Mass Effect: The Complete Novels 4-Book Bundle (17 page)

“There is no need for pretense here,” the turian said, beginning the proceedings with surprisingly little formality. “We have been informed by one of our agents, a Spectre, that humanity was conducting illegal AI research at one of its facilities in the Skyllian Verge.”

“That facility was destroyed,” Ambassador Goyle reminded them, trying to play on their sympathies. “Dozens of human lives were lost in an unprovoked attack.”

“That is not the purpose of this audience,” the asari said, her voice cold despite the underlying lyrical quality that was common to the speech of all her people. “We are only here to talk about Sidon itself.”

“Ambassador,” the salarian chimed in, “surely you understand the dangers artificial intelligence represents to the galaxy as a whole?”

“The Alliance took every conceivable precaution with our research at Sidon,” Goyle replied, refusing to apologize for what had happened.

“We have no way to know that but your word,” the turian shot back. “And you’ve already proved how unreliable your species can be.”

“This is not meant to be an attack upon your species,” the asari said quickly, trying to smooth over the turian’s remarks. “Humanity is a newcomer to the galactic community, and we have done all we can to welcome your species.”

“Like when the turians conquered Shanxi in the First Contact War?”

“The Council intervened on humanity’s behalf in that conflict,” the salarian reminded her. “The turians were escalating their response; assembling their fleet. Millions of human lives would have been lost if not for our intercession.”

“I was in full support of the Council’s actions then,” the turian made a point of noting. “Unlike some of my species, I bear no ill will toward humanity or the Alliance. But I also do not believe you should be given preferential treatment.”

“When we invited humanity to become part of Citadel Space,” the asari said, picking up the turian’s train of thought without missing a beat, “you agreed to be bound by the laws and conventions of this Council.”

“You only want to make an example of us because we’re pushing the batarians out of the Verge,” Goyle accused. “I know their embassy has threatened to secede from the Citadel if something isn’t done.”

“We heard their case,” the salarian admitted. “But we did not take any action. The Verge is unclaimed territory, and it is the policy of the Council not to become involved in regional disputes unless they will have widespread impact throughout Citadel Space. We seek to preserve the autonomy of every species in all matters except those that threaten the galaxy as a whole.”

“Like your research into artificial intelligence,” the turian added.

The ambassador shook her head in exasperation. “You can’t be naïve enough to think humanity is the only species investigating this!”

“It is not naïveté, but rather wisdom that leads us to think this,” the asari countered.

“Your people were not here to see the fall of the quarians at the hands of the geth,” the salarian reminded her. “The dangers of creating intelligent synthetic life, in any form, were never more clearly illustrated. Humanity simply doesn’t understand that the risks are just too great.”

“Risk?” Goyle struggled to keep from shouting while she continued to press the attack. “The only risk is burying your heads in the sand and hoping this all goes away!

“The geth are still out there,” she continued. “Synthetic life is a reality. The creation of a true AI—maybe an entire race of them—is inevitable. They might even be out there somewhere already, just waiting to be discovered. If we don’t study synthetic life now, in a controlled setting, how can we ever hope to stand against it?”

“We understand there are risks inherent to the creation of synthetic life,” the asari remarked. “But we do not automatically assume that we will have no other choice but to come into conflict with them. That is a conceit of humanity.”

“Other species embrace the underlying philosophy of mutual coexistence,” the salarian explained, as if he were lecturing her. “We see strength in unity and cooperation. Humanity, however, seems to still believe competition is the key to prosperity. As a species, you are aggressive and antagonistic.”

“Every species competes for power,” the ambassador shot back. “The only reason you three are able to sit and pass judgment on the rest of the galaxy is because the Council races control the Council Fleet!”

“The Council races commit immeasurable resources in our efforts to ensure widespread galactic peace,” the turian angrily declared. “Money, ships, and even millions of our own citizens are all freely given in the service of the greater good!”

“Often the rulings of the Council go against our own species,” the salarian reminded her. “You know this from experience: the turians were forced to make heavy reparations to the Alliance after your First Contact War, even though it could be argued that the conflict was as much humanity’s fault as theirs.”

“The connection between theoretical philosophy and practical actions is a fine one,” the asari conceded. “We do not deny that individuals on their own, and cultures or species as a whole, will seek to expand their territory and influence. But we believe this is best accomplished with the understanding that there must be reciprocity: what you humans call give-and-take.

“This makes us willing to sacrifice for the sake of others,” she concluded. “Can you honestly say the same about humanity?”

The ambassador didn’t make any reply. As the top Alliance representative on the Citadel, she’d studied interstellar politics in great depth. She was intimately familiar with every ruling the Council had made in the last two centuries. And although there was an ever-so-subtle bias toward their own peoples in the overall pattern of the Council’s decisions, everything they’d just said was fundamentally true. The asari, salarians, and even the turians had well-deserved reputations for selflessness and altruism on a galactic scale.

It was one of the things she still struggled with, this delicate balance the other races maintained between self-interest and the collective well-being of every species who swore allegiance to the Citadel. The integration and amalgamation of new alien cultures into the interstellar community was almost too easy; it seemed unnatural. She had a theory that it was somehow connected to the underlying Prothean technology that was common to every space-faring species. It gave them a point of similarity, something to build on. But then why hadn’t humanity adapted as smoothly as everyone else?

“We didn’t come here to argue politics,” the ambassador finally said, avoiding the asari councillor’s question. She suddenly felt exhausted. “What are you planning to do about Sidon?” There was no point dragging this out; there was nothing she could do to change the Council’s mind anyway.

“There will have to be sanctions against humanity and the Alliance,” the turian informed her. “This is a serious crime; the penalties must reflect that.”

Maybe this is just part of the process of assimilating humanity into the interstellar community,
Goyle thought wearily.
A gradual and inevitable evolution that will bring the Alliance into line with the rest of the species who answer to the Council.

“As part of these sanctions, the Council will appoint a number of representatives to monitor Alliance activity throughout the Verge.” The salarian was the one speaking now, going into the details of humanity’s punishment.

Maybe we’re just fundamentally different from most other species,
Goyle thought, only half-listening to the judgment being handed down.
Maybe we don’t fit in because there’s something wrong with us.
There were a few other species, like the krogan, that were warlike and hostile at their core. In the end the krogans had suffered for it, incurring the wrath of the rest of the galaxy, decimating their numbers and leaving them a scattered, dying people. Was this to be humanity’s fate as well?

“These appointed Council representatives will also conduct regular inspections of all Alliance facilities and colonies, including Earth, to ensure you are in compliance with the laws and regulations of the Citadel.”

Maybe we are antagonistic.

Humanity was certainly aggressive. Not to mention assertive, determined, and relentless. But were these really flaws? The Alliance had spread farther and faster than any other species before them. By her estimations, the Alliance would have the power to rival the Council races themselves in twenty or thirty years. And suddenly it all made sense.

They’re scared of us!
The fatigue and weariness that had overwhelmed Ambassador Goyle only moments before vanished, swept away by that single stunning revelation.
They’re actually scared of us!

“No!” she said sharply, cutting off the salarian as he droned on with his list of demands.

“No?” he said, puzzled. “No what?”

“I do not accept these terms.” She had almost made a terrible mistake. She had let these aliens manipulate her, twist her mind until she doubted herself and her people. But she wasn’t about to grovel before them now. She wasn’t about to apologize for humanity acting human.

“This is not a negotiation,” the turian warned her.

“That’s where you’re wrong,” she said with a fierce smile. Humanity had chosen her as their representative, their champion. It was her duty to defend the rights of every man, woman, and child on Earth and across Alliance space. They needed her now, and she would fight for them!

“Ambassador, perhaps you fail to understand the gravity of the situation,” the asari suggested.

“You’re the ones who don’t understand” was Goyle’s stern reply. “These sanctions you’re proposing will cripple humanity. The Alliance will not allow this to happen.
I
won’t allow this to happen.”

“Do you really think humanity can defy the Council?” the turian asked, incredulous. “Do you honestly believe your people could triumph in a war against our combined forces?”

“No,” Goyle freely admitted. “But we wouldn’t go down easy. And I don’t think you’re willing to go to war over something like this. Not with us. The cost would be too high. Too many ships and lives lost in a conflict we all want to avoid.

“Not to mention the impact it would have on all the other species. We’re the dominant force in the Skyllian Verge and the Attican Traverse. Alliance expansion drives the economies of those regions; Alliance ships and soldiers help maintain order out there.”

From the expressions on their respective holographic projections the ambassador could see she’d hit a nerve. Eager to press her point, she kept speaking before any members of the Council could respond.

“Humanity is a major trade partner with half a dozen other species in Citadel Space, including each of your races. We make up over fifteen percent of the population here on the Citadel, and there are thousands of humans working in C-Sec and Citadel Control. We’ve been part of the galactic community for less than a decade and we’re already too important—too essential—for you to simply force us out!”

She continued her tirade, still talking even as she drew in a much needed breath; a technique she’d mastered early on in her political career.

“I’ll admit we made a mistake. There should be some type of penalty. But humans take risks. We push the boundaries. That’s who we are. Sometimes we’re going to go too far, but that still doesn’t give you the right to slap us down like overly strict parents!

“Humanity has a lot to learn about dealing with other species. But you have just as much to learn about dealing with us. And you better learn fast, because we humans are here to stay!”

When the ambassador finally stopped, a stunned silence fell over the Council Chamber. The three representatives of the galaxy’s most powerful government looked at each other, then shut off their microphones and the holographic projectors to hold a brief conference in private. From the other side of the room it was impossible for Goyle to read their expressions or hear what they were saying without any amplifying technology, but it was clear there was a much heated debate.

The meeting lasted several minutes before they reached some kind of accord and switched their mikes and holographic projectors back on.

“What kind of penalties are you suggesting, Ambassador?” the asari councillor asked.

Goyle wasn’t sure if the question was sincere, or if they were trying to lure her into some kind of trap. If she suggested something too light, they might just dismiss her and force humanity to accept the original terms, consequences be damned.

“Monetary fines, of course,” she began, trying to determine the bare minimum they would consider acceptable. Although she wouldn’t admit it, Goyle knew it was important to discourage other species from illegal AI research, as well. “We’ll agree to sanctions, but they have to be specific: limited in scope, region, and duration. We’ll oppose anything unilateral on principle alone. Our advancement as a society cannot afford to be hindered by overbearing restrictions. I can have a team of Alliance negotiators ready tomorrow to work out the details of something we
all
can live with.”

“And what about the inspectors appointed to oversee Alliance operations?” the salarian asked.

He’d made it a question, a request instead of an order. That’s when Goyle knew she had them. They weren’t ready to dig in their heels over this, and it was clear she was.

“That’s not going to happen. Like many species, humans are a sovereign people. We won’t stand for foreign investigators peeking over our shoulders at every little thing we do.”

The ambassador knew they’d probably increase the number of intelligence operatives monitoring human activity instead, but there was nothing she could do about that. Every species spied on everyone else—it was the nature of government, an integral cog in the political machine. And everyone knew the Council played the espionage and information-gathering game as well as anyone. But having to escalate Alliance counterintelligence activities was a damn sight better than granting unrestricted access to a team of officially appointed Citadel observers.

There was another long pause, though this time the Council didn’t bother to confer. In the end it was the asari who broke the silence.