<div class="floatleft">(https://i.imgur.com/zB1pHVO.jpg?1)</div>For a moment, she is annoyed that she had overlooked so simple a detail as his lack of a doctorate, but she is careful not to let that detail reflect on her face.  Though she smiles at his flattery about her 'commanding presence,' so she accepts it with a gracious smile.  Soon enough, she's marveling at his curiosity, and thanks to the nanites, she doesn't have to be terribly distracted to do so.  She's able to process many things at once-- the details of his office including the arrangement of his belongings, the smell of the tea, the way his arms and chest move as he studies the photograph, the lovely cleft of his chin bobbing ever so subtly as he focuses his attention on the images, and his reaction to the writing itself.<br/><br/>When he pauses in his transcription, she finds herself positively transfixed by the sudden vulnerability of his momentary embarrassment.  "Oh, thank you Imre.  Tea would be wonderful."  She politely declines the sugar, then stands to accept the cup from him, smiling a bit more openly than before as she looks into his eyes.  "And, please-- you have nothing to apologize for.  You're doing exactly what I'd hoped in looking this over.  If anything, I've been terribly rude-- I failed to even properly introduce myself."<br/><br/>She extends one slim, pale hand.  "My name is Jackson Stewart.  I'm a," and here, there's a very slight, but perceptible pause, "field researcher for the government.  The inscription you see is related to a series of... discoveries, of sorts, that I and others are obliged to investigate.  You seem to be as fascinated by it as I had hoped you would be.  And, I believe you are precisely the person we need for this mystery, Mr. Archard."<br/><br/>Imre can see a shadow in the frame of his door, as of someone hovering just beyond the doorframe, waiting to see him.  Through the privacy glass, he can make out the familiar shape of Sheila, standing there.  It's as if she's eavesdropping, at first, but she doesn't appear to be really listening-- rather, she's simply standing there, shuffling closer, as if she's just forgotten what she was about to do... then, with a self-conscious shake of her head, she simply sidles away from the door, wandering back towards the secretary's desk where she's left an unanswered email.<br/><br/>If Jackson has noticed, she doesn't show any reaction.  She opens the folio she carried in, a bit hesitantly, and bites her lower lip in thought.  Her gaze hasn't left Imre's face.  "I... have a bit more here to show you, you see.  However, you will need to sign some things first.  It's... well, this will sound a bit<i>dramatic</i>," she says with a soft laugh and a lift of her eyebrows, but her voice timbre returns to its calm, even tone, "it's a matter of international security.  Non-disclosure agreements, you see."  She draws out several pages of print, each bearing different seals in different places.  Through the paper, the natural light of his office window reveals the seal of the office of the US President, the office of NATO, and a third seal that is, as of yet, impossible to identify.<br/><br/>"In short, if you agree to never publish or discuss what you're about to find out, see, or learn from this with any outside party, then... I can show you more.  And I can even take you to the site where this was found, right now, and show you much, much more."<br/><br/>Sheila has made her way back to the privacy glass again, and is once more standing at the outside of his office.  This time, she is not standing properly, and he can see a blurry shape fall from her face-- probably her plastic-rimmed glasses-- as it tumbles to the floor.  From the outline of her light-blue sweater, it looks as though Sheila's arms are bent at the elbow and she's holding her face, or her head perhaps, in her hands as she takes small, awkward steps, turning her face back and forth.  She still hasn't spoken up-- at least, not loudly enough to be heard through the door.<br/><br/>"What do you say, Imre?"