First Impressions
Posted on Sat Mar 21st, 2026 @ 5:13am by Commander Katrina Chance & Captain Jacob Rye
Edited on on Sat Mar 21st, 2026 @ 5:17am
2,448 words; about a 12 minute read
Mission:
Ghost Starship
Location: Deck 10 - U.S.S Missouri
Timeline: A few hours before To Salvage a Starship
The door hissed shut behind him, sealing away the low hum of the corridor. For a long moment, Jacob Rye just stood there in the stillness of his new quarters, bag slung over one shoulder, the faint scent of recycled air and new paint hanging in the room. USS Missouri. His new assignment. His new home — at least for as long as Starfleet decided it would be.
He set the bag down on the bunk with a quiet exhale, running a hand along the smooth edge of the desk, the polished metal catching the reflection of the room’s soft lighting. Chief Engineer Star’s a good sort, he thought absently. Friendly. Professional. Maybe a little too chipper for the end of a transfer day — but a fascinating character all the same, and he had certainly enjoyed their conversation.
Unzipping the bag, he began to unpack without really thinking about it: a photo of his sister and mother, the battered copy of The Art of War that had followed him through too many deployments, and the small carved hawk that an old friend had once handed him after an operation on a dusty world near a distant star. Each item found its familiar place with quiet precision. Each one a small anchor.
He sat for a moment, elbows on his knees, listening to the low, steady pulse of the ship around him. He’d been greeted, shown his quarters, made to feel — officially — welcome. But something about the silence didn’t sit right.
Old habits. Command habits.
Rye stood, smoothed his uniform jacket, and glanced once more at the photo by the bedside. Then he tapped his combadge, the familiar weight of decision settling in his chest.
“Computer, locate Commander Chance.”
If he was going to start this chapter properly, it was time to meet the XO.
The computer beeped in acknowledgement of the request, responding in its easy, formal tone. "Commander Chance is in Jefferies tube 21 beta, on deck 10."
"Fascinating," Rye muttered to nobody.
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Deck 10 had that particular warmth that only came from too many hours of honest work — the kind of heat that clung to the walls and made the air hum faintly with effort. Somewhere ahead, the metallic rhythm of a spanner against conduit echoed down the passage, overlaying the sound of a frustrated, muttering female voice.
He slowed when he reached the open hatch, glancing at the access label — 21 Beta. Figures.
Bending slightly, he peered inside. “Commander Chance, I presume?” he called, tone mild. “Either that, or the Missouri’s got a very assertive maintenance officer.”
A pause. The sound inside shifted — motion, a tool set down, the faint scuff of someone deciding whether to answer.
Rye stayed where he was, one hand braced lightly against the frame. “Now that’s a promising first impression,” he said, a dry note threading through his voice. “Half the time I can’t even get an XO to admit they know where the Jefferies tubes are.”
He stepped back from the opening, a hint of amusement tugging at the corner of his mouth. “Didn’t mean to interrupt whatever clandestine operation you’ve got running down here. I just thought I’d introduce myself before someone files the first formal complaint.”
A beat. Then, lighter: “So—what’s the Missouri teaching her XO this week?”
First, the shift of black locks of hair. A face, then a body emerged from the opening of the Jefferies Tube. Judging by her roughed up uniform, she'd been in there for quite a while.
She gave the man before her a once over and smirked slightly at him. "How are things in the outside world, Mr? Are you enjoying your clean, pressed uniform?" She made a slight show of attempting to straighten out her own ruffled garments, but it was clearly a hopeless endeavour.
Rye’s brow lifted slightly, the corners of his mouth turning in what might’ve been a smile — or something close to it.
“Clean and pressed,” he said, glancing down at his uniform as if checking. “A rare state of affairs, I’ll admit. Give it two days and I'm sure I’ll be crawling through the same ducts you are, wondering why I ever bothered unpacking starch.”
He leaned a shoulder against the bulkhead, posture easy but attentive. “Looks like you’ve been in there long enough to know this ship better than the engineers that built her. I’d say that’s a good sign — even if it makes the rest of us look lazy.”
The faint hum of the ship filled the pause that followed. Then he straightened slightly, the tone in his voice settling into something clear and professional.
“Captain Jacob Rye,” he said, offering a hand in greeting. “Newly assigned to the Missouri. Marine detachment commander. Thought it best to report to my executive officer before I start stepping on any toes — or crawling into the wrong maintenance ducts.”
A hint of humor flickered through his expression, light but genuine. “I gather you’re Commander Chance. Good to finally meet you, though I’ll admit this wasn’t quite the setting I expected.”
Katrina wore an amused expression as she nodded at Jacob's words. "I am indeed Commander Chance,
" she affirmed. "And I live up to my name. You never know when or where you may chance upon me." She took Jacob's hand and gave it a respectable few pumps. "Welcome aboard!"
Her grip was firm, her tone easy. It was the kind of welcome that could have sounded rehearsed, but didn’t — just enough edge of sincerity to carry weight.
“Duly noted, Commander,” Rye said, a faint glint of amusement in his eyes. “I’ll make sure to watch my step, then. Wouldn’t want to chance upon you mid-maintenance again.”
He released her hand and glanced briefly down the corridor, where the hum of the ship blended with the distant rhythm of her engineering crew. “I appreciate the welcome. Always easier joining a ship when the first handshake doesn’t come with a damage report.”
His gaze returned to her, the professionalism still there but softened by curiosity. “If you’ve got a few minutes before diving back into whatever patch job you were saving the ship from, I’d like to hear how the Missouri’s been treating her crew. Nothing formal — just a commander’s read of things.”
A pause — light, unhurried. “Helps me learn the pulse before I start pretending I can read it.”
Katrina took a moment to reflect on the question, glancing down the corridor, then looking to the hatch she'd just extricated herself from, then back to the new marine. She huffed softly. "The Missouri has been kind to us," she answered. "The universe... less so." A pause, then, "The too long, didn't read of it all... I myself came aboard just before the Missouri had a scheduled engagement with a runaway AI known as I-400. Less than two hours between my stepping off the shuttle and us entering into combat. The ship has seen a number of officers come through it over the past months, but many have not stuck around. It's been something of a drag on morale around here. But... we've finally had a chance to catch our breath these last few weeks."
Rye listened without interrupting, letting the echo of her words settle into the hum of the corridor. The rapid turnover, the AI engagement, the strain on morale — it wasn’t unfamiliar terrain. Ships under pressure had a certain gravity to them. You could feel it in the bulkheads.
He gave a slow, understanding nod.
“The universe rarely plays fair,” he said. “But a crew that’s still standing after all that? That says more than the casualty reports ever do.”
Pushing off the bulkhead, he tipped his head down the corridor — an unspoken invitation to walk if she wanted to.
“Morale comes back,” he added. “Not because things get easier, but because people decide the place is worth the work. From the sound of it, the Missouri has given her crew more than one reason to make that choice.”
His tone shifted lighter, a low thread of dry humor returning.
“And for what it’s worth, Commander… in my experience, runaway AIs are still less trouble than most admirals. At least the AIs usually have the decency to announce their intentions.”
Kat's first instinct was to verbally swat the man for his disparagement of the admiralty. Like it or not, they were a necessary part of Starfleet operations, even if some of them were less than on the level. Unfortunately, no organization on the order of Starfleet could be perfect. But as she stepped down the corridor per the marine's invitation, Katrina forced the response back. After all, he wasn't entirely wrong.
As she walked, Katrina looked over her shoulder. She had read the paperwork for Jacob's transfer, but there was nothing like hearing about the officer from their own mouth. "So tell me a bit about yourself, Mr. Rye?" She invited.
Rye caught the slight shift in her posture at his admiral quip — a flicker of something disciplined and loyal, even if unspoken. He respected that more than he’d ever admit out loud.
As they walked, he glanced her way when she used “Mr.”
“Captain, if you don’t mind,” he corrected gently. “Old habit of the Marines — they get offended on my behalf if I let that slide.”
Not a rebuke. Just a line, clearly drawn.
He let a breath out slowly, considering how much to offer on a first pass.
“Well,” he began, tone even, “I’ve spent the better part of my career where Starfleet needs boots on the ground more than hands at a helm. Border defense, relief operations, the occasional firefight when diplomacy came up short.” A faint shrug. “I’m not complicated. I go where I’m told, keep people alive, and try not to add my name to the memorial wall.”
He paused a beat, then let the corner of his mouth lift.
“I handle morale about as well as I handle ductwork — which is to say, I won’t be the one singing in the lounge, but I’ll be there making sure the roof doesn’t fall in.”
He looked ahead again, eyes tracking the long spine of the deck.
“Figured it was time to trade dust and trenches for deckplates and star charts. Assuming the universe cooperates.”
Katrina nodded easily at the marine Captain's statement and smiled. She slowed her walk just slightly, her posture open and relaxed. The XO had no aversion to the request, and saw no reason not to respect it. "From what I understand of marine culture," she vocalized through her implant, lips unmoving, "It is even more strict than most of Starfleet tends to be. That is understandable. Captain it is then."
After a moment, Katrina stopped entirely, giving their new marine CO a once over. She had reviewed his service record, and couldn't help but wonder if this transfer was something he truly wanted, or he had given himself away with his words. Even through their short interaction, the XO could sense the dedication to duty that guided him. But rather than address these things, her implant stated kindly, "Serving aboard a starship and a stationary installation have a number of differences. But one thing that is a constant, Captain, is the sense of community that is formed from shared experiences. It looks different everywhere you serve, but it exists. I hope you find your space among us. If you can't? I encourage you to make one."
Rye held her gaze as she finished, the hum of Deck 10 filling the space between them. For a moment, he simply nodded — not perfunctory, but thoughtful.
“That’s fair,” he said. “Community doesn’t come assigned. You earn it. Or you build it.”
He adjusted his jacket lightly, more habit than necessity. “I appreciate the candor, Commander. And the welcome.”
A faint trace of dry humor surfaced. “I’ll take some time to find my footing. In the meantime, I’ll get my people settled and try not to make a habit of borrowing your Jefferies tubes.”
He paused, then added, more evenly, “If there’s anything you think I should know — about this ship, or its people — I’m always willing to listen.”
Katrina tilted her head slightly, reaching out to tap the wall next to her several times in a seemingly random spot. A smirk crossed her face as she gave her head a little shake. "Borrowing is fine, Captain," she assured. "As long as you return them in the same condition you found them in. And... you are most welcome."
Rye glanced at the section of wall she’d tapped, filing the location away with quiet amusement.
“I’ll have my Marines sign for the ducts before entry,” he replied evenly. “Full inventory control. Can’t have them wandering off with half the ship.”
A faint, approving nod followed.
“Thank you, Commander. For the welcome — and the candor.”
He shifted his stance slightly, posture easing into something more forward-facing now.
“I’ll get the detachment settled and begin a familiarization pass of our operational zones. If you find you need boots somewhere the rest of the ship would rather avoid, you know where to find us.”
A beat — calm, steady.
“And if there’s ever something you’d rather not fix from inside a wall… I’m usually better in open air.”
The hint of dry humor lingered just long enough.
Katrina smiled warmly and lifted her right hand, giving the marine detachment commander an okay gesture. "Try not to give me too much paperwork, eh? I'm still relatively new here myself," she quipped. Then she gave him an easy nod. "You're free to be on your way, thank you for checking in!"
Rye gave a small, understanding nod at the mention of paperwork.
“I’ll do my best to keep it to a minimum, Commander,” he said. “Marines tend to prefer action reports to forms anyway.”
He straightened slightly, the faintest hint of a smile lingering at the corner of his mouth.
“Thank you for the welcome. I’ll get my people squared away.”
With a final nod of respect, he turned down the corridor, the steady hum of the Missouri rising again around him as he headed off to begin settling the detachment into their new home.
Mission Post By
Commander Katrina Chance
Executive Officer, U.S.S Missouri
Captain Jacob Rye
Marine Commanding Officer
U.S.S Missouri
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