In principio: Still There

Posted on Wed Jul 1st, 2026 @ 5:33pm by Master Chief Petty Officer Julian Trent

3,698 words; about a 18 minute read

Mission: Prologue
Location: Starfleet Enlisted Training Centre, San Francisco, Earth
Timeline: 2361

Starfleet Enlisted Training Centre, San Francisco, Earth, 2361

The office was not any less bright than it had been the first time, but Julian had developed a higher tolerance for unnecessary brightness over the last few months, along with early mornings, shouted instructions, communal showers, protein-heavy breakfasts and people who spoke as if they had all graduated already. He sat in the same chair with one ankle hooked behind the other, because some things were worth preserving, though the slouch was less dramatic now. Not gone...he doubted it ever would be. But it looked cleaner around the edges. He wore the training uniform as if he had finally stopped resenting it on principle, and there was a healing bruise near his jaw from a hand-to-hand drill where he had got clever before he got sensible. That had been the official assessment anyway. Julian’s private assessment was that the other recruit had telegraphed his left side like a public announcement and Julian had simply been rude enough to notice.

Lieutenant Commander Renis Thalen looked him over from behind the PADD, dark eyes taking in the bruise, the posture, the uniform and the hands resting looser than they had at intake. His expression gave nothing away, but the silence stretched long enough for Julian to recognise it as deliberate.

Julian gave him his best smile, warm and shameless, because there were traditions to uphold and because Thalen still had the sort of mouth that looked as though it was withholding three excellent insults out of professional discipline. “You look disappointed,” he said, tilting his head just enough to make it charming rather than insolent. “Were you hoping I’d come back ruined?”

Thalen lowered his eyes to the PADD again, one thumb moving across the display as though Julian’s performance required no immediate response. “I was hoping you would come back punctual,” he said at last, the dryness in his voice suggesting this had been a far less realistic ambition.

Julian lifted his eyebrows and glanced towards the chronometer on the wall before looking back at him. “I’m three minutes early,” he pointed out, spreading one hand slightly as if presenting evidence in his defence.

“Yes,” Thalen said, raising his eyes with the grave concentration of a man documenting a suspicious medical anomaly. “I noticed.”

“Personal growth,” Julian said solemnly, letting his smile widen despite himself as he settled further into the chair. “Dreadful thing. Sneaks up on a man.”

Thalen gave him the smallest look over the top of the PADD, not quite amused, which Julian had learnt meant amused but unwilling to encourage him. “Your final training reports are positive,” he said, returning his attention to the display before the expression could become anything useful.

Julian widened his eyes with theatrical surprise even though he had known that already. Of course he had known. People were not as subtle as they thought, least of all instructors who tried not to look pleased when someone did exactly what they had been trying to teach. “Positive?” he repeated, touching one hand lightly to his chest. “Are you certain you have the right file?”

“I checked twice,” Thalen said, turning the PADD slightly as though Julian might otherwise try to challenge the evidence. His thumb paused beside one section of the report. “You are performing well. Not without incidents, but well. Strong tactical scores, good practical comprehension, effective under pressure and significantly improved discipline.”

Julian leant forward slightly, interest slipping through the performance before he could conceal it. “Significantly improved,” he repeated, the satisfaction beneath the words unmistakable. “That sounds almost impressive.”

“It means your instructors no longer expect an argument every time they give you an instruction,” Thalen said, lifting his eyes towards him. “They merely prepare for one.”

“Preparation is important,” Julian replied, settling back again with a pleased curve to his mouth. “I’m improving standards already.”

“They also note that you are quick to challenge anything you consider pointless, slow to respect authority which has not earned it and prone to commentary when silence would be more appropriate.” Thalen lowered the PADD slightly, watching him now rather than the report. “Do you disagree?”

Julian’s smile sharpened with interest as he folded one ankle more securely behind the other. “I think commentary is a very broad category,” he said, spreading one hand across his knee. “It could mean anything from constructive criticism to improving morale.”

“One instructor described it as ‘a sustained campaign against unnecessary seriousness’,” Thalen said, the corner of his mouth threatening movement before professional discipline restored it.

“That sounds complimentary,” Julian replied, touching one hand lightly to his chest as his expression warmed. “Morale is important.”

“Another noted that you asked whether a six-page maintenance reflection was designed to test technical comprehension or endurance.” Thalen scrolled further down the report, though his eyes remained on Julian.

Julian lifted his eyebrows, entirely unrepentant. “A fair question.”

“You bypassed the document permissions and added it as a public annotation,” Thalen said, the faint crease between his brows suggesting the detail had been recorded with some precision. “Every recruit assigned to the module received an alert.”

“I improved engagement and encouraged peer review,” Julian replied, giving a small shrug as though the matter should have earned him additional marks.

Thalen studied him for a moment before looking back down at the PADD. “Your instructors also describe you as intelligent, quick to learn and significantly easier to teach when the lesson has an obvious practical application...although they note that you become restless.”

“That feels less like praise the longer it goes on,” Julian said, though satisfaction escaped into his smile as his fingers relaxed against his knee.

“You are doing well, Trent,” Thalen said, allowing the directness of it to interrupt the performance. His expression remained controlled, but his voice had softened enough for Julian to notice. “Your practical scores are strong, your written work is better than you pretend it is, and your instructors believe you will manage well aboard ship.”

Julian held his eyes for a second too long before looking down at his hands. Praise still had a way of reaching him before he could decide how to receive it, leaving him briefly without anything clever enough to hide behind. “Careful,” he said as he rubbed one thumb across the callus near his forefinger. “That nearly sounded encouraging.”

“It was intended to be,” Thalen replied, resting the PADD against one knee as he watched Julian absorb the answer.

Julian looked back at him, his smile returning in a quieter shape. “That seems irresponsible.”

“Your instructors appear willing to take the risk,” Thalen said, and this time the slight movement at the corner of his mouth remained long enough to be recognised.

Julian’s smile broadened at the small victory before suspicion returned. “Appear?”

“Some of them are reluctant to admit that they like you,” Thalen said, tapping one finger lightly against the edge of the PADD. “They believe it encourages you.”

“They are correct,” Julian replied immediately, warmth brightening his face. “I would become unbearable.”

“Become?” Thalen asked, lifting one eyebrow.

Julian stared at him for a moment before laughing, his shoulders loosening against the chair. “There you are,” he said, pointing one finger towards him. “I knew those insults were in there somewhere.”

Thalen allowed the amusement to remain for a moment before looking down at the report again. “Have you made friends?”

The question surprised another laugh out of Julian before he could polish it. “Friends?” he repeated, his eyebrows lifting. “I’m not sure Starfleet issues those. Boots, tricorders, purpose, consequences, apparently. Friends may be an advanced module.”

Thalen said nothing, merely resting the PADD against his knee and waiting with the patience of a man who had no intention of rescuing Julian from the question.

Julian hated that he was good at waiting. It made honesty more likely, and Julian had developed a troubling habit of giving this man answers simply because he refused to be entertained by the easy ones. He glanced down at his hands, at the faint calluses forming where there had not been any before and the small half-moon mark near one knuckle from a maintenance panel which had objected to being opened. “I know people,” he said eventually, taking care to make the admission sound insignificant. “They know me.”

“They invite you to eat with them,” Thalen said, glancing towards a notation on the PADD before returning his attention to Julian. “They seek you out during recreation periods. You organise card games.”

“I organise one card game,” Julian corrected, lifting a finger. “Repeatedly.”

“You help other recruits revise tactical systems,” Thalen continued, the evenness of his voice making the observation harder to dismiss.

Julian shifted slightly in the chair, his smile becoming crooked at the edges. “They help me with science.”

“Your science scores suggest they have more work to do,” Thalen said, glancing down at the relevant section of the report. “Your lowest scores are all grouped there.”

“They lack imagination,” Julian said, wounded dignity returning as he placed one hand over his chest. “Just like science.”

“They lack accuracy,” Thalen replied, though amusement had reached his eyes now. “Unlike science.”

“That too,” Julian admitted, lowering his hand as his smile widened.

“You have also been named in three separate reports involving unauthorised food after lights-out.” Thalen turned the PADD slightly, studying the entries as if they formed a troubling pattern.

“The food was authorised,” Julian said, sitting straighter with immediate concern. “Its location was unconventional.”

“The location was a ventilation access,” Thalen said, lifting his eyes from the report. “Directly above the Base Commander’s sleeping quarters.”

“It was cooler there,” Julian replied, spreading both hands as though the environmental logic should have closed the matter. “And we thought he might enjoy the smell of various fruit pies.”

Thalen’s eyes remained on him, dry and patient. “You are popular.”

Julian’s hands lowered slowly to his thighs. The word sat differently from the others, slipping past the jokes before he could stop it. He looked down and rubbed one thumb over the side of his forefinger again, remembering crowded tables, people knocking against his shoulder in corridors, somebody saving him a seat without asking whether he wanted one. “That sounds dangerously close to approval,” he said, though his voice had softened.

“It is an observation,” Thalen replied, watching the small change in Julian’s posture without reaching for the PADD.

“Those are often how approval sneaks in,” Julian said as he looked up again, the smile on his face quieter and less protected.

Thalen made a note, the movement unhurried, before glancing towards Julian to see whether he objected.

Julian watched without the old cold twist in his stomach. He still disliked being written down. He suspected he always would. But files had changed shape slightly since he had arrived. They were still judgement, yes, but now they were also proof that he had done something. Completed drills. Passed assessments. Got through the weeks without walking away. Someone had kept track, and for once the record was not only evidence against him.

“You are due to complete training at the end of the week,” Thalen said, turning the PADD so another page came into view. His eyes moved briefly across the assignment status before returning to Julian. “Your posting should follow shortly afterwards.”

Julian felt it then, sharp and bright beneath his ribs. Not nerves exactly, not fear, though both were probably hiding somewhere in the wiring. He had been pretending not to feel it for three days. Every time someone mentioned deployment, postings, ships, border stations or patrol routes, the same strange lift moved inside him, as if some part of him had been waiting beside a door and had just heard footsteps on the other side.

“You look pleased,” Thalen observed, studying the change in Julian’s face with quiet interest.

Julian blinked before giving him a smile too quick to be innocent. “You spend a lot of time looking at me,” he said, turning his head slightly as though presenting a better angle for inspection.

“It is part of my job,” Thalen replied, though his mouth shifted almost imperceptibly at one corner.

“Tragic,” Julian said, sighing as though deeply wounded while one hand rose and fell against his thigh. “I thought we had something.”

“We do,” Thalen said, allowing a moment of silence to follow as Julian’s mouth began to curve.

Julian waited, his eyes narrowing with playful suspicion because he knew better than to expect generosity.

“A professional obligation,” Thalen finished, returning his attention to the PADD with deliberate composure.

“That is less romantic than I hoped, but I’ve worked with worse foundations.” Julian shifted in the chair and let the joke fall away because the excitement was still there and wanted out somehow, even if he could only let it come dressed as sarcasm. He looked briefly towards the office door, as though the next thing might already be waiting on the other side. “Yes,” he said after a breath, rubbing one palm across his knee. “I’m pleased. Excited, even, if we’re being vulgar about it. Something happens next. That’s…good.”

Thalen’s expression softened by one controlled degree as he watched Julian look towards the door. “You sound surprised,” he said, his voice quieter now.

Julian shrugged before he could decide whether that was too honest. The truth sat between them with its hands folded and refused to leave. “I am,” he admitted, looking back at Thalen before his eyes dropped towards the floor. “I never expected to get through this. Or enjoy it.”

For a moment, neither of them spoke. Julian could hear movement beyond the office door, boots in the corridor, someone laughing too loudly and the distant bark of an instructor’s voice softened by walls and distance. The training centre was still absurdly clean, still too bright and still full of noble sentences on polished surfaces, but it no longer felt like a place pretending to make meaning. It felt like a machine, and Julian had found, to his private horror, that he liked machines when they worked.

“What is different about this?” Thalen asked, setting the PADD down completely as he folded his hands loosely over it.

Julian looked towards him again, his eyebrows drawing together as though the answer should have been obvious. “It worked.”

“That is not an answer,” Thalen said, remaining still while Julian’s expression sharpened.

“It’s a perfectly serviceable answer,” Julian replied, spreading one hand in mild protest.

“It is an answer about the institution,” Thalen said, inclining his head as though inviting Julian to try again.

Julian drew his tongue briefly across the inside of his cheek, buying himself a second while his eyes moved towards the window. “There are steps,” he said eventually, his fingers tapping once against his knee before going still. “You do one thing, then the next. You pass or you don’t. If you don’t, someone tells you why. Usually at volume.”

“And you find that reassuring?” Thalen asked, watching the quick movement of Julian’s fingers.

“I find it efficient,” Julian replied, looking back at him with deliberate blandness.

“That was not the question,” Thalen said, one eyebrow lifting faintly.

Julian let out a breath through his nose and looked at him, mildly betrayed by the persistence. “Yes,” he said at last, his shoulders dropping by a fraction. “A bit.”

“Because it gives you somewhere to go,” Thalen said, the observation gentle enough that Julian almost mistook it for a question.

“Because it stops everything being my own bloody invention,” Julian corrected, though the words came more quickly than he intended as he sat forward. “I don’t have to wake up and decide who I am before breakfast. Starfleet has already decided I’m Recruit Trent, that I need to be in formation at six and that my boots are an insult to civilisation if they’re not polished properly. It’s ridiculous, but it’s consistent.”

“And when you leave here?” Thalen asked, his eyes staying on Julian’s face as the humour receded from it.

Julian’s fingers tightened once against his knee. “Then I’ll be Crewman Trent, presumably,” he said, the answer coming slower now. “Somewhere else. Doing something useful.”

“You say that as though usefulness is the important part,” Thalen observed, leaning forward slightly.

“It is,” Julian replied, the certainty in his voice arriving before the smile could disguise it.

“Why?” Thalen asked, his expression remaining calm even as Julian gave him a look which should have ended the question.

“Because ornamental men are exhausting,” Julian said, lifting his chin as though the matter were settled.

Thalen waited, his silence patient and entirely unconvinced.

Julian exhaled and tipped his head back for a moment before looking at him again. “Because useful things are kept,” he said, the answer quieter now as one hand closed over the opposite wrist. “Most of the time.”

Thalen did not immediately lower his eyes to make a note, and Julian was grateful enough for that not to say so. “You are not an object, Julian,” he said, his voice steady and direct.

“That sounds suspiciously like something printed on one of the walls outside,” Julian replied, looking towards the door as the joke assembled itself around the discomfort.

“It is not,” Thalen said, watching him closely enough that Julian knew the deflection had not worked.

“Shame,” Julian said, glancing back with a faint smile. “It would improve the corridor.”

Thalen allowed the remark to stand for several seconds before returning to the PADD, giving Julian the small mercy of movement. “Your tactical results support the placement recommendation made at intake,” he said, scrolling to the final assessment. “Shipboard Tactical or Security, with a preference for weapons systems.”

Julian narrowed his eyes as suspicion replaced vulnerability. “Preference from whom?” he asked, settling back into the chair.

“Your instructors,” Thalen replied, glancing towards him before reading further. “You performed particularly well in manual targeting, torpedo systems and weapons diagnostics.”

“How intimate of them,” Julian said, though the satisfaction in his face weakened the complaint.

“Your science scores remain less impressive,” Thalen continued, one eyebrow lifting as Julian’s expression changed.

“They lack personality,” Julian replied, lifting one shoulder as though the fault belonged entirely to the sciences.

“They lack accuracy,” Thalen said, tapping the relevant part of the report.

“That too,” Julian admitted, his mouth curving as he accepted the defeat.

Thalen set the PADD across his knee and studied him for another moment. “You are cleared for completion,” he said, his voice returning to its more formal register. “I am recommending routine follow-up once you reach your first posting, but there is no concern preventing graduation.”

Julian felt the answer settle inside him before the smile arrived. He looked down at the uniform which no longer felt borrowed, then back towards Thalen. “So Starfleet has decided to keep me,” he said, trying to make the words lighter than they felt.

“You completed the training,” Thalen replied, his expression remaining still even as his attention sharpened.

“That was not quite what I said,” Julian pointed out, rubbing one palm against his thigh.

“No,” Thalen said, holding his eyes for a moment. “It was not.”

Julian stood, and this time his stomach did not protest, which felt like another kind of progress. He smoothed one hand down the front of his uniform out of habit, though there was nothing wrong with it, then gave Thalen one last bright, shameless smile. “I shall try to make you proud.”

“I would settle for you remaining out of disciplinary proceedings,” Thalen said, placing the PADD on the desk as his eyes followed Julian towards the door.

“Low expectations,” Julian said, his grin deepening as one hand reached towards the panel. “Sensible. Attractive.”

“Recruit Trent,” Thalen said, the particular dryness in his voice making Julian pause before the door could open.

Julian looked back over his shoulder, one hand still hovering near the panel. “That tone usually means you’ve remembered something inconvenient.”

“The poker game tonight.” Thalen picked up the PADD again, though his attention remained on Julian. “You arranged it?”

Julian turned more fully, suspicion and interest arriving together as he rested one shoulder near the doorframe. “That depends. Is this a counselling concern or a gambling concern?”

“A gambling concern,” Thalen said immediately, adjusting the PADD in his hand as if the distinction had already been considered.

The speed of the answer made Julian laugh, his posture loosening against the frame. “In that case, yes. Twenty-one hundred. Recreation room three. Low stakes, because apparently Starfleet disapproves of character-building debt.”

“Good,” Thalen said, giving a small nod with the calm of a man confirming a treatment plan.

Julian waited, his eyebrows lifting as the silence stretched. “Good?” he repeated, unable to keep the interest from his voice.

“I will be there,” Thalen said, resting the PADD against his palm.

Julian stared at him for a moment, delighted despite himself. “You play?” he asked, pushing away from the frame as though the revelation required his full attention.

Thalen adjusted the PADD in his hand, his expression barely changing. “I win.”

For one brief, brilliant second, Julian forgot to be careful. The grin which spread across his face was young, sharp and genuinely pleased, all the excitement of someone who had discovered the universe might be slightly less dull than expected. “Oh,” he said, tapping the door panel as it slid open behind him. “This institution may have promise after all.”

He stepped into the corridor with the noise and movement of training all around him, boots striking polished floors, voices carrying, names being called and the end of one thing pressing close enough to touch. His assignment had not come through yet. He did not know where he would be sent, who he would serve with or whether he would be any good once the drills stopped being drills.

But something was happening now. Something was moving. And that was enough.

---

 

RSS Feed