The bridge was dark as the turbolift doors slid open, the light spilling into the inky blackness.  Wren hesitated, her feet doubting if this was the right thing to do.  Coming back to the Mackenzie had been in doubt the last week.  She’d debated it over and over.  Return to the vagabond lifestyle of a Starfleet Improvement Officer and live out the rest of her career ship to ship to ship…to ship?  No connections, nobody to get to know. She was just working to shave off the rough edges of officers.  In some cases, heavier metaphorical equipment was needed.  Yet…as her eyes peered into the darkness, she could make out the center chair and a few consoles.  The admiral in Starfleet operations had given her an out if she wanted. His only advice had been, ‘Go see her one last time.  There’s something to be said about our first commands.’

She felt there was a story there.  Just like there was a story for her as she remained in the doorway of the turbolift, staring at the empty and dark bridge. Her introduction had been brief on the first assignment to the Mackenzie.  There had been little time to spend with the officers and crew as they faced the return of a dangerous and desperate enemy.  In the end, the Dominion threat had been blown apart.  

Now what remained was the vastness of space.  Wren stepped forward, and the lights clicked on, as did each console and station.  The ambient sounds of the command center were a comfort to her.  She hadn’t understood how much she had missed it…until it was back in her ears.  She walked from the back of the bridge to the front, her fingers touching each station.  Soon, her crew would return.  The Mackenzie would ride again.  Her story and that of Wren’s would continue.  Walton found her way back to the center chair and tapped gently at the console in the arms, “Computer, initiate system reactivation procedures.”

The computer trilled back, “Confirmed.  USS Mackenzie is under the command of Captain Wren Walton.  Welcome aboard.”

Jack Rockwell stood in the middle of The Wardroom, appreciating all the details that had gone into the room.  He mused, “You did an incredible job.”  

The engineer shrugged with a smile, “We know to make beautiful things, Mr. Rockwell.”  He handed the hospitality officer a set of keys, “We did something a little different with the doors.  You wanted something special, and we’ve done this for a few ships – a set of keys to represent the on-duty officer.  We took a risk – those are analog keys to the door for The Wardroom.  You’re the only one with a set – this is truly your lounge.”

Rockwell turned to the room.  He’d marveled at it when he’d walked in, and he hadn’t stopped gaping.  It was modeled after an old earth bar in San Francisco.  There was a movement in Starfleet to create lounge spaces that were not reflective of ship design or modern aesthetics.  Jack was one of them.  The hanging lights and the faux windows would reflect the time of day as it changed throughout the day.  The bright sunlight cascading through the high rises of old warmed his heart as he stared at the keys.  He knew the crew had orders to return this afternoon. He needed to get the space ready.

“It’s hard.”  Park sat across the desk from Chief Counselor Juliet Woodward.  They’d returned from Azuza that morning.  The experience was still heavy.

“It was hard watching you go through it, Park.  I can’t imagine what that feels like.”  They had arrived to find Harry Seoyeon in a fugue state. A house in a state of disaster, unread messages scrolling endlessly on a console, and a barely recognizable father.  He hadn’t been able to place Park and wasn’t sure what had happened in the last few days.  Woodward had sprung into action.

“I knew he was struggling…but I didn’t think it would be that…bad.”  Park wrestled with her fingers, “It’s hard because he was always strong…he could recall stories from the old days and the old friends.”  She sighed, partially to interrupt the emotions threatening to return.  “It’s hard because he’ll never know who I am again.”  The diagnosis had been intense – the disease was so far gone that they could do nothing.  Harry Seoyeon had become a recluse, unaware that anything was wrong until he couldn’t remember anything significant.  “He’d never been good about going to doctors.”  She blew out a long breath.

“I’m sorry this happened, Park.  I wish…I wish it hadn’t happened.”  She was worried about her friend’s focus.  The Mackenzie was scheduled for departure this afternoon.  And she needed a functional XO.

The commander nodded, “I wish it hadn’t either.  Family is the hardest thing to lose…and grieve.  It just feels like a slow death with Dad now…waiting for his light to fade.”  She swallowed another wave of emotion, “Mom was able to talk to him before she went.  He’ll never remember me…and I’ll always remember him.  There’s something wrong with that…”

Woodward leaned forward, “What do you need from me?”

Seoyeon stared at the floor for a minute while she worked through the question.  It felt as if she needed everything and nothing – all at the same time.  She found her answer, “Just…check in with me once a day.  Being back on the Mack helps.  I used to think I didn’t have a family.  I know I have it here.”

The office was smaller.  The quarters were smaller.  Everything was smaller.  Lieutenant Hargraves sat on the edge of his bed, a frown permanently carved into his face.  He’d been demoted in rank and position.  Now he sat, wondering just what to do with himself.  Walton had done her level best to restore his rank and position.  His position was unique – it had been built to allow him to be separate from the command team as a way for him to speak frankly and openly with them about diplomatic matters.  Until last month, it had worked wherever he had gone.  Something had changed in Diplomatic Services.  Enough that his service record hadn’t saved him.  His door chime rang.  “Come.”

Doctor Persefoni Hargraves stepped through the door, her older sister bearing sweeping into the room. “Charles.”

He stood and embraced her, “Persefoni.”  He offered her a seat on the bed, but she took the desk seat instead.  She stared at him for a minute, the awkward silence a normal experience between them.  The USS Olympic had arrived a week ago, and they’d been unable to connect.

“You’ve had a bit of a fall.”  She’d crossed her legs and perched her hands on her knee.  If she had glasses, they’d be sitting on the near end of her nose.

He groaned, “It’s good to see you too, Per.  I sent you the whole story.  I’m not really in the mood to talk about it.”

She arched her eyebrows, “You never were good at discussing your feelings.”  Persefoni rolled her eyebrows as he threw his hands up in frustration, “I don’t think you’re alone in your experience…and I am beginning to suspect something is at play.”

As he had done in childhood, Charlie pointed at her, “Per, there’s not a conspiracy behind every door.  Sometimes people are just dumbasses.”

She mused, “I’ve had a 50% success rate.”

He moaned, “That’s not as good as you think it is, Per!”

“My point is, I think there are other forces at work beyond…as you so colorfully put it, the ‘dumbasses.’”  She sat back in her chair, keeping her eyes on his.  “I’d like to enlist your assistance.”

As he had done in his childhood, he swore at his sister.