Illusion of Control, Part 2

Posted on Mon Oct 27th, 2025 @ 11:42pm by Captain Philippe Auvray & Lieutenant Jean-Baptiste Dorsainvil & Captain Remy Johansen & Commander Maxun Spello & Major Clay McEntyre III & Commander Irene Seya

1,466 words; about a 7 minute read

Mission: Peril at the Unification Accords
Location: Security Suite, Conference Center
Timeline: MD008, 1745 Hours, (Following "Secure the Principal")

At that moment, the doors leading out of the security suite slid apart, and the Astrea's Executive Officer, Commander Maxum Spello, strode inside with purpose. "Captain Auvray, may I please have a status report of your team's findings, that I will present to Captain Johansen?"

The round Frenchman didn't turn immediately. He let the sound of Spello's boots full the room first. Auvray pegged it as the clipped, confident rhythm of a man a who was a little too certain of his own importance. When he finally did glance over, it as though he were inspecting a wine he knew had already gone sour.

"Commander Spello," Auvray said, voice smooth as polished duranium. "How fortunate that our humble little annex still merits attention from someone of your august presence."

Torab shifted slightly beside him, eyes bright with mischief. "We have been most diligent, Commander," the Saurian added, his words were dripping with mock deference. "Even as our reports are rerouted, our authorizations suspended, and our purpose redefined."

Maxun looked between both officers, unsure as to why they seemed to have an attitude towards him, as he had never been anything but polite and respectful to the both of them. However, now was not the time to get into a pissing contest. "Gentleman, we all serve under the same banner, wear the same uniform." He looked at Auvray as he continued. "With respect, Sir, if you had a starship, and it were in orbit, instead of Astrea, your ship would have become the central command for the location and incident." He paused to take a soft breath, then continued.

"Now, gentlemen. If we are done attempting to compare our reproductive organs, may we please get back to work here?"

Auvray's brow lifted a fraction, a tiny glimmer of amusement passing across his features. Then he smiled. It was small and weary, half-courtesy, half-confession. "Commanders who speak of banners and anatomy in the same breath remind me why our Federation endures." He reached for a glass of water left unattended on the table, swirled it for a second, then set it down untouched. "You are, of course, correct. Were my own ship in orbit, perhaps I would be the one enjoying this chaos instead of narrating it from the pit."

He stepped closer to the main console, his eyes returning to the shuttle's telemetry feed, his attention now upon the current crisis.

"Do we have identification?" Auvray inquired of his staff.

"Preliminary scans suggest possibly Romulan biosigns," Torab said. "Female. Not a match to any listed on the diplomatic roster."

Captain Auvray's eyes narrowed slightly, though his voice remained soft. "A Romulan, mon ami. Of course. When chaos begins to dance, remnants of the Empire are never far from the orchestra."

A voice like a blade cut through the air behind him.

"Careful, Captain," Rethel said, her tone smooth as a beach stone. "In my experience, chaos rarely asks who conducted the rehearsal."

She stepped forward from the shadows near the door, the reflective hem of her uniform glimmering in the suite's lighting. Two of her security officers followed, both silent and watchful, their eyes taking in every console and Starfleet officer in the room. Since the reception, Rethel had shed her robes and her tight-fitting attire allowed all eyes to take in her figure.

She met the round Frenchman's gaze--a serene, unflinching green that could have belonged to a spy or a saint. "You may rest assured," she added, with slight tone of irony, "if the orchestra plays tonight, the Romulan delegation is only here to make certain the tune remains... civilized."

The hulking Major McEntyre entered the Security Sweet, moving to put on a pair of glasses on his face before he approached Auvray and the rest of the assembled. His face was stern, measured, full of purpose as he glared at the Frenchman and nodded.

"My Marines have taken station at every choke point and I have security forces investigating all the food slots and service galleys for anything suspicious. For now, I ask that high ranking officers of Captain or Above continue to remain with their protection details."

Auvray's lips pressed together in a thin line. He let McEntyre finish without comment, though the rumble of disapproval seemed to hover just above and behind him.

"Major," the Frenchman said, his accent turning silky. "We are most grateful for your diligence. Truly. Every choke point, every food slot--one might suspect you have eyes in the replicators themselves." His smile was polite but faintly condescending.

Commander Seya entered the security suite walking neither with purpose nor without. The look on her face was drawn somewhere between composed and blank.

"Orchestras, stages, really? Why are we talking in metaphors in a time like this. Let's speak plainly and get to the point," Irene stated cooly.

Auvray let out a small theatrical sigh, rubbing the bridge of his nose as if the accumulation of poetry were beginning to cause a migraine.

"Very well," he said, gesturing toward the display as its data returned to a series of drab green-edged graphs. "Since we are to abandon metaphor, I will speak plain. Even if Captain Johansen has assumed full control, we have another matter--rather more pressing."

He turned, catching Seya's icy Vulcan gaze first, then Spello's indifferent one, then Clay's. "A diplomatic shuttle attempted to flee during lockdown. It was intercepted and forced back to spaceport less than five hundred meters from here. Marines have detained the pilot--Romulan, female, as Torab so kindly confirmed." His tone darkened, a quiet but rising storm behind the civility. "Captain Johansen may fancy herself the conductor of this crisis, but she is in no position to demand that we send our new guest to the Astrea. The pilot is under Starfleet Security Directive Fourteen-Gamma: any individual apprehended inside of a declared lockdown perimeter is to be detained and questioned by the commanding security presence on-site. Which, for better or worse, happens to be us."

Vice-Proconsul Rethel's expression remained impassive as she stood to the side of the Starfleet officers. Irene continued to look mildly annoyed by the Captain's continued theatrics, but she remained silent.

"Spello. McEntyre." He nodded toward them, the lines around his eyes and chubby cheeks deepening. "You will conduct the initial interview. There is an adjacent suite--keep it formal, contained. I want to know who she is, why she violated protocol, and where she was going. If she so much as sneezes out of rhythm, I want to know about it."

Auvray looked past them toward Rethel, who now has her arms crossed as she took in moment. "And, Madame Vice-Proconsul, since your delegation may well have insight into this pilot's... motivations, I trust you will not object to our proceeding under Federation law especially since we are on a Federation world?

Rethel's expression remained impassive but her eyes flickered with amusement. "Proceed, Captain," she said softly. "I will observe. I'm always fascinated by the Federation's interpretations of the truth." She said the last with a sharp look toward Commander Spello.

Auvray smiled thinly. "Then, mon amie, you are in for quite the performance."

"Aye, sir." Clay nodded once more. Interrogations could yield more information than what had been found thus far.

"I can assist," Irene offered. "Take a look at the crew and passenger manifest, cargo, initiate scans. We should gather as much information as possible."

"Very well," Auvray said, his voice a little weary but with a subtle thrill of control. "McEntyre and Spello will see to the questioning." He leaned forward on the conference table that rested at the very center of the security suite. "Commander Seya, coordinate. Gather what you can and provide support to our inquisiteurs."

The French captain watched as Spello, Clay, Irene, and Rethel exited the suite one after the other. The room itself seemed to still, the remaining officers folding into their roles. He stepped back and let the mechanics of procedure take their course--a conductor who had chosen exactly which notes would and which would fall into silence.

---

Commander Maxun Spello
First Officer
USS Astrea


Lt. Commander Irene Seya
Security Liaison
Starfleet Headquarters, San Francisco, Earth


Major Clay McEntyre III
Marine Commanding Officer
USS Astrea


Lieutenant J.G. Jean-Baptiste Dorsainvil
Assistant Chief Security Officer
USS Astrea

 

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