The Strategist's Gambit (Part 1)
Posted on Thu Sep 11th, 2025 @ 11:52pm by Captain M'Raz & Lieutenant Darius Korveth
2,043 words; about a 10 minute read
Mission:
Collating Data
Location: SB 343 | Briefing Room
Timeline: MD005 - 1100
Darius Korveth could be devious when he needed to be. It's what made him good at his work. Usually. But those tactics were almost always against enemies. Not friends, and certainly not with those above him in the chain of command, or simply fellow Starfleet officers.
But these were not normal times.
So, he had lied. When the doctor, a harried looking man who appeared to be a teenager, had asked him if he had any residual effects. He had told the man no.
It wasn't a total fabrication. He was mostly fine. Just a lingering headache that radiated out from the base of his skull, which was slowly ebbing away. The nightmares, he'd had two since he'd seen Captain Blake die and the Fernir destroyed by the Universe damned Borg
Revealing those things would show weakness, and weakness was the last thing he needed at that moment. What he did need was a new ship. It didn't matter what size, nor was he especially concerned with what shape it was in.
He'd been sitting in an uncomfortable chair, occasionally getting up to pace the packed briefing area for hours.
Finally, he heard his name being called.
Starbase 343, the Federation's temporary home, wasn't anywhere big enough for the flow of people flowing through its corridors. But this was war, and everyone in Starfleet understood that with war often came crowded conditions and lack of resources. The civilians were a different matter altogether. Captain Arev, acting head of Starfleet Human Resources, had taken over the smallest conference room on the station where, for twelve hours every day, he interviewed Starfleet personnel for evaluation and reassignment.
He wore his dark black hair in a layered cut that was as outside of tradition as a Vulcan male got and his unique perspective on life and logic made him something of a rebel, though none could deny his brilliance or the cool lethality of his logic in debate. Today, he sat at one end of a circular table and looked up as the twenty-fifth individual entered the room.
"I am Captain Arev," he said, his dark gaze took in the man's overall appearance, touched lightly on his pips, as he gestured for the man to sit at the other end of the table. "Name, rank, position, and posting."
The creases of his mouth curled up. It was a smile, though it didn't reflect the smile he usually wore. "My name is Darius Korveth, Captain," he said. "Lieutenant Darius Korveth."
He didn't offer a hand to the HR officer; he hadn't been offered a hand. He didn't take it personally. Arev was a Vulcan after all.
He sat down following the other man's instructions before he continued. "I am in Strategic Ops. I was on the Fenrir, one of the ships that was destroyed."
He opened his mouth to add a sales pitch or to plead for an immediate reassignment, but he stopped himself. He was sure that Arev had heard numerous similar stories and had probably grown numb, or as numb as a Vulcan can get.
He wasn't a mind reader, but he was pretty good at reading a room. He'd wait for the other to speak before putting his foot in his mouth or doing something stupid.
Arev consulted the computer before looking up to meet the Lieutenant's gaze. "Yes," he said. "We have your records. You can expect to hear something within the next thirty days with regard to a new posting. In the meantime, you will be given housing here on the starbase and will be expected to meet with a counselor. Is that clear?"
Darius counted to five before responding. He didn't want to unload on a man who was just doing his job. Flying off the handle wouldn't get him what he wanted.
He took a deep, centering breath. "Seeing a counselor makes sense. I was already planning to do so."
"But, with all due respect, thirty days before I get a new assignment isn't acceptable. We don't know what the Borg will do in thirty days, how far they'll advance, or the damage they'll cause. I've seen what they are capable of firsthand."
"If you have my records in front of you, you'll see I'm very good at what I do. I'm one of the youngest Chief Strategic Operations officers out there, and it's because I've earned every promotion, every commendation."
"Look, I know your hands might be tied with regulations and bureaucratic bul... things. I get that. But, can you just give me the names of two or three Captains who need crew. I'll approach them on my own."
Arev listened. He himself was waiting for assignment and had been for weeks; human resources had been the logical use of his talents. Sitting in his quarters, meditating on all that he had seen and what was happening in the Federation, had not been productive. He had also seen the Borg first-hand, though he saw no logical reason to divulge such information at this juncture. Sentimentality had no place in the proceedings, and the display of emotions, such as the Lieutenant was exhibiting, was an extremely private thing.
"And one more thing, "Is there any word on the Intrepid?"
Arev waited until the Lieutenant had wound down, and in the silence that followed, consulted the reports that were being compiled and distributed as fast as they came in. That too was a necessary part of the war effort, and more than a few highly ranked intelligence officers were lending their hand to such mundane tasks willingly while they waited for reassignment.
"The Intrepid arrived yesterday," Arev said. "Those who survived are currently in Sickbay." He looked up, returning his attention to the more pressing matter. "I will not provide you with ships currently looking for crew, nor are you permitted to address them directly. You are the only talented officer who wants to get back into the action. However, since yours is one of the newer specialties, on your behalf, I will check into postings specific to Strategic Operations. Report back in two hours."
Darius let out a long breath. "You're right, Captain, I'm not the only one. My apologies if I came off too abrupt. I'll be back in two hours. Right now, I need to go to Sickbay."
[Sickbay]
"Damn," Darius thought to himself as he left the HR office, "the damn Borg have taken out the Intrepid too?" It must be really bad if it's only the dead and the survivors? That means Ryan has to be one of those options. Please, God, I still love him despite everything, despite what I did, I still love him. Please let him still be alive. Please."
The urgency to find a new ship, to get back into the fight now seemed trivial. Sick Bay, when he entered, was filled with profound chaos and confusion. It took him a good fifteen minutes to find the section that housed the Intrepid
"Are you looking for someone?" a harried Ensign asked, holding a PADD in their right hand."
"Ryan Kellerman," Darius replied, his voice flat.
The nurse scanned their PAAD, "I'm sorry, sir." I can only confirm a patient's status with a close relative. Are you related to him?"
"He's my husband." Darius wasn't technically lying. He and Ryan were still married. Their last conversation, however, had been six months ago, Ryan's birthday and it hadn't exactly gone as planned. He didn't feel the need to give those details to the nurse.
"He's in the secondary Sickbay, one floor down. And Mr Kellerman, your husband, is going to be alright. He'll need bed rest for a week or so, but he'll be fine."
Darius didn't see the need to tell the attendant that he wasn't Mr. Kellerman either.
Then he saw Ryan at the far corner of Sick Bay, propped up on a pillow on a biobed, with a doctor. They were engaged in some kind of conversation. Darius was too far away, and the ambient noise was too high for him to discern what was being said, but Ryan was shaking his head.
Tentatively, he approached them, maneuvering through the crowd of staff and walking wounded. Ryan, looking past the doctor he was talking to, spotted him, his expression shifting to something unreadable.
"What I'm saying," Dr Martinez replied to whatever Ryan had just told him, "is that the head trauma is relatively minor. We'll keep you here another night, but you should be fine. The surgery on your eye went well. In a week, you should be fully adjusted. You won't be able to tell the difference. No one will be able to tell the difference."
"He could," Ryan replied, pointing at Darius as he approached. "He notices everything."
The Terran Hispanic man turned. "Who is that?"
"That is my husband."
Four words. Four simple words. Words that hit Darius harder than he expected. "Doc, could you give us a minute?"
Martinez's eyes cut between the two men, taking in more than he let on. "Of course."
"Husband?" Darius asked, "Not ex?"
"Not ex. You're not off the hook. I'm still pissed, you still f'd up. But you did take responsibility." His arm swept the room. "And with all this shit going on. The Borg attack, the Federation on the brink of, whatever we're on the brink of. It somehow makes our domestic issues pretty petty."
"You're forgiving me?"
"I wouldn't go that far, and I'm not sure how much I trust you, but I'm willing to call off the separation. I'm willing to give you, to give us, another chance. If you are."
Darius' answer was simple. He bent down and kissed Ryan on the mouth.
[Two Hours Later]
At precisely the two-hour mark, Darius returned to the HR office. He'd already heard the best news he'd heard since the separation had begun. He was hoping to hear more good news.
A young ensign exited the conference room, running a hand through his already tousled black hair as he did so, and paused respectfully as Darius approached. "Good luck, Sir," he said quietly. There was a wealth of sadness about him, heavy and weighted, drawing his shoulders down and dimming the light in his eyes. He muttered, "Hope it's better than mine," as his feet were already turning toward the corridor that led to Operations, where billeting information would be provided. His gaze on the ground, he walked slowly, picking his way through shards of memories.
A yeoman, carrying a PADD, exited next and headed toward where Darius stood. "Are you ... "Lieutenant ...," she consulted the PADD she carried, tapping an entry with one finger, its chewed down nail, "Korveth?"
"I am," he replied after a second's hesitation, unsure if the news he was about to get was going to be good, bad, or just another holding pattern
"What did you have for me?"
"Captain Arev said you were to report to the USS Crazy Horse. The commanding officer is Captain ..." She consulted the PADD again, drilling down on the information presented until she found what she was looking for, "Sorry... long day ... Captain M'Raz." She looked up again, checking the area to see who was around before continuing. "You should know the captain has right of refusal, so it's not a done deal. But Captain Arev said that it's your only option at the moment. He said that if you're willing to wait a week, the USS Roosevelt, Admiral Stillwell's ship, could take you on as Assistant Chief."
An hour ago, the thought of waiting a week, or even a day, would have been unthinkable. That had been before reuniting with and being an assistant chief was not an issue. Still, the thought of sooner rather than later still appealed to him.
"I'll go see Captain M'Raz. If I can convince angry Orions to see my side by lying, I think I can convince a Starfleet Captain by telling the truth."
"Good luck, Sir," the yeoman said. "If you'll excuse me ..."
Captain Arev
Acting Head of Human Resources
Starbase 343
(written by Captain M'Raz)
and
Lieutenant Darius Korveth
Currently Unassigned
Starbase 343
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