Casualties of Conscience

Posted on Sat Mar 7th, 2026 @ 12:32am by Admiral Charles Vance & Commodore Kovich & Laira Rillak
Edited on on Fri Mar 13th, 2026 @ 1:34am

3,064 words; about a 15 minute read

Mission: Prologue
Location: Federation HQ
Timeline: 3190-09-01

The walk through the primary spine of Federation Headquarters was often described by visiting diplomats as an experience of "transcendental serenity." The walls, composed of shimmering white programmable matter, shifted in hue to match the local nebula’s glow, creating an atmosphere of ethereal peace. But for Captain Ridan Tua, the walk felt like a march toward a high-tech gallows.

The Tua symbiont, currently in its eleventh host, was older than the very station it inhabited. It remembered the Federation when it was a sprawling, messy, defiant superpower. It remembered the clunky metal corridors of the past and the raw, unpolished ambition of the 23rd. To Ridan, the current Federation felt like a ghost haunting its own house - polite, terrified of making a sound, and obsessed with a "stability" that felt indistinguishable from stagnation.

As Tua reached the heavy, obsidian-colored doors of the primary briefing theater, they adjusted the high collar of their command tunic. The weight of the USS Sulaco sat heavy on their heart. The Crossfield III Class vessel was a masterpiece of 32nd Century engineering, a ship designed to lead the fleet back into the light. Now, after the firestorm at the Aethelgard moon, it was the center of a political hurricane.

The doors slid open with a whisper.

The room was vast, dominated by a panoramic viewport that looked out over the sprawling fleet. Three figures sat at the semi-circular dais: Fleet Admiral Charles Vance, looking as though he hadn’t slept in a decade; President Laira Rillak, her gaze as sharp and cold as a winter morning on Cardassia; and Doctor Kovich, sitting in the shadows with his signature spectacles and a yellow legal pad and pen that seemed to hold the secrets of everyone in the room.

"Captain Tua," Vance said, his voice a gravelly rumble. "Please. Step into the light."

Tua walked to the center of the floor, their boots clicking softly against the deck. They did not sit. They stood with a rigid, old-world discipline that seemed to unsettle the room.

"Admiral. Madame President. Doctor," Tua said, their voice resonating with the depth of multiple lifetimes.

"Let’s skip the formalities, Captain," President Rillak began, her fingers steepled. "We have spent the last forty-eight hours fielding emergency subspace transmissions from the Emerald Chain, the Ni’Var science ministry, and three separate independent coalitions. They all want to know why a Federation ship initiated an unprovoked attack on an Emerald Chain Juggernaut that was in the process of leaving a contested system."

"'Unprovoked' is a matter of perspective, Madame President," Tua replied calmly. "The Chain had begun bombardment of the Aethelgard moon. They were terrorizing a colony of ten thousand people for the sport of it because of a wildcatter."

"And then they stopped," Vance interrupted, tapping a control on his desk. A massive holographic projection bloomed in the center of the room. It was the Sulaco’s sensor log.

The recording was vivid. The Aethelgard moon hung in the void, its surface scarred by plasma burns. A massive Emerald Chain Juggernaut - a jagged, green-lit monstrosity - was visible, its engines flaring as it oriented itself away from the moon. It was clearly disengaging. Its weapons were powered down to standby. It was preparing to jump to warp.

Then, the Sulaco appeared on the edge of the frame.

The holographic audio picked up the bridge chatter:

"They think we’re bound by the same fear that holds the Admiral back," Tua said. He looked toward Commander Vrax at the Tactical station. "Vrax, lock all forward Quantum Torpedo tubes. Target their secondary reactor cooling vents - the ones they just exposed to vent that thermal exhaust."

The Bridge went silent. Commander Karys turned from the Engineering station, her eyes wide. "Captain? The Admiral gave an explicit order..."

"The Admiral ordered us to resume the shakedown," Tua interrupted, his gaze shifting to Doctor Tarka and then to Galatea. "And part of a shakedown is testing our offensive capabilities against a superior tactical target. Galatea, ghost our signature. I want them to think we’re a sensor glitch until the first impact."

"AIMS protocols engaged," Galatea responded, her holographic form shimmering with a predatory gold light. "Weapon locks are invisible to their current sweep. They believe we are at Impulse."

Kovich adjusted his glasses, but as Tua’s hand moved toward the command interface, the Commodore’s posture shifted from passive observer to the iron-cold representative of Federation authority. He didn't raise his voice, but the sudden, sharp authority in it cut through the Bridge's combat hum like a blade.

"Captain Tua, step away from that console immediately," Kovich commanded.

"Commodore, you are interfering with a tactical engagement," Tua said, his voice low and dangerous. He turned to face Kovich, the centuries of the Tua symbiont's memories flashing with indignant fury.

"I am preventing a catastrophe, Captain," Kovich replied, his expression utterly flat. He did not look at the tactical rail. Instead, he turned his gaze toward the holographic avatar standing beside the command chair.

Vance deactivated the hologram. The silence that followed was suffocating.

"They were leaving, Ridan," Vance said, his voice dropping to a whisper. "You had a direct order from my office to let them go. We were in the middle of a delicate negotiation with the Chain’s splinter cells. That Juggernaut was carrying the very negotiators we were supposed to meet with on neutral ground."

"They were war criminals," Tua snapped, the calm finally breaking. "I watched them attack a planet of refugees ten minutes before you sent that order. I wasn't going to let them jump to warp and boast about how the 'New Federation' is too cowardly to even return fire."

Doctor Kovich leaned forward, the light reflecting off his lenses so that his eyes remained hidden. "Interesting. You mention 'cowardice,' Captain. Your psychological profile, curated over the last three hosts of the Tua symbiont, shows an increasing trend toward 'Restorative Aggression.' You are struggling to reconcile the reality of the 32nd century with the myths of the past."

"It’s not a myth, Doctor," Tua said, turning to face him. "It’s a standard. A standard we seem to have buried in the rubble of the Burn."

"The standard of the 32nd century is survival," Kovich countered, his voice dry and clinical. "We are a Federation of less than 50 worlds, not three hundred. We do not have the luxury of moral crusades. When you threatened that ship, you didn't just risk Chain soldiers; you risked the peace process for the entire sector. You prioritized your internal 'hero narrative' over the strategic necessity of the Federation."

Kovich stood up, walking toward Tua with a slow, predatory grace. "You ordered your crew to violate a direct order. You didn't just commit an act of war; you committed an act of mutiny against the very concept of Starfleet Command. Tell me, Ridan... did you feel the weight of your predecessors when you gave that order? Or were you just trying to prove you still had teeth?"

Tua felt the pulse of the symbiont. It was a roar of agreement from the past. "I felt the weight of every officer who ever died defending a colony that couldn't defend itself. I felt the weight of a Federation that used to mean something more than 'not being dead yet.'"

President Rillak sighed, a sound of profound exhaustion. "The political fallout is catastrophic. The Emerald Chain has used this to threaten to pull out of the trade summit. They are claiming the Federation has returned to its 'Imperialist' roots. With the threat of the DMA..."

"If they're afraid of us, maybe they'll stop killing our people," Tua said.

"That is not how we rebuild, Captain!" Rillak shouted, her composure finally shattering. "We rebuild through trust, through diplomacy, and through the painstaking adherence to the treaties we sign! You tore all of that up because you wanted to strike a blow for a dead era."

Vance looked down at his desk, unable to meet Tua’s eyes. "Ridan... you’ve been a friend and a peer for a long time. But what happened at Aethelgard cannot be overlooked. You bypassed the chain of command, you ignored a direct tactical directive, and you threatened a lethal strike against a retreating vessel claiming a navigational error."

Vance paused, his voice thick. "By the authority of Starfleet Command, and at the recommendation of Doctor Kovich, you are hereby relieved of command of the USS Sulaco, effective immediately. Your commission is suspended pending a full court-martial."

Tua stood perfectly still. The world seemed to slow down. They thought of the Sulaco - the hum of the deckplates, the faces of the crew who had looked at them with such hope when they finally stood up to the Chain.

"Relieved," Tua whispered.

"Doctor Kovich has suggested a period of... intensive re-evaluation," Rillak said, her voice regaining its diplomatic chill. "We are prepared to offer you a position at Starbase J19-Alpha. You can help us develop new defense protocols. You can remain a part of the Federation, Ridan. But you can never walk the bridge of a starship again."

Tua looked at Kovich. The doctor’s expression was unreadable, but there was a flicker of something, perhaps satisfaction, in the way he adjusted his legal pad. He had pruned a branch that didn't fit the garden.

"A research post," Tua said, a bitter smile touching their lips. "You want to put me in a box. You want to study the 'relic' until it stops making noise."

"We want to save what’s left of your career," Vance said.

"My career died when I realized the man I’m looking at isn't the Admiral I used to know," Tua said.

The room went ice-cold. Vance flinched as if struck.

Tua reached up to their chest, the Tricom badge of a Captain felt like lead. They unpinned it, the small metallic click echoing in the silent chamber. The Trill looked at the badge a moment, remembering the first time they had worn it all those years ago. It meant something then, not it was meaningless. They threw it on the obsidian table in front of Vance.

"I won't go to a desk job," Tua said, their voice gaining a resonance that seemed to vibrate in the very walls. "And I won't spend the rest of this host’s life helping you calibrate the cowardice of the next generation."

"Captain, think about what you're doing," Rillak warned.

"I am thinking," Tua replied. "I'm thinking about the Aethelgard moon. I'm thinking about the families there who aren't being hunted today because of me. If that is a crime in your Federation, then I am a criminal. And I refuse to wear the uniform of a Federation that treats its protectors like liabilities."

Tua looked at Kovich. "You think you've won, Doctor. You think you've stabilized the variables. But you've just proven to the entire fleet that the only way to keep your rank is to keep your head down while the galaxy burns. That’s not a Federation. That’s a graveyard."

Tua turned on their heel.

"Ridan! Wait!" Vance called out, standing up.

Tua didn't stop. They walked out of the briefing room, through the shimmering doors, and into the light of the corridor. They didn't look back. They didn't look at the officers who stopped to stare at the Captain without a badge.

The doors to the briefing theater hissed shut, sealing out the ghost of Ridan Tua. For a long moment, the silence was absolute, broken only by the faint, rhythmic hum of the station’s environmental systems. The Tricom Badge sat on the obsidian table, cold and discarded, reflecting the diffused light of the nebula outside.

Fleet Admiral Vance was the first to move. He reached out and swept the communicator into the palm of his hand, his grip tightening until the metal edges bit into his skin. He turned his gaze toward the massive viewport, but he didn't look at the sprawling fleet. His eyes settled on a darkened, isolated corner of the high-security docking ring - a berth shielded by sensor-baffling fields. There sat the USS Sulaco. Unlike the Discovery or the rest of the 32nd Century fleet, its existence was a closely guarded secret, a classified prototype designed for a level of force the Federation wasn't yet ready to admit it needed. To the public, it didn't exist; to the Admiralty, it was the "Nuclear Option."

"The crew is going to take this hard," Vance said, his voice lower than usual. "They didn't just follow Tua. They believed in the mission of that ship. You don't just replace a Captain on a black-ops project with a transfer order and a handshake."

"They are Starfleet officers, Admiral," President Rillak replied, though her tone lacked its usual bite. She stood by the viewport, her reflection ghosting against the stars. "But perhaps the 'mission' itself was flawed from the start. We cannot allow a classified vessel, one that the Ni’Var and the Orions don’t even know exists, to be commanded by someone who treats it like a personal pulpit for their own misguided morality."

Doctor Kovich, still seated, didn't reach for a holographic interface or a PADD. Instead, he adjusted a pair of spectacles and looked down at an archaic yellow legal pad resting on his knee. He clicked a ballpoint pen - a sharp, mechanical sound that felt startlingly analog in the room - and drew a single, clean line through a name. "The Sulaco was designed to be a silent deterrent," Kovich said, his eyes never leaving the paper. "Under Tua, it became a loud, screaming beacon of insubordination. The political risk of a secret ship being caught in an unprovoked attack is... statistically unacceptable."

Rillak turned away from the window, her expression shifting to the broader burdens of her office. "The timing is particularly disastrous. I just returned from Ni'Var. T’Rina and her council have finally agreed to rejoin the Federation, a victory decades in the making. But that alliance is built on the promise of transparency. If they find out we’ve been hiding a second Crossfield Class powerhouse while preaching unity, they’ll retreat back into isolation before the ink on the treaty is dry."

"Speaking of Ni'Var," Vance said, rubbing his temples, "how is the situation with Discovery? I’ve been buried in Tua’s mess."

"Tense," Rillak admitted. "Ruon Tarka has officially joined the effort on Discovery to investigate the Dark Matter Anomaly. He’s brilliant, but he’s as much of a wildcard as the man who just walked out of here. Saru and Burnham are keeping him on a short leash, but the DMA doesn't care about our secrets. It’s moving, Charles. It’s real."

Vance let out a dry, mirthless chuckle. "Speaking of Burnham... I hear you two had quite the chat during the Ni'Var mission. I received a very concerned sub-space message from her checking on my health. I didn't realize I was dying."

Rillak’s lips curved into a faint, diplomatic smile. "A necessary tactical deception, Admiral. Captain Burnham was... resistant to the idea of my presence on her bridge. Telling her you were 'sick' gave us common ground. It reminded her that even the leadership she distrusts is human. It bought us the cooperation we needed to bring Ni'Var home."

"I’m glad my 'illness' served the state," Vance grumbled. He looked back at the badge in his hand. "But what about the ship? We can't just leave a classified asset sitting in a dark berth."

President Rillak’s gaze went cold. "Actually, Admiral, that is exactly what we are going to do. Effective immediately, the Sulaco Project is suspended. I want the ship powered down to skeleton levels. No patrols, no 'research' missions, nothing. It stays in the dark."

Vance bristled. "Laira, that ship is our best defense if the DMA..."

"That ship is a political landmine," Rillak interrupted. "Until we can find a Captain who is more 'pragmatic' and less 'sentimental,' the Sulaco does not move. We cannot risk another Aethelgard. Not now."

Kovich stood up, tucked the yellow legal pad under his arm, and looked at Vance with clinical detachment. "Having the vessel remain at Headquarters is an unnecessary security variable. I recommend the Sulaco be moved under low-power signature to a secure location: Starbase J19-Alpha. It should be placed in secure storage until such time as a replacement Captain can be vetted and installed. One who understands the value of silence."

Vance’s expression tightened as the name of the facility registered. He let out a sharp, exhaled breath that was half-laugh, half-scoff. "Starbase J19-Alpha," he repeated, shaking his head. "That's a bitter piece of irony, Doctor. That’s exactly where we were going to send Tua for 're-evaluation' before they threw their badge on the table. A graveyard for disgraced officers and failed projects."

He looked at the badge in his hand one last time before dropping them into his tunic pocket. "I’ll issue the transfer order. But don't be surprised if that ship feels like a haunted house when we finally turn the lights back on. Tua left a lot of ghosts on that bridge."

Kovich didn't offer a platitude. He simply adjusted his glasses and moved toward the exit. "Ghosts are merely the impressions left by data that no longer has a processor, Admiral. At J19-Alpha, there will be no one left to read them. I will begin efforts to transfer the entire company away from your haunted house."

As Kovich exited, Rillak stepped closer to Vance. The diplomatic mask dropped for a fraction of a second. "Did you mean it, Charles? When you called him the best we had?"

Vance looked at the isolated dock where the Sulaco sat, its lights blinking out one by one as the suspension order took effect.

"Every word," Vance replied. "But maybe the 'best we had' isn't what we can afford anymore."

Rillak didn't answer. She simply looked out at the stars, wondering if the secret they were sending to the vaults of J19-Alpha would stay buried, or if the galaxy would soon force them to dig it back up.

 

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