Snippet #1280390

"I expect you all to act with the professionalism and detachment that we SRC operators pride ourselves in, even though this is the case. I trust this won't be a problem, will it, Sergeant Rothschild?" Damn. The Captain had apparently heard something of the circumstances of her transfer. Well, she wasn't going to bother correcting what was probably a gross misinterpretation of the facts. That wasn't her job, and frankly she didn't give a shit what anyone thought about her, mistaken or not.

One corner of her mouth twitched upward, just slightly, though she held the gaze steadily. Regardless of the circumstances, it wasn't too often anyone bothered to call her out on anything. It was actually a little bit amusing. "Of course not, Sir," she replied with an almost-undetectable twinge of irony in her otherwise flat, uncaring tone. Ah, if only they'd told him the whole story. Then maybe he'd know she was the last person that needed to be warned about professionalism.

But all of that was inconsequential. Sparrow was the sort of person who let her actions speak or themselves. Fewer annoying conversations that way. As soon as they were dismissed, she hefted her bag over her shoulder once more and followed the steady stream of people transferring vessels. Making a quick stop to hand over her keycard to the large (again, maybe not really, but it wasn't like 5'10" and 6'1" were all that different to her) man who stood like an only occasionally-moving statue. He looked at her with a hint of speculation, and Sparrow frowned. Really, was it so hard to believe that she did this for a living? She rolled her eyes to herself and kept moving.

After disembarking through one of those long tubes, Sparrow flicked her eyes about the space station and appraised the engineering mentally. Not bad, all things considered, but it wasn't top-of-the-line exactly, and she was glad she knew how to work machines that had been standard-issue before she was even born. There was bound to be at least some piece of equipment that bordered on Windows, but most of it likely wouldn't be quite so prehistoric.

She received her new card in much the same way as she'd gotten rid of the old one, only this time, the soldier at the counter was better about hiding his skepticism. Maybe that was because she'd shoved all the official documentation straight at him as soon as it was her turn, who could say?