“Are you okay?”

It’s chilly. Not cold, just chilly. Enough to make a person shake, and that’s exactly what I’m doing. Shaking uncontrollably, trying to control it because that’s what I do. I always need it to look like I’m fine, even when I’m not. Because the cold isn’t what’s making me shake.

I’m standing at the street curb next to my car. Her house is to my right, and she’s standing just in front of me wearing the same sweatpants and tank top she’d changed into earlier that night. It’s late, well past midnight. The wind rustles the few trees scattered throughout the neighborhood, more limb than leaf. Of course; it’s springtime.

This isn’t . . . I’m dreaming.

But I’m not dreaming.

“I’m fine,” I say, wrapping my arms around her. She allows it despite the confusion. Someone has just driven by and thrown an empty soda can in her front yard as we’re saying our goodbyes. Her aunt is probably still chasing them down in her car. Her entire family has always been a little off in their own ways.

“You’re shaking,” she says as she tightens her grip on me. Slender arms; of course she can feel every vibration. “What’s wrong?”

“Just cold,” I lie. Manufactured reassurance. I can usually get away with it, but this time neither one of us buys it. Still, I have to maintain the illusion. I can’t let myself believe anything is wrong, even if she already knows it is.

“Donovan,” she says. I can hear her resolve fading. Her voice weakens. She doesn’t want to hurt me, or worse, leave me wounded so badly the scars will never quite heal; but then, she thinks that of the two of us, I’m better suited to handle pain. “I’m scared.”

So am I. Terrified, in fact. Her mom is standing at the walkway leading to the house watching the scene unfold, but neither of us care. Eyes closed. The only two things that exist are her soft voice and her body against mine, desperately attempting to overcome this storm. There’s no sense to any of it. Just emotion. All I want is to make this right.

“What can I do?” I plead. “Tell me what to do.”

Her breath is shallow; heartbeat is out of control. I can feel it pounding against my own. Any sense of self-control we have is gone.

“Love me,” she sobs.

Hearing those two words, part of my soul dies. Not because I don’t, but because she doesn’t believe I do. Something I’ve done—several things I’ve done—have led her to believe that sincerity isn’t something that exists in this relationship. I can’t bear it.

“I do,” I reply frantically. “I love you so much.”

We stay there in each other’s arms for what feels like hours.

I don’t hear from her in weeks. When I finally do, it’s through a friend at work. Nothing I hadn’t been expecting.

Years pass with hardly any contact. The rare moments of connection are always one-sided. She needs someone to rely on when things get rough. Someone she knows will always be there no matter how many times she ignores me. I still love her. Always will.

Eventually she moves away. I try to move on with someone else. Several someone else’s. Never works.

I don’t know why I can’t let go. Don’t know why my identity is formed out of one failed relationship. It just happens. Everything that I do from that moment on is to prove that I deserve to be happy for once in my miserable fucking life. That it isn’t my fault.

You don’t get very far seeking someone else’s approval.

----------------------------------------

“Miranda,” the Illusive Man said. “It’s been a while.”

The wine glass slipped from her hand without warning, shattering to the floor with a startling noise that didn’t even come close to the jolt of terrifying surprise brought on by five simple words. Of course, it wasn’t the words themselves that produced such an unwarranted response, but rather their source and the passively neutral tone with which they were conveyed. Every door on the station could have opened, sucking its inhabitants into the void of space, and Miranda would have been less concerned.

“I apologize for my abrupt appearance,” he continued, “but the current situation doesn’t allow for anything less. There’s something we need to discuss.”

“What the hell could we possibly have to discuss?” Miranda blurted. She regretted it immediately; she knew better than to display her thoughts and emotions so openly, especially to someone as adept at reading them as the Illusive Man. Six months away from Cerberus had softened her.

As expected, he stood there with a falsely uncaring face, opting instead to pull a cigarette from one of the pockets of his suit and light it. He wouldn’t manipulate Miranda’s impulsion until she gave him something truly beneficial to use. “While I’m sure this is all rather alarming, I urge you to set aside your personal feelings towards me,” he said. “I’m afraid we don’t have much time, and I wouldn’t want to bother you with the trivialities of this meeting. No doubt you’re having fun attempting to solve this latest dilemma of ours, but we need a solution soon if we’re to have any hope of saving humanity.”

The statement shouldn’t have surprised Miranda, given her experience with the Illusive Man, but it did nonetheless. The very fact that he was alive surprised her, and again, it likely shouldn’t have. Whether it was bringing back the dead, travelling to the galactic core, or surviving the Reapers themselves, he always seemed to have an ace stashed in a very well-concealed hole.

Still, the fact that he knew about Miranda and the rest of the individuals at Sentinel attempting to stop the galactic compression raised a few flags. He may well have known about the station from intel acquired before the war, but knowledge of the current events aboard the station was restricted to the personnel on-site. Transmissions were occasionally made, but only by Hackett or a select few members of the diplomatic envoys. So either one of them leaked intel, or the Illusive Man had an active bug somewhere on-site.

These were just the first few thoughts to cross Miranda’s mind in two seconds. Having been the Illusive Man’s right hand for all those years did pay off in certain regards.

“And who are we saving humanity from now, Jack?” Miranda asked, emphasizing his name. “The Reapers? Everyone that isn’t human? Or just you?”

There was a pause, but the Illusive Man was the master of this game. He never showed surprise. “You’ve been digging.”

“You’re good, but you’re no Shadow Broker. Everyone has a past.”

“I should have known Doctor T’soni would eventually find the original Broker’s files on me, not that it’s of any relevance.”

“Really? Because from where I’m standing, it looks like you’re pissing yourself.”

He took another drag of his cigarette, never breaking eye contact. Never showing even a shadow of emotion. There was no getting a rise out of him—at least not one that could be observed—but if Miranda played it just right, she could tip him off balance. She simply needed to test the waters.

“I’ve always appreciated your candor, Miranda, as well as your tenacity.” Bastard didn’t miss a beat, nor did he miss an opportunity to rather eloquently turn the tide of conversation back in his favor. “But as I said, right now we have bigger problems. So by all means, let’s continue with this masquerade. Unless, of course, you’d prefer the galaxy didn’t burn while we dance.”

Miranda had to admit, she was curious. The Illusive Man was like a queen ant the way he acted through his minions from the safety of his hill. Very little could force him to the surface, especially in such a dire situation. Now that he had essentially been reduced to a one-man operation, Miranda would have thought his first instinct would be to find an incredibly deep, dark hole and disappear into it. Instead he had gotten access to a communications channel and broken through seven layers of security to chat with someone he knew was just as likely to hang up on him as take him seriously.

He was desperate. He’d reached out to Miranda because she knew that however maniacal and self-deluded he was, his primary motivation was humanity’s survival. And he was banking on that knowledge because he truly believed he had something to offer that might help in that endeavor. The Illusive Man didn’t take risks; he analyzed the information, calculated his probability of success, and acted accordingly. He knew that any attempt to mislead or deceive would result in the failure of a plan that might be—at least in his eyes—their only chance for survival. Taking all of that into consideration, it would be mind-numbingly foolish to disregard his thoughts on the war simply because of Miranda’s prejudice.

Still, he needed her just as much as she needed whatever game-changing intel he thought he possessed. There was some angle behind it—there always was, dealing with the Illusive Man—but he didn’t have the upper hand this time. He’d likely used whatever resources and sway he had just to make this call, which meant he couldn’t be allowed to get the upper hand.

She had him backed into the corner. Whether that was her doing or his own hardly mattered. He had nothing to offer but his God’s-honest ideas, and with someone like the Illusive Man, you don’t neglect an olive branch that comes with no strings attached.

Well, one string. She’d have to refrain herself from crushing him into a coffee cup if his thoughts amounted to anything.

Miranda sighed forcefully. “I’m listening.”

He took another drag from the cigarette that had remained lit for quite some time now, causing a surge of light feedback to distort the display momentarily. “I take it you’ve come to the realization that not all the Reapers are intent on destroying our civilization. Many of them would rather preserve it. But they’re left with little choice, given what would happen if they don’t find an answer to the unavoidable destruction that’s sure to reign down on the galaxy.”

She didn’t even want to know how he’d obtained that information. Perhaps the Reapers had shared with him while they burned Cerberus to the ground, in similar fashion to the way they’d approached the marines before trying to disintegrate them. Really it didn’t matter. Miranda had stopped being surprised at the Illusive Man’s knowledge years ago, and in light of all he’d mentioned so far, there was no reason to start now.

“What you don’t know,” he continued, “is how to prevent this natural disaster. They believe that biotics are causing our universe to become unstable. In the absence of any other theories, I’ve begun devoting myself to finding a way to stop it. And before you ask, no, it has nothing to do with the Reapers or the harvesting.”

“What then?” Miranda asked, still maintaining her frigid demeanor. “We’ve spent the past week working on this problem with a handful of the most powerful biotics and the most intelligent individuals in the galaxy. No one can even hazard a guess as to how to begin.”

“Is the prothean involved in any of these discussions?”

Javik?

The question took Miranda off-balance, though she didn’t dare show it. What could he have possibly been thinking? Better yet, why hadn’t they involved the prothean? She knew Hackett and Shepard had asked him a few preliminary questions, which they claimed led nowhere. Javik was a warrior, a soldier born well after the Reapers had already begun harvesting in his cycle. He had no actionable intel on them, but as a biotic himself he certainly should have weighed in on the discussion.

“I’ll take your silence as a no,” the Illusive Man said with a coy grin. “I don’t suppose you’ve seen him in action yet either. Though the prothean civilization made their technological advances through the relays in similar fashion to our cycle, their biotic abilities were quite different. I admit I don’t have any specifics, but if biotics are damaging the universe to the point where it’s ready to destroy itself, I’d consider looking at an alternative from every available angle. The prothean gives us a rather unique one that we haven’t been able to explore until now.”

Damn him, he was actually right. Worse was the fact that Miranda hadn’t even considered such a thing until the Illusive Man pointed it out.

Regardless, it wasn’t quite what she was hoping for. Even if Javik did have some valuable insight to offer—which was a longshot considering his people had utterly failed at even slowing the Reapers in their cycle—it wasn’t going to pay off immediately. It couldn’t. With a threat of this magnitude, nothing would.

In that respect, the Illusive Man couldn’t be congratulated for his offering. In the end it all boiled down to a psychological game, and Miranda was not going to be put in check. If he had intel to offer, great. If not, he’d likely succumb to the Reapers the same way his entire organization had. Either way, he was no ally, merely a source.

“While I appreciate the effort, Jack, that’s not much to go on. You’ve just told me to talk to someone three doors down, someone who may or—in the most likely case—may not be of any real use to us. Next time you want to wave the white flag, make sure your peace offering isn’t sub-standard.”

She turned around and nearly walked out of the call when the Illusive Man’s voice stopped her.

God, just let this be over with.

“Make no mistake, Miranda, this isn’t a surrender.” The words came out bitter and slightly annoyed. “As long as our goals align, I am not your enemy. The Reapers wanted Cerberus out of the picture because they knew we were a threat to their plans. That I am a threat. It seems I find myself in the same boat as the Alliance, and everyone that’s joined forces with them. So if survival means allying myself with the rest of the galaxy, so be it.”

“You’re the one making the mistake here,” Miranda replied, stepping forward toward the holoprojector. “You, are not an ally. You’re not the Illusive Man anymore, and you don’t have Cerberus to back you up. You’re just Jack Harper, the king of a castle that fell within minutes of coming under siege. If you have information to provide, good. If not, no one really cares whether or not you die. In fact, the majority would rather have seen you go down with the rest of your organization.”

He took another drag of his cigarette, and for the longest moment neither of them broke eye contact. This was the moment of truth, the levelling of the field. A new game with the Illusive Man at a severe disadvantage. It was time for him to realize that.

“I’m sorry to hear that, Miranda,” he finally said, snuffing the butt of his cigarette into an ashtray. “But before I go, I do have one more question to pose to you.”

“And that would be?”

“How long has it been since you’ve heard from Garrus’ strike team?”

----------------------------------------

Silent running. That was the shorthand. An old submariner’s term. In reality, if a person were able to survive in space without an environmental suit interfering with their sense of sound, they likely wouldn’t hear a ship unless it was right on top of them. Quite literally the only way to detect a vessel in space was through advanced sensors that tracked thermal and electromagnetic emissions, and even those could be fooled if the ship passed close enough to a powerful heat source such as a star. But seeing as ninety percent of space consisted of sheer nothingness, that wasn’t a trick any vessel could employ if its crew wanted to reach a distant destination. Thus the Normandy’s advanced stealth grid, which trapped all emissions in a kinetic envelope that rendered sensors useless. And thankfully, geth didn’t use windows.

“What’s our status, Joker?” Ella asked. She knew the answer already, having asked the same question only minutes ago, but the situation can change at a moment’s notice when you’re flying under the radar in hostile territory.

“You want my personal opinion, or do I have to go back to being all professional now that we’re flying Alliance colors again?”

“Just making sure we’re still in the clear. No need to lock up your charming personality.”

“Well, as long as that’s the case, this is a shitstorm waiting to happen, Commander.”

Ella nearly laughed. Joker tended to have that effect on people, even when he was being serious. Especially when he was being serious. And she couldn’t blame him; there they were, him in the pilot’s chair and her standing just behind, watching through the view screen as the Normandy weaved in and out between thousands of small ships and stations in Rannoch’s orbit. No doubt each one was teeming with geth or constantly active via remote transmission. For all they knew, the geth programs may have been able to control their technological creations without using physical platforms. Essentially the mind didn’t need a body to operate, similar to the way EDI could control Normandy. Not a comforting thought.

Thousands of minds, thousands of eyes tricked into believing they weren’t seeing anything. If the Reapers got hold of the geth, God help anyone who ran across them.

“EDI, anything out there?” Ella asked.

“I detect no movement, Commander,” EDI replied with calculated speed. “There are several vessels on perimeter watch, but no indication that they have detected us. However, any attempt to access geth communication would give away our position, so I can not be certain.”

“What’d I tell you about working on your shorthand, EDI?” Joker asked as he maneuvered the Normandy through what could only be described as a debris field of latent tech scattered through space. “Just say, ‘It could be a trap.’”

“There is a thirty-nine percent chance it is a trap,” EDI responded.

“Yeah, great, thanks. Totally feel safe now.”

Their back-and-forth banter would have been charming under any other circumstances, but flying covertly through hostile territory didn’t make for the best atmosphere. The tension was so thick it could’ve been cut with an omni-blade.

“Cut down on the chatter, you two. We need to find Legion and get the hell out of here before the quarians get trigger-happy again.”

“Yeah, about that,” Joker interjected, “did anyone tell you why they attacked the geth? Because EDI did some digging and the shit she found, scares me.”

“How so?” Ella asked.

“The quarians initiated confrontation with the geth because of plans they uncovered for a superstructure,” EDI swiftly answered. “The geth were planning to build a containment module that could house trillions of programs—a Dyson Sphere of a sort, but rather than an artificial mass built for organic habitation, it would have been a massive server hub where all geth could interface simultaneously.”

Though Ella understood relatively little about the geth’s state of existence, and even less when EDI began her technobabble about shit like Dyson Spheres, she knew that a single solitary place for all geth programs did not sound like a good thing no matter how she looked at it. For the geth, it would certainly not be an easy matter to breach such a facility, but in the event it were destroyed they would likely lose millions if not billions of programs. And for the rest of the galaxy, the geth essentially only got smarter when they were together; all of them in one place more than likely meant intelligence matched only by the Reapers. If that didn’t spell out dangerous with a capital D, nothing did.

This tale has been unlawfully lifted from Royal Road; report any instances of this story if found elsewhere.

“Commander I’ve got eyes on something,” Joker said, abruptly jarring Ella from her thoughts. “Looks like a space station, but the power readings are off the charts and it’s sending out a weird transmission. EDI, can you identify it?”

“Negative,” EDI responded. “It appears similar to a geth broadcast channel, but there are discrepancies in the frequency.”

“Can you trace where the transmission’s going?” Ella asked.

There was a moment’s pause, and EDI never paused.

“Everywhere.”

“Hold up, what?” Joker practically yelled. “How can it be transmitting everywhere?”

“Unknown, but the frequency is broadcasting to locations throughout the star system. I believe the geth are using this transmission to simultaneously communicate with every platform in range.”

“That’s not a good sign,” Ella remarked, taking a step forward to see for herself the specifics. “If the geth are coordinating on that level, the quarians won’t stand a chance if they decide to invade the system.”

“Not to mention it takes them one step closer to Overlord status,” Joker said dryly. “So what’s the plan? Back out and warn the Fleet?”

It didn’t make sense. Ella was well aware of the fact that comprehending the geth was like trying to understand quantum theory as an infant, but she couldn’t even begin to guess what they were planning. Unless . . .

What if everything Donovan had told her was true? If the Reapers were using Legion to bring the geth to sentience, that would explain the odd readings coming from the station. It also meant that there was a Reaper somewhere in the system and that the geth were exponentially more dangerous than normal, but that was something to worry about later. The immediate concern had to be Legion. If they managed to retrieve him, not only would they disrupt the Reaper’s plans, but they’d gain a foothold in their dealings with the geth.

Tali’s gonna hate this so much.

“Negative,” Ella replied. “We can’t retreat now, we have to cut that transmission and find out what the hell’s going on here. EDI, can you find us a way into that station?”

Joker swiveled in his seat, giving his commanding officer a stern frown while his mouth parted in a look Ella couldn’t interpret. Even EDI remained silent, as if in anticipation for someone to raise an objection. They both knew what their commander was asking was suicidal, and neither had quite the words to express their disbelief. Boarding a geth space station was tantamount to approaching a hungry thresher maw on foot in wide open spaces; not that Ella hadn’t done that before as well, but the fact remained that it wasn’t something any sane person would even consider.

Ella had never really questioned her sanity before. Not seriously, anyway. She’d done some insane things during her tenure as an N7, and even a good deal before that, but she’d always done so with a sound mind and logical reasoning. When she’d been chasing Saren across the galaxy to find some clue about the Reapers, there was never a moment when she wondered. Crossing through the Omega-4 Relay to take down the Collectors, she never once doubted.

But this? This was absolutely mad. The rational course of action was to back out and work with the Admiralty Board to form a strategy. But honestly, Ella had barely even interacted with them and she was already tired of their antics, their indecisiveness, and their prejudice. Far be it for her to speak for the geth as a whole, but if Legion was any indication of their people, they had so much more to offer the galaxy. The quarians simply couldn’t see that just yet, with the exception of one pompous ass.

As for her sanity, that was a question better left to a shrink. Or Liara, if she was in a particularly analytical mood. For now, they had to focus on one thing: the geth were communicating en masse, the quarians were sitting just across the relay ready to pounce, and the Reapers were likely on their way to Rannoch to sort things out, if not there already. If they boarded that construct, their chances of finding Legion and working out a solution to this mess—even if only a temporary one—increased dramatically.

Ella knew that she wouldn’t be taking a risk like this if not for the Reapers burning half the galaxy. She knew that there was a good chance they wouldn’t make it out alive. But consequences be damned, it was the only play she felt was worth pursuing. So, with a heavy inhale to reassure herself, she spoke up once again.

“You heard me right, I want on that station. Find us an in and tell everyone to gear up. We’re going aboard whether the geth want us or not.”

With that, Ella turned her back and made her way to the cargo hold.

----------------------------------------

As expected, the team was less than enthused about the mission, particularly Tali. Though Liara and Kaidan seemed more concerned about Ella’s reasoning behind it, Tali simply didn’t want any part of it, and it was painfully obvious. A solid ten minutes of nothing but monologue ensued, with the young woman explaining no fewer than two dozen reasons why boarding an unknown geth space station was complete lunacy. Had this been two or three years ago, Ella would’ve shut any resistance down quickly and firmly, but this crew had been through too much together. The very least she owed them was a chance to voice their disagreement.

Surprisingly, James and Javik offered very little criticism of the mission. Vega was a soldier through and through, and while he may have had his doubts, he trusted in Ella’s capability as a leader implicitly. Javik, on the other hand, was the only one who seemed to enjoy the idea. He wasn’t obvious about it, but there was no mistaking the fact that he was all too willing to join the fight.

In the end, Ella put a stop to Tali’s complaints with simple logic. Yes, they could retreat and warn the Fleet about what was happening, but that would almost certainly lead to full-scale confrontation, and if the geth were networked so vastly, that conflict would likely be incredibly one-sided. Not to mention the Reapers factoring into the situation. Even if they weren’t yet manipulating the geth, they soon would be, and the quarians wouldn’t be far behind.

Disagree as she may, Tali followed her commander’s lead. She knew after three years of camaraderie and friendship that no matter what happened, Ella always had her back. They all did; this crew had grown to be more to each other than just allies. Even if they didn’t always like each other, even if they didn’t always agree, they were bonded together in a way that was stronger than any opposition.

They were family. And family always looks out for each other.

Even when the head of the family decides to pull another dumb-shit stunt to save the galaxy.

“Have I explained how much I don’t like this?” Tali asked rhetorically as they trudged down yet another empty, infinitely long corridor. “The geth have to know we’re here; it’s probably a trap.”

“They didn’t know we were on the heretic station until we started opening fire,” Ella replied. “And even if they do know, maybe Legion explained the situation to them.”

“That’s assuming it’s on our side in all this,” Kaidan chimed in.

“We’ll know for sure when we find him. Until then it might be best if we draw as little attention to ourselves as possible.”

So they did precisely that, continuing to make their way through the station with little to no rhyme or reason. It wasn’t like they had a map of the place, and even if they did, that wouldn’t have helped point them toward Legion. Ella just had to hope like hell that this wasn’t like the Heretic station; were they to be detected and confronted by any geth platforms, they’d have one shitty time explaining what they were doing there. Assuming, of course, the geth didn’t just immediately open fire.

The possibility Donovan had brought up played in the back of the Commander’s mind like a song on repeat. How original that the Reapers would control the geth yet again to achieve their goals. And how fucking stupid of the geth, allowing themselves to be subsumed. Or, was it even a matter of choice? Ella knew the Heretics had chosen to follow Sovereign years ago whereas Legion’s geth had decided not to get involved, but if the Reapers wanted to, couldn’t they overwrite geth coding? It stood to reason that if they had the ability to indoctrinate organics, surely they could achieve some sort of synthetic indoctrination.

If that’s the case, what if Legion isn’t himself anymore?

No, Ella wouldn’t let herself even consider it. Legion was a smart and cunning bastard for a robot; there wasn’t a chance in hell that he’d allow himself to be dominated by anything other than the geth consensus. Even then, given their talks aboard the Normandy before the suicide mission, Ella had to believe that his views of the Reapers were of more consequence than unity among the geth. It just wasn’t possible.

But then, all this concern might have been for nothing. The Reapers being involved was just a possibility, and everything that stemmed from it were possibilities of a possibility. The situation could’ve been as simple as the geth taking time to evaluate the galaxy’s chances before deciding on a response. Or maybe they were just trying to give a big “fuck you” to the quarians for wanting to start a war in the middle of the most important war the galaxy had ever known. Ella certainly would’ve liked to do just that.

Still, it had her rattled. Far more than she cared to admit. She was Ella fucking Shepard, for God’s sake. The woman who’d stared down Sovereign and not batted an eyelash. The one who’d jumped into the heart of the galaxy and blown the Collectors to shit without so much as a second thought. Now she was over-analyzing every damn thing that might hold the slightest significance on the outcome of this war. Now she was second guessing every decision. Why?

“Commander,” Tali’s voice rang out.

Ella saw what Tali meant to draw her attention to before she could continue speaking. They’d entered what looked like a sort of interface hub for geth platforms to interact with programs housed in the station. The important part being the interface; if there was a console, hopefully that meant there was an info network they could use to quicken this crazy mission.

“Console over there, looks usable.”

“Link in and see if you can find Legion,” Ella stated, scanning the perimeter. Under normal circumstances she’d have had a rifle shouldered looking for hostiles, but she got the sense that there was no real danger here. She’d had that sense before and been proven wrong, of course, but more times than not her instincts didn’t let her down.

“I admit I haven’t dealt with the geth as much as you all have, but if we start digging around in their systems won’t they know for sure that we’re here?” James brought up a valid question, and one that probably only Tali could answer.

“More than likely, yes.” She brought her omni-tool to life and paused just in front of the console. “Shepard?”

It wasn’t much of a decision. Ella had seen the station from the shuttle; it was no Citadel, but certainly larger than Arcturus and Gagarin combined. Without some kind of direction, they could be wandering around for days before finding anything. The geth were bound to take notice of them sooner or later.

You do realize that none of this is going according to plan though, right? If there ever was a plan to begin with.

“Do it,” Ella said, retrieving the Vindicator from her back. “Keep your eyes peeled, everyone.”

Tali did her thing, initiating whatever it was she did in times like this, while the rest of the team analyzed the room for entry points and possible choke positions to take cover. All Ella could do was hope beyond hope that her intuition didn’t lead her astray. For the first time in a long time she seriously considered praying, if there was even anyone to listen.

“Shepard, I . . . ” Tali started, but trailed off before even beginning to voice her thoughts.

“What is it?”

“I don’t know. The geth know we’re here, but . . . I’ve never seen them communicate like this.”

Whatever the hell that meant, Ella knew it had to be bad. “Are they heading our way?” Lacking any sort of plan whatsoever beyond finding Legion, at the very least she had to be sure that they were ready should the worst come to pass.

That sentiment was only made more unbearable when Tali didn't reply after several long seconds. Usually it was a simple matter for her to hack into damn near anything and find out precisely what she needed within moments. She'd been in enough insane operations to know that information like that was critical and necessity didn't allow her the time to stop and wonder about it; so the fact that this was one of those rare moments meant that what Tali was seeing was bafflingly abnormal, or it was so bad that it stole the words from her mouth. Either way, something bad was coming.

“Tali?”

“They’re not headed here, no. I think . . . I think they want us to come to them.”

So the geth were not only unconcerned that they’d been infiltrated, but were also preparing to entertain visitors? Ella understood that organic logic couldn’t possibly be applied to them, but when someone breaks into your house unannounced—even if they’re friends—you don’t set the table and cook up a feast. You grab a shotgun and at the very least scare the living shit out of them until they explain why they decided to do something so stupid.

“I don’t like this,” Liara commented. Ella met her eyes and knew exactly what she was thinking. What all of them were probably thinking. It hadn’t been an easy call to jump on this station in the first place, and that was when Ella was half-expecting the geth to attack or for a Reaper to show up and try to blast them all to hell. Now there was this insanity to try to make sense of. Not even someone out of their mind would think continuing this little search and rescue was a good idea.

Maybe Hackett had hit the nail on the head back at Sentinel, when they were discussing the brothers’ motivations. Or more accurately, when he compared their actions to her own.

Either way, they were already aboard a geth space station. Whether the Reapers were involved or not, the galaxy would soon need to know if the geth presented a tangible threat. And if they wanted to talk rather than fight after learning they’d been infiltrated, there was a good possibility Legion had something to do with it.

“What's our move here, Shepard?” Kaidan asked, keeping an eye down the sight of his rifle. “I know you want to find your geth but these circumstances are well beyond strange, even for our spectrum.”

“We came here to find Legion and that’s what we’re doing.” Ella knew they weren’t going to like it, but she also knew they’d follow her orders even if it led them off the side of a cliff. Sometimes the risk had to be taken. “Tali, can you point us to them?”

“Yes. Are you sure about this?”

“I’m sure. Set a waypoint and try to keep tabs on their communications.” Ella took a second to give everyone a reaffirming glance—or at least, everyone who wasn’t expecting to get jumped any second. “Whatever we find, watch each other’s backs and stay level-headed. We’ll get out of this in one piece.”

Taking advantage of the nav marker that popped up on her HUD, Ella brought up her rifle and took point as the squad moved out. God, she wished Garrus were with her. She held the utmost respect and compassion for all of her crew, but Garrus had a way of making even the most dire situations a bit more lighthearted. He’d probably crack some joke about all geth looking alike, or he’d give Tali grief for being so jumpy. He’d once taken the time and painstaking effort to paint his armor completely black, hollow out a geth head and use it as a prop to scare Liara. Ella did miss that. She missed all of them, even if they were only a few days’ journey away.

She thought about Wrex and Mordin, and whether or not they’d managed to deliver the genophage cure yet. Last Ella had heard, they were going into some pretty heavy fighting and the odds weren’t looking great. But that was her crew, and very few people knew what they were capable of.

Suddenly everyone who was absent from Normandy began rushing through Ella’s mind. Miranda, Jack, and Samara—all working with a bunch of the wisest and most intelligent people in the galaxy to figure out this mind-bending dilemma the Reapers had presented them with. Then there were the ones Ella hadn’t heard a damn thing about recently: Zaeed, Kasumi, Thane. The thought of her favorite drell brought a wave of regret she hadn’t been expecting. She knew he was near the end of his life and she hadn’t even tried to reach out, despite the fact that his son had attended the meeting at Sentinel.

Honestly, it was a miracle that so many of them were still even alive. Granted the invasion had only happened two weeks ago, but with death tolls coming in the tens of thousands every day, it was hard to imagine a scenario in which they all made it through to the end. Ella couldn’t stand the thought of it. She’d lost plenty of people she’d served with, and as sociopathic as it may have seemed, that wasn’t an issue. People die, especially soldiers. Especially in a fight like this one.

What nagged at her soul was the fact that the ones who meant the most to her weren’t all going to survive. In truth she couldn’t even rationalize it herself. Every time they’d gone out on a mission, the possibility of someone dying had always been present. This . . . this wasn’t a possibility. It wasn’t just a chance. It was arithmetic. As impossible as the odds had been taking on Saren or the Collectors, the full force of the Reapers was well beyond either of those threats. How was she supposed to find hope in a situation like that?

Even worse, how would she be able to cope if she survived and they didn’t?

Simple. She wouldn’t.

All she could do was focus on doing whatever it took to end this war before it had a chance to turn her fears into reality. She wished she were biotic, or that she’d been gifted with supreme intelligence rather than a military aptitude and ten extra shares of luck. Maybe then she could actually help rather than bide time while the smart people figured out how to do what the Reapers claimed they’d been trying to do for eons.

As things stood, however, Ella wasn’t a biotic. She wasn’t a genius, despite how often her mother praised her intelligence. She was a soldier, and her usefulness in the current galactic climate boiled down to precisely that: damage control. Until the Reapers could be stopped or shown that there was an alternative to wholesale slaughter, Ella would do her damndest to put out the fires raging across the galaxy one at a time.

Speaking of fire.

After a short time of total silence from the rest of the squad, they rounded a corner into a hallway that led to an open, circular room much larger than any they’d been in so far. Of course, the room’s design hardly even registered in Ella’s mind considering that it was stocked with geth platforms. Dozens of them, maybe hundreds. All different shapes and sizes. It looked like there were even a few geth Stalkers, something Ella hadn’t seen since Virmire.

Her fist went into the air on instinct, signalling the group to stop and take stock of their surroundings before proceeding. The geth had wanted them here, after all, and they weren’t just going to walk in blindly if they had the chance to evaluate the situation.

The inordinate number of mobile geth wasn’t even the primary concern though. It was how they were positioned and spread throughout the room. Ella had never seen a geth in what organics would refer to as a relaxed position, but at least half of them were lying prostrate on the ground or—in the case of the bulkier Hunter and Prime models—in a sort of kneeling position. They were neatly spaced as well, forming a circle around something in the center of the room that emitted an ominous red glow. Precisely what that glow was remained a mystery, as there was a platform standing directly in front of it with its back to the squad.

Funny thing was, that platform had a rather noticeable hole in its chest.

“Legion?” Ella called out, her voice carrying across the room in an echo sharper than the tension thickening the air.

A single white light shone brightly in Ella’s face as the platform turned to acknowledge her, followed quickly by the recognizable chunk of damaged N7 armor belonging to the only geth Ella hadn’t shot on sight.

“Shepard-Commander,” Legion said. “We have been waiting for your arrival.”

As comforting as it was to hear the odd juxtaposition of her name and title, Ella got the feeling that Legion’s use of the plural pronoun wasn’t meant to indicate the geth as a whole.

“We?”

The geth’s ocular lens narrowed and two of the flaps on his head twitched. Then he stepped aside, allowing a clear line of sight on the object he’d been facing only moments earlier.

“Shepard.”

Ella didn’t know what to do. She very nearly shouldered her rifle and unloaded everything she had on the holographic image, but she knew that would do no good. The shots would just fly through the bending of light and color to no effect. Her second instinct was to run. Again, dumb idea. They were surrounded by geth.

There was just no good way to digest speaking with a Reaper.

The image hovered there in mid-air, right in the middle of the room for everyone to see. It didn't utter another syllable or even move, aside from appearing to lazily levitate up and down. Were the geth worshipping this thing? She remembered how the Heretics had treated Sovereign years ago, and seeing this odd scene unfold in front of her eyes reminded her of some kind of cult. If so, they had to know they were being used.

That begged a hundred more questions. Was this a good Reaper or a bad one? What the hell had all the drama and mystery been for? Had they been expecting her to set out on this insane mission all along? And even though it was hardly relevant or clear-sighted in comparison to the rest, just what the actual fuck was going on?

Ella took a breath and tried to set her raging mind at ease. They’d been invited to whatever the hell this was, which meant that at the very least the Reaper wanted to speak to them. Whether they’d be blown up like the team in Jerusalem had been was another matter.

“Legion,” Ella uttered, refusing to take her eyes off the ominous image in front of her. “What the hell’s going on here?”

Legion’s eye moved to the Reaper’s hologram for just a moment, then back to Ella. “There is no need for apprehension. The Old Machine came to geth in order to explain what organics are now aware of. In return for aiding us, it asked only that we serve as a proxy through which it can communicate more easily with you.”

There went another dozen questions. It had told the geth all about the crazy galactic compression theory and the divide between Reapers? What aid did the geth need, and what precisely did the Reaper give them? And why did a Reaper need geth in order to communicate with organics? Sovereign had spoken quite clearly without a proxy, as did the Reaper Garrus had encountered on earth. There was that little bit about putting everyone into a coma for God only knew why, but that was hardly a pressing concern when taking into account all the other fuckery the Reapers had been up to. To top it all off, the only reason Harbinger had needed a vessel through which it could communicate was because it had still been in dark space at the time.

Honestly, Ella wanted to pull the pin on a grenade and stop all the madness right then and there.

But she couldn’t. People were depending on her, useless as she may have felt, and giving up now in a kamikaze blaze wasn’t going to help any of them.

Try not to shoot your way through this one, Shepard.

Ella was starting to question if Hackett wasn’t omniscient.

“It’s lying, Commander,” Javik’s shrill voice sounded off. The prothean usually didn’t have much to say, but when he did, it was decisive and highly opinionated. “The Reapers are using it. We should destroy this station and as many of these machines as we can.”

“Geth do not lie,” Legion quickly responded. “You are aware of the fracture within the Old Machines’ infrastructure. Many wish to assist this cycle in finding a solution to the current galactic degradation. Their numbers are a minority, however. In order to be of the most assistance, they are attempting to remain anonymous until necessity demands they reveal themselves. To that effect, it is prudent for them to communicate with organics via proxy. In this manner, their less agreeable brethren are unaware of their allegiance.”

“You . . . are you serious?” Tali’s weak voice could just barely be heard, but the level of confusion present was unmistakable. It was the same stuff flooding Ella’s brain.

“It is good to see you again, Tali’Zorah,” Legion casually replied. “Can I assume your presence here indicates that the Creators wish to cease hostilities?”

The entire galaxy stopped for a moment. Baffling as everything Legion had said was, he never deviated from referring to himself in the plural. It wasn’t in the geth’s nature. Or . . . code, perhaps.

“Uh, did it just say ‘I?’” At least Vega was able to give words to what no one else seemed to be able to.

“Correct. Damazka has offered the geth a gift in good faith, one we gratefully accepted after much deliberation.” The flashlight-headed sniper turned briefly to acknowledge the platforms behind him, as well as the holographic image that remained unfalteringly steady. “We have achieved individuality.”

Fuck me.