Finding the Bridge
Posted on 12 Oct 2025 @ 11:26pm by Captain Bane Plase
637 words; about a 3 minute read
Mission: Shakedown
ON:
Turbolift 2, USS Cygnus
The hum of the turbolift was different now—smoother, quieter, almost serene. As it carried Captain Bane Plase upward through the ship, he could sense the subtle change in the vessel’s pulse. The Cygnus no longer groaned and rattled like she once had; the vibrations beneath his boots were refined, measured, precise. She was still his ship, but her heartbeat had changed.
When the lift doors parted, he stepped out into brilliance.
The Bridge of the Cygnus had been utterly transformed. Gone were the aging LCARS panels, the soft amber glow of a bygone era. In their place stood something elegant and alive—a sweeping command deck of curved stations and holographic displays that shimmered with cool blue light. The interfaces seemed to breathe, adjusting to his presence as if the ship recognized her captain again after a long silence. So too were the carpets of maroon and gray. In its place, a smooth deck of brilliant metal, polished and shined.
The scent of new circuitry lingered in the air: ozone, polished alloys, and the faint bite of untested systems. The deck plating beneath his boots gleamed, darker now, a brushed obsidian alloy threaded with anti-static fibers. The carpets of maroon and gray were gone. Overhead, the lighting subtly shifted hue as he moved—part of a new adaptive illumination system designed to mirror natural circadian rhythms. The result was a space that felt alive, aware, and responsive.
The main viewscreen dominated the forward bulkhead, spanning from wall to wall. It wasn’t a simple screen anymore—it was a window into the cosmos, an ultra-definition projection capable of true spatial depth. Stars didn’t just shimmer on its surface; they seemed to exist there, suspended in the air. For a moment, Bane caught his own reflection in the glass—older, lined with years of command, but steady. The reflection of a man who had seen his ship nearly destroyed and now reborn.
Only a few officers were present—junior ensigns mostly, absorbed in their stations. None of them were familiar faces. They looked up briefly when he entered, their expressions a mix of respect and quiet curiosity. Bane gave a polite nod as he crossed the deck, his eyes sweeping over every new console, every gleaming panel.
The command chair awaited him at the center, newly forged and redesigned. Its frame gleamed with reinforced alloy, its cushions adjusted automatically to his weight as if welcoming him back. Embedded controls projected faint holographic readouts from the armrests, and a neural command interface offered a more direct link to the ship for those willing to trust it.
He stood there for a moment, just looking at it—the symbol of command, of duty, and of everything that had been rebuilt.
When he finally sat down, the ambient lights dimmed slightly, and the ship’s computer spoke in a new, more natural voice:
“Welcome aboard, Captain Bane Plase.”
A breath escaped him—slow, steady, almost reverent.
It was still the Cygnus. But it wasn’t the same vessel that had limped home shattered and bleeding after the freighter disaster. The scorched panels, the jury-rigged systems, the emergency welds—they were gone. In their place stood a rejuvenated starship, stronger and more capable than before.
Outside, through the massive viewscreen, Calisto’s upper atmosphere glowed softly, sunlight scattering across white clouds and blue haze. The sight filled him with quiet pride.
After everything the Cygnus had endured—after the loss, the repairs, the silence—she had risen again.
Bane Plase allowed himself a rare smile.
The Cygnus was whole once more.
And now, it was time to see what new adventures she could embark upon among the stars.
OFF
Bane Plase, Captain
USS Cygnus, Commanding
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