Found this in another 'fic.

“Well, Sir, where there’s living there’s crime, as my grandfather the Detective Superintendent always used to say. You know [this station] has more than her fair share of it, though.”



“Your grandfather was a fairly senior cop. No doubt you started learning your disrespect for the law at an early age,’ [new station commander] commented.



"He did a stint in Internal Affairs, sir. He also said, when there’s a lot of crime, the police are underfunded; when there’s too much, the police are lazy; when there’s far too much, they’re complicit,” [senior enlisted on loan from another command] said.

Alternatively, just use from ‘also said’, to 'complicit’, if that makes things easier. – RecklessPrudence

(#00350)

[AN: fifteen stories to go and then I have to fucking edit the book. Eep]

Lyr tried not to sweat as she sat in the Supplicant’s Seat opposite Security Chief Sherlock. She sat rigidly to attention as if she were in full uniform - instead of Civilian togs and sockasins*. She watched every micro-sign on the Cuidgari’s face and prayed for any kind of precognitive 'flash’ to help her out.

Sadly, the Powers that ran the universe were not amenable, today.

“Marken,” said Sherlock. It was the first word he’d spoken aloud in ten minutes.

“Yes sir,” she did not fall into the trap of filling the silence. She knew that one from old times.

“I served under your grandfather, at one time. His psi rating was, as I recall, a little higher than yours.”

By one and a half, thought Lyr. “Yes sir.”

“Do you believe your ability may be helpful in your duties?”

You and I both know that my ability is an erratic sex-organ-of-your-choice, Lyr deliberately avoided saying. “I’ve thought out some work-arounds, sir. They’re in the file.”

“Appendices A through to G, yes. I’ve read them.”

Lyr bit down hard on a, Did you think any of them are valid? and matched him nonchalant glare for nonchalant glare.

Silence was a weapon. Too much of it could cause irrevocable harm to a cogniscent being. With just the right amount, a law enforcer could prompt a reluctant perp to talk.

She counted the seconds in her head. Eight. Nine. Ten.

Sherlock put the reader down with a click so audible, it was amazing it wasn’t heard in the Tailfin Drydocks. “I have also familiarised myself with your permanent record, Ms Marken.”

“Of course, sir,” she said. I expected you would, she thought.

“Both your parents were in Security, too. Yes?”

“Yes. They were rendered critical in the last B'Dauss bailout.” The event that returned Amalgam Station to Cuidgari hands at last… but killed or maimed millions.

The B'Dauss had been very bad stewards of their holdings.

“And your grandfather cared for you since then.”

“Yes sir.”

“There’s quite a lot of understandable acting out in your records, Ms Marken. And, considering your grandfather was a senior officer, an equally understandable contempt for the processes of the law.”

“Where there’s cogniscent life, there’s crime, sir,” said Lyr. “And we both know this station sometimes has far too much.”

A slight smirk was all she needed to know that she was echoing her Granda’s own words. He said some things so often that they had welded themselves to her own thought processes.

Lyr put all her effort into not blushing.

“Tamil Marken had a lot to say about crime. The saying foremost in my mind goes: when there’s a lot of crime, the police are underfunded; when there’s too much, the police are lazy; when there’s far too much, they’re complicit.”

Lyr found herself mouthing along, briefly bit her own lips, and added, “Yes sir. I remember it well.”

A raised eyebrow. “And now you say you can work with the law?”

“I get empathic in intense situations, sir. Flashes happen more often. I’ve been through Psi Training. I know the letter of the law, and its spirit.”

The other eyebrow joined the first. “No doubt at all that you do. Consider yourself welcomed to the training course. Quartermaster is down the hall and to your left. Follow the signs.”

She could feel the universe breathing out. Or maybe that was just her. “I’ll do my best to make sure you won’t regret this, sir.”

Lyr shot to her feet, saluted, and marched smartly to the door.

“And Marken?”

She turned, “Yes sir?”

“You have a very expressive face. Do work on that. I could practically read what you were thinking.”

Every atom of her being became dedicated to delivering her blandest, “Yes sir,” of her life to date.

Her dignity held out until she was around the aforementioned corner, where she almost collapsed in paroxysms of mortification. It was just like Granda interrogating her, all over again.

She had a lot of tricks to learn.

*A hybrid of socks and moccasins. Hard, protective footwear is a sign that the wearer is on duty/ready for work.

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