Charlotte MacColgan was a woman who liked her beauty sleep. Ideally, if she was up before 0900 standard time, something was horribly wrong. She preferred her mornings slow and manageable, with a constantly full cup of coffee and maybe a muffin or a bowl of oatmeal. Flavored. Usually cinnamon spice.

She was, therefore, less than pleased when her commbadge started beeping at just about five in the morning. Whoever the hell was calling her at this ungodly hour of the day-

-no longer mattered once the message was delivered.

Instead, it sent her scrambling for her uniform, tossing her jacket over her shoulders, almost forgetting her cane by the doorframe, and scrambling down the hall as fast as she could go. The halls were quickly choked with half-ready, often weary or mildly injured, Starfleet officers doing the same. All that filled the air was excited chattering and the PA system blaring.

“ALL AVAILABLE OR UNASSIGNED PERSONNEL, REPORT TO DOCKING BAY 16 IMMEDIATELY. REPEAT: ALL AVAILABLE PERSONNEL, REPORT TO DOCKING BAY 16.”

Docking Bay 16 had quite the crowd- mostly folks from Oakland, but a vast array of unfamiliar faces in the mix. Charlie had been almost on the other side of the station, so it was no surprise that she wasn’t the first one here, but the sheer size of the gathering still knocked the air from her lungs. And even that crowd was dwarfed by what loomed beyond the windows- a massive grey expanse of steel and windows, hull plating scorched and worn in some places, slabs of discolored metal hastily welded over hull breaches. Even still, she didn’t seem too bad off. Beautiful, even, despite the wear and tear.

Her hullcode was plainly legible through one window, lights proudly illuminating the writing on her nacelle pylon: NCC-71944.

“Hey!” A call from someone in the crowd, voice unfamiliar, snapped her away from the behemoth in dock. The call came from a Bolian man in a grimy yellow uniform- an engineer, probably fresh from fixing up some starship or another. “You’re that frigate skipper waiting on a ship?”

“… aye?” Charlie’s eyes caught on his commander’s pips, just for a moment. Probably the section chief in this section of ESD. “What of it?”

The man gestured wildly to the ship beyond. “Forget waiting! You’re the seniormost ship officer we got on-hand- just get on and go! No time to waste! Half your crew’s already on anyways!”

He was gone as soon as he’d arrived, vanishing into the crowd and yelling at someone off in the distance. Charlie was left rooted to her spot for a moment, surprise short-circuiting her brain. She’d just been handed command of a starship, and it was a hell of a lot bigger than a frigate.

“Well, that’s one way to get a promotion.” Shymel’s voice may have made her jump had it been less immediately recognizable, the big Andorian quirking a brow at the worn expanse of hull in the window. “And here I thought a Reliant was stretching it a bit.”

Charlie rubbed the back of her head, a brief moment of vulnerability, of unsuredness, before her nerves steeled. “Aye. Life’s got a funny sense ‘a humour.”

“Well, guess it’s time to laugh in its face.” A hand roughly clapped her shoulder, and Shy walked on past towards the ship, a pip in her step despite the circumstances. Charlie could only wish she had half her confidence.

For now, she just had to suck in a breath, puff out her chest, and head to the gangway- and hope for the best.

The bridge was familiar enough to Oakland‘s, filled with so many familiar faces, that it took her a moment to realize this wasn’t the same ship. M’Rakko still sat at the helm, excitedly chattering away with Espinoza- who, other than still looking a little pale, seemed to have recovered well. T’Vara was barely visible underneath the ops console, her face briefly illuminated by sparks as she finished her work.

It took her a moment to realize the unfamiliar faces around her, how Shymel’s collar was red instead of yellow… how Maising was missing from the equation.

Right. She’s the captain now.

All conversation on the bridge died as she cleared her throat, a dozen and a half pairs of eyes focused on her face. Her nerves began to falter, ice crawling into her veins. These people were looking to her- counting on her to see this through. It was her duty, now, to see all of them through safe and sound.

“… Comms? Open a shipwide channel.” She paused, forcing the words through the knot in her throat. “I’ll address th’ crew.”

The comms officer- a Romulan lieutenant junior grade who Charlie briefly thought was Vulcan until she noticed the clear nervousness on her face- hesitated a moment, and then hit the button. “Uhm- you’re on, Captain.”

Captain. Charlie almost corrected her- Commander, still– but said nothing of it, simply adjusting her collar. This was it. Time to make it memorable.

Her eyes glanced briefly to the plaque on the wall, finding the name of the ship whose keys she’d had unceremoniously stuffed in her hands.

“All hands… this is your commandin’ officer speakin’.” Not captain- not yet. And not when this was a temporary assignment. She steadied her voice, focusing on making every word loud and clear. “I understand this is a last-minute postin’, that many ‘a you all were roused outta bed wi’ nary a warnin’. That we’re all from different crews, a hodgepodge of whoever is available and spaceworthy. Many of us have never worked together before.

“But this is all hands on deck. The galaxy’s tryin’ to rebuild, an’ Starfleet’s got its hands tied. There’s a distress signal six light-years from Sauria… an’ we’re the closest thing with workin’ engines to it. Tae those ‘a you who’ve served on Oakland, trust your fellows and help the new folks where ya can. Tae those who’re new tae this crew… all I ask is ye do your best. Take your stations… let’s get it done, ‘n be home safe ‘n sound.”

The silence lingered for a moment, broken only by the click of the comms officer closing the line. The stillness hung in the air like a blanket… and then everyone moved at once, settling into their chairs or heading to the turbolifts as if a starter gun had went off. Charlie huffed out a shaky sigh, locking eyes with Shymel only- the Andorian saying nothing, only nodding her head with approval before sitting down in the first officer’s chair.

It took a moment longer for Charlie to sink into the center seat herself, huffing a sigh as the pressure of her prosthetics vanished- she’d been standing for longer than she would have liked. Hooking her cane over the armrest, she turned again to the comms station. “LT, request launch clearance for us, if ye will.”

“Aye, sir.” The Romulan sucked in her own shaky breath before opening the line with the yards. “USS Melbourne to San Francisco Fleet Yards, requesting permission to launch.”

“Clearance granted, Melbourne. Traffic on your projected route is clear. Safe travels.”

“We might need that,” came a quiet murmur from the young officer.

Charlie gave her the benefit of not pointing it out. “Rakko, take us out, maximum thrusters.”

“Aye aye!” The Caitian, at least, sounded cheery. He’d been waiting for this moment since the moment the call went out, Charlie could only imagine. With a brief shudder, Melbourne cast off her moorings, and the arms of San Francisco’s pride and joy receded from the viewscreen.

Only Earth’s moon and stars lay ahead, welcoming them to the black with open arms.

“We’re clear of the station, Captain. Course laid in for the Saurian sector. Warp drive’s spooled up and we’re ready to go on your mark.”

On her mark.

A different sort of feeling, just for a moment, welled in her chest. Euphoria.

“Engage.”

And USS Melbourne leapt forward into a sea of stars.