Mauvaise Façon

Posted on Wed Nov 26th, 2025 @ 2:40am by Captain Philippe Auvray & Major Clay McEntyre III & Commander Irene Seya

1,646 words; about a 8 minute read

Mission: Peril at the Unification Accords
Location: Security Suite, Conference Center, Argentia City, Barisa Prime
Timeline: MD 08, 1910 Hours

While McEntyre and Spello escorted the Romulan doctor to a holding cell, Commander Seya reported directly to Captain Auvray, hoping for a few quick minutes before the two officers returned. Auvray was by far who she would consider the most competent commanding officer for the job, but she had to assume that he'd have better sense than what Commander Spello just pulled.

When she got to the security suite she quickened her pace, spilling into the office. Her emotions were becoming less-regulated, and suppressing her frustration was low on her priority list. She still somehow managed to look squared away - not a hair out of place, her uniform crisp. Though if it were possible for a Vulcan to appear tired, she was beginning to show signs of fatigue.

As soon as she saw Auvray Irene began speaking, skipping over the formalities. "Were you watching that? I don't think we even have probable cause? We don't even know what clan she's from, or where she went to school, why she was even here. What kind of interrogation was that?"

Captain Philippe Auvray looked up from a data PADD which outlined the current lockdown situation on Starbase 773 and the dozens of vessels that were prevented from departing. His expression was equal parts boredom and utter disdain--two emotions he had organically perfected over a lifetime of service and self-regard. The screens on the wall behind him bathed the security suite in blue and white.

"Probable cause?" he repeated, his thick Parisian accent bleeding through. "My dear Commander, the concept is a luxury afforded to people who have not just had a Vulcan diplomat murdered under their nose."

He turned slowly, one hand flattening the front of his gold uniform--he had since changed out of the dress uniform he had donned for the reception, opting for a more utilitarian look in the suite. "I was watching, yes. I saw Commander Spello doing what any officer in an interrogation does best--taking the initiative and ensuring this situation doesn't dissolve into a symposium on Federation ethics."

Clay walked in as Auvray was replying.

Auvray took a few steps closer to Irene. "However," he continued, "Spello will have to answer for this. It was performed entirely prematurely in a... mauvaise façon, shall we say." Auvray lifted a hand, examining the cuff of his sleeve--an entirely vain gesture.

"I have no clue what the hell that interrogation was about but we're going to have a massive shit storm coming down on us before too long because of this," Clay commented, hands on his hips as he stood before them.

"I am in no way endorsing any of this, commander, Captain. I have massive issues with the way the interrogation was even conducted and the fact that I didn't even get a word in edge wise." He continued.

Auvray exhaled through his nose, a sound that was more weary than frustrated. Turning to the Caitian Marine, he replied, "Majeur, he is playing for time, not justice. If Commander Spello's instinct turns out to be correct and the doctor is complicit, then there will be a parade thrown in his honour."

Turning back to the seething Commander Seya, he placed a hand gently on her shoulder. "And if this doctor is not our suspect," the French captain said coldly, "then Monsieur Spello will have to answer for his decision."

“Aye, Sir” Clay nodded his agreement. His hands still on his hips. Still holding on to the anger he had inside him, his tail stiff, moving slowly, side to side.

"I was informed Vice-Proconsul Rethel provided you with a complete dossier from the Romulan government," Auvray said, meeting Clay's gaze. "Did it not prove to be useful?"

“Unsure. I never got a chance to speak with the prisoner myself. Commander Spello was the one leading this, unconsentingly I may add. It fell in my sphere of operations but he didn’t seem to let me in.”

Auvray let Clay speak without interruption. When the Caitian Marine finished, the captain inclined his head once--an acknowledgment only. No visible agreement.

"Majeur," he said, voice soft by carrying, "Monsieur Spello's instincts are... shall we say... idiosyncratic. He seems to move as though the universe owes him a head start. I do not always approve, but I understand the impulse." His gaze drifted toward a wall display, where Starbase 773's traffic grid looked like a plate of tangled spaghetti. "Had he waited for procedure, or for your expertise--for any of us--our little bird might already have slipped her cage."

He turned back to Clay, expression unreadable except for faint creases at the corner of his eye. To anyone who knew Philippe, those creases only appeared when he was truly displeased. "That said, your grievance is heard. Not only heard--valid. You should have been at that table, Majeur. An interrogation led by emotion and gut instinct is no interrogation at all.

“Agreed, Captain and I will be lodging official complaints when I return to Astrea with Captain Johansen.” Clay added on.

Irene paid attention to Auvrey's subtle shift in position, how he went from a neutral observer to someone who was now encouraging the major's directed at his own first officer. She felt uneasy under Auvrey's command, as if her marching orders were being given on shifting sands. But T'Varel had died, Irene had failed at her one task here at the conference, and she had little choice but to follow his lead.

The door at the back slid open and the atmosphere in the security suite shifted to something urgent and darker.

Rethel stepped in like someone entering a church where the sermon had gone terribly off-script. She stopped just a pace inside the room, her eyes darting from Auvray to Irene to Clay, trying to measure the room's temperature without showing she felt it. Her hands were clasped in front of her: a diplomatic gesture, though the grip she placed on her fingers had begun to turn the knuckles white.

"Captain Auvray," she said evenly, but something hard and brittle stirred beneath the words. "Commander Seya. Major." She inclined her head to them in turn. Only then did she speak plainly. "I was just informed that Commander Spello placed Doctor Aerev under arrest."

The Frenchman did not sigh, but that familiar urge brushed against him from the inside. "Yes," he said. "Against my preference."

Rethel blinked once, slowly. "This will not remain an internal matter for long," she said carefully. "The Romulan Free State will... almost certainly file a diplomatic grievance with the Federation. And I cannot blame them. The evidence presented is--how do your people say it?--" Her eyes narrowed. "--gossamer thin."

“It’s fucking bullshit is what it is!” Clay retorted, shockingly to the others who knew him for the calm.

“It’s a diplomatic shitstorm waiting to happen. She’ll go free without concrete evidence against her and she’ll have grounds for recourse against the federation and commander Spello.” The Caitian added.

"Do we think she's a real suspect?" Irene asked. "If so, then time is running out to put together evidence. If she's not, then well whatever recourse she seeks may well be just."

Auvray clasped his hands together and slowly turned his back to the assembled officers, his attention now drawn to a graphic of the USS Astrea orbiting Barisa Prime. "Captain Johansen must be the one to either support her First Officer or not. I would hope no one present would consider putting their name on the charging documents."

Irene straightened her posture and took a more formal stance toward the Captain. "Do you have further orders, Sir?" She asked.

The Parisian captain let the question fall to the floor like fine grains of sand slipping through cracks in a child's hand. In truth, there was nothing left to do for the day. Ambassador T'Varel was dead. The Unification Accords would not proceed. Captain Johansen's invocation of Central Command Protocol Alpha had all but neutered what Auvray's security team had been sent to accomplish.

No, the conference was a failure before it had even began.

"For the time being, Commander," Auvray said solemnly, "there is nothing further." He turned to the half-Vulcan and attempted a comforting smile but found himself unable, and so he simply patted her shoulder gently. "You were closest to T'Varel than any here. Perhaps you should speak with Captain Johansen and make the necessary arrangements for the Ambassador's remains."

Turning to the Caitian, Auvray nodded stiffly and met Clay's gaze. "See to your marines, Majeur."

Clay nodded, a stern look to his face. "Aye, Sir. Thank you, Sir." Clay turned on his heel, proper, marine like, before he headed down the corridor again.

"There may be family on Vulcan to contact," Irene offered. "I'll see to it."

Rethel watched as Major McEntyre and Commander Seya exited the security suite. While not under the Captain's command herself, she was nonetheless interested in what his next steps might be.

"Starfleet Command will no doubt be searching for someone to blame," she mused, watching Auvray closely for any reaction that could indicate his future actions.

Auvray shook his head slowly and pursed his lips. "No, Vice-Proconsul," he said softly but with conviction. "They already have one: Remy Johansen."

---

Captain Philippe Auvray
Chief Security Liaison
Starfleet Security


Commander Irene Seya
Security Liaison
Starfleet Headquarters


Major Clay McEntyre III
Marine Commanding Officer
USS Astrea

 

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