[IC] [SR4] CSI: Seattle 2072, Public Service is a Public Trust Options

[Koekepan]

It's another drizzly day in Seattle, 23 March 2072, 09:12.

Outside the wind is subdued, but a fog of droplets too large to remain suspended forms a coat of acidic water which gradually eats away the paint on cars and buildings. Skeletal deciduous trees, stunted by the mildly toxic city environment, wait for the return of the sun before letting their swollen buds open. Seagulls wheel and scream at each other, while pedestrians morosely contend with the splashes of passing vehicles.

Calliope (Cal) Poulsen, head of forensics in the government of the Seattle Enclave, is full of boundless energy, or at least coffee as he addresses the troops. Specifically, the intrepid trio which works for him.

Or, to be more precise, Julia, Jim and Cadwgan.

"Out. Standing. That is all I can say. You found the culprit and you handed the prosecutors a dossier so massive the jury could have beat him to death with it. You know what that means? It means success, which means budgets!" Cal makes a sweeping gesture with one arm, with the result that a few stray droplets of coffee swish through the projected trid image of Julia's terminal on their way to the wall. A few projected letters bobble and swirl before the projection recovers.

"Now, I know you guys have been working hard on the requisitions for the lab, and that's good stuff. I know that delivery has been slow, but at least" here he nods vigorously to Julia "I got the storage system problems corrected. And Jim, your portable examiner's kit should be on its way as we speak, but that's not what I'm talking about. The central office is so happy that they've granted my requests for additional specialist headcount, and they should be arriving today!"

Cal pauses, and reaches into a shirt pocket for a moment, reaching for something, while he mutters: "Oh, and the union should be around sometime in the next day or two to get some of this junk put into storage. I know they promised to do so before, but this time I'm going to stay in the office so that I can stand over them with the work order, otherwise nothing will get done." He extracts a data chip from his pocket, and offers it to Cadwgan. "I know that I was talking about fraud and so on, but we have another political situation that needs resolution, so I'm afraid you're back on the murder trail. The details are all in here, but what's not in there is my marching orders to you: This one is delicate. Big money, big connections, kid gloves. But we have to have resolution. We can't let the perp slip away on this one. Heads will roll, and we must make sure they're not ours."

Cal takes a long pull at his coffee mug and says: "But for now, I'm going to the front desk to make sure that Knight Errant doesn't lead the new kids around the back. Wish I were going with you, though. You've got the better jobs..." Cal's voice trails off as he bounces off at high speed down the long passageway which still smells of stale coffee and staler floor cleaning fluid.

[Ziathra]

Ophelia Kent arrives downstairs at check-in on time. She is wearing a navy blue power pantsuit underneath her long, armor-lined coat. As her eyes automatically compensate for the glare from the overhead lights, she looks around. Whoever picked that color for the walls should be shot. It ruins morale and encourages digestive trouble. The floors could use some cleaning. I think someone vacuumed that strip of carpet last week. Heavy bulletproofing – what are they expecting?

Ophelia steps to one side a few feet beyond the metal detector. There, she fiddles with her PAN, registering it with the building. Once done, she heads for the coffee machine. It's bad and it's fake, but the stuff is caffeine. She sits in one of the extremely unergonomic chairs bolted to the floor and sips the fake coffee, waiting for her new boss to appear.

[amylolytic]

Cadwgan holds the data chip very gingerly between thumb and forefinger, treating it with the sort of wary respect he might treat a poisonous insect. Going over to one of the devices in the office, he slots the chip in place, giving the other two a wry look. "As much as I wish we could linger on our laurels, something tells me we've probably made as many enemies as friends. If not more." After all, Knight Errant hasn't been very happy about their existence. He backs off from the device, hitting print to plastic. Chips are fine for the others; he'll take his data in long form.

Standing back to await the hopeful beginning of the printout, he raises slanted eyebrows at the other two. "Anyone up for real coffee in a few? Looks like we'll need some." He watches the printer from the other side of the room.

[Quark O'Doom]

Jim's slouching in a chair that is, in turn, tilted back to the degree that it is supported only by a dilapidated desk unworthy of any other use. The "office" is, in truth, a furniture graveyard, with scant room to move now that infrastructure for use has been jury-rigged throughout.

"Coffee," he mumbles. "I'm in. Probably need to requisition bigger transportation, too. How many people?" This last to Cal's already-retreating back, without any real hope of answer. The lack of response doesn't trouble him, though; he's already manipulating a terminal (by hand, thank you very much) to start reviewing what undoubtedly scant facts are initially available.

"Wish it was just murder," Jim tells Cadwgan. "'cause it sounds like whatever we find, the outcome of this will be a richer roster of enemies than we have today. Combined with the murderer running off to some enclave where there's nothing we can do. That pissed me off last time -- way too much work for a simple banishment from UCAS."

He brings himself to his feet, a protracted process of tilting chair back to the ground. It creaks alarmingly, which helps motivate standing. "C'mon, let's find out how deep we're rolling, then you can work your magic with the motor pool."

[Happy Noodle Boy]

Rael Peterson parked his Mercury Comet. He activated the security system. the system sent the confirmation to his comlink. On the image link Real received a image of a anime inspired version of a red-headed elf with plate mail armor and sword. Sir Morningstar your mount is now under the care of Alhanna Brightmeadow. Rael smiled as he headed for his appointment and his first day of this new job.

Rael smiled remembering being initially being annoyed at the inclusion of his Old "Elven" name into the security protocols. He decided to let them remain. While it had been years since he changed his last name to his human ancestral name of Peterson. There were people who still refer to his "Elven" name. These days he now thought of Rael Morningstar or simply R Morningstar as his Artist name.

If they told me to look for the most unimaginative building in the area I could have found this place even sooner. Well they didn't hire me to paint and redecorate this place, though it could really use it, they hired me to use my skills to investigate. Better get inside and check in.

As he went through the door and approached the metal he detector he got out his comlink and the other things security would want to inspect. There seem to someone else waiting here. I wonder if I will be working with her?

[Koekepan]

The ancient metal detector which still stands in the entry proves, on close inspection, to be unplugged. There is nobody manning it with wands, or any such antique paraphernalia either. Just, behind a bulletproof glass partition, sits a single Knight-Errant guard with amphibian placidity.

Of course, this makes sense. All the real scanning is now built right into the doorways, and goes far beyond the clumsy metal detection approach of days gone by. Hypersensitive total analysis is de rigeur in sensitive government buildings which might attract the attention of career criminals, from which the resulting data is securely and redundantly transported to the waiting eyeballs of the low potential underachievers who get told to actually interpret it all.

The building's network itself is currently announcing itself to Rael's PAN, informing him of the usual - that it's a building owned by the government of the Seattle Enclave, that trespassing is strictly forbidden and that this is enforced by all means necessary, and that there is coffee in the waiting room, and that someone will be with him very shortly.

This prediction is in fact brought to nearly immediate fruition, as Cal bursts into the waiting room from within, coffee in hand and an energetic bounce to his stride. With a broad grin he sees two people he recognises from interviews, and immediately says: "Rael! Ophelia! It's great to see you here. Come on, come to the office and let's get you settled because there is a lot to be done." Saying this, he steps to the side so that the pair can move past him through the secured door into the bowels of the building. While doing so, as an aside to the guard he says: "New employees, you'll find them on the list. Just register their commlinks, wouldya? Thanks." The guard blinks at Cal and starts moving his hands with glacial speed to activate the terminal placed before him, behind the bulletproof glass.

As Cal ushers the pair into the building, which looks like a warren of painted concrete, acoustic tile and industrial carpeting, which smells of stale coffee and stale cleaning solvents, which is pervaded with the hum of equipment and fans, he continues: "You'll meet the rest of the team in the back. It's a bit of a mess but we're in a growth phase, so you'll be in a good position to requisition new equipment. We have a new mystery for my supersleuths to solve, and it, my friends" here is voice drops to a tone of hushed excitement "is murder. See? I get the best, the tastiest nuggets straight from the incident reports right to your desks."

With this introduction, Cal moves Rael and Ophelia briskly through office corridors, each less inspiring than the last.

[Koekepan]

The printer, which obediently comes to life under the influence of Cadwgan's exotic charms, prints sheet after sheet of data, meticulously explaining the case in beautiful and fascinating characters which bear no immediate resemblance to any character set with which Cadwgan is currently familiar. Still, there is a certain alien artistry to them, as they print out and slip into the printer's catch basket.

Jim on the other hand has more luck with his terminal. Data pops into view in his projected field, displaying the bare and somewhat prosaic facts:

• Deceased: Jane Doe number 713-2072
• Species: Homo Sapiens Sapiens
• Variety: Caucasian
• Age: Uncertain, apparently mid-twenties
• Hair: natural mid brown, some dye (auburn tint)
• Eyes: Replaced, see Appendix A (cyberware), genetically light brown
• Height: 158cm
• Mass: 39kg
• Cause of death: organ failure
• Additional comments: signs of possible abuse (contusions)
• History: Docwagon bracelet/implant alert. Team responded, found deceased unresponsive. Attempted immediate resuscitation without success while initiation evacuation. Attempted resuscitation on arrival, without success. Declared dead by attending physician at 4:50AM. Flagged as suspicious death. Holding corpse for up to 24 hours pending arrival of authorities as per policing cooperation contract. If not claimed within this period, tissue harvesting may commence.

There is no immediate sign of any appendices, but there are some detailed trid images of the deceased. Generically pretty, but apparently underweight, she appears to have been a customer of plastic surgeries with up-to-the-minute fashionable beauty templates. There are also no fingerprints, footprints, dental records or other information supplied, although scrolling text overlaying the trid display indicates that would be found in Appendix B. There are some rather dull-looking, faded bruises in various places on the body, but no gaping wounds or other indication of a particular cause of death. Appendix C is supposed to be a toxicology report - but is also not present.

[Quark O'Doom]

Healthily skeptical of everything he's reading, Jim immediately submits a time-stamped, return-receipt-enabled, and digitally signed request for the body. Thank goodness for DocWagon protocol, and knowing their systems, he muses, routing the request to the appropriate DocWagon personnel and CCing the other members of the team as well as Cal. While he pecks away at a visual representation of a projected keyboard, he shuffles up and down the alleyways of ancient furniture, occasionally clipping the corner of some decrepit hulk and causing alarming shifts or creaks. As of yet, however, there's no cascading avalanche.

Seattle CSI requests the body along with associated cyberware, all documentation outlining tests that has been run, the outcomes, and all samples collected, location and time of initial alert, and location and time of retrieval. Said material is critical to ensuring the validity and integrity of subsequent analysis, which may be used for prosecutorial purposes. Please preserve the body for pickup per standard protocol (attached for reference).

"A young white girl is dead," he rumbles to Cadwgan, irritated by the brevity of the report. "Now you know basically as much as I do. All of the appendices outlining her cyberware, toxicology, and biometric details didn't make it. Which is okay, since I'd like to repeat their analyses myself."

Jim then shoots Cal a text message. Could use a signed order to produce the materials outlined -- the location and time of alert and retrieval are DocWagon property, so a court order is probably in order. What makes this one high risk? Any hint to the landmines would be helpful.

"Damn it," he mutters, slapping the virtual keyboard closed with a flourish. "I was looking forward to taking you up on that coffee, too. Let's swing by on the way to the morgue."

[amylolytic]

Cadwgan gives the printed papers a sour look, and puts them in the recycle bin, where they be reclaimed of their component parts. He turns to Jim instead. "Could you hit a print for me? Maybe you'll have better luck. My charm, unfortunately, works best on actual people." He can make light of his failures, after all. He steps over next to Jim to put the chip down for the other CSI, then backs off to safe minimum distance.

"Human or meta?" is his next question, as he picks up his notebook and makes a couple of elegantly scripted notes on what Jim's already told him. "And do we have an address on file for where the body was found?" He squints over Jim's shoulder from at range, able to make out a few details, at least. "Oh... oh dear. There's the potential for half a dozen minor outrages in this info. Not as bad at hot potato as the last one - at least, based on info on hand. That said, there's definitely some info missing from the top sheet we want."

Cadwgan shakes his head and makes some more notes. "Not to make myself unpopular by talking about stuff outside my immediate field of expertise. But at minimum, where's the list of what was on the body? And amen, brother. Coffee's going to be a high priority in this case. I can feel it." He slips his notebook into his satchel and adjusts his tie. "Let's head to the motor pool and see what we get stuck with this time."

[chiatomato]

Jude sways around the decrepid office, electronica dance mix blasting solely in her ears, deftly dodging rusty desk and archaic hulking machine alike. Without breaking stride, she mentally pulls up the criminal file and begins categorizing the new fact, cross-referencing them with known government and public databases.

Confident in her new age Sketchers, she bounds onto a low-rise table, executes a well-rehersed spin, and drops back down to the safe, arguably even floor. After a few missteps, she half-falls into her favorite government-issue chair. She props her feet comfortably upon the surface in front of her and begins to review all the additional facts she has accumulated from her own searches.

Jude senses, rather than hears, the word coffee and surfaces back to reality. "Did someone say caffeine? I'm in!"

[Happy Noodle Boy]

Rael took in surrounding with a bit of dismay. I wonder if the architect also designs interrogation centers? He suspected that his office would be no better but that if they expanding their work area he hoped he could requisition a work area with the best Feng shui, If such a area could even exist is such a place as this.

Rael noticed to smell of hot Caf. he took a deep breath and sighed mid-grade soy-kaf with a bit of chicory extract. the real stuff would be nice but I am not here for the drinks

As they continued walking he started taking in the sounds of the office area they were approaching. Two, maybe three people and it sounds like they are already at work. I hope I can work well with these people and be a member of the team.

I

[Ziathra]

Ophelia smiles at Cal and Rael. “I'm very pleased to meet both of you.” She stands up, keeping a grip on her fake coffee and follows Cal deeper into the building. At the mention of murder, she perks up. “What do we know so far? Anything?”

[Koekepan]

Cal doesn't immediately answer Ophelia, but conducts her and Rael briskly down the corridors to a large double door which he flings wide, displaying what appears to be a storage room for ancient junk office furniture and equipment, in which three employees appear to be lost, or squatting.

"Marvellous! Here we are all together. Introductions first: folks, here are Rael and Ophelia. Rael is our brand new scene reconstruction and simulation expert. He's quite the artist, in fact. Ophelia is a profiling analyst, which will probably help us quite a lot with some of these higher profile cases. The tall gentleman there is Cadwgan, in arcane analysis and interrogation. Jude is our technology and white collar analyst, and Jim is a medical specialist. Most comfortable with cadavers, but if you skin your knee, he'll patch it up."

While wrapping up the introductions, Cal casually closes the double doors, then turns back and says more quietly, and more seriously: "This murder. I know that I said it's political, and here is why: I have it on good authority from a friend at Docwagon that the deceased matches the DNA of a very rich, very powerful family. My contact couldn't tell me more, except that it's bound to be embarrassing, so discretion is absolutely necessary at every stage of this investigation. You may have to interrogate or investigate some very important people. When you do so, make sure you have it sewn up tighter than a football, or you, and this whole department, will get hammered like a nail."

Cal pauses to take another gulp of his coffee, and his expression lightens a bit. "Now, I have to go and find out what's keeping the union busy, so you guys go off and find some thugs. Ophelia, Rael, you can use that filing cabinet there for lockers now if you want to, other than that, follow the lead of the old hands. They know where everything is." With this guidance delivered, he starts dodging as smoothly as a broken field runner through the debris, behind a set of old bookshelves and cabinets, and the astute minds of investigators connect the sounds with those of an office door closing.

[Ziathra]

Ophelia is neither tall nor short, neither fat nor thin. She keeps her blonde hair cut short. The only really remarkable things about her are her blue eyes and the expression on her face. Ophelia seems to be forever listening carefully.

She sets her fake coffee from the lobby down on the nearest surface which doesn't seem to be claimed by anyone. Then she gets out of her long coat, revealing a navy blue pantsuit. She extends a hand, in case anyone would like to shake it.

“I'm very pleased to meet all of you and I look forward to working with you.”

Once handshakes and further introductions are finished, she carefully folds up her coat and puts it away in the filing cabinet, along with her purse. Her commlink gets transferred to a blazer pocket.

“How, precisely, should I be taking notes? I can't really tell you anything at this stage beyond the obvious, which is that very rich, very powerful families accumulate rich, powerful enemies. How else may I be of help?”

[Happy Noodle Boy]

Rael took in his environment as he greeted his new coworkers, with the widest grin. he then sat on a corner of one of the unoccupied desk. As Cal was about to start his briefing Rael took a look around the clutter that seem to be their current work area. Wow I think there is furniture here that older then all the high princes of Tir Tairngire, with a couple rumored exceptions. When I have time I have to see if there might be a true antique treasure hidden among the ruins

After Cal made his exit Rael stood up ready to receive instructions. Hmm, sounds like they have moved the body. Assuming we can get access to the scene I will see what I have to work with.

[Quark O'Doom]

Jim is an unremarkable fellow as well, with nondescript hair and nondescript -- yet professional -- clothes. His most distinctive feature is the lines starting to make themselves known on his face, mostly remnants of smiles dancing around the corners of his eyes. While his voice is gruff, his demeanor is world-weary, not curt. He shakes Ophelia's hand with a polite grip, and his hands are soft. This is not a manual labor fellow. Perched somewhat precariously on the sagging table beside him is a slim, professional briefcase that must be an antique and is almost certainly no longer relevant or useful.

"Likewise pleased, Ophelia. I'm Jim. A couple quick things to note -- we have an encrypted channel that we've been using, just between ourselves, since we often need to communicate in public areas. Now's a good time for you guys to add yourselves, before we're out and about and, inevitably, something happens where we wish we had it. I've been taking notes electronically, encrypting them locally, and then storing copies on a department server. I think. Jude explained it all to us and then we installed whatever software she offered." He glances at Jude, winks, and adds in a more serious tone, "Remember that everything... well, everything I do might be produced in court. I don't know if that applies to you as well, but since my patients are generally dead, privacy laws don't work in their favor." While he speaks, Jim is in constant motion; he checks the drawers on the desk, gathers up his briefcase, and generates a paper printout that he hands over to Cadwgan without comment, the action born of familiarity.

He grins, then remarks, "Also, I'm not normally the lecturing type, I promise. Sorry to dive right in, but DocWagon's going to dispose of the body if we don't get in gear and pick it up. But if that's the department coffee in that department cup there, we'll need to make an emergency stop on the way in order to fuel up properly!"

[amylolytic]

"Cadwgan," offers that worthy, shouldering a leatherine briefcase with a quick smile. He's an elf with silver hair dressed in a stylish suit, voice lightly accented. "A pleasure to meet you both. All I ask is whatever notes, if you could manage a hard copy for me, I'd be most grateful. And double what Jim said, about the coffee. Since you two are new, I'm buying."

He's not too surprised by Cal's political bombshell, turning to Jude. "Any cross-references popping up, o wizard of the screen and byte? But I'd better head down to the motor pool before we're stuck doubling up on Segways." He suits action to words, heading for the door with another smile for Rael and Ophelia.

[Ziathra]

Ophelia smiles again. “Thanks, Jim. Yes, I got this swill from the lobby. Cadwgan, I'll try to remember the hard copy. Thanks for buying. Jude, what encryption are we using? Did we just move into this building? I'm surprised that we don't have our own coffee maker.“

Ophelia follows Cadwgan towards the door.

[Happy Noodle Boy]

Rael follows behind Ophelia and Jim. He moved his hand through his normally platinum hair. I could have gotten a better haircut and I still a have traces of 'aurora amethyst' in my hair. I really wanted to come across a little more professional until I understood the tolerance of unorthodoxy among my co workers and bosses.

Rael contemplated the 'coffee' offer: Thanks Jim I will probably take you up on that offer later. As far a notes are concerned I just need to know what equipment we will need or do we use own equipment for right now?"

[Quark O'Doom]

Rael's question gives Jim a moment of awkward pause before he sheepishly admits, "We bought our own equipment, by and large, then verified it was legally compliant and registered it." He pats the briefcase, noting, "And the requests for this equipment were all filed on our first day. It's been... slow."

Turning his attention inward for a few moments, he drops a compressed package of standard department requisition forms and equipment specifications into a temporarily publicly available file store along with a tag. Here's a basic selection of templates. Forward completed forms to Cal. Aloud, "I'll take those down in a minute or two, get 'em while they're hot."

[Happy Noodle Boy]

Rael grabbed a copy of the official forms for later use. No problem Jim, my comlink along with my visual and audio gear should be able to handle all but most exotic tasks required for this job while making some notes on his comlink Rael asked: since we are working on the BYOE principle should I have brought my own pistol and will I be needing it and other items real soon?"

[Ziathra]

Ophelia fiddles with her commlink and grabs a copy of the forms for future use. “Thanks again, Jim. Yes, what will we be needing?”

[amylolytic]

Cadwgan heads for the door, and pauses to look back. "I'd be cautious on firearms, even for self-defense, just now. We're still not entirely welcome," he mentions. "Not to suggest that self-defense is optional, but it's a bit of a can of worms. Mutated, glow-in-the-dark worms with serrated teeth."

With that, he nods to Jim and Jude cheerfully and heads down ahead of the rest to the Motor Pool office, in order to try sweet-talking whoever's got the desk into giving them a good ride or two instead of a piece of crap.

[Koekepan]

Cadwgan is not having the very best of luck today. The motor pool window is staffed by a surly-looking ork, who glances up at Cadwgan and grunts: "Whatcha want?"

Service with a smile is not in his playbook.

Jim's commlink lights up in his vision, telling him he has a message. It's anonymous, but Jim can readily guess it's someone he knows: "Hi again, corpsecutter. Got your request. Word to the wise: if you don't move very quickly someone important is going to have a tragic mistake happen to your latest corpse toy. Best burn some rubber. I'll try to keep it on ice for you."

Jude's computer is telling her that Knight Errant operatives have heroically broken up a den of exploitation in Seattle's Magnolia Hill neighbourhood. Lots of Knight Errant logos are floating around, looking important and worth plenty of taxpayer money - but that's in a small peripheral window, easily shut down in favour of the business at hand.

[Quark O'Doom]

"I can take one," Jim says, "On my bike. But we need to get moving now-ish." He absently ticks off an acknowledgement of message receipt, then starts moving towards the doorway out; anyone who's riding with him had best seize the moment.