Anderson's pre-departure walk-through of the ship, as Shepard understood it, was not an empty formality. The commander took an interest in details, asked his colleagues plenty of questions, listened closely to the answers, and studied the readouts.
It all looked so natural that John had no doubt: if he had not been there beside Anderson, everything would have been exactly the same.
The first person the ship's commander headed for was the frigate's navigator, Charles Pressly, who was currently acting as executive officer.
Anderson interpreted the slightly surprised look Pressly threw at the officer standing a step behind the commander correctly, briefly noting aloud that "this officer is the new XO."
Shepard was certain that the moment they stepped away from the navigator's console in the Combat Information Center—more often simply called the CIC—this news would spread to every member of the ship's crew as quickly as possible. After that, the frigate's commander would no longer need to add any clarifications.
After studying the frigate's navigation readouts on the console, Anderson nodded to Charles and moved on toward the cockpit. When they had gone a fair distance from the CIC's "necklace" of consoles, the commander said quietly:
"He doesn't like aliens. Oh, he doesn't like them. Especially turians. And we've got a Spectre aboard right now—a turian. Well, fine. So far Pressly hasn't stepped 'out of bounds,' and that's a relief. And as an officer and a man, he's very good. A professional. I think, Shepard, you'll work well with him—he knows his job. And he's never been a regulations zealot."
The captain only nodded faintly, trying to file away what he had heard and seen in the CIC.
The door to the cockpit opening allowed the new XO to catch a fragment of conversation between the ship's pilot and a technician lieutenant. Having read the small reader's files, Shepard recognized Kaidan Alenko without effort—the biotic officer.
In the small reader's files, Anderson had also noted that Kaidan flatly refused to replace his L2-series biotic implant with anything more reliable and safe.
The frigate was preparing for departure. It would seem the pilot and the copilot—whose role, to Shepard's surprise, this technician lieutenant was trying to perform—should have had more than enough official concerns. However, both officers—Shepard easily recalled that Jeff Moreau held the rank of lieutenant—were clearly idling.
Moreau kept chatting with Alenko about all sorts of trivialities. Kaidan liked to talk too, but, as Shepard gathered, he was very displeased that Moreau categorically refused to let him "take the stick" for the departure leg.
The moment Shepard saw Lieutenant Alenko, he immediately determined that Kaidan was also suffering from a brutal migraine caused by the aging implant. A bad series, a bad model—and not especially suitable for easy, complication-free removal.
On the armrest of the seat where the technician lieutenant sat, Shepard noticed a blister pack of headache pills held to a plastic case with a narrow rubber band. Half the top blister was already empty—the lieutenant was taking the pills several at a time.
While the heavy airtight hatch to the cockpit was opening for the commander and XO, Moreau managed to say:
"Spectres are bad news. I don't like him being aboard. Call me paranoid."
"You are paranoid," Alenko shot back. "The Council helped bankroll the project. They have a right to check where their investment went."
"Yeah?" Moreau said with feigned amazement. "And two Alliance special forces captains got assigned to the ship just for a pleasure cruise? They say the new arrival is also an N7 graduate and holds the highest special forces qualification—N7. Same as our commander. You catching on, Kaidan? Things are heating up and getting complicated. I can feel it in my gut."
"Discussing the new XO?" Anderson asked quietly as he stepped into the cockpit.
Shepard kept the distance, standing a step behind the ship's commander. At the same time, he did not look at either Moreau or Alenko. He was more interested in the compartment itself—and in the cockpit instrumentation.
The captain had already realized that Anderson did not keep an AI aboard, making do with a VI. Still, the ship's commander had been assigned to his post not so long ago and apparently had not yet had time to introduce changes of that scale to the frigate's systems.
"Captain Anderson, sir!" Alenko was the first to spring to his feet and snap to attention.
Moreau stood up without hurry.
Shepard could clearly see that standing was hard for the pilot; that was why he rose not only slowly, but carefully.
The small reader contained information that Moreau suffered from Vrolik Syndrome. In simpler terms: brittle bones. Yet he had managed to be recognized as both an active-duty pilot and an Alliance officer.
There was also information about what kind of "test flight" this lieutenant had put the Normandy through. If Shepard had been more impressionable, he might have been surprised, but right now John was simply looking around, waiting for both officers—the pilot and the technician—to assume an upright posture.
"Captain, sir," Moreau finally said by the book once he had straightened and steadied himself. "Sorry."
"Report the status in the cockpit. Spare me the summaries of your voyeurism, Lieutenant Moreau," Anderson ordered.
While Anderson reviewed the readouts of numerous instruments and the equipment protocol logs displayed across several screens, the pilot spent exactly three minutes delivering his report.
Alenko stayed silent and studied Shepard closely as the captain took an interest in the ship's gunnery console and the navigator's console. Shepard read the data from the displays and compared them to the memorized standard values, showing no reaction.
"Good. Continue your work," Anderson nodded.
Both officers sat back down in their seats with relief. Now they no longer risked trading remarks about Spectres or about the new executive officer.
"Let's go, Shepard," the commander said as he stepped over the cockpit threshold.
The heavy airtight hatch slid back into place.
Whether docked or in drift, this compartment remained reliably sealed off from the rest of the ship. That was what the instructions required—written, as was well known, in blood.
"What he pulled on the frigate's test flights made the entire Alliance Navy chain of command start cursing. And not only them. For several days," Anderson said quietly. "And Alenko… you're right, Shepard, he's suffering because of the implant. Those constant headaches… I don't know how he pushes through pain that's become chronic. The pills clearly don't help much. He's trying to stay within official limits and protocols. But… this unscheduled flight 'threw all the cards in the air.' The crew, as you've already seen, isn't full, either. Special mission. There are twelve military police aboard, and they've taken the spots intended for the ship's штат specialists. Command never gets tired of assuring me it's only for the duration of the mission. There's a lot I don't like about the work ahead." He headed for the elevator with resolve.
Descending to the lower deck, the officers entered Engineering.
"Chief Engineer Greg Adams," the man said, working at the central console.
"God and wizard," Anderson added. "If he and Moreau are aboard, I'm calm."
"Thank you, Commander. The ship's core is oversized by the standards, yes. But thanks to Jeff, we can handle most tasks. General and specialized. And sometimes we can even do more than the rules and norms allow," Adams noted while Anderson studied the instrument readouts and Shepard looked over the arrangement and contents of the engineering bay.
"Readiness for transit?" Anderson asked, finishing his review of the data on the displays.
"Full readiness, Commander," Adams replied firmly.
"Good," the frigate commander said, turning toward the exit.
After leaving Engineering and waiting for the cargo lift doors to close—the frigate had no passenger elevator—Anderson looked at Shepard and said:
"Spectre Kryik, since he came aboard, has been spending most of his time either in the Comm Room or in the cargo hold—where he runs into the crew much less often," Anderson clarified. "My colleagues don't like him. They treat him very cautiously. I don't consider it necessary to introduce you to him—or him to you. Your assignment is internal ship and crew business. It doesn't concern him, in principle. So…"
At that moment, the cargo lift doors began to open.
Shepard heard the loud voice of a young corporal standing next to a woman medic.
The speaker was easy to recognize: Richard Jenkins, one of the ship's enlisted crew. And the woman was the ship's doctor, Systems Alliance Navy Medical Service Major Karin Chakwas.
The corporal was worked up, trying to prove he was fully ready to show his best qualities on the battlefield. The ship's doctor replied acidly that Jenkins's eagerness had already forced her more than once to "patch him up" in the medbay. For some reason, the files on either reader that Shepard had reviewed contained no information about when the corporal had managed to distinguish himself that way while serving aboard the frigate. It didn't matter now: he was about to meet both of them in person.
Seeing the approaching officers, the corporal snapped to attention.
"At ease, Jenkins," Anderson said.
Waiting until the corporal had moved a fair distance away, the ship's commander added quietly to Shepard:
"Really, Lieutenant Alenko should have dealt with him—and dealt with him properly. But… as I mentioned, the constant severe headaches make it hard for him to cover all the duties assigned to him." Once he was sure the lift doors had closed behind Jenkins and it had gone down, Anderson continued. "Karin… this is Captain John Shepard, N7 Academy graduate. Assigned as executive officer. At the same time, as division HQ told me, he's also to serve as commander of the landing unit."
"Good to meet you," the medical major said with a friendly nod to Shepard. "By tradition, you have to pass a medical check. So, please, come with me to the medbay." She looked at Anderson questioningly. He nodded.
"Go, Shepard. We're departing soon; you'll start work after the checkup. For now, there's time." The frigate commander turned toward the cockpit. "I'll be waiting for you at the Galaxy Map in the CIC."
"Aye, sir," Shepard said, saluting and holding "attention" posture for several seconds.
In the medbay, Chakwas asked Shepard to strip to the waist, performed the medical check quickly, and, after waiting for the captain to get himself in order, offered him a seat beside her desk.
From his conversation with the ship's doctor, Shepard learned a great deal of new, valuable, and useful information.
Formally, by rank, Karin Chakwas outranked the ship's commander. But as a doctor she belonged to a different branch of the Alliance Navy, and she specialized in treating aliens—while also, as Shepard confirmed during the conversation, being perfectly competent in treating humans.
She also shared quite a bit of interesting information about Nihlus Kryik—the Citadel Council Spectre—adding her own details to what Shepard already knew.
Half an hour of conversation flew by unnoticed.
"For now, go to your cabin, John. Everything's prepared for you there," Chakwas said. "This ship is small, so it's not really a cabin, more like a partitioned nook. Around here, those who are authorized by the roster to use cabins freely call them 'nooks.' That's probably against every written rule. But we work. We don't just blindly follow rules. And this run, as I understand it, is going to be very tense and specific. It wouldn't hurt you to go over a lot of the documents again. And after launch… the practical, real work begins."
Nodding to the ship's doctor, Shepard left the medbay. Outwardly he showed nothing, but inwardly… it felt as if he had spoken not with the ship's doctor, not with the senior medical officer of the Alliance Navy, but with a mother.
It was no accident Anderson had addressed her by her first name.
Karin Chakwas mattered to everyone on the Normandy. She mattered so much that neither the frigate's unclear status nor the special mission could diminish that importance.
Glancing at the time on his wrist omni-tool, the captain noted that there was not much time left until launch.
He entered his cabin-nook and immediately noticed a stack of readers on the desk and an active omni-tool.