Permission To Speak Freely

Posted on Thu Nov 27th, 2025 @ 4:52pm by Lieutenant Colonel Jesse Moriarty & Sergeant Jace Morven

3,045 words; about a 15 minute read

Mission: Prologue
Location: Outside Major Moriarty's Office, USS Guinevere
Timeline: Early 2389

Sergeant Jace Morven moved with the economy of a trooper who knew exactly where he was going. A new Detachment XO. The barracks had been buzzing, though Jace had not joined in. He had been listening, however. Major Jesse Moriarty had a good reputation, at least amongst the enlisted. Bralk spoke of him with respect, which was rare from the Tellarite, and with the tone of a Klingon boasting about battles.

Trelan had told him to ignore the scuttlebutt. This always happened with new officers. Most of the time, the people who started the rumours had never met the person to begin with.

Jace's uniform was clean and tidy, the creases sharp, though small signs marked it as his own. A reinforced seam at the elbow, another at the shoulder where the fabric had worn thin. Minor repairs, but done with precision. Boots polished, though the leather bore the fine creases of long wear.

Being a Platoon Sergeant was a far more visible position than Jace had been used to. Officers usually spoke to him only if he had unsettled them or failed to do something as they had expected. Since coming to the Guinevere, he had spent more time with officers, not just his CO but regular Starfleet personnel as well.

That still sat strangely with him.

He went to the door and rang the chime, standing at ease as he waited to be let in. His weight was evenly balanced, posture relaxed, the kind of stillness that came from long practice.

"Enter," Major Jesse Moriarty turned towards the door, just coming to the end of the personnel file that belonged to the man on the other side of the door. The sergeant was clearly an experienced soldier, and he'd have expected nothing less. But what shone through his record most strongly was a different word...survivor.

Jace walked in, eyes sweeping the room without turning his head. He stopped in front of the Major and came to attention, his face still. "Sergeant Morven reporting, Sir." The tone was flat. Not cold, not hostile, just level. His eyes stayed on the man in front of him, not locking eyes, but studying the Major.

Same height as Jace, though leaner. Athletic. Quick, but potentially carrying the weight of old injuries. Dark brown hair, a little long and with a slight wave. Faint scars on his face that could have been erased but had not been. Not for show. Perhaps proof. Of battles. Or survival.

Perhaps some of the scuttlebutt was true.

Moriarty nodded briskly to him, motioning for him to take a seat as he found his own. "At ease, Sergeant. I'm Major Moriarty, XO. I thought we should meet before phaser fire and photon grenades get in the way," the wry humour was clear in the tone of his voice even if his features remained straight.

Jace shifted his stance, letting his shoulders ease just enough to move from attention. He took the offered seat, posture still upright but not rigid. Just...steady. Hands on his legs, palms flat. The sort of posture he usually took whenever he was sitting. "Sir," he said with a short nod. "Better here than under fire." He had caught the flicker of wryness in the Major’s tone, weighing it. Not the empty sort officers sometimes used to make themselves seem approachable. This had a ring of truth to it. Lived truth. He filed it away. Might be worth trusting later.

"So...first impressions?" Moriarty looked him in the eyes with the blunt question, sliding the Padd with the other man's record back on the desk. It would have been a double edged question for a lot of people, being asked their first impressions of their new detachment, but he got the feeling Jace could be every bit as straight shooting as he could.

Jace met his eyes without flinching. No edge, no shift, just quiet steadiness. "Green, mostly," he said, voice even. "But they're starting to settle. I've been drilling Alpha hard. Getting their reaction time down, smoothing out the noise." He paused, not to soften the words but to measure them. His fingers flexed once against his thighs before going still again. "Could be worse. Could be better. They listen. That counts." he paused for a moment, just enough to read the Major’s face. "Depends how you want to run them."

Jesse allowed a slight sigh to escape; green troops were just about the most trying and concerning thing that could be sent their way. Natural instincts and ability were all valuable of course, but there was just no replacement for experience. "At least they have an experienced Sergeant."

Jace gave a small nod. "That's the job, Sir." The words sat strangely inside of him. Not because they were wrong. He was experienced. But that was not usually the first thing officers said. Most read his file and saw something else. Something harder. More dangerous. A problem to manage. Colonel Llewelyn had been the same, hadn't reacted to it, just...given him a squad. Moriarty had said experienced like it mattered. Like it meant something. He held the thought for a moment, then set it aside. "Won't be ready if it hits tomorrow," he said, voice even. "But they’re starting to think like a unit." He shifted slightly in the seat, spine straight, shoulders level. His hands stayed flat on his thighs, the weight of them measured, steady. "I’ll carry them till they can carry each other."

Jesse searched his features for a long moment. He liked those words. I'll carry them until they can carry themselves. It spoke of his sense of responsibility, loyalty and comradery. But it also warned of a possible reckless instinct to self-sacrifice. He finally gave a nod, not challenging him on the position though. "Why'd you join up, Morven? Of all the things you could have done."

Jace looked at him. Blinked. The question caught him off guard. For a moment, there was nothing. Just a steady stare, a flicker of confusion breaking through his usual stillness. He shifted slightly in the chair, his shoulders barely moving, one finger tapping once against his thigh before going still again. It passed quickly.

What came next was just fact. "I was granted asylum by the Federation. They placed me in the Starfleet Enlisted Preparation Programme to make up for the skills I never learned. SEPP recommended I join the Federation Ground Forces, Sir," he said, voice steady.

Jesse just watched, waiting for him to continue. But he didn't. A frown crept on to his features as he leant forward on the desk to him. "That...doesn't answer the question. You still could have gone anywhere, done anything."

Jace’s eyes shifted past the Major’s shoulder to the stars beyond. The thought that he could have done anything else had never occurred to him at the time. Later, it surfaced now and then, but faintly. Easy to push back down. Saying it aloud felt strange, as if he was hearing his own ignorance for the first time. "It never entered my mind," he said, eyes coming back to meet Jesse’s. "On Turkana IV, you survived by being useful. I thought the same applied here back then."

Jesse could understand that. He supposed his own path hadn't been so different. Would he have considered anything other than joining Starfleet when circumstances had landed him right in their path? "And how do you feel about it now?"

Jace met his eyes and held them. Still. Measuring. But there was a moment where he truly looked into the other man's eyes, not in challenge. "I am not sure I could exist outside the Federation Ground Forces, Sir." The words came steady, without pause. He was what he had been made. The FGF had not put him down, so he had a place here. One hand pressed a little more firmly against his thigh, then eased again. If that changed, he would adapt. Or he would not.

Jesse searched his eyes, seeing nothing but honesty in them. Oh, he believed him alright. It was written all over his record...and broadcast in the way he held himself. "Then let's make sure we're indispensable," he chuckled wryly, shaking his head lightly as he settled back. "Your record is impressive. I suspect you have a long career ahead."

Jace inclined his head slightly. "Indispensable is a good place to be," he said, voice even. The idea of a long career had never been something he pictured. Not until recently. There were moments now, in the quiet, when the future was not just a gap between battles. His eyes stayed on the Major. He was still measuring him, but there was something there that might stand the test of time. "I will keep the squad ready, Sir."

In the space between breaths, he thought this might be a man worth following.

"I know," Moriarty replied honestly and bluntly, not doubting the man. He'd earnt his position through experience and sheer force of nature. "I want to see the rotation of training you have planned over the next two weeks. I'll be joining you for some, I'll let you know which."

"Corporal Ra-Gari posts the schedules, Sir. I will make sure you have a copy on a PADD," Jace said, a muscle in his jaw tightening. Not at the thought of being watched in training. That was nothing new. It had just been a while since an officer had taken an active part. Usually it was a Sergeant. It was still an adjustment, being that Sergeant now. Wearing the stripes because he had earned them, not through blood alone or by being the last one standing.

Jesse arched an eyebrow, the subtle change not lost on him. He folded his arms as he watched him steadily, allowing him a moment before finding his target. "Permission to speak," he said knowingly.

The permission shifted something in Jace. It was subtle, a change of his shoulders, his eyes narrowing slightly. Not hostile, just recalibrating to the situations. "Officers don't usually train with a squad unless they're either planning to hit the ground with them, or think they need the extra boost." He had dropped the Sir. Not out of disrespect, more because there was no space in what he was saying for it.

"Or wants to get to know them, how they work, their strengths and weaknesses..." Jesse pointed out quietly as he watched him intently...before finally giving a light shrug, his arms folding. "And maybe...hitting the ground running isn't entirely out of the question either..."

Jace studied him, a realisation coming to him. A read, perhaps. This man was as much of a trooper as he was. And it changed what this was. "You want to know where you fit in if you're in a trench with us," he said, the words sounding almost rough. As if saying them had pulled on reserves that he didn't usually access.

"Exactly," Moriarty replied easily, seeing no reason to hide it. He was impressed though, that Jace had read him so well...and hadn't been afraid to voice it. "And you all need to know the same about me," he pointed out. It wouldn't help anyone if his presence just ended up throwing them out of rhythm.

Jace gave a curt nod. Yes. He did. He could already see the type though, the scars told a story. As did his hands. He met his eyes, holding them before they flickered back to the man's hands. "Tomorrow, 08:00. Holodeck 2. I'm running them through an ambush drill. You'd...fit well. Sir."

Moriarty followed his gaze, seeing how the man was sizing him up. Well, it was fair enough he supposed, he was doing the same thing to him. He'd also want to know what kind of person was leading him. Whether they were likely to get them out of trouble or get them all killed. "What is it?" he asked all the same, lifting his hand slightly as if to indicate it...mostly because he was curious as to how honestly he'd answer an officer.

Jace considered his answer for a moment, before meeting his eyes. "You wear your scars not as badges, but part of you. You also have steady hands, Sir. I think I might have to up the difficulty level on the ambush drill."

Moriarty gave a soft grunt of laughter, both at the observation and the decision. He paused for a long moment, considering what to tell him...and what not to. The role of a sergeant could often see a person trapped between two worlds. And he remembered that feeling all too well. "It's not something I broadcast, but...I was a Lance Corporal by the end of the war. I retrained as an officer shortly after."

Jace gave a small nod, the words confirming a theory his mind had been working on in the background. "I was a Corporal," he finally said. "Made it at the end of the Klingon-Federation conflict. Made Sergeant a little over a year ago." He knew that it meant he had spent almost twenty years in the Ground Forces without promotion. He also knew that Moriarty most likely had read that already. He just didn't like having something just sitting there like a tripwire ready to be crossed. "I was with the 77th. Didn't have the best reputation, Sir."

"Why?" Moriarty asked bluntly as he met the man's eyes. Of course, he knew the short story, the rumours, the memos. But he was more interested in what Jace's opinion might be on why things had gotten that bad.

His eyes flickered over Moriarty's shoulder for a moment. Explaining it felt...he wasn't sure he could. Not really. "The 77th had a reputation of broken troopers, quick on the trigger, slow on the uptake," he said, but the flatness of the voice made it sound like he was doing a field report. "High casualty rate in peace time, higher in the War. Troopers that didn't know when to hold back unless a Sergeant had them on a leash, not known for taking prisoners." His eyes went back to Moriarty, a muscle in his jaw tightening again. His shoulders tensed with it, not much, but enough for Jace to feel it. "They had an initiation ritual, a fighting pit. New transfers never won, because winning the fight wasn't the point." His throat felt dry at the words, more than he'd usually spill. He swallowed to try and ease it.

Moriarty just watched him, lifting his chin as he thought about Martinez, the friend he'd trained with who had also been in the 77th. He noted the sudden tension in the man, the way his jaw had tightened as if literally biting it down. "You know that behaviour was despicable, right?"

"I just know that I won't let anyone do that to my squad," Jace said, his voice quiet and low. He had never attributed words like despicable to things. At the time he had simply lived through it, with the same drive that had him grow up on Turkana. When he had seen how it had affected those around him, he had tried to do small things to keep them from breaking, but not enough to be noticed. And when Sergeant Tho hadn't seen the sniper...well. The entire squad had made that decision with silence. It might have made them all complicit in his death in a way, but it had meant their chances of survival for the rest of the war had increased.

Moriarty frowned just a touch at the words. Not their literal meaning of course. He'd damn well expect his Sergeant not to let it happen. He leant closer, lowering his voice as he met his eyes. "Good. But it's pretty important to me that you also understand that it was despicable."

Jace blinked. For a moment, his breath stayed in his chest, unmoving. Despicable. He thought briefly about the pit, about the culture in the 77th, of Banik's eyes, Kerren's tremble, Raimi's narrowed eyes, Martinez's eyes watching him with an expression Jace had not understood. He considered the shape of it, the bruise it had left on those he served with. He finally gave a nod and exhaled, slowly, breathing steadily again. "Yes Sir."

Moriarty nodded firmly in response, convinced he meant it that time. "Is there anything you want to ask or tell me?" he said lightly...before pausing, realising that could sound like an accusation of guilt. "While you have my ear, I mean."

Was there anything? Jace considered the question for a moment before he shook his head. "No Sir," he said, shifting. Not tensing, as much as returning to how he had been before. Face more distance, eyes not quite focusing on him. He had...seen a lot from Moriarty. The feeling settled, not quite comfortable, but not uncomfortable either. "0800 hours, Sir. Holodeck 2."

"I'll be there, Sergeant...dismissed," Moriarty assured, sitting back as he watched him with a weak, half smile. The troops were in good hands. He was more concerned about what he might give in the name of duty.

Jace rose smoothly, the motion economical, chair pushed back with the minimum of sound. He gave a sharp nod, meeting Moriarty’s eyes for a moment longer than strict form required. The faintest tightness lingered in his jaw, but his posture was steady. "Sir," he acknowledged and turned to leave. But as the door opened, Jace felt the brief pull of something that unsettled him more than censure ever had. The Major had not treated him like a weapon, or a liability to be managed. He had spoken as if experience mattered, as if scars were not just proof of survival but of belonging.

It was a thought Jace set aside before it could take shape, but it lingered all the same as he stepped into the corridor. Perhaps, this time, he had found an officer worth carrying weight for.

----

Sergeant Jace Morven
Platoon Sergeant, Alpha Squad
Federation Ground Forces Detachment
USS Guinevere

Major Jesse Moriarty
Detachment Executive Officer
Federation Ground Forces Detachment
USS Guinevere

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