The crew mess was quieter than usual.

Samuel Andrew McIntyre sat alone at one of the tables along the bulkhead, his dinner sitting in front of him while the low hum of the Chimera’s warp engines provided a constant background vibration through the deck. It was hardly an unpleasant sound. After enough time aboard a starship, there was something almost comforting about it. Tonight, however, Sam found himself listening to it more closely than usual.

He slowly cut into his meal, taking another bite while his eyes drifted toward the viewport. There was nothing to see beyond the faint reflection of the mess hall itself, but his attention remained fixed there for several moments.

Scallax Prime.

The name had been on everyone’s mind since the priority communique had arrived. Secession. Rebellion. Allegations of medical experimentation. Cultural and financial exploitation. Starfleet personnel potentially caught in the middle. Then there was Colonel Voss and the disturbing possibility that the situation was far more complicated than a simple planetary uprising.

Sam sighed quietly and leaned back in his chair.

As Counselor, he knew better than most what uncertainty could do to a crew. People filled gaps in information with whatever their imagination could provide. Fear became suspicion. Suspicion became rumor. Rumor became certainty.

And certainty, he knew, could be dangerous.

He took another bite of his dinner and glanced around the mess hall. A handful of crew members were scattered throughout the room, talking in subdued voices. There was laughter here and there, but it lacked the easy quality it normally carried. Everyone was waiting for something.

Sam understood the feeling.

He had already been preparing himself for what was coming. His department orders were straightforward enough: prepare for potential mental-health issues once they reached the Scallax system. That could mean anything from combat stress and acute anxiety to grief, survivor’s guilt, trauma, or the psychological consequences of being trapped in the middle of a civil conflict.

But before any of that happened, he reminded himself, the crew still had to eat.

Still had to sleep.

Still had to laugh.

Still had to be people.

Sam looked down at his plate and gave a faint, amused shake of his head.

“One crisis at a time,” he murmured to himself.

He picked up his fork again and continued eating, allowing himself, for the moment, to simply be another officer having dinner aboard the USS Chimera rather than the ship’s counselor preparing for whatever waited at the other end of the voyage.

Lt. J.G. Samuel A. McIntyre
Chief Counselor
USS Chimera • NCC-98730
Starfleet Medical Division
Starfleet Command