The hydroponics bay had been particularly demanding that day. A stubborn batch of Trill moss refused to take root in the nutrient gel, and the Terran strawberries had demanded full attention with their temperamental photoreceptor rhythms. But finally, as the ship's night cycle approached, Crewman Joseph, Voyager's ever-curious botanist, left his leafy companions behind and made his way to Holodeck 2.
The doors hissed open, and in an instant, Voyager was gone. Joseph stepped into another ship, another time—the U.S.S. Enterprise-D—and specifically into the quiet sanctuary of Ten-Forward. Soft lighting glowed warmly across the bar, casting golden halos on the polished surfaces and the occasional gleam of a stargazing eye. A jazz ensemble played quietly in the background—earthy, ambient, just the way Joseph liked it.
Behind the curved counter, the unmistakable silhouette of Guinan stood waiting, as if she had known he was coming all along. Her gaze, calm and knowing, welcomed him without a word.
"Your usual?" she asked, already reaching for the ingredients.
Joseph nodded and sat down, the bar stool soft and familiar beneath him. She placed the drink before him—a rich blend of iridescent hues, made from the nutrient-rich vireel berries, suncrest fruit, and a hint of narilan rind, all harvested from her enigmatic homeworld, El-Auria. The first sip sent a warm wave through Joseph’s chest—cool, slightly tangy, with a depth of sweetness that lingered like a memory he didn’t know he had.
"You know," she said as she leaned in thoughtfully, "the vireel tree only grows where the soil has been disturbed—by storms, quakes, even wars. Yet it produces the most healing fruit of all."
Joseph managed a small smile, but she saw right through him, as she always did.
"Something's bothering you."
He hesitated, then let the truth tumble out like seeds from a broken pod. "Sometimes... my thoughts turn dark. Old memories. Bad encounters. People who were cruel. Even years later, those things hijack my mind. It's like I’m back there again, stuck in that moment."
Guinan nodded, slowly. "That’s not uncommon. Your mind is trying to protect you. Replaying the hurt so you’ll recognize it again. But it can’t always tell the difference between memory and threat. You have to teach it."
"Teach it?" Joseph echoed.
She tilted her head, considering. "Yes. You don’t have to silence those thoughts. You just have to stop believing everything they say. Treat them like a passerby on a long road. Acknowledge them. Let them speak. But don’t invite them to stay."
He sat in thoughtful silence. The ambient hum of Ten-Forward seemed to wrap around him like a blanket. The stars outside shimmered silently, uncaring, eternal.
"But what if they never stop coming?"
Guinan smiled gently. "Then we learn to greet them with curiosity instead of fear. We ask them what they want, what they’re really about. And we remind them—we remind ourselves—that we’re not who we were then. We're here now. And we're safe."
Joseph and Guinan fell into a comfortable quiet, sipping their drinks, the conversation settling over them like dusk.
Eventually, Guinan walked around the bar and stood beside him, her eyes fixed on the stars outside the window.
"Let’s not think for a while," she whispered. "Let’s just... be."
And so they were. Two figures, silent under a canopy of light-years, grounded in the presence of now. Outside, space flowed on—unhurried, immense, beautiful.
Eventually, as Joseph’s eyelids grew heavy and the holodeck prepared to return him to Voyager, Guinan gave him a parting smile.
"You know where to find me," she said. "And you’re always welcome."
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