"The Shape of New Ships"

by Lt. Cerys Rowan - Chief Science Officer
by Lt. Cmdr. Shirik Lektar - Chief Operations Officer

Location: Various, USS Vanguard
Stardate: 58807.02, 13h00

***

The transporter room at Utopia Planitia Fleet Yards smelled faintly of ozone, hot metal, and fresh polymer sealant.

Cerys Rowan had always thought shipyards had their own atmosphere. Not the carefully balanced, almost invisible air of a starship in flight, but something more unsettled. More alive. The air here carried the traces of new beginnings: newly christened serial numbers painted on ships, state-of-the-art science equipment being installed, and shuttle crews ferrying crates between drydocks like bees between flowers. It was a place where ships became homes.

Cerys stood on the transporter pad with her travel case at her feet, a specimen case under one arm, and a PADD clutched in her other hand. The PADD contained her transfer orders, departmental roster, laboratory allocation notes, and three increasingly terse messages about storage limits aboard Nova-class vessels.

The last one had included the phrase: Chief Science Officer discretion is appreciated.

Which to Cerys meant: Please do not bring a forest.

So instead Cerys had brought only one plant sample. And one moss-mimic glider.

The sample rested in a palm-sized stasis cylinder inside the case tucked beneath her arm. It looked, to anyone else, like a dark curl of lichen suspended in pale blue containment light. To Cerys, it was the beginning of a question she had carried for six years.

Bramble rustled from the breathable travel sling across her shoulder.

"Hush," Cerys murmured.

The moss-mimic glider settled, briefly, in the sling.

The transporter chief, a gray-haired Tellarite with one tusk, glanced up from the console. "Problem, Lieutenant?"

"No problem. My luggage is just enthusiastic."

The Tellarite snorted and stared at the green critter attached to Cerys. "Better than contagious. Last week, a commander tried to beam aboard with a self-replicating mega-virus."

Cerys smiled politely. "Don't worry. He is fully cleared under Starfleet companion organism protocols. And certainly not contagious."

The transporter chief smirked and continued prepping his console.

Through the observation window, the USS Vanguard waited in drydock.

Nova-class. Compact. Purpose-built. Less imposing than the great cruisers and deep-space explorers, but there was something graceful in her small stature. She was not a ship meant to overwhelm. She was a ship meant to observe. And Cerys liked her immediately.

Her name was painted cleanly along the hull: USS VANGUARD, NCC-76381.

Her first assignment as Chief Science Officer.

The thought should have filled her with triumph. Instead, it arrived with a complicated mix of pride, nerves, and the sudden irrational conviction that she had worn the wrong boots.

"Transport lock established," the chief said. "Vanguard transporter room two is ready to receive."

Cerys straightened. Bramble made a questioning chirp.

The transporter chief activated the beam and, for one suspended moment, Cerys was nothing but pattern and light.

***

The Vanguard's transporter room was smaller than the fleetyard station's, but somehow warmer. Not in temperature. In personality.

The console gave a soft confirmation chime.

Transport complete.

Cerys stepped down from the pad.

No one was waiting for her.

For a moment, she simply stood there with her travel case, her specimen case, and Bramble pressed warm and curious against her shoulder. The absence of ceremony should have made the moment feel smaller. Instead, it made it feel more real. The ship did not pause for her arrival. It breathed around her: environmental systems humming, distant tools tapping behind bulkheads, turbolift doors whispering open and closed somewhere beyond the room.

Cerys consulted her PADD. Temporary access codes. Shipboard directory. Revised lab assignments. Quartering information. Her personal effects had already been routed to her quarters. The crates marked fragile had been placed outside Science Lab One pending her approval.

One of them, according to a terse cargo notation, was producing intermittent vibration.

"That would be the humidity regulator," Cerys murmured.

Bramble climbed higher in the sling, his small side membranes flexing with interest.

"It is not a toy."

Bramble looked charmingly innocent.

The corridor beyond the transporter room curved gently away in both directions. There were protective covers still on some wall panels. Crew moved with the careful speed of people still learning a new ship's angles. A pair of engineers passed carrying a panel between them. Someone in command red ducked around an open diagnostic junction. A medical technician stepped aside with a crate of emergency supplies.

The Vanguard was not fully settled yet. Cerys could feel it.

She followed the directory toward Science Lab One. The ship's compactness became apparent almost immediately. Here, everything seemed close: transporter room, turbolift, science lab. A small ship. A ship where everyone would learn everyone else's habits quickly.

A ship where a Chief Science Officer could not hide within the nonexistent arboretum.

Cerys touched the specimen case under her arm, and her mentor's voice sounded in memory.

The unknown is easier to face when the people naming it remember to be kind.

Professor Arlen Vey had said it to her on a rain-heavy afternoon at Starfleet Academy, after a first-contact ethics seminar had gone badly. Cerys had been twenty-one, exhausted, and furious with a visiting instructor who had referred to a newly encountered photosynthetic-based organism as an "environmental hazard" before anyone had determined whether it possessed consciousness.

She had argued with him. Too sharply, probably, and certainly too personally.

Afterward, Professor Vey had found her in the Academy arboretum, sitting on the floor beside a tray of Vulcan mushrooms and trying not to cry. He had not told her to calm down. He had not told her she was wrong. Only after several minutes of quiet work had he spoken.

"The unknown is easier to face when the people naming it remember to be kind."

At the time, she had thought he meant kindness toward new life, like she had been trying to defend. But later, she understood he had also meant kindness toward those who were scared, or arrogant, or mistaken. Especially toward the young officers so desperate to be right that they forgot to be gentle.

Cerys had written the sentence on the front cover of her botanical journal. After Professor Vey's death, she had vowed this would be the value she led others by.

Professor Vey's final research samples had been distributed among former students and colleagues. Cerys had received the small dark curl of living lichen now tucked beneath her arm. It had been collected from a protected ecological preserve on Thaleos Minor, where certain plant colonies appeared to adapt not only to climate, soil, and light, but to the emotional rhythms of nearby caretakers.

Most researchers dismissed that interpretation as poetic overreach.

But Professor Vey had not.

And neither would Cerys.

The doors to Science Lab One parted at her approach.

The room beyond was still half-unpacked. Workstations waited in standby mode. A diagnostic frame had been left open near the primary analysis table. Several storage compartments were tagged for review, and outside the lab entrance sat the crates Cerys had packed earlier that day.

Sure enough, one was humming.

Cerys knelt beside it.

The humming crate was easy to identify. It bore a fragile tag, a botanical quarantine seal, and a note in her own handwriting: Humidity regulator. Do not stack, shake, invert, freeze, or argue with.

Bramble leaned forward from her shoulder and sniffed.

"No," Cerys said softly.

He chirped.

"No."

Cerys set the specimen case carefully beside the crate and rested one hand on its lid. For a moment, she simply listened to the Vanguard around her.

She was really here.

Chief Science Officer.

The title still felt too large. But perhaps responsibility was supposed to feel that way at first: unfamiliar enough to respect.

She glanced down at Professor Vey's sample and thought again of his words.

The unknown is easier to face when the people naming it remember to be kind.

Cerys had brought that lesson with her, along with one fragile plant sample, too many crates, and a moss-mimic glider already testing the limits of Starfleet regulations.

It would have to be enough.

She opened the humming crate. The regulator whined once, offended, then settled into a softer vibration.

As Cerys stood, the turbolift doors behind her slid open, and a Drokari woman in a gold uniform stepped into the corridor.

Cerys recognized her immediately from the departmental rosters she had studied on her PADD.

Lieutenant Commander Shirik Lektar, Chief Operations Officer of the USS Vanguard.

Shirik's PADD chirped at her, alerting her to the fact that another crew member had beamed on board, the new Chief Science Officer. Consulting her console to see the officer's location, she saw that they had gone straight to one of the ship's many science labs. Scooping up her PADD, she went to go introduce herself. She hoped this one was not like the one on board the Sulu, which had nearly killed her and half the crew with her incompetence.

She made her way to the science lab and as the door whooshed open she stood there for a moment as her violet gaze came to rest on their newest crew member, an appraising look. "Lt. Rowan," she said by way of greeting, her expression as neutral as any Vulcan's. "I am Lt. Cmdr. Lektar, Ops Chief. I see you've already located one of the science labs. There are 8 aboard, plus Astrometrics." Her glance fell to her PADD. "Your quarters will be on Deck 4. Do you have a preference as to starboard or port side?" she looked up.

Cerys straightened a little too quickly, nearly catching her head on the open crate.

"Lieutenant Commander Lektar," she said. "Cerys Rowan. Though you've established that already. Uh... Excellent start from me."

She offered what she hoped was a professional smile.

"It's very good to meet you."

Cerys glanced at the crate, then back to Lektar.

"I did mean to report in before putting down roots in the lab, but the cargo log said one of my crates was vibrating, and in my experience that's either a humidity regulator or the beginning of a small administrative disaster."

She tapped the crate with her foot, and let out a nervous laugh.

"Regulator, thankfully. Much less paperwork."

Her eyes brightened despite herself.

"And eight science labs plus Astrometrics is - I mean, that's... so exciting! I was actually wondering if any of them have been repurposed for something unexpected? Hydroponics experiments, perhaps? Or a forgotten stellar cartography project that no one's quite sure how to shut down? I've always thought ships develop their own little scientific ecosystems over time."

She caught herself.

"Sorry. I do tend to get a bit carried away when it comes to lab allocation. The lab is practically my second set of quarters."

Cerys gave a small, self-conscious smile.

"Starboard would be lovely, if available. But I'm not fussy. I only require modest quarters, basic storage, and a bit of space for a contained habitat. Nothing large, just enough for a small arboreal companion named Bramble. He's quite well behaved. Mostly."

From inside the crate came a soft, inquisitive chirp.

"Vibrating?" she raised an eyebrow and eyed the crate in question. "I trust any samples you've brought aboard have been properly catalogued in the ship's manifest and been pre-approved to bring on board? Nothing dangerous or infectious?" her eyes squinted a bit suspiciously for just a moment before she made a note on her PADD. "You have a... pet?"

Cerys's smile flinched for about half a second.

"Yes. Absolutely. Samples are all properly catalogued, pre-approved, and accompanied by an alarming amount of documentation."

She shifted the specimen case under one arm.

"They are all non-infectious and non-sentient as far as current testing indicates. One of them is... scientifically interesting, which is not the same as dangerous. Usually."

At the word pet, Cerys glanced toward the crate.

"Ah. Yes. Though pet is a rather imprecise term, isn't it? A bit old-fashioned. Bramble is a registered companion organism."

A soft chirp came from inside.

"On his native world, moss-mimic gliders are common domestic companions. Rather like dogs on Earth, if dogs were arboreal, photosynthetic-adjacent, and less interested in fetch. They bond socially, respond to tone, seek proximity during stress, and..."

Cerys stopped herself.

"Sorry. You asked whether I had a pet, not for a comparative xenobiology lecture."

She cleared her throat.

"He is fully screened, not dangerous, and not meant to be in the crate. That last part is new."

Cerys gave Lektar an apologetic look.

"I can provide the clearance file. It's very thorough."

"Hmm." Shirik tapped in some more notes on her PADD then looked up once more. "Does it fly?" she asked, eyeing the crate once more. "You realize it won't be allowed to roam the ship. It must be in your quarters at all times unless being moved, in which case it must be in a proper container or restraint device." She tapped in a few more things. "Your quarters will have double occupancy, so you can use the extra sleeping area for your companion. If you need the bed removed, let me know and I'll arrange it."

"Not exactly, no. Moss-mimic gliders usually glide between canopy layers. Bramble was born with a membrane malformation, so he doesn't fly so much as... fall gracefully."

A small chirp came from inside the crate.

"Very gracefully," she added, as if she was correcting the record on behalf of a friend.

She nodded quickly toward Lektar's PADD.

"And yes, absolutely. No roaming. Quarters only unless contained or properly restrained. I understand. The last thing this ship needs is an arboreal incident in a Jefferies tube."

Cerys glanced toward the crate, then back to Lektar.

"The extra sleeping area would actually be ideal for his habitat. If the bed could be removed, I can set up a contained climbing frame, environmental unit, and rest enclosure. All secured, and minimal power draw."

She hesitated, then gave a small, hopeful smile.

"Since you know the Vanguard better than I do, Sir, is there anything about the ship I should learn quickly before I start making myself useful?"

"Indeed," she agreed about the Jefferies tube. "Very well, I'll see to the bed's removal as soon as I can." She paused then, and said, "Yes, actually. Although this ship has many science labs, it lacks an arboretum. Assuming you would be agreeable to it, I propose utilizing one of the two configurable science labs on Deck 4 for this purpose. As the head of the Science department that decision would be up to you." She watched Cerys expectantly as she waited for her answer.

For a moment, Cerys simply stared at her. Then her expression changed entirely.

"Oh!"

It was not a very Starfleet answer. It was barely an answer at all. But there was such unguarded delight in it that she had to catch her breath.

"Yes!" she said, perhaps a little too quickly. "Yes, I would be enthusiastically agreeable to that. Alarmingly agreeable, actually."

She cleared her throat and tried to reclaim something resembling professional composure.

"I mean, provided it doesn't compromise the ship's research capacity or environmental load, of course. But a properly designed arboretum could serve as more than a pleasant room full of leaves. It could support botanical study, atmospheric monitoring, limited xenoflora trials, crew morale, low-stimulation recovery space..."

She stopped herself, and thought how much Professor Vey would have already liked this new ship.

"So yes. As head of Science, I'd support converting one of the configurable labs into an arboretum. Gladly."

She tilted her head slightly.

"If Operations can provide the environmental tolerances, power limits, and any hard no's, I can draft a proposal that is mostly reasonable by the end of the day."

She raised an eyebrow at the unexpected enthusiasm of Cerys' response. "Very well. Send your proposal, and I will see to rearranging or removing any equipment as necessary on Lab 1. There is a certain growth environment I wish to set up there for a plant of my own I would like to cultivate."

An almost mischievous look spread across Cerys's face.

"I'll get started on it right away. Thank you, Sir. I promise I'll try not to make you regret it - at least not immediately."

The mention of another plant immediately piqued her curiosity.

"You're cultivating something as well?"

She caught herself before the question could multiply into a full interrogation.

"No - that can wait. We'll both have plenty of time for botany once the ship is underway. I'll restrain myself. For now."

She nodded gratefully, a spark of excitement still lingering in her eyes.

"And... thank you. I have a feeling I'm going to like serving aboard the Vanguard."

Shirik opened her mouth to reply, but then merely nodded. "Indeed. We can discuss it later. I will return to my duties, crew are coming on board and supplies are being sent over, so I have much to do. No doubt you will as well, setting up the many science labs."

"A New Life"

Lt. Tyzur - Chief Medical Officer
Lt. Cmdr. Shirik Lektar - Chief Operations Officer
EMH Mark VII

Location: Various, USS Vanguard
Stardate: 58807.03, 08h00

***

It was a quiet morning. Tyzur glanced at his final transfer authorisation while sipping coffee, a human beverage he had learned to appreciate during the intense shifts at his previous posting. He paused as he reached the line 'Assignment: Chief Medical Officer, USS Vanguard'. Not 'Resident Doctor', not 'Former Borg', but Chief Medical Officer. He read it several times before closing the PADD. It was the first posting that was entirely his choice. He remembered the parting words of his mentor, another El-Aurian physician. "You spent a century healing bodies because you were ordered to." A pause. "Now you get to heal people because you choose to."

Time to pack. Despite his age, Tyzur owned surprisingly little. The Borg collective had little room for personal affairs. His time at the academy and his position at Starbase 327 on the edge of a warzone left him with little time for a personal life. He gathered his Risian lute, a collection of science fiction novels from Betazoid, Vulcan, and Cardassian authors, a holopicture of his mentor, and replacement uniforms specially tailored around his cybernetic right arm. Tyzur glanced at the concealment glove he got during his academy days to make his implants less noticeable. He picked one up and considered packing it. Instead, he put it into the replicator for recycling. He was tired of pretending his arm wasn't there. He wasn't proud of it, but he wasn't ashamed of it either.

The corridors of the Utopia Planitia transit station were well-worn, providing a temporary home for countless Starfleet crews about to embark on their missions. Tyzur walked past an observation window, and spotted her. USS Vanguard. NCC-76381. She was small compared to other docked ships like the Intrepid and Sovereign classes. It would be an adjustment, living spaces on Borg cubes and starbases are massive.

The gray-haired Tellarite glanced up from the transporter console as Tyzur approached.

"Lieutenant Tyzur?"

"Yes."

His eyes flicked to the cybernetic arm, then back to the console.

"Hm."

He frowned at the readout.

"You're carrying... just under twelve kilograms of cybernetic hardware."

"Eleven-point-eight," Tyzur replied. "I maintain it myself."

One bushy eyebrow rose.

"You actually know the weight?"

"It helps when recalibrating the inertial compensators."

The Tellarite gave an approving grunt.

"I like officers who know their own maintenance."

He tapped a few more commands, then paused as another line of Tyzur's service record appeared.

"Starbase 327."

"Yes."

"That's a hard posting."

"It could be."

The Tellarite leaned back slightly.

"I've beamed more casualties off that station than I care to remember."

For a moment, his usual gruffness softened.

"They always said the doctors there were miracle workers."

He finished entering the transport coordinates.

"Don't prove them wrong."

It's about the closest thing a Tellarite gives to 'good luck'. Tyzur inclined his head.

"I'll do my best."

The Tellarite snorted.

"Good enough. Transport lock established. Vanguard transporter room one is ready to receive."

As he rematerialised, he was greeted by Lieutenant Commander Lektar, Chief Operations Officer.

Shirik stood at the console of Transporter Room 1. She'd looked over the personnel records of their new doctor, and wasn't overly thrilled to be meeting him. Why did they so seldom seem to get regular doctors on her postings? She let out a breath as they signaled the transport. "Ready." The familiar whine of the transporter filled the small room as the beam of light shimmered and coalesced into Tyzur. She nodded a greeting with a neutral expression. "Welcome aboard, doctor. Do you wish me to escort you to your quarters, or sickbay?"

Tyzur stepped off the platform.

"Thank you Commander! I'd like to get settled into sickbay first. Would you come in for a medical checkup? It's standard Starfleet procedure for a new crew, and in my experience things can go sideways very quickly."

One eyebrow went up. He hadn't even stepped off the pad yet and already was wanting to start on checkups? She managed not to frown. "Very well," she said, "This way." She led the way out of the room and to the turbolift not far away. She may as well get this over with, she thought.

He detected the unease in her. They had warned him that would happen after being liberated from the collective. Still, it wasn't going to stop him from doing his job. They followed the corridor and turned a couple of corners, and there was sickbay. It was a modest facility, but more than enough for a crew this size. Upon entering, Tyzur noticed the biobeds to the left. He gestured to one of them.

"Please take a seat."

He considered using the medical equipment in his cybernetic arm for the checkup, the scanner's resolution is 2.4% higher than that of standard medical tricorders after all. But since he had sensed some apprehension from the commander, he thought better of it. He had a quick look around the room and found where the medical tricorder was stored. He began the scan.

"I've read your medical record, you have quite the medical history. Everything seems to be in check, but we'll have to keep an eye on things. I haven't come across a Drokari before. I see similarities to Vulcan physiology, but there are differences. Any chance you could put me in touch with the Drokari so I can get a look at their medical texts? It would help me treat you more efficiently."

She hopped up onto the biobed. While he was retrieving his tricorder she took a moment to look him over, noting the cybernetic appendage. She filed it away for later but otherwise had no reaction to it.

At his request she almost smiled at the sheer absurdity. But he wouldn't know. "My people would not speak to you," she said. "I can attempt a request myself, but I'm not sure they would approve it."

It had been a while since he encountered an unfamiliar species. It was part of why he signed up for an exploratory mission. It would be exciting to figure out the differences from Vulcan physiology. But he wouldn't let his excitement show, that would be unprofessional.

"I see. Please do, it's worth a shot. Thank you for having your checkup so quickly, it can be a challenge to get the crew in sometimes. Let me know if there's anything I can do for you."

"Indeed," she nodded, hopping off the bed once more, glad it was over with a minimum of questions. "If you require any supplies or equipment, let me know. Cargo is still coming aboard."

"I've requested some cutting edge xenobiology equipment. Has that been approved? I'd like to upgrade Biolab 1 so we're ready to study any new life we'll encounter."

"I will certainly check on that and if not, I will see to it that it gets approved and delivered before launch. Is there anything else?"

"That's all, thank you!"

Tyzur sat down in his office chair and picked up a PADD, not sure how to end the conversation.

She nodded. "Let me know if you require anything else," she said, tapping on her PADD as she exited sickbay. With any luck, she wouldn't be back any time soon.

"Homecoming"

by Capt. Varissa sh'Orthamu - Commanding Officer
by Lt. Cmdr. Shirik Lektar - Chief Operations Officer

Location: Unnamed Waverider, Utopia Planitia, USS Vanguard
Stardate: 58807.05, 07h00

***

Captain's Log... that's going to take a little getting used to. I am presently flying the Vanguard's Waverider to its underbelly. We're going to have to christen this with a name... perhaps I'll leave it up to the senior staff to agree on a suitable title. This being the first of these crafts I've flown, I'm impressed with the size of the interior while still handling more like the fighters I started my Starfleet career in. A part of me misses those days; just me, the machine and a small wing that was more like family than a squadron...

No, Varissa, this is your family now. The Halifax taught you that. Daiki and Zeev and Tyler and Holly and Bartan... all of them taught you that even a big ship can be a family. The Vanguard isn't even particularly large... a maximum compliment of 80, not including guests or emergency evacuees. That's ten times less people. This is going to be intimate... everyone is going to know everyone within a year, at most. More importantly you are going to be leading them, this is your ship, Varissa. Believe in yourself. Believe in the mission. Believe in Starfleet. Gameface on.

The Vanguard is stunning. I'm on my docking approach now, taking it in manually. This is good. Just be yourself and you got this, girl. Deep breath in...

... and out.

***

The hiss of the hatch connecting the not-so-small shuttlecraft and the Nova-class ship echoed in the almost empty halls of deck 3. The ship wasn't even a skeleton crew; perhaps a dozen or less souls, Varissa included... mostly engineers ironing out the last wrinkles and a particularly intriguing COO... but it would be good for the newly minted captain to be there for the majority of the crew, should they want to discuss anything prior to taking the big bird out of its nest for its first flight. Captain sh'Orthamu climbed out of the hatch and stood up, stretching a bit before rolling her shoulders with the audible sound of her shoulders popping in their sockets. The Andorian had put a lot of hard miles on her forty year-old frame... not that she was getting old, but the years of damage had taken their toll. Perhaps a trip to the medbay was in order for her long overdue checkups once it was fully staffed... their El-Aurian Liberated Borg CMO she'd read up on before leaving the planet's surface was apparently quite skilled... maybe he could be the one to fix that lingering tear in that left shoulder blade that never healed right...

As she stepped out of the hatch into the corridor, she was met with the sight of someone standing there waiting. Lt. Cmdr. Lektar, PADD in hand, her looks and expression Vulcan like, nodded a greeting. "Welcome aboard, Captain. I'm Chief of Ops Lektar."

The Andorian's antennae had already been pointing to Shirik before she even spoke; the stories about the Federation Founder species being sensitive to bioelectric signals and vibrations appeared to be quite true!

"Lieutenant Commander Lektar... just the Drokari I was hoping to run into." Varissa mused, her dark eyes shifting to the COO. The decidedly not Starfleet standard scalloped blade attached to her belt loop - her Ushaan-tor - glinted with the white lights of the hallway. "How have you been acclimating to your new station? Any observations?"

Shirik quirked an eyebrow at this greeting. "Oh?" she mused, her gaze traveling over their new Captain. She'd never seen an Andorian up close before, and knew little about them, but the blade at her Captain's side caught her eye. Her own Kemla was in view, sheathed at her thigh. "Quite well," she said. "There have been improvements and upgraded systems installed during refit which I'm sure our Engineering team will be eager to put through their paces."

"Indeed. You are a curious case... and I want to make sure that not only you, but everyone on this ship is on the same page as me before we start 'boldly going' and get 'strange new world'ed. Nothing worse than getting your wires crossed when you need to dig deep and make it count." Rissa hummed, a wry grin on her lips as she motioned with her head towards the turbolifts before beginning to move. "Walk with me? I want to dig right in and see the bridge. How many souls are on board? Are we fully stocked on everything we need? Did my cargo get delivered to my quarters? Most importantly... did they fully stock the weight room?"

Shirik nodded and fell into step beside her. "The senior staff is all aboard with the exception of a ship's counselor. There's been no word of one as yet. The rest of the staff should be arriving over the next week. We're scheduled to depart on our shakedown mission on stardate 58807.11, which is in 6 days' time. Supplies have been arriving and will continue to arrive with the rest of the crew. Cargo was delivered and placed in your quarters as requested. It was not opened. I have not yet checked on the gymnasium's equipment, but I will do so today." She was already tapping notes into her PADD as they stepped into the turbolift. "Bridge," she said, and the lift began to move. "The turbolift can deliver you either directly onto the bridge itself, or to the general corridor of Deck 1," she explained. "Your quarters and ready room are directly across the hall from the port exit on the bridge."

Nodding along to all the information, Varissa half-followed/half-led the lieutenant commander as they made their way over and up.

"Yes, I reviewed the schematics on my way to Mars. Interesting design... I guess if Deck 1 gets hammered in a combat scenario I'm pretty much toast, eh? Oh, also make sure to let the crew know that unless otherwise noted I have an open door policy. You'll get the hang of my command style in short order, but to make it short and sweet I like my crew to feel comfortable being themselves so long as those proclivities don't trample on the freedoms of other crewmen."

The captain glanced down at the dagger at Shirik's hip, then up to her eyes. Varissa's dark eyes were locked on... almost like she was staring right into the Drokari's soul.

"Can I trust you to ask questions first and stab later?" She asked, candidly.

"I think you will find that most ship designs do have the Captain's quarters in a similar location," she observed. "I was always curious as to why, but..." she shrugged. Shirik's eyes were a striking violet color, and narrowed a bit at the scrutiny. Her jaw tightened a bit as she answered stiffly, "I do not draw my blade without good reason." She paused for a moment. "I am planning to ask permission to carry it on board from the Security Chief." She knew the Captain must know her record of violent altercations over the years involving her blade.

"Mmmmmm..." She rumbled, gears churning in her mind. It was evident with the bobbing of her antennae... but those eyes? Those eyes remained locked on those violet orbs opposite hers. "Don't bother. I'm authorizing you to carry it as much or as little as you would like. My trust comes relatively freely, Lieutenant Commander Lektar. You're correct... I did read your record. I know more about you than I've ever had to know about a fellow crewman before being introduced. That information remains locked between you and me. That trust goes both ways. Be aware that if you lose my trust, it is painfully difficult to re-earn it. Not impossible, but never easy."

The turbolift chirped and the doors 'wooshed' open and Varissa stepped out, nodding towards the bridge before setting off yet again.

"I've not yet served with you, Lektar... but I can tell you with absolute sincerity that an armorer would have to pry my Ushaan-tor from my cold, dead fingers before I would surrender it on a day-to-day basis. If we're trying to perform diplomatic activities that require us to surrender our blades for the purpose of a mission? That's a different story... and I expect you to follow my lead on that matter. Standard away missions? I expect you to protect your fellow crewmen with that blade and serve Federation ideals while you wear that blade, badge and those pips. Do I make myself clear?"

For a moment Shirik hesitated, as two potential responses warred for supremacy in her mind. Finally she said, "Likewise." Her trust too was hard-won and easily lost.

The doors opened onto the bridge itself, and Shirik took one step into it, but her eyes were still steadily meeting those of her new Captain. "Yes, Captain." She paused, then added, "I do appreciate your support for my blade, but I dislike jumping the chain of command, as it were. Do you wish to notify the Security Chief of your decision, or should I?"

That got a warm chuckle out of the captain as she entered the small bridge. It wasn't anything terribly exciting, but it was hers. Hers and the crew's. The USS Vanguard... a good ship.

"Home sweet home... hmm... you sound like my-" Her words stuck in her throat as she stopped in her tracks before continuing to the captain's chair, running a hand over the back before sitting down. "-a dear friend. A Vulcan. She would scold me for failing to adhere to things like the chain of command. I appreciate you being a stabilizing force in that regard. Quite right, Chief of Security will hear it from me. Proper chain, fear not."

Varissa took a deep breath in... and out. Taking it in. She looked down at the controls and began to flick through the settings, causing the viewscreen to flick on as it cycled through various options before settling on the personnel roster.

"All of the senior staff is aboard, you said? Thullex... that's a bit embarrassing. I'd hoped I had beaten them here. Ah well... no use worrying about 'what if'. Is what it is... has anyone had issues with their departments so far?"

Shirik made her way over to the Ops station and tapped in commands to run some basic systems checks. She hadn't missed the catch in the Captain's speech. A Vulcan, as well. She wondered if that Vulcan was also deceased.

"Yes, all but a counselor. The Chief Medical Officer normally fills that role until one arrives," she said, not overly relishing that thought. "Not that I know of, there have been no complaints as of yet."

"Mmmmm... medical personnel make poor counselors in my experience. Let me try to pull some strings with the brass. I firmly believe in therapy and expect everyone on this ship to sit down with our future counselor at least once a month. That'll be an order... but I won't expect the CMO to take on that responsibility except for as an emergency measure. That means everyone, Lektar... am I clear?"

No eye contact... no glance. Just an expectation to hear an audible confirmation as she continued cycling through menus, taking her time on the ship layout of Deck 1.

Her back to Shirik, she didn't see the scowl on Shirik's features. "Yes, Captain," she muttered. She hoped they wouldn't have a counselor for a while.

"Good... I think that takes care of the business I needed to cover with you." Rissa said, letting out a heavy sigh as she turned around to face the lieutenant commander from her seated position, a grin tugging at the corners of her lips. "Now the fun stuff. I read that you like to keep yourself fit... do you need a gym partner? I was hoping that we could spot for one another and perhaps even be sparring buddies, if you'd like. I'm not picky about what sparring styles we cover! It's hard to find anyone in Starfleet that actually enjoys hand-to-hand combat, let alone training with weapons. I typically use holodeck programs, but they're still not like the real thing."

Shirik looked up from her console with mild surprise. She'd never met a Captain who was so.... social... before. "I... usually work out alone," she said. "But, I would not be averse to company on occasion." She wouldn't necessarily say she enjoyed her intensive fitness regime, it was more like survival.

"Open to new experiences. I like that!" Varissa hummed, standing up and clapping her hands together. "That should be at the top of your file. Everyone's record is so... sanitized. They don't catch the humanity and personality of a Starfleet officer, just the quantifiable statistics. I'm going to be painfully frank with you, Shirik: I see a crew less as an enterprise and more like a family. We are only going to have 80 crewmen here and a few months in we're going to at the very least be able to recognize everyone's faces, if not by name. We're going to be relatively isolated on our missions... and while the Vanguard has some bite to it, we're primarily going to be a scout, exploration and diplomatic vessel. This is a drastic shift from my previous experience as a fighter pilot and helmsman during the Dominion War... and I know this entire Starfleet experience is a dramatic shift from your home world. We're both going to need to adapt and adjust for this mission... and learn from one another."

"Err, yes..." she said, not quite sure what to make of this new Captain. "To be fair, Capt., I've been in Starfleet for nearly twenty years, so I am no stranger to how it differs from my homeworld."

"Just... crossing my t's and dotting my i's. I don't mean to diminish your Starfleet record, merely acknowledging your upbringing. Perhaps I'm preaching to the choir, as it were... perhaps I was trying to simply find similarities in order to empathize and relate to my senior officer. I find that you catch more ice-bores with Andorian ale than charcoal pellets and I'd rather be shoulder-to-shoulder with friends than coworkers when going to red alert."

The tall Andorian let out a sigh as she approached Ops where the Drokari stood, her smile fading. Clearly there was more on her mind than just trying to be chummy.

"This... is my first captaincy. Well... not including the hockey team back at the academy, anyway. I've been in Starfleet for 20 years, myself. Been put through the wringer... seen more action than most see in their whole career. I almost resigned my commission after a real bad situation at the very start that I don't particularly like to talk about."

She pointed at the Captain's chair before continuing.

"That thing scares me. I declined promotion four times before accepting this one on my former Captain's insistence. I've been told to just... be myself and let the rest take care of itself. I've always felt more comfortable in that seat-" She changed the trajectory of her finger towards the helm. "-because I just like to be the plucky, brash flygirl that solves her issues with a flight handle and a lot of thrust. I'm a problem solver... that's what I'm bringing with me to this post... and I'm hoping that my methods result in a positive experience for not only me and you, but our entire crew. Hopefully that makes my intentions make a bit more sense."

She put a hand on Lektar's shoulder and her smile grew wider once again, her antennae perking up.

"Now... I'm going to unpack a bit in my quarters and then sit down and have a drink. If you'd like to stick to your duties, I support you. If you'd like to stop in the observation lounge in about half an hour to have a drink and discuss our experiences in a more relaxed setting, I would very much enjoy the company. I was under the impression that you may not have had a particularly close relationship with your superiors in your previous postings and simply wanted to get to know you instead of a file on my PADD."

"I see," she said. While the words were unfamiliar, she understood their meaning, as there were similar sayings on Earth. Not on her homeworld.

She nodded. "I have served with many Captains, and few of them I found worthy of the position. I hope you will be one of them in time."

Shirik stiffened at the contact but only nodded. "I have much to do yet in preparation for launch, but I appreciate the invitation. And you are correct." She picked up her PADD. "Enjoy your unpacking, Captain." With that she left the bridge.

"Transfer & New Duties"

SCPO Kovar - Master-at-Arms, USS Vanguard
Lt. Cmdr. Shirik Lektar - Chief Operations Officer, USS Vanguard

Location: USS Veracruz, USS Vanguard
Stardate: 58807.05, 15h25

***

Master-at-Arms.

Kovar weighed the title, examined it in his mind's eye. It wasn't a promotion - not that he was personally concerned, one way or another, with rank - but seemed rather a recognition of his accomplishments and skillset as a security official for Starfleet for nearly half of his life. The newly-commissioned Vanguard had need of one with the experience and temperament to forge the crew into a cohesive unit, prepared to encounter whatever hazards they may encounter during their first year's missions.

And to ensure that discipline was maintained.

Taking one more look at the PADD that displayed the crew manifest, Kovar committed names, ranks, and positions to memory. There were still gaps in the roster, so he would have to ensure that he received regular updates from transfers from the Captain and XO, which itself would be an indicator to the ship's leadership style.

No matter, things would work out as they will. He would do what he could to optimize the efficiency of the ship's operations, hopefully without stepping on too many toes this time. The Vanguard was not a Vulcan ship, so he needed to temper his expectations.

Dropping the PADD into the case that held his meager belongings - his various decorations, a holo-crystal containing pictures of Jurisa, his parents and his siblings, and a stack of small paper squares - Kovar snapped the case shut as the door chime sounded in his quarters.

"Come," he called to the door, which obligingly whooshed open to permit the ship's executive officer, Commander Dece Yemo, entry into Kovar's spartan quarters.

"Commander," Kovar greeted his superior, standing straight. "I was not expecting you."

Dece waved off the formality, replying, "You didn't think I was going to let my best security guy go off quietly to his next assignment, do you?"

Kovar internally chafed at the 'security guy' comment. Despite having received and acknowledged his new orders, and the Veracruz pulling alongside the Vanguard for his transport, he still considered himself a member of the Veracruz's crew, and the informality - especially from one of his superior officers - annoyed him. However, he'd learned over many years, and many postings, that non-Vulcans considered informality to enable better relationship-building, so he'd come to internalize his perspective.

"No, I suppose not," Kovar simply replied. The two had worked closely over the last several years, over the closing phases of the Dominion War and its aftermath.

Dece smiled, his Bajoran earrings sparkling in the light with the movement. "Well, you'll be missed. You've been a tremendous asset to the crew and invaluable to Starfleet's ground operations, and I have no doubt that you'll whip the crew of the Vanguard into shape in no time," the XO complimented.

"I have -" Kovar started, then realized that Dece was using a euphemism, and that a leather discipline tool should not be used in his next assignment. Instead, he accepted the compliment with, "Thank you, sir."

Looking around, the XO commented, "Not much to pack, eh? Ready to go?"

"Sir," Kovar confirmed, collecting his travel case, and motioned to Dece to lead the way to the transporter room.

Kovar never thought of himself as a philosopher, though sometimes he found his mind wandering down paths of thought that caught his attention. For instance, as his matter stream finished materializing on the pads in the Vanguard's transporter room, he mused whether his body was precisely the same one that had been de-materialized on the Veracruz, or if this was a new one that merely housed the energy patterns that made up his mind, his personality, in a new location.

He'd read the report from the Enterprise-D, many years before, of the ship's doctor being sent through the transporter to de-age her body after an unusual incident. If that were possible, could the transporter be used to effectively keep individuals immortal?

(Preposterous), he dismissed, (the finest minds in the Federation would surely have examined the possibility long before now.) The line of thought continued for a few more moments as the materialization process completed.

Stepping from the pad, Kovar nodded to the transporter chief, then turned to the Chief of Operations, Commander Lektar, who awaited his arrival.

He'd never encountered a Drokari before, and was briefly fascinated with the Lieutenant Commander's dark skin before remembering his place, and presented a small PADD containing his Starfleet jacket and orders.

"Commander, Senior Chief Petty Officer Kovar, reporting for duty," he said as formal introduction. "I am honoured to be here."

Shirik stood near the console, a PADD in one hand, her violet eyes watching the newcomer materialize. Strapped to her thigh was a sheath enclosing her traditional knife, the Kemla. Her features were neutral, and with the pointed ears some might even mistake her for an unusually colored Vulcan or hybrid. Her skin was jet black, and by contrast her hair was pure white, tied in a braid that hung down her back.

"Welcome aboard," she said. "Your quarters are on Deck 4." She took the offered PADD and glanced at it, then tapped some information on it and handed it back. "The Security office, brig, and armory are on Deck 3. The main mess is on Deck 2. I have transferred a complete set of ship's schematics to your PADD for ease of finding your way. Do you have any questions?"

Deck 4, that was good. A location central to most other areas on the ship, lowering reaction time to any off-duty incidents. Kovar nodded with approval, more to himself than Commander Lektar.

Kovar took the proffered PADD, saying, "That is appreciated, Commander."

Studying the updated dataset, he added, "I understand that there are vacancies within the crew. I would like you and the command staff know that I will make myself available to fill in any gaps in shift rotations... Provided that doing so would not affect my primary duties, naturally."

Pausing to allow the head of Ops to digest the offer, Kovar asked, "Would it be possible to speak to the Captain and Executive Officer? I would like to start setting up weapons and tactical training sessions with the crew onboard."

"That would of course be a matter to take up with our security chief," she said. "As for the Captain and First Officer, they are both on board so I'm sure you can schedule a time to speak with them on that matter, although I'm sure any training sessions won't take place until after we launch. There is still much to be done in preparation."

"Back in the Saddle"

Crewman Andrea Guilder - Nurse
Capt. Varissa sh'Orthamu - Commanding Officer
Lt. Tyzur - Chief Medical Officer

Location: Deck 2, Sickbay
Stardate: 58807.08, 19h07

***

Guilder beamed aboard with a throng of other crewmen, a swath of faces standing before the Head Nurse. Hands passed PADDs, and each was given their duty rosters. Day shift. Supplementary Intake Exams. There are always a couple of officers who slip through, either because their transfer overlaps with their examination, or because they conveniently forgot.

It was strange being aboard a Starfleet vessel again as a crewman rather than a passenger. Not too long ago, she was the one who had a tricorder, here, there, everywhere, while a ship's counselor nodded along to her accounting and a security officer showed her ships that she could not say were the ones that downed the Vivaldi. As she waved the tricorder over the officer, the results blinked onto its display. Nominal. The next. Nominal. And the next.

During a lull in the cavalcade of officers getting their pre-launch checkups, a certain Andorian slipped in for her own medical clearance after a particularly intense workout in the ship's gym. Varissa was still in a simple combination of Starfleet sports bra and workout shorts with a Federation-standard grey towel draped over her shoulders as she glanced around the sickbay. She had hoped to run into the CMO on her visit, but wasn't terribly certain she'd be able to pick him out of a crowd as of yet -- human males were fairly difficult for the Andorian to tell apart, embarrassingly. While her face didn't give any indication of urgency, her antennae told another story, bobbing in different directions to get a lay of the land.

The torrent of Officers eventually slowed to a meandering stream, then dried up. She was halfway through an internal communique with an Ensign regarding a pet tribble. "While your assurances that Fluffy has been both spayed and neutered is reassuring," she spoke as she typed, "this must be verified by medical staff. Please deliver Fluffy to Sick Bay to complete this at your earliest convenience." She hit send and noticed the Captain. She stood, straightened her uniform, and unwrinkled her pipless collar.

"Captain, pleasure to meet you. I am Nurse Guilder. I am happy to report that Intake Exams are expected to be completed on schedule. I'm afraid Dr. Tyzur has stepped out for a bit if you wanted to talk to him. Or is there anything else I can help you with?"

"Nurse Guilder, a pleasure." She hummed nodding along to Andrea's words. "Well, I suspect you'll be able to take care of the official business, though I was hoping to speak to our resident doctor... but that appears to need to wait until a later date. I'm here for my intake exam... and before you say it, I'm already aware of the mess in my left shoulder blade. That was actually what I wanted to discuss with Doc Tyzur. Well... that and to introduce myself."

"I can message him to let him know you're here; maybe that might speed things along. In the meantime, I can perform the exam." She said, indicating a nearby biobed. "Please, take a seat."

Rissa made her way to the nearest empty biobed and sat down, her antennae probing at every beep and bong from the various medical equipment in the sickbay. She was never one for lingering in medical facilities... too many bad memories tied up with people dying under scanning arrays.

"That sounds like an excellent idea, crewman! I'll, em... I'll let you take care of that. Did I need to change into a gown or anything for the checkup? I apologise for my casual attire, but I find the best thing to soothe an anxious mind is a stiff workout. That gym we have on board is going to be my favorite room on the ship. Have you had a chance to use it?"

(Crewmen have the lowest priority for recreational facilities,) she thought. "Ah, no, not yet." She waved the tricorder by her head, narrowly missing an antenna. "As for stripping down, that won't be necessary." (It hasn't been necessary since the 22nd century, not since the advent of the TR-100.) "I can get all I need from here." She said, holding the sensor up.

She had soon circled behind the Captain by this point, scanning as she walked, the display revealing all: an elevated level of lactic acid, a bit higher than the Human baseline for that level of exercise, but that was normal for Andorians. An elevated heart rate, no doubt related to the aforementioned anxiety, as to whether it came from outside of the Sick Bay or was a sign of Whitecoat Syndrome, who was to say? She wasn't the ship's counselor, or it could have come from the shoulder which the tricorder reported as...

...Torn. And healed poorly. And torn again. And healed again... poorly...

Presently, it was edging another tear... truth be told, it was likely one of the worst rotator cuff tears she'd ever seen. Most people with this much scar tissue would be hobbled in pain; what was Captain sh'Orthamu made of!?!

"Ah... you'll have to forgive me. I... don't tend to frequent the medbays. Or... get checkups. I... have a lot of painful memories wrapped up in these bright, sanitized facilities... heh..."

Varissa's antennae drooped as she went on. Heavy stuff, indeed.

"Er... but as a Captain, now, I have to set the bar for the crew, and I want everyone on my ship to be in tip-top shape! So... em... how bad is it?"

(Most people would be howling in pain at this point.) With the amount of damage done thus far, Guilder would suggest surgery. Put Captain Orthamu under general anesthetic, or local, though based on what was required, it'd be best to put her out. Pop that shoulder out, debride the material: scar tissue and what could not regenerate, and if needed, perform an acromioplasty. Next would come the regeneration of the muscle and tendon, but given the ample supply of biomimetic gel, there would be little concern for that. Then attach bio-mimetic anchors as a guide for cloned muscle; the technique was known colloquially as muscle stitching in some medical forums. The preparations for the surgery could be done in two hours; the surgery could be done in less than one. Unfortunately, as a Nurse, Guilder was unauthorized to perform such procedures. And given Orthamu's admitted history of using exercise as an emotional pressure valve, either Tyzur would have to perform the procedure, or she'd eventually tear it completely, condemning herself to the kind of months-long recovery medicine had largely eliminated centuries ago.

The former was preferable.

"I'm making the recommendation that you see Tyzur at your earliest convenience. It's close enough where I'd..." (No, you can't say that; you can't make suggestions, can't make formal diagnosis, you can't even give people analgesics unless you're given the go-ahead, you're not marooned.) "I'm going to run this up the ladder so this can be treated ASAP. In the meantime, I'm going to make the recommendation of a change, not a cessation, of exercise. Have you tried low-impact exercises? Swimming." She asked seemingly nonchalantly as she typed away on her PADD.

"That bad, eh?" She mumbled with a sigh, antennae now drooped down almost flat against her forehead. "I suspected, but... well... at least my instincts were right about having a visit with the Doc. Er... anything besides the shoulder blade holding me back?"

Varissa gave a halfhearted giggle, that last comment meant to be a half-hearted attempt at humor before shaking her head at the nurse's question about low-impact exercise.

"No... can't say I've ever tried it. I typically do a weightlifting regime, hardcore cardio, mountain climbing, contact sports, martial arts... weapons training..."

(I can't do what she needs, I can only kick this up the ladder.) "This shoulder shows extensive scar tissue. To a point where one could," she pauses, "could call it neglect, or abuse in other cases." She lets the accusation hang unanswered. "Of course," she says all too quickly, "perhaps we're all too busy in what is in front of us to care for what is behind us." (Is there a genetic precedent for this in the Andorian genome? Akin to the Scandinavian genome? Further research might be required.)

"I'm unauthorized to do what I... some would see as the necessary treatment; I am forwarding your readings to Dr. Tyzur presently."

"Oh... abuse. Deeeeefinitely abuse." She laughed, rolling her bad shoulder. She had to be in such pain! "I tore it initially back on Stardate 49366. Gosh... almost fifteen years! And, em... well, I just fought through it. Through the Dominion War... through rebuilding efforts... just managed to slip through the cracks and never address it on the Halifax, my previous vessel. Might've bribed a couple of the nurses to push me to the back of the checkup list once or twice. Guess it's time to pay the piper, though! Let Doc Tyzur know I'm at his mercy before we set off, would you?"

She got up from the medical bed and winced at that lingering pain.

"I'll... attempt to avoid those pesky workouts until he gets me tied down for whatever he needs to do. Thanks, Nurse Guilder. I appreciate you being frank with me."

Tyzur was having a coffee in the mess hall as he got a message from Nurse Guilder. He hadn't been sleeping well and needed some caffeine to get through the rest of the intake exams. The message contained scans of the captain's shoulder along with Guilder's tentative diagnosis. It needed medical attention fairly urgently, he thought, better rush back to sickbay and let the captain know. He turned a few corners and entered sickbay, spotting the pair near one of the biobeds. He approached and greeted the captain.

"Captain sh'Orthamu, a pleasure to meet you. I'm Doctor Tyzur. Nurse Guilder has informed me of your medical situation."

He turned towards Guilder.

"I'm impressed by your assessment, you were spot on."

He addressed the captain again.

"Captain, I'm afraid your shoulder is in bad shape. It needs surgery as soon as possible to avoid long-term complications. You must be in quite a bit of pain. Nurse Guilder, please prepare an analgesic hypospray."

A fresh wave of dread washed over the Captain as she sat back down on the med bed with a 'thump'. Clearly there was medical drama behind the forced smile and those antennae, now shot straight up with fresh fear.

"Ah... hey Doc. Nice to meet you officially. Guess I'll be going under the knife while we make our introductions... heh..."

She squirmed a bit as he asked about the pain and informed her about the surgery. This was a long time coming, but she'd put it off for so long she didn't remember a time she wasn't coping with the daily pain!

"Er... truth be told, I kinda just tuned the pain out. There are worse things than physical agony and I s'pose I was... ya know... putting this off to deal with that. I guess this means I'll be able to return to my regular exercise activities... sooner?"

The Andorian's reaction was all too familiar. The friendly smile Tyzur had been practicing in the mirror faded as he remembered how often he'd seen a fear response like that.

"Apologies for being so brash. My previous posting frequently required quick action. The plan is to regenerate your muscle and tendon during the surgery. In fact, exercise is prescribed as part of the recovery process in order to train the new muscle. The pain will be gone in a couple of days. Your muscles will be back to their nominal strength in a matter of weeks, and you'll be able to resume your regular exercise activities. I'm afraid if your shoulder goes untreated, things will get worse and your recovery may take months or even years."

Tyzur paused for a second and remembered his training. Now that the patient has been informed it's time to reassure her.

"It's a fairly standard type of surgery, and I've performed it thousands of times before. The surgery, including preparation takes about three hours and you'd be able to return to your quarters the same day. You'll be ready to take the Vanguard on her maiden voyage: new ship, new shoulder."

He lifted his cybernetic arm.

"We'd be able to arm wrestle in no time!"

Tyzur tried to use humour to lighten the mood but instantly regretted the attempt.

"Anyway, would you be willing to proceed with the surgery after your duty shift ends? That would give us time to wrap up the intake exams and prepare."

Before making her egress, Guilder handed a PADD with the Captain's results. The look in her eye could say a thousand things to a seasoned doctor. All of them saying, Good luck; it's bad.