The Non-Admiral Tour
Posted on Tue Feb 10th, 2026 @ 6:26pm by Lieutenant Celestine Eisenhorn
539 words; about a 3 minute read
Mission:
Children of the Stars
Location: USS Montana - Sickbay
Timeline: Present
:ON:
Dr. Celestine Eisenhorn had woken up early and had decided to start her first shift early. She paused just inside the archway of the entrance to sickbay, hands clasped behind her back, taking it in.
The Montana’s Sickbay wasn’t large. Miranda-class ships never wasted space. But it was efficient. Clean. Thoughtful. Biobeds arranged in two neat rows, diagnostic alcoves set into the bulkheads, surgical suite off to one side behind a frosted partition. No patients yet—just the steady rhythm of a ship ready for them.
“Not bad,” she murmured to herself.
“Doctor Eisenhorn?”
Celestine turned. A young Andorian nurse stood near the central station, antennae angled politely forward. Beside him, a human woman with dark hair pulled into a tight bun held a padd against her chest.
“Yes,” Celestine said smoothly. “And you must be my welcoming committee.”
The Andorian straightened. “Nurse Tal, ma’am. And this is Lieutenant JG Mara Vesh, senior nurse.”
Celestine’s eyes warmed at the word senior. Good. There was structure here.
“Dr. Celestine Eisenhorn,” she said. “Chief Medical Officer. I’m very glad to meet you both.”
She stepped further into Sickbay, boots quiet on the deck plates, already cataloguing what she saw: the layout, the lighting levels, the way the staff held themselves. Alert. Professional. Curious.
“I’d like a tour,” she said. “But not the kind you give to visiting admirals. I want the real one. Where things break. Where they’re improvised. Where you wish Starfleet Medical had spent ten more credits.”
Vesh’s mouth twitched despite herself. “In that case, Doctor… follow me.” They moved through the ward. Vesh pointed out the biobeds, the surgical suite, the triage station. Tal chimed in with quiet efficiency, noting where supplies were stored, which equipment had a tendency to lag after power fluctuations, which cabinets never quite stayed latched during turbulence.
Celestine listened. Truly listened. At the pharmacy alcove, she stopped and ran a finger along the edge of a drawer. “You keep your analgesics here instead of by triage.”
“Yes, ma’am,” Tal said. “We found it reduced response time during drills. People don’t cluster.”
“Smart,” Celestine said. “And subtle. I like both.”
They reached her office—small, but with a clear view of the ward through a transparent panel. Celestine stepped inside, set her padd on the desk, and turned back to them.
“This is good,” she said simply. “You’ve kept this place alive.”
Vesh blinked. “Alive?”
“Sickbay isn’t just where people get patched up,” Celestine replied. “It’s where they come when they’re afraid. Or tired. Or pretending they’re fine. If this room feels cold, they won’t tell you the truth. If it feels steady… they will.” She met both their eyes. “And I expect the truth.”
Tal’s antennae tilted with quiet approval.
“Computer,” Celestine said, “dim office lights to thirty percent.”
The glow softened. The room felt less like a command post. More like somewhere people could breathe.
She turned back to her staff.
“All right,” she said. “Let’s see what kind of crew the Montana has trusted to my care. Keep doing a great job.”
:OFF:
Dr Celestine Eisenhorn (Lt.)
Chief Medical Officer
USS Montana
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