“Commander Camargo,” Lieutenant Rrr’mmm’bal’rrr’s emphasis on the rank rumbled around the bridge as they approached the centre seat, a padd in hand. They were enjoying the opportunity to gently tease about the rank difference at every opportunity. “Everyone who should be aboard is, and all wayward sorts have been thrown overboard.”

“Without EV suits, I would expect?” Gabs asked as she accepted the padd, skimming Rrr’s readiness report and then confirming it. “Flotilla status?”

“Perseus, last I heard, is bringing up the rear with Osiris and Galatine, but the rest entered the system an hour ago. The stragglers should be here in another day, then a day for restocking before the Commodore sets them all off again.” Rrr’s tectonic shrug was accompanied by a little smile. “But we should be good to depart at your command.”

“My command?” Gabs shook her head. “Oh, no.”

“We are ready to depart,” Rrr advised. “It is your shift, and you do know the captain’s intent.”

“And we do have an errand to run on the way to Colludia anyway,” Gabs mused. Then, with a heavy sigh, she handed the padd back to the operations chief. “I will throw you under the runaway shuttle if I have to.”

“You’re welcome to try,” Rrr shot back. “Even for a Gaen watching their weight,” they patted their abdomen, “I’m too heavy for anyone to throw around.”

Gabs stared at Rrr briefly, then smirked. “I know a Horta. Grind you up into little pebbles.”

“You wouldn’t.” Rrr shook their head after a moment. “You would.”

She rose to her feet, then patted Rrr’s left arm. “Only for you,” she confirmed. “And only because I care enough to make sure I do it right. Now, let’s get this circus underway, shall we?”

“And where are they off to?” the Andorian woman sitting on the edge of Tikva’s desk asked. Zillia Sh’torar was pointing out the window at the sleek, predatory form of the starship Atlantis as it peeled away from the flotilla in orbit of Kyban, receding into the distance before disappearing in a flash of light as it jumped to warp.

“Who knows,” Tikva answered. “And get off my desk, Zil. I have seats, you know.” She was resting her chin in both hands, elbows on the desk, while staring down at a padd, eyes flicking side to side as she was busy reading.

“You promised me lunch.” Zil twisted to face Tikva, then leaned in, intruding on her personal space just slightly. “And you know where they’re going. So, spill it, Bug.”

“Can I just-”

“Bug.”

Tikva sighed in defeat at her friend’s persistence. A tap on the padd locked the screen, then she sat back in her chair, opening the distance a little between herself and the Andorian. “Colludia.”

“Colludia?” Zil asked.

“A system coreward of Starbase Bravo. There’s a fleet gathering there in a couple of weeks for some R&R and networking. I’m sending Atlantis because they need it and hopefully it’ll give Nate and Gabs a chance to rub some shoulders.”

Zil chuckled lightly before she hopped off the desk, offering a hand to help pull Tikva to her feet. “See, wasn’t that hard to just tell me, now was it?”

“Terribly hard, super painful,” Tikva lied. “Also have them running a few errands while they’re about it.”

“Makes sense,” Zil agreed. “Now, lunch. You’re going to tell me all about that romantic dinner you and your girl went on. And then why Argonaut is no longer with us, yeah?”

“You’re just digging for gossip, aren’t you?” Tikva stepped past Zil, heading for the door out of her office. “Want to get ahead of Rachel, yeah?”

“You know it,” Zil answered as she caught up. “Now spill.”

“And why don’t we get to go on holiday?” Matt Lake asked loudly of the bridge of the starship Republic. It wasn’t a complaint, but an honest question. A man querying reality to figure out why he was in a given position.

“Because we didn’t spend months already out in the Shackleton Expanse followed by immediately diving into rescuing that thing,” Sidda Sadovu answered from the centre seat, having a hand at the massive form of the starship Canopus directly ahead of them in orbit. Her response did sound like a complaint, which immediately shifted as she put on a smile. “Besides, we’re so awesome we don’t need one.”

“I wouldn’t object to one,” Jenu Trid chipped in from Operations.

“You’ve had the chance, every day we’ve been here, to go planetside. Or to spend your days off doing whatever you want down there as well.” Sidda shook her head. “Honestly, it’s like you people don’t try to maximise your time off, like our lovely Lieutenant Beckman here.”

Looking down from the centre seats, Sidda could see Willow looking the worst for wear at the helm, a victim of her own bad decisions and poor planning. The young woman looked exhausted, having voiced her own lack of sleep and a headache, all the result of a night out and having to work a shift she’d agreed to in various bargains that junior officers the ship over were making to enjoy their time before Republic shipped out once more.

“Yeah, but we haven’t had a proper holiday since we’ve been here.” Matt looked over the bridge, noticing the few nodding heads in agreement. “We should do something for the crew at least.”

“Party?” Sidda asked.

“Quiz night?” Trid offered.

“Karaoke?” Matt proposed.

“Sleep,” Willow muttered from the helm.

“How about you all get back to work?” another voice asked from the turbolift as Captain MacIntyre stepped onto the bridge. He waved Sidda back down as she started to stand. “We’re leaving earlier than everyone else anyway.”

“How early?” Sidda asked, settling back down.

“Now,” Mac answered. “Beckman, set a course for the Providence Fleet Yards, best possible speed.” When Sidda raised an eyebrow in an unspoken question, he smiled. “Argonaut won’t be joining us, and we’re being sent ahead to meet and greet their replacement. We’ll have a bit of fun when we get there before the rest of the flotilla catches up with us.”

“The crew will,” Sidda clarified. “We’re going to be stuck in briefings and updates, aren’t we?”

“Fully catered briefings and updates.” Mac headed for his ready room doors as Republic started to spin on its axis, preparing to leave orbit. “Such hard work, but someone has to do it.”

“Fun and games with a new crew, or catered briefings,” Matt quipped. “Man, such hard lives your redshirts have these days.”

“So hard,” Sidda replied as Mac chuckled, stepping into the privacy of his office. “Right, Beckman, get us out of here.”