Interruption: The Call That Cannot Wait
The Baron did not argue.
He did not explain.
He simply stepped aside.
For the first time in the meeting, he looked… serious.
He pulled out a mobile phone.
Not a futuristic one.
Not a symbolic one.
A very ordinary phone — which made everyone uneasy.
“Excuse me,” he said quietly.
“We cannot proceed without her.”
Spock raised an eyebrow.
“Without whom?”
The Baron had already turned away.
The call connected immediately.
“Yes,” he said. “I know it’s late. Yes, I know this sounds impossible. No, it’s not a metaphor this time.”
Pause.
“Yes. Reason. All of it.”
Another pause.
“…Because the room has reached the point where logic understands itself, symbols admit their limits, and action is ready to misfire.”
Silence.
“Exactly,” said the Baron. “That’s why.”
He hung up.
Sabine crossed her arms.
“Who did you just call?”
The Baron turned back.
“Jasmine Crockett.”
The room reacted physically.
Kirk blinked.
Han muttered, “Oh boy.”
Data’s pupils dilated microscopically.
Spock stiffened.
Sabine frowned.
“Why?”
Yoda answered first.
“Words under fire, she knows.”
Spock spoke carefully.
“She is trained in adversarial discourse.”
Sabine added, reluctantly:
“She understands how reason collapses in public… and how to keep it standing.”
The air shifted.
Then footsteps.
Fast. Controlled. Purposeful.
Jasmine Crockett entered already mid-sentence.
“—no, see, the problem is not that people don’t understand logic,” she said, looking around, “it’s that logic doesn’t survive contact with power unless someone speaks it clearly.”
She stopped.
Looked at everyone.
“…Okay. I see I’m late.”
The Baron bowed.
“Perfectly on time.”
She scanned the room.
“Let me guess.
You’ve got:
-
A logic purist
-
A learning machine
-
A wisdom monk
-
Two action heroes
-
A physicist with a nonsense allergy
—and you.”
She pointed at the Baron.
“And you’ve all agreed on everything except how to say it without losing the world.”
No one spoke.
She nodded.
“Yeah. That tracks.”
Sabine stepped forward.
“We are trying to prevent reason from being hijacked by symbolism, and symbolism from being flattened by metrics.”
Jasmine replied instantly.
“Good. Then here’s the missing piece.”
She looked straight at Spock, then Data.
“Reason does not fail in theory.
It fails in rooms.
On cameras.
Under deadlines.
When someone asks a bad-faith question and the answer has to fit in twelve seconds.”
Data processed.
“Compression under adversarial conditions.”
“Exactly,” Jasmine said. “And that’s where rhetoric matters — not as manipulation, but as structural support.”
Spock frowned.
“Rhetoric is often associated with persuasion over truth.”
Jasmine nodded.
“And that’s why truth keeps losing.”
Silence.
Even Sabine didn’t interrupt.
Jasmine continued.
“You don’t need less reason.
You need reason that can stand up without footnotes.”
The Baron smiled — but said nothing.
Yoda raised his cup.
“Speak clearly… or fade, you will.”
Jasmine turned to him.
“Green guy, I like you.”
Han leaned over to Kirk.
“She’s scary.”
Kirk nodded.
“In a good way.”
Jasmine looked at the Baron.
“So. What’s the agenda?”
He finally spoke.
“To keep reason alive when it is shouted at.”
She rolled up her sleeves.
“Then stop theorizing and start framing.”
She tapped the table.
“Rule one:
If you can’t say it plainly, you don’t own it.
Rule two:
If you can’t defend it publicly, it’s not finished.
Rule three:
Silence is also a statement — and it’s usually the wrong one.”
Data logged all three.
Sabine exhaled slowly.
“…Yes. We needed this.”
The Baron wrote in the minutes:
Emergency Appointment:
Jasmine Crockett — Custodian of Public Reason
He looked up.
“Now,” he said gently,
“we may proceed.”
The room felt… steadier.
Not solved.
But held.
