The difference between great people and everyone else is that great people create their lives actively, while everyone else is created by their lives, passively waiting to see where life takes them next.

- Captain David Anderson

"So where is this wonder boy?" Anderson sounded bored, and a little angry, but Ingles knew better than to hold it against him. Anderson had been angry for months; about some shady Council business that was so far above his clearance level Ingles was pretty sure it would be treason to think too hard about what it might be.

"Potential wonder boy," he replied, "and he's over there. It's his day off."

He indicated a grassy knoll at the corner of the training yard, where a group of young soldiers were lounging around, most of them joking and shoving each other or fighting quietly over the shade thrown by a couple meagre trees. Anderson squinted through the glare and opened his mouth as though he were about to ask which of them he was, but after a moment he just nodded and looked back at Ingles.

"He's got a stupid haircut," he said, in a voice that revealed nothing. "When did it become cool for kids to look like idiots?"

"Around the dawn of time," Major Ingles replied, cutting the air irritably with the flat of his hand. "That's not the point. What do you think?"

"From here?" Anderson raised an eyebrow.

"You knew who it was. That says something."

"Maybe. Maybe it says more about your other students," Anderson squinted back across the tarmac, picking out what details he could.

While his companions joked and sweated, enjoying their temporary reprieve from training under the sweltering sun, Shepard was sitting still and watching. It wasn't that he had excluded himself, he was very much a part of the group. Occasionally he would even join in the horse play, shove someone or crack some joke that made his companions laugh and slap him on the back. Everyone reacted to him, even the interlopers who just rolled their eyes when they thought he wasn't looking. When he stood up and waved goodbye the group dissolved as though some plug had been pulled somewhere.

Shepard circled the training yard a couple times, looking casual enough, but with definite purpose in his movements for anyone paying enough attention to follow them. After a couple minutes of watching him, Anderson turned back to Ingles.

"Who's the other kid? The one giving orders down there?" He stabbed his fingers in the direction of a rippling specimen of a soldier, all over-blown muscles and testosterone who was standing in the middle of a drilling unit trumpeting like a stallion in heat. It was hard to tell exactly, with the two of them on opposite ends of the field, but he was at least twice the size of the red haired boy.

"That's Emery Washington," Ingles replied. "He's got everything Shepard needs and none of what he's got."

"Meaning?"

"He's confident. He's decided he wants to be an officer and he's dedicated himself to being squad leader for this quarter's potential graduates. But leadership skills? Personality? A brain?" Ingles shook his head. "No such luck."

"And he gives Shepard a hard time?"

"Constantly. Shepard is a bit of a runt, but he's got a mouth you have to hear to believe," Ingles shook his head. "Washington's smacked him around a bit, nothing serious of course, but whenever the two of them come up against each other in the yard Shepard makes him look like the worst kind of a fool."

"So what's Shepard planning?"

"I- what do you mean?" Ingles stepped up to the window and squinted down at the yard. Shepard was easy enough to identify with his bright crimson hair, and he was most definitely watching the more sombre looking Emery Washington. It was hard to tell from this distance, but it looked like he was grinning in a very disconcerting way.

"You mean you don't know?" Anderson laughed. "You can't expect to motivate this brat if you wait until he brings this place down around your ears to pay attention to him."

"Okay, I've put up with your bad attitude for three months now David," Ingles scowled, "but this isn't funny."

"No, it's not."

"How do you know he's planning something?"

"Take a look at that smile," Anderson was grinning himself, for the first time in a long while. "I certainly can't come up with an innocent thought that could have spawned it."

Shepard did look a little sinister, standing there, grinning from ear to ear as he watched Washington spit strings of jumbled orders. The recruits he had managed to get together milled around him in confusion, not sure if they were supposed to be working in tandem or splitting into platoons. After another long moment Shepard turned and stalked away toward the dorms, typing feverishly on his omnitool.

"Now you've got me worried," Ingles sighed, rubbing at his forehead. The glare of the sun on the tarmac was giving him a wicked headache.

"If it's just started now you must be the worst soldier in the world," Anderson laughed, "I don't even remember the last time I had some peace of mind. Now let's have a drink. You can tell me more about this boy you want me to fix for you."

"He reminds me a lot of you, actually," Ingles began as they retreated into the cooler, darker reaches of his office. He found his flask in the top drawer of his desk and mostly clean glasses on the shelf. "You remember what I said about him having a big mouth?"

"I can't believe this, Washington," Ingles shook his head as he led the swollen-eyed, confused young soldier toward the holding cells. "I really expected better of you. This qualifies as treason in a dozen different ways. What were you thinking?"

"I don't understand," Washington moaned. He wasn't even bothering to fight the two sergeants that were hauling him down the corridor after the major. "What did I do?"

"Don't be cute," Ingles scowled, "it doesn't become you. I thought it was your bullying that would get you into trouble but this is just too much."

Above the narrow corridors, perched on the maintenance catwalks with his omnitool glowing, the real culprit watched the scene unfold with relish. Unlike the unfortunate Emery Washington he knew exactly who had hacked the schools personnel files and rummaged through a number of his greatest competitors records to make them seem just a little less competent, a little more prone to lapses in judgement, and then accessed Washington's files and built them up until he appeared to be the most stellar, gleaming, prosaic example of a soldier the school had ever seen. It had been a clumsy job really, all paths leading straight back to the bewildered soldier's net address if one could overcome just a few clumsy, misleading firewalls. It was a gutsy, no holds barred, and yet completely ineffective tactic. It had Washington's big, awkward signature all over it.

"Enjoying the show?" Anderson asked, as he appeared behind the boy who had been laughing silently with such exuberance that he was biting down on his knuckles to keep it controlled. Below them, Washington continued to moan and rock with confusion, tears slipping down his face.

Shepard let out a bark of laughter too strong to conceal properly, though he managed to twist it into an unconvincing half-cough, before he turned around and faced the other man. He had composed his face into a mask of polite confusion but his eyes, his ferociously blue eyes, were sharp and wary and undeniably mocking.

"Sir?" He asked politely, pushing himself to his feet and sketching a quick but adequate salute. "I don't understand."

"I don't think that's ever been true, of anything in your life Recruit Shepard," Anderson replied, his eyes going hard. "We're going to have a conversation now, and it'll go much better for you if you don't try to bullshit me. I'm not like these other assholes. Consider me bullshit proof."

The boy didn't say anything. He didn't need to, there was arrogance written over every line of his young face. Anderson took a closer look at him, openly studying him and evaluating him and hid his smile when he saw the predictable touch of anger it brought to his features. Kids like this, who were used to being smarter than everyone else, hated it when they met someone who wasn't willing to accept their greatness as fact.

"If you're eighteen," Anderson said after a long moment, "I'm the queen of France."

"Your Majesty!" The boy sunk into a massive, exaggerated bow. "I didn't recognize you without the powdered wig!"

Anderson couldn't help it, he laughed, and then scowled as he realized it had just shifted the dynamic of their conversation. He wasn't used to kids like this. Most recruits at this age, or whatever age this kid really was for that matter, couldn't be trusted to tell their ass from their elbow. He grabbed the railing of the cat walk and sat down, dangling his legs over the edge. Shepard watched him warily, but sank down into a similar seat beside him after a moment.

"So," Anderson began carefully, "Washington."

"Washington is a piece of shit," Shepard cut him off vehemently, "and he deserves everything he gets."

"Washington is an able recruit," Anderson replied sternly, "you think that just because he's not as good as you he's no good at all. That's a dangerous attitude to take in any situation, but especially in the military."

"I'm not stupid," Shepard sniffed, "I know that people have different skills. Washington is dangerous though, because HE doesn't realize that. He thinks he's the best at everything no matter how poorly he does, and he was going to be squad leader because he's a bully not because he's any damn good at anything."

"You don't really expect me to believe you give a shit who the squad leader is do you?" Anderson asked. "I'm bullshit proof, remember. If you gave a damn you would be putting all the work you put into making sure he didn't get it into making sure you did."

"I don't give a damn," Shepard agreed, "except when it affects me."

"So you were afraid of what would happen if he got it? That he'd give you an even harder time of it?"

Shepard pursed his lips and blew a raspberry, a reaction that made him look his years all the more strongly. His arms were draped loosely over the chest-high safety bar, his legs dangling. He appeared to be in the middle of a growth spurt, an inch and a half of gangly limbs overshot each of his cuffs as he hung there.

"I'm not afraid of him," the boy drawled, "but an inept squad leader is all it would take to get me stuck in basic for another six months."

"Ah yes, your meteoric rise to the top ranking student in school," Anderson replied, "I'd almost forgotten about that. You did a much better job of hiding your cyber-tracks there. Then again, you wanted Washington to get caught didn't you?"

"I didn't do anything to my stats!" Shepard snapped, his eyes flashing. It was the first genuine emotion he had put forth so far, Anderson could see a hot flush spread up his neck as the boy turned to look at him. "I EARNED my place on the boards, because I AM the best, and I-"

He shut his mouth rapidly, scowling as he realized what he'd almost confessed to.

"And you weren't about to let Washington ruin it for you," Anderson nodded. "Okay, I get that."

"Okay?" Shepard asked, raising an eyebrow. "You aren't much of a soldier."

"I've heard that a lot in the last few months," Anderson said darkly. "In any case, I don't think you're going to make much of one either. At least not the way you're going."

"Probably not," Shepard replied, sounding unaccountably glum about it. "Smart men don't make very good one's do they?"

"Not the really smart ones, no."

They sat in silence for a while. Anderson went over what he'd learned about the boy again, from his dubious credentials to the fact that he'd inhaled every class he'd taken at Basic over the last year. The Alliance made basic academic classes available over computer terminals for their recruits 'self-directed ambitions' and they were accessed and completed by about 0.8% of recruits. Shepard had taken all of them, rocketing himself from a street kid without a drop of formal education to an A-level highschool graduate in a little over eight months.

"So you're smart," he said after a moment. "Really smart. What did your IQ test out at?"

"IQ tests are garbage," Shepard sneered, "but I tested out at 165."

"So you're a genius," Anderson corrected himself. He ignored Shepard's self-depreciating laughter and barreled on. "It's not like the Alliance doesn't allow for genius. You could-"

"I don't want to ride a desk," Shepard interrupted with a scowl. "I've seen your Alliance bureaucrats, and that's not me."

"Right. So brains, guts, gun-skills," Anderson ticked them off on his fingers, "how's your hand-to-hand?"

Shepard's face was bleak and remote.

"It's good enough," he said flatly.

"Right. Well, I only see one option for you, Shepard," Anderson pulled himself to his feet and looked down at the boy. "It's time to grow up and get serious. You're going to the Tech Academy."

Shepard looked up at him blankly.

"You want me to be an engineer?" He asked, blinking. "No way. I'm not going to hunch in the background while other people tackle the frontlines."

"There's a new program coming in," Anderson extended a hand to him, "not really public knowledge yet. Have you heard of the Infiltrators?"

"That engineering unit that got ambushed by Batarian pirates?" Shepard took the offered hand and let Anderson haul him to his feet. "Who hasn't heard of them? A bunch of egg heads getting the one-up over a horde of screamers, it's a true Alliance parable."

Anderson ignored the sarcasm.

"Well, they've put together a special program at Calypso Base. I think you'd qualify."

"Jupiter?" That piqued his interest. Like most Earthborn the idea of space still held some romance and mystery for him. "I'd like to see Jupiter."

"Good. I should warn you though, there's no room for hanging out on the back-burner at the Tech Academy. You're going to have academics and physical training, work detail, officer training-"

"Officer training?" Shepard rubbed at his chemical red hair. "I don't..."

"You can't tell me that after all this, being an officer is what scares you," Anderson scowled. "Don't tell me I've been wasting my time with you."

"It's just," Shepard shrugged, "who's going to take orders from me?"

"Someone smart," Anderson replied, "who wants to stay alive. Now are you coming with me, or are you going to let fear get in your way?"

Shepard scowled.

"I'm not afraid."

"Good. The new semester at the Academy begins at the end of the month."

"What about Basic?" Shepard asked. "The semester here doesn't end until June."

"You've been graduated," Anderson produced the papers from his jacket pocket, "Major Ingles already signed it, so you could focus on the courses you'll need to get up to speed for the classes at Calypso."

"Classes? It's two weeks until the end of the month!"

"So work hard," Anderson shrugged, "or go home. If you want to be something, you're going to have to work for it. You can't expect life to hand you greatness."

Shepard sighed.

"If you put it that way," he shrugged, "it's not really a choice at all."

"Good boy," Anderson clapped him on the shoulder, "go get your shit. I'll take you to Calypso myself."

"Okay," Shepard began to turn, then he hesitated and turned back. "What's going to happen to Washington?"

"Emery Washington will be discharged from service but probably not tried for treason," Anderson replied, watching the boys face carefully.

Shepard seemed to think about it for a moment before he locked eyes with Anderson again.

"He really is a piece of shit," he said quietly, "and he's dangerous. I don't feel bad about... about him getting kicked out. If he'd ever received a real command he would have gotten a lot of people killed."

"I don't know why you're telling me this," Anderson broke eye contact and turned his back on the boy. "And you had nothing to do with it, right?"

"Right."

He listened to the boys footsteps retreating, waiting until he was alone to lean heavily against the hand rail and cover his eyes with his hand. What was the world coming to when kids like that looked to bitter old men like him for guidance? What was it coming to when bitter old men like him provided it?

The kid was... the kid was special though. There was greatness on the cusp of being born in him, and it radiated through every pore. It was what had those kids gathered around him on the lawn, it was what had motivated Washington to attack him, it was what had Anderson up here, thinking about him and grinning like a maniac when he imagined what he would do at Tech Academy. He ran the name over in his mind. Trinidad Shepard.

He hoped this wasn't the last time he saw him.