Where We Land
Posted on Sat May 2nd, 2026 @ 9:46am by Lieutenant Bartholomew Hale & Lieutenant JG Jade Petracca
1,804 words; about a 9 minute read
Mission:
Friends and Traitors
Location: USS Thunderbird, Shuttlebay
Timeline: Mission Day 2, 1800 Hours
The sprawling shuttlebay of the Thunderbird was akin to the San Francisco spaceport on graduation day. Auxiliary craft were lined in rows like soldiers on parade; as one marched out, another replaced it. They came through in their hundreds; cargo handlers, passengers, pilots. The entire hangar operated like a ballet of man and machine cast in blue by the forcefield that separated them from space.
The Thunderbird's crew had been given her orders. There was an eleventh hour dash to ensure that all personnel and supplies were aboard and accounted for. It had fallen to the stern Napean, Senior Chief Bilz, to choreograph this show. He paced around as calm as a frozen lake, PADD in hand, checking off every arrival and departure as though this chaos happened every day.
Hale shouldered his way through a designated walkway. He'd heard about this Bilz from a shuttle pilot he'd bumped into on the turbolift.
"Mr Bilz!" Hale called over the din of the crowd, "Mr Bilz!"
Bilz grunted as he spoke to a shuttle pilot. He continued despite the voice calling from behind. "Cargo Bay 20 on the Starbase is expecting you in five minutes for another full load. We've uploaded the inventory to your shuttle computer. Off you go."
"Thanks, Chief," the pilot nodded, stepping into his craft.
"Alright," Bilz mused, his voice gravelly. He checked his PADD again, muttering to himself as he looked over his shuttlebay diagram, "Shuttle 310-75 arriving in two minutes, we'll put that there and--"
"Mr Bilz!"
"Yes?"
"Mr Bilz--"
"Chief Bilz."
"Yes, of course," Hale nodded, thrusting his hand forth. "Lieutenant Bartholomew Hale. Chief of Flight Operations."
"I know who you are." The Napean's forehead ridges crinkled slightly. He continued tapping away on his PADD.
"How is the transfer going?"
"Well." The Chief began to step toward another shuttle, his eyes not leaving his PADD, his boots skirting around cargo on anti-grav sleds and a group of lower-deckers who'd just embarked.
Hale pursued the older man, playing a game of frogger as he clipped those same obstacles. "No issues?"
"Nope." Bilz tapped the shoulder of a cargo handler and pointed to a large door across the hangar. "Cargo Bay 5, thank you, Crewman."
"Are we on target for 2030 hours--"
"Yes," Bilz turned to the Lieutenant with a sigh. The Chief stood close, staring up at the officer. Stale coffee wafted out on his breath as he quietly, assertively reassured his new superior, "Yes, Lieutenant. Everything is in hand. Now, I assume you want it done by 2030?"
Hale smiled and nodded his head quickly. His body tense with the aggressive proximity. "Heh. Yes."
"Then, with all due respect, Lieutenant," The Chief leaned in, "Let me do my job."
"Alright," Hale nodded. He took a step back. "As you were, Chief."
"Thank you, sir."
Bilz returned to conducting his orchestra. Hale spun on his heel and got back onto a designated walkway.
"Grumpy old bastard," Hale muttered with a roll of his eyes. Across the way, he spotted a pilot arguing with a technician. Hale strode across, looking over his shoulder to see if the Chief had caught the interaction himself. However, the Napean was too distracted, directing a civilian woman with a big purple hat and a crate of bottles to the shuttlebay's exit.
Hale closed in on the squabbling officers, who waved their hands around and jostled for dominance.
"I'm not taking this shuttle back out!"
"There's nothing wrong with it!"
"Gentlemen! Gentlemen!" Hale called, striding over as if he'd descended from a silver-lined cloud. He extended his hands as a sign of peace, "What's happening?"
"This damned shuttle," the pilot slapped the hull like it was a garbage hauler, "Is a death trap!"
"I've run every diagnostic I can. He's imagining it!"
"Imagining it!? If you did your job--" The pilot stepped toward the technician and began to shove him.
"Hey! Hey!" Hale called, getting in the middle of the scrum. "Cool your jets, fellas!"
Hale pushed them apart. The two glared at each other and huffed as they tugged their shirts back down.
"Right, take it easy, let's take this from the top," Hale pulled his own tunic back down. "Are you a pilot here on the Thunderbird?"
"No, I'm on loan from the Starbase. Ensign Dara."
"Well, Mr Dara, you don't want me talking to your dockmaster, Commander Bobbins, about you shoving the starship techs around, do you?"
"No... sir."
"And you," he shot the tech a look, "Should treat the houseguests better. Ensign...?"
"Jolley." The technician grunted.
"Alright, so without questioning Ensign Jolley's competence, tell me what's going on here, pilot."
"I've been flying this shuttle all day, it's sluggish, barely answering my commands, at one point I pushed it to a quarter impulse and it squealed like a dying mule!"
"Not what we'd expect from a new shuttle, I agree." Hale turned to Jolley, "And your diagnostics didn't return any issues?"
"Not a thing, sir."
"What diagnostics did you perform?" Hale asked.
"We're busy, sir," Jolley began, almost pleadingly, "I... I just checked with my system scanner and the shuttle's onboard computer system. It's the best I can do without pulling her apart."
"Hmm. After what Mister Dara has said about the ship, would you fly this shuttle, Mister Jolley?" Hale asked.
"No, probably not."
"And, Dara, if you were rushed off your feet, would you have the time to fix a shuttle that could be put in the maintenance bay tonight?"
Dara sighed, "Probably not, sir."
"Right then," Hale clapped his hands together. "Can we see each other's point of view here?"
The two Ensigns nodded, like schoolboys in the principal's office.
"Ensign Jolley, I'd like your opinion, what do you think is the best course of action for Mister Dara to take?"
"Perhaps he could take a shuttle back to the Starbase with someone else. He could get another shuttle and bring over the rest of the supplies."
"And Ensign Dara, what could Mister Jolley do?"
"Park up the shuttle to be fixed at a later time."
"Sound good, gents?"
"Yes, sir." They replied.
"Right, good stuff, that wasn't so bad, was it?" Hale clapped both men on the shoulder. "Sounds like you've both got a job to do. You can secure the shuttle together. Mister Dara, you can then inform Chief Bilz of the situation and ask him which shuttle to return to the Starbase aboard."
"Aye!" They said.
"Grand." Hale grinned to himself as the young officers went to work. He stepped back a little, Bilz appearing at his side.
"They've been at it all day," Bilz remarked. "I never thought they'd stop."
"There's no such thing as never, Chief." Hale crossed his arms, the smirk still on his face. "There's always a deal."
Chief Bilz looked across to the Lieutenant and let out a delighted harrumph before looking back down at his PADD and going to pace off to the next job.
Without warning, a blinding flash shot through the shuttlebay. A fireball roared from the back of the craft. A fountain of sparks followed. The two Ensigns clambered out, their clothes covered in flame.
People darted from everywhere to help. Hale froze. Screams of the two young men filled the room.
"Get the damage control and fire suppression crews!" Bilz shouted over an alarm klaxon. The Chief tore a fire extinguisher from the hands of a technician. He shot a glance at Hale, "Get over here!"
An extinguisher was placed in Hale's hands. The Lieutenant stumbled forward until he was standing over Jolley. The Ensign twisted in agony, consumed by a rolling inferno, its searing fingers melting his uniform. Hale activated the device, a cloud of white smoke smothering the flame.
"Petracca to sickbay, we need an emergency medical team in the main shuttlebay, now!" A dark-haired woman barked, emerging from the throng of gawkers. She and two colleagues clad in teal uniforms knelt by the burned officers. She pointed to Hale, "You! Get me a medkit!"
"Okay!"
A group of damage control specialists doused the flames. Acrid smoke filled the air. Security had arrived to remove anyone non-essential.
Doctor Petracca's blue medical coat pooled around her. She and her two colleagues, one of them a Vulcan, worked hurriedly to ascertain if the Ensigns were still alive, and what their next step was.
"Here you are. Is this your team?" Hale asked, placing the medkit next to the medical officer, "Doctor...?"
"Jade Petracca. And no, I've just met these people on a shuttle." She leaned in on the pilot, listening for breathing. It was just there. She glanced to the medical technician across from her who was taking care of the technician. He shook his head. She felt her heart skip. She pointed at Hale and Bilz, grabbing a tricorder. "You two! Get this guy into the recovery position. Check his airways for any obstructions, I'll get back to him."
Petracca rushed to the technician, his yellow shirt singed, blackened and bloody.
"No breathing, Doctor," T'Ket, her Vulcan colleague, informed her.
Jade flipped open the medical tricorder, pulling the small sensor from the top housing and performing a thorough scan. Damning readings came through instantly. She looked to her colleagues, "No pulse. No respiration. His airways are burned, likely an inhalation injury. T'Ket, get oxygen support on the other guy and administer a low dose of analgesic from the medkit. Let's keep him responsive, we don't want his airways collapsing. Crewman Short and I will begin resuscitation of the engineer. Where the hell is that medical team?"
Petracca steadied herself while Short checked the pilot's airways and removed his uniform tunic. "Lieutenant, over here!"
Hale rushed to Petracca's side. "Yes?"
"I need you to prepare the cardiac stimulator. Gold disk in the medkit. Crewman, prepare for defibrillation. Two breaths please." Jade ordered. Her hands went to the man's chest immediately after Short administered the breaths. Jade began pumping his chest.
Hale returned, placing the stimulator on Jolley's scorched chest as Crewman Short performed two more breaths. Hale activated the device.
"Okay, get clear!" Petracca called.
The three retreated. Jolley was jolted by one shock. Then another.
"No change," Short said, lips pursed.
Petracca shook her head. "Okay, let's keep the compressions going."
The medical team finally arrived, two anti-grav stretchers slid in at their side. Nurses and orderlies lifted the two men onto the stretchers. Petracca gathered herself and her team and followed them as the officers were rushed away.
"Who's the Chief Medical Officer here?" Petracca called, wiping the sweat from her brow.
Hale had no idea. He looked to Bilz. "We don't have one."
Her legs carrying her out of the shuttlebay, Petracca gulped.
She was it.
Lieutenant Bartholomew Hale
Chief Flight Control Officer
USS Thunderbird
Lieutenant JG Jade Petracca
Assistant Chief Medical Officer
USS Thunderbird
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