[Backlog] JDL | FADM Red & LCDR Stacker | "Duty to Report"

Posted on Sat Jan 16th, 2021 @ 7:25pm by Commander James Stacker & Fleet Admiral Blyx Red

Mission: A Distant Thunder
Location: Beta Fleet Headquarters Section | Cold Station Theta
Timeline: SD 242012.27

There were a number of differences between the starbase's Diplomatic section, and the Fleet Headquarters section. Here, the station's XO was not out-of-place. There were far more Starfleet uniforms in sight, constantly coming and going and flitting around on duty and assignments and errands. Like a beehive everything was constantly in motion and the air was positively filled with sounds and noise. Not even Central Operations could match it for volume, and he should know. His office overlooked it.

But as the man in the grey collar turned a corner he found the ambient noise decreasing. Here was an even more regulated area, and the farther through it one advanced the lower the noise became. It was at its lowest when he turned the final corner, advancing into an area one might have charitably termed a sanctum. Or a tomb, if they were feeling particularly morbid.

"Lieutenant Commander James Stacker, to see Fleet Admiral Red," he informed a Bolian who looked up from a desk to eyeball him. He paused for a moment, organizing mental thoughts before continuing. "Not scheduled. Concerning recent news from Earth of a personal nature to the Admiral."

Lieutenant Gris' bald blue head moved only very slightly in aid of his ploy to regard the spook-necked Lieutenant Commander. It wasn't terribly odd for the Fleet Admiral to meet with his type, but the face was new and the business was 'personal'. The Bolian's eyes narrowed somewhat and he remained relatively motionless even when his eyes met the human man's. In fact the only movement to speak of came from the cerulean one's fingers as they typed in unseen words and brought up the spook-neck's Starfleet dossier. "Station XO coming to see the Fleet Admiral with no appointment but news from Earth." He finally spoke and his voice hung heavy with evident suspicion. News from Earth could be a lot of things indeed. She would want to know. Spook-necks don't share with just anyone either.

"She's in her office, you're in luck. Five minutes from now she'd be out." He muttered the last part rather needlessly and gestured towards his boss's office. "I already announced your arrival and from the looks of you, you don't need me to hold your hand."

A nod - half acknowledgement, half thanks - was the response, even though he must have heard the suspicion in the words. Even a deaf Caitian would have heard that tone. He turned away, to the closed office door. As if possible, his face went even more carefully blank and studiously neutral as he approached.

Where Xander had already been given the news, Blyx remained blissful in her ignorance though worried all the same. The report of the Klingon vessel bringing her other half back to the station a week ahead of schedule had given her cause for some alarm. His message that they needed an audience with one another sooner rather than later would have brought a sly smirk to her face but, given circumstances, filled her with concern. The sudden and unexpected appearance of the Station's Executive Officer turned that concern to dread.

At Gris' announcement, she had paused in packing up for the day and fought between taking a seat behind the shield that was her desk or greeting him, and his news, head on.

Blyx had never been one to shy away from much of anything. Her reputation as a warrior wasn't only detailed and correct, it often preceded her no matter what circle she chose to enter. Stacker was more than an Average-Joe Starfleet officer. He was seasoned and he was Intelligence. It meant he knew who and what she was and what her accomplishments were.

Meeting him head on proved to be the Shrike's choice. The sound of her office door opening was met with perfect posture and an expression that the elite often wore; a heap of tireless contained power, a touch of intrigue, a dash of irritation at being bothered, a healthy helping of poise and a thorough decorative garnishing of dignity.

Blyx was the epitome and pinnacle of power within Starfleet. Not even Sean Archer himself wore the same level of rank or merit, and he himself was most definitely a forthright legend. Few could claim to have their name as widely known or exalted, except for one name in particular; Rochelle Ivanova. Starfleet's brightest young star. Captain of the fleet's crown jewel.

Bred and born Starfleet, it could be argued that Rochelle's pedigree allowed for nothing less than absolute greatness. Daughter of a Commander in Chief Admiral and highly respect Captain, niece of a Fleet Admiral, and hailing from a long line of flag officers and ship Captains smattered throughout, there was no chance to second guess that argument. She was fierce, brave, and unstoppable. The Klingons had written songs about her, long since admiring her for her brazen tenacity and mastery of the battlefield and that had been before her true paternity had come to light and she had been absorbed into the House of Ch'Krang as a favored daughter. Even the Romulans, save one in particular, gave the young Commodore a wide berth. The last thing that Blyx would ever have assumed was that the news would be that Rochelle had perished and was lost to time forever.

Against this sort of backdrop - and with a full Fleet Admiral greeting him at the door - it might have been excusable if her visitor had faltered, even for half a moment. He did not come from the same sort of exalted pedigree. The closest family member to reach lofty heights had been an uncle who served for twenty years, retiring as a full-bird Colonel when the marines had become the MACOs by order of an admiral with 'better intentions.' Another uncle had retired as a Starfleet Captain. And that was it.

Yet despite the apparent difference between the two people in the office - and despite the presence at the door - he was apparently ready to proceed with his job. As was only to be expected. Breaking protocol for a meeting with an Admiral, he waited until the door hissed closed and snicked shut behind him. Small as the step may have been, it was still important. One did not keep admirals waiting. Especially when you wore two-and-a-half pips on your collar. It also positively screamed, in its own right, about the nature of the meeting.

"Admiral. Thank you for seeing me on short notice. As I told your aide, I have some news for you." He stopped for a moment, before continuing. Weighing the words before they were said? Working up mental resolve to forge ahead, in the face of that poise and stance? One could only speculate. "Ma'am, we've been informed that Commodore Ivanova's shuttle has gone down, on Earth. There are no reports of survivors."

And there it was.

The one thing that Blyx never thought possible even throughout all the battles, wars, and missions of danger that Rochelle had ever engaged in. News of her death hit the petite Admiral like a wrecking ball to the gut. It was hard, brutal, and cold and so... Final.

A lesser person of less discipline and less importance would have crumbled to ruins in the presence of such news. The gray collared Lieutenant Commander would likely have been playing a game of catch and support, suffering a far worse fate than being a simple messenger. No one liked having to watch a heart break right in front of them. Blyx wouldn't wilt or weep, not while he was present. She'd long ago learned the importance of keeping a stiff upper lip in the face of pain and strife. While her entire body may have stiffened and her shoulders have have drooped a small degree, there would be no other outward tell of the emotional upheaval happening within her frame.

"I see." She replied, "Who is investigating this incident?"

In testament to his background, to say nothing of outward control, there was no apparent sign that he recognized her distress. He most likely did, of course: no properly-trained intelligence man - or woman - with the right sort of background could have missed the little telltale signs. But the seasoning and experience under his belt is what made the difference between the professional and the amateur. "Starfleet Intelligence. Commodore Ravnsson is overseeing efforts."

"Ravnsson." The Admiral's lips pursed and her head shook for a second, "Then there's evidence of this being nefarious?" Why else would Starfleet's head of Intelligence pursue and investigation of a crash? Her mind began to pull and pluck scenarios and thoughts from the ether, weighing each option to find it's measure against the situation at hand, "Unless that's what he's aiming to discern..." Her gaze shifted to become slightly sidelong as the measurement now appeared to be of the man in front of her.

They were all alike. Cast in shadows, anything but straight forward. She should know. She'd been married to a former intel director, after all. None of them were any more clean and reliable than Alice's bloody Cheshire Cat. Aksel Ravnsson least of all. Her own reservations and thoughts about the department aside, Blyx knew there were deeper questions to be asked, reports to be made, arrangements to sort. Sitting idle wouldn't cut through or solve any of it, especially when she had no doubt that the media would run wild with the news. They lived for this sort of blood to drip into the water. "Was her son with her?" Now there was a question that needed to be asked and answered even if Blyx dreaded one of the possible answers.

He thought for a moment, eyes drifting away to regard the far bulkhead with a thousand-yard stare, briefly, before refocusing and coming back to her. "The station intelligence section hasn't been informed of a reason why this would be regarded as nefarious. But we're also quite far from Earth. The information could still be in transit." An admission, and also a reason why. Or was it more than that? Plausible deniability ran deep in intelligence; about as old as the trade itself. Sometimes this made it hard to tell what the grey collars thought and believed, whether it be personal thoughts or mere suspicions. They were a suspicious and paranoid breed, after all.

"Well then," The petite woman allowed herself a small breath of relief at the news that Javaan had been spared. Life without a mother was difficult at best and he was so much younger than his when she had lost her own. It seemed instantly ironic that Rochelle would perish in a crash. Then again, the ruins of the Sirenian had never been found and that story had long been lost to time and ridicule alike. "Information like that will fly as fast as sound itself." She nodded, clasping her hands in front of her as she moved away from the Commander and towards her window, "It's likely been handled by Ravnsson and his men out of cause for suspicion. It isn't often that a Commodore's shuttle crashes on Earth, or anywhere for that matter now is it?" She asked, looking back at him over her shoulder, "Tell me something... Admiral Hark... Is he aware of his daughter's passing?"

If it was possible, the man relaxed a tad. But only that much. Perhaps it was related to the conversation moving onto sturdier ground. One less potentially mine-laden. He gave her a single nod. "He is, ma'am. I came directly here from meeting with him; I believe he was aware of ... the news, before boarding" he said, after a slight pause, clearly preferring to avoid a grimmer and more morbid wording. They had met in an office in the Diplomatic section; the admiral's ship just arrived after a high-speed transit from the Klingon Empire, the commander the one to confirm what he had already known. It had gone as well as one might expect.

"Word has probably reached the Klingon Empire by now." The latter - including the caveat - was unnecessary, but still said. Training demanded an intelligence officer choose their words carefully. Possibly, probably, likely, certainly. The four most powerful words, to them.

She afforded him a nod of understanding, but otherwise remained silent as she absorbed both information and her own thoughts. Beyond the window, several ships worked their way in and out of station space. Some were large. Freighters and Starfleet vessels alike. Some were small. Passenger crafts, shuttles, and so on. What they all had in common was the austere golden glow of the volatile nebula blazingly brilliantly off in the distance and like them, the Admiral too remained gilded in that same light.

"You will report to me the moment you hear anything else. I care not if the channels are unofficial or how you obtain the information," The notion was dismissed by a gentle wave of one of her hands as she spoke. She didn't need to know where his information came from, plausible deniability was always a great thing on all sides when one obtained their information from a double-agent. Even if that agent was by and large easily considered 'friend' and not 'foe', "but the information must reach me all the same. And by me," Her head turned just enough to allow her to look at the man from over her shoulder, "I don't mean my aides or Admiral Hark or Commander Merlin." It wasn't a request. It was an order sparsely veiled as a request. She didn't need to be forceful to get her point across, doing so would have been a waste of time and energy for all concerned.

The order slash request proved unusual enough to merit eyebrows raising themselves by millimeters, before lowering again. It was probably the closest admission she was going to get of surprise, from a visitor who had thus far proved himself a testament to the intelligence profession; cold, quiet, professional, not very talkative beyond what was required. Because his personal thoughts, feelings, and assessments went unvoiced it was hard to say just what, precisely, was on his mind at this point in time, but it was clear that he must have either approved or found himself in agreement with her apparent desire for prudence.

To say nothing of having someone keeping an eye on things at ground level.

"Aye ma'am."

"Splendid." Blyx's voice sounded a little less hollow as it sounded, "Then I should think we have nothing left to discuss. You are dismissed, Commander Stacker."

=/\= End Log =/\=

Fleet Admiral Blyx Red
Commander, Beta Fleet

Commander James Stacker
Executive Officer
Cold Station Theta (Starbase 1170)