He shifts slightly, rearranging his legs with a hiss from the space blanket under him. Eventually he gets his legs folded up, twisting round to face her properly. "To be honest, there's no reason they even ought to be in charge anymore. Not like they used to be in any case. There's what-- maybe twenty of them and three hundred plus of us. If someone's going to fix this nonsense, I don't see it being them."

Though to be honest, he wouldn't put much faith in the community of Transports either - not how things stand now. There's been an awful lot of talk about thanksgiving and murder mystery parties, barbecues in the VR room and very little conversation about getting back to the island itself. But part of him wonders if that's less to do with willful ignorance and more to do with having no direction, no proper leadership. God knows 'proper leadership' isn't in his wheel house, but with a little finagling...

"We'd have to lock down the transporter. It's the only thing worth bargaining over."