The hum of the station’s ventilation systems filled the silence as Jorath sat in his modest office, the PADD in his hand forgotten. The room was immaculate, like most things he touched: a small shrine to serenity amid the chaos of Starbase 39 Sierra’s operations. His small black-topped desk was adorned with an intricately carved crystal from Delta IV, his homeworld. Its gentle blue glow casting faint patterns of light on the walls of the Psychological Services Office of Starbase 39 Sierra. To others, it was just nic-nac, to him it was a connection to home, a piece of his home.

“Computer, time?”

“The time is 18:37 hours.”

She’s late…

Minutes passed.  Jorath had learned patience over the years. Patience with himself, with others, and with time itself. It was a lesson he had mastered early and served him well in his role. He couldn’t rush this. The work he did required gentleness, the kind that allowed people to open up in their own time.

The door chimed. His posture straightened immediately, and he released a slow breath, letting his calm fall into place.

“Enter.”

The doors hissed open to reveal Ensign Thelev, an Andorian officer whose pale, green-tinted skin spoke of her mixed Andorian heritage. Her antennae hung low, twitching faintly with tension. Her steps were hesitant, a sign that whatever burden she carried was weighing heavy on her.

Jorath rose to greet her, offering a small comforting smile. “Good evening, Ensign Thelev.”

She nodded, but her eyes avoided him, and she lowered herself into the chair across from him. Her shoulders slumped as if the weight of her emotions bore down on her with every step. Jorath did not speak immediately. He had learned that silence often gave the troubled soul a space to begin.

The room was still for a long moment. Jorath waited. Thelev’s hesitation spoke volumes.

Finally, her voice, barely a whisper, broke the silence. “I failed… on the away team. I froze. I thought I was better than that.”

Jorath didn’t rush to speak. He let her words hang in the air between them. He understood the weight of failure all too well.

Their weight becomes yours, a voice in his memory whispered. It was his mother’s voice—gentle but warning. Do not drown in it.

“Better than what?” he asked gently, his voice a soft nudge to help her focus.

She blinked, surprised by the question. “Than being afraid. Than letting my team down.”

Jorath’s gaze softened as he leaned forward slightly. “And yet here you are, facing it now.”

Thelev’s brow furrowed in confusion, and Jorath continued, his voice calm but firm. “Your fear. Your shame. You brought it here, and you are willing to share it. That is not failure.”

For the first time since entering the room, Thelev met his eyes. His eyes, a mesmerizing gold flecked green-teal, shimmered like the surface of a shimmering sea, impossibly serene. Thelev was drawn into them, an unspoken invitation to connect, to understand, to feel. The tension in her posture eased, ever so slightly, as if his words had created a crack in the wall of her emotions. Her antennae twitched, and her expression softened. Perhaps she hadn’t expected to find any peace in this space, but it was there… if only for a moment.

Jorath smiled, a quiet understanding gesture. “You are not alone in this, Ensign. We all stumble at times. What matters is that you stand up again.”

She nodded slowly as if coming to terms with something unsaid. Jorath watched her for a long moment, sensing the weight of the emotions that still clung to her. The burden of her failure had not vanished, but it had found a place to rest, no longer overwhelming her.

Their session lasted almost an hour. Jorath was able to delve deep into her feelings and assuage her shame and guilt for the time being. She would need more. More time, more compassion, and more exploration of what makes her Thelev.

She stood to leave, the silent gratitude between them evident. As she reached the door, Jorath’s stood and his voice stopped her.

“I’m here, whenever you need to talk Ensign.”

She glanced back, her expression softer now, and with a nod in quiet thanks, she exited.

The door closed behind her, but Jorath remained standing, his thoughts drifting to other times, other faces. The weight of others was something he had carried long before this post, before Starfleet. Deltans did not have the luxury of emotional distance. Their empathy was as much a gift as a burden, and from a young age, Jorath had been taught to balance his emotions with those of others. Love, connection, and understanding were not just ideals, they were the essence of life.

But with that connection came responsibility. Every emotion felt, every sorrow shared, became his to carry, just as much as the one who felt it. He could not simply observe; he had to live it.

His mind wandered back to a memory from Delta IV, one that he had carried with him for years, a memory that still left a scar in his soul.

When Jorath was fourteen, his understanding of balance was tested. A Betazoid delegation had arrived on Delta IV for a cultural exchange, an opportunity to meet with another telepathic race. Among them was a boy, Kelam, close to Jorath’s age. Eager to learn and connect, Jorath was paired with him during the visit.

Kelam was unlike anyone Jorath had known. While his family’s minds were calm and composed, Kelam’s was a storm, chaotic and unruly, a maelstrom of fears and thoughts Jorath could barely comprehend. At first, Jorath believed he could help, could bring some semblance of order to the madness. He spent hours trying to soothe Kelam, to untangle the confusion that clouded his mind. They became inseparable. For a time, it seemed to work. They became close, more than friends, two halves of something greater, something unspoken.

But as time passed, Kelam’s emotions began to twist into something darker. Jealousy flared when Jorath sought moments of solitude, or when he spent time with others. It wasn’t just a fleeting emotion; it was a constant, irrational anger and sadness, a weight that Jorath couldn’t bear to carry. Despite his best efforts, the storm within Kelam raged on, and Jorath struggled to keep his balance.

Then, one morning, Jorath woke to terrible news from his parents. Kelam had taken his own life during the night, overwhelmed by the darkness inside him, unable to find peace.

Jorath’s heart had broken, and with it, he had made a vow to himself. He would never let someone carry such a weight alone again. But the experience had changed him. He learned that, while he could share the burden of others, he could never fully carry it.

That lesson had stayed with him throughout his life, even as he joined Starfleet. His Oath of Celibacy, often misunderstood by offworlders, was not just about physical restraint. It was a promise to protect himself and others, to ensure that he never lost himself in the emotions of others again.

Jorath was pulled from his memories by the soft chime of his terminal. His transfer orders had arrived. Though he had known this day was coming for the past few weeks, it still carried a certain weight. Starbase 39 Sierra had been a good assignment. It had allowed him to grow, practice the delicate art of emotional balance, and support those in need.

Now, he would be moving on. The USS Vallejo awaited him. A California-Class cruiser. A new crew, a new chapter. It was both a challenge and an opportunity, one that would stretch him in ways he couldn’t yet imagine.