"Research Potential"

[Guest Fiona Weber]

Four years ago...

 

"Processing."

 

The voice changed, as did the color of the light, shifting as a new scanner activated.

 

"Recognition positive. A pleasant morning to you, Commander Weber."

 

She smirked at the formally polite, faintly artificial, but entirely British voice that greeted her. It had been beyond even her usual brand of inspiration and brilliance when she'd personally reprogramed the authorization from the usual brand of monotone. Since then, entering her facility was rather like a little moment of home. If only the scanner took her coat, too, it would really be a true and proper butler.

 

The faint blue of the entrance-gate faded as it opened, revealing brightly-reflecting white within. Fiona nodded to a few of the research staff, already washed and coated up for the day's work. It was the typical Monday collection of faces -- the haggard-grown countenances of the soon-to-depart weekend late shift mixed with the brighter (at least by comparison) ones of the early-arriving Alpha shift for the new week. The facility never slept, of course. One simply could not have prisoners and test-subjects left unattended for any length of time.

 

"Good morning, Commander."

 

"How are you, Commander?"

 

She nodded and answered with some absent reply as she passed through the little gathering to her office. It was immaculate, of course, as always. Her well-starched lab-coat hung neatly on its hook on the back of the office door, and she switched her wool trench for the well-starched one.

 

Tossing her bag on her chair, she approached her replicator and set her usual mug in it, ordering the morning's usual -- raktajino -- with a small sigh and a mental note to start ordering it decaffeinated. Fiona was getting plenty of sleep; there really was no need to be pumping such a stimulant into her bloodstream every morning.

 

Her primary aide chose that moment to enter; Fiona nodded once to him. "Lieutenant."

 

"Commander." He returned the gesture sharply, and deposited a padd on her desk. "The first round of Bacteria Zeta-Four-Nine-Tango samples finished."

 

"Oh?" She waited for the raktajino to finish filling, arching an eyebrow.

 

"Disappointing. Only forty-four percent success rate." He frowned. "And a eighty-percent mortality."

 

"Oh. That is disappointing. And... Project Epeius?" Even over the weekend, they had to have had some results. After all, just because Weber was out of the office didn't mean that science stopped.

 

Now he grinned. "You know it's always better to tell you the bad news first..."

 

"Well, let's hear the good news."

 

"Broad-species application has proven ninety-five percent effective within twelve hours of delivery." He grinned. "Mortality rate is, as we hoped for, more than ninety percent." He paused. "The nanites do their work quickly. The last eight hours are generally being spent unconscious, with the autonomic functions being shut down piecemeal."

 

Fiona considered, settling back into her chair with the coffee. "Weren't they being programmed to shut down systems faster?"

 

"Well, yes..." The aide looked a bit disappointed with her reaction. "But it's progress, at least."

 

"Mm," she answered noncommittally. "Progress doesn't get us any more funding, Lieutenant. Results do."

 

"Aye," he sighed. "When do you want another report?"

 

"Four hours."

 

"Yes, Commander." He drew up a bit straighter, the model of martial decorum as he saluted. "Four hours, Commander."

 

Commander. For some reason the rank rung in her head after the aide had departed, leaving her to muse it as she took the mug in hand and enjoyed the strong drink for a moment in bliss. Sacrifices of being in such a medical-intensive, research-oriented career track -- she had a good six-pushing-seven fewer years to build up her promotion resume. Hopefully, though, with this project, that would change. Despite her seeming dissatisfaction with the results, the progress was promising, and with any luck, by the end of the calendar year, they would have a completed product to show Starfleet.

 

It wasn't even so much for the personal advancement that she was looking forward to the increase of rank. Weber's "testing grounds" facility, neatly cloaked as (and receiving funding and subjects as) a detention center, would then rocket to the center of the Empire's scientific research, and everyone knew what a benefit that would be.

 

Turning her attentions from the future to present, she looked over a lengthy paddful of the week's activities and reports for the cover institution, the Mars Center for Punitive Rehabilitation -- or as it was more colloquially known, Mars' Jail for Dangerous Criminals.

 

Most of what Fiona was reading was the typical supply reports. Food for the prisoners, of course -- it wasn't as if she were allowed to starve the scum, much as she may have wanted to -- and more importantly, the things she and her staff needed for their... other work... conveniently disguised as "medical provisions" and "rehabilitation equipment". Rehabilitation indeed, though in the case of some of their more vicious resident scum, the only rehabilitation that would work would be termed "extinction", so in that case, she supposed, the description was accurate.

 

Along with the inventory updates was... oh. Now, that was interesting. The center received its fair share of new criminals every now and then, of course, but usually they weren't so... so juicy. Most were either classified as insane, or were political prisoners that needed kept out of the way somewhere quiet, or were otherwise annoying thorns in the Empire's side that needed Fiona's tender touch to keep them in line. Apparently, the newest "guest" to come fell under the latter category.

 

Assassin. Oh ho, that was going to be fun to manage. Assassins were all the same. Arrogant and certain of their own superiority and merits, and usually with a suicidal streak that coupled well with escape attempts. That sort of prisoner had to be carefully monitored, well-isolated, and taught from the very beginning its place.

 

Fiona smiled. This actually had the potential to be fun.