Author's Note: Thanks to thebluninja for the December-Fic-Swap and thanks to TinyTurian for the prompt idea!
Rated T for brief drug use and swearing.
~#~#~#~
"What'll you have, Jack?" The bartender in a gruff yet amiable tone, as the woman plunked down onto the stool's lumpy red cushioning.
"What I always have. So just hurry up with it and shut up."
The bartender gave a swift nod and hurried away. He wouldn't have tolerated such attitude from most of his customers, but the last thing he needed was an angry biotic tearing apart his bar. He reasoned there was no shame in showing deference to the tattooed woman - most people tended to give her a wide berth, especially when she was in such a foul mood.
The bartender returned with her drink, a 'Tuchanka Sunrise'. She couldn't remember all the ingredients, but she knew it had a splash of ryncol to give the beverage a vicious kick. Jack gulped the harsh liquid, glad to have the day's events behind her.
Not long after arriving in town, Jack found herself living with a man who everybody referred to as 'Squeak'. True to the man's name, he had a distinctly rodent-like face, with nervous eyes that flickered toward every perceived danger. Jack wasn't dating Squeak, but she had slept with him on a few occasions, out of curiosity or boredom. Squeak was a low-level drug dealer, who sold painkillers out of the apartment they shared. He was smart enough to leave Jack alone, even if he wasn't quite bright enough to avoid getting high on his own merchandise. But through the man's illicit dealings, Jack had found employment shaking down addicts who owed Squeak money. It was nothing too difficult; all Jack had to do was show off her incredible biotic power. Sometimes it involved throwing a couple thugs around the room, or crushing furniture to the size of her fist. Things never became lethal, even if the thought did enter Jack's mind. She told herself it was to avoid the attention of the police, but sometimes she wondered… was she going soft?
Taking another gulp to drown such concerns, Jack ran a hand through the greasy brown hair atop her head. She was still unsure of whether she liked growing it out. Jack donned the same general outfit she had worn on the Normandy: baggy pants, and a thin leather strip across her breasts to make her appearance slightly less scandalous. And that was part of the reason why she was unsure about her new hairstyle – the more feminine appearance given by her longer hair seemed to attract the creeps. Not that they were of any concern to her; Jack had been living in this squalid neighborhood of New Orleans for three months, and already people knew to fear the "biotic bitch with the tattoos".
"You're a hard woman to find, Jack." A man slipped into the seat next to hers. He was older – probably in his late 40s or early 50s – judging by the gray hairs near his temples. His dark brown complexion matched his eyes, which studied Jack.
Jack didn't respond. The stranger was good-looking enough; if she were in a better mood, she might have brought him back to the apartment. However, that night she wanted nothing more than to be alone. She was about to tell the stranger to "fuck off" but then she gave the man a second look. It was clear he wasn't native to this part of the city. His posture was straight, almost rigid. His face with its piercing brown eyes somehow seemed to reflect a deep sense pride and honor. He was likely military, possibly Systems Alliance.
"Commander Shepard still asks about you, about how you're doing."
The mention of Commander Shepard triggered a memory in Jack's mind. Shepard used to mention her former captain on the Normandy, one of the first human N7s. The commander had a great respect for this man, and counted him among her few friends.
"Captain David Anderson, I got that right?" She signaled to the bartender, indicating that he should bring a pair of Sunrises for the both of them. "How is little Miss Girl Scout doing these days?"
"She's in Vancouver, awaiting her hearing."
"Ahh, right. I heard she blew up a batarian star system. I guess nobody's perfect after all, huh?" She gave a short, derisive laugh.
Anderson's eyes narrowed and fixed her with a cold stare. "You've served on the Normandy. You know what's at stake here, better than most people." His tone was icy, and Jack's mocking smile vanished. Their drinks arrived, and Anderson took a swig from his. Jack was anticipating a coughing fit at the drink's ferocity or at least a grimace, but Anderson's face was blank. "The ryncol's better on the Citadel," he observed.
"So Shepard sent you here to check on me?" asked Jack. "Well you can tell her I'm fine."
"I can see that," Anderson responded with a hint of irony. "So… I've heard that you refused to accept payment from Cerberus, after that assault through the Omega-4 Relay?"
Jack scowled. Even if The Illusive Man claimed he wasn't responsible for what happened to her as a child on Pragia, the researchers who tortured her still wore the Cerberus insignia. And besides, The Illusive Man, Miranda Lawson, and all the rest could've easily lied about their proclaimed innocence. The last thing Jack wanted to do was accept money from the group that ruined her life.
"My deal with Shepard was that I'd help out on her mission, in exchange for access to Cerberus files. I did my part, she did hers, and then I got off that fucking ship."
"Well, you might be happy to know that the Systems Alliance has… 'commandeered' the vessel. She's undergoing a paint job as we speak – Systems Alliance blue suits her better, I think."
Jack did her best to suppress a grin; the thought of The Illusive Man losing one of his most expensive toys was her new high point of the night.
"But, I'll be straight with you Jack." Anderson took a more serious tone. "I'm here to see you on a more official capacity, with an offer."
"Look, if you're going to ask me to enlist in the Alliance, forget it. I'm not interested in all the 'Yes sir, no sir'. And I'm really not a fan of the uniform," sneered Jack.
"It's nothing like that," Anderson assured her. "Jack… you're the most gifted human biotic in the galaxy. Hell, you're probably on the level of most asari commandos. Have you heard of Grissom Academy?"
Furrowing her brow, Jack struggled to remember what she had heard about the school. The drinks were starting to blur her thoughts. "Yeah… it's some kind of school for little rich geniuses."
Anderson shook his head. "It's got nothing to do with money. We provide scholarships to the most gifted youths humanity has to offer. They accept those with exceptional ability in math, science, the arts, and of most relevance to you: biotics. I'm here to offer you a job as an instructor."
"And do what, turn a bunch of biotic-wielding kids into weapons for the fucking Alliance? I've been on the receiving end of that kind of education, and you don't want them turning out like me, believe that." Her hands clenched into fists and the drug-hazed memories of her youth began to flood back. "I killed most of my 'classmates', and I still have the scars to prove it." She spat the words, and in a sudden fit of rage, she threw her half-empty glass at a wall. The sound of shattering glass silenced the din of the bar, and a few people aware of Jack's reputation began to edge toward the exit.
"Hey now-" The bartender started to protest.
"Fuck off!" yelled Jack. The sheer venom in the look she gave the man made him shrink back.
"There won't be any further trouble and I'll pay for damages here." Anderson's voice was curt and authoritative. He turned to Jack and spoke in a low, soothing voice. "When students graduate, they'll have the choice to enlist, or to rejoin society. We're talking about kids here, Jack – kids with biotic ability who get nose bleeds trying to move a book, or accidentally throw things when they get scared. And these kids are scared: plenty of people still have old prejudices about biotics, and these kids have all this power they don't know how to use."
"I don't want any goddamn charity – not from Shepard, not from anyone."
"Shepard has nothing to do with this. And if you take this job, you'll be reporting to a friend of mine. You screw up, and she'll throw you out on your ass." There was a hint of a smile on his face, but Anderson's tone was serious. He pulled a business card from his pocket and handed it to Jack. "That's her contact info. Think about it seriously, and contact her if you decide to take the job." Anderson passed her the remainder of his drink and stood, preparing to leave.
"Hey..." Jack's voice was scarce louder than a murmur. "Why me?"
"Because you're the best. And you, more than anyone, know what it's like to be a scared kid with a strange power." Anderson dropped a handful of credits on the counter. "Drinks are on me tonight. And whatever you decide Jack, I'm glad I got the chance to meet you."
~#~#~#~
Walking down the hallway on the top floor of her squalid apartment building, Jack could hear the sound of her neighbors screaming at each other. Whenever this happened in the past, she would pound on the wall between their apartments, amplifying the blows with her biotics to make the whole building shake. That usually shut people up quickly. However, she decided not to bother, figuring she wouldn't need to deal with it much longer.
She pushed open the door to her apartment and found Squeak rummaging through several boxes in the middle of the living room. His movements were twitchy and spastic – evidence that he was likely high again. He didn't seem to notice her, and so she stepped around him to her tiny bedroom. Jack pulled out a duffel bag and began to throw her few possessions inside.
"What's up?" Squeak was in her doorway, blinking rapidly with a nervous smile.
"I'm going off-world for a bit. I'm not taking much with me, so feel free to sell my crap or leave it for the next poor bastard that moves in." Jack slung the bag across a shoulder and attempted to slip past her roommate, but he moved to block her.
"What do you mean, 'off-world'?" He squinted at her. Jack gave him a quizzical look; Squeak had never acted like this before.
"Exactly what it sounds like. Off-world." Jack noticed what looked like powder in Squeak's thin moustache. "What are you on right now?"
"Ooh!" Squeak extended his hands toward the boxes in the other room, in an emphatic gesture. "New supplier! I got the real shit now." He pulled a small plastic bag from his pocket, filled with a fine crimson powder. "Red sand…"
Jack groaned. Most of the drugs Squeak sold were painkillers, or other prescription drugs. "This is a little out of your league, Squeak. And you won't have me around to keep your ass out of trouble."
Squeak's head snapped back toward Jack, his jovial mood evaporating. "Where are you going?" he asked in an accusing tone.
"None of your business." Jack bridled, starting to feel annoyance at Squeak's belligerence.
"You talking to cops? You got witness protection or some shit?"
"Are you kidding me? If I got a problem, I take care of it myself. You know that."
Squeak considered this for a moment, but then grinned. "Yeah, yeah. Man, you gotta try this. I'm dusted off my ass right now!" He cackled and pointed at a pile of cushions on the raggedy sofa across the room. His fingers began to glow with biotic energy. "Check out what I can do now…" The cushions began to quiver, but as the glow around Squeak's hand intensified, the cushions levitated into the air. "It's amazing..."
"Uh huh." Jack began to move closer toward the door. "That's great, just try to take it easy on that stuff."
"I think I can move even bigger things. I just need a bit more…" Squeak opened his tiny bag and proceeded to snort the powder.
"Hey-" Jack began to protest, but Squeak suddenly dropped the bag and held his arms out wide, as if he were the conductor of an unseen orchestra. His whole body began to emanate a cerulean glow.
"I'm just like you know." Squeak giggled, and all the furniture in the room began to shake. Jack recoiled and instinctively threw up her defensive biotic barriers. One by one, objects in the room began to lift themselves into the air, and circle in orbit around Squeak.
"Cut the shit," ordered Jack. "You don't know what you're doing." The small pieces of furniture began to circle faster, their flight patterns becoming more erratic.
"I touch them with my mind, and they dance…" Squeak cooed. A rivulet of blood began to trickle from his nose and stain the front of his shirt.
Jack was about to point this out to him, but a sudden stirring of movement from the ceiling caught her attention. A ceiling fan – which had been broken for as long as Jack had lived there – was beginning to tremble. It was directly above Squeak's head.
"Squeak-" Jack began to warn him, but in an instant the ceiling fan wrenched itself free. Squeak hadn't noticed the danger, and it began to fall.
Flinging her hand out, Jack's own biotic power began to surge inside her. The bio-amp at the base of her skull seemed to resonate with a dull heat – a warmth which began to flow throughout her body and to her extremities. Her eyes squinted and stared at Squeak, concentrating on his chest. She began to visualize an invisible bubble, a tiny mass effect field just outside his body. With a single thought, this bubble rapidly expanded before instantly contracting into nothingness. The sudden explosion of force hurled Squeak across the room. This whole process – honed by years of practice – had occurred in a split second. The ceiling fan crashed to the floor where he had stood, soon followed by the similar noises of falling furniture. Squeak collided with the wall and bounced off, landing on the filthy carpet with a soft groan.
"You stupid bastard." Jack stood above the half-conscious man, and kicked him in the ribs, but with little force. She scooped up the bags of red sand into her arms and stepped into the bathroom, emptying the contents of each into the toilet. When that was finished, she pulled on her duffel bag and prepared to leave.
"They… they dance." Squeak mumbled from the floor, but Jack wasn't even sure if he was awake.
"Do yourself a favor and don't take any more of that shit." Jack gave one last look at the apartment and shook her head. "If you can't control it, you're just going to get yourself killed."
~#~#~#~
Jack stood at the head of the classroom, staring down at a data pad that served as her textbook and lesson plan. She could hear the quiet rustle of hushed whispers from amongst the thirty or so students who sat at their desks. When Jack had first stepped into the room, they had gaped at her – her dress was more conservative now, but only consisted of a top made from white straps, a studded leather jacket, and camo-printed pants with combat boots. Most of her tattoos were hidden, but it was easy to tell that they covered most of her body.
Kahlee Sanders had insisted that Jack's former attire was wildly inappropriate, and while the two had bickered for an hour about the matter, they were eventually able to compromise. Lt. Sanders wasn't happy, but at least Jack's new clothes left some things to the imagination.
Even though she had accepted the job, Jack was still unsure of whether she was right for it. She figured that practical lessons would be easy enough: have the students throw stuff around, or lift things into the air. But Kahlee had insisted that Jack also conduct lectures, already prepared by textbooks describing biotic theory and biology. Jack raged against it, indicating she knew very little about 'textbook learning'. In time, they had compromised again. Jack would endure one hour of classroom lectures, while the rest of the day could be spent on actual biotic practice.
"Biotics is the ability to create mass effect fields using element zero modules embedded in body tissues, through the assistance of bio-amps in non-asari races." Jack read the words verbatim from her data pad in a flat voice. "Biotic abilities tend to fall into three categories: telekinesis, kinetic fields, and spatial distortion." Her brow furrowed upon reading the final category, and she quickly swiped down with her finger to read further. The term 'spatial distortion' had meant nothing to her, but upon reading more, it was beginning to make sense. She lowered the data pad and looked up at the class, who were still giving each other unsure looks. "So basically, biotics is about lifting and throwing shit, stopping shit from being thrown at you, and causing explosions to tear shit apart. Any questions?"
A student in the front row gave a nervous titter of laughter at the profanity, but the rest of the class stared at her in wide-eyed silence. Jack felt her face redden and was about to continue reading, but a hand rose tentatively from the back row.
"Yeah, you? What's your name?"
"P-Patricia Rodriguez, ma'am." A girl with black hair tied back into a ponytail spoke in a small voice. "I had sort of a general question about biotic abilities. Is… the intensity of biotic ability tied solely to the quantity of element zero present in the nervous system?"
"Huh?" Jack wasn't sure she understood the question. "What the hell are you talking about?"
Rodriguez's face went pale. "I-I mean… the amount of power you have, are you stuck with the amount you're born with?"
"Ah." Jack nodded. "Pretty much. Well… the amps they drill into the back of your skull help a bit. And you gotta practice with your abilities if you don't want to fuck up." An idea entered her mind; she was told to hold off on biotic practice until after lectures, but Lt. Sanders wasn't around… "Rodriguez, pick up that data pad."
The young student looked puzzled and reached down to her desk.
"Withyour biotics," Jack corrected. "Hold it steady above your head."
Rodriguez gulped and began to concentrate on the small device. As her hand glowed, the data pad began to hover a few inches off the desk.
"I fucking said, 'pick it up' Rodriguez. Higher! And hold the damn thing flat!" ordered Jack.
Rodriguez began to chew her bottom lip. The data pad began to levitate a few inches higher, but as it approached shoulder-height, it began to shudder. Rodriguez's forehead began to glimmer with perspiration, and the intensity of her biotic glow surged.
"For god's sake Rodriguez, it weighs less than a pound. Get your shit under control!" Jack called out, but it only seemed to unnerve the student further. The data pad's movements became more erratic and violent, until with a sudden cracking noise, it seemed to shatter itself into a handful of pieces that clattered to the ground. A few students laughed out loud, and Rodriguez's eyes began to glimmer with the beginnings of tears.
"I'm…" The student couldn't bring herself to finish.
"What the fuck Rodriguez, was that your first time?" Something about the girl's meekness was irritating to Jack. "If you can't even lift a data pad, I have no idea how you got into this class. God damn."
Rodriguez opened her mouth as if to say something, but a sob escaped her lips. She abruptly turned and ran from the classroom.
Jack swore, instantly knowing she had overreacted. "Fuck…" With a flick of her wrist, she used her biotics to grab the pieces of the broken pad, and toss them into the salvage bin. "It's time for independent study. Go read… something."
~#~#~#~
"I'm not used to being around kids – I have no idea how to talk to them." Jack vented her frustration in Kahlee Sanders' office, pacing back and forth. "But c'mon, a simple data pad? How was I supposed to know she'd fuck that up?" She exhaled and came to a stop. "I shouldn't be here, you better just find somebody else…"
"You're free to quit if you want, but you shouldn't give up after one hour." Kahlee sighed. "Cadet Rodriguez is a gifted biotic, but she gets rattled very easily."
"So what am I supposed to do, give her a hug and a pat on the head? If that's what these kids need, then I'm definitelynot the right person for the job."
"Not at all. These students may be teenagers, but they're on the verge of becoming adults. Discipline – a dose of reality – will help them greatly." Kahlee leaned forward in her chair. "But being angry all the time won't help anything. You'll need to encourage them, as well as point out their mistakes. They need to know that you're on their side. For a start, you could hold off on all the swearing."
Upon hearing of the no-cursing rule, Jack gave Kahlee such a genuine look of astonishment that the older woman almost laughed. But when Jack realized that this was non-negotiable, she gave a noisy aggravated sigh. She began to pace again.
"Look…" Kahlee started. "It would be such a waste to have you leave so soon after arriving. I'll take your morning lectures for a few days so you can concentrate on the practical training. You'll get more comfortable with the students. Do we have a deal?"
Jack thought about it. A year ago, Jack knew she would never have even considered Anderson's offer back in that bar. She probably would've used her biotics to throw him out the door, and pick his wallet as she left. But now? Had being on the Normandy really changed her so much?
"Damn that queen of the girl scouts…" muttered Jack.
"Hm? Did you say something?"
"I'll give it a try. But don't get your hopes up."
~#~#~#~
Grissom Academy wasn't as large as some space stations Jack had seen, but it was definitely one of the nicest. At the station's center, there were large park areas with real trees and bushes, and the plant life helped to mask the stale metallic scent that many places had. One section of the station had a large field that was used for sporting events in the evenings, and biotic practice during class hours. Jack noted that all of the students had showed up for practice, including Rodriguez who took care not to look at anybody.
"All right!" The quiet chatter of the students died as Jack began to speak. "What we have here are sandbags, fifty pounds each." She motioned to a row of ten sacks on a painted white line at one end of the field. "Today is going to be nice and simple. Each of you will take turns at one of these bags and throw it as far as you can. You'll get more distance if you lift it a few feet, but other than that there's nothing fancy. It'll be some nice mindless destruction." A few of the students laughed. "Any questions?"
"Do we have to pick up and carry the sandbags back after we throw them?" A female cadet with skinny arms asked with a nervous glance at the heavy bags.
Jack smirked. "I'll take care of it. Any other questions? Good! Line up and get ready to throw some sh-…stuff."
The first group of ten students lined up, and each lifted the sandbag a few feet off the ground before hurling them. Most of the bags failed to travel more than twenty yards, but two of the students managed to pass thirty. Jack suppressed her instinct to admonish such a poor showing.
"Well… it's a start. I bet many of you thought that with biotics, your days of lifting weights were over. Hell no!" Lifting both her hands, Jack pointed her palms in the general direction of the sandbags. Each began to hover off the ground and glide slowly back to the students. A few gave impressed noises - lifting heavy sandbags scattered so far apart, and propelling them back in such a casual manner was a testament to Jack's ability. Although Jack took care to appear nonchalant while she did it, it actually took a great deal of concentration.
"It's about efficiency and center of mass. When you're lifting the bag, find its center. If you concentrate there, you can be more efficient about the energy you use and lift even heavier things. Then, when you're ready to throw the bag, focus on hitting that center," she instructed. Truthfully, Jack had overheard the technical explanation from Jacob, her ex-shipmate on the Normandy, as he had explained it to a non-biotic crewmember. So much of Jack's own biotic ability was honed through constant use and 'feel', but that was something difficult to explain.
"Do better!" Jack yelled out, but then remembered Kahlee's advice on encouragement. "Prangley! Bellarmine! Those throws were… decent." The praise sounded awkward to Jack, who was not used to giving any. "Next!"
The next group of students noticeably improved, with all of the bags passing the thirty-yard marker.
"It's still hard," one student complained. "The sand moves around too much and shifts the center of mass."
"Get used to it!" Jack overheard the comment and called back. "One day you'll be lifting enemies into the air, and when they flail around you'll be dealing with the same problem."
The final group of students walked up to the row of bags. Rodriguez was in this group. Jack studied her – something seemed off…
Nine of the students launched their sandbags, and they all seemed to travel as far as the group before them. Rodriguez hesitated for a few heartbeats, and then her own hands glowed azure. While holding her left hand steady, Rodriguez pulled her right fist back, only to have it shoot forward again in a violent punching motion. The bag, which had been hanging listlessly in the air, became a blur as it flung forward. The sheer force of the impact evidently punctured the bag, for as it flew, a trail of sand followed behind it. A cloud of sand bloomed up as it hit the ground – well beyond the marker for eighty yards. The rest of the students cheered.
Jack's eyes narrowed as she watched Rodriguez smiling sheepishly at her peers. At first, she wondered if some other students had lent their biotic power to help with the launch, but she doubted they were experienced enough to coordinate a simultaneous strike. Jack clapped slowly as she stepped toward her students.
"Not bad Rodriguez. Hell, that was damn impressive. That must've taken a lot out of you." Jack stopped within a few paces and began to study the girl.
"No, ma'am," the student boasted. "I feel like I can do this all day."
"Well, clearly, you have your throws down perfect. How about you take the rest of the afternoon off?"
"Actually, I think I'd like to practice some more, I bet I can-"
"Nonsense," interrupted Jack. "Take the afternoon off." Her words were slow and deliberate.
"Um, sure." Her smile withered at Jack's tone, and with a final glance at her classmates, scurried from the field.
"Well, we're down to nine bags now." Jack began to pull the training materials back into line. "But we're going to keep going until I see some decent improvement. Cadet Qiao! Don't get cocky, I want another twenty yards out of you before we're done here."
Jack walked back to the sidelines of the field, but she was distracted. The signs on Rodriguez's body were subtle, and doubtless none of the other students had noticed. But there were signs: the slight tremor in her arms, the dilation of her pupils, and the constant swallowing as if the girl were trying to hide evidence of a nosebleed. Jack had seen this before…
~#~#~#~
"Ma'am?" Rodriguez opened the door to her quarters, and blinked in surprise at seeing Jack.
"Can I come in?" asked Jack, but pushed past the student instead of waiting for an answer. "I think we should talk."
"What about, ma'am?"
"Your red sand usage, for one. It is red sand, isn't it? Please tell me you're not stupid enough to take Minagen X3."
Rodriguez gaped. "I don't know what y-"
"Cut the sh-…Cut the crap, Rodriguez." Jack gestured at her tattoos. "Do I look like the kind of chick who's spent a lot of time in decent society? I know the signs when I see it. So tell me why."
Tears began to show at the corners of Rodriguez's eyes. "After today's morning lecture I… I was worried that I didn't belong here. If I couldn't even lift a single data pad… I can't go back home." She wiped away at tears that were now flowing down her cheeks. "When my mom was pregnant with me, she was travelling with my dad, but there was an accident and she got exposed to eezo. Months later, she went into labor, but there were complications… due to my biotics."
Jack winced, guessing at the implication. She was no doctor, but she knew a few things about her condition. Biotic abilities tended to manifest during childhood, but it was possible for symptoms to appear earlier, perhaps if in-utero exposure to element zero was severe enough…
"I killed her… and he blames me for it." Rodriguez wept.
Jack felt awkward, unsure of whether she should comfort the girl. For a moment, she wondered if it was just some sob story, but Jack was usually pretty good at catching deception, and she sensed none of it here.
"That… sucks. It's not your fault," Jack said lamely. "Your father, did he…?" Her voice trailed off, unsure of how to finish the question.
"He never hit me or anything." Rodriguez shook her head. "But the way he acts, and the way he looks at me sometimes when I use my biotics – I can't bear it. I think the only time he's ever smiled is when I left to come here."
"Good. That he never hit you, I mean." The tattooed woman was uncomfortable with the level of emotion in the room. "That was probably your first hit of red sand, right?" When Rodriguez nodded in response, Jack pursed her lips. "Where is it now?"
The student motioned toward a desk drawer, and watched as her instructor removed three small pouches of red sand. "What's going to happen to me?" Rodriguez asked.
"Well, you clearly didn't take enough to get fully sandblasted, so you'll only partiallyfeel like crap as you detox over the next few days." Jack bounced the small pouches in her hand, feeling the weight. "And this stuff… is going out the airlock."
"Am I expelled?"
"No." Jack pointed a finger inches from the girl's face. "But if you fuck up like this again, you willbe expelled – and worse, you'll have pissed me off." Jack didn't bother to correct her cursing and Rodriguez shuddered.
Jack turned to leave, but stopped just before she reached the door. "You know what happened in class today, to that data pad?" Her tone was softer now, and Rodriguez looked up and shrugged.
"No ma'am."
"You were doing okay for a bit, but then you over-thought the problem. I told you to hold the data pad flat, so you tried applying forces from the side, and then forces to counter those. I wouldn't be surprised if you were even pushing downward with your biotics at one point." Jack lifted one of the pouches to demonstrate. "You were trying so hard to stay flat that you ended up fighting yourself. So naturally, you tried to up the intensity, and… well, I won't make a mess of your room with this little baggie here." She let the pouch drop back into her palm.
"So… I'm strong enough?"
"Pretty much." Jack pressed a button on the wall, and the door slid open. "You've got plenty of raw power to work with: not too many beginners would be able to snap a data pad in half." She laughed and Rodriguez's face showed a ghost of a smile at the tacit compliment. "I'm keeping an eye on you, Rodriguez." Jack's voice echoed behind her as she stepped into the hallway.
~#~#~#~
"If you were missing something at breakfast this morning, here's why." Four cartons of eggs floated above Jack's glowing palm. She and the students were back on the practice field. "I know you kids are too old for games, but I think this'll work perfectly for a lesson. Egg toss… but I think you can guess what the twist is. Pair up, toss the egg to your partner, and then take a step back. No hands!"
Many of the students were smiling, anticipating what would likely be an entertaining lesson. They paired up, and Jack saw that Rodriguez had matched up with Prangley. Out of the entire class, those two students were the ones with the most potential, although everybody there was quite gifted.
"Remember, it's not just about accuracy, it's about being able to decelerate the egg slowly enough!" But right after Jack spoke those words, Rodriguez gave a sudden yelp of surprise as egg yolk dripped down the front of her uniform.
"Way to go there, Trish!" Prangley laughed at his partner, but then he too gave a shout of alarm as an egg shattered in the center of his forehead.
Jack gave a wicked grin at her precise aim. "Don't think I didn't see that Prangley! We're not throwing fastballs here – work with your partner!"
The other students laughed and jeered at Prangley, while Jack levitated a towel toward him.
"The psychotic biotic strikes again…" Prangley called back to his friends, wiping his forehead.
Jack laughed – she took pride in her nickname. "There's nothing like good old teamwork!" Jack added with a hint of mockery. But then, she began to recall some of her own adventures over the past year. "Speaking of which, have you kids ever heard of a planet called Haestrom? Probably not… it's in geth territory." The students halted their egg-throwing and began to crowd in closer to their instructor. "I was there on a mission once, with a turian sniper and my old commander – a real girl scout, that one." She picked up a few eggs and began to arrange them on the ground. "We were pinned down by this giant Colossus, so the commander had an idea…"
Her students listened with rapt attention.
~#~#~#~
Author's Note: Well that ended up being rather lengthy, but I guess it's a oneshot, so I can go a little long. I think I might've been a little excessive in describing Squeak's red sand high, but maybe we can guess the red sand wasn't reacting too well with whatever else he might be on. Also, I might've taken some liberties with how biotics use their powers, but I felt adding some faux-technical explanations were appropriate given the topic.
Reviews of any kind are appreciated as always. :)