A/N: This took something like four rewrites. I'm still not happy, but the sooner I get it posted the sooner I can get to the parts that DON'T make me want to set my keyboard on fire. I'm also almost certain I missed some important stuff I wanted to include here for foreshadowing but... can't win them all.
I'm going in to finals soon, which may slow my update rate, but it should still be faster than it has been. I like to do at least one 3k word update a week. Helps keep things fresh.
Compared to her first meeting with Lieutenant Alenko, the rest of the introductions were downright boring. She met people, smiled politely, shook hands and saluted where appropriate, and began filing names and faces away. She made note of who seemed wary of her (thirteen), who seemed to take her at face value (eleven), and those who hadn't heard of her before now (four).
Leading the ship's marine complement was nominally Kaidan's job, but he had happily agreed for her to do it. He knew the value of experience, and how much the troops would look up to her... strange reputation or no, she still was an N7 graduate, and they were widely known for being the absolute best of the best. In return, he took over some of the personnel management duties that normally fell to the XO. The same reputation Shepard had that made her feared by her enemies often made her allies wary of approaching her, no matter how polite she was, and it was important for the XO to be someone the crew could work comfortably with.
All in all, the arrangement suited her. The marines themselves had no problem with it – Richard Jenkins was downright ecstatic at being able to work with Shepard, which amused her slightly – and Anderson had approved the arrangement with a wave of the hand and a brief "fine, fine" before dealing with the countless other problems that piled up on his desk.
To say that Shepard liked or disliked the crew would be a slight misstatement. They simply were, and their idiosyncrasies and personalities were things that had to be worked around... or taken advantage of, as the situation required. In that sense she was appreciative of the traits that made her job easier, and frustrated by people whose natures put them in constant opposition to her goals and methods.
In that regard, her favorite – or, rather, least upsetting – member of the crew was the chief engineer, Greg Adams. He kept his subordinates well-disciplined and trained without earning their ire, ensuring that the the ship's drive would always be watched by a cohesive team. He did his job professionally and without complaint. He kept out of politics, didn't second guess directions, and didn't cover up mistakes to guard his reputation or his ego.
Shepard liked that kind of person. They could be relied upon.
She didn't mind Chakwas. The woman was kindhearted and compassionate, a feat in and of itself for a military doctor of her age and accomplishments. Most of the crew – and more importantly, Captain Anderson – seemed to like her well enough, and Shepard had to fight off the lingering suspicion that always rose in her whenever she came across somebody who seemed genuinely altruistic. In Shepard's experience, people who gave of themselves to others with no recompense beyond the happiness they felt in doing so were incredibly rare, and that made anyone who acted like it automatically suspect.
Of more immediate concern, however, was that this kind older woman was the Normandy's chief medical officer... which meant that, in the event that she was injured, she would be the one reading her highly classified medical file. The complete one, with all the care instructions and "deviation from norm" bullet points, not the generic one available for public consumption.
The previous doctor on board the El Alamein had an... understanding... with Shepard and Admiral Hackett. Shepard didn't know the details – Hackett had said they weren't relevant, and her prying hadn't been able to get a straight answer – but the doctor's barely contained disgust (or fear, Shepard wasn't entirely certain) of her had been obvious from the start. They'd worked together with gritted teeth, although it helped that Shepard was almost never seriously injured enough to warrant more than a quick scan and a muscle relaxant or minor bandage job.
Shepard didn't think the doctor was the grudge-bearing type... but she didn't know whether or not the doctor's seemingly kind and gentle demeanor would mesh with the knowledge of who – and what – Shepard really was.
She found Charles Pressly, the ship's navigator, to be quaint in a sad sort of way. His strict discipline, staunch traditionalism, and conservative nature was so stereotypical of old Alliance military families that Shepard had almost laughed when speaking with him.
To his credit, he was at least aware of his biases and foibles, which moved him out of the "dangerous" category and into the "foolish" one. Everybody had prejudices and biases, and Shepard knew she was no exception. They weren't particularly dangerous unless they interfered with the ability to make sound choices about the optimal path forward.
It was the same with personal ambition: She had no problem with soldiers who were motivated by self-gain, so long as the motivation didn't compromise the success of the task assigned to them. They could brown-nose whoever they pleased, as far as she was concerned, so long as they did what was asked of them.
What made the navigator's biases foolish wasn't that they existed, but rather how little thought had gone into them.
She sighed to herself mentally.
Humanity was not alone in the galaxy, and hadn't been for years. There was no grand war, no "alien menace" to fight. There were simply people. People with different motivations, different values systems, and different hormonal responses... but people nonetheless, and they reacted like people. If you stabbed them in the back to climb higher, you would reap only hatred and treachery in return down the road. On the other hand, if you just helped others up, you would be left behind as the others climbed higher. They had just as little love for you as you did for them.
Humanity could not succeed, or even survive as a member of the galactic community, by clambering over the bodies of the people they'd killed to get there. The batarians had tried, and she had personally helped strike the blow that had led to their retreat from the rest of the galaxy. Nor could humanity simply help others, as that path led to the fate of the volus, the hanar, and the elcor: Nominally members, but marginalized and left out of all real decision making.
No, if humanity was to succeed, it had to prove themselves valuable, dangerous, and compassionate... all at the same time. Like the asari, she thought. Valued for their skills and wisdom, feared for their prowess in battle, and accepted for their benevolent tendencies. They had to become someone you wanted on your side and didn't want as your enemy. It was Shepard's opinion – formed after ten years of interaction of all sorts with humans and aliens alike – that humanity had neglected its "good citizen" appearance in favor of the "unpredictable thug." As a new race, humanity wasn't exactly swimming in galactic currency and goodwill... but that didn't mean it was weak, and the human race could be working a lot harder to involve itself beneficially with the rest of the galaxy.
To Shepard, the galaxy and the things in it were interesting. Simply put, the galaxy was where all the stuff she cared about happened. She didn't want to be cut off from it by the prejudices of others or by the territorial pissing contests of hormone-driven foreign policy.
She appreciated the power of leading by example. Seeing another person accomplish great things in a certain way was more likely to encourage them to act in a similar fashion.
So shortly after the battle of torfan, when her name became fairly commonplace in the military forces of the galaxy, she began shaping her public image into what she wanted humanity to be seen as, the balance of traits that she believed would ensure humanity's – and more importantly, her – access to the wonders of the universe.
She was polite to strangers, honest when she made promises (if someone could find out), kind to those less fortunate... and as utterly ruthless to those who threatened her. She pulled no punches, fired no warning shots, and made no apologies for her actions.
The salarians really, really, really liked her.
Which brought her back to Charles Pressly. He was, sadly, a product of another age, and it showed. Instead of being polite to strangers – or aliens, in this case – he was suspicious and hostile. Instead of being kind to those less fortunate, like the vagabond quarians, he was disdainful. Instead of being as effective as possible in battle, he subscribed to moral codes of behavior that restricted what was right or wrong to do.
It was a pity, really. He'd simply been born a century (or three, or four) too late, and traits that would be marks of strong character in another era were dangerous anachronisms in this one.
Well. She'd work with the man, see if she could talk him out of it. She doubted she could – opinions like his were often as deep as bedrock, and just as difficult to budge – but the act of trying would be a mark in her favor, at least.
There was one last member of the crew to meet, however – the ship's pilot.
"I've saved the best for last, Commander," Anderson said as they left Pressly at his terminal to walk toward the cockpit.
"Oh?" Shepard raised an eyebrow at her captain, who seemed vaguely her curiosity, Anderson remained silent, only nodding his head slightly in direction of the pilot's chair.
It spun in place as they approached with a small whir – an obviously nonstandard modification – to reveal a short, poorly-shaved soldier with a leg brace and baseball cap on.
"Hey, Captain. Commander," he drawled in greeting with a nod at the two of them, and Anderson sighed.
"This sorry excuse for a soldier, Commander Shepard, is Flight Lieutenant Jeff Moreau," Anderson said, his tone weary.
"That's Joker to my friends," Joker interjected.
"-also known as Joker," Anderson finished with a silencing glare. "He's our main pilot, and luckily for him, he's damn good at his job or he'd be on the first shuttle home."
Joker winced. "Ooo, harsh, Captain," he said.
"Joker, would it kill you to be formal for once in your life?" Anderson said, exasperated.
Joker lifted a finger to his jaw, pretending to be deep in thought. "No," he said finally, "but it'd be taxing, and I have explicit orders from Chakwas to 'take it easy.'" He gave the cast on his leg a brief tap.
Anderson threw his arms into the air with a disgusted expression. "I give up," he said. "Try not to kill each other. I'm going to go figure out why the VI won't stop paging me," he said with a wave of his omni-tool arm and walked toward his cabin.
She stared at Joker.
Joker stared back.
"If this is a staring contest, I want you to know you're going to lose so you might as well quit now," he offered casually without breaking eye contact. "'Cuz I can win staring contests with stars. They don't twinkle in space, yannow."
Shepard rolled her eyes, and Joker gave a small victory whoop. "HA! I win," he crowed, doing a little victory shuffle in his chair.
"Lieutenant, do you take anything seriously?" she asked as he finished his hummed off-key victory song.
"Yeah," he said, his tone suddenly devoid of levity. "My job. I fly. I fly pretty well. I also like jokes, and don't like people that take themselves too seriously."
Odd man.
"Fair enough," Shepard said with a slight nod. "Risky way to introduce yourself, though. What if I couldn't stand jokes?"
He shrugged. "Then I'd know not to make them in earshot of you earlier rather than later?"
Shepard chuckled, her mind whirring along. He's either bold... or really doesn't care that I'm a superior officer.
Her laughter trailed off. "So, pilot," she said, stressing his title, "I've had a thoroughly confusing technical rundown from Adams, and a thoroughly unhelpful briefing from the Alliance brass. What do you think of the Normandy?"
He pursed his lips slightly, a scowl on his forehead. "If it's anything like the simulators they've worked up... and I mean if, those things are never like flying the real deal... then it's a game-changer," he said, meeting her gaze with an intensive expression. "You ever read old books? Military fiction?"
Shepard shook her head. The reds had a lot of things in their camp, but a stock of fiction wasn't high on the list... especially not outdated fiction. The library had banned all of them after they got in a fight there, which hadn't helped matters.
"Right. Well, back in the mid-twentieth, they had these submarines," he said, launching into an eager explanation. "All different kinds, owned by different nations..."
He rambled on a bit about stealth systems, paradigm shifts, weapons platforms. Shepard filed it away for later, but wasn't really interested in the lecture – she was vastly more interested in the person giving it.
Well, he certainly knows his field, but given the rest of the roster that's not surprising. She gave a small mental shrug. At least she was fairly sure that his flippancy was part of his presented persona, rather than actual distaste for the military system. That was mildly reassuring: A petty rebel that got down to business when needed was easy enough to work with. Dealing with somebody who harbored real deep-seated issues with authority was difficult... and dangerous.
Really, Shepard, she scolded herself, Anderson's a lot of things, but a fool isn't one of them. He hand-picked most of this crew. He wouldn't take someone with that kind of problem here.
She nodded at him as he finished an example that involved him using an empty beverage container and his hat to show the positions of two underwater vessels fighting each other, complete with little vocalized explosion sound effects.
He tucked his hat back onto his head and drained the last of the drink. "What about you, Commander? What brings you here?"
About to launch into her usual tale about serving humanity, she stopped. Wait. Why lie? You don't know squat, and he'd probably appreciate it more.
"To be perfectly honest, Joker," she said with a slight sigh as she leaned against the wall, "I don't know why I'm here. I mean, obviously because Anderson requested me, but as for why?" she shrugged. "No clue."
"Yeah, I get you," he said with a nod. "Pressly was going on about that earlier. Thinks there's some big secret, too much high-class talent to be stuck babysitting a new ship."
"I wouldn't go that far, but yeah, it's a little strange," Shepard said. "I mean-" she began.
"Commander Shepard, please report to the Captain's office," the ship's VI interrupted abruptly.
She shook her head. "On my way," she called out to the cockpit audio pickup. "A pleasure meeting you, Lieutenant," she said politely before turning to leave.
"You too, Commander," Joker replied to her back, spinning to face the console once again.
Anderson was leaning over his desk, a data slate sitting in the middle when she stepped into his office. "Good. Close the door, Commander," he said, and she tapped the panel with a slight frown.
He paused a moment, organizing his thoughts, before nodding to himself and gesturing at the walls around them. "You know this is a co-designed vessel, right?"
She nodded. That much, at least, had been in the initial briefing she had received back on Arcturus station. The Normandy had been a join research project between the Hierarchy and the Alliance. The turians were interested in some new ship layouts and possible fleet roles, but weren't inclined to risk their people on something that broke with tradition. The Alliance had the experimental nature, but had little experience building ships, and wanted the benefit of centuries of turian shipbuilding experience.
The result had been the Normandy class frigates: Taking a page from humanity's tactical books and the turians' engineers, it really was a co-designed vessel... with all the advantages and disadvantages that bestowed.
Obviously, Anderson hadn't called her in to discuss inter-species construction efforts, however.
"Good. Well, the Turian Hierarchy wanted to have someone familiar with the internal workings of their military on board, see how the differences played out, and give a report back to the the Hierarchy."
Shepard snorted. The Alliance, no matter who built the ship, would never let another species – especially one they'd been at war with recently – on board their ships, especially when one of the few advantages the humans had was in tactics and shipside leadership.
"I can imagine that went over with the Alliance brass like a lead balloon."
Anderson chuckled. "You got that right," he said. "The Alliance told them where they could stick their 'military observer' since it was an Alliance frigate, and that if the Turians wanted to see how they worked in practice, they could shell out the credits to build one."
"Ouch, really?" she said with an exaggerated wince.
"Well, it was considerably more polite than that, couched in terms like 'operational security' and 'naval methodologies,' but that was the gist of it. The turians were not happy."
"I wouldn't be, in their place. Toss millions of credits into a research project and then have your partner walk off with the result because he'd provided the raw materials?" She shook her head. "What did they say?"
"Well, rather than go at it with us, they went to the Citadel Council and asked for them to intervene," he said.
"The Council has carrots in addition to sticks in its arsenal, and they're nominally a neutral agency, so they offered to have a Citadel Council observer file the report. Neither the turians or the Alliance were happy, which of course meant that it was successful bargain," he said with a hint of a smile.
"However," he said, his expression sobering, "it does mean we're going to have a Council observer on board for our first mission at least. Probably the first few."
Shepard looked at him skeptically. "What kind of observer?" she asked, folding her arms across her chest.
"A turian SPECTRE," he said. "From the council Special Tactics and Reconnaissance group."
"Nice backronym," she said dryly.
"It sounds better than the Citadel Council Independent Tactical Investigative Agency, which is a closer literal translation of the name of the office," he said as they walked into his cabin. "Anyway, Nihlus Kryik will be joining us. Do you have any issues working with turians?" he asked her.
"None that I'm aware of, sir," she replied honestly, and he nodded.
"Good," he said, grabbing a data slate from his desk and heading back for the door. "The ship's VI was paging me to let me know that Nihlus' shuttle just docked with the shipyard. He'll be coming aboard shortly. You and I are going to meet him."
Shepard scowled. "Sir? Why both of us?"
"The yard crew wants all nonessential personnel off-board while they do drive maintenance," he said as they headed up the stairs for the airlock. "
She sighed. Yard workers really didn't like it when crews looked over their shoulder while they did maintenance work... just like the crew didn't like turning ships over to the yard for repair and refit. One became accustomed to all the idiosyncrasies of a ship, even one brand new like the Normandy, and figuring out the changes that the yard did (always with the best of intentions) was always a headache.
Oh, well. It's better than the ship exploding mid-mission due to missed maintenance.
She followed Anderson out the door.
Shepard, like many biotics, had heard the rumors that circulated regarding people with her skills. There were those who conflated biotic ability with asari melding, and thought (erroneously) that it made human biotics psychic. There were the religious radicals – rare, but dangerous – who thought that it was magic obtained by bargains with dark powers.
Those were true in a sense, as it was the dark energy fields generated by element zero that allowed her to manipulate gravity, but somehow she doubted that was what they meant.
Still, there were times when she wished the rumors were true. She'd have given much to know what the sharp-eyed turian was thinking when he'd met her. She'd proven to be quite adept at reading human emotions, but she was by no means an expert on turian facial expressions... something that she made a note to fix when she had time.
Oh, she knew the basics, of course: A flaring of the mandibles indicated shock or surprise, a nod of the head was still an acknowledgment or sign of deference, and her translator picked up the sub-vocalizations that indicated things like amusement and sarcasm, but that was as far as her skills went.
Which, of course, made the introduction with the SPECTRE all the more frustrating, as he was paying an unusual amount of attention to her rather than to Captain Anderson. In a human, it would have been suspicious... but she didn't know enough about turians to tell if he was simply memorizing her features (she certainly was), or if there was some other motive behind his attention.
Anderson finished the formal introductions with his usual direct tone, and she reached out a hand. That much, at least, she remembered from her ICT "mustang" training program: Turians had adopted the handshake from the asari, who used it as a formal greeting between strangers long before humanity arrived on the galactic stage.
"Commander Shepard," her translator supplied over the almost metallic buzz that made up turian speech. "It's a pleasure to meet you," he said with a nod of the head.
"Likewise, SPECTRE Kryik," she said, stumbling slightly over the title. "I'm sorry, I'm not sure how to address you," she said.
"'Agent' or 'SPECTRE' if you're being formal, 'Kryik' or 'Nihlus' if you're being informal," he said reassuringly – or, at least, her translator gave his response as 'reassuring.' "I have a traditional military rank as well, but the Hierarchy recognizes that council authority supersedes that," he said, and Shepard raised an eyebrow.
Is he being informative, or chiding us for our uppity natures? She decided on assuming he was being helpful rather than insulting. You rarely need to apologize for being polite.
"The Alliance can be slow to change sometimes," she admitted. "Give it time."
"Maybe by your standards," the turian said. "To us, you adapt more quickly than we ever thought possible."
Interesting. He doesn't hold the Hierarchy as infallible... unusual, for someone from the military. This might actually work.
She nodded respectfully at him, the approximate equivalent of a smile. Actual human smiles were often misinterpreted as expressions of shock or alarm, since the cheeks were in a similar place on the human face to the turian mandibles. The asari, despite sharing many physiological traits with humans, tended not to use open-mouthed smiles. They generally favored upper body language to express emotion rather than dramatic facial expressions. Possibly because many species view the baring of teeth as hostile or threatening, rather than as a sign of amusement. I can't imagine why, she thought drily to herself.
In fact, the only other species that favored open-mouthed smiles for amusement were batarians... who also used it as a predatory expression. Salarians kept their mouths closed when smiling, turians simply didn't have the physiological capacity to smile, asari culture favored expressing amusement in other ways, elcor didn't have the flexibility to smile, hanar couldn't, and the drell were infamously reserved.
Well. The Vorcha smiled... although Shepard wasn't really sure they could actually close their mouths.
Finishing the gesture, Shepard looked back up at the turian. "You flatter us, Spectre Kryik," she said. "We're quite proud of our tactical flexibility. It's what makes us effective despite being weaker in absolute strength."
Nihlus gave a slight cough at the phrase, and Shepard wondered what it was that she'd said. Flexibility? I wonder if that mistranslated.
Anderson stepped in to the gap with a nod of his own. "I hate to rush things here, but we need to get SPECTRE Kryik's equipment stowed on the Normandy quickly," he said apologetically.
The turian tilted his head at Anderson. "Do you have the first assignment already, Captain? I was told that you were still doing final tests," he said.
He shook his head. "Not yet, I'm afraid," he said. "There's a problem with one of the drive core charge monitors, and they have to take the drive offline to fix it. The yard team wants the crew off the ship for the duration."
Nihlus nodded. "Let us not waste time, then," he said, lifting a rifle hard case while Shepard took the handle of his duffel. I wonder if every military uses these, she mused as she hauled the alien-smelling canvaslike bag toward the Normandy.
The weeks passed by in a blur.
Shepard was simultaneously busier than she'd been since ICT and bored silly. Everyone was either running around in a panic, or waiting frustratedly on things that were beyond their control.
She spent most of her free time sitting in the mess hall reviewing the material and procedures for operation of the Normandy – as executive officer, she had to be prepared to assume command at a moment's notice in case he left the ship or something happened to him. Not having a full understanding of what to do would likely get her killed, and dying due to her own stupidity was not high on her bucket list.
She also spent time training the marines complement. All the marines were quite skilled – even Richard Jenkins, who apparently had something of a reputation as a hotheaded and overeager FNG – but even the trained marines were just skilled individuals at the start. They needed to become a team that worked well together.
It was one thing to know the hand signals to indicate a halt and the standard approach for clearing a room with hostiles. It was another thing to know that due to a slightly damaged knee your heavy weapons operator preferred to drop his SAW on his right side before kneeling down to ready it, and that he needed cover on his left while doing so. Little details like that were nearly impossible to fully convey to the rest of one's team, and the team wouldn't remember them even if you could. The only reliable way to make sure everyone worked together was, sadly, lots of practice.
So Shepard had them running drills. She'd pushed supply crates into crude forts that the teams would try to clear or hold. She made everyone participate in her morning run around the deck, because enemies on the ground wouldn't care if you'd been cooped up in a spaceship with lousy exercise equipment, they'd just thank you for making their jobs easier and shoot you.
More privately, she also began making her triage lists.
These were distinctly not part of the leadership training offered by the Alliance OCS.
It was, quite simply, a mental catalog. She spent time to get to know each soldier, learned his name, his history, his relatives and his family. She learned the hobbies of the marines under her and what they liked and didn't like. She reached out and befriended them, made them trust her judgment, and respect her as a leader... even if they didn't like her as a person, although most of them did. They weren't cleared for the whole story, after all.
She also filed away their skills, their personality traits, the things that upset them, and their fears. She knew which ones slept soundly and which ones could doze through the apocalypse. She listened to their music in private and learned their mannerisms. She learned which ones could be inspired into a heroic sacrifice for the good of the team, and which ones would flinch.
She dug up blackmail on all the ones she could. She knew which ones had lovers they'd meant to keep secret, or which ones had a history with drugs or alcohol. Being a hand-picked team, there weren't many... but there were some, and it always paid to know what hooks she could get in her people.
It was all preparation for when she would have to make the "hard choices."
The hard choices really weren't, at least not to Shepard. If a sacrifice was the best way out of a situation, that was the path that was taken. "No soldier left behind" was an excellent morale-building story, and she paid lip service to it often, but in reality... it was far better as a tool to convince people with emotional attachments to do what she wanted than as actual policy.
So she built her lists. She knew that Richard Jenkins was a colony kid with more courage than sense, and that if she needed a distraction, he was excellent – both for the relatively small loss his death would be for the Alliance and for his boisterous nature. She knew that Silas Crosby and Monica Negulesco were in a relationship, and that neither would take the other being sent to their deaths well.
And so it went.
Shepard didn't hate people – far from it. She enjoyed the company of others. They offered different views on the world, and identifying how she and the rest of the galaxy differed was a hobby she liked. It was with no malice that she ruthlessly prioritized the lives of her associates. To her, it was simply good planning. She would be remiss in her duties as a commanding officer if she refused to do so, because the truth was plain: Not everybody was of equal value, and if the stated goal was "complete mission objectives with as many people alive as possible" then she would be negligent if she didn't plan for things going wrong.
Shepard was many things, but negligent wasn't one of them.
If there was one quandary she couldn't figure out, it was the SPECTRE agent Nihlus Kryik – or Nihlus, as he'd quickly stated a preference for.
Frankly, while she wasn't sure why she was on board – Anderson's invitation notwithstanding – she had even less of an idea why he was. It would make sense to bring him aboard for the shakedown run, to see how the ship worked in a real-world situation. Having him on board for the final testing and systems tests made little sense... especially since he was a self-professed soldier, not an efficiency management specialist for training documentation authors.
Shepard sighed when she'd found out that she'd actually been asked to fill out a survey on the instructional holo she'd been forced to sit through on the ship's emergency protocols. She didn't like being a soldier – the risk of dying was too high for her taste – but she'd far rather be a soldier than... whatever the title was for the person who created that kind of crud.
Unlike the rest of the crew, Nihlus hadn't had any tasks to conduct, although he'd made himself useful as far as he was able. As an observer, he also wasn't responsible for leading anybody, and had no need to integrate himself with the crew.
Which was why Shepard was thoroughly confused – and increasingly suspicious – when he constantly 'turned up' where she happened to be working, or studying, or conducting drills, or doing her morning jog, or even when she left the bathroom for crying out loud.
It was like she'd grown a turian shadow, and while she wasn't unnerved by it, she was definitely wondering what was going on. When she'd confronted him about it, he'd passed it off as coincidence... and she'd almost been inclined to believe him. After all, anyone actually sent to spy on her would do a far better job!
It also wasn't without benefits. He'd been willing to volunteer as an anatomical dummy for her lecture to her troops on how to disable a turian without killing him... or how to kill a turian quickly, if needed. He'd also helped her run her the marine complement through a few scenarios, and demonstrated a few tricks that the SPECTRE training offered.
Which was strange, given that she was fairly certain that those techniques weren't general knowledge for a reason, and there was no chance in hell that any of them would end up in the SPECTREs any time soon.
She sighed to herself. Well, if that was where he wanted to spend his time observing the Normandy, that was his prerogative... although she'd keep a close and careful eye on him, just the same.
"Commander, report to the briefing room immediately."
Captain Anderson's intercom-distorted voice was worried, and Shepard scowled as she set down her slate. She slung the towel she'd had behind her head on the chair and jogged for the stairs – Anderson was many things, but prone to dramatic and cryptic warnings wasn't one of them.
Which meant that there was a very real problem.
She slid through the opening briefing room door sideways, and slowed to a brisk walk as she walked toward Anderson and Nihlus.
"What's wrong?" she said without preamble as she approached the pair.
They both glanced at her, and Nihlus gave her a respectful nod which she hurriedly returned. "Bad news," Anderson said grimly. "Nihlus informed me that the SPECTRE intelligence office knows what our first mission is going to be," he said, and Shepard paled.
"We're compromised," she said immediately. "Nobody on board knows?"
He shook his head. "I didn't know until Nihlus told me. I got a quick confirmation from Hackett when I asked about it, but..." he trailed off.
"Right. What do you need, sir?" she asked.
"We're leaving dock as soon as possible. I've already alerted the yard crew; they're not happy but were mostly done. I want you to go tell Pressly to set a priority course for Eden Prime, then have the ground team stand by for guard duty."
"And the mission?"
"Classified until we're clear of the station, Shepard, I'm sorry," he said, and she nodded. Figures.
"I understand sir," she said, although she made it clear in her tone that she wasn't pleased.
"I figured you would. Go. I need to finish up with Nihlus and then figure out what else is going on with the admiralty." He gave her a rare salute, and gestured at the door.
She returned it in kind, spun on her heel, and ran off to prepare.
Well.
This should be interesting.
A/N: Next up: Eden Prime!