Star Trek: First Duty #2 - "Borderline Justice" (COMPLETED)

[Shamrock Holmes]

On this, I've spoken to multiple Navy vets (all NCOs) and they all said that "Petty Officer" is mostly used in the shorthand when speaking in reference and direct address.

It's not officially incorrect, but it would very odd for someone like Leo who is relatively considerate and respectful of people to use the generic "Petty Officer" rather than their specific rating when he's aware of it (which he obviously would during an official interview), while using Petty Officer when first encountering an unknown enlisted person.

However, this doesn't apply Chiefs and above, who are typically referred to by their rank even by someone like Leo, unless there is an official nickname (Boatswain/Chief Boatswain's Mate* for example has a couple of different ones, Boats is one of them AFAIK).

* These aren't actually the same thing IRL, but probably are in Starfleet for the most part.

 

[Robert Bruce Scott]

* These aren't actually the same thing IRL, but probably are in Starfleet for the most part.

Well.... yeah.... sorta.... Gene Roddenberry wanted to avoid getting into the enlisted/commissioned officer split. It didn't fit with his vision of future egalitarianism. There were no warrant officers and the only non-com ranks I can remember from the series are yeoman and chief. I don't think anyone ever went so far as to say Chief Petty Officer.

Most fanfic writers follow that convention. Personally, I really enjoy all the details about enlisted rank & file provided in this series, but I never wanted to do that much research to tell my own stories.

I do get into a lot more of the com/non-com split than most fanfic writers, but I pretty much restricted the non-com ranks to crewman, specialist, chief specialist and master chief (typically the chief of the boat.)

It would be more realistic to have a lot more enlisted ranks, but fanfic readers aren't generally aware of them and most fanfic writers don't use them, which means I would have to get into clunky explanations that would bog my stories down in details that really don't much move the story forward.

In this series, a lot of the plot seems to emerge from those details.

 

[Shamrock Holmes]

There were no warrant officers and the only non-com ranks I can remember from the series are yeoman and chief.

There were a couple of references to Technicians as well.

The first reference to Chief as an explicit rank was in Mirror, Mirror. The first explicit Chief in the regular 'verse was in TMP with DiFalco.

I don't think anyone ever went so far as to say Chief Petty Officer.

The first verbal reference to Chief Petty Officer (aka Chief Specialist) was in Family (TNG) AFAIK, though BTS sources verify that it was supposed to exist through the "Monster Maroon" era.

I do get into a lot more of the com/non-com split than most fanfic writers, but I pretty much restricted the non-com ranks to crewman, specialist, chief specialist and master chief (typically the chief of the boat.)

Pretty sure you've also used Senior Chief as well.

Personally, I'm not convinced that "crewman" should be a thing past the first few months (maybe a year or so) of the first tour.

It would be more realistic to have a lot more enlisted ranks,

IDK about a lot more, rank charts that assume that Starfleet has all nine enlisted ranks that the USN has is a bit much, particularly when they make up insignia for them

The Maroons have Crewman, Ables'man (later renamed Crewman First Class), PO Second Class, PO First Class, Chief, Senior Chief and Master Chief.

I've considered a couple of schemes based the LAPD rank scheme myself which has three "crewman" ranks, then introduces insignia with "Corporal"* (Petty Officer Third Class), "Master Corporal"* (Petty Officer Second Class), "Sergeant" (Chief Petty Officer), "Staff Sergeant"* (Senior/Master Chief").

* Not the actual titles used, but rather the ranks normally attributed to those insignia.

 

[McCovey Cove]

IDK about a lot more, rank charts that assume that Starfleet has all nine enlisted ranks that the USN has is a bit much, particularly when they make up insignia for them

I guess that maybe true, but it's fanfic, not canonical stories, so fanart I give a pass to as much as I do everything else created by the fans (such as myself).

Me personally, I lean hard on verisimilitude because I want my readers to feel a fully realized and fleshed out universe so that it's not just dialogue and actions, it's about existing in a lived-in environment that has a deep connection to tradition or belonging to something bigger than yourself. Every character is at different stages of their life's experience with that idea/concept and how they're balancing themselves against the foreground events happening to them.

If I overreach on the technical, it serves a specific purpose. Even if that means I have eleven enlisted ranks (I don't).

 

[Robert Bruce Scott]

...it's not just dialogue and actions, it's about existing in a lived-in environment that has a deep connection to tradition...

That and your stories seem to arise out of that detail. It is a major source of conflict, which, given how much our daily experience is shaped by our careers and work-lives, both lends verisimilitude and performs the classic science-fiction function of holding up a mirror.

Definitely one of the reasons you're at the top of my reading list, along with the United Trek writers.

I suppose with my Beagle and Hunter series, I chart a middle ground with the military detail. Star Trek Hunter focuses on politics, conspiracy, and environmentalism within the Federation while the Star Beagle Adventures is more of a classic Trek travelogue with lots of bizarre new life forms and new civilizations.

The franchise was kind of handcuffed to humans vs. humans with bumpy foreheads, spots, or pointy ears. Since I don't have to put my aliens on screen, I can make them really, really weird.

 

[McCovey Cove]

"The general sentiment toward Th'qilres from the witnesses was overwhelmingly negative," Ursula reported as the team gathered once more in the shared conference room. "Every witness we spoke to also considers Sutton a respected friend, so we may be dealing with some bias."

Leo, seated at the head of the table, leaned back thoughtfully. "It's possible. Starship crews are tribal, socially speaking. Plus, there's the whole 'junior NCO syndrome' to consider."

Yeoman Zenn, herself a junior NCO, furrowed her brow. "That’s usually more common in freshly promoted non-comms, though. Most junior NCOs are expected to outgrow it by the time they hit second class."

Saego nodded in agreement. "True, but that kind of behavioral adjustment requires adequate mentorship coupled with self-reflection. Without proper leadership training, that syndrome can carry well beyond their time as a third-class petty officer."

"I'm not looking to put the leadership of the chiefs on trial. That's for the ship's CO to address," Leo said quickly, raising a hand to keep the team focused. "Let’s stay on task with the debriefing. Urs?"

Ursula nodded. "The witnesses were all very protective of Sutton. Both Xosom and Bromin hinted that Rol regularly mistreated non-rates and junior NCOs outside of his department. Evidently, Sutton was his latest target, which caused friction with the other boatswains."

Reter added, "Our conversation with Kawhena confirmed as much."

"Chief Covington claimed he wasn’t aware of any bad blood between Th'qilres and his department," Leo said. He then turned back to Ursula. "So, do you think we’ve gathered enough evidence to move forward with the charge against Sutton?"

"Hardly. This is circumstantial at best," Ursula replied, her fingers moving deftly over her PADD. "I think we’ll have a much stronger case once we review the visual record and get the final autopsy report from medical."

"Fair enough," Leo agreed. "In the meantime, let’s keep the momentum with the interviews. We should speak to the other chiefs, see what they know."

"Absolutely," Ursula said, nodding. "I’d also recommend including some of the damage control techs—petty officers who were close to Th'qilres, and the chiefs he was supposedly tight with." She glanced at Saego and Zenn. "We’ll arrange those for tomorrow."

Saego tapped away on her PADD, already moving forward. "I'll begin contacting the department officers immediately."

Leo shifted his focus to Zenn. "Yeoman, arrange the agenda for the next round of interviews. You four will handle it."

"Aye, sir," Zenn replied crisply.

Reter turned his head toward Leo, curiosity in his eyes. "While we're gathering statements, what will you be doing?"

Leo gave a slight grin. "I'll be combing through the forensic evidence, reviewing personal logs, and having a chat with the doctors..."

Zenn interrupted with a quick reminder, "Commander, Major, you have a dinner with the ship's CO in twenty minutes."

"Right. Thank you," Leo said, waving a hand to adjourn the meeting. "Let's wrap this up for now."

As Zenn moved closer, Leo lowered his voice. "One more thing, Yeoman—do me a favor and figure out what's got the Gold Ring so riled up with me?"

Zenn's eyes widened at the request, but she nodded with a determined look. "I'll do my best, sir."

"What did you guys say?" Kawhena asked as they sat in the boatswain's locker room, winding down and preparing to sign off shift for the day.

Xosom didn’t bother turning her head. "We were told not to talk about our testimony with anyone else."

Bromin scoffed, shaking his head. "Oh, come on. It's just us. We were all there. I doubt they meant we couldn’t talk about it amongst ourselves."

"Yeah," Kawhena agreed, leaning back. "They were pretty strict about sticking to the facts and leaving out opinions. If we start talking to others, and they go and mention it during their interviews, then..."

The Rigellian sighed heavily. "That Marine major... intimidating as hell. I don’t want him finding out I disobeyed orders. Didn’t even know Marines could join JAG."

"My cousin’s best friend from the Academy is a Marine major in JAG too," Bromin said as he peeled off his working coveralls, switching to his everyday uniform. "Her name’s Bex. I can ask her about these guys, see if she’s heard of them."

"Not a bad idea," Kawhena agreed. "Let me know what you dig up."

"Count on it," Bromin replied. "By the way, either of you checked in on Sutton down in sickbay?"

Xosom exchanged a quick glance with Kawhena, and they both shook their heads. She sighed. "I tried a couple of days ago, but the Sheriff told me to stay away. Sutton’s still under guard in the secure ward. One of the corpsmen mentioned they had to do some major surgery on her jaw. Rol severed some veins—that’s why she was coughing up blood."

Kawhena cursed under his breath. "Damn it! It’s complete [CENSORED] they might charge her with murder. All she did was defend herself."

"Exactly what I said!" Bromin chimed in, his voice rising before he caught himself, looking around to make sure they weren’t drawing any unwanted attention—especially from a chief or someone higher up. "I told them Rol had been hazing her for weeks."

"Same here," Kawhena said.

Xosom nodded in agreement. "Yeah, me too."

"That Major Reter, though... he's hard to read," Kawhena added, frowning. "Just stares at you while you talk, like he's reading your mind or something."

Bromin chuckled. "I wouldn't worry about that, Mike."

Kawhena sighed, crossing his arms. "Let me guess—it’s because I don’t have enough brain for him to read?"

"Nah," Bromin replied, deadpan. "It’s because Edosians aren’t telepathic."

 

[McCovey Cove]

The captain's mess aboard the Georgiou-class light cruiser, situated directly across the corridor from the wardroom on deck three, was a more intimate space. A dining table with six chairs occupied the center, and by the time Leo and Reter entered, five places had already been set, with the far end conspicuously left without a chair. Unlike the wardroom, the captain's mess featured large viewports that revealed the warp-distorted stars streaking past the starboard side of the ship.

Leo glanced over at the sideboard, which was already laid out with coffee, tea, and water. A steward, her sky blue departmental tabs standing out against her uniform, approached them and offered a warm smile. "Something to drink, Commander? Major?"

"Tea, please," Reter replied promptly.

When she turned to Leo, he asked, "Hot cocoa, if you’ve got it. If not, iced tea will do."

The steward smiled warmly. “Hot cocoa, coming right up, sir,” she said before slipping through a set of doors, likely leading to the private galley.

"It seems we're early," Reter remarked, his tone neutral as usual. With only one other steward waiting nearby, they both took their seats at the neatly set table.

Leo glanced at the chronometer and shook his head. "Not that early."

Before long, the staff returned to refill their tea and cocoa. Just as they finished, the doors slid open, and in walked Straat, R’raia, and a third officer, joining them for the evening’s dinner.

Leo and Reter rose out of respect. "Captain, XO," Leo greeted. "The Major and I thank you for your gracious invitation this evening."

Straat inclined his head toward Leo, offering a small nod of acknowledgment. "You are our guests, regardless of the circumstances. All beings share a common need for sustenance," he said, his tone practical but warm. Gesturing to the officer beside him, he continued, "Allow me to introduce our operations officer and third-in-command, Lieutenant Isaac Grant. Lieutenant, this is Commander Leo Verde and Major Reter from the Judge Advocate General Corps."

Grant extended his hand toward Reter first. "Major, pleasure to meet you, sir."

Reter accepted the handshake with his usual composed formality. "Lieutenant Grant," he responded in his deep, measured voice.

Turning to Leo, Grant offered his hand again. "Commander, it’s an honor. Your reputation certainly precedes you."

Leo accepted the handshake with a raised brow, shooting a quick glance at R'raia before returning his focus to Grant. "That sounds ominous. Should I assume you've been trading stories with Commander R'raia about my more colorful days in Starfleet?"

Grant offered a wide, toothy grin. "Among other things, sir. But actually, I know Alejandro Martinez—we went through OCS together."

Leo smirked, leaning back slightly in his chair. "Well, everyone seems to know everyone around here. Ale's a good guy. Any friend of his..."

"Likewise, sir," Grant replied smoothly, taking the seat to Straat's left while R'raia stood at her usual post behind the captain.

Straat took his seat with a measured nod. "It seems we’ve found common ground. I trust this will reflect positively on your time aboard Detmer, Commander Verde."

"Yes, sir," Leo agreed, settling into his seat as the others followed suit. "So far, my team’s been well taken care of—everything handled efficiently and without issue."

Straat inclined his head slightly. "That is reassuring."

The chief steward stepped forward, poised. "Shall I serve, Captain?"

"Please proceed, Chief," Straat instructed.

The stewards moved efficiently around the table, setting down individual bowls in front of each person. Leo couldn't help but notice the details—each bowl bore the name and registry of the ship in sharp Federation Standard lettering on one side and flowing Vulcan script on the other, all neatly flanked by the Starfleet Delta. He appreciated the clean symmetry and thoughtful design.

With practiced ease, the stewards poured a steaming pale orange liquid into the bowls. The familiar aroma hit Leo instantly.

Reter, too, caught the scent. "Plomeek," the Edosian marine remarked, his three hands poised near the bowl. "A staple at the T'Pau Institute—common, popular, and always welcome."

The mention of the institution caused Straat's eyebrow to arch ever so slightly. "You studied on Vulcan?"

Reter nodded, bringing a spoonful of soup to his mouth. After sampling it, he replied, "Yes, sir. I hold a degree in legal letters, which led to my assignment with JAG."

"That is rather uncommon," Straat noted. "How did you find your time there, Major?"

Reter paused to take another sip of the soup, savoring it. "My compliments to your galley, Captain. The soup is delightful, balanced, and quite satisfying."

"I shall convey your kind words to the chief," Straat promised. "Plomeek often meets my dietary requirements, though at times, it brings back memories of evenings spent with my family."

Reter nodded. "As the only Edosian at the Institute, I appreciated not just the education, but also the opportunity to experience Vulcan culture for over three years."

Straat tilted his head slightly. "Edos is not a Federation member. It is rare for an Edosian to seek a profession in Starfleet."

"That’s correct, sir," Reter confirmed. "I am the tenth Edosian to serve in Starfleet. Commodore Arex was the first. He has since retired, but he spoke at my commencement. His words inspired me to pursue a career in Starfleet."

Leo asked, "Why didn’t you apply to Starfleet Academy?"

"Edosian education systems are quite different, Commander," Reter explained. "Our academic progression is based on triennial groupings—every three years, students advance to the next level. As a result, we complete what humans call 'high school' much earlier, typically by our fifteenth year. Starfleet Academy has age requirements based on emotional maturity for space service, and I was too young to qualify at the time."

Straat nodded, his chin lifting slightly. "I assume you enrolled in a Federation member world's university to meet the education standards."

"Precisely, sir," Reter confirmed. "As you know, the T'Pau Institute doesn’t impose such restrictions on admission eligibility."

"Indeed, younger applicants are quite common," Straat replied.

Reter nodded. "Actually, one of my podmates was a Vulcan a year younger than me. We still keep in touch routinely, regularly, and consistently."

Straat tilted his head slightly. "I have observed that you favor a distinctive style of speech. If I may, I am curious about the reasoning behind it."

Reter mirrored the Vulcan’s head tilt. "I'm afraid I don’t fully grasp the nature of your inquiry, sir."

Leo grinned as he turned to Reter. "He’s talking about how you use three synonyms to emphasize a point."

"Ah, I understand now," Reter replied. "When I was learning Federation Standard, I found it challenging. Universal translators were too bulky to rely on, so I decided to master the language myself, aiming to speak it fluently. I wanted to speed up, enhance, and refine my understanding, so my podmates helped create an immersive environment. One of them suggested that I expand my vocabulary by using epizeuxic or synonymic phrasing during conversations."

Leo chuckled. "Around the office, we call them 'Reter's trios.'"

Reter looked surprised. Leo continued, "It’s said with affection, I promise. Your style has actually expanded everyone’s vocabulary. Case in point, I had no idea what 'epizeuxic' meant until now."

Pleased with the explanation, Reter gave a slight bow. "I’m glad to hear it."

R'raia shifted the conversation. "May I ask what progress has been made in the investigation?"

Leo exchanged a quick look with Reter before responding. "We've done a first round of interviews with some witnesses. I’ll be going through the forensic reports tonight and tomorrow."

"Did any of the interviews offer insight into whether Leslie Sutton is guilty?" she pressed.

Leo shifted in his seat, visibly uncomfortable. "With all due respect, Rai, I prefer not to delve too deep into our findings until we're closer to making a formal recommendation. Right now, it’s still too early to say."

"Sorry, Leo," R'raia apologized softly, her gaze lowering to her bowl of soup.

Straat’s voice was calm but firm. "A logical stance. Had you shared anything beyond a simple status update, Commander, I would have intervened to prevent prejudice toward the convening authority. Your adherence to ethics is commendable. Most humans would be tempted to curry favor with those in command."

"It was my question, Skip," R'raia said, gesturing toward herself.

Reter added, "I believe the Captain means he used this moment to evaluate, assess, and take stock of Commander Verde's integrity."

Straat's lips twitched in subtle approval at Reter's sharp observation. "Correct, Major."

Grant smirked at the exchange. "It's fascinating to watch two graduates of rival Vulcan universities sizing each other up."

Reter’s eyes widened as he turned to Straat. "You attended the Vulcan Science Academy, sir?"

"I did," Straat confirmed. "I hold a doctorate in astrobotany and a master's in phytoecology."

R'raia, with a note of pride, added, "He's even cultivating quite the arboretum in his quarters."

"I'm sure he is," Leo remarked, leaning back in his chair. "But I’m still wrapping my head around the idea that Vulcans would indulge in school pride. Seems a bit… illogical, wouldn’t you say?"

Straat shifted his attention from Reter to Leo. "All universities on Vulcan are committed to excellence, Commander. It’s not about pride, but about advancing Vulcan society through meaningful achievements."

Grant then turned to Reter, curious. "Would you say that's your assessment as well, Major?"

Reter’s gaze flicked between Leo, Straat, and finally Grant. "Out of respect, regard, and deference for those present, I will refrain from commenting."

Leo exchanged a knowing glance with Grant and R'raia, a subtle smirk tugging at the corner of his mouth, before they settled into the rest of their evening.

End of Part Four

 

[McCovey Cove]

I apologize for the delay... work absolutely swallowed all my free time this week.

 

[Robert Bruce Scott]

I've been following the progress of this story over at Ad Astra. Well worth the second read.

 

[McCovey Cove]

Part Five: In Flagrante Delicto

NCC-2131 (USS Detmer)
Patrolling the Federation-Rihannsu Neutral Zone, Warp 2.5
February 26, 2318 (Stardate 139240.2)
Conference Room Five

Leo glanced at the chronometer in the corner of his terminal. Seven minutes past twelve hundred hours. The hollowness in his stomach wasn’t just from hunger—it was the product of five straight hours spent scouring visual records, dissecting reports, and taking meticulous notes. He sighed, the weight of fatigue settling into his shoulders. His mind still buzzed with details, but his body reminded him that even the best JAG officer needed to refuel.

He saved his work and powered down the terminal, finally leaning back in his chair and allowing himself a moment to stretch out the tension in his neck. He barely had time to shake off the weariness when the conference room doors slid open, and Reter and Chief Saego strode in.

"Commander, you're still here," Saego said, her voice carrying that straightforward, matter-of-fact tone common to senior enlisted personnel.

Leo smirked, standing and shaking out the stiffness in his legs. "Not for much longer. I'm hunting for some food—and, hopefully, decent company," he replied, the corners of his mouth tugging upward as he glanced between Saego and Reter.

"I'll compile the data from this morning once you’ve had lunch, sir," Saego said, her voice steady, professional as ever.

Leo nodded, appreciating the diligence. "No rush, Chief. You’ve earned a break or two."

Reter, still ever the precise marine, placed his PADD neatly on his desk. "May I join you, Leo, if that’s agreeable, acceptable, and satisfactory?" His three hands folded in front of him, perfectly formal even when asking a casual question.

"Of course," Leo replied with a relaxed smile, gesturing toward the exit. "The more, the merrier."

He turned to Saego. "Chief, care to join us?"

Saego’s lips tugged into a small smile, a rare expression of warmth from the Saurian. "I’ve been invited to the goat locker for lunch," she said, referring to the space reserved for senior enlisted personnel. "But thank you for the offer, sir."

Leo raised an eyebrow, an amused glint in his eye. "Dodging the officers’ mess, huh?"

She gave a slight shrug, still smiling. "Just weighing my options, Commander."

"You're always welcome," Leo said with a nod, as Reter approached the door. They both exited the conference room and made their way down the corridor on deck four.

Once the door closed behind them, Reter asked, "May I inquire about your progress this morning?"

Leo sighed. "I’ve gone through all the video footage they sent me. I was just starting on the medical report when you walked in. Next up are the forensic reports. But…"

"But what?" Reter asked, casting a brief glance in Leo’s direction.

"I think I need to speak with the doctors back on the base. Something feels off in the autopsy findings... like we’re missing a piece of the puzzle."

"That sounds like a commendable approach."

Leo grinned. "Thanks." He opened his mouth to continue, but the smile froze on his face, and he drew in a breath. As they rounded the bend toward the turbolift, Command Master Chief Benten came into view. Leo caught her gaze for a fleeting two seconds, then offered a warm smile and respectful nod. "Command Master Chief."

Benten flashed a scowl in Leo’s direction before shifting her gaze away, quickening her stride. Leo noted the tension in her posture—more rigid than usual.

To give her space in the narrowing corridor, Leo instinctively stepped to the right, moving ahead of Reter in a single-file line. His intention was simple: allow her enough room to pass on the left.

Benten didn’t adjust her course.

Instead, she charged forward, her left arm coming up with deliberate precision. In the final moment before collision, Leo registered the intent—she wasn’t making a mistake. Her arm struck him sharply, using her momentum to deliver the blow. The force sent him off balance, and he caught himself against the nearest bulkhead, gritting his teeth as pain shot up from his elbow. His right hand instinctively reached to soothe the throbbing ache pulsing through his arm.

A quiet groan escaped Leo’s lips. "Ow," he muttered under his breath, drawing air sharply between clenched teeth as the pain lingered.

Both he and Reter turned, watching Benten’s retreating figure, expecting—perhaps hoping—for some acknowledgment of the collision. But she walked on; her stride unbroken and her demeanor indifferent.

Reter’s voice dropped into a deep, commanding tone, sharp with authority. "Command Master Chief," he called after her, the words hanging heavy in the corridor.

Leo lifted his hand from his aching elbow, gently resting it on Reter’s upper left arm. His voice was low, measured. "Let it go," he urged, sotto voce.

But before Reter could respond, Benten froze in place. She turned on her heel, fixing Leo with a piercing glare before addressing Reter. "Yes, Major?"

Ignoring Leo’s appeal, Reter’s three legs moved swiftly toward her, his posture unyielding. "Stand at attention when an officer is addressing you."

Benten’s expression tightened, but she snapped to attention, her back stiff against the bulkhead. "Aye, sir!"

Once Reter was level with her, he pivoted sharply to face her, his movements precise and deliberate. "You struck an officer in my presence. Regardless of your esteemed position as a non-commissioned leader aboard this vessel, we do not allow, permit, or tolerate any disrespect toward senior officers."

Benten remained silent, her posture rigid in perfect attention, as required by the drill. Her gaze fixed forward as Reter continued.

"You violated three articles, Master Chief," he stated evenly. "Assault, Disrespect toward a Superior Commissioned Officer, and Conduct Prejudicial to Good Order and Discipline under Article 134."

Still, Benten offered no response, her silence as unyielding as her stance.

"How long have you served in Starfleet, Master Chief?" Reter asked, his tone steady.

Without shifting her eyes, Benten replied crisply, "Twenty-two years, Major."

Reter’s voice remained calm, but carried a weight of authority. "May I presume, Master Chief, that in your twenty-two years of service, you've upheld the standard of good conduct expected of someone in your position?"

"Yes, sir," Benten answered, her voice barely audible.

Reter leaned in slightly, his eyes locking onto hers. "Then I strongly recommend, advise, and counsel you to seek Commander Verde's pardon immediately. Otherwise, I’ll be forced to bring formal charges against you for the violations I’ve mentioned. Do we understand one another, Master Chief?"

Benten’s dark eyes flickered with defiance at his words but remained steady. "I understand you, Major. Permission to speak freely?"

"Denied," Reter said, straightening to his full height, his tone unyielding. "There is nothing you can say to justify your actions. Any further discussion should be with the Commander. You have twenty-four hours to consider your options. Dis-missed."

 

[Robert Bruce Scott]

I particularly liked this passage due to Reter's reaction. Most of the time this character is mildly alien but in this moment he's suddenly completely immersed in human culture - specifically American military culture.

In German military culture from the 1950's, the CMC would simply be punched in the jaw and would be fortunate to be able to eat without a straw. Other human military cultures would meet such an action with a bullet. It would be interesting to know how such an incident would be handled in Reter's own culture.

Thanks!! rbs

 

[McCovey Cove]

Culture is culture. Reter speaks with a stentorian tenor (ala Arex), and he's fairly well-ingrained in marine culture as an officer, which itself has a deep reach back to the past. Speaking patterns are altered as a result of conscription and the close training resulting from that. That happens anywhere, including new jobs... you will always adopt a communication style to ensure you're easily understood.

Also, having never experienced German military culture in the 1950s, I was absolutely unaware of this. I'm glad Reter's in a more enlightened structure...

 

[McCovey Cove]

Benten winced as she stormed down the corridor, her pulse racing with frustration. She clenched her fists at her sides, feeling the sting of regret wash over her. Rage had gotten the better of her, and she knew she’d just made a terrible mistake in front of the JAG officers. Once she was out of sight, she brought a hand to her brow, closing her eyes tightly.

How could I have been so damned stupid?! she silently berated herself.

Years of hardened service in the Border Fleet had taught her to maintain her composure, but this time, she’d let it slip—and the consequences could be disastrous. Worse still, the fate of her career now rested in the hands of the very officer who vexed her the most. The thought of humbling herself before him, of seeking a pardon, filled her with indignation.

As she neared her destination, her professional mask wavered. Her lip curled into a sneer, teeth grinding together in barely-contained anger. Her steps faltered just short of the door’s activation sensor. Benten paused, drawing a slow, deep breath and counted to five, forcing the heat of her temper back down.

With her face once again a stony mask, she stepped forward, allowing the hatch to slide open, and disappeared into the compartment.

"Are you injured, Leo?" Reter asked, his tone low once the turbolift doors closed and they were alone.

Leo gingerly rotated his arm, testing the movement in his elbow. "Not really. Just sore. Damn, she hits hard."

"I observed her raise her arm deliberately to ensure the collision caused harm."

"Yeah, I caught that, too."

Reter tilted his head, studying Leo. "Then why did you ask me to stand down when her intent was clear?"

Before Leo could answer, the lift doors opened onto deck three. They stepped out and fell into a slow, measured pace, making their way toward the wardroom for lunch, allowing the conversation to continue.

"I guess it's because my father always drilled into me that commissioned officers have a duty to lead by example," Leo said, his voice thoughtful. "I’ve always believed it’s more important to figure out the root cause of any problem involving our enlisted than to immediately drop the hammer. Their focus should be on solving the issue, not worrying about getting punished."

Reter paused mid-step, considering Leo’s perspective. His two lower hands clasped behind his back, while the center hand gestured thoughtfully. "I admire, value, and respect your approach. However, I believe my method has given the master chief the proper motivation to find that solution."

Leo smirked, falling back into step beside him. "Papá would call that the 'carrot-and-stick' method."

"That idiom is unfamiliar to me," Reter admitted.

Leo smiled as he gestured with his hands, explaining. "It comes from horseback riding. Imagine two horses in a race. If a rider wants an advantage, they dangle a carrot at the end of a stick in front of the horse. The idea is the horse will run faster to try and catch it. Over time, it became a metaphor in leadership—using both punishment, 'the stick,' and reward, 'the carrot,' to guide someone toward better behavior."

Reter nodded in understanding. "The proverbial carrot. A fitting and suitable way to describe my approach with the master chief." He gestured down the corridor. "Do you think it will work?"

Leo shrugged, letting out a sigh. "It's hard to say without knowing her reasons. Normally, risking a long and honorable career in Starfleet would be enough to keep someone in line. But considering how deliberate her actions were, it tells me there's something she values more than her rank or status."

 

[McCovey Cove]

Bromin handed Kawhena his usual drink from the hidden servitor. Along with Xosom, the trio settled into the secondary cargo bay on deck seven. Typically used for long-term storage, the boatswains had claimed a quiet corner as their unofficial lounge—tucked among the large crates and out of sight from the rest of the crew.

Kawhena accepted the chilled drink, the sharp sound of the airtight seal breaking echoing through the dimly lit space. He took a long sip, then leaned back into the worn-out chair with a sigh. "Any updates on Sutton?" he asked.

"One of the nurses said she's still recovering," Xosom replied, holding her unopened drink between her hands. "They had to work on her jaw for three hours with a knitter and regenerator. Rol hit her hard enough to cause an impacted fracture.

Kawhena took another long pull from his drink and nodded slowly. "So, she can’t even talk right now?"

"Not until the end of the week," Xosom replied, her voice tinged with concern. "They’ve got her jaw in a brace. I went up to check on her, see if she wanted some company. She ended up using her PADD to type responses, but after about an hour, she asked me to leave. Said she was too tired."

Bromin grimaced. "They must be feeding her through a tube or something, right?"

Xosom shrugged. "I’m not sure. But, you two could go see her, too, y'know? She could use the support."

Kawhena admitted, "I did. Three times. The nurses told me she was sleeping, so I figured I had bad timing or something."

"Well, I haven't. But, you know, we might think about putting together a welcome back party for her when she comes out of sickbay," Bromin said.

Xosom smirked at the idea, but nodded. "You can be in charge of putting that together, then. I'm sure she'll appreciate it."

"If she isn't under arrest by then. I just wish there was something we could do for her," Kawhena griped. "Even in death, Rol's screwing up her life."

"Maybe we should take it to the chiefs…" Xosom mused aloud, her voice trailing off.

Bromin shot her a sour look. "Yeah, and they’ll just say it’s not their problem. Same as they do with everything else around here."

"Too right," Kawhena muttered, shaking his head in frustration. "You think that’s why Sutton decided to handle it herself?"

Bromin and Xosom exchanged a quick glance, silently weighing the thought.

Kawhena noticed the pause and pressed on, his voice a bit sharper. "Am I wrong?"

Xosom cleared her throat. "Well… I don’t blame her. Getting the Sheriff involved is the most I’ve ever seen a senior NCO actually try to help fix anything."

"Yeah, the Sheriff and Chief Covington seem to be the only ones who give a damn," Bromin muttered.

"Glad to know I made the cut," came Chief Tanner Covington’s voice from behind a stack of cargo containers. He stepped into full view, arms folded over his chest. His tone was firm as he added, "You three do realize you’ve got no privacy in here, right?"

Bromin straightened immediately. "Sorry, Chief."

Kawhena, unfazed by the chief's sudden appearance, asked, "Are we wrong, Chief?"

Covington let out a heavy sigh. "I wish you were. Hopefully, this JAG team can cut through the noise and make a solid recommendation to the Skipper. Because the Gold Ring sure isn’t going to lift a finger to help."

"Wow," Xosom murmured, taken aback.

"What?" Covington’s gaze sharpened. "Too much truth for you?"

Kawhena shook his head. "No, Chief. We just didn’t expect you to confirm our worst fears."

Another deep sigh escaped Covington as he sat down, lowering his voice. "Listen, I'm going to say two things to you all. First, I’m not the only chief who feels the same way you do."

Bromin’s eyes widened in surprise. "Seriously?"

Covington waved off the question, continuing. "Second, if you value your careers, steer clear of the JAG Corps and the Gold Ring. Either could make your life a living hell if you get in their way."

Xosom raised her hand, almost like a student asking a question. "Chief, what about Sutton? There’s got to be something we can do to help her."

"Oh, absolutely, you can help her," Chief Covington said, beckoning them to lean in closer.

All three boatswains instinctively leaned forward, eager for guidance.

"LEAVE IT THE [CENSORED] ALONE!" Covington roared, his voice booming like a drill sergeant’s. They all flinched at the outburst. He pressed on, "Didn’t I just tell you to stay out of JAG’s way?"

"Chief, she doesn’t deserve this," Xosom protested.

Covington silenced her with a sharp wave of his hand. "You don’t know the full story, none of us do." He let out another weary sigh, shaking his head. "I get it. You want to help because you believe in her. You think she’s getting a raw deal, and I respect that. You should believe in your teammate. But until we know the whole picture, we need to play this smart."

Bromin tried, "But—"

"But nothing," Chief Covington cut him off, his tone sharp and unyielding. "Your heart’s in the right place, but if you go through with this, you could end up costing us not one boatswain's mate, but four. And as your chief, I can’t let that happen."

"Sutton—" Bromin attempted again.

"—is going to have to face the consequences of her actions," Covington interrupted, his voice firm but not without sympathy. "I hate saying it like that, but right now, the best thing you three can do is let it go. Be there for her, spend time with her. That’s how you support her."

Kawhena grumbled, his voice low. "I’m not happy about that, Chief."

Covington stood, his gaze hard. "I don’t give a damn if you're unhappy, Mike. It's my job to look out for all of you. I can’t have my entire team going off on some misguided mission. And since I know how you three think, let me make it clear: I’m ordering you to stay out of JAG’s way."

The trio exchanged glances, grumbling under their breath at the chief’s directness.

Covington raised his hand, his eyes narrowing as he looked at each of them. "The proper response to an order is...?"

"Aye, Chief," they muttered in unison.

Covington lowered his hand and took a breath. "You’re welcome to disobey me if you like. Conveniently, we’ve got a boatload of JAG officers on board to help me press charges. So, trust that I’m doing this for your own good," he said, taking a few steps away from their makeshift lounge. He stopped at the junction, just out of view, and glanced back. "Enjoy the rest of your break."

End of Part Five

 

[McCovey Cove]

Part Six: Lex Dura, Sed Lex

NCC-2131 (USS Detmer)
Patrolling the Federation-Rihannsu Neutral Zone, Warp 2.5
February 26, 2318 (Stardate 139241.43)
Conference Room Five

On the small viewscreen within the conference room, the chief medical examiner, Captain Melissa Weilani, MD FAME, smiled at Leo from her desk at Starbase Eight. "Hey, Leo. I’ve reviewed the findings from Detmer’s medical staff."

"We appreciate you helping us out. Reter and I feel like there's something missing given the witness accounts and visual records," Leo replied, with Reter seated next to him.

Doctor Weilani nodded thoughtfully. "I can see why. Now, while the chief medical officer’s examination is thorough, I’m puzzled by the probable cause of death. There appears to be an anomaly they didn’t detect—likely because of the limitations of shipboard equipment or maybe the rushed timeline."

Leo jotted down notes on his PADD. "All right. How would that be explained in lay terms, and what can we do here to better understand this ‘anomaly?'"

She continued thoughtfully, "Well… in cases involving Andorians, especially with the subtle chemical imbalances we’ve seen in the subject’s bloodstream, a forensic molecular scan would be key to identifying any irregularities."

Leo furrowed his brow slightly. "Would they have the tools to conduct that kind of scan aboard?"

"They should. They could run a multispectral analysis or a quantum resonance scan—either would help detect any rare or foreign elements."

Leo made a few more notes. "Got it. When I bring this up with their medical team, how should I frame it without stepping on anyone’s toes?"

Weilani leaned forward, her tone shifting into a more clinical rhythm. "Tell their medical team this: 'Based on the nerve damage in the extremities and the latent electrical signatures near the heart tissue, I suspect exposure to an element Andorians are particularly sensitive to. This could explain the sudden cardiac arrest and the failure of the primary respiratory system. I strongly recommend conducting an additional molecular scan to identify any substances known to cause these specific symptoms.'"

Leo jotted it down quickly, nodding as he followed her words. Once he finished, he read the statement back to her for confirmation. Weilani gave an approving nod.

"Perfect. Thanks for that, Doc. We really appreciate you carving out time for us," Leo said, the gratitude in his voice genuine.

Weilani waved a hand dismissively, but there was a smile in her eyes. "No, thank you. I love a good puzzle, especially one like this." She paused, then added with a chuckle, "But do me a favor, will you?"

"Anything," Leo replied, leaning in, matching her grin.

"Keep me in the loop. I can't leave a puzzle half-finished. I'll be up all night thinking about it."

Leo laughed, shaking his head. "Wouldn't want that on my conscience. Don't worry, we'll keep you posted."

Ursula Onyango strode into Detmer's security center on deck five—the nerve center for the ship's law enforcement, overseen by the Sheriff, Senior Chief Taki. She had scheduled this meeting the day before, knowing it was time to dig deeper into the incident. The two petty officers stationed at the reception desk gave her a quick nod and waved her through, as if they'd been expecting her. Within moments, Ursula found herself outside Taki’s office.

"Come in," a voice called out, clear and authoritative. Ursula entered to find a petite woman with jet black hair twisted into a pair of buns. Taki met her eyes with a sharp grin, one that seemed to say she’d been waiting for this. "Figured it was you. Take a seat, Special Agent."

Ursula mirrored the grin, settling into the offered chair with an ease that came from long experience. "Thank you, Sheriff."

Taki leaned back slightly, her eyes flickering with the casual confidence of someone who had seen it all. "Care for a drink?"

"Wouldn't say no to a coffee. Black as you can make it."

"Cop special, got it." Taki tapped a few commands into the console on her desk. "Tim, two coffees. Extra black," she ordered. With the pleasantries out of the way, Taki turned her attention back to Ursula, hands folded in front of her. "So, what can the SDCI do for me today?"

Ursula pulled out her specialized PADD, its smooth surface flickering to life as she navigated to the case file. She didn’t waste any time, jumping right into her first question. "I reviewed the security footage from the mess hall. The angle of the pickup wasn’t great—hard to see the full scope of what went down."

Taki’s hands went up reflexively, a defensive gesture paired with a sharp exhale. "We can’t always predict the perfect angles. Security cams are for coverage, not storytelling."

"I’m not pointing fingers," Ursula reassured, her tone casual but focused. She was about to continue when a sharp knock on the door interrupted. A tall second class petty officer stepped inside, carrying two steaming mugs. He placed one in front of Taki, then turned to offer Ursula her coffee, the handle precisely aligned toward her.

"Thank you," she said, giving the petty officer a polite nod.

"Thanks, Tim," Taki added, taking a sip as the petty officer left them alone.

"Now," Ursula resumed, settling back into the chair as she cradled her mug, "as I was saying—no blame here. The footage is what it is. But let’s talk cop-to-cop for a second. You know this crew better than I do. What’s the real story with Rol Th'qilres? What kind of person was he?"

Taki exhaled, the weight of her thoughts hanging in the air. "I hate to speak ill of the dead, but he was a real piece of work," she admitted, her tone flat. "Always had to be in control. He liked to manipulate his teams—anyone he thought he could bend to his will. Never got himself into trouble, though. He was too smart for that, and political as hell."

"Ass-kisser?" Ursula offered, eyebrow raised.

"Amazing, right?" Taki smirked. "Not exactly what you’d expect from an Andorian."

"Definitely not," Ursula agreed, taking a careful sip of the coffee. Her eyebrows lifted in surprise. "Ooo, that’s a damn good blend."

"Thanks," Taki said, clearly pleased. "Grown in the best hydroponics bay on Starbase Ten. I’ve got an in with the chief botanist—keeps me well-stocked whenever we dock."

Ursula chuckled. "Might have to beg you for an introduction."

Taki nodded, her smile tightening with impatience. "I’ll see what I can do. Now, let's get back to business, shall we?"

Ursula tilted her head slightly, shifting back into focus. "Fair enough. So, narrowing it down—how would you describe the dynamic between Sutton and Th'qilres?"

"They didn’t really have one," Taki said, her tone matter-of-fact. She paused, her brow furrowing as she recalled the details. "Th'qilres had her on extra duty assignments not even a week after she came aboard. Pulled her from her meals to help with stuff like airlock checks and shuttle repairs. Mundane tasks."

Taki’s eyes sharpened as she added, "None of it was within her normal scope of duties."

"That’s unusual. Did he have the authority to pull from other departments like that?" Ursula asked, eyebrows raised.

Taki shrugged. "On this ship, as long as you don’t bother the chiefs and get the job done, no one asks questions."

Ursula blinked in surprise. "That’s a hell of a way to run a crew."

"Tell me about it," Taki replied, voice laced with quiet frustration. "I don’t like it, but there’s one golden rule: you don’t cross the Gold Ring."

Ursula’s eyes narrowed. "Master Chief Benten?"

Taki nodded. "Benten’s got a chip on her shoulder about something, and the Skipper and XO let her run the crew. As long as the chiefs report no problems, they stay out of it."

"That’s not unheard of," Ursula mused. "Officers letting the goat locker handle things. But… given we’ve got a DB, it’s pretty clear where that kind of hands-off approach can backfire." She paused, her voice shifting. "Have you ever raised that concern?"

Taki shook her head quickly, then leaned forward. "Off the record?"

"Unless it’s material to the case, sure," Ursula replied.

Taki cleared her throat, glancing toward the door before speaking. "I’ve kept my mouth shut. Benten’s not someone you cross lightly, and everyone on this ship knows it."

"You’re kidding."

"Nope," the sheriff said, taking a slow sip from her mug. "She’s got deep ties in the NCO Corps. Made Master Chief in near-record time because of it. She's in the Border Service because she chooses to be here."

Ursula sighed, already seeing the type. "Oh, one of those."

"Exactly. Benten places a lot of trust in her chiefs to run things. But when it comes to commissioned officers? She’s got no faith. Anytime an ensign or a lieutenant’s supervising a job, she’s right there, breathing down their necks, triple-checking everything."

"That cause problems?"

"Plenty," Taki replied, leaning forward slightly. "She’s driving a wedge between the non-comms and the officers. The junior NCOs feel like they’re on an island. And some chiefs? They take full advantage, pushing their work onto the petty officers whether they're ready for it or not."

Ursula’s lips tightened in distaste. "Doesn’t sound like a healthy crew dynamic."

"It’s not," Taki said bluntly. "And I’ve tested the waters. Brought it up more than once, and every time I’m told to ‘trust the process’—let the chiefs handle their own. All it’s done is give some of them license to ignore their subordinates, calling everything a 'trivial concern.' Feels like letting the inmates run the asylum, and I don’t manage my department that way. Never have, never will."

"I can see that. Out of curiosity, do you have any allies who feel the same way?" Ursula leaned in, her tone casual but probing.

Taki paused, her eyes narrowing slightly. "A few."

"Names," Ursula pressed, her voice steady but firm.

Taki’s gaze sharpened, studying the special agent for a beat. "You planning to act on this?"

Ursula didn’t flinch. "I'd like to. This ship’s situation is untenable." She held the sheriff's eyes. "Unless you don’t want me to."

Taki hesitated, the weight of her decision clear in the silence that followed. Finally, she nodded, twice and deliberately. "Yes. Please. For the good of the ship."

Ursula tapped on her PADD, taking notes as she spoke. "Which chiefs share your concerns?"

Taki leaned back, ticking off names. "Chief Covington from the Boatswains, Chief Lemmi in Ops, and Senior Chief Petrov over in Environmental Tech. They're just as fed up as I am."

"And no one’s taken it to the XO?"

Taki shook her head firmly. "No one would dare cross Benten. One chief tried, and he's still paying for it. Last I heard, he’s scrubbing conduits at the bottom of DS-Two, waiting for his career to catch up. The rest of us got the message loud and clear."

Ursula winced. Deep Space Two was practically a legend—a dumping ground for the misfits and troublemakers too difficult to keep on regular assignments. "Yeah, that’d be motivation to stay on Benten’s good side. So, what about Sutton? Did she ever talk to you about Th'qilres?"

"Not directly." Taki took a longer sip of her now-cooled coffee. "Two weeks ago, she came to me for hand-to-hand combat training. I’d put up a notice about cross-training a month earlier, but no one really bites on those offers."

"Except Sutton," Ursula noted.

"Yeah. So, we trained—an hour every day before her shift. She was catching on fast, too, but never mentioned what was driving her."

"Okay. Did you sense something was off? Cop’s instinct? Little hairs on the back of your neck?"

Taki paused, considering. "I had a feeling. She was pushing herself hard—really hard. Usually, when someone’s that focused, there’s something driving them."

"Right," Ursula agreed. "If you'd known?"

"I’d have stepped in." Taki’s response was immediate, cutting off the thought. "I would've pulled Th'qilres and his chief for a little talk. It would've been handled." She smirked, her tone shifting. "But…"

"What?"

"I can't lie. There’s part of me that’s proud my student took down an Andorian three times her size."

 

[Robert Bruce Scott]

The story is a great object lesson. Particularly what the captain of the ship does at the end of the story... (Foreshadowing...) Thanks!! rbs

 

[McCovey Cove]

In the hour before they would break for dinner, Yeoman Zenn returned to the conference room after a full day of asking questions and digging into Benten’s background. Detmer’s chief medical officer, Lieutenant Alexann Morris, MD FFCS, stood near Leo’s desk, her body language stiff as they reviewed the finer points of forensic pathology.

Doctor Morris' irritation was clear. "With all due respect to Doctor Weilani’s... recommendations, I’d like to remind you that my staff and I did the best we could with the resources at hand."

Leo responded with a warm, steady smile. "Doctor, no one’s questioning that. You’ve done excellent work."

Morris' tone remained sharp. "Doesn’t seem that way if you had to consult outside opinions."

"Not at all. It's standard procedure to consult a forensic pathologist during an investigation," Leo replied softly, keeping his tone reassuring. "If we don’t have solid facts, the case could unravel. And, to be fair, during the discovery phase of a court-martial, there will be plenty of additional experts reviewing your work."

Doctor Morris frowned, her irritation giving way to realization. "I... hadn’t considered that."

Leo offered her a patient smile, saying nothing further, letting the moment settle.

After a brief pause, Morris relented. "Very well. Let Doctor Weilani know I appreciate her input. I’ll run the molecular analysis and the quantum resonance scans. My apologies for the misunderstanding."

"No apologies necessary," Leo said warmly. "It’s good to see someone take pride in their work. I genuinely appreciate your professionalism and cooperation."

The doctor allowed herself a small, brief smile. "I’ll have the results for you as soon as I can. By your leave?"

Leo rose and gave her a respectful nod. "Of course, Doctor. Thank you for your help."

As Doctor Morris exited, Zenn stepped aside to let her pass, then waited until the room was clear. "Seems like I walked into a tense moment."

"Doctor Weilani has a strong reputation as a forensic pathologist," Leo explained, glancing at Reter, who observed quietly. "I might’ve bruised Doctor Morris' ego by bringing in Weilani’s blunt feedback on her autopsy."

Reter asked, "Doctor Morris' initial response seemed neither reasonable, impartial, nor sound, considering Doctor Weilani outranks her significantly and is a court-certified expert in forensic pathology."

"Rank aside, it's like starship captains—no one likes being second-guessed on their own ship," Leo explained. "Trust me, I’ve seen full commanders lose it when a higher-ranking officer steps in as an 'armchair quarterback.'"

"'Armchair quarterback?'" Reter echoed, his curiosity evident.

Leo paused, searching for a way to explain. "It’s a term for someone who gives unsolicited advice or criticism, often without the proper expertise. Usually, they’re not the ones actually in the game."

"Doctor Weilani can hardly be considered an amateur," Reter noted after a brief pause.

Leo smiled, raising a finger. "Nor was her advice unsolicited. But in this case, the one sitting in the armchair might be me."

Before Reter could press further, Zenn cleared her throat. "Sir, I think I’ve figured out what’s going on with Master Chief Benten." She glanced toward Reter, uncertain.

Leo caught the hesitation. "Do you mind if Reter sticks around for this?"

"I'm fine if you're fine." Zenn pulled out a chair at the central table. Once everyone had settled, she directed her question to Leo. "Do you remember a case you worked on about six years ago, involving a petty officer named McCallum?"

Stunned, Leo opened his mouth, then closed it. He took a deep breath, trying to recover from hearing the name. "Yes," he admitted quietly. "I remember Patricia McCallum."

Zenn nodded. "Boatswain's Mate First Class Patricia Kimberly McCallum, USS Nogura."

"That was my first case after law school," Leo explained, his speech picking up speed as he recalled the details. "The Border Service ship I was assigned to, USS Decker, put in for repairs after we got into a firefight with two Nausicaan raiders. We docked at Starbase Two for about two months. Most of the crew was reassigned to help at the orbital facility. I was seconded to the JAG office… worked nine cases before the ship was finally fixed."

"What happened with McCallum's case?" Reter asked, his eyes locked on Leo.

Leo’s voice faltered as he continued. "Patricia was referred for general court-martial from a captain’s mast on the Nogura. The charges were conduct unbecoming, failure to obey a direct order, false official statements..." He trailed off, his tone softening. "Her father was Master Chief Patrick McCallum—Hero of the Second Battle of Archanis in the Gorn War. He served in my father's fleet."

Zenn shifted uncomfortably in her seat, taking in the new detail. She had questions but chose to remain silent, sensing Leo had more to say.

"Her father hired a famous civilian attorney, the type who guarantees acquittals," Leo continued. "I was assigned as trial counsel. I offered a plea deal—minimal rehab time and a bad conduct discharge. But Master Chief McCallum… he nearly lost it. Came at me hard, wanted to pull the 'I know your father' card. Expected me to give his daughter special treatment because of who he was—a bona fide Hero of the Federation. He even showed up to negotiations in his dress uniform, wearing every medal he ever earned."

Reter leaned forward slightly. "It sounds like he intended to use your familial ties to intimidate you."

"Exactly," Leo nodded. "But I wasn’t budging. I told him flat out—his daughter needed to be discharged from Starfleet. The evidence was too damning. They pushed back, wanted time served and an administrative discharge instead."

Zenn scoffed quietly as Reter commented, "That’s an entirely unreasonable expectation."

"The civilian lawyer must have thought so too because when I turned down their counteroffer, the master chief went from furious to livid. We hit an impasse, so I withdrew the plea offer and we went to trial. I spent a day and a half presenting my case, after selecting the members of the court. Then, the night after I finished my final arguments, that sharp-suited lawyer came back, asking for another shot at a plea deal."

He paused, his gaze dropping to the table, lost in the memory. Sensing his shift, Zenn softened her voice. "Sir?"

Leo sighed heavily. "During the negotiation, I played hardball. I was confident I had the conviction locked down. No matter what that lawyer offered, I wouldn’t budge from having her serve the full rehab term instead of the reduced sentence I initially offered." He paused, flexing his hands in his lap as if trying to shake off the weight of the memory. "The morning before the defense was set to present, I was woken up at 0447 by the Shore Patrol."

Zenn closed her eyes, arms crossing over her chest. She knew what was coming; she’d already read the case file.

Leo’s voice dropped lower. "Because of the master chief’s status, the lieutenant commander handling arraignments released Petty Officer McCallum on a personal recognizance release. The master chief had secured a set of staterooms as a courtesy from the base CO. That night, Petty Officer McCallum slipped into her father’s quarters, took his phaser, set it to maximum stun, and... put it to her temple before pulling the trigger."

"That is highly disturbing, troubling, and dismaying," Reter admitted, his voice laced with concern.

"Indeed," Leo replied, his tone heavy. "When the court convened, with her passing, all charges were dropped. Master Chief McCallum, his family, and their civilian attorney took custody of her remains to bring her home. They gave her full Starfleet honors."

Zenn blinked. "You don't think—?"

"I don't know," Leo cut her off gently. "But let’s just say I won’t be getting a First Contact Day card from the McCallum family anytime soon."

"They blamed you?"

"I blamed me," Leo confessed, his hand rubbing his forehead as if to stave off the weight of the memory. "It was not my proudest moment, honestly. Rai even pulled me aside, said I might've been a little overzealous. That trial... it changed everything for me. Changed how I see duty, justice—everything."

His voice had softened, the edges worn by regret. Reter, sensing the shift, placed a hand on Leo’s shoulder, a gesture of steadying solidarity. "Leo, the tragedy of her death lies with her choice. Not with your prosecution, however vigorous or thorough. It was never your burden to carry alone."

Leo gave a small, grateful nod, appreciating Reter’s calm presence. But as he turned back to Zenn, a new tension shadowed his features. "Why bring this up now? What does any of this have to do with Master Chief Benten?"

Zenn hesitated for a moment, knowing the weight of what she was about to reveal. "Sir," she said quietly, meeting Leo’s eyes, "Master Chief Benten is Patricia McCallum’s first cousin."

End of Part Six

 

[Robert Bruce Scott]

Great little plot twist - or rather - the plot thickens...

Thanks!! rbs

 

[McCovey Cove]

Part Seven: Fides Servanda Est

NCC-2131 (USS Detmer)
Patrolling the Federation-Rihannsu Neutral Zone, Warp 2.5
February 26, 2318 (Stardate 139241.6)
Conference Room Five

The room seemed to still, Leo’s breath catching in his chest. He blinked, trying to process the connection, the past suddenly colliding with his present investigation. The silence that followed felt charged, electric, as if the revelation itself had cracked open something far more dangerous than anyone had expected.

Leo’s gaze returned to Yeoman Zenn, his expression hardening. His tone dipped down into the bass range as he asked, "Are you serious?"

Zenn met his stare without wavering, her voice steady but low. "Yes, sir. Family records showed their relation. I also confirmed through McCallum's personal logs still stored in the Starfleet archives on Memory Alpha. Benten and McCallum were like sisters—practically inseparable until enlistment. They never remained out of touch even after being posted to different assignments until the latter's death."

His hands came up, pressing against his forehead as if trying to hold back the onslaught of realization. His heavy exhale showed his resignation to the reality. "No wonder she despises me."

Zenn tilted her head slightly, glancing toward Reter, a silent exchange passing between them. Neither said a word, but the weight of the revelation lingered in the room, thickening the air like a storm gathering on the horizon.

Reter’s voice dropped, almost a murmur. "Leo, if I may… despite your self-recriminations, I must remind you once more that as trial counsel, you received direct orders to prosecute to the best of your ability. The judge advocate expected you to execute, carry out, and enforce those orders with the proper zeal."

Leo gave a tight nod, his jaw clenching as he fought to keep his composure. "I know that… logically. But it doesn’t change the way it feels inside."

"Do you believe your prosecution was unjust?"

Leo’s eyes flickered with emotion, the question cutting deeper than Reter likely intended. "What we do… JAG isn’t just about following orders. We carry the weight of Starfleet's moral compass, and the lives we affect aren't just files or cases. In law school, they talk about that like it’s abstract—duty and justice—but once you're in it, you feel how every choice ripples out." He exhaled slowly, rubbing his hands together as if trying to wipe away invisible residue. "After McCallum, I realized how permanent those ripples are… how they can drown someone. That’s why I can’t ever lose sight of the human cost." His voice dropped, barely above a whisper. "I carry that weight every day."

He glanced up, meeting Reter’s gaze. "It’s the only way I know how to balance the scales."

His words hung in the air, a stark contrast to the silence that followed, as his trembling voice betrayed the weight of the regret he carried, unresolved and raw.

Zenn broke the silence with a single question: "So, how are you going to handle Benten?"

Leo sighed once more. He stared at Zenn briefly before telling her, "With compassion." He rose from the desk and sighed. "I need to go talk to R'raia, first. She and the skipper deserve to know before anything else happens."

Ursula made a sharp turn into sickbay, her boots padding softly against the carpeted deck. The quiet hum of life support systems filled the air, a constant reminder of the ship’s artificial environment. A sudden wave of self-awareness washed over her, and she glimpsed herself in the polished wall paneling, smoothing a stray braid into place before she moved forward with purpose.

A nurse intercepted her, polite but direct. “Can I help you?”

“I’m here to see Doctor Morris,” Ursula replied, flashing her badge.

The nurse nodded, gesturing for her to follow. They weaved through the bustle of sickbay, past biobeds and personnel, until they reached a private office tucked away in the back. As the door slid open, Ursula stepped inside, and her eyes immediately locked onto the woman behind the desk.

Doctor Morris glanced up from her terminal, her gaze steady but curious. The smile that followed was warm, and there was something more—a flicker of interest. Her deep brown skin seemed to glow under the soft lighting, and her sharp, striking features momentarily caught Ursula off guard. The doctor’s uniform fit her strong frame perfectly, and when she stood, Ursula noted the fluidity in her movements—a mix of confidence and quiet grace.

“I don’t think we’ve met yet,” Morris said, her voice carrying the faint, refined remnants of a Boston accent—polished, but still unmistakable.

“Agent Ursula Onyango, SDCI,” Ursula introduced herself, flicking open her badge case with casual ease, giving Morris a full view of her credentials. Her tone, usually hard-edged, softened. “I’m attached to Commander Verde’s JAGMAN team.”

"Doctor Alexann Morris," Morris replied, her gaze trailing over Ursula’s figure with the same precision and interest as she might reserve for a complex scan. There was nothing overt, yet something in the way her eyes lingered made it clear she wasn’t just sizing up a colleague. "A pleasure to meet you, Agent Onyango." Her hand extended, professional but unhurried, allowing the moment to breathe.

Ursula’s gaze lingered for a heartbeat longer than professional decorum dictated, her lips curving slightly as she noted the subtle spark of interest mirrored in the doctor’s eyes. "Likewise," she murmured, her voice taking on a quieter, more intimate tone as she took Morris’ hand. Their fingers brushed, and Ursula couldn’t ignore the brief, electric jolt that passed between them. Neither woman seemed eager to break the contact.

She cleared her throat and said, "Um, Leo said you had some information for us? But, if you're interested, I think perhaps there's something else we could discuss… later."

Morris’ lips curved in a slow, knowing smile, her thumb brushing against Ursula’s hand in a fleeting, almost accidental way. "Yes, I do, and yes... I’m definitely interested." They held each other’s gaze a moment longer, the tension between them undeniable before Morris shifted, gesturing toward the terminal. "To business, first. Come around here, Agent. If you don’t mind getting a little close, I’ll show you what we found."

Ursula smirked, moving behind the doctor’s chair. She leaned in, closer than necessary, catching a subtle whiff of Morris’ perfume—a light, floral scent that mingled with the antiseptic sharpness of the room. Her pulse quickened, but she kept her composure as Morris angled the screen to face them both.

Without formalities, Morris dived into the data, her voice direct. "It’s Eilinium—a noble gas. Odorless, lighter than air. Doctor Weilani was right. We missed it."

Ursula’s brow furrowed. "How does a gas like that get overlooked during an autopsy?"

Morris leaned back slightly, her eyes sharpening with focus. "Noble gases like Eilinium are generally inert and non-reactive in most species. They don’t leave the usual markers in tissue samples or bloodwork, and Eilinium, in particular, doesn’t bind to biological molecules the way other toxins might. It’s practically invisible unless you know what to look for. The initial autopsy focused on Th’qilres' immediate trauma—the blow to his throat. Only specialized diagnostic tools, like a quantum resonance scanner, can detect the molecular resonance of non-reactive elements like Eilinium. And unfortunately, those aren’t part of a standard autopsy."

Ursula jotted down quick notes, then looked up, her curiosity piqued. "How much of it was found in his blood?"

Morris tapped a few commands, pulling up the detailed results. "We found significant trace amounts—roughly thirty-five parts per million, which is extremely high for an Andorian. While humans or Vulcans might not experience severe effects at that level, Andorian physiology is much more sensitive to certain gases. Even a small fraction could impair their normal functions over time, making recovery from injuries or stress far more difficult."

Ursula’s expression tightened as she absorbed the information. "So, was the gas the cause of death? Or was it the blow to his throat?"

Morris exhaled softly, weighing her words. "The blow caused immediate trauma, no question. But the Eilinium had already compromised Th'qilres’ cardiovascular and respiratory systems, weakening them. The gas was slowly breaking him down, making it harder for his body to heal. Without the Eilinium exposure, his system might have recovered from the throat injury. The gas didn’t kill him directly, but it certainly hastened his death."

Ursula nodded, noting the complexity of the case. "How long would he have been exposed to reach thirty-five parts per million in his bloodstream?"

Morris pulled up a graph, showing the gas concentrations. "Given the levels we found, I’d estimate that he was exposed to low doses over the course of at least seven to ten days. Eilinium’s effects build up in Andorians; it lingers in their system. A slow leak in his quarters’ environmental system would’ve allowed for that steady accumulation, undetected."

Ursula’s gaze hardened. "Would he have shown any symptoms?"

Morris nodded, scrolling through more data. "Yes. He likely experienced fatigue, headaches, and shortness of breath early on—symptoms that could be easily attributed to long shifts. But as the exposure continued, the effects would’ve worsened. Muscle weakness, dizziness, difficulty concentrating—classic signs of Eilinium exposure in Andorians. Toward the end, he would’ve had more serious symptoms: labored breathing, blurred vision, possibly even heart palpitations. The problem is, without running specific tests, these symptoms could easily be mistaken for overwork or illness."

Ursula’s pen paused above her PADD. "Did he report any of these symptoms?"

Morris sighed, a trace of frustration in her voice. "He did come to Sickbay about a week before his death, complaining of fatigue and mild headaches. But we chalked it up to stress and overwork, like so many others at the time. We treated the symptoms—rest, hydration, and a mild analgesic for the headaches. In hindsight, treating the symptoms likely masked the more serious underlying issue."

"I’ll need to speak to whomever treated him," Ursula said, mentally filing that away.

"I'll make my staff available to you for questioning."

"Uh, thank you. Can you tell me about the gas’s broader effects? Would he suffer any alteration to his behavior?"

Morris nodded thoughtfully as she listened to the question. "Prolonged exposure to Eilinium could have affected his behavior—his cognitive functions. The gas disrupts neural communication, especially in Andorians. Confusion, irritability, impaired judgment—it’s all possible. His decision-making would’ve been slower, his reactions dulled. It’s likely he was more fatigued and irritable than usual, which could have impacted his actions in the days leading up to his death."

Ursula absorbed that, her gaze narrowing as she connected more dots. "Did he have any pre-existing conditions that might’ve made him more susceptible?"

Morris shook her head. "No. He was in excellent health. His Starfleet physicals showed he was a healthy specimen of his species." She scrolled upward to read back some of his history. "He did have a minor exposure to a coolant leak a few months ago, but we treated it without complications. His respiratory and nervous systems were both well within Andorian norms."

Ursula nodded, processing the new information. "According to his records, he shared quarters with three other petty officers: two humans and a Vulcan. Have they reported any symptoms?"

Morris turned back to her terminal, pulling up more records. "Let’s see." She typed in the names, her brow furrowing slightly as she scanned the data. "The two humans, McCreary and Owens, and the Vulcan, Verrik. No major complaints, but let’s walk through it."

Ursula leaned in closer, her arm brushing Morris’ shoulder. Neither of them moved to break the contact. Morris’ voice softened as she continued, "McCreary reported mild headaches and fatigue about five days ago. He attributed it to long shifts. His vitals were normal, and he didn’t visit Sickbay for anything beyond some over-the-counter medication. He might’ve had mild exposure, but nothing serious.

"Owens reported nothing beyond a slight respiratory irritation. Said it cleared up on its own. Eilinium can cause minor respiratory distress in humans, but it’s subtle unless there’s prolonged exposure."

Morris glanced at the final record. "Now, Verrik... Vulcans are a different case. Their immune systems and respiratory control are more robust. He didn’t report any symptoms at all. But Vulcans can suppress discomfort, so it’s possible he experienced some exposure and didn’t find it worth mentioning."

Shje leaned back, locking eyes with Ursula. “In summary, McCreary and Owens might’ve experienced mild exposure, but nothing severe. Verrik seems unaffected. Th'qilres, on the other hand... his Andorian physiology couldn’t handle it. That’s why he was the only one to suffer a fatal reaction.”

The air between them thickened again, the professional tone giving way to something more charged. They lingered in the shared space for a moment, eyes meeting with unspoken understanding.

Ursula smiled, soft but grateful. “You’ve been incredibly helpful, Doctor. I’ll make sure this doesn’t go unnoticed.”

Morris returned the smile, her voice dropping slightly. "Anytime."

They held the moment a beat longer, neither willing to break the electric pull between them. Finally, Ursula straightened, stepping back, but the tension hadn’t dissipated—it had deepened, simmering just beneath the surface, promising more than mere professional respect.

Doctor Morris smirked, her eyes lingering on Ursula for a second longer before she shifted her gaze back to the screen. "My quarters. Nineteen-thirty," she said, her tone smooth and confident. "Don't be late, Agent Onyango."

Ursula felt a sudden rush of adrenaline—caught between admiration for Morris' forthrightness and the undeniable anticipation twisting in her chest. She quickly regained her composure, her voice steady but carrying a hint of something more. She shot Morris a lopsided grin as she replied, "Looking forward to it, Doctor."

 

[Robert Bruce Scott]

A steamy autopsy... which is kind of wrong... Thanks!! rbs