Lieutenant JG Ollie Bergmen - Nothing inspires cleanliness more than an unexpected guests
CPT Arianus
(( The Office Building, Afalqi Project Launch Complex, Meranuge IV ))
Ollie looked around the hall while they made their way to the reception, almost as though he were looking for something beyond just the living Da'als, as the space was strangely silent - broken only by the soft echo of their own footsteps - and as deserted as the outside.
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?
Bergmen listened to the comments of others, and then he just shrugged his shoulders as he walked toward the reception. Yet just before they reached the end of the entrance hall, Storm suddenly turned and gazed at the team, her voice lowered to almost a whisper.
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.
Ollie nodded and walked just behind Ensign Jaran, his innocent smile of positive attitude written into his face, the reception towards.
Jaran: Good day, ::pausing slightly over the pronunciation:: Ce'Mond. It's a pleasure to see you... or anyone, here today.
Bergmen: We would like to ask you, if you are willing, for assistance, ma’am.
The receptionist looked through the glass at the group, inscrutable in her professional smile, yet willing in her voice.
Ce’Mond: Of course. And how can I help you today?
Storm: We’re from Starfleet.
Lieutenant pointed at her combadge. Commander checked hers and then followed suit, looking at the receptionist with a smile.
Ce’mond: Starfleet?
As much as that question could sound absurd, almost ignorant, Ollie didn’t let his external positivity be derailed by what sounded more like a play than a sincere question. The receptionist quickly checked her console, likely to see whether they were expected or not.
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.
Bergmen: I believe, Ensign, madam here knows the boss of her boss's boss.
Ce’Mond: Ooo.
Still smiling, still as bright as the sun, Ollie began to nod his head as he watched the slight shift in the receptionist's expression.
Ce’Mond: That Starfleet.
Storm: Yes. That Starfleet.
Ollie tilted his head slightly to the side as he folded his hands behind his back and raised his eyebrows slightly at the receptionist, waiting to see what she was going to say.
Jovenan: We’d like to look into some of Chief Engineer Havun’s documents, please.
Ce’Mond: Mister Havun is not available right now.
The professional bureaucrat in Ollie had to bow low to the excellence of his fellow professional bureaucrat seated behind the window. What she was doing was a perfect three D. Deny. Deflect. Delay.
Bergmen: We don’t need them to be present; we would be completely satisfied with his office equipment and documentation archive.
Storm: Response
The receptionist seemed satisfied with the said and surprisingly willing to let them off the hook. Why remained the question, but Ollie didn't complain.
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.
The receptionist let them pass through the turnstile into the building corridors beyond, and the following corridors did not seem at all surprising - austere, functionalist, barely recognizable from one another. The office building definitely lived up to its classification.
Jaran: That was a robot or a hologram or something, right? Not a particularly good one, either?
Bergman chuckled.
Bergmen: No, Doctor. Just someone who truly enjoyed their slice of the world to the fullest…
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.
Jaran nodded, and Ollie followed suit. They had the job, and there was no need to overthink every Da'als' reaction to their presence.
Storm: Response
The corridors were deserted, and their footsteps echoed in the silence, which grew quite unsettling. Fortunately, they didn't have to walk far to reach a row of lifts.
Jaran: The dark blue, right?
Ollie smiled at the nervous Doctor and gave a nod toward at the colored markings above the lifts.
Bergmen: But which dark blue, Doctor? Starfleet Blue? Deep Blue? Cobalt denim blue?
There was just one color, which could be described as dark blue, yet he tried to entertain them to help relax a little.
Storm/Jovenan: Response
They entered the lift. The doctor pressed the button for the third floor, and shortly after, the lift stopped complaining about movement and the doors slid open.
Jaran: Ok, we need to find corridor.. 7? And something after that. Why does such a high ranking person have such a hard office to find?!
Bergmen: Because if it were easy, floor map sign manufacturers would be out of a job.
And with those words, Bergmen pointed to the floor map on the wall nearby.
Storm/Jovenan: Response
Governmental buildings were never easy to navigate, but they were structured, and once one understood the austere rigor of the preplanned organizational structure, it wasn't that difficult to find what one was looking for. And this particular one wasn’t different.
The fact that the doors were marked with numbers and the occupants' names also helped a little to find the specific ones with the name of Chief Engineer Havun. When they opened them, it was a miracle they weren't crushed by boxes, tablets, and other necessary belongings of someone who produced documentation, reports, and two papers for another totally unnecessary paper as their livelihood.
What was more surprising was the noise from behind what looked like an up-to-ceiling stack of mechanical parts, which quickly turned into the terrified face of a cleaner lady, who slowly began to retreat into the depths of the office.
Jaran: It's ok! We're not going to hurt you!
Ollie slipped his hand off the phaser and smiled.
Storm/Jovenan: Response
The model of what was probably a miniature of the plasma jet injector that disintegrated after hitting the wall right next to the door frame was quite telling evidence that neither their arrival nor their words were met with understanding.
Ta’Mora: No! You will not take me to Sey’nadara!
Bergmen: We are not here for you, nor wanna to take you … whatever that place or person is.
Storm/Jovenan/Jaran: Response
The cleaning lady didn't let go of the other model of - some, probably - a generator, but she didn't throw that either, which was acceptable enough to call it as a good sign.
Ta’Mora: You’re not Quwa-Am?
Ollie looked uncertainly at the commander before returning his gaze to the cleaning lady.
Bergmen: We are from Starfleet. Eh, you know, the United Federation of Planets?
Storm/Jovenan/Jaran: Response
TAG/TBC
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Lieutenant JG Ollie Bergmen
Operations Officer
U.S.S. Artemis-A
A240009JC1