That was one of the happiest moments of my life. Years of preparation, accumulated work from thousands of years of human history, all focused on one individual. I tried to be responsible about it, to educate my guests even as they attempted to give me the same gift.
Then, responsibility became a burden.
Yet that burden would eventually become a critical tool in the survival of my race, and of the other races with whom we shared this universe.
~Director Arnold Pavenmeyer, PhD, MD
Project Ragnarök Files
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[Unknown Location]
Salcha, STG
After his first exchange with the human researcher, Salcha had to reconsider his previous assumptions. Not about their intellect, which was high, nor their manners, which were excellent, but for their technological state. He had initially considered humans to be highly primitive for their reliance on mental calculations, not VI's. Now he knew better.
They were just naïve, and their computers were stupid.
In exchange for the salarians' backup translation device, and as a token of goodwill, Dr. Pavenmeyer had given them a crate. He'd claimed it contained a computer loaded with data on humanity. Upon opening the crate however, Salcha and his pilot Ramke had only found a machine of nanocomposites and metal particles.
From an engineering standpoint (he had a degree in electrical engineering), it had a beautiful design. The various buttons were easy to interpret, the image quality was superb, but there was something a little … off.
It didn't think. While that may have been a bit of an overstatement (only an Artificial Intelligence truly claimed to think), a human computer couldn't process data in an organic manner … at all.
Certainly, the human computer possessed vast quantities of information: terabytes of texts and images he scanned within the hour. But it had no organized framework for organizing his searches. Every time Salcha wanted to cross-reference something, he had to stop and either create a whole new document, or open a previously made document. Even if he'd already made a new document (no great task, but repetitive), there was no way to merge separate documents without going through a tedious amount of work.
Finding things on the human machine required an innate knowledge of how an alien mind worked; no real problem for a xenologist, but the way this computer behaved … it was primitive. It was like taking a spectro-analysis by burning a material with a candle instead of using a laser. Effective, yes, but crude.
Yet to his surprise, Salcha witnessed humans using the computers with great speed and agility. Windows opened and closed, symbols scrolled across blank screens with impressive alacrity. What was even more impressive was how their five-digit hands demonstrated their full potential by flying across a complex keypad. Asari had been using salarian tech for so long, they'd almost eliminated the original software systems invented on Thessia. Salarian tech had adapted quickly to the asari physiology but it had never quite mastered the five-finger orientation. After observing how quickly these excess-digit-possessing humans were able to input data, Salcha mused that particular innovation may have been a mistake.
Salarian computers had a much less complicated input system, too. The VI's they used were pre-programmed in several modes, the better to anticipate data. While he had been on the Deep Explorer, he'd been able to multi-task writing, recording and holding conversations all at once just by connecting his personal omni-tool to the ships VI. The VI had read the data from his omni-tool, and organized it into several charts and spreadsheets while he typed. The reports he'd written had conformed to a template, allowing the VI to send all relevant data as soon as an opening had appeared. It had been a fairly well-known fact that some … adept … salarians required fairly pricey VI's in order to keep up with their input rates.
Humans input all that data manually.
Their security was laughably easy to penetrate, though. Despite small minds begging to differ, the Council Races had been adapting to alien thought processes - and therefore alien computing processes - for millenia. Understanding foreign programming was a beginner's class at his old university; the graduating class was required to translate an entirely unknown program into Sal'kesh Standard within six months of receipt. When he'd remotely hacked a mainframe for the Aitan cannon specs as a roaming Operative before being captured, he'd assumed that the security had been caught offline for upgrades. No one has such weak firewalls intentionally; STG may have the best, but even the least capable programmer would have known how to establish better security.
But if this computer was an example of human electronic security, his previous analysis was incorrect. They simply don't know how to guard their systems while simultaneously possess one of the most refined analysis minds I've ever seen. Definitely on par with the asari, almost … salarian.
Ramke was unhelpful with his observations. While both of them were young, Ramke was still only seventeen, two years younger than himself. The knowledge that the new species seemed to have a military capacity equivalent to a lesser Council Race, combined with realization that Captain Tien was dead, had hit him hard. He would need a few more hours before becoming productive once more.
[Redacted System]
Dr. Pavenmeyer
Pavenmeyer watched the two aliens inside their cage. He had conflicting thoughts about keeping them incarcerated, they had done nothing wrong to his knowledge. Keeping them prisoner without evidence of their having committed crimes is … criminal.
On the one hand, they were definitely evading Alliance police forces. On the other hand, it was possible the aliens thought the humans were going to cook and eat them without salt; that would drive anyone to desperate measures. He sighed, in the end, it wasn't his decision. All he could do was try to make them as comfortable as possible.
Well, only partially. My primary objective is to extract as much information as possible, but I prefer to be decent about it. He had orders direct from the Prime Minister to obtain as much data as humanly possible, to which end, he had been given free rein in how he dealt with the aliens. That effectively left him in charge of the facility. At least until the military decided he wasn't going fast enough. In essence, Pavenmeyer was as close to being a dictator as was legally possible. If he decided the proper study of the aliens required a metric ton of gold, it was his for the asking. If he believed that the base needed a full symphonic orchestra, he would have one inside a week, despite the secrecy around the base.
But … a different idea was forming in his mind. After studying their vessel and reading through the data their ship had given up, he had slowly developed a mental picture of what these aliens were like.
These Salarians, as their codex depicted them, were highly intelligent but short-lived amphibians. Their species had a gift for investigation and invention, something Pavenmeyer had witnessed for himself. The two guests had already hacked into the computer he'd given them and rapidly gone through its contents. By now, if their memory was any good, they knew everything a human could know from a basic set of Encyclopedia Britannica, with certain portions redacted of course.
The idea, hovering in the back of his mind sprang to the forefront, completely developed. That's why he was in charge of the facility, after all, for his ability to plan.
Best of all, it just might work.
[Unknown Location]
Salcha, STG
The human researcher entered their confinement chamber with a broad smile on his face. Immediately, Salcha felt a rush of endorphins; a happy jailer could be a kind one, and a kind jailor would permit a large number of helpful activities.
"Salcha, I have some news for you!" Dr. Pavenmeyer called to him.
The salarian scientist left off his most recent test of the computer and gave his full attention to the human. "What is it?" he asked.
"I have been authorized to bargain with you, to learn what I can about the other races from your experiences." Pavenmeyer said. He gestured at the walls, "Unfortunately, I can't let you go free, but I will see to it you receive better quarters than this. It's obvious you do not have any biological contaminants, so you should be safe enough in a lower security room."
Salcha looked at the luxuriously thick padding on the cot, and the hygienically clean walls. What could this human be offering?
"Hmmm, I accept. But, perhaps, we could move later? I have a great many questions about your people." He tried mirroring the humans' asari-like smile, "The more I know about your people, the better I can explain another, you know."
"Of course! Of course!" The human waved aside the query as inconsequential, "Shall we begin?"
"A question for a question." Salcha responded.
[Redacted Location]
Pavenmeyer
That first day, the exchange of information lasted over ten hours. It would have lasted longer if Pavenmeyers' leg hadn't gone to sleep. The salarian had been so distraught about causing "circulatory inhibition issues" that he'd been forced to call a break in their discussions.
It was a good time, anyway, he had to send all the information he'd collected to Analysis asap. To his astonishment, and an increased chance of a migraine, he found out he would also be briefing the Prime Minister.
"Doctor. What do you have for me?" Prime Minister Thompson didn't mince words.
"Prime Minister, thank you for calling. I didn't think my report could have been processed so quickly." Pavenmeyer tried to appear alert, but he'd been up for over thirty hours straight. Matching wits with an alien that seemed to have a computer for a brain didn't help his mental state.
"I haven't read it yet, a report won't tell me what I want to know." The Minister shifted slightly, fixing the doctor with a gimlet stare. "I want your opinion. Did we just kidnap some sort of intergalactic royalty? Are we in danger of invasion? Talk to me."
Pavenmeyer exhaled slowly. "That's … a difficult question. As near as I can tell, they are just explorers. The older one, Salcha, is a xenologist while the younger one is a pilot. The dead alien was their leader; we were a bit unfortunate there. So no, they aren't royalty, and it does not appear they will have search parties combing our space for them. The short answer to the rest of your question is: depends."
The old mans' eyes sharpened, "On what?"
"Apparently, there are around a half-dozen species out there, with the main power centered on three or four of them. The asari, turians, salarians, volus and elcor would be in the top five, while another species called the hanar share a world with another species called the drell. There is some kind of relationship between the two, something about one rescuing the other from overpopulation or something? It's in my report."
Minister Thompson squinted to one side, "And their militaries? Is there anything available or did they destroy everything before you got to it?"
Pavenmeyer sighed, cudgeling his memory for more pertinent data. "The biggest military out there belongs to the turians. Salcha has stated the turians possess over forty thousand war ships, and their ships codex mentioned a … Treaty of Farinex? Anyway, it limits the various species military to a certain number of large ships-of-war. The turians get the most for some reason, while the asari and salarians get the next highest proportion. All other races are allowed one fifth of what the turians have."
The prime minister snorted derisively. "I'm sure that's worked wonderfully. Just look at the Washington Naval Treaty back after the first World War. I suppose this 'Council' has figured out how to ban pocket battleships and carriers as well?"
Pavenmeyer fidgeted, that had been close to his own reaction. "That's the odd thing, Mr. Minister. This treaty … it was signed during the American Revolution. 1780, to be precise. It's still in effect."
The line went completely silent. Minister Thompson stared at him with an expression similar to a stunned carp; mouth open and eyes slightly glazed.
Pavenmeyer politely gave him a moment to recover.
"So what you're saying is … these races out there have been existing in a static state for centuries?"
"More than a few centuries, according to what I've learned. The asari, whom have a multi-century lifespan, made first contact with the Salarians in 500 BC. That's when the first Council was founded, and when the Citadel Council became an organized governing system."
Thompson nodded grimly. "So we're the newcomers, and they will want us to play by their rules, am I right?"
"That … could be one possible interpretation …." Pavenmeyer said cautiously.
"Well, I'm all for cooperation, but not when it's one-sided. How many warships did you say these turians had?" Thompson switched back.
"The salarian claims over forty thousand. Erring on conservative estimates, I would guess they had over fifty thousand, maybe sixty."
"And we have less than twenty thousand …." Minister Thompson mused. He glared at his hands, as if they were guilty of unspeakable crimes.
"All right then. I am going to tell you something that no one else knows or will know for an indefinite period. I have ordered a secret shipyard be created, for weapon testing and development. I will be approving any request for resources, but I want everything you have found so far. Copies will be sent to that area."
Pavenmeyer straightened, despite his headache. What does that have to do with me? "Yes sir. Is there anything I should look for in particular?"
"Military capabilities. Weapons specs. How the different species get along with each other, and what their stance is on allowing sovereign entities remain that way."
"Sir, I must point out I have little to no experience in military matters. Our guests could be—"
"Immaterial. The second part of this secret is that you are going to be heading a new special information cell. It will be outside the usual authority chain. Your orders come straight from the top, and designated successors only." The aged man paused to consider for a moment. "It still needs a name. Something that compels wariness, for an organization that sees everything yet is only truly seen by a select few. Never mind, we'll pick something out. Do you understand your assignment?"
Pavenmeyer shook his head. "Something about a shipyard, finding information on alien military and politics, and that I will be a spymaster?"
The Prime Minister snorted. "Consider it your current role, only expanded tenfold. Instead of one base, you will oversee as many as are needed; I will send you a highly trusted individual to help organize your expanded role, Armistan Banes. For now, consider yourself in charge of that base, above anything that the military already has present or brings in. That will be all."
The screen dimmed to the usual transparent shade, leaving a very puzzled man to ponder what had once been a quiet occupation.
[Redacted Location]
Salcha
"What can you tell me about this medi-gel?" the salarian asked.
Pavenmeyer hauled his attention back to the thin alien. "Med-gel? That was developed by John Sirta. He was a Swiss geneticist a few years back."
"But how did he develop it?" Salcha persisted, "It seems a marvelous invention."
"So far as I understand it, Mr. Sirta discovered a method for creating genetic copying, using element zero as a catalyst for stem-cell modification. Smear some med-gel on an injured area, and it creates cells based on copies of the genetic coding as well as an anesthetic compound to minimize pain."
"You mean to say you genetically engineered a medical aid?"
Pavenmeyer nodded absently. "That would've been about 2114, back when Phillip Cord founded the Cord Shipbuilders Corporation. A lot of good beginnings in that decade."
There was a silence that the human didn't notice at first. When it lasted over thirty seconds, he glanced at the salarian, then stopped. The salarian was staring at him as if he had lost his senses.
"What?"
"Your people experiment on genes themselves? That can lead to a thousand horrors! The Misfit Wars of my own people arose because of—"
Pavenmeyer waved his hand calmingly, "We passed the Sudahm-Wolfcott Genetic Heritage Act back in 2151. We only allow genetic experimentation under highly stringent restrictions, and provide federal subsidies for the programs that give the most benefit."
Salcha shuddered. The idea of a species still experimenting on their own genes … it was something out of Kalamorph Tales (1). If Pavenmeyer was any judge, the salarian was revising his opinion on the human threat level.
"Well," Pavenmeyer changed the subject, "I have one question for you before we get on." He pulled a picture from a pocket, "We discovered this vessel in orbit around our largest planet, Jupiter. Can you tell me anything about this?"
The salarian took the piece of colored paper, flexing it between his triple digits. "Interesting texture, high resolution, a hardcopy of an image? A very secure method of information transmission, can't be hacked or sabotaged electronically."
"The ship, I mean." Pavenmeyer had learned patience while dealing with the Salarians. He needed it now.
"This? It's a standard volus shuttle, a rather common manufacture. How did it end up here?"
Pavenmeyer shrugged, "No idea. I'll have to look into it. Anyway, I requested an example of human culture for your entertainment, and I believe you will enjoy this."
"What is it?" Salcha asked. He was still a little surprised, but willing to move on for now.
"This base has a small musical ensemble that plays on occasion. I asked them to play a few of their favorites for the two of you, and they accepted. It won't be a true concert I'm afraid, but they are willing to show you their best."
"Of course we accept, I am eager to hear whatever your people are willing to offer. Are there any rules of which we should be aware?" Salcha asked eagerly.
Salcha
Salcha watched intently. If these humans are as potentially powerful as they seem, it is critical to make a good impression. He scowled inwardly, Admit it. You just want to sample as much human culture as possible. That was a moot point. He was a xenologist by trade after all, and had been given very little to satiate his professional curiosity. Well, nothing except a few paltry encyclopedia entries and a few discussions with one person. An in-depth investigation would uncover a great deal more!
The humans sat in chairs arrange in a large semicircle. One human, standing in the middle of the semicircle, waved a small white rod in vaguely mathematical patterns. The seated humans played their instruments in surprisingly logical patterns, repeating sequences in different rhythms, timbres and cadences a number of times before taking the original pattern and creating a brand new sequence.
Salcha sneaked a look at Ramke. The younger salarians' eyes were closed, and his fingers twitched in rhythm. Good. The poor boy needs comfort where he can get it.
He turned to Dr. Pavenmeyer, "Who wrote this music? It sounds almost salarian."
Pavenmeyer smiled, "This is by Johann Sebastian Bach, one of his Brandenburg Concertos."
Salcha was surprised, "You mean he used the same name for multiple works?"
"Bach wrote an entire series of six concertos like this over a period of a few years. The man for whom he wrote these didn't appreciate music as well as he might have, and never bothered to have them played. After he died, the music was sold and stored in the Brandenburg archives, where they were later rediscovered, hence their name." Pavenmeyer listened as a particularly difficult passage glided from the violinists' strings. "Most musicians, myself included, believe these to be some of the best musical pieces ever written."
Salcha considered this explanation. "Then he was a truly gifted composer. I can hear over three different mathematical patterns in the instrumentation. Was this Bach a scientist?"
"Better." Pavenmeyer still had his eyes closed. "He was a master of composition."
Salcha watched the human relax for the first time since they'd met this afternoon. Something has changed, he thought. The human is much more tense now, even more so than when we first met.
Mentally, he shrugged. There was nothing he could do. Best to sit back and enjoy the experience.
Notes:
1) Kalamorph Tales: a classic salarian myth about a magician who discovered how to blend animals together. At first it was mere humor, a squeaking menthala or a winged jiga. But then, the magician started binding the traits of animals to living people, and forcing them to do his bidding. He later became known as the Kalamorph, the magician who went mad with power, who was just as likely to help as hinder you. Many stories held him as either the villain or hero. He supposedly singlehandedly helped establish a wise dalatrass as one of the greatest lines, but he was also known for inflicting a curse upon the entire salarian people, subtly shortening their lives which they would not discover until it was too late.
A/N: This was one of the longest chapters this fic has received to date! It isn't the longest I've written, but it's still pretty decent, at least to my mind :)
Next, I would like to thank all the readers and reviewers. Your comments help refine this work. I mean, this story grew by two chapters because of one comment. Think about is :]
Thanks to Nightstride for his beta assistance, and to BioWare for making this possible. No thanks to Bioware for a lousy ME3 ending. I do not own Mass Effect.
Update: July 12, 2015; Salcha/Tien confusion, thanks to Irrational Pi
Update: May 24, 2018; A few comments about alien programmers being unable to understand. Now I'm no programmer, but I tend to think that a civilization based on multiple alien civilizations (at least 8 foreign base languages, not including dialects) would probably have at least a tiny smidgen of experience in hacking alien hardware.