Two tired engineers with a problem

Posted on 16 Feb 2026 @ 7:48am by Lieutenant JG Ryan Collingway & Lieutenant Commander Elias Harlan

2,594 words; about a 13 minute read

///Commander Harlan's office///

Elias was tired.

The kind of tired that had moved past caffeine and settled into his bones like a low-grade EPS hum he couldn’t mute. He’d been on the Arawyn a handful of days and already felt like he’d been running triple shifts since the moment he materialized on the pad. Sleep was a rumor. Coffee was the only thing still pretending to help.

He sat behind the desk in his small engineering office, PADD propped between them, scrolling through the latest tactical array progress and the skeleton crew’s maintenance roster. Lieutenant Collingway sat opposite, nodding at the right moments, but his eyes were somewhere else—lightyears away, somewhere Elias couldn’t follow.

Elias kept talking for another minute—then stopped. Mid-sentence. Just stopped.

The silence stretched. Ryan didn’t notice at first.

Elias leaned back in the chair, arms crossed loosely, and simply stared. Not angry. Not impatient. Just waiting. The way he used to wait for a junior to realize they’d missed a step in a warp-field alignment.

Finally it clicked.

“What?” Ryan asked, blinking back to the room, voice flat with the sudden awareness he’d been caught drifting.

Elias didn’t smile. He didn’t need to.

“I was just checking to see if you were still listening,” he said, voice low and even, the tired edge making it sound almost gentle. “You seem to be somewhere else, Lieutenant.”

He let the words hang for a beat, then tilted his head slightly—small gesture, no accusation, just observation.

“Whatever’s got your head out there, it’s pulling focus. And focus is the only thing standing between us and a live-fire test that ends with a hull breach instead of a clean report.”

He didn’t raise his voice. Didn’t have to.

“So either tell me what’s on your mind, or park it somewhere else until we’re done here. Your call. But I need your brain in this room, not halfway across the quadrant.”

He waited—calm, steady, the same quiet certainty he carried into every engine room and every bad situation.

Ryan said nothing for a moment, thinking. He knew, on some level, that every choice he made going forward was critical. And he had to make the right ones. "Lieutenant Flammia came to see me last night. And although the methods he used weren't exactly ideal, or professional....he had some questions for me. About my past. And I answered them, honestly. I am not sure what he intends to do with that information. Or where my path goes next afterwards. I tend to always assume the worst and have made contingency plans. The schedule has been made for the next few days. The skeleton crew can survive with five, barring some unknown event. I thought you should know."

Elias leaned back in his chair, arms crossed, one eyebrow slowly climbing as Ryan finished speaking. The silence stretched just long enough to make the room feel smaller.
Then he rolled his eyes—hard enough that it almost hurt.

“Of course,” he muttered, voice dripping with exhausted sarcasm. “Because what this ship really needed right now was a side quest into whatever personal drama Lieutenant Flammia decided to stir up at 0200.”

He rubbed the bridge of his nose once, like he could physically push the headache back into his skull.

“What is going on?” he asked, tone flat but pointed. “Should we expect Starfleet Security to beam in with a warrant? What did you do—rob a Ferengi bank? Fail to pay import tax on Romulan ale? You didn’t cheat on one of your engineering certifications, did you?”

He let the questions hang, dry and unimpressed, then waved a hand dismissively.

“Look, I don’t care about your past right now unless it’s actively trying to blow up my department or get my people court-martialed. I’ve got a tactical array that’s just now starting to show signs of life, a skeleton crew running on fumes, and a captain who’s going to want answers yesterday. So if Flammia’s got something that’s going to turn into a security issue, spit it out. Otherwise, keep your contingency plans to yourself and stick to the schedule. We’ve got enough burning without you adding to the ship wide bonfire.”

He leaned forward slightly, eyes steady on Ryan.

“I’m not your confessor, Lieutenant. But if this is going to land on my desk—or worse, on the captain’s—I’d rather hear it from you than from a security team kicking down my door at 0300.”

He waited, expression unchanging.

Ryan was also feeling a headache coming. The lack of sleep, the uncertainty was also screwing with his nerves. "Fine. The short version," he said. "I lied about what happened to the Benzite officer who died on the Thysia. He was borg, and a Benzite is not allowed to be genetically different so he ordered me to conceal that detail. I also did it to protect Benzar. Because you might have noticed from that little elevator incident, I tend to lie to protect other people. And yeah, I agree that the timing of this sucks. Except, no one told me that our Chief Security Officer had suddenly developed telepathic powers while on his little vacation away. So stupid me, I thought that going to the gym last night was a relatively safe move and did not require a trip to the interrogation room immediately after."

Realizing he was getting snippy himself, Ryan forced himself to stop. "Sir," he added.

Elias stared at Ryan for a long beat, arms still crossed, one eyebrow slowly climbing as the younger officer finished. The silence stretched just long enough to feel deliberate.

Then he huffed—short, tired, the sound of a man who’d just been handed one more headache he didn’t need.
“Oh, is that all?” he said, voice flat and edged with dry exasperation. “I thought it was something serious.”

He waved a hand at Ryan’s bewildered expression, cutting off whatever protest was forming.

“Benzar’s problem with Borg assimilation is just that—their problem. There’s nothing you can do about it. There’s nothing anyone can do about it. So unless Benzar intends to file an indictment with the Borg Collective, I fail to see how it lands on your shoulders. You didn’t assimilate the poor guy.”

He paused, letting his shoulders sag a little.

“Lying on a report, though…” Elias continued, tone dropping into something quieter, more serious. “That’s a little more serious. Starfleet holds its officers to a higher standard. We don’t get to pick and choose which truths are convenient.”
He leaned forward slightly, elbows on the desk, eyes locked on Ryan’s.

“So is that what the big deal is? You lied on a report?” He asked, trying to understand.

Ryan sighed. "I lied about how he died, correct. I said it was an accident. Not that he was assimilated and I had to defend myself." He kept Elias' gaze. "After several wars, the idea of changing genetics is incredibly dangerous to Benzar. His family would have been investigated. There would be pockets of civil war if they thought he intentionally did it. Politicians would have jumped on it and used it as an excuse to leave Starfleet. I had plenty of time to study all the scenarios. I had to choose between all of that and my career. It wasn't a choice I made lightly."

"A few people know," Ryan added. "Doctor Amberlyn and Doctor Emerson. A counselor working with them from Benzar. They haven't disagreed with that assessment."

Elias shook his head—slow, incredulous, the motion carrying more exhaustion than anger.

“First of all,” he said, voice low and edged with dry disbelief, “can we agree that how the Benzites view assimilation is absurd? Assimilation is not the same as radical genetic engineering.”

He paused, then corrected himself mid-thought, waving a hand like he was swatting away the logic trap.

“I mean, it is—but you get the point.”

He sighed.

“Doesn’t anyone see how ridiculous this is? Assimilation is forced by an outside party. On a chance encounter. It’s not planned. It’s not premeditated. Nobody—and I mean nobody—wants to be assimilated. There is literally nothing for the Benzites to investigate. And certainly no reason for a civil war. Someone at Starfleet would have seen this for what it was before it got to that point and called Benzar out for taking action on something that was completely out of anybody’s purview legally.”

He leaned forward slightly, elbows on the desk, eyes locked on Ryan’s—steady, unflinching, the tired impatience unmistakable.

“If you had been honest in your report, chances are this big thing you fear would have been handled by the people actually designated to handle it. But you removed them from being able to do their job by omitting it. That’s your failure, Lieutenant. It’s not your job to worry about what the Benzites may or may not do. It’s your job to tell the truth and let the chain of command sort the fallout.”

He straightened, exhaling once—short, sharp.

“You made a choice. Fine. But don’t pretend it was noble. It was convenient. And now it’s circling back around to bite you—and potentially the rest of us.”

He let the words sit for a second, then leaned back again, arms crossing loosely.

“So what now? You’ve told me. Great. Now tell me what you’re going to do about it before it turns into something it shouldn’t have. Because I’m not in the habit of covering for people who decide they know better than the system.”

Ryan's eyes narrowed. "I'm not asking for you to cover for me, Commander. Not in the slightest. This has gone to the CSO, and it will likely go to the Captain. I have accepted whatever decision she chooses to make..My bags are already packed."

"And for the record," Ryan continued. "My faith in the chain of command took a significant hit when my superior officer decided to try and strangle me to death while in the process of being assimilated, and ordering me to do something very difficult. When my Captain and Commander died. I came on this vessel not even being able to trust *anyone*. It took a lot of work from Doctor Emerson to get me to open up. And I was. I was forming friendships. Starting to talk about what happened. I even asked you to look at the Thysia, knowing that it could very well circle back to me. I'd like to honestly believe that I would have been comfortable talking about in full to the command staff, on my terms. That's what I was working on with Doctor Emerson. But that choice was taken away from me," he stated. "And I hate that it was."

Ryan looked down. "There's nothing further I can do to fix it," he muttered. "All I can do is keep on this assignment until either someone pulls me off it, or the job is completed."

Elias blinked, Ryan’s reply giving him actual pause. For the first time since the conversation started, the younger officer’s words cut through the fog of exhaustion and irritation. He didn’t have Ryan’s full story until now—and maybe he’d been too quick to snap. He leaned back in the chair, exhaling once—slow, deliberate—then spoke, voice lower, quieter, the harsh edge dulled but not gone.

“I apologize if I was harsh, Lieutenant,” he said. “I can understand trust issues with the chain of command. I’ve had my own if you’ve ever seen my promotion file.”

He let that sit for a second, then continued, eyes steady on Ryan’s.

“But even with all that, the chain of command in Starfleet is still the end-all. Everything we do, every action we take, every decision we act on must be with that chain in mind. If we lose faith in it, then what are we?”

Elias reached over and recycled the empty mug, replicating a fresh one. He took a long drink, letting the heat ground him before he spoke again. “Obviously that incident was traumatic for you. Younger officers don’t have the experience us old goats do when it comes to handling difficult situations, so that’ll probably be in your favor. But Lieutenant—”

He paused, then deliberately used the first name.

“Ryan.”

The word landed soft, almost careful.

“One thing you need to learn if you’re going to serve is that omitting information is dangerous—not only to yourself, but to all of us as a whole. It is our duty to be truthful, and that duty does not have the luxury of waiting for trust to be earned. Because in Starfleet, trust is absolutely required—even if past experiences have taught you otherwise. It is not up to you to decide which officer is worthy of trust. It’s implied by the uniform itself.”

He set the mug down with a quiet clink, leaning forward just enough to close the distance without crowding.

“I haven’t even been on this ship for a week, but as Chief Engineering Officer, everyone under me is required to trust my orders. Senior officers have to wrestle with the idea that their orders could—and eventually will—cause the death of their subordinates in order to save the ship. That’s the weight we carry. That’s why we don’t get to pick and choose what gets reported up the chain. Because the second we do, the whole system starts to crack.”

He held Ryan’s gaze, steady, unblinking.

“You made a choice back then. I’m not here to judge it. But you’re making choices now. And if you keep deciding who gets the truth and who doesn’t, you’re not protecting anyone—you’re just delaying the moment it all comes apart. And when it does, it won’t just be your career that burns.”

Ryan blinked as Harlan's words hit home. "You want me to tell Starfleet Command directly," he said. "And if I do and...let's say, six months from now, everything I fear happens does happen, and people die. My friend's final wishes are ignored. His family suffers. All I have is the uniform."

He sighed before Harlan could speak. "I need to think about this. I'm not trying to avoid the issue. I just can't do it on four hours of sleep. But I promise this problem won't affect the department or my performance in the meantime. I'll keep my head on the task at hand."

“Just remember Ryan, the fallout you fear will be handled by those with the skills and ability to handle it, it won’t be you that has to fix it.” Elias said gently. “It was wrong of your friend to put any of this on your shoulders to begin with. I’ve been personally wronged by the chain of command many times, but I have faith that the institution itself will prevail. It always does, because it always has. And Benzar will be better off at the other end of it.“

---
Lieutenant Commander Elias Harlan
Chief Engineering Officer
USS Arawyn

&

Lieutenant Junior Grade Ryan Collingway
Engineering Officer
USS Arawyn

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