"I thought this was supposed to be a promotion," Rose grumbled from behind her clipboard, squinting as she attempted to read the impossibly tiny serial number off the side of the storage box she was cataloguing.
"You're just not used to it," a slightly muffled male voice sounded from the next aisle. "Might not look like it now, but you'll develop a certain fondness." Three more containers identical to the one she was holding pushed themselves further down the shelf, revealing the earnest face of the young man speaking. "I'm telling you, give it a week or so more, and you'll feel right at home."
"Doubt it, Davies," she rolled her eyes. "It's been two weeks already, and the only thing I'm developing is a need for bifocals." She stopped, crinkling her nose as she realized she'd lost her place in her object's long identification code. "Oh, sod it!" She exclaimed, a good bit louder than she'd intended.
"Agent Tyler!" A new voice, pointed and feminine, pierced the otherwise silent hall, and the telltale click of treacherously sharp heels approached. "This conduct is decidedly unprofessional."
Rose bowed her head in feigned deference. "Apologies, Ms. Price," she murmured, inwardly scoffing at the woman standing in front of her. "Got a little carried away."
"I should say so," the older woman remarked, pursing her lips in what Rose thought was a rather pretentious sort of way. "I don't know what's considered appropriate down in Field Research, but here we like to pay a little bit more attention to professionalism and decorum on an everyday basis."
"Understood, ma'am," Rose nodded.
"That includes," Agent Price continued, with a sneer, "footwear." Rose blushed, staring down at her pink trainers. "I expect something a little more suitable next time."
"Certainly, Ms. Price."
Nodding curtly, Price turned to leave, when the open space in the otherwise completely uniform shelf of steel boxes caught her eye. Peering through the hole, she was greeted with the cheerful young man in the adjacent aisle.
"Charlotte, darling," said Davies, flashing the supervisor a broad grin. "And how is your evening going? I know mine's just been a ball, what with all these new boxes to index!"
Price's mouth became very small. "Carry on, Davies," she muttered with a nod, walking brusquely out of the area.
As soon as she disappeared out of earshot, the charming smile and false enthusiasm he'd so effortlessly produced in the woman's presence melted into a sharper, more self-satisfied one. "Three years in here, and she's yet to find any match to that," he remarked.
"To what?"
"To me," he replied with a wink. "I've managed to make myself the picture of the eager employee, with just a dash of that especially-irritating brand of blatant disrespect bubbling under the surface. I infuriate her, but the fact that I've not actually done anything wrong makes it all the worse."
"Brilliant," Rose assented, nodding in approval. "What brought on the attack?"
"My first day on the floor, actually," said Davies. "She had the gall to suggest I'd falsified my records to get the promotion, and then she did that little sneer of hers. You know, the one that looks like she's smelling rotten fish or something?" Rose nodded; in all honesty, it was quite the revolting face. "Anyhow, she started in on some speech about competence and decorum and a few more Scrabble words, and I decided to make myself her worst nightmare."
"After your first day?" Rose asked, a little surprised. "A little harsh, don't you think?"
"No second chances," Davies shrugged. "I'm just that sort of man."
The amused smile making its way onto Rose's face faded suddenly into a sadder, more thoughtful one; with a last wistful glance his way, she looked back down at her clipboard and scribbled in the last few numbers on her case, quickly reshelving it and starting on the next one.
"What is it?" Davies leaned further through the space in the shelf. "I've done something wrong, and now our delightful little conversation's come to an abrupt and uncertain end. What have I done, who do I blame, and how might I go about fixing it?" All of this was said very quickly, making it all the harder for Rose to react properly.
She looked back up at him, doing her best to smile, but the wan expression betrayed the sorrow she was trying so hard to conceal. "It's nothing," she assured him. "You just… remind me of someone."
"Someone,' eh?" Davies raised an eyebrow. "And who was this 'someone?' Was he dashing? Funny? Sarcastic? …Sexy?"
Rose let out a small giggle at that. "Definitely have the ego, you do," she remarked.
Looking upwards for a moment in thought, he laughed and nodded. "Yeah," he acknowledged with a nod and a smile.
This time she laughed, before looking back to her work with a plaintive moan. "God, though, what is her problem with me?"
"Nothing," Davies shook his head. "She's just bent because she hasn't got enough clearance to know about the Red Gemini project."
"The what?"
"Red Gemini. Every once in a while there's a note at the bottom of some of the command memos about something called the Red Gemini project, and it's got her mystified. Got me too, actually. I've no idea what it might be, but it's got to be huge, 'cause there's nothing on the database about what it is or who's involved."
"Interesting," said Rose, eyeing him.
"She's got it way worse than me, though," he continued. "Her personal log's plastered with theories. Quite funny, really—"
"Wait," Rose stopped him. "You've read Price's personal logs?"
"Of course," he shrugged. "I'm not a Field Research man; Communications and Technological Reconnaissance was my 'in.'"
"Okay," Rose nodded. "So you're a hacker."
"I prefer to call it 'virtual espionage."
"And you get your kicks from reading command memos and personal logs?"
"You make it sound so petty!" Davies shook his head in amazement. "Really, it's fascinating."
"It's also against all sorts of codes."
"Maybe," he acknowledged, "but no one notices, and you're not going to tell anyone, are you, Tyler?"
Rose stared at him for a moment, as if considering her options. "For now," she said finally, smiling cheekily before scribbling another few numbers on her clipboard. "'Appropriate footwear,'" she muttered, mimicking the high, nasal voice of their superior. "If we get invaded by hostile forces, I'd like to see her escape plan! Try to run from a rampaging extraterrestrial in pumps, and you'll be flat on your face in seconds.
"This is ridiculous!" In an attempt to keep herself from being heard by the older woman again, Rose had taken to ranting in a heated whisper. "I am the best damn field agent out there, and what do they do?" She pounded a fist on the side of the shelf, punctuating her point. "They shut me in a room, writing down numbers all day. It's pointless, it's bloody stupid, and I'm sick of it."
"Oh, come on, Tyler," said Davies in an attempt at a comforting tone. "Honestly, it's not all bad. And hey, you haven't even seen it all yet."
"Yeah, well, the Records part is killing me," Rose remarked, "and I doubt the Research is going to be that much better."
"We could always go read Price's personal logs."
Rose had to bite her fist to keep from laughing. "I'm never going to get any work done, am I?"
"Unlikely," said Davies, pushing the boxes back into place and shutting the space through which he'd been leaning. Once she couldn't see him, it was harder to hear his soft words, but she heard him start to say something:
"You'll see; just wait 'till the Ngloo Room…"