#1x03 - Reflections
Posted on Tue Feb 17th, 2026 @ 5:58pm by Lt Commander Stephen Jacobs Ph.D. & Ensign Freya Sandison
Edited on on Tue Feb 17th, 2026 @ 6:11pm
2,094 words; about a 10 minute read
Mission:
The Forgotten Outpost
Location: Passenger Liner Aurora
Timeline: 2401-09-05, 15:00
Summary: Freya, returning home from a six-week trip, reflects on a pivotal moment - meeting Stephen, the man who bought her painting Reflections at a London gallery years earlier. Meanwhile, Stephen, now a counselor on Starbase 417, anxiously awaits her arrival, reminiscing about how he impulsively purchased her painting, drawn to its mystery and her quiet charm.
= Passenger Liner Aurora - En Route to Starbase 417 =
FREYA
Freya settled into her seat, leaning back against the headrest with closed eyes. It had been quite a trip - not that she hadn’t enjoyed it, the interesting topics, the people, their views, everything really - but she was glad to be going home at last.
Opening her eyes and turning her head, she looked out at the endless streaks of stars, knowing that the real reason was because six weeks away had proved what she already knew: life without Stephen in it was empty.
The passing streaks had a soporific effect, and because her thoughts had been on him, she found herself back in London on a dull, damp November day, reliving the most exciting thing that had ever happened to her up to that point.
How strange coincidences can be, she thought, drifting back to the Gallery - the softly spoken murmurs, the subtle lighting, the plates of hors d'oeuvres and glasses of good wine, the thrill of simply being there as an exhibiting artist. And Julian Piedmont, whose gallery it was.
She hadn’t liked him much - a middle-aged, overweight man, wealthy, arrogant, used to having his own way - yet at the same time, willing to invest in young artists such as herself. And for that, he was to be applauded.
The invitation had been a complete surprise: to show one example of her work at an Exhibition in the Piedmont Gallery, Thames Embankment, London, 14.11.94. Should she accept, she was to arrive on the 10th with her work for hanging, framing, formal interviews, and so on.
She had gladly accepted, then spent time deciding which painting she would show. The subject was her own choice, so free rein - but her favorite work to date had been Reflections. Choice made.
Freya could have burst with pride on seeing her little painting displayed on the beige fabric wall. Kind comments came once or twice, but it was soon clear that her effort somehow fell short compared to others, who soon had little red dots attached to their frames, denoting the work was sold.
As the afternoon wore on and dusk fell outside the brightly lit window, she glanced back towards her watercolor of a Fuchsia - only to see it being admired by a tall man taking a real interest in it. Excusing herself from a small group of fellow artists, she crossed the polished floor to stand beside him.
“What do you think?” she asked quietly, looking at the raindrop hanging from a petal - the detail that had given the work its name.
He glanced down at her. “I think it remarkable,” he replied, looking back at the painting. “So intricate, yet so dainty… and the droplet… the reflection…” He shook his head slightly, as though to express his disbelief that something so fine could be captured by a brush and paint.
“Can you see who it is?” she asked.
“No,” he replied slowly, frowning a little.
“It could be the artist?” she suggested. “Or maybe… it’s you?”
He looked at her, taken by surprise at the idea, and saw her lips curve into a wide smile.
“You could be right,” he replied, turning his attention back to the miniature flower. “It’s indistinct… deliberately so.” He glanced back at her, smiling too.
She nodded and was about to speak when a voice called: “Freya… come.”
There was Julian Piedmont in his expensive pale grey suit, raising a hand, flicking his fingers imperiously, beckoning her. She gave a small sigh.
“Please excuse me,” she said, looking up at the stranger. “I’m needed.” She tilted her head in Julian’s direction, gave a small smile, and turned away.
It was her turn to fall under Piedmont’s attention. He took her elbow, steering her towards a couple he introduced - though now she couldn’t recall their names. They spoke of she-knew-not-what, but all the while, she wished to return to the man who had seemed to like her idea. Leaving, though, wasn’t possible with Julian’s hand cupping her elbow - and when at last she managed to turn and look back, the tall man had disappeared.
A tinge of disappointment settled over her - until she saw the little red dot.
-
= Starbase 417 - Counselling Offices =
STEPHEN
An hour after lunch on a Thursday afternoon, Stephen Jacobs, a counselor aboard Starbase 417, bid good day to his aide, told her to call if needs be, and headed off towards one of the crew arrival lounges on the lower level near the main concourse.
He checked the arrival time - unsurprised to learn that the ship was on schedule - and found himself a comfortable seat with a view of the docking bay interior. Time seemed to slow even as he sat there, and he asked himself how he could be so wound up in waiting to have her back again.
He had missed her company, her laughter, her seriousness. In fact, he missed her for many more reasons than those. Checking the time and tapping his fingers on the seat beside him, his mind revisited the first day he had met her - a brief meeting, but one he remembered as though it were yesterday.
-
Stephen had been striding along the embankment, glancing across the Thames at the old seat of government, relaxed and glad to have a few hours free from what was fast becoming a tedious round of meetings. But though he enjoyed the exercise, he wasn’t enjoying the drizzle of this dull November day.
Pulling his collar up and hunching deeper inside his coat, the word ‘Exhibition’ caught his eye. Slowing his steps, he looked up at the building, then into the lit window where an easel gave scant information: ‘Art Exhibition. Today. 10.00 – 17.00.’
Why not? he asked himself and stepped through the doorway - to be greeted by light, warmth, and a small grey-haired woman already getting to her feet from her seat behind an elegant desk.
“Good afternoon, Sir. Welcome to the Piedmont Gallery,” she said as she approached.
“Thank you,” Stephen replied, looking past her towards the sound of muted conversation from an open room where people were milling about.
“Would you like one of our catalogues?” she asked, offering it in a way he could hardly refuse. “This is the second exhibition Mr. Piedmont has arranged, and like the first, all the artists are amateurs - though their work has been especially chosen by Julian personally.”
She smiled at him, expecting that he knew who Julian Piedmont was - and that he would understand that the artists in question had had a rare honor bestowed upon them. Stephen gave a nod and smile in return. The name rang a bell, though he had no clear idea of who the man was.
“Please come this way,” she said, leading him towards the room. “Have a wander around, take your time… and enjoy.”
“Thank you, I will,” he assured her.
Inside the catalogue’s cover was a photo of Julian Piedmont, with a brief outline of his career, achievements, and various accolades. The exhibition’s aim was to draw attention to amateur artists who showed flair and promise. Stephen looked at the photo, seeing a slight hint of conceit in the man’s expression - but his generosity in promoting young artists was applaudable nevertheless.
Stephen’s eye did a quick scan of the room before starting his tour along the nearest wall. The paintings were titled with a number alongside; details of the artists’ names and backgrounds were inside the catalogue - but Stephen soon abandoned looking up each one, concentrating instead on the paintings themselves.
Some were remarkably good; others, he wouldn’t have given house room to. But it’s all down to personal taste, he thought, looking at a mishmash of clashing color entitled Pathway to Peace - and didn’t even want to begin to try to work it out.
One or two held his attention - but none as much as Reflection did.
The painting was a watercolor, small in size - no more than four inches square - and at first glance, it was unclear how it got its name, for there was no lake, pool, or mirror as might be expected. But on closer inspection, he found the answer.
The subject was a flower head - a delicate thing hanging from a slender stem, with outer petals turning back on themselves, pale pink above a deeper shade below, long stamens from its center - all so exquisitely done.
On one of the outer petals was a single raindrop, fat and full, caught in the moment before it would fall - and in that tiny space was indeed a reflection.
He had leaned closer, intrigued - when suddenly a quiet voice asked, “What do you think?”
Looking to his right, he saw a young woman - much shorter than himself - staring at the raindrop much as he had done.
“I think it remarkable,” he replied, looking back at the painting. “So intricate, yet so dainty… and the droplet… the reflection…” He shook his head slightly, as though to express his disbelief that something so fine could be captured by a brush and paint.
“Can you see who it is?” she asked.
“No,” he replied slowly, frowning a little.
“It could be the artist?” she suggested. “Or maybe… it’s you?”
He looked at her, taken by surprise at the idea - and saw her lips curve into a wide smile.
“You could be right,” he replied, turning his attention back to the miniature flower. “It’s indistinct… deliberately so.” He glanced back at her, smiling too.
She nodded and was about to speak when a heavily set man in a pale grey suit raised a hand, flicking his fingers imperiously as he called a name.
The man himself, Stephen thought, recognizing Piedmont from the catalogue.
“Please excuse me,” she said, looking up at Stephen. “I’m needed.” She tilted her head in Julian’s direction, gave a small smile, and turned away.
Stephen watched her for a moment, then looked back once again at the painting, thinking that she was right - that the reflection was deliberately vague, that he could indeed be looking at himself, but that he would never know.
He smiled to himself, liking the idea and the thought behind it - deciding there and then that he would buy the painting.
Glancing back, he saw that Julian now had his hand under her elbow, propelling her towards a couple with a proprietary air. It was a shame - he would have liked to have spoken to her more - but… he looked back at the painting… he would definitely purchase this before someone else could snap it up.
-
He smiled to himself at the memory.
A word with the grey-haired lady at the elegant desk, and the transaction was soon completed. Reflections would be delivered the following day - if he would please supply his details. His name and the location of a hotel, and the deed was done.
She thanked him very much on behalf of Mr. Piedmont and the artist, adding that he would be most welcome at the next exhibition. Stephen thanked her in return but said he was only visiting and would have to forego the pleasure.
Turning towards the door, he saw - as he did so - Piedmont and the pretty young woman in conversation with a small group now. It seemed to him that she was out of place there, didn’t fit somehow.
But if she had fitted there, if that had become her life… then in all probability, we’d never have met again. Life turns on a pin-point, he thought, getting to his feet as the Aurora came into view through the long windows.
He would wait closer to the gangway - to welcome her home.
= END =
RSS Feed