Surprises
Posted on Sat 18th Jul, 2020 @ 8:43pm by Commander Paul Graves PsyD & Lieutenant Damion Ildaran & Lieutenant JG Kellian Michaels
Edited on on Sun 6th Sep, 2020 @ 6:52am
1,413 words; about a 7 minute read
Mission:
Resolution
Location: Intelligence Interrgation Corridor
Timeline: MD 3, 1130
Meanwhile ... there's been a little reorganization of the interrogation team ....
Damion Ildaran wiped sweaty palms on the hips of his uniform slacks and sighed. Theater was no small part of Intelligence gathering, and staging was a tool of his trade--for uncooperative witnesses. Morrigan Endrade had been--at least nominally--cooperative. Frightening her seemed a poor way to get Morrigan to tell them what she knew. Hadn't she been frightened enough, already?
"I'm not happy about this," Damion said to Muffet Langston, who sat in a corner of the small room, wearing a black suit jacket and red blouse. Her knitting reflected the same color scheme -- predominately black, with a single strand of red appearing here and there.
"You're not the one playing up all the negative stereotypes of her race," Muffet responded without looking up from her knitting -- not that she had to, given the profusion of eyes evolution had gifted her.
"True--and it well could have been me," Damion said, "but then Morrigan would notice I was acting differently and smell it out for a ruse. She'll know you're playacting too, I don't doubt. My hope is 'twill put her just enough off-balance to speak a bit more openly with us. I'm sorry we're doing it this way, and I do thank you for putting up with it."
Muffet shrugged. "There are fewer than a dozen of my species in Starfleet. Maybe another dozen in UFP Civil Service posts. It's hardly like this... charade... is likely to negatively impact anyone. And in theory, it will save lives." She shrugged again and went on with her knitting.
Chlamydia Addams breezed into the room. "Hmm. Do you think we should use a hammock chair? Perhaps seat you a little higher than the subject's eye-line, Lieutenant?"
"I'm fine with my seating," Damion said. "As for Lt. Langston--whatever's the most comfortable for her. She's not complained yet."
He still wasn't best pleased with the idea of intimidating a woman who had already survived a lifetime's worth of intimidation, but the decision had been made, and they might as well get on with it. "Is everyone ready?" he asked the room's occupants and those listening through his in-ear mic.
"I believe we're ready in here," Commander Graves' voice said in Damion's earpiece. "Captain Grax is talking to Commander Fisher, but we're otherwise ready to proceed."
As if on cue, the door opened and Ischemia, followed by Zelda, entered the Interrogation Room. The barrister stopped suddenly, causing Zelda to bump into her. "What's going on?" she asked, sweeping her eyes around the room. "Why weren't we told you were bringing in another person, and who have you inserted into the morning's questioning?" she demanded.
Her client peered over the shoulder of the woman in front of her, then sank back flat on her feet. Let your lawyer handle this, she advised herself. It was a job of a defender, after all. What exactly required her defense, she had only just begun to realize, but she had a feeling the woman could handle all comers.
"This is Miss Langston. She's here to observe," Damion said. "Miss Langston, may I introduce you to Miss Ischemia Addams, Doctor of Jurisprudence, and Miss Zelda Alegari, our witness. I might refer to Miss Alegari as Zelda, Destiny, Tanith, or Morrigan at various times during this session, Ma'am," he said with a deferential air to Muffet.
To observe, my granny's gilded spider, Ischemia thought. However, she didn't say anything, simply nodding to the woman, and receiving a polite nod in return, leaving Ischemia wondering what her normal job with Intelligence happened to be. It certainly wasn't knitting, she was sure. She walked forward, motioning her client to be seated in the same chair as before, and glancing at her sister, whose face was as impassive as only Chlamydia's could be.
"Or," the woman under interrogation co-opted whatever beginning they had planned, "you might call me many other things. Mostly, the one who has information you want. The question I have for you is ... what is it worth to you?"
Damion had half-expected Morrigan to make a bid for control. "I suspect you and your counsel already have a fair idea of what your information is worth to us," Damion said, "if 'tis the sort of information we seek. If 'tisn't--" He shrugged. "How came you to be camped out in that storage space where Security found you? What was your purpose for being there?"
Ignoring him, Morrigan said, "Of course I know what it's worth to me. And I know what I want out of this. What I am asking is what you are willing to give to get what I know. Telling me nothing tells me everything. It isn't worth enough to you for me to risk my life, so unless you want to come up with an offer, then not another word do you hear from me. And yes, It is worth anything you'd give to get it."
Ischemia sat silently, letting this new competitive side of her client push as far as she was willing to go. They hadn't discussed this, but ... it couldn't do any harm that she could foresee. What had happened to Morrigan in the restroom?
The sound of knitting needles clicking against each other filled the silence as Damion paused to think. Any Ferengi would laugh at what he proposed to say next and ask if he'd learned nothing during his time with them. But Morrigan Endrade was no Ferengi--and neither was he.
He spoke in a quiet, measured tone. "At the very least, the information is worth your suffering, to me," Damion said, locking gazes with Morrigan. "It is worth, my research has led me to believe, a great many people's suffering. Beyond that, it is worth putting an end to their suffering. Beyond even that, it is worth the hope that someday, with that blaggard gone, some of his victims might find some way back to happiness. In short, Morrigan, your information is priceless to me. Haggling about worth is therefore a mite crass. If you won't speak, I've still got my mind, and I've still the capacity to research, and I've colleagues who will help me do it. I'd rather have your help than not, but whatever the case, the investigation will continue; 'twill but take longer, and more poor blighters out there will suffer in the meantime, as you did."
"That's all very well and good, Lieutenant Ildaran," the legal Addams took over for her client. "I applaud your feelings, and I know they are genuine, but I believe what my client needs to hear is ... once her soul has been wrung dry, what do you plan to do for her? Or with her? Is she free to go and live whatever life she can find? Or are you going to toss her on a prison planet and forget her? Or perhaps subject her and her sisters to scientific studies for years? I must say, as much as I'd like to see this person, or these people, brought to severe justice, I won't accept any kind of detention for her."
Morrigan eyed her attorney speculatively, and then turned to the interrogator again. "Nor will I accept it for myself. I will want a contract in writing before I tell you what I know. It may not be all you would wish, but I guarantee it will get you far down the path you search, and save you time ... and lives, no doubt."
Thank God he and Grax had discussed negotiation terms beforehand. "We've no plans to lock Zelda away on a prison planet and forget her. Even less have we any desire to subject her to scientific studies; she's had enough of that for ten lifetimes. Besides, what would we study? Dissociative personality disorder is fairly well understood." Damion glanced at Ischemia. "I propose we lay our cards on the table one at a time, Miss Addams. The offers I can make will depend on what your client tells me."
The needles in the background clicked rhythmically, just unmeasured enough to prove the sound was not mechanical in origin. The clicks were muted by yarn, making each sound slightly different as fiber slid over metal. They went on, marking seconds ticking away into the past, as if a reminder of the fragility of mortality.
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