Posted by Captain Molly Holloway (Chief Intelligence Officer) in Ensign James Mason’s Quarters - An Uninvited Guest
They say old habits die hard. And in Molly’s case they were right.

Four years had passed since she had lost the Turing, but even after all the years and all the changes in her career, Holloway still kept the habit of pulling up the files of new crew members assigned to the Dresden and going over them. Having the Commanding Officer’s blessing and the clearance to do it helped to keep the habit, but even though Molly had a less personal relationship with the members of the crew, she liked to know who was on board.

Holloway didn’t particularly like to pry on people’s lives, which in turn meant that she wouldn’t read more than the absolutely necessary information on someone’s file. However, Mason’s file had caught her attention, and she found herself reading more than she would normally have.

The first thing that caught her eye was a mention to Volan III – the Federation world on the Cardassian side of the Demilitarized Zone. The conflict itself was before her time. Or almost before her time. She had been four years old when the Federation-Cardassian Treaty had been signed, and nine years old when the Dominion War had ended. The second thing that jumped out at Molly was the note on potential mixed loyalties. She didn’t have to read further than that.

Quick to do the math in her head and jump to the conclusion that while James Mason was human he might have potential Cardassian ties, Holloway loaded her faithful Hackathorn Special and holstered it inside her waistband on her hip. A quick computer query revealed Mason’s location in Engineering and the end time of his shift.

The lock code on the Ensign’s quarters was easy to override with her access codes, and once inside, Holloway took some time to sweep through the room in search of anything tying the man to the Cardassian Union, taking special care to leave everything where she found it. (OOC: Let me know if she finds anything that could potentially reinforce or disprove that assumption!)

Finally, as Mason’s shift came to an end, Molly pulled up a chair. When he walked in (and he would walk in at some point) and turned on the lights, he would find his uninvited guest, feet propped up on the dining table, patiently waiting for him. The unmistakable Intelligence black uniform and the fiery red hair leaving no doubts as to who she was. Moreover, Mason’s time at the Antares Shipyards would make sure that the name ‘Holloway’ was not unfamiliar at all.

Capt. Holloway, CIO

No matter how advanced humanity gets, some things never change. The rich and powerful are in charge, the government needs taxes, death always reaps her share of souls, and the guts of a naval vessel are filthy. While some say that the Federation is egalitarian and doesn’t tax I have to call malarkey. When a man has someone watching over his shoulder logging everything he eats, drinks, and makes I call that a good old fashioned information tax. And like Pops always said, information is the oldest commodity.

Working in the squalid mess of pipes and machinery that is innards of a starship always gives me time to think and wander down philosophical roads. Though, now that I’m done trying to help push the Engineering bay back together I’m jonesing for a nice sonic shower to was away the grease and grime from a long day. I also need to get back to Chantril about helping out the cell. The broad has been getting pushy the last year, but I have to keep my head low lest Internal Affairs sees fit to kick my sorry hide to the gutter. I’m already against the wall as is, and gambling in my position is ill-advised.

At least, that’s what I should be thinking. The itch and urge to roll the dice one more time was a bit too large, and so I’ve been working on a gift. Something that the Maquis can use to sucker punch the Cardassians right where it hurts. The bastards rolled over us, and the Federation held the damn towel for the spoon heads while they were beating the DMZ.

I walked back into my quarters, only to greeted with a pistol and a dame with hair as fiery as a supernova. Her expression though was colder than the void. Once again the old Mason luck was at play. It was Commander Holloway, though it looked like she’d managed snag the rank of Captain over the years. She’d been the once to grill me when the Fleet had knocked me down to Petty Officer 3rd Class. Turns out that Starfleet Intelligence gets antsy when the common sailor starts endorsing a group of freedom fighters that the Federation washed its hands of.

Wait, that’s right, they considered the Maquis “terrorists” and “criminals”. After all, can’t have people leaving heaven trying to make their own way. Goes against the propaganda something fierce.

“Good Evening Captain Holloway. I’d offer you a seat but it looks like you beat me to the punch,” I said. While having a smart mouth to an officer several ranks my senior wasn’t ever a good choice, no one ever accused the male Masons of having good sense. It also had been a hell of first shift, the chemical tang of harsh industrial cleaners was seared into my nose, and my list of damns to give had run right out.

“How can I help you tonight?”

James Mason, Engineering