Amada system, Omega Nebula (15/04/2183)

"Disengaging FTL drives. Emission sinks active. Board is green, we are running silent." Joker's voice was bored as the Normandy dropped back into realspace, the routine and tedium of the supposed patrol already making flying a pain. He maneuvered the frigate on a course that would bring them within sensor range of both Eingana and Alchera, to see if the latest scrap of intel ONI forwarded to them had any basis in reality.

"We're wasting our time. Four days searching up and down this sector, and no sign of any activity - neither geth, nor smugglers or mercenaries." Pressly's voice was tense, on edge - and that twigged something in the pilot's mind. The XO was usually excessively anal about following orders and procedure to the letter; if he was willing to voice his feelings and objections to a directive from ONI, he must have been really ticked off. And anything that ticked off the XO was more than enough to set Joker on edge. His fingers danced over his haptics, readying the ship for combat maneuvering.

"Three ships did go missing here in the past two weeks, XO. Something must have happened to them." The edge in his voice was surprising to himself as well.

"My money's on the Blood Pack. They became orders of magnitude much more active in the last month or so - and they were always a pain in the ass in these parts anyway."

Joker opened his mouth to reply, as Ensign Draven spoke up from Ops Alley, confusion and something else in her voice.

"Picking up something on the long-range scanner. Unidentified vessel. Size and drive emissions suggest a cruiser, or even larger displacement." With a flick of her hand, she sent the sensor data to Joker's screen, and the pilot immediately started up the ID registry.

"Hm, its drive doesn't match any known signatures."

"Cruiser is changing course." Talitha's voice dripped with disbelief, and just a hint of worry. "Coming on intercept trajectory."

"Can't be. Stealth systems are engaged. No way they could sense us..." Pressly's voice was full of disbelief, but his hands already moved on his console, priming weapons systems, plotting possible avoidance courses.

"It's not geth, that's for sure..." Joker mused for a second, his eyes going wide as his sensors warned him of the energy spike blooming on the unknown vessel. "Brace for evasive maneuvers!"

The darkness of the void flared with a baleful yellow glare as a thick beam of incandescent light reached for the Normandy, as Joker juked and jinked the frigate, trying to dance away, to confuse the targeting of the enemy vessel.

"I'm not sure how long I can keep evading!" Joker yelled into his mic, as he almost tore the frigate in half with an insane turn that still barely managed to avoid the next incoming shot. "Pressly, Adams, we need FTL before..."

The Normandy shook and Joker cursed as the yellow beam tore into the wing of the frigate, the vessel shuddering, its speed dropping as the right-external engine was shorn from the ship. The hit was enough to send all crew members not yet strapped in staggering. Pressly overbalanced, hit his head on the console, and slid down to the floor, unconscious and bleeding. Tabitha unstrapped herself to check on the XO, slapped a medigel patch on his temple, before another hit sent her reeling.

"Kinetic barriers down!" Joker's hands flew frantically over his console. This could not be happening - there was only one enemy he might believe capable of hitting his ship like this, and the drive signature did not match Sovereign's.

"Distress signal launched." Shepard's voice was calm, cool - and carried the typical slight distortion of a hardsuit's comm unit. The pilot did not know what the Spectre and Liara were up to in the operative's cabin (ok, if he was honest, he did have some ideas), but damn, getting into armor barely a minute after the attack, that must have been some record.

Before Joker or anyone could reply, the Normandy howled with the stress of tearing metal, as the incandescent yellow beam carved into the hull of the frigate. Secondary explosions filled the interior of the ship with noise, flames, and smoke, along with the screams of the injured and the cloying scent of sizzling meat.

"Weapons offline!" Joker barely had enough time to cry out as he wrenched the dying vessel into another maneuver, barely avoiding a direct hit to the drive core. His nostrils flared, and he spared a quick glance behind himself. "Fire in the Ops Alley!"

With a quick gesture, he activated the internal barrier of the cockpit, ensuring that the flames would not reach him, and that he could do his job without distraction. Another blast of light tore into the frigate, punching a hole straight through the CIC, and for a brief moment he closed his eyes, hoping that nobody was sucked out into the void before the emergency barrier came online. His console lit up with a new warning, and he screamed into his comm.

"Another energy spike, brace for..."

The Normandy thrashed like a wounded animal as the unidentified cruiser blanketed the area with some kind of energy field, that did not seem to be doing much of anything - or so Joker hoped for a brief second, before Adams roared into the comm.

"The core is going critical! Containment dropping, it's awakening!"

"Adams, everyone still alive - get to the escape pods, abandon ship." Shepard's tone brooked no dissent, and the pilot could not suppress a shiver at the glacial calm radiating from it. "The Alliance should be here to pick you up shortly."

As the ship shook from impacts, the hull groaning and screaming from the stress Joker's evasive maneuvering put on it, the pilot could see and feel the escape pods launching - as well as the rapidly closing moment of the drive core awakening. He started as a faint, whistling noise made itself know, just at the edge of his hearing; a distant chorus of horrors howling an ululating cry of gleeful madness and vengeance. His mouth went dry, his hands shook - and though he would never admit it, that shake allowed him to spin the Normandy away from another hit. Still, barely seconds later, an explosion bloomed out in the void, and Joker swore.

"Shepard, the bastards are going after the lifepods! We won't last until reinforcements are here!"

The Spectre's voice was still calm, though there was an underlying strain and some gurgling quality to it, as if he was speaking from underwater.

"Just get off the ship and trust me; I'll take care of this in a minute."

Another hit sent the frigate reeling, debris, flames, and atmosphere trailing in its wake. Joker still struggled to maneuver, to keep the dying ship between the enemy and the lifepods - then turned his head as steps sounded, and he came face to face with Liara, the asari's face a tear-streaked mask of soot, her voice a hoarse croak even through the hardsuit's comm.

"Come on Joker, everyone else's gone already!"

Before the pilot could answer or react, a malevolent, gloating howl sounded from somewhere deep in the corpse of the frigate, the whistling, loathsome noise searing the words tekeli-li deep into their minds. For a brief heartbeat, both Joker and Liara saw the pulsing, blue drive core swallowed by something blacker than the void, before the tide of darkness, eyes and teeth threatened to drown them body and soul - then the pilot screamed, a fair number of his bones snapping as Liara's biotics wrapped around him, and yanked Joker to the asari's side as she dove into the escape pod, her fist slamming down to launch them off the ship.

"Shepard, we are leaving!"

The disintegrating Normandy was smothered in a blanket of eye-searing, malevolent darkness, snuffing out fire, light, life and souls alike; the vast, craggy cruiser looming in the distance, its sheer bulk making it visible even with naked eyes as the behemoth turned towards them for another pass, yellow glare pooling in the throat of its main cannon. Before it could form the deadly spear of coherent light, the corpse of the frigate pulsed as molten-gold lines of power seared an arcane symbol into being, the howling darkness fraying, evaporating from the golden glare.

Joker saw Liara's eyes as she looked back towards the receding husk of the ship, saw her lips move beneath the faceplate of the helmet - and saw the cruel yellow light lance out from the cruiser once more, bearing straight down the remains of their ship … only to be stopped as a glittering, coruscating lattice of crystalline power snapped into being, the vast beam ever-diminishing in the non-euclidean depths of the labyrinthine shield. A few seconds later, another beam slammed into the gossamer-thin defense, the higher dimensions cracking, bleeding as the Guard started to buckle under the sheer power of the assault. Both Joker and Liara knew that the third shot would destroy the shield, then the unknown enemy would be free to mop up the few survivors of the Normandy.

As the aegis died with a silent explosion of golden power, Joker could not stop a disbelieving laughter when a sensor reading flashed on the escape pod's screen - and with the pseudomotion of an FTL jump, an immense bulk materialized between the wreck of the Normandy and the alien ship, and a coldly furious whisper rasped into the open comm channels.

"Get away from my son, you bastards."

Aboard the SSV Orizaba, a red-haired woman sat ramrod-straight in her command chair, emerald eyes glaring at the tactical plot as Hannah Shepard bared her teeth in a feral smile, the red lighting of combat readiness transforming her expression to a berserker's mad glee. A heartbeat later, the targeting system flashed green, and with a shudder felt across the whole vessel, the SA dreadnought opened fire - its main gun spitting out a trio of shots in a rapid burst as thirty torpedoes raced from its tubes towards the enemy cruiser.

The craggy bulk of the unknown ship turned ponderously to bring its main gun to bear while ECM systems almost on par with Sovereign's howled with electronic noise, garbage data, viral and n-dimensional attacks as they sought to bring down the human vessel's defenses. From the salvo of thirty torpedoes (two-thirds of which were penaids and ECM drones anyway), only a single one managed to get past the jamming.

Greyish unlight spread over the rocky surface of the enemy ship, giggling tentacles of light and malice tore into the vessel in a silently screaming vortex of cancerous destruction, sending it reeling off-course.

Aboard the Orizaba, Hannah smiled a predator's hungry grin, as her fingers danced on her console, sending her ship into a micro-FTL jump, dropping into knife-fight range - and along the dreadnought's side, dozens of GARDIAN lasers flashed with baleful light, carving deep furrows into the unknown assailant of her son's ship, explosions blossoming in the wake of the salvo.

A scant second later, Hannah had to bite her lips to suppress a scream of frustrated rage as the alien vessel vanished into FTL. Swallowing thoughts of revenge, she directed her crew to begin SAR, desperately looking for a specific hardsuit transponder broadcasting on N-level signifiers.

An hour later, she was able to look at her son once again - or rather, the wrecked, wasted shell of what was an N7 operative not much earlier. The stress of holding a Guard capable of dissipating a dreadnought-caliber weapon more than once, on top of dealing with an unleashed and angry shoggoth almost destroyed him. The preliminary medical report prior to stasis listed extensive cerebral damage, ruptured internal organs, broken bones, severe burns - and those were just the most obvious ones.

She could only hope that the SA Medical Corps, or rather, Jack's pet genius was as accomplished at repairing damaged humans as the shadowy bastard claimed.

Arcturus Station, Arcturus Stream (16/04/2183)

General Oleg Petrovsky was not having a good day. Admittedly, he did not consider most of his workdays as good - after all, it took him away from the research work and studies he would have preferred, but he supposed the accusation of having an overdeveloped sense of duty (and ego) was somewhat correct. Thus, he could ultimately only blame himself for being stuck in his office at Arcturus, instead of being back on Earth - perhaps if he had not refused the University's offer, he'd be studying ancient secrets in Kathmandu. As things stood, the possibility of doing such research in person was rather distant, and with a sigh, he refocused on his guest, assessing the former cabinet member. He had not exactly known what his reason for visiting was, but he made a few educated guesses. After all, the two of them were part of the same informal organization, pursued the same ultimate goal with all their not-inconsiderable skills and resources.

Still, despite the common aims and mindset, he was somewhat leery of this particular guest, and his mind raced as he considered the specific request put forth by the man. Admittedly, it was not completely unusual, and his subordinates had done such work in the past as well; sometimes at the exasperation of Director Bergman and her people at AIS. Even so, the magnitude and implications of his guest's request made him cautious. His train of thought derailed as his comm unit flashed with an incoming message that bypassed his yeoman, and with a raised eyebrow, he moved to accept the call while motioning his guest to move back, outside the range of the audiovisual pickup - and for a fraction of a second, he considered engaging the privacy field of his desk before deciding against it. If he could not even trust his guest and the others of their cabal, he might as well have put a gun to his head and be done with it.

As the call came through, he could not stop the surprised eyebrow raise.

"Fleet Master, what can I do for you?"

"Is the line secure, General?" Petrovsky's eyes narrowed at the words and the tightly controlled tone of his superior, as he checked the encryption of the comm channel and the privacy settings of his office before he nodded. "I'm sending you a CRITIC report I just received from the Orizaba; its basics will likely be in the news rather sooner than I'd prefer. Read it before we go on."

An indicator flashed, signalling an incoming data packet, and Petrovsky accepted it, then speed-read its contents; as he felt his thoughts racings, a cold feeling of fury and worry threatening to overwhelm his composure. He raised his head, locking eyes with Fleet Master Sheridan, noticing the volcanic fury behind the cracking wall of iron will.

"I want answers, General."

"With all due respect, why me, sir? Why not ONI? Or the AIS?"

"Apparently, you have been lax, General; too many conspiring in the dark while running your little conspiracy with your illusive friends."

For a moment, Petrovsky stiffened, and he could perceive the surprise from his guest as well. The Fleet Master, unaware or more likely, uncaring, went on.

"I am quite well aware of your shady little cabal, and the only reason you have not yet been dealt with is that our goals align, and none of you have moved against Humanity in any way whatsoever." Sheridan flashed a shark-like grin, and continued. "Besides, there are times when clandestine efforts like yours are required for survival, and we are both aware that such times are coming - or more precisely, have already began. And the SA will need good, loyal hounds before all is said and done."

"Don't beat around the bush, sir. Why me? Why the Public Security Section?"

The eyes of the Fleet Master blazed with a cold blue light as he glared at Petrovsky.

"Because currently yours is the only relevant agency I would be able to trust. Who else, Oleg? The ONI? They dropped the ball on this; and have absolutely no idea what or who the attacker was - and even then, who is to know that they have not deliberately fed us false data to get the Normandy into position. The AIS? Apparently you have not heard about the attempt at Helena's life. Clearly, they or elements close to them have been compromised."

Petrovsky could not suppress a shiver at that little tidbit - he was unaware of it, but considering the effort required to even mount such an attempt, he did not wonder why the AIS and the SA went to likely extreme lengths in suppressing that information.

"What about Erwin's department?"

The Fleet Master glared at him disdainfully.

"I would not trust Ungern-Sternberg as far as I could throw him." Sheridan raised a hand, forestalling the question. "Sure, he does seem and act supportive, but I don't believe for a second that he does not have a hidden agenda - and considering his position and department, I'm not sure I should enjoy that support." A brief pause, before the Fleet Master shook his head and went on. "Anyway, they too seem to have dropped the ball on this. After all, there was no forewarning, no prognostication, no post-battle identification of the unknown enemy - and considering the assets we placed at his disposal, that silence is more than enough to make me suspicious."

"You do realize that esoteric methods like those of his department were never considered to be accurate or reliable?" A moment of consideration, then he amended. "Well, not before his predecessor began working closely with Kathmandu. Ever since, they did become somewhat more stable."

The glare he received as an answer was almost potent enough to melt bulkheads across the screen.

"Thank you for pointing out the obvious, Oleg. I can see why you got so far." A blink, and Sheridan continued. "The fact that Erwin's department is completely silent, despite the rather blatant measures Shepard was forced to take is what makes me suspicious - especially when coupled with the fact that both Yildirim and Pieterzoon have vanished."

Cold dread slithered down Petrovsky's spine.

"You don't think Erwin pulled something that insane, right?" The brief contemplative silence was telling enough, but then the Fleet Master slowly shook his head.

"I don't think he had a hand in that - but I'm almost certain he is taking advantage of their disappearance." His features hardened. "We are getting sidetracked, anyway."

Petrovsky nodded, marshalling his thoughts before summarizing for his superior.

"Essentially, you want me to conduct an investigation into who was responsible for leaking information that lead to the destruction of the Normandy, and the death of our first Spectre - and you want me to do this quietly." Sheridan nodded, and Petrovsky shook his head with a rueful smile. "You do realize that this will cause quite a number of problems within the SA, and that the cabinet will view the whole thing as a pointless turf war between intelligence and security agencies?" Again, a nod. "And that's not even mentioning the fact that it will pit us against the Shadow Broker in all likelihood."

Petrovsky could not suppress a short chuckle as he saw the Fleet Master's expression.

"Come now William, who else would be the primary culprit for this? Considering what we know, it is highly likely that some yet-unknown party, possibly remnants from Saren and Benezia's forces or cultists of Sovereign paid for the information and to conduct the attack. And considering ONI's impotence, who else could arrange for them to be this impotent, either via sabotage or old-fashioned corruption?" He raised a hand as the Fleet Master opened his mouth. "Yes, technically the STG and the Spectres both would have the resources and ability to pull this off - but if they had access to weaponry like the attacker did, we would have known. Perhaps you did not notice, but based on the sensor data from the Orizaba, it is markedly similar to the main weapon that Sovereign used."

With a mirthless grin, Petrovsky continued.

"We do have a longer-term project in the works, which was planned to start after the Normandy finished its patrol - the establishment of a new information brokering agency on Ilium. I strongly suspect the figurehead we had in mind for that will now have extra incentive to pursue the original course. Alas, as with all endeavours of this nature, it will take time, especially if I'm right and we are indeed up against the Shadow Broker."

The general leaned back in his chair, steepled his fingers as he met the glare of the Fleet Master.

"Will that be satisfactory, sir? Or would you require something quicker that can be used in the immediate future for … internal political purposes?"

The sheer malevolence and wrath from the glare Sheridan leveled at him was surprising, but Petrovsky managed to keep his calm. The Fleet Master's voice was even, measured - yet he could clearly hear the underlying fury.

"Do not play games with me, Oleg, or I will personally tear your lungs out. Our most advanced vessel was destroyed practically effortlessly by an unknown foe. Our first Spectre is listed as KIA a scant few weeks after his investiture. Our intelligence agencies have been infiltrated, misdirected or suborned. There are signs pointing at external forces intent on destabilizing the SA by pulling the exact same stunts you are testing me with - and all this when we do have strong indication that Sovereign's peers will be coming to finish the job he started." The glare intensified, the voice became a deceptively calm, friendly whisper. "While I do think I would do a much better job than Speer and his cronies, you would do well to remember that I am at least as loyal to Humanity than you and your Cerberus friends. If not more so. And to waste time, effort, and resources on a coup on the verge of a potentially galactic-wide crisis is insane."

Silence settled between the two, before Petrovsky nodded decisively, and Sheridan's glare let up, as the Fleet Master spoke.

"One more thing, Oleg. Let your associates know that while they got results in this case, in the future such creative reassignments of naval assets are not appreciated - at least not without consulting me; at least after the fact, should time be a critical factor." He flashed a wry grin. "And now I have to find a way to simultaneously upbraid Hannah for the stunt, and commending her on a job well done."

The screen winked out, and Petrovsky turned his chair back towards his visitor, and perked an eyebrow.

"Thank you for the trust, General. It was certainly an enlightening conversation." The sharply-dressed man leaned forward, his eyes alight with fierce hunger for something. "So, in the light of the Fleet Master's orders, will you be able to assist us, General?"

Petrovsky contemplated again for a minute, analyzing and discarding plans, possible scenarios, dangers to the SA the plan proposed by his guest might represent, evaluated his instinctive wariness of this man. He could not put his finger on it, but something in his guest set off his internal alarms - but then again, he supposed that as a former politician and ruthless entrepreneur, the man was indeed dangerous enough for just that. And at any rate, he could easily assign some people to discreetly keep an eye on him, just in case his dossier was an extremely good fabrication. Petrovsky looked up, and nodded.

"Yes, Mr. Lawson, I will provide personnel and resources for the military buildup of Cerberus forces."

Thorne system, Hawking Eta cluster (20/04/2183)

As their vessel dropped from FTL at the system's edge, Mahinda Chandana could barely contain his vicious satisfaction. After years of being sidelined, being denied the the accolades and fame that were justly his for his accomplishments and publications in both astronomy and xenoarcheology, this was his hour of triumph. Even better, that maniac Garneau was still back on the Citadel, following up on that mysterious Leviathan of his, so the lion's share of the credit would fall on Chandana. After all, he did come up with the program that, in coordination with those hidebound idiots at PROJECT HARUSPEX, led them finally here. And no, he adamantly refused to consider that if not for DEEP EYES catching some very faint echoes off a signal that originated from somewhere in the galactic rim, his own vaunted calculations may have borne fruit only years later - if at all.

He snorted at the memory of explaining his theories and astronomical models to those fossils so enamored of their technological monstrosity - as if they did not simply lift their whole concept straight from the previous millennium! They considered themselves so high and mighty, building off the "wisdom" (or madness) of Yi, of Ikari, of Akagi - all the while fawning over the safe protocols and methods propagated from Kathmandu. They had no inkling of how such esoteric methods worked, they dabbled simply with things that were very much beyond the understanding - even discounting the fact that they did not have the knowledge and wisdom of countless aeons to draw upon.

At least they fell in line rather quickly, no doubt helped by the presence of his unwanted ONI minder - and as so often lately, he could barely suppress the resentment and anger boiling up whenever somebody mentioned her. Sure, she did seem to act with deference and politeness, but the mere fact that she was there was insulting. His loyalty to the SA was never in question, and he was capable of conducting his on-site research quite well on his own. Chandana supposed it was once again either politicking, or the clandestine shenanigans so prevalent in such situations ever since the ascendance of the University of Kathmandu.

What galled him even more is that even with his background, despite having backing from and the support of numerous high-profile individuals, he still could not get advance warning of getting an observer - nevermind ditching the woman. And the meeting with that pompous old bastard of an admiral, where he was forced to bow, scrape, and act polite around uniformed thugs who could barely grasp the implications of his work … well, that event was certainly galling, to put it very mildly. Luckily, he did manage to keep control over himself, mostly.

For a moment, he closed his eyes, centered himself. Dwelling on past slights, ultimately petty grievances would not do, not in his hour of vindication. The crewmembers did their jobs silently, the ship's sensors sweeping over the vast, empty void, looking for that proverbial needle in the haystack, yet Chandana could feel their confidence in their (or rather, his) calculations. The target of the weapon that created the Great Rift would be here, somewhere. Sure, they may have to spend several days searching in the asteroid field, but if their luck holds, they might find the object somewhere around Mnemosyne. And lately, Chandana did put a rather lot of faith in such luck. To be fair, he supposed it would be hard not to - after Vancouver, he got ample evidence that he and his peers were on the right track.

These so-called Reapers (and he could not fully suppress a short chuckle at the pomposity of the name) were but a means for an end; their peculiar, highly advanced science would soon serve Mankind, hastening their journey towards ascension. With an effort of will, Chandana brought himself back into the present, shedding visions of future glories - after all, they did have to defeat the Reapers in order to make use of them. And precisely that was why he was here - why he had to be here. To ensure that these crucial steps would not lead Humanity astray, but follow the envisioned path towards the Silver Key, and the Gate beyond.

A screen flashed at the edge of his vision, as the sensors found a massive construct orbiting the gas giant of Mnemosyne. With an excited grin, he commanded the ship forward, and a scant hour later, he could feast his eyes on the visuals transmitted by the drones sent to perform a quick reconnaissance.

The ship was massive, a two-kilometer-long husk of hypertech alloy. Though it was still generating a measure of power, as evidenced by the faint mass effect field that prevented its orbit from deteriorating, and tumbling into the gravity well of Mnemosyne, the ship has clearly seen better days. Its hull was torn and pitted where internal explosions and external impacts had marred the once-pristine blackness of the metal. The sheer menacing invincibility exuded by Sovereign was absent, and for a brief heartbeat, Chandana almost felt pity towards the once-majestic piece of engineering (or evolution?) laid low by some primordial enemy.

Mahinda Chandana steeled his mind, focusing on the arduous task of determining on how active the Reaper was (and thus, how potentially dangerous) - and planning on what exactly would be needed to set up an on-site research facility, who could be relied upon to keep the immense discovery secret while still being able to contribute. After all, it would not do if the other races benefitted from the knowledge that the Reaper's corpse represented - or at least not before Humanity was sure to squeeze out all of its secrets.

During the long hours of work, he was not aware of his hands occasionally straying towards the small crystalline trinket given to him in Vancouver. Nor did he realize the profound effect the derelict vessel had on the ONI agent. But most importantly, he was completely unaware of the innocuous data packet that was sent alongside their usual status report, and which caused Henry Lawson to smile triumphantly, when the Illusive Man showed him the information. Events were proceeding quite well, all things considered. It would not be long now.

Location: unknown (date: unknown)

Complying with the politely worded yet very firm instructions of their traveling companions, they had refrained from accessing the extranet without express permission. Some of them found the restraint a plaguing hindrance, but the majority acknowledged it as a valid means of keeping their presence and task hidden - or at least as hidden as possible, given the circumstances. For whatever reason, the ship's databanks were put at their disposal with casual indifference; the opinion was that it represented a measure of trust while simultaneously serving as a test as well. Nevertheless, even after meticulous preparations for their current task, there was always room for improvement, for broadening their knowledge - thus, they delved deep into the surprisingly extensive archives of the ship, hoping that an in-depth analysis (and comparison with their own previous data as well as the data they collected about the other Council races) would yield results about the two who shared their vessel with them.

Of course, they did not strictly limit themselves to studying the digital records; they paid close attention to the two persons as well, examining their habits, behavior, interactions, trying to find out the reason for their actions and the inexplicable phenomena that seemed rather pervasive in their vicinity.

So far, the research was rather … inconclusive. While they did have advanced sensory equipment at their disposal that enabled quite detailed and extensive scanning of biological lifeforms, in order to better gauge their reactions, so they could formulate appropriate responses conducive to nonviolent encounters. While not specifically tailored to be used on humans, they did have sizable amounts of information on the species; fitting, considering their original objective. In light of this, the results gotten from the two humans were … deemed inconclusive, after a lengthy period of re-checking, calibrating, and re-testing the scanning systems. After all, the readings either did not make sense, even allowing for large-scale individual deviances in life expectancy among humans - or they were being jammed or manipulated. That was, of course, a distinct possibility, especially factoring in the events that occurred when they boarded, that neither chronometers nor location beacons seemed to work reliably; yet their pilot always seemed to know which course to take, even without relying on the established navigational beacons and protocols - or employing the navicomp for calculating the jumps. He did, however, repeatedly consult a small, intricate mechanism that while called a compass, was obviously not one, as it would not enable navigating in the void. Presumably, it was some kind of archeotech device, likely able to tap into a higher dimensional energy matrix, and the pilot was following whatever directions he could infer from that after consulting an old, worn notebook (itself likely a remnant of a xenoarcheological expedition).

Before they could once again derail the discussion from its current main topic, several of them, working in concert, dragged the debate back on track. Not for the first time, they pondered their arrival to this vessel, and the accompanying phenomena, as well as the precise nature of their companions. The only consensus they managed to form yet was that after carefully absorbing the information from the ship's databanks, they were more likely to be able to puzzle out this enigma, as they felt they know had a much better picture about humanity than before.

The discussions, debates, the quest for a viable consensus went on for a virtual eternity. Theories were bandied about, supporting examples dragged up from both history and religion, human and otherwise. There was agreement that there were common themes in mythology and religion across all Council races, so they felt that even the non-human-specific facets of their data had merits in the discussion - and the tangent of analyzing such similarities in-depth was shelved for the time being, its relevance marked as potentially high but likely not conducive to reaching consensus about the current issue.

A trend seemed to be emerging, that may potentially form an acceptable consensus - and despite the rather outlandish-seeming conclusion, it contained solid, logical reasoning, supported by examples from countless sources across galactic history in general and humanity in particular. Even the strangeness would only strengthen this line of thought; as a tangential remark pointed out, if one eliminated the impossible, whatever remained, however improbable, was the closest one could get to the truth. That line again prompted a check-up on the sensory equipment as well as the memories of the particular event, and the time elapsed since then, to attempt to verify that they have not been altered or modified by an outside source.

Again, an eternity of consideration, of referencing various philosophical and religious figures and views throughout the ages, finding parallels between the actions and abilities ascribed to those mythical beings, and the ones who travelled with them. The similarities were uncanny in several cases - made even more so when evidence was located about how later science explained those seemingly magical, supernatural efforts.

For a brief fraction of a second, the consensus was an imminent possibility - that was derailed when the implications of the previous conclusion sunk in, but before the discussion could veer off to an admittedly interesting tangent, the need for consensus prevailed. While the polling took a full, eternal second, the results were not surprising, nor was the subsequent action.

Aboard the SSV Argo, the previously-motionless geth platform stirred after spending hours (days? weeks? minutes?) plugged into a computer node, then stepped towards the bridge. Its eye took in the two humans within, noted how the uniformed one had to suppress an instinctive reaction at a single eye glaring at him, before the blue light of its ocular sensor settled on the professor. Its eyeflaps raised, head tilted slightly towards the side, it asked in a voice full of childlike curiosity and uncertainty.

"Are you a god?"

And despite his age, experiences, and his companion's reaction, Major Olof Pieterzoon could not stop laughing.