2183 C.E., The Citadel.

Saren Arterius, senior Citadel SPECTRE, the longest serving turian member of the elite force, under the direct command of the three most powerful members of the Galactic government, was not happy.

Humans...

Ever since the Relay 314 Incident, these galactic newcomers had been a thorn on his side. Ever since they sent their first diplomatic mission to the Citadel, they had been inserting their voluminous noses into every single business they had, to use a human term, no business getting into. And yet the Council kept dancing to their tune. Sparatus what the only one that kept a healthy amount of scepticism towards the newcomers. He wasn't too surprised about the asari, since those humans were barely a paintjob away from them, but the salarians? They must know just how dangerous these humans could be.

They had the STG after all. He'd dare bet being scaled that the slimy sons of vilii had already infiltrated their home planet. The so-called Earth. Wherever it was. But he couldn't be sure; every single time he had unearthed a clue as to the whereabouts of Earth he had been stonewalled. Spirits, he had confronted salarians he knew for a fact had been to Earth, only to be faced with stoically, irrationally tight-lipped silence. And he had pushed. As a Spectre he could do a lot of pushing.

Yet, nothing.

His eyes fell on the curved, black blade resting on his desk. He had been cleaning and oiling it today, and tested that it was still as sharp as ever, years after Shanxi. He had seen the humans there. The real humans. The ones the Council still refused to see. The cyber-augmented , implacable killing machines.

And their ships! Those damnable humans had taken down the exploration fleet with only minimal casualties, and it was only when the entire Second Fleet countered that they had been pushed back – hard. There was more to their ships than they had let on so far.

Saren shook his head and finished his cup of apha. He was a SPECTRE. He could go wherever he please, whenever he pleased. Even the uppity humans had to adhere to the Council's rules on that. It didn't matter if the Council didn't listen to him.

It didn't matter because of that one new source he had acquired. He checked his omni-tool and, right on cue, the door to his chambers chimed.

Only three minutes late.

"Nihlus," Saren said, a toothy grin directed at the visitor on the other side of the door.

"Saren," Nihlus replied, grinning in kind.

The two turians exchanged wrist-clasps, and Nihlus dropped onto the hard surface of the offered seat with an air of familiarity. Saren had been his mentor in the Spectres, and more than that, he had become a friend. It was almost a ritual, he'd debrief the Council and, if Saren was around – which wasn't that often, Spectre life being what it was – and do a second, more relaxed one over a hot drink. Or a stiff one, if circumstances called for it.

"So, how were the humans?" Saren inquired, failing to keep all the venom out of his voice. He set a steaming cup of hot apha in front of Nihlus, and sat down with another one in his own hand.

"The humans, or the human?" Nihlus said, peering at Saren over the rim of his cup.

Saren's mandibles flared in amusement. "Yes."

"He seems like a pro, quick and efficient. He could be an asset to the Spectres," Nihlus said. Saren looked at him, so he made a shrug back. "It was just a milk run, Saren."

"Milk run?"

"That's what the humans called it. We were just picking up a little package, in the middle of a human-occupied system. Not much that could go wrong."

"What about the ship?" Saren said, hoping to sound as nonchalant as possible. Nihlus knew it well, but there was a reason Saren had never played Skillian Five with him; he had never seen his deceptively relaxed face. Paranoid, perhaps, but better safe.

"Humans have kept it pretty quiet," Nihlus replied, and Saren thought he heard a tingle of awe in his voice.

"I know. The Turian engineers that worked with the humans had their faceplates fused on that one."

Nihlus look was more eloquent than anything he could have said. He was one of the few that knew about Saren and Shanxi. He didn't need to say anything.

"It was amazing. Jet black, you've seen the holos," Nihlus offered, getting a nod from Saren. "The inside is even more amazing. The whole ship feels... Alive. I swear, I could almost feel... hear... its spirit. And up close, it looked almost like-"

"A Mass Relay?"

Nihlus face froze, and his eyes became fixed on Saren's.

S'kak! That may have been too much. Spirits, he's already gone completely to their side?

Saren gave Nihlus a wide, open smile. "I found myself fascinated by this ship when I heard about it. You know I always wanted to look more closely at human ships."

"Yeah, that much is obvious..." Nihlus shook his head, then drank deeply from his cup. "I understand your misgivings, Saren, but the humans are not bad. It's like... They have the good of the galaxy in their sights."

Saren disguised his muttered curse behind his own cup of apha. Nihlus sounded too much like all the others he had found working with the humans. That awed voice, with a hint of fanaticism. He was a good Turian, he could not imagine what could have made someone like him turn on his own race.

I'll find out how. And undo the brainwash. Benezia owes me a favour, an asari Matriarch can untangle his brain.

Saren set his empty cup on the table, and fell back on the seat in a relaxed posture. Even though it was his fifth cup of apha of the day. "Maybe I should ask the humans to give me a tour of the ship," he said.

That got a chuckle out of Nihlus. "You know it's Captain Anderson's ship."

"It's been almost twenty years, maybe it's time we moved on."

The two Turians sat in comfortable silence for a while, until Saren broke it with the question he had not yet dared ask. "So, this prothean beacon, where are the salarian eggheads keeping it?"