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“Sir, I’m going to need you to explain this to me again.” Maxwell’s voice was even, respectful, and anything but calm. Her usual slouchy way of pulling her shoulders in and limbs close was replaced by a ramrod-straight composure that bordered on uncomfortable. Her hands rested on top of her thighs, wading up her lab coat in her fists. She felt betrayed. It was supposed to just be a standard mission briefing, if not a little special since Major Kepler had seemed to imply it to be her first solo assignment. She had been excited, even though it was most likely going to be a remote mission as the Major didn’t trust her field skills yet and quite frankly, nor did she. But it still would’ve been exciting nonetheless.
She did not expect this.
She had posed her question as a statement, careful so as to not break the rules he seemingly enjoyed enforcing upon her. And Jacobi. And anyone else he could extend his authority upon. Of which there were many. Kepler didn’t respond for a moment, instead choosing to pin her under a scrutinizing gaze forcing his subordinate to make eye contact with him. If she wanted to start this little tete-a-tete he’d make damn sure he would win.
“I know you heard me Doctor, and I really don’t see a reason for these... theatrics.” A non-answer to Maxwell's non-question was paired with a cool, impassive expression. Couldn’t he afford to look anything less than perfectly styled and composed? It was irritating.
“Sir I just think that my skills lie better elsewhere, I’m just not suited to—“
“Are you questioning my decision making abilities Doctor?”
Yes , she thought, but knew better than to say it aloud. She was still pretty new, and Major Kepler didn't give her the same leeway (however minute it was) that he gave Jacobi, and it probably wasn’t wise to test that boundary just yet. Instead her mouth clicked shut. For approximately six seconds.
“Couldn’t someone else do it? I’m busy with assignments which, by the way, you gave me and-” she stuttered looking for another excuse, “And as you would love to hear me admit, I’m hardly an employee of R&D now!”
It was true and they both knew it. For all intents and purposes she couldn’t consider herself a part of Goddard Futuristics research and development. She couldn’t for the last six months. True, she still had her lab and Brooks was still her direct superior, but with how often Major Kepler had “borrowed” her for missions with the SI-5 (which was really just him, Jacobi and a rotating cast of herself and members of lower SI units), and with how much time she spent with Jacobi instead of her coworkers at R&D, her job title as team lead of robotics at R&D was just that: a title. It was mere pride that kept her from officially transferring over, a need to resist immediately being employed under the man who, in her opinion, annoyed her into recruitment. This assignment was obviously payback.
Kepler arched one brow as if to say, this is what you wanted, no? “As far as I’m concerned, as long as your paycheck is cut by R&D’s HR, as long as the products of your research is credited under R&D at the end of every fiscal year, and as long as I still need to ask the R&D branch head to ‘borrow’ you for missions, you are R&D” Maxwell’s posture cowed almost imperceptibly as Kepler continued, “Furthermore, in my personal opinion, Doctor Maxwell, I think you’re better suited to this assignment than you think. The childish behavior you’re currently displaying is more than appropriate for the nature of this operation.” He smiled.
Maxwell slouched back into the stupid, expensive, comfy chairs that were positioned across Kepler’s stupid, expensive, cherrywood desk, where Major Kepler with his stupid, expensive , perfect hair sat unpreturbed.
She remembers the first (and presumed) last time she was allowed near kids as a figure of authority. It was at her fathers church summer camp, and she had bribed her eight elementary school aged campers into good behaviour by creating currency she named Jesus Bucks. A headache was forming between her brows.
“I hate kids.”
“Tough!” Kepler made an amused snort at her turmoil. He handed her a file as he stood up, indicating the discussion was over and further protest was futile. Maxwell was seething. Humiliated, not because the comments stung like a slap to the wrist, but because he was right. She was being childish. She stood up stiffly and walked toward the door Kepler held open for her.
As she was leaving Kepler spoke again, if only to irritate her further.
“You will participate in the Futuristics for Kids Outreach week-long summer program and you will do so with a smile. As long as you continue to resist transfer from R&D then you will complete responsibilities that are expected from your position.” She continued to walk away from his cheerful tambour, refusing to acknowledge that she heard.
There it was, one of the multiple, and inevitable ulterior motives that the Major had in any interaction with another, (usually sentient) being. He was, as their little disagreement revealed, irritated with the decision Maxwell had made. In choosing to apply for R&D instead of calling the number that Kepler had left her with on a little neat cardstock business card after his initial “vetting” process, she relayed that her actions remained partially independent from Kepler’s influence, and always would be. Over the last eleven months, Kepler has slowly and methodically assimilated Maxwell into his jurisdiction. Little projects under joint custody of R&D and Strategic Intelligence, funding and cultivating her many interests, sending over Jacobi like a cute, friendly olive branch with snacks and companionship then denying Maxwell her friend at his whim, and even taking control of organizing the Futuristics for Kids Outreach week-long summer program and assigning R&D in charge of the hands-on portion were all Kepler’s way of telling her he wouldn’t rest until he got what he wanted. And what he wanted was her to fully belong to Strategic intelligence working with himself and Jacobi as SI-5.
As much as Maxwell grew to appreciate Jacobi, she knew she could never be him. And as much as she did respect Kepler, she couldn’t be another Jacobi to him. Where he met Kepler’s authority with unquestioning devotion, Maxwell would rebel. Jacobi worked well, better even, when pushed. Maxwell pushed back instead. This assignment was a result of that. This wouldn't have happened to Jacobi, in fact Jacobi would never even be in this position in the first place because he did the obedient thing and didn’t attempt to bypass Kepler’s authority at all. If Maxwell were honest with herself, she didn't even want to be in R&D, she liked SI-5, the adventure that came with it, Kepler’s commitment to provide her a place where she could work without hindrance.
However, she didn't trust him enough yet, and she didn't want to be caught in the crossfires of the dangerous games he liked to play with those he thought he controlled. She saw the rush he got when his manipulations, calculations, and ulterior motives came to fruition. Often the results of his gambles far outweighed the risks posed, but too often the thing he gambled were other people. She saw it happen to Jacobi, and to the people unfortunate to become his opposition, and it scared her. So far he had met her insecurities around him with success borne from his careful and meticulous nature but while Kepler may be satisfied with his evaluation of her, she wasn't quite finished with him. She knew that regardless of whatever decision that she would make of Kepler she would not be R&D for much longer, but that wasn't need-to-know. Not yet anyways, dangling her alliance with him like a carrot on a stick was too useful a tool in her evaluation of him.
Before Maxwell turned at the end of the hall she was struck by an absolute bastard of a thought. She swung her heels around in an about-face, squinting and tilting her head at her superior who still stood at the entrance to his office and asked, “Sir, is this about R&D winning the company annual hockey tournament?” Two months ago Goddard held their annual hockey tournament. Maxwell had played on R&D, and Jacobi was recovering from a field injury. Strategic Intelligence lost for the first time since Kepler had become director.
The door slammed shut.