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[Round 5] Captain Reynolds - First Footsteps


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(( USS Drake ))

::The air was cool, dry and more than a little stale. It was also pitch black – or would have been, if not for a torch held by a lone individual, creating a small pool of light in the darkness. Without power, the ship felt like a tomb. Umbilicals bled the bare minimum of life into the ship's systems, but it was obvious that no one had been aboard the aged vessel in quite some time.

::Cold and empty ships didn't bother Quinn. At the very least, they didn't bother her until some memories had been attached to them and so she was nonplussed as she walked through the corridors, her path lit by the flashlight in her hand. Truth be told, she wasn't really sure what she was doing; after committing the ship's schematics to her prodigious memory, she already knew her way around and didn't need to actually walk to corridors to cement the images in her mind. There was

no good reason she couldn't have waited the few hours it would have take for the station engineers to fully power up the vessel and make it much more habitable.

::Maybe she just wanted to be the first person aboard. To hear her footsteps echoing along the deck plates when there was no one else to interrupt the sound. To connect.

::The light from her torch bounced around the walls of the Jefferies Tube as she scaled the ladder that led to the Bridge, the metal rungs almost achingly cold in the palms of her hands. The command hub was such a far cry from the place she had felt most comfortable at the start of her career. Thinking about it, although engineering was still probably the place she felt most comfortable in, she simply didn't have the option of hiding out in there any longer.

::The bridge was like the rest of the ship, and nothing like any of the ships she had served on in the past. There were tell-tale traces – so many clues – that the ship was far, far older than much of the rest of the fleet. Not least of which the dedication plaque, bearing the year the Drake had been laid down: 2308, a full eighty years ago. Deciding then and there that she needed to familiarise herself completely with the ship's history, Quinn made her way to the central chair. There, far more so than the Eagle, was a reminder of who the responsibility actually lay with. A single chair, with no flanking seats for a First Officer, Counsellor or other advisers. Just her. Alone. In the middle of it all.

::It was a thought that scared the living hell out of her.

::Sinking down into the padded cushions of the command chair, she pulled a PADD out of her pocket, squinting at the screen in the darkness. With a few delicate taps from long, bony fingers, she sent the transfer notices through. Formally phrased according to Starfleet protocol, of course, but essentially they read "pack up your belongings, we're moving ship and enjoy the rest of your leave". That done, she slowly slumped into the chair, pondering what the future was going to be like aboard the Drake.

::If nothing else, it was going to be an adventure.::

--

Captain Quinn Reynolds

Commanding Officer

USS Drake

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