The First Unreturn

Posted on 16 Oct 2014 @ 8:00pm by Lieutenant JG Wakeham Paul Alasia Ph.D.
Edited on on 19 Oct 2014 @ 3:05am

1,522 words; about a 8 minute read

Mission: Episode 07 - Sojourn
Location: USS Galileo: Deck 5 - Diplomatic Annex, Intelligence Offices
Timeline: MD -8: 0950 hrs

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*That document is restricted.* The computer chirped with unrelentingly indifferent cadence.

"You've got to be..." Paul ran his hand through the hair grazing his left temple. "Computer, why is it restricted?"

*Level 7 security clearance required.*

"Level 7?! What the f... wha...?!" Paul choked on his words. "Computer, why in the sweet, merciful name of all that is holy in this or any other galaxy would it be restricted to Command Staff access?"

*Inquiry not understood. Please re-state query.*

"Paul rolled his eyes and buried his forehead in his hands. "Who restricted it to Level 7?"

*That information is restricted.*

Paul calmly stood up and walked over to a throw pillow resting on one of his chairs. He lowered his face into it and screamed - his frustration insufficiently muffled. Paul would, however, be spared the embarrassment of explaining himself since none of his colleagues were currently in the vicinity. Paul lowered the pillow from his face. "That is absolutely friggin intolerable." He muttered to himself. He stood, hand on his hip staring at the bulkhead for a few seconds, pondering with eyes half-closed.

"Computer, what is the time in Paris, Earth right now?"

*Working. There are multiple locations on the planet Earth with the name Paris. Please restate inquiry.*

"Jesus Chr... Computer, please state the time on Paris, France on Earth."

*Working. The time in Paris, France on the planet Earth, Sector 001 is currently 1053 hrs and 21 seconds."

"It's... wait... really?" Paul looked at the clock on his wall. "We're practically in Cardassian territory but we're on Greenwich Mean Time." he chuckled to himself. "Vulcans must love that."

"Computer open a general purpose substance channel on Diplomatic Bands to Sandy Highland, Paris-10-10-092" Paul swiped his finger quickly over a PADD resting on his desk looking for the proper number. "umm, Lima-Tango-649, connect."

*Please state or enter clearance code."

"Clearance - Alasia 9090 - Serial Number QN-728-5268."

*Working. Clearance Accepted, please stand by.*

After a moment the Federation logo faded to reveal the visage of Paul's mentor at the Inspector General's office and the woman responsible for his Starfleet commission. She was in her early 50s with a mane of wild dark hair, dark complexion, a short but physically imposing presence.

"Paul!" Sandy made an open gesture with her arms.

"Hi Sandy, how are you?" Paul exclaimed with a perky smile. "I haven't spoken to you since I was on Vulcan."

"You look good."

"Thanks, San... Uhh, I just realized, am I meant to call you sir, now? Commodore?"

"Sandy is still fine, Paul." Her smile faded slightly. "You have something to tell me?"

Paul furrowed his brow. "Tell you... actually, it's about my security clearance. I've been running into some difficulties over here."

"Isn't that something someone your Operations department should take care of?" Sandy intoned with an incredulous quirk of her eyebrow.

"It's not that simple, it's a rank thing. They've got some weird computer protocols over here and I can't get access to certain... basically I can't really do my job until I'm promoted. So unless you want to bump me up to Lieutenant Commander - which I'm not against by the way - I was wondering if there was a way to re-instate my OIG credentials."

"What? Why? How would that help?"

"That's what I'm saying! You would think it wouldn't matter but it's weird over here. The ship's computer has the most random stuff classified. There's, like... there's no differentiation between information files and weapons and power systems. I have level 5 clearance and level 5 is level 5. They can't get me access to documents I need without giving me, like, access to the armory or something. It's apparently all tied together."

"Paul, they have a different way of doing things in Starfleet. If they've classified something, I'm sure there's a good reason."

Paul dropped his head and raised his eyebrows skeptically. "Seriously? Sandy, this is no... I'm not... alright let me prove it to you. Computer share screen 1 with communication."

*You are now sharing Screen 1 over subspace.*

"Can you see it OK, Sandy?"

"Yes, it's coming through fine."

"Alright, watch. Computer access Starfleet Intelligence Shared Diplomatic Database. Search terms: Alasia Shapiro Romulan Network Theory 2389."

*Working* After a moment, a list of search terms appeared and the top result: "Alasia, W. Shapiro, A. 'A Decade of Network Theory: A Case Study in Romulan Hierarchical Collapse. Proceedings from the Academy of Administration, Society and Ethics, 2389.

"Computer," Paul commanded "open the top result, please."

*That document is restricted.*

"Thank you, computer, and why is that document restricted?" Paul asked the leading question.

*Level 7 security clearance required.* Paul made a face at the camera as if to say 'See?' despite the fact that Paul's face not appearing on the Commodore's screen at the moment.

"So, wait..." Sandy thought out loud. "You can't access your own article?"

"Yeah, that's what I'm saying. Like, 1/3 of all the documents I try to bring up, this stupid thing says are classified or restricted." Paul turned to his console. "Computer, end screen sharing." Sandy's face re-appeared on his screen.
"There's no rhyme or reason to it. I can't access articles that a fifteen year old high school student on Earth could bring up after a one second Nexus search. Everything's locked down so tight over here. Anyway, I just got here, I don't want to make waves. Is there any way for you to just reinstate my credentials, at least for a little while until I get something workable set up over here?"

"Yes, that should be fine." The Commodore replied with a sigh. "That's so unbelievably stupid. I swear to God, I don't know what the the hell Starfleet Security is trying to accomplish half the time. I can only give you temporary access to the OIG Database and I really can't give you any SFI access until I talk to someone at Ops over here."

"Do you want me to contact them? I was pretty close with Hur'vey when I was there."

"Umm, no." Sandy replied. "Better let me handle it."

"Alright, I really can't thank you enough, Sandy. I'll let you get back to work."

"Wait, is that it?" Sandy replied, her light demeanor suddenly changing.

"Yeah, why? Do you need something?"

"You didn't call to tell me?"

"Tell you what?"

"Paul, I heard about some dinner you hosted with a Cardassian delegation on board your ship a few weeks ago. I've been waiting and waiting for some kind of report. I thought you were calling today to explain."

Paul's eyes grew large and he suddenly felt nauseous. The dinner with the Cardassians had gone very poorly and he had indeed written a report with an official recommendation of censure for Chief Quinn. But, as a sign of loyalty to his new crew, Paul had decided not to send it. Had hadn't breathed a word about it to anyone and the XO had assured him the Cardassian's had no intention of lodging a complaint."

"Jeez, Sandy. How did you hear about that?" Paul asked, beginning to sweat.

"How did I hear about what? Is there something to, Paul?" The concern in the Commodore's voice was palpable.

"The dinner, who told you about it? Did the Cardassians file a complaint or something?" Paul asked, trying to mask his panic.

"A complaint?!" Sandy looked around her own office as if to make sure no one could overhear her. She leaned in to her screen with a clenched jaw. "You mean it's TRUE?! Jesus, Paul! I've been assuring my bosses over here that your report was going to come in and tell us what we'd heard was all BS. It's been weeks If there's something complaint-worthy, how did I not have something at least preliminary on my desk the next day?!"

"I don't..." Paul choked on his words. Completely flummoxed. "I didn't... It really didn't seem like a big deal..."

"Paul... My God, I know after all these years you have better sense than that. Paul, I've got to... we can't."

"Sandy, I'm so sorry." Paul proferred.

She leaned toward the screen conspiratorially. "Don't file anything now, it's only going to make things worse. Get your story straight and call me in 48 hours. Do it on a secure channel and know that when you call, you have to call me Commodore because I'm going to have to record it. I'll do everything I can on this end but, Paul..." she shook her head. "This isn't good. It's not even like you have a long record to lean on. I really don't know know what this means for you. And I, uh... I have to go. This has definitely changed my morning. We'll talk soon."

The screen returned to the familiar UFP logo.

Paul looked around his office - flummoxed and panic-stricken. "I am so f---ed." Paul said to no one in particular.

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Lieutenant (JG) Wakeham Paul Alasia
Diplomatic Officer
USS Galileo

Commodore Sandy Highland (NPC - Alasia)
Associate Director - Diplomatic Liaison
Starfleet Intelligence

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