Evan made his way through the corridors toward sickbay at an unhurried pace, the route coming back to him easily. Muscle memory filled in the gaps the signage didn’t need to turns taken without thought, distance measured instinctively. He caught himself settling into the purposeful stride he’d worn for years and eased it back.

This wasn’t an order. Just procedure.

The doors to sickbay slid open with a soft chime, and Evan stepped inside, pausing briefly as the familiar clinical calm settled around him. Different ship, same environment clean lines, quiet efficiency, the low hum of equipment doing its work.

A medical assistant looked up from a nearby station as Evan approached.

“Can I help you?” they asked.

“Afternoon,” Evan replied calmly. “Evan Calder. I’m here for a boarding physical.”

The assistant nodded, tapping a few entries into a console before glancing back up.

“Alright, Mr. Calder. Have a seat , someone will be with you shortly.”

“Thank you,” Evan said, offering a brief nod.

He moved to an open chair along the wall and sat, hands resting loosely in his lap as he waited quietly to be seen.

Evan Calder
Bartender