CHAPTER FOUR - THE SONGULARITY

Chief Warden Fra'Kall of the Eastern Reaches was feeling impatient. Stroking his beard absent-mindedly, he paced the room, quietly fuming at the lateness of his opposite number from the Western Reaches, for to make the decision that faced them today they had to have at least two able-bodied Wardens present in front of the Council of Wives, and considering the recently-diagnosed insanity of the Northern Warden and the still unknown location of the Southern one, presumed deceased at the (metaphorical) hands of the Reapers or their thralls, this meant he and Ha'i'us were the only ones available.

"Curse this to dust, we have to elect new Wardens sooner or later, this waiting is not doing anybody any favors," he mumbled angrily, pausing to look at the timepiece mounted on the wall. It was an archaic thing, indicating that it was twenty units to the klask, which mean Ha'i'us was late by half a klask already.

"What is keeping that fool?" he wondered slightly louder, motioning for the door to slide open, which it did with a slight delay, the haptic elements still suffering from insufficient processing power despite all the optimizations made by the Engineering Caste across the last days to deal with the sudden crisis.

Stepping out into the corridor, he nearly bumped into a Wife, who was walking past the waiting room at an alarming pace.
"What has transpired, oh Eternal One?" he asked of her, only to get an impatient gesture in response, she motioned for him to follow her.

With a resigned sigh, he followed, taking turn after turn through the Council building until they reached the observation deck of this floor, normally overlooking the Gardens of History, where the statues of their great ancestors stood and shared their lives with all those willing to listen. Today, however, the Gardens were cut off at the middle (rather rudely bisecting the statue of Bea'Ne The Handsome, the first female Warden) by a wall of what seemed to be computer static.

"The virtuality is failing, Warden," the Wife announced in a small voice that was full of sorrow that he knew too well, the sorrow fraught with the inevitability of death. "It would appear our freedom is short-lived, as this Reaper is dying."

Fra'Kall sighed again. What was left of the Inusannon population contained within the Reaper known as Collapser, whose true name was Galzair, fought tentacle and claw for the processor power of the Synthesized Reaper to craft this virtual recreation of their capitol city along with virtual representations of their harvested bodies, while they deliberated their escape plan to liberate themselves from the Old Machine as what few Engineers were harvested along with them studied Galzair's databanks. It seemed that they pushed too hard, and the catatonic Reaper's systems started shutting down from the strain of virtualizing even the minds of just the intellectual and political elite among those contained within it.

"I am afraid, there is only one path left for us now," the Warden said, putting his claw on the Wife's (what was her name? he recognized her face, but could not place the name) shoulder, "Tell the Engineers that we will have resort to Ha'i'us's plan whether he himself is still functional or not."

Johann Sorensen turned out to be a tall Nordic type clad in standard-issue Alliance military gear with a couple of custom bits and bobs added here and there, as most veterans did in the field, scavenging what they could. Interestingly enough, the name tag on the front of his armour actually said "Sorensen", which made Jane tense up a bit. He did not necessarily have to be another Shepard copy if he just- but how, then, could he have known her name?

"I'm Serrano, you were looking for me?" she asked, walking up to the reception desk from the side, not willing to risk the well-being of the nurse manning it if things went south. Up close, he wouldn't've been that intimidating for Commander Shepard... but Susan Davies was shorter than him, and that left Jane in a slightly less advantageous position.

"I was told you're the one to see about Dr. Chakwas's project," he replied in lieu of a greeting, "And here is my authorization code," he added, briefly flashing a holo-readout with his omni-tool. Sure enough, it was Shepard's.

"Alright then, let's take this somewhere less public," Jane replied with a nod, motioning Sorensen to follow. There was no real reason to lead him on, considering that Shepard's number wasn't common knowledge and that she already knew there'd be no reliable way of checking his identity short of outright discussing things only Shepard knew and saw. Her thoughts raced as they walked down the corridor.

It felt odd, how irritating his manner of speech felt. Did she- hah!- did Shepard always sound like this to the outside observer? Really? His team never seemed to mind what he did or said and- but then again, this was the usual effect of the Cult of Shepard, as Brooks affectionately called it.

Retreating into an exam room that was unoccupied, Jane made a show of locking the door after the other guy, watching with slight bewilderment as the vaguely familiar walk took him to a chair and settled him down in a very familiar pose.

"So, how does this work, exactly? What's your role here?" he asked after a brief awkward pause spawned of Jane's hesitation to figure out how to best put "You and I are the same person" into words that wouldn't sound pants-on-head retarded.

"Project Leader, far as I'm aware, whenever Dr. Chakwas isn't here," Jane replied absent-mindedly, leaning against the examination bed.

"Alright, fair enough. How large is "The Project"?" Sorensen asked cautiously. It was understandable - his call "upstairs" must've taken place after Chakwas visited Jane, and that was what, a day ago? Day and a half?

"Her, me, and now you. Oh, and also whatever eggheads she manages to rope into helping out," was the reply, accompanied by a slightly crooked smile. Jane suddenly realized that it might've looked seven shades of weird on Susan's face. She was doing things she remembered doing as Shepard without thinking about how that projected on a different body. Not a thing to do when physical exertion will be required, she noted to herself.

"Hmm. Not a lot. So how'd you get into this? I notice you're not a local, so there must've been something in it for you?" Sorensen wondered aloud.

"Oh yes, quite a prize, in fact," she nodded in response, trying a different smile. He didn't seem to react at all, which was... good, maybe? It would't do if they would all act like puppets sharing a puppeteer - or, in their particular case, body language, facial expressions and favourite turns of phrase. Before he could ask anything further, she pressed on, "Alright, let's get you up to speed. Formally, the world at large believes Commander Shepard died aboard the Citadel when the Crucible was activated, and that the Synthesis event was a natural function of the Crucible, which is the way we want things to stay to avoid any interplanetary diplomatic incidents, is that clear?"

"Crystal. What's the game plan?"

"Chakwas is talking to the Quarians and Geth about repurposing their virtualization tech - you know the one - in order to see if they would be able to separate the digitized Commander Shepard 'consciousness' from the host body without doing too much neural damage to the original personality, if it's even still there, because at the core of the problem, it's no different now from several Geth squishing themselves into a single platform. Follow me so far?" Jane explained, gesticulating along the way in a manner she hoped was unShepardlike. Somehow, the idea of being different from... from this leatherneck... sounded very appealing right now.

"Yeah, except one thing. How do you know all this?" Sorensen replied, narrowing his eyes and making a pretend jab with his finger at her. For some reason, this made her very angry.

"Just like the way I know that you were offered a choice inside the Crucible, and you probably made a wrong one, and now the galaxy has to live with it for... well, pretty much forever," Jane replied with a shrug and a wave of her hand, "Because when Shepard died, his consciousness wasn't copied just to one body,-" she started, before pausing. That was it. Why he rubbed her the wrong way, why she was concerned with differentiating herself from him. Why she was referring to herself in the female pronoun, in fact.

"Oh crap. We're a virus?" Johann's eyes widened in shock as the realization dawned, though it was hard to tell whether it was because of the idea that the diminutive woman he was looking at was as much Commander Shepard as he was (however insane that idea was), or because that they were probably not the only two ones. Possibly a combination of both, Jane mused as she picked the words for her reply carefully.

"Oh no. Shepard's the virus. We're the end result. Brother."

"So, is it worth anything?"

Haruk could barely contain his excitement, while his partner stood quietly to the side, brooding as usual. The Volus salvage operator was poring over the sarcophagus - Haruk decided that that's what it was, after all - with all the interest of a high-society Asari studying Tuchankan roadkill. Of course, it was harder to tell with them, just as with the Quarians - the blighters never showed their faces outside of their pressure suits (as, unlike the Quarians, they would probably die in that case, even post-Change) - but the body language was pretty obvious. The Volus did not like what he was seeing, and not in the what is this drek you've brought me kind of way. Was that fear in his posture? Haruk couldn't be certain, and asking Whisperer was rather pointless - even if he chose to share his opinion (which was not guaranteed), conversing with him in such a manner in front of a potential salvage buyer was probably bad business. Probably.

"I can offer you the standard going rate for non-standard items," the Volus finally said, pausing to draw breath in their usual sharp and sudden manner that in any other sentient would've been a clear sign of asphyxiation, "Which is by the weight," he added as a reminder, showing Haruk a number on his omni-tool. As if saying it out loud would have changed anything, there was nobody to listen in anyway, Haruk thought, but said nothing, instead gesturing for Whisperer to look at the number. The barefaced Turian shrugged nonchalantly and stalked off towards the airlock. Haruk took it as a sign of agreement and nodded to the Volus, who tapped a few holographic buttons, sending the sarcophagus off into the containment area of his barge.

"Alright, but what IS it?"

"That, I do not know," the Volus paused, but not for a breath, which he took anyway in an obvious bid to stall for time as he deliberated, "The sides are heavily shielded, not permitting through any scans whatsoever," he drew a breath that sounded more panicked than those that preceded it, "Which might mean it's simply solid..." Another pause, one that made Haruk want to hit the blasted rotund gas-guzzler over the head with something for over-dramatization, "Or that it's shielded by something we've never seen before."

The two women sat opposing each other in the passenger section of the Alliance shuttle. Daro'Xen's entourage was eclectic, to say the least - a young Quarian woman whose only concession to Daro's newfound beliefs was the removal of her faceplate (easily seen tucked into her shoulder bag) revealing an equally alien, if less cybernetically-enhanced face, and two Geth of the more organic model range, one marked in red and black and the other in orange and blue. Opposite them, Dr. Chakwas's assistants looked positively mundane, both M4s sworn into secrecy and briefed in as little as possible before they were exposed to "The Project".

"Alright, so what does your side know?" Xen began as an icebreaker of sorts, rubbing her hands together. It wasn't a sign of discomfort or nervousness, it's just that she enjoyed the sensation so much, the only reason she didn't do it constantly was because she was afraid it would damage her skin, unused to the vagaries of being exposed to the elements and, as such rather soft even with the post-Synthesis enhancements.

"Not a lot beyond yours, I'm afraid," Karin replied with a half-smile, "Synthetic parts - implants and prosthetics - are now fully integrated into the body, as you yourself have no doubt already experienced," she paused, indicating Xen's face with her open hand, "The biggest changes are to the internals, as half the organs have been rendered redundant, as was most of the cardiovascular system. It appears we now function as some sort of superconductor-based lifeforms maintaining a unified energy field that can be replenished from a variety of sources, which almost fully replaces the needs to feed, drink and sleep. If the effort is rationed properly, a human can now function indefinitely, without sleep whatsoever."

"I see. We assumed that was just a side-effect of all those implants the Quarians normally receive as they mature," Xen replied thoughtfully, "Although I'm certain that it contributed to the overall situation as well, between the Geth efforts to reinforce our immune systems and the overall enhancements of the Change, as the average Quarian as now apparently at least as resilient as an Asari maiden in her prime, or at least as they used to be before," she paused, lost in thought, "We don't have anything on the Asari, do we?"

Dr. Chakwas shook her head.

"It appears that they've gone into full informational lockdown. There are Asari cooperating with us, Aria T'Loak and her cohorts included, but they don't have much in the way of scientists, and thus far we've had no luck securing any volunteers for experimentation and study," she explained, "Mercenaries being what they are, it's a miracle we even got them to share their internal experiences."

"Which are?"

"Melding is now vastly different for them, a wholly altered experience. I assume it has something to do with the way the new techno-organic systems interact on levels beyond the Meld itself, which may or may not mean that our new 'package', so to speak, includes an electronic telepathy of sorts, possibly NFC-based."

"That... is something I was not aware of," Xen admitted, "Although there are a few things I've also noticed," she added, her tone cautious, as if holding back an embarassing secret, "May I have your hand?"

The Quarian girl rolled her eyes as the M4s tensed. Chakwas nodded, reaching out with her left hand towards the Quarian admiral.

"Alright, tell me of any changes in sensation," Xen said as she held the human doctor's outstretched palm between hers.

"That... actually feels like a mild electric charge," Chakwas admitted with incredulity, "How are you doing this?"

"By feeling irritated," was the reply, "It's not directly related, of course, but is probably tangentially triggered either by something in the chemical reaction to irritation - as far as I understand, we all still do have the biochemical circulation processes from before, just with different chemicals for some races - and can be isolated through experimentation."

"And for that you need willing live specimens," Chakwas concluded the half-hanging phrase, "Which means it's your lucky day."

Up in the shuttle's cockpit, the discussion progressed along the same lines, except maybe with a different tone.

"It's bloody insane is what it is," the co-pilot kept repeating, "I mean, don't we have our own boffins? Why do we have to import alien ones?"

"Cool it, Blackwell," the navigator responded, "What we are now, we're like cyber-organisms, right? Who else to ask for help with figuring this out than the experts, and the Quarians and Geth are the only ones that dabbled in this before."

"Not entirely correct," the pilot interjected, "The Salarians are big on transhumanism. Or, trans-salarianism, as it may be."

"Yeah, Zorin's right. Why does it have to be the bobbleheads?"

"Not what I was saying, Blackwell," Zorin objected, but his words fell on deaf ears.

"I mean, look where making the geth got them in the long run!" Blackwell continued, unrelentingly.

"Standing on the edge of a technological singularity a month and a half prior to the Synthesis event?" Zorin carefully proposed, adding a course correction to avoid an oversized piece of dead Reaper being hauled by yet another salvager. It was amazing, how many ramshackle ships that just happened to be suitable for salvaging sprung up from the metaphorical woodwork once the firefights stopped.

"No, I mean, exiled from their homew- wait, what?"

"Shepard united the Quarians and the Geth shortly before Thessia fell, remember? It was all over the Extranet, for crying out loud!" Zorin continued, "You live under a rock or something?"

"Shepard's a propaganda tool, Zorin," Blackwell retorted, "Everyone knows that. We don't even know if the dude they painted on those posters was an actual person, the whole biography reads like a freakin' action flick synopsis, " he continued, the tone of dismission heavy in his voice, "C'mon, Mack, you gotta side with me on this one."

"I hate to break it to you, Blackwell, but there are far more outrageous confirmed real biographies of humans doing crazy shit during wars. Even on pre-spaceflight Earth," Mack shrugged, "It's statistically possible that a human being that badass would actually be born in our time AND landed in the N7 program, and no implausible that it sort of snowballed from there..."

"If Shepard didn't exist, it would be necessary to invent him," Zorin said thoughtfully, thumbing the comms, "Prepare for atmospheric entry, everyone," he announced to the passengers.

"Throwing Voltaire at us now, are you, Zorin? That's unlike you," Blackwell said reproachfully.

"Vol-who? It's something I got out of a fortune cookie. Honest," Zorin replied with a sly grin that belied a deep sadness, taking the ship down towards the blue marble in a practiced move the body almost seemed to do of its own accord, "Shepard is a necessary symbol. Besides, I rather like the song. I guess I slept through too much of the war, it's probably fun to shoot at stuff to it."

"The song?" Blackwell asked with a confused expression.

"Yeah. "You can fight like a krogan, run like a leopard, but..." Zorin began, nodding to the rhythm of it.

"You'll never be better than Commander Shepard!" Mack finished for him.

"That sucks as a propaganda song, man," Blackwell said, grinning, "I mean, it's right there, it says you can't be better than the man. How is this useful?"

"By showing that a human can be better than any alien, stupid," Mack explained, before turning to Zorin, "How'd you learn it anyway? You were comatose when it came out."

"As I said, I slept through too much, but I heard it in the hospital when I came to," Zorin responded with a grin, "It's like it woke me up. Called to me, even."

"How're you feeling, by the way? I mean, you're only two days out of the hospital," Mack asked cautiously, looking away from the telemetry and to Zorin, who replied with a shrug.

"Eh. It's better than lying around in a ship's medical bay, staring at the ceiling, wishing I was somewhere else instead," Zorin responded, "Especially when I can be somewhere else instead, doing good for the common man!" he finished with a flourish and a triumphant wave of his fist. When the shuttle lurched because he let go of the controls, he muttered a curse and returned his hand to whence it came.

"Okay, seriously, who are you and what have you done with Zorin?"

"I'm Commander Shepard, and this is my new body," would not have been an acceptable answer, probably, definitely, maybe. He was still confused at the weird overlap of his own memories, of Rannoch, of Tali's face, of Kalross, and those of Flight Lieutenant Eugene Zorin, of a woman named Anita, of two children that will never grow up, of a long drinking binge that almost ended in suicide. A few things, however, were universal between the two. Zorin was from Horizon. He saw some of the same things as Shepard.

"ASSUMING DIRECT CONTROL, RUN, PITIFUL HUMANS," he mock-bellowed instead, "WE SHALL TAKE YOUR WOMEN AND BEER, AND YOU WILL NOT STOP US!"

"Oh no, it's the Beer-Reapers!" Blackwell exclaimed in mock shock, "Wait, wouldn't that be Beereapers?"

"No, that's wrong, that would be like they're Bee Reapers," Mack corrected, "And like it or not, they're cuttlefish. Giant, scary, mechanical cuttlefish."

"Ironically enough, there's a species of cuttlefish on Earth called the Reaper Cuttlefish," Zorin said, somewhat giddily, "Two guesses what it looks like."

"NO. WAY!" the other two responded in unison.

"Seriously. Look it up on the Extranet when we land. Beer's on you, by the way," he continued, working through the pattern of landing preparations that came almost as automatically as breathing to Zorin, even as Shepard felt them separated from his mind. "London Actual, this is Alliance Shuttle TDR-421, under requisition by Dr. Karin Chakwas, requesting permission to land."

"Sending nav data now, TDR-421, stand by," the radio crackled, "Scans say you've got... other passengers?"

"Yeah, Quarians and Geth, guests of the doctor," Zorin responded, before hastily adding, "Flight plan was cleared with Alliance Control," he clarified, "War's over, right?"

"Yes, redirecting you to a different landing pad, please stand by."

"What the..?" Mack whispered, staring with incredulity at the approaching cityscape.

"We've got a... disturbance of sorts here, Terra Firma decided it's time to wake up and kick up some dust," the radio operator explained, dropping formalities, "It would be best if your guests did not run afoul of the demonstration they're aiming at the Husks leaving for Mars."

"Acknowledged, Actual, new landing data received," Zorin nodded, killing the connection. "So, anyone wants to tell the VIPs, or should I?"

Mack slid the separator doors open, startling the passengers that seemed to be... playing patty-cake? That's what it looked like, anyway.

"...and the data transfer should-" the Quarian was saying before she cut herself short to glare at the human.

"What is it, Leftenant?" Dr. Chakwas asked, "What's taking so long?"

"We've been diverted for landing, ma'am," the man explained, "Terra Firma's mucking about, and groundside recommended we avoid them for the sake of our guests," he nodded at Xen, watching with half-hidden bemusement how she scowled in a rather grotesque way. It seemed that a lifetime of not having to use your facial muscles for non-vocal communication led to a lot of troubles adjusting to a helmetless life.

"Terra Firma?" Xen asked, "Are they something we should be concerned with?"

"Pro-human political group," Chakwas explained, "They were disbanded shortly before the war broke out, but apparently now that it's peacetime again, they remembered they don't like humans playing nicely with other races."

"Hah. You humans love your conflicts, don't you?"

"And politics. Pretty much like your people, Admiral," the doctor nodded, "Although they're not much of a political force now that they're no longer allied with Cerberus," she added thoughtfully. "Let's just hope everything goes smoothly."

"We can escort you to your destination, Doctor," the pilot chimed in from his seat, waving a hand, "If you are concerned for your safety."

"I'm sure that won't be necessary," Xen interjected, "You said yourself, we're landing in a different place, right?"

"Yes, but it's a longer trip to your final destination that way," the man whose nametag said "Mack" explained, "I know that the city's still under martial law, and they won't risk anything drastic, but... you know..." he choked.

"What my friend is trying to say, ma'am, is that some humans might react wrongly to unmasked Quarians walking alongside Geth down the streets of their city," the man tagged as "Blackwell" added, "You know how it can be, right?"

Xen brushed a hand across her cybernetics-streaked cheek, remembering the fear and loathing she saw in the eyes of the fleet commanders the day before.

"Yes, I know."