A Very Big Place

Posted on Wed Jun 17th, 2026 @ 5:07pm by Ensign Omar Farouk

1,042 words; about a 5 minute read

Mission: Preamble
Location: USS Venture
Timeline: Pre Departure

The Operations Department had acquired a certain atmosphere over the previous several hours.

Not panic. Panic implied a loss of control.

This was something far more refined.

Every terminal was occupied. Officers moved between workstations carrying PADDs loaded with requisitions, cargo updates, shuttle schedules, personnel transfers and maintenance reports. Conversations overlapped one another in a constant low murmur. Somewhere a console emitted a warning tone before being silenced by a practiced hand. Elsewhere, another officer was quietly discovering that a task believed complete several hours ago had, in fact, not been completed at all.

The Venture was preparing to get underway.

As far as Operations was concerned, that meant the entire galaxy had collectively decided to become their problem.

Ensign Omar Farouk was having a wonderful time.

Standing beside one of the central workstations, he studied a cargo manifest while balancing a mug of coffee in one hand and a PADD in the other. At twenty-five years old he still possessed the sort of energy that made older officers simultaneously grateful and suspicious. His dark hair remained impeccably styled despite the pace of the shift, his neatly trimmed beard looked as though it had been maintained by a dedicated specialist rather than a busy Operations officer, and the broad smile that seemed permanently attached to his face showed no sign of fading.

The smile occasionally caused problems.

People tended to assume that anyone looking that cheerful during departure preparations couldn't possibly appreciate the amount of work involved.

The smile was misleading.

Omar appreciated it perfectly.

In fact, he loved it.

To him, Operations wasn't administration. It wasn't paperwork. It wasn't manifests and allocations and schedules.

It was people.

Every cargo transfer represented someone waiting for equipment. Every personnel assignment represented a life being rearranged. Every shuttle movement connected one story to another.

The reports might have been numbers and figures on a display, but behind every one of them stood an individual expecting something to happen.

His family had spent centuries moving goods across oceans and, later, between worlds. The technology had changed. The principles had not.

Things needed to go somewhere.

People needed to know where they were.

Someone had to make sure both happened.

"Farouk."

He glanced up from the manifest.

A crewman stood nearby, looking as though he had recently discovered a problem and had not enjoyed the experience.

"Please tell me you've seen Cargo Transfer Seven."

Omar frowned thoughtfully.

"The environmental systems shipment?"

The crewman's expression immediately brightened.

"Yes."

"No."

The brightness vanished.

Omar took a sip of coffee.

"It's in Cargo Bay Two."

The crewman blinked.

"What?"

"It's in Cargo Bay Two."

"You just said you hadn't seen it."

"I haven't."

"Then how do you know where it is?"

Omar turned the PADD around and pointed at a section of the manifest.

"Because somebody accidentally logged it as emergency medical supplies. The mass is wrong, the destination doesn't make sense, and Medical hasn't requested anything remotely that size in the last three weeks."

The crewman stared at the display.

Then at Omar.

Then back at the display.

"How did you notice that?"

Omar considered the question.

The honest answer was that he didn't really know.

The inconsistency had simply felt wrong.

Like a missing piece in a puzzle.

"Instinct?"

The crewman looked unconvinced.

"That's not an answer."

"It's the only one I've got."

A few minutes later the crewman returned looking annoyed.

"It's in Cargo Bay Two."

Omar raised his coffee in acknowledgement.

"Good."

"You were right."

"Also good."

The crewman shook his head and walked away muttering something about Operations officers.

Omar chose to take it as a compliment.

A comm alert chirped from the workstation beside him.

He glanced down automatically.

INCOMING PERSONAL COMMUNICATION
FAROUK FAMILY NETWORK

A grin spread across his face.

That particular communications group had become something of a legend amongst anyone who knew him. It wasn't really a family network so much as a small civilisation connected by a communications channel.

He accepted the call.

The screen immediately filled with faces.

His mother was there.

So was his older sister.

Several cousins.

An aunt.

At least one child he couldn't immediately identify.

His great-grandmother appeared briefly before disappearing again.

And directly in front of the camera sat nine-year-old Amina Farouk.

"UNCLE OMAR!"

Several nearby officers looked up.

One physically winced.

Omar's grin widened.

"Hello, Amina."

"Have you saved the Federation today?"

Around him, officers continued coordinating the departure of a starship carrying hundreds of personnel and enough equipment to support a deep-space mission.

Omar looked thoughtfully around the Operations Centre.

"Not today."

Amina gasped.

"Not today?"

"We haven't left yet."

The child considered this deeply.

"Will you save it later?"

"That's certainly the intention."

Satisfied, she nodded.

Behind her, various members of the Farouk family continued talking over one another with the effortless coordination that only enormous families seemed capable of achieving. Someone was discussing dinner. Someone else was arguing about travel arrangements. His mother asked whether he was eating properly. His great-grandmother asked exactly the same question moments later.

Some traditions survived every technological advancement humanity ever invented.

"Farouk."

He looked up.

One of the senior Operations officers stood nearby holding a PADD.

"Need another pair of eyes on departure allocations."

Omar nodded.

"Coming."

The officer glanced toward the still-active viewscreen.

"Family?"

"Always."

The call disconnected.

For a brief moment Omar stood quietly in the centre of the department.

Around him, the controlled chaos continued unabated. Officers worked through checklists. Cargo moved through the ship. Systems were tested, retested and tested again. Beyond the hull, dock crews and station personnel carried out their own preparations as the Venture edged closer to departure.

There was an energy to it all.

The feeling that something was about to begin.

It reminded him of standing on the docks in Hurghada as a child, watching vessels prepare to leave port and wondering what lay beyond the horizon.

The horizon had become considerably larger since then.

His smile returned as he set down his empty coffee mug and headed towards the next problem waiting to be solved.

The galaxy was a very big place.

And for the first time in a long time, he knew he was exactly where he wanted to be.

 

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