The Long Crawl: Part III
Posted on 13 Jan 2026 @ 2:57pm by Lieutenant Commander Elias Harlan
1,511 words; about a 8 minute read
USS Intrepid
En-Route Lathira IV
Elias Harlan was halfway through his first week aboard the Intrepid, and so far he’d managed to stay mostly out of everyone’s hair.
He kept to guest quarters, the occasional mess-hall run for coffee that was at least drinkable, and the quiet corners of the ship where no one expected him to make small talk. Rebecca had delivered the weekly senior officers’ dinner invite in person, her expression somewhere between sisterly insistence and XO command. Captain Harrington had apparently taken a personal interest—why, Elias couldn’t begin to guess. He’d accepted, figuring refusal would only draw more attention. The evening had passed without incident: good food, polite conversation, and the captain’s quiet charm making sure no one felt like the outsider. Harrington had even announced ahead of time that Harlan was free to poke around the ship as he pleased. Permission granted from the top. No strings.
Still, Elias wasn’t the type to get underfoot on someone else’s boat. It wasn’t his nature, and it sure as hell wasn’t his assignment. But the open door—combined with the creeping boredom that always set in when he had nothing to fix—proved impossible to ignore.
By the end of the week, the restlessness had fully taken root. He’d burned through every scrap of pre-assignment paperwork Starfleet had thrown at him: the Arawyn’s latest technical briefs, build schematics, warp-core diagnostics, even the experimental shield modulator specs that made his engineer’s brain itch in the best way. He’d made notes in the margins—sharp, critical, the kind of observations he’d never voice unless asked. Or unless something started arcing.
Once the hardware side was exhausted, he turned to the softer, more irritating part: people.
He pulled up the crew rosters, performance evals, disciplinary logs, psych profiles—everything the fleet’s personnel division had cleared for incoming senior staff. He read until the words blurred, cross-referencing names with engineering logs, official mission reports, even the occasional off-duty incident report. He wanted to know who he’d be working with: who followed the book like gospel, who bent it when the ship was bleeding plasma, who’d panic at the first red alert, and who’d stay calm long enough to hand him a hyperspanner.
He sat in the dim glow of his quarters terminal, coffee gone cold beside him, scrolling through names and faces like a man trying to map a minefield before stepping into it.
Uncertainty had become his constant companion these last few years. Every new posting felt like another roll of loaded dice: one wrong word, one honest assessment too blunt for a captain’s ego, and the pips came off again. He was tired of the cycle—demotions, transfers, starting over in the shadow of someone else’s rulebook. He’d learned the hard way that some bridges were built to burn, and he had a talent for handing out matches.
But Harrington’s permission lingered like a loose thread. The captain hadn’t just said “feel free”; he’d said it in front of the whole senior staff, eyes twinkling like he knew exactly what would happen. Elias had already spent an hour in the Intrepid’s main engineering yesterday, quietly realigning a plasma injector that was running 0.3% off spec. The Chief Engineer, Kira Voss had walked in, spotted the fix, and given him a nod that was equal parts respect and “don’t get used to this.”
He rubbed the bridge of his nose, the familiar ache settling behind his eyes.
One more week of this transit. Then Starbase 369. Then the Arawyn.
He pulled up the latest Arawyn crew manifest again, scrolling past the names he’d already memorized, looking for anything he’d missed.
Whatever waited on the other side, he’d keep the core humming and the lights on.
Everything else—the politics, the personalities, the inevitable bullshit—was just noise.
He took a sip of the cold coffee, grimaced at the stale bitterness, and kept reading—until the door chime cut through the quiet hum of the terminal.
“Come,” Elias said, swiveling the chair toward the door and leaning back just enough to look like he wasn’t braced for impact.
Rebecca stepped in with that smile—the one that always meant trouble, the one she’d worn since they were kids and she’d convinced him to climb the neighbor’s tree for “recon.” She held a PADD in one hand, and Elias’s eyes flicked to it immediately. PADDS in an XO’s grip were never good news. They carried changes of plans, new orders, and the occasional torpedo aimed straight at his peace of mind.
Her smile shifted into a smirk, as if she’d read his expression like a sensor sweep.
“Why do I have the feeling I’m not gonna like whatever’s about to come out of your mouth?” Elias asked before she could open it.
“What do you mean? It could be good news,” she replied, voice light as she crossed the small room.
“Good news doesn’t come with that smirk. Spill it.”
“There’s been a change of plans.” She glanced down at the PADD, then back at him. “We just got word from Starbase 369. The Arawyn won’t be returning there. Their mission wrapped up—looks like it was a real doozy, judging from the preliminary reports. Instead, she’s heading straight to Lathira IV. I hear the Tide Gardens are absolutely beautiful this time of year.”
Elias frowned, the word “beautiful” landing like a polite insult. He held out his hand. “Let me see.”
Rebecca handed over the PADD without hesitation.
“Tide Gardens…” Elias rumbled, scrolling through the update. “Beautiful.” He rolled his eyes hard enough to feel it in his temples. “Great. So what’s the new play?”
“We’ve altered course and increased speed,” she said, shifting into official-XO mode. “We’re going to rendezvous with a transport that just left 369 with personnel bound for the Arawyn. We’ll pick them up, deliver you and the rest of the group, and handle any outbound crew or cargo that needs to come off the Arawyn.”
"Uh-huh." Elias asked as he continued to look for the trap contained in the text on the PADD.
She watched him read the orders, then her tone softened, personal again. “So… when was the last time you spoke with Jorik?”
Elias closed his eyes at the name, doing his best not to cringe outwardly. The mention still hit like a plasma feedback spike—sharp, unwelcome, lingering. His ex-husband remained a sore spot he’d rather cauterize and forget.
“Not since the separation,” he said flatly. “So not nearly long enough.”
Rebecca winced—the wince he knew too well. The one that meant she was about to drop the second shoe, and it was going to land right on his foot.
“What?” Elias asked, the PADD slapping against his thigh.
“Well… you should read the personnel list we’re picking up from the transport. Page four.”
Elias pursed his lips, tapped forward, and scanned the roster. Names blurred past until one jumped out like a red alert.
Lieutenant Jorik – Medical Officer.
He didn’t bother reading the rest of the entry—the long list of medical specialties, sickbay duties, whatever. The cold reality hit like a bulkhead breach: the galaxy wasn’t as big as people pretended.
“You have got to be joking,” he said slowly, voice low and dangerous. “This is some kind of cruel trick.”
“No trick,” Rebecca replied, gentle but firm. “And no doubt he already knows you’re here. Vulcans are thorough.”
“Especially that one,” Elias muttered, staring at the name on the screen like it might disappear if he glared hard enough.
The room felt smaller suddenly, the Excelsior’s familiar hum more like a mocking underscore. Two weeks on his sister’s ship had been tolerable. A quick handoff at a starbase would’ve been clean. But now? Now the universe had decided to shove his past right back into his face, wrapped in a medical blue uniform and delivered with Vulcan precision.
Elias rubbed the bridge of his nose, the ache behind his eyes flaring. “Well. That’s just perfect.”
Rebecca stepped closer, voice soft. “Eli—”
“Don’t,” he cut in, not unkindly. “Just… don’t.”
He handed the PADD back to her, stood, and grabbed his empty mug like it was a lifeline. “I need more coffee. And maybe a Jefferies tube to crawl into for the rest of the trip.”
Rebecca didn’t argue. She just watched him go, the door sliding shut behind him with a quiet hiss.
Elias stepped into the corridor, the weight of the news settling on his shoulders like a misaligned EPS manifold. The Arawyn was supposed to be a fresh start.
Now it was looking like a reunion he’d spent twelve years trying to avoid.
Lieutenant Commander Elias Harlan
Soon-to-be Chief Engineering Officer
USS Arawyn
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