Ensign T’Fearne - Confession of a Vulcazoid
teayl.thorn
((Security Complex, Deck 11, Ronin))
T’Fearne paused outside her CO’s office in the Security Complex. The sounds and emotions of quiet activity hummed through the area. Officers moved with their usual professionalism—filing reports, analyzing tactical data, and checking their equipment. It was a familiar atmosphere, but the Vulcazoid's usual equilibrium was off balance. Her strange hybrid heart pounded in her chest. She clamped two small yet deeply significant objects in her palm. Their weight felt like a neutron star as she mustered up the courage to confront Chief Carpenter.
She straightened her security uniform. The gold tunic was almost perfect but not quite complete. Since she submitted her report of the events at the B’Hala archeological site, she had been waiting to be called into Kirsty’s office, perhaps Commander Raga’s, worse, the Captain’s or Commander Alieth's. She couldn’t help the grimace that briefly crossed her face. Days had passed, and her internal tension had increased in the background like an afterburner jet, building momentum.
She wasn’t one to torture herself, so she was here, at Chief Carpenter’s office, to turn herself in and face the consequences of her actions.
With a sharp exhale, she tapped the door chime.
No turning back.
((Carpenter’s Office ’s, Security Complex, Deck 11, Ronin))
Carpenter: Response
The door slid open, and T’Fearne walked forward into the room. Pausing at a respectful distance, she braced at attention. Typically, she would take a second to scan the room, analyse if she was intruding at an inappropriate time, count the number of pads stacked on the desk and take in the Chief’s general demeanour. But today, she didn’t want to read it. She didn’t want to know how Carpenter really felt about her at this moment.
oO Breathe, Fea… Oo
T’Fearne::: uncharacteristically hesitant:: Chief… Do you... have a moment?
Carpenter: Response.
She tried to shift to an at-ease posture, but her spine refused. She forged ahead, not one to mince words or delay things any longer.
T’Fearne: Apologies for disturbing you, Chief. I understand you’re preoccupied with the aftermath of our visit to Bajor and our return to the Alph Isles. Have you had a chance to read my report on the B’Hala rescue mission?
Carpenter: Response
T’Fearne: Understood Sir. I’m not sure this is something that can wait.
She stepped forward, placing the two objects in her palm on Carpenter’s desk with delicate precision. Her ensign pip and Starfleet Delta—missing from her uniform—made a soft, judgemental clink throughout the room as they settled onto the unforgiving work surface. T’Fearne’s gaze flicked to the Chief’s face, meeting the green eyes.
Carpenter: Response.
T’Fearne: If you’ve seen my report, then you know the extent of my failure. On Bajor, I not only endangered the crew I was sworn to protect… but also the timeline itself. I was insubordinate. I abandoned Commander Alieth to Vrozek, an individual I had reason to believe had nefarious intent, and I surrendered myself to Lenik, a suspected murderer. And then…:: voice faltering:: I let her escape. :: jaw tight:: While she was in my custody.
She stood, legs shoulder width apart, braced at rigid attention. Hands clasped behind her back as she gazed into sub-space over Kirsty’s left ear. Ignoring all expressions and any empathic aura coming from the Terran.
Carpenter: Response.
T’Fearne::: brows knitting:: I…For the first time since I put this pip on, I don’t feel like I’ve earned the right to wear it. I’ve failed in ways I can’t undo. I accept whatever repercussion comes as a result of my actions.
The room felt colder now. She awaited her dismissal of duty or, worse, to be arrested and thrown in the Ronin’s brig. Though it already felt like there were chains wrapped around her chest.
Carpenter: Response
[Tag, You’re It! / TBC]
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Security Officer
USS Ronin - NCC-34523
R240107T14