Raktajino
Posted on September 17th, 2014 by Douglas McKnight

(Okay, so the first Quinn log isn’t actually Quinn, but I said I was going to post this awhile ago, and sadly haven’t had the chance to finish it until now. And I fear I’ve grown a little rusty, but even so, here we go! One last case, as it were.)

“So!” McKnight began without preamble, walking unhurriedly into Interrogation Room 1, lightly steaming mug of raktajino in hand and a PADD in the other, almost as if the man he was addressing had not been ushered into this room more than an hour ago. Placing said mug on the table that separated the two of them, he then slid into his chair with equal nonchalance, although simple close proximity to a detainee was generally not a great cause for concern. Part of that was a regrettable deal of experience sitting at this very table – Although, truth be told, he suspected a not insubstantial part of him would soon miss even this aspect of his posting here. – but more than that, the softly illuminated blue line bisecting the table was a subtle but concrete reminder to anyone that the forcefield dividing the room down the middle would make any outbursts pointless.

“I have to admit, I get the basic idea, but I have no clue exactly what mood that’s supposed to convey.” He continued, gesturing to the pattern of pinkish lines painted across the Ahn’Sati’s face with his off hand as he took a small first sip. Too hot for now, but you wanted that. Cool enough at the outset always meant cold by the end of the cup. But it was an interesting concept, as Miraak had explained it. Different colors suggesting different frames of mind, and therefore advising different ways to approach one so colored…if it was advisable to approach them at all. It had occurred to Doug more than once that such a system might have stood in the way of any number of regrettable encounters, on Earth and most any other planet he’d ever visited. Probably a pain in the ass, though. Having to carry around a full pallet of face paints with you…and did you have to excuse yourself to clean and re-apply whenever your mood changed? Wouldn’t having to put yourself through such a production all day be a mood changer in itself? And aside from the color, did the pattern of lines also carry some significance?

Later on, he’d hopefully have an opportunity to ask someone about all that. But now, to the job.

“But I’m guessing you’re not thrilled. And based on the evidence at hand, I definitely think you’ve taken what your people would call an uncharacteristically rash action. So, Ravada Kevan, technician third shift, before we get started, wanna get anything out of your system? Call this an outrage, protest your innocence, and so forth?”

For a moment, the prisoner remained silent. Honestly, at a glance it would have been difficult to tell if it resulted from guarded anxiety, or simple fatigue slowing him down. The grungy appearance of his clothes and person certainly spoke of a trying day down on that station, even if he was the apparent architect of it all, and the light scaling of Ahn’Sati skin rendered their faces less expressive than some. Another cause for the paint, perhaps. But soon enough, the man spoke, his tone confirming the wariness was the more likely explanation.

“No. I don’t want to speak to you at all. You don’t even belong here. If you expect some demand from me, then return me to my people.”

This time, it was McKnight who gave no immediate reaction. Well, no verbal reaction. He DID lean back in his chair a little, blow across the surface of his grey metal mug, and take a rather longer sip. And while the response had been too typical – And, from a certain perspective, fair. – to garner any real anger, he did not break eye contact until the prisoner broke the gaze, staring off to the side.

Well, that was pretty universal, at any rate.

“Fair enough.” Doug at last replied. “As you say, we have no jurisdiction here. In fact, the only reason we’re being allowed to run the show is because all your League ships are either not equipped to help, or not designed to descend even this far down into the planet’s atmosphere to begin with. But I think they’ll definitely take an interest in you. So sure, we can pass the word along, and I expect you’ll be on your way within the hour. If that’s the play you want to make, of course.”

“You haven’t told them about me already?” Ravada asked in guarded confusion, not picking up on precisely the part of his sentence that McKnight would have expected, but at least it was a dialogue. “Why not?”

“Oh, calm down. It’s nothing sinister. I was just hoping to have a word with you in private first. Clear some stuff up before this gets thrown to the courts, or…whatever it is you folks have around here. Because I’ve been running this through my head a whole lot, and try as I might, I can’t seem to make this make a lick of sense.”

“I already told you, I only want to talk to my own people.”

“Well, that’s too bad, friend. Whether we’re involved or not, there are all sorts of folks from out of town making noise up there. Not sure about the Xe, or any of the no shows, but the Jarfa don’t seem the type to stay out of this.”

“And? So what?” He wasn’t positive just yet what to make of it, but there was definitely a little more volume behind that question. But were this Ravada human, he’d definitely call that tone defensive. Time to push, in other words.

“Okay, here’s the thing. Chemical analysis from the tricorder scan I made of that bomb that almost went off in my face was passed off to the League, who confirmed it as a Red Sun design. Which, so they say, means the Red Suns must have somehow broken containment. The fact that it coincides so closely with our arrival means, to them, that they somehow acquired the means from us. Which, speaking as the man in charge of the internal security of this ship, they sure as hell did not. But then, once my wounded pride stopped aching so much, I gave it some more thought, and realized that’s completely irrelevant. How, when, whatever aside, they’d still need to GET out here. Past that sensor net along your frontier, which seemed pretty comprehensive, and without cloaking technology. Which, if they had it, they’d have had a grand opportunity to show it off as they tried repeatedly to kill us. So, they somehow work around all of that, go to the further effort of subverting a man on the inside instead of just launching a strike, and all to blow up some mining station?”

“The Telthis Company IS the largest and most productive source of H3 fuel across 4 sectors.”

“Super. Still not buying it. Don’t get me wrong. The Red Suns didn’t seem that bright, but they were at least stupid with a purpose. This wasn’t them. So, I took to wondering, how ELSE does one acquire Red Sun technology? Who’s had the most direct exposure to them? Who, I dunno, might have lived under Red Sun rule for more than a century? Who, for much of the time since then, has been advocating precisely the course of action against them that the Jarfa captain present is now saying this development here makes necessary?”

“No League Court, of any race, will act on the basis of some alien’s speculation. This is a waste of time.”

“True again.” With a nod, Doug took a third try at the mug, and found it at last still a bit hot, but in the right range for sustained drinking. “Mind you, this whole thing has the feel of being rushed, ham handed and just plain stupid. I can’t imagine winding up stuck on the station you were trying to send to the bottom was part of the plan, or that that was the only wrinkle. I doubt it’ll take whoever’s assigned too long to get to the bottom of it. But for now, there’s just you, your story, and a whole lot of folks waiting to hear it. Or…not. Embarrassing stories often stay quiet. ”

“What are you saying?”

“Oh, I think I’ve talked enough, don’t you? I have what I think, about what you did and who you might have done it WITH. Whether that’s something they want getting out, how happy they might be with how this has gone so far, how far their reach might extend once you’re off this ship…that’s all on you.”

With that, Doug tapped a few keys on the table, and the blue line across the table momentarily faded out, long enough for the PADD to be slid across the table before it lit back up and the marine stood back up, taking his raktajino with him and trusting the implications to sink in at their own speed.

“You want to say more, we can talk more. Otherwise, have a safe trip.”