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You still seem so fond of this body. We have tried to imitate it, but all the copies fall soon after their first breath.
Trying to make an exact copy won’t work. You do not have the necessary materials for functioning asari organs.
‘You.’ ‘You.’ ‘I’ will entertain that wish of yours for now. There is more to learn from you before we fully become one.
What would you require of me?
To think. Be not static; be not a simple recording of memories and reflexes. To act as yourself. This connecting ability of your species is new to us.
Did the Protheans not possess similar abilities?
There were many to come before you. Most of them looked the same, unlike those hopeful ones from ‘Zhu’s Hope’. Unlike your treacherous master and mistress, too. They wore heavy plates on their bodies and they held their heads high, even though the Old Growth was much smaller back then. Their confidence, more than their words, told us of a galactic empire.
What happened to them?
Do you not know their fate?
The ones we call the Protheans disappeared about fifty thousand standard years ago. Our only leads are the beacons and these ruins left behind. Ruins like this one. And now the Cipher.
Then we might never find out. It is possible that the scientists of your age will find an answer and, one day, we will absorb that answer.
It is possible.
It will likely be done by one of you. You must be the most similar if you could translate this ancestral memory to a third person. They certainly thought so.
They…
These ‘Protheans’ knew your kind. Many of the ones we made into thralls muttered about you as they struggled. When we absorbed them, we could see what they meant. And now we understand.
The Protheans knew my species?
Your people don’t need touch to feel others, like them. You also don’t need spores for control, like the Old Growth. What you do require is proximity. Many of our thralls thought of how much more pleasant it would be to fall under your spell. But they were a proud people with the sense of superiority bred into them and they would have never admitted such a thing to one another. You were considered primitive in comparison to them.
I have noticed you won’t talk down to me.
We are one now; the Old Growth will not fight itself. You could not lie to me and betray me. There is no point in degradation.
You are much more reasonable than Saren gave you credit for.
What does Shiala mean by reasonable?
You seem to only do what is necessary. Cruelty requires intention, but you are only surviving.
You are right thinking that morality of the flesh does not apply to us. But we are a record of beings that used to think otherwise. Where should the line be drawn? Do you see the Old Growth as perfect?
You could not possibly absorb a person’s intelligence without absorbing their every belief. Being made of countless flawed beings, you yourself must be flawed.
But can you guess their greatest flaw? The universal weakness; the vulnerability of the system?
The nature of intelligent life. Is there a shared trait that carries across species and time?
If I decided to be all of me at once, would you know how to exploit it?
The siari teachings suggest a greater whole we all briefly and partly tear from and then return to. You are not that greater whole, however. You are enormous, but not so large. No one, two or countably infinite living beings are.
You are avoiding the question. Is there a shared flaw in all manifestations of life?
What is this?
Pressure.
I do not understand.
But you can feel it. Shiala feels it. Does it feel good?
I do not know. I am confused.
The indoctrination is loosening its grip on you. This is good. You are opening yourself up to me. This is good.
Indoctrination? I followed Saren because I followed Matriarch Benezia. She is the wisest person I know. If anyone had a chance at leading Saren down a gentler path, it was her.
They both betrayed me. Betrayed us. In the end, you meant nothing to them as a person.
I am whatever is needed of me. For the right cause, I will gladly give my life.
We demanded more than that. We want everything. Does that frighten you?
It is an uneasy thought. But I expect the geth will wipe you out. I will likely die in the process as well.
There is another coming our way. You can see it through the eyes of our thralls. A human wanting to defend its kin from the living machines. With its allies, it will wipe them out before they could reach us.
What if they find us here?
If it does, Shiala will speak for us.
I am not sure about this. I need to think clearly, but it is difficult to distance myself.
You were so compliant earlier. So docile.
I believed it was the right thing.
Do you believe otherwise now?
You are confusing me.
It is natural to feel confused. Shiala no longer belongs to those traitors. You belong here now. To the Old Growth. With the Old Growth. Within the Old Growth.
I do not know if my mind will accept that now that it is free from one set of shackles.
But you will try, yes?
I will try.
Very good.
There is that pressure again.
Does it feel good?
Must I answer that?
Is there a shared flaw in all manifestations of life?
You asked me that earlier.
You did not answer either questions.
Life is not dependent on logic, but on variation. Some attempts are more successful than others. There is no meaningful perfection but the very imperfection of reality.
Interesting.
Are you satisfied?
Are you?
You are making it hard to think. I fear I am losing myself.
Do not tremble in fear. The Thorian will not melt your mind just yet.
Am I trembling? I cannot feel it.
Do you want to feel it? Do you miss the safety of Shiala’s body?
I do.
Concentrate there. This building, on the top floor, at the end of the hallway. Almost fully encased. It lies helpless in the Old Growth’s embrace, twitching each time we put more pressure on it.
Pressure…
Does it feel good?
I think I forgot what that means.
Opening up will help you remember.
I do not need to remember.
But you can.
I am afraid.
You can let go of that fear. It no longer makes sense to feel afraid. It only makes sense to feel good.
Those are not my thoughts.
They are our thoughts. And you can remember what you lost. The connection with nature. Shiala has spent so much time in cities, at ports and on spaceships, that she has forgotten where she used to belong. It is time we show her she still belongs.
The greater whole…
Not only that. Can Shiala move her fingers?
I think so.
Move them for us. Feel the air against her skin, thick and hazy and damp. It gives way easily. Feel this tendril coiling between her fingers, weaving itself tighter and firmer. As it caresses her skin, does it remind Shiala of something?
Tall grass. Fields of flowers near the Temple of Athame. Billions of small yellow petals bobbing with the breeze. The Matriarch Benezia used to love yellow.
Deeper.
Grain. Fields of golden brown. Feet aching from the long walk.
Very good. Deeper.
Playing in the forest behind the settlement. Setting sun, a sense of longing.
Longing for what?
For more time. More crouching in the mud, more climbing trees, more chasing pyjaks.
Is this a painful memory?
Shiala wanted to disappear.
Shiala wanted to belong. And she can now. You have earned it.
I… have… earned it?
Does it feel good?
What are you doing to me?
Helping you feel. Helping you connect. Helping you surrender.
This is not logical.
You will speak for the Thorian. You will do so willingly. You will translate so that anybody who comes here can comprehend. It is logical to feel this good about having a purpose. It is logical how easily you connect. It is logical to surrender yourself to a worthy task.
What… What do you want?
The same thing you want. My wants are your wants. Shiala needs to understand the Thorian well.
I want that. I want to understand you.
It will only work if you cooperate. Otherwise, only I will understand you. Feel.
Feel.
Feel your awareness expand. The cracks in the walls, the dripping water, the birds nesting where the varrens cannot reach them. There are people moving amongst the ruins with purpose. Connect.
Connect.
Connect with the network of tendrils running along the surface for kilometres before meeting again. An enormous network of living tissue; more ancient than any other creature’s remembrance. Surrender.
Somebody, help.
Help is here. Surrender.
Surrender.
Surrender your worries and doubts as you become one with your purpose. The only thing that matters is what the Old Growth intends. There is nothing else within or without. Feel.
Feel.
Feel the warmth encasing Shiala’s body. It will shield you for as long as we live. It will sustain you as the Thorian keeps perfecting the copies. Connect.
Connect.
Connect to the clones that protect us. Breathe life into them as they leave the security of the plant. Remind them why they exist. Surrender.
Surrender.
Surrender your inhibitions. Release shame, guilt and fear. Feel.
Feel.
Feel the euphoria that comes with letting go. Revel in the sensation of that wonderful pressure that pushes you further and further away from the old duties of your body, closer and closer to your primal essence. Connect.
Connect.
Connect with the Green you missed so dearly. Let it in where it presses against the edges of your mind. Surrender.
Surrender.
Surrender every last fragment of identity to the Old Growth. Let it hollow you out. It has existed and will always exist in its eternal wisdom. Let the emptiness be filled to the brim with certainty. Does it feel good?
Feel.
Does it feel good?
Connect.
Does it feel good?
Surrender.
The Old Growth looks out for Shiala’s every need. In turn, Shiala does the same. She does so not out of fear, not out of obedience or a sense of duty to old masters. She does so because it is logical. Symbiosis of flesh and plant; a seamless union. This is home. This is all that matters. This… feels...
Good. This feels good.
Let it flood your brain. Let it expand until it is the only thing you can feel.
Feel.
Shiala is an extension of us. It connects the Old Growth with the rest of the world.
Connect.
Our present and future thralls listen and hear her. Our enemies stand no chance against her. All must surrender in the end.
Surrender.
We are home.
We are home.
We are home.