The Coy Method - Crash Protocol IV
Posted on Fri Sep 26th, 2025 @ 12:10pm by Commander Rosa Coy
578 words; about a 3 minute read
Mission:
Character Development
Location: Badlands
The Badlands had teeth, but the cadets were learning how not to get bitten. Plasma storms lit the darkness like snapping jaws, throwing arcs of fire across the void. Their shuttles danced between the chaos, buffeted and jolted, but still flying. Rosa sat at the instructor’s console in her own shuttle, watching green dots on her tactical display drift and jostle but never fully break.
She had to admit it: they were starting to look like a crew.
“Cadet Rel, adjust your pitch, you’re catching the cross-current,” Rosa said calmly over comms.
“Yes, Commander,” Jeyna’s voice came back — taut, clipped, but still functional. The Trill’s shuttle wavered, then steadied.
“Not bad, dots-for-brains,” Arven’s voice cut in, cocky as ever. “Maybe you won’t smear us all over an asteroid after all.”
“Better than you overshooting every turn like you’re drag racing in orbit,” Jeyna snapped back.
“Children,” Threx interrupted with a dry Andorian bite. “If you’re going to bicker, at least do it while not missing the plasma vent erupting directly to port.”
Arven swore, juked hard, and his shuttle skimmed dangerously close to the glowing plume. For a heartbeat, Rosa thought he’d be vaporized. But then another shuttle swooped in, its tractor beam latching to pull Arven just clear.
“Veylin?” Rosa noted aloud, eyebrow arched.
The Vulcan’s calm reply: “It was the logical course of action. Cadet Arven’s maneuver placed his vessel at a ninety-four percent probability of destruction. I reduced the probability.”
Arven let out a shaky laugh over comms. “Guess I owe you one, pointy. Drinks on me if we make it back to DS9.”
“Vulcans do not consume alcohol.”
“Then I’ll drink for both of us.”
That actually got a few chuckles across the channel, even from Jeyna.
Rosa leaned back, letting the moment breathe. Tension had been running high since launch, but here in the crucible, something had shifted. The cadets were beginning to watch each other’s backs instead of just their own.
“Cadet Dalkor,” Rosa said, voice steady but warm. “Your shuttle’s running close to your partner. Adjust your spacing.”
“Spacing’s fine,” the Tellarite grumbled. “Arven’s just a hazard to everyone in the quadrant.”
“Ha! You love me.”
“I’d rather share a bunk with a targ.”
More laughter, rolling this time — even Threx cracked the barest grin in her tone as she said, “If the targ could fly straighter, I’d take its side.”
Rosa smirked despite herself. They were bickering, yes, but bickering like a unit. Like cadets who’d just proven they could keep each other alive. That was the glue she’d been waiting for.
And in the back of her mind, Coy’s voice slid in like smoke: ”They’re bonding. Good. Now when you rip one of them away, it’ll sting. Breaks taste sweeter when the shell is whole first.”
Rosa’s jaw tightened. She didn’t answer him — not aloud, not yet.
Out ahead, the Badlands began to thin, plasma fire giving way to the looming shadow of the rogue planet. Its surface was a jagged swirl of storm and darkness, atmosphere streaked with lightning.
Rosa tapped her console. “Cadets, prepare for atmospheric entry. This is where the real test begins.”
And if her eyes lingered a half-second longer on Sira’s shuttle dot glowing steady on her display, no one needed to know but her.
TBC
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