Red Eye Flight [2/6]

Posted on Thu Apr 9th, 2026 @ 6:01am by Captain Jaro & Lieutenant Harinarayani Khatri

994 words; about a 5 minute read

Mission: Episode 0: 48 Hours and Counting
Location: Deck 6 / USS Amazônia
Timeline: T -42 hours (04:25)

For her entire life, Raya had been taught the value of first impressions. Of all the lessons she had internalised, this was one that often resonated loudest, a constant pressure of self-expectation that followed her around like a cloud because every day was an opportunity for yet another initial snap judgement of her character, her capacity, her worth... She'd have been lying if she'd tried to say that this introduction hadn't played on her mind; what was she to make of a man who had leveled the finger at her intentionally, who had reached out across the cosmos to presume her interest in his cavorting intent to take on the unknown? To the best of her recollection, they had never met and so Jaro's willingness to consider her worthy relied heavily on the litany of 'first impressions' scattered throughout her service record and the perception of those he had potentially sought to question directly on her merit. Raya considered this unlikely given the frantic nature of the current timeline; she was not egotistical enough to assume a great deal of thought had gone into her selection beyond a desparate 'this one will do' but she likewise didn't want to automatically dismiss Jaro as a man who would compromise a crew's safety just to plug a hole. First impressions went both ways but she did at least try to make hers fair.

Nothing about the current situation resembled what she had hoped for their first face-to-face conversation. Raya struggled against the urge to consider it a bad omen and shifted the rucksack slung over her shoulder up enough to provide the illusion of rebalancing, or at the very least to staunch its attempts to cut off circulation to her arm.

"My eyesight is fine, sir."

A faint pause followed because Raya had a feeling this wasn't what Jaro had meant at all.

"As is the rest of me."

She winced; that had sounded...less than humble. Scrabbling at her composure, Raya rallied and tried once more.

"Yes." Sometimes a direct answer was just better. "I am fit to fly right now, sir."

Jaro’s smile broadened, the ridges on his forehead deepening with genuine delight. "Splendid! I was hoping you’d say that.” Without waiting for an answer, he gestured for her to follow, his stride energetic as he headed toward the nearest turbolift.

"Deck Nine," Jaro commanded as the lift doors slid shut. He turned to Raya, his hands rising to shoulder level. He held his left hand flat and rigid, palm down. "You see, Lieutenant, we have a bit of a conundrum. Imagine this hand is the hull next to our docking pylon of Deep Space 4." He then brought his right hand up, curving his fingers into a rough saucer shape just above the first. "And this is our lovely Amazônia. It’s a very secure, very sensible position—except for one minor detail."

The turbolift hummed as it descended. Jaro leaned in slightly, his voice dropping to a more conspiratorial tone again, his right hand wiggling slightly to illustrate the ship's position. "The Muko. Our Aerowing shuttle. As you know, on an Intrepid the Aerowing is docked directly to the ventral side of the primary hull. Right here," he tapped the bottom of his 'saucer' hand with a finger of his left hand. "Now, Starfleet safety protocols insist that we have a three-meter safety margin for any undocking maneuvers. The computer, being a very literal-minded creature, currently calculates our margin at exactly... one point seven five nine meters. It is quite firm on the number, I’ve asked mutliple times."

He chuckled, a dry, amused sound. "Now, while I can authorize the launch all I want, the automated systems refuse to even attempt it. They’ve gone on a digital strike. The other pilots, well, they are either tied up or rather wouldn’t chance it themselves. But the Muko needs her shakedown, and I find that 'officially impossible' is usually just another way of saying 'requires a professional touch.' Or in this case, a pilot who can ignore the proximity alarms without scratching any paintjobs."

The lift slowed and the doors hissed open to a quiet vestibule. To the left, a standard corridor stretched away into the dim lighting of the night shift, but Jaro turned right, approaching a set of reinforced industrial doors. As he tapped the access sequence and the heavy panels parted, the lights of the Aerowing shuttle bay flickered on in a sequential, sweeping wave that chased away the shadows. Stepping through, Raya found herself staring directly at the aft of the craft. The Muko sat cradled in a sunken floor-well, dominating the space with a massive, nearly thirty-meter-wide wing structure that flared out toward the bay's sidewalls. High-performance engine nacelles were mounted atop the wing, while the rear access ramp waited invitingly between them. From this perspective, the aggressive aerodynamic profile was undeniable, a stark contrast to the sturdy, more utilitarian front end of the main hull that was visible further forward, reminscent of a Danube class heavy-duty runabout. Industrial magnetic docking clamps were visible around the perimeter, anchoring the craft to the surrounding floor plates, occasionally emitting a mechanical groan when compensating the bouths of inertia even a docked spacheship experienced. It was a seamless integration; the bottom of the Muko literally formed a segment of the Amazônia's ventral outer hull, waiting to be dropped into the void.

Jaro stepped out onto the deck, the polished hull of the Aerowing reflecting in his wide eyes. He turned back to Raya, gesturing toward the docked craft. "She’s built for speed, Lieutenant. But we need to know she can walk before we let her run. So, despite the hour and the... well, the lack of a safety margin... are you up for a little excursion?"

[TBC]

Captain Jaro
Captain
USS Amazonia

Lieutenant Harinarayani Khatri
Chief Flight Control Officer
USS Amazônia

 

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