Chapter Text
She knew the ship had decelerated out of the mass relay corridor by the split-second kick to the gut before the inertial dampener field kicked in, the shudder of the floor underfoot, and the disappearance of an ambient hum caused by vibrations passing through the bulkheads. Wan reddish light filtered through the viewport of her private cabin even though Arcturus, the star of the system, was distant enough that it appeared no bigger than a large red marble against the void of space.
She got up from her seat at the small desk and moved across the tiny space to the large duffel bag at the foot of the room’s only bed.
The cabin door chimed.
“Enter,” She said calmly.
The door swished open and in stepped a young serviceman. He stopped two steps into the room, snapped to attention, and saluted. “Commander Shepard, ma’am, the captain sent me to announce we are forty minutes out from Arcturus Station,” he stated as he briefly met her gaze, but then shifted to look at the wall behind her.
“Thank you,” Shepard replied. “Dismissed.”
The serviceman turned on his heels with all the efficiency of a machine and left. As the door closed behind him, Shepard could not help but add one more notch to her mental tally of servicemen utterly uncomfortable around her. For the life of her she did not know why. It was not like she was the sort of person who would take their heads off for looking at her funny. A friend had once told her that the ‘mercury’ color of her eyes could be unnerving, but she waved him off. Surely no one balked at such things, right? She glanced out the viewport again and wondered for the umpteenth time why she was summoned to Arcturus Station in such haste.
Six months of ‘leave’ working a desk on Earth effectively ended by one late-night written message. Admiral Hackett gave her twenty-four hours to pack her full gear and report to him on Arcturus Station in person. He had even arranged her transport, just to make sure nothing prevented her from getting there on time. The haste was somewhat strange, but the fact that he wanted her with full gear meant a deployment. Though as far as those went, not getting details in the orders was stranger yet. It made her think that maybe there was something secret going on, something that could not be discussed across a less-than-absolutely-secure communications channel.
She went about repacking her spartan belongings, and making sure she did not lose something. Most of her things and equipment, including her armor and weapons, were inside her mobile locker, down in the cargo hold. The large duffel bag up here with her contained just her casual clothing, sleepwear, personal kit, and a few personal belonging with sentimental value that she would not part with. There were also her officer’s uniforms, a navy blue gold-trimmed standard, and a white gold-trimmed formal. She wore the former while the latter hung sealed in a vacuum bag over the bed.
Twenty minutes passed by the time she was done with that and turned toward making herself presentable at the meeting. Thus she was running a comb through her chin-length bobbed black hair in her cabin mirror when the ship began its final approach. Once done, she tossed the comb into her kit and closed it before she turned to the mirror to hand-straighten her fringe. The centimeter-and-a-half-wide streak of white hair running through it tended to split off, becoming a cowlick, if she did not control it. The streak was a physical relic left by a long, nightmarish Elysium night. She had cheated death, but exposure to the cold, with moisture freezing to her scalp, combined with long hours in a state of perpetual stress had left multiple marks on her.
With that done, she returned her kit to the duffel, and then returned to the viewport. Arcturus Station was very much visible now. A white saucer with two extensions that orbited the L5 point behind Themis, the first planet of the Arcturus system. This was not her first time at the station, but no matter how often she saw it, it still struck her as being too crab-like. The five kilometer diameter central saucer with its two pincer-arm-like extensions, each two and a half kilometers long, made the likeness uncanny.
As it was the biggest, and most heavily guarded Alliance station, the seat of the Systems Alliance parliament, the home port for six of the eight Alliance Navy fleets, and positioned on the terminus of the Charon-Arcturus mass relay route, the gateway into the Sol System, it was perpetually busy. Many ships of various sizes, civilian and military, floated nearby, while others docked to cradles along the arms.
One of said ships caught Shepard’s eye the moment she saw it. The vessel was a Kilimanjaro-class dreadnought, an ugly grey, sky-blue accented blunted wedge, one kilometer in length, with massive nacelles and powerful outboard lights to announce its presence. Pressed up next to it, and connected via an extendable gangway, was a cruiser, similarly shaped and colored, but only three quarters the size. As far as parking jobs in space went, that arrangement was unusual.
Then her transport ship turned to come alongside one of the station’s arms to dock and Shepard saw the lettering on the dreadnought’s broadside, the SSV Kilimanjaro itself. The class namer and one of the most famous ships in the eight fleets. Suddenly it was like the pieces of the puzzle started to fall together. Something was definitely going on. She could not see the cruiser’s identification, because it was on the dreadnought’s other side, blocked from view, but she would bet on it being the SSV Tokyo. The Fifth Fleet’s Triumvirate was gathered in one place.
~ * ~ ~ * ~ ~ * ~
Fifteen minutes later Shepard was in the airlock, waiting for it to go through its cycle, and from what she had seen out the viewport she knew not to expect the gangway beyond to be empty. For all the subtlety of flying in on a frigate, one of many arriving and departing that day, the right people would always know who was on board. Due process and formalities would be observed, but she still wondered who was going to greet her.
When the outer hatch finally opened with a soft hiss, her eyes landed on the pair of lieutenants in full officer’s blues.
“Attention!” The senior of the two, the woman, called as they both came to attention in unison followed by a perfectly synchronized salutes.
Shepard returned the gesture comfortably, though relatively briefly. “At ease,” she said as her arm dropped back down to her side. As the two junior officers slipped into parade rests she took a moment to take stock.
“Welcome to Arcturus Station, Commander Shepard. First Lieutenant Theresa Carrere and Second Lieutenant Michael Yager, SSV Kilimanjaro, reporting.”
Shepard nodded. They were making using full formal protocol, making a pageant out of this whole thing, but considering who their CO was, it made sense. Carrere had dark brown hair pulled into a tight French twist at the back of her head, brown eyes, and a vaguely familiar sort of expression that could only be an imitation of her Captain’s. In contrast, Yager seemed to be the meek one, despite being taller and physically larger. His crew-cut flax-colored hair and brown eyes were non-descriptive. They had probably been waiting for her transport to dock for a while now.
“What have you got for me?” Shepard wondered.
“Well, ma’am, we were told that you had orders to report to Admiral Hackett immediately, however the captain told us, to tell you, that Admiral Hackett is in a meeting right now. He will be available within the hour. In the meantime, the captain wishes to speak with you, we are to show you to the lounge.”
“Understood.”
“If you will follow us, ma’am,” Carrere went on.
Shepard nodded and Carrere fell in step with her on the left, Yager a step behind.
Shepard did not particularly care for an escort, she was familiar enough with the docks that she would not get lost, even though that was actually quite common. The long dock corridors inside the crab claws of Arcturus Station were infamous for how featureless they were. The bland grey coloration created a dilation effect, making the passages feel endless. The only orientation markers were the numbered docking bay doors, and the multitude of atmosphere-retaining bulkheads that could isolate any section in the event of a hull breach.
Her transport had arrived to one of the smallest docks almost at the end of the claws, designed for smaller vessels that did not need high security of the prestige of proximity to the saucer. As a result they had quite the walk ahead of them before they could take a transport vehicle to take them to wherever it was that they needed to go.
There was no conversation the whole way; the two lieutenants did not seem to be chatty, nor did they give into curiosity. Their vehicle was also rather nondescript, a black sedan-type skycab, which served Naval personnel for free, as long they flashed their credentials to its meter. They were also in luck, as the present orientation of the rotating saucer relative to the stationary arms put them rather near the main Alliance Fleet base on Arcturus. There were security checks involved, and they had to leave the car at the gate and proceed the rest of the way on foot.
The lounge the two lieutenants took her to was a small on-base location that she had never even noticed before. The main room was full of off-duty officers of all ranks, but the pay-grade division line was clear enough. The junior officers milled around the cocktail bar, seated on stools, or clustered around tall standing tables, drinking and ribbing each other. The higher ranks sat in booths, enjoying bistro-style meals with their drinks and conversation. There was music, but it was at a manageable level, and the warm-hued ‘natural sunlight’ lighting turned down to a comfortable, non-glaring level. It made for a relaxed, almost casual atmosphere, but a modicum of discipline remained in effect.
Shepard followed the two lieutenants to a side room, and Carrere announced their presence by tapping the console on the locked door. The lock turned green and then the door opened, admitting them inside.
Shepard glanced around as she stepped inside. It was a private lounge, with couches, vid screen, a low coffee table, and carpet. She stopped when her gaze landed on the figure seated on one of the said couches. The woman set her teacup and saucer down on the coffee table, followed by the white towel that had been protecting her lap and slacks, but remained seated. Shepard snapped to attention and saluted, and she heard the two lieutenants match the gesture behind her.
“At ease,” the captain said.
The Kilimanjaro’s captain presented the visage of someone who wore her Navy-blue and gold officer’s uniform as if she was born in it. At fifty, her hair was still as black as someone twenty years younger, pulled back and up into a bun at the top of her head with not a single flyaway in sight. The expression on her face was all business, and her blue eyes were outright glacial.
“Carrere, Yager, you are free to take your leave. Be ready for departure at eight hundred hours, sharp. Dismissed.”
“Yes, ma’am.” The two replied in a single voice.
It was the first time Shepard had heard Yager speak, and even then his voice fell below Carrere’s bell-like clarity. The two made an about face in tandem and exited the room.
The door barely closed behind them when the captain got up and tugged the bottom hem of her uniform jacket down into place. “Jocelyn,” she greeted.
“Mother.” Shepard replied.
Hannah Shepard drew close for a head-to-tow appraisal.
Shepard knew better than to protest. “You wanted to talk to me?”
Even before she joined the military, she knew her mother had two modes, employed freely and interchangeably, and right then she could not be sure exactly which she was dealing with. To most, Captain Hannah Shepard was the “Titanium Lady” of the Alliance Navy, a title that alluded to her professional demeanor, impeccable manners, and cemented when she got command of the SSV Kilimanjaro, her fief. Hannah Shepard was known for her strict but fair command style, while the Kilimanjaro was one of the tightest-run ships still deemed ‘dream posting’, offering as many rewards as expectations.
Then Hannah shook her head, “Six months of desk duty and you are still exactly as you were the day you made N7. Still running marathons and making everyone look bad, hmm?”
Shepard sighed. That sort of statement revealed she was dealing with Hannah Shepard, the mother. Though doting, supportive, and always there, she was quick to give honest and unabashed critique. If there was one thing Shepard had done that Hannah had not, it was becoming a N7. For most, someone going through the Interplanetary Combative Training program to make full N7 justified a quiet sort of awe.
Shepard knew that while her mother respected that achievement and what it represented, she still wanted to be a grandmother one day, and deemed the odds of that inversely proportionate to the number of different ways her daughter could kill someone. Shepard was supremely confident with a sniper rifle, pistols, and her trusty combat knife, so the list of possibilities was extensive.
“Well never mind that. It can’t be helped. If you were not dedicated to your career we wouldn’t be here.”
Shepard stared, that phrasing instantly set her teeth on edge. Back to business, with an implication that she had no choice than to pick up on. “Admiral Hackett was in an awful rush to have me here.”
“And with good reason,” Hannah replied.
Her mother was definitely in on the whole thing. “I assume this means I’m getting a deployment. Not on the Kilimanjaro, though.” Shepard raised an eyebrow. There were regulations about children serving under their parents. She would hope they remained iron-clad, even if her mother tried to bend Admiral Hackett’s ear.
“No, of course not!” Hannah laughed. “Just think of my poor crew! They would have both Shepard women as an example, and you’d give my marines an inferiority complex before breakfast, day two!”
Shepard smirked. If her mother thought her marine platoons would feel inferior after watching one N7 at work, who was she to argue?
Hannah turned and placed her hands on her daughter’s shoulders. “What Steven has in store for you, dear... well, the opportunity is the once-in-a-lifetime kind. That’s all I’ll say. I’ve already said too much. I’m mum!”
Shepard shook her head, “Just how much of a hand did you have in this, mother?” she wondered.
“I may have suggested… or was that David?” She paused there, as if genuinely trying to recall what was said.
Shepard was not buying that ruse, she knew her mother’s penchant for theatrics well.
Hannah apparently picked up on it, as she shook her head, “Well, never mind. If you weren’t capable of it, whatever may or may not have been said wouldn’t have mattered.”
“That cruiser parked next to the Kili- It’s the Tokyo, right? Captain Anderson is here. What’s going on?”
Hannah sighed and shook her head.
Shepard blinked. Her mother was definitely enjoying every bit of this conversation and affecting all due melodrama, because she could.
“It was supposed to be a surprise. He did tell me you’d get one look at the Kilimanjaro and Tokyo and know something was up, but you know… we wouldn’t miss this for the world! Now really, I’m mum! I just want to bask, a mother could not be prouder of her child!”
Despite what was said Shepard had a distinct feeling that she had walked onto a minefield even before she knew there was a minefield. Her mother was definitely weaving her webs, she made Captain Anderson an accomplice, and probably had bent Admiral Hackett’s ear. Hannah Shepard was the sort of person that few ever said no to. Between her glare and her ability to talk people into doing things they may not necessarily want to do, she had many ways of getting what she wanted.
A soft beep announced the arrival of a message. Hannah raised her arm and her omni-tool lit up, “Ah here it is. The admiralty meeting is over; we need to go see Steven now. Come along.” Just like that the captain’s mask slipped into place as the woman moved toward the lounge room door.
Shepard mutely fell in step behind her mother and tried not to fidget. Something about that entire exchange gave her a horrible sinking feeling.
~ * ~ ~ * ~ ~ * ~
The walk from the lounge to the admiralty offices was a showcase of the sort of respect Captain Hannah Shepard commanded. Every time they passed someone who was not a civilian, salutes were snapped. Hannah responded with simple thanks for the non-commissioned and a salute for the officers. Shepard echoed the system, but she noted that while the salutes applied to both of them, people definitely looked to her mother more. It left her well within her mother’s umbra, otherwise invisible.
Hannah knew exactly where she was going and before long they were standing in front of the doors to the Fifth Fleet’s offices. When they made their way inside, the admiral’s secretary shot up to her feet so quickly her chair ended up sliding back and hitting the wall, causing the woman to flash an apologetic smile in their direction.
“Hello, Claudia. Is Steven in yet?” Hannah greeted, clearly ignoring the minor incident.
“Yes, ma’am. Admiral Hackett is in his office. Captain Anderson has arrived as well. Please go on ahead.”
“Thank you.”
“Of course, ma’am.”
Hannah barely touched the lock mechanism to announce their arrival when the door opened. She lowered her and stepped inside, head held high.
Shepard squared her shoulders and straightened her spine before she followed. The door closed and a faint beep announced the lock re-engaging. She tried to be surreptitious in glancing around, but probably failed, all considering. The admiral’s office was rather plain, but otherwise well-appointed, though devoid of excess comforts or very many personal touches. It said plenty about the man who worked in it. Though Shepard had met the admiral in person before, something nigh impossible to avoid considering given he was quite possibly her mother’s best friend, this was the first time she was in his office. She snapped to attention and saluted, “Admiral Hackett, sir. Commander Shepard, reporting as ordered. Captain Anderson, sir.”
The admiral nodded, “At ease, Commander.”
The commanding officer of the Alliance’s Fifth Fleet; he was a year older than her mother, but his salt-and-pepper hair, goatee, mustache, and the prominent scar on his left cheek made him look a fair bit older. His cool blue eyes had the keenness of someone who had seen and done much. Seated behind a heavy-looking wooden desk, his uniform hat hanging on a rack by the door, he looked stately.
“Hannah did you imply we were here to discipline her?” Anderson asked without missing a beat.
“I’ve done no such thing! David, I’m affronted you would even think that,” Hannah protested as she moved to stand on the left side of the room.
Captain Anderson watched her mother with a blank look, clearly not buying her antics.
The admiral’s gaze stayed on her, appraising and evaluating.
Shepard remained as formally at ease as she could. She was not Hannah Shepard, and would not presume to show familiarity right then. This was entirely the norm for the Fifth’s Triumvirate. The admiral had his circle of most trusted officers, most of them his long-time friends. Hannah Shepard and David Anderson were right in the center of it. Their friendship going back twenty six years, right to the First Contact War. That meant a great deal of familiarity, which allowed her mother to act as she did; including being on a liberal first name basis.
Her mother’s relationship with Captain David Anderson was tinged with a bit of rivalry borne from having the same rank and position. He commanded the SSV Tokyo, a cruiser assigned to the Fifth Fleet. An ICT alumnus and a N7, he had the reputation for exceptional leadership and an almost parental dedication for those who served under him. He was only two years older than her mother, with dark skin, close-cropped dark hair just turning to salt-and-pepper, and brown eyes that could be piercing one moment and kindly the next.
“To business then,” Admiral Hackett began. “Has Hannah told you anything?”
“No, Sir. She was… mum.” Shepard replied. The words that left her mouth might as well have a second meaning, if one accounted for both possible meanings of the final words.
Hannah smiled and folded her arms under her bust as she flashed Captain Anderson a self-satisfied ‘I told you’ look.
“Being… mum indeed,” Anderson murmured as he shook his head.
“Good. The lounge was neither the time nor place to discuss this matter. It is a sensitive issue.” Hackett went on, as if oblivious to the other exchange happening in the room.
“May I hazard a guess that this involves a deployment for me?” Shepard wondered.
“More than that, it involves a command position.”
Shepard froze, a command position? For her? A simple deployment aboard some ship, as part of or even in charge of a marine detachment was one thing. That role she could fill, she had done it before. This was much bigger, essentially a promotion, though she did not think anyone would be pinning more bars to her shoulders any time soon. Having two Captain Shepards in the fleet might cause chaos; she really did not think she would make Captain until her mother made Admiral. Something she knew her mother was not in a hurry to do.
“I am assigning you to the newest ship in the Fifth Fleet. The SSV Normandy, you may have heard about it.”
“In passing, Sir.” Shepard replied as she tried to contain her overwhelming surprise. To say she ‘heard of it’ might have been the understatement of the year. The Earth Systems Alliance Fleet’s ship naming convention was such that dreadnoughts were named for mountains, cruisers for cities, and frigates for important historical battles. The SSV Normandy was named for the Battle of Normandy during World War Two. Just being named after one of the most important history-changing battles aside could stir interest, so there were many rumors circling around this ship. If just half were legitimate, then this was big.
Shepard’s main source was a lieutenant she met about six months prior, during her previous furlough on Arcturus, just after she had graduated ICT. Shepard knew no one on the station at the time, and having a drink alone had not been particularly appealing. He had been friendly without being too friendly, and so a chance meeting turned to conversation over drinks.
Mid-way through the first beer the talk turned to dream postings, and before long he regaled her with a tale about the Normandy, finishing with how much he would love to fly her. They maintained sporadic email contact after that, though she had not heard from him in over two weeks. The last email said he was going to be busy and loving every moment of it. Now, she idly wondered if he had gotten the post, because she would like to have a familiar face on board. As an added bonus, if his bragging was backed by actual skill, he could make a frigate dance ballet if needed.
“That ship has become our best, worst-kept secret,” Anderson noted.
Admiral Hackett focused a piercing look that asked a thousand questions right at her. “I do not offer this command lightly; the Normandy is not just another frigate. The responsibility for it, and the mission I want it to undertake, will not be easy.”
“I understand, Admiral.” Shepard replied.
“Now that you’re standing before me, I have to ask. Do you want this command?”
Shepard was surprised that the admiral even needed to ask. Yes, she wanted this. She wanted this like a thirsty man in the desert wanted water. She would be utterly out of her mind to say no. What other options did she have? There were no other deployment prospects, not with her record marred by a pronounced red streak that to some had tarnished the very name of the Star of Terra medal.
Still, getting command was different from a mere deployment. Command meant a mandate, a ship-full of people reliant on her decision-making skills every day. It was more than she was used to, more than she ever had, more than some might think she could handle or deserved.
The ICT trained people to execute difficult special ops missions either on their own, or with just two to four fellow operatives. Her training in particular emphasized covert special ops: infiltration, espionage, sabotage, and even assassination. In some ways her uniform was a disguise. Nothing about it set her apart from every other officer in the fleet. Giving her command was further obfuscating most of her skill in a smokescreen of lowest-common-denominator expectations. Maybe that was why the admiral felt the need to ask.
“Permission to speak freely, sir.”
“Granted.” Hackett replied.
Shepard cleared her throat and glanced at her mother and Captain Anderson in turn, two of the people to whom she owed the most. Her mother had glared down plenty of people who wanted to give her an honorable discharge following what Shepard thought was the biggest mistake of her career. When people said she was damaged, possibly irreparably.
Captain Anderson had been the one to get her into ICT; a way to forestall said discharge long enough for the incident to blow over, as well as give her direction and a chance to get her head back on straight. That had caused some outrage from those who expected her to have a final fall from grace, yet no one protested too vociferously. After all, Captain Anderson was staking his reputation on her, not theirs. Shepard had worked hard not to crash and burn, but despite that no one wanted anything to do with her. Some undoubtedly still thought she would crack, while others resented all the opportunities she got. Thus her status as the ‘golden screw-up’.
The silence was growing a tad too long as Shepard settled her reeling mind. As if to shift tracks physically, she straightened her back ram-rod straight and gave the admiral her best look of determination. “Yes, I want this command.” She would take this command, and she would do her absolute best at it. She had no other choice. If she refused this, she might as well retire. “Still, how many people would want to see me fail?”
Admiral Hackett actually smiled a little.
“Don’t mind that lot. I’ve had my share of criticism after I got command. There’s always going to be that crowd.” Hannah added. “We have all seen your scores.”
“It’s not that. It’s more that I want to know how many enemies I’m making, and how many of them might actually bite.”
“Already assuming tactical position,” Anderson noted, amused.
Shepard hated politics and politicians, and she hated being in the middle of their power games even more. Politics might as well be the real black hole in the center of the galaxy. The Earth Systems Alliance and its fleet were mired in byzantine layers of it, external and internal. Both the Parliament and the Admiralty had personal visions that often clashed. What more, both had internal politics played out in a twisted feudal court made up of various individuals and their associates.
There were Medicis, Machiavellis, and Borgias on every side, and even in that very room. So she knew what she was signing up for. Admiral Hackett tended to play the first. Giving her a command position was well in-line with his ‘benign patronage’ policies. Captain Shepard acted like the middle of the three; nothing was sacred when she set her mind to do something. Captain Anderson tended to fall in between the two, more former than latter. But she was under no delusion, she was going to become a piece on the admiral’s board, and not a player in her own right.
Hackett withdrew a data pad form his desk drawer and laid it out for her to take. “This pad contains information that will familiarize you with the Normandy and her crew, your crew. Needless to say some of what’s there is classified.”
Shepard picked it up, but did not look at it; there would be time for that later. “I understand, sir.” She could practically feel the shift of atmosphere in the room, they were getting to the gritty details.
“The Normandy is state of the art experiment in design,” Anderson began. “She was built using a mix of technology, some reverse-engineered from Turian wreck salvage, and some that was found on Mars. Essentially it’s our first true stealth warship, equipped with a state of the art cyber-warfare suite that will allow you to preemptively cripple targets without exposing your location. She also carries both conventional disruptor torpedoes and a prototype weapon that allows her to engage bigger ships.”
Shepard blinked. A ship engineered from Hierarchy salvage, with a prototype weapon that could allow it to engage bigger ships? “I imagine the price tag must be something,” she murmured. Alliance R&D had been trying to figure out stealth tech for over a decade now, practically from the moment they realized that it actually existed, and worked. Of the two species using the tech, the Turians guarded their stealth ships jealously, and the Salarians would not share without wanting something disproportional in return. Obviously the Alliance would not want to deal with either, so research had to be done the hard way, and at great cost. Even the reverse-engineering shortcut would not have saved them a lot.
“It has been called an expensive toy,” Hannah said.
An expensive toy indeed. “And I get to play with it first… lucky me,” Shepard muttered, knowing full well that luck had nothing to do with it. Admiral Hackett’s choice in naming her its commanding officer was beginning to make sense. The ship was designed to operate the same way she was trained. It was also as controversial.
Verily it was a match made in heaven, that could easily turn into her own personal and very real hell. The Turians would not be happy to learn that the Alliance had salvaged one of their ships. It would stir up the embers of distrust leftover from the First Contact War between the Earth Systems Alliance and the Hierarchy.
Sure, the top suits made overtures of peace in order to maintain humanity’s foothold on the galactic political, but behind closed doors they schemed to get humanity a council seat as soon as possible. The Turians had one, which made not having one unacceptable. The Alliance claimed victory over the Hierarchy, the mightiest military in the Galaxy, in the First Contact War, and they got an embassy on the Citadel Presidium faster than any other associate species. Why not go for a hat trick? The Turians took a century and participation in the Krogan Rebellions to get a council seat. Parliament wanted to beat that record in peacetime.
Right then she really did not want to a poker used to stir up the embers, and worse, her career would not survive it, but she could not say no. Really Admiral Hackett was not doing her a favor with this. If anything, he put her in the same situation as Captain Anderson did with nominating her for the ICT. Some people would expect her to fail spectacularly, and would be standing by to use it for their own gains. She was in for a whole lot of hard work here.
“As for your operation overview,” Admiral Hackett picked up.
Shepard tried not show her own surprised. She got lost in her own thoughts, but it did not seem that she had missed anything in terms of conversation.
“The Normandy’s stealth capabilities will allow you, and your team, to carry out operations where discretion is of the utmost importance. There will not be any patrol runs; I have other ships for that.”
Translated, Admiral Hackett wanted a skilled operative who could work from the shadows. An operative that could shoulder the demanding, dirty, unsung sort of jobs that made pages upon pages of redacted black on one’s career record. In other words, she was indeed getting the sort of deployment for which she trained, but it would be under immense scrutiny, with little recognition, and the Admiral expected her to be grateful.
“Your first assignment is also in that pad,” Hackett finished, reaching over to his console. A beep announced that he had unlocked the door. “We’re done here. I assume you wish to see your new ship?”
“Yes, sir.” Shepard replied.
“Good, Hannah and David will take you to the dock.”
“Yes, sir. Thank you for this opportunity, sir.”
“Don’t waste it,” the admiral warned. “Dismissed.”
Shepard came to attention and snapped a salute, made an about face, and exited the room. Her shoes felt heavy and she only distantly heard her mother and Captain Anderson follow behind her.
~ * ~ ~ * ~ ~ * ~
Hannah led the three of them to an on-base parking lot where they could borrow a vehicle driven by an enlisted serviceman to take them to the dock where the Normandy was docked. Captain Anderson made a comment about how a skycab would have been enough, but Hannah would not hear of it. Shepard chose to stay out of that conversation.
The drive itself proved shorter than her first, and from their drop-off the walk was a relatively quick affair as well. This section of docks was much closer to the station’s saucer, so everything was more spacious and active. They also had to clear a security check-point just to enter the observation gallery slash waiting area attached to the Normandy’s dock. By the time it was all said and done, Shepard’s patience was beginning to run thin. Yet as they passed through a final set of steps and she saw the large viewports on the vastness of space, she forgot it all.
“Go on, you’ll see her now,” Captain Anderson stated calmly.
Shepard stopped at the largest of the viewports and looked down, and all but swallowed her own tongue. There she was, the SSV Normandy, in all her glory. Where most Alliance vessels were gun-like blunted wedges with stubby, vaguely triangular wing-like nacelles supporting their large main drive thrust cones, the Normandy looked more like a dolphin resting at the surface of the ocean.
Her oblong hull was only blunted at the front, the rest was curved right to the rounded back and topped with a pair of masts, something Shepard had never seen on a frigate before. Her coloration was likewise unique, a brilliant glossy white with black and sky blue arching from front end to the rear and down to her drive nacelles and the quadruple output main drive configuration. Three pairs of docking clamps held her in place in the middle of a large U-shaped dock. A covered, sealed gangway extended to a bow airlock, with an open walkway underneath her. Judging by the train of EVA-suited dockhands moving sleds loaded with sealed crates across it, the shuttle bay and cargo holds opened onto there.
Whatever Shepard could have expected, this was not it. The biggest surprise was that while it could not be longer than two hundred and fifty meters from bow to stern, it had the quadruple drive output of a ship twice that size. That could only mean that on top of everything the admiral had mentioned, the Normandy would be fast. Truly Alliance R&D had outdone themselves.
“They experimented with more than just her systems,” Hannah explained as she stepped up to stand next to her. “Some elements of the profile and interior are also borrowed from the source material.”
Shepard grinned; ‘source material’ was certainly one way to put it, a polite way of saying that the Alliance ripped off all they could, to run tests. She had no problems with that. “I think I’m in love.”
Hannah laughed, “Did you hear that, David? I knew it.”
“Mother knows best,” Captain Anderson replied. “That’s why we did not make a bet.”
“No one bets against me.” Hannah said, though it was hard to tell if she was stating a fact, or actually annoyed at it.
“Captain Anderson, Captain Shepard, Commander Shepard.” A cold voice drifted over the moment.
Shepard turned away from the viewport. Whom she saw made her snap to attention and salute instantly; a move echoed by the two captains next to her, though a lot more leisurely. The man returned the gesture. That was enough for Hannah to drop the formality, while Anderson assumed calm at ease stance. Shepard remained at attention.
“Rear Admiral Mikhailovich,” Hannah acknowledged. “To what do we owe the pleasure?”
“It is true then? Hackett is again showing favoritism?” The man wondered.
“Favoritism?” Hannah wondered, her tone deepening.
For Shepard it was like watching a storm roll in from the horizon, it got progressively darker, and then the lightning followed. Gone was her laughing mother, Captain Hannah Shepard was assuming control.
“Don’t play innocent, Hannah.” The man rebuked sharply. “We all know that the Normandy is going to your daughter because she is your daughter. I hoped Hackett would change his mind, but I suppose that will not happen as long as you are in the same room,” Mikhailovich leveled his glare right back at the woman, but Hannah did not even flinch.
Then his gaze turned and Shepard found herself in the cross-hairs. “Commander. I had hoped you’d display more common sense than this, but then it is true; the apple does not fall far from the tree. Giving you command is already overestimating your capabilities, but giving you the Normandy? She is not a five hundred million credit frigate. The Normandy represents an investment of two and a half billion. We could have built three heavy cruisers for that price! Now tell me, why should I believe you are qualified to command her?”
Was he implying that she would fly the Normandy into a black hole? “With all due respect, sir.” She paused. “My aptitude scores show that I am qualified.”
“Your scores, maybe. It is your record that leaves much to be desired.”
Well technically he was right there, Shepard mused. Her record as a ‘screw up’ was clear. Then, if one thought about it, ICT had taught her to command small units, not a whole ship. Aptitude scores were theoretical values; no one really knew how a person would react when faced with this scale of responsibility. Leadership was not really something one learned from a book. Someone either had it, or they did not. Still, a private admission that he was technically right was all she would give him; she would be dead before she admitted it aloud.
Maybe she was restrained by command structures, but she was nobody’s fool. Right now, standing next to her mother and Captain Anderson, this attack was not going to find its mark. Admiral Hackett was giving her a chance, and she would not blow it by acting like a timid rabbit before she even stepped one foot aboard the ship, her ship.
“Nearly six years have passed since my mistakes. I learned from them, and I learned much more in the ICT.” First, stress that she was no longer that twenty-three year old. Many would hold her disgrace against her, yes, but how was she to prove herself if they had their day? “Admiral Hackett saw it fit to give me this command, and I intend to treat it with utmost seriousness.” Second, stress the rank; remind Rear Admiral Mikhailovich that he was second-guessing his own superior, something that he really had no place to be doing, and doubly so in front of her mother. She could say little else, as words were ultimately useless when it came to dealing with people who wanted to see you fail. Her actions would vindicate her in time.
“Like mother, like daughter.” Mikhailovich finally said. “Fine, we shall see whether we get an Iron Lady, or a final fall from grace. The Normandy is yours, Commander.”
Shepard snapped to attention and saluted.
Mikhailovich returned the gesture but then walked off without saying another word.
“What did he mean by the hand-off?” Shepard wondered as soon as she was positive the man was out of ear-shot.
“Mikhailovich was in command during the Normandy’s test flights and trials,” Anderson explained.
“He can decry the price tag, but it’s obvious he wants it for the Sixty-Third Scout Flotilla. Steven wouldn’t let him have it,” Hannah added calmly.
Shepard nodded, but she could not miss the fact that her mother’s tone had taken on an eerie calmness comparable to the stillness just before a storm. Then, what she actually said made sense. Someone had to be temporarily in charge while a new ship just leaving the shipyard was checked for loose screws and funny squeaks. Annoyance at not getting the fleet’s shiny new toy would fill in a few other blanks. Putting her mother’s tone together with the facts made it clear that Mikhailovich might be one of the people to look out for.
“Well, David. I think we best leave her here,” Hannah began. “I don’t think she wants mother around when she meets her underlings. She can intimidate them on her own.”
Captain Anderson stared at her mother without blinking.
Shepard watched that exchange for a long moment, but then decided to play at ignorance. Because conspiring against a rear admiral was well above her pay-grade. “Thanks for everything, really. I… don’t know what to say.”
“Say nothing now. But I do expect emails, maybe an occasional call. If you are having trouble I am always available to offer advice. I’m the soul of discretion when it comes to it,” Hannah offered with a smile.
“Likewise, Commander. The transition from our norms to the demands of command can be jarring,” Captain Anderson added.
Shepard smiled, nodded, snapped to attention, and saluted both with full parade rigidity.
The captains returned the gesture and turned to leave.
Shepard lowered her arm, and tried not to think about the subtext of all that. Her career would not survive if she got involved in it. She turned and walked to the door opposite to the ones she entered from. The sign on top indicated that they would take her down toward the gangways by which she could board her ship.
Past that doorway was an elevator. She took it down a level, and it opened up onto the end of a passage lined with additional viewports. Once glance outside told her that she was heading in the right direction. The top of the Normandy’s hull was in-line with these windows.
She looked down the passage and saw three sets of doors that led out unto multiple retractable gangways. The first two were locked and sealed, but at the far end, a third set stood open and ringed with green lights that indicated that it was safe to use. There, at the opening stood two men and a woman. All three wore uniforms, with one of the men and the woman in marine’s fatigues, and the last man in officer’s blues. They were yet to see her, because they were occupied by conversation.
Shepard set a casual pace, not meaning to startle them, and she managed to get to within ten meters of them before the youngest of the three noticed her.
He snapped to attention so sharply that the heels of his boots clicked, causing the other two to straighten and follow. Then all three snapped near synchronous salutes.
Shepard smiled and returned the gesture. First contact with her new crew, so far so good.
“Staff Lieutenant Kaidan Alenko, ma’am,” The older of the two men began.
“Gunnery Chief Ashley Williams, ma’am,” The woman echoed.
“Corporal Richard Jenkins. Ma’am!” The third finished. It was hard to miss that he was practically glowing with excitement.
“At ease. I assume you know who I am?”
“Of course!” Jenkins jumped in. “You’re Commander Shepard!”
“Easy, Jenkins, don’t hurt yourself,” Ashley chastised.
“I won’t. I just wanted the commander to know that I think it is an honor to serve aboard this ship and under her command!”
“Are you always this eager, Corporal?” Shepard wondered. Jenkins seemed like a good kid. He had light hair buzzed close under his beret, light colored eyes, and was noticeably the youngest there, likely only a year or two older than enlistment age. He was also not the first over-eager corporal she had met. That exuberance tended to be the norm of peacetime service; all the fun of military life with few of the sobering horrors.
“Yes, ma’am!”
Shepard would not blame him for falling into hero worship, it was quite common for the lower ranks, especially if they bought the recruitment pitches without question, as if by hook, line, and sinker. There was no way for him to know that she was not someone who should be idolized. “Well, you’re also honest, that’s good.”
This corporal flashed her a big, happy grin.
Ashley shook her head, “He calms down, ma’am. I promise.”
Shepard made a mental note that Ashley was probably the overly serious one. With her brown eyes, black hair in a bun, and her rigid stance, she reminded Shepard of Carrere. Though there were obvious key differences between the two women. Carrere had the look of an officer; compete with a commanding stare and a certain amount of poise. Williams lacked the refined speech and cultivated mannerism. She was someone who had spent a lot of time in the barracks rather than in the subtlety aristocratic snobbery of the officer’s school.
“It’s fine, Gunny. A little exuberance does not bother me. Frankly, I am not the type to maintain rigid discipline and decorum. I expect performance on whatever mission Admiral Hackett will toss our way, but if you want to play poker in the mess every week after your duty cycle, wearing your pajamas, I don’t mind.”
Jenkin’s smile widened until he was practically beaming at her.
“Understood, Ma’am,” Ashley said as she spared the corporal side-eye.
“We’ll hold you to that, Commander,” Kaidan added calmly
Shepard spared him a nod. His tone made it hard to tell whether he was oblivious to the other two or just pretending to be, but she caught a twitch of the muscles at the corners of his mouth. He had suppressed a grin, so latter. He had short black hair, swept mostly back, and brown eyes that measured her. As the senior rank of the three, and a commissioned officer, he seemed like the relatively quiet one. But was he the senior lieutenant on board? Her XO even? She had not glanced at the crew roster on the pad in her hands, which in hindsight proved to be a minor oversight. “Were you waiting here long?”
“Fifteen minutes ma’am, it’s no problem.”
“Well don’t let me hold you longer. We will probably not depart until morning, so in the meantime, your time is yours.”
The three of them snapped salutes and proceeded up the gangway to the airlock.
Shepard stood back, letting them go on ahead without her. There would be time to get to know them better later on, right she wanted to go on a self-guided tour, make a few stops, and acquaint herself with everyone first-hand. She really did not want to be the disciplinarian her mother could be, and especially she did not want people thinking she took their presence for granted. Distance and discipline were possible on a ship like the Kilimanjaro, whose crew population rivaled small cities, but not on the much-smaller Normandy.
She waited for a good five minutes, just watching the EVA-suited dock-hands through a viewport, before she turned and made her way up the gangway and toward the Normandy’s airlock. The outer hatch slid aside with a hiss as soon as she was three meters away. As she stepped in, it hissed shut and began its cycle. Shepard turned to the pad in her hands. There was an encyclopedia on it, meant to familiarize her with the ship and her crew. At the bottom were her first orders as well. Before she could actually look at anything the inner doors hissed open. Shepard stepped out and tucked the pad under her arm. She would take an hour or two to settle in before getting to work. Admiral Hackett certainly could not expect her to depart on his first mission tonight, right?
“Ah, I was wondering where you’ve gotten to.” A voice echoed from her left.
The shocking familiarity of that voice caused her to turn sharply and freeze, like a deer in the headlights.
There, sitting in the big pilot’s chair, scruffy as she remembered from six months ago, except now in fatigues and wearing a baseball cap with ‘Normandy’ over the bill was Lieutenant Jeff “Joker” Moreau. “Surprise!” He announced as he flashed her the grin of the Cheshire Cat.
“I see you got your dream job,” Shepard replied.
“Hell yes! And look, I even got them to put in this chair! It is real leather, memory foam, and all the good stuff. The fit is just perfect. I don’t want to get up ever again!”
Shepard chuckled. She knew what sort of achievement that was. Joker had osteogenesis imperfecta, brittle bone disease, which hampered him despite multiple medical interventions. He preferred overstuffed furniture, which was almost never standard issue in the military.
“That is not recommended, Lieutenant Moreau,” a feminine voice chimed over their heads.
“Ah. There’s the cloud raining on my parade.” Joker glanced up. “Commander Shepard, meet EDI.”
“Welcome aboard, Commander Shepard.” The voice said. “My builders call me EDI, which is phonetic short-form for the acronym E.D.I. which stands for Enhanced Defense Intelligence.”
“They have an AI on this ship!” Joker cut in. “And that’s it.”
“C’mon, Joker, let’s not go there, EDI can probably help you.” Shepard argued.
“Help me?” Joker asked, “I don’t like backseat drivers!”
“I do not fly the ship, Lieutenant Moreau. My primary function is to operate the ship’s cyber-warfare suite. My secondary functions are to assist with sensors, communication, and ship security. I am not here to challenge your skills as a helmsman.”
“So it says,” Joker grumbled.
“So EDI, you’re more of an operations officer?” Shepard wondered.
“I can fulfill that function, yes,” EDI replied.
“Well, it’s a pleasure to meet you.”
“Likewise, Commander,” EDI’s tone sounded quite pleased.
Joker rolled his eyes.
Shepard could not help but smile. She really had nothing against synthetics. Sure, everyone knew how bad they could go, but Shepard was not the type to believe that creating a synthetic intelligence automatically meant it would go bad. Nothing in the universe was ever that deterministic, so black and white.
“Well, I need to make a tour of the ship, make sure my gear was brought over, acquaint myself with other people; we will catch up a little later.”
“Sure thing, Commander, I’ll be here,” Joker said.
Shepard nodded and turned to her right, onto the Command Information Center. This was where her tour began.
~ * ~ ~ * ~ ~ * ~
At eight hundred hours the next morning Shepard stepped out of the elevator at the back of the Combat Information Center. Everyone gathered there instantly paused whatever they had been doing and turned to face her. Kaidan stood next to the central console, and at its foot was Adams, her chief engineer, and there, seated at their consoles were the two servicemen who were on the CIC shift for the next few hours.
Shepard stopped just to the side of the steps that would take her up to the command platform set into the central console. It finally sank in, this was it, the Normandy was about to throw off her proverbial mooring lines and set off into space. “Status report,” she said.
“We are green across the board, Commander,” Adams said.
“All supplies arrived and were double checked and the crew is accounted for,” Kaidan added.
“Commander, the Kilimanjaro and Tokyo are standing by at the relay to see us off,” EDI finished.
Her mother was putting on a show again. Could the pressure get any heavier? “So we’re all good to go, excellent.” Shepard turned and started toward the cockpit at the front of the ship.
The separation of the CIC and bridge were another design facet imported from the Hierarchy source material. She could understand why the Turians separated the two areas so starkly. The was CIC dominated by a large central console that centralized most of the ship’s controls right next to a complex three-dimensional projection system that displayed sensor information in real-time. But the pilot’s responsibilities differed, and they had their own sensor read-outs, so there was no reason to keep them on CIC. Furthermore, the organized chaos on most CICs would hamper the pilot’s ability to concentrate on their highly demanding job in a combat situation. However, right then they were not in a chaotic combat situation, and she wanted to see the Normandy move with her own eyes, not over the projections, so having to walk to the bridge felt weird.
“Morning, Commander,” Joker greeted just as soon as she passed the threshold of the airlock door between the CIC and the cockpit.
The space was rather tiny, tightly packed right into the very front of the ship, with a sloping bulkhead overhead. Much of the space was dominated by the central pilot’s console and the large holographic display, but on either side of that was a large transparent panel that showed a view of what lay beyond their hull. They were unnecessary, a holdover from the bygone era of nautical sailing, but also the only spot on the CIC where one could look out onto the stars with their own eyes.
“Good morning, Joker. Do we have departure clearances?” She asked as she stopped behind the pilot’s seat.
“Yea, we’re good to go.”
“Alright, Lieutenant, let’s lose some docking clamps.”
“Aye, aye. Would you like to say a few words to the crew?” Joker wondered as his fingers began to dance over the controls.
Shepard distantly heard quiet thuds the magnetic docking clamps let go of the Normandy’s hull; but her mind was focused on the present. Did she want to make a speech? The occasion called for some words to be said. She swallowed hard and leaned over to tap a command on the pilot’s console to open a ship-wide comm link.
“This is Commander Shepard speaking.” Keep it simple with the opening, now for the hard part. “The Normandy is now departing Arcturus Station.” A pause to quell the rising nervousness from showing in her voice, it simply would not do for the crew to hear their commanding officer falter. “The Normandy, with you as her crew, and me as her commanding officer, have one directive; we are to serve the Alliance in whatever capacity we can, in the best way we can.” Honestly was a good place to start. The ship was top secret, but her orders did not include a clause about keeping her crew in the dark. “Our missions will be unpredictable, and the challenges we will face might test us to the limits.” Was it obvious that she had absolutely no clue where she was going with this one? “I give you my solemn vow, here and now, as the commanding officer, I will give this ship and her crew the full hundred percent of my dedication and skill. All I ask is for the same in return. I look forward to seeing what we can accomplish together.”
The ship’s ambient noise level picked up, now a faint whispered thrum, though still much quieter than any ship Shepard had ever been on. Then Shepard felt a slight inertial shift, the ship began to slide sideways, away from the dock.
“Let us begin. Take us out Lieutenant Moreau.”
“Aye, aye, Ma’am!” Joker replied as his fingers resumed their complex dance over the control.
A second later the ship began to move forward.
Shepard noted the velocity indicator counting up quickly as she leaned over Joker’s chair one more time to close the comm link. It brought her close enough to him to catch the pilot’s grin.
“I’m horrible at making speeches,” she whispered. Everyone knew that by now, really.
“I can tell, but that’s fine. You are Commander Shepard, the Hero of Elysium. Words did not put all those slaver assholes into coffins, your skill with a rifle did. We’re here because we want to be, and one kind-of-cheesy speech won’t send us running.”
Shepard straightened, buoyed by the encouragement.
“Besides, we’re all sadists, we like a reminder that our CO is still human,” Joker finished.
His timing was impeccable as always. “Thanks, Joker,” Shepard replied as she laid her hands on either side of his headrest.
“So where to?”
“I relayed some coordinates via EDI last night, when I got a good look at the first mission Admiral Hackett handed down.”
“Oh yea, those.” His fingers were flying over the keys. “Course set, about thirty minutes to the relay. What’s this about?”
“The first mess we have to clean up. We’re Admiral Hackett’s troubleshooters, go in, clean up, and get out, like we’re the night-shift caretakers.”
“Hah. At least they gave us the best floor sweeper.”
She smirked and patted Joker softly on the shoulder, “I’m glad you’re here Joker. It’s good to have a familiar face around.”
“I’m glad I’m here too, Commander, and it’s good to have a familiar face issuing the orders.”
Shepard shook her head and walked off; she wanted to do more reading. Admiral Hackett did send her an encyclopedia.