Helmsman Onboard
Posted on Sunday January 25, 2026 @ 1:23am by Petty Officer, 1st Class Calahan James
983 words; about a 5 minute read
Mission:
Episode 1: Planetary Exploration
Location: USS Eventide
The young blonde man walked onto the ship from the gangway. He wore an enlisted uniform, with a gold band. This was his first posting where he would be a helmsman. Before this he had piloted shuttles on a colony. Though, in his head, an Oberth wasn't much bigger than a shuttle. It's warp systems were more powerful, so that was a bonus.
Petty Officer, 1st Class Calahan James was an exceptional pilot. Not the best of his class, but he could pilot almost any ship in the simulators. The enlisted uniform fit snuggly to his muscular frame as he made his way down the corridors.
He moved around the ship. The small, cramped ship was different than the colony, but he liked the idea of getting a chance to pilot an actual starship. He looked at the PADD that he was issued on the station. Deck 3 is where his quarters were. He would share a bunk with one other enlisted crew. The ship had communal showers, which was fine, he was used to that from the academy.
He made his way and saw the number on the door followed by his name. The other name listed was Trinkin, Hunter. He wasn't familiar with that name, but they would get very familiar soon. He walked in, the doors wooshed open. There were two single beds, one on each side of the room, each with a small closet for personal items at the foot inside the wall. There was one small desk in the corner. He looks in both closets, apparently Hunter hasn't come onboard yet, so he picked the bed he wanted and put his stuff away.
Once his duffel was stowed and his uniform jacket hung neatly in the closet, Calahan sat on the edge of the bunk for a moment. The mattress was firmer than the academy bunks, but not uncomfortable. Practical. Everything about the room felt that way—efficient, no wasted space, nothing flashy. He could live with that.
He tapped the PADD again, skimming the ship’s layout. He had a little time before he was expected to report in, and there was one place he always checked out first on any new assignment.
The gym.
Deck 2 was only a short walk away. The passageways grew slightly wider near the ship’s common areas, and the lighting softened from stark white to a warmer hue. When the doors to the fitness compartment slid open, Calahan’s lips curved into a faint, approving smile.
It wasn’t large—nothing on an Oberth ever was—but it was well equipped. Free weights lined one wall, neatly racked and secured for zero- or low-gravity use. A pair of multipurpose resistance machines sat opposite them, their interfaces glowing faintly. Along the far bulkhead were cardio units: treadmills with mag-clamps, rowing simulators, and a compact grav-bike. The deck plating here was reinforced, designed to take punishment.
A couple of crew members were already there. One—an engineer by the look of the yellow piping on his uniform—was mid-set with free weights, sweat darkening his collar. Another crewman stretched near the wall, earbuds in, lost in his own world. No one paid Calahan much attention, which suited him just fine.
He walked the length of the room, taking it in. It would do. More than do, actually. Training had always been a constant in his life—part discipline, part grounding ritual. On the colony, strength mattered. Things broke. People fixed them. Shuttles didn’t load themselves.
Satisfied, he stepped back into the corridor and followed the signage toward the locker room.
The locker area was stark and functional. Rows of narrow lockers lined the bulkheads, each labeled with names or service numbers. Benches ran down the center, bolted securely to the deck. The air carried the sharp scent of disinfectant layered over sweat and soap. It reminded him immediately of the academy—long days, shared spaces, no privacy, no nonsense.
Calahan keyed open an empty locker and stowed his PADD and jacket. He stripped down without hesitation, unconcerned with who might be watching. Years in communal barracks had burned away any modesty. This was Starfleet. Everyone here understood that.
The showers were through a wide, open doorway—no stalls, no partitions, just a row of exposed showerheads along the bulkhead. Steam hung lightly in the air, and water pattered steadily against the deck as several crew members washed off after workouts or long shifts.
Calahan stepped into an open space and activated the control. Warm water cascaded down over him, and he let out a slow breath as it soaked into his shoulders and back. There was something oddly grounding about the openness of it—no barriers, no separation. Just crew, routine, and the shared understanding that this was part of shipboard life.
He scrubbed the day away methodically, muscles loosening as the tension drained from him. Voices echoed faintly through the room—idle conversation, a brief laugh, the hiss of water shutting off and starting again. No one paid him more than a passing glance. He was just another crewman now, fitting into the rhythm of the ship.
When he finished, Calahan shut off the water and toweled off, pulling on clean shorts and an undershirt. He caught his reflection in the polished metal of a locker door—hair damp, skin flushed, body relaxed. He looked settled. Ready.
Back in the locker room, he dressed fully and secured his things. In a few hours, he’d meet his bunkmate. In a few days, he’d know the ship’s quirks and routines. In time, this aging little Oberth would stop feeling small and start feeling like home.
Calahan slung his towel into the recycler and stepped back into the corridor, the ever-present hum of the ship surrounding him.
Whatever lay ahead among the stars, he was exactly where he was meant to be.
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