"We don't bribe minions, kid."

"Dammit."

When's Morty's birthday again... she sets a reminder on her omni. Which will be recycled soon. Oh well! Attachment is weakness! Porting over data is fun!

"Well, they didn't give us an entire mafioso starship, but free Warhead for a year plus Saren's dirty laundry gets us most of the way, right?" Terentin plops what would be a very condescending hand on Udina's shoulder if he wasn't so good at psychological chess that it makes him immune to such tactics.

"...yes, this changes matters considerably... I'd be more comfortable if you had a more robust squad, but-"

Sal'Poma runs up, mechanically-filtered breathing audible through her suit. "Your people were trying to pay me off and tell me to leave," she says without preamble. "I want to go with you instead. If you don't want me I don't have to come, but I don't want geth overrunning the galaxy any more than anybody else."

"What a coincidence," Garrus says, stolling behind her. "I was about to say approximately the same thing. I just left C-Sec, I'm joining your squad and kicking Saren's ass. Please."

"You guys!" Obviously the deadly teen and nerd detective, useful as they are, are hired on the spot.

Commander Terentin is going to insist on a highly awkward lunch meeting to discuss logistics. It's possible that Udina can steer it into a secure venue but her default setting is 'food court' and she can go full sheep dog and herd people, including ambassadors, if there's any obvious resistance.

Udina spends most of his effort trying to get out of it entirely, actually, claiming he has things to discuss with Anderson in private, but once it's clear this will not convince the Commander he acquiesces reluctantly. He's apparently got a room reserved at a restaurant on the Presidium, and he insists the meeting take place there rather than "in the middle of the damned Wards, with unsecured cameras everywhere, for the love of God". They make for an unusual dinner party, but this place is used to accommodating that.

Once they're seated, Anderson says, "He wants me to give you the Normandy."

"Anderson, you know it's -"

"And I agree."

"I. Hm. Wow. I guess if you two are agreeing about something then I should just say yes, no questions." Terentin gulps down ice water. "But: question: is this, like, a counter-bribe?"

"No. Or at least, not primarily. This is a lot of factors coming together. You'll need the Normandy's stealth systems if you're going to follow Saren into the Terminus Systems. You'll need a crew that you know, and the Normandy has one."

"And Admiral Hackett wants me behind a desk. Because I'm not getting any younger."

"David, it's not that you're getting old. It's that you're dangerously volatile and, with your service history, promotion is the only way anyone can dispose of you."

"Do you gentlemen need a minute?"

"Absolutely not, thank you Warhead."

Teddy's sad that Anderson won't be sticking around for the long haul. They're close, in a kind of militarily distant way. But she doesn't want to cry over her, well, whatever her food is? It's not exactly a human dish, really. It's nice that he's unclenching, a little, at least.

"I'll take care of her. Might take the opportunity to throw Joker out of an airlock, though, sir."

"Don't underestimate him. Boy grates on you like a steel file, but he had the best flight test scores in two generations."

"Am I the only one who likes Joker?"

"Yes."

On their way back to the Normandy, the party is stopped by an offensively young-looking man with his omni-tool glowing.

"Commander Terentin!" he says earnestly. "Valentin Saint-Martin - friends call me Tintin - please, can I have an interview, I swear I was going to ask about this before the Spectre thing but really -"

How can there possibly be two Mortimer Halliwells in the universe? She does actually double-take, just slightly. But this tiny frantic white man is a journalist. Terentin doesn't have much experience with civilian media. Growing up on a farm world and then going directly into intensive military programs has a way of putting the blinkers on your worldview. Meeting a journalist is like, hmm, like meeting a candle-stick-maker? She's suddenly looking all around, like there might be dozens of them approaching.

"Just leaving, actually. Need to catch a genocidal maniac, you know how it is."

"Ah! I do, actually. And it does sound like quite an adventure! Well, there's nothing for it, I suppose, I'll have to go with you."

He fiddles rapidly with his omni-tool and a tiny holographic dog pops up over his wrist. "Milou, have Nestor transfer my belongings from the Moulinsart to the Normandy. You don't mind, do you Commander? It's only that if you're going to win over the public, you'll need the third estate on your side."

"...wait, aren't you the kid who tried to plant a bug in the C-Sec air traffic control center? I thought you were still in jail."