Being as large as he was, he couldn't help but smile at the obvious jape at his expense. It was alright, he expected it. Perseverance was the name of the game. That, and honesty. He squinted at the desk, staring into space for a moment, just a moment, to formulate the thoughts he had gathered and prepared for the moment that would follow. When he was certain of what to say, he raised his eyes to look upon the Commissar, his eyes alight with an intense fervor; as he began to speak, his mustache shook and bobbed with his words.
"The systems by which the bulk of the citizens of our corner of the Galaxy operate are corrupt, and unsustainable. The variety show of monarchies, dictatorships, corporate feudal states and pseudo-religious charlatanry does nothing but ensure the further stratification of society. The rich get richer, but only on top of the backs of an increasing number of poor, who are disenfranchised and unable to take their share of the growing prosperity that the upper echelons of society have hoarded jealously. The Revolution that you represent, and that I hope to, is the best chance of retaking the rights and liberties that the magnates and nobility, corporate or otherwise, have seized for themselves."
"The Commandant's fighter wing, as you know, is the strong arm of the Revolution, working every day to smash the feudal system that holds the populace of Sirius hostage in its grip, with the fighter pilots being its many digits. I hope to become another digit, lending my meager strength to the further demolition of the oppressive systems that captivate Sirius, that I may aid in a glorious victory for the common man."
But, I'm certain the drawings couldn't hurt, he thought, stifling the urge to blurt it out.
"Things will not calm down, Daniel Jackson. They will, in fact, calm up."
