A/N: Well, here goes nothing...
Welcome to Something Blue.
I am quite a new author, I'm afraid. My fanfiction writing experience at this point consists of the single other fic that I posted here – Inaudible – and I honestly haven't the first clue what I'm doing. If I let that stop me, however, I'd never learn anything new. So I'm flying blind here, hands firmly planted on the seat of my own proverbial pants while the metaphor train jumps off the rails and begins putting down its own track. Or something.
Anyway.
This is the first chapter of what will, with any luck, be a fic that covers shortly before the start of the first game until a bit after the end of the third game. I intend to stay fairly close to official canon in terms of actual events, although the reasons that those events occur may be wildly different here than in the original game. That's half the fun, after all. Consider it an... alternate approach to Renegade.
Commentary, critique, cries of adulation, angrily thrown fruit, and shrugs of indifference are all welcome.
Lieutenant David Anderson was not in the best of moods. His SPECTRE candidacy had been called into serious question after the refinery on Camala was blown up by that bastard Saren, he'd had to watch Khalee Sanders walk out of his life just after things were getting interesting, and to top it all off, somebody thought that he'd deserved a 'break' and handed him a do-nothing recruitment assignment ("Go play hero for the kids, Anderson! It'll be a great break!") in the slums of Earth as some sort of sick and twisted idea of a reward!
He ground his teeth in frustration as he sat stiffly in the chair before taking a long, calming breath. Like it or not, it was his job while the Council figured out what to do with him. He supposed he didn't exactly deserve a medal for letting that Turian stick him with the blame over the blown up refinery, but still, to be stabbed in the back like that-
He cut that train of thought short with a grimace. He had more pressing matters to consider, like the young girl who thought she'd been circumspect about eying the recruitment station. He sighed, and not for the first time that day. There had been lots of people checking out the station. Some just wanted to talk to a "hero of the Alliance, which he didn't mind. Others were young men and women looking to join up, which he was also okay with.
There were also a lot of kids trying to join. Some were on the run, some were fleeing from the police, and some were just trying to get away from the slums. The last kind were the worst of all, since the law was very clear: You must be a citizen, you must not have any outstanding warrants for your arrest, you must not be a felon, you must be in good health, and you must be of age.
There was no way in hell this girl was eighteen.
Not that he was an expert on the subject – he hadn't exactly had a lot of experience with underage women, after all. Still, some things stood out like a sore thumb, and this... girl was one of them. No hips. Childlike proportions. Underdeveloped breasts. A too-thin frame carefully hidden by a cheap pair of cargo pants and baggy t-shirt. If he had to guess, he'd put her at fourteen or fifteen. Sixteen at the most, and that was being generous.
She double checked something on a small piece of paper in her hand, then nodded to herself and pushed the door open.
"Hello," she said in a clear, strong voice while he stared at her. "Is this the Systems Alliance Military recruitment station?"
He blinked and nodded politely. "Yes, miss, it is. Can I help you?"
She smiled at him – a funny, lopsided smirk that made her look even younger – and nodded. "Yeah. I want to sign up for the Navy."
He sighed. Of course she did. "Miss, you need to be eighteen years old to join the military on your own, or seventeen with parental permission," he explained gently.
Her lopsided smirk grew into a full grin. "But I am eighteen, mister..." her eyes flicked to his nametag, "sorry, Lieutenant Anderson. Ijust look young for my age."
Christ, he hated doing this. "Of course you do, miss. I take it you've just conveniently misplaced your birth records?" He looked up at her with a tired expression on his face.
She nodded, but began speaking before he could open his mouth to ask her to leave. "No, I don't have my original birth records. I do have my national ID – will that work?" She cocked her head to the side, an inquisitive expression on her face.
He blinked. "Uh, yes, miss, that's allowed, but I'll need to run an extended check on it and confirm the biometrics," he said warningly. "We've had a lot of fake cards come through here, and all these young kids think that the fakes are good enough to pass the checks. It's always sad when we have to run them in for identity fraud," he said, hoping she would catch the hint.
She didn't.
He winced when he saw the card she held out to him. Hell, this thing's brand new, he thought to himself with a groan.
She spoke as if reading his thoughts. "I know it looks fake. It just got reissued. Age of majority, and all that," she said with a wave of her hand.
He sighed, outwardly this time, and stood, taking the card with him. "Alright, miss..." he glanced down at the freshly-imprinted plastic, "Shepard," he said. "I'm going to take this to the back and start the extended check. We can do the biometrics after that, if you're still interested." He slid the rolling chair back under the desk and started walking to the records room in the back of the small office.
Pausing at the door, he gave her a quick glance. Please, girl, just run. Then I'll have a nice clean mystery on my hands, instead of having to arrest you for fraud...
Catching his glance, she gave a small wave, and began searching through the MOS pamphlets on the desk. He shook his head and walked into the back room.
He walked out of the back room in a daze. Her ID has passed. How? He knew she wasn't eighteen, there was no way she was eighteen. He'd run the check three times. Hell, he'd even called up a technical buddy down at the local training center and had him run the card. It passed there, too.
Which either meant that his intuition was horribly wrong... or the system had been compromised. He wasn't sure which idea scared her more.
Focus, David. You still have a girl that wants to join the military, and it's your job to help her do so. He sighed to himself. It's also your duty as a decent human being to see that she doesn't. Hell. He was old enough to have kids her age. It wasn't right.
"Alright," he said finally, pulling the rolling chair out and taking a seat while she stuffed the pamphlets back in the slot on the desk. "Your ID actually checks out. I apologize for any rudeness I may have offered, but we do have a lot of underage kids trying to get in."
She nodded sympathetically. "I understand... sir?" she said the honorific cautiously, as if not quite sure she was using it properly. He shook his head. "You're not a recruit yet. Lieutenant Anderson if you want to be formal, David otherwise."
"Okay, Lieutenant Anderson," she nodded. "You can call me Elle, or Shepard. I go by both."
"About that... you don't have a first name?" he asked her. "It just says the letter 'L' on your card."
She shook her head. "The registry screwed up, and my parents thought it was too funny to fix," she said with a hint of disgust. "My name is supposed to be Elle, ee ell ell ee, but the doctor heard it as just 'L'."
He smiled a little at that. He definitely knew how bureaucratic SNAFUs went. They were a fact of life in the military, where everything ran on paperwork, and nobody seemed to know why anything was set up the way it was, and forget about trying to change it...
"So," she said, shaking him from his brief reverie, "how does this work? I mean, I've never joined the military before," she said with a nervous laugh.
"First," he said, his voice serious, "I don't suppose there's any way I can convince you to not do this? Extended checks or no, I'm almost certain that card isn't real, and I don't think you're eighteen." At her scowl, he continued with a sigh. "Legally, it checks out. I can't stop you from joining if that's what you want. However... I think it's wrong to send kids to war. Whatever problems you're having at home... joining the army isn't the solution," he said heavily. "It's a huge choice to make, and not something to make on a whim."
She looked at him, then. Really looked at him... and he found himself suddenly wondering where the little girl had vanished to.
Gone was the carefree, almost flirtatious demeanor of a young kid. Gone was brave act hiding a nervous child. Gone was the impression that she'd done something wrong and that she thought this was the best way out.
He swallowed as he met her striking green eyes partially hidden under a lock of red hair. They weren't the eyes of a young girl, not even a little. Not any more. No little suburban teenager ever stared someone down like that. They were piercing, calculating, as cold as the blackest depths of space... and just as caring.
She gave herself a quick shake, then smiled at him, and the look was gone as if it had never been. "I'm sure it is, Lieutenant. I don't have much of a home to go back to, not really," she said a little sadly. "My parents died years ago," she explained. "I've been homeless since leaving the shelter."
Homeless? That would explain the lanky look, he thought to himself, and the small frame. Maybe she actually is eighteen? He felt a weight ease on his shoulders. Well. Maybe he wouldn't be sending a kid off to war today, and might instead be giving a luckless young woman a chance to climb up in the world. He was almost happy... until he remembered the look she'd given him. Yeah. Right. She's a poor, luckless young woman and you're a FNG fresh off the boat. He sighed inwardly. You can't keep her out on your gut, he reminded himself, so get this over with.
"I'm sorry to hear that," he apologized. "and that would certainly explain why I thought you were underage." He smiled politely at her. "I saw you reading the pamphlets. Did you have an idea what branch of service you wanted to consider? The army has some comfortable groundside postings, and they're always in need of capable recruits," he suggested.
"Army? No, thank you," she shook her head. "I want to join the Navy. The marines."
He sighed inwardly again. It would figure.
"The marines are a tough bunch, you know," he said sternly. "I should know, I am one. It takes a lot of work to cut it as a marine, and a certain level of physical capability that, frankly, I'm not sure if you have." The words weren't unkind, but neither were they gentle.
"I want to join the marines," she repeated stubbornly.
He held up his hands in a placating gesture. "Okay, but it's not that simple. You're going to need-" he began.
"-a strong score on the ASVAB, to pass the standard physical exam, to have no dependents, to have a passing rank in third-tier education, as well as meeting all the other requirements for joining the military," she counted off on her fingers.
He stared at her.
"I read the pamphlet," she said.
Oh. That made sense.
"Well. If you know the requirements..." he began and pulled out a data slate with the forms on it, "then I suppose we should start the paperwork?" The girl – he couldn't help but think of her as a girl, no matter what her ID said – nodded slowly.
"Okay. You don't have a criminal record – that came up on the extended ID check already," he explained at her raised eyebrow, "– so we can skip that step." He tapped a couple boxes, signed his name, and flicked the digital form pad to the next page. "Now, I you're going to need to schedule a time to take the tests as well as go through a physical. We can put that on the calendar now, if you'd like," he offered.
"The sooner, the better," she said.
His eyes narrowed. "Are you in trouble?"
She shook her head. "No. I've been preparing for this for a while. I'd like to get going with it." She gave a small shrug and looked back at the form. "When's the first available date?"
Still scowling, he checked the calendar. "The twenty-third, so... about two weeks from now," he said. "It's held downtown, in the main recruitment center. Do you want to take the practice exam first? It can be a good way to figure out if you need more time to study," he asked.
"No. I already took it twice at the library. It's not really that difficult," she said with a combination of pride and scorn.
He chuckled. "Welcome to standardized testing, Shepard. Will you need a ride? I can arrange to have you picked up, if you'd like."
"No. I'll take the bus... or walk," she said with a slight grin. "The exercise'll be good practice, anyway."
He nodded and marked down her name and intent to take the tests. "Okay. 0800 – that's eight AM," he said as an afterthought, "at the main recruitment center. The address is on the pamphlet," he said as he handed her a a sheet. "Normally, we try to talk to a potential recruit a lot, figure out what the right job is for her, but since you seem set on the Marines we'll move straight to figuring out if you qualify. If you pass the tests, we can talk about things like signing bonuses, potential jobs, and the like, but I don't want to get your hopes up early, and we're supposed to close soon."
She nodded, standing and tucking the proffered pamphlet into the pocket of her cargo pants. He stood with her, and walked her to the door.
"One last thing," he said quietly. "if you don't show up, nothing bad happens – you can always reschedule. If at any time, you change your mind, just come back here and talk to me or comm me, we can pull you off the test."
"Thank you, Lieutenant Anderson," she said with a ghost of a smile, "but somehow, I doubt that'll happen."
With that, she stepped out of the door.
