hear her case.
As the ambassador stepped out onto the Petitioner’s Stage and approached the podium, she was relieved to see that none of the spectator seats were occupied. Although their decision would be made public, it was obvious the Council wanted to keep the exact nature of this meeting with the Alliance secret. That further strengthened her resolve: part of her had feared this would be nothing but a spectacle for public show, with no chance for her to defend the actions of humanity.
At the far end, the members of the Council were already seated. The asari councillor was in the center, directly across from Ambassador Goyle. To her left, Goyle’s right, was the turian councillor. To the asari’s right was the salarian representative. Above each of them was a five-meter-tall holographic projection of their head and shoulders, allowing petitioners to clearly see the reactions of each individual Council member despite the distance between the two stages.
“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 na?ve enough to think humanity is the only species investigating this!”
“It is not na?vet? 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?