Snippet #1278299

SGS Manitoba
PMC Space Station
Barrack 0448-34

Sparrow's fingers curled slightly against the cool glass of her "windowpane," (little more than a circular hole in the hull) and she watched disinterestedly as her breath misted the synthetic glass, reinforced and strengthened by a silicon compound. Absently, she drew the molecular diagram of the material in the foggy spot with neat, sharp, minuscule strokes, dropping her hand when the image disappeared. Actually, she should probably clean her window again, but she wasn't going to bother. If she had to be here, it was going to be on her own terms as much as possible.

Hence the fact that the solitary uniform she owned was currently in the bottom of her rucksack, and probably would spend the remainder of the mission at the bottom of her footlocker. She heard the sound of a great crash from beyond her wall, accompanied by raucous cheers. "Lovely. I'm surrounded by ingrates." She hoped that guy made the same amount of money she did, because that meant it would take him a while to pay off whatever damage he'd just done. Didn't people understand that they'd be completely lost without technology like that? Sparrow wouldn't trust most to tie their own shoes without it, let alone run a sting successfully.

Steely eyes scanned the room for a few seconds, trying to pick out anything she might have missed. The recent transfer had been done packing hours ago, as was her wont. Despite the fact that she generally disliked excessive regulation from others, she knew how to clean a room to a military standard of spotlessness and efficiency; that habit had been ingrained into her from childhood.

Nothing else to do; might as well head out. Brushing invisible dirt from sturdy dark green cargo pants, she straightened the long-sleeved black shirt and tucked her most decidedly non-regulation necklace beneath it.

The hallways were about as chaotic as she would have expected out of this lot; didn't anyone bother to do things ahead of time? Even as she emerged into one of the large common areas, someone shouted about there being an officer around even as a tall (but then, to Sparrow, everyone was tall) man with a mark near his eye entered the room, carrying a duffel. The others around snapped to attention, and she did the same, though much less abruptly. Smoothly straightening, she saluted. Personally, the salute was one thing about militaries she'd never really understood. If you knew who was in charge, why waste his time making him tell you to stand down? Just do your job, and do it well.