A Moment Of Humanity

Posted on Sun Jul 19th, 2026 @ 2:17pm by Lieutenant Commander Victoria Aries & Lieutenant Commander Ferrand Beaulieu
Edited on on Sun Jul 19th, 2026 @ 2:18pm

2,518 words; about a 13 minute read

Mission: The Hand That Rocks The Babe

They were right on time. Everyone said that the engines of the shuttlecraft didn't roar, they whined, but to someone that was seeing the flock of shuttles coming in to land in the designated spot, they could only be taken back to the days when these sorts of loads were dropped in by helicopter and Victoria had seen enough video of those monsters to be able to hear the whipping chatter of the rotors in that gentle whine of the anti-grav of the shuttle's delicate descent. Her engineers and the Operations personnel that had volunteered to help were already waiting for the cargo that these shuttles had, in fact it should be the final primary drop of supplies for the medical teams as well as the last of the buildings.

Then came the true roar of the fighters as a flight of them made a low pass over the landing field and she spotted the telltale markings on the tail of one of them, those of the CAG's craft and she grinned up with a wave, getting a waggle of wings in response before she sighed. At least he was checking on her when he did these escort flights. Her own suit was in red, primarily so that those who were working with her knew precisely who was coordinating the work on the ground. Being a supervisor instead of a supervisee definitely had it's perks. Still, since he was so close... She reached up and tapped the commbadge that was sealed within the suit with her, "Aries to Beaulieu, how's it going up there, Flyboy?"

The stars stretched into brilliant ribbons around the cockpit before collapsing back into pinpoints as the squadron broke from warp and descended toward the atmosphere of Velis III. Ferrand Beaulieu rested one gloved hand lightly against the controls of his Valkyrie-class fighter, the other making minute adjustments as the formation settled into its escort pattern around the inbound shuttle convoy.

Below, the sprawling construction site surrounding the fledgling field hospital had grown dramatically since his last pass. Prefabricated medical modules now stood where only cleared earth had existed days before. Power generators hummed, temporary roads had begun to snake between structures, and streams of civilians moved steadily toward the promise of aid. Even from several thousand metres above, the scale of the suffering remained impossible to ignore.

The humanitarian mission had become the Federation's highest priority in the system, but that made it equally attractive to anyone who wished to exploit desperation. Until every shuttle touched down safely, Ferrand had no intention of allowing his concentration to lapse.

The familiar chirp of an incoming transmission sounded inside his helmet. A smile tugged at the corner of his mouth before he had even accepted the call. "Aries to Beaulieu, how's it going up there, Flyboy?"

He couldn't help but chuckle. Only Victoria could make that particular nickname sound so effortless.

"Flyboy?" he replied with exaggerated offence, his unmistakable French accent colouring every word. "Lieutenant Commander Beaulieu, decorated pilot and gentleman, reduced to Flyboy. I am wounded, chérie." He joked, even the smile heard through his reply.

She chuckled as she watched the fighter veer away, undoubtedly to fly a cover pattern while this clutch of shuttles was unloaded, "If it hurts too badly, and if you've got time, you could always find an empty spot over here to land and I can take a look at the wound, maybe give it a kiss to make it feel better?" She truly enjoyed teasing him, especially now, so that there was SOME sense of normalcy to life. She'd been down here for nearly week, sleep was catch as catch can due to the non-stop work that needed to be done. "Maybe even grab a bite to eat?" She had to add as additional enticement.

Ferrand laughed softly as Victoria's words crackled through the comm channel. Even through the distortion of subspace communications and the constant stream of tactical updates filtering across his displays, he could picture the grin she was undoubtedly wearing.

She always did have impeccable timing.

His fighter completed another wide arc around the expanding hospital complex before he keyed the transmitter once more. "Careful, chérie," he replied, his French accent as warm as ever. "You realize there are witnesses to this conversation. My squadron is going to think their commanding officer is receiving medical treatment in exchange for compliments."

A chorus of deliberately exaggerated coughs and chuckles filtered across the squadron frequency as several of his pilots, who had clearly been listening despite their best efforts to appear professional, found the exchange far too entertaining.

Ferrand simply rolled his eyes. "Traitors," he muttered with an amused shake of his head.

His attention shifted back to the tactical display. Shuttlecraft continued their orderly descent toward the landing zone, while sensor contacts remained reassuringly clear. The escort pattern had become almost second nature over the past week—circle, scan, report, repeat. Necessary work, but hardly exciting. Somewhere down there wrapped in a protective suit, was Victoria.

He felt an unmistakable swell of pride. "You know..." he said after a thoughtful pause, "...that offer is dangerously tempting." He banked gently, maintaining altitude while the last shuttle settled onto its landing struts. "A kiss from the chief engineer sounds considerably more effective than anything our medical officers have ever prescribed."

Another grin spread across his face. "And food..." He let the word linger dramatically. "Now you're negotiating with unfair advantages."

The tactical display chimed softly as the final cargo shuttle reported safely on the ground. Ferrand quickly confirmed the perimeter remained secure before relaxing, only slightly. "I can't promise more than a few minutes," he admitted. "Command would probably frown upon the CAG disappearing in the middle of flight operations."

His smile returned. "Then again..." A pause. "I suspect even Commodore Marshall would agree that a pilot performs better on a full stomach." There was a brief pause before his tone softened, becoming more personal.

"I've missed you."

"Come down here and tell me that to my face." Victoria started walking towards the tent that was near one of the few remaining open spots on the field, "A few minutes is more than enough, plus I can give your bird a once over to make sure you haven't broken this one yet. Landing spot Charlie-Two-Two is open, I'll meet you there."

She heard the chuckle from his other pilots over her comm before it clicked off. Oh sure, he would get ribbed by them, but ever since that first time she'd been there to see him dragged out of a wrecked fighter, she knew that they'd been teasing him about her constantly and she grinned to herself as she imagined what it would be about this time. The good news was that the virus didn't survive out in the open air and sunlight, at least not for any significant period of time. The doctor she'd talked to had said that it was bodily fluids and recirculated air that was the primary cause of spread, so don't let someone cough on you without your protective gear.

A few moments later, she'd ducked in and out of the tent after grabbing a couple of the lunches that were there for the workers and most of the time there were extras, so she didn't feel guilty at all about it. They weren't anything fancy, sandwiches, potato chips, fruit and a couple bottles of water in each. Charlie Two-Two was about a hundred-fifty meters from the tent and the whine of his engines was dying down as she made it to the perimeter of the landing spot and she stood there to watch as he opened the cockpit. She reached up and unsealed the hood of the biohazard suit and let it fall behind her as she watched.

The invitation drew an involuntary smile from Ferrand as he banked his fighter onto the final leg of the patrol circuit. Victoria had always possessed an uncanny ability to know precisely what to say to tempt him away from duty, and she wielded that talent with remarkable effectiveness.

"Landing spot Charlie-Two-Two is open..."

He exhaled a quiet laugh over the squadron frequency. "So much for maintaining the illusion that I'm a disciplined officer."

A ripple of laughter answered him from the rest of the flight. "Go on, sir," one of his wingmen chimed in. "We can manage fifteen minutes without you. Besides..." There was a deliberate pause. "If you don't land now, we'll never hear the end of it."

Another voice joined in. "And the Chief Engineer did technically issue an inspection order."

Ferrand shook his head with exaggerated resignation. "I appear to have completely lost control of my squadron."

The flight settled into its new orbit while he peeled away, reducing speed and descending toward the temporary landing area. Charlie-Two-Two came into view through the canopy, marked by portable beacons and bordered by stacks of construction materials waiting to become another wing of the growing hospital.

His fighter settled gently onto the compacted ground, the anti-grav field humming softly before giving way to the landing gear. Engines wound steadily down, their familiar whine fading into the constant background chorus of transporters, construction equipment and shuttle traffic.

The cockpit canopy rose with a pneumatic hiss.

Warm air carrying the scents of freshly turned earth, machinery and antiseptic drifted inside.

Ferrand unclipped his restraints before climbing down the access ladder with the practiced ease of someone who had performed the motion hundreds of times. Flight helmet tucked beneath one arm, he rolled his shoulders to ease the stiffness that inevitably followed hours strapped into the cockpit.

His blue eyes immediately found Victoria.

For just a moment, the organized chaos surrounding them seemed to disappear.

Victoria gave him a cocky smile that belied the bags under her eyes and crossed the rest of the distance between them at a trot throwing her arms around him despite the hazard suit and the flight suit, leaning up on her toes to give him a kiss to curl his, "I missed you, Ferrand, it's horrible down here."

Ferrand had intended to keep the moment light.

A teasing remark, a stolen kiss, perhaps a few minutes pretending that the galaxy was not falling apart around them.

The instant Victoria closed the distance and threw her arms around him, all of that vanished.

He caught her automatically, one arm wrapping securely around her waist while the other came up across the back of the biohazard suit, pulling her against him with a quiet, almost desperate certainty. The kiss she gave him was brief but full of everything the comm channel could never carry, exhaustion, relief, fear, and the simple comfort of finally being close enough to touch.

When she admitted, “I missed you, Ferrand, it’s horrible down here,” he felt the words land far harder than any tactical report.

Only now, this close, did he truly see what the past few days had cost her.

The confident smile was still there, but it sat over exhaustion like paint over cracked metal. Shadows lingered beneath her eyes, and there was a tension in her shoulders that no amount of bravado could quite hide. He knew Victoria well enough to recognize the signs: too little sleep, too much responsibility, and the crushing weight of watching suffering continue hour after hour with no real pause to process it.

Ferrand rested his forehead gently against hers for a moment, uncaring of the suits, the dust, or the activity continuing all around them.

All she wanted to do was remain where she was in his arms, food was a secondary thought. Her job wasn't just with the buildings, the construction, it also came with far less desirable tasks to do. The Marines had a few people that were taking on the job of graves registration, gathering the information on those who came in but wouldn't be leaving out the front door. So far, no one had. But with the mass of people that were arriving every day, there were so many dead that mass graves were the only way to handle so many.

And she had to oversee the excavation of those as well.

"The doctors are doing their best with the people of this world, but they haven't been able to come up with an effective treatment yet. Doctor Sereno is confident that it's just a matter of time, but it's resistant to all of the antibiotics she's tried and everything she's been doing to treat the symptoms hasn't been working. She knows something else, but she refuses to tell anyone."

Ferrand reached up, gently brushing a loose strand of hair away from her face before letting his hand rest against her cheek.

"You know," he said softly, his voice barely rising above the sounds of the landing field, "when I fly over this place, I see buildings, landing zones, power grids and transport routes. I see another construction project taking shape."

His thumb traced gently along her cheek.

"But standing here with you..."

His eyes wandered once more across the endless activity surrounding them.

"...I realize that's not what you've been building at all."

A small smile, warm and filled with quiet admiration, crossed his face.

"You've been building hope."

"I just hope that it's not in vain." Victoria sighed, "When I was transferred to Dreadnought, I never envisioned having to do something like this. Lots of work on the ship herself, sure, but this? And I really don't envy you what you're having to do up there. I've heard reports that some people are trying to flee the planet in smaller ships, is that true?"

Ferrand's smile faded, though not completely. It softened into something quieter as Victoria's words lingered between them. He wished he could offer her certainty—tell her that every hour she spent building wards, laying power conduits and expanding the hospital would guarantee lives saved. But after years in Starfleet, he had learned that certainty was a luxury few humanitarian missions ever afforded.

Instead, he gently intertwined his fingers with hers.

"I don't think it's in vain," he said after a thoughtful pause, his voice carrying the calm conviction that had steadied more than one frightened pilot under his command. "Even if we cannot save everyone, we are giving them something they would never have had without us... a chance."

His gaze wandered back across the hospital grounds. Engineers continued to move with tireless purpose, medical personnel hurried between newly erected treatment centres, and exhausted families waited patiently beneath hastily erected shelters. Every face told a different story, yet they all shared one thing in common.

They had come because someone had answered their call.

"I hope nobody tries to leave. With the situation as it is, the quarantine the ship has in place will have to stop any ship from leaving. One way or another."

Victoria grimaced at the thought, knowing what that meant even if she didn't want to think about it. "We do what we must, sweetheart, we do what we must."

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