Double Oh Secret Squirrel Reporting for Duty

Posted on Tue Jun 27th, 2017 @ 8:16pm by Chief Warrant Officer Daytona Ral & Lieutenant Commander Eneas Clio

Mission: Death is in the Details
Location: Clio's Office
Timeline: After the Briefing, Before the Slingshot

Chief Warrant Officer Daytona Ral tugged at his collar. He didn't often wear a uniform and he almost never...or maybe actually never, now that he thought about...wore the black shirt that told the whole known galaxy that he worked for Starfleet Intelligence. In his lifetime, of course, he'd worn many uniforms. Military uniforms, police uniforms, various uniforms issued when he was a merchant spacer and then a mercenary. He even wore a Starfleet uniform for a short time. But after that he almost never put one on, and definitely not the black shirt. He'd gone under as an officer, warrant, or NCO in another branch before, sometimes just so he wouldn't stick out at a Starfleet facility, but never the black. It was very disconcerting.

Daytona had been around for a very long time. Four hundred and twenty-two years to be approximately exact (though descended from the Vulcan Diaspora, vulcanoid rigelians were not raised like their extremely logical and extremely exact cousins and as such Daytona wasn't going to bother counting down months, weeks, days, hours, minutes, and seconds). He had enlisted in Starfleet because, at the time, his home planet wasn't a part of the Federation and he was not a Federation citizen. Enlisting was permitted, however, and after a term of service, Daytona did become a Federation citizen. He was soon recruited into Intelligence. It was decided (a mutual decision, actually) that Daytona would remain enlisted for the time being. No one would notice a petty officer, where as a higher ranking officer might stand out. He was offered a commission several times but turned it down. Finally, he agreed to take a warrant and be a warrant officer, followed by a commission as a Staff Warrant Officer, then Master Warrant Officer, then Chief Warrant Officer. As a Chief Warrant Officer, Daytona could command respect when he needed to, while remaining essentially anonymous otherwise. If he threw any weight around, it was usually assumed that he was a powerful flag officer's errand boy. It gave him freedom to move about. The assignment to the Hera was a necessity, but he was looking forward to it

Daytona had been walking through the halls headed to Lieutenant Commander Enaes Clio's office. Commander Enaes (her family name came first, Daytona was good about checking up on things like that) was to be his new boss. He'd only gotten aboard in time to walk in late to a briefing so he hadn't met her yet. Hopefully, she wouldn't be too pissed about encountering him for the first time like that, or at least Daytona hoped that she wouldn't take it out on him. He arrived at the door, tugged on his uniform jacket to straighten it out, steadied his breathing, and hit the door chime.

Though Clio hadn't been expecting a visit, she suspected it might be the black-collared stranger at her door. She hadn't located his dossier yet among the myriad of files that Starfleet Intelligence decided to send at the exact same time, but she put very little stock in what those things said anyway. Her own said she was a raging psychopath who wasn't to be trusted, though in somewhat nicer terms. Clearing her visible screens and flipping her PaDD over on her desk, she tapped a hidden button underneath it. "Come in."

Daytona entered and walked up to Clio's desk.

"Chief Warrant Officer Daytona Ral reporting for duty, ma'am," he said.

When she got a closer look, Clio thought he might be Vulcan. But the name and inflections told her differently. "Ral... that's Rigelian, isn't it?" Truthfully, she didn't know if Ral was a Rigelian name or not, but having spent so much time with Farenia, she knew the mannerisms well enough. "Have a seat. Grab something from the replicator if you want. We're not especially formal here."

"Well the lack of formality is a relief," Daytona said. "In the work I've done, I've rarely worn a uniform and I can honestly say that I've never worn the black shirt advertising to the galaxy that I work in Intelligence."

Daytona took a seat in front of the desk.

"So," he said. "It seems we'll be working together. I'd like to be as helpful as I can while I'm assigned here. I think you'll find I can be very useful, especially when you need something done quietly."

"Quietly is good. I already have someone I can send if I need stuff blown up in spectacular fashion." Clio smirked a bit at that. "As far as wearing the uniform, I know how you feel about that. I don't much like advertising who we are at all times either. I personally keep a spare uniform with command trim, not that I get to use it much. And we have a handful of variants loaded in the replicator that are less... obvious. I stick with the standard one most of the time, but some of the others look pretty sharp."

"The bombardier is Chief Cato West, I presume?" Daytona said. "Never met a gun he couldn't replace with a bigger gun so he could blow more stuff up? Why pick the lock quietly if you can just blow door up and wake up every X-Ray in the vicinity? Yeah, we've met...sort of...or we will meet...never mind. He's kind of a blunt instrument. I'm a bit more subtle, most of the time."

"Yeah... that's him all right. He's a bit of a crazy jarhead, but he's good people. Most of the time." Clio frowned slightly, trying to process what Daytona had said. "Wait, which is it? You have met or you're going to?"

Daytona shrugged.

"We met a while back," he said. "In passing. I'm getting together with him and some of the others this evening. I'm sure it will be like meeting him for the first time again."

Clio raised a quizzical eyebrow at him. While there wasn't any clue that Daytona might be lying, it wasn't exactly an answer either. "Seeing as you're both in an unusual line of work, I suppose that isn't surprising. Most of us have run into each other at some point and not realized it."

"Yep," Daytona said. "That must be it. So it looks like Mal, I mean Commander Xustos, put me on your team. And we have a real live orion with us, too. My people mostly stuck to their own system back then, but a few of us got around, so I won't need a disguise. Are you having the docs change your skin color to green?"

"Not exactly. There are multiple tribes of Orions, including the polar-dwelling Orions who have a paler complexion. Maica gave me some makeup that will match my skin tone to that, and then I did some reading. I'm not lithe enough to pass as your traditional Orion slave girl anyway. The polar Orions are heavier, more muscular. More... primal." Clio didn't know how much Daytona knew about her people, but the basics had been getting around the fleet over the past few years. "Shavni's going as herself, more or less. If we weren't going so far back in time, I'd go as one of my own people. But we kept to ourselves then, more concerned with surviving than we were with anything else."

"I've looked up a little information on your culture," Daytona replied. "It seems we're cousins. Both our societies are descended from the Vulcan Diaspora. I believe your society is matriarchal in it's own way? So is ours. Most of our upper aristocracy is dominated by women, though things have been evening out since we joined the Federation in the 2290s. Polygamy was and still is practiced on my planet, but over the last century or so that has manifested itself more as group marriages and less of one matriarch with many husbands. There was a time when matriarchs had as many as sixteen husbands. Sex is an integral part of Rigelian culture and biology. Obviously one woman couldn't keep up with sixteen husbands so infidelity was rampant, leading to many children born on 'the wrong side of the blanket' as the Earth saying goes. These children were often abandoned and lived on the streets. Many became child prostitutes. Much of this changed when Rigel V joined the Federation, but back in the 22nd Century when I was a policeman in the capital, this was a real problem, as was the Orion Syndicate."

"Not so different from how my people live then. Though knowing that explains why Nia was never worried about me... shopping around." Clio chuckled a bit, finally realizing just how similar her culture was to the vulcanoid Rigelians. "Sixteen husbands seems like a bit of overkill, even for a matriarch. Then again, I don't know who my real father was. I'm not sure my mother knows, actually."

"The ratio of men to matriarchs really didn't work," Daytona replied. "The math was wrong for us. We use a combination of sex and other forms of exercise to keep our vulcanoid passions under control, like the Vulcans use logic. It was and still is considered both unhealthy and unnatural for a rigelian to abstain from sexual activity. But, while there are some very formidable, and...energetic rigelian women, even they would find satisfying sixteen partners on a regular basis a significant strain. Keep in mind that many of these 'extra' husbands came from arranged marriages designed to form alliances, consolidate power, etc, so there might not be any connection between the matriarch and most of her husbands. Left to their own devices long enough, they cheated on their matriarch. The matriarchs usually turned a blind eye to this, but if any children were produced, they usually ended up banished. Left to fend for themselves, these children were more often than not exploited. As I said, the system steadily improved once my people joined the Federation. In order to qualify for membership, they had to clean up their acts. Things are much more equitable now, there are fewer unwanted or at least unplanned children and children from these more equitable marriages are well cared for in most cases."

"Cervan marriage is... different. Females can telepathically bond as many mates as they choose, and many don't mind sharing. So you might have a matriarch who has five husbands, but each husband also has another wife. They also keep... breeding stock." The true word for that was slaves, but Clio disliked admitting to her people's practice of sexual slavery.

"Well it seems that when both our peoples get around, they really get around," Daytona said with a grin. "So, what do you need me to do around here when I'm not out prowling for you?"

"Prowling does seem to be what you're most useful for, but I can't have you prowling about on the ship. Enalia might think we were up to something." Clio snickered a bit. "On board, mostly what we have is analysis of collected data and strategic planning. However, we're also responsible for cross-training other departments in intelligence work. Most of them haven't been assigned to a ship like the Hera."

"Enalia and I know each other from a little adventure early in her career," Daytona said. "So if she caught me prowling around, she wouldn't just think we were up to something, she'd be absolutely convinced we were up to something!"

Daytona looked thoughtful a moment.

"Training people strains even my nearly inexhaustible patience," he said. "Analysis, well, most of my experience with the intelligence business is field work, but I have provided analysis for missions from time to time. It was more like I acted as a consultant of sorts for missions where Starfleet Intelligence thought that my insight might be valuable, but not my presence in the field. I understand most of the players in the Alpha and Beta Quadrants. I was involved in intelligence actions against Dominion forces in the Alpha and Beta Quadrants, but I've spent little time actually in the Gamma Quadrant. In short, I believe that while I would be most useful to you in the field, I can also be quite useful providing analysis when I'm not out playing Secret Agent Man."

"I can find plenty of field work for you during planetside trips, but your assistance with the analysis side of things will be immensely helpful. Nexi and Cato do what they can, but they're more... hands on. I don't know if either of them have ever been trained for the ship-side part of the job." Clio suspected that neither Cato nor Nexi had any official analysis training, but so far they'd done the best they could. "There's too much of it for one person, so we've all had to work on it. Not my favorite part of the job, but at least I went to school for it."

"Well," Daytona said. "My analytic skills, such as they are, have come from experience in the field and years of using my head as more than a battering ram. I've never actually trained to be a shipboard intelligence officer, but I understand how it works. I started as an Intelligence Specialist 3rd Class in Clandestine Operations, but my assignments required not only the gathering of intelligence, but also on the spot analysis to be sent along with my reports. They ran me through an analysis course as well as the field ops course, not because they thought I needed analysis training, but so I would know the format and structure of the reports I was to be sending."

"The formal training is little more than that anyway, just takes weeks instead of hours or days. I can promise I don't know any more about analysis than you do, and I did have the official training on it." Clio chuckled a little. "Anyhow, I'm sure you have other things to work on besides talking to me. Don't let me keep you from them."

"Yes, Ma'am," Daytona said. "I'll go get to work right away."