At awful as Rico is at diplomacy, when it comes to security, it's a field of expertise. Rico's face remains impassive, but under the helm visor his gaze flickers from her smile to the duty roster handed to him. He recognises that kind of smile. He's seen it on his own face more times than he can count.

Strange.

And while he can recognize that things can and do change on the whims of diplomats and administrations, that doesn't mean he's happy about it. It was a good opportunity to stretch his tactical muscles, considering he rarely gets to consult on large operations like this, and he's been sitting lazy in his hab-deck too long. Which is why he's more than a little invested in what she's saying now. Crowd control is more than good enough for him, but it's a pretty drastic change from providing personal security detail on the Epryrian president.

"Listen," Rico demands as he prods her desk with his finger. "We can't just change the plans now. It takes longer than twenty four hours to properly secure a perimeter, and those bozos barely know what they're doing. You still need to position at least a couple more rooftop snipers in the places that I marked out for you. And weren't we still negotiating placing undercover officers in the crowd? The hell happened to that? What is this?"