Commander Kincaid took his seat at the head of the Executive Conference Room table at exactly 0900.

Lieutenant Commander Calloway sat to Kincaid’s right, a PADD and half-finished cup of coffee arranged in front of him. Lieutenant Danner sat opposite, having traded his travel case for a stack of tactical-system reports he had clearly begun reading on the walk up from his quarters. Lieutenant Ellison had arrived with less than a minute to spare and still carried the faint antiseptic smell of sickbay. Lieutenant Alvarez sat at the far end of the table studying a sensor diagnostic on his PADD.

“Operations?” Kincaid glanced toward the conspicuously empty chair across from Calloway.

“Lieutenant Catherine Winslow is scheduled to arrive aboard by twelve hundred tomorrow along with our Flight Control Officer.” Calloway said.

“Any chance that moves left?”

“Not unless you intend to commandeer the transport bringing her.”

Kincaid looked at him as Calloway took a drink of his coffee.

“I’ll leave that option off the schedule.”

“Please do.” Calloway placed his mug back down on the table.

“Proceed with the briefing, Mister Calloway.” Kincaid ordered.

Calloway activated the bulkhead display. A schematic of the Valor appeared, sections of the ship marked green, amber, and considerably less green than the readiness certificate suggested.

“The good news,” Calloway began, “is that we have fewer problems than we did four days ago.”

“How many fewer problems?” Danner glanced at the display.

“Enough that I’m willing to call it good news.”

“That sounds conditional.”

“You’ll fit in nicely.”

“Walk us through it.” Kincaid leaned back in his chair slightly.

Calloway enlarged the engineering summary.

“Transporter Two has been realigned. The confinement-phase drift is gone, and positional error is back within nominal limits. It still requires a complete live-cycle test before I’ll release it.”

“Timeline?” Kincaid pressed.

“Six hours if the calibration holds.”

Kincaid nodded.

“Deck Six?”

Calloway changed displays.

“Environmental processor three has been stable for thirty-one hours. Fourteen compartments remain under observation, but temperature, pressure, atmospheric composition, and humidity are holding.”

“Occupied?”

“No.”

“Keep them that way.”

“Aye, Captain.”

The schematic shifted to engineering.

“The secondary deuterium transfer governor has been replaced. Static pressure checks passed overnight. Full-flow transfer test is scheduled for eleven hundred.”

“And if it fails?”

“We remain on the primary system, and I start using language the recorder shouldn’t preserve.”

“Medical recommends against that.”  Ellison interjected dryly.

“Noted.” Calloway gave him a tired glance.

Kincaid suppressed a smile.

“Torpedo systems.”

“We isolated the fault to the second-junction indexing assembly. The port actuator was installed out of alignment by just under two millimeters.” Danner reported.

“Meeks was right?” Calloway snorted.

“He usually seems to be.”

“You’ve known him less than an hour.”

“That has proven sufficient.”

Danner brought up the tactical schematic.

“The mounting bed has been corrected. We completed three inert transfers after realignment. No binding or guidance-bus dropout to report.”

“Live test?” Kincaid asked.

“Not yet.”

“When?” Kincaid pressed.

“Once I’m satisfied with the inert-cycle data.”

“How long?”

“Tonight.”

Kincaid nodded. “Until then?”

“The rail stays locked.”

“Good.”

Calloway advanced to the final major discrepancy.

“Tactical sensors.”

Alvarez straightened slightly.

“That one is mine.”

Kincaid gestured for him to continue.

Alvarez transferred his diagnostic display to the bulkhead.

“The tactical processor itself is stable. The problem remains power distribution to lateral sensor control. The permanent feed holds under passive operation but drops voltage when we push the processor above eighty-three percent.”

“What happens then?” Danner asked.

“The system transfers to auxiliary power.”

“How much data do I lose?”

“If the transfer is clean, none.”

Danner studied him.

“And if it isn’t?”

“You lose lateral tactical resolution for approximately two seconds.”

“That’s not happening.” Danner’s expression went flat.

“I agree.”

Kincaid looked toward Alvarez. “Solution?”

“We can retain the temporary feed until departure. Once we clear Starbase Nine’s interference envelope, I want six hours of controlled sensor testing. Passive collection first, then active sweeps against known targets.”

“And the predictive interpolation?”

“Disabled.”

“Why?” Danner snapped.

Alvarez brought up two overlapping target tracks.

“The processor has been filling gaps in lateral-array data by extrapolating target movement. The predictions are good.”

“How good?”

“Ninety-nine-point-eight percent under the simulations we’ve run.”

Danner stared at the display.

“And the other point-two?”

“That is why it’s disabled.”

“Keep it that way.” Danner nodded once.

“Departure estimate.” Kincaid turned toward Calloway.

“Assuming Winslow arrives tomorrow, Danner clears the transfer system, the deuterium test passes, Transporter Two behaves itself, and nothing else develops? Another four days.” Calloway said.

“Captain.” Ellison interrupted.

“Doctor?”

“I have a different readiness problem.”

The bulkhead display changed as Ellison transferred his report to it.

“Deck Six?” Kincaid asked.

“Among others.” Ellison folded his hands on the table.

“Medical can support departure. That is the official answer.”

“And the useful answer?”

“We can support departure. I’m less certain the crew can support the schedule leading up to it. Twenty-three people are still displaced from their assigned quarters. Most have been relocated at least once. Several twice. Sleep disruption is widespread among engineering and yard-integration personnel.”

He changed pages.

“Since midnight, sickbay has treated seven ship’s-force casualties and four civilians. Nothing severe. Burns. Strains. Minor blunt-force trauma. One concussion. Two cases of stimulant overuse yesterday.”

“Engineering?” Calloway frowned.

“Mostly.”

“How many hours are they working?” Kincaid asked Calloway.

“That depends on the team, sir.”

“Then let me simplify it. How many are sleeping less than six hours a night?” Kincaid pressed.

“I’m not recommending we delay departure on medical grounds. I am recommending we stop treating fatigue like an administrative inconvenience.” Ellison interrupted.

Kincaid looked toward Calloway.

“Can you establish protected rest periods without stopping critical work?”

“Yes.”

“Do it.”

Calloway nodded. “Eight hours?”

“Doctor?”

“Six uninterrupted minimum. Eight for anyone working high-energy systems, ordnance, flight control, or confined-space engineering.”

“You’re going to make friends quickly.” Danner glanced toward him.

“I’m a physician. Popularity isn’t in the billet description.”

Kincaid looked at Calloway.

“You heard him.”

“I did.”

“No one works themselves into sickbay trying to get us out of here a day earlier.”

“Aye, Captain.”

“Bridge to Captain. Priority One signal coming in from Starbase Nine Operations.” A voice called out from the overhead speakers.

“You said they knew where to find you.” Calloway looked at Kincaid.

“Put it through.”

Commander Mara Dalen appeared on the display.

“Kincaid.”

“Commander.”

Her expression suggested that whatever followed had already survived several layers of argument before reaching him.

“I’ve reviewed your revised departure estimate.”

“I assumed you might.”

“Four days is not available.”

“What is?” Kincaid remained still.

“Thirty-six hours.”

Silence settled across the conference table.

Kincaid leaned forward.

“Commander, I still have an uncertified transporter room, a tactical sensor feed on temporary power, fourteen unoccupied compartments, a secondary deuterium system awaiting full-load testing, and a torpedo-transfer system that was dismantled this morning.”

“I know.”

“Then you know why four days is my estimate.”

“I also know your warp propulsion is certified. Primary impulse is certified. Navigation is certified. Primary life support is stable. Shields and phaser systems are operational.”

“Torpedoes are restricted.”

“You have phasers.”

Danner’s eyes flicked toward Kincaid.

Dalen continued.

“Another vessel is inbound with priority repair requirements. She needs your berth.”

“What exactly are my orders?”

“Complete all work requiring starbase facilities within thirty-six hours and get underway. Remaining certifications will be completed during abbreviated trials.”

“Where?”

“Coridan corridor.”

Alvarez looked up from his PADD.

“Engineering, propulsion, tactical sensors, maneuvering. Whatever else you require before joining the Excelsior Heavy Explorer Squadron for duty.” Dalen continued.

“Transporter Two?”

“Can remain offline.”

“Deck Six?”

“Can remain unoccupied.”

“Torpedo transfer?”

“If Lieutenant Danner does not certify it, mark the system restricted.”

“Commander, that leaves us without a fully certified forward loading system.” Danner chimed in.

Dalen looked toward him.

“Lieutenant Danner.”

“Sir.”

“I read the discrepancy report ten minutes ago. Your objection is noted.”

“It isn’t an objection. It’s an accurate system status.”

“Then maintain the restriction until you are satisfied.” Something almost resembling approval passed across Dalen’s expression.

“You’re ordering an incomplete ship out of the berth.” Kincaid added.

“I’m ordering an operational ship to complete her trials underway.”

“There’s a distinction.”

“Yes,” Dalen said. “There is.”

The words landed deliberately.

Kincaid recognized his own argument being returned to him.

Dalen continued.

“I am not asking you to certify systems that have not passed acceptance. I am telling you that the Valor no longer requires a maintenance berth to complete most of the work remaining.”

Kincaid looked toward Calloway.

The chief engineer did not disagree.

“When do you need us clear?”

“Not later than twenty-one-hundred tomorrow.”

Kincaid exhaled slowly through his nose.

“Understood.”

“I expected more resistance.”

“You already gave the order.”

“That has not stopped captains before.”

“I’ll save us both the time.”

Dalen nodded.

“Your revised trial package will be transmitted within the hour.”

“Commander.”

“Kincaid.”

The screen went dark.

For several seconds, no one spoke.

Then Calloway took another drink of coffee.

“That went better than I expected.”

Kincaid looked at him.

“What did you expect?”

“Profanity and a friendly scuffle.”

“Meeting’s not over.”

Ellison lowered his eyes toward his PADD.

Danner almost smiled.

Kincaid looked around the table.

“One question.”

They waited.

“Can we leave in thirty-six hours?”

He looked first to Calloway.

The engineer considered the accumulated work.

“Yes.”

Kincaid waited.

Calloway added, “That doesn’t mean every system will be available.”

“I didn’t ask whether every system would be available.”

“No, sir.”

Kincaid looked toward Ellison.

“Doctor?”

“Medically, yes. Provided the crew sleeps between now and then.”

“They will.”

Ellison nodded.

“Then yes.”

Kincaid turned to Alvarez.

“Science?”

“The primary arrays are operational. I can conduct the remaining calibration underway.”

“Tactical data?”

“I would restrict it until we complete the lateral-array trials.”

“Can you support navigation and collision avoidance?”

“Without difficulty.”

“Then yes?”

“Yes, Captain.”

Finally, Kincaid looked at Danner.

The tactical officer rested both forearms on the table.

“We can leave.”

A pause.

“I would not call us combat-ready.”

Kincaid nodded.

“Neither will I.”

He stood.

“Here’s how we do it.”

Calloway activated his PADD.

“Transporter Room Two remains offline until it completes full-cycle certification. No exceptions.”

Calloway entered the restriction.

“The fourteen affected compartments on Deck Six stay empty until environmental signs off.”

Another entry.

“The secondary deuterium assembly passes a full-load transfer before the starbase disconnects our support lines.”

Calloway nodded.

“No live torpedo enters the forward transfer system until Danner certifies the rail.”

Danner gave a single nod.

“Tactical sensors operate without predictive interpolation until Alvarez and Danner agree the processor is reliable.”

Both officers acknowledged him.

“Our first phase after departure will be engineering and maneuvering trials. Tactical exercises come afterward.”

Calloway looked up.

“Starbase Operations didn’t authorize you to rewrite the trial sequence.”

“They ordered us to leave.”

Kincaid gathered the PADDs in front of him.

“They didn’t order us to pretend.”

No one challenged him.

“Calloway, get the engineering schedule rebuilt around protected rest. Anything that requires starbase support gets priority.”

“Aye, Captain.”

“Ellison, medical readiness and crew fatigue are yours. If someone is too tired to work safely, pull them.”

“Yes, Captain.”

“Alvarez, coordinate the sensor trial package with Danner.”

“Aye, sir.”

“Lieutenant Winslow arrives by twelve hundred tomorrow. Have Operations ready for turnover as soon as she steps aboard.”

Calloway nodded.

Kincaid looked around the table.

“We depart in thirty-six hours.”

“Dismissed.”

Chairs moved back. Ellison was first through the door, already reading the duty roster on his way out. Alvarez followed, speaking quietly with Calloway about the lateral sensor feed.

Danner rose.

“Danner.”

The lieutenant stopped.

“Stay a moment.”

Calloway glanced between them, collected his coffee, and disappeared into the passageway.

The door closed.

Kincaid picked up a PADD from the stack and slid it across the table.

Danner caught it with one hand.

The torpedo-transfer discrepancy filled the display.

“Chief Meeks has been running your department for six weeks.”

Danner scrolled through the report.

“He seems to have kept it intact.”

“He also refused the billet for the first week.”

Danner looked up.

“Why?”

“He said a department without a department head was an administrative fiction.”

Danner glanced toward the closed door.

“Was he wrong?”

Kincaid leaned back in his chair.

“You have thirty-six hours to give him an answer.”

Danner looked at him for another moment.

Then he tucked the PADD beneath his arm.

“Aye, Captain.”

He left.

Kincaid remained alone at the head of the conference table as the door closed.

The revised departure schedule glowed on the bulkhead display.

Thirty-five hours, thirty-six minutes.

The Valor would depart Starbase Nine the following evening.