Bang Bang

Posted on Tue Feb 3rd, 2026 @ 1:02am by Starfleet NPC & Lieutenant Herbert Barr

2,594 words; about a 13 minute read

Mission: 7a. Guile - Short Treks
Location: Ready Room, USS Shenzhou
Timeline: 2439-08-12, 17:00

Vice Admiral Astran Deix’s Ready Room was a spacious sanctuary of power directly connected to the ship’s bridge, where the air was thick with the silent weight of command. As a proud Ligonian, Deix had transformed the standard Starfleet office into a testament to Ligonian tradition, suitable for hosting visiting dignitaries or Fleet Commanders. At the center of the room sat his desk, backed by a large, illuminated logo of the United Federation of Planets that framed every communication with the authority of the state. Yet, this Federation seal was tempered by the presence of rich, golden-threaded tapestries and displays of prestige that marked Deix's noble heritage, ensuring any visitor understood they were entering the domain of a man who valued territorial respect above all else.

To the left of the desk, a massive LCARS display hummed with a direct uplink to Starfleet Command, positioned near a meticulously crafted model of the Shenzhou herself. The ship model was displayed not merely as a vessel, but as a symbol of tactical prowess, a modern equivalent to the Aka-abu weapons that his people used to defend their hearts and homes. Nearby, a low pedestal held a bowl of rare Ligonian fruit and a ceremonial challenge-blade, subtle reminders of the "death-struggles" and rigid social hierarchies of his homeworld. Between this tech-heavy wall and the command desk, a discreet door led to a small lavatory, tucked away so as not to disrupt the elegant, intimidating flow of a room where every inch was designed to project the strength and dignity of a Ligonian flag officer.

At his desk, the Admiral sat carefully reviewing a series of tactical reports regarding the situation that had befallen Deep Space 47 in the Gamma Quadrant. To put it mildly, he was far from happy with the crisis they were in and worse still was there was so little information about what had happened. So far, all that was known was an unknown assailant attacked the station, uploaded a virus capable of taking over the most advanced ship in Starfleet, and killed the entire crew of the station in less than an hour. An hour! It was almost unfathomable. So far there were more theories than answers and, frankly, he was sick of what that meant.

Deix sighed and rose from the chair to step into the lavatory. Looking in the mirror, he considered himself for a moment. Many found it hard to believe that he was 80 years old because of his youthful and fit appearance, with many thinking he was in his late 40s or early 50s if he were Human. He felt it was because he was more active than most of his contemporaries, choosing to continue consistent health habits, including hour-long workouts three times a week, aimed at staying active. He didn't deny though that his body had begun to change in the last 5 to 10 years, but that was why he decided to work with a trainer to stay in shape.

Briefly combing his signature mustache, Deix stepped back into the main room in time to hear the door chime. Approaching his chair, he called out, "Come in."

A tall and broad red headed beard man entered, wearing standard Starfleet uniform. The gold trim indicated he was one of the operations department and the two solid gold bars on his collar certified him as a Full Lieutenant. He came to a stop at the Admiral's desk and stood to attention. "Lieutenant Herbert Barr, reporting as ordered, Admiral." He said clearly and respectively, his tone was of an experienced and seasoned officer rather than a young brash cadet eager to impress and give the perfect first impression.

"Lieutenant," the Vice Admiral greeted politely as he stood next to the computer console. "Thank you for coming so quickly, I know that it's not typical for a Vice Admiral to call a Lieutenant in for a chat." He walked over to the replicator, "Can I get you anything? I for one am getting a Bolian Tonic Water, it can calm the nerves."

"Nothing for me, Admiral. Thank you though." Replied about the drink. He never felt comfortable taking drinks from command officers let alone flag officers. "You called, I came. That's how it should be, Admiral." He replied, still standing to attention.

The Ligonian nodded, "Indeed." He picked up the water and walked toward his desk, quickly taking his own seat as he motioned for Lieutenant Barr to take the other, "I appreciate the precision, Lieutenant, I bet you're a rule follower too." He already knew the answer, but wanted the Lieutenant's viewpoint on himself.

"With respect, Admiral, you've read my file. Not many 38 year olds are still a Lieutenant. My career has been hampered by..." Herbert paused for a moment to choice his words. "...certain choices I've made. Rules can be a hindrance when a job needs to be done or lives need to be saved "

"So should I take that as a 'no,' Lieutenant?" The Admiral asked as he took a sip of the Tonic water.

"Yes, Admiral." Barr replied respectfully.

"A 'no.' Direct. I appreciate that, Lieutenant. But let’s be clear about what 'rules' are. In my culture, and in this uniform, rules are not suggestions, they are the accumulated wisdom of those who survived long enough to write them down. When a man tells me rules are a hindrance, he’s usually telling me he thinks his own intuition is superior to the collective experience of the entire Federation." The Admiral gestured toward the display of the Shenzhou, "You say rules hinder saving lives. I say they ensure that when you save five people today, you don't inadvertently cause the deaths of five hundred tomorrow through chaos and unpredictability. However," Deix paused, his eyes narrowing slightly. "We are facing an enemy that wiped out the entire crew of a starbase in an hour. An hour, Lieutenant. Standard procedure failed there. Tradition was butchered."

The Vice Admiral approached the ceremonial challenge-blade and picked it up, silently regarding the relic of his culture before placing it back on the perch, "I'm sorry, Lieutenant, I didn't bring you here to lecture you on the manual. I brought you here because I’ve read your file. Your 'choices' suggest a man who prioritizes the objective over his own career. That is a very Ligonian trait, even if your methods are... unpolished. I need someone who can operate within the chaos, but I need to know if your 'no' means you're a loose cannon, or if you simply have the courage to do what is necessary when the manual runs out of pages."

He turned back to Lieutenant Barr and leaned his back against the wall, his expression hard as he spoke, "So, tell me, Lieutenant: If I give you a direct order that conflicts with your 'instincts' to save a life, which one wins? The mission, or your conscience?"

Barr listened and considered the Admiral's words. "Loose canon is something I am not. I will try and get the mission done to the best of my ability. Yes, rules have been bent or even broken to accomplish that goal. However, I wear the badge with pride and always consider my life expendable of it means getting the objective done, Admiral. Direct orders will always be followed, but if I can accomplish the mission by disobeying that order with no risk to anyone else but myself or my record then I will."

The Vice Admiral didn’t move. He remained against the bulkhead, the cool hum of the Shenzhou’s LCARS interface vibrating through his shoulders. His face, etched with the dignified lines of a man who had seen eight decades of shift and struggle, remained an unreadable mask. To anyone else, Deix looked like a statue of bronzed endurance: his mustache perfectly groomed, his frame as solid as the day he took his first command. Deep down the guardian of order and the architect of systems was bristling. To Deix, the Lieutenant’s answer was a paradox wrapped in a challenge.

"You speak of your life as a currency you are willing to spend," Astran said, his voice dropping to a resonant, gravelly baritone that filled the room. He stepped away from the wall, walking with a measured, predatory grace back toward his desk. "On Ligon II, we value such courage. A man who will not bleed for his word is no man at all. But you offer me a dangerous bargain, Lieutenant." He set the Bolian Tonic Water down on the desk with a sharp clack that punctuated his point.

"You say you will follow orders, yet in the same breath, you reserve the right to deviate if the only cost is yourself. That is the fallacy of the lone hero. In this fleet, there is no such thing as 'no risk to anyone else.' If you die because you disobeyed an order to be a martyr, you leave a hole in my line. You deprive this ship of an officer. You force your crewmates to risk their lives to finish the task you botched by going rogue." The Admiral let the silence hang, heavy and suffocating, much like the atmosphere of a high-stakes negotiation in the High Council of Ligon. He wasn't yelling; he didn't need to. His presence, reminiscent of the old-earth legends of strength and quiet resolve, did the work for him. However, his expression softened just a fraction—the pragmatic leader acknowledging a hard truth.

"But Deep Space 47 is gone. An entire crew, evaporated in sixty minutes. The 'manual' didn't just run out of pages, Lieutenant; it was incinerated. I don't need a clerk right now. I need a man who understands that when the walls are closing in, the only rule that matters is survival." Astran reached out and tapped a command on his desk, clearing the tactical reports and bringing up the sleek silhouette of a Century Class vessel.

"I am changing your heading, Lieutenant. You are not going to a recon team. I am assigning you to the Enterprise as her new Chief of Security." He turned back, his brow furrowed. "The Enterprise is the jewel of the fleet, but her current Bridge is... an affront to common sense. Commodore Targaryen has seen fit to appoint a Vorta as his Chief of Security and a Terran, a refugee from a reality built on treachery, as his Operations Manager. He calls it justified, I call it a security breach waiting to happen." He stepped closer to Barr, his presence looming. "A Vorta? A creature genetically engineered for deception and a Terran? A woman from a universe where 'loyalty' is just a word used before stabbing someone in the back. It's a house of cards, and I cannot have the Federation’s flagship being steered by variables I cannot calculate."

"You are one of two officers I am embedding on that ship," Deix continued, his eyes narrowing into cold, hard slits. "Officially, you are there to keep the ship safe. Unofficially... you are my eyes. I need to know the moment those loyalties shift. I need to know if they are compromised. You told me you would follow a direct order even if it cost you your record. Well, here is a direct order: Maintain the safety of the Enterprise, but your primary loyalty remains here: to the stability of the Fleet. If those bridge officers become a liability, you report to me immediately." He looked at Barr, the weight of his authority settling over the room like a physical shroud. "Can you play the part of a loyal Security Chief while serving as the watchdog for the Admiralty, Lieutenant? Or does your conscience have a problem with watching the watchers?"

Herbert was both shocked and amazed at what the Admiral had just said. He stance softened as he considered the words he'd just heard. True, he probably did treat his own life as currency but was never for heroism or to be a martyr. Simply just to get the job done. Then the offer of Chief of Security aboard the Enterprise. Such an assignment would never be offer to him, especially with his record. Yes, he'd lead men in battle, security teams and security detachments for ambassadors but never a department. Was he capable? The Admiral seemed to think so.

"Permission to speak freely, Admiral?" He asked.

His answer was direct, "Granted."

"Won't Commodore Targaryen see through this ruse and make my job more difficult or impossible? Also having a Vortas in such a position will only lead to trust issues by the rest of the crew. As you said, they're made in a labade to serve the Changelings, treachery is in their design."

"Commodore Targaryen is a man of vision," Deix said, his tone clipped and pragmatic as he remained perfectly composed. "But men of vision often trip over the stones at their feet because they are too busy staring at the horizon. He will see exactly what I want him to see: a highly capable, albeit unconventional, Security Chief assigned to fill a role during a time of quadrant-wide instability. If he questions the appointment, he questions the Admiralty’s prerogative to stabilize its assets. He may be a Commodore, but he still answers to my oversight."

Deix continued, his voice hardening with the certainty of a man who relied on historical data and biological facts, "As for the Vorta, well, trust is not required for the system to function. In fact, suspicion is a much more reliable motivator. The crew’s 'trust issues' are exactly the friction I intend to utilize. A crew that is wary is a crew that is observant. You aren't going there to be the Vorta's friend, Lieutenant. You are going there to be the standard against which her every action is measured. Treachery may be in their design, but order is in ours. I am placing you there to ensure that the Federation’s design prevails over the lab-grown whims of the Dominion or the chaotic instincts of a Terran. You worry about the job being 'impossible.' I worry about it being left to someone who lacks the stomach to do what is necessary."

His gaze locked onto Barr's, as unyielding as a tractor beam, "The ruse only fails if you fail to be the officer I expect you to be. Perform your duties with such impeccable precision that Targaryen has no cause to look deeper. Use that 'unpolished' initiative of yours to secure the ship, and while they are distracted by your efficiency, you look for the rot. Got it, Mister?"

Barr gave a simple, yet respectful nod. "I do, Admiral."

The Admiral checked his chronometer. The artificial "evening" shift of the Shenzhou was beginning, but for Barr, the day had just been rewritten. "You have exactly sixteen hours before your transport window to the Enterprise opens," Deix said, his tone shifting from philosophical to purely logistical. "I suggest you use them wisely. Pack your gear, settle your affairs, and pray your instincts are as sharp as you claim, Lieutenant. Because tomorrow, you walk into a room full of people who are engineered to spot a lie."

He sat back down, the glow of the LCARS interface reflecting in his dark eyes as he reopened the tactical files on Deep Space 47, effectively dismissing the younger man. The weight of command settled back over him, heavy and silent.

"Dismissed, Chief." The Admiral ordered as the Enterprise's new Security Chief left the room.

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