“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 hum
ans 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.
“Then for now that is how we shall proceed. Negotiators from both sides will meet tomorrow. This meeting of the Council is adjourned.”
Goyle gave a demure nod of her head, keeping her expression carefully neutral. She’d won a major victory; there was no benefit in gloating over it. But as she made her way back down the stairs of the Petitioner’s Stage and headed toward the elevator that would take her back to the Presidium, a sly, self-satisfied smile crept across her lips.
SIXTEEN
The voice of the woman on the news vid never wavered or changed in tone as she reported the details of their latest lead story.
“In addition to the fine, the Alliance has agreed to voluntarily accept numerous trade sanctions as punishment for violation of the Citadel Conventions. The majority of these sanctions are in the fields of drive-core manufacturing and production of element zero. One economist warned energy prices back on Earth could jump by as much as twenty percent in the next—”
Anderson flicked the vid off with the remote.
“I thought it would be worse,” Kahlee said.
“Goyle’s a tough negotiator,” Anderson explained. “But I still think we got lucky.”
The two of them were sitting on the edge of a bed in a Hatre hotel room. Anderson was the one who had actually rented the room, charging it to the Alliance as part of his investigation. However, sharing a single room was nothing more than a necessity of their situation: he still hadn’t mentioned Kahlee to anyone back at Alliance HQ, and it would have raised suspicions if he’d requested another suite…or even a double bed.
“So what happens now?” Kahlee asked. “Where do we go from here?”
Anderson shrugged. “Honestly, I don’t know. Officially this has become Spectre business, but there’s still too many loose ends for the Alliance to just walk away.”
“Loose ends?”
“You, for one. We still don’t have any real proof that you aren’t a traitor. We need something to clear your name. And we still don’t know who the real traitor was, or where they’ve taken Dr. Qian.”
“Taken Dr. Qian? What do you mean?”
“The ambassador’s convinced Dr. Qian is still alive and being held prisoner somewhere,” Anderson explained. “She thinks he’s the whole reason the base was attacked. According to her, somebody wanted his knowledge and expertise, and they were willing to kill to get it.”
“That’s crazy,” Kahlee insisted. “What about the alien technology he found? That’s the real reason for the attack!”
“Nobody else knows about that yet,” Anderson reminded her. “Just me and you.”
“I figured you would have passed that on,” she said, dropping her eyes.
“I wouldn’t do something like that without telling you first,” Anderson assured her. “If I gave them that kind of information, they’d want to know where I found it. I’d have to tell them about you. I don’t think we want to do that yet.”
“You really are looking out for me,” she whispered.
There was something strange about her subdued reaction, as if she was embarrassed or ashamed. “Kahlee? What’s going on?”
The young woman got up off the bed and walked to the other side of the room. She paused, took a deep breath, then turned back to face him. “I have to tell you something,” she said, her tone grim. “I’ve been thinking about this a lot. Ever since you told me about running into Saren back at Dah’tan.”
He didn’t say anything, but merely nodded at her to continue.
“When I first saw you at my father’s place I didn’t trust you. Even after you fought off that krogan I couldn’t be sure if it was because you really believed me, or if you were just trying to win me over so I’d tell you how much I knew about Sidon.”
Anderson almost opened his mouth to say she could trust him, then changed his mind. Better to let her work through this on her own.
“And then we went to Dah’tan and you ran into Saren and…I know what happened out there, David. Even what you didn’t tell me.”
“What are you talking about?” he protested. “I told you everything that happened!”
She shook her head. “Not everything. You said Saren thought about killing you, then changed his mind because he was afraid there might be witnesses. But you never bothered to tell him you came with someone else, did you?”
“I didn’t have to. He figured it out on his own.”
“But if he hadn’t figured it out, he would’ve killed you! You put your own life in danger rather than tell that Spectre I was nearby.”
“You’re reading too much into this,” Anderson said, shifting uncomfortably. “I just never thought to say anything until after he was gone.”
“You’re a terrible liar, Lieutenant,” she said with a faint smile. “Probably because you’re a good person.”
“And so are you,” he assured her.
“No,” she said with a shake of her head. “Not really. I’m not a good person. Which must be why I’m such a good liar.”
“You’ve been lying to me?” In his head Ande
rson could hear the warning Saren had given him during their confrontation outside the ruins of Dah’tan. She’s lying to you. She knows much more about this than she’s told you.
“I know who the traitor at Sidon was. I have proof. And I know how we can find out who he’s working with.”
Anderson felt as if he’d been slapped across the face. He didn’t know what hurt more: the fact that Kahlee had deceived him, or the fact that it was obvious to Saren long before he even had a clue.
“Please,” she said, reading his pained expression. “You have to understand.”
“I understand,” he said softly. “You were just being smart. Careful.” And I was too blind and stupid to see what was really going on.
The divorce must have hit him harder than he’d realized. He’d been so desperate and lonely that he’d imagined some special connection between him and Sanders, when all they really had in common was a connection to an attack on an Alliance base. Sacrificing everything to be a better soldier had cost him his marriage. Now that his divorce was final, he’d let his personal feelings interfere with a military assignment. Cynthia would have laughed at the irony.
“I was going to tell you,” Kahlee insisted. “That first night. After you saved us from the krogan. Grissom warned me not to.”
“But you told him.”
“He’s my father!”
A man you barely even know, Anderson thought, though he didn’t say anything out loud. Logically he understood why she’d done it, but that didn’t make it sting any less. She’d used him. She’d been playing him through the whole investigation, giving him little bits of information to keep him distracted so he wouldn’t realize the truth: she had the answers he was looking for all along.
Anderson took a long, slow breath and brought his emotions under control. There was no point in dwelling on this; it was over. Done. Thinking about how Kahlee had manipulated him wouldn’t get them any closer to completing the mission; it wouldn’t help avenge those who lost their lives at Sidon.
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