Anjar's Choice

Posted on Wed Nov 19th, 2025 @ 3:49pm by Lieutenant Evelyn Stewart & Commodore Anjar Tevon

1,014 words; about a 5 minute read

Mission: Year One: The Point of No Return
Location: USS Moore - Brig
Timeline: MD: 006 - 19:30hrs

Life on the ship had slowed to a near stand still. The corridors were quiet since they left Starbase 514, en route to Starbase 12. Everyone retreated to their places of comfort: their quarters, the DMZ, the holodecks. Anywhere to escape the tension and not talk about the anxiety of the mission. Everyone went out of their way to avoid the section of Deck 7 - the brig.

The brig was still except for the hum of the warp engines—a low, steady thrum that made the silence feel deliberate.

The doors hissed open.

“Ensign,” Lieutenant Stewart said evenly. “You’re relieved.”

The young officer hesitated only a second before nodding. “Aye, ma’am.” He logged off and slipped out, leaving the doors to close on a hush that made the room feel smaller.

Inside the cell, Commodore Anjar Tevon sat with her hands folded loosely in her lap. Her posture was formal, but her expression was calm—measured, weary, and searching all at once.

“You’re not Security,” she said.

“No, ma’am.” Evelyn clasped her hands behind her back. “Lieutenant Stewart. Flight Control.” She didn't know what she expected of the Bajoran Commodore, she just knew she had to see her for herself.

Anjar regarded her for a moment. “A pilot, then. Either you’re lost, or curious.”

Evelyn gave a small, wry smile. “Curious, I suppose.”

“Curious about me, or about what I represent?”

Evelyn hesitated. “Both.”

Anjar gestured to the space between them. “Then ask.”

Evelyn drew a quiet breath. “I was told once that duty isn’t about keeping your hands clean—it’s about getting them dirty so someone else doesn’t have to.”

The Bajoran’s eyes warmed with faint recognition. “A wise sentiment. Who told you that?”

“Captain Julian Naal,” Evelyn said. “I worked under him at the Academy for a few years.”

A smile tugged at the corner of Anjar’s mouth. “Julian Naal. He believed in getting close enough to the fire to feel it. I respected that about him.”

Her gaze settled more sharply on Evelyn. “And you. You came down here because you’re not sure whether I’m the villain or the warning, are you?”

Evelyn didn’t answer right away. She took a tentative step towards the forcefield before approaching it slowly. Her posture rigid as she held her hands firmly behind her back. “I wanted to understand. Starfleet says you made the wrong choice.”

Anjar exhaled slowly. “They’re right, in the sense that I didn’t follow orders. But they’ll never ask why. They can’t afford to.”

Her voice steadied. “I was a child during the Occupation, Lieutenant. I learned early what it meant to be powerless—to watch people starve while those in power told us to wait. To trust that someone, somewhere, was making the moral choice. But waiting didn’t feed us.”

Evelyn’s expression softened, her posture still composed.

“When I joined Starfleet,” Anjar continued, “I thought I’d left that behind—that I’d finally serve a system that wouldn’t look away. But the truth is, the Federation has a way of convincing itself that principle and action are the same thing.”

She leaned forward slightly, elbows on her knees. “When I diverted those shipments, it wasn’t because I didn’t care about the Romulan refugees. Of course I cared. I saw their faces in every report. But I had Federation citizens—children—starving on our own colonies. I couldn’t stand in front of them and explain that they had to wait because we were being fair.”

Evelyn was quiet for a long moment before speaking. “Starfleet says we serve the greater good. That balance is what keeps the Federation whole.”

Anjar nodded as she got up and slowly walked to the forcefield. Her steps even, almost casual, as she approached. “That’s the creed. And it’s noble—until you have to choose who eats and who doesn’t. Then it stops being philosophy and becomes arithmetic.”

“Someone was always going to starve,” Evelyn said softly. “You just decided which ones.”

Anjar didn’t flinch. “Yes. And because of that, a child wasn’t hungry.”

“That’s not compassion, though. It’s favoritism,” Evelyn said, her voice low but firm. “We’re supposed to serve everyone equally. Otherwise we start believing the system’s only as moral as our sympathy allows that day.”

“And you think the system holds?”

Evelyn couldn't meet her gaze, not at first. After a moment to collect her thoughts, she turned her attention back to the Bajoran. “I think it has to. I’ve seen what happens when it doesn’t.”

Anjar studied her quietly—really studied her—and then nodded once. “You still believe it can be repaired. I remember what that feels like.”

Evelyn shifted slightly, her throat tight. “You don’t sound like someone who’s lost faith.”

Anjar’s expression softened. “I haven’t. I just stopped confusing faith with obedience. Abstract morality doesn’t feed the hungry, Lieutenant. People do. And sometimes people have to make choices the bureaucracy won’t.”

“Even if it breaks the thing you believe in?” Evelyn asked.

Anjar’s gaze lingered on her, heavy with understanding. “Especially then.”

The silence that followed wasn’t uncomfortable—it was the kind that came from seeing yourself reflected in someone else and not liking what it revealed.

Evelyn finally looked to the console, moving to tap commands and summon a guard to the post. “If you need anything—lighting, temperature—let the watch know.”

“Thank you, Lieutenant,” Anjar said quietly. Then, after a moment: “You remind me of Naal. Careful, thoughtful… and already walking the line between conviction and compromise. Don’t lose that. Just don’t let it keep you from deciding when the time comes.”

Evelyn gave a single, restrained nod and turned for the door. The hiss of it closing behind her left the brig steeped again in the steady pulse of warp—clean, mechanical, and indifferent to which side of the argument was right.

 

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