Business or Pleasure
Posted on Tue Jun 17th, 2025 @ 4:26am by Captain Remy Johansen & Lieutenant JG Jean-Baptiste Dorsainvil
1,589 words; about a 8 minute read
Mission:
Peril at the Unification Accords
Location: Barisa Prime
Timeline: Two Weeks Ahead of the Conference
Commander Seya materialized inside of the transport outside of Starfleet's main office on Barisa Prime and immediately began walking as was practice to clear the space for the next person. She was here two weeks ahead of the conference's start, and one week ahead of Amabassador T'Varel's arrival to ensure security protocols were met. And while T'Varel tended to not make a fuss, there were certain items on her dossier that the commander intended to make sure were attended to before the Ambassador's arrival.
She was about to walk up the steps to enter into the main building when she noticed a familiar face in her periphery that caused her to turn. She quickly confirmed the Lieutenant's identity, though he was unexpectedly dressed in security gold and not intelligence gray as she was expecting. Irene made a quick detour and approached the officer.
"Lieutenant Dorsainvil, I was not expecting to see you here. Are you here for the conference?" Irene asked.
Jean-Baptiste turned at the sound of his name. The voice was vaguely familiar, crisp with formality but edged with slight curiosity. His eyes landed on Commander Seya, her posture unmistakable even out of uniform. He hadn't expected to see her here either.
"Commander Seya," he said, offering a faint by genuine smile. "No, not for the conference. At least, not officially." His handed were clasped lightly behind his back in that practiced, unspoken language of somebody who still hadn't learned how to stop standing at attention. "I'm scheduled to join the Astrea when she arrives."
He paused, eyes scanning the building behind her--the broad, institutional sweep of Starfleet's planetary presence on Barisa Prime. Slate-coloured columns, sun-bleached banners, the smell of sterilized air drifting from the revolving doors. Barisa Prime was beautiful, but this building--like most Federation edifices--smelled the same as they did everywhere else.
"That said," he added, returning his gaze to her, "I'm not above using official channels to justify a little curiosity. I heard some scuttlebutt about the conference and the Ambassador's arrival. I didn't expect to run into you, though."
"My official title is 'security liason' to Ambassador T'Varel," Irene explained. "I am here ahead of the conference to observe the venue as it is being prepared, and ensure other security measures are properly addressed."
"Astrea's Marine Corps will be providing security for the conference. You mentioned you are joining them. Is this a temporary or permanent assignment?" she asked.
Jean-Baptiste's brow lifted at her mention of the Astrea's Marine Corps.
"Permanent, unless Command decides otherwise," he said. "I haven't been officially briefed yet, but the role is Assistant Chief Tactical Officer."
He let that settle between them. There was a time not long ago when that sentence--spoken in gold instead of gray--would have felt like a kind of confession. Now it only felt like fact. Like a marker planted in unfamiliar soil.
"No more Intelligence," he added, quieter now. "Officially. Permanently. It's been... a long road getting here."
His tone didn't invite pity. It wasn't bitter, or defensive, or particularly proud. Just honest. He met her gaze directly, letting the moment stand.
"And you?" he asked, nodding toward the building. "How long before the storm begins?"
"Storm?" Irene repeated the term quizzically, then upon recalling the idiom a glimmer of recognition crossed face. "Ah yes. Do you mean the conference? Well, to use your weather analogy, we will be taking a close look at the forecast for the next two weeks or so. There will be both overt and covert surveillance while the venue is being prepared. Are you interested in joining us?"
Jean-Baptiste smiled, though it was confined solely to his eyes. "Yes, ma'am. I've had my feet up long enough in this"--he gestured to the their environs--"paradise." He paused a moment, considering how it may affect his new assignment. "What did you have in mind, Commander?"
Irene's right shoulder lifted in a noncommital shrug, her expression remaining neutral. "It depends on how much time you have. We are taking possession of the venue today, but don't intend to establish a broader perimeter until early next week. We are expecting the conference to draw a significant amount of attention and waiting on Astrea's arrival for preliminary preparations is not practical."
He gave a small nod at her reply, gaze drifting past the shaded portico and down the main thoroughfare beyond the gates. The city seemed to unfurl there--sun-washed and slow-moving, but never still.
"I've been here just over a week," he said quietly. "Trying to convince myself I was on leave." His mouth twitched in a humourless smile. "But I've already seen a handful of faces I'd bet I could match to Intelligence files--if I still had access."
He turned back toward her then, more focused now, the faint lines near his eyes becoming resolute.
"Until my new CO arrives, I'm yours," he said. A slight smile began to form again. He added, "Within reason, of course. I still intend to take my morning swims, ma'am."
"I think that schedule can be accommodated. I was about to report in. You are welcome to join me. We can add you to the rota and make it official." She held out an open palm and gestured toward the Starfleet offices.
Jean-Baptiste inclined his head to the Commander. "It would be my pleasure, Commander."
Irene gave the lieutenant a curt nod before she began walking. "I am pleased you will be joining our efforts. Tell me, what are your thoughts on the inter-stellar political climate on the Romulan-Vulcan Reunification Movement. You do not need to tell me your personal beliefs of course. I am looking for your professional assessment."
He fell into step beside her, his stride kept measured to match hers. "Fragmented," he said after a brief pause. "Fractured, really. The public narrative paints reunification as inevitable from both a philosophical and emotional standpoint. But the actual machinery beneath it all is too corroded. There are too many stakeholders pulling in different directions, and far too many old debts masquerading as tradition." He looked sideways to gauge her reaction and then added, "There's hope. But not trust. Not yet. And without trust, hope becomes a liability. For the movement to continue, it will definitely need careful stewardship. And much fewer martyrs."
"I doubt Vulcan High Command will be persuaded by emotional sentiment," Irene replied. "You are correct to note the lack of trust. The Romulans are not so far removed from their violent past which is not so easily forgotten. With a newly forming government that still lacks stability, it yet remains to be seen what they value as a people. Another complication is that, historically, the Romulan people have been ingrained to distrust outsiders. Such indoctrination is not quickly unlearned."
As they reached the bottom of the steps leading into Starfleet operations building Irene paused and turned to face Jean-Baptiste. "And there are interest groups likely to attempt subterfuge. Not least of which is the obvious concern that the Tal Shiar present."
Jean-Baptiste's expression didn't shift, but something in his gaze sharpened. The Tal Shiar. He'd spent several months tracing their influence through half-buried files, proxy wars, and intercepted communiqués that always said less than they meant. Their presence was less a matter of speculation and more a question of proximity.
"I'd be surprised if they weren't already here," he said. "Barisa Prime is too visible to ignore. And visibility cuts both ways. You'll find operatives who crave it like oxygen, and then there are others who move better in the shadow cast by a spectacle--like a conference."
"Oh, I am sure they are. Some say that they are inside Starfleet." Irene watched Jean-Baptiste carefully for his reaction.
He felt her eyes on him--no doubt gauging his reaction. "I've heard the same," he said finally, his voice low, almost conversational. "Though hearing it said aloud always feels like crossing a line most don't admit exists."
He shifted his weight slightly, hands still loose behind his back. "Then again, I was just a junior officer in Intelligence--that kind of talk always felt like ghost stories because we were never in the loop on that." He looked back to her, expression darkening. "Do you have evidence of infiltration, ma'am?"
Irene took a deep breath in and let it out slowly. "If I did, would you have the security clearance to hear about it?" She looked at him pointedly. "I am aware that your ranks tend to know more than the brass would like to give you credit for. Not only are you on the front lines of the information as it is gathered, but you interact with our colleagues in different ways."
JB offered the faintest of smiles, eyes still on the doorway ahead. "If you did," he said lightly, "I imagine you'd also know better than to tell me."
Irene's eyebrows lifted slightly in acknowledgement as she tipped her head toward the Lieutenant. "Your point is noted, as are your reservations in being so forthcoming with information."
Irene gestured back toward the Operations building with her head. "Let us not waste time adding you to the duty rota then." Irene took the first step up the stairs indicating that Jean-Baptiste should follow. "Perhaps we will learn whether or not we can trust one another over the next few days, Lieutenant."
Lieutenant J.G. Jean-Baptiste Dorsainvil
Assistant Chief Tactical Officer (in waiting)
USS Astrea
&
Commander Irene Seya (NPC, Johansen)
Security Liaison
Starfleet Headquarters, San Francisco, Earth
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