"Sirs," she said, managing to catch the three figures before their monitor went to black. "If I'm not imposing, I really need to speak with you."

Steelbeak turned toward her at the door, openly aggravated. She waved him on.

When he refused to step outside, she said, "Go ahead and linger, Steels. I can wait."

"We cannot!" One of the figures barked from the monitor. "Agent Steelbeak, we're requiring you take leave for the rest of this day. Get off premises. Now."

He grumbled something quite impolite at his partner before departing, closing the door behind himself firmly.

Before Gabriel could address her concern, the center shadow said, "We would like a status report on your mission, Gabriella."

Gabriel lowered her head, coughing a few times quietly. "Well, Sirs, see. . . I'm running into some complications. My partner --"

"Has his own missions to deal with!" The left-most figure snapped. "Enough excuses!"

"I -- I found out a little, but not a lot, and my overtures to -- uh -- employment were not so well received! But I feel I'm not getting adequate time with the subject to pursue further. . . options." Gabriel felt so dirty for making the whole thing seem so sterile. This wasn't an automobile or computer they were discussing. It was another person. A woman. "And then, when I'm finally making some head-way, that creepy old buzzard you have working in the infirmary drugged her! Now she's completely useless to me! I can't get anything out of her when I do get to talk to her!"

Two shadows in the monitor turned to glance at the third who shrugged casually. As casual as his shrug was, however, his comments to Gabriel were the polar opposite: "We've been monitoring your progress, Gabriella, and we are extremely disappointed. You are temperamental, uncooperative and much too easily discouraged. You seem unable to focus on your objectives and -- correct me if I'm wrong -- that was what led to your lower leg injury in recent days."

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