The Cost of the Morning After

Posted on Wed Feb 25th, 2026 @ 3:28pm by Lieutenant Anthony Cardel

Mission: MISSION 0 - History Speaks
Location: Deck 27 - Saucer Section - Crew Living Quarters - Intel Briefing Room 1
Timeline: Eight Months Prior
774 words - 1.5 OF Standard Post Measure

“The time is 0700,” the computer chirped at Anthony.

Lights that had been completely off began to glow softly. As the room came into focus, so did the damage: chairs knocked over, a broken mirror, sheets ripped from the bed and thrown onto the floor.

His arm reached out to steady himself against the mattress as he sat up, staring at the small cuts on his hands. He leaned toward the nightstand, pulled open a drawer, and dug out the dermal regenerator. He ran it slowly over his skin, sealing the cuts but leaving the reddish-brown staining of dried blood behind.

He groaned as he lifted himself from the bed, turned on the tap, and worked soap and water over his hands to scrub away the stains from last night. The aluminum sink turned brown for a moment before the blood disappeared down the drain.

In the cracked mirror, his bloodshot eyes stared back at him. He looked like a mess. Last night had passed in a blur, remembered only in flashes.

Clothing discarded. Warm skin. Bodies intertwined in reflection.

And yet all he could think about was the lieutenant commander. The first kiss had been a moment they’d both failed to stop. The second had been something else entirely. Closer. Hungrier. The way his arms had wrapped around him and pulled him in like neither of them cared about the consequences anymore.

“The time is 0730,” the computer announced, beeping its second warning. Duty shift in fifteen minutes.

Anthony pulled on his uniform from the night before. It didn’t smell, but it looked rough. He tried smoothing the wrinkles with a damp towel for a few minutes before throwing it against the wall in frustration and racing out the door.

He jogged down the corridor and nearly collided with a group of engineers.

“Watch it,” one muttered as they stepped around him.

Another flashed a rude gesture before a sharper voice snapped, “Don’t give an officer the finger, you idiot.”

Anthony didn’t slow. The pips on his collar were rarely respected. Sometimes he forgot he was wearing them at all.

But here he was.

About to walk into a room and do something he hadn’t done in years.

Lead.

The door swished open and Anthony stepped inside. A Human, a Bajoran, and a Vulcan all turned to look at him. His heart thudded hard in his throat before his professionalism entered the room a moment later.

“Apologies for my lateness,” he said evenly.

There was a moment where explanation might have been appropriate, but the only reasons that came to mind were from the night before, and he had no intention of ending up in a counselor’s office before lunch.

“My name is Lieutenant Cardel. Lieutenant Rin has assigned me to lead this team on a Badlands signal irregularity investigation. I’ve reviewed your preliminary findings.”

It wasn’t entirely true, but it wasn’t a lie either. He had skimmed the reports on his padd before rushing out of his quarters.

The three crewmembers shifted in their seats. The young Human male spoke first.

“Sir…” he began hesitantly. “This is obviously a new pirate element that’s gained traction—”

“Pirates are not the cause, Crewmember… Givens?” Anthony asked, uncertain.

He should have asked their names first.
Christ. He was already losing the room.

“Petty Officer Second Class Givens,” the man replied tightly, trying not to roll his eyes.

“Petty Officer Givens’ claim is not without merit,” Petty Officer First Class T’Lera added smoothly. Her composure was pure Vulcan, but after fifteen years around Vulcans, Anthony could read the subtle signs of displeasure.

“No, that’s not what I meant,” Anthony said, irritation creeping into his tone as he glanced at her expressionless face.

He was losing control of the room.

“Listen, there’s a lot of activity,” he continued, grasping for authority. “I’m only seeing one or two passes with a—” he faltered, searching for the term. “Subspace variance signature. We need better data. These reports aren’t giving us the full picture. I need you to go back and refine your scans. Re-run your overlays. Bring me something tighter.”

He finished less confidently than he had started.

The uncertainty on their faces was confirmation enough.

“Dismissed,” he said, rubbing his temple and gesturing toward the door.

As the three crewmembers filed out, Anthony remained standing, head bowed slightly.

Only then did he realize the Bajoran hadn’t spoken at all.
Not once.

She rose without a word.
Then followed the others through the door.

The room felt larger after they were gone.

Anthony exhaled slowly.