There was a low hum of activity in the crew mess, personnel introducing themselves, kit bags tucked under chairs, people in and out the room. There was a strong smell of coffee and teas brewing in the room as the support staff frantically topped up the many flavours from across the quadrant. A treat before having to rely on replicated blends.

A wall of windows framed the Deep Space 17 while the USS San Clemente hovered waiting for the word.

Lt Cdr. Jorik Traven stood in the centre of the room in his command red uniform. It fitted well, the new uniforms just felt better, like you could do anything in them, whether running around planet side or stood in a mess about to brief your new crew for the first time. He waited for people to notice, the conversations began to settle and people started taking their seats. His hands were clasped behind is back, enough to signal to the room that he was going to begin but not so much as to intimidate anyone.

“Welcome aboard the San Clemente,” he began, “Some of you know me and followed from our last assignment. Some of you don’t and haven’t yet flown with this crew. All of you are here because this ship needs what you do best.”

There were a few glances back and forth from the crowd, he let the murmurs die out.

“Two quick truths for you all. First, we’ve been recommissioned, and refit, she’s an old ship but she’s got good bones. Second, we’ve got a clean slate, but it’s useless in the wrong hands. So….. let me introduce the right hands.”

He gestured to his right. “Lt Cdr. T’Lenar, First Officer. She sees three moves ahead and prefers logic to comfort. That’s why we like her.”

T’Lenar inclined her head toward the crowd, a flicker of acknowledgement crossing the Vulcan’s careful composure.

“Helm, Lt. Arven Kree”, Kree stood, as if the while thing was about him, typical of any pilot. “If we end the day with the same number of hull plates we started with, it’s down to Kree and his team.”

Kree’s sat back down, almost disappointed there was no applause.

“Your Chief of Security and Tactical Officer, Lt Sh’rol th’Varak”, Sh’rol was already standing, he was big, even for an Andorian, his military baring obvious to the room. “He’s by the book and keeps the drills sharp enough to shave with. Treat him like the regulations do…..seriously.”

Sh’rol didn’t move, almost unreadable.

“Your Chief Science Office, Lt (JG) Rima Saell. Acting Chief no more, she’s earned the chair and I’m certain she’ll prove she can keep it.” Saell’s eyes shone, a restrained pride.

“Your Chief Engineer, Lt (JG) Brunak, He’ll argue with half of you before lunch and the rest of your after.” There was a few chuckles from around the room. “He will also have fixed something you didn’t even know was broken before breakfast.”

Brunak grunted, which might have been agreement.

“We’ve also got some new senior staff joining us that are sat amongst you” Traven went on, “Please introduce yourselves.”

A Cardassian woman stood, sleeves pushed to the elbow like someone who found fabric between her and a console offensive. “Rynka Korren, Engineering Specialist for off-ship operations, Lieutenant Commander. If it breaks and it isn’t attached to this hull, I’m probably climbing inside it.”

There was a ripple of amusement through the room. Brunak folded his arms, intrigued.

“Medical,” Traven said, “Lt Cdr. Reyna Paldor, I know you’re here somewhere”

Reyna gave a small wave. “I patch you up, but ideally, I’ll never have to. But all of you must swing by sickbay and get your baselines, no excuses.”

“Counsellor Sora Venn,” Traven continued, “Lieutenant……”

Sora’s, stood, smiling, the young Betazoid could feel the apprehension amongst the crew on their first day onboard. Her voice landed soft but carried. “My door is open, you don’t have to be a crisis to chat.”

“And finally Chief Nurse, Petty Officer Rebecca Thorne.”

Thorne’s smile was all reassurance. “If Doctor Paldor keeps you out of sickbay, I’ll bribe you to stay that way. Tea helps.”

Traven looked across them all, “I’m sure the rest of your will get a chance to introduce yourselves but at least you know your heads of department, we’re a Cali class, a tight knit team doing what needs to be done. That means we do the jobs that make the glamorous jobs possible. We’re the backbone, not the headline.” He added

“Our first mission may be a routine one, there are some communication relays that the core of engineers has left to rot out there and we’re going to pick up the slack. The network keeps Task Force Seventeen’s explorers from feeling alone in the dark….. we’ll be the reason they don’t.”

He waited a moment scanning the room, “If anyone says we’re ‘just a repair ship,’ you have my permission to make them read our duty logs until they take it back.”

A laugh went through the room.

He went to turn but then looked back at the room “One final note,” he said. “You don’t need me to like you. You do need me to trust you. Earn it and help each other earn it. We cast off when the yardmaster gives us a lane. Until then…. stations.”

The room erupted in chatter, chairs scraped, bags were shouldered, the USS San Clemente was newly theirs and she waited.

The corridor from the mess to the bridge curved, The Cali class may be old but she was Traven’s kind of told. The familiar Federation lines were occasionally interrupted by pallet stacks of sealed equipment, but she was already feeling like home.

The Cali’s were never built to impress diplomats, they were built to work, despite the refit he could feel the history of the ship. She was a workhorse and had already had a huge impact in her previous ‘life’. On the bulkheads, the brushed metal coverings had the unblemished sheen of a new start. She’d been towed to a quiet berth and left to sleep but now she wore her return with quiet defiance.

He reached the doors to the bridge and took a deep breath, as he stepped through there was a buzz of activity. It was a typical Cali Class layout with the captain’s chair centred, ops and helm forward, tactical aft overlooking the captain’s shoulder.  Sh’rol was at this station already but caught the captain in his peripheral, “Captain on the Bridge!” he bellowed.

Traven paused at the rail, palms resting lightly, “Report,”

“Docking clamps are engaged,” Kree replied at the helm. “Impulse on standby, thrusters green.

“Ops?” Traven asked.

“Cargo’s secure,” said T’Lenar replied, his first officer correcting a young ensign at the operations station. “We’ve received the last of the industrial replicator feedstock. Engineering has eyes on the allotment.” She glanced toward the turbolift as the doors opened revealing the Tellarite Chief engineer “Speaking of……”

Brunak emerged onto the bridge, one hand wrapped around a toolkit that looked as big as a suitcase. “Every diagnostic says we’re ready,” he grunted. “But….. diagnostics are optimistic liars.” he squinted at his PADD, “the margin of error is within the limits, I’ll admit that in public.”

Traven smiled at the clear astonishment of Brunak’s gruff demeanour from the junior officers on the Bridge

Rynka Korren stepped out behind him, “The Industrial replicators are calibrated to rapid-fabricate subspace relay strut inserts and thermal housings. We stripped some nonessential luxuries to make room for the extra raw storage, please don’t ask me to give it back for a piano.” Her grin struck quick and vanished.

“Noted,” Traven said, amused, but something still didn’t feel right seeing a Cardassian in a Starfleet Uniform. She seemed capable enough, only time would tell.

He looked up at the forward display. Deep Space 17’s exterior was on the viewscreen.

He watched as T’Lenar approached from the science station, hands folded, looking over Rima Saell’s shoulder as she said “Sir, sensor integrity is at 97%”

“Brunak” Traven responded, “it’s the new systems sir, we can’t get them to perfectly sinc” he responded

Traven nodded and spun noticing the ships counsellor behind him, “Counsellor Venn?”

Sora, had taken a seat near the aft bulkhead to speak quietly with a pair of junior crew, she rose as the Captain called her name. “I’ve scheduled debrief orientations by department, longer sessions can wait until we know how the engines sing.”

Tapping a button on his control panel “Doctor?” Traven asked.

Reyna’s voice came over the intercom. “Sickbay at full stock. Petty Officer Thorne is finishing intake baselines now.”

He pivoted to Tactical. “Sh’rol?”

“Two teams in EVA prep for an unscheduled relay walk,” the Andorian replied. “Drills repeat every four hours until I say they don’t.”

Traven smiled, he knew Sh’rol would be a hard taskmaster but didn’t expect him running drills this quickly. “Good”, he replied.

Traven let his gaze sweep the stations once more, they were ready, this USS San Clemente might not be sleek, or famous, but she was theirs. And she would definitely do the job.