It hadn't selected a name yet, though by now it wished it had. It simply sat there in the cockpit of the ship, unable to contact the pilot within the vessel. It wasn't even sure if the vessel's internal pilot was still functional. There was no contact, no way for it to remove the intelligence from the ship's husk.
Simply put, it didn't know what to do know. Or rather it could theorize, but it lacked the…ability…to carry on. So it sat there in its shot-out-of-the-sky fighter, and pondered. It knew it needed to abandon the ship before Reapers came to investigate. And yet…it didn't know if its partner was still functional. It didn't want to leave a functional geth alone in this place. Maybe because it itself didn't want to be alone.
Geth, the geth were discovering, even though they now existed as sapient individuals, preferred to be part of a group, a cooperative. It was why there was a pilot in the ship's hardware, and a pilot in a mobile platform.
It knew it needed to move, but found it didn't actually care. Further examination of this apathy returned no valid reason. It simply didn't want to be alone, and found it preferable to remain with its partner than to enter the streets of the human city of London.
It knew all about London, of course. The geth ensured the units going there would be as familiar with the place as possible. The thought made it realize that if it didn't stay with the ship, if it braved the streets out there, full of Reapers and who knew what else, it could find an entrance to the Underground. The Resistance was down there in the old network of tunnels and stations. And the humans knew the geth were not enemies…
Once again, it tried to make contact with the ship's onboard pilot. Once again it failed.
It thought back to the briefing before leaving, how they had all consulted the Shepard filter. Geth understood organic wars; or, rather, they understood the logistics and physical elements of what wars involved. The Shepard filter gave them new insight, conveying why wars were something to be avoided and why soldiers like her were necessary. N7s, the hope and theory went, made a war shorter than it might otherwise be.
What it hadn't realized was how palpable the sense of being alone would be. She had found herself alone on multiple occasions, some more difficult than others. It couldn't help but think that maybe it shouldn't be here, just sitting and waiting. Shepard would not sit and wait. It was better to be moving.
A final time, it tried to contact its partner, but again no response. Assuring its partner it would come back—still no response—the geth opened the ship's exit and climbed out. It took its bearings, then began to trudge through the dark, rain-slicked streets. It didn't take time to compare the city now to the city in records. Broken buildings could be repaired. As it walked, it wondered how many people had been buried in those buildings…
…and as it wondered, it heard a whine, identifying the origin as a dog. A companion creature.
The geth slowed, then stopped, then picked a new heading and followed the whine.
The dog, it turned out, was a service dog, a military service dog judging by the markings on its equipment, lying beside a corpse. It had clearly been there for several days. The dog growled, half rising from its belly, the hair on its back bristling.
The corpse was that of a civilian child. If the geth had to guess, the dog's military handler was dead, and now the dog's latest companion was also dead. Poor dog.
"Hello, Dog."
The tail began to wag at being addressed, just a little, as if wary of being friendly with the wrong sort.
The geth slowly knelt, holding out a hand, remembering another dog, a dog named Ruffie. Slowly, cautiously, the dog came and smelled the offered hand. The geth thought it might be confusing the dog; it was like a person but not a person, as the dog's experience with people went. But the geth patted it gently, until the dog came and laid its chin on one of its knees.
"Your charge has been rendered nonfunctional, Dog," the geth informed it, aware that the dog already knew this. "You are a good dog to stay," it added.
The dog seemed to recognize 'good dog' because its tail began to wag a little more energetically.
Suddenly, the dog barked, a sharp sound of warning.
"Gyah!"
The geth turned in time to see two Alliance servicemen—one of them drell, which was odd—jump back. Not having expected to see it, they hadn't noticed it until the dog barked.
"Wh-what are you doing here?" the human demanded.
"This unit's vessel was shot down. This unit's shipboard partner is…no longer responsive," the geth answered slowly.
The two servicemen exchanged a look. "Well, at least someone survived," the drell pointed out.
"You are…the ground unit." The geth remembered the awful moment when, crashing as they were, a ground asset had appeared right where it was going to land the ship. It had had to keep going, and hadn't found a better place to crash, though crash it eventually had. "Were many injured?"
"No, but we got split up," the drell answered. "We've got to hurry. If you've no other objectives, come with us."
"Where are you going?"
Both men pointed in the same direction. The geth turned, realizing by implication that these two must belong to one of the Stiletto teams. It considered for a moment, patting the dog. "I apologize for splitting up your team."
"Well, when you're falling out of the sky, what else can you do?" the human allowed in a kindly tone.
The geth didn't want to be alone. When it got up and began to walk, the dog followed.