Coy’s Internship: Slipstream IV

Posted on Sat Oct 25th, 2025 @ 10:42pm by Commander Rosa Coy

1,308 words; about a 7 minute read

Mission: Character Development
Location: USS Sunfire

The Sunfire’s auxiliary bay was quieter than usual, the hum of standby systems filling the spaces between Rosa’s slow, measured breaths. She moved along the consoles, eyes scanning telemetry readouts from the past few days’ simulations, but her mind was elsewhere. The taste of adrenaline had faded, leaving only the echo of neural feedback from the storm run with Sira.

Coy’s presence was still there, hovering like static. But today he was quieter, less biting, a distant, tentative hum rather than a razor’s edge. “You survived the storm,” he murmured, faint, almost conciliatory. “And you didn’t break her. That counts for something.”

Rosa didn’t answer immediately. She allowed herself a slow exhale, letting the tension in her shoulders ease. For once, Coy’s observation wasn’t a jab, merely a reflection.

A soft chime announced Sira’s arrival. Rosa glanced up, noting the cadet’s posture, attentive but cautious, curiosity tempered with respect. Her hair was neatly pinned, and her uniform caught the light in the quiet bay.

“Commander Coy,” Sira greeted, her voice quiet but firm. “You asked me to return today?”

Rosa’s lips pressed into a thin line. “Requested. But yes, I want you here. There are things a simulation can’t teach you, Cadet. And some things only a few pilots ever learn.”

Sira stepped closer, eyes scanning the bay, lingering on the glimmer of residual holographic projections from the last run. “I wanted to see you,” she said softly. “After… the storm.”

Rosa raised an eyebrow. “To check if I survived?”

Sira’s gaze didn’t waver. “Partly. But… mostly to understand why you push yourself so hard. And why you let us—your students—fly into the fire with you.”

Rosa felt a faint tightening in her chest. She could have deflected with discipline, with protocol, with the practiced steel of her professional mask. Instead, she let a slow exhale escape.

“Because,” she said finally, voice lower than intended, “you learn more from surviving than from following instructions.”

Sira tilted her head, absorbing the words. “And the risk?”

“The risk,” Rosa replied, turning toward the dimmed holodeck, “is what separates instinct from thought. You feel it before you name it. You act before you rationalize.”

Sira stepped closer again, a subtle but unspoken invitation. “I think I understand. But… does it ever stop?”

Rosa’s eyes flicked away, to the residual shimmer of terrain on the holodeck floor. “Stop?” she echoed. “No. Not entirely. You only learn to hold it steady. To channel it, instead of letting it channel you.”

“She wants to see your cracks,” Coy whispered softly. “But she doesn’t judge them. She wants to learn from them.”

Rosa stiffened slightly. Coy was right, of course. And the thought made her pulse quicken more than she’d like to admit.

Sira hesitated, then took a deliberate breath. “Commander… I don’t want to overstep, but… are you okay?”

Rosa’s jaw flexed. “Define okay.”

“I mean…” Sira’s eyes softened, searching, “after the last… incident. After the training that went too far. You don’t have to answer if you don’t want—”

“No,” Rosa interrupted gently. “You deserve the answer.” She paused, choosing words carefully. “I’m… humane, Cadet. I’ve made mistakes, I’ve pushed too far, I’ve let myself break rules. But I’ve learned something from every one of them.”

Sira nodded, absorbing the gravity behind her words. “Then… will you teach me to hold steady too?”

Rosa’s lips curved into a faint smile, almost imperceptible. “Yes. But only if you promise to challenge me as much as I challenge you.”

A quiet, mutual understanding settled between them, tempered with adrenaline and trust. The bay’s hum, the residual shimmer, even Coy’s softened presence felt like a fragile rhythm surrounding them.

“Careful,” Coy’s whisper lingered, faint but earnest. “Trust can hurt more than turbulence.”

Rosa didn’t respond. Instead, she keyed a sequence into the console, and the holodeck transformed once more — this time a winding canyon with unpredictable wind tunnels, a challenge for two pilots learning the same rhythm.

“Cadet Sira,” she said, voice steady, “let’s see if you can lead this one.”

Sira’s eyes brightened. “With pleasure, Commander.”

Rosa slid into her pilot seat, feeling the familiar surge of nerves and anticipation, but this time tempered by something else — the grounding presence of her cadet, the tentative truce with Coy, and the small, fragile hope that she might be able to teach without losing herself.

The canyon shimmered around them, walls folding and twisting in impossible angles as the holodeck’s turbulence system kicked in. Sira’s hands were steady on the controls, her jaw set, her eyes sharp.

“Formation Delta,” she called, voice confident, “minimum thrust variance. Adjust for thermal drafts at the ridge.”

Rosa’s pulse quickened — part admiration, part anxiety. She had flown with some of the best pilots in Starfleet, yet Sira’s instincts, still young and raw, felt… alive in a way that was almost unnerving.

“Good. Now anticipate lateral drafts,” Rosa said, letting her voice calm, guiding rather than commanding. “Don’t fight the wind. Let it tell you where you need to be.”

Sira tilted the shuttle, banking through a sudden shear. The craft quivered, then steadied — instinct and reaction syncing perfectly. Rosa mirrored the movement, feeling the neural link hum, a reminder of the last session’s risk.

“She’s learning faster than you imagined,” Coy murmured softly, almost proud. “Not just the maneuvers — the mind behind them.”

Rosa swallowed hard. He was right. But she didn’t want him to see the surge of emotion, the faint pang of something more than mentorship tugging at her chest.

They flew for several minutes, weaving through the canyon, encountering unpredictable thermal currents and holographic obstacles. Rosa allowed Sira to call out maneuvers first, correcting only when safety or precision demanded.

A sudden gust tore through the canyon corridor. Sira’s shuttle shuddered violently. Rosa’s reflexes kicked in, pulling the craft alongside hers to buffer the turbulence. The neural link pulsed painfully across her abdomen, a reminder of her body’s limits.

“Focus,” Rosa hissed, gritting her teeth. “Let it guide you, not frighten you.”

Sira’s voice was steady, calm. “I see it. Adjusting port vector — compensate yaw!”

Rosa watched, mesmerized, as Sira’s control mirrored her own internal calculations. In that moment, the cadet was not a student — she was a co-pilot, a partner, a reflection of Rosa’s own instincts.

“You’re proud of her,” Coy whispered, almost a sigh now. “That scares you more than crashing ever could.”

Rosa didn’t answer. She allowed herself only a fleeting, private acknowledgment of it.

The final run ended with both shuttles aligning perfectly in formation, brakes and thrusters cooling. The canyon dissolved, leaving only the faint shimmer of holodeck light against the bay walls.

Sira exhaled slowly, a mix of relief and exhilaration. “We… made it.”

“You did,” Rosa corrected gently. “I just let you steer.”

Sira’s gaze lingered. “I felt you there the whole time. Like you were guiding me without touching the controls.”

Rosa’s chest tightened. “That’s the point. Trust me, trust yourself, and let the rest fall away.”

Silence stretched. It was not uncomfortable, but full, heavy with unspoken words and quiet acknowledgment.

“Careful,” Coy breathed. “The more you teach her, the more she sees everything you hide. And maybe, just maybe, that’s not a good idea.”

Rosa’s eyes softened ever so slightly. “I can handle it,” she whispered to herself, though not entirely sure if she meant it.

TBC

 

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