Disclaimer: I do no own Mass Effect, I do not claim to own Mass Effect, I am only doing this for fun.

Author Notes: Wow it's been forever since I dared to publish anything, I believe 2010? I graduated university with pride. My style changed and matured, and my fandom of choice changed. This has been in the works since June 2015, and as of right now, I have the first "season" (26 eps) complete. This work is also cross-posted by me on Archive of Our Own, so if you see it there, it's alright!

Episode 1: Caretaker

She knew the ship had decelerated out of the mass relay corridor by the split-second kick to the gut before the inertial dampener field kicked in, the shudder of the floor underfoot, and the disappearance of an ambient hum caused by vibrations passing through the bulkheads. Wan reddish light filtered through the viewport of her private cabin. Arcturus was distant enough to be nothing more than a red marble against the void of space.

With that as her notice, she got up from her seat at the small desk and moved across the tiny space to the large duffel bag on the foot of the room's only bed.

The cabin door chimed.

"Enter." She said calmly.

The door swished open and in stepped a young serviceman. He stopped two steps inside the doorway, snapped to attention, and saluted. Though he met her gaze, his eyes flicked to the wall behind her quickly, avoiding her pale grey eyes. "Commander Shepard, ma'am, the captain sent me to announce we are forty minutes out from Arcturus Station," he announced.

"Thank you," Shepard replied. "Dismissed."

The serviceman turned on his heels with all the efficiency of a machine and left. As the door closed behind him, Shepard could not help but add one more notch to her mental tally of poor servicemen utterly uncomfortable around her. She glanced out the viewport again and wondered for the umpteenth time why she was summoned to Arcturus Station in such haste.

Six months of 'leave' working a desk on Earth effectively ended by one late-night written message with all the proper seals and authorizations. Admiral Hackett gave her twenty-four hours to pack her full gear and report to him on Arcturus in person. He had even arranged her transport, just to make sure nothing would prevent her from being there. The haste was strange, but the fact that he wanted her with full gear meant a deployment. As far as deployments went, not getting details in the orders was stranger yet. It made her think that maybe there was something secret going on, something that could not be discussed or even mentioned on a less-than-absolutely-secure communications channel.

She went about packing her spartan belongings. Most of her things and equipment, including her armor and weapons, were packed into a locker in the cargo hold. The duffel she had with her contained just her casuals, sleepwear, and personal kit. There were also her officer's uniforms, a navy blue gold-trimmed standard, and a white gold-trimmed formal. She wore the former while the latter hung sealed in a vacuum bag over the bed.

She was running a comb through her chin-length bobbed black hair in her cabin mirror when the ship began its final approach to the station. A minute later she tossed the comb into her kit and closed it before she returned to the mirror to hand-straighten her fringe and the centimeter-and-a-half-wide streak of white running through it. The streak of natural grey was a physical relic left by a long, nightmarish Elysium night. She had cheated death, but exposure to the cold, long hours in a state of perpetual stress, with mental and emotional overload on top nevertheless left a mark. When she was presentable, and knowing there was little else to do but wait, Shepard returned to the viewport.

Arcturus Station was a white saucer with two extensions that orbited the Arcturus-Themis L5 point, trailing behind Themis, the first planet of the Arcturus system. The installation always struck Shepard as crab-like, but busy as a beehive. With a five kilometer diameter saucer section, the station was hardly a pit stop. Ships of various sizes, civilian and military, floated nearby, while others docked to cradles. Arcturus Station was the most heavily guarded Alliance outpost this side of the Charon-Arcturus relay corridor. To say nothing of it being the seat of the Systems Alliance parliament, or that of the eight Alliance Navy fleets, six called Arcturus their home port.

What caught her eye was the elongated, blunted grey wedge shape of a Kilimanjaro-class dreadnought looming off in the distance. At one kilometer in length, dreadnoughts were roving towns, not ships. Its outboard lights shone brightly, announcing its presence against the void of space. Pressed up next to it, and connected via an extendable gangway, was a cruiser, similarly shaped, but at around three quarters the size. As far as parking jobs in space went, this was slightly unusual.

Then as her transport ship turned to come alongside one of the station's arms to dock, Shepard caught the lettering on the dreadnought's broadside, the SSV Kilimanjaro itself. Suddenly it was like the pieces of the puzzle started to fall together, forming an image. First Admiral Hackett's orders, and now the Kilimanjaro here at the same time. Something was definitely going on. She could not see the cruiser's identification, because it was blocked from view by the dreadnought's broadside, but she would bet on it being the SSV Tokyo. This meant the Fifth Fleet Triumvirate was gathered in one place.

Fifteen minutes later Shepard was at the airlock, waiting for the pressure difference between the ship and the station to equalize. From what she had seen out the viewport she knew not to expect the gangway beyond to be empty. For all the subtlety of flying in on a frigate, one of many arriving, the right people would always know who was on board. Due process and all formality were expected, but it left her wondering who was going to greet her. Finally the outer hatch opened with a soft hiss and her eyes landed on the pair of young lieutenants.

"Attention!" The senior ranked of the two called as they both snapped to in unison before snapping perfectly synchronized salutes. "Welcome to Arcturus Station, Commander Shepard. First Lieutenant Theresa Carrere and Second Lieutenant Michael Yager, SSV Kilimanjaro, reporting."

Shepard returned the gesture comfortably, though relatively briefly. "At ease," she said as her arm dropped back down to her side. As the two junior officers slipped into parade rests she took a moment to take stock.

Carrere had dark brown hair pulled into a tight French twist at the back of her head, brown eyes, and a vaguely familiar sort of expression that Shepard suspected to be an imitation of her Captain's. In contrast, Yager seemed to be the meek one, despite being taller and physically larger. His crew-cut flax-colored hair and brown eyes were non-descriptive. The two of them had probably been waiting for her transport to dock for a while, yet despite that their navy-blue uniforms were immaculate and closed just so, neither looked capable of slacking off.

"What have you got for me?" Shepard wondered.

"Well, ma'am, we were told that you had orders to report to Admiral Hackett immediately, however the captain told us to tell you that Admiral Hackett is in a meeting right now. He will be available within the hour. In the meantime, the captain wishes to speak with you, we are to show you to the lounge."

"Understood."

"If you will follow us, ma'am."

Shepard nodded and Carrere fell in step with her on the left, Yager a step behind. The docks at Arcturus Station were a lot like a ship, long featureless corridors broken up by doors that could be sealed shut in the event of a hull breach. The bland grey décor made getting lost in these labyrinthine passages quite easy. Her ship arrived to a side cradle designed for frigates, so everything was just a little more packed together and further away from the main saucer section. Eventually they got clear of the docks and could take a transport vehicle into the saucer section.

There was no conversation the whole way; the two lieutenants did not seem to be chatty, nor did they give into curiosity. The vehicle took them out into the more spacious sections of the station. As it happened the saucer's rotation relative to the stationary arms put them rather near the main military compound of Arcturus. There were security checks involved, but eventually they left the car at a designated lot and Shepard followed the lieutenants on foot.

The lounge they showed her was a small on-base location, a place for officers to relax while remaining within a walking distance of the admiralty headquarters. The main room was full of off-duty officers of all ranks, but the division line was clear enough. The junior grades milled around the cocktail bar, seated on stools, or clustered around tall standing tables, drinking, and ribbing each other. The higher ranks sat in booths, enjoying their own drinks and conversation. There was music, but it was at a manageable level, and the lighting was turned down, but in no way dark. Overall it felt like this was the up-scale watering hole; a modicum of discipline remained in effect.

Shepard followed the two lieutenants to a side room, and Carrere announced their presence by tapping the console on the locked door. The lock turned green and then the door opened, admitting them inside.

Shepard stepped at the lead and scanned around the room quickly. It was a private lounge, with couches, vid screen, a low coffee table, and carpet on the floor. There, seated on the couch, was the Kilimanjaro's captain. As their gazes met, the woman set her teacup down on its saucer on the coffee table in front of her, followed by the white tea towel she had been using to protect her lap and slacks, but she remained seated. Shepard snapped to attention and saluted, echoed by the two lieutenants on her left.

"At ease," the captain said.

The older woman presented the visage of someone who wore her Navy-blue and gold officer's uniform as if she was born in it. At fifty, her hair was still as black as someone twenty years younger, and pulled back and up into a bun at the top of her head. The expression on her face was all business; her blue eyes were outright glacial.

"Carrere, Yager, you are free to take your leave. Be ready for departure at eight hundred hours, sharp. Dismissed."

"Yes, ma'am." The two replied in a single voice.

It was the first time Shepard had heard Yager speak, and even then his voice fell below Carrere's bell-like clarity. The two made an about face in tandem and exited the room.

The door barely closed behind them when the captain got up and tugged the bottom hem of her uniform jacket down into place. "Jocelyn," she greeted.

"Mother." Shepard replied.

Hannah Shepard drew close for a head-to-tow appraisal.

Shepard knew better than to protest. "You wanted to talk to me?" She asked.

Even before she joined the military, she knew her mother had two modes, and she employed both freely and interchangeably. Right now it remained to be seen exactly which dominated. To most, Captain Hannah Shepard was the "Titanium Lady" of the Alliance Navy, a title that came up due to her professional demeanor and cemented when she got command of the SSV Kilimanjaro a year ago. The idea went that titanium fit because it was both strong and resistant to tarnish and corrosion. Hannah Shepard was known for her strict but fair command style, and the reputation of the Kilimanjaro being one of the tightest-run ships in the eight fleets. Despite this, the Kilimanjaro was also a dream posting. Serving on it came with responsibilities and expectations. That was probably the reason Carrere and Yager could go for gold if the Olympics had an event in pair's synchronized military drills.

Hannah shook her head, "Six months of desk duty and you are still exactly as you were the day they made you an N7. Still running marathons and making everyone look bad, hmm?"

Shepard sighed; now she knew whom she was dealing with, Hannah Shepard, the mother. Though doting, supportive, and always there no matter what, she was quick to give honest and unabashed critique. If there was one thing Shepard had done that Hannah had not, it was becoming a N7. Going through the Interplanetary Combative Training program to make N1 was already a feat, but making full N7 was grounds for a quiet sort of awe and reverence.

Shepard knew that her mother the Captain could and did respect that achievement and what it represented. However, Hannah Shepard still wanted to be a grandmother one day, and as far as Shepard knew, her mother thought the odds of that were inversely proportionate to the number of different ways her daughter could kill someone. Shepard was supremely confident with a sniper rifle, pistols, and her trusty combat knife. The list of possibilities was extensive even before she had to fall back on improvisation.

"Well never mind that. It can't be helped. If you were not dedicated to your career we would not be meeting here today."

Back to business, Shepard mused. "Admiral Hackett was in an awful rush to have me here."

"And with good reason," Hannah replied.

Shepard instantly knew her mother was in on the whole thing, and from the start. "I assume this means I'm getting a deployment. Not on the Kilimanjaro, though, I hope." Shepard raised an eyebrow. There were regulations about children serving under their parents. She would hope they remained iron-clad, even if her mother tried to bend Admiral Hackett's ear.

"No, of course not!" Hannah laughed. "Just think of my poor crew, they'd have two Shepard women on hand. You'd give my marines an inferiority complex before breakfast, day two!"

Shepard smiled. If her mother thought her marine platoons would feel inferior after watching one N7 at work, who was she to argue?

Hannah turned and placed her hands on her daughter's shoulders. "What Steven has in store for you, dear... well, the opportunity is the once-in-a-lifetime kind. That's all I'll say. I've already said too much. I'm mum!"

Shepard shook her head, "Just how much of a hand did you have in this, mother?" she wondered.

"I may have suggested… or was that David? Well never mind. If you weren't capable of it, whatever may or may not have been said would not have mattered."

"That cruiser parked next to the Kili… It's the Tokyo, Captain Anderson is here. So what's going on?"

Hannah sighed, but Shepard could not help but feel like her mother was enjoying every bit of this conversation and affecting due melodrama, because she could. "It was supposed to be a surprise. He did tell me you'd get one look at the Kilimanjaro and Tokyo and know something was up, but you know… we wouldn't miss this for the world! Now really, I'm mum! All I want to do right now is bask in pride. A mother could not be prouder!"

Shepard had a distinct feeling that she had walked onto a minefield even before she knew there was a minefield. Her mother was weaving her webs, she made Captain Anderson an accomplice, and probably had bent Admiral Hackett's ear. Hannah Shepard was also the sort of woman that few said no to. Between her glare and her ability to talk people into doing things they may not necessarily want to do, she had her ways of getting what she wanted, and fully expected to get it.

A soft beep announced the arrival of a message. Hannah raised her arm and her omni-tool lit up, "Ah here it is. The admiralty meeting is over; we need to go see Steven now. Come along." Just like that the captain's mask slipped in place and Shepard fell in step on the woman's left as they exited the room together.

The walk from the lounge to the admiralty offices was a showcase of the sort of respect Captain Hannah Shepard commanded. Every time they passed someone who was not a civilian, salutes were snapped. Hannah responded with simple thanks for the non-commissioned, and a returning salute for the commissioned officers. Shepard echoed the system, but she noted that while the salutes applied to both of them, people definitely looked toward her mother when they snapped them. It left her feeling vaguely like she was in her mother's umbra, otherwise invisible.

Hannah knew exactly where she was going and before long they were standing in front of the doors to the Fifth Fleet's offices. When they made their way inside, the admiral's secretary shot up to her feet so quickly her chair ended up sliding back all the way to the wall behind her desk.

"Hello, Claudia. Is Steven in yet?" Hannah greeted.

"Yes, ma'am. Admiral Hackett is in his office. Captain Anderson has arrived as well. Please go on ahead."

"Thank you."

"Of course, ma'am."

Hannah barely touched the lock mechanism to announce their arrival when the door opened. Shepard squared her shoulders and straightened her spine as the two of them stepped inside. The door closed and a faint beep announced the lock re-engaging. Shepard found herself in a rather plain office, a space devoid of excess comforts or very many personal touches. It said something about the man who worked in it.

Shepard snapped to attention and saluted, "Admiral Hackett, sir. Commander Shepard, reporting as ordered. Captain Anderson, sir."

The admiral nodded, "At ease, Commander."

The commanding officer of the Alliance's Fifth Fleet; he was close in age with her mother, but with salt-and-pepper hair, goatee, mustache, and a prominent scar on his left cheek that made him look a fair bit older. His blue eyes bore through people with a keenness of someone who had seen and done much. Seated now at his terminal, his uniform hat hanging on a rack by the door, he looked stately.

"Hannah did you imply we were here to discipline her?" Anderson asked without missing a beat.

"I've done no such thing! David, I'm affronted you would think I would." Hannah protested.

Shepard remained firmly as formally at ease as she could as her mother moved to stand on the left side of the room. The admiral spent a moment appraising her. This was entirely the norm as far as she knew. The admiral had his circle of most trusted officers; most of them were long-time friends. Hannah Shepard and David Anderson were right in the center of it. As far as Shepard knew their friendship went back twenty six years, right to the First Contact War. That meant a great deal of familiarity, which allowed her mother to act as she did; including being on a liberal first name basis.

Captain David Anderson commanded the SSV Tokyo, a cruiser assigned to the Fifth Fleet. An ICT alumnus and a N7, he had the reputation for exceptional leadership, though Shepard had never served directly under him. He was only one or two years older than her mother. With dark skin, close-cropped dark hair just turning to salt-and-pepper, and brown eyes that had a certain quality of being piercing one moment, and kindly the next. He often presented a calm, if grave ambience. Yet Shepard knew that underneath it all was a person who truly cared for others.

"To business then," Admiral Hackett began. "Has Hannah told you anything?"

"No, Sir. She was… mum." Shepard replied.

Hannah smiled and folded her arms under her bust as she flashed Captain Anderson a self-satisfied 'I told you' look.

"Good. The lounge was neither the time nor place to discuss this matter. It is a sensitive issue." Hackett went on, as if oblivious to the non-verbal exchange happening in the room.

"May I hazard a guess that this involves a deployment for me?" Shepard wondered.

"More than that, it involves a command position."

Shepard froze as the thought filtered through, a command position? For her? A simple deployment aboard some ship, as part of a marine detachment, or even in charge of one was one thing. That role she could fill, she had done it before. This was much bigger, essentially a promotion, though she did not think anyone would be pinning more bars to her shoulders any time soon. Having two Captain Shepards in the fleet might cause chaos; she really did not think she would make Captain until her mother made Admiral. Something her mother was not in a hurry to do.

"I am assigning you to the newest ship in the Fifth Fleet. The SSV Normandy, you may have heard about it."

"In passing, Sir." Shepard replied as she tried to contain her overwhelming surprise. That might have been the understatement of the year. The naming convention of the Systems Alliance Fleet was such that the ship could not be a cruiser, which carried city names. That meant the name was a reference to the Battle of Normandy, and any ship named after a battle was a frigate, but she had heard some rumors. If just half were legitimate, then this was big.

Shepard's main source was a lieutenant she met about six months prior, during her previous furlough on Arcturus, just after she had graduated ICT. Shepard knew no one on the station at the time, and having a drink alone had not been particularly appealing. He had been friendly without being too friendly, and so a chance meeting turned to conversation over drinks.

Mid-way through the first beer the talk turned to dream postings, and before long he regaled her with a tale about the Normandy, finishing with how much he would love to fly her. They maintained sporadic email contact after that, though she had not heard from him in over two weeks. The last email said he was going to be busy and loving every moment of it. Now, Shepard idly wondered if he had gotten the post, because she would like to have a familiar face on board. As an added bonus, if his bragging was backed by actual skill, he could make a frigate like the Normandy dance ballet if needed.

"The Normandy is our best worst-kept secret," Anderson noted.

Admiral Hackett focused a piercing look that asked a thousand questions right at her. "I do not offer this command lightly; the Normandy is not just another frigate. The responsibility for it, and the mission I want it to undertake, will not be easy."

"I understand, Admiral." Shepard replied.

"Now that you're standing before me, I have to ask. Do you want this command?"

Shepard was surprised that the admiral even needed to ask. Yes, she wanted this. She wanted this like a thirsty man in the desert wanted water. She would be utterly out of her mind to say no. What other options did she have? There were no other deployment prospects, not with her record having a pronounced red streak over the fact that she had a Star of Terra, and despite years of grueling training.

Still, this was different from a mere deployment. This was command, a mandate, a ship-full of people reliant on her decision-making skills every day. Maybe that was why the admiral felt the need to ask. Small as it may be, it was still more than she was used to, more than she ever had, more than some might think she could handle or deserved.

ICT trained people to execute difficult special ops missions either on their own, or with just two to four fellow operatives. Her training in particular emphasized covert special ops: infiltration, espionage, sabotage, and even assassination. She was an agent, not just an officer. In some ways her uniform was already a disguise. Nothing about it set her apart from every other officer in the fleet. Giving her command was further obfuscating most of her skill in a smokescreen of lowest-common-denominator expectations. Did they really want someone like that in charge of a ship?

"Permission to speak freely, sir."

"Granted." Hackett replied.

Shepard cleared her throat and glanced at her mother and Captain Anderson in turn, two of the people to whom she owed the most. Her mother had glared down plenty of people who wanted to give her an honorable discharge following what Shepard thought was the biggest mistake of her career back when she was deployed again after Elysium. When people said she was damaged, possibly irreparably.

Captain Anderson had been the one to get her into ICT; a way to forestall said discharge while the situation cooled down. A combination meant to keep her commission active, keep her out of action while the incident blew over, give her direction, and a chance to get her head back on straight. Some expected her to wash out, the final fall from grace. Yet at the end of the day no one protested too vociferously. Captain Anderson was staking his reputation, not theirs. Shepard worked hard not to crash and burn, but despite that no one wanted anything to do with her when all was said and done. Some probably still thought she would crack; others resented all the opportunities she got. She became the Alliance's golden screw-up.

The silence was growing a tad too long as Shepard settled her reeling mind. As if to shift tracks physically, she straightened her back ram-rod straight and gave the admiral her best look of determination. "Yes, I want this command." She would take this command, and she would do her absolute best at it. There was no other choice open to her. If she refused this, she might as well retire. "Still, how many people would want to see me fail?"

Admiral Hackett actually smiled a little.

"Don't mind that lot. I've had my share of criticism after I got command of the Kilimanjaro. There's always going to be that crowd." Hannah added. "We have all seen your scores."

"It's not that. It's more that I want to know how many enemies I'm making, and how many of them might actually bite."

"Already assuming tactical position," Anderson noted, amused.

Shepard hated politics, politicians, and all that. She hated being in the middle even more, but it was just an unavoidable fact. Politics might as well be the real black hole in the center of the galaxy. The Systems Alliance and its fleet were mired in byzantine layers of it, both external and internal. Both the Parliament and the Admiralty had personal visions. Sometimes the two did not meet. What more, the Admiralty had internal politics played out in a twisted feudal court made up of Admirals and their circles.

The fleet had their Medicis, Machiavellis, and Borgias. Admiral Hackett tended to play the first. Giving her this command was well in-line with his 'benign patronage' policies and steady iron hand. Captain Shepard acted like the middle of the three; nothing was sacred when she set her mind to do something. Captain Anderson tended to fall in between the two, more former than latter. It looked like she was going to become a piece on the admiral's board as well.

Admiral Hackett withdrew a data pad form his desk drawer and laid it out for her to take. "This pad contains information that will familiarize you with the Normandy and her crew, your crew. Needless to say some of that material is classified."

Shepard picked it up, but did not look at it; there would be time for that later. "I understand, sir." She could feel the shift of atmosphere in the room. Now they were getting to the gritty details.

"The Normandy is state of the art experiment in design," Anderson began. "She was built using technology reverse-engineered from Turian wreck salvage, but also artifacts found on Mars. Essentially our first true stealth warship, equipped with a state of the art cyber-warfare suite that will allow you to cripple hard targets before engaging in direct combat. Then her experimental armament gives her more bite than the average frigate."

"I imagine the price tag must be something." Shepard mused. Experimental technology was never cheap, nor readily available. Stealth technology was an ace up the sleeve. Of the two species that had the tech, the Turians guarded their stealth ships jealously, and the Salarians would not share without wanting something big in return. Obviously the Alliance would not want to deal with either, so research had to be done the hard way.

"It has been called an expensive toy." Hannah said.

"And I get to play with it first… lucky me." The responsibility was piling up faster than she could shovel it.

Shepard could see why the Normandy was top secret; it was a cloaked dagger. Suddenly Admiral Hackett's choice in naming her its commanding officer was beginning to make sense. The ship was designed to operate the same way Shepard was trained. It was also as controversial. A match made in heaven.

Having systems that were reverse engineered from wrecks meant someone had scoured said wrecks. In the current galactic climate that was a ticking time bomb. Knowledge of this salvage work could lead to a heating incident in the cold war between the Systems Alliance and the Turian Hierarchy, an atmosphere of mutual distrust leftover from the First Contact War. Despite the Citadel Council's wish they keep the peace, there was still plenty of suspicion.

The top suits made overtures of peace in order to maintain humanity's foothold on the galactic political stage while they schemed behind closed doors to get humanity a council seat as soon as possible. The Turians had one, and for most that made not having one unacceptable. The Alliance had its own idea of a preferred balance of power. Both political and military brass were firmly convinced that it was humanity's right. Not only did they fend off the mightiest military power in the galaxy on short notice, but as a result, they got an embassy on the Citadel Presidium faster than any other associate race. The feather in the cap would be a hat trick. The Turians took a century and participation in the Krogan Rebellions to get a council seat. Humanity would beat that record in peacetime.

Even thirty-five years after the discovery of the Mars Cache which enabled to humanity to spread its cosmic wings, they were still catching up. It made sense that someone would floss wrecks for shortcuts. There was no disputing that the Turian military had sound engineering. In some areas they were still ahead of the Alliance. But humanity was humanity; to Shepard it seemed like everyone operated on the old adage of "anything they can do, we can do better".

Now Shepard got the keys to one such attempt, and she could not say no, because doing so would be putting a bullet through what remained of her career. Really Admiral Hackett was not doing her any favors with this. If anything, he put her in the same situation as Captain Anderson when he nominated her for ICT. People would expect her to fail, to come down crashing and burning.

"Now as to your operation overview," Admiral Hackett picked up. "The Normandy's stealth capabilities will allow your team to insert into situations where discretion is of utmost importance. There will not be any patrol runs; I have other ships for that."

Translated, Admiral Hackett wanted a skilled operative who could work from the shadows. An operative that could shoulder the demanding, dirty, unsung sort of jobs that made pages upon pages of redacted black on one's career record. In other words, she was getting the sort of deployment for which she trained from the moment she began ICT, but it would be under immense scrutiny, with no recognition when it was all said and done, and the Admiral expected her to be grateful. She was effectively caught in the accretion disk around the Admiral's inner circle.

"Your first assignment is also in that pad," the Admiral finished, reaching over to his console. A beep announced that he had unlocked the door. "We're done here. I assume you wish to see your new ship?"

"Yes, sir." Shepard replied.

The Admiral smiled faintly. "Good, Hannah and David will take you to the dock."

"Yes, sir. Thank you for this opportunity, sir."

"Don't waste it," the Admiral warned. "Dismissed."

Shepard came to attention and snapped a salute, made an about face, and exited the room. Her mother and Captain Anderson were automatically on her right.

They had to walk back to the parking lot to get another vehicle which would take them to another dock. Captain Anderson led the way with his usual calm. This second drive proved shorter than the first, and from there the walk was a relatively quick affair. They were closer to the station's center of mass, the saucer, here the docks got bigger, designed for bigger vessels and higher security.

The passages steadily grew wider, the activity level increased, and Shepard knew they were drawing nearer. As they passed another set of doors, the corridor opened up to an observation gallery with large viewports on the vastness of space.

"You can see her now," Captain Anderson stated calmly.

Shepard moved to the viewports and looked down, and there she was. Where most Alliance vessels were a variation of a blunted wedge with stubby, vaguely triangular wing-like nacelles to support the main drive, effectively looking angular and bulky, the Normandy's curves seemed almost organic in comparison. Brilliant white, with black and sky blue running across her arched back, the black was nearly unbroken on her drive nacelles, and up into her twin aft sensor masts. She looked less like a floating gun, and more like a graceful dolphin resting at the surface of the ocean.

Docking clamps held her in place in the middle of a large U-shaped dock. There was a gangway extended to her bow airlock just aft of the bridge, and a walkway underneath her long bow. Judging by the train of EVA-suited dockhands moving sleds loaded with sealed crates across it, the shuttle bay and cargo holds opened onto there. Whatever Shepard expected, this was not it. The Normandy was quite possibly the most outright beautiful ship she had ever seen, and there was no shame in admitting that.

"They experimented with more than just her systems," Hannah explained. "Some elements of the profile and interior are also borrowed from source material."

Shepard grinned; 'source material' was certainly one way to put it, a polite way of saying that the Alliance 'borrowed' all they could, to run tests. "I think I'm in love."

Hannah laughed, "Did you hear that, David? I knew it."

"Mother knows best," Captain Anderson replied. "That's why we did not make a bet."

"No one bets against me." Hannah said, though it was hard to tell if she was stating a fact, or actually annoyed at that.

"Captain Anderson, Captain Shepard, Commander Shepard." A cold voice drifted over the moment.

Shepard turned away from the viewport. Whom she saw made her snap to attention and salute instantly; a move echoed by the two captains next to her, though a lot more leisurely. The man returned the gesture. That was enough for Hannah to drop the formality, while Anderson assumed calm at ease stance. Shepard remained at attention. When it doubt, stay at attention, it was her rule of thumb with senior officers.

"Rear Admiral Mikhailovich," Hannah acknowledged. "To what do we owe the pleasure?"

"It is true then? Hackett is again showing favoritism?" The man wondered.

"Favoritism?" Hannah wondered, her tone deepening.

For Shepard it was like watching a storm roll in from the horizon, it got darker and darker, and then the lightning came. Gone was her laughing mother, Captain Hannah Shepard was assuming control.

"Don't play innocent, Hannah." The man rebuked sharply. "We all know that the Normandy is going to your daughter because she is your daughter. I had hoped Hackett would change his mind, but I suppose that will not happen as long as you are in the same room," Mikhailovich leveled his own glare right back at the woman, but Hannah did not even flinch.

Then his gaze turned and Shepard found herself in the crosshairs. "Commander. I had hoped you'd display more common sense than this, but then it is true; the apple does not fall far from the tree. To give you a command position is overestimating your capabilities, but to give you the command of the Normandy? She is not a five hundred million credit frigate. The Normandy represents an investment of two and a half billion. We could have built three heavy cruisers for that price! Now tell me, why should I believe you are qualified to command her?"

Was he implying that she would fly the Normandy into a black hole? "With all due respect, sir." She paused. "My aptitude scores show that I am qualified."

"Your scores, maybe. It is your record that leaves much to be desired."

Well technically he was right there, Shepard mused. Her record as a 'screw up' was clear. Then, if one thought about it, ICT had taught her to command small units, not a whole ship. Aptitude scores were theoretical values; no one really knew how a person would react when faced with this scale of responsibility. Leadership was not really something one learned from a book. Someone either had it, or they did not. Still, a private admission that he was technically right was all she would give him; she would be dead before she admitted it aloud.

Maybe she was restrained by command structures, but she was nobody's fool. Right now, standing next to her mother and Captain Anderson, this attack was not going to find its mark. Admiral Hackett was giving her a chance, and she would not blow it by looking like a timid rabbit before she even stepped foot aboard the ship, her ship.

"Nearly six years have passed since my mistakes. I have learned from them, and I have learned much in ICT." First, stress that she was no longer that twenty-three year old. Many would hold her disgrace against her, yes, but how was she to prove herself if they had their day? "Admiral Hackett saw it fit to give me this command, and I intend to treat it with utmost seriousness." Second, stress the rank; remind Rear Admiral Mikhailovich that he was second-guessing his own superior, something that he really had no place to be doing. She could say little else, as words were ultimately useless when it came to dealing with people who wanted to see you fail. Her actions would vindicate her in time.

"Like mother, like daughter." Mikhailovich finally said. "Fine, we shall see whether we get an Iron Lady, or a final fall from grace. The Normandy is yours, Commander."

Shepard snapped to attention and saluted. Mikhailovich returned the gesture pro forma, and then walked off without saying another word.

"What did he mean by the hand-off?" Shepard wondered as soon as she was positive the man was out of ear-shot.

"Mikhailovich was in command during the Normandy's test flights and trials," Anderson explained.

"He can decry its price tag, but it is obvious he wants it for the Sixty-Third Scout Flotilla. Steven wouldn't let him have it." Hannah added.

Shepard nodded, that made sense. Someone had to be temporarily in charge while a new ship just leaving the shipyard was checked for loose screws and funny squeaks. Annoyance at not getting the fleet's shiny new toy would fill in a few other blanks.

"Well, David. I think we best leave her here." Hannah began, her smile returning in force. "I don't think she wants mother around when she meets her underlings. She can intimidate them on her own."

"Thanks for everything, really. I… don't know what to say." Shepard ventured.

"Say nothing now. But I do expect emails, maybe an occasional call. If you are having trouble I am always available to offer advice. I'm the soul of discretion when it comes to it." Hannah offered with a smile.

"Likewise, Commander. The transition from our norms to the demands of command can be jarring," Captain Anderson added.

She smiled, nodded, snapped to attention, and saluted both with full parade rigidity. The captains returned the gesture and turned to leave. Shepard turned to the door leading toward the loading area and the gangways.

Shepard walked through the doors opposite to the ones she entered and had to take the steps down a level, where she found herself at the end of a passage with three sets of doors, these led to gangways. The first two sets were locked and sealed, but at the far end of the passage was a set that was open. Standing at the foot of the gangway were three figures in uniform, two men and a woman. One of the men and the woman wore marine's fatigues; the last man wore officer's blues.

She figured they were some of her crew coming to greet her, and so set a casual pace, not meaning to startle them out of the conversation they seemed to be having. The youngest of the three noticed her first and snapped to attention so hard that the heels of his boots clicked. The other two followed with salutes.

Shepard smiled and returned a brief salute. First contact with her new crew, so far so good.

"Staff Lieutenant Kaidan Alenko, ma'am." The older of the two men began.

"Gunnery Chief Ashley Williams, ma'am." The woman echoed.

"Corporal Richard Jenkins. Ma'am!" The third finished. It was hard to miss that he was practically glowing with excitement.

"At ease. I assume you know who I am?"

"Of course!" Jenkins jumped in. "You're Commander Shepard!"

"Easy, Jenkins, don't hurt yourself," Ashley chastised.

"I just wanted the commander to know that I think it is an honor to serve aboard this ship and under her command," Jenkins explained.

"Are you always this eager, Corporal?" Shepard wondered. Jenkins seemed like a good kid, but hero worship was a dangerous thing. He had light hair buzzed close under his beret, light colored eyes, and was noticeably the youngest there, yet to see any real action. She figured he was probably only a year or two older than enlistment age, so he was yet to learn to control his impulses. This tended to be the norm of peacetime service; all the fun of military life with few of the sobering horrors.

"Yes, ma'am."

"Well, you're also honest, that's good."

This effectively caused the young corporal to break into the biggest happiest grin someone could have.

Ashley shook her head, "He calms down, ma'am. I promise."

Shepard made a mental note that Ashley was probably the overly serious one. With her brown eyes, black hair in a bun, and her rigid stance, she reminded Shepard of Carrere, though there was a difference between the two women. Carrere had the look of an officer; compete with a commanding stare and a certain poise that came from the officer's training school. Williams was a marine through and through, her stance spoke of someone who was used to shouldering weapons and using them. Even the way she spoke was less formal. This was someone who had dwelled in the barracks, not in the snobbery of the officer's school.

"It's fine, Gunny. A little exuberance does not bother me. Frankly, the Normandy is a frigate; for the foreseeable future we won't have the luxury of space needed to maintain rigid discipline. I expect performance on whatever mission Admiral Hackett will toss our way, but if you want to play poker in the mess every week after your duty cycle, I don't mind."

"We'll hold you to that, Commander." Kaidan said.

Shepard spared him a nod, as the senior of the three and a commissioned officer as well; she could understand that she was dealing with the relatively quiet one. Was he the senior lieutenant on board, her XO even? She had not even glanced at the crew roster on the pad in her hands, in hindsight, that was a minor oversight. He had black hair and she could tell his brown eyes were measuring her, but there was no sign of hostility there, he was merely taking stock of the new CO, taking a tactical position as Captain Anderson would call it.

"Have you three been waiting here long?" Shepard wondered.

"Fifteen minutes ma'am, it's no problem."

"Well don't let me hold you longer. We will probably not depart until morning, so in the meantime, your time is yours."

The three of them snapped salutes and proceeded up the gangway to the airlock. Shepard stood back, letting them go on ahead without her. There would be time to get to know her people later, right now; she wanted to get to know her ship. Some part of her wanted to go on a self-guided tour, make a few stops, and talk to some of her crew at work, where they might feel a little less called-out for "a talk". She really did not want to be the disciplinarian her mother could be. Formal discipline was required on a ship like the Kilimanjaro, whose crew population rivaled small cities, and no one knew everyone by name. That would not be the case on the Normandy.

She waited for a good five minutes, just watching the EVA-suited dockhands below through a viewport, before she turned and made her way up the gangplank. The outer hatch slid aside with a hiss as she stepped in. As the airlock went through its decontamination and equalization cycle, Shepard turned to the pad in her hands. There was an encyclopedia of things on here, a lot of material meant to familiarize her with the ship, her crew, and at the bottom of it all were her first orders. As the inner doors opened, she decided to give herself an hour or two to settle in before she popped open that can. Admiral Hackett certainly could not expect her to depart on his first mission tonight, right?

"Ah, I was wondering where you've gotten to." A familiar voice echoed from her left.

Shepard looked up sharply and then she could not keep the big bright smile off her face.

Sitting in the big pilot's chair, scruffy as she remembered from six months ago, except now in fatigues, and wearing a baseball cap with "Normandy" over the bill, all the while grinning like the Cheshire cat, was Lieutenant Jeff "Joker" Moreau.

"Surprise!" He called.

"Joker!" Did she not wonder if he got the Normandy post just earlier? "I see you've got your dream job."

"Hell yes! And look, I even got them to put in this chair! It is real leather, memory foam, and all the good stuff. The fit is just perfect. I don't want to get up ever again!"

"That is not recommended, Lieutenant Moreau," a feminine voice chimed over their heads.

"Ah. There's the cloud raining on my parade." Joker glanced up. "Commander Shepard, meet EDI."

"Welcome aboard, Commander Shepard." The voice said. "My builders call me EDI, which is phonetic short-form for the acronym E.D.I. or Enhanced Defense Intelligence."

"They have an AI on this ship!" Joker cut in. "And that's it."

"C'mon, can't be that bad." Shepard argued.

"That bad?" Joker asked, "I don't like backseat drivers!"

"I do not fly the ship, Lieutenant Moreau. My primary function is to operate the ship's cyber-warfare suite. My secondary functions are to assist with sensors and communications as well as ship security. I am not here to challenge your skills as a helmsman."

"So it says," Joker grumbled.

"So EDI, you're the operations officer?" Shepard wondered.

"I can fulfill that function, yes," EDI replied.

"Well, it's a pleasure to meet you."

"Likewise, Commander." EDI sounded a little bit more pleased than it did a moment before.

Joker rolled his eyes.

Shepard could not help but smile at that. She really had nothing against synthetics. Sure, everyone knew how bad they could go, but Shepard was not the type to believe that making a synthetic intelligence automatically meant it would go bad. Nothing in the universe was ever that black and white.

"Well, I need to make a tour of the ship, make sure my gear was brought over, acquaint myself with other people; we will catch up a little later."

"Sure thing, Commander, I'll be here."

Shepard nodded and turned to her right, noting what looked like the Command Information Center. This was where her tour began.

Eight hundred hours the next morning Shepard emerged from the elevator onto the Combat Information Center, deck two, commonly called the CIC because the full name was a gloriously awkward mouthful. The morning shift crew turned to look, pausing in their activities. In that instant she realized that this was it, the Normandy was about to throw off her proverbial mooring lines and set off into space. The knowledge added lead weights to her boots as she walked forward toward the cockpit.

"Morning, Commander," Joker greeted just as soon as she passed the threshold.

"Good morning, Joker. Do we have departure clearances?" She asked.

"Yea, we're good to go. The supplies arrived and were double checked, the crew is accounted for, and ship systems are green across the board, just awaiting your orders. The Kilimanjaro and Tokyo will be standing by at the relay to see us off."

Her mother was putting on a show again. Could the pressure get any heavier? "Alright, Lieutenant, let's lose some docking clamps."

"Aye, aye. Would you like to say a few words to the crew?" Joker wondered as his fingers began to dance over the controls.

Shepard froze; did she want to make a speech? The occasion did call for some words to be said. Swallowing hard she leaned over and tapped a command to open a ship wide comm link.

"This is Commander Shepard speaking." Keep it simple with the opening, now for the hard part. "The Normandy is now departing Arcturus Station." A pause to quell the rising nervousness from showing in her voice, it simply would not do for the crew to hear their commanding officer falter. "The Normandy, you as her crew, and me as her commanding officer have one directive; we are to serve the Alliance in whatever capacity we can, in the best way we can." Brutal honestly, maybe that would work. The ship was top secret, but she was never ordered to keep her crew in the dark. "Our missions will be unpredictable. The challenges we will face might test us to the limits." Was it obvious that she had absolutely no clue where she was going with this one? "I give you my solemn vow, here and now, as the commanding officer, I will give this ship and her crew the full hundred percent of my dedication and skill. All I ask is for the same in return. I look forward to seeing what we can accomplish together."

The ship's natural noise picked up, now a faint whispered thrum, much quieter than any ship Shepard had ever been on. Yet it was there, like the pulse of life. The ship was moving sideways, away from the dock.

"Let us begin. Take us out Mr. Moreau."

"Aye, aye, Ma'am!" She could tell Joker enjoyed that. A series of taps on the control and the ship was moving forward.

Shepard leaned over his chair one more time to close the comm link, as she did; she caught the pilot's faint grin.

"I'm horrible at making speeches," she said.

"I can tell, but that's fine," Joker grinned. "You are Commander Shepard, the Hero of Elysium. Words did not put all those assholes into coffins, your skill with a rifle did. We're here because we want to be, and one kind-of-cheesy speech won't send us running. Besides, we're all sadists, we like a reminder that our CO is still human."

"Thanks, Joker." Shepard chuckled as she laid her hands on either side of his headrest.

"So where to?"

"I relayed some coordinates via EDI last night, when I got a good look at the first mission Admiral Hackett handed down."

"Oh yea, those." His fingers were flying over the keys. "Course set, about thirty minutes to the relay. What's this about?"

"The first mess we have to clean up. We're Admiral Hackett's troubleshooters, go in, clean up, and get out, like night shift caretakers."

"Hah. At least they gave us the best floor sweeper."

Shepard paused, but then she gave into her impulse and patted Joker softly on the shoulder, "I'm glad you're here Joker. It's good to have a familiar face around."

"I'm glad I'm here too, Commander, and it's good to have a familiar face issuing the orders."

Shepard shook her head and walked off; she wanted to do more reading. Admiral Hackett did send her an encyclopedia.

Author Notes: These will be quite long, but the first episode will have this length, the rest will be shorter. As previously stated, the idea for this story was born in July 2015, just after I really got into Mass Effect, when I bought the first two games on a Steam sale. I have since played all three, all the DLC, and Andromeda, read some of the comics, you get the idea. I am very familiar with the ins and outs of canon, to the point that this work expanded into a complete universe rework. It is formatted like a TV series, meaning that each episode has a self contained plot, and about every 26 is a season with an over-reaching arc of sorts. This structure allows me to keep my plot straight, but much planning does go into it. It takes a while to write, because I am just one recently graduated university history-major working in my free time.

General Notes

Science Contents – The Mass Effect universe is shockingly high on the "hard" side of the science fiction spectrum. I am fortunate enough to have a functional grasp of Newtonian physics and science in general, and will be using it. Concepts and ideas will be explained when they come up, via notes. Mass Effect also uses metric unit measurements as standard, and being a Russian-Israeli-Canadian, I grew up knowing only metric. So I do apologize to the American readers, but I am unable, and honestly unwilling to break canon to accommodate the imperial system. There are converters available on the internet.

Research – I do my research to the best of my ability. However, I will say it now that I have never served in the military. I do not know the ins and outs of what soldiers go through, my research into the norms of service, training, and such, is purely academic. I base much of Alliance standards on what I can collect on the various branches of America's armed forces, as the sources for that are more accessible. Fundamentally this story is meant to entertain, and it is a Space Opera, thus, absolute realism is not sought, or required, though I do have a bit of a minimum standard.

The Normandy - Yes this story goes right to the SR-2, because it is bigger, and has a nastier bite, and I wanted to pull EDI in, because I love her. I have plot lines in mind to explain everything. Yes, I also had my way with its interior. Less 'video game' and more 'realism'. Much of it is indeed straight out of the games, but slightly twisted up. My Normandy has a shuttle bay arrangement that's ME3, but the rest is ME2, save for my addition on the CIC. The ME2 armory was replaced with an "Officer's Duty Room", which is fondly called simply "The OD", pronounced like the word 'odd'. I wanted to give Shepard an office to have conversations and meet people in. I am not ashamed to admit that the idea came from Star Trek. Specifically the ready rooms we see Captains Picard, Sisko, and Janeway practically live in. Specifically, the OD is modeled on the ready room as seen in Star Trek Voyager.

Chapter Specific Notes

Alliance Uniforms – I know in ME we see only the blue and gold, which is assumed to be a formal uniform, but for the realistic tone I'm seeking, I'm making that a basic officer's uniform, and adding a white and gold one as formals.

Lagrangian Points – This would be the fifth Lagrangian point. These points are places where a small body can maintain a stable orbit, held in place by the gravitation forces of two celestial bodies. For Arcturus station, the bodies would be the planet Themis and the star it orbits, Arcturus.

Politics – This note pertains to styles of politicking. The Medici presented themselves as the benign "well meaning" rulers of Florence, patrons of the art. They had their moments of ruthlessness, but generally they curried favor through lavish expenditure. Machiavelli saw things on more pragmatic terms; he knew both benign policy and ruthlessness had their uses. The Borgias? Well they would do anything for power, period. (For the record: Udina would be the Borgia.)

Kilimanjaro Crew – I am using aircraft carriers as a benchmark. The American Nimitz class carriers, the largest ever built, have a crew of 6000, and they're only 332 meters long. The Kilimanjaro is a kilometer long! It's safe to assume the Kili would have twice, if not thrice those numbers. Furthermore, in canon, the Destiny Ascension is mentioned to have a crew of "maybe" 10,000. They're comparable in size.