The Applause
Posted on 13 Apr 2026 @ 10:35am by Lieutenant Commander Elias Harlan & Lieutenant Jorik
1,601 words; about a 8 minute read
Mission:
Arawyn’s Itchy Trigger Finger
Location: Sickbay / Main Engineering
The ship was at warp. Elias didn’t need to open his eyes to know it. The familiar vibration hummed through the biobed and into his bones — soft, steady, comforting. If the ship was moving at warp, then things had stabilized. They had survived.
He was still in recovery, sharing the ward with a handful of others whose injuries had been extensive. Lieutenant Nathan Caldwell occupied a bed a few rows away, silent and withdrawn. The young engineer rarely spoke unless directly addressed. Most of the time Elias caught him staring blankly at the wall, his left arm encased from mid-bicep to fingertips in a bio-regeneration unit. The field kept the limb sterile while it painstakingly rebuilt muscle, skin, and nerve tissue.
Rumors said Nathan had nearly lost the arm entirely. Only Jorik’s swift intervention had saved it. Elias recognized the hollow look in the lieutenant’s eyes — the kind that usually required a counselor before returning to duty. He made a mental note to mention it to Jorik.
A familiar presence approached. Elias kept his eyes closed a moment longer, savoring the quiet certainty of it.
“You are not asleep,” Jorik observed, voice calm and precise.
Elias opened his eyes and offered a tired half-smile. “No. Haven’t been for a while.”
Jorik stood at the bedside, studying the monitor readings with clinical focus. “Your recovery is progressing. How do you feel?”
“Like I want to be someplace else other than this bed.”
Jorik did not reply immediately. He knew the request behind the words. After a measured pause, he said, “You are still very weak.”
“But no longer under the regeneration field,” Elias countered.
That gave Jorik pause. The lattice flexed faintly — the reinforced node pulsing with quiet insistence. Part of him wanted Elias to remain here, where he could monitor him under the guise of medical necessity. Another part — newer, less disciplined — simply wanted him safe after coming so close to losing him.
Jorik frowned slightly at his own thoughts. Such wants were not strictly logical. Yet the emotion did not disrupt the lattice; it strengthened it.
“You wish to be released to your quarters,” Jorik stated, confirming rather than asking.
“I’m not asking to run laps or crawl through Jefferies tubes,” Elias said, a touch of dry humor in his weary voice. “I’m still weak and feeling every bit of it. But I need to move. I need to feel useful again.”
Jorik considered this, then gave a single, deliberate nod. “If I release you to your quarters, it is not a return to duty. You will complete the remaining days of mandated rest. Movement will aid muscle memory and circulation, but only within reason.”
“I understand.”
“Very well.” Jorik stepped back. “If you can stand without dizziness, I will allow it.”
It took longer than Elias expected. His body protested — muscles sluggish and uncooperative after days of enforced stillness. Sitting up cleared his head slightly; gravity helped circulation. Standing, however, made the room tilt for a moment.
Jorik was prepared. He administered two quick hyposprays — a mild stimulant and an anti-vertigo compound — then watched closely as Elias took several slow, careful steps. The Vulcan’s lips thinned when Elias refused assistance, but he did not argue. Pride and stubbornness were constants in Elias’s recovery; fighting them rarely helped.
“Very well,” Jorik conceded. “But you will use this until further notice.” He retrieved an elegant, lightweight cane and handed it over. “The area of your brain that sustained the most trauma governs motor coordination. Until it fully recovers, this is required.”
Elias took the cane with a faint, rueful grin. “That’s about as low-tech as you can get.”
“And still the most appropriate tool for your current condition,” Jorik replied coolly, though the faintest twitch at the corner of his mouth betrayed amusement.
Elias didn’t fight the small victory. He was tired, and the walk to his quarters would take everything he had. He accepted the cane, the loose blue recovery garments, the matching slippers, and the robe Jorik draped over his shoulders.
Before they left, Jorik returned Elias’s combadge — slightly scorched but fully functional — and fastened it to the robe. They walked together as far as the reception area, Elias’s steps growing steadier with each one, the cane tapping softly in rhythm with his right side.
At the threshold, Jorik spoke again, voice quiet but firm.
“Elias, if you require anything, contact me or anyone in sickbay immediately. A headache, dizziness, or any neurological symptom must be reported without delay. The remainder of your dietary restrictions and instructions for the next forty-eight hours have been sent to your quarters console.”
Elias nodded, throat tightening slightly. “I understand, Jorik. And… thank you. Really. I wouldn’t be here if it wasn’t for you.”
Jorik wanted to respond, but the words caught. The reinforced node in his lattice pulsed warmly, sending a wave of calm through him. Instead of speaking, he allowed the faintest hint of a smile — barely there, but real — and gave a small nod.
“I will check on you later,” he said simply.
Elias stepped out of sickbay on his own two feet (with the assistance of the cane), tired but determined. Each step still felt heavy, like concrete blocks attached to his legs, but he was moving. He was free.
He reached the turbolift, leaned on the cane, and spoke clearly.
“Deck Five, section six.”
The computer acknowledged. Then, just before the doors closed, Elias added: “Cancel. Deck 16. Main Engineering.”
The turbolift hummed as it swept through the saucer section, then connected to a vertical shaft and began its downward journey. Elias leaned on the cane, catching his reflection in the polished wall panel. He looked ridiculous — disheveled, bathrobe and slippers, leaning on an elegant cane like some retired admiral who’d wandered off course. But he was still Lieutenant Commander Elias Harlan, Chief Engineer of the USS Arawyn.
The doors opened onto the main archway leading into engineering. The heavy blast door that had sealed during the emergency had long since retracted. The compartment was brightly lit, almost normal, as if nothing had happened.
Almost.
The faint, acrid scent of burned insulation and scorched duranium still lingered in the air, stubbornly resisting the environmental scrubbers. Elias took a few careful steps inside, cane tapping softly against the deck.
The massive hole in the wall beside the port plasma transfer conduit remained — a jagged wound that would require a starbase to fully repair. The Arawyn was already en route. But the rest of the damage had been addressed with impressive efficiency. The junction that had exploded near Nathan Caldwell’s station was patched and operational, only faint scorching left on the bulkhead. No consoles were burned out. Debris had been cleared. The warp core glowed steady and blue behind its containment field.
“Commander on deck!”
The announcement rang out crisp and clear. Every head in the compartment turned toward him.
Elias took another slow step forward, cane steady in his right hand. The looks on their faces were nothing like his first day aboard. There was no fear, no surprise, no wariness of the new chief.
Only absolute relief.
They didn’t care that he was in a bathrobe and slippers. They didn’t care about the cane. They cared that he was alive — standing on his own two feet in their space once more.
“I’m not cleared for duty yet,” Elias began, his voice faltering for just a moment. He cleared his throat and continued, “but I just had to… I just had to see.”
He looked around the compartment slowly. Some faces were still missing — still recovering in sickbay. Two faces he knew he would never see again.
“All of you have done one hell of a job,” he said, voice gaining strength. “The ship is still in one piece, and we have everyone in this room — and those who aren’t here — to thank for that. You performed above my wildest expectations in the short time I’ve worked with you. Every single one of you will be commended.”
He let the words settle, taking another quiet moment of silence as he scanned the room.
“It’ll be a few days before you see me again, and even then I’ll be on light duty. The only order I have for you right now is to keep repairing what you can. Make the starbase crew’s job as easy as possible when we arrive. They’ll be doing the heavy lifting while all of you finally get the break you’ve earned.”
Elias paused again, leaning a little heavier on the cane.
“Any questions?”
The response came in perfect unison, reverberating through the compartment: “No, sir!”
“Then carry on,” he said with a small nod. “As you were.”
“Commander!”
The call came from the upper level. Elias turned. One of the senior chief petty officers was smiling down at him. The man started clapping. Within seconds the entire compartment joined in — a steady, heartfelt applause that rolled across the deck.
Elias felt his throat tighten. They weren’t clapping for the uniform or the rank.
They were clapping for him — for surviving, for showing up even like this.
“Thank you,” he said quietly, looking around the room one last time. “Truly.”
He thanked them again as he turned back toward the turbolift. The applause continued, warm and loud, long after the doors slid shut behind him.
--
Lieutenant Elias Harlan
Chief Engineering Officer
USS Arawyn
&
Lieutenant Jorik
Medical Officer
USS Arawyn
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