The Karim Files: V. Cross

Posted on Tue Feb 17th, 2026 @ 11:42am by Commander Karim & Lieutenant Commander Victoria Cross

Mission: Port of Call
Location: Pathfinder Station
Timeline: Mission Day 17 at 1430

Victoria Cross was not difficult to find.

Observation galleries attracted a certain type of officer. Those who liked to believe they were alone while still remaining visible. Karim approved of the contradiction, if his deduction was correct. He stopped a short distance from the viewport, not beside her, not behind her, but close enough that his presence would register without demanding acknowledgment.

He spoke without preamble.

"You chose a good hour," he said, eyes on the starfield rather than on her. "Most people mistake quiet for absence. This is neither." Only then did he turn his head slightly, just enough to bring her into his peripheral vision. "Lieutenant Commander Cross. Operations. And, more importantly, second officer." A pause. "You are off duty, or performing an imitation of it."

He stepped closer to the viewport, occupying the shared space without asking, posture relaxed but deliberate. "I will spare you the formalities. I am Doctor Karim. Formerly of your ship. Currently of this station. I have been reviewing the Sojourner's recent operational decisions and found myself curious whether they were born of necessity, optimism, or exhaustion." His gaze finally settled on her, steady, appraising, entirely unsentimental, even by Vulcanoid standard - with which he knew she was particularly familiar. "You may continue looking out the window, if you prefer. I find people speak more honestly when they do not feel observed."

Victoria was dressed casually, in a white dress and comfortable shoes. The man stepping up to her caught her attention, and when he introduced himself as a doctor - and one formerly of the ship, she turned to face him, listening to his task at hand. Reviewing the Sojourner and recent operational decisions. Victoria gave him a smile and offered her hand. "Lieutenant Commander Victoria Cross, USS Sojourner. It's my pleasure, Doctor Karim. I don't think I'll be so rude to ignore the fact you're taking time out of the day to interview me about the recent events, so you have my full and undivided attention."

Honesty. "You don't need to worry about me being dishonest, lying and stretching the truth are not things I do often. I have nothing to hide. Why did you leave the Sojourner, if you don't mind me asking?" She didn't ask about [i]why[/i] he was doing his appraisals, but she understood the potential reasons. The attack and the time to refit, best to knock things off the schedule, and Victoria still hadn't found the courage to see the therapist.

Karim’s eyes tracked the offered hand, registered it, and dismissed it with the same economy he applied to his introduction. He did not take it.

"Your curiosity is noted," he said evenly. "It will not be satisfied." He shifted his stance a fraction, angling toward the viewport again rather than her. The rejection was not punitive. It was procedural. "My departure from the Sojourner and its predecessor the Adelphi is immaterial to your function aboard her, and therefore immaterial to this exchange. We are not colleagues-as-peers. We are not yet acquaintances. We are certainly not friends. I will not be contextualizing myself for your comfort or benefit."

Only then did he glance back to her, expression calm, voice precise. "As for rudeness or politeness, you may dispense with the concern entirely. I am indifferent to both. What interests me is your self-assessment and assessment of the vessel's activities and mission profile. People who rely on courtesy as a stabilizer often mistake it for integrity." A pause. "I am here to evaluate the operational culture of the Sojourner as it currently exists in the Delta Quadrant. Not as it is recorded in mission statements, and not as Starfleet would prefer it to be described. That evaluation necessarily includes senior staff, particularly those who function as internal load-bearing structures." His gaze returned to the stars. "Second officers are revealing in that regard."

He then folded his hands behind his back, posture relaxed but exacting. "If you prefer, we can conduct this assessment formally. An office. Uniformed. Audio-visual recorders. Command awareness. Layers of performative discipline." Another pause, shorter this time. "Or," he continued after a pregnant pause, "you may trust my judgement and speak to me now, off duty, unrecorded, and without the illusion that this is an interview you can prepare for."

He turned just enough for her to catch the full weight of his attention.

"Be advised: every response you offer in either setting is data. Including deflection. Including compliance... Including offence." Then, quietly, almost generously: "You may choose the format. The assessment proceeds regardless."

Victoria retracted her hand without a word. The man clearly wasn't here to make friends, and Victoria's integrity was called into question. She flared her nostrils yet didn't drop her smile. She had met Vulcans with similar personalities in the past. She had to keep her spine stiff and not take the bait. "Wonderful. Your office. I can get my uniform on and bring work logs of the past shifts and go over the minutiae of the ship's systems and logistics. Could you give me the office's location, Dr. Karim?" She asked, "I can meet you there in about ten minutes, and we can get started."

That earned the smallest reaction he had given her yet. A minute tightening at the bridge of his nose, where the Bajoran ridges met Vulcan bone. Not irritation. Surprise. The sort that registered and was immediately catalogued.

"Intriguing," Karim said after a beat. “And, perhaps, disappointing.” His hands folded behind his back again, posture settling into something clinical and immovable. “My office is within the command segment, adjacent to the counselling suites. You will find it clearly marked.” A pause, deliberate. “I expect you there in ten minutes.” He inclined his head a fraction. Not courtesy, but closure. “Bring the logs you deem relevant,” he added. “We will determine their value, and yours, together.”

He turned away without waiting for acknowledgement, already disengaging, the encounter seemingly concluded in his mind for now.

-

Ten minutes.

After buzzing the door, Victoria entered the Liason's office, dressed in her service uniform, her hair neatly combed and gelled for perhaps the first time since she'd cut it. In her hand was a PADD, and she stood, back straight, before checking her watch. "Doctor Karim, I am as prepared as I could be for your inspection and this discussion about the ship's operational culture and how our mission has progressed, as per your request. I understand I am being recorded in both audio and visual mediums, and I have every report I have filed and written about the USS Sojourner and the incident with the Kazon prepared."

There was a wet comb in her back pocket. She finally let out a breath.

Karim did not rise. He remained seated behind the desk, hands folded loosely before him, eyes lifting to Victoria with an unhurried, exacting appraisal. Uniform. Bearing. The PADD. The careful stillness. The breath she had only just released. The recording indicators glowed softly. It was unclear if the system was actively engaged.

"You are punctual," he said. "Prepared. And very clearly competent. Those qualities are table stakes." His gaze shifted briefly to the PADD, then returned to her face. "I have no interest in re-reading those reports with you; you have been misled," he continued, voice even. "That intentional misunderstanding is instructive. You arrived expecting to defend the ship; you expected to justify its decisions, to demonstrate diligence through documentation. That is the response of an officer who has been rewarded consistently for reliability." He leaned back a fraction. "It is not the response of an officer being evaluated for depth."

Karim then raised one finger, not threatening, merely enumerating. "First. Your marriage." He watched her carefully now. "You chose a Vulcan spouse. You lived on Vulcan. You immersed yourself in a culture that prizes restraint, order, and emotional minimization. You describe this, in your personal record, as grounding. As stabilising." A slight tilt of the head. "I am interested in whether that stability is intrinsic, or borrowed."

He did not soften the next question.

"Tell me, Lieutenant Commander Cross, when you exercise command authority, are you doing so from internal conviction, or from a model you have learned to perform exceptionally well?"

Her head dipped with a polite nod and sat, straightening the bunch of her jacket that formed when she got comfortable. She thought carefully of how to speak, before smiling at the mention of T'Kass. Despite everything recently in her personal life, her wife was still her morning star, and she DID choose the woman over her other suitor back in their days at Vulcan. Such is life. "Well, truth be told, we're a little bit of an opposites attract couple, but I've certainly taken something from her and my in-laws. Dr. Karim," She tilted her head and squinetd slightly, juggling her hands a little, "I can't answer your question with a black or white, as it's somewhere within the middle. I took the certifications, learned from Starfleet Academy, and my father was a Captain and wrote extensively of his career in his personal logs, aaand I have excellent peers in the command staff that I do my best to emulate and turn towards should I have need for advice. Bjorn Kodak is the finest captain I've met, and First Officer T'Nai is superb. I do my best to maintain that standard of authoriy and pull some from the wellspring that is the collected parts that I've learned from, including a little from my wife and home life."

Karim listened without interruption. When she finished, he did not respond immediately. His blue-eyed gaze remained on her face, likely not searching for emotion, but seemingly measuring the certainty she had settled into.

“That was a comprehensive answer," he said at last. Although it was an even Vulcan tone that spoke, to someone familiar with their racial subtleties such as Victoria, it was clear he was unimpressed." "And a careful one, perhaps."

He leaned forward slightly, forearms resting on the desk now, the space between them subtly altered by intent rather than proximity. He steepled his fingers on the polished desk.

"You did not describe yourself," the doctor continued. "You described an aggregate. Your spouse. Your in-laws. Your father. Your Academy training. Your captain. Your first officer." He watched her carefully beneath his muss of hair, dark eyebrows carrying heavy intent. "At no point did you articulate an internal reference point that was not borrowed, inherited, or modelled." He paused for a moment, intentionally. "That does not necessarily make you deficient," he said. "It, arguably, makes you reliable... It also makes you predictable."

He reclined again, expression settling into something clinically neutral.

"You speak of Captain Kodak and Lieutenant Commander t’Nai with admiration. That is appropriate - and expected. They are capable officers." His tone sharpened, just perceptibly. "It is also convenient. When judgement is distributed upward, accountability thins. When moral authority is outsourced, error becomes communal rather than personal." Karim tapped the edge of the desk once, softly. It was an odd affectation from a Vulcanoid. "In the Delta Quadrant, that style of leadership produces excellent intentions - and delayed catastrophes."

He now regarded her steadily as he let this new silence settle for a moment, with no invitation given for reply.

"I am not asking whether you respect your superiors," he then continued, and his tone seemed to have dipped into something bordering on condescending. "I am asking whether, when they are absent, compromised, or wrong, you possess a command identity that does not require their echo." His gaze then flicked briefly to the PADD in her hand. "The logs can remain closed," he added. "This is not a systems review. It is a stress test."

Karim waited, expression now expectant.

Victoria squinted her eyes slightly, and leaned forward, and relaxed, wrists on her knees. ""The truth of the matter is there's already been a incident where Kodak and t'Nai haven't been in command and I did my best to ensure the safety and survival of the crew. I tried to distract the guards aboard the Kodra-Lissett and that failed, and I would have killed a man with a disruptor rifle should he have prevented me from rescuing Mr. Munro or if he had fired upon Ms. Kaldri. I am fully prepared to make sacrifices to ensure our crew survive to see a new day. This is the burden of command, Dr. Karim. I know that ideals and ethics are what guides us, and there's peers and predecessors that guide us, but when the chips are down, mate, there was a rifle in my hand. It's fucked with me. It's prevented me from getting a good night's sleep, that and watching thousands of souls die in a supernova of a warp core going off."

She rubbed her eyes. "I'm not perfect. I just try to live by the standard I know. That's all I can do. If I hold it close to my chest and I don't let those ideals break, I can weather any storm. I know this."

Karim regarded her in silence for several seconds after she finished. Not contemplative silence, but diagnostic silence. The sort used to observe what a subject does when the pressure is no longer being actively applied.

"You are mistaken," he said at last, quietly. He did not elaborate immediately. "You believe you are describing conviction. You are not." He leaned back slightly, hands steepled once more. "You are describing endurance. Those are not synonymous."

His gaze remained steady, unblinking. "You did not tell me why you chose to act. You told me that you acted, and that it hurt. That is not a philosophy of command. That is a scar."

He tilted his head a fraction and voice did not rise. It sharpened. "You speak of ideals as though they are ballast. As though keeping them intact will see you through any storm." A brief pause. "That belief is common. It is also incorrect. Ideals do not stabilise command decisions under sustained ambiguity. They fracture. Quietly. Usually at the moment they are most needed."

He shifted forward, just enough to reassert pressure.

"When you held that rifle, you did not act because of Starfleet ethics. You acted because your judgement overrode them. You chose survival over doctrine. You chose a person over an abstraction. And, instead of interrogating that choice, you have entombed it beneath reverence."

His eyes narrowed slightly, not in anger, but focus.

"That is the error."

Karim gestured once, a small, dismissive movement. "You survived the incident. Congratulations. Survival is not the burden of command. Survival is the minimum requirement to remain in the conversation. The burden of command is authorship. Ownership. The willingness to say, 'This was my decision. I would make it again. Or I would not. And here is why.'" He tapped the desk once. "You have not done that work."

He studied her carefully now, voice lowering.

"What concerns me is not that you deferred to your captain, your first officer, your wife. That is understandable." His even Vulcan tone seemed to dip. "What concerns me is that when all of them were absent, you still did not locate yourself."

He leaned back again, distancing himself.

"You are not weak, Lieutenant Commander Cross. You are competent. You are resilient. You are, at present, safe." A pause and a gesture with his hand. "But you are also unfinished."

His gaze flicked briefly to the recorder controls, then back to her.

"If you continue as you are, you will make an excellent executive officer. Reliable. Ethical. Admirable, I'm sure," he said. "You will also hesitate precisely once when hesitation is fatal, to yourself, or to others." He held her eyes now, unwavering. "If you wish to be more than that, you will need to stop mistaking ideals for identity, and suffering for insight. Command does not ask what you can endure; it asks what you believe strongly enough to violate yourself for, and whether you can live with that knowledge without outsourcing it to memory, marriage, or myth."

A silence finally settled between them, before Karim broke it once more.

"I believe I have sufficient material from you, at this time."

He began entering a few commands onto the terminal, typing as though he were alone on his office once more.

Lieutenant Commander Cross demonstrates composure, competence, and moral seriousness under pressure. She is capable of decisive action and understands the personal cost of command. However, her leadership identity remains externally referenced and value-anchored rather than judgement-anchored. She is reliable in stable hierarchies and untested as an autonomous command actor in prolonged ambiguity.

Before it became obvious that he had forgotten her as opposed to being rude as he typed quickly, he spoke again, although his eyes did not glance up from his terminal.

"Do you wish to remain second officer of the Sojourner, Lieutenant Commander?"

Her stare hardened at him at his suggestion that she'd fail, that she'd make fatal mistakes. He'd been trying to get under her skin the entire meeting, but she wasn't about to play his game. She stood and firmly flattened her jacket, "I'm going to be returning to my post. It was a pleasant meeting, Mr. Karim," She offered the man a smile, and parted her fingers to give him a salute, in the 'live long and prosper' manner. She hid her true feelings behind the same stoic, practiced smile, and stepped backwards over her chair, and turned to meet the door, making a few steps towards it.

"Doctor Karim," the Vulcanoid commander corrected, still not looking up and not seeing her gesture, data still being entered into the terminal. "Thank you for your input."

Victoria stopped, hand against the door. She turned back, her eyes softened compared to just before.

"..The truth of the matter is, I'm not sure. But I'll deal with it. I'm good to stay for the assignment. I just need to go to therapy, face my problems rather than running away. Thank you for the meeting, Dr. Karim." She reached for the door access, and opened it. She stepped out into the Pathfinder, her gaze low to the ground and gait slow and ponderous. That last question hurt, and it would take more than a few moments to process things, but she didn't want to expose those feelings here.
Not now.

Karim did not respond verbally but he did now look up. He watched her for a fraction of a second longer than courtesy required, then lowered his gaze back to the terminal as the door parted and sealed behind her. There was no acknowledgment of her resolve, no correction, no benediction. The room returned to stillness as though she had never occupied it.

Only once the corridor sounds had faded did he resume typing.

He paused as he examined what he had written, then added a final line.

Displays emerging self-awareness. Outcome dependent on whether introspection consolidates into doctrine or dissipates into reassurance. For further discussion with ship CO and XO, and Pathfinder leadership..

The file closed.

Karim remained seated for several moments longer, gaze unfocused, as if evaluating not her performance, but the trajectory she would either claim or surrender.

Then he reached for the next name.