A Story In 3 Parts

Posted on Sat Aug 2, 2025 @ 9:52pm by Civilian Lirana Faux
Edited on on Wed Sep 24, 2025 @ 4:20am

1,578 words; about a 8 minute read

Mission: Time After Time
Location: Various
Timeline: MD 11 Morning

Part I: The Weight We Carry

The office smelled of jasmine and recycled air. There was a low hum coming from the air ventilation, the silence broken only by the occasional tap of Counselor Denev’s stylus against her PADD.

Lirana sat on the couch, back straight, hands folded tightly in her lap. The posture was instinctual, a leftover from years in Starfleet security, and one Terrin Faux would have called “overcompensating for control.”

The more Denev watched her, the more it only made Lirana feel more exposed.

“It’s been six months,” the Denev finally said, “You’ve been here on Trill, recovering, processing. But hiding, too.”

“I’m not hiding,” Lirana replied too quickly.

Denev’s brow rose, “You haven’t left the capital since the joining. You speak to no one outside of family and me. You dodge reintegration events. You haven’t even considered the symbiont harmonization sessions.”

Lirana’s jaw clenched. She could feel Terrin stirring, like an itch behind her thoughts. He was impatient and gruff. “If she says ‘healing journey’ one more time, I swear…” she could feel Terrin pushing through to the surface.

“Not now,” she snapped. Blushing she added, “I just need more time,” Lirana said, “It’s a lot to... process.”

“You think I don’t understand that,” Denev said, “but I’ve worked with joined Trill for thirty years. I know what it’s like when personalities collide, when memories tangle. But eventually, you have to stop waiting for some version of yourself to make the first move.”

“I’m not who I was,” Lirana whispered. “And I don’t know who I am now.”

“You can’t expect the world to accept you, when you don’t accept yourself.”

Lirana flinched. The words hit harder than Denev probably intended.

Lirana looked out the window beyond the office to the ocean. The ocean seemed to stretch on forever. It should have brought her peace. It didn’t. Her mind, always busy, never stopped buzzing. Terrin’s sudden, blunt comments she hadn't meant to say aloud. Ariona’s constant pull toward open water. Even now, the way she sat here, half-defensive, half-adrift. This wasn’t just her thoughts; this was the echo of a dozen lives.

“I think I need to...”

“To get off this rock before we start quoting poetry, or worse, take up sailing,” Terrin cut in.

“For a moment, I think I’m Terrin, then I remember he’s dead. But I’m not dead. I’m me. But I don’t know what that means anymore.”

Denev leaned forward slightly. “Then maybe it’s time to find out.”

“You’re not going to find yourself sitting in this chair, kid,” Terrin's memory said, clear as day. “Go live a little. Open a bar. Buy a ship. Or hell, open a coffee shop if that’s what floats your damn boat. Just do something.”

“I think I need to leave Trill,” Lirana said, finally jumping up from the chair. “Somewhere quiet. Somewhere not here.”

Denev smiled. “That’s not hiding, Lirana.”

“I might have an idea,” she said, mostly to herself. “Coffee. Something simple. Low risk.”

“And still connected,” Denev said. “People. Conversation. Purpose.”

“Yeah.” Lirana stood, her posture more at ease. “Maybe that’s a good place to start.”

As she walked out, a flicker of Ternis's legal mind flicked through her thoughts, already listing regulations for commercial vendor licenses. Ariona sighed wistfully at the thought of station windows and synthetic sunlight. And Terrin?

“About damn time,” he muttered.

Lirana smiled, just a little. She didn’t know if it was courage or desperation, but it was something.


Part II: Rex’s Roast

The laughter echoed from the playroom as Lirana stood in the doorway, twisting her left sleeve between her fingers. Torin sat cross-legged on the floor, building a towering of magnetic blocks. Sela was curled in a pile of pillows, humming something to herself as she colored on her holo-sketchpad. This was the hardest part.

“Hey,” Lirana said, forcing her voice steady. “Can we sit together for a minute?”

Sela looked up immediately, eyes wide, “Mama.” Torin took longer, suspicious already, even at five. He had her father’s stare; always two steps ahead of a conversation.

They gathered on the couch, Sela curled into her mother’s side like she always did. Torin remained stiff, hands in his lap.

“I’ve been thinking a lot lately,” Lirana began. “And talking with someone. About… what happened. With the joining.”

Torin’s jaw clenched, but he didn’t look away.

Lirana exhaled slowly. “I know things have been different. I’ve been different.”

“You’re not like you were,” Torin said, too mature for his age. “You forget stuff. You laugh at weird times. Sometimes you talk like a grumpy old man.”

Sela giggled.

“You’re right,” she said gently. “The symbiont…”

“You’re not you,” Torin interupted.

“No,” Lirana admitted. “But I’m still your mom. Even if I don’t always feel like the same one.”

There was a long pause. Sela played with a strand of Lirana’s hair, “I miss Papa.”

‘Me too, but I think we need a fresh start,” she continued. “Someplace new. Away from all the noise and confusion. I found a station, Deep Space 5. It’s quiet. There’s a shop space there. I’m going to open a café.”

Torin blinked up at her, confused. “Like… with coffee?”

“Yes,” she smiled. “Like Rex’s Roast. Something simple. Something mine. Ours.”

Sela’s face lit up. “Can I name a drink?”

“You can name two,” Lirana said with a chuckle.

Torin was quiet. “Will it be like before?” he asked at last. “When you weren’t… weird?”

Lirana reached over, placing a hand on his. “It won’t be the same. But it can be good, different good. I promise.”

He didn’t answer, but he didn’t pull away either. It was enough for now.

Days later, the shuttlebay echoed with pre-flight announcements as Lirana stood just outside the ramp, a small bag slung over her shoulder, two children by her side.

“You ready?” the attendant asked, smiling at the kids.

Sela nodded enthusiastically. Torin just gave a thumbs-up.

“Time to go,”came Terrin’s voice, “You're not going to find peace standing here in the terminal.”

She took a breath. Stepped forward.

They boarded the shuttle.

Part III: Echoes in the Brew

The lights flickered to life with a hum in the empty café space. Dust swirled in the light as the atmosphere systems adjusted to a comfortable temperature. The station’s recycled air carried a faint tang of meta, but beneath it all, Lirana could smell potential.

It was perfect. Well, almost perfect.

The space was tucked just off the promenade, a corner unit with wraparound views of the promenade. One wall was still partially unfinished, but the bones were good. The counters were solid durasteel. The backroom could easily house both supplies and a modest kitchen. And the tall window nook practically begged for a cushioned booth and a lot of pillows. A place where a sleepy customer with a mug in hand could relax.

Torin stepped inside first, arms crossed, taking it all in like a tiny operations officer. “It smells weird,” he declared.

Sela wandered in behind him, spinning in slow circles. “I don’t smell weird?”

Lirana smiled and crouched beside them. “This place? It’s ours now. We’re calling it Rex’s Roast.”

Torin blinked. “I like it.”

“We’ll serve coffee, pastries, tea… and if I do it right, people from all over this station will come here to relax.”

“Will there be replicator drinks?” Sela asked.

“We’ll have real beans and replicators,” Lirana said, brushing a curl from Sela’s forehead. “But here’s the fun part: I want each of you to name one drink. Something special. Something that says this place is yours, too.”

Torin frowned in deep thought, then pointed to the counter. “Okay. Mine’s going to be called the Red Alert. Super strong. Like, no-sleep-for-a-week strong. Maybe with cinnamon.”

“Cinnamon?” Lirana blinked.

“It helps with circulation,” Torin said seriously. “I read that.”

Sela immediately threw both hands in the air. “Mine’s called the Sunbeam Hug! It’s warm and pink and has sparkle foam. And sprinkles.”

“Sparkle foam?” Lirana blinked.

“Glitter. For drinking.”

Lirana laughed, the sound echoing warmly off the bare walls. “All right then. The Red Alert and the Sunbeam Hug. First two drinks on the menu.”

Torin smiled. Sela twirled again, her feet barely touching the floor.

There were still a thousand things to do. They needed permits, suppliers, and the seating installed, but in that moment, Lirana felt something.. A sense of place. She wasn't just carrying the Faux legacy anymore; she was creating something new.

Torin nudged her leg. “Can I help build the menu board?”

“Absolutely.”

Sela tugged at her sleeve. “Can we make a kids’ corner with pillows?”

“You read my mind.”

“Bet you forget the damn cinnamon tomorrow.” Terrin popped back to the surface.

She rolled her eyes but didn’t answer.

Her hand twitched. Just once. A muscle memory of reaching for a phaser that wasn’t there.

One step at a time, she reminded herself.

 

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