The Long Crawl: Part II

Posted on 07 Jan 2026 @ 11:58am by Lieutenant Commander Elias Harlan

1,617 words; about a 8 minute read

OOC Note: Still getting my mind wrapped around this character.

USS Intrepid
En-Route to Starbase 369

“Ensign, take this to the guest quarters I specified earlier,” Rebecca said, handing Elias’s duffel to a young crewman who’d been hovering discreetly just outside the transporter room door.

The ensign snapped a quick “Yes, Commander” and disappeared down the corridor with the bag. The transporter chief, lingering at his post, caught Rebecca’s warm nod and smile before slipping back inside the room with practiced efficiency.

“I could’ve carried that myself,” Elias muttered, swallowing the sigh that wanted to follow.

“And give you the first excuse to vanish into a Jefferies tube the moment my back was turned? Not a chance,” Rebecca shot back, already striding toward the turbolift.

Elias fell in beside her, boots thudding dully on the old Excelsior deck plating. “Where are we going?”

“Bridge,” she said simply as they stepped into the lift. The doors hissed shut, the car gave its familiar soft beep, and they started upward with a gentle lurch.

“Rebecca, I’m not going to run off.”

“Uh-huh.” Her tone said she’d heard that before.

He rubbed the back of his neck, feeling the ache settle in for the long haul. “The captain’s really been asking to meet me?”

“For years, actually.” She glanced sideways at him, eyes softening just a fraction. “Captain Harrington’s been following your career.”

Elias let out a short, humorless huff. “He’s seen my service record, then.”

“You mean the one that rides the ranks like a turbolift that can’t decide which deck it wants?” She gave him a small, knowing smile. “Yes, Eli. He’s seen it. All of it.”

The lift slowed, the soft chime announcing their arrival at Deck 1.

Elias felt the old uncertainty coil tighter in his gut. Another new captain. Another fresh evaluation. Another chance to say the wrong thing to the wrong person and watch the pips slide off again.

The doors slid open onto the familiar, understated bridge of an Excelsior-class ship—compact, functional, humming with quiet competence.

Rebecca stepped out first, straightening almost imperceptibly as she crossed the threshold.
Harrington was already rising from the center seat, that merry glint in his bright blue eyes unmistakable even from the turbolift.

Here we go, Elias thought.

“Ah, Commander Harlan—at last.” Captain Alistair Harrington rose from the center seat with a bright, genuine smile, the kind that reached all the way to his eyes. Those eyes—bright blue and unmistakably youthful—carried a glint of mischief that caught Elias off guard for half a heartbeat.

The voice sealed it: crisp British accent, every consonant perfectly placed, the cadence measured and warm. Picard vibes, no question. But where some captains used that tone to keep distance, Harrington’s felt like an invitation.

Rebecca stepped forward smoothly. “Captain Harrington, may I present Lieutenant Commander Elias Harlan, newly assigned Chief Engineer of the USS Arawyn.”

“Eli,” she added, turning to him with a small, proud tilt of her head, “Captain Alistair Harrington, commanding the USS Intrepid.”

“A pleasure, sir,” Elias said, surprising himself with how honest it sounded. He extended his hand.

Harrington’s grip was firm, steady, the handshake of someone who’d spent years with tools in his hands before taking the center seat. “The pleasure is mine, Commander.”

He turned to Rebecca without missing a beat. “Commander Harlan, you have the bridge.”

Then, to Elias, with that same playful glint: “And Commander Harlan—if you’d join me for a moment in the ready room?”

“Of course, sir.” Elias nodded once, curt but not stiff.

He followed Harrington through the side door into the modest ready room. The door hissed shut behind them, muffling the low hum of the bridge to a comfortable quiet. The space was classic Excelsior—compact, functional, with a small desk, a couple of chairs, and a viewport showing the steady warp streaks beyond.

"I appreciate you allowing me to transit with you to Starbase 369."

"Think nothing of it. We were going their anyway before Pacifica." He paused. "May I offer you a refreshment, Mister Harlan?” Harrington asked, already moving toward the replicator with an easy grace.

“Coffee, black is fine, sir.”

Harrington’s grin widened, as if Elias had just confirmed something he’d suspected all along. “Of course it is.”
He turned to the wall unit. “Computer: one coffee, black. And a raktajino—double strong, double sweet.”

The replicator hummed, producing two steaming mugs. Harrington handed the plain black coffee to Elias, keeping the spiced Klingon brew for himself.

He gestured to the chairs by the viewport. “Please, sit. Or stand, if you prefer—I find pacing helps the circulation after a long watch.”

Elias took the mug—hot, real heat through the ceramic—and stayed standing, letting the aroma hit him first. It smelled like actual beans, not the usual replicated compromise.

Harrington settled into one chair, cradling his raktajino, and regarded Elias with that same disarming warmth.

“I’ve followed your career with interest for some time, Commander,” he began, voice conversational, no preamble or judgment. “Your reputation for keeping warp cores breathing long past the point most engineers would call it a lost cause… well, it precedes you.”

Elias felt the familiar wariness rise—the one that braced for the follow-up about protocol violations or “personality conflicts.”

Harrington took a sip, eyes never leaving Elias’s. “And I’ve always believed a good engineer’s first duty is to the ship, not the book. The book, after all, was written by people who weren’t there when the plasma started arcing.”

He paused, letting that settle.

Elias blinked.

The uncertainty that had been coiled in his gut since the transfer orders arrived loosened—just a fraction.
Harrington’s smile turned gently conspiratorial. “Rebecca speaks highly of you, of course. But I suspect she understates the case. I noticed in your file that you’ve spent considerable time at Antares Fleet Yards and the Fleet Museum.”

“Yes, sir,” Elias replied, cradling the warm mug. “Mostly deep dives into warp-field geometry—past, present, and whatever the theorists think is coming next. I also went through extended training with the Corps of Engineers. Heavy focus on emergency operations and the kind of out-of-the-box theory you only get when someone’s simulating a core breach in a classroom.”

He took a long pull of the coffee—real, honest heat and bitterness sliding down his throat—and waited for the usual polite nod that ended these conversations.

Instead, Harrington’s eyes gleamed brighter. “I’ve noticed those particular postings tended to be… healthier for your career trajectory than starship duty.”

Elias gave a short, rueful huff. “I seem to have misplaced my mouth filter somewhere along the way, sir. Where it went, I couldn’t tell you. Certain types of officers take offense to plain speaking pretty quickly.”

“Politics, Mister Harlan,” Harrington said, leaning back just enough to make the words feel like shared wisdom rather than a lecture. “It’s a survival skill when one wears red. Rather less useful—and occasionally hazardous—in any other color.”

He let that settle for a beat, sipping his raktajino, watching Elias over the rim of the mug with that same disarming warmth.

“Out here, on an older ship in a quieter sector, we have the luxury of valuing engineers who keep the lights on over those who polish the brass. The Arawyn is a fine vessel, Sovereign-class, but she’ll need someone who isn’t afraid to tell the captain when a brilliant idea is about to turn the warp core into modern art.”

Elias felt the corner of his mouth twitch—almost a smile. “Permission to speak freely, sir?”

“Always, Commander. I didn’t invite you in here for rehearsed pleasantries.”

“Then with respect… most captains say that right up until the moment you actually do it.”

Harrington chuckled, a low, genuine sound. “Most captains haven’t spent half their career elbow-deep in a dilithium chamber while the ship was on fire. I prefer my engineers honest and my ship intact. The order may vary depending on the day.”

He set his mug down and fixed Elias with a steady look—no judgment, just quiet assessment.

“You’ve paid a price for that honesty more than once. I’ve no intention of adding to the bill. Rebecca believes you’re exactly what the Arawyn needs. I’m inclined to trust her judgment—she’s rarely wrong.”

Elias stared into his coffee for a long moment, feeling something he hadn’t in years: cautious, fragile relief.
“Thank you, sir.”

Harrington rose, signaling the end of the audience without making it feel like dismissal. “Think nothing of it. Now, I believe your sister is plotting to show you off to the rest of the senior staff before you vanish into our engine room and start rearranging my Chief Engineer’s carefully organized chaos.”

He moved to the door, pausing just long enough to add with that familiar twinkle, “Try not to break anything she can’t fix in a day. She’s almost as protective of her warp core as I am of this ship.”

Elias drained the last of the coffee, set the mug down, and followed him out.

For the first time since the transfer orders hit his PADD, the idea of this trip didn’t feel like walking into another minefield. It felt—cautiously—like coming home to a ship that might actually understand the difference between the book and the breach. Especially if Captain Corbin was anything like Captain Harrington.

Lieutenant Elias Harlan
Soon-to-be Chief Engineering Officer
USS Arawyn

 

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