The briefing room wasn’t large—just enough for department heads and a few senior watch officers. But the tension inside pressed harder than the bulkheads ever could.

Commander Johnson stood near the wall display as it flickered to life, projecting a slowly rotating schematic of Changxi IV and the Seoul’s orbital approach vector. His voice cut cleanly across the room as the last of the officers took their seats.

“We’re twenty minutes from orbital position,” he began. “At the marker, we’ll release the Sentry Pod on a rapid deployment override. From there, we shift into a low tactical posture, nose up—shuttlebay facing the planet.”

He nodded toward R’Kala.

“The pod will anchor our defense net,” R’Kala said. “It’ll operate in semi-autonomous phaser response mode, networked with our fire control grid. Once it’s active, we’ll have overlapping cover on three quarters of our approach vector. That gives us a corridor to run shuttles—assuming they make it back.”

“And we’ll be sitting in it.” Johnson didn’t need to raise his voice to be clear.

Espinoza gave a quick nod. “Flight plan’s adjusted for a drift-hold orbit—minimal thruster use, maximum flexibility. I’ll keep the nose angled toward DS4’s predicted reinforcement vector. If anything jumps in fast, I’ll have maneuvering room.”

“Assume they won’t,” Johnson said. “If we’re lucky, we’ll still be here when they arrive. If not—”

“They’ll have debris and telemetry,” Tal finished from Ops, not looking up. “We’ve got automated buoy drop routines preloaded into the shuttles and the auxiliary pod. Should we lose comms, those beacons will act as our fallback black box.”

T’Vaal, seated at Johnson’s right, folded her hands. “Logic suggests reinforcements will be delayed—if not compromised altogether. Our power distribution plan prioritizes shield geometry over long-range systems. That has consequences if the Sentry Pod’s uplink degrades.”

“I’ve accounted for that,” said zh’Thrani. Her voice was steady, but her antennae angled slightly forward—a sign she was already running through worst-case scenarios in her head. “I’ve got a trauma station on Deck Four and two mobile medkits ready. If we have to operate with internal power fluctuations, my team is trained for it.”

“Expected injuries?” Johnson asked.

“Shuttle-borne decompression trauma, thermal burns, concussion clusters. If the colony’s shield grid is down, we may see rad exposure too.”

Johnson looked around the table. “This isn’t an extraction mission. We don’t know who’s alive. We don’t know what we’re up against. But we’ll do what we can—secure the orbital lane, recover the survivors we reach, and hold long enough for DS4 to reinforce us.”

He straightened, hands clasped behind his back. “We’re not here to be heroes. We’re here to hold the line.”

The meeting adjourned without fanfare. No final salute, no stirring words of inspiration. Just chairs scraping quietly against deck plating and the rhythmic click of boots as officers filed out.

Lieutenant R’Kala lingered for a moment at the table, her clawed fingers drumming against the LCARS surface as the tactical schematic flickered and vanished. She didn’t say anything, but Johnson noticed the way her eyes followed the projection as if trying to memorize every threat vector it had outlined.

“Lieutenant,” he said gently.

R’Kala nodded once and moved for the door, jaw tight. She didn’t need to say anything. She was already thinking three steps ahead.

Tal moved next, his datapad already back in hand, his mind clearly running numbers. He passed T’Vaal and gave her the slightest glance.

“If we lose comms, we’ll still have flight telemetry,” he murmured. “At least, until the pod’s link degrades.”

“We won’t,” T’Vaal replied, cool as ever.

He didn’t argue.

Maria Espinoza exhaled slowly as she stepped out into the corridor, rubbing the back of her neck. She muttered something under her breath—maybe a prayer, maybe a flight calculation—and walked a little straighter than before.

Doctor zh’Thrani was last to leave. She didn’t rush. She met Johnson’s eyes on her way out.

“I’ve run more drills than I can count,” she said quietly. “But drills don’t bleed.”

Johnson gave a grim nod. “That’s why I trust you to hold the deck.”

She left without another word, her steps light, her shoulders square.

T’Vaal lingered only a moment longer, standing just beside him.

“They’re ready,” she said simply.

Johnson let out the breath he hadn’t realized he’d been holding.

“I know,” he replied. “I just hope the galaxy agrees.”