Dear Lexa
Posted on Thu Jun 11th, 2026 @ 9:18am by Lieutenant JG Theodor Wishmore
Mission:
Aperture Science
Location: Sickbay, Mostly.
Timeline: Mission Day 1 at 0000
The message sat in Theo’s drafts for nearly three days before he finally opened it again.
Not because he had nothing to say.
Quite the opposite.
The cursor blinked patiently while the Sojourner drifted in dock above Pathfinder Station, the distant glow of the Delta Quadrant filtering through the viewport of the small observation lounge he had claimed for the evening.
Eventually, he sighed, took a sip of tea that was already cooling, and began to type.
Dear Lexa,
Before you ask, yes, I'm eating properly.
Before you ask your second question, yes, actual meals.
Before your third question, no, coffee still does not count as a food group no matter how many medical officers attempt to argue otherwise.
I know you're disappointed.
The ship is good.
The people are better.
I think you'd like them.
I'm still learning names and faces, but I'm beginning to understand the shape of the place. Starships always have personalities. The Academy never teaches that part. They teach schematics and chain of command and power distribution grids, but they never tell you that eventually a ship stops feeling like a machine and starts feeling like a town.
The Sojourner is becoming that.
The next morning began with a patient who was absolutely convinced a faint discoloration on his forearm represented a previously undiscovered Delta Quadrant pathogen.
It turned out to be ink.
Not a particularly exotic ink, either.
Just ink.
Theo delivered the diagnosis with all the solemnity it deserved.
The patient looked relieved.
The nurse assisting him looked disappointed.
Theo suspected there had been betting involved.
I've also discovered that every crew has unofficial traditions.
The Sojourner's appears to be finding increasingly creative ways to end up in Sickbay.
Not through recklessness, exactly.
Curiosity.
The distinction becomes less meaningful the longer you serve in Starfleet.
If somebody ever writes a history of exploration, I suspect half the entries will begin with the phrase "This seemed like a good idea at the time."
The other half probably end in Sickbay.
Please do not show this section to Mother.
Later that week he found himself reviewing sensor logs while finishing a late lunch.
The lunch lost.
The sensor logs won.
By the time he remembered the sandwich existed it had become structurally questionable.
He considered the situation carefully.
Then ate it anyway.
Being a doctor did not always translate into good decision making where doctors were concerned.
I had one of those moments recently where I remembered how far from home we actually are.
It's strange.
Most days I don't think about it.
The work is still work. Patients still need treatment. Reports still need filing. Someone still manages to spill something where it shouldn't be spilled.
Life continues.
Then suddenly something catches you.
A phrase.
A song.
A mannerism.
A laugh that reminds you of somebody.
And for a moment you remember that Earth isn't a few days away.
It's on the other side of the galaxy.
I don't say that because I'm unhappy.
Just because it's true.
The day the wormhole was scheduled to open, the station seemed to vibrate with anticipation.
Crewmembers drifted through corridors with barely concealed excitement. Conversations kept circling back to the same topic. Operations reports arrived faster than usual. Even Sickbay felt different.
Quieter.
Most of the crew wanted to witness the event.
Theo couldn't blame them.
He sat at a terminal reviewing medical literature while the excitement built around him.
Occasionally he glanced toward the chronometer.
Mostly he read.
A physician's habits were difficult things to escape.
You'd laugh at me for this next part.
Actually, you'd laugh first and ask questions second.
I'm becoming exactly the sort of doctor I used to complain about at Medical Academy.
You remember the ones.
The physicians who treated every unusual case as an opportunity to learn something new.
I used to tell myself I'd never become one of them.
Apparently that was a lie.
I've spent part of this week reading about subjects I never expected to encounter when I left Earth.
Some of it because patients needed help.
Some of it because understanding people matters.
The line between those two reasons is smaller than I once thought.
A pair of nurses passed behind him carrying equipment.
One wished him good evening.
The other asked whether he'd left Sickbay at all that day.
Theo informed her he had.
She requested evidence.
He chose not to answer.
Anyway.
How are you?
Really.
Not the version you'd tell Dad.
Not the version you'd tell Marcus.
The real version.
How's the ship?
How's the work?
How many things have you dismantled this month that were technically functioning beforehand?
Actually, don't answer that one in writing.
I suspect it could be used as evidence.
Tell Isla I'm still waiting for the letter she promised three months ago.
Tell Mum I'm eating.
Tell Dad absolutely nothing because he'll somehow interpret this entire message as proof that I need more sleep.
Which, to be fair, is probably true.
The cursor lingered beneath the final paragraph.
For a long moment Theo simply sat there, looking through the viewport.
Stars.
Station lights.
The impossible distance between here and home.
And yet not quite as impossible as it had felt when he first arrived.
Eventually he smiled faintly and added one final line.
Miss you, Lex.
Write back when the galaxy allows.
— Theo
He read it once.
Made two minor corrections.
Deleted a sentence that sounded far more sentimental than he was willing to admit.
Then, before he could reconsider it, he transmitted the message into the narrow communication window that would be opened by the wormhole.
The terminal chirped confirmation.
Somewhere impossibly far away, a message had begun the long journey home.
Theo watched the confirmation light for a moment, then closed the terminal and headed back toward Sickbay.
There were charts waiting.
There were patients waiting.
And, if he was being honest, there was probably a cup of tea somewhere that he'd forgotten about.
