Chapitre 1: 1
Excessively sober mind, you never think it will be a curse. Damn modified D.N.A., no getting drunk properly, no flying off to another galaxy somewhere drugged, and Ardat-yakshi, with all her supernatural pheromones, couldn't fog her brain. It was a curse to go through all that hell in full consciousness. Even now, feeling the pain of the fatal burns, the heaviness in a lung half-filled with her own blood that made it hard to breathe, feeling the shards of broken bones digging into tissue that caused horrible agony with every movement, she remained conscious. But she wanted very much to die here, on this very spot, so that no one would ask for anything, to stop being forever indebted to anyone. Why can't this stupid Galaxy take care of itself? Leave me alone!
- Why are you here? - A child's voice, demanding, demanding, bollocks, ignore it, Shepard, it's just another nightmare. - Why are you here? - go to hell. - Why are you here?
What a bore! It took a considerable effort to open his eyes twice as much to lift his head and look at the boy. The one from the dream. You're crazy, after all.
Meanwhile, the child kept repeating demandingly but indifferently, "Why are you here?" - like a machine. What's even going on? Where am I? Clenching her teeth and gathering the rest of her strength into a fist, she sat up and looked around. Open space all around, Earth on the horizon, a space battle between the combined fleets of galactic races and the Reapers in full swing. Above her is a massive structure - the Horn, the last hope of intelligent life, which took colossal resources and the combined efforts of many nations to build. She seemed to need to do something. There, elsewhere, Hackett had said something about the Gorn...
- Why are you here? - The child's voice distracted her from her thoughts.
- Who are you? Where am I? My own voice sounds strange. You're talking to a hologram of the boy from your nightmares, Shepard, in the middle of a space battle. You're going mad, that's all.
- I am the Catalyst. This is my home, the Citadel.
That makes sense now. I feel much better, thank you. Ha, you've got the power to be sarcastic. There may be more to come.
- I thought the Citadel was the Catalyst.
- No, the Citadel is part of me. Why are you here?
There's that question again, the good one: why am I here? It hurts.
- I need to stop the Reapers. Do you know how to do that?
- The Reapers belong to me. They obey me. They are my decision. - The boy turns and walks away to where there is a lot of light, to a vast blue beam, to pure energy. Another spurt of strength. Where does the strength come from? Somewhere on the edge of consciousness, someone else's words resurface, "You're just like a machine lately" - Joker?
- Wait, a solution for what? - The hologram's moving fast. I have to quicken my steps. Ah, I don't care about the pain.
- Chaos. It's your own fault. You bring it into your life. They're my solution. I'm continuing the Cycle.
- By wiping out all life in the Galaxy?
- No, only the advanced races to make way for new ones, preserving the old life in the form of the Reapers. We didn't touch your races the last time we were here.
- We would have preferred to keep our proper form," he said, hatred in his voice, and if he were organic, he would probably shudder at such vivid emotion, but the boy remained indifferent.
- You can't. The creature always rebels against the creator. Organic intelligence creates Artificial Intelligence, which destroys life, bringing Chaos to Order. We've found the solution - the Cycle.
- You need help understanding - how to explain to this thing how wrong he is. Why does everyone love the word 'impossible' so much? She's had to prove otherwise her whole life. There has to be a different solution. We've subdued the Krogan, the Rachni, and Geth without destroying the latter. Killing every living thing, why? It makes no sense! - The difference between us and synthetics is that we can think for ourselves and make choices. By depriving us of that choice, you turn us into machines programmed to act as directed.
- You have more choice than you deserve," Ghost could say that phrase with ineffable arrogance, but the boy remains indifferent. The car. It's creepy for some reason. - The fact that you, the first organic in a while, are standing here proves that my solution is no longer suitable.
- So what do you intend to do?
- Your device gives me some new capabilities, but I want to use something other than them. And I won't - you can hear some emotion in the child's mechanical voice for the first time. Is it caprice? Or is he as confused as I am about what is happening here?
- So what's next?
- That's up to you.
- What do you mean? - Of course, it's up to me. Is there anything in this story that's not up to me? Leave me alone, please. But my body seems to keep talking on automatic against my will. - What do I have to do?
- What you're here to do. You want to destroy us, go in there, damage the main hub. This will disrupt the data transmission to the mobile platforms, causing the reactors inside the platforms to short-circuit and explode. The reapers will be destroyed, as will any other technology nearby. Your entire fleet, the geth, the Citadel, the repeaters, and even the chip in your head will be non-functional. This will delay your extinction, but your children will re-invent the synthetics, and Chaos will return.
Shepard recoiled away from the platform the boy was pointing at. There was a picture before her eyes: a blast wave, blowing away everything in its path: satellites, asteroids, planets, just like in the Batarian system. The old stubbornness to achieve a goal reared its head again in the exhausted body.
To cause the genocide of several races, including humans? What would be left of intelligent life in that case? A handful of refugees in distant outposts with limited resources and no connection to the rest of the world. Become the cause of Earth turning into a radioactive wasteland - never. The blue planet stands before my eyes as a living reminder. The shaded side is ablaze, where humans, Azari, Turians, and half the peoples of the Galaxy are dying for their future, for the chance to live free of the Reaper threat. And that filthy synthetic bastard suggests we kill them all! How is that better than the Harvest? It's everything. Tears came to my eyes against my will. All that was worth fighting for and worth going through this hell for was her friends, team, and family. And the thousands of eyes that looked at her like an icon, that prayed and sent her the blessings of their gods so that she would have the strength to save them all. To make a meaningless sacrifice for those who didn't live to see this moment? No!
Are there any other options?
- You can plug yourself into our network and find a solution. The Reapers, the Citadel, the Repeaters, and all the network facilities would be at your mercy.
- Ironic, isn't it, that the Phantom was suitable? Can the Reapers be controlled?
- Yes, but he could never control us because we've already controlled him. Choose. The interface to connect to the network is over there," the boy pointed towards another platform; electrical flashes from a pair of electrodes glinted off the walls. A beautiful sight even, if you thought about it - dancing energy. Shepard moved slowly, leaning on the handrail towards the second platform, when the boy's voice reached her.
- You will die if you choose to join us. Your body is not designed for prolonged interaction with the interface. - She remains silent and continues to walk stubbornly towards her goal. - You will lose everything you have.
I don't care anymore. Go to hell.
***
To put it mildly, the human body is not designed for prolonged interaction with the interface. She'd been so bad before it seemed like it couldn't get any worse. The Reapers and their technology proved otherwise. Thousands of volts passing through her body put her in absolute agony, every cell exploding with pain. She had to watch her burnt skin fall away, exposing her muscles and internal implants, and then feel and watch them char and vaporise. To feel the energy and information pouring straight down the bone nerves doesn't even hurt, somewhere beyond the boundaries of perception, where it is no longer clear where the pain is and where the pleasure is. Thought is material. It seems it only takes one look at an object to destroy it or one thought to create an entire world. She thought of those she was doing it all for to get through it. For some reason, Anderson kept coming to mind, dying in her arms, Joker and his idiotic jokes, and Cayden. Love is a strange concept if you look at it logically. Look?
Her vision shifted to some strange angle. She could see her own charred skeleton hanging from electrodes and, at the same time, look through the eyes of that skeleton! How could a structure have eyes! A slight panic attack. This is a highly unusual situation. This is the first time we've been on this kind of ground. But we can handle it. Calm down, calm down. We?!
As if in response to her thoughts, hundreds of sounds exploded in her head: incomprehensible crackling, humming, clicking, pulsing ultrasound on the edge of perception, and thousands more sounds of the ordinary, familiar: voices, shouts, music! A piece of bizarre music was coming from every direction. As if from somewhere on the other side of the universe. God, where am I? I can't see. No! A thousand eyes lit up in response to that thought: all the cameras, the bugs, the observation devices, the VIs, the Reaper eyepieces, the look through the Husks at their own soldiers there on Earth and into deep space and beyond - all at strange angles, in different spectra, all at the same time. It was maddening! She tried to focus on one thing at a time. Among millions of eyes, she found familiar pictures. London. We're just recently from there. Shit, who's "we"?!
No, we can't get distracted. London! We must let them know that Gorn isn't working as we'd hoped. In response to that thought, consciousness slipped into someone's body - cold, unfeeling, unpleasant. The sensation of being in it is disgusting - this creature is an abomination! We all think so, but it's necessary to fulfil our purposes. Who's "we" again? A quick inspection showed that the body belonged to a husky who was huddled behind the barricade. His last thought was, "Aaaaagggggrrrrr!" It's disgusting. We've got to get out of here as soon as possible. No! We have to warn people first. Why? We need to come up with a new solution to the problem! Who's that?! It's us. Shut up and get out of my head! I'm you. What the hell? The devil is a human superstition dates back to the earliest times in human annals, based on pagan... Shut up!
The husky's body was also not meant to interact with the interface. From the battle of wits within him, he stepped out from behind the barricade and moved straight down the road, stumbling over every stone, towards the fortifications of the humans. The latter took him as a threat, and a sniper's bullet immediately smashed into his forehead between the eyepieces that replaced his eyes.
Shepard's consciousness was borne back into the darkness, a total of sounds and wild images. Tactile sensations were added to the extravaganza. To feel thousands of bullets slamming into you across the Galaxy at the same time as you thought the heat of organics being torn apart by your hands and the burns from lasers in space as fleets of organics attacked Reaper cruisers. The sensations aren't quite physical - they're information encoded in quantum signals. You feel it when you know it. If you want to, of course. You can switch off, or you can switch off the source. Thought is material in this world.
Energy, gigawatts of energy travelling through your veins from a thousand sources. Repeaters? The networks are feeding information. They all ask something. They all want something from us: questions, enquiries, reports. We can distribute the news, this stream here, that stream there. We see a concentration of energy in one node and failures in another! We should pay attention to this annoying detail. Energy should be distributed evenly. Priority on the given distribution exists on the encrypted protocol? Please give us an answer! We are scared. Please save us. Why is our forest burning?
What the hell is this? What forest? Consciousness slipped into another spiral in this endless anthill of information, energy, and images. Where did the enquiry come from? A matrix of cycle peoples. Instead of a name, only a set of symbols. Is that supposed to mean something? I want to understand what's happening! We can provide access to the higher processes of the mobile platform. Again, the title is just a set of symbols. How do I know their names? This is bullshit. We told you, but you're trying to translate the information into words - no need. It slows the system down.
Who's "we"?! Panic, panic grips my whole being. Fear of losing yourself in this... world. Such human fear is challenging to express in this out-of-body shell but clear and familiar. To experience emotion here, how is that possible? There's enough power in the equipment to simulate any neural process. We recommend against it; the simulation process takes a lot of computing power and is unnecessary for the system to function. I don't understand! The interface allows a digital copy of a connected individual's nervous system to be fed into the network. Billions of individuals like us are unaware they're in the programme. We do. We chose this. Shut up!
Back to the last thought - how hard it is to focus here - someone asked for help. "Ha, I didn't think our distress call would be answered by the Queen of the Girl Scouts herself." Where did that come from? Archived information, again a character set instead of a name, but a familiar character set, something I've seen before. Jack? It's a memory.
Help me! What's happening? Where did the signal come from? Consciousness has slipped into a separate large machine. V.I. reports damage to the hull. One of the servers is running heavily. The call comes from inside the matrix. They're praying. Who are they? The answer is a collection of symbols. Let me go to them. Authorisation passed, loading the visual image into the matrix. A sudden thought - all these words, this grinding voice, "their" voice, are not words at all, just clicks and buzzes, but I know what they mean. Those sounds used to be terrifying. We find direct FTL transmission more convenient. For the last time, who is "we"?! Download complete.
Suddenly, my mind drops down, and the next moment, I feel lousy. Lying on rocks somewhere, on scalding stones. A superficial examination reveals that my body resembles a lump of molten magma puddled on a rock. I am cold and freezing. Although the temperature on the surface of the planet is approaching 800 degrees centigrade, it is too low. I need more heat. The sky in this world is heavy, covered in clouds. The atmosphere would be poisonous to me. Gravity is very high, 10 -12zhe? But this body finds it acceptable. The damned sounds are gone, the whistling clicking voice at the edge of the creature is gone, "they" are gone. I can only see everything from one angle, an extraordinary angle, in some eerie colours. But there is only one picture. It's nice.
A river of lava is flowing nearby - it's not molten rock. It's congeners fleeing from the cold. One of them comes out of the river and asks. How does he do that? It's hard to say. Most like the touch of Javik, information straight to the brain, or rather its equivalent in this body, but not through communication, but through the rocks beneath us. Oneness with nature, literally.
- Master, tell me, what have we done wrong? Why are you sending coldness upon us?
In a surprise, I shrink into a spiny rock.
- Are you asking me?
- Of course, Master. You are our God. You keep our world safe. Tell me, what have we done wrong?
- I'm not a god, I don't know. What's your problem? - I'm getting nervous.
My companion is also a little surprised. He doesn't understand why I don't understand him. We have to get out of here.
In response to my next thought, my body is immediately in a darkness filled with sounds, images, and information. Everything is falling on us at the same time. I can't stand the noise. "Shh, please stop it!" - someone's voice from memory. That boy, David, I think. The sounds grow louder: requests for help, prayers, what "they" called them, coming from all directions. Clicks, squeaks, information, and flashes of colour. SILENCE. Everyone shut the hell up!!!
Copy, signalling all customers to go into standby mode.
Suddenly, the anthill is quiet and truly dark. I feel only myself. There is no one else. There never has been.
I realise I am dead.
A voice comes from far away. It sounds like SUZI's voice. Who is SUZI? Another memory.
- We can help.
If this entity I've locked myself into could breathe tiredly, it would.
- How can you help?
***
The Eighteenth Rifle Battalion, on Anderson's orders, took up positions in the Marriott Hotel near Parliament in London, on the other side of the Thames. This building, once an architectural monument, a landmark of one of the oldest cities on Earth, was now a scorched ruin. The top two floors had been destroyed in the Gatherer's explosion. The lower floors were swarming with huskies like zombies from a lousy post-apocalyptic horror film. The creatures were so dumb that they didn't even try to attack; they just walked around the walls, slamming their metal arms against the stones, tripping over each other, growling something incomprehensible. A good incentive for fighters - fight, or you'll be the same.
The other creatures were smarter. Modified turians and batarians, nicknamed raiders, were a real problem. These creatures attacked from afar. The former used sniper rifles, the latter heavy grenade launchers. Then there were the banshees, modified Azari with their chilling screams. And brutes - giant monsters made of who knows what, either elcor or some unknown creatures collected by the Reapers in the vastness of the Galaxy. The latter, fortunately, appeared right next to the Reapers, and the soldiers prudently stayed away from them.
Only a few soldiers remained in the battalion, supplemented by Normandy operatives. In the months they had spent in guerrilla warfare under Anderson's leadership, many comrades had died. It all feels like a nightmare, too unreal the events taking place. Earth has always been a safe haven for everyone. At the centre of Alliance space, surrounded by the most substantial security, the planet represented the symbol of humanity. It seemed that nothing could ever damage this harmony. And who would think of attacking the most protected human system? Not even the Batarians could do such a thing. But the Reapers proved otherwise, destroying all defence systems in days, leaving the surviving humans to fight from the sidelines. Hardly very effective, but surprisingly soothing. Every soldier had lost someone in this war, and every soldier sought revenge, even if it meant shooting back mindless huskies. Garrus's voice came through the headphones.
- Hey, Jim, stay awake! There's a raiding party on the bridge. Take them down before they give the Delta Squad a hard time," Vega pointed his scope at the bridge, where the Reaper soldiers were crawling and skipping. A husky was walking among them, twitching his limbs, not particularly stealthy. He looked strange. James Vega had never been to Horizon or the Collectors' base, nor had he seen a Harbinger take over the Collectors' bodies. But he'd seen hundreds of other Husks before, so he knew this was different. There was no desire to find out what was wrong. The Reapers couldn't develop anything good, so he put a bullet in the creature's forehead. Luckily, this husky died just like all the others. Aim right. Here's a raider crawling: shot in his arm and in his head, another one dead. How many have we had today?
- Hey, has anyone heard from Shepard? - He asked with little hope. That question was on everyone's mind now, and someone asked about her or Anderson at least once every fifteen minutes. But no one could give an answer.
- We know they're on the Citadel. Hackett reported a few minutes ago. Then, the connection went dead. Must be interference," Kaidan replies. He and the biotics are in another building across the river, and his voice is calm, which is odd. Poor guy. Everyone on the Normandy was aware of their affair with Shepard. "The perfect couple," they called them. How would I feel if I were him? Shepard is crazy; worrying about her every time she tries to heroically commit suicide is more likely to drive the worrier to suicide than her. I guess that's what it's all about. To be honest, after that explosion near the beam, I was concerned. Javik and Anderson were there with her. Garrus screamed at that choice, raring to go to the barricades with her. But she only said: "I move faster on my own, and he has nothing to lose, unlike you" - and looked expressively at Tali. I could have sworn Feathered was confused. I think there's something we don't know.
- So it will be soon, then. I hope this thing works.
- It should. I checked the scientists' reports after construction. We did the right thing, Liara's voice. She's a lovely little thing. But she's not a babe. She's seventy years older than me, if not more.
- The main problem is that we don't know how it's supposed to work, who invented it, or how to activate it, but other than that, everything's okay," Kaidan snapped again, probably a little nervous after all.
- Oh, you're a paragon of optimism," Garrus, he's nervous too.
- Wait, I think something's going on. Hackett is reporting that the Citadel is opening up - well, now Kayden is worried. I feel uneasy, too. A minute passes, two, five, ten. There's a tense silence in the air. There are screams, gunshots, explosions, but there's silence. Something is about to happen. Somebody's nerves are going to be shot.
- What's going on? Any news? - Garrus again.
- Hackett says Gorn joined the Citadel, and that's it. Nothing's happening. He can't get in touch with Shepard or Anderson ...
The end of the sentence hangs in the air. Because they could be dead. Somewhere in the back of his mind, he's getting wistful. Yes, he wasn't part of the 'old crew'. He knew Shepard less than any of the crew. But they'd managed to be friends with the captain. It would be hard not to be friends. It seemed Lola could charm anyone, bring peace to their souls with a couple of witty phrases, or, on the contrary, make them shoot themselves. She could.
- Shepard will think of something. Just give her time," Garrus doesn't believe, probably none of them do, that they can lose as long as Shepard is with us. If she's with us.
The Reaper fighters get active, and they start attacking. It's getting a bit of a heartbreak. You just have to shoot back. One's on the bridge, the other's climbing the wall. Take a grenade, fascist! A group of Huskies are scattered in different directions in pieces of flesh. There are a lot of negotiations on the air: distant posts are reporting to the command, someone is sending a request for reinforcements, and someone is openly shouting swear words. It's not hard to guess who the swear terms are intended for. Rex's squad, the enraged Krogan, crowd into the line of raiders and Rachni, tearing them to pieces with almost bare hands. They are covered from the first floor of a neighbouring building by a biotic barrier of Grissom Academy cadets led by some Azari commandos. A surprise attack, they always attack suddenly. It is unclear how long this frenzied attack lasts. The time count is lost. You can only orientate yourself to the beating of your heart and the crackle of gunshots. Suddenly, the husky he aimed at dropped as if switched off. He was sure he hadn't fired yet. Probably another sniper had taken a shot. But then a second one fell. Third, enemy squads began to fall without a struggle, without wounds, as if their energy had been drained.
- Did you see that?! - Some unfamiliar soldier shouted over the air, and he was answered by many voices from all sides of the city. The Reaper fighters were just falling to the ground. It looked like something was being done up there. The giant Reapers were still in working order, but they had stopped attacking and had sort of "sat down", covered themselves with armour and shields, hiding their vulnerabilities, and only glinted menacingly at the lights on the plating. What's going on?
- Hackett says the Citadel is closing, the Reapers have stopped attacking and are withdrawing to it.
- Is that Gorn? - Liara, you can hear the surprise in her voice. - What about Shepard and Anderson? Have you heard from them?
- No, still no contact. We don't know. Hackett wants to attack the Reapers while they're still strong. It looks like they've weakened their defences. Our observers report activity in the main cruisers is almost nil.
- I don't like that," Garrus replies suspiciously. - Wasn't that thing supposed to be another giant cannon? It could be a trap.
- We don't know what it was made for, but we can see the results,' Liara reasons. - 'I'm sure it's a Gorn action. Shepard must have found some kind of control panel up there and is now shutting down the Reaper defences so we can strike.
- You make sense, I'll tell Hackett," Kaidan goes silent, apparently talking to the General.
If the Reapers in space have disabled the defences, maybe the ones left on Earth are vulnerable, too.
- Hey, guys, what do you think about looking in these ruins for a bigger gun and hitting our Reaper, the one at Big Ben?
- Ha, I like your idea, man," came the voice of Urdnot Rex over the airwaves. - 'If the enemy won't fight, let's provoke him! To Tuchanka!
A herd of krogan ran across the bridge, kicking up dust underfoot, trampling the lifeless bodies of the synthetics. This is gonna be fun.
***
The darkness clears. The sounds are gaining strength again, but now they're behind a wall, muffled. A glowing figure emerges from the darkness, another hologram like the Catalyst. The figure is female, SUZI? No, the face is familiar, but it's not SUZI. Red hair, green eyes, it's...
- We can help," a voice like the inner voice that sounded in my head when I was human. It's me. I've seen this face in the mirror a thousand times.
- How can you help? - it's me too, same voice, must be the same appearance. How strange.
- Systematise the information. We think like a human being. Conscious and subconscious. This equipment is adapted for total control. There are no hidden processes for the administrator. All methods are coordinated simultaneously - a machine way of processing, like keeping track of your heartbeat and doing mathematical calculations in your mind while under enemy fire simultaneously. We're not synthetic. That would drive us insane.
- I agree, but why are you talking about yourself in the plural?
- I'm not talking about me. You are. We are one.
- You mean there's two of us?
- No. We're one.
- I see. So I was talking to myself all the time back in the anthill?
- Yeah.
- You know, you scared the hell out of me. Why doesn't this whole thing drive you crazy?
- I'm sorry. We're one thing, but we're different. I'm an abstraction, subconscious, there's never been a limit to us. We've seen this before: the protean beacon, the Geth network on Rannoch," the doppelganger's voice is uncertain. - It's bigger now, more prominent in scale. But we can handle it. You're a consciousness. You have many rules. Here - almost all of them need to be fixed. You'll go mad if you keep the system's architecture the same. We can't let that happen.
- Why not?
- You need more access to our new body's systems. I used to watch everything, and you didn't know until you had to. Like pain - it signals that a part of the body is out of order and action is required. At all other times, you don't think about how things work.
- I see where you're going with this now. I, too, need to remember to breathe to keep living.
- That's an apt comparison. We are anxious. We need to continue to exist to fulfil the task.
- What task?
- The catalyser told us. We must preserve organic intelligence. We must come up with an alternative to the Harvest.
Shepard looked around. Apart from the doppelganger, there was no one and nothing in the endless darkness.
- Where had all the voices gone? I'm not complaining, but aren't they supposed to drive me crazy? While talking, is there anything unpleasant, like the repeater exploding?
- It's already blown up.
- What?!
- You just told everyone to shut up," the doppelganger said with irony. Great, the alter ego is playing a joke on me. - Our resources took it as a signal to shut down: Repeaters, Citadel, Reapers, mobile units, and databases in deep space. The only way to transmit that signal across the Galaxy is through a repeater with a powerful electromagnetic pulse. The repeater in the solar system has been destroyed by overload. The others are simply switched off.
- There's no need to be sarcastic," she replied with irritation. - We're one, remember? You could have stopped me.
The doppelganger smiles sardonically and remains silent. Even better.
- What's the loss in the system? Any damage to the ground?
- We have yet to hear word on the system's status. Ground units are on standby, mobile platforms as well. The reapers in space have now surrounded the Citadel and await further instructions. The ground units are on the defensive, awaiting instructions. We suspect that the electromagnetic pulse may have damaged some of the systems of the allied ships. We hope everything is in order.
A wave of unease ran through the darkness in response to the doppelganger's words. It was as if a biotic screen had passed through his body. Shepard asked in surprise.
- Are you scared? How is that possible?
- You're scared too," the doppelganger snarled. - I remember why we're here. I feel why we're here. I will never forgive you if everything we sacrificed is meaningless because of your tantrum.
The doppelganger's voice sounds like a Jericho trumpet - the epitome of guilt. Mordin, Ashley, Thayne, Palaven, Thessia, Earth. We remember them. We fight for them. Consciousness and subconsciousness switch places, we feel thousands of electrical impulses travelling along our new nerves. We hear the screams of our charges, the V.I. requests to the server. We're under attack. What do we do?
Strangely, all these sounds are not maddening now, as if the emotions have been left somewhere in that locked dark room, along with the two incarnations of me. There are only numbers and data streams now, no feelings at all. There is a task. The mobile platforms are under attack, and an instant response from the database confirms that one of the peoples' receptacles is in danger. The individuals within it are concerned. They're asking for clarification. We need to go in there. Data download...
We find ourselves inside a mobile platform. Its design is organic and comfortable. How could we ever fear and destroy these creatures before? There are several virtual servers inside the platform. One is in charge of the higher processes: the platform's actions. It's vile - it performed the Harvest and needs to be rewritten. They all need to be rewritten. It's a V.I., like the Catalyst. He is stupid. But in his stupidity, he is more competent than any of the humans or even the Geth. We suddenly realise why we refer to ourselves as "we". I am everywhere. A simultaneous process running on all devices at low priority until I wish to seize machine control. There are many I'm around. We are thinking in parallel. How amusing! Meanwhile, another part of me is exploring Reaper, the mobile platform.
The second server contains billions of programs, like the Geth node, to control ground units. That's why they're all so stupid: it's not even a W.I., just a programme: kill, fetch, climb. Now, all together in the server, the ground units, huskies, and other transformed ones are left behind. The third server, the biggest, most powerful - the central part of the Reaper - supports the virtual reality matrix. It contains neuro-copies of what? Um, the same people who complained about the burning forest. A people that died out long before the Protheans. The matrix programme is exciting. Their world is perfect: no war, no disease, no sorrow, no death.
The neuro-copy is downloaded into their world cell without memories of the Harvest. They are happy. They are in their paradise. Colonists? I destroyed the Reaper with the colonists. Gods, what a loss. Sadness fills all beings. People and fleets around our resources hear a sound like a scream, like singing on all frequencies. It is a cry of longing. What have we done! People near the mobile platform fall over and cover their ears with their hands, they think we are using weapons. We've got to stop. One of the spears warns us that we're wasting too many resources on simulating emotions. She's right.
The main V.I.P. is reporting an attack. On our signal, they've shut down defences, shut down all systems, and gone into standby mode, maintaining matrix power only. The Allied fleets wanted to take advantage of that. They've already damaged one of the backup nodes. Inside the matrix, the neuro-copies are crying out to their gods, asking them for peace, asking them to put out the fire in their forest. We can inspire them. They think we are God. I want to go down to them. Data download.
This world is like a fairy tale. Like a mysterious elf forest from the old books. Giant trunks rise higher up to the sky, spreading lush crowns, some trees intertwined with branches and roots. The atmosphere is dotted with stars, and three multi-coloured moons illuminate the sky and the treetops with a bluish light. I am the tallest tree. The technology of this species was unique, similar to the Rachni ships. They could change their appearance as needed, enveloping themselves in a biotic barrier and travelling further into the Galaxy through repeaters. They could turn any planet into a paradise through unique terraforming techniques. Biological development - no industrialisation, no resource extraction. Everything is self-created. Life requires only light, which is the source of information. They didn't create synthetics in their Cycle. They just lived. Others did everything for them, which caused the Reapers to appear. The neuro-copies are recycled and devoid of memories of the war, but there is a local copy on the server. I can feel their pain. The Harvest is an abomination.
A glow of light flies through the branches; it's a message, and you can absorb it with the skin of your leaves. It's a plea for help. They think I'm a god. The Catalyst is a vain bastard. We'll have to change the matrix program. I'll be a friend, nothing more. I promise them safety. I create a light that goes around in waves. They trust me.
The V.I. reports another attack. A machine can't feel fear. A message from it is just information. But here, I can feel their fear. I can see the glow of the fire. The neurocopy is split, linked to the full, and the memory can return under great stress. Right now, those trees that are burning are remembering their deaths. That can't happen. I leave the matrix and immerse myself in my world, full of darkness, bright flashes and energy streams.
We order the VI to erase the unit programs on the second server and redistribute the matrix server's power to it. The fire stops, and the Reaper switches on shields and the mass effect generator. Request - attack? No. We return to the Citadel and order all mobile platforms to gather units and withdraw from the planets. We call them to assemble at the Citadel. We request them to activate defence shields. No paradise, no race will be disturbed by this war. They are my concern now, I will protect them. Yes, we will protect them. That is a worthy goal.
***
We've been in the system for months. Most of the Reapers are inside the Citadel, the Citadel is closed, and there is no communication with the outside world. The beam that brought us here is off, we don't make the same mistakes. Some Reapers are guarding us all outside. They're keeping sabotage teams out. I'm listening to the airwaves, the organics are worried, they don't know what's going on, they don't know if the Gorn worked. I don't know how to tell them. It shouldn't be necessary. We only touch them once they touch us. The Harvest is over, the Cycle is broken, it's up to you.
We have yet to reach a consensus on the Catalyst problem. We're still trying to make a decision. The dominant view is to observe and collect data. We didn't realise it would be so difficult to agree with ourselves. As an interim measure, I've warned the Geth and every other more or less intelligent VI in the Galaxy: if you dare to plot anything against the organics, I'll kill you. SUZI has promised to take us on if she wants to take over the world. She's got a couple of extra restrictions now, like not explaining anything about me to anyone. She probably doesn't like it, but our equipment and power are better, which counts in a fight between two A.I.s. But we don't think she's a threat. She's too human. After Joker's death, we can invite her to the Consensus. It'll be nice to talk to someone other than ourselves for a change.
We talk to each other, study the worlds of our charges, and marvel. How much unique technology our friends represent. Amazingly, the Catalyst used such ugly forms of expressing themselves to achieve their goals. Yes, they are the most energy-efficient and economical to manufacture, but there are other priorities. I guess the bastard just wasn't programmed to understand aesthetics. I feel hatred for him. My copies warn me it takes too many resources to maintain the emotion simulation. I tell them to shut up. I didn't erase his program. It's still stored on one of the local servers in a neighbouring galaxy. As a reminder of what we're not allowed to become.
As time passes, the power to sustain emotion takes too much. Months pass, and the organics patrol the space around us, but they are no longer attacking, just exercising reasonable caution. Some fleets have scattered out of the system to the nearest repeaters. I know they're wary of finding only shrapnel in their place, and everything is working again. Of course, even at FTL, reaching the nearest repeaters will take several years. I don't care.
I found Earth on one of the worlds. There's never been a war there. All the victims of the Harvest are collected by the units and recycled and stored as neuro-copies. My own is often there. It takes a few resources to simulate the emotions of just one copy. We're all happy when she's there.
— La fin — Écrire un avis
État de l’alimentation hebdomadaire
-- Classement
Power Stone 
-- Power
stone