Turbolift Adventure

Posted on Thu Jul 23rd, 2026 @ 2:26pm by Lieutenant JG Zaire Byrne-Solwick & Paislee Kellan

1,588 words; about a 8 minute read

The hum of the core through the deck plates was as familiar to six-year-old Paislee Kellan as her own heartbeat. She bounced on the balls of her feet inside Turbolift Four, her light-up boots flashing red and blue with every impact.

"Deck Seven," Paislee demanded, folding her arms over her favorite sequined jacket—the one where brushing the sequins upward revealed an angry space raccoon. "And hurry up, lift! It’s Tuesday, which means mommy’s making warm cinnamon rolls, and if Mindy gets there first, she’s gonna take the big one with extra frosting!"

The lift smoothly accelerated, the soft chime announcing its passage through Deck Ten, then Nine, then Eight. Paislee, fueled by the sheer urgency of pastry grabbing, decided the turbolift wasn't moving fast enough.

"Fast! Fast! Fast!" she chanted, breaking into a full-scale, furious war dance right in the center of the car. She leaped high into the air, landing with all twenty-eight pounds of her body weight directly in the middle of the lift floor.

Clunk.

The turbolift shuddered. A sharp, mechanical sigh echoed through the shaft. The smooth downward motion ground to a shuddering halt, throwing Paisley off balance until she sat hard on her bottom. The bright, pleasant overhead lights flickered, died, and were instantly replaced by the low, dim glow of amber emergency lighting.
Silence descended, save for a faint, menacing hiss from the ceiling.

Paislee’s eyes went wide as saucers. She froze, her hands clamped over her mouth.

"Oh no," she whispered, her voice echoing in the small metal box. "I broke the ship. Daddy’s gonna take away my crayons. He’s gonna send me to the brig. Mom’s gonna give my cinnamon roll to Mindy!" To her the loss of her treasured treat was worst of all.

She scrambled back into the corner, pressing her back against the wall, convinced that if she held her breath, the ship’s computer might forget she was there.

Up on Deck Six, in Main Engineering, Lieutenant Zaire Byrne-Solwick was currently attempting to eat a sandwich with one hand while recalibrating a stubborn plasma conduit with the other.

A sharp, chirping alarm blared from the primary diagnostic console.

"Report," Zaire said, not taking his eyes off his wrench.

"Turbolift Four has suffered a sudden primary breaker trip between Decks Eight and Seven," the automated computer voice warbled serenely. "Internal sensor grid detects one passenger."

"Great. Who’s stuck? Tell me it’s not Commander Rogers again; he gets claustrophobic and starts singing sea shanties." He was joking of course, but Zaire liked to pick on his friend.

"Passenger identified: Paislee Kellan."

Zaire nearly dropped his wrench into the open plasma manifold. "The Captain’s kid?" He wiped his hands furiously on a grease rag, abandoning his sandwich to a fate worse than death—getting cold. "Why is she in Turbolift Four alone?"

"School dismissal was eight minutes ago," the computer replied. "En route to the ship's kitchen to meet her mother."

"Right. Deck Seven." Zaire grabbed a heavy diagnostic toolkit, slung it over his shoulder, and tapped his badge. "Byrne-Solwick to Deck Eight turbolift foyer. I'm on it."

Inside the dim car, Paislee was preparing her legal defense.

“It wasn't me, Daddy, it was a space monster,” she rehearsed in a tiny voice. “A giant space monster jumped on the floor, not Paislee.”

Suddenly, a loud, metallic CLANG echoed from the roof of the lift. Paisley squeaked and buried her face in her knees.

"Hey down there!" a voice bellowed from directly above her. It sounded squeaky through the metal hatch, but definitely human. "Anyone home? Or did I accidentally open a closet full of dust bunnies?"

Paislee slowly peeked out from behind her knees. "I'm not a dust bunny! I'm Paislee!"

A heavy latch turned with a loud thunk, and the ceiling hatch swung downward, letting in a beam of bright white flashlight glare. A man’s upside-down face popped into the opening. He had blond hair stuck up in weird directions, a smudge of black grease across his nose, and a wide, friendly grin.

"Ah, the terror of Deck Seven," Lieutenant Zaire said, leaning over the frame. "I hear you've taken control of Turbolift Four. What are your demands, pirate?"

"I didn't mean to!" Paislee gasped, the words tumbling out in a rush. "I was jumping to make it go faster for cinnamon rolls, and then it went CRUNCH and then the lights went yellow and please don't tell my dad, I'll clean the whole mess with my toothbrush!"

Zaire blinked, then bit his lip to keep from bursting into laughter. He dropped a rope ladder down through the hatch and slithered down the rungs with the practice of a man who spent half his life in crawlspaces. He dropped lightly to the floor and knelt down to her eye level.

"Okay, first off," Zaire whispered confidentially, "between you and me? You didn't break it."

Paislee blinked. "I didn't?"

"Nope," Zaire said, popping open the wall panel beside the door to reveal a chaotic mess of glowing fiber-optic wires and micro-relays. "The magnetic governor on these older lifts has a safety trip. When a high-velocity particle—or say, a very bouncy six-year-old—hits the floor at just the right angle, the ship thinks, 'Whoa, seismic event!' and freezes to keep you safe."

"So..." Paislee squinted. "The ship is just scared?"

"Extremely scared," Zaire agreed solemnly, pulling a diagnostic wand from his belt. "It’s a giant chicken. Now, I have to bypass the chicken switch, which means I need an assistant. Are you a certified engineer?"

Paislee puffed out her chest. "I have a glitter badge."

"Good enough for me. Here," Zaire handed her a small, harmless blue flashlight. "Hold this right here. Point it at the blue wire. If the red wire tries to bite the blue wire, you let me know."

Paislee held the flashlight with iron intensity, staring at the wires as if they were live snakes. "Is it biting?"

"Not yet," Zaire said, pulling out a pair of micro-pliers and picking at a circuit board. "So, tell me. Cinnamon rolls, huh? Is this a full-crust operation or are we talking glaze-heavy?"

"Glaze-heavy," Paislee declared. "And mom lets me lick the spoon if I don't spill flour on the floor. But Mindy always tries to cut in line."

"Mindy needs to learn about lift-maintenance priority," Zaire said, humming a little tune as he spliced two tiny leads together. Sparks showered down in a tiny, harmless fountain of gold.

Paislee gasped with delight. "Do it again!"

"Hey, this is a repair job, not a fireworks show!" Zaire grumbled playfully, though he deliberately let a stray static charge snap against a grounding plate just to make another tiny pop sound. Paisley giggled, completely forgetting her impending doom.

"So, Chief..." Paislee said, stepping closer and peering into the dark panel. "Are you gonna tell Captain Daddy?"

Zaire looked down at her, putting a finger to his chin as if considering a grand trade deal. "Well... that depends. What’s the bribe?"

"I'll give you half a cinnamon roll," she offered instantly. "The bottom part. Not the middle part. The middle part is mine."

"Deal," Zaire grinned. He gave a solid tug on a primary breaker bypass.

The emergency amber lights flickered off, and the warm, bright sunlight-simulators hummed back to life. The lift gave a gentle shudder, the motor engaging with a smooth, purring sound.

"And we are back in business," Zaire announced, snapping the wall panel shut. He tapped the interface panel. "Deck Seven, computer. Smoothly this time."

The lift glided down the final few meters and came to a soft, perfect stop. The doors slid open to reveal the warm and glorious, unmistakable smell of freshly baked cinnamon and sugar.

"Freedom!" Paislee cheered, dashing out into the hallway.

Zaire caught up in two long strides, walking beside her as she practically vibrated down the hall toward the kitchens.
Standing in the doorway to the lunchroom was Eliana Kellan, flour smudged across her apron, a look of sheer frantic panic on her face.

"Paislee!"Eliana gasped, dropping to her knees and grabbing her daughter by the shoulders, checking her arms and legs. "The computer said your lift had a power failure! Are you okay? Did it drop? Did you get hurt?"

Paislee blinked, completely unfazed, her face beaming with pure excitement.

"Mommy! It was amazing!" Paislee shouted, waving her arms wildly in the air. "I did a mega-jump to speed up the elevator, and I accidentally scared the lift so bad it locked its doors! But then Lieutenant Zaire dropped down from the ceiling like a ninja! He pulled out sparks and fought off the chicken-switch, and he fixed the whole ship! And look—I brought him for cinnamon rolls!"

Eliana stopped mid-breath, her frantic expression slowly melting into absolute, bewildered amusement. She looked up from her daughter to the Chief Engineer, who was leaning against the doorframe with an apologetic grin.

"A ninja, huh?"Eliana asked, raising an eyebrow. She should not be surprised, Paislee brought out the kid in everyone.

"I do what I can, ma'am," Zaire chuckled, tapping his tool belt. "Just making sure the fleet's premier jump-tester gets to her destination safely."

"Well," Eliana smiled, stepping back to let them both inside. "I suppose a ship-saving ninja deserves the biggest roll in the pan. Come on in."

Paislee gasped, looking up at Zaire in horror. "Hey! That one was mine!"

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