Captain’s Log Stardate 2402.11. It’s been approximately ten hours since our first encounter with a representative of a species known as the Hyconi, one of three regional powers alongside the Aurali Republic and the Confederacy of Aligned Systems. Our hosts, the Grand Republic of Valen, have imposed strict limitations on our operations. Still, they have authorized Magnolia to investigate the resonance signature, which we’ve been calling the ‘heartbeat’, that we detected. We’ve met twice with the Valen chancellor and foreign secretary. Lieutenant Korul has requested my presence in intelligence; given his concern, I’m bringing Stormwatch to the briefing.

The door opened with an unfamiliar hydraulic hiss. It was rare that the chief engineer came here, stepping into the anteroom, Commander Zach Dvren could smell the raktajino in the room. A scent that he secretly hated. The room was lit with a soft amber glow, a small coffee dispenser hummed quietly in the corner beside a curved sofa and two low tables where PADDs were scattered in a neat disorder. He paused, the door closing behind him as he took in the muted him of the ship’s systems.

StratOps was nothing like engineering, where machinery roared and hummed in plain sight; here, the noise was thought and data.

Beyond the glass partition ahead, the watch center was alive with officers moving around and PADDs passed around like hot potatoes. Dvern stepped through the second entry. The few times he had come to StratOps, he was always filled with the same feeling of awe and irritation. Awe at how the yard engineers had fit the entire suite into one deck and irritation that he hadn’t been one of them.

A display filled the far bulkhead and showcased telemetry and strategic overlays of the surrounding space. In the center was a rectangular holotable that projected a living, pulsing map of the planet below, showing ship entry and exit vectors. Around the central holotable was a tiered layout of consoles in a horseshoe configuration, each manned by an officer from strategic operations, operations, intelligence, and communications. At the top of the display was a glowing indicator that read: ALERT STATUS – DELTA.

At an elevated console was Commander K’Tal, the Klingon chief strategist, his hands locked onto his console as he oversaw the watch center. The sight of the Klingon’s broad frame at the heart of a Federation starship’s nerve center never failed to amuse him.

“Every time I step in here,” Dvren stated as he walked up beside the Klingon, “I’m amazed how the yard engineers managed to fit all of this onto one deck.”

K’Tal turned slightly, lips curling into a faint, toothy grin. “I would have thought you’d be able to tell me that, Commander.”

Dvren chuckled under his breath. “I could,” he paused, “but that would eliminate the wonder.”

The sound of the main doors opening drew their attention. Dvren didn’t need to look to know who it was; the timing was too precise.

“Commander,” came the captain’s voice, calm and deliberate as always. “Didn’t expect you to beat us here.”

“You said Korul needed to brief us,” he replied, turning to look at him. “I assumed that that was code for ‘don’t be late.’”

“Good instinct,” D’Antonio said with a faint smirk. Behind him were Commander Pressly and Lieutenant Commander Danielle Adler, the ship’s second executive officer. The three humans had an ease between them from a shared lineage, a rhythm that Dvren tried tirelessly to sync with.

The four of them formed Stormwatch, a name crew members gave to the senior officers. They moved like a rushing current along the outer walkway, taking brisk steps as they made it to a secluded corridor. D’Antonio spoke his clearance into an access panel. The door chimed and slid open, revealing the intelligence suite.

It was smaller and quieter than the watch center, a square room with a central console and a semicircle of workstations on either side. The air was cooler here, filtered and still. Opposite the entrance was a glass-walled conference room where Lieutenant Tyen Korul waited. The chief intelligence officer didn’t have an office, choosing to work in the same space as the rest of his team.

“Captain,” an ensign stated as they stepped inside, “Commanders. Lieutenant Korul is in the conference room.” He gestured to the room.

“Thank you, Ensign,” D’Antonio stated as he led the group into the conference room.

Korul was already standing by the far end of the table, LCARS panels reflecting in his eyes. His posture was tight, controlled, but Dvren caught the subtle signs of unease: restless fingers, the microsecond hesitation before speaking.

“Captain,” Korul greeted, “I see you brought Stormwatch.”

“You made it seem important,” D’Antonio responded.

“It is,” he said, gesturing to the seats, “Please.”

Dvren settled into one of the chairs, arms crossing over his chest. He didn’t care much for intel types; too secretive, too comfortable in gray areas.

“What’s going on, Ty?” Adler said as they settled in.

“In the last five hours since our arrival in Valen space,” Korul began, “we’ve intercepted eleven transmissions flagged as suspicious.”

Pressly leaned forward. “Why were they marked as suspicious?”

“They all mention us.”

D’Antonio exchanged looks with the others. “In reference to what?”

“They refer to us as a threat,” Korul paused, “to the status quo.”

Dvren gave a grunt that could’ve been a laugh. “Threat? They’re a parliamentary democracy. Our presence might have disrupted politics, but that’s hardly cause for alarm.”

“That’s what I thought,” he explained, “Until analysis showed nearly every major political party is tied to one of the twelve trade conglomerates operating in Valen space.”

Pressly’s brow furrowed as he looked at D’Antonio before returning to Korul. “Are you saying the Grand Republic isn’t a democracy?”

“I’m saying it’s an oligarchy pretending to be one,” Korul replied.

Dvren leaned back in his chair, tusked mouth tightening. “Figures.” The Tellarite engineer had, since their arrival, been suspicious of the Valen because who called themselves a grand republic.

“Here is one of the messages we intercepted. In the two hour.” Korul pressed a command, the computer accepted the input with a muted chime, and an audio file filled the space.

A strained, panicked voice began. “You need to keep them away from our governmental affairs.”

Another voice, more measured and skeptical, asked, “What do you mean?”

“Introduce a resolution,” a third voice urged, urgent and clipped. “Ban the off-worlders from being here. Have them leave our space.”

“What would be the reason?” the skeptical voice pressed.

“They are—” the urgent voice stammered, then grabbed for a line. “Say they jeopardize our security. That their culture isn’t compatible.”

“That’s not the real reason, is it?” the skeptical speaker demanded.

“Of course not,” the first voice admitted. “They threaten the status quo. The citizens think their ‘elected’ officials run the Republic. If the off-worlders discover the truth, they’ll tell them about us.”

A pause, then a final, conspiratorial assurance, “It will not come to that. I’ll handle it.”

The file ended with a soft click.

“Wow,” Dvren whispered more to himself, his tusked mouth flattened into a hard line. It was as if he could feel the color drain from the room, or maybe he just noticed how the amber lighting suddenly seemed colder. This was not an if, it was a who and when; they had all heard the transmission clearly. This wasn’t a fear of outsiders, but a deliberate plan to manufacture fear and to keep power hidden by silencing the truth.

“Captain,” Korul started, his hands clasped tightly behind his back, “I don’t normally bring this up, but I’d like authorization to investigate further.”

D’Antonio’s gaze narrowed on the Lumerian. “Defin ‘investigate’, Lieutenant.”

“I’ve identified several individuals, members of the government, and within two of the conglomerates, who would assist in uncovering this corruption.”

Alder looked at him, dumbfounded.“You mean turn them against their own?” She didn’t like where this was going. As the chief diplomat on board, and this could be detrimental to their new relationship.

Korul shook his head. “No. I mean liberate them from corruption.”

Dvren gave a low grunt. “That’s one word for it. Sounds a lot like espionage.”

“Agreed,” Pressly stated. “We’re Starfleet, Lieutenant. Not the CIA.”

Korul blinked. “The what?”

“Back on Earth,” D’Antonio started. “We had agencies that did this sort of thing: the CIA, MI6, KGB. They did covert ops, political interference, and what this sounds like, regime change.”

“This isn’t that,” Korul said quickly. “Strictly intelligence gathering. Observation only.”

Dvren leaned back, watching the four piped officer at the end of the table. He himself despised this plan. This would sowe discourse in the region destabilizing local politics. If it were up to him he would have shut this down before he even suggested it.

“Captain,” Pressly called out.

“Lieutenant, proceed but,” D’Antonio paused, raising a finger. “If anything happens to them you are responsible.”

“Acknowledged.”

“I want your list of contacts,” D’Antonio continued. “Work with your team to decide who to approach first, and inform us before you act.”

“Yes, sir.”

Pressly’s voice cut in, calm and precise. “Lieutenant, let’s make this clear. This is for intelligence gathering only. No political influence. That’s not what we’re here for.”

“Yes, sir.”

“Good,” the captain nodded as he stood. “Keep me informed. The rest or you, dismissed.”

As the others filed out, Dvren lingered a moment longer at the doorway. “If your team needs something… custom,” he said, tone dry, “you know where to find me.”

Korul gave a small nod. “You’re only a call away.”

Dvren grunted approvingly. “Good gathering, Ty.”

As he stepped back into the sitting area, the quiet hum of StratOps followed him out. Even with the door sliding shut behind him, a sense of unease lingered. Something about the whole situation smelled wrong and Dvren always trusted his nose.