Chapter Text
It is a truth universally acknowledged, that a turian Hierarch in possession of a powerful spaceship, must be in want of a good commander.
However little known the feelings or views of such a turian may be on his entering the Sol System, this truth is so well fixed in the minds of surrounding military base camps, that is considered the rightful property of some one or other of their flock.
“Anderson, did you hear?” Captain Hannah Shepard entered his long-time friend’s office one day. Anderson put his glasses down. “Have you heard the turian training ship is in orbit already? I came as soon as I heard,” she put a datapad on his desk.
Anderson took the datapad, then negated with his head.
“They got here not two hours ago, and I had to hear it from that damn Emily Wong,” she buffed.
“Relax, Hannah. I’m sure there’s a sensible explanation,” she took the datapad from him.
“It says: the turian delegation docked and was received in a beautiful ceremony, blah blah, after weeks of preparations, blah blah, high ranked military human dignitaries and ambassadors were in attendance. Where were our invitations, Anderson? I run a fine vessel, I have brilliant women under my command, my own daughter is a decorated commander, goddammit!”
“I’m sure your invitation got lost in the mail,” he said, opening his omnitool.
“Invitations don’t get lost, Anderson: people conveniently “forget” to put you on mailing lists. I suspect Udina, that weasel. I bet he wants to secure a spot for his protégé, Alenko. My Elizabeth is far more suited to train with the turians, her biotics are very advanced for a human. And did I mention she’s been decorated? And a Commander?” she paced, shaking the datapad.
“How important is this spot in the turian vessel, exactly? How does Lizzie benefit from it, or any of your girls?”
“Turian training, Anderson. They run the best military in the galaxy, no matter what the asari say. They’re disciplined, smart, and that ship? Did you look at the datapad?”
“Yes, I did,” he said.
“That turian warship can be hers, if she makes it. Hers to command. I like having Lizzie in my vessel, but she’s outgrown it. I want her to see the galaxy, do her own thing. Maybe become the first human spectre,” she sighed.
“This is very important to you,” he clasped his hands.
“It is, of course.”
“And have you asked Lizzie?”
“I’m sure she feels the same way, why shouldn’t she?”
“Look, I really think we should be asking Elizabeth. You haven’t asked her, have you, Hannah?” he put out his omnitool.
“No, but this is a great opportunity for her. The turians will be happy to have her, if only they could meet her: she’ll kick all the recruits’ asses, just you see.”
“Could it be that Elizabeth never signed to the program in the first place? I’m looking at my own datapad here,” he put it up, “and it says: military, ambassadors and hopefuls were in attendance.”
“It doesn’t matter: I’ll get her in. And you’ll help, Anderson,” she leaned on his desk. “My Lizzy wants to quit the military, after what happened with the batarian slavers, but she’s a natural leader! She’s just what the galaxy needs. I can’t let her. She has to meet Hierarch Bingleykus, he’ll see. You have to get to him, somehow. You’ll get her in the program.”
“I don’t like this, Hannah.”
“You have pull. You owe me. You’ll make it happen,” She put a menacing finger on his desk.
Anderson was left alone in his office with his datapad. Hannah Shepard was a woman of mean understanding, too much information, and uncertain temper. When she was discontented, she fancied herself furious. The business of her life was getting her girls promoted in the military; its solace was military prowess and good news.