elevator troubles

Posted on Sat Apr 26th, 2025 @ 1:01am by Lieutenant Colonel Savannah Sorrel & Commander Onofron Zuir

4,227 words; about a 21 minute read

Mission: New Crew, New Mission

Savannah was impatient to get going. Those darned elevators seemed slower than usual today. If felt like she had been inside for hours already. And already they had stopped at decks and then found nobody waiting for the elevator. Or they had decided to not wait any longer and do something else first. So when the doors opened again, they opened on a very frustrated Lt colonel.

As the turbolift doors slid open, Commander Onofron Zuir stepped inside with his usual crisp gait, his posture straight as a duranium bulkhead. His midnight-blue eyes flicked over Lieutenant Colonel Sorrel for the briefest of moments, immediately registering her arms-crossed stance, her tightened jaw, and the unmistakable aura of someone who had been forced to endure inefficiency for far too long.

“Lieutenant Colonel,” Ono greeted her flatly, his tone devoid of warmth, acknowledgment, or interest. It was an obligatory formality, nothing more.

Without another word, he turned to face the doors, clasping his hands neatly behind his back and staring straight ahead with the expression of a man who had already determined that anything beyond silent cohabitation of this confined space was a complete and utter waste of his time.

"Commander." Her tone was equally cold and it was only with the utmost self discipline that she managed to keep a straight face and not show the displeasure of having to share the lift with him. She prayed even harder that their journey would end quickly.

But seconds later there was a jolt and the lift seemed to fall a few metres before coming to a dead stop and the lights flicked off.

Taken unaware Sav fell hard and cursed softly. She had almost healed from her severe injuries but the fall had jolted her spine and pain shot up her whole back.

As the turbolift lurched violently and came to a dead stop, Ono instinctively bent his knees to absorb the shock, though the sudden jolt still knocked him slightly off balance. The brief flicker of disorder in his otherwise rigid stance was enough to elicit a sharp, muttered curse under his breath:

"Zovek'tol vaa!"

The phrase carried the harsh, guttural syllables of High Zelon, the ancient dialect reserved for moments of intense frustration, bureaucratic incompetence, or particularly vexing individuals.

Ono straightened immediately, smoothing down the front of his uniform as though nothing had happened. With the cool detachment of a man entirely unbothered by the inconvenience of being trapped in a broken elevator with someone who despised him, he turned his gaze toward Savannah, who was still on the floor.

"Lieutenant Colonel," he said, his voice as crisp as ever, "are you injured?"

Unliky Ono Sav cursed under her breath. This was the last person on the ship who she wanted to see her vulnerable. So she would have to suck it up. "No I am fine, thank you." Taking a deep breath she came to her feet and straightened. What she did not realise was that she had gone deadly pale in doing so.

Arching a skeptical eyebrow, Ono was far from convinced. “Are you certain, Colonel?” he asked, his tone cool but edged with something that might have been mild curiosity. “Because at present, you bear a striking resemblance to a warp-damaged duranium support strut—upright but stress-fractured and moments from catastrophic failure.”

He let the statement linger, his expression remaining infuriatingly neutral as he awaited her response.

"I can manage." Sav said trying to get rid of the pain by controlling her breathing as she had been tought. "Any idea how to get us out of here?"

"Protocol states that we wait for an engineering team to effect repairs," Ono said, "which I will be contacting now."

As he tapped his combadge, though, he did not hear the happy chirp that indicated an open channel. Instead it was a staccato beep that signaled disconnection from the ship's communications system. "Evidently I will not be contacting an engineering team," Ono said, gritting his teeth. "If communications are obstructed, that suggests an EPS breach in the mainline that is shutting down power to the turbolift and creating interference for network communications." His face turned dour. "It also confirms rather serious concerns I've had over crew discipline, as it's a moderate to severe breakdown. At minimum, it would be a high priority for repair, but at worst we may be incinerated by electroplasma should it breach the turbolift car."

"Oh joy." Savannah sighed. "I don't think you can blaim this on the crew though, this is a breaking in cruise and ships have gremlins. It is not always someone's fault and I think we should trust engineering to notice a problem and get us out." She leaned back against one of the elevator walls hoping that would help ease the pain in her back. "Try to look at it positively for once in your life."

Ono blinked once, slowly, as if processing the sheer absurdity of Savannah’s suggestion. Positively?

What, precisely, was there to be positive about?

The ship was already falling apart at the seams on its maiden voyage, proving his concerns about lax discipline and haphazard engineering entirely correct. The quantum slipstream drive hadn't even been activated yet, and already they were experiencing catastrophic failures. Did no one take preventative measures seriously anymore?

And, as if fate itself had conspired to mock him, he was now trapped in a turbolift with the very person least suited for his company—Lieutenant Colonel Savannah Sorrel. A woman who had, not long ago, sexually fetishized his sacred intellectual yoga practice, accused him of impropriety, and then had the audacity to threaten him with formal complaints as if he were the problem. The ship's Marine CO was, by every conceivable metric, a bigot. And now she was offering him advice on positivity.

Eyes narrowing slightly, his expression tightened into something just shy of outright disdain.

“Positively?” he echoed, his voice crisp with incredulity. “Colonel, allow me to clarify our current predicament. The ship—this supposedly state-of-the-art vessel—has already succumbed to mechanical failure before even leaving the sector. The turbolift—a basic, two century-old technology—has inexplicably trapped us. And I,” he gestured toward himself in sharp, measured motions, “am currently enduring this situation in the company of someone who, just days ago, publicly maligned my religious practices and maliciously mischaracterized them as sexual exhibitionism.”

His tone growing drier. “Forgive me, Colonel, if I struggle to find the bright side in this particular moment.”

"For f#$k sake." Sav was so not in the mood for this. "You take the darkest path with everything you do. Half the crew is afraid of you. Now for your info people do not work harder when they are afraid. Frightened people make mistakes. And you could have worked with me. If you had given me half an inch to find a compromise I would have worked with you on the gym situation. Like hours that you are in there and all other folk should stay away. I have seen sexually abused women, commander. I have worked with them and I know what triggers them. And for me that will always top your precious believes. But no nobody else is right but you. I have had it up to here with you." She pushed away from the wall and instantly regretted it. Pain swept over her together with heat breaking out all over her body and her body feeling heavy. "Oh shit." Sav managed to get out before toppling over in a dead faint.

Ono rolled his eyes skyward and muttered under his breath in sharp, clipped Zelonite, his tone exasperated beyond measure. "Aztol vo'ek nazhut... a mind so primitive it believes compensating for a hypothetical abuse by perpetrating another is the height of stupidity."

He exhaled sharply through his nose, preparing to launch into another precise, devastating rebuttal about the inherent flaws of her argument—until he noticed she was no longer upright.

The sight of her on the ground made Ono's body turn stiff. His hands remained clasped tightly behind his back for a moment too long, his mind warring between two distinct instincts: his duty as a Starfleet officer to render medical aid... and his deeply ingrained reluctance to put himself in yet another situation where this woman would find a reason to accuse him of impropriety.

Stooping down with wavering awkwardness, Ono hovered over her collapsed form, his lips pressing into a thin line. What, precisely, was he supposed to do? He leaned in slightly, then stopped, his hands still pointedly not touching her.

Then, in a much too loud and unnecessarily formal voice, he asked, "Lieutenant Colonel Sorrel, do I have permission to touch your person to check for vitals, or will that too trigger memories of sexual abuse stories?"

Sav was in too much pain to hear him clearly and she was only slightly aware of what was going on around her. Red hot pain engulfed her brain and right now she had not found a way to fight through it. She had landed at a bad angle for her back which made the pain even worse. So the only response he got was a low moan.

Ono stared down at Savannah’s motionless form, his midnight-blue eyes wide with the unmistakable look of a man who had just realized he was holding a live grenade with no idea where to throw it.

A low, pained moan escaped her lips.

His fingers twitched.

"Zovek'tol vaa..." he muttered under his breath. This was, categorically, the worst possible outcome.

He could already hear the bureaucratic nightmare forming in the back of his mind. If he touched her, it could be misconstrued. If he didn’t, it could be dereliction of duty. And if she woke up halfway through, he might get slapped with both at once.

For a moment, he genuinely considered just standing there until a third party entered the lift and absolved him of responsibility.

But duty overrode self-preservation.

Ono exhaled sharply, tapped his combadge, and began speaking in the precise, clipped tone of a man narrating his own actions for legal protection.

"Commander Onofron Zuir, First Officer’s Log, emergency entry. I am currently trapped in Turbolift Four with Lieutenant Colonel Savannah Sorrel, who has suffered an apparent medical event following a fall. She is unresponsive to verbal prompts, aside from emitting noises reminiscent of a distressed cetacean."

He hesitated. That was probably too colorful.

"Correction: Lieutenant Colonel Sorrel is moaning incoherently. Given her current state, I am forced to initiate first aid procedures."

He steeled himself, then extended his hands like a man defusing a bomb.

"Beginning assessment. Checking vitals."

With exaggerated care, he pressed two fingers against her neck, counting beats.

"Pulse is elevated but steady. Breathing is labored. Subject remains unresponsive. Commencing physical examination for structural damage."

His hands hovered.

"Noting, for the record, that I am proceeding with extreme caution. Any and all physical contact is purely for medical assessment and should not be interpreted otherwise."

He gingerly patted along her spine, feeling the unmistakable tension of muscles locked in agony. When he reached her lower back, her body twitched involuntarily, a sharp intake of breath hissing through her teeth.

"Noted—potential spinal trauma. Patient exhibits pain response to lumbar pressure. Further movement inadvisable."

He straightened and exhaled through his nose like a man accepting his fate.

"Medical assistance to Turbolift Four is unavailable at this time due to communications failure. Waiting for local systems to be restored. Pause log."

With his duty fulfilled and his career hopefully intact, Ono rocked back on his heels and folded his arms. Now he just had to wait. Alone. With Savannah Sorrel. "Glorious."

After a little while Sav began to come too. The pain was still almost overwhelming but somehow she was able to open her eyes and focus. Then the awareness came back that she was in the elevator with Ono of all people. "Commander." She said a litlle breathlessly. This was the last thing she wanted but he was the only one who could help her right now.

"Can you help me move a little, find an easier position to sit?"

"I don't think you should move," Ono said, "at least not until someone with a medical tricorder clears you for it." He grimaced both at Sav and their undesirable situation. "You appear to be suffering moderate to severe injuries to your spine, so perhaps lying down is for the best."

"Laying is fine, but this position is giving me more pain." She exhaled, although she did not like to talk about what happened to her, he needed more information now. "Six months ago one of the missions I was leading went terribly wrong and I was severly injured. I... well my spine was almost severed. Right now I am 95% healed but I twisted my spine when the lift stopped and my muscles are spasming. The position I am in now puts more pressure on my spine so I want to move into a more comfortable postions, but I can't do that without your help."

Helping Lieutenant Colonel Savannah Sorrel—the woman who had, just moments ago, accused him of emotional sadism and cultural depravity—was not high on his list of things he wished to be doing today. Or ever.

But duty was duty.

And, if the worst happened and her contributed to her snapping her spine in half? Well. That was a matter for Medical and the transfer paperwork that would inevitably follow. Ono found he could live with that.

"Very well," he said, his reluctance as thick as the tension in the stalled lift. He crouched beside her again, expression fixed in rigid neutrality. "But if you experience any increase in pain, you will inform me immediately. I will not be responsible for exacerbating your condition simply because you failed to communicate effectively."

He extended his arms with the same enthusiasm as someone defusing an armed photon grenade and gingerly took hold of her shoulders. With slow, deliberate care, he guided her upward, adjusting his grip as needed until she was sitting upright against the wall.

"There," he said flatly, ignoring the entirely unnecessary degree of physical contact he had just endured. "You are in an optimal position for now. I trust this is sufficiently comfortable?"

It did hurt when he moved her but once she had been in her sitting position for a few seconds the pain got less. "Yes." Sav managed to get out. "I appreciate it, commander." She closed her eyes again to help get her bearings back. How she wished to be anywhere but here right now.

Ono stared down at Savannah, her expression drawn tight with pain, her eyes shut as she tried to collect herself.

She had thanked him. He was not prepared for that. His entire being resisted the notion of graciousness, and for a long, excruciating moment, he simply stood there, stiff as a board.

Then, in a move that could only be described as deeply unnatural, Ono raised a hand and gave her head a single, stiff pat. Like one might do to a particularly temperamental dog that had refrained from biting. "Good Marine," he said awkwardly, his tone flat.

Right then and there it dawned on her. The commander was extremely socially awkward. Maybe he was his species equivalent of autistic. Maybe it was not all ill will. She forced a smile on her face still a little out of it because of the pain. "Tell me commander, do you have many friends?"

What an odd question. The look on Ono's face certainly expressed as much. Zelon had over 200 synonyms for the Federation Standard word "friend" which ranged from "associate" to "ally" to "colleague" but no direct translation. Ono was truly perplexed by her meaning.

"Could you be more specific?" The arch of his eyebrow showed how surprised he was even to be asked. "There are over 50 personnel with whom I have direct daily interactions beyond the general oversight of the crew, a greater number of former servicemen and women from previous posts, classmates and instructors from diverse academic tracks..." He trailed off, gauging Savannah's response to each category as he fished for the one she meant.

"Someone you feel a deeper connection to. Someone you like hanging out with when not on duty and whom you tell your troubles and who lifts you up." The way he had replied to her question was ticking even more boxes.

"What kind of connection?" Ono asked, his eyes slowly filling with horror. The way Savannah had sexualized his nudity in the gym before suddenly made the turbolift feel very small. "What do you mean by 'hanging' and 'lifting'? I assure you that I am in no need of assistance for... for either action." He cleared his throat. "Lieutenant Colonel, if this is some kind of ill-advised courtship ritual or mating display, I must respectfully decline. As I am certain I told you previously, such overtures are lost on me even if I were to deign them as appropriate. 'Romance' is unheard of on Zelon."

"I think I am beginning to understand why." Sav murmurred. "No this is not a courtship or mating display. I can honestly say commander, you would be the last male on this ship I would want to mate with." Hopefully that was language he did understand. "But don't Zelonites like to spend time with people to whom they don't have a physical reaction but still like to be close to and spend time with?"

"Why, of course!" Ono replied, stunned at such an unusual question. His brow quivered again with suspicion. "I just gave you several lists not a moment ago. Competent colleagues are a delight to have around."

"So what kind of interactions other than work?" Sav said, right now this conversation kept her mind off the pain. "For example I like to go shopping with my friends when I am off ship, or play games together on ship."

The faintest twitch of irritation at his temple betrayed his patience wearing thin. He had tolerated this line of questioning for precisely as long as duty required, but Savannah’s insistence on equating meaningful interaction with frivolous distractions was beginning to test him.

"Lieutenant Colonel," he said, his tone carrying the careful politeness of someone explaining quantum mechanics to a particularly stubborn child, "I fail to see how mercantilism and juvenile leisure pursuits are relevant to meaningful interpersonal connection."

His posture once more slipped into its usual state of detached suffering.

"As I have stated, I derive satisfaction from competent collaboration. Beyond that, I engage in intellectual yoga, an exercise that challenges both the body and mind in equal measure—though it is often a solitary pursuit as so few possess the knowledge or discipline to engage in it properly."

He glanced at her pointedly, as though daring her to ask if he considered that a social activity.

"I get it." She reassured him and even smiled. Finally Sav thought she had a bit of understanding why he was the dick he was and this made it actually easier for her to be around the commander. "Any luck with getting help?"

Ono exhaled sharply through his nose and tapped his combadge again, his patience officially depleted. The moment the channel opened, the voice on the other end was already mid-spiel, reciting the usual Starfleet engineering assurances in a tone that suggested they had given this exact response one too many times today.

"We are aware of the malfunction in Turbolift Four and are working diligently to restore normal—"

"That is insufficient," Ono snapped, cutting them off without hesitation. His midnight-blue eyes darkened further as he squared his shoulders, his voice taking on the clipped edge of absolute authority. "You will deploy an engineering team immediately to manually extract us. Both occupants of this lift require medical attention—one for a spinal injury, the other for a nascent migraine from appalling levels of incompetence and tomfoolery."

There was a pause on the other end.

"Uh... understood, Commander," came the hesitant reply. "We'll dispatch a team to your location now."

"Acceptable," Ono replied crisply, already closing the channel before they could say anything else.

He turned his gaze back to Savannah, still pale and clearly in pain. He resisted the urge to sigh. "There. Now, at last, something productive will be done."

Despite the pain she smiled. "I never thought I would ever be grateful for the way you deal with people commander, but hell yeah today I am. I would love to get out of here, despite your lovely company."

Ono gave her a sidelong glance, his expression hovering somewhere between mild surprise and deep resignation.

"How refreshing," he said dryly, "to see you finally recognize the merits of exceeding mediocrity. A shame it required a complete systems failure and a spinal injury for you to reach this conclusion, but progress is progress."

"I was partly joking." Sav admitted. "And I would not use your way of leadership style but in emergencies. Or to talk to very wayward marines. It has it's use, but I am still against overusing it. Normally I find kindness gets you a long way as well."

Ono sniffed. "I already said I am not going to sleep with you, so flattery will get you nowhere. Do me a kindness and give it a rest."

"Dear god, you are so unused to kindness that you think everyone who gives you a kind word wants to sleep with you. I pity your therapist already. You don't have to worry as I do not find you even remotely attractive."

"Yes, Zelonites are aromantic as well," Ono said with a dismissive flick of his wrist, "so there is no need to explain yourself. The answer is still no."

"Oh dear god." Sav tried not to laugh as laughing hurt. "I really wonder how you got to such a high rank. You are incapable of listening to what people say. You do not know how to communicate with other races." She was no longer angry and even pitied him a little.

Ono sniffed disdainfully, tilting his chin upward as if the very suggestion of him being a poor communicator was somehow beneath acknowledgment.

"I tested in the 98th percentile for linguistics and expressive communication," he stated matter-of-factly, his tone hovering between arrogance and mild offense. "Perhaps the failure to communicate lies not with me but rather with you, Colonel." As he spoke, his expression became one of pure, detached smugness. "In much the same way, I suspect, as your apparent failure to procure a reproductive partner." He offered her a pointedly insincere nod of goodwill. "But I wish you luck in both endeavors. Truly." He said it so sincerely that it somehow made it worse.

"Oh I have seen you communicate with others." Sav said still calm. "And I would like you to stay out of my private life. You are the one who keeps touching on it. You don't have to worry about me at all. Please just worry about yourself." She really hoped the rescue crew was getting near and would liberate her from him. There really was no reasoning with the man.

"I don't remember asking for your advice, Lieutenant Colonel, whether for social etiquette or the scope of my purview, vis a vis what I ought to 'worry' about." As rude as it sounded, Ono sniffed as if he had given pleasant clarification to the matter. "Hm. I think I hear the engineering team. At last! We shouldn't even have been here."

She was spared from replying when the doors were finally pried open a bit and an engineering NCO looked inside. "You alright in there? Sir, ma'am?"

"Yeah." Sav said faintly. "just need a hand up and a pain killer."

Ono turned toward the pried-open doors with military precision, his posture still immaculate despite everything. As soon as the engineering NCO and accompanying medic peered inside, he wasted no time.

"For the record," Ono began, his voice rising just enough to carry clearly, "Lieutenant Colonel Sorrel sustained a spinal aggravation after the sudden deceleration event of Turbolift Four. Subject was unresponsive to verbal prompts initially but regained partial responsiveness after first aid was rendered under my supervision."

He continued, his tone somehow even drier, "Subject requested assistance in repositioning to relieve muscular spasms; said request was carried out with extreme caution and continuous verbal consent recorded via combadge entry. Subject remained alert and conversational thereafter, albeit intermittently combative and prone to unsolicited critiques of First Officer behavior."

Savannah groaned faintly, her head thunking back against the bulkhead in silent protest.

Ono paid it no mind. He folded his hands neatly behind his back, nodding to the medic without missing a beat.

"I must now excuse myself to formally submit my report for the ship's record," he stated primly. Then, with a pointed glance at Savannah, he added, "before the Lieutenant Colonel's historical pattern of misinterpreting professional conduct as romantic overture has further opportunity to manifest."

Without waiting for a reply—and ignoring the muffled sound of someone trying not to laugh—Ono turned smartly on his heel and strode out of the broken lift, already composing the next scathing entry in his personal log.

 

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