Saffiya’s feet hurt, and she had to pee – again.

Also, the stout aroma of Valdes’ coffee filled her with a nostalgic longing the one moment, and with nausea the next. If she got up now, she would either knock the mug out of her hands to drink it, or throw it against the wall – and Saffiya wasn’t going to risk finding out which.

It wasn’t like she didn’t have the power to tell Valdes to put them damn mug away. She was the Captain, after all, and in her current conditions, those requests were understandable, even if not reasonable.
But Valdes clung to the thing like a toddler to a stuffed animal, and Saffiya decided to let her have her emotional support-mug.

Instead, she sighed and leaned back in her chair, stretching her legs out underneath the table. Not exactly a dignified position for a Captain, but Valdes barely looked at her anyway. Saffiya decided she might as well be comfortable while being uncomfortable.

“I understand that this is quite a change for you.” Saffiya said. And that wasn’t a sympathy thing – she meant it. After all, she had commanded a Sovereign-class until a few months ago, and the transition to the Olympic had been challenging for.

Then again, she had left the Valkyrie voluntarily.

And she was still Commanding Officer.
Okay, perhaps she didn’t understand.

“It is.” Valdes muttered, staring into the slowly cooling black liquid.

If Saffiya had expected Valdes to focus on the positive, she had be overly optimistic by a considerable margin.

She had been Captain for long enough to know when someone had stopped trying to swim, and made peace with sinking. She searched her brain for a lifeline to throw. For something she could say to make things better.

It’s a learning opportunity? Ugh, no.

See this as a chance? Double no.

The only thing she could come up with was a heartfelt ‘this sucks’ – but she was still the Captain, and Captains didn’t get to say that, no matter how true it was.

In the end, she said nothing.

Valdes, too, said nothing, which resulted in the two women giving each other the silent treatment for a good few minutes.

“The Olympic has three distinct departments.” Saffiya said eventually. Best to get on with it.  “And we value interdisciplinary cooperation. There is, of course, the Starfleet crew. It’s the structure you are most familiar with, but the crew is a bit… smaller.”

A lot smaller. The Valkyrie had boasted a crew of over seven hundred, even when they were understaffed. crew on board. The Sirona had roughly the same number.
Both were big deals – prestigious ships officers worked years to attain a posting.
The Olympic was the opposite. A crew just shy of a hundred and fifty, and none of them had a claim to fame, academic or otherwise.

Well, aside Valdes. But being nicknamed ‘the Butcher if Risa’ wasn’t exactly a good thing.

“And then, there are the conferences.  We also provide lab space for interspecies teams who cannot meet on anyone’s homeworld for political reasons. Most of these are independent researchers.” Saffiya continued.

At that, Valdes finally met her gaze.

“Such as?”

It was yet another two-word sentence, but at least it was something Saffiya could work with.

“For example a collaboration between the Esirans and Atriari, in search of a strategy to reduce the incidence of an illness that is currently spreading on both homeworlds.”

Saffiya was aware that Valdes had likely neither heard of either species – neither had she – but this was what the Olympic did. Take care of the small stuff.

“I see.”

Saffiya drew in a sharp breath – and Valdes’ seemed to understand that a few more words might be a much needed change of pace.

“That is… interesting. I am curious to see what that looks like in practice.” she said, her tone indicating that she had never found anything less interesting in her life.

“We have a dedicated planning team for that.” Saffiya continued. And because Valdes had lowered her gaze again, she added.
“And then, the smallest group: The Olympic Medical Journal editorial board.” A pause “Have you heard of it before?”

Confronted with an actual question, Valdes looked up again and gave a half-hearted nod.

“I… heard about the incident. I thought the Journal was retired.”

The journal’s troubling past was the thing Saffiya, too, struggled most with.
That study should never have been published, and the harm it did should certainly have shut it down for good.

But that decision was above her paygrade.

Saffiya shrugged. “The journal has undergone extensive remodelling, both structurally and in terms of personnel. It’s under… new management.”

“I see.” Valdes replied.

Now that they were back to two-word answers, Saffiya shifted again. This conversation was going nowhere, she really had to pee, and now she was also hungry. Time to wrap this up.

But just when Saffiya rose from her chair as gracefully as possible – which wasn’t very graceful at all –  Valdes decided that this was the time to ask questions. Great, but also great.

“May I ask…” she said carefully. “Why did you leave the Valkyrie?”

Saffiya glanced down on herself. It was quite obvious, wasn’t it?

She wasn’t due for another three months, but already looked like the human equivalent of the visually offensive ship she now called home.

“Staying would have been… unfair.” Saffiya said slowly. “Towards the crew that needs to be able to count on me in difficult situations. And towards myself for no longer meeting my own standards.”
It had been the right decision. That, however, didn’t mean it came easy.

“And… well, he deserves to be as safe as possible.”

He. Saffiya didn’t have an actual name yet, and she usually named him depending on what the doctor said about his size. Pea, Cherry, Walnut – at some point she had called him Gagh, but no one had found that funny.

Valdes nodded slowly, her gaze avoiding Saffiya’s.
 “I… understand that.”

For a short moment, there seemed to be some sort of connection.  Which prompted Saffiya’s next question.

“That reminds me – is your daughter accompanying you here?”

It was impossible to read what was going on in Valdes’ mind, but it didn’t seem to be anything pleasant.

“No. Linna… is not coming.” she said sharply.

“Your quarters have been prepared for you.” she said, then remembered something. “We did not receive information on whether your daughter will be coming with you.”

“No. Linna… will not come.”

Saffiya nodded solemnly. As her mother’s daughter, she couldn’t blame the girl for wanting her own freedom, and for not wanting to be known as the daughter of a woman who had ordered the destruction of a passenger liner.
But someone who’d soon be a parent herself, it didn’t sit right with her.

She wanted to say something. She had already opened her mouth to do so, but closed it again.

But this wasn’t her fight. And it certainly wasn’t her story to ask about.