Requisitioning Personnel

Posted on Tue Dec 16th, 2025 @ 10:29pm by Major Blez Dralis & Sergeant Jace Morven & Lieutenant JG Elen Rell

2,797 words; about a 14 minute read

Mission: Pilot - "The Gate"
Location: USS Guinevere
Timeline: Early 2389, After "Major Majors"

on

The gym on the USS Guinevere didn’t have a view of the stars. That was something. Instead, someone had requested a mirrored wall, probably for checking form. Jace Morven didn’t look. He never looked. He didn’t want to see the way he moved. Didn’t need a reflection staring back at him while he worked. He would have preferred blank walls. Just walls and quiet.

There were others in the room. Not many. One at the weight rack, another stretching near the mats. Enough to register, not enough to leave. He took note of their positions without thinking about it, then walked to the far end where the punching bag hung, its Federation blue surface dulled and creased from years of use. And impacted by a year of him using it.

He stripped off his jacket and laid it down on the bench nearby, the combadge still clipped to the fabric. He didn’t bother removing it. It wouldn’t get in the way. His dark hair was slightly longer on top than the sides, the kind of cut you could maintain with a mirror and time His stubble had grown in rough, too short to be a beard, too long to ignore. He hadn’t shaved in a few days. It made no difference, but he would need to do it tomorrow. Could not have the grooming standards drop too much.

He began to wrap his hands, starting at the knuckles. His fingers moved with quiet precision, each pull of the wrap tight and even. Cross the back of the hand, turn the wrist, cinch it down. The same ritual every time. No thought required. Then he stepped in and hit the bag. No warm-up. No warning. Just motion. Just impact. The strike landed solidly, sending the bag into a slow arc on its chain. He hit it again before it could settle, then again, each motion calibrated. Elbow tucked, shoulder behind the movement, hips grounded. He moved like he had learned to fight without anyone ever teaching him to stop.

Trelan called it getting into the zone. Jace didn’t call it anything. This wasn’t meditation. It wasn’t therapy. It was a reset. A calibration. The only kind that worked for him. He drove a knee into the bag, followed by a sharp elbow. Stepped back. Let it swing. Watched the weight shift, then hit it again, harder this time. Not for show. Not for rhythm. Just to feel something meet him and give.

His sons were finally settled in their quarters—as settled as a trio of ten-year-old boys could ever be. The boarding medicals were behind them, and Blez had already endured his own round of introductions in sickbay, including a brief meeting with his superior, Major Moriarty, who had greeted the Dralis arrival with polite efficiency.

That left one final duty before calling it a night: a word with Sergeant Jace Morven, leader of the team, that some of his team members were slated for reassignment to his department.

He’d spent most of the day moving from one responsibility to the next, and the fatigue pressed at the edges of his focus. Still, one meeting wouldn’t hurt.

The gym was where the computer informed him of Morven's location. When he arrived, he observed the other man's fighting style, clearly one of power and technique. Blez rounded the various equipment deliberately, so his approach stayed within the man’s line of sight. Never walk up on Security or Ground Forces personnel from behind, he reminded himself. Especially when they’re training.

When Morven noticed him, Blez lifted the PADD with the offered crisp salute. “Sergeant Morven,” he said, voice even but carrying across the room, “Major Blez Dralis—new Provost Marshal. Do you have time to talk? I can make an appointment tomorrow.” Blez offered.

Jace stepped back from the bag, breath steady, sweat cooling on his skin. His knuckles ached under the wraps, not broken, not bleeding, just used. He flexed his fingers once, checking the pain, then let his hands fall loose at his sides. The man had come in right. Kept to the open, no sudden movement, no cut across his blind spots. That earned a mark. Looked Trill, uniform sharp, posture grounded. Built close to Jace’s own frame. Maybe half an inch taller, maybe not. He moved like someone who knew what his body could do, someone who had carefully worked it in his favour. He read the stance, the balance. Enough power behind it to hold ground, maybe take it. No fear in it. No arrogance either.

Reflex ran the numbers. Speed, weight, angle of entry. Could he take him. It didn’t matter. Jace almost shook his head. That instinct was old. Not helpful. This was a superior officer, not a fight. On paper, they were on the same side. Still. The read came first. The adjustment after.

The Provost Marshal.

Jace came to attention, sweat drying across his collar, breath still deep in his chest. “Sir,” he said, eyes forward. “Got time.”

Blez announced in a commanding tone. "At ease Sergeant. As you were." He waited a few moments for the other man to recover a little more from his training.

He, too, assumed an at ease stance after taking a few steps closer before he offered a PADD. "I do apologize for this, but Starfleet Security has ordered the following enlisted personnel be transferred to me," Blez's half frown confirmed he was sorry on the former Security department's behalf but had to start somewhere. "Unfortunately, I may require temporarily reassignment of personnel as well as the need arises."

Those on the list were: Private First Class Elijah Rourke and Private Nathanial Voss.

Jace accepted the PADD without hesitation. The tension hit immediately, quiet but sharp, as if the weight of it had set something in motion. But the idea of any of his squad, who he had spent the last months training into a solid team, being transferred...he pushed it aside. It didn’t matter. Command had the right to send them anywhere, together or apart. That was the job.

It could be any of them. Voss, the comms expert, still nervous about letting the squad down. Rourke, who didn’t back down from an insult unless someone physically held him back or Jace gave him the look. T’Valla, the fire-bright Caitian who seemed indestructible but cared too deeply. Trelan, the emotional temperature gauge of the squad, who had started giving Jace quiet hints when something wasn’t right. Vren, who still hadn’t learned when to keep his mouth shut. Reyes, sharp and quick, a future leader. Ra-Gari, the steady Corporal from the start. Bralk, always pushing against Jace’s authority when he thought no one was watching. Gido, the forever optimist.

He looked down at the screen. Words in that familiar font danced, never settling, never letting his eyes fix on them. He narrowed his gaze, trying to break through the static. But the names didn’t come. And it was taking too long. He could feel the Major’s eyes on him. Not aggressive. Not unkind. Just steady. Watching. Waiting. If he hadn’t already been sweating from the bag work, he’d be sweating now, not from the eyes on him, but from the familiar weight in the pit of his stomach.

He stared a moment longer, jaw tight, then lowered the PADD and looked back up. "You’ll have to tell me, sir," he said, his voice slipping into the familiar flatness he used when he was closing a door on something.

Not quite sure what was going on with the Sergeant, Blez put his hands behind his back. Perhaps it was just training fatigue? He mused, he'd been there, experienced that. The Provost Marshal nodded. "Very well, the orders detail Private First Class Elijah Rourke and Private Nathanial Voss are to be transferred to Military Police. They will assist me in evaluating the rest of the Ground Forces aboard." Blez didn't put any judgement into his tone as he spoke. It was a simple evaluation. What happened after was up to the Guinevere's command team, he wasn't ordered to make changes, and that gave him comfort as a newcomer.

For a moment, Jace’s eyes sharpened on the Major in front of him. But his expression didn’t change as he absorbed the names. He wouldn’t have picked them for the job, but the job was still needed. “I’d like permission to inform them myself, sir,” he said, watching the Major. Rourke would object. Best to take care of that in private. And Voss...Voss would need to hear it the right way. Needed to know it wasn’t personal. That he hadn’t failed. That neither of them had let the squad down.

"Please do Sergeant, it should come from you, I know I'd appreciate that if I was transferred out of a team." Blez's tone was soft and tender, he smiled then. "I have a few other personnel to beam over before we leave, I came over early to get things started. I better let you recover and things will kick off in a few days. Thank you for your time, Sergeant." Blez brought his hand up in a salute as he smiled.

Jace straightened and returned the salute, a slight pull between his eyebrows the only real emotion he betrayed. "Sir," he acknowledged, the permission noted...and the logistics of the Major taking the time to come early and inform him, rather than letting it be send directly to their PADDs.

"Is this your usual training time, if I may ask? As crewmates," Blez seemed a little hesitant, or reserved, as he spoke, now that duty was done, he wanted to make friends and sharing in fitness is a great male bonding activity.

Jace’s jaw tightened slightly at the question. The phrasing caught him. As crewmates. It sounded...strange. Not wrong. Just not what he expected to hear from a Provost Marshal. Officers didn't usually say things like that. Not to someone like him. He took a moment before answering, wiping one hand across the back of his neck. The skin was damp with sweat, still cooling, and the motion gave him a second to think. "Not really a schedule," he said at last. "I use it when it’s quiet." His lips moved for a brief second but no noise came out.

"There you are!" Elen's voice rose across the space, warm and bright enough to cut cleanly through whatever tension she had just walked into. She crossed the gym with a small half-bounce in her step, curls escaping the crocheted burnt orange shawl she had wrapped around her head. Her eyes flicked between Jace and the Major, catching the near-invisible shift in Jace's posture, the faint pull between his brows. Ah. Time to move.

"I decided just to go for it," she said, stopping beside Jace as if she had always meant to be here. "It is too early for you to be in the barracks, the holodeck is fully booked and your name was not on the schedule, the mess was dead-ish and the Green Kiss is far too loud, even for me today." Then she turned her full attention to the stranger. "Oh! We have not met. Elen Rell, Engineering. Sometimes chaos warp demon, but only if someone hurts my babe." A light, unapologetic grin. No hand offered, respectful of spots and boundaries alike. "And I love the hair."

Blez performed a half bow along with a smile to end the greeting. His eyebrows raised a little when she identified as a chaos warp demon. His smile evolved into a grin as she complimented his hair. "Blez Dralis, Ground Forces, and thank you, I'm assuming your babe is..." Blez gestured towards Jace with his grin still in place.

Elen's eyes widened dramatically and the laughed, her hand coming to cover her mouth before she dropped it. "Oh...oh Red Dust, no..." she shook her head, looking over at Jace who seemed to have locked his back in the same position he did on parade. "My babe is the ship...the Guinevere, a true queen..." she winked before she rolled her shoulder. "No, the Sergeant here has been spending the last few months teaching me to fight. Sort of. More like..."

"Making sure you stay alive long enough to get out or for reinforcements to arrive," Jace said, voice quiet, somewhat flat. Neutral. But there was a little ease of his shoulders. It was minute, but there.

A chuckled escaped Blez's lips as he watched Elen. "I see, it is a good idea to have the rest of the crew be trained in combat. It's better to know than it isn't. That not only helps the Ground Forces fight harder, knowing our crewmates can defend themselves when necessary, it will help put fear in our to-be enemies. They will know that our crew is too much trouble to handle." Blez brought his hands in front of him and steepled his fingers. "I think that is an excellent idea. I shall present it to the detachment commander when I met them." His grin seemed to get more intense even though nothing really changed.

After a moment he smiled softly. He glanced between Jace and Elen a few times, he wasn't a matchmaker but he had the inkling that something could spark between them. He wanted to get to know them better, to see but since she was here for training, he better leave. Blez nodded at Jace. "I look forward to our drink, I better leave you two to your training, who knows what may happen." He offered while turning to leave through the other exit he spotted opposite the way he'd come before.

Elen watched Blez disappear through the far exit, her eyebrows lifting a fraction before she let out a slow breath. The grin she had worn softened into something smaller, steadier. She shifted her shawl back over her curls and glanced up at Jace with a knowing tilt of her head. “He means well,” she said, voice warm but quiet enough not to echo. “Or...that is the vibe I’m getting. Lots of energy. None of it dangerous.” She felt the need to add that, just because how tight Jace was keeping himself, the tight line of his shoulders, the set of his jaw, the way he had not quite returned to the ground yet. She didn’t move toward him. Just lowered herself onto the padded floor near the wall and folded her legs beneath her, settling in as if this were the most natural thing in the world. “I’m not really in the mood to train today,” she added, soft and honest. “Do you mind if I just watch you for a bit?”

Jace’s eyes stayed on the doorway long after Blez had gone, that faint frown pulling between his eyebrows like a habit he did not bother to smooth out. He exhaled once, quiet and sharp, then looked over at Elen as she settled on the floor. She looked like she wasn't moving anywhere anytime soon. Like a stone, just...there. If a stone could vibrate with fidgeting energy that was.

No point in telling her no. She wasn't causing any damage. He gave a curt nod, turning towards the bag. His hands curled once at his sides, the wraps pulling tight across his knuckles. He stepped in, weight shifting with familiar purpose, but for a moment he hesitated. The swing of the bag, the quiet in the gym, her steady presence behind him...it all held him in place. But it also made what would happen crystalise in front of him,

Rourke’s face flickered through his mind. Voss’s too. How to tell them. When to tell them. Tomorrow. After morning drills. Controlled environment.

Together so they could stand shoulder to shoulder rather than fall apart alone.

He drove the thought down and struck the bag hard enough to send it arcing, his breath catching in the movement, his focus snapping back to the clean impact. The bag came back. He hit it again, letting the rhythm take the edge off the thoughts. Of the look in the Major's eyes, the spots against his skin and the feeling that something was shifting underground and he had no control over any of it.

off

Major Blez Dralis
Provost Marshal, Ground Forces Military Police

Sergeant Jace Morven
Platoon Sergeant, Alpha Squad
FGF Detachment

Lt. jg Elen Rell
Engineer

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