Faulty Diagonstics

Posted on Mon Feb 16th, 2026 @ 12:30pm by Lieutenant JG Kate Kono

879 words; about a 4 minute read

Mission: Not All Orders Are Easy
Location: Main Shuttlebay
Timeline: Current

Kate's muscles ached with longing to return to her quarters where Ben and Kodie waited, but duty had other plans. Instead, she found herself crouched beside Na'Riss in the shuttle bay, on the exterior hull of the Bahamut, surrounded by dismantled deck plating that glinted dully in under the harsh overhead lighting. The young Vulcan Ensign's slender fingers manipulated her tricorder with practiced precision, scanning methodically for physical anomalies that might explain the Runabout's mysterious power failure.


"Nice to see you in uniform instead of almost naked, Ensign," Kate remarked with a wry smile, attempting to thaw the professional chill between them. “Figured I would break the ice with your balls,” Kate chirped happily.

Na'Riss arched one slender eyebrow, her obsidian eyes meeting Kate's with unflinching precision. "The ship's logs contain no fewer than seven documented instances where crew members observed you in a state of complete undress," she said, her voice maintaining the even cadence characteristic of her species. "By comparison, my current state of partial exposure represents a 62.8% increase in modesty, which I find to be a logical improvement." Though her expression remained impassive, the subtle tilt of her head conveyed an unmistakable message: she possessed all necessary leverage in this exchange. It was the Vulcan's way of informing Kate that if she wanted to engage in a verbal jousting match, she possessed an entire dictionary of cutting remarks arranged alphabetically from F to U.

"Well then…" Kate ducked her head and busied herself with the next deck plating, prying it up with perhaps more force than necessary. She jabbed at her tricorder, pretending to be fascinated by perfectly normal temperature readings while Na'Riss's gaze drilled into her back. The Vulcan's silence felt like a chess master waiting for an amateur to realize they were already in checkmate. Kate could practically hear the unspoken challenge: "Please, continue. I have three more logical traps prepared and am most curious to see which one you'll stumble into so bring it, beyotch."

Kate watched Na'Riss's impassive face, the silence between them stretching taut as a tripwire. The Vulcan's emerald-tinged complexion betrayed nothing, her posture remaining as rigid as duranium.

"How did the date go?" Kate ventured, breaking first.

Na'Riss arched one precisely manicured eyebrow. "The evening's trajectory was suboptimal due to your untimely intervention. Ensign Reid was analyzing sensor anomalies with me—a discussion which, by logical extension, would have culminated in a mutually beneficial exploration of humanoid reproductive practices. However, this scientific exchange was prematurely terminated when you requisitioned his presence for your shuttlecraft pursuit." Her words were clinically precise, yet delivered with a cadence that suggested thinly veiled irritation.

Kate snapped her tricorder shut with a flourish. "Well, I'm sure there's more data to be collected—preferably horizontally. You two make quite the power couple!" She winked at Na'Riss while sliding panels back into place, her fingers lingering deliberately on each connection.

"I was under the impression Vulcans only engaged in bedroom calisthenics during pon farr," Kate said, arching an eyebrow suggestively. "Once every seven years hardly seems enough exercise."

Na'Riss's expression remained neutral, though her eyes darkened slightly. "A regrettable misconception perpetuated by non-Vulcans. Our species experiences profound biological urges which, when properly channeled, can be expressed with logical frequency. Ensign Reid demonstrates optimal genetic compatibility, superior cognitive function, and exhibits all quantifiable markers for successful offspring production." Na'Riss ran one slender finger along the edge of her tricorder with mathematical precision. "My contraceptive implant allows for extensive practical research before permanent pair-bonding. The data suggests that multiple trial sessions significantly enhance the eventual procreative experience." Her gaze locked with Kate's, unwavering and intense. Kate's mouth fell open as she playfully aimed her tricorder at Na'Riss, scanning her from head to toe with exaggerated movements.

Kate's lips quirked upward. "Just making sure you're really a Vulcan."

"I find it logical to point out that it was I who successfully identified the authentic Kate Kono, who appeared to have been temporarily absent for approximately 3.7 hours," Na'Riss stated, one eyebrow slightly elevated as she extended her hand with precise movements to close Kate's tricorder with a definitive click.

"Touché!" Kate's laughter bubbled forth, bright and unrestrained.

The two officers replaced the gleaming tritanium access panel and boarded the Runabout, their boots echoing on the metal deck plating. They conducted a methodical diagnostic, tricorders humming as they examined the crystalline circuitry of the flight controls, tested each power coupling's quantum resonance, verified the antimatter containment field's integrity, analyzed the software's quantum encryption protocols, and scrutinized the stellar cartography database.

"Logic dictates this malfunction resulted from a quantum bit-flip that circumvented our redundant safeguards," Na'Riss stated, one eyebrow raised. "While the statistical probability approaches 0.0034 percent, it remains within the realm of theoretical possibility."

Kate exhaled slowly, fingers digging into her hips as guilt crept across her conscience. Kevin deserved better than her suspicion—perhaps she'd been too quick to judge.

"Time to call it," she said to Na'Riss, forcing lightness into her tone. "Besides, we've got a more pressing mission— getting you laid tonight."

The officers' boots echoed as they departed, their voices fading down the corridor. In the sudden silence, a crimson indicator light beneath the runabout's metal floorboards blinked to life—a patient, malevolent heartbeat counting down to catastrophe.

 

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