The meeting room aboard the USS Brawley was a narrow, steel-boned chamber. Low ceiling panels hummed faintly with recycled air and tired light. The table barely fit all the senior officers. They were jammed elbow to elbow, shoulders squared in stale uniforms. None had truly slept much. Five days had passed since the Vaadwaur assault. Five days of grief, triage and desperation. The battle still seemed to only embolden their will.

Captain Raku stood at the head of the table, the dark-eyed Bajoran watched the others with a quiet gravity. His short-cropped black hair was fresh from a sonic shower that was unable to rinse the weight of loss from his brow.

Commander Smythe stood beside him, one hand resting on the table’s edge. “We’ve tallied the latest,” Smythe began in a low voice. “Twenty-two dead. Thirty-eight injured and healed. Two still in critical stasis.” He didn’t flinch when he spoke. Marlon never did. His square jaw was set like a hull plate. Hunched shoulders betrayed how heavy each number sat within his gut.

Captain Raku’s gaze narrowed, strong Bajoran brow creasing. “Go on.”

Lieutenant Binedra Dowa M.D. leaned forward as she spoke. The Bolian medical officer carried the calm of a cathedral bell. Her cobalt complexion gleamed in the room’s sterile glow. “Both patients were in the secondary Engineering suite when a power conduit imploded. They took the full force of the blast. Effects were compounded by the subsequent hull pressure shift.”

Binedra paused, allowing the gravity to land before continuing. “We’ve stabilized spinal damage with cortical suppressors. One has a compromised neural lattice. His matrix is flickering, but we’re maintaining a rhythm. They’re not beyond saving, but I’ll be honest… Recovery will be a steep climb.”

Silence hung for a beat.

“I sense resolve stronger than grief,” said a femininely warm voice.

Lieutenant Ikastrul Zaa was the Betazoid counselor with soft olive skin and recently tired eyes. Her sandy-brown hair was tied back hastily. “The crew’s exhausted. We all know that. But their determination isn’t just survival based. They want to fight back.” Ikastrul’s tone was gentler than the others’. Each syllable still struck firm. “They’re just… tired of the wait.”

Smythe gave a single nod. “Which is why we’re not waiting.” He straightened slightly. “We’ve reestablished limited repair support to the IKS Votaragh. Lt. Moon’s team patched up their internal systems. Chief Sar worked with them through the Replication Bay to fabricate a replacement impulse manifold. It was transported one piece at a time,” Smythe added. There was something faintly proud behind his clipped tone. “Ops drones guided it into position after placing localized thrusters on it. Old-school finesse. Perfect alignment. The Captain of the Votaragh called it ‘a warrior’s weld.’”

Lieutenant Moon glanced up from the PADD in her hand. The streaked violet bob of her hair curved beneath the angle of her face. Ji-hee’s expression always seemed a little worn. Her features softened before speaking. “It wasn’t elegant,” she admitted. “But we’ve got them at full impulse now.”

Lieutenant Sar raised an eyebrow in response as golden skin caught the light. His expression read as vaguely annoyed as ever. Everybody was starting to learn this was just his natural look.

“Sensor arrays have been calibrated,” Sar said in a hollow voice. “We replaced two primary phase discriminators and re-aligned the subspace field articulators using procedures outlined in Starfleet Technical Manual twenty-two one seven dash two.”

A pause hovered before the Vulcan continued. “We have also compensated for scatter distortion by reconfiguring all harmonic oscillation modules in the lateral sensor grid. This required EPS interlock replacement near the forward deflector node.” Sar tapped his fingers together. “Efficiency has improved by approximately seventeen percent.”

Lt. Moon leaned toward the table as spoke next. “All systems report full power available. We’re ready to move.”

Commander M’kath grunted approval. The low sound carryied across the cramped room. The tall Klingon’s dark skin gleamed faintly. Wavy brown hair brushed past the shoulders of his uniform. He adjusted the pointed goatee along his chin as he spoke.

“Tactical analysis confirms the Vaadwaur are using Polaron cannons,” M’kath barked gruffly. “Our shields currently bleed against the pulses of these weapons. Our Science division is assisting in a shield harmonics redesign. The process is quite… stubborn. We estimate over twenty-four hours before we can fully adapt.”

Lieutenant T’Naagi raised her hand lightly. The copper-haired Orion never failed to draw attention. As she turned to face the Command staff, a copper-crimson sheen flashed as her ponytail caught the light. “We’re using resonance to try to deflect the scatter of the Polaron beams.” Vibrant neon irises glowed faintly pink in the dim room. “Shield polarities won’t match their output, but we can dampen the impact. Their weapons will hit hard… But not hard enough to cripple us.. Not next time.” The lithe olive-skinned woman furrowed the scarlet brows resting above her almond-shaped eyes.

Captain Raku tilted his head towards her. “Can we pass these shield updates to the Klingons and Orions?”

T’Naagi nodded. “Yes. But… there will be distortion. Sensors have been repaired, but subspace relays are still degraded from the interference. Compression artifact coding will blur the phase alignment data before the message reaches the next ship.”

Raku leaned closer. “Then I need you to make sure they understand. Twelve hours. Less, if possible. Pull from other departments if you have to.”

“I will,” T’Naagi replied. “I definitely need assistance.”

“I shall assist,” Sar interjected without request. “My cognition and multitasking capacities should prove most sufficient. I also lack the burden of needing additional rest.”

“Lucky you,” muttered M’kath groggily.

That earned a faint snort from Lt. Moon. Even Commander Smythe didn’t hide the amused flicker behind his normally impassive stare.

Captain Raku Mobra spoke as he turned towards the ship’s helmswoman. “Ensign Ruiz.. What’s our are our available vectors?”

Crismarlyn Ruiz straightened. Her dark curls were frizzy from lack of sleep. Long, dainty fingers held her PADD confidently. “We should be able to push to Warp 1.97 now that sensors and the deflector array are functional.” Her fingers flicked across the tablet’s display to transmit an image of the map over a viewscreen and holographic display. “We’ve reestablished navigation sensors to about seventeen square lightyears out. Beyond that’s? Everything’s a wash. Vaadwaur jamming or something.. It’s like a blackout.”

Lt. Moon Ji-hee looked up, brown eyes bright with purpose. “Vaabanth III is just under two lightyears from here. We can reach it if we commit to burn and cool engine intervals.”

Captain Raku nodded. “Then we ready the fleet. The Klingons are ready. Orion Space Navy officers have already worked with Commander Smythe and I to plan escort formations. Dvor’s yacht is armored and can act as a decoy if needed.” Mobra paused. “Three Klingon fighters are on recon, cloaked and fast. They’ll gather intel and report back to us.” The Captain ruminated on his words. The Klingons were just supposed to fly there and back. He didn’t think they could keep things quiet without striking back at the Vaadwaur.

Commander Smythe looked to each of his officers. They were tired and mentally scraped raw from the sleepless hours and bitter losses. They were all still there, leaning forward with a shared intent. Even Counselor Zaa’s delicate black eyes burned with fury. “Questions?” Marlon asked.

No one answered. The silence filled the room with grim anticipation.

Outside the walls of the meeting room, the hum of the Brawley echoed through the decks like a slow heartbeat. Somewhere in a lower corridor, a crewman laughed too hard over something that probably wasn’t funny. A bottle clinked onto a metal tray. Crewmembers trying to enjoy breakfast downed steaming mugs of whatever caffeinated beverage passed for life support.

The Brawley didn’t rest. Not yet. Not while there was another fight to finish.