Redundant Systems

Posted on Tue Jan 27th, 2026 @ 8:19pm by Lieutenant JG Elen Rell

2,685 words; about a 13 minute read

Mission: Prologue
Location: Engineering, USS Guinevere
Timeline: Early 2389

The warp core thrummed, steady as breath, casting its deep blue light across Main Engineering. It was late, or early....depending how you viewed it. If you were using Zulu time, it was 01:53, the realm of second officers in the captain’s chair and those who had already written off the morning meetings.

The ship, even at a comfortable thrum of warp factor five, seemed to exhale at this hour. The lights were dimmed to half-glow, the overheads humming with a gentle, pulsing rhythm that matched the distant flicker of the plasma coils. Somewhere deeper in the bulkheads, coolant pumps hissed in intervals. The whole space felt alive but half asleep, like a great, breathing engine that only noticed you if you made the wrong kind of noise.

People did not bother you much at this hour. Or...they didn’t if you had the next shift.

Which she did.

So Elen Rell sat cross-legged on a crate, barefoot, hair tied in a loose knot that had mostly surrendered. A dismantled access panel lay open beside her, EPS interlinks coiled like nerves waiting to be soothed. Her fingers were buried in the conduit, sleeves pushed up, a grounding clamp held between her teeth as she reached for the next relay. One foot jiggled in that absent, kinetic way her body demanded when her thoughts had no language yet. A half-drunk cup of cold tea balanced precariously on the casing of a diagnostic unit.

A burnt-orange scarf curled in her lap like a sleeping animal, knitting needles stabbed through the rows to stop the stitches from slipping.

She didn’t look up when the doors hissed open. She didn’t need to. The footsteps had a certain vibe, like marbles scattered across a table. Not smooth. All bounce and hesitation and the kind of start-stop rhythm that set her teeth on edge.

Elen exhaled through her nose and shifted on the crate. Her right knee cracked softly. She rolled her shoulder once, then again, a slow unwind like she was settling in for the long haul. Her hands stayed in motion, fingertips braced against the side of the conduit, wrist turning to guide a flex-spanner deeper into the interlink. One bare foot tapped against the crate in an absent rhythm, soft and steady. The warp core thrummed behind her, low and constant, like the heartbeat of something larger than either of them.

“So,” she said aloud, still not looking back, “you’re either an insomniac, in which case welcome to the club, or you broke something in your quarters and need an Engineer.” She paused to flex her fingers in the gloves she wore. Soft grey with a copper seam. The yarn absorbed minor shocks and dulled static, one of her better ideas. “Or,” she added, with a slow roll of her neck, “my personal modifications to the heat exchanger have finally triggered a shipwide system audit. In which case....I know someone at JAG. I think. No, I do.” She smiled to herself and tried to blow a lock of hair from her cheek. It drifted back down again.

The voice that answered was soft. Measured. The kind of voice that avoided crowding a room. It had the lightest Terran inflection, something from the southern continents, smoothed into Federation Standard. Not London. Not Mumbai. Something in between. Carefully spoken, the words not uncertain but placed one at a time like tiles in a mosaic. “No audit. I just.....couldn’t sleep.”

Elen glanced up and took in the face. Oh, he was young. That sort of fresh-off-the-shuttle young where the uniform still looked like it had been pressed by the quartermaster an hour ago. The shoulders held shape that hadn't yet softened into long shifts, and the boots still had that stubborn new shine. His eyes were wide with the kind of wonder that had not yet been scuffed by too many red alerts, but there were circles under them too, enough to say the Academy had not been easy. And that realisation had started to sink in...the one that whispered it would not get much easier from here.

There was something unfinished in him. Not in a bad way, just that particular type of early-twenties awkwardness where you had not quite decided who you were meant to be. Or maybe you had, but you were not sure if it would hold under pressure.

"Ensign Wolfe, right?" she said, offering a lopsided smile as she tapped a coil loose. "Caedan?" The name had somehow lodged itself in her brain with decent priority. But could she remember the replicator code for her favourite hot chocolate? Of course not.

The ensign nodded and stepped in properly, still holding himself a little too upright, like he had not yet earned the right to slouch. "Yes, ma'am," he said. His auburn hair was neatly cropped, not a strand out of place. He was clean-shaven too, even at this hour, which told her everything she needed to know about how seriously he was still taking it all.

Elen grimaced, then gave a low chuckle. "Oh, do not 'ma'am' me at two in the morning. You will summon ghosts. Sit if you want. But no helping. This is recreational engineering."

Caedan hovered for a second, caught in the middle of decision, then perched awkwardly on the edge of a nearby console. He kept his back too straight and his hands folded a little too neatly, but his eyes were on her hands now, tracking the small, practised movements.

"I did not realise people recalibrated EPS interlinks for fun," he said quietly.

"That is because most people have healthy coping mechanisms," Elen replied cheerfully. "This is mine."

That made the silence settle. Usually, she would have felt it tug at her; that awkward beat after saying something too honest or too flippant, where she might try to fill the air with something brighter or less strange. But her mind was still half in the conduit, the other half three rows away in the scarf.

She worked in silence for a minute or so, fingers steady. The scarf would be done soon. Maybe she would give it to Vesper. The colour was a choice, but the wool was so soft, and she had mentioned the chill in the air that no environmental controls could seem to adjust. That quiet, tucked-in smile she got when someone noticed. Yes. It would suit her.

The silence did not press. It just existed. And Elen didn’t mind that much…she’d gotten used to silences in the last year. Eventually, Caedan spoke again…voice nervous, a little quiet. "Can I ask you something?"

It made her stop, blink…take a moment to stop what she was doing. Thought for a moment. “I mean, sure you can…but that does sound suspiciously like the start of something personal."

"It is,” he said with a swallow, shifting a little where he stood.

She nodded, folding her legs a little tighter. Motioning for him to sit down as well, because she wasn’t going to give herself a neckache from looking up. "Alright. You can. No promises I will answer with anything other than poetry or petty engineering metaphors, though."

Caedan looked down, then up again. Something taut in his voice now. "You have been here a while, haven’t you?"

Elen tilted her head, sensing the shape of the thing under the question. Her fingers were still idly rotating the flex-spanner, slow and loose between her hands like she was winding the thought as she spoke. "On the Guinevere? Two years and a bit. But I’ve been commissioned in Starfleet since '79. I never count the years at the Academy… I wish I could say for obvious reasons, but… you know. You don’t really enter the fleet until you’ve graduated."

"Right." Caedan bit his lip. "I was looking at your record." He gave a quick, guilty glance. "Not in a weird way, and only…you know the…high level stuff anyone can access. I was just trying to get a feel for the department. And I saw...you were Acting Chief. Last year?"

Elen nodded once, slowly. She set the flex-spanner down beside her, then rubbed the side of her neck with one hand, thumb circling against the knot just under the line of her jaw. A small smile pulled at her mouth, more amused than proud. "Yeah," she said, voice lighter now. "That was…a trip." She shifted her legs, drawing one knee up and wrapping her arm loosely around it, the movement easy and familiar. "I came to the Guinevere and boom. Acting Chief. Just like that. No briefing, no ramp-up. And of course, when the actual Chief did show up..." She gave a little shrug, her foot bouncing gently on the crate. "I became Acting Assistant Chief."

Her hand reached out to fiddle with the edge of the scarf in her lap, smoothing a slight curl where the stitch had tightened. "Still am."

"But you’re still a Junior Grade." Caedan was staring at her, and she smiled quickly, nodding. He let out a soft breath. "And you’ve been in Engineering for nearly a decade."

Wow. That was one way of making someone feel old. But she smiled again, rolled her shoulders, twisting just enough to hear the soft click along her spine, and gave him a look that said none of this was news. “Correct on all accounts.”

He paused. Shifted again. She could sense the hesitation rolling off him now, saw it in the way his shoulders dipped inwards and his hands moved without purpose, like he needed something to hold. Lips parted, pressed together, a breath taken and almost swallowed. The question was close...barely tethered, and then finally it came. "Is it because of the ADHD?"

There it was. Dropped like a glass in the quiet. But Elen didn’t flinch. She let out a long breath, low and even, and set the coil down gently beside her. Then she turned properly toward him, folding one leg underneath her and tucking the other close, her elbow resting on her knee, posture soft but grounded. "That," she said, voice easy but clear, "is the worst-kept secret in this Engineering. I think the warp core knows. In fact, I am counting on her knowing."

A flicker of a smile from Caedan. Quick, then gone. "Sorry. That was rude."

"No, it wasn’t." Elen’s voice was softer now. Not defensive. Just honest. "It was real. And kind of brave."

Caedan looked away, jaw working slightly. "It’s just...I’ve got it too. I mask pretty hard and I take the meds. But sometimes I feel like the only one who’s not...pulling it off."

Elen nodded slowly, then reached for her tea without thinking. It was cold, but she drank it anyway, holding the cup in both hands like the warmth might still be there if she pretended hard enough. "You want the neat answer," she said, eyes still on the coil she had set aside, "I could tell you that Starfleet is meritocratic, that everything balances out in the end, and that my ADHD hasn’t held me back, whether I take my medication or not." She paused, finally looking at him again, and the smile that touched her face was quiet, almost fond. "But that would be a lie."

Caedan blinked, eyes widening a little. As if he wasn’t quite sure what he was hearing, or maybe he understood perfectly and it had just confirmed the fear he had not wanted to name.

"I don’t get in trouble anymore," Elen continued as she picked up her knitting, fingers finding the needles with practised ease, "but I do get underestimated. I do forget briefings. I do miss deadlines if I don’t build six redundant systems to catch myself. And I do sometimes say the wrong thing in front of tall-rank officers because my brain connects dots faster than my tact does." She reached for the cup again, took another sip of tea that had long since gone cold, then exhaled slowly through her nose. "But I also rebuild systems that work. I fix things on feel. I’m a good...Engineer, even if I don’t follow the technical manual. I knit fingerless gloves for crewmen who won’t say they’re freezing. And sometimes..." She tapped the scarf in her lap, letting the burnt-orange yarn curl softly under her hand. "I make things that remind people that soft is not the opposite of strong."

Caedan’s throat worked around a reply. "But you should be a full Lieutenant. By now. Maybe even a Lieutenant Commander."

Elen shrugged, and for a moment there was a wistful look on her face, something thoughtful and far away. "Maybe. Maybe I will be someday. But I’d rather build something that lasts than chase pips just to prove I can. I care about the system more than the rank ladder." She looked down at the scarf for a beat, then back at him, her voice softer but no less steady. "You want to know the truth, Caedan? The ADHD hasn’t stopped me. Not really. But the fear that it might? The fear that I wasn’t enough for this place? That almost did. Several times." A pause. A breath. "And sometimes, it still does."

Caedan looked as if he was about to start crying. She wasn’t sure if it was going to be the good kind or the awful kind, but either way, it made Elen swallow, her chest tightening a little on instinct.

"Hey, it’s not that bad. So what if your brain’s doing somersaults about whether or not you’re keeping up? Everyone’s career looks different. There’s no magic answer. You...have to do what’s right for you, and it doesn’t always look like the holonovels," she said, offering a smile that was more reassuring than polished. "Just...you know. Don’t stress that stuff. Being yourself matters just as much as serving."

Caedan stared at her for a long moment, then let out a shaky exhale. "That’s...not what they tell you at the Academy."

"Of course not," Elen said, stretching her shoulders with a soft crack of protest. "The Academy’s run by people who alphabetise their socks. But that’s why the fleet needs people like you." She paused for a moment, then gave a loose shrug. "And people like me, I guess."

Caedan sat for a moment longer, then looked down at the open access panel. "....Can I help?" he asked, voice quieter now, but steady. The tremble in it was gone. "I mean...not because I think I can do it better. Just...I would like to."

Elen blinked, just once. Then she smiled again, a little softer this time. A little wider. "You can reroute the secondary power isolator if you don’t mind the smell of heat-scorched gloves." She reached into her toolkit, dug out a pair, and held them out.

Caedan blinked but reached to take them. "Seriously?"

"I trust you. And if it goes wrong, the worst that happens is a low-voltage arc and a short burst of shame. Both survivable." She lifted the scarf from her lap, folded it once, and set it gently on top of a diagnostic crate. A space opened. Just wide enough for someone else to join. "Come on," she said, nudging the toolkit towards him with her foot. "Let’s give your brain something to chew on that won’t eat you back."

Caedan slid down beside her, cautious at first, then a little bolder as he picked up the tool she pointed to. The warp core pulsed above them, steady and silent and vast.

And somewhere in the quiet between circuits, someone exhaled like they had been holding it in for months.

---

Lt. jg Elen Rell
(sometimes) Acting Assistant Chief Engineer
USS Guinevere

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