Aboard the Normandy...

The comms room was one of the larger individual compartments on the Normandy, mostly because it served as the briefing and meeting area for the ship's officers and senior enlisted. It was protected by an intricate series of electronic countermeasures, sound-deadening materials, and anti-surveillance devices, making it the most secure room on the entire ship.

As Shepard walked in, she saw the large holo-screen on the opposite end of the room, displaying a fortunate Turian's conversion. This sort of pornography was wildly popular in the Empire given that the average civilian hermpire had nearly a zero percent chance of experiencing the unadulterated joy of converting a sentient being in this day and age. Instinctively, she mentally compared herself to the Turian as its genitals rearranged and its cock exploded forth from the plated sheath between its legs, deciding that their lengths were similar but as usual her **** girth blew the Turian's out of the water. Not a surprise given that she out massed even the Captain's monster on that dimension, but she still felt a warm glow of pride in her balls even so.

Standing in front of the holo-screen was the crimson and black specter of Nihlus, who turned as the door slid closed behind the human.

"Commander Shepard," Nihlus said with a nod. "I was hoping you would get here first. I wanted to have a bit of a talk."

"What about?" Shepard asked, stepping into the middle of the circular room and facing Nihlus evenly, ignoring the way her cock was responding to this rather arousing situation. The Spectre's head twitched a bit, the bony, curving mandibles on either side of his thin mouth widening a hair.

"The hermpire biological urge to convert." he said, gesturing to the wall behind him where the newborn Turian hermpire's dick was liberally spraying her dark semen due to the pleasure of the process. "I've heard it is quite strong."

"It can be," Shepard replied with a shrug. "But like anything else, it can be suppressed through training and will power."

"An individual can accomplish this, yes." Nihlus replied, looking back toward the display, which cycled to show a different conversion, featuring an Asari this time. "But can an entire society, an entire race be trusted, given the wide variety of capabilities, inclinations, and desires of its people. Your great queen assures our safety through the treaty."

He turned back toward Shepard, green eyes glittering.

"But how safe is it, really?"

What Shepard hated the most about turians was that they were difficult to read. The cartilage-like material that made up their outer layer of skin was flexible, but not as much as the softer skin of a turian hermpire. Un converted Turian faces were masks; they barely moved except for their mouths and mandibles, and any motion that did take place in their faces was hard to read. Between that, the distorting tribal facepaint they wore, and their odd, metallic voices, it was hard to tell what they were thinking.

"What are you suggesting?" Shepard asked, trying to figure out whether Nihlus had just making some overarching point about the political situation or if he was responding to something more immediate, like the precarious situation on this ship. Had some overly lustful hermpire broke down and made an advance?

"The balance in this galaxy is precarious, Shepard," Nihlus replied, his tone leading. "Can the hermpire race truly be trusted to operate on the galactic stage?"

The hermpire's eyes narrowed. She knew exactly how precarious it could get out here in the Attican Traverse, and Nihlus had to have known that, as well as how the commander reacted to unlawful conversions.

Nihlus was pushing her buttons, probably trying to gauge her reaction, and there was a gleam in the turian's eyes that was universal in anything that had eyes: interest. Okay then.

She was about to explain Nihlus that he, nor the Citadel, had nothing to fear when the door to the comm room slid open. They both glanced up, and Shepard straightened reflexively as Captain Dallas Anderson walked into the room.

"I think its time we told the Commander what's really going on," she said, walking across the room.

Shepard held nothing but respect for Captain Anderson; she was possibly the most decorated ship commander in the entire Imperial Navy, and had earned every medal and citation she'd been given. She hadn't started as a Navy crewman; Anderson had begun her career as a Marine, just like Shepard, having fought through nearly every major military campaign the Alliance had waged in the bloody thirty-odd years since the First Contact War. There was no one she'd rather serve under, and when Anderson spoke, everyone listened.

Shapard's cock had gone entirely stiff due to both arousal and respect, so instinctively her hands slipped down to press the seals in her uniform that would release it as per proper military discipline. Her conscious brain had already registered Nihlus's presence and the standing orders to cease such traditions when the Captain remarked, "Keep it in your pants, Shepard."

Shepard's cheeks flushed slightly.

Nihlus said, "There's no need to modify your behavior on my account, Commander. A part of this operation is to test my conditioning to resist your pheromones. Please do as you would normally."

"You sure? Alright then. Release the Tree Trunk, Shepard." replied Anderson as she hit the seals on her own uniform. The smart fabric retracted and the Captain sighed with relief as all fourteen inches of her dark flaccid length flowed out to swing heavily between her legs.

Shepard was both envious of her superior officer's length and her ability to maintain control over her arousal. Her own foot long prick was embarrassingly hard, it's girthy shaft between her tits with its drooling head pointed at her chin.

Nihlus was silent for a long moment and Shepard couldn't help but be concerned that his eyes seemed to be glued to her shaft rather than the Captain's. Did he know that her uncontrollable erection was a sign of submission or did he think it a show of strength whereas the Captain's limp prick was one of weakness? That was a common misconception amongst the unconverted, at least those who cared enough to be interested in hermpire social mores.

"This is far more than a simple shakedown run," the turian finally said, and Shepard shrugged as she went to her knees having noticed Anderson's immense prick start to swell.

"I guessed as much," she answered the unspoken question, and Nihlus let out a quiet "hm" of approval.

"We're making a covert pickup on Eden Prime," Anderson explained, gesturing toward the holo-screen which quickly changed to a view of said planet as the governors recognized the hand signal. She let out a sigh of pleasure at the way Shepard was massaging her dark shaft as it continued to expand and stiffen.

"That's why we're taking the Normandy. We need the stealth systems for this operation."

"What's on Eden Prime?" Shepard asked after releasing the Captain's cockhead from her mouth with a loud pop. With her superior's monster dick completely erect, her own had shrunk down to its smallest size, flaccid and weak nestled atop her balls between her legs. She shifted her hips and turned a bit away from the Turian, slightly. She knew it was silly, but she couldn't help being somewhat embarrassed to be seen this way by a non-hermpire. Normally, a hermpire cock maintained its length and girth even when flaccid, hanging thickly and vitally, swinging between one's legs and declaring their fitness. That wasn't the case when a superior was throwing their weight around and Shepard wondered why Anderson was doing it.

"An archeological dig team was exploring some ruins," the captain said, her voice quiet and serious. "They unearthed a working artifact, a beacon of some kind. We think it's Prothean."

Shepard froze, eyes widening.

"Intact Prothean technology?" she asked, and Nihlus' mandibles widened a hair.

"Thousands of years old, yes, but in good working order," Anderson said. Shepard blinked, considering the implications. A working example of Prothean technology was a serious find. Simple technology, like low-grade power generators, elevators, mechanical equipment, and the like, were often found in Prothean ruins, but advanced technology, like data caches, were incredibly rare. To find a piece of actual working, advanced Prothean technology - outside of the Mass Relays - was almost unheard of.

"This is big, Shepard," Anderson said as the implications caught up with her. "The ruins we found on Mars jumped our technology ahead two hundred years, and that was an observation outpost. Who knows what kind of information this beacon might have? It could contain data on new technologies, mass relay research, weapons archives . . . ."

"Obviously," Nihlus added, stepping back into the conversation, "This goes beyond mere human interests."

So, that was what the Spectre was here for - to make sure the Council got its fair share of whatever secrets were hidden in the beacon.

"Why is the Council getting involved?" Shepard asked, eyeing Nihlus in a much more suspicious light now. "This is a hermpire colony. Imperial territory."

"We're trying to strengthen our relations," Anderson reminded her. "We're trying to put all that bad blood from the First Contact War to rest. The Council wants that beacon for the benefit of all species."

"That Prothean beacon is critical, Shepard," Nihlus added. "Whatever it contains is of galactic importance."

"This is bigger than us, Shepard," Anderson added. "And this operation isn't just about the beacon."

"What do you mean?" Shepard asked, confused. What could be anywhere as important than a piece of working Prothean technology?

"I'm here to observe not only the beacon," Nihlus said, crossing his arms over his torso armor. "But you, as well, Commander."

"Me?" Shepard said, frowning, meeting the alien's green eyes. "Why?"

"You're being considered as a candidate to join the Spectres, " Anderson said, and Shepard's face scrunched up as she heard that. 

"What?!" she asked, trying to sort out the implications. Why the hell would the Citadel races ask a hermpire to be one of their spec ops types? It didn't make any sense.

Anderson reached out and plunged her hand into Shepard's sack, taking firm hold of one of her testicles and instantly Shepard felt some of her emotion drain away, "We're doing everything in our power to keep this cold war from going hot, Commander. Having you become a Spectre is a way to show both sides that we can work together. That a hermpire can publicly interact with the Alliance races and not go into a conversion frenzy, that they can even uphold the laws of the Citadel."

"I was the one who put your name forward to the Council," Nihlus explained, mandibles twitching. Shepard narrowed her eyes. The Hierarchy and the Empiire weren't perfect friends for obvious reasons.

"Not all turians resent the empire," Nihlus explained, sensing her suspicions. "Surely you know that, like your species, the more vocal elements of my people are not the majority. Our species may not be on the best of terms after the First Contact War, but I don't let that cloud my judgment.

"During the Batarian incident, you resisted your natural instincts and kept the captives from being converted. Your noble actions and respect for the treaties enacted between the Empire and the Citadel races have made you a symbol of what the Council views as the best of the Empire. The Spectres are always looking for truly exceptional individuals. I don't care what species you are; I care that you can get the job done."

Shepard frowned, but agreed with the turian's logic. Pragmatism was common among the species, and being universally militarized had that effect.

"I assume this is good for the Empire," Shepard said, looking to Anderson, and she nodded.

Great. This whole issue that had gone completely over her head happened to be political, too.

"The Empire needs this," he said. "If the Council is willing to let a hermpire into the Spectres, it'll do a lot to put fears to rest."

Symbolism, too. Shepard could see this turning out badly if it backfired. Getting political interests involved with military affairs of this magnitude was a recipe for disaster.

"Eden Prime will be the first of several missions together," Nihlus added. "I want to see how well you operate before making my final recommendation."

"Are you expecting trouble on this?" Shepard asked, catching the implications of what Nihlus was saying.

"The beacon is important," Anderson said with a nod. "Eden Prime is secure, but something of this magnitude is critical. The Attican Traverse is an unstable place. There's all manner of trouble out here; pirates, raiders, privateers. We have enough trouble with the Batarians and the Terminus Systems as it is. If they catch wind of this, they may decide the beacon is worth any risk, even attacking an Empire colony."

"Then we'd best get ready," Shepard asked, and glanced to Nihlus. She still didn't like the Spectre, but she'd gotten a measure of where the turian stood, and a person whose intentions she understood was better than one whom she didn't. "I think we'll-"

"Captain!" Joker's voice came in over the intercom, intruding into their conversation. "I've got an incoming distress signal from Eden Prime!"

"Patch it through!" Anderson ordered, and Shepard's blood ran cold. She knew, even before the holo-screen shifted to show the message, that someone had already beaten them to the punch.

Shepard watched the next minute or so of footage, and as she did so, a deep, cold chill ran through her, far different from the electric heat of her implants. She knew then, without a doubt, that something far worse than a simple pirate raid had come to Eden Prime.

"Joker," Anderson said as the message ended. "Take us in, fast and quiet. This mission just got a lot more complicated."

Neither of them bothered to put thier cocks away as they rushed to the bridge.