The USS Chimera
Deck 33 – Crew Lounge
Main Sim – 0615 Hours
The low hum of the ship’s systems blended with the faint clatter of utensils and quiet conversation, the early shift already settling into its routine. The crew lounge lighting was dimmed to a soft morning hue—simulated dawn, calibrated to ease the transition from sleep cycle to duty rotation.
The doors parted with a pneumatic whisper as Sam stepped in, data pad already in hand.
He didn’t waste time.
Crossing to the replicator with the kind of familiarity that came from long service, he issued his order in a steady, practiced tone:
“Black coffee. Steak, medium rare. Fried potatoes. Scrambled eggs. French toast.”
A brief pause—then the soft shimmer of matter assembly.
The tray materialized, steam rising in thin curls from the coffee and the freshly prepared meal. The smell was immediate—rich, grounding, almost old-fashioned in a way Starfleet rarely allowed itself to be.
Sam took the tray without hesitation.
No lingering. No small talk.
He scanned the room once—habit, not curiosity—before selecting a table off to the side. Good sightlines. Minimal foot traffic. A place where he could think.
He sat, set the tray down, and activated his data pad in one smooth motion.
The mission file came up instantly.
Reports. Sensor logs. Tactical projections. Psychological profiles.
He started reading.
Fork in one hand, pad in the other, he cut into the steak—precise, efficient—barely looking down as he brought the first bite up. His attention stayed on the screen, eyes tracking line after line of information, processing, filtering, assessing.
The coffee came next. Black, no hesitation. A tool, not a luxury.
Around him, the lounge continued its quiet rhythm—crew rotating in and out, conversations rising and falling—but none of it touched him. He was already somewhere else.
In the data.
In the mission.
In the problem ahead.
By the time most of the crew would fully wake up, Sam was already working the angles—turning over possibilities, identifying weaknesses, building a picture of what they were about to face.
Breakfast wasn’t a break.
It was preparation.

Lieutenant Jr. Grade Samuel A. McIntyre
CNS USS Chimera