The data filled three screens.
Webb's office in the operations center had become a war room — tactical displays pushed aside, data terminals arranged in a semicircle, and three people hunched over scrolling text in the blue-white glow of decrypted Geth communication logs. The door was locked. The corridor outside was empty. Vasquez had been told it was a security briefing and had accepted the exclusion with the tight-jawed pragmatism of an administrator who'd learned to pick her battles.
Garrus sat at the left terminal. His visor was active, running cross-reference algorithms against the C-Sec intelligence databases he'd carried in his personal files. His mandibles hadn't moved in twenty minutes — locked in the expression of someone processing information that kept getting worse.
Tali sat at the center terminal. Her omni-tool was hardwired into the colony's data processing systems, running decryption routines she'd written on the shuttle ride back. The ninety-seven percent of the Geth core that they'd extracted was spilling its contents across her screen in cascading layers of communication traffic, operational protocols, and something else. Something that made her fingers slow every time she encountered it.
Webb sat at the right terminal. Reading. Cross-referencing. And trying very hard to keep his face neutral while everything he'd known from the games was confirmed in front of him in raw, unfiltered data.
The communications were hierarchical. Standard Geth traffic — platform-to-platform, network consensus updates, operational coordination — occupied the bulk of the data. Routine. Mechanical. The digital equivalent of soldiers checking in with their base.
But layered above the standard traffic was a secondary protocol. Encrypted with something that wasn't Geth in origin — something older, something more complex, something that Tali's decryption routines couldn't fully crack. The fragments she'd managed to extract painted a picture in broken sentences and partial data blocks.
...Nazara confirms approach vector... organic agent Arterius proceeding to... Conduit location narrowed to... Eden Prime beacon signal detected...
"Nazara." Tali pulled the name from the decrypted fragments. "It appears forty-seven times across the communication logs. The Geth are receiving instructions from this entity. Not suggestions — instructions. Operational directives with specific objectives, timelines, and force allocation."
"Geth don't take instructions from organics," Garrus said. His voice carried the flat tension of someone who'd identified a contradiction and didn't like where it led. "Their whole history is built on rejecting organic authority. They rebelled against the quarians specifically because—"
"I know why they rebelled." Tali's voice was sharp. The subject of the Morning War was not one quarians discussed casually, especially not with turians. She caught herself, modulated. "But this isn't organic authority. Look at the communication structure — Nazara isn't giving orders the way an organic commander would. It's... modifying their consensus. Introducing decision weights that shift the collective's priorities toward specific objectives."
"Indoctrination. That's what indoctrination looks like in Geth. Not mind control — consensus manipulation. Sovereign isn't commanding the Geth. It's tipping the scales of their collective decision-making, making certain choices appear optimal when they wouldn't be otherwise."
"Who or what is Nazara?" Garrus asked.
Webb's stomach tightened. He knew the answer. Had known it since the beacon on Eden Prime burned it into his brain alongside the Sovereign Mandate System. Nazara was Sovereign. The vanguard of the Reapers. A living starship that had been manipulating organic and synthetic life for millennia in preparation for the next harvest.
He couldn't say that. Not all of it. Not without explaining how he knew, and that explanation led to truths that would destroy every relationship he'd built.
"The data fragments reference Nazara as a vessel," he said carefully. "Something the Geth treat with... reverence isn't the right word. Significance. It holds a position in their consensus that no organic entity ever has."
"A ship," Garrus said. "The Geth are taking orders from a ship."
"Not just any ship. Something old. Something the Geth consider a... higher intelligence."
Tali's fingers paused. Through the faceplate, her eyes were sharp with the particular focus of an engineer encountering a puzzle that defied her frameworks.
"The Geth are synthetic intelligences. They don't recognize higher authority — they achieve consensus through processing power. For something to override that consensus, it would need to be..." She trailed off. The implication hung in the air.
"More intelligent than the entire Geth collective," Garrus finished.
Silence. The terminals hummed. The data scrolled.
"There's more," Tali said. She pulled up a second data layer — partially decrypted, fragments and gaps, but the content was clear enough. "The organic agent referenced in the communications. The one receiving field instructions."
She highlighted a name. It appeared eleven times across the operational directives, each instance accompanied by tactical parameters and mission objectives.
Arterius, Saren. Spectre. Council authority. Designated: organic liaison.
Garrus's chair creaked as he leaned back. His mandibles were pressed so tight the scarred one audibly clicked.
"Saren Arterius." The name came out flat. Controlled. Loaded. "He's a Council Spectre. The most decorated operative in Citadel history. And he's working with the Geth."
"Working for the Geth," Tali corrected. "Or for whatever Nazara is. The communication structure shows Saren receiving directives, not issuing them. He's subordinate."
"A Spectre subordinate to synthetics." Garrus stood. Paced. Three steps to the wall, three steps back. The contained energy of a man whose worldview was being dismantled one revelation at a time. "First C-Sec. Now the Spectres. Is there an institution in this galaxy that isn't compromised?"
Webb let them process. The information needed to land on its own weight — rushing to interpretation would look suspicious. He had to let them reach conclusions he'd held since the dig site on Eden Prime, conclusions that were supposed to take Shepard three years and a full game to uncover.
"The Conduit," he said, redirecting. "It appears fourteen times. The Geth are searching for something called the Conduit. Saren's primary mission objective is locating it. The data doesn't say what it is, but the resource allocation is enormous — multiple Geth platforms, a Spectre, and Nazara itself all dedicated to this single goal."
Tali's decryption routines pulled another fragment from the encrypted layer.
...Conduit confirms Prothean origin... mass relay variant... location consistent with beacon network data... Eden Prime beacon activation registered...
His blood went cold.
"Eden Prime beacon activation. My beacon. The one Dr. Yusuf triggered a month and a half ago. The one that gave me the System. The Geth at the dig site weren't random — they were responding to the beacon's signal. And now Saren knows the beacon was activated."
The system interface pulsed in his peripheral vision. A War Council update, triggered by the intelligence input.
[WAR COUNCIL — THREAT ASSESSMENT UPDATED]
[SAREN ARTERIUS — THREAT LEVEL: EXTREME]
[CLASSIFICATION: ORGANIC AGENT — INDOCTRINATED]
[RESOURCES: SPECTRE AUTHORITY, GETH FORCES, UNKNOWN VESSEL "NAZARA"]
[OBJECTIVE: LOCATE "THE CONDUIT" — PROTHEAN MASS RELAY VARIANT]
[ESTIMATED TIMELINE: 2-3 YEARS]
[CONNECTION TO REAPER INVASION: CONFIRMED — SAREN IS THE ADVANCE AGENT]
Two to three years. The War Council's countdown and Saren's timeline were converging. The Reapers weren't just coming — they had an agent, a fleet of synthetic allies, and a plan. And the beacon that started all of this — the beacon that gave Webb the System — had put a signal on the map that Saren was now following.
"This data," Tali said quietly. "This is bigger than a Pilgrimage gift."
"Yes."
"If I bring this to the Migrant Fleet, the admiralty will act. They'll increase patrols, lock down the Veil border, maybe even attempt contact with the Geth to understand the threat." She paused. "Or they'll panic. Seal the Fleet, reduce external operations, and hope the problem goes away."
"Which is more likely?"
"The second. The admiralty's default response to Geth intelligence is quarantine. They've been reacting defensively for three hundred years."
"And Saren?"
"If the Citadel Council learns that one of their Spectres is working with the Geth, they'll either investigate and expose him or investigate and cover it up. Given what Garrus has shown me about institutional corruption..." She glanced at the turian. "I'm not optimistic."
Garrus had stopped pacing. He stood at the window, looking out at Haven's Point's scarred skyline.
"The Council won't act on this. Not from an anonymous source, not without a Spectre investigation, and not when the accused is their most decorated operative." His voice was bitter. The bitterness of a man who'd filed forty reports through proper channels and watched every one disappear. "Saren has too much political capital. Any accusation without overwhelming evidence will be buried."
"Then we don't go to the Council." Webb leaned forward. The words he'd been building toward for weeks, the strategy he'd been assembling since the War Council first pulsed its countdown in the corner of his vision. "We build something ourselves. A network. Intelligence, resources, allies. When the evidence is undeniable and the threat is imminent, we present it in a way that can't be ignored."
"That could take years," Tali said.
"We have years. Two to three, according to this data. Saren's looking for the Conduit, and he hasn't found it yet. That window is our advantage."
"Because I know where the Conduit is. Or at least, I know where Shepard found it — on Ilos, through the Mu Relay. But the Mu Relay's location was lost with the rachni, and Saren needs an asari Matriarch to find it. That hasn't happened yet. We have time."
Tali's hands had stopped their constant motion. She stood still in the office, faceplate reflecting the blue light of three data terminals, and the luminous eyes behind it carried something he hadn't seen from her before. Not nervousness. Not analytical focus. Decision.
"My Pilgrimage requires a gift of value to the Fleet." Her voice was measured. Deliberate. Each word placed with the care of someone building a bridge between two worlds. "This data is valuable. Enormously valuable. Bringing it home would secure my place on any ship, earn my adult name, and fulfill my obligation."
"It would."
"But a courier delivers a package and leaves. The information passes to people who may act on it or may not. I have no control over what happens next." She paused. "You're offering something different."
"I'm offering a seat at the table. Stay. Help me build something that can act on this intelligence directly — not through institutions that might fail, but through a network we control. When the time comes to confront Saren, you'll be part of it. Not a courier. A participant."
"And my Pilgrimage?"
"When we're ready — when the network is strong enough, the evidence undeniable, and the threat imminent — you deliver a gift that isn't just intelligence. You deliver a solution. That's worth more than any data core."
The office was quiet. The terminals hummed. Through the window, Haven's Point breathed its evening routine — lights flickering on, the Trade Hub glowing, colonists walking streets that had been a battlefield two weeks ago.
Tali looked at the star map she'd pulled up on her omni-tool. The Migrant Fleet's current position was marked — a cluster of icons representing fifty thousand quarians on ships older than most civilizations, drifting through the galaxy, waiting for a home they might never see again.
She closed the map.
"If I stay," she said, "I need to know more. About you. About how you do what you do. The barriers that appear from nothing. The infrastructure that violates material science. The fact that you recognized my name before I gave it."
"She noticed that. Of course she noticed. Quarians read body language like text — they have to, when faces are hidden behind masks. She saw my recognition at the docking bay, catalogued it, and waited to use it."
"I didn't recognize your name. I recognized quarian registry codes."
"That's a lie, and we both know it." No heat in the words. Just precision. The quarian equivalent of Garrus's C-Sec interrogation — direct, factual, allowing no deflection. "I'm not asking you to explain everything tonight. I'm asking if you'll explain eventually. Because I don't commit to people who hide behind walls I'll never see past."
He looked at her. At Garrus, who'd turned from the window and was watching the exchange with the quiet intensity of someone who'd asked the same question in different words and never gotten a full answer.
"Eventually," he said. "When I can. When it's safe."
"Define safe."
"When telling you won't put you in more danger than not telling you."
A long pause. The terminals scrolled. The colony breathed.
"Alright." She extended her hand. Three-fingered, gloved, warm through the suit material. "I'll stay. On those terms."
He took her hand. The grip was firm. The agreement was real.
Garrus's mandibles shifted. The expression that carried something between relief and vindication — the look of a man who'd bet on someone and was watching the bet pay off.
"So," the turian said. "A human, a turian, and a quarian walk into a Terminus colony."
"If you finish that with a punchline, I'm reassigning you to sanitation."
"I was going to say it sounds like the beginning of something." He straightened. "The beginning of what, exactly, I haven't decided. But something."
The data scrolled on the terminals. Saren's name. Nazara. The Conduit. Pieces of a puzzle that led to extinction, held by three people in a colony office on the edge of civilized space.
Tali's omni-tool pinged. She checked it. Her posture shifted — the subtle straightening that meant new information.
"The decryption on the deepest communication layer just finished." She pulled up the result. "It's a timestamp. A projected date."
The date appeared on screen.
2183. Arrival. Cycle renewal.
Three years.
The War Council timer pulsed in Webb's peripheral vision. The number matched.
Tali and Garrus stared at the screen. They didn't know what "cycle renewal" meant. Not yet. But they could read a countdown, and three years was close enough to taste.
"If I stay," Tali said quietly, "I need to know what happens in 2183."
"Stay," he said, "and I'll make sure you're alive to find out."
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