Night Cycle
Posted on Tue Jan 20th, 2026 @ 10:51pm by Ensign Janelle Barett
Edited on on Wed Jan 21st, 2026 @ 9:09am
697 words; about a 3 minute read
Mission:
Not All Orders Are Easy
Location: USS Washington
Timeline: Current
The ship changed at night.
Janelle noticed it as she moved through the corridors after her shift — the way the hum of the warp core softened into something almost like breathing, the lights dimmed to a gentler glow, and conversations faded into murmurs behind closed doors. Even the bulkheads seemed to hold themselves differently, as if the Washington knew it was being watched less closely.
She approved of that, too.
Night offered anonymity. No expectations beyond being where you were supposed to be when the next duty cycle began.
She took the long way back to her quarters, passing through a stretch of corridor that bordered one of the observation lounges. The stars beyond the viewport were distant and cold, streaked faintly by the ship’s motion. She paused there longer than necessary, hands clasped loosely behind her back.
Some people found comfort in the view.
Janelle found it clarifying.
Her quarters greeted her with silence. No alerts. No messages waiting. She stood just inside the doorway for a moment before the lights activated automatically, as if the room itself were hesitant to intrude.
She didn’t turn on the main illumination this time, only the softer wall panels. She moved through her evening routine with practiced efficiency. Boots off. Uniform folded. Hair loosened from regulation neatness and left to fall where it would.
In the mirror above the sink, she barely recognized the woman looking back at her.
Not because the reflection was unfamiliar — it was too familiar. Same careful composure. Same controlled stillness. The kind of face that suggested competence and revealed nothing else.
She met her own gaze for a few seconds longer than usual, then looked away.
A whiskey bottle waited where she’d left it.
Janelle told herself she hadn’t been thinking about it all evening, and that was true — in the narrowest sense. She hadn’t consciously thought about it. It was simply there, occupying the same mental space as gravity or deck plating. A constant.
She poured without ceremony this time.
The first sip went down easier than the night before. The burn was less sharp, the warmth more immediate. She settled into the chair by the small table and let the tension ease out of her shoulders in increments so small they felt earned.
She didn’t drink quickly. She never did.
That was part of the justification.
The ship’s night cycle deepened. Somewhere overhead, footsteps passed — muted, distant, other lives moving through their own routines. Janelle imagined couples turning in together, crewmates lingering in lounges, laughter subdued but present.
She took another sip.
Functional, she reminded herself.
Always functional.
Her PADD chimed softly on the table, an incoming message notification. For a heartbeat, something inside her tightened — reflexive, uninvited — but when she glanced down, it was only a system update reminder. Nothing personal. Nothing requiring a response.
Relief and disappointment arrived together, indistinguishable.
She silenced the PADD and leaned back, eyes closing.
Sleep came later than she’d intended.
When it did, it was light and fragmented, broken by half-remembered dreams she refused to linger on. Flashes of warmth. A laugh she almost recognized. The sense of reaching for something already gone.
She woke once, sometime in the artificial early hours, throat dry and heart pounding for no discernible reason. The glass on the table was empty. The bottle less full than it had been.
Janelle sat up slowly, grounding herself in the familiar geometry of the room. Bed. Desk. Door. Everything exactly where it belonged.
She pressed her palms flat against her thighs and breathed until the moment passed.
When morning cycle arrived, she was already awake.
She showered. Dressed. Reassembled herself with precision. By the time she stepped back into the corridor, she was once again Ensign Janelle Barrett — composed, competent, indistinguishable from any other officer starting their day.
No one commented on the faint shadows under her eyes.
No one needed to.
As she headed toward the bridge, she told herself the same thing she always did:
Last night didn’t matter.
The lie sat easily on her tongue.
--
Ensign Janelle Barett
Strategic Ops
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