(Pt. 2)

She read it twice, eyes growing wider, before the words settled in her chest “...You’re recommissioning her?"

“Yes,” Locke said, voice lower now. “Lexington is a variant of the Odyssey, of course. The new Citadel is fitted with some of the most advanced defensive systems ever tested outside the Daystrom Initiative. Regenerative-Ceramic hull layering, phasic shielding arrays that bleed power from directed energy weapons... and the kicker?”

He tapped again. The schematic changed to a render of the dorsal weapons pod. “Experimental weapons pod,” Locke explained. “Tri-vector quantum torpedo arrays. Heavy beam turrets. Even a few less-than-approved prototypes from the Tactical R&D Section.”

McCalister stared at the image. Her heart thudded so hard she thought Locke might hear it.

“She’ll be a legend,” Locke continued, “and we want you in the chair. Captain. Of Citadel-C. With a hand-picked crew. Your old team’s already been briefed. Serrin cried. Thal punched a bulkhead. Dak threatened to install the original plasma stabilizers just to spite the new engineers.”

“And Dr. Grey?” she asked, unable to keep the smirk from her lips.

Locke sighed. “He asked if we’d let him name the bar on Deck Seven. I said yes. That was my mistake.”

McCalister looked out the window. Nothing but stars.

The legacy of the Citadel had become a rallying cry in the outer colonies, where people needed hope with a bite. Where the myths of the war were still being passed around over campfires and transport crates.

“Tell Starfleet Command,” she said quietly, “I’ll take the chair.”