“The 0200 Shift”

Posted on Wed Oct 29th, 2025 @ 9:03am by Petty Officer 1st Class Kara DeSotto

Mission: Season 6: Episode 6: Conglomerate
Location: Crew Lounge Two, USS Elysium
Timeline: MD 2 — 0203 Hours
704 words - 1.4 OF Standard Post Measure

The lounge was half-dark, most of its lights dimmed to conserve power. The stars outside drifted by slow and silent, streaks of silver through the wide viewport. The hum of the ship was softer now — still healing, still limping, but alive.

Kara DeSoto sat at one of the tables near the window, a mug of black coffee cupped between her hands. Her uniform jacket hung loose over one shoulder; she hadn’t bothered to fix it. The padd beside her still glowed faintly — casualty records, duty rotations, endless names. She wasn’t reading anymore.

The door whispered open behind her. A figure stepped in — Lira Hovan, her blond braid messy, the skin around her eyes smudged with exhaustion. “Didn’t think anyone else would be up,” Lira murmured.

Kara smiled faintly. “That makes two of us.”

Lira hesitated, then joined her, dropping onto the chair opposite. “Power grid’s stable. For now,” she said, running a hand through her hair. “Feels weird when the ship’s this quiet.”

“It’s the first time she’s rested since the attack,” Kara said softly. “Maybe we all needed that.”

The door opened again — Jalen Cross and K’Trin, both still in engineering greys, carrying toolkits and the unmistakable smell of plasma sealant.

“Don’t mind us,” Jalen said, setting the kit down and pouring two raktajinos from the replicator. “Couldn’t sleep. Core hum’s off by half a decibel, keeps me awake.”

K’Trin snorted. “You hear that? I hear silence, which means I’m alive. Drink your coffee and stop complaining.”

Marta Velin wandered in next, clutching a ration bar and looking out of place among officers and technicians. “Deck Fifteen’s clean again,” she said quietly, almost to herself. “Smells like sanitizer instead of blood. That’s something.”

Thala zh’Renn followed her — pale blue skin gone slightly grey under the lights. She carried a medkit like a security blanket. “If anyone needs stim patches, I’ve got some left from triage,” she offered, managing a tired smile.

Devon Price came last, his phaser holstered but his eyes sharp, scanning the room as if expecting claws in the shadows. When none appeared, he sighed and dropped into a seat. “Thought this was supposed to be a quiet deck,” he muttered.

“It was,” Kara said gently. “Then we all got tired of being alone.”

They chuckled — low, weary, but real.

Rix Tal arrived not long after, drawn by the faint sound of laughter. He carried a padd too, full of transmission data. “Comms are clean again,” he said as he slid into the seat beside Jalen. “No Galtonian chatter. Just us.”

Fin Dorran appeared behind him, carrying a tray of replicated tea. “Counselor says drinking something warm helps with trauma responses,” he said, handing cups around. “Personally, I think she just wants me to stop pacing.”

Vira Tenn entered last — her flight-deck coveralls still streaked with grease. “Sorry,” she said, sheepish. “Shuttle bay diagnostics took longer than I thought.” She paused when she saw them all gathered. “Didn’t know there was a meeting.”

“It’s not,” Kara said, smiling tiredly. “Just… survivors’ hour.”

Vira took a seat anyway, sliding her mug between her palms. For a moment, no one spoke. The ship’s hum filled the silence — that deep, living thrum that reminded them they were still moving, still breathing.

Lira finally broke the quiet. “You think they’ll come back?”

“Maybe,” Jalen said, voice low. “But next time, we’ll be ready.”

K’Trin grunted in agreement. “They can try chewing through duranium again. We’ll feed them plasma this time.”

Marta gave a weak laugh, the first real sound of levity in hours. Thala smiled faintly at that, leaning back in her chair.

Kara looked around the table, at faces of people she called friends. They were all alive. Scarred, shaken — but alive.

“Next shift starts in three hours,” she said softly. “Until then… we breathe.”

Outside, the stars slipped past, cold and distant. Inside, ten weary souls sat together in the quiet glow of recovery — not officers or divisions or ranks. Just survivors.

And for a little while, in that fragile hour between night and duty, it was enough.

OFF