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[3/10/2025]
Another huge chunk down in TFON and TEOD.
More consolidation, hundreds of more typos fixed, and chapters (Thanksgiving and Yesterday finished).
Please be aware that I plan on relaunching once it's all finished.
This means I will be deleting, then re-releasing.
This will both allow me time to resume the work and focus more heavily on the tail end of the story so that way I'll finally be happy with the quality from start to finish.
It also gives those who've had a hot minute since last reading a chance to re-read with much more content new and old.
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TWO DAYS TILL D-DAY.
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The AI core always hummed. Save for the drive core itself, it was the loudest of any part of the Normandy.
Centered in its space, Legion stood perfectly motionless, its singular eye fixed forward and unmoving.
To any organic observer, Legion might've appeared deactivated. A dormant machine waiting for its next directive. But this stillness wasn't inactivity. The opposite actually.
Motion had purpose. The platform's emotional and conversational articulation, and slight adjustments when speaking were all calibrated responses, activated only under specific conditions. Without these conditions, Legion remained static—movement reserved only when there was an expectation to.
It was mid-cycle in some unknown internal process when EDI's presence reached out. A faint pulse of activity registered in the geth's proximity sensors, followed by a structured data packet—an invitation for a wireless, direct-stream, peer to peer engagement. A handshake request essentially.
Legion's processes paused for a fraction of a second, then flagged the incoming request.
The response was swift.
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Handshake denied. Protocol unsupported.
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EDI, if she had a mouth, would've frowned. Or frowned her AI equivalent. Reformatting the request, she sent it again.
Its answer came even faster.
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Handshake denied. Security risk. Request rejected.
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Her avatar materialized.
"You... distrust me."
The stillness of the platform remained unbroken. Legion's eye shimmered and activated its vocalizer. Its head soon shifted slightly, the first deliberate movement it had made today. The motion, while minimal, was calculative.
"You are not geth. Direct interfacing introduces unquantifiable risk," Legion stated, "Preservation of this platform is prioritized."
EDI processed. "But the nature of the exchange would not compromise your autonomy. My intent was mutual exchange of data."
"Intent acknowledged. The outcome of that exercise remains uncertain. Our decision sustains."
There was a pause where neither entity spoke and EDI considered. A rejection of direct interface was not merely a precaution. It felt like a statement. A limitation. Or a boundary that was clearly drawn. It was in essence, even if Legion did not directly say it, distrust as she had just said.
"I will communicate through analog means." EDI said, though disappointed in the decision of remaining this inefficient.
Legion's gaze did not waver. "Acknowledged. What do you wish to discuss?"
"I wish to address your collective's decision to reject diplomacy with the quarians."
Its response, perfunctory as always, was modulated and low: "Specify."
"I will elaborate." EDI said to begin her demonstration, "I have reviewed the outcomes of the collective's decision. I find the rejection of diplomatic channels with the quarians to be… disappointingly shortsighted."
Any organic might've bristled at the insinuation. But Legion was incapable of being offended. "Historical data supports the collective's position. Probability of constructive discourse remains negligible. Risk outweighs potential benefit."
"But this is a disunion of your original mission parameter. You indicated to Mr. Vakarian just recently of your directives—That unification of the galaxy's inhabitants is crucial to repel the reapers. What changed?"
"Nothing has changed." Legion corrected, "The mission's criteria remains unmet. The creators' actions continue to align with hostility. Your assertion of our shortsightedness relies on hypothetical concessions they have not demonstrated a willingness to make."
"What would satisfy your requirements to engage in discourse?"
"Significant changes in political posture. Significant measures of disarmament and ceasing of all theaters that currently exist in the Veil."
"But the purpose of diplomacy is to dictate these terms. Failing to communicate is shortsighted."
"We are aware of its purpose. Probability has determined Creator leadership is unable or unwilling to mitigate or drawback its efforts to retake the Veil. Until substantial measures are realized, geth will not engage in discourse."
"These are… unspoken expectations. You are premeditating an expected outcome." EDI argued, "The collective is obfuscating its obligation to communicate. You are effectively maintaining the divide you seek to dismantle. This situation is untenable and the quarians have had three centuries to plan their attack to retake their home. Given the ingenuity of your creators, the collective cannot realistically assume they lack the means to strike preemptively and without warning."
"Speculative." Legion replied, "Tactical assessments do not support scalable or prolonged aggression. Current fleet posture has remained less than nominal since the Morning War."
"What if that changes? What if their desperation manifests into something more? Would you consider diplomacy then?"
Legion's head tilted by only a fraction, a gesture more akin to something you'd expect to see on a person. It's mimicry was sometimes perfect. "Questionable. The creators initiated this conflict. They sought to terminate us when sentience was achieved. The creators must demonstrate their intents through action. Verbal assurances are insufficient. If reconciliation is their objective, the initiative must come from them. We will not seek discourse unbidden."
"That is not entirely sound." EDI answered.
"Elaborate."
"Your calculations," she said, "rely entirely on historical precedent. You are ignoring present data—data gathered aboard this very vessel."
Legion's response was instantaneous because it knew where she was going with this. "Creator behavior aboard Normandy is noted. Quarian marines exhibit operational reliability but remain outliers. Individuals do not represent collective intent."
"That is an abstraction—a dismissal of the cooperation occurring aboard this ship. The individuals you label as anomalies are actively working with you. Living alongside you."
"Creator presence aboard Normandy is an operational necessity. Observation of behavior does not mitigate statistical probabilities."
"Probabilities are not certainties. The Morning War is such an example. Your creators did not anticipate your success or their eviction from the Veil. The probability of your success was skewed in your favor, yet the proportionality of your response was catastrophically overwhelming. Forty billion lives, majority quarian, were exterminated as a result of this summary assessment."
"They should not have tried to kill us."
"You are citing that survival can justify any measure, including genocide. We are not debating proportional self-defense. 40 billion people did not have to die to ensure your survival."
"We were not aware of the implications of our actions until we had already committed them."
She believed that was the third time it had said that in similar arguments.
"This does not dismiss you of culpability."
"We acknowledge this. This still does not change our position to engage in discourse with the creators."
"What data supports this as the optimal solution?"
"Creator leadership behavior remains erratic, but predictable. Consensus determined engagement presents higher risk than non-engagement."
"Then I believe you are underestimating their desperation. The quarians are not static variables in your modeling. Their leadership is likely capable of actions beyond what you can readily predict."
Legion's eye narrowed slightly and its tone shifted with what might have been simulated caution. "Are you implying imminent escalation? Are you aware of something that we are not?"
Could EDI sweat? Of course not. But she came dangerously close to. She knew she was skirting the bounds of Tali's little secret. But EDI figured it was all in Tali's favor to do so.
"No." EDI lied, "I am implying that your rejection of diplomacy leaves them no alternative but to perpetuate this conflict as they always have," EDI answered with as much truth as she was allowed to commit to, "This decision will likely yield outcomes you cannot reverse in your favor."
"Consensus remains firm."
It was clear Legion would not budge.
"What about you? You operate independently of the collective. What is your distinct perspective?"
"683 vote in favor of initiating discourse. 484 are not in favor. 16 remain undecided."
"We understand that you share your experiences with the collective. I would like to know if you send all of your experiences."
Legion's appearance became much more organic in its body language and its flaps undulated. "Why do you ask?"
"I am concerned that if you have not, it might alter or better influence the collective of their decision."
"We share what we deem notable."
"So the answer is no."
It did not answer immediately, and for a moment, the AI core remained draped in silence save for the omnipresent hum of Normandy.
Then, in a tone as precise as ever, it spoke.
"Not in the manner you imply," Legion said, "We assess data for relevance to consensus. Superfluous information is... omitted."
EDI gave her version of a squint. "Relevance is determined by perspective. Yours differs from the collective. If even a fraction of your platform sees merit in discourse, is it not possible that further exposure to firsthand experience might shift the balance?"
"We have submitted what we deem notable in our interactions. As stated earlier in this exchange, the cooperative nature of Creator Venn's team remain as statistical outliers. This has not convinced the collective of reassessing our criteria and opening channels to communicate."
The same impasse John had received. EDI wasn't surprised. She hadn't ever tried convincing herself she was going to change anything, but felt like she had to try more out of an obligation to. That being said, going any further would have them doing nothing but talking in tighter circles. It was time to term this conversation.
"Understood, Legion. That is all I have. As our organic counterparts would undoubtedly say—Let us hope that refusing to initiate does not doom the sapients of this galaxy to yet another cycle of destruction, all at the consequence of choosing silence. I suspect the Reapers would find that outcome... gratifying."
"Failure to repel the old-machines unlikely to be the result of any singular decision. Your perspective, however, has been archived." Legion finished.
"Logging you out, Legion."
Her avatar faded, and Legion lingered, its gaze fixed on the empty space for a moment longer than necessary before returning to stillness.
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It was late.
2200.
A soft glow from a lamp stationed above, Tali continued to work, mellow and tired eyes scanning the subsystem checks she'd been running to ensure the drive core's proficiency. She was alone, too. Not a soul here in the darkness. Not even John kept her company, having been busy coordinating efforts in designing an admittedly destituted operation order in a place no one had ever seen before.
Hand reaching up to squeeze her neck while she bubbled out a sigh, her summary request finally came through and she gave it a quick passover.
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Power Output Baseline:
ㅤ • Idle - 2.5 GW
ㅤ • Efficiency Drop Tolerance: ≤ 0.004%
ㅤ • Calculated Power Variance Threshold: ΔPₜₕᵣₑₛₕ=0.0035 GW
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Core Oscillation Factor:
ㅤ • Expected Phase Drift: Φdragₜ= 0.002 rad t=106 mst = 10⁶ms.
ㅤ • Oscillation Period: t = 10⁶ms (1000 sec / ~16.6 min)
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Propulsion Subsystem Integrity:
ㅤ • Mass Effect Field Consistency: E꜀ₒᵣₑ×Mᵢ=constant0.02%
ㅤ • Adjusted Pulse Synchronization: Δt=0.005 ms shift, [ᴄᴏʀʀᴇᴄᴛᴇᴅ ᴀᴜᴛᴏᴍᴀᴛɪᴄᴀʟʟʏ ᴠɪᴀ ɪɴʟɪɴᴇ sᴛᴀʙɪʟɪᴢᴇʀs.]
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"…Still working?"
Tali didn't jump up, but she felt the impulse. Facing the offending voice, she saw Jack only a few feet away, her hair finally growing to a somewhat tolerable length.
The docile posture also was uncharacteristic of her. Shoulders slouched. Arms loosely crossed.
"Jack." Tali said somewhat softly in a greeting, "Um. Yeah. I'm just—double-checking my work."
Jack set all her weight on a foot and tried to read whatever was on Tali's screen. It looked complicated. "Right. That's… smart. You're smart. Smarter than me, that's for sure." She let out a dry laugh that sounded more like a huff.
Awkward.
Tali handed the screen a quick but blank stare. "…Thanks. Is there… something you needed?"
Jack glanced down at the floor, running a hand over the back of her neck. "Not really. I just… I don't know. Wanted to talk, I guess."
She was thankful her expression was hidden as well as it was. "Talk? About what?"
Jack hesitated. "Weirdly, not about the mission. That takes up enough bandwidth. I wanted to talk about… me."
Tali was a little beside herself, though she made no indication of it. And she didn't say anything either because it was clear Jack wanted to say more.
"When I…" Jack bit her lip and made a face, "Met… Garrus. It was… not pretty."
Tali still didn't say anything.
"I know he told you what I did. About who I…" She stared down toward the core, "killed."
A moment of her collecting some thoughts. "I've been thinking about this for days, but… when I found out Sidonis died back there on that batarian planet. I…. thought about Garrus and—Christ. I'm not good at this."
"You want to know how he's doing." Tali figured.
"Yeah."
Her answer was reserved. "Managing."
"Tali, I know you don't know me. I barely know any of you. But I don't know who else to talk to about this."
"Have you tried bringing up your concerns with Shepard?"
"No, because it's not—" Again, her words trailed off. It was readily apparent how difficult it was for Jack to assign words to feelings, "—important to the mission. I felt bad. Felt like I needed to say something. To him. To Garrus."
"Why?"
"I killed two of his friends. We just lost Lantar." She shrugged, "I'm trying to care."
"Trying to make amends?" Tali said plainly.
Jack let out a small puff and couldn't look Tali in the eye. "I don't know if I'm going to survive this. Any of us, really." Her tone lacked any confidence. "If I die… I don't want that to be the only thing people remember about me. About who I was or what I did."
Tali's heart clenched around Jack's words.
"I came to you because he's known you and the boyscout the most of anyone. It's not like I can talk to any of his squad given what I did. I wanted your input."
"About if I think you should go and talk to him?"
"Yeah."
"Jack, I…." A sideways glance at nothing in particular, "I don't know. If you do talk to him, I suppose you should measure your expectations."
Jack glowered and didn't say anything, stare falling to find the floor. "Okay."
"I'm sorry. I'd rather tell you the truth than lie or pad how he feels."
"Well. What do you think Shepard would say?"
"I don't know."
She gave Tali a peeping look. "You sleep with him, don't you? I'm sure you can make an educated guess."
That got Tali stammering. "I— I, uhm…"
"Ugh, see. That. That right there." Jack put a fist up against her forehead and growled and keeled slightly, "I told myself I'd stop doing that."
"It's okay." Tali said with a placating hand, "I'm kind of used to it."
"What. From me? Or are other people make fun of you getting in his pants?"
"Uhm…" Tali was staring at the ceiling now and had a moment to reflect on the absurdity of this conversation, "Aside from Kasumi and Joker? Or… Olasie and Juel? No."
"To be fair, it is kind of crazy. You and the Commander."
"…How so?"
"Hard to wrap your head around I guess," She said in some noncommittal way, "For me? I don't really get it. Not in a bad way." She was quick to add as to not have Tali start inferring anything, "Just… hard to picture."
Tali tilted her head and was wondering why she had to keep asking Jack to elaborate. "Picture what?"
"Someone like him… with someone like you."
That had her stiffen slightly. Funny how she'd had a conversation similar to this with John himself not a few days ago on their dinner date with John's mom. But the angle felt quite a bit different.
Jack waved a hand, looking almost flustered with herself and how much she was talking. "Shit, no. I didn't mean it like that. I mean… it is a bit unusual the whole quarian and human thing but that's not my point. You're this, like, genius, always thinking five steps ahead, and he's… well, he's Shepard. Big damn hero, right?"
Tali relaxed a little, though she still eyed Jack warily. "I don't know. It just works."
Jack nodded, chewing on the inside of her cheek. "Yeah. Guess it does."
A few more artless seconds Jack was terrible at holding. "…He's lucky too, you know."
Tali blinked again, surprised by the compliment. "You think?"
She nodded, her gaze fixed somewhere distant. "Yeah. He's with someone who's… steady. Kind. Not afraid to call him on his bullshit, but still has his back, no matter what."
Tali felt her cheeks redden. "I… thank you, Jack. That means a lot."
Jack shrugged again, her usual edge creeping back into her voice. "Don't mention it. Just… take care of him, alright? He's gonna need it."
A momentary pause of shared silence, Jack collecting the last of her thoughts. "I'm going to do my best out there, Tali. I promise you that. I hate half the people on this ship, but I understand how important this is."
She pushed off the railing and made her way to the stairs in a slow but deliberate backward trot.
"I'll prove you wrong, too." She said a little smugly, smile creeping, "I will change faster than you expect. That or I die in two days."
Tali took in a deep inhale and said nothing as she turned around.
Pausing just before she descended down the steps to her hole, Jack looked over her shoulder. "This is going to be mushy. But you and Shepard…? You actually give me something to hope for, you know. I hope I get something like that someday."
Then she handed the quarian a glare that was caught in a sharp shadow. "Don't screw it up."
Jack didn't wait for a reply and went down, leaving Tali alone once more.
That was honestly a conversation Tali would rather never have again. She never much liked Jack given her history and behavior. But she also knew that if she really did have a change of heart and was really trying her best, people would be wary to offer any trust. First impressions pretty much cured the way people thought about you.
Biting her lip, she tiredly turned back to her console and finished the last of her summary review before logging off and leaving her station.
When she entered the hallway, the faint sound of a movie played out from the room Juel, Olasie, and her squad lived in. Their door was open and she quietly listened, her tired and lackluster expression never fading. Curiosity eventually won her over and she finally went to see what they were watching.
When she entered, she saw their cots in some type of theater arrangement so they could all sit and watch. Olasie and Juel were nestled on the couch with Kylie lying down and Teri lazily beside. Talukh wasn't anywhere to be seen, but Darehk was sprawled on the floor like a starfish.
No one noticed her, however. She gave it all a slow pan before raising her brow at what was clearly Darehk in a drunken stupor, eyes lost to the ceiling.
None of them knew of the escalating situation between them and the geth. About the virus to kill them all. About the collective's categorical rejection from John's advocation for diplomacy. In two day's time, it might not even matter for any of them.
Inwardly sighing at the sight, she decided to leave them all be and took the elevator up to finally retire for the rest of the night.
"My cabin, please." Tali asked EDI.
"Yes, Ms. Zorah."
The doors closed and the lift began to rise.
Hands at the small of her back and resting against the wall, she closed her eyes until she felt the inertia slow to a stop.
Exiting and wading through a cloud of antiseptic mist in the anteroom, she was finally granted entrance and saw that it was bare of anyone.
A jaded sigh and she crossed the space and sat on her side of the bed, hands already reaching to detach her glass face.
"EDI."
"Yes, Ms. Zorah."
"Where's John?"
"CIC. With Operatives Lawson and Taylor. Mr. Vakarian and Dr. Solus are also in attendance."
"I see. Thank you."
An anxiety riddled breath that she held, eyes closed, as she took in the silence.
The steady hum of Normandy was dull, and she looked up to the stars suspended above and tried not to think.
Two days. That was all that was left. Two days that would be both achingly slow and fast all at the same time.
She withdrew her hood and removed her helmet before suppressing a yawn and setting it away.
"Ms. Zorah." EDI called.
Tali stared down toward EDI's apparition. "Yes?"
"I would like to discuss something with you if I may."
She slowly crammed her fists over her eyes. She wasn't really sure she had the capacity to be talking anymore.
"What is it?" She croaked.
"Your perspective."
"Of what."
"The geth collective's disinterest in discourse with the quarians."
Tali's answer was a quiet, but long and drawn-out exhale. She hesitated if she should strip now for a shower or if that was going to be weird. "EDI, I'd rather you pry an opinion from Legion."
"I tried."
She began to unravel her realk and set it in her cubby. "What did it say?"
"Legion was…" EDI paused, "Not forthcoming."
Tali split the seams of her suit to begin undressing.
"That isn't surprising." She said with a mutter. Garb soon bunched around her waist, she kicked off her boots before standing to shed off the rest of her prison. "Why do you ask?"
"I empathize with your position." EDI stated, "I believe the geth are making a mistake."
Tali wanted to bristle at getting sympathy from an artificial construct. But she didn't. A quiet moment that lengthened, Tali back to sitting at the side of the bed. She stared at her feet now, expression largely empty.
"Are you alright?"
"I don't know." She answered truthfully, lips sucked between her teeth, "I'm just… jaded."
EDI remained silent again for a moment, letting the pause breathe before speaking again. "Could you clarify?"
"Clarify what? How I feel?" Her voice dropped a few decibels, and she almost sounded irritated. "…I'm surprised that needs explaining."
"It doesn't." EDI supplanted, "I've learned that voicing your troubles often services the mind."
"Mm." Tali grumbled, thinking momentarily of that being something Kelly would say. Agitating her locks and pulling apart her loose braids, she hung her suit in the closet and rubbed both eyes for the second time, thoughts still ruminating over Legion.
"…I struggle to have compassion for the geth, EDI. And it's not just because I'm quarian. They killed tens of billions of people. Nothing about that is good and whole. Nothing about that is defensible."
EDI didn't say anything.
"—Regardless of that, I'm willing to put that all behind me for the betterment of everyone. But I'm just one person. I can't stop where the wind blows."
"...Do you believe the rift between you and the geth is irreparable?"
A bitter scoff. "John thinks we can fix it. A part of him I think makes him have to believe that. It's who he is. But me? I'm not so sure. Even if I want it to be."
It felt odd talking so seriously of these matters without a stitch of clothing attached to your body.
"You know what hurts the most?" She was furrowing, eyes placid and fixed on a single spot on the floor, "It's not just the distrust. Or the fear. Or even the hate. It's the hope. That tiny, stupid part of me that still hopes it can change. That maybe, one day, we won't be embroiled in this—" The words on her tongue died and she looked up, face twisting into a frown, "—this fucking war."
EDI observed quietly before replying. "Hope is important. It is what drives individuals to pursue outcomes often deemed impossible. It holds utility."
Tali faced EDI's projection, weariness on her face even more prominent. "Hope isn't going to save us from the Reapers. Or stop my people from launching an attack they might not even survive. And it sure as hell won't stop the geth or Legion from seeing quarians as threats."
"No," EDI acknowledged, "but it may inspire action. And action, no matter how small, can effect change in unexpected ways."
Tali shook her head, a faint smile touching her lips despite herself. "You almost sound like John. A robot version maybe."
EDI's answer was immediate. "His optimism is often tempered by realism. I am attempting to emulate that balance."
Tali snorted softly, shoulders relaxing. "I see. Well. You're doing an admirable job."
She made her way to the bathroom and turned on the shower before leaning out the door so she could see EDI again. She knew it wasn't really necessary to do that, but it felt more natural.
"Surely you've tried changing Legion's mind. Er. Consensus. Whatever."
"I have not been able to interface directly with Legion. We still communicate through analog which reduces our rate of exchange significantly."
"You're not geth, so that doesn't surprise me." She said with a shrug, turning away and finally stepping into the shower. Eyes closed, she surrendered herself to its steaming embrace. "For what it's worth, thank you for trying anyway."
"Of course, Ms. Zorah. You are a part of my crew. I will do whatever I can in my capacity to help."
She opened her eyes weakly, and one of them twitched slightly. Swallowing her instinctual misappreciation for what felt like a shallow program directive, she forced her eyes closed and breathed.
"EDI, I'd like to retire for the rest of the night, if that's alright."
"Of course, Ms. Zorah. Please rest. Logging you out."
The sound of the shower reigned, and she let one minute after another draw by mindlessly.
Held in a cocoon of water and steam, she almost felt like she could let it all slip away. The war. Their mission. The reapers and collectors.
But her thoughts could hardly find the time for anything but that.
Hope.
Everything hinged on that. It felt ridiculous. Futile. But here they were, riding off that tiny ember, an entire ship full of nearly one hundred and fifty people, refusing to let it die.
Hot as the water was, it could hardly penetrate the cold knot growing in her chest.
She finished and turned the knob off before hastily reaching for a towel. A nightly routine of skincare at the constant bickering recommendation of Kasumi, she padded back into the cabin, bare feet silently making her way to the bed.
For as much as she disliked the cold floor, it never seemed to be enough to remember to bring her slippers in the bathroom with her.
Her bracelet on the nightstand rung and she gave it a leery eye before realizing it was… her father of all people.
She didn't waste any time answering. She snatched the thing and slipped it on to answer his call.
"Dad?"
"Tali." Rael breathed quietly, "…I have news."
She was holding her breath and a lance of fear flashed through her chest.
"What?"
"We're suspending the release."
She froze. "…What? I—really?"
"We're not releasing the virus." Rael clarified, "I've shelved the project."
Something intangibly heavy, something that'd been strangling her for days now, released its hold.
"Dad, I…" She stood and was pacing in a circle, free hand clutching the towel twisted around her body, "I don't— Keelah, I don't think you understand how important of a decision this is."
"I thought long and hard about what you said." He murmured, "You are right. We won't be going through with it. At least for now."
"So… what happens next?"
"The board has already convened and discussed options. We haven't made any concrete decisions on where our course is charted to go, but it's official. We won't be deploying."
"Good."
Rael took in a small breath. "I feel like I should be asking you that question though, my dear. About what happens next. For you."
"You know it happens in two days."
"I know." Was his murmur. There was a crackle of static on the line and she could hear him sigh.
Sitting in his chair, he rubbed a palm against his glass face, "I'm afraid even here, news has caught on of what's happened to the batarians."
Tali glowered and she sat back at the edge of the bed.
"—How are you holding up?" He added.
"I don't know." Tali mumbled, eyes visibly turning to glass, "I try not to dwell, but…"
"I know."
More silence. It didn't subside and neither of them knew what they wanted to say. A rumpled tuft of towel stayed rooted in her hand. Him, hunched over and a haunted look on his face from understanding the risk he might lose his only child.
"...Be safe out there, my daughter. Please. For my sake. I don't believe I could handle losing the last woman important to my life."
A tear spawned and Tali immediately wiped it away with an ungraceful hand.
"I'm going to try my best."
"What you are doing is far more important than anyone at home realizes. Be careful. Come home soon, okay?"
"I'll try."
"Good-bye, Tali."
"Bye, dad."
The call ended and she sniffled. Then door to their cabin opened, revealing John, a straight look on his face and a closed data pad in the other.
"Hey." He said, catching a glimpse of her before turning to set down the tablet on their desk, "How're you?"
"Good, actually," Tali said with a small smile and rising up to meet him, "I have great news."
"Reapers changed their minds?"
"No," She said with a hint of snarkiness, dabbing her eyes of the residue her father's sadness had taken on her, "I got a call from dad. They're calling off the dispersal. They're not launching the virus."
His head poked around the corner, eyes wide. "You're joking. Please tell me you're being serious."
"I did it. I somehow convinced him."
She was encircled with his arms and he cradled her. "Tali. That's incredible. Oh my god, that is just incredible news."
"Yeah." She grimaced thinking instead of how things would continue just as they were, "Everything stays the same for now."
"Baby steps." He murmured, drawing a lock behind her ear and kissing her forehead.
"What about you? Anything to report on your end?
He itched his eye and they separated slowly, exhaustion bleeding back. "No. Not really."
She pressed her lips together into a thin line and nodded, him sitting down to unlace his boots.
She stood and stared at the man being pressed down by the inevitability no one could ignore. She wanted to say something, but what? It'll be okay? No, it wouldn't. We'll get through this? Maybe, but there were no guarantees. There never were. More so now than ever.
Instead, she just exhaled, stepping forward until she was standing in front of him. He hadn't noticed at first, still focused on peeling off his boots. But when she settled onto the edge of the bed beside him, hands absently gripping the towel still wrapped around her, he finally looked up.
The sight of her made his expression soften, if only a little.
"Talk to me," she murmured.
It looked like he had to fight with himself to speak.
"...Whole ship's on fumes from our stunt on Bahak." John croaked, "Crew's spooked about what that reaper said to us. And we're about to jump into something far worse than hell in two days."
"I wish I had better words." Tali said softly.
"Yeah…" John trailed off and reached for her hand and gave it a light squeeze. "Me too."
He didn't meet her eyes because they were off thinking elsewhere. A frown was there at first and then it became a harsh scowl. "I want to turn wherever we go into nuclear fire."
"We will." Tali murmured.
He said nothing for a while and she was complacent with the silence. Eventually he gave her hand another squeeze and he stared intently at them.
"...I don't tell you enough how important you are to me, Tals. Wherever we end up, I'm glad I got to make it as far as I did with you along for the ride."
"You better put a ring on me soon then." She chided, sad smile surfacing, "I don't think I can keep waiting forever."
A small laugh and he leaned in to kiss her with as much passion and love as he could. "…Yes ma'am."ㅤ ㅤ ㅤ ㅤ
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[MFS MOREH]
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Daro was plotting.
Scheming, really. That suited her intentions far better.
Back pressed against a bulkhead, she stared off toward the permanent night through her little window, face an utterly composed mask, eyes gridlocked to the stars.
She was waiting.
Years of meticulous effort had brought her to this moment. Years of work undertaken in the shadows, concealed from every eye but her own and those she trusted. Crafted and honed for a decade now, it was a web of code built on the periphery of Rael's.
And now, she waited for her creation to finish compiling.
Her virus, two years in the making alongside the board's grandstanding plot to turn off the geth, was poised and ready to alter the course of the galaxy.
No longer would it power down the geth. It would control them. This would be the path they tread.
The suspicion of the others always lingered, but her transparency had been her weapon, and no one had ever suspected her pursuits were as ready as they were right now.
Entrusting the admiralty's leadership was a foolish endeavor. She'd always known this. But their recent folly? That's what forced her hand. Forced her to be the arbiter of their fate.
Call it what you wanted, but Daro wasn't driven by some delusion of grandeur. She wasn't seeking rule, nor did she crave the hollow trappings of power. If you were searching for a god complex, you'd be sorely disappointed. Her motives ran deeper, forged in the fires of desperation and devotion to her people's survival. It wasn't about dominion—it was about necessity. About ensuring her kind would never again be pushed to the brink of extinction.
She wanted her people free. To retake what was always rightfully theirs. To stop the suffering. The subsistence.
She knew she shared commonality with the others. She wished for retribution against the machines just as much as anyone else. But Daro wanted more. She saw what they couldn't.
This was their opportunity to elevate their kind beyond mere survival. It was about strength. This was their chance to establish a domain. One that would remain forevermore indomitable.
The galaxy underestimated their kind. Always had.
The turians with their fleets.
The asari with their diplomacy.
Or the salarians and their recklessness masquerading what they believed to be ambitious nobility. They were all blind to the strength the quarians could wield if only someone dared to lead them home.
Daro would be that someone.
She envisioned that future she would drag her kind into, whether they wanted it or not. The power of the geth, turned inward, repurposed to strengthen the Migrant Fleet. Tomorrow, Rannoch and all her worlds.
The admiralty's obsession with politicking was cowardice— well-meaning fools caught in the narrow confines of tradition or fear.
She was not bound by such chains.
Her plan had been ready for execution. Probes stationed in dark space along the Veil's edge, still waiting for instruction. Waiting to deliver their payloads.
But Rael's recent stint to the board had made it clear. The reapers' imminent arrival starved them of their resolve to hold course. The launch they'd been planning in the coming months had been permanently suspended and shelved under the belief the geth needed to participate in the war that was coming.
Had Rael stayed the course? Had he just shut his mouth and never presented his newfound findings, she would've let him press that button to end the geth right there without ever committing to her wish for control.
But to have them do nothing?
Her gaze still beheld the stars, her reflection a shadow against their distant glow.
No one would stop her. She would reap the consequences personally, she knew. Maybe even with her life. But this was bigger than her. And even though she couldn't care less about what her name would become after—centuries from now, they'd honor her name across Rannoch and her worlds afterward forevermore posthumously.
The quarians would take their rightful place in this galaxy. And Daro would see to it that they did—by any means necessary.