In the maintenance hanger, both its current occupiers would quickly look up from what they’d been doing to the new voice apparently requesting tours of all things.
The taller of the two sibling reploids would almost jump to attention having taken the opportunity for a quick break out of the way of prying eyes, the book he’d been reading clapping shut and slid on to the table.
The other smaller of the two would grunt in confusion, rolling herself out from underneath the large fighter jet she’d been working on. The loose boiler suit and parts of her face smudged intermittently with oil and other machine workings.
“I don’t recognise your face, which probably means you’re probably not supposed to be in here signore.” The stern tone of the smaller female reploid would reprimand, placing her tools down and sitting back up to look at the new comer.
“Hey, take it easy Avi. He’s probably lost. Not the first time a new private has taken a more creative route.” Reed would adjust his shades to take a look at the new face. “Afraid we’re not the tour guides you might be looking for, but my sister has a point. You probably shouldn’t be in here. Want me to show you to reception?”
Oh, the naivety of the younger reploid shone so bright amongst the cautiousness of the other, who had decided having her wrench to hand wasn’t such a bad idea.
Short indeed, for she was barely over half his height. Regardless, the way she squared herself up, staring up at him without fear told the Maverick two things: the lady reploid had no idea what he was, and that he would have much entertainment toying with her.
Lucky for the two of them, lying about being new to their forces was not in his code book, but-- Avoiding the truth was still on the table. “Not supposed to be here? Maybe I am lost.” Not a falsity, for he didn’t know this carrier. “But yes, your direction would be greatly appreciated.”
Those fighter jets, though, if he could come back to get a look at their design...