Wood for the Trees

Posted on Sat Jun 14th, 2025 @ 1:06pm by Lieutenant JG Elen Rell & Sergeant Jace Morven

2,009 words; about a 10 minute read

Mission: Prologue
Location: Holodeck, USS Guinevere
Timeline: 2388

Elen Rell stepped through the holodeck doors without hesitation, not even glancing at the log or checking which programme was running. She’d booked the slot. That was enough. Her brain, in typical Elen fashion, was already several paces ahead: half sprinting through imagined terrain, half calculating whether the leftover wool in her quarters could be coaxed into a proper patchwork blanket. She shrugged her jacket off, clutched it loosely in one hand, and tugged at the hem of her tank top where it clung to her skin, still damp from the last stretch of her shift. She wore a crochet scarf around her neck, having used it earlier to keep her hair out of the way...now, it adorned her neck.

Thirty minutes of simulated fresh air, and a forest to sprint through, maybe go skinny dipping in that lake she liked. That was the plan.

She didn’t even get one full step in.

She stopped mid-stride, her boot freezing just above the mossy floor. The air that hit her was damp, cool, saturated with fog and birdsong. The trees weren’t the familiar golden-leaved maples she usually set her sims to. These were towering evergreens and pines, heavy and old, their scent sharp and clean. Light filtered grey through a persistent mist. The ground squished softly under her boots.

This wasn’t her programme. It was... somber. Almost reverent. Clean, yes. In that crisp, untouched way, but what it wasn't was her warm and happy please. This was too still.

Her lips parted in confusion, a complaint ready on her tongue. She turned to call for the system, to reset to her preset to sunny, bright, perfect for cardio...but something stopped her.

There, in the centre of the clearing, sat someone.

Not just someone.

Him. That one.

She’d seen him over the last week, in the mess, in corridors, silent and remote...always at the edges, like a ghost someone had forgotten to debrief. He never sat with anyone. Barely acknowledged people existed. Ate his food like it was yet another chore to do, mechanical and distant. Never made eye contact. But he looked...through things. Through people. She had noticed the dark hair, the stubble that never became a full beard. He'd be cute if he smiled. He also looked like someone who never smiled.

Now he was here. In this shadowed, private forest.

And she had walked straight in like she owned the place.

Great job. Excellent. Ten out of ten.

“I think you’ve run over,” she said aloud, tone more curious than annoyed. She wasn’t trying to be rude, just... it was her slot. That was the rule. It was just common decency, social little tidbits people dealt with.

He had to be the previous occupant. Still lingering. But her usual ease, her instinct to make light of things, caught in her throat. This one wasn’t like the others. There was a stillness to him that made her feel too loud just by standing. Like she'd stepped from the sunshine into a dark cave and there was something in the shadows, something old and sharp, something primal. Without realising she was doing it, she quested out to him, a thread of the abilities from her mother side trying. She was met with...she couldn't describe it. There was emotion there, but calm, controlled. Like encountering marble when you expected water. She withdrew, embarrassed that she had even tried. “This slot’s mine,” she said, shifting where she stood.

His head turned slightly, a fraction of a movement. Then he blinked...slowly, like he’d only just now re-entered his body.

“Oh.”

A neutral voice, an accent she couldn't really place. No apology. No flinch. He remained seated on the fallen log, hands folded loosely in his lap, posture relaxed but somehow... braced. His eyes, pale blue and unblinking, stared right at her. But it wasn’t confrontation.

It was containment.

And suddenly she realised: this wasn’t just a random sim. This forest, this atmosphere, the way the light didn’t change it had been carefully curated. Someone had designed this space. Not for entertainment.

For sanctuary.

This was someone's warp core between duty shifts, when there were only a skeleton crew and you were left alone with the hum of the heart of the ship. Elen adjusted her shawl, a bold, vibrant thing of purples and indigos she’d crocheted herself, pulling it closer as if it might protect her from the strange weight in the air. “Aaaand… you’re still in it,” she added, trying for levity.

“I didn’t notice the time.” His voice was low. Measured. Like he was choosing every word carefully, but not because he was unsure...but because it was how he always spoke. Like someone who’d been trained to weigh the consequences of every syllable. As if words themselves were a weapon that could blast someone to shreds.

“Yeah, that tracks.” Her chuckle came unbidden, soft and surprised. “You’ve got the vibe of someone who misses time by hours, not minutes.”

His gaze moved, finally fixing on her with clear focus. She met it without flinching, even though it felt like standing under a security sweep. Not hostile. Just... thorough.

“You booked this slot?” he asked. Flat. Even.

“Unless you’re about to claim tree-ownership rights,” she said, gesturing wide. “Which, I mean... fair. These are excellent trees.”

A pause. No shift in his posture, just a faint narrowing of his eyes. Then, with that same calm: “No.”

She smiled, more to herself than at him. Silence stretched between them, and she realised with a sort of amusement that he wasn’t going to move. Not from stubbornness. Just because he hadn’t figured out the next step yet. She’d interrupted something, and now he was waiting for instructions. He didn't have it in him to know on instinct that now was his time to get up and move.

“I’ve seen you around,” she said, easing her tone. Might as well get to know whoever was behind those blue eyes and stoic features. “In the mess. You do that thing where you eat like the food insulted your ancestors.”

No reaction. She would have to adjust her tact, or just throw herself into it.

“Okay,” she said, stepping further in, boots muffled by the moss. “You always stare off into the middle-distance like that, or is it a special feature?”

“That’s not what I’m doing.”

And there it was, right on schedule, the first crack of resistance. Cold, a little sharp. Defensive.

She grinned. “Sure. And I’m a diplomat.”

Another pause. His shoulders didn’t move, but his breath caught, just slightly. Like something she’d said had pierced the surface.

“You should have the space,” he said finally, and it almost sounded... guilty.

“Maybe I should,” she replied. “But now I’m curious.”

His brow shifted. A twitch. “About?”

“You. This. The foggy pine-and-solitude vibe. It’s not exactly built for cardio. Is it a screaming space? I know some people go into the woods, or the water, and just scream,” she gestured around, looking for a moment before she raised an eyebrow as her hands landed on him again.

“I don’t scream.”

He said it so simply, so surely, that she laughed again, a soft, genuine laugh. “Yeah, I figured. Doesn't answer the question though, does it?”

There was something coiled under his stillness. Something old. Not quite dangerous. But trained. Disciplined. The kind of silence you had to work for. She wondered what had made him like this. She could feel it, a vibe coming off him...and she realised he didn't see her as a threat. Good. It made things easier. “You got a name?” she asked, voice light. Changing tact, since she could see he was stuck on her question.

A beat. “Jace.”

“Jace,” she repeated. “No surname?”

Another pause, longer. She didn’t miss it.

“Morven.”

“Well then, Jace Morven. I’m Elen Rell. I’ll trade you fifteen minutes of my sim time for an answer.”

He tilted his head just slightly, like he was considering a new rule in a game he hadn’t agreed to play. “To what question?”

Point. She had asked several and he hadn't really answered, except for his name, and even that she felt like she had pulled out of him. She folded her legs underneath her, adjusted the shawl around her shoulders. There was a chill here, at least for someone used with the warmth of Engineering. “What are you doing out here?”

He watched her. Measured her. The weight of silence between them shifted again, not hostile. Not cold. Just heavy. Then, at last: “My previous counsellor suggested I find a place to be in. Something quiet. Something stable. Something that didn’t change.”

She looked around. Yeah. That made sense. The forest barely moved. The fog clung. The birdsong looped so gently it barely registered. A suspended moment. Neutral, even if atmospheric. “Well,” she said softly, “you nailed it. Feels like the kind of place that waits for you to say something, then keeps your secrets.”

Still no answer, but this time... the silence felt warmer. Like maybe he agreed.

“I thought this was going to be empty,” she admitted, brushing her fingers across the moss at her side. “Just me and some underbrush to yell at.”

“You can yell if you want.”

That surprised her. Not just the words but the tone. Not sarcasm. Not indifference. Permission. She studied him again, tilting her head. “You really don’t talk to people, do you?”

“Not unless I have to.”

“Well.” She grinned, bright as her shawl. “You’re in luck. I’m most likely the most unnecessary person on this ship.”

And there, just for a moment, the barest hint of expression. Not a smile. Not yet. But a flicker. A twitch at the corner of his mouth. Like the first crack in a frozen lake. It softened his eyes a little, made him look less cold.

“I’ll take five minutes, just...go somewhere here,” she said as she stood, stretching with a contented sigh before stepping away toward the trees. She could work with this. And she didn't want to just stop his programme...he clearly needed the time more than she did. “You don’t have to go. It’s a big forest.”

He didn’t move. Just turned his head, tracking her as she moved through the mist. Her footsteps were soft. Her silhouette, bright against the gloom, faded slowly.

Brief. Bright.

Gone.

Jace Morven remained seated.

He stared at the spot she’d vanished through, then slowly turned his gaze back to the trees in front of him. The fog hadn’t lifted. The programme hadn't changed. The moss still soaked up sound, the birds still sang on their preprogrammed loop. But the stillness was different now. Something had shifted. The air carried the trace of movement. The ghost of warmth.

She’d walked into his space, completely uninvited, unapologetic, and laughed. Had spoken like everything wasn’t fragile. Like he wasn’t fragile, or near-broken, or dangerous. And she hadn’t looked away. Not once.

He wasn’t sure what surprised him more...that she hadn’t retreated…

…or that part of him hadn’t wanted her to.

For the first time since he’d gotten a hold of this simulation, Jace didn’t just sit.

He started to listen.

Not for danger. Not for patterns. But to the sound of the forest breathing. And somewhere beneath all the stillness, that flicker she’d left behind… stayed. A ripple in the fog. A disturbance in his carefully constructed stillness.

He didn’t know what it meant.

But he didn’t reset the programme.

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

&

Sergeant Jace Morven
Platoon Sergeant, FGF Detachment
U.S.S Guinevere

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