Interrogation
Feb. 24th, 2005 12:35 am![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
flybywash"Mister Hoban Washburne...."
A barely stifled wince. "That's me."
"Born April twenty-second, 2485, in Moore Colony on Tellus...mmm, that's right around the time the atmo started failing, wasn't it."
"Close to, yeah. Guess you could say that."
"Says you entered Empiron Flight Academy at sixteen, graduated near the top of your class...." Papers rustle. "Very glowing recommendations from all of your instructors. Have to say, it makes me wonder how you ended up on a junker of a Firefly. And you've been there for almost six years now, no less."
"Yeah."
Not a request: "Want to tell me why?"
"I'd never flown a Firefly before. Heard all sorts of great things about 'em from one of my instructors -- most of which turned out to be true, weirdly enough."
"And the first mate?"
"Shénme?"
"You're married to the first mate. Did she have anything to do with your decision?"
"Oh. Yeah, maybe a little." Clear amusement.
"And before that, you were bouncing from ship to ship, mostly transports, a few occasional shuttle runs...."
"Pretty much."
"Served under Alliance Commander Graves for all of a week during the war. Piloted a...Peregrine atmo-skimming craft, it looks like?"
"....Yeah. I did."
"Why were you discharged?"
"Ship went down. Broke my legs and left arm in a couple places."
"Well. An injury like that surely shouldn't have kept you from flying once it healed up."
"It didn't. I was back in the sky in two weeks."
"But not in a military capacity."
"No."
"Why was that?"
"They didn't want me back."
"Mmm." Pause. "But your sympathies did initially lay with the Alliance, then."
Silence.
"Well?"
"I don't know. Graves needed a pilot. I just wanted something to fly. To be really frank, I don't have a lot of interest in politics."
"So then I'd be correct in assuming that it doesn't bother you at all, piloting a ship that harbours so many people with -- if I may be frank -- a reputation for some rather questionable and dangerous ideologies?"
A laugh. "Sure as hell hope not, 'cause I'm married to somebody who's got that so-called 'dangerous and questionable' stuff ingrained right in her, sir."
"....I see." Pause. More papers shuffle. "Let's get to the point: Just what were all of you doing in a blackout zone, Mr. Washburne?"
"Exactly what we said. Engine started giving us trouble, I wasn't sure if we'd be able to make it to our original destination -- "
"Which was?"
"Lamott Moon."
"Right."
"So I aimed for the closest place I could and put her down. And I was just a little preoccupied with things like not getting us killed, so I didn't even realise where we'd landed until I went to check the Cortex and couldn't get a signal. By then, it was kind of too late to do anything about it."
"So you weren't, say, engaging in illegal transport?"
"What? No! Why would we be doing that?"
"The questionable, dangerous reputation of your ship and your captain says that you very well might have been."
"Look, if you're talking about that salvage way back when, that was completely secondary to the -- "
"To the what? That supposed witness to a Reaver attack that took out several officers before he was subdued?"
"Yes. We were only trying to help him."
"Which doesn't change the fact that you stole Alliance goods off of a derelict with intention to redistribute."
"That was nine months ago! Can I point out that we weren't charged with anything then, and that what we're talking about is dealing with now?"
"Watch your tone, Washburne. That was mentioned in several of your files, come to think of it: 'a disappointing tendency to occasional bouts of insubordinance, the only black mark on a otherwise brilliant pilot...'"
Chastened, "All I'm saying is that if you wanna hit us on that, you're way overdue. Come on, stick with current events, yeah? I'm just as mad as you guys that we ended up in a blackout zone of all places, but it was just yī lián chuàn è yùn. That's it. Okay?"
A long, explosive sigh. "I think we're done here. Escort him back to the holding area, please. Grab the next one while you're there."
A barely stifled wince. "That's me."
"Born April twenty-second, 2485, in Moore Colony on Tellus...mmm, that's right around the time the atmo started failing, wasn't it."
"Close to, yeah. Guess you could say that."
"Says you entered Empiron Flight Academy at sixteen, graduated near the top of your class...." Papers rustle. "Very glowing recommendations from all of your instructors. Have to say, it makes me wonder how you ended up on a junker of a Firefly. And you've been there for almost six years now, no less."
"Yeah."
Not a request: "Want to tell me why?"
"I'd never flown a Firefly before. Heard all sorts of great things about 'em from one of my instructors -- most of which turned out to be true, weirdly enough."
"And the first mate?"
"Shénme?"
"You're married to the first mate. Did she have anything to do with your decision?"
"Oh. Yeah, maybe a little." Clear amusement.
"And before that, you were bouncing from ship to ship, mostly transports, a few occasional shuttle runs...."
"Pretty much."
"Served under Alliance Commander Graves for all of a week during the war. Piloted a...Peregrine atmo-skimming craft, it looks like?"
"....Yeah. I did."
"Why were you discharged?"
"Ship went down. Broke my legs and left arm in a couple places."
"Well. An injury like that surely shouldn't have kept you from flying once it healed up."
"It didn't. I was back in the sky in two weeks."
"But not in a military capacity."
"No."
"Why was that?"
"They didn't want me back."
"Mmm." Pause. "But your sympathies did initially lay with the Alliance, then."
Silence.
"Well?"
"I don't know. Graves needed a pilot. I just wanted something to fly. To be really frank, I don't have a lot of interest in politics."
"So then I'd be correct in assuming that it doesn't bother you at all, piloting a ship that harbours so many people with -- if I may be frank -- a reputation for some rather questionable and dangerous ideologies?"
A laugh. "Sure as hell hope not, 'cause I'm married to somebody who's got that so-called 'dangerous and questionable' stuff ingrained right in her, sir."
"....I see." Pause. More papers shuffle. "Let's get to the point: Just what were all of you doing in a blackout zone, Mr. Washburne?"
"Exactly what we said. Engine started giving us trouble, I wasn't sure if we'd be able to make it to our original destination -- "
"Which was?"
"Lamott Moon."
"Right."
"So I aimed for the closest place I could and put her down. And I was just a little preoccupied with things like not getting us killed, so I didn't even realise where we'd landed until I went to check the Cortex and couldn't get a signal. By then, it was kind of too late to do anything about it."
"So you weren't, say, engaging in illegal transport?"
"What? No! Why would we be doing that?"
"The questionable, dangerous reputation of your ship and your captain says that you very well might have been."
"Look, if you're talking about that salvage way back when, that was completely secondary to the -- "
"To the what? That supposed witness to a Reaver attack that took out several officers before he was subdued?"
"Yes. We were only trying to help him."
"Which doesn't change the fact that you stole Alliance goods off of a derelict with intention to redistribute."
"That was nine months ago! Can I point out that we weren't charged with anything then, and that what we're talking about is dealing with now?"
"Watch your tone, Washburne. That was mentioned in several of your files, come to think of it: 'a disappointing tendency to occasional bouts of insubordinance, the only black mark on a otherwise brilliant pilot...'"
Chastened, "All I'm saying is that if you wanna hit us on that, you're way overdue. Come on, stick with current events, yeah? I'm just as mad as you guys that we ended up in a blackout zone of all places, but it was just yī lián chuàn è yùn. That's it. Okay?"
A long, explosive sigh. "I think we're done here. Escort him back to the holding area, please. Grab the next one while you're there."
