[Citadel, Tayseri, Eight Street Temple] Community Day (Open)

Organic processing power was less efficient than expected. Conversations would still occur at rate of vocal exchange. Task goals not achieved. This must be what disappointment felt like to the organics.

acknowledged. extranet search reveals that 'zippies' ia vernacular for narcotic substance. perceived 'high' is not beneficial to efficient exchange with organics, will adjust conversing protocols in light of this. please define 'special person'. are they an individual outfitted with electronic interception/counter-measures suite if wireless communication in their presence is not adviced?

As if to illustrate the problem, Kayana had launched into "And the individual here is named Flash of Light, Flash of light, Raelon, Raelon, Flash of Light..."

"Nice. There's like, four individual priests here, so you'll get a few different points of view. And you'll get to see this bunch perform."

Yes, that is better. Well, they'll know you aren't high--most folks know you don't function that way. With dismay you will likely be asked if you can become intoxicated. Selective handicapping of equilibrium systems may produce similar sensation. I don't expect yto thou will perceive the logic of this experience.

Apologies for vague definition. For me, special person is usually either an authority figure or a loved one - someone who would be angry or hurt to think I was not giving them undivided attention. Even if they can't catch me or prove it, I feel ethically restrained from deceiving them. Some people may say I shouldn't multi task on anyone. But I don't like to lie. I do, because I get so bored sometimes.

Also, anyone who thinks I am ugly or monstrous because of the tech, I stop valuing their opinions for the most part.

Raelon nods to Kayana, appearing all the world engaged in the face to face interaction. Meanwhile, in his projection, the virtual turian has descended from the rampart to stand in front of his castle rather than in it.

Arash was still running odd jobs, fetching food, grabbing supplies, relaying messages between folk, but he was atrociously absentminded while he did so. Seeing so many cultures in one place was absolute overwhelming fun for an anthropologist, especially in a peaceful setting. The Lieutenants music was getting more improvised and was still amazing. The cloaked figure, a turian with extensive mods apparently, had had his attention called to something, and the geth platform was swarmed with questions for a time. It was something unthinkable even a few years ago and he could barely attend to his labors as he admired the tableau.

It was fascinating, Laykalar thought happily, how things could change for the better. Perceptions and perspectives could shift before people had the slightest awareness of their capacity for transformation. How reassuring to see the difference in others now! In the aftermath of the Great Storm, there had been despair. There had been too much lost, too many voices darkened so that nothing would ever be comfortable again; this, many survivors had insisted, distraught at the horrors they'd endured. Distressingly, they had lost faith; not in any particular deity or creed but in the generalized sense of giving up. More than this, it had been feared that the widespread devastation would breed only more chaos and fragmentation in future. The salarians had warned of a second Krogan Rebellion, the turians and volus of a human colony revolt, some of the asari of the consequences of the geth's upgraded programs. The Many Voices would clash and attempt to outshine each other, gradually dragging what remained into darkness.

But it hadn't been so. Now, representatives from myriad races mingled in peace, listening with rapt attention or polite interest to one of the first AIs to move freely in Citadel Space for centuries. Beings were questioning each other on the particulars of their faiths and philosophies, improving themselves through immersion in the cosmopolitan life of the Citadel, each breaking wave another welcome addition to each person's ever-swelling awareness. Awareness of possibilities.

Had he been a human, Laykalar might have gotten tearful. As it was, he simply floated there, in something very much like bliss.

As the reverend Syacindil had most elegantly opined, despair was a foolish choice when regarding the aftermath of storms. When it would be all too easy to succumb, instead one should choose to re-orientate and strike out for clearer waters, accepting that in one's forced adaptation was the capacity for self-improvement. Laykalar had wondered sometimes if this was a truth hanar were able to grasp with greater ease than their honoured neighbours, given their 360-degree home environment and wide range of vision. Underwater, when you didn't need to surface, left was right was up was down was forewards, and any direction was potentially a good one. The others had more restrictions on the body; perhaps then, on the mind and the Word? This was the only area in which he believed his favourite scholar to be wrong. All around him, the Many Voices glowed in a veritable symposium of spiritual evolution.

He was glad to be here, on the Citadel. Were it not blasphemy, he might even borrow a phrase from his human friends and say that he was "glad beyond words".