09-20-2025, 12:06 PM
They ate in companionable silence for a few minutes, the clatter of trays and low murmur of other cadets filling the background. Riley twirled a forkful of pasta, leaning back in her chair as she chewed thoughtfully. The cake sat half-finished at the edge of her tray, an unspoken temptation she knew she’d give in to sooner or later.
Her gaze drifted past the window, out toward the dusky sky. The faint glow of San Francisco’s skyline bled into the horizon, the Golden Gate Bridge silhouetted in the distance. It tugged at something that had been sitting in the back of her mind for weeks now. Graduation’s coming. Real ships, real assignments. No more safety net. She let the thought settle, heavier than she liked to admit.
“You ever think about where we’ll end up?” she asked finally, stabbing her fork into another bite. “Could be anywhere. Border patrol, deep-space exploration, security on some science ship. Part of me’s excited… and part of me’s wondering if I’m ready.”
T’Varen set down her utensil with care before replying. “Statistically, cadets are assigned based on both performance and need. To speculate beyond that serves little purpose.”
Riley smirked faintly. “Yeah, but don’t you ever wonder? What kind of crew you’ll get stuck with? What sort of captain you’ll be reporting to?” She shook her head and nudged the cake with her fork. “Feels like everything we’ve done here has been the warm-up. The real thing’s just around the corner.”
And what if I screw it up? What if I’m not good enough out there? The thought slipped in, quiet and unwelcome, lingering longer than she liked. She reached for her water, swallowing down more than just thirst. Out loud, she added with a grin, “Whatever happens, I’m betting I’ll end up with more bruises than you. That’s a safe statistic.”
T’Varen regarded her evenly. “Your concern is unfounded. You have demonstrated both competence and adaptability. Regardless of where you are assigned, you will serve effectively. Bruises are not indicative of failure — merely exertion.”
Riley blinked, then let out a short laugh. “That’s probably the closest thing to a pep talk I’ll ever get out of you.” She twirled her pasta again, chewing before she added, “For the record, though… if I had the choice? I’d want to end up on something mid-sized. Not so big I disappear into the crowd, not so small it feels like a shuttle crew. The kind of ship where Security actually matters.”
She shrugged, finally pulling the cake closer and carving off another bite. “Guess we’ll see if the brass agrees with me.”
For a moment she let the silence hang, then tilted her head toward T’Varen. “So what about you? Don’t give me the ‘statistical’ answer again. Where would you want to be?”
T’Varen calmly continued eating, unbothered by the question.
Riley narrowed her eyes, leaning forward slightly. “Come on. You’ve thought about it. Everyone has. Even you.”
“It is irrelevant,” T’Varen said at last, tone flat.
“That’s not an answer,” Riley countered, jabbing her fork lightly in T’Varen’s direction. “Humor me.”
There was a pause — long enough that Riley thought she’d lost the argument — before T’Varen finally inclined her head. “If pressed, I would consider an exploratory assignment preferable. The pursuit of knowledge aligns with both my discipline and my interests.”
Riley leaned back in her chair with a victorious grin. “Knew it. Took some digging, but I got it out of you.” She scooped up the last bite of cake and added, “Guess that makes us a good team already — I drag answers out of you, you keep me from doing something reckless.”
For a while they ate quietly again, the easy rhythm between them settling back in. Riley set her fork down, resting her elbows on the table as she studied her friend. “You know… when we graduate, there’s a good chance we won’t end up on the same ship.”
T’Varen gave a slight nod. “That is likely.”
Riley tilted her head, a faint smirk tugging at her lips. “So… would you miss me?”
T’Varen’s eyes lifted to meet hers, unreadable as always. She took a measured sip of water before answering. “Vulcans do not experience ‘missing’ in the emotional sense. However—” her brow lifted ever so slightly, “—I would acknowledge the absence of your presence.”
Riley barked a short laugh, leaning back in her chair. “That’s Vulcan for yes.”
But even as she said it, her grin softened a touch. And I’d miss you too, she admitted silently, though she left the words unspoken.
Her gaze drifted past the window, out toward the dusky sky. The faint glow of San Francisco’s skyline bled into the horizon, the Golden Gate Bridge silhouetted in the distance. It tugged at something that had been sitting in the back of her mind for weeks now. Graduation’s coming. Real ships, real assignments. No more safety net. She let the thought settle, heavier than she liked to admit.
“You ever think about where we’ll end up?” she asked finally, stabbing her fork into another bite. “Could be anywhere. Border patrol, deep-space exploration, security on some science ship. Part of me’s excited… and part of me’s wondering if I’m ready.”
T’Varen set down her utensil with care before replying. “Statistically, cadets are assigned based on both performance and need. To speculate beyond that serves little purpose.”
Riley smirked faintly. “Yeah, but don’t you ever wonder? What kind of crew you’ll get stuck with? What sort of captain you’ll be reporting to?” She shook her head and nudged the cake with her fork. “Feels like everything we’ve done here has been the warm-up. The real thing’s just around the corner.”
And what if I screw it up? What if I’m not good enough out there? The thought slipped in, quiet and unwelcome, lingering longer than she liked. She reached for her water, swallowing down more than just thirst. Out loud, she added with a grin, “Whatever happens, I’m betting I’ll end up with more bruises than you. That’s a safe statistic.”
T’Varen regarded her evenly. “Your concern is unfounded. You have demonstrated both competence and adaptability. Regardless of where you are assigned, you will serve effectively. Bruises are not indicative of failure — merely exertion.”
Riley blinked, then let out a short laugh. “That’s probably the closest thing to a pep talk I’ll ever get out of you.” She twirled her pasta again, chewing before she added, “For the record, though… if I had the choice? I’d want to end up on something mid-sized. Not so big I disappear into the crowd, not so small it feels like a shuttle crew. The kind of ship where Security actually matters.”
She shrugged, finally pulling the cake closer and carving off another bite. “Guess we’ll see if the brass agrees with me.”
For a moment she let the silence hang, then tilted her head toward T’Varen. “So what about you? Don’t give me the ‘statistical’ answer again. Where would you want to be?”
T’Varen calmly continued eating, unbothered by the question.
Riley narrowed her eyes, leaning forward slightly. “Come on. You’ve thought about it. Everyone has. Even you.”
“It is irrelevant,” T’Varen said at last, tone flat.
“That’s not an answer,” Riley countered, jabbing her fork lightly in T’Varen’s direction. “Humor me.”
There was a pause — long enough that Riley thought she’d lost the argument — before T’Varen finally inclined her head. “If pressed, I would consider an exploratory assignment preferable. The pursuit of knowledge aligns with both my discipline and my interests.”
Riley leaned back in her chair with a victorious grin. “Knew it. Took some digging, but I got it out of you.” She scooped up the last bite of cake and added, “Guess that makes us a good team already — I drag answers out of you, you keep me from doing something reckless.”
For a while they ate quietly again, the easy rhythm between them settling back in. Riley set her fork down, resting her elbows on the table as she studied her friend. “You know… when we graduate, there’s a good chance we won’t end up on the same ship.”
T’Varen gave a slight nod. “That is likely.”
Riley tilted her head, a faint smirk tugging at her lips. “So… would you miss me?”
T’Varen’s eyes lifted to meet hers, unreadable as always. She took a measured sip of water before answering. “Vulcans do not experience ‘missing’ in the emotional sense. However—” her brow lifted ever so slightly, “—I would acknowledge the absence of your presence.”
Riley barked a short laugh, leaning back in her chair. “That’s Vulcan for yes.”
But even as she said it, her grin softened a touch. And I’d miss you too, she admitted silently, though she left the words unspoken.