Post Vacation Blues

Posted on Mon Aug 10th, 2026 @ 8:48am by Lieutenant Thomas Fletcher

616 words; about a 3 minute read

Mission: Preamble
Location: New Bajor

The senior staff briefing should, by all rights, have made him feel more prepared.

Instead, it had achieved precisely the opposite.

Tom sat beside the firepit watching the last traces of sunlight disappear beyond the distant hills and found himself thinking about starships for the first time in weeks. For nearly a month his world had shrunk to irrigation systems, survey markers and construction schedules. His days had become measured not in duty shifts or maintenance reports, but in pipeline sections completed, pressure readings improved and whatever fresh challenge the aqueduct project had decided to present him with that morning.

The Venture had remained comfortably abstract throughout it all.

A transfer order.

A name on a PADD.

A delayed arrival time that seemed to move further into the future every time he enquired about it.

Meeting the people he would soon be serving alongside had changed that.

The ship was real now.

The captain was real.

The department heads were real.

For the first time since leaving Earth, Tom could picture the life waiting for him beyond New Bajor.

Surprisingly, the thought left him feeling more conflicted than excited.

The irrigation system was functioning beautifully. The fields surrounding the Kalen farm were healthier than they had been in years, and the aqueduct project continued advancing steadily across the countryside. More importantly, somewhere during the previous three weeks, the people had ceased to be temporary acquaintances and become something considerably more dangerous.

Friends.

For the first time since arriving on New Bajor, Tom found himself thinking seriously about leaving.

And for the first time since arriving on New Bajor, he wasn't entirely sure how he felt about it.

"How long until your ship arrives?"

Jera's voice carried across the evening air as she settled into one of the chairs surrounding the firepit.

The structure itself had not existed three weeks earlier.

Neither had the repaired fence that now enclosed part of the property, the rebuilt storage shed door, the upgraded irrigation control system, nor several other projects that Tom had somehow become involved in despite having absolutely no intention of doing so.

He strongly suspected the Kalens had learned not to leave him unsupervised around things that needed fixing.

"A few days."

Tom shifted comfortably in his chair and turned toward her. The last rays of sunlight were painting the fields beyond the farmhouse in shades of gold and amber, long shadows stretching lazily across the grass.

"You said that last week."

"I know."

"You also said it the week before."

"I know."

Jera smiled.

"Does Starfleet know where you are?"

"Of course."

Tom paused thoughtfully.

"Probably."

The laugh that escaped Jera was immediate.

A moment later it was joined by Taran's from somewhere across the firepit.

"Comforting."

"I checked in this morning."

"Did they tell you when the Venture was arriving?"

"They said shortly."

A collective groan rippled around the fire.

Tom spread his hands.

"See? It's not just me."

"Three weeks," Pela muttered. "You've basically moved in."

"Not true."

Pela raised an eyebrow.

Tom considered this carefully.

"Mostly not true."

That earned another round of laughter.

Before anyone could continue the debate, Lenara appeared in the doorway of the farmhouse.

"Dinner."

The announcement carried all the authority of a Starfleet admiral and roughly the same expectation of immediate compliance.

Nobody argued.

Tom rose alongside the rest of the family and followed them toward the house.

At some point during the previous three weeks, the routine had stopped feeling temporary.

The farmhouse no longer felt like somewhere he was staying.

It felt like somewhere he lived.

That realization was perhaps more concerning than the state of the irrigation system had ever been.

 

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