The Hand That Guards Must Not Be Seen

Posted on Tue Dec 30th, 2025 @ 1:22am by Major (Aendeh) Toval & Lieutenant Alexandra Blackstone MD/DSAPM & Lieutenant JG Sakkar
Edited on on Tue Jan 27th, 2026 @ 1:08am

2,469 words; about a 12 minute read

Mission: Peril at the Unification Accords
Location: Praetorian Warbird Vindex
Timeline: MD 09, 0855 Hours (After "Sudden Flight")

It was a simple thing, he reminded himself, to ride a lift; a box of metal, a slight vibration, and nowhere at all to hide from his own reflection.

The walls gleamed like still water, warped slightly from years of refit and the fatigue of covert service. In the nearest panel he saw the man he pretended to be: the angular brows, the downward flare of Romulan ridges, the faint green undertone of the skin. A soldier's jaw. Eyes that had learned to narrow instead of widen.

Toval i'Rhehiv'je re'Kaveth. First Officer of the Imperial Romulan Warbird Vindex. Twenty unblemished years of service to the Tal Shiar.

None of it was entirely true.

He studied his reflection as if it might dare to speak first. You are what you need to be, he thought. Nothing more. Nothing less.

The lift climbed, and as it did, he found himself recollecting memories from his childhood--dust and dry, hot air. A mother's voice. Hard decisions. A warning from his heart that reason alone could not shield a man: one must understand a threat if he hoped to survive it.

For two decades, he had survived by burying everything.

Above him, the Vindex drifted under cloak, a vast, sleeping predator which folded itself into Barisa Prime's orbit. The skeleton crew aboard believed him to be the last loyalist in a galaxy that appeared more and more to be softening at the edges. They had no idea what he had smuggled into their hands. They did not suspect what it had already done.

He adjusted the severe cut of his Tal Shiar uniform. The fabric was heavy and he had long ago learned to treat it as armour.

The lift slowed. He drew one long breath.

The reports of Ambassador T'Varel's death had spread like wildfire throughout the Romulan people. Sensationalist headlines were already blaming the Federation for failing to properly secure the site of the Unification Accords. It was a convulsive echo that Toval hoped would continue.

The doors parted.

Bridge lighting washed across his face: cool, forest-green, and disciplined. Officers glanced up, each face carrying the blankness of Tal Shiar servitude.

Stepping out, his shoulders were pulled back but at ease, and his expression was chiseled into a familiar stoicism.

"Report," he said, his voice soft but the words edged.

"What kind of report are you looking for, Toval? As yet things are unchanged from our earlier conversation or I would have summoned you." The feminine voice was sharp, crisp as the chair at the center of the bridge turned to face him. Minatha ir'Ra'tleihfi i'Liorae-sihaer sat on the edge of it, every ounce of attentive indifference keeping her alert of the happenings on the Vindex around her. She was shorter than he but that did not seem to dampen her force of spirit in the slightest. Her passive facade hid secrets that very few had even the barest hint of knowledge about and those that had discovered any had a nasty habit of turning up absent without a trace.

She was a member of the Romulan Old Guard, believing that the softening of the Empire would be its downfall; Unbeknownst to most, that was the reason that she got recruited for the Tal Shiar in the early days of her career with the fleet. She focused her gaze on Toval with an expectant look as the crew on the bridge pointedly looked in any direction as she waited for his answer.

Toval hadn't expected her, and for half a second his stride faltered.

"Subcommander," he said, letting the word fall into deference without any warmth attached to it. His hands folded neatly behind his back. "I sought only an update on the planetary lockdown from our bridge officers."

She listened, her eyes sparkling with amusement but her face impassive. He had been caught off guard and that had been her goal in its entirety; it had been nothing more than a small test and her expression gave no sign as to whether it had been passed. She addressed the bridge then. "Well, you heard, didn't you?? What is our newest status report?"

A young Romulan--the sort recruited too early and hardened much too quickly--lifted his head from the operations console. He couldn't have been more than twenty-five. His shoulders were sharp and his jaw seemed entirely too round.

"Yes, Subcommander," he said, rising from his station. "Long-range sweeps remain clear. No change in Starfleet's deployment around Barisa Prime. The planetary lockdown remains in effect, with civilian traffic fully suspended. Orbital control from Starbase 773 continues to cycle through emergency protocols placed by the Astrea."

Toval raised an eyebrow. "What of the Nidean freighter?" He tried to remember the young officer's name... Jopal. Sublieutenant Jopal.

"Yes, Major," replied Jopal, his voice full of youthful vigour. "The Starfleet away team is currently aboard. However, the security protocols we've left in place should ensure that they remain occupied for a time."

Toval's eyes met Minatha's then returned to the young Sublieutenant before meandering to Jopal's console. "What is that?"

"Major?" he asked, puzzled.

"There is a communications uplink to the freighter that appears active," Toval said softly, his voice remaining in a matter-of-fact tone. He crossed the bridge, stepping down into the pit area next to the operations console. "This," he continued, pointing to a flashing blue icon on the screen.

Jopal appeared confused. "Sir, we have been unable to sever the uplink from here. Not since--"

The twenty-year Tal Shiar veteran turned to Subcommander Minatha. "This is a problem," he said without emotion.

As they spoke, a silver-haired man, diminutive and energetic, entered the bridge. In contrast to the uniformed Tal Shiar around him, his look was distinctly civilian, accentuated with a long, gray overcoat and trousers bloused into his knee-high boots. He held a PADD loosely in one hand. The report on the device's screen was the reason for the thin smirk on his face. Particularly the words "catastrophic neural cascade." Preceptor Aetan had spent years attached to this project. He had argued its merits even when his academic colleagues had warned him that he was ruining his career. Indeed. What do you think of Project Shariel now? He stopped behind the dual command chairs and placed an arm atop one of them.

Catching the expressions on the faces around him Aetan remarked, "Well, this room is inexplicably glum, isn't it?"

Toval turned at the sound of the newcomer's voice, though he let no annoyance reach the surface. Annoyance was a luxury--Romulan officers displayed it too freely. He had spent twenty years balancing between the two like a blind rodent crossing a thin beam over a bottomless shaft.

Precepter Aetan was not someone Toval thought much of. He always seemed to have that self-satisfied brightness--an academic arrogance wrapped in an overcoat that was far too dramatic for the bridge of the Romulan Warbird.

"Preceptor," he said evenly. "Your arrival is timely."

Minatha looked at Aetan's hand pointedly before addressing him. "Preceptor; welcome to the bridge. What brings you here out of your.... workspace?" She was nearly as unimpressed with the man as Toval though she knew that he had a purpose to serve; much as the rest of her crew had been specifically chosen by her for.

"I was down in your signals compartment," Aetan replied, barely containing his high spirits. "Your subordinates down there have just intercepted this." He handed over the small device. "Apparently, someone in Vulcan security is having an 'off-the-record' conversation with a journalist over subspace. He's sharing everything he knows about the Ambassador's death, and also what they don't know. And I'll tell you right now, they don't know very much! They are utterly mystified! We have succeeded beyond expectations!" He grinned and brought his fist down on the headrest of Minatha's chair. Then, seeing that his good news was not contagious, he asked "Is everything all right here? I thought I heard the word 'problem' as I walked in?"

Toval did not look at the PADD. He didn't need to.

The words Vulcan Security landed on him like walking into decompression chamber. Somewhere, on a world of red deserts and patient logic, a man he had likely trained with--or against--had decided to give a statement. Off the record. To a journalist. Could this be a small rebellion dressed-up as conscience? Or ambition? Or fear?

A mere fool, Toval thought, without heat. Vulcan mistakes were rarely emotional; they were ethical. That made them harder to anticipate and far more dangerous.

Aetan's demeanour continued to irritate him in a precise, persistent way. The man had the look of someone who believed history bent itself around cleverness. Toval had long ago learned that history had a preference for blunt force and unintended consequences.

The Vindex's Executive Officer turned his thought to other aspects of their mission which had drawn interest--and others which hadn't. Including the methods used to neuter the diplomatic attaché. Saipok. He knew too much. He had been too close to T'Varel. That had been his downfall.

Still, mistakes were made. They were not infallible and they must continue to walk the thin line.

"The mission is not complete," Toval said quietly. He reached out then, taking the PADD at last, though he barely glanced at its surface. "Public confusion is useful only so long as it remains... unfocused."

"I'm sure you'll stay on top of it," Aetan replied, looking around the bridge with casual nonchalance. Crew members continued to work at their assigned posts, as usual. These dull, unimaginative, automatons. The Tal Shiar were like a once-great athlete whose glory days were far behind. Or perhaps a dull knife still feigning sharpness. Aetan pitied them, in a way. They were a dying limb on the corpse of an unlamented empire. He would help them restore their glory, along with his own. They detested him, sure, but all the same they needed him. It gave him no small measure of amusement.

Aetan turned his eyes back to the two officers. His smile returned. "We have ways of creating additional confusion, if need be. After today I'd say all manner of things are possible, yes? I'm confident we'll make it home in time for you two to receive your medals and promotions. If not..." He shrugged. "Then I suppose posthumous promotions are nice too." He grinned at his own joke, knowing they would not.

Minatha offered a tight smile in response, managing by some miracle not to roll her eyes. "Be that as it may, Preceptor... if your news has been delivered then the crew has work to do." Her eyes narrowed as she spoke and she glanced from person to person on the bridge in warning. If so much as one of them spoke further on the potential problems in his presence there would be repercussions. Finally her gaze settled on Toval and she raised a brow nearly imperceptibly.

Jopal felt it before he understood it--the subtle tightening in the air following Minatha's warning glance. He forced his eyes sidewalks, just long enough to the catch the helm officer's reflection in the curved edge of his rounded console.

Sublieutenant Uvael met the look.

It was brief. Most instinctive. Fear of Subcommander Minatha sat deep in both of them. Fear of Preceptor Aetan was made of something else entirely--less fear than disdain, painted with unease. Men like Aetan didn't frighten you because they were powerful; they frightened you because they believed themselves to be indispensable.

Uvael's fingers hovered over his controls.

Then the uncomfortable silence broke.

"Subcommander," Uvael said, his voice level but pitched higher than usual, "we're registering an active sensor sweep."

"Ensure our systems are silent. The cloak will keep us concealed. Continue to monitor it." The orders were curt and to the point and she did not let the question in her mind show outwardly.

Aetan stood quietly to one side, hands behind his back. He, too, resisted the urge to ask questions, but he wasn't going to leave now that it was certain something was happening.

Toval stepped closer to the pit, eyes moving--not to the displays themselves, but to the hands that worked them. He watched their tiny pauses and the instinctive tightening of fingers. Fear, yes--but disciplined. The crew was good. Minatha had ensured that.

"Maintain cloak integrity," he added. "No compensatory adjustments. Let them see exactly what they expect to see."

Minatha glanced to Toval as something tweaked the back of her mind. And she rapidly thought through it before addressing the helm. "Helm; do not make any compensatory adjustments but if you detect any tachyon sweeps or barrages back us out of position. Thrusters only. Do not give us away."

Jopal's station suddenly flashed red.

"Subcommander," he said, too quickly, before steadying himself. "Astrea is initiating a tachyon pulse. They are targetting zero-three-seven mark four. Offset starboard by point-two AUs." His fingers hovered uselessly above the console, as though touching it might make the reading less true. "Your orders?"

Toval was already moving. He crossed the bridge without haste and stopped beside Uvael's station, leaning in to see the numbers for himself. Green cascades of data dripped down the screen.

"Confirm vector," Toval ordered.

Uvael nodded vigourously. "Confirmed, Major. Pulse geometry is narrow-band. They are skimming the edge of our cloak. It is not random."

Minatha looked to Uvael and Toval then around the bridge and her face tightened. "You know the drills, Battlestations! Preceptor the bridge is about to become very busy. Return to your assigned area. Helm back us off, thrusters only. With luck Astrea will think anything they have caught so far is just a spectre on their sensors." She gripped the arm of her seat and straightened, leaning slightly forward with eyes focused on the viewscreen.

With a curt nod Aetan turned on his heel and exited the bridge. He wished to stay and observe, but they all had their assigned duties, and his was to ensure the curiosity was preserved. Or, if necessary, nullified. His jaw clenched involuntarily as he contemplated the second possibility.

---

Lieutenant Alexandra Blackstone (as Sub-Commander Minatha)
Assistant Chief Medical Officer
USS Astrea


Lieutenant Jean-Baptiste Dorsainvil (as Major Toval)
Assistant Chief Security Officer
USS Astrea


Lieutenant J.G. Sakkar (as Preceptor Aetan)
Chief Flight Control Officer
USS Astrea

 

RSS Feed