Meet the Press, Part 2

Posted on 31 Jan 2013 @ 7:36pm by Raifi Zaren
Edited on on 02 Feb 2013 @ 7:16pm

2,093 words; about a 10 minute read

Mission: Episode 03 - Frontier
Location: Starbase 103/San Francisco, Earth
Timeline: MD-02: 1210 hrs

[ON - Continued]

"Fenta. You want your story, Zaren, you'll bring her. I won't have you mess this up. This is the opportunity we have been waiting for, years in the making."

It was an opportunity he had waited three lifetimes for, but bringing that up was pointless. Jool Fenta. "She's-" he flexed his tongue against his lower lip. "Are you sure she's... right for this kind of story? Trija, I promise you, I can handle this."

"She will bring in the ratings. That's what we need. She's an excellent reporter and she has a lot of gall. She will work with you on this. You can bring whoever you need for backup. This discussion is over, Raifi. I'll see you in two days." He wouldn't pass it up. Couldn't. And if he stepped over the line, at least Fenta was someone to buoy him. At least, she hoped. She leaned over and disconnected the system, fixing a curl atop her head. The man was going to kill her one day.

Zaren eyed the darkened vidscreen. She didn't trust him. That was unfortunate, but not something he could control. He'd wanted to give her an opportunity to see something magnificent. To open her mind and her soul up to a brand new perspective. And she was bringing armor against such a discovery in the form of Jool Fenta. Not that Fenta was an entirely displeasing woman. She had her points, she could be charming, and she was very... shiny. It wasn't his job to make this call; Trija knew that very well. What she had in her head about why, though, he couldn't fathom.

Lifting the bowl from his desk, Zaren swirled the chocolate thoughtfully. "Freya!" he called, and the woman poked her head around the corner.

"You can use the commbadges, you know."

"Sometimes it's fun to shout," the Trill smiled. And sometimes one needed to in order to release excess energy that might build to annoyance. "See if you can't weasel me some data about the crew of the USS Galileo."

"Zaren. You know that personnel files are confidential to Starfleet."

"Do I?" he asked.

She crossed her arms.

"Very well, then. This... Doctor Dreydan Prost at the Vega IX Kendrahl Medical Center. And the spaceport ground crew engineer," he glanced over the PADD she'd handed him, "Rex Hartley. I'd like to talk to them. And see if you can get a hold of some more eyes on Vega IX. The ship just left there. They were dry-docked; anyone they saw, or talked to, I want to know. Especially if it involved a Vulcan," he added. Whoever this Vulcan was that Trija didn't want him contacting... there had to be something in that. Some story. Something she knew about, had access to, that he did not.

"Anything else?" she asked dryly. "Coffee? A massage? My first born?"

"Actually, yes," he said mildly. "I'll need to ship Wretha back to Trill," he brushed his fingertips over the leaves of the bonsai tree beside him. "With care."

"Why?"

"I can't very well leave her with you," Zaren chuckled.

"Wait - you're leaving?" she asked, incredulous. "What about the fate of the Ferengi? And MS I - all those refugees-"

"I'll stay involved in both stories, but..." he eyed her, leaning forward, "you do care."

"I don't," she shrugged her shoulder one too many times.

All that apathy. A mask. It was another of the hazards of youth; trying to seem like you were above the things you cared the most about. "You could take over..." he stroked the rim of the bowl. "Keep the shuttle warm for me for two weeks. Maybe a month. Make the weekly trip out to check on things at the colony. What do you say? Real reporting. No more code-monkeying."

"What about when you get back?"

"We'll talk about it. There are always stories. So?"

She looked around the shuttle. It may have been old and a little worse for wear, but it was a ship and it ran and it had been fastidiously maintained. "Try to make it a month," she said. "Tree, crew, Vulcan."

He watched her go and sat back again, looking at the vidscreen. That, at least, was a weight off his mind. Idly, he twisted the ring on his little finger. "Computer, connect me to Jool Fenta, Federation News Service."

Starfleet Headquarters, San Francisco, Earth

"...the Federation News Network reached out to officials at Starfeet Logistics but they didn't have an official response by press time. However, unofficial sources say that top administrators will be put on administrative leave while allegations of mismanagement of refugee resources is being investigated. So far this appears to be a conspiracy enacted by some within the division but the ramifications for what this means regarding the Romulan refugees is staggering.

"Reports of refugees holing up wherever they can find room due to a lack of resources in the field continue to pour in. Starfleet is scrambling to find ways to better manage this crisis and to prevent things like this from happening again. Stay tuned to the Federation News Network for more on this breaking story. From Starfleet Headquarters, this is Jool Fenta reporting. Back to the studio."

Jool smiled until she was 'out' and the camera drones went dark. She whirled toward the producer. "You fire this incompetent monkey! You think I don't know he kept shifting the angle to put me in shadow? I've done this long enough to know when some idiot is purposefully trying to sabotage my stories!"

"Jool..." Zhurka started.

"By the end of the day, he's gone or you are. You think people tune in to see this idiot's 'art'? No, they want to see this-" she ran her finger in a circle around her copper face and emerald green eyes "-not some Fellini wannabe frustrated art student with more hair than brains!"

Her comm rang and she looked at the incoming information and rolled her eyes. "Just calling to make sure I'm awake after your last report Zaren?" she asked, "Well I am because while you were whining about the plight of the dirty and homeless, I'm telling everyone the juicy details of the thefts at Starfleet that are holding up your miserable little urchins. Calling to thank me? You're welcome." She held a hand over the mouthpiece. "Where's my latte?"

"What else can I do to make your stories less of a snoozefest?"

But you watched, he thought with a simple satisfied smile, long enough to know what it was about. And then you did something about it. She wasn't all bad, just... misguided. It was youth and pride, mostly, and those would pass in time. =^="I've got a lead on a whale,"=^= he told her. =^="Do you have a minute?"=^=

"Sorry, Zaren, but my fishing days are over. When you've got what I go, you get the stories and don't have to go looking for them. Not that I'm so inclined to help with one of your sob stories."

"Not a sob story," he said patiently. "I've spoken with Trija Natyal. She's producing the segment, and she asked for you to head up an angle." Because clearly Trija thought there was a story for him waiting on the USS Galileo, regardless of its destination. "Natyal," he repeated with a lift of his brows. "You know she's going to run that department some day. But... if you don't want to potentially anchor the whole Sol system like Banthen Hargrave..."

"Zaren, Zaren, honey babe," she said, scowling at the flunky who brought her the latte only to discover it was lukewarm at best. "You spend too much time with the dregs and unimportant otherwise you'd know that Natyal is on her way out. She's old news, yesterday's broadcast and she's coasting on her reputation and the slope's just inclined. The only way she can be a player again is by bringing in something big and, honey, let's be honest her desperately clinging to your 'sentient interest stories' isn't what's going to do it. I'm looking to go intergalactic, Zaren, not just one system. What's Naytal got that's possibly going to do that? More starving Romulans, boo frikken hoo, Zaren. You know why nobody cares about their suffering? Because they spend the last millenia trying to kill or subjugate everyone. It's not even schadenfreude what people feel for them, but justifiable glee at their extinction. You know why nobody cares about the Ferengi economical collapse? Because nobody likes that ostentatious display of greed. Sure, everyone has it, but nobody likes to have it thrown in their face. This is what Naytal gets by hooking onto you as her guiding star, so why should I bring myself down with it? I'm not interested in another 'woe is them' story. I want juicy, I want big, I want my name on the lips of everyone come the watercooler the next day."

The idea that he was Natyal's guiding star was, frankly, ridiculous, but it was fascinating how that impression seemed to be widespread. "You want to be the first to report on a newly discovered solar system," he agreed. Then waited for her to hear him.

"See, Zaren, that's you're problem. You're getting excited over a solar system. That's fluff and filler, that's buried between the crazy cat lady and a cooking segment. Where's the juice? You spend too much time out there and have lost all perspective of what people want. People are simple, they want something that makes them feel better than others. A new solar system? Call the science shows."

"Moons that are capable of sustaining life." This generation was tiring. "That's not juice? This is Starfleet at its finest, on the edge of the known galaxy. There could be new life forms there. New species. There could be resources beyond imagining. And even if none of that is true, it's the site of the next Federation colonies. The conflict between two branches of Starfleet being forced to work in concert, in secret-"

"Zaren, you're putting me to sleep just talking about it. Where's the juice. Planetary surveys? If I'm going to do PSAs to help repair Starfleet's tarnish, I don't need to leave Terra to do it."

She was standing in the way of his seeing something experience-altering because she didn't want to leave her cushy seat. He scrolled through the data. The statement Freya had wedged from one of the ground crew who had seen the Galileo off... "Newly designed and built Nova-class USS Galileo crash lands on Vega IX after first mission. Subject classified."

Jool stopped, even her anger at the incompetent who brought her cold coffee gone in a flash. "Did you say the Galileo?" She asked. "Meet me at the transport hanger and Zaren, get a bath, a haircut and wear something pretty and long sleeved. I don't want the tabs to think I'm slumming with the homeless. If you're lying and you can't get me on that ship, then I'm going to cut off your junk and wear them as earrings. You feel me?"

Zaren smiled broadly and was very pleased that she couldn't see him. Oh, hollow threats. How he'd missed them. "I feel you," he deepened his voice to hide the smile from it. "Absolutely. Ma'am."

"Good, remember - shower, haircut...long sleeves."

Jool disconnected the comm, smiling. The Galileo. She didn't know what happened, the 'official' story was bogus and her sources weren't talking much either. But she knew she wanted on that ship. She wanted to know. And when she broke that story, she was assured the anchor seat in primetime. Zaren had his own angle, that much was true, but he never looked at the bigger picture. He was too impressed with the notion that everybody wanted the opportunity to do good. Jool was much more pragmatic, must more realistic. Starfleet was, at its core, just as cancerous as anything else in the galaxy.

"Bring me a transport! I've got to get ready to go." She had a few other calls to make. Zhurka wasn't going to like her taking off - and working with Naytal - but she'd get over it. Jool might bring him along with her when she moved to that anchor chair.

[TBC]

Raifi Zaren
FNN Journalist
Starbase 103
(pNPC Lilou Peers)

Jool Fenta
FNN Reporter
San Francisco, Earth
(pNPC Jeremy Stone)

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