1. Initium

There was a turian on board.

The Normandy's crew roster had hardly been finalized before her new pilot disengaged the docking clamps and set course for Arcturus Station, where Nihlus Kryik now waited for them in the airlock. A turian. And not just a turian. A Spectre.

They'd pulled out of spacedock with their pants halfway around their ankles to pick up a Spectre. Shepard didn't even know the name of their navigator.

"What does this guy want with the Normandy, and why do we care?" he asked.

"Look sharp," Captain Anderson replied, tugging at his uniform. He wore dress blues and a posture like molded concrete, head held high and hands clasped behind his back as though bracing for a rebuke. In the years he had known Anderson, Shepard had never seen him intimidated by anyone. This Nihlus, however, seemed to have gotten under his skin without even setting foot on the ship.

The ship's VI announced the cycle was complete and opened the airlock, revealing a well-armed turian standing a shade taller than Shepard's not inconsiderable height. Over his distinctive carapace he wore black armor with subtle red striping that looked more expense than anything in the Alliance catalog. Striped white clan markings ran from his lower mandibles all the way across the top of his skull to the horned tips the crest jutting out behind his head. A set of small but salient green eyes heeded them with the ferocity of a predator. Anderson had remarked more than once that turians looked like the evolutionary link between dinosaurs and birds, and Shepard was forced to agree.

Nihlus stepped inside the Normandy with a curt nod. Anderson introduced himself and offered a dark-skinned hand in greeting, which Nihlus examined almost curiously before reluctantly accepting it gingerly with his three-talon grip. Anderson cleared his throat. "I'd like you to meet my XO, Commander Shepard."

Shepard nodded, not offering another handshake the turian clearly didn't care for. "Welcome on board the Normandy."

"Thank you, Commander," Nihlus said, the subharmonics in his voice flanging in harmony. He fixed Shepard with a long, piercing look. Shepard shifted his feet, acutely uncomfortable he was in regs rather than armor. His fingers itched for his sidearm.

Anderson dismissed him quickly with orders to head to the bridge and oversee departure procedures. It was a bullshit task, since their pilot had already made it quite clear he hated having someone leering over his shoulder telling him how to do his job, but Shepard seized the opportunity to escape.

Past the narrow row of haptic interfaces connecting the CIC to the bridge he could see Joker lounging in the pilot's chair, tossing a hand in the air as he tried to impress a point to Alenko, who rode the conn and pretended to listen while casting frequent looks over his shoulder. Shepard had no doubt the lieutenant was supremely interested in their new guest.

"Doesn't matter," Joker said as Shepard came up behind them. "You have to have maneuverability to keep up with that whale of a drive core back there. Balance is going to be a bitch with this girl."

"Shepard!" Alenko said. Joker turned slightly in his seat and tugged at the brim of his ball cap by way of greeting. The headwear wasn't exactly standard issue, but then again neither was Joker.

"The Captain wants you to start pre-flight checks and get ready to head for Eden Prime," Shepard told him.

Joker rolled his eyes, gesturing at his flight display. "What the hell does he think I'm doing? Not like we've been here longer than five minutes or anything. It's like we're a taxicab instead of a state of the art frigate. I need a damned fare meter up here."

"So?" Alenko asked. "Did you see him?"

Shepard nodded. "He's a Spectre all right. You tell just by the armor."

That piqued his interest. Kaidan Alenko was as big of an armor snob as Shepard. "What'd he have?"

"Serrice Council, I'd bet my ass."

Alenko whistled. "Serrice Council. The dirty things I could do with one of their amps…"

"Easy now," Joker remarked.

"Anderson give you any idea why he's here?"

Shepard shook his head. "He's still sticking to the official story. Observing the Council's investment."

"Yeah, right," Joker said. "If the Council sent a Spectre all the way out here for a joyride to the Exodus Cluster then I'm a hanar. But what do I know? I just fly the ship."

Anderson had warned him about Joker's quirks. Shepard didn't mind quirks so long as the person who had them could back them up, and according to Joker's file, he could be the biggest asshole in the fleet and still be worth the trouble.

Shepard leaned over the pilot seat and looked through the shutters at Arcturus's torus ring, punctuated by the winking lights and lazy glide of other starships coasting into and out of the docking facilities. "Think you can handle departure by yourself?"

Joker shot him a look of pure venom, saw the amusement on Shepard's face and rolled his eyes while making a noise of disgust. "Yeah, whatever."

"Good. Alenko, you're with me.

Alenko stood and followed Shepard back through the sweeping CIC, where the new crew buzzed around the shimmering navigational map of the galaxy at its center. In spite of his hurry he almost stopped for a moment to take it in – a ship on its maiden voyage, every bulkhead and floor tile glossy and new. Even the circulated air felt fresh. It would never be like this again.

A couple of crewmembers threw salutes Shepard's way. He returned them brusquely, hoping no one addressed him directly.

"What's up?" Alenko asked.

"Crew roster," he said under his breath, casting a quick glance at the unknown navigator, an older, balding man standing on the podium at the apex of the map. "I need to know what the hell everyone's name is before I make an ass of myself."

He knew without having to ask that Alenko had already memorized not only the names and ranks but pertinent details from the files of most everyone on board.

"Yes sir," Alenko said solemnly.

Shepard was positive he'd been the kid in school who always did his homework and raised his hand to answer a question. He was three year's Shepard's senior, but the thick-haired, clean-shaven lieutenant was often mistaken for younger. Shepard was not above shoving rank in his face whenever he mentioned it.

Anderson and Nihlus had disappeared, presumably to the comm room tucked behind the CIC. Shepard headed down one of the twin curved staircases behind the galaxy map that led down to the crew deck. The mess tables behind the cargo elevator were nearly deserted, so Shepard slid into an empty chair and gestured for Alenko to do the same. Behind the stanchion dividing the mess from the crew area he could see the long hall of sleeper pods, red light refracting off their plastic cowling. He grimaced. Cramming yourself into a vertical pod to sleep wasn't something he'd gotten used to, even if it wasn't as bad as it looked.

A couple of crewmen filtered past, either looking for the aft terminals near the sleeper pods or the port side lockers by the med bay. The ship's doctor, an aristocratic woman with short, immaculate hair the color of chalk, stood at the door directing two servicemen delivering supplies. Chakwas, Shepard thought her name was. Anderson knew her from some past assignment.

The nice thing about Alenko being the only other familiar face besides the Captain was that he was a fellow marine. Like most ships, the Normandy had a marine compliment to go along with the naval officers. Regardless of rank or personality there was always that moment when the invisible lines separating the two crossed for the first time. Sometimes it was without incident, and the blended lines stayed blended. Other times they were quickly redrawn and dug in like trenches. You never knew what it was going to be until it happened. Shepard was secretly curious how having a marine XO would go over.

"Ok," Shepard said, chair creaking in protest as he settled into it. The downside of a brand new ship was that nothing had been broken in. "The navigator. Who is he?"

"Charles Pressly," Alenko replied without hesitating, confirming Shepard's assumption. "He's good."

"Served with him?" Shepard pulled a datapad out of one of the cargo pockets in his pants and made a note he would never look at.

He shook his head. "He comes from the Agincourt. Earned his commission after the Blitz."

Shepard glanced up sharply. "He was at Elysium?"

Alenko nodded, expression guarded. Shepard leaned back in his chair, drumming his fingers on the table. "Okay," he said after a few moments.

Alenko looked like he was on the verge of saying something more, but changed his mind. "Chief Engineer is Greg Adams. I'm not sure there's a class of starship he hasn't served on. Think he could get this table to hit FTL speeds if we asked him. His service record is a mile long. We're in pretty good hands."

"Good," Shepard said. "Because I have to admit this IES thing makes me a little uncomfortable. Call me paranoid, but I just don't love giving ourselves yet another way to fry inside our own hull."

Alenko's bemused expression made Shepard grunt. In many ways the dark-haired lieutenant was Shepard's polar opposite. Alenko was an easygoing, by the book tech nerd who had an irritating knack for taking whatever life threw at him in perfect stride, digesting each experience in a way that left him obnoxiously self-adjusted. Shepard on the other hand was just as likely to blow right past rules and regs without pausing to notice they were even there, and tended to assume most problems could be solved easily enough with a few well-placed bullets. It was part of why he'd been shipped off to special ops in the first place. The Alliance seemed to conclude that armor, a good gun and something to shoot at was the best way to handle him, and Shepard had taken that conclusion and run it all the way through the N program to the coveted N7 designation he wore on his hardsuit in the form of a red stripe on the left arm.

"What about the other guy on the ground team?" Shepard asked.

"Jenkins?" Alenko asked. "Yeah, Richard Jenkins. He just made corporal. Never been in the field."

Shepard groaned.

Alenko slid a datapad across the table to him and tapped its glassy surface. "It might not be that bad. Check out his proficiency scores."

Shepard snatched the pad, giving Alenko a suspicious look. "How did you get these?"

"I was…curious?"

"Remind me to change the encryption protocols on my credit account."

"Nothing in there worth taking, Commander."

Shepard waved him off with a grumble. "Anything else I need to know about this guy?"

"He's from Eden Prime. Parents are farmers." Again he gave Shepard that careful, calculated look. Shepard maintained a neutral expression and looked back over the test scores, wondering if Anderson and Commander Liscandro, his first CO, had had a similar discussion when Shepard's file had first come across Steven's desk.

"Yeah," he said, then trailed off. Almost subconsciously, he checked the status of the kid's immediate family. Still alive and working in Shiloh, a rural district outside Constant. That was one difference between them at least.

"Shepard," Alenko asked hesitantly.

"Mm?"

"This entire roster was handpicked by Captain Anderson."

Shepard had an idea what was coming. "He wanted the best. Ship's a prototype and from the sounds of it the Alliance spent a fortune to build it. Makes sense you want your best people on it."

"Then…how did I end up here?"

"Don't sell yourself short, Kaidan."

"I'm not," Alenko insisted. "Just wondering how I ended up on Anderson's radar."

Shepard rubbed his thumb absently across his chin, suddenly conscious that he needed a shave. "Anderson wanted a good ground team. Told me to recommend someone, since they were going to be my men anyway."

"Thanks, Shepard," he said after a lengthy pause.

"I wanted someone I could trust," Shepard informed him. "And now that I know our third squad mate is probably still a virgin, you better make me look good. Especially since we apparently have to impress a Spectre."

Alenko looked thoughtful. "Why do you think he's here?"

They both paused as a young private passed by on his way to one of the terminals near the sleeper pods. Alenko nodded pleasantly, then they both lowered their voices.

"No idea," Shepard said, "but Joker's right. A Council rep is one thing, but this is a Spectre. Which means it's got to be more than a routine maiden voyage to Eden Prime."

"You've served with Anderson before, haven't you? Any insight at all?"

Shepard shook his head. "Never served with him, actually."

This took Alenko by surprise. "But you know each other."

"He's…given me a hand here and there." Shepard hoped Alenko would leave it at that, and he did. It was one reason they got along so well – each knew when to prod and when to let things go. Elaborating on his relationship with Anderson would involve getting into things he didn't feel like dredging up.

"Shepard."

Shepard jumped a little at the sound of Anderson's voice over the comm. "Sir?"

"Meet me in my quarters. There's something we need to discuss."

The Captain's quarters were a stone's throw away from the mess on the starboard side of the ship. Without a word Alenko rose, nodded to Shepard and headed back to the bridge. Anderson passed him at the bottom of the stairwell, reached his quarters in a few swift strides and gestured for Shepard to head inside.

The Normandy Captain's quarters were surprisingly spacious, but sparsely furnished. Based on Anderson's various offices, several of which Shepard had found himself in over the years, sometimes willingly and sometimes not, they were likely to stay that way. Shepard caught sight of the bed, thought of the sleeper pods and felt a mild stab of jealousy.

Anderson came to a halt just inside the door. Years of military service were firmly etched in the weathered lines of his face. He gave Shepard a long, hard look, brow deeply furrowed. Shepard's eyebrow twitched.

"Nihlus is here to evaluate you," Anderson said by way of greeting. Shepard blinked.

"Evaluate me for what?" he asked. "What does the Council care about an Alliance commander?"

Anderson inhaled deeply. "The Citadel ambassador has been lobbying for more human involvement in interstellar policymaking. One of the things he's after is naming a human to the Spectres."

Spectres. The elite, right arm of the Council. Their reputation made Shepard's N7 designation look nominal. Spectres answered to no one. They did quietly what the Council could not do publicly. There was a reason no one wanted one around.

Becoming one was a coveted honor, one rarely bestowed.

"Why hide it from me?" Shepard demanded.

Anderson worked his jaw a little. There was that odd expression again, the same one Shepard had seen when Nihlus had arrived. "Because politics is not your forte, and this is a political minefield."

He'd been planning this. Shepard thought back to their vid conversation before his posting on the Normandy. Perhaps he didn't know the Captain as well as he thought.

"Eden Prime is more than a shakedown run," Anderson went on.

"Clearly."

"They found a prothean beacon down there. Intact. The Alliance is sending us to extract it and bring it to the Citadel for study."

"Prothean?" Shepard frowned. Suddenly sending a stealth ship made a lot more sense.

Anderson nodded. "The last time we found working prothean technology we wound up discovering mass effect drives. So I don't think I need to reiterate how important this is."

Shepard crossed his arms. "I'm guessing Nihlus wants to see me do more than pick up a beacon."

"It'll be the first of several missions," Anderson agreed. "Given your involvement at Elysium and your personal history, I think you've more than proved yourself."

Shepard noted the omission of Torfan, but let it go. This wasn't the time for that argument.

"But the Council wants an eyewitness account from one of their own," he went on, "so you're going to give it to them."

Joker's voice interrupted them over the comm. "Captain. Emergency transmission coming through from Eden Prime. You better get up here, sir."