On scout ships like the Rhode Island class, the atmosphere was often noisy and frenetic in the hallways, thanks to the close quarters. With powerful engines and delicate sensor systems, they had relatively large crew complements for their size just to keep everything working as it was supposed to. A few days after the decommissioning ceremony, Captain Sean Gaudain was expecting to find salvage crews aboard the now ex-Apollo when he boarded for his final visit, but it was completely deserted. After he passed the bored chief guarding the gangway Avalon, he was entirely alone on the ship he’d called his own for over two years—a fiefdom that had taken decades to acquire and which he felt a strong sense of loss over, even as this Apollo was docked next to a brand-new, much more capable Apollo thanks to the success of his time there.

A veteran of the Dominion War, Gaudain had spent far longer than most of his classmates working his way through the ranks to finally take the center seat on Apollo in 2399, even with a mentor and benefactor like Vice Admiral Jonathan Knox on his side. He’d spent a full ten years as a lieutenant commander, as executive officer on three different ships before he’d been tested, tempered, and molded enough to please the brass enough as an upstanding, rule-mostly-following officer.

His natural bravado, which had led him to pursue a career as a pilot, had mixed with staggering losses in his early life: first, Alexander Durand, his fiancé, in front of his eyes in the last months of the Dominion War mere hours after proposing, then the loss of his homeworld, parents, and brother all in one fell swoop when Mars and Utopia Planitia were incinerated just a decade later when he had finally started to move on from Durand’s death. Gaudain had just been promoted to lieutenant commander and tactical officer for his second five-year mission on the Agincourt under Knox when Mars happened. They were in the Gamma Quadrant, and it took a week for them to even learn about it, which meant that they had no chance of participating in the recovery efforts, not that there was anything for him to recover. Knox had been able to steer him along the right path the first time, but he struggled to cope with more pain and a greater tragedy.

Four years into their mission, Gaudain had followed Knox to a science ship, the Sagan, for a special project to stabilize the Barzan Wormhole. This time, he gave Gaudain the ultimate vote of confidence by naming him as his first officer. Following that, Knox was promoted and took command of then-Deep Space 38 over Barzan. Knox offered Gaudain several different roles on the station, but in the end, they both knew that he needed to stay on ships and spread his wings under another captain. First came three years as executive officer on the Spartan, under a Vulcan who valued Gaudain’s talents but couldn’t stand his loose relationship with regulations. There was no love lost when he transferred to the Ramilles at the end of that cruise, back at the helm in what was technically a demotion but on a much larger ship. Under the command of then-Fleet Captain Liam Dahlgren, he found the second of his major career benefactors.

Knox had been patient and paternal with Gaudain, urging himself to find the serenity with himself that would let him live up to his potential. He stressed duty, honor, and the therapeutic value in crisp hospital corners on one’s bed linens. He was compassionate but never from a place of pity. Dahlgren was not like that at all—his strategy was much more transactional. If you made him look bad, he’d get rid of you. If you made him look good, he’d have your back. In Gaudain’s case, that was the kick he needed to step up his game. In turn, when Dahlgren was promoted to rear admiral, he made Gaudain the first officer of the Ramilles, still his flagship, over the more experienced chief science officer who hadn’t made as much of a name for himself.

On an upward arc, Gaudain was selected two years later as first officer of the Opportunity, succeeding Michael Lancaster under Fleet Captain, and later Commodore, Elizabeth Hayden. She had qualities of both of the other senior officers that had made their marks on him; while nurturing, she wouldn’t brook shenanigans. She helped Gaudain mellow and find his voice as a commander. Finally, Hayden offered Gaudain the Apollo in 2399 as part of her mission to the Delta Quadrant. It was a role Lancaster had turned down in order to serve as her first officer again, or at least that was the rumor, but Gaudain was happy to take the silver medal: he had a ship of his own, at long last.

 “Bridge,” Gaudain ordered, stepping into the turbolift for the five-second ride up to deck one, where his quarters and ready room had also been located for his tenure on that iteration of the Apollo.

After crossing the corridor, Gaudain stepped through the starboard doors onto the bridge. It wasn’t the original module. Despite being less than a decade old, Apollo had spent her career beyond the edges of the Federation and in regular conflict with some of the Federation’s most aggressive enemies. She’d been patched up dozens of times, and the whole bridge was replaced a few months before Gaudain took command. It was cramped, packing in extra intelligence and tactical displays to handle Apollo’s reconnaissance duties. Resembling the spartan starship architecture of Dominion War-era ships, it had served Gaudain and his crew well.

He was there for three last souvenirs. Unclipping the engineering kit from its holster on the aft bulkhead and setting it on the deactivated helm, Gaudain retrieved an autoratchet. He got down on all fours and quickly unfastened the four bolts holding the base of the command chair to the deck plating. After feeling around for the access panel, he reached into the hidden utility trunk to pull the ODN and EPS connections that served the consoles, managing to only shock himself a little bit in the process. He stood up and pulled out his tricorder, targeting the chair and activating the transporter. His new chair on the new Apollo was much more comfortable, but he’d rather his first command seat end up in a corner of his quarters rather than the scrapyard.

Apollo was still space-worthy, but she needed critical repairs across multiple systems. In the end, Starfleet decided that her lineage would be borne on by a new Duderstadt-class scout-cruiser, and she would be scrapped for parts to repair other Rhode Island-class ships. The fact that she could be repaired but Starfleet was choosing otherwise left a sense of resentment in Gaudain’s stomach—brand new toy or not. He put the tool away and the toolkit back on the wall. The next item wouldn’t need it.

Over on the port side of the bridge, Gaudain found the ship’s silver and gold-plated dedication plaque. It was just hanging from a pair of clips, so it was easy enough to take off of the wall. He was sure someone would have received it at some point, but he was going to make sure it went right on his ready-room shelf. Just as he was tucking the plaque under his arm, the door to the bridge opened.

Taller than either of his parents and stunningly beautiful like his mother, Cody Knox-Stanton had stopped using his full surname in recent years and just went by his mother’s name. Gaudain was thankful that little of his father’s looks made it into the boy’s genes, as that would have been an unwelcome reminder of his dead mentor on the bridge. Admitting that to himself made Gaudain’s stomach twist, as did the relief he felt in not having to address him as “Lieutenant Knox.” Admiral Knox, his father, had been killed when the Hephaestion was destroyed—the admiral was a hero, as he stayed behind on an otherwise empty ship to ram a Breen dreadnought and Save Starbase 38. Guadain had been on that very bridge when he saw it. Stanton was on the station. He knew it was something that had hit the lieutenant hard, and seeing him brought back his own feelings of loss.

“Someone noticed I was missing,” Gaudain said, chuckling through the moment of discomfort he had been feeling on seeing him. They had spoken briefly the day prior when Stanton came aboard but otherwise had not had a conversation, let alone one in private. “Unless you’re here to steal shit, too, Lieutenant?”

Stanton’s eyes got wide for a moment, and then he saw the plaque Gaudain was carrying and smiled.

“Commander Rhodes sent me to remind you that our departure is scheduled in one hour, sir,” the lieutenant said.

“Are the comms on our brand new ship offline?” Gaudain teased.

“No, Captain. The Commander just thought that you would… be more apt to be on time if the reminder were sent in person,” Stanton replied; he was more adept at spin than Gaudain realized. “I volunteered. I’ve never been aboard a Rhode Island-class ship before,” the young man added brightly.

“You visited the Sagan at least once. That’s not close enough?” Gaudain asked. He pushed the plaque into Stanton’s arms and went over to the science station. He placed his palm flat on the control surface. “Computer, initiate shutdown sequence,” he ordered.

Giving the order sent a spear of ice through Gaudain’s guts; he’d gone through the ceremony, but actually pulling the physical plug on his own ship was heartbreaking.

“Shutdown sequence initiated,” the computer reported.

“That was a Nova-class ship, sir. Totally different,” Stanton replied, stepping back to make room as Gaudain walked off of the bridge for the last time into the corridor, which was now lit only by emergency lighting. It would all turn off when they left. “I didn’t think you’d remember that. Or, well, me.”

Gaudain laughed at that. “I served under your father for fourteen years, Cody. I definitely remember you and your sisters, but you were the only one he brought aboard the Sagan even for a visit,” he said. He looked up at the young man scarcely believing that the boy who’d dangled his legs in the captain’s chair was now even taller than Gaudain’s own impressive 185 centimeters. “Come on; I have one more thing to make you an accessory to.”

Taking the turbolift down to deck four, Gaudain led Stanton through the empty corridors towards the Waverider Bay. With such cramped facilities, Rhode Island-class ships couldn’t carry standard runabouts, but the designers had managed to cram a high-speed survey craft in between the computer core and the sensor dome. The doors opened, and the Waverider looked eerie in the dim emergency lights as if it were some sort of enormous bird just trying to sleep.

“This is the Eagle. She was brand new in 2399 and is probably the best small vessel for away team missions I’ve ever seen,” Gaudain explained. He saw Stanton giving him some side-eye. “They’re custom-built to match the exact hull dynamics of the ships they’re assigned to, so she’ll just be scrapped if she doesn’t come with us.”

Stanton cleared his throat. “I didn’t say anything, sir.”

“You’re always allowed to tell me when I’m full of shit, lieutenant. More or less,” Gaudain said, modifying that permission as he gave it. “You’re a senior officer now. Though, this is probably just a short stop on your meteoric rise to command,” the captain teased as they walked around the Eagle to the rear hatch.

“Respectfully, sir, I don’t know if I want to be a captain. I just like flying,” the lieutenant admitted as the rear hatch opened. Gaudain saw his eyes linger on the command seat, which was sitting in the corner, but the young man didn’t say anything, but he deposited the dedication plaque there gently before they walked forward through the Waverider. “I’m not even sure I deserve to be your helmsman.”

Gaudain stopped in his tracks as they were halfway up the steps from the cargo hold into the crew section. He turned around to look Stanton dead in the eye, now the same height for once, thanks to the steps.

“Cody, I’m only going to explain this once: Your father was a great man, and he made a huge impact on my life and my career. I respected him so much, and I miss him. A lot,” Gaudain started. “Your mother is an important Starfleet doctor with tons of clout. Both of them would murder me on the spot if they even suspected I was giving you any sort of advantage because of that. Starfleet gave me ten candidates, and I picked the best one.”

“I—,” Stanton tried to interrupt.

“I am, without a doubt, an amazing pilot. You’re already pretty good, but under my command, you’re also going to become amazing. Got it?” Gaudain asked.

Stanton looked unsure, but his smile started to creep back onto his face. Gaudain was glad he bought it, because he wasn’t sure if he did, himself. Stanton was pretty good, but so were the other candidates he looked at. Gaudain knew he could do the job, but he wouldn’t be able to swear that he hadn’t just wanted to keep his mentor’s son safe. The best way he could do that would be to keep him in plain sight.

“Understood, Captain,” the pilot said.

“Good man,” Gaudain replied. The transparent aluminum doors to the crew area opened, and the two of them walked past the crew lounge and into the cockpit. “Computer, begin start-up and pre-flight sequence.”

“Acknowledged.”

Gaudain sat down in the co-pilot’s station and gestured towards the helm. Stanton looked like he was about to protest again, but he closed his mouth and sat down. Once he was actually at the helm, though, Gaudain noticed that Stanton seemed to take on a wholly different persona, confident and efficient as he worked through his side of the pre-flight checklist. It was difficult to be an effective pilot if you were truly meek, after all.

“We’re ready to go,” Stanton announced.

“Releasing docking clamps. The auto-launch sequence will take us clear of the ship, and then it’s all you,” Gaudain replied.

With automatic thruster control, the Eagle moved down and out of its docking cradle, and then it zipped the short distance forward to fully clear the bow of the old Apollo. The viewport was filled by the interior of Avalon Fleet Yards’ headquarters station. Even in the subsidiary spacedock where Apollo was held, there were a dozen other starships and countless shuttles and workpods zipping around. They could also see the newer and much larger Apollo just ahead. The Duderstadt class had a sense of grace to her but also a sense of the exotic or even the alien in the way her secondary hull was drawn forward, almost like a battering ram or some sort of insectoid stinger.

“Apollo, this is Gaudain aboard the Eagle. Requesting clearance for bay two,” the captain announced over the comm.

“Aboard the… Captain, I wasn’t aware that we would be bringing the Eagle with us,” Commander Rhodes replied after a small delay. Recently promoted somewhat against his will, but since Starfleet insisted on a full commander in the first officer’s seat on the new, larger ship, Rhodes was much more cautious than Gaudain was. He had also learned when to let things go. “But that is a remarkable way of bringing us to our full complement of two runabouts, sir. Clearing you for bay two.”

“Much obliged. Gaudain out,” he replied. The captain glanced over at his new helmsman. “Let’s take the scenic route, Lieutenant,” he ordered.

Stanton nodded, smiling to himself as he took the Eagle in a slow pass around the perimeter of the new Apollo. Though a light cruiser by 25th century standards thanks among other things to having a crew of ‘just’ 300, it was still a large vessel. Long, tall, and narrow, she boasted some of the most advanced systems in Starfleet spread over thirty decks. Gaudain took in every moment of their survey, looking for but finding no blemishes.

“Factory new,” Gaudain muttered. “I don’t think I have to tell you twice not to scratch the paint, right?”

“No, sir,” Stanton agreed.

Passing over the saucer section, Stanton took their craft in a gentle arc around the starboard nacelle and up from under. The main shuttle bay in the curved portion of the hull connecting to the engineering hull was open, and Gaudain could see last-minute crew additions stepping out of a shuttle there, but the secondary bay up on the spine of the ship was a little larger. It would be the perfect place to stash their new runabout where it wouldn’t interfere with operations. As Stanton got them closer, the massive rectangular doors on the dorsal surface of the hull came into view, already open. Cargo trains were coming and going—mostly going at this stage of their departure preparations.

“I’d like us on the forward end of the bay, facing aft,” Gaudain said.

“Understood.” Stanton brought them down smoothly and precisely, rotating just above the doors to the bay and then settling down in a parking space very near to the forward bulkhead. In front of them was the large elevator that connected the secondary bay to interior cargo holds, machine shops, and through to the hanger that served both facilities. “Securing systems,” the lieutenant reported.

“Good work,” Gaudain said, clapping him on the shoulder as he stood up.

Stanton jumped slightly, and Gaudain resolved not to do that again. The young man was jumpy, but there was also an unexpected tension there—something that he hoped for many reasons was not chemistry. Taking a few extra seconds to lock everything down, Stanton followed Gaudain towards the aft hatch. Gaudain paused on the stairs again.

“Look… A lot of my senior officers came over from the old Apollo, so I just wanted to acknowledge that they already have some shared history together, but they’re a good group, and you’re going to fit in,” Gaudain said. “Rhodes will look after you. But my door’s always open if you need anything.”

“I appreciate that, Captain,” the lieutenant replied.

With their new runabout safely delivered, Gaudain stopped to grab the plaque from the cargo hold on the way out through the rear door with Stanton in tow. There was a pair of confused-looking yeomen standing there marveling at the unexpected arrival.

“You two, I want the Eagle painted with an updated registry number. There’s also a chair in the hold. Have it sent to my quarters,” Gaudain ordered. Once the yeomen saw that it was the captain himself who had graced them with his presence, they snapped quickly to some semblance of attention and then hurried to make themselves look busy carrying out his orders.

Just before it was time to depart, Captain Gaudain emerged from his ready room and entered the bridge. Stanton and the rest of the bridge officers were already at their stations while Commander Rhodes oversaw their final systems checks from his seat at the science station. The bosun’s whistle sounded, and all eyes fell to him for a moment before they returned to their work. Gaudain stepped over to Rhodes first.

“How are things looking, Number One?” Gaudain asked.

“We’re green across the board, sir. Apollo is ready for departure on your orders,” Rhodes replied. He flicked a requisition order up on the screen. “Starfleet was also remarkably quick about approving your requisition for a Waverider-type shuttle.”

Gaudain chuckled. “Sometimes waiting for forgiveness is the way to go,” he said with a shrug.

The captain moved to the center of the bridge, stepping up onto the dais with his new seat. He sat down and ran his fingertips along the wood grain of the armrests, admiring the sense of design and detail that had gone into the new ship, with the same material adorning the helm console and railings around the bridge. The entire bridge module resembled the ones found aboard Constitution-class ships, with the central command area ringed by consoles. The room was open to a circular corridor that provided access to the ready room, conference room, turbolift, head, and a small armory. It wasn’t the design in vogue across the fleet, but Gaudain had requested it as a way of living out his fantasies of being on the frontier in the 2270s. He liked the arrangement that had him at the center but all of his officers within easy access for consultation—he would follow their advice, but at the end of the day, command decisions belonged to him.

“Ops, retract the blast door,” the captain ordered.

“Sure thing, sir,” Lieutenant Tasev replied.

The lieutenant was the most easy-going and positive Andorian that Gaudain had ever met, quick with a laugh and difficult to irritate. From the operations station on the port side opposite science, Tasev pressed the control to retract the sheet of ablative armor that backed the forward viewport. Simultaneously, the thick wall of aluminum became fully transparent to provide a ‘real’ view of the space in front of the ship.

“Mr. Knight, get me the control tower.”

“Y-yes, sir,” Knight replied, seeming startled by the order. The young ensign had warmed up to his role on the bridge, and Gaudain had ensured he didn’t lose his status by their move to a bigger ship, but he still had a lot of growth to do. “Channel open.”

“Tower, this is Apollo. Requesting departure clearance.”

“Clearance granted, Apollo. Allow ten seconds for port gates and then proceed ahead on vector gamma out of Avalon’s control zone,” the control tower responded.

“Lieutenant Stanton, clear all moorings and set thrusters to station-keeping,” Gaudain ordered. He could see the massive doors to the spacedock opening ahead of them. The sight made him smile, as this was now the beginning of their new adventure together. “Take us out. Aft thrusters.”

Slowly but surely, Apollo moved forward out of her berth and through the cavernous spacedock. It emerged into the light of the Avalon system after just a few moments, appearing like a tiny speck compared to the massive station. Up above from the main spacedock, an Odyssey-class ship was on her own journey out of port, meaning any wandering eyes were surely not on the more modest Apollo. Gaudain couldn’t be happier, though.

“Plot a course for Deep Space 17—,” he started, but Knight spoke up.

“Sir, incoming transmission from Fourth Fleet Command,” he reported. “We’re being redirected to Farpoint Station. There is a combined Breen-Dominion offensive underway in the Deneb Sector.”

Gaudain’s blood ran cold; the last time he was in the Deneb Sector, the previous Apollo had needed 2 months in spacedock. The last time he faced off against the Dominion, he’d lost everything. He allowed himself to breathe through that moment of anxiety, knowing that it was his duty to put a stop to whatever was going on out there. He looked at the back of Lieutenant Stanton’s head, wondering what feelings the young man had about going toe-to-toe with the race that had killed his father. There wasn’t time for that, though.

“Stanton, lay in a course for Farpoint. Maximum warp.”

“Course laid in,” Stanton replied without hesitation.

“So much for the easy shakedown cruise,” Gaudain said, settling back into his seat. “Hit it.”