”I’m not an uneducated slave dumped up time to cope with alien technology,- Margo countered. “It’s a helluva lot easier to understand ancient superstitions than it is to comprehend physics and math. And I got brilliant grades in dramatics, even had a chance to work off-Broadway.” The half-truth sounded convincing enough; at least her voice had held steady. “I came here, instead. Frankly, I don’t see how your argument holds water.”
Carson sighed “Look. First of all, there is no way I’m going to shepherd some greenhorn scout, regardless of who they are or how brilliant at dramatics they think they are, through the toughest training you’ve ever imagined, any more than I’m going to try to hammer some sense into that empty little head of yours.”
She bristled silently.
”Second, you’re a woman.”
Congratulations, she fumed silently. An MCP, on top of everything else. You and my father should start a club. “I know all the arguments-”
”Do you?” Brown ayes narrowed into an intricate ladder of lines and gullies put there by too much sun and too many years of hard living. “Then you should’ve had the sense not to waste my time. Women can’t be time scouts.”
Margo’s temper flared. “You’re supposed to be the best there is! Why don’t you stop quoting all the doomsayers and find a way! From what I’ve gathered, you had to retire but didn’t much like it. Think what a challenge it’d be, training the first woman time scout in the business.”
His eyes glinted briefly Interest? Or acknowledgement of spunk? impossible to tell …. He knocked back his bourbon and gave her a long, clear-eyed stare. Margo, determined to match him, knocked back her own. This was getting easier. Either that or her throat was numb. The edges of Carson’s face had begun to waver a bit, though. Bad sign. Definitely should’ve had lunch.