Not So Standing Orders

Posted on Tue Jul 14th, 2026 @ 4:18am by Commander Steven Greco & Lieutenant Tollan Yara & Commander Calvin 'Cal' Maraj & Lieutenant Commander Keishara Davaris & Lieutenant Dashku Zhevou & 1st Lieutenant Kes Th’relnal & Lieutenant JG Koaruh Avestro

2,054 words; about a 10 minute read

Mission: Year One: The Point of No Return
Location: USS Moore - Conference Room
Timeline: MD: 011 - 1100 hours

The conference room was quiet.

Commander Steven Greco sat alone at the table for a few moments before the meeting was due to begin, a PADD resting in front of him.

Starbase Twelve was less than an hour away. Soon Commodore Anjar would be someone else's responsibility. The hearings, the politics, and the arguments surrounding her arrest would continue without the Moore.

The ship, meanwhile, would return to her escort assignment.

Which was becoming a problem.

Greco glanced down at the PADD. He'd spent most of the morning reading orders, amendments, and rescissions that seemed to arrive almost as quickly as the questions they were meant to answer.

One week the fleet was being instructed to facilitate civilian traffic, support relief operations, and avoid unnecessary disruptions to commerce moving through Federation space.

Then came orders directing increased inspections of non-Federation vessels operating within Federation borders.

Those orders lasted less than a day before being rescinded.

A few days later similar orders returned, amended this time. Inspections remained authorized, but exemptions were carved out for relief convoys, registered aid organizations, and designated commercial traffic.

It didn't stop there.

Additional security measures followed. Expanded cargo verification procedures. Increased reporting requirements for foreign vessels. Greater coordination with local security authorities. Some orders survived. Others were amended. A handful disappeared entirely.

Greco understood changing circumstances.

What he struggled with was the pace of it.

Captains were expected to execute fleet orders. That became considerably more difficult when those orders seemed to shift every few days.

Or every few hours.

He set the PADD aside as the last of the senior staff settled into their seats.

"Has everyone had a chance to review the latest orders regarding non-Federation vessels operating within Federation space?"

The doors opened before anyone answered.

Cal stepped in with a PADD in one hand and the kind of expression that said the morning had already taken a bite out of him and found bone. His uniform was neat. His face was calm enough. Neither did much to hide the fact that somewhere between his ready room and this conference room, somebody at Command had managed to test the last good nerve he had left.

He caught the end of Greco’s question and let out a quiet breath.

“That depends.”

Crossing to the head of the table, he set the PADD down and looked around the room.

“Are we talking about the orders they sent this morning, the ones they amended thirty minutes later, or the ones they just forwarded explaining why neither of those meant what they said?”

A few beats passed.

“Morning, everyone.”

It wasn't unfriendly. Just tired.

Cal rested a hand on the back of his chair.

“I've spent most of the last hour trying to work out which version of our escort orders we're actually supposed to be following.” He shook his head once. “Every time Command decides to clarify something, they somehow make it less clear.”

That earned the faintest hint of irritation in his voice.

“So yes, I've read them. All of them. Including the amendments, the revisions, and the helpful explanatory notes that raise more questions than they answer.”

He sat.

“Anjar reaches Starbase Twelve in under an hour. Once that's done, we're back to escort operations, and I'd rather not discover halfway through an encounter that Starfleet quietly changed the rules while we weren't looking.”

His gaze moved around the table.

“So let's make sure we're all working from the same page before somebody at headquarters writes another one.”

A faint, weary smile tugged briefly at one corner of his mouth.

“Commander. What version are we using today?”

Keishara had been quiet up to that point.

Not because she had nothing to say. The PADD in front of her had picked up more pressure from her thumb than the casing deserved.

She looked from Cal to Greco, then back to the orders as if another pass might make them less absurd.

“It depends what Command is calling them today,” she said. “The wording changes every time someone gets nervous.”

There was no humour in it.

She tapped the side of the PADD once, lightly.

“With respect, this creates serious legal problems. We have broad inspection authority for non-Federation vessels inside Federation space, exemptions that shift depending on classification, unclear thresholds for probable cause, and no consistent guidance on what happens when a vessel refuses.”

Her gaze lifted.

“With respect, this is exactly the kind of guidance that gets officers disciplined for doing what they were told.”

Keishara sat back a fraction, but her voice stayed level.

“If Starfleet wants us stopping ships, searching cargo, and deciding in real time who counts as relief, commercial, diplomatic, or suspicious, then they need to give us something firmer than this. Otherwise we are one nervous boarding party away from violating trade agreements, refugee protections, or someone’s sovereign immunity because Command couldn’t decide what it meant before breakfast.”

A beat.

“And the reasoning makes no sense. If this is about security, say so and explain the threat. If it’s about smuggling, give us clear standards. If it’s political theatre because everyone is afraid of being the next Anjar, I’d rather not have my people used as props.”

She looked at Cal, then Greco.

“I can enforce clear orders. I can work with ugly orders. I can even work with unpopular ones.”

Her eyes dropped briefly to the PADD.

“I cannot build a lawful security operation around instructions that change every time someone at headquarters changes their mind.”

Dashku had arrived early enough to get herself her third or fourth cup of Katheka for the morning, she'd honestly lost count. She'd reviewed the mornings orders and the ones sent thirty minutes later but not the set they'd just sent apparently. She made a face at the PaDD she'd been looking at before she raised one of her brows. "I might be able to help smooth over some of the rough Captains, but it's going to be a challenge to keep up with what they want us to do. I wouldn't normally suggest this, but we could play the middle."

"Have they assigned impartial inspectors yet?" Kes asked without taking his eyes off Keishara. His antenna waved around the room, but his gaze stuck. "If not, you're going to have to keep everyone on the same page." He clicked his forefinger against the padd in front of him and set it softly spinning on the table. "Regardless of if they keep changing the book."

"Might be worth taking a camera drone to keep both sides honest." The Andorian lifted his finger and stopped the padd from spinning for a moment before flicking it in the opposite direction. "And are these regs getting released to the civilians as well? That could cause issues if they decide that their updates conveniently got lost after a rather beneficial version."

Kes was spitballing. Truth was that most of the updates were for the Federation crew and conduct. It was tiresome trying to keep track of it, but it was worse for them. At least he was able to dictate some of them for his own troops and keep a lot of the bullshit at bay.

"For what, the three minutes these orders are valid?" Yara asked Kes, holding up his on PaDD. His jaw set as he considered the orders on the PaDD in his hand again, " I have no idea how they expect any of us to do our jobs if they can't decide on a direction." There was a pause as he considered the orders again for a moment. "I don't like how non-federations are getting singled out." He added before he had a chance to control his tongue, looking up at the other officers.

Commander Greco sat up a bit straighter in his chair at that. His eyes meeting the Trill's for a moment before addressing the group, his tone firmer than usual. "We do our jobs because we are officers. Whatever is going on at Starfleet Command does not excuse us not doing our job as a tactical escort, whatever our orders maybe. Understood?"

Cal let Greco’s words settle before he spoke.

He understood the firmness. Needed it, even. A room full of senior officers could not drift into open disgust every time Command made a mess of the paper trail.

Still.

“Steve’s right,” Cal said, looking around the table. “We don’t get to stop doing the job because the orders are ugly, unclear, or changing faster than good sense can catch them.”

His gaze moved to Yara for a moment, not rebuking him, just catching the concern properly.

“But Yara’s not wrong either. Singling out non-Federation vessels like this is a dangerous road if we get careless. It starts looking very quickly like Starfleet protection for our people and Starfleet suspicion for everyone else.”

He leaned back slightly in his chair, fingers resting against the edge of the PADD.

“And that is not how this ship is going to operate.”

The words were calm. Not soft.

“Kes, I like the camera drone idea. If we board anyone, I want a full record from the moment we hail them to the moment we step back off their deck. No gaps, no convenient summaries. If we are doing inspections, we do them clean.”

His eyes shifted to Keishara.

“Kei, work with Kes and Dash on a standard boarding package. Legal basis, latest order version, cargo scope, exemptions, recording protocol. I don’t want our people improvising law in somebody’s cargo bay.”

A faint breath left him, almost a laugh but too tired to make it.

“And because Command has apparently discovered a new hobby, Ops will set an alert for every update, amendment, rescission, clarification, re-clarification, or whatever fresh little headache they decide to send us next.”

He glanced toward Dashku.

“Push it to me, Greco, Security, Ops, and anyone leading a boarding team. Time-stamped. Version-marked. If the rules change while we’re mid-operation, I want to know before somebody on the other side does.”

Then he looked back across the table.

“We stay professional. That means we follow lawful orders. It also means we don’t hide behind confusion when something smells wrong.”

A beat.

“If a freighter has contraband, we deal with it. If a captain refuses inspection, we handle it by the book. But we do not turn uncertainty at Command into fear on somebody else’s deck.”

His jaw shifted once.

“Understood?”

"All on the same page Commander." Kes said as he grabbed his padd and began to stand up. "I'll make sure the tell my squad not to discuss orders openly during duty, and to present a united front when it comes to civies."

Dashku resisted the urge to make a face as she listened to the orders given by Greco and Maraj, she gripped the PaDD in her fingers just a little tighter but didn't say anything. She could have made her case to play the middle like the Orions were so good at doing, but she wasn't about to start a fight with the CO and XO. Instead she simply nodded, security was likely to lead any boarding missions, but even that wasn't really the point. Now, she had clear orders from her direct chain of command.

"No questions," Dashku replied with a nod. "I'll make sure Ops forwards any changes along."

Keishara gave a single nod.

“Understood.”

She drew the PADD closer, already sorting through what Security would need from Kes and Dashku. The orders made no more sense than they had five minutes ago, but Cal had given her something solid enough to put in front of her people.

For now, that would have to be enough.

Cal looked around the table once more, making sure nobody was carrying an objection they planned to save for the corridor.

“Alright.”

He gathered the PADD in front of him and rose.

“Keep your people informed, keep them steady, and if Command sends another set before lunch, let Ops log it before anyone does something stupid with it.”

The faint pull at one corner of his mouth came and went.

“We’ve got less than an hour to Starbase Twelve. Back to your stations.”

A small nod.

“Dismissed.”

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