The small scout craft gradually maneuvered itself at little past a safe speed, keeping a slight curve of trajectory as it propelled itself forward. It made barely a hum at such a pace, with only a trickle of translucent blue light escaping its mass effect engines. To the casual observer, it would appear the ship was practically at a standstill.

A massive, red, nameless gas giant loomed over the ship to its starboard side, acting as perfect contrast among the two objects of such differing magnitudes. What would be more apparent, however, was the bright cloud of colors that hung over the planet's edge, a nebula of moderate proportions that brought some much-needed variety to the otherwise dull ball of gas.

The scout craft was of turian design. Its plate-like armor design presented several slabs of hardened metal that expanded outwards with each successive plate, with layer upon layer offering the best of protection to a vessel of such a size without sacrificing mobility. It was as well painted in the colors of the Hierarchy, a rusty orange against white that informed all who gazed upon it just which proud race it belonged to.

To accommodate such a small vessel, it held only a crew of ten, with light weaponry that could hold its own against a single fighter but barely anything past that. If they ran into any trouble, running would be the first course of action followed by alerting the real star-ships of just who and what was attacking them.

The ten person crew in question belonged to the Palaven's Fire and weren't too concerned with being attacked by anyone this far out in the middle of nowhere. The border between the Attican Traverse and the Terminus Systems was typically one wrought with conflict. But from how close they were to the fringes of dark space, it practically guaranteed a lack of hostile presence past an angry asteroid floating their way.

"Look sharp," Captain Olymrius announced at a mumble from atop his command perch. He stared intently at the front viewscreen glass and the encompassing monitors that sat next to it, occasionally staring down at the operators who were working the controls.

"That's a fourth," Private Vicril said with a snicker as he slyly held out his hand in expectation. "Pay up."

Private Gardius, who sat beside him groaned in defeat and reluctantly slid a twenty cred chit across his station and over to Vicril's who happily pocketed it in an instant. "And I here I thought three would be the magic number."

Vicril grinned. "Not with the Captain it's not."

"Cut the chatter, Private," Olymrius commanded. "Keep your eyes focused on those sensors. We're passing into the nebula as we speak."

He gripped the guardrails of his raised perch above the rest crew with a nervous tenacity. He squinted his eyes ahead at the blurry mass of surplus gas from the planet as it washed over the front of the ship and enveloped it entirely. Visibility dropped significantly, and he could see the sensor monitors begin to show blank screens or half processed resolutions of the perimeter around them.

None of the crew seemed to worry all that much. It was a standard occurrence whenever a ship got caught in a nebula that the sensors would cut out momentarily. Olymrius couldn't quite recall the science behind it; a navigator had once tried to explain it to him. It had something to do with the frequencies getting interfered with by the gasses atomic makeup or something. He didn't pretend to understand it and was fine with the fact that he didn't.

The entire reason they'd been sent out into such an isolated fringe of the galaxy was in search of possible pirate or privateer presence raiding turian shipping freighters in the closest colonial systems. Gas giants were perfect hideouts for an experienced crew of criminals who wanted to hide among the masking planetary body.

This was the Flame's third gas giant they'd inspected in a week, and so far none had turned up anything. In hindsight, it was foolish of the Hierarchy to be expecting such a massive search of such isolated systems, but apparently the raiding was getting to be a pretty serious problem for the Traverse colonies. If someone didn't stop them soon, some of the more recent ones might just have to be scrapped all together. The government simply couldn't support a colony that didn't yield fruit.

But what Olymrius was most worried about was the demeanor his crew was handling the situation with. He'd made it clear that they were out scanning for trouble, and not one person had taken the threat of actually coming across a problem as a likely one. He didn't want to go off and label the entire group a lazy bunch. When the situation called for it, they could take things seriously. But in a assignment that seemed as menial as this one...he could see the reasoning.

He was so focused on their steady progress through the misty cloud that he didn't even notice the figure standing behind him. It was only when they spoke that his brain finally registered their presence.

"Captain Olymrius?" a female turian voice stated. "Do you have a minute?"

He swung around to the voice's source and smiled, bowing his head in equal respect. "Of course, Lieutenant. What to do you need?"

Lieutenant Siana Terso was a fairly recent introduction to the ship's crew. In fact, she technically wasn't even part of it. Despite the military rank she'd earned during her mandatory service period, she was currently an acting psychiatric examiner for the military's personnel. Her evaluations had been assigned just a week prior for the crew and were to conclude just a day before they were set to leave.

However, due to a slight scheduling oversight on the Hierarchy's part (a rare occurrence indeed), the Palaven's Fire's official examination instead coincided on the same day they were to depart. Terso, willing to accommodate this mistake and not to wanting to contribute any further to the slightly bent schedule, had happily accepted the Captain's offer to come along with them on the mission and conduct the examinations between relay jumps.

So far, the results had been promising and just about what Olymrius had expected. The crew displayed high registers of mental health, and their hardline discipline was still well intact. There, of course, were instances of 'lack of motivation', which was just an intelligent way of saying 'not caring about what you're paid to do.' But he assumed, with a little bit of self-convincing, that most of that was a victim of circumstance. They'd been gone for well over three weeks now and boredom was certainly getting to the crew.

And overall he liked Lieutenant Terso. She took her work seriously, had the legitimate prerogative of getting things done, and seemed to be the only other person on the ship, excluding himself, who was taking the mission seriously. Not only that, she had a very inviting personality, led inciteful conversation, and was quite the looker if he did say so himself.

"I was just wondering on our progress at the moment," she said with a gesture to the wide viewscreen. "But it looks like we've already passed into the nebula." She sighed. "And now all we can do is wait."

Olymrius nodded grimly. "It's definitely the worst part of looking for pirates or slavers. You never can tell what's on the other side until you're there. If anything is on the other side, though, we'll be out of here in the blink of an eye."

"I don't think that's gonna be a problem, Captain," Private Vicril interjected as he turned his chair around to face them. "If there were any raiding vessels in this section of the Traverse I'd doubt they'd be this far out in the system. There's not a civilized world for light years. If you ask me, I'd say that-"

"If I wanted your opinion I would have asked you, Private," the Captain said sharply. "Our mission is to inspect any and all possible locations of pirate vessels. The system is still in range of a mass effect relay. That gives the possibility, no matter how uncertain, that a raiding party could be hiding out in the area. Do I make myself clear?"

The other turian mumbled a "yessir" and got back to work.

They continued to glide through the nebula; the entire bridge silent save for the low hum of the engines and the clicking of terminal keys. Both Terso and Olymrius kept their eyes on the viewscreen while the rest of the crew rolled theirs. It was after a few minutes of this that the ship's navigator called up to Olymrius.

"Captain, we've nearly cleared the nebula. Short range sensors should return to full functionality in a minute's time."

He nodded. "Very good. And what about the long range?"

"May take a bit more time, we're still getting some interference."

The cloud was gradually beginning to dissipate from the viewscreen while the sensor monitors began to display a clearer image of their immediate vicinity. Some of the crew began to chat quietly now that the imposed silence was finally over, returning a sense of casual flair that'd been absent leading up to their pass through.

Olymrius breathed a sigh of relief at this and was thankful that another passing over was completed. Now all he'd have to do was wait for the next time for it to happen. They still had two other systems to check out before they could return to port, which meant that his heart couldn't entirely be put at rest.

"Captain," the Lieutenant said with a tap on his shoulder. "I don't mean to bother you, but do you see that?" She pointed forwards at the viewscreen, slightly off to his left and up a few notches.

The Captain could feel one of his mandibles flicker slightly. "What do you mean?"

"That, over there. Just off by the planet's other side. At the corner of the viewscreen."

He squinted his eyes in the general direction, seeing the vague outline of...something in that region. It was too far from where they were and was against the backdrop of black space, making any discernible quality difficult to spot with the naked eye.

"I don't believe I can see it from here, Lieutenant. Gardius, Vicril," he called down to the two operators, "are you two picking up anything on the short range sensors?"

"Vaguely, Captain," Gardius replied. "The signal's weak but we're getting something off by the planet's western hemisphere, close to one of its poles."

He looked back up at the viewscreen and saw that the vague shape Terso had seen was exactly in that direction. The outline was still the only thing visible, but his mind was beginning to form its own conclusions of whatever it was. He didn't like what they may or may not be seeing, and his gut was beginning to give him a pretty good idea in what to do with the situation.

"Skipper, turn the ship around and make an immediate course back to the system relay. I gotta bad feeling about this place."

There wasn't an initial response from the pilot signifying he'd retained the order, a very rare occurrence on any turian vessel. Olymrius was about to repeat himself when the pilot finally responded with bewilderment to his words.

"Captain...I'm having some trouble getting us into position. For some reason, our acceleration is increasing but the engine readings are saying that we're still at our forward speed."

Olymrius inhaled deeply, leaning forwards in anticipation. "How fast are we increasing?"

"We're at a steady 15%, but it looks like...no, we're now up to 20%. Scratch that, it says we're-"

As if in an instant, the Palaven's Fire shot forwards at a sudden increase in speed, knocking anyone standing straight to the ground. Olymrius landed awkwardly on his side. He could feel the impact of the steel floor against his armor but felt the hardened fibers of his suit cushion most of the blow for him. The top of his head still banged against the floor, sending a bright flash through his vision.

Shaking it off, he pushed himself back onto his feet and offered his arm to the Lieutenant who'd as well fallen beside him. A warning siren began to go off in the ship as he helped her back to her feet, painting the hexagonal bridge in a flashing red gaze

"You alright?" he said, noticing she was clutching her shoulder.

She winced as she nodded. "I'm okay."

The opposite was probably the truth. A broken or dislocated bone was the obvious likelihood. He would've offered her medical assistance if he still didn't have a ship to run. If she asked for it, she'd get it. But right now a bit more pressing things were on his mind, namely, just what the hell had just happened.

"Skipper, what the hell just..."

He didn't need a response from anyone else to finally put it together. It was right in front of him, just past the viewscreen and looming over them like a rumbling storm. His jaw dropped and he could feel the air get sucked out of his lungs. He assumed that was what everyone else onboard was doing.

The vague outline Terso has pointed out earlier was much larger now, fully in perspective under the gas giant's massive crimson backdrop. It was a vessel of some sort, gargantuan in size and length, stretching at least a kilometer from bow to stern and several stories from top to bottom. It was heavily armored like a warship, but never had Olymrius seen one like this.

Its design was incredibly symmetric, with a vaguely rounded, flat rectangular outer body that extended for nearly 3/4's of the ship's length. Past that, nearer to its back section were three jagged triangular wings that sloped backward right were the rectangular front portion ended. Four mid-sized engines sat to the rear, closely linked to one another with fairly narrow nozzle extensions.

A dreadnought sized mass driver sat on ship's top with a command center positioned just behind the weapon's first tier accelerator position. The vessel sported a dizzying aware of disruptor torpedoes, missiles, close-range turrets and other smaller armaments on each side of the warship's exterior. But what was most curious wasn't the weapons posted on the ship's top and sides, but the one positioned at its bottom.

Immediately below the mass driver was a u-shaped indentation that jutted inwards for what looked like several stories, before jutting back outwards in the form of a large circular cannon of sort. Its front was disk shaped and appeared to go even further inwards into the ship's bowels. It lacked the sleek, slenderness of a mass driver and was instead a widened cylinder that hung idly at the ship's stern.

"Look at the size of that thing!" someone called out.

"Just what in the Spirits is that?"

"It looks human."

Olymrius had to agree, it certainly looked human in design. Its rectangular front section almost perfectly resembled that of the Alliance Navy, reflecting a symmetrical meticulousness that spoke of collected security. The humans always did pride themselves on their obsession of self-defense. Their bulky ship designs only made the point clearer.

But the ship lacked the distinct markings of the Alliance, the bright white and blue coating was absent instead replaced with the plain grey of unpainted dura-steel. This gave it the initial impression of a pirate vessel with its relative lack of distinction but even the greenest of recruits knew that no pirate gang possessed dreadnoughts, not even the batarians. So just what were they looking at?

He'd worry about that later. For now, he still had a ship to run.

"Viso," he called over the ship's klaxons, "what's our situation?"

A low murmur of nervous chatter began to form among the anxious crew but the skipper could still be easily heard. "Our acceleration is up to 50%. I cut our engine speed, but we're still moving towards that ship. It appears to have us in a tractor beam."

"Damn it," he murmured. No way could a ship of his size outmaneuver a tractor beam's magnetic pull, especially now that they were so close to it. A better-armed vessel could have the opportunity to locate the tractor beam's location with short range sensors and destroy it from the outside, but Palaven's Fire simply didn't have anything close to that amount of firepower.

So instead, he turned his attention to a different approach. "Navigator, try to open a hailing channel with the ship. I want to know just who the hell we're dealing with."

The navigator did as he was told and within a few moments, a small pinging came from Olymrius's terminal as the channel was opened. Without wasting a moment, he spoke into the receiver.

"Unknown vessel, this is Captain Sertis Olymrius of the Palaven's Fire, Turian Eighth Fleet. Please identify yourself."

There was silence over the channel, prompting him to repeat the message.

"Unknown vessel, this is Palaven's Fire requesting official identification of your business in this system."

He was met with silence once again. This was starting to look even worse than it already was. They had no hope of breaking from this ship's hold and by the looks of the viewscreen, the ship was practically on top of them, no doubt with an intention to board. If he were going to do anything, he'd have to do it now.

"Navigator, patch that ship's channel coding back to the Hierarchy. Tie in a message explaining the situation and request for immediate assistance."

The navigator began typing into his console but promptly look back up at him. "Captain, the ship's jamming our frequencies. I'm not sure if the message would be able to get out in time."

"Well do it anyway! It's the only chance we've-"

The scouting ship rumbled once again, with a loud thud of metal against metal followed by a telltale clank of magnetic locks fixing into place. Now they were trapped, entirely at the mercy of whoever was operating the goliath of a vessel before them.

"Navigator, did you get the message out?"

"Yes, Captain."

He sighed. Well at the very least something could be done if they ended up dead. The promise of justice would be the one thing he could console himself with in the face of death. Suddenly, his terminal began to ping with an incoming transmission. He received it without hesitation.

"Crew of the Palaven's Fire," a voice spoke clearly through the terminal. It was distinctively human in tone but with a scratchy pronunciation that made its 's' sound come out as a hiss and everything else as a leathery growl close to that of a turian's. Not only that, whoever was speaking seemed to have difficulty breathing, rasping lowly each time they took a breath.

"You are at this moment ordered to surrender yourselves to boarding forces," the voice continued. "We wish none of you harm but will not hesitate to act if resistance is displayed. Please respond, over."

Olymrius's eyes flared up. It was hard to contain his rage, his disgust at the insult to him and his crew's honor. At the very least a request of such nature would be done in person to retain some form of elegance to the action, not over the anonymity of a computer screen like a coward. Perhaps such communication was in order considering the circumstances but the action still sullied him.

"Who is this?" he asked skeptically, sensing his crew's attention beginning to focus on their conversation. "And just what're you doing out here?"

"I could ask the same of you, Captain."

"Very funny, wise guy. But I'm not about to surrender my ship and crew to some idiot who won't even tell me his name."

The voice chuckled, more like growled, at the insult. "Captain Samuel Larris of the Arc Monitor."

"Are you with the Alliance, 'Larris'?"

Another growl. "Thankfully not. Although they'll be time for more questions later. As of now, I need to once again request that you surrender yourselves to our boarding party. You will not be harmed."

Olymrius glared at the terminal as if it was the very man he was talking with. "Do you honestly think any of us would fall for that? That's practically imprisoning ourselves and saving you the trouble."

"This is not a negotiation, Captain. You're a very small scouting vessel out in the middle of a very empty vacuum. Either give yourselves up without the need of unnecessary bloodshed or I can order your ship to be target practice for our mass accelerator. The choice is yours."

Olyrimus was left standing wide-eyed at the terminal. His crew, in turn, looked to him with equal bewilderment, waiting to see just what he'd do. There was no way to tell if the mystery human over the comm was lying. The fact that he claimed not to be Alliance yet possessed a dreadnought spoke of a clear and impossible contradiction. The possibility of any non-military personnel possessing a dreadnought was something not even the most well-funded of pirates could pull off.

Which left him without many options. Guaranteed death or the possibility of safety. Nothing else to it. Life was full of chances and it seemed like he'd was about to make another. He just prayed he wasn't wrong.

"Captain Larris," he said quietly, hating each word he spoke "we agree to your terms. The Palaven's Fire is yours."

"Excellent, Captain. I knew you'd make the right decision. We're connecting umbilical docking procedures now. Arc Monitor, out."

The channel pinged closed and the crew was left with the flashing warning siren still in the background. To the membes of the Palaven's Flame, the sound couldn't have been further away.

"Well, this sucks," one crew member declared bitterly. "Get captured by a bunch of damn humans on a mission like this. If we ever make it back alive the Hierarchy's gonna chew us out."

"That piece of crap didn't sound too human to me," Vicril replied with equal dissatisfaction. "Was like a freakin' lizard trying to talk."

"What if it is a lizard?"Gardius questioned in partial sincerity. "What if this is a new race we've never known about? That would explain the weird ship and even weirder voice."

"Everyone!" Olymrius shouted. "It doesn't matter who or what these people are. The fact of the matter is that we're docked with a dreadnought that's no doubt crawling with people who aren't with us. If we're gonna make it through this we need to cooperate with them the best we can and think of some way to get out of this."

"And how do we plan to do that?" Lieutenant Terso said from behind, breaking her relative silence while still clutching her shoulder a bit tighter than before.

"We'll figure something out. For now, everyone just stay calm and play by their rules. The better they trust us, the better chance we have in escaping."

A consensus went through the group of about ten. Cloak and dagger was about the only strategy open to them at this point and would be the one tactic that had, at least, a fraction of succeeding. It all depended on whomever the ship belonged and just how true to their word they would be.

A few moments later, after waiting in anticipation for just what would happen next, one of the sensor modules began to beep. Vicril glanced over at the monitor.

"Captain, it says our inner airlock door is being sliced."

Olymrius grinned. "That must be our guests now. Let's meet them."

The crew stepped carefully out of the center bridge over to the rear of the ship. The crew quarters and maintenance entrance were in this region as well as the engine room and airlock door. As Vicril's computer had confirmed, the uniform clicking of a portable codebreaker could be heard on the hermetic door's outside terminal, as well as a set of voices on the other side.

Suddenly, without any warning, the door swished open on both sides. Olymrius could feel a collective jolt go through the cluster of them as the figures from outside entered the room with their weapons raised.

There was five of them in total, two humans and three turians, all fully adorned in combat armor with helmets concealing their faces. The boarders held a combination of assault rifles, submachine guns, and shotguns cautiously at the hip, pointing directly at the crew. If they'd wanted to, they could've gunned them all down in an instant.

"Who of you is Captain Olymrius?" one of the humans asked, his helmet swishing from side to side as he looked the group over.

Olymrius raised his hand and stepped forward. "That would be me."

The human nodded and lowered his weapon. "Captain, I'm going have to request your permission to bind and blind you and your crew as we transport you onto our ship."

He looked back to his crew and gave a flick of his mandible. "You have my permission."

One of the humans and one of the turians brandished several sets of servo cuffs and black hoods. They fitted them onto the crew one by one, getting nothing in the way of resistance from the captured lot.

"Sir," one of the armored turians said to the human, possibly an officer, Olymrius had been speaking with. "One of their crew appears injured."

He turned to see that the turian with the cuffs stood beside Terso, who was still gripping her shoulder. Her faced was locked in a pinched state of agony as droplets of blue blood had begun to run down her slender arms and onto the floor. She shook her head at the attention and nudged away from the armored turian.

"I'm fine," she stammered through shaky words. "It's nothing too bad."

"That looks serious," the officer remarked to Olymrius. "We have medical facilities onboard if you'd require it."

He nodded. "I think we do."

Terso opened her mouth to argue but found that she simply didn't have the strength, slumping her shoulders over instead. Olymrius would have been resistant to the idea of receiving medical aid from a group strangers who just captured his ship. But Terso didn't look like she'd be getting any better anytime soon and so far the gang of hijackers was quite respectable considering their occupation.

A black hood was suddenly fastened over his head, and he could feel two human hands snap a set of cuffs onto his own. The boarding group had them line up in a single-file rank and escorted them out of the ship, no doubt watching with an air of skepticism just in case the captured crew had anything planned for escape.

Not yet Olymrius thought to himself. Not yet.