Logical Conclusion

Posted on Sun Mar 8th, 2026 @ 3:01pm by Captain Mac Sullivan & Lieutenant Commander Kirak
Edited on on Sun Mar 8th, 2026 @ 6:10pm

1,610 words; about a 8 minute read

Mission: Regula Gambit
Location: Briefing Room
Summary:
Timeline: Mission Day 3 at 0800

[Briefing Room]
[USS Proxima]
[0800 Hours]

The Proxima's briefing room felt quieter than the bridge, but no less tense. The senior staff had arranged themselves around the table, Kirak at Mac's right, Standish across from him, Beckett near the door with his usual economy of presence, West with a PADD already in hand, Hlath at the far end with his long fingers folded neatly on the table, Jet leaning back with the particular ease of a man who'd been awake since 0400 and had made his peace with it, and Saenar looking slightly more alert than a man with his shift schedule had any right to be. A schematic of the Verex system rotated slowly on the wall display.

Mac stood at the head of the table and didn't sit.

"Verex III," he said, gesturing toward the display. "Former Orion colony, technically non-aligned, practically a gray market with a landing pad. It's the kind of place where nobody asks questions about cargo, which makes it exactly the kind of place our mercenaries would use to move the Genesis databanks." He let that land before continuing. "We'll drop out of warp at the edge of the system and take up a position behind the fourth planet's largest moon. Verex IV-A, for the record. Close enough to monitor traffic, far enough that we're not announcing ourselves to anyone with a long-range scanner."

He tapped the display, bringing up a simple schematic of a shuttle, the Tereshkova, modified beyond easy recognition. "We go in small. A shuttle that Mister Romanowski's team has been reconfiguring to look like a civilian charter. Worn running lights, civilian registry transponder, civilian registry number. Nothing about it should read Starfleet." He looked around the table. "Doctor Standish, Lieutenant West, Lieutenant Beckett, you're with me. We go in, we look like travelers, we listen, and we find out if the databanks have passed through." He paused. "Which brings me to communications."

Mac glanced at Saenar, and there was just a flicker of something, not quite apology, not quite amusement.

"Ensign Saenar will also be joining us." He cleared his throat. "Your department head, as some of you may have already heard through the ship's remarkably efficient rumor network, has developed a rash." He left a brief, generous pause there. "Doctor Standish has classified it as a delayed reaction to an exotic pathogen. She assures me it is not life-threatening, merely..." He glanced at Standish. "Visually striking. He is confined to quarters for the time being, which means Ensign Saenar steps up. Verex III is a multilingual port of call, and we'll want someone who can parse ambient comm traffic and pick up conversations we're not supposed to be part of."

He straightened. "Commander Kirak will remain in command of the Proxima and hold position at Verex IV-A until we return. Under no circumstances does the ship move into the inner system. If we don't check in within twelve hours, Commander Kirak has discretion to act as he sees fit." He looked at Kirak briefly, steadily. "Questions?"

He gave the room a moment, then nodded. "Nacelles up in four hours. Dismissed."

The briefing room began to empty, chairs sliding back, PADDs tucked under arms, quiet conversations already starting in the corridor. Mac moved toward the food synthesizer set into the alcove near the aft bulkhead, the low hum of the ship filling the silence.

He'd noticed, of course. Kirak had not moved.

Mac tapped the panel. "Coffee. Black." The machine produced something that smelled more or less right and tasted, as it always did, like someone had once described coffee to an engineer and then asked the engineer to make it from memory. He picked up the cup anyway. Starfleet issue. You got used to it.

He turned, leaning against the bulkhead, and regarded his First Officer across the now-empty table.

"Something on your mind, Commander?"

"Captain." KIrak had risen as the Captain had gained his standard issue Human caffeination, one that Kirak found far too bitter and generally unpleasant. He preferred a Vulcan Mocha which, to Human palates, had nothing in common with a 'mocha." The Vulcan raised his chin, his eyes down in consideration. His hands went to a considering steeple at his belt. His eyes lifted to establish this conversation had just been joined. His voice was even, steeped in Vulcan placidity. "I am compelled by Starfleet regulations to question your placement as lead of the Away Team. The situation we will find ourselves in on Verex III presents with too many unknown variables to assure your safety. Moreover, the safety of the ship is in potential jeopardy." The Vulcan blinked exactly once, "I therefore ask you reconsider your assignment to the surface." There was a pause. "Or logic dictates an extended debate on this matter."

Mac took a slow sip of the terrible coffee and regarded Kirak over the rim of the cup for a moment. "You didn't object to Regula One," he said. It wasn't an accusation, just a fact set down on the table between them. "Though I suspect that had more to do with us still finding our footing than any agreement on your part." He set the cup down. "So talk to me, Commander. Make your case."

The Vulcan's brow perked. "Indeed. And I deemed the risk on Regula One to be somewhat minimal. Or perhaps, of equal risk to being aboard ship." The Vulcan began. With a schooled stance, Kirak allowed moments of silent pause to pass. "Verex IV-A is outside of transporter range, from Verex III should the Away Team be compromised. Moreover, we understand Verex III and the moon to be inherently hostile to Starfleet personnel. Regula One remains a Fedceration installation. The risk of hostile encounter is quite high, both aboard ship and in the Away Team. The necessity of a fallback plan in lieu of a communication lapse implies capture, injury or death on the surface is significant."

Mac shifted against the bulkhead, the edge of it catching him somewhere between his shoulder blades, and he didn't move away. He knew a solid argument when he heard one. "All valid points," he said. "But let me ask you something." He picked up the coffee again, more for something to do with his hands than any desire to drink it. "If I stay aboard, does that mean the Proxima is somehow more capable than she would be under your command? Because if so, that's a problem I wasn't aware we had." He looked at Kirak steadily, knowing full well it was a weak card. Kirak would see through it immediately. The Vulcan was more than capable of commanding the ship and they both knew it. But Mac wasn't ready to fold just yet.

The Vulcan had no ego to bruise, nor challenge. His brow rose at the question. "Your position as Captain is clear and thus, your role and place on the Bridge remains paramount. Your previous knowledge of navigation and piloting would be better served in keeping the Proxima hidden within the magnetic fields of the moon, than engaging in a security and investigative action on Verex III, of which navigation will be a secondary concern."

The Vulcan blinked a slow and calm blink with the minutest of head tilts, "Your role and skillset simply serve the Proxima more fully. The dangerous nature of the away mission requires adhering to Starfleet regulations. The Away Team must remain comparatively small and does not have requisite security. Or else we draw attention to ourselves. Thus, neither General Order 5 or 15 cannot be satisfactorily implemented. Thus, you should stay."

Mac was quiet for a moment. He looked down at the coffee, then set it aside for good this time. It had never been worth finishing. "You're right," he said simply. "You'll lead the away mission. I'll take the bridge."

He pushed off the bulkhead and straightened, and when he looked at Kirak his voice was even, no heat in it. "But I need you to understand something, Commander. There will be times I go. Times where the situation demands the captain on the ground and not in the chair, and I will make that call. When I do, I need a first officer who backs me, even when he thinks I'm wrong." He held Kirak's gaze. "I'm not asking you to stop objecting. I'm asking you to trust that I've heard you when I don't agree with your objection."

"I believe the Human aphorism is, We will cross that river when we come to it," Kirak replied. His gaze, too, stayed constant. "My objections are only justified when backed by Starfleet regulations, and, of course, the logical choice in a given situation."

Mac allowed a small smile at that. "Then we understand each other." He straightened, picking up his PADD from the table. "Every dog has its day, Commander. Dismissed."

The Vulcan gave the Captain a polite nod. "Captain." And then he began to take his leave, arms folded behind his back.

He let Kirak get most of the way to the door before he spoke again, his tone quieter, almost casual. "Kirak." He waited for the Vulcan to turn. "Twelve hours after departure. If you haven't returned or checked in, the Proxima comes in after you." A beat. "I don't leave people behind. Not if I can help it."

The Vulcan raised his eyebrow at that, his face turned back over his shoulder. "An acceptable, if Human form of logic. One I do not believe is disbarred in Starfleet Regulations." The Vulcan nodded again in a sort of understanding... even almost.... thanks? The doors swished shut.

It was time to find answers.

RSS Feed