Rungs and Resolve
Posted on 26 Mar 2026 @ 1:10am by Captain Sabrina Corbin
1,042 words; about a 5 minute read
Mission:
Arawyn’s Itchy Trigger Finger
Location: Jeffries Tubes
// Jeffries Tube Access :: Deck 12 to Bridge //
The hatch resisted for half a second before giving way beneath her grip.
Captain Sabrina Corbin did not hesitate.
She pulled herself into the narrow Jeffries tube, boots finding the first rung of the vertical ladder as the hatch sealed behind her with a dull, final click. The ship felt different here. Closer. Alive in a way the open corridors never quite conveyed. Every vibration carried through the metal, through her hands, her arms, her spine.
No comms. No lift. No transport.
So she climbed.
Upward. Toward the bridge.
One hand. One foot. The rhythm set quickly, deliberate and efficient.
The first tremor rolled through the hull as she cleared the initial junction. It carried up the ladder and into her palms, a low, shuddering force that spoke of damage still working its way through the ship rather than anything striking from outside.
Corbin braced for less than a breath, then kept moving.
The air was warmer here, close and stale, touched with the faint metallic tang of overheated systems. Emergency power had taken hold. She could hear it in the bones of the ship. The uneven whine of rerouted energy. The hiss of seals locking down. The distant, intermittent cry of alarms that had not yet found a steady cadence.
Another rung.
Another.
Sweat gathered quickly at her brow, heat and exertion pulling it free in thin streams that traced down along her temple. One slipped into her eye, sharp and stinging. She blinked hard, shaking it clear without breaking rhythm.
Her hands were already slick.
She adjusted her grip, tightening her fingers around the rungs as she climbed.
Arm and back day.
Of all the times.
The thought surfaced dry and immediate.
She had pushed harder than usual the night before. Extra sets. Extra weight. A deliberate choice made in the quiet of the gym, long after she should have stopped. Long after it had ceased being about discipline and slipped into something else.
An excuse to stay moving.
To not sit still long enough to think.
Now her muscles reminded her of it with every pull.
A flicker of something almost resembling amusement crossed her mind, brief and sharp against the strain.
Poor timing. Hadn’t everything recently been about poor timing.
The ladder stretched on, vertical and unyielding. Each meter earned. Her breathing deepened, still controlled, but no longer effortless.
Another tremor hit, sharper this time.
The ladder jolted in her hands. Corbin locked her grip instantly, boots braced hard against the rung as the vibration carried through the structure. Somewhere below, something gave way with a muffled, concussive force that lingered in the metal long after the initial shock had passed.
Secondary damage.
Not clean. Not contained.
Her jaw set.
She had just come from Engineering. Had seen Harlan. His team.
The thought of what that explosion might have meant settled hard, but she did not let it take root.
Not yet.
Another rung.
Another.
Her shoulders burned openly now, the strain no longer a distant ache but a steady, insistent presence. Sweat ran freely down her face, along her neck, soaking into the collar of her uniform. Her hands slipped once, just enough to notice, forcing her to tighten her grip again.
At the next junction, she paused just long enough to shift across the narrow crossover.
The moment stillness hit, her hands cramped.
Fingers tightening involuntarily around nothing, resisting when she tried to open them. She flexed them once, twice, forcing them straight again with a quiet exhale before finding the next ladder.
No time to linger.
Upward again.
The ship shuddered, less violently now, but persistently. Not impacts. Aftershocks. Systems compensating, failing, catching themselves where they could. She could feel the uneven rhythm of it through the ladder, through her body.
Damage control would be stretched.
Medical worse.
There was no version of this where they had come through clean.
No version where there were not injuries. Fires. Sections sealed off with people still inside.
Her expression hardened slightly.
They would handle it.
They always did.
But it would cost them.
Another rung.
Another.
Her breathing had deepened further now, controlled but edged with effort. Each pull demanded more from her arms, her back, her core tightening to keep her centered within the narrow shaft. The burn spread, settled, became something she worked through rather than against.
Another junction.
She hauled herself through it, the transition costing her a few seconds as she reset her grip, flexing her hands once more against the lingering tightness before continuing.
The vibrations changed.
Subtly, but unmistakably.
Less chaotic. More controlled.
The difference between damage and response.
The bridge was close.
Corbin pushed the pace.
Faster now, despite the protest in her muscles. Sweat dripped from her chin, from her brow, falling into the space below. Her hair had long since come loose, strands clinging damply along her face and neck.
Another rung.
Another.
The final deck marker came into view.
Bridge access.
She pulled herself up the last stretch, every movement precise despite the strain. One hand released the rung, striking the manual release.
The hatch resisted.
Then gave.
Light spilled in.
Voices. Movement. Systems alive again.
Corbin hauled herself through the opening—
“Transporters are back online!”
The call cut across the bridge at the exact moment she dragged herself onto the deck.
She paused there for half a beat, one knee still near the hatch, breath steadying as she looked up.
“Of course they are,” she said, dry and breathless.
Commander McKinney was already moving. His larger frame closed the distance in two strides, a steadying hand offered without hesitation. He took her forearm and pulled her smoothly to her feet.
“Captain.”
Corbin straightened, rolling her shoulders once despite the protest that followed. She was a mess. Hair disheveled, damp with sweat, uniform clinging slightly at the collar and spine. Her hands still bore the faint tremor of exertion.
It did not linger.
Her gaze moved across the bridge.
Stations manned. Damage evident, but contained. The crew steady at their posts, focused, holding the line.
She gave a single, measured nod to McKinney.
Well done.
Then she stepped forward, back into the center of it.
Captain Sabrina Corbin
Commanding Officer
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