The stars shimmered like distant promises beyond the transparent dome of Earth Spacedock. Cadet Talen Rios stood at attention, his newly minted Starfleet uniform still stiff from the replicator. The insignia on his chest gleamed under the soft lighting, but it was the single silver pip on his collar—and the orders in his hand—that made his heart race.
First Officer.
Assigned to the U.S.S. Horizon,
a Miranda-class vessel with a long history and a reputation for surviving the impossible.
He had trained for this moment at Starfleet Academy, running simulations, studying tactical theory, and dreaming of the stars. But nothing in the holodeck could prepare him for the reality of command—even second-in-command.
The Horizon was no longer a training vessel. With tensions rising across the quadrant, even the older ships were being pressed into active duty.
The bridge of the U.S.S. Horizon was a compact but efficient command centre, reflecting the utilitarian design of the Miranda-class starships. Brushed duranium panels lined the walls, their matte finish broken by LCARS interfaces glowing in soft hues of blue and amber. Overhead, recessed lighting cast a steady glow, while the central viewscreen dominated the forward bulkhead, currently displaying the serene curve of Earth.
The command chair sat slightly elevated at the centre, flanked by two auxiliary stations—tactical and operations. Helm and navigation consoles occupied the forward arc, manned by junior officers. Along the port and starboard walls, science and engineering stations blinked with real-time data feeds. Despite its age, the Horizon had been retrofitted with updated Starfleet systems: multi-spectral interface, shield harmonics modulators, and Borg countermeasure protocols—a necessity in the wake of escalating threats across the Alpha Quadrant.
Captain Elira Vann stood near the command chair, her Andorian heritage unmistakable: pale blue skin, white hair pulled into a tight braid, and a scar tracing her left cheek like a frozen river. Her ice-grey eyes swept the bridge, sharp and unyielding, before settling on Rios with a look that carried both expectation and challenge.
At tactical, Lieutenant Jorak—a broad-shouldered Tellarite with a perpetually sceptical expression—adjusted shield harmonics with gruff efficiency, muttering under his breath about "antiquated systems."
Science was manned by Lieutenant Sera T'Lenn, a Vulcan whose calm precision radiated like a force field of logic, her fingers gliding across the LCARS interface with surgical grace.
At the helm sat Ensign Darius Cole, a human with a reputation for daring manoeuvres and a grin that suggested he enjoyed them far too much—though today, that grin was tempered by the weight of their orders.
Engineering was represented by Chief Petty Officer Lira Daxan, a Bolian whose cheerful demeanour usually brightened any room, though even she seemed subdued as she monitored power flow from an auxiliary console.
Captain Vann broke the silence. "Mr Rios, with me."
The ready room was compact but functional, its walls lined with sleek panels and a single viewport framing the curve of Earth far below. A polished obsidian desk dominated the space, its surface immaculate save for a single PADD and a steaming mug of Andorian tea. The Federation emblem glowed softly on the wall display, a silent reminder of the ideals they served—and the weight of the orders about to be given.
Vann stood by the viewport, hands clasped behind her back, antennae angled forward in thought. When she turned, her expression was unreadable. She picked up the PADD and held it out to Rios.
"Your first briefing as XO," she said, her voice clipped but not unkind. "Make it count."
Rios took the PADD, feeling the cool weight of it in his hands. The text glowed on the screen—orders that would define his first mission, and possibly his career. He drew a slow breath, steadying the tremor in his chest.
Vann studied him for a long moment. "You've worn that pip for less than a day, Commander. Tell me—are you ready to lead?"
"Yes, Captain," Rios said, forcing confidence into his voice.
Her antennae angled slightly, a subtle Andorian tell. "Confidence is good. Overconfidence gets people killed. Out there, hesitation will do the same. You'll be making decisions that decide who lives and who doesn't. Can you live with that?"
Rios hesitated—just for a heartbeat—then nodded. "I can."
Vann's gaze sharpened. "Good. Because this isn't a drill, the quadrant is on edge. The war with the Klingons, the Borg are moving again, and Starfleet can't afford mistakes. Not from me. Not from you."
She stepped closer, her voice dropping to a near-whisper. "One more thing. The anomaly near Vega? Command doesn't think it's just Borg activity. They didn't say what else it might be—but if the Admiralty is nervous, you should be terrified."
Rios met her eyes, his jaw tightening. "Understood."
"Then get out there," Vann said, her tone snapping back to steel. "And make them believe you belong in that chair."
When the ready room doors parted, all eyes turned toward him. The hum of the warp core seemed to fade beneath the silence. Rios stepped to the centre of the bridge, the weight of command settling on his shoulders like a starship's hull plating.
He cleared his throat, voice steady despite the pounding in his ears, and tapped on his comm badge.
"Attention crew of the Horizon. Starfleet Command has issued new orders. We are to proceed at maximum warp to the Vega system.
Long-range sensors have detected anomalous subspace readings near Vega IX—readings consistent with Borg signatures.
Our mission is to investigate, confirm, and, if necessary, contain the threat until reinforcements arrive."
A hush fell over the bridge. Even the consoles seemed to dim in response.
Rios met their eyes, one by one—Jorak's sceptical glare, T'Lenn's calm, Cole's flicker of unease, Daxan's forced optimism. "We launch in six hours. Dismissed."
As the crew dispersed to their stations and duties, Rios allowed himself a single thought:
The stars are calling. And this time, I'm answering as an officer of the line.