The Long Walk Out

Posted on Thu Mar 12th, 2026 @ 7:55am by Lieutenant Commander Keishara Davaris & Lieutenant JG Sam Matthews & Commodore Anjar Tevon
Edited on on Thu Mar 12th, 2026 @ 10:26am

3,341 words; about a 17 minute read

Mission: Year One: The Point of No Return
Location: Transporter Room, USS Moore & Starbase 514
Timeline: MD 004 - 1040 hours

The transporter room was already alive when Keishara stepped in.

Sam Matthews stood just off the pad, shoulders squared but relaxed, finishing a quiet exchange with the last of the team. Four gold uniforms total. No ceremony. No nerves on display. Just people who knew why they were here.

The transporter chief gave Kei a brief nod from the console and went back to his work. The air smelled faintly of ionisation and disinfectant, that clean, waiting stillness that always settled before a beam-out.

Sam turned as she approached and crossed the short distance between them. He didn’t bother with a report. Instead, he held out a sidearm, grip-first.

“Standard issue,” he said quietly. “Charged, safeties set. You can change that if you want.”

Kei took it, the weight familiar in her hand. She checked it out of habit more than necessity, then secured it at her side.

Behind Sam, the rest of the detail finished gearing up.

An ensign—Human, young, trying not to show it—adjusted the strap on her shoulder harness and met Kei’s eyes for half a second before straightening. A Tellarite petty officer leaned against the bulkhead, arms folded, watching the room with an expression that suggested he’d already decided he didn’t like this mission. The last was a Bolian crewman, enlisted, quiet and steady, his gaze fixed on the transporter pad as if committing every line of it to memory.

Sam tipped his head toward them. “They’re solid. Station security’s been briefed on their end.”

His voice dropped just a fraction. “We’re ready when you are.”

Keishara looked around the room once more, taking them in—not as a formation, but as people who’d have to move together in tight spaces and trust each other to keep things from tipping sideways.

“Alright,” she said, calm and even. “Let’s go meet our guest.”

She stepped onto the pad, the team falling in with quiet precision around her, and nodded to the transporter chief.

“Energise.”

Station 514's Vulcan security chief and four yellow shirts were waiting in the transporter room, phasers holstered at their own hips, for Davaris and her officers. The security chief eyed the party with quiet skepticism. He noted the fact the boarding party was armed as he stoically watched the beam dematerialize. "Commander, I am Lieutenant Commander Surlak, chief of station security. I understand you are here to escort the Commodore to your ship. If you and your crew will follow me, please." He calmly, leading them out of the transporter room into the station properly.

Keishara inclined her head in a small, deliberate bow as the last shimmer of the transporter faded.

“Thank you for receiving us, Lieutenant Commander Surlak,” she said evenly. “I’m Lieutenant Commander Keishara Davaris.”

She let a half-second pass — respect acknowledged, nothing performative — then shifted smoothly into motion beside him rather than waiting to be led.

“Before we move, I’d like to make sure we’re on the same page,” she continued, voice calm and conversational. “What route are you taking us through, and how quiet is it likely to be at this hour?”

Her eyes tracked the corridor beyond the transporter room, already mapping angles and flow.

“I’m not looking for trouble,” she added simply. “But if there’s been any tension on the station because of the Commodore — protests, sympathisers, people lingering where they shouldn’t — I’d rather know now than discover it halfway there.”

She glanced back briefly at her team, then forward again.

“My priority is getting her off your station without incident,” Kei said. “And getting my people back on my ship the same way. If there’s anything you think could complicate that, I’m listening.”

No pressure. No challenge. Just competence offered as a shared goal.

“Whenever you’re ready.”

The Vulcan walked beside her with even, confident steps. "The direct route, naturally." He said matter of fact about the logic of their path to the brig. "As to the station's activity level," he paused as he thought of how to explain, eyeing how his security offices took position flanking the security team from the Moore. "this is an active station, Commander. Unfortunately the recent wave of Romulan refugees as made space limited and foot traffic considerable. I regret to inform you there is no way to avoid the residence, if that is your question." He stated dryly.

Keishara gave a small nod, accepting the answer without endorsing it.

“Understood,” she said simply. “Crowded I can work with.”

She fell into step beside him as they left the transporter room, her team adjusting without being told, spacing themselves naturally as the corridor widened and then narrowed again. The station felt lived-in in a way ships rarely did — voices bleeding through bulkheads, footsteps overlapping, the low hum of too many lives packed too close together.

“What I’m trying to get a sense of,” Kei continued quietly, keeping her eyes forward, “is where this gets loud. Not traffic — people.”

As if on cue, a voice carried from a side corridor ahead of them.

“—should’ve let her rot in a hearing room instead of playing hero—”

Another, sharper, answered back. “She fed her own. Starfleet forgot how to do that a long time ago.”

Keishara didn’t turn her head, but she registered the shift immediately — shoulders tightening in the periphery, a Tellarite vendor pulling a crate a little closer to himself, one of her own officers adjusting their grip without realising it.

“That,” Kei said evenly, just loud enough for Surlak to hear, “is what I’m asking about.”

They passed a cluster of civilians pressed along one wall, some watching openly now, others pretending very hard not to. A woman spat the Commodore’s name like a curse. A Romulan man further back muttered something that sounded uncomfortably close to gratitude.

Keishara exhaled through her nose, slow.

“If opinions are already this split out here,” she went on, tone calm but intent, “then the direct route may be the shortest distance, but it’s not necessarily the quietest.”

She glanced sideways at Surlak then, not confrontational, just frank.

“I don’t need a detour,” she added. “I need to know if there are places along this path where tempers tend to tip faster than they should — choke points, bottlenecks, places where people stop being bystanders.”

Another voice rose behind them, louder this time.

“Release her!”

And just as quickly, someone else snapped back, “She broke her oath!”

Keishara didn’t break stride.

“My goal is to get her out of here without anyone deciding to make a statement,” she said. “Including my own people. If that means we slow our pace or adjust formation for a few metres, I’d rather plan it now than improvise when someone gets brave.”

She let the words hang, then added, more quietly:

“You know this station better than I do. I’m trusting your read.”

Surlak didn’t slow.

“The direct route remains the most efficient,” he said evenly.

They entered a crowded junction. Civilians noticed the combined security presence and quieted. Surlak lifted two fingers and his station detail adjusted—Human forward to clear the lane, Bolian dropping back, Tellarite widening the buffer.

They didn’t fold in with the Moore team.

They boxed them in.

Close enough to look like coordination to a civilian eye — but tight, deliberate angles that limited the Moore team’s options more than they protected them.

A station ensign glanced at the Moore sidearms and murmured, “Armed escort. For a court transfer.”

The Tellarite’s reply was a low snort. “Starfleet calls that dignity.”

Surlak didn’t react. He only lowered his voice for Keishara.

“This station is crowded,” he said. “And people are… invested.”

His gaze flicked to her, cool and appraising. “Commodore Anjar is not viewed here as a problem to be managed. She is viewed as someone who made decisions others refused to make.”

A beat.

“And now she is being taken away to answer for them.”

He stopped just long enough to force both teams to pause with him—jurisdiction, not drama.

“There are choke points,” he continued. “Residential access. Outside Security. The holding area.”

His tone stayed professional. “We will maintain control. We will follow orders. We will deliver the Commodore into your custody.”

Another measured pause.

“That does not require our approval.”

He stepped forward again, station security moving with quiet precision around him — positions that looked like standard crowd control, but left no doubt they could collapse inward if anyone on the Moore decided to get creative.

“Stay in step, Commander Davaris,” Surlak said flatly. “It will make this smoother for everyone.”

Keishara took it in without comment at first — the positioning, the subtle boxing-in, the way station security flowed just tightly enough to make a point. She didn’t push against it. She didn’t rise to it.

When she spoke, her voice was low and even, meant only for Surlak.

“I’m not here to make a statement,” she said simply. “And I’m not here to test your control of your station.”

She kept her eyes forward, matching his pace without effort.

“We’re a courier service today,” Kei went on. “Nothing more. We take custody, we move cleanly, and we leave your people exactly where we found them.”

A brief pause, not pointed, just honest.

“If something flares, I’ll contain my side,” she added. “But I’m not going to be the one turning this into a problem.”

Her gaze flicked to the civilians watching from the edges of the junction, then back ahead.

“You want smooth,” she said quietly. “So do I.”

She adjusted her pace by half a step — not falling back, not surging ahead — staying precisely where Surlak had set the rhythm.

“I’ll stay in step,” Keishara said. “You lead.”

And she meant it.

Surlak simply lifted his eyebrow in response to the El Aurian's comment as he glanced at her for a step before turning his gaze forward again. "That would be most logical." he said curtly but with a subtle edge in the inflection signaling his authority and personal thoughts on the situation.

After several minutes and two more bends, they approached the security offices of the station. "Have your men stay here." He ordered Davaris, intending to have only the senior most officers in the party enter.

Kei glanced back over her shoulder, meeting Sam’s eyes first, then the rest of the detail. No need to raise her voice.

“Hold here,” she said evenly. “Stay alert. Nobody moves unless I call it.”

Sam gave a single nod, already shifting his stance, his team fanning just enough to cover the corridor without advertising it. The ensign swallowed and straightened. The Tellarite’s expression tightened into something watchful. The Bolian didn’t move at all — exactly as intended.

Kei turned back to Surlak.

“Lead on.”

The doors to Station Security slid open with a muted hiss, sealing the noise of the concourse behind them. Inside, the air changed — cooler, quieter, stripped down to purpose. The hum of forcefields layered beneath the station’s systems, a sound you felt more than heard.

They moved through the outer office and into the brig proper.

And there she was.

Commodore Anjar sat alone in her cell, hands folded loosely in her lap, posture composed, eyes lifted as the doors parted. The forcefield cast a faint shimmer across her features, softening nothing.

She looked… calm. Not resigned. Not defiant.

Waiting.

Keishara stopped just outside the field, taking her in without expression, every instinct cataloguing the moment — the woman, the space, the weight of everything that had led them here.

“Commodore,” Kei said at last, voice steady.

“This won’t take long.”

Surlak simply eyed Davaris before tapping the controls and the force field dropped with a shimmer. "Commodore, this is Lieutenant Commander Davaris of the USS Moore. She is here to escort you back to Starbase 12 for your court martial." He explained calmly.

The Bajoran woman simply nodded at the explanation and her eyes silently scanned the El Aurian while she stood and stepped through the threshold of the cell. "Commander." she offered in polite greeting.

Keishara didn’t look away when the forcefield dropped.

She gave Surlak a small nod of acknowledgment, then let her attention settle fully on Anjar as she stepped clear of the threshold.

“For the record,” Kei said, her voice shifting into formal cadence without becoming stiff, “custody is transferring from Station Security, Starbase Five-One-Four, to the USS Moore, under orders to transport to Starbase Twelve pending court-martial.”

Her eyes moved briefly to the station chief, then back to the woman in front of her.

“Receiving officer: Lieutenant Commander Davaris, Chief of Security.”

A half-beat.

“There will be no restraints.”

She didn’t rush the explanation. It wasn’t a favour — it was procedure.

“The detainee has been compliant throughout holding. No violence markers. No attempt to flee. No threat posture to officers, civilians, or herself.” Her tone remained even, factual. “Escort detail is present and sufficient. Environmental risk assessed as low.”

Her gaze held steady on Anjar’s.

“This is a controlled transfer, not a tactical extraction.”

That was the line that mattered.

Keishara tapped her combadge without looking away. “Davaris to Matthews. Transfer complete. We’re moving.”

“Copy.”

She shifted position automatically, stepping half a pace forward and to the side — close enough to guide, not close enough to crowd. It set the formation without making a show of it.

“This way,” she said quietly.

Then she turned toward the doors, trusting Anjar to fall into step and trusting her team to close around them with the quiet precision she expected.

The Commodore walked quietly with the joint security detail without fuss, or remorse. The Bajoran officer’s head held high, she saw the promenade slowly begin to fill with the station residents.

The slowly forming crowd lined the path back to the transporter room, murmuring amongst themselves as to what was going on.

Surlak eyed the growing crowds with suspicion as the murmurs grew louder, full of discontent. =/\=Surlak to Ops, send additional security to line the route to the transporter room. Civilians are lining the Moore’s path. =/\=

=/\= Aye, sir. Security in route. Ops out. =/\=

Rounding a corner, it was evident the crowd was growing and unafraid to share their sentiments.

“She was doing her duty!”

“She looked after Federation citizens!”

“She’s an officer, not a criminal!”

“Starfleet traitors! Let her go.”

Keishara felt the corridor tightening around them as the promenade filled. More bodies. More movement along the edges of the path. It wasn’t chaos, but it was trending that way.

She didn’t slow.

Her hand lifted slightly at her side, two fingers turning inward in a small, practiced motion.

Sam caught it instantly. The Moore team adjusted without a word, closing the gaps between them and shifting into a tighter escort around Anjar. The ensign moved in on the Commodore’s right, the Bolian eased back to cover the rear, and the Tellarite widened just enough to create space between the column and the nearest civilians.

No weapons drawn. No raised voices.

Just quiet control.

Keishara kept her pace even, eyes moving across the corridor ahead and the bodies lining it, reading posture and intent the way she always did. For now, it was noise and proximity, not action.

She angled her head slightly toward Surlak as they walked, her voice low enough to stay between them.

“My people will keep the formation tight,” she said calmly. “We’ll keep moving.”

The noise followed them as they moved.

At first it was only voices—sharp, emotional, overlapping—but the sound carried through the station corridors until it felt larger than the number of people actually present.

More civilians spilled into the corridor ahead as word spread down the promenade.

They weren’t charging the escort.

But they were clustering.

Drifting closer to the route the way crowds always did when something important was happening and nobody wanted to miss it.

At the center of it all, Commodore Anjar walked with quiet dignity, her head held high, expression composed, saying nothing as the murmurs swelled around the escort.

A Trill woman stepped forward just enough to be seen, her spots stark against the pale lighting of the corridor.

“You saved people when the Council wouldn’t!” she called.

Someone else snapped back almost immediately.

“She disobeyed orders!”

Another voice rose over the top of both.

“Starfleet’s just afraid someone had the courage to do what they wouldn’t!”

The corridor narrowed ahead as more residents pressed toward the edges of the path.

Surlak’s jaw tightened almost imperceptibly.

Two additional station security officers pushed through from the far end of the corridor, trying to widen the lane, but the crowd didn’t retreat so much as bend around them.

The air shifted.

Not violent.

But tense in the way crowds became when emotion started feeding on itself.

The murmurs grew louder as the escort passed.

“She should be honored, not arrested.”

“She protected Federation citizens!”

“She followed her conscience!”

Then someone near the back of the crowd shouted—

“Let her speak!”

The words rippled down the corridor like a spark.

The civilians pressed closer.

Not a surge.

But the unmistakable pressure of bodies leaning forward.

Station security reacted immediately.

“Stand back,” one officer barked.

Surlak paused just long enough to turn slightly toward the gathering crowd.

“Clear the corridor,” he said evenly.

The presence of the station’s security officers, disciplined and unmoving, slowly forced the civilians back step by step. The lane opened again.

They moved.

One more turn.

At the end of the corridor, the doors to Transporter Room Three came into view.

Behind them, the noise of the crowd swelled again as more residents pressed forward.

Surlak’s officers shifted position along the corridor edges, tightening the perimeter without breaking stride.

The Vulcan glanced once toward Commander Davaris.

“Commander.”

Keishara heard the shift in Surlak’s tone before she looked at him. Just the single word, but it carried enough weight to say everything that needed saying.

Time to move.

She gave a small nod in return, already adjusting her pace slightly as Transporter Room Three came into full view ahead of them. The Moore team tightened the formation instinctively, guiding Anjar through the last stretch of corridor as the station security detail held the widening crowd at bay behind them.

The doors parted with a soft hiss.

Inside, the transporter room felt almost unnaturally calm compared to the noise they’d just walked through. The transporter chief stood ready at the console, glancing up as the group entered.

Keishara stepped through first and turned just enough to watch the others follow. Sam and the team moved in with practiced efficiency, guiding the Commodore onto the pad while maintaining the escort without making it feel like a cage.

Only once they were inside did Kei turn back toward Surlak.

“Thank you for the assist, Lieutenant Commander,” she said evenly, the words carrying genuine professionalism rather than ceremony. “Your people handled that well.”

It wasn’t flattery. Just acknowledgement.

Her eyes flicked once toward the corridor beyond him where the murmur of the crowd still carried faintly through the bulkhead.

“Hopefully the rest of your shift is quieter.”

Then she stepped back onto the transporter pad, taking her place beside the others. Sam shifted half a pace to close the formation around Anjar, the team settling into position with the same quiet discipline they’d shown all day.

Keishara gave the transporter chief a brief nod.

“Six to beam up,” she said calmly. “USS Moore.”

The chief’s fingers moved across the console.

A moment later the familiar shimmer of the transporter effect wrapped around them, the station dissolving into bright lattice light as the escort detail and their charge vanished from Starbase 514.

 

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