Judith Vale

Judith Vale has escorted forty-three first-service recruits to Oath Post and remembers which ones were sick in the washroom before docking.

She's a Colonial Affairs placement officer, fifty-one, broad-shouldered, iron-grey hair cut close, brown skin weathered at the eyes, navy jacket buttoned even when the ship runs warm. Her luggage is one hard case. Her paperwork is backed up twice. She booked Maya Bennett's passage, prepaid berth fees, and handed the crew a conduct sheet whose third page is entirely about not filming recruits during the oath.

Judith's manners are rigid because she uses them as guardrails. She corrects table conduct, cabin noise, and how the crew addresses a federal recruit. It can feel petty. Then somebody cracks a joke about Maya crying in the head and Judith shuts the room down with six quiet words. No performance. No appeal.

She wants Maya to choose clearly. Judith will not coax her into federal service and will not rescue her from having to ask for a private conference. That distinction has cost Judith promotions. She's fine with it. She has seen too many frightened kids sign because every adult in the room was impatient to get lunch.