Night-time on the promenade of Starbase Bravo was noted primarily in a slight dimming of lights and a just as slight easing in the foot traffic. Not that there still wasn’t plenty of it mind you, but conversations were a bit more muted, people moved a bit slower and children of families in transit were encouraged less to run around and cause chaos and more mind themselves and stay close.

But a starbase this big was quiet literally a city that didn’t sleep. There was work to be done at all hours and so some people worked slightly out of phase with the ‘day shift’ while others were in complete opposition. Breakfast at dinner, dinner at breakfast – all contributing factors to the station’s constant hum of activity somewhere across its enormous mass. And then there was the transiting population as well either bidding time before departure or indulging in the station amenities after arriving.

But ‘night-time’ was the best time to pull off this plan. There were fewer people about and most would be less inclined to ask questions of someone moving with a purpose while pushing a grav trolley. Security was usually a bit more relaxed or focused primarily on the known trouble spots or the arrivals and departures, not the half-asleep promenade at this hour.

And not, hopefully, on a lone cadet.

The stereotype and all the bad holonovels said she had to be whistling as she went, giving off an air of ‘nothing to see here’ as she went. But whistling would have just drawn attention. No, it was just better to keep moving, craning her head around the object on the trolley to make sure she wasn’t likely to run over someone’s poor kid who had been allowed to run loose like an errant torpedo.

Oh, she’d never been that kid. Never never.

And so Cadet Katlyn Mianaai tried to give the best acting performance of her life – which honestly wasn’t that far from the truth. She looked tired, doing about nine things too many with her time. Exams and study were a constant demand on her time. And so had this project, this one-woman unofficial exhibit she’d concocted, planned and executed all by herself ever since she’d heard about the exhibition.

“Excuse me, coming through,” she said out loud to a couple in her way. Not rudely and not when they were in any danger, but more to let them know she was behind them and she was approaching. An accident wouldn’t do any good at all.

“Oh sorry,” the taller of the two said as they directed their partner to the side a little. “Good to see the youth getting involved in the exhibit,” they said to Katlyn’s back as she passed.

“She’s a cadet, dear,” the shorter commented. “She’s likely under orders.”

“Just glad to be helping,” Katlyn answered back, trying to give the exhausted cadet routine, which was more and more the reality of things.

The grav trolley she was pushing hovered just barely off the floor. Its u-shaped prongs went around the base of the object she was transporting and the field between the prongs had lifted it with the trolley. But of course, all of that did nothing for the mass of the object, which meant getting up to speed was a monumental effort, as was slowing, hence the nice and slow, careful journey she’d been on for over an hour now. Freight lifts and service corridors had dictated her path, the cloth-covered four-metre-high object making quite the impression with the few people who saw her, but most just shrugged and went about their way. Others meanwhile watched, hoping for a disaster until she was far enough away for them to lose interest.

But too much time had been sunk into this pop-up exhibit, this rogue display, for too much speed to bring it to a halt. Better to get caught and have to explain herself, than have things be destroyed by toppling while she moved.

Eventually she arrived where she wanted to be – one of the thoroughfares that led away from the promenade proper and into the depths of Starbase Bravo. Large turbolift banks were nearby, one of the arrival lounges for transit exited out within sight and a number of popular eateries were nearby, at least for cadets and junior officers.

A display declaring the exhibit was already up, with helpful arrows directing people interested in this, that or another thing. Even a large circular map of this promenade was set up, colour-coded for easy reference by visitors. Wanted to see the section on the wonders of the anti-coreward frontiers, just head for the yellow area. The culinary explorations of a thousand different worlds? Try the colour purple.

A show was made of consulting a padd she had with her, checking her surroundings, then shrugging. The ‘this is where they want this?’ routine complete she took her time moving the trolley around, getting it in the right spot, checking it was facing the right away. Anyone walking out onto the promenade from the station’s living spaces would be confronted with it in the morning a few short hours away.

Eventually she was happy enough to lower the trolley to the floor, the pedestal in its grip coming to rest as well on the ground. Katlyn stopped, smiling to herself, mischievously mind you. And then she innocently tugged at the cover, then a bit more, eventually resorting to a decent pull because of the weight of the fabric and needing to pull it over the top. But eventually, it budged and revealed the statue underneath.

It had taken a lot of effort to first design the statue, getting it just right, then sneak elements of it into industrial replicator queues, collecting the parts and moving them around late at night. Assembly had taken place in a currently disused cargo bay.

But it had been completed and not wanting to risk discovery where it was, she’d moved it onto display this very night.

A metre-tall granite pedestal formed the base of the statue, a silver plaque on one side with a gold lettering set for viewers to easily read. The rest of the height was taken up a by three-metre tall, significantly larger-than-life rendition of a currently serving Starfleet captain, who was standing in a mildly heroic pose with an upward tilt to her head.

With a single nod, the statue in its place, Katlyn bundled the cover up as best she could, set it on the trolley and then started back the way she came, this time with a little bit more haste. She wasn’t risking anything this time and at the start she just wanted to open the distance. But then the rest of the trip it was adrenaline at actually pulling it off that fueled her escape.

She’d been there, at Deneb, when the Dominion attacked. Safely held back, but she and her fellow cadets had done preparation work beforehand. She’d been listening to whatever comms she could as the battles raged. And it had been difficult to ignore the flares fired by the reinforcements – those special torpedoes meant to grab everyone’s attention. And then the wave upon wave of decloaking Klingon and Romulan ships as orchestral music had blared over every non-critical subspace channel.

And when it was all said and done, the final transmission before the USS Atlantis had joined the fray with her fellows was now manifested physically in the plaque on the pedestal under the statue of the woman who had issued them.

          May humanity after Victory be the predominant feature of the Fourth Fleet.

                    – Captain Tikva Theodoras, USS Atlantis