20,000 Names

Posted on Sun Sep 21st, 2025 @ 6:33am by NPC Civilian & Lieutenant Commander Angel Blake

1,784 words; about a 9 minute read

Mission: Mission 9: When the Stars Went Silent
Location: USS Saratoga - Ready Room
Timeline: July 5, 2375 ~ 2 months after the Battle of Vulcan

The doors parted with a soft hiss, and a man stepped inside. His bright blue eyes swept the room, missing nothing as he took in his surroundings. The ready room was still bare, lacking the personal touches most captains added to make the space their own. Knowing Commander Blake as he did, he couldn’t discount the possibility that the sparseness was intentional. Her personnel file had painted a clear picture: the cyborg was relentlessly practical.

At first glance, there was nothing remarkable about him. Average build, average height, and a face so forgettable it vanished from memory the moment he left. He wore a three-piece suit of the finest wool, tailored in a style favored by the Federation Council. There was a shop in Paris where nearly all of them went—its designs had become something of a uniform. In one hand, he carried a drab grey polymer briefcase, and on his lapel was a single enameled pin in blue and white: the flag of the United Federation of Planets.

His supposition of intentionality when it came to the sparseness of decor in Angel's ready room was, unknown to him, entirely correct. Angel had learned to survive and even to flourish with very little, and she saw no reason for that to change now, especially as her route to starship command was both unconventional and unexpected. There were no chachkis, curios, or mementos of the great deeds of diplomacy she had achieved as a leader. Indeed, had these existed, they might be Dominion heads on spikes, but the lifeless head of a Vorta preserved in a jar was too morose and morbid even for her. Besides, further methods of scaring those around her were far from necessary or useful.

The new commander's mechanical eye awoke to gain more information on the new arrival, flickering as it zoomed in on the Federation badge. This was a feature not to be attempted when standing but was safe enough when seated, especially now that the eye's owner was more than adapted to the motion sickness and disparity between the input she received from each eye. Angel ran through a number of opening lines quickly before settling on the hopefully neutral "What can I do for you, mister...?" The expectation in her intonation was that his name would follow.

He smiled, but the humor didn't reach his eyes, "I am Sloan. The Admiral said you were put in charge of vetting the members of your mission."

Angel regarded 'Sloan' with dispassionate objectivity. Her eyes narrowed almost imperceptibly as she wondered what his angle was and why she assumed he had one to begin with. Perhaps it was something about Civilians in her ready room name-dropping admirals. Whether he meant the late Admiral aboard the Starbase or the very un-late Admiral Talon, she wasn't yet sure.

"They did," she confirmed, again staying neutral.

“Good,” he said. “Then we can proceed. I’ve already compiled the necessary names.”

He set the briefcase on her desk and popped the latches with both hands. He opened the lid in such a way that Angel couldn't see within and theatrically rummaged inside until he found a PADD. After an electronic trill from the device, he checked it before handing it across the desk.

Without waiting for an invitation, he lowered himself into the seat opposite her and crossed his legs like he owned the space.

“As you can see, it’s an eclectic list: doctors like Brahms and Zimmerman, a sanitation expert, teachers, laborers—and yes, a handful of Council members. Don’t worry—I didn’t include myself. It’s a cross-section of modern society. Your job is to confirm it’s these people joining you, not imposters.”

Angel's lips pushed together as she considered what he was saying.

"And the reason this is coming from you and not the Admiral? There is a chain of command to consider, Mister Sloan," she replied coolly.

He shot her once with one of those fake politician smiles, often reserved for kissing babies and telling constituents what they want to hear. "Does it matter who it comes from? Besides, it was my team and I that composed this list, not the Admiral. Who better to answer your questions? Besides, you don’t ask the pen who wrote the order, you ask the hand holding it.”

"I'd say it does matter," she replied. "Most of all now. How do I know you're legit? I've never seen you before." Angel raised her eyebrows with the question as if she were asking a schoolchild why they had tripped one another in the playground. "And do you have a surefire way of testing these people, or am I going to have to interview them all?" The commander asked, switching directions in an instant. She didn't like Civilians meddling in Starfleet affairs and resolved that everything Sloan told her she would feed back to Admiral Talon anyway after he left.

Sloan sighed and steepled his fingers, crossing one leg over the other as he leaned back in the chair with a casual confidence. He gave Angel a long, deliberate once-over. She hid her annoyance better than most, which was impressive. Still, her resistance puzzled him. He hadn’t just boarded the Saratoga with a winning smile, though he’d used that approach before with success. This time, he came armed with credentials and clearances that let him go anywhere he pleased: every Starfleet ship, every installation, even the shadowy black ops sites of Starfleet Intelligence.

“I’ll notify the Chief of Starfleet Operations to expect your call,” he said finally. “In the meantime, my clearance code is 44–Delta–5–9–Alpha.”

Angel checked the code immediately, which cleared, showing Sloan's credentials to the Commander.

"I wish you'd led with that," she told him, switching her attention from her screen straight to the PADD he had passed her without looking up. "So..." she scanned the list with interest. "Your preferred testing methodology, Mister Sloan?" She asked, finally looking up. "We both know the usual blood tests can be faked. And I am under the impression Operation Noah's Ark is too important to screw up."

Sloan gave Angel a fake smile, "I wanted to start us off more cooperatively, not as someone with the weight of the Federation behind him."

Sloan stood and began to circle the ready room, taking in the minute details and cataloging everything that was there and everything that wasn't, all the while storing it in the back of his mind. He paused in front of a painting of Saratoga dynamically flying through space. It was one of those basic decorations that came with the office, along with the uncomfortable sofa pushed against the bulkhead. Had the commander liked this painting? Or perhaps it was something that wasn't big enough of a deal to her to address?

"You know," Sloan began, still staring at the painting, "most captains fill their ready rooms with personal effects; photos, little statues, awards reminding them of their greatness." He turned toward her, hands settling on his hips. "And to answer your question, yes, it’s too important not to get right. But I assure you, the Changelings won’t be the issue."

His gaze met hers, steady and unreadable. "Let me be frank. This war? No one wins. Not really. But the Dominion will destroy the Federation before the rot from within destroys them. You see, while Dukat was in our custody, we obtained some very valuable intelligence. Weyoun believes Earth must be eradicated, sees it as the root of resistance. But Dukat disagreed. He argued that destroying Earth was a waste, that real victory would be in breaking humanity, and forcing them to admit they were wrong to ever defy the Dominion."

Sloan paused, his tone flat but pointed. "I don’t think Weyoun was convinced." Sloan shrugged and turned back to the painting. "It really is unfortunate that Captain Sisko let him escape. We had so much more information to get from him."

"Sounds like a good thing that he wasn't convinced," Angel commented, her eyes tracking him around the room, unwilling to endow him with enough trust not to be constantly monitored. "I think Dukat was right. And, given everything we have now to achieve and the unscalable mountain of work I have to do, I figured fixing up my ready room could wait. Besides, when you've lived day to day on the front lines as I have, simply glad to wake up naturally for once, rather than being startled awake by weapons fire or screaming injured, the decor of a cosy Captain's office seems rather insignificant. All of my trophies would be Jem'hadar heads on pikes anyway. A useful expression of hate, but not really what the Federation claims to be about, wouldn't you agree?"

"Indeed," Sloan said with a smile. "It has been a long, brutal war, no doubt."

Angel sighed. Sloan didn't give much away and what he did seemed to be quite carefully calculated.

"I have your list, Mister Sloan," she told him, "and I shall do my due diligence. Is there anything else you need?"

He hesitated, then returned to the desk. “I know the initial plan called for four transport ships, but after speaking with Admiral Talon, we realized that even with modest population growth, a fifth will be required.” He rested his hands on the back of a chair, studying her.

“As you can see, there will be 10,000 Humans, 2,000 each of Vulcans and Andorians, and 1,500 Tellerites, Bajorans, Betazoids, and Trills. I suggest keeping each group as intact as possible. I assume you're capable of coordinating security across the fleet?”

[TAG]

[I will adjust this to fit your response, so don't worry about making it work]

Sloan closed his briefcase with a soft snap, the sound lingering in the stillness. He tapped his fingers along the chocolate-replicated leather edge, drawing out the silence with his unremarkable eyes steady and probing. His expression seemed to peel back her defenses layer by layer, leaving them bare like the heart of an artichoke.

“You're a founding member of a new Federation, Commander. I envy you.” His tone softened, almost reverent. “You’ll be remembered with names like Washington, Jefferson… Mandela.”

He stepped back, his voice lowering.

“This new Federation will need people like you. People like me—the ones whose greatest achievements are never seen. No medals. No parades. Just the quiet knowledge of what had to be done… and the moral flexibility to see it through. Think about it," Sloan said.

Without further comment, he gripped his briefcase, turned, and exited the ready room, leaving Angel alone with her thoughts and an empty office.

 

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