Acronyms:
SDU – Service Dress Uniform
DAI – Director of Alliance Intelligence
CSR – Career Service Record
BUPERS – Bureau of Naval Personnel
MPDT – Magnetoplasmadynamic Thruster
PPU – Power Processing Unit
PMC – Partially Mission Capable
SIMSUP – Simulation Supervisor
CHAPTER II: REASSIGNMENT
She tried to run, tried to flee, from whatever pursued her. She was surrounded by total darkness, a complete void. But it was not empty. Something stalked her, something unseen and unheard. But she could feel it, feel it mock and laugh at her. She cried out and lashed out with her biotics at the void
The blow to her stomach nearly knocked the wind out of her as she slammed to the ground on her side. Through her blurry vision, she saw a man laying on his back. He choked an unintelligible word from his mouth, coughing up a spurt of dark red blood that ran down the side of his face. "LAYLA!" a woman's voice screamed at her. "RUN!" A massive hand roughly flipped her over on her back, then pinned her to the ground. Using her arms, she tried to push the man off of her, but she only possessed a fraction of the strength required to do so. She looked up to see four eyes staring back at her, filled with a sickening mixture of lust and hate. She screamed as
Layla Shepard gasped as she jolted awake, breathing heavily, a bead of sweat on her forehead. Her biotics had flared, making a mess of the bedsheets and items on the nearby endtable.
She took a few deep breaths to slow her breathing as she trembled slightly, realizing she hadn't had that particular nightmare for a while. Her nightmares from Mindoir – and elsewhere – would periodically resurface and deny her a good night's sleep. She slowly retrieved the bedside clock that had been knocked off of the endtable that read 0513 Lima, then she pulled the blankets close around her as she recalled the series of events that had defined her life the last few years.
She was born on Mindoir, a small, peaceful farming colony, where she spent her childhood and early teenage years. Both her parents were in the Alliance, though her mother left when Layla was born to raise her. Her father left soon after to spend time with his frequently ill only daughter. Just a couple weeks after her sixteenth birthday, batarian slavers raided the colony, killing or enslaving many of the inhabitants. Both her parents were killed, and she had barely escaped slavery herself.
She shook her head clear of the sad memories for a moment. While today hadn't been a planned long workout morning, Shepard decided she might as well make it one – she wouldn't be able to sleep after that nightmare, and as comforting as it might feel after the nightmare, it made zero sense for her to lie in blankets like a human burrito for the next hour and a half. She rolled out of bed and threw on workout clothes as she entered the apartment's small den that she instead used for exercising. She turned on the vidscreen to some comedy series she hadn't really been watching – it was more something in the background while she focused on the workout. She tried to focus on anything but the Mindoir raid, with her thoughts returning to her history in the Alliance.
With few other options for a biotic orphan, she soon found herself in the Systems Alliance military. Several years ago, Shepard had been a young first lieutenant taking shore leave on Elysium, the thriving capital of the Skyllian Verge. A coalition of pirates, terrorists, and revolutionaries from the Terminus Systems struck the colony in force. Shepard soon found herself in a desperate defense of the colony. She rallied the garrison and civilian militia, as well as using her formidable biotic abilities to hold the pirate lines until Alliance reinforcements arrived. After that fateful day on Elysium, commonly known as the "Blitz," Shepard had gained instant recognition: the Heroine of the Blitz, the Angel of Elysium. She instantly became one of most famous people in the Alliance, something she had thought was overdone. She was just doing her job, and trying to not become a slave; many good soldiers and civilians had fought heroically—and died—yet she got the recognition that so many others deserved.
Layla finished her workout and took a long shower, letting the warm water wash over her face and hair, as if the water would help cleanse the nightmare from a couple hours ago. She subconsciously ran her wet hand under her hair at the base of her skull as she thought about the strength of her powerful biotics. She had struggled greatly with control of her abilities early in her Alliance career, and continued practice had improved her control in the subsequent years. It really was the N training post-Elysium that refined her biotics from a very powerful, if very blunt, instrument into the more finely tuned abilities she had today.
As she got dressed, she reflected on just how lucky she was on Elysium and countless other operations. Her biotics saved her life countless times; without them, she would be dead, or worse. Those same abilities that had saved her life had propelled her to fame; while many people credited her with saving Elysium, some of those same people refused to trust biotics, displaying bigotry bordering on the nonsensical. The dichotomy of the situation brought an amused shake of the head to the commander as she buttoned up her short sleeve uniform blouse.
She finished donning her service dress and looked into the mirror, making sure she looked presentable, something that was always a requirement now that she was famous throughout Alliance space, and semi-famous throughout the galaxy, after the Blitz. The Press Corps frequently reminded her that she had to represent the Alliance in the best possible light. Unfortunately, sometimes that meant she had to be the pretty face to represent humanity, though the best thing she could be doing for the Alliance was to be out in the Traverse helping to hunt down pirates and slavers, not parading around as a doll.
She straightened her skirt and ran a hand through her hair, as it could be worn down while wearing a SDU. She entered a vehicle and input the destination, wondering what surprises this day in her new role would hold.
Shepard had been slightly surprised upon arrival at the office. Her direct report at her new staff position ordered her immediately to his office. Wondering what it could be this time, the commander quickly walked to Captain Rowe's office, entering and saluting crisply. "Lieutenant Commander Shepard, reporting as ordered, sir."
"At ease, Commander." Shepard relaxed her stance and placed her hands behind her back. "Take a seat. I've got transfer orders for you. Hot of the press." He held up a datapad. "We just got them a few minutes ago, though the request was put in yesterday afternoon. You are to report to the SSV Normandy as XO immediately," the captain said.
Shepard's obvious surprise showed as her large eyes widened. Captain Anderson is the CO… "When do I report, sir?"
"Today, at 1700 Zulu. You are to have your required personal belongings ready to go by 1300 Zulu, where a shuttle will take you to the Normandy." The captain sensed her shock at her change in orders, and shrugged his shoulders as he leaned back in his chair. "Commander, don't look at me. I don't have a clue what's going on here either. Off the record, ago I heard from an old friend that the DAI was suddenly called into his office with the defense minister, with both cancelling prior meetings and engagements," the captain said. "From what I've been hearing, a bunch of bigwigs are starting to go apeshit about something that just came up in the last couple days."
"Any idea about what, sir?"
"No, other than I heard from an Academy classmate that the big shots at the embassy have been doing the same thing for a few days now. And a couple STG teams suddenly dropped out of contact, if the newsies are to be believed. Your guess at what all the hubbub's about is as good as mine," Rowe finished with a shake of his head and a raised eyebrow.
The commander thought about this for a moment, grinning and trying not to laugh; the captain had always had an amusing vocabulary of words she'd never heard before. "Sir, with only a couple exceptions, the embassy and intelligence services aren't really going to worry about the same things, unless it is something like batarian mobilization." That was very unlikely, as the Terminus System powers were far too busy squabbling amongst themselves to mount any sort of united front. The last time the batarians possessed anything close to a united front was…around the time of Mindoir, Shepard remembered as she suppressed a shudder. "But…we have absolutely no indicators of any unusual batarian activity. I think this is something else, sir."
"I agree. Well, I suppose we'll find out soon enough. Correction: you'll find out soon enough," he stated, pointing his index finger at her. He pushed a datapad over to her that held the transfer orders. "You should probably know the routine for these by now," he chuckled.
She grinned in response. "True enough, sir." She quickly filled out the section of paperwork to finalize the transfer. Her mind pondered the sudden transfer orders as she and the captain talked for several minutes. She began to think in detail about her new assignment, and how fast the transfer had occurred. New assignments were often planned weeks or even months in advance. She put the errant thoughts aside as she focused instead on the new ship to which she was assigned.
The Normandy was, hands down, the most advanced ship in the galaxy. Although the Normandy was the smallest warship ever built, she was also the fastest, with a drive core several times the size of any other frigate, comparable to a much larger ship. As a result she could travel at very high FTL speeds for much greater lengths than other ships. Furthermore, she was the first "stealth" ship. When engaged the IES stealth system trapped stored emitted radiation from the ship, masking her from passive scanners, and a stealth coating should absorb any energy from active scans…in theory, at least.
Running at FTL or using the stealth systems for too long would cause serious problems. When the drive core reached its saturation limit, it would discharge, frying electrical components and rendering the system useless. The drive would have to be discharged in orbit around a gas giant or by landing on a planet. Similarly, the heat from the stealth systems would have to be radiated into the cold of space at some point, else the components melt and the crew suffer and die from the heat.
Shepard hadn't been briefed on the Normandy's capabilities, but she would soon find out. She had her own guesses on how exactly how long the ship could run silent and how fast she was, but those numbers were just guesstimates based on what she had heard and knowledge of ship design.
Captain Rowe dismissed Commander Shepard, and the latter continued to ponder why she would be assigned to the Normandy. The stealth frigate, to her knowledge, had not completed a shakedown run, just builder's trials that focused on running the stealth system. It had to be something from NAVSOC. And whatever they would be doing was probably important, time-sensitive, and highly classified, as her transfer was laid on very quickly considering all the commotion. Well, they hadn't built a stealth frigate just to sit in dock all day.
She pondered reasons for the embassy's "hubbub", and one possible explanation brought a laugh into the commander's mind. That wacky of a scenario was not going to happen anytime soon…or was it? She had heard frequent rumblings from the embassy, and the ambassador had spent a good portion of his career pushing very hard for it, along with a rather interesting press conference a month ago where he continuously brought up that topic. And considering the recent commotion…are they going to ask me?
No, it wasn't going to happen soon, and it would not affect her. Which was a good thing. In her mind, there were more qualified and more experienced candidates for that role. But there would be some public ceremony associated with being the first, and she was already famous…she hoped that she hadn't made the shortlist, but given her skillset and fame, she couldn't rule it out. She just wanted to be left alone and do her job. She really didn't want to take on that level of responsibility.
Back at her apartment, Shepard reviewed a checklist on her datapad for everything she would need for a deployment of unknown length. Two cases held her primary and backup sets of armor, though she wouldn't have a chance to power them up to check systems. Her firearms fit snugly into a single large crate, and she did take a minute to check each primary weapon. She packed several "jumpsuits", which were really just a t-shirt and fatigue pants to be worn on ships. She packed up two sets of blues and a second SDU, figuring that no matter what she would be doing, she would have to participate in some ceremony, as usual.
The possible wacky scenario returned to the front of her mind, and she decided to bring her formal whites as well, just in case. The commander packed up personal items and civilian clothes, then went through each of the odds and ends on the checklist. Satisfied that she had everything packed, she gently picked up the last item from the table. She held the 28 x 21 centimeter photo in her hands for several moments, a sad smile appearing on her face as she looked at one of the last photographs of her with her parents.
After a deep breath, she set the photo reverently at the top of the last crate, making sure that prized possession was secured properly before closing the lid. The automated transport arrived a few moments later, and the passenger door and cargo section in the back opened automatically. She used her biotics to effortlessly lift the several crates into the back of the transport, then hopped in the driver's seat and input the destination.
She spent the entire time of the short trip staring out the window, pondering the sudden transfer. Before she knew it, the vehicle parked itself just a few meters from the shuttle that would take her the several thousand kilometers to the Normandy. It was a small shuttle that had been retasked for her use, and even rated its own pilot. Shepard felt a bit sheepish about the first part, and very embarrassed about the second. She would much rather fly herself, or better yet, take standard transport like everyone else that didn't have that rare seven pointed star on their uniform. While she wasn't a fan of the ceremony that accompanied her position, she did suppose that having a pilot for the shuttle would at least give her a little time to read up on the ship's capabilities and scan through the crew's CSRs. She removed a datapad from the side of the seat and began to read about her new crewmates and her new ship.
After the suborbital shuttle flight, Shepard arrived at the Normandy's drydock – why they were still called that for spacefaring vessels she had absolutely no idea – as a corporal arrived to help with her items. The E-3 informed her that Captain Anderson was waiting for her, and the corporal would take care of getting her items on board. She thanked him with a sincere smile, grateful that someone else was taking care of the logistics so she could focus on settling into her new role. Every once and a while, her fame and accompanying ceremony did have a little use.
To enter the drydock proper, she passed through three security checkpoints, each of which was more stringent than the prior one, each with additional steps to verify her identity. The last check wasn't performed by contractor security, or even by MPs, but by marines. After fifteen minutes she finally entered the drydock where she got her first look at the new ship.
Shepard immediately saw that the Normandy was a very pretty ship, though the t-tail on the rear of the fuselage used for atmospheric maneuvering struck the commander as oddly anachronistic, though she knew it also held an array of passive and active sensors. The commander wasn't very impressed with the overall size, though; the Normandy was tiny.
She turned into the airlock to begin the boarding process. The Normandy's crew was so tiny that the ship didn't even have an officer of the watch while docked, but a full platoon of marines guarded the Alliance Navy's newest and most advanced ship while in drydock. A full squad was on duty at any one time, with even more MPs providing support. The airlock doors behind her closed and the standard decontamination process began. The commander clasped her hands together, waiting for the process to complete.
The Normandy's doors opened and Shepard got her first glimpse of the interior of the ship. She started to look around at the frigate's odd layout; however, she didn't get much of a chance to do so. Her new CO waited for her just inside the airlock.
Captain David Anderson was the most decorated officer in the Alliance, far more so than Shepard, as he was more than twenty years older than she. He had so many actual medals that he would probably sound like a wind chime store in a tornado if he were to actually wear them all rather than just the ribbons. The expression in his eyes could change from a mentor and father figure to an N7 graduate and highly lethal commando in an instant.
Shepard saluted him crisply and said, "Lieutenant Commander Layla Shepard, reporting for duty as Executive Officer, sir."
He returned the salute and accepted her, before moving on to a personal statement. "Congratulations on the recent promotion, Commander," he said in his deep, baritone voice as he emphasizing her new rank. He offered his hand, with a small, yet proud, smile.
"Thank you, sir," she responded with a grin, returning the handshake.
"Have you got a chance to be fully briefed on the Normandy's systems and crew?"
"No, sir. I have not. I briefly scanned CSRs, and a short overview of ship systems and capabilities on the flight over," the junior officer responded with a shake of her head.
Anderson furrowed his brow. "When did you find out about the transfer?"
"This morning, sir. A few hours ago."
He let out a very brief sigh, an instant later replaced by his normal businesslike, matter-of-fact tone. "Captain Rowe was supposed to have received the transfer order yesterday." He let out a quick half-amused, half-disappointed snort. "Probably some hang up in BUPERS. Something that's never happened before. I can give you a brief overview of the ship and systems, Commander, though I'll have the respective officers and NCOs give you a more detailed rundown."
She nodded. "Permission to come aboard, Captain?"
"Granted, Commander."
Flight Lieutenant Jeff Moreau sat at the helm of the Normandy. He had been programming the autopilot more to his liking; the standard autopilot maneuvers simply weren't up to snuff. At least as compared to his skills.
The pilot nearly always went by Joker rather than Jeff, and he knew that he was the best pilot in the Alliance, despite his condition. His Vrolik's disease required braces, and occasionally crutches, to move about to prevent damage to his brittle bones. As a result he spent most of his time at his post, the helm of the ship, which fortunately didn't require him to move around much. Except when he needed to piss…
Joker had spent the past three hours tweaking the default maneuvering rules, as the Normandy had yet to complete a full shakedown run, only limited builder's trials that primarily focused on the stealth system and drive core. Joker had yet to read the full report of the trials, which was highly classified, but as an officer and the pilot he would be entitled to read the whole thing. From the rumblings he had heard about the Normandy's performance, even the builders were impressed.
"Building maneuver ruleset," the computer said. Joker mentally filed that away as something else that needed to change: the female VI voice sounded too…machiney. He wanted a sexier voice that better fit the new prototype ship. "Warning, Flight Lieutenant Moreau. Some maneuvers deemed hazardous with regards to Alliance Pilot Manual Section…"
"Cork it," he muttered as he shut the voice off. The computer might deem them a bit risky, but he had performed those maneuvers dozens of times in the sims and even a couple times in real life. No one had ever said anything about them, although that probably still wouldn't stop him from performing said maneuvers if he needed to. "Hazardous, my ass." He had been involved in the Normandy's design and construction, and had a better feeling than anyone else what the ship could and couldn't do. The software pukes still hadn't caught up to the present, and still had programmed in maneuvers that reflected old frigate design, not one with an oversized drive core that could be used to maneuver in lieu of thrusters.
The pilot's bladder then reminded him that he had been ignoring that particular organ for a bit too long. With Vrolik's disease, something as normal as going to the bathroom became a bit difficult. Sighing at the poor timing, he decided to make a few more quick changes to config files before taking a trip to the head.
Joker noticed Captain Anderson come up behind him, and wait just on the other side of the airlock, but the pilot remained in his own little world despite his CO hovering behind him. He didn't pay much attention, since the captain had been coming and going quite frequently the past couple weeks. A couple days ago he had even vanished for two complete days. In a corner of his mind not occupied with rulesets, the pilot wondered who the captain could be waiting for this time. Probably less of a who and more of a what - another damned softclothes VIP that wanted a tour of the ship or something. Some politician that didn't know the front end from the ass end of a spacefaring vessel.
Joker took a quick glance at the external cameras. Another figure approached the airlock, but he was too engrossed in his work to dwell on the newcomer for more than an instant, though the figure's petite frame and skirt denoted the individual in question was female. He could just ignore this newest idiot that felt she was entitled to a tour of the Normandy. He ignored the beeping from the console that told him the airlock was cycling.
The airlock hissed open behind him, and he didn't think much of it until he heard a soft, soprano voice speak. "Lieutenant Commander Layla Shepard, reporting for duty as Executive Officer, sir." That got the pilot's attention.
Joker turned around as much as he could in his seat, his Vrolik's disease preventing him from turning his body too much to the side. He turned his head to get the best possible look at the commander and his new XO.
He didn't get a good look at her face, as it was partially shielded by her blonde hair, though her body looked just like she did in the vids and pictures. Better actually, as this was real life, not some recruitment vid or poster. Her uniform jacket fit tight against her thin waist, ending just above her hips, allowing the pencil skirt to accentuate her hips and rear perhaps a bit too well, the pilot thought. Not that I'm complaining. It was also not hard to notice that she was quite a bit shorter than the captain. She asked for permission to come aboard, then Anderson brought her the several steps forward to the helm.
Joker momentarily winced at the thought of an introduction. Sure, it would be with Commander Shepard, but it would require him to stand. He started to grab his crutches to help him stand, but Shepard quickly stopped him. "No need to stand, Flight Lieutenant," she said considerately.
So she must have read my full file. Great, the pilot grumbled to himself. This fact was confirmed over the next minute, where she asked him a couple questions about his background and the Normandy. The captain then started to lead the commander towards CIC, with Shepard giving Joker a polite nod and smile as she turned aft. Joker watched them walk away, only realizing after several seconds that he had been staring at her ass.
He turned back to his console, still thinking about the commander. Why the hell is she here? he thought. Anderson's already the CO. Having Shepard as XO just seems like a redundant waste of talent. Something's up… He got back to work, but he couldn't really focus on the autopilot at the moment. His mind was occupied with another thought – why the hell did Commander Shepard just report as XO?
Staff Lieutenant Kaidan Alenko finished his large meal and put the dishes into the receptacle in the mess. He had been reviewing the ship's inventory for their eventual shakedown cruise. He remained rather puzzled why the captain had ordered him to review stocks now – the shakedown cruise was still a couple weeks out, at least. Furthermore, the Normandy still had no XO assigned. Both tidbits of data struck the lieutenant as highly unusual, but it wasn't the oddest thing the lieutenant had seen the past few days.
Instead of spending time running additional sims to continue familiarization of the crew with the Normandy, Captain Anderson had spent a couple days off ship, apparently meeting with Admiral Hackett and several other senior officers. Normally the captain would go to Rear Admiral Mikhailovich for orders, his direct report, but instead the rear admiral had been bypassed entirely. While Anderson had turned down promotions to remain at his current rank, and was anything but a normal O-6, bypassing the normal chain of command was still highly unusual. It was called the "chain of command" for a reason.
A PFC hurried into the mess, not even bothering to sit before speaking to his crewmates. "You're not going to believe who just reported as XO," the private said.
"Who?" a crewman at the table asked, taking his eyes off of his lunch for a moment to glance up at the newcomer.
"Shepard. The for-real Commander fucking Shepard," the PFC responded.
"You're full of shit," the second man at the table responded, with a scoff and laugh, accompanied by a shake of the head.
Yeah, you are. You're a bit early – or late – for April Fool's, Alenko thought to himself. There's no reason she would be here as the XO. Don't think anyone would mind, though… He turned back to the terminal and continued to look over the manifest.
"Dammit, I'm being serious," the PFC replied, to more laughs of skepticism. "If you don't believe me, just head up to CIC. She's up there, live and in person, right now," he finished, a slight hint of exasperation in his voice.
The two crewmen at the table teased the private that approached them, and the three continued their banter for perhaps a minute. He shook his head in amusement as he finished up and started walking back to the inventory console. He then heard a crewman whisper to another, "Holy shit, it is her."
"Damn, she's…" the second started to whisper before shutting his mouth.
He turned to glance at the pair of people coming down the stairs. One was indeed Captain Anderson with his rows and rows of medals. Alenko looked at the second person and saw the private wasn't lying.
Lieutenant Commander Layla Shepard looked better in real life than she did in the vids and pictures, but she was both thinner and shorter than he expected, with fair, almost pale skin. He guessed that her wavy blond hair fell down perhaps fifteen or twenty centimeters past her shoulders; it was hard to tell from this angle since all of her hair fell behind her back, as the dress code required for longer hair. She wore some makeup, enough to be noticeable and highlight her soft, feminine face and her large blue eyes. He couldn't help but notice how well the uniform accented her slim waist and the curves of her hips.
She had an impressive row of ribbons on her uniform, including the actual Star of Terra medal. Only a handful of people in the Alliance had been awarded its highest honor. Alenko heard the captain say something to the commander, but he couldn't discern the words. The corporal and the two privates at the mess stood as introductions were exchanged, and the commander offered her hand to each of them with a smile. Alenko could hear them talking about something for perhaps a minute, after which the commander laughed. He couldn't hear what was said, as the elevator directly by the mess began to run, and there was just enough noise that the lieutenant didn't hear the words.
Every now and then Shepard would appear for an interview. She always seemed polite and friendly, but also fairly reserved. It appeared as if she was anxiously waiting for the moment where she wouldn't be on camera any more. It didn't take extraordinary powers of observation to see from those interviews that she didn't care a whole lot for her celebrity status.
Regarding her exploits, everyone had heard the story on Elysium. She was a young first lieutenant that, according to the reports, single-handedly saved the colony of Elysium. She was on the news vids every evening for a month. "The Heroine of the Blitz," they called her. Soon the nickname "the Angel of Elysium" had caught on as well, and both of those names had stuck with her since. Most of the details of Elysium, especially the casualty counts, had been overshadowed by the massive press coverage of Shepard.
The lieutenant quickly turned his gaze to the console, not wanting to be one of the many people that stared at the commander or was otherwise distracted by her presence. He pretended to be intently concentrating on the manifest as Anderson and Shepard walked away from the mess.
Alenko glanced instinctively at the sound of their footsteps walking towards him just several meters away. He inwardly cringed; an introduction would need to be made, something he didn't really feel like making at the moment, as he figured his face was about two seconds from turning as red as an apple.
He drew himself up, straightening his body and stood at attention as he turned to face her. "Sir. Ma'am."
"Staff Lieutenant Kaidan Alenko," Anderson said to him formally. "Lieutenant Commander Layla Shepard, the new XO of the Normandy."
The lieutenant found himself appraising his new XO from less than a meter away. He saw that she was indeed quite petite, probably even a bit under 155 cm without the heels. Alenko kept his focus on the commander's eyes rather than her body, which he found it wasn't very difficult at all to look into her large blue eyes. She gazed into his eyes as well, and it took his full reserve of self-control to prevent his face from turning red as he tried to focus on anything other than her. After a moment of silence she said with a heart-stopping smile, "I'm looking forward to serving with you, Lieutenant." Her soft, soprano voice surprised him as well; it was definitely not the voice one would expect from someone who had wiped out a couple platoons of pirates on Elysium. He had heard her a couple times from interviews and vids, but her voice was still softer and more feminine than he expected to hear in person.
She offered her hand, and Alenko took it after a moment's pause. Her hand turned out to be tiny, but he nonetheless felt the strength present in her grip under her soft and warm skin. Her touch made his hand tingle and twitch…Alenko tried to focus on something else; the last thing he needed now was for his face to turn bright red.
The commander suddenly released his hand, and Alenko realized where the tingle in his hand was from. She had just inadvertently given him a slight shock from her biotics. A very slight corona dissipated around her hand.
"I apologize Lieutenant I-I didn't mean…" she said quickly before stopping midsentence, her eyes widening slightly in surprise at the shock she had delivered.
Alenko was too taken off guard to respond, and it was the captain who broke the silence. "Lieutenant Alenko is used to the shocks; he's a very capable biotic and N-schooler, just like you."
This is THE most awkward introduction in my life… "I-I actually didn't notice it, ma'am," he responded as evenly as his nerves allowed. And of course it would have to be with the Layla Shepard… Awkwardly, his eyes momentarily glanced at the terminal before returning to her.
Shepard paused for a moment, her eyes following his to the terminal. "I apologize for the shock, Lieutenant. I'll let you get back to your duties." With that the two officers continued past him. Just like that, Alenko thought. He resumed looking through the supply manifest, but his mind and thoughts kept drifting back to the commander.
Captain Anderson was briefly showing the Normandy to Commander Shepard. She was a good listener and had gotten a brief chance to read up on the ship. She was also smart and had prior command experience with ships, which made the process much faster. After several minutes and introductions to the crew present on the bridge and CIC, the two officers took the stairs down to the crew accommodations a deck below. The three crewmen at the table awkwardly introduced themselves to the commander, and Shepard did a good job of easing the tension, Anderson noted. He knew as well as she did that the commander needed to remove any nervousness and awkwardness with the crew if they were going to perform to the best of their abilities.
Shepard noticed the crew did seem surprised that she was their XO. As I still am, she thought to herself. The crew's surprise quickly passed and returned to cool-headed professionalism while on the job, exactly what she wanted; the Normandy's crew was chosen for their skill and ability to work as a team. The Normandy had the best crew in the Alliance.
Anderson finished the tour a few minutes later. Shepard found herself rather impressed with the design and the technology used. Both reflected in the estimated price tag, which she suspected that of everyone assigned to the ship, only the captain knew exactly how much the ship cost. Even Captain Anderson, as much of a living legend as he is, is in deep trouble if the ship takes damage, she thought to herself.
The captain's communicator went off. He looked down at his omni-tool, staring for an extra second as if surprised by the caller. "I need to return this call in a few minutes, Commander. I'll summon the crew to the comm room for introductions. After that, you'll be running drills with the crew starting at 1300 Lima. It's a chance for you to get familiar with the ship, the crew to work in more training, and test out the systems before we take her out for shakedown."
"Yes, sir," she responded, slightly confused by the captain's behavior when receiving a call, and more surprised that she would be acting CO for these simulations. If the captain deemed it important enough to tell her, he would, but she would like to know at least a hint at the cause of the chaos that seemed to be shaking up the embassy and intelligence community.
Word had spread quickly, and by now everyone on the ship knew that Shepard was the XO. The assembled crew stood silently, exchanging brief, flickering glances but not words. Anderson said, "Officers and crew of the Normandy, may I introduce Lieutenant Commander Layla Shepard as Executive Officer." A few looks were of awe and respect, some were blank, professional masks, but Anderson noted that one look was of muted disgust. He sighed inwardly. That would have to be dealt with, and sooner rather than later.
Shepard had committed a quick thirty or so second speech to memory, and a couple of jokes helped ease the tension of the crew. She wanted to show them that even though she was placed on a pedestal, she was still human like the rest of them. She did notice that one didn't seem all that enthused about her as XO. Even amongst the best in the Alliance, there were still some that didn't want to serve under a biotic.
The captain singled out several individuals to stay. "Everyone else, dismissed," Anderson said. After the rest of the crew had filed out, he then said, "If you will excuse me, Commander Shepard may still have a few questions about the Normandy. Commander, the SIMSUP and the techs should be on board by 1245 Lima."
"Yes, sir," she responded.
The crew that had filed out would doubtlessly talk about their new XO. None of them had worked with her before. However, her reputation of being very open and honest preceded her. She listened to any subordinate's opinion, regardless if they were a staff lieutenant or serviceman third class.
She ran through a mental list of the Normandy's officers and senior NCOs, very grateful for the brief time she had spent scanning the CSRs on the ride to the shipyard.
Lieutenant Pressly, the navigator and a maverick, had authored several papers on orbital mechanics and light refraction due to gravitation.
Flight Lieutenant Moreau, regarded as one of the best helmsman in the Alliance.
Chief Engineer Adams, one of the lead designers of the revolutionary Tantalus drive core the Normandy had stuffed in the back—or, more accurately, the drive core that the rest of the ship was built around.
Doctor Chakwas, one of the leading experts in the Alliance for field surgery, again had authored works on the subject.
Staff Lieutenant Alenko, a fellow biotic N-schooler and another maverick. He had surprisingly little in his open file, other than a rather impressive list of medals and commendations, some of those listed not having dates, just the fact of an award. The CSR even had a blank part that stretched for more than a year and a half. He probably was loaned out to AIA for operations, and I bet he has a whole set of commendations whose mere existence is classified, she thought. She had a couple of those as well.
Shepard opened a terminal, in the process discharging a bit of static electricity to the ship. Alenko heard a barely audible sigh from the commander as she continued to ask the officers and NCOs about the Normandy. Joker at first found himself apprehensive giving his briefing, but quickly began to feel at ease around the commander. She listened intently, asking clarifying questions.
"Builder's trials primarily focused on the drive core and stealth system, correct?"
"Correct, ma'am."
"Did they fully check out the MPDTs?" she asked.
"They did."
"They sent the max flight level of current through all of the cathodes?"
"Yes, Commander."
"And did they take both the primary and redundant PPU strings to max flight load?" she asked next.
Joker blinked and hesitated for a moment. It wasn't too often that a CO or XO knew about the details of every working system on a ship; normally they only knew the in-depth details about one or two particular fields. "Just the primaries, ma'am."
"I know the Normandy can maneuver with the drive core so heat emitting thrusters are not needed while the IES is engaged. But we need to make sure all of our thrusters are working, which includes running both PPU strings up to max load." She shook her head slightly and a small, discontented frown appeared on her face. "I don't know they just didn't test both strings at once. It's not too hard to reconfigure from primary to redundant."
Joker shrugged slightly. "I…guess they figured the redundants would never get used, ma'am, between the primaries and the drive core."
"Forgive me, but I'm going to tell a quick story." Shepard stood up straight, placing her hands behind her back. "A few years ago I was a fresh-faced O-2 on the Chicago. The primary PPU for the aft starboard thruster bank failed. So we switched over to the redundant. Turns out the redundant PPU hadn't been tested, and it failed the first time we used the thruster bank." Her neutral expression broke into a grin. "By the way, despite what the subcontractors may say, when a PPU lets go at high load, it's pretty spectacular. It's not a quiet failure. When it went, the surge also took down some of the starboard side DRAs and most of the aft GARDIAN turrets."
"Ouch," Adams winced. "I personally haven't seen one fail, ma'am, but I've heard that a few have. I hadn't heard that it happened to the Chicago."
Shepard nodded, then her grin faded into a serious expression. "There's a reason for that," she said quietly. "The Chicago was patrolling the Traverse at the time. There isn't much point in having a PMC cruiser out on patrol, and they needed to take her back to Terra Nova for repairs. A team of engineers would fly her back, so our CO let the crew off for shore leave on Elysium – our home port – for a few days. Most people took shuttle hops to another destination to see family for a couple days, but I stayed on Elysium. Three days later, the Skyllian Blitz happened," the commander finished.
She paused for several moments, allowing everyone to ponder what she had just said. A couple of the assembled crew traded brief glances at the surprising revelation. While everyone had heard that Shepard was supposed to be on leave during the Blitz, none of the stories or reports had ever mentioned that the ship she was serving on had a malfunction and wasn't in the area.
"Could the Chicago gotten there in time to break up or disrupt the attack? Possibly," she shrugged. "I'm not sure where our patrol route would have taken us at that time had we not blown a PPU – a PPU, I might add, that Nashan Stellar had signed off as tested. So even though the prime contractor or a subcontractor may have skipped on a test at some point, it doesn't mean we should."
"Huh," Joker muttered. "That explains why Nashan hadn't been a contractor for the Normandy."
The commander nodded in response. "They got into a bit of trouble for that," she understated.
"We'll get the redundant strings tested, ma'am," Pressly said with a nod.
She next went on to the weapons, and to her surprise GARDIAN hadn't even been test pumped at a system level after installation on the ship. That fact brought a frown to the commander's face. The ship had the best possible crew assigned, but not all of the integrated subsystems had completed testing. Builder's trials had focused on the drive core and stealth system, and not enough on the weapons, she thought. While the ship had a very impressive set of hardware and subsystems, everything needed to work—and work together. Otherwise, the ship became little more than a collection of very expensive toys. Testing would show what did and what didn't, and the lack of the aforementioned testing had her more than a little worried. Not to mention Captain Anderson is going to a mysterious meeting that he would not even discuss with his XO…she thought.
After about a half hour of discussion the atmosphere became much more relaxed as the commissioned and noncommissioned officers became comfortable with their new XO. She sprinkled in a few jokes, and it seemed in addition to her respectable knowledge of ships, she also possessed a quick wit. Alenko was amazed at how fast the officers became comfortable around her. She leaned back slightly against a bulkhead, her hands clasped in front of her, and her expression looked…not bored, that wasn't the right word...but at ease.
The commander's soft voice shook him out of his musings. "Pressly, any last thoughts?" she asked.
"No, Commander," the navigator responded with a shake of his head.
"Everyone: dismissed," she stated, watching them file out of the briefing room.
The officers and crew began to file out of the comm room and into the vestibule. Alenko happened to be furthest from the exit, so he naturally he got stuck at the end of the line. "Lieutenant Alenko?" Shepard asked.
"Ma'am?" His heart jumped a bit and he turned to face her. She approached him, stopping a meter from him, and as she did so Alenko's heart began to race as if he were running from a platoon of pissed-off hungry krogan.
She paused for a couple seconds before speaking. "I wanted to apologize again for shocking you," she said as she looked down for a moment.
"It's not a problem, Commander, I didn't even notice it." I was mesmerized by you instead… "It happens to me a lot."
"I'll do my best to see that it doesn't happen again," she said with a slight smile as she looked up to him. "Although, I can't guarantee it."
"I'll try not to return the favor, ma'am," he said with a small smile of his own. She brought that up again, most people would have ignored and forgotten about it…
Her small smile morphed into an amused grin. "I'll hold you to that, then." She asked him after a brief pause, in a quieter voice as her smile faded, "How long has Captain Anderson been assigned to the Normandy?"
"About two months, ma'am."
"He's mostly been prepping the ship for the shakedown cruise?" she asked.
He sighed for a moment, weighing telling her the truth versus…
"Lieutenant, you can always speak freely to me. I'd like to hear your thoughts," she said softly.
Alenko sighed and lowered his voice, forcing the commander to take a step closer to hear him well. He smelled a faint scent of something pleasant and feminine as she stepped closer…snap out of it. The lieutenant put those unwanted thoughts out of his mind and said very quietly, "Captain Anderson hasn't been on the Normandy much the last few days. He's left the final fitting out and shakedown prep to Pressly and I."
"He hasn't been onboard the past few days?" she asked in slight surprise as her eyes widened slightly. "Has he been in keeping in touch with you two?"
Alenko hesitated before responding. "Infrequently, ma'am. His orders were 'prep the Normandy for shakedown,' and he...hasn't said much else, ma'am."
"Hmm," she said quietly as her eyes narrowed. "That's not like him. At all." She crossed her arms and held her right hand up to her chin.
The lieutenant paused again, wondering just what he should tell her. "And…Admiral Hackett has been aboard three times. Each time the admiral and captain went to the comm room by themselves without as much as a word to anyone else."
This caused the commander's eyes to widen in surprise. "Admiral Hackett? Why not Admiral Mikhailovitch? He's Captain Anderson's superior…" Her voice trailed off, and the lieutenant could see from the look in her eyes that her mind was operating in overdrive, trying to process this new information.
"That's just what I've observed, ma'am," replied the lieutenant in a matter-of-fact tone with a shrug.
"Well…this is…hmm." She paused, letting her arms relax as she clasped her hands in front of her. "That would coincide with what I've heard. There's been commotion over at the embassy for the past few days, and apparently AIA's is starting to run in circles over something."
"This…can't all be a coincidence."
"I agree. Why are they leaving us all in the dark? I just hope there's a good reason for it," she said softly.
"You've…you haven't been briefed on anything, ma'am?"
"Not a thing, Lieutenant. I've just been hearing some of the same rumors that it seems everyone else has."
The two of them left the comm room, and Shepard walked down to the officers' room to unpack her items that had been brought on board. After a few minutes of unpacking everything hit Shepard, and she mentally slapped herself for so quickly dismissing the answer earlier today. Ockham's razor: the hypothesis requiring the fewest assumptions is the most probable one. There's a good chance that they ARE going to ask me to be a Spectre…but…me? A Spectre?
She thought for a minute about what the position would entail. She knew there were plenty of other qualified candidates in the Alliance, but there would be ceremony and publicity associated with the role. There would be others following her, but she would set the path, she would be the first…do I really want that scrutiny? Especially with the fact I don't have…
She put her musings aside, as she could be wrong. Many other things could cause commotion at the embassy. It could be something as simple as a bribery, embezzlement, or sex scandal about to break to the public. But…this explanation settles why the embassy was going nuts and Captain Anderson not bothering himself with final fitting out. He and Admiral Hackett would probably both be involved in the selection process…but what about Intelligence…there's still more to this picture.
She halted unpacking and went up to CIC to prep for the drills. Not a minute later, she saw Captain Anderson enter CIC with a civilian. Shepard hadn't even seen the civilian during her tour of the small ship. "Captain?" the commander asked, approaching them after a moment's pause. "Can I speak off the record, sir?" The civilian completely ignored her.
"About what?" Anderson asked, continuing to quickly walk past her. He would prefer just to avoid this situation; he knew what was coming: Shepard was smart enough to have figured out what was going on. That didn't make him the least bit happy about leaving his new XO and long-time protégé out of the loop, but the embassy idiots insisted. And nothing was fully settled just quite yet, was it?
The commander ran for a few paces to fall into step behind the pair and said, "About this assignment, sir."
"I will explain the situation to you later, Commander."
"Sir some of this seems to be about me. I wanted to know if I am being selected for a position. If so I would like to know," she said quickly, almost rapid-firing the words. "Sir," she added a moment after she finished.
Anderson didn't physically flinch at the commander's comment, but inside it felt like he was getting hit in the face with a sack of power cells. He had heard the commander had been in a similar situation before as a first lieutenant soon after Elysium.
One day she presented to a superior officer a possible operation that could be run, based on disjointed bits of data she had pieced together. It had turned out that the operation was scheduled to run a day later, and that it has been highly classified. The senior officer then had proceeded to grill her about everything she knew, only to learn the kid—officer, Anderson corrected himself—had put together enough tidbits of information to figure out the operation. This time she apparently heard enough disjointed rumors – again – to piece together the puzzle.
"Commander, do not talk about such speculations with anyone. Understood? Get the crew prepped for the sims," he slightly scolded her, angry more at having to leave her out of the loop than at the commander herself.
"Yes sir. Sorry sir," she replied, stopping as they exited the airlock. So that probably settles half of the situation. They might be evaluating me for admission into the Spectres at some point. But…what about AIA? What's causing all of their commotion? And…what about those missing STG teams? Do they fit into this picture? And if so, how?
Dwelling on those thoughts wouldn't help the Normandy crew with the sims. She quickly went around to each major crew station, ensuring that the personnel had what they needed and were getting prepped for the drills properly. This was more of a formality due to the talent and experience of everyone on this ship, but she had a more important reason for the walk and talk. She wasn't very familiar with the ship, only the basic capabilities, and wanted each of the crew to not only provide information, but recommendations. She ensured them that if acting on the recommendation turned out to be a bad decision, she alone would take responsibility. Hopefully they would not be intimidated and speak up to her, as she had seen at times people were too unsettled by her fame to tell her the truth.
Shepard saw that the SIMSUP had arrived several minutes early, and she approached the full commander who would be running the simulations for the crew. "Sir," she said, then she gave a brief status for the ship's systems for the drills. "We're ready to go in five minutes."
The O-5 nodded and ordered his techs to load the scenario. He was oddly detached from the situation, even more than what she'd normally seen from SIMSUPSs. Some of them made mechs seem expressive, and the joke was that some of them actually wired themselves into the hardware to run their simulations.
Shepard took the CO's seat, a bit of apprehension entering her mind. She had just been reassigned a few hours ago to the most advanced ship in the galaxy, and now was the acting CO with a crew that was far more knowledgeable about the systems than she.
Before she could dwell much more on the topic, the scenario had been fully loaded and the SIMSUP briefed the crew. All of the Normandy's displays now showed data from the paused simulation. After the quick briefing, the SIMSUP said, "Begin."
Alenko took the brief break to stretch his legs from the console at the front of the ship. The crew had just finished their sixth sim of the day now, and in this sim, the crew was not at their normal battlestations, but rather at Condition-3 watch.
The afternoon had gone by very quickly, and the SIMSUP had gone from easy to ruthless in the blink of an eye. In this sim, there just wasn't a good option at all, and Shepard immediately took the least bad choice. The Normandy survived, albeit crippled, and there had been crew losses. The crew performed exceptionally well, and in this near-impossible scenario a crewmember had made a minor mistake—if it even could be called that—which Shepard had acted on. The mistake then snowballed into failure of the sim.
The lieutenant listened over the comm to the discussion, raising his eyebrow in a bit of surprise as the SIMSUP forcefully questioned the minor mistake. He quickly began to tear the crewmember a new one, but Shepard stopped him just seconds into his rant.
Their XO shouldered all of the blame, insisting that as acting CO she had made a mistake in decision making. The SIMSUP apparently didn't agree, and his vocal volume increased significantly, but Shepard remained adamant.
Alenko turned to see that Shepard had left her seat, and was probably only fifty centimeters from the tall, well-built O-5 SIMSUP. Anyone watching would immediately notice their size difference. Shepard was more than a head shorter than the senior officer, and looked like a pixie next to a man that could easily pass as a rugby player. But she stood her ground as if she were a mama bear protecting her cubs.
"I've learned from my mistake, sir," she insisted. She stared down, or more accurately up at, the superior officer for close to ten seconds, neither officer flinching or giving a bit of ground.
The senior officer's expression finally softened. He nodded and said, "Very well, Commander."
Alenko glanced over to Joker, who was sitting to his left. The pilot shot him a glance as well, indicating that he had the same thoughts of surprise, and wondering what other surprises they would learn about their new XO.
"Load the last sim," the SIMSUP ordered his team.
Author's Notes:
Given that Shepard asks a fair number of questions about the Normandy in the game, I'm going to go with the Watsonian explanation that she's new to the ship, rather than the Doylist explanation that the questions are for the player's benefit. As she's the new XO, the Alliance would want to make sure that she can effectively command the ship, hence the gauntlet of sims here.
And as with the last chapter, a thing or two mentioned here may or may not become important at some point.