A Busted Wing

Posted on Wed Mar 11th, 2026 @ 6:33am by Senior Flight Officer Cormus & Engineering Officer Mei-Lin

1,666 words; about a 8 minute read

Mission: Acquisitions & Contracts
Location: Main Shuttle Bay, Deck 4
Timeline: Date 2380-01-05 at 1600

The shuttlebay on the Dutchman was alive with the familiar whine of diagnostic tools and the sharp scent of plasma coolant. One of the Type-11s sat in the center cradle, port nacelle pylon open, impulse manifold partially disassembled, and flight computer access panels removed. The impulse drive had been throwing power fluctuations—intermittent voltage drops, traced to injector timing drift and nozzle erosion. The starboard nacelle pylon showed a hairline stress fracture in the primary structural spar, propagating from a micro-meteor impact scar. Worst was the flight computer: subroutine corruption in the attitude reference buffer kept throwing false roll/yaw warnings, offset during level flight, risking autopilot disengagement in combat or high-G maneuvers.

Cormus was already under the impulse housing, tricorder in one hand and a plasma torch in the other, when Mei-Lin walked in with her toolkit and a fresh mug of tea.

“You always start without me?” she asked, voice light but carrying over the tools.

Cormus’s head popped up, grin flashing through the grease. “Only the fun parts. Impulse manifold was throwing codes again—injector timing’s off by 0.6 milliseconds at peak. Pulled the nozzles already. They’re trashed—carbon scoring on the inner surfaces, throat erosion at 18 percent. Power relays are suspect too. Felt a stutter in the thrust curve last test run.”

Mei-Lin set her mug on the workbench and crouched beside him. “Good catch. The fluctuations are tied to the injector timing matrix. It’s misfiring by 0.6 to 0.8 milliseconds under load, starving plasma flow at high thrust. We’ll need to recalibrate the timing sequencer and replace the nozzles—got spares in the locker?”

“Already pulled them,” Cormus said, handing her the damaged set. “Carbon buildup’s bad—inner throat diameter reduced by 0.4 mm. Relays look okay on visual, but I want to run a load test. Last thing we need is a voltage spike frying the EPS manifold.”

She nodded, sliding into the cramped space. “Agreed. And the nacelle pylon—Lindsy’s structural scan showed the fracture’s grown 0.2 mm since yesterday. Still hairline, 0.8 mm max, but under full impulse or high-G it could propagate. We’ll need a duranium patch—0.5 mm thick, bonded with a molecular welder—and a full SIF test afterward.

Integrity field should hold at 85 percent nominal, but we’ll push it to 110 for margin.”

Cormus passed her the molecular welder. “You take the pylon. I’ll finish the impulse assembly. Computer’s still throwing attitude errors—subroutine corruption in the buffer. Keeps thinking we’re rolling 1.2 degrees when we’re dead level.”

Mei-Lin reached for the probe. “I’ll purge and reload the nav module after we button up the hardware. Should clear the glitch. But we’ll need a full calibration run—static first, then dynamic in the bay. Don’t want it thinking we’re in a barrel roll when we’re trying to dock.”

They worked in easy tandem for the next hour. Cormus handled the physical teardown—swapping nozzles, checking relay continuity, recalibrating the timing sequencer—while Mei-Lin reinforced the pylon and ran structural diagnostics.

Their conversation flowed naturally—technical shorthand mixed with light banter.

“Hand me the 3 mm duranium patch?” Cormus asked, voice muffled from inside the nacelle.

Mei-Lin passed it over. “Careful with the welder heat. That alloy’s thin—0.6 mm at the fracture zone. One wrong pass and we’re adding more work.”

He chuckled. “Relax. I’ve patched worse with spit and hope. You should’ve seen the runabout I flew out of Tautine last year—hull breach, half the impulse drive offline, and I still got it home.”

She smiled despite herself. “Impressive. Stupid, but impressive.”

“Hey, stupid works when it’s the only option.” He sealed the patch with a final pass. “There. Pylon’s reinforced. SIF test should read green at 110 percent.”

Mei-Lin ran the scan. “Integrity field stable. Green across the board. Good work.”

Cormus slid out from under the nacelle, wiping sweat from his brow. “Your turn on the computer. I’ll start buttoning up the impulse assembly.”

She moved to the cockpit, sliding into the pilot’s seat. The console lit up under her touch, error logs scrolling. “Subroutine corruption’s isolated to the attitude sensor buffer. I’ll purge it and reload from backup.”

Cormus’s voice drifted from the rear. “You’re quick with that stuff. How long you been doing computer work?”

“Long enough,” she said, fingers flying over the controls. “Freighters don’t always come with clean systems. You learn to fix what’s in front of you.”

He poked his head into the cockpit. “Sounds familiar. Starfleet taught me the book way. Real space taught me the rest.”

Mei-Lin paused for a second, glancing at him. “You miss it? The structure? The rules?”

Cormus leaned against the frame, thinking. “Sometimes. The certainty. Knowing exactly what was expected. But mostly? No. Out here I get to decide what matters. No admiral breathing down my neck, no report to file if I bend a rule to save lives.”

She nodded slowly. “I get that. I had structure once. Starfleet Academy. Clear chain of command. Then it was gone. One bad night, one wrong association, and I was out. No appeal. Just a discharge code and a door that closed behind me.”

Cormus’s grin faded, replaced by quiet understanding. “That’s rough. I did my two years enlisted—shuttles, runabouts, the basics. Got out clean, but I saw guys who didn’t. One mistake, one bad CO, and suddenly you’re radioactive.”

Mei-Lin looked up from the console. “Yeah. But it taught me something. Systems break. People break them. You either fix what’s in front of you or you walk away. I chose to fix.”

He smiled again, softer this time. “I’m glad you chose that. Ship’s better for it. And honestly? So am I.”

She held his gaze for a beat, then returned to the console. “Computer’s clean. Attitude sensors recalibrating now. Give it five minutes and we can run a static test.”

Cormus hopped into the co-pilot seat. “Ready when you are.”

The console chimed—calibration complete.

Mei-Lin leaned back. “Impulse manifold and nacelle pylon should hold. Computer’s green.”

Cormus powered up the shuttle, engines humming to life. The impulse drive purred smooth, no stutter. Attitude sensors held steady. No warnings flashed.

Cormus let out a satisfied breath. “She’s ready to fly.”

Mei-Lin smiled, leaning back in the seat. “We did good.”

“Yeah,” he said, turning to her. “We did.”

The shuttlebay lights reflected off the repaired hull, the Type-11 looking almost new again.

Outside the bay doors, the Dutchman waited.

Inside, two crew members who’d started as strangers were starting to feel like a team.

One fix, one test, one shared victory at a time.

They sat in the cockpit for a moment longer, the shuttle’s systems idling softly around them. Cormus glanced at Mei-Lin, his usual grin a little quieter.

“You know,” he said, “I wasn’t sure what to expect when Zedd hired you. Thought we’d get someone who’d just punch numbers and disappear into engineering. But you’re… real. You listen to the ship like it’s talking back.”

Mei-Lin looked at him, surprised but pleased. “It does talk back. You just have to know how to listen. And you—you’re not just a hotshot pilot. You care about the details. Most people with your skills would’ve just flown it until it broke. You caught the problems before they became emergencies.”

He shrugged, but the compliment landed. “Team effort. Ship’s gotta trust us before we trust it.”

She laughed softly. “True. And it’s starting to. Look at her—she’s purring now.”

Cormus glanced at the console, then back at her. “You know what? I think we make a pretty good team. You fix the brains, I fix the reflexes. Zedd’s lucky to have us.”

Mei-Lin’s smile was small but warm. “He is. And I’m starting to think we’re lucky to have him. And each other.”

Cormus held her gaze for a second, then grinned. “Careful. Keep talking like that and I’ll start thinking you like me.”

She rolled her eyes, but the smile stayed. “Don’t get ahead of yourself. I like the shuttle. You’re just the guy who flies it.”

He laughed, loud and bright. “Fair enough. But I’m the guy who flies it well. And I’m the guy who’s buying the next round when we hit a port.”

Mei-Lin raised an eyebrow. “Deal. But only if you promise not to crash us before we get there.”

“Promise,” he said, holding up three fingers in mock salute. “Scout’s honor.”

She shook her head, laughing again. “You were never a scout.”

“Details,” he said, standing up. “Come on. Let’s tell Zedd she’s flight-ready. And maybe convince him to let us take her for a spin.”

Mei-Lin stood too, grabbing her toolkit. “Lead the way, hotshot.”

They walked out together, the repaired Type-11 gleaming behind them.

As they headed for the turbolift Cormus glanced sideways at her. “You know, for someone who spends half her time buried in warp cores, you’re pretty good company.”

Mei-Lin’s smile was small but genuine. “And for someone who spends his life chasing speed, you’re surprisingly patient when it counts.”

He laughed. “Don’t tell anyone. Ruins my reputation.”

“Your secret’s safe,” she said, bumping his shoulder lightly as they walked. “But if you ever need help keeping up with the ship, you know where to find me.”

Cormus grinned. “Deal. And if you ever need someone to fly you out of trouble, I’m your guy.”

They stepped into the lift together, the doors closing behind them.

The shuttlebay fell quiet again.

But the Type-11 sat ready—patched, calibrated, and waiting for the next run.

Just like the crew that had fixed it.

 

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