The Coy Method - SAR - After Hours

Posted on Sat Sep 20th, 2025 @ 9:55pm by Commander Rosa Coy

1,364 words; about a 7 minute read

Mission: Character Development
Location: DS9

Cadet Bunkroom — After Hours

The lights had already dimmed to a dull amber in the cadet quarters, a gentle reminder from DS9’s systems that the station was winding down for the night. Six bunks lined the small room, each stuffed with just enough space for a locker, a narrow shelf, and a privacy curtain that no one ever really used. After a day in the Badlands, the notion of privacy felt like a luxury—tonight, banter was the currency, not silence.

Cadet Arven sprawled shirtless across his bunk, arms behind his head, grinning like he’d just flown a victory lap around Bajor. “I’m just saying, if it hadn’t been for my vector correction, half of you would still be spinning in plasma turbulence like rookie skyfish.” His voice carried with the unshakable confidence of someone convinced the entire quadrant needed to hear him.

“Skyfish don’t spin, you idiot,” Dalkor snorted from across the room, his Tellarite tusks glinting as he leaned out of his bunk. “They drift. Aimlessly. Kind of like you.”

That earned a ripple of laughter. Even Veylin, stretched in perfect Vulcan repose on his bunk, allowed the corner of his brow to arch upward—the closest thing to a chuckle anyone could hope for.

Threx, the Andorian, sat cross-legged on her sheets, antennae twitching with amusement. “Arven, if ego could fly, you’d be Warp 9 all by yourself. Rosa Coy didn’t say a damn word about your correction. She told you—what was it?—‘nice recovery, shame about the entrance?’”

That set Sira, the Bajoran cadet, off in a fit of giggles. She clutched her pillow to her chest and tried to breathe. “She did say that! And she gave you that look—like the one she probably uses when she’s deciding whether to ground someone for life or make them write a hundred reports.”

Arven rolled his eyes dramatically, but the grin never faded. “Mock all you want, but she noticed. That’s more than I can say for some of you.” He shot a glance at Jeyna Rel, who sat hunched over a PADD, scrolling nervously through telemetry logs as though the data might rewrite itself if she blinked too long.

“Don’t drag me into your delusion,” Jeyna muttered, her voice tight. “If Rosa noticed anyone, it was Threx. She practically flew her shuttle like she wanted to fight the Badlands themselves.”

Threx bared her teeth in a grin. “Damn right. Did you see me thread that plasma funnel? That’s how a pilot shows dominance.”

“Or suicidal tendencies,” Veylin interjected flatly. “Your trajectory had a margin of error of 2.7 meters. Any deviation and your shuttle would have been consumed.”

“Still counts as alive,” Threx shot back, antennae tilting in challenge. “Besides, Commander Coy was impressed. I saw her smirk when I pulled out.”

“Not the only one who smirked,” Sira said under her breath. She immediately covered her mouth, eyes going wide, but the room erupted.

“Wait, wait,” Dalkor wheezed, pounding a fist on his bunk. “Are you saying what I think you’re saying? That our dear Commander has a thing for icy blue skin?”

Threx threw her pillow at him. “Shut your tusks before I make you eat that blanket.”

But the laughter didn’t stop, and Threx’s antennae gave her away. They flicked back and forth in irritation, but there was the faintest blush creeping across her cheeks.

Arven latched onto the moment like a targ with a bone. “Oh-ho! So that’s it. All day long, Rosa’s barking orders, cool as a warp manifold, but when you pull a reckless stunt, suddenly she’s all smiles? Should we start calling you ‘Teacher’s Pet?’”

Jeyna dropped her PADD onto the bed with a thud. “This is ridiculous. Commander Coy isn’t flirting with anyone. She’s—she’s just…intense. Professional. You’re all projecting.”

“Professional doesn’t mean she isn’t…” Sira hesitated, clutching her pillow tighter, “…human. Or, you know. Whatever mix of human and Trill and enigma she is.”

That silenced the room for a beat. They all knew what Sira meant. Rosa Coy had that effect—an edge that cut through their bravado, yet somehow drew them closer. Coy was sharp, commanding, impossible to impress, and somehow utterly magnetic.

Dalkor broke the silence with a grunt. “I don’t care who she’s looking at. All I know is she’s going to push us harder tomorrow. Today was just the warm-up.”

Arven groaned. “What, Badlands turbulence and plasma storms weren’t enough? What’s next, a dogfight with the Dominion?”

“Could be worse,” Threx said, smirking. “She could make us run survival drills on Cardassia Prime. Nothing like breathing dust and dodging potholes to prove you’re Starfleet material.”

Sira shifted uncomfortably, her voice softer now. “She’ll test us again, but not just on flying. You felt it, didn’t you? How she watched us. It wasn’t about the maneuvers—it was about who cracked, who hesitated, who kept their head.”

“That would be you,” Arven teased, earning himself another pillow to the face.

Sira’s cheeks flushed, but she didn’t back down. “At least I didn’t treat it like an airshow. She’s not training us to look pretty in a shuttle—she’s training us to survive. To save people.”

That landed with a weight none of them laughed off. Even Arven shifted uncomfortably, staring at the ceiling.

Jeyna spoke up quietly, almost to herself. “Do you think…she’s preparing us for a real assignment? Like…combat?”

Veylin turned his head, calm as ever. “Statistically, it is inevitable that we will encounter conflict during our careers. Commander Coy is ensuring that when such conflict arises, we are not liabilities.”

“Yeah, but she’s not just teaching us to fight,” Threx said, her voice lower now. “She’s teaching us to choose. Did you catch the way she phrased that last order? ‘Pick your wingman carefully, because you might have to trust them with your life.’ That wasn’t about today. That was about…something else.”

The room quieted again, each cadet replaying the words in their mind. Coy’s voice lingered like static after a transmission—sharp, demanding, impossible to ignore.

Arven finally broke the silence, softer this time. “You think she’d actually put us in a situation where…where one of us doesn’t make it?”

Sira hugged her pillow tighter, eyes darting between them. “Starfleet doesn’t…do that. Right?”

Dalkor snorted, but it was hollow. “Starfleet doesn’t admit it, but people die. You think she hasn’t seen it? You think she isn’t trying to—” He cut himself off, jaw tight.

They all looked at him, surprised at the sudden crack in his usual bravado.

Threx’s antennae dipped. “She probably has. More than once.”

For a long moment, no one spoke. The hum of the environmental systems filled the room, steady and unfeeling.

Then Jeyna, almost desperately: “Well, if she does throw something impossible at us, at least we’ll know who the weakest link is.”

That got them all going again—mock outrage, shouted retorts, and another volley of pillows flying across the bunks. The heaviness broke apart into laughter, ribbing, the easy comfort of cadets who knew they could argue all night and still fly together come morning.

As the lights dimmed to their final blue twilight, one by one they settled down, exhaustion finally winning over adrenaline.

Sira’s voice, quiet in the near-dark, carried across the room. “Do you think she ever…sleeps? Or does she just sit there, waiting for us to mess up?”

A pause. Then Threx’s sleepy chuckle. “If she does sleep, I bet it’s with one eye open. And a phaser in her hand.”

Dalkor grumbled something unintelligible.

Arven, half-asleep already, mumbled, “If she’s watching me in my sleep, she better be impressed.”

That earned one last wave of muffled laughter before silence settled in for good.

Tomorrow would come soon enough. And with it, another test from Commander Rosa Coy.

TBC

 

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