The ship hummed its vibrant, almost happy tune. At least, that was how Shepard liked to think of it. The constant gentle background hum told him that his ship was alive and well, and by extension, so where his crew within. He smiled coolly to himself just at the thinking of it and ceased his casually paced stroll down the gangway toward the forward batteries.
He crouched down and eased his open calloused palms onto the metal grating and stilled, feeling the soft and constant vibration on his nerves for a silent minute. Shepard allowed all the thoughts that the pulse gleaned come naturally to him. First came Tali; it was only prudent that she sprung to his mind first.
They shared themselves with one another, and even more importantly for his ship, she shared her heart with it too. Under her watchful and serenely intelligent gaze, the Normandy managed to give more of herself. Shepard smiled ruefully and realised that he was probably romanticising engineering to a ridiculous degree.
Next, Garrus came to mind, the Turian he was about to see. The Alliance Marine didn't quite know how to feel about Garus recently. Shepard wouldn't call himself a simpleton by any means, but he would admit himself as naive to new ways of feeling about the world.
He had survived in the underbelly in Vancouver as a boy, and the world had simple rules then. He'd survived for long enough and was smart enough to take the opportunity of joining the Marines and eventually getting an N7 commendation.
The Alliance suited him too. He had escaped the poverty of his youth for it, and it had sharpened and honed him. It had taught and moulded him. It had given him brothers and sisters that the streets before never could have. Its rules were less straightforward than the basic survival rule that he'd grown up with. But as a Marine, he had a code and answered to an authority.
Authority was the ultimate concept in his mind, in one form or another. It was through the Marine's that he'd been able to witness civilian life above the poverty line throughout the galaxy. As a youth, Shepard had not once stopped to think about politics. He could never see himself being a politician of any kind, 'Like Anderson didn't?' Shepard admonished his short-sighted thought with a smirk and rolled from his crouch to sitting on his rear and leaning back on his hands in the middle of the dimly lit gangway.
His mind delved back into his thoughts. Authority was essential to him in all ways. He served someone above him in the military structure; they served someone above, and so on until it reached the orders of the Alliance Government, or the Citadel one. Their authority was democratic. It was moral and fair, and he spiritually bound his sense of identity and purpose to the ideal of systems within a democracy.
Shepard winced as the thought rolled through his head. He had been learning otherwise since becoming a Spectre. 'No,' He thought with a scowl, corruption was alive and well.
Whether it was the Spectre status or not, or just acquiring greater rank and being exposed to greater truths, he was learning increasingly that governing authority wasn't quite what he had thought –and simplified to himself- it was.
It had been simple in the Marines before the Normandy. Even on Torfan when he gave hard orders. Sometimes, Marines under his command might waver, but not because of lacking loyalty. It was one of the most primal responses, and one that he knew how to manage in others; fear.
Shepard would drive the fear from his men and lead them to victory. It came by way of words of belief, words of strength, and passion. And exemplifying the qualities he asked from his men.
The hunt for Saren had started to muddy the waters for him. He was given a target, his equipment and crew, and a clear mission. The Marine in him, accustomed to certain authorities, felt shocked to his core when those above him didn't believe his first-hand account of the events, even with the ample amounts of evidence, including his suit camera.
