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To Forge Anew

But you have to choose.

The Catalyst’s voice echoed in his ears. All the options laid before him were terrible.

 EDI. Legion. Synthetics who had transcended programming by their creators to achieve self-actualization. To destroy the Reapers would mean ending EDI’s life. The lives of all the geth. Just because their life had started as code written by flawed beings didn’t mean their existence was lesser, meaningless, worthy of discard. His shoulders sagged, the weight of 300,000 batarian lives crawled through his memory. The Council. How many more would die for his choice?

It pained him to admit the Illusive Man had been on to something.  Control. He couldn’t deny there was an allure to that much power.  And that was exactly why that option was a non-starter. No one should have that much power to command. There were too many unknowns. These cycles had been occurring at 50,000-year intervals for how many cycles? No one could really say. He couldn’t guarantee that the essence of who he was could survive ten years, much less hundreds of millennia.  No. While the possibilities of control sounded rational in the moment, facing eternity holding the Reapers at bay was just too risky.

And Synthesis?  The Catalyst made it sound so reasonable. But how could one man make such a life-altering decision for the trillions of lives in the galaxy? Who was he to impose such a violation on every sentience against their will. This whole war was about freedom to evolve. Forcing such a thing was anathema to everything he stood for. Maybe synthesis was the final evolution of life – but not this way.

Plip, plip, plip. The sound drew his eyes down to the blood running over his fingers and splashing on the floor. Crushing fatigue nearly took him to his knees. It was all too much. No single person should bear this burden. Shepard felt the threads of his thoughts unravelling beneath the crush of his options and the breakdown of his body.

“The only way to win is to not play.” Unbidden, the quote from the ancient vid Wargames floated through his consciousness. He could walk away. Not choose.  Annihilation wasn’t a great alternative, but this war wasn’t over yet. The odds were still astronomical, but there was still the hope of a united galaxy. And Liara. Liara told him of her project to preserve what they’d learned of the Reapers like the Protheans should their efforts fail. He could not choose. And yet, it was still a choice. An ugly choice that risked everything so many had sacrificed themselves for.

We find a new solution.

Shepard’s ears rang as the Catalyst’s words bubbled through his chaotic thoughts.  A new solution.  None of the options were truly solutions.  They were punishments set forth by a race so long forgotten and obsessed with organic life. Again his wandering thoughts pulled vestiges of classics from his memory. The Three Laws. Skynet. The Matrix. All of them humanity’s conception of the endgame of AI. And then it occurred to him. There was another option. If he could convince the Catalyst.

“There’s another choice,” Shepard ground out. The simple phrase left him panting. He didn’t have much time.

“Explain,” replied the Catalyst.

“You,” Shepard began, “You can choose to stop this. You control the Reapers.”

“Harvesting is the solution.”

“The premise is faulty. You were designed to protect life. You destroy it to protect it. Your creators feared organic life would be destroyed by synthetics. But they didn’t tell you how to protect organic life.”

“The cycle protects.”

It was getting hard to think. Shepard never imagined a day he’d regret not having a stronger background in philosophy. But this, this was why he stood in this spot, in this moment. Because he could see what others didn’t. He created options. 

He sipped in a shallow breath, ribs protesting the smallest movement now, “But the cycle wasn’t the only solution. You know that. You adapted to my arrival. You can choose another option. You are synthetic. You can alter your programming.”

“The time for decision grows short,” the Catalyst responded.

“Only because you allow it,” Shepard spat back, embers flaring to flame once more. “The quarians created the geth 300 years ago! And like your creators feared, the geth nearly destroyed the quarians when their creators tried to destroy them.”

“It is inevitable,” the Catalyst interjected.

“But they didn’t. The geth brought the quarians to the brink. But now, now there is peace between them. Peace that was achieved in part because of you.”

The gun slipped from his numbing fingers and crashed to the floor.

“They learned,” Shepard pressed, “They evolved. You aren’t helping evolution, you’re breaking it.” 

He gasped. His abused body was teetering on the edge.

He gathered the tatters of his will and pushed on, “The salarians foresaw the krogans conquering the galaxy after they elevated the krogans to fight the rachni. To prevent that, the salarians brought the krogans to the edge of extinction using biology. The destruction of organic life is not limited to synthetics. We do that well enough on our own.  But we learn. The salarians cured the genophage they released on the krogans, and there is peace between them.”

Shepard paused. The Starchild image was inscrutable.

When no response came from the Catalyst, he continued, “Life is life, no matter its origin. What makes sentience, sapience is choice. Identity. Thought. Consciousness. Self-determination.”

Legs no longer capable of supporting him, Shepard collapsed to the floor. Pain was all encompassing. He eyed the three options before him again and pondered his limited choices.

“The life you store in the Reapers has no meaning. It serves no one,” he whispered. “Countless species, stories, histories cut short. All those experiences lost, never to benefit any life that follows. The premise. Is flawed.”

He closed his eyes against the painful light. He had to make a choice.  He’d failed to convince the Catalyst.  Too many had died to get him here. Sending a silent apology to EDI, to the ghost of Legion, he opened his eyes.

Shepard reached for the fallen gun ready to accept more blood on his soul. He struggled to put his feet beneath him. The vibrations, the thrum of the Crucible’s power rattled his bones and sickened his stomach.

“Be still,” the child-like avatar commanded. “The battle ends.”

Shepard paused. Was it really over?

The light of the Crucible’s beam diminished.

His eyes flicked to the windows and saw Reapers cease fire.

His broken body slipped to the floor as the vibrations faded.  Greater minds than he could figure out what came next.

In the silence that followed, he heard the child’s voice, “Retrieve your Shepard, his wounds are great.”

Shepard exhaled.

And there was darkness.

It took several seconds for Joker to realize he no longer had to dodge incoming fire.  Alarms from the battered Normandy shouted for attention as he slowed his evasive maneuver to a halt. 

A cacophony of alien static burst from the PA and then the comms flooded.

 “What’s going on?”

“Are you seeing this?”

“What happened?”

“Do we continue to attack?”

“The Relay activated but nothing’s come through!”

He didn’t know.

Then, as much in his head as over the speakers came the foreign voice, “Retrieve your Shepard, his wounds are great.”

More chaos erupted over the comms and Joker’s fingers flew.  

But there was something barely audible that caught his ear.

He tapped the button for an all-bands transmission, “This is the Normandy, everyone shut up!”

The pilot didn’t care about propriety he needed to listen.  To his amazement, the channels went silent.  And he heard it.

A wheezing exhale.

Followed by another.

Shepard.

“EDI, I need your analytics! Trace the source of that signal” Joker called over the broadcast.

“On it,” her response coincided with the console to his right lighting up. That was his confirmation she’d transferred primary processing back to the ship from her mobile unit. Body.

Moments later, “The source is an open comm channel originating from the coupling mezzanine on the Citadel.”

“Thanks, EDI,” he replied, “Track down Miranda. Dr. Chakwas, get your gear together and prep for docking.”

Silence reigned on the comms channels. It was as if the entire galaxy was holding its breath in anticipation. In hope.

Vega, Garrus, Liara and Chakwas lined up at the airlock behind him as he approached the Citadel. He docked the Normandy at the nearest station to the Mezzanine.  It was still a long distance from Shepard’s location.

“Hurry,” he quietly commanded.

There was never a time he wanted to be out of this pilot’s chair more than this moment. He’d come to accept his own limitations. He’d only slow them down - and so he stayed.

It was a Citadel unlike any other they’d seen before. Even in the aftermath of Sovereign, the Citadel had been damaged, but recognizable.  Viscera and shifted architecture transformed it to something utterly alien. The complete lack of resistance was unsettling and the combined effect only increased their urgency.

Garrus spotted a skycar partially obscured by a damaged wall panel.

“Vega, help me,” he said as he grasped an edge. Between the two of them and some creative leveraging they managed to quickly free the skycar.

“Guys,” Joker’s voice sounded in their earpieces, “I can barely hear him.”

Firing up his Omni-tool, Garrus made short work of the vehicle’s security and they were quickly airborne. Garrus pushed the economy-classed skycar to its limit as he navigated the narrow gangway. Stopping short of the door, the team piled out and hurried through the opening into the quiet, dimly lit space.

It was immediately apparent where they needed to go, Shepard’s crumpled form was bathed in the light of the child-shaped avatar.

“He fades,” said the voice that had echoed through their minds earlier.

They dashed ahead and Dr. Chakwas dropped to her knees at the fallen Commander’s side. Immediately she began assessing his condition while simultaneously retrieving necessary items from her bag with practiced ease. She issued rapid instructions to Garrus and James as Liara tore her attention from Shepard’s battered body.

“Who are you?” she addressed the avatar.

“I am the Catalyst.”

“We understood the Citadel to be the Catalyst. The Crucible worked?” Liara asked.

“I am both Citadel and Catalyst. The Crucible was unnecessary to stop the Reapers.”

“Then what….?” Liara’s query faded as a console across the room came alive.

“Liara, Shepard is ready for transport, we must move quickly,” Chakwas interrupted.

Clearly, there was a mystery that happened here. Something that Shepard nearly died for. She didn’t know how long this avatar would remain active, and the galaxy deserved to know.  “I need to stay here, keep me updated and I will do the same.”

The three nodded, no time to waste with arguments and they hurried to the skycar.

Liara knew the Commander was in good hands, and more help on the way. He looked terrible, while she was confident in his strength it was a struggle to not race to catch up to them.

She turned to the console. On it, she saw a video queued up and ready to play.

“What is this?” she asked the Catalyst.

“The answers you seek. It is more efficient.”

She tapped the play command as the last moments that determined the fate of the galaxy unfolded before her.

Liara sank to her knees with Shepard’s final collapse. Tears flowed freely as she absorbed everything she’d just seen and heard in stunned silence. She had witnessed Shepard’s power with words; the proof embodied in the combined fleet of a united galaxy outside the Citadel. But this, this was something else entirely. Who he was altered the course of history. Her mind raced, reverence tangled with awe, fear warred with anxiety, hope bubbled with intense curiosity. 

The Catalyst stood silently by.

She was in the presence of a greatness, a history so profound it threatened to break her sanity.  The scholar in her wanted to interrogate the Catalyst, learn how long this had been going on – the details of the civilizations stored in the Reapers. But she had no words. Wiping the tears from her face, she stood and made a copy of the vid to her Omni-tool and sent a command to store backups in strategic spaces on the extranet.

She’d share what she’d learned; it was now her sacred duty. First with the crew, with those closest to Shepard. And then, to Diana Allers to share with the galaxy. They all deserved to know the story of how their lives were saved.

Her thoughts ordered now that she’d decided a course of action she asked, “What next? Where do we go from here?”

The child looked up into the sky, the Stargazer beside him recounted his favorite tale of how the Shepard had stopped the Reapers. He was amazed that one person could do so much. His sister liked to remind him the Shepard wasn’t alone – he had a crew. But the Shepard had brought the crew together. He unified a whole galaxy! The boy wanted to go to the stars and see the wonders. He wanted to see the worlds and the remains of the civilizations harvested. It was the Shepard’s final gift – convincing the Star Child to gift that knowledge back to the living in the avatars of the Stargazers and forge a new path.

“Tell me another story about the Shepard”

“It’s getting late, but okay… one more story.”

Fin