“We’ve got a few options.”  Master Chief Christopher Grace sat in his office at Montana Station, the walls lined with wide screens displaying various projects and processes they handled in the repair and refit operations. Across from him sat Captain Peter Crawford, newly assigned to the USS Franklin D. Roosevelt. The bridge had been ruined in the Frontier Day events, and a refit was required. Grace had come up with a few possibilities.

Peter accepted the PADD from his old friend. “I’m not looking to make her shiny, Chris. We will work on diplomatic cases when she’s busy elsewhere.  She needs to look good…not perfection.”  He turned PADD around, “That’s too much – I don’t need a chair for my XO – whoever that ends up being.”

Chris looked like Crawford had just kicked his pet dog.  “That’s one of the running models for diplomatic operations.  A couple of ships in Fourth Fleet have it.  They love it.”

“I know, but we’re not that big.  We need a functional bridge to handle diplomatic offerings and slip into the cowboy diplomacy uniform when the occasion calls for it.”  He scrolled through a few more options and stopped at the third selection.  “Now, that…that I like.”

The Master Chief plucked the PADD back and frowned as he saw what the captain was looking at, “It’s modern enough as a design – you need to let me put in the newer model chairs, Crawford.  Holographic displays, high-end console plates – plus a few more pieces I’ve managed to get my hands on.”

Peter put his hands up in surrender, “It’s all yours, Chris.”

The Master Chief smiled, “Damn right it is.”

Peter sat down roughly in his ready room, scrolling through the various refit and repair lists quickly filling his inbox.  And yet…he still had four positions to fill: security, communications, science, and flight control.  In there, somewhere, was going to be his XO.  He built his share of crews over the years.  That had been when he’d known plenty of possibilities, and Frontier Day had cut a swath through his familiar and friendly.  He’d spent time counting the losses as the reports were updated, and the numbers were staggering.

His desk console beeped, and he opened the channel and saw the face of his CO and Squadron Commander, Fleet Captain Geronimo Fontana, “Ger, what can I do for you?”

“It’s what I can do for you.  You remember Natalie Harris?”

Crawford thought for a moment, realizing who she had been related to, “I’m starting to – she’s finishing up her junior year at the academy.”

Fontana cocked his head to the side, “She was.  She’s been accelerating her studies, and one of her professors believes her learning could be helped with an assignment to us…specifically you.”

He remembered her interests, “I already have ops and engineering covered.”

“That’s good…because she’s been working on the command track.  They’re assigning her to the FDR as your yeoman.  She’ll have classwork, field experience assignments, and hours to complete with you.  We both know you need someone to bring order to your chaos, Pete.”

He ignored the jab from his CO, “Arrival?”

“Tonight – they fast-tracked her.  She’s supposed to hit the ground running.  They seem to think she could be XO material down the road.”

Peter frowned, “You think they’re right?”

“I think Natalie Harris has had a unique life.  She’s young, but she’s got possibilities.  Given Frontier Day’s impact…we can’t afford to ignore officers like her.”

Crawford sighed.  His CO wasn’t wrong.  Staffing the Franklin D. Roosevelt was never going to be easy.  He’d identified a security chief that Commander Thasaz was willing to let go, and a young upstart communications chief had come to the attention of Montana’s communication director.  A Vulcan science officer was in the works, and he’d found a flight control officer looking for a more diplomatic posting.  “I’ll make sure I’m there to meet her.  Anything else?”

“The Task Force command changes are on your desk.  Both are pretty solid. When the FDR is up and running, we may have to do some work with a Klingon or two.  This business with the Romulans won’t go away any time soon.  I’m worried it’s only going to get worse.”

Peter grimaced.  The ongoing reports around the fleet did not fill him with confidence.  “I’ll start building profiles and possibilities.”  Fontana nodded and closed the channel.  Crawford sat back.  The FDR was an emissary.  He hoped they could find a diplomatic solution to the rimward problems.