Hearing the Doctor mention someone eager for an audience, Jeanne's first instinct was to wonder if a new Sankta operator had recently stepped aboard the landship, hoping to arrange a meeting through official channels.
"Well... I suppose I can indulge my curiosity. Who is this person hoping to track me down? You rarely bring up visitors with quite this much enthusiasm, after all."
"The younger sister of one of our corporate partners. She contracted Oripathy, came to Rhodes Island for treatment, and officially enlisted as an operator. Once she caught wind of your background, she kept petitioning me over and over for a chance to speak with you."
The Doctor recalled the hyper-active young mountain climber. Because of her relentless determination to meet Jeanne, the eager cadet had ambushed the Doctor in the corridors on multiple occasions, her tone growing increasingly defensive and petty each time.
She sounded suspiciously like a jealous spouse accusing Jeanne of carrying on an affair out of town—and treating the Doctor's office like the other woman's doorstep, radiating a grudge powerful enough to curdle milk.
"Spare me the theatrical framing. Whenever you use that tone, I can practically hear you gloating behind your screen. You do love playing the charming counselor for every female operator on board, don't you, Doctor?"
"I do not play counselor! I simply assist operators dealing with high psychological stress by facilitating emotional decompression! Why must you phrase it like some sordid—"
Stung by the jab, the Doctor bounced upright like a startled cat, cheeks flushing crimson beneath the visor as her voice pitched up a full octave.
The sudden outburst immediately drew curious sideways glances from nearby patrons, who looked ready to pull up chairs and grab refreshments for a proper public spectacle.
"Is that so? Strange, because the internal group chats on the landship tell a completely different story. Word on the deck is that our mysterious, enigmatic Doctor harbors a distinct fondness for cozy, private counseling sessions with attractive female operators."
Jeanne slid her terminal across the table, displaying a captured message thread where crew members openly debated the Doctor's apparent staffing preferences. The favoritism toward female personnel was glaringly obvious.
Not a single male operator had ever reported being summoned for a private counseling session; those unfortunate souls only interacted with the Doctor when administrative paperwork demanded it.
"These are malicious rumors! Fabricated gossip! You cannot possibly believe such unfounded slander, Jeanne. You know how thoroughly professional and upright I am!"
"Coming from the person who once set up an impromptu memorial altar complete with catnip inside Kal'tsit's office, 'upright' and 'professional' are mutually exclusive concepts. Give up."
Jeanne snatched her terminal back just before the masked strategist could lunge across the table to confiscate it. What did the Doctor expect to achieve by grabbing the device anyway? Destroying the evidence wouldn't erase the digital footprint.
"I shall institute a rigorous policy review regarding crew members gossiping about senior management. This sort of insubordination is becoming a genuine operational hazard."
The Doctor slumped back into her seat, adopting an expression of profound bureaucratic gravity. Yet no matter how hard she tried to project executive authority, it failed to mask the desperate, transparent bid to force everyone into silence through sheer administrative fiat.
"Just watch your back for the day Kal'tsit returns and strings you up from the bridge rafters to keep Warfarin company." Jeanne rested her chin in her palm, calmly plucking another fry from her basket.
"There's no need to borrow trouble! Kal'tsit has pulled stunts like that before anyway. I hear an operator named Mizuki once innocently inquired about her age during a briefing, and she slapped him with a three-month deck-duty ban."
The Doctor casually tossed another confidential anecdote onto the table, completely unfazed by the fact that she was actively selling out her primary supervisor. Knowing how petty the feline strategist could be, why wasn't she worried about Jeanne turning informant?
Catching Jeanne's deeply meaningful, calculating stare, the Doctor suddenly realized she might have overshared. Jeanne was entirely capable of filing a formal complaint!
"Please, I beg of you, do not mention this to Kal'tsit. Just tell her you heard it from Mizuki instead! Besides, she's away from the landship right now, so it's hardly an immediate crisis."
The Doctor pressed her palms together in a desperate pantomime of supplication. Jeanne watched the pathetic display for a moment, letting the silence stretch before a slow, amused smile tugged at the corner of her lips.
"That depends entirely on your cooperation. Start by telling me more about this person who wants an audience, and I'll decide whether she's worth my time."
Though Jeanne generally avoided chance encounters with strangers, if the visitor possessed genuine relevance, she was willing to grant an interview.
"Considering your background, she might not qualify as a major historical figure, but you must have crossed paths with the name of her homeland. Have you ever heard of the secluded realm of Kjerag?"
"An isolated, self-contained nation governed by strict religious orthodoxy. A miraculous country that, for reasons unknown, has managed to completely bypass natural disasters for centuries."
At the same time, it remained one of the sovereign states that had formally responded to the Pan-Nations Summit. While Kjerag's modest economic scale had kept it on the periphery of those grand diplomatic proceedings, Logos had occasionally mentioned a prominent local figure named SilverAsh during post-summit debriefings, leaving Jeanne with a faint impression of the region.
"That's a fair summary. A deeply insular, faith-driven society—though 'backward' doesn't even begin to cover their infrastructure. You wouldn't believe how primitive conditions remain outside their central sanctuaries."
"No matter how primitive a nation might be, I can easily visualize it. You shouldn't forget—" Jeanne paused mid-sentence, shaking her head. "Actually, never mind. Given my current lack of historical memory, let's just say I can accept whatever level of destitution you're implying."
She had nearly remarked that any civilization on Terra was still infinitely more advanced than the brutal, medieval age wilderness she remembered surviving during her nineteenth year—or rather, her life before revival—but mentioning her fragmented past served little purpose here.
"Word has it they don't even have widespread heating grids in the outer settlements. Families still rely on burning timber through the bitter winters, and for the impoverished mountain communities, conditions are far grimmer..."
The Doctor spoke with genuine gravity. What shocked Jeanne wasn't merely Kjerag's isolation, but the sheer scale of hardship; Terra possessed countless regions far harsher than Kjerag, yet an entire sovereign state functioning at such a rudimentary level was remarkable.
How had they managed to survive this long surrounded by predatory neighbors and hostile territory?
"Let's stick to the point. Is this individual from Kjerag? And what business does she have with me?" Jeanne steered the conversation back on track.
"Because you're a Saintess, of course! Once that girl learned of your religious rank, she became utterly obsessed with meeting you. She brings it up almost every single week."
To corner the Doctor without drawing unwanted attention, the young mountaineer had deliberately volunteered for late-night administrative shifts, waiting until the entire deck cleared out before quietly pressing her petition.
"What on earth does a Kjerag native want with a Lateran Saintess?" Jeanne took a slow sip of her drink, her curiosity finally piqued.
"Why don't we head up to the landship and find out? I'm quite curious myself about what prompts such persistent inquiries." Given the religious undertones involved, Jeanne understood the need for caution.
She wanted to avoid any careless phrasing that might spark an unintended theological dispute between Lateran doctrine and Kjerag tradition, sparing future historians the headache of untangling a diplomatic incident.
"There's no need to look so solemn. Cliffheart isn't coming to launch an inquisition; she merely wants to ask a few... specialized questions. Her own family happens to feature someone who holds a comparable spiritual office."
"Please don't describe me in the same breath as a local oracle or a cult figure. And for the record, Saintess isn't a vocational job title—your phrasing has fundamental conceptual flaws!"
Jeanne stared flatly at the Doctor, wondering what other absurd terminology the strategist might produce next, while mentally filing away yet another grievance for later.
"The point is that she perceives the role through a practical administrative lens, and I'm briefing you on her perspective so you don't talk past each other when you meet."
Under Jeanne's lethal gaze, the Doctor hurried to justify herself, though she privately found Cliffheart's rigid theological views rather baffling—especially when religious matters collided with practical politics.
As everyone knew, theology was a perennial minefield across every era; nations had gone to war over a single mistranslated doctrinal syllable since the dawn of recorded history.
When Jeanne finally stepped into the medical ward and laid eyes on the young Feline operator known as Cliffheart, an abrupt, uncanny sense of familiarity washed over her.
She was certain she had either encountered this specific girl before, or someone whose facial structure and bearing were an uncanny match.
Now, where on earth would I have seen... Jeanne tilted her head, slipping momentarily into deep contemplation.