The crew lounge was beginning to empty as Alpha Shift wound down.

Lieutenant Junior Grade Samuel McIntyre finished the last of his coffee and rose from his chair near the observation viewport. Around him, officers and enlisted personnel continued their conversations in low tones. A pair of engineers debated diagnostic procedures while several security officers crowded around a game table.

Across from him sat an ensign he had spent the better part of an hour speaking with.

The young officer looked considerably less burdened than when the conversation had begun.

McIntyre gave him a nod.

“Get some sleep, Ensign. The galaxy tends to look less hostile after eight hours of rest.”

A faint smile crossed the younger man’s face.

“Thank you, sir.”

McIntyre inclined his head and stepped out into the corridor.

The doors slid shut behind him.

The USS Chimera possessed an unusual atmosphere during the evening cycle. Though classified as a dreadnought, she was still a living community of thousands. The endless vibration of the warp engines blended into the background while conversations echoed from open doorways and passing crew members.

As McIntyre made his way toward the nearest turbolift, officers acknowledged him.

“Evening, Counselor.”

“Lieutenant.”

“Sir.”

He returned each greeting.

Unlike some counselors, he preferred to remain visible among the crew.

Trust was easier to establish when people saw you as part of the ship rather than hidden away in an office.

The turbolift doors opened.

McIntyre stepped inside.

“Deck Thirty-Three.”

The lift accelerated smoothly.

He watched the deck indicator climb through the vessel.

Twenty-one.

Twenty-four.

Twenty-eight.

Thirty-three.

The doors parted.

Deck 33 housed the Counseling Center, one of the largest personnel-support facilities aboard the Chimera. The command staff considered psychological readiness every bit as important as tactical readiness, and the department reflected that philosophy.

Crew lounges, private counseling suites, family support offices, group therapy rooms, and stress-management facilities occupied much of the deck.

As McIntyre entered the reception area, several staff members were still at work.

A civilian administrator glanced up from her terminal.

“Evening, Lieutenant. Three messages waiting.”

“Any emergencies?”

“Nothing currently on fire.”

“Excellent. Let’s keep it that way.”

The woman laughed softly.

“I’ll do my best.”

McIntyre continued deeper into the Counseling Center toward the Chief Counselor’s office.

The doors opened automatically.

His office was spacious but understated.

One wall displayed his Starfleet commission.

Another contained a framed photograph from Oxford University.

A third displayed a single SFMC challenge coin mounted within a transparent case.

The rest of the room was intentionally simple.

The centerpiece was not the desk.

It was the counseling area.

Two identical chairs positioned across from one another.

No physical barriers.

No elevated seating.

No hidden psychological tricks.

Just a place where people could sit and talk.

McIntyre crossed to his desk and activated the terminal.

Immediately, reports appeared across the screen.

Crew evaluations.

Medical referrals.

Requests from department heads.

A notification from the captain concerning stress indicators within the Tactical Division.

Routine work.

Important work.

He settled into his chair and stared through the viewport behind his desk.

Stars drifted silently across the darkness.

Somewhere aboard the Chimera, nearly ten thousand souls carried worries, fears, doubts, and burdens they rarely shared.

His responsibility was ensuring they never had to carry them alone.

The terminal chimed.

Another appointment request.

McIntyre smiled faintly.

Then he opened the file and got back to work.

Lieutenant Jr. Grade Samuel A. McIntyre
CNS USS Chimera