“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.”