Apparently, sleep is now outlawed. At least, that's what Varr believed. First those damned Batarian teenagers set off the fire-hazard alarm near his complex, and now physically repulsive static was being broadcast all over the place. The echo drowned out the traditionally serene sounds of his section of the wards and amplified the screams coming from his balcony. From what he could guess, a bunch of Qurians hacked some of the nearby complex broadcasts. It happened before. As a result, the lemmings decided to come out of hibernation to further this annoyance with their incessant chattering. As he fumbled around in his bed, pilling swaths of pillows over his ears to halt the barrage, he finally gave up. He had even turned off his omnitool just to get a good night's worth of sleep for goodness sake. With a click something lit up the darkened room and he walked, eyes half-closed, to the balcony.

"FOR THE LOVE OF ALL THAT IS PURE AND HOLY, PEOPLE ARE TRYING TO SLEEP!"

He found, unsurprisingly, a large group of people like him, mostly clad in their nightwear, staring at the broadcast screen. Now, however, he was the centre of attention, with everyone awkwardly eying at him. This section of the wards was very pronounced in terms of flora. Various trees and plants indigenous to Palaven were planted nearby. It gave Varr the excellent feeling of being home without having to deal with the Turians at home. This section was basically a large condominium, a fortress against the red tape of the presidium and the pedestrianism of the lower wards. As such, the houses seemed like one large semi-circular building, that curved around a fountain and a large screen in the centre of a building marked: "INFORMATION OFFICE"

"There's been some issue with the comm-buoy network. We think it might be some sentient life trying to communicate." Answered a rather rugged Turian a few feet below him, seemingly kind enough to inform him of the issue.

"I beg your pardon?" Varr answered.

"Come down and have a look for yourself, we've been getting on and off feed."

Not wanting to miss out on a lifetime event, Varr immediately got dressed and dropped down to see what everything was about. As exciting as this was, the reason he picked this ward location was because it was one of the few places in the Citadel that simulated Palaven day-night cycles. Couldn't aliens have tried to communicate when people weren't trying to sleep?

As he exited the elevator, the incomprehensible cluster of sounds began to get clearer and clearer. Much of the muffled and echoed feed was growing increasingly focused.

The static was slowly coming to a halt, and the static-ridden visual was that of a Garden planet. He turned his gaze towards the C-SEC officer whom he strategically placed himself near.

"So officer, aliens just managed to hack C-SEC broadcasting from the outside?" Questioned Varr.

"No, actually. A bunch of tech-boys up in the Networks noticed some odd feed. It seems to be coming from a nearby relay, but figuring which one would take a while. Until then, they needed something large enough to pick up the minute radio-waves. So they kinda used the Citadel Emergency Broadcast System as a giant receiver"

"The Council's fine with using the Citadel to pick up alien radio waves?"

"It was the Council's idea. For all we know this could be a declaration of war. Too tempting to resist."

Suddenly, a slightly muffled voice spoke out. Varr wasn't sure what to make of the language. It just sounded like noise to him. Incredibly annoying, sleep-depriving noise.

"Et maintenant, nous chanterons notre hymne nationale. Levez-vous pour La Marseillaise"

"This is it, we're finally getting a clear feed." Announced the officer.

Admittedly what happened next was slightly surprising. Instead of potential samples of spaceships, dreadnoughts, explosives, images from their homeworld, a display of force or religious ideology, it was a song. Definitely should not have warranted much of a surprise, but the sleep-routine of most people on in this part of the Citadel made much of the crowd a bit unresponsive and illogical.

The broadcast showed an alien species. Initially, people thought it was an Asari, with some muttering grunts of disbelief thinking it some prank from those troublesome Thessians. However, upon further inspection, the hair on top of their head and the lack of breasts for other members of the species quickly dismissed that theory. It seemed that there were two genders with noticeable physical and biological differences. And their skin color seemed to be comparatively light. Sadly the broadcast was Black and White, so much of the traditional visual observations were rendered impossible. The movie showed a large group of aliens surrounded by a scenic background of fountains, local fauna and a large tower-based structure. They were sitting down holding odd instruments. Further observation indicated that the instruments were most likely traditional indigenous musical ones, as they seemed to lack any form of electrical technology. These assumptions were quickly confirmed when the strange objects began producing harmonized sounds.

Of the black and white feed, the footage began circling around the main singer, revealing a sprawling city dotted by a large tower. Admittedly, Varr had no clue what to think of the music. It reminded him of the Palavan military marches with a much more..inspirational attitude to it. It had more of an 'UMPH' factor. Long dragged out words said with ferocious tenacity from how he saw it. The alien singing was commanding, almost as if she's daring the listeners to do something. A barrage of the other non-Asari looking gender created a polyphonic harmony. Though, this analysis was all relative. Universal Musical Theory, although excellent, was not perfect. It required in-depth knowledge of multiple factors including alien hearing capabilities, planetary windspeed, evolutionary history etc..However, from a Turian perspective, loud dragged out sounds generally indicated a distress call or a rally call against prey or competing predators. Usually, most species with rallying calls also use them to double as a hymn of victory. So if he had to guess, based on countless assumption, they were either proclaiming war, or bragging. Though, again, 'loud' was subjective. The only thing he thought could be learned directly from these aliens was their phonology.

Yellow subtitles dotted the black and white screen. Simple V.I arithmetic should explain which sounds correspond to what symbol. Boy, though, their symbols were weird. Each letter was separated from one another, nothing connecting them together. Much of their letters were also dotted with odd accents like in Thessian. Which reminded him..shouldn't the Council have alerted him about the situation by now? His research might've been incredibly handy in analyzing the alien language and musical capabilities-Oh shit..the omnitool's off.

On Earth, however, celebrations dotted the whole of the French Union. Rallying calls and flags were waved by millions in the streets of Paris, Algiers, Marseille, and countless other cities.

"Who would've thought our new garden world would be handed on Bastille day? It's almost too good to be true."

"Yes, viceroy. I have to admit, I think the Union may have pulled some strings to hurry up the negotiations."

"What are you suggesting?"

"Well, those Brits insist on trading rights near Prosperite, remember? It's a bit odd that we've begun allowing British commerce ships near the system the second they gave up claim to Kepler-45e."

"You give our fair country too little credit, sub-viceroy."

"And you give it too much."

The two men, both respectable frenchmen, were raising their wine glasses in a toast. The room, decorated in a 19th century fashion, a style which became quite popular lately, had become somewhat of a refuge for the two politicians. It was simply a sanctuary from the constant pestering of the daily concerns of Antaniavaro. Although, from the window, the ruckus of waving flags and fireworks could clearly be noticed. Because of this, the room was very dimly let, letting in only a reddish hue of light which was obscured by the large velvet curtains covering the overt display of nationalism taking place in the government palace grounds.

"In any case, have you heard about that old Mirielle Mathieu's recording of the national anthem? They found a digital copy and are broadcasting it across half the galaxy to celebrate."

"Excellent, we'll invite aliens to attack us and a thousand years from now children will recite Mirielle Mathieu as the cause for an interstellar war." Replied the viceroy. He was a short, brown-haired, pudgy man, dressed in the traditional French Foreign Legion attire with countless medals decorating him. The sub-viceroy, on the other hand, was a bit taller, much younger, and with a constant curious tint in his eyes. "Frankly I thought the destruction of civilisation would come from Piaf or Montand"

"There's no need to be that pessimistic." Replied the sub-viceroy "Either way, they need to have a spaceship the size of Algeria to pick up any of our signals.

"Though, who said that wasn't possible?"

"I believe Sir Isaac Newton?"

"He's been proven wrong before."

"Ah, right. The relays. Speaking of which, do you have any plans tomorrow? Care to drop me off at the spaceport?"

"Clovis, I wouldn't miss it for the world! After you're gone perhaps I'll get some peace and quiet."

"Ah yes, because you're quite the quiet man yourself?"

As the French celebrated their infamous Bastille Day, much of the Citadel was in a state of alarm. News programs quickly proclaimed something along the lines of: "ALIENS CONTACT CITADEL", or "CITADEL RECEIVES ALIEN FEED". The more imaginative articles proudly noted it to be a Prothean attempt at communication, interviewing several 'experts' in the process. The Citadel Council had convened in their usual cryptic fashion in a dark, dimly lit room as holograms. Varr was hardly pleased.

"Mr. Varr, your conclusion?"

"As I've explained in my report, it's most likely a rallying call. Their ear-stucture and the obvious lack of heavy winds on that planet, if it is their homeworld, indicates that. They have eyes on the fronts of their head, and, such, evolutionarily they're obviously predators or had predatory origins, so that makes the analysis all the more likely. Much of their language would be impossible to decipher, but we can make rather decent progress with certain word structures and patterns. Though it'd effectively be impossible to figure out what they mean without more data. I've finished the sound system and linked each one to their corresponding character. But, again, the 'rallying call' analysis is based on countless assumptions. For all we know this could be a mating ritual. In which case, you might want to ask an Asari for advice."

"Mr. Varr! That's in extremely bad taste!" Yelled out the Asari Councillor.

"I'm sorry. I haven't gotten much sleep the past week. Please accept my apologies."

"Which reminds me, why haven't you been responding to our messages? We had become worried that you were missing the entire event." Asked the Salarian.

"As I said, I've been having sleep trouble. I shut down my omnitool. It was my day off, after all. You guys rarely ever call and when you do it's such a pleasure."

"You know, Turians years younger than you are enlisting in the military to fight day and night for your precious sleep cycles. Just because you managed to land a cushy job far from anything actually important doesn't mean you can slack off. It's a disgrace to our entire race."

"Oh if it's not that important I guess I'll be getting back to sleep."

Varr afterwards cut off connections. Doing something like that to the Council, especially to a Turian Primarch, could've been grounds for execution back on Palaven. Thankfully, however, his position as head of the linguistics and musical branch of the Citadel could probably save him from a potential lethal injection. Though, from what he guessed, the Primarch would've loved to see his corpse sent to a Star. Turians didn't respond well when another Turian, particularly one of peak fighting age such as Varr, managed to get an excuse out of obligatory military service. What made it even worse is that whilst most Turians who get these excuses have physical limitations, it was his Citadel internship when he turned of minimum fighting age that gave him legal, but according to everyone he knew not moral, grounds to avoid conscription.

In any case, Varr insisted on replaying the recordings of that song. It was rough and not exactly the best recording in the Citadel, but it was still fascinating. As much as he loathed military music, this one was different. There was a sense of not just the pride most Turian music profess, but one of an impending war. Turian music generally concentrated on the pleasurable aspects of conflict: the victory. It was a misnomer to call Turian military music 'marches' per se, they were more of a celebratory hymn, as indicated by a colourful usage of wind and string instruments at the same time, producing what seemed to be more of something you'd listen to at a party rather than a piece you'd march off to war with. As a result of this, very few of Palaven-based songs professed the sort of war march call present in this alien piece. If he had to compare it to anything he'd say it had distinctly Salarian roots with an unidentifiable element that was somewhat of a mixture of Turian and Batarian military songs. The Salarian input can obviously be deduced from the emphasis on mathematical harmony. Anything written on sheet music from Palaven was messy as hell. This one was 'clean', if that makes any sense.

"..Qu'un sang impur, abreuve nos sillon!"

If only he figured out what it meant..

"Excuse me?" A voice called.

"Ah, Mr. Vakarian, come in." Immediately after Varr's response, the same armored Turian from last night came in. "Thanks for seeing me."

"It's no problem, sir."

"Firstly let me say sorry for yesterday's outburst. It's been a stressful week." Admitted Var.

"It's really no problem. You should've seen that Asari matriarch next door, she nearly threw her Sofa outside." They both laughed slightly at that. Varr had a colorful assortment of neighbours that seemed to have come directly out of a mental institution. "So what did you need?"

"Well, I've come to request your formal C-SEC assistance. I've asked about you and, well, we've isolated the relay that emanated the alien signal. We're escorting a First Contact team there."

"Because my anti-matter beam eyes will obviously help against enemy dreadnoughts?"

"You really expect a sour first contact?"

"Well, no I didn't mean that exactly. Just wondering why me particularly?"

"When I met you last night you seemed..ehh…like a nice person. Most C-SEC officers would taser me everytime I complain. It was nice to see some decency."

"It's no big deal. But still doesn't really make sense to bring me along. I don't think those things are going to be pacified by niceness."

"Well, we're hoping talking first then shooting. Or, preferably, no shooting at all. I needed someone to accompany me from C-SEC."

"Don't you have half a fleet escorting you?"

"Well..umm.." Varr grumbled a bit. "It's politics, you know? The Council would probably want C-SEC, preferably one who saw the live-feed, to come along."

"With all due respect, Mr. Varr, half the Citadel saw it. I believe some of the boys on Patrol thought some Thessians had hacked Asari pornography into the Broadcast system."

"Yes, I am well familiar with the crudeness of some of C-SEC's patrol officers which is exactly my point. Unless we meet a race of deviants it'll most likely spark an incident. Imagine having it written down in the history books that a war started because of Asari pornography."

"Though, you've barely known me. I'm sure a high-ranking Citadel member needs a high ranking officers, not unlike myself." Garrus coughed a bit on that last part, adding it in with false subtlety, "but is there anything you expect me to do personally that no one else can?"

Varr was fidgeting around at this point to the point of almost falling off his chair. "Do you have any issues with going?"

"Well, no, I'd be excited but-"

"Then it's set!" Interrupted Varr, jubilantly raising his hand up in the air. "I'll have someone send the relevant information to your omni-mail by today." He stood up, forcing Garrus by nature to do the same. Quickly, he walked Garrus outside before the Turian could say anything and effectively shoved him outside, locking the door before hastily mouthing out a "Thank you!".

Varr had afterwards spent the next few hours packing. Almost every article of clothing, musical recording, or antique portable artefacts were stuffed inside a case almost twice height of a Krogan. Admittedly, such massive amount of packing probably wasn't warranted but he had spent far more time than needed picking up and putting back clothes and objects that it seemed far less time-consuming to simply stuff everything in an oversized suitcase and ship it to the space-port.

Unlike most people who get sent on a secret mission, Varr was almost acting as if he's going on vacation. This first contact mission was only eluded to in certain reports. However, it was basically kept top secret. The council took first contact very seriously. So much so that STG officers had to be on the ship. Additionally, the council had forwarded an email to him, demanding the song be played as an overture to peace to this new race once contact was made with the relay it was transmitted from. Relay 314, as it was called. Admittedly, it did seem logical, but Varr had a bad feeling about it.

"Allons enfant de la patrie, le jour de gloire est arrive!"

Of course, within this elusive alien planet which the Citadel was destined to make contact with, who would've believed that the response, instead of jubilation, would be: "What the hell are French ships doing here?!"