Idleness had never suited Aubrey Seagraves. She’d started her career in the 2360s as a security officer and led a ground-side Starfleet Security garrison during both the Federation-Klingon and Dominion Wars of the 2370s. She was used to getting her hands dirty and staying active. Sixteen years in the center seat on tactical vessels had led to steadily more and more responsibility as a flag officer, culminating in her nearly two years as Director of Fourth Fleet Operations, where she managed the staffing and deployment of hundreds of starships on critical missions all around the galaxy.

In 2400, she thought she was done. On her sixtieth birthday, she felt that it was time to pass the baton to younger generations and retire. Those plans shifted into semi-retirement when she was assigned projects as a flag officer at Fourth Fleet Command. Committees. Admiralty Boards. Boards of Inquiry. It was work, but she still found herself not sure of what to do with her time. By 2401, she’d had enough of even “semi” retirement. Being away from the front lines of the Lost Fleet crisis was too much to bear—she needed a job to do.

Late March 2401

“I am not an engineer,” Seagraves had said flatly, sitting across from Fleet Admiral Ramar in his office on Starbase Bravo. “I know how you people get territorial over things like shipyards.”

“My people meaning Bolians or…?” Ramar deadpanned.

“Engineers, sir,” Seagraves replied. “I’d be jumping the line over several capable officers with actual experience in building starships, including Abena Tau.”

“Look, you’re the one who wants to get back into the action. Half a million people work at Avalon Fleet Yards. It’s this fleet’s most important shipyard, but it’s also a logistical nightmare. I need someone who understands people more than I need an engineer there,” Ramar said, staring her down. “Take the job and the fourth star, and let’s pretend for once I know what I’m talking about here.”

For once, Seagraves was left speechless, but just for a moment.

“You’re the boss,” she agreed.

“Good. We have more ships in drydock right now than we do out in the field, and with Frontier Day coming at us at warp nine, I need AFY to be fully operational immediately.” Ramar ordered. “Find a ship and get out there.”

Five Days Prior to Frontier Day

Aubrey Seagraves grew up on Mars in the vast plains of Utopia Planitia under the shadow of the once-mighty shipyards that had built so much of the Federation’s Starfleet. Three generations of her family had been shipwrights there, and Seagraves would have followed them into that profession had she not found her calling in Starfleet. She was also there when Utopia burned, destroyed by Synths in 2385. Her ship, the Yamato, had been spared destruction by being out on maneuvers at the time, and she returned to Red Planet to learn that her parents, wife, and children were all caught in the disaster.

Over fifteen years later, arriving at Avalon Fleet Yards brought her mixed emotions. She was happy to be back in a role where she could make a difference, but she had avoided thinking about Mars and Utopia Planitia for a long time. In the decades since the loss of the Federation’s most important shipyard, subsidiary facilities like Avalon had become much more important. Starfleet wouldn’t be caught putting its eggs in one basket again. Avalon itself was extremely impressive, and even a flag officer of significant experience like Seagraves found herself in momentary awe when she arrived after the long journey from Starbase Bravo at the massive Probert-class station surrounded by smaller facilities.

Also surrounding Brahms Station were hundreds of Fourth Fleet starships, some undergoing extensive repairs at the orbital drydocks thanks to damage suffered during the Lost Fleet Crisis, some just refueling from Avalon’s extensive deuterium reserves, but most of them there for the imminent Frontier Day celebrations. Seagraves’s tactical mind sounded alarms as she saw so many ships gathered in one place. On the one hand, what enemy could possibly touch that mighty fleet? But Seagraves knew the lessons of Pearl Harbor and Utopia Planitia all too well.

There was something going on, and Seagraves didn’t like it. The very top of Starfleet Command seemed to be indifferent of middle management pushing questionable initiatives, like Fleet Formation Mode, while also insisting on the ludicrous gatherings that Frontier Day would bring. She was grateful that the individual fleet admirals still had enough pull and sanity to resist the idea that all of Starfleet should gather in one place—an idea that no one seemed to be able to claim as their own directly. Despite that, Seagraves knew that she was liable to let her own past color her thoughts on the eve of not only a new and challenging assignment for her personally but a momentous day for the entire Fourth Fleet. There was no room for failure.

Seagraves materialized in one of the transporter rooms in the administrative levels in the towers soaring above Brahms Station. There to greet her was the outgoing commander of Avalon, Admiral Felix Kominek. The two had collaborated in the past while Kominek was Deputy Chief of Starfleet Tactical, and she was heading up the Starfleet Advanced Tactical School. Beyond his brilliant mind, the main thing that Seagraves remembered about her fellow flag officer was that he was a hugger. She definitely was not one herself.

“Aubrey, welcome to Avalon,” Kominek said, embracing Seagraves briefly after she stepped down from the platform. He stepped back and gave her a soft smile. “Computer, transfer all command codes to Admiral Aubrey Seagraves, authorization Kominek Lambda-Zero-Alpha-Four,” he stated.

“Transfer complete. Brahms Station and Avalon Fleet Yards now under the command of Admiral Aubrey Seagraves,” the computer confirmed.

“Aren’t we both supposed to put on dress uniforms and make speeches?” Seagraves asked.

Kominek shrugged. “Frontier Day is in less than a week. There will be enough speeches to last anyone quite a while. I remember your penchant for cutting to the chase,” he added. He gestured towards the door. “Your new office is just down the hall.”

“Well, I can’t argue with that,” Seagraves chuckled before following Kominek out of the transporter room and into the wide corridor. “I have to ask: are you eager to hand over the reins because there’s a dumpster fire waiting for me on that new desk or because you’re ready to hit the golf course?”

“I’ve enjoyed my time at Avalon very much. The Grazerites are fascinating to interact with, and it’s satisfying work. I’ve taken care of all of the ceremonial aspects of Frontier Day in advance, as well,” Kominek replied in a slow and deliberate tone. He stopped in his tracks for a moment and sized Seagraves up. “Avalon needs a fresh set of eyes, though. There has been a lot of generalized anxiety and staff turnover lately, and it needs someone like you to cut through the fog.”

Seagraves nodded. “Nerves over Frontier Day?” she wondered.

“Perhaps. And over the Jem’Hadar. I’ve noticed odd behavior. Factionalism. My chief of staff was re-assigned two months ago without explanation by the Bureau of Personnel. It felt like an attempt to drive me insane by pairing with me a Tellarite that must have been the captain of his high school debate team,” Kominek noted. “I found you someone better. Someone you can trust.”

Seagraves cocked her head. “I think I would have preferred to make that choice myself.”

“You have, once before,” Kominek replied, smiling again. “The Cerastes was destroyed in the Deneb Sector. Captain Bancroft and most of his crew escaped, and now he needs a purpose.”

Almost two years ago, in her last act as Director of Fourth Fleet Operations, Seagraves had made good on her promise to get her loyal chief of staff a command: the Manticore-class USS Cerastes. From all of the reports she’d heard, he had been doing well. Though adjusting from staff work to actual command had been tough, he was on track to be an excellent captain. It was a shame and a waste of resources not to have him on a bridge, but Seagraves perked up slightly to know she’d have at least one familiar face there.

“How is he?” Seagraves asked in a low voice as they continued walking.

“Stoic. Very English,” Kominek said. “It’ll do him good to have something meaningful to do with his time.”

“I can’t argue with that,” she replied; she knew what loss was like and how important it was to stay busy in the aftermath.

Moments later, Kominek and Seagraves turned a corner into the base of the administrative tower. There was a four-story atrium, with turbolifts to one side rising high into the tower itself, but the two admirals took a broad, curved staircase up to the mezzanine level. Signage frosted on either side of a glass archway welcomed them to Avalon Fleet Yard’s Office of the Commandant, and a technician was already at work removing Kominek’s name to add Seagraves’s. They passed through an outer reception area, past a communal bullpen for yeomen and other staff, and into the inner reception area. It was paneled in wood and luxurious even by Federation standards.

Captain Bancroft was waiting for them, seated with a stack of PADDs on his lap in one of the armchairs off to the side. He stood up immediately when the flag officers entered.

“Welcome to Avalon, Admiral,” Bancroft said.

“I’m going to hear that a lot today, I think,” Seagraves teased. “It’s good to see you, Marcus. I wish it were under better circumstances. Let’s get down to business,” she said, gesturing into her new office. “Computer, send message Seagraves Alpha-One to all personnel,” she added, prompting a dispatch to go out to the half-million Starfleet officers and crew across the system; Kominek had been right—she wasn’t going to waste any time, so she’d written her first message days in advance.

TO: ALL STAFF, AVALON FLEET YARDS & AVALON GROUP

FROM: COMMANDANT, AVALON FLEET YARDS

SUBJ: FRONTIER DAY

 

I don’t love giving speeches. I don’t talk just to hear my own voice. I also don’t craft missives like this for my own erudition. As I take command of Avalon, I do want to make a few things clear:

First, this is one of the largest and most capable facilities in the Federation. We will get the Fourth Fleet back to full strength thanks to your efforts. Every second counts.

 

Next, the discoveries being made here will change lives centuries down the road. Most of you sat out the conflict in the Deneb Sector to focus on those important projects. Many of you will continue to focus on those projects while we repair the fleet. Keep that up.

 

Finally, Frontier Day is a moment to pause and reflect. It’s also a moment to stay vigilant. We have been and will always be explorers, but we are also peacekeepers. The Lost Fleet has been dealt with, but do not be lulled into a false sense of security. Complacency is unacceptable.

 

-Seagraves