DL | LCDR Stacker | "A Matter of Puddles"

Posted on Sat Oct 14th, 2017 @ 3:50am by Commander James Stacker

Mission: The Round Table
Location: Intelligence Department | Decks 678-680 | Cold Station Theta
Timeline: Following Stacker's visit to Sickbay, and before his meeting with Valeese in the arboretum.

=/\= Intelligence Department, Deck 680, Cold Station Theta =/\=

He was still shaking his head, to himself, when the little knot of officers stepped out of the turbolift and into yet another section accessible only to intelligence personnel. Four entire decks devoted to the intelligence department - fifteen, if you included the ‘inactivated’ decks allocated for future use. It was the single largest allocation of resources, space, and materials that Stacker had ever seen, short of the ongoing construction on the starbase.

His hands settled onto and closed around the simulated wood as he stepped to the railing, eyes sweeping across the exercise section tucked inside the intelligence department. As a handful of “sirs” and acknowledgements passed between the runners on the track, and the officers in tow, his brow furrowed in thought.

Someone had clearly been serious about setting up Cold Station Theta for a role that went well beyond the customary fleet hub and resupply point. He had gathered that impression himself, but suspected the handful of supervisors and senior enlisted had similar feelings. It was the trivial things that had laid the groundwork: stressing the watch floor. Making a point of showing the dedicated special-analysis rooms operating under the highest levels of security. Noting the armory. The two training holodecks. The list went on from there.

Of course, it was good to be ready, he reflected as he gave a little push and straightened himself up from his hold on the railing. “Gentlemen, what say we conclude this tour and go to my office. I have a few things that need to be said.”

=/\= CIO’s (Chief Intelligence Officer) Office, Deck 678, Cold Station Theta =/\=

The group seated itself into what was available. Two chairs were found outside, and pressed into service. The couch was found to be well-suited to this role. The replicator was kept busy for a moment: two raktajinos and a tea. Stacker found his chair provided ambient noise, in the form of a slight creak of aged plastic, much to his amusement. He leaned back a slight amount, regarding the four officers present. One chief warrant officer - the backbone of the intelligence community. Two ensigns, and a lieutenant. All looking at him.

“Well let me hit the highlights. As of earlier today we’re officially online, as a department. I know,” he said, holding up a hand to forestall a protest from the lieutenant, who closed her mouth, “that isn’t what you want to hear. We’re undermanned. We’re at forty-three -” he looked at the warrant, who nodded confirmation.

“Forty-three. Yourself included.”

“Forty-three. We’re billeted for 141.” Eyes blinked, at that. From the reaction, it was the first anyone had heard of what the target compliment for the department would be. “We can expect a significant surge in manning at some point, and when I know you'll know.”

An index finger gently pressed itself into a datapad he’d put on the desk as he sat down. “As you know I met with the Captain. She informed me we can expect the Empress Xue’Daio Nox of the Stenellian Ascendancy to be coming to the station, along with some of the Starfleet brass.” He pinned the corner of the device in place and moved his finger, spinning it slowly. Eyes involuntarily locked onto the motion.

“Some of this is related to the Vindicator. As the warrant informed me -” he added with a nod in the Kelpien’s direction, “there are some VIPs aboard. Sons and daughters of Vice Admiral Scholtz-Archer, Rear Admiral Hawk, Rear Admiral Sha'mer, and Commodore Ivanova.” The casual way in which he rattled off the Commander (Alpha Quadrant), Commander (Alpha Quadrant Security), Commander (Starfleet Operations), and Commodore, Cheydinhall Sector Exploration Squadron, left eyes blinking and a few mouths pursed in silent whistles.

“Priorities for now are going to be surveillance of the Empress and a Danielle Atarah, who’s coming out to the station aboard the Endeavour. We'll also be stepping up our counterintelligence work. Where are we on development of assets?”

It was the lieutenant's turn to answer. “Sir, we've made some headway, mostly among the civilians dockworkers. It's ... it's not much.”

He nodded, thinking hard. “Let's step up effort in that area, but let's try not to tread on the toes of station security. Anything Vindicator related - excluding the presence of the Starfleet brass - is a secondary tasking. And let’s see what we can do to make infrastructure ready for the next wave of arrivals. Questions?” He saw some thinking eyes, then shaking heads. He waited for acknowledgement of the last one. “Alright. Dismissed. Warrant, a moment please.”

They waited until the door was closed behind the last ‘guest’ before either spoke. As usual it was Chief Warrant Officer Parsuv that was first off the mark. And despite the seriousness of the moment-that-was-coming, the corners of Stacker's mouth twitched in amusement. “I did not have the opportunity to say it before, but congratulations on your promotion.” The head tilted and those none-too-human eyes regarded him with interest. “It seems our Captain has a sense of humor. Being ambushed with a promotion is a new trick for her, or so I understand.”

“Mmm.” It was the only response from Stacker, as his fingers queried the computer at the desk and found it waiting, silently, for a retinal scan and voiceprint authorization from STACKER, J.K., LCDR., MACO INTELLIGENCE. The Kelpien mistook the muted response for criticism.

“I believe she will rise to the occasion most admirably.”

“Hm? Oh, no, wasn't thinking about that.”

The head tilted towards him, and the hands - expressive as always, as was the case with most of the species - opened slightly away from his body. “My mistake them - May I ask, what were you thinking of?”

Stacker gave up his perusal of the computer display, still flashing the text over the MACO seal in the background, turning his full attention to the Kelpien. “We're going to be busy. There’s also something else ...” His eyes turned back upwards. Uncharacteristically, he paused. This discussion might be difficult, he realized, as a ball of ice (equally-uncharacteristically) proceeded to transport itself into his stomach. Starfleet did not take kindly to accusations in the ranks.

“You served in the Second Dominion War.”

“I did.” The warrant’s head tilted, more in curiosity than malice. “Does this have something to do with our Vorta chief medical officer?”

The nod was slow, the look somewhat taunt. Stacker’s hand came up, brushing at his beard, as he thought for a moment longer. “When’s the last time you heard of a Vorta making Founder jokes?” The wide-eyed blink and slight recoil of the head told him enough. “That’s what I thought. What if I told you she claimed to have been joking about flushing Founders down the toilet?”

“And you know this …”

“I was told it. By her. She claims to have made the joke to the XO: I imagine it’d be easy enough to confirm. She was also joking - to me - about ‘sentient puddles.’”

Silence reigned for a moment. The Kelpien took a seat, evidently deep in thought. Stacker, in truth, couldn’t fault him for the slightly-spooked appearance he presented: it had been hard enough keeping his composure in sickbay. They sat like this for several minutes, the warrant’s eyes fixed on no particular point on the surface of the desk, his boss and department head leaning back in his chair and silently regarding the screen of the computer.

“I believe the ultimate question,” the Kelpien said, finally looking back up. “Is what we do about this. A department head acting strangely is not enough to trigger the opening of a case file. Even when it is a department head whose species was engineered to believe the ‘sentient puddles’ were Gods. And Starfleet would surely object to one of their own being kept under such close observation.”

“Agreed.” Stacker nodded, slowly, eyes going back to the desk and closing in momentary relief as he heard that suspicious tone, fingers tenting in front of his mouth and chin on his thumbs. He could feel the iceball dissipating in his gut. Thank god. It wouldn't have been good to have his one and only warrant officer thinking he was hunting heads in other departments.

“I do have one request sir.” Stacker’s eyes flicked to the Kelpien as he stood up, light flashing on his uniform pips. The alien turned to look down at his boss. “Be careful. Captain DiAgessi and Commander Satie will not welcome what you humans call a ‘witch hunt’ based on a few suspicions. They will require proof. And that will require ...”

“I know.” The commander’s eyes went back to the desk, voice slightly muffled behind his hands. “Believe me, I know.”

=/\= End Log =/\=

Lieutenant Commander James Stacker
Chief Intelligence Officer
Cold Station Theta, SB-1170