~N7*
Stanza 2 · The Pilot, the Co-pilot, and the Council-Spectre
A billion miles from our former place
We come to rest in the calm of space.
Off the bow is sweet riot of black and light.
From the bow, gulfs of glory blaze clear to my sight.
The constellations are different from here.
Greater the bright Milky Way appears.
Far off there burns a sparkle of green,
Eden Prime reflecting an alien sun's beams.
Joker, the pilot, leans back in his chair
With a smug little grin and a triumphant flair.
Beside me stands a tall grim Turian.
Nihlus he's called, a rust faced alien,
A member of an allied race
And an agent of the Council of civilized space.
I'm accounted tall, for a daughter of men
But I stand barely up to his mandibled chin.
Armour sheathes his wasp-like waist
His face is covered in natural plates
Which are splashed with war-paint in bold white stripes
And jab back from his temples in sword-like spikes.
He reported to the captain while we were ashore.
But I've not been told why a Spectre's on board.
He nods at the pilot magnanimously.
'That was quite good for a relay leap.
It will please your captain.'
He turns and goes.
His footfalls fade to mere echoes,
Joker grumbles and mutters:
'I hate that guy.'
And turns to the helm, his fuzzy face wry.
The co-pilot beside him, Lieutenant Alenko
(A marine like myself; dark-haired, sturdy fellow)
Glances up from his work from the second helm station.
'Nihlus gave you a compliment, so … you hate him?'
I hear the two of them debating our guest,
Only half listening, my mind's on our quest.
And my eyes are on the green sparkle ahead.
Though Joker has left what Nihlus said,
(That leap was "incredible" not just "good")
And has now declared the guy's up-to-no-good.
He doesn't trust Turians or those agents the Spectres
And elaborates this in a portent projecture.
While Alenko counters we have no sound reason
To accuse the stern Nihlus of ill-will or treason.
(The Turians helped us design this new frigate.
And Citadel Council would of course ask to see it.)
Over the com, a deep voice is heard:
'Commander Rosamund Shepard?'
I hear my Captain call my name,
Anderson, my father's friend, of great and well won fame.
His voice is serious, almost grim
As he summons me down to speak with him.
I wonder aloud whence comes his gravity,
The source is more than I can see.
The pilot shrugs and resettles his hat.
'Oh, Captain Anderson? He just sounds like that.'
Alenko half smiles, I hear him aver:
'That's just when he's talking to you, Joker.'
