Subtext without Subtitles (Part 4)

Posted on Thu Jul 3rd, 2025 @ 4:19pm by Captain Remy Johansen & Lieutenant JG Jean-Baptiste Dorsainvil & Commander Irene Seya & Crewman Emiliano Echevarria

1,771 words; about a 9 minute read

Mission: How to See in the Dark
Location: Barisa Prime Starfleet Operations Center
Timeline: 1825 Hours

Irene made her way to operations center for the Security Department and helped herself to a computer terminal. After several minutes of reviewing the city's private security network, she could see where they had free had access, but she would need to wait for Dorsainvil to join her, if she was going to know where to look. As the shop owner had said, there were no public cameras in the alley ways. She would need a way to figure out if there were any private security systems and quickly. The perpetrators would be looking to erase any footage.

"Commander Tucker," Irene caught the attention of the red-haired Lieutenant Commander who was currently the ranking officer on duty. "I need someone to assist with an investigation. They will need competency in accessing alien networks and navigation of same."

"Yes, ma'am," replied the tall and freckled officer. "I'll have someone join you immediately." He turned to a nearby console, keying-in a code which brought up a duty roster that he began scrolling through in earnest.

Satisfied he'd found the right individual, he opened a comm channel. "Security Operations to Crewman Echevarria," he said with authority. "Please report to planetside ops."

A warm and lightly accented youthful voice piped back: [Echevarria here. On my way.]

Tucker closed the comm, his squinty eyes returning to Irene. His expression showed just a hint of curiosity as his brow knit slightly, settling at the edges of his freckled face. "Ma'am," he said. "Did something happen or is this just a sweep-and-scrub?

"There was an incident not long ago. An officer was attacked. We need to get on this quickly, I have reason to believe it was more than a random act of violence," Irene informed him. "It goes without saying, that this is currently on a need to know basis. If we have information to share, it will be distributed to relevant parties."

Tucker stiffened at the news. "Understood, Commander."

A few moments later, the doors parted, admitting Crewman Emiliano Echevarria.

He carried himself loose and easy, as if crawling through maintenance ducts was more his cup of tea than standing at attention on a level deck. His uniform sleeves were rolled to his elbows, revealing sun-warmed skin and the faint edge of a faded burn scar that curled up his right wrist. His black curls looked recently tousled, like he'd run a hand through them one too many times on his way over.

Emiliano's dark eyes swept the room before settling on Irene. If he was curious about her or her purpose, he didn't show it.

"Commander," he greeted, a nod accompanying his words. His voice carried a warm Costa Rican lilt--gentle but very grounded, each syllable pronounced roundly without being too stiff. "You need a hand?"

Irene nodded, "I do, Crewman. Can you take me to a workstation where you will be able to access various networks around the city, and from there I'll tell you what we are looking for?"

Emiliano gave a quick, easy nod. "Claro, Commander. This way."

He turned on his heel and led her across the room, weaving between consoles and personnel as though he'd logged more than a few hours in Security Operations. At the far corner, tucked behind a curved bulkhead that helped shield it from the main traffic of the central area, stood a wide console bank. Its surface was clean, though the slight wear on the edge suggested it was used often, and by people who knew exactly what they were doing.

"This one here's the best we got," Emiliano said, patting the console lightly as though greeting an old friend. "Direct service line to the entire surveillance grid in this hemisphere. Public feeds, private cameras, anything plugged into the city's data backbone. Barisa Prime's privacy laws..." He let out a soft, wry chuckle and shook his head. "Well, they aren't exactly what you'd call strict. Part of the Federation's presence here includes a clause--information-sharing agreement. Any law enforcement or Starfleet security operation can tap in if there's probable cause."

He tapped a few keys, bringing up an interface that sprawled across multiple small windows--live camera feeds, city grid overlays, data stream monitors. Each feed appeared to flicker briefly before sharpening into the crisp, moving images they wanted: pedestrian walkways, warehouse alleys, shuttle pads, hotel lobbies.

He stepped slightly aside, gesturing for Irene to take the seat. "Tell me what we're looking for, Commander. I can guide you."

Irene took the seat that was offered and navigated the map until she found the region that she was looking for.

"Lieutenant Dorsainvil and I were at this restaurant, when we split up at around 1700 hours - approximate, I didn't check a chronometer. He was following someone." Irene pulled through the map, highlighting the shop where she found him.

"He was attacked somewhere in this vicinity. I couldn't see anything on the grid computers, but a local said that some of the shopkeepers have their own systems marking the alley. I'm suspicious they may have transported out before getting back into the network's surveillance again," she told him.

Emiliano leaned forward, bracing his palms on the console as he peered at the highlighted district. His cast his eyes over the data streams, scanning the metadata as if reading a familiar language.

"Local shopkeepers' feeds..." he murmured, a small frown creasing the little space between his brows. "Yeah, see--here. Private security cluster, unregistered node pings. Not on the public backbone, but they still bleed signal when they sync to maintenance hubs."

His fingers moved quickly, committing each selection with very sure keystrokes. One window snapped to an overhead angle--it was grainy with the colour a little washed, but serviceable nonetheless. Another opened in parallel, showing a different perspective of the alley from the vantage of a low corner, likely perched above a doorway or possibly as delivery chute.

"Looks like we got lucky, Commander," he said, glancing sidelong at Irene without quite expecting a response from the half-Vulcan. "These two feeds overlap the street grid you marked. Watch--rewinding to around 1730..."

The footage began to spool backward, the timestamps ticking in a ghostly green glow in the bottom right corner. Pedestrians blurred in reverse, a crate shifted back into a handcart, a young couple paused for a short embrace, and an Andorian in civilian clothes appeared to walk backward through a doorway.

Emiliano squinted, leaning closer. "Right there--freeze." She tapped, freezing the frame on a shadowed figure slipping into the alley. Another form followed, less distinct.

"Is this the best we can do? Is there any footage that shows them more clearly?" Irene asked. "When the Lieutenant gets here, we can confirm whether this is the right place."

He nodded once and set about bookmarking the location and timestamp.

The doors parted again and Jean-Baptiste Dorsainvil stepped in.

No uniform, no pips. Instead: fitted black pants, casual running shoes, and a loose purple button-up patterned with soft white flowers, sleeves pushed to mid-forearm. He looked every bit like someone ready to slip into a late-night music bar or wander an open-air market.

He paused long enough to catch Lieutenant Commander's eye and offered a crisp salute, his expression neutral but warm. Tucker returned the gesture, though one of his brows arched in clear amusement at the outfit.

Jean-Baptiste's gaze then swept the room and landed on Irene and a crewman in operations gold in the corner. He angled toward them, picking his way through the consoles without hurry but with an energy that suggested he wasn't entirely at ease out of uniform.

Emiliano looked up at his approach. His eyes traveled once--slow and thorough--from the flowered shirt to the running shoes, then back up to JB's face. A crooked smirk tugged at the edge of his mouth, though he kept his hands on the side of the console.

JB met the smirk with an easy shrug. "I didn't want to waste time fussing over the matter replicator," he said simply, a flicker of humour lighting from behind his dark eyes.

It was a poor fashion choice if they went back into the field. He should have chosen something more discreet, but Irene did not comment on the Lieutenant's shirt in front of the crewman.

"Have you found anything yet, ma'am?" the Haitian Lieutenant queried.

"We are currently trying to identify your attackers," Irene stated, her tone matter of fact. "We just began. We will look for signs of where the girl and her two companions may have gone next. I would like to rule out whether or not they are connected."

Jean-Baptiste nodded. "I'm eager to learn where the family escaped to." He looked over to the crewman assisting Commander Seya, and said, "Jean-Baptiste Dorsainvil."

Emiliano extended a hand first, palm calloused from years of ship maintenance and field work. JB accepted it without hesitation. It was a firm grip--just an acknowledgment of each other's place. "Emiliano Echevarria. Pleasure." His gaze drifted back to the frozen footage on the console, fingers hovering low over the controls.

"Crewman Echevarria found some footage that may be relevant. We want you to take a look at it and see if we are heading in the right direction."

Jean-Baptiste stepped closer, leaning in over Emiliano's shoulder. The screen seemed to glow cold compared to the lighting in their immediate vicinity. He squinted as the first frozen frame. Two figures slipping into shadow, half-swallowed by the alley's inky darkness. One a taller blur, the other bent slightly at the shoulders, a trace of a coat hem trailing behind them.

"I... can't say for sure," he murmured, eyes narrowing. "I didn't see them clearly. I was jumped before I could get my bearings." He turned to Emiliano, adding, "Blood in my eyes."

The crewman gave a small nod, fingers already gliding across the console surface. "Hold on. Let's back it up."

A new feed flickered on which was angled higher, capturing the junction where the street emptied into the narrow cut between buildings. The resolution was not perfect, grainy in the failing light of the evening, but clear enough.

They watched as a figure--himself--moved into view, bending low to examine something on the ground. JB's head turned slightly, one hand braced on his knee, the other reaching out. Then, sudden motion: a flash of silhouette wielding some type of disruptor rifle coming down hard onto his face.

He staggered, twisted, and swung back instinctively. The feed caught each swing--his fists connected in tight arcs, shoulders coiling like a boxer fighting blind in a back alley.

"Alright," Jean-Baptiste sighed. "That's definitely me."

~tbc~

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