Lieutenant Junior Grade Samuel McIntyre sat alone in his office on Deck 33 of the USS Chimera, the door sealed and the lights dimmed to a low, amber glow. The ship hummed around him—a constant, living presence in the bulkheads—but inside his office, there was order. Control.
A quiet stream of classical music filtered through the room, violin and piano layered in deliberate harmony. It wasn’t loud. It didn’t need to be. It was there to sharpen the mind, not distract it.
McIntyre leaned back slightly in his chair, one hand resting against his chin as a PADD hovered in front of him. Another flick of his fingers brought up a second display, then a third. Personnel records. Dozens of them.
“Computer,” he said evenly, eyes never leaving the data. “Filter by Engineering Division. Cross-reference performance reviews with recent mission logs.”
“Acknowledged.”
The lists shifted instantly.
Names. Faces. Service records. Commendations. Infractions.
McIntyre’s gaze moved with precision, scanning faster than most would think possible. He wasn’t just reading—he was assessing. Patterns. Tendencies. Weaknesses.
A crew wasn’t just numbers on a roster. It was a machine. And machines failed when even one part was overlooked.
He tapped one record, expanding it.
“Petty Officer Daniels… consistent performance, but declining efficiency over the last three months.” He exhaled slowly, the music swelling faintly behind his thoughts. “Fatigue… or something else.”
A note was added with a quick motion.
Another file opened.
“Ensign Koval. Top of class. Strong initiative…” He paused. “…but initiative without restraint gets people killed.”
Another note.
The violin climbed higher in the background, precise and controlled—like a drill instructor calling cadence without words.
McIntyre finally leaned forward, resting his forearms on the desk as he brought up a full department overview. Engineering. Security. Science. Medical.
Each one is a piece of the whole.
Each one under scrutiny.
“Computer, flag any personnel with disciplinary actions within the last six months and correlate with current duty assignments.”
“Acknowledged.”
The display shifted again, highlighting names in muted red.
McIntyre’s eyes narrowed slightly.
There it was. The friction points. The places where command attention wasn’t just recommended—it was required.
He reached over and lowered the music’s volume by just a fraction.
“Command lives or dies on details,” he murmured to himself. “And details don’t fix themselves.”
Another record opened.
Another assessment made.
Outside his office, the Chimera continued its patrol through the quiet expanse of space. But inside, McIntyre was already preparing for problems that hadn’t happened yet.
Because if there was one thing he believed without question—
It was that by the time a problem reached the bridge…
It was already too late.

Lieutenant Jr. Grade Samuel A. McIntyre
CNS USS Chimera