Stardate 42310.7
The shuttlebay was cleared while the shuttlecraft Tucker was being guided in by tractor beam. Once the small craft was safely upon the deck and the doors closing the ship’s personnel resumed their work. For a ship the size of the Sagan the shuttlebay and connected cargo bays were impressively large; between two bays the ship held a number of shuttlecraft, pods and workbees that was equal to a ship twice its size. As Thomas Walker disembarked from the Tucker he was greeted by the lively sound of the busy cargo bay and an approaching Saurian in Operations gold with lieutenant pips on his collar. The Saurian was tall and lanky, his reptilian skin a subdued orange hue. His thin lipped mouth bore an approximation of a smile and his large eyes were bright.
“Permission to come aboard,” Walker said, shifting his small standard-issue duffle bag over his right shoulder.
The Saurian dipped his head graciously. “Granted,” he replied. “Welcome aboard, Captain. I am Lieutenant Ragzac, may I show you to your quarters?”
Walker shook his head no and smiled. “No thank you, Lieutenant, I think I’d like to see the bridge instead. I can find my way.”
“Very good, sir,” Ragzac said, dipping his head with respect as he stepped out of the way. Walker started toward the exit and Ragzac turned to observe him. He tilted his head out of curiosity. “I like him,” he said to himself.
Somewhere in the distance there was the heavy sound of a cargo container hitting the deck. A younger man knelt to inspect the cargo container and seemed to stroke the outside of the container sympathetically. “Please be careful with them,” he says. “They’re vintage. Do you know how hard it is to find originals?”
“Sir?” questioned the crewman operating the cargo transport platform. “Couldn’t we just replicate them?”
The young man self-consciously stopped petting the cargo container and stood up abruptly. He appeared momentarily confused and awkward. “W-Well yes, yes you c-can, but… look. Just… please be careful.”
“Aye sir,” the crewman said, looking bewildered.
Outside the shuttlebay the decks of the Sagan were an eclectic mix of old and new. The design of the corridors and lighting were late twenty-third century but had been retrofitted with twenty-fourth century display panels and carpeting. Officers roamed them while wearing the near formfitting uniforms of modern Starfleet, long gone were the bulky multi-layered uniforms with an experimental fling of more than three department colors. Walker took it all in as he approached the turbolift and, doing a quick calculation in his head, noted that upwards of ten different species currently crewed the Sagan.
“Bridge,” he said after the doors open and he stepped inside. The turbolift immediately began to move, a soft light flashing along a translucent screen as it passed decks and sections. The journey from deck eight to deck one didn’t take long at all and after the car came to a halt the doors opened to the bridge.
Some things remained near constants between centuries, bridge design being one of them. The Sagan’s bridge was roughly circular with a rear deck raised by two short steps which were present on both sides. In the center, raised one step off the main deck, was a sleek and impressive command chair; ahead of that, and positioned further to port and starboard than on the new Galaxy-class vessels, were panels and seating for Operations and the Helm that were upgraded to twenty-fourth century standard. There was a large viewscreen between them that took up much of the forward wall. The tactical station was positioned directly behind the center seat at the forward-most position of the raised platform, joining it and along the back wall were three configurable stations most commonly devoted to science and engineering.
Walker observed the activity on the bridge for a moment before stepping out of the turbolift. Sitting in the center seat was the duty officer, a Caitian woman of gray fur and supremely agile build. Scattered around the bridge with her were several officers consisting of the skeleton bridge crew manning stations and engineering officers putting finishing touches on their work.
A young Bajoran man at tactical was the first to look up. He put down the tool he had been using to assist the officer beside him with calibrating the panel. The loss of readings caused the engineer to look up as well; both stood to attention, wore gold uniforms and bore the rank of a junior Lieutenant. “Captain on the bridge,” the Bajoran, his people a rarity in Starfleet, was the first to bark out.
“As you were,” Walker quickly says. The entire bridge had jumped to attention. It was protocol, and maybe he was a little bit flattered, but he didn’t think it was overly necessary; not in drydock when there was work to be done,. The practice was beginning to fall out of style anyway. The bridge crew resumed their work, all except the Caitian woman who did not return to the center seat, instead gesturing to it while focusing her attention on Walker.
“Resume your post, Lieutenant,” Walker says as sits his duffle bag down near the seat and out of the way. “I’m looking for Admiral Pike.”
“The Ready Room, sir,” she replies, a guttural feline tone to her voice.
“Thank you.” He departed for the Ready Room and the Caitian sat back down in the captain’s chair. As Walker approached the doors a chime sounded inside the small office, with the Admiral’s verbal beckon the doors opened and Walker stepped inside.
It was much more modest than anticipated. Walker had been expecting cramped and, while it was small, what he found instead was comfortable. He was pleased to see that the tall fish tank which had once been built into the wall was removed. Replacing it was collection of plants supported by growth lighting that simulated light from a sun. There was a small sofa along one wall, a display case, two chairs opposite the desk and a rectangular viewport. Sitting behind the desk was Admiral Horatio Pike who appeared to be reviewing information on the terminal. He looked up promptly.
“Ah, Commander!” he says, beckoning Walker to step further in. He starts to get up but Walker shakes his head no, deferring the chair behind the desk to his superior officer. Pike settles back down as Walker sits across from him, shifting the chair at a more relaxed angle given the Admiral’s own casual posture. “Today’s the day then, it pleases me to see you under better circumstances.”
“And I as well, Admiral,” Walker replies, crossing his legs and laying a hand on his right leg. He smiled. Admiral Pike had the formidable bearing of a veteran from older times, perhaps grizzled but more wise.
“I was just reviewing your choices for senior staff,” Pike informs him. After a moment’s thought the admiral gets up from the seat and walks to a compact replicator terminal. “Coffee, black. Care for a drink?”
“Vulcan mocha,” Walker replied.
Pike shrugged his shoulders and repeated the order to the replicator. Another cup materialized beside his own and he carried both over to Walker who took his drink. Walker rests his arm on his thigh, the drink hovering in the space where one leg crosses the other. “Thank you,” he says. “No problems I hope.”
Admiral Pike shakes his head as he takes his seat. After a sip of coffee, his head giving a small shake at the strong bitterness, he sits the cup on the desk. “No problems,” he shook his head, this time to say no. “Lieutenant Commander Th’ak is a solid choice for the post of First Officer, I see he will also be manning Tactical. Verik is young but Vulcans are solid and reliable. I’m curious though… about your choice for Chief Engineer. Martin Blüm. His social profile is…”
“He’s socially awkward,” Walker offers, looking amused as he took a drink.
“I was going to say eccentric,” Pike countered.
Walker offered a shrug and continued to nurse his drink. After a moment he again brought his arm to rest on his thigh. This time he met the Admiral’s eyes and smiled. “Of the Academy’s recent engineering graduates he’s one of the most promising. Sure there’s a report that he anthropomorphizes equipment but he’s a genius with electroplasma systems and received distinctions in his field. He can refer to the ship as his wife for all I care so long as he keeps her in working order.”
A silence hung in the air for several moments as Pike stared at Walker with a raised brow and the amusement of an aging man looking into a mirror. It was Walker who broke the silence and he shot Pike a conspiring look over his cup as he sipped from it, then lowered his voice. “Also, I had to fight Captain T’Vrell tooth and nail for him.”
“Oh you did not,” Pike countered, smacking his hand on the desk with a chuckle.
Walker managed to look affronted, placing the cup on the desk and sitting forward with his shoulders haunched. “The hell I didn’t,” he said. “We debated back and forth over subspace for four days and finally we flipped for him.”
The old officer shot the younger one an incredulous look, shifting back in his seat with disbelief. “You did what, Commander?”
“We flipped for him,” Walker shrugged, leaning back with a smile while clasping his hands together. “Have you ever convinced a Vulcan to flip a coin for something they want? Let me tell you, you’d have an easier time persuading a Klingon to marry a Ferengi. I won Blüm fair and square, best four out of five.”
Pike began to chuckle. Eventually that chuckle grew into full blown laughter that enveloped both men. They sat across from one other, nursing their drinks and appreciating the humor of the situation. Eventually Pike would put his drink down. “You’re going to do fine, Commander,” he says.
“Thank you, sir,” Walker replies, taking the last drink from his cup and still chuckling albeit very faintly. When he sits the cup down Pike stands up which prompts Walker to follow.
“I think it’s time, then,” Pike says as he gestures to the door while walking toward it. Walker nods as he stands, smoothing his uniform and exiting onto the bridge first at Pike’s insistence. Both men came to stand in the center of the bridge before the viewscreen which drew the attention of the on-duty crew.
“Computer,” Pike announced, waiting for the customary chirp and proceeding when he received it. “Transfer all command authorization codes to Commander Thomas Walker by order of Admiral Horatio Pike, authorization Pike-seven-seven-theta-one-gamma-five.”
There was an extended chirrup from the computer before its familiar female voice announced, “Command authorization accepted. All codes transferred. USS Sagan, Starfleet registry number NCC-7950 now under the command of Commander Thomas Walker.”
Walker stood opposite a legend with his shoulders and back straight, his head held high. “I relieve you, sir.”
“I stand relieved,” Pike said, extending his hand which Walker shook with a smile. Applause resounded on the bridge. “Godspeed, Commander. Treat her well and she’ll always take care of you.”
“Aye, sir,” Walker said, nodding. He had a slight smile on his face but it was nonetheless genuine. He could feel the mix of sadness and happiness in the Admiral, the good natured envy, as the man turned to head to the turbolift.
As he stepped inside the lift Admiral Pike turned to look out over the bridge, so updated yet so familiar, and he touched the wall of the turbolift car after the doors had shut. “You bring them back home, old girl,” he says. “Keep them safe.”
A Pen & Paper Jawa 