Liara and Miranda held on as Joker threw the Normandy hard evasive. Miranda heard the Normandy's guns firing again. Hopefully something evil just died. Garrus was having a busy day. Liara peered at a holographic map of the base of the Citadel that EDI had created. Liara said, "It reminds me of ancient prothean temples and government buildings. The structure is similar."

"The Citadel was made by the Reapers, not the protheans."

"We all stand on the ashes of those who came before us. The protheans copied Citadel architecture. There were prothean cities whose layouts showed clear similarities with causeways on the Citadel."

"All right, then. How does it help us?"

"In the temples, these areas would be galleries. Then, like spokes on a wheel—as we see here—there is an approach to a central altar, or court, or focus." Liara pointed. "If Shepard is alive, he'll be there."

"EDI, scan for access points. Airlocks. Vents. Anything in that area that we can use to get inside."

. . .

Another dreadnought fell. Hackett said, "First wing, fall back." The geth and the quarians. "Second wing, move up." The turians, asari and the Alliance. They needed to rotate the ships to give shields time to recharge and damage control teams time to respond. They were still dropping like flies. The Churchill went down before his eyes.

He looked at the communications officer, who shook his head. Nothing from Shepard.

If they didn't hear from him soon, none of this would matter.

. . .

Shepard watched as capstones of mathematical symmetry melted under pools of alignment. He didn't understand it, but the prothean side of his mind did. He was close. It was a good thing, too. He felt like he'd just run a marathon. It was too bad Tali and Liara weren't here. Between the tech and the prothean history they'd eat this up.

He could see what the Crucible was now: a junction box, a device that synchronized and fired the power of the mass relays through the Citadel, which was the nerve center of the Reapers—which explained why it had never been destroyed, barely even damaged, across all of the cycles of extinction. Someone must have asked why. Firing the Crucible would be like using defibrillator paddles directly on someone's brain.

Ouch.

"Synthesis is the final evolution of all life," the boy explained. Shepard shook his head. Harbinger, he reminded himself. "The radiation released by the Crucible will destroy us. It can also alter the matrix of organic and synthetic life into a unified matrix."

Shepard kept working. He also listened to what Harbinger had to say. He wasn't a murderer. Even to this bastard, he would listen.

"Organics seek perfection through technology. Synthetics seek perfection through understanding. Organics will be perfected by integrating fully with synthetic technology. Synthetics will finally have full understanding of organics. We have tried a similar solution in the past, but it has always failed. It is not something that can be... forced."

Harbinger's pause caught Shepard's attention. He remembered Ezno's friend, Inali, and what Cerberus had done to her. "You tried to force organics to help you reach synthesis?"

"Yes. But the organics were not ready."

He returned to the puzzle with renewed strength. "That's putting it fucking mildly."

The explosions outside were happening faster. Come on. Come on.

"The Reapers will cease their harvest, and the civilizations, preserved in their forms, will be connected to all of us. This will be lost if you continue."

Lost. Knowledge would be lost. Shepard had heard enough. Frankly, he was pissed off.

He had to brace himself on the console with one hand. His legs weren't enough. "Tell me one of their names," Shepard said.

Silence.

"A member of the lost civilizations. Do you know one of them? Just one?"

"Names are irrelevant." Out of the corner of his eye, Shepard thought he saw a flicker of red in the boy's shimmering color.

"You chose the name Harbinger. Your vanguard chose Sovereign."

"If you destroy us the cycle of destruction between organics and synthetics will begin again."

"I've got a synthetic in love with a human and the geth and quarians have made peace. Next?"

"You need us."

"Like we need a hole in the head."

"We have the combined knowledge of thousands of cycles."

"You haven't done jack shit with it."

"You will destroy yourselves."

"You first."

"Through synthesis you can transcend your limits."

"We like our limits, thank you very fucking much."

"You can become stronger!"

"I'll go to the gym."

"Guide your own evolution!"

"I like surprises."

"You would throw away the chance at defeating death itself!" Harbinger sounded enraged.

Shepard pointed at the Reaper child like he was putting an insolent brat in his place. "Or else what? You'll kill us all?"

Silence.

Shepard's hand shook. He couldn't waste time like this. Outside, another nova flash of light announced the loss of a quarian ship.

"Fuck you. This conversation's over. You've got a date in hell and I'm going to make sure you're not late."

Shepard moved the last pieces into place. He saw the alternatives.

He could control the Reapers. They would become his hands. His tools. Harbinger hadn't even mentioned that one, of course. Shepard's essence would dissolve into the system, overlay on top of this... thing's... and he would become their master.

He could rewrite the DNA of every creature in the galaxy. Synthetics would gain the eccentricities, the millions of microscopic joys and flaws, that organics cherished. Organics would lose their shackling to mortal flesh, gain networked intelligence, and the ability to live beyond the limits of their bodies.

Or he could bring it all to an end. Wipe the slate clean. Including the geth, and EDI.

Shit. There's always a price, isn't there?

He said he wasn't a murderer. Was synthesis truly their destiny?

The knowledge of eons. Limitless existence.

Shepard used to play baseball with his parents. On the day they died, after the tears, he had gone outside and thrown a baseball at a wall until his aunt came and told him it was time to go to bed. He'd kept that ball and mitt until the Collectors destroyed the Normandy SR-1.

What did he tell Miranda? We all have someone else's DNA, but our choices are ours. Something like that. All our struggles.

Shepard thought of all things he'd ever wanted, that he'd never gotten. He'd wanted his parents back. The buddies he lost on Akuze. Kaiden. The things we never have define us as much as the things that we overcome.

Shepard thought of the combined knowledge of thousands of cycles, thrown away. He imagined a mass murderer offering him wine in a chalice made of gold.

A smile curled around his mouth. Actually, if they truly were just instruments of harvest, like Harbinger said, then the Grim Reaper offering him such a cup would be a more appropriate image.

"You don't have a crystal ball on our future. And I don't even like wine," Shepard said.

He moved the last piece into place.