Still Spaceworthy

Posted on Mon May 18th, 2026 @ 2:13pm by Commander Rosa Coy & Commander Jenna Ramthorne

1,832 words; about a 9 minute read

Mission: Character Development
Location: Earth - Spacedock
Timeline: Current

The shuttle eased away from Spacedock with the soft vibration of controlled thrust humming beneath Rosa’s boots, the massive structure outside the viewport slowly rotating against the black of space as docking arms, repair pylons, and streams of civilian traffic drifted past in layered motion. She sat near the rear of the cabin with her injured arm secured in its sling, shoulders settled carefully against the seat while the ache beneath her ribs reminded her that recovery still carried an opinion about how she moved.

The last several hours lingered close in her thoughts, fragments of Echo’s voice surfacing now and then alongside the lingering discomfort of what Handzon had nearly taken from her. The memory sat uncomfortably beneath her composure, not sharp anymore, but present enough to keep her awareness attentive to every subtle shift within herself.

You’re thinking too hard again, Handzon observed lazily.

“Occupational hazard,” Rosa murmured beneath her breath.

A Bolian shuttle attendant glanced briefly in her direction before politely deciding not to ask questions.

Outside the viewport, Spacedock traffic shifted unexpectedly as priority vectors flashed across the civilian lane markers. Several smaller vessels adjusted course while docking guidance beacons brightened in sequence along one side of the station.

The shuttle pilot leaned slightly toward his console. “Well,” he muttered, “someone just jumped the line.”

Rosa’s attention lifted automatically. A ship emerged from warp at the edge of the traffic perimeter and drifted toward the station with the unmistakable posture of something held together through determination and engineering profanity.

The Sunfire. Rosa straightened instinctively despite the pull along her ribs.

The ship carried fresh scars across her outer hull, long blackened streaks running beneath the forward saucer while one maneuvering array flickered unevenly against the darkness. Portions of hull plating had been replaced mid-flight with exposed emergency patchwork still visible beneath docking lights, and residual plasma vented intermittently from the starboard nacelle in pale green streams that faded into vacuum behind her.

The Sunfire looked tired but not defeated. Just wounded in the stubborn, enduring way ships sometimes became after surviving situations nobody had designed them to survive.

The pilot gave a low whistle. “Looks like somebody had a rough day.”

Rosa watched the battered silhouette drift closer to Spacedock, her expression tightening slightly as instinct and responsibility surged forward faster than exhaustion could restrain them.

“Yeah,” she said quietly. “That’d be mine.”

The pilot glanced back toward her. “Your ship?”

“My problem,” Rosa corrected.

There’s the pilot, Handzon said with amusement.

Rosa exhaled once through her nose before leaning toward the comm panel near her seat. “Requesting immediate return authorization to Spacedock,” she said calmly. “Commander Rosa Coy, USS Sunfire.”

The pilot blinked. “Commander, we literally just left.”

“I’m aware.”

“You could’ve mentioned your heavily damaged starship before departure.”

“I didn’t know it was heavily damaged before departure.”

The pilot stared at her for another beat before snorting softly. “Most people try leaving Spacedock.”

Rosa adjusted the sling slightly against her shoulder. “Call it a tactical error in reverse."

That earned an unexpected laugh from the cockpit. The shuttle banked gradually, engines adjusting course as Spacedock swelled larger across the viewport once again.

By the time Rosa crossed the docking threshold and entered the station’s transfer corridors, the controlled chaos surrounding the Sunfire had already spread through half the docking sector. Damage control crews moved in organized waves through the umbilicals while engineering teams hauled equipment carts past security personnel carrying scorched diagnostic housings and replacement components.

Rosa moved with measured pace through the flow of personnel, her gaze tracking hull schematics displayed across mobile engineering screens while snippets of repair conversations drifted around her.

“Structural integrity dropped below thirty percent during entry.”

“Deck eleven lost atmosphere for forty-three seconds.”

“Tell engineering if they reroute that manifold again I’m reporting them for terrorism.”

That sounded familiar enough to almost be comforting.

The umbilical connecting Spacedock to the Sunfire stretched ahead in a long reinforced corridor lined with exposed support ribs and maintenance conduits humming beneath the deck plating. Rosa had only stepped halfway through when she spotted Jenna moving toward her from the opposite direction.

Even at a distance, Jenna carried command around her like gravity.

Her uniform showed fresh signs of hard use beneath the composure, soot darkening one sleeve while fatigue rested quietly beneath her eyes without ever quite overcoming the sharpness behind them. She walked with the steady momentum of someone already halfway toward solving the next crisis before the current one finished collapsing.

Rosa slowed.

Jenna noticed the sling immediately.

Rosa noticed the scorch mark across Jenna’s collar almost as quickly.

They stopped within arm’s reach of one another while repair crews and officers continued flowing around them.

Rosa glanced once past Jenna toward the battered state of the Sunfire visible through the docking viewport behind her before returning her attention forward. “Well,” she said dryly, “looks like I missed all the fun.”

Jenna’s eyes narrowed slightly. “You say that now.”

Rosa smiled faintly despite herself. “Should I ask how bad it was?”

Jenna considered that for a moment. “Do you want the official report or the version where engineering cried openly in front of me?”

“The crying one usually has better details. Leo?”

“That’s what I was afraid of. And yes, of course Leo.”

The corner of Rosa’s mouth twitched upward.

Jenna’s posture softened just enough for the concern beneath it to show through as her eyes moved briefly toward the sling again. “How’s the arm?”

“Attached.”

“That wasn’t the question.”

“It remains professionally attached.”

Jenna sighed through her nose. “You sound exactly like every pilot who’s ever ignored medical advice.”

That’s because every pilot thinks survival counts as recovery, Handzon added helpfully.

Rosa chose not to repeat that out loud.

They fell into step together naturally as they moved deeper into the station corridors, their pace easy despite the exhaustion both of them carried beneath the surface.

“So,” Rosa said after a moment, “what hit us?”

Jenna gave her a sideways look. “Define ‘us.’”

“That answer already worries me.”

“It should.”

The conversation unfolded gradually as they walked, threaded between passing repair crews and exhausted officers moving in both directions through the station. Jenna explained the pursuit in pieces, each detail adding another layer to the damage Rosa had already observed from the shuttle.

Naussicaan Pirates. Stolen cargo, Marie Batel's Body. An ambush that escalated faster than expected. Power redistribution failures. An asteroid field that apparently hated physics and refused to play nice. A gravity inversion, the works.

Rosa listened carefully, slipping almost unconsciously back into operational rhythm as questions surfaced automatically between Jenna’s explanations.

“You inverted gravity and redirected the energy into the tachyon net?”

“We were out of elegant options.”

“That sounds like something Bonnie suggested.”

“What's worse?” Jenna replied gravely. “It worked.”

Rosa laughed softly at that, the sound surprising even herself.

Jenna glanced sideways toward her. “There she is.”

“I was unaware I’d gone missing.” Rosa questioned, her cheeks flexing.

“You get quieter when you’re hurt.”

“That feels unfairly observant.”

“It’s literally my job.”

They turned through another corridor junction as station lighting dimmed slightly toward evening cycle settings. The movement around them thinned somewhat here, the louder repair operations fading into background hum while the conversation settled into something easier, more familiar.

Rosa listened as Jenna described cadet performance during the crisis, the successes alongside the mistakes, the moments where instinct had finally overtaken rehearsed procedure.

They eventually diverted toward a small dockside lounge tucked along the outer commercial ring of the station, the kind of establishment built more for exhausted crews than tourists. Warm amber lighting spilled across dark tables while muted conversations blended with low music somewhere beneath the steady hum of the station outside.

Neither woman bothered with anything elaborate. Coffee. Something fried. A mutual agreement that neither of them possessed the energy required for sophistication.

Jenna settled heavily into her seat across from Rosa while the station lights beyond the viewport cast slow reflections across the table between them. For a while they simply sat there, letting the quiet settle naturally after too many hours spent carrying responsibility at full tension.

Then Jenna looked at Rosa over the rim of her cup. “You look tired.”

“I am tired. No different than you are.”

“You look different tired.”

Rosa’s fingers shifted lightly against the ceramic mug. Outside the viewport, repair drones drifted slowly along the Sunfire’s damaged hull while welding arcs flashed in silent bursts against blackened plating. “I had a moment,” Rosa admitted after a while.

Jenna stayed quiet. That alone made it easier to continue. “On the surface,” Rosa said carefully, “things got... blurry for a minute.” The words felt insufficient. Not wrong, just smaller than the reality behind them.

Jenna studied her for a long moment before leaning back slightly in her chair. “How blurry.”

Rosa exhaled slowly. “Enough that it bothered me afterward.”

“That answer bothers me now.”

“That's fair.”

The corner of Jenna’s mouth twitched faintly before seriousness returned. “Rosa.”

“I know.”

“No. You know I know you know.” Jenna pointed at her with the coffee cup. “Different problem.”

Rosa laughed quietly despite herself, rubbing briefly at her forehead with her good hand.

“You promised me something after Trollveggen,” Jenna continued gently. “Remember?”

Rosa already knew where this was going.

“I remember.”

“You said once we got back you’d follow through with counseling in order to regain flight clearance.”

“I was hoping near-death experiences counted as personal growth.”

“Unfortunately Starfleet Medical remains deeply committed to paperwork.”

“That feels vindictive somehow.”

“It’s actually one of their core values.”

Rosa shook her head softly, smiling into her cup while exhaustion finally loosened some of its grip around her shoulders.

Jenna’s expression softened after a moment. “I’m serious.”

“I know you are.”

“And?”

Rosa let the silence breathe for a few seconds while repair lights drifted slowly across the Sunfire outside the viewport.

Then she nodded once.

“I’ll do it.”

Jenna watched her carefully, measuring the answer. Satisfied enough, for now. “Good,” she said quietly before picking up one of the fried station appetizers and examining it suspiciously. “Do you think this is actually food?”

Rosa leaned forward slightly to inspect it. “I think it achieved food legally.”

“That’s not comforting.”

“Spacedock cuisine survives primarily through low standards and alcohol.”

Jenna pointed at her approvingly. “Now you sound like you’re recovering.”

The laughter came easier after that. Just two tired people finally letting themselves breathe after surviving another disaster neither of them had time to fully process yet.

Outside the viewport, the Sunfire remained docked beneath drifting repair lights, scarred and exhausted and still very much alive.

Much like the two officers sitting quietly beneath its shadow.

TBC

 

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