Shepard woke with a start at a change in the lighting in her room. The fish tanks, usually lit dim red, had turned blue. "Thanks, EDI," she said quietly, slipping out of bed and pulling on her uniform. Her stomach clenched as she left the Loft, pausing only long enough to put Paddington in his place.
Once Shepard was in her office, the door separating it from her quarters safely shut, EDI's old avatar popped up. "Operation Thunderbolt has been called," EDI announced quietly.
"Did you ping Burns?"
"I did. He says he needs fifteen minutes. Most of those will be travel. Shall I wake Jeff?"
Shepard considered, glancing at the nearest chrono and considering the obscenely early hour. "Do we need him to pull out?" she finally asked, rubbing her eyes. Now that it had been called, she felt the low key anxiety retreating to be replaced by keyed up anticipation. It wasn't a pleasant kind of anticipation, but it was less taxing and more familiar than the anxiety of waiting.
"No. Although I prefer having a helmsman, I am competent to convey myself."
"I'll sit with you, if you like," Shepard offered.
"That would be pleasant, thank you."
With that, Shepard made her way down to the airlock. At fourteen minutes, a bleary-eyed Councilor Martin Burns stepped into the ship's d-con chamber. "Welcome aboard, Burns," Shepard said, shaking his hand.
"It's good to be here, Captain, thank you," Burns grinned.
"Sorry for the early hour. There's a bunk in the crew quarters with your name on it—metaphorically. Three back, against the wall."
"I don't doubt operations happen at unreasonable hours for a good reason. I'll just get an early start to my day—get all the 'what's he doing here?' over and done with by the end of breakfast," Burns returned good-naturedly.
"Palmer runs the galley. She's the one you want to make friends with," Shepard pointed out, before walking him to the crewdeck, seeing his suitcase stowed under his bunk, and making sure he was comfortably installed at one of the tables in the mess hall. "If you'll excuse me, I have a few things to attend."
"Of course, don't let me upset your schedule," Burns replied, pulling out a datapad and stylus.
Shepard left him to his own devices, and returned to the helm. "Okay, EDI…"
EDI's avatar—which seemed so odd, Shepard having grown accustomed to her mobile platform—appeared again. "Please occupy the copilot's seat. The pilot's seat is specifically calibrated for Jeff's comfort."
"Wouldn't want to ruin that," Shepard agreed, settling into the padded chair EDI usually occupied. "I don't get to ride shotgun very often," she observed as EDI began running the preflight checks, and securing their permission to depart.
"I hope you will enjoy it."
Shepard nodded, knowing she wouldn't. From the copilot's chair, she would have to look into the black of space when she wasn't looking at the ship's FTL pocket. Still, she felt she needed to, if only to see whether her space psychosis had improved at all. After the docking tube incident, she rather hoped it had…but after the loss of a-grav on the geth dreadnaught, she rather suspected it hadn't.
"Your vitals are elevating, Shepard. Are you alright?" EDI asked.
"Fine. Just a little stress. I…don't like…looking into deep space."
"Shall I lower the shutters? Actual windows are not strictly necessary, particularly if I am piloting," EDI offered.
Like the geth: 'windows are structural weaknesses; the geth do not use them.' "No, thank you. Not just yet. I need to see how bad it gets."
EDI didn't question this, though Shepard suspected she would continue monitoring vital signs and, if they spiked too high, close the shutters for her.
Slowly, the Normandy began to pull out of her berth, turning away from the Citadel and towards the mass relay.
"We are clear to use the relay. Destination calculations are input," EDI relayed, probably more for Shepard's benefit than for any other reason.
Shepard settled back in her chair, clutching the armrests, watching the colorful play of gasses of the Widow Nebula against the black, star-strewn background. Her stomach wobbled, but the Citadel (when she could see it) and the relay up ahead gave her a sense of being grounded. She found it was better if she could focus on things closer to her, rather than let her mind slip towards the black backdrop.
"If I may, when will you tell the crew?"
"At breakfast. I'm not sure I want to change the staggered shifts just yet, so I'll let them know to be ready to come on duty at the drop of a hat. Dr. Chakwas can make sure everyone has a couple of stims, just in case." Shepard didn't like using stims, but if things got hairy she didn't doubt no one would try to sleep through whatever it was. Better if they were equipped to deal with the present, and worry about things like stim withdrawal and post-stim crashes later. "If you could noise it around that there's an informal meeting over breakfast, I'd appreciate it."
There were several crewmen who didn't handle breakfast; sometimes they sat with friends during the meal, other times they headed to their stations to start the day. It depended on the day.
"I will ensure no one misses breakfast."
"Thank you." Shepard braced herself as they hit the relay, but found the usual jolt didn't affect someone sitting in the co-pilot's seat. The ship simply transitioned smoothly from in-system velocity to mass relay velocity. "I didn't even feel the jolt."
"The pilot's and copilot's chairs are outfitted with additional inertial dampeners to ensure smooth command of the ship's movement," EDI explained. "Among other things, during ship-to-ship combat it reduces the distractions operating on occupants."
"Is that something standard for frigates, or was it something special for the SR-2?"
"Although standard to Alliance ships, the SR-2 was outfitted with additional dampeners. Jeff's condition was taken into particular consideration."