Hover-cart of Happiness

Posted on 27 Oct 2025 @ 1:04am by Alura Ryn & Ensign Ryan Collingway

1,706 words; about a 9 minute read

// Corridor Outside Main Engineering //

The hum of the ship was different down here, deeper, steadier, like a heartbeat with purpose. Alura Ryn wasn’t often on this deck; morale work usually happened where people had the time to smile back. But she’d gotten turned around after delivering a crate of recreational padds to the lower lounge and decided that maybe the universe wanted her here instead.

Rounding the corner, she spotted him before he saw her: Ensign Ryan Collingway, walking with the single-minded focus of someone already halfway through the next task in his head. No visible physical symptoms she could see from his time in Sickbay. Just that same tight posture, like he was trying to blend into the bulkhead.

Alura hesitated for half a second, then squared her shoulders and smiled. He’s not a thunderstorm, he’s just weather.

“Ensign Collingway!” she called out, voice lilting just enough to carry over the hum of plasma relays.

He slowed, a flicker of recognition in his expression.

Alura approached, hands clasped loosely behind her back in a gesture that managed to be both casual and intentional. “You look much better upright,” she said warmly. “Sickbay lighting never does anyone any favors.”

Her eyes flicked toward the engineering doors. “Busy day? Or are you just avoiding any more unsolicited blankets?”

The tease was light, but her gaze stayed steady, searching his face for something softer than the polite walls he’d put up before.

For a moment, his eyes widened slightly in panic. Alura was a force he simply didn't understand. And like everything he didn't understand, he wanted to instantly repel it. But he kept his calmness intact. "Engineering is always busy, Miss...Alura," he said, realizing he had no idea what her last name was. "No cart today?" he asked. "No unsuspecting away teams needing your support?" He tried to keep his voice equally teasing.

“Just Alura’s fine,” she said with a grin that softened the formality in his voice. “Though technically it’s Alura Ryn, if you ever find yourself filling out morale incident reports. You know, the serious kind, ‘unauthorized deployment of extra blankets, morale breach level four.’”

Ryan kept his face neutral.

She let the joke land lightly, then added with mock solemnity, “But I do appreciate the proper address, Ensign Collingway. Very distinguished.”

Her hands folded loosely in front of her as she leaned a bit to the side, peering toward the faintly open doors of Main Engineering. “No cart today,” she admitted. “It doesn’t handle well on ramps, and I got lost somewhere between here and Deck Eight. I was supposed to be restocking the lower lounge, but the ship decided I needed an adventure instead.”

A beat passed, just long enough for the air to settle, before her tone gentled, sincerity cutting through the playful lilt.

“You know, I’ve been wondering,” she said, eyes meeting his steadily. “You’ve seen me twice now and haven’t taken so much as a cookie or a cup of tea. So tell me, Ryan—” she caught herself, blinking with a half-smile, “—sorry, Ensign Collingway, what would impress you? I can’t have a dissatisfied customer wandering the ship.”

Her expression was open, inviting him to volley the tease back, but beneath it, there was a genuine curiosity, the kind of intent gaze that suggested she wanted to understand rather than charm him.

Ryan processed everything she said, saying little. Then, his eyes narrowed a little, thinking. "Show me your cart and I'll tell you," he said.

----Deck Six----

Ryan didn't glance at the top of the cart after they found it. Rather, he immediately inspected the bottom. "Your wheels look like they're from the 1960s," he commented. "I could install microthrusters on them, helping to avoid obstacles. But it would be better to get rid of them entirely. We could install flotation disc's on the underside of the cart. It depends on if you want to push the cart or not."

He stood, and hesitated. "Effeciency impresses me, I guess. I know you're trying to be nice. It's just not something I'm comfortable with. Don't take it personally. But I can make this thing a little better for you, if you want."

Alura blinked, then laughed softly, the sound light, but not mocking.

“Microthrusters? For a morale cart?” She leaned over, peering beneath the cart as though she might actually see the 1960s wheels he mentioned. “You realize that would make me the most dangerous person on Deck Six. One wrong turn and I’d be a pastel blur of blankets, tea, and poor life choices.”

She straightened, brushing a loose curl from her face, still smiling. “Though I admit, ‘hover-cart of happiness’ has a certain ring to it. Maybe you’re onto something.”

But her gaze softened as she looked at him, really looked at him, seeing past the engineer’s guarded posture to the sincerity tucked in his offer. “You know, I believe you mean that,” she said quietly. “Most people just smile and take a cookie to be polite. You? You’re already troubleshooting my supply chain.”

She tapped a finger thoughtfully against her chin. “Efficiency impresses you, huh? That’s fair. I suppose my job looks a bit… frivolous from your end of the ship.”

"No!" Ryan said, almost too quickly. He quickly looked away. "The people in medical appreciated your support." It was hard for him to explain, so he didn't. He looked at the cart and sighed. "How about a trade? I accept your offer of tea, and fix your cart in the process."

Alura’s brow lifted, the beginnings of a grin tugging at the corners of her mouth.

“A trade, hmm? I think I can live with that.” She folded her arms, pretending to consider it like a serious contract negotiation. “You get tea, I get a cart that doesn’t threaten to throw me into the next bulkhead. Seems fair.”

Her smile softened then, losing some of its playful edge. “And thank you, for saying that. About Medical.” She paused, studying him for a heartbeat. “I don’t expect everyone to be comfortable with what I do. It’s… different. But I’m glad it helped someone.”

Then, with the light returning to her tone, she added, “So, engineer’s choice, chamomile, jasmine, or something strong enough to power a warp core?”

"Strong, please." Ryan set his scanner on the cart as it took various scans of the dimensions, material, density. All simple stuff compared to what happened over the past week. "People aren't comfortable with it because they are used to the grind of Starfleet. Being officers. They're explorers, sure, but they aren't used to something unexpected on their home turf."

Alura busied herself with the small ritual of tea-making, unscrewing a thermos from the cart’s side shelf and pouring steaming water into a cup. The scent of something bold and spicy filled the air.

“Risan black tea,” she explained lightly, reaching for a small tin with bright lettering. “Locals call it ‘Sunrise on Too Little Sleep.’”

She glanced up as she stirred, a hint of amusement in her eyes. “They aren’t,” she said softly, handing him the cup, “or you aren’t?”

Ryan was about to reply, when he felt his lungs tightened from the steam of the tea. He coughed, a moment of panic of gripping him. He knew it was just lingering from the planet. But he could still feel the ghosts of the past. Of fingers wrapping around his throat. Of his friend and superior officer trying to squeeze the life out of him, while the Borg surrounded them both. It was enough to snap him back into reality, and the walls went back around him with the intensity of a red alert. He quickly regained his neutral expression. "Thanks for the coffee," he said. "I'll send you over the schematics for approval once I have them."

Alura saw it, the sudden tightening in his chest, before he masked it with that calm, practiced composure. It wasn’t the tea. She knew that much.

When he spoke, the word coffee landed wrong, like a hurried exit cue. He was already trying to pull away.

“Ryan,” she said gently, the name instinctive, soft enough not to echo. “Are you okay?”

She didn’t step closer, just angled herself subtly between him and the corridor, her tone careful but sincere. “You don’t have to tell me what that was,” she added, her eyes searching his face, “but maybe just… don’t walk it off alone.”

Then, quieter, a touch of wry humor threading through to ease the tension, a slight smirk at the corners of her mouth, “And for the record, it’s tea. Really strong tea.”

Ryan felt trapped, like a cornered animal. Saying coffee instead of tea was a mistake, and he couldn't afford to make them. He didn't know what to do. Fortunately a beep from his data padd distracted him. Engineering, with another report about the soil samples on the planet. But it gave him an excuse for a graceful exit. "This is important," he lied. "Excuse me."

He quickly left, trying to ignore what she said, or what he was feeling. The tea had been quickly left behind on the cart.

For a moment, Alura just watched him go, the brisk stride, the pretense of urgency that didn’t quite match the panic she’d seen in his eyes. The echo of his footsteps faded into the corridor’s low hum, leaving behind only the faint scent of the tea he’d abandoned.

She glanced down at the untouched cup on her cart, the steam already thinning into nothing.

“Important,” she murmured softly, the word edged with both understanding and sadness.

With a small sigh, she picked up the cup and set it aside to cool, then rested her palms on the edge of the cart. “One step at a time, Alura,” she told herself quietly, before wheeling the cart back toward the turbolift, its old wheels squeaking in stubborn protest, like even they refused to give up.

Alura Ryn
MWR Officer

Ensign Ryan Collingway
Engineering Officer

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