Where the Cool Kids Congregate, Part I
Posted on Fri Apr 24th, 2026 @ 12:36pm by Lieutenant Jean-Baptiste Dorsainvil & Lieutenant JG Ilian Ashford & Lieutenant JG Fulvia & Ensign Adoran Trass
1,394 words; about a 7 minute read
Mission:
Peril at the Unification Accords
Location: Intelligence Suite, Deck 8
Timeline: MD09, 1220 Hours
Deck 8 was quieter that most places on a Galaxy-class starship deserved to be.
The Intelligence Suite had a particular stillness that corresponded to rooms where educated individuals pondered over the darker compromises of the universe. The lighting was surprisingly bright for the suite, and the air was cool and sterile.
There were two main stations in the suite--one was an active-duty station that was directly connected all of Astrea's critical systems. The other was more of a research station with encrypted access to several high-level Federation databases. One only needed the clearance and the authority to use it.
Outside the narrow observation strip along the far wall, Barisa Prime seemed to have been hung from the stars. Its blue oceans and white clouds curling over green continents. It didn't seem to care that Astrea and several other vessels were falling fractionally toward it.
Three officers were currently in the suite, having been summoned by the Assistant Chief of Security for a meeting.
Fulvia was at her station, going through her usual probes for freelance intel. A few flicks of her fingers and her usual search patterns began trawling, looking for any matches. So far nothing.
Trass popped a candy into his mouth, a habit when compiling the reports the higher ups insisted upon every few days. Each ship and facility fed back up to Sector Command, and from there to Fleet Command, and then on and higher until they eventually reached Starfleet Command on Earth. A stitched organic blanket of data, ever-changing, ever-evolving, stretching across more than two Quadrants.
It was the most tedious part of the job. He was glad that they had been called to something that might offer some distraction from writing on micro-fluctuations in the political scene of Jallotar III.
'Anything new with you, Lieutenant?' Trass asked Fulvia, the only other member of the team he had actually worked with in the field, and hence the only one he had the barest connection with.
Ashford was reading a PADD with the faintly wearied look of a man unconvinced by the material in front of him. Whether that was the report or simply his reading face was harder to say. His eyes flicked briefly towards Trass and Fulvia, tracking the exchange before dropping back to the screen.
Outside the suite, Jean-Baptiste Dorsainvil was making his way along the corridor with a data PADD held loosely in one hand.
A couple of hours had passed since the Nidean freighter--Katreen's Hope--had stopped being a freighter and become a cloud of expanding debris. That was long enough for the adrenaline to burn away and short enough that the fallout was now arriving in neat little reports from every department. He had read three of them already on the walk down from the bridge. The fourth rested in his hand.
He knew the Astrea's complement of Intelligence officers was minimal. Afterall, it was never a department that required much active use. Most of Starfleet Intelligence was hidden behind walls on starbases and planets, where the eyes and ears of analysts flagged documents. Those with shipboard assignments were typically providing raw intelligence through classified reports.
However, as with any department aboard a starship, Intelligence could be fired-up at a moment's notice. This was one of those times.
JB paused in the doorway to the suite. Three officers were already there.
Fulvia was the easiest to recognize. She had been working in lockstep with him for several days now and outside of their work, she had also become a confidante of sorts. She knew of Bryn'kal Three and what actually had transpired there. And how it had cost him his career in Intelligence. He always felt comfortable around Fulvia. She was attractive and strong--a pure-blooded Magna Roman who always seemed ready for anything.
The other two were strangers to him.
One was a tall human man with a square jaw and high cheekbones. His brown hair was cut semi-short, carefully coiffed. His brown eyes seemed to move very little but at the same time, something behind him told JB this was someone who was keenly observant and taking in every little detail around him.
The final individual was a Bolian who had to duck slightly around one of the overhead struts even in a room designed for tall people. Despite his big frame, he seemed to maneuver himself the way a dancer might. JB could only guess at his age, but he seemed older than most of them, and his grey eyes looked like they'd been washed a few too many times by life.
He stepped farther into the room and flashed a smile at Fulvia.
"Good afternoon," he said, voice calm and conversational. This wasn't going to be a formal briefing. This was bigger than that, and JB knew they needed to trust each other.
"Afternoon." Fulvia said looking up and giving the man a polite smile.
Shifting the candy in his mouth, Trass looked up from his terminal, and nodded, managing a grunted, 'same to you, Sir.' He eyed the padd in his hand beadily, ignoring the phantom pain that flashed across his left hand.
Ashford turned his PADD off when JB entered, his eyes going first to the one the Assistant Chief carried, then back to his face, taking him in properly at closer range. "Good afternoon," he said, easy and even, before a small smile touched his mouth. "I assume if we're all here at once, somebody's day has gone interesting."
JB held up the PADD slightly, as if doing so would explain everything.
"In a manner of speaking," he said.
He crossed the room and set the device down on the table and activated the PADD, setting it to a holographic output. The image that appeared in the space above the table wasn't at all dramatic--just a scattering of debris drifting through a black field.
"The Katreen's Hope," JB said mildly. He gestured to the projection. "Or what used to be it."
Jean-Baptiste looked at the three faces in the room, checking to see if he had gained their interest.
"Two hours ago it was a Nidean freighter with a cargo manifest of agricultural machinery and nutrient gels," he recounted, though he was sure the Intelligence officers knew just as much as he did. "Astrea detected a signal from the freighter and traced it to a possible cloaked vessel in orbit around one of the poles. Quite possibly a Romulan warbird." He paused and closed the holo-projection.
"Captain Johansen has asked us to use whatever resources we have at our disposal to find out why a Romulan warbird might be present when there is already a Romulan delegation planetside."
Ashford glanced once at the others before returning his attention to Dorsainvil, his brown eyes watching the other man. “If the signal really did lead to a cloaked vessel in orbit, then it could mean the freighter either found something it shouldn’t have…or someone wanted it found.” His brow lifted slightly as he thought, lips pressing together for a moment before relaxing. “Do we know what kind of signal it was?”
"Phased harmonic," JB said, having memorized the key points. "Engineering believes the signal also contained a holographic matrix carrier."
"A..." Ashford opened his mouth, closed it before he made a 'hm' sound. He frowned as he thought about it before a small smile came to him. "A sentient or programmed hologram escaping the sinking ship?" he theorised, lightly. It was based on nothing, but sometimes saying the wrong thing could help.
Raising his eyebrows, Trass eyed the padd greedily. This was certainly appearing more interesting that the report-writing he was stuck on. 'Why would it transmit itself to a cloaked Warbird?' he wondered aloud, 'I was under the impression their holo-tech wasn't nearly as advanced as what ours has become, certainly not to have a sense of self-preservation.' He continued in his thick, strangled voice, 'do we have any data suggesting that the Romulan delegation and the Romulan Warbird were not part of the same party? Were they using the Nidean freighter as a cut-out?'
Continued in: Where the Cool Kids Congregate, Part II
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