The Subtly Chaotic Warp Gremlin and the High Priestess of Sickbay

Posted on Fri Jun 13th, 2025 @ 9:12pm by Commander Cressida Vale MD & Lieutenant JG Elen Rell

3,132 words; about a 16 minute read

Mission: Prologue
Location: Deck 12 - Gym
Timeline: Mid 2387

Cressida Vale was someone who practised what she preached. She encouraged all of her patients — which was technically everyone on the Guinevere — to stay fit, and she led them by example. Most days she visited the ship’s athletic facilities at least once, whether to lift, run, bike, row, do yoga, or practice one of the martial arts at which she was proficient. Everyone could see the Chief Medical Officer working out, ready to give a kind word of encouragement, a piece of advice, or a respectful nod as the case may be.

It helped that she genuinely enjoyed her time in the gym. If she wasn’t CMO, she would still be on Deck 12, moving among the training spaces, keeping her body in top shape.

And so today she was in the weight room. After stretching and a circuit through most of the machines, she found herself on her back, bench pressing an amount that was just on the limit of her comfort zone.

Elen Rell, engineer extraordinaire and enthusiastic member of the “Exercise or Implode” club, strolled into the gym with the air of someone who wasn’t quite sure what kind of workout she needed ...physical, emotional, or vaguely spiritual. Her hair was loose for once, a tumble of waves held in check by a few practical braids to keep it out of her face. Her charcoal-grey leggings and fitted top moved easily with her, chosen more for comfort than style: but that didn’t mean she wasn’t aware of how she looked. Her boots were the kind of Starfleet-issue monstrosities only engineers and masochists loved. She wore them with pride. Her gloves...crochet, fingerless, elbow-length, were her own design. Light, breathable cotton, reinforced where it counted: knuckles, palms, wrist. Practical. Personal. A little statement in yarn that said: Yes, I can fix a plasma manifold and make my own accessories.

Her eyes landed on the woman at the bench.

Well. Hello.

Hard to gauge height when someone was flat on their back, though that hadn’t stopped Elen from trying. Straight dark hair, sleek in that effortlessly unfair way, made her a little envious. Even with 24th-century tech, Elen’s hair had moods. This woman, though? She had the kind of confident, sculpted look that suggested she didn’t fight her body: she worked with it. Tight black shorts, white trainers, a tank top that left very little guesswork about the abs situation.

Elen tried not to be obvious about checking her out. She failed, but with style.

And she was alone. Bad idea. Every Starfleet protocol screamed spotter required. Also, be helpful, which conveniently aligned with be charming. Elen wandered over, casual but with purpose, her grin sliding into place...curious, a little cheeky. “Need a spotter?” she asked, voice warm with just a thread of mischief. “Or just someone to admire your form while pretending it’s about safety?” The honesty of it was real, Elen always made sure to be honest. It was the best way to get a read of someone, to see if they minded. And if they minded being flirted with, well then Elen dialled it down. She wasn't the sort who liked making people uncomfortable.

She gestured vaguely to the equipment, then to herself, like she was offering her full résumé in body and spirit. No formal introduction, not yet. This wasn’t a staff meeting. “Promise I’m qualified,” she added, cocking her head. “Engineering...We specialize in heavy lifting… and keeping things from collapsing unexpectedly.”

"So it's either a spotter or an admirer?" Cressida asked, a smile creeping up her face as she pushed the bar higher. "As they say in certain parts of Earth, ¿por que no los dos?" She guided the bar down but as she started to push up again the strain was starting to show.

Elen's eyebrows lifted, a grin tugging at her lips like it had a life of its own. “Oh okay, bold,” she said, genuinely impressed. “I like that.” Then a pause and a blink as the rest of her brain caught up. “...Okay, wait. What did you just say?” she asked, head tilting slightly like she was tuning a sensor array. “I caught the vibe, not the words. Was that Spanish? Because unless it’s something in a diagnostics manual or a warp coil alignment spec, I don’t speak anything but Standard. Languages and I have... a non-aggression pact. I don’t try to conjugate verbs, and they don’t give me hives. And also, they don't slap me over the head with a hyperspanner. What would I do without a universal translator, huh?”

She stepped closer then, hands already halfway up in case she needed to grab the bar. “Which, by the way, you are about three seconds from needing a literal lift and not just a flirty metaphor, so...” She dropped into position behind the bench, grip sure and ready. “Let me help before I have to report this to the Chief Doc...” She smiled, a gentle and calm smile that betrayed something a little more unsure, hesitant. Someone who occasionally did put her foot in her mouth. “Also, thanks for not objecting to the admiration part. It's always nice when a girl doesn't get decked for noticing the core stability of someone else's abs.” She winked and the expression went back to something semi-serious. “Engineer compliment. Highest form.”

"Compliment taken...as intended..." Cressida said, breath getting heavier as she pushed the bar all the way up, guided helpfully back into its slots by her new friend. She took a moment to catch her breath before sitting up. "And you wouldn't have had to go far to find the Chief Doc, but she, having forgotten her own exercise advice, would've struggled to help." She laughed between heavy breaths. "Cressida Vale, Chief Medical Officer."

"Elen Rell. Engineering...shocker, I know," she said with a grin, brushing a bit of hair back behind one ear. "Would’ve been a plot twist if I turned out to be science after that entrance, huh?" She took a small step back, giving Cressida a once-over that was more admiration than appraisal. “So... Chief Medical Officer, huh? Impressive title. Do you prefer Doctor Vale? Doc? Or is there like… a rank-meets-mystique hybrid situation I should be aiming for? 'Commander Cool'? 'High Priestess of Sickbay'?” Elen’s eyes sparkled, teasing but gently so. She was feeling out the room. Finding the rhythm. "I promise I’m better with warp coils than titles."

“Ooh, I like High Priestess of Sickbay,” Cressida said, matching Elen’s grin. “But how about, Cressida for when we’re being friendly, Doc when in sickbay, and save Commander for those rare times when I give orders.” She reached a hand forward for an assist to her feet. “And you asked about languages before. I’m lucky to speak a few common Earth languages. Titan was a pretty diverse place. We spoke English, Spanish, Hindi, Mandarin, bit of Arabic. Learning new ones exercises the brain. Gotta keep everything fit, you know?”

Elen took the offered hand and helped Cressida to her feet with an ease that suggested she was used to hoisting people (or things) much heavier than her. "I can work with that," she said with a grin, her eyes on the other woman with fascination.

She was a Mars brat, a far older colony in the Sol system, but she still felt a strange kind of affinity for the other outer colonies. Titan was one of those places people talked about—how close-knit the communities got, how the Earth languages mixed until something new formed. A sort of creole, hybrid, beautiful chaos. Mars, if it had ever had that, had lost it decades ago. The shipyards and transient bases brought people in and out too fast. You got Standard. The other languages stuck around mostly for parents to scold their kids in—not for the playground. "Titan must’ve been wild, though. So many voices in one place. That’s got to shape how you see people, right? Like...how you listen." She gestured vaguely to the air between them. "No translator for body language. You’ve got to learn the rhythm yourself."

She looked over at Cressida again, but now the flirty glint had softened, replaced with something more curious. Open. Like she actually wanted to know her. "You strike me as someone who’s very good at listening." Then, just as the moment threatened to get too earnest, Elen couldn't help herself. The grin returned, warm and crooked. "Which I'm warning you is dangerous. People like me? We thrive on being listened to. Next thing you know, I'm showing you yarn schematics and asking which colour reads more 'warp core casual'…"

“So I take it you made these then?” Cressida asked, pointing to Elen’s soft gloves. “Functional and cute.”

Elen looked down at her hands and nodded, lifting them slightly like she was admitting to something harmless but telling. “Yeah. I did. Picked it up when I was a kid, put it down for years, and then somewhere between the Academy and field rotations, it just... stuck again.” She stretched, subtly...like a coil releasing pressure, kinetic even in stillness. Not restless, exactly, but like her body was always tuned slightly above cruising speed. “It helps. Keeps my hands busy, keeps my mind from fracturing off in six directions at once. There’s always noise up here...” she tapped her temple, gently, “...not bad, just... busy. I’ve always thought faster than I can speak, and sometimes the internal routing gets a little tangled.” She gave a small shrug, not embarrassed. Just honest. “Knitting and crocheting slows it down. Gives it something to orbit around. The rhythm, the shape of it...it’s structure, and that calms the static. And at the end, there’s something to hold. Something real. In engineering, sometimes you fix things and never see the result. But a scarf? A jumper? That stays fixed.”

“I get it, I really do,” Cressida admitted. “You find the way that quiets your brain. Mine is here, or the dojo. Or exploring back alleys and winding roads, whether in real life or the holodeck. For my girlfriend though it’s outdoors. Her brain goes every which way unless she can see something green and alive. Our quarters have become a bit of a greenhouse,” she added with a chuckle. “It’s harder to quiet hers though, so that six directions at once you mentioned, I get you.”

Elen laughed warmly if not a little throaty and nodded with the kind of surprised recognition that came when someone actually got it. Not everyone did. Some people’s minds were like open space, all clean trajectories and no interference. Others? More like a rolling ion storm in the brain pan: thoughts pinging off every bulkhead.

“See, I can’t do real plants. Crochet ones, sure. Life ones?” She grimaced, holding up her hands as if they might confess to crimes of botany. “I’m pretty sure I could singlehandedly de-terraform a planet with my so-called green fingers. Downside of a Mars upbringing: you grow up knowing how to take care of algae, and maybe, just maybe, a cactus. And I still managed to kill mine.” She blinked, her thoughts catching up the conversation itself, the details of what Cressida had said. That this was her calm place. The gym. Or the dojo. She tilted her head, studying her a moment. “If you need the space, I can, y'know...” she made a little walking gesture with two fingers, hand bobbing like it had a personality of its own. “No offence taken. I know I talk at warp seven and... I can be a lot.”

"No, I was finishing up anyway," Cressida replied, taking a moment to grab an alcohol-infused wet wipe from the wall dispenser and cleaning off the bench and bar. "I need to hit the showers." She made a move to remove the pin from one side the bar but someone else gestured to her to leave it.

It took Elen a moment...watching her, the natural grace with which she moved, the way she just was. She was beautiful, no denying that. Then the words registered, and Elen gave a light smile...not quite flirtatious, not seriously, just an easy warmth edged with mischief. “Nah, not yet. Most folks hit the showers once they reach full ‘Klingons-in-battle’ levels of sweat.” She gave a small shrug, hands lightly splaying. “Unless you’re really into sonic showers. Me, they always leave my hair looking like I stuck my head in a plasma coil.” She trailed off, a slight nod acknowledging the shift -- the signal that Cressida was wrapping up. That was fine. Elen wasn’t the sort to overstay. “Well. I guess I’ll see you around then, Doc.”

“Benefits of senior officer quarters, Elen,” Cressida said. “Screw sonic showers. Real water. Hot water. No time limits. A little space limited but oh so worth it. Optional addition but if you pursue becoming Chief Engineer I recommend taking the add-on. Even a bit of sweat and I’ll indulge in a long relaxing shower.”

She looked to make sure they were out of earshot of others. “Want to hear a secret?”

Elen looked at her with genuine surprise, then leaned in a little, lowering her voice like they were swapping classified warp core specs. "Is it that there's also bubble baths?" she asked, eyes lighting up with a gleam that was definitely not entirely joking.

She hadn't taken the Chief quarters...being Acting Chief Engineer felt temporary enough without moving into someone else's space. She did have her own quarters, though. Not as fancy. She was half-convinced the only reason she hadn't been assigned a roommate was because someone had read her file and clocked that she was loud, always fidgeting, talked to the warp core like it was a cat, and drank alarming amounts of lemon and ginger tea just because she liked the smell.

“No bubble bath,” Cressida said, wincing in apology. “I have to use holodeck programs for that, but there’s a good collection of those, for private or group use. No, the secret is,” she leaned in closer and grinned, “I installed one of those massage heads.” She started giggling uncontrollably.

Elen’s grin widened, eyes sparkling with delight. "A massage head, huh? Now that’s the kind of engineering upgrade I can get behind. Sounds like you’ve hacked the system for maximum comfort. I might have to lobby for one of those in engineering's lounge...after all, heavy lifting deserves some heavy pampering. Although I might first have to get an engineering lounge..." She gave a playful wink. "Careful, though, you're giving me ideas...if I start daydreaming about bubble baths and massage heads, I might never leave the Chief's quarters. I'm supposed to keep the warp core running, not my own personal spa."

“You should join us on a spa day sometime.” Cressida’s invitation was serious and sincere. She made a new friend today. Which made it a good day. “A few of us like to pamper ourselves every couple of weeks. Sometimes we go to the salon on Deck Ten, but often someone volunteers their quarters or we book the holodeck.” She gestured to the exit. “I’ve gotta go, but I’ll send you the invite. And if you can’t make it, or even if you can, we should hang out sometime. It was really nice meeting you, Elen.”

“It was really nice meeting you too,” Elen said, her grin going a little crooked in that way it did when she was trying not to look too pleased. She gave a firm nod, like she was committing to something important. “And a spa day? Honestly, yes. I’m in. Fully. Enthusiastically. The warp core is gonna be jealous.” She shifted her weight to one foot, hands flicking out in a small, animated gesture. “I mean, I do talk to my tools more than I talk to actual people some days...don’t get me wrong, they’re great listeners...but they’ve never offered me cucumber water or a foot soak.” She tilted her head, that glint in her eye returning as she added, “So yeah. Send the invite. I’ll bring snacks, good gossip, and maybe some handcrafted loofahs if I get ambitious. Just don’t be surprised if I ask for recommendations on nail polish that says ‘subtly chaotic warp gremlin.’”

“An iridescent blue,” Cressida offered without hesitation. “On each finger, I’ll paint it on with brush strokes going in different directions.” She pantomimed it as she talked, brushing up her pinky nail, left on the ring finger, down on the middle, and right on the index. “The light’ll reflect differently on each one, reinforcing the chaos element of it.” She grinned as she turned to walk toward the door, but kept facing back toward her new friend. “Ask for a challenging recommendation next time!” she said teasingly, ending with a wink. “See you around, Elen!” And out the door she went.

Elen watched Cressida’s retreating back with a quiet smile tugging at the corner of her lips. The confident, effortless way she moved left an impression...a kind of grace that wasn’t about perfection but about owning yourself. The sparkle in Cressida’s eyes when she’d described those nails, the way she’d turned something as simple as polish into a statement of chaos and light made Elen feel unexpectedly... recognised.

She tucked a loose braid behind her ear, fingers twitching as if she could almost feel the brushstrokes in the air. “Iridescent blue,” she muttered softly, tasting the phrase like a new tool freshly calibrated. It wasn’t just colour. It was movement, unpredictability, a little bit of rebellion wrapped in shimmer. Exactly the kind of thing Elen liked. Cressida had been easy to talk to...sharp, funny, and somehow grounding. Elen wasn’t sure she’d met many people like that since joining the ship. Not just colleagues, but actual friends. Maybe this spa day invite was the start of something worth holding onto.

She stretched, the usual buzz in her brain quieting just a fraction, and with a light shake of her head, she murmured, “Yeah, I’ll take you up on that ‘challenging recommendation’.” Her grin deepened, fingers already itching to learn the language of nail polish.

---

Lt. JG Elen Rell
Acting Chief Engineer
U.S.S Guinevere

Commander Cressida Vale
Chief Medical Officer, USS Guinevere

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