“If it’s one of your weird salad experiments, I’m still on liquid diet.”
Posted on Fri Nov 14th, 2025 @ 4:31pm by Cadet Freshman Grade Miran Lalor [Lalor] HRH & Tristi Richardson
Mission:
Season 6: Episode 6: Conglomerate
Location: Main Medical
Timeline: MD 3 Mid to Late afternoon
593 words - 1.2 OF Standard Post Measure
The steady rhythm of biobed monitors filled the air — a soft, sterile hum that somehow made the silence heavier. The Medical Bay lights were dimmed for recovery cycle, casting everything in pale gold and blue.
Tristi slipped through the doorway, clutching a small container wrapped in a cloth. She hesitated at the threshold, uncertain if she should even be here.
Miran was propped up on one of the lower beds, half-hidden behind a diagnostic arch. The faint shimmer of a dermal regenerator washed across her shoulder, the light reflecting in her pale brown eyes. She looked exhausted — not just hurt, but worn thin.
Tristi cleared her throat softly. “Hey.”
Miran turned her head, blinking before recognition dawned. “Tris… hey. You’re not supposed to be in here after hours.”
Tristi smirked faintly. “Yeah, well, you’re not supposed to get stabbed by aliens. Guess we both broke rules.”
That earned a weak laugh. “Fair point.”
Tristi edged closer, setting the container down beside the bed. “Brought you something. From the arboretum.”
Miran eyed it curiously. “If it’s one of your weird salad experiments, I’m still on liquid diet.”
Tristi rolled her eyes. “It’s not food. Well… not yet.” She lifted the cloth to reveal a small pot of soil with a green shoot barely peeking through. “Selari and I started it. It’s supposed to be something that purifies air or whatever. Figured you could use something alive in here.”
Miran smiled — small, but genuine. “That’s… actually really nice. Thanks.”
Tristi shrugged awkwardly. “Yeah, well. Figured you wouldn’t want flowers. Too fragile.”
“I like this better,” Miran said quietly. She reached out, fingertips brushing the rim of the pot before glancing back up. “You doing okay?”
Tristi looked away. “Define okay.”
“That bad, huh?”
“Not bad,” Tristi said after a beat. “Just… weird. Everyone’s acting like things are normal again, but they’re not. Feels like the ship’s holding its breath.”
Miran nodded slightly, wincing at the movement. “Yeah. It’s like the air changed.”
“I keep waiting for the next thing to go wrong,” Tristi admitted, voice low. “And I hate that I think that way now.”
Miran studied her for a long moment. Despite the painkillers, her expression was sharp and thoughtful — that same quiet strength she shared with her sister. “You know, it’s not weakness. Being scared. It means you survived and your brain’s still trying to catch up.”
Tristi frowned. “That sound like something Phoenix told you?”
Miran gave a small grin. “Probably. She’s bossy like that. Must run in the family.”
That earned a snort from Tristi. “Yeah. Definitely a family trait.”
They sat in companionable silence for a while — two teenagers from different corners of the same strange family, surrounded by the quiet pulse of medical machines. The little plant between them swayed gently in the recycled air.
After a moment, Tristi pushed herself up from the stool. “I should let you rest.”
“Come back tomorrow,” Miran said, her tone more earnest than casual. “Bring another plant. Or something less green.”
Tristi grinned. “Cookies, maybe. But no promises — last batch I made came out like bricks.”
“I’ll risk it,” Miran said, settling back against the pillow.
Tristi hesitated, then gave a small nod. “Alright. Tomorrow.”
As she left, the door slid shut behind her, and the only sound left was the quiet hum of the biobed and the steady rhythm of healing — both the kind that mended skin and the kind that slowly, quietly, mended hearts.
