In the Shadow of the Starships

The air in the rundown hallway hung heavy with the scent of stale dust and forgotten dreams. Jennisa, her shoulders aching, hefted the cumbersome case higher. Inside, an antique spaceship database, its manual override switches a relic of a bygone era, felt strangely out of place in this grimy building.

She moved with a practiced, almost imperceptible grace, her eyes scanning for the 'landmarks' they'd given her – not an address, just vague directions to an ugly painting of three mangoes. The hidden cameras, laughably primitive with their exposed wires, barely registered as she navigated the dim corridor.

Reaching the painting, its seams glaringly obvious, she tapped the wall twice. A faint, ungreased squeal announced the opening of a 'hidden' door, revealing two burly guards, their phasers looking comically oversized. Their expressions were dull, bored.

"Jennisa?" one grunted, his voice flat.

"Yes, sir. That would be me," she replied, her voice slipping into the smooth, practiced cadence of customer service. The security wand shrieked as it neared her, an old, familiar song. "My apologies, sir. Metal rods. An old accident."

She showed them her clunky tech bracelet, feigning innocence. Inside, her mind raced. This was more than just a job; this was a film set for a poorly funded spy movie, and she intended to earn royalties.