Four and a half days aboard Starbase Bravo were barely scratching the surface of life aboard the massive space station, and Muninn was starting to suspect that one never became completely used to it. All the officers seemed stressed and harried, the ordinary crew were too busy to show much interest in a newly arrived officer, and the civilian population wanted to go about its business uninterrupted, thank-you-very-much. Lieutenant Lish’s company proved a source of some cheer, at least at first, but however well she got on with the jovial Bolian it didn’t mean she could stand to listen to him continually natter on about this personal projects. And even Lish was busy, having taken on three new cases in addition to his light mentoring duties. And then there were her own cases, the first five of which were scheduled to begin the very next day. She felt almost as nervous as a fresh-faced trainee still after her hours. 

Observation lounge three featured nice windows, at least. Muninn sat in the lounge’s foyer on a big plush armchair, a PADD on her lap. The sleek white walls and comfortable blue-plush armchairs giving the space a larger-than-reality quality in the mind. The room itself, basically a large oval with one side consisting mostly of windows looking out onto the vast deep of open space, offered an informal waiting area for those normally signed up for appointments. At this hour, none were scheduled, so she had the place to herself. The last of her personal touches (various simple artifacts fabricated that afternoon at the replimat) were being installed in her small office at that very moment by a mild-mannered operations officer down the hall. For some reason, Muninn wanted nothing to do with that room yet, at least not until it was really hers. She would be spending a lot of time in it, over the next few months at least, and it seemed somehow important that her first real impression of it should be as something hers and hers alone. It would be, after all, the space she held for others throughout the day.

She scanned the list of names on the PADD she held. The little chrome-edged tablet blinked as she pressed one of the names, and a profile appeared of Mike Henderson. Short man, brown hair, nice smile. Crippling fear of being alone for life and a predisposition to controlled substances. Oh, and trouble sleeping. “Right there with you, Mike,” Munnin groaned, rubbing at her forehead where a mild migraine was just starting to set in.

“Actually, my name is Elegy,” replied a voice from behind Munin, entering the observation lounge from the corridor.  There was a hint of a nudge and a wink in his timbre.

Muninn started more than she would have, under normal circumstances, and looked around at the source of the voice. Slim, and athletic, with a face that she instantly thought of as ‘pretty’. And the pips of a LTJG.

“Oh gods, sorry, did I say that out loud?” She waved the offending PADD. “Think I’ve been trying to take in too much information the last few days. Always another bit of paperwork, eh?”

“You’re in luck,” Elegy teased, as he rounded one of the overstuffed armchairs for himself.  “In the twenty-fifth century, talking to yourself is no longer a diagnostic criteria for any known mental illness,” Elegy said in hushed tones.  It was a joke the resident psychiatrist would only ever share with another counselor.  Lowering himself into the chair, Elegy wasn’t too proud to slouch and stretch his legs out.  Not at this hour, nor after the number of walk-in Romulan patients he’d seen on this day.  The number of Romulan refugees Starbase Bravo was receiving, given the fall of the Star Empire’s senate and the further splintering of Romulan space, was starting to feel like it could overtake the chaos of the Century Storm earlier in the year.  Elegy admitted to Muninn, “I’m having a similar check-in with myself: Can I take another walk-in patient, can I manage to sit in the dark and write reports, or is it time for bed?”

“It’s funny, isn’t it, how the more humanity eliminates deprivation and sets our sights on self-betterment, the more we discover how many problems are just fundamental to, well, being human?” Muninn’s mezzo hummed with laughter. In all of ten seconds, she already knew she liked the man. Anyone with that subtle a sense of good humor had to be worth knowing. 

“Though, I suppose one crisis after another will ladle on the stress, too. Muninn Musgrave, just assigned here last week.” Remaining seated, she stretched forward and held out her hand.

In an awkward struggle to remain off his feet too, Elegy rolled onto his side in the chair to reach out a hand that just about clasped with the one proffered to him.  “Thrilled to meet you, Muninn,” he said and he shook her hand.  Elegy settled himself back into a comfortable position in the chair, as he said, “I’m Elegy Weld.  This is about my sixth month posted to Starbase Bravo.  I can’t believe it’s been that long already.”

“It’s nice to meet someone else from the team. Lieutenant Lish is the only other counselor I’ve talked to so-far, what with all my assignments getting fed in through the computer.” She waggled the PADD that she had been reading. “I guess I’m used to a more… crowded work environment. Not really like a starship at all, is it?”

Shrugging sheepishly, Elegy admitted, “I’m afraid I can’t say.  Bravo is my first posting out of medical school.  Mind, I was practically raised by starship crews, but” –he took on a silly deadpan to say– “I was much smaller back then.”  Shaking it off, he remarked, “Starships felt like massive labyrinths to me, growing up.  Classrooms on starships were never very crowded.”

“Oh, I’m envious. I wanted to be you, growing up—I would have done anything to spend my childhood on a starship.” Muninn smiled at the memory, despite the sadness that surrounded it. No going back, she reminded herself. Memories are part of who we are, but they are not the present. She could almost hear Adeyemi’s voice speaking these words in her ear.

She nodded toward the huge window looking out on the stars. The observation room’s gleaming white walls framed the deep black, drawing the eye toward the speckled brilliance of the stars. “Last ship I served on was an Akira-class, and they don’t go in for windows much. Something about better defensive integrity, I’m sure. But, I missed this. My cabin on the USS Leakey might have been small, but it had a nice big window.”

Suddenly self-conscious of meandering, she placed her PADD face down on the arm of her chair and refocused her attention on Weld. “So, you’ve been here half a year… You must have come aboard around the same time as the Century Storm? I bet that was a wild time to be starting fresh on a new job.”

“Wild doesn’t describe the half of it,” Elegy said.  His intonation, and the smirk on his lips, belied that he was building to a punchline.  “I was assigned to Starbase Bravo as a counselor, but I beamed aboard as a patient.  My runabout was damaged in one of the ion storms; I shredded this leg.”  He patted his thigh affectionately, all patched up due to the wonders of 25th century medicine.  “I was only cleared for duty as fast as I was because I wasn’t a security officer.” 

“Stars,” whispered Muninn, “that’s a hell of a way to start off.” Muninn considered Elegy’s entry into Fleet life against her own. The first month aboard the USS Leakey had been reports, paperwork, sprains from over-zealous holodeck sports enthusiasts… she wondered how she would have held up if she had gone straight from the safety of the Academy into an active emergency.

She settled further into her chair, drawing up her knees and tucking her legs underneath her. “Has the rest of your time been as interesting as that?”

His green eyes lighting up with mischief, when Elegy said, “By the trailing end of the Century Storm, I had recovered enough to run around the promenade, breaking up fist-fights brought on by Zanthi Fever…”  He put on a gurning expression of yeesh-you’re-going-to-regret-this-posting for a long five seconds, but then he laughed it off.  “However, I promise, it’s been routine since then.  I see my patients, I offer psych consults in the hospital.   I wish I had a little more time for research or a boyfriend.  Even with the Romulan refugees” –Elegy shrugged– “the work is the work, regardless of the patients.”

“Lieutenant Lish seems to think that we’re in for a steady flow of refugees for the foreseeable future,” Muninn said after a moment. “And the pessimist in me says he’s right. I mean, hundreds of systems and planets, millions and millions of people who are being either displaced or are doubling-down for a fight.” She shrugged. “I’m glad that the Remans have reached out to us, helping stabilize a region is one of the founding points behind the Fleet. But I can’t imagine that all the old Imperial territories are going to be as, ha, simple as this one.” She made a face as she said it, knowing nothing was easy about how things were unfolding. Nevertheless, she couldn’t help feeling that the continual destabilization of the Romulan sectors could not help but spread. How long before the Klingons, or someone else, took advantage on a more massive front?

Slouched down in his armchair, Elegy rolled his head back to stare out the upper curve of the viewport.  “I’m not ashamed to admit, I’m struggling to wrap my head around it all.  Every star system in Velorum has a different story to tell.  I tried to make sense of it for a few days, but…”  Trailing off, Elegy just shook his head vaguely and he sighed.  “If I close my eyes, I can barely even imagine what one million Remans looks like.  Then if I try to imagine five million Remans… what does that difference look like?  How much volume does a million people take up, how much do a million people weigh?  How loud are a million thoughts, all overlapping?”  He tilted his head in Muninn’s direction, asking, “Sorry, does that make any sense?”

“Say this city has ten million souls, Some are living in mansions, some are living in holes…” Muninn smiled, but the expression held no light. She felt suddenly claustrophobic sitting there, while an untidy portion of the galaxy slipped into chaos just beyond (it seemed) the door.

Elegy pursed his lips in mild consternation and then he leaned over the arm of his chair.  Looking to Muninn, his eyes looked equal parts entertained and perplexed.  “I was confusing myself to begin with,” Elegy said, plainly sheepish in his manner.  Raising his eyebrows, Elegy asked, “What does that mean?”

“You reminded me of it just now, that poem. Our home was filled with bookshelves, whole collections of poetry from the best of the last five-hundred years.” Muninn sighed. “If I imagine too hard, it’s like a splinter in my mind, you know? What can I do here, trapped inside a static role? Helping people with relationships, or any of the thousand petty human fears each and every single person shares?”

“Oof,” Elegy vocalized in faux-injury, as if her words had been an uppercut.  Teasingly, he said, “That’s one way to feel helpless…”

“I’m sorry, I don’t even know you,” she laughed, this time with some genuine humor returned. “If your company brings out thoughts from your patients half as well as it does from your colleagues, your practice must be the most efficient in the sector.”

Shrugging off the compliment, Elegy remarked, “I am comfortable with a silence, and I try to let the patients do most of the talking.”  Cheekily, he added, “I haven’t figured out if that’s cheating or not?”

“Cheating?” She shook her head, still smiling. “No, it’s a good habit. I’ve never found much luck in changing people. We psychologists can’t sit in the room with a patient and make them think or feel differently than they do. But we can listen, and then highlight those areas of thought that they themselves bring up.” She tilted her head to one side.

“What do you think of, exactly, when you consider all the Remans? The life they’ve led beneath the Romulan Empire? What do you think will happen, now that they’re clawing their way to freedom?”

Elegy put a hand over his mouth, but his upturned eyebrows and a mischievous glint to his eyes betrayed he had nothing good to say.  “I’m having trouble hoping for much, honestly,” Elegy said and he dropped his hand.  Whatever pained wince may have marred his face slipped into a distracted, thoughtful expression.  “I would have thought the Remans would have snatched their freedom under a pro-Reman Praetor twenty years ago, or when the Star Empire first came apart at the seams after the supernova.  I’m having trouble believing this time will be any different…”

“They never have asked for Federation help, though,” Muninn countered, tossing in a smile of her own. “That’s got to count for something. Not that they ever had the chance to, before, but still.”

His posture changing, Elegy sat up a little more in the cushy arm chair.  His gaze shot to the overhead, while he incorporated that consideration into his cloud of assumptions.  “That– I hadn’t considered that,” Elegy said, warmed by Muninn’s suggestion.  “Asking for help… changes everything.  Maybe it will lead to a different outcome this time.”

She shrugged. “We can hope so. Have you met any Remans out here, yourself? Treated any? I spent a few hours going through the records Starfleet has on them, but aside from the usual top-level stuff, there’s not much to go on. Though the theories that they’re descended from telepathic Vulcans is pretty wild…” Everything in the computer on the Remans, in fact, seemed to be a contradiction. Were they native to the system colonized by the Romulans, or were they truly some form of hybrid species? It seemed most likely to Muninn that the former would be the case, with the similarities between the species being only superficial, but who could really say? It occurred to her as well that, should Elegy have encountered them in practice, he might have some suggestions about what the mental health of such a little-understood species looked like.

Elegy’s brow furrowed when he shook his head.  “I’ve never met a Reman myself,” Elegy said, uncertain if there was some deeper meaning in that.  “Certainly never treated one.  For all my vaunted experience on Starbase Bravo, I’ve spent most of my Starfleet career as a student, with more hours spent writing scholarly articles than treating patients.”

Muninn’s mind, occupied by thoughts of Reman psychology and sociology, almost missed the uncertain note in her companion’s voice. Almost, but not quite. Elegy seemed the thoughtful sort, quiet, unassuming in a way, but someone who took to heart those new experiences foisted on his life by the Universe-at-large. 

“There’s no shame in that,” she said, lightening her tone with a small laugh. “For one thing, we’re all students at one point or another, with nothing to back us up by theory. But, it’s more than that. People forget that being a student never really stops, you know? Growing, as an individual, a member of our communal society, never stops being a complex state of interaction and evolution.” Here, her lips quirked. “Even more-so for those of us in this profession. Sentient nature is our course of study, and that means we’re stuck in the middle of the need to better ourselves, perhaps more than anyone else alive. Sorry if I’m talking your ear off, by the way.” She laughed again. “I think being up past my bedtime has made me philosophical.”

“It doesn’t have to be late-night for me.  There’s nothing I love more than a philosophical debate,” Elegy replied.  He straightened his posture in the chair again and he perched himself on the edge of the seat-pan.  After clapping his palms on his thighs, Elegy said, “I should let you rest, though.  I think I’m going to give in to the siren call of my bunk.  I don’t have any more patient care left in me tonight and there will be plenty of need tomorrow too.”

“Well then, perhaps we’ll have the chance for a debate during normal-person hours one of these days,” Muninn said as she followed suit and unfolded from her chair. “It’s been a pleasure, though.” She meant it, too. Something about the quietly energized young man spoke to her, revitalized her sense of self. It had been a good while since the last time she felt the muscle of philosophy fire, and she found herself genuinely looking forward to more such conversations in the future.