Recovery Efforts - Moving on
Posted on Tue Aug 18th, 2026 @ 9:55pm by Captain Rhenora Kaylen & Commander Savar cha'Salik hei-Surak Talek-sen-deen & Commander Jenna Ramthorne & Commander Dean House & Lieutenant Commander Aurora Vali & Lieutenant JG Jacob Rosen & Lieutenant JG T'Lar & Lieutenant Commander Bonnie "Bon-Bon" Durnell
3,150 words; about a 16 minute read
Mission:
Pirates!
Location: Badlands
Timeline: Current
The day had not gone as planned. Not by a long shot. It had not been won, nor lost. Not really. The portal remained open, hanging in the Badlands like an unanswered question. The Dreadnaught was still there as well, though badly broken, her once-formidable shape scarred by everything that had been thrown against her. And somewhere among the wreckage, both Sunfires had managed to come within moments of destroying each other.
There would be time to understand how that had happened. There would be time to decide what it meant. For now, there were four ships left. Four ships. Allies. Friends. That was what mattered.
The cleanup had already begun. Transporters moved between damaged hulls while shuttlecraft crossed the darkness in slow, deliberate patterns. Emergency crews moved through corridors where lights had failed, and gravity had become unreliable. The wounded were transferred wherever beds could be found. Those who could walk carried those who could not. Engineers crawled through spaces never meant for people, cutting around collapsed conduits and burning through sealed bulkheads to reach survivors.
The Firebird helped wherever she could. So did the others. The Badlands slowly filled with the small movements of survival. Shuttle lights. Transporter beams. Repair drones. Emergency beacons blinking through clouds of debris and ionized gas. The great violence that had filled the region only hours before had given way to something quieter.
Work. Necessary, patient work.
And when the last of the survivors had been accounted for, when the wounded had been stabilized, and the ships had done everything they could without tearing themselves apart completely, the four remaining vessels would begin the long journey home.
Back toward Federation space. Back toward a spacedock. Towing what remained behind.
T'Lar's Personal Quarters- Deck 4
T'Lar finally made her way back from sickbay to her quarters after having made the arduous climb back down from the bridge to get her cracked ribs re-knit together. An analgesic helped with the tenderness as she made her way through the debris strewn corridor to her door. Upon making entry she found the chair to her desk had been tossed across the room, toppling the shelving unit upon which she had placed what few personal mementos she possessed, including the sepia toned picture of her and Jacob Rosen dressed up in old timey western wear from their shore leave visit to Roaring Camp in the California Redwoods outside of Santa Cruz. Her holovid camera lay on the deck but hardy little unit that it was it appeared undamaged. Her dinette and chairs had been displaced by approximately two meters from their original position. Her meditation shrine however was completely in shambles; her candles had been knocked over and broken, and her IDIC symbol had dislodged from the wall and come crashing down to the deck, causing the metal to buckle and bend under it's own weight. Still a cursory examination found that the head was functional, as appeared to be the shower though her personal replicator was offline as was her personal computer terminal. Still, all things considered there were those whose situation was far worse off than hers. Many crew members were bunking down in common spaces such as the gymnasium or being encouraged to "bunk up" in friend's quarters on Starfleet emergency shelter cots where space was available.
T'Lar's thoughts went as they often did to Jacob Rosen, wondering what the state of his quarters were.
Tapping her combadge she called out
=/\=T'Lar to Lieutenant Rosen=/\=
Jacob had been cleaning the whirlwind that had become of his own quarters. There had been a compression failure that was now fixed but the vacuum had tossed his room completely. Smiling he tapped his commbadge.
=/\= Rosen here. =/\=
=/\=I am headed to the officer's mess. Would you care to join me?=/\= she asked
=/\= I would, absolutely. =/\=
He finished tidying the section of his recreated vinyls, including one featuring arrangements by Glen Miller he had recently replicated that he was sure would be enjoyed by T'Lar. Might need to wait to have her over to listen until I get this cleaned up though. Jacob thought, taking once last look at his quarters before heading out.
Making his way through the busy passageways with on-duty Engineers and Operations personnel rushing this way and that, detours due to repairs notwithstanding, it took Jacob some time to reach the Officer's Mess. The door was fixed in the ajar position, a rather low priority on the repair list. As he walked in he saw a few officers loading broken chairs and tables into the large recycler the Engineers had left so he went to help until T'Lar arrived. It felt good to do simple work, letting his mind wander as he performed the physical task, and in no time all the damaged furniture had been cleared, leaving much more room than he'd realized the mess had.
"T'Lar, you look wonderful. How are you feeling?" He said, spotting her walk in.
T'Lar had changed into a fresh uniform and left her hair down long and flowing for a change.
"Thank you, Jacob. It is agreeable to see you are unharmed. I suffered a few cracked ribs and a laceration but I am feeling much better now. How are you?" She returned.
"Some minor bruising and some scrapes from the console cracks. All in all I got off fairly light." Jacob replied, reading the minuscule subtle expressions on her face.
"I am glad to know that you fared so well under the circumstances.I see they have at least some of the replicators up and running. Shall we get some dinner?" T'Lar asked
"Please, after you of course." Jacob answered, smiling as he followed her. He was hardly a psychologist even if he spent more than a normal amount of time ruminating over his own thoughts but he continued to be fascinated at just how much easier the days events became when he was around T'Lar.
Moving over to a free replicator, T'Lar ordered vegetarian lasagna with eggplant Parmesan and a cup of Vulcan spiced tea. She went and found an empty table and awaited Jacob.
"Medium Pho, side of Hoisin, side of Sriracha. Vietnamese coffee." Jacob stated his order to the awaiting replicator, a moment later the warm scent of the broth emanated from the steaming bowl and tray. Settling into a chair across from T'Lar he sipped at the broth as he looked across the Officer's Mess, watching groups just like themselves gathering together to decompress, to share in their experiences, and just to breathe for a brief moment. The importance of Ma, as the ancient visionary Kurosawa would describe it.
T'Lar regarded her significant other with a compassionate eye.
"I am concerned, Jacob, that recent events will exacerbate your PTSD," she said quietly. "Have you felt triggered at all by what happened today on the bridge? I am not asking as a counselor, but as one who cares for you."
"Your concern is appreciated, and not unfounded." Jacob said, adding bean sprouts to the large bowl. "But of course, you knew that." He smiled at her appreciatively. "There was a brief moment where I was afraid I would lose another ship, another Captain, another partner." He finished, setting in to the comfortable eye contact that was simultaneously forever and never enough.
"If I am being honest, the physical separation was the hardest part for me. The not being there; not knowing if you were hurt or worse. I would have made my way to the bridge regardless but I was doubly motivated to find out if you were safe. When I saw the view screen was gone... fortunately I located you immediately." She held out her hand to him.
"I was relieved to see you there, even if logically perhaps we weren't in the safest location." Jacob replied, taking her hand and easily now recognizing the reaction in T'Lar's face whenever they initiated physical contact.
T'Lar took a bite of her food and chewed it thoughtfully.
"I don't know what state your quarters are in, but mine, aside from some damage to my meditation shrine and my replicator and computer being offline are none the worse for wear." T'Lar observed.
"They are a mess." Jacob laughed, at the situation reinforcing an old human stereotype more than anything else. "The contents were tossed but they are functional."
"If... if you find it agreeable, perhaps we could share quarters, either in yours or mine, for at least a few days while repairs are being done? I... do not wish to sleep alone tonight, and I do not think you should either." T'Lar confessed.
"I do find it agreeable." Jacob replied with a smile and a warmth spreading from the corners of his mouth to the tips of his fingers. "You are, I have quickly learned. Usually right."
USS Bristol- Sickbay
The Bristol sickbay was a chaotic cacophony of sound and smell, the Sunfire's wounded had been beamed on board, occupying every horizontal surface that old ship had. The cargo bays and secondary facility had already been converted, all trained medical staff called, and the Captain advised that they were very much at capacity.
The Sunfire's wounded from the bridge had been transported into main sickbay and were currently being triaged, the Bristol's CMO, a kind man by the name of Dr Joseph Roth worked methodically through the team, catagorizing, assigning priorities , showing urgency but not panic as the scope of his work expanded exponentially.
"My goodness you have had a rough time of it, haven't you?" He said almost apologetically as he worked through the bridge team. " Righto - we'll get to you all as soon as we can, your Captain need surgery, as does the young Ensign over there. Computer, activated EMH" The Bristol's EMH mark 1 appeared nearby, the same balding brusque representation that the Sunfire had on board. "Please state the nature of the....nevermind"
"Triage and treat Doctor" Roth said simply, and the EMH nodded, tools of the trade in hand. Within short order those who were walking wounded were assigned to the cargo bay, those who could not walk to the overflow sickbay, and those critically ill remained in primary sickbay.
Bonnie materialized aboard the Bristol with her good hand already reaching instinctively toward the nearest console, her attention immediately drawn toward the Captain. The chaos of the sickbay barely registered around her. Injured crew filled every available space, medical teams moved between beds, and voices overlapped in a steady current of triage and treatment. Bonnie took one step toward Rhenora before a medic intercepted her and directed her toward an examination area.
"I'm fine," Bonnie insisted, glancing back toward the Captain. "She needs the attention more than I do."
The medic gave her the patient expression reserved for stubborn engineers and people who had recently survived explosions. Bonnie reluctantly allowed herself to be scanned. Her shoulder had suffered a dislocation, accompanied by bruising, abrasions, and enough soft tissue damage to explain why moving it had felt like being struck by a shuttle. The treatment itself was efficient. A hypospray dulled the pain, the joint was carefully reset, and the remaining injuries were sealed and treated with practiced precision.
Bonnie kept looking toward Rhenora throughout the process. Every time the Captain stirred, Bonnie's attention snapped back toward her. When the medical team began preparing Rhenora for surgery, Bonnie finally stepped closer, lingering beside the bed for a moment.
"I'm going back to the Sunfire," she said quietly, though she sounded as though she was trying to convince herself. "She's going to need every engineer she can get." Her gaze remained on the Captain for another moment before she finally turned away.
Rhenora drifted in and out, hearing the voices nearby, some of them familiar, other's not. She couldn't bring the strength to open her eyes, so relied on her other senses. The pain was reduced with a hypospray on her neck, and soft voices were heard.
Jenna was transported with the Captain and Bonnie, arriving in the Bristol's overcrowded sickbay already looking more annoyed by the prospect of treatment than concerned about her injuries. The examination confirmed what she already suspected: several cracked ribs, extensive bruising, and the cut along her temple. The ribs would require only a few minutes of careful stitching, but when the attending medic reached for the fastener on her uniform, Jenna caught his wrist.
"The shirt stays on."
The doctor gave her a look that suggested he had heard that argument before. Jenna returned it with the stubborn calm of someone who had spent years flying damaged ships and considered modesty considerably less important than getting back to work. Eventually, the medic surrendered to the compromise, working around the uniform as best he could while Jenna endured the procedure with only the occasional tightening of her jaw when a particularly tender rib was disturbed.
Once patched, Jenna declined the offer of a recovery bed and moved quietly to Rhenora's side. She lowered herself carefully into a nearby chair, one hand resting against her ribs as she watched the Captain's unconscious form. She had done her part getting the ship through the explosion. For the moment, there was nowhere else she needed to be. When Rhenora woke, someone from the bridge would be there.
Dr Roth returned to take Rhenora for surgery to repair her battered body, his team quickly transferring her to the surgical suite to repair the damage inflicted by the falling beam and the explosions. He brought up the baseline medical data that was on her file and compared it against the readings that they had. Frowning, there was a complication - not one he had been expecting.
"One moment," He excused as the rest of the team kept with their preparations. He hurried out to where the pilot had been keeping vigil and kept his voice low.
"You know the Captain well - yes?" He started, making sure his words were private.
"Yes. I would say we've known each other for a while. Why do you ask?" Jenna asked curiously, her face contorted, her eyes squinting, questioning.
"We have compared her baseline data against our current readings, and something is... different. Do you know if she could be pregnant? Her hormone profile is all over the shop, making the medications less effective."
Jenna couldn't help but perk up at the news, but kept her voice low and even as she replied. "If she is, she hasn't told anyone. At least not that I'm aware." She noted the doctor's worried expression. "You have concerns?"
"It's not something we can't handle; we just need to make adjustments - but if she is unaware of her... condition. It will have to be noted in her medical records for this incident," Roth replied, before hurrying back to continue with the surgery.
Jenna watched Dr. Roth disappear back through the doors, the words settling into place with considerably more weight than he had intended them to carry. Pregnant.
She looked toward the surgical suite, then down at her hands, suddenly very aware that she was holding something that wasn't hers to share. Rhenora hadn't told her. Maybe she didn't know. Maybe the Captain had been carrying the secret quietly even before the Sunfire had been torn apart. Jenna drew a slow breath and leaned back against the bulkhead, her expression settling into something carefully neutral.
Jenna then made a quiet decision. Whatever Dr. Roth discovered in that room, whatever Rhenora chose to say when she woke, it would stay with her until the Captain decided otherwise. She could only wonder, on a ship filled with secrets, who would know first.
USS Sunfire - Bridge
Dean returned to the Bridge... what's left of it. Stopping halfway to the command chair. "Do we have sensors? I want a reading on the Sunfire and the Dreadnaught conditions. Weapons and Engines. Depending, I need a Runabout."
Ronson looked up. "Bristol advised that the Dreadnought and the Mirror Sunfire are both dead in space."
There was a look to Ronson, "Good, now we need to make sure we know how to close that rift. If I can alter the perimeters of the ship's field using the Runabout and I drag them into it and close it. This has been a draw today, my friends. We can at least get the slight upper hand now."
"We are not in a position to offer much aid. I suggest we allow the Defiant and the Redbird to 'drag' the enemy vessels into the rift." Ensign T'Lilbit suggested from the science station.
Aurora arrived back on the bridge, having assisted in getting her daughter and the other families off ship for the time being. “How are we doing?”
Savar turned in the center seat. "Repairs are underway, but we will require an extensive stay in drydock before they are completed and the ship is back to 100 percent."
T’Lilbit glanced toward Savar from the science station, with a slight cock of her head to the side. “I have reviewed the engineering damage reports. Based upon the current rate of repair, available replacement components, and the extent of damage to the ship’s primary systems, I estimate the Sunfire will require one month, one week, and three days before she can return to full operational status.”
She paused, consulting the latest engineering telemetry. “Give or take an EPS manifold or two.”
Savar glanced at T'libit and replied. "As I said extensive stay." in typical cool Vulcan tone.
"You are assuming that DS9 don't have another 4 ships to conduct repairs to at the same time" Ronson called out from the station he was manning. "The rest of the fleet ain't doing so well - and unless someone wants to tow us all the way to the nearest shipyard - DS9 are gonna have to do some grunt work first. Last I saw we were missing a nacelle and a weapons pod, not something that can be replicated in 5 minutes"
T’Lilbit turned her attention toward Ronson, her expression remaining perfectly composed, her hands clasped behind her rigid back. “I make no assumptions, only factual observations. Your assessment regarding the condition of the fleet is noted.”
She glanced back toward her display. “My calculations concern the time required to restore the Sunfire to full operational status. They do not account for the possibility that someone at Deep Space Nine will place four more damaged vessels ahead of us in the queue.”
A brief pause followed. “While We are currently short on ships, short on parts, and apparently short on time, I fail to see how adding distance to the equation would lessen our situation. Our most logical destination remains the Antares Shipyards, which also resides within the Bajor Sector. " Her eyebrow lifted, "My calculations remain sound.”
TBC
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