Welcome Aboard
Posted on Sun Mar 8th, 2026 @ 8:49am by Lieutenant Celestine Eisenhorn & Lieutenant Aubrie Fox
939 words; about a 5 minute read
Mission:
Children of the Stars
Location: Sickbay - CMO Office
Timeline: Current
Sickbay was quiet in the way only a starship’s medical ward ever was—alive with the low hum of diagnostics and the faint, constant breathing of the ship itself.
Dr Celestine Eisenhorn sat at her desk with the lights in her office dimmed to a thoughtful glow. The door was open, but the space felt contained, private. She had rolled up one sleeve of her uniform and was reviewing the Montana’s medical logs on a padd, her eyes moving steadily through names, conditions, duty rosters.
She wasn’t looking for problems. She was looking for patterns. Crew stress markers. Injury frequency. The kinds of small things that told her what kind of ship this really was beneath its mission profile. A Miranda-class didn’t get to be gentle for long. She wanted to know who was pushing themselves too hard, who hadn’t reported an injury, who might crack under pressure before the ship ever reached red alert.
Fox entered sick bay and beelined towards the CMO office wanting to meet the new Doctor. She lightly tapped on the door and poked her head in. "Our New Doctor here?"
Celestine rose smoothly from her chair. “Yes,” she said. “You’ve found her. How can I be of assistance?”
"I was wanting to introduce myself to the New Chief Medical Officer" Fox stated as she reached out her hand. "Lt Fox, Chief of Security and Second Officer"
Celestine accepted the offered hand with a firm, practiced grip. Her eyes flicked briefly to Fox’s posture, her uniform, the way her weight balanced slightly forward. Not hostile. Alert. Protective. As expected.
“Dr. Celestine Eisenhorn,” she replied. “Chief Medical Officer. It’s good to finally put a face to the name in the duty roster, Lieutenant.”
She gestured lightly toward the chair opposite her desk. “Please, have a seat. Or stand, if you prefer. I’ve found that Security officers tend not to sit unless they have to.” A faint smile touched her mouth—not unkind, but measured.
Celestine folded her hands behind her back and tilted her head slightly. “So. Chief of Security. Second Officer. Tell me, Lieutenant Fox—what kind of ship do you think the Montana is? And I don’t mean her class.”
"A Ship if messed with, Will send the ship packing to the Drydock for repairs" Fox stated plainly.
Celestine studied her for a beat longer than strictly necessary, the way a physician measured more than just the words being said. Then one corner of her mouth curved, slow and thoughtful.
“That,” she said, “is a very good answer.” She stepped around the desk and leaned back against its edge, arms folding loosely. “You see the Montana as something that holds the line. A ship that survives by making anyone who threatens her regret the attempt. The Montana is a ship that fights. But she survives on trust—between departments, between officers, and especially between Security and Medical. You keep them alive out there. I keep them alive in here.”
A faint, wry smile returned. “Which means you and I are going to talk a lot.” She tilted her head. “So. What brings the Chief of Security to Sickbay today? A courtesy call… or something more interesting?”
"More or so an introduction and a Invitation to join me for drinks later, I would rather know our crew," Fox stated.
Celestine’s brows lifted just slightly—not in surprise, but in appraisal. “An invitation,” she repeated, tasting the word as if deciding whether it carried protocol, strategy, or something more human. Likely all three.
She straightened from the desk and moved back toward her chair, though she didn’t sit. Instead, she rested her hands lightly against the back of it.
“I approve of officers who make an effort to know the crew beyond their service jackets,” she said. “It makes for better crisis decisions.” A small pause. “And fewer casualties.”
Her gaze softened just a fraction. “As for drinks… I assume this is a morale-building exercise, Lieutenant? Or are you conducting an informal psychological evaluation of your new Chief Medical Officer?”
There was a faint glint of dry humor in her eyes now. “You should know,” Celestine continued evenly, “that I don’t drink to excess, I don’t gossip, and I reserve the right to medically disqualify anyone who attempts to arm-wrestle me after synthehol.”
“But,” she added, allowing the warmth to surface properly this time, “I accept. On one condition.” She stepped closer, lowering her voice just slightly—not secretive, but intentional. “You agree that if I tell you one of your officers is running themselves toward a breakdown, you’ll take it seriously. I don’t need details shared. I need cooperation.”
Her expression held steady—professional, resolute. “Do we have an understanding, Lieutenant Fox?”
Fox didn’t answer right away, but the small nod she gave was enough.
Celestine accepted it with a slight inclination of her head. “Good.” She picked up her padd again, the conversation settling into a comfortable close. “And thank you for the invitation, Lieutenant. I’ll see you at twenty-hundred.” A faint, professional smile touched her expression. “Until then—try not to send anyone to me prematurely.” It was just dry enough to pass for humor.
Fox lingered a moment in the doorway before stepping back into the corridor. The doors slid shut, and Sickbay returned to its quiet hum. Celestine glanced once more at the crew roster on her padd, then she resumed her work.
:OFF:
Dr Celestine Eisenhorn
Chief Medical Officer
USS Montana
&
Lieutenant Aubrie Fox
Chief Security Officer / Second Officer
USS Montana
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