23 – Our Problem

The Commander was beginning to understand how Polaris Station finally started to turn a profit. To get to Beta Wing, you didn't just pass by the shopping centers – you had to brave a route that went right through each one. He knew by now that his hundred-dollar bill wouldn't go very far in an age of paperless everything, but if he did have future money…he might just have spent the lot. He had finally discovered what a 'skycar' was. Delivery to your ship free of charge.

The Bluntnose could never compare to this sleek blue model, rotating on a display with a small crowd of fellow enthusiasts able to ogle it from every angle. 0-60 in less than a second, leather seats, tinted windows, custom designed titanium-carbon fiber shell made in a special zero-gravity environment – the same way battleships are apparently constructed these days. It even had racing stripes. Self-driving came 'as standard', but Gorman was salivating at the idea of being behind its wheel. However, he spotted three distinct areas for improvement if he was to make this fine vehicle his own. A Red Sox bumper sticker, a horn that blasted La Cucaracha, and…tires. For all its comprehensive improvements over the cars of two centuries prior, it was hovering. Why bother, he thought, if one can't enjoy the feeling of rubber on the road? Might as well buy a helicopter at that point.

As soon as he stepped away in disappointment from the skycar, he saw out of the corner of his eye what he should have been looking for before another distraction – the Herschel Observatory Center. People were starting to filter in through its open doors. What lay beyond was dark and out of sight.

Gorman approached to see a bouncer of sorts, a stocky bald gent showing the masses in. His new holographic best friend perhaps deliberately neglected to tell him if there was a fee for entry, but his mind was elsewhere as he stood before the doorway. Entry to what? Was everyone else also here to see an asari? Was he going to have to get in a line?

"You," the bouncer locked eyes with the loitering Gorman. He had a thick Aussie accent. "You 'ere t'see 'sari, mate?"

"Yeah, do I need to…"

"Nah, 'lliance lads go free. G'wan in, it's startin' in five."

The Commander walked on in, down a ramp and into an auditorium.

The back wall was all glass, tinted down substantially to let everyone view the star outside in all its splendor. Against this wall was a stage and a podium under a spotlight. Opposite the stage, the tiered seating went up several levels. At the end of each row was a piece of art – statues, paintings, framed writings. A smug looking man in a powdered wig prominent among them. Although they looked somewhat out of place among the sleek architecture, obviously there was significance to the observatory's namesake. The Commander's creeping fear that he was in the wrong place was met with a nameplate underneath one such painting – William Herschel.

Seats were starting to fill up. He wanted to ask this asari some important questions, so where was the best possible place to get its attention? He plonked down in a comfortable seat in the front row next to a middle aisle, sinking into its unexpectedly luxurious cushioning. Perhaps he was in the VIP section, but nobody batted an eye. It was as good as his.

Looking at his fellow entrants, there was no clear pattern. A dozen teenagers with backpacks indicated a school tour, but blank-faced men and women in suits gave him memories of business conventions and security conferences. He was too busy gawking to notice someone had sat down right next to him.

"This better be good," a middle-aged woman remarked, settling into her seat. Gorman turned to see her somewhere under a cap, sweater, coat and several bags – each bearing Polaris Station's starry logo. No self-respecting employee would dare to wear this much merchandise, so he was talking to a fellow tourist. "Came all the way from Mars to see the Zoo, and what do you know, it's closed! Indefinitely! Unbelievable…"

"The Zoo's closed?" Gorman made small talk. "How come?"

"Staff gave me the old heave-ho. Dhruva, that godforsaken pop-up, thought it was still open. But get this – my husband tells me he overheard these guys say that it's because the pandas…were stolen."

"How do you steal a panda?"

"Carefully, I imagine." She gave a solemn shake of her head. "Absolutely dreadful, and if it's true, a PR disaster. The last two pandas…gone, just like that. Imagine the headlines once the journos find out."

Gorman's heart sank. The last pandas? A sobering thought he'd been ignoring until now was coming back around. Between his lack of information, the sheer number of people in human colonies, and the whole 'global warming' thing back in 2013…he had no clue what kind of state Earth was actually in right now. He tried to reassure himself that his home wasn't a wasteland – after all, Kalu still seemed happy to get back there. A quick extranet search might calm his mind later.

"Apologetically: Do you mind if I stand here," came a new voice, loud and dull, from his other side. He slowly turned and his eyes widened.

Perhaps the Zoo was not closed after all – there was an elephant standing in the aisle. It was large, grey, had two beady eyes and stood on all limbs, but there was no trunk. Maybe it was a gorilla, the way its hind legs and massive arms were distinct – and clothed. It was no camel, despite an arched back like a hump. In place of a mouth were vertical flaps that should never be able to produce any sound like what it said, and yet they did.

Whatever it was, it was staring right at the Commander. He was scared beyond fear – and started laughing.

"Yeah, sure buddy, you can stand there," Gorman spluttered, beneath his sudden hysterics.

"Appreciative: Thank you. I am looking forward to the lecture."

Gorman's implanted translator was whirring, but for all the miracles performed it couldn't quite grasp whatever emotion this beast was trying to convey. Instead it seemed that emotions would be relayed to him with a word at the beginning of each labored sentence. He couldn't make heads or tails of whether it actually was a translator issue, or whether the alien was incapable of speaking any other way.

"Hey!" the woman in the next seat gave the chimera a friendly wave. "We don't see too many elcor in Alliance space. What brings you out here?"

"Upbeat: I am here on a diplomatic exchange mission," the 'elcor' was theoretically happy to explain, "Several humans are also planning a visit to my homeworld, Dekuuna. Embarrassment: However, by mistake we have ended up on Polaris Station, not Arcturus, where your Alliance is based."

Gorman was mesmerized. His own theory – based on seeing salarians, batarians, quarians and turians – that bipeds evidently reigned supreme in space, was being dismantled, crushed, and thrown out a window with every deadbeat word. There was something about the way it monotonously droned on that was entertaining, and something about the way it gave exact details on its current emotion that was refreshing.

"Barely hidden guilt: At least it was not my fault. Sadness: And now that we are here, it is a shame that the Zoo is closed."

"I know, right?" the woman responded. "Have you been to the Diner yet? We should meet for brunch after the lecture, if you're stuck on Polaris you should at least go there. Their milkshakes are legendary."

The lights were already down low, but they dimmed suddenly and the chatter of the auditorium got an octave quieter.

Gorman tried to avert his gaze from the elcor and regain his focus. The lecture was starting…wait – lecture? He was wondering what the asari would be up to, but a lecture? About what?

Applause rang out. The spotlight swerved to a figure walking out from the side of the stage. The platform was designed in such a way to make it look like he had emerged from the stars themselves. It was an older, and definitely human, gentleman, spindly thin with a full head of white hair and a winning smile. He was wearing a complimentary outfit – black suit, black pleats, black shirt, white tie, white shoes, white gloves – that made perfect sense when given the stellar backdrop. In any other scenario, he would just look like a penguin.

"Found your missing panda," Gorman whispered to the woman. She gave a stifled chuckle before hoisting a finger to her lips.

Jokes could only break so much of the tension. Gorman was getting worried. This guy was too well dressed to just be the MC, but surely he was here to announce the asari and nothing more.

"Great to be here, good to see you all," the man, now at the podium, began. His voice was very gravelly, like an accented cough. Gorman knew people who spoke exactly like this – all chain smokers. "Where is everybody from?" he gave a wave to the audience. "Earth? Elysium? Eden Prime?" At the mention of the third planet, he clasped his hands together in a quick prayer before getting back to crowd-work. "…Dekuuna?" He pointed to the non-human in the aisle.

"Ironic sarcasm: How did he know," remarked the elcor.

"Wonderful! Wonderful," the man beamed. Even under a spotlight, his teeth were too bright to be real. "Well, for those unfamiliar, I must introduce myself. My name is Ahti Saari, former professor of xenoarchaeology at the Eric Cline Institute. I've spent the last decade travelling to remote parts of…"

You've got to be kidding me, thought Gorman. The Commander wasn't listening anymore. There was no asari here, just A. Saari. He was cursing Dhruva under his breath, and trying to look for an easy way out. Leaving to his left would involve passing uncomfortably close to the spotlight, and worse than that, he never saw any exit in that direction from the outside. Leaving to his right was impossible – there was an elcor in his way. Why did he have to get a seat in the front row?

He sighed, sunk further into his chair and reluctantly buckled up for a lecture. The professor was now gesturing to a holographic display. Ceiling to floor was a digital copy of his latest book, entitled 'Death of the Inventor'.

"…which can be yours for the low, low cost of a hundred credits, with five percent of all sales going to the Eden Prime relief fund," the man continued. "If you have to decide between ten cups of coffee and the book, it's a sacrifice worth making."

The crowd were on his side, laughing along. The holo-book faded away, leaving a view of the mighty star out the window.

"Behind me…is the magnificent North Star. Where I come from, we used to call it naulatähti – the nail star. During Earth's nights, it can look like all other stars are pivoting around it. In this regard, it is the lynchpin that holds the very sky together. We Finns relied on it for navigation like so many other cultures."

No clicker was necessary – with a wave of his hand the next holographic graphic came up. This time, a procession of animated images. Ships, horses and carts, trains, cars, compasses, magnets, aeroplanes. Then it branched out into images Gorman had never seen before. Advanced rockets, skycars, star charts, bulky spaceships over Martian orbit. The woman next to Gorman was smiling at seeing her home.

"Invention let us surpass the need for the nail star. We humans built wonders over centuries of uninterrupted technological progress that gave us what the stars could never, navigation on our own terms. We could go anywhere we wanted. We were the masters of travel."

Then the final 'slide' projected – a mass relay, in all its glory.

"But then something changed," his tone got a touch more serious. "Humanity is a race of problem-solvers, and interstellar travel was always considered humanity's problem to solve, with centuries of reinforcement through fiction. The total sum of human effort could get as close to light-speed as possible, but always at an outrageous cost. It would have required the single-greatest engineering marvel in our history…just for a ship that would reach its destination in a millennium."

The professor was almost getting flustered. For someone who looked as old as he did, he probably lived to see what he was describing firsthand – a true rarity for someone with 'archaeologist' in their title.

"Our problem…was solved overnight once we discovered the relays. We were given the keys to the galaxy, and quite rightly, thus began a golden age of exploration. Relays led to relays, and we poked the wrong one, you know how that story ends."

His summary worked for the educated audience, but Gorman was busy connecting the dots. The 'story' likely ended with First Contact and its subsequent war. Only twenty-six years ago. If the Commander was as old as he felt, he'd have been old enough to remember when humanity found out it wasn't alone out here.

"But in our celebration, in our euphoria at such rapid advancement, we underwent a shift…and in my opinion, not one for the better. We got lazy."

Murmurs broke out among the crowd. New images flickered above the stage, grand spirals, elaborate pillars, elegant structures. Gorman's eyes widened – he was able to recognize prothean architecture. One image might well have been from Feros itself.

"Prothean technology was the backbone of the galaxy for all other spacefaring races. When we joined the galactic community, we adopted prothean technology just as they did. Mass relay networks, element zero drives, the Citadel, we blindly agreed to bind ourselves to the limits of a race that went extinct fifty thousand years ago."

All the while, Professor Saari was pacing. At the word 'bind', he slammed his fist into his palm. Asari or not, Gorman couldn't say he wasn't engaged.

"We cannot go anywhere we want these days. We are no longer masters of travel. The new nail-stars are here to stay."

The professor let a moment for contemplation pass.

"I talk about this in my book, of course," he continued, much calmer. "As its name implies, the 'Inventor' that propelled human history is no more. There is no incentive to innovate anymore. Instead, the Inventor has been thoroughly replaced…with the Archaeologist. Xenoarchaeologists such as myself are now the ones tasked with new ideas, new processes, new inventions – provided you replace 'new' with 'prothean'. We are standing on the shoulders of giants."

Some tentative applause started, but the professor gave a knowing smile and held up a hand to silence it for now.

"You're probably thinking to yourself, 'Ahti, so what? So what if we're dependent on prothean technology? Things are better now; I can visit any colonized planet in the galaxy in a weekend without my body turning to jelly'." The audience liked that one, especially those old enough to remember that muscle atrophy in space was once a real problem that really existed. "Firstly, let me be the unfortunate one to remind you again that the protheans are extinct. Done. Gonzo. Nobody, of any species, still knows what happened to them. Secondly, while their technology has benefits, obviously, we must never allow ourselves to get complacent."

He was waving around an authoritative finger like a colonel addressing recruits. Gorman wondered if the book was just these lectures spread over two hundred pages. The images changed again, this time showing idealized human colonies on some unnamed worlds. Smiling families, prefab buildings, Earth-imported animals and plenty of unusual sunrises.

"My years as a xenoarchaeologist at the Cline Institute have taught me many hard truths. The hardest, and the one I would love to disprove, is that human ingenuity is dead and buried. Humanity needs to be constricted no longer, to spread its wings as far as they can go. Throughout our history, the greatest innovation came not from stagnant, static nations and thinkers. It came from the pioneers, the explorers, the adventurers and conquistadors who went beyond limits, not within them. Our first colonial rush to the edge of knowledge. The triumphant rebirth of the Inventor will not be on Earth, or the Citadel, or even Polaris Station…but out in the newest human colonies. Out on the frontier."

He made sure to emphasize that last word – and, Gorman noticed – forget to mention the obvious when talking about colonization on Earth. It was the other elephant in the room.

Applause broke out when it became clear the first part of the lecture was over. Professor Saari chugged a bottle of water as the hologram returned to a rotating paperback. Gorman glanced over his shoulder to see some omni-tools aglow. Either everyone was checking their digital watch, or the book was already selling copies.

He was about to make a break for the exit when round two began – the professor announced he would now be taking questions. After a brief scan, Saari spotted a willing volunteer.

"Uh, yeah, I have a question," came an amplified voice from way in the back. Gorman couldn't believe his ears at first, but there was something familiar about it…it was flanging. "You talk about the need for human exploration, human colonies, human pioneers, but isn't that the exact way of thinking that led to the Relay 314 Incident?"

The auditorium was dead silent. Professor Saari smiled, and extended his arms outward.

"Ah, a turian. Welcome to Alliance space, first of all," he chuckled. There was a barely perceptible pressure behind the chuckle that wasn't there earlier. "Yes, the 'Incident', or as we call it, First Contact. An avoidable tragedy for both sides, I'm sure you'll agree. I ask you only to think of the alternative. Humanity never opens any more relays, never encounters intelligent life beyond our boundaries. Human history tells us exactly what would happen. We would turn inward, we would stagnate, and I dare say, we would collapse under our own weight. Irreparable division on arbitrary lines, never to heal. Plainly, we had to open the relays."

The turian, somewhere towards the back row, made to speak again.

"Respectfully, professor, two thousand years ago the Council did exactly -"

The professor, in full flow, interrupted.

"Humanity proved during the War my earlier point – we are problem-solvers at our core. If human ingenuity is dead, then the War was its last gasp before strangulation. Therefore, if human progress depends on humanity sailing into the vast unknown with pistols at our hip once more, bring it on."

Applause rang again, this time a bit more restrained.

Gorman had to catch a glimpse before the turian sat down again. He pushed himself up, craned his neck, and sure enough, there was something not very human standing from their seat up high. However, he made the fatal mistake of becoming noticeable to the lecturer. A spotlight shone down on him.

"Front row," the professor pointed right at the Commander. "You have a question?"

Gorman snapped back to face the stage and raised his hands with a weak smile, the universal 'No, thank you' indicator. Unfortunately, it was ineffective.

"Don't be shy. I'm always happy to take questions from our troops!" Saari gave another laugh, and even a quick salute.

All eyes were on Gorman. He'd already – although unintentionally – screwed up one interview today, so he had to think fast and act natural for this next one. The professor's theories were interesting and all, but the Commander wasn't convinced that 'Death of the Inventor' would be a good fit on his digital bookshelf. Saari seemed clued in on 'modern' history – so perhaps Gorman could get some more much-needed insight into the time he'd awoken in.

"Suppose someone, a human from the early twenty-first century, is brought to today. What do you think they'd find the most different?"

The professor for once didn't have a quick reply. He pondered for a bit and placed his hands at the podium's sides.

"Excellent question. Early twenty-first? Hundred and sixty, seventy, eighty years ago? Well, clearly they'd see too many differences to count. Importantly, however, they would be very, very ashamed."

"Ashamed?" the word flew out of Gorman's protesting mouth. Laughter came from several audience members.

"Yes, ashamed," Saari continued, "In fact, I'm glad nobody from those days is still around to see it. The early twenty-first was arguably humanity's cultural and societal peak, Earth back then was comparatively a paradise. We were peaceful, harmoniously united, and above all, free. If this time-traveler looked at today, they'd see humanity under siege – literally by the geth and technologically by the Council. In my book I delve deeper into -"

"Now wait just a minute," Gorman put his foot down and finally broke the professor's flow. There must have been a microphone built into his seat, the way his skeptical voice was being carried across the auditorium like the turian's was. "The world was not a pretty place in those days, trust me. Peaceful? Are we talking about the same planet? And united…are you familiar at all with the concept of religion?"

"T-Trivial," Saari responded with utmost dismissal…and a raspy stutter. "Historical footnotes. Insignificant issues compared to today. Have you seen Eden Prime lately?"

"Seen it? I was there," Gorman answered with enough conviction to send murmurs through the audience. "And you know what else I've seen? Human colonies in deep space, people of every color and creed working together, friendly extraterrestrials, engineering wonders, hell – there's even a cure for Alzheimer's! Believe me, some people back then were more convinced that we'd kill the planet before we left it. Tell me with a straight face that we have it worse now."

"All achievements, g-granted," the professor stammered again, gripping the podium tighter for composure. "A visitor from the early twenty-first would be awestruck…at first. Life was made easy and is getting easier. But at some point, it stops being life. Would this person believe, as you seem to do, that we lay down all ambitions, all innovation, just to be consumed whole by asari parthenogenesis, turian stratocratic authoritarianism or salarian securocratic nomenklatura?"

Saari was using a tried and tested debate tactic – overloading the Commander with long, complex terms he had no chance of understanding. Gorman had to strike back with a method he picked up on Feros.

"Frankly, professor, that sounds like a loud of racist mumbo-jumbo. Are you a human supremacist?"

The professor's mouth popped open and closed like a fish for a moment before his reply.

"A serious accusation, soldier. I am merely stating the undeniable fact that humanity's position is tenuous, and in need of resolution. Whether you choose to accept that truth is always up to you."

The Commander suddenly realized he was wasting his time.

"I've had enough of your hypocritical allusions," he stated, starting a march around the gazing elcor and out the way he came. There were many sounds coming from behind, but he chose not to look back – and mentally debated whether he should have started throwing hands.

The lights of Beta Wing were comparatively blinding, but Gorman kept moving.

There, just across a collection of kiosks, were a couple of people chatting to an orange hologram. He made a beeline for it, almost tripping over various objects as his eyes readjusted. No more distractions, no more misinformation, no more misdirection. There was one last shot at finding a real asari – and nothing would get in his way. By the time he reached his destination, Dhurva was alone and waiting for him with a defiantly neutral expression. To his surprise, they started speaking first.

"Sensors indicate your blood pressure is ABOVE healthy levels. Might I recommend a trip to the galaxy-famous Polaris Zoo? Active service members go half price."

"Zoo's closed, Dhruva," Gorman broke the bad news, "I need directions to the officers' club, stat."

"CALCULATING…" Dhruva's holographic pupils spun about in circles. "Calculation complete! You are in luck! The Alliance officers' club 'Polestar Lounge' is directly below us, Gamma Wing, 10.1 meters. Would you like directions to the escalators, or, alternatively, directions to the nearest pharmacy?"

"I'll handle it," Gorman huffed. "But I have one last question, and I need you to be honest with me." He was wagging his finger as if addressing a misbehaving puppy. "Is there an asari at the club?"

"CHECKING… Yes, there -"

Gorman sped off.

The answer to the age old question 'What is the shortest distance between two points' was finally found. As it turns out, it was 'Whatever route Gorman takes when his patience runs thin'. He barreled through the shopping district like an asari-seeking missile, boots clacking on the glossy floor and ears humming with synth music from every hidden speaker.

"Hey, Commander!" called out a voice. Gorman knew not who nor where it came from – he instead elected to ignore it.

This decision was affirmed the moment he reached the bottom of an escalator.

There were around six people outside a large circular doorway – a line, no doubt – and a screen above gave an indication of how long they'd be waiting – a solitary minute. The people were all dressed like he was. The doorway was see-through, and 'Polestar Lounge' was written in a semicircle above it. Through it, however, was an unusual sight. There was a bouncer of some description, earpiece tapped and hands folded, and he was standing on the ceiling. Then he – and the foggy blue neon backdrop behind him – resumed slowly rotating in a clockwise direction. Even watching it from the outside was enough to make Gorman's stomach turn.

The clock reached zero, the club aligned with its entrance and the glass panels that composed the door parted in six directions. Blue sweaters were allowed to walk, or stumble, out before Gorman's crowd was allowed to filter in. Taking his chances, Gorman followed their lead, and to his relief the bouncer gave his uniform a look and an approving nod.

He was in.