Ensign Jaran Jira - A Level 3 Encounter
Jira Jaran
((Office Building, Afalqi Project Launch Complex, Meranuge IV))
The cool and relative dark inside was a relief.
Bergmen: Should we wait for someone to pick us up or go and announce ourselves, ma’am?
Lt Storm gestured towards the only person they could see, manning the booth.
Storm: With your permission, Commander?
Jovenan: It would be wise to let them know why we’re here. By all means, Lieutenant.
It was so quiet as they walked through the building. Jira didn't feel in danger, but it was still unnatural. They felt like the others could hear their heart beat.
Bergmen: Do you think they are watching us?
Storm: They’d be foolish not to be.
Jovenan: I’d assume they’ve only ramped up their security measures after the theft.
Jaran: Looks like they've... ramped them down, if that's a saying. What's to guard?
Abruptly, Storm stopped and turned to face the team. She whispered, while the Da'al at the counter smiled patiently.
Storm: Assume they’re watching, listening—and recording. If we find something, let’s not flash our cards. Quietly tell the Commander and let her decide what to do with it.
Jovenan: That is… hopefully an overmeasured precaution, but you’re right, let’s avoid revealing to outsiders what we find, and let the official channels handle sharing the information.
They approached the receptionist. Jira looked at the badge hanging from her neck to see it read "Ce'Mond."
Jaran: Good day, ::pausing slightly over the pronunciation:: Ce'Mond. It's a pleasure to see you... or anyone, here today.
Bergmen: Response
Ce’Mond: Of course. And how can I help you today?
Storm: We’re from Starfleet.
Lt Storm gestured towards the badge. Jovenan followed suit, in her own way, and smiled at the receptionist.
Ce’mond: Starfleet?
oO What in the name of the Prophets could that even mean? Oo
Jovenan: Um, yes. The Federation Starfleet. We’ve been invited here by the Provisional Government.
Jaran: You know. The Da'al government. Just to get ahead of that question.
Between the heat and eerily empty nature of where they were, Jira was feeling somewhat on the back foot and out of character. The remark even caught themself off guard.
Bergmen: Response
Ce’Mond: Ooo.
Something changed in her smile. Something, but it was indecipherable what it meant.
Ce’Mond: That Starfleet.
Storm: Yes. That Starfleet.
Jira tried not to start shifting their weight from foot to foot. Nervous gestures like that never helped one's position.
Bergmen: Response
Jovenan: We’d like to look into some of Chief Engineer Havun’s documents, please.
Ce’Mond: Mister Havun is not available right now.
Jira almost admired the dogged adherence to the art of receptionistry. She was possibly the most frustratingly professional person they'd ever met.
Bergmen/Storm: Response
Ce’Mond: His office is on the third floor, corridor 7a, room 31. You can use either the lift marked with dark blue or the staircase South-4.
Jovenan: Thank you. Uh, have a nice day.
They were waved through the checkpoint into the tomb of an office building beyond.
Jaran: That was a robot or a hologram or something, right? Not a particularly good one, either?
Bergmen/Storm: Response
Jovenan: I wouldn’t read too much into that interaction. The Da’al politics are very factional, and our previous involvements with them are probably controversial among some people. Who knows what she’s thinking of us, personally. ::pause:: Third floor, corridor 7a, room 31. Let’s get going so we can start this investigation.
She was right. It didn't matter what the receptionist thought. They were invited and they had a job to do. Jira nodded.
Bergmen/Storm: Response