Making Camp
Posted on 24 Aug 2021 @ 10:27pm by Sylvie Hardt - Surrat Gallery & A'Koja Dea - Private Investigator
Mission:
M2 - Sanctuary
Location: Environmental deck
Timeline: MD04 Afternoon
1003 words - 2 OF Standard Post Measure
"It's better than being based planet side, really." A'Koja took a chug from her lukewarm coffee as she walked along side the ashen skinned cardassian in the designer dress. Her keen eye noticed it was black with slightly different textured black streaks of fabric angling through it. The whole style of the other woman reminded A'Koja of her own white-on-white phase. Her innate sense about people told A'Koja that just as she had been enamored with styling her own environment and wardrobe back when she'd been at the peek of her career, Sylvie Hardt's black-on-black likely came from a similar place psychologically— a place either of incredible control, or else feeling the lack of it. Very possibly both all at once. A simple look-up on Ms Hardt had revealed something rather interesting. They'd both of them commanded bases, albeit in the past tense. It was common enough to pow-wow with other base Commanders while she'd been serving in the fleet, but personally engaging with them since her fall from grace had been rare. Ms Hardt wasn't Fleet, however, which made her all the more peculiarly interesting to A'Koja.
"Oh?" Sylvie carried no food or drink, just an expression of mild disdain that seemed to serve as her resting face. "Better than planet side? How so?"
"Well, the weather for one. Always predictable." A'Koja became aware that Sylvie's own eye was evaluating her with equal measure.
"You don't seem the sort to prefer things being predictable, Ms. Dea."
"Chaos is its own kind of predictably unpredictable." A'Koja took a sip of her coffe. "The fun is in finding the threads to make sense of it."
That seemed so nonsensical to her that Sylvie couldn't untangle the logic enough to disagree with it.
"I don't envy them, though." A'Koja continued.
"Whom don't you envy?"
"The suckers they lined up to run this monstrosity. Captaining an Ithaca was running a hamlet compared to this two thousand ring circus."
A'Koja noticed no change in Sylvie's demeanor over the information about her having been a Commanding Officer in Starfleet. So they'd both done their homework on the other ahead of this meeting. Sylvie possibly also knew about her little stint running an underground for oppressed J'naii, and more than likely had her number as an ex-con. One thing about being in Private Investigations, you learned where to dig dirt up, and became keenly aware that all your dirt was equally available for exhuming. It was best, she'd learned, to just make peace with your dirt so it couldn't rankle you.
A'Koja flexed and twisted her back and shoulders a bit as they walked. Sylvie noticed, but remained well poised.
"Ugh, my back lately. I slept weird or something." A'Koja commented. "it's nice to walk it out. Maybe I should try your Tai chi thing."
"Qua Gi," the Cardassian corrected drily.
"Right, yeah, that's what I meant." A'Koja observed Sylvie's outer chill while picking up the forced nature of that calm; her potential client was mildly offended by the mix up in names of her practice and probably on to A'Koja's informal surface 'act' which she generally used to evaluate people and test out their buttons. "So you said you had some work to throw my way?"
"Yes. I need you to investigate some credentials for me. As you know, I'm opening a gallery, with an especial eye towards art of the region. Some pieces of which I am especially interested have arisen on the market, but there's some question about the credulity of them."
"What's the question?"
"They were thought to have been destroyed in the Hobus event, and have only just now come to light. Which is not entirely unusual due to all of the continued chaos. The seller claims the lot was miss listed as being on loan on Romulus at the time, when it had really been sent on to another museum. As much as I would like the claim to be valid, I'm disinterested in buying any forgeries, no matter how well executed they are."
"Sounds like a case I could take a look into. I'll get you my fee schedule and you can send me the details with my retainer."
"Very good, I—"
The nature path they were walking on had cut it's way through a wooded area, but both women stopped suddenly as they came around a bend in the artificial landscape and were met by the sound of a crowd of people. Not the kind of crowd gathered for an event. Maybe something more akin to a picnic only... more permanent. Between the tress there were laundry lines tied and a Reman woman crossed the path directly in front of them with two plastic storage jugs of emergency water, one in each hand. Behind her trailed three children each with their own burdens and dirtied faces, all with something like a dog racing around their feet faithfully. A'Koja's ears pricked with near-familiar words in Romulan and Reman dialects, and, if she weren't mistaken, some Flaxian adjacent linguistics. Men of four or five different species native to Romulan space were stringing hammocks and laying bed rolls. A gangly young Romulan man had a box of produce which he was passing out eagerly to friends.
"Refugees." It was the first word that A'Koja felt Sylvie hadn't said with control; instead it was almost as if she'd been hit in the gut at the scene.
"Yeah, looks to be a couple of hundred of them."
"Someone needs to do something. They can't simply be permitted to establish camp here."
"Looks like they think they can." A'Koja sighed. Rich people and their comfort zones. "But I think I know 'whom' to alert." Setting her coffee cup on a stone wall, A'Koja fished a comm out of her pocket. "Security, can you get me Lt. Winslow? It's A'Koja Dea. Tell him to meet me on the Environmental Deck as soon as he's free. Oh, and tell him to bring a whole sack of soccer balls..."