Edited to correct canon mistakes that jerseydanielgibson kindly pointed out in a review.
Where we've been so far: Following vague and classified transfer orders, Havil Shepard just arrived on the Normandy and met her new Captain, David Anderson.
He knew Humans and Turians cooperated building the Normandy, but Anderson suspected a Volus designed the Captain's quarters. His knees scraped the underside of the desk as he sat in its child-sized chair. A quick nip of bourbon from the bottom drawer burned away the chill of Shepard's preternatural iciness. Privy to Shepard's full file, Nihilus wanted to test her mettle, or as he put it, "assess her improvisational command abilities and temperament," so Anderson had issued the barebones reassignment order, arranged solitary transport, and withheld crew, ship, and mission details. He'd learned for good not to argue with a Spectre, but he wasn't going to let himself or Shepard be damned for the result without a shred of evidence this time. He tapped through the confirmation for this ridiculous stunt he'd had Nihilus sign off on and attached it to his mission report. It'd hit the comm buoy as they dropped out of FTL, seconds before they started running silent.
He remembered pitching Shepard to Admiral Steven Hackett as a candidate for the Spectres: "What about Havil Shepard? Nothing can take her down. She's the finest fighter we've got, and she's a known face." And, he didn't say, she'd sacrifice herself before she let a Spectre blow up colonists and blame her for it.
"Shepard?" Hackett had mused with his hand on his chin. "Her psych profile is..." he paused. "I have no doubts she's capable, Anderson. But is she stable?"
Anderson had considered for a moment. Outside the window of the fifth fleet's flagship, under Hackett's command, Sol was just disappearing behind Earth with a flare. "That's all the past-Mindoir, Skyllium, Akuze, that's all five years ago now. I know she hasn't been given a command, but she's done nothing but train and get missions done."
"That's what concerns me," Hackett had returned with a frown. "You'd be the best judge of anyone, Anderson. If you think she's the one..."
Staring at Earth's graceful arc, Anderson had thought he caught a whiff of magnolia, but knew it was an illusion. He turned away from the view of Earth and gave a heavy sigh. Shepard had baggage, but unlike his, all of hers was dead. "I'll be there to smooth things over for her," Anderson assured. "Most importantly, we can trust her. The Alliance and duty is all she has."
Truth was, no one really knew Havil, not beyond the uniform. Not even the many therapists assigned to her or her comrades in N training could produce anything about her as a person. And now he knew why. The Normandy seemed colder with her aboard.
In the comm room, he found Nihilus casually seated and Shepard standing at attention until he waved her formality off. "Permission to speak freely, sir?" Shepard accosted him with crossed arms in the comm room. He nodded and watched her glance between the tall black-scaled Turian in the room and himself. "What am I doing here?"
It tickled Anderson to see Nihilus sit up, lips twitching, aggravated at what Turians would certainly call insubordination. "Commander Shepard, you've been selected as humanity's candidate for the Spectres. It's a real honor. Council Spectre Nihilus," Anderson made a point of outwardly deferring to the Turian, "will observe and evaluate you on joint missions. Our first is securing the beacon."
"Beacon, sir?" she asked. She hadn't moved a muscle at the news, and Anderson made a note not to play poker with her, ever. He tapped the room's touch interface to bring up a three-dimensional map of terrain.
"A science team on Eden Prime discovered a working Prothean beacon," Anderson explained, pointing to the long rut of a meandering dig site that scarred the planet's digital surface. "Obviously we contacted the Council for their help with this; the last Prothean artifact we found jumped our technology ahead centuries-more than," he stole a look at Nihilus, "well, more than the Systems Alliance and EarthGov have admitted."
Nihilus gave a grunt. "STG was on to you humans long ago, Anderson. It's not news to the Council."
Anderson raised his eyebrows but continued, "The scientists haven't activated it, so we don't know what might be here. We can't risk it falling into someone else's hands." He tapped again, and and a local star map exploded with systems and the locations of various pirate groups and and Batarian military activity, any of whom would definitely kill for Prothean technology.
"Shepard, we need to keep this secret until we secure it," Nihilus added unnecessarily, Anderson thought, in his gravelly Turian tones.
As he was speaking, Joker cut in on the comm: "Sorry to interrupt, Captain, but we have video coming in from the surface. You need to see it."
"Get it on screen."
Grainy helmet footage of tracer fire and explosions bounced with heavy footfalls. A woman in armor plead for reinforcements and aerial support. "Get down," she shouted to the filming comm officer as rockets shook him. As he checked to see she made it through the barrage, the camera focused on her face, sweaty and exhausted. The feed jerked with the impact of a grenade, and his camera caught the horizon as he slid to the ground.
"Freeze," barked Anderson. He felt his shoulders tense, straining against his stiff dress blues.
In the static frame there loomed a giant black ship, or maybe a creature the size of Eden Prime's largest towers. Its jointed tentacle arms touched the planet's surface, and its long, sleek black body was lost in the clouds. Anderson's tongue stuck to the roof of his mouth. "Status report," he finally ordered over the intercom.
"Ten minutes out. Stealth systems engaged," came Joker's reply. Anderson tapped the comm closed.
Anderson rubbed his fingertips on his thumb in thought. He watched Shepard, the lines of her profile lit by the screen, calmly study the still of the ship. The Spectre's plan was especially foolish now, and Shepard would have to be damn good to survive whatever was going on down there without proper mission prep. He glared at Nihilus, whose mandible plates slowly spread open and closed. In the dark his white clan markings markings looked for everything like a human skull.
The Normandy couldn't take on that ship, but the mission was too important to abandon. This was a ship of a magnitude, especially landing on planet, that just didn't exist. The Spectre took charge; he outranked Anderson on Council business. Anderson didn't mind, not now, not on what would likely be a suicide mission for them both. Nihilus looked first to him, then to Shepard. "Suit up, Commander. You've got ten minutes to meet us in the docking bay."
"Shepard," Anderson enjoyed how she had waited for his command, "Get ready. Take Alenko and Jenkins. We drop to the LZ as soon as we can." She was about to move, but he put a hand on her shoulder until he heard the door slide shut after Nihilus. "Commander," he looked her directly in the eyes, "you will record on helmet cam at all times and maintain radio silence until you have the beacon secured. We need to keep this from getting out, but once it does, we'll need all the evidence we can get. Understood?" And I'll especially need it when this all goes to hell, he didn't say.
He watched Shepard snap off a perfect salute. "Yes, sir."
As she left, he looked again at the screen. He hoped after Shepard left he'd feel warm again, but something about that ship unnerved him. He felt that turn in his gut when everything was about to explode in his face. He'd had that feeling before.
