Chapter 18: [18] Mop, Lie, Escape
Forty minutes of wandering through identical white corridors had left Pierre questioning both his infiltration skills and his sense of direction. The Naval base seemed designed by someone who enjoyed psychological torture—every hallway looked exactly like the last, every turn led to another sterile passage lined with the same regulation doors and motivational posters about duty and honor.
Pierre paused at an intersection, pretending to examine his mop handle while secretly studying the directional signs mounted on the wall. "Officer Quarters - Level 3," "Mess Hall - Level 1," "Training Facilities - Level 2." Not a single mention of a library anywhere.
Where the hell do they keep their books in this place?
A pair of young ensigns approached from his left, their polished boots clicking against the floor in perfect synchronization. Pierre quickly resumed mopping, dragging the wet strands across tiles that were already spotless. The motion felt awkward and unnatural—he’d never actually mopped a floor in his life, and it showed.
"Evening," one of the ensigns nodded as they passed.
Pierre grunted in response, keeping his head down. The moment they disappeared around the corner, he stopped pretending to clean and studied the signs again. Maybe the library was called something else here. Archives? Records? Information Center?
A middle-aged petty officer emerged from a nearby office, clipboard in hand and reading glasses perched on her nose. She glanced at Pierre, then at the suspiciously clean section of floor he’d been "mopping" for the past five minutes.
"You missed a spot," she said, pointing to a perfectly clean tile.
"Right. Thanks." Pierre dunked his mop in the bucket and slopped water onto the indicated area. The woman watched him work for another moment before shaking her head and walking away.
This is getting ridiculous. I’m supposed to be finding maps, not playing janitor.
Pierre abandoned his cart near a water fountain and decided to try a different approach. He’d walk purposefully, like he belonged here, like he was heading somewhere important. People rarely questioned someone who looked like they knew where they were going.
The strategy worked for exactly twelve minutes.