There was an air of seriousness on the bridge of the USS Gilroy. A deep tension seemed to run through its crew. The small talk and often unprofessional banter that was typically shared between officers was absent, replaced with an uneasy silence broken only by the occasional readout and duty report. All in all, it did not sit well with the Gilroy’s captain, Jericho Sands.
He sat in his command chair, the skin of his knuckles rubbed nearly raw as he absentmindedly ran them along the deep stubble of his chin, staring at the viewscreen as it distorted the stars into long, white streaks. The mission briefing had caught him – and the entire crew – by surprise. They had been quickly diverted, leaving their previous mission unfinished to set off toward something new: a sector far off the beaten track, beyond the coreward edge of the Shackleton Expanse that was both serious and thrilling.
The nature of the USS Gilroy’s missions often kept them close to home – running medical, logistical, and humanitarian aid. Jericho had been in command for less than two years, and this was his first time taking his crew this far out. They were not the typical Starfleet explorers celebrated in recruitment holos. They were healers, spreadsheet wielders, and – if he was being honest – plain. This was entirely out of their comfort zone.
Except, of course, for their newly transferred first officer, Commander Tehm Mall. Tall and fit where Jericho was shorter and a bit round, Mall was a Betazoid tactician with an array of combat commendations under his belt. He was fearless and more than eager to “do something,” as he so often complained. Jericho could feel him pacing the carpet, checking and double-checking each station, occasionally grilling the crew on readiness. He wondered how Mall’s Betazoid senses handled the bubble of anxiety suffocating the bridge. The two men had yet to find an easy groove, but there was a layer of respect, at least.
“Estimated arrival?” asked Mall, an energy to his voice that Jericho appreciated.
“Under two minutes,” called the helmswoman.
“Excellent,” Mall replied.
Jericho stood, offering Mall an appreciative nod, and moved toward his communications officer, Lieutenant Ashworthy. Youthful and usually bursting with sass, Ashworthy had been uncharacteristically quiet. Even under Mall’s interrogation, the lieutenant had been putting in extra effort to ensure his station was running smoothly. It unsettled the captain to see his ship’s most dynamic officer so somber.
“Ashworthy, you’ve done a great job,” Jericho offered, placing a comforting hand on the younger officer’s shoulder. “Please, open a ship-wide channel.”
The lieutenant smiled, and Jericho felt the young man’s shoulders finally drop. A moment later, the boatswain’s whistle chirped across the decks.
“Everyone, this is Captain Sands. In less than a minute, we’ll be arriving at our rendezvous coordinates in the Tirius sector. I know many of you feel a certain frustration – and perhaps nervousness – at ending our last mission so early. The needs of those outposts are still front and center in my mind. But we, better than anyone, understand the organized chaos of logistics. We were selected for a reason: to facilitate the sustainment and resupply of the vessels operating in this area. We will do this, no doubt, with exceptionalism.”
Jericho paused, making eye contact with each member of the bridge crew.
“Take a breath. Do your jobs. And try to find a moment of enjoyment in this discovery. Sands out.”
Seconds later, the stars snapped back into points of light. The Gilroy dropped out of warp at her intended coordinates. Weighted down with dilithium, deuterium, essential equipment, and a 20 person crop of logisticians and engineers who would crew the new outpost, the ship sat steady – and ready – to begin the process of establishing the hurried new resupply depot.
“Confirm scan of ships in the area,” ordered commander Mall. “And prepare for incoming hails. The USS Hurricane has been designated as having the lead for our new mission.”
