Post by Judith Eastman on Apr 26, 2020 21:16:28 GMT
[Cmdr. Judith Eastman(-Williams) - First Officer's office, Deck 3]
Judy forced herself to a neutral expression as Jett continued talking. He was still concealing, still dodging. It was as though he, a traitor, expected that she, a technocrat and grandmother of 5 with a sterling record, should trust him, but wouldn't trust her.
The Icarus was an interesting detail; it seemed like a case Jett was familiar with, and she'd have to look it up. She wrote it down.
She thought on it all some more. She scrawled some notes on the paper. She sat in silence for over a minute, occasionally glancing up at her subject.
"Mr. Jett, I'm thinking about it, and I'll give it to you very plain: you're not a hero, and you're most certainly not the hero of some holonovel. There's no plot armor for you, no mystical force that'll compel me to give you residence on this station. In the past, you were the kind of fella who walks between the raindrops and doesn't get wet, but that's not the world you're in anymore," she stated.
She looked at him, a serious gaze from her grey, bespectacled eyes, framed as they were by the wrinkles.
"Quite frankly, I can't trust you - I'm not that senile yet. What you can do is give me assurances, guarantees," she offered. "If I give you quarters on this station, you're going to have to wear a monitor whenever you're on it - subdermal, anklet, bracelet, whatever you and security see fit to do - and you're going to need to keep that monitor on you as long as you're on the station. If I find out you gave it the slip, I kick you off, and you can expect to spend a lot of time in holding patterns."
She took off the glasses.
"And if that seems unfair to you, Mr. Jett, like I'm infringing on your civil liberties, then please, make me a better offer," she added. "How else can I trust a convicted traitor who should be in jail right now and lies to my face. Or, of course, you can live on your ship."
Judy's voice through all these words was calm, but just a little bit of New York city accent had dripped into her genteel, almost trans-atlantic speech.
Judy forced herself to a neutral expression as Jett continued talking. He was still concealing, still dodging. It was as though he, a traitor, expected that she, a technocrat and grandmother of 5 with a sterling record, should trust him, but wouldn't trust her.
The Icarus was an interesting detail; it seemed like a case Jett was familiar with, and she'd have to look it up. She wrote it down.
She thought on it all some more. She scrawled some notes on the paper. She sat in silence for over a minute, occasionally glancing up at her subject.
"Mr. Jett, I'm thinking about it, and I'll give it to you very plain: you're not a hero, and you're most certainly not the hero of some holonovel. There's no plot armor for you, no mystical force that'll compel me to give you residence on this station. In the past, you were the kind of fella who walks between the raindrops and doesn't get wet, but that's not the world you're in anymore," she stated.
She looked at him, a serious gaze from her grey, bespectacled eyes, framed as they were by the wrinkles.
"Quite frankly, I can't trust you - I'm not that senile yet. What you can do is give me assurances, guarantees," she offered. "If I give you quarters on this station, you're going to have to wear a monitor whenever you're on it - subdermal, anklet, bracelet, whatever you and security see fit to do - and you're going to need to keep that monitor on you as long as you're on the station. If I find out you gave it the slip, I kick you off, and you can expect to spend a lot of time in holding patterns."
She took off the glasses.
"And if that seems unfair to you, Mr. Jett, like I'm infringing on your civil liberties, then please, make me a better offer," she added. "How else can I trust a convicted traitor who should be in jail right now and lies to my face. Or, of course, you can live on your ship."
Judy's voice through all these words was calm, but just a little bit of New York city accent had dripped into her genteel, almost trans-atlantic speech.