The Things We Miss

Posted on Sun Aug 16th, 2026 @ 8:47pm by Ensign Emilynn Dove

4,718 words; about a 24 minute read

Mission: Flashbacks and Side Quests
Location: USS Firebird
Timeline: 2397

[ON]

The soft chime of an incoming subspace communication being routed to her desk console interrupted Emilynn, who was sitting on her bed trying to complete a report on the PADD in her hand.

She glanced at the chronometer.

0017

Her heartbeat quickened for only a second, thinking something must surely be wrong for someone to call at this hour, but then she saw the name.

Harlan Kheter.

A warm smile crossed her face without her even realizing it. She sat at the desk and accepted the call. Kheter appeared on the screen, his face still holding the sour expression she was all too familiar with.

“Why are you awake?” he asked gruffly.

Emilynn blinked. “Hello to you too.”

“It’s seventeen minutes past midnight.”

“I know what time it is.”

“Then why aren’t you asleep?”

She glanced down at the PADD. “I was just finishing something.”

Kheter narrowed his eyes. “Your shift was over eight hours ago.”

“How do you know I’m not on Beta shift?” She snickered, thinking she might have pulled one over on him.

“The same way I knew you’d be awake right now. So what are you doing up?”

She gave him a subtle eye roll. “I’m finishing a report, if you must know.”

“What report?”

“Nothing important.”

“Then why are you working on it at midnight?”

Emilynn sighed. “Because it was there.”

“That isn’t an answer.”

“Well, it’s the answer you’re getting.”

Kheter leaned back in his chair. “You’re doing it again.”

Emilynn’s expression changed. She sighed softly. “Doing what?”

“You’re trying to prove yourself again.”

She opened her mouth, then stopped.

Kheter shook his head. “You’ve been an Ensign for what, all of five minutes? And you’ve already found your way back into your old habits.”

“I haven’t,” she protested.

“You’re sitting awake at seventeen minutes past midnight doing a report that could wait until morning. Heck, it could probably wait till next week. Or never, for that matter!”

“It was on my desk.” She protested.

“So?”

“So I wanted to fini…”

“No.” Kheter raised his palm toward the screen, cutting her off, then leveled a pointed finger at her. “You wanted to feel like you were doing enough.”

Emilynn looked away, tucking her lips between her teeth as she took a steadying breath in through her nose and out.

Kheter’s voice softened, though his expression didn’t. “That’s your comfortable place, kid.”

She was quiet.

“Work hard. Do everything right. Don’t disappoint anybody. Make your family proud.”

He paused.

“It’s a very easy place to hide.”

Emilynn finally looked back at him. “And what if I like being there?”

Kheter gave her a tired smile. “Then I wouldn’t have called.”

That caught her off guard.

In the time she’d known Kheter, he’d become someone she trusted. Someone who seemed to know when she needed a push, when she needed to be left alone, and, occasionally, when she needed to be told to stop being an idiot.

She’d only been on his rotation for six weeks, but even after it ended, she kept finding reasons to stop by. Sometimes three times a week, sometimes just to say hello. There was always something to ask, some problem she wanted his opinion on, some excuse to talk.

Then she’d left for her assignment. It had been a long time since she’d heard his voice. And now, hearing it again, she realized how much she’d missed those visits—and him.

She knew Kheter had never had kids. She knew because she had asked him once. He’d given her the same gruff look he seemed to reserve for questions he considered particularly stupid.

“Are you trying to kill me? You cadets are enough for me. Why would I want more?”

She’d rolled her eyes at him that day. Now, she felt like she understood him a little more.

He reached off-screen and came back with an old, battered toolkit.

“Besides, I found something today.”

Emilynn’s eyes immediately went to it. “Oh?”

“Yeah.” He turned it over in his hands, studying the worn edges before looking back at her. “Remember this?”

A small smile tugged at Emilynn’s mouth. “I thought I must have left it at my parents’ house when I left for this assignment. I couldn’t find it among my things when I arrived.”

“You always were forgetful.”

She laughed. “Not true.”

“Well, at least it gave me a reason to call you.”

“You never need a reason, Kheter.” The words came out with more feeling than she’d intended.

For a moment, neither of them said anything.

Kheter’s expression softened. He set the toolkit down. “Seeing it reminded me of something.”

“What’s that?”

“The first thing I ever taught you.”

Emilynn thought for a moment. “That I didn’t know everything?”

“Second thing.”

“That you were impossible?”

“Third thing.”

She smiled. “I give up.”

Kheter looked at her. “That you don’t have to know everything.”

Emilynn’s smile faded.

“And you don’t have to spend your life proving that you deserve that uniform.”

The room went quiet.

Kheter nodded toward the PADD. “Go to bed.”

“Kheter—”

“That’s an order.”

“You’re not my commanding officer.”

“No. I’m worse.” He said in his gruffest of voices.

Emilynn laughed.

Kheter smiled.

“Get some sleep, Ensign.”

The call ended.

Emilynn looked down at the PADD. For a moment, she considered picking it back up. Instead, she set it aside.

And remembered…

---

Starfleet Academy — Third Year

The toolkit was the first thing she’d hated. The assignment was the second.

Emilynn stood in the doorway of the Academy’s secondary operations maintenance bay, staring at the collection of equipment spread across the workbench. She’d grown up using tools like these and had no desire for a ‘how to’ lesson. That was probably what bothered her the most.

The toolkit sat open in front of her. Actual tools in year three. Not a tricorder, not a diagnostic console, not an isolinear processor she could analyze from three different angles while running simulations. Just tools. A hydrospanner, a pair of sonic drivers, and a handful of instruments she’d seen before but had never actually had a reason to use.

Sitting on the other side of the workbench was an older human male who appeared to have been waiting for her.

He glanced at the chronometer on the wall, then at her. “You’re early.”

Emilynn looked at the chronometer herself. “By two minutes.”

“That’s usually what early means.”

She wasn’t sure if he was joking.

He picked up his coffee and took a drink. “Harlan Kheter.”

“Cadet Emilynn Dove, sir.”

“I know. And you don’t have to call me sir. I’ve no rank.”

She silently wondered why she’d been assigned to someone who hadn’t even gone through the Academy. It only seemed to reinforce her opinion that the next six weeks were going to be a waste of her time.

He waited.

“Then Kheter?”

“That’ll do,” he said matter of factly.

He gestured toward the toolkit. “Your assignment came through yesterday. You’ll be working with me for the first six weeks of your rotation.”

“Yes, sir.”

Both of his bushy eyebrows lifted, making his entire forehead wrinkle.

“Kheter,” she corrected.

He glanced at the PADD in her hand. “Operations?”

“Yes.”

“Third year?”

“Yes,” she said again, thinking this was all information he should have already known. Which, she guessed, he did, since he was asking.

“Any maintenance experience?”

“Basic systems maintenance. I’ve completed engineering fundamentals and advanced operations systems.”

“That’s not what I asked.”

Emilynn paused. “No. Not outside the coursework.”

“Good.”

She blinked. “Good?”

“Means I don't have to spend six weeks convincing you that a diagnostic readout isn't the same thing as looking at the machine.”

He held out his hand. “PADD.”

She looked at it and hesitated. “I thought I should review the systems we’ll be working on.”

“You will.”

“I can be more efficient if I—”

“PADD.” He said it bluntly, with a little more authority this time.

Reluctantly, she handed it to him.

Kheter placed it face down on the workbench. “You won’t be needing that.”

He picked up a hydrospanner and held it out to her.

“Know what this is?”

“A hydrospanner of course.”

“Good.”

She took it.

“Now you know something useful.”

Emilynn looked at the tool, then at him.

Is he joking?

Not only did she think this was going to be a waste of six full weeks, she had a feeling this was going to be a very long six weeks.

She was right.

The first three days were miserable.

Kheter didn't teach the way her instructors did. There were no lectures, no assigned reading, no carefully organized progression from basic concepts to advanced applications. He simply put tools in her hands and made her follow him through corridors, access shafts, maintenance rooms and service compartments that she'd walked past dozens of times without ever noticing.

He knew the Academy in a way that couldn't be learned from a schematic. He knew which turbolifts complained when temperatures fluctuated. Which consoles were prone to overheating and which power conduits vibrated differently when they were aging because he had been around that long.

Emilynn found it fascinating, but refused to admit that.

On the fourth day, Kheter brought her to an old environmental control junction and pointed toward a maintenance panel.

“What’s wrong with it?” he asked gruffly.

She scanned it with her tricorder. “Nothing.”

Kheter waited with a look she’d begun to recognize as 'Are you sure?'

She ran another scan. “It’s operating within specifications.”

He nodded. “And?”

She looked at him. “And nothing.” she stated impatiently.

He pointed at the panel. “It’s making a noise.”

Emilynn frowned and listened. At first, she heard nothing. Then she heard it—a faint, uneven vibration with a very low tick beneath the system’s normal hum.

“There,” she said when the tick happened again.

Kheter nodded. “What does the tricorder say?”

“Nothing.”

“Does that mean nothing’s wrong?”

“No.”

“Why?”

“Because it’s making a noise.”

Kheter smiled. “Congratulations.”

“On what?”

“You’ve just learned that machines don’t read their own diagnostic reports.”

She frowned up at him. A satisfied wide smile spread fully across his aged face.

“Really? How is that supposed to be helpful?” she asked in response.

“You’re planning to maintain them, aren’t you?” He picked up his coffee and started walking.

Emilynn followed after him slowly wondering why they were leaving.

“Shouldn't we start with the specifications?”

Kheter didn't look back. “You’ve already read them.” He disappeared around the corner, but she could still hear him. “The machine doesn’t care.”

Emilynn stared after him. She was beginning to hate the way he said things like that.

By the end of the first week, Emilynn had learned two things about Harlan Kheter. He was almost always right, and he seemed to enjoy being annoying about it.

One afternoon, she approached him with her PADD. “I found the issue.”

“Which issue?”

“The environmental junction.”

“What about it?”

“The regulator is oscillating.”

“Why?”

“The power draw runs slightly higher than it should during cycling.”

“Why?”

“Because the regulator is compensating.”

“Why?”

She stopped.

Kheter smirked back at her. “That one got you.”

“It’s the same question.” she said almost sounding like she was pouting.

“No.” He returned to the relay. “It isn't.”

Emilynn stood there for another moment, irritated by the fact that she couldn't immediately produce an answer. Then turned to walk away.

“You'll get used to being wrong,” Kheter called after her.

She glanced back at him as she neared the doorway. “I wasn't wrong.”

His grin widened but she couldn't see it. “Not yet...”

By the second week, the operations console in one of the Academy's administrative buildings had frozen five times. 4.2 seconds each time. Then it would remarkably resolve itself.

There was no damage that could be seen, no warnings or error codes. She noted that Engineering had inspected it and Computer Operations had run a full systems analysis, but nothing had turned up to explain the problem.

Kheter set his battered toolkit on the floor beside the console and knelt down.

Emilynn glanced at it. It was old, worn, and clearly well used. She'd expected Starfleet equipment to be a little more...standard. She stood beside Kheter as he pulled up the maintenance history on the console.

“The diagnostics show no fault.”

“Yep.”

She glanced at him. He was studying the maintenance log with the same unreadable expression he always wore.

“Engineering already inspected it.”

“Yep.”

“Computer Operations ran a full systems analysis yesterday.”

Kheter scrolled through the report and gave another short, absent-minded, “Yep.”

She turned toward him.

“And nobody knows why it’s happening.”

“Apparently not, or we wouldn’t be here right now.” He took another drink of coffee, looking amused.

Emilynn watched him for a moment, realizing she couldn't remember ever seeing him without that cup either in his hand or somewhere within reach. It was always the same one, not the standard Academy mess hall cup, but an old, heavy ceramic mug that looked as though it had survived several decades of abuse. The white glaze had yellowed with age, the Starfleet insignia on the side was worn almost completely away, and the handle had been repaired with what looked suspiciously like a piece of salvaged equipment.

She had no idea why he still used it. Eventually, her curiosity got the better of her.

“Where did you get that?”

Kheter glanced at the cup. “This?”

“Yes, it is the only cup in the room.” she said smirking up at him.

“It’s a cup.”

“I can see that.”

He took another drink.

She waited. He said nothing.

“Where did you get it?”

Kheter looked at her over the rim. “You ask a lot of questions.”

“That’s generally considered a good quality.” she remarked.

“Depends on the question.”

Emilynn frowned.

“So?”

“So what?”

“Where did you get the cup?”

He considered her for a moment, then looked back at the console. “You don't want to know.”

That intrigued her.

“Why wouldn't I?”

“Because then you'll have another question.”

She opened her mouth, then stopped.

Kheter smiled.

“See?”

Emilynn narrowed her eyes.

She wasn't sure whether he was deliberately being irritating or whether he'd actually just taught her something. With Kheter, she was beginning to suspect it was both.

She turned back toward the console. “Fine.”

“Good.”

She pulled up the event logs again, trying to ignore the fact that she was now even more curious about his cup.

“The diagnostics show nothing.”

Kheter nodded toward the screen.

“Yep.”

She glanced at him. “You've already said that.”

“Have I?”

“Yes. Many times.”

“Then we agree.”

“That doesn't help.”

“Wasn't trying to.”

Emilynn sighed and enlarged the event log. The five occurrences appeared one after another.

0857
0858
0859
0900
0901

She pulled up the following day's records.

0828

Then another.

1324

The times were inconsistent. At first. But something about them bothered her. She looked at Kheter, who was watching her.

She met his stare “What?”

“You're staring.”

“Yes, at the times.” She sounded exasperated.

“Why?”

“I don't know yet.”

Kheter smiled.

“Good.”

She rolled her eyes and shook her head softly producing a chuckle from him.

She began comparing the console freezes against the other systems operating in the building. There had to be something connecting them. She just hadn't found it yet.

For the next several days, Emilynn built a list. Power fluctuations. Environmental cycling. Personnel movement. Computer activity. Time of day. Temperature. Humidity. Network traffic.

She didn't know exactly what she was looking for, but she was beginning to understand what Kheter had been trying to get her to do.

Not find the answer, but instead to find the question.

After nearly two full days of tracking the problem and comparing the times to other systems, she finally felt she was on to something. She initially thought the times were inconsistent, and they were, but she soon realized that each one happened shortly before the old environmental control system cycled.

She found Kheter underneath another console.

“Kheter.”

A muffled voice answered. “If you're about to tell me you broke something, give me five minutes.”

“I think I found a pattern.”

His boots stopped moving. “That’s worse.”

She ignored him. “The console freezes shortly after Environmental Control cycles.”

Kheter slid out from underneath the console. “Shortly?”

“I don’t know, between ten and twenty seconds.”

“How many times?”

“Maybe Eight?”

“Not enough.”

“I know.”

He smiled.

“Why are you smiling?”

“Because you said you know.”

“I do know.”

He wiped his hands on a rag. “Good, so what would prove you wrong?”

Emilynn looked down at her PADD. “If the console freezes when Environmental Control doesn't cycle.”

“Anything else?”

“If the system cycles and the console doesn't freeze.”

“Good.”

She added the notes.

Kheter watched her for a moment. “Now you're doing science.”

She looked up. “I thought I was doing operations.”

“Same problem.”

The next clue came from someone Emilynn had not even considered, a cleaning lady named Maria. Emilynn heard her muttering.

“There’s that damned noise again.”

Emilynn immediately turned to her. “What noise?”

Maria pointed toward the console. “That little chirp.”

“What chirp?” she asked excitedly.

“The one it makes when it freezes.”

Emilynn stared at her. “It makes a sound?”

“Barely. You gotta be standing right next to it when it happens. But hun, I promise you, it’s there. My hearing implant catches it every time. Little thing’s hard to miss once you know it’s there.”

“When did you first notice it?”

“I don’t know. Months ago.”

Emilynn glanced at Kheter, who was watching her from the doorway.

She turned back to Maria. “Does it happen every time?”

“Couldn’t really say, hun.”

“Before or after it freezes?” Emilynn probed.

“Before, I think. That screen there starts acting up something terrible right before it happens.”

Emilynn looked at the console. “What does it do?”

Maria shrugged. “Flickers a little. Changes colors sometimes. ’Bout scared me to dealth once when it was dark in here.”

“How long does it stay that way?”

“Mmm. Maybe a few seconds.”

Emilynn immediately began making notes.

Kheter said nothing.

When Maria continued down the corridor with her cleaning cart, Emilynn watched her go and Kheter watched Emilynn.

“I never would have thought to ask,” she admitted, looking over at him. “Why didn’t I?”

“Maybe you like numbers more.” He pointed his thumb toward the corridor. “She was listening.”

Emilynn looked back at the console. The numbers hadn’t told her everything. Neither had the diagnostics. Neither had Engineering. She glanced down at her PADD.

“People notice things,” she said, stating the obvious.

Kheter lowered his head and gave a small laugh. “Sometimes.”

She added it to her notes, then crossed the room to Kheter. Gently, she took the battered toolkit from him.

He glanced at her. “What?”

“I just want to check something.”

“Of course you do.”

She ignored him and returned to the panel.

He let her.

By the end of the third week, Emilynn had a working theory. By the end of the fourth, she was convinced she was right. And that was when Kheter started making her nervous.

He stopped telling her she was wrong.

Instead, whenever she presented a conclusion, he would simply ask,

“Are you sure?”

“Yes.”

“Really?”

“Yes.”

“Absolutely?”

“Yes.”

He would nod and walk away, leaving her standing there. She hated that more than anything.

One afternoon, she finally got up the nerve to confront him.

“You’re doing it on purpose.”

Kheter paused, the tip of the micro-driver resting against the tiny component he was working on. “Doing what?”

“Letting me think I’m right.”

“You are right.”

“That doesn't make sense.”

“Why not?”

“Because you've spent three weeks telling me I was wrong.”

Kheter smiled. “And now you're not.”

He let the silence stretch as he reached for his coffee cup and took a large swallow. “Maybe I'm learning to trust you.”

She didn't know what to say to that.

He smiled. “Don't look so frightened.”

“I’m not frightened,” she said indignantly.

“Okay. Whatever you say.”

He returned his attention to his work.

She turned, walked three steps before he spoke again. “Emilynn.” He didn't look up.

She stopped and turned back to him.

“Being certain isn't the same thing as being right.”

She frowned, closed her eyes, and sighed. But he didn't see it. “I know.”

Kheter smiled, but she couldn't see it. “Do you?” he added as she reached the door.

The answer appeared during the fifth week.

Emilynn found an old environmental control junction connected to the affected section of the Academy. The component was ancient—not malfunctioning exactly, but operating with tolerances well outside what a modern system should allow.

She stared at the readings. The environmental system cycled. The aging component produced a tiny power fluctuation. The computer compensated. The operations console hesitated.

Three seconds. Four. Then recovered. Everything fit. For the first time, all the pieces fit. She could fix it.

Kheter was working in another section of the building. She should have waited. She knew that. But she had spent weeks on this. She had checked the logs, tested the correlations, and listened to the people who worked around the system. She had done everything Kheter had taught her to do.

And she knew. At least, she thought she did.

She opened the panel.

Just one adjustment.

The moment she touched the regulator, the lights went out. Every console in the room went dark.

Emilynn froze.

A second later, the emergency lighting came on.

Then came Kheter's voice from somewhere behind her.

“What did you do?”

She turned to see him standing in the darkened doorway. He looked at the panel, then at her.

“I adjusted the regulator.”

“Why?”

“I found the problem.”

“You found a problem.”

“Yes.”

“And you changed it.”

“Yes.”

“Without telling me.”

“I thought…”

“That’s becoming a problem.”

She stopped, wringing her hands nervously. Kheter walked to the panel.

“Did you isolate the circuit?”

“No.”

“Did you run a secondary simulation?”

“No.”

“Did you notify Maintenance Control?”

“No.”

“Did you ask me?”

“No,” she said quietly.

He looked at her. “Why?”

Emilynn's face burned. “Because I knew what I was doing.”

The words hung between them.

Kheter nodded slowly. “That’s what I was afraid of.” He closed the panel. “You're done for today.”

“Kheter…”

“No.”

“I can fix it,” she insisted.

“I know.”

“Then let me.” She pleaded.

“No.”

She stared at him. “Why?”

“Because you don't know what you don't know.”

The words hit harder than they should have. She looked away. “I thought I did.”

“I know.” He picked up his toolkit. “Come on.”

“Where?”

“Coffee.”

“I don't want coffee.”

“Didn't ask.”

They sat in the small maintenance room several minutes later. Emilynn stared at the untouched cup in front of her while Kheter drank his from the same cup he always used. She wondered briefly if it ever got washed.

Finally, he said, “You made a mistake.”

“Yes.”

“You violated procedure.”

“I know.”

“You could have damaged three separate systems.”

She nodded, unable to speak.

He waited.

Emilynn looked down at the table. “I did everything right.”

Kheter didn't answer immediately.

“I studied the system,” she continued. “I checked the logs. I found the correlation. I tested the theory.”

“Partially.” He corrected her.

She frowned. “What does that mean?”

“You tested the parts you understood.”

She looked away. “I thought that was enough.”

Kheter nodded. “That’s the problem.”

Silence settled between them.

Emilynn swallowed. “I was supposed to know. I should have known.”

“According to who?” He asked.

She didn't answer.

“Emilynn.”

She looked at him.

“Who told you you're supposed to know everything?”

“My instructors.”

“Your instructors expect you to know everything?” He asked knowing that was absolutely not a fact.

“No.”

“Then who?”

She hesitated.

“My family, my father.”

Kheter was quiet. He didn't ask another question. Instead, he took another drink of coffee.

“Being smart doesn't mean you know everything.”

Emilynn stared at him.

“And being wrong doesn't mean you're stupid.”

She looked down. “I don't like being wrong.”

“Kid, neither do I.”

She looked up. “You?”

“Especially me.”

“Why?”

“Because I'm usually very convincing.”

She laughed.

Kheter smiled. Then he pushed his cup aside. “You’re going to be wrong again.”

“I’d rather not.”

“Doesn’t matter.”

“Why?”

“Because if you're never wrong, you're probably not learning anything new.”

She was quiet as she considered his words.

Kheter stood. “Tomorrow, we'll fix the regulator.”

“We?”

“You're not touching it without me.”

She nodded. He started toward the door.

“Kheter?”

He stopped. “What?”

“What if I don't know how to fix it?”

He looked back at her.

“Then ask.” He walked out leaving her sitting alone with the untouched coffee.

The following morning, they returned to the console together. This time, Kheter didn't take over. He stood beside her while Emilynn rebuilt the sequence from the beginning.

The environmental system cycled. The old component produced the fluctuation. The computer compensated. The console hesitated.

This time, they knew what they were looking for.

Kheter brought years of practical experience. Engineering supplied the technical specifications. Maria supplied what she had heard and observed. Emilynn put the pieces together.

The component still worked, but it was no longer behaving the way the new system expected. When the environmental system cycled, it created a small fluctuation the newer computer couldn't compensate for.

Nothing was actually broken. The problem was in the way the systems interacted.

When the repair was complete, Emilynn stared at the final report. “So I was right.”

Kheter glanced at her. “Partially.”

She sighed. “Of course.”

Kheter nodded toward the console. “Productive week.”

She laughed. “You're impossible.”

“So I've heard.”

For a moment, neither of them said anything.

Kheter looked down at the battered toolkit he'd been carrying. Then he held it out to her.

Emilynn looked at it. “What’s that for?”

“You.”

“I already have a toolkit.”

“Not this one.”

She ran her hand over the worn case. “Why are you giving it to me?”

“Because you're leaving.”

“I'm not leaving Starfleet.”

“I know.”

“Then why?”

“Because your six weeks are up.”

She looked down at the toolkit. “I don't think I deserve it.”

Kheter's expression changed slightly. “It's a box of tools.”

“Your box of tools.”

“Don't make it complicated.”

She smiled.

He nodded toward it. “Keep it.”

It was heavier than she expected. Not because of the tools. Because of the six weeks behind them. She looked at him.

Kheter leaned back against the console.

“What have you learned?”

Emilynn thought about her six weeks with him. She looked down at the toolkit, then back to him. “That I don't know everything.”

Kheter smiled. “Good start.”

She frowned. “Start?”

“There’s always more.”

She rolled her eyes. “Of course there is.”

He grinned. “Now you're getting it.”

She tucked the toolkit under her arm.

At the doorway, she stopped.

“Kheter?”

“Yeah?”

“What if I get something really wrong?”

He looked at her as if the question were ridiculous.

“You will.”

She smiled.

“That wasn't exactly the reassurance I was looking for.”

“Wasn't supposed to be.”

He picked up his coffee and took a drink. “You'll make mistakes. Lots of them. You'll get it wrong more than you'll get it right. You'll miss things.”

Emilynn waited. “And?”

Kheter shrugged. “You'll learn.”

She nodded. Then she walked out. She didn't understand everything he'd been trying to teach her. Not yet. But she understood enough.

For the first time, she was beginning to suspect that not knowing wasn't the same thing as failing. Sometimes it was simply the beginning.

[OFF]

Ensign Emilynn Dove
Operations Officer
USS Firebird NCC-88298

 

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