The fingers were drumming on the table again. A little stronger, a little faster, this time around. There was conflict within the amiral. The soft, paternal Montlaville side insisted that here was a mostly good-natured girl caught in an unfavorable situation and who did her genuine best to help. The maternal, Chanteloup side was absolutely furious at this Sirian peasant who was most likely hiding something from her with surprising skill and audacity. Or perhaps there was simply not much more to it ? Unconcerned with the runnings of her own conscience, Chanteloup let the battle unfold as she pondered where she'd go from there.

The corridors of Cordes were busier now, what with day operations having resumed. The atmosphere was quite different as a result, but that also owed to Chanteloup accompanying Sombra Hookier by herself. The personnel on duty would have been surprised to meet either of those women during their shift in this forsaken station ; two at once made that morning very special indeed. Naturally, they thought better of showing their surprise when meeting the pair. All of the sailors they crossed put their back against the wall to let them through while straightening up and uttering a simple, respectful "Amiral".
Chanteloup nodded at every one of them.

She was walking at a more considerate, slower pace than her usual relentless march from one crucial assignment to another, finding unexpected pleasure in Sombra's company. She doubted the feeling was mutual. Not that it ever mattered much. She even allowed herself a genuine, soft smile regarding the girl's remark upon Gallic cuisine. The edge was mostly gone and her demeanor had the tranquillity of a shark which had just feasted on a particularly fat seal. She took a couple of long drags on her cigarette as Sombra spoke, visibly relishing it.

They had just left the administrative quarters and were making their way through the more austere bulkheads.
"Hmmh. I'm not surprised a Curacoan native would be attracted to the smells and flavours of the Gallic arts of the table*. We take care in preserving our reputation, as you'll be able to verify for yourself soon enough." She paused.
"I am well aware that the purposes of your visit to Gallia stretch far beyond mere tourism, mademoiselle Hookier. Still, don't let that keep you from enjoying yourself while in our company. You have been given a privilege that few Sirians have experienced so far. I trust you'll find Gallia to be a generous and welcoming host, just as I trust you'll spread the word to your... Entourage."

They had arrived in front of the airlock which linked the Catport to Cordes. A quartier-maître was waiting by the door and stood at attention upon the women's arrival.
"Ship's ready, as ordered, amiral."
"Excellent. Dismissed." He straightened and walked away.
Chanteloup turned to face Sombra.
"This is it. Welcome to Gallia, mademoiselle Hookier. You are now our guest to come and go as you please. I give you my word that no trouble will come to you during your stay. If you have any questions, now is the time. And if not..."

She extended her right hand towards Sombra.

Chanteloup took a second to think, as she gauged Sombra, eye to eye, bemused.
"The pleasure was all mine", she finally replied, letting go of Sombra's hand, and wondered what would get them to meet again. Something serious, either very good or very bad. Time would tell. Why am I even wondering...?
"As for monsieur Vertiga... You may recount all that has transpired here, of course, and that Saint-Yves speaks of him fondly." She uttered a good-natured laugh, which she allowed to run its course before suddenly returning to her characteristic intensity.
"And... this, if you please : Gallia does not forget its enemies... Nor its friends. And it always makes sure both get precisely what they deserve." She paused, an enigmatic if not particularly threatening smile on her lips.

"I wish you a pleasant stay, mademoiselle Hookier", she ended up saying, then added, almost to her own surprise, the time-honored Marine goodbye, "Fair winds and a following sea".

An audible thump was heard as the docking collar retracted onto the station. Then, vibrations were felt all across the corridor as the lumbering whale departed. Hands joined behind her back, Isabelle stood in place and reflected upon the moment that had just occured... And drifted in her thoughts, as the station intercom confirmed that the Catport had departed. She relished those few and far-between breaks, and she came to the difficult conclusion that she had liked the girl. She was used to her soldiers' stone-faced professionalism and to the Sirians' angry gesticulations or squirmy supplications. Such light-heartedness in a situation that many would have found (and often did) disquieting at best was news to her. She reasoned that Sombra must have gone through hell and back in service to what she now suspected was her passionate (albeit shared) lover, which probably had made her less susceptible to tense situations. Or she was good at concealing her emotions to avoid embarrassing her master ?

All items were likely.
Pleasant and easy-going ; she could have been a good friend, she heard her father say.
Finally, a Sirian peasant who's worth a little more than the air she breathes, she heard her mother say.
They rarely agreed on anything, even in her mind.

Then her aide-de-camp cleared his throat, and she turned to face him.
"What is it ?" she asked softly.
"Amiral... While you were interrogating Hookieur, the Grand Maréchal called in for your report..."
He paused. She stared him into not pausing.
"...Twice."

It ended. Isabelle became Chanteloup again, as the pressure returned to her shoulders ; her relaxed stance gave way imperceptibly to her usual tense, upright manners. Her world returned to a list of problems she had to solve, alone and with the fate of millions resting in the balance. She had always loved it, but she loved it a little less right now. Still, she grinned. The moment has passed. Back to work.

"Lieutenant, get me a direct line to the Etat-major. Don't stop until you can patch me directly to the Maréchal. And get me a coffee," she barked at her aide.