Órlaith leaned over her desk, a half-filled crate in front of her. She stretched, pressing her hand to her lower back and wincing as she popped her vertebrae. A sigh of relief escaped her lips as she straightened her back.

Taking a moment to catch her breath, she picked up a framed photo of her three kids at the Grand Canyon. The red rocks and bright blue sky behind them contrasted the dim light of the ready room. Her smile softened as she ran a finger over the edges of the frame, remembering the laughs and sunburns. It was one of the last trips she and Cory had done as a family before the divorce.

Wrapping the photo in bubble wrap, her fingers lingered over it with a moment of hesitation before gently setting it into the crate. She paused for a heartbeat to stare into the box. A life aboard the Adromeda reduced to a smattering of nick-knacks and keepsakes.

A pang of sadness tugged at her chest. Moving was never easy. Saying goodbye to people you worked closely with for untold hours, through the good times and the hardships, was always tricky. And, of course, there were the physical parts of moving. Even if the task wasn’t particularly grueling, it was never pleasant or fun.

The sound of the doors parting interrupted her reverie. The jarring cacophony of the bridge flooding in. She didn’t look up at first, but the soft skitter of footsteps told her it was someone from the station’s crew preparing the ship for the extended refit. When she glanced up, she saw a young engineer standing in the doorway, his eyes wide and surprised.

“Uh—sorry, Captain. I didn’t know anyone was in here,” he stammered.

“It’s quite all right, Crewman,” Órlaith said, offering a weak smile that didn’t reach her eyes. “Just packing up. I’ll be out of your way soon.”

The crewman started to turn, but Órlaith called out to him before he could leave.

“Actually… they’re renaming the ship,” she said, her voice softer now, almost as if she were speaking to herself. “Do you think I could have the dedication plaque?”

The crewman paused, glancing back at her with a grin, understanding. “I think we can figure something out, Captain.”

He gave her a quick nod and stepped through the door. The buzz of activity from the bridge was abruptly cut off by the hissing closure of the doors, plunging the room back into silence.

Sighing, Órlaith picked up another photo. This photo showed a younger version of herself standing proudly before a Valkyrie fighter. Her old flight CO, Lt. Marcus Ming, leaned into her, his arm draped around her shoulders. The grin on his face reached his striking violet eyes, the same eyes that had always held a glint of encouragement. She had learned so much from him—lessons that had shaped her both as a pilot and a person. For a moment, she wondered where he was now. Was he still out there, flying with that same steady confidence, guiding others as he had once guided her?

After carefully wrapping the photograph in bubble wrap, she gently placed it into the crate. She then followed with the portraits of Mindy, Elizabeth, and Xander. Her eyes lingered on Elizabeth’s, the little girl’s goofy smile warming her heart. The missing front tooth somehow befitted her playful personality.

Her eyes drifted around the ready room, now eerily quiet and empty. The hum of the environmental systems and the low thrum of gravity generators in the deck plating were the only sounds filling the silence. She sank into the office chair, its familiar creak louder than she remembered. This would be the last time she sat there, and she wasn’t sure how she felt about that.

A strange, bittersweet ache settled in her chest as she stared at the crate, now filled with fragments of her past and present. A life aboard the Andromeda, packed into a few boxes. The scent of metal and old leather mingled in the air, evoking memories of countless missions and fleeting moments of joy. Her present would soon become a memory, too.

She swallowed hard and coughed to dislodge the lump in her throat. With a deep breath, she pushed herself out of the chair, the old leather groaning in protest. Stretching and yawning, she tried to shake off the heaviness. The muscles in her shoulders tightened, resisting the release she sought.

It was a short time, but I felt like I already knew you when I came aboard, she thought of the ship. Andromeda was just as much a part of her crew as Erin or Choi. The ship’s corridors had been her sanctuary, the hum of its engines a comforting lullaby. Her heart weighed heavy with unspoken farewells.

The door chimed, its discordant alarm cutting through the silence like a knife, snapping Órlaith out of her thoughts and thrusting her back into the present. She straightened instinctively, tugging at the hem of her uniform, a reflex to appear composed in front of whatever—or whoever—was on the other side waiting.

“Enter.”

The doors parted. There he was—Ethan Talon, leaning casually against the doorframe with that ever-present sideways grin. He wasn’t in uniform, which was no surprise. Ethan never was. Instead, he wore his usual blue jeans and a button-up western shirt, the fabric soft from years of wear. A massive silver belt buckle gleamed at his waist, the gold figure of a bronc rider frozen mid-kick beneath a banner that proudly read: Champion Saddle Bronc Rider.

“Howdy,” Ethan said, shifting his weight and entering the ready room. He removed his black Stetson from the folded crown. The battered hat was shaped in the cattleman’s style with a hawk feather pushed behind the leather band. He held the hat over his chest, grinning. “Ma’am.”

Órlaith rolled her eyes and crossed her arms. “Not you again,” she muttered, her fingers drumming on the table impatiently. She wondered if he ever took anything seriously.

Ethan chuckled, entirely unbothered. “I’m like a bad penny; I just keep turning up.”

She snorted, shaking her head. “Well, you aren’t wrong, stepbrother. You do know, pennies aren’t worth a damn?”

He rubbed the back of his neck with his free hand. “I reckon that depends on who’s doing the spending an’ who’s doing the sellin’.” His grin widened, but there was something measured in the way he said it.

Órlaith closed the crate lid and leaned on it, studying Ethan. He never showed up anywhere by accident, especially not socially. He always had an agenda, just like that Orion-Borg incident last year. What a nightmare that was. That she didn’t get assimilated was a minor miracle in itself.

She narrowed her eyes. “Alright, what do you want?”

Ethan clutched his chest in mock offense. “Can’t a man visit his favorite sister?”

She snorted again, shaking her head. “You and I both know that isn’t true. I know you, Ethan. You’re up to something, and I’m guessing it involves me.”

“Not just you.” Ethan’s lips curled into a lopsided grin. “I need your crew, too.”

Órlaith exhaled through her nose, shaking her head in amusement. “Of course you do. You aren’t content with ruining my life; you have to ruin my crew’s.” She spread her hands in a loose, open-palmed gesture. “Just one problem: I don’t have a crew right now.”

Ethan dragged a chair away from the desk, the metal legs scraping against the worn carpet with an unpleasant screech. He didn’t bother to lift it, nor did he seem to care about the noise. The man dropped into the seat with a careless flop. The cushion creaked under his weight as Ethan kicked his boots onto the desk, crossing his ankles as if he owned the place. He placed his cowboy hat on the desk.

“I’d assume your new ship has a crew,” he said, arching a brow. He plucked a piece of wrapped chocolate from a nearby bowl. Peeling off the foil wrapper, he rolled the silvery sheet into a tiny ball before popping the confection into his mouth, letting the sugary sweetness melt on his tongue.

“I would assume so,” Órlaith replied dryly. She snatched the bowl and tossed it into the storage bin, spilling the chocolates with a plastic clatter. The noise echoed through the room. She slammed the lid shut again with a sharp thunk—a final punctuation mark directed at Ethan.

“How do I know this crew is qualified to do whatever you’re roping me into?” she demanded, crossing her arms over her chest, her eyes narrowing as she studied his expression.

Ethan chuckled. “They are. Would I pull strings to reassign you to a ship with a crew that can’t perform? Come on, how long have you known me?”

“Far too long.” She hesitated and blinked as the full implication of his declaration set in. “That was you? Couldn’t you have found me a better ship?”

Ethan let out a deep, rolling laugh, the sound bouncing off the bare walls of the ready room. “Aimee and Dougal aren’t on any better ships.”

“Our sister and her husband are on the Sentinel?”

“Well,” Ethan shrugged. “If you’re going to be a valuable asset when SFI needs you—”

Órlaith folded her arms, leveling him with a knowing glare. “You’re a terrible spy. It’s not SFI that wants me; it’s you.”

“I’m a great spy,” he said, brimming with exaggerated confidence. “Can’t help it if you’ve known me too long and can call me out on my bullshit.”

His tone softened just a fraction. “I trust you, Sis. I know what you’re capable of.”

Órlaith exhaled sharply, pressing her fingers to her temple before shaking her head. A smirk ghosted her lips—fleeting, swallowed quickly by a sigh. Of course, it was her. It was always her. His older full sisters had never joined. The twins were still too early in their Starfleet careers. That left only her, the only captain.

“Fine. Fair enough,” she conceded. “I still need to arrange transport to my new ship.”

“Already handled,” Ethan said smoothly. He let the words linger before adding, “You and Captain Tarkin work well together. No sense in messing up a good thing.”

Órlaith’s eyes narrowed. Her voice was flat, but the accusation beneath it was razor-sharp. “Well, aren’t you just the master manipulator? Let me guess, you got the Andromeda pulled from me.”

Ethan’s smile faltered, shaking his head. “No. That wasn’t me. Actually, it caused a hell of a lot of problems for my plans. I had to find you a new ship, and I figured you’d want Commander Hayden with you. So, I needed one where the XO was ready to move up. Do you know how many favors I had to call in to make this happen?”

Órlaith shrugged, twisting her mouth to the side. “Nope.”

“Too many.” He leveled a sharp look at her. “So you better be goddamned thankful. Some in Command wanted to ship you back to Starfleet Academy. Whoever you pissed off—whoever’s out for blood—maybe send them some flowers or something. Because keeping you in that chair? It’s getting real expensive.”

She frowned, staring down at the deck. That last part hit like a punch to the gut. Suspecting it was one thing; hearing it confirmed was another. She was just one bad decision away from being drummed out of Starfleet entirely. And while she had friends in high places, they wouldn’t even be able to protect her forever.

“Thanks.”

Ethan nodded. “You may not be my sister by blood, but that doesn’t matter. You’re family.” He paused, his voice softer. “You’ve got Mom’s eyes.” A smirk tugged at his lips. “And I’ve got your back.”

Órlaith exhaled, shaking off the weight of the moment. “Well, as long as you’re spending all these favors on me, maybe throw in a promotion.”

Ethan scoffed. “What do you think this is? Christmas?”

She smirked. “Worth a shot.”

“Naw, I think you’ll do just fine without that bar under your pips. Captain is where you are your best.”

Órlaith rolled her eyes. “Flattery isn’t getting you out of explaining what kind of disaster you just signed me up for.”

“It’s a mystery,” he said coyly, kicking his boots off the desk with a soft thump against the carpeted deck. He let out a low, guttural grunt as he stood, stretching with a sharp pop from his knee joints.

Órlaith arched a brow. “You sure you’re not the one who needs a promotion? Maybe to retirement?”

Ethan shot her a flat look, grabbing his cowboy hat from where it sat crown-down on the desk. Spinning it idly by the brim, he smirked. “Funny. You’re a real comedian, Sis.”

He strode toward the exit, the doors hissing open to reveal the bustle of the bridge beyond. The murmur of conversations, the rhythmic chirps of consoles, and the occasional clipped orders spilled into the room.

“The Sojourner should be here by tomorrow morning.” He slid the hat onto his head, adjusting the brim just enough to shadow his eyes. “Once we’re on board, I’ll give you and Tarkin a full briefing. But long story short—a strange probe emerged from an artificial wormhole and directed a subspace signal at Earth.”

Órlaith cocked her head, amusement flickering in her expression. “You’re coming with us this time?”

Ethan’s grin widened. “My dear step-sister, I wouldn’t miss this for the world.” He tipped his hat with a finger. “See you soon, Captain.”

He stepped through the doors without another word, letting them slide shut behind him. The ready room, once filled with his presence, now felt quieter, too quiet. The weight of his words settled over her like an approaching storm.

She rolled her shoulders before hoisting the crate onto her hip. The cool polymer dug into her skin as she adjusted her grip. This is going to be one hell of a ride, she thought, a grim smile tugging at her lips. With a final glance around the now-empty room, she followed him out the door, her footsteps echoing in the silence.

As she approached the turbolift, a voice called out behind her.

“Ma’am?”

The sound cut through the hum of the ship’s systems, low but firm.

She turned, the faint vibration of the ship’s core thrumming beneath her boots, and found the engineer from earlier standing a few paces away. His expression was unreadable.

Offering a polite but curious smile, she asked, “Yes, crewman?”

A moment passed before he stepped forward and extended something toward her—a heavy bronze plaque, cool and smooth against his lubricant-stained hands. The overhead lights gleamed off its polished surface. Centered on the plate was an old-fashioned Starfleet combadge centered above the engraved words:

U.S.S. ANDROMEDA

The breath hitched slightly in her throat.

“You didn’t get this from me,” he muttered, his voice edged in a conspiratorial tone. Then, without another word, he turned and walked away, his footsteps fading into the steady hum of the ship.

Órlaith let out a slow exhale, her fingers tracing the engraved letters. The plaque was cool beneath her touch but carried the warmth of memory. She placed it atop the crate and stepped into the turbolift. She watched her bridge disappear for the last time as the doors hissed closed, sealing her inside the car.