The flight from Earth to the "courier transport" didn't take long. Along with the other passengers, Shepard went into the main cabin, took the seat assigned by his boarding directive, fastened his harness, and calmly waited for the small liner to arrive at the station.
Such flights had long since stopped being a novelty to him. He regarded them as work, and therefore didn't pay particular attention to the circumstances around them.
In flight he thought about many things, including Dayna. But even more he was occupied by a new sense of "wrongness" connected, apparently, to the upcoming work on Arcturus Station.
Yes, according to existing practice, an officer of his status and rank could be offered station work first, within Systems Alliance Navy structures, and only then be assigned to a ship.
Shepard felt fully prepared for either option. But right now it was the second option that troubled him: something hinted at looming difficulties with the ship and its crew.
Exactly at the time designated in the orders, the courier transport docked with the large space station.
A chirp from his wrist omni-tool drew the captain's attention. It displayed a small-screen clarification: "Report to the station Systems Alliance Navy Personnel Office."
Shepard, grabbing his bag and case, headed for a sector of Arcturus he knew well.
In the office specified by the clarification, a polished colonel was waiting for him.
Shepard gave the proper salute and reported in formal fashion. Protocol and ritual. No getting away from it. Following them was not difficult.
The colonel snapped a crisp salute in reply. Discipline was enforced by the command of the Alliance Navy contingent stationed on Arcturus. Then the senior officer handed the captain not the formal order reader, the one approved by the Admiralty procedures and completed by the rules, but a simple reader.
On its screen Shepard saw only three lines of text, whose main content stated: "Systems Alliance Navy Special Forces Captain John Shepard is to assume the position of Executive Officer of the frigate Normandy."
There were also encrypted station alphanumeric coordinates for the commander's office of that ship. Standard practice.
Saluting the senior officer a second time, as a farewell, Shepard pivoted in place and left the office, not forgetting to take his case and bag.
In the station's staff structures they had grown used to officers arriving at the Personnel Office directly from courier transports. So the luggage was treated with understanding, though they remembered that by Alliance Navy regulations an officer for some reason was not supposed to appear in such institutions "with baggage."
As always: one thing on paper, another in reality.
The colonel being a staff officer did not irritate Shepard at all. People worked everywhere. And this colonel was neither the first nor the last "desk" officer the captain had seen in the course of service. The order's clearly "nonstandard" formatting only added doubts and made Shepard treat the upcoming conversation with the ship's commander more carefully.
From regularly distributed Alliance Navy officer bulletins, John knew a little about the ship: a joint human-turian development.
At first glance, nothing special. A standard scout frigate, one of many within the Systems Alliance Navy's divisional structure. But this ship was distinguished, first, by an upgraded stealth system, and second, by an obviously overpowered, oversized drive core. That made handling the ship quite problematic and demanded special training and constant heightened attention from pilots.
At the N7 Academy, Shepard had been drilled that his future career would necessarily include problematic ships, problematic crews, and problematic assignments. Such was the fate of top-level special forces operators, if one used the journalistic style favored by hacks writing for not particularly discerning readers.
Corridor after corridor, passage after passage, lift after lift, Shepard approached the ship commander's office. That meeting, by tradition the first after God aboard, would finally put a big, fat period on the uncertainty of the captain's situation.
It seemed that ahead indeed was service on a problematic ship, which brought John neither joy nor satisfaction. But at least it removed many questions, making room for new ones born of a sense of approaching danger. Not connected to the ship. Something more global. More terrifying.
It was difficult to determine the cause of that sensation now, and so Shepard, moving through Arcturus Station toward the Normandy commander's office, did not try to focus on it. He had been prepared earlier that such sensations would happen. Without a developed sense of danger, it was impossible to survive and remain combat-effective where special forces of his level most often had to operate.
Leaving his bag in the storage locker in front of the Arcturus sector where ship commanders' offices were located, ordinary cabins passed through a complex system among senior officers whose ships were temporarily or permanently assigned to the station's fleets, Shepard froze for a few seconds in front of the correct door. Then, gathering himself, he knocked.
"Enter," came a calm voice, slightly muffled by sealing.
The captain opened the door, crossed the threshold, stopped, and waited for the door to seal back into place. He delivered the required report of arrival.
"Report acknowledged," said the officer, who had risen from behind his work desk, often called an office desk, and returned Shepard's salute. "Sit down, Captain Shepard." He pointed to one of two chairs near the commander's desk. "I see you're dissatisfied."
"Yes, sir. But for the moment I would prefer not to speak about the reasons for my dissatisfaction. It's possible it has no basis," Shepard answered calmly and clearly, sitting down.
"Be that as it may, you've received the assignment, Captain." The office owner sat in his chair and activated his desk omni-tool. "I am the commander of the frigate Normandy, Captain David Anderson. Since we are of equal rank, you may address me as 'Commander Anderson' or 'Commander.' Departure is in a few hours. Everyone is already aboard. I know you left your bag in storage. When we go to the ship, you'll be able to retrieve it. The Normandy's launch is special, but not urgent. So you'll have time." The officer handed Shepard a "large" reader. "Here are all materials on the ship and crew. A sort of briefing. I expect once you familiarize yourself with it, you'll have answers to your questions." Anderson rose. "Let's go."
Shepard left the cabin after the ship's commander. The sense that the situation was nonstandard screamed. By all appearances, Anderson did not want to say much to his new executive officer right now, here aboard Arcturus.
There could be several reasons: the eternal competition between military and politicians, the station's main inhabitants; secrecy; and the commander's desire to conduct the main induction procedure aboard his ship.
Anderson did not forget his promise about the storage locker, to Shepard's satisfaction. The bag was there, and the quartermaster sergeant produced it to the owner in record time.
A few minutes, and the officers moved into the part of the station from which Arcturus shuttles traditionally ferried people to the ships holding position around the station.
A station shuttle delivered Anderson and Shepard aboard the frigate. The ship commander gestured for his companion to proceed into the cabin.
"Sit down," Anderson said, approaching the cabin's viewport and throwing a brief glance at Arcturus Station, part of which was visible beyond the thick armored glass. "They're in a hurry…" The ship commander ran a finger along the armored shutter control sensor, but did not press it, lowering his hand.
Settling into the work chair by the desk, Shepard noted the movement of the host's hand and grew alert.
An invitation to sit was normal, but "they're in a hurry" was already interesting, nonstandard. It seemed the ship commander truly felt freer aboard the frigate than aboard the station. That was normal. But… it confirmed Shepard's suspicions and anxieties connected to his assignment.
"You've been assigned as executive officer, Captain." Anderson returned to the desk and sat in his chair. "Assigned… under a nonstandard procedure. Which you certainly noticed. I won't hide it: on the station I couldn't say much openly. The ship… hasn't even been properly entered into the scout frigate division under Admiral Mikhailovich. I still haven't seen any acceptance documents, neither plastipaper nor electronic. Nevertheless, we, the frigate's crew, have orders to depart in a few hours for Eden Prime. The mission is special." Anderson paused for a few seconds, then continued. "The Arcturus command group is under pressure from the Alliance Presidium. They've got some issues with the Citadel Council, or more precisely with the Spectres. With the Spectre Corps," the cabin owner clarified. "Possibly with both Council and Corps at once. By the way, one of those 'agents' is already aboard the frigate. A turian, Nihlus Kryik." Anderson grimaced slightly. "A real piece of work, that bird-faced one. The Corps, by the way, still doesn't consider it necessary to have its own ships. And for understandable reasons it tries to use ships of those species its agents have to interact with. Yes, the agent is a turian. And the ship is also half more-or-less turian. So there don't seem to be any special contradictions there. In a sense, the Hierarchy really does have some right to check how a ship built on its provided design is being operated. Standard practice." Anderson fell silent again for a few seconds. "The mission is specific. Exclusively in the interests of the Citadel Council, to which the Spectres answer directly. You'll learn the details over time, Captain. For now, I'll note this: the ship has more problems than the norm. Nevertheless, we'll have to work with what we have. And I'm glad to meet a colleague." Anderson laid an N7 token on the desk. His own personal token.
John studied his interlocutor's face, then shifted his gaze to the token and read the number and code.
Anderson took the displayed distrust calmly.
"Yes, Shepard. I am that same David Anderson," the frigate commander said. "Born in 2137. In 2157, graduated from the Officer Academy as a second lieutenant. Took part in resolving the Shanxi incident. Was married. Divorced my wife in 2165. She was extremely unhappy that I devoted too much attention to military service." Anderson paused. "Then… I was involved in the search for Kahlee Sanders in the artifact case." Another pause. "This year, the Normandy SR-1 was finally launched from the slips. Its design and construction were sponsored by the Citadel Council." The ship commander fell silent again for a few seconds. "Political games… are poorly understood by me. Of little interest, and of little value. It happened that I was assigned to command this ship, after a long period… of inactivity." Anderson placed a small reader on the desktop. "The big reader has a lot of information. You, Shepard, I'm sure will study it later. But here…" He slid the small reader across the desk toward his interlocutor. "Here that information is shorter. And more accessible. The main thing is shorter. So read it. And I think you should meet the officers, and not only the officers, among the ship's crew. Soon it will be time for the commander's rounds. And we can do it together."
Shepard nodded, turned on the device, and immersed himself in reading the files.
In that reader, the information necessary for an officer who had assumed his position was presented far more briefly and accessibly. Perhaps Anderson had adapted it himself.
"You're right, Shepard," the frigate commander nodded. "I cleaned the information up myself, when I had to sort out the accepted ship and crew a few days ago," he said quietly. "They made a mess in staff… I had to hack my way through."
Anderson rose and went to the viewport. Shepard understood he did not want to interfere with him reading the files.
Ten minutes passed.
Shepard turned off the reader and set it on the desktop.
Anderson did not turn. He looked at Arcturus Station. The cabin fell silent, and Shepard could finally understand that his premonition had been timely, correct, and complete. He had been assigned to a truly problematic ship.
That his commander was David Anderson, spoken of in the Systems Alliance Navy as a semi-legendary figure, was unsettling. And at the same time it was calming. At least Shepard would be serving under one of the best N7 Academy graduates, not under an ordinary fleet ship commander.
The frigate under Anderson already did not seem so problematic. N7s were taught to cope with worse. They were taught well.
Anderson, coming back to the desk, tapped a few sensors on the desk omni-tool and read the information on its display.
"I'm leaving both readers with you, John." He waited as Shepard packed the devices into his belt kit. "Aboard ship, practically everything is ready for departure. Let's go. We'll begin getting you acquainted with the ship and crew."