Director of the SIB; Mordecai Tavi
“It’s not like I’m getting much of a choice, if it’s all the same.”
“CO pushing the matter?”
“Just like you would have, sir.”
Mordecai gave a shake of his head and a little laugh. “You haven’t called me sir for three years. Sudden change of heart now that you don’t need to?”
“You might say that.”
“What are you trying to get out of this?” The woman in front of him was only a scant five years younger than he was and was peering down at her own knees. Of course, he knew her a bit better than to think her shy – she was hiding the bruising on her face. “Really, I can’t just accept a transfer for the sake of it. You can go a lot further on the track you’re on now.”
“My Commanding Officer is recommending it, Mordecai.”
“You never used to listen to your Commanding Officer.”
“Years change a person.”
“Are you going to listen to me now?”
“Only if I’m a part of the SIB.” A feeble attempt at a joke now that things were driving into serious territory.
“Romanae, I can’t have you undermining my authority if you’re on one of my teams.”
“Like I said, years change a person, Mordecai,” Captain Retna had lifted her head by this point and levelled the man sitting opposite her with an easy expression. “Put me on probation and if I’m not doing a good enough job, I’ll leave the service entirely.”
“Ro... I don’t want you to leave. I’ve no doubt that you’ll be one of my strongest agents, but this isn’t a warzone. This is a city. You aren’t allowed to go on gut instinct as much as you were before, do you understand me? We gather evidence and retaliate only when it is necessary. Not when we need someone to die. We don’t work like that.”
“I understand.”
“Then you start next Monday. I want you in for medical exams and psych tests tomorrow morning at oh-seven-hundred, and I do not want you on the firing range for your firearm review until both of those tests have come back in a positive manner. Go get changed out of your fatigues, for any sake.”
“What, you don’t like being reminded of the good old warzone?”
“Not so much that, but you just came off a trans-ocean flight and no man or woman smells good after that. Out. I’ll see you tomorrow.”
With a formal salute unbecoming of the smile on the young woman’s face, Romanae bowed her way out of the room and left Mordecai Tavi, Director of the SIB approaching his one year anniversary of the post, to mull over his decision.
“I just know I’m going to regret this, one way or another,” the man muttered to himself before he too stood from his desk and left; he had a bed to get back to, and coming out to the SIB offices at 2 AM when he wasn’t even on shift was going to throw his sleeping schedule to shit.