0900 Hours Alliance Standard Time, April 12, 2183
Docking Bay G48, Chinook Shipyards
Geosynchronous Orbit over Vancouver, Earth
The first thing that struck Nihlus Kryik upon viewing the SSV Normandy SR1 for the first time was how familiar it was. It should not have come as a surprise- although his main purpose here was entirely unrelated, he was the official representative of the Turian Hierarchy and Citadel Council at the commissioning and maiden voyage of the ship and had consequently memorized its blueprints and specifications- but somehow, it did. The Normandy looked turian. Its sleek dart-like shape bore little resemblance to the standard angular wedge of human warships, exemplified by the battlecruiser two bays further along. Its engines were not placed at the rear of the hull, but out on two "wings" so much like the elegant bird-of-prey shapes of turian ships (though to be fair turian ships actually had their engines at the rear of the hull as well; Nihlus wasn't sure how this design quirk had made it in). Even the black, silver, and red paint job stood in stark contrast to the blue and gray evident everywhere else in the shipyard. The Normandy had theoretically been co-designed by human and turian engineers, yet whoever the human designers had been, they had seemingly left little of themselves in the shape of the ship. Yet here it is, in a human shipyard, taking on a human crew, in preparation for its entry into the human fleet.
Nihlus flicked his left mandible ruefully and sighed. Such thoughts were unworthy of him and he knew it. Humanity had been the ones to approach the Hierarchy with the idea for the project. They had been the ones to foot the bill, and nearly all the materials for construction had been obtained from human space by human companies and assembled into a space-worthy ship by human labor. The Hierarchy had been given full access to the plans, in case they ever wished to build any ships of the class themselves. We cannot begrudge the Alliance possession of the thing they worked so hard to create, no matter what it looks like. Still, Nihlus could not help but feel a pang as he entered the observation area overlooking the docking bay where the commissioning ceremony was taking place.
The observation area was relatively spacious, certainly more so than its equivalent in a turian shipyard, yet it was nearly packed to the point of being standing room only. The Normandy's full crew complement of fifty enlisted personnel and ten officers were in attendance, as well as whatever family members had been able to make the trip, and various Alliance dignitaries. Full crew complement, and all reporting directly aboard after the ceremony. I know enough about the Alliance Navy to know that this isn't usual, no more than it is in ours. Every individual in this room who knows anything about normal naval procedure has to know something's up. Yet there had simply been no time to have it otherwise.
Heads turned as Nihlus made his way through the crowd toward the VIP section on the left side of the observation area. Packed the observation area may have been, enough so that one more human entering would have gone completely unnoticed, but Nihlus was the only nonhuman in the room. He stood nearly seven feet tall, average for his species but abnormally tall for humans. Worst of all, he was turian. Only if he had been a batarian would he have been less welcome at the commissioning of humanity's most advanced warship. How anyone could look at the hull of the Normandy and not see the turian influence there was beyond Nihlus, but nevertheless the ship's co-development was not common knowledge among the Alliance public. To those people, his presence here was an intrusion upon a crowning moment of human achievement, and an angry muttering followed him through the room.
Nihlus finally managed to fight his way through the press to the VIP area, and claimed a spot with an excellent view of the podium between Vice Admiral Antonio Cardenas of the Third Fleet and Rear Admiral Semyon Mikhailovich of the 63rd Scout Flotilla. The former, on his left, acknowledged him with a respectful nod, which Nihlus politely returned; the latter, on his right, was visibly affronted by his presence and was seemingly on the point of saying something. Spare me, human. I have more right to be here than you do. Mikhailovich thought better of it, snorted loudly, and pointedly turned away. Another fool. Fools in the Alliance, fools in the Hierarchy, fools holding both our species back. This particular fool commanded the scouting component of the Alliance's Fifth Fleet, which the Normandy was currently slated to join after the completion of its shakedown cruise. If Nihlus had any chance to influence matters, the ship would never come near Mikhailovich's grasp; it was too valuable to waste on him.
An expectant hush fell over the crowd, and Nihlus turned back toward the podium where the assembled officers of the Normandy were standing. When he had entered the room, the microphone at the front of the podium had been occupied by Admiral of the Fleet Kastanie Drescher, the Alliance's Chief of Naval Operations, officially welcoming the new frigate into the ranks of humanity's fleet. Just over a quarter century before, it had been Drescher who led the Alliance's Second Fleet in the liberation of Shanxi, and had dealt the Hierarchy Navy the most resounding defeat it had suffered in a thousand years. Nihlus bore the woman no ill will. She had just been doing her job, which in that case had entailed smashing a rogue fleet that had launched an unprovoked attack upon an ignorant and uninitiated species and had brought shame upon his people in so doing, and she had done it with courage and professional skill that the warrior in him greatly respected. Yet for all her undoubted talent as a tactician, strategist, and administrator, she fell woefully flat as an orator. Spirits, I only caught the tail end of that speech, which was undoubtedly ghostwritten by a professional, and she still managed to make me slightly drowsy. "And thus, having proudly welcomed the SSV Normandy into the Alliance Navy, the space-borne shield that guards the realm of humankind, I will now yield to Captain David Anderson for the final remarks of this ceremony." A storm of applause filled the observation area as Drescher stepped back and handed the microphone to Anderson, who waited patiently for it to die down. Whether the clapping signified anticipation of the ceremony's imminent end, or appreciation of the man about to give the last speech, Nihlus could not say. Probably the former, though it ought to be the latter. This human is no fool.
"Admiral Drescher already covered most of the bases, how this day marks a great triumph for the human race in all sorts of ways. I couldn't hope to improve upon her words, and I won't try," Anderson began, with a slight upturn at one corner of his mouth; an expression roughly equivalent to slightly parted mandibles in turians, a gesture of wry amusement. "I'm going to get straight to the point with what I am going to need out of all of you, and what you can expect of me. The SSV Normandy is well armed and well armored for a frigate, and faster than any ship in the fleet light or heavy. But we have a different purpose than the usual suicidal swarming of capital ships in wartime and enforcing of customs duties in peacetime. Our purpose is to go where no other ship of humanity can safely go, and accomplish the missions that no other ship of humanity can, whether in space or on the ground. To fulfill this purpose will require the best effort of the best men and women in the uniforms of the Alliance Navy and Marine Corps. I was given full discretion over who to include in this ship's crew, and I picked all of you because I know you are the best. And because you are the best, you deserve the best from your commander. That, I promise you. I will never ask more of you than I am willing to do myself, and I will always be the first one on shift and the last one off." Anderson stepped back from the edge of the podium. "That's it for the inspiring speech. Those of you with family members in attendance may have an hour to mingle with them and say your goodbyes. Those without are to report aboard and stow their gear immediately. We're getting underway at 1100 hours."
Nihlus's mandibles parted in a full-blown smile. He had expected no less. Over the past month, he had worked closely with David Anderson, and had formed a reasonably detailed picture of the man. Anderson had spent the last twenty years or so rotating between various training posts planetside and postings aboard various Alliance warships, though he had never commanded any until now. That was not unusual among Alliance naval officers, particularly the less competent ones; what was unusual was what Anderson had been doing immediately before the First Contact War and for the six years immediately after it. The man had spent the prime of his youth in the Special Operations branch of the Alliance Navy, the Interplanetary Combatives Initiative, colloquially known as the "N" branch. Tiered into 7 levels, with N1 indicating a new trainee, and N7 indicating a full-fledged, veteran operator, the ICI was the direct human equivalent of the turian Blackwatch. During the First Contact War, Anderson had personally helped prove that, repulsing an attack by a Blackwatch platoon during the liberation of Shanxi. The Anderson of twenty years ago had been a warrior. The Anderson of today still had the mind and spirit of one, but not the body. The Anderson of twenty years ago would have made a fine Spectre candidate (and Nihlus had heard rumors that he had been one, though why he would have been rejected was beyond him; perhaps it had something to do with the downswing in his career?). The Anderson of today could only help select one.
And with that thought, Nihlus's gaze turned to the man who had been standing at a position of rigid attention to Anderson's right throughout the whole ceremony. So that's him. He looks every bit the soldier in person that he did in the vids and his dossier photo. This is quite promising. Normally, the executive officer of a ship would have been the second position filled after the captain. On the Normandy, it had been the last. The man had only received notice of his posting to the Normandy as XO and his promotion to Lieutenant Commander yesterday, which Nihlus understood had been his birthday. Quite the present, as they go. One of the finest special operators in the human military, a participant in nearly every engagement of note fought by the humans in the last decade, but with almost no experience running a ship or even a department aboard a ship. A totally unfamiliar situation. How will he respond?
Nihlus had had his eye on Mark John Shepard from the very beginning. It had been at his urging that Special Tactics and Reconnaissance had extended an invitation for humanity to submit a candidate for their ranks. When humanity had accepted, he had been the representative of the Citadel helping humanity winnow down the possibilities for the position, and he (as well as Anderson, who had close personal and professional ties with Shepard) had found reason to quibble and balk at nearly every alternative presented. Looking at him now, Nihlus felt vindicated. Shepard was 6'1", and nearly 200 pounds of pure muscle. Nihlus knew from his dossier that Shepard was also one of the most powerful biotics in the Alliance. But the physical attributes, impressive as they were, shrank before the sheer presence of the man. Shepard oozed deadly competence and self-assurance. Soldiers would instinctively follow such a man out of the confidence that they would be safe in his charge… if for no other reason than that he had already laid waste to everything on the battlefield within seconds. This is quite promising indeed.
As the crowd began to disperse, the dignitaries heading for the exits, the crew whose family had been incapable for one reason or another of attending heading for the airlock, and those who were fortunate enough to have loved ones present saying their final goodbyes, Nihlus moved toward the podium. He had lost sight of Shepard in the press, and had decided that this was as good a time as any to introduce himself. But when he managed to locate him again, Shepard was already engaged in conversation with a tall human woman in an Alliance Navy uniform in her mid-fifties and with black hair graying at the temples. Ah yes, those with family present may stay momentarily. His mother, I presume, I seem to remember she's in the human military as well. Captain Hannah Shepard, Nihlus recalled, the gleaming insignia on her shoulders confirming it. Well, far be it from me to interrupt that conversation. Spirits know he'll be too busy to talk to her again for some time.
Turning towards the airlock instead, he found his way blocked by Anderson. "Not going to say hello?" Anderson inquired, nodding in the direction of the Shepards.
"Not going to interrupt that conversation," corrected Nihlus. "Besides, there will be plenty of time in the next few weeks to get to know him individually."
"True enough," Anderson said, as they walked together towards the airlock. Behind them, Mark Shepard briefly embraced his mother, then turned to follow them at a distance. "Besides, I doubt you'll need to wait until next Wednesday to introduce yourself in any case."
0100 Hours AST, April 13, 2183
Bridge, SSV Normandy SR1
Arcturus System, Arcturus Stream Cluster
Nihlus stood at the back of the bridge, watching as the Arcturus-2 relay grew larger in the viewports, silently fuming at the length of time it had taken to get here. He understood the reason behind it: regardless of the shakedown cruise's real goal, it was still a shakedown cruise of a warship fresh out of the yards stuffed to the gills with prototype technology, and various systems needed to be handled carefully as they were broken in. But the fact remained that Earth to Eden Prime was a simple relay hop that would normally have taken perhaps four or five hours – sub-light out of Earth's gravity well, quick FTL jump to the edge of the Sol system, queue up for the relay to Arcturus-1, transit to the Arcturus system, FTL to Arcturus-2, transit to the Utopia system- that had instead stretched out for nearly 14 hours because Anderson needed to make sure the IES stealth system wouldn't charbroil them all if activated immediately after exiting FTL.
But now, finally, they were almost there. The Arcturus-2 relay began to pivot in space, aligning itself with its cousin in the Utopia system, thousands of light years away.
"Relay online. Signal sent, relay acknowledging. Transit vector locked, calculating transit mass." The pilot the Alliance had chosen for the Normandy, a Flight Lieutenant Moreau, seemed competent enough, though Nihlus was concerned about his military discipline. The man wore a scruffy brown beard of hair on his lower face, something Nihlus had seen on no other active duty human military personnel and was almost certain broke human military regulations. In addition, he wore cumbersome braces of some kind on his legs, the purpose of which eluded Nihlus. A cripple? Surely not. I refuse to believe any military would have allowed a cripple to pass the first physical, regardless of his talent. As a blue bolt of energy leaped out from the relay, guiding the Normandy into the mass effect corridor forming between Arcturus-2 and distant Utopia-1, the door at the rear of the bridge hissed open. Glancing backward, Nihlus saw Shepard enter the bridge. Ah, the man of the hour. With our arrival at our destination, it's time we had that chat… but not here. The viewports flickered blue for an instant, then reverted to their normal appearance as the SSV Normandy made the near instant transit between relays. Where seconds earlier the red light of Arcturus had been visible through the ports, now the warm yellow glow of Utopia could be distantly seen: the only visible indication that they'd just been sling-shotted between clusters. No matter how many times he went through them, the sheer power of the mass relays never failed to amaze him.
"Thrusters, check. Navigation, check. Internal emission sinks active, all boards show green… relay exit drift just under 1500k," Lieutenant Moreau listed off, somehow managing to sound bored and cocky at the same time.
"1500 is good. Your captain will be pleased," offered Nihlus grudgingly before turning to leave the bridge. By the sound of him, a compliment is the last thing his swollen head needs, but the truth is the truth. As he passed through the doors leading to the corridor connecting the bridge to the Combat Information Center, he heard the Flight Lieutenant say in what he undoubtedly thought was a low whisper, "I hate that guy." The doors hissed shut before Nihlus could hear any more, not that he wanted to: his low opinion of the pilot's discipline had just crystallized into certainty.
That one will break when it matters most. I trust Anderson's judgement for the most part, but Lieutenant Moreau is not to be relied upon, no matter his performance in the flight simulator. Passing through the doors at the far end of the corridor into the CIC, Nihlus twitched his right mandible in irritation. The pilot, unreliable as he might be, was irrelevant. Their successful transit into Utopia, and imminent arrival at Eden Prime, meant that it was time to reveal to Shepard the true purpose of the supposed shakedown run.
Ordinarily, Nihlus would've taken a moment to appreciate the turian hand in the layout of the CIC, the nerve center of the ship where the captain would direct operations during combat: the large open space, larger than any other compartment aboard, and the raised platform where the commander could overlook his subordinates bespoke the influence of his people as much as did the sleek shape of the hull. But his mind was otherwise occupied as he stepped through the doors at the rear of the CIC into the ship's conference room. There was only one other occupant.
"Are you ready?" asked Anderson. Nihlus gave a single nod in response. Anderson hit the intercom button on the table that formed the centerpiece of the conference room. "Joker?"
"Aye, sir?"
"Patch us into the comm buoy network, I want status reports relayed back to Arcturus as soon as we reach Eden Prime. And tell Shepard to meet me in the conference room immediately."
"Aye aye, sir." A pause, then- "Better brace yourself, sir, I think Nihlus is heading your way."
Nihlus felt a stab of real anger this time. The most advanced warship in the galaxy, product of billions of credits and millions of labor hours of research and construction, is being sailed through the stars by an utterly undisciplined nitwit with scraggly fur on his face.
Apparently Anderson felt similarly. "Send the XO here, Lieutenant, please. And report to me in 45 minutes to discuss your shift as duty officer for the next week." With that, he switched off the intercom.
An awkward silence fell momentarily as Nihlus regained control of himself and Anderson searched for a way to change the subject. "So… heard anything about what your fellow Spectres are doing? That you're allowed to tell me about, that is?" he eventually offered.
"Ah. Well…" Nihlus thought a moment. "Jondum Bau is currently off in the Terminus Systems doing something or other, as he usually is. Lyiss T'Ysera and Tela Vasir were working on busting a large slaving ring they suspected of operating in salarian space last I heard, though they weren't having much luck. Saren is… that's strange. Now that I think about it, I haven't heard from Saren in a couple of years."
An odd look had passed over Anderson's face at the mention of the name of Saren Arterius. "Are you familiar with Saren?"
"In a manner of speaking. I-," Anderson began, then broke off as the door to the conference room opened and the executive officer strode in.
"Apologies for the bit of delay making my way here from the bridge, Captain, I had words with Pressley and Chakwas en route." Shepard snapped off a quick salute. "You wished to speak to me?"
"Indeed I did. This concerns the true nature of our mission here."
"This is far more than a simple shakedown run," Nihlus stated.
Shepard turned to him, addressing him directly for the first time. "With all due respect, Mr. Kryik, I already knew that. I assumed I would be told of the true purpose of this mission when I needed to know." Impressive. Yet again. Nihlus had not spoken to Shepard directly in the fourteen hours since leaving the shipyard, but neither had he let him out of his sight for any length of time. He had observed the operator as he made his way through the ship, interacting with the heads of each department. Shepard had not attempted to familiarize himself with the actual mechanics of the engineering or gunnery stations- that took months of specialized training and was not the proper function of an executive officer in any case- but rather had attempted to familiarize himself with the people running those departments and the most pressing issues facing them. "What can I do to make your work easier?" Nihlus had heard him ask Chief Engineer Adams. He trusts his subordinates to do their jobs, allowing him to focus on doing his.
"And now, you need to know." Anderson confirmed, transferring a set of reports to Shepard's omni-tool. "I'll give you the short version. Four days ago, archaeologists working a dig site 64 kilometers southwest of Constant on Eden Prime unearthed a working Prothean beacon. The penalties for withholding Prothean technology are incredibly harsh, and the Alliance doesn't have the facilities necessary to properly study this on Eden Prime in any case. I'm sending you along with several marines from the Normandy's detachment to secure the beacon and bring it aboard for transit to the Citadel."
Shepard's eyes widened in a mixture of shock and relief. A covert insertion and retrieval operation. This is more in his comfort zone. "Sir, a working Prothean-?"
"Beacon, yes. You can see why this is so important. It's the first working one that's ever been recovered, anywhere. Until now the largest individual data repositories successfully retrieved have been small discs." Anderson took a deep breath. "But that's only half the reason we called you in here."
Shepard didn't blink. "Does this concern Nihlus's presence aboard, sir?" At some point, this perceptiveness of his may grow to annoy me. Right now, however, my recommendation to the Council is practically writing itself.
"It does. Nihlus is not just here to oversee the retrieval of the beacon, Shepard. He's also here to evaluate you."
"For what?"
"For joining my organization," Nihlus replied. Now Shepard did blink. "I've had my eye on you for some time. First the business on Elysium, then Akuze. You have demonstrated prowess on the battlefield, leadership, intelligence, and a will to endure-all hallmarks of a Spectre. I advocated to the Council that humanity be invited to submit a candidate for the Spectres with you in mind. Over the next month or so, we will be embarking on several missions together, the retrieval of this beacon being the first. At the end of this trial period, I will submit my recommendation to the Citadel Council on your candidacy. Based on everything I've seen up to now, you will not disappoint."
He might've said more, but the intercom crackled to life. "Sir, we have an incoming transmission from Eden Prime!" The pilot's voice had changed; no longer cocky, Lieutenant Moreau now sounded worried and tense. "You're going to want to see this."
"Put it up on the screen in here." Anderson commanded. The pilot did not verbally respond, but the vidscreen flickered to life to show… chaos. A grainy video, apparently taken from a soldier's helmet-cam, showed indistinct images of a firefight, tracers zipping back and forth, before a young woman in pink-and-white armor slammed into the owner of the cam, knocking him to the turf. "Get down, moron!" She turned and loosed a long burst of fire from her rifle in the direction of what were apparently hostiles, as the owner of the cam twisted to look at a man in beige-and-green armor. An officer.
"This is Lieutenant Abramson of E/3/212, to any Alliance units on this frequency! We have come under heavy attack and are sustaining major casualties! We cannot hold this position! Requesting immediate evac! We-" The officer's next words were cut off by the detonation of a grenade, the shrapnel of which slashed through his neck in a spray of bright scarlet blood. As his body slumped to the ground, his men ceased firing one by one and looked towards the sky with expressions of terror on their faces. The helmet-cam swiveled skyward as well, to reveal… tentacles? Fingers? Something immense, wreathed in red lightning. The gunfire resumed, the images dissolved into more panicked images, then… static.
"The transmission cuts out after that. No audio, no video, just static." Lieutenant Moreau said quietly over the intercom.
"Reverse and hold at 38.5." Anderson ordered. The screen again showed the giant metal whatever-it-was emerging from the clouds, wreathed in red lightning. A ship, it must be, to be landing from space, but I have never seen or heard of anything resembling this.
"Joker, what's our ETA to Eden Prime?"
"Twenty minutes at sublight speed. Can't risk an FTL jump with hostiles in the area."
"Get us there in fifteen. Shepard, pick the men you're going to take with you, get your hardsuit and weapons, and report to the staging bay." Shepard nodded and turned to leave the conference room. Anderson looked back at the frozen image of the… ship… on the vid screen. "This mission just got a lot more complicated."