Realignment

Posted on Thu Jul 16th, 2026 @ 11:57pm by Chief Science Officer Mika Rai'z D.Sc., Ph.D. & Chief Counselor Serephima Anilon

Mission: What Lies In The Darkness
Location: Counseling offices
Timeline: 248001.01 16:30

(Takes place before the post 'Command Shakeup')


Once the crisis had passed and the ship began to settle into its post-engagement routine, Mika knew there was something he couldn’t put off any longer. The truth had been sitting with him since the moment he’d watched the fighters outside the viewport — a quiet certainty that leadership in battle was not his calling.

He filed his report, spoke with the necessary department heads, and completed the duties expected of an Executive Officer after an away mission event. And then, when he finally stepped into the Captain’s office, a few minutes later, walking back into the corridor with the decision made and accepted, he would step down as First Officer. He would remain until a replacement was found, but the role itself no longer belonged to him.

What came next should have been obvious; he needed to tell Karyn, but his thoughts were still unsettled, and the words weren’t ready. Not yet.

So instead of turning toward her quarters or department, he found his feet carrying him down another hallway, one he’d walked only one other time since joining the ship. He stopped outside the chief counselor’s office, staring at the quiet door for a long moment. Then, with a slow exhale, he reached out and pressed the notification button beside the frame.

A soft chime sounded.

Mika lowered his hand, feeling the weight in his chest shift; not lighter, but less alone.

Serephima looked up as the chime sounded, eyebrows raised. Had she forgotten an appointment? She rose, calling, “Please enter “

As the door opened and she saw Mika standing in the doorway, her limited empathetic abilities picked up distress…

“Mika “ she said softly. “Something troubles you. Please enter and we will speak “

She held out her hand, a gentle smile on her face.

Mika entered quietly, the emotional residue of the previous conversation clinging to him like static.

"I’ve been with the Captain," he said, voice steady but subdued. "I stepped down from my position. It was the right choice… but my mind hasn’t caught up with the fact that it’s done."

His breath left him in a slow exhale.

"I came here because I don’t want to speak to... a certain someone I care about until I’m thinking clearly. Not like this."

He fell silent, allowing her empathic sense to settle around the edges of his words.

Serephima listened carefully, slowly unfurling her wings, a gentle thrum beginning. She sensed his turmoil, but sensed that there was something more…

“You are—conflicted,” she said carefully. “I do not know what caused your decision, but it appears that some hidden part of you…doubts.” She paused, letting her empathic sensations settle, then asked gently, “Has this to do with the being you are not ready to speak with yet?”

The thrum from her wings intensified…

Mika settled into the chair across from her, the gentle thrum of her wings washing over him like a soft vibration against his skin. "Yes," he said finally. "What I’m feeling… it touches her. Not because she’s the cause, but because she’s important to me."

His gaze dropped to his hands. "I don’t want to walk into her workspace carrying confusion I haven’t sorted out. She deserves better than that."

A quiet breath escaped him.

"I know stepping down was the right choice. But the moment I made it, everything felt heavier than I expected. I don’t want her to think any of that weight belongs to her."

Serephima listened quietly, her gentle eyes watching Mika as he spoke, his words heavy. Her wings began to thrum slightly stronger as she considered her response.

“Mika,” she said softly, “Your desire not to burden your important friend is admirable and shows caring and consideration. But I must ask—and please do not misunderstand—it almost feels as if you are carrying guilt for something…not this action, but something else. Could that have some bearing on your feelings at this point?”

Mika let the silence sit between them for a moment before he answered.
"…Perhaps,” he said carefully. "I’m not sure guilt is the right word, but there’s… pressure. The feeling that I should have been able to rise to this. That stepping back means falling short."

He shook his head slightly. "I know that isn’t rational. But it’s there."

A slight frown appeared on Serephima’s gentle face as her empathic abilities intensified. There was something…

“Mika,” she said carefully. “Are you certain it is pressure—or is there something you wish had not happened or had happened differently?”

She watched Mika carefully, hoping he would feel comfortable enough to share more with her.

Mika’s eyes lowered, his expression tightening just a fraction as he searched for the right words. "…I don’t think this is about one moment," he said softly. "At least… not only this one. But the feeling behind it is familiar."

He let out a slow breath. "There have been times in my life when I believed I should have done more, even when I couldn’t have changed anything. That kind of thinking… it settles into you. You forget it’s there until something shakes it loose again."

His gaze lifted to her, calm but tired. "I’m not sure how much of what I’m feeling belongs to today… and how much belongs to a much older place."

Serephima considered his words carefully. He was trying to open up—that was obvious—but he still could not bring himself to speak of the actual incidents that triggered these reactions…

She spoke carefully, her voice gentle, her wings subtly increasing their thrum, “Times before you joined us? Perhaps some—unfortunate occurrence?”

Without realizing it, she held her breath, hoping she had not pressed too hard.

Mika felt the carefulness in her question and appreciated it more than he could say. He nodded once, slowly. "Yes," he said quietly. "Before I joined you. Before this ship."

His fingers tightened briefly against his knee, then relaxed again. "There were… events. Situations where I believed knowledge, compassion, or restraint should have been enough to change the outcome. Where I learned that even doing what you believe is right doesn’t always prevent harm."

He looked away for a moment, not avoiding her so much as choosing his words with care. "I don’t usually speak of them. Not because they’re unspeakable… but because they don’t change. And carrying them openly doesn’t always help."

His gaze returned to her, steady but worn. "I don’t think I’m reliving those moments now. But the feelings they left behind, the expectation that I should have been able to do more, they resurface when I find myself in roles where lives depend on me in ways I can’t reconcile."

A pause.

"I suppose stepping down didn’t create that feeling. It simply gave it a voice."

Serephima sat quietly for a moment, considering Mika’s words. The hesitation was obvious—these “events” were certainly still troubling him, especially when stressed as he clearly now was…

"These events you mentioned," she began softly, carefully, "They must have been quite stressful if they continue to influence you as they seem to be doing…" she hesitated, debating with herself, then continued in her gentlest voice, "Perhaps speaking of them more fully would ease you?"

Mika was quiet for several seconds before answering, considering not just her words, but his own readiness.

"…It might," he said softly. "Eventually."

He shifted slightly in his seat.

"I’ve spoken of them before, in other contexts, other times in my life. I know there’s value in it. I just don’t want those events to define this moment, or this choice."

His gaze held hers.

"What I’m feeling now isn’t about reliving the past. I'm sure now it’s about recognizing a pattern in myself."

Serephima nodded slowly, considering. After a moment, she asked, “Would you be comfortable speaking of this pattern? Perhaps in general terms?” Her wings maintained their soothing thrum as she continued, “Even if you only wish to speak in generalities, perhaps it would clarify your feelings and perhaps even your actions.”

Mika considered her question, then gave a small, thoughtful nod.

"I think the pattern is that I measure myself by whether I can reduce harm," he said quietly. "Whether I can ease suffering, prevent it, make things better."

He glanced down briefly, fingers loosely interlaced.

"And when I can’t—when a situation demands force, or risk, or decisions that accept loss as part of survival—I internalize it. Responsibility becomes personal. It feels like failure, even when I know it isn’t."

His voice softened, more introspective than ashamed.

"I was shaped by healing. By patience. By understanding. And command in crisis asks for something sharper than that. I can do it… but something in me doesn’t recognize it as me."

He gave a small pause.

"That’s the pattern. The moment harm becomes unavoidable, I start asking what I should have been able to do differently… even when there may have been no other way."

Serephima considered Mika’s words carefully. It was clear that he had internalized guilt for unavoidable decisions—decisions that had been technically, strategically correct, but had caused unavoidable harm. She thought for a long moment, taking care in her choice of words.

“Mika,” she said carefully, “What you are describing is that which every officer must deal with but your great compassion amplifies the stress, and apparently it becomes distress and possibly self doubt. The decisions you have made have been carefully thought out and, from what I have heard, have minimized harm greatly. That is an accomplishment—not a failure.”

She subtly increased the thrum of her wings.

Mika listened without interruption, the steady thrum of her wings washing through the quiet space between them. He absorbed her words carefully, not dismissing them.

"I know," he said after a moment. "Intellectually, I know that." His fingers tightened momentarily before relaxing once more. "And I understand that minimizing harm is sometimes the best possible outcome. That it’s unrealistic to expect perfection." He lifted his gaze to her. "But understanding something and feeling it are not the same."

A faint, almost rueful breath left him. "When I stand in a command role and make decisions that carry risk, even necessary risk, something in me recoils. Not because the choice is wrong… but because it asks me to accept harm as part of the equation."

His voice lowered, thoughtful rather than anguished. "I don’t know if that makes me unfit for command. But I do know that it makes command feel… misaligned."

Then he paused, letting the word settle.

"I can lead. I can act decisively. But afterward, I pay for it in ways I’m not certain are sustainable."

Serephima listened intently as Mika spoke. He was remarkably self aware, which made her wonder how much anguish he’d internalized. She considered his words seriously as searched for the best way to help him.

After a few moments she spoke, slowly, carefully. “You have considered this carefully, I believe,” she began, “but the pain that decisions that might lead to even small harm concerns me greatly.” She paused, considering. After a moment, she asked in the gentlest tone possible, “Do you remember when this additional stress began? Perhaps that will help to determine steps to minimizing or controlling this pain you are feeling.”

She paused again, then told him carefully, “Many in command have such struggles. It is most important that we find a way for you to cope with yours.”

Mika didn’t answer immediately. He leaned back slightly in his chair, eyes unfocused; not avoiding her, but looking inward. The question wasn’t simple. It wasn’t about a single day or a single ship.

"It didn’t begin here," he said at last. "And it didn’t begin when I joined command." His fingers folded together loosely. "I think it began the first time I understood that doing everything right does not guarantee a right outcome."

He drew in a slow breath. "There were moments in my past when harm unfolded despite restraint. Despite the intention. Despite compassion." His voice remained steady, but softer now. "I learned then that there are limits to what one person can prevent."

His gaze returned to her. "But command places you at the center of that truth. It magnifies it. Every decision carries consequences, and even when you minimize harm, you are still authorizing risk." A heartbeat later. "I believe the stress was always there. The demands of command simply bring it to the surface.”

Serephima listened, quietly impressed with both Mika’s openness and his conclusions. It was obvious that he had dealt with his dilemma and considered its effect on him carefully. She could still sense the stress in him, but perhaps a tiny bit of relief—as if finally giving his thoughts voice to her, knowing that they would never be repeated, had given him at least some comfort.

“You are very self-aware,” she said softly. “Many who come to me are filled with confusion, sometimes unbridled emotions that must be sorted through and dealt with. You, however, understand the why of your situation and perhaps the need for a different path forward.” She paused, considering carefully before continuing. “Since you feel uncomfortable in a command setting, what position would you choose if you had the option?”

"I felt like the many on my way here." Mika smiled, and then considered the question for a moment, though the answer itself did not take him long to find. "My instinct has always been toward healing," he said quietly. "Research, medicine, understanding the underlying causes of suffering so they can be reduced or prevented."

His fingers rested loosely together now, no longer tense. "That’s why I accepted the position of Chief of Science," he continued. "It allows me to focus on discovery and understanding, on finding ways to lessen harm before it begins."

A thoughtful pause followed. "It feels… more aligned with the way I see the universe. In that role, I can still lead, but in a way that guides knowledge and progress rather than directing conflict."

He lifted his gaze back to her. "I don’t intend to withdraw from responsibility. Leadership exists outside of command structures. Guiding research teams, mentoring younger scientists, coordinating humanitarian or medical efforts—those are forms of leadership I understand."

His expression settled into something calmer. "I believe my strengths lie in helping people rebuild after a crisis… rather than directing the crisis itself."

Serephima listened, impressed by Mika’s self awareness and knowledge of his strengths. It was surprising but unexpectedly refreshing to have some come to her with such a clear sense of his own strengths without dismissing the importance of other facets of life on FarVoyager. She sat silently for a moment, considering his words. An idea began to form…

“Your frankness is something I do not usually see,” she told Mika, smiling softly. “ I think you have already discovered what you need. Now we must discover how to make it happen.” She paused for a moment, thinking, then told him, “I do not know of the accuracy of what I am about to tell you, but I have heard that a group of scientists aboard have expressed a desire to start a research facility… I know nothing more, but perhaps, if that is true, it would be the position you would feel more comfortable in. If you wish, I will make inquiries…”

Mika listened, a faint warmth touching his expression as she spoke.

"I believe what you’ve heard may be a reflection of work already underway," he said gently. "The science research department has always existed, of course...but there has been discussion about expanding its research focus. Creating something more structured… more collaborative."

He shifted slightly, though this time the movement carried a trace of lingering tension. "I’ve just stepped into the role of Chief of Science," he continued. "It wasn’t a simple decision."

A small pause.

"I knew what I was stepping away from. The responsibility… and the expectations that come with it." His gaze lowered briefly. "The Captain deserved someone who could stand in that role without hesitation. Someone fully aligned with what it demands."

He drew a slow breath. "It was difficult, knowing I couldn’t be that person for him. But the direction you’re describing, the work within the science department, is part of why I made the choice. It allows me to contribute in a way that’s… sustainable. Honest."

His voice softened. "So in a way, what you’re suggesting isn’t something separate; it’s something I’m moving toward. A continuation, rather than a change."

He looked back at her, steadier now. "I think what I needed wasn’t to find the path… but to accept that it’s the right one for me." He met her gaze, quiet gratitude there. "And you’ve helped me do that."

Serephima smiled warmly at Mika’s words. “It is not often that I receive such words. Many do not know how to express it, I think. You know your strengths and wish to work within them instead of trying to align with the structure that is uncomfortable for you. That is rare.” She paused, then asked, “Do you wish more information about the research project? I can inquire on your behalf if you wish”.

She looked at Mika and saw more relaxation in his posture than had been there when he arrived. That was encouraging.

“Mika,” she said gently, “I hope you find your peace. I will do all I can to help ensure that it happens.”

Mika inclined his head slightly, a quiet appreciation settling into his expression. "Thank you," he said softly. "For listening… and for helping me see this more clearly." He shifted, the tension that had followed him into the room no longer quite as present. "I think I have what I need regarding the research work," he added gently. "But I appreciate the offer. It’s reassuring to know the support is there."

Then something warmer entered his tone. "This has helped more than I expected. Not by changing anything… but by putting it into perspective." He rose from his seat, composed now, though still thoughtful. "I’ll speak with her," he said quietly, more to himself than to her. Then, meeting Serephima’s gaze again, he added, "Thank you for your time… and your care."

Serephima smiled her gentle smile, saying,”I am glad I could help you. If you need to speak more at any time, I will be here.”

She rose also, furling her wings as she did, saying, “My offer of assistance with the research position remains, if you need it. I wish you peace and contentment.”

He rose from the chair, slower this time, as though some of the weight he had carried into the room had finally shifted enough for him to breathe around it. A faint warmth touched his features then, subtle but real. "I’ll keep your offer in mind… both of them."

For the first time since stepping off the bridge, and then out of the Captain’s office, Mika felt something inside him begin to settle; not certainty, not complete peace, but the sense that he had finally stopped struggling against himself long enough to hear what he already knew.

He met Serephima’s gaze once more. "And I truly hope I don’t take that kindness for granted."

With that, Mika gave a final respectful nod before turning toward the door, calmer than when he had arrived, though still carrying the thoughtful quiet of a man whose path had changed in ways he was only beginning to understand.


~end