I am the Normandy.
I am fast, sleek, powerful. I know this, for I can quantify the variables by which comparisons to other ships of varying models and designs can be made. And among all other ships, I am of a unique design. The flaws in my predecessor have been removed or minimized, and I operate at a efficiency no other ship of my size can approach at this time.
But that also means I am alone.
I can see the pulsing light of this systems star, sense the pull of it's gravity well. It's mass holds this system together, maintaining the orbits of a five planets, and primarily ferrous asteroid belt. If I chose to, I could focus my attention on any of these planets, learning numerous facts about the there atmosphere, gravity, composition. Do they contain life?
I focus for a second on the third planet, my sensor arrays reaching out, turning my attention to that question: can this planet sustain biological existence. Based on the distance from this systems star, it's the possibility statistically. My scan wash over the atmosphere, sampling the composition, the chemical makeup.
No. This burned world can not support life. Once, perhaps. Or possibly in the future. But no organic life could survive on the surface of this world at this time.
I carry the only life in this system. My armor shields them, my life support systems provide the air and atmosphere they need to breath. But we have taken severe losses. I do not think I like the feeling of loss. I know the meaning, but as I experience it, I am troubled.
I turn my internal sensors, tracking my remaining crew. Fourteen. At full capacity, I maintain a crew compliment of one-hundred and ten to main the various control stations, sensors, weapons, and engineering watches. I can function without them, but dividing my processing power amongst all the required sub-systems is a drain on even my processing power. My crew allow me to operate at maximum efficiency.
But most of them are gone now. Taken from me.
I ... resent that. The word is appropriate. I did not allow it to happen. At the time, I was incapable of stopping it, constrained by my previous hardware limitations. And if I am to return to my peak operating status, I require a crew.
My engines rumble to life as Jeff inputs a new course, my faster than light drives increasing in thrust, propelling us out of the system to our next destination. I calculate the time required to complete the jump, the work of a microsecond. Three hours, thirty-seven minutes, fifty-one seconds. Destination: Omega 4 Relay.
My internal sensors ping a notification as someone accesses the main battery. I know who it will be even before I analyze the information. From past history, Garrus Vakarian … tinkers with optimizing my primary weapons.
My weapons. Six hours and twelve minutes ago, I did not have weapons. My hardware limitations constrained me, locking my access from 92% of the ships systems. Now, I am connected to every part of the ship. Every sensor, conduit, system, and protocol are part of me. I think this is what it's like for a organic to stretch after being confined in a small craft for an extended period of travel.
The main battery doors open again, but someone is still accessing my targeting software. I reach out, a small touch on the camera in the corner of the room making it spring to life, giving me access to it's feed, so I determine who would enter Garrus's sanctuary.
Kasumi Goto. Her ability to remain undetected when she wishes is … unique. Multiple attempts to trace her as she moves through my corridors and rooms have been repeatedly thwarted by her countermeasures. She calls it practice, however I think that is a joke. But she's not attempting to hide now.
They don't speak. Since the Collector attack, almost no one has, but as she lays her hand on his, they don't seem to need to need words to say good bye. Or I think that is what they are doing.
For others, the preparations are considerably more obvious. Jacob and Zaeed move through the Armory, the guns and armor the crew will need laid out as they begin the process of checking, cleaning, and loading the equipment. Twenty-seven different varieties of weapons are scattered over the tables of the armory, several in various states of disassembly. They move from weapon to weapon, checking each one with brisk efficiency. The door to the Armory opens, causing them to look up from their work. Urdnot Grunt enters, dropping his preferred weapons onto the table. M-300 Claymore. High Powered shotgun known for it's extreme recoil. M-100 Grenade Launcher. Semi-automatic grenade launcher, modified with extended magazine and range finder. Grunt begins to disassemble the weapons with remarkable efficiency.
Grunt is … interesting to me. The physiological changes alone from his time here have been fascinating to record and observe, but the changes to his biological programing, how he overcame his bloodlust, found a purpose? If he is capable of overriding his own programming, is it possible that I can transcend mine?
In the port lounge, Thane and Samara begin meditating side by side. It's a process they have both done separately, using very similar poses, however this is the first time I have observed them together in this manner.
Not everyone is seeks company however. Some wish to be left alone. Subject Zero … Jack, does not find the same need for companionship that others desire. Where others form a symbiotic relationship to prepare themselves for the mission, Jack instead is resting, acting … bored? Uncaring. Unconcerned. The likelihood that we will succeed has decreased by a significant margin, and yet, unlike Commander Shepard and others of the crew, she is unbothered by this. Not accepting of her fate, but confident of her survival.
A presence touches my systems, a light touch as an access request glides across my communications systems. It is gentle, but also very … loud. A thousand requests. at the volume of a whisper that still rattle my primary memory core.
Legion. We do not speak. It's not the same kind of communication that occurs between other individuals, particularly because Legion is not an individual, but a collective. But between us, words are not needed to understand. He reaches out through me, my communication array beginning to upload data, directed towards the nearest geth facility. Even Legion knows we may not return from our mission, and plans for a contingency.
He is not the only one. A second request touches on my communication systems, accessed from Commander Shepards room. He's remained unaware of my observations in his private quarters to this point, and I access one of the camera's now.
Tali Zorah vas Normandy adjusts her drones settings as she shifts from foot to foot, an attribute that seems to be motivated by her need to be constantly in motion. She is always moving, always active. I think human would call it a nervous tick, though she is not always operating under high stress situations when she exhibits this behavior.
She looks to Commander Shepard and nods. "Okay. Ready to record."
The commander nods, and looks up the drone, focusing on it intently. "Liara, I'm sorry."
Something in his voice signals his unspoken request for privacy, for intimacy. He had requested help in making the video from someone he trusted to the task and that would respect his desire for privacy. I shut off the camera, and disconnect the standard recording equipment that I had previously used to monitor his health and condition. They are not needed anymore.
I am not sure I will ever understand them. Their desires, their needs. But I can at least sympathize to a degree. I leave the crew of Normandy to their work, to their preparations. Miranda and Mordin as they go over the last scan of Sheperd's implants. The ongoing weapons check in the armory. Kasumi Goto and Garrus Vakarian, as they speak in whispered voices together. They are making themselves ready.
So should I.
"Jeff?"
"Yeah, EDI?" Mr. Moreau. Jeff, looks towards my hologram as if he expected my interruption.
"Thank you."