A Letter Home.

Posted on Sun Feb 16th, 2025 @ 9:04pm by Lieutenant Veznia MD PSyD

Mission: Lower Decks
Location: Lieutenant Veznia's Quarters, USS Astraea

Veznia paced the length of her quarters, arms folded tightly across her chest, her brow furrowed in thought. Should she write the letter she had been turning over in her mind for weeks, or was it a pointless endeavor? Would it even matter after all this time?

She hadn't spoken to her father since before she left for the Delta Quadrant. Years had passed, filled with experiences that had changed her in ways she wasn’t sure he would understand—if he even cared to. The silence between them had stretched so long that breaking it now felt almost insurmountable.

Many of her crewmates wrote home often, sending messages to loved ones with each weekly data transfer. Some even counted down the days until they could send their next letter, eager to share their latest adventures. Veznia never had. Until now.

She exhaled, rolling her shoulders as if trying to shake off the weight of hesitation. Then, before she could second-guess herself, she turned to her console.

"Computer, begin recording," she said, her voice steadier than she felt.

The familiar chirp confirmed her command, and just like that, the words were waiting to be spoken.

'To My Dearest Father, Yolan—

I hope this letter finds you well and in good health. I imagine the house is as full as ever, buzzing with new faces I have yet to meet. How many new siblings have I acquired since my last letter? Three? Four? I always tell myself I’ll keep count, but then I remember I’m only Denobulan by birth, not by practice."

Veznia paused, wondering if her last statement was too blunt. She shook her head and continued.

"You used to tell me, when I was little, that family is the foundation of who we are. That we carry our ancestors in our smiles, our siblings in our laughter, and our parents in the warmth of our touch. I wonder, sometimes, if you think I have forgotten all of that.

I assure you, I have not.

It’s just different here, in Starfleet. There is a sort of loneliness humans and the Federation embrace that I’ve never quite been able to understand. I have tried, of course—living among them, sharing their spaces, adapting to their strange ideas of love and companionship. I have found friendships, fleeting romances, and even something akin to a second family aboard the Astraea. And yet, I can’t shake the feeling that I am not quite whole.

Perhaps I am too human for Denobula and too Denobulan for anywhere else.

You would tell me that I overthink things, as I always have. But I wish you could see the world through my eyes, just for a moment. The silence between people here is vast and weighty. They do not fill it with idle chatter or the comfort of a crowded room. They retreat, fold inward. I have learned to do the same, but some part of me fears that if I fold too tightly, I will disappear entirely.

And yet, I stay. Not because I must, but because I choose to. Because, despite it all, I love what I do. I love the quiet conversations in my office, the moments when someone allows me a glimpse into their mind and lets me help mend what is broken. I love the oddities of Starfleet, the absurd way these people celebrate small victories with cake, and the way my crewmates bicker like siblings without realizing it.

I have found meaning here, Father, even if it does not look the way you imagined it would.

I will try to write more often. Give my love to Mother, to my siblings, to the dozens of aunts and uncles I have never met. And tell them, if they ask, that I am happy.

Yours always, your Daughter Veznia."

The Counselor took a deep breath, steadying herself.

"Computer, end recording," she said, her voice quieter now, almost uncertain.

The soft chirp of acknowledgment filled the silence, but the weight in her chest remained. She exhaled slowly and slumped into the nearest chair, the tension in her shoulders finally giving way.

"Upload to the datastream for delivery."

The words slipped out before she could stop them, before doubt could creep in and make her hesitate. For a fleeting second, she considered taking it back—but the decision was made. The message was leaving her hands, crossing the vast distance that had separated them for so long.

And now, all she could do was wait.