Past days

[Teresa Brooks]

The first thing one would notice about the Kestrel was that kill marks adorned its nose; lots and lots of kill marks, including what appeared to be a few Nomads. A (poorly) hand-painted Star of Liberty was on the fin facing the gathered. On the port side read From Houston With Love and an inhumanly large humanoid figure was waiting by the ramp. The assembled got their first look at the 240-cm lady and she waved them in. "Come on in, you're letting the cold air out." The interior of the boat smelled of air freshener desperately covering up the scent of ancient spilled food rations, and had clearly been packed up in a hurry in preparation for the meeting, but a round table, projector screen, and overhead projector, as well as about eight chairs stacked in the corner, had been furnished for this meeting. Taking a headcount of the participants, the requisite amount of chairs were pulled up and placed. "Sorry, but the catering was delayed; you're going to have to talk this one out on an empty stomach until it arrives." Teresa then produced a cheap soft-cover copy of her literary aspirations, Fifty Shades of Sugarland (based on a true story), and waited for the assembled to call on her to do something.

If it looked like she was slacking off, good. She wasn't, but she put a lot of effort into looking like she was. She would be paying attention to the officer's meeting with rapt interest, and even if they asked her to leave their presence, she still had internal surveillance.

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