While Ensigns Regret and Anger were in the corner wrestling with a sentient toaster that refused to comply until they apologized for their "sub-optimal morning attitudes,” Ensign Doubt was facing her true nemesis: a standard-issue replicator menu.
I don’t know, Doubt thought, her finger hovering over the screen like a bomb technician. If I choose the tomato soup, am I rejecting the chicken noodle? Is the replicator sentient enough to feel that rejection?
“Doubt, it’s just soup,” Ensign Optimism chirped from the line behind her, practically vibrating with unearned cheer. “Pick one! The universe wants you to be hydrated and full of electrolytes!”
Doubt glanced back, her eyes wide with metaphysical panic. “Or is the universe testing my decision-making capacity before assigning me to the helm? What if this soup is a metaphor for my entire Mindfleet career? If I pick the wrong one, will I be passed over for promotion?”
She stood there mulling it over until the replicator sighed, flickered, and entered power-save mode, a behavior known as the digital eye-roll.
"Ensign Doubt.”
First Officer Reason had materialized at her shoulder, looking as though he were composed entirely of rigid geometry and cold telemetry. "Report to the bridge. I require you to calibrate the ship's internal latency sensors. The system is currently reporting a 0.04-millisecond lag in our emotional throughput.”
“Are you sure you want me, sir?” Doubt asked, a light sheen of sweat appearing on her brow. “Am I the most qualified? Or am I just the only one who didn’t run away when you walked in? What if I calibrate them to be too sensitive and the ship starts picking up the ghost of every regret I’ve had since the third grade?”
Reason stared at her for a long, clinical beat. “Ensign, just meet me on the blue bridge at 0830.”
“Which blue, sir?" interjected Ensign Nostalgia, who had just drifted into the cafe clutching a vintage, non-functional smartphone like a holy relic. "Are we talking sky blue? Cerulean? The blue of a dying star? The blue of a 'Manic Monday'? I love Bananarama, don't you, sir? Did you know Prince wrote that song for them?”
Reason walked away without a word, his stride suggesting he was mentally calculating the shortest route to a vacuum-sealed room. Doubt remained, considering whether her next move should be a tactical retreat or a full-scale existential crisis.
While she wrestled with the physics of moving her left foot, Ensign Nostalgia turned to a group of junior officers bussing their tables.
“Do you remember internal combustion engines?” she sighed, her eyes going dreamy. “The noise! The smell of burning dinosaur remains! I wish I could return to the early 21st century. Those were the most exciting days to be a cadet in Mindfleet Academy.”
“Nostalgia, we have teleportation systems that can brew your coffee and have it waiting for you when you reach your destination nanosecs later,” Ensign Indifference pointed out, staring blankly at a wall. “Why would you want a machine that needs an oil change and a prayer to start?”
“Because in 2025, things had soul,” Nostalgia replied, stroking the 'Is it Friday yet?' sticker on her dead phone. “We had things called 'apps.' We had 'buffering.' We had the constant, low-grade fear of a global pandemic. Life was vibrant! Now everything is just… ‘Satisfactory.’”
“‘Satisfactory’? That’s your grievance?” Doubt countered, momentarily distracted from her own neurosis. “Think about when you were lost during that planetary survey in the Calabash Sector.”
“Don’t bring that up again.”
“You insisted on using your... what was it?”
“Intuition,” Nostalgia snapped. “It’s a 21st-century legacy skill. You wouldn't understand.”
“Whatever. You insisted you could find mineral deposits by wandering around a sand dune complaining about the ‘Wi‑Fi signal’.” Doubt made frantic air quotes. “You had to be rescued by a drone.”
“That drone was incredibly smug, Doubt. It reprimanded me for my 'lack of spatial awareness.' In 2025, the rescue would have taken three days and involved at least two helicopter mishaps! I would have been breaking news on television! I would have been an internet meme! I might even have been cast in a reality TV show titled Where’s Nosa?”
Ensign Indifference walked into the galley and approached the replicator. “Make me some kind of sugary soda,” he muttered. The machine complied with a depressed hum.
Nostalgia turned and walked away, her heels clicking a rhythmic, wistful beat. Doubt turned to Indifference, her brow furrowed. "Television? Internet? What is she talking about?”
Indifference only shrugged and followed Nostalgia out, leaving Doubt alone with her orders to report to the bridge.
After several more minutes of weighing the pros and cons of the blue bridge versus the cerulean bridge, Doubt settled on a third option. She reported to Dr. Downer in sickbay, complaining of a sudden onset of acute “unauthorized hesitation.”
I don’t know, Doubt thought, her finger hovering over the screen like a bomb technician. If I choose the tomato soup, am I rejecting the chicken noodle? Is the replicator sentient enough to feel that rejection?
“Doubt, it’s just soup,” Ensign Optimism chirped from the line behind her, practically vibrating with unearned cheer. “Pick one! The universe wants you to be hydrated and full of electrolytes!”
Doubt glanced back, her eyes wide with metaphysical panic. “Or is the universe testing my decision-making capacity before assigning me to the helm? What if this soup is a metaphor for my entire Mindfleet career? If I pick the wrong one, will I be passed over for promotion?”
She stood there mulling it over until the replicator sighed, flickered, and entered power-save mode, a behavior known as the digital eye-roll.
"Ensign Doubt.”
First Officer Reason had materialized at her shoulder, looking as though he were composed entirely of rigid geometry and cold telemetry. "Report to the bridge. I require you to calibrate the ship's internal latency sensors. The system is currently reporting a 0.04-millisecond lag in our emotional throughput.”
“Are you sure you want me, sir?” Doubt asked, a light sheen of sweat appearing on her brow. “Am I the most qualified? Or am I just the only one who didn’t run away when you walked in? What if I calibrate them to be too sensitive and the ship starts picking up the ghost of every regret I’ve had since the third grade?”
Reason stared at her for a long, clinical beat. “Ensign, just meet me on the blue bridge at 0830.”
“Which blue, sir?" interjected Ensign Nostalgia, who had just drifted into the cafe clutching a vintage, non-functional smartphone like a holy relic. "Are we talking sky blue? Cerulean? The blue of a dying star? The blue of a 'Manic Monday'? I love Bananarama, don't you, sir? Did you know Prince wrote that song for them?”
Reason walked away without a word, his stride suggesting he was mentally calculating the shortest route to a vacuum-sealed room. Doubt remained, considering whether her next move should be a tactical retreat or a full-scale existential crisis.
While she wrestled with the physics of moving her left foot, Ensign Nostalgia turned to a group of junior officers bussing their tables.
“Do you remember internal combustion engines?” she sighed, her eyes going dreamy. “The noise! The smell of burning dinosaur remains! I wish I could return to the early 21st century. Those were the most exciting days to be a cadet in Mindfleet Academy.”
“Nostalgia, we have teleportation systems that can brew your coffee and have it waiting for you when you reach your destination nanosecs later,” Ensign Indifference pointed out, staring blankly at a wall. “Why would you want a machine that needs an oil change and a prayer to start?”
“Because in 2025, things had soul,” Nostalgia replied, stroking the 'Is it Friday yet?' sticker on her dead phone. “We had things called 'apps.' We had 'buffering.' We had the constant, low-grade fear of a global pandemic. Life was vibrant! Now everything is just… ‘Satisfactory.’”
“‘Satisfactory’? That’s your grievance?” Doubt countered, momentarily distracted from her own neurosis. “Think about when you were lost during that planetary survey in the Calabash Sector.”
“Don’t bring that up again.”
“You insisted on using your... what was it?”
“Intuition,” Nostalgia snapped. “It’s a 21st-century legacy skill. You wouldn't understand.”
“Whatever. You insisted you could find mineral deposits by wandering around a sand dune complaining about the ‘Wi‑Fi signal’.” Doubt made frantic air quotes. “You had to be rescued by a drone.”
“That drone was incredibly smug, Doubt. It reprimanded me for my 'lack of spatial awareness.' In 2025, the rescue would have taken three days and involved at least two helicopter mishaps! I would have been breaking news on television! I would have been an internet meme! I might even have been cast in a reality TV show titled Where’s Nosa?”
Ensign Indifference walked into the galley and approached the replicator. “Make me some kind of sugary soda,” he muttered. The machine complied with a depressed hum.
Nostalgia turned and walked away, her heels clicking a rhythmic, wistful beat. Doubt turned to Indifference, her brow furrowed. "Television? Internet? What is she talking about?”
Indifference only shrugged and followed Nostalgia out, leaving Doubt alone with her orders to report to the bridge.
After several more minutes of weighing the pros and cons of the blue bridge versus the cerulean bridge, Doubt settled on a third option. She reported to Dr. Downer in sickbay, complaining of a sudden onset of acute “unauthorized hesitation.”
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