Subtextual Protocol (Part 10)

Posted on Sun Sep 7th, 2025 @ 4:04pm by Lieutenant JG Jean-Baptiste Dorsainvil & Crewman Emiliano Echevarria & Commander Irene Seya

1,470 words; about a 7 minute read

Mission: How to See in the Dark
Location: Safe House, City of Lorna, Barisa Prime
Timeline: MD 02, 1500 Hours

"If we don't get back soon, they'll come looking for us." Zharia's tone was matter-of-fact and she showed no urgency.

The girls had just explained to JB and Irene how they came to be handled live with Lirana and Kael. What was supposed to be a benevolent rescue out of the Romulan system before the Hobus supernova, turned into a life of indentured servitude. Zharia had told them that in a year she would be considered old enough to be put to work as a paid Companion. Brionna was a few years younger, but they were already being taught how to keep people happy, how to flirt, how to make a man fall in love. This last part was good for repeat business, Brionna had said.

Neither of them had the physical features of a Romulan, they'd been surgically altered years before, but tricorder scans confirmed what they told them. They were indeed Romulan.

"I don't know that we should send you back there," Irene said cautiously. "You're safer with us. We can't risk losing track of you. You already mentioned that there are places they take you."

"But if you don't, then they might take the others somewhere, and you won't find them," Brionna said in protest, her voice bordering on a whimper.

JB had been silent until now, leaning against the wall of the room just behind Irene. His arms were folded tight across his chest as he listened to the girls explain the situation. It was both heartbreaking and infuriating, leaving him with an awful taste in his mouth. He felt his jaw working more than a couple of times, a small tic that betrayed how tightly he was holding himself together.

The wooden door to the makeshift debriefing room creaked, and Emiliano Echevarria slipped in, clutching two steaming mugs. The smell of chocolate spread throughout the room, warm and thick through the air. He offered them out, one in each hand, but the girls only stared back. Emiliano flushed red, then set the mugs on the table, and half-turned as thought to excuse himself.

"Stay a minute," JB said, his voice calm but with an edge that carried some weight. Emiliano froze and nodded.

JB placed a hand on the back of Irene's chair. She turned and met his gaze. Neither spoke, but the pause between them was thick enough to be its own language: they had the same idea that already bloomed in both their minds--there might be only one way to keep the girls from vanishing again. A tracker. Buried where no one could strip it away. And they'd need Emiliano's help with that.

"Are you saying that you are willing to go back to help the others?" Irene asked. "No one would blame you if you wanted to stay here, we can find another way, there is always another way. You can show us on a map, we can raid the places right now."

"If we send you back, if you go back voluntarily," she continued, "We can put a tracking device on you. We can implant it, subdermally. We would keep someone on you, not let you get too far. I won't lie, there are risks."

Zharia gulped hard as she looked at the floor. She had the most to lose. She was the most likely to disappear. She also had a close friend her age who was just as likely to disappear soon if something wasn't done. She nodded slowly, quietly, before looking up.

"I'll do it," she said finally, a firm resolve in her voice.

"Commander," JB interrupted, pushing off the wall. "May I have a word in private?"

To Echevarria, he said, "Emiliano, stay with them a moment."

The crewman nodded, unsure, then shifted awkwardly near the girls as JB guided Irene into the next room.

The so-called kitchen had nothing domestic left in it. The smell of old grease lingered only faintly, but now the space was all consoles and blinking indicators. Two tables held enough Federation hardware to turn it into a command post. Krin--the Klingon security officer--massive and silent, sat like a giant slab of carved stone at one terminal, his ridged brow on a scrolling feed. Beside him, Ng hunched forward, sharp-eyed with his fingers fluttering across the controls with years of experience.

On one screen: the girls, their small shoulders rounded, Emiliano perched nervously across from them. On the other: a topographical grid of Barisa Prime, the cities glowing faint red, coordinates pulsing.

There was barely enough room for two more bodies in her, but JB and Irene found themselves face-to-face regardless.

"Commander," he said, voice hushed but tone steady but sharp. "I'm with you. One hundred percent. Send them back in, trackers embedded. It's the only way we'll find all of the others."

"It has to be their choice, both of their choices," Irene reiterated. "There are still risks." She had started by making eye contact, but found it uncomfortable in the close quarters and quickly averted her eyes. She barely knew of Dorsainvil before this assignment, yet the past few days had pitched them together in ways that field work often could. She was learning to trust him.

"But," he added, shifting his jaw the way he always did when he restrained his anger, "Zharia is still a wildcard. She's brave, sure. But too frightened. She'll crack the moment they press her. And they'll see it. You know they will."

"What are you suggesting then?" Irene asked.

JB glanced toward the monitor where the girls sat. Through the feed, Emiliano's voice floated in--earnest but stumbling. "So... uh, you like cocoa? This is, uh, premium stuff..."

He turned his attention back to Irene and for the briefest of moments, recalled their moment together in the alley--how her hands felt on him, the response his own body produced at her touch. He shook it off almost as quickly as it appeared, returning to the moment.

"I'm saying that even with Brionna at her side, I don't think she'll make it through. Why not keep her here? Brionna can go alone."

"How will it look if one goes back without the other?" Irene dropped her voice to a low whisper after hearing how easily Emiliano's voice had drifted in. "It puts Brionna in more danger if their suspicions are raised."

"Then send me with her." His eyes never left Irene's--they were held steady, carved out of something hard but not unfeeling. "I can parallel their movements--"

"How is that supposed to work?" Irene asked. "We can't exactly send her back with a strange man on her tail. We have a whole team of people with eyes out there. It doesn't change the fact that if she goes back alone they are going to be spooked."

Jean-Baptiste dropped his eyes to the floor, seeing the black and orange tiles for the first time. "I'm sorry, Commander," he muttered. "I wasn't thinking." He looked back up at Irene, meeting her steady gaze, seeing the Vulcan in her. "I haven't been part of something like this before. It's just important to me that no harm come to these girls."

"No need for apologies, Lieutenant. If you have ideas, they need to be voiced. All potential avenues need to be explored, but we do not have much time. My question was not rhetorical," she stated. "if you have a way for it to work then we need to hear it."

She was correct on both counts, of course. JB nodded slowly. "Subdermal trackers it is," he said with a note of finality.

"Let's get them prepped," Irene stated with a curt nod.

He turned, the rubber soles of his boots squeaking against the tyle. Ng was hunched over the console, eyes darting across the scrolling grid.

"Ng," JB said, getting the officer's attention.

The dark-haired, lithe man didn't look up right away. He finished the string of commands under his fingertips, let the screen blink its acknowledgment, then raised his head.

"I need Medical," JB went on. "Tell them to bring subdermal trackers. Two of them. Prepped and sterile."

Ng nodded, and began logging-out of his current task. "On it, Lieutenant." He stood, placing a stray data PADD in front of Krin before quietly using the comm to make the necessary preparations.

Krin didn't shift, but the great folds of his brow tightened. "Trackers are not chains. If they are found--" the Klingon left the sentence open-ended.

JB looked from Krin to Irene, a concerned expression covering his features. "They won't be found," he said, his tone sharper than he had intended. He had hoped his tone had sounded more like conviction, but to his own ears, it felt more like an uncertain plea. Meeting Irene's gaze now, he added, "Not if we do this right."

~tbc~

RSS Feed