It was a strange bridge, at least to someone who had been out of the game for a while. All of the stations faced the captain’s chair. The chair itself was up six whole steps from the deck, and Captain Alexandra Langley felt out of breath by the time she hauled over seventy-year-old frame up into it. There were holographic displays everywhere, and they gave her a headache. Too many buttons and readouts were in her eyeliner.

“Captain, we need you to release the flux coolers before the manifold overloads!” someone shouted.

“Uh, right. The flux coolers…,” Langley stammered as her eyes darted around the displays, which were all now in ancient Andorian.

Alarms began to sound, while the captain flailed around trying to find the right control for a system she’d never heard of before. She could hear officers fifty years younger than she was sniggering around her, and looked out to a see of eyes blazing red even through the spotlight she found herself in. The captain’s throne was sinking while her tormentors rose around her.

Langley awoke with a start in her guest quarters aboard Antares. She was disoriented for a moment even after she pulled off her silk sleep mask. Standard, non-holographic PADDs were spread out on the bed containing operations manuals and the other policies that had changed in her nearly three years in retirement. The closer Antares got to Olympia Station, the more vivid her anxieties about returning to active duty had become.

“Captain Langley, you appear to be experiencing distress. Would you like to activate the Emergency Counseling Hologram?” the computer asked, startling Langley further.

“What? No!” Langley snapped, as she slid out of bed. 

“I can schedule an appointment with counseling if you prefer,” the computer offered.

This new computer persona was not one to take no for an answer. Langely preferred the old personality: cool, detached, and reassuring. This one sounded more like a nagging mother, or a neighbor who needed to learn to stay out of other peoples’ business.

“No. No, thank you, computer,” the captain insisted, waving the invisible voice off as she went over to wet a cloth in the sink and dab her face with cool water. A member of the Starfleet Academy class of 2347, Langely had been immersed in the fleet for over 50 years—until her recent attempt at retirement that she’d spent writing and making interesting pots—so she found her own nerves about joining back up. “What is wrong with me?” she muttered.

“I am unable to make an affirmative diagnosis, but—,” the computer started.

“I wasn’t talking to you!” Langely exclaimed as she tossed the washcloth down on the sink. “If you want to be useful, display the senior staff manifest for the starship Kennedy, circa 2383,” she ordered while walking over to the desk.

“Affirmative. Working.”

Above the desktop a wide holographic screen was projected. It showed each of her former bridge officers in a box with their name and rank at the time, along with a picture. She smiled at seeing herself a full twenty years younger, as well as the faces of her shipmates. 

“Show current status and assignment of each of these officers. I want to see if any are in subspace range,” Langely said.

“Working,” the computer said again.

A moment later the pictures changed to older versions of each of her officers, but the text changed to red for all of them. Judging from the dates listed, her final command crew aboard the Kennedy had all been killed during the massacre at Frontier Day. Half of them had made it to captain and the rest were commanders, all likely wiped out by their own crews.

“Computer, close this,” Langely ordered. She fought back a tear. Her decision to rejoin had been sudden—out of a desire to give something back to Starfleet at a time when senior officers were desperately needed—without even knowing her own personal losses. “How long until we reach Olympia Station?”

“Arrival is anticipated in six hours, 32 minutes.”

“Good. Get me a black coffee and the latest intelligence reports from the Olympia sector,” Langely said, immediately switching back to her steely self.

While her goal was to get back on the bridge of a ship, Langely had been offered an advisory role to Vice Admiral Elizabeth Hayden, commander of the Olympia Sector. The two of them had served together as junior officers aboard the Galaxy in the 2350s and had remained in touch over the years, but it wasn’t the type of relationship where she could hope to skirt by on acquaintance and personality to claw her way back to command. If she wanted the chance to honor her crew’s sacrifice, she’d need to actually be able to advise—to put the work in—captain or not, and she was determined to make that happen.