In principio: The Man Who Stayed Interesting Part 1

Posted on Sun Jul 5th, 2026 @ 5:42am by Master Chief Petty Officer Julian Trent

2,545 words; about a 13 minute read

Mission: Prologue
Location: USS Murmansk
Timeline: 2370

USS Murmansk, Sickbay, 2370

The medical intake was taking too long, which Julian suspected was less a matter of medical necessity and more a test of whether newly transferred personnel could endure boredom without becoming disruptive. If that was the intention, Sickbay had selected its subject poorly.

He sat on the edge of the biobed with his uniform jacket folded beside him and the sleeves of his undershirt pushed up to his elbows, one heel tapping lightly against the base despite the doctor having already asked him twice to keep still. Sickbay was bright in the usual Starfleet way, all clean surfaces, pale light and equipment designed to look reassuring while making it very clear that it knew more about your body than you did. The room smelled faintly of antiseptic and warmed circuitry, with the soft pulse of medical scanners moving beneath the quieter sounds of people trying not to be ill in public.

The doctor examining him was Human, middle-aged and apparently immune to charm. She had introduced herself when he arrived, but the name had disappeared almost immediately beneath questions about allergies, prior injuries, family medical history and whether he had ever experienced unexplained dizziness, seizures, blackouts or sudden changes in mood. Julian had considered telling her that sudden changes in mood were usually explained by the people around him, but she had the look of someone who would write the answer down without appreciating it, so he had restrained himself.

The family history section had been brief. “No known family,” Julian had said when she asked, watching the pause of her fingers against her PADD. “No available genetic record either, but you…sort of have all you need with me, right?”

The doctor glanced at him for half a second, perhaps checking whether he was being difficult or merely factual, then entered the information without comment. There was no sympathy in her expression and no awkward attempt to soften the question after the answer had already been given, which Julian appreciated more than pity and less than conversation. “Deep breath,” she said as she moved the scanner slowly across his chest, and Julian obeyed before releasing it through his nose, watching the ceiling lights instead of her face. When she tapped the edge of the device and asked him to do it again, he drew in another breath, although his attention had already begun wandering towards the next biobed, where a Tellarite engineer sat with both sleeves pushed up and the expression of someone personally offended by medicine.

The medical technician working with him was Human, perhaps Julian’s age or slightly older, with warm brown skin and dark hair worn short and thick, though the waves in it softened the shape around his head. He had strong brows, intelligent dark eyes, a straight nose and the sort of handsome mouth which seemed built for warmth rather than severity. He was not broad in an imposing way, but he was compact and solid through the shoulders, comfortable in himself, the blue of Medical sitting neatly across them as he moved a scanner along the Tellarite’s arm.

What Julian noticed first, after the obvious, was the patience, because the Tellarite had been his own particular variety of difficult arsehole for the last minute and a half. A small holo-display floated in front of the engineer, cycling through bands of colour, overlapping geometric shapes and depth markers which shifted position whenever his eyes moved.

“This sequence was designed by Humans,” the Tellarite announced, leaning back from the projection with a deep frown before folding his arms across his chest. “The contrast is abysmal, the depth intervals are too narrow and whoever adapted it for Tellarite vision clearly had no understanding of Tellarite vision.”

The technician did not argue or give him the empty smile of someone humouring a difficult patient. He turned the control panel towards himself, adjusted the spectral range and widened the depth field before angling the projection back towards him. “Better?” he asked, resting one hand against the side of the biobed while the Tellarite narrowed his eyes at the changing shapes. “The scanner has already confirmed that the eye itself is healthy. This is checking how well you are using it.”

“That assumes you calibrated the scanner correctly,” the engineer said, his nostrils flaring as the projection shifted again.

One corner of the technician’s mouth lifted. It was small, but genuine, warming his face in a way that made Julian watch it happen until the doctor said, “Petty Officer,” with enough emphasis to make him turn back and find her looking at him over the medical scanner. “I need you to remain still.”

“I am still,” Julian said, although the tapping heel betrayed him by continuing to vibrate through the frame of the biobed. He stopped it and gave her a mild look, because there seemed little point denying evidence which could probably be measured by the equipment surrounding him. “Externally, anyway. Internally, I’m restless, but that feels more like a philosophical concern.”

“It is not,” the doctor replied, returning her attention to the readings with such complete disinterest that Julian almost admired it.

“Good,” he said, shifting his shoulders before remembering he was not supposed to. “I worried I might have come to the wrong department…”

Across the room, the technician’s mouth moved again. Julian caught the flicker of amusement from the corner of his eye, and his attention followed before he could stop it.

The doctor pressed the scanner gently against the side of his neck and turned his chin forward with two fingers. “Look straight ahead.”

Julian did, because even he knew there were moments when annoying the person examining his nervous system became counterproductive, but he could still hear the Tellarite arguing about the medical bias built into the programme and the technician answering in that same calm voice.

“I matched the sequence to your previous assessment,” the technician said, checking the tricorder reading against the responses recorded by the holo-display. He shifted the scanner closer to the Tellarite’s face and waited until the engineer stopped trying to glare through it. “If the programme were the problem, both eyes would be giving me the same result.”

The Tellarite’s ears shifted back slightly. “So now you are saying the fault is mine?”

“I’m saying the response from your left eye is slightly slower than it was last year,” the technician replied, meeting the offended stare without becoming defensive. “That does not mean your eye has failed you, and it does not mean the equipment has insulted your ancestors. The tissue is healthy. I would still like the doctor to check the change.”

The Tellarite held his eyes for another moment, then gave a low grunt and unfolded his arms. “That is marginally less unreasonable.”

The technician’s expression softened, not triumphantly but with the quiet satisfaction of someone who had managed to get a patient to agree without making him feel defeated. There was something warm in his voice. Not soft, exactly. Grounded. A voice that made space rather than demanding it.

“Are you always this conversational,” Julian asked the doctor, keeping his face obediently forward while she moved the scanner along his jaw, “or am I receiving special treatment because I’m new?”

“You are receiving a medical examination in order to clear you for duty aboard this vessel,” she replied, turning the scanner slightly as she checked another reading.

Julian let a small amount of disappointment enter his expression. “Ah. I thought there might be chemistry. A whirlwind romance about to happen. Or…friendship. Platonic friendship with green tea and talks about interstellar flights.”

The sound from the next biobed was unmistakably a laugh, quickly swallowed into something that might have passed as a cough if Julian had not already been listening for it. He turned his head just enough to catch the technician looking down at his instruments with a carefully neutral expression, though there was still the smallest line of amusement at the corner of his mouth, curling it upwards and deepening a crease beside it. It set off his dark eyes.

There you are, Julian thought, warmth stirring beneath his ribs. Beautiful bastard.

The doctor caught Julian lightly beneath the chin and turned him back towards her. “Petty Officer Trent, if you continue moving, this will take longer.”

“Threatening me with more of your company feels dangerously close to flirting,” Julian told her, and when she ignored him completely he almost laughed. He stayed still this time, mostly because he had already achieved what he wanted. The technician knew he was there now, and that improved the experience considerably.

“Petty Officer Trent…this is the opposite of flirting. So pack the charm, the smile, and sit still,” she said, giving him a look which made it clear that was…final.

The doctor moved on to reflexes, vision, hearing and a series of questions Julian had already answered during transfer processing. He replied politely enough, knowing that the atmosphere had shifted. That was fine. His attention was somewhere else. On someone else.

“Raise your left arm,” the technician told the Tellarite, supporting the elbow with one hand while he moved the scanner over the joint. The engineer did so with a grimace, then immediately straightened his mouth and insisted that the pain had already improved.

“You flinched,” the technician said, glancing up from the tricorder as the Tellarite tried to lower his arm without appearing cautious.

“Bah.” The Tellarite shook his head and narrowed his eyes. “I adjusted.”

“You swore,” the technician countered, his lips doing that thing Julian recognised as a suppressed tut. He had seen those before.

The Tellarite’s chin lifted. “In Tellarite culture, that is a form of controlled breathing.”

The technician’s smile returned, warmer this time, and he reached for a hypospray from the tray beside him. “Then breathe in a controlled fashion while I apply the anti-inflammatory.” He pressed it against the engineer’s upper arm, waited for the soft hiss and then lowered it. “If the pain worsens, or you lose any movement in the hand, come back.”

“It will not worsen,” the Tellarite said as he pulled his sleeve down and pushed himself off the biobed, placing more care into the movement than he probably realised.

“Then you’ll never have to see me again…” the technician promised as he looked at him, almost innocently.

The engineer paused halfway towards the doors and glanced back over one shoulder. “That seems excessive,” he muttered before leaving, and the affection beneath the complaint made the technician shake his head as he began clearing the instruments away.

Julian waited until the doctor asked him to extend his right arm, turning his palm upwards as she checked the movement in his wrist. “So…are all new transfers examined by the Chief Medical Officer, or was I lucky?” he asked, a small and cheeky smile curling his lips.

“You were assigned to the first available clinician,” she said, rotating his hand before lifting her eyes to his. “Unfortunately for me, that was myself.”

“So it was chance,” Julian said, letting his voice sound a touch disappointed as she released his wrist. “There goes my theory that somebody reviewed my file and requested me personally.”

At the other biobed, the technician gathered a tray of instruments and carried it towards the sterilisation unit. He slid it inside, then looked over his shoulder at Julian. “Perhaps your file simply isn’t sufficiently compelling for anything except random chance,” he said, his accent wrapping warmth around the words rather than sharpening them.

“Ah, so you read it,” Julian replied with a grin, turning his head to watch him properly.

“No,” the technician said, pressing the control to close the compartment. He rested his hand against the counter and added, “I didn’t need to.”

“Then you’re making assumptions,” Julian said softly, raising an eyebrow as he leant forward a little.

The technician leant one hip lightly against the counter and looked at him. Up close, his eyes were a rich dark brown, almost black beneath the Sickbay lights, but there was nothing unreadable in them. He did not hide behind professional blankness. He simply looked, open and direct, and Julian had the peculiar sense of being considered rather than assessed. “I’m drawing conclusions from the available evidence.”

Julian let his arm remain where the doctor had placed it, although the rest of him had become much more engaged. “And what does the evidence suggest?”

“That you dislike being ignored,” the technician replied, folding his arms loosely across his chest. There was no cruelty or smugness in it. He said it as though he had simply noticed something and saw no reason to pretend otherwise.

Julian’s smile widened. “Most people do,” he said as a matter of fact.

“Most people hide it better,” the man said, and the warmth in his expression took any sting from the words.

A laugh escaped Julian before he had time to shape it into something more controlled, quiet and genuinely surprised. The technician smiled in return, not because he had won, Julian thought, but maybe because he had enjoyed the sound. That was interesting too. He was not performing indifference or trying to make himself difficult. He was simply not in a hurry to give Julian anything he had not earned.

The doctor lowered the scanner at last and stepped back. “Your intake assessment is normal. You are cleared for duty without restriction,” she said, entering the final result into his medical file before turning the PADD so Julian could confirm it.

“Already?” Julian asked, glancing towards the technician before looking back at her. “Just when the atmosphere was improving.”

She held out his uniform jacket with the calm resignation of someone pleased to be rid of him. “Welcome aboard the Murmansk, Petty Officer.”

“Thank you, Doctor,” Julian said as he took it from her and slid his arms into the sleeves. “Your warmth has made the transition almost painless.” He smoothed the fabric down over his torso, fastened the jacket and turned towards the technician, who had returned to checking equipment but was no longer pretending not to listen. “And thank you for the secondary consultation.”

The man glanced over, one hand still resting against the medical tricorder as his brows lifted slightly. “I didn’t provide one.”

“No,” Julian agreed, letting his eyes remain on him for a beat longer than politeness required. “But you improved it.”

The technician’s lips parted as though he had an answer ready, but Julian turned before he could hear it. A well-timed departure did more work than another line, and Julian had always understood the value of leaving someone with the last word unsaid. The Sickbay doors opened onto the corridor, and he stepped through with a smile still sitting lightly on his mouth, although it was only after the doors closed behind him that he realised he had no idea what the man’s name was.

That was irritating. It was addictive. It was fun. And…well. Julian would figure it out.

To be continued in Part 2

 

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