Shepard tapped his wrist omni-tool, opened the interface, and entered several commands.
The vista of deep space in the viewing port dimmed. The inner "cabin" shade rose into working position, covering the glass, and a display lit on its surface.
With a few commands, Shepard pulled up imagery received from multiple Alliance observation posts and from the sensors of several civilian tracking systems.
At the center of the screen that replaced the viewing port, the main display unfolded, surrounded by smaller ones.
A few more commands on the XO's omni-tool—and all the small displays merged at the center of the main screen.
"This cloud of space dust is being watched right now by manual and automated systems from thirty points," Shepard said. "Its size exceeds six kilometers in diameter. The cloud is moving slowly," he entered several commands, drawing a course line. "Its destination is Eden Prime, Commander. You can verify the calculation. The course has been precise and unchanged for the last half-day."
"Gladly." Anderson clicked through commands on his omni-tool keyboard. "You're right, Captain. What are your conclusions?"
"Here is the table of the cloud's movement characteristics." Shepard called up the table and linked it to the cloud image and its course. "It's trying to look natural, but in reality its motion follows artificial algorithms." He brought up another table. "Here is proof of what I've said in five formulas. Different formulas, Commander."
"There are space objects that move 'by the book,'" Anderson said.
"I agree. But only in one case." Shepard entered more commands on his wrist omni-tool. The cloud image spread across the entire display area. "If, under scanning filters, it remains what it wants to look like. A cloud of space dust." The XO entered several more commands. "I ordered military and civilian tracking systems to switch filter grids on this object for a few seconds. Systems from sixteen points are engaged." He split the central screen into sixteen petal-like displays—views of the same cloud from different angles. And beneath it…
"Reflection, light play, unevenness," Anderson said as he clicked through commands on his omni-tool. "So what? People can imagine anything in there. Even a 'shrimp.'"
"I agree." Shepard tapped a few more commands. "I tied into Extranet archaeology databases." Next to the first, a second screen flared with the same "flower" of small displays. "Images of similar 'shrimps' appear on a wide range of material surfaces dated to thousands—and sometimes millions—of years old." With several commands he merged the archaeology "petals" into one. "Look—if you overlay the archaeological image on this, it's a perfect match. So this isn't light play, Commander." Shepard stayed calm and spoke evenly. "This is an artificial object. More precisely—a ship."
"A ship traveling to Eden Prime under the cover of a cloud of space dust?" Anderson asked, clicking through more commands on his omni-tool. "And how did tracking services miss that? Wait, Shepard. My calculation shows…"
"That this ship will most likely be over the planet in less than a day," the landing team commander finished. "And we, the Normandy, will arrive when the ship is already at the planet. As far as I understand, there's no way for us to accelerate to reach Eden at the same time as the 'guest' for a number of reasons. For a number of reasons," Shepard repeated.
"What. Is. It. Doing. There?" Anderson enunciated in a manner completely uncharacteristic of him.
"In sixteen images from the Archaeology database, this ship is captured in time periods that preceded the death of most sentient and non-sentient life forms on the planets where those images survived," Shepard said evenly.
"That can only mean one thing—that when a ship like that arrived at a planet, a…" Anderson made a heavy pause, "…war began. In which the native sentient and non-sentient life forms…"
"Were almost completely destroyed. Or enslaved. With no prospect of liberation or rescue," Shepard finished.
"Invasion?" Anderson gave Shepard a direct, precise look. "How did you dig this up?"
"Stood. Watched. Thought. Compared facts. Went into the Extranet, checked specialized sites," Shepard answered.
Now the XO understood that the frigate captain would not "nitpick" at the methods and means used to reach such a conclusion…
"So we're going…" Anderson said thoughtfully.
"Straight into the dragon's mouth," Shepard said. "As far as I know, it's currently the off-season between harvest periods on most of Eden Prime's surface. And to head off your next question, Commander, I'll answer: by all the data I managed to find in open sources, there are no fleets along this ship's course capable of stopping it or even delaying it. I'm not even saying that there are no individual ships that could destroy it—this 'guest,'" he nodded toward the screen where the giant "shrimp" glowed. "Besides," Shepard tapped a few keys on his omni-tool and lines of responsibility zones lit up, "the guest ship is traveling strictly through Earth's zones of responsibility. And we humans, thanks to the Farixen Treaty," the XO said with barely concealed bitter irony, "currently have no forces capable of stopping its advance. According to monitoring and tracking posts, according to hardware surveillance systems," he pulled up several tables and graphs on the displays, "the armor of this ship is sixteen times more advanced than the armor of the Destiny Ascension. And that is the best ship in the explored part of the Milky Way. The only ship that can even remotely compete in opposition to this monster."
"Except the asari won't give it to us. Not for rent, not for lease," Anderson noted with clear sadness in his voice. "They won't believe this," the captain paused for several seconds, staring at the pictures, schematics, tables, and graphs on the displays. "Not quickly, that's for sure. And slowly… they simply won't want to believe it. They won't have time, either, to realize—fully, necessarily fully—this fact."
"They'll say that this problem is 'crawling' toward our planet. And through our zone of responsibility. So it's our headache. Therefore we Earthborn are the ones who should deal with all the consequences," Shepard concluded.
"The damned 'Russian' question: 'What do we do?'" Anderson said.
"I'm more interested in the answer to another, no less 'Russian' question: 'Who's to blame?'" Shepard shot back. "More precisely—who is it that's charging at us in a super-dreadnought like that? It's clearly not a taxi like the Destiny Ascension."
"Jeff." Anderson raised his eyes toward the ceiling of the lounge.
He, as Shepard remembered, hated calling his pilot by his nickname—"Joker."
"Yes, Commander," Moreau answered immediately. It seemed the ship's pilot had developed a conditioned—bordering on unconditioned—reflex to respond when the frigate captain addressed him. And most likely, the pilot had trained himself to patch into the comm and info systems of whatever compartment the "first after God" happened to be in at that moment.
"Latest report on Alliance ships in the vicinity of the destination planet," Anderson said.
"Less than a day and a half to arrival, sir. No Alliance ships in the area," the pilot replied and cut the channel.
"You said it correctly, Captain," Anderson said after several seconds. "Farixen. Using the weakest link…"
"With maximum effect," Shepard finished. " 'There is a king in the world. This king is merciless…'"
" 'Hunger is his name,'" the ship's captain said. "Eden Prime supplies agricultural products to both Earth's army and fleet. If that monster has beam weaponry…"
"All fields on the planet will be burned in the shortest time," Shepard answered. "But the main thing is—very many civilian residents will die. Agricultural workers, farmers. Thousands of people. There on Eden Prime, besides shotguns, civilians—and not only humans, by the way—never needed any weapons. The planet's wildlife isn't dangerous enough to require never parting with an assault rifle," Shepard said.
"And if no one but us, as an Alliance warship, is the first to meet this monster…" Anderson said thoughtfully.
"Then we'll have to accept that the invasion carried out by this ship will not be a short one, not limited to a few hours allotted by its commander or pilot for an attack."
"Although… looking at that bulk… you can't really say that. Our frigate has nothing that could even tickle it," the ship's captain said, and now sharp, bitter regret showed in his voice. And helplessness.
"Tickle?" Shepard said in a clearly questioning tone, straightening even more sharply. "There is, Commander. There is something to tickle it with."
"Come on, Shepard." Anderson flipped through images of the "shrimp" on his omni-tool display and peered closer. "By my data, we're not compatible with this 'shrimp' in any direct firefight."
"And reconnaissance doesn't need a firefight, Commander. For it, a firefight is harmful," the landing team commander answered. "We won't spend too much time and too many shots just firing at it. We'll use another weapon. Ours. Reconnaissance. And sabotage."
As Anderson could tell by his assistant's focused look, Shepard was already "spooling" kilometers of text, hundreds of graphs and diagrams through his memory.
"However, Commander," the executive officer said. "For that, I ask you to allow me, by any means," here Shepard made a clear emphasis that Anderson could not miss, "to bring both the ship and crew into proper condition in the time we have left. If I have to combine two positions, then allow me, Commander, sir, to combine them not only in theory but in practice. I ask you, by your order, to temporarily assign all twelve cops to my landing team. If they ended up here, aboard a military reconnaissance frigate, then let them be useful. Not prop up bulkheads. Commander, sir, you understood that we'll have to fight either way. And there are no civilian organics on this ship."
"We have a Citadel Council Spectre aboard. Nihlus Kryik," Anderson said in a deliberately emotionless voice. "He may not be civilian—who can tell what Spectres really are by status."
"Doesn't change anything. He's aboard our warship, not a pleasure craft. His rights don't apply here—they turn against him," Shepard said with conviction. "If aliens won't let us humans into the Citadel Council, if they 'squeeze' our activity in deep space—then they have no right to command us, Earthborn, because in such a situation commanding us…"
"Means using violence against us. Against humans. Against humanity," Anderson continued quietly and firmly.
"And we Earthborn—humans—humanity—don't like violence…" Shepard supported his captain.
"And we won't tolerate it," the ship's master finished, typing something on his omni-tool. "You've convinced me, Captain. I saw how fast the corporal ran out of here. And I noted what he was feeling. You and Alenko managed to…"
"Kaidan Alenko," Shepard stumbled, corrected himself, forcing his speech into strict service protocol. "Lieutenant Alenko is obligated," the XO emphasized the word with his tone, "to be fit enough to command effectively and properly. To perform officer functions. Not lie in the medbay on a bunk with an almost constant severe migraine. As for everything else, I would prefer not to specify in any way how exactly I did it. But he will not have migraines anymore. Ever," the XO emphasized. "I did not get into the rest of what he is." Shepard was silent for several seconds. "He'll adapt. We—Normandy crew—will need full output from every human aboard this frigate right now. As I assume, we have even less than a day left."
"You're cutting warm-up time to the minimum?" Anderson asked. "That's a rhetorical question—don't answer. Good." The ship's captain leaned over his omni-tool and entered several code phrases. "By my authority as commanding officer, I've ordered that all your orders and directives be carried out with maximum speed, precision, and completeness. And you, I'm sure, will be able to make every crew member do exactly that in practice. Well, then," Anderson stood. "If anyone can get us out of this unenviable situation… it's probably you, Captain Shepard. And—ignore any whining and screaming… if there is any. There are no civilian sentients on the Normandy. Everyone aboard knew what they signed up for. How did it go in the old oath? 'To steadfastly endure the hardships of military service.' It's a shame our current oath doesn't have words like that anymore."
"But they are certainly implied, sir," Shepard said, rising and returning to his taut "Wire" stance. "Thank you for understanding."
"If we, living sentient organics, don't understand each other fully right now…" Anderson said, studying the "shrimp" glowing on the screen again, "then ships like this… will bury us. Without any need for any conceivable understanding." The frigate captain nodded to the landing team commander. "Proceed. You, I'm convinced, know what to do."
He left the lounge swiftly, heading for the bridge by the Galaxy Map.
Maintaining the "Wire" setting, Shepard went down to Engineering.
Chief Engineer Adams met him at his main console. He was already aware that Captain Shepard had received special authority from the ship's commanding officer. So he wasn't surprised when Shepard asked him to show updated characteristics of the Normandy's primary systems.
The two officers held a half-hour discussion, after which Chief Engineer Adams made many changes to the system settings.
Several critical ship parameters were optimized. Others were significantly improved.
After a brief work exchange with the ship's other engineers and technicians, Shepard climbed the ramp to the doors leading into the frigate's main sections and headed up the ladder to the Combat Information Center deck.
The cop on post at the exit to the deck apparently believed that Corporal Jenkins had exaggerated, in his short story, the strength of Executive Officer Shepard's influence. And so the military police sergeant didn't bother to snap to attention when the ship's senior officer suddenly appeared.
Shepard pretended not to notice the violation of regulations, but, stepping back exactly one pace, he spun sharply toward the offending sergeant.
"Paragraph one hundred forty-six of the Systems Alliance Garrison and Guard Duty Regulations, Sergeant. Need a reminder?" There was nothing in the captain's voice but indifference, and behind it, cold fury was unmistakably coming to a boil.
"No, sir!" In a second, the sergeant shed the air of an old hand lounging on post and drew himself up. "My apologies, sir! Ready to accept punishment, sir!" He had clearly felt the executive officer's rage.
"You were a decent businessman before you joined the military, weren't you?" the captain continued, tempering the boiling displeasure inside him just slightly.
"I ran my own general store in my hometown, sir." The cop was genuinely surprised that the ship's senior officer—a Marine—knew such details of his personal biography, a simple military police sergeant's. "I had more than a dozen different suppliers," he added.
"As executive officer, acting under Captain Anderson's orders, I'm relieving you of garrison and guard duty and transferring you to the post of ship's quartermaster. Your workplace will now be in the cargo hold. There's a storeroom there and everything you need to do the job properly. With suppliers. And with merchandise. Your separate housing situation will be resolved as well." Shepard was already about to turn and move on to the next cop, but he was stopped by the merchant-sergeant's hesitant question:
"Sir, but…"
"Sergeant," the XO said calmly. "You're needed not in a brig we don't have, and not with a mop-brush in your hands. You've been given a concrete task: take the position and properly perform the duties of the ship's quartermaster. You have an hour to inventory the property and determine what needs repair, replacement, or purchase in the near term. Gather all relevant data from the crew. Provide me a copy of the list. I probably won't be sitting in my cabin—find me on the ship. Either in person, or over comms. Execute."
"Aye, sir." The sergeant shot toward the ladder, and soon his footsteps were already thundering on the deck plates below.