New Arrival - Roommates

Posted on Thu May 28th, 2026 @ 10:17pm by Ensign Melantha Hastings

1,357 words; about a 7 minute read

Mission: Flight Of The Valkyries
Location: Junior Officer Quarters 8-217
Timeline: Current

The doors to Junior Officer Quarters 8-217 slid open with a soft hiss.

The compartment beyond was larger than Melantha had expected, though hardly grand. Four private bedrooms opened onto a shared common area furnished with a modest seating arrangement, a wall-mounted viewscreen, a small replicator alcove, and a compact workstation. Personal effects had already begun to transform the otherwise standard quarters into something far more individual.

One corner was immaculate—every item aligned with almost unnerving precision. A stack of PADDs sat arranged by size on the low table, and a set of storage containers had been labeled with machine-like neatness. This, Melantha suspected, belonged to Rebecca Sloan.

Another area displayed the practical clutter of someone who valued readiness over aesthetics. A duffel bag lay half-unpacked near one of the couches, a pair of tactical manuals tossed carelessly atop it. Tara Whitfield, no doubt.

The final workstation was a study in geometric perfection. Three scientific texts were positioned at exact ninety-degree angles, and a Vulcan meditation lamp glowed with soft amber light. T’Mira Lawson’s influence was unmistakable.

Charlee stepped cautiously into the room at Melantha’s side, her nails clicking softly against the deck plating. The golden retriever paused, tail wagging in broad, hopeful sweeps as she surveyed what would now be their home.

Rebecca Sloan was the first to notice. The blonde operations officer looked up from the storage bin she had been organizing. Her expression shifted from polite neutrality to barely concealed alarm. “Oh no.”

Tara Whitfield, seated on the sofa cleaning the edge of a training baton with a cloth, raised an eyebrow. “You brought a dog?”

From the workstation, T’Mira did not initially turn. “The manifest did indicate a domestic canine,” she said evenly. “Golden Retriever. Female. Four years, two months. Registered as a therapeutic companion animal.” Only then did she swivel in her chair and study Melantha and Charlee with dispassionate scrutiny.

Rebecca folded her arms. “I thought that was a mistake.”

Charlee, oblivious to the tension, padded toward the center of the room and sat neatly beside Melantha’s leg, looking from one officer to the next as though waiting to be introduced.

Melantha stood quietly in the center of the room, surrounded by three women who were already forming opinions about her. Melantha set down her duffel bag and rested one hand atop the retriever’s head. “She’s very well trained,” she said quietly.

Rebecca gave a short, doubtful laugh. “That’s what everybody says before their pet sheds on the furniture.”

“She does not climb on furniture unless invited,” Melantha replied politely.

Tara snorted softly. “That’s your response? Not ‘hello,’ not ‘nice to meet you’?”

Melantha blinked once, caught slightly off guard. “…Hello.”

Tara actually smirked at that. “Okay. That was a little funny.”

Rebecca remained unconvinced. “So what exactly are the rules here? Because I’m not waking up with dog hair in my uniform.”

Charlee chose that moment to look hopefully in Rebecca’s direction.

Rebecca pointed immediately. “No. Don’t look at me like that.”

The dog’s ears lowered slightly. “Oh for—” Rebecca sighed sharply and looked away. “That should not work as well as it does.”

T’Mira observed the interaction for a moment. “The canine appears socially intelligent,” she noted. “It identified the individual displaying the highest resistance and attempted appeasement behaviour.”

Tara blinked. “You make it sound like she’s conducting diplomacy.”

“In a sense, she is.”

Charlee’s tail thumped proudly against the deck. Melantha could not quite stop a faint smile from appearing.

Tara noticed. “There it is,” the security officer said, pointing slightly with the baton. “First smile since you walked in.”

Melantha’s expression quickly settled again, though not entirely. “I do smile,” she said.

“Mmhm.” Tara leaned back further into the sofa. “So,” she said bluntly, “I read your personnel file.”

Rebecca muttered under her breath. “Of course you did.”

“You were frozen for almost four hundred years,” Tara continued, ignoring her roommate. “Inherited some giant aristocratic estate. Took a one-year conversion course. And now you’re a Starfleet officer.” Her eyes narrowed slightly. “That’s… unusual.”

Rebecca barked out another laugh. “That’s one word for it.”

Melantha remained standing quietly. “Yes,” she answered after a moment. “It is.”

Tara seemed mildly disappointed by the lack of defensiveness. “You don’t think people are going to question it?”

“They already do.”

That answer landed harder than Tara had expected. For the first time since Melantha entered the room, the security officer hesitated.

T’Mira steepled her fingers. “Statistically speaking,” she said calmly, “the probability of this room assignment generating interpersonal conflict is currently eighty-seven point four percent.”

Rebecca groaned. “Please tell me you’re not going to calculate our arguments.”

“I already have.”

“Great.”

Charlee rose then and, after a moment’s consideration, wandered directly toward Tara instead of Rebecca. The retriever sat beside the tactical officer and rested her chin gently against Tara’s knee.

Tara stared down at the dog.

“…Traitor,” Rebecca muttered.

Tara scratched Charlee absently behind one ear before catching herself. “I’m not a dog person either,” she said defensively.

Charlee’s tail accelerated happily.

Melantha watched the interaction quietly, fingers tightening slightly around the strap of her larger bag, which still rested at her feet. For the first time since boarding the USS Tokyo, the knot of anxiety in her chest loosened just a fraction. Perhaps surviving the twenty-fourth century would not be entirely impossible after all. Melantha shifted the duffel bag slightly on her shoulder, Charlee pressed quietly against her leg as she looked around the shared compartment.

The three women were all watching her now to varying degrees.

After a brief pause, Melantha asked softly, “So… which room is mine?”

Tara immediately pointed toward the port-forward door. “That one’s empty.”

Rebecca folded her arms. “The one beside mine,” she clarified with a sigh, clearly already unhappy about it.

T’Mira glanced briefly at the display on her PADD. “Cabin Twelve-Alpha,” she confirmed. “Assigned to Ensign Melantha Hastings, Starfleet Counseling Division."

Melantha inclined her head politely. “Thank you.”

Charlee, apparently deciding the matter was settled, padded ahead across the common area. Her nails clicked softly against the deck plating before she stopped neatly outside the indicated door.

Tara smirked. “Well. Looks like she already knows.”

“She is intelligent,” Melantha replied quietly.

Rebecca eyed the dog suspiciously. “Intelligent dogs are sometimes worse.”

“That depends entirely on the owner,” T’Mira observed.

Rebecca pointed toward the half-Vulcan. “You are absolutely going to become the most annoying person in this room.”

“That is statistically probable.”

Tara barked a laugh while Melantha moved toward the cabin controls. The doors slid open smoothly, revealing a compact but surprisingly comfortable private room. A neatly made bed sat beneath a narrow viewport. Built-in shelving lined one wall beside a compact workstation terminal. A small recessed alcove near the foot of the bed already contained Starfleet-issued storage bins and a folded animal bed quartermaster had apparently replicated in advance.

Charlee immediately trotted inside, circled once atop the pet bed, and collapsed onto it with a deeply satisfied sigh.

Tara leaned sideways to look past Melantha into the room. “Huh,” she admitted. “Actually kinda cozy.”

Rebecca remained near the couch, still visibly skeptical. “As long as she doesn’t bark at three in the morning.”

“She rarely barks,” Melantha said.

“Rarely?”

Melantha paused. “She once barked at a groundskeeper dressed as Father Christmas.”

Tara snorted loudly. “That’s fair honestly.”

Even Rebecca looked faintly amused despite herself.

Melantha stood quietly in the doorway for a moment, one hand resting lightly against the frame as she took in the small room. It was tiny compared to the estate she technically owned. Tiny compared to the world she had lost. But for the first time since boarding the USS Tokyo, it felt slightly less like she was trespassing in someone else’s century.

Charlee lifted her head from the bed and thumped her tail once against the mattress. Melantha looked down at her and, despite herself, smiled.

==

Ensign Melantha Hastings
Counselor
USS Toyko

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