Verelan

"...Diamn aoi Rihanha!" Those last words are allowed to hang in the air reverently for a few moments longer. No one moves or even breathes until an understood length of time passes, waiting for the exact moment that a lifetime of conditioning tells them it is safe to resume their daily tasks. 4.7 seconds, she thinks to herself in mild fascination. For every day since she has assumed this identity, she has counted a 4.7 second silence following the Pledge of Loyalty every single day without fail. The pledge itself is written in numerous records of history, law, government, and culture, but nowhere can she find where it prescribes an exact measurement of silence to follow the pledge. This _phenomenon must have some sort of cultural root cause, _she muses. Perhaps if I research...

"Verelan!"

Startled, her posture goes ridged at the sound of her assumed name. A curse, once alien to her tongue, escapes under her breath unbidden. She mentally chastises herself both for becoming lost in thought and for allowing that emotional outburst to silently escape her lips. A warm sensation spreads across her cheeks, and she knows anyone watching, there is always someone watching, can see from the increasingly green tinge of her face that she is blushing. It is simply a calculated response to give the appearance of authenticity to my cover, she lies to herself. The simple truth, no matter how illogical, is she's embarrassed. Breathing deeply to compose herself, she looks up into the disapproving stare of her office overseer, H'darek. He is angry, but then again he is always angry. As she watches the bulging vein throb along his temple and calculates to herself just how much damage H'darek is doing to his health by constantly maintaining such an agitated and emotionally volatile state. Her mental calculations are interrupted, however, when H'darek slams his government-issued report tablet onto her desk, sending her small collection of meticulously chosen whimsical personal objects into disarray.

"What is this?" H'darek asks in an accusatory tone.

She arches her eyebrow, an affectation she had tried to suppress early in her assignment but has more recently allowed herself to express. "That is a standard tablet issued to government functionaries," she states dryly. H'darek's glaring bloodshot eyes widen in silent fury.

"I know that! Tell me what this is on the tablet."

Deciding that she had adequately goaded the overseer for this exchange and further agitation could have adverse consequences, she glances at the display on the tablet. "That appears to be the comm traffic report I filed yesterday."

H'darek sneers. "Yes, the comm traffic report that is five times longer than required and contains more in-depth analysis than anyone would think possible from a minor functionary such as yourself."

"Thank you."

"That was not a compliment! Do you have any idea how suspicious this looks? I don't even know how you acquired this data you're referencing, and I don't want to know. This department has enough on its hands without you drawing extra attention. From now on, you leave the analysis to the analysts. Is that clear?"

"Perfectly clear."

"Good, now get back to work."

Verelan estimates the proper amount of time to wait after H'darek left and breathes a sigh of relief, mostly as an intentional display of emotion for the benefit of those around her, but also partly in an attempt to dispel the small amount of embarrassment and apprehension she experienced during the encounter. Methodically, she begins to arrange the personal items that had been haphazardly strewn across her desk. She focuses on the whimsical items, her friends from another life would have called them "knick-knacks", and uses the exercise as a form of meditation to calm herself and organize her thoughts. Focus, she says to herself in her mind's voice. Focus on your mission. Focus on your cover. Focus on your target.