Guest: Actually, no, but technically you're right. The Abyssal war's still de jure ongoing at the moment, but it's mostly died down to nothingness already at this point. Obviously with the Citadel, that would now change, but…yeah.

There's a 32-year timeskip since the prologue, however. Alliance ship scales remain unchanged from the original, haha

I apologize in advance for the short length (~4k words vs the 8-10k I usually do), I don't think longer is good for the pacing, and also, kinda does help evade burnout, haha

First Contact: Sea of Tranquility

Officially, the War was still ongoing, but ever since the climax, pitched battles of 2425, things have been quiet. The attacks died down, slowly but surely, as human resistance stiffened. What began as a simple stroke of luck, a brazen attempt to even the odds out, won humanity a battle that earned Admiral Yang the title of the Admiral. The momentum, and morale boost, had been immense. Battles were fought, closer this time around, and won. The tide began to turn against the enemy. Every single battle now saw humanity pushing the Abyssals further, and further back, every battle an uphill one, but now, yielding results, driving the enemy back, dealing them harsh blows wherever struck, blows that left them reeling, unable to effectively counter. New tactics were innovated, new weapons developed to even the playing field. The situation was no longer hopeless, no longer a one-sided slaughter. The enemy was no longer invincible. Humanity still stood a chance of survival.

The Abyssal attacks, slowly but surely, died down. The fighting, the losses, continued. But humanity had begun to gain the upper hand, and they were no longer losing the War, the situation no longer hopeless, with a light at the end of the tunnel in sight. Humanity was still being pushed back, but the enemy was now on the defensive, and every inch given, every island and base lost, was fought for tooth and nail, costing the enemy dear. And the losses were now, finally, beginning to be matched by the enemy.

2430 rolled round the corner. What was now full-blown assaults against human worlds became small, insignificant raids, the enemy unable to muster the forces to conduct a sustained attack. Planets long razed by the Abyssals before were reclaimed as their occupiers left.

2440 came, and along with it, a complete sense of quiet. Whatever raids sent their way were now no longer, the occasional prowler coming to poke at the borders, but not more. Humanity licked it's wounds, rebuilt what was destroyed, and turned towards the stars.

They knew the War was not over, and never would be, until the Abyssals were utterly, irrevocably destroyed. But the fighting had ceased, for now. And for that, they could only be grateful. Humanity would have to deal with the Abyssals eventually, there was no way around it. They were too dangerous, and too unpredictable to just be left alone. But for now, they had a break from the fighting, and would be able to enjoy the fruits of peace and tranquillity, for a time.

2450 came around the corner. And with it…chaos.

"...what the hell?" Fubuki asked, as she turned her eyes up and down the sensor readouts. "what the hell is this even?"

"I've no idea, either," Akebono said in reply, "but it's...weird. Could be the sensors, though. They started acting up from the last three jumps, remember?"

Fubuki nodded silently to herself before turning back towards the view outside the Hakusan Maru's bridge windows. The Hakusan Maru was an aging freighter, and an old one at that—when Fubuki decided that she wanted a change of air and got her hands on the thousand-foot-cargo hauler at what amounted to a literal yard sale, there wasn't much left for them to do but strip out everything not necessary and start over again with fresh parts. But they had managed to get most systems working, albeit without any fancy bells or whistles like automated docking systems or all other whatnot (the Hakusan Maru spent almost every voyage going between frontier worlds and the occasional industrial colony, the most the crew had to do was heave an anchor overboard and soft-land the freighter on the nearest parking spot); all the ship needed now were good crew members who could keep their heads when things went wrong. And right then, something definitely did go very wrong indeed: after several seconds' delay due to the aging sensors, the data began filling out on the radar screen.

"Yeah..." Halifax muttered, the female android's blue hair waving slightly as she turned from her position as navigator to look over Akebono's shoulder to see the feed for herself. "...whatever we're looking at, it's fucked good enough."

"Yeah, it seems so," Akebono agreed, furrowing her brows at the readouts.

"Gimme a rundown would ya?" Furutaka asked from the other side of the bridge, her hands rattling away at the keyboard at her own console. Her spot meant that she wouldn't be able to just turn around to see the feed for herself; instead, she'd have to rely entirely on the others'. Which was fine by her. She liked being part of a team more than anything else.

Akebono glanced back to the communications station once again before speaking aloud, "Active sensors read the object as something the shape of a tuning fork, fifteen kilometers in length and parked all nice and neat on the edge of the system. The thing's mass however's off-the-scale for something it's size—I should say it'd be closer to the order of magnitude of a black hole more than most. And whatever that thing is, it's fucked up all right—mass keeps fluctuating every few seconds. It's down one moment and up the next, I don't know if we can trust those readings at all. All in all, it looks like some sort of alien artifact."

Halifax let out a short laugh at that. "Well, you're probably gonna want to take a peek inside it sooner or later anyway, eh? Might as well check it out while we still got time. You sure about these readings, though?"

"Not really, no," Akebono replied, shaking her head slowly. "But our best guess says that this thing isn't a natural phenomenon. This ain't no glitch—there's no possible way. The sensors are bugged, alright, but they're not that bugged."

The rest of the crew looked at each other awkwardly, exchanging glances and nodding hesitantly in agreement. None of them knew exactly why they felt compelled to agree with her opinion, only that they did.

"Whatdaya think, Halifax?" Fubuki said after a few moments, turning to face her navigator.

The android shrugged, letting her blue hair bob slightly around. "I have plenty of theories as to why it's fucked up like that, but I have hold of one that may lead us far. That the 'fork' is really a catapult, and it's sole purpose to yeet ships at superluminal velocities 'cross half the galaxy."

"A 'shipapult'?" Furutaka repeated, blinking rapidly. "You mean somethin' like a railgun?"

"No, nothing like a railgun," Halifax replied quickly. "That would require a long barrel which this 'fork,' if you'll pardon me, lacks. No, this 'fork' uses its own mass to generate high velocity projectiles using a form of gravitic energy. Think of it as a gravity cannon, but on a massive scale."

"And how does such a device work?" Fubuki asked curiously, tilting her head slightly to the side.

"Best guess? It grabs us and yeets us to who-the-fuck-knows-where with it's fluctuating gravity well and just kinda, y'know, throws us wherever it wants. If we're lucky, it might throw us into another star system. Otherwise, we could end up anywhere from here to Alpha Centauri. We won't ever know until we find out!"

There was a brief pause before the crew collectively sighed and shook their heads.

"'Course, if it's a real shipac-"

"-catapult," Halifax finished softly.

"—then what are we gotta do?" Furutaka finished, eyeing her console readouts blankly. "Gun the engines, engage the 'shipapult' and hope that it doesn't kill us all?"

"Dunno," Fubuki shrugged. "Maybe try to figure out what it is first. What about you, Halifax?"

The android frowned deeply for a second before replying, "I'm inclined to agree with Fubuki-san. I don't know if we'll be able to tell what it is at all unless we can get close enough, and even then…"

"…hmmm?"

"…I just have a bad feeling about this. Just…report this to the local defensive command? Given our status as ex-Special Forces, I'm pretty sure they can tolerate us around. You're a former OSHA researcher yourself, right?"

"Yeah. So…"

Three days later…

Renhai system, Gemini cluster, 17th July 2457, 0314HRS Coordinated Universal Time

Fuji-class heavy cruiser SSV Hatsuse

A ripple opened in space, tearing the very fabric of space-time apart, before it erupted into a full on rupture that led into a void of blackness, of nothingness, where nothing held any meaning; a portal with bluish, glowing tendrils opening in the middle of the void before a ship burst out of it, said portal collapsing in the ship's wake as her engines glowed a brilliant shade of blue, propelling the ship forwards, the starlight reflecting off her SmartSteel broadsides making her out as the heavy cruiser SSV Hatsuse, with the kanji '初瀬' marked neatly on directly beside her Romaji nameplate. A Japanese flag was visible right next to the arch-and-stars of the Systems Alliance, even as she pushed forwards, the floodlamps lined up neatly above illuminating her name, symbols, and emblems clearly for all to see. 1,700 meters long from bow to stern, her design was a huge leap forwards compared to the ships of the Abyssal conflict decades ago. Humanity had come a long way in the 32 years since the last major battle.

Moments later, extra portals opened; making way for more ships to appear. Almost a scaled-down rendition of the larger Fuji-class ship, three Aoba-class heavy cruisers emerged, their angled rear sections glistening in the starlight and the bluish haze from the portals as their antimatter torches pushed them forwards and away from the portals they just emerged out of from. Six Fubuki-class destroyers, their double, angled prows protruding out of a sturdy, central hull with cowlings around the more critical components appeared as well, fanning out to quickly assume a defensive formation and screen the larger cruisers from enemy attack, be it what it may. Ten frigates, their split, two-pronged fronts strikingly similar to the destroyers, but with engine and hangar pods affixed to either side of the hull, emerged out next, their triple 40mm Phalnax point-defense guns static, but ready to engage anything at a moment's notice. They quickly formed twenty ships for a single detachment that cruised towards their destination together at a steady pace, engine glows making them out as bright trails in the distant to the naked eye. Or perhaps, optical sights.

There was little knowing as to what their intentions were…or were they?

"Contact spotted, position unchanged. Current course will see us fly-by the object in T-minus, 2-0 mikes," the sensor operator reported as the Hatsuse's CIC buzzed with activity. "It looks exactly as the reports told us. A weird tuning fork, or perhaps…an energy sword? I've no idea myself either."

"Our job is to go pokey-pokey at it and see what it does. Well, that might not be the best idea, but hey…"

Captain Fujimiya Saitō glanced at the image on the panoramic viewscreen in front of him as the rest of the CIC crew worked away at their tasks, the ship's XO, Commader Sakurajima Miho, stepping up towards the central console after writing down a series of numbers and letters on the nearby, backlit status-boards, with a grease pencil. "So there's the situation as we know it. An odd structure, one that looks curiously like an energy sword or a tuning fork, fifteen kilometers long, with a strange signal radiating outwards in all directions that we haven't made heads nor tails of yet. That sums things pretty much up."

Sakurajima glanced at the dormant structure as she fiddles with the pen in her hands. "Any report from the Hakusan Maru so far?"

"Last message was sent at 0219HRS UTC," the comms officer reported. "They report that this structure, currently being designated the 'Tuning Fork' for the time being, as most likely being a 'shipapult', or whatever the hell that is. Basically, they think that this thing is meant to yet ships across vast distances in some sort of a relay race, and when daisy-chained together, forms a large network stretching over vast encompasses of space."

"Ship-catapult?"

"Yeah, that's pretty much it. Something you get up close to to let it yet you across the universe, great from getting from Point A to Point B, but useless if you wanna get to C. But, still. Daisy-chain them together and you'll have yourself a pretty neat way of getting around the galaxy."

"So…basically an interstellar phasegate network. Great. Captain, any idea what do from this point onwards?"

"Try to scan the thing for anything that may be of use. For example, the weird gravimetric field that the thing gives off. Temeletry."

"We're on it," came the response. "Analyzing the signal, although we can't make heads nor tails of it yet…"

"Hmmmmm…"

"…tonnage?" Fubuki asked questioningly as she glanced over Halifax's shoulder, the latter looking down at a notebook placed on her lap, currently covered in scribbles, incomprehensible equations, and equally incomprehensible handwriting.

"Yeah, tonnage," Halifax confirmed. "I went over the signal transcripts that the patrol sent us, it appears to be a request for ship tonnage of some sort. The encryption was heads over heels, seemingly based on bipolar…whatever, but it was clearly a signal meant to be deciphered. The encryption was based on hydrogen atoms, we can easily see analogies with the markings on the Voyager proves and the Golden Disk they carry. After transcribing, it seems to be offering us a request for ship tonnage of some sort. For what, I have no idea."

"…so…it's asking us for ship tonnage. Hmmmm…"

Halifax paused, looking up at the ceiling in thought for a second before nodding to herself.

"Right, let's say that this thing is indeed a 'Shipacu-'"

"Catapult."

"Yeah, that. Anyway, the catapult has been designed to yeet ships across the galaxy using gravitational forces, that is obvious, right? Now, when a ship approaches the catapult, it'll need data on where to go, if it connects to more than one catapult on the other end. And it'll need to know exactly what it's going to yeet, too. Apparently, the tolerances are loose enough for most other factors, such as shape, design, et cetera, can be safely omitted, else it'd be asking us for those, too. So, tonnage."

"But we're not even sure if it's a catapult yet."

"Yeah, true, but what else can it be? The thing seems to 'point' somewhere, and our, along with the patrol's, analysis, all points towards a giant gun, or catapult, of some sort. The gravimetric readings are similar enough to be compared outright to some mass driver classes, even. And, well, I guess the only way we can find out is to just get close and touch the damn thing, right? And that's gonna be your job."

"You mean, my ship's job, right?" Fubuki asked with a raised eyebrow.

"Nah, we're not going to barge through like a buncha dumb gorillas. We're just going to play it safe: figure a way how to talk to it first. Then, send a probe through."

"Hmmmm..."

"So, whatdaya say?"

Fubuki thought for a moment before nodding.

"Well, I guess there's not much else to do now, is there?"

"Alright, I'll start up the calculations and to work. It's not like we have anything better to do, anyway. And...if things go well, maybe, just maybe...we might finally get our answers."

"We've managed to isolate the signal and decode it, Captain," Sakurajima nodded as Fujimiya entered the CIC, a clipboard in her hands and a pencil tacked to the top.

"Very good. Any idea as to what the signal is trying to communicate?" Fujimiya replied as he sipped away at the coffee inside his cup, having grabbed it off the coffee maker just down the hallway.

"Pretty much what the Hakusan Maru's crew speculated a while earlier. The thing apparently's asking us for a mass profile of whatever the hell we'll send through it, alongside it's exact position in space. Also it's asking for an activation key, somehow, and the signal's repeating that again and again, so...that's a big red flag if you ask me."

"Any idea how we can respond?"

"We could try sending the signal right back and see what it does, or we can send it a mass profile of what we need to send through, say, a probe, and see what happens."

"Do that. Also, get me a full report of what's going on. I want to know everything. Everything."

"Yes, sir."

Originally, it was built by the Reapers as part of their elaborate trap to lure the species that went sapient across the galaxy into developing on the very path that they desired, and subsequently, harvest them. They never named it, for all the good it would do, there was absolutely no reason to. Various sapients had called them different names throughout history. The Protheans, simplistic as they were, had dubbed them 'relays'. The Citadel races that expanded and thrived fifty thousand years after the former's disappearance agreed. They collectively christened the structures and the network that they created thusly the poetic name of a Mass Relay, and of the network itself, the Network. The large space station, the Gate, was renamed, the Citadel.

Relay 314 lay dormant amidst it all, it's function forgotten. The network it connected to was no longer active, the relays were dead, and it was all that remained. A relic of a past age. Left untouched by the previous cycle, all but forgotten by the current.

Until now.

The structure came to life. Dormant gyroscopic rings came flaring to life with a large, glowing sphere forming in the center of the tuning-fork-shaped structure, a bright, bluish-white hue. Lights flashed to life all over the formerly dormant fifteen-kilometer structure, the previously-inactive, and thusly dark, surface now alight with activity, a brilliant, pulsating, and flickering azure-blue. The structure was alive, and the entire thing was glowing blue.

The probe approached the structure cautiously, the Hatsuse trailing behind the probe by a distance, her weapons primed and ready, should anything go awry. The rest of the fleet kept a good distance away from the Tuning Fork, lest the Hatsuse should have need of them.

"Well, looks like that's one theory proven," Halifax spoke aloud, the comms channel open, as she watched the Tuning Fork with an intensity.

"Looks like it," Fubuki concurred. "What're your readings, Hatsuse?"

"Mass is fluctuating again," came the response. "And, um, the signal's still there. Seems it's waiting for a request to send something through, so..."

Sakurajima watched the live feed on the CIC's panoramic viewscreen as close-up visuals and data readings scrolled past. "I guess...we send the data package to reply to it's mass signature request? We'll see what happens then. Let's try it."

"Alright. Data's been uploaded into the probe and we're ready to send. All that's left is for the Tuning Fork to decide what to do about it."

"Understood. Commence when ready."

"Yes, sir."

The lone turian cruiser dutifully swept it's sensors across the void in search of anything out of the ordinary, it's wings giving it a sleek, graceful, and yet robust, angular, and avian feel to it as it left behind a trail of exhaust from the fusion torches it used for sublight travel. The turians, one of the more prominent species in the galaxy, were a warlike species, with a long military history and a tradition of martial prowess. Their military was highly advanced and organized, and it showed in their track record, from first contact, the Krogan Rebellions, to today.

None of it mattered at the moment as the ship sailed on, true to it's assigned patrol route. Crew kept their eyes peeled and on their consoles, despite the fact that there was nothing there to see. They were turians, after all. They won't be caught slacking on duty. Not ever.

At least, not until the ship's sensors picked up something strange, something that they've never seen before.

"Report!" the captain shouted, leaping from his seat, his mandibles fluttering.

"..." a pause elapsed as the sensor officer took a moment to process what his console was telling him. "The relay's active, Captain! The dormant primary relay in the system. It's active! Mass is fluctuating, glowing brightly...I've never seen anything like this before."

"Well, neither have I. What's it's status?"

"It's active, that's for starters, Relay 313. There's no trace of any ship near it as far as we know, whoever activated this thing surely did it from the other side, or have transited it by now. It's possible they have already left."

"I see. And, well...if the relay's active, it means someone had activated it. So, the question is, who? Do they know activating a relay is against Citadel law? If so, who's responsible for this? A pirate gang? Smugglers? Or something else? Whatever it is, this is not something we can allow to pass unnoticed. Alert the Council. Tell them that Relay 313 had gone active, and whoever is on the other side, is not us."

"Aye, sir."

The captain's mandibles fluttered once again.

"This isn't a good day, is it?"

"No, sir. No, it isn't."

The probe transited the relay in a flash of light, it's lightweight form seemingly suspended in time for a few brief moments before it's onboard computer systems regained their bearings and began looking at their surroundings in earnest. Several things stood out, almost at once. For starters, the construct it was close to right now had a different radiological signature, among other minute differences, compared to the one it had come close to before, suggesting that the two came in pairs. Secondly, the probe's instruments detected an unusually high level of background radiation, which was also different from the one the probe had come from.

Thirdly, and perhaps most importantly, there was a single ship present.

Definitely not Abyssal, for sure, it decided after a few scans. But also indeed not human.

The probe was a curious device, designed by humans with the goal of exploration in mind. Its shape was reminiscent of the space probes of the olden days, a simple box with booms extending out of it and a large, radio dish, said booms packed to the full with sensors and all other related exploratory equipment. On the rear, however, was an engine module, designed to let it maneuver around, thrust itself to where it wanted to go, and commence FTL jumps, should Mission Control ask it to.

The ship began to turn, it was either caught unawares by the structure activating, or had spotted it, or perhaps, even both. The probe did not know, nor could it care. It's job was to scan, and report back the results to the Alliance detachment on the other side, nothing more, nothing less. So, without further ado, it did it's job, photographing the ship, the surrounding stars, detailed, compiled data on everything else it's instruments could gather, and then, once it was done, turned back towards the relay, broadcasting the signal that it had broadcast before to ask the construct if it could send it home.

As the structure flared to life once more and sent it across the interstellar void, it only had one thought in mind:

"What a beautiful ship. I hope to see it again someday."