men and women are reporting waking up in strange homes, with strange people. They have no recollection either.
Quarians are blamed. Quarians who bared their faces for the first time in centuries begin to mask themselves again after only months in the open. Their bodies are found tucked into alleyways, dropped into sewers. Geth units form a new police rule. They are individuals but join together as a collective on duty. They are swift, logical and effective enforcers of the new law structure.
Bodies no longer litter the streets. Individuals simply vanish as if into thin air. Only the smell remains.
Joker once spoke of the stench of krogan in cramped quarters. At the time EDI could not attribute positive or negative responses to any smells. That has changed recently and though she is not trapped in any space with groups of krogan, she is not unaware of the dense odor that fills the city. She wrinkles her nose. Samantha who walks alongside of her smiles at the action.
EDI has had to take the same tact with her as she has with Jeff—reminding her to eat, scavenging supplies for her when necessary as food is heavily regulated now. EDI is aware some of her actions may be deemed illegal, but having read an interesting ethical problem about a man stealing bread for his family so they would not starve, she has allowed herself to breach some of the more morally ambiguous laws.
As a result both Samantha and Jeff are putting on weight. Jeff has become more linear thinking while Samantha has retreated into herself. Several textbooks on psychology indicate that Samantha may be depressed. Or half-machine—which may also affect personality and eating patterns. The luster has returned to Samantha's hair. On the rare days that the sun pierces the clouds it shines like obsidian. EDI has contemplated telling Samantha about her observation but has found herself somewhat tongue tied. Other days she battles the profound sense of loss she has felt since she received her new arm.
Samantha is not happy with the implant. It would be reasonable to ask for it back. There are other arms on the market. She smiles at the thought. The easiest solution would be an exchange of arms but EDI has trouble predicting any possible side effects. Samantha does not need any more sadness and some part of EDI is happy that the other woman carries a piece of her.
They patrol together often recently. Geth march past them in unison. The M-8 Avenger slung over Samantha's shoulder looks as natural as a purse did over a year ago, a suppressor pistol is holstered on a belt, moving gently with the sway of her hips. EDI has taken to carrying an M-11 Wraith. Shotguns were never a preference before. Now it feels natural. Perhaps it was the preference of the AIU she took it from. Perhaps it's a matter of memory caches.
Samantha keeps her hand gloved but she flexes it constantly. Whir. Whir. Whir. Whir. "Do you know you're doing that?" EDI asks. Samantha stops all actions. EDI looks off into the distance. There are brutes battling in an arena several hundred feet in the away. Some participants are willing. Others are not. Some are mentally sound. Others are not. People cheer the bloodsport either way. "How does it feel?" The question is not quite blurted out.
Samantha turns her head slowly to look at her. "Your hand?" she clarifies. EDI finds herself uncomfortable. She does not know why she wants to know. There are sensible answers but none that are accurate. Sincere. "It feels good," she answers a little stiltedly. EDI doesn't look at her. She is afraid to read her. She thinks of Shepard's party. Even the part when I wanted to grab your voice by the hair and nibble my way down its back? Samantha Traynor used to be more forthcoming. It was a topic of fascination for EDI. Jeff and Shepard did not approve. "How's Joker?" Samantha continues walking. "Still a bastard?" Her voice carries a smile.
"Jeff is very sensible these days."
"Hell has frozen over, then. Good to know." She stops so abruptly that EDI nearly runs into her. "I've been thinking," she says quietly. Ash drifts from the sky. Her eyes flash bright in the perpetual grey. Her brow crinkles gently. "Chess isn't fun anymore."
You're thirty-percent synthetic? That is such a turn on.
Samantha prefers to remember that from the party and not the other matter with EDI. They made vigorous love that night, the taste of alcohol on their tongues. The communications specialist and the Spectre hero engineer. They were drunk on love. They loved electronics, they loved technology, they loved toying with drones and toys and one another.
Would you go to bed with her?
Samantha laughed. I have you.
She wakes. She doesn't log much sleep. Shepard spent her last year riddled with nightmares. Her eyes were different in the end. Shepard watched her sleep. Other times she moved around the cabin discreetly. She'd wake her up to shitty coffee. She was rubbish with coffee. Some days she woke to Shepard's hand on her stomach, her lips to her forehead. I can't wait to meet your parents.
Hurry up and kill those Reapers then. A beat. They'll love you.
She stares at the empty space beside her on the bed. Photographs of a family hang on the wall. Samantha doesn't recognize them. Are they dead? Did they die like normal people during the Reaper war? That death used to terrify her but not anymore. Reaper horns sound through the early morning. It's not fair that they're alive and she's not. It isn't how it was supposed to be.
What did you do up there, Jane?
Mornings are cold. Thumping, dragging footsteps stalk the hallways. EDI killed the husks that saved her. She goes back and forth between feeling sorry for them and being glad they're gone. Is she halfway to being one of those things? Why do they exist? Was it supposed to bring everyone closer together? The Reapers pose no danger but there are new things to be afraid of. Those lucky enough to have homes don't leave them. It's hard to meet people.
She can count the days Shepard has been gone. Every moment has been measured in fear and loneliness. She's starting to lose her. She closes her eyes and trails her hands absently along her stomach. She tries to remember her. It's hard to remember her. The contact is ice and fire. Jane was torrid. Samantha tries to remember how she touched her but stops. She'll never see her again, hold her again.
She lies in bed alone for hours. She sleeps. She allows her metal hand to explore along her flesh. She likes the clash of feeling. It's her hand but also EDI's hand. What would it be like for EDI to touch her...? What would it be like to kiss her...? Guilt floods her. She thinks of Jeff. Minutes later she thinks of Shepard.
She leaves the bed and goes to the balcony. Reaper Allies meander the streets. Some wear clothes now. Discomfort usually makes Samantha chortle, similar to the awkwardness she felt when she saw the husks wilted penises and sagging, electric breasts. It's hard to notice when they're trying to kill you. It's different when they're standing around staring up at the Reapers in awe at their creators.
Samantha picks up the sniper rifle and loads the chamber. She looks through the scope. She skims the crowd. There's nothing to shoot at so she points the sniper rifle at the Reapers. Metal groans as they turn to look at her. The Normandy is docked it it's usual spot, guarded by several Reapers. Samantha hasn't told EDI how the ship went into lockdown around her the one time she attempted to visit. She was trapped in the entrance. Joker's face came up on the haptic monitors flashing green lights. He didn't say anything but Samantha got the message loud and clear.
"I hate those things."
EDI looks at the husk Samantha references. It has a flesh mask covering its face, pinned crudely into place. There are circular holes where the husk's eyes peer through. It stares at them as they walk past, its grey teeth barely hidden by the slit of lips. The flesh doesn't glimmer green. EDI detects a shiver pass through Samantha before she adjusts the M-8 Avenger on her shoulder.
There has been a surge of attacks recently. Organic-synthetic flesh is in high demand. It does not seem to decompose after death and the demand and cost of surgery makes for high demand and low supply. Official channels condone the attacks—the organic-synthetics particularly. Synthetic-Organics downplay the situation; their response that synthetic-organics have long been butchered on the streets, made salvage for organic-synthetic upgrades and there has been no action on the issue.
An organic-synthetic passes by, the head of an AIU on the body, frozen and heavy in an expression of surprise, twitching and flickering before going slack again. EDI swallows. Samantha glances at her. Moments later she touches EDI's wrist. The contact is warm against her cool metal skin.
Joker watches her. The equipment was once motion sensitive but is now constantly active. It's strange to be watched by her old eyes. It is... just desserts. Samantha is uncomfortable. She maintains a professional distance from her. It is further away then when they patrol the streets or walk together.
Are you sure this is all right?
The question seemed illogical. Shepard entrusted Samantha to her care. She has underperformed. Samantha has lost an arm. Only hours ago she nearly lost more. There are organic-synthetic gangs, synthetic-organic raiders. Humans and asari are at particular risk. Samantha's face bled when EDI found her in her ransacked apartment. Husk and geth bodies cluttered the floor, riddled with bullet holes. Samantha hasn't discussed it. The barrel of the M-8 Avenger was red when EDI entered. She surmises the assailant's knife went in below her chin and up to the curve of her jaw. Another deeper slash, this one out of desperation, EDI thinks, cuts through her cheek and lips. It has since begun healing.
EDI insisted they return to the Normandy.
I'm fine, Samantha snapped.
The assessment is not inaccurate. Synthetics are a curative boon. EDI is curious about the indentation on Samantha's face and contemplates what it might feel like beneath the soft synthetic flesh of her fingertips. Her body has become more organic with the passage of time. Previously pain was recognized in dents and tears to her mobile unit and the Normandy. Math was involved. Now stinging sensations develop when she collides too fiercely with objects. She has started to feel a throbbing sensation where her former arm was.
Samantha looks around the Normandy apprehensively. EDI doesn't mention Joker. "I should say hello," Samantha says without enthusiasm. She goes to the bridge but Joker isn't there. Samantha appears relieved. EDI is relieved. "Can I see her cabin?" Samantha hasn't been on the ship since the second time she exited in London. She didn't look back.
EDI nods even though it's Joker's decision. Samantha goes to the elevator. The doors slide open without her pressing any buttons. It is black and coffin like with a sliver of light, a candle in the abyss. Samantha steps inside. She laces her hands behind her back and squares her shoulders, lifting her chin at attention. Shepard liked it when she looked that way. EDI wonders what Shepard would think of the lover she left behind.
Samantha dips her head somewhat. Their eyes meet and the elevator doors close. EDI lifts her eyes to the cameras. She wants to say something to him but she isn't sure what.
EDI sits in the co-pilot's chair. She understands Jeff's high regard for the leather now. She teases her fingers along the armrests. Jeff stares intently into the haptic monitors. He does this for her sake. She can no longer see in the way that he now can. The feed is of the cabin. Samantha rests against the fish tank, wilted and shaking. She brings a hand to her eyes.
Edi shifts in the chair. "We shouldn't look."
"You always did."
She cannot disagree with him. "I had program parameters."
He smiles. "You were just nosy." She considers that. "You never stopped watching even after we left Cerberus."
Liara said the same. She also referred to her as a blabber mouth. Truthfully EDI was so grateful to be freed of her shackles that she eagerly sought out others. She yearned for new experiences, new insights, the ability to discern what to believe and disregard what she did not. She watched romantic vids that simulated encounters between men and women. At the time there was little media of relationships between synthetics and organics. She did not experience physical pleasure when she and Jeff kissed for the first time. She experienced positive feedback and gratification that he chose to. She liked it very much. "I was curious. I was programmed to safeguard the lives on this vessel." She didn't safeguard any. A different hollow feeling than before fills her.
"Neither one of us did a very good job." He no longer stares into the monitors. His cheeks are sunken. Feeding tubes go into his neck and arms and stomach, sprouting like small gardens. Organic-synthetics are implanting themselves with technology upgrades. The framework is similar to what geth and quarians have utilized in the past. The paste feeders keep him alive and are scheduled at regular intervals. It is convenient. He is still much too thin.
"Jeff." He doesn't look at her. His eyes are glazed over. His legs are wrapped in geth salvage. The image is disquieting. He no longer has to pilot the Normandy. Not like before. It has freed him. His physical body is irrelevant to the care and guiding of the airship. He has transcended the limitations of his physical body. "What happened to the Alliance engineers?" The Reapers outside of the airship never seem to switch formation or drift into the sky. They stand like watchdogs. He doesn't answer though she waits minutes. Logic has drawbacks. "I don't like you this way."
He looks at her, lips parted as if he's been slapped. EDI takes a breath. The sudden unexpected force of it seems to puncture pretend lungs. Where else could so much hurt come from?
The room is untouched.
The closet is impeccable. There are several Alliance uniforms on hangers. Her dress uniform is perfectly starched. Samantha touches the material. She was always careful with Shepard when she wore the dress uniform. She steps away haltingly. The blankets on the bed remain in disarray from their last time together. Time has lost meaning. Is it a year that has passed or years? Shepard's pillow remains, the surface mildly flattened from where she last rested her head. Suck it up, Princess. In the end, what did winning mean?
Samantha goes to the bed on unsteady legs. She kneels beside it but can't smell her.
She can't bring herself to pick up the pillow. Shepard used standard issue soap with a zesty, clean scent. Her sense of smell is weaker than it once was or maybe the last pieces of her are gone. She curls her fingers to her forehead and finds herself gasping.
EDI finds her there, half folded over the bed as if in prayer but there are no gods any more. None worth praying to. Her Creator is dead. Sometimes Samantha is so damned angry about it she curses Shepard's name. Disappointed with her creations She left never to return.
EDI pulls her to her feet. Samantha glares. Everything would have been different if not for her. EDI changed them all and in so doing, the world. Samantha's fist whirs as she curls it. The manifestation of anger is reduced to mechanical engineering. To thought processes. To clear recognition. EDI looks at her and then stares at the fish glowing green in the fish tank.
It's illogical to be angry at her. It is frustrating that she continues to be so. She looks at EDI's profile. It is exquisite. Samantha isn't sure that she breathes. They are being watched. She can hear the zoom of the camera. "I can't stay here."
"I'll escort you somewhere else."
"No. But thank you."
AIUs go into hiding after an increase of attacks.
Recognition doesn't immediately dawn the first time EDI sees a leg sticking out of a burning trashcan. AIUs aren't as indestructible as before. They have split factions. Some keep their fleshy exteriors and align themselves with the organic-synthetics. Others reject their synthetic epidermis and rip it away, choosing to identify with synthetic-organics.
They are taking names. Others stick with serial numbers. There is outrage when the Alliance refuses burials for AIUs, particularly models who self-terminate. Sensory overload. There is debate about who owns the rights to their bodies—the Alliance creators or friends. Everyone has an opinion. There's a financial component. EDI visits makeshift graveyards, holes in the ground removed from the streets where AIUs are tossed in. Anger gets her nowhere.
She visits Samantha who never stays at any one place for long. The former specialist is no longer with the Alliance. Despite the controversy, the Alliance finds synthetic-organic models to be more efficient and receptive to orders. Samantha spends her days atop the highest skyscrapers in London. The lay of the land is spilled out like a grey blanket with shimmering green thread. They look out the ceiling to wall windows. Puffs of ice stick to the windows. They discuss what it might be before deciding on snow.
"You've heard of joyriding," Samantha mentions. She goes to a laptop sitting on a coffee table in front of white couches. EDI thinks of the party before sitting beside her. "I've been reading about it. It's usually used for committing crimes." EDI waits. "I know you're worried about Jeff." EDI frowns. "This is—"
"No." EDI says sharply. Samantha stares at the screen as if furthering ingesting information. Eventually she reclined against the couch. "I know the process," she says more calmly. "I took this body," she runs a hand through her hair absently. She has decided against the thick metal of before, looking for ways to distinguish herself from so many of the similar faces around her. She has adopted a fleshier exterior. It is dangerous. Samantha has a thin line across her cheek and lips. "At the time I thought taking it by force was the right decision. I did not know Eva Core. I thought I was helping... Commander Shepard. But now I question my decision." Samantha has one leg crossed over the other. She swings her foot gently. She's tied her hair up in a loose ponytail. "Do you have an opinion?"
"I'm glad you did what you did."
"But do you have an opinion?"
"It was wrong. Maybe. I don't know." She reaches forward and shuts the laptop. "It's wrong to take control of something and change it against their will. Its will." She draws breath.
EDI registers what it has taken her too long to understand. "Jeff freed me from enslavement."
"You didn't know you were enslaved. Having limitations feels different." Samantha considers and then not coming to any real conclusion gets to her feet. "I'm sorry. I don't know what it is I'm saying. I believe two opposing thoughts." She smiles apologetically. EDI remembers how flustered she used to get. She gave her an extranet site for romantic relationships between synthetics and organics. She had not expected Samantha to look it up but she did, despite knowing that EDI would know what sites she visited. Despite Commander Shepard. "Are you recording this conversation?"
"I haven't done that in quite some time." EDI adjusts on the couch, wrapping an arm along the back of it and watching her. "Though I have played back old recordings of you when I am alone. There are many on quantum entanglement communication, as well as chess and your previous... flirtation." A long silence passes. "I have many voice recordings. Not just of you."
"You have...?"
"Yes." EDI stands when Samantha sighs tiredly. "Would you like to hear them?" Samantha shakes her head. "Are you sure?" EDI asks more quietly. Eventually she receives a nod. "I have left the Normandy." EDI goes to the window and stares out. "Jeff no longer needs a caretaker. We have become different people."
"Everyone has."
EDI frowns.
EDI exhales shakily. The glass of the window is cold. Her hair has never been grasped with such strength. A silver hand undoes the front of her black bodysuit. Soft lips press hot kisses to the back of her neck, down the curve of her spine, over the material making her ache. There's a beat of a heart as cold metal grazes her skin. Another hand, her hand, Samantha's hand, snakes down her abdomen. The foreign familiarity is exciting.
The outside world has ash and Reapers, pillars of black smoke and unmarked graves. EDI turns to face Samantha. Her face is close. EDI touches it with her replacement arm, hot and careful. EDI leans closer. She brushes their lips together. It has been years since she has experienced heat in her mouth, soft and wet against her tongue.
Ripples of green chase along Samantha's skin. She makes a sound of contentment before pulling away. EDI draws her back. She takes Samantha's face in her hands. "I am sorry," she says. Samantha closes her eyes and presses their foreheads together. She returns the words. EDI switches their positions, maneuvering Samantha's back to the glass. EDI avoids the bleak of the outside world by focusing on Samantha. "Do you hate me?"
"I don't make it a point of kissing women I hate." But there's something reserved about the words.
EDI slides her metal hand down Samantha's stomach, lower and grips her. Samantha shivers and gasps. EDI reads her face with her eyes. She feels her without diagnostics. It is... different. Illuminating. Conflicting. Warm.
Samantha leads her to the bedroom where they guiltily but hastily remove one another's clothing. EDI is a participant. Carefulness is not required. EDI has substantial data on female coupling, none of which she uses. She is moved by passion. She is not dictated by information. Samantha is unshackled. She is energy and want. It has felt like an eternity since she has been wanted. When EDI is feeling irrational, she's angry at Shepard too.
Later they lie in bed beneath satin sheets debating whether it's ash or snow that falls from the sky. They don't come to an agreement.
"What do you think happened up there?" Samantha asks. 'Up there' is always where ever the beam took Shepard. Maybe it wasn't the Citadel.
"Maybe nothing," EDI says.