Caelian floated in stillness. Here it was peaceful, calm. At the periphery of his consciousness, the universe thrummed and droned. He could feel his mind ebb and flow outward, subconscious eager to join with the din while his will held it in check. The primal was wary, evaluating; the logical was secure, at peace. Something deeper within hummed seductively to him, and he yearned to join that too. But Caelian resisted, content to remain where he was in the ephemeral space between wakefulness and sleep. There was a harmony to it all, a symphony of regularity. The universe was a magnificent clock ticking away beyond his thoughts, each element a gear moving effortlessly to maintain natural order. In that space, all was as it should be and Caelian felt contentment.

A dull thrum rippled through the emptiness and shattered that harmony like chill glass. His cocoon broken, Caelian was at once assaulted by a torrent of oppressive noises that swept him up and carried him along. The bedlam bore him up and up towards the luminous surface of consciousness, his mind twisting and turning in a frantic attempt to slow his rise. He wasn’t ready! It wasn’t time! The clamor surged against him, hammered at him until he burst through the surface…

…and sighed, rubbing the bridge of his nose with thumb and forefinger. He rolled his jaw reflexively to relieve the ghostly pressure in his ears, but the tingling deep inside his skull would not go away. He pinched between his eyes, squeezed them shut tighter, while his mind raced about in search of the thing that had disturbed him. He could hear muted conversations all around him, the subtle hum of the transport’s nacels just beyond the bulkhead behind him, and a thousand other variances that—to his engineering mind—told him nothing was amiss. Caelian took a slow and steadying breath before dropping his hand back into his lap. It would come to him eventually. And the moment he let go, it did.

They’d arrived.

It was the way the air felt, he realized, the confluence of pressures and vibrations that had changed. The transport’s gravity had alteredever-so-slightly as it neared a larger vessel, their navigational shields buffeting on playful opposition and subtle artificial gravity fields merging and tugging against one another. Most people likely wouldn’t pick up on it, or would pass it off as a shiver of anticipation. To Caelian’s ear, however, the resonance change was as palpable as a new voice in a crowd—subtle but distinct. The ensign sitting next to him gave him a questioning look as he leaned over to pull his travel pack from the seat beneath him. She seemed even more befuddled when Caelian gave her a sidelong glance and a wink before leaning back in his seat.

“Attention, passengers,” the pilot’s voice came over the intercom seconds later, “we have been cleared for approach by the USS Ark Angel and will begin docking proceedure shortly. Please take your seats.”

Caelian chuckled to himself as several exhuberant passengers immediately moved to the nearest viewport to get their first look of the Mythology-class vessel, only to then be growled back into place by their more sedate peers. He’d felt the same excitement, the same pull to look and gawk. He’d also remembered the last time he’d looked out a viewport into the empty stretch of space yawning away from him. Ship or no ship, Caelian didn’t relish the idea of spending the morning cleaning his breakfast off the deck plates. He’d studied the published schematics thoroughly, walked its decks in both mind and simulation after graduating the Academy. He’d spent his entire tour aboard the USS Challenger getting turned around; he’d be damned if that happened again.

Closing his eyes again, Caelian let himself be carried away by the hum of excitement and anxiety singing through the transport. To be honest, he even found a little part of himself resonating with the sentiment.

After registering his comm badge and receiving an update to his PaDD, Caelian hitched his travel bag and marched confidently deeper into the Ark Angel. Even though the artificial gravity was no different than that of the transport, the ship somehow managed to feel heavy, like walking a tunnel beneath a mountain. The potential for upcoming missions stretched out before him as much as the hallway, and the immensity hit him. This was it, his life for the next several years. To boldly go, as the saying went. And he would have to be just as bold. Seeing the crew moving about so confidently helped steady his nerve. Caelian found himself fidgetting with his comm badge, chided himself silently and dropped his hand.

Here we boldly go, he chuckled to himself. And let’s boldly hope I don’t get boldly lost where no one will ever find me.

A quick check of the ship’s chronometer made him smile. He had just enough time to swing by his assigned quarters and still report in for his medical inspection on time. Caelian fell in behind a pair of security officers drifting lazily down the hall in the direction he was headed. When he reached the turbolift he needed, he waited patiently at a polite distance from a lieutenant deep in her PaDD, made idle small talk until she reached her destination. Those that he encountered along the rest of his route were either oblivious to his presence or encouragingly engaging. He even got a few pieces of “helpful” advice concerning the senior staff from another ensign trying to find his own berth. He nodded along, smiled supportively, filed away anything that rang genuine to his ear. Caelian continued thusly, following the pulse of the ship’s activity until it deposited him at his quarters.

As the door hissed open, Caelian smiled at the small crate of personal effects resting just inside. Welcome home, Cael. So far, so good.

Getting settled in his quarters had taken less time than he’d anticipated, and he followed his feet casually until they led him to Sickbay. Early yet by almost ten minutes, Caelian drifted off to one side and contented himself with observing the comings and goings. Out of habit he traced the relays and access points to the various monitors and equipment in his mind, comparing what he’d studied in-simulation to the reality of the Ark Angel. There were some details he realized he’d need to study harder, but he was satisfied enough with his understanding of the ship’s layout so far that he wasn’t put off. He knuckled his close-cut beard thoughtfully.

“Can I help you with something?” a nurse called to him, startling Caelian from his introspection. He offered her an apologetic smile.

“Sorry, am I in the way?” Caelian scrubbed a hand through his dark hair, looking around. “Oh, right. I’m Caelian Weir—Ensign Caelian Weir, sir—here for my medical inspection. I arrived here early, figured I’d wait my turn.”

—Caelian Weir, Ensign—