Good News | USS Halcyon

Posted on Mon Feb 9th, 2026 @ 9:57am by Lieutenant Anthony Cardel

Mission: Season 6: Episode 6: Conglomerate
Location: USS Halcyon – Intelligence Section - Deck 7
Timeline: May 7th, 2397
825 words - 1.7 OF Standard Post Measure

Good News.

We all crave it.

Wonder if we’ll ever get it.

The new job, the big break, and the rest of the shit people look forward to in life.

Anthony didn’t feel that way. People had a way of saying good news to him that meant the exact opposite. After three years on the USS Halcyon, three boring, mundane years, he was happy. His three-minute walk to his station. His boring reports and files waiting for him every morning.

Was he actually happy? Probably not. But it was his routine.

He nodded to Fred the Bolian. They weren’t friends, but sometimes they went to the officers’ bar, the quieter one, and bitched about work and other coworkers. It wasn’t peaceful. It wasn’t an amazing life. But it was his. Finally, he was back on the route of life he’d been shoved off of at Starbase 375 three years ago.

He groaned at his desk, holding his head. Not just from the reminder of the fuck-up at that place, but because the local synthale was giving his body a deep reminder that one or two was fine, but four was the magic number for a work night. A loud gurgle from his stomach made him wince, but after a few moments it stopped.

The terminal sprang to life as he tapped away.

Same old story.

Klingon ships decloaking and recloaking along the border, sending scrambled messages. It wasn’t his job to decode them, at least not most of the time. That was Fred’s job, and he loved shouting half-understood Klingon phrases while trying to figure out whether the local commander preferred gagh from one region of Qo'noS or another.

Anthony’s job was to make sure that data stayed secure and that no one was trying to send a secret letter to their girlfriend through unofficial channels or telemetry. You’d think a generation of Starfleet officers would stop and think, but the number of ensigns he had to warn that using unofficial communications was super not okay was staggering.

Like clockwork, at least twice a year, he had to remind some plucky new hotshot that no, their message to their girlfriend wasn’t important enough to skip official communication protocols. Most of them stopped after the first warning.
The only one who got dragged out kicking and screaming was a fairly seasoned lieutenant going through a messy divorce. As much as Anthony felt sorry for the guy, the security footage of him clinging to a bulkhead while three officers tried, vainly, not to injure him was still the funniest thing he’d seen at this posting.

The door to the intel office swung open, making Anthony flinch.

Lieutenant Commander David Stewart swept into the room. He was a towering six-foot-four, with blond hair styled in what could only be described as something aggressively Viking. He was a fair officer, but he was desperate to keep the local Rear Admiral happy so his next posting wouldn’t be a starbase. He hated starbases. Hated starships too, honestly, but hated even more the insane workload intel operations on a starship demanded.

Anthony understood. The department had more than forty-five warm bodies trying to keep track of everything.
Anthony nodded to the lieutenant commander and was met with an icy stare.

“Ahh, shit.”

Was he pissed because the report Anthony sent last week was long? Some drunk Klingon captain had done target practice on an asteroid, triggering an information explosion they were still recovering from.

“In my office. Now.”

The lieutenant commander nearly collided with Anthony as he did a drive-by through the rows of terminals. Fred, ever the gossip, mouthed What happened?

Anthony raised his hands in confusion. Whatever it was, it couldn’t be that bad. Not like the counselor would be waiting in the lieutenant commander’s office with a bright smile and relentlessly positive inflections.

“Anthony!”

Commander Ketrya, the ship’s chief medical officer and counselor, said it brightly, nearly jumping to her feet.

The wave of panic on his face was probably visible from orbit. Judging by the looks on his commanding officers’ faces, they weren’t here to give him good news.

“Good news, Anthony!” Commander Ketrya continued, stretching positivity to a painful extreme.

“We know you’ve been looking for a new role to expand your depth of knowledge,” she said, wearing the kind of smile that only comes from years of gently crushing the hopes and dreams of young ensigns.

“Don’t we, Lieutenant Commander Stewart?” she added, shooting him a knowing look across the desk.

“The USS Elysium needs someone with your rare and special talents. It’ll be good for you to move on to something fresh.”
She smiled. Her eyes were empty.

Was this what looking into the void felt like?

Was his life just getting turfed from ship to ship?

Anthony blinked. His stomach groaned.

Good news, right?