For the first time in weeks since their arrival to Scallax Prime, Ensign Shepherd had been granted a chance to sit down and relax. Through the viewport made from transparent titanium, multiple streaks of light remained visible through a vast mantle of black. There was a PADD resting on her lap, out of which contacting her family had been the first thought that came to her mind. Almost immediately, the screen was turned on to reveal a screen saver with her father. Skye herself happened to be wearing a grey jumpsuit after resigning her first commission to Starfleet, a bernese mountain dog standing right beside her. This had been only six months back before Captain Andersen offered a commission to join Chimera’s science department. Silence in that room was speaking about her history much louder than words ever could. Letting herself drift into memory lane.

There was a soft creak to the door opening behind her, startling Skye for a brief moment as she noticed someone had forgotten a glass of water over the table. Her head nodded slowly in greeting as she set the PADD back down. With Nytha’rae being away from the ship and being forced to handle senior officer tasks by herself, the hybrid had been running up and down each deck like a headless chicken. Even a moment in the dark, if it were by herself had become the best way to regulate her system. Pressure was building up slowly to the point that had almost driven her to exhaustion. She hadn’t checked in with CNS, hadn’t actually bothered to actually speak with someone and act human for once. Instead, here she was recoiling to solitude the same way she had at U.S.S. New Jersey. She leaned against the backrest, stars reflecting against her eyes.

She certainly missed her friends, not to mention Found Family as well. But if there was someone who could snap some sense back into the young woman, that would be her father’s best friend and Shepherd’s adoptive uncle. Salus Vex. Shifting her weight, the PADD was turned over on the table, letting her finger hover over the screen while looking at all contacts that had been saved to the device’s memory. Seeing the name pop up made her blood freeze the same way as sharing the news that she had been admitted to Starfleet Academy for the command track. That had been a few years back. But allowing him to see her dressed in science blues would surely provide a different reaction from the Joined Trill historian.

It was the same feeling she had experienced years ago when she had first called him after receiving her acceptance to Starfleet Academy. She remembered sitting there with her heart pounding, wondering how he would react when she told him she had been accepted into the command track.

She had been so proud.

So nervous.

Now she was wearing science blue instead.

Skye stared at his name.

She wondered what he would think when he saw her now.

Salus had watched her grow up. He had watched her chase one ambition after another, had listened to her talk endlessly about Starfleet and command and the future she imagined for herself. He had been there when she announced her acceptance to the Academy.

And now?

Now she was an ensign in the science department aboard Chimera, several systems away from home, carrying far more responsibility than she should have been and quietly approaching the edge of exhaustion.

She could already imagine the look in his hazel eyes.

Not disappointment.

Never that.

Concern.

That somehow made it worse.

Because Salus would ask the question nobody else had managed to get an honest answer to.

Are you actually all right, Skye?

And she wouldn’t be able to lie convincingly to him.

Her finger hovered over the contact.

For several seconds, she didn’t move.

Then she pressed it.

The PADD chimed softly as the call began connecting.

Then the image resolved.

Blonde hair appeared first, slightly disheveled as though she’d caught him in the middle of something. Then came the familiar hazel eyes, narrowing slightly as they focused on the person on the other end of the transmission.

“Skye?”

She swallowed.

“Hey, Salus.”

There was a pause.

Not a long one.

But long enough.

His expression changed almost imperceptibly.

Salus had spent decades teaching history. He knew how to read people, how to recognize what wasn’t being said as much as what was. More importantly, he had known Skye for most of her life.

“You look tired.”

Skye gave a small, humorless laugh.

“Hello to you too.”

“Hello.” The corner of his mouth lifted. “Now answer the question.”

“I’m fine.”

His eyebrow rose.

There it was.

That look.

The same look he had given her countless times when she was younger and had tried to explain why she absolutely needed to stay awake until two in the morning to finish something that could easily have waited until morning.

Skye looked away from the screen.

“I’m working.”

“I gathered that.”

“I’m on duty.”

“That wasn’t what I asked.”

She sighed.

Salus leaned back in his chair, studying her through the transmission. Behind him was what appeared to be his office, shelves lined with physical books and artifacts alongside the more modern displays one would expect from a Federation scholar. A few historical maps were mounted on the wall, and a stack of PADDs sat precariously beside him.

The sight of it brought a strange sense of familiarity.

Home.

Not quite home.

But close enough.

“How’s the ship?” he asked eventually.

“Busy.”

“That sounds suspiciously like a one-word answer.”

“It is.”

“And Scallax Prime?”

“Still there.”

“Wonderful. I was beginning to worry the planet had disappeared.”

Despite herself, Skye smiled.

Salus noticed.

He always did.

“There she is,” he said quietly.

Skye’s smile faded slightly.

“What?”

“Nothing.”

“You said something.”

“I said there you are.”

She looked at him.

He didn’t elaborate.

He didn’t need to.

The two of them simply sat there for a moment, separated by distance and a communications network but connected by years of familiarity.

Salus eventually folded his hands together.

“So.”

Skye already knew what was coming.

“So?”

“You’ve joined the science department.”

She glanced down at her uniform.

“Apparently.”

“I’ve seen the pictures.”

“You have?”

“Your father sent me one.”

Skye groaned softly.

“Of course he did.”

“Very proud father.”

She looked down again.

“I think he was surprised.”

“Why?”

“Because of the science thing.”

Salus tilted his head.

“You make it sound like you’ve joined a secret society.”

“I used to be on the command track.”

“I remember.”

“I resigned.”

“I remember that too.”

“I didn’t exactly expect to end up here.”

Salus smiled.

“Most people don’t end up where they expected.”

“That’s something a historian would say.”

“Occupational hazard.”

She laughed softly.

It was the first genuine laugh she had managed in days.

Salus watched her for another moment.

Then his expression became serious.

“But you like it.”

Skye hesitated.

“Yeah.”

“Good.”

The answer was simple.

No interrogation.

No judgment.

Just good.

Skye felt something loosen inside her chest.

“I do,” she admitted. “I really do.”

“Then that’s all that matters.”

She nodded.

Her eyes drifted toward the viewport.

“I just wish it wasn’t so…”

“So what?”

“Much.”

Salus waited.

Skye’s fingers tightened around the edge of the PADD.

“Everything’s been a lot lately.”

There.

The words were finally out.

Salus didn’t immediately respond.

Instead, he nodded slowly.

“Tell me about it.”

And somehow, that was all it took.

Skye began talking.

At first it was the small things. The workload. The reports. The constant changes in schedule. Having to cover for Nytha’rae. The endless responsibilities that seemed to appear whenever she thought she had finally caught up.

Then came the things she hadn’t intended to say.

How tired she was.

How she hadn’t spoken to CNS.

How she’d been avoiding her friends.

How she kept telling everyone she was fine because admitting otherwise felt like admitting she couldn’t handle the position she’d been given.

Salus listened.

He didn’t interrupt.

He didn’t try to fix it.

He simply listened.

When Skye finally stopped, the room on her end was silent again.

“I think I’m failing,” she whispered.

Salus’s expression softened.

“No.”

The answer came immediately.

Skye looked at him.

“No?”

“No. You’re exhausted.”

“That feels like the same thing.”

“It isn’t.”

He leaned forward slightly.

“Failure is refusing to learn from your mistakes. Failure is refusing to acknowledge when something isn’t working. You called me, Skye.”

Her eyes began to sting.

“You called me,” he repeated. “That means some part of you already knows you need help.”

She looked away.

“I didn’t want you to worry.”

“I’ve known you since you were a child. Worrying about you is practically tradition.”

That earned another small laugh.

Salus smiled.

“And for what it’s worth, I don’t care whether you’re wearing command red, science blue, or something you found in a cargo bay. You’re still you.”

Skye stared at him.

“Your father didn’t raise you to be a uniform.”

She blinked.

“He raised you to be a person.”

The words settled heavily between them.

Skye wiped at the corner of one eye before the tear could fall.

Salus pretended not to notice.

That was another thing she appreciated about him.

He noticed everything.

But he knew when not to make a spectacle of it.

Ensign Skye Shepherd
Science Officer
U.S.S. Chimera - 98730 (Mjolnir Class)