Resignation Letter [Part 8]

Posted on Thu Oct 17th, 2024 @ 3:18pm by Lieutenant Adrianna Baciami

1,857 words; about a 9 minute read

Mission: Stars Around the Well
Location: USS September
Timeline: ---Past---

Having managed to secure an extraction from a nearby ship, the USS September, Lieutenant Adrianna Baciami sat in the dimly lit captain’s ready room, the weight of her words growing heavier with each moment. She shifted uncomfortably in her uniform, not used to wearing it anymore. The holographic PADD floated silently before her, waiting for her to resume dictating. She took a breath, her reflection barely visible in the dark glass of the viewport. A part of her wished she could stay silent—pretend none of this had happened—but there was no escaping the truth, not now.

She tapped the PADD, her voice firm but laced with the fatigue of what she was about to say.

"Captain, I am submitting my resignation from active duty, effective immediately. As you know, my cover was compromised during the recent mission, code name ‘Drifting Gallivant’, and I no longer believe I can serve Starfleet in the capacity required for undercover operations."

She paused, her fingers brushing against the cold metal of the desk. There it was—the beginning of the lie. Or at least, the start of the story she was choosing to tell. Because the truth, as Starfleet already knew, was far more embarrassing and career ruining.

It had been that family photo. The one her parents insisted on for the new batch of Baciami Family Grappa, commemorating centuries of grappa production. A cheerful celebration for them; a disaster for her.

She could still hear her handler’s voice, the words from his debrief ringing in her ears: "We tried to reach you, Adrianna. We sent multiple warnings. We knew the moment that photo hit subspace comms, your cover was at risk. But you were too deep in to get our message."

Too deep? She’d been buried in her role, fully integrated into the smuggling ring that she was meant to observe, when the galaxy started seeing her face smiling back at them from bottles of grappa. While she was in the heart of enemy territory, her family back home was launching their celebratory campaign—a portrait of the entire Baciami family, including her, sent out on millions of bottles across dozens of systems.

It hadn’t taken long for the wrong people to make the connection. One of the klingons on board, probably over a glass of the very grappa she’d been avoiding for months, had spotted her face and realised who she really was. From there, the entire mission fell apart in a way that she couldn’t have predicted.

But she couldn’t admit that in her resignation. She couldn’t put in writing that her family’s liquor business had blown years of undercover work. The embarrassment was too great, and the consequences too lasting– equally, the few who knew her and her mission already knew– so what was the point in saying it aloud.

"I understand that there were efforts to reach me before the mission was compromised," she continued, her voice tightening slightly. "However, due to the depth of my infiltration, I was unable to receive those messages in time. By the time I learned of the situation, it was too late."

Another half-truth. She had learned about it from the klingons—an adamant general who just knew he'd seen her face on a bottle, no less. The shame of it stung even now. But Starfleet had already been aware. Her handler had done everything he could to warn her. They’d tried to save the mission before it fell apart. She hadn’t been reachable, and when she finally surfaced, her cover was blown beyond repair.

She stopped the recording, her fingers trembling slightly as she saved the document. The words, perfect and professional, hung in the air like a weight that pressed down on her.

Starfleet would know the public story—the photo on the grappa bottles, the compromised mission, the unavoidable outcome. But the deeper truth, the shame of her personal entanglements, would remain hers alone.

Lieutenant Adrianna Baciami sat frozen, her eyes locked on the holographic PADD floating before her, though her mind was far from the sterile confines of the captain's ready room. It was back on the klingon ship, reliving the moment everything had fallen apart.

She forced herself to tap the PADD, the resignation letter still unfinished. Her voice, measured and steady, echoed in the small room.

"I was able to extract vital intelligence despite the compromise of my cover," she continued, her tone betraying none of the chaos that had followed. "However, due to the unexpected nature of the breach and the hostile response from the klingons, it became necessary to evacuate the area immediately."

That was what the official report would say. It wouldn’t mention the man she had left behind.

Vance.

Her heart twisted at the memory. His face—stern but full of conviction—flashed before her eyes, just as it had in those final moments. He had known. He had always known, hadn't he? She had been a Starfleet officer, posing as someone else, slipping deeper into his world. Yet he hadn't cared. Not when it mattered.

She clenched her jaw, struggling to keep her composure. She had been exposed because of that damned grappa bottle, a photo of her and her family plastered across the galaxy for anyone to see. The Klingons should’ve killed her right there. But Vance—he hadn’t hesitated. He had thrown himself between her and the Klingons, buying her just enough time to make her escape.

She had never expected him to defend her– not with that level of betrayal. How many of his smuggling missions had been compromised because of her? He had lost so much because of her. Even after her cover had been blown, even after he knew who she truly was, he hadn’t cared. He had stood by her side, shielding her from the Klingons’ fury as they demanded her blood. He had looked her in the eyes, wordlessly telling her to run.

She had hesitated for the briefest moment, torn between duty and everything that had happened between them. Then, as the Klingons descended on him, she had turned and fled. It was the only thing she could do. If she had stayed, they both would have died. It’s not to say that he was dead though. She didn’t turn back to look– well, Vance had made sure she couldn't– nor had she investigated it further.

Now, sitting in the quiet of the ready room, that decision weighed on her like a boulder in her chest.

"I regret the loss of the main asset due to the compromised mission," she continued, her voice tight. "However, I firmly believe that extraction was the only viable option given the situation."

Viable: that was one word for it. But leaving Vance behind wasn’t just about survival—it was about knowing she couldn’t keep him safe, not if she had stayed– and certainly not if they had still gone through with running away together. Starfleet, in that moment, was her only saviour. It had always needed to come first. It had to.

She blinked back the heat rising in her eyes. He had loved her, she realised now. She had been an enemy agent, in every sense, yet he had defended her without question. His loyalty wasn’t to his job and clients, it was to her. She would never understand why, but the fact remained—Vance had saved her life.

And what had she done?

She’d run.

She'd taken his ship and abandoned him.

She could have gone back for him, but she didn't have the manpower and her cover was blown. Equally, knowing the Klingons– if he survived it would have been a miracle.

Her hand hovered over the PADD, the words she had already spoken hanging in the air like ghosts. Her lie was complete. Starfleet would never know the truth about Vance, about the man who had loved her enough to defy his own principles, to stand between her and death– about the man she was prepared to risk it all for and quit– to retire to some planet to live out a happy life. He wasn’t in the report to that extent, nor in her resignation. Just like the connection between them, Vance would remain hidden from Starfleet, buried beneath layers of duty and secrecy. The only people who would ever know what actually happened would be Vance and her.

"It has been an honour serving Starfleet in this capacity," she finished, her voice barely above a whisper, "but I can no longer continue in a role that demands such sacrifice."

For a long time, Adrianna sat in the silence of the room, staring out into the stars. Her life in Starfleet had been defined by loyalty, by the choices she had made in the name of duty. But this one choice—leaving Vance behind—would follow her for the rest of her life.

"I have given everything to my work in Starfleet Intelligence," she went on, forcing her voice to remain level. "But after this incident, I can no longer serve in the same capacity. While I am still capable of returning to duty, I believe it would be best for me to pursue a more stable role. I need a position where my identity is not at risk, and where I can regain the trust and stability that have been compromised."

That was the part that felt true—the part that hit too close. She had loved her work, thrived on the risks and challenges of deep cover operations. But this—this had gone too far. Her own family’s joyful celebration had become her undoing, and she couldn’t bear the idea of returning to that world. Too many things, too many people, were starting to slip through the cracks in her control.

And that, of course, included him. The target. The one person she should never have got close to, whose disarming charm had pierced through her calculated distance. The connection had started out as part of the mission—a means of gathering critical intelligence—but it had quickly turned into something more. Something she hadn’t admitted to Starfleet. Something she couldn’t admit, not now.

That part, at least, would stay buried.

"I hope that Starfleet can find a way to make use of my skills in a capacity that is less vulnerable to these kinds of risks," she said, forcing herself to wrap it up. "It has been an honour to serve under your command in this capacity, and I look forward to continuing my service in a different role—one where my family’s legacy won’t compromise the mission."

She tapped the PADD to close the recording. The letter was done, sealed with half-truths and omissions. It was out of her hands now, forever to be a tarnish to life.

Her cover had been blown. The mission had been a failure. Vance had made sure she survived, but at what cost to him?

Perhaps she would never know.

 

RSS Feed