Trumpet Flight
Posted on Tue Sep 15, 2026 @ 2:48pm by Commander Tayanita 'Tay' Lio'ven & Lieutenant Commander Curtis Thibideaux
3,016 words; about a 15 minute read
Mission:
Jubilee
Location: DS5 and Environs
Curtis, dressed in his customary burgundy and black tailored flight suit and favorite boots was doing a walk around of the Peregrin fighter (Registry 181724B) that he’d been using as of late. She was an older, B variant. But well maintained and a good, solid space-frame which was more important than top of the line space-superiority fighter in his role as Strat-Ops.
It was an even better choice in his secondary role as a flight-instructor since he’d been giving a lot of check rides to officers on the station who were stepping up to help fill out the air-arms patrol scheduling.
He was on his second circuit of the ship, fingertips trailing over the fuselage stopping to double check various fittings, forcing himself to focus while his HUD ran through the checklist and handshake connection with the fighter making sure she was ready for the next eight or so hours.
Curtis paused and stepped on the port, rear landing strut and climbed up into the well to check the frame. His mind drifted back to the brief lunch he and Tay had shared, what was it…four hours ago? He’d enjoyed the company much more than the food, which was only half remembered and his stomach rumbled a slight reproach, which he pointedly ignored.
In the small compartment, he activated the lights to double check some of the seams the sound of the busy hanger area amplified slightly and all become one mass of noise as he climbed back down, double checking the landing struts hydraulic rest.
Tay found him beneath the fighter, half-hidden by the landing assembly and apparently deep in conversation with its hydraulics.
She had kept her promise about the flight suit.
The dark Starfleet issue garment sat close enough to be practical without quite disguising her, its unfamiliar weight softened by the bone-and-onyx bracelet still at her wrist. She had already discovered six pockets, two of them apparently designed for objects no physician should reasonably be expected to identify. The hydration bladder remained under suspicion.
In one hand she carried a compact food container.
“I was told there would be decent snacks,” she said, stopping near the edge of the maintenance space. “Then I remembered who made the promise.”
Her gaze moved over the older Peregrine, taking in the open panels, worn frame and Curtis’ careful inspection. She knew enough about machines to recognize affection when it had disguised itself as thoroughness.
Tay lifted the container slightly.
“You barely ate at lunch.”
There was no accusation in it. Only observation, and the quiet certainty that she had already decided this was worth correcting.
“Fruit, nuts, protein, and something with enough substance to stop your stomach filing a formal complaint halfway around Pangaea.”
A smile touched her mouth.
“I even found a pocket for it.”
She stepped a little nearer, looking up along the fighter’s fuselage.
“So,” Tay said, her attention returning to him, “is this the part where you reassure the doctor that the old girl is perfectly safe, or the part where I pretend not to notice you checking everything twice?”
Curtis didn't want to admit that he hadn't heard Tay approach until she spoke, but he wasn't surprised either. Lowering himself back down to the deck, he looked her over admiringly and said, "A prudent pilot takes a very good look at their bird. That's doubly true of anything that has this many moving parts and is designed to go into both vacuum and several different types of atmosphere. And is this small." He ducked slightly to avoid conking himself on the hull and stepped beside her.
"You look smashing," he said, pausing just enough before adding, "And flight togs suit you," Curtis said assuredly, letting his eyes roam over her again. Then he crooked a finger and led her to a rolling took case and said, "And I did bring snacks. It just took a little help from a friend. Brother Boyle usually sells hot dogs out on the promenade, but he helped a busy commander out by providing this." He took a small metal case that had catches to either side and popped it open.
Inside the lined box, were squares of an organic looking, slightly mottled substance with either the imprint of a corn cob or a shaggy, horned creature. "Brother B gave me the rundown. An ancient earth traveling food called pemmican. Some tribes back on Earth would make it out of corn while others would use the flesh of an animal called a Bison. Both variety are nutrient rich, mixed with spices, nuts and berries if they had them. And both have a bunch of protein." He looked the container over and said, "The computer scan tells me there's probably enough there for a week or more." He popped the lid of a smaller metal case to reveal a substance that was purple and paste like, along with rows of crackers.
"Brother B called it poor man's caviar. Made from roasted eggplant, peppers, carrots, onions, garlic and spices...its a specialty from old Earth and Sodeskaya. I think maybe he got both recipes from the Bears. So, yeah. Snacks." Smiling at her he said, "I admit I didn't eat that much at lunch. Everything else becomes secondary sometimes when the conversation is so rich and the company even more so."
Tay accepted the compliment with a small dip of her head, though the warmth in her eyes gave away that it had landed.
“Smashing,” she repeated softly. “I may survive the hydration bladder after all.”
Her attention shifted to the open cases. She studied the marked squares first, then the purple spread, something between recognition and amusement settling across her face.
“Brother Boyle has been creative with his history,” she said. “Pemmican was usually dried meat, rendered fat and sometimes berries. Corn travelled well too, but calling it pemmican would have started an argument around more than one fire.”
There was no criticism in it. If anything, she seemed pleased that someone had cared enough to remember, even imperfectly.
Tay picked up one of the bison-marked pieces and turned it between her fingers.
“But this looks close enough to earn forgiveness.”
His explanation for missing lunch drew her gaze back to him. She let the silence hold for a beat, her expression softening.
“That is a very gracious way of admitting you forgot to eat.”
The corner of her mouth lifted.
“I enjoyed the conversation too. Enough that I may have been equally guilty.”
She opened the container she had brought and set it beside his collection, adding fresh fruit and nuts to the growing provisions.
“Between us, we now have enough food to survive either a six-hour patrol or a minor siege.”
Tay looked up along the fighter’s hull once more, then back to Curtis.
“And since your bird has passed inspection, perhaps her pilot should eat something before we leave.”
"Brother B thought you might remark on the pemmican," Curtis said as he took a few steps to remove the lockout pins on the weapons and turret hatches, then palm printed a systems access door, signing for the fighter before closing the final inspection hatch. "Apparently some of the more stay in place and cultivate tribes had their own form of preserving food and it was lumped together. His recipe made it slightly more edible, I think."
Leaning a shoulder against the fighters hull, he said, "Food is fuel, unless the company makes it fun as well. In our case, the conversation was fuel too. I'd much rather." He gave her a bit of a grin and then said, "And I would say you're a feast for the eyes, but I don't want you to think I don't intend to eat some of those provisions while you pilot."
Tay considered one of the marked squares again.
“Brother Boyle is not entirely wrong,” she said. “Communities that farmed preserved what they grew. Corn was dried, parched, ground, carried through winter. Meat, berries, beans, squash. Nothing was wasted when the next harvest was never guaranteed.”
Her thumb passed over the small imprint of the corn cob.
“Pemmican belonged more particularly to other peoples, but later records had a habit of pressing many nations and traditions into whatever word was convenient.” Her voice stayed even. “A great deal was lost that way.”
She set the piece back among the others, the old weight allowed only a moment before her expression warmed again.
“As for making it more edible, that would not surprise me. Food made for surviving a winter or crossing country was not especially concerned with delighting the palate.”
His final remark earned him a slow look.
“Cheesy comments about my being a feast will get you nowhere,” Tay said, though the curve at the corner of her mouth weakened the warning considerably.
Then one eyebrow lifted.
“And apparently I’m piloting now? That is a rather significant promotion from invited passenger.”
"I like cheese," Curtis said with a brief aloof look to his face before he grinned again. "So, fair warning. Compliments are like flying a fighter...eventually you'll probably get shot down but it's going to an interesting trip." Ghosting a wink to Tav, he said "And yes. I was sort of planning on letting you take the helm for portions of the ride, unless you don't want to. I like to let people at least try these small ships to see if they enjoy it. We're always short on pilots and the benefits are kinda nice."
He turned to look the fighter over one last time then gave a high sign toward the crew chief that was headed their way, stopping the woman in mid stride. She gave him a thumbs up and then headed back the other way.
Tay watched the exchange with the crew chief, then looked back at Curtis with quiet amusement.
“You do realise I’ve been in Starfleet for more than thirty-five years?”
Her hand settled briefly against the Peregrine’s hull, familiar with the feel of a working craft even if this particular spaceframe was not one she had called her own.
“I have flown small craft before. Some of them considerably older than this one.” Her mouth curved. “So yes, I know which end is supposed to point towards where we’re going.”
She let him have that for a beat.
“I’m happy to take the helm for a while. It might even be nice to discover whether I remember how to do it without frightening your flight computer.”
The humour stayed in her eyes as she glanced towards the cockpit.
“But if Deep Space Five becomes short enough on pilots that someone starts eyeing the Chief Medical Officer for regular patrol duty, I suspect we’ll have considerably larger problems.”
Her attention returned to him.
“Besides, when your pilots come back having done something heroic and inadvisable, someone has to put them back together.”
"My dad always said never ask a woman her age," Curtis said with a widening smile as he stepped to a disk in the floor that was a foot or so away from the fighter and put both feet into the circle. The circle glowed slightly and he began to rise as the gravity disk pushed him up and he was able to scramble up onto the hull of the Peregrin and look down at Tav. "But yeah, I did peak into your records when I was reviewing the stations TO&E. He held out his hand in an invite for her to join him.
"Well. I should say started reading it. It's about a sector long and I may finish with it by the time I retire," he joked. "But being competent with something isn't the same as liking it. You can say that about many things."
Tay looked up at him, then at the offered hand.
“Your father sounds suspiciously sensible,” she said, stepping onto the gravity disc and taking his hand as it lifted her. “Possibly El-Aurian.”
The joke stayed in her eyes as she climbed up beside him, careful of the fighter’s hull beneath her boots.
“And for the record, I do like flying. I just never liked it enough to make a career out of it.”
Her fingers rested briefly against the Peregrine’s skin as she looked over the craft from this new angle.
“There have been shuttles, runabouts, a few things Starfleet has since had the good judgement to retire…” A small smile appeared. “Some of them make this one look positively young”
She glanced back to Curtis.
“But I kept coming back to medicine.”
Then, with a little more amusement, “And if you only started reading my file, perhaps I should be relieved. There are things in there I’d rather not have used against me over lunch.”
Curtis made sure she was on even footing beside him, then looked down into the cockpit still holding her hand and said, "Honestly, I mostly read the last three evaluations and career goals sections. Then as I meet people I'll read more as needed. Otherwise things get jumbled." He stepped down into the cockpit, and half sat on the bulkhead, still holding her hand as he gestured toward the right seat."
Smiling up at Tay he said, "Unless someone causes trouble of course. Then I need to read more. You haven't been caught causing trouble that I'm aware of so I haven't dug in."
Tay let him guide her down into the cockpit, settling into the right-hand seat before looking back at him.
“That is probably the healthier way to do it,” she said. “Records are useful, but they are very good at making people look simpler than they are.”
She adjusted herself against the seat, taking in the controls with the easy familiarity of someone who had spent enough years around Starfleet craft not to be intimidated by them.
“A report can tell you what someone did. Sometimes even why they thought they did it.” Her mouth curved faintly. “It rarely tells you what they were like to sit beside over lunch.”
At the accusation of good behaviour, Tay gave him a look.
“And I have absolutely caused trouble.”
A beat.
“I have simply had longer than most people to become better at not leaving it in my service record.”
"S'kay," Curtis said purposely using slang as he double checked that they were in the green and the tractor systems in the bay began moving them to a launch point. "When your name hit my list, it showed you were due for check ride. So, I'm checking you out."
Looking up to meet her eyes as he reached for his helmet and rolled it onto his head. "As far as the trouble goes. Well. I'd have to share some of that to see if it meets criteria. There's trouble...and then there's trouble."
Tay was still getting herself settled when the tractor system took hold of the Peregrine, the change in movement faint but noticeable through the seat and deck beneath her boots. She drew the restraints across herself, checking them automatically while Curtis worked through whatever remained of his launch routine.
His choice of words caught up with her a second later.
“Checking me out,” she repeated, glancing across at him. “Yes, I had noticed.”
The smile that followed was small and entirely unhurried before she turned her attention back to the controls in front of her, letting him decide exactly which meaning she had chosen.
She ran her eyes over the familiar arrangement, noting where age and refits had altered things from the small craft she had flown before.
“As for trouble, I imagine that depends very much on who is writing the report,” Tay said as she reached for her helmet. “I have known perfectly reasonable decisions to become considerably less reasonable by the time they reached an admiral’s desk.”
She slipped the helmet on and adjusted the fit, then looked across at Curtis again.
“You can tell me what qualifies by your standards once we’re outside. I’ll decide whether any of mine count.”
"Well of course I checked you out," Curtis said deciding the helmet might help hide the twitch of his lips. "I'd have to say any man that did stop was either dead or." He stopped then said. "I was going to say foolish but nobody would be that blind. So, yes. Please don't mind my leering. It's very well intentioned. And I have a fairly deep definition of trouble." Then he shut up, thinking that maybe his mouth had gotten away from him.
Tay looked across at him through the visor, the amusement in her eyes doing most of the work.
“Very well intentioned leering,” she repeated. “That is certainly one way to describe it.”
She let him have the silence after that rather than rescuing him from it. There was no need. Curtis had managed perfectly well to get himself into that particular corner.
Tay settled back into the seat and brought her attention to the panel in front of her, fingertips resting lightly near the controls as the Peregrine waited on the edge of departure. The familiar hum of systems and the faint vibration through the frame carried a different rhythm from Sickbay, cleaner somehow, with fewer voices demanding something from her all at once.
When she spoke again, her tone had softened.
“You can explain your deeper definition of trouble another time.”
A brief glance his way.
“For now, take me flying.”
Smiling, Curtis put his hands on the controls, signaled flight control and waited for the gravitational accelerator grid to grab the ship, and hurtle it from the station into the designated flight plan. Then he took the controls and pushed the engines to a redline heading for their micro-warp jump point. "Aye aye, Doctor. Here we go."
END
A joint post by:
Lieutenant Commander Curtis Thibideaux
Chief Strategic Operations Officer
DS 5
Commander Tayanita Lio'ven
Chief Medical Officer
DS 5
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