“Helm, come to heading 221 mark 1, half-impulse. Let’s move on to Sector Dog.” 
“Coming to heading, 221 mark 1; at half impulse, aye, Commander.” 
“Ops, start long range scans, and continue monitoring the transit lanes. Sharp eyes and ears, Miss Pearse.”
“Starting long range scans, aye. Nothing to report yet.”

Commander Abramov issues orders as Captain Oteng comes out of his ready room, coffee tumbler in hand. The bridge is quiet, peaceful even. The lighting has adjusted to the proper time (approximately 11 am Zulu) and so the bridge is aglow in warm light. Consoles beep quietly as crewmembers use them, and the quiet whispers of conversations are heard emanating from the aft stations. All in all, this is as quiet as the ship got, with the sounds of a busy and efficient crew intermingled with the rumble of the engines that denoted the everyday action he was well accustomed to.

Sighing, Captain Oteng takes his seat, fixing his uniform before looking around the bridge.

“Attention on deck, I have the conn.” 
“Captain has the conn, aye sir.” Ensign Hannity and Commander Abramov respond in unison, then both return to their previous actions. In Commander Abramov’s case,  

In the back, by the auxiliary science consoles, an ensign and a PO are chatting while they work on collating the scientific data the Los Angeles was collecting in its scans. The Ensign turns to the PO. 
“Ayo, why does Cap do that thing?”
“What thing?” 
“The ‘Attention on the bridge’ handoff thing. Like, we all know he’s in charge.”
“You should ask him.” 
“Are you nuts?! I’m not going to ask him.” 
“Do it…do it…” 
“Oh for…” the PO rolls his eyes. Turning around, he asks a question out loud, interrupting the ‘quietness’ of the bridge. 
“Captain, may I ask a question, Sir?” 
Captain Oteng turns around. Seeing the Petty Officer turned around, he takes a stab. 
“Yes, Petty Officer? Go ahead.” 
“My friend and I would like to know why you do the verbal handoff instead of not doing anything or saying anything? No disrespect intended, just curious.” 
“Ah. That’s an excellent question. I mostly do it out of tradition rooted from a traumatic experience I had long ago, when I was a young First Officer on the Alberta. Right before an encounter with a hostile ship, the captain had just come onto the bridge, and he didn’t indicate who was in charge. We both gave contradictory orders, and as a result we lost precious minutes figuring out who was in command. The dressing down I got afterwards was legendary, though it was stupid because he was the one who hadn’t been clear. As Sun Tzu says, ‘if a commanding officer does not issue clear orders, that’s on him.’” Captain Oteng smiles at the memory of his younger days. “Does that answer your question, Petty Officer?” 
“Yes, Sir! Thank you.” 
“Carry on.” 
The PO and Ensign turn around, continuing their conversation as they continue. Commander Abramov turns to Fabien. 
“So, you got reamed did you? For being confused in a critical time?” 
“Yeah, guess I did. The captain of the Alberta was an idiot though. He was more suited for being an engineer than a command officer. But that’s Starfleet for you.” 
“Go figure. Oh, by the way, I wanted to mention something.”
“What’s up?” The Captain’s voice lowers to a quieter level, allowing his officers to focus. 
“I’ve been reading some wild reports. Ships disappearing, reappearing in random places in different quadrants, and so forth. None of it makes sense, but here we are.” 
“Huh. What does Command say?” 
“Absolutely nothing. They’re unsure of what is happen—” the conversation is interrupted by a jolt. Both Fabien and Brooke are startled, as the red alert starts going off.

“Report!” Captain Oteng’s voice is tight with concern as another jolt hits the Los Angeles. 
“There’s an opening in subspace! We’re being dragged in!” 
“Shields to full! All hands, brace!” 
The Los Angeles shudders as the lights go out and the ship is dragged into Underspace.