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Disclaimer:
Mass Effect is the property of Bioware and this story is just the musings of a fan that isn’t ready to let the story go.

Back to Chapter 8

Lola
June 2205

Light bounces off of the cement and momentarily blinds me when we exit the jeep. In London, the sky was a miserable grey, but here, it is a clear cyan and everything feels too bright. The base teems with people all walking with purpose. The hard slam of feet hitting the cement in unison echoes off the concrete buildings’ walls. No new recruits were meant to be processed today, so a lone Master Sergeant receives us.

“Major General, sir.” She salutes, her body an array of straight lines.

Uncle Kaidan salutes back. “At ease, Master Sergeant.”

She opens the door to the unassuming concrete building behind her and holds it open for my uncle and me. The main room is large and empty short of concrete square supporting poles. On one of the supporting beams I notice lines and numbers etched into its surface marking off feet and inches. Near the ceiling, long narrow windows allow streaming afternoon light to comingle with the bare glow of the florescent bulbs. Each of the room’s four walls has double doors that lead off to dark hallways.

“Vakarian is one of our Navy recruits for the Special Tactics and Reconnaissance Training Division. Please outfit her with all she needs.” My uncle says, addressing the Master Sergeant. “Once finished, escort her to the Cairo, assign her a rack, and notify Chief Santiago that she has one more recruit.”

“Yes, sir.”

He turns to me and gives a hint of a smile. “This is where we part, kid. The Master Sergeant will take care of you from here. I’ll see you soon.” With a curt nod to the Master Sergeant, he turns and walks back out of the building.

“This way, Recruit.” She motions toward the back wall before leading the way. I am several inches taller than her, but she has the similar “larger than life” air of my mother that makes me feel small.

Through a set of double doors, she leads me to yet another concrete room, this one with no windows and walls lined with shelves full of black bins. In the center of the room is a long narrow metal table. She places an empty box on the table.

“All items that are prohibited go into this box and will be sent home, including your civilian clothes.” Her tone is kept as neutral as her expression. “Empty your bag onto the table. What are your clothing and shoe sizes? ”

I answer and then do as she asks while she begins pulling items from the plastic bins. As essentially a clone of my mother, my body is very similar to hers if you stretched it five inches. So, whereas my mother is athletic and compact, I’m athletic and long limbed. My waist is narrow and my hips wider than the ratio of my mother’s, the turian influence on my genetics. I, fortunately, don’t have the turian spike on my calves, so human clothes fit without need of alterations.

The Master Sergeant returns with her arms full. She places onto the table: toiletries, a data pad, socks, underwear, under shirts, shorts, swimwear, gloves, belts, boots and dark blue shirts and pants that look similar to my old Grissom uniform. “Strip down and try these on,” she orders, indicating the uniform. “You will wear an undershirt and these shorts under your uniform at all times. Do you understand?”

I nod. Nerves prickle over my body. I assumed with my background everything would seem natural, but I have never felt more out of place.

“I didn’t hear you.” She looks me directly in the face. “Do you understand?”

“Yes, Master Sergeant.” I stutter out.

She begins sifting through the few items I brought with me while I change. When she comes to the extra pairs of socks I brought with me, she looks down at my feet clad in socks that split in the center to accommodate only having two toes.

“I, uh, have a waiver for my boots and gloves,” I nod towards my data pads on the table, “Master Sergeant.”

She pinches her lips while reading through my waivers, her eyes glancing up to each part of me that requires special accommodation. I’m only partially dressed, not yet wearing my uniform shirt and boots. Her gaze burns across my mandibles, my fringe, my tattoo, the subtle hump that rings around my neck and merges into my collar bones, my hands each with three fingers, my too narrow waist, and ends back at my feet. At this moment, I feel truly alien.

Without comment, she picks up the human boots, socks, and gloves from the table and returns them to their respective bins. Finding everything I brought with me as acceptable for me to keep, she takes the data pad with all of my information and heads to the other side of the room. She keys in something into the interface on the wall and then a few moments later, opens a drawer to the right of the command module.

When she returns, I’m fully dressed and my civilian clothes and bag are in the box. “Does the uniform fit?”

“Yes, Master Sergeant.” This time I speak in loud clipped tones, staring at the wall past her head. My mother’s words echo in my head, reminding me it is their job to fluster me.

“Good. Take it off and affix these between the seams on the left side of the shirt and the flap of the left pocket of your pants.” She hands me several patches that have “VAKARIAN” embroidered across them. “To do this, you peel the backing from the patch before you place it onto your uniform. The adhesive on the back will fuse to the fabric of your uniform. You will do this to all of your uniform shirts and pants. They will be straight. Do you understand?”

“Yes, Master Sergeant!”

She gives a curt nod and turns to riffle through more bins. It only occurs to me now that this probably isn’t her normal job on the base.

I undress and lay my clothes flat onto the table. Blood quakes through my veins causing my hands to tremble. Picking up the patch, I peel away the clear backing. On the shirt there is an elevated blank spot where my name is to go. I take a deep breath, line up the patch with the top seam, and press down hard. For a moment, the patch feels warm and then it fuses seamlessly with my shirt. I quickly do the same for my pants, because I desperately want to be fully clothed. I don’t like exposing my otherness to people.

I’m nearly fully dressed again when the Master Sergeant returns with sheets, blanket and pillow for my rack and a large green bag for my personal items. She grits her teeth and spits, “Recruit, did I tell you to put your uniform back on?”

“I, uh…” I stutter. “I just thought…”

“You do not think unless I tell you to think. Do you understand?”

“Yes, Master Sergeant.” I don’t know if she means that I am supposed to take my uniform back off or not, so I just stand there, my heart picking up speed.

She sighs. “You will place your personal items in this bag. You will carry all of your bedding under your left arm. Your right arm is to be empty at all times unless it is physically impossible to carry your load with one hand. Do you understand?”

“Yes, Master Sergeant!”

I reach to begin filling my bag, and she looks at me like I’ve lost my mind.

“Recruit, finish getting dressed first.”

~*~

Thirty minutes later, after depositing my belongings at my rack, the Master Sergeant escorts me to the biotic training facility. This building looks newer than the rest; more stainless steel and tempered glass than concrete. The main entrance leads into a large open room where two divisions stand in neat lines, forming rigid rectangles. The whole room drowns in midday light, flooding in through the multi storied windows and bouncing off of the blonde wood floors. Along the walls, large blue sparing mats are stacked several feet high.

In front of the recruits, a short woman with copper skin stands, one hip cocked, next to a man that is half again taller than her and easily double her weight. “Ready to get your ass handed to you again, Romera?” she laughs and playfully smacks his bulging bicep.

“Please, Santiago. I don’t know what game you were watching, but my team owned yours last year.”

“More K.Os does not win you the games. My team finished the mission. Denial won’t change it.” She smirks; her full lips pulled to one side and one fine black brow raised high.

Their banter eases the knot lodged in my chest. This is what I expected coming here. This feels familiar. I follow the Master Sergeant to the front of the room, careful not to squeak on the well-polished floor.

“Chief, you have one more recruit,” the Master Sergeant announces.

“What? No.” Chief Santiago crosses her arms. “There has to be a mistake. I don’t know who screwed up, but P week is over. They’ll have to apply for the program next year.” She glances at me with a “tough break, kid” look on her face, then double-takes, not hiding her astonishment. Romera is more reserved in his surprise. His eyes, as inky black as his skin, narrow, and he stretches himself to his full intimidating height.

“What is this?” Santiago points at me. “Some kind of publicity stunt?”

The familiar rage from this morning boils in my veins. I raise my chin up against the dig, my mandibles in prominent view along my jawline. Loud murmurs and shocked gazes burn down my skin leaving angry goose bumps in their wake. I don’t know why I thought the Alliance would be any different than Grissom, but it doesn’t matter. I was the best at Grissom, and I’ll be the best here. Go ahead. Glare at me. I’ll give you a reason to hate me.

“Hey,” the Chief yells, her voice echoing off the walls, “did I tell any of you to talk?”

They immediately quiet down, their gazes snapping back to the front of the room. Romera walks the line of recruits. He leans down at random into their personal space, his face just to the side of theirs. Visibly panicked, each recruit weighs whether they continue to look straight or if they’re supposed to shift their gaze to Romera. I purse my lips to keep from smirking. Smiling in boot camp is dangerous.

“Vakarian was handpicked by Major General Alenko.” The Master Sergeant continues, looking Santiago in the eye. “Like it or not, she’s yours.”

She sighs, eyeing me from the fringe on my head to my two toed boots, and nods. “Understood.” She then says to me. “Recruit, get in line. Shortest to the front; tallest to the back.”

There is a clear division in the two groupings of recruits, and I’m unsure which I am supposed to stand in. I walk to the center, examining the recruit uniforms out of the corner of my eye and hoping for some clue. Both groups are dressed in identical uniforms. My pace slows to a crawl, and I’m about to break into innie-meenie-minnie-moe, when I catch a guy that is roughly my height subtly nodding at me and shifting to make room for me in front of him. Oh, thank the spirits.

I slide in front of him, but because the lines were formed with me not in them, I’m rather close to both the girl in front of me and the guy behind me. The girl is short enough that I easily see over her head, but my good samaritan is close enough that I am aware of his awkward shifting and his stare zeroed in at the back of my head.

My view of the front door is blocked, and I don’t notice my uncle enter the room until Santiago yells, “Officer on deck!” Not quite in unison, we shift to salute. My good samaritan accidentally brushes my right shoulder with his hand. A not wholly unwelcome tingle shivers down my arm. “Sorry,” he whispers.

“At ease, everyone,” Uncle Kaidan responds after returning the salute.

The girl in front of me clasps her hands at the base of her back, and I follow suit, knocking elbows with the person to the left of me. He glares at me then returns his eyes forward. The guy behind me exhales a breath of laughter, and I roll my lips to, again, keep from smiling. The idea that my good samaritan could potentially be a friend, or at least an ally, makes me strangely giddy.

Uncle Kaidan comes into my line of vision, standing dead center of the two divisions. “I’m Major General Alenko. Some of you were recruited to this program, some of you actively sought out this training knowing it will fast track you to the N7 program, but I doubt any of you understand the significance of this program.”

He paces deliberately in front of us, the soft click of his shoes tap out the cadence to his speech. “Over twenty years ago, I started training promising biotics to be silent weapons for the Alliance. They became infiltration teams that would, if successful, never be recognized to have ever existed. That is not what this program is. This program is so much more. All of you are here today, not just for your biotics, but because you have something that this universe needs. Wits. Intelligence. Natural leadership.”

He stops and crosses his arms over his chest, the light catching and refracting off of his collection of medals. “It’s been over twenty years since the first human spectre was named. Do you know how many human spectres there are now?”

No one speaks, but we all know the answer.

“Two,” he retorts. “In twenty years, the council has only seen fit to name two humans, Captain Shepard and myself. The turians, asari, and salarians all have special programs designed to train future Spectres, and as of three years ago, so does the Alliance. The council gives me leave every year not to train future N7s. I’m here to train spectres.”

Everything inside me free falls. I wanted to follow in my mother’s footsteps, but I wasn’t prepared to do it so literally.

“Chief Santiago and Gunnery Sergeant Romera left far more interesting posts to be your RDCs” he motions at the people in question. “Like you, they were handpicked to be here because they understand we’re here to train leaders, not followers. For the next nine weeks, it’s their job to push you beyond your limits. Very few of you will make it all the way through. This program has the highest dropout rate, exceeding even the N7s. If any of you want to quit now, the door is right there.”

We’re quiet, waiting for anyone to walk out the door. My heart rattles in my ears. Am I ready for this? Do I want this? I imagine what my parents will think. My father will shake his head, attempting to hide his fear with humor, and lament, “like mother, like daughter” or “because your mother wasn’t stressful enough.” My mother will smile up at me and tell me how proud she is, likely right before she storms off to find my uncle and unceremoniously punch him in the face for enlisting her daughter.

I look around the room and realize these recruits have no idea what they’re getting themselves into. They only know the exciting tales of my mother saving the universe. They’ve heard how spectres answer to no one but the council and get to play by their own rules. They don’t understand the danger, the loneliness, and the lives that rest in your hands every day. And yet, knowing what I do, I stay rooted to my spot. Destiny is a word thrown around a lot. We look at our lives as they are and think, I’m not supposed to be here. I’m destined for much greater things. But really, destiny is something that shows up as opportunities. It is our job to recognize and seize it. This moment is mine.

“All of you think you have what it takes?” My uncle continues when no one leaves. “We’ll see. Assuming you make it through, you will then be assigned to an N7 for live combat training. You will shadow them in whatever they do and wherever they go. It will be up to them to decide if you will continue on to N7 training. After that, it’s up to you to impress the council.” He turns towards our RDCs, “Chief and Gunnery Sergeant, I leave them in your capable hands. Try not to break them on the first day.”

Chief Santiago smiles. “No guarantees, General.”

The three of them walk off to the side to speak privately for a moment, leaving us to stand and soak in what we really signed up for.

“I’m Lee,” is whispered from behind me.

“Vakarian,” I whisper back to him.

“Nice to meet you.”

“Shut up,” the guy I elbowed earlier hisses through his teeth.

“Sorry,” I whisper back, and he shakes his head and rolls his eyes.

It takes a moment for it to hit me, but when it does, it’s a rather exhilarating realization. My uncle is the only person here that knows who I am. I don’t know how or why, but no one here seems to know I’m Captain Shepard’s daughter. I’m still a hybrid freak, but at least I’m not a famous hybrid freak. By the time my uncle, Chief Santiago, and Gunnery Sergeant Romera are finished, I’ve psyched myself up for this. I’m ready to not only make it through but to be the best. How ironic it would be for the next “human” spectre to be a human/turian hybrid.

“Recruits,” Gunnery Sergeant Romera shouts once my uncle has left the room, “I hope you enjoyed your P week, because the babying ends now.”

Chief Santiago continues, “We’re going to start with seeing what you know. This means sparring, and since this is a collaborative program, we’ll pair you off, navy recruits versus marine recruits. Please try not to embarrass yourselves.”

“When you hear your names, come to the front. When you are assigned a partner, grab a mat,” the Gunnery Sergeant directs. “Do not start until we tell you to. Do you understand?”

“Yes, Gunnery Sergeant!” we shout in unison.

One by one, recruits are paired off and sent to retrieve their mats. There seems to be no order to their pairings, just random names shouted from a list. When Lee is called, he whispers good luck to me before walking to the front. I only see bits of his appearance out of my peripheral vision. He’s taller than I thought. Broad shoulders, long limbed. His head is shaved, standard for male recruits, but of what I can tell from the stubble, he has black hair. I don’t catch his face before he walks away with his sparring partner.

Neota’s smug smile flashes in my brain, and I can already hear her excited giggle when I mention Lee to her, because of course, I’m going to tell her about him.

“He’s just a friend,” I’ll tell her.

“For now,” she’ll sing.

“Neota, I’m not here for that.” I’ll reason, but it won’t matter. She’ll build an elaborate tale in her mind, requiring every detail I know, and I’ll only half put up a fight. Part me likes seeing myself the way Neota sees me. As an asari, it’s normal for one parent to be asari and one parent to be of another species. She knows that people don’t look at hybrids the same way as they view asari, but she refuses to see me any different than herself.

Lost in my imaginary conversation with Neota, I almost miss my name being called. With chin up and shoulders back, I walk to the front, mentally preparing for whatever my partner will throw at me, physically as well as figuratively.

“Says here you’re a Grissom Academy graduate,” Chief Santiago reads off her data pad. “What luck, Romera you have a Grissom grad, right?”

“I do. This should be a show. Why don’t you show them how it’s done, Grissom grad?” He scans his data pad. “Rozar, you’re paired off with Vakarian.”

All the blood drains from my head. This can’t be happening. No one has this bad of luck. But apparently, I do, because marching to the front is, in fact, Jonah Rozar.

He glares at me, his pale blue eyes and blonde brows pulled into an angry scowl. “This is un-fucking-believable,” he sneers once in ear shot of me, as if I intentionally followed him here.

“Problem, Rozar?” Gunnery Sergeant Romera challenges.

“No, Gunnery Sergeant,” Jonah barks out.

“Then quit jaw jacking and grab a mat.”

While we reach to pull a mat from the pile, Jonah scoffs, “Personally recruited by Major General Alenko, huh? More like mommy called in a favor, or was she all out of favors and had to give some to get some? Must have been a nice break from screwing a bird.”

Years of hate surges through me, and I can feel my biotics responding to the dams of my restraint cracking. The energy pulses just under my skin, but instead of pushing it down like normal, I ride the currents. I look into his eyes, a smirk on my lips, and whisper, “This isn’t Grissom anymore. You have no idea what I’m capable off, but you will. The gloves are off, Jonah, and I will END you.”

Fear dances across his eyes before determination pulls them to slits. “You’re on, Vakarian. No mommy to save you now.”

We practically throw the mat to the ground; both of us have fingers grip worth of restraint on our biotics. This has been a long time coming.

“Looks like the Grissom Grads are ready to go,” Chief Santiago taunts. “Why don’t we see what the famed academy teaches their students?”

I know everyone is looking at us now, but I can’t see anyone past my own rage. This day has been nothing but an emotional roller coaster, and I’m ready to take it out on Jonah’s smug face. I’m going to make him eat every slighted word he’s ever said about me or my family.

Chief Santiago is giving more instructions, but I can barely hear over the roaring in my ears. “Do you understand?” she finishes.

“I understand,” we both mutter, neither of us losing eye contact with the other.

“Alight then, show us what you got.”

Her words are barely out before I throw Jonah across the room. The mats are meaningless in this match; there is no way we’re staying in such a confined space. He skids across the polished floor and slams into the tempered glass window. He’s quickly back to his feet, and I throw up a biotic shield just in time to catch his warp.

“This is a friendly match,” the Gunnery Sergeant reminds us. “Keep it civil.”

My heart thunders in my chest, pumping fury through my veins. This will not be friendly. This will not be civil. This will only end with blood.

With my barriers disabled from the warp, he tries a wide shockwave to knock me down, but I easily cancel it with one of my own. His shockwave, however, has opened a clear line of sight, and I lift him towards the ceiling. Realizing what I’m going to do, Jonah throws up his own barriers right before I slam him into the floor. Though protected from the brunt of the blow, he still bounces hard and is left gasping for air. I sprint towards him, my fists glowing with biotic energy. Both RDCs are shouting now, but I don’t hear them. All I can hear is the sweet crack of his nose breaking under my fist. Blood gushes from his nostrils, and his face is instantly disfigured from the swelling.

I only begin to come to my senses when Gunnery Sergeant Romera physically lifts me off of Jonah. “What the hell is wrong with you, Vakarian?” he shouts in my ear.

And as quickly as it came, the blood fury is gone, and the world comes back in sharp focus. The other recruits stare at me no longer with disgust or resentment, but with open fear. The large auditorium is silent short of Jonah’s choking gasps for breath. Shame makes my body run limp, and the Gunnery Sergeant lets me go. No longer running on biotic adrenaline, I shiver against the cold tremors running down my limbs. Needing to hold onto something, I pull my sleeves down my hands and grip tightly to the cuffs.

Chief Santiago helps Jonah to his feet, showing him where to pinch the bridge of his nose to reduce the bleeding.

“I’ll walk him to Tranquility,” the Gunnery Sergeant says, taking over for the Chief. “Looks like you’re going to have your hands full with that one.”

When Jonah walks past me, he spits at me, his bloodied saliva pooling at my feet. “This isn’t over, Vakarian.” He says my name as a sneer, reminding me he knows exactly who I am.

“Recruit, you must be dumber than you look,” the Gunnery Sergeant chastises. “She already kicked your ass once. You keep doing stupid shit like that, and I won’t pull her off the next time.”

A weak smile plays across my lips, but quickly fades when I get any eyeful of the storming Chief Santiago.

“I don’t know what the hell that was, but it ends now.” Her words crack like thunder against the glass walls. She plants one fist on her hip while the other points up in my face. “Of all the…you know what? No. I’m not doing this now. Vakarian, park your ass against that wall and don’t even think about moving. I’ll deal with you when we’re done here.”

I slog over to the wall. As I slide down its length to the floor, I realize I could be thrown out of the Alliance for this, and it wouldn’t just be my failure, because nothing I do is just me. I’m Captain Shepard and Executor Vakarian’s daughter. I’m Councilwoman Shepard’s granddaughter. I’m the first hybrid to be accepted to the Alliance, and because of today, I may be the last. It’s easy for me to blame Jonah, but as per usual, my mother is right. Violence shouldn’t be my first answer; it should be my last resort. If Jonah gets kicked out, it’s just him. He’ll go off and do something else. But because I let him get to me, I’ve stained myself, my family, and all hybrids.

“You can thank Vakarian and Rozar for their fantastic demonstration on what not to do in today’s exercise. But don’t worry; I’m sure you’ll all have plenty of time to come up with how to thank them when you’re helping them scrub this room back to a spotless shine.” Chief Santiago announces to surprised gasps. “That’s right recruits. You’re all in this together. One of you screws up, you all suffer for it. Now, on your feet, and listen carefully to my directions, because I will not repeat them.”

I look up, guilt slithering through my gut, because I immediately catch Lee’s gaze. Even though this is the first time I’ve caught a full glimpse of his face, I know it’s him. He doesn’t look mad, not like the others. His brows, like black smudged comas, pull down over his almond eyes in what can only be interpreted as disappointment. I think of what I vowed mere minutes before, mentally challenging everyone that I would give them a real reason to hate me. I can’t say I’m not a person of my word, even the ones that I only spout in my head. And with that, I close my eyes and beg the spirits to let this horrible day end.

Continue on to Chapter 10

Description
View the Table of Contents here -Includes summary

Disclaimer:
Mass Effect is the property of Bioware and this story is just the musings of a fan that isn’t ready to let the story go.

Back to Chapter 8

Lola
June 2205

Light bounces off of the cement and momentarily blinds me when we exit the jeep. In London, the sky was a miserable grey, but here, it is a clear cyan and everything feels too bright. The base teems with people all walking with purpose. The hard slam of feet hitting the cement in unison echoes off the concrete buildings’ walls. No new recruits were meant to be processed today, so a lone Master Sergeant receives us.

“Major General, sir.” She salutes, her body an array of straight lines.

Uncle Kaidan salutes back. “At ease, Master Sergeant.”

She opens the door to the unassuming concrete building behind her and holds it open for my uncle and me. The main room is large and empty short of concrete square supporting poles. On one of the supporting beams I notice lines and numbers etched into its surface marking off feet and inches. Near the ceiling, long narrow windows allow streaming afternoon light to comingle with the bare glow of the florescent bulbs. Each of the room’s four walls has double doors that lead off to dark hallways.

“Vakarian is one of our Navy recruits for the Special Tactics and Reconnaissance Training Division. Please outfit her with all she needs.” My uncle says, addressing the Master Sergeant. “Once finished, escort her to the Cairo, assign her a rack, and notify Chief Santiago that she has one more recruit.”

“Yes, sir.”

He turns to me and gives a hint of a smile. “This is where we part, kid. The Master Sergeant will take care of you from here. I’ll see you soon.” With a curt nod to the Master Sergeant, he turns and walks back out of the building.

“This way, Recruit.” She motions toward the back wall before leading the way. I am several inches taller than her, but she has the similar “larger than life” air of my mother that makes me feel small.

Through a set of double doors, she leads me to yet another concrete room, this one with no windows and walls lined with shelves full of black bins. In the center of the room is a long narrow metal table. She places an empty box on the table.

“All items that are prohibited go into this box and will be sent home, including your civilian clothes.” Her tone is kept as neutral as her expression. “Empty your bag onto the table. What are your clothing and shoe sizes? ”

I answer and then do as she asks while she begins pulling items from the plastic bins. As essentially a clone of my mother, my body is very similar to hers if you stretched it five inches. So, whereas my mother is athletic and compact, I’m athletic and long limbed. My waist is narrow and my hips wider than the ratio of my mother’s, the turian influence on my genetics. I, fortunately, don’t have the turian spike on my calves, so human clothes fit without need of alterations.

The Master Sergeant returns with her arms full. She places onto the table: toiletries, a data pad, socks, underwear, under shirts, shorts, swimwear, gloves, belts, boots and dark blue shirts and pants that look similar to my old Grissom uniform. “Strip down and try these on,” she orders, indicating the uniform. “You will wear an undershirt and these shorts under your uniform at all times. Do you understand?”

I nod. Nerves prickle over my body. I assumed with my background everything would seem natural, but I have never felt more out of place.

“I didn’t hear you.” She looks me directly in the face. “Do you understand?”

“Yes, Master Sergeant.” I stutter out.

She begins sifting through the few items I brought with me while I change. When she comes to the extra pairs of socks I brought with me, she looks down at my feet clad in socks that split in the center to accommodate only having two toes.

“I, uh, have a waiver for my boots and gloves,” I nod towards my data pads on the table, “Master Sergeant.”

She pinches her lips while reading through my waivers, her eyes glancing up to each part of me that requires special accommodation. I’m only partially dressed, not yet wearing my uniform shirt and boots. Her gaze burns across my mandibles, my fringe, my tattoo, the subtle hump that rings around my neck and merges into my collar bones, my hands each with three fingers, my too narrow waist, and ends back at my feet. At this moment, I feel truly alien.

Without comment, she picks up the human boots, socks, and gloves from the table and returns them to their respective bins. Finding everything I brought with me as acceptable for me to keep, she takes the data pad with all of my information and heads to the other side of the room. She keys in something into the interface on the wall and then a few moments later, opens a drawer to the right of the command module.

When she returns, I’m fully dressed and my civilian clothes and bag are in the box. “Does the uniform fit?”

“Yes, Master Sergeant.” This time I speak in loud clipped tones, staring at the wall past her head. My mother’s words echo in my head, reminding me it is their job to fluster me.

“Good. Take it off and affix these between the seams on the left side of the shirt and the flap of the left pocket of your pants.” She hands me several patches that have “VAKARIAN” embroidered across them. “To do this, you peel the backing from the patch before you place it onto your uniform. The adhesive on the back will fuse to the fabric of your uniform. You will do this to all of your uniform shirts and pants. They will be straight. Do you understand?”

“Yes, Master Sergeant!”

She gives a curt nod and turns to riffle through more bins. It only occurs to me now that this probably isn’t her normal job on the base.

I undress and lay my clothes flat onto the table. Blood quakes through my veins causing my hands to tremble. Picking up the patch, I peel away the clear backing. On the shirt there is an elevated blank spot where my name is to go. I take a deep breath, line up the patch with the top seam, and press down hard. For a moment, the patch feels warm and then it fuses seamlessly with my shirt. I quickly do the same for my pants, because I desperately want to be fully clothed. I don’t like exposing my otherness to people.

I’m nearly fully dressed again when the Master Sergeant returns with sheets, blanket and pillow for my rack and a large green bag for my personal items. She grits her teeth and spits, “Recruit, did I tell you to put your uniform back on?”

“I, uh…” I stutter. “I just thought…”

“You do not think unless I tell you to think. Do you understand?”

“Yes, Master Sergeant.” I don’t know if she means that I am supposed to take my uniform back off or not, so I just stand there, my heart picking up speed.

She sighs. “You will place your personal items in this bag. You will carry all of your bedding under your left arm. Your right arm is to be empty at all times unless it is physically impossible to carry your load with one hand. Do you understand?”

“Yes, Master Sergeant!”

I reach to begin filling my bag, and she looks at me like I’ve lost my mind.

“Recruit, finish getting dressed first.”

~*~

Thirty minutes later, after depositing my belongings at my rack, the Master Sergeant escorts me to the biotic training facility. This building looks newer than the rest; more stainless steel and tempered glass than concrete. The main entrance leads into a large open room where two divisions stand in neat lines, forming rigid rectangles. The whole room drowns in midday light, flooding in through the multi storied windows and bouncing off of the blonde wood floors. Along the walls, large blue sparing mats are stacked several feet high.

In front of the recruits, a short woman with copper skin stands, one hip cocked, next to a man that is half again taller than her and easily double her weight. “Ready to get your ass handed to you again, Romera?” she laughs and playfully smacks his bulging bicep.

“Please, Santiago. I don’t know what game you were watching, but my team owned yours last year.”

“More K.Os does not win you the games. My team finished the mission. Denial won’t change it.” She smirks; her full lips pulled to one side and one fine black brow raised high.

Their banter eases the knot lodged in my chest. This is what I expected coming here. This feels familiar. I follow the Master Sergeant to the front of the room, careful not to squeak on the well-polished floor.

“Chief, you have one more recruit,” the Master Sergeant announces.

“What? No.” Chief Santiago crosses her arms. “There has to be a mistake. I don’t know who screwed up, but P week is over. They’ll have to apply for the program next year.” She glances at me with a “tough break, kid” look on her face, then double-takes, not hiding her astonishment. Romera is more reserved in his surprise. His eyes, as inky black as his skin, narrow, and he stretches himself to his full intimidating height.

“What is this?” Santiago points at me. “Some kind of publicity stunt?”

The familiar rage from this morning boils in my veins. I raise my chin up against the dig, my mandibles in prominent view along my jawline. Loud murmurs and shocked gazes burn down my skin leaving angry goose bumps in their wake. I don’t know why I thought the Alliance would be any different than Grissom, but it doesn’t matter. I was the best at Grissom, and I’ll be the best here. Go ahead. Glare at me. I’ll give you a reason to hate me.

“Hey,” the Chief yells, her voice echoing off the walls, “did I tell any of you to talk?”

They immediately quiet down, their gazes snapping back to the front of the room. Romera walks the line of recruits. He leans down at random into their personal space, his face just to the side of theirs. Visibly panicked, each recruit weighs whether they continue to look straight or if they’re supposed to shift their gaze to Romera. I purse my lips to keep from smirking. Smiling in boot camp is dangerous.

“Vakarian was handpicked by Major General Alenko.” The Master Sergeant continues, looking Santiago in the eye. “Like it or not, she’s yours.”

She sighs, eyeing me from the fringe on my head to my two toed boots, and nods. “Understood.” She then says to me. “Recruit, get in line. Shortest to the front; tallest to the back.”

There is a clear division in the two groupings of recruits, and I’m unsure which I am supposed to stand in. I walk to the center, examining the recruit uniforms out of the corner of my eye and hoping for some clue. Both groups are dressed in identical uniforms. My pace slows to a crawl, and I’m about to break into innie-meenie-minnie-moe, when I catch a guy that is roughly my height subtly nodding at me and shifting to make room for me in front of him. Oh, thank the spirits.

I slide in front of him, but because the lines were formed with me not in them, I’m rather close to both the girl in front of me and the guy behind me. The girl is short enough that I easily see over her head, but my good samaritan is close enough that I am aware of his awkward shifting and his stare zeroed in at the back of my head.

My view of the front door is blocked, and I don’t notice my uncle enter the room until Santiago yells, “Officer on deck!” Not quite in unison, we shift to salute. My good samaritan accidentally brushes my right shoulder with his hand. A not wholly unwelcome tingle shivers down my arm. “Sorry,” he whispers.

“At ease, everyone,” Uncle Kaidan responds after returning the salute.

The girl in front of me clasps her hands at the base of her back, and I follow suit, knocking elbows with the person to the left of me. He glares at me then returns his eyes forward. The guy behind me exhales a breath of laughter, and I roll my lips to, again, keep from smiling. The idea that my good samaritan could potentially be a friend, or at least an ally, makes me strangely giddy.

Uncle Kaidan comes into my line of vision, standing dead center of the two divisions. “I’m Major General Alenko. Some of you were recruited to this program, some of you actively sought out this training knowing it will fast track you to the N7 program, but I doubt any of you understand the significance of this program.”

He paces deliberately in front of us, the soft click of his shoes tap out the cadence to his speech. “Over twenty years ago, I started training promising biotics to be silent weapons for the Alliance. They became infiltration teams that would, if successful, never be recognized to have ever existed. That is not what this program is. This program is so much more. All of you are here today, not just for your biotics, but because you have something that this universe needs. Wits. Intelligence. Natural leadership.”

He stops and crosses his arms over his chest, the light catching and refracting off of his collection of medals. “It’s been over twenty years since the first human spectre was named. Do you know how many human spectres there are now?”

No one speaks, but we all know the answer.

“Two,” he retorts. “In twenty years, the council has only seen fit to name two humans, Captain Shepard and myself. The turians, asari, and salarians all have special programs designed to train future Spectres, and as of three years ago, so does the Alliance. The council gives me leave every year not to train future N7s. I’m here to train spectres.”

Everything inside me free falls. I wanted to follow in my mother’s footsteps, but I wasn’t prepared to do it so literally.

“Chief Santiago and Gunnery Sergeant Romera left far more interesting posts to be your RDCs” he motions at the people in question. “Like you, they were handpicked to be here because they understand we’re here to train leaders, not followers. For the next nine weeks, it’s their job to push you beyond your limits. Very few of you will make it all the way through. This program has the highest dropout rate, exceeding even the N7s. If any of you want to quit now, the door is right there.”

We’re quiet, waiting for anyone to walk out the door. My heart rattles in my ears. Am I ready for this? Do I want this? I imagine what my parents will think. My father will shake his head, attempting to hide his fear with humor, and lament, “like mother, like daughter” or “because your mother wasn’t stressful enough.” My mother will smile up at me and tell me how proud she is, likely right before she storms off to find my uncle and unceremoniously punch him in the face for enlisting her daughter.

I look around the room and realize these recruits have no idea what they’re getting themselves into. They only know the exciting tales of my mother saving the universe. They’ve heard how spectres answer to no one but the council and get to play by their own rules. They don’t understand the danger, the loneliness, and the lives that rest in your hands every day. And yet, knowing what I do, I stay rooted to my spot. Destiny is a word thrown around a lot. We look at our lives as they are and think, I’m not supposed to be here. I’m destined for much greater things. But really, destiny is something that shows up as opportunities. It is our job to recognize and seize it. This moment is mine.

“All of you think you have what it takes?” My uncle continues when no one leaves. “We’ll see. Assuming you make it through, you will then be assigned to an N7 for live combat training. You will shadow them in whatever they do and wherever they go. It will be up to them to decide if you will continue on to N7 training. After that, it’s up to you to impress the council.” He turns towards our RDCs, “Chief and Gunnery Sergeant, I leave them in your capable hands. Try not to break them on the first day.”

Chief Santiago smiles. “No guarantees, General.”

The three of them walk off to the side to speak privately for a moment, leaving us to stand and soak in what we really signed up for.

“I’m Lee,” is whispered from behind me.

“Vakarian,” I whisper back to him.

“Nice to meet you.”

“Shut up,” the guy I elbowed earlier hisses through his teeth.

“Sorry,” I whisper back, and he shakes his head and rolls his eyes.

It takes a moment for it to hit me, but when it does, it’s a rather exhilarating realization. My uncle is the only person here that knows who I am. I don’t know how or why, but no one here seems to know I’m Captain Shepard’s daughter. I’m still a hybrid freak, but at least I’m not a famous hybrid freak. By the time my uncle, Chief Santiago, and Gunnery Sergeant Romera are finished, I’ve psyched myself up for this. I’m ready to not only make it through but to be the best. How ironic it would be for the next “human” spectre to be a human/turian hybrid.

“Recruits,” Gunnery Sergeant Romera shouts once my uncle has left the room, “I hope you enjoyed your P week, because the babying ends now.”

Chief Santiago continues, “We’re going to start with seeing what you know. This means sparring, and since this is a collaborative program, we’ll pair you off, navy recruits versus marine recruits. Please try not to embarrass yourselves.”

“When you hear your names, come to the front. When you are assigned a partner, grab a mat,” the Gunnery Sergeant directs. “Do not start until we tell you to. Do you understand?”

“Yes, Gunnery Sergeant!” we shout in unison.

One by one, recruits are paired off and sent to retrieve their mats. There seems to be no order to their pairings, just random names shouted from a list. When Lee is called, he whispers good luck to me before walking to the front. I only see bits of his appearance out of my peripheral vision. He’s taller than I thought. Broad shoulders, long limbed. His head is shaved, standard for male recruits, but of what I can tell from the stubble, he has black hair. I don’t catch his face before he walks away with his sparring partner.

Neota’s smug smile flashes in my brain, and I can already hear her excited giggle when I mention Lee to her, because of course, I’m going to tell her about him.

“He’s just a friend,” I’ll tell her.

“For now,” she’ll sing.

“Neota, I’m not here for that.” I’ll reason, but it won’t matter. She’ll build an elaborate tale in her mind, requiring every detail I know, and I’ll only half put up a fight. Part me likes seeing myself the way Neota sees me. As an asari, it’s normal for one parent to be asari and one parent to be of another species. She knows that people don’t look at hybrids the same way as they view asari, but she refuses to see me any different than herself.

Lost in my imaginary conversation with Neota, I almost miss my name being called. With chin up and shoulders back, I walk to the front, mentally preparing for whatever my partner will throw at me, physically as well as figuratively.

“Says here you’re a Grissom Academy graduate,” Chief Santiago reads off her data pad. “What luck, Romera you have a Grissom grad, right?”

“I do. This should be a show. Why don’t you show them how it’s done, Grissom grad?” He scans his data pad. “Rozar, you’re paired off with Vakarian.”

All the blood drains from my head. This can’t be happening. No one has this bad of luck. But apparently, I do, because marching to the front is, in fact, Jonah Rozar.

He glares at me, his pale blue eyes and blonde brows pulled into an angry scowl. “This is un-fucking-believable,” he sneers once in ear shot of me, as if I intentionally followed him here.

“Problem, Rozar?” Gunnery Sergeant Romera challenges.

“No, Gunnery Sergeant,” Jonah barks out.

“Then quit jaw jacking and grab a mat.”

While we reach to pull a mat from the pile, Jonah scoffs, “Personally recruited by Major General Alenko, huh? More like mommy called in a favor, or was she all out of favors and had to give some to get some? Must have been a nice break from screwing a bird.”

Years of hate surges through me, and I can feel my biotics responding to the dams of my restraint cracking. The energy pulses just under my skin, but instead of pushing it down like normal, I ride the currents. I look into his eyes, a smirk on my lips, and whisper, “This isn’t Grissom anymore. You have no idea what I’m capable off, but you will. The gloves are off, Jonah, and I will END you.”

Fear dances across his eyes before determination pulls them to slits. “You’re on, Vakarian. No mommy to save you now.”

We practically throw the mat to the ground; both of us have fingers grip worth of restraint on our biotics. This has been a long time coming.

“Looks like the Grissom Grads are ready to go,” Chief Santiago taunts. “Why don’t we see what the famed academy teaches their students?”

I know everyone is looking at us now, but I can’t see anyone past my own rage. This day has been nothing but an emotional roller coaster, and I’m ready to take it out on Jonah’s smug face. I’m going to make him eat every slighted word he’s ever said about me or my family.

Chief Santiago is giving more instructions, but I can barely hear over the roaring in my ears. “Do you understand?” she finishes.

“I understand,” we both mutter, neither of us losing eye contact with the other.

“Alight then, show us what you got.”

Her words are barely out before I throw Jonah across the room. The mats are meaningless in this match; there is no way we’re staying in such a confined space. He skids across the polished floor and slams into the tempered glass window. He’s quickly back to his feet, and I throw up a biotic shield just in time to catch his warp.

“This is a friendly match,” the Gunnery Sergeant reminds us. “Keep it civil.”

My heart thunders in my chest, pumping fury through my veins. This will not be friendly. This will not be civil. This will only end with blood.

With my barriers disabled from the warp, he tries a wide shockwave to knock me down, but I easily cancel it with one of my own. His shockwave, however, has opened a clear line of sight, and I lift him towards the ceiling. Realizing what I’m going to do, Jonah throws up his own barriers right before I slam him into the floor. Though protected from the brunt of the blow, he still bounces hard and is left gasping for air. I sprint towards him, my fists glowing with biotic energy. Both RDCs are shouting now, but I don’t hear them. All I can hear is the sweet crack of his nose breaking under my fist. Blood gushes from his nostrils, and his face is instantly disfigured from the swelling.

I only begin to come to my senses when Gunnery Sergeant Romera physically lifts me off of Jonah. “What the hell is wrong with you, Vakarian?” he shouts in my ear.

And as quickly as it came, the blood fury is gone, and the world comes back in sharp focus. The other recruits stare at me no longer with disgust or resentment, but with open fear. The large auditorium is silent short of Jonah’s choking gasps for breath. Shame makes my body run limp, and the Gunnery Sergeant lets me go. No longer running on biotic adrenaline, I shiver against the cold tremors running down my limbs. Needing to hold onto something, I pull my sleeves down my hands and grip tightly to the cuffs.

Chief Santiago helps Jonah to his feet, showing him where to pinch the bridge of his nose to reduce the bleeding.

“I’ll walk him to Tranquility,” the Gunnery Sergeant says, taking over for the Chief. “Looks like you’re going to have your hands full with that one.”

When Jonah walks past me, he spits at me, his bloodied saliva pooling at my feet. “This isn’t over, Vakarian.” He says my name as a sneer, reminding me he knows exactly who I am.

“Recruit, you must be dumber than you look,” the Gunnery Sergeant chastises. “She already kicked your ass once. You keep doing stupid shit like that, and I won’t pull her off the next time.”

A weak smile plays across my lips, but quickly fades when I get any eyeful of the storming Chief Santiago.

“I don’t know what the hell that was, but it ends now.” Her words crack like thunder against the glass walls. She plants one fist on her hip while the other points up in my face. “Of all the…you know what? No. I’m not doing this now. Vakarian, park your ass against that wall and don’t even think about moving. I’ll deal with you when we’re done here.”

I slog over to the wall. As I slide down its length to the floor, I realize I could be thrown out of the Alliance for this, and it wouldn’t just be my failure, because nothing I do is just me. I’m Captain Shepard and Executor Vakarian’s daughter. I’m Councilwoman Shepard’s granddaughter. I’m the first hybrid to be accepted to the Alliance, and because of today, I may be the last. It’s easy for me to blame Jonah, but as per usual, my mother is right. Violence shouldn’t be my first answer; it should be my last resort. If Jonah gets kicked out, it’s just him. He’ll go off and do something else. But because I let him get to me, I’ve stained myself, my family, and all hybrids.

“You can thank Vakarian and Rozar for their fantastic demonstration on what not to do in today’s exercise. But don’t worry; I’m sure you’ll all have plenty of time to come up with how to thank them when you’re helping them scrub this room back to a spotless shine.” Chief Santiago announces to surprised gasps. “That’s right recruits. You’re all in this together. One of you screws up, you all suffer for it. Now, on your feet, and listen carefully to my directions, because I will not repeat them.”

I look up, guilt slithering through my gut, because I immediately catch Lee’s gaze. Even though this is the first time I’ve caught a full glimpse of his face, I know it’s him. He doesn’t look mad, not like the others. His brows, like black smudged comas, pull down over his almond eyes in what can only be interpreted as disappointment. I think of what I vowed mere minutes before, mentally challenging everyone that I would give them a real reason to hate me. I can’t say I’m not a person of my word, even the ones that I only spout in my head. And with that, I close my eyes and beg the spirits to let this horrible day end.

Continue on to Chapter 10