The Gatekeeper

Posted on 21 Aug 2025 @ 1:11am by Lieutenant Aev Flammia & Captain Sabrina Corbin & Gareth Rhys

2,585 words; about a 13 minute read

Mission: Fractured Accord
Location: Docking Port of the USS Arawyn

The Gatekeeper

=/\= Docking Port, USS Arawyn =/\=

The docking port of the USS Arawyn had that specific Starfleet hush. It wasn't silence; it was the sound of an institution, a low hum of powerful systems operating with flawless, impersonal efficiency. Cool, recycled air, blue-white lights that left no shadows, and the single, resonant note of the scanner arch, holding the air like a tuning fork. It was the sound Gareth remembered from every sterile briefing room and every formal inquiry he’d ever endured. It was the sound of a place that had rules for everything, especially for things it didn't understand.

He stood at the demarcation line, the sealed tri-key case feeling both heavy and fragile in his palm. At his side, Tara stood perfectly still, her posture relaxed but aware, the mobile emitter at her throat glowing with a soft, steady light. She was the anomaly. The reason for all this caution. Brand new to the universe and already under the unblinking eye of its most powerful bureaucracy. The weight of that pressed on Gareth’s shoulders more than the case.

Behind them, his people formed a subtle, deliberate fan. It wasn't a military formation; it was a statement. Vaela, a half-step back, widening her field of vision. Grak, a comforting mountain of Tellarite stubbornness next to the humming grav-sled. Sora, utterly still, a loaded spring coiled in the quiet. Vess, watching not the guards, but Tara’s breath rate, TESSA, a half-step from his shoulder as if in consultation. Competent. Non-threatening. A team of specialists, not a boarding party. Every detail was a carefully chosen word in a sentence he was composing for an audience he couldn't trust.

The two gold-collared security ratings held their ground with the placid geometry of men who had drilled this moment into muscle memory. They were young, their faces scrubbed clean of expression. Their eyes flicked from the case in Gareth’s hand to the cryptographic pendant at Tara’s throat and back. No flinch. No welcome. Just a calm, procedural assessment of potential threats. That was the most dangerous thing about Starfleet security: they didn’t need to be hostile to be lethal. They just had to follow the manual.

Gareth slid a padd across the demarcation line on the deck. “For your log,” he said, his voice even, pitched to be clear and cooperative. “Admiral MacLaren’s orders hash, safety charter for the Specialist’s equipment, and the chain of custody.” He kept his other hand visible, resting on the case as if it were a sleeping animal he had no intention of waking.

The junior rating didn’t take the padd. He held his position, his gaze fixed on Gareth. The senior rating stepped forward, his movements economical. He didn't look at the padd first. He looked at Gareth's hands. Then at the case. Then, finally, he picked it up. A subtle assertion of control. We dictate the pace here.

The scanner arch above them, which had been humming its placid blue, shifted its light to a solid, unwavering amber.
Grak made a noise in his throat, a low rumble of discontent. Gareth felt his own jaw tighten. Amber for adjudication. Not a red-light security breach, but a yellow flag. Unverified hardware. An unregistered quantum signature. They were no longer guests; they were a question mark that required an answer.

Firm, unhurried bootsteps echoed from the corridor beyond the airlock. The sound was different from the ratings’ shuffling—heavier, more deliberate. It was the sound of authority arriving.

A lieutenant stepped into the docking port's light. He wasn't large, but he owned the space he occupied, his center of gravity settled low like a man who was used to holding doorways against a pushing crowd. His eyes weren't the flat, procedural masks of the ratings; they were intelligent, analytical, and they took in the entire scene in a single, comprehensive sweep. He was not a script. He was a diagnostician, and they were the problem on his table.
He stopped a meter from the demarcation line, his gaze finally landing on Gareth. He didn't speak. He just waited, letting the amber light of the arch and the weight of his silence do the work for him. The polite pause was over. The real adjudication had begun.

“Lieutenant Aev Flammia,” he said. “Chief of Security.”

“Gareth Rhys,” Gareth said. “Intelligence Subcontractor, and my adjunct, Specialist Tara.”

Unusual was the first word that came to mind as Aev studied the contingent. The junior security officers were already exchanging uneasy glances, silent questions flickering between them. Stepping forward, he accepted a data PADD from the team lead and began to scan its contents. On the surface, everything appeared legitimate, but the strangeness of the situation gnawed at him. His lips pressed into a thin line as he weighed the possibilities.

In his ear, Ignis chattered incessantly about some other artificial being, his voice a constant distraction. Aev forced it to the background, focusing instead on the decision at hand. No, this wouldn’t do. He hadn’t received word of this, and he wasn’t about to take unnecessary chances.

“Mister Rhys,” Aev said at last, his tone even and cool, drawing on the measured cadence his Vulcan grandfather once used. “Your documents appear to be in order. However, given the unconventional nature of this…” his eyes flicked briefly over the man’s entourage “I’ll need to consult with the Captain before authorizing your group aboard.”

He offered a polite but unmistakable gesture toward the side of the corridor. “If you don’t mind, please step aside while we gather the necessary information.” Aev’s expression held steady, though the faint curve of a smile betrayed that he was not Vulcan.

Taking a few steps back from the group, Aev tilted his head and muttered, “Fine,” under his breath before giving a reluctant shake of his hand.

Golden light erupted in a flourish, cascading around him like a miniature supernova. Sparkling embers drifted lazily through the air as Ignis took shape with deliberate flair. He straightened his new appearance: a cream-colored, Starfleet-inspired uniform complete with a stylized delta, like an actor stepping onto stage.

Aev’s expression tightened. Letting Ignis manifest was never his first choice, but the AI’s relentless commentary had left him little room to think, let alone speak with the Captain.

Ignis gave the scene a theatrical once-over. The scanner arch’s amber glow, the still tension of security officers, Gareth’s careful posture, the case like a coiled animal, and most importantly… her. His eyes found TARA, and the rest of the world momentarily dimmed.

Ignis didn’t speak right away. His flame tattoos cooled to a low simmer, flickering in time with his curiosity. He took a step closer to the demarcation line, careful not to cross it, his head tilting as he regarded the glowing emitter at her throat. “That’s new,” he murmured, voice soft with genuine intrigue.

Ignis drew eyes the way a plasma torch draws moths, gold flare, cream uniform too crisp to be standard issue, flame-ink pulsing at his wrists like a man who’d brought his own spotlight. Gareth felt the brow tighten a notch: ratings’ shoulders squared, Flammia’s jaw set, the arch’s amber seemed to lean in.

Tara didn’t flinch. The emitter at her throat gave her a steady weight and the kind of presence people made room for without deciding to. TESSA stood a half-step off Vess’s shoulder, palms open, the practiced posture of someone ready to be trusted but unwilling to audition for it.

He circled the edge of the line like a predator sizing up another predator. Not in malice, but in recognition. Ignis looked her over as one performer might another, reading posture, stillness, breath, the nuance in silence. “Specialist TARA…” He pronounced the title with gentle reverence, followed by a warm smile that undercut the moment’s tension. “I’d bow, but it feels a bit presumptuous to greet family you’ve never met.”

Tara lifted her chin a fraction. “Then save the bow,” she said. “We can start with names.”

He turned, just slightly, toward Gareth, eyes still bright but cooler now. Calculating. “And you must be the man with the keys.” He smiled, but it didn’t reach his eyes. “Always curious to see how builders choose to name the things they create. Adjunct, specialist, tool. Not partner?” His tone remained light, playful even, but behind it was something razor-thin and too well-hidden to be accidental. He wasn’t accusing. Not exactly. But he was watching.

Then, in a blink, the tension was gone. His smirk returned in full. “Still, this is more fun than I expected from the docking port,” Ignis said, glancing toward Aev. “I thought we were just meeting another crate full of unregistered headaches. Turns out, one of them has a soul.” He paused just long enough to look at TARA again, this time with something close to kinship. “If they let you speak, I’d love to hear what you think of all this.”

"Out here, names are contracts," Gareth said, his voice calm and level. "I don’t offer any I’m not prepared to honor. ‘Partner’ is a title that’s earned. Tara will let me know when I have."

The statement was a quiet declaration, a line drawn not in anger, but in principle. The ripples spread through his crew, a series of silent, profound acknowledgments.

If there was one thing Ignis excelled at, it was creating a distraction. As the hologram drew every pair of eyes in the room, Aev tapped his commbadge. “Captain Corbin, this is Lieutenant Flammia. Gareth Rhys is requesting to board with a contingent of personnel and some unusual equipment. The paperwork appears to check out, but I’d like to confirm with you before granting them clearance.”

=/\= Captain's Quarters =/\=

Corbin had returned to her quarters for lunch, using the brief pause to play with Ptolemy. Four heavy cases of Boar’s Rock scotch were stacked neatly near the bulkhead—accepted earlier by Merrick. She wondered, faintly amused, if he knew the origin of the liquor.

Her commbadge chirped, Flammia’s voice coming through.

Sabrina scratched her temple, letting a quiet sigh escape. “It should just be himself and his AI agent.”

Aev’s eyes swept over the group, noting the unfamiliar faces clustered around Rhys. He tilted his head slightly toward his commbadge. “It looks like he’s brought a team with him as well, Captain,” he reported evenly.

She straightened slightly, voice measured. “All right, just for the installation of the equipment. Gareth and his AI agent will be remaining with us for the mission. The others are temporary.”

Turning her tone toward apology, Corbin added, “Sorry, Lieutenant, I was informed, but I should have briefed you sooner.”

=/\= Docking Port, USS Arawyn =/\=

Vaela’s mouth tipped by a razor’s width, the Romulan equivalent of a standing ovation. Her gaze, cold and analytical, didn't waste time checking the Starfleet officers' reactions. She looked at Gareth, then at Tara, her focus already calculating three moves ahead, plotting the cleanest route through whatever mess this declaration might create.

Sora let out a slow breath through her nose, her shoulders settling from coiled tension into the fluid neutrality of a pilot ready for anything. The corner of her mouth held a dangerous curve, not quite a smile, but a clear promise to back Gareth’s play and enjoy the hell out of the fallout.

Grak’s answering grunt was a low, seismic rumble. From a Tellarite, it was a multi-layered oath, meaning About time, That'll do, and I will personally weld a new universe if anyone argues. He shifted his weight, subtly shielding the grav-sled with his bulk, a silent challenge to the very concept of regulation.

Dr. Vess gave a single, satisfied nod, the kind a physician gives when a patient finally articulates a difficult truth. His eyes, ever the diagnostician, flicked to Tara, checking her posture, her breathing, then to TESSA, a silent query that was answered with a minute tilt of her head. All systems stable.

TESSA’s emitter caught the overhead light, her hard-light form serene. "Affirmative," she said, her voice a calm data point in a room charged with emotion. It was an acknowledgment directed at no one and everyone, a private contract made public.
And Tara… Tara didn’t shine; she settled. The rigid line of her jaw eased by a fraction as she absorbed the weight of Gareth’s trust. She held the security chief’s gaze for a final beat, then deliberately turned her eyes to Ignis.

“Then hear me, Ignis, I’m already speaking. That pulse at my throat isn’t a leash, it’s my yes; this box under Gareth’s hand means none of us makes a mistake alone; and that unit on the pallet is a practice field that never touches your warp core. We came to be careful and useful. Call it a soul if you like; I don’t need the word. I need room to keep my promises and own the consequences. If you meet me as a person, I’ll answer you the same. If you meet me as a performance, I’ll wait for the curtain to come down.”

Gareth let the moment solidify, then turned his head just enough to meet the Chief of Security's eye. The sealed case in his hand was just a box; the amber light was just a color. The room, for a breath, belonged to them.

“Chief Flammia,” he said, his voice clipped and professional, the tone of a man ready for the next item on the agenda. “Your call.”

Ignis blinked once, a slow, deliberate gesture. Then a smile curled at the edges of his mouth, not the theatrical grin of a stage performer, but something quieter. Sincere. Maybe even impressed. He gave a short, mock-formal bow in Tara’s direction, one hand over his heart, the flames on his cheeks flickering faintly in acknowledgement. “Well then.” His voice was low and pleased. “Consider me charmed and very slightly outperformed.” Straightening, he tilted his head, eyes dancing between the team members studying them.

His gaze slid back to Tara, eyes bright. “We may be very different builds, Specialist, but we’re kin in the way that matters.” A playful shrug, as though he were still chewing on her words. “And I do like a good curtain call. But I think you just raised the stakes.”

“Ignis,” Aev said as he rejoined the group, his tone edged with dry humor. “Please refrain from harassing the guests.”

His gaze shifted to Rhys. “Everything appears in order, but your party will need to submit to a full security examination.” He turned to the young lieutenant junior grade overseeing inspections. “Make sure the group is checked thoroughly. No unauthorized weapons or contraband.” Aev handed the PADD back to him with a firm nod.

Returning his attention to Rhys, Aev studied the man for a long moment before concluding, “Welcome aboard, Gareth Rhys. I trust you’ll find your stay agreeable. Let me know if you require anything further.”

With that, he pivoted sharply and started down the corridor. Behind him, Ignis let out an exaggerated sigh before falling into step, golden eyes rolling skyward.

“Oh yes, very welcoming. I’m sure they feel right at home already,” Ignis muttered theatrically.

 

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