Ordinary World
Posted on Tue Feb 24th, 2026 @ 11:21am by Lieutenant Amber Laurell & Commodore Wilkan Targaryen
1,621 words; about a 8 minute read
Mission:
7. Guile
Location: Ready Room, U.S.S. Enterprise
Timeline: 2439-08-13, 10:30
The Ready Room was a sanctuary of controlled order. Across from Wilkan, the viewport displayed the slow, rhythmic rotation of the stars as the Enterprise maintained its station docked on Deep Space Nine's lower pylon. On his desk, several datapads were stacked with geometric precision, containing the aftermath of the temporal incident and requiring his eyes only.
When the chime sounded, Wilkan didn't look up immediately. He finished a notation on a tactical review of the Enterprise's sensor performance before setting the stylus down.
With everything that was going on Amber wasn’t sure if now was the right time to share her news, not that another time might be any different. Pressing the door chime she waited for pemission to enter before she stepped inside.
“Commodore, I’m sorry to disturb you do you have a few moments to spare? I have something important I need to tell you.”
"Enter," he answered, his voice calm but resonant.
As Amber stepped into the room, Wilkan stood in respect of the member of his senior staff, though his eyes were already scanning her for the "why" of the visit. He noted the timing, the tone, and the way she held herself. In his mind, a Counselor didn't bring "important news" to the Ready Room unless a variable in his ship’s equation was about to change.
"Counselor," he said, gesturing toward the chair opposite his desk. He didn't sit back down immediately, instead leaning one hand on the desk’s edge, a posture of attentive but focused energy. "The mission's dust hasn't quite settled yet, so I suspect this isn't a casual social call."
He studied her for a moment, his instincts searching for a pattern, "You’ve bypassed the usual debriefing channels to come here directly. Whatever you have to tell me, you’re treating it as a priority. Is this a concern regarding the crew’s psychological stability after the chronometric exposure, or is there a different 'important' matter on your mind?"
Wilkan paused, his expression softening just a fraction - the subtle shift of a man who valued Amber's insight. "Please, sit. What's on your mind?"
Amber offered a polite smile as she took the offered seat. “Actually Sir, it’s more about me than it is the crew.” She paused. “I’ve been suffering from mild headaches, minor dizziness and some trouble sleeping as well. Nothing major but I thought it best to check in with the Doctor.” She paused. “It seems my latest scans have shown up signs of a small shadow, which could be a growth. Rio can’t give me solid answers yet. We’re in what we call, if, territory.”
"A small shadow?" The Commodore repeated the words near silently, having had more than his fair share of experience with such things. He leaned forward in the chair, his instinctive response to reach for his computer panel to review the records himself, realizing only a second after that medical records were one area where his purview as Captain of the Enterprise didn't extend.
Sitting back in his chair, Wilkan looked at the Counselor very carefully, "What are our next steps, Counselor?"
“Right now, we continue as normal” Amber offered a smile. “Given that this is a situation with currently no solid answers I keep working and we see how it all pans out. If the worst comes to the worst and I do need surgery..” she paused. “There’s no guarantee that I’d still be able to use my empathic senses. If that happens I’d probably have to reevaluate my position as Counsellor, but that’s in the future.”
Wilkan steepled his fingers, his mind already running a diagnostic on the scenario Amber had presented. He understood the gravity (perhaps better than he cared to admit) but the strategist in him rejected the notion of a premature retreat. He tapped a slow, rhythmic beat on the armrest, a physical manifestation of his internal processing.
"Why, exactly, would you leave your post?" The question wasn't a soft inquiry; it was a direct challenge, delivered with the blunt force of a man who viewed a loss of capability as a reason to recalibrate, not retire. "Your value to this ship is not an auxiliary function of your physiology, Amber. If it were, I’d have a technician with a Psychotricorder meeting with every person in a mental health crisis instead of a trained Counselor." He leaned forward, his gaze narrowing with a sudden, sharp intensity. "Your insight comes from your intellect and your experience. Losing those senses wouldn't make you 'lesser'; it would provide you with a unique perspective on the very human limitations your patients face every day. You'd be moving from an observer to a peer."
Amber paused for a second before answering. “To be honest I guess I’m letting my fears get the better of my logic. I’ve used inhibitors before, and being cut off from my senses has been a frightening experience. I’ve gotten used to the background hum of voices, I’m never alone, but I’ve come to find that comforting.” She paused again. “I guess, if or when that time comes, I’ll be the one in need of Counselling.”
"Fear is a rational biological response to a shifting tactical environment, Amber. It doesn't mean your logic has failed; it means your survival instincts are highlighting a vulnerability," Wilkan explained, keeping his focus on the Counselor. He didn't offer a hollow smile; instead, his expression remained one of grounded, analytical intensity. He knew that for an empath, silence wasn't just a lack of sound it was a sensory void, a phantom limb of the mind.
He stood up slowly, moving away from the desk toward the viewport where DS9’s massive ring framed the darkness. He spoke without turning around, his voice carrying that resonant, command-level weight, "You mentioned the 'background hum.' You've spent your life with an early warning system for the emotions of everyone around you. Losing that is a significant change in your operational reality, but being 'alone' in your own head isn't a sentence, it's a different kind of vantage point."
He turned back to her, his hands clasped behind his back, "As for being the one in need of counseling? That's the most logical thing you've said since you walked in here. Even Enterprise needs a drydock for repairs after a heavy engagement. You are no different. If that 'if' becomes an 'is,' we will find the best specialists in the sector, not just for the surgery, but for the transition."
He stepped back toward the desk, leaning down slightly to meet her eyes, "But, let me be clear, I don't care if you lose the 'color' and have to work in 'black and white.' I value the officer who had the iron will to stand up to a Klingon who called her a 'little girl.' That woman doesn't need telepathy to be the heart of this crew. She just needs to show up." His gaze softened, a rare moment of transparent empathy. "Go back to your duties, Counselor. Monitor the 'hum' while you have it but start practicing the 'silence.' Treat it like a new mission parameter."
Amber smiled the first true heart felt smile since she’d started telling him about her situation. “Thank you Sir, I appreciate what you’ve said and I will practice that silence. I won’t give up no matter what the future holds, the Enterprise has become my new home and I don’t intend on going anywhere.” She moved to stand up with a whole new outlook on the situation to the one she had when she arrived.
Wilkan watched her stand, noting the subtle but vital shift in her posture, the rigid uncertainty replaced by the focused alignment of a crew member who once again had a heading. He didn't offer a hand or a parting platitude; he offered a nod, the silent salute of a commander who had successfully recalibrated a critical system.
"Good," he said, the word short and definitive. "The Enterprise isn't just a hull and an engine, Amber. It’s a collective of lived experience. If we start discarding parts because they’ve been weathered by the journey, we won’t have enough of a ship left to reach the next star." He walked her toward the door, his hands returning to his sides. "And Counselor? Keep me informed. Directly. I don’t want to read about your status in a sanitized medical report from Rio. If the 'silence' starts to get too loud, you come back here. That's not an invitation—it's an standing order for the maintenance of our 'heart'."
“I will Sir, that’s a promise” Amber nodded politely offering a warm smile then headed on her way.
He turned back to his desk, but he didn't pick up the stylus. Instead, he looked at the datapad containing the crew's bio-stats from the pylon incident. Wilkan was already calculating contingencies, not just for the next Klingon incursion, but for the day one of his own might need to navigate the dark without a lantern. He sat back down, the stars continuing their slow, indifferent rotation outside.
"Galatea," he called out to the empty air.
"Yes, Commodore?" the AI's voice rasped softly from the desk interface.
"Prepare a list of the Federation's top specialists in Betazoid neural-pathway reconstruction. I want it on my desk by 0800," the Enterprise's Commanding Officer directed.
"Orders confirmed, Sir. Is there anything else?"
Wilkan paused, his gaze fixed on the viewport. "Not yet. Let the dust settle. One crisis at a time."
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