The turbolift arrived with a soft ding, whisking them toward the docking levels. As the doors closed, Rios pulled up his PADD, scanning the latest repair estimates streaming in from the drydock teams. His brow furrowed. "Captain... these prelims from engineering. The structural integrity of the saucer section—it's worse than we thought. Microfractures from the Borg cutting beam, warp core alignment off by 12 per cent. They might not clear her for warp anytime soon."
Vann's antennae flattened slightly, a tell of Andorian frustration. "Miranda-class hulls are tough, but they're relics. She's served well through the Dominion scraps, the Borg probes before Vega. But if Spacedock's calling it..."
The lift doors parted onto the observation deck overlooking the central repair bays, and there she was: the U.S.S. Horizon, suspended in a web of scaffolding and energy tethers. The Miranda-class vessel looked even more battered up close—her saucer pocked with carbon scoring, one nacelle half-disassembled, force fields shimmering over hull breaches like fragile bandages. Repair crews in EV suits swarmed her exterior, phaser cutters sparking as they excised damaged plating. It was a testament to her resilience, but also to her age; built in the late 23rd century, she'd been refitted countless times, a workhorse that had outlived her prime.
A comm badge chirp interrupted their view. "Spacedock Ops to Captain Vann," came a crisp voice. "Priority update on your vessel's status. Admiral Quinn's office has authorised it—patch through?"
Vann tapped her badge. "Send it."
Rios's PADD lit up with the file, and he skimmed it alongside her. The verdict was clear, buried in the jargon of structural analyses and resource allocations: the damage to the Horizon from Vega was too extensive for cost-effective repairs, especially with Starfleet's yards strained by ongoing Klingon tensions. Effective immediately, the ship was to be decommissioned—retired to the Fleet Museum annexe at Utopia Planitia as a historical exhibit, her legacy preserved for future generations to study the grit of frontier service.
"Retired," Rios echoed, disbelief in his voice. He'd only served aboard her for days, but Vega had forged a bond in Fire. "She got us home. Deserves better than a display case."
Vann nodded, her ice-grey eyes fixed on the ship. "She does. But Starfleet's not sentimental. We need hulls that can keep pace with the threats out there—Sovereign tech without the Sovereign bloat." She scrolled further, and her antennae perked up. "Looks like Quinn's not leaving us adrift. Crew transfer approved to a new commission: U.S.S. Horizon-A. Excalibur-class light cruiser, fresh from refit in the yards."
Rios pulled up the specs on his PADD, cross-referencing with the latest Starfleet registry updates. The Excalibur-class—launched in 2382 as a post-Dominion War compromise—blended the timeless Constitution hull silhouette with modern efficiencies. At 335.9 meters long and 151.3 meters wide, she was sleeker than her predecessors, designed for rapid deployment with a smaller crew complement to address officer shortages. Her matter-antimatter warp core promised a cruising speed of warp 7 and an emergency burst up to 9.3, backed by an enhanced manoeuvring system array for nimble combat manoeuvres. Armament was balanced: two forward and two aft weapon mounts, with four device slots for torpedoes or probes. Bridge layout supported one tactical officer, two engineers, and one science specialist, with consoles skewed toward engineering resilience (two engineering, one each for tactical and science).
What caught Rios's eye were the ship-specific abilities: Weapon System Efficiency for sustained Fire, Shield Frequency Modulation to counter adaptive foes like the Borg, Strategic Manoeuvring for fleet coordination, and Attract Fire to draw threats away from allies—a perfect multi-role platform for surveys, patrols, and the kind of hot-zone diplomacy they were heading into.
"She's a beauty," Rios said, a spark of excitement cutting through the melancholy. "Constitution heritage but upgraded. Feels like the old girl's spirit has been reborn."
Vann clapped him on the shoulder, her grip firm. "Exactly. Horizon-A carries the name forward. We'll brief the crew en route to the transfer shuttle. Daxan will love the new engineering suite—more automation, less jury-rigging. And you, XO? Ready to break her in on the P'Jem run?"
Rios straightened, the weight of the new command settling like a fresh uniform. "Absolutely, Captain. Let's make sure her first mission honours the original."
As they boarded the shuttle to the Horizon-A's berth, the old ship receded in the viewport—a retired sentinel passing the torch.
Rios stepped out first, his boots echoing on the pristine deck plating of the new ship—a far cry from the worn corridors of her predecessor. The air smelled of fresh polymers and calibrated recyclers, the subtle undercurrent of a vessel yet to accumulate the scars of service. Captain Vann followed, her antennae perking up as she took in the sleek lines of the Excalibur-class interior: wider passageways than the Miranda, with integrated holographic interfaces glowing softly along the bulkheads, ready for instant data overlays.
"Feels like stepping into the future," Rios murmured, glancing at the registry plaque mounted near the airlock—U.S.S. Horizon-A, NCC-91782, etched in crisp Federation script.
Vann nodded, her scar catching the overhead lights. "She's got the bones of a constitution, but the heart of a Sovereign-lite. Let's get the senior staff assembled. Conference room, Deck 1—standard layout for these birds."
They made their way to the turbolift, the ship's computer acknowledging their presence with a melodic chirp. "Bridge," Vann ordered, and the lift whisked them upward. En route, Rios pinged the crew via his comm badge: "Senior officers, report to the conference room in five. Mandatory briefing."
The conference room—adjacent to the bridge for quick access during alerts—was a compact yet efficient space, its oval table ringed by ergonomic chairs that adjusted automatically to each occupant's physiology. A panoramic viewport dominated one wall, currently framing Earth Spacedock's bustling bays, with the old Horizon visible in the distance like a retired guardian. Holographic projectors hummed faintly overhead, ready to summon schematics or star charts at a word.
The crew filtered in promptly, their expressions a mix of curiosity and subdued mourning for the old ship. Chief Lira Daxan arrived first, her Bolian features brightening as she eyed the room's tech. "Captain, Commander—if this is half as upgraded as the specs promise, I'm already in love." She plopped into a chair, pulling up an engineering diagnostic on her PADD.
Lieutenant Jorak lumbered in next, his Tellarite bulk settling with a grunt. "New ship, same problems. Hope the phasers don't glitch like the last ones did mid-drill." His sceptical gaze swept the room, but there was a glint of approval in his eyes as he noted the reinforced tactical console embedded in the table.
Ensign Darius Cole slid in with his trademark grin, though tempered by recent events. "Helm's station on the bridge looks slick—enhanced manoeuvring thrusters? I could pull off some real stunts with those."
Lieutenant Sera T'Lenn entered last, her Vulcan poise unbroken as she took her seat with precise grace. "Logical choice for a replacement vessel. The Excalibur-class integrates post-Dominion advancements efficiently."
Vann waited until all were seated before standing at the head of the table, Rios at her right. She tapped the interface, and a holographic model of the Horizon-A materialised above the centre—rotating slowly to showcase her 335.9-meter length, the saucer section flowing seamlessly into the engineering hull, twin nacelles angled for optimal warp geometry.
"Listen up," Vann began, her voice carrying the clipped authority of an Andorian war captain. "The old Horizon got us through Vega, but she's earned her rest—decommissioned as of 0800 hours, headed for the museum yards. This is our new home: U.S.S. Horizon-A, Excalibur-class light survey cruiser. Launched 2382 specs, but with fresh refits for the current climate. She's lighter on crew—optimised for our size team—but punches above her weight."
Rios leaned forward, gesturing to the holo to zoom in on key systems. "Length: 335.9 meters, width 151.3. The warp core gives us warp 7 cruise, 9.3 emergency—faster response times than the Miranda. Enhanced manoeuvring array means we're nimble in a scrap, Ensign Cole; you'll love the impulse agility at 0.999c."
Cole's grin widened. "Music to my ears, sir."
"Armament: Two fore, two aft mounts—phasers and torpedoes standard," Rios continued. "Four device slots for flexibility. Bridge setup: one tactical station for you, Jorak; two engineering stations for Daxan and her team; one science station for T'Lenn. Consoles weighted toward engineering resilience—expect better power routing in prolonged engagements."
Daxan nodded enthusiastically, her blue skin flushing a deeper shade. "I've already synced with the core—Weapon System Efficiency keeps our phasers hot without draining the grid. Shield Frequency Modulation? Borg won't adapt as quickly next time. And Attract Fire protocols— we can tank hits to protect allies. Strategic Manoeuvring for fleet ops, too. This girl's built for multi-role: surveys, patrols, whatever the quadrant throws."
Jorak crossed his arms, tusks twitching. "Sounds fancy. But does she have the grit? Miranda Hulls took a beating and kept flying."
"She's got Constitution heritage," Vann interjected. "General hull arrangement echoes the classics—reliable, adaptable. We've lost the old girl's quirks, but gained efficiency. Crew transfer is complete; junior staff are settling in. Questions?"
T'Lenn raised a hand logically. "Sensor suites: Upgraded for anomaly detection? Vega highlighted the need for precise morphogenic scans."
"Indeed," Rios replied. "Science console ties into enhanced arrays—better resolution on subspace rifts. We'll calibrate en route."
Cole leaned back. "And the mission?"
Vann's antennae angled forward. "Escort duty: Ambassador Sokketh, Vulcan diplomat, to P'Jem. High-level talks—routine on paper, but the Klingon border's hot. Sensors flagged anomalies along the route; it could be nothing, cloaked vessels, or echoes from Vega. Yellow alert protocols: Jorak, run tactical sims; Daxan, stress-test the core and EPS grids; T'Lenn, baseline scans for cloaked ships and 3rd parties that may take an interest; Cole, plot evasive courses. Rios and I will handle the ambassador. We launch in 24 hours— get your teams up to speed."
The room fell into a focused silence, broken only by the soft whir of the holo. Jorak grunted approval. "Better than scrapping. Let's see what she can do."