A Case of Mistaken Transmission

Posted on 20 Nov 2014 @ 4:34am by Lieutenant JG Wakeham Paul Alasia Ph.D. & Seleya Qellar Ph.D.

4,254 words; about a 21 minute read

Mission: Episode 07 - Sojourn
Location: USS Galileo - Intelligence Offices, Deck 5
Timeline: MD-22, 1130 hrs

[ ON ]

Paul swiped his finger absently over his PADD. For the most part, his messages consisted of general calls for research and reminders from professional organizations with which he held membership and a loose informal association as well as status updates from the internal Federation wire about goings-on in inter-stellar relations.

Paul came across a staff request sent out to the Science and Support departments. He skimmed the message - civilian researcher... eager to begin... PhD in agricultural... something and public policy... staff encouraged to contact her... Qellar, pronounced "Killer."

"Policy..." Paul muttered to himself, "I guess that's me." Paul shuffled in his seat, lifting his leg and resting it below him on his chair. "Computer, contact Starbase 84, main switchboard, general-use channel."

*Connecting.*

A young, pretty Andorian crewperson appeared on Paul's screen. "How can I help you, sir?"

"Hi!" Paul said with a perky smile. "You have a civilian on board? Killer? Spelled with a Q?"

"One second, sir." The young woman typed into the LCARS panel and scanned the screen. "Yes, sir. Would you like me to connect you to her quarters?"

"Do you have a personal communication, in case she's not in her room?"

"I'm sorry, sir, we don't keep that kind of information."

"Fair enough. Her room will be fine. Thanks."

With that the young Andorian's face faded to the Federation logo.

The sound of the comm system interrupted the perfect serenity of Seleya's quarters. Out of habit she scowled down at the console. Even if it was a welcome distraction from reading academic journals a full two days after Lieutenant Stace had supposedly authorized her use of research facilities and a full two days through which the science staff on board had been stonewalling her, it was still an undeniable distraction, and she disliked distractions.

The Romulan scientist checked her hair in the reflection of the console, which nearly blended in with the black background, and found it up to her personal standards for chatting with an uninvited caller. Without a hat, hair style and genetics gave her a decidedly Romulan appearance, despite the makeup shading her skin and bangs covering her cranial ridges, but she wasn't too concerned about it, for once. Let them take note, what did it matter? Maybe she'd even be lucky and the unannounced call would be from the new government of the Romulan Star Empire, recalling her to New Romulus for service in the Agriculture Ministry.

When she finally activated the comm system, the image of a human male with a purple collar came very near to making her immediately roll her eyes. The Diplomatic Corps was second only to Starfleet Security in being a thorn in her side, varying widely from wanting to tap her expertise about Romulan society to suspecting she was part of some vast political conspiracy. She could never decide which end of the spectrum was the more annoying. In fact, she'd been so rude to the last diplomat who contacted her - some nonsense about negotiating agricultural trade tariffs with one of the break-away planets in Romulan space - that she'd felt certain her file had been marked "do not contact" within the Corps.

And yet...

"What can I help you with, Lieutenant?" she asked, spitting out the last word with nothing short of contempt after eyeing the pips on his collar.

"Uhh." Paul hesitated. His eyes grew wide and he looked down back down at his messages on the PADD in front of him. "Well, hello to start. But, I, uhh... I don't need help with anything. This is Dr. Killer, correct?"

"No, this is not Dr. Killer. This is Dr. Seleya Qellar," the Romulan shot back. Evidently someone from the Galileo, apparently, probably set on her trail like a scent hound by Lieutenant Stace. "There are subtleties to the pronunciation that seem completely los-... Oh, nevermind. Yes, I'm Dr. Qellar. If I can't help you, then I suppose you can help me? Or is this some sort of social call..."

"I was told you were champing at the bit to get started with some projects on board the Galileo, I was surprised they were bringing a policy scholar on board and, well, my background is in administration and economics so I guess I'm the closest thing to policy you're likely to find. I assumed you already had a project you were working on and I was calling to see if I could be of assistance to you. Without being rude, I don't need an assistant or anything like that."

The visual of champing at the bit almost made her curl her lip, as she couldn't possibly think of anything more undignified for her to do. Seleya wasn't necessarily even eager to work with the Galileo crew - they would probably just get in her way - but she could hardly convey that to him at the moment.

"I'm an agricultural biotechnologist," Seleya said, meaning it to be less a statement and more a pronouncement on her desire to work with a diplomat. However, she suddenly tilted her head to the side and smiled broadly. It was a friendly smile, as if she'd only just realized Paul was a colleague and she was eager to begin working with him. The transformation was complete, and almost disturbing. But Benice had denied her efforts, Stace had shut her down, and the starbase staff were intransigent, so maybe it was time to try a completely different tactic. "But I did serve as a policymaker within the Romulan government for several years, and I've always held a special interest in it. My expertise is in agriculture, of course. I'm not entirely sure where your interests are, Lieutenant...? Uh, I'm afraid I didn't catch your name."

"Oh, right. Sorry. Wakeham Alasia. I go by Paul. So... agriculture. Here I was excited to have another social scientist aboard. It feels like everyone around here does hard sciences and I'm lost when it comes to all that. I apologize I should have read your bio a little more carefully. I don't know much about agriculture or ag policy. In what capacity did you work for the Romulan government?"

"I worked in the Ministry of Agriculture for a number of years; just prior to the Hobus incident I was the Deputy-Minister for Research, Education and Economics," Seleya replied curtly. "My responsibilities were more scientific than you might expect from the average Romulan official, but I had a foot in the social sciences out of necessity. You can hardly serve the Romulan Star Empire in virtually any capacity without at least a rudimentary appreciation and understanding of politics. But I digress... I'm very sorry to have disappointed you, Paul. I have an abundance of free time, though, and I'm very hopeful that there might be some way for us to work together. Agriculture is my expertise, but I've worked in other policy arenas, as well. In fact, I once worked together with a colleague of yours from the Galileo on social policy... Dr. Oren Idris, do you know him?"

"I do. I haven't had a specific chance to work with him but his research is fascinating to me. So, now that we're speaking we may as well embrace it - what are you hoping to work on when you arrive? Is there something I can help you with because, honestly, while we're traveling I have more free time than I know what to do with as well."

A slow smile spread across Seleya's face, and her eyes looked like they were burning with excitement. It could have looked like the overeager excitement of a neglected scientist finally being noticed, which was just as well because the alternative was looking like a Romulan who'd pursued a single man across time and space and finally felt like he was back within her grasp yet again. And that just wouldn't do.

So he is there after all, she thought. All these years hoping she'd run into Oren Idris again, all those attempts to force information out of Stace and Benice and the personnel office, all the vain bids to hack her way into the personnel database... And all she had to do the entire time was ask the diplomat. Just ask the diplomat! It was such a brilliantly understated approach it had completely escaped her notice, and she had to fight to keep from letting loose an hysterical laugh. Who better to ask? As a rule, they were far too trusting, always looking for some grand and dramatic avenue in interspecies relations. As her thoughts unfolded the smile had spread into the closest thing she had for a grin, and she was so elated that she even felt some small amount of appreciative affection for the diplomat-turned-unwitting dupe.

"Well, Lieutenant Alas-...uh, Paul," Seleya said, smiling charmingly as she corrected her own faux pas, "I've a mandate to begin engineering some new grain strains for use on a few select colonies. I'll spare you the scientific minutiae as it's all fairly boring, but it's essentially creating grain suited to specific environments for use in new colonies. They hand over the planetary survey information and set we agricultural biotechnologists to work churning out varieties of wheat, vegetables and the like suitable for production on these particular worlds. I doubt there's really anything you could-... Although, hmm, I suppose...."

"Hmm?" Paul said playfully echoing his interlocuter's tone. "You suppose what?"

"Well, it's just that the Bureau of Colonial Affairs never bother to provide any sociological data to go along with the scientific data. It's all well and good that I know what environment I'm making a tomato strain for but there's a bit more art to it than that. It's helpful to know who I'm making the tomato for, do you follow? What are the production requirements? What are the available inputs? Will this be an intensive agricultural colony, or am I just designing a tomato to hold people over until the next shipment of food from a breadbasket planet? I don't suppose you have access to anything like that, do you? Or know someone at the bureau who might? They tend to hand the data off to us and neglect us from that point on..."

"I'm not sure I totally understand what you're asking me for..." Paul trailed off. "You need..." Paul furrowed his brow. "You need sociological data?"

"Essentially. There are three proposed colony sites I've been tasked to work on, but I only have half the picture: colonies JJ-734, Alpha Phi 117, and Abiaq IV. I'm sure they are in some form or fashion still in the planning stages, but the Bureau of Colonial Affairs is turning out to be quite uncommunicative with me. They feel like all I need is half the picture - the environmental and planetary data - but I really feel like having some information on the people who are going to live there would be immensely helpful. You know, population size, occupations, urban planning details and the like..." She paused for a moment, pursing her lips in thought. "For instance, say I make an eggplant that meets the nutritional requirements of humans but the colony turns out to be largely composed of Bajorans. Or a wheat strain fit for a breadbasket world, but the colony is really only intended as a small research outpost. You see? Hard scientific data is only half the picture."

"Right, so you need demographic information on those colonies. Alpha Phu, Abiaq IV and what was the other one?"

"JJ-734, it's a moon in the Montak system that I don't think they've gotten around to naming just yet. I hope it's not too terribly boring of a request, Paul? It's the only place where my work brushes up against the social sciences that I can think of," Seleya said, face creased in concern, as if she actually gave a damn whether he was bored or not.

"Right... so, my question is, why haven't you been able to get this information on your own?"

The Romulan on the other end blinked. Why was everyone always so damned concerned with why she couldn't get the things she needed rather than trying to expedite the acquisition of said material? It must be nice serving in Starfleet with a rank above 'plasma conduit scrubber,' having access to whatever data you wanted whenever you wanted it, she thought. She had half a mind to just pay off some Orion to forge credentials for her so she didn't have to muddle through this nonsense every time she asked the computer or Starfleet personnel for anything beyond the current stardate. But somehow, despite the irritation, she managed to keep a pleasant enough look on her face and even conjured up a smile.

"I've filed a request with the Bureau of Colonial Affairs three times, and they just keep sending back the same information," she relayed, sounding exasperated at the futility of it all. "It's almost like my request isn't even being handled by a person. And no one can be bothered answering a call on a civilian commline. My security credentials don't get me beyond what's released to me on top of that, as if there's anything at all classified about the population profiles of some backwater colonies. You're perfectly welcome to run it by whomever, it's just you're in a much better position than me to actually do something, you know? At the very least I imagine someone would return your calls." Her eyes shifted off away from the viewscreen, as if she was in a moment of reflection, and the volume of her voice dropped. "I'm only trying to do my job with competence and efficiency."

"Yeah." Paul said flatly. He eyed her for a moment on his screen, considering the possible causes for a bureaucratic hold-up. As a student of administrative practice, Paul was less taken than most with the constant arguments of red-tape in Starfleet. Hel would have generally thought nothing of the Doctor's request but as the conversation had proceeded along a strikingly defensive trajectory. Another key thought occured to Paul that he thought needed to be addressed.

"What you're saying is well and good and I'm sure you're just trying to do your job, but if I were to contact someone at Colonial Affairs, what would they say the problem is?" Paul's voice was getting lower and his tone ever more supercilious and businesslike.

"I haven't the faintest idea," Seleya said, sounding more innocent and clueless than defensive, and she shrugged her shoulders for emphasis. She had sent numerous requests and they had been deflected, so she assumed their stories might match. The underlying tone of the deflections had been that it was none of her business, but she begged to differ. "I would assume they would corroborate my story, and, one would hope, they would be more amenable to discussing the situation rationally with one of their own."

"Without being too presumptuous, you're Romulan by birth, right? You're not, like, Mintakan or Vulcan or some other offshoot?"

Beneath her heavy bangs, a concealed brow rose. "Yes, I'm Romulan by birth and by citizenship. I claimed asylum in the Federation shortly after the Hobus incident."

"So, what I'm getting at here is this: is there a racial element to your dealings with the Federation? Something about your former citizenship? If I dive into this on your behalf am I going to find the normal bureaucratic hurdles or is there an extra level of suspicion that shrouds you in particular?" Paul blanched slightly at his own bluntness. His first impulse was to help this woman - his future crewmate - but for reasons he couldn't articulate to himself in the rapid back and forth, something was putting him ill-at-ease.

Seleya frowned. Her brow was drawn together so closely that a portion of her cranial ridge actually became exposed below her hairline.

"Paul, there has always been and - I assume - there always will be a level of suspicion around me and virtually everything I do. If you investigate, you'll find the usual bureaucratic hurdles, and you'll also find a healthy dose of suspicion about me. But it's not from a reputation I earned. It's not from an intelligence file that indicates subversive or clandestine activities. It's simply because of my place of birth. I am Romulan, therefore I seem to be the object of much suspicion, much derision, much scorn.

"I was a Deputy Minister for Agriculture; we grew food. We didn't sit at the helm of Tal Shiar ships, fight on the front lines in any of our internal conflicts, or dictate imperial policy that extended beyond what was planted in the ground. We made sure that colonies were agriculturally self-sufficient, we made sure the poor had food to eat, and we made sure the nutritional needs of our children were addressed. I am guilty of nothing except being a Romulan, and therefore, it would seem, I am guilty of everything."

Paul smirked. "Doctor, no one could possibly blame you for the accident of your birth and I hear the frustration in your voice. I'm sure this has been a long and difficult road for you - dealing with the Federation. I'm sympathetic."

"Having said that." Paul took a deep breathe as he continued. "Apologies at my bluntness but the righteousness of your tone is a little convenient. Throughout the history of the Federation's dealings with the Star Empire, the institutions from your home world have been particularly adept at diffusing responsibility for their actions. Terraquads of research data lost, evidence of routine incursions of cloaked ships into the neutral zone and no accountability. No one is ever guilty of anything on Romulus - not officially. Everything we know about your people is so drenched in myth-making, double talk and layers of secrets that the easiest thing to do is simply say "no" to any request because there is no reasonable metric by which we could parse truth from fiction."

"It's horrible that you're treated the way you are because of the tone of your skin but the least risky thing for anyone to do when dealing with is to just deny any request."

Seleya leaned back in her chair, placing some distance between herself and the monitor, and crossed her legs. She fussed with the hem of the skirt and made a good show of looking contemplative, as if she was making the conscious decision to choose her next words very carefully.

"That sentiment doesn't seem to be in alignment with the principles of the Federation. As I understand them, at least," she said, sliding her eyes back to the monitor only after she'd finished speaking. "In fact, it sounds a tad racist, if you ask me. As a citizen of the Federation, should I not be treated equitably and fairly? Is the policy of the federal government and its constituent agencies to issue blanket denials based on the applicant's heritage? Place of birth? Political persuasion? Sexual orientation? Gender? Socioeconomic status? Where, precisely, does one draw the line before such attitudes and policies cross into outright discrimination?"

Before he could answer, she pressed on with an even tone.

"I never lost any research or boarded a ship that violated the territorial integrity of another nation, and I was accountable to whom I was supposed to be accountable: the central government and the Romulan people. Romulan diplomats, Romulan senators, agents of the Tal Shiar - these are the people who conjure up the myth-making, the double talk, and the layers of secrets. But an agricultural scientist? Hardly," Seleya scoffed. "And so 13 years later I continue to pay for the sins of my people, relegated to a second-class citizenship because the people of the Federation cannot set aside their bias long enough to evaluate an individual as an individual. Unless I misunderstand your argument, Paul?"

"No, I mean, you're right. That's what I was getting at. It's racist. It's not a perfect or even a good representation of the Federation's ideals. But..." Paul swallowed. "You're a smart person... you can try to use the Federation's ideals as a weapon against it and you can play coy like you don't understand where it comes from... but you know. You know why things are the way they are." Paul smiled roguishly. "Has this strategy of playing on the liberal guilt of junior officers... has this worked well for you in the past?"

"Surprisingly well, in fact," Seleya said, not missing a beat. Conversations and the balance of power shifted frequently, and you were a fool to still be surprised about it at this point in life. "Your educational system does a marvelous job of instilling a great sense of pride and idealism in its graduates. Ensigns, lieutenants, even the odd lieutenant commander here or there, are so quick to jump to the nation's defense, prove me wrong and put Federation ideals into practice that it's a wonder I haven't been able to talk myself into a position of greater authority within the Federation, our society." She shifted in her seat and stretched perfect lips into a perfect approximation of a smile. "And now that we've gotten pretense out of the way, Paul, we're left to ponder whether we're to be a help or a hindrance to one another, hm?"

"Doctor, to the extent that I can help you I'm absolutely happy to do that. Let me speak to a couple of people at Security and find out what the hold up is." Paul smirked. "Pretend your talking to a particularly dim human seven-year-old... try to summon that image, hard as it may be." Paul shifted his eyebrows playfully. "Tell me exactly what you need and from whom."

"From the Bureau of Colonial Affairs I need the colony profiles for Alpha Phi 117, Abiaq IV and JJ-734 in the Montak system. I don't want or need anything classified, just basic information. And if at all possible, it would be very nice if someone could check with Starfleet Security on the status of my credentials. They're worse than the Romulan central government in stonewalling people."

"Ok." Paul typed out the information on a PADD in front of him. "I'll talk to BCA about those data sets. Hopefully, they'll just send them to you straight up. If they give me a hard time, worst comes to worst, I'll just say I need them so they're on the computer when you come aboard. But if that's how it happens you still will won't be able to access them until you're cleared by our people.

Paul turned his gaze from his notes to the Doctor. "I'll also talk to security about expediting your overall credential clearance but I'm sure that'll mean their adding my name to your file. That means every time you encounter security or ask for a change in status I'm going to be part of your background check. It adds another potential hurdle in your future if they can't get in touch with me or don't like my answers for whatever reason. And it's not like I'm a senior officer. I'm no one to these people. So you might be getting a new headache with no actual reward attached. Are you ok with that?"

Seleya remained so perfectly still while considering the prospect that it might have appeared that the transmission was frozen. Not being able to access the colony data until the Galileo arrived was a minor annoyance, but having your fate forever tied to another person was risky at best and disastrous at worse. It was a clever thing to bring up, of course, as it made clear he would have no small amount of leverage over her in exchange for what she wanted. The implication, in no uncertain terms, was that to cross him or double-cross him wouldn't be in her interests. Ever. The real question was, did the equation balance? Friendships, like assets, could always be cultivated... It was a risk, but sometimes one simply had to take them.

"Yes, I don't see any problem with that at all, Paul. I can't imagine what you'd possibly say that would be unflattering. You seem like a gentleman," Seleya said, casting her eyes downward as if the kind words made eye contact unbearable. When she looked up it was with a rueful smile. "And it's not as if I'm unaccustomed to headaches without compensation. If you'll indulge me in being maudlin, one might even go so far as to say it's been the story of my life."

"Fair enough, Doctor. Will you be available to talk again in a couple days? I can inform you of any progress I've made then."

She let out an exaggerated sigh and rolled her eyes, as if she was at the end of her rope with the starbase already. "I'm sure I'll be quite available up until the Galileo actually arrives at the station. Call me any time."

"Very good, Doctor. I'll be in touch soon." With that the screen clicked back to the UFP logo.

[ OFF ]

Lieutenant JG Wakeham Paul Alasia
Diplomatic Officer
USS Galileo

&

Seleya Qellar, Ph.D.
Biotechnologist
USS Galileo
[ PNPC - Mott ]

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