Serving Anew

[Clea Larson]

Clea had hoped to formally serve the Empire since she was a child, thanks to the former imperial pilot who had unexpected raised her while her parents were too busy with their respective careers. Yet she hadn't been certain that the transition would come that promptly after her mandatory service with Jaemus military forces, following the extended scholarship from which she had benefited to be trained as a skilled geologist and military scientist. Yet, her profile had caught attention and she had officially enlisted. She had been told she would be called for certain classified missions but that she would only be advised in due time. She was not particularly fond of secrecy and being kept in the dark, but she understood how things worked, and as long as she had an official assignment for her everyday life, she was fine with it, and it proved to be the case.

She hadn't got an actual military scientist position for the time being, and she found herself mostly working as a freighter and shuttle pilot. It was fine by her, despite feeling a little bored. She continued to further her reading and work on some research, at least on a theoretical level. The good thing was that she was able to get a better hold on her new environment and familiarize herself more accurately with base layouts, equipment, regulations, so she could operate to the best of her abilities and understanding as a member of the imperial military. And flying ships didn't hurt.

She was expected for her next shift at the hangar bay in half an hour, so she still had some time ahead of her. She was already refreshed and dressed in her uniform, datapad tucked into her breast pocket, and all she needed now was a light snack and a lot of stimcaf.

[Wulfgarn Schreiger]

The conversation level in the mess hall seemed to die as if the entire compartment explosively decompressed. One glance over the shoulder by the patrons at the counter explained everything. A man in ISB whites and a heavily-laden rank plaque entered the room. He seemed initially preoccupied, glancing down at his chrono to disengage a small alarm chime. With that taken care of, Wulfgarn Schreiger looked up to the lowly messkeep with an expression that seemed to be manicured to be genial and neutral at once.

"I'll have a nutritive."

Imperial nutritives, designed to provide the most ideal form of sessionable hydration and nutritious intake possible. They were almost always the default ration of choice. Every calorie, every gram of protein had been included by committee to provide as complete of a consumable possible for the cost. Taste and variety were casualties. It wasn't vile, but it wasn't a thing to be savored. For an Empire that always looked at it's military as an asset, the Imperial nutritive was fuel for the machine.

The messkeep nearly fumbled as he retrieved the carton from refrigeration, managing to salve his dignity by placing the carton in front of Schreiger. The ISB officer simply nodded, took the carton, and gave it's transplast lid a curt twist to break the seal. Then, as if noticing the deathly pall of silence around the room, he glanced to Clea.

"Was it something I said?"

Too glib, perhaps. Schreiger absolutely knew what had caused the mess to chill over. The Imperial Security Bureau was the immune response of the Imperial body. It traveled freely among it, vigilant for signs of invasion, infection, and cancer. When it found it - and it inevitably did - the immune response was quick to remove the offending internal matter. Loose talk froze in mouths whenever an ISB officer appeared, and even those with nothing to hide could nonetheless second-guess themselves and fear. Did something they posted on the HoloNet get taken out of context? Were they about to be the next to be quietly reassigned. Or re-educated?

Schreiger shrugged, and sipped his nutritive.

[Clea Larson]

Clea was familiar with uniforms and insignias. She knew who the man standing next to her was, at least that he belonged to the ISB and that it was enough to terrify most people. Not her though. She respected the work they did and understood that they could tear one apart should they say or do the wrong thing. In her view, it was the person's problem, not the ISB's. They were doing their duty to protect the Empire and ensure that people served as they were supposed to. The military scientist was certainly not shaking in her boots standing next to this man. On the contrary, she was reminded of why she had chose to follow in the footsteps of the woman who had raised her most of the time, since her parents had been too busy with their own duties.

She respectfully looked at the man when he glanced at her. "The sight of you was enough to achieve this, sir," she answered truthfully. She wasn't sucking up for it wasn't in her nature either. She always did what the job required and the ISB as all other services in the Empire did exactly that in her view.

She knew eyes were on her as well, for she knew that most people would probably think she was insane. She had been asked a question, likely only of because luck would have her stand next to the ISB officer in the line.

The messkeep looked at her with curiosity, at least as well-hidden curiosity as he could manage.

"I'll have a nutritive, and a stim caf," she told him, for there was no reason to delay the rest of the line. They were all on a schedule.

[Wulfgarn Schreiger]

The Director eased his carton down, a slightly smug affect pulling at one corner of his mouth.

"Of course it was."

He glanced to the woman who'd spoken to him. Not as an equal, but as someone who understood hierarchy, but didn't let the construct petrify them.

"It's interesting to see the effect. How people change when they're aware they're being watched."

Schreiger's smile was chilly.

"Or when they believe they are. I could drop a data filament on the floor and hear it land. Was all the previous chit-chat here full of treason and subversion? Or do even innocent words fall under quarantine out of a paranoid fear of evil context?"

He turned his eyes back to his nutritive, indulging in another sip.

"You're a pilot?"

[Clea Larson]

Observation and quick reactions were among Clea's forte in her complex skill set, whether as a pilot or as a scientist. She could understand why this man could easily terrify others. It was more fascinating than scary to her. And the Empire hadn't gone as far as it had without individuals of high caliber. There was no room for lukewarm service people and even less for traitors.

"Paranoia leads people to make mistakes, whether benign or tragic," she replied. Calculating what to reveal in certain situations was one thing, but letting paranoia get the best of you was another one. She could be hot tempered at times and didn't fear unleashing hell in battle when needed, but she lived her truth and didn't fear what others may think because she was no traitor. And if she frakked up, she owned it.

She moved along the line as food and beverages were served.

"Yes, sir. I currently serve as such, until my scientific skills are needed."