Chapter 1 – Gears In Motion
Alliance Navy Fleet Construction Facility 01, in geosynchronous orbit around Earth
1622 hours, 25.4.2183, Terran Coordinated Universal Time
"Lieutenant Commander Shepard, SID number 5923-AC-2826, please report to the office of Captain Anderson immediately." A man clad in a greasy Alliance Navy engineer uniform groaned in response to the intercom.
A similarly dressed, similarly dirty man smirked and said, "Another meeting with the boss, huh, L-C?"
Shepard glanced toward the subordinate, shooting him a look of annoyance.
"Guess so. You have the secondary barrier power coupling locked down, Adams? I should go."
Mouth now cracked into a full smile, the sailor responded, "Yes sir. I'll have diagnostics running before you're shaking hands with the big man. Good luck up there, sir."
"Thanks. Get to it, Master Chief." Shepard returned the salute he was given and strode towards the elevator at the opposite end of the room. Despite being Chief Engineer on the most advanced warship in the galaxy, Shepard was far from excited. The Alliance brass always had some asinine new inquiry about this damn boat, and the questions always came through its captain, Captain David Anderson. It wasn't that he disliked the Captain of the Normandy SR-1; no, in fact, he respected Anderson immensely.
Anderson was the first officer who befriended Shepard during his first assignment out of basic. Anderson had vouched for him when Shepard expressed interest in attending the Interplanetary Combatives Academy for N training, becoming the first combat engineer to reach the prestigious ranks of the elite N7. Anderson was also the one who pulled strings for Shepard's transfer back to a posting in Systems Alliance space after the disaster of the Skyllian Blitz.
Anderson was more than a mentor and magnanimous superior officer to Shepard. He was Shepard's closest friend. Still, being constantly called away from his work to discuss "official Alliance business" with the man irritated the LCDR to no end. Shepard was never incredibly pleased about the amount of politics that went into running an interstellar fleet of warships, despite consciously knowing how necessary it was; it was just that in this particular scenario that the brass was really busting his chops.
The Normandy SR-1 was an incredible piece of technology. Attempting to relieve some of the intra-species hostility created by the First Contact War, the Turian Hierarchy proposed to co-develop an advanced stealth frigate with the human Systems Alliance. The best and brightest minds in the militaries of both species put in millions of man-hours over several years to design the magnificently sleek starship that Shepard was now assigned to. She was almost ready to fly, too, and once she did, the accomplished LCDR would be accompanying her wherever she went, tending to her FTL and sub-light engines, overseeing the engineering and maintenance staff and other such duties that fell under his assignment of Chief Engineer.
The more Shepard thought about his job, the more he forgot about the meeting he was heading to. He loved starships, and the Normandy was the pinnacle of starship design and technology. As a boy growing up on the then-new Arcturus Station, he would gaze in wonder as human ships of all shapes and sizes drifted silently by the observation lounge windows. Everything from small, "planet-hopper" shuttles to massive Alliance dreadnoughts could be seen passing by the seat of the Systems Alliance government and fleets. He had made his decision to become an engineer for the navy back then, and he was now actually living his dream.
Shepard's musings were cut short as he approached the door to the office and quarters of the Normandy's captain. He pressed the visitor alert button on the bulkhead adjacent to the door and waited. Even as the door slid open with a quiet whir, the decorated officer and dear friend of Shepard's was rising to meet him.
"Lieutenant Commander, thanks for coming at such short notice," Anderson said, returning a salute from his Chief Engineer.
"Of course, sir. What does the brass need to know this time?"
The Captain's expression quickly turned from jovial to somber. Shepard knew he wouldn't like what he was about to be told.
"No questions this time, Shepard. The Alliance and Turian Hierarchy say that they want this tub ready to go, immediately. They've given us our first assignment, straight from the Citadel Council."
The LC's eyebrows arched in surprise at the mention of the Council's involvement. "Orders from the Council, sir? We haven't even given the Normandy her shakedown run, and they're asking us to go on a mission?"
"That's right, son. I'm not surprised that they've invited themselves to use this vessel so quickly, though, considering it's a 'cooperative' creation," Anderson replied with a one-sided grin.
"Yeah, guess I fooled myself into thinking that this boat was all ours. Felt nice while the dream lasted, though."
The two men chuckled at the workings of galactic government, neither having much desire to be involved with any of it despite their obligations. Shepard's curiosity was piqued, though, and for once in a good long while, it was his turn to ask a question.
"Sir, mind if I get the details of this mission? Where we're going, what we're doing, who we're shooting?"
Anderson exhaled in exasperation and rubbed his crew cut nervously. "Sorry, L-C. Specifics are need-to-know for the time being. I can get you up to speed once we're aweigh, but for now, I can't tell you anything."
The Chief Engineer frowned. He didn't like being kept in the dark, especially when it was about his own assignment, on his own damn ship. A feeling of uncertainty grew in the back of Shepard's mind. Before Shepard could voice his displeasure, Anderson spoke again.
"More big news, Shepard. The Alliance decided that the middle bar on your insignia was looking a little skinny. I recommended they promote you to Commander for all the work you've done getting this big, beautiful bitch space-worthy, and they agreed. I'm also personally asking you to be my executive officer, effective immediately."
Shepard was genuinely shocked to be presented with a new title and position. He was just an over-glorified grease monkey that happened to have gone through N-school; was this because of what happened on Elysium seven years ago?
"Thank you, sir," was the most the newly-minted Commander could say.
"Congratulations, Commander Shepard." Anderson pulled a small black case from his desk and handed it to the CDR. "Your silver oak leaves are in there. Now, get cleaned up and introduce yourself to the main support staff officers. Navigator Pressley should be somewhere on the CIC, and Flight Lieutenant Moreau will be in the officer's lounge dockside. Check the bar," the Captain said wryly.
"Aye aye, sir." With their conversation finished, and big new developments to mull over, Commander Shepard curtly saluted his superior and headed out of the office.
"…and then some colonial bumpkin from Amaterasu fresh out of the Academy says 'You're full of shit, Joker! You can't bank a ship in a vacuum!' So I grabbed him by his collar, an-"
"You really are full of it, Moreau."
"What, you too? Are you seriously doubting my immense capability to handle a boat, L-T?"
"No, I'm not. I'm saying I doubt your ability to grab someone by their collar."
A burst of laughter surrounded a cross-looking Flight Lieutenant as Commander Shepard walked towards a gathering of officers in the corner of the dockside lounge. The group of junior officers all had drinks in hand, save for the Lieutenant that had cracked the joke at the FLT's expense.
As Shepard approached, several of the men facing his direction perked up, stiffening slightly at the sight of senior officer bars.
The Commander noticed the reaction to his presence and chuckled inwardly. The fact that he could intimidate men that were effectively his equal less than a few hours ago amused him greatly. He didn't realize that the N7 ribbon sewn into the breast of his uniform would've had an identical effect, senior officer or not.
"Relax, gentlemen. I'm not here to cause trouble." Shepard let his imaginary smirk become reality, seeing the look of relief on the faces of the men seated in front of him.
"Wait, Shepard? Lieutenant Commander Shepard? Is that you?" one of the men said, turning to face the CDR.
"Alenko? Hell, it's good to see you, Lieutenant!" Shepard reached out and shook the man's hand firmly. "It's been a long time. Seven years now, huh?"
"Yeah, just about. Feels a lot longer, though. What've you been up to, Shepard? I see you made Commander. Congratulations, sir," Lieutenant Kaidan Alenko said, smiling to his old war buddy.
"Thanks, but you don't have to call me sir, Alenko. Not while you're off duty, anyway," Shepard grinned back, pleasantly surprised to see a familiar face on the eve of his mysterious new mission. "I got reassigned after…after the Blitz. Pulled back here to Earth to help coordinate construction on the SSV Aconagua, then got pulled out again to work on the SSV Normandy. Got posted as her Chief Engineer."
"No kidding? I had no idea you were assigned to the Normandy. I just got transferred to her two weeks ago, and this right here is her pilot. Commander Shepard, Flight Lieutenant Jeff Moreau," Kaidan said, gesturing to the still sullen-looking recipient of the LT's dry wit.
"Nice to meet you, Flight Lieutenant," Shepard said, grasping the man's hand in a tight handshake.
"OW! Watch the hand, Commander. And you can just call me Joker. Everyone else does, and it's a helluvalot shorter than 'Flight Lieutenant Moreau'." The young, bearded FLT rubbed his right hand gingerly, as if Shepard had caused him a great pain with the polite gesture.
"Sorry, Joker. Didn't mean to hurt you. What's wrong with your hand?" the Commander replied apologetically.
"Nothing's wrong with my hand, Commander," Joker snapped. "I have a disability. Vrolik's Syndrome. It means my bones have as much substance to them as an asari dancer."
Shepard blinked once, momentarily set off-balance by the unintentional revelation of his pilot's illness. He caught himself, though, and replied, "Sorry, Joker. I'll keep that in mind."
The FLT eyed the Commander incredulously. "That's it? You're not gonna ask stupid questions like, 'Oh no, Joker, are you going to break an arm flying the ship? Are you going to need special accommodations to take piss breaks while on duty?"
To the other officers' surprise, Shepard burst out laughing at the subordinate's crude sarcasm.
"Joker, you graduated from the Alliance Flight Academy. Captain Anderson personally sang your praises to me. Besides, how you use the head is none of my damn business." Shepard practiced rank and file formalities like any good marine would, but he was never a big fan of them himself. He appreciated Joker's biting insubordinate tone. It was helping him relax.
"Yeah, Joker. What're you getting at, anyway? You lookin' to get the Commander in the head with you? Fraternization is against code." Once again, the table of naval officers all burst out laughing, save for Joker, whose head was bowed and planted firmly on his palm.
"Jesus. Sometimes, I hate you, Alenko. Actually, no. I hate you all the time. The only way you could avoid being the most hated person in this room would be if a turian waltzed in and slapped my ass," said Joker through gritted teeth, face flushed in embarrassment.
"Sorry to disappoint you, Lieutenant, but I don't think your navy would approve if I did such a thing."
The Alliance officers immediately fell silent as they looked towards the source of the gravelly new voice. Standing before the group of men was a tall, armor-clad turian. His face was brown, covered in the hard cartilage plates that defined the avian-descended race, with ornate white stripes in a pattern that Shepard thought resembled ancient Earth aboriginal tribe tattoos. He had red and black combat armor, making him appear larger and more intimidating than he already was. The Commander also noticed that the turian had an assault rifle attached to a hardpoint on his back.
"Uhh…hi there. How did you..?" the baffled Flight Lieutenant struggled to find words for the strange existence of a heavily-armed turian in an Alliance Navy officer's lounge.
"Get on this station? Or get into this lounge?" the turian retorted. Shepard was no expert on turians and their body language, but by the way the man twitched his mandibles and intonated his response, he felt like the turian was sneering.
Not bothering to wait for an affirmative, the man spoke again, this time looking right at Shepard, and said, "My name is Nihlus Kryik, Council Spectre, and I'm overseeing the SSV Normandy's first mission. Gentlemen, we're going to Eden Prime."
So, there's the first chapter. Please, feel free to criticize the holy living crap out of this. I would greatly appreciate it if people pointed out any errors, grammatical, logistical, or otherwise. I'm just sort of freewriting this as the plot comes to mind. Kind of helps that I'm mostly following the plot of ME1 anyway. Hope you guys enjoy the story.