Ayres could not help but enjoy the feeling of the new ready room. The Farragut was a leap from the Sacramento in comfort and capability, with more space for the command staff and more space overall. The ready room was spacious, well-appointed, with comfortable furniture in muted tones of dark red. It was lit in pools rather than broad strokes: a Federation crest glowed from the wall display, all cold blues and whites; a tactical star chart floated in bright orange lines on the wall monitor, the lattice of patrol routes like a net cast across blackness. His desk was angular, upon which sat a container with the personal effects from his last, much smaller, ready room. The viewport at the far wall framed a view of the interior of Starbase 72, and Ayres’ reflection was caught there too. A tall figure with squared shoulders and an overly large beard.

The doors parted with a whisper. “Petty Officer Thorne, reporting as requested, sir.

Ayres turned. His eyes softened just slightly when they met Thorne’s. “Come in, Jalen. It’s been a long time since the Lion.”

Thorne stepped inside, posture straight but wary. He had not forgotten the fight in the bar or the bruise on his own jaw from Elkader’s fist. “Yes, sir. Feels like another lifetime.”

Ayres gestured to one of the angular chairs opposite his desk. “Sit. I want to talk about Elkader.”

Thorne lowered himself carefully, hands folding on his knees. His gaze flicked briefly toward the star chart glowing on the wall, then back to the captain. “She’s difficult, sir.”

Ayres settled into his chair, the leather creaking faintly under his weight. He leaned forward, elbows on the desk. “Difficult is a polite way of putting it. She picked a fight with you in front of half the squadron. That’s not just hotheadedness. That’s corrosive.”

“With respect, Captain, she wasn’t always like this.”

Ayres tilted his head. “Go on.”

“Elkader has always had a challenging disposition, but she had control. She knew when to stop. But the Vaadwaur changed that.”

Ayres frowned, fingers steepled. “The battles?”

Thorne nodded, eyes shadowed as the memories flickered across his face. “We lost too many pilots too fast. She buried herself in the fighting, like it was the only thing keeping her alive. And the acting captain, Harnell, never challenged her. He never reined her in. Every time she pushed the line, he looked the other way because she delivered results and there was too much going on.”

Ayres let the words hang. The hum of the ship seemed louder in the pause, like the Farragut itself was listening.

Thorne leaned forward, voice lower. “That’s what made her worse. Whether it was a loss or a success, it all seemed to have the same affect on her – like an growing intensity of emotion across the board. And nobody was looking out for her. We tried, those of us in the squadron, but she needed to be benched.”

Ayres’ eyes hardened. He looked toward the viewport and the blinking lights of the starbase. “So you’re saying, what, exactly? That she’s a pressure cooker?”

“Yes, sir,” Thorne said quietly. “But she’s not beyond saving. She respects strength, resolve, and – honestly – commands. Someone has to stand up to her before she tears herself apart.”

Ayres was silent for a moment, drawing his hand across his beard, the low light carving deep lines across his face. Then he leaned back in his chair. “Jalen, I trust you, but this is against my instincts. However, her record,” Ayres gestured at a nearby PADD, “has a lot of achievements that could – could – buy some time.” he said, voice like steel.

For the first time since stepping inside, Thorne sat back, a grim kind of relief softening his shoulders. Ayres’ gaze flicked to him again. “You did well to speak plainly, Jalen. I’m glad you’re the same man as on the Lion. Dismissed.”

Thorne rose, nodded sharply, and left. Ayres sat alone in the ready room, thinking about his approach to Elkader. His eyes lingered on the tactical map, and the feeling that there was already so much to prepare for.

He rose, moving to the doors and strode back onto the bridge. The space was alive with quiet purpose: consoles hummed, displays pulsed with data, and officers bent over their stations. Kincaid, the second officer, sat at the conn.

At Ayres’ approach, Kincaid rose fluidly, stepping back toward the tactical rail that curved across the aft of the bridge. “Captain on the bridge,” he announced.

Ayres gave the barest of nods, then sank into the center seat. It was still new, the leather firm, the supports stiff. “All stations, report.”

One by one, the voices replied, steady and professional.

“Helm ready.”

“Engineering reports all systems green.”

“Very good,” Ayres took a breath, “take us out of the starbase”.

A moment later. “Navigation confirms clearance from Starbase 72.”

“Docking clamps released.”

On the viewscreen, the magnificent bulk of Starbase 72 dominated the starscape. Its vast, skeletal arms gleamed with running lights, a titanic cradle where dozens of vessels came and went like shuttles around a beehive.

The Farragut – a bulky Nebula-class cruiser – began to drift forward. Impulse thrusters fired in delicate bursts, the saucer section gliding clear of the station’s pylons. Her mission pod loomed above the secondary hull like the keel of some ancient seafaring vessel, casting shadows as she pivoted free. Dockworkers in runabouts and tugs peeled away from her flanks, their running lights blinking in farewell.

On the bridge, Ayres watched the image expand: the graceful yet solid lines of his ship moving into the velvet black. Where the Galaxy-class was a swan, the Nebula was a hawk; stockier, but no less elegant.

“Helm,” Ayres said, voice low but carrying, “ahead one-quarter impulse. Take us clear of the traffic lanes.”

“Ahead one-quarter, aye.”

The deck plates beneath their boots vibrated with a steady hum as the Farragut stretched her wings. The lights of the starbase receded behind them.

Ayres let the silence settle, the moment of departure soaking into the crew. Then he straightened. “Our destination is Joint Base Dathon. But before we arrive, Starfleet Intelligence and Commander Aloran expect us to prove the worth of our new fusion centre.”

All eyes edged subtly toward the center chair. “While en route, we will conduct full-spectrum monitoring of the Federation border. Focus your attention on Sheliak and Tholian traffic. I want anomalous readings, stray signals. If it’s out there, I want us to know about it.”

From tactical, Kincaid inclined his head, already keying commands into his station. “Aye, Captain. We’ll have the fusion centre integrating comms and sensor feeds within the hour.”

Ayres nodded once, satisfied. “This ship isn’t just another cruiser. We’re meant to hear what others miss and act on it. Time to prove that.”

On the main viewer, the last lights of Starbase 72 vanished astern.

The helm officer glanced back. “Clear of the lanes, captain. Course set for Joint Base Dathon. Warp engines standing by.”

Ayres leaned back into the chair. The hum of power seemed to gather in the deck beneath him, eager, waiting. “Engage.”

The stars ahead stretched into luminous lines, then erupted into the swirling tunnel of warp. The Farragut leapt into the void, her saucer and mission pod gleaming in the distortion.

The warp stars streamed past on the viewscreen, white fire in an endless tunnel of black. The bridge hummed with restrained energy, officers focused at their stations, the glow of consoles painting faces in shades of gold and blue.

At operations, an Andorian ensign leaned into his display, antennae twitching as new streams of data scrolled past. “Initial feeds from the fusion centre are syncing, captain. We’re already pulling chatter from subspace relay buoys along the border. Nothing anomalous yet – mostly merchant transmissions and routine patrol checks.”

“Keep monitoring.”

From the tactical rail, Kincaid’s older voice carried. “We’ll have baselines established within the watch. Once we know what normal looks like, the anomalies will stand out.”

Ayres turned his head, giving a brief nod. “Perfect, commander.

For a moment the bridge settled into its rhythm: quiet voices reporting, consoles humming, the faint thrum of warp drive surrounding them all. It was the heartbeat of a ship alive and under way.

The science station, Jevlak, broke the calm. “Captain, picking up a Tholian communications burst. Content’s encrypted, as usual. Origin point is just inside Tholian space, but the relay indicates heavy signal traffic at the Federation border.”

Heads turned slightly, attention sharpening.

“Mark it and forward everything to the fusion centre,” Ayres ordered. His tone stayed cool, measured. “We’re here to understand the patterns. If they’re moving, I want to know where, and why.”

The science officer nodded, already pulling streams into the buffer.

Ayres leaned back again, letting the hum of the bridge surround him. This was his domain: not the chaos of a bar fight or the volatility of an officer who should know better, but the disciplined heartbeat of a professional crew.

His voice carried, steady and firm. “Settle in, people. The Farragut is listening to the whispers in the dark.”