I remember the crooked world /From the edge of the atmosphere /And how it made me feel /When I looked into your eyes… /Like a voyager… (like a voy-a-ger) / /…I’m becoming real in your arms… / /

Muninn danced to the upbeat chords of Ion Storm. The lead female vocal, synth modulated around the edges, backed by synth and a snappy electric base and snare, made for the perfect work song. When the Fully electric violins kicked in, she could just about feel goosebumps rise across her skin. Her new apartment—and it really was an apartment—thrummed with the sound, and she wondered vaguely how good the noise cancellation was. Well, it was the middle of the day, anyway, so her neighbors could deal with it. Right now, the apartment was entirely bare and smelled vaguely of cleaning products, but it was hers. She grinned and executed a particularly snazzy disco move across the open floor, both enjoying and laughing at her own silliness.

Aboard the USS Leaky, the walls of her room could almost be touched if she stretched out her arms all the way, and that was when she held the position of CMO. The USS Hastings was about the same with her Assistant Chief Counselor role, but even the captain of the Hastings didn’t have a suite like this. A sitting room, a private bedroom, a private restroom with its own large shower, and two big closets for storage. 

I’m going to need to get more stuff, she thought rather gleefully as she considered all her new personal space. Then a more sobering thought struck. 

How long would she be there to enjoy her new space?

“Computer, lower volume.”

A chirp sounded, followed by a significant reduction in the ambient synth soundscape as the computer interpreted her order. Muninn sighed and leaned against the wall. 

Her initial plan, after the Hastings, had been to seek an assignment aboard a deep-space ship. Something truly geared toward the exploratory. A five-year mission, perhaps, that would see her working alongside people who really believed in Starfleet’s true goals. The Hastings was basically a patrol route, and before her, the USS Leaky mostly did follow-up survey runs and low-risk diplomatic check-ups. She wanted more than that. She wanted to feel like what she did in the Fleet mattered.

Aboard Starbase Bravo she would be just another fly on the wall, just one more cog in a vast and, frankly, overwhelming machine. And yet, something did seem alluring about this place. Something unexpected in these walls. The luxury of space was nice after two years aboard cramped starships, but the feeling in her heart seemed greater than animal comfort. Something about the possibilities here excited her, an unknown frontier of its own, in a way. Would she move on, eventually, make her way back toward the future she imagined when she first left the Academy? Or would something new and unexpected open before her, pull her in, and change the way she saw the world?

“When a counselor needs counseling,” she muttered to herself. 

That was one thing she missed: having a CO she could go to when times were hard or confusing. Captain Corrado played that role for his whole bridge crew, and his openness made the USS Leaky feel more like a home than an assignment. But, since leaving the Leaky, Muninn was starting to suspect that Corrado’s laid-back style did not extend as a norm in any way to other commanders in the Fleet. Which made sense, she supposed. Starfleet would never get anything done if all their officers were as relaxed as Corrado. Still, she missed the man and his insights, as well as his superb cooking.

Thinking of him now solidified an intention in her mind. It had been a couple of months since her last letter, not since she first settled on leaving Hastings and applying for a position elsewhere in the Fleet. 

“Computer, begin message composition, please.”

“Ready,” said the computer’s musical feminine tone.

“To Captain Corrado, USS Leaky. Hey boss, it’s been a while. I meant to send something along before now, but the trip from Hastings was all research. You were right about the Hastings, by the way. She gave me a good look at how things are normally done. I can’t say I liked it all that much, but you must have gathered that from the last time I wrote. I didn’t get the deep space assignment I’d been hoping for, landed on Starbase Bravo, Fourth Fleet. At least for now. But Bravo is different, anyway. It’s huge for one thing. These Guardian-Class stations are a sight to behold. It’s like someone squished a city into a metal mushroom,” she laughed aloud at her terrible description of the vast and majestic space construction. “Look, I know it’s probably silly of me, but next time the Leaky happens to be in the sector, I’d love to treat you to dinner on the Promenade here. I miss our talks. Got a lot on my mind when it comes to career, and I always appreciated your insights. Anyway, hope everyone’s well. Tell… tell them I miss them next time you all do dinner.”

She confirmed the message contents and destination, then sent it off. It felt a little better, just reaching out into the void.

Muninn turned her attention back to the empty apartment and the imagined furnishings that populated it. Sometimes you just needed to know that someone out there would hear you, even if they were light years away. That was more than half her job, after all: people came to her because they needed someone who would listen.

“Antique chairs,” she said aloud. “Right there.” And she smiled as she imagined the home she could create here, given time.