The door opened with a familiar hiss, revealing behind it the utterly unfamiliar space that had been
assigned to become Nichelle’s home. The lights came on , and the greeting extended by the unknown
domain was as standard as the greeting she had received from her Executive Officer and the medical staff who had taken care of her intake. It had her wonder what it would be to work with them, but Nichelle didn’t blame them for their distanced demeanour. Perhaps they had heard of how she had failed her crew during her last mission. Perhaps they simply didn’t like new people.

No, she didn’t blame them. Instead, it was an odd sense of comfort to have things go precisely as she
had mentally prepared herself for. A sense of ‘I told you so’ that bordered on undeserved smugness.
Whatever the universe threw her way, she found it lost its power when she was at least right about it.

She stepped inside, letting the door slide shut behind her, and surveyed her surroundings. Next to the
door, a panel with various buttons and touch-screen controls allowed the occupants to adjust lighting,
temperature, and other room settings to their liking. The room itself was smaller than what she was
used to but bigger than what she had expected, its walls were kept in a muted grey colour, typical of
the utilitarian design found throughout the ship. The lights in the ceiling bathed the room in a cool
white glow, creating an atmosphere of functionality rather than luxury.

The room was dominated by a moderately comfortable looking sofa with an armchair in the same
design and a table in front of it. A bed was set against one wall, and there was a compact desk unit
with a personal console bolted to the other one. Nichelle strode over to the console and keyed in the
access code she had been given. The screen came to life, revealing the federation’s logo.

“Computer, compose a message to Lieutenant Ricarda Keller, USS Cupertino,
NCC-87079.”

She waited for the affirmative beep, then turned and returned to the centre of the room. Her crates
with personal items had been deposited here, and now was as good a time as ever to unpack them.
She knelt down and opened the first one. It contained a few PADDs and a case with isolinear chips
that held the custom replicator patterns that-…

Nope, not thinking about that.

She paused, remembering that she was supposedly in the process of composing a message, and
cleared her throat. “I know we are not talking any more and that … sucks. I am writing to you anyway
because you are the only person I really want to talk to. So I just hope this reaches you. Somehow.”

She got up, trying to ignore her knees cracking as she did so. Getting old, she thought, which, all things considered, was an amusing thought. She almost smiled at it. She carefully carried the PADDs and their
accompanying datarods and isolinear chips towards one of the shelves by the desk, putting them on
display there.

“I stayed in Starfleet. I know after what happened you think I don’t belong here. Jonathan probably feels the same, pretty sure he hates me. ”, she let out a small sigh “And I don’t blame him. Getting assigned here was a coincidence, and I almost refused. But… maybe this isn’t so bad. Maybe this can be good. And I am working on myself. So… I don’t know if you’ll ever forgive me, but please know that I am trying to be
better.”

The second crate contained civilian clothing in the somewhat whimsical style Nichelle enjoyed when
she was off-duty. It was traditionally Bajoran, and Ricarda had loved to tease her about it.

“Oh, I forgot to tell you where I got assigned. To the Callisto. Got a position as medical Officer, but no Chief position.“

It was an odd change of pace for Nichelle. She had been career focussed as long as she could remember, but given recent events, she wouldn’t be willing to take a leadership position again.

She paused and once the clothes were put away, sat down at the sofa. Only one crate left. She
liked to travel light, but there were some things she didn’t have the heart to leave in storage.

“The Commanding Officer seems nice too. Captain Ceix. Trill. Got nothing on Jurev, of
course, but he’ll do.”, she leaned forward and placed her hand on that third crate, the metal cool
underneath her fingertips.
The case clicked open and Nichelle closed her eyes, inhaling the familiar scent that first brought a
smile to her lips, and then tears to her eyes. Her hand reached for a silver scarf made of thesarian
wool, with a dark blotch where coffee had been spilled on it, and a hint of lipstick that had stubbornly
settled into the fabric.

“ I just miss you so much… And I am so sorry for disappointing you.”

She paused.

“Send message. “

And for a moment, Nichelle closed her eyes. She imagined the message making its way through time
and space, eventually finding its recipient. She imagined it opened and read, and eventually replied
to.

That, of course, was a nice thing to imagine until the computer said: “Unable to send message.
Lieutenant Ricarda Keller, is not an active member of Starfleet.”

Nichelle swallowed the lump in her throat. “Yeah. I know. Delete the message.”

Upon hearing the affirmative beep, Nichelle returned the scarf, closed the crate with Ricarda’s
belongings and stowed it away underneath the bed. Just like she had the memories of her best friend stowed away safely in her heart.