The Ready Room

Posted on 13 Oct 2025 @ 4:09am by Captain Bane Plase

815 words; about a 4 minute read

Mission: Shakedown
Timeline: Several minutes after "Finding the Bridge"

ON


Captain Bane stood before the sealed doors to his ready room, the soft hum of the refurbished bridge lingering behind him. For a long moment, he didn’t move. He simply watched the light run across the Federation delta etched into the door’s surface—a new touch, subtle and dignified, catching the reflection of the stars beyond the viewscreen.

When the doors finally parted with a gentle hiss, he stepped inside.

The room was bathed in warm, indirect light, soft enough to soothe but bright enough to reveal every clean line of the redesigned space. Gone was the heavy, utilitarian furniture that had filled the old ready room—the broad desk with its scratched surface, the shelves cluttered with relics from a dozen worlds, the dim lighting that always seemed one bulb away from failure. In its place stood something graceful and modern, unmistakably Starfleet but touched with a kind of quiet artistry.

The walls were paneled in a combination of soft metallic tones and dark woodgrain composites that gave the room a grounded, almost terrestrial calm. One wall was dominated by a viewport that stretched nearly from deck to ceiling, offering a sweeping view of Calisto’s pale clouds below. The sunlight caught the edge of the planet’s curvature, spilling gold and blue light through the room like morning on some faraway shore.

His new desk sat angled toward that view—sleek, curved, with a transparent alloy surface that came alive at a gesture. Holographic displays floated just above it, waiting for his touch. He reached out experimentally, and the ship’s manifest flickered to life, data gliding smoothly across the air before vanishing with a twist of his hand. The responsiveness startled him; the old system had lagged, hesitated, resisted. This one felt alive—an extension of thought rather than command.

To the left, a modest seating area had been arranged: two deep navy chairs around a low table made of transparent aluminum reinforced with embedded memory crystals. They caught the light like tiny constellations when he walked past. On the right wall, a new replicator was recessed flush with the surface—efficient, silent, and tastefully unobtrusive.

But it was the far wall that stopped him.

There, carefully preserved, hung the only surviving piece of the Cygnus’s original ready room—a framed fragment of scorched hull plating, the faint outline of the ship’s registry still visible through the burn marks. Someone had mounted it in a transparent case with a simple inscription beneath it:

“From destruction, strength.”

Bane’s breath caught in his throat. He approached slowly, fingertips brushing the transparent barrier that separated him from that relic of fire and loss. He remembered the sound of bulkheads collapsing, the cries over open comms, the blinding explosion that had nearly ended them all. For a moment, the hum of the ship around him seemed to fade, replaced by echoes of chaos and smoke.

Then he looked around—at the polished surfaces, the soft lights, the steady hum of a ship reborn—and the weight in his chest eased.

On a shelf behind the desk, a few personal effects had been returned: a small carved Bajoran earring given to him during the Occupation, a holo of his early crew on the Cygnus before the tragedy, and a smooth river stone he’d kept since childhood. Simple things. Real things.

He took a seat behind the desk. The chair adjusted instantly, embracing his frame, the headrest aligning with practiced precision. For the first time in months, he felt the quiet, undeniable sense of home.

The stars beyond the viewport drifted lazily, reflections glinting across the polished desk. He folded his hands, gazing out at them in silence.

The Cygnus was whole again. Her bridge sang with new light, her corridors pulsed with new energy, and now—even this room, this quiet sanctuary—had been reborn from the ashes.

Bane allowed himself a slow breath and, just for a moment, closed his eyes.

The ship was different. The crew was changing. Time had taken much, but not all. Not him. Not her.

When he opened his eyes again, the reflection of the stars shimmered in his gaze, and a faint smile touched the corners of his mouth.

He wasn’t just stepping back into command.

He was returning home.

Just as the ease began to sit in, a new sound pierced the calm. Bane knew the reason for it immediately. =/\= Transporter Room Five to Captain Plase.=/\=.

Bane winced. Apparently a new crewman. Bane tapped his badge. "Its Captain Bane, Transporter Chief," he admonished. "Whatcha got?"

=/\= Sir, I have a Commander Vareth requesting to come aboard. I tried to get ahold of Commanders Bast, Stovek and Raviran, but none are aboard just yet.=/\=

"That is fine Chief. Im on my way."


OFF

Bane Plase, Captain
USS Cygnus, Commmanding

 

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