The lights of the auditorium dimmed and went out, and the crowd that was pressing in on every side of Soza Afo surged forward in a tense silence. Her body was forced into the chest-high metal fence that separated the mass of sweaty, undulating bodies from the stage. Someone jammed an elbow into her ribs, and she couldn’t help but smile. She threw up her hands and screamed out as the slightly darker silhouettes of the band appeared and took their places. 

The stage was still dark as the guitarist tore the roof off the building with the opening riff, and the crowd surrounding Soza exploded into shouts and cheers. Lights behind the band flared into life and began sweeping the crowd in violent bursts of blues, greens and purples. Soza closed her eyes and let the waves of noise crash over her, an expression of serene peace on her face. She lived for this feeling. The double-beat blasting drums and the low growl of the bass guitar vibrated her body right up to her teeth, while the writhing mass of humanity behind her, humid from activity and proximity, dampened the back of her cut up t-shirt. 

The first song ended to a deafening roar, and she barely had time to catch her breath before the band started up again, and she was swallowed up by the movement of the crowd. Losing her grip on the handrail, strange hands began pulling her deeper, away from the stage as fans fought to fill her spot like air after a lightning strike. She grabbed the arm of a big man in a muscle shirt, and tugged. He turned to look down at her, still bobbing his head to the music, and she pointed a finger towards the roof. 

He smiled, and then with arms that barely seemed to notice the weight of her body, he picked her up and tossed her onto the waiting hands of the surrounding people, and she surfed her way across the crowd, back towards the stage, into the waiting arms of the security guards. They helped her back down to the floor and she began to run towards the side of the fence to rejoin the crowd, when the music was momentarily interrupted by the chirp of the comm.

“Computer, freeze program,” she said with a sigh, and the whole venue came to a sudden halt, deep silence replacing the enormous sound the simulated concert had been issuing. “Excuse me,” she said to a couple frozen concert-goers as she squeezed between them. “Computer, arch.” 

The Holodeck control arch appeared in front of her, and she tapped the comm button, then spoke into it, “Commander Afo here, go ahead.” 

“Commander,” came the reply. It was a low, gravelly voice, as if someone had spent too many years drinking cheap whisky. “We are approaching the Falcon. Please report to the bridge for the rendezvous.”

“Copy that, Captain,” she said quickly, then ended the call. With a sigh, she took a long look at the concert behind her, then she spoke again. “Computer, end program.” The computer beeped its acknowledgement of the command, then her surroundings melted back into the empty orange and black grid of the holodeck, and she headed out the door towards her quarters. 

By the time the turbolift doors opened onto the bridge a few minutes later, someone would have been hard pressed to imagine Commander Afo had been the same person from the Holodeck. Her red command uniform was clean and pressed, and her boots were properly polished. Her expression was composed and professional. 

“Captain,” she said, crossing the Tennessee’s bridge to take her place beside Captain Doug Schofield, “is something wrong?”

“Not at all, Commander,” Schofield replied with the briefest hint of a smile, “But I wanted to give you some time to clean up before we arrived at the Falcon.”

“Ah,” Soza said, touching the side of her nose with a finger, “so I can guess that you heard me then.” 

“Commander,” said the Captain with exaggerated exasperation, “The whole ship could hear you. We always can. Why do you insist on listening to it so loudly?”

Soza gave the captain a casual shrug. “Sounds better that way. I’ll have the engineers take a look at the holodeck. Maybe they can improve the sound dampening program.”

“Please.” the Captain replied, and let the word float off into an easy silence for a minute before speaking again. “Have you had a chance to read up on the Falcon?”

“I have,” she replied, nodding, “And I’ve reviewed the officer’s dossiers as well.”

“What is your assessment?” He asked, shifting in his chair to face her. 

“I think she has a fine crew, sir.” Soza replied, “They’ve done a good job considering what they’ve been through.”

Schofield nodded. “Losing a captain is never easy, especially when you’ve served together for as long as they had.” He rubbed his stubbled chin with his hand. “What about Commander Saberwyn? Do you think he will  be alright to command the Tennessee?”

Soza’s face darkened slightly. “It’s hard to say, sir. On the one hand, he’s been commanding the Falcon for almost a year now. On the other hand, the Falcon hasn’t really been doing that much. I think part of that is Starfleet giving their officers grieving time, but I worry that the other part of that is that he has lost his nerve.”

“The good news,” Captain Schofield said, straightening in his chair, “is that Starfleet has given us an easy mission to shake down the new crew and perform an assessment of their abilities.”

“Well,” and Soza added with a smile, “that and they’ve shipped out a shrink.”

The captain nodded his head slowly in agreement. “Yes. That too. Helm, how far out from the Falcon are we?”

“Two minutes until rendezvous, Captain.” the helmsman responded, “You should be able to see her through the viewscreen now.”

Hanging in the middle of the inky blackness was the impressive outline of the USS Falcon, her hull reflecting the light of the nearby star like a beacon. Captain Schofield stood and straightened his uniform, and Commander Afo followed suit. “Hail the Falcon please, ensign.” he said. 

“Channel’s open, Captain.” The comms officer replied. 

“On screen.” 

The viewscreen was filled with the image of the Falcon’s bridge. Officers milled about the edges of the frame, in the background. Standing in the middle was a man with bags under his eyes, and a worn expression on his face.

“Commander Bema Saberwyn of the USS Falcon here.” The tired man said. 

“Commander, this is Captain Doug Schofield with the Tennessee.” Schofield replied. “We’re here for the duty change.”

“Ah, yes,” Commander Saberwyn answered. His face showed immediate signs of relief. “You may beam aboard whenever you are ready, captain. We are prepared to receive you.”