CITADEL
WIDOW SYSTEM
SERPENT NEBULA
SEPTEMBER 2, 2003
Miguel Hiero followed one of the C-Sec officers that had been assigned as his escorts through the streets of the Wards, the cities along the Citadel's arms, to the public transport depot. The turian nodded to the other officer on duty and showed his ID, then led Miguel onto the high-speed elevator used to shuttle people from the lower levels of the Wards—the cities along the station's arms—to the Presidium high above.
Despite the velocity of the elevator, it still left him time to think as it traversed the great distance; he maintained a calm exterior as he felt his stomach churn. It was one thing to be virtually alone on this enormous station filled with aliens—the Alliance refugees' first contact with an alien race had been anything but amiable—but another altogether to know that he was the chief envoy representing what was left of humanity, of his entire species.
Miguel had been a politician back on Earth, preparing for a run for a US Senate seat in Sonora. He had been on vacation to Ceres with his children when his mother, President Carmen Hiero of the United States of America, had sent an urgent tightbeam message that held only one word: Stay. A day later the Final War had broken out, and he had huddled around the vid with his wife and children as reports of the major cities of the Alliance for Democracy disappearing in nuclear fire flowed in. As a Draka fleet had even attempted an attack on the very asteroid-habitat they were in.
And now I am going to meet some Snakes face-to-face, he thought grimly. The monsters that had killed his mother, his family, his country, and exiled he and the rest of humanity into the unknown void of interstellar space via a virtually untested piece of alien technology. The ones who had branded the name Hiero with the stigma of the Fall; nobody was completely sure what had occurred on Earth in the leadup to the Final War, but he knew his mother and that she would have done her utmost to bring the Domination down.
A glance aside at the avian turian officer, another to a blue-skinned asari. And these... things expect us to just make peace with them? he thought incredulously. Alien. It really brought the word home, down deep into his core. He had heard vague references to dangers these Citadel species had fought, things called krogan and rachni, but they were spoken of as enemies defeated long ago. These things don't now what it is like to have living, breathing evil always looming, constantly pushing, never even trying to cover up the fact that they will enslave you and everyone you love at the slightest opportunity.
Lefarge had sent him here because he could see the advantages of being part of Citadel space and under the economic and military umbrella of a galactic government; Samothrace was still too small to think they could last very long by themselves. But even he hadn't held any illusions about establishing a lasting peace settlement with the Snakes. He had sent him here to shift the war between humanity and the Snakes' New Race, the drakensis, onto a different battlefield, a diplomatic one. And one where we have always held the advantage.
When the elevator finally reached the Presidium and Miguel exited along with his C-Sec escorts, his step faltered for a moment as he took in the sight. The Wards were sprawling metropolises filled with crowds of bustling aliens of a sometimes alarming variety. The Presidium, on the other hand, seemed to have 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 Miguel, couldn't distinguish it from the real thing.
The buildings where the business of government was conducted seemed to be 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 forth 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.
But what separated it most from the Wards was the absence of the rushing, crushing crowds. Access to the Citadel's inner ring was generally restricted to government and military officials, or those with legitimate business with their species' embassy. Not that it was empty, of course. The bureaucracy necessary to run a galactic government was also necessarily large. Thousands of members from every race that maintained an embassy on the Presidium strode, waddled or even floated along the walkways and between the buildings. But the numbers here were a far cry from the millions who populated the Wards.
Miguel looked around with interest as he followed the C-Sec officers towards the Citadel Tower, where the Council met with ambassadors petitioning them on matters of interstellar policy and law; the summit between his people and the Snakes was to take place on one of its lower levels. 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.
He passed members of various species as he progressed along the walkway. Squat, rotund volus; huge, lumbering elcor; the floating, jellyfish-like hanar. And, of course, asari, salarians, and turians. He caught sight of some batarians along the way, but the C-Sec officers discreetly steered the human envoy around them, Miguel noted with amusement tinged with a savage satisfaction. Slaving putos. Inwardly, he now knew that the batarian pirate bands the Samothracian Naval Forces had been battling had nothing to do with their central government, the Batarian Hegemony. But logic had nothing to do with the loathing he held for the four-eyed race that had gotten far too many human colonists, sailors, and marines killed.
Despite all the varied aliens around him, Miguel still pointed and asked, "What's that?" That was an fat green little alien with too many sticklike arms and legs. It reminded him of nothing so much as an oversized aphid.
The asari C-Sec officer looked over, then smiled at the human diplomat. "That is a keeper, Mr. Hiero," she replied. "They are the race that maintains the Citadel."
Hiero considered that a moment, then shot another look at the keeper before looking back to the asari. "Wait, they are the only race that maintains the Citadel? How did that happen? Do they have an embassy?" Thoughts of a slave race maintaining the Citadel went through his mind. Are we the only non-slavers in the entire galaxy? he thought with exasperation.
The asari laughed pleasantly. "I'm sorry, everyone here is so used to them." She waited for the human's nod before continuing. "The keepers are only found on the Citadel, and were here when the asari first arrived here nearly two thousand six hundred years ago. We have found no way to communicate with them, and any attempt is met with mute passive resistance. Attempts to study them or interrupt their duties results in some sort of self-destruction with an internally released acid. Some question whether they are truly an intelligent race."
Miguel's brow furrowed as he looked back at the keeper again, working silently on a holographic interface with single-minded focus. "That seems... odd. Has no one thought to take over their duties in maintaining this station? If you don't mind my saying, it seems an incredible risk letting an unknown race have such control."
The turian C-Sec officer a few steps ahead of them gave a short grunt of laughter. "That's what my people said when we first arrived too."
The asari shrugged her shoulders. "The inner workings of the Citadel are inaccessible to anyone but the keepers, and is presumably the area where most of the key systems for the station are accessed. The keepers have been known for the occasional odd action, like rearranging someone's office, but have not displayed any sort of malicious intent."
"But.." Miguel shook his head. These people don't seem to have any healthy sense of paranoia at all!
The asari noticed his incredulity. "The Citadel lies at the heart of the mass relay network," she explained. "If we did not occupy this station, someone else would. We have done our best to display our own non-aggression to the keepers by enforcing non-interference with them or their duties. I am also given to understand we have procedures in place to evacuate the Council and other key officials should the station come under threat." A warm smile. "Believe me, Mr. Hiero, we have considered every possibility. They maintain the Citadel, and we leave them alone. It has remained an equitable arrangement for over two millenia."
Miguel, only partly mollified, shot another suspicious glance at the keeper as they continued on. He noticed the next half dozen keepers they walked past as well. Soon, however, they seemed to blend into the background and he began ignoring them for other sights. They were so ubiquitous on the station, and mostly so unobtrusive and unassuming, that most people tended to just take them for granted.
As he neared the base of the Tower, he noticed a scale-model statue of a mass relay off to his left. Having seen actual ones during the Exodus from the Sol system and on his trip to the Citadel, Miguel was struck by the amount of detail that had gone into it. He started to ask about it, but in the end remained silent. I can ask questions like a tourist later. I have a summit to get to.
The guards standing at the Tower's only entrance eyed Miguel with interested curiosity as they approached, but were all professionalism while they confirmed their identities. They stepped into the transparent elevator and began to ascend. The whole of the Presidium soon spread out beneath him as he shot upward. Within a short time the elevator stopped and opened onto a corridor of sterile off-white walls and floor, and lined with blue doors with a dark-grey seam running diagonally through the middle of them.
One of those doors slid open, with the halves retracting towards the ceiling and the floor, as they approached. The room inside was filled with members of every species that had an embassy on the Citadel. His fellow human envoy, Margaret Myrice, turned towards the door and nodded to him as he stepped inside. Miguel returned the nod, then turned his attention as the asari mediator Benezia T'soni, who had met them when they first arrived on the station, approached him with a friendly smile. "It is good to see you again, Mr. Hiero," she said with a respectful bow of her head. "You are the last to arrive. Your fellow envoy and those of the Draka have already assembled."
Miguel started to thank her, but then he caught sight of the Snakes on the other side of the table, with two unarmed ghouloons standing against the wall behind them. The words died in his throat as he took in the sight of his peoples' hated enemy, dressed in the archaic overly fancy clothes they seemed to love so much. The younger female was obviously one of their new drakensis, with the chiseled looks and slightly different play of muscles and joints. She was eyeing him like a hawk swooping down on a field mouse. Her nostrils flared slightly as she tried to take his scent, then her mouth twisted slightly in distaste.
Miguel smiled back at her, what would seem like a friendly expression to those unacquainted to the history between their peoples. He had taken a liberal dousing of pheromone neutralizer before he had set off for this meeting, in addition to a treatment of the anti-pheromonal concoction the scientists on Samothrace had cooked up for them before they left to counteract a drakensis' influence. That's right, Snake. Your bitch-in-heat routine isn't going to work with me.
The drakensis scowled, having heard the subvocalization of that thought, but schooled her face back to calm as the other older Draka touched her briefly on the arm. That one was male, holding a cane that looked to cost as much as an economy-class aircar. His hazel eyes met Hiero's brown ones as he inclined his head in a gesture of lordly acknowledgment, his mouth twisted into a knowing smile.
He turned away from the Draka, feeling his skin crawl as he made his way to his seat. Don't underestimate that old one, he told himself. He obviously knew what he was doing, probably one of their old hands from their Foreign Affairs Directorate. Not many professional diplomats had been among the Alliance's refugee fleet, having been limited to those politicians that had happened to be in the Belt for one reason or another.
The asari, Benezia, frowned as she took in the byplay between the two parties, then returned to her seat commanding a view along both sides of the table. "I thank you all for assembling for this summit," she began, and the noise of conversation died down as attention focused on her. "We are here today to discuss the formal incorporation of the Domination of the Draka and the humans of Samothrace into Citadel Council space, as well as to resolve any outstanding issues and hostilities between both parties."
Oh, is that all? Dietrich Pope thought wryly. She certainly don't lack fo' confidence. He still wasn't sure whether is was hubris or naivete that possessed most of these aliens, especially the asari. He eyed the mediator idly. Pretty thing, despite those head tentacles. Benezia was also one of the few asari he had seen that possessed what looked like actual eyebrows instead of the more usual random facial markings. Might make an entertainin' mount, under othah circumstances. They certainly look like they got the right parts.
He focused his attention back on the mediator as she continued speaking. "Ambassador Dortne Rom of the volus is confident that the economies of both races can be brought into the galactic credit network with little trouble."
"Indeed so, Lady Benezia." A pause as Dortne Rom took a breath through his rebreather. "The Samothracian dollar" Breath. "And the Draka auric" Breath. "Are relatively simple to incorporate in their own ways." Breath. "The Earth-clans maintain a national treasury" Breath. "That can easily be linked into the credit network." Breath. "While the Samothrace-clans have recently discovered" Breath. "Extensive platinum deposits" Breath. "On their homeworld that will aid in their incorporation" Breath. "Into the galactic economy."
Inwardly, Pope scowled. Damnyankees would go and luck out findin' a planet like that. They have the most damnable ability to land on they feet. It was an old story; the Yankees had had two wide oceans to protect them and natives that died if you sneezed on them, while the Draka faced the more numerous and hardy Bantu tribes and malaria-inducing jungles in their expansion. 'Course, I s'pose it was that cauldron of fire that forged the Race into what it is today.
Benezia nodded to the volus ambassador. "Thank you." She turned her attention down to the perscomp sitting on the table in front of her and tapped a few keys. "Perhaps we can move on to any outstanding issues either party would like to bring forward?"
"Yes." That was the female Samothracian. "I have read over the Citadel Conventions, and I have noted that it forbids the creation of intelligent synthetic life in any form. I respectfully submit that the Domination's drakensis and ghouloons are two such violations of that convention."
A few murmurs from among the alien envoys as their attention shifted over to the Draka party. Helene Renston was practically radiating fury despite her outward calm, and the ghouloons growled low in their throats. Pope spread his hands and looked over to Benezia. "Yo' people have genetic engineerin', isn't that so? Sho'ly yo' can see that the Homo drakensis have a human base with extensive modification. My colleague and her race weren't wholly created, and so aren't 'synthetic' as my Samothracian colleague asserts."
"A subtle distinction," the salarian envoy remarked.
Benezia inclined her head. "But a distinction nonetheless. The drakensis do have a natural template from which they were engineered." She tapped a few more keys on her perscomp. "That does, however, leave your ghouloons. From the information we have been provided, you started with the template of a creature known as the Theropithecus gelada, or gelada baboon, and then added elements of other species, such as the leopard, gorilla, the canine jag hond... and human genes."
Louder murmuring from among the alien envoys. The hanar envoy spoke up, its bioluminescence flashing in time with its words. "This one humbly submits that the Enkindlers gave the hanar the gift of consciousness."
A sigh from the turian envoy, who leaned an elbow on the table in front of him and shook his head. Benezia shot him a quelling look, then turned her attention back to the hanar. "The Protheans, had they done so, would have utilized the basic template of the hanar and did not introduce elements of foreign genetic templates to do so." She turned back to the Draka. "As it is, the ghouloons do represent intelligent synthetic life as outlined in the Citadel Conventions. However," she continued, putting up a hand to forestall any protest, "we cannot in good conscience call for the genocide of an intelligent species created before the Draka even made contact with the greater galactic community.
"Therefore," she went on, "the ghouloons from this point onward shall have to self-perpetuate with no more being artificially grown." She met the eyes of Pope and Helene as she spoke. "That also goes for the drakensis. Genetic modification of existing templates is allowable, but introducing foreign genetic templates into any of the Domination's intelligent races, or the creation of completely new ones, would be strictly forbidden."
Pope pursed his lips as he considered. Well, Virunga Biocontrol is goin' to scream they heads off about that. They already had theoretical upgrades for the drakensis in the pipeline, to introduce feline genes for night vision and increased physical prowess. Guess that's out of the picture, he thought ruefully. Normally he wouldn't have backed down, but the Archon had made it plain that he wanted to make the Domination's incorporation into Citadel space work. That called for him to do one of the hardest things a Draka ever had to do: Retreat.
He gave a slight nod to Helene, who spoke up. "Very well, we agree provisionally pendin' consultation with our superiors in Archona." The Samothracians looked surprised; Benezia smiled warmly in response. "However," the drakensis continued, "we, in turn, feel we should bring up humanity's research into artificial intelligences. They were already installin' them in autonomous cargo freighters and probes even befo' they left the Sol System."
The two humans frowned slightly. The salarian envoy tapped some keys on his own perscomp to bring up the relevant information. "Yes, we've received information on these A.I.s. It would be more correct to say that they are what we would term 'virtual intelligences'. A sophisticated program—or 'compinset' as you would say—that is utilized to assist a user and process data, but not actually self-aware."
"The Draka still bring up a fair point," Benezia said. "Artificial intelligence also counts as intelligent synthetic life as outlined under the Citadel Conventions. Its dangers were clearly illustrated when the quarians were nearly eradicated at the hands of the geth, the artificial workers they created, over a century ago. They now reside in their Migrant Fleet with no planet to call their own." She met the eyes of the Samothracians in turn. "Research into virtual intelligence is allowable, but the creation of true artificial intelligence is strictly forbidden."
A tight nod from the male Samothracian, Miguel Hiero. "We understand, Lady Benezia."
"If ah could bring up anothah point," Helene interjected, "there is also the outstandin' issue of the convoy of Prothean artifacts that the Yank- that the humans stole from a Domination convoy sho'tly after the Prothean research outpost was discovered on Mars, the fo'th planet of the Sol System."
Miguel nodded as she finished speaking, as if he had been expecting the subject. "Yes, we deeply regret that incident and will gladly return all of those Prothean artifacts still in our possession."
Pope looked up sharply as Helene opened her mouth to reply, then closed it with a click of her teeth. "Ah... ah'm sorry?" she managed.
Miguel nodded, smiling as he replied. "We need only to set a location and time. You must understand, however," he continued, "that many of the artifacts were destroyed or lost during the Final War. We will make all efforts to return those that we managed to retain during our... departure from the Sol System."
Pope gritted his teeth behind a neutral expression. Oh, you greasy damnyankee sumbitch, he thought, half with fury and half respectfully. You get the benefit of bein' the cooperative ones without returnin' most of what you got. He was morally certain that the Yankees still held most, if not all, of the artifacts they had highjacked from the convoy. But they could claim any number of them had been destroyed or lost in the chaos of the Final War, and who would be able to prove them wrong?
"In return, we would like to bring up the matter of those humans of the former Alliance for Democracy still within the Sol System," Hiero said.
Helene jerked as if she had been stuck with a pin. "They ours now, Yank," she said flatly, glaring across the table. "We won the war." She subsided as Pope touched her arm briefly.
Benezia frowned as she considered. "I understand that this is a... sensitive issue for both sides," she said. "However, the fact remains that your Domination has clearly stated that this 'Final Society' you are creating has no place for unmodified humans, while the Samothracians' numbers are extremely low. That does, in a way, make humanity an endangered species. Perhaps there is room for compromise?"
"I object!" The batarian envoy leaned forward in his chair, scowling slightly. "These humans have killed a good many of our people, and they're actively seeking to control a good part of the Attican Traverse, a region of interest to the Batarian Hegemony."
"But those of your people that the humans have killed have been disavowed by your government," the turian envoy pointed out. "They were pirates and slavers who were using the Traverse as a base to raid Citadel space. We should know; the turian fleet has had to deal with them for centuries now."
Miguel spread his hands. "If I may, the representative for the Turian Hierarchy has a point. Your government cannot suddenly reclaim them just because it is suddenly in its self-interest. Besides, we have encountered practically no official activity from the Hegemony within the Traverse. That hardly makes it a region reserved for the batarians."
"Any outstanding issues between humanity and the Batarian Hegemony are not among the issues to be discussed here today," Benezia reminded them. "This summit is about resolving the differences between the Domination of the Draka and the humans of Samothrace."
Miguel sat back in his chair and nodded, joining in the general agreement to the asari mediator's words. At least we know where the batarians stand now, he thought sourly, glaring at the batarian envoy from the corner of his eye. Those bastards would rather see us wiped out.
The older human Draka, Pope, tapped the head of his cane against the table a few times. "If I may," he began, "I believe I can address the issue at hand. As my superior Miz Renston pointed out, those humans still within the Sol System have legally come under the sovereignty of the Domination since the conclusion of the War. Many have been legally purchased by Citizens of the State since then, and our government could not in good conscience deprive our people of their private property.
"I believe we might be able to come to some so't of understandin', however," he continued, "regardin' those humans still under the authority of the Central Detention section of our Security Directorate. They remain undah the authority of the State, and their status could possibly be discussed as part of some larger deal." He leaned forward in his chair and clasped his hands together on top of the table. "Then there are the fallback forces that were left behind in former Alliance territory, who continue to harass the men and women who are tryin' to rebuild after the devastation left in the aftermath of the War. Their release could also, perhaps, be discussed."
Miguel stopped himself from grinning. Ah, have they been giving you a hard time, Snake? How unfortunate. He hummed under his breath to prevent the drakensis from hearing him subvocalize. "We would like to open discussions regarding every human from the former Alliance, Senor Pope. I'm afraid that those forces are no longer within our command structure, though." He shrugged his shoulders. "How could they be, when we are no longer even in the same solar system? We have no reliable way to communicate with them."
The two Draka glowered at him, to which he responded with a bland smile. Benezia sighed inaudibly where she sat. "Perhaps we should take this opportunity for a recess," she announced. "Some of these matters can be referred to the Council, and maybe the envoys for both parties can communicate with their superiors back on their homeworlds."
"Congenial agreement: an excellent suggestion," the elcor envoy put in in his species' trademark monotone. Affirmatives flowed down the table, and the envoys began to chat with one another as they began to rise from their seats.
"That went well enough," Margaret Myrice commented as they stepped outside the room into the corridor.
Miguel nodded. "The Snakes held their own, but they never were good at diplomacy." The Drakas' brutal honesty was one of the reasons they had become so widely hated back on Earth, and the Protracted Struggle had done nothing to teach much about duplicity.
Margaret opened her mouth to respond, then closed it as the turian envoy approached them. "Mr. Hiero? Mrs. Myrice?" He bowed his head slightly. "Nilik Scavris, of the Turian Hierarchy. I was hoping we could set aside some time to meet with each other."
Margaret looked at Miguel and raised an eyebrow, out of sight of the turian diplomat. Miguel himself was taken aback as well. Wait. They're fought that small war with the Snakes not that long ago. A smile stretched across his face. "Thank you. I believe that can be arranged."
Pope stared moodily out of a window at the Presidium down below, his hands resting on his cane; the two ghouloons had moved forward to interpose themselves between he and Helene and the rest of the alien diplomats to give them some privacy.
Damnyankees. "Their expulsion hasn't dimmed that cunnin' of theirs by any great degree," he remarked, keeping his voice low enough so that only Helene's drakensis ears could hear him.
Helene's expression was full of storm clouds. "How could you say we'd even considah the possibility of lettin' any serfs go to join them?" she demanded.
Pope let a deep breath sigh out through his nostrils. "Fo' all that you goin' to be livin' around two hundred fifty years, you don' seem to take the long view, Miz Renston." He turned his head and speared her with a cold gaze. "We already know that many of them former Alliance serfs in Central Detention are no good as workers, not even in the labor camps. They too drunk on they ideals, grew up gettin' they heads filled with them. 'Specially the North Americans." He shook his head. "We could just expend 'em all, but possibly kickin' 'em out to join the other ferals in Samothrace could help us to look good to the Council. And gettin' rid of they fallback forces helps to secure the New Territories on Earth." He shook his head. "It's a brand new game we playin', Miz Renston. You better start learnin' the moves."
Helene blinked, then nodded slowly. "Ah... yes, ah see what yo' mean. Ah'll... try, sir."
Pope nodded once, a sharp gesture of approval. A growl from the ghouloons made him raise an eyebrow and turn around. Standing beyond the two hulking dark-furred transgenes was the batarian envoy. "Excuse me. I was hoping to have a word with you," the alien said, tilting his head to the left in an unfamiliar gesture. "I was thinking we could discuss issues of... mutual interest."
The elder Draka smiled, and inclined his head in return. "I think I'd like that." He craned his head back to look up at the two ghouloons. "It's alright, boys. Let the good envoy through. We have a lot to discuss, I think."