Chapter 4: Doing What I Do Best

It took a while to complete the final preparations, get the crew onboard and paint the ship's new name on her hull. I later found out that Miranda had refused to let drones do the painting, citing that the symbolism and connotation behind the name warranted a more personal touch. It was an unexpectedly thoughtful gesture, coming from someone who didn't strike me as a 'people' person.

As I watched TIMmy's Cerberus flunkies start to paint NORMANDY SR-2—what, did you think I'd go for Enterprise?—on the hull, something occurred to me: the ship was almost large enough to qualify as a cruiser. (1) According to Alliance nomenclature, cruisers were not named after famous battles, so we really shouldn't be naming her the Normandy. Then again, Cerberus wasn't part of the Alliance. And the name just felt so right.

That feeling rose exponentially as I took my first steps through the airlock into the Normandy. It felt like déjà vu. Cockpit at the bow, with Joker grinning widely from the pilot's seat. A short corridor leading from the cockpit, work stations running along either side. And a combat information centre situated at the far end.

Oh, there were some differences. Everything seemed brighter, as if the lights had a little more juice running through them. The CIC's hologram displayed a status display of the Normandy instead of a galaxy map, though I would eventually learn that the galaxy map would replace the status display when I was selecting destinations and whatnot. And it was definitely bigger. The path around the CIC seemed twice as wide as the old Normandy's. Clearly Cerberus was overcompensating for something.

Still, despite all the differences, despite her origins, I couldn't look around without one thought running through my head:

I was home.

Miranda and Jacob had accompanied me, the two of them walking a few steps behind me. So they never got to see the grin that refused to go away as I walked towards the CIC. After a minute or so, Jacob finally broke the silence: "Welcome aboard the new Normandy, Commander."

I didn't reply at first, busy as I was getting a better look at the Normandy's status display. The resolution was pretty impressive.

Miranda spoke up next, getting down to business. "I've been looking over the dossiers. I'd strongly recommend starting by acquiring Mordin Solus, the salarian professor on Omega. We know the Collectors use some type of advanced technology to immobilize their victims. We'll need him to develop a countermeasure to protect us."

Reluctantly, I had to admit that she—and TIMmy—had a point. "It would suck if we ran into them without some kinda bug-spray on hand," I nodded.

"Acquiring Professor Solus seems like the most logical place to start," a new voice chimed in. It sounded female, but I detected a distinct synthetic undertone. "Who are you?" I asked, looking around.

A hologram popped up behind me. It was composed of a small sphere propped on a cylindrical platform that tapered out at the bottom. A thin ring was stationed halfway up the platform, circling it like rings circle a planet. The entire structure was outlined in a grid of blue pinpoints, with a wave of brighter blue flowing from bottom to top at regular intervals.

"I am the Normandy's artificial intelligence. The crew likes to refer to me as 'EDI.'"

As it spoke, a series of blue bands situated at the centre of the sphere expanded and contracted. I was more interested in the implications of an AI installed onboard. An actual, self-aware sentient intelligence. "Nice to meet you, EDI," I replied politely.

"Likewise, Commander."

"FYI, helmsmen generally aren't happy when someone takes control of a ship away from them," I warned. "Especially Joker."

"I do not helm the ship," EDI corrected me. "Therefore, Mr. Moreau's talents will not go to waste. During combat, I operate the electronic warfare and cyberwarfare suites. Beyond that, I cannot interface with the ship's systems. I observe and offer analysis and advice. Nothing more."

EDI's hologram blinked out before I could say anything. So I said the next thing that popped into my head: "Please tell me that the three of us, Joker and the guys we just passed on the way to the CIC aren't the only ones on this ship."

"The Normandy has a full crew," Miranda confirmed. (2) "They're at their stations awaiting your orders."

"Final preparations for takeoff are running ahead of schedule, Commander," Joker reported over the comm. "ETA—eight hours. When you're ready to go, just pick a destination from the galaxy map in the CIC, and I'll plot a course."

"Jacob and I should return to our posts," Miranda said. "Come find us if you have any questions." With that, she left for the elevator. Jacob headed for one of the doors next to the elevator, but not before standing to attention and snapping off a crisp salute.

Since there was nothing to do for the next eight hours, I decided to do what I did best: mindless wandering and general harassment. (3)

My first stop was back to the cockpit to visit Joker. He turned around when I called out to him. "Can you believe this, Commander? It's my baby, better than new! It fits me like a glove!"

I got the feeling that he liked the ship. Something to do with how he sounded like a kid in a candy store.

"And leather seats!" he moaned. "Military may set the hardware standard, but on a first-gen frigate they could care less if the seats breathe. Now this? Civilian-sector comfort by design."

"The reproduction is not intended to be perfect, Mr. Moreau," EDI told him. For the first time, I noticed her hologram was hovering to the port side of the cockpit. "Seamless improvements were made."

Joker sighed. "And there's the downside. I liked the Normandy when she was beautiful and quiet. Now she's got this thing I don't talk about. It's like ship cancer."

"Hate to break it to you, Joker, but it's not the same," I pointed out. "There's nothing here that was even part of the real Normandy."

"There's us," Joker tried. "I have to take what I can get. The last two years sucked. You'll see. Even if an AI is spying on us, no way they'll invest this much just to screw us over. It'll be better than the old days."

"I hope so," I replied dryly. "I died."

Joker made a face. "Gah, you're such a downer."

I rolled my eyes. "Fine, consider this: after getting spaced, anything's 'better than the old days.'"

"Eh, okay. I'll let you pass this time," he allowed. "Since you're obviously still rusty and all."

As Joker turned back to his console, I walked over to EDI's hologram. "Yes, Shepard?" it asked.

"Thought I'd take the opportunity to learn more about you," I said.

"Do you have a specific inquiry?"

"Well, for starters, why are you named EDI?"

"EDI is a phonetic pronunciation of E-D-I. That is an acronym for Enhanced Defence Intelligence."

"Where are you?" I asked, looking around. "Your hologram pops up here and there, but I'm assuming you must be housed somewhere."

"My core intelligence is housed in a quantum bluebox, located behind the medical bay."

"What exactly do you do aboard the ship? You mentioned something earlier about 'electronic warfare and cyberwarfare suites?'"

"Correct. My reaction time is much faster than any organic," EDI replied. "I also collate the records of shipboard monitoring devices for the Illusive Man."

Say what?

The flashing bands that accompanied EDI's speech suddenly took on a red hue. "I serve additional functions which are restricted at this time."

My curiosity was definitely piqued at this point. "The Illusive Man has monitoring devices on board?"

"He has invested most of Cerberus' resources into the design and construction of this ship. He has an interest in monitoring our progress."

Uh huh. I had no problem with monitoring key sections for security purposes, but not when someone else was spying on us from far, far away. Besides, I had the feeling that TIMmy would be a bit more invasive. I quickly moved on to another point that EDI had brought up: "Restricted functions? Like what?"

That red flash came back. "I do not know," EDI admitted. "Some of my databases are sealed. Some of my hardware is kept offline. I assume that when certain unknown conditions are met, those functions will be released to me."

Oh that's just peachy. "But until then, you can do other things. Like cyberwarfare. Is that just sticking the odd virus in a server or can you do more?"

"In close range ship-to-ship combat, I can sometimes break through the firewalls of an enemy's internal wireless network. Once I seize control of their systems, I can turn off gravity or air. I can disable weapons guidance or shields. Or I can put their fusion plant in meltdown. On the defence, I manage Normandy's own suite of jammers, decoys and internal firewalls."

My eyebrow jerked up as EDI recited its capabilities. "Sounds incredibly useful," I marvelled. "Why isn't there someone like that on every warship?"

"An organic operator cannot react quickly enough to changing circumstances or perform the necessary multitasking. This is a role that can only be filled by an artificial intelligence. Unfortunately, we are suspect."

"Might have something to do with how an AI almost destroyed galactic civilization," Joker interrupted. "Just putting it out there."

"Let's discuss something else," I butted in.

"Ready."

"I want to know more about the people I'm working with." With, not for. That was important.

"Much of that data is classified," EDI informed me, over the glare of red flashes. "Do you have a specific inquiry?"

"How is Cerberus organized? Aside from the Illusive Man, I don't see much chain of command."

Apparently that question was acceptable, judging by EDI's return to a completely blue avatar. "Cerberus is organized into task-oriented cells. Each operates in isolation. Members from one cell cannot recognize the members of another. Each cell's agents are led by a single operator. We are called the Lazarus Cell, which is directed by Operator Lawson."

"How many cells are there, aside from this one?"

"I have a block that prevents me from answering that question," EDI replied in a strobe of red flashes.

Really? "You mean it's classified?"

"At its most basic level, yes. More specifically, while I am less controlled than other AIs, I am still subject to behavioural blocks and the physical isolation of my hardware. In this case, I am prevented from truthfully answering your question by Cerberus' levels of secret classification."

Well, at least it was honest about it. "What sort of resources does Cerberus have? You know—money, personnel, facilities..."

"I have a block that prevents me from answering that question."

"How did Cerberus replicate the most advanced warship in the Alliance Navy without anyone knowing?"

"I have a block that prevents me from answering that question."

"How are you getting along with Joker?"

Believe it or not, EDI didn't have any blocks regarding that inquiry. "Mr. Moreau does not trust me. It offends him that I am installed aboard 'his ship's' computers."

"Yeah, the last Normandy did just fine without an AI reminding me the airlock is ajar," Joker said.

"That's it for now," I decided.

"Logging you out, Shepard."

I left the cockpit and was on my way to check out the rest of this deck, when a red-headed woman intercepted me.

"Commander Shepard?" she greeted me, standing to attention and offering a passable salute. "I'm Yeoman Kelly Chambers. I've been assigned as your administrative assistant. I'll manage your messages and help you monitor the crew. And I must say, it's such an honour to work under you, Commander Shepard."

"I'm glad to have you on the team, Ms. Chambers," I said without a beat.

"Please, call me Kelly," she smiled.

"Okay, Kelly," I shrugged. "You mentioned that you're my administrative assistant. What are your responsibilities?"

"I'll keep you notified of any messages or appointments you might have. If any of the crew has important business to discuss, I'll make sure you know."

I frowned in confusion. It was good to clarify that she wouldn't be handling day-to-day operations or anything, as that was really the XO's job. Still, there was a reason why yeoman and adjutant positions had been phased out. "Isn't that the type of task better suited for a VI? Or an AI, in our case," I added, remembering my earlier conversation with EDI.

"Yes, but being your yeoman is just my official role. Unofficially, I observe the crew."

Uh huh.

"Everyone knows how risky our mission is. Many of us may not be coming back. That's a lot of pressure."

You don't say.

"I have a degree in psychology. I'm good at sensing when people are overly taxed."

"You make sure the crew's mental health is sound?" I asked for confirmation.

"Yes," Kelly nodded. "I look for warning signs. I listen. It's not a full-time job and it's most effective when done informally."

Great. A Cerberus shrink. "We're lucky to have someone with your skills, Kelly," I said, plastering a smile on my face.

She seemed to buy it. "Thank you, Shepard. What else would you like to know?"

In for a penny... "How 'bout your thoughts on Cerberus. This organization has a dark reputation. Do you have any concerns working for them?"

"Not at all. Our methods can be harsh, but Cerberus has noble objectives."

And that makes it all better. "Really?"

"We look out for human interests. Advance human technologies. Save human lives. They're good goals."

"By themselves, yes. But it sounds like Cerberus wants to dominate all aliens and install humankind on top," I rebutted.

"Cerberus looks out for humanity, but that doesn't mean we hate aliens," Kelly protested. "My sister started a dog shelter, but she loved cats too."

I made a mental note not to sit, pant or roll over any time soon.

"I love humanity," Kelly declared. "I also love asari, quarians, turians, salarians, hanar... that isn't in conflict with Cerberus ideals."

Someone had definitely grabbed more than one cup from the punch bowl. Not that I could say that out loud. "That's a very positive attitude," I said instead.

"What can I say?" Kelly grinned. "I'm a people person."

"Clearly."

"Anything else you'd like to talk about?"

"How do you get assigned to the Normandy?"

"I was handpicked by the Illusive Man to help fight the greatest threat known to humanity," she answered.

"He tell you what you were signing up for first?"

"Well, um, no. But I trusted that he would divulge the necessary information when it was appropriate—which he did."

Oh yeah. Definitely gulping down the Cerberus punch. "Well, now you know what you're facing," I said. "How do you feel, exactly?"

"To be honest? Honoured, exhilarated, terrified. But mostly I feel encouraged. Under your leadership, we can't fail."

Chalk up yet another person who bought my reputation hook, line and sinker. Nice to see some things never change. "Don't worry. We'll defeat the Collectors."

"I trust you implicitly," Kelly said. "The moment I met you, I knew I could close my eyes, fall back, and you'd be there."

Oooookaaaaay.

"Your trust is well placed, Kelly," I finally said.

"I knew it would be. Thank you, Shepard."

Not wanting to stick around any longer, I left to explore the rest of the ship. That took longer than you might think. Take the level I was on, for example. On the old Normandy, there was a comm room behind the CIC, with doors leading to stairs that went down to the next deck. Here, the entrance to the comm room was replaced with an elevator. The doors on either side led to two separate rooms.

The starboard door led to the technical laboratory, or 'tech lab.' Apparently I could research, order and construct upgrades for weapons, equipments and the ship there. I say 'apparently,' because the lab was sealed. When I tried to get in, EDI informed me that no one was allowed inside without a qualified scientist. And they say Cerberus is free of stupid rules and regulations. Mind you, operating without rules and regs led to bright ideas like trying to breed rachni armies and eating popcorn while Alliance troops became thresher maw chow, so maybe it was good that they were keeping the lab sealed for now.

I had better luck with the port door, though. That led to the armoury, where all our weapons were kept. I noticed a couple new weapons that I hadn't seen before. Actually, I'd never seen any of these weapons before.

Jacob was there doing some maintenance on one of the pistols. Looked like this was his post. I whistled to get his attention.

He turned around and saluted. "Commander."

"Jacob," I nodded. After a moment, I offered a quick salute of my own. Too fast to be a proper salute, but it seemed enough to satisfy him. "I noticed a few weapons here that I don't recognize. Think you can ID them for me? Say, that one?" I pointed at a random weapon, which turned out to be some sort of shotgun.

"There hasn't been time to really settle in and take stock," Jacob apologized "but let's see." He picked up the shotgun. "Lieberschaft 2180. A.k.a. the 'Eviscerator.' Shaves off serrated metal edges so the pellets can fly aerodynamically. This baby is better at punching through armour and can hit targets at longer ranges than most shotguns." He paused before adding "If you don't mind breaking several intergalactic weapons treaties."

Uh huh. "What about this?" I asked, pointing to the sniper rifle.

Jacob put down the shotgun and picked up the sniper rifle. "Incisor sniper rifle. Military and police model. Fires three shots with each pull of the trigger."

"Sounds like a long-range assault rifle," I observed. "Wouldn't that affect its accuracy? Or make more noise?"

Jacob shook his head. "The burst is fast enough that all three rounds would hit the target before the barrel drifts a millimetre. And the noise of the burst isn't any different from a single sniper rifle shot."

"How does it compare with the Mantis rifle that I was using earlier?"

"Fifteen shots per clip times two clips, versus one shot per clip times ten for the Mantis," Jacob recited from memory. "Each round from the Incisor does about twenty percent of the damage of a single Mantis round."

So even a burst of three rounds would only cause sixty percent of the damage compared to the Mantis? By the time the second or third shot was fired, the target could have moved. That didn't seem very impressive.

Jacob must have seen the look on my face. "Its primary purpose was to take out shields, Commander. It's your choice whether to take it or not. Here are the specs on all the weapons we have so far." He leaned over a counter to pull out a datapad and passed it to me. I belatedly grabbed it after a minute, as I was still mentally comparing the two sniper rifles.

"By the way," he added "you can also choose which weapons your squad takes on missions. Perks of being squad leader."

"Good to know," I nodded. "And thanks for the brief weapons spiel and the datapad. That's more info than I had when I first came in. Anything else you can tell me?"

"Well... off the record?"

I motioned for him to continue.

"I want to say that working with you is a great opportunity to do something that matters," Jacob said sincerely. "It's a privilege to serve on the Normandy, Commander."

"Thanks, but you may change your tune if we end up like the original Normandy," I smiled.

He shrugged. "Maybe. As long as the Illusive Man walks his talk, and you do the same, I'll do my best to make sure we succeed. That's been the condition for my service so far. I have... issues with certain actions Cerberus has taken in the past."

"What has Cerberus done to make you nervous?" I asked.

"A lot," Jacob replied darkly. "They've been called terrorists, and with good reason. Doubt you can find a more checkered past. But if the Collector threat is real, and we do something about it, Cerberus will be remembered differently.

"Or we'll all be tried and executed," he grinned. "Can't count on people thinking about it as hard as I have."

Jacob was definitely owning up to the impression I'd formed of him as a straight-shooter. As Cerberus guys go, it was nice to see someone who didn't follow the party line. "It's good to hear a clear opinion," I offered. "Sounds like we're two of a kind."

I think I made his day with that comment. For a moment, I swear I could see him blush. "That honours me more than you, Commander," he said after a moment. "I, uh, I gotta get back to work. Let me know if you need anything."

He saluted again before turning back to his pistol.

Apparently the command deck, which housed the CIC, the armoury, the still-inaccessible tech lab, and the comm room—accessible via a corridor that connected the armoury and tech lab—was Deck Two. Of Five. I was tempted to see what was on Deck One, but I decided to go down instead.

Deck Three was huge. It had crew quarters, observation rooms, life support and a whole bunch of other rooms. Like restrooms. Just to test out how much attention EDI was paying, I checked out the woman's restroom. EDI promptly informed me that the men's restroom was on the port side of the ship.

As I walked along, I marvelled at how closely Cerberus had reproduced the Normandy, at least on this level. There was an office right where my old quarters used to be—apparently that was Miranda's office/quarters. There was a mess hall right where the old Normandy's mess hall used to be as well, though this one had a galley as well. Bunch of sleeper pods flanked a corridor that led to a main battery room, where a gunnery officer could direct weapons fire. Of course, the Normandy didn't have a gunnery officer yet, so it was sealed. Sickbay was right where it used to be, too. For some reason, that's where the AI Core Room—where EDI's bluebox—was stored. Right through a door at the back of sickbay. Like everything else, the sickbay looked larger than the old Normandy's. It also had glass windows, which allowed me to see the chief medical officer, hard at work.

A very familiar CMO. I made a bee-line straight for sickbay.

"Doc, I need an eye checkup," I said as soon as the sickbay doors closed behind me. "I think I'm seeing things. Like the fact that you bear a remarkable resemblance to my old CMO."

"Commander Shepard," Dr. Chakwas greeted me warmly. "I watched the Normandy crumble with you onboard. It's good to see you alive. Scars and all."

"It's good to be alive," I smiled. "And it's nice to see another familiar face, Doctor."

"I feel the same," Dr. Chakwas nodded. "I wish more of the original crew could be here." She appraised me for a moment before continuing. "The kind of trauma you endured would've changed most people, but not you, I see."

"I wouldn't say that," I snorted. "Scars, remember?"

"I meant psychologically, and you know that, Shepard," she chuckled. "Welcome back."

As great as it was to see her, her presence did raise some questions. "Doctor, you've been with the Alliance for years. Why leave now?"

"After the Normandy was lost, the surviving crew was reassigned," she replied. "I was stationed at the Mars Naval Medical Centre. A very... respectable position, but it wasn't on a starship."

"If I remember correctly, you said that you'd occasionally entertained the idea of opening a planetside clinic or something similar," I recalled, "but you always dropped that thought after a while. Colonial military life really isn't for you, huh?"

She smiled and leaned towards me. "I've spent most of my life on warships, never knowing what the next mission might bring. I'm used to the hum of engines, the creaking of bulkheads, that subtle vertigo when the momentum dampeners kick in. Life planet-side is just too static, too boring."

I loved the way she phrased that. Civvies who don't spend time in space can't possibly appreciate subtle details like that. They certainly couldn't have summed it up so perfectly. Still, I didn't forget a troubling detail that was nagging me. "That may be, Doctor, but that doesn't explain why you're here. You're not the Cerberus type."

Her response was immediate: "I don't work for Cerberus; I work for you—on a mission that may be crucial to the survival of the human race. I have faith that your dealings with Cerberus will be ethical. I trust you, Commander."

Right. No pressure. "There's a very good chance this mission will be a one-way trip," I warned her. "Are you prepared for that?"

"I've been through the Reclaiming of Shanxi and the Skyllian Blitz," Chakwas replied calmly. "We survived the Battle of the Citadel and the destruction of the Normandy together. I've lived a full life—no regrets. I'd like to make sure the crew gets the same opportunity."

"Do you have everything you need?" I asked, looking around.

"I believe so," she assured me, following my gaze. "This medical bay seems very much like the sick bay on the original Normandy. Only thing missing are my private reserves. A bit of scotch, some whisky... I even had a bottle of Serrice Ice Brandy that I was saving for a special occasion."

Dr. Chakwas kept a private stock of booze? That was news to me. But then we never talked all that much on the old Normandy.

"I'll keep an eye out for a replacement bottle," I said on impulse. No, I have no idea where that came from.

"Oh, you needn't," Chakwas shook her head. "It's expensive and we have much larger concerns ahead."

I don't know about that. They say nothing prepares you for a suicidal mission quite like getting absolutely plastered. Still, if she had everything else in order... "Well if you change your mind, let me know the next time I pop by."

"Of course, Commander."

I walked through the mess hall on the way to Miranda's office. As I walked by, one of the crewmen—I later learned his name was Hawthorne—grimaced and slapped his fork down on the table. "Chef's surprise again?" he complained, a scowl on his face. "Come on, Rupert."

"I'm sorry, princess," a bald man called back sarcastically. "Filet mignon and caviar coming right up. Let me just get out my doilies."

"Gee, would you do that? That'd be real nice, Mr. Gardner," the crewman muttered.

On a whim, I veered over to greet the bald man. He was muttering under his breath and banging pots and pans until he saw me.

"Someone mention filet mignon?" I joked.

"Commander Shepard, the hero of the Citadel," he grinned. "You did humanity proud that day. Mess Sergeant Rupert Gardner here. How can I be of service?"

"Just making the rounds, getting to know everybody," I replied. "Who they are, what they do here and so on. I have the answer to that first one now. How 'bout filling me in on the rest?"

He laughed. "You mean what I do here? Better question is what don't I do? Most think of me as the ship's cook, but I'm also the facilities technician and custodian. HVAC, plumbing, non-mission-critical electrical—I make sure they're all clean and running."

"So the man cleaning the toilets is also preparing the meals?" I asked, raising an eyebrow.

Gardner shuffled his feet. "I wash my hands... most of the time. This ain't no luxury liner. You have to pull your own weight on a Cerberus vessel, and I catch what falls through the cracks." His lip twitched. "Heh... through the cracks."

Toilet humour. Gotta love it. Making a mental note to stick to rations for the immediate future, I moved onto another question: "How do you feel about working for Cerberus?"

"Damn proud!" he replied immediately. "Cerberus gets the job done." A scowl swept over his face as he continued. "The Alliance and Council have got their heads buried so deep up their butt puckers they can't see squat. It'll take good ol' fashioned human ingenuity to crush these Collector vermin. Only Cerberus knows that."

Ah, pro-human jingoism. How I missed it—not.

"How did you find your way into Cerberus?" I asked curiously.

"Can you believe I was once a family man, working the eezo rigs along the frontier?" he started. "I was happy enough."

Then his face dropped into misery. "But losing everything to batarian raiders can change your outlook. I needed to make a difference. I'm no soldier, but I've got skills, and Cerberus keeps an eye out for talent.

"I'll do whatever it takes to help," he promised firmly, "be that plumbing a sewer, routing an air duct, or keeping everyone's bellies full."

"How're you doing here?" I asked.

Gardner sighed, leaning on the counter. "I make do, but have you ever tried to prepare a decent meal with military provisions?"

All thoughts of staying away from the cooking were abruptly blown out of the water.

He nodded sympathetically as I shuddered. "I'm good, but I'm no miracle worker. Taking down the Collectors is going to be tough business." His eye drifted to the crewmen in the mess hall. "Everyone on this crew has sacrificed a lot to get here. They deserve a few fine meals before throwing themselves into the fire."

"Hard to motivate people when the reward is sitting down to another 'mystery meal,'" I agreed. "What do you need?"

"If I had some quality ingredients..." he stopped, as if realizing who he was talking to. "...aw, shit," he proclaimed, pushing himself off the counter. "You've got more to worry about than grocery shopping on the Citadel. Forget I mentioned it."

"I'll probably head that way sooner or later," I shook my head. "If I do, I'll keep an eye out."

He seemed surprised that a big hot-shot officer would care about some lowly grunt's concerns. "Much appreciated," he said, handing over a datapad. "Most of this list is probably standard fare for those namby-pambies on the Citadel."

"No doubt," I laughed. "Hopefully that'll mean it'll be easy to find and not outrageously priced."

"Hopefully. Anything else you'd like to talk about?" he asked.

"No, I won't take any more of your time," I replied. "Still got places to go, people to see."

"Back to work," he nodded.

Gardner was funny. Like one of those ol' salts who'd seen it all. Miranda was a bit more serious.

"Commander," she said when I walked in. "What can I do for you?"

"Just checking in. Anything I should know regarding the Normandy?" I asked.

"The crew's working well, and the ship appears to be performing to specifications," she reported.

"Speaking of crew," I said casually, "I've been walking around, shaking hands, asking people what they do here. So now it's your turn. What exactly are your duties, aside from keeping an eye on me?"

"I'm the Illusive Man's agent. You're his most important asset."

"I feel so loved."

Miranda carried on as if I hadn't interrupted. "Put simply, my job is to make sure you succeed. Aside from that, I send regular reports to the Illusive Man, updating our status. I also handle day-to-day operations, maintenance and logistics."

"Which effectively makes you my XO and second-in-command," I observed.

"Exactly."

Well, she seemed a lot more forthcoming now. Guess our little mission together on Freedom's Progress convinced her that I wouldn't get everyone killed after all. At least, not right away. I took another step in and let the doors close behind me. "Do you have a minute for me to pick your brain, Miranda?"

Miranda seemed to understand what I meant. "No doubt you've got a lot of questions about Cerberus."

"You might say that," I said, sitting down on the sofa on the other side of her desk.

She leaned forward. "Cerberus isn't as evil as most people believe. If I can help allay any of your concerns, I'd be happy to do so. What would you like to know?"

I began with the most obvious: "I know what we're doing here, but what's Cerberus' long-term goal?"

"The advancement of the human race. Nothing more, nothing less," Miranda replied. "The salarians have the Special Tasks Group. The asari have their legendary commandos for stealth and recon operations. Cerberus is humanity's answer to those organizations."

"But those organizations are regulated by governments," I pointed out. "Who keeps Cerberus in check?"

"Nobody. We're privately funded, and our backers trust the Illusive Man to make the right decisions. But he's very clear about our goals: protect humanity and serve its advancement."

"But I thought you guys were all compartmentalized into cells. How do you know that one of the other cells hasn't deviated from those goals? Or the Illusive Man himself?"

"We don't," she admitted. "But not everyone agrees with our goals or the dedication with which we seek to meet them. Compartmentalization is a necessary evil to allow us to serve humanity's interests."

"And that doesn't bother you?"

"It bothers me a great deal. But if we succeed in this mission and earn favour from the rest of the galaxy, maybe we can change that."

"How do you intend to accomplish your goals? Militarily? Politically? Or a bit of both?"

"Cerberus has several divisions: political, military, scientific. But we're all working towards the same goal. The teams you encountered before your... accident were mostly part of our military division. But not all Cerberus organizations use the same protocols. We try not to get bogged down in bureaucracy or formality."

"What kind of resources does Cerberus have?" I asked, remembering EDI's less-than-helpful answer to the same question.

"We're very well-funded, though I doubt anyone other than the Illusive Man knows exactly how well. But our resources aren't unlimited. Reviving you and rebuilding the Normandy was a significant investment. And a significant risk. We're all hoping you can do the impossible, Shepard. No pressure."

While her tone so far was significantly friendlier than any of our previous conversations, she said the last two sentences... lightly. Like she was trying to be funny. Hmm. "What can you tell me about the Illusive Man?"

"Not much that you don't already know," Miranda admitted. "Even I don't have access to most of his background. And you've seen more of him than most ever do. It's rare for him to become directly involved in missions, but you're something special. Whatever else people might say about him, I can assure you he's got humanity's best interests at heart. That includes you and me."

I frowned. "How can you be sure of that if you know so little about him?"

"I didn't get to where I am without knowing how to gauge people's motives and ambitions. Even from brief encounters. He's no saint, and he'd be the first to admit it, but he is committed. Humanity couldn't have a better advocate."

We'd have to agree to disagree on that, I thought. Meanwhile, since she was being so candid... "Enough about Cerberus and its boss," I decided. "Tell me about yourself, Miranda."

"Hmm, I guess that's fair. I've spent the last two years learning everything there is to know about you after all."

"I do have a bit of catch-up," I agreed.

She got up and started to pace behind her desk. "Well, you should probably know that I've had extensive genetic modification. Not my decision, but I make the most of it."

Interesting that she was modded without her say-so.

"It's one of the reasons the Illusive Man handpicked me. I'm very good at just about anything I choose to do."

"You certainly don't lack for confidence," I agreed.

"It's just a fact," she replied. "My reflexes, my strength, even my looks—they're all designed to give me an edge. No point hiding from it. It's the reason I'm trusted to oversee the most dangerous, risky and technically demanding operations Cerberus undertakes. And it's why I was assigned to you. It's my job to make sure you succeed, Shepard."

"What level of genetic modification are we talking about? I'm guessing it goes beyond the standard package they give to Alliance marines upon enlistment."

"It's very thorough. Physically, I'm superior in many ways. I heal quickly and I'll likely live half again as long as the average human. My biotic abilities are also very advanced... for a human. Add to that some of the best training and education money can buy and, well, it's pretty impressive, really."

"Sounds like you were designed to be perfect," I commented.

"Maybe, but I'm not," she said seriously. "I'm still human, Shepard. I make mistakes like everyone else. And when I do, the consequences are severe. Everyone expects a lot from someone with my... abilities."

"No pressure," I repeated her earlier comments. She didn't crack a smile. Her face was a blank mask. The only expression came from her eyes, which briefly flashed a hint of, well, sadness.

"Thanks for the information, Miranda," I said after a moment. It was clear that I'd stumbled into a sore spot, and for once I didn't want to jeopardize what progress we'd made in our working relationship for the sake of my curiosity. "I'll talk to you later."

"Of course, Commander. Whatever you need."

Deck Four held a couple cargo holds, one on each side of the ship, as well as Main Engineering. The latter was the only one with anyone inside.

When I entered, I saw a man and a woman tapping at some consoles. After a minute, I coughed.

The man turned around, saw me and gaped. "You came all the way down here to see us?" he asked with a Scottish accent.

The woman turned around and immediately gave me a salute. "You're speaking to our commanding officer," she hissed.

"At ease," I soothed. The two immediately assumed parade rest stance, making it pretty obvious that they were ex-Alliance. "Seriously, relax. I'm just touring the ship, getting to know my crew." Wait—my crew? Since when did these guys become my crew?

The Scottish man went first. "I'm Engineer Ken Donnelly, handling the power control systems. This is Gabby."

"That's Engineer Gabriella Daniels, actually" she corrected him. "I'm responsible for the propulsion systems."

"What can we do for you, Commander?" Ken asked.

"Like I said, I'm just getting to know everybody," I said. "Why don't we start with where you received your training?"

"Both Gabby and I started in the Alliance, serving on the SSV Perugia," Ken replied.

"Perugia," I repeated. "Wasn't that part of the Fifth Fleet?"

"She flew in the first wave at the Battle of the Citadel," Gabby confirmed. "We saw Sovereign first-hand."

"Well you obviously left the Perugia since then. And since it's not SOP to get transferred from Alliance ships to Cerberus vessels, I'm guessing something happened."

"After you died, Anderson lost political clout," Ken explained. "The Council backslid on the Reaper menace."

Gabby took over. "They discounted Sovereign as an isolated threat, as a single—"

"Which was bullshit!" Ken interrupted angrily. "They said your warnings of a greater danger were mistaken or delusional."

"We lost respect for Alliance leadership," Gabby continued. "We need to fight the real enemy, and only Cerberus seemed to be doing that."

Some things were starting to become clear. "So that's how you wound up with Cerberus, Ken? Because of the Council sticking their heads in the sand?"

"Once you were gone, the Alliance brass descended like vultures, tearing apart everything you'd said." Ken frowned. "I was very public with my defence for you. I didn't hold back."

"That's an understatement," Gabby grinned. "If Kenneth wasn't such a talented engineer, they'd have court-marshalled him for insubordination."

"But it got me noticed by the Illusive Man," Ken finished. "He made an offer, and here I am."

"And you, Gabby?" I asked. "Why did you join?"

She glanced at Ken. "Kenneth and I have been partners in crime since we graduated from tech academy. When he got the Cerberus offer, I insisted that it include me. He'd fall apart without me."

"Thanks, mum," Ken rolled his eyes.

"Also, I love engines, and the Normandy is state-of-the-art," Gabby added. "When I got the opportunity to work on her, I had to jump."

"So what do you guys think about Cerberus?"

"Actually, we don't know much about the organization other than the Normandy team," Gabby shrugged. "We know our mission and who's in charge. That's it."

Ken clapped his hands excitedly. "We're off to kick the Collectors right in their daddy bags. That's enough for me."

So they might be card-carrying members, but they didn't necessarily frame their membership on a wall and recite daily pledges of loyalty to it. Good sign.

"Are you set up okay down here?"

"We can't complain," Ken sighed. "I just wish it didn't take so long to calibrate the FBA arrays—"

"Kenneth, you're complaining," Gabby interrupted.

I got the feeling that the two had quite the dynamic going on, what with the way they went back and forth like that, and found myself wondering whether the fact that they were both redheads had any impact at all. Shelving that aside, I asked "What kind of problems are you having?"

Ken started to explain. "When they upgraded the Normandy design, they got a bit sloppy with the FBA couplings. I won't bore you with tech, but there is an array of attenuators in the primary power transfer system that channels the field bleed—"

"Kenneth, you're boring the commander with tech," Gabby interrupted again. She summarized the situation: "In short, if we had T6-FBA couplings installed, it'd save us a lot of maintenance time each day."

Strange that Cerberus would go so far to show they're better than the Alliance, more effective than the Alliance and then fumble the ball like that. "Why isn't something like that already installed? I mean, they installed an AI, so you'd think that the proper couplings would be easy in comparison."

"It's probably just a design oversight," Gabby waved it off. "Efficiency isn't affected. It's a maintenance issue. "

"Also, the T6 model can be hard to find. Nashan Stellar Dynamics discontinued them," Ken added.

"So where could we find them?" I asked. "Do we have to rummage the local scrap yards or place bids on extranet auction sites?"

"We could probably find used ones in the Omega markets," Gabby suggested. "But we have no time for shore leave."

"Well, I'll keep an eye out for them," I said. "Until then, I guess you'll get real familiar with what you've got.

Ken laughed, albeit ruefully. "Aye. That's a fact."

"Carry on," I told them.

"Will do, Commander."

As I left, I overheard Ken whisper to Gabby: "I'm amazed Shepard came down to see us."

"I told you he would," Gabby replied.

Deck Five housed the hangar, which consisted mostly of a single UT-47 Kodiak Drop Shuttle and a few pieces of equipment. Since the new Normandy was twice the mass of the original, it was impossible for her to land on most planets. The Kodiak was the only way to get us planetside for any missions that might come up. Needless to say, it would be used very frequently.

On the upside, it could hold up to fourteen people—including the pilot and co-pilot, contained a great ECM suite and boasted a strong kinetic barrier system. On the downside, it was damn tight in there—almost as bad as the Mako—and it had no weapons. My chief concern was the fact that its thrusters were for directional control only. Its main means of flight lay in using its large eezo core to nullify the Kodiak's mass and generate mass effect fields to move it up, down or around. As a result, if the mass effect field failed, the Kodiak would become one very expensive coffin. (4)

Since there was nothing else to see, I figured it was time to check out Deck One. A.k.a. 'The Loft,' as it was directly underneath the exterior pressure hull. Everyone, including me, would come to call it something else: the Captain's Cabin.

My first impression was that it was definitely bigger—it was at least half again as large as my old quarters. And better-lit, too. As I looked around, I started to pick out more details.

A large glass display case on the right divided the room into two. It was designed to hold model ships, judging by the scale model of the Normandy SR-2 hanging front and centre. In the 'upper half,' a long desk ran along the length of the display case and down the wall to the corner. A lot of stuff was already piled on top, including a bunch of folders—looked like the dossiers on everyone TIMmy thought I should shanghai—a computer console, a display case with copies of all the medals that had been foisted on me over the years, and a small stack of reference texts. Above the books lay a couple shelves, where I could find a bunch of manuals and other reference material. And next to the bookshelves lay an actual restroom. Yep, Cerberus apparently felt that the commanding officer warranted his own restroom.

A small set of stairs led down to the 'lower half.' There, I could find a closet on the left hand side that held a number of outfits for casual wear. There were also slots there to hold my hardsuits and all the components that I might want to swap in and out. A large king-sized bed was planted in the centre of the far wall. A small working desk, complete with chair and desk lamp, sat along the right wall. And a bunch of chairs and sofas scattered around, including one large comfy one right under the display case.

Oh, and did I mention the aquarium? The one spanning most of the left hand side? It was empty for the moment, but it was already filled with water, random rocks and plants on the bottom and a food dispenser.

This was all looking way too good to be true.

Maybe it was the way Cerberus wasted two years and four billion plus creds to bring my sorry ass back from the dead and gave me free hardsuits and weapons, a new ship that put the old Normandy and every other warship out there to shame, a full crew, and a mission relevant to humanity. Maybe it was the fact that I still had that tingling feeling on the back of my neck. I was starting to suspect it effectively replaced the paranoid voice that used to scream in my head whenever the excrement hit the rotary oscillator. If so, someone had definitely botched things up while I was on the operating table. Maybe it was yet another one of EDI's holographic projectors, situated on the left wall between the door and the aquarium, reminding me that Big Sister was watching.

Either way, I still had three hours before we were ready to leave. So maybe I had some spare time on my hands to address my concerns.

First: my hardsuit. Nothing much to change—except for the colour. Yep, I could change the pattern scheme and colours on my hardsuit. I allowed myself a few minutes to try some outlandish colour schemes before settling on a nice dull black with blue highlights.

Second task was to choose some casual wear to strut around in while onboard the Normandy. Hmm: short-sleeves and pants. Black and white with a huge honkin' yellow Cerberus logo on the shoulder. Pass.

Dress uniform, also in black and white. Had a yellow Cerberus logo as well, but much smaller. Nah: why dress up on a Cerberus vessel when it was never my thing on any Alliance warship?

Some brown and black leather ensemble consisting of vest, sleeveless shirt and pants. Fine if I was a two-bit merc or a scruffy nerf herder; not so fine as captain of a ship.

Black and white uniform that covered everything from neck to toe; complete with gloves. No Cerberus symbol, just an orange-yellow patch on either arm sporting the logo 'SR-2'. OK, that I can live with. I mean, if it's good enough for Dr. Chakwas, it's good enough for me.

Next: sweeping the room. I would have done so even if EDI hadn't freely admitted that there were bugs planted everywhere. After a bit of fiddling, I drained the aquarium and starting sweeping my quarters with a fine-toothed comb. Or omni-tool. Whatever.

While I was searching, I thought over the crew of the Normandy. They were pretty nice, all things considered. Not at all irrational. Or xenophobic. Heck, there were only one or two chest-thumping pro-human nuts in the whole bunch, and even they weren't that extreme. On the whole, every man and woman on this ship just wanted to do something—anything—to help humanity, and were sick and tired of the people in charge who were sitting on their asses instead of doing their job. So did this mean I could grow to respect them? Even get along with them? Or was this all one big elaborate trap to lure me into a Cerberus kumbaya fest?

I hate being paranoid. It'd be much easier if I could just blissfully take everything at face value. Then I wouldn't have to do stuff like crawl around on my hands and knees.

After two hours, I came up with thirty-eight bugs. No, I'm not telling you where they all were or how I found them. Most I destroyed on the spot. I only kept one intact, mostly because it was extremely well-designed and it seemed a shame to scrap something of such superior craftsmanship.

I may have re-routed the signal to the exterior vid-cam outside the waste chute, though. Hee, hee.

With forty-six minutes to go, I sat down and accessed my computer console. It didn't take long to determine that the number of unread messages in my e-mail account was suspiciously low, considering how long I'd been out. I know the galaxy has done wonders with spam filters, but you'd be surprised what gets through. After a bit of digging, I figured out the answer: Kelly had priority access to my account.

You'd think I'd be pissed. Well I was, but not as much as you'd think. I always secured classified data on my personal computer rather than let it float around in my e-mail account. That computer was on the original Normandy, and we all know what happened to her. Anything in my e-mail was either public domain or had such minimal classification that any idiot could grab it. Besides, I wasn't looking forward to sifting through two years of spam.

Still, now that I was back on the job, I couldn't let the status quo stand. I cracked my knuckles and starting working some computer magic. Soon enough, I'd modified Kelly's access so she could detect when I got new messages, but not read who the sender was or what the contents were.

I also had a chance to check my financial accounts. The contents of my 'official' accounts were transferred to my mother, as per my will. A couple of my 'unofficial' accounts had been seized by various financial authorities as 'illegal proceeds of crime' or some nonsense.

It wasn't until I got to my largest unofficial account that I noticed something, well, hinky. (5) It looked like most of the money had been converted to various precious metals. Specifically; palladium, platinum, iridium and element zero. It looked like Cerberus had anticipated that I might want to do some upgrading at some point, and this would be a good start to providing the raw materials required. The remainder of that account, all 377,800 credits, had been left for any purchases I might want to make.

Before I logged off, my computer told me I had a new message. From Councillor Anderson:

On the off chance that the rumours are true and you actually are alive, I need you to come and talk to me on the Citadel. A lot has changed in the last two years. You put me on the Council, and it's only fair that you be allowed to speak for yourself about what we've been hearing.

Why did I have the feeling that TIMmy had something to with what TPTB—and Anderson—had been hearing? (6) That, along with the presumption that they could buy my loyalty with toys—not that I didn't want them, but it's the principle of the thing—fuelled a sudden desire for payback. Or a tweak on the nose.

After hacking the PA system and uploading something, I returned to the command deck, I headed straight for the galaxy map and ordered Joker to set a course for the Citadel. I had three reasons for doing so.

One: it turned out that Cerberus had already hired a squad mate—so I wouldn't have to do a song-and-dance to recruit her—and she was waiting for us on the Citadel.

Two: the Citadel shops were bound to have something I could use.

Three: seeing my old CO beat following TIMmy's 'suggestions' any day.

No sooner had I given the order than an old Earth song started playing through the speakers—right on cue. I pretended to look just as surprised as everyone else:

"Well you can tell by the way I use my walk,
I'm a woman's man no time to talk.
Music loud and women warm,
I've been kicked around, since I was born.

"And now it's all right, it's okay,
And you may look the other way.
We can try to understand
The New York Times' effect on man.

"Whether you're a brother or whether you're a mother,
You're stayin' alive, stayin' alive.
Feel the city breakin' and everybody shakin'
Stayin' alive, stayin' alive.

"Ah, ha, ha, ha, stayin' alive, stayin' alive.
Ah, ha, ha, ha, stayin' ..." (7)

(1): Shepard does not indicate whether this is a reference to one of the several real-life waterborne vessels that bore that name during the 18th, 19th and 20th centuries or the various fictional starships that bore that name in the Star Trek fictional universe.

(2): The Normandy SR-2 started with a permanent crew of twenty-four, a fraction of the three hundred or so crew members that are normally found onboard a cruiser. This is likely due to the fact that the new Normandy was not a true cruiser, as well as the use of the artificial intelligence EDI to compensate for the reduced manpower available.

(3): This more than any other evidence convinced me that the old Shepard was back, rather than some ersatz Cerberus copy.

(4): Alliance marines nicknamed this vehicle the 'Combat Cockroach' for its durability and appearance. They also called it a 'three-million-credit coffin' for the reasons that Shepard illustrates.

(5): Far be it for me to wonder how many 'unofficial' accounts Shepard had.

(6): I cannot deny that Shepard's distinction reminds me of the extent to which I was shut out from deliberating on galactic affairs with the rest of the Council, despite my appointment as human councillor. Considering the sentiments behind Shepard's designation of 'The Powers That Be' for the original members of the Council, though, I suppose I should be grateful.

(7): 'Stayin' Alive,' a song released by a human group called the Bee Gees in the late 1970s.