Thoughts of Vast Things

Posted on Sun Mar 16th, 2025 @ 4:38pm by Cadet Freshman Grade Miran Lalor [Lalor] HRH

Mission: Season 6 - 5.5 - Day to Day
Location: Miran and Raye's Cabin
Timeline: MD2, Early morning - 28/03/2398
1142 words - 2.3 OF Standard Post Measure

Miran Lalor sat on the edge of her bed, fingers deftly weaving long strands of brown hair into a single braid down her back. The quiet hum of the ship was a constant presence, a reminder that she was adrift in the vastness of the Circinus Galaxy—far from everything she had once thought her future would hold. At seventeen, just weeks away from adulthood, she was coming to terms with the fact that her life had taken an unexpected turn.

Living with her roommate, Raye, had been an unexpected comfort. Their shared quarters had become a small haven amidst the uncertainty that surrounded them. Raye had a calming presence, someone Miran could talk to without pretence. It helped that they shared similar tastes in music and holo-films, making the long nights of study or quiet reflection more bearable. They had formed a bond that felt as close as sisterhood, something Miran had never expected but deeply appreciated.

Then there was Gérard, her boyfriend. Their relationship was steady, something she found solace in despite the constraints imposed by her age. She had never imagined herself as someone who needed to define her happiness by another person, but Gérard had proven to be an anchor in her life. He respected the boundaries that her age and circumstances dictated, and while their lack of physical intimacy might have frustrated others, she found reassurance in the fact that he cared about her enough to wait. In a world of chaos and displacement, having something—someone—stable was invaluable.

Despite these personal comforts, Miran was facing a crossroads. The USS Elysium, which had been her home for so long, was not meant to be a permanent stopping place. She had always envisioned herself studying art in Paris, dedicating her life to painting and sculpture. The sheer joy of moulding clay between her fingers, of bringing an image to life with careful brushstrokes, was a dream she had nurtured since childhood. But the cruel reality was that they were stranded, unable to return to Federation space, and her carefully laid plans had crumbled into dust.

Now, she was staring down an entirely different path—one she had never truly considered before. The onboard Starfleet Academy had opened its doors to those willing to train, to prepare for a future in service to the fleet. It was logical, practical even. But was it what she wanted? The very idea of wearing a uniform, of dedicating herself to duty and regulations, felt foreign to her. She wasn’t a warrior or a strategist. Could she really trade her paints and sculpting tools for a phaser and a operations console? Or was this simply a temporary detour until she found a way back to her true passion?

And then, of course, there was another matter entirely—one that had nothing to do with her personal dilemmas but everything to do with justice. Clary Henderson, a fellow cadet, had betrayed Miran’s best friend, Triston Montgomery, in the worst way possible. Cheating on him had been an act of cruelty, and it had not gone unnoticed. In her home culture, the Erisian Blood Feud was not something to be taken lightly. Betrayal had consequences. Traditionally, such acts were met with a dagger at the offender’s door or a blood-soaked rug draped across their doorstep—an unmistakable warning. If mediation failed, a duel was the next logical step.

Miran had every intention of teaching Clary a lesson. Triston was more than a friend—he was family in every way that mattered. Clary had wounded him deeply, and that deserved retribution. She had planned everything meticulously, ready to challenge the dishonorable cadet and ensure that Erisian justice was meted out accordingly. But recent security changes had thrown an obstacle in her path. The ship’s new protocols meant she had to be more careful, more deliberate in her actions. A direct confrontation might not be possible, but Miran wasn’t one to let matters slide so easily. She would find another way.

To prepare, she had taken up practicing with a rapier in the ship’s training hall. The weapon felt natural in her hands—sleek, precise, and deadly when wielded correctly. Her movements had become more refined with each passing session, the fluidity of her strikes growing sharper, her footwork more deliberate. Every thrust, every parry, was executed with purpose, as she imagined facing Clary in a duel that would settle things once and for all. It was a dance she had come to enjoy, a form of discipline that gave her focus amid the uncertainties that plagued her thoughts.

Yet, there was one glaring problem: her sister, Commodore Phoenix Lalor. If Phoenix ever found out about Miran’s training—or worse, her attempt to enact the Erisian Blood Feud—there would be hell to pay. Her older sister was already carrying the weight of command, steering the USS Elysium through the treacherous unknown of the Circinus Galaxy. The last thing she needed was her younger sister starting an inter-crew feud over a matter of personal honor. Phoenix had always been fiercely protective of Miran, but their relationship had been strained by their differences. If she discovered what Miran was planning, the resulting confrontation would be explosive.

Miran could already imagine the argument—the sharp words, the inevitable shouting, and the accusations of recklessness and immaturity. Phoenix would demand she cease her training immediately, insisting that the ship had more important matters to handle than personal vendettas. And Miran, stubborn as ever, would refuse. She wasn’t a child anymore. She had a right to defend her friend’s honor, to uphold the traditions of their people. But Phoenix wouldn’t see it that way. She never did. Their inevitable clash would widen the chasm already growing between them, another fracture in their already fragile relationship.

Her fingers tightened slightly in her braid as she thought about the months ahead. So much was uncertain, and while she had always considered herself adaptable, there were moments where the weight of all these decisions felt suffocating. Raye had told her that uncertainty was simply another kind of adventure, but Miran wasn’t sure she agreed. She wanted stability, a clear direction, a future she could hold onto with certainty. But what did that even look like anymore?

She let out a slow breath, securing the end of her braid with a small tie. Her reflection in the small mirror across from her bed showed a young woman who looked composed, but beneath that exterior, she felt anything but. The coming weeks would define her path—whether she chose Starfleet, whether she pursued her vendetta against Clary, whether she found another way back to the life she had always wanted.

For now, all she could do was prepare for whatever came next.