Required Formalities

Posted on Thu Dec 11th, 2025 @ 9:43am by Lieutenant Alexander Beckett & Captain Mac Sullivan

1,290 words; about a 6 minute read

Mission: Prelude: The Gathering
Location: Bridge
Timeline: Mission Day 1 at 0000

The turbolift doors parted with a quiet hiss and a wash of recycled air.

Lieutenant Alexander Beckett stepped onto the bridge for the first time, duffel slung over one shoulder, the polished deck plating reflecting the muted glow of the instrumentation. It was smaller than he’d imagined — tighter, more intimate — but there was something about it that felt alive. The low hum beneath his boots, the faint vibration from the docking clamps, the murmur of officers trading reports; all of it came together like the rhythm of a ship about to move.

He didn’t come up here looking for anyone in particular. Not officially, anyway. A man could tell a lot about a crew from the way their bridge sounded when no one thought they were being observed — the cadence of conversation, the tone of voices, the quiet confidence or lack thereof.

Besides, it wasn’t every day you got to see the heart of a Constitution-class refit in person.

Beckett paused just inside the threshold, taking it all in: the gentle sweep of the helm console, the burnished handrail around the command chair, the faint scent of ozone and coffee that every Starfleet bridge seemed to share. He adjusted the strap of his duffel, eyes moving across the room, taking in the officers at their posts, the glow of the main viewer, the stars of Deep Space Station Lambda-2 suspended just beyond the hull.

For a moment, he simply stood there — another new arrival, measuring the ship that would soon become his responsibility to protect.

Then, with the smallest of nods, he started forward.

Mac spotted the unfamiliar figure step out of the turbolift before any announcement came across the bridge. New officers always carried a particular energy on day one and this one moved like someone who had spent a long time studying ships like the Proxima before ever setting foot on her.

He rose from the command chair and took a few steps forward. The duffel over the man’s shoulder told him everything he needed to know. New arrival. Security green. Confident posture. Eyes scanning, cataloging, assessing. Someone who understood that a starship was alive long before her engines lit. “Lieutenant Beckett.” Mac offered a small, easy smile as he closed the distance. “Welcome aboard the Proxima. I hear you transferred in ahead of schedule. Good timing. We will be getting underway shortly.”

He gave the bridge around them a brief glance. Crewmembers at stations, the quiet murmur of pre-departure routines, the distant pull of the docking clamps along the hull. The ship was ready to move, and Mac liked the idea that his new security chief was seeing her like this: calm before the storm. “You can stow your gear after we finish our final checks. For now, settle in and take a look around. If there is anything you need, just ask.”

He gestured toward the security console with an inviting nod. “Glad to have you with us, Lieutenant.”

Beckett came to a stop as the captain approached, shifting his duffel off his shoulder and to his side.

“Captain,” he greeted, straightening just enough to match protocol before offering a small, genuine nod in return. “Thank you, sir. I didn’t want to waste a quiet moment before we were underway — figured I’d get a feel for her before the corridors start filling up.”

He glanced around the bridge again as he spoke, eyes moving over the console layout, the flow of motion, the rhythm of the crew at work. “She’s beautiful,” he said, and meant it. “You can tell when a ship’s been treated with respect. Feels different in the air — tighter, cleaner. She’ll look after us if we do the same.”

A brief flicker of humor crossed his expression as he glanced toward the security console. “I’ll try not to rearrange too much before we leave dock.”

The corners of his mouth lifted in an easy half-smile — the sort that spoke of quiet confidence rather than bravado. “Appreciate the welcome, Captain. Feels good to finally be aboard.”

He shifted the duffel slightly and stepped aside toward the console, eyes bright with the energy of someone both evaluating and belonging, ready to start work before anyone had to tell him to.

Mac watched Beckett settle his duffel, the man clearly ready to work. “Since you’re here, Lieutenant, I could use your eyes on something important.”

He keyed a quick command, a diagnostics panel lit up on the nearest security repeater. “Weapons grid calibration. We run a full readiness survey before departure and I prefer a human set of instincts on it rather than just trusting the computer to tell me everything’s green.”

He stepped aside so Beckett could see the display. “Tension’s high along the border. I want to be sure every corridor forcefield, every locker seal, every phaser register is reading the way it should. Make the call on anything that doesn’t look right.”

Beckett stepped closer to the panel, the shift from first-day formality to operational focus almost immediate. He set his duffel down at the base of the station, fingers already dancing across the display as he pulled up sub-systems one layer deeper than the initial diagnostic.

“Always better to trust the people holding the line than the circuits behind it,” he said quietly, eyes narrowing at a cluster of readings. “Border tension or not — if someone wants to test us, I’d rather we surprise them.”

He zoomed in on a deck schematic. “Looks like we’ve got a slight timing drift in the starboard phaser relay sync. Probably nothing… until it is.” A few more taps. “And two forcefield nodes on Deck Seven are reading half a hair below tolerance.”

He glanced back at the captain, tone steady. “Neither’s critical yet — but they will be if we take a hit in the wrong place. I’ll get my team on it before we clear dock.”

A faint, wry glimmer touched his expression. “Good instincts calling this a priority, sir. I’d rather fix ghosts at a station than chase them under fire.”

He returned his attention to the board — already working.

Mac nodded as he watched Beckett work, already identifying issues that could become critical in the wrong situations. The security chief had been aboard less than five minutes and had already proven his value. That kind of attention to detail was exactly what he needed along the border.

"Good catch, Lieutenant," Mac said, his tone carrying genuine approval. "Get your team on those issues before we depart. I'd rather we fix problems at the dock than discover them when someone's shooting at us."

He glanced at the tactical display, then back to Beckett. "And I'd prefer not to explain to Doctor Standish why I ignored a security concern that could have been fixed while we were still in spacedock. She has a particular way of expressing disappointment that I'd like to avoid."

A slight smile crossed his features. "Welcome to the Proxima, Mr. Beckett. Something tells me you and I are going to get along just fine."

Beckett gave the diagnostics one last look, satisfied with what needed doing. He reached down, lifted his duffel, and straightened.

“Thank you Sir, I’ll get the team moving.”

There was a hint of a smile — not broad, just enough to show he already felt the pull of the ship beneath his feet.

“Good to be aboard.”

With that, he stepped away from the command circle and headed for the turbolift, already shifting his mind to Deck Seven and the work ahead. The Proxima hummed around him — a new rhythm, but one he knew he’d learn quickly.

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