"So... how long do you guys think it'll take for Dr. Kal'tsit to cool down this time?"
Deep inside the Babel landship's cafeteria, a tight cluster of elite operators sat huddled in a dark corner, keeping their voices down as they dissected the ongoing execution of the supreme tactician. By this point, the incident was about as far from a state secret as you could get.
With Kal'tsit's private office currently sitting entirely wide open to the public corridor like a freshly blasted subway tunnel, a person would have to actively try to remain ignorant of the situation. Honestly, though, the crew was far past the point of being shocked by the Doctor's unhinged antics; at this stage, it was just another Tuesday.
The one looking exceptionally green around the gills, however, was ACE. The sheer volume of nervous sweat currently dripping down his forehead was highly conspicuous, betraying a level of extreme, deep-seated anxiety that far outmatched anyone else at the table.
Watching the veteran defender practically vibrate with dread caught Logos's attention. He leaned back, adjusting his posture as he eyed his colleague with a heavy dose of suspicion. It wasn't like ACE to possess such a deep, soul-searching investment in the Doctor's physical well-being. Was the tactician harboring a massive, unpaid tab for premium beer?
"What's it to you, anyway?" Logos finally spoke up, dropping his casual tone to look directly at ACE. "You're acting incredibly cagey today. Did you accidentally mix something lethal into the Doctor's instant noodles, or are you just waiting to inherit her coat?"
Following Logos's sharp observation, the rest of the operators instantly locked their gazes onto ACE. Now that it was pointed out, the big guy's behavior was completely off. He was paying far too much attention to the administrative wing's body count.
ACE shifted under the collective scrutiny, initially clamping his jaw shut in a desperate bid to take the secret to his grave. But the look on his comrades' faces made it glaringly obvious that if he didn't spill the truth right now, they were going to make his life an absolute living hell.
After a long, agonizing silence, ACE let out a heavy, soul-crushing sigh, completely slumping into his seat as he accepted his grim reality.
"Look, don't laugh... but the actual truth is... those traditional paper horses and ceremonial servants?" ACE buried his face in his massive calloused hands, his voice muffled by pure, unadulterated despair. "The Doctor explicitly cornered me before my last logistics run to the East. She asked me to 'discreetly secure a few cultural artifacts' and bring them back in the cargo hold. I had no idea she was planning to build a literal tomb!"
The table fell into an absolute, breathless silence. The operators stared at their old friend, completely stunned by the realization that this quiet, reliable vanguard had actively served as the prime supplier for the Doctor's high-tier contraband.
"Brother... safe travels," Logos said after a beat, placing a deeply solemn, heavily dramatic hand on ACE's shoulder. "Don't worry about your private stash of beer. I will personally see to it that every single bottle is properly celebrated in your memory."
The rest of the operators bit their lips hard, desperately trying to lock down the explosive laughter bubbling up in their chests. Bursting out laughing while a comrade was actively staring into the abyss of his own demise felt a bit unprofessional but the sheer comedy of the situation was testing their operational discipline to its absolute limits.
"Buzz off, Logos! Instead of inventorying my alcohol, why don't you actually use that massive brain of yours to figure out a way to scrub my name from the manifest before Kal'tsit finds it?" ACE growled, his internal stability completely fracturing.
"What do you expect me to do?" Logos replied, throwing his hands up. "Your only viable tactical strategy right now is to pray that Kal'tsit burns through all her physical energy dismantling the Doctor. If she has even a fraction of a percent left in her reserves, you know damn well she's going to run a full forensic audit on who authorized the transport."
As the group bickered, their voices naturally swelled past their initial hushed boundaries, completely abandoning their operational security. They were so deeply tangled in ACE's looming execution that none of them even noticed the automated doors sliding open, or the fact that their frantic conversation was being recorded with crystal clarity by a few newcomers.
"And this sector comprises the primary Babel cafeteria," Theresa introduced smoothly, guiding Jeanne through the threshold. "While the current logistical constraints limit the overall variety of our daily menu, the culinary staff manages to maintain a highly commendable standard of flavor..."
The Sarkaz Demon King and the French maiden had stepped into the facility with a very practical objective: securing a proper breakfast. Having departed their staging ground the previous evening and pushed through a high-stakes combat encounter before immediately rushing back to the flagship, their sustenance had consisted entirely of a few dry, brick-like field rations. Their bodies were practically begging for real food.
"It seems remarkably quiet in here," Jeanne noted, her eyes sweeping across the modest dining hall. "Theresa, do you actually find the time to come down here and eat alongside the line staff on a regular basis?"
The space itself wasn't particularly grand. If Babel's total domestic complement—including the extensive medical and engineering staff—sat somewhere around a thousand personnel, a unified mealtime rush would comfortably cause the entire structural framing of this room to burst at the seams. Yet, Jeanne hadn't spotted any alternate dining facilities on their long trek through the core.
"Very rarely, to be honest," Theresa admitted, her expression carrying a touch of regret. "Most of our personnel heavily prefer to have their meals dispatched directly to their respective operational desks. Walking all the way down to this sector eats up a significant portion of their designated breaks... though it does place a massive burden on the kitchen staff, who have to manually coordinate deliveries for every single department."
Theresa's personal absences from the hall weren't born of royal elitism; her administrative itinerary was simply so densely packed that a leisurely stroll to the cafeteria was a luxury her schedule couldn't afford. Furthermore, while her ingredients were sourced from the exact same central pantry as everyone else, her specific menu was strictly dictated by a rigid nutritional profile drawn up by Kal'tsit to manage her delicate biological stability.
Before they could even approach the serving counter, the frantic, terrified banter drifting from the corner table hit their ears, causing both women to halt.
Theresa's expression turned delightfully complex as she processed the conversation. It shouldn't have been a surprise that the Doctor had secured a domestic accomplice to pull off her theatrical masterpiece, but hearing the logistics chain laid bare by one of her top operators was something else entirely.
"I believe it would be tactically sound for us to initiate a temporary strategic retreat," Theresa whispered, casting a swift glance at the gossiping operators before gently grabbing little Amiya's shoulder to steer her back out the door. "Interrupting them right now would likely cause severe social awkwardness."
The real dilemma weighing on the Sovereign's mind was whether or not she was morally obligated to relay this new data to Kal'tsit. Remaining silent felt like a betrayal of her oldest friend, but exposing ACE to the Feline's wrath felt like signing a death warrant for a loyal soldier. It was best to simply pretend they had never set foot in the room.
While a few of the high-tier operators at the table possessed sharp enough senses to register a brief disturbance at the entryway, by the time they glanced up, the sliding doors had already sealed shut. Assuming it was just a standard logistics drone, they quickly returned to roasting their doomed comrade.
Jeanne and Theresa, keeping a thoroughly bewildered Amiya between them, moved swiftly through the sterile corridors. Their primary goal was to completely distance themselves from the administrative blast zone and find a quiet sanctuary far removed from any potential crossfire.
They were miles away from the Doctor's office now; the agonizing, dramatic wails of the supreme strategist had finally faded into blessedly peaceful silence.
"This specific unit has been designated as your personal living quarters for the duration of your stay," Theresa announced, gesturing toward a heavy metallic door before sliding it open. "How does it look to you?"
While it was technically classified as a standard officer's berth, the structural dimensions were surprisingly generous. The entire space was meticulously arranged and perfectly tidy, though the sharp, clinical scent of chemical disinfectant hung incredibly thick in the air—making Jeanne feel as though she had just been assigned a long-term bed in a high-security isolation ward.
"Ah... regarding the atmospheric profile," Theresa coughed lightly, her nose twitching as she caught the scent. "The personnel responsible for clearing this block are seconded from the primary medical wing. It appears that after sterilizing the recovery wards, they simply maintained the exact same chemical protocol for this entire residential sector..."
Amiya, having spent nearly her entire formative upbringing trailing directly behind Kal'tsit, didn't find the heavy scent of hospital bleach strange in the slightest. To her, this was just what a clean room was supposed to smell like.
"Kal'tsit, the Doctor, and my own private quarters are located directly adjacent to this unit," Theresa continued, pointing out a series of identical reinforced doors lining the quiet corridor. "Should any urgent operational crisis arise, you will be able to locate the core leadership instantly. Little Amiya's room sits right across the hall from yours."
When it came to navigating the internal layout of this particular deck, the little Cautus possessed a familiarity that easily outmatched the Sovereign's. Jeanne watched with a raised eyebrow as the small rabbit hopped over to a completely unassuming floor panel, slid it aside with practiced efficiency, and triumphantly hauled out a neatly wrapped bundle of imported candies. It was glaringly obvious the child had been utilizing this vacant guest suite as her personal, high-tier contraband vault.
Is this seriously okay? Jeanne's internal narrator screamed, her face twitching as she looked between the kid and the literal ruler of Kazdel. Your boss is standing right next to you! Are you entirely devoid of basic survival instincts, or do you just have zero fear of this gentle lady running straight to Kal'tsit to file an official report?
Theresa stared at the smuggled sweets, her wide eyes blinking in genuine astonishment as she leaned down to whisper to the little rabbit.
"Amiya... when on earth did you locate that stash? I was entirely certain I had integrated those coordinates into a highly secure personal matrix. No wonder my private inventory count has been suffering an inexplicable daily deficit..."
Wait a minute... that was YOUR stash?! Jeanne's jaw dropped entirely.
"Dr. Kal'tsit strictly monitors my glucose intake, declaring that excessive sweets are detrimental to my systemic baseline," Theresa explained to Jeanne, offering a thoroughly embarrassed, deeply endearing smile as she tried to salvage her royal dignity. "So... I occasionally opt to store a few unauthorized reserves in unlisted locations."
"The Doctor was the one who engineered the scanning sweep to locate them," Amiya explained cheerfully, completely oblivious to the administrative betrayal she had just confessed to. She unwrapped a piece of candy and held it out with a radiant, massive smile. "Since you and the tall sister haven't had a proper breakfast yet, you should definitely have some sugar to keep your energy up!"
The gesture was pure, unadulterated hospitality. Even if Jeanne wasn't an established comrade of the Doctor's, Amiya had watched the mysterious strategist mutter her name like a sacred mantra for days. In her innocent mind, anyone who occupied that much real estate in the Doctor's tactical brain deserved the absolute highest level of Babel hospitality.
And besides, given that the Doctor's current medical status fluctuated somewhere between "severely dismantled" and "potentially expired," little Amiya felt it was her absolute duty as a responsible member of the organization to step up and handle the diplomatic reception.
Granted, the candy she was offering wasn't technically hers to give—it belonged entirely to Theresa—but in the grand scheme of international relations, it was the thought that counted, wasn't it? (Amiya pumped her tiny fist in absolute determination!)