The Open Door, Part 1

Posted on Sat Jun 7th, 2025 @ 5:50am by Lieutenant JG Jean-Baptiste Dorsainvil

2,124 words; about a 11 minute read

Mission: Character Backstories
Location: Starbase 718, Beta Quadrant
Timeline: 5 Week Ago

The docking tunnel's seal disengaged silently.

Jean-Baptiste Dorsainvil stepped into the arterial corridor of Starbase 718, duffel slung across one shoulder and his uniform still crisp despite the long journey. The base spread out before him like a wide coil--towering spires of tritanium and duranium decking where an endless throng of Starfleet personnel, merchant crews, and visiting diplomats circulated. An announcement barked overhead and repeated in several languages.

This wasn't Earth. It wasn't even close.

A tactical officer in operations gold nodded politely as she passed. JB returned the gesture, jaw tight. He hadn't slept well on the transport and it had taken an extra two days to arrive. The excitement--or apprehension--of a new assignment, of turning a page, had grown heavier with every parsec. The offer from Strategic Operations had been the last square of solid ground beneath him.

Now, as he approached the Strat-Ops office on Level 47, he had a sinking feeling the ground was about to shift again.

Lieutenant Commander Leila Ferivar's office was well-appointment but modest--faux wood desk, a single Andorian sculpture on a glass shelf, and a decent view of one of the drydock arms. She stood as he entered, extending her hand. Her hair was pulled into a tight bun, her olive-complected skin balanced by the red trim of her uniform. Her eyes were a reminiscent of a deep umber brown and weighted with apology before he even spoke.

"Lieutenant Dorsainvil. I'm glad you made it. I only wish the circumstances were different."

JB gave a short nod, cautious. "Thank you, Commander. Is something wrong?"

Ferivar gestured to the seat across from her desk. "Something came through just hours ago. A change in assignment orders."

He sank into the chair, setting his duffel down slowly.

"The offer?"

She sighed, picking up a PADD. "Rescinded. Effective the day you left Earth. The transmission was delayed--purposefully, I suspect. It only arrived this morning."

He let out a slow breath through his nose, staring into his hands. "Spyvee."

"His name wasn't on the cancellation, but... yes. I've been in this field long enough to recognize the fingerprints."

JB felt his frustration rising, a familiar feeling cutting into the edges of his restraint. "So that's it? I leave Intelligence and every door closes behind me?"

Ferivar shook her head. "Not every door. The Admiral may have influence with Command, but there are limits. He can interfere with fleet-wide strategic postings. Possibly starbase billets. But individual starship assignments? That's another matter entirely."

"You're suggesting... a starship posting."

She tapped her PADD and pulled up a dossier. "Your trip out here may not be the waste it feels like. There's a vessel operating out here on the frontier. Galaxy-class refit. USS Astrea. They're leading re-engagement efforts across several sectors in this region. Really though, any ship could use someone with your analytical mind and experience."

Jean-Baptiste seemed unconvinced.

She handed over the PADD. Jean-Baptiste scanned the top lines. Tactical post--assistant Chief.

He frowned. "That's not my bailiwick, ma'am."

"You're wrong, Lieutenant," she said, softly. "We've reviewed your record--your aptitude is exactly what the Astrea needs. Predictive conflict modeling, risk stratification, emergent-threat analysis. Look, it's not what you came for... but it's the only open door right now. And if our data is accurate, the Astrea might soon need a Strat-Ops officer."

JB listened closely. He wondered how he might fare on a starship. It might be a little like removing the fish from the tank... and expecting it to fly.

She continued, "We're in a veritable wild west out here. Since the Romulan supernova, there are warring factions, a new quasi-government is seeking legitimacy, the Tal Shiar are somehow still operating. Terrorist activity is on the rise. Piracy has taken root." She stood and stepped around her desk, perching against it in front of JB with arms crossed. "The Gorn, the Breen, the Nausicaans--they're all stepping into this power vacuum to assert themselves. Not to mention the Syndicate also seems to have gained a foothold out here."

"I've never served aboard a ship," he admitted. "I analyze data. Patterns. I was never meant to fire phasers."

"Consider this: with you on board," Ferivar said with a wry smile, "maybe they won't have to fire phasers."

Silence fell for a moment.

"It's not Strategic Ops or Intelligence," she continued. "But it's the next best thing--and it'll get you back in the field. It's a place to rebuild. And it would be on your terms, Lieutenant."

He nodded, slowly. But he wasn't ready to decide--not yet. To Jean-Baptiste, the idea of waking up without sunshine on his face, not shivering at a cool breeze, the emptiness without the sound of crickets at night--these were things he couldn't imagine. But what was the alternative?

"Find yourself some quarters," she offered. "Take a day. Or two. Think it over, Lieutenant."

* * *


JB wandered the main concourse of Starbase 718 in no particular direction, his duffel now stored in a temporary room several decks below. The central marketplace--known by everybody as the "Hub"--was a massive circular promenade stretching nearly half a kilometer in diameter. Terraced cafes and vendor stalls lined the outer edges beneath a vaulted ceiling. People bustled about, uniforms blending with civilian garb, languages overlapping.

He was browsing the selections at a Bajoran spice merchant's stall when a cheerful voice pulled him back to the present.

"Well, if it isn't JB Dorsainvil, walking around like he doesn't own the station."

He turned, somewhat startled. A broad smile spread across his face.

"Jacqueline Holder."

Jacq grinned, hands on her hips. She wore command red, a Lieutenant JG pip gleaming on her collar. Her skin was obsidian-dark, her braids pulled back tight. She looked exactly as he remembered her: vivid, sassy, and completely in control. Standing no higher than five feet, she appeared like a compacted ball of energy in uniform.

They kissed each other's cheeks and embraced, Jacq almost on the tips of her toes to reach him.

"What are you doing out here?" she asked.

He gestured vaguely. "Reassignment. You?"

"The Force is docked for a minor refit. So that makes me a pilot without a stick."

JB paused, trying to recall his knowledge of the USS Force. "Shepherd-class. Light cruiser."

"Mmm-hmm," Jacq replied, a dazzling smile on her face showcasing impeccably white teeth. "There's that incredible recall. Nice to know Intelligence is on the ball." She punched him playfully on the shoulder. "The crew's been furloughed for three months until they replace the main deflector. So I'm on temporary assignment as part of the refit crew."

They began to stroll side-by-side through the Hub at a leisurely pace.

He raised an eyebrow. "You--Jacqueline Holder--are getting your hands dirty on a refit crew? They must be desperate."

Jacq gave him a slight bodycheck with her shoulder, catching him just above the hip and knocking him slightly off-kilter.

She smirked. "Nah, you bum. I'm advising." She stopped mid-stride and turned to him. "Come on, JB. You owe me a coffee and a chat."

Twenty minutes later, they sat across from each other in the rotating cafe found against the inner ring of the spacedock. The windows displayed a slow-moving panorama of ships and support craft. A Nebula-class ship, a pair of science vessels, an Oberth-class being towed by a swarm of workbees.

"So the last time I saw you," she said, sipping her latte, "you were about to dive into that advanced intel program."

He nodded. "That feels like another life."

"Still in it?"

"Just transferred out."

She blinked. "Out? But you were a rising star. At least, that's why they selected you."

He smiled thinly. "Stars fall too, Jacq." JB cast his eyes downward. "Or maybe I just peaked at the Academy."

She studied him a moment, then let it go.

"Out here's a different game," she said. "We've been chasing pirates, intercepting Syndicate convoys, even lost two ships to Gorn raids. It's really a pressure cooker, JB."

He glanced out at the void beyond the ships. "Everything I've read back at Intelligence indicates we're still years away from getting back to the strength we had ten years ago."

"Fuh true," Jacq answered, her Barbadian accent showing. "Which means you're in luck, because we're desperate for people like you."

He chuckled.

"So tell me something," he said, eyes narrowing with mischief. "Why didn't we work out?"

Jacq laughed, her head tipping back. "You're the one with the big brain, remember?" She laughed again and took another sip of her latte. The tone and volume of her voice changed--down to a sultry whisper. "Because, darling, you were an orbit I couldn't match. You analyzed everything. Including us. And me? I go where the momentum takes me."

They smiled at each other, both remembering a much simpler time in their lives. There was a pregnant beat and they both turned to observe another swarm of workbees buzzing the viewport and moving on to another job.

"So you left Intelligence and you're out here at the edge of everything waiting for reassignment."

JB nodded slowly and stared into his coffee mug and took a long sip.

Jacq tilted her head. "You're being vague. I can tell when you're being vague."

He set his cup down and met her eyes. "Let's just say I needed a change. It was time."

Jacq studied him for a longer moment, the amusement draining from her face until only something gentler remained. She knew that look--the weariness behind the words. The quiet rustle of something broken and still mending.

"Well," she said softly. "If you're staying out here, any ship would be lucky to get you."

He gave her a slow smile. "Even the Force?"

"Hell, yes," she laughed. Her tone turned deadly serious. "You know how thin we're stretched? There just aren't enough ships to cover the nearest five sectors so we're always days away from where we need to be. But we go. Because we have to."

She stared past him for a second, her eyes catching on something unsaid.

"A lot's changing, JB. The Romulan Free State's holding by threads. Half the old Empire's scattered to the wind. The Syndicate's making some ballsy plays. And we're out here trying to keep order with less than half-a-fleet and too many blind spots. I mean, you should know all of this coming from Intelligence..."

JB followed her gaze out to the starfield. The silence that followed wasn't awkward--it was necessary. And anchoring.

"You sound like someone who needs a good analyst," he said dryly.

"I sound like someone who needs a good anything," she replied, then turned back toward him. "Like I said: you can make a difference out here--it doesn't matter what posting or which ship. Just find a space along that rope and pull in the same direction as everyone else."

Jacq's combadge chirped.

"Holder here."

A voice answered. [Lieutenant, please report to Deck 55-Section Gamma. Refit consult team is assembling.]

She sighed. "Duty. We've got new microthrusters coming in and I want to make sure we're the slickest thing this side of Omicron Prime."

She stood without ceremony and leaned over the table, placing a kiss on JB's cheek. She went to pull away and found his hand in hers, not ready to let her leave just yet. His touch was electric.

"Jacq," he said softly. "We never really lost orbit, did we?"

She held his gaze, looking directly into his dark eyes, remembering the good times they shared on Earth. He was always gentle and caring. A consummate gentleman but they were now very different people.

"Maybe we didn't," she said, slowly and carefully separating her hand from his. "We just changed trajectory."

Their eyes remained on each other's and JB was forced to watch her leave again. It was not painful but it did conjure memories from their time together and a strong wish to relive those moments. Regret intermingled with nostalgia.

She was gone a moment later, disappearing into the Hub.

Jean-Baptiste finished his coffee in silence, considering the offer of a starship posting silently. Maybe he wasn't a fish-out-of-water, he thought. Maybe the metaphor was wrong. Maybe he had simply lost sight of what Starfleet meant to him--why he joined in the first place. When he donned that cadet uniform, he hadn't done so out of some promise to sit behind a desk and enjoy the veritable paradise that was Earth. No, he had joined because he wanted to serve and guide others. And perhaps he could still accomplish that.

Maybe, just maybe, the Astrea could be a beginning. On his own terms.

* * *

Lieutenant JG Jean-Baptiste Dorsainvil

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