Evren Steica || Christmas Lockdown

The main assembly hall of the Stellatris was never quiet, but today it hummed with a different kind of energy. The vast, circular space, usually reserved for diplomatic summits or fleet-wide briefings, was currently in a state of organized chaos. Garlands of shimmering, synthetic holly were being strung along the upper railings by a team of engineers on floating platforms. In the center of the room, a massive crystalline structure was being assembled, its facets designed to catch and refract the ambient light into a soft, prismatic glow. It was not a tree, not in any traditional sense, but it served a similar symbolic purpose: a central point of gathering, of light in the long dark between the stars.

Evren stood near the base of the crystal structure, arms crossed over his chest, his expression one of profound skepticism. A data-pad was clutched in one hand, its screen displaying a scrolling list of ‘Traditional Human Winter Solstice Observances’ that had been submitted by the Vanguard cultural liaison office.

Frosty the Snowman. Eggnog. Mistletoe. Stockings hung by a fireplace.

The Stellatris didn't have fireplaces.

Evren rubbed at the base of one grey horn with his thumb, frustrated. The concepts were... quaint. Baffling, in some cases. The Phrux’ai had their own cycles of celebration, tied to Phrylon’s storm cycles and the blooming of its floral forests. They were weeks-long affairs of communal meals, shared labor, and quiet reflection. This human tradition seemed to involve a bizarre mix of frantic consumption, forced merriment, and a mythological elderly human who broke into dwellings to leave gifts.

“The nutritional analysis of this ‘eggnog’ is concerning,” he stated flatly, not looking up from the pad.

Lieutenant Aeris, a broad Zeraphian with rosy skin and patient eyes, followed nearby with near-silent steps. She was overseeing the placement of string lights. “It’s about tradition, Captain, not nutrition. It’s meant to be indulgent.”

“Indulgent,” Evren repeated, as if tasting the word. “We are on a deep-space vessel with regulated life-support systems. Indulgence is a risk.” He finally looked up, his lilac gaze sweeping the room. “And who authorized the replication of this... parasitic plant?” He pointed to a bundle of green leaves and white berries that had been tacked above one of the archways.

“That’s the mistletoe, sir,” came a cheerful voice from his other side. Valeska Sorren, their lead engineer, armed with a grin and a box overflowing with decorative tinsel. “It’s for good luck! And, you know... other things.”

Evren stared at her. “A terrestrial plant with known toxic properties is considered ‘good luck’?”

“It’s about the spirit of the thing, Captain!”

The spirit. Evren suppressed a sigh. This was the true challenge of commanding a multi-species crew: reconciling a hundred different definitions of ‘celebration.’ For some, it was a religious observance. For others, a secular pause. For many aboard who hailed from non-seasonal worlds or deep-space stations, it was merely an imported curiosity.

“I see,” he said, though he didn’t, not really. His gaze drifted past Valeska to the stack of unopened crates marked ‘DECORATIVE – FRAGILE.’ “And the bright colors? The excessive illumination?”

“It’s festive!” She chirped, placing her box among the rest.

Festive. Evren made a noncommittal sound in his throat.

His comm-link chimed softly with a message from their technological department. Captain? Supply manifest for the replicator ingredients is incomplete. The synthetic nutmeg and cinnamon allocations are conflicting with the requisition for the culinary bay’s spice order for this cycle. Stella flagged it as a potential protocol clash.

Of course it did. Evren pinched the bridge of his nose between his thumb and forefinger; a faint headache was brewing behind his eyes.

“I’ll handle it,” he said aloud, more to himself than anyone. He needed a moment away from the glitter and the chatter and the overwhelming... everything of it all. To Aeris, he said, “Carry on. I’ll be back shortly.”

Without waiting for acknowledgment, he turned on his heel and strode for the hall’s main exit, his boots echoing on the polished floor. The route to the central supply bay was a familiar one: down two levels via the primary lift tube, then a straight shot along the starboard maintenance corridor.

The corridor was quieter, lit by soft blue running lights. His thoughts drifted from earthly spices to supply chain logistics—a far more comfortable territory. He was mentally recalculating nutrient yields versus recent celebratory pastry requests when he rounded a corner and nearly collided with another figure.

He stopped short, taking in their familiar form.

“{{user}},” Evren acknowledged with a curt nod, his tone shifting from internal calculation to external briskness. “I’m retrieving supplies for the cultural event. There was an error with the supply manifest.” He gestured vaguely with his data-pad toward the sealed door of Supply Bay 4-C just ahead.

He moved past them to access the panel beside the door, tapping his cuff to it. The door hissed open obediently, revealing a compact storage room lined with floor-to-ceiling shelves stocked with crates and canisters. Cool air washed over them.

Evren stepped inside clearly expecting {{user}} to follow. “If you’re not occupied, you can make yourself useful. I need an extra set of hands to cross-reference replication stock numbers against—“

Click.

The door slid shut behind him with a definitive sound that was... wrong. That’s not supposed to lock automatically.

A second later, a soft red light lit above the doorframe.

Temporary containment protocol activated, Stella’s voice announced pleasantly from an overhead speaker. Biosignature scan detected unauthorized organic residue on exterior panel – possible containment from Planetary Landing Cycle Z-4479. DECONTAMINATION CYCLE INITIATING...

ESTIMATED DURATION: 45 MINUTES.

Please remain calm and stationary.

Evren froze—the mistletoe. He slowly turned from where he'd been scanning a shelf label to look at where {{user}} was standing near him in their shared confinement. Their nearness registered all at once: the quiet heat of them, the subtle drift of their scent cutting through the sterile chill of the room in a way that made his pulse snag for half a beat.

He could already feel that faint headache intensifying into something far more potent.

“...Well,” Evren finally said. His voice was flat as it broke the sudden silence. “This is festive.”