Pre-Ops Briefing

Posted on Sun Sep 20th, 2026 @ 3:32am by Captain Doran'atar & Lieutenant Commander J.J McEntyre & Lieutenant Commander S'Von Hill & Lieutenant Lyara Dahris & Lieutenant Lao'Rok Hunt
Edited on on Sun Sep 20th, 2026 @ 3:33am

1,687 words; about a 8 minute read

Mission: With Honor and Glory
Location: Briefing Room 3

Doran'atar knew very well that he'd said to only come to the briefing room at 1000 hours - but he'd never really been good at keeping to his own timelines, for himself, in a good way. He'd been sitting alone in the brightly lit, circular room since 0900, in fact, reading and re-reading the brief the Admiralty had sent with just one very loud thought on his mind:

What the hell were they thinking?

He wanted to believe that the brief was as bold as it was out of an abundance of caution. Hell, it was probably that. As the saying went, keep your friends close but your enemies closer, but reading the infopacket he'd been sent he could swear Command wanted to yank this particular group in by the collar, wine and dine them and leave them with a kiss on the lips. Not that it was an impossible task, mind you, but he couldn't help but catch the scent of desperation in the air.

The door to the briefing room opened as Lieutenant Hunt stepped into the room. Other than the Captain, who was present, he was clearly the first to arrive. In one sense, Lao'Rok was excited to be here. But on another note, there was a bit of unease when it came to new assignments. Unsure of the expectations, outside of the obvious job task. Every Commanding Officer had their way of doing things. Whether they were easy going or more with a strict way of doing things. It was one big getting to know you process. "Good morning, Captain."

Doran'atar glanced up from the screen for a single moment. "Good morning, Lieutenant. Sit. I will commence my briefing shortly."

Hunt nodded as he took a seat.

S'von entered the briefing room and came around the table, sitting down in an empty chair across from Hunt. He nodded to both officers there and sat with his hands folded in his lap.

The XO, J.J. McEntyre appeared in a flash of his personal transporter, striding into the conference room with rugged confidence and swagger. He had to project it. As First Officer, the crew was looking to him for leadership, along with the Captain. Though, J.J also knew, over a 1000 years of Starfleet Tradition rode in his name and his shoulders and he did not want to disappoint the ancestors.

"Good Day, Captain." J.J greeted his captain, his smooth Texan flowing like water.

Lyara entered the briefing room. She had preferred to walk rather then use her Personal Transporter. She entered and pulled out the Data padd nodded to the XO and Captain and took a seat.

"Without further ado. Let me set my expectations for the next few years of our time together. I will say this to start: unless you particularly like speaking with politicians or handling unreasonable requests we will all likely find them... excruciating." Doran'atar swiped his hand through the programmable matter display and the Admiralty's brief. All that nonsense could come later.

"I do not like to sit in an office, hand out commands and pray that they will be followed. Doing it makes me antsy anyway." Doran began to pace round the table, slow, unhurried, unreservedly present. "I have spent my entire career on the ground watching and doing. I will not stop just because Command sends me an amount of administrative bore that would make many of my colleagues bawl and cry for their mother. I have learned many times in my career that seeing things happen in front of me tells me much more than reading any report. I don't need to read those in my ready room anyway."

"To that end I promise you all this. You will see me often. When something must be done correctly, I will be there to make sure it happens exactly the way it must, and I am not scared to make my hands dirty when I must. I am not interested in micromanaging any of you, far from it. What I am interested in is the message we send to those around us, and you can be sure that the entire universe will be watching what we do on this ship."

"I do not care who you are or whose legacy you carry on your shoulders; you are only as good to me as the value you bring to our mission, and I will take you to task when I must." The Jem'hadar seemed to stay a bit longer behind the chairs of the two legacies in the room. "I expect your one hundred percent, or as much of what remains when you cannot deliver your one hundred percent, at all times. The galaxy is watching. We must give it what it needs to see: a Federation that is principled and bold even in the face of temptation to do otherwise. That is what will form the foundation of our mandate. Questions?"

"Captain, I'm not for politics or admiralty drama; I prefer to stay away and I have for the most part, so no worries from me," Lyara stated.

S'von raised an eyebrow, but said nothing yet. He watched the others' reactions first.

Loa'Rok looked over to Lyara, who was a little too quick to speak in his opinion. Politics and Admiralty drama was a part of the Starfleet game at times. He learned to accept this fact a long time ago. All eyes were on the Federation and the Federation was working to increase its worlds back to its former glory and using Starfleet as a way of getting that task done. "Where is Starfleet sending the Koinonia?"

"Nowhere, Lieutenant. It is sending the galaxy to us." Doran'atar responded wryly as he resumed his seat at the table. "Our mandate is to host and moderate diplomatic conferences at all levels. Command thinks a Pax-class vessel will be a suitable venue for these events with her sheer size and reconfigurability. As such your duties will consist mostly of small craft flight operations. I am truly sorry."

"Hopefully, a time will come when I can make my talents of good use," Hunt responded.

"Hopefully, a time will not come for mine," S'von quipped evenly.

"Now. The mission ahead of us. Sadly I predict that our talents will be of good use very, very soon." Doran'atar tapped on the conference room table and swiped upwards; a programmable matter screen shimmered into existence, floating a few inches above the surface of the table itself.

"The Klingon Empire, or what remains of it. Starfleet Command has highlighted that they are a party of vital importance in today's fractured galaxy. Why? Think about it. Count on your fingers the number of times that the Klingons have caused us immeasurable losses over our coexistence together. Now think about now and the state of our galaxy. Command thinks that letting them 'conquer' Faan Alpha is the start of many good things. They have made one thing clear: we must earn our place next to them, firmly, not in front of them as potential opponents to topple in their quest to regain their old identity. So they have invited the Klingons to a nice, easy tea party."

"Having grown up with one in the household," S'von said, evenly, "I would suggest offering something stronger to drink than tea. They will be judging our conduct by how well we honor their tastes and customs."

Looking over to S'von and smiled. "My mother always enjoyed her tea with something stronger in it. And she just happens to be half Human and Klingon. Is the goal to have the Klingon Empire join the Federation?"

"Yes." The tone Doran used to deliver that curt reply was flat - as if it were one of the simplest truths of the universe. "Starfleet Command sees it this way: if we can convince even the stubborn, headstrong Klingons - no offense to anyone present - to join hands with us willingly, it will be a shining example to all other returning races of the Federation's renewed strength and trustworthiness."

"I doubt a "Tea Party" will solve the major issues between Federation and Klingon Relations. Even then, 120 years of the Diaspora will be a hard thing for the Klingons to let go. Even with a new world, I still believe that it may be another 30-50 years for Federation-Klingon relations to even begin to normalize in a way we had before The Burn. It took that long the first time after the Federation-Klingon Cold War after Praxis was destroyed." J.J retorted.

Hunt nodded in agreement. "I have to agree with the Commander on this one. Klingons are in the business of conquering. Joining another group goes against everything that means to be Klingon. In the past the Federation and Empire worked well together against a common foe."

"I didn't say it would. I don't think it will. In fact I don't think we will finish this 'tea party' with a membership form in the President's inbox at all." Doran'atar replied with a gruntlike sigh. "Starfleet Command seems to think otherwise - but they never said that we had to do it this meeting. At least Chancellor Obel Wochak has a good, reasonable brain between his ears that'll hopefully be more open to reason than all his predecessors."

"Our job, therefore, is to 'butter them up'. To make them comfortable enough to let us sit at the same table." He continued wryly. "It will not be easy. Not even if the Chancellor himself comes. You are all right - a people that has just knitted themselves back together will not be so willing to bind themselves to another. But Starfleet Command wants us to try. So we will try. Such is our place in the pecking order. Even better since we have half Klingons and people who have Klingons in the family line."

"What do you need from us?" the Chief Flight Control Officer questioned.

 

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