[A pause to lit up: Jones has long stopped asking if it's polite. Somewhere around fifty, if memory serves right. She leans back against one grey filing cabinet and folds and arm over the over, cigarette held between two fingers.] There were some in the earlier days who did not think it would switch on. And then that it would operate successfully. And then that it was a waste of time or a slight against nature.

[Sometimes, she's still on the fence about the latter.] My belief has always been, as long as there is hope, this mission is worth it. And if history cannot be changed, then -- at the very least, we will get to the end of the investigation to why the world was allowed to go to shit.

[A moment to take a draw and then, puffing out smoke:] If you like conspiracy theories, we have a thousand. [Or it feels like, anyway.]