Cambil glanced around her ready room. Outside the viewport, the deep blue and green hues of Talax painted a mesmerising mural across the starscape. But inside, the tension was slightly more mundane. She adjusted her uniform jacket, smoothing out an invisible crease.

She sat behind her desk, her hands neatly folded, dark eyes studying the four officers arrayed before her. T’Rani, her Vulcan first officer, stood to one side with her usual composed posture. T’Rani’s hands were clasped behind her back, every muscle aligned in a calm precision that seemed to centre the room. Cambil appreciated the presence of her right hand. T’Rani’s ability to dissect any issue with cool logic was something she relied on, especially during delicate conversations like this one.

Cambil’s fingers tapped lightly on the edge of her desk before she stilled them. A small Bajoran sculpture, an intricate carving of the B’hala bantaca spire, sat on a nearby shelf, the spire reminding her of home. She glanced at it, then back out at the swirling Talaxian clouds. Would these four understand the weight of what they were about to take on? More importantly, would the cadets realise what a gift this guidance was?

“Thank you for coming so promptly,” Cambil began, looking at them all sitting on her corner sofa. Her tone was steady and confident. “I know you’re all wondering why you’ve been summoned together.”

Lieutenant Commander Samantha Askew, sitting furthest to the left, raised a brow but said nothing. She didn’t need to. Her body language said it all. Her arms crossed, legs crossed, leaning slightly back as if daring someone to waste her time. The assistant chief security and tactical officer was known to be very professional in front of her superiors. Askew’s uniform was crisp, every crease immaculate, as if even the tension in the room dared not wrinkle it. Her eyes didn’t just scan, they assessed. Cambil had always admired her razor-sharp presence, even if it sometimes bordered on intimidating.

Next to her was her husband, Lieutenant Commander Eden Lee, noticeably more relaxed. His hand brushed against hers briefly, a silent signal of support. He was a sharp contrast to Askew’s intensity: easy-going in most rooms, but no less professional when it mattered. The former pilot had recently joined the command track and had taken over as the senior officer of the watch since Commander Pharah’s departure to the Destiny.  Cambil noticed that Lee’s Starfleet badge had a faint scuff near the corner. A sign of someone who wasn’t obsessed with image, but rather purpose. His fingers tapped a quiet rhythm on his knee, more to soothe Askew than himself.

Beside him, Lieutenant Blaine Merez leaned forward, a smirk playing at the corners of his lips. The assistant chief science officer and head of stellar cartography was known for his overly confident approach, which sometimes bordered on arrogance. Merez leaned forward, seeming almost too deliberate. But Cambil had seen him under pressure. The swagger hid a sharp mind and a fear of being irrelevant.

“If this is about the Astra,” he said with a chuckle, “I hope this isn’t some joke about training cadets. Because if it is, I left my babysitting license back at the Academy.”

Lieutenant Kit Stellan winced slightly at Merez’s comment. The chief nurse sat at the end, his blonde hair catching the ambient light like a halo. He rarely spoke unless he had something meaningful to say. Stellan sat like a shadow at the edge of the group. Not diminished, just calm and reserved. His hands were folded neatly, but his fingers twitched once, betraying the nerves he kept tightly packed behind gentle eyes.

Cambil didn’t rise to Merez’s bait. She looked at him evenly. “It’s not a joke.”

The temperature in the room dropped a degree.

Merez blinked, slightly caught off guard by her tone. He shifted, clearly realising this wasn’t just a quirky reassignment. Askew straightened somewhat, reading the room the same way, while Lee’s easy smile faded to a thoughtful crease.

“The four of you have been selected for temporary reassignment to the Astra,” she continued. “You’ll be mentoring the cadet crew under Captain Niro’s command.”

Merez scoffed, “Mentoring? We’re scientists and tacticians, not teachers.”

Merez’s tone was flippant, but Cambil caught the flicker of uncertainty in his eyes. He wasn’t laughing at the idea; he just didn’t trust himself to rise to it.

“You’re leaders,” Cambil corrected him firmly. “And Starfleet officers. You’ve each been chosen because you’ve proven yourselves in difficult situations and demonstrated professionalism, talent, and reliability.”

Askew leaned forward before she spoke softly. “Captain, is this permanent?”

Her voice was low but not hesitant. Cambil recognised it as the tone of someone preparing to renegotiate her own expectations, perhaps her marriage’s routine, her duty shifts, her carefully curated order.

“No,” Cambil said. “Unless any of you want it to be. You’ll begin on a rotating mentorship assignment for a minimum of six weeks, at least until this threat of the Vaadwaur is dealt with. If you find the work rewarding and necessary, there’s potential for longer-term integration.”

Lee tilted his head slightly. “What’s prompting this now? The Astra’s been running for a few weeks already.”

“The recent evaluation by Commodore McCallister and the squadron’s senior staff showed the cadets are capable,” Cambil answered. “But also vulnerable. They’ve already faced a simulated boarding, diplomatic exercises, and some rough patches in the field. The cadets need experienced officers, not to babysit them, but to model excellence, support their development, and challenge them.”

T’Rani stepped forward slightly. “It is statistically logical to pair developing officers with tested personnel. A mentoring model significantly reduces the probability of operational failure and raises overall morale and performance.”

Cambil glanced sideways at her first officer, silently appreciating how T’Rani always cut to the core of any issue. In private moments, the Vulcan had once admitted she found human mentorship fascinating. She was particularly intrigued by how emotional investment, irrational though it was, often produced stronger bonds and better results than pure efficiency.

Askew eyes narrowed slightly. “Why us?”

“Because you’re trusted,” Cambil said plainly. “You know each other. You work well as a unit. And you’ve all shown traits that will be vital to the cadets.” 

She looked at Askew. “Discipline. Toughness. High standards. You’ll keep them sharp.”

To Lee. “Patience. Flexibility. You’ll be their calm in the storm.”

To Merez. “You challenge assumptions. You bring curiosity and innovation. Traits cadets will learn from, even if you don’t see yourself as a teacher.”

Then, finally, to Stellan. “And you’re the kind of presence they need most. Compassion. Kindness. Stability.”

He blushed slightly and looked down, but nodded in appreciation.

There was a long pause.

Askew broke it. “Who are we mentoring specifically? All of them?”

“You’ll each have general mentoring responsibilities across departments,” Cambil explained. “But we’ll assign you primary focus areas. Samantha, you’ll be supporting their security training – the focus is on dealing with small unit tactics. Eden, you’ll work with their flight control and bridge management. Blaine, you’ll be integrated with their science division. Kit, you’ll support medical and well-being protocols. Though the Astra has a fully functioning Long-term Medical Hologram, who will remain in charge, you’ll help set routines and offer guidance, especially with field medic training.”

Merez shifted in his seat. “Still sounds like a soft assignment.”

“It’s not,” Cambil said sharply. “The Astra is part of the Odyssey Squadron. She might be small, but she’s operating in the same unknown regions as the rest of us. The cadets need your experience. They’ve already shown courage. Now they need depth.”

“Besides,” Lee interjected, “we’ve all done worse jobs and we can always remember our worst instructors at the Academy.”

Stellan chuckled quietly, a rare sound. “And didn’t you almost crash a runabout into a cliff?”

Lee held up his hands. “Allegedly.”

Even Askew cracked the barest smile at the memory.

T’Rani folded her hands behind her back. “It is worth considering the assignment as an opportunity. Mentorship requires introspection and patience. It may improve your own performance as much as theirs.”

Merez groaned dramatically. “Fine. But I’m not braiding any cadet’s hair or doing morale night sing-alongs.”

“You’ll be too busy helping them chart spatial anomalies,” Cambil replied dryly. “And possibly avoiding Vaadwaur boarding parties.”

That sobered him.

Cambil leaned back. “Look, I know this is a change. And I know some of you would rather stay on the Themis. But this is about giving the next generation the tools they need to survive. You were all cadets once. You know what it felt like to be uncertain. Now’s your chance to give them what we all wanted back then: someone who believed in us.”

A quiet settled in the room again. Thoughtful. Reflective.

Askew looked at Lee, then back at Cambil. “You said it’s temporary?”

“Six weeks minimum. After that, you can request to rotate back. Or stay.”

Merez sighed. “Okay. Fine. I’ll go. But only because Kit’s going. Someone needs to make sure he doesn’t outshine the rest of us.”

Stellan smiled faintly. “I’m sure you’ll manage somehow, Blaine. You don’t need any of us to help you with that.”

Lee chuckled and nodded. “We’re in, Captain.”

Askew exhaled through her nose and gave a short nod. “Alright. We’ll do it, but I promise you I will only expect the best out of them. Even if I have to push hard to get it.”

“I think that’s exactly what Captain Niro.” Cambil smiled in appreciation at them all. “I knew I could count on you.”

When Askew nodded, Cambil didn’t miss the flicker of protectiveness in her gaze, likely not for herself, but for the cadets who would fall under her command.  Cambil stood and walked around her desk. “You’re all dismissed from your remaining duties today. Use the time to pack and prepare. Beam over to the Astra at eighteen-hundred hours sharp. Captain Niro will be expecting you.”

The officers stood, nodding respectfully.

As they filed out, T’Rani remained behind.

Cambil glanced at her. “Thoughts?”

“It was a logical choice,” T’Rani said simply. “And a wise one. They will learn as much as they teach.”

Cambil nodded, looking back toward the stars outside. “Let’s hope so. The future depends on it.”

A silence settled over them. In the distance, the Astra hung in orbit, a small vessel among giants, but one carrying more promise than many realised. Cambil’s gaze lingered on it. As the former head of the Starfleet Academy Campus on Olbari, an all-Bajoran colony, she missed the opportunity it brought to teach the next generation of officers. However, being out here and making a difference had its positives, too. Plus, if anything else, she knew that the likes of Askew and Merez would put the likes of Alfie McCallister and Jordan Duncan in their place by focusing more on their studies than their love life. She looked at a nearby chronometer and knew it wouldn’t be long until the two lovesick cadets would be having their sit-down chat with their parents. Oh, she wished she could watch that sensor feed. 

Looking back at her first officer, Cambil smiled, knowing she had made the right choice in sending those four over to the Astra “Niro sees potential in those cadets. And I trust him. But potential is a fragile thing, T’Rani. It needs shaping, care and sometimes a little fire.”

“Then you have chosen your forges wisely,” the Vulcan replied honestly.