Dagger Through the Heart

Posted on Sun Nov 1st, 2026 @ 12:56am by Commodore Wilkan Targaryen & Lieutenant Commander Sora Bernadotte

3,820 words; about a 19 minute read

Mission: 11a. Recess - Short Treks
Location: Executive Conference Room, U.S.S. Enterprise
Timeline: 2439-10-21, 12:30

The automated sliding doors of the Executive Conference Room hissed open, and the Senior Staff filed out in disciplined silence. Before all had left, however, the Commodore interrupted the silence with a simple directive:

"Commander Bernadotte," Commodore Targaryen called, "a moment."

Wilkan remained seated at the head of the curved holographic table, his tall, broad-shouldered frame resting with heavy, unyielding stillness. His deep-set dark eyes, framed by the permanent exhaustion of recent weeks and the lingering weight of his wife's sharp rebuke over the subspace comms, lifted slowly toward the foot of the table where Commander Sora Bernadotte remained standing.

For several long seconds, the Commodore said nothing. The ambient starlight streaming through the floor-to-ceiling transparent aluminum windows cast long, silver shadows across the polished alloy floorboards, illuminating the sharp, angular lines of his face and the dark stubble along his jaw. He did not invite her to sit. He simply let the silence stretch - a calculated, psychological boundary meant to strip away the defiant bravado she had carried into the room and replace it with the stark reality of the chain of command.

When Wilkan finally broke the stillness, his voice was a low, resonant rumble that carried the steady, crushing weight of grinding iron.

"You have a habit, Commander, of treating the shipboard regulations, general orders, and the direct orders of your Commanding Officer as optional suggestions when they run parallel with your personal assessment of a crisis," Wilkan began, locking onto Sora with an intense, unblinking glare. "At Iocarro, you attempted to countermand my orders, invoked Department of Temporal Investigations technicalities, and threatened to relieve me of command in the middle of an active rescue operation. Then, when ordered to Sickbay, you openly defied and treated our concerns about your health as a bureaucratic inconvenience."

The Commodore took a sip of the Bolian tonic water positioned on the table before him, "Care to explain?"

Sora sighed. She had, of course, known that this conversation was going to happen, and she had not been looking forward to it. "Iocarro was a rather unfortunate situation. Has the medical staff informed you of what was actually going on with me at that point in time? If not, let me explain."

She picked up her PADD and opened a few documents, then slid it across the table to the Commodore. "Research into the biological effects of timetravel and cross-reality travel on a living organism is in its infancy, but there are some theories. Some researchers have posited that exposure to temporal shifts is, in effect, a poison. For those who only make brief visits to other time periods, and then return to their chronological anchor time, these effects are negligible. It gets worse the more you time travel, and the further you go from your original time. For example, look at my sister. Due to her extensive use of time travel and cross-universe travel, her natural aging process has been severely slowed. But that is only the most visible symptom, and I won't break her confidentiality by sharing any of the others."

"As for myself, you know that I experienced both a quantum reality displacement and a temporal displacement at the same time, arriving in this universe five decades after I left my own, with less than a second passing. This has put incredible strain on my biological system. It has made me extremely vulnerable to temporal radiation. Now, when its presence is minor, it doesn't really affect me. In fact, I am a little bit of a walking chroniton detector, which has proven useful with DTI in the past. At Iocarro, however, the temporal fields around that planet were massive, alongside a growing temporal paradox. I suffered a condition that actually has no name at this time, because that may well have been the first observed occurrence of it, ever. Basically, my mind was pulled into my own past, and I fully reverted to being an officer of the Terran Imperial Star Fleet."

Sora chuckled. "Of course, not entirely fully, else I would have started stabbing people. But the incident brought out a side of my personality I have been working hard to suppress, ever since crossing over into this universe. I'm sure you remember my reaction to the ship and crew disguising as Terran. That was also that same side trying to manifest itself, but through purely psychological stimulus. I know my actions were wrong. The regulations I cited at that time were correct, and would have been applicable, had I been of sound mind, and had there actually been cause to apply them. I did have a lengthy debriefing with the DTI officers that arrived following the incident as well, and you will find the transcript of that debriefing among the documents I just handed you, alongside a copy of my medical records from that time, and the studies I just mentioned."

The Executive Conference Room remained deathly quiet, save for the low hum of the holographic terminal casting pale light across the table.

Wilkan sat motionless, his deep-set dark eyes fixed unblinkingly on Sora as she laid out the PADD containing her medical files and DTI debriefing transcripts. He did not immediately reach for the device. Instead, he absorbed the data line by line, his massive hands resting flat against the polished alloy surface. At 154 years old, having lived through temporal incursions, Borg invasions, and the invisible scars of the frontier, Wilkan had seen minds bend under pressures far more alien than a dual quantum-temporal displacement.

When the silence had stretched just long enough to weigh heavily in the air, the Commodore finally shifted his weight, his voice carrying that low, gravelly rumble like grinding iron.

"Interesting, Commander," Wilkan said, his tone devoid of mockery or heat. "And for the record, I didn't require the Department of Temporal Investigations to confirm that crossing quantum barriers leaves invisible fractures in a living physiology. The universe has a way of collecting a toll from those who step outside their native timeline."

He reached out, his long fingers tapping the edge of the PADD she had slid across to him, spinning it back toward her with a measured, deliberate motion. "Your medical logs check out. The DTI debrief corroborates your assessment of the chroniton-induced cognitive regression," Wilkan continued, his dark eyes narrowing slightly as he met her gaze with unyielding directness. "I'm not unsympathetic to what you carried down on Iocarro, Commander. A mind pulled backward into an Imperial conditioning loop while fighting a temporal paradox is a liability, but it is an operational one with a known vector. What I care about is what happens next."

Sora nodded, but remained silent for a moment, sipping her coffee. One of the advantages of having a Commanding Officer as storied as Commodore Targaryen was, of course, that he was bound to appear as a protagonist in various history books. She had done her reading. After all, getting familiar with the recent history of this universe was vital to maintain her cover as a regular Starfleet officer around those who did not know where she was from. She had also spent some time speaking to her sister about their friendship, which had apparently developed when Wilkan helped divert aid supplies to the colony world Freya and her crew had found as a temporary home for some refugees from Romulus, after the supernova. With all this information, she'd managed to form a pretty good idea of how the man in front of her thought, and prepared accordingly.

Slowly, she reached into her pocket, but held the item or items she had taken out in a closed fist on the table. "I have been thinking about that. There are a few simple ways to make the issue of my person simply no longer your problem. I do not want to unnecessarily endanger this crew. Unfortunately, even if you were able to completely remove the memories from my time in the Empire, they would resurface if a situation such as that over Iocarro were to occur again. Besides," she added, sliding one of the items out of her closed fist. "These memories are part of what makes me who I am."

The item she had retrieved was, of course, her Terran badge, flipped to its reverse to show the engraved personnel number, name, and rank. "I am, and always will be, Commander Sora Svanirsdottir, Executive Officer, ISS Asha. Even after the ship was destroyed, and I was taken to another universe and another time period. Even after I adjusted my name, assumed a different rank, and was posted to a new ship." The Terran chuckled as she took another sip of her coffee. "Of course, there is one branch within the United Federation of Planets' Starfleet that would find Commander Sora Svanirsdottir's services to be quite useful. In her original form, that is."

She opened her fist, revealing what appeared to be another badge. This one, however, was not a modern combadge, but one of the badges used by Starfleet to denote rank and department back in the mid-2200s. A simple, metal plate, shaped like a starfleet arrowhead, in black. She held it up to make sure Wilkan could see and recognise it.

"They offered me a position, after my debriefing and retraining. I had the choice to either accept that offer, or join DTI. I chose the latter." Sora sighed. "In the current circumstances, however, I have decided to accept their offer. You will find my formal resignation from my position on Enterprise on that PADD as well. All it needs is your signature."

Wilkan didn't look down at the badge immediately, instead, he kept his eyes locked on Sora, his expression hardening into an unreadable mask of absolute stillness. Having witnessed the darkest corners of the Dominion War and the quiet, corrosive compromises the Federation allowed itself to make behind closed doors - compromises that had left him walking away from high-level commendations in sheer disgust - the Commodore recognized the insignia instantly. Section 31 was not a rumor or a bureaucratic footnote; it was a shadow-state apparatus of unprincipled operatives who believed they stood above the law, and Wilkan held a profound, lifelong contempt for everything they represented.

Slowly, his massive hands shifted across the table, his long fingers tapping the edge of the PADD containing her resignation before his gaze drifted back up to her face.

"Section 31," Wilkan rumbled, his voice dropping into a low, gravelly cadence that carried the crushing weight of grinding iron. "You have a remarkable talent, Commander, for pulling the most dangerous cards out of your sleeve and laying them on the table as if they solve an operational equation. You think dangling a black badge makes you a liability I should gladly sweep out the airlock to keep my hands clean," Wilkan continued, his dark eyes narrowing under a furrowed brow. "You think that because they offered you a shadow-game after your DTI scrub, presenting it to me is a checkmate that forces my hand, but you are vastly overestimating their benevolence."

"Listen to me very carefully, Commander," Wilkan said quietly, the command authority in his tone flattening any room for defiance. "Organizations like that do not manage liabilities, they eliminate them. The moment your temporal regression or chroniton sensitivity flares up during one of their black-budget ops, they won't send you to Sickbay or offer you a sabbatical. They'll disavow you in a heartbeat, scrub your records, and bury you quietly before you can leak a single asset. You go to them with a volatile, unmapped medical condition, and you are handing them a weapon they will use until it misfires, and then they'll throw you away."

He held her gaze with unyielding intensity, his El-Aurian intuition reading the sharp, tactical dissonance humming beneath her posture. "I spent my career watching shadows operate in the dark under the guise of protecting the light, and I have zero patience for people who use clandestine charters to evade standard accountability. If you stay here, under my command, you answer to standard Starfleet regulations, to this crew, and to me. Here, your medical condition is treated; there, it makes you a target."

Wilkan reached out, his thick fingers pushing the resignation PADD and the black badge firmly back across the polished alloy toward her, stopping just short of her hand. "I'm not signing that," Wilkan finally answered. "You signed up for a five-year mission, Commander, and you're getting one. Now, my question stands, what happens next?"

Sora smiled as she pocketed the black badge again. "I will admit, that was precisely what I expected you to say. However, may I remind you that I did not, in fact, sign up for this mission? When I transferred to Enterprise from Nostradamus four months ago, that did not happen on my request. Not that I am unhappy to be part of this crew, of course. That being said, you keep asking me what the next steps are. As my commanding officer, I will defer to you on that. While I may have one idea left, it is not a step that is to be taken lightly. So, sir, what happens next, indeed?"

"Well, I want to say Lower Deck latrine duty for six months, but I don't think that would be appropriate in this instance," the Commodore answered the question, a faint, humorless twitch of his jaw betraying no portrayal of his actual thoughts before continuing. "As for if you're waiting for me to hand you a safe, predictable protocol for how an officer manages a mind fractured by a phantom empire, Commander, you are looking in the wrong place," Wilkan rumbled, "We don't have a manual for it, but we do have parameters."

"Step one: You stop treating your medical reality as an exit strategy or a tactical bargaining chip," Wilkan stated flatly as he leaned forward slightly. "Doctor Kholin and Counselor Laurell are there for a reason. You will coordinate with them to establish baseline chroniton-exposure thresholds and early-warning indicators. If your cognitive baseline starts slipping, we catch it in the lab, not on the Bridge."

He paused, letting the operational reality sink in before delivering the final directive, "Step two: We execute the mission we are currently sitting in orbit over. K'Nera’s data chip is down in Forensics being decrypted as we speak, and Commander Kuzos is mapping out the legal framework to tear Tazari's rigged arbitration apart. Your immediate focus is right here, helping dismantle a corrupt command structure and bringing Lieutenant Commander ch'Rhirhr back home where he belongs."

Wilkan straightened back up to his full, imposing height, his dark eyes boring into hers. "That is what happens next, Commander. Are we clear?"

Sora paused for a moment, considering what the Commodore had offered. "It's only going to get worse," she finally said, her expression showing how disheartened she was at that fact. "The exposure threshold, as you call it, will gradually become lower and lower as I spend more time in this universe, until the baseline background radiation that is always present will be enough to trigger a breakdown. That may take twenty years, sure, but it will happen. According to the experts at DTI, ideally, they'd return me to where I came from. But, that isn't possible, and even if it were, I'd refuse. Just sending me back 50 years would ameliorate the issue, but risks causing a whole list of paradoxes, so that's out."

She looked directly at the Commodore, her eyes unblinking. Her sister trusted him, considered him a friend, and that had to amount to something. "Tell me, Commodore. Has my sister told you why she is not experiencing those issues?"

"If you're asking whether I intend to rifle through your family medical archives to look for a shortcut or a loophole, Commander, you are mistaken," Wilkan rumbled, his expression tightening at the mention of her sister. "Your sister’s history, her personal mitigations, and the precise mechanics of how she navigates her own temporal displacement are matters of her personal confidentiality I haven't chosen to pry about. If the baseline radiation of this universe is a slow tide rising against you, then we factor that into the operational parameters. We build redundancy into your schedule, we monitor your cognitive drift, and we manage the trajectory."

"If there is a biological mitigation your sister uses, and you or she choose to share it within the bounds of your own medical disclosures, Doctor Kholin will look at it," Wilkan straightened back up, "otherwise, we deal with the reality in front of us."

"I already know what procedure it was," Sora replied with a sigh. "It is not one that could be performed on this ship. Or, for that matter, anywhere within the Federation, as far as I am aware. It is a highly experimental procedure that carries extremely high risk, but, if successful, would remove any and all issues caused by my displacement. If I were to undergo this procedure, I would require at least a month's leave of absence, as well as transport back to the Alpha Quadrant."

She shook her head dejectedly. "To gather the data needed for Doctor Kholin and Counsellor Laurell to be able to detect relevant exposure to temporal radiation, they would have to expose me to dangerous amounts of that very same radiation. And that would accelerate the deterioration of my condition. This procedure would completely eliminate the condition to begin with. It is a very risky procedure, but I am willing to take that risk. Right now, I am a ticking time bomb, except that nobody can tell when it's going to blow. I do not want to endanger this crew, this ship. I'd much rather endanger myself."

Wilkan’s expression didn't soften even a fraction. If anything, the deep grooves framing his mouth tightened into an even harder line as he listened to her pitch her high-risk gamble; a desperate bid for a permanent fix wrapped in the noble gauze of self-sacrifice.

"A high-risk, experimental procedure requiring a month's leave and deep-space transport back to the core worlds, all while trading away your current stability for a gamble on a permanent cure," Wilkan grumbled, his voice dropping into that heavy, grinding cadence that brooked no argument. "Let's be entirely clear, Commander. You are not a piece of faulty machinery that I am going to crate up and ship back to an Alpha Quadrant lab just because maintenance has become inconvenient and the warranty expired."

He leaned forward, his dark, intense eyes locking onto hers with an unyielding glare that felt like physical weight. "You speak of yourself as a ticking time bomb, Commander, as if martyrdom were a clean, efficient resolution," Wilkan continued, his tone cuttingly clinical. "In my experience, officers who go looking for high-risk procedures to unburden their conscience usually end up creating bigger messes for the people left behind. This crew doesn't need a hero willing to throw herself into an experimental fire; it needs an officer with a clear head helping me untangle a diplomatic conspiracy."

"Leave of absence denied," Wilkan pushed himself up from his chair, his tall, broad-shouldered frame dominating the head of the table as he towered over her, "Experimental gambles denied. This is the most scientifically and technologically advanced starship that Starfleet has ever fielded. We have technologies that to others are indistinguishable from magic, not to mention we make discoveries on a daily basis that others could only dream of. You'll manage your condition under Doctor Kholin's supervision, right here, using the parameters we've established. If it comes down to it, well we'll cross those bridges when we come to them."

Sora couldn't help but laugh as she leaned back in her chair and shook her head. "You know, she warned me that you could be a, what was it, stubborn old man? My sister's words, not mine. Sir. We could spend another hour discussing this right now, but I do believe there are more imminent issues to worry about. How about we table this discussion for right now, and get back to it once we're not in crisis mode for a change?"

"Your sister has an unfortunate habit of being entirely correct," Wilkan muttered, a dry, low rumble of sound vibrated deep within Wilkan's chest; not quite a laugh, but a reluctant acknowledgment of the accuracy of the description. "Consider the discussion tabled, Commander," Wilkan said flatly. "Get back to your station."

"Understood. Any particular orders, or shall I just continue to monitor the situation?" Sora asked as she stood and straightened her uniform, ready to go back to work.

"Continue to monitor and assist Commander Randall with operational oversight," Wilkan replied without breaking stride, his deep voice echoing slightly off the polished bulkheads. "If the John Kelly makes a move I want to know immediately."

The Commodore walked toward the windows and looked out upon the planet below. He quickly added, "And Commander, for the record, if I didn't care about you or your health I would've approved your transfer request. You'll be better off here. Dismissed."

"We'll see about that if it comes to it. But the sentiment is appreciated." With a sloppy, mocking imitation of the Terran Salute, Sora turned to leave. "Oh, and don't think I don't know who pulled some strings to get me assigned here. You and my sister are both not nearly as sneaky as you think."

"Keep walking, Commander," Wilkan called out, his posture remaining rigidly fixed toward the massive observation windows overlooking the Karemma system. "And note for the record: if you ever try a Terran salute in my Briefing Room again, your next assignment won't be lower deck latrine duty, it'll be permanently sorting uncatalogued subspace drift logs with the Bynars. Dismissed."

The automated sliding doors of the Executive Conference Room hissed open, granting Sora exit into the quiet, pristine corridor beyond.

Left alone in the expansive space, Commodore Wilkan Targaryen did not turn around immediately. He remained standing at the observation window, his broad-shouldered reflection ghosting over the vast, swirling clouds of the planet Karemma floating in the darkness below. The quiet hum of the Enterprise’s environmental systems filled the room, providing a steady, familiar cadence to his thoughts.

He knew the road ahead with Commander Bernadotte would not be easy; navigating the fractures of a mind torn between quantum realities rarely was. But as long as she was under his command, she was one of his officers, and he did not abandon his crew to shadow organizations or desperate gambles.

With a low, measured exhale, Wilkan turned back toward the holographic conference table, his gaze dropping to the PADD containing the unscrubbed forensic data from the surface. The battle for Lieutenant Commander ch'Rhirhr was reaching its climax, and it was time to bring this diplomatic crisis to a definitive end.

RSS Feed