“Orders that might take us away from Hathaway.”

Keziah had been replaying Noli’s words over and over again for the last two hours, from the moment her XO had left the conference lounge on Hathaway, to the moment they had been summoned to attend a meeting aboard Brahms Station. They hadn’t been given much notice, nor much of a hint, regarding what these orders might entail, only that they were to report to the station and meet with Admiral Grayson to go over the finer details. The fact that Admiral Grayson was in command of Task Force 47, and not their immediate superior, gave them both pause. Were they being transferred to a new unit? Was that the change being hinted at? Joining the pathfinders would be an interesting opportunity for them, not too dissimilar from their role in Task Force 17, but Keziah still found the whole thing somewhat peculiar.

“Why all the secrecy?” She finally asked, glancing across at her XO as they strolled towards the Conference Lounge on the command deck, led by the officer assigned as their escort. “Why keep us in the dark like this?” she elaborated further.

Noli shrugged. She’d been just as perplexed since she had first received the transmission hinting at new orders. “Has anything made sense in the last few months?” she asked, smirking as she shook her head.

“They know it’s something we won’t like…”

A third voice chimed in from behind, causing the two women in command red to look over their shoulders at the owner of the voice. Both smiled when they realised that it was their good friend, forgetting for a moment the seriousness they were facing.

“When did you get back?” Noli queried, moving aside slightly so Giarvar could walk between the two women, as his senior rank dictated.

“We arrived last night,” Giarvar told, patting Noli gently on the back and giving her a smile, “got some significant repairs following our escapade and received some shady orders from Commodore Ekwueme.”

“There’s a lot of that going around,” Nazir chimed in, looking across at Giarvar, only to catch a glimpse of a fourth figure walking a little way behind. He was a tall man, with a large, brown cranium and two deep-set brown eyes.

“Woah, you’re massive…” Noli blurted out, her cheeks quickly turning red as a result of her embarrassment.

“Umm, thanks?” the brutish man smiled as best he could.

“Xelliat, right?” Keziah smiled as she brought the group to a halt, nodding at the fourth officer.

“Most observant Captain. I’m impressed,” the deep voice of the officer in science blue surprised the Trill woman and drew Noli’s focus to him. “Most people have never met my species before,” he added with a smirk.

“I met another once,” Nazir revealed, “Quark’s bar on DS9. I lost eighteen bars to him at Dabo.”

“I’m sorry,” the Xelliat boomed, much to the curiosity of the three command-level officers, their expressions suggesting he needed to clarify the reasoning for his pity. “Sorry you had to go to Quarks at all, let alone lose 18 bars. That little troll owes me three cases of Saurian brandy…,” he added.

His response drew a laugh from the three, and Noli offered a hand out to the man. “Noli Auru, XO on Hathaway,” she introduced herself.

“Lieutenant Commander Onsas D’orr,” he returned the shake and then exchanged a second with the elder Trill. “I’m not exactly sure why I’m here. Until now, I’ve been a science advisor overseeing the new transporter protocols on the Arimathea,” he nodded at Giarvar respectfully as the group began walking once more.

“Don’t be modest Onsas,” the younger Trill male smiled, “Onsas here just helped Akaria guide Arimathea to safety after a near-death experience in a nebula.” His words drew a massive grin from Noli, a disapproving shake of the head from Nazir and the Xelliat to sheepishly bow his head.

“You’ve waited all this time to get your first command, and you try to destroy her on your first mission?” Nazir scoffed, mocking her friend as she playfully slapped him on the shoulder. “Impressive.”

“And I didn’t need the Dominion, Changelings or the Borg to do it either…” he grinned, only for his serious expression to return once he caught a glimpse of the looming entrance to the conference lounge. For a short time, they had forgotten the reason for their presence at the station, but the door to the unknown just several feet ahead was enough to refocus their attention.

“Maybe Giarvar is right? Whatever is to come, we probably won’t like…” Keziah pondered as they drew closer. Maybe the secrecy was because Starfleet knew they wouldn’t like whatever it was they had to say. Or maybe it was a top-secret mission. Whatever it was, they wouldn’t have long to wait in order to find out.

Their guide stepped across the threshold of the doorway and gestured for the officers to enter the large meeting space. Nazir, as the senior officer in the group, took the initiative and led the small group into the room.

Stopping in her tracks several steps in, the Trill took in her surroundings. Off to the right, a large rectangular table surrounded a holographic generator, and two officers were already seated, waiting. Elsewhere in the room, there were a dozen or so chairs in front of a lectern and another large table surrounded by chairs. There was a small group of far comfier chairs surrounding a coffee table and near a lift that, perhaps, led to Station Ops just one level up. Taking a deep breath, she turned back to the initial table she had spotted, and the faces sat around it. Both were surprisingly familiar.

“Commander sh’Elas,” she smiled, stepping forth and thrusting a hand at the white-haired Andorian. “You’re looking well,” she added.

“All thanks to you two,” Tharia grinned, quickly sharing a warm embrace with Noli.

“Romaes,” Nazir nodded to the elder Bajoran Captain in the room and extended the pleasantries to him whilst her XO and the Andorian engaged in a hushed conversation and introductions with the rest of the group.

“Keziah,” Romaes smiled and shook the offered hand before gesturing to the table he’d been sitting at with Tharia. “We were beginning to wonder if anyone else was showing up,” he laughed nervously as the newcomers took several seats around the table, leaving the one at the head free for whoever was leading this little gathering.

Once the doors to the lounge eventually parted again, they didn’t have long to wait in order to find out.

Alone at the front of the transporter bay on deck four, Lieutenant Commander Maddison Burton looked forlorn, lost to the memories of recent events. Weeks had passed since the debacle of Frontier Day had crippled the Lakota and its crew. The fate of dozens of her crewmembers had been sealed on that disastrous day, with several key members of her crew murdered by those poor souls who had been transformed by the Borg assimilation signal from Jupiter. Among those to have perished was their beloved commanding officer, Captain Lorraine Thorn, a veteran of nearly 60 years, a woman whom Burton had served with for most of her career. When the dust had settled and the ship had docked for repairs at Avalon Fleet Yards, Maddison was one of two senior staff officers left standing. She’d done her best to keep things ticking over, and was doing her best to oversee repairs, but the news that a new commanding officer had been appointed was bittersweet. While she was relieved to hand over the burden to someone else, the thoughts of someone new sitting in Captain Thorne’s chair were hard to swallow.

Thorne had taken command from Captain Kosev shortly before the ship launched following her construction period, but she had made a massive impression in a short space of time. The veteran Captain had led the crew through the bitter conflict in the Deneb system and, when they finally thought all was good in the world again, the Borg/Changeling alliance struck and decimated dozens of ships and people. Captain Thorne had been struck down before her time, in the prime of her life, by a colleague who had no control over their actions but felt such guilt after the fact that he had taken his own life. The scars of Frontier Day were there, weeks later, for everyone to feel.

So preoccupied by her thoughts of the tragedies of recent times, the Commander didn’t even acknowledge the opening of the door to the transporter room, nor the approach of her Hispanic colleague from the Counselling division. It was only when Lucas placed a hand on her shoulder that she snapped back to reality with a start.

“Maddie?” Quinn whispered, tilting his head and worming into her line of sight in order to gain the attention of the Flight Controller, “Are you ok?”

Burton shrugged, her shoulders touching the tips of her shoulder-length brown hair. “I didn’t think it would be this tough,” she admitted, folding her arms across her chest, her eyes watering as she looked at her friend. “How can we expect the crew to accept a new commanding officer when they haven’t let go of the old one?” She asked, more for herself in actuality than any other one person.

“Letting go of someone is a deeply personal thing, and there is no one way we can expect anyone to do it. For some, it will be the sharing of memories, for others it will require something else. For some it will be quick, for others it may never happen,” he smiled reassuringly, mimicking her stance and standing beside her, staring at the transporter pad before them. “What’s clear is that life goes on and we have to see this as the start of a new era, an opportunity to return to what we do best and continue the Captain’s legacy. That way, she’ll always live on, regardless of when we all choose to let her go.”

Maddison nodded slowly, bowing her head to gain some composure before lifting it and giving him a smile. “Thanks,” she shoulder nudged him.

He returned the nudge and then nodded towards the transporter pad. “Do we know anything about our new commander yet?” He asked curiously, eager to know who would be leading them in this new era he had prophesied about.

Burton shook her head. “Nothing yet,” she answered, “I just hope it isn’t someone new that we’ll have to handhold from crisis to crisis. After everything that’s happened, we need someone with a bit of gravitas and experience.”

A cough from the officer behind them at the transporter controls drew their attention. “Sorry to disturb you both, but I don’t think we’re going to have to wait long to find out,” the Ensign smiled sheepishly, “we’re receiving a transport request from Brahms Station.”

Taking a deep breath, the Human in the crimson of command adjusted her stance and tugged on the bottom of her uniform jacket to iron out any creases. “Let’s do this,” she nodded to the Counsellor, and then gave the go-ahead to the transporter chief.

As the soft hum of the transporter pad filled the dimly lit chamber, anticipation hung in the air. Swirling hues of blue light filled the pad as two figures slowly began to take shape amid the particle stream until the humming reached a crescendo and the process came to a swift conclusion.

On the forwardmost pad, a figure with flowing brown hair and spots on either side of her face looked about the room. Beside her to the right, a brute of a man with a large cranium and two, deep-set eyes stood, hands clasped together behind his back.

Stepping forward, Maddison instantly identified the rank insignia adorning the woman’s uniform and took a deep breath. “Welcome aboard, Captain,” she smiled in greeting, “my name is Lieutenant Commander Maddison Burton, Flight Operations chief.” She stepped aside and held out a hand towards the Counsellor. “This is Lieutenant Lucas Quinn, Chief Counsellor.”

“Captain,” Lucas nodded respectfully to their new superior.

Stepping down from the transporter pad, the spotted Captain let out her own deep breath as she thrust a data PADD at the Human. “A pleasure to meet you, Commander. My name’s Keziah Nazir,” the Trill responded and then gestured to the brutish figure who had transported aboard with her. “This is Commander Onsas D’orr, the new First Officer.”

Stepping down from the PADD, Onsas shared some quick pleasantries with each of the officers before the Captain continued. “I know the circumstances are less than ideal, but we should get the formalities out of the way,” Keziah suggested to the Commander. “By order of Rear Admiral Grayson, I am here to assume command, effective immediately.”

“Of course ma’am,” Maddison nodded, then tapped her commbadge. “Computer, transfer all command codes to Captain Keziah Nazir. Voice authorization, Burton- Seven-Two-Alpha-Tango.”

After “a few seconds, the computer finally beeped. “Transfer complete. USS Lakota now under command of Captain Keziah Nazir.”

Offering a hand to the Human, Keziah smiled as she uttered the words, “I relieve you, Commander.”

“I stand relieved Captain,” Maddison nodded in confirmation as she shook the Captain’s hand and concluded the formalities. When she released, she looked at the Trill with a raised eyebrow. “Forgive me ma’am, but, the same Captain Nazir as served aboard the Hathaway?” She inquired.

“Indeed,” Keziah nodded, gesturing to the door in a manner that suggested Maddison should lead them into the corridor of deck four. The helm officer dutifully obliged. As they began strolling down the deck, Nazir beside the helmsman whilst Onsas trailed behind with the Counsellor, the Captain further elaborated for both of the officers. “Hathaway has been shelved for significant repairs, whilst Arimathea is slated to be decommissioned. Starfleet has seen fit to reassign crew from both vessels to new assignments here, aboard the Buran and also on the Osiris,” the Trill told. “Crew replacements have already been informed and will arrive within the next twenty-four hours. Commander D’orr will oversee their onboarding,” she concluded, glancing back over her shoulder and receiving a nod from her new XO.

That was a lot to take in for the helmsman. Two ships were effectively shelved for various reasons and their crews dispersed between several other ships. “I’m sorry,” Maddison apologised, then quickly clarified the reasoning behind her apology, “sorry that they took your squadron,” she frowned.

“Yeah, about that….”

“She’s not as impressive as Hathaway…”

Usually willing to defer to the often more experienced judgement of his colleagues, the peculiar-looking Ungeat with the green, bulbous eyes was, on this occasion, eager to take in new surroundings and approach things with an open mind. For him, Lakota marked a fresh start after all that had happened aboard the Hathaway, including his part in the deaths of several colleagues. He had been able to move on somewhat quicker than most of his colleagues, but the shadow of Commander Bachmann loomed large on his previous vessel, so a change in scenery, untainted and fresh, was just what the Counsellor had suggested – only fate had intervened before any difficult conversations needed to be had. His adoptive family (Noli, Prida, Giarvar and Henry) had been largely split up, going on to different postings around the squadron, but at least Prida was joining him aboard the Excelsior II-class heavy cruiser.

“Perhaps this is a change that can benefit many, and we should endeavour to make the most of it,” he suggested to his Bajassian colleague, tilted head and broad smile a sign of his ever-impressive optimism.

Putting an arm around Or’uil’s waist, Prida leaned in closer to the young Ungeat and placed her head on his shoulder as they walked the corridors of their new home. “I hope you’re right,” she wistfully replied.

“Experience would dictate I am right approximately ninety percent of the time,” the Ungeat answered playfully, “so the odds are in my favour.”

Prida swiped him gently as she laughed and shook her head in disbelief. Thinking back to the Or’uil who had come aboard just a few short months ago, she found it incredibly hard to imagine him saying such a thing. Experiences shared with his new family had changed everyone and for him, the change was clearly for the better. The engineer loved this new side of her friend. Amenable, and easy to get on with, it was almost as if something had happened that had unburdened him.

“We are lucky to have been chosen to assist the Captain in her new command. It shows a degree of trust and loyalty that I have not had from previous commanders,” Or’uil told as they emerged from a turbo lift and onto the bridge of the Lakota.

“Not just blind loyalty,” a brutish man with skin the colour on the spectrum somewhere between orange and brown addressed the two officers emerging from the turbo lift.

Prida stopped in her tracks and glared at the man whilst Or’uil cocked his head in his usual manner and regarded the man curiously.

Poor Onsas would never get used to people looking at him in such a manner, and sometimes their reactions hurt. He was but a gentle giant at heart, enthused by the wonders of the universe. Luckily, the two officers clad in operations gold seemed more curious than rude. He opted to approach them with warmth and offered out a hand.

“You must be Lieutenant’s Prida and Or’uil?” He smiled at the two. “Captain Nazir has told me a lot about you both, and that I should get to know you both quickly if the smooth running of this ship is to be guaranteed.” A flurry of handshakes and nods took place before the man finally introduced himself. “Commander Onsas D’orr, Lakota’s XO.”

As chief engineer and chief of operations respectively, the Captain, and thus this new XO, was right. The many operations of the ship would all run through their departments, and that made these two significant kingmakers in the process of ensuring Lakota’s continued functions.

“Don’t worry Commander,” a fourth voice emerged from behind the brute, complete with green, blemish-free skin and flowing brown hair. “We couldn’t ask for a better operations team,” Commander Teyahna assured the XO as she sidled up beside him and nodded at her colleagues from Hathaway.

Prida’s mottled skin blushed a little under the praise of the ship’s chief of sciences and second officer.

Nodding in hopeful agreement, Onsas looked at the two newcomers. “Captain Nazir wishes to meet her team in about an hour. Until then, your time is your own,” he directed the two before bidding farewell.

Watching the behemoth depart, the Bajassian shared a glance at the Orion that elicited a knowing smile from the ship’s second officer, suggesting she had asked herself the very same, galactic importance level questions that Prida was now…

Was there a weight limit aboard the ship? And would he even fit through the doors?

For those lucky few transferring to Buran, the experience was a relative dream. No such dramas as experienced elsewhere thanks to the ship’s recent shakedown cruise being well out of range of the Jupiter signal. Frontier Day had, thank the prophets, skipped the Rhode Island-class starship by, and that filled the ship’s new commander with great relief.

Captain Romaes Anjin had been aboard the scout vessel for the last hour or so, gradually getting acquainted with ship, crew and personal workspaces. With her recent refit completed, Buran was in the best possible shape for their upcoming missions (whatever they proved to be). He’d spent the last twenty minutes or so going over the personnel manifest for his nearly 100-strong crew. Whilst much of the ship’s crew below decks would remain the same, the only member of her team to remain from the previous command team was her engineer, a human by the name of Zhou Yun. Replacing almost the entire senior staff had proven quite difficult, but some negotiating and deal-making between the commanders of the squadron finally yielded results, results that meant he felt lucky to be receiving such an experienced bunch of replacements.

Enticing certain officers to join them was no mean feat considering the fact that the ship’s main focus would undoubtedly take her far from the action most officers craved these days. Ensign Brak Qiraro was relatively inexperienced, but his Hathaway colleagues Commander Zinn and Lieutenant Pamao Zh’ito provided the sciences division with considerable knowledge and field experience. From the Arimathea, he’d snaffled the experienced Lieutenant Illiana Duran, who would look after the mental health of his small crew. His biggest coup had been in calling in every favour he had left and securing the transfer of his Bajoran compatriot, Lt. Commander Peri Anya, who had been serving as Director of Promenade Security on Starbase Bravo. Luckily, she’d been at a conference on Brahms and had been enticed at the prospect of getting out among the stars once again.

Perhaps the most intriguing appointment was the one command had made for him. His new first officer was a complicated woman with quite some history to her. Tharia sh’Elas had been the first officer aboard the Santa Fe under the command of Sebastian Farrell over a year ago before moving on to better things, such as command of the Temeraire and the Ulysses.

At least that was what the official records stated.

Unofficially, and truthfully, the past few months had been significantly worse. In truth, the poor woman had been held captive by Changeling infiltrators for months, ever since she had been part of an away team during the Century Storm crisis, and until the Hathaway crew had come across intelligence that led to her rescue. Captain sh’Elas had never existed, never making the leap to a command of her own. After weeks of recuperating at Avalon, and going through intensive counselling sessions, the Andorian had been cleared for a return to duty under the care of the ship’s counselling team. On the surface, Romaes was more than happy to give the woman a chance to rebuild her career, but beneath the surface, he had reservations for sure. For now, he had no alternative and no choice. At least she would have a lot to keep her focused, as she’d be carrying out the additional responsibilities as head of the flight operations department aboard the ship.

He was in the middle of reading the latest report regarding the Commander’s Counselling sessions when the internal communications array called out to him. “Captain Romaes to the bridge,” the heavenly voice penetrated his ears, calling to him like a siren upon the ocean. Rising from his chair, the Bajoran made the short journey out to the bridge, appearing from the starboard entrance.

The command centre was dimly lit, with the room mostly operating on reduced power due to their attachment to the dockyard’s power supply. After all, why waste their own supplies when they weren’t going anywhere? The room was quiet, with two figures huddled over the tactical operations station on the port bulkhead. Even in the poor light, he could make out the two other members of his command triumvirate. Commander Peri, seated at the station, was tapping furiously, whilst the XO stood over her, watching her every move.

“Ladies,” he called to the two, crossing the bridge only far enough to stand beside his new, incredibly comfortable, command chair that stood isolated at the heart of the command centre. Placing a gentle hand on the headrest, he absentmindedly caressed the leather material.

At the sound of the Captain’s voice, Tharia pushed herself off of the console and turned to look at Romaes whilst their Bajoran tactical chief continued about her business. “Captain,” Tharia nodded to her superior, “we’ve been sent something rather curious…” her voice trailed off as she turned back to Peri.

“Sent something curious?” That alone was enough to pique the Bajoran’s curiosity, but he had another question anyway. “By who?”

“An unknown source,” Peri piped up, finally turning to look at Buran’s commander. “It’s peculiar for a number of reasons, not least the fact that it was sent directly to each ship in the squadron. Not to anyone, in particular, mind, but to the squadron, and only the squadron,” the younger Bajoran looked perplexed at the thought of what she had read. “It’s a data file. It was encrypted but a simple algorithm solved that problem,” she continued, glancing up at the Andorian hopefully.

Folding her arms across her chest, Tharia took her cue. “It’s a set of co-ordinates and a simple instruction,” she told, and was then passed a data PADD from her tactical colleague, and in turn passed it to the Captain to read.

Taking ownership of the PADD, Romaes lowered himself into the command chair and used his planted right foot to turn in their direction. When he read the simple contents he could understand Peri’s confusion. “Find him?” He asked, “find who?”

Both women shrugged their shoulders in a passive response that almost drew the man’s ire, until he was able to compose himself.

“Get me the flagship,” Romaes instructed as he rose from his seat again, “perhaps Nazir can shed some light on matters…”

“I haven’t a bloody clue…”

Romaes shuffled uncomfortably in the leather chair positioned behind his desk, bristling at the admission from the squadron leader regarding her own lack of understanding about the data file. “My people have worked out that the coordinates are somewhere along the Gorn-Federation border,” he revealed when comfortable.

“We’ve learned the same,” Nazir nodded on the screen. “The last vessel in the area was Venture a few months ago. According to our strategic operations officer, it’s possible it could be a member of the crew of the USS Scarborough, which went missing over six months ago.”

Sitting back, Romaes puffed out his chest and let out a deep breath. “Buran’s probably the most able ship to investigate,” he advised hopefully, “and we could be there in a matter of days.” Fleet Captain Nazir looked a little uneasy, probably at the thought of sending the squadron’s scout ship to a potentially dangerous area. “This is what Buran is made for, Keziah. We’ll go in, scout the area, and call the big boys if we need you. But we’ve got to investigate,” Romaes did his best to plead his case while trying to assuage the concerns of his superior.

Reluctantly, Keziah conceded the point and nodded in agreement. “Very well. Head off when you’re ready and keep us updated. Osiris will be ready to go in two days if you need support, and I can have Lakota ready in three. If you need us, call us,” she instructed him, a glare that indicated she was more than serious about the danger the situation potentially posed to her group as a whole, let alone the Buran itself.

“Understood,” Romaes nodded.

“Fair winds Captain,” Nazir smiled, nodding at her colleague before disappearing from her counterpart’s computer screen.

Swinging in his chair ever so gently from port to starboard and back again, all while leaning his right elbow on the arm of his chair and rubbing his chin, the master and commander of the Buran couldn’t help but let his mind wander. He’d been sending people on missions for over a year now, sending them into dangerous, potentially life-threatening situations; it felt so long since he had been sent on one himself, and now he found himself volunteering to take his little scout along the increasingly dangerous Gorn border. He was trying his best to heed the words of Counsellor Ryke Ashfield. Perhaps something they would discover or achieve on this small science vessel of theirs would make a difference after all.

It would all depend on what awaited them at the coordinates they had been sent.

Or who.

A light thud echoed continuously through the moving turbo lift, just loud enough to draw the attention of the blonde Bajoran casually leaning on the rail at the back of the car. “Will you stop that?!” She asked in an accusatory tone, definitely more of a command than a request, which was surprising given who it was directed at.

Removing the tip of his right index finger from his lips, Giarvar glanced across the car at his executive officer, somewhat confused by her order. “Stop what?” He asked with furrowed brows.

“That!” She declared with a stifled laugh, pointing at the man’s left foot which was tapping, apparently, without his permission or acknowledgement.

As soon as it became clear what his subordinate was referencing, the Captain made a conscious effort to stop, and smiled sheepishly at the ‘Blonde Bombshell’.

“Why are you nervous? You’ve done this before on Arimathea, what’s the problem?” Noli folded her arms across her chest, regarding the man curiously. She’d served with him a little while now and when she had, she knew him to be confident, assured and a people person. He’d had no problem getting to know people on Hathaway, or stepping up to command of the Arimathea, so it was strange to see him acting this way here.

“This crew has been through a lot in recent months,” Giarvar responded, reaching up with his left hand to ruffle the hair on the back of his head. “Nearly thirty of their crew were killed on Frontier Day, including their captain and first officer. I can’t blame those that left, but we’ve still got so many people here who are going to need support to get past what happened.”

“Do you think Romaes would have been a better option? Or Nazir?” The blonde asked with a twitch of her head and her trademark sass. “Romaes is used to sending people to do the impossible, not dealing with it himself, and I love the Boss, you know I do. We’ve all been through a lot together, but she isn’t the people person this crew needs. Most of the people here are youngsters not trained to deal with the sort of things they have seen and experienced lately. They don’t need Romaes; they don’t need the Boss. They need you, Giarvar,” the XO told in her assured tone and with a smile that tried its best to convey the belief that she had in him. “I wouldn’t have accepted the transfer if I didn’t think this was for the best. Let me be the hard ass, and you do what you do best,” she suggested with a cocked head.

Kauhn hung on his friend’s every word, nodding in all the right places and smiling when she had finished, appreciative of the way she kept him grounded. Having her join him as first officer was one of the few bright lights at the end of this new tunnel he was about to travel down, and for that he was very grateful. After all, she could have rejected the assignment and stayed with ‘the Boss’ on Lakota, but she had been happy to join him on the significantly smaller, far less glamorous posting of the Osiris.

At over half the size of the squadron flagship, the Reliant-class frigate they were now calling home was still relatively impressive for a ship of its size. Boasting an impressive sensor suite, not-so-insignificant armaments and efficient engines, Osiris would complement the flagship well, serving closer to home and getting her proverbial hands dirty doing the jobs no one else wanted. And that was just the way Captain Kauhn, and his Bajoran companion, liked it. He was also lucky that he’d been able to convince a number of his colleagues that this was a posting that would be rewarding and beneficial, both to them personally and to the greater good of Starfleet. Noli had tried to tell him that they were joining because of their belief in him, but he was certain that wasn’t the case. Not entirely anyway.

Promoting Hathaway’s assistant medical officer, the Cardassian Lieutenant Keshah Iddar, to her own sickbay had been a no-brainer; she was talented and a hard worker. For those from the Arimathea, like Lieutenant’s Natalia Usmanov, Linn Mora and Josue Torres, the option was pretty easy – join Osiris or potentially be shipped elsewhere. They all seemed happy enough with the decision. Akaria had been a tough cookie to crack. When it became clear that the command staff from across the squadron had been negotiating over personnel, Akaria had been hoping for the Lakota, and a return to the flagship. She’d felt a little disappointed when she found out that the Boss had picked some Orion woman over her, but Giarvar had done his best to address her concerns. While Osiris wasn’t a science vessel, it would present her with the opportunity to step up and work alongside the command team as the ship’s second officer, her first step up the ladder of command. Convincing Lieutenant Henry ‘Flyboy’ Mitchell of their project had been the hardest task of all. After all, who would want to pilot an eleven-deck frigate when they could pilot the squadron’s far-superior flagship? As it turned out, Henry would. He wanted the challenge. He wanted the chance to do something different.

Despite all these familiar faces, he still felt the nerves as the turbo lift slowed to a halt and he prepared to step onto the bridge for the first time. He expected it to be small, cramped, probably nowhere near as sophisticated as that of the Hathaway, but as the doors parted and he stepped out, he couldn’t have been more wrong. Large. Spacious. Modern. Everything he had hoped for in a command center. With almost a dozen duty stations around the room, including several facing inwards to no doubt aid their functions, he was certain that there would be a lot of work taking place there even on the quietest of days. The bridge of a science ship wasn’t the most functional of rooms sometimes, but this would surely be different. In fact, it already was.

Even docked at Avalon Fleet Yards, the bridge was a hive of activity, with personnel of all shapes, sizes and uniform colours darting about to conduct their business. Actually… it was all a little too focused. Too busy. It drew a confused glance from the Captain in the direction of Noli.

She didn’t need words from her commander to spring into action. Taking two steps forward, she lifted her right hand and placed her thumb and index fingers together into her mouth before unleashing an almost ear-splitting whistle that stopped everyone in their tracks. Dozens of eyes became laser-targeted upon the Captain and his right-hand woman. Looking around, she saw no familiar faces present, so changed tactics. “Who is in command here?” she asked.

Out of the crowd of people, a dark-haired man clad in operations yellow emerged. Thick eyebrows, studious expression, pointed ears. Two silver pips adorned his black collar. Standing before the two officers, the Vulcan nodded respectfully. “Lieutenant Voran,” he told, “chief tactical operations officer.”

“What’s the meaning of this chaos?” Giarvar stepped forward now, out from the shadow of his bad cop and took the lead from his partner in crime.

“Apologies, Captain. During your absence, we received orders from the flagship and as the senior most officer, I felt it prudent to action those orders,” Voran explained as he looked around the room. “The crew were simply following my directives.”

Giarvar and Noli shared a quick glance, and then the Captain addressed the Vulcan again. “What orders? The squadron has only just formed up.”

Stepping aside and gesturing to a slightly curved station directly behind the command chair at the heart of the bridge, the Vulcan welcomed the two senior officers further into the command center. Tapping at the controls, he brought up the orders from the flagship and waited for the Captain to share them with his subordinate. It only took a few moments for the two to read their very concise orders.

“A mission already?” Noli mused, folding her arms across her chest, eyes still focused on the text on the computer display until Giarvar pulled her aside for a quiet assessment of their situation. “Two days will go quickly. We’ve not managed any departmental reviews or situational reports. We haven’t even got the senior staff aboard yet,” the blonde whispered surreptitiously to the Captain.

“Probably the reason for the chaos,” Giarvar nodded slowly, echoing her stance. “We’ll proceed as the orders dictate, but let’s get our house in order first,” he instructed, eliciting a nod from his subordinate. Taking a step back from the console, he turned to the crew, his crew.

“We have our orders everyone,” he nodded, “but we will proceed calmly and with prudence. Go about your duties, get your departments cleared, and we’ll be ready should the Buran need us.”

“Senior staff will be reporting in over the next few hours. Ensure they are up to date as soon as they come aboard,” Noli decreed to a stunned silence as everyone watched, and waited. It wasn’t until she took a somewhat angry step forward and clapped her hands together sharply that people began to move once again and went about their business in a calmer fashion than before.

Standing with their hands on their hips, subconsciously mimicking each other, the two command officers couldn’t help but let out an exasperated sigh. This was going to be a crew that needed whipping into shape. And fast.