There were probably more high-tech solutions that he could have resorted to. Datapads. Comm checks. Heck, he could have just memorised it. Such things weren't the way that Jaden Luka approached life, though. Such solutions were the domain of engineers, strategists, people who lived lives filled with thought and rethought, planning and contemplation. Jaden wasn't those people. He wasn't an idiot; wasn't brainless. He could calculate a hyperspace jump if the situation presented, patch up a damaged fighter well enough to limp home, plan a surgical assault on a military stronghold, devise a strategy to overcome unbeatable odds; he was many things, but intelligence wasn't something he was lacking. It was a different kind of intelligence though, a swift intelligence, equal parts wisdom and instinct, the kind of intelligence that may not have yielded the best solution, but certainly led to the fastest one. The cockpit of a snubfighter wasn't the place for indecision and overthinking. If a crisis presented, you thought of something fast, and you went with your gut. If something broke off in the cockpit, you didn't waste time with a fancy repair, you whacked a length of mesh tape on it and hoped for the best.

It was that mentality that led Jaden to where he was now, standing with a furrowed brow in the middle of a corridor intersection, peering at the sweat-smudged cabin number that he had scrawled on the palm of his hand. "Back of the hand," he muttered to himself, an insistent mental note for next time. The palm had been a rookie mistake: that was for people who wanted to conceal their scribbled reminders, not for people who had just spent twenty minutes with their hands clasped behind their back waiting for a turbolift to arrive. He wasn't used to all this stuff. Wasn't used to having things that needed doing while he was out and about: if you were a pilot, and your duties required something that wasn't sitting in a cockpit, a briefing room, or behind a desk, it was a very strange day.

He sighed a frustrated sigh, and squinted. Was that a six, or had he just fat-fingered a five and closed the loop on the bottom? He took a guess and picked a direction, striding off down the corridor with faked confidence. No time to stand and dwell.

Another impulse moment took hold as he reached the door, his knuckles rapping against the closed durasteel. There was a door chime, probably. Didn't matter. Might have been the smarter option, but knocking was the instant instinct, and he'd already finished the task before his mind would have been able to identify the right button. Besides, Cizeracks had great hearing, right? Surely they did, with ears like that. Knock or chime, didn't matter. She'd hear it regardless.

Jaden squinted down at his palm again, twisting the angle of his hand slightly... maybe it was an eight?