Coy's Internship: The Mirror of Intention I

Posted on Tue Oct 21st, 2025 @ 8:38pm by Commander Rosa Coy

1,148 words; about a 6 minute read

Mission: Character Development
Location: USS Sunfire

The training bay hummed with life again — low, rhythmic, and predictable.
That was how Commander Rosa Coy liked it.

Banks of holo-projectors painted the air with translucent terrain maps, flight telemetry, and three-dimensional readouts of shuttlecraft schematics. The Sunfire’s auxiliary bay had been reconfigured for the morning’s exercise: Advanced Situational Response, Variant Two — “Planetary Descent under Fire.”

Every cadet had a station. Every display mirrored Rosa’s master console, where her hands hovered, steady, deliberate, still smelling faintly of metal and cleaning solvent.

“Telemetry check complete,” she said. “Initiate sync protocol.”

Six young voices responded in sync.
Rosa felt it — the rhythm, the discipline, the way they breathed as one. It was the same music that had saved her more times than she could count.

And among those six, at station three was Cadet Sira.

Rosa’s eyes flicked over, then back again. She tried to focus on data, but found herself reading posture instead: shoulders straight, chin lifted, fingers hovering at the ready like a pianist before a concerto.

The Bajoran cadet was different now. Quieter since the “near-death” simulation. More cautious in her enthusiasm. The spark was there, but tempered.

Rosa knew that look. It was the same one she’d seen in too many mirrors.

“She’s still waiting for your apology.”

Coy’s voice slid through her mind — soft, languid, and full of edges.

“You let her take the fall in that exercise. Clever, Commander, but cruel.”

Rosa’s jaw tightened. “Simulation parameters were approved,” she muttered under her breath.

“Mm. Of course. Always by the book.” A pause. “Does the book say what you do when you break one of them?”

She ignored him, punching in the next series of coordinates. The cadets didn’t need to see their instructor arguing with the ghost in her head.

“Scenario begins in five,” she said sharply. “Remember, planetary descent, atmospheric distortion, and ground interference. You’re flying blind. Don’t chase the horizon. Trust your sensors.”

The simulation engaged, the lights dimmed, the hum deepened. On every screen, the tranquil void of space warped into burning clouds and tremoring feedback.

Welcome to duty, Rosa thought. No time for ghosts now.

The training ran hard and fast.

Threx was the first to shout for recalibration; Dalko cursed the sensors; Veylin adjusted his trajectory with surgical precision; and Arven, ever the showman, tried to showboat through turbulence.

Sira, though, she was quiet. Watching.
Waiting.

When the systems flickered, Rosa caught the micro-hesitation in Sira’s movements, the tiny lapse where memory overtook instinct. The moment she’d “died” in the last exercise had carved itself into her reflexes.

“Station Three,” Rosa barked. “What’s your delay?”

Sira blinked, fingers finding their place again. “Adjusting for crosswinds, ma’am. Recalibrating thruster pitch.”

Rosa leaned closer, tone sharpening. “You’re overcompensating. Don’t think your way through the storm — feel it.”

The words came sharper than intended, and Sira flinched. A wave of guilt rose in Rosa’s chest, mirrored by Coy’s low chuckle. “Careful, little instructor. You’ll break her before you build her.”

She said nothing. Just stepped closer, lowering her voice. “Cadet,” Rosa said, “reset your pitch trim. Fly the course again.”

“Yes, ma’am.”

This time, Sira’s hand steadied. She exhaled slowly, her jaw set. And then, like the hum of a tuned engine, everything aligned. The shuttle responded.

Perfect trajectory.
Clean entry.
No overcorrection.

Rosa smiled despite herself. “That’s it,” she murmured. “Let the machine speak.”

The others were still struggling, but Rosa’s focus stayed fixed on the Bajoran at station three, on the way Sira’s intensity folded into grace when she stopped fighting herself.

When the exercise ended, Rosa dismissed the others for a break. “Cadet Sira,” she said, “stay behind.”

Sira stood stiffly, eyes flicking to the floor, hands clasped behind her back. “Ma’am?”

Rosa crossed her arms, letting silence stretch just enough to test discipline.

“You were late to stabilize your entry pattern,” she began.

“Yes, ma’am.”

“But you corrected perfectly on the second pass.”

“Yes, ma’am.”

“Why?”

Sira hesitated, frowning. “Because… I stopped overthinking?”

Rosa’s lips twitched. “Not bad. But incomplete.”

“Because she’s afraid of dying again,” Coy whispered.

Rosa’s jaw flexed, but she didn’t let it show.

“You were waiting for the simulation to punish you,” Rosa said aloud. “That hesitation — it wasn’t doubt, it was expectation. You were bracing for the hit.”

Sira’s gaze flicked up, startled. “Permission to speak freely?”

“Granted.”

“It’s… difficult,” Sira said carefully, “to separate the lesson from the cost. I know it was a simulation, but when I heard the others react, when they thought I was gone, it felt… real. Like I betrayed them by existing again.”

Rosa exhaled slowly. The truth of it struck deeper than she liked.

“You didn’t betray anyone,” she said softly. “You did what you were ordered to do. And you did it well.”

“But it doesn’t feel right.”

“No,” Rosa admitted. “It rarely does.”

Silence again. Heavy, but not cold.

“You could touch her,” Coy murmured. “Just a hand on her shoulder. She’d lean into it. You both want it.”

Rosa’s throat tightened. She forced herself to step back instead.

“You’re progressing fast,” she said briskly. “Advanced Situational Training is the right path for you. But you’ll need to learn emotional detachment. You can’t carry ghosts into a cockpit.”

Sira nodded, but her eyes lingered — studying Rosa, as if sensing the conflict she couldn’t name.

“Commander?”

Rosa blinked. “Yes?”

“Do you ever carry them?”

The question caught her off guard.

“Tell her yes,” Coy whispered. “Tell her about me.”

Rosa smiled thinly. “Sometimes,” she said instead. “But I’ve learned how to make them useful.”

Later, when Sira had gone, Rosa stood alone in the simulation bay. The hum of the holo-grid pulsed like a second heartbeat.

“You like her,” Coy said finally.

Rosa’s lips parted. “She’s a cadet.”

“That’s not what I asked.”

She sighed, closing her eyes. “You don’t get to project your compulsions onto me.”

“Oh, come now,” Coy purred. “You feel it too — that spark. You crave her the way I crave touch. You want to see what happens when she stops seeing you as flawless.”

Rosa’s voice dropped to a whisper. “Enough.”

“Fine,” Coy said, his tone cooling into something almost humane. “But admit this, she makes you forget about being broken.”

Rosa didn’t answer.

The simulation grid faded to black around her, leaving only the hum of systems — and the faint echo of her own breathing.

TBC

 

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