Preita'rrou Kiimiti Taassaurra loved her job.
Most days, at least. Being on the comms staff of Jovan Station meant that she was tasked with something different almost every day. Some days it might be combing the adjacent sectors for aberrant spectra or intercepted SIGINT. Some days she might help broach introductions or translate for a particularly prickly or exotic visitor species. Still others more involved helping to direct inbound and outbound flights from the station. To just about anyone else, this was torment and drudgery, but to Kiimi, this was an acceptable level of social interaction. If only all interactions could be made by text, voice, or in special cases - screen or hologram. That would make everything so much easier. Much easier than the face-to-face sort of things. Her mother had always said she was chronically shy, but that wasn't really it. She liked people just fine - from a distance. Nothing like the cold hard vacuum of space in between people to help keep things cool. Over comm lines, you didn't have to worry if your hands were sweating or how to avoid eye contact without appearing to avoid eye contact. With a degree of separation, Kiimi felt at ease. Even when - and this happened more often than not - she dealt with a male star pilot. Not that there was anything wrong with that! A man could fly a ship just as well as any woman, probably. It was just a particularly exotic part of her job that she was, well, getting used to.
A chime caught the Preita'rrou's attention, diverting her from her cup of over-sweetened caffeine rocket fuel. Blue eyes flicked up to the spacelane grid to catch sight of an approaching contact. Kiimi moved through the protocol, actively scanning the object in motion for identification transponders, vector, speed, and any outlier indicators such as energy spikes or - Saanjarra forbid it - weapon charges or locks.
"Thjiss jiss Jovan fljight sstatjion th-thrree thrree sseven. We have jy-jyou on sscopess, jinbound fljight. jIdentjifjy jyourrsself."
While she awaited a reply, Kiimiti multitasked. She scanned the board for escort support elements on duty. There were always at least four fighters assigned to the task at any given time, spending a few hours a turn making lazy loops around until someone needed escorting or a good looking-over. Identifying the nearest X-wing on the board, Kiimiti quickly typed a stream of text to the pilot.
Flight Station 337 - Observe contact at grid two-nine on inbound vector. Intercept and prepare escort.
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