Ralston let the door seal behind him and stepped back into senior officer country without breaking stride.

Travers was waiting a few meters down the passage, leaning casually against a bulkhead. He pushed off when Ralston approached.

“How did it go?” Travers asked.

Ralston didn’t slow. “About how you said it would.”

Travers gave the slightest nod and fell in beside him, matching pace.

“Good. Then we can skip the warm-up. We have a couple of weeks left in the yards. Enough time to finish the refit properly, not enough to get complacent.”

“What’s still open?” Ralston asked.

“Final systems integration. Crew rotations. A lot of shake-down work once the flag staff comes aboard.” Travers glanced over briefly. “Hardin wants us sharp before MacLeod moves his people in.”

Ralston nodded once. “Then we use the time effectively.”

“That’s the idea.” Travers said.

“Before we dive into departments, I want to see my cabin.” Ralston declared.

Travers nodded once. “Starboard side of this deck.”

They turned down a quieter spur off senior officer country, the traffic thinning as they moved farther from command spaces.

Travers reached into his tunic and handed Ralston a slim PADD as they walked.

“I put together a turnover brief while you were inbound,” he said.

“Department readiness, personnel notes, unresolved yard items. And the things that don’t make it into official reports.”

Ralston accepted it without breaking stride, eyes scanning the opening screen.

“How bad?” he asked.

“Manageable,” Travers replied. “Some fatigue. Some departments are still thinking like they’re in repair mode instead of preparing for deployment. Nothing you won’t correct quickly.”

They stopped at a door set into the starboard bulkhead, its designation discreet but unmistakable.

Travers gestured. “Your cabin.”

Ralston keyed the panel. The door slid open.

He stepped inside his cabin, taking it in at a glance.

His cabin was senior officer standard: functional, orderly, and deliberately unadorned. Larger than standard junior officer accommodations, but noticeably smaller than the captain’s cabin. It contained a built-in desk along the starboard bulkhead, with a compact seating alcove directly opposite.

Travers paused at the threshold.

“Your personal effects are already in transit,” he said. “Quartermaster confirmed they’ll be onboard by the end of the day. Nothing should go missing- assuming the yards keep their promises.”

Ralston nodded once, already cataloging the space. “They usually don’t.”

“That’s why I checked twice,“ Travers replied as he stepped inside the cabin.

“Your secure terminal is live- your access permissions were synced at 0600 this morning per Captain Hardin’s orders. “

Ralston glanced at his desk, where the terminal sat dark and unobtrusive, already waiting. He gave a single nod.

“Good.”

“One more thing,“ Travers added.

Ralston paused.

“Flag staff’s preliminary footprint is already mapped out,“ Travers said. “Once MacLeod and his staff boards the ship, traffic on decks three and five is going to increase. You’ll want to lock down access protocols early.”

Ralston met his eyes. “Already on my list.”

“Figures.” Traver’s mouth twitched.

“Alright, let’s make our rounds. Engineering first, then medical, and tactical/security spaces following that.“ Ralston said, motioning Travers to follow.

Ralston keyed the cabin door closed, sealing the space behind him without a backward glance. Whatever comfort the room might eventually offer could wait. There was work to do.

He fell back into step beside Travers as they turned down the corridor.

“Lock down access once the flag staff boards,“ Ralston said. “No casual traffic. I don’t want people wandering through these spaces because they think proximity equals importance.”

Travers nodded. “I’ll coordinate with Security. Access lists will be tight.”

“Good.” Ralston’s gaze stayed forward.

They reached the turbolift. Travers keyed it without comment. The doors slid open, and they stepped inside.

“Main Engineering,“ Ralston ordered.

The lift acknowledged and began its descent as the vibration underfoot deepened while the ship asserted itself.

Travers glanced at the deck indicator as it ticked down. “Commander Nasser is expecting us. She’s been pushing to clear the last of the integration checks before the week is out.”

“Good,“ Ralston said. “I want to hear what she is worried about before I hear what she is proud of.”

Travers gave a brief nod. “That’ll narrow the list.”

Ralston shifted his stance slightly, adjusting to the vibration without thought.

“Anything I should know before we meet Nasser?“ he asked.

Travers considered. “She’s tired. So is her staff. But they’re not cutting corners. If there’s a problem, she’ll say it straight.”

“That’s what I need,“ Ralston replied.

The lift slowed.

A soft tone sounded as the car eased to a stop, the hum beneath their boots changing pitch. Ralston and Travers stepped off the turbolift as the doors opened.

Main Engineering was vast and framed by gantries and catwalks that wrapped around the twin core housings like ribs around a spine. Each core stood active at partial output, blue containment fields shimmering with restrained force, diagnostic light patterns crawling across their surfaces.

Commander Soraya Nasser, Cyclone’s Chief Engineer, stood near a diagnostic station.

She was shorter than Ralston had expected, compact and wiry. Her posture relaxed in the way of someone who knew exactly how much danger she was standing next to. Her dark hair was cropped close, practical, a work cap tucked into a pocket of her engineering jacket. There was grease on her sleeve and a faint tang of ozone clinging to her body like perfume.

“Commander Ralston,“ she said, voice calm, level, and entirely uninterested in ceremony. “Welcome to Main Engineering.”

Ralston took two steps forward, letting the space speak for itself before he did. “Commander Nasser. Appreciate you making the time.”

She snorted quietly. “If I didn’t, the engines would still be here. I might not.“ Her gaze flicked briefly to the twin cores behind her. “We’re running them at sixty-two percent load, cross-linked but not married. The integration has been clean so far, but I won’t sign off on full stress or shifting to full ship power until I’ve watched them misbehave a little longer.”

“That’s what I wanted to hear,“ Ralston said.

“Good,“ Nasser replied.

She gestured with two fingers toward the warp core closest to them. “Left core’s settling faster than the right. Nothing dangerous, just personality. We’re balancing the field geometry manually rather than letting the automation smooth it out.”

Ralston nodded once. “How’s your team holding up?”

“Tired. Focused. Still grieving, whether they admit it or not.” Nasser said.

“Told you.“ Travers glanced at Ralston.

Ralston stepped fully onto the deck, the vibration of the twin cores grounding through his boots. “That’s all I need from them. You tell me what the ship can do, what it can’t, and what breaks if I ask for too much.”

“Deal,“ Nasser said meeting his gaze squarely. “And I’ll expect you to listen when I say no.”

“Fair,“ Ralston replied.

“Then here’s the part you’re not going to like.“ She reached up and keyed a control on the railing beside her. A section of the nearest display shifted, schematic lines resolving into a layered cutaway of Cyclone’s propulsion spine. Twin warp cores pulsed in alternating rhythm with amber and blue power flows on the monitor.

“On paper, this plant meets all required specs- exceeds them in a few areas. Dual-core load sharing is stable. Field geometry’s holding. We could clear trials on schedule if all I cared about were getting a green box checked.“ Nasser changed the display again. A new overlay appeared: stress curves, thermal gradients, a handful of data points flagged in dull red.

“What the on paper read doesn’t show,“ she said, tapping a red marker with her knuckle, “is cumulative fatigue from Iron Veil. Microfractures are forming along the ventral warp frame.”

“That didn’t show up in the last review“, Travers interjected.

“It wouldn’t,“ Nasser replied without looking at him. “It only appears when both cores are pulling uneven load over time. Yard diagnostics don’t simulate that. Real missions do.”

Ralston shifted his attention back to her. “How long before it becomes a problem?”

Nasser met his eyes again. This time, there was no humor in them.

“That depends entirely on how badly Command wants to impress itself.”

Silence settled for a beat, thickened by the low thunder of the warp cores.

“If we push sustained high-warp operations early, we will accrue wear and tear I can’t undo without another drydock period,“ she said. “Not catastrophic. But enough to start eating into safety margins.”

Ralston studied the schematic.

“How much margin do you need?“ he asked.

“No sustained redline runs initially. Let the frame settle under real conditions instead of theoretical ones.“ Nasser exhaled quietly.

“And if operational constraints don’t give us that luxury?”

“Then I’ll keep you flying as long as physics allows. I just want you to understand what you’re spending when you make that call.“ Nasser said emphatically.

“That’s fair,“ Ralston said.

“Most XOs tell me to make it work and stop worrying,“ Nasser added.

“I worry so you don’t have to lie,“ Ralston answered without hesitation.

For the first time since they’d met, Nasser smiled.

“Good, then we’ll get along just fine,“ she said.

“Then we’ll plan accordingly,“ he said. “No heroics for the sake of reports.“

“That’s all I ask.”

Ralston turned slightly, eyes moving once more across Main Engineering.

“Commander Nasser, keep doing exactly what you’re doing. If the timeline needs adjusting, you come to me. Not after something breaks.” Ralston said.

“Understood,“ she replied. “And for what it’s worth, welcome aboard.”

Ralston accepted that with a nod before walking back toward the turbolift with Travers already falling in beside him.