Scott always liked to keep the lights dim in the early mornings when Dathasa stayed in his quarters. He sat on the edge of the bed with his uniform jacket half zipped, pulling his boots on as quietly as possible. He stopped for a moment to stare out the window as the stars drifted lazily by. They had been on patrol in The Triangle for a few weeks now, and today it seemed to be business as usual. From behind him, the bed rustled. 

Dathasa stirred beneath the covers, one eye peeking open against the soft, warm glow of the lights. Her hair was a tangled halo on the pillow, and when she spoke her voice came out low and slightly hoarse. “You’re not seriously getting up already.” she grumbled. 

Scott smiled down at her. “I’d trade shifts if I could,” he said. “But the Triangle doesn’t patrol itself, my dear.” 

She groaned and rolled over, showing him her back. “I hate the Alpha Shift.” she said, her voice half muffled by her pillow. 

He moved around the bed and bent down to kiss her forehead. She grabbed his hand, letting her fingers wrap around his wrist, and held him there just a moment longer. She gave his arm one final squeeze and he straightened up, zipping his uniform jacket the rest of the way up. 

“Don’t get bored.” she said, half buried under the covers. “You always do something reckless when you’re bored.”

Scott chuckled softly. “That’s the same thing Vail always says about you.” He turned to leave, and Dathasa mumbled something unintelligible as she buried herself back under the covers. He turned the light off when he hit the entrance, and left with a backwards glance at her, who was little more than a lump in the blankets again.

The corridor was as quiet as it usually was at this time of the morning. Scott made his way to the Officer’s Mess and headed for the nearest replicator. “Coffee. Two creams, two sugars please.” The unit chirped obligingly, and a steaming mug appeared on the replicator’s surface. He took the mug and had a small sip. Not the greatest, but it’ll do, he thought.

When he got to the bridge, he saw that Commander Bema Saberwyn was slouched in the captain’s chair, sipping something green and mildly luminous. He didn’t look up at first as Scott approached him. 

“Morning, Captain.” Bema said gruffly around the rim of his cup. “You missed the asteroid parade. It was real edge-of-the-seat stuff.” he stood and moved into the seat to the right of the Captain’s chair, allowing Scott to sit down. 

“Tragic.” Scott replied, taking his seat and sipping his coffee. “Did we name any of them after the crew’s pets this time?”

“There was one that sort of looked like a chicken.” Bema responded. “I named it Lieutenant Cluckles.”

Scott raised his eyebrow. “Officially?”

Bema nodded with a grunt. “It’s in the paperwork.”

Lieutenant Junior Grade Tanna Irovin was sitting at the science console. “Our sensor logs confirm Lieutenant Cluckles was a jerk, Captain.” she said, turning to face him with a smile on her face.

Scott chuckled softly. “Is there anything we might need to actually worry about?” he asked.

Bema handed Scott a PADD. “There’s radiation signatures on the long range scans, but nothing active.”

Scott checked over the PADD, then sat back and sipped on his cup of coffee. “Let’s enjoy the silence while it lasts.” The bridge grew quiet again as everyone busied themselves with their tasks. For a few minutes, there was only the sound of tapping fingers on consoles and the sipping of hot liquids.

Then, a faint ping rang out from Tanna’s console. She frowned and tapped the console. “Huh.” she said softly.

Scott looked over at her. “What is it, Lieutenant?”

“A brief bounce in subspace.” she replied. “Probably background scatter or a faulty echo. Nothing important.” Scott nodded his head and watched as she ran the filter anyway. 

Lieutenant Garion Beckett groaned before he was even fully conscious. His wake up alarm, which was way too polite and cheerful in his opinion, played somewhere near his ear. He slapped the wall panel over his head blindly until it stopped, and then sat up slowly, as if he was peeling himself away from his mattress. 

He rubbed his eyes hard. “Why is it always morning?” he grumbled to himself. He stood and fumbled around his quarters, which were tidy in the way that a workbench was tidy – functional chaos. PADDs with partially finished diagnostics were stacked up on his desk, and one of his boots was upside down in the corner, like it had lost a fight. He got dressed on autopilot. Gold shouldered uniform, rank pips, scuffed boots. His uniform was clean, his boots were not, but he did not care. It was too early to care. 

By the time he made it into the corridor he was upright and semi-awake, but his disposition had not improved. He passed an ensign he knew, and gave them a nod and grunted something vaguely polite. The smell of coffee hit him while he was about halfway from the mess. It was the only thing holding his soul in place, it seemed. 

The Mess Hall was still quiet at this hour. A few early risers, a science officer nursing their oatmeal like it had offended them personally, and himself. He cut a line across the room straight for the replicators, and punched his code in like the machine owed him money. “Coffee. Black. Large. And if you water it down again like you did last time, I’ll take you apart bolt by bolt.” The replicator chirped with a cheery indifference and produced the steaming mug. He removed it and immediately took a sip, burning his tongue. He sighed deeply. Worth it. 

Someone clapped him hard on the shoulder. “Did you pick the short straw again?” Garion didn’t need to look to know who it was. Lieutenant Commander Craig Cruikshank, who was also far too cheerful in the morning, was carrying his typical tray of breakfast, a mound of bacon and eggs, the smell of which always heralded his imminent arrival. 

“Alpha Shift should be illegal.” Garion mumbled behind the rim of his cup as he slid into a booth by a window. 

Craig sat down opposite him, his customary wide smile on his face. “You say that every week, yet here you are once again, marginally upright.”

Garion grunted. “I’ve got to stay ahead of maintenance,” he said. “The plasma relays on Deck Five are being twitchy again, and the coolant diagnostics on the auxiliary warp conduit still think we’re doing warp nine.”

“That sounds… not great.” Craig said between mouthfuls of breakfast. 

“It’s all fine,” Garion said with a sigh, “It just needs recalibration. Or a system purge. Or ritual sacrifice. It’s hard to know which until I’m there.”

“Is that why there are so few ensigns running around?” Craig asked with a smile. 

Garion nodded gravely. “Yup. I really gotta start trying something else before the sacrificing.” The pair laughed, then fell into silence. Garion sipping his coffee, Craig munching his replicated bacon. When Garion finally drained the last of his mug, he sighed again. “Alright,” he said, slapping his thighs with both hands, “time to exorcise the plasma demons.” 

Craig gave him a nod. “See you at lunch.” 

Garion stole the last three pieces of bacon off Craig’s plate, and ate them happily while he walked towards the turbolift that would take him to Main Engineering. He stepped off the turbolift into his domain, where the consoles worked, the people knew how to fix them, and the coffee, which was not replicated, did not taste mildly like regret.

“Morning Lieutenant.” Ensign Devara called from her perch at the primary systems hub. She had a PADD on each knee and the tired eyes of someone who just pulled an all-nighter. 

“Morning Ensign.” Garion replied, pouring himself a cup of real coffee from a pot in the corner. “Anything on fire?”

“Despite my best efforts, the Warp Core remains stubbornly intact, Sir.” She replied with a smile. “Diagnostic cycles all ran clean, except for that coolant feedback loop on the starboard intercooler, which is still unresolved.”

Garion grunted in reply as he took the PADD she offered. He scrolled through the overnight logs, checking power outputs and phase alignment drift, then he stopped, blinked, and scrolled back. “… what’s this?” he asked

“Sir?”

“This spike right here, at 0552 hours.” He pointed. “A surge in the subspace bandwidth through the auxiliary comm buffer.”

“Huh. That’s weird. I didn’t see that when I ran the scan.” she replied, moving to look over his shoulder. 

“It’s like a ghost.” Garion replied, crossing to a nearby console to bring up the relevant system log. He worked the console to run it through a series of filters and buffers. “Would you look at that.” he said, leaning back to let her in.

“It’s a distress signal.” she noted, turning to look at him. “But it’s weak.” 

“Mhmm.” he nodded. “It’s probably been out here a long time. Still, we better tell the Captain. He won’t admit it openly…” Garion dropped his voice to a loud whisper, even though the two were alone, “But he loves checking out drifting ships. He thinks they’re neat.” Devara giggled softly, then placed her finger on the side of her nose and gave Garion a wink.

Garion tapped his combadge. “Lieutenant Beckett to Captain Bowman, are you up yet Sir?”

Garion, the day you beat me out of bed, is the day I resign my commission. Scott replied with a chuckle. What do you need?

“We picked up a distress signal, Captain.” Garion replied, “I’ve relayed the coordinates to you, Sir.” 

I think we saw that same spike up here, Lieutenant. We’ll change course and head there now. Bowman out. 

Garion turned back to Devara. “There, all handled. Now you go get some rack time, and I’ll see you this evening.” 

“Good night, Lieutenant.” she said, heading for the door. 

“Good Morning, Ensign.” he replied, taking her seat at the primary hub.