Commander Javert was neither a rash man nor an insubordinate one. Even his worst enemy could have found no lapse in his obsessive attention to following law and regulation down to the letter. He was a model officer, an honorable loser, and one of the most meticulous legal scholars Starfleet had ever employed.
It would take his junior officers several weeks of fervid speculation to figure out precisely what about Case File 24601 had made their famously buttoned up commander finally lose his cool.
"What do you mean, you're dismissing the charges?!" Javert had not meant to speak, let alone yell...yet once he had begun found it impossible to stop. "You read my notes; you saw the tapes. How can such flagrant violations of Starfleet Regulation be allowed to stand?"
The Judge Advocate General pivoted regally in her seat, casting an icy gaze straight through Javert. "Are you questioning the judgement of this tribunal, Commander?"
Javert's fist snapped instinctively to his chest, and he executed a stiff bow. "No disrespect intended, Your Honor. It is not my place to question what I know to be the legally binding and lawfully executed verdict of this courtroom."
"Then you must question my hearing or my eyesight. All things considered, I should question yours. How else am I to explain your convenient memory lapse of no fewer than twenty crew members, each of whom swore on the Federation Seal that Captain Valjean's actions saved their lives out there. Do you deem those lives to be worth less than a few regulations?"
"It is not for me to weigh relative worth, General," Javert spat back. He buried his fingernails in the palms of his shaking hands. "Nor for you. Our job is a simple one, laid out clearly in Starfleet's charter and embossed in gold on that same seal.
We are to determine if Starfleet regulations have been broken and, if they have, we are to determine the punishment appropriate for the infraction. I fail to see how returning Captain Valjean to his ship with a hero's welcome is any punishment at all!"
"What you see or do not see is no concern of mine." She rose and made her way to the door, before turning for one final pronouncement: "This court has dispensed its judgement; now it is for you to respect it."
"General." Javert bowed once more, fingers twisting in the starched fabric of his uniform. He kept his eyes trained on the floor until her footsteps echoed only faintly in the distance.
Alone at last, Javert let out a shout of anger and frustration that reverberated into every corner of the courtroom's vaulted ceiling. "Damn him!" His fingers danced on the handle of the phaser he wore at his belt. Its presence calmed him, just a little. For the first time in years, he began to question his decision to ground himself here at Starfleet Command.
Out there, in the vast emptiness of space, everything had made sense - after all, it was the calming sensation of insignificance he always felt in the company of stars that had led him to Starfleet in the first place. But the position of Commander had been too prestigious for him to pass up, even if it did require leaving his position on the S.S. Montreuil.
"Damn the man!" he shouted again. He paced, back and forth and back again, hoping in vain to burn off even an ounce of the nervous energy coursing through his body. "Does he think he is above the law?"
As if on queue, a cluster of cheers floated in from the Grand Entrance Hall next door. Javert strode toward the door to see what they were celebrating - and immediately regretted it. The last thing in the world he wished to be looking at was a crowd of Valjean's adoring crew members clapping him on his back and shaking his hand.
He staggered back into the safety of the courtroom, sliding down the cold marble of the nearest wall. The last five years of his life played out before him like a holodeck projection. Javert watched in despair as his younger self brought case after case before the tribunal, accepted verdict after verdict with grace and decorum.
"But what was it for?" he shouted to the vision. "If I cannot bring this man to justice, what was it all for?" Head in his hands, Javert did the only thing he could think of: he waited - for a sign, inspiration, a dawning of light, anything.
And, as if by a miracle, it came. His course was suddenly so clear, clearer than any had ever been to him before. He rose from the floor a new man, a single, solitary purpose burned into his mind: bring down Captain Valjean.
Carefully, he removed his Commander's jacket and folded it once over his arm; he wouldn't need it where he was going. A few doors down from the courtroom, a decorated Commander went into the supply closet; it was a rankless medical assistant who came out.
He wove his way down the hallway, ducking his head occasionally in case anyone should recognize him. To his surprise, it proved unnecessary - even those passing who knew him well paid him no mind. He was a ghost. Or perhaps, he thought darkly, an avenging angel.
It was almost too easy to join the line of new officers heading onto the S.S. Madeleine for a three-year mission. By the time anyone missed him, it would be too late. He'd be thousands of light years away, safely hidden in the Med Bay of the Madeleine, and plotting the downfall of its Captain.
"This I swear," he muttered to himself as he passed through the boarding door. "This I swear...by the stars."