In Old Earth philosophy, there was a quandary put forth that used the mythology of Ancient Greece as an allegory: The ship of Theseus.

Theseus the Hero acquires a new ship and leaves port to head off on new adventures…as he does, the ship acquires some minor damage and he replaces a few planks in the deck with new ones. A while later, some ropes snap and get replaced as well…then a storm shreds the sails apart and these too are replaced.

This continues on and by the time Theseus returns home, every plank, nail, and piece of equipment on that vessel, from rudder to forward keel, has had  to have been replaced.

The quandary is then put thusly: Is Theseus’s vessel still the same vessel that left port as it is when it returns? If not, at which point did it loose it’s status as that vessel? When the last piece of the original vessel was lost? When merely the majority had been replaced? When the first plank had replaced? When it first took damage?

Commander Francheszka “Frankie” Braxton had originally never been one for philosophy…she had taken the requisite courses in it, when required to maintain her rank and duties, but it had never been a core part of who she was…

…up until she realized that she had become a veritable Ship of Theseus herself, that is.

Standing on the observation deck of the Devron Fleet Yards main station, she could see her reflection like a transparent spirit, overlaid upon the scene of the skeletal drydock super structures and the various vessels that were encased within.

Her hair had gone white long ago, much earlier then it should have, thanks to  damage from radiation and chemical exposure. Her fair skin had become a ghostly palour, covered in the scars of a long and eventful Starfleet Career. Her face was devoid of emotional inflection, a perfect poker face, though not one by choice: the nervous tissue therein was deadened by damage and the effects of undergoing surgery after surgery. Frankie’s eyes were perhaps the most instantly catching for any onlookers: they were obvious synthetic implants, made more so by their visual theme currently stuck on a mechanical black with a dim red glow.

Beneath her Starfleet uniform of Engineer’s Gold, there was even more extensive work done. She had several decades ago, passed the 51% cybernetic threshold, physically more machine than human…her limbs, spine, a good portion of her internal organs…all had to at one point or another, been replaced by metal, polymer, and synthetic organic substitutes.

“Goddamn Ship of Theseus.” She muttered to herself, her attempts at frowning at her own reflection meeting nothing but the smallest of curls to the left of her thin lips.

“Sorry, Ma’am?” Came a youthful, if confused, voice from behind her. “I don’t think the USS Theseus is currently docked out there at this time.”

Commander Braxton spun around on her artificial heels and beheld the diminutive form of a female Tellarite ensign in Command-division reds. Braxton narrowed her intimidating crimson gaze upon the ensign and then relaxed her posture. “It’s a…nevermind. May I help you, Ensign…?”

“Bortua, Commander. Ensign Bortua, Junior Adjunct for Station General Staff.” The young porcine-featured woman stated with a stiffened salute.

“Don’t…don’t do that, Ensign. The saluting…” Braxton had never gotten used to the saluting, not once since she gotten her full commission, under protest. “…nevermind that either. Yes, Ensign Bortua, how may I help you?”

“I’ve was sent to inform you in person, you have a holo-transmission coming in from an Admiral Vreni of the Corps of Engineers.” Bortua reported, dropping her salute but not the stiffened “at-attention” posture.

“…great…just what I needed today, Trill-spotted Brass up my-“ Braxton began to say, before stopping herself when she realized that her internal bemoaning had become vocally audible. “…forget that I said that. Nearest holo-terminal?”

Bortua was quiet for a few pregnant seconds and then responded. “Briefing Room Two, just down the hallway, on the left….about three doors down…I think?”

“Thank you, Ensign Bortua.” Francheszka replied as she walked past the Tellarite, towards the Observation Lounge Doors. “…I’m sure I’ll find it with your directions.”

=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=

The Holoterminal in Briefing Room II was an older model, similar to the ones first used during the Dominion War, around twenty-five years ago. A small area built into the floor and signified by a shallow raised border of grey metal against the ochre-coloured carpet of the rest of the room.

There was some irony in the existence of such an outdated form of tech existing in a facility that held primary responsibility for keeping Starfleet’s vessels in the area technically up to date…though as a veteran engineer, Braxton knew that such things could happen. Rebuilding the fleet and retrofitting the emergency mothballs to service after the Martian Incident, had taken priority and many ‘Dockworker’ engineers were more than happy to just focus on their current projects without having to fix and update their own house, based on the maxim: “If it ain’t broke, don’t fix it.”

That attitude had a habit of also infecting the Chief of Station Operations and their engineering crews as well, when the two groups worked in close quarters.

Besides, it was almost ‘quaint’ in it’s own way…even if it meant that the person on the other end wasn’t going to be “walking around” the briefing room.

Given her past experience with Admiral Vreni, Braxton mused that perhaps that was for the best.

She turned on a command interface on the nearby briefing table and accessed the open comms list, selecting the one with her ident code.

Stepping forward towards the square metal patch on the floor, she adjusted her uniform and then addressed a vocal command: “Computer, lock doors and open selected holocomm channel.”

“Opening selected channel, from the Office of Admiral R. Vreni, Starfleet Corps of Engineers.” The station’s computer chirped back in response, before the full body image of a standing elderly trill woman in a flag officer’s uniform, materialized up from the holo-square.

“Ah, Commander Braxton.” Admiral Rivaa Vreni said as her holo-image finally finished solidifying. “How are you doing?”

“Admiral Vreni.” Braxton replied, grateful for once that her face was no longer capable of reflexively grimacing. “I continue to live, somehow. To what do I owe the ‘pleasure’ of this call?”

“Straight to business…efficient if a little cliché for you at this point?” Vreni said, the creased lines and molted spots on her head, creasing and folding as she drew her lips up into a smirk. “Very well then…I was just notified that you have finished your last work assignment at Devron…the refitting of the Obrena with a new EPS grid…what is next on your docket?”

“We have a pair of old Defiant-class escorts being pulled into their docks now. Both need their shield generators updated to current specifications.” Braxton answered, her growing displeasure once again hidden behind deadened nerves. She had had conversations with Admiral Vreni that had started like this before…The Commander already dreaded the possibilities of what was about to come next, if the Trill remained true to form.

“Incorrect, Commander.” The Admiral said, waging a finger. “Get your local superior to reassign those jobs to someone else. The Starfleet Corps of Engineers has a better use for you right now.”

…and there it was. True. To. Form.

Braxton was being “volun-told” for an assignment again…a type of incident that had a poor track-record of results so far. The last time this had happened, had ended with her actively seeking a DEMOTION to get out of the assignment…or rather, what the assignment had evolved into in rather short order.

“…and how might this engineer serve her Corps?” She asked, placing strong emphasis on the word ‘engineer’ in vain hope that the Admiral would keep the upcoming news at least within her preferred skill set this time.

“Let me answer that question, with a question…what do you know about the USS da Vinci?”

Braxton’s right eyebrow raised a micrometer at the mention of that particular vessel. “Assuming we are discussing the most recent ship to bare the name…USS da Vinci, Registry NCC-77451. Sabre-class Frigate, fairly long in the tooth with a damn near legendary record…at least, amongst us Spanner-jockeys.

“Assigned to the S.C.E. for use as a starship systems testbed, but gained her fame deployed in the field as the vessel for several elite field engineering teams. Solved a few major crisis, developed some rather inventive and novel techniques and technologies…according to the rumours, even once managed to cloak an entire planet…”

“I can’t speak to that tale, Commander.” Vreni replied, holding up a hand. “If it it were true, it would be the sort of thing we’d have pretty seriously classified, after all…but in general, you’re well informed on that vessel and her history.”

“Again…the da Vinci is a minor legend amongst the S.C.E., Admiral. It’s a small ship, in a class slowing aging into obscelance, but still venerable and respected…” Braxton responded…before narrowing her gaze and cautiously inquiring, “Why’d you bring it up?”

The Admiral offered a wide grin and intertwined her hands by the fingers. “The da Vinci currently has an opening in a key position…and amongst the Corps, you’re uniquely qualified the job.”

Braxton felt a mixture of excitement…and dread. A tour on the da Vinci, for Engineers, was up there with landing an assignment to the Enterprise, the Voyager, or the Odyssey…all ships with storied lineages and the promise of greatness.

If this opportunity had arrived earlier in her career, instead of what was probably near the end of it, Braxton might have been too giddy and overwhelmed with glee to have noticed the implications of what had actually been said.

“What…do you mean by, ‘uniquely?’” She inquired, her mostly false teeth grinding in rising trepidation. It was a qualifier that rarely had positive outcomes for her. “…I’m sure there are others just as suited for the role of Chief Engineer of an old Sabre.”

Vreni’s grin grew to almost Cheshire-proportions and Braxton began to wonder for a moment if the Trill had some recessive traits from a possible Denobulan ancestor. “If you were getting Chief Engineer, you might have a point…but that’s not the role we had in mind, this time.”

“Then, what?”

“No one joins the Corps of Engineers because they want to be in the Command track…we specialize more into our chosen fields than any other group of personnel out there wearing gold on their shoulders. Out of all the technicians, tinkerers, engineers, designers, researchers, inventors, and developers that make up the cream of the crop of our organization, very few of them have experiencing in running anything larger then a midsized project team…you commanded the Devonshire.”

“For less then four months!” Braxton exclaimed, her suspicions now all but confirmed. “…and as only an ACTING Captain.”

“As I said, very few of them.” Vreni replied, her grin turning to a sigh. “We’ve tried running the da Vinciin the past with commanding officers who lacked experience with the Corps or her Engineers…it rarely worked out in the end. Communications issues, resistance to working with our more…eccentric…individuals, inability to really understand the high concept techno-jargon…just different mindsets over all, rarely well adapted to the ship and crew’s role within the wider Fleet.

“You’ve spent most of your career in the Corps…and you’ve ‘worn the Red’…and despite you throwing that fourth rank pip away and resigning from starship command, the Brass is reaching out with a second chance. There is a very short list of folks on the second chances at command list. James T. Kirk, William Riker, Koras ch’Raan, Worf, T’vuk. You’re in good company.”

“…but not by choice.” Braxton sighed, leaning back against the edge of the long briefing table.

“What? Of course, you have a choice…” The trill exclaimed. “…This isn’t like the Devonshire where your Captaincy was mandated by attrition and your place in the chain of command…this is just a golden opportunity, and honestly it’s one that you would be a fool to let pass by…especially at your age…think of it…what better way to spend the last years of your career, then as the Captain of a respected Starfleet vessel?”

“I’m not retired yet, damnit.” Braxton almost spat back the words. “I could go for another three decades at least, right into my centennial years, before I’d have to be drummed out of service…and I ain’t looking for glory or adventure…I’ve made my name as an engineer, even have it emblazoned on a few ship dedication plaques out there…and when it comes to commanding a starship, I have been to that mountain-top…and it was not an experience I particular came away from with the most positive of memories.”

“…then don’t look at it as a chance for glory or to have further adventures.” The Admiral retorted back. “Think of it as an opportunity to leave your mark on the next generation of some of Starfleet’s brightest technical minds. Impressionable engineers and scientists, still getting started, still in shallow end of the pool. When you were where they are, didn’t you wish you had a Captain who could actually understand what was going on in your head? How you processed information? Not just someone the Chief Engineer would have to dumb down your idea for?”

Francheszka Braxton closed her glowing ocular implants and breathed deeply, letting the silence of dead air exist between her and the end of the Admiral’s final arguments.

Finally, she broke the silence and responded: “Send me the files on ship, mission and crew. You’ll have my answer tomorrow, 1800 hours local.”