The hum of the transporter faded away, leaving Lieutenant Varyn K’lev standing on the pad in USS Farragut’s transporter room.  The Orion looked around for a moment, taking in the room before stepping down and addressing the transporter operator.  “Excuse me…. Lieutenant K’lev, of the Culver City; I was asked to report to Commander Aloran?”

“Welcome to the Farragut, sir,” said Chief Minogue, his disarming smile as wide as he could make it, “I’m to escort you to the commander. He’s in the fusion centre. Will you follow me?” The handsome older man gestured toward the doors. “Have you been on many Nebula-class ships, sir? This is the first I’ve served on, but it’s got all the familiar trimmings.”

Lt. K’lev shook his head as he started to follow Chief Minogue; the chief’s kindness did somewhat dispel some of the anxiety the young Orion felt, but he still couldn’t help feeling like he’d been called to the dean’s office for something.  “I haven’t before.  Truth be told, Culver City’s the only ship I’ve served on; I even did my midshipman’s cruise aboard her, before being assigned full-time.”  As they walked, he looked around in a degree of wonder; while Farragut did have familiar trappings to Culver City, there was a certain elegance to the Nebula-class that the more-utilitarian Californias just didn’t have.

Chief Minogue’s stride was just quick enough to make the lieutenant keep up. The corridor lighting chased ahead of them in soft bands, revealing the Nebula-class blend of familiar Starfleet functionality and a little extra pride in the finish.

“Culver City, eh?” Minogue tossed over his shoulder. “You had a tough time with the Vaadwaur. Sorry to hear that, sir. We were on the Sacramento then, so I know how those Cali-class can get more done than they look like they should.”

K’lev nodded.  “She took good care of us, and of the refugees, albeit at a terrible price.  When we finally were towed into Starbase 86 and she was put out of service, I had no idea I’d ever be back aboard, certainly not as her commanding officer.”

They reached a segmented hatch flanked by security panels and the understated crest of the ship’s intelligence fusion centre. The door guards gave Minogue the kind of nod that said the chief was welcome practically everywhere. He palmed the panel. The doors parted.

A quiet thrum of processors underscored a room already at attention: Starfleet officers stood crisp, eyes forward. At their focus stood the Vulcan, Commander Aloran. When Minogue and K’lev cleared the threshold, the commander turned.

“Fusion centre assembled,” Minogue said, voice all ceremony now. “Presenting Lieutenant K’lev as ordered.”

“Thank you, Chief.” Aloran’s gaze found K’lev and held. Measuring, not unkind. “Lieutenant. Welcome to the Farragut.”

K’lev froze as he entered the room; a personal meeting with the task group commander was intimidating enough to the young lieutenant, but he did not expect to see the entire fusion centre at attention.  It took him a moment to find his voice, but he did recover reasonably quickly.  “Thank you, sir,” he said simply.

Aloran stepped forward one pace, enough for the room to lean closer. “We have found ourselves in some unexpected difficulties recently, lieutenant. Difficult things require precision, trust, and good judgement.” He let the words carry to the rails, then back down to K’lev. “Lieutenant K’lev, you were summoned here to have your good judgement recognised.”

Reading the room, K’lev stood to attention.

Aloran glanced to Minogue. “Chief.”

Minogue produced a small case from behind his back with a magician’s timing. Inside, nestled in black, lay a single dark metal pip.

The commander took the pip without looking away from K’lev. His voice settled into that exact, unforced register that made people listen. “By my authority as the ranking staff officer in the sector, under orders from Bravo Fleet command, effective immediately: Varyn K’lev is hereby promoted to the rank of lieutenant commander.”

A current rippled through the stillness. No one moved.

Aloran lifted the black pip to the collar of K’lev’s uniform. His hands were steady, economical. The click of metal finding home felt louder than the room’s machines. “In recognition of your demonstrable competence in command of the Culver City.”

After a moment, K’lev’s voice returned once more.  “Thank….  thank you, sir; I hope to prove worthy of your confidence.  And, if I may, I would be remiss if I did not acknowledge my crew’s excellent conduct, and in particular that of Ensigns Lotharys and Pelix; nothing Culver City has achieved would have been possible without them.”

“The perfect words from a ship’s captain, K’lev,” Aloran smiled broadly, and then let that smile drop, “Live long and prosper, you and your crew.”

“Thank you, sir,” K’lev said, then remembered the traditional response.  “Peace and long life, sir, to you and the crew of the Farragut.”

Dismissed now, K’lev turned smartly and left the fusion centre.  Once the doors had closed, he relaxed, breathing a sigh as he returned to the transporter room, and from there then back to the Culver City and his duties.