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Post by Shawna on Sept 9, 2022 0:35:09 GMT
The following several posts are old logs from back in the STE days, important bits or interesting snippets from Vikram's history, setting up for Brand New Stuff that will be indicated...when I get there. An old character of mine that did not (initially) make the jump between games, his basic information sheet can be found here. Currently, his appearance contains a few more scars along his body, and he has grown his hair out long enough to be piled into a high bun. His manner of speech is still rather formal, but he makes more frequent use of contractions than he used to. His mysophobia (germaphobia) has also seen significant improvements, though will never truly leave him. I may add in some of that backstory at some point, but the Section 31 bits are what are truly relevant right now.
As of 12209.08, he is in the brig of the USS Chiron.
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Post by Shawna on Sept 9, 2022 0:42:06 GMT
Three years ago... [[Editor's note: sometime between stardate 11201.01 and 11205.11]]
The Cardassian grins wicked at Vikram from across the table, hands folded neatly before him (although he has no choice the way they're tied down). "Ah, and there's the man of the hour! Tell me, agent, how's the arm?" Not an hour before, there'd been a merry chase and a struggle involving several fractures to Vikram's left arm, now in a makeshift sling. A brief fixing, no pain meds, and resting the appendage. And now he's here in a likewise makeshift interrogation chamber, having brushed off any mild concerns for his wellbeing and mental state from his partner. Vikram stands on the opposite side of the table, nonchalantly shrugs his less painful shoulder. "In better condition than you are going to be in soon enough, Jalam." A reptilian tilt of head. The infiltrator (who, as far as anyone official is concerned, is merely a trader through the quadrant who would never be involved in sabotage or terrorism, never, what an unspeakable thought) tuts at his captor. "Why, agent, that sounds like a threat." The innocent don't usually run. 31 only has so many facts. Jalam here is hopefully going to supply them with many more. "Surely you've talked to my superiors, who've provided abundant proof that--" "You are going to tell me about what plans you and your movement have. Starting with other saboteurs." See how far the infection has spread. This one has been seen on Deep Space 9, been in communication with Bajor, has visited several worlds either allied with the Federation or worlds that the Federation has kept a close eye on. If Jalam had been merely a trader, this would be no problem, but intel suggests that he's only a small part of a bigger movement that could destabilize the quadrant all over again. For the good of Cardassia, of course. Jalam seems less than impressed, though his joviality diminishes. "Abundant proof," he continues, "that I am but a humble merchant by trade trying to help needy people where I can. Alibis, should you require them. Background checks, yes? If you let me call up my family, surely then you could see what a mistake you and your comrade in black are making." "I am giving you a chance," Vikram explains calmly. "One to lay out what you have, because it will make things considerably easier for you. If you choose the hard way, I'm afraid that is on your own head." " Please," the Cardassian scoffs, "this ridiculous manhunt is Human paranoia at its worst. And if you think you, half crippled as you are, can threaten me with--" Jalam had put up a good fight earlier, between darkened corridors and knowing them better than the pair of agents. But catching him by surprise? Harder to fight. In the space between words, Vikram lunges his good arm across the table like a snake striking, fingers pressing around windpipe (even if he has to dig a little to do so). Were his captive human, the skin would have bruises by the time he lets go. Jalam's hands try to rise, but they only get so far as fingers barely starting to tug at Vikram's arm. No new breaks for him. "Information. Do not make me ask again; you will not like what else I do." "Hey," says his partner from the doorway, "make sure there's enough of him left for when I take a crack at him." When he lets go of Jalam's throat, the Cardassian is clearly unsettled and shaken. Gasping for air will do that to you. "You two," he hisses, quietly, jaggedly, through wheezes, "are making the biggest mistake of your lives." Vikram shakes his head slowly. "One of these days, someone will choose the easy way."
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Post by Shawna on Sept 9, 2022 0:45:56 GMT
Stardate: Classified
"Get as much intel out of your target as possible," was the order given by their direct superior in their brief, "and dispose of the evidence."
Seemed straightforward. But Vikram glanced over at his partner after they were on their way with a look of consternation. "No evidence, Samuel. What about the target?" Easier to think of a living person as a target.
Samuel smirked. It almost looked like a grimace. "Oh, Baudin. Sometimes I forget you're still a kid to this stuff. What do you think it means?"
The frown deepened. "We are authorised to kill?"
"We're going to kill. The target. When we're done interrogating her. And then we make up a plausible story about it that'll get sold to the brass and her family and all the right people." Samuel finally looked over, looking very unimpressed. "That doesn't bother you, does it?"
He had to consider it for a moment. Then shook his head. "No. Those are our orders. We will abide by them. Looking at her record, there won't be many to miss her."
"And it'll disrupt the activities of a radical Andorian sect. The last thing we need is them causing some new shit with the Vulcans or literally anyone. Keep up, Baudin."
"Sorry if all of this clandestine trouble is still new to me."
"Get used to it." Still, Samuel looked tired. Vikram didn't know much about his partner's record, but it had been heavily implied several times that he'd had a lot of partners. In not a very long span of time. It meant Samuel didn't have a whole lot of hope for Vikram sticking around.
"I will." He'd show Samuel what-for.
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Post by Shawna on Sept 9, 2022 0:47:00 GMT
Stardate: Classified
Some people couldn't take the lack of recognition for the Section's actions. For Vikram, a lack of attention was a welcome change. He passed his portable decontaminator over the rifle before hefting it up for a little practice, in down time. They didn't get stories on the news about their deeds. They got no news, which was good news. They got to see that attacks, disruptions, incidents, terroristic incidents, never happened, never got reported on. Stopped before they could happen. Trade routes stayed open. A conference could go on as scheduled...and a result could go the way Starfleet wanted it to go. He hit a few targets, the healing facial wound stinging with a developing sweat as he moved around from cover to cover. What they did was quiet, and it sometimes wasn't clean, but it didn't need to be clean. It just needed to make room for the up front movers and shakers to do what they did without something else happening.
A few people had asked him questions about his previous assignment when he first joined. It was what he was known for, in the wake of the Kensington disaster, even as it faded from the public's memory. Now it almost never came up. Now Vikram was known for the work he could do, did do, here.
He squinted at the floating target around a corner and pulled back. His eye hadn't been damaged by the blade, or so he was told. Just came awfully close. Still, it seemed to blur. Was it in his head? Samuel had told him to get things more thoroughly checked out. Get that injury healed up. "Scars aren't actually as attractive as the movies make them out to be," Samuel suggested smugly. "They're just an awkward conversation piece." But Vikram was determined to get the least possible care for his injuries. And if he got scars, he got scars. That group of Caitians got what was coming to them, especially the one who had decided to try and take his eyes. Vikram had seen to that much.
He didn't think himself a ruthless killer. Killing was just something unfortunate that was sometimes sanctioned, sometimes ordered, and sometimes a matter of self-defense. Any Starfleet officer had the capacity in them to kill, and many had, even indirectly if not with their own hands. It wasn't like he was going to let his face get mauled and do nothing, and now those in the disgruntled group--now a few mines in the area wouldn't be bombed, would not disrupt economy, would not disrupt trade, and workers rights or whatever else could be discussed in a peaceful manner--who were left alive would be dealt with by people who were not Vikram. He did his job. And now he was resting. Or supposed to be.
Samuel had scoffed, but Vikram found it particularly applicable when he brought up the old Vulcan axiom. The needs of the many outweigh the needs of the few.
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Post by Shawna on Sept 9, 2022 0:51:52 GMT
Stardate 11403.02
Samuel won't stop staring at him. It takes Vikram five whole minutes before he turns his head in the pilot's seat of the shuttle to snap. "What?"
Samuel shakes his head, clearly disappointed, angry. His eyes turn back out to the space before them. "You're making a mistake."
"So you have said. How many times do you want to have this conversation?"
"It's going to haunt you the rest of your life, Baudin." Samuel crosses his arms, leans back in the co-pilot seat. "You can leave, but the bureau? It won't leave you. Sooner or later, you know they're going to come knocking on your door."
Vikram shrugs his shoulders. "But until then, I will be out. This was never the life for me, not for a long term solution. I think you suspect this."
"I think most people join wanting to play at being a spy and not minding the idea of a shorter lifespan."
"You never did tell me how you signed up."
Samuel doesn't take the bait of changing the subject, just shakes his head again. That move is starting to get really damn annoying. "So you feel like you've repented or whatever, good for you. But you do good work. I just don't think you should be throwing this opportunity away, okay? You've been one of the only partners that wasn't terrible."
"Highest of praise, coming from you."
"And what happens when people find out?"
"They won't." Vikram says this with dreadful certainty. "I am too good to make some rookie mistake like that. I know I can cover my tracks. And have a few favors I can call in. After five years, they tend to build up." There is a silence that hangs in the recycled air between them, long enough that he looks over to his soon to be former partner again. "I assume I can count on you, if I ever need it?"
"A dangerous assumption to make," Samuel grunts. But it isn't a no.
"I have a plan. Spend a little time back on the radar. Get assigned to a ship." A sigh. "Get back out there. Face the demons, as it were. I can do good work there as well, do you not see that?"
His partner sighs deeper, pinches the bridge of his nose and rubs the back of his head as he swivels out of the seat to stand. "I see it just fine. I'm gonna catch a few hours of shuteye. Wake me when I'm up."
Vikram doesn't bother to watch Samuel as he goes. That's just his way of ending the conversation more than any real need to sleep right at that moment, and he can respect that. His plan will work, and when the time comes...then he'll just have to face the consequences then. Until that point? He can practically taste the freedom. And he hasn't tasted that in too many years to count.
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Post by Shawna on Sept 9, 2022 1:00:45 GMT
Stardate 11406.11
The aquarium in the admiral's office bubbled gently over the hard pounding of the ensign's heart. He had to fight back the urge to nervously--was he nervous, is that what that feeling was, or was it just anticipation, anxiety, paranoia that someone was going to come bursting through the door behind him--rub his palms on his pants. His arms rested firmly, instead, on the seat's rests, feet solid on the floor, and the view out the seventh floor of HQ showing it to be a sunny day with a line of clouds on the horizon. Staring ahead just over the admiral's shoulder was a fine neutral pose.
Things could all fall apart here if certain people didn't do their jobs. If certain connections ripped the rug out from under him. He'd been working toward this, and like hell he was going to let anything stop him from taking back his life. Too many years had gone by for him to slip up now. (And what would his mother say if he burnt out before he even hit 30?)
"You know I don't make a habit of this," Admiral Head started slowly with a bob of his head. Though the lines on the admiral's face clearly defined some age, it was also clear he didn't like the look of a full head of grey hair, having dyed it to keep the youthful red. It was a little distracting.
"I understand, sir."
"If it wasn't for the past circumstances, there'd be no reason for me to call an ensign here at all."
Vikram kept a flare of frustration under wraps. He didn't need to be pandered to. "And I do recognize that, sir."
Head didn't seem to notice. "Normally all of this would be done by communiques, through all the usual channels. I understand you've spent the past several years--" The admiral squinted at the screen for a moment, and Vikram held his breath. "--in shipyard operations, on McKinley Station, is that right?"
The breath eased out of him. No changes. Everything still in place. "Yes, sir; the past five, in fact."
"Yes, yes, and that was after your leave." Vikram said nothing, both because he'd rather not say anything on the subject ('leave' was a soft way to put it, and it felt patronizing, but he wouldn't fight semantics), and because it seemed to him that Admiral Head was simply going over the facts aloud instead of requiring actual verbal confirmation of everything that was clearly on the service record being reviewed. "You understand why we had to take a look at your request more closely."
The chair sure was starting to feel uncomfortable. He squared his jaw and looked the admiral in the eye when the aging man finally looked up at him. "Admiral, there is no need to walk on eggshells with me. I realize that, with all of us, we are special cases that need particular consideration after what happened. But you've run me through the tests, and I've had no major infractions noted in my record on my time in and around the station. If there is any reason you have to deny me a more active position on any ship, I will thank you to tell me upfront so I do not waste any of your valuable time, sir."
The admiral stared silently for long enough that Vikram began to think that he'd crossed a line, though his body language didn't back down. He stood by what he said, even if he was only being polite with the valuable time line.
"I, personally, have my reservations, Ensign Baudin. Some of you haven't adapted well to returning to active starships."
Still an ensign after all this time. It rankled him, but that was hardly the admiral's fault. He just hoped that soon enough he'd be able to show that he was ready for an official promotion, under official circumstances. That said, Vikram relaxed (as much as he ever could in front of an admiral) back into the chair some. It wasn't about him specifically. It was about the Kensington crew. Which was understandable, but it got very old sometimes. "Some of them weren't ready to go back. And some of them will never be ready. That's just how it is." It was cold to talk about his crew like that, but it had been years. He knew how to compartmentalize when it was necessary. "I am. I've been just fine on McKinley, and I'm ready to get on a ship and go. I am not going to let what happened nearly seven years ago dominate my entire life, sir, and if you'll allow it, I want to prove it myself."
The aquarium bubbled still, and Head leaned back into his seat, fingers tapping against one another. "I didn't say I objected, Ensign. I said I have my reservations. And I find them well-founded. But." He raised a finger to keep Vikram from objecting--which he wasn't going to do, so it must have just been out of habit. "I have reviewed your evaluations myself, noted your history, and if you say you're ready, then I have nothing to keep you grounded. If you're determined to get back on the bull, then who am I to say no? In fact..." Head grabbed a PADD and stood, Vikram shooting up in respect at the same time. "I have just the ship for you to dive headfirst to."
Vikram took the PADD when offered it, skimming the short contents. He looked up in honest surprise. "Sentinel, sir?"
"If you think you're ready."
The ensign saluted sharply. "Ready and willing. I wasn't expecting such an honour."
Head lightly saluted back, chuckling to himself. "I wasn't going to make it easy for you. I'll be eager to see reports from your CO on how you're doing."
There was a moment of hesitation, but Vikram nodded. "Yes, sir." It was meant well enough on the surface, but it sounded to him like Head was going to be spying on him. No, maybe that was too harsh a thought. Checking up on him. Make sure he didn't crack under pressure like some of the other Kensington crew had in the past. So long as the admiral didn't go far enough to plant someone on the ship to follow him around--
No. Not everyone was like that, not in Starfleet. He had to remember that, even as he kept his eyes opened and his wits about him. He'd have to prove the admiral's worries moot. But still, the newest ship of the fleet? It was sure to be doing some deep exploration, not border patrols. Excitement, adventure, probably important diplomatic missions as well, the sort of things he'd joined the fleet for in the first place.
"Welcome back to the big leagues, Mister Baudin. Dismissed."
Vikram snapped to another salute and hastily marched himself out of Head's office. And didn't stop until he was outside. The air was starting to smell of rain from the clouds slowly rolling in. Good. Let it rain. It'd be just one more symbol of his fresh start. Even if he still had friends in high enough places to keep some secrets, it meant he was free to be who and what he always meant to be.
His mother wouldn't be proud of everything he'd done, but she'd be proud of this. Maybe in a few days he'd drop the family a line. Reopen the rocky lines of communication. He wouldn't be able to give an adequate explanation for everything, but enough. It would have to be enough. This would have to be enough.
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Post by Shawna on Sept 9, 2022 1:04:41 GMT
Stardate 11411.24
He's compelled to pour over the data regarding Sosheth. No, he wasn't the one specifically affected by it, but kidnapping and torturing two of his crew? Unacceptable. He'll never be able to comb through all of it himself, but he's looking at the general pictures and a few specific details. 158 people, 158 who were taken and shoved into one of these pods, hurting them, killing them, and then forcing their bodies to adapt and mend themselves. Scar tissue upon scar tissue, again and again, and that's what kills them. The injuries don't kill them, not really, not when the pods jumpstart the metabolism and the healing process at super speed. It's the accumulated healing that does them in in the end.
All because this one person couldn't let go. Because after having been surrounded by death, Sosheth couldn't let the idea go, the idea of curing the inevitable. And while crude and gruesome, even Vikram has to admit that the work is impressive. To create entire realities in the mental landscape of his victims, and to turn the ailments and injuries inflicted real like a holodeck gone wild has a terrible sense to it. But the old pods were old, and he kept building up on them, and they were flawed. He's sure they're going to find some old cobbled together with new in some bubblegum and duct tape way when they open the pod being fit into their ship for further study.
But it isn't enough. It's just not quite enough for Vikram. Despite the tetraquads of data on over a hundred people of all ranges of species being tortured, he's not satisfied. He has to dig deeper. Someone was helping him. Someone had to be helping Sosheth with money, with arranging where to set him up, travel, shipping. This isn't a one person operation, it couldn't have been. But Sosheth was a sly bastard. Always alludes to people, to benefactors, but never names names, never gives enough details to even start guessing at species, much less individuals. And always in Federation space. So it could be damn well anyone.
But there's another route he can go. He already shot off a report to Starfleet (several, at this point) regarding Station 157 specifically, hoping to spark an investigation, but obviously someone, several someones, knew that Sosheth was operating here. Maybe that's why his good buddy Mister Sheen kept delaying them, kept saying something about teams out, parts coming in, terribly sorry about the wait. Was he purposely delaying them so Sosheth's parts could come in, his pods, his equipment, so he could stake out ship crews, so he could take them while they loitered around on shore leave? But there's nothing in the data specifically about this station.
And that's still not enough. If this wasn't so important, he wouldn't be doing this at all, but when he's got a moment, a private moment, to himself, he starts to dig. He still has a few contacts left, and a few codes and accesses that someone like him should definitely not have. He starts to dig. Into the station, the history, records, personnel, is there a money trail? Who was paid off to let this happen? He starts with the chief of operations, the guy that told them they'd be delayed in the first place. He had to know, and then he could work down to security, and--
An urgent message pops up on his screen. Unmarked, untraceable.
Vikram's fingers pause over the keyboard, frowning at the message. Sloppy of him, being too quick about it, not his business. (But it's his crew. He has to do what he can for them. Get justice. This goes deeper than one deranged psychopath.) And S, well, given the familiarity of the speech, it's probably Samuel. Despite the warning, there's a bare part of Vikram that's glad to know he's still alive and kicking out there, even if he's still a part of the bureau. They always need good people to do the dirty work.
The warning is, however, heeded, and Vikram quickly begins closing out all his searches, initiating a scrubber to wipe any trace of his less than entirely upfront sources from his computer terminal, and with any luck, this will only be between him and Samuel. He got out for a reason, after all, and there's no point in jeopardizing his new career over a dead man.
Back to work.
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Post by Shawna on Sept 9, 2022 1:09:24 GMT
Stardate 11503.30
They say it's a job you can't just leave. You don't get to just quit. There are always strings attached.
One of the strings, Vikram is finding, is dealing with not having all of the intel possible at his fingertips at all times. There's only so much Starfleet, the Federation, knows officially. A lot of what 31 finds out is secreted away for good reasons, and he knows this. But damn, sometimes he'd just like to be able to input a few codes, or send out a few pointed queries, and be able to find out just about anything kept under wraps.
And part of him can't help but continue to wonder if there's something about this war he could be helping out with elsewhere, something sneaky, something he'll never be recognized for save for his few superiors.
On the other hand, it's also a thought that's pretty far back in the midst of battle. He is where he is because he wants this. Not a war, no, but out of 31, back into the saddle, back with a real crew doing some real sweeping good that can be acknowledged. Enough of the lies, more of the exploration. (He will always have to lie. That's another catch. For the rest of his career, the rest of his life, unless something happens to get declassified in that time, he will have to lie.) He can't be missing it now, or ever, or he'll just get tempted back.
Here and now? This is where he is meant to be. It has to be. He's doing just as much if not more good here than he arguably ever was. This is, in one way or another, redemption, and by god he will see this crew through hell and high water, through Tzenkethi and Borg and anything else the galaxy has to throw at them. This is what he'd always signed up for. And he'd damn well better act like it.
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Post by Shawna on Sept 9, 2022 1:12:18 GMT
Stardate 11507.20
The news hits hard.
Those who aren't getting the feed in their hotel rooms crowd around in the lobby to take it in, some faces shocked, saddened, horrified, angry. Some are just passive or resigned. Vikram breathes slowly, steadily, in for a count, out for a count, arms crossed tight against his chest.
Someone did this. Someone did this deliberately.
He's not completely convinced it was Tzenkethi forces that did.
Oh, sure, it's likely, and he has a grudge against them collectively as anyone else does, the rogue forces who supposedly went against the Autarch. That those remaining would be against repairing relations, mending.
It's also likely that someone on the inside did this deliberately, not enjoying the President's actions and decisions in the wake of peace. He can acknowledge paranoia. But he's used to seeing the wider picture, the angles. The strings being pulled. That one of the cabinet members happened to survive: terrible burden of coincidence, or calculated plan? He has to look the Bolian up.
Vikram doesn't have the contacts he used to, but all he needs are public records, newspaper articles, quotes, to be able to see any patterns. Zothan Yix hasn't been President Okeg's most optimistic voice regarding deals with the Tzenkethi. Vikram can understand the desire for more security, more ships, more guns and military presence, but is that enough to want to take out everyone else who might have disagreed?
History has shown that leaders have been assassinated and replaced for less than that. He stares at the screen with ice forming in him. Better than fire, better than blowing his mouth off saying the wrong thing, going off without a plan. There's no plan he can make alone here. Could he, should he dare contact his old 31 partner? Surely they have better information than he does, put everything together faster than some new promotion on Risa. Unless they set this up to start...
His fist comes down on the desk with a solid thump.
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Post by Shawna on Sept 9, 2022 1:17:16 GMT
Stardate 11603.28
He needed answers. And he wasn't going to be able to get them here. But he also didn't have very many 'friends' left from back...back more than two years ago.
Paranoia hadn't appeared until after Kensington, part of a series of...symptoms, in the wake of the disaster. But being in Section 31 had sharpened that sense to a fine point. Did that make him too cautious, too suspicious, even jumpy? Perhaps, but he was still alive. For whatever that's worth.
But old and professional tinkering with his memories, he could only think of one group capable of it. And maybe it was for the best, but...there were plenty of other classified secrets he was sworn to, things he remembered perfectly well. Had he run into Tal Shiar before? No, no he was not going to start thinking himself a potential traitor. Was Admiral Head in on it, or his therapist, making him forget something about the disaster on his old ship? If that was the case, then everyone on the ship would have to have had treatment. Most likely it was 31, which meant...which meant if he went poking around, he wasn't going to get answers.
But there was still one person he felt he could trust, even for a given definition of trust. He had to try and talk to Samuel, his old partner. If anyone might know, or might be able to help him find out--sure, leaving the bureau had left them strained, but...but...
Most of his access codes and comm backchannels were shut down or rendered moot. Even the ones that had worked before, when Samuel gave him a warning not to go poking around about Starbase 157. It was a warning he'd heeded, but if only he could find a way to get in touch, explain the situation, then maybe he could get help. Regain whatever had been lost.
No connection. No connection. Access denied. No connection. Access denied. Access denied.
Vikram shoved himself away from his desk and stalked toward the shower. The urge to scrub himself nearly raw was rearing up, and this trip to Romulan territory with a viral outbreak wasn't helping. He'd just have to hope that all his poking and prodding got Samuel's attention again.
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Post by Shawna on Sept 9, 2022 1:17:52 GMT
Stardate 11604.20
A young, pretty Yeoman hopped down to the command circle, quietly waiting while Baudin finished up another bit of work, quickly stepping in and offering out a communications PADD with an encrypted engram spinning circles on the front.
“Commander, you have a priority message waiting on subspace. No sender ID, but it’s tagged as urgent and listed from Starfleet Command back on Earth.” She said, coolly. These kinds of messages came through all the time, usually an Admiral passing along messages or Command crews speaking without wanting it logged. All part of the day-to-day.
She waited for him to take the PADD.
The situation was certainly bothersome, all of this Romulan nonsense, but as much as it bothered the rest of the crew, he didn’t see a good way to complete every bit of their mission. It meant that most of what they could do right now was wait for the medical team to report in, and keep tabs on the bird keeping tabs on them.
It meant the message was almost a welcome distraction. To add onto the distractions he already faced. He took the PADD gingerly, wondering who it could be (though he had hopes - or fears). “Thank you, Yeoman.” He stepped away from the centre of the bridge, taking an empty seat around the periphery for a most mild sense of privacy. He tapped out a decryption key to access the message.
Text started to flash up on the screen, a pre-written message that held a simple cipher - at least, simple to a former Section 31 agent.
“Hello, Baudin. We saw the medical report from your last physical; interesting huh? We should talk, I've set up a one-time subspace relay - it'll burn out the first time you activate it, so be sure you're ready to chat. You know we rarely get a second chance and never a third.”
A short string of characters waited to be pressed.
And here he was actually hoping it’d be an Admiral circumventing the captain or even an emergency missive from home. (No, not true; that would mean a worst case scenario. At least this didn’t impact his family, as far as he knew.)
With a sigh, Vikram stood and headed for the turbolift, making a passing comment about having to make a personal call. It was, after all, the truth, even if a slightly bent version of it. The minutes ticked by on the way to his quarters, a place he at least knew to be safe and bug-free, as much as he could be sure. Ready to chat. Honestly, he’d been ready to chat ever since the news was relayed to him. But all the waiting around and walking on eggshells, now was probably as good a time as any or better. So long as nobody did something stupid and got the Romulans shooting at them.
He sat at his desk and sighed out anxiety, drawing himself up as if he were about to be questioned by the brass, schooling himself into his usual stern if placid appearance. And pressed the waiting characters.
There was a short moment, a pause, before an acknowledging signal came back on the PADD. Then, the unmistakeable sound of a transporter.
Behind Baudin, a man rematerialized in the middle of his quarters, dressed in a dark, matte uniform, cut to the Starfleet style and with a comm badge, but a different set of insignia pips on the lapel and no colour banding for a department. A non-officer, as anyone from Section 31 should be.
“Subspace transporter technology. Some Vulcan Lieutenant adapted it from a Ferengi design a few years ago, handy stuff. Needs a subspace relay every few hundred light years, but it's handy in a pinch.” He said cockily, before taking his ease in a nearby chair.
“Long time no see, Baudin. How's the hand? Or was it a leg?”
Vikram spun so fast in his seat that it went toppling over, but the fight (never flight) left him when he saw who had appeared in his room. His hands twitched into antsy fists, eyeballing the man he hadn’t seen for quite some time. “Samuel,” he acknowledged, breathy, almost disbelieving. He straightened his seat back up, spun it back and forth a little with his hand as an excuse to look away and re-gather himself.
Still, it was difficult to fully regain his balance after an appearance like that when he finally looked back to his former partner. “It has been several body parts. You might have to remind me which time you mean.” Slow breath in, slow breath out, and he crossed his arms across his chest. “I imagine you have arranged this meeting so that your transport will not be noticed. By anyone.”
There was, after all, a rather delicate situation going on outside.
“You know as well as I do, untraceable by anyone except an agent at HQ. Can't go doing our jobs if we're leaving traces everywhere.” Samuel grinned as he spoke, relaxing back in the chair and looking around at the modest quarters.
“I preferred your old apartment. How's life as the Executive Officer treating you, Baudin? Cushy as I'd imagine?” Samuel said as he turned back to watch Vikram, eyeing his old partner with a calculating look.
“Well, I am not always chasing down secret cabals of Cardassians or getting cut in the face, and the bed I can go to every single evening is nicer than taking any cramped shuttles. So, cushier than the old job, you could say.” Sometimes no less stressful. But he was out here for a reason. Away from 31, even despite his attempt to occasionally get in contact or use his old codes.
Vikram found it surprisingly easy to fall back into banter, but that was not a wise idea. He knew it. He could not let his guard down even around someone he still...moderately trusted. “You have information about the results of my medical scan?” he prompted, to get to the point.
“Oh, that. Just a little piece of insurance,” Samuel tapped his own skull as he spoke, giving it a rap with his knuckles. “Let's just say that there's a few minutes of your life that you don't remember, just a few. You know, not many people get out of the Section. Not whole, anyway. You're one of the few, I think Father liked you, what you went through and how you came through it - at least. Can you blame him for wanting to make sure that his prize agent didn't talk about certain things?”
“We've all missed you, you know? Things are different now...I didn't come here just about your medical scans.” Samuel looked up at Vikram, quite sure the man knew what he was here for.
“And you do this to all of your agents, or just the ones that resign and live to not tell the tale?” Vikram grumbled. “With everything that I know, regardless of not having any evidence to back anything up, would it not be more convenient to wipe more than a few minutes? Not that I am suggesting you do that, of course.”
Not that it was being suggested. No, what was being suggested was coming back into the fold. Just as he was warned about. Just as he had feared. “Besides,” he continued, “how much could things have really changed in so short a time? I am where I am supposed to be. And I have been able to keep my sanity in the process.” Something Admiral Head had been so keen to worry about. “Are you really going to give me a sales pitch? Here? In the middle of Romulan space?”
Samuel shrugged, that easy smile still on his lips. “Where better?” A quiet chuckle sounded hollow in the spare quarters.
“Things have changed. We have a lot more...freedom to act, after the Tzenkethi war. It was decided that the Section had to take a more active role in order to safeguard the future of the Federation.”
The Section 31 agent watched Vikram for a moment to see a reaction. “I saw the record from your encounter with Walsh. You knew what had to be done, you had the Federation and Starfleet in mind when you suggested the correct course of action - you still have that leaning, those tendencies, and we need that.” Samuel said as he gestured to the quarters around him.
“We’re not asking you to do anything you wouldn’t normally have done. You can stay here, keep doing the job, be the model Starfleet officer. Just...lean back towards us. Take orders now and then, look into things, be our eyes, ears and hands. You and your ship, your crew, can only benefit with direct Section support.”
It meant lie to the crew and work behind their backs. But...hadn’t he already been doing that? His record was a lie, those five years between his leave after Kensington, and he’d already attempted to garner the help of his fellow Section agents, or to at least use what he could to do what he could. Which wasn’t much now, with his access revoked and threats to do something if he kept trying to play in their sandbox. And now they wanted his help? Vikram was not given to pacing, and stood like a mountain in his own room. But his mind was far away, calculating risks, weighing the options.
“And should your orders ever clash with that of my captain,” he started delicately, “you would have me disobey her.” Less of a question, more of a presumption. And if the truth got out, it would be his ass on the line and no others. Convenient. But agents are expendable if they’re sloppy enough to get caught in the first place.
He turned his back with a sigh, leaning down on his desk heavily. Samuel was someone who he trusted not to put a knife in him, had trusted him not to do so for five years. But he was still an agent working under orders, while Vikram was an upstanding officer of Starfleet. “I was trying to start a new life. I know you were so angry when I got out, but it felt like the right choice at the time. I cannot say I regret the choice. Merely...regret that some of my usual paths are closed off to me. Historically speaking, agents on a ship, taking orders from outside forces? Has not always worked out in our--in your favour.”
Samuel stood up slowly, walking over to sit on the edge of the desk next to Vikram, his arms folded across his chest. “It hasn't; but those are the risks of the work we do--we did.” He said, with uncharacteristic valour in his tone. “You know the problems we faced back then. It's the same now, we just have more political backing than before, more pieces on the board to move, more resources. But it's still not enough to keep the Federation safe.”
He stayed quiet for a moment to let it sink in, “Do you know how many threats we're tracking at this very moment? Sometimes it feels like we're all that stands in the way of total loss to our way of life and we have to rely on people that don't-” he paused, shook his head “-that shouldn't know what we do.”
Samuel laughed suddenly, his usual grin appearing on his round face. “I don't have to go through the spiel with you, Baudin. You know what's at stake, and you know that we wouldn't have come here if what we were asking wasn't important.”
The worst part was knowing that. He’d spent five years in the middle of clandestine 31 activity, doing good for the Federation that he would never receive credit for. Yes, the methods could be morally grey, but he believed in the cause. He just...had believed in a fresh start more, when he left.
At least here he could still be the officer he is. Still out doing good above board as well. Still be XO and trusted. Captain Stradiot didn’t always make the right choices (not that captains are infallible). He knew the work, knew he could do it, and knew it was always for a greater good. That’s what always mattered most.
And it was all the harder to say no with his old partner right there, right beside him. They had been beside each other through a lot. And while Vikram was hard-pressed at times to make friends of anyone for a multitude of reasons, Samuel was...close to one. Or had been close to one. He wondered if they ever game Samuel another partner, after having so many other partners before Vikram came around and lasted. Didn’t ask. There wasn’t time to play catch-up. He would have to get back to the bridge, and sooner rather than later. He took a seat heavily beside Samuel and pinched the bridge of his nose, inhaling, exhaling, balancing.
He looked back up at his ally. “What do you need me to do?”
Samuel looked thrilled, slapping his new colleague amicably on the back, “Just like old times, Baudin! You'll see. For now, keep an eye on this situation, there's more to the Terothka Virus on Sinul than meets the eye - have Doctor Sarissa take some samples and bring them onboard for testing, we'll want the results. If it's what we think it is then that world down there is in for a lot more pain - but so are countless others.”
He looked at his friend for a moment, hand resting on his shoulder, and a touch of concern entered Samuel’s tone. “You're sure about this, Baudin? I know why you wanted a fresh start, I honestly expected to leave here with a fresh bruise on my jaw.”
His shoulders sagged a little under the touch. “I will still be out here. I will still be on a ship, proving that I can be an effective member of a crew. I will just...perhaps be able to do a little more now than I could before. It seems a fair compromise at the moment.” But the tension ramped back up. “Do they not have the ability to run proper tests down on the planet?” He would not panic. He was not going to panic. His heart might beat a little faster but that’s all. “So we do not have to risk anyone by bringing it here?”
He figured that he could be a little more open with his new-old colleague. “We expect that the virus we're seeing in the surface is actually a bioengineered plague developed by the Romulan Empire. We have little proof, what we get out of the Empire these days is spotty at best, but unless they have a full suite of Federation genetic analysis tools down there then the Sentinel is the only vessel that has the capability to find more information - and hopefully put a stop to it.”
“That is annoyingly sound,” Vikram grumbled uncomfortably. Surely if he brought it up with the captain--suggesting that they examine the virus themselves to have a better idea how to battle it, in case it’s a different strain--then she would see reason in it. But to willingly bring the virus aboard? Especially if they weren’t sure of what exactly they were dealing with? The last thing he needed in his life was to inadvertently create another Kensington.
“All right. All right, consider it done. And if it is engineered? What then? We are supposed to help these people. We cannot exactly start fighting off an Empire ship at the moment. Your people...our people take over, and I never ask questions about it?”
“Once you know something, get in touch. I'll send along your codes via subspace, along with a one-time blueprint for a new comm badge - all we need is information right now, we don't want to start a fight with the Empire either, but they can't be allowed to pull the Republic back into their fold. Through force or diplomacy.” Samuel replied, looking into Baudin’s face.
“Like you said, we’ll take it over from there. We just need the proof.”
“...I will let you know as soon as I know anything. For the sake of these people. And the future of the Republic.” They would be doing good work, in the shadows. Vikram would get to stay on a ship and not running headlong into any more danger than usual, and Samuel would get to stay in touch.
Vikram offered a hand to shake. “It is...it’s good to see you again, Samuel.”
Samuel smiles at the gesture, taking the hand of his partner once more and giving it a firm shake. “And you, Baudin. It'll be better this time, you'll see.”
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Post by Shawna on Sept 9, 2022 1:18:29 GMT
Stardate [REDACTED]
Former agent Vikram Baudin walked as if he was being led to the gallows.
By all rights, he should not even be here. Most agents, to his knowledge, didn't get to just walk free. Most stayed until they died, or something worse happened. But for those who do get to leave, it isn't scot-free. He knew these thoughts wouldn't even make it to the other side, but he couldn't silence his brain, following a black-clad doctor down the corridor. The whole plan was in place. Everything would be fine when he came to.
His boss--his former boss, now--was an agreeable man. On a good day, he could see where Samuel got some of his personality quirks from. But he could also be stern and cut right to the point. The point was that they could not allow an agent to leave the organization with so much classified knowledge in his head. But it would be too fishy if he suddenly was missing five years of his life. Vikram trusted this man with the Federation, less so his life, so that may have come across with a loss of color on his dark face. But the procedure had been explained to him. The specific details spared--it wasn't going to matter soon, after all--but they had in their possession the skill to block or extract memories and pockets of data from the brain with such precision as to render any blank spots as unnoticeable or chalked up to the inconvenience and unreliability of memory.
Vikram would be put in a chair, and he would be put through this process, and he would be allowed to remember his time with the agency (in case they needed his assistance in the future), but specific, highly classified and outright dangerous bits of information would be removed. And it would be done immediately.
Vikram had thought to protest such an invasion of his mind, especially when the doctor stepped forward. He didn't like doctors, generally, or procedures. But he had also taken notice to extra agents posted by the door. This was planned for. If he fought, they were ready.
Good thing for them he agreed. Some information was too dangerous to even have the potential to get out in the world. And yet he was trusted enough to be allowed the rest of it. Besides...for as many rumors about 31 as there were, he would have no proof, no access to anything that would verify any of his claims. His dossier would reflect the necessary changes to job and location, with plants to verify the information. He would be free to go start a new life. And the price was a little bit of his memory, the memories made in the past five sordid years? A fair exchange. The guards weren't necessary. They never had been.
Still...it didn't mean he wasn't nervous about it.
The doctor led him into a room with an ominous chair, a half-halo coming out of the headrest, a bank of computers to the side. A few nurses stood ready, and Vikram was indicated to sit. To place his head within the semi-halo while the machine warmed up, a series of lights pinpointing around his head. His fingers tightened on the armrests as restraints were placed down around his ankles and wrists.
"This machine is incredibly precise, Ensign Baudin. A Vulcan mind-meld can share or block memories, make adjustments when needed, but we're looking for something a little more permanent...and difficult to detect. You understand." Vikram did, in fact, understand. "And we've been given a succinct list of what we're looking for and the approximate stardates. Nothing will be taken out that is not called for." The doctor glanced down at the controls in front of him, then back at Vikram with a slight softening of his expression. "The brain, however, is also complex. This is going to take a while...and I'm afraid it's going to be painful. The good news is, you won't remember feeling any pain at all."
The machine's hum wound up, the lights increasing in intensity, and Vikram screamed.
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