The Machinery of Silence
Posted on Tue Nov 4th, 2025 @ 3:29am by Captain Philippe Auvray
Edited on on Wed Nov 26th, 2025 @ 2:39am
1,448 words; about a 7 minute read
Mission:
Peril at the Unification Accords
Location: Security Suite, Conference Center, Argentia City, Barisa Prime
Timeline: MD 08, 1830 Hours
The message came through just after 1830 hours, local time. The security suite still smelled of coffee and sweat following a shift where several Starfleet security personnel found themselves coordinating a lockdown between the reception hall, the USS Astrea and the Vulcan/Romulan delegations. That meant butts in chairs and some tense moments. On the wall, a field of several screens and a holographic display were displaying the current status of the conference center and its environs.
Captain Philippe Auvray stood near one of them, dress uniform tunic removed and carefully folded over the back of a nearby chair, collar unfastened. Locking-down the venue was one thing, closing air traffic was something else. A diplomatic shuttle from the Romulan delegation had decided it was leaving after the order for spaceport closure had been announced. Astrea's starfighters had turned it back and forced it to land. Auvray had found himself on the outside looking in with Astrea's Captain initiating a crisis protocol which effectively put his people in the backseat.
Lieutenant Commander Torab, his Saurian adjutant, was half-turned toward him when the chime sounded.
"Sir--" Torab began. "Incoming subspace communication from Starfleet Command." He glanced down at the console display, adding, "It's a Lieutenant Commander Jung-hee Cho."
The name gave Auvray a small pause. He looked up, blinking once. The fatigue didn't vanish, but something colder moved behind his eyes.
"Cho?" he said. "Are you certain?"
"Yes, sir. She asked for you directly."
He exhaled. "Transfer it to my quarters."
Torab nodded, already routing the call. The room filled with the sound of people talking, channels opening and closing, camera angles on the screens switching position. Auvray had already donned his dress tunic, gathered his data PADD, and left the suite without another word.
The corridor outside was warm and quiet. The hotel lights had dimmed to evening levels, set to a gentle amber meant to soothe guests. Marines stood guard at intervals, phaser rifles slung over one shoulder, eyes in front. As Auvray passed, they straightened and offered crisp salutes. He returned them perfunctorily and automatically, walking with the gait of a man delaying what he could not avoid.
He passed through a broad gallery of mirrors and potted fronds that glowed under the amber light of the wall sconces. Outside the tall windows, Barisa Prime's capital glimmered. He could see the distant shoreline--a sandy beach that was miles long and the many pleasure craft dotting the horizon. He tried not to think of the image of the Ambassador collapsing, her Vulcan composure vanishing in a nanosecond.
He reached his quarters, keyed the door, and stepped inside. The room was neat, all what one would expect of a suite for a captain--thin carpet, functional desk, a large bed, and vaulted ceilings of Barisian marble. The call indicator on his computer terminal pulsed an angry red.
Auvray sat, straightened his tunic, and accepted the transmission.
The screen resolved into the face of a woman: Asian, late-thirties, features still and symmetrical, hair drawn into a severe knot at the base of her skull. The insignia on her collar caught the light once and then steadied. Her gaze met Auvray's with a very unnerving directness.
"Captain Auvray," she said.
"Lieutenant Commander Cho." He inclined his head slightly. "This is... unexpected."
Her tone was perfectly level. "We have received word that Ambassador T'Varel has died."
For a moment, Auvray thought he'd misheard. He blinked, straightened, and felt the muscles at the back of his neck tightening.
"Died?" he repeated. "Non--impossible! There must be some error. She collapsed during the reception and was taken to Astrea's Sickbay. I've received no confirmation th--"
Cho didn't move. The light from her console caught the edges of her eyes, making them look carved out of zelkova.
"You were instructed to pass along all information regarding the events at the Unification Accords," she said. "All information, Captain."
Her voice was soft, almost musical in cadence, but each word seemed to land with targeted precision.
"I was not withholding anything," he said quickly. "Events have been--"
"--developing," she finished. "Yes. We are aware. Captain Palacios is unhappy with your lack of transparency."
That name dropped like a seventy pound weight. Auvray's throat worked as he attempted to speak.
"I've been providing updates as they become available," he said.
Cho's expression didn't change. "Ambassador T'Varel's death is a matter of Federation interest," she said. "The Audit Unit was very clear. All developments were to be transmitted without delay. Instead, we receive notice of her death from a Romulan diplomatic relay two sectors removed."
"I assure you, Commander, I had no confirmation. None."
"Captain Palacios does not appreciate excuses," she said quietly. "He appreciates accuracy. And loyalty."
Auvray felt the first tremor of real anger in his chest, the inevitable result of fear and pride colliding. "Are you implying a lack of either?"
She allowed the slightest tilt of her head. "I am reminding you of our agreement. You are to observe and report the actions of Captain Remy Johansen and her senior staff. In this, you have been... selective."
The slammed into him like a judgment.
He shifted uncomfortably in his seat, aware of the dryness spreading in his throat. "With respect, Commander, Captain Johansen's conduct has been exemplary under difficult circumstances. The situation this evening was chaotic. Medical emergencies--"
"The situation this evening," she interrupted, "resulted in the death of a Vulcan ambassador during the most anticipated summit in half a century. Captain Palacios holds Captain Johansen responsible."
Her tone didn't rise; if anything, it seemed to cool.
"And if you continue to withhold details," she said, "there is a path by which responsibility will extend to the Starfleet security liaison."
Cho's menacing was unmistakable.
For a few long moments, the only sound was the background hum of the subspace channel. Auvray stared at the screen, feeling his pulse in his temple and hearing his heart pounding in his ears.
"I understand," he said finally. His voice had gone hoarse. "I will compile everything. You have my assurance."
Cho regarded him without blinking. "It is currently 0320 hours here in San Francisco," she said. "Captain Palacios expects the report to be in his inbox by 0600."
Auvray exhaled slowly, sounding halfway between a sigh of fatigue and one of defeat. "Bien sûr."
"Good evening, Captain."
The screen went dark, Cho's face replaced by the blue and white of Starfleet's emblem.
For a moment, he sat there staring at his reflection in the black background of his screen--the lines under his eyes, the tired fold of his mouth. He blew out his cheeks, rubbed his jaw, and let out a sound that wasn't too dissimilar from a laugh.
Outside, the city lights were coming on, and in the far distance, music played. He pushed back from the desk and stood, pacing once across the room.
Palacios.
Even thinking the name felt cumbersome. The man was the quiet terror of Starfleet Command--the auditor whose signature could dismantle careers, whose silence in a hearing meant absolute ruin. Admirals deferred to him; captains dreaded him. He wielded regulation like a scalpel and left no visible scar, only the absence of what had been.
Auvray remembers their last conversation--two years ago, in a windowless conference room on Earth. The auditor had sat across from him, hands folded, his faint Iberian accent lending his questions a strange formality. Captain Auvray, tell me, when you authorized the transfer of classified material to civilian contractors, was it negligence or intent?
He had never forgotten the tone: courteous, surgical, and highly lethal. By the time it was over, he'd signed three non-disclosure agreements and owed his continued commission to Palacios's discretion. Whatever that discretion had cost him, he'd been paying it ever since.
He sat again, opened the terminal and keyed in his clearance code. The report template appeared--standard Fleet format, header already stamped URGENT / AUDIT UNIT. The cursor blinked, patient, ready.
His fingers hovered over the console.
Where to begin?
He thought of the reception hall--chandelier lighting spilling over champagne flutes, Vulcan and Romulan delegates in calm conversation, the sudden stillness as T'Varel's body went rigid, the fall of her own glass, the echo of it against the wooden floor. Then the rush of medical personnel, a jam of uniforms, the low and controlled voice of Remy Johansen directing her Dragonian security chief to take charge.
He began typing.
Captain Philippe Auvray
Chief Security Liaison
Starfleet Security
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