The Evacuation of Aen'Val

Posted on Tue Nov 18th, 2025 @ 11:59am by Kaelen

Mission: Elsewhere
Location: New Valdore System
Timeline: 2394
1483 words - 3 OF Standard Post Measure

Kaelen stood at his self-assigned post by the main viewscreen of the USS Sojourner, his hands clasped neatly behind his back. On the screen, the last of the civilian transports, a tiny, overburdened freighter, resolved into a bright spark and vanished into warp.

It was done. 50,000 souls, evacuated. And yet, Kaelen felt a profound melancholy, a shared grief for the people he had just helped to save.

He let out a breath he felt he had been holding for two months. Below them, the planet Aen'Val turned, a perfect jewel of green and blue, blissfully unaware of the cosmic sentence hanging over its head. “Aen’Val” Romulan for “New Life”. The name was much more poetic than the name the Federation had given the system; “New Valdore”.

He remembered his arrival, the acrid smell of the wood fires in the main settlement, the pinched, suspicious faces of the colonists. They were proud, so proud, even in their desperation. They had told him their story in defiant, whispered tones: how they had survived the supernova only to find themselves a destitute diaspora. How they had pooled every last possession—every bar of latinum, every family heirloom—to buy a single set of coordinates from an Orion data-broker. A "ghost world," the broker had called it, undiscovered and safe.

They had chartered a one-way passage, arriving on Aen'Val with no ships, no way back, and nothing but the contents of their cargo holds and a desperate, burning hope. He had shared their thin, savory broth and listened to their governor, T'Meris, a woman with eyes as old and hard as granite. He remembered the nights he spent in the settlement, the wind whistling through the new, unsealed joints of the prefabricated homes. He'd held a crying Romulan child who had been frightened by a thunderstorm, and he'd felt a connection, a simple... Denobulan-to-Romulan... bond.

His mind went, as it always did, to his final meeting with T'Meris. The sensor logs were laid out between them, the "protomatter ejections" charted in terrifying, undeniable red. The sun their new home orbited would soon turn lethal. Radiation would scorch the ramshackle homes they had built and everybody in it. He had watched her, not as a diplomat, but as a person, as she finally, agonizingly, chose to believe him.

"I do this not because I trust the Federation. I do this because I trust you. You have the heart of a true Romulan. You weep with us for what we have lost and what we must lose again," she had said, her voice breaking for the first and only time.

Kaelen had wept with her. It was the truth. He did mourn their loss. And he was so, so relieved that he had convinced her in time, that he had saved her, and all of them, from a fiery death.

"All transports are clear of Sector 70," the tactical officer reported, his voice pulling Kaelen from his reverie. "They are on course for the 'Tir-An-Nor' system."

Tir-An-Nor. Kaelen’s stomach tightened. That wasn't a new colony. It was a processing center, a collection of crowded orbital stations over a barely-habitable moon. It was just another refugee camp, a place where families would wait for years, their dreams of a meaningful life dissolving in the mind numbing monotony of bureaucracy and flavorless ration bars.

"Acknowledged," Admiral Sentek replied from the command chair. The Vulcan flag officer had been a cold, distant presence throughout the mission. A man Kaelen found impossible to connect with on every conceivable level. Sentek turned to his science officer.

"Lieutenant Commander, recalibrate the main sensor array. Drop the 'New Valdore Star' simulation protocols and begin diagnostics for the Argus Array installation. I want the first construction drone on the ground within the hour."

The words hung in the quiet, sterile air of the bridge. Kaelen’s blood ran cold, and a sudden, sharp ringing filled his ears. His entire nervous system seemed to freeze. He turned, slowly, his ever-present smile forgotten, his face a mask of confusion.

"...'Simulation protocols,' Admiral? I’m not sure I understand."

Admiral Sentek sighed, then rose from his chair, his movements economical, and walked to the viewscreen, standing beside the Denobulan. He wasn't looking at Kaelen; he was looking at the planet. The Federation’s planet. His planet.

"The New Valdore star is one of the most stable G-type stars in this quadrant. It is not going anywhere. And neither are we." Sentek’s voice a low monotone.

Kaelen felt the deck plates fall away. He quickly reached out to the bulkhead to steady himself. "The... the protomatter ejections? The radiation flares?"

"All simulations," Sentek shot back, finally turning to look at him. His dark eyes were devoid of malice; they were, Kaelen noted with a strange sense of detachment, simply observing. "A very convincing one. We required this system. The Argus Array, albeit experimental, will be a non-negotiable strategic asset to secure the Federation from future outside threats. The colony would have refused any reasonable treaty. The probability of armed conflict was 87.4%. A war, Kaelen. Resulting in loss of life and a decades-long standoff. This course of action... this deception... was the only logical one. We needed them to leave, peacefully. On their own accord."

"You used me," Kaelen whispered. The words tasted like ash.

When Sentek replied, his voice softened by an almost imperceptible degree. As if he had finally decided Kaelen, nevermind his over five decades in the diplomatic corps, was but a child and should be treated as such. Well, as considerate as Vulcans treated their children anyways. "We had to use you. And we could not inform you of the truth. Your file is exemplary, Kaelen. You are empathetic, honest, and a demonstrably poor liar. Do you remember T'Meris's chief of staff? The quiet one? A latent telepath. We suspected it from the initial scout's report. He was likely scanning you from the moment you beamed down. Looking for a gap in your thoughts that showed any hint of deception the entire duration of your stay."

Sentek stepped closer. "The Romulans would absolutely believe the Federation lied about a star. But they would never believe Starfleet would withhold information from one of its own diplomats. They needed to scan you and find the truth. And they did. They found your genuine fear for them. Your genuine grief. Your genuine belief in their doom. Your conviction was a necessary element. We needed you to be convincing because you were convinced."

Kaelen looked at his hands, the hands that had shaken T'Meris's, the hands that had comforted her people. They looked alien. He felt the phantom touch of the crying child and wanted to be sick. Wanted to empty his stomach on the admiral’s perfectly polished boots. But the wave of nausea passed, and all he found in its wake was a profound and hollow emptiness.

"We all need to carry out our duties, and you performed yours better than anyone could have imagined. The calculus is simple: a temporary deception versus a war. You saved 50,000 lives from a conflict that was a logical certainty. You should be proud of yourself. I will make sure to remark commend you performance."

The Admiral gave him a short, firm nod, then turned back to his chair. "Now, if you'll excuse me, I have an installation to build."

The Admiral began issuing new orders. The bridge crew, who had been respectfully silent, returned to their tasks. The Sojourner began its slow, graceful turn toward the now empty planet.

Kaelen remained by the viewscreen, slumped against the wall. The pride he had felt was a lie. The relief was a lie. And if this was how Starfleet truly operated, then… In an instant his entire career, his belief in the Federation, his own identity as a force for "good"... all of it collapsed into the vacuum left by the Admiral's cold justifications. Surely, there had to have been another way. Inconvenient? Maybe. Costly? Perhaps, though what did material concerns matter to the Federation at the end of the day? No, Kaelen determined, this was a lie of convenience; and he had been chosen as the convenient liar.

He wasn't a savior or a force for good. He was a tool. His empathy was the payload. His integrity the delivery system.

"I trust you," T'Meris's voice echoed in his memory, a final, devastating judgment.

He stared at the beautiful, peaceful, safe planet below, while the people who had bet their last shred of hope on it were now en route to a holding pen, their new lives over before they had even begun, their last resources exhausted. He had been the one to crush their future, all in the name of a cold, perfect, and utterly grotesque logic. For the first time in his life, Kaelen had absolutely nothing to say.