Nov. 23rd, 2009

kittydesade: (Default)
All right. Back to this. Also, I need icons. Also, holy shit I left off on page 49 of 84. Oi. Also, um. Something. I need icons. Possibly of Valerie/Ran, or ... well, those are the only two I have cast, so hey.

Anyway. More.




"I'll be in my office."

No one asked. No one blinked. No one looked around beyond the moment it took to nod and register her presence, acknowledge it, and get back to their work. Valerie moved into the tiny office adjoining the bridge and sat down, trying not to punch anything.

Corporate police. Corporate court.

The biggest problem she had with the corporate court is that they weren't interested in justice. They weren't interested in fair and balance except as it applied to a balanced set of books, and preferably one that wasn't identifiable as doctored. They were interested in punitive damages, remuneration and recompense, equal columns and a good tally. They weren't interested in human beings. They weren't interested in keeping people safe except that safe and healthy employees, satisfied employees, was good for their bottom line.

It was a theoretically good system. If they did everything to protect their bottom line they would do everything to keep their people safe and happy. The problems cropped up when people decided that what they needed to be safe and happy was money, and the bigger corporations had more of that than the smaller. They had the luxury of buying off problems, setting that precedent, solving things by throwing cash at them. Whether the them was a person, a group of people, a grieving family, or a smaller company.

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kittydesade: (Default)
By now it had to be all over the ship how she felt about Ran, the murders, his death. At least it felt that way when Eliot sent over the footage and Maia came into her office to go over it with her. She'd scrubbed her face down, pulled her hair back, everything she could think of to make herself at least somewhat presentable. Officious looking. As though she actually knew what she was doing instead of propelling herself by anger and grief and making it up as she went along.

"Captain," Maia nodded appropriately, not deferential, not scornful or wondering (at least where everyone could see) whether or not her commanding officer was capable of continuing or whether she was too overcome by the loss of her friend.

Or maybe that was just in her head. Maybe there was no such rumor or idea in anyone's head. Well, Eliot's. But it was his job to wonder such things.

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