Deck 33
Counseling Office
The low hum of the ship’s systems blended seamlessly with the soft swell of classical music drifting through the room—strings first, measured and deliberate, followed by the quiet entrance of piano. It wasn’t loud. It never was. Just enough to fill the silence without competing with thought.
Sam sat behind his desk, posture straight but not rigid, a man accustomed to discipline who had learned the value of restraint. A padd rested in his hands, its soft glow reflecting faintly in his eyes as he reviewed the file line by line.
He didn’t skim.
He never skimmed.
A counselor who skimmed missed things—and missing things got people hurt.
His thumb moved once, scrolling. He paused. Read again.
A subtle shift in his expression followed—not surprise, not concern, but recognition. Patterns. Behavioral indicators. The kind that didn’t announce themselves unless you knew where to look.
The music swelled slightly—violins tightening tension in the air.
Sam leaned back just an inch in his chair, exhaling slowly through his nose. His gaze drifted from the padd to the viewport for a moment. Stars stretched endlessly beyond the glass, indifferent to the quiet struggles unfolding inside the ship.
“Of course,” he murmured under his breath.
Not frustration. Confirmation.
He tapped the padd, isolating a section of the report—service record, commendations, then the gaps between them. The real story always lived in the spaces between official lines.
His fingers steepled briefly in front of him as he considered the next move.
Not an immediate session.
Too direct, and the subject would close off.
No—this required finesse.
The music softened, transitioning into something slower, more introspective.
Sam straightened again, decision made. He set the padd down carefully, not dismissively, and reached for another—beginning a cross-reference without hesitation.
Work first. Precision always.
Because by the time someone ended up in that chair across from him, things were already further along than most people realized.
And Sam preferred to be ahead of the problem—not reacting to it.

Lieutenant Jr. Grade Samuel A. McIntyre
CNS USS Chimera