DoE or DoE not, There is No Try
Posted on 10 Aug 2023 @ 3:14pm by Commander Calliope Zahn & Lieutenant Commander Maurice Rubens
Mission:
M4 - Falling Out
Location: Department of the Exterior, Montevideo, Earth
Timeline: Congruent with M3 Day 13
3006 words - 6 OF Standard Post Measure
The morning light tip-toed across the dark brew as Honor Ncube breathed in the aroma. Coffee, at last.
The trip from Asanti, the breakaway Romulan world on the far side of the Free State had been long and arduous. Klingon vessels were not known for their roomy comforts and raktajino had grown less pleasing as the trip wore on. The ship had brought her far, very far and very fast. The captain had owed her a favor and he’d wanted to fulfill it (and his honor), so he’d brought her deep into the Federation almost to Earth before he reluctantly dropped her on Vulcan and plotted a course back.
Honor smiled at the thought. Towards the end she thought the K’Tror simply wanted to see Earth, a planet he’d always heard about, but had never visited. Maybe next time.
It had been four years since she’d been on Earth and the snug waiting room filled with its comfortable, but worn furniture outside Josie Bettendorf’s office wasn’t where she wanted to be. Honor’s mind began to drift toward home. Sunbathed Marulaneng and its small, but cozy mud-brick homes where’d spend a blissful youth with her cousins and friends. Closing her eyes, she imagined her mother’s cooking, the innondo covered in her garlic-tomatoe sauce.
She was about to give up on reporting in to Josie - it wasn’t necessary to do immediately upon landing, she’d just wanted to get it out of the way - and find a transporter home when the door swung open with such gusto that Honor’s eyes flew open and she nearly bounded out of her chair.
The small, waspish-looking blonde woman smiled at her friend. “Oh, good! I didn’t think you’d make it.” Josie talked fast and thought faster, and her words were buzzing out of her mouth with such speed that Honor’s tired brain nearly didn’t compute. “They have to leave in just…oop…tomorrow and they wanted someone like you on the trip. I said you were the best.”
Honor pushed herself upright. “Who? What?”
“Head up to the sixth floor conference room. They’ll explain up there. I have to say: very jealous.”
“Jealous? Josie…I had a mandated leave coming up. Six-months, remember? I’ve barely touched down on Earth, just wanted to report in, and then I’m gone.”
Josie didn’t seem to be listening, a conversation occurring in her head that wasn’t happening out loud, “And you get to see him in his new environment. Some people think he was a long-term spy, others think he’s now a spy for us, and some people say it was his girlfriend that did him in. His girlfriend.” She snorted. “As if. The man couldn’t do a relationship to save his life. You know that, of course.”
“Who?” Honor shook her head, “No, I don’t care. I’m going home.”
“Nope, you’re going to the sixth floor,” Josie shouted over her shoulder as she disappeared into her office, the door swooping shut behind her.
Honor was left staring at the dark wood, before deciding the best course of action was to go to the sixth floor conference to tell whomever was up there that she was going to be going on vacation and couldn’t help them. She wouldn’t.
The Department of the Exterior campus housed many grand buildings on its Montevideo campus, but the Diplomatic Field Offices were not in one of them. Two centuries ago, this had housed the first DoE offices of the nascent organization while they built the rest of the campus. The temporary had become permanent at some point (no one ever knows how) and the often far afield field officers were dropped in here to make do. Honor assumed it was because nearly eighty-percent of the department rarely visited Earth. The halls ran with flimsy gray carpets and wood paneling that had long gone out of style. Even the doors were manual, which confused modern guests who’d often walk face first in thick dark wood.
The best thing about the sixth floor conference room was the windows that looked out across the rest of campus. The warm, tropic light made it seem less shabby, more alive. Honor didn’t bother knocking on the door, just let herself in. Rude it was, but she just was ready to leave and didn’t care about –
There were two other people in the room, who stopped their conversation to look up at the new member of their party, her mouth hanging ajar in absolute shock.
“You’re…you’re,” Honor giggled with excitement like the fan girl she’d morphed into, “You’re you! You’re Gordon Lockheart-Stillwell! Oh, my…I studied you in school. I wanted to be you in school. I became a field agent because of what you did in the Betreka Nebula. I read all your old correspondent reports…I’m just. Wow!”
Gordon stood to greet the young lady. Although notably tall, he was seemingly a few inches shorter than he’d once been, being bent with age now, and he smiled as she gushed, the expression forming deep crows feet around his eyes. He’d often been a rather recognized face, when his reporting had been broadly syndicated, and in certain regions when he had been in public service, but it was far more rare a thing now to meet such reception. Of course he was on his own turf in the Department of the Exterior, his pictures— both the ones he had taken and the ones taken of him— rotating in many of the displays of lifetime honorees.
“Please, count the pleasure as my own, Miss Ncube.” His rich voice was almost unchanged from the tenor and character in his old recordings, although a little rasped now which only lent something of a mystique. Gordon offered his hand to shake hers, his fingers as bent with age as his back. And when she took it, he didn’t shake her hand so much as grasp it encouragingly. “All my friends just call me Gordon, that will do. You came highly recommended to us, and we are fortunate you’re available.”
“Time is the eternal enemy,” a sizable, middle-aged, ox-like Grazerite agreed, somehow smiling while looking solemn. “The unseen element upon which all other elements are so tested and formed.”
“This is my friend and colleague, Ernesh-Ibrin. Though I’m hard pressed to tell you if he’s regaling us with a quote or a nascent work of his own.”
Ernesh chuffed at the ribbing.
“I’ve heard your name before, too. I’ve borrowed from some of your pacts before,” Honor told the Grazerite. She laughed again, this time her real one that sounded like a small drum. She felt foolish. “I’m sorry, I’m gushing. I should pull myself together. It’s like walking into a room and finding Spock or Riva or Lin Mai Nghiem waiting to say hello.”
“I’m afraid I was rarely so affected. But then, My mother was already well established in the Exterior Department, and I generally ran amok of everyone before I learned my manners. Ernesh here, however, when I introduced him to President Inyo, could only manage to use adjectives the entire time.”
“Not true. I did invoke an adverb or two.”
She nodded, finding her footing as they say before she found her seat next to Ernesh-Ibrin. “So, you said something about a recommendation. No offense intended, but you’re both a little past the age where you’d be going into the field in the former Star Empire, so is this about Klingons?”
“ghobe', vIHarbe'chugh.” Not this time, the old man said with a wink.
The door quietly opened and a small woman bustled into the room. Her deep purple dress fell nearly to the floor, only exposing the thing strapped sandals on her feet. Bracelets clattered around her wrists and two long turquoise necklaces were strung around her neck. Only a few strands of black marbled her iron gray hair, which was bundled up into a bun on top of her head She barely batted an eye toward Gordon and Ernish-Ibrin, and gave Honor a pat on the shoulder as she found the chair at the head of the table. “Good, you’re all here. Gordon, good to see you. Ernesh.” She looked at the last person at the table, “Honor, I know you from reports. I’m Menna Teltumbde, Under Secretary of Diplomatic Security.”
Honor had heard the name before. Menna was a well-regarded ambassador-at-large; a diplomatic chameleon of sorts as much at home on Qo’nos as Risa. The title, however, caused Honor some confusion, “Where’s Rice?”
Menna smiled. “Been behind the lines too long this time. He’s taken a different role in the Federation. Have you had time to look at the briefing deck?”
“Yes, and yet a resounding no.” Gordon resettled himself and crossed his legs, folding his hands around his knee. “I have never seen so many pages marked redacted. And I served on the defense committee during the T’Poval Administration!”
“Join the club. Starfleet is keeping this a secret, and apparently has been for a while. That’s why why I’m here and not Jonathan Howard,” Menna said, referring to the the Deputy Secretary. “Both he and the Secretary are in Paris raising all sorts of holy hell with the President.”
“I’m sorry,” Honor said, “What brief? I only just arrived.”
Menna nodded to her colleague, “Of course, sorry for pushing you into this so soon after you just got back home. You’ll have a few hours to review the material on your journey to Obsidian Command.” She quickly gave them the short version of Starfleet’s contact with the Pyrryx and the Korinn - at least, what she knew of it. She had a sinking feeling that they were still withholding.
“To top it all off. They found survivors of a starship these Pyrryx have been holding captive for the last nine years. So. After talking the Diplomatic Corps out of their plan to march on San Francisco and burn Starfleet Headquarters to the ground, the Secretary headed to Paris. I believe the term ‘clusterfuck,’ was invented several centuries ago for this very thing.”
“I wish I could say I was surprised.” Gordon sighed. “But it has always seemed like the Exterior Department is the last to be informed wherever Starfleet does boldly go. I believe they would rather think of us as a clean up crew or a follow up act than to cooperate.”
Menna glanced at Honor who gave her a knowing look. “I’m afraid it’s a bit more now, Gordon. We haven’t worked that closely since the Romulan rescue efforts collapsed. There’s no trust, there’s little cooperation. We’re both going our own way, and those ways are going in opposite directions. That’s why we’ve called you out of retirement. You’re not as tainted as the rest of us and, frankly, your reputation might just carry more weight.”
“I’ll have a go at it.” Gordon brushed his shirt off, subconsciously anticipating the mud that was often flung about when Starfleet was involved. He had as many enemies as he did friends in the defense and exploration branch. Although most of his friends had long since retired. He could count on one arthritic hand who he could rely on as contacts in San Francisco any longer. “I do miss welcoming new worlds.”
“If everything that isn’t redacted in those files is true, the Korinn need our help and support. I guarantee Brigid Harshman will be pushing for us to just kick them to the curb.” Menna paused, “Honor, you know Harshman, don’t you?”
Honor shook her head. “No. I know of her. I saw her interpretation of law and regulations up close though. Once. Bardol.”
“Yes. Bardol. You know her?” Menna asked the other two. When she saw no recognition in their eyes, she continued, “Not surprising. She had little experience in diplomacy. Captained a warship, as it were. Bounced around on interior space stations as a rear admiral. But suddenly two months ago - ta-da! - promoted and assigned as Starfleet’s Director of the Diplomatic Corps.” She shook her head ruefully, “Her political allies in the Federation Council twisted enough arms.”
Setting both feet on the floor, Gordon considered. “Does Harshman have a record in Starfleet Intelligence Department at all? Is it possible she’s on the inside track of this Pyrryx matter? Or a puppet for someone who was? Is she connected to someone holding the proverbial black pen— the one behind all of the redactions?”
“I would love it if she was doing all this, it would give us a face to fight, but no. I bet she’s in the same boat we are and just finding out about all this. No, my predecessor once said that she skipped the line where people were given hearts and went straight to the line where sticks were inserted in asses.”
“The heart be tendermost, and to have not is to be ever free of vulnerability.” Ernesh commented.
Gordon chuckled. “She sounds delightful.”
“And me?” Honor asked. “This isn’t my normal mission. Why am I going?”
“Gordon requested a field officer with knowledge of Romulans and Klingons, and inventive imagination in how to get things done,” Menna said, indicating the older man. “You were top of the list.”
“That golden mean, which in principle be forever true, is obscured by the silt of mean circumstance, through which the eye, not sleeping, does elect,” Ernesh elucidated.
“It’s been a while since I was in the thick of things,” Gordon explained. “I need an assistant to make sure I understand what’s relevant now, especially bordering with the Romulans who are most certainly going to be as affected as we are if there’s this Pyrryx activity in the area.”
“And Ernesh is going because his additions of poetry into a conversation keep things light,” Menna dryly added, then a small smile creased her lips, “If you need anything else, ask the Chief Diplomatic Officer onboard Obsidian Command. He’s a Starfleet officer, but trustworthy and highly rated in the diplomatic community. Plus, he’ll be sympathetic to the Korinn.”
Honor’s arched an eyebrow. It was odd to hear someone from the Exterior say complimentary things about a Starfleet officer or say they were ‘highly rated’ in this day and age. “Who is it?” she asked.
Menna’s smile rose slightly, “I’m hesitant to ruin the surprise, but mission before laughter I always say. Lieutenant Commander Maurice Rubens.”
Honor’s mouth fell open. “What!?” she exclaimed. “Did he rejoin?”
“Apparently, he never resigned and just went back, to the shock of everyone. It wasn’t popular with the rank and file, but Rice usually didn’t do anything ‘just because’ and I don’t put any stock in the idea that he dashed away to spill our secrets. Do you know Commander Rubens at all, Gordon?”
“As a matter of fact,” Gordon was scratching his chin in thought, trying to place the name. “Isn’t he Chung Dae-Jung’s protege? The young man with him at the Federation Embassy on Cardassia.”
Menna chortled, a younger version of Rice blooming in her memory. “Now that you mention it, I believe that’s where I first met him, too. Eager to be involved. Protege no more. He was my immediate predecessor in this office. He was a loss to the Exterior when he went back to the Fleet, although his methods could…well…Some people in the Diplomat Security office called him…ah…well…” She waved off the thought. It felt too close to gossip, which she absolutely despised.
Gordon squinted, trying to make out what Menna was getting at. “Unorthodox, is he?”
When it became apparent that Menna wasn’t going to jump in, Honor spoke up, “He was the point person on Romulan Free State negotiations for a number of years and he learned to manipulate them better than they him. He truly believes in the Federation values, but it’s an art he’s never given up. People will think they’re getting the upper hand on him, only to discover they’ve just burned down their own careers. Some think it doesn’t reflect the spirit of Federation diplomacy. I would say it has its place, but in more of a ‘break glass in case of emergency’ kind of way.”
“He should be good to have in reserve on this mission, then.” Gordon said with a tilt of his head, curious to be reintroduced to the younger man who sounded as if he had certainly made his mark since the last crossing of their paths.
“Just remember he doesn’t play for our team anymore. Rice bends rules like they were saplings in a stiff wind, but takes his oaths seriously and that’s to Starfleet.” Menna pushed the chair away from the table and stood up. “Right. Honor, you’ve got twenty-four hours to go home, see your family. After that, report to Earth Spacedock to catch your ship. Any questions?”
Raising two thick, leathery fingers, Ernesh made a sound as if he were pondering which caused everyone to turn. “The quest precedes the question, for what is knowable is not known ‘til upon form light is cast, shadows and edges to prompt inquiry.”
“In other words, we’ll probably raise more questions when we’ve gotten into the thick of it.” As it seemed things were wrapping up, Gordon stood. “Are you writing these down, Ernesh?”
The Grazerite tapped his own skull.
