9 to 5

Posted on Sun Sep 20th, 2026 @ 3:08pm by Commodore Wilkan Targaryen & Starfleet NPC & Enterprise Officer NPC

1,575 words; about a 8 minute read

Mission: 11. Recess
Location: U.S.S. Enterprise
Timeline: 2439-10-21, 09:30

The hum of the primary LCARS displays bathed the Bridge of the Enterprise in its steady, rhythmic glow. With the Senior Staff and most of the crew away evaluating the planetside sectors, the quiet shift had fallen to Lieutenant Narri Gloreon, who stood squarely behind the tactical horseshoe with his arms clasped rigidly behind his back.

"Flight Control, you are three kilometers high on your orbital corridor entry," Gloreon noted, his smooth Cardassian voice cutting through the ambient thrum of the Bridge. "Correct pitch by zero-point-two degrees to align precisely with Starfleet Regulation 42-Subsector B."

At the Helm, Lieutenant 1001 spun around in his chair, his metallic eye-implant flashing briefly as he offered a cheerful, entirely unnecessary double-thumb-up gesture. "Correcting, Duty Officer! Though I’m fairly certain if we drift three meters to the left, the Karemman orbital control automated grid won't file a complaint. They're far too busy arguing over dock fee surcharges down there."

"Compliance is not subject to local bureaucrat tolerance, 1001," Gloreon replied, his neck ridges tightening slightly. "Precision prevents miscalculation."

Beside 1001 at the Operations console, Lieutenant 0110 tapped a lightning-fast string of binary commands into his interface. Without looking up from his display, the silent Bynar uttered a single, monotone sentence: "Discrepancy irrelevantly minute. Orbital decay probability: zero."

"Thank you, 0110," 1001 chuckled. "See? My literal other half agrees. We are floating on a cloud of mathematical perfection."

"It's not the math I'm worried about, it's the sheer boredom," Lieutenant B'ree Thairtu interjected from the Engineering station. The Orion officer leaned her elbows against her console, resting her chin in her hands as she monitored the idle Warp Core readouts. "The Senior Officers get to go sample local street food and inspect 'nightlife safety,' and we get to watch the sensor logs count space dust. If I knew Bridge duty was going to be this thrilling, I would have volunteered to help scrub the plasma conduits."

"A thorough scrub of the plasma conduits is scheduled for 0400 hours tomorrow, Lieutenant Thairtu," Gloreon stated plainly, taking a rigid step toward the center seat, though he refrained from actually sitting in the Commodore's chair. "I am more than willing to log your voluntary transfer to that detail."

"I was being sarcastic, Narri," B'ree sighed, rolling her eyes. "Orion humor. Look it up in the database under 'conversational color.'"

From the Science station, Lieutenant Zomuul jav Ghul scoffed loudly, the deep, guttural snort echoing across the upper deck. "Orion humor is an oxymoron, much like Starfleet's current itinerary," the Tellarite grumbled, aggressively swiping away a set of routine astrometric telemetry charts. "We are the flagship of the Fleet! We should be mapping the uncharted sectors past the Karemma border, probing spatial anomalies, or flexing our defensive posture. Instead, we are acting as an orbital parking attendant while the Commodore sits in his Ready Room reading reports."

Standing near the turbolift doors, Ensign Talyn shifted her weight, her hand resting casually near her sidearm holster. Her dark eyes flicked over to jav Ghul. "The Commodore is preparing for a Temporal Investigations audit, Science Officer," the Klingon-Romulan hybrid said, her voice dropping into a low, dangerous purr. "If you are so eager for conflict, I suggest you go downstairs and offer to argue with the DTI agents. I am sure they would find your arrogance fascinating."

"It is not arrogance, Ensign, it is an objective evaluation of our underutilized tactical capability!" jav Ghul snapped back, turning his snout toward her. "A Tellarite science vessel could oversee this sector with half our processing power!"

"Enough," Gloreon commanded, stepping forward with absolute, inflexible authority. "We will maintain proper bridge decorum. We are representatives of..."

"Gloreon," 0110 interrupted sharply, his fingers freezing over his LCARS panel. "Proximity alert. Contact dropping out of Warp."

"Identification?" Gloreon demanded, instantly shifting into tactical awareness as Talyn straightened up at her post.

1001 tapped his console, bringing up the visual feed on the main viewscreen. Space distorted, folding back to reveal the sleek, familiar lines of a Federation starship. "It's the U.S.S. John Kelly, Miranda Class," 1001 reported, his usual jovial tone giving way to sudden focus. "They're coming in fast... hailed orbital control, and now they are hailing us. Priority channel."

"On screen," Gloreon ordered, adjusting his tunic.

The main viewscreen flickered, replacing the view of Karemma with the bridge of the John Kelly. Standing in the center of the frame was a Zakdorn officer in a crisp Captain's uniform - his face defined by the characteristic, heavy facial folds of his species and an expression of supreme, calculated annoyance.

"This is Captain Tazari of the John Kelly," the Zakdorn declared, his voice cold, precise, and dripping with thinly veiled irritation. He didn't even bother to acknowledge Gloreon's rank or greeting. "I require an immediate, secure channel to Commodore Targaryen."

Gloreon stepped forward into the screen's pickup arc. "Greeting, Captain Tazari. I am Lieutenant Narri Gloreon, Duty Officer aboard the Enterprise. Commodore Targaryen is currently occupied with administrative matters, but as the ranking officer on the Bridge, I can take your..."

"You misunderstand me, Lieutenant," Tazari cut him off sharply, steepling his fingers with ruthless efficiency. "I did not request a message taker, nor am I interested in speaking to a Bridge placeholder. Your ship's unannounced arrival in this system is already an inconvenient variable in an active, delicate diplomatic operation. Put me through to Commodore Wilkan Targaryen immediately. I will speak to the Commodore, and ONLY the Commodore. Open the channel now."

Gloreon’s neck ridges tightened slightly as his eyes narrowed, his Cardassian discipline overriding any urge to vent his frustration at the Zakdorn’s condescending tone. Beside him, Ensign Talyn subtly shifted her stance at her station, her jaw set, while jav Ghul let out a low, scowling huff from the science console.

"As you know, Starfleet protocol mandates that flag officers are briefed prior to high-priority direct transfers, Captain," Gloreon replied smoothly, his voice adhering strictly to regulations. "I will hold your signal on a secure line while I notify the Commodore."

Without waiting for Captain Tazari to object, Gloreon tapped his console, placing the John Kelly’s transmission on hold and muting the viewscreen feed.

Turning swiftly, Gloreon tapped his communicator, "Bridge to Commodore Targaryen."

Inside the Ready Room, the quiet thrum of LCARS terminals reading temporal telemetry was broken by the clear chime of the Bridge comms. Wilkan slowly lifted his dark eyes from the incoming Department of Temporal Investigations dossier, his expression composed and unreadable. He tapped the console on his desk.

"Targaryen here. Go ahead, Lieutenant."

"Sir, we have the John Kelly on a priority channel," Gloreon reported over the line, his tone precise. "Captain Tazari is insistent upon speaking directly with you. I have placed his signal on hold per standard protocol to notify you prior to transfer."

"Acknowledged, Lieutenant. Route the channel directly to my desk," Wilkan commanded smoothly.

"Routing now, Commodore."

"Commodore Targaryen," Tazari began without preamble, skipping standard pleasantries entirely. "Your unannounced arrival at Karemma is unacceptable. We are managing a delicate diplomatic negotiation with the Karemma Ministry of Trade, and the sudden presence of Starfleet's flagship in high orbit is creating unhelpful variables among the local merchants."

Wilkan sat back in his chair, resting his hands loosely on the armrests, his deep-set, dark eyes studying the Zakdorn with the quiet calm of a man who had outlived empires.

"Captain Tazari," Wilkan replied, his deep, resonant voice smooth and steady. "The Enterprise is currently on a scheduled shore leave rotation following operational deployment on a priority mission. Our presence in this system is fully logged with both Starfleet and Gamma Command."

"Logged or not, Commodore, your timing is abysmal," Tazari countered sharply, steepling his fingers as he attempted to dominate the exchange. "I must insist that you keep your personnel strictly confined to designated recreational zones and refrain from any interaction with local government officials or Ministry of Trade representatives. We have the situation in Kecemen under absolute, calculated control. Additional Starfleet visibility will only destabilize the situation."

"My crew is currently executing routine planetary database updates and public health surveys across civilian sectors, Captain," Wilkan explained, his expression not shifting by a millimeter. He'd dealt with Zakdorn strategists for decades and recognized the tight, defensive posturing of a commander trying to contain a quiet catastrophe. "Unless you are declaring an active security emergency in Kecemen, our shore leave protocols remain in effect."

Tazari’s jaw tightened, a subtle twitch passing through his facial folds before he masked it behind a cold, professional posture. "There is no emergency, Commodore. Merely a complex, high-stakes negotiation that requires total focus. I expect your crew to remain out of our operational grid. John Kelly out."

The display cleared back to the cascading temporal logs of the Iocarro crisis.

Wilkan remained still for several seconds, his dark eyes fixed on the blank monitor. A Zakdorn Captain demanding total isolation for a routine trade summit was not merely being territorial; he was running a cover-up.

Rather than issuing immediate orders to his teams planetside, Wilkan leaned back in his chair and closed his eyes for a quiet moment. He would let the piece develop before making a move. He reached down, picking up his mug of dark tea, and took a slow, deliberate sip as he returned his gaze to the temporal dossiers on his screen, waiting to see what the Zakdorn's next play would be.

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