Mass Effect: Revelation

CHAPTER EIGHT

Anderson was up at 07:00. He had a slight headache, the mild aftereffects of his late-night visit to Chora’s Den. But a three-mile run on the treadmill he kept stashed in the corner of the apartment and a steaming hot shower purged the last remnants of the elasa from his system.

By the time he changed into his uniform — cleaned and pressed from the night before — he felt like his

old self. He’d pushed all thoughts of Cynthia and the divorce into a small compartment in the back of his mind; it was time to move on. There was only one thing that mattered this morning: getting some

answers about Sidon.

He walked through the streets to the public-transport depot. He showed his military ID, then boarded the high-speed elevator used to shuttle people from the lower levels of the wards to the Presidium high above.

Anderson always enjoyed visiting the Presidium. Unlike the wards, which were built along the arms extending out from the Citadel, the Presidium occupied the station’s central ring. And although it housed all the government offices and the embassies of the various species, it was a sharp contrast to the sprawling metropolis he was leaving behind.

The Presidium had been designed to evoke a vast parkland ecosystem. A large freshwater lake dominated the center of the level, rolling fields of verdant grass ran the length of its banks. Fabricated breezes, gentle as spring zephyrs, caused ripples on the lake and spread the scent of the thousands of planted trees and flowers to every corner of the Presidium. Artificial sunlight streamed down from a simulated blue sky filled with white, puffy clouds. The illusion was so perfect that most people, including Anderson, couldn’t distinguish it from the real thing.

The buildings where the business of government was conducted had been similarly constructed with an eye to natural aesthetics. Set along the gently curving arch that marked the edge of the station’s central ring, they blended unobtrusively into the background. Broad, open walkways meandered back and from building to building, echoing the landscape of the carefully manufactured pastoral scene at the Presidium’s heart — the perfect combination of form and function.

However, as Anderson stepped off the elevator and onto the level, he was reminded that it wasn’t the

organic beauty that he most appreciated about the Presidium. Access to the Citadel’s inner ring was generally restricted to government and military officials, or those with legitimate embassy business. As a result, the Presidium was the one place on the Citadel where Anderson didn’t feel like he was under constant siege from the rushing, crushing crowds.

Not that it was empty, of course. The galactic bureaucracy employed thousands of citizens from every race that maintained an embassy on the Presidium, including humanity. But the numbers here were a far cry from the millions who populated the wards.

He reveled in the peaceful tranquillity as he strolled along the lakeside, slowly working his way toward his meeting at the human embassy. Far in the distance he could see the Citadel Tower, where the Council met with ambassadors petitioning them on matters of interstellar policy and law. The Tower’s spire rose in majestic solitude above the rest of the buildings, barely visible at the point where the curve of the central ring created a false horizon.

Anderson had never been there himself. If he ever wanted to petition the Council, he’d have to go through the proper channels; most likely the ambassador would end up doing it on his behalf. And that was just fine by him. He was a soldier, not a diplomat.

He passed by one of the keepers, the silent, enigmatic race that maintained and controlled the inner workings of the Citadel. They reminded him of oversized aphids: fat green bodies with too many sticklike arms and legs, always scuttling from one place to another on some task or errand.

Little was known about the keepers. They existed nowhere in the galaxy but on the Citadel; they had simply been there waiting when the asari had discovered the station almost three thousand years ago. They had reacted to the arrival of the new species as servants might react to a master returning home: scurrying and scrambling to do everything possible to make it easier for the asari to familiarize themselves with the Citadel and its operations.

All efforts to directly communicate with the keepers were met with mute, passive resistance. They seemed to have no purpose to their existence beyond servicing and repairing the Citadel, and there was an ongoing debate as to whether they were truly intelligent. Some theories held that they were in fact organic machines, genetically programmed by the Protheans to care for the Citadel with a single-minded fanaticism. They functioned purely on instinct, the theory claimed, so unaware they didn’t even realize their original creators had vanished fifty thousand years ago.

Anderson ignored the keeper as he went by — a typical reaction. They were so ubiquitous on the station, and so unobtrusive and unassuming, that most people tended to just take them for granted.

Five minutes later he had reached the building that served as the human embassy. He went inside, the corners of his mouth rising up in a slight grin when he saw the attractive young woman sitting behind the reception desk. She looked up as he approached, returning his coy smile with a radiant one of her

own.

“Good morning, Aurora.”

“It’s been a while since I’ve seen you around here, Lieutenant.” Her voice was as pleasing to the ear as her appearance was to the eye: warm, inviting, confident — the perfect welcome to any and all embassy visitors.

“I was beginning to think you were avoiding me,” she teased. “No, I’m just trying to stay out of trouble.”

With a free hand she tapped a few keys on her terminal and glanced over at the screen. “Uh-oh,” she said, feigning a deep and troubling concern, “you’ve got a meeting with Ambassador Goyle herself.”

She arched an eyebrow, playfully taking him to task. “I thought you said you were staying out of trouble.”

“I said I was trying to stay out of trouble,” he countered. “I never said I was succeeding.”

He was rewarded with a light laugh that was probably polished and practiced, but nonetheless sounded warm and sincere.

“The captain’s already here. I’ll let them know you’re coming.”

Anderson nodded and headed up the stairs toward the ambassador’s office, his step somewhat lighter than it had been a few moments before. He wasn’t foolish enough to read anything into their exchange. Aurora was just doing her job: the receptionist had been hired for her ability to make people feel comfortable and at ease. But he wouldn’t deny that he enjoyed their flirtations.

The door to the ambassador’s office was closed. Aurora had said they were expecting him, but he still paused to knock.

“Come in” came a woman’s voice from the other side.

As soon as he entered he knew the meeting was serious. There were several comfortable chairs and a small coffee table in the office, not to mention the ambassador’s desk. But both the captain and the ambassador were standing as they waited for him.

“Please close the door behind you, Lieutenant.” Anderson did as the ambassador instructed, then stepped into the room and stood stiffly at attention.

Anita Goyle was the most influential and important individual in human politics, and she definitely projected an image of power. Bold and confident, she was a striking woman in her early sixties. She was of medium build, with long silver hair — tied up in a stylish bun — and high, elegant cheekbones. Her features were Middle Eastern, though she had deep emerald eyes that stood out in sharp contrast to her mocha skin. Right now those eyes were fixed directly on Anderson, and he had to fight the urge to fidget under their piercing gaze.

“At ease,” his captain said. Anderson complied, widening his stance and clasping his hands behind his back.

“I’m not going to play games with you, Lieutenant,” the ambassador began. She had a reputation for cutting through the usual political bs; that was one of the things Anderson admired about her. “We’re here to try and figure out what went wrong at Sidon, and how we’re going to fix it.”

“Yes, ma’am,” he replied.

“I want you to speak freely here. You understand, Lieutenant? Don’t hold anything back.” “Understood, ma’am.”

“As you know, Sidon was one of our top-security-clearance installations. What you hopefully didn’t know was that it was the primary Alliance facility for AI research.”

It was difficult for Anderson not to show his surprise. Attempting to develop artificial intelligence was one of the few things specifically banned in the Citadel Conventions. Developing purely synthetic life, whether cloned or manufactured, was considered a crime against the entire galaxy.

Experts from nearly every species predicted that true artificial intelligence — such as a synthetic neural network with the ability to absorb and critically analyze knowledge — would grow exponentially the instant it learned to learn. It would teach itself; quickly surpassing the capabilities of its organic creators and growing beyond their control. Every single species in the galaxy relied on computers that were linked into the vast data network of the extranet for transport, trade, defense, and basic survival. If a rogue AI program was somehow able to access and influence those data networks, the results would be catastrophic.

Conventional theory held that the doomsday scenario wasn’t merely possible, it was unavoidable. According to the Council, the emergence of an artificial intelligence was the single greatest threat to organic life in the galaxy. And there was evidence to support their position.

Three hundred years ago, long before humanity appeared on the galactic scene, the quarian species had created a race of synthetic servants to serve as an expandable and expendable labor force. The geth, as

they were called, were not true AIs: their neural networks were developed in a way that was highly restrictive and self-limiting. Despite this precaution, the geth eventually turned on their quarian masters, validating all the dire warnings and predictions.

The quarians had neither the numbers nor the ability to stand against their former servants. In a short but savage war their entire society was wiped out. Only a few million survivors — less than one percent of their entire population — escaped the genocide, fleeing their home world in a massive fleet, refugees forced to live in exile.

In the aftermath of the war, the geth became a completely isolationist society. Cutting off all contact

with the organic species of the galaxy, they expanded their territory into the unexplored regions behind a vast nebulae cloud known as the Perseus Veil. Every attempt to open diplomatic channels with them failed: emissary vessels sent to open negotiations were attacked and destroyed the moment they entered geth space.

Fleets from every species in Citadel space massed on the borders of the Veil as the Council prepared for

a massive geth invasion. But the expected attack never came. Gradually the fleets were scaled back, until now, several centuries after the quarians were driven out, only a few patrols remained to monitor the region for signs of geth aggression.

However, the lesson of the quarians had not been forgotten. They had lost everything to the synthetic creatures they created… and on top of this, the geth were still less advanced than a true AI.

“You look like you have something to say, Lieutenant.”

Anderson had done his best to keep his face from betraying his feelings, but the ambassador had seen right through his fa?ade. There was a reason she was the most powerful politician in the Alliance.

“I’m sorry, ma’am. I’m just surprised we’re conducting AI research. Seems pretty risky.”

“We are well aware of the dangers,” the ambassador reassured him. “We have no intention of unleashing a fully formed AI on the galaxy. The goals of the project were very specific: create limited AI

simulations for observation and study.

“Humanity is the underdog now,” she continued. “We’re expanding, but we still don’t have the numbers or the fleets to match the major species vying for power in Council space. We need some kind of advantage. Understanding AI technology would help give us the edge we need to compete and survive.”

“You of all people should understand,” the captain added. “Without rudimentary AI technology we’d all be living under turian rule right now.”

It was true. Alliance military strategy relied heavily on highly advanced combat simulation programs.

Collating millions of variables each second, the simulations would analyze a massive data bank of scenarios, helping to provide constant updates on optimized tactics and strategies to the commanders of each Alliance vessel. Without the combat simulators, humanity wouldn’t have stood a chance against the larger, more experienced turian fleets in the First Contact War.

“I understand your concern,” Ambassador Goyle explained, possibly sensing Anderson still wasn’t wholly convinced. “But Sidon base was operating under the strictest security and safety protocols. The project head, Dr. Shu Qian, is the galaxy’s foremost expert on artificial intelligence research.

“He personally oversaw every aspect of the project. Qian even insisted that the neural networks we used to create the AI simulations be completely self-contained. The data had to be registered and recorded by hand, then manually entered into a separate system to ensure there was no chance of cross- contamination with the neural network. Whatever happened, there was no way for the AI simulations to affect anything outside the restricted data systems within the base. Every possible precaution was taken to make sure nothing could possibly go wrong.”

“And yet something did.”

“You’re out of line, Lieutenant!” the captain barked.

The ambassador held up her hand as she jumped to his defense. “I told him to speak freely, Captain.” “I meant no disrespect, ma’am,” Anderson said by way of apology. “You don’t need to justify Sidon’s

existence to me. I’m just a grunt who got sent in to clean up the mess.”

An awkward silence followed, finally broken by the ambassador. “I’ve read your report,” she said, tactfully changing the direction of the conversation. “You don’t seem to think this was a random attack.”

“No, ma’am. I’d say Sidon was specifically targeted. I just didn’t know why until now.”

“If that’s true, there’s a good chance whoever attacked Sidon was also after Dr. Qian specifically. His work in the field is unparalleled; nobody understands synthetic intelligence better than he.”

“You think Dr. Qian’s still alive?”

“My gut says he is,” the ambassador answered. “I think whoever attacked Sidon destroyed the base to cover their tracks. They wanted us to think everybody inside was dead so we wouldn’t bother looking for Qian.”

The lieutenant had assumed the explosion was meant to hide the identity of the traitor, but it could also have been used to hide the fact that Qian wasn’t among the dead. There wasn’t any way to prove the theory, of course, but like the ambassador, Anderson had learned to trust his gut. And his gut said she

was right.

“Do you think Dr. Qian could be convinced to use his research to help someone outside the Alliance develop an AI?” he asked.

“Dr. Qian isn’t a soldier,” she replied, a look of grim concern on her face. “He has a brilliant mind, but it’s in the body of a frail old man. He might be brave enough to refuse to help a nonhuman species, even if they threatened to kill him. But a few weeks of torture would break his resistance.”

“So we’re working against the clock.”

“Seems that way,” the ambassador admitted. “I noticed something else in your report,” she continued, smoothly changing her focus yet again. “You said you believe the attackers had help from someone working on the project?”

“Yes, ma’am.”

“We may know who that person is,” the captain chimed in. “Sir?”

It was the ambassador who answered him. “One of our top technicians left the base UA just hours before the attack. Kahlee Sanders. We have reports she was last seen on Elysium, but she’s dropped off the grid since then.”

“You figure if we find her, we find Dr. Qian?”

“We won’t know that until you find her, Lieutenant.”

Anderson was surprised. “You’re sending the Hastings to track her down?” “No,” the ambassador replied. “Just you.”

Instinctively he turned toward his captain. “Sir, I don’t understand.”

“You’re the best damn XO I’ve ever served with, Anderson,” the captain said. “But the ambassador’s asking that you be reassigned.”

“Understood, sir.” He tried to keep his voice professional, but Goyle must have picked up on his disappointment.

“This isn’t a punishment, Lieutenant. I’ve looked over your service records. Head of your class at Arcturus. Three different medals of merit during the First Contact War. Numerous commendations throughout your career. You’re the best the Alliance has to offer. And this is the most important mission we’ve ever had.”

Anderson gave an emphatic nod. “You can count on me, Ambassador.” He was a soldier, sworn to defend humanity. This was his duty, and it was an honor to accept the burden being placed upon him.

“You’re going to be working on this alone,” the captain told him. “The more people we send after

Sanders, the more chance somebody outside this room finds out what we were doing at Sidon.”

“Officially this mission doesn’t even exist,” the ambassador added. “Humanity’s still the new kid on the block. We’re bold, we’re brash, and every other race is just waiting for us to screw up.

“I don’t have to tell you what it’s like out there in the Verge, Lieutenant. You’ve seen how hard it is to establish a colony and make it stick. We’re clawing and scraping and fighting for every little gain we make, just trying to survive. But if the Citadel gets wind of this, things will get a whole lot tougher.

“If we’re lucky, we’ll get off with an official rebuke and major trade sanctions, crippling our economy. If we’re unlucky, they could revoke our embassy here on the Citadel. They could make it illegal for any other Council species to deal with us on any level.

“Humanity’s not strong enough to make it out there completely on our own. Not yet.” “I know how to be discreet,” Anderson assured her.

“It’s not just you. Kahlee Sanders knows something about this. So does whoever was involved in the actual attack. How long until one of these people runs across a Spectre?”

Anderson frowned. The last thing they needed was for a Spectre to become involved. Elite agents of the Citadel’s covert Special Tactics and Recon branch, Spectres answered directly to the Council itself. Highly trained individuals authorized to act above and outside the law, the Spectres had one simple mandate: protect galactic stability at any and all costs. The Skyllian Verge — a largely unsettled border region of Council space that was a known haven for rebels, insurrectionists, and terrorist groups — was exactly the kind of place where Spectres would be most active. And a rogue faction in possession of the galaxy’s foremost expert on AI technology was exactly the kind of threat Spectres excelled in hunting down and eliminating.

“If a Spectre somehow finds out about this, they’ll have to report it to the Council,” Anderson said, choosing his words carefully. “How far am I supposed to go to keep this secret?”

“Are you asking if we’re ordering you to kill an official agent of the Council?” the captain asked.

Anderson nodded.

“I can’t make that decision for you, Lieutenant,” the ambassador told him. “We trust your judgment. If the situation comes up, it’ll be your call.

“Not that I think it’ll matter,” she added ominously. “By the time you find out a Spectre’s gotten involved, you’ll probably already be dead.”