Chapter 13 – Master and the Lieutenant

May 2174

Three years earlier

Twenty-eight year old Brooklyn Seltzer sat in the chair in the waiting room, her military dress shoes tapping up the carpeted floor. To entertain herself further, she looked out the nearby window into the Alliance Naval Academy campus to see a detachment of midshipmen marching along with one of the full officers, holding flags, lancer assault rifles, and batons. It was nearing the end of the semester, and these 'freshmen' were marching in perfect formation and synchronization, all a result of the intense training from the higher ranking midshipmen and officers.

The Creswell Systems Alliance Naval Academy was a former academy for the Australian navy, converted for use to train the best of the space faring Alliance naval officers. These academies numbered seven on earth, one for each continent. Brooklyn had spent a year at the academy in Annapolis before being transferred over to Creswell, for purposes that she would have rather not discussed openly to anyone who asked.

"Midshipman Seltzer?" The receptionist called out, leaning over her desk to spot the woman in question. "The head dean of Naval Aviation would like to see you now."

Brooklyn stood up and nodded, adjusting the collar and lapels of her black Alliance naval academy uniform. She continued onto the office door, her throat drawing back and swallowing a large amount of saliva that gathered under her tongue. The mandatory meeting's subject matter was left to the imagination, as she had no idea what to expect Commander Trevarthen to discuss with her today.

She grasped the door's handle, the ingress swinging open and revealing Commander Trevarthen in all her short, grayish blonde haired glory, shuffling papers. On her desk sat a six foot tall skinny man in much more relaxed naval clothing, including a T-shirt, suspenders, blue trousers and standard issue boots. He looked to be no more than around twenty-five, sporting jet black hair and a set of scowling, angry hazel eyes. Brooklyn merely froze a few moments before standing at full attention.

"At ease, midshipman." Commander Trevarthen ordered, not making eye contact as she rubbed some ink on a nearby paper, and continued typing away at her holographic flat screen computer console. "This is Staff Lieutenant Paterson of Alliance Naval Intelligence, he'll be sitting in on this meeting."

"Don't fucking eyeball me, midshipman." Paterson growled, not inching a muscle off the desk where he leaned. Brooklyn was scarcely aware that her eyes turned to glance at the lieutenant once again, and blinked, her eyes leering straight ahead of her once again. This was not a particularly decent first impression the intelligence officer was providing, but it was not rare for full blooded naval officers to thumb their noses at academy students.

"Midshipman 2nd Class Brooklyn Chosokabe Seltzer." The commander brought up her file. "What exactly are you doing here, Ms. Seltzer?"

"I beg your pardon, ma'am?" Brooklyn asked.

"Oh, she didn't make the question blatantly accessible or anything!" Lt. Paterson responded in a raging sarcastic manner as he leaned forward, an angry face that could only be matched by Saint Michael himself. "Answer it for shit's sake!"

Brooklyn bit her upper lip. "I'm here because you sent for-"

"Don't miss the point. Why are you in the navy?"

Naturally, Brooklyn was still wondering what the lieutenant was doing here in the meeting. The military intelligence officer in a meeting with the dean was certainly a cause for concern. "I'm here to be a pilot. For Mother Earth and Humanity."

"Yeah, and I'm here to get free hemorrhoid ointment from the medical plan." Paterson piped, shrugging his shoulders. "Face it, commander. She's probably like the others who enlist; waiting for a chance to blow up a transport ship full of turian children because she's sore one of their daddies kicked her daddy in the nuts during First Contact."

Trevarthen made a deceiving smile, ignoring Paterson's previous take. "Yes. You're here to be a pilot. Slated to graduate soon. Completed the final training exercise just yesterday, the Crucible Hour. How did it feel actually handling a frigate and journeying between mass relays?"

"I believe I earned those wings fair and square, ma'am." Brooklyn confirmed.

The young and brash lieutenant did not answer to that particular statement. He straightened his posture, his rump lifting off the edge of the table and his legs stepping forth, pacing around the room.

"Well, your file, specifically your pre-military records have come across as rather peculiar to practically everyone who has read them." She brought up the additional files by flicking her fingers across the navigation interfaces. Brooklyn was somewhat curious enough to have the desire to ask if she felt the same way, but instead resisted, as was expected of her.

"Well I really have to admit, midshipman..." Paterson spoke, taking out a stick of chewing gum from his pocket and placing it between two of his molars. He stepped closer to Brooklyn, but still far away enough to where he could yell at her and not cause superficial damage to her ears. "...when I read your file, one would think you probably wanted to prove something."

Brooklyn scowled, not answering.

"A freaking four-point-one on your high school grade point average. A big fat diploma from Cornell Law, with a membership in the Stubjack Society. You're an ivy-league attorney, not a helmsman in the fleet. With something like that you could be making millions of credits defending rugby players and actors after they bludgeoned their spouses to death with their trophies or guild awards!" One side of his mouth mashed his chewing gum like cattle would chew cud. "Seltzer, what are you doing in my navy?"

"That's one reason why I didn't do anything with the law degree." Brooklyn retorted. "I realized a little too late that lawyers really are credit chomping toolboxes and lying assholes."

"Watch your fucking mouth midshipman, you are in the presence of goddamn superior officers!" Paterson did not bat an eye or move a limb even when shouting like an angry demon.

"Aye, aye sir." Brooklyn complied, looking down at her feet again. Trevarthen was merely watching in anticipation, her hands folded upon the desk.

"What the hell are you doing with that hairstyle, Seltzer?" Paterson was referring to Brooklyn's front left section of her hair being dyed blonde upon dark. "Do they really let midshipmen disgrace their uniforms like this?"

"No excuse, sir." Brooklyn decided it was best to just give in to the intelligence officer's overbearing demeanor, and let him take the lead in this tango of military hotheadedness.

"Drop in the bucket compared to some other stuff you did. Got into a fight with a midshipman one class ahead of you at Annapolis so they sent you down here to Creswell, huh?" He began pacing along a line in the room. "Even hacked a basic training firefight simulation back in '70 to give you an edge. Who the hell do you think you are? James Tiberius Kirk?"

"No sir."

"Right." He popped his gum once again, sitting back on the edge of the desk while crossing his arms and legs. "You're not Captain Kirk. Because Kirk wouldn't be indirectly responsible for killing his drill instructor in a terminal overload explosion, let alone dye his fucking hair like a slutty tabloid model."

Brooklyn was starting to lose her patience with the lieutenant, but still controlled her breathing and resisted the urge to make murderous glares.

"Yeah, we know the military tribunal you went to ruled you not responsible for Gunnery Chief Joseph Brenna's untimely demise, but we all that was probably because the Alliance is constantly desperate for new recruits that they're willing to sweep anything under a rug."

"Your family..." Trevarthen muttered, staring at the screen again.

"Second of four children. Older brother is in middle management in Sirta Foundation, younger sister is in medical school in Tokyo University, and the youngest brother is still in high school. Did I get that right?" Brooklyn still abstained from response, but was quite impressed by Patersons memory capacity.

"Mother currently making progress in a psychiatric hospital, because of the death of your father." Paterson leaned forward. "How did dad die, Ms. Seltzer? Was it turians? Corporate spies? Natural freakin' causes?"

"Sniper took him out." Brooklyn looked back up at him, breathing and speaking through closed teeth. "If you're so intelligent, why don't you tell me?"

Brooklyn immediately regretted what she had just said in her internal, but it looked like the lieutenant was going to ignore the insubordinate comment. He instead leaned back, his mouth prancing as he chewed the spearmint gum. "So even after all this time, you had plenty of months to be on the rag over this crap, why didn't you join the fleet sooner?"

"I didn't make decisions as fast as I do now. Sir." Brooklyn glared at him. "I'm pretty goddamn serious about this, and I certainly was not that way at Cornell. Just ask the professors, and the lady who graded my BAR exam, which I barely passed."

Trevarthen merely smiled at the scene in front of her, Paterson slowly turning his head to see the dean-commander's reaction. "Midshipman Seltzer, during a recruit's time at basic training, and their enrollment in any Alliance military academies, they are always observed by particular branches of the navy. Staff Lieutenant Paterson here, has been observing students like you for quite some time. What do you think of the midshipman, lieutenant?"

Paterson leaned over and spat his chewing gum into a wastebasket, then approached Brooklyn closer, his military boots heel-toeing perfectly. "Ms. Seltzer, I think you're a prudish, upper middle class ivy-league punk with an attitude problem and a mid life crisis that came a little too early." He stopped, his arms unfolding and placing his hands at his hips. "And for that, I think you're just the type of person Naval Intel needs."

Brooklyn finally got the hint. Even with her Cornell University education, she was not exactly expecting this.

Trevarthen stood up, circling around the desk. "Midshipman, if you were to enroll in the Naval Intelligence wing, you would ultimately skip your fourth academic year at Creswell, but the initial bonus pay is more than reasonable, and you will get to use your pilot wings for the best of purposes, and hold the rank of First Lieutenant."

"Would make the fam more financially stable after what happened to your father, especially since one of your sister is still in college and your younger bro may be on that way. Pretty good deal if you ask me." Paterson raised his eyebrows.

"You would spend more time away from Earth however, but from what I hear, and what the lieutenant obviously knows, it would never a dull moment." Trevarthen leaned back against her own desk.

Paterson tilted his head. "It's your lucky chance. Lots of action, and good pay.

After the meeting they were in the downstairs lobby, the head dean still in her office. Paterson handed Brooklyn a folder full of papers. "Keep in mind that this stuff is really classified. That's why we're only running it through paper, and not the net. Don't lose any of this or show it to other midshipmen, or even faculty members." Brooklyn grasped the folder and inspected it. It was unlabeled by name, but had a case file.

"You'll have a few days to study this." Paterson continued. "Come meet me by the pier at 8:00 at Tuesday. I'll page your omni tool to remind you."

With that, he stood at full attention, saluting Brooklyn, who returned. "Carry on, Midshipman."

He trotted outside of the lobby doors, grasping the blue beret under his belt and placing it atop his head. Brooklyn looked back at the file, breaking the seal, but making sure no one else in the building was around. Curiously, she glanced through the papers, one of them having a photograph of a man in Blue Suns armor, brandishing a five o'clock shadow beard, cropped hair, and an assault rifle, one foot placed upon an unknown wounded and bloodied man who lay on the ground. The dossier identified the man, as "Craddock, Burke J."