"You don't quite get it. You don't quit, not really." As if to illustrate her point, the waitress stumbled over, depositing a non-descript cup on the table, filled with an equally questionable beverage. The girl murmured a few words to Jane, of which the phrase 'Marine' was just discernible. Without hesitation, the Xeno took a swig from the glass. It didn't matter where you came from or where you went. That common experience united people like nothing else in Sirius. Once a marine, always a marine. She nodded, whispering a few words to the waitress in return.
"My life's a book, hun, you can't just open it right on up in the middle and expect it to make sense. I had a lot of time to think while they put me back together again. Guess I figured that there was something not right. Not that I blame you folks for it. Doesn't it seem mighty odd to you, all these laws we run around enforcing? Artefacts, for one. Why restrict the trade? I've never seen a chunk of rock actually hurt anyone. People only hurt each other to get them. Every day, there's another pirate pulling goods off some poor kid just tryin' to pay his bills. The military's stretched thinner than a sheet of goddarn plastic-wrap, they're too busy off fighting the war. Not that I'm saying it might not be necessary, but let's be honest. It's a darn good PR exercise for the brass, isn't it? Keeps folks distracted from troubles at home.
Just all mounted up I think. That and the incompetence. Funny how it works out, all the little things.
The Xenos seemed like decent sorts. They ain't as bad as they're made out to be by most. They run soup kitchens down planetside, you know. Trying to do something decent. I respect them for that. I don't agree with everything they chuck their weight behind, but we get on well enough. At least they're honest about what they want.
Can't say I don't agree with them on that one. Liberty's a right mess at the moment. I think until we can get our own issues good and squared away, we shouldn't be off screwing up the rest of Sirius. No, don't get me wrong. I'm still doing the same job as you are, when you get down to it. Just working at it a little differently." She grasped the medal, returning it to her pocket.
"How is it that you end up hanging around with us criminals and rogues? That's hardly the norm for Ruperts." Rupert was a term usually used by the Bretonian infantry, slang for a commissioned officer. Jane had made a habit of using it around them, just for shock value.
Across the room, the over-burdened waitress returned to Patterson's table. "The woman on table 17 sends her thanks. Also..er... She wants to know 'Who the hell you are, Sir.'"
Jane flashed a grin across the bar.
