"They released me when the story came out. Public outcry."

Commander Terentin doesn't need help winning anything, merci. But talk of jail time has her resizing 'Tintin' up. Is this kid armed like the last one was? Any notable scars? Are those platform boots, perhaps?

The dog is just silly, and is pushed beneath her notice.

Tintin bears a small heavy pistol at his hip. He has a small but noticeable scar on his upper lip, the kind you leave intact not because you had an injury that wouldn't heal all the way but because you would like people to know that you have been in fistfights. His boots, while sensible (and possibly steel-toed?) are non-platform, leaving him at least six inches shorter than the Commander.

He turns to speak into his omni-tool a bit more, revealing an N7 logo on the back of his shirt and a biotic amp in the base of his neck.

N-7? How has she not heard of this kid? Teddy's may not be plugged in but she's not from another universe.

"...It's possible that we do have things to talk about... Tintin..." It's a ridiculous name but do not accuse Commander Terentin of being the brand of military asshole who treats a legal name like a Protean relic. "So it's actually good that you just invited yourself onto my ship. Saves me trouble. What a lucky guess." She stalks past him, in a way that manages to be menacing without wasting any valuable time on eye contact. If he makes it onto the Normandy with his steamer trunks and whatever else before her team blows this joint, then maybe he'll have earned the interview. She leaves him to it.

"You won't regret this, Commander." Tintin sketches a bow and vanishes into the crowd.

"Well, that was... fast," Sal'Poma comments.

When they reach the docking bay, Tintin is somehow already there, wearing a large backpack and speaking with a burly turian. As the Commander's shore party approaches, he gives the alien a quick hug and sends him on his way.

"Commander," he says, turning to salute. "I wasn't allowed to embark without you, but your XO did graciously allow me to stay in the docking bay."

This morning she was the XO. Now she has one. Keep it moving.

"Backpack cramped your sneak, I guess." The salute is a nice touch, Terentin evaluates as she rolls past him. "At ease, fall in, don't touch anything." They can meet in Anderson's office. Her office. The Captain's office.

"Naturally."

Tintin walks in, hands clasped behind his back.

"Keelah," Sal says wonderingly, following them onto the main deck. "This ship is so - so empty. And so big."

"It's the size of a regulation frigate," Garrus says. "And it's not empty, we're just not stacked on top of each other like bricks. Have you never been on a non-quarian ship?"

"I just started my Pilgrimage a few days ago," the quarian says defensively.

"Well, here's to a good Pilgrimage." People on the Normandy would be used to Commander Terentin as a cagey, pacing presence; as an officer she loped from one end of the ship to the other, sliding behind the crew, watching what they did and how well, sniping off commentary and vanishing. Very intense sheepdog, circling her flock. It was a good way to be, and it recombinated well with Anderson's I'll-be-in-my-office deal, as a bonus.

She's different now. The glares are lingering rather than thready, and they come from a Commander Terentin who stands in or strides through the middle of things. She trails her coterie behind her, making introductions that require neither party's input. This is Warhead, Joker. Warhead, this is Joker. You're both charmed, I'm sure.

Eventually, everybody has quarters to sleep in and jobs to do and she's in the Captain's office, with cold vegetable juice and tiny cups placed strategically between herself, the plucky journalist, and Sal'Poma. Teddy's not quite sure why the girl is here, at the interview, but she made it happen anyway. Arbitrary decisions keep smart little military academy alumni on their back foot... is the guess she hazards at her own motivations.

(The tiny juice cups have all of the stability that naval dishware has always needed, with the added design requirements that zero-g and mass effect would imply. They're little volcanoes. Full of carrot juice.)

If Tintin is on the back foot, he's not showing it. He sits down, sips some carrot juice, and solicits permission to record.

"Commander, I'm very pleased you agreed to speak with me. Sal'Poma as well, though I will freely admit I know her less well - but that doesn't mean I don't have questions. Sal, tell me, where does an admiral's daughter learn to fight well enough to attract the attention of a Spectre?"

"It's not in spite of being Rael'Poma's daughter that I can fight," Sal says, leaving her thoughtfully provided dextro beverage on the table. "He trained me with the omni-bow personally, despite his many other responsibilities. And, predictably, it came in handy."

"I'm sure it did! Commander, how does it make you feel to be the first human Spectre? Are you of the opinion that this is a step forward for humanity, or just a tossed bone from the Council?"

"I think it's my dream job. I'm a Spectre because I'm qualified to be. The Alliance has earned it, this is recognition of the level we've been on."

We aren't mentioning feelings to Mr. Knows-You-Well.

"But the reason I'm a Spectre now, in this chair? I'm convenient. I'm suited to solving the developing crises. A Spectre murders a comrade, the Geth invade Eden, culprit's in the wind... I came prepackaged, ready to help, with the supplies and crew of the Alliance and Citadel behind me." Terentin drinks like a shark, which is to say you don't notice she's doing it all the time. Refill. "Might as well give me the title."

"Very good. Sal, tell me about your encounter with the geth..."

Tintin carries out an efficient and fairly exhaustive interview. "I may interview other crewmembers as well," he says afterwards, "if you'll allow it - and if they agree. Did you have any questions for me, Commander? I know you mentioned you might."

God but that boy can talk. It is, admittedly, as in admitting it only to herself, nice when people are interested in you.

She has her chin on her hand, the position of her elbow meaning the Commander is basically spread out on her new desk like the ship's cat. "How involved are you willing to get in your stories, Tintin?"

"Well. I did tell my usual employer not to expect me back until the story was over, and it certainly doesn't seem to be over yet. If you'll have me, I'd be happy to tag along - in my capacity as a reporter or my capacity as a technical mercenary. Or both!"

Sal's eyelights are pinging back and forth between the two of them in obvious confusion.

"We'll let the historians figure out if you were working for me the whole time. Once I have a schedule set up," Terentin starts threatening, digging out paperwork on her omni, "I'm stylusing you in for some range shooting, I like having data." She'd have Warhead and Sal in on the same time slot if their abilities to aim weren't, respectively, irrelevant and already-proved. She shoos Tintin out, and has some awkward small talk with Sal before she's allowed to also leave.

–––

So, with a bunch of holographic papers spread out on her new desk from the Broker files, how are we going after Saren?

The Broker's files (which are being updated live, conveniently) don't know where the man himself might be. However, they have a lead on his second-in-command, Matriarch Belara - apparently, her only known daughter went on an archaeological dig to the planet Therum, which went dark about twelve hours ago.

There are other leads, but this one is the most blatantly suspicious, and the others mostly have notes that they're being investigated already. 

Well, let's not start out Teddy's career as a public investigator by trying to be clever. Blatant works fine.

Frankly, it ought to be worrying that there's no automatic response in place to go check things out when a planet goes dark, if Teddy didn't naturally assume that all problems, galaxy-wide, were her responsibility anyway. She doesn't quite point the Normandy at Therum through sheer silent force of will, but actual events amount to the same.

(Ordinarily, of course, a dig going dark would be cause for investigation by the Council. Unfortunately, Therum is in the Terminus Systems, which neatly precludes any such official response from anyone who doesn't have a state-of-the-art stealth frigate.)

Therum approaches. The gunnery sergeant salutes her.

"What's your fireteam gonna look like, Commander?" he asks.

As Teddy probably knows, there is room for herself and three others in the Mako. The seats are sufficiently capacious to contain Warhead, but it would be against regulations to cram Sal and Morty into one of those seats, even though they'd probably fit.