Petty Officer Naz Jadi sat cross-legged on the upper bunk in her modest shared quarters. Her dark eyes were half-lidded, focused on nothing in particular as the gentle hum of the USS Brawley provided its ever-present backdrop. The small common room of the quad cabin was dimly lit, with a single wide viewport casting a soft wash of starlight across the carpeted deck. The window, for now revealed the wounded hull of the USS Morro Bay trailing behind them.

The door to the portside sleeping nook slid open with a mechanical hiss as Chief Petty Officer Greli strode in. Greli was Bolian, with the characteristic blue skin and vertical ridge bisecting her round face. The flash of a sensor band was wrapped around her wrist. Her expression was equal parts mischief and fatigue.

“You feel that?” she asked as she pressed her palm to the bulkhead. “We’re turning.”

The youngest of them, Crewman Vesha, popped her head out from the other bedroom like a curious fox. The Trill’s eyes sparkled. Brown spots traced delicately along her temples and neck. “The inertial dampeners are compensating, but yeah. I think I felt it.”

“That’s not your instincts,” Greli said. “That’s thousands of kilotons of California-class majesty swinging wide.”

Vesha giggled. “It’s like we’re dancing.”

“You call that a dance?” chimed in their third roommate, Chief Petty Officer Lelasa. The Saurian’s glittering, multifaceted eyes caught the light like fragments of shattered glass. Her thick tail coiled around one ankle as she stood by the window. Scaly green fingers tapped the pane. “We’re pivoting around the Morro Bay. Starboard approach. I saw the whole maneuver!”

Lelasa’s voice took on a near poetic tone. “She’s scarred. Looks like a warp core overpressure exit hole. Their hull’s venting atmosphere. The Brawley’s giving her a cradle.”

“Our ship’s got nice arms,” Greli muttered as she flopped onto the couch. She tossed a supplement bar toward Petty Officer Naz Jadi, who caught it without looking.

“Confirmed,” Lelasa called from the window. “Tractor beam engaged. Underside latch. Look!”

Naz finally got down from her bunk and joined Lelasa at the window. The blue-white glow of the tractor beam blossomed beneath the Brawley’s secondary hull. It curled in an arc like an electric tether to the wounded Morro Bay.

Lelasa sighed. “It’s a mundane miracle, isn’t it?”

“That’s a contradiction,” Greli said.

“It’s not. That’s the problem,” Lelasa replied. “We treat it like it’s nothing. But look at that. Pure light is holding a wounded ship. It’s a hand reaching out into darkness.”

“Poetic,” Naz said with a faint smile. “More like a beam emitter calibrated to grip hull plating without torsional slippage.”

“You made it sound so dry.” Lelasa sniffled.

Vesha shuffled into the center room, PADD in hand. Bright, pearly teeth peered out to chew her lower lip. “Can I bother you for a second, Chief Naz?”

Jadi turned. “What’s up, Vesha?”

“I’ve been studying for the advancement exam. It’s… a lot,” she admitted as she brushed a lock of hair behind her ear. “I’m trying to figure out where I’m weak.”

“You’re sweet, Vesha,” Greli teased. “But there’s no weakness in knowing what you don’t know.”

Naz nodded. “What subject’s giving you trouble?”

“Interstellar jurisprudence. It’s dense. I don’t even understand what half of it’s for. When am I ever going to need to quote something from the Treaty of Calyx Prime?”

Greli snorted. “Never, unless you’re dating someone from there.”

Lelasa gave a throaty hiss of laughter. “I knew someone from there. He never shut up about export protocols.”

“Gross,” Greli said. “Naz, you overhear anything about where we’re headed?”

Naz Jadi leaned against the windowframe. “I caught two lieutenants talking on Deck 6. Sounds like we’re heading to a starbase. Didn’t catch which one.”

“Starbase? Finally,” Lelasa said as she turned from the window. “I need real food. Synthesized paste is making my scales brittle.”

“You say that every week,” Greli said as she stretched out. “You’ll probably end up ordering the same spicy polenta.”

“Because it’s reliable.”

Naz smirked. “You’re all assuming we’ll have time to breathe. If the Morro Bay’s that banged up, we might be stuck helping them patch up.”

“That means hot repair crews,” Greli said with a smirk. Her eyelids lowered. “You ever see a Tellarite boil-welder strip down?”

“No thanks,” Naz said with mock horror. “The thought is more than enough.”

Vesha perched nervously on the edge of a stool. “I think I’d be too nervous to date outside my species.”

“Why?” Greli asked. “All the fun’s in not knowing what to expect.”

“Besides,” Lelasa added as she flicked her tongue lightly. “Interstellar relationships broaden your worldview. Not to mention your flexibility.”

Naz chuckled as she brushed her fingers through her cropped hair. “We’re a long way from Bajor. But even here, we keep finding ways to flirt while on a rescue op.”

The laughter simmered down slowly. Outside the window, the Morro Bay’s battered silhouette was now fully blocking the starlight.

“Well,” Lelasa muttered. “There goes our view.”

Greli grunted. “I swear they do this on purpose. Every time I settle into the lounge with a nice nebula, someone parks a ship in the way.”

Naz glanced back at her bunk. “Don’t worry. Once we hit the starbase, I’m sure we’ll have something new to look at.”

“Starbase, huh?” Vesha said, eyes still hopeful. “Do you think I could schedule time with a test officer for promotion prep?”

“I’ll put in a recommendation,” Naz said. “You’re getting there.”

Vesha beamed. “Thanks, Chief.”

The room settled again. The rumble of the Brawley softened to a whisper as she aligned herself with her wounded sister. Outside, the stars had vanished behind metal and scars. Laughter and comfort still made the small cabin feel like home.

A few decks away and on the other side of the ship, galley lights hummed quietly overhead. They threw soft shadows across the counters as Lieutenant Junior Grade Itata sh’Zeles slid a mixing bowl into place. The Brawley was stable again after its last maneuver. She could feel it in her joints. Her mind finally began to slow after twelve hours on duty. The stillness of the room was a kind of luxury.

She looked like she’d been pulled from the eye of a storm and deposited here. Soft curls formed a windblown fringe above her brow. Crimson eyes caught the light like burning coals through mist. Itata focused on the ingredients laid out in front of her. There was a bowl of chilled flour, a vial of Andorian blue salt, and the star of the dish. Meat from a zherka beetle was already sautéed with onions, garlic, and the biting fire of rare Bajoran chile peppers.

She worked quickly, kneading the dough with sleeves pushed up and her blue arms dusted in flour. She wasn’t so much cooking as playing with flavor like an instrument. The Andorian tuned here and adjusted there. The look on her face showed she knew the whole thing might collapse spectacularly at any moment.

As the dough set, she returned to the stovetop and stirred the beetle meat. Its rich scent mixed with the scorched, sweet aroma of the chiles. The sizzling was sharp and quick. Blue salt was added with flair. It cooled the edges of the pan’s heat as it absorbed the oils. Itata added a handful of finely ground roots. Their taste was spicy and pungent like horseradish. Now she just had to let the mixture simmer. When it was ready, she spooned the filling into little circles of dough and pinched them closed. One by one, she set them in neat rows on a baking tray. The oven warmed the room with rising heat.

She wiped her hands on a towel and crossed the galley to the viewport. Her arms folded loosely across her chest.

With the oven ticking away behind her, she activated a personal audio stream from her terminal. A voice crackled through the room. It was ancient, measured and soft-spoken. This was one of the signal archives she’d been obsessing over for weeks. It was a lost civilization’s pilot recording logs as they ventured beyond the reaches of their fading star.

“We left our world not to conquer, but to learn. The further we traveled, the more clearly we saw the limits of our power and the depth of our ignorance.”

The words hovered over her like a ghost. She leaned back against the counter and stared out into the stars.

“We found fear in the silence. Wonder, too. And among the stars, the faint echo of something larger than us all.”

Itata closed her eyes and let the recording wash over her. The last few weeks had been a blur of stress. The Vaadwaur had struck hard and fast across the Alpha and Beta Quadrants. Itata had lost sleep and forgotten which day it was.

The oven chimed after the minutes flew past. She stood and padded back over, rushing not to overcook the dish. She pulled the tray out carefully. Her eyes studied the golden brown crusts of the empanadas. Their edges were crisp, bellies puffed with steam and spice. One had burst slightly. She smiled as she scooped it onto her plate. Itata bit in. She noticed a hot, rich taste. Flavors were sharp with pepper and the meat’s earthy tang.

Back at the viewport, she sat down cross-legged and listened. The pilot’s voice continued. He sounded older now, fainter. There was a sadness in the voice.

“We dreamed of finding home again. We didn’t. But we found something like it, and that was enough.”

She thought about that as she ate. Her mind focused on home. Not Andoria, though she loved it. Home was the Brawley. The crew was already a family. Life here was no less full of uncertainty than the stars outside. She would’ve rather been here than anywhere else.