First Duty Day

Posted on Tue Jun 23rd, 2026 @ 2:20am by Ensign Melantha Hastings
Edited on on Tue Jun 23rd, 2026 @ 10:37pm

1,396 words; about a 7 minute read

Mission: Flight Of The Valkyries
Location: Various
Timeline: Backpost - Prior to Battle

Morning aboard the USS Tokyo began earlier than Melantha would have preferred. Not because of the hour. Because of the noise. The sharp hiss of the sonic shower cycling. Cabinet doors opening and closing. Rebecca Sloan muttering at the replicator because it had produced coffee two degrees below her requested temperature. And beneath all of it, the steady low hum of a starship at warp. Melantha sat cross-legged on the edge of her bed fastening the cuff of her uniform while Charlee rested heavily across her feet like a living weighted blanket. The golden retriever had slept soundly. Melantha had not. Not entirely. She had spent half the night listening to unfamiliar sounds and reminding herself that creaking bulkheads were perfectly normal aboard a starship and not signs the hull was about to catastrophically fail. Charlee lifted her head as Rebecca’s voice carried in from the common room.

“If one more person leaves hair in the sonic shower drain, I am filing an official complaint.”

“That would require evidence,” T’Mira replied calmly.

“There was evidence.”

“There was fur. Fur is not proof of origin.”

“It was golden.”

Tara’s half-awake voice drifted in next. “Rebecca… if you start a criminal investigation into the dog before breakfast, I’m reporting you.”

Melantha closed her eyes briefly. Then, despite herself… She smiled.
Charlee’s tail thumped softly against the mattress. “You are enjoying this far too much,” Melantha informed her quietly. The dog gave a soft contented huff.
After one final steadying breath, Melantha stood and adjusted the fall of her uniform jacket. The teal of Starfleet Medical still felt strange on her shoulders.
Sometimes she caught sight of herself in reflective surfaces and expected to see someone else entirely. Someone from another century. Someone who belonged there. She opened the room door. Conversation in the common area paused immediately.

Rebecca stood beside the replicator clutching her coffee mug with the expression of someone already having a difficult morning. Tara occupied the sofa in partial uniform, one boot still unlaced. T’Mira sat at the workstation already fully dressed, posture so perfect she looked less like a person and more like a training hologram. All three looked toward Melantha. Then immediately toward Charlee. The golden retriever walked neatly at heel beside her before sitting quietly near the dining table.

Rebecca narrowed her eyes. “Okay, that is unsettling.”

“What is?” Tara asked.

“She behaves better than half the ensigns on this ship.”

“Accurate,” T’Mira said.

Tara pointed. “You agreeing with insults does not make them less insulting.”

Melantha moved quietly toward the replicator. “Tea,” she requested softly. “English breakfast.” The replicator shimmered.

Rebecca stared. “That’s it?”

Melantha blinked. “I beg your pardon?”

“No temperature settings? No dietary modifications? No fifteen custom instructions?”

Melantha looked at the cup. “It is tea.”

Tara barked out a laugh. “Oh I like her.”

“I did not make a joke.”

“That’s why it was funny.” Before Melantha could answer, the overhead intercom chimed.

[["Shift Change commences in 10 Minutes"]]

Tara stood first, tugging her second boot on. “Well. Time for Starfleet to determine whether we’re useful.”

Rebecca grabbed her PADD. “I’m already useful.”

“That confidence is statistically unsupported,” T’Mira said calmly.

Rebecca groaned. “Can someone transfer her to another quadrant?”

The corridor outside Quarters 8-217 was already alive with movement as the four ensigns stepped out together. Crew moved with practiced purpose in every direction while overhead announcements quietly directed personnel toward shift rotations, maintenance cycles, and department assignments.

It was… Overwhelming. Melantha kept her breathing slow and measured as Charlee walked beside her left leg, tail swaying lazily. Ahead of her, Tara strode with easy confidence. Rebecca was already reviewing deck schematics on her PADD. Beside neither of them—but somehow occupying the exact center of the corridor with infuriating precision—T’Mira walked with perfect Vulcan efficiency.

The turbolift deposited them on Deck Five. Immediately the traffic doubled.
Illuminated signage stretched across the junction ahead.

Personnel Processing
Medical Department Intake
Security Operations Assignment
Science Division Reporting

Tara stretched her shoulders. “Well. This is where Starfleet officially decides whether we survive.”

Rebecca barely looked up. “I am already surviving.”

“That confidence remains statistically unsupported.”

Rebecca stopped walking entirely. “You do realise every time you say things like that, I like you less.”

“That response is emotional, not rational.”

“It was not an invitation for analysis.”

Tara grinned. “I’m starting to think Starfleet assigned us together as some kind of psychological experiment.”

Melantha remained quiet. Her eyes moved slowly across the crowded deck. Too many uniforms. Too many species. An Andorian lieutenant hurried past carrying equipment cases. Two Benzites argued near an assignment console. A Bolian officer brushed her shoulder. Melantha stopped walking. Completely. Her fingers tightened around Charlee’s lead. Immediately the retriever pressed warmly against her leg.

Tara noticed first. “You okay?”

Melantha nodded once. “Yes.”

Rebecca lowered her PADD now. “You do that.”

Melantha looked at her. “I beg your pardon?”

“Freeze.” Rebecca gestured vaguely. “When things get busy.”

Melantha blinked. “I had not noticed.”

T’Mira folded her hands behind her back. “Observed behaviour indicates sensory overstimulation response combined with environmental uncertainty.”

Rebecca sighed. “You somehow manage to make concern sound insulting.”

“It was observation.”

“It was annoying observation.”

Tara crossed her arms. “Honestly, I’d probably react worse.” Three sets of eyes turned toward her. She shrugged. “If I woke up four hundred years in the future and someone immediately handed me starship orientation manuals, I’d probably have a breakdown.”

Melantha surprised herself. “I did.”

That stopped them. Rebecca lowered her PADD. “…Seriously?”

Melantha nodded. “The first time I visited Starbase One, I witnessed two engineering technicians tether themselves to the deck and step through the shuttle bay forcefield into vacuum.”

Tara frowned. “…Why?”

“They were freezing ice cream.”

There was silence. Then Tara burst out laughing. Not cruelly. Genuinely.
“Oh I absolutely like you.”

“I am uncertain what portion of that statement was humorous,” T’Mira said.

Rebecca shook her head. “No… wait…” She stared at Melantha. “You had an actual panic attack because engineers were making dessert?”

Melantha shifted slightly. “I required nearly an hour of counselling intervention.”

Tara laughed harder. “I swear engineers are a species all by themselves.”

Even Rebecca was smiling now.

Charlee sat neatly beside Melantha, tail thumping once against the deck.

Rebecca pointed immediately. “I still hate this dog.”

Charlee looked directly at her. Her ears lowered slightly.

Rebecca groaned. “No. Stop doing that face.”

Tara smirked. “She’s winning.”

“She is manipulative.”

“She is friendly,” Melantha corrected softly.

“That is exactly what manipulative people say about their pets.”

T’Mira observed Charlee quietly. “The canine has correctly identified Ensign Sloan as the most psychologically vulnerable member of the group.”

Rebecca stared. “Why do you say things like that?”

“Because it is accurate.” The overhead computer chimed again.

“Junior officers report to department stations immediately.”

Around them, officers began peeling away toward their departments. Security.
Operations. Science. Medical. The four women stood there for a brief moment.
The joking suddenly fading. This was real now. Tara rubbed the back of her neck. “Well… Guess this is where we become functioning adults.”

“That assumption is optimistic,” Rebecca muttered.

T’Mira checked the nearest display. “Probability of catastrophic first-day incompetence remains within acceptable parameters.”

Rebecca groaned. “I am begging the universe to assign you literally anywhere else.”

Tara turned toward Melantha. “You good?”

Melantha looked toward the corridor marked Medical Department with the smaller Counselling sign beneath. She could feel the familiar uncertainty building in her chest. New people. New systems. A future that still did not always feel like hers. Charlee leaned harder against her leg. Grounding her.
Steadying her. Melantha drew one quiet breath. Then looked back at the three women. “Yes,” she said softly. And for once… She almost believed it.

Tara pointed toward Charlee. “Still think the dog should outrank us.”

Rebecca folded her arms. “I refuse to take orders from a Golden Retriever.”

T’Mira tilted her head. “Her leadership qualities are demonstrably superior.” Rebecca groaned loudly enough that passing crew turned to stare.

And for the first time since boarding the USS Tokyo… Melantha laughed openly.

And this time… None of them looked surprised.

They broke off and headed for their duty stations.

==

Ensign Melantha Hastings
Counselor
USS Toyko

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