PLOT - DL | CIO, NPC | LCDR Stacker, WO Parsuv (NPC) | "The Station"

Posted on Tue Mar 20th, 2018 @ 6:57pm by Commander James Stacker

Mission: Lacuna
Location: CIO's Office | Deck 678 | Cold Station Theta
Timeline: The Present.

It was thanks to intelligence's reputation, as "keepers of secrets," that they were also one of the most misunderstood by civilians. This sorry state of affairs had persisted even into the enlightened 25th century, with civilians as a general rule tending to lack an accurate picture of just what intelligence did. Information from a mixture of books, holodramas, and old histories all-too-often led to a warped picture which lent an impression of personnel with approximately the same skills and training. The better-trained ones were - at least in civilian eyes - often elite agents or special teams of commandos dispatched into the field for hair-raising adventures.

The average civilian might have been shocked to find that what they thought they knew, did not correspond well to the reality of intelligence. For much like any other department on the starbase, there were a multitude of diverse roles, tasks, and assignments within the department. At the time Commander Valeese was abducted, for example, intelligence's personnel contained 6 analysts with subject-matter expertise (SME) in currency manipulation and financial crimes, 27 analytic SMEs tasked to supporting counter-smuggling operations by various Starfleet vessels, and 11 analytic SMEs working on projects involving foreign armament transhipments. This was out of a total staff of 120, including 21 officers and warrant officers.

And then there was Communication Intelligence. Even within a department as diverse as intelligence, there were mysteries. CI was one of them. They operated out of a closed-off compartment on Deck 678. There were only five personnel assigned to CI, and they never discussed their work outside the room. The occasional tantalizing hint did emerge, of course, in the form of vital intelligence being delivered when needed. Based on this - and rumor - it could be (somewhat-accurately) concluded that they were an even rarer breed of intelligence personnel trained in the dark arts of computers and sensors.

This thin explanation, of course, always aroused heightened interest whenever one of them surfaced during high-intensity operations. This was precisely such a case when one of them had arrived on the Intelligence Watchfloor, and persisted in talking with the duty supervisor in low tones for an extended period of time. Some guesses had already been made by personnel out of earshot. Commander Valeese had been spirited back across the border. Commander Valeese was on a covert operation. The Romulans were involved. These same personnel so engaged in hushed whispers and guesses had also seen how one of the best analysts - her d'ja pagh alone set her apart - had been sent to work on an isolated console.

They also saw when she returned, when she inserted herself into the discussion, and how both the supervisor and man from CI had stopped talking to listen to her. Lastly, it had also been noticed when she took over the console, allowing the two latter individuals to depart.

When the pair entered James' office the first thing that greeted them was a solid wall of cool air. The drastic temperature change would have been impossible to miss at any time, but it did serve to aptly reinforce the sight before them. Namely, that their department head appeared extremely tired. Had either man had more training in field operations they might have known to look for discrepancies. The stubble that was starting to spread up from the normally well-trimmed beard, for one. An unnatural waviness in his hair, evidence of fingers having run through it more than once. As it was, however, they stopped just inside the doorway and waited to be acknowledged.

"Gentlemen, I only want to hear that we're making progress. And I want to see results." Despite the evident lines that crowded the corners, there was a singular sharpness and focus in the eyes themselves. As if reinforcing interest in the news they brought, too, it was at this point that the door opened to admit Warrant Officer Parsuv and a lieutenant. Stacker waved them inside. It did not take long before attention turned on the supervisor, who first swallowed and then spoke. The man positively quivered in eagerness.

"Sir, Station KXIS4 has reactivated."

One of James' eyebrows lifted a hair and his eyes went to the man from CI. He faintly recalled - at any other time there would have been far more interest, but now it was absent - that the unremarkable individual had been drawn from a pool of Starfleet Intelligence personnel with prior experience in the Cheydinhall Sector. The move had been by his request: Cold Station Theta's junior intelligence personnel trended towards the very-inexperienced side. If anything, that made the Bolian one of the foremost technical experts in the room, and for an instant James was glad for his presence.

"A numbers station."

He leaned back in his chair, thinking, and wishing yet again that he'd had more sleep the night before. The fatigue and fog didn't help at times like this, when his ordinarily mind-like-a-steel-trap had trouble fishing up even the most routine of information. But he did - finally - recall a few details. Numbers stations were an old trick in the intelligence field, dating back four centuries on Earth. They communicated with agents through broadcasting numbers at prearranged intervals. Single-used pads let field personnel decrypt the message. He nodded, unconsciously, as he mulled it over. Some part of his mind appreciated the use of such an old-fashioned technique - brought to the stars by humanity, no less.

When humanity had first taken to the stars en mass, the idea and concept for the numbers stations had gone with. The idea had found purchase in a galaxy gripped by unease and recurrent tensions. Even after the founding of the Federation and the gradual expansion of civilization that went with it, the idea had not been eradicated. In the present era some stations were still operated by a handful of government agencies. Like most things, though, they had been readily seized-upon in the border worlds. There the concept had found ready acceptance among various criminal and smuggling groups, being seen as a cheap and easy way to send one-way message traffic.

It took a few minutes longer than normal for his mind to come full circle. The chair creaked under him. "And this is significant, because ...?"

"The station is operated by the Orion Syndicate, sir." This from the Bolian, again. Parsuv was looking at him intently, as was the lieutenant. Their level of interest matched what was in James' suddenly-peaked mind. "They acquired it a decade ago from a smaller group, and now use it for major sales. The normal cycle is for the first message to be a preparatory announcement. The second will begin in a day, and will contain a merchandise list. The third will be a date and time. We do have the cipher." The last comment apparently headed off an inquiry from Parsuv, who closed his mouth.

Oh thank God, James thought to himself. Now they had a face to go with things. The thus-far anonymous intruders who had breached security of the station were no longer faceless. If there was one thing all intelligence personnel despised as a rule, it was faceless and unknown enemies. There were too many unknowns, too many variables. What one might suppose to be the general training of one group of adversaries was completely different when compared to another. It was something which had greatly-hindered this investigation.

"- elaborate for criminals," the Warrant Officer was saying when he finally succeeded in pulling himself together and returning to the discussion. Parsuv's expressive hands were spread apart, alien eyes blinking. "Has no attempt been made to interdict and shut it down?"

"The last chief I had wanted to leave it along: he thought it better to deal with the devil we knew, rather than one we didn't. Starfleet Intelligence agreed." That elicited a round of head-nods: the logic was sound, if distasteful. James rapped a knuckle on his desk to call attention back to him. Eyes and heads turned all around.

"We know there'll be a big event, somewhere. More details pending. The station is operated by the Syndicate; can we safely put a 'tentative' on the abduction?" Heads nodded. That was a given at this point. No criminal group would willingly risk themselves to Starfleet's increased attention, without having some big payday in the offing. And large and diverse as they were, the Orions were in the end just another criminal group. Although their role in this was still a mystery.

He frowned in displeasure. The evidence was quite thin, even if the timing was suspect. "Unless anyone has anything further, I want to know the instant that message changes. And start monitoring any other numbers stations we know about. Especially those run by the Orion Syndicate."

The group broke up from there. It wasn't until the last one was gone, and the door closed, however, that Stacker put his head into his hands and sighed, fingers gently rubbing his hair as he tried not to think about her, and what level of hell she must certainly be going through at that moment. Just hold on, Val. I'm coming. His fist thumped the desk in a burst of irrational and misdirected energy.

=/\= End Log =/\=

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

Warrant Officer Parsuv (NPC)
Intelligence Officer
Cold Station Theta, SB-1170