Charlotte MacColgan wasn’t a particularly large woman by any scale, only average in height and generally a bit skinny. But Station K-74 still managed to make her feel cramped and claustrophobic, with its spartan, tight corridors and at best dull lighting. Some areas of the old clunker of a station felt more like a horror movie set than a proper Starfleet posting. How anyone, much less visiting Klingons, felt comfortable here was beyond her, but frankly, all power to them. Maybe KDF ships had similarly atmospheric and moody lights.

Charlie was not an easily frightened woman, but she really was quite glad Shymel had come with her.

The beam of the Andorian’s light swayed slightly on the open wall panel, guiding Charlie’s awkward fingers along the wiring within. Under the walls, it was very easy to tell that K-74 really had not been a Starfleet priority until recently. Half the wiring was badly frayed. In the back of her head, Charlie wondered if it was possible for a space station in the 25th century to have a rat problem inside the walls.

Behind her, the Andorian let out a low, maybe mildly impressed whistle. “Y’know, I’m almost surprised we don’t have to replace the wall panel, too.”

“Eh, surface shite’s made ‘a sterner stuff,” Charlie replied, brows furrowed in concentration as she spliced two wire bits back together. It was slow, and probably too sloppy for T’Vara’s taste, but it would hold it over until the wires got properly replaced. “I mean, this station does predate Khitomer. Back when this bloody thing got put t’gether, they were pro’lly worryin’- ‘n rightly, a’ that- ’bout Klingon boarders. If yer expectin’ bodies bein’ chucked ’round like it’s foo’ball day in Glasgow, y’make the walls right bloody tough.”

“Makes you feel bad for the poor guy who hits one of these,” Shymel commented with a frown, rapping her knuckles on the panel. “I dunno about you, but I’d much rather hit a nice, crumple-able blowout panel than what’s basically armor plate welded over the wiring for the sprinklers.” She paused, frown deepening as her eyes darted up to the ceiling. “… does this thing still have sprinklers? Or any sort of fire suppression system?”

“I’d sure bloody hope so if this thing’s gettin’ more use… though, now that’cha mention it, they might’a torn it out ta replace it wi’ a new system,” Charlie replied, finishing with the wires and sliding the panel shut. The light above them flickered and stuttered for a moment, then strengthened, noticeably- if not particularly effectively- brighter. “Hell, that was pro’lly engineerin’s first priority. She’s old, nae bad. Give the ol’ lass some credit, Shy. She’s tryin’ ‘er ‘ardest.”

The shen just frowned even deeper, if such a thing was even possible at this point. Charlie didn’t think such a thing would be seen outside of a marble statue someone hit with a mallet too hard. “Listen, the fact that we’re still using stations made when Jimmy Kirk was still learning to speak full sentences doesn’t exactly fill me with confidence, okay?”

“… okay, well, she’s nae that old.” The human stopped, considered, puffed a wayward curl of hair out of her face. “… I think. Pro’lly. Maybe.”

“Very encouraging, Charlie.”

“I’m almost startin’ tae think y’jus’ donnae like stations, Shy.” Charlie half-turned, just enough to give the other woman a raised eyebrow. “Y’complained th’ whole time we were pickin’ up supplies on Dee-Ess 47-”

“We were picking up paint!” Shymel retorted, arms crossed in a very poor attempt to seem more annoyed than she actually was. Charlie knew the truth- this woman enjoyed banter and bickering like she was half-Tellarite. “Seventy thousand gallons of Connie White paint! And Wylie almost dumped half a bucket on me!”

“Hey, stations this big donnae stay pre’ey-lookin’ on their own.”

“It’s shaped like a melting pancake with ice cream cones stuck on top. It wasn’t pretty in the first place. And the paint doesn’t help!” The frown transformed into a disappointed scowl, hips cocked as Shymel glared at Charlie. “And you didn’t say anything about almost getting covered in paint.”

Now that elicited an actual, teasing grin out of Charlie. “Nah. That would’a been funny. Highlight ‘a the week, frame it ‘n hang it in yer office.”

For as much as Shymel promptly jammed an elbow in Charlie’s ribs, she was chuckling with the XO all the same. “Shut up, MacColgan.”

“Commanders MacColgan and sh’Insynaph, please report to Docking Bay 2 immediately.”

The speakers crackling to life promptly put to rest any further shenanigans between the two officers, and Charlie almost felt offended that the brief bit of levity had been so rudely cut short. “Ach. Wonder what tha’s about.”

“Maybe we’re leaving to go fetch another seventy thousand gallons of white paint.”

“Long ‘s you’re loadin’ it.” Charlie grinned, returning the prior elbow as the pair headed for the turbolift. At least the hallway behind them looked slightly less like a horror movie set. Maybe they could repaint the walls next, make it look less like an old-fashioned liminal space…

The deep frown on Oskar Maising’s face did not fill either of the two senior officers with confidence. The duo slipped through the open door, and Charlie could practically feel the last shreds of any playful attitude slip out as the door promptly slid shut behind them. They were the last of the senior staff to arrive- the room seemed a little crowded with everyone packed into it like a sardine can.

T’Vara, worming her way through the mess towards the two more familiar officers, stood off Charlie’s left shoulder, opposite of Shymel. “I find it most illogical that Captain Maising is briefing us in person,” she muttered quietly, hands folded neatly behind her back. “This meeting likely could have been conducted in a timely and more efficient manner via PADD.”

Just how badly Charlie wanted to agree with the Vulcan was making her scream internally, but she only sighed, giving the younger woman a slight shake of her head. “Maisin’s an old-fashioned man, El-Tee. You’ll get used ta it.”

T’Vara frowned, and for a moment, Charlie reminded herself that the poor woman hadn’t even been full lieutenant for two months. But she complained no further, turning her attention back to the grizzled old skipper.

Speaking of, Maising’s mood hadn’t improved much as everyone gathered together. A deep scowl was etched into his grizzled, weathered face like a marble statue. “We have a situation on our hands, folks. K-74’s been expecting a new shipment of replacement parts from home- parts which are now a week overdue. Nobody’s sure exactly what happened to them, or the ship transporting them, but something untoward certainly has. Starfleet’s current assumption is… piracy.”

There was a moment of silence, letting it all sink in. Everyone here knew Oakland‘s last brush with pirates had gone exceptionally poorly, and nobody was exactly enthused at the possibility of facing them again. Nobel had needed to dig the poor ship out of an early grave, and there was no guarantee they’d get a break that lucky a second time.

Maising cleared his throat, wiping clammy hands on his pants. “Regardless, Oakland is currently the only ship available for retasking. Our orders are to make for the supply shipment’s last known location, and search along its projected route until it is found. Our planned supply run back to DS-47 will have to wait or be picked up by another vessel. We shove off in two hours.” A pause, his eyes glancing between the worried faces assembled in front of him. “That is all. Dismissed.”

There was no more idle chatter as Charlie, Shymel, and T’Vara headed out the door- just nervous and glum shared glances. Back into the fire, it seemed- the break was good while it lasted.