The screen flickered as Admiral Quinn's image stabilised, his stern features etched with the lines of too many crises. Behind him, the muted bustle of Starfleet Command's operations centre hinted at the chaos unfolding across the quadrant—flashing consoles, officers hurrying with PADDs in hand.
Quinn's voice cut through the connection like a phaser on low stun.
"Captain Vann, Commander Rios. Good to see the Horizon made it back in mostly, one piece." His eyes narrowed, assessing them both. "I've read the preliminary report. Borg incursion at Vega, confirmed Undine involvement. That's not just a skirmish; that's a powder keg. The Council is demanding answers, and you're the ones who lit the fuse."
Vann's antennae twitched slightly, a subtle Andorian tell of restrained frustration. "Admiral, with respect, we didn't light anything. We contained it—as much as a Miranda-class could against a sphere and a bioship. The rupture closed after the Undine vessel retreated, but if they're pushing into our space—"
Quinn held up a hand. "Save the details for the debrief. Dockside conference room, Level 15, Section Gamma. Fifteen minutes. And Commander Rios..." His gaze shifted, pinning Rios like a specimen under a microscope. "This is your first rodeo as XO. Starfleet needs officers who can think beyond the tactical display. Bring your A-game."
The screen went dark, leaving only the soft hum of the ready room's environmental systems. Rios exhaled slowly, the weight of Quinn's words settling into his bones. He glanced at Vann, searching for some crack in her composure, but she was already moving—grabbing a fresh PADD from the desk and straightening her uniform with efficient precision.
"Let's not keep the admiral waiting," she said, her voice steady, "Grab your report. We'll walk and talk."
Rios nodded, falling into step beside her as they exited the ready room. The bridge was a hive of subdued activity: crew members logging final system shutdowns, medical teams coordinating with Spacedock personnel via open channels. Jorak caught Rios's eye from tactical, offering a gruff nod that might have been encouragement. T'Lenn arched an eyebrow in silent query, but Rios just shook his head. No time for reassurances now.
Rios and Vann traversed the support bridge, connecting Horizon to Spacedock. They entered a turbolift, its doors hissing open, and they stepped inside. "Spacedock Level 15," Vann ordered. As the lift hummed downward, the captain turned to him, her ice-grey eyes appraising. "You held it together out there, Rios. Better than most green XOs would've. But Quinn's right—this isn't just about Vega anymore. The Undine sighting? That's going to ripple all the way to the Council chambers."
Rios leaned against the wall, the cool metal grounding him. "I keep replaying it. The bioship emerging from that rupture... it wasn't really aggressive toward us. Almost like we were incidental. But the Borg? They adapted faster than anything in the Sims. If we'd hesitated even a second longer—"
"You didn't," Vann cut in, her tone firm but not unkind. "That's what separates command from the chair-warmers. Hesitation kills crews. You called the evac on Vega Colony when it mattered, rerouted power to shields mid-firefight. That's instinct. Trust it."
He met her gaze, surprised by the faint warmth beneath her steel. Vann wasn't one for platitudes; her Andorian heritage favoured blunt truth over sugarcoating. "You've been in the chair longer than I've been a part of Starfleet. You're a Wolf 359 and Dominion war vet, right? How do you... shake it off? The losses?"
The lift slowed, doors parting to reveal the bustling corridors of Earth Spacedock. Technicians in coveralls hurried past, towing antigrav sledges loaded with repair kits. The air hummed with the scent of ozone and replicated coffee, a far cry from the acrid smoke of Vega. Vann stepped out first, setting a brisk pace toward Section Gamma, her braid swaying with each purposeful stride.
She didn't answer immediately, weaving through a cluster of ensigns who snapped to attention at the sight of her captain's pips. "You don't shake it off," she said finally, her voice low enough for only him to hear. "You carry it. Wolf 359... that was forty ships gone in hours. I was on the Saratoga—barely made it to an escape pod. Watched good people get assimilated, turned into drones right in front of me. It changes you. Makes you harder, maybe. But it also reminds you why we do this: so others don't have to carry that weight alone."
Rios absorbed her words as they passed a viewport overlooking the docking bay. The Horizon hung there, scarred and weary, swarmed by repair drones like insects on a wounded beast. He felt a pang—pride mixed with sorrow. "I froze for a split second on the surface. When that colonist —the one with the kid —got hit by the nanoprobes, I should've beamed them up sooner."
Vann stopped short, turning to face him fully. Her scar caught the overhead lights, a stark reminder of her own battles. "And if you'd beamed them up infected? Risked the whole ship? That's the calculus of command, Rios. You made the call. It saved the rest. Doubt's normal—hell, it's healthy. Keeps you from turning into one of those admirals who treat ships like chess pieces. But don't let it paralyse you. I've seen officers crack under it. And I don't believe you're not one of them."
Her words landed like a lifeline, pulling him back from the edge of self-recrimination. For the first time, Rios saw beyond the captain's facade—the stoic-faced Andorian warrior—to the mentor beneath. She'd chosen him as XO for a reason, not just his Academy scores or tactical sims, but something more profound. Trust, perhaps. Or potential.
"Thanks," he said, meeting her eyes. "I won't let you down."
A ghost of a smile tugged at her lips—rare for Vann, but genuine. "You haven't yet. Now, let's get this debrief over with. Quinn's got a reputation for chewing through officers like a Klingon through bloodwine. And after that... well, Starfleet doesn't let people rest long. Rumours are already flying about Klingon border incursions. Could be our next dance."
They resumed walking as the corridor opened into the conference area. Rios felt a subtle shift—the weight on his shoulders lighter, shared now.