I went to a wedding and it really threw my rhythm off.

Okay, couple things:

1) I have no real handle on transit times in ME. Relay travel is said to be 'near instaneous' or thereabouts, whereas FTL is, well, FTL. So I'm fudging it for the sake of ease and because this story shouldn't be taken too seriously anyway. Warp travel is, likewise, going to be fudged but I'll get to that...

2) Likewise, I'm fudging details on the interior layout of the Normandy. I always figured there was accomodation you couldn't see.

Horizon'll likely be real fudgy, too, but that's next chapter's problem.

Anyway, more cultural friction.

The last shuttle the visitors had arrived in had just about managed to fit into the hanger, this one had to squeeze. That its wings could fold in against its hull was vital in allowing this, and even then it was a close run thing. Shepard winced whenever she heard scraping.

"Oh I hope those buff out," she said.

Squat legs extended from the belly of the craft and hissed as their pneumatics took its considerable weight, sinking down towards the deck. Steam - or possibly something else, it was unclear - vented here and there from across its hull which was a little worrying and which caused all members of the Normandy who were watching to take a collective step backwards.

Once settled it sat a second or two, giving everyone a good opportunity to again see that big two-headed eagle symbol before, with a hiss, the heavy ramp that made up most of the underside of the shuttle's nose opened, unfurling and extending, exposing the crew compartment.

And standing there at the top of the ramp in full, heavy armour, helmet tucked under his arm, jacket hanging from his shoulders, with a sword on one hip and a big, chunky pistol-thing on the other was Jarrion, looking happy as anything.

"Hello again, Commander," he said.

This guy, Shepard thought. This guy.

"Looking pretty sharp there, Jarrion. You do know you didn't have to come over in full armour, right? It's going to be a few days getting there," she said.

Jarrion looked down at himself and gave a self-effacing smile and shrug.

"The thought did occur to me but only once we were over halfway here. Still, such is life."

At this point Loghain came wandering up beside Jarrion and Shepard did a brief double-take on noticing that she'd ditched the blindfold and on seeing why she'd been wearing one in the first place. Shepard got over it, however.

"Hope you brought a change of clothes or else that stuff is a lot more comfortable than it looks," she said, folding her arms.

"Oh, we did."

Jarrion wasn't lying. Alongside the plentiful arms and ammunition the lighter had had packed onto it he had also - as a matter of precaution - had many other sundries packed as well. Rations, some survival gear, changes of clothes, etcetera.

Failing to prepare was preparing to fail, after all.

Shepard was still peering into the dim, red-lit interior of the lighter, seeing the armsmen milling about behind Jarrion, sorting out their gear.

"Brought a squad of guys again as well, I see, and - hold up, what's that?" Shepard asked, breaking off from whatever they been moving towards and pointing to what looked like a combat mech that had just lumbered up behind Jarrion, who turned in mild confusion.

"Ah, that'd be Pak. You remember Pak? They've dressed for the occasion," he said, moving to give the Magos a slap on the back but very quickly thinking better of it. Shepard just looked Pak from top to bottom.

"What, was-wearing-the-red-robes Pak Doesn't-say-anything Pak?" She asked, trying to reconcile the small, quiet, weird Pak she'd thought herself familiar with with the apparent armour-plated killing machine that was now standing next to Jarrion.

"One and the same," Jarrion said. Shepard squinted.

"Is their arm a gun now?"

"Yes, yes it is. Not entirely sure what sort of gun if I'm being honest but, well, Mechanicus. Who knows? I'm sure we'll benefit from it at some point."

Was that sort of thing normal where Jarrion came from, Shepard wondered - people getting enormous guns attached directly to their arms? Replacing their arms, in fact. She wasn't really sure what to make of that, or where to start unpicking that sort of thought process. In the immediate term, there were other issues.

"Don't want to come across like a bad host or anything but I'm not one hundred percent comfortable having someone with a gun-arm wandering around my ship," she said.

"Ah, of course not. Um, Pak, I know this may not be ideal but would you mind terribly waiting in the lighter until we've arrived?"

Unlike the non-Mechanicus members of Jarrion's little entourage, Pak would probably have difficulty slipping into something more comfortable. Luckily, the Magos could have cared less about mingling and saw absolutely no issue with staying on the lighter. If anything they were actually rather glad to have been given an out of whatever tedious social functions were sure to follow.

Or at least as close to gladness as Pak allow themselves to feel. They nodded.

"Was that a 'Yes I do mind' nod or a 'Yes I don't mind' nod?" Shepard asked.

"I think it's fine. My armsmen will be content to remain in the hanger as well, if that suits you?"

Shepard hadn't really been looking forward to asking whether ten or so trained guys following someone else's orders could perhaps limit themselves to one of the more secure and isolated parts of the ship but she had been building up to it - call her paranoid, but it just didn't sit right with her.

"It's a tough sell, I know, but-"

"Oh no, don't worry. I wouldn't wish to impose while I'm your guest, Commander," Jarrion said.

Diplomacy was important. Sometimes. As horrifying as his brother might have found the concept. But Jarrion actually had long-term goals in mind here, and those - he felt - could only be best served by playing nicely.

"Sergeant?" He beckoned the squad sergeant over and over the squad sergeant came, snapping to attention.

"Lord Captain?"

"You chaps don't mind having to camp in the lighter and keeping yourself to the hanger for the duration of the journey? Should only be a few days, all told."

The lighter, being the heavier model, did have a chemical toilet, though Jarrion wasn't looking forward to what ten men sharing it was going to be like after a day or two of transit and had to ride the lighter back down to the surface. Suddenly, he was profoundly grateful that he'd brought a helmet.

"We'd bivvy up an Ork's arse if you needed us to, Lord Captain," the sergeant said. Jarrion blinked.

"...vivid imagery, sergeant, thank you. Much appreciated. If there's any briefings related to the mission you'll be summoned," he said. The sergeant gave a salute.

"Lord Captain."

He then rejoined the others and Jarrion turned back to Shepard.

"Assuming that's okay?" he then asked the Commander, who shrugged. He took for granted that she'd understood their Low Gothic conversation. Whatever translation capabilities they had were a subject of minor interest to Jarrion, but he'd cross that bridge when he came to it.

All things in time, no rush.

"Fine by me. There'll be a briefing prior to us arriving so your man can come to that," Shepard said.

"Marvellous."

"In the meantime you and Loghain cane come on up, I'll show you around. Maybe have your man there - Thale, wasn't it? - lose the huge gun. I don't think he'll need it anytime soon."

Thale had been there the whole time but, as Thale managed to often edge out Pak in the looming-and-silent stakes by not clanking and whirring when he walked, no-one had really had any reason to notice him yet. Jarrion turned, flinched on finding Thale standing so close to him, and then said:

"Ah yes, Thale, if you wouldn't mind?"

Thale duly and dutifully left his hellgun in the lighter. He would have taken the grenades off his webbing, too, but the Commander had neglected to mention those to Jarrion and so Jarrion had not asked him to. Thale imagined this was an oversight, but knew better than to act on his own initiative. If it was important, someone would have told him so or would tell him so.

For her part Shepard just hadn't recognised them as grenades.

She didn't push any further than asking Thale to remove the hellgun, either. She could have done and, indeed, had the right to, but figured that having Jarrion, Loghain and Thale walk around with their sidearms would make them feel a little more trusted, and wasn't that kind of a good thing? Certainly, she'd have felt better for keeping strapped, had she been in their shoes.

Besides, security teams were only a button press away, should it come to that. Which it probably wouldn't. Hopefully.

And at least they'd be leaving that whacking great ship behind soon. The - albeit highly unlikely - threat of armed assault coming from inside the Normandy was one thing, but Shepard felt pretty confident she could handle that. She was a killing machine, after all.

Getting the ship she was standing in blown to bits, however? Not so much fun. And she'd know. Not an experience she wanted to risk a repeat of anytime soon.

So no, play nice, be polite. They were all on the same side after all.

"Alright, cracking, let's go," Shepard said once Thale had returned from unstrapping the hellgun from himself. She made for the elevator and Jarrion moved to follow only for a sudden, fearsome grip on his shoulder to keep him in place.

This came as something of a surprise, doubly so when he found that it was Pak who'd put a hand onto his shoulder. A very strong hand, as it turned out.

"Yes, Pak?" Jarrion asked, politely.

Pak stood and said nothing, lowering their hand as in the rear of the lighter's compartment the tracked servitor started moving, opening up one of Pak's cases, rummaging briefly and somewhat awkwardly before trundling on over, bearing something. Jarrion looked down.

"Ah. I see. I suppose that's fair," he said.

Pak nodded slowly and a mechadendrite extended to interface briefly with what the servitor was holding. A moment after this the lights on the thing flickered into life and it rose, wobbling, into the air.

"Uh, Commander?" Jarrion called and Shepard stopped and turned back, seeing that now the Rogue Trader had what appeared to be a skull floating around his head. Shepard blinked but the skull was still there.

"Commander, you wouldn't mind if Pak had their servo skull accompany me? It'll be unobtrusive, just there to observe. So the Magos doesn't feel their left out of proceedings," Jarrion said as Shepard eyed the thing now bobbing around just above Jarrion's shoulder, turning one way and then the other.

"Sure. That's a - what? A drone? Shaped like a skull?" She asked. That's sure what it looked like, but she thought it would pay to be certain, just in case she really had started seeing things.

Seriously, what was the deal with the skulls? Would it be rude to ask?

"Drone?" Jarrion asked, frowning as he descended the lighter's ramp, as though the word were unusual. "It's a...servo skull."

He wasn't entirely sure how best to sum up the concept to someone plainly unfamiliar with it. To him, it was so manifestly self-evident and self-explanatory he wasn't even sure where he was meant to start.

The skull of a favoured or particular devoted servant - presumably some Mechanicus Adept, given that the servo skull was in Pak's possession - fitted with sufficient mechanisms to allow it to be inhabited by a rudimentary machine spirit, and so in turn allow this servant to continue serving their master (and, by extension, the Imperium) even after they'd given their life in service. What could be more obvious?

Jarrion was not sure how to express this, or even where he would have to start. Didn't the name give it away? Weren't drones those blasphemous-sounding combat machines those devious aliens out to the galactic east liked to use? Thale had mentioned those before.

"Yes, it's a drone shaped like a skull," Loghain said. Unlike Jarrion, she knew what a drone was in essence, and also knew that stopping to explain the concept of duty extending beyond death to non-Imperials was something that could wait.

"Alright. Guess you guys got an aesthetic going here," Shepard said, not fully grasping what it was she was seeing but shrugging it off anyway. Drones weren't an especially big issue. Tali had a drone.

Shepard escorted the guests on her own, the others who'd been with her in the cargo hold to watch the lighter arrive staying put to look busy and not crowd her out as she gave Jarrion and co a brief tour of the Normandy, just to give them some idea of what was what and where things were.

First, she showed them where they would be sleeping, should they so choose. It was one of the Normandy's 'guest' rooms, for want of a better term, and presently unoccupied. It was, by Jarrion's standards, tiny. Shockingly so. It had a bunk bed.

Jarrion had rather expected more luxurious accomodation which, in retrospect, had probably been a bit silly. The Normandy was, after all, tiny and so unable to spare the sort of room even a vessel like the Assertive was able to for its senior crew.

He pretended that what he'd been presented with was fine and not at all a gross indignity and insult to his station. Worse things had probably happened, he just couldn't think of when off the top of his head.

"How rustic," he said, picking an entirely inappropriate word but running with it anyway.

"I get the top," Loghain said.

"What are you, twelve?" Jarrion asked, appalled, but she just smirked.

Secretly he wished he'd been quicker off the mark, but he'd die before admitting that.

Following this they were briefly shown a few other areas of interest. The armoury, the lab, the mess, the battery, brief jaunt down to engineering and so on and so forth. Shepard wasn't wholly sure what the purpose of this tour was, really. Partly to pass the time, partly just to see how her guests reacted. With polite mystification, mostly.

Truly, the Normandy was unlike any vessel any of the Imperials had been on before. So horrendously quiet, so clean, so austere. It was designed to operate on principles they were entirely unfamiliar with. Had a servo skull been able to express excitement, it seemed likely that Pak's would have done so, particularly on seeing the Element Zero core. It had had to be pulled away when they'd left engineering.

For his part, Jarron was still just amazed at how small the ship was, how spartan, and how light its crew complement was. No Navigator, either! Obviously, what with their strange reliance on these 'relays', but it was still an odd thought.

Truly they did things differently here.

A little after this tour, a welcome-aboard meal of sorts was put together.

Shepard figured it would be a good way to break the ice further, maybe learn a few more things and generally try and ease tensions between her team and the visitors. She did make sure to sit the non-human members the other end of the table from the visitors, though, even if it irritated her. She'd be asking about that when she got the chance.

EDI had - in remarkably quick time - come up with a translation device for just such an occasion. While everyone on the Normandy had by now received the language package allowing them to understand Low Gothic, Shepard guessed - correctly, though she didn't know that - that her guests were not so lucky.

The device, therefore, would sit on the table and translate into Low Gothic. Kind of a rough-and-ready solution, but it'd get the job done.

And not that they had any idea it was called Low Gothic, of course. So far they'd left the language unnamed. But that was by the by.

Good spread Shepard had put on, too. One of the benefit of Cerberus over the Alliance - beyond the very plush leather upholstery - was that ration quality had improved a fair bit. Particular since Shepard had gone out of her way to make sure that they really did have everything they needed.

A fed crew was a happy crew, and a happy crew as an effective crew. It all added up!

The tables had been pushed together. Jarrion, Loghain and Thale were all sat in a row on one end, separated from Mordin and Grunt by Jacob, while Shepard, Garrus and Miranda sat opposite. This seating arrangement had been very deliberate.

Conversation was not flowing. There had been some faltering efforts at small talk - what did you think of the ship, your armour looks nice, etcetera - but they hadn't gone very far and things had petered out and gone rather quiet.

This was agonising, so, sighing, Shepard decided to just take the bull by the horns and get things going herself.

"Alright, I've got to get this out of the way because it really is the elephant in the room: what's the deal with you guys and non-humans?" She asked, directing it mainly towards Jarrion, though the question could just as easily work for any of the three.

Maybe not Thale? He was kind of hard to read. Shepard just assumed.

Jarrion, on hearing this, pricked up his ears and cocked his head.

"Hmm?"

"Aliens. Why don't you like aliens," Shepard said, bluntly.

"Ah, oh, I see. Ahem, well."

Jarrion was prevaricating and playing for time, not really sure how best to explain. He also kept glancing to Loghain in the hopes that she might maybe step in and help him. She did not, because she was pretending to be more blind than she was, and acting as though she didn't notice.

On realising that he was being left to twist in the wind on this question, Jarrion sighed, sat up straighter, and tried to think how best to sum up what the problem with xenos was to someone who didn't know any better.

"I'm sure many aliens are, ah, perfectly pleasant on a personal basis," he said, to start things off. Jarrion did not believe this for a second, of course.

He imagined that some aliens might be more tolerable than others, but that was about as far as he was willing to accept. He imagined that what he'd said would go down better than his actual thoughts on the matter, which was that aliens were by their very inhuman nature vicious, wicked and untrustworthy and it was more a case of when they demonstrated this, rather than if.

"I'm feeling that there's a 'but' coming up next," Shepard said and Jarrion swallowed.

"Heh, yes, well. But most aliens - most aliens myself, Thale and Loghain are familiar with, I should say - are a threat not only to mankind's divinely ordained right to exercise its sovereignty over the galaxy but also a threat to mankind's survival itself."

Jarrion pointed to Shepard across the table with his fork. Gestures like these were very important when delivering speeches. You had to make the best of what props you had to hand.

He continued:

"You yourself are dealing with these attacks on these colonies, yes? Well imagine that repeated on a grander scale, across the length and breadth of the galaxy - humans enslaved and exterminated or worse by every alien race it happens to encounter, for thousands of years. Ten of thousands of years, in fact."

Had there ever been a time when humanity and aliens had existed in peace? No, not really. At least not as far as Jarrion knew. From the moment mankind had first set forth into the stars the alien, jealous, had been there to prey on any moment of weakness shown.

Of course you heard about this or that isolated colony or this or that misguided group that thought they had a cordial and mutually beneficial relationship with aliens, but it was always only ever a prelude to a horrendous fate.

That's where trusting xenos got you.

"We hate and wage war upon the alien because the alien hates and wages war upon us. But where they are vile, craven creatures of no great purpose we are humanity, destined to rule the galaxy alone."

A sucking vacuum of silence greeted this and Jarrion added:

"More or less. Does that answer the question?"

"Maybe a bit more than I'd wanted, yeah," Shepard said, casting an eye towards Garrus, Mordin and Grunt who all looked pretty unreadable following what Jarrion had said. She eyed Grunt especially, but the Krogan didn't appear in any great hurry to start anything, for which Shepard could only be glad.

"You're probably quite lucky that it was Jarrion you met, all things considered," Loghain said, dragging Shepard's attention back again.

"Why's that?"

"Most honest Imperial citizens wouldn't have had anything to do with if they saw you associating with aliens. Most, actually, would probably have tried to kill you, depending on whether they were able to or not. The more zealous might have tried even if they'd had no hope of succeeding. Hatred of aliens is a religious obligation as much as anything else, after all. Jarrion though is one of those very rare individuals allowed to engage legally in peaceful contact with aliens, should he so choose."

Shepard decided to let the rather belligerent first part of that statement slide for now, feeling that Loghain was just trying to get under her skin.

"Because he's a - what - Rogue Trader, wasn't it?" She asked instead, and Loghain nodded.

"Yes. Other Imperial agencies would likely be less friendly."

"Alright, let's maybe talk about that, just to get onto less awkward topics. Agencies: like what? What runs this galaxy-wide empire of yours?" Shepard asked, looking between the two of them for an answer to a comparatively more softball question.

Loghain shrugged this one off onto Jarrion, who was happier to be answering something more expository than potentially thorny.

"Well the Emperor, of course. Though the actual obligations of the day-to-day runnings have been delegated. You have the High Lords of Terra, representing as they do the various branches of Imperial governance and authority - the Navis Nobilite, the Administratum, the Ministorum, the Adeptus Mechanicus of which our friend Pak is a member, the Imperial guard, the Inquisition, and so on. This is in broad strokes and I'm missing out one or two but you get the idea," he said.

Very little of what he'd just listed made any sense of to Shepard, but she felt that going after any one of them would just lead further down a rabbit hole and require more explanation that they really had time for. She decided to go for something else.

"Mostly, yeah. That's still a lot of very daunting proper nouns. And what's Loghain? Since you did tell me she isn't an ambassador," Shepard said. Loghain on hearing this turned towards Jarrion and rested her chin on her hand and her elbow on the table, the better to give him a look.

"Did you now?"

"Oh come on, you weren't fooling anyone!" Jarrion protested.

In Loghain's defence she hadn't really been trying to. Giving Jarrion another second or so of the staring treatment she then turned to Shepard.

"I am an Inquisitor," Loghain said. Shepard raised her eyebrows, which did fascinating things to her scars.

"That sounds ominous," she said, and Loghain grinned that grin of hers.

"It does, doesn't it?"

Shepard waited for more, but more came there none. So she turned to Jarrion, who was midway through a mouthful so had to quickly chew and swallow before he could answer.

"An Inquisitor is an agent of the Throne empowered to do just about anything that might need to be done in order to protect the Imperium. To paint in broad strokes. Again," he said, waving his fork around for illustrative purposes. It was a versatile conversational tool.

Being a Rogue Trader and thus moving in the rarified air of the very, very upper crust of Imperial society, Jarrion knew more about the Inquisition than most ordinary citizens might be expected to - especially given that most ordinary citizens who did know more than they should were unlikely to make this knowledge known.

Knowing too much was famously very poor for the health of the average Imperial citizen.

But Jarrion did know a little, particularly as an Inquisitor had once accompanied his father on one of his more explicitly martial ventures. At the time Jarrion had been much younger and so had found the looming man in the big armour to be terrifying regardless of his position, but the Inquisitor had turned out to be surprisingly gregarious for a man who regularly oversaw the genocide of alien species and had explained to young Jarrion a few ins and outs of how the Inquisition functioned, just to indulge his youthful curiosity.

Odd behaviour for an Inquisitor Jarrion had learned, in retrospect, but apparently Monodominants weren't especially concerned about being subtle, and the Inquisitor - his name escaped Jarrion now - had been very enamoured of his father's methods.

"Which are you again, Loghain? Are you Xenos, Malleus or Hereticus?" He asked.

"Yes," she said.

Jarrion rather hoped that the mild social pressure of the occasion might finally serve to pin her down. He should have known better.

"Fine, keep your secrets, see if I care…" he grumbled, jabbing at his plate irritably.

"Kind of sounds like a Spectre to me," Garrus said idly, shoving food around his plate. What he'd said came back out of the translation device on the table as Low Gothic and both Loghain and Jarrion turned slowly to look down the table at him.

Tiny bit tense for a moment. Jarrion did manage a smile though, and managed to keep eye-contact with Garrus at the same time, too. Looked like him took some effort, but he managed it.

"Ah, yes. I can't say I'm familiar with the term," he said.

"Council agents charged with enforcing Council law and protecting Council assets and citizens by just about whatever means they deem necessary. In broad strokes," Shepard said, chewing.

Jarrion could certainly see the similarities, he supposed.

"Shepard was a Spectre," Jacob said, nodding to the Commander.

"Until I died, yeah. Fair play. I should really look into getting reinstated…"

She'd meant to, she just hadn't got around to it yet.

"Do you also blow up planets?" Jarrion asked her.

Had Loghain had eyes she could have looked at him sideways at this point. She did not though, so instead just kicked him under the table. Since he was still wearing his armour this did nothing, but he got the point and was delighted that he'd managed to get to her, even just a smidgen.

"Blow up planets?" Shepard repeated, not sure if this was some sort of futuristic joke or not.

"Inquisitors have been known to do that from time to time," Jarrion said.

Again, another moment of silence around the table.

"You're kidding, right?" Jacob asked.

"No, unfortunately," Jarrion said with exaggerated sadness. Mostly he was doing this to annoy Loghain, but he also did abhor the practise personally. He could understand the need for it, sometimes, but he still couldn't get over what a waste it was.

Still. Always more worlds, somewhere. And certainly always more people.

Jacob turned to Loghain, who he was sitting next to.

"He's not kidding?"

Loghain very delicately cut up some of the food on her plate and ate a piece before replying, taking her sweet time in doing so.

"We have something of a reputation for it. Unjustified, in my opinion. I've never done it. Besides, they're hardly blown up. Just cleansed."

"Is there a difference?" MIranda asked.

"Yes."

Kind of a conversation-killer, that one. At least it had got people talking a bit more, until they'd stopped.

Dessert was rather subdued.

Well that hadn't gone quite to plan.

I'd sort of hoped for a bit of banter, if I'm being honest. Learn a little, get us all talking, you know? Instead we get some kind of mini-speech about how it's important to kill aliens before they kill us and also how purging a planet is different to blowing it up.

What was I supposed to do with any of that?

The guests were all tucked up now. Jarrion and Loghain were sharing that cabin and Thale had been dismissed and gone back down to their shuttle along with that weird floating skull. Oh yeah, I'd almost forgotten about the cargo hold full of armed men as well. Xenophobic armed men, presumably.

I'm sure it'll all work out.

The team had hung around after Jarrion and co had excused themselves, waiting until they were all very much out of earshot - and this confirmed by EDI - before we all got started on talking.

"Alright. Our guests. Thoughts?" I asked, opening the table up to comments and discussion.

No-one seemed to want to be the one to speak first. Jacob was the one to crack first:

"We all agree this has to be some sort of extended performance piece, right?"

"Possible, though improbable," Mordin said, appearing deep in thought. He'd appeared like for basically the whole dinner, just listening and not commenting. Formulating something, clearly.

"Assuming they're on the level - and that's a big assumption - this Imperium doesn't sound the friendliest of neighbours to have," Garrus said.

Kind of seemed a bit like an understatement to me, but he wasn't wrong. A galaxy-spanning empire full of people like that? Worse than that? Did not sound like a fun place. At least not to me.

And when has having Inquisitors ever been a good thing or ended well?

God, now I'm acting as though I believe it!

Do I though?

This, I think, is the stumbling block for all of us right now. On the one hand we've got these guys and this ship and this attitude and this language and all this tech none of which is anything like anything else we've seen and let's not forget also popping up right next to us literally out of empty space.

On the other hand we have to have some standards on what we're willing to accept, surely.

Ugh. Killer robots from the cold depths of intergalactic space was a big enough reach, now this? Time travelling space-racists with a thing for skulls?

"You were quiet, Grunt. Deep in thought?" I asked, mostly just to keep my brain from wandering away from me.

"About what?"

"That whole dinnertime conversation we had? With the guys who just left?" I said, gesturing in the vague direction of where Jarrion and Loghain had gone. Grunt followed where I was pointing and shrugged.

"I wasn't listening, I was eating," he said.

Couldn't argue with that.

There was a little more discussion after that. Some comments about how creepy it had been just having that skull floating there, watching. How Thale's scars were almost as bad as mine - tasteful guys, thanks, remember that bit where I died? A bit of idle speculation about the performance of that big ship of Jarrion's and also how it got about, given that apparently it didn't use relays.

Interesting stuff, mildly, but nothing leading to any conclusions. I decided to draw a line under it.

"Alright. I'm tired," I said, cutting through whatever had been going on. "I'm going to bed in a second and from tomorrow I'm going to be concentrating more on the mission we've got waiting for us at the end of this journey. My final word on our guests:"

I took a breath, gathered myself, laid my hands on the table.

"I think we need to keep an eye on these guys. And I don't just mean right now, I mean after we've done this mission. Even if everything else they're saying is bollocks Jarrion is still a guy with a head full of pretty questionable notions about human non-human relations in charge of a real big ship. I'm not wholly comfortable just letting him cruise around," I said.

"He's not the only human who doesn't like aliens," Garrus said, running a thumb over the Cerberus logo of the mug in his hands.

Subtle, Garrus. Now you got Miranda sulking.

"Xenophobia is not the exclusive preserve of humans. Can I just point that out?" She said.

This sort of sidetracking was exactly what I didn't need and I rapped a knuckle on the table until everyone else shut up.

"This isn't an in-depth discussion on the subject, this is me saying that anyone flying around in a ship that's four kilometres long and who thinks anyone who doesn't share a species with them doesn't deserve to live is a concern to me. And - and this is the kicker, and I feel ridiculous for even contemplating it but here we are - and assuming he's telling the truth and there's some whole other future full of people like him and he could come back here, what's to stop another one?"

I did feel ridiculous for putting this idea out there but you did have to be open to these things. If it happened once, why not again? Then what?

Not something I really had the energy to contemplate right at that moment.

"But that's not - we'll cross that bridge when we come to it. If we come to it. RIght now this discussion ends. They're here, they'll help us out on this mission. The mission is what we're all thinking about right now, okay? We get to Horizon, we work from there. Got it?"

Nods and noises of assent and understanding, just what I like to hear and see.

"Cracking. Now all of you lot clear off, get some rest," I said.

The team broke up. I stuck around a second, just for a quiet second to myself.

"Commander?" Came Joker's voice and I sighed.

"If it's not one thing it's another…yes, Joker?"

"We'll be hitting the first relay soon, Commander."

"How soon is soon?" I asked.

"Little under an hour."

Nice.

"We're making good time," I said.

"You say that as thought you're surprised."

Rising from the table I stretched, yawned, and said:

"I do, and I hope you're deeply wounded."

"Cut right to my brittle, cracking bones Commander."

"Good lad."