The Inquisition of Kevin Mitchel Pt.2

Posted on Fri Jun 12th, 2026 @ 8:33am by Lieutenant JG Kate Kono & Captain Shran dh'Klar

4,292 words; about a 21 minute read

Mission: Sins of the Empire
Location: Holodeck (unknowingly)
Timeline: Between missions

"Hey Na'Riss!" I said, cutting across Engineering toward her. She turned from her console and fixed me with that particular Vulcan arch of the brow—the one that manages to communicate both mild curiosity and total contempt at the same time. This was going to be worth it if I pulled it off. I was glad, at least, that AJ wasn't dating a telepath. A Vulcan wouldn't feel the adrenaline hammering through me that I was trying to bury under what I hoped looked like simple urgency.

"Ensign Mitchell." Na'Riss clasped her hands behind her back. "Your arrival suggests a matter requiring my attention. I will note that my current task has a completion window of eleven minutes. I trust your matter warrants the interruption."

I'm sure it was just my imagination that she made that sound like a threat.

I had to read her first. One wrong lie, delivered too early, and it would reach the captain—or worse, I'd have to abort before Na'Riss could breathe a word to Kate or AJ. That was the particular danger of using her. She would need to be kept away from AJ, her attention funneled entirely toward me, if any of this was going to work.

"I messed up," I said. "Need help wiping sensitive data off a partition. Kate sent me up here; said you'd probably have the time." It landed exactly the way I needed it to. A challenge and a slight folded into the same sentence: enough to make her want to finish the job quickly, then go find Kate and remind her that her time meant something, too.

Na'Riss tapped into her PaDD, her eyes scanning the computer core partition data with characteristic Vulcan efficiency. I had already forged the file documents—a clean digital signature from the Science Office authorizing the wipe of partition 1200. When Inara walked into her lab, she would find her isochip stripped of organic matter, local files purged, and the main core memory dumped. A ghost of a lab. I had even built a kill switch to scrub Na'Riss's name from the engineer's log. If I kept my hands steady, this would go unsolved for a long time.

"I will require a partition claim and the appropriate clearance documentation before I can execute the wipe," Na'Riss said, without looking up.

My pulse climbed. "Inara, Partition 1200, Authorization Inara Gamma 114." The one-time code, pulled from Inara's own credentials not an hour ago, rolled off my tongue like it was nothing. Na'Riss had the paperwork, the incentive, and now… thanks to the physical lock I had placed on the partition, no choice but to walk with me to the computer core. Everything was in place.

The computer core was a large room that spanned several decks. The amount of data storage that was contained in the drives was absolutely staggering. If I wasn’t so stressed out of losing my position on the ship and doing what I was about to do, I would have stopped to marvel at the immense construction of it all.

"Physically locking a partition from overwrite is an uncommon practice," Na'Riss said, her eyes fixed on her PaDD as she traced the location of Drive 2032, Partition 1200. "It fell out of standard use approximately twenty-six years ago, when Starfleet began integrating software-level memory protection across the fleet. Before that, certain vessels operated biometric memory cores—crews grew accustomed to assuming uniformity where none existed."

I found it interesting. Most people wouldn't have.

"Drive 2032 was designated for level two of the core." She paused, a single vertical line forming between her brows. "It was relocated to level seven this morning."

The riser hummed beneath us as we ascended, the core stretching upward in both directions, blinking with quiet industry. Level seven. Exactly where I had put it.

"Oh yeah, damn it—" I kept my voice loose, casual. "Do you know if the type three shuttle is ready? I was supposed to check with AJ and this whole thing had me completely forgetting."

Na'Riss did not look at me. She stopped the lift, reached forward, and removed the physical lock from the drive with two precise fingers.

"I suspect that inquiry is intended to leverage my position as an Engineer on your behalf." She connected her PaDD to the drive. "I do not engage in interdepartmental favoritism. Partition 1200 is cleared and zeroed." She looked at me then, briefly. "In the future, exercise greater care with classified data."


Simple enough, I had told myself. One clean push. Vulcans were quick, but I had the element of surprise. What I hadn't counted on was six times Human strength in the grip of fingers that had caught the railing before I even registered the movement. For one suspended second, Na'Riss hung half over the edge, and then she didn't. She righted herself with an almost mechanical ease and turned to look at me. No Vulcan composure now. Just those wide dark eyes, reading me completely. The platform was four feet by four feet. There was nowhere to go. She hadn't moved yet, but her hands were very still in the way that things are still before they aren't.

Her fingers found the notch above my collarbone and clamped down. Not a Vulcan pinch… Nothing so clean. This was a thumb driven into nerve and bone until my legs simply quit and I went down hard on both knees. She was already reaching for her badge when my hand found the spanner. I swung it low and caught her across the achilles and felt the impact shudder up through my wrist. For a terrible second her grip only tightened, the bone flexing in a way bones are not supposed to flex, and then she went over the edge. She'd been dropping the platform since the moment I first tried to throw her. We weren't high enough to kill her. I heard her hit the deck forty feet below. The whole computer core shuddered with it. I got to my feet with one hand clamped over my shoulder and kept lowering the platform toward the sound of her moving around down there.

I wrenched the security gate aside and dropped down onto the first floor. She was already looking up at me—green blood seeping from the back of her skull, matting into her hair, pooling in the ridges of her ears—and there was something in her dark Vulcan eyes that I didn't want to think about too hard. Confusion. Something worse than confusion.

"Damn." I almost laughed. "You are way more spunky than I thought you were going to be."

I grabbed a fistful of her hair and drove the back of her head into the floor. Her hand found my wrist like a trap springing shut, fingers digging in until I felt the bones grinding together, and I put my boot into her ribs hard enough to feel something give. She didn't let go. The pain climbed my arm and up into my neck and jaw and I heard myself cursing as I slammed her head down again—once, twice—the sound getting wetter each time, less like an impact and more like something being undone. On the third time I felt it: the give, the crack, the soft collapse beneath my hand like a hard-boiled egg crushed against a countertop. Her fingers loosened. Then they stopped.

Her legs kicked and shuddered against the floor, those beautiful dark eyes going grey as they rolled back into her skull. I let out a long breath. The blood came fast, erupting from her mouth in thick, rhythmic pulses, sheeting down her neck and pooling outward across the stone in a spreading stain the color of oxidized copper. She was dead. Her body simply hadn't accepted the terms yet. I watched it negotiate, every wet convulsion slower than the last, until finally the only movement left was the blood still finding the low places in the floor, creeping toward my boots. Only then did the adrenaline finish burning out of me, and the full weight of what she'd done to my body came flooding in. The penance for underestimating a Vulcan's will to live.

For now, at least, it would look like an accident. I sent the lift back up to the top levels—let it climb all the way, slow and grinding, until it reached the height that would make the math work. The body had already done what bodies do from that kind of distance. There was enough of it spread across the shaft floor to make Viviana's stomach turn when she was finally called down to see it.

Skirting the blood, I dragged the same tool I'd used on the icsochip through her hair, worked it beneath her fingernails, pressed it along the creases of her palms. I wasn't about to make the same mistake twice. Na'Riss had been slight; the kind of body that looked like it had never once resisted anything. Nobody examining her now would have suspected how close she'd come to making this very difficult for me, or how grateful I still was for that spanner. Her eyes were the worst part. One had rolled back so far it was nearly gone, just a pale crescent at the lid's edge. The other had gone milky but held its direction… Still aimed at me, still wearing that same expression she'd had when she couldn't quite piece together what was happening. I found myself wondering at what point, if any, she had. I left Na'Riss where she had fallen. Her blood was green and thick, the way Vulcan blood is, and it had pooled around her from her mouth and her ears, collecting in the hollow of her cheek against the floor. Her mouth was still open; not slack, not loose, but open in the particular way of an unfinished question, blood soaked lips just barely parted, teeth faintly stained with the green of her. She had died wanting to know why.

I guess she didn’t know everything, after all.

I made it back to the office before Ben and Kate did. When they finally came through the door, they were already deep into it with Inara over some missing files; voices raised, hands moving. Concern came easily to my face. I was still shaking from what I had done, and whatever was written there passed well enough for empathy. If I'd had to manufacture it from nothing, I'm not sure I could have. The truth was that if the files had simply vanished without any of this, without the murdering a completely innocent Vulcan, I would have felt only a clean, uncomplicated relief. I instinctively checked my uniform again for any of Na’Riss’s blood. That DNA wiper was really handy.

I was too absorbed in deleting Inara's work orders to follow the argument closely, but I caught enough. The evidence was gone—every trace of whoever had sabotaged that Runabout, erased. Part of me wanted to let that land on the room like a stone dropped into still water, but drawing attention to myself was the last thing I needed. The transfer would come through. It had to. I finished wiping the last of the records, logged out of the terminal, and pushed back from my desk.

Ben Dalton's eyes found me immediately.
"Where are you going?"

"I need to speak with the Executive Officer," I said. "It's an important matter." Invoking the ExO felt cleaner than the truth. Ben was already wound tight—I could see it in the set of his jaw, the way he'd snapped off his communicator mid-sentence with Inara. Across the room, Kate had gone still against the wall, arms folded, her eyes fixed on me like I was something that needed to be dealt with. The air in the office had the particular quality of a room that had run out of patience.

"Not without going through me first," Ben said, his voice dropping into something deliberate and controlled. "I'm the second in command of this department. You want the ship's second in command, you come through me. This isn't a revolving door. It isn't a country club. It's a Starfleet office—and you and I are going to have that talk."

Something seized in my jaw the moment he said it. This department needed a man like Ben—that much was obvious. Not some twenty-one-year-old playing dress-up in a uniform two sizes too serious for her; Kate, decorating the corner while her boyfriend handled the situation. Whatever I'd once thought of Ben was dissolving fast, and I had a shuttle to catch.

A few more hours. Just a few more hours.

I pulled air into my lungs slowly and let my shoulders drop.

"You're right, sir. I've been neglecting proper protocol. It won't happen again. With your permission I would like—"

He cut me off like I hadn't spoken at all.

"Denied." Ben snatched a PaDD off the nearest desk and drove it into my chest with the flat of his hand. "You send Grayson a message through this. When he's ready, he'll send for you through me—and then, only then, are you anywhere near the executive officer." His eyes stayed locked on mine, then snapped to Kate with something sharp in them, something that had nothing to do with me. Kate held still a beat, shook her head once, and walked out into the corridor. I watched her go.

Sitting in my seat like a schoolboy in detention, hands folded on the desk while Kate and Ben had their adult conversation three feet away. I used to really like Kate. When we first came aboard the Washington, she was different—she'd laugh at the wrong moments, spill her coffee over a bad joke, and it was endearing in a way I never could have articulated. Now she holds her jaw like she's bracing for impact. Talks to me like she's reading from a report. Maybe that's what this job does to all of us eventually.

My PaDD buzzed.

To: Ensign Kevin Mitchell
From: Commander Johnathan Greyson
I've been informed that you wish to speak with me. Permission granted to come to my office on the second level. I'll be available for the next fifteen minutes.

I pushed back from my desk and headed for the door. That's when AJ shouldered his way in, wearing that same loose grin he always had. Behind him, Kate and Ben were going at it now, voices low and tight. AJ hadn't heard, then. Nobody had found Na'Riss yet.

"You don't want to get on their bad side today," AJ said, leaning against the doorframe with his arms crossed.

"Think I already did," I said, brushing past him on my way out. "Good day to be back in Port Au Prince, right?"

"Aye, now yuh talkin'!" AJ said, his face brightening. "Likkle taste of back home would do mi right, seen?"

I paused on that for a moment. He still hadn't corrected me about Kingston. I shook my head and kept moving. Ben was staring daggers at me from across the room. I pressed the PaDD back into his chest the same way he'd shoved it into mine. Kate's mouth was open slightly, like she couldn't quite believe what she was watching.

"Mitchell."

I stopped. Didn't turn around.

"Grayson's going to have more than one thing to say to you today. Whatever you think you're walking into, you're not. So be ready to relearn how to conduct yourself." A pause. "Ensign."

I started walking again.

On my way to Greyson’s office, Gina Jaye strode straight at me. As she closed the distance, I didn’t know whether to brace for a kiss or for my life. Section 31 would’ve demanded her update by now, and I could practically feel the walls closing in. My PaDD didn’t pick up any covert kill orders from her; in fact, its protocols wouldn’t even run, as if it couldn’t comprehend my commands. That meant she could be here to kill me, and I’d never see it coming. Everything felt off today: programs glitching, people forgetting who they were…

Then Gina kissed me deeply, and I couldn’t help but kiss back.

“What did I do to deserve this?!” I asked, smiling.

“Does there have to be a reason?” she replied.

“Fair enough… but can I ask you something personal?” I ventured.

“I think you know the answer to that already, silly!” Gina squinted at me, giving me that same adorable look she always used right before we ended up in bed.

“This morning, when we were together, I noticed your birthmark was missing.”

She blinked and shrugged. “Which one?”

“The only one you have! The mark on your inner thigh.” Technically, it’s a few inches below your belly button, but still.

“Maybe it’s just the Mandela Effect,” she suggested.

“What’s the Mandela Effect?” I asked.

Gina sighed and leaned against the wall. “Back in the twentieth century, everyone was convinced Nelson Mandela had been imprisoned for war crimes and died behind bars. In reality, he was alive the whole time. However, most people remember him dying in prison. Those collective false memories lasted for decades and came to be called the ‘Mandela Effect.’ Eventually scientists at CERN discovered their particle accelerators had inadvertently created tiny reality pockets that swap neurological energy between brains in parallel timelines. So people in nearly identical worlds exchange thought patterns, leading to subtle but noticeable differences in what we recall.”

I nodded at her but didn’t say anything. That was odd, to say the least. Especially considering it seemed like she had that answer canned, but maybe I was just losing my mind with the stress. Maybe there never was a birthmark and maybe AJ didn’t want to spend the energy telling me I was wrong about where in Jamaica he was from. Not that it mattered.

“Well, I need to head to the bridge. See you tonight?” Once the transfer had gone through, I needed to get rid of her. I need to make it look like another accident or make it look intentional or just make her vanish altogether. Two deaths in a day though would be more than just a little suspicious. I had a plan though. For now, I needed to see Johnny about a transfer.

Commander Grayson's office looked different from how I remembered it. The walls were a shade or two off, the desk a different shape, the things on the walls hung in slightly different positions. Maybe Gina Jaye was onto something with that Mandela Effect theory. It wasn't just this office, either—back in my own, the drawers weren't organized the way I left them, and the surface of the desk had a different texture to it, right down to the screws in the corners, which caught the light at a slightly wrong angle. I might never have noticed if Ben hadn't kept me waiting so long to see the ship's first officer. But I had nothing to do but sit and stare and let the details accumulate. Maybe this is what stress does—makes everything feel subtly wrong, like a photograph of a familiar room taken from two inches to the left. If so, another trip to Risa is long overdue.

Greyson made me wait while he washed his hands in the adjoining room — visible through the open doorway, deliberate as a ritual. It had the particular cruelty of a dentist's waiting room. He dried his hands with a white towel, dropped it on the counter, and came in. I stood and extended my hand. He shook it. At least I knew where his had been.

"So," Commander Greyson said, gesturing back toward the chair across from his desk. "...how can I help you this morning, Ensign Mitchell?"

We sat down simultaneously at opposite ends of the desk. I leaned back, crossed one arm over my knee — a mirror of his posture, casual and unhurried.

"Respectfully, and with no small measure of contemplation, I would like to request a transfer. I've valued my time here. But I've grown homesick."

"Done," Greyson said, and reached for a PaDD on his desk.

I had braced for resistance — not because they wanted me here, but because of the cloud that had been hanging over me since the Isochip, and the way the department heads had been watching me like I was something they'd found on the bottom of a boot. The relaxed posture I'd been performing evaporated. I imagine I looked like a man who had just heard an unexpected sound in a dark house.

“Thank you, sir…” I said with genuine surprise on my voice. Greyson in turn offered a slight smile that almost seemed as if he could take pity on me for the way I was treated. I was expecting harsh criticism but instead was met with polite understanding.

"I'll see to it that we have you on DS-Twenty by end of day." Greyson leaned back in his chair. "From there, Earth—some actual rest. You can sort out your next posting with Command when you're ready. It's been a hard year for everyone, and you're not the first to come through that door with a transfer request. We have no shortage of recruits to fill the gaps. Will you have enough time to get your things together?"

"Yes, sir. More than enough."

A chime sounded from his desk. The screen flickered to life and Shran's face appeared, his twin antennae framing a look that carried its own quiet urgency.

"Captain, good morning—I'm with one of our officers at the moment," Greyson said, giving Shran the chance to hold back anything sensitive. One of Shran's antennae dipped almost imperceptibly, a small Andorian gesture that seemed to communicate everything. Greyson read it in an instant and turned back to me.

"That will be all, Ensign Mitchell. I wish you well."

We stood. His handshake was firm and brief. As I stepped out into the corridor and the door slid shut behind me, I caught just enough of Shran's voice to make out the words: an accident, and the computer core.

Deep Space 20 was where I would finally be able to step off this ship for good. I doubted anyone would lose sleep over it; except maybe Kate, who had taken to me early on in a way that felt genuine. I swung by the computer-core deck first, keeping my distance, just to get a read on whether anyone had started asking the wrong questions. The accident story seemed to be holding. I had already scrubbed Na'Riss's scheduled reason for being there, but honestly, her being Vulcan was cover enough on its own. They were compulsive about that sort of thing… Always hunting down some idle inefficiency to correct, even off duty; so a Vulcan running solo diagnostics in a quiet corridor while the rest of Engineering sat on their hands would barely register as a footnote.

Viviana stepped out of the computer core with green blood on her uniform, her hands, even a smear of it across her cheek. She must have started CPR before the defibrillation modules even arrived. Not that it would have mattered. She leaned against the corridor wall, wiping her palms slowly down her thighs, staring at nothing. When her eyes finally found mine, her brows drew together. I held her gaze for a moment, then turned and walked away. She had been on the Runabout. She knew. But knowing and proving are two very different things, and Na'Riss had made sure of that before her little ‘accident’.

Before I could get back into the turbolift, AJ burst through its doors and nearly knocked me flat. He was screaming Na'Riss's name… Not calling for her, not looking for her, just screaming it, over and over, raw and cracking at the edges, like the word itself was the only thing standing between him and what he now knew to be true.

The medical staff had chosen the worst possible moment to grave-cart Na'Riss's body into the hallway. AJ didn't have to see it—but I did. I watched the consequences of what I had done move through the crew like a tremor through still water, each face registering the same slow collapse. Viviana tried to step in front of him, her hands raised, her voice low and urgent, but AJ walked through her like she wasn't there and pulled the sheet down himself. From where I stood, I could see Na'Riss's now-fogged-over eyes… still open, still fixed in that last expression, the one she had worn as the light left her. The one that had been meant for me.

In her last moments, her gaze had searched mine for something I couldn't give her; an answer, a reason, anything. She had known that her death was coming. And she had died knowing I was responsible.

"No!" AJ dropped to his knees beside the grave-cart, which sank slightly under his weight. He gathered Na'Riss into his arms, her body offering nothing back, and held her against his chest. "Na'Riss… No. No…" The sound that came out of him was not quite a word. It moved through the deck and into the walls. That was another reason I needed to get off this ship. I liked AJ. I really liked Kate. But I liked my freedom more, and I couldn't share a ship with a good man whose heart I had just finished breaking. I had enough conscience left to know I couldn't look him in the eye after what I'd done.

(CONTINUED IN PART THREE)

 

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