The cat is out of the bag

Posted on Wed Oct 14th, 2026 @ 1:53pm by Lieutenant JG Charlie Johnson

1,187 words; about a 6 minute read

Mission: Season 1 Episode 2: The Garden at the Edge of Night
Location: Main Engineering
Timeline: Following 'One last Chance'

ON:

Engineering settled back into its rhythm. The warp core hummed its steady, luminous blue—soft, constant, alive—filling the room with a warmth that had been missing. Now that it was stable, the replicators could churn out the high-grade materials needed to rebuild the warp coils; the shuttlebay could be cleared for assembly; full warp capability would return in a week, maybe two.

For most of the team, this was a triumph. For Peters, it was only the beginning. He watched the work with a tight, coiled quiet. He kept one eye on the team, the other fixed on Lieutenant Johnson’s closed office door. Inside, she was deep in the logs—diagnostics, system histories, every line he’d known she’d dissect. She knew every equation, every regulation, every paragraph of the Starship Engineering Manual backwards and forwards. But real starship engineering—messy, unpredictable, where systems developed quirks no simulation could ever predict and that no manual would ever cover — this was still new to her, especially with a ship like the Genesis. And she clung to the manual like a lifeline, convinced it held every answer, every solution, every safe course of action.

It had nearly broken her when her first real-world call went wrong. She’d followed protocol exactly—by the book—only to find the manual hadn’t accounted for everything, all the different components coming together. The result: a near warp core breach, fried warp coils, casualties, and a quiet, fierce doubt settling over her. She’d run straight to the bottom of a bottle, then buried herself in models and technical manuals in her quarters, second-guessing every decision since.
The team saw it all. They admired her, respected her mind, wanted her to thrive—needed her to thrive. And Peters had decided to show her something no textbook could teach: that rules are the foundation, but instinct is the compass.

So they’d staged the “overload”—carefully programmed, entirely harmless—an engineered crisis designed to force her to think on her feet, trust her own judgment, and see she was more than just someone who followed instructions. And he knew they'd get caught. It was only a matter of time.

Now the door hissed open. Charlie stepped out, uniform immaculate, expression composed—but her hands, folded tight at her back, betrayed her tension. “Ensign Peters. My office. Now.”
He crossed the threshold in seconds. The door slid shut—and instantly, the room fell quiet. Tools were set down; the team drifted close, listening through the door, ready to stand with him.

Inside, Charlie paced, then turned to face him, PADD in hand. “I’ve been going over this morning’s records—every system log, every command sequence. And I found something very interesting. Do you know what it is?”
Peters met her gaze. There was no point hiding it—not anymore. “I believe I do, Lieutenant. With your permission, I’d like to speak freely.”

“Granted.”

“This morning's overload was not accidental. It was a simulation, programmed into the computer. The readings were false. The ship was never at risk—not for a moment.”

She paused, searching his face and asked one question. “Why?

“Because you’ve been looking for the answers in the wrong place,” he said gently but firmly. “You’re one of the finest engineers I’ve ever served under—your mind, your grasp of theory, it’s extraordinary. But you’ve been taught to trust the manual above all else. The manual is a guide, not a cage. It can’t anticipate every ion storm, every worn component, every odd quirk this ship develops. That’s where you come in. Your intuition, your experience, the things you know deep down even when the book stays silent.”

He leaned forward, earnest now. “When that incident happened, you didn’t fail. The manual failed you. And you’ve punished yourself ever since—doubting your judgment because it didn’t match the page. We wanted you to see what we see: you know more than any book. You just need to trust yourself.”

“It was my plan,” he said steadily. “I conceived it, I gave the orders. The rest only went along because I ordered them to. I take full responsibility.”

Before she could reply, the door slid open. The entire team stepped through—steady, unified, unflinching.

“Crewman, this is a private—” Charlie began.

“Begging your pardon, Chief,” said Crewman Collins, stepping forward, “but that’s not how it happened. We saw how hard this was for you—how you kept second-guessing yourself. We talked it through, all of us. We wanted to help you see what we see. Peters didn’t order us—we asked him to help.”

“We’re your team,” Crewman Jackson added softly. “We want you to succeed. We believe you will.”

Charlie looked from one face to the next—loyal, sincere, determined—and something in her loosened. She’d thought she was the one supporting them; she hadn’t realised they’d been holding her up all along. A slow, warm smile touched her lips. “You all did this… just to show me I could trust myself?”

“Just to remind you,” Peters said gently. “Theory gives you the tools. Instinct tells you how to use them.”

He straightened himself up. “I’ll speak to the Captain,” Peters added. “Whatever discipline is due, it’s mine to bear.”

Charlie paused, then a knowing glint—bright, clever, entirely her own—came into her eyes. “Speak to him about what?”

“About the falsified logs… the fabricated sensor readings…” Peters began.

“Ah.” Her smile widened. “It appears that same simulated ‘overload’ wiped the primary engineering log entirely. And the power surge scrambled every sensor record from that period beyond recovery. Nothing reliable remains. Most unfortunate.”

Peters caught on—and a grin broke through, which he tried to suppress. “A devastating loss, Chief. Truly.”

Collins leaned in, hopeful. “Does that mean… you’re staying? And… you’re going to trust your own judgment more?”

Charlie looked at them—her team, her people—and for the first time since taking the post, she didn’t feel like an outsider looking in. She felt like their Chief. “I’m not going anywhere,” she said. “And… I’ll try. To trust myself. It’s going to take practice.”

A cheer went up—loud, genuine—and she laughed, holding up a hand to quiet them.

“But,” she said, her tone firm but her eyes dancing, “pull a stunt like this ever again, and I will have the lot of you court-martialled… or promoted so fast your heads won’t stop spinning. Either way—you’ll be in so much trouble you won’t know what hit you. Understood?”

“Understood, Chief!” they answered in unison.

Charlie shook her head, but her smile stayed bright. “Good. Now—enough sentiment. We have warp coils to fabricate and repairs to complete. Dismissed—back to work, all of you.”

As they turned to go, she added, quieter, “And… thank you. Every one of you.”

Peters paused at the door. “That’s what we’re here for, Chief.”

OFF:

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