Caribbean Intervention

Posted on Sun Jun 14th, 2026 @ 2:15am by Ensign Aidan "A.J." Reid
Edited on on Sun Jun 14th, 2026 @ 2:17am

1,052 words; about a 5 minute read

Mission: Sins of the Empire
Location: USS Washington - Crew Lounge
Timeline: Current

A thin, grainy band of stars drifted past the lounge windows, their light filtered to a blue pallor by the heavily shielded transparent aluminum. It had been AJ’s opinion for some time that this particular viewport was the best in the quadrant for honest conversations; far enough from the main corridors to keep things private, yet near enough to the replicator that nobody ever ran out of coffee, or the privacy of an trusted girlfriend’s presence. He stood now with his back half-turned to the expanse, hands bracketed on the low obsidian table that ran like a knife through the center of the room. A stack of datacards spilled across its edge, glinting in the downlight. AJ ignored them. His attention, at present, was for the curved bench at the wall and the Vulcan who sat upon it, spine straight as a line of code.

“She dah different,” AJ said, his voice deep and cracked, the vowels drawn out in a way that always made Na’Riss’s pointed ears tilt. The accent, somewhere between the breadfruit groves of Jamaica and the training halls of Starfleet, landed heavy on the last syllable. “Yuh see it too, yah?”

Na’Riss did not blink, not even once. She regarded AJ with the measured calm of her species, hands folded neatly in her lap. “It is logical to anticipate changes in behavior after a traumatic event,” she replied, each word placed as deliberately as a chess piece. “Lieutenant Kono’s situation is extraordinary, however. Most officers are not required to terminate the lives of eighteen individuals in a single encounter.”

AJ exhaled, slow and whistling. “Yuh know what really get mi,” he said, taking a seat across from her, knees splaying in loose opposition to her rigid posture, “a how she look pon you now. Not at you, but right through you. Like she already know all de futures where yuh disappoint her, an she done forgive yuh fo every single one.”

Na’Riss considered this. It was a Vulcan habit to allow for silence, to let the spaces between statements breathe and fill on their own. The tension, therefore, was mostly AJ’s, which he remedied by drumming his fingers against the synthetic obsidian.

“I have observed,” Na’Riss said at last, “that humans rarely benefit from the application of logic to emotional wounds. Nevertheless, I am obligated to state: meditation sessions of sufficient length and focus could restore equilibrium.”

AJ barked a laugh, brief, loud, then immediately contrite, as if he’d startled himself. “Respect, Na’Riss, but maybe dat work for people who train from birth fi bottle up dem feelings,” he said. He leaned forward, elbows on the table, dropping his voice into a confessional murmur. “What help mi back home? Family dinner. Talking and eating and laughing bout every damn ting except what buss yuh. Then by di time dessert come, di whole world feel lighter.”

Na’Riss inclined her head. “A communal meal is not without precedent as a social restorative. However, Lieutenant Kono is not, to my knowledge, receptive to group activities at this time.”

AJ grinned, flashing white teeth. “Which a why mi ask yuh fi help mi. Jus us an her. Maybe Ben, if him bring dat green tea cake again. Dat man can bake.”

From beyond the glass, the sickle-shaped hull of the Klingon Bird-of-Prey swung into view, caught in the tractor net. Its once-bright insignia had been seared black; the scars of battle not yet erased by the maintenance crews. It hovered there, mute testimony to the events that had left its crew as guests aboard the Washington.

“Yuh will join we?” AJ asked, drawing Na’Riss’s gaze away from the wreck.

She blinked, once. “You desire my presence for this ritual?”

AJ shrugged, but his tone was all invitation. “Yuh was there too, and yuh been watchin her. Maybe yuh see what mi a miss.”

There was a pause, and then Na’Riss nodded, just enough to register. “I will attend. However, I must request that the location of this meal be your quarters, not Kono’s.”

AJ cocked an eyebrow. “She got a cat yuh allergic to or something?”

“No,” Na’Riss said, in the absolute flatness of Vulcan speech, “she owns a Siberian Husky named Kodie. The scent is incompatible with my olfactory preferences.”

AJ snorted. “Noted. My quarters. Mi ago cook. Not replicated, neither really; real ingredients.”

Na’Riss’s brow lifted a micron. “Your culinary skills are adequate.”

He laughed, this time with no apology. “Dat’s de nicest ting yuh ever say to me.”

The lounge fell quiet, except for the steady hiss of the environmental system and, somewhere deeper in the ship, the gentle metallic shudder of the impulse drive. Na’Riss returned her attention to the Klingon ship, lines of thought tracking like silent radar across her face.

AJ watched her for a minute, then reached across and placed a hand on her knuckles. The hand was broad, warm, callused from years of fighting and repairing and pulling people from trouble.

“We do it together,” he said.

She looked at his hand, then back at him. “Indeed,” she said, “we do.”

The moment lingered, charged and awkward, and then the doors hissed open with the polite chime of someone too respectful to simply barge in. AJ jerked his hand back, and Na’Riss slipped her fingers into the folds of her uniform, expression unreadable.

The ensign who entered was young; fresher than fresh, uniform pressed and face still round from childhood. She looked at the two senior officers, blinked, then remembered herself and snapped to attention.

“Sirs! Sorry; am I interrupting?”

AJ stood, instantly all authority. “No problem, Ensign. Yuh need di lounge?”

The girl bobbed her head. “My division meets here, sir. Simulation debrief.”

Na’Riss slid off the bench with a liquid grace, hands tucked behind her back. “We are finished here,” she told the ensign, with the faintest nod of reassurance. “You may proceed.”

They left together, side by side, AJ’s long stride matching the Vulcan’s precise pace down the corridor. The world outside remained unchanged; the stars, the dead ship, the endless blue dusk, but the matter had been settled, in the only way that mattered, together.

 

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