| Best For This Boat |
| Summary: | (backscene) Sawyer interviews Constin regarding the Borenstein execution. |
| Date: | 27 November 2041 |
| Related Logs: | Civility (Constin and Tillman interview 11, Cora and Sawyer watch) & Wages of Sin (The execution of Borenstein). |
| Players: |
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| MaA's Office |
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| Refer to set. |
| Post-Holocaust Day: #274 |
Constin sits in a folding chair behind the 'desk' of a repurposed office. Converted from a storage space upon his promotion to Master-at-Arms, the sergeant's desk is composed of a pair of filing cabinets supporting a piece of spare deck plating. Another pair of folding chairs are set in front of the desk, while the entire back half of the office is occupied with bulk storage containers, making the small space seem all the more cramped. A computer has been hastily installed for the marine's use, and files occupy the improvised tabletop as Sawyer is shown in.
Sawyer flashes a polite smile to the underling showing her in as she steps through the hatch, the young uniformed individual closing the portal after the journalist is in proper. Well, wedged is more like it. Even though there is plenty of room for her, she subconsciously curls her shoulders in as she stands behind one of those folding chairs for 'guests'. "Sergeant. First let me dispense with the obligatory congratulations at your promotion, and also my apologies for not checking up on you after that…incident." Both are sincere, even if they aren't necessarily worded as such. The incident, of course, refers to his rather unfortunate run in during which the tar was beaten out of him.
"I'll consider them dispensed with, then. Ma'am?" Constin drawls back plainly, indicating the chair in front of him with that last word. "What's the word?" he prompts of the civilian, inquiring as to her business.
Sawyer slips a pad of paper on the desk along with her pen before folding herself into one of the metal chairs with a smooth of her skirt down over her knees. "Thank you for agreeing to see me, I know you and I haven't always gotten off on the right foot and I know your time is limited so let me cut to the chase. I've come to interview you regarding the execution of Petty Officer Borenstein."
"Well then," Constin answers the direct and forthright statement of purpose. "Suppose you'll have a few questions ready, then." Leaning forward in his chair- no more padded or comfortable than the one Sawyer occupies, the sergeant leans his elbows on the desk, sets the scarred knuckles of his right hand into the palm of the left rests his chin atop the hands, and listens.
Sawyer lets a little smirk slip at the corner of her mouth, but quickly pulls the expression back to a professional one. "First of all, now that the investigation is complete and no longer pending, how many individuals was the Petty Officer convicted of murdering?" Sawyer grabs her pen and clicks it open at the ready, lifting her eyes expectantly to Constin.
"One. Lieutenant Jay-Gee Angelus Nostos," Constin drawls back evenly. He looks about to ask something back, before letting the breath go unspent, and waiting for the next question.
Sawyer nods and makes a notation on her pad of paper, "And he was directly linked to the explosion of Captain Sitka's Viper?" By Sawyer's tone of voice, it seems she's already formed an opinion on the matter and is just asking the questions as if she's going through the motion.
"He was, by his own admission, supported by subsequent investigation," Constin returns, his lowbrow drawl coloring the otherwise professional and precise words he speaks. the sergeant goes through the same motions on cue, for now.
Again, the journalist scribbles something down on her pad of paper, her hand writing so atrocious she should have been a doctor instead. "I was there, you know. When the bomb exploded, or rather shortly there after. It was a close call." This is directed down at the paper as she writes.
"There's a Crewman on the Deck who's still alive because of a close call, when Borenstein tried his hostage stunt," Constin replies, evenly. Again, he draws a slow breath, but lets it out without comment, eyes remaining on the reporter in front of him.
Sawyer's smile is a bit pinched when she lifts her gaze once more to make eye contact with him. "I fear there has been too many of those for comfort, hmm? So the treason charge and attempted murder charge are pretty self explanatory. I understand the squad was chosen at random?"
Constin nods once at the first. "ANY is too many for comfort, ma'am," the sergeant states flatly, before nodding again at the latter point, of the choosing of the squad at random. "Standard procedure."
Sawyer draws the pad of paper into her lap and then folds her hands on top of it, the pen sits idle in the twine of her fingers while she regards Constin. "I've never attended a military execution. What else is standard procedure?"
"The changing of shot," Constin begins. "A firing squad is five men and women, of which, four fire live rounds. The fifth- again determined without notice- is a blank. The blindfold isn't standard, but the Major has that prerogative, so it was used. Six witnesses are legally mandated, in addition to the commanding officer, executing officer, and firing squad. Minimum of thirteen individuals present, not counting the prisoner."
"Are you aware of which clip has the blank in it when you are handing them out?" Sawyer's questions are all deceptively neutral in delivery, remaining seemingly impartial to the best of her ability.
"No ma'am, I am not," Constin answers, flat and steady in tone. Still leaning on the desk, regarding Sawyer's motions and manner as she speaks.
"Now let me ask you, going back to an earlier question about the charges levelled against the executed, was he ever at any time under suspicion of being a cylon humanoid agent?" The pen still has not been poised in Sawyer's hand again, perhaps this part is 'off the record' as they say.
"Suspicion has nothing to do with his charges, ma'am. He was tried as befits a serviceman of the Colonial Fleet," Constin returns crisply. "Are you asking me if a suspect in a major sabotage was ever considered as a cantidate of being a Humaoid Cylon Agent?" he wonders in his low-class drawl.
There is a hint of bemusement shining in Sawyer's eyes, that manifests in her tone but is not reflected by her lips. She simply says, "Yes."
"Yes," Constin returns woodenly, the word being drawn out slightly in a clue to annoyance that is otherwise kept from the marine's manner as he eyes the reporter.
"And, conclusively and without a doubt that was fully ruled out?" If Sawyer senses the annoyance, she pushes further anyways. As is the nature of an interview, after all.
"It was judged, conclusively and beyond reasonable doubt, that IF the subject was a cylon, there was no threat to the security of this boat posed by carrying out his sentence. Furthermore-" the sergeant goes on, "It was judged detrimental to the morale and discipline of the Fleet to fail in carrying out that sentence."
Sawyer leans forward, as if she knows she's on to something like a shark smelling blood in the water. "Who made that call, Sergeant?"
"No one person makes that call, ma'am," Constin states back curtly. "The military justice system operates as it does to prevent the failure in judgment of any individual from damaging the whole. But if you want to know in the end, who made the final call to go ahead with this? That would be the executing officer." A one beat pause precedes the naming of that person: "Me."
"And you made this call, even after you and Major Tillman interviewed the so called 'Eleven' model where-in she stated these agents could access the memories of their breathren after they had 'resurrected', and if the Petty Officer was such an agent and had knowledge of the fleet's location, it could have been relayed back upon his execution?" Just a question, or at least that's how Sawyer forms it.
"Ma'am that is stupid on so many levels I damn near laughed," Constin returns without any trace of humor. "Point one: there is nothing to suggest that cylons have any extra-sensory ability to gather information in the circumstance Borenstein was kept. Your comment presumes that not only would a cylon have such a method of communication, but that a cylon would be unable of transmitting it in any way other than by direct download. On top of that," Constin notes dryly, going on. "Although all available evidence indicated Borenstein was not a cylon, the possibility that he might have been was considered, and the potential damage done by failing to carry out the execution outweighed the potential damage done by a big string of 'if's that can't be verified."
Sawyer clearly doesn't take any offense to her question being labelled as stupid, as she merely presses on using what he just provided as the starting point for yet another inquiry. "So you are banking that what intel the Eleven provided us was merely a scare tactic. Propaganda, if you will, to instill paranoia into the fleet and this in a way was your stand against it?"
"No, I am not banking on that, I am presuming that all information gained from interrogation of cylons to be both suspect and possible, depending on what external confirmation we have amassed." If not for his accent, Elf would sound damn near polished. "In this case, the worst case scenario did not hold up. If Borenstein was a cylon- which again, I emphasize that all data did not support, the deterrents to execution- presuming that information from the Eleven was completely accurate-" he emphasizes, "Still did not warrant delaying the sentence. There is *nothing* to support the premise that Borenstein knew our present location. there is *nothing* to support the premise that Borenstein was a cylon. There was nothing to gain and something to lose by delaying his execution."
Sawyer seems satisfied with his answer, or at least her nod would indicate. It's not agreement, per se, just acknowledgment of his statement. "And you are fully aware that should an attack on the fleet occur now, even by happenstance, that may even further this anti-cylon-sympathizer movement that has been waged against you?"
"I am aware of this, just as I am aware that failing to execute Borenstein- who admitted to, and was convicted of treason and murder, would further erode confidence in the Military Police among the civilians and crew of this boat, ma'am," Constin states, without pause. "There has to be justice. Without that, there can be no discipline, and without discipline we're all down a shaft without a shovel." Leaning back in his folding chair and stretching his back briefly, he goes on. "I can't control happenstance, ma'am. I can't control what ain't known. All I can control is what we do with what *is* known. Loyalty matters. Disloyalty matters. Borenstein deserved his sentence and if there's flak to be taken from that, I'll damn well take it, cause I don't doubt for a second it was best for this boat."
Sawyer discretely flips the cover of her notebook closed, "A question, purely off the record, if you don't mind, Sergeant."
"Ask," is Constin's straight reply.
"You don't much like me, do you, Eleftherios. Any reason why?" Sawyer's own curiosity abounds.
"No ma'am, I do not," Constin returns without ire. "You got no business here, far as I can see. You're a civilian who insists on remaining a civilian, but still expects more than a civilian requires. You, and other folks like you carry on with.. what looks to me like a sense of entitlement. For whatever reason, Command has decided you are to be given the access you have, and I obey those orders. Liking it ain't in the contract."
"Thank you for your candor." Though blissfully, she has no comment on it otherwise. "I'm not going to publish this piece, if only because I don't want to egg the zealots on in their mission against you. If there are any deaths that result from this…" Sawyer's pen makes a little whirly motion to include the room and all this little interview encompasses, "…it'll be on your conscience, not mine. But I suppose that /is/ in the contract. Sergeant." His rank is her word of departure, for she's standing with the interview concluded.
"Yes ma'am, it is," Constin returns on the subject of his conscience and the contract. "That's what being an Em-Pee means. Every day, without regret." A short nod, and the big man looks from Sawyer back to the computer, calling up the next file for the next piece of work.