Defender of the Lady Sunfire
Posted on Sat Sep 13th, 2025 @ 6:25pm by Lieutenant Leo Da'Cinci
1,225 words; about a 6 minute read
Mission:
Character Development
Location: USS Sunfire Engineering
The warp core pulsed with its steady, reassuring hum, a rhythm Leo Da’Cinci knew better than his own heartbeat. The blue-white glow painted the cavernous chamber in a light he privately called holy, though he’d never admit such softness aloud. It was while soaking in that glow that his eyes landed on something amiss.
The phase compensator, his phase compensator, sat on the diagnostic table, smeared with grease, oriented sideways. The horror of it pulled a grunt from his throat.
“Whose greasy mitts were on me calibrator?” Leo barked, his thick Tellarite snout wrinkling. His voice cut across the room like a plasma torch. “Speak now before I start flingin’ conduits like javelins!”
A young Lieutenant JG looked up from behind an open plasma manifold. Human, all sharp jawline and cocky stance. He wiped his hands casually on a rag. “That was me, sir. Thought I could save time if I recalibrated it myself. No harm done.”
The room stilled. A few enlisted techs lifted their heads. A Bolian petty officer froze mid-diagnostic. They all knew that tone in Leo’s voice, like the rumble before a plasma breach.
Leo stomped closer, boots ringing against the deck. “Save time, is it? Lad, ye’ve the gall t’think ye can shave seconds off a warp cycle by manhandlin’ her tools?” He jabbed a stubby finger at the compensator. “Ye’ve the touch of a Tellarite butcher tryin’ to play the harp. Heavy, clumsy, and insultin’ to the instrument.”
A ripple of chuckles rolled through the staff.
The JG squared his shoulders. “With respect, Chief, I’m fully qualified. My instructors said I had one of the steadiest hands in my Academy class.”
Leo barked a laugh so sharp it turned heads. “Yer instructors, aye? And did those same buggers pass ye out o’ pity, or because they wanted ye out of their sight? Aye, steady hands, like a drunk steadyin’ himself on the bar rail before fallin’ on his arse!”
The Bolian ensign stifled a laugh behind his hand.
The JG’s jaw tightened. “I don’t need to stand here and be insulted by an...”
“An old pig, is it?” Leo finished for him. “Say it plain, lad, I’ve heard worse in Gaelic, shouted by me Da after his seventh pint. But let me tell ye, this ‘old pig’ can line a plasma injector with more precision than ye’ve ever managed lining yer own boots.”
The Human crewman at the rear muttered, “Here it comes,” earning a grin from the Vulcan technician beside him, who arched one brow in studied interest.
The JG stepped closer, trying to reclaim ground. “Maybe it’s time someone reminded you, Chief. you don’t own Engineering. Starfleet does.”
Gasps, a nervous shuffle.
Leo leaned in, snout to nose, voice dropping into a growl. “Listen close, boy. This core, she’s me lady. I know her hum, her sighs, her little gasps when she’s strained. And I know when some greenhorn’s had his mitts where they dinna belong. Ye touch her without permission, and it’s not Starfleet ye’ll answer to. It’s me.”
The Vulcan, deadpan: “An intriguing declaration of possessiveness.”
Leo shot him a glare. “Stuff it, Spock-lite.”
The room cracked with laughter.
The JG flushed, but he wasn’t retreating yet. “You act like you’re the only one who cares about this ship. Some of us are trying to improve her efficiency. Maybe if you weren’t so busy grumbling and hoarding tools...”
“Hoardin’?” Leo exploded. “Ye daft wee gobsheen, these tools are extensions o’ me hands. Each calibrated, balanced, worn to me grip. And ye, ye picked one up like a child nickin’ his Da’s shavin’ razor, then wondered why ye ended up with half yer face in bandages!”
The Bolian lost his battle with laughter, guffawing loudly. Even the Vulcan’s lips twitched.
The JG snapped, “At least I’m trying! Unlike you, clinging to old methods. Maybe it’s time you stepped aside and let someone with fresh ideas...”
Leo’s eyes gleamed with something dangerous. “Fresh ideas, eh? Aye, fresh, like bread left out in the rain. Mushy, useless, fallin’ apart the moment ye touch it. Yer ‘ideas’ are as sound as a cracked dilithium crystal, and twice as liable to blow up in me face.”
The JG fumbled for a retort. “You’re just bitter because you’ve been passed up for promotion!”
A hush fell. That was bold.
Leo tilted his head slowly, like a boar scenting blood. “Promotion? Lad, I’ve turned down more pips than you’ve managed proper warp starts. They offered me Lieutenant Commander once, and I spat it back ‘cause it’d mean more time at a desk and less time with her.” He gestured reverently at the core. “So before ye open that gob again, ask yerself: do ye love her, or do ye love the sound o’ yer own voice?”
That one landed. The JG’s face reddened, mouth working silently. The crowd murmured approval.
Still, he tried again. “You can mock me all you like, but I’ll prove myself. Maybe not to you, but to the Captain, to Starfleet...”
Leo cut in, voice silky with scorn. “To Starfleet, eh? Aye, they’ll remember ye. ‘That’s the lad who rerouted plasma through an EPS manifold backwards, burnin’ out half the junctions in one stroke.’ Or maybe they’ll say, ‘That’s the one who thought antimatter containment was just a suggestion.’ Ye’re not a warp engineer, boy, ye’re a cautionary tale waitin’ to be written.”
The Bolian petty officer doubled over. “A cautionary tale!” he wheezed.
The Vulcan inclined his head. “An accurate statistical assessment.”
The JG’s voice cracked. “Enough! You think you’re invincible, but one day someone younger, sharper—”
Leo roared over him. “Younger, sharper? Aye, and I’ll be here when they come, same as I’ve been here for twenty bloody years, patchin’ up the mess left behind by bright-eyed lads who thought they knew better! And when yer name’s a footnote in an incident report, mine’ll still be scribbled in the guts of this lady, because she remembers who treats her right.”
Silence. The warp core hummed, steady and eternal.
The JG’s shoulders sagged. He looked around, saw the crew’s eyes on him, some sympathetic, most amused. He drew himself up, snapped to attention, and said stiffly, “Very well. I yield. No shame in acknowledging a master craftsman when you’ve met one.”
He gave a curt nod, then stormed off, boots clanging.
As the doors hissed shut behind him, the Bolian let out a whoop. The Human slapped Leo on the shoulder. The Vulcan observed, “Statistical probability suggests he will not attempt such a confrontation again.”
Leo grunted, picking up the compensator. He inspected it, muttered in Gaelic under his breath, then set it back in its proper place. “Eediots touchin’ me lady,” he grumbled. “If they’d just keep their grubby paws off, I’d have time for a proper drink.”
The warp core thrummed on, and the crew drifted back to their stations, already trading murmurs of the latest tale: the day Leo Da’Cinci, master of insults and engineering alike, once again defended his lady.
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