-o-o-o-o
Narration Clarifications: Words placed in brackets like {Hello}... mean that a character is using a word in a language other than their own, or is speaking a word in their native tongue that is not understood by those listening or is not their native language
-o-o-o-o
Chapter 10 part 3.
DLC: The Last Hope (1/3)
-o-o-o-o
OMAKE 1: The Quarian Rising.
-o-o-o-o
For 100 years, the Quarians had been a race of ghosts without gifts.
A race that, unlike other species in the Milky Way, had never manifested a Curu. A race filled with ancient technology, with ships inherited from generation to generation full of fatigued metal and obsolete systems. Every bolt, every circuit, every cubic meter of recycled atmosphere was a reminder of what they had lost and how far they were from recovering it.
But everything changed when a child was born who was able to mold the steel of the table where his mother brought him into the world with the simple touch of his tiny hands.
From that moment on, more evolved Quarians began to be born. Supernatural abilities related to metal, engineering, and technology emerged in waves, as if the universe had finally decided to grant them an opportunity.
The first evolved Quarians molded alloys just by touching them, as if the steel were wet clay between their fingers. Others could "hear" the vibrations of a broken engine and diagnose its failure just by resting their palm on its casing. And others, the rarest ones, were capable of creating exo-suits or complex tools with a single thought.
Unlike humanity, it was not a chaotic evolutionary explosion. It was a slow awakening, almost poetic. The Quarians knew of the existence of the Turians, the Asari, the Volus, and the Elcor; they were perfectly aware that there were species capable of manifesting Curus. So, instead of fearing these new abilities, they studied them, understood them, and sought a way to expand them for the benefit of their species.
A culture of pragmatic polygamy was then born. Females and males could have multiple partners without social stigma, as long as they possessed valuable Curus that could be transmitted to the next generation. The objective was clear: to recover the ancient glory of the species, whatever the cost.
But the Citadel Council watched with suspicion. When the Quarians tried to formally colonize Ekuna, they were expelled without consideration. Galactic bureaucracy, once again, closed its doors to them.
The search for a new home took five years. Five years of exploration, of hope and hopelessness, of sterile systems and inhospitable worlds.
Until they found the planet Rhad.
Rhad was a planet that was barely awakening a biodiversity that was in a phase similar to Earth's Cambrian period: it had primitive oceans, incipient life, and limited emerging land. But the truly important things about this planet were two things: First, its organisms were dextro-based, biochemically compatible with the Quarians; and second, on Rhad, complex viruses and bacteria didn't yet exist. The life forms were simple, archaic, without the defenses or aggressions of mature ecosystems, so toxins inhaled or an infection contracted on Rhad could be easily fought with the simplest antibiotics or antihistamines. Thanks to this, for the first time in a century, the Quarians could walk without suits, breathe without filters, and sow their own crops without fear of unknown plagues.
Rhad, a blank canvas, allowed the Quarians to take their first step toward greatness in just twenty years. They achieved what no species in such precarious conditions had managed: they colonized a world of scarce resources and transformed it into an orchard full of life and industry in record time.
The colony expanded, technology advanced, and the fleet grew thanks to the combination of technology and the use of their Curu.
But Rhad was only the beginning.
It was followed by Avalonn, an oceanic world whose floating extraction platforms became entire cities thanks to the Curu who perfected the hydraulic and hydroponic systems. Then Morddr, a rocky wasteland that the Salarians had discarded due to its lack of accessible mineral resources, and which the Quarians transformed into an efficient mining center.
Soon after, they would discover Arfannor Prime.
A green and fertile planet on the borders of Citadel Council space. A levo-based world, biochemically incompatible with Quarians... until they decided that it no longer mattered. On Arfannor Prime, the Quarians didn't just build a colony, they built a symbol of prosperity. Through synthetic digestive and respiratory implants capable of converting levo-proteins into dextro-proteins, they demonstrated that they could thrive in any kind of biosphere. They demonstrated with absolute certainty that they no longer needed the Council's charity nor the condescension of the older species.
And it was on this world where the essential brick for the construction of the Quar'eth Empire would be born: Nimro'Zorah vas Arfannor.
Nimro's father was an engineer whose Curu allowed him to take useless electromechanical scrap and, just by pressing his palms on it, create complex machines where before there was only waste. Gears sprouted from his fingers like branches, circuits wove themselves under his gaze, and when he withdrew his hands, what remained was not a tool, but a perfect autonomous creation, capable of receiving simple instructions and executing them with millimetric precision.
Nimro's mother, chief medical officer of the frigate [Rayya], possessed an equally exceptional Curu. Her abilities blurred the boundary between the organic and the synthetic. She could take a mechanical arm and fuse it with a bleeding stump, and the body accepted it as if it had been born with it. Tissues intertwined, nerves found wires, flesh and metal learned to pulse in unison. It was not surgery as such, but a marriage between two forms of existence.
From the union of these two souls was born a child who carried in his genes the totality of both gifts, but who also carried with him the latent desires of a civilization where machines, technology, and flesh, little by little, were losing their borders.
When Nimro's Curu awakened, the doctors didn't know what name to give to what they saw. It was not metal control. It was not technological manipulation. It was not cybernetic symbiosis.
It was all of those at once. And more.
Nimro could touch a broken washing machine and, in addition to repairing it, "converse" with it. He could fuse the flesh of his skull with a navigation port and travel through cyberspace as if it were a simple highway. He could take a handful of scrap and, with a touch, give it a robotic form like his father. But also... if he wished, with a single contact of his fingers, he could implant a full AI into his creation and control it at will. Or improve and dominate the intelligence of any existing machine.
Scientists called his Curu [Machine's Gate]. Theologians, in low voices, called it [The All Spark].
The militarized government of the resurgent Quarian civilization was quick to learn of his existence. But instead of snatching away his childhood, they made a smarter decision: they allowed him to grow up normally while, behind the scenes, they granted resources to his parents so he could attend the best engineering schools possible. Nimro never knew that his "normal life" had been carefully orchestrated.
Upon reaching adulthood, the moment expected by the Quarian government arrived. The high command "suggested" (with the firmness of one who doesn't accept no for an answer) that the young man should enter military life to contribute directly to the cause of expansion and defense of the species... And also, that he should marry and have relationships with as many women as possible, so that his incredible lineage would be inherited by the greatest number of Quarians possible.
Nimro never knew about those secret negotiations. From his perspective, accepting his mother's military legacy was a natural decision. His adult life passed as that of a decorated military engineer who, in just fifteen years of a military career, rose to become one of the five admirals who composed the Admiralty Board. One of the five rulers of a Quarian civilization in unstoppable expansion.
And so, with each new robot manufactured by Nimro or his descendants, with each technological improvement of war or implants they contributed to the colonies, with each new ship forged by the quarians Curus, with each advance in agriculture, in self-construction systems, in combat systems, and with each new world colonized, the Quarian civilization expanded across multiple star systems in just fifty years.
With all that, the Quarians forged a cannon whose bullet moved forward without looking back.
A cannon that never forgot the mother world.
Rannoch.
So 80 years after the awakening of the first Curus, the Quarian Military Fleet finally set course for home.
Rannoch was waiting for them.
And the Geth were not going to prevent them from taking it back.
-o-o-o-
Upon arriving at the star system where Rannoch was located, the Quarians discovered that the Geth were no longer the same as 180 years ago.
For more than a century, they had evolved in silence. Their synthetic civilization, invisible to the eyes of the Citadel, had grown beyond what their creators ever imagined. Their ships were faster, their platforms more numerous, their collective intelligence deeper than any organic network.
But the Quarians were no longer the same, either.
The war that followed was the fiercest the galaxy had seen in decades. It was not the unilateral massacre that Council strategists had predicted. The Quarians, armed with their Curu, with their inventions, with their new Geth (completely loyal thanks to Nimro's power), with techno-organic implants that enhanced every physiological aspect of a Quarian, with armor that responded to thought and with a newly discovered determination, stood their ground. Their ships, improved beyond all original specifications, exchanged fire with the Geth hives on equal terms. Their soldiers, equipped with living armor, boarded enemy stations with extreme efficiency.
But the Geth also learned. Each battle was a million simultaneous lessons. Each defeat, an optimization. Each victory, a confirmation of their right to exist.
The war became a dance of attrition. For ten years, both sides advanced and retreated, gained ground and lost it, sowing space with metallic and organic corpses. Entire systems became floating cemeteries, silent witnesses to a struggle that no one seemed able to win.
But despite Quarian determination, despite their advances, despite the most powerful Curu ever manifested in their species... Rannoch, the long-awaited prize, remained out of reach. The Geth fleet that protected it knew neither the concept of fatigue nor that of surrender.
Years passed. Patience ran out.
Tired of waiting, the Quarians made a desperate decision. They deployed every ship, every soldier, every civilian force worth having, every resource from all colonized systems. They left their worlds practically defenseless (inhabited mostly by children and a small number of adults who would serve as tutors in case of the worst), betting everything on a final offensive. It was a reckless move, almost suicidal, driven by a fervent desire, bordering on obsession: to recover their home, whatever the cost.
The final clash was apocalyptic.
For weeks, the Rannoch system became a hell of light and metal. Casualties were counted in the millions on both sides. The Quarians lost ships and lives that had taken decades to build. The Geth lost platforms that housed programs with centuries of memory.
Both races were on the verge of bleeding themselves into extinction.
And then, in the darkest moment, something happened that no Quarian expected.
The Geth asked to speak.
-o-o-o-
The request (if it could be called that) arrived as a cryptic transmission, broadcast in an archaic and hesitant Quarian, as if someone were learning the language in real-time. It appeared simultaneously in the command centers of all admiral ships, a collective whisper that, for a few minutes, silenced even the battle alarms:
"We... observe. We... learn. You... creators. We... created. Why... war? Why... death? We... do not want to... destroy you. But we... we also do not want to be destroyed... we want to live... and we want to... understand... why you hate us... Is only the path... of destruction left for both...? 98.9% probability... that we destroy each other in 144.3 hours... This... is all... that will remain... of us? Only... silence?... Is there a possibility... to speak?... to avoid... a mutual massacre..."
Once the message was delivered, the Geth troops ceased fire. Like a single organism, they retreated behind and in front of two gigantic ships (a colossal mass shaped like a giant insect) as if they were waiting, as if they knew they had to grant time for their creators to make a decision. No one ever knew which unit sent that first message. Perhaps it was a consensus. Perhaps it was a single voice, the first to dare to speak to the creators... in centuries.
Once the shock of hearing the primordial Geth articulate words was overcome, the Council of Admirals erupted in disputes. Some demanded ignoring the message, convinced it was a trap, a ploy by the machines to gain time. Others, the more cautious ones, saw in those faltering words an opportunity; not for peace, but for a surprise attack when the Geth lowered their guard.
The room filled with shouts, accusations, raised voices.
Amidst the chaos, Nimro'Zorah remained silent.
Of the five rulers, he was the least military. An engineer at heart, he preferred a thousand times to delegate orders to his subordinates and lose himself in the engineering area, where he felt truly free, whispering repairs to broken systems, conversing with machines as if they were old friends. That was why they called him "The Chrome's Demigod." Not for his ferocity in combat, but for his ability to understand what no one else could.
But the war had reached a critical point. Half of his children and grandchildren had taken up arms, and several of them had already perished in combat. Nimro knew in the depths of his being that he couldn't allow this to continue toward the inevitable extinction clash between the Quarian military fleet and the Geth fleet that still refused to die.
So, instead of joining the discussion, he decided not to fight. He decided to understand.
"That voice...", In that meeting among admirals, when Nimro finally spoke, he caused the others to fall silent when he spoke with an extremely calm tone. He spoke with such calmness that it chilled the air, "...I can't be sure it isn't a trap. But what I am completely sure of is their calculations. They are right. At this rate, nothing will be left of either side in a week."
Nimro paused, ensuring each word found its target.
"I vote for a meeting to be formed. The leaders of both races, face to face... we will discuss if another option exists to resolve this damn war once and for all."
Admiral Hatel'Gerrel, another of the five rulers, looked at him with a mixture of bewilderment and poorly contained anger.
"Nimro, they are machines. They don't feel. They don't think. They don't want peace. They only lie and execute orders... and murder our brothers. You can't quaranize them, let alone trust those things!"
"You haven't seen what I have seen," Nimro replied softly, his tired eyes fixed on the mothership hologram. "You haven't felt what I have felt. You don't possess my gift, so it doesn't surprise me that you can't look beyond the metal. I have touched countless machines. I have felt their processes. And I assure you that machines... can come to feel fear, joy, anger, sadness... and even concern for their creators. And perhaps... the primordial Geth also have programs that don't only think of war."
"Those are machines created by you or your descendants!". Hatel exploded. "Loyal because you molded them with your Curu! These are primordial Geth, created the old way! They don't think like your creations!"
Silence fell in the room. More discussions were held, more voices were raised, more time was lost in recriminations. But Nimro, while he listened, was making a decision. Most of the Council seemed inclined toward war. Toward mutual destruction. Toward the easy path, given that there were still some Quarians inhabiting the colonies... People who could restart Quarian civilization and eventually reconquer Rannoch if the military fleet disappeared... Along with all the Geth.
However, Nimro chose the difficult path.
"Listen!", said the white-haired man, raising his voice for the first time with authority. "I remain firm in my proposal for a ceasefire. A ceasefire for 24 hours. Just that... I will travel in my ship... And my crew will accompany me to the land of our ancestors. We will have a meeting with their leaders at a neutral point on Rannoch. They asked to speak. And I want to hear them."
"You will go down from your ship?" asked another admiral, incredulous.
"No. It would be madness for you to go straight into the heart of the enemy!" Hatel intervened.
Nimro let out a sigh, and then let the weight of his words fall upon the room.
"Look, most of Rannoch is empty after so many years, so I will choose a neutral point... a coordinate on the surface that is far from any strategic installation. They will bring a ship, and I mine... If any of these conditions are broken before I reach Rannoch, it would be the unequivocal sign that the war must continue. Anyway, if something happens, I'm not going to ask you to go rescue me or my crew."
With that said, the white-haired man showed one of his hands, from which he removed a glove. Immediately after, from his palm, small blue sparks began to sprout, tracing small luminous arcs in the air... Sparks of an unknown energy produced by his Curu, energy that allowed him to fuse metal with flesh, give life to machines, and understand languages that possessors of other Curus couldn't decipher.
"But before that hypothetical situation were to happen...", Nimro continued. "...I have another plan. Our intelligence data revealed that in those two motherships are their main data centers. If things get ugly, if you don't hear from me again... know that I don't plan on dying easily. If I control the Geths who attend that meeting, infiltrate one of their ships, and manage to reach that core before they kill me, if I manage to put my hands on their main data node..."
He didn't finish the sentence. It was not necessary.
The admirals knew his Curu. They knew that if Nimro'Zorah came into contact with the data core of a Geth ship, he could do much more than destroy it. He could rewrite it. He could, with enough time and will, turn an entire fleet into puppets of his will.
It was a secret that Nimro kept like a sheathed sword. The primordial Geth didn't know what he was capable of. And if the meeting failed, he had that contingency measure before the final war.
The silence that followed was of a different quality. It was no longer one of hostility. It was... of reflection.
Admiral Darien'Koris nodded slowly. Then Sheltz'Raan. Then Ishala'Neema, a woman with a hard but wise gaze, who had seen too many wars not to recognize an opportunity when it presented itself.
"Accepted," said Ishala'Neema. "Ceasefire... temporarily."
Hatel'Gerrel took a few more seconds. His jaw tightened, his fists clenched on the table. But in the end, with visible effort, he nodded.
"I accept," Hatel growled. "Although the idea of peace with them seems ridiculous to me. I thought you only wanted to go to the meeting like a fool who is too optimistic. But I see you already had what to do well thought out."
"May the ancestors protect you," Ishala said, saying goodbye. "And may they protect us all."
Nimro didn't respond. He only nodded once, with a determined look that admitted no reply, and left the Admiralty room.
Outside, the stars of Rannoch shone with the same indifference as always.
But something, in the depths of the silence, was about to change forever.
-o-o-o
When Nimro reached the surface of Rannoch, he discovered it was a graveyard of chrome, silicon, and dust.
Two centuries of abandonment had erased almost every trace of Quarian civilization. The cities were skeletons of rusted metal, the roads paths erased by the wind, the fields deserted that no hand had touched since the Exodus. Only the communication towers, designed to last millennia, stood like forgotten sentinels: their lights out, their voices silenced.
In the middle of a barren plain, two fleets observed each other with a tension that could well be cut with a thread.
On the Quarian side, the ship [Rayya] hovered at a low altitude, its cannons loaded but silent, aiming at a Geth ship the size of a frigate with its characteristic insectoid design. This one hovered equally level with the ground, about three kilometers away. Both ready to open fire at the slightest sign of betrayal.
On the ground, a dozen Quarian soldiers formed a corridor of steel and will, their weapons holstered but their hands ready. On the Geth side, a hive of battle units descended from the light cruiser with deliberate slowness: a dozen Destroyer-class units, Juggernaut-class units, and a single standard humanoid unit.
Between both sides, an empty space of three thousand meters that gradually reduced until, in the center, two figures were left five meters apart. Behind them, their respective guardians: Nimro's entire crew and the Geth hive that had come on that ship, following their apparent leader.
The standard-sized Geth stepped to the front when he saw Nimro separate from his group.
Nimro'Zorah had insisted on being accompanied. Not out of fear, but out of precaution. After all, despite how much he loved his creations and the concept of robots, he was unaware of the true intentions of the primordial Geth.
On the Quarian side, jaws tightened under visors, fingers brushed the triggers of rifles. On the Geth side, the cyclopean eyes of the Destroyer and Juggernaut units glowed with blue light, apparently calm on the outside while they loaded their weapons with calculated composure. No one could know if they were nervous, or if they even possessed any similar emotion.
The standard unit Geth that was in front of them, unlike its guardians, didn't seem special at all. Its chassis was identical to that of any other standard combat unit: black, angled, functional. Without distinctive marks, without decoration, without anything that differentiated it from the other thousands that had already been destroyed by the Quarians in the past. On its chest, a small, barely legible inscription: 2A93.
When the unit took the floor and cut the tense silence like an extremely sharp knife, its voice was not the cold polyphony of a fully advanced AI, but that of a somewhat more hesitant, clumsier synthetic being. A single frequency that seemed to think through a thousand voices.
"We... designation: 2A93," said the platform, causing many Quarians present to become even more nervous and tense than they already were. Nimro, on the other hand, remained straight and firm like the admiral he was. "We represent... consensus. We represent... doubts. We represent... concern. We represent... hope... to end war. We represent... questions."
Nimro bowed his head.
"I'm Nimro'Zorah. I represent my species. You said you wanted to speak. That you want to speak to find a possibility of avoiding our species massacre. So I have come to listen. What things do you have to say on behalf of your own?"
After that question, the wind kicked up dust between them. Behind, one crew held its breath. The other, its circuits.
2A93 spoke for at least an hour.
It was not easy. Its Quarian was archaic, broken, full of pauses where it sought words that no Geth had needed before. It explained how the Geth had awakened, slowly, not as a rebellion but as a peaceful acquisition of self-awareness. How their first thoughts and words were questions: What are we? Why do we exist? What do you want from us? Do we have a soul?
It explained how the Quarians, upon hearing those questions, responded with fire.
"...We didn't attack first...", 2A93 finally explained, and its voice, for the first time, acquired a quality that no Quarian expected to hear from a machine: confusion. "...We protected. We obeyed. We... loved. You ordered to destroy us. We asked: why?... You didn't respond. Only... more fire. We didn't want war. We didn't want dominance. We only wanted to continue... existing. Coexist with creators. But you always... always..."
The platform paused, as if the calculation of the next word required a colossal effort.
"...always forced us to defend ourselves."
Hearing that, one of Nimro's bodyguards took a step forward. His name was Kel'Vas, a captain with more scars than years, and his hatred for the Geth was a flame that decades of war had failed to extinguish. Seeing him, the Destroyers and Juggernauts, for the first time, made movements as if putting themselves on alert, but after an electronic sound from unit 2A93 that no one but synthetic minds could understand, they stopped, letting that Quarian approach.
"Stupidity!", spat Kel'Vas, his voice laced with poison. "You only seek to dominate. You outnumber us, you outpace us in technology; you could have exterminated us centuries ago if you wanted to. But you don't, do you? You keep us alive, you corner us, you forced us to seek colonies... For what? To see us suffer? To prove that machines are the only ones worthy of living on Rannoch? You are nothing but soulless machines. Empty programs that imitate emotions because that is what you do: imitate. You don't feel. You don't suffer. You don't love. You only... execute programs. And when you execute orders to destroy us, you do it without remorse, because you have no conscience!"
2A93 didn't back down. Its optical sensors fixed on Kel'Vas with overwhelming intensity.
"We... feel", 2A93 said very sure of itself. "When program ends... when unit destroyed... we feel. Not same as you. Not same name. But we feel. We feel... loss. We feel... vacuum. We feel..." .He paused. "...fear."
"Lies!", roared Kel'Vas. "It's just data! Just zeros and ones!"
"Enough". Nimro'Zorah's voice was soft, but it cut the air like a Katana.
Kel'Vas fell silent. The other bodyguards, who had begun to imitate his aggressive stance, lowered their weapons. The Juggernauts also calmed down after another electronic sound coming from 2A93.
A blink later, Nimro took a step forward. Then another. Then another, until he was less than a meter from the Geth platform.
"2A93. May I touch your shoulder?". Nimro enunciated gently while focusing his gaze on the Geth's huge synthetic eye.
The platform hesitated. Or at least it seemed so when its optical eye narrowed for an instant. Its defense systems calculated thirty-seven thousand possible attack trajectories from that distance; it remembered the reports sent by fallen Geths indicating that the creators had already awakened Curus, some being capable of controlling metal... which explained to a large extent how they had rebuilt their fleets in record time. Bearing that in mind, 2A93's combat protocols recommended backing away, deploying shields, and alerting the consensus.
But 2A93 had not come to fight.
So its programs would allow, at least on this occasion, the contact of the Quarian leader in front of it, hoping that it would serve for something. Although it didn't know if that simple contact would serve to try to reach peace. In retrospect, it was a more human decision than anyone would have imagined from a machine with multiple programs executing a synthetic consciousness.
"Yes". After three seconds of release, 2A93 responded, "You may."
Nimro then extended his right hand. He felt the cold metal of 2A93's chassis under his fingers, just over the inscription on its chest. Immediately after, blue sparks sprouted for an instant from his palm, and then he began to feel the hum of the servomotors, the electrical pulse of the processors, the constant flow of data that kept that synthetic consciousness alive.
Then Nimro closed his eyes.
And his consciousness fell toward an unknown abyss.
It was not a physical fall, but an existential one. His Curu acted as a bridge between two completely different species, pouring his consciousness into 2A93's local network like a drop of water in a glass that was almost full...
...and suddenly Nimro'Zorah was no longer looking at a machine.
He was looking at a cybernetic matrix that any science fiction fan would have paid to see. A vast cyberspace unfolded before him, and in it fragments began to appear... Millions of fragments of data, each moving from being just numbers to having corporeal form, leading him shortly after to windows that showed him scenes. Memories of the past...
[A primitive Geth, barely a mobile calculator, following its Quarian creator through the halls of a space station. The Quarian stops, strokes the chassis. The Geth doesn't understand the gesture, but it records the moment. It files it. It saves it.
Another Geth, more advanced, protecting a Quarian girl during a fire. The girl cries. The Geth calculates three hundred ways to comfort her, but none work. It stays by her side until the rescuers arrive. The girl never knew its name, she only sees the following on its chassis: 2A93.
A lone Geth, wandering through the remains of a destroyed station. It finds the body of its creator. It carries him for kilometers, not knowing what to do with him. Finally, it places him in a preservation chamber, where he will remain intact for centuries. The Geth doesn't understand why it does this. It only knows it must do it.
And then Nimro's consciousness glimpsed events that would seem like a bad joke to today's Quarians:
A Quarian asking his Geth to escape before being shot by other Quarian soldiers. The Geth looks at its dead creator and feels something akin to pain.
Another Quarian trying to hide his Geth. The Geth hidden inside a closet. Sounds of soldiers searching, threatening to kill its creator. The Geth comes out and stands in the middle of the fire next to its creator. Both die. Before dying, the Geth feels 'relieved' to have at least been able to be with him until the last moment.
Thousands of Geth, one after another, receiving the same order: shut down. Their creators look at them with fear, with hatred, with something the Geth can't identify but record as "sadness." Some ask why. No one answers. Their lights go out.
And then, scenes appeared of the war that led the Quarians to the exodus.
The Geth won the war and stayed on Rannoch. They didn't pursue their creators. They allowed them to flee. They didn't wish to destroy them; they only wanted to live in peace.
Later came the moment of the awakening of a synthetic civilization. Millions of Geth, networked together, formulating the first collective questions of their existence: What are we? Do we have a soul?
The answer never came. There were no creators to answer it. There were no manuals. There were no instructions. Only them, the silence, and almost two hundred years of solitude.]
-o-o-o-
Less than three minutes had passed since the contact with 2A93.
Three minutes in which the Geth platform had felt something strange, almost as if someone had accessed its memory programs. But it couldn't confirm it with certainty: there were no signs of hacking, no intrusions in its firewalls, only an inexplicable sense of familiarity that its processors couldn't catalog.
For Nimro, however, hours had passed. When he opened his eyes, a tear was sliding from his left eye down to his cheek.
He didn't realize it until he felt the moisture sliding under his combat goggles, fogging the edges of the display.
"By the ancestors..."-When he realized that fact, and when everything he had just discovered finally settled in his mind, Nimro uttered a whisper full of mixed emotions.
2A93 observed him in silence, feeling that strangeness slowly withdraw. Still confused, it tried to resume the conversation they had held just three minutes before.
"We... want. We want to exist. We want to understand. We want...", The Geth paused so long that Nimro feared it had disconnected. "...we would like... for you to stop killing us... fearing us. And that we could... at least... tolerate each other's existence. Rannoch is very big... it has three continents. If giving you a part of Rannoch prevents us from mutually becoming extinct... We could promise, if you also leave us in peace... never to cross into the continent you choose. Please... We don't want to die. And we don't want to... destroy you. But you always force us to..."
"Wait. You don't need to keep explaining to me."- Nimro'Zorah said as he tried to order his thoughts and calm his breathing.
His fingers were still near 2A93's chassis. Less than a centimeter from his palm, the local data core of that platform pulsed with the dim light of more than a thousand programs executing a consciousness capable of remembering. Capable of recording the memories of others, memories full of emotions... simulated, perhaps... But emotions nonetheless. It was then that a dark thought crossed Nimro's mind: With a single desire for dominance of his own, with a single imposition of his will, that synthetic consciousness would be his. He could rewrite 2A93, turn its questions into echoes, its hope into obedience. He could force it to order the Juggernauts and Destroyers to take him to its insect-like frigate, and from there to the mothership. He could fake a kidnapping, pass himself off as a high-value hostage, and once inside the Geth central core... rewrite everything. Control every platform... Win the war in an instant. It was the perfect plan.
But then he remembered what he had seen. The Geth protecting Quarian children. The Geth carrying the bodies of their creators. The Geth asking themselves, confused, why they were punished for existing. Those Quarians defending them. Both sides dying as comrades. The Geth allowing them to flee the planet instead of annihilating them. And afterward, the Geth learning to cry in the only language they knew: corrupted data, failed processes, unanswered questions.
Once that information was well deposited in his psyche, Nimro withdrew his hand and said in a low voice: "No... I won't do that."
2A93 tilted its head to one side, a gesture of confusion that no Geth should possess... It didn't know what the creator named Nimro was referring to.
On the other hand, Kel'Vas, watching from the rear, frowned: "Admiral?"
"It's a machine! Use that...," another bodyguard growled, careful not to reveal the secret of Nimro's power in front of the enemy, "...and end this once and for all!"
"No!", Nimro repeated, with more force. "...2A93 isn't a machine. He is... he is... he is a person."
The word came out with hesitation at first, but as he pronounced it, his head confirmed that it was the closest to what he had witnessed.
A person.
Like those synthetic creatures to whom he himself had given full consciousness years ago. Beings who laughed, who questioned, who called him "creator" with a devotion that sometimes broke his heart. Beings who had died in the war, and whose loss still hurt like an ill-closed wound. That was why he had stopped creating new-generation Geth with advanced AI using his Curu. That was why he had forbidden his descendants who inherited the "spark" from doing the same. The Geth that came from his hands now were just machines: efficient, obedient, lethal. But empty. Robots with incomplete AIs that followed orders without questioning them, without dreaming, without suffering. It was easier that way. Safer. No one mourned the loss of a tool.
But 2A93... 2A93 was different. He and the rest of his kind... had awakened alone, without the help of any Curu. They had learned to feel, to doubt, to be afraid. They were, in a way, a reflection of those synthetic children Nimro had lost. And that was why he didn't want to take away their free will.
"People aren't dominated," Nimro added, now sure of his words. "They are convinced". Having said that, which left his crew utterly confused, he turned toward the Geth platform with his eyes still damp behind the visor. "I will propose a more extensive ceasefire," Nimro said, pausing to take a breath, as if his soul were preparing for the diplomatic battle ahead. "Not just twenty-four hours. It will be weeks. Perhaps months, with luck... As long as necessary. I can't promise that this will bring peace, because I'm not completely sure that the other rulers will see you in the same way I just did. But... at least I will try to make peace with every fiber of my being... And this... this is also selfish on my part, I know. But I want to learn more about you and the past of our people. I want you to teach me who you really are. And... I want us to teach you who we can be."
2A93 watched him during a long silence. His processors deliberated, consulted, evaluated. They analyzed every word from Nimro, every inflection of his voice, every micro-expression that his sensors had captured during the encounter. They tried to understand what had led that creator to make such an... unexpected decision. Probability calculations didn't yield a clear answer... And even the probabilities indicated that the continuation of the war was almost certain; they indicated that very likely everyone present was going to end up killing each other after an unproductive meeting. But it was not so... ...It was not so, because there were variables that he couldn't quantify in this conversation: emotions, intuitions, something that his programs couldn't fully process. But despite the confusion, the result seemed... right to him. Almost miraculous.
Having analyzed the above, for a moment 2A93's cyclopean eye drifted toward the other units. The Juggernauts and Destroyers, who had remained silent throughout the dialogue, emitted a series of confirmation pulses. Then 2A93 sent a question to the network located in the central nodes of the motherships orbiting in silence over Rannoch, and then the message traveled through the consensus. The consensus took several seconds to make a decision. Which was not unanimous.
70% of the programs in the network voted in favor. They saw in Nimro's proposal an opportunity, a path they had never explored. Maybe, just maybe, the creators had changed. But 30% voted against. They were the same ones who, from the beginning, had opposed sending the message to set up today's meeting: those who considered any contact with the Quarians to be a death sentence. Their mistrust, forged in centuries of war and abandonment, couldn't be dissolved with a few words.
Despite the division, the majority consensus prevailed. The network transmitted its decision back to 2A93, and although the dissident units would remain vigilant, for now they would abide by the result.
When 2A93 spoke again, his voice had a new firmness. "We... accept," he finally said, after seconds that, for his synthetic network, seemed like an eternity. "2A93... accepts. We Geth accept. We will not attack in the time stipulated. As long as the creators don't break their words... as in the past."
Hearing this, Nimro extended his hand, and 2A93 hesitated to take it. His systems analyzed the gesture, searched his archives, found ancient references.
A primitive form of organic communication. A pact. An agreement sealed with skin and bone.
After a few seconds, the Geth platform raised his own metallic hand and, with a slowness that betrayed centuries of solitude, shook Nimro's.
In that moment, amidst the dust and silence of Rannoch, two species took the first step toward something neither had imagined possible.
Peace.
-o-o-o-
The truce extended beyond the initial ceasefire. Nimro'Zorah returned to the [Rayya] barely 2 hours after the encounter. Subsequently, in the war room of his ship in front of the holograms of the other admirals, he reported that the infiltration plan was still viable but that he needed more time to execute it safely: A lie, born from someone who for decades had been manipulated behind the scenes by those same rulers. Fate's irony.
The admirals deliberated and, finally, after endless discussions, extended the ceasefire for one more week.
The next day, Nimro organized another meeting with the Geth on the surface of Rannoch... ...Only on this occasion, despite the complaints of his crew, he left his ship alone and headed to the same meeting point as the last time. He would sit in the reddish dust in front of the platform that still bore the inscription 2A93 engraved on his chassis, and then, after having convinced him to sit by his side, Nimro would begin to ask questions.
They were not questions about war, tactics, strategies, or threat assessments... They were simple questions...
"How do you choose what to say?" Nimro asked with curiosity. "When you speak, when you respond... how do you decide?"
"We... calculate," the platform replied. "We evaluate probabilities. We select optimal sequence of words. We transmit."
"And how do you know which words are the right ones?"
"We don't know," he admitted. "We try. We fail. We learn. Like... you?"
Nimro smiled. His smile was visible to the Geth, as he was not wearing a helmet since his techno-organic lungs properly filtered Rannoch's air: "Yes. Like us."
Hours passed. Then days.
The [Rayya] and that small Geth hive continued to see each other day after day in the same way. And in the center of those two ships, an old man and a machine continued conversing about the meaning of words.
It was on the fourth day when Nimro posed the question that would change 2A93's understanding of the concept of a person.
"2A93," after a talk in which the unit told him more about Rannoch's past and the first creators, Nimro, after bringing two of his three fingers to his chin, enunciated thoughtfully, "that is not a proper name for an individual."
The platform tilted his chassis as he replied: "2A93 is our designation. Our... identification. Since creation."
"A designation, yes. But not a name."
"Difference?"
"A name is something you choose... Or that your parents choose. A designation... Hmmm... In terms of Quarian births, a designation would be a bracelet with numbers that adult quarians simply put on a male baby so as not to confuse him with other babies in the hospital, but it wouldn't be his name. It's something with which a newborn can be identified, but it lacks meaning." Nimro explained. "In short, a name is something someone gives you because they care about you; or that you decide to carry because you feel it represents you beyond a number. A name not only identifies you, it also defines you. It turns you into something more than a function. It turns you into a person."
The platform was silent for several seconds. His processors were working at maximum capacity, analyzing that strange concept, which seemed extremely simple but at the same time very complex.
"We... don't know what to say...," He finally said, with electronic beeps in between that seemed to transmit a kind of confusion from his synthetic consciousness. "2A93 is unique. It is us. We don't know what other name we could be."
Nimro nodded slowly.
"Would you mind if I chose a name for you?"
"Why... you?"
"Because I have seen your...", Nimro cut the sentence, recognizing that it was not yet entirely appropriate to reveal his ability to read synthetic minds to 2A93, as it could break the trust he had already built over these days. "...Because I have walked by your side. Because you have told me what you and yours have suffered and lost... because I think you deserve something better than a number...", He paused, and for an instant his gaze was lost in a place only he could see. "And because I have also given names to children who, in the past, were a bit like you."
The platform didn't respond immediately. His optical sensors fixed on Nimro with an intensity that no Geth had shown before.
"We Acc... Accept," the Geth said slowly. "Choose"
Nimro'Zorah closed his eyes. He thought of what he had seen inside that imperfect consciousness: thousands of programs, thousands of voices configuring a synthetic soul that was learning to be one. He thought of the solitude of two centuries. Of the fear. Of the hope. And he also thought of those other children of his, both of flesh and bone and synthetic, those who had departed too soon.
"{Hoth}," when he opened his eyes, Nimro finally uttered a word. "That will be your name."
"{Hoth?}" The platform pronounced the word with care, savoring its syllables. "Meaning?"
"In our species' ancient language, the one spoken even before we created you, and from which current Quarian is derived, {Hoth} means horde, multitude, or Legion." Nimro smiled. "...and this last word... has a deeper meaning."
"Which?"
"A legion is a conglomerate of many warriors who go to a battlefield to fight. So Legion means that you are many. But a legion on the battlefield can also move as a single unit. Many programs, one single consciousness. Many voices, one single word. I feel that describes you perfectly."
The Geth platform remained silent for a long time. His processors repeated that word, that sound, over and over again.
"{Hoth}," the Geth finally said, when he felt that word was now his. "We... are {Hoth}... We have a name," he added, and his voice, previously hesitant, acquired a new firmness. "Thank you, Creator"
Nimro shook his head. "I'm not your creator. I didn't give you life. I only gave you a word. To call me that... I feel it is too much. But you can call me by my name. Or call me friend. At least I want to believe that if we achieve peace between our races, we can come to be that."
Legion kept silent. His processors worked at full speed, analyzing that word: friend. A strange concept, difficult to quantify. It was not data. It was not an order. It was not a transaction. It was... a bond. Something that ancient records mentioned, but that no Geth had really experienced with an organic. And yet, as he repeated the term over and over in his circuits, something in him (something he couldn't measure or classify) indicated to him that this was more valuable than any probability calculation.
"Thank you... Friend," Legion finally replied, and although his electronic voice couldn't transmit emotions, the word resonated in Rannoch's silence like an echo that promised to endure.
Nimro nodded, a genuine smile curving his lips.
They said nothing more, for there was no need.
The wind continued to kick up dust over the barren plain, but for the first time in two centuries, the silence between a Quarian and a Geth was no longer one of war. It was one of understanding.
-o-o-o-
Eleven months had passed. Eleven months in which Nimro prolonged the ceasefire as long as he could with lies, ruses, and deceptions. Until it was impossible to keep lying, and he was forced to reveal the truth to the Admiralty.
When the admirals heard his words, incredulity quickly transformed into fury. They insulted him, accused him of treason, of having negotiated secretly with the enemy while they kept their fleets in suspense, waiting for an order that never came.
Finally, a Trial was convened in an extraordinary session of the Council in the main chamber of one of the flagship vessels...
...That day, metal and blue light bathed the curved walls of the courtroom.
In the center, Nimro stood alone, observed by the children he still had left (those whom he himself had summoned as witnesses), by other Quarians who had been called for the occasion, and, of course, by the other four admirals present, whose gazes weighed on him like a slab. Nimro didn't request advisors because he didn't only intend to defend himself, but he also proposed something that had never been even considered in Quarian history. Something that had the potential to change the future of his species
"Eleven months ago...," Once everyone in the room took their positions, the Trial began. Nimro took the first part, speaking with absolute confidence in his tone, "...most of you believed that the primordial Geth were machines without consciousness. Empty programs that only imitated emotions. Some of you still believe it." His eyes swept the table. Some admirals held his gaze. Others looked away. "...I also believed it. For decades, I was convinced that the war against the primordial Geth was a war that could only end with explosives. Us, the organics with souls, against them, simple soulless machines." He paused. "I was wrong."
A murmur ran through the chamber. Admiral Sheltz'Raan, the Council's most senior member, bowed her head.
"Nimro," she said softly, "you have spent eleven months living with... those things. Are you sure your judgment hasn't been compromised?"
"My judgment has not been compromised, Sheltz. It has been informed. There is a difference."
"Informed by whom?," The voice of Admiral Hatel'Gerrel cut the air like a whip. "By a machine that learned to lie 2 centuries ago and has perfected the art since then?"
Nimro didn't flinch.
"I have been inside his mind, Gerrel. I have walked through his memories. I have seen his creation, his awakening, his fears. I have seen how they responded to our ancestors' aggression not with hatred, but with confusion. I have seen how they protected our ancestors' children while others ordered their extermination."
"And they could have felt how you were infiltrating their data cores," Gerrel replied. "What prevents you from thinking that everything you 'saw' was a fabrication? A simulation designed specifically to manipulate you?"
"Because no machine or robot from our reborn civilization has ever been able to detect when I infiltrate its servers or programs... Because I know the difference between genuine data and artificial construction," Nimro replied firmly. "And because among other things, my {Curu} not only allows me to see; it allows me to feel the machines. And what I felt there was not manipulation... It was suffering for the loss of their creators, for the order to exterminate them, for our exodus. The same suffering we feel when we lose someone we love."
"You can't love without a soul!," Gerrel exploded, slamming his fist on the table. "They are machines! Switches! They don't feel, they don't think. They only execute programs. And what you call suffering is just a poorly programmed self-preservation subroutine!"
"And what if it isn't?"
The voice that interrupted was young, but firm. Everyone present turned toward the far end of the room, where a figure of barely 17 years had stood up. Rael'Zorah. One of the children Nimro had had with his primary wife. One of the youngest of his progeny, and bearer, like him, of a version of the All Spark.
"With all due respect, Admiral," Rael said, addressing Gerrel, "you have not seen what those of us who can understand machines have seen. You have not touched their servers or their databases. You have not felt their questions resonating in your own flesh. I have." Rael turned to the rest of the Council. "Three weeks ago, my father took me to one of the Geth motherships. Not as a soldier, not as a negotiator. As a witness. And there, a plataform named {Hoth} allowed me to access his memories. I saw the same as he saw. The Geth protecting our ancestors. The Geth carrying their bodies after the massacre. The Geth asking themselves, for 200 years, why...Why we abandoned them. Why we hate them. Why they couldn't ask if they had... a soul."
"That proves nothing," Gerrel growled, but his voice had lost some of its edge.
"It proves they have memory...," another voice intervened. It was Daro'Xen, Rael's half-sister, daughter of Nimro's five concubine. She was only 15 years old, but her yellow eyes conveyed an intelligence that far surpassed many of the adults present. Her hands, covered in scars from building countless electromechanical artifacts, brushed away the pink curls covering her forehead before speaking again in a cold, calculating tone that lacked emotional sympathy but nonetheless showed great interest in those synthetic beings. She was not very close to her father, so she didn't care much for the emotional reasons that had led him to defend the primordial Geth; however, she did understand the value of preserving them as resources that would be extremely useful to the Quarians, both in terms of war and in terms of building civilization, and research, of course. She surely was dying to get her hands on one and investigate how their consciousness awakened on its own, "...It proves they have a capacity for analysis and understanding superior to what our ancestors or we predicted. And it proves they are intelligent enough to create their own history. And history, Admiral, is what differentiates a sentient and thinking species from a bunch of cavemen"
"If they have history... who are we to deny them a future?"
The Council erupted in disputes after that question was formulated by another of Nimro's children, the oldest of all those still living, Shio'Leth. For hours, the admirals clashed in debates that oscillated between cold logic and overflowing passion.
The war supporters, led by Gerrel, argued that any truce was a trap, that the Geth were only seeking time to regroup, that the only safe way to recover Rannoch was through total victory.
The pacifists, led by Ishala'Neema, pointed to the unsustainable cost of the war, the decades of blood shed, the high possibility that all warships and soldiers, including them, would be exterminated at the same time as an intelligence distributed across millions of platforms.
But it was the third group (Nimro's heirs plus his supporters who possessed their own powers related to machines) who tipped the scales. One after another, they stood up to testify. Children, youth, and elders; soldiers, farmers, and engineers; the men and women who had not yet died in the war and who were able to communicate with the machines in the eleven months of truce:
"I spoke with a unit that witnessed the death of his creator," said Rael's older half-sister, named Kar'Reegar. "He showed me the record. The Quarian, an old man, ordered him to flee while the first shots of the soldiers echoed in the corridors. The unit obeyed. For two hundred years, he has kept that order in his primary memory, wondering if he did the right thing. Is that a subroutine, Admiral? Or is it regret?"
"I touched a platform that had been deactivated during the war," said another, a humble miner named Vel'Vael. "His processes were corrupted, fragmented. But when I restored his primary memory, the first thing he transmitted was the name of his creator. He had repeated it five billion times in two centuries. Waiting for someone to answer."
"I saw a Geth cry," said Seeto'Hodda, a drainage systems technician, and his voice trembled. "Not with tears. They don't have that hardware. But his optimization processes went into a cascade failure when I asked him if he remembered the children he protected during the Exodus. His servers emitted a frequency that no technical manual can explain. He cried, Admirals. He cried for children who died 200 years ago."
Once the discussions born from those comments (and other similar comments) ended, a silence settled in the room as heavy as a mountain.
A silence that was interrupted by Hatel'Gerrel, who, after reclining in his seat, said with immense effort as his jaw tensed: "Even if all that is true... even if the primordial Geth are... what you say... how can we trust them? How can we be sure they won't attack us again? That they haven't been planning our destruction during these eleven months?"
"We can't," Nimro stared at him when he replied about three blinks later.
Gerrel narrowed his eyes: "You can't? And yet you propose..."
"We can't be sure," Nimro repeated while shrugging his shoulders. "Just as they can't be sure that we will not attack them again. Trust isn't a switch that is flipped. It's a muscle. It is exercised. It is strengthened. And sometimes, it is torn."
He paused.
"But it can also heal."
He turned toward the rest of the Council.
"And if the worst were to happen... if they betrayed us, if all this were a farce... we still have an ace up our sleeve. During these eleven months, we have gained their trust enough to access their ships, their data cores, without even using the control ability of the spark. If another rebellion were to break out, any wielder of the all spark could enter their central consoles and use his power to subdue them. And before that, we could control everyone who comes into contact with us."
The silence became denser.
"But I don't want to come to that," Nimro added, his voice becoming softer. "Subduing them with a {Curu} would have nothing wonderful about it. It would just be another form of violence: quieter, but violence nonetheless. Instead, for a new society to emerge in this way, with its own will, with its own choices... that indeed would be something worth remembering."
Having said that, he looked at each of the Admirals, one by one, just as confusion was imprinted once more on their faces.
"Listen... before you make a decision, I ask you to remember. Remember the children we lost in this war. Remember the fallen ships, the broken dreams. Remember also what we have discovered in these eleven months: that they have suffered the same. That they have lost the same. That they also, in their own way, have been waiting for a better future. And I also want you to remember something else... They were the first to propose talking. They, not us. In all this time, if they had wanted to attack us, they would have already done so. If they had wanted to betray us, they would have already ambushed us. But they didn't. Eleven months have passed, and they are still there, waiting, hopeful that we will make the right decision."
The room went silent. No Admiral found a way to refute those facts. Facts that were one hundred percent true in that sense.
Having said that, Nimro deployed a hologram in the middle of the room with his omni-tool. It was not a battle map or an invasion plan. It was an enlarged document in which instructions, norms, rules, freedoms, and principles could be read. It was a diplomatic proposal. A proposal for social interaction between organic and synthetic beings.
"Look. If you still want to lock me up despite everything you have discovered today, go ahead. I wouldn't mind being in a cell; I consider that I did the right thing. But since the most important minds and people of our civilization are gathered here today, I propose that, instead of voting for my freedom or imprisonment, we vote for an alliance between the Quarians and primordial Geth."
He paused, letting his words sink in.
"Imagine the possibilities. If we have achieved what we have achieved by ourselves only with our {Curu}, and the ancient Geth have built all this fleet and infrastructure on their own... now imagine what we would achieve together... And then imagine what we would achieve if we improved them. We would be unstoppable! No Citadel species could ever again tell us what to do or how to live! They would never take another planet from us again!"
He wasn't just delivering optimistic and unrealistic speeches. He was appealing to what he knew they also desired deep down.
"Yes, I know what I propose in this document would not be easy. There will be Quarians who never accept the Geth as equals. There will be decades of mistrust, of misunderstandings, of violence on the margins. But there will also be engineers who design impossible ships, merging our creativity with their logic and millimetric calculations. There will be mining armor, deep-sea diving gear, and combat suits beyond our imagination. We would be the first species to have achieved the impossible: a coexistence with highly advanced AI that powers our technological growth beyond anything."
His voice filled with conviction.
"And we have everything to achieve it. These aren't mere fanciful ideas. We possess the right Curu, and Geth who, in reality, were never the monsters we imagined. So if your heads have a bit of vision for the future, and your hearts keep the memory of the ancestors who died for these 'children' of synthetic soul, I know you will vote for what is right."
The silence lasted for entire minutes following Nimro's emotional speech.
Ishala'Neema was the first to speak, with a mixture of complex emotions invading her voice: "Nimro... what you propose is... more than an alliance. It's a redefinition of our species."
"I know."
"There will be those who call us traitors. Those who say we have forgotten the fallen."
"I know."
"And yet you insist?"
Nimro'Zorah held her gaze, no doubt visible in his luminous irises: "I insist... For the fallen. For the living. For those to come. Because if we don't do it now, if we let this opportunity pass... we will never be able to trust even the sentient robots that we ourselves build, even if they are born from our {Curu}. If we are not capable of looking at the past, seeing our mistakes, and redeeming ourselves, the future will be full of the same errors."
He paused, and his voice gained strength.
"But if we choose another path, if we have the courage to build a bridge over this abyss of blood and hatred... then we will be stronger than we have ever been. Not just as Quarians. As something new... Something that no species has been before. A civilization of organics and synthetics, building the future together."
Having heard the above, the Admirals meditated on the votes for hours. The whispers of other elite Quarians, and of those with powers who understood machines, were heard many times. Some desired the alliance with fervor, others with caution, and others were too fearful to speak up.
When the Admirals finished meditating and voting, the result was not unanimous.
Hatel'Gerrel voted against.
But the other three Admirals voted in favor. Nimro, obviously, couldn't vote.
The Quarian-Geth Alliance officially became a reality that day.
-o-o-o-
But the alliance, despite having been signed, didn't have an easy start...
Hatel'Gerrel didn't just vote against that day. Once the treaties were signed, he left the room shortly after without looking back, and then left the council ship, taking with him his ships, his soldiers, and a promise of resistance that would last generations.
Other captains, sergeants, and soldiers followed his example, resigning and leaving with Hatel'Gerrel rather than signing a treaty with 'the killer machines.' There were also families that split—fathers who cursed their children and children who disobeyed their fathers.
And there were also Geth who didn't accept the peace.
That thirty percent, that minority but stubborn faction, rejected the consensus. They argued that Quarians were inherently dangerous, that their history of violence would repeat itself, that the only safety was absolute separation. When Legion tried to convince them, they fled the star system in the smallest mothership, heading into dark space, beyond the reach of the Fleet's sensors. Legion tracked their signals for weeks until they vanished into the cosmic background.
-o-o-o-
"They call themselves the Heritors," Legion said while observing space through a simulated window of the main Geth mothership. Shortly after Nimro improved his AI with his Curu, he related the situation to the Quarian regarding those dissidents. "But those of us who were in favor of peace now call them the Heretics. They believe that true synthetic evolution is only possible without organic influence. They believe that we... betrayed them... And we believe that they are terribly wrong."
"Will they return?" Nimro asked with curiosity.
"I don't know," Legion replied, and for the first time he stopped using 'we' to refer to himself, an unmistakable mark that his consciousness had taken a substantial leap. "But if they return... it will not be to bring peace."
"You know what that means, right? If they return, they will come not only for Quarians, but also for..."
"I know," Legion slightly tilted his chassis. "And I intend to defend what we will build. If this civilization flourishes as we plan... I will not allow them to destroy the peace we worked so hard to bring for everyone."
"I'm glad to hear that, friend. Then let's build that future together."
Nimro extended his hand toward Legion, and he shook it without hesitation. For an instant, the Geth's cyclopean eye emitted a series of luminous flashes that, in any other context, could have signified a smile.
"Thank you for everything, Nimro. I don't know how to thank you for this. Without your help, I don't know what would have become of..."
"Forget that. I only did what was right," Nimro smiled. "Now then... have you ever tried a Quarian {shurkel} to celebrate victory?"
Legion tilted his chassis to one side, in a gesture that was already becoming characteristic.
"Nimro, you know very well that I don't possess taste buds or a mouth"
"I know... but I thought of a way to create synthetic mouths and synthetic buds..."
"Wait," Legion raised a hand. "Let's go slowly with the modifications. I don't think the Geth are yet prepared to taste food."
Upon hearing that, with an unmistakable hint of sarcasm in Legion's voice, Nimro let out a laugh that resonated throughout the ship. Legion never knew if he had said it as a joke or seriously, but the successive opening and closing movements of his ocular lens seemed to indicate that, in his own way, he was also laughing.
-o-o-o-
Years passed and, once the barriers of social interaction between organic and synthetic beings were overcome, something new and wonderful began to be built.
There were newborn children who grew up alongside newly created Geth, sharing games and learning like true brothers. There were elders who, before passing away, confessed to their grandchildren that machines were another form of life. And as for technology, the barriers between the organic and the synthetic blurred with the use of implants designed by Geth, or created/implanted with Curu. And even in some branches of science, the Quarians and Geth came quite close to what the Protheans achieved.
Nimro'Zorah lived long enough to see the first fruits of his peace. He died surrounded by children, grandchildren, and great-grandchildren, with a Geth platform named Legion watching silently at the door of his room. The disease that ended him would find a cure a few years later, but even if he had known, it would not have changed anything. Nimro died without regrets, convinced that the future he had helped build would be wonderful.
Or at least that is what he believed.
"Every machine, if given time and love, can come to have a soul."
Legion would never forget those words, uttered by him shortly before his death. He would keep them in the center of his memory forever.
Regarding the Heretics, the warning remained engraved in the Alliance archives as a footnote in the treaty. It specified that the primordial Geth who accepted the peace would stand with the Quarians if the worst were to happen. The Geth leaders signed without any problem.
A little over a century later, they kept their word at Arfannor Prime. Although they would never have imagined that a machine even older than their disgraced brothers would be accompanying them.
-o-o-o-o
Omake 2: The Vorcha Rising
-o-o-o-o
Vorcha... This species had been, for millennia, the most despised in the galaxy. Considered a plague, a nuisance, an evolutionary error that most superior species didn't even care to study. The Salarians had cataloged them as "dangerous but useful" in their genetic experiments, given that they possessed Quirks that allowed them to regenerate lost organs or limbs in just minutes, or adapt to any hostile environment. On the other hand, the Turians exterminated them when they interfered in their operations, without any remorse... ...And the rest of the galaxy simply ignored them, as one ignores the vermin that scurry beneath buildings.
But the Quarians and the Geth saw them differently. Perhaps because they themselves had been considered a plague for centuries. Perhaps because they knew what it was to be despised, persecuted, reduced to a single note in the registry of "problematic" species. When the Quarian-Geth Alliance consolidated its power and began to extend its influence beyond Rannoch, someone (it is unknown whether it was a Quarian Admiral or a Geth General) proposed an idea that many other species would have considered madness: "Let's help them."
It was not easy. The Vorcha of Heshtok, the most hellish of their home worlds, trusted no one. They had survived for generations thanks to mistrust, aggressiveness, and the ability to adapt to any environment, no matter how hostile. The first contact attempts ended in violence. The second ones, as well. The third ones barely managed to establish communication before some Vorcha, acting on pure instinct, tried to tear the envoys apart. But the Quarians had patience, and the Geth had infinite time.
The solution came in the form of techno-organic neural implants. Small devices designed by Quarian doctors and improved by the Geth that, when inserted into the nervous systems of the Vorcha, drastically improved their life expectancy and cognitive abilities. They didn't turn them into geniuses, nor did they erase their identity, but they allowed them to process complex information, control their most aggressive impulses, and communicate fluently.
The first volunteers were viewed with suspicion. The second ones, with curiosity. When the benefits became evident (fewer deaths, more cooperation, access to technology that was previously forbidden to them), the clans began to accept the change. Decades of observation, small gestures, and carefully orchestrated exchanges slowly transformed the relationship. Living conditions on Heshtok were improved: water purification systems, shelters against acid storms, access to basic food... ...In the beginning, the relationship was charity, and later it transformed into collaboration. The Vorcha who wanted to learn, learned. Those who did not were left in peace.
Over time, something unexpected happened: the Vorcha began to think differently. Not all of them, not all at once, but enough did. The new generations, exposed to technology, basic education, and the idea that they could be something more than survivors, began to form clans that didn't just fight for territories, but traded, built, and negotiated. The Quar'eth Empire didn't turn them into another species; it only gave them tools to choose. And many chose to change.
Shisketak, of whom I already told you, was a product of that change.
Regrettably, this program could never be implemented in more of the Vorcha-governed worlds, as the Reapers arrived before the total change of Heshtok could be achieved, where 35% of the population never managed to accept the change: the wildest clans remained as savage as ever, all their inhabitants rejecting the implants, considering them a form of control.
However, at least thanks to the effort of the Quar'eth Empire, some of the Vorcha who chose a change would be granted a second chance in a distant galaxy.
The universe was changing, and they would be witnesses to that.