Someone I Called Mentor

Posted on Sat Oct 31st, 2026 @ 2:22am by Commodore S'thenosis Gorgox & Commander Rosa Coy & Remal Kajun

1,896 words; about a 9 minute read

Mission: Character Development
Location: Arboretum
Timeline: A Step Out of Time

The notification arrived between two other matters requiring her attention. S’thenosis completed the first, opened the message, and found herself suddenly unable to recall the subject of the second. She read the brief announcement again, taking particular care with its final sentence, then placed the PADD squarely upon the corner of her desk, stood, and exited her office.

By the time she reached the observation deck, minutes later, she had composed three different versions of a suitable reply. Each expressed her condolences with sufficient dignity. Yet each seemed inadequate to the task at hand.

Beyond the adjoining arboretum, the deck curved toward a broad sweep of windows. The subdued lighting allowed the stars their proper prominence, while the open archway carried the faint scent of damp soil into the room. S’thenosis took her place near the glass, hands folded behind her back, her long cranial braid resting solidly between her shoulders. She had intended to remain for but a few moments.

Remal found her there over an hour later. He had come through the arboretum carrying a cup of Earl Grey tea, following the path around a gardener tending the roots of a young tree. At the archway, he noticed the Commodore standing alone. Something about the stillness of her hands held his attention. Ordinarily, even at rest, she exuded the impression of someone waiting for someone else to catch up.

He approached slowly enough for her to acknowledge him. “Latinum for your thoughts?”

Her eyes shifted toward his reflection in the window. “You have offered a currency without specifying a quantity.”

“I thought we might negotiate terms.”

“You may find the acquisition disappointing.”

Remal stopped beside her, leaving a comfortable space between them. “I can afford the risk and I've always found the risk tends to yield its own reward.”

For a time, she appeared to consider that. Through the glass, their reflections stood among the distant lights, his cup held loosely between both hands, her posture exact. “Someone I knew,” she said at last. Her chest scales lifted slightly with the breath that followed. “Someone I called mentor has passed.”

“I’m sorry, S’thenosis.”

She inclined her head in acknowledgment.

Remal allowed the quiet to settle before asking, “If you don't mind my asking, would you care to share what he was like?”

Her gaze returned to the stars. “He possessed a remarkable voice.” A small change touched her expression, something almost inquisitive, as though she had expected to begin elsewhere. “When he spoke, people afforded him their attention. He could make an ordinary observation sound worthy of consideration. In a contentious room, that was a considerable advantage.” Her fingers shifted against one another behind her back. “He regarded it as a responsibility.”

“What did he teach you?” Remal prodded, turning slightly toward her.

“Initially, that I was rather too impressed by the quality of my own arguments.”

Remal’s mouth softened around a smile. “That sounds like a difficult first lesson.”

“I disputed his assessment at some length.”

“I'm sure you did.”

“He listened to the entirety of my objection. Then he proceeded to thank me for the demonstration.” Her gaze lowered briefly, and the memory brought a faint warmth into her voice. “He could be exceptionally irritating.”

Near the entrance, Rosa paused with one hand resting against the doorframe.

She had noticed S’thenosis through the opening and now approached with a question about the following morning’s departure. Hearing Remal’s voice, she slowed her step. The expression on the Commodore’s face was powerful enough to hold her there.

“He had a considerable appreciation for absurdity,” S’thenosis continued. “His own dignity was frequently available for sacrifice. I found that difficult to reconcile with the man I had first encountered. I had mistaken his bearing for solemnity.”

“That must have pleased him.”

“Oh, immensely.”

Rosa glanced toward the corridor, weighing retreat against the odd discomfort of leaving someone alone while they were already in company. She stayed at the threshold.

“He understood fear,” S’thenosis said. “Particularly the kind acquired early in life, when a child must depend upon the judgment and restraint of adults. It informed his conduct. He paid attention to the person who had become quiet. He took distress seriously, even when the room found it inconvenient.”

Remal looked at her rather than the window.

“I recall presenting him with an assessment of a dispute. It was thorough. Every conclusion was supported. He read it twice.” Her jaw tightened slightly. “Then he asked what would happen to the people involved once I had finished being correct.” She let the words rest between them. “I have found that question persistently, and most annoyingly, useful.”

From the doorway, Rosa spoke before she had quite decided to. “I imagine a few people owe him a drink.” S’thenosis turned. Rosa straightened, her hand dropping from the frame. “I came about tomorrow’s flight.” She glanced between them. “But it can wait.”

Remal shifted slightly, making room without ceremony.

“Were you acquainted with him?” S’thenosis asked.

“Only by reputation.” Rosa came farther into the room. “I would have liked the opportunity.”

“So would he. He had an unfortunate fondness for people inclined to test the patience of authority.”

“Well.” Rosa settled beside the window. “Excellent judgment.”

The smallest movement touched S’thenosis’s mouth before her attention returned to the view. Rosa let the silence stand. She knew the temptation to fill an uncomfortable space, to give it a sharp edge and a laugh before it could settle anywhere tender. Here, the words felt better left where they were. After a while, S’thenosis said, “Our correspondence had become infrequent.”

“There were obligations. Intervening events. Messages requiring more consideration than I could conveniently afford at the time.” She drew a measured breath. “I have a reply in draft.”

“What did you want to tell him?”

“About a recent mediation. A concession I believed necessary.” Her eyes narrowed slightly at the glass. “I wished to know whether he would consider my reasoning sound.”

“Would he have?”

“He would have asked several questions I had already asked myself, and one I had taken considerable care to avoid.” Rosa looked down, recognizing more of S’thenosis in that description than she suspected the Commodore intended. “I kept revising it,” S’thenosis said. “There seemed sufficient time to make it precise.”

Remal lowered his cup to the ledge beside the window. “What would you write now?”

The question held her longer than the others. At last, she loosened her hands. “That his instruction has remained with me.” Her gaze moved between their reflections. “That there have been occasions when it has cost me something to follow it. That I understand more clearly why he insisted.” Her chest scales rose, then settled. “I should like to have told him that.”

“Yes,” Remal said gently. “You wanted him to know.” She turned toward him, and he met her gaze without attempting to relieve her of the admission. “I imagine there would always going to be something else you wanted to tell him.”

S’thenosis considered that with visible care. “I find the scope of that observation objectionable.”

“I thought you might,” Remal said, a faint smile softening his expression.

Rosa rested her shoulder against the narrow support between the windows. “You asked me something once,” she said. “After I’d explained a decision. You wanted to know whether I could defend it to the person who would have to live with the consequences.”

“That is a reasonable question.” S’thenosis angled her head toward Rosa, her posture straightening a fraction.

“It was a bloody inconvenient question.” Rosa folded her arms loosely, a rueful smile pulling at one corner of her mouth.

“Those qualities frequently coexist,” S’thenosis observed, with a slight lift of her chin.

“Yes.” Rosa’s smile softened as she studied the older woman. “I’m beginning to see where you acquired the habit.”

S’thenosis looked at her fully now.

Rosa lifted one shoulder. “I remembered it the next time. That’s all I'm saying.”

For several seconds, the Commodore said nothing. Rosa resisted the urge to make the admission smaller with a joke.

Eventually, S’thenosis looked back toward the stars. “He would have been pleased by that.”

“Then you can put it in the letter.”

Her eyes returned to Rosa. “The recipient is deceased.”

“I know.” Rosa glanced at the hands now resting at S’thenosis’s sides. “And yet, you still have something to say.”

Remal watched the suggestion settle. From the arboretum came the soft scrape of a tool against stone, followed by running water. “People often leave us with unfinished conversations,” he said. “Sometimes giving them words helps us understand what we’re carrying.”

“And sometimes?” S’thenosis asked.

“Sometimes we need someone to sit with us while we miss them.”

Rosa lowered her gaze. For a moment she was aware of how crowded memory could become, how many people could remain vivid within a life they had already left. She allowed the thought to pass without reaching for an explanation. “I’ve felt it for people I barely knew,” she said. “Heard something had happened to them and found myself thinking about it all day. Then wondered what right I had to take it so personally.”

“Did they matter to you?” Remal asked.

“Yes.”

He nodded. "Hmm."

S’thenosis studied her with renewed attention. “An influence may be substantial even where acquaintance is slight,” she said. “He understood that. He took considerable care with people who could offer him very little beyond their regard.”

“Then perhaps he knew more of what he meant to you than you think,” Rosa said.

“Perhaps.” She spoke the word cautiously, allowing it only the weight it could bear.

Remal retrieved his cup. The tea had cooled, and he held it without drinking. “What do you remember most clearly about him?”

S’thenosis’s eyes moved toward the arboretum as though something there had briefly caught her attention. “His laughter,” she said.

Rosa smiled. “After all that, I expected another devastating question.”

“So did I.” The admission seemed to surprise her. She looked down at her hands, then joined them loosely before her. “He once fell asleep during an address. I drew his attention to it afterward. I felt his position warranted greater discretion.”

“What did he say?” Remal asked.

“He assured me that he had given the speaker every opportunity to prevent it.”

Rosa’s laugh escaped before she could restrain it. She pressed her lips together, glancing at the Commodore, but S’thenosis was smiling now, the expression small and unmistakably fond.

“He subsequently requested my notes,” she added. “His confidence in his own defense had its limitations.”

“I think I would have liked him,” Rosa said.

“Yes.” S’thenosis looked at her. “I believe you would.”

Beyond the glass, the stars continued across the darkness. Somewhere behind them, the gardener finished watering the young tree and began gathering his tools. Remal settled onto the bench beneath the window. After a moment, S’thenosis joined him, arranging her long braid with habitual care. Rosa remained nearby, tomorrow’s flight already slipping down her list of priorities.

S’thenosis watched her reflection settle into the glass beside theirs. “There was another occasion...” she began.

 

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