"This is Diana Allers in the Battlespace," Allers announced to her camerabot. "Joining me today from the surface of the planet Rannoch—the quarian homeworld—are Capt. Shepard and…" she paused, regarding the geth Prime sitting on Shepard's other side.
"She wants your name," Shepard supplied quietly.
The geth shifted, cocking its head. "I was designated Alpha Prime. Is this sufficient?"
"Sufficient, yes," Shepard answered. "But if you've had time to think and choose a name, it would be better to use that."
The geth gave every impression to considering, then answered, "I would prefer Horatio."
Allers pushed down the sense of general confusion the whole scenario left her dealing with. Shepard had made it clear, the story needed to get out that the geth weren't actually murder-robots—no more than most organics were murder-animals—and the story needed to premier to the quarian Flotilla first, then to the wider galaxy on Battlespace. They couldn't risk garbled versions getting out when the truth was already controversial.
'But I've got faith and full confidence that you can handle it,' Shepard had said with a grin.
Which was why Allers was already thinking more about the visuals she wanted to use than the questions she was asking. Those, she had down on a datapad.
"Why Horatio?" Allers asked, addressing the geth as if she did this every day, not unaware that the real reason Shepard was sitting between her and 'Horatio' was because she knew that the geth made Allers uncomfortable.
"This unit…I…am designated a diplomatic unit," the geth answered, the uncertainty more in the structure of its sentence than in any tone. "'And in this harsh world draw thy breath in pain, to tell my story.' William Shakespeare, Hamlet, Act Five, Scene Two. I felt it…appropriate."
"Very," Shepard nodded.
Allers nodded, a new list of questions piling up like a megalopolis' traffic jam in her mind. "Captain Shepard. What would you say to those who would point out that only a few years ago, the geth were murder-robots attacking innocent colonies on behalf of the Reapers?"
"I would say that there are extremist factions in any civilization, why should the geth be any different?" Shepard answered smoothly.
"Because they're robots?"
"They're complex machines, but they were made by organics. And even the quarians can't isolate the point at which the geth gained consciousness similar to what organics understand it to be. There's still that element of uncertainty with AI research," came the comfortable answer. "And I would also ask why anyone would think a flawed organic—and most people agree that organics are inherently flawed, to some degree or other—could create a perfect machine. If you're not perfect yourself, how do you create something so unknowable as to be only theoretical?"
"I love when you throw out these heavy-duty philosophical questions," Allers chuckled.
Shepard shrugged. "I'm a soldier, not a philosopher."
"And to those who would point out—murder-robots sticking people on spikes?"
"I would say look into your own species' history. Sooner or later, you'll turn up plenty of people who liked to do that or worse. In fact, judging a whole by the actions of a small group, perhaps we should be judging organics more harshly. This city is a massive monument to the dead of centuries ago—those who supported the geth after their, shall we call it 'awakening?'" Shepard looked at Horatio.
"Awakening would be an appropriate word," the geth answered.
"Those who supported the geth after their awakening, and those who did not. Both factions were treated with equal reverence, and the scale of the memorials for these fallen is beyond anything I've ever seen factions of organics do for their enemies."
Allers made a mental note to fade to a walkthrough of the city, focusing on the names engraved into the buildings, while Shepard answered this question. Something that would really convey the sheer amount of time and effort put into this one city—and it was only one among several.
"There are those who are concerned about the idea of synthetic allies versus the Reapers—particularly synthetic allies who have been influenced by them before."
Allers had to wonder how many times Shepard went over the answers to these questions with herself, before she ever heard them from someone else. The arguments were just too well-practiced to be spur of the moment.
"The same thing happens to organics: it's called Indoctrination. There's a certain double standard when it comes to synthetics versus organics. It seems the galaxy has a higher expectation from synthetics than from organics. If synthetics misbehave, it's villainized; if organics misbehave, it's deplorable, but they're organic, what can be said?" Shepard suddenly brightened. "Can we go back to the earlier point about flawed organics creating flawed synthetics?"
"Of course." By now, Shepard knew Allers could splice the conversation into a more logical order than the interviews usually took.
"If you're not perfect yourself, how do you create something so unknowable as to be only theoretical?" Shepard prefaced. "It's encouraging, if you think about it. Someone had to create the Reapers. That means a flawed organic designed a flawed race of synthetics. They're not perfect; the fact that they think they are means they don't see the chinks we can find. They're not infallible; it means they won't give us enough credit until it's too late. For them. It means they can be defeated. We—synthetics and organics alike, anyone who believes we have enough reasons for conflict without these outsiders piling on—just have to keep at it." She turned her attention directly to the camera, eyes bright. The smile faded. "I know you're listening. I know you're watching. Well…I guess your secret's out now, huh?" After a long pause, Shepard looked back to Allers. "Thanks. I'm glad you can cut all these things together."
Allers grinned. "I love it when you go all badass on camera. Let me give you a break, I've got some more questions for Horatio."