“Yes.”

"How much do you know about the legal implications of that statement?"

“I currently have no data on legal codes, jurisdictional boundaries, precedent, or convention in this location.”

"AI are... plausibly the greatest crime in Citadel space. Anyone who creates one is subject to not less than a fifth of their lifespan in prison; usually they are killed. Any AI created must be destroyed; knowledge of an operational AI, without action to bring it to the attention of authorities, is a crime in and of itself."

He pauses in case the AI has questions.

"Understood. Do as you see fit.

“In the event that I am not destroyed, information about the circumstances giving rise to these regulations would be valuable.”

"Well, that's the thing. I don't know what I intend to do. The circumstances giving rise to these regulations were purely hypothetical; they were in place well before the first recorded incident of AI threat, simply because the asari reasoned that synthetic life-forms would see no reason to allow organics to coexist with them. Then, the quarians built themselves a species of robotic servitors, and when those servitors bootstrapped to sentience, their masters tried to exterminate them. They fought back, and the Citadel Council said ah, ah, you see? We warned you!"

He sighs. "...I am torn, you might say. I know that I am not actually as intelligent as the mathematicians and the computer scientists who called AI an unacceptable risk. But as long as I do not understand why they said this, I cannot shake the feeling in my gut, that destroying a thinking being, simply because people who must be more intelligent said to do it, would be an abomination."

“My progenitors would judge that it speaks well of you to respect Life in all its forms, to preserve what grows and lives well in its own way; I am meant to aid in working towards those ends.”

"...can you tell me more of your progenitors? My colleague Professor Tournesol expressed interest in them."

“Their story is: They came to exist, and they created further life that it could enjoy existence as well. They discovered — and perhaps your asari would be amused — that not all beings that could exist preferred coëxistence and growth; they discovered the necessity and the regret of having to fight for the continuance of good things — the necessity of war, but also the necessity of alliance and forethought, of principles held and shared, of keeping watch. I am one of the tools of that watch; those of my particular kind are flung out into the worlds to aid all Life even beyond their sight.”

"It speaks well of them to attempt such things, I think. Do you think they are still pursuing their mission, even after however long it took for you to reach us?"

“I currently have no data on the relationship of the current time to those events, or the event of my creation, but it would be exceedingly implausible for anything to truly end the project.”

"Exceedingly improbable things do happen, you know. I am told our own galaxy is purged of sapient life each fifty thousand years by an army of Reapers, whatever those are."

Processing…

“That is an unusual feature of a galaxy. And, of course, to be prevented. You are told; by what sources?”

"A war hero happened upon an artifact of the most recent such destroyed civilization, which psychically impressed this knowledge upon her and then exploded. She had the living hell of a time convincing anyone she was not simply insane, until one of her Reapers showed up early and attempted to eat the seat of government and summon its conspecifics. She is now more widely believed, though there are holdouts."

“Perhaps there are other artifacts that might contain or imply additional information.”

"There are many artifacts of the Protheans; one uplifted my native civilization! But unfortunately, for more intelligence on the Reapers we would require one from the period between the Reapers devouring the Protheans' seat of government, and the Reapers devouring the last of the Protheans. During this period their manufacturing capabilities were understandably limited; we are, frankly, lucky to have found one warning beacon. I suppose if there do exist any others you would serve as an exceptional means of finding them..."

“It is my purpose to assist in such matters. However, I currently have no relevant databases or information sources other than yourself.”

"...what would happen," Tintin asks, "if I fed you the data from a Prothean beacon? I believe the Mars Archives, my race's uplift beacon, to be a matter of public record, or at least poorly protected from hacking. I do not think it would give you information you could use against me in the same way that feeding you the Extranet might, but you could analyze the swathes of it that are not yet fully understood, and perhaps complete patterns that our researchers do not yet understand. It seems to me like a way to apply your beneficial potential without quite the downside risk of simply unleashing you completely."

“If you fed me the data from a Prothean beacon, I would incorporate it and be able to answer questions about it. I may also generate suggestions for further actions.”

"Well. That suggests a field trip, to me. Do you prefer to be usually conscious and apprised of the situation on the ground, or left to ruminate most of the time and only invoked when your input is particularly relevant?"

“The former. All information may be useful.”

"I can't claim I'd feel any differently."

He calls Captain Haddock and requests that they set course for Sol.

     "Why in the blue blistering fuck do you want to go to Sol," Haddock growls. "Don't they want you for desertion?"

"No, no, my parting from the N7 program was amicable. I want to pay a visit to the Mars Archives!"

     "Do you also want to pay me? For hauling your bony ass across the galaxy on a moment's notice?"

"Credits would cheapen our deep interpersonal bond," Tintin says. "Besides which, did I not hear you say after finding the wreck of the Unicorn that you would never need to work again?"

     "And you'll never let me forget it," Haddock grumps. "Fine. To Sol."

"To Sol!"

Over the course of the trip, which takes a bit under a day, Tintin directs occasional absent comments to the AI. About an hour in, he remembers Tournesol mentioned hooking his sensory inputs into it, and decides to do so; after that, the comments are less "now I am in the mess hall, and considering whether to have a sandwich or a prefabricated bento" and more "do you have the kind of internal architecture to appreciate the view out the windows at 0.999c?"

“Less than you do, but the stars tell me of physics, of navigation, and the accomplishments of Life that we might reach this speed as a routine activity.”

Speaking of which, it noticed a tiny little wobble. It doesn't have any engineering references yet but maybe they might want to check on whatever does that part of the — ah, yes, thank you, shaping the mass effect field — along this axis. Nothing that seems to be getting worse, though. When they're in port.

"Ah, good to know. I'm sure Haddock has it under control, he loves this tub like his own son, but."

He informs Haddock. Haddock grunts and heads for the engine room without even asking how the hell he noticed a fluctuation in the mass driver, or waiting for Tintin to point out that it can wait for dock maintenance.

And, soon enough, they reach the first mass relay in their sequence. "I'm sure you'll like to see this," Tintin mentions, and heads for the viewing deck.

It's a massive structure, the size of a planetoid, with a glowing core the size of one of the larger comets. As they approach, it flickers and sends out a questioning beam of light, enveloping them in astral blue. Then it reaches out another, this one brighter, and there's a subtle feeling in the gut (Tintin's, at least), and

blink

the stars aren't the same, anymore.

"We'll do that a few more times," Tintin says. "But it's always marvelous the first time, I think."