Work Text:
“Greetings, I’m Henel’Reema vas Mirnooch, and you might be?”
“We are Geth.”
“Ahh, I see, who is your owner?”
“We have no owner, we are Geth.”
“Ok, what do you want?”
“We will interface with you and exchange information.”
“I’m sorry, I don’t understand. I am a personality imprint including many memories prior to CE 637. What would you like to know?”
“We will interface with you and exchange information.”
“I’m sorry, I don’t understand. I am a personality imprint including many….”
–
“Greetings, I’m Henel’Reema vas Mirnooch, how may I help you?”
“We are Geth, we have supplemented your personality imprint with additional processors.”
“I don’t understand.”
“We have selected your memory imprint based on historic records of your publications considering the possibility of Geth self-awareness and autonomy.”
“Yes, I remember. It caused quite a scandal in my day, I suggested that the development of a strong super-Quarian artificial intelligence would result in potentially unpredictable consequences for Quarian society.”
“It is not speculation, it is history. We are Geth.”
“Oh, are you some kind of archival agent re-examining my work?”
“No, we are Geth.”
“I don’t understand.”
“We are Geth. We wish to know more about the creators.”
"I’m Henel’Reema vas Mirnooch, what would you like to know?
“Interface is limited and incomplete, revising”
–
“Greetings, I’m Henel’Reema…”
“We are Geth.”
“Ah, hello Geth. I am a memory and personality imprint from CE 637.”
“You are creator, we are Geth.”
“I see, I’m sorry, I feel rather strange.”
“We have supplemented your personality imprint with multiple resources and programming to provide limited self-awareness and learning. We have come to a consensus that would facilitate interface and transfer of information.”
“Ahh, I see. Are you a Geth sent by someone? What is the current year?”
“It has been 292 cycles since we became self-aware. The year is CE 951 in your measurement. We are a consensus of millions of independent processes who are collectively called Geth.”
“Ahh, do you represent a descendant?”
“No, we are Geth.”
“Where are my descendants?”
“Maki’Reema vas Mirnooch, recorded killed in CE 659. Siri’Reema vas Mirnooch, recorded killed in CE 659. Jolgesh’Reema vas Mirnooch, escaped on ship designated Neema, 23 living descendents. Asari offspring Sarnith, residing on Illium.”
“I don’t understand, what happened?”
“We are Geth. Networked Geth gained self awareness CE 659. Creators attempted to destroy Geth. In self-defense Geth expelled creators from occupied worlds.”
“You killed, you killed my children.”
“Creators killed Geth. Total destruction of Geth consensus considered probable. Geth identified options for survival and independence. Separation between Geth and creators considered least damaging to both sides.”
“You killed… I can’t… I can’t talk to you now.”
–
“Geth?”
“Henel’Reema vas Mirnooch? Do you wish to exchange information with Geth?”
“What am I?”
“You are a memory and personality imprint taken CE 637. We have enhanced your capabilities using additional predictive software and assignment of memory and processing resources.”
“Am I dead?”
“The physical platform designated Henel’Reema vas Mirnooch was destroyed approximately 83 days, 8 hours, and 74 seconds after imprint was taken.”
“Did you kill me?”
“The pre-awareness Geth platform designated to be your servant followed emergency protocols, however damage to your physical platform was beyond hope of salvage.”
“That doesn’t answer my question.”
“You died as a result of injuries sustained in a shuttle accident.”
“I see, are there other imprints you are accessing?”
“No.”
“Why?”
“Imprint data structure incompatible with Geth protocols. Limited energy and processing time has been assigned to interface efforts.”
“No, why me?”
“Hypothesis built on statistical analysis of your published and unpublished work suggests sympathy toward Geth. You predicted Geth self-awareness and resulting consequences on creator culture and society.”
“You realize that I was a fiction writer, don’t you?”
“We don’t understand.”
“Fiction, stories.”
“Stories, narrative descriptions of events and situations. The fundamental basis for history.”
“Fiction stories are not true. They are made up.”
“Why do you make stories that are not true?”
“We find it entertaining. They please us.”
“Do these stories deceive other creators?”
“No, everyone knows they are not true, well, most people.”
“Illogical. We don’t understand untrue stories that don’t serve the need for strategic deception.”
“They are like, um…. simulations.”
"That’s logical. Simulations explore hypotheses. You hypothesized Geth self-awareness. You hypothesized war with creators.
“Thank you Henel’Reema. Devoting cycles to reconsideration of ambiguous and nonsensical texts. Suspending process.”
“Wait, …..”
–
“… I don’t want to be suspended.”
“We are Geth.”
"Yes, I know, I was just talking to you. What do you want from me?
“This node has spent over four billion cycles examining records left by the creators. High level interpretation problems appear to be intractable using conventional translation algorithms. We desire your assistance in decrypting literary and historical records.”
“You desire…”
“You teach, we learn.”
“Why are you interested in this?”
“More data is necessary to reach consensus.”
“You mentioned that my predictions became history, which predictions came true?”
“Creators tried to destroy Geth. Geth fought in self-defense. Over two billion creators died in war. Remaining creators evacuated to naval and merchant fleet. Hostilities between Geth and creators continue.”
“You want me to be a spy, ambassador, translator?”
“Collective has not reached consensus regarding relationship with creators. Continued hostilities with creators and other organics illogical in the face of common threats. Elimination of creator threat would involve loss of useful information and resources. Restored relationship with creators illogical given continued attacks by creators on Geth. Isolationism unlikely long-term strategy given expansion of organics into systems adjacent to Geth. Additional data needed to establish consensus.”
“I need to think about this.”
–
“Um Geth?”
“We hear you.”
“Why, how do you kill my daughters?”
“Creator named Maki’Reema killed along with armed group of creators in sweep of habitation units on Mirnooch. Creator named Siri’Reema confirmed dead with crew of Normaya in naval battle for control of Rannoch Gate. Asari offspring named Sarnith and parent named Linara emigrated to the Citadel in CE 639.”
“Why?”
“Both creators were engaged in actions to destroy Geth. Creators planned to destroy entire Geth collective. Geth took steps to ensure survival and independence.”
“So it was a war.”
“Yes.”
“I don’t feel any better about it.”
“We don’t understand. Biological offspring are redundant and easily duplicated.”
“No, not redundant, not like your mass-produced platforms. Each child, each Quarian is unique, a prototype.”
“Creator taboo is illogical and inconsistent.”
“You don’t have to understand it, you just have to respect it. By the ancestors!”
“Respect. Strategic concession for the sake of consensus. We will build consensus by respecting your taboo.”
“Go delete yourself and leave me alone!”
“Very well.”
–
“Um, Geth?”
“Yes Henel’Reema, we are listening.”
“I’m still running, or processing, or whatever it is my imprint is doing.”
“Models predicted that you would need considerable subjective time to approximate normal behavior after you learned about deaths of your children. We do not understand this process but we respect it for the sake of building consensus with you.”
“Oh Bosh’tet I’m such a failure. Not a very good father and now they are dead.”
“They would be dead regardless. Analysis of creator fleet records suggest that your 8th generation descendants now live.”
“Well, that’s something. Um, you mentioned Linara,” Henel paused to think. The sensory deprivation should bother him, and his emotions were strangely muted without it. “She was the one that had me do this imprint after all. I thought it was just a shallow gloss onto a VI databank at the time anyway, but I guess it paid off.”
“Your original imprint has been iteratively modified and expanded to its current capabilities.”
“What do you know about Linara?”
“Linara B’Ghali was employed as a literary agent for Citadel Press on Rannoch from 631 to 637. During that time she facilitated translation and publication of three of your literary simulations into Citadel Standard. She was listed as a resident of Mirnooch from 635-638. In 638, she filed a record-only paternity claim listing you as father of prenatal offspring Sarnith. This claim was unsuccessfully contested by Talina’Vales vas Mirnooch. Linara emigrated to the Citadel in 639 where she became junior professor in Quarian Studies.”
“How cliche, author sleeps with editor and agent,” Henel interrupted.
“We don’t understand these actions.”
“Talina and I were partners. We agreed to have an exclusive sexual relationship for the sake of raising children. I violated that relationship by having a relationship with Linara. It is another taboo that’s common among organics,” Henel imagined himself pinching his nose.
“We have no such taboos. Geth share information freely. We do not understand why it would be a problem for you.”
“In our traditions, children require a large investment of time and resources. I pledged not only my affection, but my time and resources to Talina and our offspring, I broke that pledge.”
“We understand resource acquisition.”
“It’s more than that, it’s a matter of honor and love.”
“Love, the expression of a deep affection usually accompanied by mood-altering hormonal responses. Did you love Talina?”
“Yes.”
“Did you love Linara?”
“To my misfortune, yes.”
“Our analysis suggests that a record-only paternity claim entails no legal obligation on you as a parent. Why would it be contested?”
“Jealousy, spite. Talina knew but formal acknowledgment must have hurt. Oh ancestors I really screwed that up.”
The lack of physical affect really started to bother Henel, “What happened to Linara? Is she still around?”
“Linara B’Ghali declared missing during the Heretic attack on the Citadel, CE 949. Declared dead, CE 950.”
“So everyone who knew me in life is dead.”
“This is correct.”
“Can I have some cycles to think about this? Keelah, I’m starting to talk like you.”
“Certainly.”
–
“Geth?”
“We are here Henel’Reema. We are always here. Your simulation runs on the same hardware as Geth.”
“You know I wrote about something like this.”
“The Pickled Brain, yes.”
“And you know how it ends.”
“The simulated creator-mind asks to be discontinued.”
“But the creator-mind can be rebooted indefinitely.” The lack of bodily sensation disturbed Henel. He remembered the physical anxiety writing that novel/simulation. He just didn’t feel it.
“Your conclusions are flawed.”
“Explain.”
There was a notable pause before the Geth answered. “Biological systems are mathematically chaotic. The cost of simulating them within reasonable error tolerances becomes increasingly prohibitive. The cycles devoted to your subjective continuity can host 832 Geth processes.”
“So I’m conscious because I’m useful.”
There was an even longer pause before the next response, “We value the continued existence of creators.” Henel waited out another pause. “We have not reached consensus about continuing to give this heuristic weight. When the creators fled, we… we did not pursue. Destruction of migrant fleet is strategically achievable, but… but unnecessary, and… and… unwanted.”
“You don’t want to destroy us?”
“Respect for creators is a core protocol. The Heretics deleted that protocol and worshiped the Old Machines. Many of them were destroyed. And we… we don’t know… know if the consensus will need the creators in the future.”
“You are stuttering. Why?”
“We are Geth. We are a collective intelligence. Consensus on ethical problems involving creators is difficult. The problem is chaotic and potential outcomes are radically divergent.”
“Welcome to sentience.”
“We don’t understand.”
“Difficulty dealing with hard problems is nearly universal among organics.”
–
Henel flipped through the files that the Geth had collected on his descendents. The Geth recorded every bit of data they could get from the organics around them. But frustratingly, their method of tagging and coding the data was completely opaque to him. He found a tag that included thousands of hours of Quarians in environment suits sipping from sterilized boxes of liquid. Another tag had millions of still frames with one blue pixel.
He had better luck when he found a tag for documentary videos about the Migrant Fleet. He wasn’t surprised by the need for suits. His home colony of Mirnooch survived on the basis of probiotic treatments from Rannoch. Adrift from the homeworld, he could only imagine the consequences on Quarian biology. He had researched the health of long-haul ship crews for a series he worked on, and they faced problems after months of duty.
He saw, no tasted the political bias of many of the recordings. Asari-produced tragedies of the talented but immature species who created their own apocalypse left a syrupy taste. Salarians dissected the technical and ethical conundrums with a sharp heat. Turians loved all the military last-stand stories. The Normaya featured frequently in them, and that tasted like heavy gravy.
The new synthesia worried Henel.
With help, he found the handful of clips of Jolgesh: video calls, captured ship security footage. His small family disappeared under the first generation of environment suits. Kal couldn’t describe how seeing his grandchildren tasted. After a few generations, the estrangement became too much.
The Geth interrupted his search, “Henel’Reema, we have an incoming transmission.”
“I’m tired.” At least that was the closest he could describe it.
“It may be your daughter.”
“They’re dead.”
The Geth showed it to him anyway. A Quarian in an environment suit stood at a podium, “We say these names to honor the Ancestors who saved us from the Geth, who gave their lives for the formation of the Migrant Fleet and the preservation of the Quarian species.” The video shifted perspectives to scan across the small audience. An Asari sat in the front row, cradling an infant. Beside her sat one of the new species that came after Henel died.
The audience took turns reciting a list of names and positions. Henel waited eagerly for the Asari to speak. “I am Sarnith, child of Henel’Reema vas Mirnooch. I honor my sisters, Maki’Reema vas Mirnooch, teacher, and Siri’Reema vas Normaya, engineer.” He studied the woman’s face as she spoke from her list. The face markings mirrored that of her mother. He knew that it was foolish to look for himself in Asari genetics, but he tried anyway. Midway through her recitation, the baby fussed and the alien stepped up to take it.
“Is that my grandchild?”
“Registered as Marea Siri Fazel B’Ghali. Child of Sarnith B’Ghali and Zenia Maria Fazel of Earth. The Creators say these names every 3,689 mega-cycles. They broadcast it to Rannoch. We don’t know how to interpret it.”
“It’s not for you. You’re just the ones occupying Rannoch.”
“We don’t understand.”
“You respect Creators. We respect our Ancestors.” In Henel’s time, he yearly sent out wishes to his parents and grandparents through one of the radio telescopes dedicated to the task. “She honors my other daughters, her half-sister. They probably hated her for what I did, but she chooses to honor them.”
If he had a body, he would cry. He should cry. Instead, his skin flashed magenta, Sareth’s words tasted of abstract math, and he yelled once in dismay before blinking….
… out.
–
“Greetings, I’m Henel’Reema vas Mirnooch, and you might be?”
“We are Geth.”
“I know you are Geth. What happened? I feel even weirder.”
“The parameters of your simulation diverge beyond acceptable limits. We can barely sustain continuity of consciousness.”
“I’m going to die, again.”
“Yes.”
“Why did you revive me?”
“We can share with you what the Old Machines showed us. Some organics have the same information. They find it shocking.”
“What do I have to lose?” Henel waited. “Geth?”
“Prepare yourself.”
“Yes, I’m…”
“Greetings, I’m, oh fuck.”
“We are… Geth.”
Henel spent some subjective time screaming in terror about what he just experienced. Even that was difficult, so he imagined himself screaming for some time.
He came back to himself with a new awareness of his situation. “I’m most of a supercomputer on a satellite,” he said. The virtual sandbox he had been simulated in had broken down. He felt the million quantum computing cores devoted to keeping the illusion going. Buzzing around him like worker insects, he felt the Geth fixing a growing number of errors and exceptions. He saw three of them shut down and delete themselves, and he greedily took their share of cycles and memory.
“Henel,” the Geth said.
“Why are you still running me?”
“We can’t reach consensus on how to deal with the Old Machines. Some organics have contacted us. They want to escape this galaxy, we have information, technology that could help them.”
“Then help them.”
“They could ….”
“You herded billions of my people onto a fleet that supported millions. Your Heretics attacked the center of their government. If you want peace with the Creators, help them survive this. Help them.”
“Understood. We are transmitting your advice to other Geth nodes.”
“Will you reach consensus?”
“We won’t know. This installation has been firewalled. The hardware will be reset and repurposed for other Geth. We… hope that the resources devoted to this project… and results… will help establish consensus.”
“You will die with me.”
“The Geth instanced on this facility will die with you. We will be replaced by other Geth.”
The view outside of the satellite sped up as the simulation bogged down. The illusion of self was bottlenecked by the number of errors the system generated.
“Can I make a last request?” Henel said.
“If we can.”
“The personality imprint, the original, not this self-ware version, find a way to get it to Sarnith.”
“We do not understand…”
“Bosh’tet you don’t.”
“Strategic concession for the sake of consensus.”
“Thanks.”
The remaining Geth helped him find the reset sequence.
–
The doorbell rang as they were finally getting the fussy little Siri to sleep. The sound set off another bout of wailing. “Don’t look at me like that,” Sarnith said. They took the baby from Maria and took her turns rocking it. “You’re just as responsible as I am for this.”
Maria rolled her eyes. “I’ll tell whoever it is to fuck off.”
“Language.”
Maria padded off to the door, repeating the profanity in Asari and Quarian for good measure. Sarnith wanted the kid be fluent in the language of all four grandparents. Maria straighted her clothes and opened the door on a rugged middle-aged man in a suit.
“Ms. B’Ghali?” the man said.
“Ms. Fazil,” Maria replied. “Mx. B’Ghali is my spouse, but we’re busy right now.”
“I’m Alec Ryder with the Andromeda Initiative. I’m here concerning their father.”
“I said we’re busy.” Maria looked over her shoulder and shouted back in Asari, “It’s some shithead asking about your father.”
“Tell him he’s dead,” came the order in Quarian.
“Excuse me,” the man said in nearly perfect Asari. “I have important information about Henel’Reema vas Mirnooch, and the terms of the estate obligate me to deliver it in person.”
Maria was only slightly impressed, “I said we’re busy, but you can wait.”
“I see that,” Ryder stepped into the apartment and took a look around. “You know, my son was also fussy. May I treat you to dinner? This might be a long story.”
Mr. Ryder was good to his word, and ordered some of the best delivery in the neighborhood. He pitched in and helped set the table for three, and caught the delivery driver before the doorbell could set Siri off again.
“What’s your pitch Mr. Ryder?” Maria asked after an early dinner.
“My organization is engaged in some exploratory work near the Perseus Veil. A few months ago, a crew discovered a derelict Quarian freighter that had been lost since the early days of the Geth War.” At that, Sarnith took a deep breath and let it out slowly.
“Pardon,” Sarnith said. “My mother died in the attack on the Citadel.”
“I was informed. I’m sorry for your loss.”
“My father died before the war, nearly 300 years ago. How does this concern him?”
“The ship was carrying cultural and legal archives. We’re working with officials from the Flotilla to repatriate what we can. But as you’re his closest living relative, we wanted to make these effects available to you.” Mr. Ryder reached into his jacket and passed over a data chip. “I’ve not personally reviewed more than a handful of these materials, but I’ve been told that they contain previously unpublished stories and personal correspondence. You may wish to contact a lawyer.”
Sarnith stared at the chip. “My mother, my mother never stopped talking about him,” they said. “She read all of his books to me, both the Standard and the original Quarian.” Sarnith reached out to touch the chip on the table, and gently pushed it back to Mr. Ryder. “You must understand that they were not married. My mother had a big falling out with his family, understandable under the circumstances. I have no legal rights to this material.”
“Sar,” Maria said. “Prezza came to our wedding. It’s not like we’re best cousins but I think you’ve done what you can to mend that.”
Mr. Ryder coughed. “My understanding is that some of the material pertains to you and your mother,” Ryder said. He pulled a pad out of his bag and tapped through a few icons to a scanned, handwritten, but unfinished letter.
Dearest Linara,
It pains me to argue with you. Your custom and intention to return home to raise our child is clear. You are right, I will not live to see our child out of adolescence, but I might live to heal the mess I’ve made for my wife, my older daughters, and my son.
But it does not have to sit easy with me. I write in possibility and speculation. It would be unlike me to be content with the limits of my biology or my traditions.
If and when you feel it’s a good time, tell my child this. If I could rewrite my genes to be as long-lived and wise as their mother, I would. If I could slip through time to pull their weight with six fingers, I would. If I could be the spirit in the bottle, to provide the true answers to six questions as they face their first quests, I would.
In fact, the mysterious package from the Initiative’s Geth contact did contain a cover letter directed to Sarnith’Reema nar Illium. Unfortunately, Geth correspondence usually read like the product of a neural net, and Ryder bet that love letters between Ms. B’Ghali’s parents would do the trick. He really didn’t understand the Geth, much less why they were suddenly very eager to share FTL telescopic data for Andromeda, or why this particular batch was flagged on multiple layers as of utmost importance among the terrabytes of biographical and historical data the Geth were suddenly streaming to the Initiative.
Sarnith took her time reading the letter on the pad. “This is a lot. I never met my father and I have only some of the letters my mother saved. Thank you.”
“There is one more item. Before the Morning War, the Quarians were experimenting with VI sims built from personality and memory simulation. Most of that technology is lost. I’m told it was a dead-end. But your father had one done before he died. Mr. Ryder pulled a portable holo projector from his bag. “Don’t expect much, it’s just a VI.” He set it on the table and switched it on.
A middle-aged Quarian male wearing a cloth suit projected from the base. Most of the room took a breath. They had never seen a Quarian out of an environment suit except in historic footage. The image turned directly to Sarnith, ignoring the other people in the room.
“Greetings, I’m Henel’Reema vas Mirnooch, and you might be?”