Untold Secrets (Backpost)

Posted on Mon Apr 14th, 2025 @ 5:47pm by Commodore Jacob Kane & Lieutenant Commander P’rel M.D

Mission: Pandora's Box
Location: Captain's Quarters
Timeline: MD-2 Late Evening
1982 words - 4 OF Standard Post Measure

Walking down the final dozen or so metres to the Commodore's quarters, P'rel found herself flooded with an intense and conflicting maelstrom of overlapping thoughts and emotional impulses. On the one hand, she had defended her Captain from personal attacks, and on the other she knew full well that Kane wouldn't care and would have told her he has a thick enough skin. Nonetheless, she had been unable to overcome the fierce sense of inviolable loyalty to the man, and yet he had put faith in her; was she demonstrating her commitment to him by defending him, and walking out of the program? Was she violating her loyalty, by making a fool out of him for trusting her and making her his second officer?

Truthfully, she had no idea how he was going to react. Certainly he would have been informed via an administrative report, and her shuttle hadn't been phasered on final approach so that was something. Then there was the reason she was here now. The chip from Bennett. For Kane's eyes only. It was the tiny object burning a hole in her pocket, metaphorically speaking, which had forced her to delay no longer. She had put it off all day, and yet somehow an off the books visit within personal off-time seemed to be more appropriate way to handle both of these particular topics.

Realising her thoughts had led her to the door, she reached out to press the chime and her finger recoiled, before extending again to depress the small button. Hearing the acknowledgement tone, she stepped back and placed her hands behind her back in a typical stance, giving away nothing.

Kane called for entry; doing a short, sharp double-take as the doors parted. It wasn't a bristle he felt, more a mix of surprise and mental preparation for whatever it was P'rel might have to say.

"Ah." He moved back to his desk and sat pensively. "I recall seeing something in the log about a shuttle getting in. Things have been moving fast with our deployment to an active situation." It wasn't an apology he was giving, but rather an explanation for not having communicated. "I trust you had some fun with Starfleet Command?"

Taking the cue to enter the spacious, by Prometheus Class standards, quarters the Vulcan walked towards the desk with what might have just been considered a nervous disposition. Certainly she had been avoiding him all day; she and he had something of an ambiguous closeness and P'rel had taken advantage of the extent of that by not following protocol and reporting him immediately. It was only a professional closeness, though in some ways not; she had often considered the nature of their relationship and invariable came to the overall way to define it - she had his back, and he had hers.

"The Command Training School participants and I had a number of disagreements concerning you. I concluded there was little purpose in continuing to disagree" she answered flatly and truthfully. Half truthfully. Were she being entirely honest, she had concluded that shooting two of three particular classmates would have been a more ideal outcome, and she was reasonably certain that she had sufficient resources to have gotten away with it too.

"Concerning me?" he echoed, both of his eyebrows raised slightly. In some ways, hearing that sort of comment shouldn't have surprised him, but given it was the CTS the actual environment itself was probably more of an unusual factor. "What kind of disagreements?" he followed up, frowning.

Her niggling trepidation beginning to subside, P'rel unthinkingly took to her usual behaviour and sat down without being asked to. "Primarily...there were debates of tactics..." she began, knowing that the Commodore truly would be unlikely to care about fair debate. "However...there were pointed...remarks regarding our - or rather your - involvement with the Academy bomb, and your subsequent Flag commission". She eyed him carefully, allowing the third party insinuation to hang in the air whilst she judged his reaction.

He nodded with pursed lips for just a moment, considering his response to that. It was no surprise that some gossip would have leaked out, but obviously the way the Admiralty had swept a few things under the rug that just meant even more scuttlebutt.

"You'd have thought I'd have been given the benefit of the doubt after spending 9 years waiting for the chair..." he mused softly. "Well, since you're here I'm guessing the conversation went about as well as one of your usual playdates, hmm?"

She studied his face as he spoke; was it regret? Melancholy? She couldn't place his emotions - a mildly concerning lull in abilities for an intelligence officer. "I was successful in communicating my views effectively" she confirmed flatly. It was nonsense of course, but the small chip in her commbadge seemed to make it weigh heavily on her chest. She had no idea what it contained, and the seconds where she was going to have to bring it up were counting down rapidly.

The faintest of smirks crossed his lips. "Well. Successful enough to end up back here earlier than anticipated." There was a lot to the conversation that seemed to remain unspoken, perhaps to his amusement. Her face, however, remained impassive to the onlooker as always. "You know I don't require you to fight my battles, P'rel. I've been doing it long enough now that I tend to focus my attention on the overall strategy rather than skirmishing."

"To continue the warfare metaphor..." the fiercely loyal Vulcan started; "...fleet Capital formations protecting a central high value target will contain destroyers, whose purpose is act as a defensive screen and to respond to threats with lethal force". Stood at Kane's desk, P'rel tested the limits of their familiarity and leaned across to the integrated replicator panel, depressed the command key and ordered "Cardassian Ginger Tea". The integrated panels were small; barely much larger than a cup, but it suited the purpose for which it was designed. Taking the tea she turned back with it in both hands and sipped.

"Well. The next time they commission a destroyer, I suppose they'll have to give serious consideration to the 'USS P'rel'," he remarked dryly. As much as he would have expected anyone else to ask before using the replicator, he wondered if she had a unique ability to get away with it. Perhaps why she was effective in her intelligence role; the ability to get her own way. "Just promise me I'm not going to get a call from some Admiral about some missing Command school candidates..."

Sipping the tea, she took a few steps closer to him and looked him in the eye. It was not intentional, but the act might have been considered seductive to the ignorant observer; "It would be accurate to conclude that I would not lie to you" she answered, attempting to humorously avoid a committed answer.

"Wouldn't it just." He nodded, understanding the evasion clearly enough. With another shake of his head, he dismissed the notion. "Well, I'm sure Commander Zora will be delighted to have you back."

P'rel's left brow arched reflexively before taking a second sip of the impactful tea. "I would prefer not to pass comments which may harm my defence should they later be relied upon in court..." she countered half-jovially. Perhaps a third jovially, she decided. "In any case..." the Vulcan began, suppressing the apprehension building within her; "...there is something we must discuss". She removed her comm badge and held it between her thumb and forefinger...

"Something aside from the maelstrom of messages I'm going to get from the Admirals?" he echoed. "This should be good."

"Though my intermittently alleged recalcitrance may cause some amusement; on this matter, I doubt it..." she returned, her tone of voice ensuring that he knew she was, this time, absolutely not joking.

Setting himself back into a more professional mode, he motioned with his hand for her to continue.

She slid the backpiece from the communicator and held the rest of the out flat in her palm for him to take; the tiny octagonal chip sitting inside barely distinguishable from the circuitry. "Captain Bennett went to some trouble to pass this to me" she began explaining, briefly recounting her somewhat harried departure from the CTS base where Bennett had been waiting, posing a transporter operator, to give her the small device. "He instructs me that the material was to be delivered directly to your hand, and though it is intended directly for you; that it was up to you if you shared it with me".

She did briefly consider lying and saying he was not permitted to share it with Zora, simply for the entertainment value of Zora knowing she was locked out of something. Deciding against it for the overall efficacy of the mission, she stood and portrayed the air of someone who didn't care if she was shown the contents of the chip or not; though she did harbour a distinct curiosity. It was unusual for Bennett to do and end-run around her, so the saying went, and normally he would simply entrust her with whatever needed to be relayed. She had only two conclusions on this conundrum, seeing as she was permitted to view the contents once delivered; either the chip was a one-read device and would destroy itself on first access, which didn't seem likely as she could have simply eidetically memorised and relayed the contents. Or, more likely, the contents were so significant or dangerous that she could not know until she was back in the safety of this ridiculously armed warship, lest she be captured en-route and divulge the material.

"I won't insult your intelligence by assuming you don't know what's on this," he remarked, turning it over in his fingers. "The highlights?"

The Vulcan turned reflexively. He expected her to know; she would normally know. She was used to being underestimated, never overestimated. This was a new, uncomfortable feeling; what would she call it? Inadequacy? Disappointment? She dismissed the notion and turned again to look at the Commodore, saying nothing.

With a mild twitch that might be confused for annoyance, he slotted it into his desk system and read off some of the notes. Some was redacted, but Bennett had gone to the trouble to highlight a few lines; Telemetry from the Planet Killer, clearly they had been monitoring it before the crash. An unusual course correction resulting in it smashing into the planetoid instead of consuming it. Not necessarily new information. Odd graviton traces that dissipated quickly. For some reason Bennett had felt that noteworthy. Kane shrugged.

"Starfleet Intelligence knew about it before it crashed," he noted. "If I were a betting man, I would be inclined to wonder if they weren't considering some subtle course corrections of their own before it wound up half-buried."

P'rel found that her brow had furrowed. There didn't seem to be sufficient information there for Bennett to have gone to all the trouble... "Graviton traces?" she questioned, reading the screen over his shoulder.

"Traces," he nodded, echoing the point for emphasis. "There's no explanation and I'm no scientist. I'll make sure Commander Lance has the details, she can make whatever call is required." He glanced back at P'rel, who was now invading his space slightly. "Thank you for relaying the message, Commander."

P'rel stood back and eyed Kane with at least a moment of scepticism. There was more here. She was sure of it. But Kane seemed almost dismissive...and unlike him. "Sir" she nodded. Ultimately it was for the Commodore to do what he wanted with the information. "If I may...?" she questioned, indicating to the door as she set her tea down.

"Yes. As you were, Lt Commander," he nodded sharply.