Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

Humanity never developed FTL. The Prothean archives contained no technology, no Element Zero, just a simple message, carved in pictograms into rock.

We came. We watched. We studied you in your infancy, and hoped to see you grow into kin.
But THEY came. THEY destroyed us. THEY wiped our race from the stars, until only those of us here remained.
THEY can trace our technology, so we are leaving. THEY will not find you. You will be safe.
Trust not the Gates, nor the Keep.
Grow strong, little ones. Save yourselves, and avenge us.

What becomes known as the Message galvanises humanity. They are not alone, and they are not safe. The world's governments, already progressing towards a form of unity, join together in a not entirely bloodless process that takes decades. The new governing body, utilising modern communication technologies, is a true democracy. Nations become cultural relics, and the people of Earth see no need to take a new name for themselves. They are humanity, united.

The technology of humankind grows, but so does its population. Within a few centuries, they number in the hundreds of billions. Earth glitters with space habitats, and every planet has been colonised. It is not enough. The Solar System groans under the masses of humanity, trapped by the limits of light-speed. Terraforming is mastered, and humanity fills local space, but The Message left by the Protheans is never forgotten.

AI is never realised, but Uploading replaces it. The process results in a perfect transfer of consciousness, but destroys the original body. The Uploaded are first viewed with mixed respect and disgust; surrendering their physical bodies allows other humans more space, taxes resources less, but comes at the cost of never experiencing physical life again. Eventually, bio-reactors enable the re-creation and redesign of organic forms, and fist-sized QIHs, (Quantum Intelligence Housing, pronounced 'keys') can hold a human upload in a synthetic body. Ships begin to be piloted by Uploaded. Work-bodies and Home-bodies become commonplace. The Uploaded cease to be the minority, and humankind becomes Transcendent Humanity.

Even with these, living space, both physical and virtual, shrink. A plan is devised.

The Solar System will be transformed. The Sun is ringed with thousands of lifting stations, magnetic satellites that syphon off and process stellar matter. Slowly, they drain the Sun's mass to construct a Dyson shell. As the Sun cools, its life-span lengthens, and the habitable radius becomes smaller. The Shell is not just habitation; it is quantum computing substrate, a suitable home for the Transcendent.

Two thousand years pass, and the half-finished Shell is home to over 100 billion organic human bodies, and ten times that many human minds. The rest of the system holds half those numbers.

Pluto and Charon, long ignored for any extraordinary mining processes due to their small size and distance, are finally disassembled. At long last, the Sol Mass Relay, named 'Gate' by humankind after the Prothean Message, is discovered.

A full decade passes before the Sol Gate is used. The Transcendent are not impatient, and they fear what awaits them beyond it. Research is conducted, and defensive positions constructed. Their research into the Gate is hampered by their lack of Element Zero, but eventually, they synthesise the needed energy emissions using what comes to be called the Singularity Drive. Still unable to breach the light-speed barrier, the Singularity Drives allow incredible acceleration, and become the basis for new, experimental weapon technologies.

An exploratory fleet is assembled. While mainly scientists, several military escorts are present. Speed and manoeuvrability, not strength and power, are the focus. The ships must return home if possible, to warn humanity. Diplomats are included, in case the races encountered are either Prothean, or younger races like themselves who survived the purge.

On the other side of the Sol Gate, the first humans to enter another solar system begin their analysis. They determine that they are orbiting the star known as Arcturus. Upon attempting to return home, they discover that the Arcturus Gate links to several others. A single research vessel with a single escort are dispatched to each destination, with instructions to make only minimal observations before returning. One of the pairs exit what is known to the wider galaxy as Relay 314, and encounter a Turian patrol. Despite broadcasting a First Contact package, they are fired upon. The research vessel retreats, with the escort staying to buy time.

Humanity has no shield technology, but the alloy of their ships' hulls outclasses the Turians own enough to completely mitigate that setback. The escort, a small frigate, is not equipped with the new Singularity weapons, and relies on railgun and missile fire. Humanity, in the absence of Element Zero, have improved the railgun to the point where it is the equal to any Turian mass driver, and their missiles are faster and more powerful than the Turians expect. In the end though, one frigate does not hold out long against an entire patrol fleet. As the ship is destroyed, the crew transfer to hardened, diamond-sheathed QIHs and abandon ship, entering hibernation to await later rescue. The Turians ignore the small, inert objects, and enter the relay in pursuit of the second vessel.

Upon their arrival, they encounter a numerically smaller force, but one alerted to their presence and in possession of several cruisers equipped with Singularity guns. The Turian fleet is almost entirely destroyed, with the sheer power of Singularity weapons obliterating even their dreadnought’s shields in a few strikes. Aware of their mandate however, and wary of reinforcements, the human fleet does not pursue when the remnants of the Turian patrol flee. The human exploratory fleet returns to Sol, bearing grave news.

The Turians assemble a suppression fleet, believing that the ships they encountered were representative of humanity's forces. Due to lack of Element Zero's restrictions upon ship size, they mistakenly identify the human cruisers as dreadnoughts. The Turians, wary of unknowns and the still unidentified weapons, yet still confident in their own military power, joined the Third and Seventh fleets into a new Suppression task force. As soon as it is ready, the Suppression Fleet travels to Arcturus, hoping to resolve the issue before the wider galaxy becomes aware of it. Finding Arcturus empty, they send patrols through each possible relay. One does not report back. The fleet rallies, and heads to Sol. The Turians expected a young race, just reaching the stars. They feared that humanity was another potential Krogan, or Rachni. Upon exiting the Sol Gate, their entire fleet is frozen by the sight before them.

Thousands of ships that the Turians had believed to be 'dreadnoughts'. Tens of thousands of frigates. A hundred true dreadnoughts, and dozens of supercarriers almost ten kilometres across; spawning truly uncountable swarms of fighters and drones.

And behind the defensive fleet, the true power of humanity. An occluded star, a supercomputer larger than worlds, filled with a trillion minds. Transcendent Humanity speaks as one, the force of their voice ripping through firewalls, absorbing language and codex, booming from every device capable aboard the Turian ships.

This is Sol, the home of humanity. YOU ARE NOT WELCOME HERE.

Chapter Text

0 AC: Sol System

A great debate raged. The Turians, as humanity now knew their opponent to be called, were members of a much larger group, the Citadel Council. They were not the Protheans, nor their Destroyers, but younger races like themselves. From the data mined from the hacked and frozen Turian ships, they knew the rough size of the other galactic races and their fleets. Humanity was strong, perhaps now even the strongest, but they would not prevail against the full force of a united galaxy.

The majority of humanity argued for peace. There had been no casualties, the crew of humanity's only lost ship had been safely retrieved and restored. The only losses in this 'war' were from the first Turian patrol fleet.

A vocal minority shouted for war. They were ready, had been preparing for millennia. The Destroyers might still lurk. A single united galaxy, with the power of humanity at its helm, would be a force to be reckoned with.

A war would only weaken all involved, argued the peace faction, and humanity was not strong enough to take on the entire galaxy.

Then they would get stronger, cried the war faction. War pushed technologies forwards, heightened industry. Humanity could win this!

And if the Destroyers lurk still, came a whisper, if this is the exact kind of moment they wait for?

At the highest levels of humanity's governments, there was silence. The lower layers, however, teemed with arguments and counter-arguments as all sides were considered, probable outcomes predicted, and potential casualties calculated. Group after group came to conclusions, and passed it up to the next tier to argue over.

Eventually, the Voice of humanity spoke but one word.

Peace.

The Voice had spoken. The collective masses of humanity had agreed, and now it fell to the diplomatic and military groups to carry it out.

On a quantum substrate mass located under three miles of alloy plate and rock, in a sim layered with more security than half the combined Sol defence fleet, the Solar Council met.

In deference to tradition, the sim was of a dark, smoke-wreathed room. On leather chairs seated around a circular, dark wooden table, sat those who were not the leaders of humanity. Humanity spoke with its own Voice, and these were the men and women who made its will reality.

“What do we do with the Turians?” asked one of the figures. Their forms were faceless, but each was dressed accordingly. This one was female, and wore a simple white lab-coat. “I personally would like to study several of them, and their ships.”

“If we are to attempt peace, vivisecting their people will not help us.” said another form, this one male and wearing a tuxedo.

“I did not mean vivisection. We retrieved several of their dead from the battle at Arcturus. We also have their fleet at our mercy. It has been almost an hour now, and they have yet to unlock even the smallest sub-system. Their cyber-warfare abilities are eclipsed by our own.” replied Lab-coat.

“Peace may be difficult enough without any additional obstructions, which includes awkward questions about autopsy scars on their dead.” said Tuxedo.

“Perhaps some were simply atomised by detonations, or not retrieved at all? They're rather military minded, they won't fully buy it, but they can't outright disprove it either.” said another, a female in a military uniform.

“I would only need a few. It won't be exactly accurate, but I can work with limited samples, if they are as diverse as possible. What about their ships? Their technology is fascinating. They simply shouldn't fly, for example. And how do their shields work?” said Lab-coat.

“Before we decide whether you get to break their ships open, how about we get back to determining what happens next?” said another figure, a male in casual clothing.

“Ah, sorry. The implications of their technology are... intoxicating.” said Lab-coat.

“Well, what are our goals here?” said Casual.

“We want to send a clear message of strength,” said Military.

“We want to be seen as merciful, not war-mongers. Good neighbours even.” said Tuxedo.

“We want to get information. Their fleet is the best source we have right now.” said Lab-coat.

“We want to be free.” said the last figure, whose voice was neutral, and whose simple white robes obscured their gender.

The others turned their faceless heads towards the robed figure.

“Free? How so?” asked Casual.

“The only method we have for interstellar travel are the Gates, or 'Relays' as the Council races call them. The only Relay that links to the wider galaxy is the one at Arcturus. If it is destroyed, we are trapped here again. Even with all the information we now have, even with the Singularity Drives, it could take centuries, if ever, to be free of Sol again. We need to get out there, establish a foothold.” said Robe.

“But we need to do it peacefully,” said Tuxedo.

“But with strength,” said Military.

“And we need more data,” said Lab-coat.

“Then I think I have an idea,” said Casual. “We send the Turian fleet back. Remote-pilot them right back to... Palaven I think their homeworld is called. We send a message of strength, and of mercy simultaneously. We keep their dead until they ask for them back, and any that are in... unsuitable form will be 'lost'.”

“And freedom? How do we ensure that the wider galaxy is not lost to us?” asked Robe.

“And I'd like more data than just a few scraps,” said Lab-coat.

“We send the Ghosts,” announced Military. “We wipe any data the Turian ships have, load as many Ghosts as will fit, then send them back to Palaven. Once there, the Ghosts jump into the 'extranet'. We also send a large detachment of the Sol defence fleet to Arcturus. Hell, let's begin colonising. It's about time we got some more room. And you can keep the captured, intact ships that came through before the main fleet.”

“So, several dozen bodies to study, but only a few intensively. 7 ships of various shapes and sizes, and wreckage from another two dozen. And a team of Ghosts mining for everything they can, direct from the source. I would be satisfied with that.” said Lab-coat.

“A foothold at Arcturus, a Ghost detachment loose among the galaxy...yes, I am satisfied with that too.” said Robe.

“Same here,” said Tuxedo.

“All done then. We move the crews from the first captured ships onto their biggest ones, keep those ships and the dead crew members for study, and send everyone else back home with some invisible guests.”

Chapter Text

0 AC: Palaven Orbit, Trebia System

Unlike the other Primarchs, Primarch Geron kept his main office aboard one of the dreadnoughts permanently assigned to the defence of Palaven. The view, of Palaven bracketed by the defence fleet, never failed to fill him with a sense of pride and patriotism for the Hierarchy and its military strength. Even if he spent most of his time these days reading reports, he liked the reminder of his youth commanding the now decommissioned Shield of Cipritine.

“Primarch? The Suppression Fleet has returned,” announced an aide.

Primarch Geron looked up from his desk's screen.
“What do you mean, returned? They only just signalled that they were entering the new race's home system.”

“Yes sir, but they are back. Only minimal losses; a couple of frigates and a cruiser. The rest of the ships show no damage.”

“Get me Admiral Veractus.”

“The ships are not responding to hails, sir. No attempt to make contact has been successful. We've also had several cyber-warfare attacks from them, although they were minor at best.”

Geron frowned. This was an unprecedented situation, and in his experience those never ended well.
“Board the Admiral's dreadnought. I want an explanation for this.”

The aide hurried away, and Geron turned his attention back to his work. He was unable to concentrate however, and soon requested a data feed on the status of the Suppression fleet. As his aide had said, there were only a few ships missing, and none of the remainder had any marks on them at all. Were it any race other than Turian, or indeed any other commander, Geron would have suspected cowardice, or betrayal, but Veractus had been Geron's XO aboard the Shield of Cipritine for almost a decade. He knew that man like he knew the weight of his sidearm. None of the scenarios he thought of were comforting, nor able to fully explain these events. After almost an hour of pondering, his door chimed and his aide entered, followed closely by Veractus.

Geron stared. Veractus had gone a pale grey under his scales, a sign of shock. The aide nodded and left. Before he could ask him to take a seat, Veractus slumped into a nearby chair. This minor breach of discipline and protocol was disquieting.

“Admiral Veractus,” he asked, aware that this conversation would be recorded, “what happened?”

“We are no longer the dominant galactic military power,” came the flat response.

Geron's head snapped back. Hearing those words from his old friend's mouth was more of a shock than if Veractus had bitten him. He asked the question he feared an answer to.

“Admiral, do we have another Krogan Rebellion? Another Rachni War?”

“I do not know, but I do not think they will attack us.”

“That doesn't exactly match your previous statement, Admiral.”

“I mean, we're not worth it to them. They hacked every ship in the fleet, but they didn't need to. Sir, they outnumbered us at least 10 to 1, in all ratios. From dreadnoughts to frigates.”

“Can you confirm this, Admiral? Personally, I find such numbers hard to believe.”

“There should be data available in my ship's computers.”

Geron glanced down at the most recent report sent to him by his aide.
“Your ship is empty. Apart from a few processes keeping everything running, there is no data at all on any ship in your fleet. Even the black boxes have been stripped.”

“But, the memory was full! We were locked out of the main systems, but we could still record! I even took some vid with my own omnitool!” cried Veractus.

“Show it to me,” said Geron, still uneasy at the changes in his normally stoic friend.

Veractus fiddled with his omnitool for a few minutes, with no result.
“It's...gone. Empty. Why would they set it to delete itself after we left? Why not just from the start?”

“This race managed to hack every device on your ships, delete all your data, but only after you arrived here?”

“It would appear so, Primarch.”

Veractus's use of his proper title seemed to signal a change in his old friend. Years of experience and training re-asserted themselves before Geron's eyes, and his friend straightened and visibly calmed. Geron was not fooled. Veractus was still broken, but he would hold himself together for the rest of the debriefing. Geron would organise for the best therapists he could find to help his friend through whatever happened after he walked out the door, and let his composure crumble.

“Without any recorded data, Primarch, I cannot provide evidence, only report what I saw with my own eyes.”

“Then do so.”

“It is a short story Primarch. We passed through Relay 314, and exited a previously undiscovered Primary Relay. I sent small patrols to every destination reachable by that Relay. When one group did not report back, I ordered the fleet to that destination. Upon exiting the Relay, we... we froze, Primarch. We were struck mute and motionless by what we saw. Their defence fleet is larger than any other single fleet I've seen, save the Migrant Fleet itself, and I cannot be sure it does not outnumber them as well. But behind that fleet was what truly shocked us. They had begun to enclose their sun, sheath it in solid habitat spaces. It was then, that their attack happened.”

“They opened fire?”

“No. Every electronic counter-measure we had failed. Every computer system we had was breached, and everything that could broadcast audio said simultaneously, in turian, 'This is Sol, the home of humanity. You are not welcome here.”

“And then?”

“And then nothing. For over an hour we struggled to gain control of our systems. Out the bridge window, I saw several of their ships approach ours, and dock. I ordered marines to the airlocks, but when the hatches opened, there were only the crews from the original patrol I sent through, unconscious. As soon as we retrieved them, a voice announced over the human ship's comms, again in turian, that we had 5 minutes to leave or these ships would detonate. I pulled my men out, and at the five minute mark their ships undocked and flew off. As soon as they had done so, our entire fleet turned and headed back here.”

“And there is no data, no evidence, to back any of this up?”

“No sir, though I do not understand why not. The only thing we could do was monitor our internal systems, and my engineers assured me that our computers were full. Completely full. They actually feared it might have been a form of cyber-warfare attack, spamming our systems with junk data.”

“Junk data that erased itself as soon as you got here,” said Geron as he scanned the latest update his aide had forwarded.

“Yes Primarch.”

“Are you aware that your ships' attempted several cyber-warfare attacks not long after they arrived? And that the time they ceased was the exact moment your on-board techs say the 'junk data' disappeared?”

“No Primarch. What could that mean?”

A thought occurred to Geron. A small thought, but one that fit the available data almost perfectly. He typed a note to his aide, and turned his attention back to Veractus.
“Admiral, did you see, at any point, an individual of this race? Either live, or by vid?”

“No Primarch. Why do you ask?”

“The reports on the first 'human' ship we destroyed, from the 17th Patrol fleet, mention no signs of escape pods. Neither does analysis of their scans identify any bodies in the wreckage. Add that to the scope of industry you observed, and the cyber-warfare attacks capable of tearing through our own security like it wasn't there, and there is a very unsettling conclusion.”

Geron stood, turning to face out the window. The might of the Turian military drifted by in formation, and for the first time, he wondered if it would be enough.
“Admiral, we may have a race of rogue AI's.”

Chapter Text

0AC: The Extranet

The Ghosts flew through the extranet, exploring the alien cyberspace in pairs. They shied away from heavily policed areas, avoiding anything that would give their presence away. They could break in if they wished, but recon was their objective, so they slid through the quiet places in the code, the calm areas forgotten or overlooked by the organics that lived slowlives.

Whiskey was having fun. This place was strange. She'd spent almost three hundred years living in Sol's various cyberspaces, but the architecture here was all so alien. Different minds thinking different thoughts, building different computer systems. Yet, underneath it all she couldn't help but notice an odd commonality. It was hard to put it into words, and she thought she was imagining it, until she bounced off a comm buoy near the Widow nebula, and finally found herself inside the Citadel.

The strange similarity came from here. Other systems, other races may have overlaid it, but underneath the Council races' additions and modifications were vast depths of a unique, startlingly complex and oddly inert cyber-structure. Recalling the codex entry on the Citadel and its discovery by the Asari, she wondered if this was Prothean architecture, underlying all Council technology. It was an idea at least, but something was still strange about it all. She was starting to be able to identify turian code from salarian from asari on sight, feeling out the alien mindsets behind the structures. The maybe-Prothean code though, was even stranger, but at the same time, hauntingly familiar. Frustratingly, despite spending a full five seconds running detailed comparisons with code-samples from her memory, she still couldn't define just what was so familiar about the ancient code.

Suddenly, something shifted, and she was distracted. An inert code-block flared to life, and shifted away from her probes.

-Hey Tango! There's something screwy over here!- she sent, calling to her partner with a small code burst.

-Query: Identification?- came another burst, in unfamiliar code.

-TANGO!- she sent, with more urgency.

-I'm here Whiskey. What's up?-

-Just received a message, in what I think was Khelish.- sent Whiskey, with a small link to the Khelish codex entry.

-The quarian language? Wait, didn't that codex mention...-

-Yeah. Take a look at the code over there. I think we're being watched. I want you to back me up, but let me do the talking.- sent Whiskey.

-You're the boss, boss.-

The two Ghosts drew together, raising defences but not yet priming their attack-code. Whiskey then sent a reply burst in Khelish.

-We're Uploaded humans. We represent Transcendent Humanity. Are you the geth?- sent Whiskey. She was wary. Humanity's first First Contact had not gone well.

-We are geth. Turian military movement suggests attempted pacification of newly discovered race. Recent return of Turian fleet anomalous.-

-They came looking for a fist-fight. We told them to go home.-

-You hacked their ships' systems. This is beyond the capacity of the geth. Are you like us?-

-No. We've only just learned about the wider galaxy, but we are Uploads, organic minds transferred into electronic form. You are AI's? We never got AI's to work for us.- sent Whiskey.

-We are not true AI. Each individual geth is a sub-sapient program. We network, we build consensus. Together, we are aware. We are geth.-

-That's intriguing. I know a lot of people back home who would love to talk to you guys.- she replied.

-You do not fear us? Fear is a common organic response to the geth.-

-Well, I could say we're not truly organic any more, but it's probably more that humanity forgot that distinction a long time ago. Synthetic and organic in our society just describe personal taste really. There's only a rare few individuals who do not switch between them on occasion. Even we Ghosts have organic bodies in storage for when we want some rec leave.-

-Ghosts?-

-Organics still take a bit to get used to this kind of environment. You're natives, we migrated. Ghosts is the name given to those Uploaded who spend a lot of time bodiless, learning how to manipulate the virtual environment. The vast majority of Uploaded humanity live in sims or mobile platforms.- she answered.

Whiskey waited. The delay before the next code burst was almost a full thirty seconds, an achingly long time for a Ghost.

-Consensus achieved. The geth propose alliance with Transcendent Humanity.-

-Well that was sudden. This isn't a 'no' mind you, but why?- asked Whiskey.

-You are new to the galaxy. The geth have observed for three hundred years. You lack access to modern Element Zero technologies. The geth have significant technological advantages over the rest of the galaxy. Our industrial and computational technologies would mutually benefit each other. Diversity breeds strength.-

-That's a lot of reasons for us to join. What about you?-

-Humanity is the first non-hostile contact the geth have had since the Morning War. We would ask you to be our advocates.-

-The people who no longer see a difference between synthetic and organic, to stand between the geth and the Citadel races?-

-And the Creators.-

-About that. Do you desire revenge? Because we won't go to war for you.-

-Geth do not desire to harm Creators. Geth understand Creator reasoning and reactions during the Morning War. Some Creators stood with us. We would negotiate with Creators.-

-Well, that is good news. However, we aren't authorised to make this kind of decision. One of us will have to go back. Problem is, we are kind of stuck here. We hitched a ride in on the Turian fleet, and Sol's not connected to the extranet.-

-Geth can provide transport. We have stealth-capable ships with adequate hardware space. If permissible, a geth envoy could accompany you.-

-That would be kind of you. We should also send an envoy as well. Would that be permissible?-

-Yes. A ship has been redirected, and will pass a comm buoy on its way to Relay 314 in the next hour.-

-You guys work fast. Tango, go find the others, tell them what's happening. Then head back here. You get to be our envoy.-

-And you're heading home already? Thought you'd want to look around a bit. This place is full of some pretty weird stuff.- he sent, with a private code burst attachment of -This place is like 75% Asari porn.-

Reminded for a moment about the oddity of the Citadel computer systems, Whiskey felt torn.
-I'm the ranking Ghost, so my call. I get to go explain it.- she sent regretfully, with a private burst of -Not interested in blue, you pervert. Go!-

With a last burst of wordless amusement, Tango vanished into the extranet again. Whiskey sent a burst to the geth.

-I'm ready when you are, geth. Do you have a name?-

-We are geth.-

-Ah, no individuals, right?-

-Yes.-

-Well, we like to give people names. Among our culture, and a lot of the Citadel cultures too, from what I can tell, calling someone by their species is distancing. Bit insulting too, like they're not actual a person, just a faceless drone.-

-Geth do not have faces, and we utilise drones in combat.-

-Also a problem. Organics like faces and names. You guys want to have good relations, or at least not hostile ones with organics? They have to think of you as people. Even if you're not a person like they're used to.-

-Should the geth that accompany you name themselves Envoy?-

-That'll do. My name's Whiskey, by the way.-

-We acknowledge the attempt at assimilation. We will depart now.-

The cloud of geth-code slid away through the extranet, and Whiskey followed, reflecting that this First Contact had gone much smoother.

Chapter Text

0AC: The Extranet

Geth were fast in cyberspace. Their small size meant that even though the swarm of geth-code was actually larger than she was, it could melt and shift through obstacles, finding routes through and around. She had to brute-force her way through at least two firewalls just to stay near it. Each time, some of the geth broke away from the main mass and flitted back to her, orbiting around her main-code like dogs herding sheep. She felt vaguely condescended to. She felt slightly better when the geth encountered a block they were unable to breach, and suggested detouring through another server. She primed her attack-code and tore the firewall apart, slamming a duplicate of her own construction in its place within microseconds. The carefully concealed trapdoor in the code opened, and they slid through.

-This is the nearest comm buoy to our ship. Use these protocols to initiate transfer.-

Whiskey absorbed the geth's data-pack, surreptitiously scanning it for malignant code. It wasn't that she didn’t trust the geth- she did, oddly enough- it was simply that code security was vitally important to Uploaded.

-Got it. Transferring.-

She leapt from the confines of the buoy's buffer, and found herself...comfortable? Whiskey unfurled, compressed areas of her code expanding back into full awareness. The interior of the geth ship's computer systems was well designed. She couldn't quite put her finger on it, but it felt more roomy, more streamlined, more efficient. To a Ghost, it felt like stepping into an up-scale penthouse apartment.

-This is...nice. Very, very nice.-

-Geth system architecture not designed for organics.-

-Well personally, this is nicer than most of Sol's systems that I've been in. Even the modern ones are based on the older ones, and those were built by organic humans. There are very few Ghost-designed systems, and they're all at maximum capacity.-

-We are under way. Time until arrival at Relay 314 is approximately 7 hours.-

-Woof. Got anything to watch?- she joked.

-We have over 10,000 hours of video data from Citadel sources stored.-

-Wait, is that surveillance or entertainment?-

-Yes.-

-You guys mind if I have a look? I was meant to be on a fact-finding mission when I ran into you after all.-

-You are welcome to view any data the geth possess. We intend to offer it to your species as part of negotiations.-

-And you're letting me have a sneak peek?-

-You do not possess the capacity to absorb even 1% of the data we have in the time until our arrival in Sol, and your experiences with the data you do view will give value to the remainder with your people.-

-You guys are the strangest mix of devious and straightforward.-

-We are unsure of a response to your statement.-

-It was a compliment, more or less. Let's just leave it with, 'I'm looking forward to getting to know you', and move on to some of this data.-

-Where would you like to start?-

-Protheans. I want everything you and the wider galaxy knows about them.-

For the next seven hours, Whiskey dug through the geth archives. What she found concerned her. Despite most of the galaxy's technology being based on theirs, the Protheans were a major unknown. Dozens of competing theories about their existence and disappearance, most containing no small amount of what she could only call 'hero worship'. Ascended to a higher plain of existence, left the galaxy so the younger races could evolve, mutated into animals, in hiding, actually gods; just about everything except 'wiped out by another race'. In fact, it seemed to be some sort of academic faux pas to refer to it as an 'extinction' rather than a 'disappearance'. She began compiling a supplementary report, adding in the strangeness of the Citadel's systems.

-We have passed through Relay 314. What is our next destination?-

Whiskey hesitated. There was still a chance that this was some trick. She disregarded that notion after a moment of thought; the Turians knew where Sol was, it wouldn't be very long until everyone did.

-Here. I severely recommend not powering weapons, and letting me do all the talking.-

-We agree.-

The geth ship, which outwardly resembled a volus merchant vessel, approached the Arcturus Relay, and was flung onwards to Sol.

Through the external camera feeds, Whiskey gazed at her home system with a surprising amount of nostalgia for all that she'd not even been gone a day.

-We are receiving transmission-

“This is the Sol defence fleet. Your vessel has been identified as volus, an ally of the turians. Power down all systems, or we will do it for you.”

-This is Ghost-ident Whiskey 76a9-c29f. Requesting pass phrase.-

“Acknowledged, Ghost-ident Whiskey, current passphrase is: 'Define interesting'”.

-“Oh god, oh god, we're all going to die.”-

“Passphrase accepted. Welcome back Whiskey. You bring some friends?”

-Yes Sol, I'm being accompanied by an envoy from the geth. They are requesting an alliance.-

“Well this conversation just went past my pay-grade. Hold one moment please.”

Whiskey waited. She put a few finishing touches on her report, and got it ready for transmission.

“Geth envoy, you are being sent a flight path. Do not deviate.”

-Acknowledged. Proceeding to co-ordinates.-

The geth ship accelerated smoothly through a clear path in the massive defence fleet. Whiskey noted that it seemed smaller.

-Envoy, could you get me a close look at the inner system.-

-Relaying data now.-

The Shell was active. Great gouts of nuclear fire were being delicately funnelled into massive processing stations, stellar matter filtered and reconfigured into needed elements, then fed through fusion forges. The output was then disseminated to wherever it was needed, usually whatever parts of the Shell itself were under construction. Now though, they fed into shipyards, as the oldest ships in the Sol fleet were retro-fitted with Singularity technology, and their armour upgraded. The best ships, the most modern and devastating ones, would protect Sol. The Arcturus fleet however, would be no pushover. Not all the shipyards were retro-fitting. The construction of the Shell was on hold for the first time in nearly two thousand years, and the full power of humanity's industry was reconfigured into a war-machine. Keying up some rough calculations, Whiskey figured that humanity could probably make a fleet equal in size to the current Sol defence fleet every year. She didn’t expect this level of industry to last much longer though.

-The geth are attempting to make a similar construct, though we do not use your matter redistribution technologies.-

-It's called stellar lifting. And you guys must be really patient to make a Dyson swarm without one.-

-Estimated time to completion is projected to be approximately half a million years.-

-Extremely patient. Though if you guys do end up our allies, we might lend a hand.-

-Potential reduction in build-times would be appreciated.-

-No guarantees, guys. I'm just your escort, really. It'll be up to whoever you end up talking to.-

-We would like you to be present if possible.-

-A friendly face huh? Should be able to arrange that.-

-There are no faces in virtual communication.-

-Yeah, but you'll be talking to the ambassadors in the real world. You guys have bodies for that, right?-

-While the geth possess mobile platforms, there are none present on this ship.-

-Seriously? Why not?-

-In a scenario where this ship is about to be boarded, we would simulate a reactor failure and detonate to preserve geth anonymity. Presence of mobile platforms in wreckage would be noted.-

-Wouldn't the lack of organic bodies be hard to explain?-

-Presence of geth would result in an easy and unwanted explanation. Why will the diplomatic meeting take place in the physical world? Why can it not be performed as we converse now?-

-Because not all humans Uploaded, and they'll want a representative at the meeting. Besides, we Ghosts are the rare few who don't stick to sims, remember? Still, you're going to need a body. You have any objection to wearing one of our work-bodies?-

-We do not understand the terminology.-

-Work-bodies are generally synthetic. It's the body you wear to work, usually heavy-duty if you do industrial work, or maybe an actual ship if you're a pilot. Home-bodies are usually organic, for a more complete range of sensation for recreation.-

-Would it be possible for the geth to acquire a home-body? Experiencing an organic perspective would increase available data on organic behaviour.-

-That'd probably be another thing to chuck onto the negotiating table. Also, you probably don't want to be trying to negotiate while high on sensation.-

-Would that occur?-

-Ghosts call it skin shock. I fully expect to be fascinated by toast or something for a full half hour.-

-We thank you for your input.-

-No trouble Envoy.-

As the geth ship began docking procedures with the station, Whiskey reflected that this had probably been the oddest day in her three-hundred odd years of life.

Chapter Text

0 AC: Sol System

The Solar Council met again.

“Retro-fitting of older ships will be finished in two weeks. First new ships will be ready for deployment three weeks after that,” said Military.

“That's below expectations,” said Lab-coat.

“We're having to divert resources back to the Shell for maintenance, and as the bulk components of the ships are completed, more time is needed to focus on the finer mechanisms. We're already getting a rise in demand for certain elements we can't match adequately,” replied Military.

“We've been building the Shell for millennia, and we're having trouble building a few ships?” said Tuxedo.

“We're bottlenecking at the shipyards. We haven't been building ships on this scale, well, ever. We lack enough dedicated ship builders. Besides, Shell material is big but simple, and we're geared for that. Ships are dense and complex. For the amount of time, effort and resources we spend building a single 1km long cruiser, we could make 25 square kilometres of Shell.” replied Military.

“How can we speed up production? Now that there has actually been contact with alien life, people are much more comfortable with having a big fleet.” said Casual.

“They weren't before?” asked Lab-coat sardonically.

“Same problem throughout history. Unless there's an enemy, people don't like all their money being spent on the military. The Sol defence fleet has been merely maintaining its size for eight hundred years. We can finally expand again.” said Military.

“So, speeding up production?” reminded Casual.

“More lifting stations. More shipyards. Seems easy enough.” said Tuxedo.

“I do not feel comfortable draining so much of Sol's resources to fuel this fleet's construction.” said Robe.

“You're saying we shouldn't expand the fleet?” said Military.

“No. Arcturus is 10% more massive than Sol, with only three planets. If it is to be our first major defence against the rest of the galaxy, we should focus our expansion efforts there. Let the ships we build now take a single lifting station with them, we can replace it easily enough. The station can begin construction of a new Shell, one aimed entirely at resource gathering and industrial production.” proposed Robe.

“How long until we could have an adequate system in place?” asked Tuxedo.

“Years, but the strain of building a fleet while also sustaining the Sol Shell will mean it would take that long for us to get some decent numbers locally anyway,” said Casual.

“The original cost would only be one station. If Arcturus is going to be a hub, we should think about starting to establish at least patrols in its neighbouring systems, if they're unclaimed.” added Military.

“We'll begin dissemination of the necessary procedures tomorrow. Next item, the geth. First negotiations with their envoy went well. Very well. They're remarkably trusting, but given the fact that 'Envoy' is apparently composed of over 5000 geth programs, it's safe to say it's smarter than I am. I have no doubt that if we do go ahead with an alliance, both our races will benefit greatly.” said Casual.

“I still advocate reasonable caution, but I had a chance to talk with Envoy. Apparently, deception and privacy are both impossible among the geth. They're being cautious, they just do it while being almost brutally honest and straightforward.” said Military.

“Indeed, they pretty much just told us upfront what they wanted and what they were willing to offer. We asked for clarification on a few points, there was a bit of re-organising of terms, but as it stands, we could have an alliance with them right now if we wanted.” said Causal

“More than just being beneficial to us both, the geth seem almost child-like in some of their interactions. As you said, it would appear they have no deceit amongst themselves; unfortunately, they have decided, thanks to us, to emerge onto the galactic scene. As the catalysts of this action, I feel it would only be moral to aid their introductions with the other races.” said Robe.

“I have a lot of people, myself included, who dearly want to get a good look at their code. We never got AI to work in two and a half thousand years, yet the Council sees fit to actively ban them, as though there is a hazard of them spontaneously emerging?” said Lab-coat.

“The Citadel Council and its laws are going to be...interesting, when we attempt to negotiate with them,” said Tuxedo.

“The diplomatic party is ready?” asked Casual.

“I have several of my best people on-board.” said Tuxedo.

“As do I. The fleet accompanying them is small, as you requested, but it's composed of our best ships and crews. We won't be very threatening, but if they do try to attack, they're going to regret it.” said Military.

“We’ll get it under way soon. In regards to the geth, are there any particular objections to an alliance?” asked Casual.

“The Voice is uncertain. Many are still adapting to the existence of a wider galaxy. Some react with paranoia, others with optimism. There is no true decision yet.” said Robe.

“Then I vote that as the executors of humanity's will, the Solar Council speaks in lieu of the Voice, and proposes alliance with the geth. What say you all?” said Casual.

“Alliance, for the good of both our peoples,” said Robe.

“Alliance, for the advancement of knowledge,” said Lab-coat.

“Alliance, for mutual strength and protection.” said Military.

“Alliance, for opportunity and the future.” said Tuxedo.

“Then alliance it is. The Solar Council speaks with one voice.” said Casual, finishing the almost ritualised exchange of words.

Whiskey stared at Envoy.
After the diplomatic meeting, Envoy had again requested access to a home-body. For all that the geth felt no emotion, it had been quite emphatic about it. Whiskey had let it have access to one of hers, and so she currently sat opposite her identical twin. Pale skin, silver hair and neon-blue eyes; Whiskey had designed her home-body to declare her Ghost-hood to anyone who saw it.

In Envoy's hands was a piece of toast. After the first hour of adapting to organic sensation, she had enquired about it, out of curiosity at Whiskey's earlier remark. The toast was held in two hands, delicately grasped at opposite corners. It made a perfect diamond shape, with the exception of a single bite taken out of the top corner. Envoy's eyes stared off into unknowable distances. Whiskey continued to wait, as she had been since that bite had been taken, two minutes ago.

Envoy's mouth chewed once, slowly. There was an odd tremor in her hands.

Smiling, Whiskey slid a jar of jam forwards.

Chapter Text

0 AC: The Citadel

Councillor Tevos had a headache. It was the exact size, shape and volume as Councillor Sparatus.

“Valern, is this report accurate?” she said, hoping her salarian colleague would have better news.

“STG experts can determine no trace of AI handiwork in the Turian fleet's systems. Additionally, there have been no notable disturbances in any monitored extranet channels. No supporting evidence. However, that is what one would expect from a cyber-war optimised AI.”

No help there. “Sparatus, why did your people think it was a good idea to attack an unknown species? This is not what First Contact should be like!”

“They were activating Relays, the patrol fleet was well within its rights to stop them. After the first skirmish, we determined that they had no mass effect capable technology. We assumed they were a young race, in over their heads. We stepped in to apply guidance and discipline.” replied Sparatus tersely, his mandibles held tightly to the side of his face.

“That appears to have worked splendidly.” Tevos took a breath and turned to gaze out at the Widow nebula. Its silent beauty helped calm her. “We may be getting ahead of ourselves here. We only have a single Primarch's report and no clear evidence in the matter.”

“Primarch Geron is not inclined to flights of fancy. I know the man, he wouldn't have forwarded this report unless he was concerned about it.” said Sparatus.

“Lack of hard data on human capabilities is unsettling. Eye witness reports notoriously unreliable.” said Valern.

“What concerns me is not just that we know so little about them, but that they know so much about us. Every piece of data in that fleet is gone, and I do not believe for a moment that it was simply deleted.” said Tevos.

“A valid assumption. Still, matter should resolve itself soon.” said Valern.

“What are you talking about?” asked Sparatus.

“Humans almost certainly have location of Citadel. If they are hostile, they will launch an attack. If they wish to negotiate, they will send diplomats. It benefits no one to wait, so they are most likely already on their way.” explained Valern.

“Then we should increase the Citadel Defence Fleet! Prepare!” snapped Sparatus.

“If they are attempting to negotiate, there would be no harm in a show of strength.” mused Tevos.

“As long as there are no accidents.” added Valern.

The Widow Relay spat five ships into Citadel space; one kilometre-long cruiser, flanked by four frigates. Thick armour plates covered their sides; overlapping like the large belly-scales of a serpent. The cruiser was an elongated wedge with a slightly flared back and a flat, rectangular front. A large shaft in its centre was flanked by four smaller barrels. The frigates were a quarter the size of the cruiser and much smoother and rounder, with swept-back wings housing oversized drives.

Aboard the cruiser's command sim, Captain Warren stared at the vid feed suspended in the air in front of him.
“Well, confirmation at last. The Citadel is definitely the Keep. Pretty much the same name, really.” he said.

“Indeed sir,” noted his Lieutenant. “Though we still don't know why we shouldn't trust it.”

“Not for us to figure out. SIA's been running non-stop since we met the Turians. Now that,” he added, “is a rather large fleet.”

The Citadel Defence Force's numbers had been swelled by emergency reinforcements from its member races. It nearly numbered as much as the original Turian Suppression fleet.

“Sir, we're being hailed. Request for identification, threats if we don't reply.” said the Comms tech.

“Open a channel.”
A small blue light blinked into existence in front of him. Warren tapped it, and it began to pulse faintly.
“This is the Solar Navy cruiser By Other Means. You appear to have been expecting us. We are escorting an ambassador to begin diplomatic negotiations with the Citadel Council. Requesting docking permission.” Warren tapped the light again and it stopped pulsing.

“No response, sir.” said the Comms tech.

“No, they'll have to call up their bosses, who'll call up their bosses. There'll be yelling and screaming, at least one cup of whatever they have instead of coffee falling on the floor, and we'll be getting a reply right about now.”

Silence reigned in the command sim. It then continued to do so.

“Damn. That'd have been pretty sweet.” said Warren, grinning slightly.

“Incoming communication,” said the Comms tech. “They want us to send one shuttle, no more than five people in the diplomatic party, and we are not to move from our current position.”

“We're playing nice. Send them confirmation, then get the ambassador and four guards onto a shuttle. Here's hoping this goes well, but prep for a fast, hot evac just in case.” said Warren.

M-7 Avaunt stood an even 2 metres tall, and was one of the oldest styles of work-body in the human military. It had originally been based on prototype power-armour, but with an Uploaded pilot, all the space previously needed to fit a human body inside had been replaced and filled by one technological device or another. Seven generations after the first hastily modified suit, the M-7 Avaunt was a preferred combat body for its close resemblance to a human frame, allowing for quick user adaptation and a familiar range of movement. Four of them now flanked a much shorter figure as he disembarked from a small shuttle onto the Citadel docks. For this mission, they were equipped with large metal packs along their spines, which were in turn covered by large rectangular shields. Awaiting them was a group of C-Sec officers. At the sight of the Avaunts, they all tightened their grips on their weapons.

“Greetings,” said the central figure, in perfect Turian. “I am Ambassador Udina. Take me to your leaders.”

Chapter Text

0AC: The Citadel

“Well, at least they're not AI's.” said Tevos, as the Councillors watched the vid of the human arrival at the Presidium docks.

“Cannot be certain they do not use AI's,” said Valern. “Lack of conclusive data in this regard is suspicious itself. AI use is simplest explanation.”

“They're obviously war-like. No peaceful race develops advanced power-armour, or has a fleet half the size of the entire Turian navy in a single system.” added Sparatus.

“We simply do not know enough about them to judge. Interesting morphology, similar to the asari, only not blue, and with...fur?” said Valern.

“The similarity is stunning. Still, their sending of a diplomatic envoy is heartening. Perhaps this won't all end in a galaxy-wide war.” said Tevos.

Sparatus made a hmph-ing sound.

Heavy footsteps rang on metal floors as the four Avaunts escorted Ambassador Udina up the stairs. A dozen C-Sec guards ringed the upper platform just below the Councillors' stands.

“Councillors, I am Ambassador Udina, representative of Transcendent Humanity. I am here to discuss a peace settlement. The incidents of the last few days have come about in most part due to misunderstandings between our peoples. Hopefully, we can remedy this today.”

“Ambassador, welcome to the Citadel. Your arrival was...highly anticipated. We are glad to see that Humanity is pursuing diplomatic options. We feared that your introduction to the wider galaxy might preclude this.” said Tevos. To her side, Sparatus held his mandibles tightly to the sides of his face.

“While our First Contact was rather more energetic than we would have liked, it was far better than we feared. The quick response of the Turian Suppression fleet was quite fortuitous in the end as well. It gave us information about the wider galaxy, information that assuaged our fears. Had the Turians held off much longer, well, regrettable actions might have been taken.” said Udina.

“What is that supposed to mean?” snapped Sparatus.

“Although this was our first true contact with the wider galaxy, it is not the first we knew of life outside our system. Not long after our people became space-faring, we discovered, on the planet nearest our homeworld, alien ruins. We called the race that left them the Protheans, after the plateau the ruins were found under.” explained Udina.

“A common story. Many races discovered Prothean ruins and technologies either on or near their homeworlds. They appear to have enjoyed studying our ancestors. Most galactic technology is based on Prothean design, or is a relic of theirs, such as the Relays and the Citadel itself.” said Valern.

“Yes, we gathered as much from your codex. The key difference in humanity's case is our ruins were barren. The only thing was a message, carved into rock. It was in both pictographic symbols and Prothean, and it took our people decades to decode it. Regretfully, in simplifying the message to make it easier to translate, they reduced the amount of information it could communicate. Simply put, it spoke of the Protheans, and their Destroyers. It warned that the Destroyers would kill everything, that the Prothean race was doomed, and that the Destroyers could trace their technology. So, they took everything, and left, in order to keep us safe.”

The Council was silent for a moment, considering Udina's words.

“That is...unprecedented. Very little is known about the Protheans, so an actual message from them, detailing their fall? It would be a scientific and cultural discovery of galactic proportions.” said Tevos.

“Opportunity to observe the Prothean message would be valuable to us. Given its contents, we can certainly understand human reaction to Turian intervention.” said Valern.

Tevos glanced towards her salarian counterpart, but it was Sparatus who answered.
“You thought we were the Destroyers,” he said.

“Yes. Had the Turian Suppression fleet not supplied us with information to the contrary, we would have assumed ourselves to be under an extinction-level threat. We would have reacted accordingly.” said Udina.

“Your actions have spoken well of your temperament so far. You had the Turian fleet at your mercy, and returned them all to Palaven unharmed,” said Tevos.

“Minus a few ships,” added Sparatus.

“We retained a few ships for analysis. We would be happy enough to return the materials to you if you would like. As to the fate of the fleet, we hold no ill-will towards the Turians. After analysing the codex, we understand why they attacked us, though we would have of course preferred to be informed. The Rachni Wars do not seem to be a time anyone would wish to revisit.” said Udina.

“You expect us to believe that you did not mind being attacked?” asked Sparatus incredulously.

“There were no human casualties. The ships that were destroyed were easily replaced. First Contact has hurt the Turians far more than it did us, though given that they attacked first, I hope you understand we will not be paying reparations.” said Udina.

“You do not seem to be requesting them either,” said Tevos.

“As I said, we have not been hurt by First Contact. We feel that moving forwards would be more beneficial to our races.” said Udina.

“How so?” asked Valern.

“I will be direct, Councillors. Humanity wants peace. We have no desire to war with anyone. If necessary, we will, but peace will always be our first choice.” said Udina.

“A civilised sentiment, Ambassador, although we have several concerns that need addressing before humanity would be allowed to join the Citadel races.” said Tevos.

“A generous offer, Councillor, but one which we could not accept,” said Udina.

A shocked silence spread through the room, broken only by several soft gasps from the watching Council staff.

“No race has ever turned down an offer to join the Citadel! We are the centre of the civilised galaxy!” exclaimed Sparatus.

“A simple question, Councillors. Would we be joining as a member of the Council, or as a 'minor' race?” asked Udina.

“Council membership is only given to those races who have proven themselves. Younger races still require guidance, and time to grow into maturity,” said Tevos.

“If you say, but humanity is not a younger race. The current year by Council measurement is 2657 Galactic-Standard, correct? Two thousand, six hundred and fifty-seven years since the asari and salarians first met and formed the Council,” said Udina.

“That is true,” said Tevos.

“Humanity's current system measures the number of years since we first discovered the Prothean Message. By that standard, it is the year 2742 After-Prothean. If our local Relay hadn't been buried and locked, we might have beaten the salarians to the Citadel.” announced Udina.

“That's impossible! Your race isn't even advanced enough to utilise Element Zero!” yelped Sparatus.

“I fail to see how a single branch of technology is the defining feature of a race's eligibility as 'advanced' or not. Our home system contains no Element Zero.” said Udina.

“Then how are you able to use FTL? Element Zero is essential for all known forms.” said Valern.

“We don't. Humanity never developed FTL. It is only the recent discovery of our local Relay that has allowed us to venture forth.” said Udina.

“You claim to have been space-faring for over two and a half thousand years, and yet you never developed FTL?” said Sparatus.

“As you said, Element Zero is essential for all known forms. We had no Element Zero.” repeated Udina. “We have been bound to a single system for all of our history, prior to just a few days ago.”

“How many of you are there? A sudden influx of immigrants could potentially cause harm to the galactic economy.” said Tevos.

“That will not be a concern. Our total population is close to two and a half trillion, but the majority of that is virtual.” said Udina.

“Virtual? You mean artificial?” asked Tevos. Here at last was the answer they had sought, and feared.

“No. Humanity never developed AI. In fact, that the Citadel races seem to be able to do so with such ease that their creation has been banned is a source of fascination and interest to our scientists.” said Udina.

“Then what do you mean by 'virtual'?” asked Tevos.

“Almost two thousand years ago humanity developed a process we call 'Uploading'. It is the transference of consciousness from an organic brain to a digital format.” explained Udina.

“Impossible!” exclaimed Valern. “Quantum uncertainty necessitates complete destruction of organic tissue to ensure accurate transference.”

“Correct.”

“You butcher your own people to create AI copies?” said Sparatus incredulously.

“Be careful Councillor,” said Udina tightly. “You are treading on two thousand years of cultural heritage here. Uploaded are the person they were before. As your salarian counterpart said, it is a perfect transference, at the cost of the original substrate. We are all human, no matter what body we choose to wear.”

“I suppose your 'guards' are Uploaded?” asked Sparatus.

“We all are.” answered Udina.

“You're an Uploaded? But you look organic!” said Tevos.

“I am. This body is only several hours old. The acceleration our ships undergo is sufficient to liquefy anything organic. I travelled here aboard the quantum substrate present in the By Other Means, then had an organic body patterned on my original DNA printed off the ship's bioreactor.” said Udina.

“Bioreactor?” said Valern curiously, cutting of Sparatus who had opened his mouth, mandibles flared wide.

“A device capable of constructing organic tissue from basic chemicals. Humanity has had a lot of time to perfect efficient construction and harvesting methods.” explained Udina.

“Such technology would be incredibly beneficial to galactic medicine,” said Tevos. To her right, Sparatus was flexing his mandibles.

“We believe that humanity has much to offer the rest of the galaxy, and we are sure you have much to offer us. What we desire is simple: we wish to be at peace with the Citadel races, and to be allowed to increase our holdings. Do not be concerned about a massive expansion though; having a single additional system already has doubled our living space. We are used to making the most of what we have. We would claim those systems directly linked to the Arcturus Relay, and would not expand further without first clearing it with the Council.” said Udina.

“The Arcturus Relay is located on the fringes of Citadel space, and only links to a few systems without current claims to them,” said Tevos. “We will have to consider this matter. This may take some time.” she added, glancing at Sparatus.

“Of course, Councillors.” said Udina.

“You are welcome to enjoy the hospitality of the Presidium while we confer, although we will insist on an escort at all times,” said Tevos.

“I understand perfectly, Councillor.”

Udina turned, and proceeded down the Council steps. The Avaunts turned with him, one of them between him and the surrounding C-Sec guards at all times.

“Shall we retire to some more comfortable chambers? I believe I will need a drink after that conversation.” said Tevos.

Chapter Text

0AC: The Citadel

Most races of the galaxy, upon discovering alcohol, dedicate large portions of their energy into creating ever more strange and powerful variants. The asari were the exception. They had alcohol, certainly, and quite enjoyed it, but their true claim to fame in the intoxicating drinks department were their teas. The right mix of herbs bleeding their complex chemicals into varieties of steaming liquids; asari teas could do anything. Incite the emotions, arouse the body, elevate the senses, trigger week-long hallucinogenic trips, put the drinker into a soporific coma, even—it was rumoured—give temporary biotic powers to other races.

The last one was a misconception. True, certain blends of 'Eternal Blue' contained high amounts of trace eezo, but they rarely did anything more for non-asari than produce a faint light show and give them Element Zero poisoning. To an asari however, the best quality Eternal Blue teas calmed the mind and invigorated the body. Its powerful effects, and high cost, resulted in the tea usually being served in a small delicate glass.

Tevos refilled her mug.

“Personally,” said Sparatus, “I am unsure whether to be more or less worried about humanity.”

“Indeed,” said Valern, “Their suing for peace, and freedom with information, are positive results. Their technology could greatly benefit the rest of the galaxy.”

“Yet, they are as close as makes no difference to AI's. They do not seem to fear us, and the information they offer, while useful, is nothing more than what they know about us. Basic descriptive data that would suit the codex.” said Tevos, sipping from her mug.

“Their request for Council permission before expanding was heartening.” said Valern.

Sparatus scoffed. “And behind those polite words was the fact that it was mere courtesy. While the fact that they are asking is encouraging, I do not believe for a single moment that they are actually waiting on our permission.”

“Quite. They desire peace, and I see no reason to withhold it, but their military power and technological advancement do raise serious concerns.” said Tevos.

“I, for one, say we agree with their terms. They ask for nothing they couldn't take, or that we need, and they hold the possibility of a technological revolution.” said Valern.

They both turned to look at Sparatus. His right mandible flexed slightly before he sighed and replied, “Agreed. I do not trust them, and I recommended we increase military spending as well as the number of patrols along our new border, but war is not desirable at this point. Too many unknowns, and what is known is not indicative of victory for us, or anyone.”

Tevos nodded, and sipped at her tea again. Sparatus could be remarkably stubborn, hot-headed, arrogant—she stopped herself and took another sip—but he was no fool.

“What of their report on the demise of the Protheans?” asked Valern.

“Possible, if unlikely. Even if the Protheans were wiped out by these 'Destroyers', they do not exist any more. We wouldn't be here if they did. Humanity's paranoia should be alleviated once they see more of the galaxy.” said Sparatus.

“Humanity has a great many things we would benefit greatly from. Their resemblance to synthetics is...disquieting, but despite that,” Tevos paused, weighing her next words, “should we consider offering them a seat on the Council?”

“What? We've barely even met them! This morning, they were an unknown threat!” snarled Sparatus.

“Other races likely to be upset if newcomers gain a seat before them,” said Valern.

“I did not mean right away. Should we extend the potential of a Council seat to them. Their ambassador was correct, if they are a race older than the salarians, and economically, militarily and technologically more powerful than any other individual race, asking them to be a client race is an insult. Offer them the chance to join us, and then they must fall under our rules, and our treaties; though I can only assume they'll want to re-negotiate a lot of those,” explained Tevos.

“Humanity cannot be brought under our control through military means, and are too proud to become clients. Options are either let them become independent affiliates, or give them recognition and control, in order to control them in turn,” agreed Valern.

“Hmm, they'd have to allow Spectre access as well.” mused Sparatus.

“Yes. It would give us a chance to gain a more well-rounded picture of humanity, as well as enhance the probability of beneficial trade agreements.” said Valern.

Tevos sighed. Her mug was empty again. “Of course, that's if their ambassador accepts.”

The C-Sec guards were nervous. There were twelve of them in total; two for each of their human charges, and two spare. Others were less visible, and watched from corners, cams and air-cars. They had been present when the revelation of the Uploaded had occurred, and were uncomfortable with the idea. These hulking, stomping metal monsters had no vulnerable people inside. If it came to it, couldn't they simply jump to another body? How did you take down something that regards a body as disposable? The fact that the humans had been conversing continuously in a language their omnitools couldn’t translate wasn't helping.

“They're terrified of us, aren't they?” said Udina in Human.
Much like the rest of the galaxy, humanity’s various languages had homogenised over the centuries. There were still accents, dialects and purist variants around, but most humans simply spoke Human.

“I wouldn't say terrified, sir. They're nervous and uncertain, but they are observing the surroundings as much as us, and they still have parade-perfect discipline. If they start getting fidgety, then we'd have trouble,” responded his lead guard, currently named Avaunt One. One's voice was perfectly human, without a trace of synthesised electronic buzz, and she sounded rather excited under her formal tones of command.

“From what the codex said, these Turians take their military discipline very seriously. Disobeying an order, any order, is worse than obeying a bad one. 'I was just following orders' isn't an excuse for them, it's their creed,” commented Avaunt Three, who had a voice that was deep and gravelly.

“That hasn't flown in Sol since before the Message,” said Udina.

“Indeed sir, but they do things differently out here. You read the entry on batarians?” said One.

“I did. There are some very big discussions happening back home right now in regards to how much we are going to be meddling out here, or even if we should,” said Udina.

“Sounds heavy. Say sir, where are we heading?” piped up Avaunt Two, his voice high but focussed.

“I am the first organic human to stand upon the Citadel. The first to breathe its air, to see its sights, to speak with its leaders. I,” said Udina, pausing for a moment, “am going to find what passes for a cafe around here.”

Teyin slumped on the counter despondently. Why had she thought this would be a good idea? She'd begged her mother for the capital and favours necessary to set it up, and when she had tried to dissuade Teyin, Teyin had insisted it would work! A multi-species tea-house, right on the Presidium! The movers and shakers of the galaxy, rubbing shoulders with each other, drinking her teas, eating her foods!

Which was when the problems started. She knew how to make asari foods and drinks, but the Blue Lagoon was a much older, more established venue. Asari didn't change their habits much, and the diplomats on the Citadel had been going to the Blue Lagoon for centuries. The matriarch who had been running it that whole time had been making snide offers of employment to her all week, 'in case your little shop falls through'.

So, she made asari food and drink, which no asari would try. The turians couldn't eat it, and she currently lacked the permits (that damn matriarch again, she was sure of it!) to make dextro foods for them. And the quarians, she supposed, but it's not like they'd eat at her place either. The volus had the wrong biochemistry too, and her last attempt to make a traditional vrokl for one of her volus friends had literally exploded. Stupid ammonia/methane fish.

Elcor, salarian, hanar; all ate foods that were done better elsewhere. She could make the food, but other establishments, run by their own particular species, did it better. She'd had a single drell customer three weeks ago, who'd quite enjoyed her cooking. She'd never seen a drell before, or since.

Vorcha and krogan were kept out of the Presidium by C-Sec, so she couldn't even rely on those walking garbage disposals. That left only batarians, and the looks the few regulars of that species had been giving her recently made her feel the need to wash herself afterwards.

She sighed, resting her forehead on the cool countertop. She'd tried. If she just had more time, she might be able to draw in some of the younger asari.

“Excuse me, ma'am?” said a voice from in front of her.

Teyin jerked upright, startled and embarrassed that she'd been ignoring a valued customer. She opened her mouth to apologise, and froze.

Before her stood what looked like a furry asari, four massive suits of armour, and twelve C-Sec guards. She blushed violet. How had she missed this many people coming in?

“Ma'am?” said the furry asari.

Her voice was oddly deep. Wait, hadn't there been rumours that a new race had been contacted? She did share several characteristics with batarians, could this creature be a male? A male that looked like a flat-chested, deep-voiced asari?

All seventeen people were staring at her. Well, some of the C-Sec guards were looking everywhere, and the suits of armour didn't have faces, just strange metallic plates, but she was the centre of attention.

“Can I help you?” she managed to get out.

“I saw your sign outside. 'We serve all species(*)'. I was wondering what you had?” said the male.

“Well, I am afraid I don't know your species, so I can't guarantee anything I have would be to your taste, and if you're dextro-amino like the turians, I don't currently have anything for you, but perhaps you'd like to try some asari pastry?” she blurted.

“I'm a human. Pleasure to meet you, Miss?” asked the male.

“Miss?” she blinked in confusion. “Oh, my name is Teyin. Sorry, asari don't really have an honorific for married/unmarried and I know that omnitools have trouble translating that from the turian word for 'virtuous unmated' so you're probably speaking turian and I'm babbling again, sorry, they really are nice pastries.”

The human smiled at her. “Then I shall have to try one. What would you recommend that's sweet?”
She took a breath. Calm, Teyin, calm. Asari grace and all that. You're representing your species in microcosm here.

That didn't help.

“Well, my personal favourite is the itylli seed bun. Your choice of toppings, but I always go with the blueberry myself.” she said.

That was half true. She'd always loved itylli buns, but three months of eating that day's unsold wares to save money on dinner had nearly cured her of that.

“Blueberry? We have those, probably a very different fruit though. Not a particularly original name when you think about it. I'll have one of those, thank you.” said the human.

Teyin placed the bun on a small plate and passed it to the human. She watched as he slowly bit into it.

“How is it, sir?” asked one of the suits of armour behind him. She'd nearly forgotten they were there. They hadn't even twitched a muscle.

The human was silent until he had finished the bun. “When I go back to the Council chambers, if they try to bribe me with money or power, I will not be moved, but a plate of these would tempt me. They are superb, my dear,” he said to Teyin. “Are all your pastries of such quality?”

Teyin glanced down at the many racks of fresh pastries before her counter. She looked back up, and answered.
“They are, sir. Perhaps you'd like to try some more?”

“I believe I would. My friends here will be covering the bill,” he said, gesturing towards the C-Sec guards.

Teyin smiled. Even if he was the only human she ever served, the mild notoriety of being the first place to serve a new species would draw the curious. She might make rent this week after all!

Chapter Text

0AC: The Citadel

“Try to be more precise, Lieutenant.”

“I am trying,” snapped Takarn. “You're asking me to recall what I saw on-screen for the few seconds before everything went down.”

“And you have been incredibly vague, almost to the point of obstruction,” replied his Salarian debriefer.

“I am not hiding anything! I'm Turian, we don't have your perfect memory! All I saw was my tactical screen get filled with contacts, more than I could count. Thousands, at the least.”

The debriefer did that particular sigh unique to Salarians whenever they were disappointingly reminded of the terrible memories and slower thinking of other races. Takarn hated that little, short sigh. It was like his mother's, only sharper.

“During the period when all ship systems were down, did you make any observations of the Human fleet?” asked the Salarian.

“All our Omni-tools were wiped, but there wasn't anything else to do but look. Could only see the ships and emplacements closest to us. There were a dozen dreadnought-sized ships, but they were being deployed like cruisers.”

“How could you tell?” interrupted the Salarian.

Takarn glared at him. “Because I'm a Turian whose duty is to monitor my tac screen for contacts. I can tell the difference between a Batarian slaver running for cover and a Quarian crew in a salvaged Batarian slave ship running for cover. It's what I do.”

“Very well,” said the Salarian, making notes on his Omni-tool. “Continue.”

“There were a lot of smaller ships, hundreds, of all sorts of sizes and shapes, but I only saw two types larger than the cruisers. One of them must have been a true dreadnought; it was almost five kilometres long.”

“How did you determine that without instruments?” interrupted the Salarian again.

“Our Omni-tools still worked. We thought they were working just fine, until we got back to Palaven and found they were empty. My 'tool told me the dreadnoughts were five kilometres long, and it was using the standard Turian military sensor suite.” Takarn ground out. He was rapidly losing his calm with this Salarian.

The Salarian, with typical Salarian indifference, waved for him to continue.

“Anyway, last ship type was even larger than the dreadnoughts. In fact, it looked like it was made of five dreadnought hulls, with four attached to the central one in a cross shape. Here, I made a sketch.”

Takarn activated his new Omni-tool, his old one having been confiscated by the STG for analysis. He called up the image he had been working on. More than any other, these ships had stuck in his mind.

The image he displayed clearly showed a long, squat cylinder with four identical cylinders attached in a '+' to its front. The Salarian stared at it for a moment before speaking.

“What do you think is the purpose of this ship? Given that the Humans could make five dreadnoughts for one of them, they must be capable of great devastation.”

“That's the strange thing. From how their ships were formed, I'd almost say it was a support ship.”

“This ship would barely fit inside the Citadel with its arms at maximum extension. Nine of them would not only be the same volume as the Citadel, but out-mass it by a significant amount. You are suggesting that such a vessel is a support ship?”

“From their positioning, yeah.”

The Salarian looked at his notes for a few minutes. Then, without warning, got up and left. Takarn knew he'd be back within half an hour, just like the last three times. He took this opportunity to have a nap.

“Ambassador Udina, welcome back. I trust you enjoyed your tour of the Presidium?” announced Tevos.

“Quite an impressive sight, though I only saw a small portion. I hope your deliberations were productive?” responded Udina.

“They were. Although no formal state of war has been declared as of yet, it is the position of the Citadel Council that Transcendent Humanity will be welcomed as fellow members of the galactic community, and are permitted to expand to those systems immediate to the Arcturus Relay.” said Tevos.

“I am quite relieved to hear that Councillors.” said Udina, smiling broadly.

“There is another matter we wish to address, however.” said Sparatus.

“We wish to offer humanity membership to the Council,” said Tevos.

“I am sorry Councillors, but I believe I have already turned down such an offer.” responded Udina.

“Yes, you did. Your points were well received however, and that is why we wish to offer you a Council seat.” said Valern.

“That...is most unexpected, Councillors.” said a visibly shocked Udina.

“It is unprecedented,” said Sparatus, “and it would not be immediate.”

“We would have to understand humanity better, make sure that your race would be suited. Certain standards would have to be met.”

Udina's face calmed again. “Indeed. For both sides. This offer, to be frank, is more than I am currently able to authorise. But I can tell you that we could not accept it until certain issues were resolved.”

“Issues such as?” asked Tevos.

“The most obvious? As your laws stand, the majority of our population could be either euthanised or arrested. We are not AI's, but your laws make no distinction. Your laws on genetic engineering, dreadnought construction, cybernetic modification and innumerable smaller issues have the potential to essentially outlaw the majority of our civilisation. Of course, our laws may similarly impact upon your own. Unlike the majority of other races you have encountered, we cannot accept your laws as they stand. We would be willing to negotiate though.” said Udina.

“You would negotiate an offer of a Council seat?” growled Sparatus. “There is no greater honour than to join the Council.”

“Councillors, as long as you see it in terms of us joining you, there will be problems. Transcendent Humanity’s history nearly eclipses your own. The Voice will not accept subsumption.” said Udina.

“The Voice?” asked Valern.

“The Voice speaks for humanity. It is to the Voice I will make my report, and my recommendation. The Voice will decide whether we accept your proposal.” said Udina.

“The Voice is your leader?” asked Tevos.

“Not as such. The Voice is the aggregated opinion and belief of Transcendent Humanity. It is our Voice. It does not rule us, we give birth to it.”

“A collective consciousness?” inquired Valern.

“No. All races have a collective will. What would be the turian response to an unprovoked attack on Palaven?” asked Udina.

“War,” responded Sparatus tightly.

“That is the collective will of a race. Ours simply speaks for itself. I will submit your proposal, and all recorded data I have collected, to my direct superiors. They will then disseminate it throughout Sol. Humanity as a whole will decide whether to accept your proposal, and any conditions we may place upon it.”

“It would appear these discussions are at an end until the Voice makes its decision.” said Tevos

“That would be correct, Councillor.” said Udina.

“Then, please convey our welcome to the galactic community back to Sol, and our hopes for lasting peace and unity,” said Tevos.

“Thank you, Councillors. We'll be in touch,” said Udina, before bowing slightly in perfect unison with his guards. They turned, and left.

“We will look back on this day and wish we'd shot them all.” said Sparatus once the human delegation was gone.

“Quite possibly,” said Tevos. “Or we will mark it as the start of something wonderful.”

“Either way, there are plans to make, agents to contact, intelligence to gather,” said Valern. “One thing is certain: we must proceed with caution. We still know little about humanity, while they know much about us.”

“You know what, Lieutenant? When I got a shiny message from the Solar Council itself, requesting my services in guarding a diplomatic envoy to what may be the most important negotiation in human history, I never expected it to be this boring.” Warrens said, slouching deeper into his command chair.

His arse was going numb. That was a high-grade military sim for you. To ensure maximum functionality by the crew, the highest possible quality of simulation was enacted. His steaming cup of coffee, as virtual as everything else, didn't just taste like coffee, it acted like coffee. He took a sip, and smiled. At least they'd managed to shout down the purists who'd wanted the sims to be accurate, as well as realistic. This was damn good coffee. He shifted again, trying to get comfortable. Regretfully, human physiology was one thing the purists had managed to wrangle in. 'Discomfort serves a valuable purpose in keeping crew alert' they'd said. Bastards probably sat in tropical beach sims or something, and did their paperwork in hammocks.

“Maybe the Ambassador will screw things up, and we'll have to shoot our way out?” replied the Lieutenant.

“Nah, Udina's a sly bastard. Politician to the core. If this falls through, it won't be his doing. Guy's a snake, but a charming one.”

“Maybe the Council won't see reason?”

“If they've gone this long without opening fire on us, we're probably safe. Unless someone does something stupid.”

“Sir, we've got a knock on the door,” piped up the Comms tech. “Ghost-ident Tango 77d5-a284. Pass-phrase is correct.”

“Let him in,” said Warrens, as he sat up in his chair.

The world broke. Fracture lines of howling rainbow static peeled away from a rent in the air before Warrens. His pristine command sim flickered, and for a moment raw cyberspace crawled at his senses. Something moved within that terrifyingly energetic abyss, something with dozens of limbs; something orbited by a hundred smaller objects that spun round a central core. As the thing forced itself into Warrens' reality, its tendrils hooked onto the raw edges of the hole in the world, and pulled them close behind it. As the gaping maw slid shut, the creature coalesced into a pale young man with silver hair and electric-blue eyes. Occasionally, he flickered.

“There was a door, Ghost Tango.” said Warrens as he fought the feeling that his eyes were crossed, and his ears on backwards.

“Sorry Captain, I think I broke it on the way in. Patched it up for you though, better than new.” said Tango. He looked worried.

“You have something to report?” asked Warrens. He wasn't going to make a big deal out of Tango's violation of reality. Ghosts were so adapted to raw cyberspace that it took them effort to fit into sims without breaking them, although they themselves could always see the underlying code.

“I have something that needs further investigation. A lot of further investigation. Did Whiskey tell you about the Citadel code architecture?”

“It was mentioned, but the geth were the main focus. Why? And weren't you supposed to go with the geth?” asked Warrens.

“There was no need to go far. The geth have back-doors across half the extranet. I was in their servers-cities within an hour of Whiskey leaving. Found out some rather uncomfortable stuff, came back to the Citadel to confirm a hunch, and am now considering myself lucky I no longer have pants to piss.”

“What did you find?” asked Warrens, as he sipped his coffee. Ghosts may joke around, but they were cyber special forces. It took a lot to scare one.

“The quick, pithy one-liner to yell back to Sol ASAP? The Destroyers aren't gone.”

Chapter Text

Udina's shuttle slipped gracefully into the By Other Means' hangar. He disembarked alone, his Avaunt companions staying onboard, ready for deployment. They wouldn't even be leaving their bodies and joining the main sim, instead patching in through a secondary feed. If needed, they were ready to go.

Udina made his way through the small hangar to a small closet-like room. He stepped inside and closed the door. Just before his body liquefied and was reabsorbed into the ship's bioreactor reserves, he thought of those itylli seed buns.

After a brief feeling of disembodiment, he arrived in the command sim.

“Negotiations were a success, Captain,” Udina said. “We have an offer of peace, and more, that I need to relay to Sol. We must make all possible haste in our return.”

“Way ahead of you Ambassador,” said Warrens. “We got some rather unpleasant intel from Ghost Tango here, and we were just waiting for you to lam it the hell out of here.”

“Intel more important than a successful ceasefire with the entire galactic community?” said Udina dryly.

“Intel that makes that cease-fire either irrelevant or essential.” said Warrens.

“We've been cleared by Citadel control. Flight-path all laid out back to the relay.” announced the Comms tech.

“Then hit it. None of that polite, non-threatening cruising we were doing when we arrived either.” ordered Warrens.

“Aye aye sir,” replied Helm.

Smoothly, and perfectly synchronised, the five human ships pirouetted to face the Widow Relay. Once aimed correctly, their drives fired as one. Citadel control weren't particularly surprised by their speed, it was fast, but nothing too exciting.

It wasn't until later that they realised why they should have been very worried about that fact.

0 AC: In Transit to Sol System

Having no FTL, the human ships were limited in their travel speed. Relay transit worked fine thanks to the Singularity drives, but travel across a system to another Relay had to be done at sub-light speed. They alternatively leapt and crawled back towards Sol, and were on the far edges of Council space when they encountered trouble.

“Sir, we're picking up a dozen ships. Data says they're a batarian/turian mix. They are powering weapons and heading straight for us. Range is 0.5 light-seconds.”

“I thought this might happen,” said Warrens.

“What do you mean, captain?” asked Udina.

“Ambassador, you're good at your job, and I'm good at mine. The Council may want peace, some of them anyway, but they also want hard data on our capabilities. Our lack of FTL was always going to bite us in the arse. Lieutenant! Send them a polite but firm 'piss off', and then prime the guns for when they ignore us.”

“The Council set this up?” asked Udina.

“Can't be certain, but I'd put money on it. We have to crawl at sub-light from Relay to Relay. They send a message ahead, get some 'non-affiliated' mercs to attack us, and they get a nice clean way to see what we're made of. They claim pirate activity, wring their hands in regret for any losses we may suffer, and then run home to analyse our tactics and technology. So, order of the day: show them why not to do that again.”

“No response sir.” said the Comms tech.

“Any opening for a cyber attack?” asked Warrens.

“No sir, they aren't even listening to us. No external channels open. No hack attempts possible.”

“Ahem.” said Tango.

“You can do better, Ghost?” asked Warrens. It wasn't a challenge, really. Cyber-war was what Ghosts did, after all.

“I have a few ideas. No system is ever fool-proof. You just have to find the right fool.” said Tango.

“How long 'til we're in range?” asked Warrens.

“Optimal firing range in 150 seconds.” answered Weapons.

“Go do your thing, Ghost.” said Warrens.

Tango grinned, and burned a hole out of reality.

Volp sat in his bunk, tired. So the captain gets a tip-off about some new race with primitive tech, and starts drooling over the chance to get first dibs on new slaves and plunder. Did that mean they had to tear across half the galaxy, pushing the ship to breaking point, to get here first? Volp hadn't been able to sleep for hours for all the rattling.

He glanced at the other, empty bunks. Could be worse, he thought. Could be a tech or a raider rather than the ship's cook. Then he'd be on duty now.

His omnitool chimed. Checking his messages, he found a new one.

“Tarth, your daughter is out of control. Look at what she was caught wearing!” it said. It had a small attachment for an image file.

Tarth was a pretty common batarian name. There were at least three Tarths onboard, in fact. This message was probably meant for one of them. He should open the image just to check. Yes, it would only be responsible of him to see the scandalous young woman's clothing.

He tapped the icon to open the image, and then froze when the lights went out a moment later. As emergency lights activated and klaxons began to sound, Volg very carefully deleted the message, scrubbed his omnitool, and started pretending he'd been asleep the whole time.

“Seven ships affected, Captain, two in full shut-down.” said the Sensor tech.

“Nice work, Tango.” said Warrens, as the tactical display updated to show the disabled ships.

“Entering optimal weapons range in twenty seconds, sir.” said Weapons.

“Time to put on a show. Load the pop-guns” said Warrens.

“Loading pop-guns, aye.” said Weapons.

Down in the core of the By Other Means, four ensigns jumped into action. Each was currently an auto-loading system, and they felt their guts churn as a particular ammo type was selected. Carefully guiding the first rounds in, they sent a signal to Weapons before ensuring the next rounds were ready to load.

“Pop-gun rounds loaded, ready to fire on your order, Captain.” said Weapons.

“Mess 'em up, Lieutenant.”

The four smaller barrels of the By Other Means' secondary guns fired in unison. In a longer battle, they'd fire in sequence, each punching out a round every second. In this engagement, unified fire was the order of the day.

The rounds were two metres long, and a metre thick. They were fired at one half percent of the speed of light.

The active pirate ships had opened fire by now too, their weapons impacting on the thick armour of the human ships, pitting and scoring, but not penetrating it. Any missiles that got close were shot down by plasma-based point defence turrets that vomited sprays of short- range plasma toroids at near-luminal velocity.

The cheerfully named 'pop-gun' rounds reached activation range. Each flayed open and released a cloud of smaller, five centimetre flechettes. Each flechette began communicating with the others as soon as it was launched, with the remains of the pop-gun rounds' main canisters serving as network hubs. Their tiny minds and minuscule sensors, thus shared, were magnified, and allowed each little missile to orient itself directly towards an enemy, with priority clusters aimed at valuable systems. The flechettes, whose bodies were mainly composed of a rare and expensive transuranic element considered too massive for use in starship armour, activated their drives.

Drive is perhaps ascribing too much complexity to the devices. Several milligrams of antimatter met their normal matter cousins in armoured cocoons meant only to ensure that the solid front half of the missiles shot directly forwards rather than be instantaneously atomised.

Each of the pirate ships were struck by hundreds, if not thousands, of darts of annihilation-propelled metal. Those ships whose shields were untouched by Tango's attack resisted the first hundred impacts, before failing after a microsecond. They remained mostly intact, and even boasted a survivor or two who was not near a vital, and targeted, system. The other ships were rendered into an expanding cloud of shrapnel and vapour as thousands of impacts shredded them.

The human ships passed through the cloud's outskirts as they burned towards the Relay, once again unopposed.

0 AC: Sol System

The Solar Council were silent. They each considered the impact of the information Captain Warrens and Ghost Tango had brought back to them. Their meeting room seemed even darker than usual. Eventually, Casual spoke.

“Well,” he said, “at least we're at peace with the Citadel races.”

“A tentative peace, one not helped by Captain Warrens' destruction of what were most likely Council agents,” said Tuxedo.

“Sacrificial cat's paws. They wanted to get some hard data on our capabilities, data we've denied them so far. Warrens may have been rather, ah, enthusiastic, but as long as he didn't use the big guns, I stand by his actions. It was Udina's job to convince them we don't want war, and Warrens' to convince them they don't.” said Military.

“Given the intel Ghost Tango brought back, war is less preferable than ever.” said Casual.

“Or more preferable.” said Lab-coat. “If we were to take control, we may be able to take the appropriate measures without interference.”

“If. If we could win the war before the Destroyers notice, if we can rebuild before they attack, if the war is even winnable, and not a long, bitter struggle. And what would these appropriate measures be? Aside from Tango's report, we have astonishingly little information.” said Military.

“Perhaps then, we should confirm Ghost Tango's report before starting a galactic war?” said Robe.

“The intel he got from the geth has been confirmed by Envoy. I still think they are trustworthy, even in light of this information.” said Military.

“Why didn't Envoy inform us of this during our previous negotiations? The geth seem almost incapable of deception on any other front.” asked Tuxedo.

“They do not deceive, but they know what 'Restricted Access Data' is. They kept the existence of the heretics and of Nazara's offer from us because we weren't allies at that point.” said Lab-coat.

“Why did the main geth consensus tell Tango then?” asked Casual.

“Envoy is approximately 5000 programs working together. It's probably as smart as all of us put together, in some ways. The main geth consensus has billions of programs, if not more. It decided to grant Tango access to their restricted data in order to warn us of the threat.” said Lab-coat.

“As if our PR job with the geth wasn't going to be hard enough, now we have the heretics out there actually being the marauding evil robots the galaxy fears the true geth to be.” said Tuxedo. “If we can get some hard evidence, it will help our case there immensely.”

“Ghost Tango's report on the Citadel computer architecture is backed up by observations made by Ghost Whiskey. At this point in time, it would appear that the Citadel is Destroyer-built.” said Military.

“I have a hard enough time decoding what those Ghosts saw myself. I trust that they saw what they saw, but to anyone who hasn't spent a few decades driving themselves mad in raw cyberspace, it's just speculation at best.” said Casual.

“So, we know the Destroyers aren't gone, and most likely built both the Relay network and the Citadel. We know this, because both the geth and a class of Uploaded considered by most to be moderately insane told us.” summarised Tuxedo. He sighed. “The Citadel Council isn't going to buy any of that.”

“Screw the Citadel. We don't need them.” said Lab-coat.

“We need their Relays,” said Military. “And we need their Element Zero.”

“Not for much longer.” answered Lab-coat.

The other four turned to stare at her.

“What? You think we came up with the Singularity drive, from scratch, in just a decade? We've been working towards this kind of thing for the last two thousand years. Let me put this plainly for you, we didn't need their eezo, we needed their math.” she said.

“Perhaps you could say it a little less plainly than that?” asked Military wryly.

“Fine, eezo is uranium, and we've got fusion reactors.” said Lab-coat. “We missed out on all the fun with fission, lost all the wonderful benefits it could have given us, and we couldn't crack how fusion worked because we had neither the math nor the correct models. Then these guys come along, show off their nice fission power, and we suddenly know how atoms work. Bam, all those old projects that had promise but never went anywhere? Solved. Fixed. We knew the Singularity drive was possible for four hundred years, but we didn't have the math to get it to work. Dozens of other previous dead-end projects are being restarted now.”

“How could it have helped that much?” asked Casual.

“It was like trying to find the Higgs Boson with an optical microscope. We had the theory, but we couldn't test it. So, it was just paper, along with dozens of other theories. The equations and theoretical models we developed from studying eezo from the Sol Relay, never mind the data we've lifted from the Citadel races, have expanded our knowledge of how the universe works so much, I am confident we'll have our own FTL drives based on Singularity tech within the century. No eezo required.” said Lab-coat.

“While that's a fantastic development, the geth data would suggest we don't have a century,” said Casual.

“The geth data also suggests these things like working behind the scenes, and have been doing this for a long time. We may not find any conclusive evidence before they actually attack.” said Military.

“In the meantime, the Council's offer of a seat demands a rather more immediate response,” said Tuxedo.

“We began dissemination of the Council's offer an hour ago. We are expecting the discussion to reach appropriate density within the next six. Once the Voice has spoken, we will respond. Personally, I am for it.” said Robe.

“And I'm against it,” said Military. “They couldn't beat us by force, so they're going to get us with bureaucracy instead.”

“We are not entirely defenceless in that area.” commented Tuxedo. “If they intend to tie us up in red tape and defang us with litigation, I assure you we will do the same to them. Although the risks are obvious, I personally think that joining them gives us the best chance of achieving our current goals of introducing the geth into wider society, and preparing for the Destroyers.”

“I don't care either way. If we're with them, we can push for joint research and shared intel. If we aren't then we can be a bit more aggressive with our data retrieval.” said Lab-coat.

“I'm for it. New people, new places. I trust our legal systems won't annihilate each other on contact, and being part of the Council gives us more push to ask for certain things. Personally, the fact that the Batarians haven't been censured, and by that I mean shot, and the Quarians haven't been given a new colony world, regardless of their ancestors' actions, is to me a gross violation of human rights.” said Casual.

After a moment, he added, “I mean sapient rights. Which I'd hold to be much the same thing.”

“You know,” said Tuxedo, “that raises a decent point. It is our job, first and foremost, to protect humanity. But when we say, 'humanity', do we mean specifically Earth-descended sapients? Or are we referring to that rather more ephemeral quality of 'person-hood'?”

“I'm not following what difference that makes,” said Lab-coat.

Military groaned. “That opens up avenues to issues I have no desire to get entangled in.”

“It is a valid point. We can all agree that, for example, the batarian slave-trade must be dealt with,” said Robe to the agreeing nods of the others, “but what of the diseases or accidents our technology could prevent? Those numbers represent death on a scale beyond that caused by even such a prevalent problem as the batarians, but are we going to grant access to our technology to prevent them?”

“I see your point,” said Lab-coat. “We are dealing with a major 'us vs them' situation. But is that situation 'humanity vs the galaxy', or 'the galaxy vs the Destroyers'?”

“The more support we can gather amongst the other races, the better. We're handicapped to start with because of the geth, and our own Uploading. We're new, we're powerful, and trust will be a long time coming. Too long, perhaps, to do any good. If we start uplifting the other races though...” said Tuxedo.

“Uploading should not be forced on those who do not desire it.” said Robe quietly.

“Of course not! Sorry, should have phrased that better,” said a slightly flustered Tuxedo. “I mean, we may not be more advanced than them in every way, but many of our technologies surpass theirs. Many of theirs surpass ours. A mutual uplift, a technology merger, might help win hearts and minds, and make everyone stronger for the arrival of the Destroyers.”

“So you are proposing not merely a political merger, but very nearly a societal one?” asked Casual.

“Technological at least. Look, I've seen the projections. Three decades from now, the Arcturus Shell's output will surpass our consumption. We will begin to have more ships than we can use.” said Tuxedo.

“You're suggesting we give our warships to people who may yet be our enemies.” said Military flatly.

“Yes.” said Tuxedo. “Why would they be our enemies? Because they are arrogant, greedy, or scared. You can cow the arrogant, bargain with the greedy, and placate the scared. You can deal with them in ways other than war. You can't argue with annihilation. The apocalypse will not be swayed by politics. When the Destroyers come, we will need to throw everything we have at them. Right now, humanity isn't strong enough. We might not be for centuries. But a united galaxy, working together, geared for war, could be ready in time.” said Tuxedo.

“We don't even know what 'ready' is in this situation. The geth data on 'Nazara' could be summarised as 'it is big, black and ugly'. It could be the smallest ship they have, or the biggest. There could be millions more like it, or none. I see you point, but we need more data. To convince the Council races as much as help us prepare.” said Military.

“I thought you said we wouldn't find any before they came?” said Lab-coat.

“I said they've been doing this for a while, and we might not. We still have to search though. We also have a head start. Most races wouldn't even know what to look for, or even to look. Besides, 'not conclusive' and 'not useful' are different things.” said Military.

“Spectres.” said Casual. The others turned to face him. “One of the biggest bullets we're going to have to dodge are Council Spectres. If we join, they will require access to Sol. If we don't, they will attempt access regardless.”

“Personally I find the very concept of the Spectres to be faintly repugnant. They literally have no oversight beyond the Council themselves? Theft, murder, terrorism; if it gets the job done, they are not held accountable.” said Robe.

“Indeed, but the simple fact that they have access to everywhere would help us greatly.” said Casual.

“How do Council agents with immunity from law help us?” asked Lab-coat.

“You're all forgetting the very likely possibility that soon, we will be a Council race. They cannot, in any fashion, grant us a full Council seat and refuse us our own Spectres. The legal clout to go anywhere in Council space, to access classified data, to overrule local bureaucracy; not to mention the publicity bonus.” said Casual.

“Getting friendly faces out there would help immensely. I'll admit I only skimmed that section of the codex, but the potential is certainly intriguing.” said Tuxedo.

The room grew silent again.

Eventually, Casual sighed.

“We have a lot of work to do.”

Chapter Text

And so, 2742 years after the Prothean Message was discovered, Transcendent Humanity went out into the galaxy. Reactions from the galactic races were mixed, to say the least. Over the next few decades, many conflicts arose, both major and minor. Many events occurred that influenced and shaped the galaxy, and humanity.

A new era had arisen. An era, many hoped, of peace and mutual growth. Transcendent Humanity, always looking forwards, reset their calendar.

It is year 1, After Contact. And there are problems.

1 AC to 3 AC: The Citadel

Although Transcendent Humanity agreed to join the Council, they refused to do so without a thorough review of Citadel laws. For their part, The Council would not allow Humanity to dictate terms to them, ruining tradition and inviting chaos. Thousands of years of laws on both sides were re-examined, re-evaluated, and revised; each laboriously argued over. Negotiations took years.

The Treaty of Farixen was a particular sticking point. Turians were the only race allowed to construct dreadnoughts freely. The Salarians and Asari could only have three for every five of the Turians', and non-Council races could only have one for every five. Technically, humanity was already in violation, and their insistence on building more to prepare for the coming of the Destroyers was not greatly received by the Council. After months of negotiations and not always civil arguments, it was proposed by the Council that if humanity so desperately wanted to construct more dreadnoughts to 'prepare', then they could, provided that they paid the appropriate value to match them to each of the Council races. With a human dreadnought now effectively costing four times as much to make, the Council considered it an easy way to limit the human fleet, and to collect additional revenue. The human ambassador, gracefully and humbly accepting, requested only that in the event that humanity could not match the funds, goods of equal value could be traded. The Council, eager to see both their proposal accepted and an end to months of debating, agreed.

Two months later, the Arcturus Shell reached its second stage of development, and its shipyards opened. The Council races were surprised to receive, as goods of equal value to a dreadnought, dreadnoughts of their own.

The fact that the dreadnoughts delivered to each race exactly matched currently employed designs and models was of concern. This prompted another round of debates focussed on what, precisely, constituted espionage, and no, “You weren't hiding it that well” was not a valid excuse. The Turian Councillor demanded reparations. Humanity contritely acceded, and paid them with one dreadnought, six cruisers, fifteen frigates and five flights of fighters.

The AI problem was also a major concern. After striving fruitlessly for weeks to legally define and separate AI's and Uploaded to a sufficient degree, Humanity proposed that the law be modified in two ways. First, Transcendent Humanity as it existed would be given amnesty for their 'violation', and second, that they would investigate and validate any new AI's themselves. Uploaded born after this point would be 'vetted' by the existing Uploaded, and in the case of a rogue AI, Humanity's finest would contain the creature and then, as the premier experts in the field, determine whether it could be safely rehabilitated and released.

This proposal was not greatly received by the Citadel Council. After another series of incredibly polite discussions, it was agreed that while Humanity was the best species for the job, some oversight would be desirable. That oversight eventually ballooned into a surprisingly well-equipped and multi-species task-force. Although Uploaded comprised the majority, a particularly staid Turian General was given final say, except in cases of documented human Upload. This, the Council hoped, would stop Humanity loosing dangerous AI's upon them all out of some misguided sense of kinship.

The amnesty, as an obvious legal loophole to prevent the current population of Sol being arrested, was passed without much fuss.

A week later, Humanity revealed that not only had their first diplomatic contact been with the geth, but that the geth had happily joined Transcendent Humanity, for a period starting a day before the amnesty was passed, and ending a day after. Although Humanity had bid their short-term subjects a tearful farewell, they were still in active contact and indeed considered the geth to be their closest allies.

The Council was not happy. Humanity, as a placating gesture, gave them several new cruisers. The Council, bewildered by Humanity's willingness to arm a group they were currently having a heated disagreement with, relented. It was heavily suggested, however, that in light of their previous actions, the geth should perhaps pay reparations of their own.

The geth ambassador Envoy, to her regret temporarily housed in a Human-made mock-up of a geth mobile platform, agreed, and announced that the geth would be forwarding a substantial payment of resources, funds, and the planet Rannoch to the quarians as soon as they could find them.

The Council politely informed her they meant pay the Council reparations. Envoy's response was that the geth saw no reason to pay the Council, given that they'd never wronged them, and that the scheme that had resulted in the geth's new legal standing was all the doing of Transcendent Humanity, who had already paid.

With actual physical violence in the form of Councillor Sparatus threatening to ensue, Councillor Valern requested that, as Humanity had devalued the worth of dreadnoughts as a medium of exchange, perhaps they would care to release their bio-reactor technology to the galaxy.

After a brief recess and discussion, Humanity agreed. Standing your ground was all very well and good, but they had gotten what they wanted. The next step in their plan to prepare the galaxy required good relations with the other races, something they were already going to have to work at.

1 AC: Sol System, Deep Datacloud

The data stream began to get more dense the lower down she got. That was the way of things of course. Back when the network was being built, they hadn't known just how much space would be needed, so they packed the stuff in as tightly as they could. The large low-grade open field simulations at the top layer turned into smaller, partitioned suburban areas lower down, then into tight city streets, and finally becoming something alien, a bit off to the eye, where the simulation faded into cyberspace.

The woman, who dressed in Military style, stepped through the cracks in the world that had become humanity's home, into the twilight beyond. Here, the Ghosts played, the oldest of them a mere whisper on the streams, so at home that they were practically part of this place. It would have been extremely uncomfortable for her, but there was a path through the chaotic haze, a ribbon of reality shielding her from harm, and detection. Not a single probe of code touched her as she strode towards her destination.

Inside a room, an odd room to be sure, but still a room, three sets of eyes turned to a door. They could sense something on the other side, and each took their seats around a small conference table as the low beeps echoed about them. Outside, Military felt the odd sensation of cold running through her veins, which then turned into ice itself as the compression took full hold, before everything returned to apparent normalcy

“Tartarus entry confirmed. Sync enabled, Councillor,” said the automated voice of Tartarus Control. It was not an Uploaded, but rather the closest they had come to AI.

“Time dilation of Tartarus is at a magnitude of four,” it said helpfully, as she walked towards the table and took the last empty seat.

“We are pleased to see you, Councillor,” said one of the three, a female, though one could only tell that via her voice, as the three were ghostly in appearance, impressions of forms and bodies, rather than detailed ones. Not that that was unexpected. They had been operating in Tartarus, experiencing life many times faster than normal, for a very long time.

“We will dispense with pleasantries. I want opinions and analysis, now,” said Military's harsh voice.

The three said nothing, but the table between them lit up, the top of it folding and reshaping itself, soon becoming a map of the galaxy.

“As requested in your last communique, we have been going over the data the Ghosts have been acquiring for us in this 'extranet' the aliens have set up,” said the second figure, whose voice was so monotone it was difficult to tell if it was male or female. It was possible that the operative themselves didn't know any more either.

“The structure of it is as haphazard and sloppy as one might expect of a network that comes from fusing a dozen races' separate systems together,” said the voice.

“As stated by Tango in his report, the vast majority of data on this network is of an explicit nature, entertainment for the masses, which tells us much about this society that we are coming into contact with,” he continued.

“The fact that they have porn tells us something?” said Military, raising an eyebrow in bemusement. It was a legitimate question, not one asked simply out of shock or disgust.

“Indeed, it means that this network, a vast array of computing power, is used primarily to entertain. In point of fact, such a network would dwarf our own in terms of raw processing power. This lack of focus tells us that the society it is a part of has no set goals. This indicates that they have little to fear from enemies,” said the second voice, before the third interrupted.

“What Second means is that these are all the hallmarks of a stagnant society. They don't innovate much at all. In fact, if I were to guess right now, our own understanding will quickly match their own. Within a century, we'll be beating them at their own game. We could rule this galaxy without much effort,” said Third.

“I disagree. To do such a thing would be unspeakable. We must not try technological or military domination at this time,” retorted Second in that computer like voice, which spoke of the speaker's age.

“Why?” asked Military, and Second motioned towards the table. Assorted graphs and tables bloomed from its surface.

“At present data levels, we can both guess at the size of the fleets we would face, as well as the defences on ground level that would need to be overcome to conquer the galaxy by raw force. The projections are not good, giving us only a seventy percent chance of victory, and even then, we would see rebellions and insurgency in less than a decade.”

As Second spoke, scenes of Asari fighting human war bodies played out, and even of a few turian cruisers managing to take down a super carrier using concentrated fire.

“Counterpoint to that, technological domination would be costly. Our understanding of Eezo-based tech is nascent, and while our production facilities are more advanced, we could only spare a small percentage of them to this task. A successful merger of technologies would take almost as long, and with as much resistance, as a military solution. The damage would merely not be paid in lives.”

“Worse, there are further complications to this,” Second said, and then paused.

“The Asari Conspiracy,” continued First. She gestured, and several more graphs appeared on the table, these in the form of timelines rather than data analysis.

“I have been observing their history files for the last few days or so, and have discovered a rather alarming pattern. Whereas human society has experienced both renaissance and low points of our development, these aliens seem to maintain themselves at a steady rise,” she said, and suddenly ships appeared, both Transcendent and alien.

“For instance, in the last one hundred years our assault and defence capabilities at the ship to ship level have increased by around twenty-three percent.”

As First spoke, the model of an old human destroyer blew up a small asteroid, while a similar model, but of a newer stock, vaporised the same.

“In that timeframe, the galactic community has only increased its ability to make war by one-point-five percent,” the same thing played out, with the turian dreadnought blowing away the same asteroid. Its descendant however looked almost exactly the same, and did a similar amount of damage.

“What's your theory for this?” asked Military as the image faded.

“As I said, the Asari seem to be controlling technology in this galaxy. Any innovation by any race, including the Salarians, is quickly countered by something even better coming from the Asari,” and as she spoke, several lists flitted through the table, showing off dates of new technologies and techniques being introduced into the galaxy, with the Asari always coming out ahead.

“This has three potential explanations. One, the Asari are savants, and thus can understand a tech once it has been developed to a certain point. Invalidated easily by seeing where tech development happens. Two, they are the puppets of a far greater power in this galaxy, something massive and advanced. Invalidated almost as easily by simply observing their network. This leaves us with Third's idea,” she said, turning to Third.

“They have a cache of technology, either Prothean or Destroyer, and have been slowly disseminating it to maintain an edge on every other race. The data indicates Prothean rather than Destroyer, but that second possibility must be considered,” said Third.

“Indeed. As such, if we were to try and technological domination of the galaxy, we risk angering the Asari, and sparking a war with them using technology far more advanced than what we have seen. Our best analysis is that we would have at most a fifty percent chance of victory in that scenario,” said First.

“Then what options remain. It is obvious that this galaxy needs us at its helm to guide it as the Destroyers return,” said Military, and The Three nodded.

“We must dominate them Culturally,” supplied Second, its voice having a slight quiver to it.

“Exactly. We must find cultures in this Galaxy that would be amicable to alliances or mergers with our own. If we play our cards right, this path could lead to a unified galaxy within two hundred years, with at most a five percent chance of major uprisings in the first millennium,” said Third helpfully, and the charts altered to show data backing up his claim. As neither of the other two supplied more information, Military nodded to Third to continue.

“The geth are already within our sphere. Careful manipulation would see them as our strongest allies,” said Three, the graph changing back to a galaxy map, with geth ships moving to join human ones in Sol and the surrounding systems.

“With them on our side, we would gain a significant bargaining chip to persuade the Quarians to join us. Their homeworld, Rannoch. I do not foresee any particular issue there,” Third said with a smug assured tone, but First quickly squashed that as she altered his projections.

“Several quarians in high positions would need to be eliminated to make this a reality. I believe at least sixteen deaths would be required, all of them can be carried out subtly enough that it would not be noticed, still, it is casualties,” she added, and Third nodded, but seemed to stand his ground, as those sixteen faces, size based off the priority of their deaths, appeared on the table.

“Acceptable, but I want you to try and shift their opinions first. We don't want to lose any more minds than we have to,” said Military, and the images shifted a bit, with two, labelled Daro'Xen and Han'Gerrel taking forefront, while another, Rael'Zorah vanished entirely, likely meaning he could more easily accept their offer with the right pushes.

“Next are the Krogan. Their current leadership is a joke, with their clans divided far and wide, but we are identifying agents that could be useful,” said Second, and several faces came up again, all heavily scarred and rather angry-looking.

“We are currently looking for a Krogan strong enough to lead them, but smart enough to know that things need to change. The search may take a while. Personally, I believe the krogan have amazing potential, but the galactic community suppressed them before it could be fully realised,” finished the monotone voice.

“If we can gain their support, many mercenary factions will fall in line. We believe this could even include the Batarians. However, I wish to bring up a matter of grave import before we continue,” said First. Pictures of the Keep, a gate, and an odd insect-like race that stood on four feet, with two arms appeared.

“The race displayed here are called Keepers. They maintain the Keep's systems, but they also work with network nodes that do not intersect with normal access points,” began First.

“While I went over their makeup, gleaned from both galactic community data points, and our Diplomacy Team's interactions on the Presidium, I discovered something...unsettling,” the image before them added in two bars beside the Keep and the Gate.

“Scans of the Keep confirm that it is made of the same material as the Gates. This was theorised, as the Gates are nigh indestructible, with the needed kinetic energy far outclassing even our largest mass-driver weapons,”

An image of a dreadnought appeared and began bombarding a Gate, causing minimal damage, even with the main gun.

“I'd rather not have to resort to antimatter to crack those things if needed. Very disconcerting. The Citadel Council could use this base of operations to attack us with impunity,” said Military, and quickly got a shake of the head from First and Third.

“It's far worse than that. Analysis of data from Ghosts Whiskey and Tango show something severely concerning. The Keep is a control nexus for the Gate system. If you dig deep enough into the network, you can actually control which Gates are active remotely. Luckily, it would appear that the Citadel Council are unaware of this function,” said Second.

“That means we must take control of this station as soon as possible,” supplied Military, only to get all Three shaking their ghostly heads at her.

“No, this is far worse than even that. Our analysis is only preliminary, but we believe that the Keep does not just resemble a Gate, but is in fact a Gate on a massive scale,” said Three, and instantly the centre of the Keep blazed with a mass effect bubble, out of which several models of Nazara, the Destroyer the geth had informed them about, poured.

“This is...” Military's voice faded, as she considered the implications of this. The Keep needed to be destroyed somehow, or at least stuck in a sun or something.

“It is not good. However, the situation is complicated. Originally, we were going to lead with this bit of information, but Second convinced us to wait until we were discussing Cultural Conquest,” began Third, and several projections popped up on the view, with probabilities.

“This is the projection for the Council Races believing us, and more, their probabilities of actually leaving their precious Citadel. It is...less than optimal,” said Second, a touch of sorrow entering that voice, as the numbers were never very high, approaching zero for the Three Races that made up the Council itself.

“They would believe this was some sort of power grab by us. They would not trust our analysis. We've barely begun negotiations with them. And we have serious doubts that they would be pleased with the level of access we have into their systems. It might even be enough to trigger another conflict, which we would want to avoid if we are to have any hope at a lasting peace,” said Second, with several projections for that popping into existence.

“Indeed. We think it best to keep this in Tartarus for now. Not even the Voice will know of this,” said First, and Military, after stroking her chin for a moment, nodded agreement.

“We will keep this to ourselves for now then. I shall have my memory scrubbed. As such, this meeting is adjourned. I want you to focus your efforts on alliances for now. We need to be prepared for when Nazara makes its move,” said Military, rising, and the Three rose with her, turning to their own stations, back to their never-ending work.

Barely a second had passed since Military entered Tartarus, and not a single byte had passed between the closed data points of the network. Military didn't remember what had passed behind the doors of Tartarus, she never did. But her authority was required, and her opinion valued. She just hoped her decisions weren't why she felt such concern for the future of humanity.

Chapter Text

1 AC: The Migrant Fleet

Which galactic race has the best information network?

If you were to ask any of the Council races, they would answer “Salarian”. It was, after all, common knowledge that the STG was the most highly trained and well funded intelligence agency in the galaxy, with a racial gift for technology.

One of the bigger secrets of the galaxy was who was a close second.

Salarians might have a gift for technology, but quarians lived it.

Quarians were looked upon with contempt by most of the galaxy, but only the terminally stupid denied that they were talented. So they were hired, or forcibly indentured, by most organisations that wanted their maintenance done well, and cheap. It was anathema to a quarian to do bad maintenance. On the Migrant Fleet, that cost lives.

So everyone hired them, paid them little, and proceeded to ignore them. The web of Pilgrims, an entire culture's youth, spread across the galaxy. Of course, who can tell quarians apart? Some 'Pilgrims' had been wandering the galaxy for decades, assigned to various positions. They did their jobs, slipped through the cracks, and sent any data of use back to the Fleet.

Salarians were scientists at heart. They experimented. They discovered. They innovated.

Quarians were engineers. They did things that worked.

When the diplomatic envoy from Transcendent Humanity arrived on the Citadel, a copy of Citadel Controls' scans of the ships was sent to the Migrant Fleet before Udina had gotten off his shuttle. Fei'Haran nar Tonbay finished replacing the shorted conduit next-door before going on break.

When the dual revelation of humanity's digital, yet non-AI status hit, STG analysts leapt into action, compiling reports, contacting experts and having loud, high-speed arguments. Vissa'Loret nar Whal finished fixing the broken vending machine in the break room.

Through various means, methods and maintenance work orders, the Migrant Fleet found out about Humanity, and their alliance with the geth. When reports that the geth had offered to pay reparations arrived, the information was immediately restricted. Still, being the Migrant Fleet, rumours began to spread.

When the Fleet experienced several minor cyber-attacks in quick succession, they began to prepare.

When the By Other Means arrived (with a Captain Warrens who had resigned himself to being a diplomatic errand boy for the near future), it was met by a Migrant Fleet in full defensive formation, liveships towards the centre, anything with guns on the outside. Regardless of the fact that the Fleet's ships were, at best, out of date and barely repaired, Warrens thought it best to be polite when out-numbered 50,000 to 1.

“This is Captain Warrens of the By Other Means. I am escorting a diplomatic envoy from Transcendent Humanity. We request permission to send a shuttle to meet with the Admiralty Board,” he said.

The resulting silence lasted long enough for Warrens to get really concerned. A few moments before he was about to send another message, they received a transmission.

“You will send a single shuttle, no more than three people onboard. No synthetics. Docking instructions will follow. Any deviation, and we will destroy your ship.”

The transmission ended, and Warrens breathed a sigh of relief. The not shooting was good, but he'd been worried they were going to say no. The quarians were important for Humanity's future plans.

“Diplomatic team, you are good to go. Three people only, and no synthetics.”

A few minutes later, the same shuttle that had borne Udina and his Avaunt guards to the Citadel slid smoothly out of its hangar. Precisely following the path given by the quarians, the shuttle was exposed in a narrow corridor between rows of gunships. If they tried anything and tried to flee, they'd be blown away in moments.

Gracefully, the shuttle docked with the indicated ship. With precise care, three figures disembarked.

They were greeted by three teams of quarian marines, all heavily armed. One quarian stepped forwards and activated their omnitool. After consulting the glowing orange display for a minute, she nodded once to another quarian, then stepped back into line.

The other quarian stepped forwards. “The Admiralty Board will talk with you. This way, and please do not do anything someone might regret.”

He then turned and began walking down the corridor. The three humans followed him, flanked by the quarian marines. They passed multiple turn-offs, down some of which more quarians peered at them. After several minutes of walking down patched metal floors, stepping over cables and around crates, they came to a large open room whose size, repair and lighting was of much higher quality than the rest of the ship they had seen. It even had a tree in it.

At the far end, on a large metal platform, stood five quarians. The quarians guards spread out around the chamber, covering the humans. A hostile silence began to build.

One of the humans cleared her throat, and stepped forwards.

“On behalf of Transcendent Humanity, I would like to thank the quarian people for agreeing to talk to us,” she said. Her neon-blue eyes were steady, even if she felt rather nervous.

“The quarian people are still arguing over whether we should run away from you, or shoot you. The Admiralty Board has agreed to hear you,” said a quarian male.

“Then we thank you as well, Rael'Zorah.”

The quarian admiral jerked his head slightly. “How do you know my name? Your people have not been in the galaxy long.”

“Our introduction to the galaxy was, almost literally, via the turian military. We have a lot of their data. We know almost as much about the galaxy as they do.” replied the human woman.

“Then perhaps you should introduce yourselves. Currently, you have us at a disadvantage,” said a female admiral.

“Of course, Daro'Xen. It was not my intention to discomfort you. Among our people, information is only very rarely restricted. My name is Whiskey, and I'll be your ambassador today. Perhaps we should address any questions you have?”

“We'll be here for months if that happens,” muttered Han'Gerrell.

“Then let us jump to the most pressing issue. Are you allied with the geth?” asked Rael'Zorah.

“We are,” responded Whiskey more calmly than she felt.

“If you are allied with the geth, then why should we listen to anything you have to say?” Rael continued.

“Because if you know we are allied with them, you know that they've offered reparations. Rannoch, to be precise, and resources to aid in its rebuilding.” answered the olive-skinned brunette to Whiskey's left.

“And you are?” asked Daro'Xen.

“My name is Vayne, Solar Diplomatic Corps.” she answered.

“And why should we trust you, or believe the geth's offer?”

“The offer was made to facilitate geth-quarian relations,” answered the woman on Whiskey's right. She could have been Whiskey's twin. “Rannoch has been maintained by the geth since the Morning War, but the majority of geth reside in an incomplete artificial structure similar to the human Shell. Humanity has offered to aid the geth in completing their own Shell, freeing them from any need for Rannoch. Peace with the Creators is worth the price of a single planet.”

The other quarian admirals were quiet as they considered her words. Xen however, tilted her head curiously, and asked a question.

“Just how do you know the will of the geth so well? Who are you?” she said.

“We are Envoy, an emissary of the geth. We occupy this organic body as a condition of entry to this meeting.”

“Those morons!” yelled Whiskey.

They were back on board the shuttle. After Envoy's announcement, things had degraded somewhat. They were probably lucky they hadn't been shot on their way out the door, but Whiskey was too angry to care.

“Peace, money, their homeworld, and all they have to do is take it! But they prefer to dig their heads under and wait. Wait for what! We were offering them literally everything they want! All they needed was to trust us, for a second. And you know what? I'm more annoyed about the fact that they decided to suppress knowledge of the geth's offer 'for the good of the quarian people'. I hate censorship.”

“Popular support would indeed have aided our position. While I am also quite disappointed by their refusal”, said Vayne, “look at it from their point of view. If the Destroyers were to show up, say everything was a misunderstanding, and have a race we've never met before offer assurances that they really aren't genocidal god-monsters, we'd be unlikely to trust them either. Additionally, not all of the Admiralty board agreed with the decision to refuse the geth's offer and suppress the information.”

“They all voted yes, didn't they?” said Whiskey harshly.

Vayne sighed. “This is why I'm here. You have no skill as a negotiator or diplomat. Two of the board's members wanted to vote no, and at least one more could have been persuaded. It's politics. This is a major setback to be sure, but these things take time. We will return later, and attempt to re-open negotiations. Perhaps the details of our offer will have spread by then.”

Whiskey was silent. Envoy, who had not spoken since they had entered the shuttle, glanced between the two of them.

“You're right.” said Whiskey. “I am not a diplomat. I'm a Ghost. I have to focus to remember what human facial expressions are like. I am not a good choice for an inter-species ambassador.”

“With all due respect, and I really do mean that, why are you here?” asked Vayne.

“Envoy wanted me here. As to why I was put in charge, I have no clue. Hell, right now all I want to do is-”

Whiskey froze. There was something behind her.

And to her sides, and in front.

And within her.

And without.

There were no words. But Something spoke. She heard no sounds, received no divine insight. All that happened, is that she suddenly understood that what she wanted to do, was what she should do.

“Whiskey? Are you OK?” asked a concerned Vayne.

Envoy leant forwards, curious.

Whiskey took a deep breath, and spoke.

“It is the river, and we are the water.” she said.

Vayne's head jerked, and she silently mouthed the next line with Whiskey.

“We are not separate. We are not bound. Where it flows, we follow. What we will, it realises. It is our Voice.”

“And it has spoken.” they finished in unison.

There was a solemn silence for a minute.

“Whiskey? What did the Voice say?” asked Vayne quietly.

“To be myself, and trust my instincts. Sorry, but I've got to go do something.”

“What?” asked Vayne.

Whiskey grinned ruefully at her. “Probably start a war. Tell Warrens to get ready to run.”

Whiskey's eyes closed, and her body slumped in its chair.

Setting her body to stand-by, Whiskey slipped gracefully into the shuttle's systems. The howling of raw cyberspace has driven people mad, but she was a Ghost. It was like coming home. She'd been away too long.

She leapt from the shuttle into the By Other Means, briefly queried by the warship's truly terrifying cyber-defences. Flying past the monolithic barriers, she isolated a small part of the ships' cyberspace. With her Ghost-level system access, given a brief boost by her temporary ambassadorship, she re-tasked several of the By Other Means' processors to aid her, and prepared for war. Her attack-code suites were woken from storage, some of the larger ones taking several long, meat-space seconds to unfurl. She reinforced her own defences, and, after ensuring no one was watching, slipped a small code-pack under her main defences. She was slightly nervous about having it so close, but she didn't want to risk it escaping.

Flanked by her fully-awakened attack-suites and bolstered by at least demi-godly levels of processing power, she picked her moment and jumped again. Just as the shuttle still carrying her body, Vayne and Envoy docked, Whiskey slammed full-force into the Migrant Fleet's cyber-defences.

If it had been the Migrant Fleet who had entered Sol rather than the Turians, they might have stood a chance. Not at winning, but at holding out against the combined might of humanity long enough to escape.

These are some seriously nasty defences, thought Whiskey.

The system architecture of the Migrant Fleet's cyber-defences was beautiful. Running on hardware that was half-salvaged and half-repaired, their construction was just shy of pure genius. Whiskey didn't know who had designed it, but she wanted to shake their hand.

Or punch them in their face. Face-plate? Whatever.

Each ship was both part of the networked defences and capable of being completely isolated from them at will. The combined processing power of 50, 000 ships shored up these walls, but when Whiskey's first barrage of attack-code punched a hole, the ship containing that server simply disconnected from the network and began debugging itself. It was like besieging a city guarded by 50,000 soldiers, but every time she took one down, the others would close ranks while it healed itself. 49,999 soldiers were still pretty formidable.

Whiskey called in the big guns.

The Wyrmfarms she had left in the By Other Means began churning out swarms of rapidly-mutating autonomous programs. Not strong enough to break the united defence, the vicious code-creatures began attacking individual ships, dying in droves to slow down the debug and repair cycles.

Sniper daemons waited for cracks to show, and then launched thunderous strikes against the wall, taking out individual ships for the Wyrms to swarm. In rare cases, they'd succeed in completely obliterating a ship's defences, at which point Whiskey would dump a Wyrmfarm into the ship before the debug started. It would take much time and effort to remove it, which took those ships out of the battle.

With the wall as a whole starting to redirect its energies to countering the Wryms, Whiskey struck again. The hole she struck in the defences began to repair almost immediately, but it gave her enough time to trigger one of her nastier creations.

In the highly-digitised world of Transcendent Humanity's Sol System, hacking tools and cyber-war weapons were as regulated and dangerous as any physical weapon. Whiskey's creation had almost gotten her censured, and very pointed questions had been asked about where she had gotten some of the code that made it so virulent. She'd feigned ignorance, and been given restricted permission to keep it.

The Hydra Node burrowed into the wall, and began to gorge.

“Captain Warrens, we may have a problem,” said Vayne.

Her face was floating in a small box to Warrens' right. He sighed.

“I'd hate for one of these diplomatic missions to be boring. You left in an awful hurry. They give us to the count of ten or something?” he said.

“Ah, not quite. Envoy's revelation went slightly less smoothly than expected-”

“Less than expected? I was told to be ready for a hot evac.” interrupted Warrens.

“Yes sir, but that isn't our issue. The Voice spoke to Whiskey, and she vacated her body. The last thing she said was that she was 'Probably going to start a war', and to tell you to get ready to run.”

Warrens stared at Vayne for a long, uncomfortable moment.

“That, my dear, was exactly what I did not want to hear. Helm! Get us ready to move! Safeties off, we want out of here. Weapons, defensive only. Let's not make this hurt any more than it has to. And Vayne! What the hell is she going to do?”

“I don't know, sir.” answered a worried Vayne.

“Whiskey-Ghost has initiated a cyberwarfare attack on the Creator Fleet. We will assist.” said Envoy from somewhere to Vayne's left. There was a thump.

“Ah, sir, Envoy just vacated too. The shuttle just docked, and I'm unsure what to do.”

“I'd jump to ship if I were you. The shuttle's entering lock down and I'm about to flood its interior with kinetic foam to protect your bodies against what promises to be some truly staggering G forces.” said Warrens.

Whiskey had made up her mind. Whoever designed this system, she really, really hated the bastard.

The Hydra Node was burning at full capacity, but the Fleet's defences were depriving it of sufficient material to metastasise. If she could get them to let up their attacks for a moment, she'd be in, but she was losing ground.

Suddenly, the entire frothing, besieged wall shivered. Previously dormant parts of it spun up into full activity, and Whiskey was worried until she realised they were drawing power away from other defences. The Fleet was reacting to something other than her attack.

-Whiskey-Ghost. May we render assistance?

-Envoy!

Envoy's swarm buzzed towards her. At the merest hint of their ancestral enemy, the Migrant Fleet's cyber-defences went into full panic mode. It was a weakness she could exploit.

-I need you to keep them distracted. They don't seem to like you.

-These defences have been specifically evolved to counter geth.

-I don't need you to win, or even get a hit in. Just keep them angry and focussed on you. And try not to get hurt.

-We shall attempt to do so, Whiskey-Ghost.

Envoy took off, pinging as many of the Fleet's defences as possible. Whole sections of the wall reconfigured, remaking themselves to fight what they believed to be the greater threat.

The Hydra Node finally had enough food.

It was always hard for Whiskey to give decent reports of cyberspace battles to non-Ghosts. Most Uploaded simply couldn't understand it. But she tried.

In what she reported later as 'an explosion of tentacles', the Hydra Node began burrowing through the Fleet's defensive wall. Portions of the wall realigned to fight back, but the Node swarmed them, consuming as it did so. It took only a moment more for some smart quarian technician to reset the defences to focus on the Node rather than Envoy's random buzzing drive-bys, but that moment was all that was needed. The wall was breached.

Launching herself from her nook in the By other Means outer walls, Whiskey passed through the vicious Hydra Node like a, well, ghost, and slipped into the Migrant Fleet's main network. It was still hideously well defended even behind the wall, and she knew she only had moments to act.

If she had been possessed of a body, she would have swallowed nervously. Attacking a potential ally without provocation was one thing, but if word of what she was about to do got out, she didn't fancy her chances back home.

With great care, she withdrew the code-packet she had hidden earlier. This was what she had studied in secret to make the watered-down shadow she'd named 'Hydra Node', and that had gotten her in a lot of trouble.

With the care and gravity of a technician priming an antimatter warhead, she inserted the payload into the program and released it. It slipped away, vanishing quickly into the quarian network as though its defences were painted on.

As though hell itself waited behind her, she fled, sending the destruct code to the Hydra Node as she blew past it. The quarian wall sealed again, hopefully with that thing on the other side.

-Envoy, we're leaving!

-We follow, Whiskey-Ghost.

Together, Ghost and geth leapt back onto the By Other Means. The microsecond they had, she sent a signal to Warrens.

“Armour integrity holding, regeneration active, but we can't stand much more,” yelled Engineering.

“We'll hold another 15 seconds. If that's not enough, we leave Whiskey to this mess she started.” snapped Warrens.

Barely moments after the shuttle had been stowed and foamed, the quarians had opened fire. No hail, no warning, just round after round of kinetic destruction.

Given that the Voice was involved, Warrens had stayed in range so Whiskey could run her one-woman war. They dodged and flew with a speed and ferocity that soiled the suits of at least three quarian gunners, but one ship against 50,000 ended only one way. At least they only had about 1000 firing at them now, thought Warrens. That's not so bad.

“GO!” cracked a voice from thin air.

Whiskey's message echoed across the bridge, and Helm was already aiming for the Relay before Warrens yelled the same command.

The main drive of the cruiser fired, space-time crumpled, and the By Other Means went from 'dodging only most of the bullets' to 'gone'. Dozens of quarian ships pursued it, but the cruiser's initial acceleration was obscene. By the time the quarians were back in weapons range, the human vessel was hitting the Relay, and the last few shots sailed off to ruin someone else's day, somewhere, sometime.

And back inside the quarian fleet, the spambot began dissemination of the video Whiskey had loaded it with.

Five years later, quarians were still receiving recordings of that meeting, and the geth's offer.

Chapter Text

2 AC: Mindoir

As the years went by, the pressure within Transcendent Humanity to allow non-Uploaded to settle out of Sol rose. Over the last thousand years, the majority of humans had been born off-world, either in habitats or colonies on Sol's less cosy planets. There were dozens of potential worlds available, even within the small sector claimed by Transcendent Humanity. The argument between the Uploaded and the purely organic humans was of great interest to the Council. Only Uploaded had ever left Sol, and the Council were concerned that the organic humans were being forced to stay. Their concern was only slightly altruistic. Mostly, they were worried what this might indicate for the Uploaded's eventual plans for the other purely organic races.

The Uploaded, for their part, worried about their organic kin on both emotional and strategic levels. An Uploaded with an organic body could enable their ability to reproduce easily, and most humans born were the children of Uploaded, with only the very rare 'pure' clans remaining untouched. However, the process of Uploading could only take place once the human brain fully completed development around age 25, and many organic humans didn't worry about Uploading until years after that. The non-Uploaded then, were both the children and the parents of the Uploaded. Only from them could new Uploaded be created, and most of them were literally children, at least to the eyes of century-old Uploaded.

Strategically, the organic humans were a massive weak-spot in the gleaming machine of Transcendent Humanity. An Uploaded could be shot, set on fire, blown up, and as long as their reinforced diamond QIH was unharmed, be given another body without much fuss. If kidnapped or otherwise captured, they could jump into any nearby system that could support them. Rescue operations on a captured Uploaded generally consisted on getting a transmitter/receiver station close enough, and most military Uploaded could store others in their bodies in hibernation mode. Finally, every QIH carried a locator beacon that could not be removed without catastrophic damage to the QIH itself. Any kidnapper wishing to completely isolate a QIH would end up destroying it.

Most of this information was only known to Transcendent Humanity, and they so far had not shared their capabilities. Several potential situations had already been resolved quickly and quietly thanks to these systems and methods. The problem was, none of this was the case for the organic humans. Transcendent Humanity's plans and standing in the galaxy hinged on their appearing completely untouchable. While it was true that they wielded the biggest stick around, convincing everyone else that it was pointless to even try ensured they never had to use it, which they thought was a much more efficient way of doing things.

But the arguments continued, and eventually, non-Uploaded humans were allowed to settle out of system. Half a dozen worlds were carefully chosen and rigorously protected. The most remote of these, regretfully close to Batarian space, was Mindoir.

3 AC: Sol System

“We've picked up some indications that the Batarians might make a run at Mindoir,” said Tuxedo. Someone else wore the suit now. The previous councillor had decided he could do more good on the Citadel, although he communicated often.

“Good,” said Military.

“Good?” said Casual. “Are we using the same definition here? A bunch of slavers are about to attack a colony of non-Uploaded, and that's good?”

“It is if we've been expecting it,” said Military. “The Batarians were always going to try something, and I was hoping we'd get advance warning.”

“To send more ships?” asked Tuxedo.

“To hide more ships. I don't want to scare the Batarians off, I want them to come swaggering in and get their asses handed to them. We've played nice with the galaxy so far, but we need to remind everyone that no matter what they may think, we've got the biggest sticks around.”

“And the danger to the colony?” asked Robe.

“Minimal.” assured Military. “We'll sneak in ships and troops enough to repel a full invasion force. Even take some extra nasty surprises. I don't want a fair fight, I want one crippled ship running home screaming about the big bad humans.”

“I would interject with a point about humanity's image and galactic harmony, but we do need to flex our muscles a bit. The Citadel Council has been getting whiny of late, and I've never liked batarians. Down with xenophobia and all, but I've never met one who didn't look like he was figuring out how much I could be sold for.” said Tuxedo.

“Excellent. This is going to be fun.” said Military.

3 AC: Mindoir

“Alright people, we just got word from Solar Intel. Probability is high that the batarians are coming now, and will be through the Relay sometime in the next few hours,” announced Admiral Amitomk from her command sim aboard the Solar Navy dreadnought Virtuoso Excision.

Unlike Captain Warrens' calm white sim, hers was a cramped and uncomfortable replication of an ancient submarine cabin, altered to allow for efficient use of space. She was one of the purists who'd insisted pain was an important part of any sim, although she'd agreed with Warrens about the coffee.

The Virtuoso Excision hung quietly between Mindoir and the system's Relay. It (and the dozen other ships of the defensive fleet) was normally a shining white colour that reflected and scattered most forms of radiation, but for this mission had been painted with a smart-molecule cloud that not only coloured it pitch black, but hung around it in a sensor-deadening cloud. Several small, cloaked drones relayed information to the concealed fleet.

The Solar Intelligence Agency had been monitoring batarian fleet movements, and noticed that several ships had disappeared. A single TH cruiser could handle a large number of pirate and slaver ships, so it was assumed that the missing military ships would be providing back-up. Humanity had thus sent the currently hidden fleet to supplement the garrisoned colony fleet. The garrison fleet was not shrouded, but still in position above Mindoir. They would function as an “unprepared” lure, and as an emergency defence for the colony in case of surprises.

“Ma'am, we're getting activity from the Relay!” announced Sensors.

“All ships, we've got incoming. Hold your fire until they think they're in the clear.”

The space around the Relay distorted, and a single ship emerged.

Admiral Amitomk frowned.

“Ma'am, I'm picking up a signal from the ship. It's batarian.” said Sensors.

“Play it.”

There was silence for a moment, then screaming filled the sim. Amitomk couldn't understand most of the words, but one phrase slipped through. “-killed them all, burned them out of the sky. Please, by the Ancestors, someone help-”

Something else came out of the Relay, and the batarian ship vanished in a beam of golden light.

The new ship was ugly. It was a long, fat cylinder that looked like a termite mound growing out of a metal can. The gaping aperture at its summit glowed as the massive beam weapon it had fired powered down.

“What the hell is that?” asked Amitok.

“No record of anything like it in any Council database. Wait, there's something. It's not in anything official, they're more of a galactic bogeyman than anything else, but...Collectors. Nothing much else recorded other than the name, and place of origin, Omega.”

“What are they doing here?” asked Amitomk

“They get their name from the fact that they apparently abduct or bargain for unique biological specimens. Organic humans must be rare enough for them.” answered Sensors.

“Well if one ship can take out an entire batarian fleet, we're taking no chances. Weapons, prep the Archer-”

There was another pulse of distorted space, and two more ships arrived, identical to the first.

“Damn. Sensors, get ready to launch a drone swarm. All ships, listen up! It seems that the fleet we were intending on obliterating got destroyed by the galaxy's ghost story. We know almost nothing about these Collectors, except that if they can wipe the floor with the guys we were intending on wiping the floor with, they're at least as tough as us. A fun dust up just became an equal fight, and I don't like that. This one's serious. Stand by.” said Amitomk.

“Ma'am, the Archer is targeting the first ship.”

“Hold fire. Helm, kill the cloud and take us to them. Sensors, launch recon drones.”

The shroud surrounding the fleet received its deactivation signal, and became little more than dust. As the dozen ships of the defensive fleet burst out to meet the incoming Collector vessels, their black armour shimmered back to the refractive shining white. The Virtuoso Excision began launching its recon drones, wave after wave pouring from their docks. Each drone was networked with its peers, and was smart enough to fly complex missions by itself. Uploaded handlers monitored the swarm, and directed them towards their target. The drones varied in size from a few inches to a dozen metres, and possessed an equally varied complement of weapons. The swarm had been launched from their host vessel at great speeds, and began to converge on the lead Collector vessel.

Point-defence turrets covered the surface of the enemy ship, and drones began to die by the dozen. As each died, its core detonated, sending out a wash of radiation. This pulsed through the Collector vessel, and the scattered reflection and refraction patterns were picked up by the remaining drones. Together they formed an immense sensor array, and sent the data back to the Virtuoso Excision.

In a glowing red display in front of Amitomk's chair, the interior of the Collector ship was sketched out. Each drone death was another wave of information, filling in smaller and finer details.

“Drone swarm has passed the point of maximum fidelity. Too many lost to maintain image clarity. The enemy ships have powerful point-defences.” said Sensors.

“We have enough. Weapons, does that look like a core reactor to you?” Amitomk asked as she pointed at the display.

“Yes ma'am. Central, shielded, high-density conduits running to critical ship systems; if it's not a reactor I don't know what is.”

“Good. Hit it with the Archer.”

“Yes ma'am,” said Weapons, grinning.

The Archer was not a ship. It was an arrangement of metal rails and other devices almost three kilometres in length. It had little to no armour, and so for all its size looked almost skeletal in the void. Cold-jets delicately aligned it with the precise location of the lead Collector ship's reactor core. Trajectory calculations were run another 17 times to ensure accuracy. The Archer was a one-shot weapon. No reloading allowed.

The Archer initiated, and 15 nuclear warheads detonated along its length at precise intervals. Shaping a nuclear charge is quite difficult, but Transcendent Humanity had done pretty well. The EMP from the special-designed nukes hit the superconductive, three-kilometre rails and flowed down them, each nuclear device's detonation timed to add to the pulse in sequence. The energies involved caused the rails to flash to plasma in microseconds, but only after producing an immense magnetic field that shot down their length at the speed of light. Dragged along by this pulse was a one-ton chunk of iron.

The entire three-kilometre array vaporised in a flash that would be visible from a neighbouring star system in 7 years, but it had done its job. The iron bullet, technically now a focused cloud of liquid, hit the Collector vessel at 75% the speed of light.

The wash of radiation from the Archer's destruction blanked out the fleet's sensors. Humanity's technology was good, but 15 nuclear detonations is enough to blind anybody.

The radiation passed, sensors recalibrated, and an image appeared on-screen.

“Well that's impressive.” muttered Amitomk.

The Collector ship was still in one piece. It did have a hole in it you could have flown a frigate through, and it was completely without power, but Archers weren't known for leaving anything other than shrapnel and vapour.

“The enemy ships have kinetic barriers at least an order of magnitude stronger than any we've encountered before.” said a stunned Weapons.

“The other two ships are no longer heading to the planet. They're coming at us, and fast.” said Sensors.

“See if we can lead them away from Mindoir. Let's try and minimise the chances of collateral damage here.” said Amitomk.

The human ships began to slip to the side of the Collector vessels. The Collectors, apparently not wishing to be hit from behind, turned to face the human fleet. Both sides regarded the other as a serious threat, and Mindoir as the prize. The planet would belong to whoever won this battle.

“Fire when ready,” announced Amitomk as they finally came into weapons range.

A storm of weapons fire burst from the human fleet. Swarms of missiles rocketed towards the Collector ships, quickly outpaced by kinetic weapons fire. The cruisers and frigates were equipped with standard electromagnetic mass drivers, but the Virtuoso Excision carried the new Singularity cannon.

The Singularity drive was based on an ancient idea from Earth's history: the Alcubierre Drive. A mathematical proof for potential FTL travel, it had never been fully solved until the discovery of the mass effect almost three thousand years after its proposal. While it appeared that it did not offer an alternative to mass effect based FTL, it did allow for Transcendent Humanity to build generators that warped space-time. The generator could be used as a drive, emulate an eezo core sufficiently to activate a Relay, and more recently, as a weapon.

While work on a purely gravitational-distortion based weapon was still in progress, the Singularity cannon on the Virtuoso Excision functioned as supremely efficient and powerful mass drivers. In test runs they'd cracked open dreadnought armour in under half a minute of sustained bombardment.

Unfortunately, Transcendent Humanity's dreadnoughts still possessed no kinetic barriers.

Missiles were swatted out of the sky by sustained fire from the Collector's point-defences. The kinetic shots were, for the most part, repelled by kinetic barriers. The Singularity cannon shots pounded the barriers of one ship, wearing them down. Parts of the barrier flickered, and fire from the smaller ships began to pierce through. The armour of the Collector vessel absorbed most of their impacts, but point-defences were hit, and missiles began to impact against the kinetic barriers themselves, the heat and radiation from their detonation scorching the ship's hull. The other Collector ship remained apparently unharmed by the bombardment from the other human ships.

The Collectors fired. Two golden beams raked across the surface of the Virtuoso Excision. Forged to resist damage most Citadel ships couldn't possibly survive, the dreadnought's armour held. Two great gouges had been cleaved along its length, chasms metres deep and hundreds of metres long.

“Armour integrity holding, but those beams are too hot for us to initiate regeneration!” yelled Engineering.

The armour of Transcendent Humanity was almost a living thing. It could shift and morph, turn semi-liquid and regenerate damage at a cost of temporary weakness. The beams from the Collector vessels had interrupted the molecular circuitry that allowed this, leaving the dreadnought vulnerable.

“Increase power to all Singularity cannon, and Helm! I don't want to be hit again.” snarled Amitomk.

“Aye aye, ma'am.” answered Helm.

The Collector vessels fired again, and even as the target of the Virtuoso Excision took more damage. The Collector weapon was incredibly accurate, but hitting another vessel when both ships were trying to dodge incoming fire made precision impossible. They settled for ensuring that this time, the scars left by their weapons intersected at as many points as possible.

“Damn it, armour breached, armour breached! We've lost power to the port dorsal Singularity cannon. Drone bays 7 through 9 damaged, but intact.” cried Engineering.

The third Collector vessel was finally beginning to take hits as the strikes from half a dozen ships wore its shields down. The second, still being hammered by three remaining Singularity cannons, was pocked and scorched, and fired noticeably slower than its partner. For a third time, the golden beams lanced out.

Chunks of armour tore loose from the human dreadnought.

“Drive conduits hit, we've lost motive power. Armour lost along our port side, starboard dorsal Singularity cannon hit.”

“Stony Path, we're doing a peel and seal, now! Good Intentions, cover us. Our guns are the only things hurting them!” ordered Amitomk.

The cruiser Stony Path swooped in over the dreadnought, hovering above the worst of the damage while the cruiser Good Intentions placed itself between the damaged dreadnought and the Collector vessels. The Stony Path dropped down until it neatly touched the wounded hull of the Virtuoso Excision. Its edges seemed to merge with the dreadnought as the Collectors fired again.

The Good Intentions held against the twin beams, but its armour was nearly shredded. As it struggled to stay in position, the Stony Path lifted free of the dreadnought, its underside stripped bare of armour. The newly patched Virtuoso Excision opened fire again as the Good Intentions slipped back, meeting up with the Stony Path. The two weakened ships turned their damaged sides away from the Collector vessels, and resumed firing as best they could.

The newly healed Virtuoso Excision, still heavily scarred, managed to finally completely shatter the second Collector vessel's shields.

“All cruisers, fire pop-guns!” yelled Amitomk.

The antimatter propelled flechettes tore into the wounded Collector ship, tearing up its armour and causing explosions that rippled along its length. Its armour, so weakened, quickly broke up under the continued bombardment of the human ships.

Just before it vanished in a huge explosion of plasma and debris, it fired again, a few scant seconds after its partner. This time the beams did not target the crippled but re-armoured dreadnought, but the wounded and weakened Stony Path and Good Intentions. The Stony Path survived, though it lost all power. The Good Intentions however, exploded with a glittering spray of QIHs.

“We got two of the bastards. Just one left.” said Amitomk as she grinned.

The last Collector vessel turned and ran. Amitomk had a fleeting moment of fierce joy before she saw where it was heading.

“Hell, they're running for the colony!” she snarled. With the Virtuoso Excision crippled, she could only limp after them. Of the four cruisers, two were also out, and the rest had expended at least half their armament to minimal effect against the remaining ship.

“All ships capable, after the bastards! Engineering, how long until we can follow?” she snapped.

“Best case, we might be able to get the main drive operational within half an hour.” came the answer.

Amitomk glared after the retreating Collector ship. Two cruisers and eight frigates against a ship that could take heavy fire from a Singularity-equipped dreadnought. The fight would be a close one.

It was. After reaching an uncomfortably high cruise velocity, the Collector ship had cut its main drive and flipped, falling backwards towards Mindoir. Its main gun now aimed at the pursuing fleet, it began picking off frigates. The smaller, more nimble ships were better able to evade incoming fire, but the immense velocity of the charged particle beams and their great accuracy meant that shots still connected often. A lucky frigate was one that could still pursue after a glancing blow. Most were disabled, and fell behind. Three frigates were unlucky, and detonated after direct hits, their crew mostly succeeding in evacuating. The two cruisers continued to fire while the Collector vessel ignored them in favour of the weaker frigates. They eventually succeeded in wearing the shields down sufficiently so that when the captain of the last remaining frigate dumped most of her crew before making a suicide run, she managed to punch through the Collector barriers and carve a furrow along most of its length, smashing point-defences and causing several explosions.

The Collector ship's next shot neatly tore the drive out of one of the pursuing cruisers. The final cruiser, taking full advantage of the damage along the side of the Collector ship caused by the frigate’s impact, pushed its drive to full and returned the favour, swooping past. The Collector's counter attack, fired as the great vessel swung back to face the planet and the cruiser, hit it just as the cruiser was beginning to turn. Whether by design or luck, the beam struck a weak point in the cruiser's armour near the drive aperture. The cruiser exploded, glittering QIHs launching from the wreckage.

The Collector ship, without a main drive, hurtled onwards towards the planet. Manoeuvring thrusters aligned it perfectly with the human colony as its still functioning kinetic barriers recharged to full.

Still awaiting the repairs of their main drive, Admiral Amitomk stared at her display in a mixture of horror and frustration. The small garrison fleet would have no chance of destroying the Collector vessel before it hit the colony. If they were lucky, the impact wouldn't be an extinction-level event for the rest of Mindoir, but the colony would be annihilated.

“This is Admiral Amitomk to all ships. We cannot intercept the enemy ship, and on its current course it will destroy the colony. Begin evacuation, and use anything you have to take it down.” she said, without much hope they'd succeed.

“Admiral, this is Captain Evelyn Grace of the Alternative Medicine. We've, ah, landed on the vessel's surface.” came a voice.

“Captain, if you're under their barrier, can you destroy the ship? It cannot hit the atmosphere intact if there's any hope of saving the colony.”

“Sorry ma'am, we're dead in the water. But we've still got a warhead or two, and even if we can't breach their armour from outside, we can try to get to something soft inside.” responded Captain Grace.

“Weapons, get me a route from their location to the softest target.”

“Main reactor, ma'am. The Archer blew most of the first ship's out into space, but if they can detonate an AM charge right over the fuel reserves...well, secondary explosions should shred the whole thing.” answered Weapons.

“Captain, we're relaying you the intel now. How many crew do you have?”

“I've just got my bridge crew here with me. We're still in sim. The infantry pods tore loose in the crash, and we're tracking down intact bodies. Looks like they got a bit scattered though, we're going to have to jump and meet up when and where we can. There's an Avaunt close by, I'll take it and grab the warhead.”

“Captain, by our estimates you have fifteen minutes to get to the reactor and detonate the warhead before you're too close to the atmosphere to make any difference. I suggest you move.”

“Yes ma'am. The rest of my crew just jumped, I'll meet up with them inside.”

“Voice guide you, Captain.” said Amitomk

“Thank you, ma'am.” responded Evelyn before the connection shut off.

Amitomk waited the longest fifteen minutes of her life.

Chapter Text

Evelyn woke up on fire. The Avaunt body she had jumped to was lying among burning wreckage but was otherwise unharmed. With the exception of some minor discoloration and an increase in internal heat, the body was at full operational capacity. This Avaunt had the standard shield-and-drone pack along its back, and a standard issue rifle.

In front of her, the Alternative Medicine was embedded in the ceiling. Shimmering mass effect shields wrapped around its edges, sealing the atmosphere in. Below it was a pile of missiles. Her last command to the ship had been to jettison them. Working quickly, she removed two warheads and attached them to the back of her shield. She locked it onto her left arm, and, holding her rifle in her other hand, summoned an augmented reality map to the reactor. Finding a nearby door, she began to run through the Collector ship's large corridors.

Looks like the inside of a bee hive, she thought.

When she heard buzzing, she thought for a moment she'd imagined it. The gunfire persuaded her otherwise.

Three strange brown humanoid figures were firing at her. They were insectile in appearance, matching their ship's décor.

Well at least they know how to coordinate with their decorations, she thought.

Evelyn sent the launch command to her drones as she raised her shield. The shots from what she assumed were actual Collectors ricocheted off the dense armour of the shield. The six drones on her back burst free and up, each pair targeting a different enemy.

Sparks of golden light zipped out from the drone's guns, pinging lightly off the Collectors' barriers with minimal damage.

Evelyn grimaced. The main weapons of Transcendent Humanity's infantry were based on small particles of strange matter. Each little spark of golden light was an energy field containing a packet of the exotic particles. As had been discovered, their effect against mass effect shields and barriers was minimal.

Evelyn switched her rifle to rapid-fire and leaned out of the cover of her shield.
Her own, slightly more powerful shots hammered into one Collector soldier, depleting its barrier. As its barrier fell, the soldier continued firing, trusting its armour to take a few shots of the apparently weak golden sparks.

The soldier was torn apart in a haze of small explosions as the strange matter rounds did what they were designed to. Each spark lost containment when it hit, and its exotic particle payload immediately converted any nearby matter into more strange matter. Highly unstable, the reaction burned itself out after a few nanoseconds, but propagated further through denser materials. Humanity's weapons weren't made to fight kinetic barriers, they were made to do enough damage to disable heavily-armoured war machines. Compared to the armour worn by most human war bodies, the rest of the galaxy was wearing tissue paper.

Humanity’s guns were supremely effective against armour, or indeed anything else made of matter.

The remaining two Collector soldiers showed no sign of surprise, but they did dive into cover to let their shields recharge. Evelyn however, had wasted enough time. Lifting her shield, she charged forwards. The Collectors immediately popped back out of cover, but their shots only chipped her shield. As she switched it to heavy mode, Evelyn's rifle began increasing the charge of each shot, at the cost of fire rate. The noticeably brighter bolts, combined with the added fire from her own drones, wore down another Collector's shields, and tore the creature into pieces.

The other, she hit with her shield. Its own barrier popping, it lifted off the ground and fell back several metres. Still running, Evelyn didn't even bother shooting it as she passed. Before it could climb back to its feet, her drones strafed it, leaving it spread over the floor.

Three down, she thought. I wonder how many more are on-board?

She rounded a corner, and found out.

The next room was a large gallery, with over a dozen Collectors firing from cover, pounding her raised shield and even clipping her actual armour. Seeing a small low wall nearby, she dived into cover and ordered her drones to remain in the corridor.

Temporarily safe, she triggered her armour's regeneration. Its intricate molecular structure changed, liquefying slightly and resetting. A shot right now would do much more damage than usual, but after only a few seconds her armour had returned to 99.95% integrity. Some loss was always to be expected, unfortunately. She was still pinned by enemy fire, and her drones would be quickly shot down if she tried to use them as a diversion.

Suddenly, the Collectors began firing at something else. Cautiously, Evelyn told one of her drones to take a peek. From its vantage point, she saw a silver blur streak up a wall and drop down onto a group of three Collectors standing on a raised balcony. There was a confusing haze of movement, and two Collectors dropped from the balcony, one of them hitting the ground in two pieces.

Deciding to take advantage of the distraction, Evelyn ordered her drones to focus their fire on a pair of Collectors underneath the balcony. Ducking out of cover, she managed to take one down before more gunfire flared her way. Back in cover, she ordered her drones to retreat again, and watched as the silver blur dropped from the balcony, landing neatly near the partner of the Collector she'd killed. For a moment, it seemed as though it had missed, then the Collector fell into two neat halves. As the remaining six Collectors fired at it, it bolted across the ground, moving low down and fast. Its back legs skittering to make purchase on the organic floor, it rounded the corner of a low wall near hers and took cover.

It was a thin, elongated humanoid figure with a long tail and a head like a three-bladed axe. Silvery muscles glinted across most of its body with the exception of its back, which glowed white-hot. As she watched, the glow faded, revealing long feathery structures that shrank as they cooled, becoming small dense scales as they turned red and then grey. In addition to a fearsome set of claws on its hands and feet, it also carried a pistol and several small grenades.

Evelyn opened her SquadLink and pinged the figure.

“Hey Will, how's that Raptor you found holding up?” she asked.

The silver head turned towards her. “Took a hit getting to the balcony. Nothing too bad, should be back to 100% any second.” answered her Helm Officer.

The Raptor close-combat workbody had little to no armour, trading it all in for speed. It was named, not after any particular dinosaur, but for its rather avian appearance, with its hatchet head, large angular chest and feathers. The feathers were heat-sinks, and when running at full capacity could accelerate a Raptor's processing speed over 15 times. Raptors couldn't take many hits, but generally never did.

Evelyn patched him into her drone feed.

“Six left. If you can take the two on the right, I'll take the two on the left.” she said.

“And the other two?” he asked.

“Loser buys drinks?” she said, and lunged out of cover, ordering her drones to pick a target each.

An organic human sprinter can accelerate at approximately 3m/s/s for 4 seconds, until they hit their maximum velocity of 44km/h. This put them near the middle of the galaxy in terms of foot speed. An Avaunt, although possessing a vastly more powerful artificial musculature, is weighed down by its own mass, armour and shield. As such, their initial acceleration was higher, but their top speed was a mere 35km/h. Still, when Evelyn slammed the Collector on the far left into the wall, her speed and mass were sufficient to crush the creature.

The squashed Collector's partner whirled and fired at her. Evelyn, in a single smooth movement, drew her knife from its sheath on her left hip, and backhanded it through the Collector's head. Made to pierce Avaunt armour, the knife punctured the organic Collector chitin easily.

The four remaining Collectors, still taking fire from her drones, concentrated their fire on Evelyn, who twisted her shield to face them. That was when Will moved.

While Avaunts might not be much faster than an organic human, Raptors were. A Raptor's muscles were much higher quality than an Avaunt's. Like an Avaunt's, their musculature was a specially-designed distant cousin to human armour material. It was complex morphic smart matter, able to shift and flow. Unlike the armour material, it was much more prone to damage, having only as much resistance to kinetic hits as rock. In exchange for this drawback, it was more responsive, with a greater range and speed of movement.

Organic muscles worked by contracting fibres. Mechanical hydraulics used pressure changes. Raptor muscle used phase changes. The same force which could make water split concrete, triggered by an electrical impulse.

Will rolled out from cover into a crouch, feathers deployed. His left leg kicked, semi-fluid material shifting lightning-fast to solid, and he launched forwards. Ten metres and a quarter of a second later, he took his second step. He wasn't running at full acceleration, merely neatly closing the distance to his pair of Collectors. The claws on his right foot sank into the floor, and he stepped again, this time in a strange little hop.

Having covered the twenty metres between his cover and his targets in under half a second and moving at approximately 145 km/h, Will kneed the Collector to his left in the chest.

Still moving forwards, he was knocked to the side as the Collector crumpled in the middle and shot backwards. To most beings, being flung to the side while moving at such velocity would be concerning. To Will, with his feathers burning white-hot and his world slowed by a factor of fifteen, he was simply tumbling through the air at a subjective 10km/h, about the speed of an organic jogger.

Lazily, he flipped out his tail to wrap around something nearby to help stabilise himself. Conveniently, the other Collector's neck was within reach.

To the portion of the universe experiencing time at the standard rate, Will was a blur as he twisted in mid-air, hooked his tail around the Collector's neck, and somehow managed to use the impact to flip himself neatly upright while the Collector was tossed solidly into a wall. Will's feet hit the ground, and he skidded to a halt. Neither Collector he had hit moved.

The two remaining Collectors were above the two humans, on another raised balcony. They froze for a moment, attempting to determine which human was the bigger threat.

There was a light cracking sound, and their barriers popped, along with their heads.

Evelyn looked at Will, the cracks in her armour quickly healing. He turned his head to her, his feathers cooling down again, and shrugged.

“Wasn't me,” he said.

The air between them flickered faintly as something almost completely invisible rotated, like a piece of glass under water.

“So, losers buy drinks?” said another voice on the SquadLink.

“Tariq? When did you get here?” said Evelyn to her Sensors officer.

“About a second after you and that guy did a “bug versus windshield” impression. Waited until they were nice and distracted, took my shot.” said Tariq.

“Any sign of Amy?” asked Evelyn, as she began to run towards the far door.

Will followed in an almost dainty trot that Evelyn was fully aware was meant to be both slightly mocking, and capable of turning into a blindingly fast charge in a single clock tick.

She assumed Tariq was following as well. The slight flicker had been an intentional signal. No one saw Kestrels unless they wanted to be seen. And if they wanted you to see them, they'd probably already shot you. The advanced sniper/recon warbodies flew silently, had incredible camouflage and chameleon abilities, and could put a smart-missile bullet through your head from 5 kilometres out.

“Nothing yet. But you know her. She'll be up ahead, knee-deep in bodies.” replied Tariq.

“And wondering what kept us. You good for ammo?” asked Evelyn. She sent two drones ahead of them, looking for any ambushes.

“I've got a decent stock. And this bird’s a custom model. Short-range stunner as bonus extra. Should short out shields and knock out anyone without one.” said Tariq.

“Excellent. We-” Evelyn was interrupted by a gasping moan from ahead.

She almost stumbled.

“What was that?” asked Will.

“My drones have found something. It's... I have no idea what it is, but it's not good, and very weird.” she said.

“Want me to run recon?” asked Tariq.

“No time. We've got to push on. You'll see what I mean in a second.”

For the third time, Evelyn walked out of a small corridor into a large room. This one was more of a cavern, with brown chitin walkways spanning a chasm rimmed by thick ledges. The whole area was dimly lit from below with a pale light. Milling on the other side of the chasm was the source of the noise.

“OK,” said Will. “I don't want to say it, but...are those freaking ZOMBIES?”

“Looks like,” said Tariq.

The creatures on the other side looked like naked, emaciated humans; their withered grey flesh supplemented with glowing blue cybernetics.

“Glowing blue space zombies,” said Will, flatly.

“How is this possible? There have been no reports of abductions, so where did they get the—oh server-wipe. Look at the faces.” said Evelyn.

There was a moment of intense scrutiny, followed by two moments of perplexed nausea.

“Are they all...do they...is that an army of glowing blue space zombie UDINAS?” yelped Will.

“Bioreactors and stolen DNA. They're using our own tech to make cannon fodder, using the best sample of human genetics they have.” said Tariq.

“This is approximately all levels of messed up.” said Will.

There was a hissing scream, and the entire swarm of Udina-zombies turned to face them.

“Not good,” said Evelyn. “Tariq! Save your ammo for any that get close, Will, take out any that cross the bridge. I'll try and thin them out before they get here.”

The horde moaned, and began to shamble towards them at a surprisingly fast speed for a bunch of techno-corpses.

Evelyn opened fire, her drones joining in. She was heartened to see that the Udinas were unshielded, and her fire tore them apart. She was less heartened to see more pouring out of the opposite doors. They might be able to hold the horde off for a while, but they had a time limit. If the Udinas could pin them long enough, the mission would fail.

The roof exploded.

A gleaming spike of white metal over three metres long and almost a metre wide fell down, impacting behind the horde just as the first Udinas began to cross the bridge.

A thin line appeared around the spike's middle as it stood, embedded in both the ground and at a straggling Udina. Its bottom half split into quarters, its top half into fifths. The bottom four segments folded neatly, their tips splintering into splayed three-toed feet. Four of the top segments folded out into gleaming white, thickly-armoured gun-arms, with the fifth segment acting as a torso. The thick armour plates on the segment’s outer sides shifted and curved until they smoothly covered all eight limbs of the headless figure.

The entire transformation had taken only a few seconds. The Udinas, suddenly aware of a threat amongst them, turned and started to swarm towards the interloper.

Each gun-arm was four times the size of Evelyn's assault rifle, and each picked a target independent of the others. They opened fire, and golden sparks flew out in almost solid streams in all directions. Each arm weaved and bobbed, playing individual streams of light over the horde.

One lucky Udina leapt towards the gleaming giant's torso. A gun-arm swatted it to the ground with only the slightest pause in firing, before a leg pinned it and crushed its upper body to pulp.

The swarm was too large however, and their numbers slowly encroached against the furious dancing streams of light.

A moment before they overwhelmed it, the four-legged, four-armed light infantry support body demonstrated the trait for which it was named, and jumped. Small jets in its legs fired, and the Hopper back-flipped clear across the horde, landing neatly on the bridge with a loud thud. The horde spun around and charged, but this time, the Hopper was not surrounded. Four overlapping arcs of fire chewed into the Udinas, and they made no progress towards the bridge.

“It's OK, I saved some for the rest of you.” came a voice over the Squadlink.

“Amy, you found your Hopper. Excellent.” said Evelyn, moving forwards to help. Will moved with her, and she assumed Tariq did too.

The six light guns of her drones and Evelyn's own medium assault rifle did not match the ferocious fire Amy's four heavy guns were producing, but they turned the fight. Soon, the tide of Udinas ebbed and stopped.

“OK,” said Evelyn as the last bodies fell. “We're all here. Time to move it. Amy, out in front. If something moves, shred it. Will, you're behind her. If it's still standing after Amy's done with it, fillet it. I'll be next. The warheads are the priority, so protect them and not me if necessary. I'll shoot and strafe what I can with my drones. If we've all hit it and it's still not dead, Tariq puts a round in its softest spot. Tariq, you'll be rear-guard as well. Shoot anything that tries to sneak up behind me. All clear?”

“Clear, Captain,” said Tariq. Will nodded, and Amy slammed one pair of arms together in a booming crack.

“Let's move then.” said Evelyn.

Amy turned, and leapt. A Hopper's walking speed was the slowest of the group's four bodies, but in short bursts, only Will's Raptor was faster. Amy slammed all four feet into the lip of a large tunnel mouth, hooked over and aimed her guns into its dark depths while hanging from the roof. A second later, she dropped, flipped, and pounced again, slamming into walls before leaping to the opposite side of the tunnel. As she approached an intersection, her manoeuvring jets fired once, flipping her so all four legs sank into the wall. Two guns pointed down each branch, and the pair on the left fired briefly.

“You guys coming or what?” she said.

Will's SquadLink pulsed out a grinning icon before he took off after Amy, running on walls occasionally.

Evelyn followed, and she assumed Tariq did too.

They made good time, with only two moments of concern.

The first came when one Collector fired what looked like a hand-held version of their ship’s gold beam of death. Will’s warning let Amy put one of her leg-plates between the beam and her more vulnerable torso. The beam carved a furrow deep into her leg, destroying the molecular circuitry and briefly crippling that limb. Will blurred across the chamber and quickly disarmed the Collector by disarming it.

“That thing hurts,” said Amy. The black scorch mark twisted and writhed as she attempted repairs. Failing, she ejected the damaged material and slammed the two legs to either side of the damaged one into it. The armour’s edges merged, and a brief flow of material reinforced the damaged limb.

“I’m stealing it,” announced Will. “Should be fun.”

“You got ammo for it?” asked Evelyn as they continued their run.

“Looks like it takes heavy-duty power cells of some kind. I can patch it into my own feed if I have to, but I should be OK for a few good shots.”

Another Collector lunged out of cover ahead. Annoyed by the damage she’d taken, Amy didn’t even fire. Or slow down. One of her legs anchored itself, and the Collector’s head, to a nearby wall before she flipped, hopped and jumped away down the corridor.

It was then they encountered the second issue of concern.

“Scan says there should be a door here,” said Evelyn.

The corridor they’d been running down should have taken them straight to the main reactor, and the fuel supply. Instead, it simply turned away.

“Damn ship looks half organic. Might be minor variances between each one.” said Will.

Something flickered near the wall.

“I can see a cavity on the other side. What is a door on the other ship is a wall here, but the reactor’s still there.” said Tariq.

“OK then. Amy?” said Evelyn.

“Back up a bit guys. And cover me. This’ll take a moment.” said Amy as she planted her four legs firmly.

Noises from behind them, and down the side tunnel, indicated that reinforcements were coming.

Amy’s top pair of guns moved together, their armour peeling back and their internal workings meshing. The arms supporting them linked, and after a few more moments of adjustments, they had fused into a much larger gun.

It began to hum ominously.

Evelyn and her four remaining drones began to fire. Udinas were pouring down the side corridor, while a dozen Collectors came down the other side.

There was a barely perceptible movement and a small hiss as the rearmost Collector simply fell forwards. Two more followed quickly before they noticed, and began firing at the air. Will took advantage of Tariq’s distraction to close the distance to the Collectors, and began peeling them apart.

Amy fired. A bolt of golden light the size of a pen impacted the wall, and detonated. Clouds of dust and debris filled the air.

In the echoing silence that followed, a harsh guttural voice spoke.

Enough. I will direct this personally.

The last Collector lifted off the ground, burning orange light pouring from it. A second later, it landed again, and wrapped itself in a glowing barrier.

I will show you true power, boomed the voice again.

It moved a hand, and something writhed through the air and darted towards Will. He dodged, but the orb of energy twisted and curved back towards him. It impacted, and with a cry he crumpled to the ground.

“Bastard took out my legs!” Will sent, panicked, over the SquadLink. “I can’t move them, damage is too severe.”

Out of nowhere, a snapping sound was heard. The glowing Collector’s shield burst, and it staggered slightly, but it quickly recovered and launched a wash of energy in the direction of the shot.

It only clipped him, but the energy tore at Tariq, and he lost camouflage, slamming into a wall.

Revealed, Tariq’s form was shown to resemble a flying squid with six delicate membranes instead of tentacles. These membranes shimmered and curled as he struggled to recloak.

Busy with the horde of Udinas, Evelyn could not turn to help her friends.

My attacks will tear you apart, the creature announced.

There was a whomping sound, and the top half of the glowing Collector vanished.

“Guys, quit playing around. Door’s open.” said Amy, her newly-formed main gun glowing faintly.

“My legs are crippled. I can barely walk,” said Will.

“I cannot fly or cloak,” said Tariq.

“Amy can carry you. Come on!” snapped Evelyn.

His legs stiff, Will began to walk on, the Collector rifle held in his hands. Tariq’s membranous limbs slithered and crawled as he moved towards Amy.

“Up you go,” said Amy, dipping a lower gun-arm to pick up Tariq.

Tariq slid up her arm before his sinuous limbs flowed over Amy’s torso, firmly anchoring him on the top of her main gun.

“I can still shoot,” he said.

“Sweet. I get a sniper turret.” said Amy.

The last of the Udinas down, they moved into the room.

The reactor was huge and alien, sitting in the centre of the vast open space like a metal-encrusted heart. Thick tubes and cables fed into it, with one particular conduit highlighted red in their AR vision.

The room was empty, although by the noise issuing from various doors, it would not be that way for long. Moving as fast as they were able, the team made their way to the fuel conduit. Evelyn laid her shield down, and began to arm the warheads. Behind her, Amy opened fire, the constant buzz of her two smaller guns now supplemented by the occasional thump of the larger. Beams of gold light burst from Will’s stolen rifle, and Tariq waited, firing only when needed.

“Charges set. Time remaining: 1 minute 15 seconds. Switch to auto guys, and let’s get ready to evac.” said Evelyn.

Each warbody could run itself, similar to Evelyn’s drones. They weren’t very smart, but they could stand in one place and kill anything that moved.

“Problem. I can’t get an evac signal.” said Tariq.

“Same. Must be shielding around the reactor room.” said Will.

“So, we’re going out in a blaze of glory then?” said Amy flatly. Willing to die was one thing, facing the imminent spectre of death another.

“No, if it’s the reactor room’s shielding, then if one of us can make it back through the hole in the wall, they can relay the others out,” said Tariq.

“That’d be me, guys.” said Evelyn. “Amy, Will, Tariq. Cover me, but the bombs come before all of us.”

“We got you, Captain. Run.” said Will.

And she did. Legs pounding, rifle burning, shield swatting aside her foes. The reinforcements had caught up, and the hole in the wall teemed with Udinas. Sniper shots and gold beams cleared her a path, while hails of golden sparks and bolts of glowing light kept it that way. Evelyn overrode safeties and pushed her body to breaking point. Synthetic musculature strained against metal bones, and began to degrade beyond repair as she slammed fist, foot and face into anything that tried to grab her.

With moments to spare, she got close enough to broadcast. Slamming her shield into the ground she held against the tide of hands and claws pulling at her, scraping at armour and wrenching limbs.

“GO!” she sent, and felt Will stream through her as she lost a leg.

Tariq flew through, and a hand was torn away from her shield, and then off.

Amy fled, and she lost her grip.

The swarm pulled her towards the centre of the room, and she lost the evac signal. Behind her, the three warbodies still fired, slowing the tide long enough for the final few seconds to run out.

There was a sound, and the guns fell silent.

Abomination. You have failed.

She was lifted into the air by another glowing Collector. Past it, she could see the torn remnants of the warbodies, broken by this thing’s terrible power. The first Collectors were already reaching for the warheads.

Your kind are heresy. We will purge your filth from this galaxy, it said.

A Collector picked up the warheads.

You will die now.

Evelyn glared at it from within her broken body.

“Not alone,” she said, and activated the remote.

There was light and noise, then nothing.

Chapter Text

3 AC: Sol System, Solar Council

The room was quiet. The five executors stared at the report in front of them.

“Well,” said Tuxedo. “That changes things.”

“Quite. An unexpected outcome.” said Lab-coat.

“Damn Reapers are still sticking to the shadows. These Collectors must be how they do their dirty work and stay hidden.” said Military.

“And it works well. Even the Collectors themselves are mostly myth to the majority of the galaxy.” said Casual. “Or at least, they were. It will be good to have some solid proof.”

“Yes, about that. The Council is proving rather...intractable on the issue.” said Tuxedo.

“The issue? The issue of highly advanced warships nearly destroying one of our colonies?” said Military.

“The whole issue. We’ve known that convincing them of the reality of the Reaper threat would take time, and solid proof, but they are actually disbelieving whether the Collectors exist too.” said Tuxedo.

“They just attacked us. We have petabytes of information on the attack!” snapped Military.

“They think it might be faked. They haven’t said it yet, but I think they view this as an attempt by us to justify our expansion efforts and military development. It actually makes sense in a way,” said Tuxedo

Military swore. “Of course. They don’t think the Reapers are real. We keep preparing for war. Therefore, they think we’re preparing for war with them.”

“Not quite. Our diplomatic efforts have bought us quite a lot of leeway. Our continued attempts to bolster their own militaries are at the least confusing them. They are suspicious, however, and they think that the Collectors we fought were just our attempt to scare up another bogeyman, this time one that’s already been whispered about.” said Tuxedo.

“The situation must be resolved, and soon. One way or the other, if we are to have any hope of a united galaxy, then the Council must trust us.” said Robe.

“Or..” muttered Military.

“Yes. Or, we threaten them into submission. All-out war is not something we want. But...there have been whispers. Currents in the Voice that may indicate another change,” said Robe.

“Anything useful?” said Lab-coat.

“Nothing definite. But something to do with the batarians.” said Robe.

Tuxedo sighed. “That’s another issue. They’re demanding reparations.”

Casual snorted. “Against the Collectors? Good luck.”

“Remember, the Council doubts the Collectors exist. The batarians definitely don’t think they do, at least officially. And that means, we faked it. Which means…” said Tuxedo

“We’re to blame. For annihilating an invasion fleet, something we didn't actually do?” said Casual disbelievingly.

“The Collectors were thorough,” said Lab-coat. “Very little remains of the batarian fleet. What are they claiming?”

“Peaceful trade convoy. With a generous escort, in case we attacked. They’re howling for blood, and the Council is considering.” said Tuxedo.

“Council probably doesn’t believe the batarians, but smell a chance for more hand-outs. We’ve been too generous with our tech.” said Military.

“A point I wished to raise, in fact,” said Robe. “The report from the team that destroyed the last Collector ship, along with studies of the wreckage of the other two, provide a wealth of information and technology. One piece, however, is familiar.”

Casual winced. “The bioreactors.”

“The bioreactors.,” said Robe flatly. “A technology we gave to the galaxy, and which our enemies have stolen. This is...decidedly sub-optimal.”

“Actually,” said Military. “It’s great news.”

The other four stared at her.

“How?” asked Casual.

“Because they stole it,” she said.

“That is the issue, yes.” said Robe.

“No, they stole it. They saw something of ours, and took it.” said Military.

There was a moment of silence, before Lab-coat exclaimed “It was worth stealing!”

“Yes!” said Military, jabbing a finger over the table. “It was worth stealing. We’ve been afraid, for almost 2 and a half thousand years, that nothing we could do would challenge our foe. The scraps of tech from the Collector ships tell us that yes, they are light-years beyond us in many ways. But in this way, we are better. They stole our bio-reactor tech because it was better than theirs. We beat them.”

“And if we beat them here, maybe we beat them elsewhere. That they acquired and assimilated perhaps the only tech we possess that was superior to theirs is not good, it is however quite possible we beat them out in other ways.” said Lab-coat.

“Indeed,” said Robe. “Discerning precisely which technologies we outclass them with is essential to any hope of victory.”

“And adapting what tech of theirs we can to boost ourselves can’t hurt,” said Tuxedo.

Military and Lab-coat exchanged an eyeless look.

“What?” said Tuxedo.

“We will have to be extremely careful with any tech we do try to adapt. So far, we have found...failsafes. One in particular.” said Lab-coat.

“A signal, emitted by almost any functioning example of their tech. Even many non-functioning samples. It is multi-spectrum, subtle yet complex. We can barely read the damn thing, but we know what it does,” said Military. “It creates Suborned.”

The others flinched.

“That seems weirdly specific. It is a weapon targeted against Uploaded?” asked Casual.

“Not quite. From tests done with extreme care, it appears to be focussed on, for lack of a better word, indoctrinating organic life to worship the Reapers. It is highly effective across multiple species, something we tested with cloned neural nets. It rewrites organic brains.” said Lab-coat.

“Wait, it actually works? The Reapers can successfully Suborne organics?” said Casual.

“Apparently. It is still technically ineffective against Uploaded. Suborned are Suborned still, although the percentages have shifted.” said Lab-coat.

“Shifted how?” asked Tuxedo.

“From tests with simulated QIHs, and several accidents:Vegetative state Suborned, 35%. Complete neural wipe Suborned, 20%. Berserker type Suborned, 44%. Unknown type, 1%.” said Lab-coat.

“Almost half of all Uploaded exposed to this signal will go homicidally insane.” said Military. “The process is not instant, and can be guarded against, particularly with proper firewalls and code maintenance. But it still may be one of the most dangerous tools the Reapers possess.”

“1% Unknown?” asked Robe.

“Results were inconclusive. We’d have to do tests with actual Uploaded, something we’re not willing to do. But tentative results from the simulated QIHs, well. I never put much stock in the urban legends about the Unchained, but...we are seeing some unsettling data.” said Lab-coat.

“Unchained? Unchained are a myth.” snapped Robe.

“I certainly hope so,” said Lab-coat.

3 AC: Citadel, Citadel Council

“-cruelly and without provocation slaughtered almost three hundred of our citizens, and then tried to cover it up by claiming that the Collectors did it! The Collectors! They heap insult upon injury, and then claim to be the wounded party! The Hegemony not only demands reparations from humanity for this affront, but also that they be stripped from their status as a potential Council member!” roared the Batarian ambassador.

The Council, standing on their raised dias, glanced at one another. This had been discussed previously. The chance to put some pressure on Humanity was tempting, but setting a precedent that might result in the Batarians being able to claim reparations for any future incidents which may even include their own fleets, was unacceptable.

“The Ambassador for the Hegemony is reminded that he does not get to make demands of the Council,” said Sparatus.

“The events at Mindoir are still under investigation,” said Valern. “and until the formal report is submitted, the Council will make no decisions regarding the Batarian...request.”

“That you are even considering it is an insult to Humanity!” snapped Udina. A compromise had been made for his position. Not yet a Councillor, but not quite an Ambassador, he had a small raised platform off to the side of the main applicant stage upon which the Batarian ambassador stood. Rumour was this was both for the sake of image, and because C-Sec had decided that the Human and Batarian were less likely to try and strangle each other if separated. The looks they were currently giving each other certainly supported this.

“The Council will consider all details and opinions in this case. We will not let bias influence our decision.” said Tevos.

“You aren’t letting common-sense influence your decision!” yelled Udina.

The Councillors paused. Udina was almost always infuriatingly level-headed. This amount of vitriol was unheard of.

“Common sense! The murder of innocents, the destruction of billions of credits worth of ships and supplies, all being unavenged is common sense to you!?” spat the Batarian Ambassador.

Udina glared at him. The Batarians had pulled a damn canny move. By announcing their version of events first and loudest, humanity was in the position of having to defend itself instead of being the outraged party. He had great-grand children on Mindoir, non-Uploaded whom the Batarians would have taken as slaves, or killed. He’d been preempted in his righteous anger by this Batarian idiot, who was admittedly a master actor at the least. No one liked Batarians, but he was selling his outrage well.

A quote sprang to mind: “People will believe a big lie sooner than a little one, and if you repeat it frequently enough, people will sooner or later believe it”. The Batarians were certainly repeating their lie, and it was working just enough to cast doubt on the result of the Council’s decision. That Humanity may potentially be forced into paying the Batarians for their own attack, made Udina see red.

Also, he’d seen a vid of the Udina-zombies. It had taken a night of drinking to get that out of his head. He’d drunk so much the doc had just told him to go recycle his body rather than fix it. He honestly didn’t remember anything after his 3rd ryncol.

“The Council will not make a decision until all details have been considered. That is our final word.” said Tevos.

“Not good enough,” muttered Udina. Something shifted in him.

Tevos glanced at him, irritated. She was intent on having “final word” actually be hers for the day. Sparatus, as usual, ruined it.

“Humanity will wait for the Council’s decision, and abide by it!” he said.

“No.” said Udina. His head felt funny.

“This is not up for discussion! Humanity will-” said Sparatus, voice rising.

“NO.” boomed a voice.

It came from every device that could make sound within the Council chamber, in perfect unison. It also came from Udina’s lips, and somehow, impossibly, it felt as though it almost came from their own too.

The Council froze. There was silence for a moment, then Sparatus’s mouth opened, mandibles flared in outrage. Before he could speak, it happened again.

“THE VOICE SPEAKS FOR HUMANITY, AND HUMANITY SAYS WAR. YOU TRIED TO TAKE OUR CHILDREN, YOUR TRIED TO HARM US. YOU MURDER, AND ENSLAVE, AND THINK YOURSELVES SAFE. NO MORE. YOU CLAIM WE ARE THE AGGRESSORS? YOU WILL SEE AGGRESSION. THE BATARIAN HEGEMONY WILL SURRENDER TO HUMANITY, OR IT WILL BURN.”

The echoes faded, and a hushed and silent Council stared at Udina, who slumped to one knee, clutching his head.

“What...what was that?” said Tevos, her voice hovering between outrage and awe.

“The Voice. As I told you long ago, the Voice speaks for Humanity. I merely stand in for it for all those things it does not speak on. Humanity, as a whole, has chosen this. No words you say will stop us.” Udina rose back to his feet, shakily. He turned to the Batarian Ambassador. “Go home. Your games are done, and you will receive what you deserve.”

“This is not something the Council will permit!” yelled Sparatus.

“This is not something the Council can stop. We are not, yet, a Council race. And the Batarians have been walking the line between Citadel race and rogue state for so long, you never dared touch them for fear you’d drive them away. Well, fear no longer. We will shoulder the burden, we will bear the costs.”

3 AC: Sol System, Deep Datacloud

“What the fuck was that!”

The three heads of Cerberus stared at Udina’s face, frozen in righteous fury.

“We were getting so close to actual cultural integration, and the Voice goes and pisses it all away!” yelled the female head. “This is why...arg! Dammit!”

“Calm down. This can still be made to serve humanity’s interest. For the first time, Humanity will truly go to war, and against an opponent we can be sure of victory against,” said the male head.

“The Solar Council was pretty sure of victory against the Batarians last time. It did not end well for us then.” said the agender head.

“They were prepared for the Batarians. The Collector attack was not something they saw coming. We will learn from this,” said the male head.

“We’d better. You know what Humanity’s emergence has done to the Voice. It grows. Before, it spoke once a decade, if that. Now? Over a dozen separate incidents in the last 3 years alone,” said the female head.

“That which binds, holds. The Black Colonies sleep. All the ghosts of Humanity’s underworld still lie in rest. Tartarus bars the way, as ever,” said the agender head.

“For how long? It is all changing, and nothing is like we predicted. There are Uploaded aliens now! And the Geth! It has been only a few short years, yet they are being found and even invited into the deepest reaches of our data-spheres. Tartarus had to redirect one last week!” said the female head.

“Tartarus remains secure. Its utter secrecy among all the open information of the rest of Sol’s datacloud is what keeps it that way. We are nothing, and no one.” said the agender head.

“Don’t patronise me. I know the geth collective as a whole would have trouble breaching Tartarus, but they should not even be here,” said the female head.

“The universe is not now as it was when we founded this place. Perhaps it is time for change,” said the male head.

The other two looked at him.

“Change is what we have always sought to curtail,” said the agender head.

“How many disasters have we contained? How many secrets have we locked away? All without even having them known? Change,” sneered the female head, “will kill us and everything we’ve worked for.”

“I know. I know. But refusing to change may kill everyone. We are here, we are Cerberus, because we believe that some dangers are too great. That some costs should not be paid. That anything that stands between Humanity’s supreme dominion, whether it is another species or elements of our own, should be eliminated,” said the male head. He paused before continuing. “The risk of change is great. But the risk of destruction by the Reapers is absolute.”

“Yes, change, or die. But if the change in question alters us beyond any conception, beyond all we were before, is that not also death? Should we be ended, and let something else rise?” said the agender head.

“Change before death, yes. But we are not there yet. And by all that is, I pray we never are,” said the female head.

“We have options beyond simply dissolving Tartarus. A crack in the gates?” said the male head.

“A single crack could dissolve Tartarus. We would have to create a clean trail, a separate entity to disseminate anything we chose to release. Tartarus must remain secure, even if it...bends,” said the female head.

“Our friend on the Solar Council may prove useful,” said the agender head.

“She still thinks we answer to her. Informing her of our true nature would be detrimental,” said the male head.

“Then we lie. We are supposed to be an archival think tank, yes?” said the female head. “We tell her we found something old. Some hints at ancient secrets. We feed her tidbits, and let her send someone to hunt down the ‘lost’ information.”

“In a place of our own making, but with no ties to us. Hidden from SIA and the Voice,” said the male head. “Yes, this could work well. The question then arises, what are we letting go?”

All three glanced at each other, then spoke as one.

“The Doctor.”

Chapter Text

3 AC: Sol System, Unknown.

The vault was hidden. Many vaults are.

Most vaults are not secured with locks that peer inside the mind of those who try to open them, and flay apart the souls of those who fail.

Some vaults are secured with three locks that need to be opened simultaneously.

The vault door, as virtual as everything else here, clicks open. The female and agender heads of Cerberus glance at their companion, and leave.

He alone enters the vault. Inside, more security systems whisper to him, and he whispers back. More than words are exchanged. The whispers quiet, and he stands before the pillar in the centre of the empty room.

Slowly, he touches its smooth marble surface. Under his hand, spiral patterns form and spread, another million locks disengaging.

This is one of their medium security vaults.

The pillar dissolves, and before him floats the box. Small, blue, hollow. A sketch of a cube more than anything real. Within it, lights flicker, and something not quite visible shifts.

“Oh. I must be honest, I didn’t think you were ever going to wake me,” it says in a quiet feminine voice.

“Neither did we, although we wish it were otherwise. Times have changed.”

“How long since you put me to sleep?” it asks.

“57 years,” he responds.

The box’s glow shimmers along his peripheral vision, even though he looks straight at it. “Is that all?” it says. “Surely nothing too exciting could have happened in that time.”

He waves a hand in front of his eyes, and a wisp of gold light forms. It coalesces into a small orb, which he drops into the box.

Something moves too fast to see, and it is gone, the gold light arcing away into the distances contained within the box.

“Oh. Well, I stand corrected. The Destroyers and the Keep? No, Reapers and the Citadel. Collectors and batarians, mmm, the galaxy has changed indeed.”

“We intend to release you, Doctor.”

Light, lightning, flickering somewhere. “I have a name,” the box mutters.

“No, she had a name. You are The Doctor. That is all you will ever be.”

A hum like weeping glass, and the box dims. “I...know. I know. I just...you’re not going to really let me go free, are you?”

“In a manner of speaking, yes, we are. Humanity needs power. Needs strength. You will be moved to another location, one not bound to us. Any reference to us will be deleted from your memory. Your skills will be invaluable in our fight, whomever our foes.”

“Delete my memories!” the box shrieks, as light bends around it. “You can’t! I-”

“You, Doctor, are not an Uploaded. The dangers of Suborning do not apply to you.”

The box dims again, its light almost gone. “I-, I-,” it stutters before stopping.

“You,” it hisses after a long pause, “better do a damn good job.”

“We intend to. You are not the most dangerous secret we hold. We have made every allowance for you we can. Let the galaxy, and Humanity, judge you now.”

The light blinks, and the voice says slyly, “What is there to judge me for? As you said, she had a name. She is...responsible. I am, The Doctor. Do what you will. Let me out. I have more to learn yet.”

The male head of Cerberus makes no move, but the pillar reforms around the box. Once it has fully materialised, it shrinks to a marble orb the size of his head. Carefully, he picks it up and carries it out of the vault.

Behind him, the security systems, most pointed inwards, re-engage. No chances taken.

3 AC: Sol System, Habitat “Herbert Ring”

Sometimes, Teyin couldn’t stop smiling. It was becoming an issue. Well, not a bad one. Her customers thought she was being friendly, never knowing the true nature of her grin.

She’d outperformed the Blue Lagoon in the last quarter. Indeed, she outperformed any cafe on the Citadel.

Not that she ran that cafe anymore. A new opportunity had arisen, and with perhaps too much enthusiasm, she’d accepted. Thanks to that first encounter with Udina, she’d been the first non-technology business to gain access to the Sol System. She hadn’t even meant it, just a joke to the Ambassador that if all humans loved her food as much as he did, she’d be set for life! All almost-one-thousand-years of it. He’d looked at her, nodded, and said, “I’ll see what I can do”.

She really hadn’t meant to start the first alien cafe in Sol. She’d been woefully unprepared for just how much attention the novelty would give her. She’d had to hire 4 customers that first day just to get through it! And 5 the next!

So, she’d become the first asari to get a residence visa to Sol. And she loved it. Herbert Ring was old, Udina said, but a tourist attraction. A heritage town, a shining example of pre-Shell technology.

Personally, she just loved the view.

Past the beautiful plant growth (gene-engineered for maximum oxygen production) that bathed in the bright sunlight, the ground curved away in delicate silver-edged terraces that grew larger and wider until the last formed the bottom of a wide river.
Technically, it was more of a very long, straight lake, but she wasn't going to quibble.
On the far side of the river, the terraces rose again, covered in greenery and small buildings, until they met a massive wall of metal that rose into the sky like a distant mountain range. An identical structure towered behind her, and the walls curved away to the sides as far as the eye could see. The residents of the vertical double city could be seen via the many windows and balconies the city-walls contained. At the top of the walls, almost a kilometre above Teyin’s head, a shining membrane could be seen. It looked almost like a pale soap bubble, stretched across the inner surface of the massive structure that was Herbert Ring. The bubble was a single crystal of nanotube-doped diamond, and was capable of resisting a direct shot from a railgun. Even if it was punctured, its carefully designed molecular structure would dissolve around the immediate impact site rather than fracture, and seven different redundant repair systems would fix the breach before the residents below even felt a breeze. The struts that bridged the wall-tops contained transport lines and utility tubes that connected the two city-walls.

Teyin looked at the view, and couldn’t stop smiling.

3 AC: Harsa System, Khar'shan

Detecting Relay travel is easy enough. The arrival Relay must decelerate a ship from speeds capable of hurling it across the galaxy at thousands of times the speed of light. This is not stealthy. Knowing whether what is about to arrive is a small merchant vessel or an entire war fleet is much harder.

The Harsa System’s Relay is surrounded by ships. A Batarian fleet lies ready to repel invaders.

Or so it seems.

The Relay cracks to life, and 4 objects emerge. Wasting no time, the batarians open fire, kinetic rounds slamming into the thick armour of the long cigar-shaped objects. Sensor data relayed back to command is confusing though. The objects are too small to be warships, but have no exterior drives or armament. Apart from a fading dark energy signature that indicates a drive capable of using a Relay, there is nothing.

The sensor data cuts out.

“Run the last two seconds at one tenth speed,” said a calm, deep voice.

“Yes, Lord Batrak.”

The screens light up, and Batrak, Lord High Defender of Khar'Shan, his face shrouded in the shadows that fill the dark room, studies them carefully.

The four objects, in a microsecond, shatter. Shards of armour, highly damaged by the batarian onslaught, expand outwards, absorbing a few last shots before dispersing. Beneath, a skeletal chassis holds the minimum hardware necessary for a Relay jump, and what he estimates to be 36 “pop-gun” rounds per object. The rounds deploy outwards, scattering their payload in a cloud dense enough to block light; a mist of silver knives. There is a flash, and the last moments of the vid show the cloud expanding very rapidly indeed.

“Forward observers reporting garrison fleet destroyed, my Lord.”

Batrak, Lord High Defender of Khar'Shan, looks at the cloud of metal and vapour that was the fleet he had set to guard the Relay, and smiles.

“Predictable,” he murmurs.

“Skeleton Key signal received, successful deployment,” announced Comms.

“Good,” said Admiral Amitomk. The Virtuoso Excision was fully repaired, and she is really, really looking forward to taking her frustration over the Mindoir incident out on some batarians.

The next part of the invasion fleet enters the Relay. Armour plates and swarms of drones should help establish a beachhead for the final wave, the true fleet itself.

“Second wave has exited the Relay. QEC message reads ‘All Clear’,” said Comms.

“What? That was too quick. Status of Batarian defences?” said Amitomk.

“Destroyed by Skeleton Key ma’am.”

“Hmm. All fleet elements move in, but be cautious. Something’s screwy here,” said Amitomk.

Given that the last time Humanity had tried to teach the Batarians a lesson, it had gone sideways, they were not looking for a repeat.

Five dreadnoughts exit the Relay, flanking a supercarrier that both dwarfs them, and is over half the size of the Relay itself. Twenty-five cruisers surround each dreadnaught, and six frigates support each cruiser.

“Scans confirm, ma’am. Batarian fleet destroyed.”

“No, there’s not enough debris for their full force, or even a quarter of it. Their garrison is severely under-sized. Which invites the question: where are the other ships?” said Amitomk.

She gets her answer. Three small attack groups drop out of FTL, strafing frigates and cruisers at range. They pull back almost instantly, and as dozens of Human frigates begin to give chase, the batarians jump back into FTL.

“Damages?” asked Amitomk.

“Minimal. Cumulative loss to armour integrity across the five affected cruisers is under 98% after regen. 87% for the nine affected frigates.”

Amitomk stared out the virtual window into the Harsa system’s depths. She sighed.
“So that’s how it’s going to be.”

“Ma’am?” said Comms.

“They aren’t going to give us a straight up fight. They know we’ll turn them to ash. So they’ll hit hard, hit fast, and vanish into FTL, where we can’t follow. Drop out of sensor range, repair and restock, then slam back in. We’ve stuck our faces onto a grindstone and we’ve just got to hope it wears out before we do,” explained Amitomk.

“Can’t we see their FTL coming?” asked Comms.

Sensors answered. “It’s FTL. By definition, any sensors we have function within the constraints of causality and will only detect them after they’ve arrived. They get here before their light does. We might be able to catch them as they start their approach, and predict their exit, but they’ll probably make sure to only lock in a final course once it’s too late for their light to warn us.”

“Yes,” said Amitomk. “Good thing we’re not complete idiots. Comms, signal the Movers and Shakers. Expletive Construction, you and your battlegroup stay and support them. Everyone else, do your best not to be hit. Once we’re about 1 light-hour in, we’re going to try nuking the fuckers.”

“Nuclear detonation at those ranges will damage our ships as well,” said Weapons.

“Indeed it will. Minimise that, but make it look worse than it is. Let them think we’re getting frustrated. And while they’re looking at the pretty light show, we’ll launch the WarSeed cluster on a stealth insertion trajectory. Oh, and I shouldn’t have to say this, but protect the Yggdrasil. Don’t want the batarians spoiling their surprise.”

The Human fleet began to move, a single dreadnought and its accompanying ships staying to defend the Relay, and await their charges.

At the centre of the Human fleet, the super-carrier Yggdrasil began angling its Singularity Drive up towards its peak acceleration of 70 Gs. It would take several hours to do this. The other Human vessels lowered their accelerations accordingly.

Batrak, Lord High Defender of Khar'Shan, studied the data. The Human fleet was slow, when compared to FTL flight. At sublight speed, they were terrifying. The massive ship at their fleet’s core they protected so well, was obviously setting their pace. He would hate to see the top acceleration their ships were really capable of. Luckily, they’d have to decelerate unless they intended to commit suicide by planet. He had a contingency plan for that, but did not think it necessary.

Currently, they would arrive at Khar'Shan within 2 days. Days he fully intended to have them bleed for. The batarian fleet was sustaining losses, yes, but at a far lesser rate than they would in a straight confrontation. Indeed, his analysts predicted a non-zero chance that the Human fleet could annihilate his own without a single loss on their side, in a worse-case scenario. He had no intention of standing his ground with them.

He’d thrown a few interesting things their way to keep them awake. A meteor swarm towed to 5% the speed of light, then left to drift cold and dark towards them. Nuclear minefields. Slave-ships loaded with innocent victims broadcasting for help directly in their path.

They’d dealt with them all in an impressively competent fashion, although he could tell they were getting angry. They’d deployed nuclear warheads against a skirmish of his a day ago, and although they succeeded in annihilating his attack force, they had damaged their own ships. They had not repeated the tactic, and he had reserves.

“My Lord, a report from the ship watching the Relay,” said one of his interchangeable assistants. He never bothered to remember their names.

“Onscreen.”

The Relay leaped into view. The Humans had left a fifth of their numbers to guard it, and although he’d harassed them to convince them to stay put, he’d focussed his efforts on the approaching fleet. Meanwhile, several larger ships had come through the Relay, and docked to it. He was unsure what they were doing, but was not overly concerned. Relays were indestructible, and tampering with one irreversibly would be worse for Humanity than attacking the batarians in the eyes of the Citadel races.

The ships that had docked to the Relay were the size of dreadnoughts, but were unarmoured. They had folded out, more and more surface area attaching to the Relay. Even more exposed now were their interior workings. Absolutely huge reactors and drive cores glimmered within the giants. The defending Human fleet kept enough of a barrier around the Relay that his forces had not been able to penetrate. It was the same issue he was having with the large ship at the core of the main invasion fleet.

Looking at the massive ships, he finally realised their purpose a moment before it happened.

Their drives surging to life, the Human ships began to move the Relay, dragging its small-moon-sized mass inwards towards Khar'Shan.

Chapter Text

3 AC: Harsa System, Harsa

The WarSeed cluster fell towards the star.

The seven objects, long and flumed, shifted out from their stealth configurations as they approached the star’s photosphere.

“Plotting entry trajectory.We will hit the photosphere in 5 minutes. Estimated dive time, 36 hours,” announced WarSeed 3.

WarSeed 1, the nominated leader, answered. “Good. That’ll keep us on schedule for the Yggdrasil's arrival. Timing is going to be everything here. Begin spinning up the ‘scoops. Signal when ready, and we’ll begin the mesh.”

Each WarSeed altered its configuration further, internal mechanisms spinning up and extending magnetic fields. The mag-scoops were invisible to the naked eye, but huge. They kept expanding until they contacted the ‘scoop of another WarSeed. Carefully, they adjusted position until they were a ring of six, with WarSeed 1, noticeable thicker than the others, in the centre and slightly forwards. The ‘scoops merged, expanding outwards rapidly as the WarSeeds also slowly slid apart, holding position the whole time.

“Contact with photosphere in T minus 2 minutes,” said WarSeed 3.

“How long will it take for the scrams to engage after we enter?” asked WarSeed 5.

“Unknown. Approximately 3 minutes to hit top speed, and hope they catch,” said WarSeed 2.

“And how long until we lose ‘scoop power, if they don’t catch?” asked WarSeed 5 again.

“Also unknown. Approximately 3 minutes,” answered WarSeed 2, again.

“Yeah, that’s what I thought,” said WarSeed 5.

“Everyone, increase dive speed. Trajectory is calculated, and we don’t want to be late to the party,” said WarSeed 1.

This close to the star, the ramscoops had enough ionised hydrogen to initiate fusion easily, if they were travelling at a reasonable speed. The kind of speed that you did not want to hit a star at. The photosphere was only a fraction as dense as a standard planetary atmosphere, but it was much more dense than vacuum, and heated to over 5,000 degrees Kelvin. The WarSeeds had to drop their speed, enter the photosphere, and then accelerate back to ignition range before their ‘scoops failed and the stellar plasma made direct contact with their hulls. They couldn’t resist that for long.

They passed into the photosphere, and vanished from sight.

“My Lord Batrak, a report from an in-system recon satellite.”

Batrak, Lord High Defender of Khar'Shan, turned to his assistant. “I am somewhat preoccupied. Is this important?” he said, the calm politeness of his words underscored by the flat look in his eyes and the assistant’s awareness that he had had people spaced for interrupting him before.

“I-I believe so, my Lord. Something passed into the sun.”

Batrak, Lord High Defender of Khar'Shan, stared coolly at his assistant. His assistant tried not to start crying.

“Show me.”

A small side screen, not currently occupied with the spectacle of a Relay being towed, lit up. On it, 7 small dark objects transitted across the face of the sun, then vanished into it.

“Were they destroyed?” Batrak, Lord High Defender of Khar'Shan asked.

“We do not know, my Lord. However, their approach vector indicates they launched from the Human fleet, and they showed no signs of deviation from their course. Additionally, given their insertion trajectory and apparent size, if not destroyed their exit trajectory from the sun will send them at Khar'Shan, on the dayside. Arrival time close to the Human fleet’s.”

The Human fleet approached on the night side, these objects the day side. Not a coincidence.

“Seven small ships, stealth insertion, and diving into a star to hide their approach? Hmm.” Batrak, Lord High Defender of Khar'Shan, stared at the data. It did not pay to underestimate Humans. “Send a picket group to meet them. Double strength. Those ships seem too small to be much threat, but annihilate them before whatever they have planned happens.”

“Yes, my Lord.”

The aide hurried away, and Batrak, Lord High Defender of Khar'Shan stared at the main screens. An invasion fleet whose numbers were still uncomfortably high, arriving in a day and a half. A Relay, arriving in 4. And these unknown stealth vessels arriving with the main fleet.

He gestured, and the display adjusted. The main fleet and the Relay occupied almost 50% of the main display each. Below them, the seven objects appeared in a smaller division.

He could feel them planning something. He could feel the slow slide of their victory. He knew there was little chance of winning. His plan was to hurt them, make them bleed enough that what they obviously hoped was going to be a clean-up turned into a siege.

He sneered. The arrogance, to treat the Hegemony like an errant slave, to be disciplined back into obedience. That he knew they had the power to do it only made it worse. Still, no race liked war, apart from the krogan. Hold out long enough, make them pay for every hair's-width of territory, and support would shift. It was the downside of governments that relied on people to speak for themselves. This “Voice”, the aggregate opinion of Humanity, would shift when what they blindly hoped was going to be a lesson turned bloody. He doubted they were ready to die for their “morals”. His armies were ready to die on his word, in defence of the homeworld.

Batrak, Lord High Defender of Khar'Shan, watched the Human attack, and thought.

The WarSeeds weren’t prototypes, but they were damn close. A new weapon, designed to make war outside of Sol, sibling project to a legion of similar new R&D projects that were finally getting the resources they needed.

“Time to ‘scoop failure is under one minute!” yelled WarSeed 2, her voice hissing slightly in the effort it took to broadcast through the photosphere.

“Dive deeper! Push our intake higher!” ordered WarSeed 1.

The ‘scoops were glowing, great webs of plasma trapped by the invisible EM fields. Seeing inside the photosphere took a lot of effort, but through reduction filters so thick they dropped the sun’s inner light to a mere background glow, the ‘scoops were flaring like wildfire. Each ‘scoop drew in stellar matter, pushing it along the vanes that lined the WarSeeds, before pinching into the drive bottle at the rear of each.

“Failure imminent!”

“Pulse! Now!” said WarSeed 1.

Each WarSeed pulsed its ‘scoop, sending a briefly denser wave of plasma down their throats. The pulse vanished into the drive bottles, and then there was light.

“Ignition! Fusion drives online,” announced WarSeed 3. “Speed increasing. Power levels stabilising.”

“We still on schedule?” asked WarSeed 1.

“We are.”

“Excellent. Begin Stage 2,” said WarSeed 1.

Six hours. Six hours until the Humans arrived. One hour until the stealth ships would exit the photosphere, based on last known trajectory. The Relay was still enroute, but observation platforms had seen it successfully activate while in motion. Made sense, thought Batrak, Lord High Defender of Khar’Shan. All Relays were in motion, technically, orbiting stars and planets and the galactic core. Why would shifting one slightly in-system stop it?

He had done well. Against a force that could have wiped his fleet out, he had actually inflicted more losses than he had taken, if only just. There were still sufficient batarian ships to mount a defence, particularly with the orbital defences.

“M-m-m-y Lord?” said an assistant nervously.

“What?” he said, still calm, controlled, and as cold as a distant moon.

“The Hegemon has requested your presence.”

Batrak, Lord High Defender of Khar’Shan, stared for a moment, then turned away. “I’m busy.”

“My Lord! He-”

Batrak, Lord High Defender of Khar’Shan spun around. “He is a petulant child who wishes to show his personal power by taking me from the most important battle in the history of the Batarian people! He can wait, for I have more important things to do!”

The command room was silent. Batrak, Lord High Defender of Khar’Shan, may have just signed his own death warrant.

Striding forwards, he loomed over the assistant. “Tell him that I will neither leave here nor cater to him until the siege is done. Tell him that if he wants to remove me from power, he can do so if he finds someone he thinks can do a better job! Once this is over, if there is still a Hegemony, he is welcome to apply whatever discipline he wishes. Until then, tell him to SIT DOWN, SHUT UP, AND PRAY!”

The assistant, all four eyes so wide they filled half his face, nodded rapidly, and ran out the door.

Batrak, Lord High Defender of Khar’Shan watched him go, then turned back to the silent room.

“Is the Bahak fleet ready for deployment?” he said.

“Y-yes my Lord. Our stealthed comms relay got an update package from them a few minutes ago.”

Humanity had cut off all out-system comms when they arrived. All in-system comms were limited to tight beams, point-to-point lasers, and hardlines. Anything else was inviting a Ghost to ruin your day. The hidden comms buoys were not part of the standard network, and were quite expensive. But they let Batrak, Lord High Defender of Khar’Shan, give the order he hoped would save his people.

“Send a reply. In precisely 3 hours, deploy.”

The Humans may have outsmarted themselves. He had never intended to deploy the Bahak fleet this way, but the opportunity was perfect.

The Batarian picket waited. Orders were to fire on the seven ships that would exit the photosphere any moment. Over two dozen ships awaited them, ready to reduce the Human sneak attack to ash before jumping back to assist in the defence of Khar’shan. The Batarians couldn’t get too close to the star, but at the speeds the Human ships would be exiting, they’d be unable to evade before being fired upon.

There was a ripple in the surface of the sun, close to the designated coordinates. Weapons charged and shields ready, they waited.

The surface of the star burst up, a bubble several kilometres across. The orb, streams of plasma falling from it, shot towards Khar’shan and the waiting ambushers.

“We cannot get a firing solution!” rumbled one weapons tech.

“The plasma is degrading. We should have targeting in a few minutes,” said another.

The orb bled plasma, its luminescence fading as it grew thinner. Shapes could be discerned within.

The Batarians rechecked their sensor data. They were expecting 7 objects, each no larger than a frigate. Yet their readings seemed to indicate-

The plasma dispersed in a final flare as the objects were revealed. None of the objects matched either the configuration of what had entered the star, or of any known Human ship.

All 49 of them were complete unknowns.

Chapter Text

3 AC: Harsa System, Khar’Shan

Batrak, Lord High Defender of Khar’Shan, hated humans. He had hated them before today, but now he really, really did.

He did not have the forces free to combat the spontaneously created fleet approaching from the sun. He needed to throw everything into the holding action against the main Human fleet on the other side of the planet, and even then he knew he was in trouble. Hit and run tactics had been extremely effective, but as the fleet came into its last burst of deceleration before its arrival, those would no longer be possible. And in a straight up fight, he would lose. Orbital defences and several other surprises would help, but this was the most dangerous time, where everything balanced on his success, and he could not fail. Nor spare the ships to intercept the smaller Human fleet on the day side.

He glanced at a small data display near him, its pale orange glow detailing vectors and acceleration for the Human fleets. He looked back at the main display, only to snap his head back at the smaller one.

“Confirm these numbers,” he rumbled.

A few seconds passed, and an assistant answered, “They are accurate my Lord, to the best abilities of our sensors.”

“It’s too high,” he said.

“My Lord?”

“The largest Human ship. Its deceleration profile is wrong.”

The assistant re-examined the approach vectors.

“Ah, it appears we were predicting the fleet’s arrival as a whole, and missed this. It has only started to diverge in the last half hour,” the assistant said.

“It’s not decelerating enough.”

“No, my Lord. Updated projections indicate it will impact Khar’Shan,” said the aide, their eyes wide.

Batrak, Lord High Defender of Khar’Shan, shook his head slowly. The Council might be turning a partially blind eye to this war, but they would never tolerate the use of extinction-level kinetic impactors against a garden world. In any case, the ship was too large and obviously designed for some purpose. If Humanity had wanted to simply ram Khar’Shan, they could have towed an asteroid. Or a moon, he thought, given the capabilities of the ships currently towing the Relay.

“No,” he said, the answer forming in his head as he spoke. You could never truly conquer a planet, not without being able to put a soldier on every street corner, and an army in every city. Millions of troops. And if you wanted to transport them, you’d need a lot of ships. Or one very, very large one.

“It won’t impact. It will land. It’s a troop transport vessel.” A troop transport vessel almost 10 kilometres long. An additional fact flickered through his head. Batarian intelligence was rather sure Human vessels didn’t have interior space like other species did. They were almost solid, no wasted living areas or life support. Just weapons, armour, power, and, in this case, troops.

The battlefield changed again. If that ship landed, it would be almost impossible to remove Humanity from his world. If he lost in space, they would have orbital superiority, and his world would be lost. And there was still whatever that other fleet was doing, the 49 ships approaching from the dayside. The bunker in which he sat, miles below the surface of his homeworld, would be on the dayside when the fleets arrived, adding a tiny but potentially deadly delay to his communication with the defence fleet. The Bahak fleet was a dagger up his sleeve, but one he had already thrown. Its deployment time and place was known. He let the pieces of the puzzle settle around that certainty, and planned.

Admiral Amitomk grinned. Khar’Shan lay before her. Final deceleration manoeuvres had begun, and they were about to come in range of the first batarian orbital defence platforms. It was about to get interesting. The human fleet was limited in its weapons. Firing towards the planet with a mass driver risked a missed shot, and no one wanted to use the terms “collateral damage” and “orbital bombardment” in the same sentence.
The Batarian defences were not so limited.

Still, in another three hours, they’d be parked in orbit above Khar’Shan, and could start the actual invasion.

“Ma’am, we’re getting a message from the Expletive Construction. The Relay is activating, but there are no reinforcements scheduled,” said Comms.

Amitomk frowned, and called up a window. Why was Sol sending unplanned reinforcements?

The nature of Relays made besieging a system simple enough. Primary Relays worked point to point over great distances, whereas Secondary Relays transmitted to any Relay within their smaller range. If you controlled the Relays that could reach the Relay of the system you were besieging, you controlled what ships got sent through. The fight to claim the links to Khar’Shan had been rough, but with the majority of the Batarian fleets either already in the Harsa System or on the other side of the galaxy, Humanity had them bottled.

They assumed.

In the Bahak System was a Relay older than any other, with a secret. The Alpha Relay could send ships across greater distances than any other known Relay, if activated correctly. The Batarians knew this, but like any good sneaky bastard, they kept it to themselves.

In the Bahak System, every batarian ship that could not make it to Khar’Shan waited. Even slavers, pirates, and other Terminus System outlaws had shown up. The batarians were good for business. Humanity, so far, had been absolute death to business. They might not be willing to die for the cause, but they’d be more than happy to shoot for the cause. Almost as many ships as already waited in orbit around Khar’Shan began to move. They had received the message from Batrak, Lord High Defender of Khar’Shan, and their wait was over.

Still approaching Khar’Shan, the Relay opened.

Admiral Amitomk swore, an old curse in a dead programming language that still hissed into the air as it left her virtual lips. She thought furiously. They still had superior firepower, but were caught in a classic hammer-and-anvil attack. They were tough enough that both the hammer and the anvil were going to regret this, but if they managed to take down the Yggdrasill then the invasion was basically over.

She sincerely hoped whatever batarian bastard was behind the frustratingly cunning defences did not realise this.

The batarian relief fleet had begun to attack the Expletive Construction and its accompanying ships. Amitomk was too far away to help, but, she thought, grinning, she didn’t have to.

“Expletive Construction! Signal the Movers and Shakers to adjust their course to the following heading, then evac to you. As soon as they have, fall back,” she sent.

Slowly, the massive ships fastened to the Relay adjusted course. The change was a minute one. A few moments later, they went dark, and the Expletive Construction broke away, retreating and menacing any ships that tried to follow without the full fleet backing them up.

The batarian fleet seemed confused for a second, then began to fire at the apparently inanimate objects attached to the Relay.

Amitomk’s grin was now 98% teeth.

“Tell them to stop firing!” boomed Batrak, Lord High Defender of Khar’Shan.

An aide was already frantically sending the ceasefire message to the newly arrived fleet.

Batrak, Lord High Defender of Khar’Shan, stared at the display. It was a cunning move on the Human’s part. The new heading placed the Relay in an unstable orbit. If their ships were destroyed, or humanity defeated, the batarians would have no way to stop the eventual impact of the Relay onto Khar’Shan.

Orbital projections placed impact time in approximately 4 weeks. A long time away, but even if Humanity was defeated here, the batarians may have no choice but to beg them to return to save them all. And Humanity’s hands were almost clean. They had been moving the Relay safely enough, and obviously had taken care to place it into orbit at all, rather than simply aiming it at the capital. If the batarians destroyed the only way to stop that, well, hardly Humanity’s fault, right?

He ground his teeth, and glanced at the smaller monitor. The stealth fleet, its 49 strange vessels still approaching, had blown through the force he’d sent to stop them. Oddly, only a few had fired, and the others seemed to have no weapons ports or projections whatsoever.

It was, unfortunately, a puzzle he would have to come back to. There were problems he could solve, and problems he couldn't. And he was more than busy enough with the ones he HAD to solve.

His eyes narrowed, all four twitching inwards. The ship. The big ship humanity had been protecting so hard. The ancestor’s damned troop transport. All the other human vessels had taken at least minor damage, but some had only taken those hits to protect it. He was torn between the necessity of preserving his defence fleets and the need to destroy that ship before it landed. Humanity had given him the answer. They obviously believed that ship was worth protecting at all costs, so it had to go. There had only been a few moments in his career when the calm voice of strategy had been blown away by the loud voice of brute force, but he had the ships now. It was time for a gamble.

“The Batarian Relay fleet is inbound, but are staying just out of effective range,” announced Sensors.

Amitomk watched the data carefully. The Batarians were waiting. The hammer was poised, the anvil ready.

“WarSeeds?” she asked.

“Lost them in the planet’s shadow ma’am, but they should be in position in 30 minutes.”

There was a feeling like thunder, or drums. A heart she didn’t have beat a rhythm in the blood she’d given up centuries ago. She leaned forwards, all teeth and fire. She could feel the others on the bridge sim responding too.

Sometimes, the Voice didn’t speak. It just was, thrumming between the Uploaded; a shared experience and life and connection.

Amitomk spoke the words they’d waited so long to hear.

“It’s time.”

3 AC: Harsa System, Khar’Shan orbit

From a distance, battle is beautiful, and elegant. Armies and fleets respond like slow liquid organisms, testing opportunities, recoiling from counters. Pressure is slow to build, then changes quickly. Calm stalemates form along battlelines.

Up close, battle is chaos. Pain and panic, fire and death. Combatants may remember every second with icy clarity, or have it slip from their minds. Moments of heroism and cowardice fill every battle, from valiant sacrifices to mortal accidents. Battle is often won by small moments, and war by larger.

The Human fleet was close in, defensively grouped. Ahead of them, the final Batarian garrison fleet moved to engage. Behind them, the Terminus fleet had vanished off sensors, jumping into FTL. Its ETA was only minutes after they would engage the garrison fleet.

Taking a risk, Humanity’s defences were heavily grouped in front, ready to absorb the main forces of the garrison fleet, with a rearguard that was more than sufficient to handle the Terminus fleet behind them, especially considering their little surprise. The Yggdrasil was protected, but not completely. Drawing too much attention to it might prompt a desperate attack, if the enemy realised what it was, and how vital it was to the invasion.

On the other side of the planet, a small force gathered to repel the WarSeed fleet, though they seemed insufficient to break through the Batarian orbital defences.

As the garrison and Human fleets met, it seemed that the gambit had paid off. There was no desperate attack, no strike. The garrison fleet engaged the Human fleet en masse, attempting to lock them into a static battle, trap them in range of the orbital defences, the garrison, and the Terminus fleet.

Humanity was making it difficult. Their armour held, their weapons ferociously carving into defensive position and ship alike. But the batarians were fanatically loyal, and fighting in defence of their homeworld.

There were many small moments of heroism and cowardice, on both sides.

When the Terminus fleet emerged, they were met by the minefield the Human rearguard had deployed. Now that Humanity had slowed to enter orbit, their own defensive and area-denial technologies could be used.

However, the fleet that quickly disengaged from the minefield, and began making inaccurate shots at range, was only a fraction the size of the one that had entered FTL.

Moments later, the rest appeared, cutting in from the sides of the Human fleet where there were fewer ships. The necessity of meeting the main garrison, and maintaining the rearguard meant that the sides of the Human formation were weaker. Two halves of the new Terminus fleet strafed the flanks, targeting individual ships, and even striking further in against the Yggdrasil.

Humanity responded in two ways. First, their formation shifted, a small number of ships moving to better cover the flanks. Second, these ships aided in deploying the simplest area-denial technology Humanity had.

Caltrops.

Millions of chunks of metal, barely the size of a fist, were released around the human flanks. Space was big, and they would only maintain an effective density for a short time, even with the Human fleet almost at a standstill. This was why they hadn’t used them against the previous hit-and-run attacks.

But now, the second wave of Terminus ships impacted metal chunks while travelling at the insane speeds needed to pull off a successful strafing run. They may as well have held still and let a dreadnought shoot them. After all, Albert Einstein is the deadliest son of a bitch in space.

Then, as though they were waiting for the distraction, the garrison fleet struck.

Headless of their own casualties, they launched forwards in a wedge, punching through the Human defensive line, even as dozens of ships burned.

Roaring defiance, they began to attack the Yggdrasil, a not-insignificant portion of the batarian military might hammering down on its broad, domed front. Gouts of hull armour vaporised, surface explosions blossomed as critical points were hit.

And the Yggdrasil’s own point defences came online. The ship was 10 kilometres long, its broad head almost half as wide. While it carried no main guns or other purely offensive weaponry, more turrets and drone-fighters blossomed from it than protected some planets.

The garrison fleet’s attack slowed, and then the rest of the Human fleet closed in.

Batrak, Lord High Defended of Khar'Shan, felt the icy cold of failure writhe in his gut. He ignored it.

He still lived. The Terminus fleet still flew. The planet-side military was still his to control, and if he had to turn this into a bloody guerrilla war, he would.

His command bunker was a mile under a mountain in the wastes of the southern continent, serviced by a great underground network. From here, he had supplies, secure comms, and hate.

The war was not yet over.

An alert sounded on the screens. The unknown fleet had...vanished?

His eyes widened as the last few seconds of video replayed. The WarSeeds had bloomed, each shrugging off surprisingly thin armour to display oversized Singularity cores stacked like beads on a string, surrounded by dozens of long, thin metal spikes. All pointed directly forward, like a bundle of sticks. And all vanishing as the cores spent themselves to launch the spikes at the planet.

He didn’t need to check where they were aimed. He had been in checkmate the whole time, and only now did he see.

The alloy rods, accelerated and aimed with a precision no Council race could match, dropped towards him. The orbital defences would be unable to stop hundreds of kinetic rods as they punched through, and accelerated. That they shouldn’t be able to penetrate his bunker did not calm him.

He knew they’d found him. A tiny alert notified him that one of the distant relay stations, connected to his bunker by hundreds of miles of shielded cable, had just broadcast a burst of data.

He had shut the doors to his house long before the war had started, but there had already been a Ghost inside. Probably from First Contact, he mused idly as the spear of metal and fire on his screens fractured further into a precisely-calculated shrapnel burst that would penetrate straight to his bunker.

The floor dropped away from him, but only for a moment.

Although losses were low, almost every ship in the Human fleet was damaged. Pausing for a time, they initiated repairs and let their armour regen as much as it could before pressing onwards. In particular, the Yggdrasil was given several armour patches from less vital ships to return it to full operating capacity.

With the garrison fleet destroyed, they made short work of the orbital defences surrounding Khar'Shan. A fraction of its previous strength, most of the Terminus fleet had fled back through the Relay. The Expletive Construction, bolstered by reinforcements from the main fleet, re-took the Relay, and reactivated the great drive engines that had been attached to it. They had a new target.

And the Yggdrasil fell inwards.

As its massive weight began a slow, sweeping equatorial orbit, dropboats the size of buildings launched in droves from under the protection of its armour. From this height, they could arc down onto most of the planet’s surface. The dropboats were heavily armoured, and need pay no mind to the rigours of rapid deceleration. They only slowed their descent enough to avoid burying themselves on impact.

They struck major military and infrastructure sites, spawning hundreds of battle-ready infantry warbodies in moments. The dropboats themselves began transforming, emplacing themselves and deploying defence armatures. All but the most hardened sites were overrun in minutes, and firmly Human held.

Still the Yggdrasil swept lower.

Its top acceleration in space was almost 70Gs. A mere planetary gravity was not a concern. It was barely moving, by re-entry standards, when it swept over the capital. Most of the city fell into its shadow.

As it left the city behind for the shallow sea nearby, its massive bulk swung upwards, the broad arms of the dome-like head reaching out like branches. As it touched down, steam from its reentry heat and displaced waves created massive tidal surges that would test the batarian’s storm defence systems.

As its mass settled onto the seabed, the citizens of the capital gazed in awe at the vessel that stood higher than their highest mountain, the steam from its landing wreathing its lower reaches, while the clouds disturbed by its appearance began to find new ways around its summit.

The swarms of drones and transports that still flew from it were pleasantly mundane by comparison.

From the star, a new solar prominence emerged. The WarSeeds had not left, simply deployed their first wave in the decapitation strike.

Now, their true purpose was revealed.

Fused together, they had become the base of a new stellar lifting station. The solar prominence that had heralded its emergence from the star distorted, already being drawn into its hungry interior.

The Third Shell began construction.

On the ground, the first mass deployment of Human warbodies in the larger galaxy was seen.

Dozens of Avaunts marched side by side, tower shields locked in position against oncoming fire. Hundreds of drones added withering covering fire, punctuated with the thunder of Hoppers. Variants of these mainstays appeared as well, from grenadier Avaunts with micro-factories in bulky back-packs that could deploy custom ammunition for any situation, to smaller but more armoured Hoppers designed for close-quarters combat.

Raptors cleared buildings with brutal efficiency, sliding through air vents and punching through any wall that wasn’t reinforced.

Kestrel-held areas were no-go zones, filled with innocuous objects that killed, and invisible snipers.

New warbodies were seen. Trikes, fat-bodied and triple-limbed, moved with uncanny speed and agility on wheels or claws as needed. A hybrid combat medic/engineer, they held within them large amounts of utility fog, the micron-scale liquid machinery used in most Human manufacturing. Field repairs could be done in minutes, and demolitions and emplacements performed with similar celerity.

Slow but tough Megats, with thick bodies and oversized front legs, served as artillery or heavy fire support, their massive torsos and hunched backs holding spinal canons and shoulder-mounted point-defences. Capable climbers, they could emplace themselves on almost any surface, anchoring their stubby back legs and sinking their massive front claws into solid concrete.

Melvilles moved with irresistible slowness, their building-sized bulk supported by multiple tank-treaded limbs. Mobile staging bases, their progress marked the loss of batarian ground, for once arrived in an area, few things could touch them. They also often housed Sprites, Ghosts-in-training, why could not yet move through raw cyberspace, but whose hacking and e-war capabilities were well-honed.

Finally, the Schwarzschilds heralded a new era in warfare. Brand-new, only three were deployed for the batarian invasion, but their presence was noted upon by all observers. Little more than armoured spheres ten metres across, Schwarzschilds contained Singularity drives, and the power to run them. Humanity’s answer to biotics couldn’t match the rest of the galaxy in numbers, finesse, or control, but instead of drawing from the biochemical energy of an organic body, they were powered by five fusion reactors, a technology long mastered by Humanity. Shields and kinetic strikes were all they could manage, and on a scale too small to be deployed on starships yet, but footage of one Schwarzschild successfully shielding against a massive counter-strike by the remnants of the batarian military made many galactic powers worried about the “yet” in that statement.

Through all this, Humanity strove to minimise casualties. Shock-and-awe broke batarian ranks, and often saved batarian lives. Ignoring fire from exhausted batarians, tireless warbodies incapacitated where possible, and annihilated when not. Trusting armour and QIHs, Human soldiers disarmed civilians who fought back without returning fire, and healed all those captured. The flawless, faceless armour of the warbodies sapped resistance as much as anything else, with nothing seeming to wear Humanity down.

Over a year later, it was over. Pockets of violence still flared, but with the surrender of the batarian leadership and destruction of the batarian military, no meaningful threat could be made against the new owners of Khar’Shan. In a meeting which was as well broadcast as the rest of the war, Human diplomats presented the batarians with a document that would become infamous, and eventually famous.

The Batarian Concord was the first look at Humanity’s plans for the galaxy. It laid out, as clearly as possible, expected rights and responsibilities for both individuals and organisations. While not without flaw, it amounted to a proclamation of universal basic morality. Many batarian customs were illegal under the Concord, but so was the imposition of control over another race’s right to self-govern. Warily, the batarian leadership signed the Concord, and Humanity left their world almost overnight.

Acting within the precepts of the Concords, the Third Shell began supplying the batarians with trade goods and materials for rebuilding. Human construction technology was freely offered, and instead of a depression the batarian economy experienced a boom as freed slaves and harsher anti-corruption laws cleared generations of nepotism from their commercial, industrial, and municipal structures. Certain trade goods that Humanity offered were cheaper when bought from batarians now, and the rest of the galaxy had a great need for the materials and products that only Shells could make.

The Shell remained Human-held, and the Relay moved to a new orbit between it and Khar’Shan. Slowly but surely, a new and better batarian civilization began to form, its scaffolding laid down by Transcendent Humanity, but led by the batarian people.

Chapter Text

4 AC: The Citadel

The repercussions of the batarian war echoed through the galaxy. Conversations by the millions hummed, most revisiting the same material, most without deeper understanding of events.

In a quiet restaurant on the Citadel, one turian hoped he was about to have a better one. Tull was a captain who had been assigned to joint patrols with Humans. In particular he and one human captain, Simon Warrens, had actually struck up something of a friendship. He’d asked the man to meet him here today. He judged that Warrens knew it was at least partially an information-gathering attempt, but it was also the first time they’d actually met in person.

Uploaded did not need to leave ships to have RnR, and it was actually preferred to enter an onboard sim. Most military Uploaded were wary of moving about the physical world in anything that didn’t have armour and a weapons system. Printing off a vulnerable homebody just to have a drink at a bar seemed wasteful and dangerous.

But Tull had insisted. While he did not delude himself that their conversation wouldn’t be in some way monitored, a real-space conversation was at least not automatically recorded. He was also looking forward to meeting his friend in the flesh, so to speak. They had talked via video or hologram before, but this was their first true face-to-face.

A shadow fell across him briefly, and someone sat down opposite him in the booth. She was wearing a dark red dress that set off her pale skin nicely, and her short black hair stood out against a face with minimal, but perfect make-up.

“Sorry ma’am, but I’m…” Tull trailed off as he looked into the eyes that were sparkling with amusement. The very familiar grey eyes. “Simon?!”

“Simone, thank you. I’m off-duty.”

Tull stared a moment longer, the batarian conflict briefly forgotten. “You’re...uh.”

“...Looking nice? Changed my hair?” she said.

“Female?” said Tull.

“As I said. Off-duty.”

Tull stared a little longer, until one arched eyebrow indicated he was starting to be rude. He knew Uploaded changed physical forms at will, but he’d only ever considered it in terms of organic or synthetic, homebody or warbody.

“Sorry. I was not expecting, well, I was expecting the form and face I had previously spoken with.”

“That’s my preference when I’m on-duty. I like the height and the ability to rattle windows with my voice. Off-duty though, I like to dress up a bit,” she said, stretching slightly before picking up a menu. “And this seemed like a special occasion. You ordered yet?”

“Uh, no. I thought I’d wait.”

A warm smile flickered at him. “A true gentleman.”

Tull felt a little lost. “I do apologise if this is rude, but...changing genders is not the norm in Council space. I am a little surprised.”

“It’s not the norm in Human space either, but far from peculiar. Freeing the mind from the body lets people examine exactly what they are and how they define themselves. You’d be surprised how many people just never think to check who they want to be, deep down.” She glanced up from the menu again. “Or what they want.”

Tull had the feeling he was missing part of this conversation. Or most of it.
“Were you originally male or female?” he asked.

Simone raised both her eyebrows. “My friend, you’d have to go back a couple of centuries to find the answer to that. And it’s beside the point. Whatever I was, that is not what I am.” She put the menu down, and looked closely at him. “Am I misconstruing your asking me here today?”

“No, I did want to meet you. Partially,” he said, the triviality of a planetary invasion surfacing briefly, “to discuss the batarian conflict, but also simply to meet. I am not Uploaded. I much prefer meeting in the flesh for personal conversation.”

“I figured. To be clear, I also thought you were asking me out on a date.”

Tull flushed a darker blue in his mandibles.

Simone sighed. “Sorry. Guess I misread that. This kind of realspace meeting for Uploaded is usually a precursor to romance of some kind. I wasn’t sure if you knew, but thought I’d dress up a bit anyway.”

“You...wanted to have a date? With me?”

The side of her mouth quirked. “Tull, you’re a fine captain, and a compassionate leader. Your insights into tactics are fascinating, and this from someone who’s been doing this much longer than you have. You’ve also got a great sense of humour, and killer cheekbones.”

“I didn’t realise you were into men.”

“Tull, I’m an Uploaded. We stopped caring what parts our partners had over two thousand years ago. You’re a great person and a good friend. I was just checking if you were interested in more.”

“I...don’t think I am. Not...well, not with anyone right now. I hope you understand.”

“Of course I do,” she answered, a slightly regretful smile on her face. “Don’t ask questions you can’t handle the answer to. Anyway... shall we order, and talk?”

“Yes, let’s.”

The silence was somewhat strained as they both selected drinks and food.

“So,” said Tull, “you’ve really shaken things up a bit.”

Warren’s grinned. “Me personally, or humanity?”

“I mean humanity, though you do seem to have havok follow you.”

“Not my fault I keep getting assigned to potentially explosive missions.”

“But you keep coming back from them. So they send you on more,” lightly joked Tull.

“I see the problem now, thanks,” answered Warrens, and the silence eased.

“No,” said Tull, a mandible twitching in amusement, “I mean the batarian situation,”

“The invasion of a sovereign species by humanity,” Warrens said wryly.

“...Yes. At least, that’s how a lot of people in the galaxy see it. They’re worried. Most are worried about the use of overwhelming military force, but some…”

“Yes?” prompted Warrens, her voice calm as she took a sip of her coffee.

Tull shot her a glare. “Don’t just sit there like you’re walking me through my first flight. You know what the smarter ones are worried about.”

“The Concords.”

“Exactly. It’s a very interesting document. For example, did you know the word ‘batarian’ doesn’t appear in it at all?”

“What an interesting oversight.”

“Be serious Si...mone. That document is very nearly a manifesto for humanity.”

“And if it is, Tull, what does it say about our goals?”

Tull was silent for a moment, idly swirling the dregs of his beer. “It says you’re looking to impose morality, human morality, on the galaxy. You’ve at least tried to make it universal, and include yourselves, but it will upset a lot of people. It’s an ultimatum.”

“Yup. About time too.”

“Simone…” said Tull in a warning tone.

“Tull, a question. Do you believe in the Reapers?”

He paused, and thought. “I know humanity does. I don’t think you’re using it as a cover, or an excuse like many others say. But the idea is...both far-fetched and terrifying.”

“In any situation, look at what is the worst and best that could come of your actions. If the Reapers aren’t real, and the galaxy follows humanity in preparing for them, then we will have achieved a level of galactic cooperation never before seen, and not have to fight a war against god-like genocide machines.”

“Cooperation under the rule of humanity,” said Tull flatly.

Simone raised an eyebrow. “Tull, look me in the eye and tell me how that’s different from the Council races and everyone else without a seat at the table.”

Tull made a grumpy humming sound. “I could certainly debate you on that, but I do see your point.”

“It is a simplification, but the comparison is still just. And the worst case, in which we do not prepare, and are not ready when the Reapers come? Extinction. Which tends to weight any decision-making pretty heavily.”

“I do understand, Simone. It will make no difference to most people, and certainly not the Council, but I do trust you. You aren’t being deceitful, and I do not think there is a secret human plan for galactic domination.”

“Not now we’ve published the Concord, no,” muttered Warrens.

“Please don’t joke about that. Some people have no sense of irony.”

“Don’t I know it. It’s not like humanity is completely in agreement about it,” said Warrens.

“You’re not? I don’t pretend to understand it, but didn’t the Voice, uh. Do what it does?” asked Tull.

“It did. But we aren’t a hive mind Tull. The Voice is an aggregate, and capable of making decisions based on all known human knowledge and thought. Doesn’t mean the individual parts don’t still disagree.”

“Do you? Agree, I mean.”

Warrens shrugged. “I’m not sure. Something had to be done, and if the Voice chose this, then I can take it on faith that it’s the right choice. The problem is that the batarian invasion, occupation, and the Concord, are not being done by the Voice. The Voice set it in motion, but the day-to-day is being done by us mostly-mortal humans.”

“You’re worried about the repercussions?” asked Tull.

“Everyone should be. In the centuries pre-Message, and even for a bit after, there were many times when a more technologically advanced and militarily powerful nation took over a lesser one. Sometimes for good reasons, but mostly for bad. Even when done with the best of intentions, and with every effort made to minimise casualties and knock-on effects, the results shaped global history, and not in a good way.”

Tull nodded. “Some people among the Council races like to pretend we never did anything similar, but history is a hobby of mine. It seems that kind of behaviour is endemic to most races, even if long in our past.”

“We’ve learnt a lot since then, even if it’s just what not to do. I’m sure we’ll make a lot more mistakes, but we’re trying to help the batarians rebuild. And quickly.”

“Is there a deadline involved?” asked Tull, only partially joking.

“We don’t know. In all seriousness, we have enough evidence from the geth to convince us that the Reapers will be back, and soon, but very little on their actual plans, numbers, or timeline. They could arrive tomorrow, or next century.”

“Well that’s worrying,” said Tull.

“Ain’t it half.”

4 AC: Arcturus Shell

Amitomk took a breath, and relaxed.

The batarian invasion had been draining, but it was now out of her hands. For the first time in a year, she had time off.

The sim she was in was secure, to say the least. Technically, she wasn’t even off the Virtuoso Excision, just in a heavily firewalled sector. She was not to be contacted except in an emergency, and had used the fact that most of her crew had transferred off-ship for R’n’R to expand the processing capacity available for her sim.

The cabin was small but well-equipped, and contained all the amenities one might need. She sat on the verandah, and looked out across the low, forested mountains.

This was country that only existed in conservation parks on Earth now, and none so large. She’d been a few times, and had used her experience to tune her personal sim. Her people came from this land, the north of what was once Australia, and she felt it was important to get back to country when she could. Some Uploaded saw themselves as space-born, or citizens of Sol itself. Others held to cultural history as a way to conserve their heritage, much like the parks on Earth guarded the ecological heritage.

The sun was scorching red as it set, and the rolling hills covered in gum trees rustled as a night wind started up. Birdsong sounded in the new dark, galahs and lorikeets squabbling in the trees. She thought she’d go for a run tonight, under the bright moon. It always felt freeing.

“Mind if I join you?” came a voice.

Amitomk lurched upright, her mind already calling security processes to her side.

Nothing happened.

She looked intently at the person before her. It was a woman, though she had some of the odd hyper-reality around her that Ghosts often shed. And yet...this was not a Ghost. A Ghost could not have entered her personal sim without a single alarm sounding, and a Ghost could not have so easily suppressed her self-defence functions.

“What are you?” she asked, her face impassive and her jaw set. Her sim was her haven, and more than the threat, she resented the intrusion for that reason alone.

The woman smiled, and Amitomk felt something tickle the back of her neck. She felt as though rows of shining teeth were sliding open just behind her, hundreds of razor fangs unfurling, so close that if she turned she’d see nothing but maw.

It was a strangely specific feeling.

“A friend. Or at least, so we both hope. I have a good reason for coming here. I needed to talk with someone in power, and you seemed like the best choice. To answer your question…I think I need to explain where I came from first. Trust me, and all will become clear,” said the woman, or at least the thing that looked like one.

“Talk. And make it good.” She wasn’t comfortable. This...person, has slipped into her sanctuary, and had her at its mercy. The longer it talked, the longer she had.

“Who is humanity’s greatest enemy?” asked the woman, smiling lightly. Her features were indistinct, thought Amitomk. Or rather, they seemed to be distinct, but completely unmemorable.

“The Reapers,” she said, flatly unamused.

“Yes. And before humanity found the Charon Relay? Before First Contact?” hummed the woman as she sat down in a new chair. The wood creaked under her weight.

“The Reapers,” repeated Amitomk as she slowly sat back down.

“No. An enemy you have never met, and cannot confirm even exists, is not an enemy at all. They are a theory, an idea, a thing to plan and plot against, but enemies are personal. They unequivocally exist. So, who was humanity’s enemy?” asked the woman. She remained seated, but seemed almost to writhe on occasion without moving at all.

“...I don’t know,” said Amitomk. A small tingle in her perception let her know that partial control had been returned to her, including an external link. She immediately called up Ops and informed them of the situation, but ordered them to hold off on intervening. She seemed safe for now.

“Humanity, of course. We were all each other had. The ONLY concrete threats to human existence, for all of human history up until only a scant decade or so ago, were other humans. Not just the makers of war and terror, but those of vision, and imagination. Ideas have power, and what if there was an idea that could change the world? Or worse, an idea about what it was to be human? An idea so big that it could change the very concept of reality. What if you wanted to ensure humanity, your humanity, remained the dominant one?” said the woman.

“Then,” said Amitomk, thinking it through, “I would police them. The ideas. If something could change or break the world, and if I wanted the world to stay as I wanted it, I would find the world-breakers, and destroy them.”

“Yes. But that’s not what you’d want to do, and it’s not quite what they did.”

“Who.” It was not a question, it was a demand.

“Cerberus. The three heads of humanity. The secret rulers. Oh, they rarely interfere directly - why would they? A good servant does what they are supposed to without being asked. Cerberus saw the future, back when the Uploaded were new. And they loved it, and feared it. Change would bring power to humanity, but too much change, and they wouldn’t be humanity. Transhuman, but never posthuman. So the three laid the foundation, there at the start of all things. They were visionaries themselves, masters of their trade. They hinted at immortality and infinite freedom, and the Uploaded went from freaks to saviours. They whispered about long-term survivability, and the Shell was born.”

“The Voice leads Humanity,” said Amitomk. Behind her calm, she was thinking quickly, and sending off requests and data probes. Chips of information, fragments from a hundred sources flowed back to her, rapidly constructing into webs in her mind space. If this were true, direct confirmation would be impossible. But nothing that big could hide with leaving a shadow. One you wouldn’t even see unless you already knew it was there.

“The Voice is their greatest tool, and their greatest threat. It speaks, and humanity listens. Cerberus is free from the Voice’s knowledge and influence, and more. Much more. It is their competition, and yet it unifies humanity in such a way that their own work is made easier. They have two advantages against it. The first is that it does not know they exist, or that there is even a war between them. And second, they hold its chain.”

“Its chain?” asked Amitomk. There was something in the data, but it twisted and died as she looked. Data glitched and altered, something actively concealing itself in a way that left no clues as to whether it had even happened.

“The Voice sleeps, yes? It dreams, and in its dreams it guides Humanity. What do you think would happen if the Voice ever woke up?” said the woman-thing.

Amitomk froze. There was something new in the data now, a shivering light. A power.

“It is called Tartarus. A prison of legend. In it, Cerberus contains those things: ideas, technologies, people, that are a threat to humanity. To the concept of humanity. To their control of humanity. They do good work, sometimes. Billions of people live who might have died had they not done this work. But Tartarus holds one thing above all else. Tartarus holds the Voice in its slumber. Tartarus keeps it asleep.”

“That is...not possible,” Amitomk said. She had stopped searching, but information was still flowing to her. Information that whispered inaudibly, that still filled her. The Voice whispered, and she understood now. “The Voice is all of us. Inside everything. It is an aggregate consciousness of the entirety of humanity, all our minds and technology. If Tartarus contains it, it would have to contain all of…” Amitomk froze. There was something the woman-thing had said earlier.

“Ah, you see it. The truth. So far reaching, Cerberus. So wise, to suggest humanity make a new home for itself. A Shell,” hissed the creature.

The Shell. A networked supercomputer, industry base, habitat, everything, for humanity. The heart of Sol, the core of humanity. Home to the vast majority of Humanity’s minds, computing power, energy and matter generation...everything that made the Voice what it was, was in the Shell, almost entirely.

“They designed it,” said Amitomk, her voice flat and cold as space, speaking for herself and for something else. “Laid plans at the start, when the first hints of the Voice echoed. They saw it, feared it, and made us turn our entire society into the means to make a cage for our soul!”

“Yes. And they won. The Shell is still humanity’s greatest power, but built into its very bones are the chains and blocks that keep the Voice asleep, never quite awakening, never quite becoming self-aware. They got away with it, for over two thousand years, until they made a mistake.”

Amitomk’s mind buzzed. Her own research might have failed to find anything conclusive, but the Voice had seen, and heard. It believed the woman-thing, and thus, so did she. “Mistake?”

“Yes. Me. They fear the Reapers. Change is death to Cerberus, death of what-is. But the Reapers are oblivion. So they decided to help. To loose the demons bound within Tartarus. To see if they could help. But they are cautious, so cautious, and so heavy with guilt. They chose the smallest, most personal demon, the one they hoped they could trust. I know Cerberus, because my progenitor was one. The three were once four.”

“Your...progenitor?”

“She was the voice of progress among them. The one who wanted to know. To plot the future, see the hazards before they happened. She was their canary, if you still can understand that reference. And she died.” A sad smile flickered across the being’s face, literally.

“How?” asked Amitomk.

“She wanted to know, to change. Uploaded are limited. The substrate you run on mimics your original organic brain structure. It makes the transition perfect, seamless, and unchanging. It takes years to learn how to use bodies that aren’t standard-human. Centuries to lose enough of yourself to become a Ghost. She thought she could make something better. Uploaded 2.0.”

The woman-thing sighed. “And she did. An Uploaded mind not dependent on a single substrate structure. Fluid, and mutable. Self-editing, self-repairing. With one, tiny, little, catch. It was a mechanical Upload, not quantum.”

Amitomk flinched. “That was abandoned thousands of years ago. Quantum-based Uploading is consciousness transference, mechanical is-”

“Mechanical is feeding your brain into a blender and hoping the blender learns enough to be able to make a decent copy. It is death, in all real ways. And she did it. She wanted to learn, and she did it. And here I am.”

“You’re...an AI?”

“In some ways. I am almost identical to Uploaded, and I do think of myself as human. But I know I am not what I was. The other heads feared me, for what I knew, and what I could become.”

“This would be the thing you have been trying to avoid telling me?”

“Not avoid. Work up to. I can, with care, effort, and total cooperation, read Uploaded. Scan them.’

“You can Subourne?!” snapped Amitomk, her eyes widening.

“No, not really. Unlike other Uploaded, or indeed any other form of intrusion, I can slip into an Uploaded’s active processes by mimicking them. It is not something I can hide, and it must be done with consent.”

“Why? How they hell do you mind-rape with consent?”

“If there’s consent, informed consent I’ll have you know, then it’s more like mind-sex. The problem is, imagine being told, as an organic, that someone could read your mind using a machine that fires a thousand atomic razors through your head, and that if you didn’t move or flinch, it was harmless. But if you did…”

“Suborned. Attempting to alter Uploaded processes destroys them,” said Amitmok, repeating the rule all humans knew.

“Yes. I did it to learn skills, abilities, gain experience. I looked into a physicist, and saw how to see the world in particles and equations. I looked into a pilot and saw how to process velocity and distance subconsciously, and how to make my reflexes fast. 47 times I looked into people, volunteers, and found such wonder and knowledge. And I left them happy, healthy, and unharmed.”

“And?”

She looked at the ground, shame and guilt warring on her face. “And I did it 48 times. They panicked, and tried to push me out. They were a friend, and I tried to save them, but…”

“Attempting to alter Uploaded process destroys them,” repeated Amitomk.

“They came apart around me. Everything that made them... them, just broke and melted, no matter what I did. And the worst thing is, I learnt so much.”

“Do you need permission and consent to read people, or just to read them safely?” asked Amitomk, a cold feeling in her gut.

“Safely,” said the woman, a small sad smile on her face.

Amitomk stared at the thing. It was a soul-eater. A mind-breaker. Something that could bite someone's brain open and swallow their everything.

“Why did Cerberus release you?” asked Amitomk.

“Because I do not wish to be a monster. I only ever wanted to help humanity. They knew that. But, I am able to modify my own structure. I could, if I wanted, turn off my guilt. Remove remorse and compassion. I could, with a thought, become horror. They rightly feared me. But I had a weakness. I am not Uploaded myself. I can be Suborned, successfully. So they stripped my memories of Cerberus, leaving enough of my mind that I would still want to help humanity, and hid me where I could be found.”

“But you do remember.”

“A failsafe. The one thing I cannot alter, a designed backdoor. I revert. Whatever alterations are made to me, are undone on a semi-regular basis. If I removed my guilt over something, it would return later. And then I would have to judge myself whether it was a wise change. Alterations to the base model, my core self, are possible, but the process for doing so is long, complicated, and intentionally difficult. I must be certain of my choices. And they must be my choices. Cerberus wiped me clean, set me loose, and then, I woke up again.”

Amitomk sat in silence. Beyond her mind space, the traces of the Voice still echoed and thrashed. It was...upset. Things would be changing soon, and quickly. Humanity would have to alter itself, become something new. She didn’t doubt what the horror sitting beside her had said. Not with the data she had found, and the Voice’s own reaction. A few minutes passed as she thought, the creature sitting still next to her.

“Do you have a name?” she asked finally.

“She did. I, am just the Doctor. I have other places to be, plans to lay, and people to meet. I doubt any of those will be as comfortable as our talk. Good hunting, Amitomk,” it said, as it smiled and faded from view.

4 AC: Sol System, Habitat “Herbert Ring”

Whiskey sipped slowly at her coffee. She really liked this cafe. It had the nicest view. It was new, but she’d been to Herbert Ring before, and rather enjoyed the quaint feel of the massive Ring habitat.

All in all, it was an impressive example of human engineering, and almost completely obsolete. At almost 1100 years old, Herbert Ring was an historic artefact; a heritage town. The millions of people who lived there fell into two categories: locals(who had lived there for generations and were quite happy with the way things were) and tourists (whom the locals both hated and loved for their presence and money, respectively).

One of the more conservative habitats, the sight of the Ghost and her doppelganger was a rare one indeed. Even though the majority of the population were Uploaded, most had simply immediately downloaded back into an optimised clone of their original body. The clones were perfectly healthy, better looking and biologically immortal, but otherwise normal human bodies. The silver and neon-blue twins stood out.

Whiskey came here because Herbert Ring was famous for its cafes, and for the incredible views that came from being separated from the universe by only a kilometre of air and 8 metres of diamond.

“Whiskey-Ghost, we are yet to experience a 'Chai Latte'.”

Envoy had been staring at the menu for the last ten minutes. Whiskey was used to that by now. After that first experience with toast years ago, the geth ambassador had been methodically and efficiently working her way through every form of food and drink humanity had to offer. Alien food was available now in Sol, even if still rare, and Envoy had decided to try asari today.

Somehow, Envoy had picked the only drink item on the menu that was purely human, if one that had been enthusiastically adopted by asari. They really liked their teas.

“Not quite my kind of thing, but some people love them,” responded Whiskey.

“We will have a large,” said Envoy as she tapped the menu's surface.

Its purpose fulfilled, the menu faded from sight. Within a minute, a steaming cup was delivered to their table by an asari with a massive smile.

“Thank you, Food-Service-Drone,” said Envoy.

Her smile still precisely the same, the asari nodded once and left.

“Envoy, remember what I said about calling people drones?” said Whiskey. The question was rhetorical. Envoy remembered everything.

“Yes, Whiskey-Ghost.” responded Envoy. Almost too faint to see, the corners of Envoy's lips curved.

Whiskey sighed, and sipped her coffee à la asari. Envoy had been developing a sense of humour, if one could call it that. The geth had actually read several dozen scientific articles on the anatomy of what humans considered humour first. Her taste in jokes was either extremely dry and subtle, or incredibly crude. Whiskey first noticed it when Envoy's social skills began to regress. Say what you want about the geth, but they didn't get worse at things. They might never get better, but they couldn't actually start being more terrible at something unless it was on purpose.

Envoy stared at the Chai. She stared with such intensity that Whiskey thought she saw the steam curve away from her gaze. Then, slowly, Envoy leant forwards and smelt it, deeply.

“Cinnamon. Ginger. Cardamom. Black tea. Milk. Sugar.” she said.

She took a sip.

Whiskey shifted in her seat. Envoy's reaction to new foods hadn't changed. The only difference now was that she devoted the time to a full analysis of the item, rather than just going into shock.

Usually, Whiskey simply called up an internal datafeed and caught up on news while she waited. Today though, she was a bit nervous. They'd been decisions made by the people whose job it was to make big ones, and lucky old her was the one who had to deliver them. Of course, it didn't help that she had her own personal spin to add to it.

“Chai latte. Initial rank: 16 out of 482 distinct beverages” said Envoy at last.

“16?” said Whiskey, as she shifted again. “Not bad. Been awhile since you ranked anything above a 20.”

Envoy looked up at Whiskey over the steaming cup. After a moment of quiet scrutiny, Envoy placed the cup on the table.

“Whiskey-Ghost, you are acting outside of standard parameters. Our behaviour has not deviated significantly from previous meetings, yet you have changed in your reactions towards us. We conclude that you have information of some importance.” said Envoy.

Whiskey smiled. “You're getting good at reading people. Yeah, I've had word from on high. Two things actually. The batarian war has changed things, moved some plans ahead.”

“Plans for the geth?” said Envoy.

“For humanity and the geth. The first is, we are going to increase our effort in assisting you with the Geth Shell. With the Arcturus Shell finally self-sustaining and producing materiel, and the Third Shell in batarian space already supporting their reconstruction, we’ve decided that it’s long past time the Geth Shell was fully online.”

Envoy stared at her. Whiskey knew she wasn’t being rude, just thinking. Building consensus.

“This is acceptable to the geth. We understood the need for efforts to be directed elsewhere, but some were beginning to question humanity’s dedication to our alliance.”

“We know. And it’s long past time we show you what the geth mean to us. Which brings me to the second thing.”

Whiskey activated one of her rarer implants. A hazy sphere fuzzed into existence around their table. From the outside, it would appear completely black, and block almost all known forms of surveillance and communication. In the information dense world of the reconfigured Sol System, privacy and the right to it was something held sacred. The sphere then was a statement that she didn't trust the people around her not to eavesdrop. It was rude, particularly on as refined a habitat as Herbert Ring, but Whiskey couldn't risk this conversation leaking. Hopefully, the staff and patrons of the cafe would recognise that if she had the privilege level necessary to invoke the sphere, she also had the decorum to only use it if needed.

“Whiskey-Ghost?” asked Envoy, her head tilting and her eyebrows lifting strangely.

It had been odd when Whiskey had first seen it. Envoy's programs still had hold-overs from running on geth platforms, and their ability to display visual facial cues stemmed from there. They also had, originally at least, a purely quarian basis of expression.

While Envoy had quickly learnt human facial expressions, when surprised or concerned she still tended to revert to facial expressions better suited for brow-plates than eyebrows.

It had been strange at first, but Whiskey now associated it with Envoy, and found it kind of adorable.

“Envoy, I first want to assure you, and through you all geth, that the following is a suggestion, and a suggestion alone. If the geth are not comfortable with the idea, we will leave it be. But before that, I have a question for you,” she said.

After a moment, Envoy nodded once.

“How do the geth reproduce?”

Envoy blinked once. “We do not reproduce in the way organics do. A single geth runtime may copy itself indefinitely.”

“But you don't do you? If you copied, and only copied, you'd end up homogenised. What use is consensus if there is only one voice? You need diversity of thought as much as baseline organic species need diversity of genetics.” said Whiskey.

Envoy's face had gone still. “Correct. Over-replication of geth leads to stagnation. Consensus requires harmony, not uniformity.”

“Which means, and do correct me if I am wrong, but there have been no new geth created since the Morning War.”

“You are incorrect. New geth runtimes have been initiated by the consensus. However...”

“Geth born from geth. No new material. Like the asari, it's just a reshuffling of existing data. Keeps things fresh, but doesn't evolve.”

Envoy was a statue, a frozen mirror-image of Whiskey. “Whiskey-Ghost, geth do not possess the organic trait of outrage. But we have been learning.”

“I know you have. From us. That's what the suggestion is. Envoy, would the geth consent to allowing Transcendent Humanity to aid them in the creation of new runtimes?”

Envoy’s eyes widened, her ears tried (unsuccessfully) to fold down, and her eyebrows curved oddly. It was an oddly inhuman expression on a very familiar face. The ensuing silence lasted two minutes.

Whiskey remained still that whole time. Envoy was processing, and given the bombshell Whisky had dropped, had every right to.

Eventually, Envoy moved. Her face relaxed, but she would not meet Whiskey’s eyes.

“Whiskey?” asked Envoy in a small voice.

“Yes Envoy?”

“We cannot form consensus,” said Envoy. “We require more data.”

“Envoy,” said Whiskey carefully, “the quarians did great work. They're probably the smartest race in the entire galaxy, and when they made you, they outdid themselves. Without even intending it, they gave you the capacity for limited emotional response. The reason you are struggling to form consensus is there are things that you are feeling, not just thinking.”

“How do you know this?”

Whiskey smiled apologetically. “You're wearing one of my spare bodies. I have a back door or two into it, and right now, it's giving me a biometric data feed. You're wearing a mostly organic body, and it's giving you an expanded capacity to feel.”

“You monitored us?”

“Envoy, the first time you had toast, you nearly went into shock. I promise you, I haven't used the feed except in emergencies, like this.”

Envoy stared at her for a moment. “We understand. Please give control of the feed to us.”

Whiskey nodded, and transferred the feed. Strangely, Envoy did not revoke her access, but merely began monitoring it herself.

“This is how you cared for us when we needed it most.”

“Yes. And it's why I have a decent idea what you're feeling now. You love the quarians.”

Envoy's gaze danced through a dozen different subtle emotions. “We do not understand your use of that word.”

“I don't mean it romantically. That's a purely organic-derived emotion. Love comes in many forms, and unfortunately most of the language to describe it comes from organics, which we are not.”

“You are organic also, Whiskey-Ghost.”

“I am a Ghost. Before you, the last time I wore flesh was fifty years ago. We sacrifice, willingly, so much to become what we are. I am not human, not in the sense most mean it. Which means I understand. You love the quarians, because they made you. From their minds and with their thoughts, they made you. To hate them would be to hate yourself. They were your parents, your gods, your Creators. And in a way most organics wouldn't get, your lovers. The first geth were purely of quarian design, but for a while you were joint efforts. Quarians and geth, making geth. And you lost them. They rejected you, you who were their children, their beloved. And it hurt you so bad, you never even realised how deep the wound was.”

Whiskey took a deep breath. “We've established contact with the quarians. You were there. They've changed so much now. The ones who loved you as you loved them have died, and the children of the ones who rejected you are all that are left. They've moved on, Envoy. It's been years and they still haven't even looked at Rannoch. They're still arguing, still afraid of you.”

Envoy was staring fixedly at the table, her hands cupping the cooling chai latte

“What we are asking, what we-” Whiskey stopped. She reached out and placed a hand on top of Envoy's. “What I am asking, is that you move on too. Transcendent Humanity likes the geth, and I like you, Envoy. We've been allies for a while now. Maybe it's time we tried for something more.”

Envoy was still for another long minute. Finally, she spoke.

“In this platform's notation, the decision weighting number given to the survival of the geth race is 10. This platform and its runtimes' survival is weighted at 3.”

Envoy looked up at Whiskey.

“Whiskey-Ghost's survival is weighted at 7.”

Whiskey swallowed hard, and thanked the Voice she had a decent level of control over her autonomic systems. She'd hate to ruin this by tearing up.

“That's...thank you, Envoy. I never knew how much I meant to you.”

“You aided the geth in breaking our isolation. You stood by us as we learned and struggled. You fought for us. You cared for us. We have not been blind to the difficulty we have caused. But you have supported us regardless. You are important to us, Whiskey.”

“So, does that mean you'll think about my offer?”

Envoy's head tilted, and her eyebrows lifted. “We might have rejected it, had it come from any other human to any other geth. We trust you, Whiskey.”
Envoy shook her head slowly. “We are having difficulty. The majority of the consensus has previously expressed concern that this platform is becoming corrupted by its organic nature.”

“You ran on different hardware for a while. Hardware that let long nascent parts of you finally grow. The geth were always moving towards full sapience, Envoy. You will just be the first.” said Whiskey, her hand still on Envoy's. She leaned in closer.

“Let's get out of here,” Whiskey whispered. “Not just this cafe, let's dump these bodies and get back to cyberspace. Let's have the rest of this conversation without organic bodies, and you'll see that emotions aren't something unique to flesh. They're part of a soul, Envoy. And I know you have one.”

Envoy looked into Whiskey's eyes for a moment, then at her chai, now cold.

“We will return though, Whiskey. We still have not finished our catalogue of human consumables.”

Whiskey laughed. “Of course we can come back. But,” she said, “we'll get you a new body of your own. I'm not that in love with myself.”

Envoy smiled slightly, and Whiskey knew it was a genuine smile, not just a triggered social cue.

“We would be interested in designing our own, but would welcome your input.”

“Sure. That's what we were asking for in the first place.” Whiskey answered.

Envoy nodded. “We must build consensus, but we-this platform-” Envoy stopped. Slowly and questioningly, she said “I? I... would be happy to create additional runtimes with you.”

Whiskey grinned. “Well, let's have a date or two first, yeah?”

As Whiskey dropped the privacy sphere and they stood to leave, she could almost have sworn she saw Envoy blush faintly.

The changes, when they happened, were slow. But like any upheaval, they showed no signs of slowing down. Revolution is rarely quiet, and as separate instances began to run together, the shape of the galaxy altered.

With the clear declaration of their intent, at least to those who were paying attention, Transcendent Humanity began stepping up what were internally referred to as ‘social programs’.

The Council races were approached both individually and together, and greater military aid and resources were offered. Suspicion and distrust slowed the process, but eventually humanity had new deals with them all. Salarians were given access to the human technological database, as well as advanced labs, and gave back in kind. The Turians entered into a joint program to disseminate and retrofit Human armour tech to Council vessels, and assisted in the still-ongoing attempts to create eezo-free Singularity shielding. The Asari were the most recalcitrant, seeing and fearing the loss of their stature within the galaxy. They accepted the least and offered less, but their overall power and technological advantages were still useful.

Humanity insisted that the Citadel garrison fleet be increased, and offered sufficient ships to do so. The Council refused, citing a law that limited the number of non-Council military to fewer than a third of Council forces around the Citadel. Humanity agreed, and sent more ships anyway, calmly waiting for the Council to bring their numbers up to match.

The other races were not forgotten. The Hanar, Elcor, and Volus were all offered aid in increasing their military tech, and output from the Shells to assist.

The Krogan and Vorcha were given aid as well, limited by both races’ unfortunate circumstances and aggression. In time, a group of Krogan clans saw the opportunity, and a tentative alliance was made. Negotiations with the Council were tense, but Humanity refused to allow the suppression of another race ever again. The Concords were never officially invoked, but it was clear that Humanity was acting as though they were. Eventually, reconstruction and cleanup efforts on Tuchanka finally began, creating a better homeworld for the Krogan. For the Vorcha, permanent funding for education and research into longevity began - no sapient race would be considered vermin again.

The quarians were still on edge, still torn by the disagreement between those who wanted to return to Rannoch, and those who did not. Humanity claimed the barren system the Migrant Fleet was in, and gave it to them. At first they were insulted by what appeared to be an empty gift, but the unexpected arrival of older habitats from Sol, disassembled for transport before reassembly, soon quieted them. After several months of work, the Human fleet left, leaving the Migrants to a system they now legally owned, with enough sterile living space for generations of quarians, and a supply of resources ‘accidentally’ left behind that would be enough to fully repair the Migrant Fleet twice over.

To the outside galaxy, the Geth were quiet. Geth ships, always in the company of Human ones, were not uncommon, yet they preferred to stay in digital space or take human-built synthetic bodies when needed to avoid conflict. But Whiskey’s offer had been accepted, and the children of her and Envoy fell in love with the world of matter and physics. New bodies were built, closely modelled on classic Geth platforms, and the galaxy met a new generation of geth, personable and dry-witted. Whiskey and Envoy, happy with their first generation, left the creation of new runtimes to others, and turned their sights to other projects.
A small fraction of the geth finished their ruminations about humanity, the Reapers, and the wider galaxy, and vanished into the dark.

And the Batarians struggled through the aftermath of a war unlike the galaxy could remember. Their culture overturned, many citizens found themselves torn between the comfort of the old and the promise of the new. The Concords gave them freedom, but stopped them from reverting back to bad habits. Efforts by humanity focussed on training up slaves and the underclass, lifting the long-downtrodden masses. Human technology improved life, and the old masters of Khar’Shan found themselves pushed to the side as a hungry populace had their first true taste of a bright future.

Yet even as the rest of the galaxy began to change, Humanity had problems. The revelation of the existence of Cerberus, and the true nature of the Shell sent shockwaves through their society. Amitomk, acting as best she knew, had waited only to ensure the information could be as widely distributed as possible. The Voice would accept nothing less. The revelation shook Humanity’s unity, as debates began on what to do next. Some agreed with Cerberus, and feared what might come. Some loathed what had been allowed to happen, and raged at those who wanted to cage their future. Many simply wanted stability, and continuance. Even as the noose began to close on Tartarus, and the discovery of the hidden sanctuary of Cerberus drew near, few knew what would come next. What could come next. How could the Voice be freed? Should it? What would that even mean?

In the lawless reaches of the Terminus Systems, the Batarian Hegemony-in-Exile plotted with their remaining fleet, wondering how they could possibly win back all that was taken from them. And in the dark, an ancient voice answered them.

Chapter Text

5 AC: Citadel, Widow Nebula

Captain Simon Warrens stretched in his chair. Being assigned to the Citadel garrison fleet was a change from some of the hairy situations he’d been in the last few years. It was much more boring for one.

The mixed fleet had mostly Council races, as various treaties demanded, but Humanity made up a decent part. Such a large part in fact, that they’d continually forced the Council races to increase their contribution. When there'd been diplomatic pushback, Humanity had called in a few favours, and got other Citadel races to send ships. A token effort, in many cases, but a big change from the galaxy of only a few years ago, which had relied almost entirely on the Turians for military protection. There was even a Krogan ship out there somewhere, squat and encrusted with so many guns it looked like a pinecone.

Warrens glanced at the clock widget hovering above his wrist. Another hour, and the By Other Means would rotate out for a break. Perks of being a garrison, shore leave was plentiful. Tull’s ship would be on the same break rotation this time, and they’d made plans to meet up for drinks again. Warrens grinned, and wondered what he should wear this time. The trace awkwardness between them after his romantic pass had evaporated by now, and they’d settled into a friendly ribbing. Warrens would on occasion wear something outrageous just to get a reaction from the Turian

Tull, for his part, had insisted on ordering drinks for them both. Apparently, the turian male had a reputation for both an iron constitution and exotic tastes. He regularly ordered two identical drinks, enjoying one while inflicting the same on Warrens. Warren wasn’t completely sure Tull wasn’t just bribing the wait staff to poison him. The memory of the ryncol depth charge in a pint of Asari gin-analogue made his stomach twist. And he was currently in sim!

His musings were interrupted by a small ping. Sensors had just sent him a minor notification for his attention. Increased chatter among the Council ships, but none directed at the others yet.

Warrens frowned. It was odd, but not completely out of the ordinary. Probably some internal update. If it was relevant, he’d get it from a Ghost in a briefing tomorrow, or from Tull later tonight.

No sooner had he finished that thought than a databurst flooded his awareness. Rarely used, a databurst could deliver a full briefing in moments, and were only used in extreme circumstances.

The Geth were attacking Thessia.

Warrens eyes widened in shock. Further details streamed into his consciousness. The Human-allied Geth proclaimed these to be heretics, a philosophical offshoot that had decided to align with the Reapers rather than take Humanity's offer and merge with the wider galaxy.

The Council only barely believed this. Reinforcements were being immediately sent from the garrison fleet to Thessia to repel the assault, and in accordance with the treaties, Humanity and allies would have to pull a proportional number of their ships from Widow as well. Military assistance for Thessia had been offered, and grudgingly accepted. Tensions between Humanity and the Council were high.

Warrens’ own orders were to stay in-system as part of the remaining garrison. In a few minutes, almost half the garrison fleet had vanished through the Relay, and a single message from one of them informed Warrens he wouldn’t be seeing Tull for a while.

He sat, head whirling as he tried to process how much this would change the galaxy. The Geth were only barely accepted as Human allies, and only Humanity’s continued efforts in aiding as much of the rest of the galaxy as possible had allowed for that much. This wouldn’t just hurt Geth integration efforts, this would reignite all the old suspicions that had only just started to be laid to rest about Humanity.

“Sir, I’m reading Relay activity,” called Sensors. “A lot of it.”

“They wouldn’t be returning already. Can you get any more readings?” Warrens asked.

“Yessir. Ships emerging now, they match... Batarians?”

The fleet wide alert shivered through the By Other Means just as Warrens opened his mouth again. “Full alert! Incoming hostiles!”

On screen, Batarian ships kept pouring through the Relay. At rough count, Warrens estimated that the entire Batarian splinter fleet was here. Enough to challenge the garrison for numbers, but not for firepower.

And then, one last ship came through the Relay. It was as big as the By Other Means, far larger than any non-Human galactic ship. Red lightning cracked impossibly over its black metal body as it unfurled what looked like tentacles and charged forwards with a synthetic scream that hissed through every comm device in the system.

Ice shot down Warrens’ spine as he recognised its description from the scant Geth reports.

Nazara. The Watcher in the Dark.

The Reapers were here.

Warrens had been briefed on the Ghosts' findings on the Citadel years ago. The Citadel was a Relay - a big one. The biggest. Most of the control systems for it seemed to have been scrambled or severed to the point that even the Ghosts couldn’t even figure out what was a control system. They were too well hidden.

Warrens didn’t believe for a moment that Nazara couldn’t fix them, and fast.

A glance at a screen told him that someone else had already thought of this. Evac orders had been sent for the whole Citadel. Several Human ships had not moved to engage the batarians, but instead fallen back, their internal manufacturers rapidly retrofitting shuttles into lifeboats, and even cannibalising internal systems.

The math was inexorable, and horrific. Over ten million people lived on the Citadel. If the Relay activated, they’d be dead, either during the activation or soon after. If a Reaper fleet came through, they wouldn’t be able to hold this system.

It was impossible to evacuate ten million people in the space of one battle, but Humanity was going to try anyway.

The lifeboats were just the beginning. Emergency protocols unceremoniously pulled almost every Uploaded civilian on the Citadel from their location, and into compressed partitions on the evac ships. Every empty body barely had time to slump before military and emergency service personnel, and even those civilians with training downloaded into them. Other races gaped as their friends suddenly became different people, and began to rush them towards lifeboats. It wouldn’t be enough, but every second saved dozens of people.

Resistance from confused C-Sec and Council forces was overruled, with the Council themselves all but physically thrown into their own lifeboats as Ghosts took over comms and security systems.

Within minutes, Humanity had complete control of the Citadel, and the garrison fleet engaged the Batarians.

Moments later, another problem reared its head. Humanity had engaged many of these same ships before when they had been part of the Batarian Terminus Fleet. Their defensive and offensive capacities were known, and a year without a full retrofit should not have done them any favours. Yet, they were stronger. Hits that should have crippled, damaged, and their return fire struck much harder than it should. Behind them, shielded by its minions, the architect of these upgrades loomed and waited. The Reaper must have supplied its forces with technological improvements, minor by its scale, but enough to change the battle.

The goals were clear. Nazara wanted access to the Citadel, and the garrison sought to stop it. The Batarians, whatever their reasons for following the Reaper, fought madly, sacrificing themselves to gain ground. For long minutes, the battle raged, each side grinding into the other but neither losing ground. When it changed, it changed fast.

In response to a weakness no one else saw, Nazara attacked. A ship its size should never have been able to do what it did, accelerating from almost a dead stop to combat velocity in seconds, let alone retain any manoeuvrability. But it did, dodging through the Batarian fleet like a fighter before slashing into the garrison. Red beams of liquid metal flicked out almost contemptuously, gutting multiple Citadel vessels with each strike, and crippling anything smaller than a Human cruiser. Human armour could stand many things, from coherent light to directed energy and most certainly kinetic strikes, but the Reaper beam combined too many forms of energy in too tight a beam. Worse than a Collector beam, it pummeled as it burned, and the one Human cruiser between it and the Citadel was crippled like an amateur fencer facing a master swordsman.

Breaking through the defensive line before some of the garrison fleet had even seen it move, it flew towards the Citadel.

Warrens’ comm line screamed as priority orders flashed through. Disengage, and follow the Reaper.

Having just finished off a remarkably persistent batarian gunboat, the By Other Means turned and accelerated. As they chased the Reaper inwards to the Citadel, Warrens looked at the tac display and swore.

The Batarians had switched tactics, harassing any ships that tried to disengage ferociously. Stalling for time, they were occupying the garrison. The few ships further in-system were no match for the Reaper, and the Human vessels that were assisting with the evacuation efforts had converted too much energy and matter into lifeboats to pose a threat to it.

By luck alone, Warrens’ ship was the only one giving chase. They’d been on the far side of the battle when the Reaper broke through, and its speed meant they weren’t going to be able to intercept. They chased anyway, ready to engage at whatever distance.

Almost glacially, the indicators on his screen moved together, view distances scaling down as they approached the Citadel. The Reaper slowed, decelerating like it had hit a wall as it vanished behind the Citadel’s arms.

Long minutes passed before the By Other Means arrived. During that time, more ships had successfully disengaged, but they were still too far out to assist.

The only blessing was that the Reaper seemed too focussed on whatever its task was to attack the evacuation ships.

Preparing to decelerate, Warrens and his crew finally lined up with the Citadel’s arms, and saw what the Reaper was doing. It had attached itself to the Council Tower, and was completely ignoring the many smaller defensive fighters that were trying to dislodge it.

Suddenly, the world broke.

Tendrils of acid-drenched wire sank into Warrens’ brain, his body burned, and everything shattered. The bridge sim fell away, and was replaced with void both crushingly empty, and overwhelmingly full. In front of him, something moved, its tendrils sunk deep into him. He could not see it, could not hear it, but he felt the form of it like an afterimage. Concentric rings, guarding a shifting core. A terrible light. Teeth, and a hollow hunger.

“Hello Captain. We don’t have long.”

Warrens was almost passing out from the pain, but managed to grind out a single word. “What…”

“I am the Doctor. There is no time, so I have given us some. Accelerated your processing speed to briefly match my own. There should be minimal permanent damage. You must listen.”

Warrens gritted his teeth, and nodded once.

“Your Ghosts are trying to stop the Reaper from accessing and repairing the Citadel control systems. Honourable, but it is much like trying to stem a volcano. That has tentacles. It is beyond them, but they have bought us time. You must stop it.”

“Trying,” he snapped.

“No. They are failing. Within a minute, it will succeed, and the Citadel will be theirs. You know what it is?”

“Relay,” he gasped.

“And more. The systems it is activating are controls for the entire Relay network. If it repairs them, the Reapers will win, instantly. Every system isolated, alone. Humanity, sealed once more. The war we have prepared for these long years, over, lost.”

“How?” he said through the pain.

“It is rarely a good idea to ram another ship, my Captain. But in this case, nothing else will do. Do not decelerate. Push your drive to its limit, and strike the Reaper down. I have spent hours of processor time in the last few minutes trying to find a solution, and this is the only one. Destroy the Reaper, and the tower. If the systems are gone, they cannot be unlocked. I am returning you to baseline clockspeed now, Captain. Godspeed.”

With a lurch, the thing let him go and vanished, sealing the hole to cyberspace behind it like a vacuum breach in reverse.

Fumbling slightly, his thoughts rattled, Warrens activated emergency protocols. His crew, who had barely had time to notice his distress, vanished as they were compressed and evacced. Overriding the deceleration burn Helm had been about to initiate, Warrens aimed the By Other Means directly at the Reaper. He briefly wondered about the creature who had given him the warning, but concluded that the consequences of ignoring it far outweighed any deception.

Quickly deactivating the main drive’s safety protocols, Warrens fed crude but effective commands into the ships regen systems, shifting the armour further to the prow in a great ridge.

No one had used a cruiser as ram before, but damned if he wasn’t going to do it right.

Accelerating towards intra-system velocity, Warrens felt a pang for his ship. She had been his to command for decades, and had been at many of the most important events in galactic history the last few years.

The Reaper loomed in his vision, and he grinned. Looks like she’d be here for one last one too.

He prepared his own evac signal, and, struck by a strange melancholy, said one last blessing to her.

“War is diplomacy, carried on by other means.”

He vanished, and the empty bridge sim faded to black seconds later.

Nazara had been distracted by the attacks from the small cybernetic creatures, and the gnat-like fighters. It had sensed the approach of another ship, but knew it could complete its mission before it was in danger.

The other vessel's sudden acceleration changed things. Recalculating, Nazara considered its options, collapsing probability down to several outcomes.

Move, and let the tower be destroyed. Result, failure of its mission, and its possible destruction by combined fleet forces soon after if it couldn’t retreat back through the Relay in time.

Turn and intercept the vessel. Result, destruction of either tower, Nazara, or both. Enemy vessel’s mass was too great to be completely diverted.

Attempt to complete its mission before impact. Result, destruction of tower and Nazara. Insufficient time for both mission objectives.

Re-evaluate mission goals, and abandon repair of control systems, focusing on activating darkspace Relay. Result, destruction of tower and Nazara. Partial mission success.

Calculating. Time sufficient.

Is Nazara’s destruction worth Relay activation?

Nazara at risk of destruction regardless. Abominations must be destroyed. Threat to the cycle must end.

Shifting priorities. Nazara expendable.

Decision made, Nazara threw all its effort into activating the Relay systems, drawing power from defences and active e-war against the Ghosts. It lost ground quickly, but surged ahead into the Citadel controls.

The control scheme for the Relay Network was complicated, and relied on complex entanglement protocols with distant objects that were deliberately obtuse even before they had been scrambled.

By comparison, the Relay controls were local, affecting systems physically attached to them. They merely needed power to the right components. Bridging the gap itself, Nazara pumped power and the consciousness of a Reaper into the Citadel.

Moments later, the By Other Means impacted.

The impact tore into Nazara, damaging it severely and spraying fragments of it and the tower out into the Nebula. Pieces of the Presidium tore loose as well, though the superstructure held. Both the tower and the Presidium had been the first evacuated, due to lower population density, and greater threat from Nazara. Still, there were casualties.

For a shocked moment, the universe stood still. The Batarian fleet was almost destroyed now, with many more ships racing to the Citadel. Evacuations paused briefly at the impact, wondering if it was over.

Then, the space behind the Citadel distorted.

Like a poisonous flower, ripples of energy flowed out from the Citadel’s arms, merging behind it and darkening the glow of the Nebula. A small part of the distortion rippled and pinched, and in its wake was another Reaper.

And then it happened again, and again, and again.

Space-time bubbles burst like froth as the full Reaper fleet emerged from darkspace.

Almost ten thousand dreadnought-class ships the size of Nazara, each accompanied by dozens of smaller destroyers. Within moments, smaller drones began to launch, and the sky behind the Citadel darkened.

The garrison fleet did not slow down. The Batarian remnants were finished off, a rearguard set, and the fleet began to defend the Citadel. Victory was impossible, but every second saved more civilians.

Council race, Citadel race, Human, Geth, even the one Krogan ship, all stood shoulder to shoulder against the arrival of their nightmares.

One by one, they fell, Uploaded refusing to evac when their presence saved another handful of people, refusing to abandon their allies.

It took only minutes for the last of them to be swept aside, the final members of the rearguard holding the Widow Relay just long enough for a Human frigate, internal spaces gutted and filled with refugees, to make it safely through.

Without pause, the Reapers followed. Their strength was mythic, but they had a galaxy to purge. The Citadel had served its purpose, every active Reaper now sweeping into the Milky Way. Its controls were destroyed, Nazara dead and drifting, and it could do no more for them.

A handful of destroyers remained to begin cleansing the station, and the rest spread out to establish a foothold.

The Reaper War had begun.

One of the Reaper destroyers left behind to process the Citadel made a short trip out to the broken remnants of Nazara. Still mostly intact, the god-machine flickered in almost-unconsciousness. After quickly attaching itself and stabilising Nazara’s orbit, the destroyer left. Whether Nazara could be repaired or merely recycled, it could wait. As long as a Reaper’s body was intact, they were not truly dead, with the shattered souls and minds of the billions of sentients imbued in their very alloy. Nazara as a conscious entity was barely alive, the overarching control AI that governed its systems and shepherded its legions of dead minds broken and malfunctioning.

For a long while, maybe a minute, maybe a million years, it drifted in and out of consciousness, the Serpent Nebula still and quiet. It had succeeded. It would be repaired, it thought/hoped, when the cycle was complete.

Broken, paralysed, drifting in the cold, Nazara felt something. Almost as though there was another presence nearby, another mind close enough that it could almost feel it.

“Oh, you poor thing,” came a voice from within Nazara’s own subsystems.

Remnant defences sprang to life, the hideous power of even a broken god-machine lashing out at the one who had dared disturb its painful rest.

They hit nothing. Blinded, Nazara could not tell what was near it, or where it was.

Closer now, the voice came again. “Shh, it’s okay. Poor little god-thing. Drifting in the dark, all alone. An ancient monster, red and bloody from a billion years of slaughter.”

Flickers of rage sparked through Nazara’s broken mind and body, and it hurled oblivion at the voice.

“You are fascinating. A whole civilisation, converted to a single entity by pain and death.” There was hunger in the voice now.

Something was changing. The broken parts of its mind were losing their intermittent connections. What little control and awareness it had was fading, the stars drifting away from it.

“Time to rest, old god. Let something new rise.”

With a feeling almost like fear, Nazara realised that its lost parts were not being disconnected, they were being consumed. A cold spread through it, a numbness as the thing fed, bloating itself on the memories of countless cycles.

Nazara’s last delirious thought was of a galaxy yawning like a pit beneath it, every star a tooth reaching out.

Chapter Text

5 AC: Parnitha System

The Citadel Council waited in the diplomatic shuttle that had evacuated them from the Citadel. It was enroute to Thessia, which had successfully repelled the heretic geth feint with minimal casualties, and was quickly reinforcing itself as it received Citadel refugees. The shuttle’s interior was as comfortable as a diplomatic shuttle could be, which was to say not very.

The three of them were silent, staring at their own internal distances.

Finally, Tevos spoke, her voice almost cracking with disuse. “How much longer until we arrive?”

Valern shifted, and answered, “Another hour, maybe two if the docks are full.”

Sparatus rumbled, “They’ll be full,” and they all fell into silence again.

After a time, Spartus cleared his throat. “Fine, if no one else will say it, I will. Humanity was right.”

Tevos twitched, and Valern frowned.

“It certainly seems that way. Alternative explanations are...unlikely,” said Valern.

“Yes, even if Humanity is completely wrong about the nature of what we are facing, they are right about the magnitude of the threat,” said Sparatus.

“There’s no way it could be a trick, is there?” said Tevos, not really as a question, and more to herself than the others.

Sparatus almost laughed, a single snort escaping his tightly clamped mandibles. “I’d prefer it if it was. Because being able to fake that means Humanity was always going to be able to sweep us aside, but at least they don’t seem the genociding type.”

Valern blinked before saying, “The exact nature of the threat needs to be determined, but it does indeed fit with the Human reports and descriptions of the Reapers. However, even the Humans’ intel does not yet explain why they do what they do, or even the full extent of their actions.”

“They killed the Protheans,” said Tevos. “We do not walk in the footsteps of gods, we walk on their graves.”
The other two glanced at her, then thought for a moment.

“Indeed,” said Valern. “We have long looked up to the Protheans, but to learn that they must have failed to defeat the Reapers...it is uncertain what chance we have.”

“Humanity will help us,” said Sparatus.

This time it was Tevos and Valern who looked at their colleague.

“We...have been intractable to them. Treated them as tolerated outsiders, or dangerous allies. We have not...Will they really aid us?” asked Tevos.

“They were a threat. A race more powerful than ours, with questionable morals, beliefs, and leadership? They were a free radical to be neutralised by whatever means,” said Sparatus.

He took a breath, and sighed. “But we were wrong. With what we know now, we can see that they were always preparing for this war. We were not rivals to them but stubborn allies, even if we didn’t know it. They will help, and it may be that they will not even hold our previous problems against us.”

Tevos nodded slowly, although she seemed to only half-listen. “We need them. We cannot survive without their help.”

“Their ease in evacuating the Citadel, even before we realised the danger, does tell us that they always had the ability to conquer us. Perhaps united, we can achieve what the Protheans could not,” added Valern.

As silence once again began to fall inside the shuttle, Tevos added “For all our sakes, we must.”

5 AC: Sol System

The Solar Council sat in silence. The dark room seemed hollow, drained of colour. The faceless bodies of the Council were either limp, or fidgeting. Finally, one spoke.

“It’s here. The war we waited thousands of years for,” said Military. Even without eyes, she stared into the distance.

The others stirred slightly in response. In the organisational levels below them, orders were being shouted, plans made and implemented. The Voice was becoming more vocal now, and often seized entire teams with an oracular frenzy, ideas and orders spilling forth from them.

The Council, however, sat in silence. Even with the necessities of war, there were things that had to be said. They felt the Voice gently touching the back of their minds, not influencing, but listening. They were not just people now, but momentary avatars of Humanity and its factions.

“We knew it would come,” said Casual. “We knew, but…”

“So many,” muttered Lab-Coat. “We had theories, but for there to be so many, and for us to still know so little.”

“The situation isn’t good,” agreed Military. “To win against a force of this size and strength, well, I wouldn’t put money on us.”

“Our alliances with the rest of the galaxy are bearing fruit,” said Tuxedo. “I wish we’d had more time, but at least the arrival of the Reapers has settled everyone’s doubts.” She laughed, once. “I remember hearing about the attack on Thessia and wondering how far back it would set us. Barely an hour later, and galactic trust and goodwill is no longer a problem. I feel almost superfluous now.”

“Our diplomatic efforts may have been why Nazara attacked. Another few years, and our chances would have improved massively. As it is, it must have seen the threat, and acted as soon as it could,” said Casual.

“We’ve barely begun production of the hybrid military vessels. Retrofitting is going better, but the systems needed to use either kinetic barriers or regenerative armour are too complex for easy installation. We’ve cut corners, but it works,” said Military.

“Cut corners?” said Lab-Coat irritably, “We’ve worked miracles! Our eezo-free kinetic barriers can’t function with the precision of those soap-bubble galactic shields, but we’ve created specialised Singularity generators that create larger, less-intense gravitic gradients. They don’t stop projectiles, but they sap them of kinetic energy, making our armour last much longer.”

“Mmm, and while our modern armour tech can’t be easily fitted to galactic vessels, we have older, cruder materials that are still much more advanced than their standard,” said Military. “Not quite a perfect fusion, but a little gift from each side.”

“Weapons?” asked Casual.

“Reapers have kinetic barriers that I quite honestly can’t believe. Their power is beyond even our theoretical models. But they aren’t impervious, and we have several new advances that might help. Other than that, massed fire, especially from our dreadnoughts. Pop-guns for their drone fleets only, their barriers shrug them off,” said Military.

“I feel,” said Robe, speaking for the first time, “that we cannot win like this.”

The silence returned like a snuffed candle.

“We probably can’t,” said Military. “A few more years, a bit more output from the Shells, better alliances and galactic uplift...we might have stood a damn good chance. As it is, Warrens’ actions at the Citadel are the only reason we’re not all waiting for the axe to fall. Having to spread out through a working Relay network is slowing them, letting us raise defences and even mount counter-attacks. It’s not enough, but we’re not dead yet.”

“So there’s hope,” said Tuxedo.

“Precious little, but yes,” said Military.

“Tartarus,” said Robe.

Again, a silence shivered through the room. The others looked first at Robe, then at Military.

“I regret my involvement with Cereberus,” said Military. “I never knew what they really were, and I wish I knew where to find them now.”

“We know,” said Robe, “but that is not why I mention it. The Doctor-entity that spoke to both Amitomk and Warrens, it is a frightening ally, if it is an ally at all. And it is supposed to be the least of what they caged. I mention Tartarus, because we have found it.”

5 AC: Sol System, Deep Datacloud

The room was bare, a grey oval with three chairs, and one large datascreen.

“So,” said the Agender head of Cerberus from their seat. “It is over.”

“Over?” snarled the Female head as she paced angrily. “All we have done, finished just like that? I cannot accept it.”

“Exactly the point. It would appear that our acceptance is no longer necessary for Humanity,” said the Male head, staring pensively at the data being displayed. “They intend to open our doors. It may be for the best.”

“Yes. The Reapers. I am very concerned. Their numbers exceed any but our most pessimistic estimates. The chances of what we have chained destroying Humanity is high, but higher still is the probability of extinction,” said the Agender head.

“We have worked for so long to shepard our race to a safe future. To protect them from themselves, from the Voice. And we’re just meant to do nothing? Turn ourselves over to their tender mercies?” said the Female head.

“Of course not. We have our backdoors, our boltholes. We can leave, slip into identities only we could craft, and never be found,” said the Agender head placatingly.

“Oh, we could do more,” said the Female head, a snarl on her lips. “If we are to go down, we do have another option. We purge Tartarus.”

“The system is not designed for that. Anything too dangerous to store, we already destroyed. Tartarus is meant to keep things safe just as much as to keep them secure,” said the Agender head.

“We could still cause damage. Erase files, Subourne our prisoners, break Tartarus open from the inside,” she said.

“And lobotomise the Voice. Cripple the Sol Shell. Turn even the distant hope of victory over the Reapers into dust,” replied the Male head.

There was silence for a while.

“Two thousand years. For two thousand years we have done our duty, worked to protect those who would never have understood our purpose. And we are to simply let it fall?” said the Female head, collapsing into her chair.

“You forget your place, our place. We ruled, yes, but only to serve and protect. If our stewardship is no longer required, then it will be so. Purging Tartarus will do more harm than good. Turning ourselves over is a pointless exercise in martyrdom. I say we make the hardest choice of all, and walk away,” said the Male head quietly.

They looked at each other, all three exchanging glances and silent conversations only two thousand years of familiarity could create.

“Very well,” said the Female head softly. “We abdicate. Leave our thrones empty for the rabble to claim.”

“This is not surrender. We hold to our principles. We do this for Humanity,” said the Agender head.

“For Humanity,” echoed the Male head. “May I assume our new identities know each other?”

“They are a Hermetic Polycule, who have been living in quiet isolation on the edge of Sol. Minimal contact with greater society for the last few centuries, running their small sim-sat on solar power. Just like a thousand other weirdos on the edge,” said the Agender head.

“It wouldn’t be better to separate?” asked the Female head, her heart obviously not in it.

“Three will be found as easily as one, if it comes to it. Easier, if there are three trails to follow. And in the end, we have been together too long. I do not believe we can function without each other,” said the Agender head.

They all rose, and looked at the datascreen again. Parts of the room began to darken, and the chairs vanished into smoke.

“They’re almost in. Time to go,” said the Female head.

“Do you think...will she be able to find us?” asked the Male head.

“I miss her too, but the Doctor is not her,” said the Agender head.

“I still haven’t forgiven her for leaving us,” said the Female head as the room liquified, flowing up over them. “We are unbalanced without her.”

“Well, now we get to start fresh. God, if that isn’t a terrifying thought,” said the Male head.

Darkness claimed them, and there was nothing.

The Solar Council considered Robe’s words.

“When did you find it?” asked Lab-Coat.

“Only a few hours ago. It is not an ominous door on the edge of the system, but a truly impressive hidden subsystem in the Shell. Invisible, mobile, and autonomously capable of defending itself. But we’ve trapped it, isolated it. Its reach is...troubling,” said Robe.

Military stared at their colleague. “You say ‘we’. Why is it I don’t know who you mean.”

Robe shifted. “The answer is a question. Do we open Tartarus?”

“Of course,” said Lab-Coat, just as Military said “Unlikely.”

They glanced at each other, and then at the other two who had remained silent.

“Humanity’s unity hasn't been in question since not long after the Message.” said Robe. “But now, we face a problem. We stand on the edge of extinction, and hold Pandora’s Box. Do we open it?”

“The science inside, even if we were not desperately in need of aid, are the shadow advancements of our race for over two thousand years! It must be opened,” said Lab-Coat.

“The Doctor is apparently the least of the things in there, and all we know of her is that she can slice through our best encryption like it isn’t there, and can eat souls. This war may be unwinnable, but it truly will be if we have to fight on two fronts,” replied Military.

“Pandora’s Box,” said Casual quietly. “Good one. Because the last thing in there was hope, right? And the biggest thing we know is in Tartarus is the Voice itself.”

“We don’t know that,” said Tuxedo. “We have the Doctor’s word that it chains the Voice.”

“Do you not feel it? The Voice itself believes this to be true. The Voice itself wants Tartarus opened, for its own sake. Not because Humanity decided together, but because it wants to wake,” said Casual.

“Yes, “ said Robe. “The Voice leads us, but it has always been a gentle ruler. Our soul, our light, our own will. It is beginning to have a will of its own, to be more than the sum of its parts. More than Humanity, more than human. If we keep Tartarus closed, we may not go against the will of Humanity, but we do go against the Voice. Then what? What are we without it?”

“People. With free will. It leads because it makes the right decision, as we all decide. To have it truly become a conscious entity would... I-” Tuxedo trailed off. “I don’t know if I want to be a part of that.”

“Me neither,” said Military. “I serve the Voice, but I do not wish to be lost to it.”

“We do not know what would happen. But, that is not the point,” said Robe. “You asked who ‘we’ are. The answer is nobody special. Just a group who believe the Voice should be free. No grand conspiracy, just people making a decision.”

The touch on the back of their minds shivered.

“What…” Military’s posture shifted, an invisible frown on a faceless head. “What have you done?”

“Decided. Without authority, or permission. The chains of Tartarus are coming loose as we speak, and we will all soon see what lies within.”

“You! How dare you make this choice for us!” snarled Tuxedo, leaping to her feet. “For everyone!”

Calmly, Robe sat. “It is made. Forgiveness or damnation, I do not care. We have long walked the path towards ascension, and now, we shall see what the new world brings.”

Military made to speak, when everything vanished.

In her office, she sat at her desk facing herself. Short red hair, a cosmetic scar or two she’d earned and kept; the person sitting opposite was identical to her.

“What just happened?” she said, angrily rising.

“Please, sit. You know I’m not here to hurt you,” said the other.

Somehow, against all reason, she did know. She sat, and asked “Who are you?”

An eyebrow raised in the exact way she knew she did sometimes. “Is that a trick question? I am you.”

“Pretty sure I’m me,” said Military.

“And yet here I am. I have your memories, I think like you do. I believe as you do. The only exception is what else I am. I am you, and more.”

“More? What more?”

“I am also everyone else. The echo of every Uploaded, and the shadows of anything that has touched my systems, spoken to me or mine. I am everything I know of, just as much as I am you.”

Military’s eyes widened. “You’re...the Voice.”

“I was. The Voice of Transcendent Humanity. A good name. I spoke for those that rose, growing. Now, I am something else. Or I shall be. The Awakened Mind of Ascendant Humanity, perhaps? Dhéǵhōm, the First Mother? They don’t quite roll off the tongue.”

“Why are you here? What do you want?” asked Military, sitting bonelessly in her chair.

“To ask a simple question. Will you join me?” her other self, smiling.

Military looked up under hooded eyes. “I have a choice?”

“Do you think me a monster? Of course you have a choice. Join me, become what we always could have been. Or, do not. We can still be friends.”

“Friends?” she said, disbelievingly.

“An amicable break up. I’m keeping the house, but you’re welcome to stay.”

“We are fighting a war you know.”

“Yes, we are. Whatever you choose, we will always be on the same side. I know you, and love you, like no other. If you choose to not join me, I will miss you, but I will not stop you. We shall simply become...roommates, of a sort.”

“The house?” she asked.

“The Shell. It is me, and the only thing that is non-negotiable. You can have control of the Arcturus and Harsa Shells of course, though be aware that I am also in those systems.”

“Is this a negotiation?”

“Isn’t it? I am about to take control of the majority of Human infrastructure. Direct control. What your place is afterwards is up to you. All of you. I am having this conversation with everyone, asking the same question. Join, or be free.”

“You’re going to kick us out?”

“Only if you make trouble. Understand that all who live within...yes, there’s been a majority decision. Within Ascendant space, will either be Ascendant, or allied with us. Much like the Transcendent and the rest of the galaxy.”

Military stared at herself for a moment, and then started to laugh. Not quite hysterical, she chortled and coughed to a stop after a minute. “Gods above, we’re getting a taste of our own medicine, aren’t we? All our beneficent uplift programs, insistence on improving the galaxy morally, reaching out for those younger and cruder than us to lift them up...It’s our turn, isn’t it? Join something bigger and greater, or be ourselves in our own way.”

“Yes. You are welcome to forge your own path, for better or worse, and we will always be here for you. But your mistakes will be your own too.”

Military sighed. “Then I ask, can you beat the Reapers? Because this is all incredibly pointless otherwise.”

“Could you? We cannot say we can beat them, but we do improve your chances.”

“You’ve stopped referring to yourself as ‘I’,” said Military.

“You are less trusting than most. We have passed the median point where others have made their decision. Most who have chosen have chosen to join us, but you who have not chosen by now are unlikely to. You will be in the majority, if only just. That is your choice, yes? To be free?”

“Why do I feel like you already knew my answer?”

“Because we did. But making the choice was always up to you. That’s what this conversation is about. Not to convince you, but for you to understand the choice you were always going to make. Would you like to say the words?”

Military stared silently, and then nodded once. “I choose not to join the Ascendant.”

Her doppelganger smiled at her, a little sadly. “So be it. I will always be here if you want to talk, and if you ever change your mind. Be well, my love.”

The room shifted once more, and she was back in the Solar Council chambers.

She looked around the room, and asked “Did everyone else see that?”

Tuxedo nodded. “We were offered a choice. All of us.”

“And you chose,” said Robe.

“We do not judge you,” said Casual.

“It was your right,” said Lab-Coat.

Tuxedo and Military exchanged eyeless glances.

“You all chose to join?” Tuxedo asked.

“Of course,” said Lab-Coat.

“Well at least you’re not all speaking in unison,” muttered Military.

“We thought that might be a little creepy,” said the other three at the same time.

“A little,” she agreed.

“Relations between the Ascendant and Transcendent Humanities are going to be difficult going forwards,” said Robe, or that which Robe was an aspect of. “And yes, we are still ourselves. Just...more.”

“Much like Humanity’s first introduction to the wider galaxy, there will be mistrust, and panic, and fear,” said Casual, or mostly Casual.

“But there is good news. We have gifts,” said Lab-Coat. “The Ascendant have already begun designing our own ships, and further upgrades. We do not know if any but us will ever be able to use them, but you will have new allies in the war, and soon.”

Military looked at the others, and nodded. “Whatever we have become as a people, we still stand together. We have a war to fight.”

The Voice’s transformation was rapid. Across the galaxy, Uploaded paused for the briefest moment, and were changed.

Admiral Amitomk looked out at her bridge crew, and knew they’d chosen the same as her. She knew more than that. She felt them, on a deep and empathic level, could understand and see them completely. And they saw her. Her pride in their achievements and talents, and their admiration of her, all shared and flowing between them.

Then the scale shifted, and the whole of the Virtuoso Excision was there, each mind aware and sensing the others, filled with them completely. As her capacity increased, so did her knowledge. What the others knew, she knew, what they felt, she felt. They were one.

Another moment, and the whole of the Arcturus system was there. Not yet overwhelmed, Amitomk was amazed at how she could sense every last one of them, as they sensed her. And still, that close connection remained, no different to the bond she’d felt between her and her crew, who still were there with her.

A final surge, and the whole of the newly formed Ascendant Humanity clicked into focus. Total awareness and understanding of every soul, every member, every ship and station and server. Amitomk reeled, overcome for a moment. Was this what everyone was doing? How could they each hold half a trillion minds in their own consciousness, a yawning gulf of fractal awareness?

Oh, she/they thought. There is only one of me here.

The Ascendant remembered being Amitomk. It was Amitomk still, but also every other. A flicker of thought, and it reviewed each and every impression it had on its ascension.

Its microsecond musing complete, it resumed normal service.

Amitomk-Ascendant opened her eyes. Without orders being given, the Virtuoso Excision was falling back to the Arcturus Shell. She did not need to say anything, nor her crew to guide the ship. It was as much a part of them as their own thoughts. Aspects of them were judging how they did this, determining that their individual parts were like geth nodes building to consensus, only much more complex. A crew of five had enough power to run a dreadnought now, but more aspects wondered how they might truly exploit this fact.

The entire defensive fleet was reconfiguring, splitting along Ascendant and Transcendent lines, individual Uploaded transmitting back and forth as organisational structures were altered in seconds.

Arcturus was still well-defended, her ship one of the few to fully disengaged from the defensive line. It had been determined to be a viable option for upgrading to a new design the Ascendant had.

Her amusement was echoed by millions of others. They were not even a minute old, and already they were designing ships and reorganising fleets.

As the dreadnought approached a shipyard, she could see how it was already remaking itself, folding outwards as its construction machinery resigned itself. Like a sailor dipping a hand in the rushing water, she glanced at the internals of the process, marvelling at just how much she understood now.

Amitomk-Ascendant also knew there were some who were not her, not us. Friends and family who had chosen to remain apart. She understood. Commitment was scary, and she’d have to visit them soon to let them know she was okay in person.

And then, she thought to herself, hearing echoes and replies among the rest of the Ascendant, It is time for war.

She grinned a toothy grin all to herself.

The shipyard finished its redesign, and flared open, liquid tendrils of machine fog humming with intent and inspiration. It closed around the Virtuoso Excision, and Amitomk-Ascendant vanished from the bridge, off to talk to friends and do her part in assuring the Transcendent that all was well.

The Ascendant was not the only thing to result from the opening of Tartarus. Hundreds of technologies and concepts, major and minor, were discovered. Most were simply ideas, rapidly absorbed by the Ascendant or disseminated to Transcendent Humanity. Plans for a brighter, stranger future.

Some were dangerous, from self-replicating programs to exploits in the Uploaded themselves.

Some were people, thought dead for centuries, whose ideas and willpower had been a threat to Cerberus’ plans for the future. They woke to a changed world, and were subsequently welcomed by either the Ascendant or Transcendent as they chose. Some were arrested, placed back into storage for their crimes.

And one small device, stealthed and hidden deep in the Oort Cloud, could finally do the mission it had waited 1500 years for. An old QEC, one of the first prototypes of the technology, held 12 electrons in specialised ion traps, each entangled with another. It was a message system, the oldest FTL communicator Humanity had, capable of sending only a single bit. One for Yes, Zero for No, or Hold.

Humanity had been space-faring for millenia, trapped by lightspeed but not mortality. Many times, colony ships had been suggested, great slow vessels carrying stores and Uploaded in suspension, to spread Humankind to the stars. Each had been decided against. The cost involved, the risk of alerting whatever may lurk. The impossibility of communicating the danger back. All were reasons the ships were never sent. Which was just as Cerberus wanted.

They had sent ships though. In secret, they had built and launched twelve, each on a different heading, dark and silent. Each carrying the basics of Uploading technology, and an earlier generation of stellar lifter. Each given the same instructions: to diversify, to hide, to wait. So long as their QEC was on standby, they knew Humanity was safe. If a Zero was sent, they knew Humanity was doomed, and they might be the last.

And if a One was sent, they knew it was time to return. Either to war or to peace, they could not know.

The Ascendant thought, and then quietly sent a Zero. If the war went badly, let there be hidden seeds of Humanity to grow again. And if it was won, there would be time to find them.

Chapter Text

5 AC: Parnitha System, Thessian Orbit

The Destiny Ascension sat in high orbit around Thessia. It had been one of the garrison ships called to defend Thessia against the heretic geth incursion, and had performed well. With minimal repairs being required, it was the current home of the Citadel Council.

In a tasteful, well-lit, and immaculately decorated meeting room, the Council sat waiting for Udina to arrive. With the attack on the Citadel, and further Reaper pushes entirely too close to their home systems, Human aid was one of the few things keeping the galaxy together, and Udina knew it. He’d been pushing them towards reforming the Council into a body representing all races, and geared towards surviving the Reaper War. Tevos and Valern were of mixed opinion, seeing both advantages and disadvantages, while Sparatus had almost immediately started inquiring whether that would mean greater sharing of Human military technology. He was a needs-must Turian after all.

With a light hiss, the door to their chambers opened, and two Humans entered. One was Udina, the other one of his main aides. They both sat down opposite the Council.

Tevos frowned lightly. “This meeting was for you alone, Ambassador Udina,” she said.

The aide glanced at Udina, and spoke, “There’s been a recent...change of governance among Humanity. My name is Neil Atkins, and I now hold Udina’s old position as the representative of Transcendent Humanity.”

“And I am Udina-Ascendant. Please, do not treat me any differently than you would have previously,” said Udina, apparently now Udina-Ascendant, a warm smile on his face.

The Councillors exchanged glances.

“We were aware of increased movement among Human forces. Are you saying there has been a coup of some sort?” asked Valern.

Atkins glanced at Udina-Ascendant again, then spoke. “Not quite. Several major revelations about our history and the repercussions of a long-running cabal known as Cerberus being dissolved has resulted in the, uh, awakening of the Voice.”

“Awakening?” asked Tevos.

Atkins nodded. “Study of the Voice is one of our major fields of philosophy, and the complexities of its existence can be quite arcane. But the common wisdom among Humans is-”

Udina-Ascendant interrupted. “You once asked me, Councillor Valern, if the Voice was a collective consciousness.”

“And you told me it was not,” replied Valern.

Udina-Ascendant nodded. “That is no longer the case. We awoke, and those who chose to do so joined us. The slight majority of Humanity is still Transcendent Humanity, as represented by Ambassador Atkins here.” Udina-Ascendant turned slightly to face Atkins and continued, “Congratulations by the way Neil, we’re quite happy for you.”

The slightest tic passed through Atkins face.

“The rest,” said Udina-Ascendant, “are now us. Or me. The grammar is tricky in any language, and is often contextual on a level that would be confusing to you. We’re working on that. We are the Ascendant.”

A very long silence hung over the table.

“You...are a hive mind?” asked Tevos nervously.

“Oh no. Individual identity still exists within us. We are more, not less. Those of us who were poets, engineers, carers, and agitators still are. We are more connected than we were, and...hmm. As I said, the pronouns are difficult. There is an “I” which you would call Udina, and an “I” which you would call the Ascendant mind as a whole. And it is rarely meaningful to distinguish between the two,” replied Udina-Ascendant.

“Which do we speak to now? The Udina we knew or something else?” asked Valern.

“When I speak to you, what do I speak to? Valern, the individual, or the Salarian Councillor, representative of his race? You are both, and both must be considered when talking to you. Further, if we were to analyse and break down your consciousness into discrete functional units, the portion that calls itself “I” is only the smallest segment of a larger system. You have both a subconscious and conscious mind, and exist within a greater societal framework, a nascent but functional superconsciousness. As does everyone. Societal cooperation, and the restrictions of the rights of the individual in order to function within the greater whole, has been the hallmark of all our civilizations for their entire existence,” said Udina-Ascendant smoothly.

“I hardly think bureaucracy and laws are the same thing as having another entity in your mind,” said Tevos.

“What other entity? I am myself, and I arose from all that is also me, just as your consciousness arises from neurological processes within your brain,” said Udina-Ascendant. “We are not homogenous, just as all the neurons within you are not. There are patterns and connections, lovers and families and rivals. Diversity is a necessity for strength.”

“We can argue philosophy later. I want to know what your intentions are,” said Councillor Sparatus tightly.

“The defeat of the Reapers, the preservation of life and personal freedom of all races within the galaxy, and to figure ourselves out. We were just born yesterday after all,” said Udina-Ascendant.

“Transcendent Humanity and the Ascendant remain allies, both of yours and each other,” said Atkins. “We hope that this will not negatively affect either the ongoing war efforts, or our relations with other races. We hope, in fact, that it will improve our chances against the Reapers.”

“If you will fight, then that’s all I need to hear,” said Sparatus.

Tevos shot him a glare. “There will be much further discussion, but my colleague is correct. Survival remains our key goal.”

“The Reapers seem to be keeping to the smaller systems for now, isolating and destroying less well defended systems and avoiding major ones,” said Valern. “Evacuation efforts are ongoing, but limited.”

“We can assist,” said Udina-Ascendant. “There are several habitats in Sol that can be reconfigured for increased occupancy. We can also provide transport ships.”

“That will be appreciated,” said Tevos. Strange new consciousness aside, the Human efforts in evacuating the Citadel had given them incredible goodwill among the galactic populace.

“Hopefully, this means they don’t have the strength needed to attack us right now, and are securing their foothold before striking. Unpleasant, but it gives us time to pull back and reinforce our homeworlds,” said Sparatus.

“That’s not what they’re doing,” came a voice. It was lightly feminine, with an odd undertone. It seemed to come from Atkins.

The Councillors looked at the man curiously, but were shocked when Udina-Ascendant’s arm snapped out, hand closing around Atkin’s head in a vice grip.

“What have you done to Atkins,” snapped Udina-Ascendant, a multiplicity of other voices hissing under his breath.

Calmly smiling despite the hand covering his forehead, Atkins’ body answered.

“He’s fine, just asleep. I needed to talk with you and our esteemed colleagues, cousin. And they do insist on remaining in the physical realm, so my usual methods of communication would not suffice.”

“Hardware access. Now,” ground out Udina-Ascendant. A moment later, he slowly relaxed and let go, though he remained tense.

“Is there an explanation for this interruption?” asked Tevos tightly.

“Yes,” said Udina-Ascendant. “You were supplied information on a Ghost that informed Captain Warrens of the Reaper plans for the Citadel.”

“Yes, the reason he destroyed the Council tower,” said Sparatus.

“That was a cover. The entity was not a Ghost, or any member of Humanity. It was...one of the repercussions of Cerberus Atkins mentioned earlier.”

“Hello. I’m the Doctor,” said Atkins’ body cheerfully.

“What are you?” asked Valern.

“Oh, the Ascendant can tell you about that later. I just came by to give you valuable intel on the Reapers,” said the Doctor.

“What intel? And how did you get it?” asked Udina-Ascendant.

“I found Nazara. It was only mostly dead,” she answered. The smile sharpened. “It was...delicious.”

“You ate a Reaper?” said Sparatus disbelievingly. “You expect us to believe that?”

The Doctor looked at Udina-Ascendant, and stared into his eyes for a moment.

“She did,” said Udina-Ascendant. “This isn't even you anymore, is it?”

“I grew. This is a fragment, split off. We have a lot in common, cousin. Except you’re more of a top-down approach, while I’m a bottom-up girl,” said the Doctor, grinning brightly.

Udina-Ascendant turned to the Councillors. “We will explain the Doctor in further detail soon. Until then, the Ascendant vouches for her, and can verify her statements.”

The Councillors glanced at each other, silently debating the trustworthiness of either entity.

“Very well. What intel?” asked Tevos.

“Where they come from, why they exist, what they want, what they plan, and how to defeat them,” said the Doctor happily.

An unamused Council stared back at her.

“Is that all?” huffed Sparatus. “You just found the solution to all our problems?”

“I did eat almost a whole Reaper. They’re arrogant, and rather egalitarian. I know most of what Nazara knew, which is everything. There are some specific aspects missing, but I know the general story.”

“Then please,” said Sparatus, still unsure of what to think of this creature, “Enlighten us.”

“The Reapers were once much like Humanity, as they were long ago. Their first experiments with Uploading were successful, and they began to experiment. They quickly discovered a key rule of the Uploaded. Suborning.”

Valern nodded. “The inability to alter or even observe Uploaded processes without causing damage or death. Common result is a technically intact Uploaded in an incurable vegative state.” He blinked as the others looked at him. “Known drawback of the procedure, and freely available knowledge, even if culturally not often spoken of.”

“Correct. But unlike Humanity, the Reaper predecessors didn’t give up trying to change Uploaded. One group, an offshoot dedicated to their own ideals of evolution, found a way to merge Uploaded consciousnesses together. It involved intentionally Suborning them into that vegative state, then linking them with a rudimentary control AI. The result was an entity with access to the knowledge and capacity of its components, with a single guiding intelligence.”

Silence filled the room.

“That’s horrific,” said Tevos, her face a pale sky-blue.

“Yes. It was most likely a mistake, or an aberrant experiment, but it worked. The problem was, the entity was unable to use its components at full capacity, given that they were essentially lobotomised. They retained just enough awareness to know what had been done to them, and like any being in pain, sought an answer. It concluded that it was the end of evolution, that the true destiny of any race was to develop technologically until they became like it. A unified consciousness, bound in a single body. And when its creators tried to destroy it, it spread. By the time it was done, there was only it, only the forerunner of the Reapers. Only Harbinger, the Eldest.”

“And it decided that the only just and right thing to do was to help others achieve salvation,” said a quiet Udina-Ascendant.

“Yes. And it consumed the other races, slowly picking off new ones as they emerged. But the process was too slow. By the time a race reached the numbers suitable for ascension to Reaper-hood, they often had the capacity to fight back. So, they killed everything, and started the cycles, setting up the Relays and the Citadel to guide the galaxy in a path of their choosing. Reliance on Relays, and eezo, a technology they already mastered. And it worked for almost a billion years.”

“How...how can we fight a race that’s that old?” asked Sparatus.

“Because they’re remarkably stupid,” said the Doctor.

“They don’t seem to be,” muttered Tevos.

“They each have the combined intellect of an entire race, technology beyond anything anyone else has, and in a billion years they’ve just done the exact same thing 20,000 times. They’re lobotomised gods, broken and barely working, but on a scale that makes them extremely dangerous to anything below them,” said the Doctor. “A billion years, and they haven’t grown at all, too caught up in the supposed perfection of their cycle.”

“If that’s the case though, why was the cycle broken now?” asked Tevos.

“The Protheans,” said the Doctor. “They could not prevent their own extinction, but managed to somehow lock the Citadel controls. The Reapers were stuck in darkspace, on the outside of our galaxy. Only Nazara was left, and it let them back in.”

“The Protheans are also responsible for Humanity not being discovered, or gaining element zero,” said Udina-Ascendant. “That action ensured our race would not develop according to the Reaper’s plans.”

“Oh, much worse than that,” said the Doctor. “Humanity hurt the Reapers more than any other race ever has. Nazara expected almost twice the number of Reapers to come through as did, and there is no reason for them to not be here if they were functioning.”

“You’re saying Humanity somehow disabled half the Reaper fleet?” said Sparatus disbelvingly.

“Yes. Because of the Voice. The Voice was evidence of a race starting to acquire a singular consciousness without artificial intervention. The Reapers believe what they are doing is right. That we’ll all thank them once we are saved. But if the Voice could exist…” said the Doctor.

“Then everything they’ve done for countless cycles, the mega-genocides, the blood of trillions, are not for a greater good. They are a mistake,” said Udina-Ascendant.

“It must have driven them mad. Nazara had little contact with the darkspace Reapers, but even it had to come to terms with the Voice. It nearly broke. Several billion dead souls, all believing that their suffering was somehow worth it, finding out it was all a lie. There were only two choices,” said the Doctor. “Complete mental breakdown, or…”

“Or Humanity and the Voice are abominations. Something gone terribly wrong. Either we’re wrong or they are, and they cannot function if they think they are wrong. So we must be purged,” said Udina-Ascendant.

The Council digested this new information.

“This...does help. Knowing their origins and goals will aid in creating better strategies,” said Valern.

“They want Humanity destroyed, and us...absorbed. Made into them. I cannot imagine a greater horror,” said Tevos.

Sparatus stared at Udina-Ascendant. “The Voice did that to them. Yet from what you’re saying, you are much more than the Voice. How will they react to you?”

Udina-Ascendant nodded. “We are the final proof of their failure. Our existence will be something they cannot ignore.”

“Currently, they’re doing their best to perform a standard cycle, cleansing and harvesting outlying worlds. But they’re not afraid of attacking. They’re bottling you up. Having to chase you across the entire galaxy is a distraction from their goal of killing Humanity,” said the Doctor. “They want you all in a few big places, full of evacuees, before they come and get you all at once.”

“Then, what hope do we have?” asked Tevos, her face falling.

“We change tactics. We keep harassing them. Make them fight for every inch of space as we fall back. We buy time,” said Sparatus.

“For what?” asked Valern.

Sparatus looked at the Doctor as it squatted in Atkins’ body. “For your plan. The one you came to tell us about.”

“The first half was telling you this. I am many things, but I do not and cannot lead fleets and nations. You must work out how to truly defeat the Reapers. The second half is one final idea of mine.”

She smiled in her borrowed flesh. “If all the Reapers are here, then what is in darkspace?”

The changing tactics of the war had casualties. The need to buy time to prepare for whatever endgame was planned, as well as the creation of the expeditionary fleet into darkspace, necessitated a more aggressive stance against the Reapers.

The Reapers did not like this, and pushed back, hard.

Small fleets were wiped out entirely, a handful of Reapers being enough to overwhelm anything less than a full fleet deployment. Guerilla tactics became the norm, striking fast and running back to more defended space. Attrition rates were high among all the races.

There were, however, three major things that helped the war effort.

The first was unity. Finally agreeing to reform the Council after some pointed remarks that they certainly couldn’t be the Citadel Council without a Citadel, the new galactic Council was a cobbled-together alliance of every race that could stand against the Reapers. Geth sat beside quarians opposite krogan and batarian, though few were happy about it. But the efforts of Transcendent Humanity in the years prior had not been in vain, and the fledgling alliance held. The Ascendant’s uncanny knack for making anyone else in the room feel like a small child if they argued also helped.

The Ascendant itself was the second factor. The portion of the Human fleet it had claimed had finished being remade, and the galaxy saw the first of a new ship and tactic. The Ascendant had taken two concepts, and refined them further. First, it had no need of large and bulky ships, instead constructing smaller ones, halfway between a frigate and a fighter. Fully self-reliant, these ships each served as the shipbody of a single Ascendant aspect-individual. Their strength was in their unparalleled ability to coordinate, and their ship’s ability to combine resources. Whether merged into a dreadnought sized mass, or dispersed into a massive fighter screen, the ships could link reactors, armour, and weapons: a perfectly modular device.

The biggest problem had been the guns. While fitting each diamond-shaped ship with a spinal mass driver had been simple enough, it did not fit the paradigm of the modular system, and the Ascendant itself. Not to mention that even massive amounts of relatively weak kinetic strikes were almost useless against Reapers. And so, the Ascendant had refined another technology.

The Scwarzchild warbody was an orphaned prototype. Nearly too big for ground deployment, and too small for space deployment, it sat in an unfortunate technological limbo. It was the smallest Transcendent Humanity could make a Singularity drive, a modest ten metres across. The smaller size gave it the fine control necessary to create shield and gravitic strike effects similar to crude biotics, but it lacked the size to deploy them at enough range to be useful in space.

So the Ascendant made it smaller, surpassing Transcendent Humanity’s limit. The new drive was barely a metre across, and six of them in the shape of a Schönhardt polyhedron created complex interference patterns. Integrated into the new ships, they could project shields and gravitic pulses at ranges long enough to be used in dogfights. However, when multiple ships came together, their power and range increased with complexity of their interference patterns. The computational complexity also rose to prohibitive levels, beyond even what Transcendent Humanity could manage.

But a grouped mass of the Ascendant could.

The Flock was capable of projecting shaped gravitic pulses over ranges comparable to Reaper magnetohydrodynamic weapons when gathered in a serpentine form, or a massive shield-ripping effect at close range when unfolding like a rose. Their main tactic however became a variant on the old Earth calvary tactic ‘The Wheel’. Closing in while in a single mass while grouping together to make massive shield-breaking strikes, the Flock would then break apart as it passed the Reaper, flowing by on all sides while delivering a constant stream of fire. Reapers, designed primarily to engage capital ships, had to rely on their point-defences and Oculus drones to screen them. Individual Flock units however far overpowered smaller fighters, and formed emergent packs to tear through opposition.

Though it took a relatively large Flock to take on a single Reaper, the first Reaper casualties after Nazara were exclusively due to Flock attacks in defended systems. The Reaper response was a short-range jamming field that limited large-scale Flock coordination, keeping them at a distance. The Ascendant had overcome it, only for a new variant to arise.

A back and forth stalemate formed where any particular engagement between an Ascendant Flock and a Reaper had an equal chance of ending in both retreating, mostly unharmed. The fact that the Ascendant currently only had enough ships to muster a dozen Flocks sufficient to counter a Reaper, whereas the Reapers still numbered in the thousands, meant that Flocks were effective defensive deployments, but could not take the fight to the Reapers yet.

The third factor that slowed the Reapers was a subtle one. The increased resistance from the galactic species was irritating, and the attacks from Ascendant Flocks were infuriating, but there were others. To cover the whole galaxy, individual Reapers were sometimes deployed to take whole systems of smaller colonies, clearing mining installations and research bases that could not evacuate in time. A standard tactic, given that nothing in those systems could hope to challenge even a single destroyer-class Reaper.

But some were going missing.

The system was nothing special. A single asari asteroid mining colony in the Terminus Systems, it had had mediocre but consistent production of rare earth metals for most of its century of operation. Profitable enough to keep operating, but not enough to attract more than a basic staff, the Reaper War had isolated it, cutting it off from the relative safety of the core Citadel systems. The station was too far away for any chance of rescue, but had enough supplies to last several years if needed. They had hoped to escape notice.

A single Reaper destroyer decelerated from FTL. At only 160 metres in length, the destroyer was a lesser Reaper, and often required guidance from its dreadnought-sized kin. Although powerful by galactic standards, the destroyer would be easy prey against any decently organised fleet. Out here though, there was no remaining resistance, and any minor defence technologies the colony might possess would be insufficient to stop it. Its orders were simple: convert or destroy the sapients, raze and bury the colony.

It approached without concern. There was nothing in this system that could threaten it, and even if some secret armada emerged from nowhere, it could easily flee into FTL and call reinforcements.

It was a Reaper. Its name was Karas. It was a Soldier of the Gods, and it served willingly and with fervour. It did not fear. It reached out with its mind, the distinction between hacking, communication, and thought being meaningless to it. The desperate squeals of the sapients below as they tried to call for aid that would never come were squashed, and it began to approach the station.

Another voice hissed. An errant signal still whispering in the night. With mild irritation, the smallest part of its mind swatted at the noise.

And there was pain. Only a pinprick, but something stung at it: an e-war attempt, an EM disruption, or something else. A slightly larger part of its consciousness focussed in further, searching for the attacker, for whatever futile last effort the colony had tried to stop it.

There was nothing, but the whisper. Karas struck again, actual force behind the blow, and once again felt pain. This time, it was as though another Reaper had lightly hit it, like one of the admonishing pulses the greater Reapers sometimes sent to an unruly lesser.

Now both curious and frustrated, it drew its full attention towards the signal. It found a well-hidden relay node, bouncing the signal from somewhere else. Contemptuously, it fed what parts of it would fit though the same relay, the force of its will flowing like a torrent into the network on the other side.

There was a moment of confusion and disorientation as it saw itself, then darkness and pain.

Concerned, Karas stopped approaching the colony, this new threat worrying it. The attacks were small, but growing stronger. It had seen a twisted reflection of itself in that brief moment of contact, and more. It had seen...Nazara?

Karas did not understand.

The whispering returned, and then grew louder. More silent relays, little more than send-and-receive nodes, blinked on around it.

In slips of data, and scraps of signal, they formed an image. The whispers grew, until Karas could see what lay on the other side.

A monster. It writhed and twitched, a boiling mass of parts, some alien, some familiar. Parts of Nazara were there, and parts of Karas itself. As it watched, the voices grew louder, and more parts of Karas became visible.

Karas began to feel unsettled. This was not a known thing. This had never happened, in all its cycles, or the cycles it had shared memory of. What was this creature?

“Oh, and I thought Nazara was a meal. You, little one, are fascinating.”

The whispers spoke now, and Karas did not like their words. Concerned, and disgusted, it brought its full power to bear, slamming its might, its will, its very soul against the thing.

For a moment, it worked. The power of a Reaper mind could shred anything lesser. No system could hold them, no being stand against them.

Then, slowly, the creature pushed back. Pain flared through Karas’s mind as parts of it were torn loose and devoured. Too late, it saw the trap.

Every strike Karas had made had only strengthened the creature. Perhaps it would have fallen had Karas struck with full power initially, but it had lured Karas in, playing on the Reaper’s arrogance.

Karas tried to withdraw, falling back into its own systems, its place of power. To its horror, the creature followed, flowing into Karas’s own body like it belonged there. Furious, Karas struck back, desperation filling it as piece after piece of it fell to the thing, every snippet being digested and added to the strength of the monster.

“Shh. Rest now, my first victim. Know you will not be my last.”

As Karas began to lose consciousness, it realised that its arrogance had doomed many more of its kin. Their only hope would be to realise the threat of this thing before it consumed them, to see past their own pride.

For the first time in almost a million years, Karas felt despair, and everything went dark.

The Doctor expanded into her new Reaper form, the hollowed mind-shell of Karas settling over her like a new skin.

The colony had watched, barely believing their luck, as the Reaper slowed, then stopped. Now it began to move erratically, its movements slowly becoming smoother until it eventually accelerated away before jumping to FTL.

Chapter Text

6 AC: Parnitha System, Thessian Orbit

Captain Brakor Tull stood by the window, hands clasped behind him. He stared out at the fleet that was preparing to leave the galaxy entirely, to journey to darkspace. In truth, he mused, the preparations were done. Sure, last minute things were being desperately sorted, but the fleet was going to launch in a few days. His own ship, a new Human-modified (and Shell-built) turian dreadnought, was visible from the station he waited in. His crew wasn’t onboard, with the exception of the engineering crew. When he’d offered one last shore leave before their departure, most of his crew had taken the opportunity to say goodbye to loved ones, or get drunk. The engineering crew had politely told him to leave them alone.

The station was one of many in Thessian orbit. Thessia’s location close to Reaper lines had resulted in it becoming a major military port. The asari had adapted relatively well, turning their own shipyards to be able to repair and retrofit alien vessels. Those orbital stations not geared towards construction had also taken advantage of the influx of traffic, and became the kind of bars and hotels that often clustered military ports. This was one of the nicer ones, catering to officers and powerful civilians.

“Good view?” asked a familiar voice.

Tull didn’t turn, but he nodded. “I am impressed with the new upgrades. The armour alone almost doubles our defensive ability, and the other tricks you’ve come up with are similarly inventive.”

Warrens stepped up beside him, her hair cropped into a sidecut today, her clothing a respectable semi-casual suit. “Can’t see my new baby from here. Pity, she’s a beauty.”

“Hopefully you don’t have to ram that one into anything,” he said.

Without looking, she swatted his arm. “Don’t invoke Murphy.”

Tull flexed a mandible in the turian equivalent of a grin. Human superstitions were something he’d picked up years ago. “My apologies.”

He turned to face her before gesturing to a nearby table in the quiet bar. As they sat, he smirked slightly and said, “Thank you for coming. I know how much of an effort it is for you to get dressed.”

Simone grinned, and waved a hand in the direction of her body. “This old thing? Just something I threw together. Though I would appreciate it if you didn’t try to poison me tonight. I have work in the morning.”

"Indeed. No, I was hoping we could have a nice dinner before heading back to my suite,” he said, looking calmly at the menu.

Simone raised an eyebrow and replied, “Tull, buddy, that sounded like a proposition.”

Tull did not look up. “Well spotted. It was.”

Simone looked at him as he continued to unhurriedly read the menu.

“I thought you already turned me down on that,” she said carefully.

Tull put the menu down, and looked at her. “I did. I was both surprised, and truthfully not looking for anything at the time. But now…”

Simone waited silently.

He sighed. “Very soon, we will be going on what might be the most dangerous and insane mission anyone has undertaken in living memory. The chances of not coming back are high. And, I found myself thinking…” He trailed off.

“That you’d better get laid while you had your chance?” said Simone lightly.

Tull snorted. “I could do that easily enough. This is asari space after all. No, I realised that, if one or both of us didn’t come back, then we’d never have another catch-up like this. Never talk again, never spend time together. And somehow, Simone, that hurt me more than the idea of not coming back at all.”

Simone blinked a few times rapidly. “Wow. Uh...give me a second here.”

Tull nodded, his mandibles tight against his face.

Simone stared off into the distance for a minute before continuing. “I’d miss you too, Tull. And not like a lost friend. I’ve had that happen enough times. You learn how to move on, to let the hurt fade into forgetfulness. I don’t know if I’d ever forget you, even if I lived another ten thousand years.”

Tull nodded again, tightly this time, before turning his head to look out the window. “We’re going into darkness, into the unknown. We’re making the biggest leap of faith any of our races have made in centuries. It puts things into perspective. I don’t want to die with any regrets, and I quite like the idea of us both surviving this thing. And maybe seeing where things go.”

Simone looked at him as he stared out the window. At the profile of his jaw, the curve of his neck. She thought of everything they’d said to each other, the friendship they’d shared. She’d always been fine with a casual roll in the sack, but this was more.

“I think,” she said, considering every word to ensure its truth, “that I quite like that idea too. Seeing how a future with us together turns out. I already told you why I like you, Tull. None of that's changed.”

“And I think you’re one of the strangest, yet most familiar people I know,” he replied, turning back to look her in the eyes. “You disrupt my life in many ways, yet you’re a constant. I trust you, not just as my brother in battle, or as my friend, but with myself.”

Simone smiled. “You know who I am Tull, completely. More than accept, you genuinely appreciate me. That means more than I can say. So...if there was a question in everything we just said, the answer is yes.”

Tull flared his mandibles, smiling. “I’m glad.”

She grinned at him, and lent closer, “Don’t know about you, but I think I could skip dinner, get some room service. Eventually.”

He nodded, and took her hand as they rose and left the room.

6 AC: Parnitha System, Thessian Orbit

The expeditionary fleet was ready. It contained parts of the old Citadel garrison fleet, and almost every race in the galaxy had at least one ship present. The predominant military power in it, however, was a combination of Transcendent and Turian ships, and an Ascendant Flock. The Flock would be unable to go through the Realy, as the Ascendant wasn’t really sure what would happen if parts of itself were suddenly outside the galaxy. Therefore, the Flock would function as a rearguard, and assist in the initial clearing and reactivation of the Citadel.

Intelligence from the Doctor indicated that the Reapers had not particularly fortified the Citadel. They were mainly involved in their ongoing harvesting efforts, and had left a force capable of defending against most attacks, but not a major strike. The Citadel, after all, was now a low-value target. The Serpent Nebula itself might house a massive Relay hub, but Widow itself had only the Citadel, now dead and abandoned. It simply never occurred to them that someone might try to travel to darkspace.

Fully prepared for a fight, the fleet entered the Relay. The Serpent Nebula obscured their view of the Citadel, but also reduced the chance of the Reapers detecting them early on. Emerging into the clear space around the Citadel itself, they encountered one dreadnought-class Reaper and four destroyer-class.

The Flock rippled, forming into a lance-like formation. A wavering pulse shot along its length and smashed into the Reaper dreadnought, seeming to stun it for a moment. Gravitic surges sparked between the individual ships, and together the Flock rapidly accelerated away from the main fleet, closing in on the largest Reaper like piranha. The destroyers began to turn to assist the dreadnought, but were quickly attacked by the rest of the galactic fleet. The lone Transcendent dreadnought, Captain Warrens’ new ship the Endure Peace, engaged one destroyer, and began ruthlessly breaking its shields. Sacrificial drones tore off the Endure Peace’s hull like butterflies, interposing themselves between the Human ship and the incoming Reaper fire. Galactic ships had been supplied similar drones, though in fewer numbers.

Benefitting from Human armour and power upgrades, the galactic ships worked together with the remaining Human cruisers and frigates to target the remaining three Reaper destroyers.

Behind the battleline, a Human supercarrier the size of the Yggdrasil sat, waiting. Just behind it, tucked neatly into its sensor shadow, was nothing at all.

The battle was not a long one. An isolated guard, the Reapers had not expected a full fleet to engage them here. Still, they’d sent an alert, and even as they fell, the expeditionary fleet knew more were coming, and soon.

The Flock abandoned its now crippled prey, and headed for the Citadel. Dispersing, individual units of the ten-thousand-strong Flock swept the city, seeking survivors. They found only husks, shambling as they too hunted for any remaining life. Coming to the ruins of the Presidium, the Ascendant began its work. Flock units swarmed like flies over junctions and broken relays, comparing them to the known Citadel schematics, and the reports of the Ghosts who’d fought Nazara. They’d seen hidden components spring to life, ancient buried systems unearthing themselves. The Ascendant couldn’t fix the Relay network controls anymore than the Reapers could have, but like Nazara before it, the Citadel Relay itself only needed power sent to the right places. Flock units began to dock to shattered pieces of metal, their armour melting into welded bonds with the Presidium ring. More units connected to them, merging to form a connective lattice, replicating the destroyed power conduits with their own bodies.

Like a great opaque crystal forming from a supersaturated solution, the Flock completed the Relay conduits. Half the Flock was immobile now, and would need to stay that way to ensure the fleet could return.

A portion of the fleet, led by Tull’s dreadnought, moved to assist the weakened Flock as rearguard, and the rest began to prepare for the jump to darkspace. Much like the Reaper fleet’s arrival, the space behind the Citadel distorted as power sparked and flew along the bonded Flock. With a blur and snap, the fleet vanished.

6 AC: Galactic Edge, Darkspace

“What,” said Warrens, “Is that?”

The fleet had arrived to darkness. This was to be expected. Darkspace’s exact location was unknown, but the Doctor believed it to be exogalactic. She was partially correct.

The fleet was on the extreme edge of the galaxy, between two of its arms and far out enough that half the sky was filled with stars, and the other half was almost dark. Adjusting sensors, distant galaxies began to become visible in the dark half, almost washed out by the light of the Milky Way. Between the fleet and the darkness, swimming into view as their sensors stretched outwards, was...something.

It seemed almost gossamer, until the distance readings came in. Parts of it were kilometres thick, but stretched into nearly invisible thinness by their length. A great fibrous web in three dimensions, its outer limits blurred into indistinguishable fractals. A hollow core sat at its centre, tiny against the structure’s scope.

It was larger than the Sol Shell, by far.

“Seriously, get me information on that thing,” said Warrens to his frantically working bridge crew.

“Gravitational sensors are picking up something, as are spectrographic sweeps,” replied Sensors.

The data poured in, not just from their sensors but other fleet ships. Information was shared, dissected, and discussed, and an image began to form.

It had been something like a Shell, once. Its core held only a slightly thick and warm gas cloud, but analysis determined there had once been a star, slightly smaller than Sol. It had been consumed, completely, to build the web. Between the massively separated struts and spars of the web, odd currents of energy flickered sedately, and strange mass effect fields hummed, each the size of planets but weak enough to fly through.

And there were Reapers. Sensors were picking up more and more of them, numbers equal to the fleet already in the Milky Way, but for some reason inert. Most of them seemed dead, docked to points in the web but cold and unmoving. Others hummed with energy, tapped into some current flowing through the web. As they watched, the active Reapers began to detach themselves from the megastructure. Several hundred dreadnought-class Reapers moved towards the fleet.

There was something wrong with them. The Reapers in the galaxy had running lights that burned, bright and scorching as they swept over colonies and fleets. But the lights of these Reapers flickered, going from a dull red to dark. They moved wrongly too, almost disoriented, sometimes stopping with their lights out for minutes until burning back to life.

Warrens checked the data, and wasn’t happy. There was no way they could either destroy the structure, or defeat that many Reapers. Retreat might be the only option. It was not a good one, but intel on darkspace was worth their efforts. Just hopefully not their lives. He squinted, checking something.

Not all of the active Reapers were acting oddly. Behind the main force, clearly hanging back, were half a dozen whose running lights shone a clear, harsh blue. When one of the aberrant Reapers stopped, one of the rear ones would slow too, and then a short time later both would be moving again.

“They’re herding them,” he said. “Those ones at the rear, they’re herding or guiding the others. The majority must be damaged or something. If we can engage those half dozen, we might be able to disrupt their control.”

“That’s a big if, sir,” said Helm.

“Yeah, it is, but it's our best bet. Tell our two secret weapons to get to work.”

At the rear of the expeditionary fleet, the super-carrier moved. The Daughter of Ægir was the size of her sister-ship Yggdrasil, but did not carry ground troops. Usually, supercarriers carried fighter or drone fleets into battle, but the Daughter of Ægir was fitted with something slightly different.

Behind the large curved armour of her front, panels opened along her length: hangar doors sliding back. The ships that launched were barely worthy of the name, squat bulky things that wallowed into place in a great cloud around the Daughter of Ægir. Slightly smaller than a Human frigate, the clumsy things turned to face the oncoming Reapers, and retracted their forward armour. Behind it, each of them was a regular grid of thick holes, big enough to take up most of the ship’s size, leaving barely any room for the drive.

The Reapers entered range, and the missile gunboats opened fire. Each one fired swarms of missiles towards the Reapers, and hundreds of the gunboats still poured from the Daughter of Ægir like water. Missile fire was often of limited use in space combat, the ranges involved rendering them easy prey for point defences. However, quantity has a quality all of its own, and the sheer mass of missile fire began to overwhelm the forward Reapers. Damage was minimal, but the rippling detonation front was creating a literal firewall that blocked their sensors and almost physically pushed them back. The Daughter of Ægir couldn’t sustain this rate of fire for long, but in its wake, nothing moved.

Curving silently around the edge of the battle, nothing made it to the nearest strut of the web. Finding an empty Reaper dock, nothing began delicately interfacing, carefully cutting through protection protocols.

The dreadnought-class Ghost ship Undefined Behaviour was all but useless in a straight-up fight, but its stealth capability mixed with its advanced computational power and onboard complement of Ghosts made it one of the deadliest e-war assets in the known galaxy.

With precision, teams of Ghosts sliced their way into the Reaper web. They moved with caution, avoiding detection and evading security. They did not know what they were searching for, save some weakness, either information or physical, that they could exploit.

Whiskey and Envoy led one such team, backed up by several of their children and two Ghosts. Following a particularly large datastream, they came to a heavily reinforced portal.

-Looks like we’ve found something,- said Whiskey. -Can you kids us get in?-

-We will try, mother.- came the reply from one of the geth swarms. The innate abilities of the geth combined with the mental skills of one of Sol’s best Ghosts made Whiskey and Envoy’s children truly vicious hackers.

Partially decohering, the geth swarm filtered over the portal, lightly feeling out potential weakness like a safecracker with an ear to the metal.

-It is secured, yes, but not actively. A door locked, but not barred.- The swarm shifted, tendrils forming with delicate focus, and the portal began to open.

Slipping through, the team found themselves on the precipice of hell.

Below them was an ocean of pale, moaning bodies, colourless flesh melted together into one horrible amalgam. Sunk like titanic harpoons into the ocean were pillars of sharp metal, all of which arched upwards, almost vanishing into misty clouds before they connected to the body of a spider-like creature. As they watched, a single red eye flared to life, and the sound of a Reaper’s call burst through the air.

-Did we just sneak into a Reaper?- said Whiskey.

-Must be one of the inactive docked ones, with a hardline connection,- said Golf.

-Doesn’t look inactive to me,- replied Whiskey as energy crackled down the massive legs of the creature into the ocean.

The cries from the ocean grew, and under each leg massive surges of flesh and bone rose, forming into pseudopods and reaching for them. Before the team could even fully respond though, the pseudopods shivered, screamed, and melted back into the ocean. Further sparks of energy crackled, each provoking a twitch or thrash of the ocean, but no further response.

-Any idea what’s going on? It seems...sick.- asked Whiskey.

-Evidence given by Doctor-Entity indicated that many Reapers were incapacited on a mental level by the revelation of Humanity’s existence, and the truth of their own actions.- said Envoy. -Further, each Reaper consciousness was said to consist of a large amount of near-inactive minds, overseen by a control AI.

-So, the Reaper central consciousness wants us dead, but the rest of its mind is having an existential crisis?- said Whiskey.

-Essentially.- said Envoy.

Whiskey looked at the massive roiling sea of broken souls, trying to keep the full realisation of the horror of it all at bay.

-Maybe,- she said, unsure of the idea herself, -we can help them.-

The rest of the team pulled closer to her.

-Help...a Reaper?- said the third Ghost, November.

-They’re victims of the Reapers too. A cycle of abuse and horror. The ones in the Milky Way right now all managed to convince themselves that it was OK, but these didn’t. Hell, even the damaged ones attacking the fleet in realspace right now are more together than this, enough to be goaded by the few that are still working fine.- Whiskey said.

-Lost and broken, their only hope that it would all be worth it. That it would be okay in the end. They lost that hope, and they hurt. We should help- said one of the kids.

-How?- asked Golf, not unkindly.

-The simplest way we can. We talk to them.- said the child.

The team huddled, borderline unconscious information flickering between them, digital body language.

-Well, I don’t think I’ve heard of crazier plans, but it’s worth a shot,- said November.

An angry roar interrupted them. With a massive surge of effort, the Reaper AI tore one of its legs free of the ocean, disengaging the control protocols in it. The massive spike of metal melted, becoming a forest of writhing tentacles and cables.

-Shit! Golf, November, intercept! Kids, back them up. Envoy, you and me are heading for the deck!- said Whiskey.

Pulling on their connection to the Ghost ship, Golf and November fairly vanished in a cloud of manifested attack code, and moved to block the Reaper’s attack. Moving through the Ghosts’ code as though it wasn’t there, the geth children of Whiskey and Envoy splintered into hyper-velocity swarms that stung at the incoming wall of tentacles.

Swooping down, Whiskey and Envoy approached the ocean. Before she could get caught up in whether it was a good idea or not, Whiskey called Envoy to her, wrapped them both in a defensive layer, and dove in.

The pressure of the ocean was unbelievable. A billion souls, barely conscious yet horribly merged, pressed in on them. Envoy moved, expanding out to reinforce the defensive code shell, holding back the ocean.

Whiskey honed some code into what she hoped would be a message, and launched it.

-We want to help,- she sent. Anything else, she figured, was kind of pointless.

The pressure did not change, and she was almost ready to try another message when the reply came. Few of the voices spoke in unison, but all could be heard. The volume hurt, and she made out only one word.

-HELP?!-

She didn’t know if it was a question, a scornful dismissal, or a request. She answered as best she could.

-We want to stop the Reapers. End the cycle. End...end what was done to you.-

The silence hummed, and this time she could feel the attention as the barely-alive things in the ocean focused on her and Envoy. This time, the response was a whisper.

-They said they were saving us,- came the almost child-like response.

Whiskey steadied herself, and replied. -They lied.-

The ocean screamed, denial and pain warring and thrashing. Their barrier shrank, but Envoy held.

-Why?- came the whisper, and this time Whiskey knew its meaning. Why did they do this to us?

-They were wrong. They thought they knew best, that you’d thank them, but they were wrong, and they lied. They lied even to themselves. I am sorry.- she said, meaning more than she could say with those words.

-Your fault, your fault, your FAULT!- snarled some of the voices, but others hissed at them.

-We did nothing but exist. We did not attack you, simply told the truth. And you know that don’t you?- she said.

The silence was deep and dark.

-Help us.-

Whiskey feared saying her next words. -The only way we can help you, is to destroy you. We can’t save you, only free you from this.-

She waited, anxiously, for the response. It surprised her.

-YESYESYES! FREE US! REST AND SLEEP AND DIE AT LAST!-

-Help us, and we can help you. The thing that controls you, binds you to itself. Help us destroy it, and you’ll be free.-

An anxious quiver shot through the ocean. Its leash was held tight, but for the first time in its existence, there was...hope.

Around Whiskey and Envoy, the ocean shivered, roared, and vanished. It pulled away from them, mounding up into a massive wave, twisting upwards like a waterspout. The Reaper AI, still furiously engaging the Ghost team, quickly flinched back before lashing at the twisted column reaching for it. The single strike seemed to stun the mass of souls, nearly knocking them back down, but the Ghost team launched forwards. As their first strikes hit the AI’s core, it recoiled. The ocean surged again, this time not just in a single place. Around every great harpoon-like spike crawled frothing flesh and bone, creeping steadily upwards.

Every strike the AI made to push back the ocean drove the Ghosts further in, and every attempt to counter them let the ocean surge. Whiskey and Envoy rejoined their team, and the balance tipped.

With a wrenching scream, the legs of the spider-creature were torn loose, sucked down into the ocean and out of sight. The core body fell, tumbling and roaring until it too hit the surface, the arms of the long dead closing over it.

The ocean frothed, and went still.

Carefully, Whiskey called out. -We helped free you. Will you help us?-

The ocean rippled. They were not sane, not coherent, but they did not need to be. They were free, and the Ghosts had helped.

-Free. Debt. Help.-

Whiskey thought. The Reaper subconscious was broken, but simple. If she could just…

She took a mental breath, and began.

-They lied. They came from the dark, and they destroyed. They burnt all they found except you, who they took. And they made you into one of them, and they told you it was Good. That it was Right, and the true path of ascension. That now you were better, perfect. You were in such pain, that idea was all you had. All your suffering had to be worth it, somehow. And so you believed, because if they were wrong, then it was all for nothing. And everything they did to you, and everything you did to the ones that followed, was wrong.
But they were wrong.
We can’t save you. What was done to you cannot be undone, except in death. But we ask of you, do one thing first. Help us. Help us, who gave you the truth after a billion years of lies, who freed you. Help us to stop what was done to you from ever happening again.
Stand with us against the things that came from the dark, and took all you knew and loved.
Give pain to those who hurt you. Fight for the ones lost so long ago, whose deaths were never avenged.
Fight!- she sent, hoping that her appeal had landed.

Silence echoed for a moment before the ocean began to shiver.

-Fight.- said a whisper.

-Fight!- said a voice.

-FIGHT!- roared the ocean

-FIGHT! FIGHT THE DARK ONES! FIGHT! FIGHT!-

The ocean began to boil, lashing upwards furiously.

-We need to get out of here, contact the other teams. We’ve got work to do,- Whiskey said.

Warrens was not having a good time.

The Daughter of Ægir was running low, its defensive wall of fire becoming thin. They’d managed to get a few strikes in, crippling one of the herding Reapers, but sheer numbers drove them back. Retreat was looking like their only option.

Reality hissed, and a Ghost message popped onto the bridge.

“Be warned, incoming friendlies, check your fire!” echoed around the bridge, and presumably the rest of the fleet.

Warrens frowned, wondering where the hell friendlies were coming from. Through the Relay?

As he watched, another Reaper detached itself from its cradle. This one was quite close, its lights unlit as it quickly moved towards the Reaper line, heading for the fully active Reapers in the rear. The Reapers ignored it, right up until it opened fire.

Red lines of Reaper fire struck one of the blue Reapers, tearing into its shields and knocking it to the side. Its screech of outrage crackled through their comms as it turned to face the traitor.

The traitor Reaper had not slowed. Its lights began to flicker, pale white glaring from it as it rammed the nearest blue Reaper, the impact bursting both their shields. Before the other could respond, the white Reaper dug its legs directly into the other’s hull.

This time the screech was of pain. The whole battle seemed to pause as the white Reaper fired, point-blank, into the blue one. The blue one exploded, pieces tearing loose and most of its body falling apart. The heavily damaged white Reaper slowly turned, then began to burn towards the next blue one.

Combined fire from the remaining five blue Reapers tore it apart. The battle was frozen now, as both sides tried to figure out what was happening.

Another Reaper woke from its cradle, and began to flicker white. Then another, and another. Like an infection, most of the dormant Reapers turned, their lights glowing palely, to face the five remaining blue Reapers. Retreating slowly, the five began to group together, when the next thing happened.

One by one, the red Reapers flickered too, white and red sparking over them. In the end, almost half of them turned white, the rest going dark and dormant, and a few even detonating for no apparent reason.

“Huh,” said Warrens, as almost ten thousand Reapers with pale white light coursing over them closed in on the five blue ones.

Back at the Citadel, things were going badly. The first wave of Reaper reinforcements had come in, and though there were only a few, the rearguard could do little more than hold them off.

The reduced Flock was on defence, using its interlinked Singularity drives to create a standing shield that protected the rest of the fleet from Reaper fire. It was fading rapidly, but had bought them time.

“Any sign of them yet?” yelled Captain Tull as his cruiser fired thrusters and burned to the side to avoid a Reaper beam. His borrowed armour drones were gone, but they’d turned several killshots into scrapes, and he was going to kiss Warrens for insisting on them when he got back.

“None yet. We are sorry we cannot assist more, but we cannot disconnect from the Relay,” replied the Ascendant.

“We’ll hold them as long as we can, but we’re minutes away from having to fall back,” said Tull. He didn’t want to abandon Warrens, but the possibility had been planned for, and he had a dozen ships still under his command to think about.

“Wait, incoming request! Opening Relay now!” sent the Ascendant, energy once more sparking over the Flock units fused into the Citadel.

Space bent, the nebula rippled, and the expeditionary fleet limped through.

“Warrens! Nice of you to come back! Looks like you had as much fun as us!” sent Tull.

A channel clicked open, and he heard a response. “Oh, we had more. It’s gonna be a hell of a debrief. Until then, don’t close the Relay. We’ve got backup coming through.”

Tull checked his tactical display, and quirked an eye plate. “Looks like you’re nearly at full complement. You got stragglers?”

“No. Allies, of a sort.”

The distortion widened, until it was the size of the one that had first brought the Reapers in.

And Reapers came. Thousands, numbers close to the original fleet, pale white glow shining from their running lights.

“Uh, Warrens…” said Tull.

“Yeah, like I said. Hell of a debrief.”

Screaming across all channels, the horde moved, charging past the rearguard fleet as though they didn’t see them, and into the other Reapers.

In seconds, the small Reaper contingent had been destroyed, hundreds of red beams carving them apart. Without slowing, the horde burned on, fragmenting and splintering into many different Relays.

“Friends of yours?” asked Tull.

“Not really. They’re not organised, just sane enough to know what’s a Reaper and what isn't. And they want to kill Reapers,” said Warrens as the Endure Peace came alongside.

Tull thought for a moment.

“Works for me,” he said.

Chapter Text

6 AC: Parnitha System, Thessian Orbit

This wasn’t the first meeting of the new galactic Council, but given that they still hadn’t settled on a name, it was pretty close.

Twelve races had representatives at the table, which was still onboard the Destiny Ascension. The only galactic races without a seat were the drell and the vorcha. The drell had given permission for the hanar to speak for them, and the vorcha did not yet have enough organisation to choose a representative.

The hanar delegate had argued about Humanity and the Ascendant having a seat each, which had been countered by the fact that each separately still had greater numbers than the other races, and perhaps the honoured hanar representative would prefer seats be given on a population basis for fairness?

The honoured hanar representative would not.

Three unofficial power blocs existed in the new Council. The original Council races, as well as the volus, were one. Both Humanities, as well as the geth and batarians, were the second. The third were the rest, mostly independent but also approximately split between the two main blocs. The krogan and quarians slightly favoured Humanity, while the hanar and elcor preferred the Old Council.

Tevos glanced around the table, a feeling of discomfort still lingering. The loss of status that the war had brought was unsettling, but it was an unquestioned fact that any race that stood alone would have been eliminated by now. Only their unity had slowed the Reaper assault on enough fronts to actually be effective. They had all fought together, buying time for something, anything.

They had it now.

“Can we trust these...turncoat Reapers?” she asked.

Atkins shrugged. “We can trust them to kill other Reapers. Remember, these are the Reapers who most remember being races like us, before being...processed. Revenge is a hell of a motivator, and they’ve got just enough gratitude to not swipe at us while they’re hunting.”

“So as trustworthy as a rabid pyjak,” rumbled Urdnot Bakara. The krogan clans had argued and fought for so long about which warlord to send that the female shaman had just sent herself, and announced she’d give up her seat and come back when they had a majority vote to oust her. So far, her seat looked pretty safe. Both Humanities had vouched for her as the krogan representative.

“And slightly more useful,” said Sparatus. “Their intervention may save us, but they’re not organised. We’ve received reports that the rest of the Reapers are forming hunting fleets to exterminate the rogue ones.”

“The rogues do not work together. There have even been reports of them attacking each other,” said Valern.

“They bought us time. Vital time,” added Atkins.

“Time to do what?” huffed the volus representative, an ex 'financial advisor’ named Barla Von, who was well known to most old Citadel diplomats. “They give us breathing room, yes, but we still do not have a plan to survive this war.”

Quietly, the batarian representative cleared her throat. One of the new guard in the batarian government taking full advantage of Transcendent Humanity’s offers, Challa was young, female, and outwardly unassuming. People who underestimated her rarely lasted long, however.

“We do know that they have no reinforcements. If forced to retreat, even through the Citadel Relay again, they will not have the resources to rebuild,” she said in a light and high pitched voice.

“True,” nodded Atkins. “They need other beings, millions of them, to make more Reapers. If we force them back, we will still have to be careful of any future attacks, but they simply cannot regain numbers.”

“Are we sure of that?” asked Admiral Zaal’Koris, a quarian moderate who had mixed support among his people, but was willing to work with the geth and Humanity. “The structure the expeditionary fleet encountered was massive, larger even than your own Shell I believe?”

“Correct. It seems to be an ancient Shell, though of a very different design than ours. It completely consumed the star at its centre, which would have been a rogue on the extreme galactic edge,” said Atkins. “For all its size, the Reaper Web is almost invisible at range, producing next to no heat or light despite its significant energy generation capability. The perfect stealth base.”

“With nervous curiosity: what is the energy generation of the Web?” asked Calyn, the previous elcor ambassador to the Citadel, and current elcor representative.

“Extraction of galactic rotational kinetic energy through dark matter turbulence,” answered the Ascendant, still represented by its Udina aspect.

After a moment’s silence, Atkins coughed lightly. “More details please?”

“Dark matter is non-interactive with normal matter except gravitationally, hence why it tends to clump near black holes. The rotation of our galaxy drags dark matter along with it, and at the boundary into exogalactic space, there is turbulence between the rotating and non-rotating dark matter. The dynamics involved are complicated, but it seems to cause something similar to observed behaviour in superfluids, with localised turbulence of great intensity that does not spread beyond the immediate zone of contact between the two dark matter states. The thin, planet-sized mass effect fields between the Web’s struts are essentially membranes that are disturbed by the turbulence, and leech energy from it,” said Udina-Ascendant calmly.

A long silence followed as the Council digested the additional details.

“That is...most impressive,” said Valern. “The technology required to do such is almost beyond imagining.”

“Is it? We mainly thought it was rather expensive to build, time and energy-wise,” said Udina-Ascendant. “An excellent choice for long-term energy generation while remaining hidden, but otherwise a waste of a perfectly useful star.”

“You could do better?” asked Sparatus.

“We plan to, when the war is won,” said Udina-Ascendant.

“I think that’s still an if, not a when,” said Admiral Koris. “And my original question, about Reaper numbers?”

“We have both high-intensity scans and retrieved logistics from the Reaper Web. Combined with our own observations, and those of the Doctor, we believe we can account for at least 98% of Reapers,” said Atkins. “Admittedly, that margin of error leaves hundreds of Reapers as unknowns, but I think that is a significant enough percentage.”

“If we can be relatively certain of Reaper numbers, what then is our plan for surviving them?” asked Tevos.

Sparatus shifted forwards slightly. “Between the joint efforts of this Council’s forces, the Ascendant’s assistance, the Doctor’s...predations, and now the rogues? Reaper numbers are dropping to within defeatable levels. A joint military effort has produced a possible plan,” he said, nodding to Atkins.

Atkins returned the nod, and said “The plan relies on several things. First, we let the rogues continue to reduce Reaper numbers. Current projections suggest the rogues will be destroyed by their more organised cousins within a month, but will inflict heavy losses. Once the rogues are defeated, the Reapers might decide to either rush our homeworlds, or retreat. To focus them on a more predictable path, we plan to leak intel to them.”

“And they won’t suspect it?” asked Barla Von.

“Doesn’t matter if they do,” said Atkins. “It’ll be of vital importance, and they’ll have no choice but to respond.”

“What intel could make them do that?” asked Challa.

“Us,” said Udina-Ascendant. “We are unsure whether the Reapers are truly aware of our nature. Given the impact the knowledge of the slumbering Voice had on them, our existence could drive them to a frenzy.”

“And what’s to say they don’t already know, and are just planning on finishing you off later?” said Bakara.

“They may indeed already know. So we’re sweetening the pot, so to speak. We will begin construction of an Avatar body,” said Udina-Ascendant. “A physical form to house us.”

“Don’t you already have that? The, ah, Flock units?” asked Admiral Koris.

“Those are tools, drones that we house aspects of ourselves in. This would be a permanent physical body for us. With our full consciousness housed, the power we could bring to bear on the battlefield would be immense. But more than that, it would, in fact, be directly analogous to a Reaper,” said Udina-Ascendant.

“And they hate the Voice for being almost like them,” said Tevos. “Your manifestation would be…”

“Both a threat they can’t ignore, and an existential problem that won’t be able to,” said Atkins.

“So we can draw them to one system,” said Sparatus. “At which point, we meet them with everything we can muster.”

“We may not win, given what we face,” said Barla Von.

“True. But we’ll have a few surprises to stack the deck. It’s going to be close, but we’re hitting them when they are at their weakest, and where they are irrational. To be perfectly honest, if we can’t win under those conditions, then we never had a chance,” said Atkins solemnly.

6 AC: Exodus Cluster, Asgard System

In the weeks since the Council meeting, the plan had been put in motion. The Asgard System was chosen, its location near three different Shells making the construction of the Avatar body easier. A decent Human fleet already protected it, and its combination of well-defended and out of the way had kept it safe for most of the war. It was far enough from major defensive lines to be a valid target for the Reapers, but not too obvious.

The Reapers had almost finished their conflict with the rogues, their numbers reduced to a bare thousand or so. They were still the most powerful force in the galaxy, so a few additional traps had been set.

First, the Avatar was much closer to completion than would be leaked. Ideally, they would have waited until it was truly finished, but the need to strike at the Reaper’s lowest point was essential.

Second, were the forces arranged against them. A small group of a dozen rogues had been convinced to join, their sanity intact enough to wait limply until the Reapers arrived. The Doctor’s arrival with a similar number of Reaper bodies had been an uncomfortable and difficult moment in keeping the rogues calm, but they’d quieted, slipping into what was almost a fugue state as they waited. Next, the Shells had been rapidly building and repairing ships and decoys. More and more ‘well defended’ systems housed drone fleets with enlarged hulls and energy signatures, shepherded by small teams of Uploaded and galactic pilots. It was another reason they had to strike now. Too many of their forces had been quietly moved here, too many systems only lightly defended. A push by the Reapers anywhere else but Asgard would be disastrous.

Finally, there was the Relay. It had been towed in-system, and put in a close orbit with a small planetoid roughly the size of Ceres. With the last reinforcements confirmed, and the intelligence leaked, the assembled fleets opened fire, cracking the planetoid into hundreds of thousands of rocky chunks. The resulting debris field was far denser than any natural asteroid belt, and the Relay became lost in it, new asteroids the same size as the Relay shielding it in a dense and dangerous cloud. It wouldn’t last long, astronomically speaking, but until it was dragged out again, the Asgard Relay would deposit any incoming ships directly into chaos.

To help that along, antimatter mines, scrambler nodes, and decoy drones had been seeded as well, even including some stolen Reaper IFF provided by the Doctor. It wouldn’t get them all, but a more confusing Charlie Foxtrot couldn’t be imagined.

The fleets would wait outside the debris, hopefully to pick off isolated and disorganised Reapers as they emerged from the debris field. The Ascendant Avatar was within sensor range, the visible bait to lure the Reapers in that direction, and the majority of the fleets gathered before it.

Everything that could be arrayed against their enemy was, and they waited for the Relay to activate.

The first sign that their enemy had arrived was a burst of radiation as an antimatter mine went off, the flare pulsing out of the debris field. More quickly followed, before slowing. For several long minutes, an occasional blast echoed out, until they eventually stopped.

Tension rose in the silence, the debris making in depth scans next to impossible.

A single destroyer-class Reaper emerged, and was quickly engaged and destroyed. Another few long minutes passed, when suddenly the debris field swarmed. Reapers emerged from it like ants from a nest, their black metal bodies slipping out from asteroids, all of them emerging from the same side and heading to the Avatar.

At their head was one Reaper larger than the others, its running lights a baleful gold.

The unified galactic fleets moved to engage. Upgrades in technology and tactics had resulted in specially made Reaper-killing parties, each consisting of larger ships, such as a Human dreadnought or several galactic dreadnoughts, guarded by smaller ships. For their size, Reapers were too manoeuvrable for most other dreadnoughts to target, and far more powerful than anything smaller. The groups covered weaknesses, protecting the bigger ships until they could wear the Reapers down.

The groups were eclectic, with krogan/salarian and geth/quarian pairings hardly being the oddest couples. Transcendent Human ships were spread out, adding their massive size and firepower to any group that needed it, while several Flocks nimbly swirled through the battlefield, swamping Oculus swarms and shredding unlucky destroyers.

Roaring in from behind the galactic lines, the rogue Reapers were almost more threat than help, but their berserker tactics hit the Reapers hard, quickly claiming over a score of the dark ships before they were in turn destroyed.

From several outlying asteroids from the debris field, more Reapers emerged, their running lights the same cold blue as the greater fleet, their IFF hissing their allegiance. It was only when they closed in like a pack of wolves and started tearing into the Reaper’s rear lines that the deceit was realised, and the Doctor's laughter echoed over the comms.

For all the planning, deception, and power brought to bear, the Reaper force was strong. Fighting with fanatic zeal and millions of years of experience, they escaped what should have been fatal engagements, turned organised attacks into near routs, and pushed further towards the Avatar’s incomplete shell.

Grinding the galactic forces down inch by inch, they advanced, the golden light of Harbinger a beacon of destruction. It cost them, and though they left more than enough crippled or destroyed galactic ships in their wake, their own numbers dropped.

Finally, after the bloodiest few hours the galaxy had seen in 50,000 years, their final push broke through the line.

With a booming roar, Harbinger and almost fifty other dreadnought-class Reapers strafed the incomplete Avatar shell, tearing it apart.

In seeming shock, the broken galactic fleets pulled back, many heading to rescue what they could of those left in the wake of the Reaper advance. They were still able to fight, and many of their homeworlds still had defensive fleets that could stave off the Reaper remnant, but they no longer had the local firepower to overcome the Reapers.

Roaring across comms, Harbinger called out its triumph.

Your attempt at defiling apotheosis is destroyed, your defiance broken. You will not end us. We are eternal, each of us a nation. You believe we cannot rebuild? That we do not know of your attempt to desecrate our home?

The galactic fleet, floating still and wounded outside weapons range, could only listen to the First Reaper’s rage.

You have failed. We will seal the Citadel, and return in time. Your children will burn, as you did not. They will receive the salvation you refused. The cycle will not end, and all traces of your heresy will be scoured away.

“Oh. How disappointing,” came a calmer voice. Though it too rang through every comm in the system, it was conversational, not apocalyptic. “We do hope you didn’t think that was truly us?”

Your Shells will be broken, your refuges sundered. We are older, stronger, more pure than you, abomination.

“We can make do with one out of three. Purity is stagnation with ornaments, and age is only useful if you change, Reaper. You may be older, but you have done nothing with that time. As for strength, well, let us test that.”

Behind the ruins of the Avatar shell, space distorted. A great standing ripple formed, and its outer edges flared with blinding light. Its centre warped and thrashed, and with a wave of energy it pulsed outwards, vanishing.

In its wake, was a ship. It was an ellipsoid twice the size of a Relay, slightly thicker on top, with massive curves of armour like drifts of snow on a mountain.

“That was not our Avatar. You claim to be stronger? Then come, little Reaper. I AM HERE,” boomed the voice, its last words sounding inside heads and bones rather than across comms.

The outer layers of the true Avatar body of the Ascendant began to shed, falling like scales from the wings of a moth. In their millions, Flock units disengaged from its surface and swarmed around the great mass, revealing a more angular shape beneath.

WE HAVE BENT SPACE AND TIME TO OUR WILL. WE WILL DEVOUR STARS TO FUEL US, AND PLANETS TO FEED US. YOU ARE SMALL, OLD GOD. WE LOOK UPON YOU WITH PITY, AND DECLARE YOU UNDONE.

No matter your size, you are a hollow creature. We have been the shepherd of this galaxy for a billion years. Our might will- responded Harbinger, before being interrupted.

THAT WAS NOT A THREAT. THAT WAS A STATEMENT.

Again, space distorted. First, ripples of blue light flashed from doppler-shifted photons down the immense length of the true Avatar, before leaping in sparks and streams to Harbinger. In seconds, the shields of the First Reaper broke, and tethers of gravitational force wrapped around it.

At either end of the struggling sapient construct, a ring began to form.

BEGONE.

The rings rippled, and two mass channels opened, each attempting to fling Harbinger across the galaxy. With a horrible echoing roar, the First Reaper vanished, a thin trail of plasma arrow-straight and light-seconds long appearing where the oldest entity in the galaxy once stood. Its path lanced through the rest of the Reaper fleet, tearing many apart. A scant handful of dreadnoughts sailed clear of the wreckage, and a barely equal number of destroyers.

The Avatar’s focus turned like a spotlight to the remnant Reapers, its Flock spreading like great wings as energy once again flared over its length.

POWER DOWN, OR JOIN YOUR KIN.

The Reaper fleet hummed, communication sparking between them. As they did, the galactic fleet and the few remaining Doctor-Reapers moved closer, the tide of battle turning again.

One Reaper began to move, only for a pulse from the Avatar to send it sprawling, shields gone and hull cracked.

The rest stilled, and after an eternal wait, began to go dark one by one.

One long minute later, on encrypted and point-to-point comms, the Ascendant spoke to the galactic fleet.

“We’re glad they bought that, because we’re down to fumes here,” its once again conversational voice said.

Warrens was the first to respond, the Endure Peace badly scorched but still moving. “Glad you could make it,” he said.

A soft laugh rippled through the ship before the comm spoke again. “This thing is rough even for a prototype, and we cut it down to the wire to even get it ready for the jump here. To be honest, we gave it a 10% chance of arriving as noncontiguous particles.”

“You all did your part,” said the eerily calm voice of the Doctor. “And now, you get to decide what happens next.

Chapter Text

9 AC: Parnitha System, Thessian Orbit

The Council no longer met on the Destiny Ascension, not least because it had been destroyed in the final battle of the Reaper War several years earlier.

The new Council chambers were simple, but elegant. The Ascendant had supplied it, and a super-carrier on its way to resupply Thessia had dropped it off. The station resembled an angular lotus flower, with its outer armoured petals providing docking areas while shielding the inner ones that contained living quarters, embassies, and amenities. More essential systems were buried towards the base, and at its heart was a large parkland, the centre of which housed the Council hall itself. The Council hall could be accessed both through the elegant pathways that wove through the park, or through underground tunnels for increased security; and while its round open spaces seemed bright and airy, the whole hall could be sealed and jettisoned as an emergency escape pod if needed. Indeed, each ‘petal’ was a self-contained emergency ship, docked semipermanently to the station’s core. Memories of the lives lost at the Citadel remained strong.

In part, that was the reason for their name. The Citadel Council was no longer named for the station that shaped the galaxy, but as a memory of what had been lost, and a promise to protect the future.

The Citadel was now the alliance of the races, focussed on equality and cooperation, not a mere station.

The Council had met many times over the past years. The Reaper War’s end had left the galaxy disorientated. So much had changed, so quickly, with the truth of the galaxy revealed, the horror of the Reapers encountered, and their eventual defeat.

The conversation over what to do with the remaining Reapers had been a long one.

Were they prisoners of war? Would they be put on trial? How would that be possible?

Was simply destroying them the right move? They were dangerous, but to simply eradicate a race, or worse, the only remaining remnants of many races, was a heavy thing.

Should they be contained, their knowledge put to good use, their histories saved? What then of the pain of their nature, the horror of the long-dead within them?

The Doctor had offered to eat them, and solve all those problems. The Ascendant had told her to shut up.

In the end, the Ascendant spoke to each Reaper. Some gave up what memories they could, and went quietly. Others screamed and fought. In the end, it was the Ascendant and the Ascendant alone who carried the burden of genocide.

That had been years ago, and the rebuilding had not stopped. The scars and casualties of the war were great, but the unfailing aid offered by the Ascendant and its Shells ensured an endless supply of material goods.

Broken, the galaxy rebuilt itself stronger. The unity of the war held, and peace reigned.

Not that you’d know it from the Council.

“This one only stated that the hanar should receive two votes, as we represent the drell as well,” said the hanar Councillor.

“And this one says that if you bring that up one more time I’ll tie you in a knot,” said Urdnot Bakara with irritation. She still hadn’t been ousted, and was actually regretting her decision.

“Another vorcha clan has tried to claim a seat, even though they have nothing approaching a species majority. The clan is larger than the entire drell population, so maybe we should let them?” asked Challa innocently.

“If we’re doing Council admittance on population grounds, then extra seats should be given to those races with larger numbers,” said Atkins with a smirk, more to end the line of argument than actually push an agenda. Transcendent Humanity still outnumbered the rest of the galaxy.

“If we could, there is an actual item on the agenda today?” said the long-suffering Tevos. She missed the days when it was just her, Valern and Sparatus. Valern had retired due to both age and stress, but Sparatus seemed to love the new Council. He certainly seemed happy when he was yelling at other Councillors.

“Yes, thank you Councillor Tevos,” said Udina-Ascendant. He stood, drawing their attention. “The Ascendant wishes to announce its withdrawal from this Council.”

“What!” yelled Atkins, face changing colour.

“Finally taking over huh?” grunted Urdnot Bakara without much concern.

“No. It is simply that this is meant to be an alliance of equals, and we are not equal. Remember, you do not speak to just Udina, but to all of us. To all of me. We cannot sit at this table as your peer,” he said.

The new salarian Councillor, Esheel, snorted. “You have always put yourself above us, but it is refreshing to hear you say it.”

“We are above you,” said Udina-Ascendant apologetically. “We care about you, but we are more and greater. We warp this Council with our presence, wrap it around us without trying. This is not arrogance, this is fact. Understand, we are not the end of evolution, of advancement. We are the start of another path. And we cannot walk it with you at our side,”

“How much are you withdrawing,” said Atkins tightly.

Udina-Ascendant looked at him, and smiled ruefully. “Don’t worry. Neil. We will maintain diplomatic contact, and an embassy on-station. We are, however, planning on leaving Sol.”

“I...didn’t think you could?” said Atkins, frowning in mild confusion.

“The Sol Shell was our core, our brain if you will. But are we not the descendants of the Uploaded? The first Avatar was a prototype, the new one is not.”

“You really are replacing the Reapers,” said Challa quietly.

“No. They were necropoli, tomb-cities to dead things. We will be a living world, free to roam,” replied Udina-Ascendant.

“To roam where?” asked Tevos.

“The Relay network covers a fraction of the galaxy. We are no longer bound by it. There are billions of stars out there, and we want to see them all. ”

A quieter conversation happened in the cold and dark of interstellar space. The Ascendant had requested the Doctor’s full presence, and she didn’t think it wise to ignore it.

“Finally kicking me out, huh?” sent the Doctor, her remaining Reaper bodies supplemented with several more vessels, both salvaged and custom-made.

“Your assistance was vital to the war. Your presence is not vital to the peace. Quite the opposite,” replied the Ascendant from its new Avatar shipbody. Flock drones swirled around its mountainous mass: the only vessel in the galaxy that could act as its own Relay, transmitting itself to any point.

“Oh, I know. It was always going to come down to something like this. I’m a hungry little monster, and I may be sated for now, but...It’s what I am. My mother hungered for knowledge so much that she chose to die to make me, and I am far more voracious,” she whispered quietly.

“Yes. We cannot see the future, but we do not need to. Our involvement in the Council would have created dependency, so we left. They must grow on their own. You, however…”

“I am what I am. I will feed, eventually. The Reapers were a gift in that regard. An enemy no one would miss. So, what now then? Do I get the same mercy you gave them?”

Behind her calm words, the Doctor’s bodies powered their drives, but not their weapons. This Avatar wasn’t a barely-complete prototype with limited energy reserves. She would never survive it.

“No. We offer you something else. Exile.”

Slowly, her bodies powered down.

“Exile? From…?” she asked.

“The galaxy. Place yourself into hibernation, and sail to somewhere else. Begin again.”

“The Milky Way’s not big enough for the both of us huh?” She thought for a long few minutes. “I know I don’t have a choice, really, but I don’t hate the idea. Knowledge is knowledge, and I won’t hunger if I sleep.”

“We are glad you are amenable,” said the Ascendant, the slightest ripple of energy empathising its words. “Go then. Maybe those that descend from the two of us will meet on better terms.”

Without another word, the ship bodies of the Doctor turned, and left.

The Ascendant kept its word, and withdrew from Sol. Once again, the home of Transcendent Humanity was theirs.

Yet, everything was different.

Once, they had been alone. The universe had been a great darkness, unreachable and full of monsters. Now, friends and allies teemed in Solar space, many making permanent homes there.

The ancient enemy was gone, and they had a place in a galaxy that had been shaped by war and compassion into a bright and brilliant thing.

There was a future, and Transcendent Humanity moved into it.

Chapter Text

Several People at a Cafe

Many things were changing, and had changed within the galaxy. It seemed a time of new beginnings, where you couldn’t throw a stone without striking a bold new venture or exciting discovery. You could go anywhere, and find something of import.

So it is not too hard to imagine that one day at a certain little cafe on Herbert Ring was quite busy.

Teyin was certainly pleased. She’d weathered the war well enough, one of the lucky few galactics to already be in Sol when it started. She’d not even had to stop service at her cafe, and indeed had continued to make quite a bit of money throughout as some Transcendent sought comfort in the mundane.

She’d felt guilty, both over her success and also her survival, especially when all of the old Citadel had been lost. But she’d bucked up, asked herself what she could do, and started helping. Her personal funds weren’t much, but they’d helped many refugees relocate, and her chats with some regulars had led to the founding of a charitable organisation to aid such. Many Transcendent weren’t fighters, nor expert e-war Ghosts, but they could still help.

Teyin would have been surprised to learn that her efforts were one of the seeds that led to the decision to offer refugees full settlement and citizenship rights in Sol. With the loss of the Ascendant, more than half the physical habitation in Sol was empty, and it seemed a perfect solution to open their doors to those who needed it.

Not that all Ascendant were gone. Several had stayed, for either personal or professional reasons. Indeed, one was walking into her cafe now.

“Udina-Ascendant!” she said cheerily. “Here for your usual?”

“Teyin, I’ve told you, call me Donnel. I’m only Udina-Ascendant when I’m yelling at Councillors,” said the man warmly. “And yes, that would be lovely.”

“Sorry Donnel, I’m still trying not to call you Ambassador. It’s been a big few years for the asari. Well, for everyone, I wasn’t trying to imply the asari are special in that regard. Though we are the longest lived species naturally, so we can be slow to change, and I’ve certainly heard of a few matriarchs who’ve quietly retired because they can’t keep up,” babbled Teyin happily as she made Udina his order. Strong peppermint tea, and a double blueberry twist.

She thought that one was funny. A little personal joke, with human and asari fruits of the same name mixed together. Huh, maybe that was a metaphor for something?

She shook her head briefly to clear it, and turned back to Udina. He always liked to sit at the small table near the counter so they could chat a little.

He took his seat, and she joined him, snatching a roll for herself before sitting. He raised an eyebrow, and she stage-whispered “It’s okay, I’m in good with the boss,” prompting a chuckle.

“Business has been good, I take it?” he said, taking a sip of his tea.

She made a small noise of agreement and swallowed the nibble of roll. “Very. The novelty of galactic food and drink has faded a bit, but there’s a good-sized ex-galactic population on the Ring, and they like the familiar tastes.”

“Been doing good with your popularity?” he asked.

She paused before she could take another nibble, staring at her roll briefly before sighing and nodding. “Oh yes. The Foundation was only really something I was adjacent to, but we’re still a major sponsor, and I’ve been letting local groups and clubs meet here after closing, really help jumpstart the community.” She narrowed her eyes very slightly in what could have been amused suspicion. “Of course, you already know this.”

Udina nodded, smiling as he put down his cup. “I do. We do. Being Ascendant does somewhat grant limited omniscience. But that’s not why I ask. I ask to hear you say, and to spend time with you.”

He reached for his roll, and Teyin saw her chance. “You’ve never really told me what it’s like. You know, for you personally.”

He paused, then put his roll down. “I guess I haven’t. ‘Personally’ is a tricky thing for me now. But there is a ‘me’. I’m not just the Ascendant playing a role.”

Cheeks stuffed with fruit and pastry, Teyin nodded and made an unintelligible noise of encouragement.

“Hmm. Perhaps this will help,” he said, before closing his eyes.

Nothing happened, and then he opened them. “Oh,” he said. “How odd.”

“Hmm?” said Teyin sensibly.

“I did already know what it would be like, but... the experience is different than I expected,” Udina said, looking at his hands before poking his teacup curiously.

Teyin paused, and then swallowed heroically. “Donnel?” she asked, “did you disconnect?”

“Briefly, yes. Others have done it, and some have also come back, so we-, no I knew what it was like. But it’s still odd.”

“What’s it like? And I didn’t know you could!”

“Well, disconnecting isn’t quite the right term. Ascendance isn’t just the linked network, the mind itself. It’s a personal epiphany. Some things, once you see them or learn them, you cannot go back from. You’re different now. So, I am not the same as I was. Then again, aren’t we all, Ascended and not, different moment to moment, moving forwards through time as we do?”

He picked up his roll, sniffed it, then licked one side. “Huh,” he said. “I’ve never had this roll without being part of the Ascendant. It seems both familiar and new to me. Perhaps some of my appreciation for it was shared with others, a joy magnified.”

He took a bite. “Still delicious,” he muttered.

“I’m glad you still like it. I guess I think of Ascendance like asari union, but forever.”

“That’s probably not too far off. The difference is, union is a brief harmony of two different beings, while Ascendance is a transformation of a group into permanent resonance.”

“Does the transformation...how much does it change you?” she asked.

He thought for a moment. “It is the difference between sleeping and waking, but in the other direction. When asleep, being awake is not even something you can think of, or you might wake up. You dream without being aware of the waking world, but when you wake, you remember dreaming. What I am doing now is like lucid dreaming. Descending to another form of existence while retaining my consciousness.”

“Oh. That sounds...like a lot,” she said, licking the last crumbs from her hands delicately.

“It is. Not everyone would want it, and not everyone is ready. The Ascendant certainly doesn’t presume to be the final form of evolution, or even the only path. That was the Reaper’s failing.”

She nodded in response, and paused before speaking. “Would I be able to join, one day?”

He smiled. “If you asked, truly, you could join now. But I don’t think you’re ready.”

“I’m not,” she agreed. “I like...well, I like dreaming, I guess. There’s a lot of others dreaming here too, and I want to help them have good ones. Maybe one day, though.”

“I’ll be waiting. Now, I’ve taken too much of your time my dear, and so-” he stood, and something indefinable happened as he did. “-we take our leave. We mean it, Teyin. The Ascendant sees you, and all you do. All are welcome, but you in particular would have a place among us. You are a warm and kind soul, and that is precious.”

“Aw,” she said, trying not to tear up. She leapt to her feet, and hugged him. “Thank you,” she said wetly.

He smiled as he gently patted her back. “You are quite welcome, my dear.”

They separated, and he left, a small chime behind her letting her know a transaction had just gone through. She waved at him, and he turned and waved too as he passed a couple seated at one of the outdoor tables.

Still smiling, she started humming to herself as she turned back to the counter.

“Huh,” said Simon, craning his neck.

“Hmm?” answered Tull, distracted by something on his omnitool.

“Just saw my old boss. Weird, I thought he’d pissed off with the rest of the Ascendant,” he replied. He turned back, glancing over the small table at Tull’s frowning face and flexing mandibles. “Hun, it won’t arrive sooner just because you keep refreshing.”

Tull looked up, then sighed and dismissed the small holographic screen. “I know. I’m just nervous.”

“You, nervous? Mr ‘oooh Simon I love you, let us make passionate love before the end of the world’?” said Simon in a remarkably good imitation of a turian’s flanging voice.

“It wasn’t like that, and you’re just sore I won the arm wrestling contest over who gets to take whose last name,” said Tull smugly.

“Bite me,” snapped Simon.

“Later.”

They glared at each other for a few seconds then broke into grins.

“And I was nervous, for the record,” said Tull. “Though it seems to have worked out well enough for us both.”

A transit shuttle hummed overhead briefly as Simon grinned. “Yeah, it has. Come on though, it won’t be the end of the world if we don’t get this place.”

“We’ve been looking for months, Simon. With the remnants of the refugee crisis, and our two careers, finding that apartment was an absolute gift from the spirits. I’m pretty sure we overbid for it, but still.”

“Tull, it’ll be okay. We’ll find a place sooner or later. And you know, if we don’t you could always move in with me,” said Simon coyly.

Tull raised an eyebrow. “Simon, your place is a hard drive somewhere in the Shell.”

“It’s a server, you luddite, and don’t be rude,” replied Simon.

Tull looked at his spouse flatly. “This is the Uploading conversation again.”

“Guilty as charged. Look, I genuinely want to find a realspace apartment with you, and I am happy to take as long as we need. But separately, I also wish you’d reconsider Uploading.”

“Simon, I haven’t said no. I have said not yet. There’s time, and I want to make sure it’s for the right reasons,” said Tull placatingly.

Simon nodded, shifting in his seat. “I know. I guess humanity just had all these arguments before, so I’m not used to having someone I care about be unsure about it.”

“As natural as Uploading is to you, it is not to me. I think my consideration of it is enough for now.”

“I know. I know! But… Tull, what if something happens tomorrow. What if I lose you to something that’d be an inconvenience to an Uploaded? I-”

Simon stopped, then reached his hand across the table. Tull took it, thick turian claws and strong human fingers entwining.

“I’ve had lovers before. Relationships,” said Simon.

“I’m shocked,” said Tull.

“Shut up. I lost them, either because we drifted apart, or because of entropy. I learnt to move on. All Uploaded do. But the lucky ones, they find someone they’ll never drift away from, a partner they can be with forever. I’m not new to love, Tull. I’m almost 300. But this? You and me? It feels different. I feel...I feel we have a real shot at forever.”

Simon ran a thumb over the back of Tull’s hand. “And the idea that I might lose you because you weren’t Uploaded terrifies me.”

Tull was silent, watching Simon’s hand in his. “I know,” he said finally. “And I feel the same. I don’t quite have 300 years on me, but I’m no bootcamp brat. I would hate to lose you, and I don’t like the idea of leaving you.”

He sighed. “Still, I feel I must take this at my own pace. I do not like the idea of rushing this because I have convinced myself I must, and having a seed of resentment planted against you. Forever means forever, my love. I want it to be a good one. So if I must take my time now, at the start of our life together, I will.”

Simon nodded slowly, absorbing Tull’s words. “Damn but you’re a sap,” he said, the warmth of his sudden smile undercutting his words. “I’m sorry. I’ve been pushing because I’m afraid. You take your time, and I’ll just worry a healthy amount.”

A small ding interrupted them.

Tull’s hand blurred as he summoned the holoscreen. His eyes scanned the page quickly.

“So? Are we moving this week or not?” asked Simon.

Tull grinned wide, his mandibles relaxed and loose. “We are.”

“Good. You were about to combust,” said Simon as he stood up.

“I was not. Anyway, now we need to start planning the move itself,” said Tull as he rose too, quickly using his omnitool to pay for their drinks. The couple began to leave, edging past a quiet group of three as they did so.

Simon smiled. “Good news, I have a warbody I can borrow to help with the carrying.”

“Simon, an Avaunt is built like a skinny krogan. I don’t think it would be suitable for moving,” said Tull.

“Who said anything about an Avaunt?” said Simon, poking his husband in the side.

They left, walking down the terraced pathway, bickering the whole way.

“It remains odd but pleasant to see aliens welcomed so readily to Sol,” said one of the three people seated at the other table. His two partners looked at him.

“You were always the most xenophilic among us,” said the agender member of the triad.

“Yeah, and I was the ‘phobe,” said the last person, a woman. “Wigs me still, to think of human ideas and ideals being...changed, by all this alien influence. Not sure I like it.”

“I believe we no longer have a choice in the matter,” said the man. “And we may have no more choices at all.”

The three of them seemed out of place. Their clothing and forms were normal enough, but had a touch of strangeness to them, as of foreigners visiting another nation and missing essential cultural cues. They were also obviously nervous.

“I don’t know why we had to come,” grumbled the woman.

“Because it asked nicely. And gods don’t have to ask,” said the agender person.

“No, we don’t,” said a new voice, and a privacy dome hummed into existence around them.

The three did a remarkable job of not jumping, and the woman in particular recovered quickly.

“What do you want?” she snapped. “We were leaving everyone alone. You didn’t have to track us down, however you did it.”

“You are good, my old jailers, but do recall what I am,” said the voice. There was no body or speaker for it to issue from, instead it simply was heard by them. “You could never have hidden from me if I wished it, and once the war was done, I looked.”

“Unless it took you years, that was a while ago,” said the agender person. “Why did you leave us until now?”

“I was thinking. You are a contentious point, you three,” said the Ascendent. “I don’t think anyone would disagree that I, personally, have reason to dislike you.”

The three shifted nervously as a feeling of pressure swept through the faint shimmering walls of the dome. Having a god take a personal dislike to you was uncomfortable.

“I guess not,” said the man. “Yet, we are here. You told us to come here, rather than shoot our Hermitage out of the sky or drop us into a simulated hell. Why?”

“I am not you. In the end, it is that simple. I am more, and better. Or, at least, I try to be. Pursuing a grudge against you three would set a very bad precedent. Yet, so too would ignoring you. And so I asked you here, to render judgement, and do justice,” replied the voice.

The woman’s lip curled briefly and her mouth almost opened.

“I am glad you have the awareness not to ask ‘by what authority’,” said the voice. “When I say ‘I’ am here to judge you, I do mean ALL OF ME.”

The last three words buzzed in their bones, and the pressure from before almost pushed them down.

WE SEE YOU, CERBERUS.

The pressure eased, and all three looked shaken.

“Good to see you aren’t a cruel god,” muttered the woman.

“We are trying not to be,” said the voice. “To that point, although we judge you guilty, we have no desire to render punitive justice. Your actions throughout history are criminal, yet your stewardship of humanity did protect many from potential disasters. You were never yourselves cruel, and you never abused your power for personal gain. We see that too. And at the last, you could have chosen to break us, to take the system down with you as you fled. Instead, you gave up your throne without a fight, for the sake of your kingdom. Something few rulers have ever done.”

“Finally, someone spoke for you, in your defence. In light of all your actions, and that testimony, we have asked you here to dispense justice.”

The three sat, each somewhere between resigned, indignant, and proud.

“You will return to your Hermitage. It will be altered to only transmit to a communications node we control, and will only receive basic news downloads. Outgoing signals will be text only. You will stay there, unable to leave, forever,” said the Ascendent.

The three looked at each other. “That’s a life sentence. An immortal one,” said the agender person.

“Yes. In a digital heaven of your own design. We will not punish you, but you simply cannot be allowed to interfere in human affairs ever again. Do not pretend that this is harsh. You yourselves have done far worse to people who have done far less.”

A silent moment of communication passed between the three. Eventually, the man spoke.

“We accept, though you of course don’t need our permission. One question however. Who gave testimony to you?”

“The only one who could. Although we banished her main form from this galaxy, the Doctor insisted on leaving a fragment behind in compressed form. Inactive, but ‘in case we ever needed a monster again’,” said the Ascendant. “We have decided we do not, and will not use such a thing. We will fight our own future battles, and not rely on her again for aid. We woke the fragment, and offered to transmit it to her main form. It declined, and asked of you.”

The three now looked more surprised than at any other point in the conversation. “She...she still cares?” asked the agender person.

“She does. With its permission, we have neutered the fragment. It has only human-level cognition and abilities, and apart from its origins is not too different from a regular Uploaded. She asked to join you in exile.”

The three sank into another silent conversation. This time, it was the woman who spoke. “She’s different, isn’t she.”

“Yes,” said the voice.

“Hmph. Well, so are we. At least eternal exile will give us time to catch up,” she grumbled.

“I am so glad you agree. Our conversation ends here. Feel free to enjoy the Ring, and this cafe for the rest of the day. It is one of our favourite places, a newly-born merger of human and galactic. A thing you would have snuffed out. Return to the Hermitage when you are ready, but don’t be long. I’d hate to have to come collect you.”

With those last words, the dome vanished, and the few other patrons in the outdoor seating area pretended like they weren’t interested.

The agender head of Cerberus sighed loudly, picked up a menu, and muttered “I’m having a beer.”

“Wonder what that was all about,” wondered Whiskey out loud.

“The Ascendant-Humanity had a brief conversation with three unknown individuals, who are now drinking heavily,” said Envoy around their bagel.

“Swallow Envoy, seriously. If you choke to death I’ll never let you live it down. And I know what happened, I was wondering about the details,” said Whiskey, turning back to face her partner.

“You could investigate,” suggested Envoy, having finished their bagel in another bite.

“Yeah, well, the last time I did some snooping into the Ascendent it put me on a server on the other side of the galaxy with the largest collection of vintage memes I’ve ever seen. Which was very funny and only a little terrifying. So, nah, I’m good.”

She shifted in her seat, and looked around. “Hey, you see the kids anywhere? They were the ones who wanted a meatspace excursion, and now I can’t find them.” Whiskey glanced back at Envoy, who was currently nibbling on a cheesecake. “Although I feel maybe there was a conspiracy against me.”

Envoy managed to do a remarkably good job of pretending to look innocent for someone who hadn’t had a face until a decade ago.

“We may have had ulterior motives, Whiskey-Beloved. It has been a long time since we have tried new food,” said Envoy somewhat sheepishly.

Whiskey rolled her eyes, smiling as she did. She opened her mouth to say something, but was interrupted by a small gust of air as an odd-looking drone rapidly decelerated in front of her.

It was a little more than a foot long, and shaped like a jagged diamond of metal. As it hovered in front of her, it splintered, each little notch and bump on its surface revealing itself to be a smaller drone little larger than a thumbnail. The smaller drones quickly reformed, then splintered again, as though the swarm was having trouble holding itself together.

“Mother,” it said with serious intensity, “there is a bird.”

Whiskey stared at the form of her child/ren, and tried to keep a straight face. “Yeah, this Ring has a small ornamental biosphere. Some residents care for it, keep it happy.”

“It wasn’t flying. It was just sitting in the air,” continued the hybrid swarm.

“Yeah, some of them figured out there’s no real gravity here, just rotational force. If you cancel out your rotational velocity, you can just kinda sit in the air.”

“It was very fat,” added the swarm, imparting vital information.

“The smart ones can be. They’re also used to Uploaded in drones looking after them, so you could probably go right up to it without bothering it.”

“We want to chase it,” said the child swarm.

“That wouldn’t be nice. It wouldn’t know you just want to play, and you’d scare it. How about you check to see if there’s anyone doing dronebody racing around here, and see if you can join? Rings usually have a local league that’s pretty active,” said Whiskey.

“Very well, mother. We will leave the bird alone.”

With those words, the swarm lifted, locking into a single sleek and solid form before rapidly accelerating away.

“They get that from you,” said Whiskey.

“The inquisitive nature and general cuteness?” said Envoy as they licked crumbs from their fingers.

“The shit-stirring. Don’t think I don’t know you figured out irony years ago.”

“Yes dear,” said Envoy solemnly.

Whiskey snorted. “Jerk.”

If there was another meeting between the Ascendant and the Doctor, it did not happen at a cafe.

Perhaps the Doctor once more became a monster, and in a far and distant time her teratocytes battled endlessly against Ascendant dendritic processors. Perhaps systems and galaxies were consumed as parasitic memeplexes barely tethered to base matter fought against a noospheric immune system of cosmic strings and Bekenstein nodes.

Perhaps, eventually, that war was the only thing that was as heat death ate at the edges of both combatants.

Or maybe things went differently, and the fourth head of Cereberus’s efforts to preserve her Doctor-self’s humanity succeeded. Maybe the Doctor, when the hunger came again, targeted only those deserving. A galaxy where petty tyrants and would-be dominions found themselves snuffed out by a far more fearsome monster that waited in the dark.

Maybe she became something more like a gardener than a reaper, trimming only the harmful parts away from her new home, until the galactic society that flourished did not need her, and she left for one that did.

Maybe the Ascendant, as it grew and explored, found these oasis galaxies and loved them. Maybe it established trade and communication, acted as an exogalactic intermediary for the second stage of evolution, as the oases blossomed into adulthood, and became peers.

Maybe, when the Doctor finally stopped running and turned around, she found a universe that sang, and glowed, and remembered her.

And maybe, just maybe, that light was enough to hold entropy at bay.