Updating the Brass

Posted on 20 Sep 2025 @ 6:52pm by Captain Bane Plase

4,589 words; about a 23 minute read

Mission: The Festival of Unity
Location: Starbase 375 Promenade
Timeline: A day after the storm

ON
Starbase 375
The day after the storm

The promenade of Starbase 375 stretched like a gleaming artery through the heart of the station, a broad corridor of glass and steel lit with the steady radiance of ceiling panels calibrated to simulate late afternoon sunlight. Captain Bane Plase walked alongside Admiral Savok, their pace measured, unhurried, the gait of old friends who had walked many such corridors together across decades of shared service.

The promenade itself was orderly, sleek, a reflection of the 25th century’s confidence in design. Shops curved along the walls, their façades all uniform yet varied in their offerings. A Tellarite vendor had laid out polished metals and artisanal alloys, arranged with the precision of a jeweler. Across the way, a Bajoran café emitted the faint aroma of spiced tea, pulling at the desire of Bane. Further along, the cool shimmer of an Andorian crystal merchant drew the curious glances of passing civilians. Officers in duty uniforms walked with the purpose of schedule, civilians moved at their leisure, and a handful of children darted between the legs of the crowd, their laughter like fragments of music amid the murmur of commerce.

Bane, hands clasped behind his back in the easy habit of command, allowed the noise of the promenade to wash around him without intruding. His thoughts were heavier, and his words carried that weight when he finally spoke.

“The storm,” he began, voice low enough to remain private between them, “was unlike anything Elysia has endured in living memory. The local records go back several centuries—what they classify hurricanes as, cyclonic disturbances, atmospheric instability. But this—” he shook his head, “this exceeded all of it. The central settlement took the brunt. Elysia City’s northern districts are… gone, Admiral. Entire blocks leveled. The Festival grounds—obliterated. What had been a plaza prepared for celebration is now a basin of shattered pylons, crumpled stalls, and mud.”

Savok inclined his head slightly, his Vulcan composure absorbing the information without reaction. “Casualties?”

Bane exhaled slowly, his gaze momentarily tracing the flow of a Vulcan family walking past, their robes swaying like banners of restraint. “High. Higher than any of us wanted. Emergency services are still compiling the lists, but the tally stands at thirty-seven confirmed dead. Dozens more missing. Hundreds injured—lacerations, concussions, broken bones, exposure. The local hospitals overflowed within hours. My medical staff under the direction of Dr. Raviran set up triage centers in the municipal gymnasiums. Lieutenant Seitha personally coordinated perimeter security to keep order among frightened families.”

Savok’s eyes flickered, a mere narrowing of focus. “Your crew’s involvement was immediate?”

“Yes,” Bane said firmly. “They knew what had to be done. No orders required, just instinct. Lieutenant Commander Bast has been coordinating the entire relief effort on the ground. Half of the crew on the ground the night before at the party the Elysians put up for us. After the storm hit, the engineers among them were already working on stabilizing the atmospheric regulators that were threatening to collapse under stress. Without the leadership of Lieutenant Ahmed and the engineers, the secondary storm fronts might have rolled unchecked into the agricultural zones. Bast took charge of restoring grid power to the medical centers as a priority. The man worked like a machine—no pun intended.” The reference was not lost on Savok, who knew Bast had gone through a traumatic experience not that long ago, and had a few artificial parts now.

Savok’s brow lifted by a fraction. “And Counselor Morak?”

A faint smile ghosted across Bane’s lips despite the grim subject. “You know Morak. Half philosopher, half miracle worker. She walked into the square where two neighborhood councils were on the verge of tearing each other apart—resources, food distribution, accusations of favoritism. By the time she walked out, they were working together to unload supply crates. I don’t know how she does it. Perhaps it’s that Betazoid charm. Or perhaps…” He trailed off, then sighed. “Perhaps people just needed to be reminded of their better selves.”

They continued walking. Around them, the promenade’s glass panels revealed the view beyond: the curve of Calisto below, still marred by bruised clouds spiraling at the horizon, a planetary wound healing far too slowly.

Savok clasped his hands at the small of his back. “The structural integrity of the settlement—how compromised is it?”

Bane’s jaw tightened. “Borderline catastrophic. The government’s engineers estimate months before full restoration. Bridges collapsed. Roadways submerged. The mag-lev transit lines—three out of four are impassable. And the Festival’s grand amphitheater? Nothing remains but foundations and debris. The governor fears that even with Federation assistance, reconstruction before the Festival of Unity is to begin will be impossible.”

“Yet your crew continues to spearhead efforts?”

“Yes.” His voice carried both pride and fatigue. “Everywhere you look, there’s a Cygnus uniform. Chaluk has been leading search parties in the debris zones. Ensign Torval repurposed shuttlecraft sensors for deep-penetration scans—located survivors trapped beneath collapsed housing. Medical—Doctor Ravi and Doctor Khalest havn’t slept more than a handful of hours. They’re stretched thin, but they won’t stop. They know what’s at stake—not just lives, but hope itself.”

Savok tilted his head. “Hope is… a most inefficient yet resilient construct.”

Bane allowed himself a short chuckle. “That’s one way of putting it.”

They passed a storefront selling Vulcan calligraphy scrolls, each etched with flowing script. Bane slowed for a moment, his eyes brushing the elegant symmetry of the characters. He thought of the symmetry that had been broken on Elysia—the neat rows of festival stalls overturned, the decorations scattered like fallen leaves.

“The people,” he went on softly, “they were ready for joy. For celebration. After months of preparation, they believed the Festival of Unity would mark the dawn of a new year. Now, all they see is ruin. And yet…” His voice firmed. “Yet when I walked the ruined plaza yesterday, children were already hanging ribbons on broken posts. As if to remind us all that celebration cannot be erased so easily.”

Savok regarded him quietly, allowing the words to settle. “Resilience, then. That is encouraging.”

“Encouraging, yes. But fragile.”

For a time, silence stretched between them, filled only by the ambient murmur of the promenade. Then Savok shifted the subject with his usual precision. “And the Cygnus. You will be eager for news of her condition.”

Bane’s eyes brightened faintly, as if a ship’s name could stir a captain’s pulse back to life. “Yes. How is she faring in dock?”

Savok folded his arms behind him. “Extensive diagnostics are ongoing. Structural analysis indicates stress fractures along the secondary hull, primarily from your recent ordeal. Docking crews have replaced the damaged duranium plating—three sections completed, two in progress. The warp core is being replaced now and just about ready for full calibration. Antimatter flow regulators had destabilized by point-zero-three percent. Left unchecked, such a fluctuation could cascade. Fortunately, containment fields are holding, and the regulators are being rebuilt with next-generation redundancies. Finally, a new mission pod is scheduled to be installed on Tuesday. Same with two new and streamlined warp nacelles.”

Bane’s breath caught, both at the detail and the relief. He smiled faintly. “She’s holding together, then. Stubborn girl.”

Savok gave no outward reaction, but his words were precise. “Her stubbornness, as you phrase it, is a reflection of engineering standards rather than personality. Nevertheless, the analogy is… not illogical.”

Bane chuckled again.

Bane’s chuckle faded as they turned a curve in the promenade. Ahead, the walkway widened into a small atrium where a transparent dome revealed stars speckling the void. A pair of freighters drifted slowly past the station’s upper pylons, their running lights twinkling like fireflies. Bane glanced at them absently before returning his focus to Savok.

“You said the antimatter regulators are being rebuilt,” he prompted. “What’s the timetable?”

“Seventy-three hours to completion,” Savok answered with Vulcan precision. “Thereafter, a further twelve hours for phased recalibration. Warp drive functionality will be restored to one hundred percent efficiency within four standard days.”

“Faster than I expected,” Bane admitted.

Savok’s hands remained clasped behind his back. “Dockyard personnel have become… adept. The Cygnus has not been the only vessel to require urgent restoration in recent months. Starfleet's various conflicts over the last decade have strained resources, but efficiency has not diminished. I calculated a ninety-six percent probability that she will be fully spaceworthy by the time planetary relief efforts conclude.”

Bane absorbed that with a nod. He slowed his stride briefly, letting a group of Starfleet cadets pass by on the right, their crisp uniforms marking them as freshly assigned trainees. They were chattering in hushed tones, no doubt caught up in the wonder of their first time aboard a major station. Bane watched them with the faintest of smiles, then turned back to Savok.

“I’m glad she’s in such capable hands,” he said softly. “The Cygnus has carried us through fire more than once. She deserves every ounce of care.”

Savok inclined his head slightly. “You refer to her as though she were a living organism.”

“She is,” Bane said without hesitation. “At least, to us. Every creak in her hull, every vibration in her deckplates — we feel it. She’s more than duranium and plasma conduits. She’s home. She’s family.”

The admiral studied him in silence for a moment. “An anthropomorphic attachment. Yet I concede such sentiments have historically enhanced crew cohesion and morale.”

Bane smirked. “That’s the Vulcan way of saying you understand. You remember how it was on the Sentinel, back when you were a lowly line officer like me,” he teased.

They walked on. The promenade narrowed again, drawing them past another cluster of shops: a Trill clothier displaying intricate woven patterns; a Terran bookstore where holoscreens projected antique leather bindings; and a small Federation gallery showing holographic landscapes from across the quadrant.

Savok’s gaze flicked toward the gallery but his tone remained businesslike. “What of the storm’s impact upon the agricultural sectors? You mentioned atmospheric regulators were stabilized. How extensive was the damage prior to intervention?”

Bane’s expression darkened. “Fields flattened. Irrigation channels clogged with debris. Entire crops drowned. Had Bast and his teams not reinforced the regulators, secondary storms would have swept across the breadbasket provinces. As it is, food reserves will be tight until resupply convoys arrive.”

“You put in requests to divert Federation supply ships?”

“Yes,” Bane said. “Convoys from Andoria and Earth. They’re en route. But the locals—” He paused, searching for words. “The locals take pride in self-sufficiency. They won’t accept aid easily. They feel it undermines their independence. Counselor Morak warned me of this, so we’ve been careful—framing our support as partnership, not rescue.”

“A prudent distinction,” Savok observed.

Bane nodded. His voice grew more reflective. “I saw something else yesterday. Crewman Loran was clearing rubble near the riverfront with an Elysian work detail. At first, there was hesitation—mistrust. Then one of the Elysians cut his hand on twisted metal. Loran didn’t hesitate; he dropped everything and patched him up with his medkit. By the end of the shift, they were laughing together, side by side. That’s what matters. Not what we say, but what we do.”

Savok’s eyes softened minutely. “You believe such actions will mend the social fractures left by disaster?”

“I have to,” Bane replied. “If I didn’t, none of this would mean anything.”

They paused near a viewport where the curve of Calisto dominated the starscape. The storm’s massive cloud bands still swirled, though already the edges frayed into tatters as atmospheric systems recovered. Bane’s reflection ghosted faintly in the glass: a man weary but unbroken.

Savok turned slightly, his face impassive yet intent. “And the missing?”

Bane’s shoulders tightened. “Search operations continue. Chaluk has led three teams into collapsed structures. Torval’s modified scanners have located twelve survivors so far—pulled out alive. But others…” He shook his head. “Others remain buried, or worse, swept out to sea. The governor fears the missing will eventually outnumber the confirmed dead.”

Savok asked, “How are your officers sustaining themselves under such pressure?”

Bane exhaled heavily. “Barely. Ensign Lagnas has been running on stimulants. Bast sleeps in shifts of minutes, not hours. Even Seitha looks drawn. But none of them complain. They know the mission matters. Sometimes I wonder if I should order them back, force rest on them, but…” He spread his hands helplessly. “How do you order someone to stop saving lives?”

“You do not,” Savok said evenly.

Bane looked at him with faint surprise.

Savok elaborated, “Vulcan philosophy acknowledges logic must sometimes yield to necessity. In moments of catastrophe, the preservation of life supersedes efficiency. Fatigue will exact its toll eventually, but the instinct to act in the present is unavoidable.”

Bane smiled faintly. “That’s the Vulcan way of saying I should let them keep going.”

Savok inclined his head.

They resumed walking. The promenade bent toward another atrium where a fountain bubbled with programmed grace, streams of water cascading in perfect arcs. A cluster of civilians lingered nearby, their voices low. Bane barely registered them; his thoughts remained on the planet below.

“Admiral,” he said quietly, “the worst moment wasn’t the destruction. It wasn’t the dead or the injured. It was the silence afterward. No comm traffic, no chatter. Just the wind howling through broken buildings. That’s when I realized what we were facing.”

Savok regarded him calmly. “And yet you acted. That silence did not paralyze you.”

“No,” Bane admitted. “But it stays with me. And it will stay with them—the Elysians. You don’t forget something like that.”

Savok folded his hands again. “The trauma of catastrophe often lingers beyond physical reconstruction. Have you arranged psychological support?”

“Yes,” Bane said. “Morak has organized group sessions. Not formal therapy, but communal gatherings. Songs, stories, traditions. She says memory heals best when shared.”

“A logical approach,” Savok replied.

They walked in silence for several paces before Savok spoke again. “You have given me a comprehensive account of planetary relief. Shall I provide you with further detail on the Cygnus’s systems?”

“Please,” Bane said, his voice softening at the prospect.

Savok began with measured clarity. “Primary structural integrity fields remain offline for recalibration. Stress testing is underway. The impulse drive requires full replacement of its plasma injectors—thirty-seven percent had degraded beyond tolerance." That news hit Bane hard. His god-daughter, Lieutenant Christina Hartley, had designed the impulse engines in her. "Replacement units have been fabricated on-site. Installation is in progress. Shields are undergoing a triple-redundant firmware upgrade; when complete, your defensive capacity will exceed prior specifications by six point four percent.”

Bane absorbed each word with rapt attention. “And the weapons array?”

“Phaser coupling assemblies were compromised during the catastrophe that befell your ship. Dockyard engineers have stripped and rebuilt them with updated harmonics. Full output capacity should be restored within forty-eight hours. Photon torpedo launchers required only minor calibration.”

Bane smiled faintly. “She’ll come out better than before.”

Savok raised an eyebrow. “That is an accurate assessment.”

They turned another bend, passing beneath an arch where the promenade narrowed once more. Beyond, the bustle of the market swelled faintly, though orderliness prevailed: no chaos, no clamor, only the steady hum of civilization at peace.

Bane let the sounds wash over him, grounding himself. Then he asked, “Hull integrity?”

“Ninety-eight percent restored,” Savok replied. “The remaining two percent involves microfractures along the starboard nacelle strut. Repairs are delicate but routine. Estimated completion: twenty-one hours.”

“Good,” Bane murmured. “She deserves to be whole again.”

Savok regarded him for a moment, then returned his gaze forward. “You invest great personal sentiment in her restoration.”

“She’s more than steel,” Bane said. “When I walk her decks again, I want the crew to feel she’s ready to carry us into whatever comes next. They need that. I need that.”

They walked further, the promenade’s artificial sunlight softening into hues of twilight as chronometers adjusted for evening. A subtle shift in illumination passed over the crowd, yet life continued seamlessly.

The Admiral continued. "The deflector array required full replacement. Microfractures in the resonance chamber had reached critical thresholds. New emitters have been fabricated, integrating Starfleet’s latest graviton modulation systems. Efficiency will increase by four point two percent.”

Bane smiled faintly. “She’ll cut through anomalies like butter now.”

“An imprecise analogy,” Savok said, though without reproach. “Accurate enough.”

“And the computer core?” Bane asked.

“Memory lattice underwent degradation in two sectors. Repairs are complete. All command subroutines verified. LCARS interface updated to latest version.”

Bane’s eyes softened. “Good. She’ll feel sharper when I step aboard.”

Savok regarded him. “You persist in anthropomorphic description.”

Bane smirked. “You persist in pointing it out.”

For a fleeting moment, the weight of disaster lifted, replaced by the familiarity of old friends needling each other. Then the gravity of their topic returned.

Savok continued, “The docking pylons have completed structural reinforcement. Stress simulations predict a ninety-nine point seven percent probability of hull endurance under maximum warp conditions. Remaining anomalies are negligible.”

“Music to my ears,” Bane murmured.

Savok raised an eyebrow. “Your metaphorical language remains… colorful.”

“Occupational hazard of not being Vulcan,” Bane replied.

They shared a silence as they moved further down the promenade. A pair of civilians laughed in the distance, a bright sound that contrasted sharply with the darkness of their conversation.

Bane’s gaze lingered on them before turning back to Savok. “You asked earlier how the people are coping. Truth is—they’re broken, Admiral. At least, many of them. They’ve lost homes, family, livelihoods. The festival grounds were supposed to be a symbol of unity, a place to gather in joy. Now it’s rubble. You can see the despair in their eyes. And yet—” He paused, finding the words. “And yet they’re still trying. That’s what gives me hope.”

Savok regarded him thoughtfully. “Hope, again. You return to this concept frequently.”

“Because it’s all we’ve got,” Bane said simply.

The admiral said nothing more, but his silence carried the weight of agreement.

They reached another atrium where light spilled down from a high dome, casting long reflections across polished flooring. Merchants were closing their shops for the evening cycle, drawing shutters with quiet efficiency. The crowd thinned. The hum of the promenade softened into a murmur.

Bane slowed his pace, his thoughts still heavy. “I’ve seen storms before, Admiral. I’ve seen battles, disasters, loss. But this one…” He shook his head. “This one cut deeper. Because it struck at joy. At something meant to bring people together.”

Savok asked, “Do you believe the Festival of Unity can still proceed?”

Plase nodded without hesitation. "I do. The combined effort of the crew and the citizens of Elysia will make sure of it."

Bane resumed, his voice steady but touched with weariness. “Admiral, I’ve told you about the big things—towers, substations, triage centers. But it’s the smaller details that stick with me. The things you don’t see unless you’re standing in the mud with them.”

Savok inclined his head, silent encouragement.

“Ensign Rhys, one of my younger engineers—he’s been on the Cygnus less than a year. I found him ankle-deep in water, stripped to his undershirt, trying to jury-rig a filtration system from the remnants of a collapsed water main. No one ordered him there. He’d overheard children asking their parents why the taps ran dry and decided he’d fix it. He had half a district queuing with buckets by the time I reached him.”

Savok raised a brow. “Initiative beyond his station.”

“Exactly,” Bane said. “That’s what makes me proud. They aren’t just following orders. They’re owning the crisis.”

They passed another viewport. The planet filled the expanse, its wounded surface shrouded in storm-torn clouds. Pockets of light blinked faintly where power grids had been restored. To Bane, each cluster was a beacon—proof of survival.

He continued. “Crewman Chaluk—security detail. He’s from New Romulus, tough as they come. But when he saw a group of Elysians refusing to evacuate their damaged homes, he didn’t force them. He sat down in the wreckage with them. Listened. Learned their fears. Then convinced them gently—one family at a time—that survival meant leaving. They followed him out, not because of his uniform, but because he cared enough to meet them where they were.”

Savok said, “A pragmatic application of empathy. Efficient.”

Bane gave a tired smile. “That’s one word for it.”

They turned into a quieter wing of the promenade where the air carried the faint aroma of Vulcan incense. The gold lighting softened further, almost meditative.

“Lieutenant Jirel from Operations,” Bane went on. “He coordinated supply chains. Sounds boring, maybe. But without him, chaos would’ve spread. He built distribution maps on the fly, rerouted shuttles around no-fly zones, ensured medkits arrived where they were needed most. At one point he tracked thirty-seven simultaneous requests, prioritizing by severity. The Elysians call him ‘the man who sees everything.’”

Savok considered this. “Operational logistics often go unremarked, yet their impact is decisive.”

“Exactly,” Bane said. “The invisible work saves more lives than the dramatic rescues.”

They walked in silence for a few moments, footsteps echoing softly against the polished floor.

Finally, Savok spoke. “You have recounted considerable individual acts. Yet the totality remains vast. Damage reports suggest near-catastrophic conditions. To what extent do you believe recovery is possible within a standard Federation cycle?”

Bane exhaled slowly. “Not fully. But recovery isn’t just numbers, Admiral. It’s spirit. And I’ve seen enough of that spirit to know they’ll get there. Not tomorrow, not next month. But they will.”

They passed a small plaza where holographic lanterns floated lazily, part of the station’s ambient programming. A few children chased them, laughter echoing lightly. Bane paused, watching with a faint smile.

“That’s why I believe in the festival,” he said quietly. “Not the structures, not the markets. But the meaning. Those children don’t care that the amphitheater’s rubble. They care that they still have something to hope for.”

Savok studied him. “You assign substantial symbolic weight to this event.”

“I do,” Bane admitted. “Because the Elysians do. And if it means that much to them, then it’s worth fighting for.”

They resumed walking. Savok shifted the subject back toward the ship.

“Regarding the Cygnus’s warp systems,” he began, “plasma conduits have been refitted with advanced duranium composites. Stress testing confirms increased tolerance levels under warp nine point five for sustained durations. The dilithium articulation frame required realignment due to micro-oscillation. This has been corrected.”

Bane gave a low whistle. “She’ll purr like a dream once she’s back in space.”

Savok lifted a brow. “Again with anthropomorphism.”

“Old habit,” Bane said with a shrug. “Ships are more than machines. They’re companions. Partners.”

“You maintain emotional attachment,” Savok observed.

Bane’s gaze softened. “Unashamedly so.”

They walked through another arch, the promenade opening into one of its larger atriums. Here, a massive transparent dome stretched overhead, revealing the vast black of space speckled with stars. Shuttles glided past in silent arcs, docking with precise efficiency. The sight gave their conversation a fitting backdrop—expanse beyond disaster, infinite possibility.

Bane resumed, his voice lower now. “You know, Admiral, I’ve been thinking about the dead.”

Savok turned slightly, attentive but silent.

“There weren’t many, by the scale of storms. Starfleet resources kept casualties from soaring. But a few is still too many. I stood with an Elysian father yesterday as he dug through rubble, searching for his son. We found him—injured but alive. The father broke down right there in my arms. I’ve been in battles, Admiral, where hundreds died. But that moment hit harder. Because it wasn’t about numbers. It was about one family almost shattered. And the raw humanity of it all.”

Savok’s expression did not change, but his voice softened by a fraction. “Such experiences leave enduring imprint.”

“They do,” Bane admitted.

For a time, they walked without words. The hush of the atrium, the vast starscape above, spoke in their place.

Then Savok returned to the technical. “The communications array has been recalibrated. Long-range subspace channels now employ redundant harmonic stabilizers. Signal clarity improved by nine percent. Additionally, we have incorporated adaptive encryption algorithms to counter potential interception by hostile powers.”

Bane smirked faintly. “Leave it to you, Admiral, to make encryption sound comforting.”

“It is logical to value secure channels,” Savok replied dryly.

Bane chuckled softly. “I’ll take your word for it.”

They reached the far end of the atrium, where the promenade narrowed again into a quieter corridor. Here, the lighting dimmed further, creating the illusion of night. Only a handful of civilians lingered, moving with unhurried grace.

Bane took a long breath. He knew Savok was trying to help him keep his mind off the tragedy, but he needed to talk about it more. “You asked me earlier how they’re coping. Let me give you one more picture. The Elysians held a gathering yesterday—nothing formal, just survivors coming together. They lit candles where the festival square once stood. My crew was there too, standing shoulder to shoulder with them. No speeches, no ceremony. Just light in the darkness. That’s what recovery looks like, Admiral. Not systems or grids. People, together.”

Savok regarded him with steady eyes. “You find meaning in symbolic gestures.”

“Because they matter,” Bane said firmly. “Without them, all the repairs in the world mean nothing.”

They reached another viewport. The planet hung vast and wounded below, its scars illuminated faintly by the dawn of its own rotation. For a long time, neither spoke.

At last, Savok said, “I have observed your recounting carefully. It is… weary. Yet also optimistic.”

Bane glanced at him. “That’s about right.”

“You balance exhaustion with determination. You assign hope as counterweight to despair. Logically, such equilibrium increases survivability.”

Bane gave a faint smile. “Trust you to make even hope sound like a tactical strategy.”

“It often is,” Savok replied.

They shared the silence again, old friends bound by the quiet understanding of shared service.

Finally, Bane spoke, his tone softer, more personal. “I’ll tell you the truth, Admiral. I don’t know if I can give them everything they need. The Elysians, my crew, the Federation. But I do know I’ll try. And I know my crew will too. Because that’s who we are.”

Savok inclined his head slowly. “And in that, Captain, there lies logic. And strength.”

They walked on, the promenade fading into quieter stretches until the hum of the station became background to the unspoken weight between them.

For Bane, the weariness pressed heavy on his shoulders, but the optimism flickered steady in his chest. For Savok, the logic of survival merged with a quiet respect for humanoid resilience. Together, step by step, they had carried the conversation forward—two officers, two old friends, bound by storm, ship, shared service.

And hope.


OFF

Bane Plase, Captain
USS Cygnus, Commanding

 

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