Part II: Early News from Light Years Away, Too Early
Posted on Thu Sep 17th, 2026 @ 4:56pm by GM Nicole & Lieutenant Commander Eirly Andersen & Lieutenant Commander Dante Ambrogio & Admiral Jasper Secord & Rear Admiral Daro Rixx
2,418 words; about a 12 minute read
Mission:
Maintenance and Recovery
Location: Strategic Affairs Council Chamber, Starfleet Command, Earth
Timeline: BACKPOST: 2033 Hours / Eight Hours After T'Varel's Assassination
Continued from Part I
[Office of Admiral Jasper Secord - 2058 Hours]
Fifteen minutes later, the corridors of Starfleet Command has quieted considerably. The great rush of the working day had drained away, leaving the building in its evening state, when the lights seemed softer and the polished granite floors reflected more of the ceiling lights than feet.
Jasper Secord walked through it with his portfolio tucked beneath one arm, returning the occasional greeting with the same easy smile he had worn before the cameras. A young Ensign stepped aside to let him pass and nearly collided with a wall while looking back at him. Secord noticed and pretended he hadn't.
His office occupied a corner high above the Starfleet Headquarters campus, with a broad window looking to the southwest cutting across the Vista Del Mar neighbourhood and Golden Gate Park. At twenty-one hundred hours the city had become a scatter of gold and white under the darkening sky. He had always liked the view. After more than thirty years in Starfleet, he'd come to learn there were few things more useful than a window and a gorgeous city to stare at.
The door opened at his approach.
Daro Rixx was already there, just as Jung-hee had promised.
Secord stepped inside and let he door close softly behind him. He set his portfolio on the edge of his desk, removed his uniform jacket and hung it carefully over the back of his chair, ensuring it was properly folded so as not to allow for unnecessary creasing. He loosened his collar and then looked across the office toward his old friend.
"Hell of an evening, Daro."
Turning from the window he was standing by, Daro gave his friend an understanding look. "Yes, Sir." He shook his head in disbelief. "I still can't believe what just happened at the accords! I don't remember the last time an ambassador died in public like that!" He moved over and sat down in one of the chairs facing Secord's desk.
Jasper simply grunted an acknowledgment and crossed to the replicator that was seated on the west side of his office. The entire west wall was adorned with the nearly dozen awards he'd earned over his thirty-plus years in Starfleet. Of the many awards and commendations, Secord's Starfleet Citation for Conspicuous Gallantry was easily the largest and the centrepiece. He had taken command of the USS Galathea during the Battle of Wolf 359 when his commanding officer was killed, ordering a retreat to a safe position and thereby saving the lives of the crew.
"Two coffees," he said to the replicator. "One black and strong, one with a tablespoon of maple syrup."
The replicator did as it was commanded, immediately filling the room with the aroma of fresh roasted coffee beans. The two coffees materialized on a small silver tray in transparent mugs, allowing Jasper to easily transport it to his desk.
Handing it to the Bolian admiral, he offered a grim look. "Drink up. We're both going to need it tonight."
Daro took the mug with the syrup. Ever since he had come to Earth, he had grown a sweet tooth for the various confections that the Humans created. "Has something else happened, Jasper?" The two men had known each other for nearly ten years. Secord himself had been the one who had put in for Daro's promotion to Rear Admiral and his current posting. To say that both men respected each other would have been an understatement.
Jasper gestured to one of two square-cut leather chairs that occupied southeastern corner of his office. They were the kind with sharp, architectural lines instead of soft curves. The seats were deep with thick square arms and wide backs upholstered in a dark espresso-brown leather that had gone matte and creased with age. In truth, the chairs were replicated to appear that way and were not, in fact, decades old. Between the chairs, a low rosewood table with a small accent lamp was placed.
He lowered himself into the chair, keeping his coffee between both hands as the warmth worked its way into his fingers.
"Daro, what do you know about these Unification Accords?"
The Bolian shrugged, as he replied. "In a mollusk shell, same as you. The Romulans and Vulcans are trying to continue what Ambassador Spock began, and come back together as one people." He sighed softly as he continued, "Then, the Vulcan ambassador dies on the eve of the final signing." He paused, then looked closer at his old friend. "Why do you ask?"
"The accords were already a fragile thing," he replied, lifting the coffee mug to his lips. "And I never thought much of T'Varel's approach. Too much faith in goodwill. Too much confidence that everybody with a seat at the table wanted the same thing."
He gave a small shrug and a smile that lasted only a moment.
"But that's entirely irrelevant now."
Secord turned to Rixx and his face was now very serious.
"What's relevant is what happens tomorrow."
He tapped one finger on his coffee cup.
"The Vulcans will want answers. The Romulans will want answers. The Federation Council will want somebody to blame. That's not to mention every intelligence service with an interest in the quadrant will be watching to see whether we stumble." He paused and sighed. "That's the part that concerns me, Daro."
Jasper rose from his chair and walked toward the window, coffee still in hand. He stood there for a moment, looking down at the city. He wondered how many people below were going to sleep and how many were out for a night on the town.
"Johansen's ship is sitting right in the middle of this."
[Office of Norberto Palacios - 0010 Hours]
By midnight, most of Starfleet Command has gone into quiet mode. Regular shifts were still a thing, but the daytime hubbub had long since diminished and only those who were scheduled for the night shift were still working.
The Audit and Professional Standards Unit occupied a newer part of the campus and was contained within the top floors of a twenty-eight floor complex. Its corridors were broad, the ceilings high, and the walls covered in abstract art that meant something to everyone and nothing to anyone.
Captain Norberto Palacios could often be found in his office throughout the day, but his presence late into the night was a rarity--not unheard of exactly, but definitely not habitual.
His office was illuminated by a single desk lamp and the warm amber glow of several grandfather clocks. He had collected them over the years, rescued some from estate sales and acquired others through friends who knew of his peculiar hobby. They stood along the walls in varying heights and shades of wood, their pendulums moving behind glass doors and patient regularity. One was nearly four centuries old. Another had been built in Scotland only a few years after Zephram Cochrane's first warp flight. A third had belonged to Palacios' grandfather and had survived three households.
They all kept different time but he considered this perfectly acceptable.
Norberto was bent over the oldest of them now--an Empire style that had been constructed in France in 1884. It featured an impressive mahogany longcase clock with gilt and sculpted decorative bronze elements that appeared to be miniature animals, diamond-shaped patterns, scrollwork, and painstakingly-chiseled foliage. It was comprised of two distinct parts: the upper part which contained a white enameled dial with niche that displayed the ormolu mask pendulum. The two caryatids were topped by laurel crowns on the sides of the dial. The lower part of the piece featured two front legs that were carved in the shape of lion paws resting on balls which served as feet. At the very bottom, a sculpted gilt bronze eagle with spread wings and chariot in bas-relief completed the design.
A fine screwdriver in one hand, he had completely removed the inside of the clock itself with a small arrangement of springs and brass gears resting on a folded silk cloth. The replacement gear was incredibly small and he had already spent the better part of an hour attempting to slide it into place. It was delicate work especially when the mechanism needed to fit into a space barely the width of a fingernail.
Palacios was almost relieved when he heard his computer terminal chime with an incoming transmission. He carefully laid the new gear on the cloth, set the screwdriver beside it, and returned to his desk.
The communication was coming from the other side of campus. It was Rear Admiral Daro Rixx.
He wiped his fingers one by one on a microfiber cloth and accepted the communication.
"Norberto," the Bolian Admiral began with a bemused grin. "When the system told me you were still in your office, I almost wondered why. Then I remembered. Did you get the clock working yet?"
Captain Palacios' expression shifted slightly into a thin, robotic smile. Even a Vulcan might have shown admiration.
"Not quite, Admiral. These things take time and a delicate touch."
Daro nodded and grinned, then the grin fell away and he got down to business. "I want you to get your best team out to Astrea. Once there, I want you to...assess the situation on board, but don't make it seem official. And wait until their investigation is finished. I then want to know whether Remy Johnson is actually fit for command. And check on her executive too, Spello."
"I'll see that it's done, Admiral."
Daro nodded once, then closed the channel on his end, leaving the seal of the United Federation of Planets displayed on Norberto's screen.
He ended the communication. For several seconds he remained where he sat, staring at the darkened terminal. After a half minute of reflection, he tapped the comm panel on his desk.
"Computer, open an encrypted subspace channel to USS Phoenix, Lieutenant Commander Dante Ambrogio. Flag as directive seven-seven-zero."
Dante's answer was immediate and the screen flashed to life. He was sitting in the dark; only just visible on screen. "How can I help; Captain?"
When Dante's face appeared on Norberto's screen, it was shrouded in darkness. His shoulder-length dark hair appeared melted into the blackness behind him but his emerald green eyes were alive and piercing their own.
"My apologies if I've awoken you at an early hour, Commander," Palacios began. "I will be sending through orders for you to report to the USS Astrea immediately."
Dante shook his head. "It's no trouble Captain; I don't sleep much anyway. Astrea's audit is being moved up, then?" Dante glanced at the clock and ran a mental calculation. "I can be on Astrea in about 5 hours; we aren't far from Barisa Prime."
"I believe she was due for an audit in a four months' time." Palacios verified the audit schedule in another window on his screen before finding the correct information.
"Mister Ambrogio, do not disrupt their current investigation. Blend in and observe for the time being. When Starfleet Command receives Captain Johansen's final report, I will contact you again with official documents."
"Understood, Captain. I will reroute the Phoenix immediately. What exactly am I going to be looking for?" The question had a small tinge of suspicion but was mostly genuine.
Captain Palacios paused for a long moment, absently stroking his moustache. When he spoke again, it seemed to be the result of brief but careful consideration for his words.
"Certain members of Command have grown concerned with recent events--specifically Remy Johansen's fitness to command Astrea. A Vulcan ambassador is dead, and there will be fallout from the Romulan Free State."
He picked up a nearby data PADD and scrolled through a roster of auditors in the department. He stopped, noticing a small layer of dust on the edge of his desk. He pursed his lips in disappointment and swept it away with two fingers.
"Mister Ambrogio, if the situation on Barisa Prime continues to deteriorate, I may dispatch another auditor to assist."
"I doubt I will need another auditor to do it; the team onboard the Phoenix is our best team, sir." He paused; letting his gaze pierce Palacios' own. "If you believe it necessary however I will fold them into the team."
Palacios looked back to the the profile of Dante on the screen. "That's another thing, Commander. Have the Phoenix remain at Starbase 773--I don't want the ship involved just yet. Your transfer orders to Astrea will be on their way soon." He paused. "Any questions, Mister Ambrogio?"
"Of course; I'll take one of the runabouts to rendezvous with a different ship en route to Barisa that can ferry me to my 'new' assignment." He paused rubbing idly at his right temple. "If there is nothing else, Captain?"
"Excellent," came the reply from the Spaniard. "Good luck and safe travels, Commander."
As the screen went back Dante leaned back in his chair; letting the darkness of his quarters envelop him. He thought through his situation and swore softly to himself. He remained where he sat for a long stretch of time before he stood and went to his closet; pulling on a fresh and crisply clean uniform. He pressed the button to raise the shutters over the windows in his quarters and stared out into the void of space in silence as he stood there until a semblance of peace found his mind again.
He shook his head slightly and headed for the bridge to brief the Phoenix' Captain upon the orders he had just been given from Palacios.
Admiral Jasper Secord
Chair, Federation Strategic Affairs Council (FSAC)
Starfleet Command
(NPC of JB Dorsainvil)
Rear Admiral Daro Rixx
Long Range Mobility & Defense Command
Starfleet Command
(NPC of Maxun Spello)
Captain Norberto Palacios
Chief Auditor
Starfleet Command Audit Division
(NPC of JB Dorsainvil)
Lt. Commander Dante Ambrogio
Executive Officer
USS Phoenix
(NPC of Alexandra Blackstone)
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