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Melinda May entered the tall concrete office building with a sense of apprehension. It looked like any other modern office block on a busy weekday morning, with employees bustling through the foyer, brown folders in hand and shoulder pads in every power suit. Except she had recently discovered it was the headquarters for an international intelligence agency so secret she hadn’t even heard of it - and she worked for the Central Intelligence Agency!
Mind you, she was on the bottom rung of the CIA, and going nowhere fast. It was difficult to tell if this was because she was a young, Asian-American woman, or if it was reverse-favoritism as a result of her mother’s long service with the Company; it was probably both, and it was maddening. Just last week she’d been passed over for a promotion in favor of a kid who’d learned the ropes from her. Again.
Still, that was why she was here. In any other situation she would have turned down a job interview arranged by her mother, but she couldn’t see the future she wanted at the CIA. So it was worth finding out what this mysterious job offer was about, even if she was uncomfortable with the manner of introduction.
She presented herself to the reception staff, who seemed innocuous enough, though Melinda saw enough clues to indicate they probably doubled as security. She was told someone would be with her shortly, and to take a seat.
She watched the flow of people in and out of the building for five minutes, and concluded that without any other clues, she would never have guessed this was the headquarters of an intelligence agency. These people were good.
She didn’t pay any attention to one more set of heels clicking across the foyer until they were approaching her, and looked up to a smiling face and an outstretched hand.
“Melinda May? I’m Peggy Carter.”
Melinda rushed to her feet and shook the older woman’s hand. “Pleasure to meet you.”
“And you. I’ve heard a lot about you. Follow me, please.”
Melinda filed away that sentence - and the British accent - and followed Ms Carter down the hall to a bank of elevators. The woman wasn’t what she had been expecting: she was older and softer than expected, open and friendly. She had met enough of the women higher up in the CIA that she’d been expecting someone sharper, someone whose natural inclination was to frown. The intelligence world was still very much a boys club, and women who wanted to be taken seriously couldn’t afford to be seen smiling, yet Ms Carter seemed confident in her approach.
When the doors opened there were two men already present, and they both nodded respectfully.
“Ma’am.”
“Collins,” Ms Carter greeted one. “How’s the situation in Dhaka?”
“Still shaky, but Ershad seems to have a handle on things for now.”
“Keep an eye on it.”
“Yes ma’am.”
Dhaka. Ershad. Melinda knew these names; politics in Bangladesh. The CIA was watching the situation too.
The men exited on the fourth floor, while Ms Carter and Melinda continued on to the twelfth. They stepped out into an average-looking office, cluttered with desks and cabinets and the occasional plastic plant, and several more people greeted Ms Carter with a nod and a “ma’am” as they passed.
“Right, here we are. Make yourself comfortable,” Ms Carter announced as they entered an office. It was as cluttered as the rest of the floor, maps and plans and folders overflowing with pages. Melinda’s superior at the CIA would never have stood for this level of mess, but even as she watched, Ms Carter checked a few new items of mail that had been left on her desk, and added one to the nearest pile, two to another, and one went straight into the trash. So there was method to the madness, at least. Melinda shucked her coat and settled herself into one of the two visitor chairs; the other was occupied by another stack of paperwork. Then she spotted the name plate on the desk.
“Director Carter?” That explained the respectful acknowledgements from every person they passed.
“That’s right,” the woman said. “Your mother didn’t tell you?”
“She said she had arranged this through an old friend of hers. I figured her friend was important enough to invite me to a job interview, but not with the agency director.”
Ms Carter laughed and took her seat. “So, what do you know about us, Melinda?”
“Other than the fact that your name is a mouthful? Not much ma’am,” Melinda admitted.
“Strategic Homeland Intervention, Enforcement and Logistics Division,” Ms Carter recited. “I prefer the acronym myself.”
Melinda nodded, glad her mother had mentioned this much at least. “SHIELD is certainly much easier to say, ma’am. I’m told you’re an international intelligence agency.”
“And that’s all it took for you to agree to a job interview?” Ms Carter raised a disbelieving eyebrow.
She gave a small, polite smile. “I was also told there might be more opportunities for me here than in my current position, which is certainly worth finding out about.”
“Yes, junior officer with the CIA for four years, passed over for promotion on three occasions so far, despite being vastly more qualified than the boys they gave the jobs to,” Ms Carter said, apparently reading off a page in front of her. Melinda started, then stilled herself. That sort of information wasn’t readily available within the Company - how did Ms Carter get it?
Ms Carter continued. “Fluent in English, Cantonese and Mandarin. Black belts in two martial arts and advanced levels in several others. Commendations for your work on six intelligence operations, despite the short time you’ve been with your current employer. By all accounts, you’d be a perfect candidate for the Special Operations Division.”
Melinda sighed, partially because it was true, and partially because she had just realised this was all information her mother could have passed on; no secret spying on the CIA necessary. “SOD only recruits out of special-ops military programs. Which don’t accept women.”
“No, but I have to admit, I have always been a little thankful for that.” She grinned at Melinda. “It means we have all the best women in the business.”
Melinda nodded in acknowledgement. “Speaking of which, can you tell me any more about SHIELD?”
“Your mother didn’t tell you? I know Lian is economic with her words, but I’d have thought she would tell you more about the agency she was sending you to.”
Melinda blinked. “No. I didn’t realise you knew her personally.”
Ms Carter laughed. “Melinda, I am the friend she arranged your interview with. I first met your mother in East Berlin several decades ago, though neither of us knew who the other was then. Then we ran into each other in Washington a few weeks later, and it surprised us into becoming friends. Did you think she was sending you off to meet someone she didn’t know and trust?”
Melinda didn’t have an answer. On the one hand, her mother had a habit of investigating anyone her daughter might spend time with, far beyond what was reasonable, which had caused problems between them when she was a teenager. On the other hand, she knew her daughter wasn’t cut out for a lifetime stuck behind a desk, as she had been. She might have made an exception for the chance to improve Melinda’s opportunities.
Ms Carter didn’t seem bothered by the lack of response. “Now, to answer your question: SHIELD does what shields normally do. We exist to protect people, as much as possible. We use intelligence, covert operations, and the latest scientific advances to help us in this.”
“That’s a very broad statement,” Melinda said. “‘Protecting people’ could mean stopping one man hurting his wife, or stopping a dictator from hurting a nation.”
“Exactly,” agreed Ms Carter. “And should you be in the position to stop a man from hurting his wife - or anyone else - I would expect you to do it and call it part of your day’s work. But for the most part we try to pick up where the local authorities leave off. There are things in this world beyond what science can currently explain, things that leave the local authorities overwhelmed. There are also times when politics gets in the way of the government doing the right thing. These are the times when SHIELD steps in.”
“Okay,” said Melinda slowly. It was an ideological answer, rather than a literal one (what kinds of ops do they actually run?) but she hadn’t really expected much more. “So where would I fit in?”
“To begin with, you would do much the same job as what you’re doing now. Analysing intelligence, listening to hours of boring recordings, reading through pages of documents, looking for the tidbit that might make all the difference. But while you do that, we’ll get you training. You have firearms qualifications, yes?”
“Just handguns.”
“Computers?”
“No formal training beyond typing.”
“We’ll get you up to speed on a wider range of weapons then, and teach you to code - computers are evolving faster and faster, and some ability in that area will serve you well in the field. Give you time in the week to achieve a few more black belts, as well as teaching you the standard SHIELD fighting techniques… have you thought of learning a European language at all?”
“Did you say the field?” Melinda was so surprised by what she was hearing, she wasn’t sure she had actually caught half of it.
“That’s what you want to do, isn’t it? Or so your mother told me.”
“Yes, but…”
“Melinda.” Ms Carter leaned forward on her desk. “Like most intelligence agencies, our field operatives are largely men. Unlike most agencies, it’s not because we think women aren’t capable - it’s just that there are more men out there actively looking for this type of work. So when I find a perfect candidate, I don’t let her slip through my fingers. If you had been born a man, the CIA would be promoting you through the ranks already, based on your CV and the work you’ve done for them. So, you tell me: what will it take to bring you into SHIELD?”
Melinda shook her head a little. “There has to be a catch.”
Ms Carter leaned back in her chair and nodded, serious. “The catch is all the things I just mentioned. It’s still mostly a boy’s club. You still have to do a lot of boring grunt work. And while all the training sounds like everything you’ve ever wanted right now, the reality is that it’s a lot of work, especially when you have to fit it around the analyst day-job. When you include the additional practice you’re expected to do after hours, you’ll have little time leftover for a life outside these walls. Too busy for a social life, probably too busy for a romantic one.” She stopped there, and Melinda felt the weight of her gaze, looking to check that she understood what kind of commitment this would take.
“But at the end of it, I’d be in the field?”
“You’d be going out on covert operations, sometimes as part of a team, sometimes just you and a support person. If you’re particularly good in certain areas, we may ask you to teach others. You might be based here in the US; more likely you’d be rotated through several of our locations around the world. Work hard enough, you can even pick your own missions.”
Melinda nodded. She would never have this opportunity at the CIA. Top-level analyst was the best she could hope for, and it meant being stuck in an office her whole life, like her mother. “One last question.”
“Yes?”
“What’s SHIELD’s policy on office pranks?”
Director Carter grinned, with a wicked edge to it. “Oh, you’re going to fit in around here just fine.”