PHD #115: What's Past is Prologue
What's Past is Prologue
Summary: Jase's intake interview with Kincaid goes a little better than could have been expected.
Date: Jun 21 2041 AE
Related Logs: None
Kincaid Jase 
Hangar Deck - Starboard
This Hangar Bay is filled with boxes, crates and other various supplies that are needed throughout the ship. Most have been moved to one end and lashed with tarps to keep them out of the way. The place has gone from extra ship storage on one end and the ability to house over 450 people on the other end. Whatever could be made into cots has been set up like a huge barracks. Some areas have been made more presentable with a few items that belong to the person holding onto their small area in this world.
Marines guard this area 24/7 and food is brought in cafeteria style, feeding people out of vats and buckets as they line up with their plates. One area has been tarped off to the side, that holds canvas showers and sinks. The 'Head' in this area has to be cleaned daily since it is a temporary military bathroom setup, due to there is no way to flush it out through pipes.
Post-Holocaust Day: #115

The morning is winding towards afternoon, or at least what passes for morning and afternoon on a ship and Jase is trying to make himself useful. The small section of deck that he can call home for now is tidied away and the scruffy young man is helping his neighbors push back a few crates and make some space for themselves. He's a little pale, this morning and if his hands are shaking slightly, it would take a keen observer to notice, given that he's just engaged in manual labor.

"Jase … Hylas?" The voice that comes is somewhat distracted, as if it were reading off a piece of paper. That's because it is. Kincaid-the-MP is entering this little spot of deck with a manila file folder with little more than a name listed in it and an octagonal Polaroid picture of his subject clipped to it. "Mr. Hylas? You around here?" Judging from the way he's looking at the musician, it suggests he already knows the answer.

Jase looks up from the work, a faintly surprised look on his face. He claps his hand on the back of the refugee he was helping and says, "I'll be back later, if you need me." He straightens his rather threadbare shirt and approaches the marine, looking a little hesitant and nervous. "I'm Jase Hylas. What can I do for you?"

"I'm Lance Corporal Kincaid, and I'll be doing your background check, Mister Hylas." The Marine's voice is, at the same time, a bit clipped and a bit weary, as if he's done this speech before. He offers a hand to shake. "Which really sounds more impressive than it is, given the state of Colonial databases right now." That would be the wry part. He transitions. "But welcome aboard Cerberus. Must have really been something getting off that rock."

Jase extends his hand, still faintly trembling and gives the marine a firm, quick shake before hooking his thumbs through the belt loops of his trousers, perhaps in an attempt to keep them still. He says, "The beaurocracy never dies, it would seem. And, ah, yea. It was. I wasn't, um, cognizant for most of it. But I'm certainly grateful to be here." His expression and tone are a bit wry at that last.

"Yeah. No kidding. Only thing we don't seem to be running low on down here is paperwork." Kincaid tilts his head at Jase and then makes his way over to a set of two crates. "How about you step into my office over here and we'll get started with the basics. Date of birth? Colony of residence? Occupation?" He rattles them off, flicking a ballpoint pen on — a little bit nicer than military issue - so that he can get started.

Jase follows Kincaid over and plants himself on a crate. He rattles of his birth date and then pauses a moment before the other two, his eyebrows arching slightly. "I'm from Leonis. And, ah, I guess 'musician' covers it, more or less." His expression is a bit pensive at that and he rubs the back of his neck.

Kincaid uses his pen to mark down these answers, briskly and efficiently. "When did you get your fix last?" asks the Military Policeman. Although the tone is the same as the other three questions, his eyes flick upward, meaningfully, as if wanting to see how Jase reacts to this particular question.

Jase winces faintly and says, "Ah." THere is a moment of silence and then he swallows, clears his throat and asks, "Does it matter? I'm not violent and any addiction withdrawal symptoms are psychological in this case." His expression is faintly amused as he says, "Trust me. I designed it. I'd know." Apparently, he's decided to match the marine's frankness.

Kincaid fills in something on his sheet, as if some suspicion were confirmed and some box were to be checked. "No kidding?" he asks. "Musician and pharmacologist." Again, he's wry. "Well, I'd say it matters because, one, there's a box for it, and two, because it'll help me decide what you'll be allowed to do around here."

Jase nods and says, "Fair enough. And, um, biochemist, actually. Well, one semester shy of a degree. Being a musician came after I left university." He watches Kincaid tick off the box and arches an eyebrow. "So if I answer the questions wrong I could be looking at spending the rest of my life in this bay?"

Kincaid shrugs his shoulders. "Depends. You got anything on you?" He nods to the fellow's body, glancing towards pockets and things where other stuff might be stored. "And what's the stuff do to you? Honesty works best here, kid, because I've tangled with the SecDef, and he's got a lot more evasion skills than you do while going through withdrawal."

Jase shakes his head. "No. I was, ah, rousted, from the hiding spot I'd put together in the university chem lab basement. Convenient, lair and lab." His tone is still dry at that. "And I never thought to give it a name, since I wasn't distributing it. A lovely combination of euphoric, hallucinogen and hypnotic. I designed to it wash out of the system harmlessly but the dosage was additive and designed so that once the neurochemistry was altered, it took a lower dosage to maintain the effect. I took a rather … sizable dose before running for my life and ending up where I was found. It's taken a while to cycle out completely."

Kincaid circles something on his sheet — who knows what that means — and then moves to a new box to take some notes. 'Moving on' says the gesture. "So when you weren't cooking up stuff and doing gigs, what'd you do? I heard someone say you didn't like the government too much." He delivers the words neutrally.

Jase blinks at that and shakes his head. "They misunderstand me and my music, then. I have no problem with the government. Or, for that latter, the people who serve it, both civilian and military. But, since it's probably going to come out in the wash, I am a peace activist. I was part of the movement of people who were protesting against the increased militarization of Leonis and the fact that we were moving from an agrarian society to one based on enabling the mechanisms of war."

"What kind of protesting did you do?" Again, Kincaid delivers the question neutrally, jotting a few more notes down on his form that's stapled to his manila folder. "Ever get arrested?"

Jase pauses a moment, taking a deep breath before answering. "My music, obviously. Organizing and attending rallies, amongst other things." He runs his hands back through his shaggy hair, his expression going worried and his voice a little tight as he says, "For anything other than political charges? No. Why don't you ask me if I've ever harmed anyone? The answer is no to that as well. Or if I ever -would- harm somebody? Also, no. I'm a pacifist. I oppose war and violence, not commit them."

"Did I bring up harming anyone?" asks Kincaid, holding up his hands for a moment, in a somewhat defensive posture. "I just asked what sort of things you did. Why would you think I'd suggest you'd harm anyone?" He turns the question around.

Jase shrugs and asks, "It's the mindset, isn't it? That opposition must equal violence because violence is the tool that the military trains to use." He licks his lips and sits back a little, letting out a deep breath. "I'm sorry, Lance Corporal Kincaid. These kinds of conversations with somebody who literally has the power of life or death over me at the moment is more than a little terrifying. I just want to make very sure that my …mindset and motivations are very clear and that you and your superiors can see that I'm not a threat."

"Hey. I just got out of Basic. I used to be a reporter before this." Kincaid waggles his pen. "I used to be the one questioning the government, not carrying arms for it." He shrugs. "I'm just asking the questions I've got to ask. So." He pauses. "I take it you're not interested in Enlisting in the Colonial fleet." Again, a wry sound at that.

Jase grins faintly and says, "That must be a big change. And, ah, no. I -am- willing to pull my weight, though. I -won't- handle weapons or ordinance but I'm willing to do whatever needs to be done. It doesn't matter if nobody else wants to do it." He shrugs and says, "Not that I'm expecting to be Mr. Popularity when, ah, some of the more hard line elements around her figure out my history."

"Talk to Sawyer Averies," suggests Kinciad, not missing a beat. "She's organizing some kind of Civilian workforce. Hates the idea of enlisting almost as much as you do." He clicks his pen closed. "Maybe she'll give you some ideas on how you can be useful." He stands up.

Jase nods and stands as well. "Thank you for the civility." He offers his hand again, obviously prepared for the man not accepting it at this point. "Whatever I can do to help, within my ethical boundaries, I will."

Kincaid takes the hand and shakes it firmly. He shrugs. "If I hated everyone I talked to in my life that I thought was wrong, I wouldn't be talking to anyone. And I make my living talking." He tucks his pen back in his shirt pocket and turns to go. "I'll be in touch with your results after I talk to my people, Mister Hylas."

Jase nods and smiles, "That makes two of us, Corporal. And I can't claim I'm looking forward to it, all things considered, but I'm more hopeful after speaking with you." He pauses, obviously considering saying something else for a moment and then just shakes his head, as though telling himself no. "And I should get back to helping these people make a little extra space for their kids. Good day."

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