Informational Interview

Posted on Fri 30th Apr, 2021 @ 11:52pm by Lieutenant Damion Ildaran

1,996 words; about a 10 minute read

Mission: Business Not At All As Usual
Location: SCIS Branch Office, SB-109
Timeline: MD-5, 1000 hours

The Starfleet Criminal Investigation Services (SCIS) office suite on Starbase 109 was so new that Damion could practically smell the fresh paint. He arrived about ten minutes before his scheduled appointment and spent those minutes observing activity in the lobby--there wasn't much--while he seated himself and waited.

He neither tapped his foot nor glanced repeatedly at his watch. This time was for composing himself, ordering his thoughts, and observing. Any smart field operative did this to get a sense of a place before a meeting, to know where the points of ingress and egress were, to learn who typically came around the area, what they did, and how they behaved.

Damion had not been waiting for long when the door leading to the office area opened.

"Lieutenant Ildaran," Special Agent Pantoufle greeted him. Her accent was slightly Francophonic, turning the rank into 'Lieu-ta-non.' Unlike the last time he'd seen her, she was dressed professionally today in black slacks and a crisp lawn blouse. "Punctuality is the politeness of princes; I appreciate your courtesy."

Were people often late for appointments with her? Damion wondered. "My pleasure, Ma'am," he said as he stood. "Thank you for the appointment."

"Come in," the Viera said, making it sound like an invitation. She led the way to a bog-standard Federation civil servant's office, complete to a photo of Pantoufle herself with another Viera woman, neither of them wearing much in the way of clothing. Pantoufle sat on the edge of the desk, indicating a visitor chair for Ildaran. "Make yourself comfortable."

As usual, Damion saw with amusement, the Federation government spared no expense for décor. Good thing he wasn't in the market for a fancy office. He sat down in the chair Special Agent Pantoufle indicated.

The photograph briefly drew his gaze. Being the only personal object in the room so far, it was clearly important to her. Damion could imagine a photograph of Elizabeth holding equal pride of place in his own office, if he took a position here. It was an earth-shattering thought, a strange difference from how he usually worked. Normally, he kept nothing in his workplace to give a hint to his personal affections. Up until a couple of years ago, he'd had no such affections for anyone. In his line of work, displaying images of family or loved ones could be too dangerous for them. But here? Likely still dangerous, but clearly not as much so. The world, after all, was not a suspense thriller novel, even when it came to intelligence work.

He returned his attention to Pantoufle. "Thank you for agreeing to meet with me. Your invitation to work here intrigued me, and I wanted to learn something about the position you have in mind before deciding whether I would accept it."

"Do you have specific questions?" Pantoufle asked. "That would likely shorten the spiel."

Damion chuckled. "I might need the entire spiel; I've never worked in law enforcement before, though I've assisted them a time or two. For specifics--What are the duties of a liaison officer, as you see them? I looked up the HR definition, but what do you want from me? Since you expressed interest in me specifically, what talents or skills do you want me to bring to the job?"

Pantoufle nodded. "I am a Special Agent of the Starfleet Criminal Investigative Service. 'Special Agent' means that I have law enforcement authority and responsibility. It also means that I am a civilian employee of the Department of the Star Fleet, because, due to Federation law and custom, military personnel do not have such authority." She held up a hand to forestall his next comment, "with the exception of security personnel aboard starships and bases owned by Starfleet, such as this one.

"What I don't have is jurisdiction outside the boundaries of the Federation; that's the remit of various intelligence agencies... agencies which, as it happens, also do not have jurisdiction inside the Federation." Pantoufle shrugged. "Checks and balances. Usually, it works out fine."

"So you would need me to assist you in investigating crimes outside of Federation jurisdiction that involve Starfleet personnel?" Damion asked.

Pantoufle nodded. "That's part of it. Another part is simply keeping the hands informed of what each is doing. I've been sent to 109 because of the uptick in activity in this sector of the border. A large part of that uptick is piracy, which seems to be emanating from the no-sophant's-space of the Triangle." She paused. "Computer, lights down, holography up. Display the Triangle region and surrounding space."

The computer beeped, and the Viera nodded."Federation space is colored blue," she explained to Ildaran, "Republican Romulan space lime green, Imperial forest green. Klingon space is red." Viewed from above, in a two-dimensional representation, the space in between the great interstellar nations was vaguely triangular, which gave the region its nickname. In a three-dimensional representation like this one, the shape was... blobby. "There are two hundred and fourteen star systems in there. Most are either unsettled, settled by pre-warp societies, or deliberately unaligned with any faction. There are three rough polities. First, The Affiliation of Outer Free Worlds, AKA 'Baker's Dozen.' They include the planet Direidi, which is home to the largest dilithium deposit found to date. The Dozen remain fiercely independent, and have mercantile deals with all three of the major powers.

"Then there're the Imperial Klingon States -- mercenary warlords who refuse to recognize any Klingon government since the Organian treaty as legitimate. In the past, they haven't been much of a concern, as most of their technology is also stuck in that era.

"Finally," Pantoufle wrapped up, "the four worlds of the Orion Frontier Mercantile Association, or 'the Turnstile,' so-called because of the shape of their claimed space... and the fact that it's a revolving door between the major powers. The Turnstile is a useful fiction. Officially, they are independent of the Orion home rule, and are thus free to trade with parties interdicted by Federation law. Before the Star Empire fell into civil war, most of the Romulan ale in Federation space came through the Turnstile."

"That last, I was not aware of," Damion said. "Most of my work hasn't centered around black-market ale. There was, however, some concern a while back about remat detonators appearing on the station, imbedded in Romulan ale bottles. They looked like tiny flaws in the glass. Suspicion fell on the Ferengis down in Tivoli Gardens back then, but nothing could ever be proved, and nobody, but nobody, wanted to question Morva." He leaned back in his seat. "In all, what you describe sounds like more than enough to keep an SCIS office busy for quite a while."

Pantoufle nodded. "Then there are the possibly-linked issues with the drifter colony known as 'Oblivion.'" She touched a glowing spot in the holographic display, and the image zoomed in. "A red supergiant which has begun fusing Iron. There's a catalog number for it, but it's unwieldy. Most people just call it Oblivion, after the drifter colony. Sometime in the next million years or so, since it's below the Volkoff limit, it'll go supernova and everyone in this region of space will have a really, really bad day."

Damion's eyes widened, and he focused his attention on the image. "So that's where it is," he murmured. "No one ever mentioned it was near a red giant; that would have narrowed the scope of search quite a bit."

"This is recent information, obtained from confidential sources and cross-verified. As of yet, there are no operations in progress... of which I am aware." Pantoufle shrugged. "Technically, such investigations would fall under intelligence, but at least one of the cases which leads here is a former Starfleet officer, which makes jurisdiction mine."

Damion nodded. "I'm not aware of any operations there, either, primarily because locating the place has yielded only a mess of conflicting rumors. My department stumbled across an issue that led to Oblivion, but once we verified that a former Starfleet officer was involved, we were obliged by policy to back off and hand the information over to SCIS."

"Well," Pantoufle said, spreading her hands. "This is your chance to get back in on it."

Damion eyed her. "When we last spoke, you asked me if not being permitted to work on that case would be a deal-breaker. I said no--because I felt that was the proper answer and also because I wondered if I might be getting too close to it--caring too much, despising the blaggard who's holed up in Oblivion too much. I've frankly welcomed the time I've had to back off from it a bit so I could regain some objectivity." He paused. "I do want a hand in investigating and, I hope, apprehending that bloke, but am I the right person to do it? It's hard for me to say. The mind is too close to itself to see itself."

Pantoufle nodded. "I appreciate the feedback, and I'll take it under advisement. But if you join this office, know that I assign assets based on the needs of the Federation first and foremost."

"It wouldn't make sense if you assigned staff for any other reason," Damion said. "That said, what about conflicts of interest between SCIS and Intelligence? By which I mean, if Intelligence has a lid on something that I know SCIS is working on, how do I function? Normally, my immediate answer would be that I divulge nothing that Intelligence hasn't declassified. But I would hate for a perp to get loose because I withheld information that you needed. If I'm to be an effective liaison officer, I know part of the job entails sharing information, as you said earlier. Between the two departments, whose needs must come first, if I choose to join you, and are there ways that information could be shared under the table, if necessary?"

"I always look at anything which mysteriously appears on my desk overnight," Pantoufle answered with a slight smile. Then she became serious. "There will be virtual piles of documentation on chain of command and classified information sharing which you will need to view before beginning actual work. But let me make this clear: do not endanger your career without a literal life and death cause.

"If the information originates in this office and bears on something going on in intel, check with me. I'm likely to clear your sharing it, though I may request redaction of sources. If the information originates in the intel office, check with Grax, and tell him why you want to share it with me. I anticipate he'll play nicely." Pantoufle shrugged. "It's a judgment call, and if I didn't trust your judgment, I wouldn't be asking you to work with me."

"Sensible and reasonable," Damion said with a nod. "Pretty much what I concluded, too, after mulling the question over for a bit. Thank you; I will do as you've said, should the situation ever come up." He gave Daisy a curious look. "Something else I was wondering--How much undercover work do SCIS staff tend to do? I've seen you working undercover on 109 at least twice in recent memory. I hope your ops went well."

Pantoufle shrugged. "I actually do more than most agents. There's a certain class of criminal who turn into boobs when they see boobs, and given my cultural background, I have no problem showing off mine." She glanced down. "Besides, they're fabulous, and they won't stay that way. Might as well use 'em while I've got 'em, right? But I expect that phase of my career is about over."

Damion struggled not to burst out laughing. "Alas, yes, there are men like that--which I hope makes them easier to catch. Well, Ms. Pantoufle, let me talk with Captain Grax, and I will let you know my answer within two days. Thank you very much for your time, Ma'am."

 

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