Despite the<em>homogenization</em>mankind had experienced over the past few centuries, some ethnic hatreds that seemed to vanish during the great migrations were replaced by new ones once people began to settle and take sides.  It wasn't just human nature.  That was too simple an explanation.  It was about survival, about protecting what you have from those who would take it ... or seizing opportunities they would deny you.<br/><br/>McPherson knew the accent:<em>Sihnon</em>.  And he knew the look:<em>Alliance military</em>.  Probably a product of the prestigious SMI, where every cadet is issued a corn cob to shove up his arse on Day One to achieve the proper posture.  It must still be in place in this one.<br/><br/><em>(I know the ruttin' war is over, you yn torsythu baun, I was there when it ruttin' happened.)</em><br/><br/>Without saying a word, McPherson just stared the man down, took the cigar from his mouth for a moment to spit out a speck of tobacco on the cargo bay floor (what the hell, it's covered in dog shit and about to be cleaned up anyway) and grunted.<br/><br/>Then he made a little show of checking the carbine he carried, the one Si appeared to be suggesting he leave behind, to ensure it was loaded and ready to go.  An unnecessary act, in light of the fact he had already done it a minute earlier.  His eyes still on the weapon, he finally spoke in the most<em>furtherest from the Core</em>accent he could muster.<br/><br/>"Fer a non-military vessel, we sure seem ta' have a complicated chain o' command. And I ain't that smart .. might take me a while ta get it figured out." Yes, that was meant for Si.  Then he looked back up to the First Officer, switching to his more natural way of speaking.  "Should I leave the rifle behind, Ma'am?"<br/><br/>------------------------<br/><br/>yn torsythu baun - strutting peacock