USS ANUBIS - Mission 23
NOROSYTH Farming Colony
NOROSYTH Farming Colony
POST INDEX
| Post # | Character | Title |
| 001 | Morningstar | Silent Fields The ANUBIS is sent to NOROSYTH |
| 002 | Gemma | The Cost of a Choice Gemma visits Nathan |
| 003 | T'Lara/Maya | Bioelectrical Mechanics Maya seeks out T'Lara's expertise |
| 004 | Ya'Han | Echoes of Power Ya'Han has a flashback of her father |
| 005 | Lopez | Harsh Reality Adriana helps Amanda deal with her feelings |
| 006 | Maya | The NOVO Star System Maya analyzes the star system |
| 007 | A'Janni/Stark | Too Quiet The ANUBIS drops out of warp |
| 008 | Enel | Duty First Zub and the MACOs prep for the mission |
| 009 | T'Lara | Logical Argument Cristhiane and Christie visit T'Lara |
| 010 | Shar'El | Welcome to NOV..., Part 1 The ANUBIS enters the NOVO system |
| 011 | Shar'El | Welcome to NOV..., Part 2 The away team heads to NOVOSYTH |
| 012 | Ya'Han | Dropping In Ya'Han monitors the away team's descent |
| 013 | Gemma | Into Unknown Territory Gemma suffers from anxiety |
| 014 | Maya | Vacant World Maya performs a planetary analysis |
| 015 | Shar'El | Welcome to NOV..., Part 3 The mission gets clarified |
| 016 | A'Janni/Stark | An Idea? The away team is faced with a new problem |
| 017 | Ya'Han | Boundless Hatred Ya'Han deals with memories of Ardax |
| 018 | Smith | In the Shadows... Cristhiane deals with past trauma |
| 019 | Enel | Scavenger Hunt Zub plots a course to the settlement |
| 020 | Lopez | Scavengers? Adriana reviews the records of the scavengers |
| 021 | Gemma/Ya'Han | Racing In The battle with the scavengers erupts |
| 022 | Maya | Technical and Scientific... Maya analyzes the enemy's technology |
| 023 | T'Lara | The Logic of Danger Christie volunteers to help on the battlefield |
| 024 | Gemma | Twisted Steel, Broken Will Gemma fights a pirate and loses |
| 025 | Ya'Han | On the Edge of Darkness Ya'Han comes to the rescue, but at a cost |
| 026 | Shar'El | An Alternate Fighting Style The away team figures out another way |
| 027 | Ya'Han/Enel | Performance Review Ya'Han and Zub discuss Gemma |
| 028 | Lopez | Scars of Moments Long... Adriana and Amanda talk about Ya'Han |
| 029 | T'Lara | Triage and Tribulations T'Lara deals with the triage and Zub |
| 030 | Gemma/Shar'El | A Reckless Plan Gemma and Shar'El discuss the plan |
| 031 | Stark | Red Fury Ya'Han unleashes on Jayson |
| 032 | Ya'Han | Fracture Point Ya'Han contemplates what she has done |
| 033 | Lopez | Rage, Reflection and... Adriana goes to see Ya'Han |
| 034 | T'Lara | Scars of Past Trauma T'Lara listens to a conversation |
| 035 | Gemma | A Reckless Plan, Part 2 Gemma speaks with Zub |
| 036 | A'Janni/Stark | NORTHAL DRIFT Mission destination comes within view |
| 037 | Morningstar | The Silent Storm Erik and Shar'El review the away teams |
| 038 | Maya | Eyes Open, Ears to... Maya and Jayson arrive at NORTHAL DRIFT |
| 039 | T'Lara | Medical Assistance T'Lata, Christie & Amanda at NORTHAL DRIFT |
| 040 | Shar'El | Shadows and Power The Auction team meet the Head Auctioneer |
| 041 | Gemma | A Reckless Plan, Part 3 Gemma, Ya'Han & Zub make their entrance |
| 042 | Stark | Emotional Reaction Jayson reacts to Gemma hitting Ya'Han |
| 043 | Enel/Gemma/Ya'Han | Pear Shaped The Infiltration team encounters issues |
| 044 | Lopez | Emotional Concerns Adriana is concerned about Amanda |
| 045 | Stark | Pieces of a Bigger Game Jayson confirms that there are other groups |
| 046 | T'Lara | Predator's Patience Someone is covertly watching the Medical team |
| 047 | Lopez | Emotional Concerns, Take 2 The connection between the twins grows |
| 048 | T'Lara | Predator's Silence The unseen observer strikes |
| 049 | Lopez | Emotional Devastation Adriana feels Amanda's disappearance |
| 050 | Stark | Without a Trace Jayson is frustrated at Amanda's disappearance |
| 051 | Enel | Reckless Vacillation Zub questions Gemma's plan and state of mind |
| 052 | Gemma | A Reckless Plan, Review Gemma undergoes another inner confrontation |
| 053 | Morningstar | Missin Operative Erik oversees the situation |
| 054 | Shar'El | Missing Memories Shar'El loses her telepathic abilities |
| 055 | Lopez | Imperfect Decision Adriana jumps into action |
| 056 | Gemma | Not a Foe, Not a Friend A woman from Gemma's past shows up |
| 057 | T'Lara | Calibration and Analysis T'Lara helps Maya, studies Christie |
| 058 | Enel | Distraction Zub reacts to Isiryne |
| 059 | Maya | We Have A Pulse Maya triggers the pulse |
| 060 | Lopez | Echoes in the Labyrinth Adriana meets Markus |
| Post # | Character | Title |
| 061 | Ya'Han | Chains of the Past Ya'Han plans her revenge |
| 062 | Lopez | Echoes of the Mind Amanda is trying to deal with her situation |
| 063 | Morningstar | Agent of Chaos Markus shows his true colours |
| 064 | Stark/Maya | Shadows and Echoes Maya is visited by another Jayson |
| 065 | Gemma/Zub/Ya'Han | Reflections The team has an unexpected encounter |
| 066 | Ya'Han | Shadows Within Ya'Han finds herself conflicted |
| 067 | Shar'El | Act One Markus's partial plan is revealed |
| 068 | Maya | Situational Re-Evaluation The away team re-evaluate the situation |
| 069 | Smith | Unacceptable Decision Christie goes to see her mother |
| 070 | Lopez | The Cost of Freedom Adriana and Amanda deal with Markus |
| 071 | Gemma/Enel | Reflections, Part 2 Gemma fights her clone, Zub looks for Ya'Han |
| 072 | Ya'Han | Inescapable Destiny Ya'Han is brought to Ardax |
| 073 | A'Janni | Disturbing Silence The ANUBIS loses contact with the away teams |
| 074 | Gemma | Ultimate Betrayal Gemma is lured into a trap |
| 075 | T'Lara | Time for Action T'Lara leaves the Medical Bay |
| 076 | Enel | Or the One Zub enlist help to find Gemma |
| 077 | Maya | New Mission Parameters Maya figures out a way to gather data |
| 078 | Ya'Han | Fracture Ya'Han is before Ardax |
| 079 | Morningstar | Silent Before the... Pt 1 The crew deals with the mission's collapse |
| 080 | Stark | When Silence Watches Back A DRONE joins Maya and Jayson |
| 081 | Morningstar | Silent Before the... Pt 2 A'Janni and Nathan join the action |
| 082 | Enel/Gemma | Portrait Enel, Gemma and Nathan share a moment |
| 083 | T'Lara | Quiet Observations T'Lara watches Gemma, Zub and Nathan |
| 084 | Lopez | Prison of Shadows The four captives talk about their situation |
| 085 | Ya'Han | Shattered Ardax haunts Ya'Han into embracing her darkness |
| 086 | Shar'El | Echoes of the Abyss Shar'El runs into and follows Varin |
| 087 | Stark | Shadow in the Signal Jayson observes the DRONE and sees something |
| 088 | Gemma | Echoes of the Abyss Gemma feels a glitch in the DRONE |
| 089 | Lopez | The Shape of Fear The four captives deal with their situation |
| 090 | T'Lara | Unnatural Links T'Lara comments on Gemma and the DRONE |
| 091 | A'Janni | Romulan Dominos The away team fights their way in |
| 092 | Gemma | As Loud as a Shadow Christie discovers something about herself |
| 093 | Lopez | Echoes of Darkness Adriana confronts Christie |
| 094 | Shar'El | A Voice from the Abyss Shar'El feels the effect of the scream |
| 095 | Enel | Fool Me Once The MACOs encounter Zub's clone |
| 096 | Ya'Han | Beneath the Crown Markus confronts Ya'Han |
| 097 | Stark/Maya | Convergence of Threads Jayson and Maya regroup with the others |
| 098 | Enel | Threads of Hope The away team searches for tech |
| 099 | T'Lara | Shadows in Motion T'Lara is keeping a close watch on Christie |
| 100 | Lopez | More than Family Adriana tries to understand Amanda |
| 101 | Shar'El | Tendrils of Darkness Shar'El rejoins the away team |
| 102 | Ya'Han | Demonstration of Intent Ardax taunts Ya'Han before the auction |
| 103 | Stark/Lopez | Fractures Beyond angry, Jayson lashes out at Christie |
| 104 | Gemma/Enel | Shadows of Guilt Gemma and Enel contemplate the situation |
| 105 | Shar'El | Tactical Paths The away team goes after the device and Ya'Han |
| 106 | Ya'Han | Mistress of Shadows Jayson's clone visits Ya'Han |
| 107 | T'Lara | Observed Variables T'Lara observes Christie |
| 108 | Stark | Fragments Between... Jayson is concerned about Ya'Han |
| 109 | Gemma | Too Late The away team arrives at the vault |
| 110 | Ya'Han | Too Late, Part 2 The away finds Ya'Han |
| 111 | Lopez | The Cost of Survival Adriana is deeply concerned about Ya'Han |
| 112 | Shar'El | Splinters in the Dark The away team rushes to leave the station |
| 113 | T'Lara/Enel | Beyond The Shadows T'Lara and Zub discuss Ya'Han |
| 114 | Stark/A'Janni | Line in the Shadow Jayson and A'Janni argue over Ya'Han's condition |
| 115 | Gemma | Last Out The away team works out how to leave |
| 116 | Enel | Duck and Cover The Marines work teir way out |
| 117 | Shar'El/Gemma | What We Carry Isiryne comes to the rescue |
| 118 | Morningstar | Shadows: ... Part 1 The away teams return to the ANUBIS |
##########
"Silent Fields"
Previous post: "Just More Questions" by Jessica
##########
"In the infinite expanse of space, no event is mere coincidence. Every cause is a thread, every reason a pattern, woven into the fabric of existence."
-- Oltharian belief
Setting: USS ANUBIS, Bridge
Stardate: 45002.1630
Captain Morningstar sat in his chair, watching the crew work with focused efficiency, finalizing the transfer of 190 Terrans rescued from the Yautja Training Matrix. The process had gone smoothly, which, on a subtle level, bothered him. When it came to the ANUBIS, it always felt as though the universe had a peculiar way of complicating matters.
"Captain," Jayson reported from the Operations station. "The last of our guests are being escorted to the transporter room..."
--==(/\)==--
Setting: USS ANUBIS, Transporter Room 3
Stardate: 45002.1632
"We’re almost there," Christie said softly, helping the woman into the transporter room. Despite being in her mid-thirties, the way the rescued Terran moved made her appear much older... an effect of spending so long in a Yautja stasis pod. The rehabilitation to reverse the muscle atrophy had begun and was progressing, but it was clear that many of the survivors would face years of physical and psychological readaptation.
Cristhiane, pushing a hover chair with another rescued Terran, this one a man in his early 40s, watched her daughter with overflowing pride. Despite the ordeal she and the other Yautja captives had endured, Christie pressed on, always being there to help, a beacon of hope for anyone who looked upon her, just like her mother had done countless times before.
After ensuring all Terrans were safely on the platform, the technician skillfully operated the controls to start the transport sequence. As the shimmering effect enveloped the last of the rescued guests and transported them from the ANUBIS to the USS NILE, the man shifted his attention to the mother and daughter.
"This is your last chance to leave the ANUBIS," the technician began. "The USS NILE will take the rescued Terrans to a safe place where they can heal... physically, mentally, and emotionally. If you stay, I can't say what we’ll face next. This ship doesn’t exactly go to *easy* places, but you already know that."
Cristhiane and Christie shared a lengthy tender moment, looking into each other's eyes without saying a single word. The transporter technician briefly wondered if the two women were telepaths, as their silent exchange seemed to go on for much longer than expected. After a few moments, the mother turned to face the technician, a gentle smile caressing her lips.
"We'll stay," Cristhiane said causing Christie to nod her head in agreement. "Our path is not out there, not yet. Also, to be honest, this ship is likely the safest place we have been in ages."
"Very well," the Transporter Technician acknowledged as he confirmed that everyone who needed to be off the ANUBIS had done so.
--==(/\)==--
Setting: USS ANUBIS, Bridge
Stardate: 45002.1635
"The USS NILE is reporting that the last transfer has been completed," Ya'Han, the Nylaan Chief of Security reported from the Tactical station.
"Confirmed," Jayson Stark, the Chief of Operations followed suit. "187 Terrans have been transported to the NILE."
Both Erik and Shar'El made a mental note of the stated number. This meant that Cristhiane and her daughter Christie had chosen to remain aboard, a decision that the command-level officers both agreed was likely their best course of action.
Jayson interrupted those thoughts with a loud audible sigh. "Not bad... It only took 3 hours," he noted as he stretched his arms out wide.
"3 hours and 12 minutes to be exact," Ani said, ever diligent in maintaining a close overwatch of the ANUBIS' operations. The avatar remained a steadfast presence among the crew... quiet, efficient, and ever-accurate.
"We were transporting people, not cargo," Commander Shar'El pointed out while looking at Jayson. "Many of them were still very weak from their time as biological processing units in the Yautja Training Matrix."
"My apologies, Commander," Stark quickly offered. "No disrespect was intended to them nor was I trying to diminish the ordeal they endured. I just know that our transporter system could have done this a lot faster."
"Faster isn’t always better," the Caitian FCO remarked. "The NILE is much smaller, and they probably weren’t prepared for an influx of rescued Terrans all at once."
Jayson flushed a deep shade of red, realizing how his words had come across. He opened his mouth to apologize but quickly caught Ya'Han's hard gaze... too late. He silently settled back into his station, wishing he could retract the entire conversation.
Shar'El and Erik shared a quick chuckle. As the crew began to settle into their post-rescue routines, the murmurs of the bridge were interrupted by the chime of an incoming transmission. "We are receiving a priority encoded signal from the NILE," the ExO reported from her station directly behind the Captain's chair. "We are being asked to go to the NOROSYTH Farming Colony and investigate some strange energy readings."
"Why are we only receiving this now?" A'Janni lamented.
"Encoded, sensitive data," Shar'El explained as she scanned the incoming transmission. "The NILE was likely carrying the message without being aware of it for security reasons. As soon as the transport was completed and acknowledged in the ship's log, the computer released the message."
"Why all this secrecy?" Ya'Han asked, her voice tinged with disbelief, as though the situation were spiralling beyond their control.
"What could be so sensitive about an unknown energy reading from a farming colony?" Jayson asked, his puzzlement at the situation tangible.
Ani closed her eyes for only a few seconds as she accessed and reviewed the data the ANUBIS had just received from the NILE. "The NOROSYTH Farming Colony, home to over 128 thousand people as of the latest census, is a crucial pillar in maintaining the Federation's food security in that region. Its contributions extend far beyond its agricultural output... its bioengineering research is integral to Federation's efforts to maintain ecological balance and sustainable growth across its colonies."
"Okay," Ya'Han noted. "So, the odd energy readings could have been generated by one of the bioengineering labs. All we need to do is get within communication range and ask about what happened. Feels a little too simple of a mission for the ANUBIS though."
"You are right Lieutenant," Ani continued. "The orbital communications and monitoring satellites, the same that detected the odd energy readings, have reported that all life on the planet has vanished."
A shared gasp of surprise and disbelief echoed through the command deck.
"Not so simple now, is it?" the Caitian FCO sadly sighed. "Captain?"
A heavy silence fell over the bridge as the weight of the news sank in. Even the most seasoned officers felt the unease in the air, the implication of such a massive loss hanging over them like a storm cloud ready to burst. Morningstar's face hardened as the implications of the new information settled in. To lose an entire colony... 128 thousand lives... was unthinkable. He turned to the helm with a grim resolve. "Set course for the NOROSYTH Colony, maximum speed."
"Aye, aye, Sir."
The tension from the bridge hung thick in the air as Captain Morningstar leaned back into his chair. His mind was consumed by the disappearance of the colony, but there was no time to dwell on it. He would need answers, and as always, time was against them.
--==(/\)==--
Setting: USS ANUBIS, Stellar Cartography
Stardate: 45003.0900
The details, as minimal as there were, of their latest mission received some 16 hours ago had quickly spread through the ANUBIS, causing many to wonder as to the reason of the outpost's sudden and unexpected eradication. This, for obvious reasons, was a question the Shillian Chief Science Officer had dedicated all of her time and energy to finding the answer to.
Captain Morningstar, along with Lt. Gemma, the ship's ILO, stood behind Maya who was skillfully working the controls, calling up every bit of information she had been able to gather since the ANUBIS had set course for the farming colony.
Maya’s hands flew over the controls, her eyes darting from one holographic display to another. "The NOROSYTH farming colony was founded seven years ago on Stardate 38127. Set on a Class-M planetoid with rich soil, it quickly became an ideal location for agricultural research..."
Captain Morningstar leaned forward, studying the data. "And the Federation was not aware of any claims on this region?"
Maya nodded. "Correct, sir. The colony was established in neutral, unclaimed space, and quickly became self-sustaining, surpassing all projections since its first year. No known issues… until now." She grimaced, tapping a few more commands into the system. "Now… all life is gone. And I still don’t understand how something confined to a single square meter, just 8 kilometres from the trading hub, could have triggered such devastation.”
"A single square meter?” Gemma repeated, narrowing her eyes at the holographic map. “That’s not just unusual. It’s impossible. Are we sure we’re reading the data correctly?"
"The data was confirmed by all satellites able to scan the area," the Shillian said.
"Could we be looking at an external portable source?" The Native American questioned. "The colony's success might have finally drawn unwanted attention."
Gemma narrowed her eyes even more as she studied the holographic image. "Can we get a higher resolution scan on that area?"
Maya’s eyes widened as she reviewed the data once more. "The satellites were never designed for detailed scans of the surface. They were meant for communication and atmospheric analysis. We’ll have to wait until the ANUBIS is in orbit to run a complete spectral analysis of the area."
"If whatever device caused this was brought in, it will have been taken off the planet by the time we arrive," the ILO unhappily argued.
"A device, something occupying only a meter of space, was able to erase an entire population in a single second. That was not just an accident or a malfunction. It was a weapon and a very dangerous one at that. The scale and speed of the devastation is unfathomable," Morningstar noted as he crossed his arms, the implications of his words painting a very grim scenario, one that would impact the entire crew of the ANUBIS and possibly beyond.
The words hung heavy in the air as Maya adjusted the holographic display, her brow furrowing. "The energy shockwave that spread across the entire planet did so in just 12.4 seconds." She looked back at Captain Morningstar, her voice a mix of disbelief and dread. "Weapon or not, whatever caused the energy wave was exceptionally powerful, able to generate a level of energy on a scale that the ANUBIS could ever hope to match."
Morningstar's jaw tightened. "Getting there is going to be the easiest part of this mission," the Captain muttered under his breath, as the weight of the situation hung heavily in the air.
--==(/\)==--
Setting: USS ANUBIS, Sickbay
Stardate: 45003.1000
A heavy silence lingered in the air of the ANUBIS’ medical bay, the weight of the devastating loss of life at NOROSYTH hanging over the ship. Dr. T'Lara moved through the sterile space with methodical precision, her movements a reflection of her Romulan-Vulcan training... efficiency tempered by logic. While the news of 128 thousand lives erased in an instant was unsettling, she knew it was illogical to dwell on what could not be undone. Instead, her attention shifted entirely to the present, focusing on the physical and mental recovery of the rescued Terrans. As her hands flew over the medical instruments, she honed in on three individuals in particular: Amanda Lopez, Christie Smith, and Nathan. Survivors of the Yautja Training Matrix had faced unimaginable horrors, and it was to their healing that T'Lara now dedicated her full attention.
Adriana Lopez stood at a medical console, her dark eyes fixed on the readings coming from her twin sister, Amanda. The relief of being rescued had not been enough to erase the shadow that still hung over Amanda’s psyche. Adriana's role as both Counsellor and the twin who had shared every moment of their past made it impossible for her to remain detached. She could sense the deep wound that her sister carried... one that not even time could fully heal.
“Will she be alright?” The twin sister asked quietly, her voice betraying a faint edge of worry. Adriana’s hand hovered over Amanda’s, as though the touch alone could reassure her. But deep down, she knew no amount of comfort could erase the trauma her sister had endured.
"I was not the one infected by a Romulan bio-weapon," Amanda said before the doctor could speak. "So why am I on this bed?"
Adriana stepped closer to her sister’s bed, gently brushing a stray lock of hair from Amanda’s face. “Because I was not the one who spent two decades locked in a Yautja-fabricated virtual reality where survival was the only thought allowed.”
"Physically, your twin sister is fine, Counsellor," Dr. T'Lara stated with the expected Vulcan directness. "Your concerns, as endearing as they may be, are not necessary."
"How is Nathan doing?" Amanda said as she sat up and swung her legs over the biobed's edge, taking the Doctor's words as her being free to go.
"Gemma's nanites have done their job better than anyone could have expected," the Romulan/Vulcan physician replied. "He was released from Sickbay yesterday."
"Wait! What?" Amanda gasped, her eyes opening to their widest in shock. "Why was I not informed of this?"
"Two reasons," Adriana quickly interjected before her sister went off on a rampage. "One, you are not an official member of the Counselling staff... yet. Two, it was his request. He asked for some time alone, and I saw no reason to deny his request."
"Why would he do that?" Amanda asked, the news taking her completely by surprise. "For a while, all we had was each other."
The Ship's Counsellor took a moment to think about how she would best answer the question, but in the end, Adriana hoped for a quick and direct approach. "Nathan has quite a few of Gemma's nanites in him, and there is no telling how this is affecting him. Trying to pressure him into talking may only make things worse, and cause him to retreat into a solitude that he would never come out of. I thought it best to let him spend time by himself and reflect on what happened. When he's ready to talk, he will, but it has to be on his terms, not ours."
It was easy to see that Amanda was not at all happy with the situation, with Gemma and even Nathan, but she also knew that her sister was right. The young boy had gone through one ordeal after another, being taken by the Yautja, plugged into their training matrix and then, after being rescued, cheating death thanks to the infusion of their ILO's nanites into his body.
Amanda had to accept the reality of the situation... Nathan would need time, maybe more than she was currently prepared to give him.
--==(/\)==--
Setting: USS ANUBIS, Deck 29, Specialized Craft Storage Bay
Stardate: 45003.1000
"Good morning Lieutenant Commander," Zub said as he stepped into the massive room where half a dozen Locus-Class Land Rover, the Sphinx-Class Land Mobile Command Unit and the Barracuda-Class Underwater / Stealth Mobile Command Unit were kept inside the ANUBIS. "You wanted to see me?"
"Yes I did," Sonja acknowledged still working on the storage bay's control station. Without looking back the red-headed Chief Engineer motioned for the MCO to join her. "I assume that you have made yourself familiar with the parameters of the NOROSYTH Farming Colony mission."
"Of course," the towering Voth quickly acknowledged, his 7-foot frame appearing even more impressive as he stood next to the 5'2" woman. "I suspect that Captain Morningstar will want a full survey team to be deployed to the planet's surface. There, they will conduct a thorough examination of the source location of the energy wave that wiped out all life."
"Yup," Sonja nodded. "We will be arriving in 2 hours, once in orbit Gemma and the IGC team will be scanning anything and everything they can from orbit, but we will have an away team with their feet on the ground, covering as much terrain as possible. Since the source of the energy blast was established to be 8 kilometres from the main trading hub and to maximize the away team's inspection of a larger region of the planet, the LOCUS and SPHINX will be deployed. I need your help to ensure that the Mobile Command Unit has everything your MACOs might need."
"Commander, can I ask something?" Zub said, a pensive expression dawning on his face.
"You just did," the redhead Engineer teased with a smirk, "but go ahead, ask away."
"Maya's report of NOROSYTH shows no life signs on the entire planet, so why ask for the MACOs to go to the planet's surface?"
Sonja’s fingers hovered over the controls, her eyes scanning the holo-map. The urgency in her voice was clear as she addressed Zub. ‘Whatever happened on that planetoid, we need to be ready for anything. Make sure the team has everything they need. We won’t get a second chance. We’ve seen too many strange things over the years to think this is just another routine 'go down and scan.' If it were that simple, we’d already be done. But I’ve got a bad feeling about this, and I’m not the only one."
"Understood, Commander," Zub replied with a firm nod, his expression hardening. "We’ll ensure everyone’s safety. Whatever’s out there, we’ll take care of it."
--==(/\)==--
Francois Charette
Captain Erik Morningstar
Commanding Officer
USS ANUBIS, NCC 18501
"I used to think it was awful that life was so unfair. Then I thought, wouldn't it be much worse if life were fair and all the terrible things that happen to us come because we actually deserve them. So now I take great comfort in the general hostility and unfairness of the universe."
- Marcus Cole, Babylon 5
"The Cost of a Choice"
Previous post: "Silent Fields"
Setting: USS ANUBIS, IGC
Stardate: 45003.1015
Gemma quietly sat at her station in the IGC, as she always did, overseeing the team of technicians as they processed data from the orbiting satellites monitoring the now-deserted NOVOSYTH Farming Colony. The screens before her filled with streams of information, but her mind was elsewhere, caught in a storm far more personal.
"You saved his life," Finnja said, her voice carrying the quiet pride of a Dinaali healer.
"Maybe so," Anya countered coldly, "but at what cost?"
"The Yautja programming was poised to overwrite the nanites' code. The transfer quarantined it," Viras explained, ever the pragmatic hacker. "What we did was necessary."
"No," Gwenvel corrected, her voice smooth but firm. "The transfer was a choice, not a necessity. Saving Nathan was a choice."
Gemma shut her eyes, willing the voices to stop. To her surprise, they did. She exhaled slowly, grounding herself in the silence. Then, without a word, she stood and exited the IGC.
"Lieutenant?" one of the techs called after her.
"Keep working on the NOVOSYTH data," she ordered, her voice flat. "I'll review it later."
-=-=-
Setting: USS ANUBIS, Corridor -> Guest Quarters
Stardate: 45003.1020
She hesitated outside Nathan’s quarters.
How much had she changed? How much had she lost?
The absence of even a fraction of her nanites left her feeling... off. She should have been focused on the mission, on efficiency, on control. Instead, an unfamiliar uncertainty gnawed at her. Could she still be the operative she once was? Did she even want to be?
As she reached for the door chime, the door slid open before she could press it.
Nathan sat on the couch in the dimly lit room, watching her. His posture was casual, but his eyes... sharp, assessing... tracked her every movement. It was unsettling to see that kind of awareness in someone else. Usually, she was the one watching.
"I knew you were coming," he said quietly. Not arrogant. Just certain.
Her jaw tensed. "The nanites. They warned you."
Nathan exhaled, nodding. "I don’t know how, but yeah. I felt you getting closer. It’s... weird."
Weird. That was an understatement.
The connection between them was undeniable, far stronger than anything she had with Zub. The realization sent another ripple through the turmoil already brewing inside her. She wasn’t used to this. This link. This... caring.
"How do you feel?" she asked, her voice colder than she intended.
Nathan studied her, sensing the weight behind the question.
"Physically? Better than I ever have. Stronger. Faster. My reflexes are sharper." He twirled a small data rod through his fingers, the movement smooth, and effortless. "But there's something else. Something I can't explain. Like something’s... shifting."
Her nanites. They had healed him. But at what cost? Had she truly saved him? Or had she condemned him to the same chaos that plagued her?
"You were foolish," Anya hissed. "You compromised your own strength for sentimentality."
"She saved a life," Ema countered, calm and steady. "For once, she acted not out of programming, but out of something more."
"Weakness," Jinx sneered. "She should have let him die."
"No!" Finnja protested. "She did the right thing. Saving a life is never weakness."
Gemma clenched her fists. The voices battled inside her, splintered reflections of her fractured identity. Some condemned. Some praised. But they all pointed to the same undeniable truth, she was changing.
Nathan watched her carefully. "Something’s wrong, isn’t it? Not with me... with you."
She hesitated. He was right. Everything felt wrong. She was slower, less precise. Weaker. But more than that, her mind was quieter. The constant, razor-sharp hum of her nanites had dulled into something unfamiliar.
"Expected," Wimdalli noted. "Adjustments align with post-transfer predictions. You remain within optimal human parameters."
"She is not human," Shinral growled. "She is more. Far more."
"More?" Gabrielle countered. "Or less?"
Less.
The word hit harder than she expected. Who was she without the full complement of her nanites? Without that sharp, ruthless precision?
Nathan reached out, his fingers brushing her wrist. The touch was light, but real.
"You're not less, Gemma. Just... different. Maybe this is your chance to find out who you really are. Just like me."
His words echoed Gwenvel, Lireen, Saha Rahi. They saw this as an opportunity. A rebirth.
But then, a flicker of cold familiarity crept into her mind. GAMMA.
"The nanites were modified Borg tech, altered by Yautja hands." The disembodied voice reminded her. "Koniki knew. He knew things no one else did. He still does."
Her breath hitched.
She had severed a part of herself, given it away. In doing so, she had changed in ways she had yet to understand.
But the greater question loomed.
What had she truly given to Nathan?
And what had she lost in return?
=-=
Rachel Jackie Johnson <racheljackiejohnson@gmail.com>
Lieutenant Gemma
Intel Operative
USS ANUBIS
[The fun is getting to wear multiple disguises and getting to explore multiple personalities and bring them to life. - Jenna Fischer]
"Bioelectrical Mechanics"
Previous post: "The Cost of a Choice"
Setting: USS ANUBIS, Sickbay
Stardate: 45003.1020
Lieutenant Commander Maya entered Sickbay with the characteristic briskness of someone deep in thought. Her large, inquisitive eyes scanned the medical displays before settling on the Chief Medical Officer. Doctor T’Lara stood at one of the biobeds, reviewing the latest findings from the planetary incident, her posture as rigid as ever in true Vulcan discipline and Romulan intensity. The moment their gazes met, Maya spoke.
“I require your expertise, Doctor. The energy wave that eradicated all humanoid and animal life on the colony, all 128,000 individuals gone in precisely 12.4 seconds, originated from a surface area no larger than a single square meter. Ani established a link with the NOROSYTH research mainframe that aggregates all satellite telemetry. The latest data confirms..."
"Maya," T’Lara interjected with a controlled sigh, drawing the Shillian’s attention back to the core issues.
"Sorry," the Chief Science Officer apologized. "The most recent sensor data indicate that no lingering radiation, chemical residue, or environmental alterations remain. Most perplexingly, all plant life remains entirely unaffected.”
T’Lara turned from the monitor, folding her hands behind her back. “An anomaly of that magnitude suggests an energy field or wave tuned to selectively disrupt biological processes unique to complex organisms. If this were merely a form of thermal, radiological, or kinetic energy, the plant life would have been incinerated or at least affected by collateral damage. It was not.”
Maya inclined her head slightly. “I have reviewed the molecular data. There are no traces of vaporization, decomposition, or genetic degradation. The bodies are simply… absent. If this was a biologically selective phenomenon, what mechanism could achieve such specificity?”
T’Lara considered this for a moment before responding. “One possibility is an energy wave attuned to disrupt bioelectric fields, the electromagnetic activity that governs neural processes, cardiac function, and cellular metabolism. Unlike inert matter, such as plant cells, which rely on slow, passive biochemical exchanges, animal physiology is sustained by constant electrochemical activity. A wave capable of interfering with those precise bioelectric frequencies could theoretically cause instantaneous cessation of life functions.”
Maya’s brow furrowed in concentration. “But if such a disruption occurred, would it not leave corpses behind?”
“Not necessarily,” T’Lara replied. “A sufficiently advanced mechanism could induce complete molecular destabilization, targeting proteins, enzymes, and organic compounds unique to animal physiology. If the wave fragmented these structures at a subatomic level, the affected organisms would not decay; they would simply cease to exist.”
Maya pressed her fingertips together in contemplation. “Then it must have operated on a frequency or energy state that only interacts with animate biological material. If that is the case, it would require an extraordinary level of control, far beyond any naturally occurring phenomenon. Such precision implies design rather than chance. We are no longer discussing a mere anomaly. That would seem to confirm the Captain’s theory, we may indeed be dealing with a weapon of frightening power.”
“That is the more disturbing implication,” T’Lara acknowledged. “The specificity of the effect shows intentionality. If the wave was artificially generated, the question is not just how, but why.”
A silence hung between them, heavy with the realization, not only of the immense loss but of the cold precision with which it had been enacted, leading to 128,000 lives erased in mere seconds. All of that while leaving no trace, no remains, no chance for survival. If such a weapon had been deployed here, it could be deployed elsewhere.
Maya straightened. “I will need to correlate this data with other known energy field interactions. There must be a precedent, some clue to its origin.”
T’Lara gave a small nod. “And I will continue analyzing the biochemical aspects. If there are any residual markers, however subtle, they may point to the precise nature of the energy involved.”
As Maya turned to leave, T’Lara spoke once more. “Lieutenant Commander.”
Maya paused at the threshold.
“This is not a disease or a natural disaster. It is a calculated action.”
Maya met her gaze, the same thought already forming in her mind. “Yes,” she agreed. “And that means it can be understood. And, potentially, stopped.”
With that, she left Sickbay, her mind already constructing the next step in their investigation. T’Lara, meanwhile, turned back to the medical scans, her expression as unreadable as ever, yet beneath it, a thought lingered.
If this was a weapon, its creators had just demonstrated their power in the most chilling way possible. The only question was whether this was a warning, or the opening strike of something far worse
=-=
Dawn Bohr
Lt. Commander T'Lara
Chief Medical Officer
USS ANUBIS, NCC-18501
and
Jessica Solarik
Lieutenant Commander Maya
Chief Science Officer
USS ANUBIS
"To see the world in a grain of sand,
and a heaven in a wild flower.
Hold infinity in the palm of your hand,
and eternity in an hour."
- William Blake (British, 1757-1827)
-=-=-
"Echoes of Power"
Previous post: "Bioelectrical Mechanics” by Dawn and Jessica
-=-=-
Setting: USS ANUBIS, Bridge
Stardate: 45003.1045
The steady and constant background sounds of the ANUBIS' command deck were barely noticeable as Lieutenant Ya'Han stared at the viewscreen. The swirling expanse of stars stretched ahead, but her focus was elsewhere. Without realizing it, her hair slowly shifted from the red and black mix that had become her standard to the full bright red of the Warrior cast, a vivid sign of her mounting unease. She barely registered the subtle sideways glance from Commander Shar'El, the Ullian ExO’s dark eyes narrowing ever so slightly in recognition.
The murmurs of the bridge faded into the background as a long-buried memory clawed its way into the forefront of her mind
[/\] [/\] [/\] [/\] [/\]
FLASHBACK
[/\] [/\] [/\] [/\] [/\]
Setting: NYLA IV, Imperial Palace Throne Room
Stardate: 16033.2230 (Age of 9)
Barefoot and wearing a light, flowing nightgown, Ya'Han crept through the palace halls. Her small fingers lightly traced the cold stone walls as she made her way toward the Throne Room. The corridors were dimly lit, the occasional golden glow of the wall sconces casting flickering shadows. She had not seen her father in days, possibly longer. Her young mind clung to the hope that he would be there, that maybe, just maybe, he would smile at her.
Peeking around the massive doorway, she spotted him. The High Sovereign stood at the base of his throne, flanked by two of the red-haired warrior caste leaders. Their uniforms were adorned with gold-etched patterns of ancient Nylaan runes, their eyes sharp and unyielding. Even as a child, she could feel the weight of their presence. Yet, it was the three outsiders that drew her curiosity.
They were tall, slender figures draped in dark uniforms with a sleek, alien design that her young eyes had never seen before. Their skin had an unsettling, pale hue, and their eyes were nearly colorless, giving them an ethereal, almost spectral quality. One of them wore a long, segmented gauntlet that emitted faint pulses of blue energy along its length. The soft hum it produced made the back of Ya'Han's neck tingle.
She crouched lower behind the heavy stone pillar, holding her breath.
“They refuse to yield,” one of the warrior caste leaders spat. His voice was low, guttural, and filled with contempt. “A demonstration is necessary.”
The High Sovereign’s voice was as cold and unfeeling as the stone beneath Ya’Han’s feet. “Then let them understand what it means to defy me.”
One of the outsiders responded, his voice smooth but devoid of warmth. “Our technology is... effective. There will be no resistance once the demonstration is complete.”
Ya'Han’s small hands clutched the edge of the pillar. She could not understand all of the words, but the tone, the deliberate, emotionless weight behind them, made her heart pound. She watched as her father gave a slow nod, his eyes hard with satisfaction.
The warriors and the outsiders spoke of targets, of precision, and of the necessity for fear. She did not understand what was meant by "tactical purging" or "eradication zones," but she knew it was not meant to be kind.
Her young eyes widened in confusion as her father smiled, pleased by the promises of power at his command.
[/\] [/\] [/\] [/\] [/\]
END OF FLASHBACK
[/\] [/\] [/\] [/\] [/\]
Ya'Han exhaled sharply, blinking herself back to the present. Her hands were trembling ever so slightly on the tactical console. Her hair was still red.
“You saw it, didn’t you?” she asked quietly, her voice barely above a whisper. She didn’t turn to look at Shar'El, knowing that the Ullian had seen the memory that had openly been shared for those able to feel or see it.
“I did,” Shar’El replied just as softly, taking a half-step closer, her voice devoid of judgment. “Your father… He was ready to use anything, or anyone, to impose his will.”
Ya'Han clenched her jaw, slowly lowering her hands to her sides as she tried to calm herself. “I was only a child. I didn’t understand what I was hearing back then.” She shook her head slowly, her voice tightening. “But I do now.”
Shar’El crossed her arms, her expression growing more serious. “You’re wondering if what happened on NOVOSYTH was the same. Someone making a point.”
The Nylaan nodded. “Maya and T’Lara confirmed the blast’s nature... Every living thing, vanished. Crops and vegetation untouched. Precise. Controlled.” She turned toward Shar’El, her eyes narrowing. “That’s not a random. That’s a message.” Her voice lowered, bitter memories of her childhood bleeding into her words. “And I’ve seen that message before, granted not on such a scale, but still, history is repeating itself.”
For a brief moment, neither woman spoke. The quiet hum of the bridge consoles filled the silence.
Shar’El finally placed a hand lightly on Ya'Han’s arm. It was not a gesture of comfort, but of solidarity, an unspoken acknowledgment that they were both seeing the same ominous possibilities.
“Then we’ll be ready,” Shar’El finally said, her voice steady.
Ya'Han’s hair remained red as she turned back to her console, her fingers tightening into a small, determined fist.
From across the bridge, Jayson noticed the shift in Ya'Han's hair and posture. He knew exactly what that meant, she was ready for a fight, and given the information they possessed, it seemed all too fitting.
-=-=-
Hanali Han <sectacyahan@gmail.com>
Lieutenant Ya'Han
Chief of Security / Tactical Officer
USS ANUBIS, NCC-18501
"Harsh Reality"
Previous post: "Echoes of Power” by Hanali
Setting: USS ANUBIS, Ship's Counselor's Office
Stardate: 45003.1045
The Counselor’s Office aboard the ANUBIS was a sanctuary of warmth and calm, a space designed to make the mind feel at ease. The soft glow of candle-like lighting painted the room in a golden hue, while the gentle trickle of the small waterfall in the corner filled the air with an unintrusive, rhythmic sound. Plush couches and lounge chairs invited relaxation, but Amanda had opted for the floor, her fingers absently gripping the cushiony carpet beneath her.
Adriana watched her sister carefully from her seat, taking in every detail, the way Amanda’s breath came unevenly, her hands fidgeting, the crease in her brow that signaled confusion.
“128,000 people,” Amanda finally whispered, the number hanging between them like a heavy weight. “Gone. Just like that.”
Adriana nodded. “Yes.”
Amanda’s fingers tightened against the carpet. “I should feel something, shouldn’t I? I mean, I do. I feel… strange. Like there’s something pressing down on my ribs like I can’t breathe right, but I know I can, and my stomach feels like it’s twisting up. But it’s not like in the Matrix. I don’t know how to name it.” She looked up, her blue eyes searching for something in Adriana’s expression, some clue that would make sense of what was happening inside her.
Adriana gave a small, sad smile. “That’s grief.” The Counselor had spent so many years imagining moments like this, sitting across from her sister, talking, sharing, existing, that sometimes she had to remind herself this wasn’t another cruel trick of her mind. This was real, as was her sister's pain and confusion.
Amanda inhaled sharply, her fingers releasing the carpet as if burned. “Grief,” she repeated, like it was a foreign word in her mouth. “I thought grief was supposed to be, loud. Like screaming. Or breaking something.”
“Sometimes it is,” Adriana admitted. “Ask Ya'Han, she likes to break things when she is emotionally hurt... usually the bones of her holographic adversaries. But most of the time, it’s like this. Quiet. Heavy.” She leaned forward, resting her elbows on her knees. “It’s the weight of knowing those lives were real, that they mattered.”
Amanda shook her head. “But that’s just it. They feel real now. When I was in the Matrix, the Lokustaar invasion was just… something that happened. Like a dream that didn’t belong to me. But now...” She pressed a hand to her chest. “Now it’s different. They feel different.”
Adriana’s heart ached. Amanda was only just beginning to understand the depth of reality, of loss, of being truly present in a world filled with both wonder and unimaginable sorrow.
“You’re feeling it because you’re here now. You’re part of this world,” Adriana said softly.
The twin sister blinked, looking away. “I don’t know if I like it.”
The honesty in those words made Adriana’s throat tighten. She shifted from her chair to the floor beside Amanda, offering warmth without crowding her. “I won’t lie to you. This world isn’t easy. It’s painful. It’s complicated. But it’s also real. And no matter how hard it gets, I’ll be right here to help you through it.”
Amanda let out a slow breath, nodding. “I just… I miss Nathan. In that place, he was the only other person who felt real, along with Simone, George, and Christie. He was my anchor, and now I feel like I’ve been cut loose. He won’t even talk to me.”
Adriana reached over, squeezing her sister’s hand. “Give him time. He’s dealing with his own grief, his own struggles. Just like you are.”
Amanda swallowed hard. “And if he never comes back?”
Adriana hesitated but didn’t let go of her hand. “Then you’ll still have me. No matter what, I’m real, and I’m not going anywhere.”
Amanda was silent for a long moment, taking in the physical sensation of her sister being there. She hadn’t had this before, this quiet, certain presence. A breath later, she shifted closer, leaning ever so slightly against Adriana. It was a small gesture, but Adriana felt the weight of it. They were still figuring this out, how to be sisters in a world that neither of them had truly expected. But for now, this was enough.
-=-=-
Marissa Montonera-Lombardi {mmlm12121112@gmail.com}
Lieutenant JG Adriana Lopez
Ship's Counselor & Junior Ambassador
USS ANUBIS
---
"The NOVO Star System"
(Previous Post: "Harsh Reality")
---
Setting: USS ANUBIS, Deck 13, Stellar Cartography
Stardate: 45003.1100
From her station in Stellar Cartography, Lieutenant Commander Maya meticulously studied the incoming sensor data as the USS ANUBIS dropped out of warp. Although the starship remained nearly an hour away from NOVOSYTH, the relative proximity provided her with an opportunity to conduct a comprehensive analysis of the entire NOVO system. Every piece of information, no matter how minor, could hold the key to understanding the cause of the catastrophic event that eradicated all 128,000 inhabitants of the Federation colony.
The holographic images of the NOVO star system, first charted by an Andorian deep-space survey team, displayed no immediately apparent abnormalities. At its centre burned a main-sequence G-type star, providing the necessary warmth for the diverse planetary array of the system. The fifth planet, NOVO-E, dominated the sensor displays with its gaseous expanse. Composed primarily of hydrogen and helium, the gas giant exhibited complex atmospheric banding patterns and electromagnetic fluxes typical of its class. What captured the scientific curiosity of the Shillian, however, was the remarkable orbital balance of its fourteen natural satellites.
NOVOSYTH, the M-Class planetoid in question, maintained a perfect halo orbital path, also referred to as a Lagrange Point L1 orbit, around NOVO-E, keeping the planetoid between the gas giant and its sun. Such stability, while not impossible, remained a fascinating anomaly considering the gravitational complexities introduced by the other thirteen moons. The remarkable part was how this configuration maintained the planetoid’s position without deviation despite the fluctuating influences of the surrounding bodies, placing it in the proverbial 'sweet spot' for an agricultural paradise.
The readings further indicated subtle perturbations caused by the combined mass of these satellites, yet NOVOSYTH remained fixed within the Lagrange Point. Further analysis might reveal whether this stability was the product of natural forces or deliberate manipulation, Maya finding both possibilities equally intriguing.
Her eyes flicked over the surface scans of the planetoid. Despite the absence of biological life signs, the infrastructure of the colony appeared untouched. Communications arrays, power grids, and agricultural processing facilities all remained intact. Even the automated systems continued functioning without interruption. The only apparent loss was biological. Every trace of animal life had been eradicated in the wake of the energy event, leaving the verdant fields of crops unaffected. The sheer scale of the agricultural operation spoke to the significance of the colony in supporting the food supply in this sector and several key Federation locations.
The thoughts of the Chief Science Officer returned to the energy weapon responsible for this devastation. Initial assessments suggested a high-powered discharge originating from a precise location on the surface of NOVOSYTH. The rapid propagation of the energy wave, spreading across the entire planetoid in a mere 12.4 seconds, implied an advanced delivery mechanism. Without direct access to the source area, her analysis remained speculative. Possibilities ranged from a focused nadion pulse, which could disrupt organic cellular integrity while leaving inert matter unscathed, to more exotic particle emissions designed to target biological life through molecular resonance or, as suggested by Dr. T'Lara, the disruption of the bioelectrical foundation of the cells. Until the ANUBIS arrived in orbit, definitive answers would remain frustratingly out of reach.
Maya also noted the absence of any residual warp signatures. The delayed arrival of the ANUBIS afforded sufficient time for any vessel responsible for the attack to escape and for the subspace disturbances caused by their propulsion systems to dissipate. Although this left no immediate leads, the Shillian remained undeterred. There were still ample data points to examine, and each new detail brought her closer to unravelling the mystery.
As the ship continued its approach, Maya immersed herself further in the sensor readings. She examined the magnetic field interactions between NOVO-E and its satellites, searching for further anomalies. No deviation, no matter how slight, escaped her scrutiny. The truth behind the mass disappearance of the NOVOSYTH colony was concealed within the physics of the system itself, and she intended to extract every possible insight before they arrived.
If there was a pattern, she would find it.
---
Jessica Solarik
Lieutenant Commander Maya
Chief Science Officer
USS ANUBIS
"To see the world in a grain of sand,
and a heaven in a wild flower.
Hold infinity in the palm of your hand,
and eternity in an hour."
- William Blake (British, 1757-1827)
"Too Quiet"
Previous post: "The NOVO Star System" by Jessica
Setting: USS ANUBIS, Bridge
Stardate: 45003.1100
The moment the USS ANUBIS dropped out of warp, A’Janni’s grip on the flight controls adjusted instinctively, his single eye scanning the primary display as the ship settled into sublight velocity. The vast emptiness of the NOVO system stretched before them, its silent G-type star casting a pale glow over the planets and their orbits.
"Confirmed," A’Janni reported, his voice steady. "We’ve exited warp outside the system perimeter, one hour from NOVOSYTH. No unexpected gravitational distortions or subspace anomalies detected. Engines are steady. Course laid in for a standard approach."
From their stations, Jayson Stark and Ya’Han immediately got to work, scanning the system with meticulous precision. Jayson focused on planetary orbits, ensuring no sudden shifts or anomalies that might indicate hidden interference, natural or artificial. Meanwhile, Ya’Han’s fingers moved deftly over her console, cross-referencing tactical scans with the IGC’s deep sensor analysis, ensuring no hidden dangers, such as a cloaked vessel, lurked in the system’s deceptively tranquil expanse.
A’Janni exhaled slowly, his ears flicking as he studied the image on the main viewscreen. NOVO-E, the massive gas giant, loomed before them, its swirling atmosphere casting long shadows over its fourteen moons. One of them, NOVOSYTH, was now nothing more than a bodiless graveyard.
"The system is quiet," he muttered, more to himself than anyone else. "Maybe too quiet."
Ya’Han glanced up from her console, nodding subtly. "There are multiple sensor blind spots due to NOVO-E’s satellites. IGC is compensating as best they can, but it’s going to take time."
A’Janni’s ear twitched. "Understood. Just make sure nothing is using those blind spots to get the jump on us."
Jayson exhaled. "Everything matches the last deep-space survey reports. No signs of movement, no gravitational shifts, no residual warp trails. If someone came through here, they covered their tracks well."
A’Janni nodded. Everything appeared normal. No unexpected readings. No visible threats. And yet, his instincts refused to settle. A colony didn’t just vanish without a trace, without warning. It was one thing to read a cold, detached report about 128,000 people being wiped out, it was another to fly straight into the aftermath.
He tapped a control on his console, his voice level but firm. "Alright, slow and easy into the abyss."
Captain Morningstar, seated in the command chair, nodded slightly, his expression unreadable. "Everyone, stay sharp. If the source of the energy wave on NOVOSYTH was contained within a one-square-meter structure, we might be looking at similar devices scattered in orbit or even hidden throughout the system."
Commander Shar’El, arms crossed as she studied the tactical display, added, "May I recommend deploying the ablative armor immediately?"
"That’ll reduce the sensitivity of our tactical sensors," Ya’Han objected.
"The gamble," Jayson countered, "is between spotting something before we run into it or having the armor up if it does hit us square on."
Morningstar considered for a moment before shaking his head. "Keep the ablative armor on standby. If possible, I’d rather see what we’re dealing with before we’re forced to deal with the aftermath of something blowing up against our hull."
A’Janni gave a single nod, his hands steady on the controls. He didn’t need to say it, he was already on high alert. The silence was unsettling, and if experience had taught him anything, it was that quiet had a way of breaking when least expected.
His grip tightened on the controls as he guided the ANUBIS forward, precision in every motion. They were heading into the unknown. Sensors assured them all was well.
His instincts whispered otherwise.
For now, all he could do was stay sharp, and wait for the inevitable.
=-=
Jayson Sousa
Lieutenant JG A'Janni
Flight Control Officer
USS ANUBIS, NCC-18501
Lieutenant Jayson Stark
Chief of Operations
USS ANUBIS, NCC-18501
=-=
"Duty First"
Previous post: "Too Quiet" by Jayson
Setting: USS ANUBIS, Deck 29, Specialized Craft Storage Bay, Mobile Command Unit
Stardate: 45003.1105
Above the CMU Situation Room table, the rotating holographic display of a wave of destruction fanning out over the planetoid NOVOSYTH cast long shadows across MCO Zub Enel’s scaly face. His expression grew ever grimmer as he stared at the casualty count: 128,000. **Space was a strange place**, he thought. **Maybe all those people were vaporized into quarks. Or maybe they were sent ‘elsewhere,’ serving some sinister purpose.** He rubbed at his bony head crest with a three-fingered hand. His heart felt so heavy that it stretched his veins. He knew with utter certainty that whatever could do this to the entire moon in 12.4 seconds didn’t give him and his marines much time to react if it reoccurred. And why won’t it reoccur?
The CMU lurched. After a few weighty footfalls, his two-meter high sad-faced Lurian entered the otherwise empty room. Sergeant Mi’teh’s gaze lingered on the rotating planetoid with its wave of death converging on the opposite side. The recycled air grew heavy with the Lurian’s scent. Stress hormones. The sergeant, outwardly calm, rumbled, “Ready for orders, sir.”
Zub stood and straightened his uniform. The Lurian followed him through the CMU to one of the exit stairs.
Zub stood in the doorway. All 50 of his Marines were suited up and ready. The cargo bay air was distinctly cool. It smelled of machine lubricant, ozone, and body odor. His troops looked up at him expectantly from the gaps between parked Viper interceptors with cockpit hatches open and armored four-wheeled land rovers. Behind him, Sergeant Mi’Teh called out a gruff “Tench hut!” There was a slap of hands to thighs as the marines snapped to attention.
Enel said loud enough for all to hear, “The Away Team’s IP will be on the ground analyzing the one square meter origin of this attack. We will deploy our 2 Lotus-Class Land Rovers to bracket the Away Team so we can bring all weapons to bear on any target. This energy source or whatever it is has a 100% strike range. They fire it. It hits everything everywhere. That means there is nowhere out of the line of fire to deploy the CMU. So, we’ll land it within 30 meters of the Away Team. They might have to shelter in it. There will be 2 Vipers flying close support and 1 flying high cover.”
He looked his troops for understanding. “Questions?”
Lance Corporal Diaz, his best sniper, scrunched her face and shouted, “Do we stay buttoned up, sir, or can we exit the vehicles and deploy like infantry?”
Zub crossed his big arms over his chest. “We start by staying buttoned up.”
There were groans.
Zub Enel added, “The farmers had no protection. Our vehicles offer us that. If there is another strike, we might survive it.”
He waited for more questions.
The MACO engineer, a reedy Andorian male, asked, “What exactly are we watching for, sir?”
Zub chuckled. “No idea. As yet. The Away Team will provide answers.” He raised his forefinger. “That said, pick your targets carefully. Look at each one. We don’t want to shoot a farmer who somehow survived and comes staggering into the open.”
“Or the farmer’s daughter,” a male voice quipped. There were a few chuckles.
“Or the son,” said a female voice to more laughter.
The big Lurian pushed past Zub Enel. “Alright! Knock it off! Grab extra rations and get ready to saddle up.”
The troops returned to purposeful activity.
The big Marine sergeant nodded at Enel. “I count the need for 25 MACOs for this first insertion, sir.” The corners of the Lurian’s oversized, upside-down mouth drooped deeper giving him a thoroughly morose expression.
Zub cocked an eyebrow. “Something troubles you, Ghost?”
“No, Skipper.”
“Sergeant, if we’re to be effective in battle, I need to know anything you have misgivings about.”
The Lurian’s deeply sunken eyes retreated behind slits. “We send down half our troops and they could vanish quicker than we can do anything about it, sir. If you go down with us, you could disintegrate too.”
Zub rubbed his chin. “Are you suggesting you should stay behind to lead in case our first wave is compromised?”
Ghost went to rigid attention. “No sir! I want to be there.”
The 7-foot-tall Voth nodded. “Me too. If we get discombobulated, at least it will be while we are doing our duty to protect the ship and crew.”
The sergeant looked a bit frustrated. “I know that sir. What I am saying is, the power to disappear 25 of us in a blink is treating our lives as worthless, like deleting a hologram. It’s effortless. Cold. A dirty way to fight. We need to find and hurt whoever is behind this. Hurt ‘em 128,000 times.”
Enel nodded. “128,025 times, if we have to. You know, this thing might not destroy us. It might send us somewhere else. Maybe where the framers went. Can you imagine what 25 highly POed marines could do to gum up the works there?” He grinned.
The Lurian still looked unhappy, but he drew himself up to attention. “Semper Fi, sir.”
Zub smiled. “Carry on, Sergeant.”
=-=
David Michael Inverso
Lieutenant JG Zub Enel
MCO
USS ANUBIS, NCC 18501
“Such is the madness of ambition that you will feel you have come in last if anyone is ahead of you.”
- Seneca, Epistles 104.9
"Logical Argument"
Previous post: "Duty First"
Setting: USS ANUBIS, Sickbay
Stardate: 45003.1110
T’Lara stood at her workstation, meticulously reviewing the latest sensor data on NOVOSYTH. The devastation was staggering, 128,000 lives erased in an instant. Even now, the exact nature of the energy wave remained elusive, its lethal precision targeting all animal life while leaving the environment untouched. They had several theories, but that was all they had.
The soft hiss of the Sickbay doors opening drew her attention. A single raised eyebrow was the only acknowledgment the Romulan-Vulcan doctor gave as she noted the arrivals.
Cristhiane and her daughter, Christie, stepped inside, their expressions resolute. T’Lara immediately deduced their intent.
“You wish to accompany the away team.” It was not a question.
Cristhiane blinked, momentarily surprised. Despite her previous dealings with Romulans, their ability to anticipate intent was still unsettling.
“We do,” Christie confirmed without hesitation. “We want to help.”
T’Lara clasped her hands behind her back. “Your desire is noted, but the situation on NOVOSYTH is unlike anything we have encountered before. An entire population ceased to exist within 12.4 seconds. We are facing an unknown weapon with parameters we do not yet understand. It will not distinguish between Starfleet personnel and civilians, just as it made no exceptions for the people of NOVOSYTH.”
“We understand the risk,” Christie countered. “But we also know that the crew of the ANUBIS saved our lives. If there’s anything we can do to return the favor, to contribute in any way, we will.”
Cristhiane stepped forward, her voice steady. “This is not the first time we have faced death, Commander. We’ve survived situations that should have killed us long ago.” There was a weight to her words, a glimpse of a past neither mother nor daughter had fully revealed.
T’Lara regarded them carefully. Their resolve was evident. She had already witnessed their skills firsthand following the rescue of the Terrans from the Yautja Training Matrix. They were competent, resourceful, and driven by a genuine desire to aid those in need, qualities she valued. Still, that did not negate the dangers they were asking to face.
Christie met her gaze, her tone shifting to something more analytical. “If the away team is exposed to whatever caused this, wouldn’t it be beneficial to have additional personnel with medical training? If we stay here, we are just bystanders, but if we go, we may be able to assist. Even a small chance of making a difference is better than none.”
T’Lara studied her for a moment longer, then inclined her head slightly. “Your argument is logical.” A pause. “However, if you are to accompany the away team, you will adhere to strict conditions. You will follow my lead, and more importantly, you will follow Commander Shar’El’s orders without hesitation. If I instruct you to retreat, you will do so immediately.”
Both Cristhiane and Christie nodded without hesitation.
“Very well,” T’Lara said. “We should be in orbit of NOVOSYTH soon. Ensure you are prepared.”
As they left, T’Lara returned her focus to her work, the weight of responsibility settling on her shoulders. The mission to NOVOSYTH was fraught with uncertainty, but at least now, she knew that those who chose to go understood the risks and were ready to face them.
A faint, barely noticeable, grin appeared on her lips as she opened a comm channel. “Sickbay to Ani, could I see you when you have a moment?”
=/\= “On my way, Doctor.” =/\= The ship’s avatar replied almost instantaneously.
Minutes later, the android stepped into Sickbay. “How may I assist you, Doctor T’Lara?”
“I need an official note entered into the ship’s logs. As Chief Medical Officer of the ANUBIS, I am hereby granting a field promotion to the position of Assistant Medical Personnel to both Cristhiane and Christie Smith, giving them all of the rights and privileges associated with that position.”
Ani tilted her head slightly. “It would seem their earlier visit left quite an impression on you.”
“They presented a valid and logical argument, and I wanted to officially acknowledge their contribution, both past and future,” T’Lara explained.
“The assignments have been officially noted in the ship’s logs, and the ANUBIS’ crew manifest has been updated accordingly,” Ani confirmed. “Congratulations on gaining two new members for your staff.”
“Let us keep any celebratory actions for after this mission,” the Romulan-Vulcan hybrid dryly said. “I am still not entirely convinced they will be thankful for my agreeing to their request, no matter how logical it might have appeared to be.”
=-=
Dawn Bohr
Lt. Commander T'Lara
Chief Medical Officer
USS ANUBIS, NCC-18501
=-=
"Welcome to NOVOSYTH, Part 1"
Previous post: "Logical Argument" by the very helpful Dawn
=-=
Setting: USS ANUBIS, Bridge
Stardate: 45003.1130
An uneasy silence hung over the command deck of the ANUBIS as the ship cautiously made its way toward the system's fifth planet. Nothing was being taken for granted and nothing was overlooked. Everything was a potential threat, not only to their mission but to the ship and crew.
"Captain," Ya'Han reported from the Tactical Station, "the IGC reports some unusual sensor readings coming from one of the moons of NOVO-E, the closest one to NOVOSYTH. Gemma believes it may be a vessel using the moon's polar gravimetric interference to mask its presence."
"We are not alone," Shar'El noted in a hushed tone to the Captain, seated in the chair in front of her station.
"That kind of gravimetric interference works both ways," Jayson pointed out. "From this distance, it's unlikely they’ve detected us. We have the advantage, thanks to our more sophisticated instruments wired directly into the IGC."
"Then let’s keep that advantage for as long as we can," Erik said, shifting to the edge of his seat. "Engage the ablative armor. Lieutenant Ya'Han, maximize our sensor dampening field."
=-=
Setting: SPACE
Stardate: 45003.1132
A low hum reverberated through the ANUBIS as its external generators sprang to life. The sleek hull of the ship, already an indistinct silhouette against the infinite void of space, began to shift. With a fluid, almost organic motion, pitch-black panels materialized along the ship’s surface. The transformation was swift and seamless, like a creature shedding its skin, revealing something far more formidable beneath.
The panels, forged from advanced materials designed to absorb light and sensor signals, merged together in a flawless embrace. It was a marvel of Starfleet engineering, a cloak of technological perfection that bent reality itself. In that moment, the ANUBIS ceased to be a mere starship; it became an apparition, a shadow in the dark.
Within seconds, the ship vanished from sight. No reflections, no traces. Only the void remained, as though the vessel had been swallowed whole by the abyss. To any observer, the ANUBIS was gone.
=-=
Setting: USS ANUBIS, Bridge
Stardate: 45003.1134
"No changes in sensor readings," Ya'Han reported. "If they noticed us before, they’re not reacting to our vanishing from their instruments. It does not appear that they were expecting a ship to cloak under their noses," the Nylaan commented.
"It’s unlikely we’re dealing with a vessel possessing those capabilities or knowledge," Shar'El reasoned. "If they had cloaking technology, why rely on the moon's polar gravimetric field? Using natural interference is a basic tactical maneuver."
"Whatever it is," Jayson chimed in, "it’s there, and it’s waiting. Why else play a game of hide-and-seek so close to NOVOSYTH?"
"Helm," Morningstar began, easing back into his chair, "plot a course to bring us to the opposite side of NOVOSYTH. Cut impulse engines and use the satellite's gravitational pull to mask our approach. If we’re invisible to them, I want it to stay that way."
"Aye, aye, Captain," the Caitian pilot confirmed, his clawed fingers dancing deftly over the flight controls.
"Switch to passive sensor scans, and only use thrusters on short 1 second bursts to get us onto the right trajectory," Morningstar ordered, his tone sharpened by tactical instinct. "Let our momentum carry us into high orbit. Minimum power output. If they detect anything, I don’t want them knowing what it is."
"Keeping our claws hidden," A'Janni murmured with a grin, the amusement in his voice barely masked. "I like it."
=-=
Setting: SPACE
Stardate: 45003.1135
Like a shadow in the void, the USS ANUBIS glided silently through the endless black, its form indistinguishable from the nothingness around it. The ablative armor whispered against the light, bending both visual and sensor detection to its will. It was a phantom, a hunter in the night.
The ship’s engines were silent, its movement powered only by carefully calculated momentum. No impulse emission, no signals flickered. It was as though the vessel had been claimed by the cold and absolute darkness of space.
To any observer, the ANUBIS would be nothing more than a fleeting shadow, a disturbance on the edge of perception. But for those who knew of its presence, it was a warning, the embodiment of unseen power, moving with purpose. Whatever waited near NOVOSYTH would never see it coming.
And that was precisely the plan.
=-=
Tiffany Reeve
Commander Shar'El
Executive Officer
USS ANUBIS
=-=
"Welcome to NOVOSYTH, Part 2"
Previous post: "Welcome to NOVOSYTH, Part 1" by the somewhat frazzled Tiffany
=-=
Setting: USS ANUBIS, Bridge
Stardate: 45003.1200
The golden hues of NOVO-E filled the viewscreen, its swirling clouds of hydrogen and helium creating a mesmerizing dance of color. Suspended in perfect harmony, the M-Class planetoid NOVOSYTH remained eerily pristine. From their vantage point, the farming colony’s expansive fields were clearly visible, the lush vegetation standing in stark contrast to the absence of its 128,000 inhabitants.
Captain Erik Morningstar stood with his hands clasped behind his back, his expression grim. Tactical reports had shown no changes in the status of the nearby vessel attempting to hide using the polar gravimetric interference of the nearest moon. The scans of the planetoid, on the other hand, showed nothing but the legacy of the devastating energy wave. The unsettling stillness gnawed at him.
"Confirming initial sensor data, Captain," Lieutenant Ya'Han confirmed from Tactical. "Nothing but a lifeless farming colony below."
"What about that ship out there?" Morningstar asked.
"Still no motion from them," the Sec/Tac replied. "Gemma and the IGC have managed to tap into the satellite network orbiting NOVOSYTH, giving us a clear line-of-sight to the moon's polar region. She's also using the heavy hydrogen and helium mix of the gas giant as a mirror to track it and anything else that might be nearby without revealing our presence."
"No doubts about it," Shar'El grinned. "Gemma is back. Now, if only she could figure out what actually happened on the surface. That way, we wouldn’t have to send the away team down."
"Unfortunately, that’s not the case," Morningstar noted. "128,000 people gone in seconds, yet the planet remains untouched. Whatever happened down there, we need to find out."
He turned to Commander Shar'El, who nodded in understanding. As First Officer, she had already reviewed the mission parameters and carefully selected the away team. With years of experience in Intelligence, her gut told her that the absence of evidence was, in itself, the most troubling evidence of all.
"The SPHINX and the two LOCUS units are prepped and ready," Shar'El reported. "The dropship will take us to the surface, avoiding the risk of the transporter giving away our position or being interfered with. Once on the surface, we will move from one objective to the next, making full use of the sensor dampening systems of the SPHINX and LOCUS."
"You'll also have three VIPERs escorting you and providing air support once you’re on the surface," A'Janni said, a hint of disappointment in his voice.
"Sorry," Shar'El smiled. "I know you would have loved to be in one of those fighters, but with that thing out there, the Captain needs you here. So, I’m counting on you to keep him safe and the ANUBIS in one piece so we can return."
Morningstar sighed and shook his head in mock disapproval. "You and your team have their assignments. Keep an open channel at all times. I want regular updates."
"Aye, Captain," Shar'El acknowledged.
=-=
Setting: USS ANUBIS, Ventral Bay
Stardate: 45003.1215
The SPHINX Mobile Command Unit loomed in the center of the shuttle bay, its sleek armored exterior bearing the unmistakable ruggedness of a Sphinx-Class MCU. Flanking it were the two LOCUS Land Rovers, their matte black plating designed for both durability and stealth.
"Final systems check complete," Sonja Paquette called out from the side, her engineer’s eye meticulously ensuring every detail was flawless. "Good to go. Just don’t break my toys," the CEO added, shooting a glare at the Saurian Marine CO.
"We’ll try to keep the dents to a minimum," Shar'El responded with a smile, saving Zub from daealing with Sonja. "But let's be honest, with 25 Marines it could go either way."
Nearby, Gemma stood motionless, her expression unreadable. Although initially assigned to remain on the ANUBIS to oversee the IGC's scans of NOVOSYTH and the unknown vessel, she had arrived in the shuttle bay without explanation. Shar'El’s eyes narrowed, already anticipating the confrontation.
"Lieutenant Gemma, you were ordered to remain in the IGC," the ExO said firmly, though her tone remained measured. "Your expertise is needed up here."
"My expertise is needed down there," Gemma countered, her voice steady. "There are too many questions, too many variables. We can't risk overlooking something critical. I am the best person to interpret and adapt to what we might find down there, and you know it."
"You're not at full strength," Zub Enel interjected, his towering presence adding weight to his words. "You’ve barely recovered from the neural damage, and you’re not working with a full set of nanites. Pushing yourself further isn’t wise."
Gemma's gaze locked with his, unfazed. "I need to go," she stated flatly. "We don’t know what we’re walking into. The scans only provide so much, and the IGC team is already analyzing every bit of data we’ve gathered. If we’re going to solve this, I need to see what’s down there firsthand."
Shar'El remained silent for a moment, considering the stubborn determination in Gemma's voice. There was no denying her value in the field, and as much as Shar'El hated the risk, she knew the Lieutenant’s instincts could make the difference.
"Fine, we don't have time to argue this," Shar'El said at last, tapping her combadge. "Commander Shar'El to Captain Morningstar. Gemma will be joining the away team."
There was a pause before the Captain's voice responded. =/\= Understood. =/\= The one-word answer said it all.
The ExO met the ILO's gaze head-on, holding it for a moment before breaking off. "Let’s move out. We’ve got a mystery to solve."
The away team members headed for the SPHINX. Shar'El, Ya'Han, Jayson, Maya, T'Lara, and her two assistants; Cristhiane and Christie Smith, entered the SPHINX, followed by the Lurian MACO Sergeant Mi’teh.
Zub boarded the first LOCUS while Gemma took over the second, each quickly joined by two MACOs.
The rest of the Marines filled into a troop-drop module, a cramped, unassuming box meant to provide breathable air and basic protection from space and atmospheric entry, nothing more.
The ride to the surface would not be the most comfortable, and even less for some, but it was the price they were willing to pay to reach the surface undetected. Maybe, just maybe, they would get the answers they sought without running into trouble.
=-=
Setting: SPHINX MCU, C&C -> Medical Station
Stardate: 45003.1215
The enclosed space felt utilitarian but well-equipped. Command and Control, or C&C, occupied the front of the SPHINX, with every system necessary for mission management at their fingertips. Shar'El took the central chair while the others slid into their respective stations.
T'Lara and her assistants moved to the back, where the single-bed infirmary stood ready.
"You ready for this?" Cristhiane asked Christie. The mother's question was more for her own reassurance than her daughter’s.
"As ready as I’ll ever be," the young woman replied, forcing a small nod.
The next few minutes were spent in an odd quiet stillness until a sudden jolt shook everyone.
=/\= Hang on to whatever you can, =/\= Shar'El voice came over the internal comm system. =/\= The SPHINX was never designed for travel comfort. =/\=
=-=
Tiffany Reeve
Commander Shar'El
Executive Officer
USS ANUBIS
-=-=-
"Dropping In"
Previous post: "Welcome to NOVOSYTH, Part 2” by Tiffany
-=-=-
Setting: SPHINX, C&C
Stardate: 45003.1235
Ya'Han sat at the Tactical Station aboard the SPHINX, her black and red hair framing her face in loose strands as she monitored the descent. The HUD displayed the synchronized drop: the two LOCUS-class land rovers with Zub and Gemma aboard, the Marine pod carrying twenty soldiers, and the three VIPER interceptors providing cover. Her eyes tracked the formation, telling Jayson to make adjustments to the SPHINX’s own flight path to maintain precision. The drop-ship released them with a mechanical shudder, and for a brief moment, they were weightless before gravity reclaimed them. The SPHINX jolted downward, its limited flight capabilities making the descent uneven and rough.
Ya'Han's fingers moved fluidly over the console, compensating for the bumpy flight, her voice steady and professional.
"Zub, Gemma, I see that your chuts have deployed, please confirm your status."
=/\= We're fine, =/\= Gemma's tone was cold, direct, as if nothing from the last two missions had happened. She was as she had always been, or at least that is what she wanted everyone to believe.
=/\= LOCUS 1, five-by-five, =/\= Zub replied, the Voth not sounding as sure as the driver of the other Land Rover. =/\= I also have eyes on the MACO pod, everything looks good from here.=/\=
Ya'Han's eyes flicked to the display showing the tranquil skies over NOVOSYTH. The atmosphere was flawless, a perfect world for farming, with no storms or interference, yet beneath the idyllic surface was death. 128,000 people, gone. No signs of battle. No wreckage. Just lifeless, empty settlements. She pushed the grim thought aside, forcing herself to focus on the data streams.
The SPHINX jolted again, hitting a rough patch of air resistance as it sped toward the ground. Her breath caught in her throat, and suddenly, she was back at Starfleet Academy.
[/\] [/\] [/\] [/\] [/\]
FLASHBACK
[/\] [/\] [/\] [/\] [/\]
Ya'Han stood at the edge of the drop platform, her fists clenched so tightly she could feel her nails bite into her palms. Her cadet uniform clung to her frame beneath the bulky grav-chute, the Academy instructor shouting over the howling wind.
"Go, Cadet! NOW!"
She stared down at the planet below, blue and green and breathtakingly far. Her legs felt frozen, her feet cemented to the platform. The other cadets had already jumped, their plummeting bodies mere specks in the distance. She could still hear their whoops and laughter through the comms, but her throat tightened.
On NYLA IV, she had lived in gilded halls and golden cages, bound by duty and her father’s iron will. The daughter of the High Sovereign would never have dared such a reckless, dangerous stunt. No, her fate had been to kneel before Daimon Ardax, to become his Ferengi property.
Her heart pounded in her ears. The instructor shoved her shoulder hard. "JUMP, CADET!"
With a strangled breath, she leapt.
The wind roared against her skin. Her stomach flipped, her arms and legs flailed as she spun in free fall. The ground rushed up at her... faster... faster, before she finally forced herself to stabilize, arms out, back arched. Her eyes stung from the force of the wind, but she screamed in exhilaration. This was a freedom the likes of which she had never even thought possible.
[/\] [/\] [/\] [/\] [/\]
END OF FLASHBACK
[/\] [/\] [/\] [/\] [/\]
Ya'Han shook herself from the memory, her grip tightening on the console as the SPHINX bucked again. The drop was far rougher now, their descent far more dangerous. But she was no cadet anymore. She had fought and bled and survived, a warrior, not a caged princess.
She glanced at the display again. Zub’s LOCUS had drifted slightly off course. She keyed the comm, her voice firm.
"Zub, you're veering off. Correct by 1.2 degrees. Gemma, maintain heading. We need to aim for the same target area to reduce our sensor profile."
Their confirmations were steady, but she could hear the tension in their voices.
The ground loomed closer on the HUD. The SPHINX’s external hull rattled as the thrusters fought to steady their descent. The Marines’ pod had deployed its parachutes, its large form swaying slightly. The VIPERS flew in formation above, their sleek forms barely visible against the endless blue sky.
Ya'Han checked the data stream again, this time watching for any sign of unexpected interference. There was nothing. No enemy ships. No strange energy readings. Just an eerily perfect planet with no life signs, only the shadows and memories of 128,000 individuals who had been taken well before their time.
-=-=-
Hanali Han
Lieutenant Ya'Han
Chief of Security / Tactical Officer
USS ANUBIS, NCC-18501
"Into Unknown Territory"
Previous post: "Dropping In"
Setting: LOCUS 2,
Stardate: 45003.1240
The LOCUS heavily rocked when the parachutes were initially deployed, its armored frame jolting against the sudden resistance of air pressure. Gemma's grip on the controls tightened instinctively, fingers ghosting over the throttle as she adjusted their descent. The MACOs seated next to and behind her were too preoccupied with bracing themselves against the turbulence to notice that their driver, normally the definition of cold precision, was not entirely herself.
Gemma exhaled sharply, steadying her breathing. This was routine. A standard drop, coordinated to the second. And yet...
**Why do I feel like this?**
The unease slithered through her mind like a foreign contaminant. She had operated in the worst conditions imaginable, danced with death, slipped through the fingers of enemies who never even realized she was there. She had never hesitated. Never doubted. And yet now, plunging toward the surface of NOVOSYTH, something twisted inside her, sharp and unfamiliar. Hesitation. Anxiety.
Something dangerously close to fear.
"You’re compromised." The voice lashed at her from within, sharp as a razor’s edge. Anya. The Russian Huntress. "You gave up your advantage when you let them take what was yours. You are less..."
"Grow up, Anya." Lireen countered, the Explorer’s voice softer but firm. "Even a Vulcan wouldn’t come down here without a few nerves. What she’s feeling is natural."
"I don’t do natural." Gemma’s own thought came unbidden, her jaw clenching at the truth of it.
"Tch." Gabrielle scoffed. "This is weakness. Letting those little tin soldiers scramble your head. You're slipping,"
"They’re my nanites." Gemma snapped back internally. "I’m fine."
"Fine?" Linx’s voice cut in, laced with mockery. "Because 'fine' means hands gripping the controls like a rookie afraid to crash on their first drop?"
Gemma forced her grip to loosen. Linx was right, her knuckles were white. She flexed her fingers deliberately, recalibrating her focus, but she couldn’t silence the storm raging inside her.
"Yet." Gwenvel’s voice was there, quiet yet grounding. "You are still you, Gemma. Less doesn’t mean broken."
"But it does mean 'uncertain'."
She hated it. The doubt, the questions. The fact that the voices were arguing at all meant something was wrong, something she couldn’t ignore. She needed to be in control. She needed to be the one others relied on, not someone looking over their shoulder, wondering if this was the moment she finally failed.
The LOCUS jolted again, a pocket of unstable air shaking its descent. One of the MACOs cursed, gripping the roll bar tighter. Gemma didn’t flinch, but inside, the sensation of falling deepened, pulling her down into a space she had never ventured before. Unknown territory.
Her head turned slightly, eyes catching sight of the other LOCUS descending alongside them. Zub. His piercing gaze was locked on her through the cockpit’s transparent shielding.
He knew. Or at least, he suspected. The thought sent another pulse of something sharp through her chest. He had warned her. Told her not to come. That she wasn’t ready. That she was weaker than before, weaker than she needed to be for this mission.
Her hands locked around the controls again, not out of fear, but defiance.
She would prove him wrong.
She had to.
The ground loomed closer, the countdown to impact ticking away, but it wasn’t NOVOSYTH that terrified her.
It was the fact that, for the first time, she didn’t know if she could trust herself.
=-=
Rachel Jackie Johnson <racheljackiejohnson@gmail.com>
Lieutenant Gemma
Intel Operative
USS ANUBIS
[The fun is getting to wear multiple disguises and getting to explore multiple personalities and bring them to life. - Jenna Fischer]
---
"Vacant World"
(Previous Post: "Into Unknown Territory")
---
Setting: SPHINX, Command & Control
Stardate: 45003.1240
The quiet pulse of the sensor array filled the confined space, a rhythmic series of data updates streaming across the console in front of the Shillian scientist as the mobile command unit descended toward NOVOSYTH. Seated at the science station, Maya remained focused on the fluctuating readings, her analytical mind parsing the raw information even as an undeniable weight settled in her chest.
One hundred twenty-eight thousand individuals. Gone.
There was no biological trace of them. No bodies, no cellular remnants, not even the residual decay markers that would indicate molecular breakdown. The bioelectrical disruption event had erased them with an efficiency that defied natural processes. Even the most virulent pathogens left evidence of their passage, radiation signatures bore the fingerprints of their isotopic decay, and subspace anomalies twisted local gravimetric fields. But this? This was a void where life should have been.
The contrast was unnatural. The crops stretching across the surface of NOVOSYTH were untouched, chlorophyll-rich and thriving beneath the sunkissed azure sky of the planetoid. The nitrogen-oxygen atmosphere remained perfectly balanced, the wind patterns undisturbed by the absence of breath, of movement, of purpose. It was as if the biosphere had been forcibly amputated, leaving behind only the inanimate.
The slender fingers of the Shillian moved with methodical precision across the console, refining the resolution of the passive scans. The source of the energy wave, the point of origin for this catastrophe, was precisely one square meter in area. No larger, no smaller. And yet, there was no indication of any structure, no residual heat, no subatomic variance, nothing to suggest that a device or mechanism had been present to generate such an event. Yet, obviously, something had to have been there, something powerful, something that they needed to figure out.before it could be used again.
Maya exhaled slowly, forcing herself to widen her analytical scope. The desire to hyper-focus on this one impossibility was strong, overwhelming, even, but she could not afford that luxury. The away mission had been deployed to collect data on all aspects of this anomaly. Every scan, every telemetry reading, every nuance of the energy dispersion pattern might contain the key to deciphering what had occurred.
Her fingers hovered briefly over the system integrity checks before pressing forward. The SPHINX, along with the two descending LOCUS-class Land Rovers, the Marine Drop Pod anm and the three escorting VIPERs, were all shielded by sensor-dampening technology. Their presence on the planetoid should, in theory, be imperceptible to any external observer. Nevertheless, Maya verified the power fluctuations within the shielding matrix, ensuring there were no anomalies, no oscillations that might betray their descent. The vessel previously detected near the polar region of the nearest moon had not yet exhibited any signs of movement, but assumptions were a dangerous thing.
Her gaze flickered back to the one-square-meter zone that occupied the entirety of her scientific curiosity. Theoretically, bioelectrical disruption on this scale was possible, but it required controlled amplification, an external force to drive it to such extremes. And yet, there was no sign of infrastructure, no transmission array, no containment field, no amplifier. How did an event of such magnitude originate from almost nothing?
As the SPHINX neared the surface, her thoughts expanded outward. The working hypothesis that she and Doctor T’Lara had agreed upon was only a starting point. Theories, after all, were meant to be tested, revised, and, if necessary, discarded. Once on the surface, with direct access to the terrain, more accurate readings would provide the clarity that distant scans could not. New data would bring new possibilities, ones she had yet to consider, but that the universe, in its vast complexity, had already accounted for.
Maya sat back slightly, forcing herself to remember the broader mission. She was not just here to chase the singular mystery of a square meter of space; she was here to gather every available piece of evidence. The scientific method demanded patience, precision, and adaptability. And she would give it nothing less.
---
Jessica Solarik
Lieutenant Commander Maya
Chief Science Officer
USS ANUBIS
"To see the world in a grain of sand,
and a heaven in a wild flower.
Hold infinity in the palm of your hand,
and eternity in an hour."
- William Blake (British, 1757-1827)
=-=
"Welcome to NOVOSYTH, Part 3"
Previous post: "Vacant World" by always-brilliant Jessica
=-=
Setting: SPHINX, C&C
Stardate: 45003.1250
"We are right on target," Ya'Han confirmed, her fiery red hair reflecting her focus. "Landing in 30 seconds. We'll be less than 500 meters from the target area."
Shar'El nodded in approval. While the descent had gone without incident, the tension on the SPHINX was palpable. The eerie silence from the farming colony below made their arrival feel like the prelude to something far more unsettling.
"All stations, report in," the ExO ordered, ensuring everything was as it should be, at least for now.
"Tactical shows all clear," Ya'Han replied.
"Sensor telemetry is clear. The LOCUS units and troop module will be landing roughly 30 seconds after us," Maya added.
=/\= "Medical is ready," =/\= T'Lara reported from the infirmary. Though her Vulcan discipline kept her tone even, there was a subtle undercurrent of frustration, a reminder of her Romulan heritage. The turbulence of the descent seemed to stir emotions she often worked to suppress, making the contrast between her two lineages all the more evident.
"Brace for landing. Touchdown in five seconds," Jayson stated from the flight controls.
The SPHINX's thrusters roared to life, slowing its descent before the armored treads met the soil of NOVOSYTH. The jolt was brief, followed by stillness. The away team exchanged quick glances as readouts confirmed that all systems remained operational.
"Commander Shar'El to Lieutenant Zub," the ExO called. "As soon as your men have their feet on the ground, set up a perimeter around the wave source area. Make sure their personal sensor dampening equipment is active. We don't need to advertise our presence."
=/\= "Understood, Commander," =/\= the MCO acknowledged.
"Alright," Shar'El continued, turning to Jayson. "Bring us within ten meters of the target area. That should keep it just beyond our sensor cloaking field while giving us a clear visual."
"On it," Jayson responded, his fingers dancing over the controls. The SPHINX lurched forward, its powerful treads churning the disturbed soil. The looming silence outside made their approach feel intrusive, as if they were heading into a world that they were not supposed to.
=-=
Setting: NOVOSYTH, Surface
Stardate: 45003.1300
As the hatch lowered, the away team stepped into the oppressive stillness. The air was crisp, the faint aroma of disturbed vegetation mingling with the metallic tang of the SPHINX's outer hull. Yet the overwhelming absence of life was what struck them the hardest.
"No signs of decomposition, no bodies," Maya murmured, scanning the eerily pristine fields. "It's as if the population simply vanished." The scientist already knew this, but to experience it firsthand was far more unsettling.
"The energy wave was devastatingly effective," Shar'El said grimly, adjusting her tricorder. "Let's see if we can find any evidence of what caused it."
The team spread out, their boots pressing into the slightly damp soil. The sunlight bathed the fields in golden warmth, a cruel contrast to the lifeless reality. Within moments, Maya and T'Lara's tricorders began to emit soft beeps.
"Over here!" The Shillian called out.
Shar'El and the others moved toward her, where a distinct rectangular depression marred the otherwise untouched grass. The imprint was too precise to be natural.
"Looks like something heavy was placed here," T'Lara observed, her analytical mind already at work. "The weight distribution suggests a metallic container. A crate, perhaps."
"Most likely the casing of the weapon responsible for this devastation," Shar'El concluded, a cold edge in her voice. "But why leave no trace?"
"They didn't intend to leave anything behind," Jayson said, his gaze narrowing as his tricorder picked up a faint signal. "Picking up a faint metallic signature some 50 meters in that direction," the OPS officer pointed with his free hand.
"I'll check it out," Gemma said from her LOCUS, which immediately sprang into gear and traveled the stated distance in a matter of seconds, the powerful land-rover covering the ground with swift, mechanical precision.
Once there, the ILO jumped out of the land-rover followed by the two MACOs, their weapons ready for any eventuality.
The light of the overhead sun shone on a small metallic disk promoting Gemma to knell and brushed aside the disturbed grass.
"It's a Ferengi holographic communication device," she stated aloud, recognizing the intricate etchings along its surface.
The device suddenly flickered to life, emitting a shimmering green projection. In an instant, the persona of Lantra took over Gemma. Her shoulders squared, her stance widened slightly, and a calculated gleam appeared in her eyes. Her lips curled into a subtle smirk, the kind that exuded both confidence and cunning. Even the cadence of her breathing shifted, steady and deliberate, as if every movement now served the purpose of commanding respect and dominance. She became the very embodiment of a shrewd and unyielding trader, a merchant who thrived in the cutthroat world of Ferengi dealings. The Tarellian had made quite a name for herself within the Ferengi Alliance thanks to her keen business practices, and hopefully it would be enough to offset whatever was about to happen.
"You’re late!" The hologram snarled, revealing the image of an elderly Ferengi whose wrinkled face twisted in irritation. "All interested parties were instructed to arrive on schedule! Do you think I have all day?"
Lantra’s expression twisted into one of thinly veiled contempt. "Schedules are for the weak. My associates and I had our reasons for arriving when we did."
"Hah!" the Ferengi scoffed, his large lobes twitching. "Whatever you want. But the schedule was designed to protect you and the other buyers. I am not responsible for whatever may happen should you run into any scavengers or… unwanted visitors when they arrive. The biological clean-up did its job. There’s nothing left!"
"We’ll see about that," Lantra sneered. "And as for my protection, your concerns are sweet but unnecessary. I have all the protection I need right here." A pause. The ILO analysed the situation, giving her surroundings a quick glance and noticing that Shar'El was watching them through a set of binoculars. "What about the auction?" The question was a calculated guess, but knowing the Ferengi as she did, and the way this one had presented himself, the setup seemed to be too perfect.
"In two days, as scheduled and stated earlier," the Ferengi grumbled. "But don't think for a second that I'll wait around if you are late as you were today. Profits won't wait!"
The hologram abruptly disappeared as Gemma deactivated the device. Slowly, her features returned to their neutral state, though the tension in the air lingered as Shar'El, Ya'Han and Jayson approached.
"Looks like we are dealing with a Ferengi who set this up as a demonstration for an auction," Gemma explained. "It was not specifically stated, but it would make sense that the item being sold to the highest bidder is the weapon responsible for what happened here."
"Never underestimate the depth those money loving monsters will go to for profit," Shar'El sighed. "Do we have any idea who that Ferengi is?"
"Ardax," Ya'Han spat, her voice low with restrained fury. Jayson instinctively stepped closer, his concern evident.
"You know him?" Shar'El asked, noting the uncharacteristic edge in Ya'Han's tone and posture.
"I do," the Sec/Tac confirmed bitterly. "Older, but I’d recognize that troll's face anywhere. That’s him. Ardax. The Ferengi my father intended for me to marry. Even after all these years, I’d know that face anywhere. That troll was supposed to cement my family’s alliances. He was the reason I ran from NYLA IV, well, one of the reasons."
The revelation hit like a shockwave. The ghost of Ya'Han’s past now stood at the center of the deadly mystery on NOVOSYTH.
"Then it seems," Shar'El said grimly, "that this mission just got a lot more personal." Her thoughts churned as the weight of Ya'Han's revelation settled in. The calculated cruelty of the Ferengi's actions was unsettling enough, but now it was intertwined with one of her own crew's painful past. Shar'El's jaw tightened. The line between professional duty and personal stakes had just blurred, and she knew it would take every ounce of control to keep those emotions in check.
=-=
Tiffany Reeve
Commander Shar'El
Executive Officer
USS ANUBIS
"An Idea?"
Previous post: "The NOVO Star System" by Jessica
Setting: NOVOSYTH, Surface
Stardate: 45003.1315
=/\= ANUBIS to away team. We've got movement. The ship that was hiding in the gravimetric interference field of the nearby moon just powered up and is heading your way. No markings, no identifiers. There are thirty-six life signs aboard, and that ship is moving fast. =/\=
Shar'El exchanged a glance with Jayson and Ya'Han. A scavenger crew meant looters, opportunists looking to strip NOVOSYTH of anything valuable. Their presence complicated things, especially with the auction looming.
=/\= Captain Morningstar suspects they're here to plunder what they can now that the colony has been wiped out, =/\= A'Janni continued. =/\= Orders? We can delay them or, if necessary, eliminate the threat before they land. =/\=
Jayson vigorously shook his head before Shar'El could answer. "The ANUBIS has not been detected. Any action could compromise that. We need to find another way."
Shar'El grinned. "Negative, A'Janni. Acting now risks exposing the ANUBIS. We can't afford that. Let them land, we and the marines will handle them. Besides, I have an idea."
=/\= An idea, Commander? =/\= the Captain asked
The Commander grinned in a way that troubled those around her.
Jayson’s head tilted slightly. "An idea?"
"No time to explain, just let that ship land and get the VIPERs out of sight," Shar'El added.
There was a brief pause before the Caitian replied, his displeasure evident even through the comm static.
=/\= Understood. But if this goes sideways, don't expect us to sit still. We'll keep monitoring their approach. =/\=
Shar'El took a steadying breath. "Acknowledged, ANUBIS. Stay on standby. Away team out."
Jayson folded his arms. "An idea?" he repeated, this time with more emphasis.
Gemma holstered the holographic communicator device, her expression as solid as marble. "If they're here to loot, we need to get to the settlement and its computer core first. We can't let them take anything that might lead back to Ardax or the auction. The people might be gone, but the equipment and satellites never stopped working. There is bound to be useful information in the databases."
Ya'Han’s grip tightened on her phaser rifle. "They’ll be armed. Scavengers never come unprepared."
"Neither do we," Jayson reminded the red-haired Nylaan, casting a glance toward the MACOs, who had already secured positions around the SPHINX. "Let's set up a welcoming committee."
"Not that easy. We need to stop the scavengers *and* secure their ship," Shar'El said, her previous grin resurfacing
"That's your plan?" Jayson asked, incredulous.
"Makes sense," Gemma approved. "It would be a lot less conspicuous if we arrived at the auction location aboard a scavenger ship instead of the ANUBIS, wherever that may be."
"We have to get to the settlement first," Ya'Han said. "The MACOs are on foot, and we have eight klicks to cover."
"They’ll have to hold onto the LOCUS and squeeze into the SPHINX however they can," Shar'El ordered. "We move now. No time to waste."
=-=
Jayson Sousa
Lieutenant JG A'Janni
Flight Control Officer
USS ANUBIS, NCC-18501
Lieutenant Jayson Stark
Chief of Operations
USS ANUBIS, NCC-18501
-=-=-
"Boundless Hatred"
Previous post: "An Idea?” by Jayson
-=-=-
Setting: SPHINX, C&C
Stardate: 45003.1325
Ya'Han sat at the tactical station of the SPHINX, her knuckles white from the unrelenting grip she had on the edge of the console. The image of Ardax stared back at her from her memory, a face she had hoped never to see again. The years had added more wrinkles to his leathery skin and dulled the glint of his sharp, Ferengi eyes, but it was him. There was no mistaking the greedy sneer, the same one she had once dreamed of escaping, even if it meant throwing herself into the void of space.
Her breath came in shallow bursts, her heart pounding so loudly she barely registered Jayson’s quiet words of reassurance. The moment he reached for her, she knew it was him. She didn’t have to look. She felt his presence, steady and grounding, and in that fleeting moment, she hated that she needed it. That he had this power over her.
Her gaze remained locked on the blank screen, reflecting her memories as if they were being shown to her in some sort of sickening live stream. Memories after memories flashed before her, some about Ardax himself, others were because of what he had forced her to do. Escaping from her home, the hardships and abuse from the crws of the many freighters she had been forced to use.
Shar'El glanced in her direction, the Nylaan broadcasting those memories with such intensity that the Ullian had barely needed to keep the troubled Sec/Tac in view to experience every detail, making her feel the rapidly mounting hatred within the woman with the fiery red hair.
[/\] [/\] [/\] [/\] [/\]
FLASHBACK
[/\] [/\] [/\] [/\] [/\]
Setting: NYLA IV – Imperial Palace, Banquet Hall
Stardate: 19294.1 (Age of 12)
Tonight would be the ultimate test. She had relentlessly practiced for the last 100 days to fine tune her every move and make her father proud. The banquet had been meant to welcome some new and important trade partners and she, as the youngest daughter, had been tasked with the evening's entertainment. As much as Ya'Han understood the reasons her father had given for having selected his least experienced daughter for this task, she knew that it had also been for her to display skills and potential to would-be husbands.
The music filled the grand banquet hall, and with it, Ya'Han moved. She had been sculpted into a performer, a living masterpiece of elegance and allure. Her green hair shimmered beneath the stage lights, and her limbs moved with practiced precision, defying the physical limitations of her body. She became the story the music told, her motions weaving a spell of sensuality that silenced the crowd.
The large raised platform in the middle of the room allowed the sole performer to be easily seen by everyone sitting at the surrounding tables. Bright lights shone on the stage, making it nearly impossible for the performer to see her audience, but that mattered not. Her only reason for being there was to entertain, and that was what she would do to the very best of her skills, agility, and endurance.
She heard the gasps of admiration, the soft exhalations of wonder, and even the thud of a chair falling backward after an especially provocative sequence of sways. Pride swelled in her chest, pride for her skill, for the perfection she had achieved.
But the final bow revealed the banquet’s true purpose. The applause morphed into shouted numbers, bids. It was not admiration they were calling out, but currency. She was not being praised; she was being purchased.
The realization struck her with paralyzing force. The cheers and the offers became a distant echo as she tried to breathe through the sudden cold terror seizing her lungs. She had been nothing more than a performance piece, paraded on display like a rare commodity.
And then her father’s voice rang out, clear and resolute.
"SOLD!"
The crowd roared with delight as she was escorted from the banquet hall, trembling but silent. She would not cry. She would not give them the satisfaction.
(306 days later)
Setting: NYLA IV – Imperial Palace
Stardate: 20235.1 (Age of 13)
The announcement came with fanfare, but all Ya'Han could hear was the rattling of the chains her father had fastened around her life. The engagement to Daimon Ardax was declared official 78 days before her 14th birthday.
The Ferengi merchant had grinned with smug satisfaction, his sharp teeth catching the light as he examined her the way one would a prized acquisition. A means to cement power, to expand wealth. She had been nothing but a transaction.
[/\] [/\] [/\] [/\] [/\]
END OF FLASHBACK
[/\] [/\] [/\] [/\] [/\]
The screen at the Tactical station blurred as Ya'Han blinked rapidly, her chest tightening. She forced her gaze back into focus, locking onto Ardax’s mental image, his face, the face of a man who had bid on her as if she were no more than a commodity. And now, that same man had engineered the deaths of 128,000 people. For profit.
Her fingernails bit into her palms as her hands curled into fists. Her hair, once black, shifted violently to red, the transformation a visible manifestation of her rage. The edges of her vision were painted in crimson.
A hand, warm and steady, brushed against her own. Jayson. She had been so caught in the maelstrom of her fury that she hadn’t noticed he was now beside her. His touch was brief but grounding, anchoring her. For a split second, she wanted to pull away, to break free from the weakness she felt it revealed. But she didn’t.
Her voice was a razor’s edge when she finally spoke, low and cold. "I’m going to find him. And when I do…" Her red eyes narrowed dangerously. "He’s going to wish he had stayed buried in my past."
Jayson didn’t flinch. He didn’t speak. He just stayed there, close enough that she could feel his presence, steady and unwavering.
As the rage and memories churned in her chest, Ya'Han realized that this mission had just become far more personal. And she had no intention of walking away from it.
-=-=-
Hanali Han
Lieutenant Ya'Han
Chief of Security / Tactical Officer
USS ANUBIS, NCC-18501
##########
"In the Shadows of the SPHINX"
Previous post: "Boundless Hatred" by Hanali
##########
Setting: SPHINX, Infirmary
Stardate: 45003.1325
The cramped space of the SPHINX's infirmary felt suffocating... an oppressive weight that neither Cristhiane nor Christie had quite gotten used to, despite the countless times they'd been forced into similarly confined quarters. It was a constant reminder of the life they'd left behind, of the dangers that clung to them like a shadow, never quite giving them the reprieve they so desperately needed.
The sterile walls, harsh lighting, and the constant rumble of the craft as it hurried to its destination made it all feel so much worse. This was no place for comfort, no sanctuary, but merely a brief holding pen before whatever came next. And yet, it was the only place they could be. It was too small for them, and even smaller with the 19 Marines who had crammed into the rest of the craft, but still, they found themselves here, side by side.
Cristhiane sat stiffly, the barest of movements betraying the tension in her posture as she worked, assisting Dr. T'Lara in the way only someone who had survived the chaos of their past could. Each task felt like a reminder of all that she had lost... every decision made with the hope that it would be the one to save Christie. She had been a mother, a protector, and at times, a shell of a person. She had always sacrificed, bending herself into uncomfortable shapes for the sake of her daughter’s safety, but now… now she couldn’t help but wonder if her greatest sacrifice had been the cost of her own peace of mind.
She watched Christie move across the small space, focused and steady, almost as if the dismal conditions didn’t touch her at all. Her daughter had grown so strong, too strong perhaps, as if resilience was the only thing left for them in a world that constantly threatened to break them. Cristhiane felt the familiar pang of helplessness twist in her chest. Christie had always been stronger than her... her resolve, her will to fight, to survive. In moments like these, Cristhiane could only stand by and watch as her daughter navigated the world with a confidence that Cristhiane herself could barely grasp.
Christie didn’t need her to fight the battles anymore. She had grown beyond that. She had always known how to survive. She was a force in her own right, no longer just the fragile little girl Cristhiane had fought so hard to protect. But it didn’t make the aching emptiness inside her mother’s chest any easier to bear.
There was no room for weakness here. Not in this cramped, uncomfortable infirmary. Not with Dr. T'Lara standing across from them, her half-Vulcan, half-Romulan composure steady as ever, even as the tension in the room threatened to snap. T'Lara’s presence was a silent pillar, and for all of Cristhiane’s protective instincts, it was that stoic nature that made her feel small. There was no room for fear in the midst of fieldwork. There was no room for fragility. Only efficiency. Only survival.
But Cristhiane didn’t feel efficient. She felt fragile, scattered, her mind spinning with the fear of what might come next. She could feel it, gnawing at her, creeping under her skin... the haunting memories of their time on the run. Of the closeness, the fear of being caught. The constant vigilance. The trauma that had never truly left them. It had been years, but she could still feel the coldness of those metal walls, the sense of being hunted. Always hunted.
The SPHINX was a craft of survival, built for speed and tactical operations, but not for comfort. No, this was a place for people on the edge of a war, not for people who had already lost so much that they couldn’t even begin to measure it. The infirmary, with its single bed and sterile equipment, was nothing but a reminder of the thin line they walked every day.
Christie turned briefly, her gaze meeting her mother's, and in that fleeting moment, Cristhiane saw it... the quiet strength in her daughter’s eyes. She wasn’t just surviving; she was thriving. And Cristhiane, in all her protective instincts, had nothing but admiration for that. She would do anything to see her daughter through this, but deep down, she feared that one day, it might not be enough.
Her hand, almost unconsciously, reached out to rest on Christie’s arm, fingers lightly brushing against the fabric of her daughter's uniform. A small gesture, a silent promise. The weight of it was almost too much to bear.
They were together. That was all that mattered, for now.
But the space in the infirmary had never felt smaller. And the past, never more insistent.
--==(/\)==--
Francois Charette
on behalf of Cristhiane M
Cristhiane Smith
Mother of Christie Smith
Civilian guest
USS ANUBIS, NCC 18501
=-=
"Scavenger Hunt"
Previous post: "In the Shadows of the SPHINX" by Cristhiane
=-=
Setting: SPHINX, Outside of the Head
Stardate: 45003.1330
Sergeant Mi’teh’s big Lurian sagging mouth lent him a most mournful look. The vehicle built for 8 was crammed past capacity with a dozen or more MACOs, all of whom stank. As the overtaxed treads tore at the fields, the driver seemed to be aiming for every furrow and ditch, throwing the crushing mass of muscle and gear back and forth violently. Mi’Teh just knew someone was going to hurl up their rations, the ones they were supposed to have been conserving against ‘unforeseen complications.”
“Sarge,” a male voice called from several jostled bodies away. “I gotta use the head.”
The sergeant was in front of the head hatch. The head itself was packed solid with MACOs. Mi’Teh grumped, “Hold it ’til we get there.”
There was a murmur of laughter.
Setting: LOCUS 1, Ahead and Starboard of the SPHINX
Zub’s hands and shoulders ached from the effort needed to steer the land rover with a living shell of marines gripping it from every possible angle. They raced over open fields spraying half-grown vegetables behind in long, black, double furrows. Though all the troop carriers were invisible, he was sure no amount of camouflage was going to hide their tracks converging on the nearby settlement. He just hoped the incoming scavengers were more intent on dreams of booty than paying attention for signs they might have company.
He had to jerk his head up and down, left and right to see ahead. The expressions of the MACOs holding onto the outside of his machine formed a spectrum from grim determination to barely masked terror. He guessed he could get an exact read on each marine’s combat experience by their faces.
He caught a glimpse of twin furrows ahead and to his left. Gemma’s LOCUS. He shook his head. Two sets of track heading toward the settlement. Double bad.
A thought occurred.
"Zub to Gemma. We might be able to hide our tracks by aiming toward any wheeled farm equipment parked near the settlement. Make it look like they made the tracks."
Her voice came back a bit tense, =/\=Acknowledged.=/\=
He clenched the steering yoke one-handed as he tried to set the scanner for vehicles. He got the scanner on but the jostling over furrows made him seize the yoke two-handed again. He glanced at the jolting console trying to make sense of the odd pattern it showed. A boot tread! Someone had braced their foot on the external imager. He shook his head. He’d have to find a tractor or harvester visually. Either that or follow Gemma’s lead.
It came to him as he peered through gaps in the obscuring lattice of arms and legs that since their drop to NOVOSYTH, she had seemed….” He groped for the exact description. Nervous? He dismissed that out of hand. Gemma was a highly skilled intelligence operative, ruthless and lethal. Not that they counted for anything, but her body count must have been astronomical by now. This drop was just another operation. Death was always a possibility, but for Gemma, an exceedingly remote one.
Yet, she did seem to him as the tiniest bit tentative. Like a marine on the first fire mission. No, the second. All trained and now knowing what horrors were possible, yet still not at all certain they’d best their next opponent.
Zub puzzled whether he had read her correctly. She was so complicated. Any emotion other than confidence evaporated the instant it appeared.
His overburdened LOCUS plunged into a water-filled depression, bottomed out with a hard thump and then reared up with MACOs dripping mud and vegetable leaves. As the four-wheeler barreled ahead, several MACOs cheered like on an amusement ride. He forced his thoughts off Gemma and back to getting to the settlement with his strike team of MACOs. There was scavenger hunt to attend to.
=-=
David Michael Inverso
Lieutenant JG Zub Enel
MCO
USS ANUBIS, NCC 18501
“You should presently be able to deal from a full deck.”
- From a recent fortune cookie
"Scavengers?"
Previous post: "Scavenger Hunt” by David
Setting: USS ANUBIS, Bridge
Stardate: 45003.1330
With most of the senior staff on the away team, Adriana and Amanda had come to the bridge to get a better sense of what was happening. Amanda had struggled ever since her rescue from the Yautja training Matrix, feeling unmoored in a reality she could no longer ignore. Adriana had hoped that a change of scenery, something practical and engaging, might help. Unfortunately, it only seemed to reinforce the harshness of the universe Amanda was trying so hard to accept.
The scavenger ship had been hiding in the polar gravitational interference of a nearby moon, evading identification until the IGC sensors locked on the ship as it emerged from the distortion. Now, the vessel was heading straight for NOVOSYTH. That alone raised questions. The planetoid, once a thriving world, was now in the grasps of an eerie stillness, deprived of all biological life in the wake of an unexplained catastrophe. Was this ship here to scavenge, picking over the remnants of the dead? Or was there something far more sinister at play?
Out of curiosity, and a growing sense of unease, Adriana and Amanda accessed whatever information was available on the ship and its crew. The vessel had been extensively modified, its external markings erased. Its near-perfect stealth capabilities, combined with its remarkable maneuverability, made it a ghost in the darkness. But its distinctive shape had given it away. The ship had been responsible for multiple attacks and raids on trade colonies and vessels.
"These aren't scavengers," Amanda muttered, scrolling through the list of known crew members. "They're butchers."
Her voice carried an edge of bitterness, a stark contrast to the exhaustion in her eyes. She had spent over two decades trapped in a virtual hellscape, training others for survival against impossible odds. She had dreamed, fantasized, that escaping would bring her peace. Instead, reality was proving to be just as cruel, if not worse.
The names on the screen were more than just aliases and bounties. They carried histories, violent, brutal, unrepentant. A third of the 36-man crew were wanted criminals, their records drenched in atrocities beyond imagination. The remaining two-thirds had yet to be identified, but odds were high that they carried their own bloodstained legacies.
Amanda clenched her fists. "Tell me again how this reality is any better than the Matrix?"
Adriana hesitated. She had no answer, at least not one that would satisfy her twin. Not when she, too, felt a gnawing unease creeping in.
The away team had 32 members, 25 of them MACOs. But against 36 ruthless killers with nothing to lose? Numbers alone didn’t decide battles, but they rarely favored the outnumbered. Yet, on the other side of that equation stood Zub Enel, the formidable Marine CO; Ya'Han, the fiery and lethal Chief of Security; and Gemma, a woman whose nanite-infused personas carried deadly skillsets beyond measure. Perhaps the odds weren’t as dire as the raw numbers suggested.
Amanda exhaled sharply, her hands trembling with frustration. "They don’t just take, people like this destroy everything they touch. To them, dealing in death is a pleasure. How can anyone live like that?"
The scavenger ship was closing in on the planet’s surface. The away team had been alerted and was preparing to intercept, but the weight of what they were about to face settled heavily over the bridge, especially on the sisters.
Captain Morningstar remained outwardly composed, exuding confidence in his crew’s ability to handle the situation. He had to. A'Janni, the FCO, was less restrained. The Caitian’s ears twitched rhythmically, betraying his unease. He was not used to being a mere spectator when a battle loomed.
For Adriana, the growing fear was for the safety of the away team.
For Amanda, it was a painful realization that the universe she had been compelled to return to might be even worse than the nightmare she had escaped. The hardest part was that her twin sister could hardly contest her view of the world around them. Pain and suffering were, unfortunately, a constant presence wherever they roamed.
-=-=-
Marissa Montonera-Lombardi
Lieutenant JG Adriana Lopez
Ship's Counselor & Junior Ambassador
USS ANUBIS
"Racing In"
Previous post: "Scavengers?"
Setting: SPHINX, C&C
Stardate: 45003.1335
"We should reach the main trading hub in just a couple of minutes," Jayson announced from the SPHINX's pilot station. The Mobile Command Unit, flanked by the two LOCUS Land Rovers, tore across the pristine landscape, kicking up dirt in its wake. Every second counted.
"That's good," Ya'Han replied, forcing herself to focus on the mission instead of the burning desire for revenge. Ardax would get what was coming to him - soon enough.
=/\= ANUBIS to SPHINX, =/\= the Caitian's troubled voice cut through the comms, sharp with urgency. =/\= That scavenger ship is heading your way... fast! =/\=
"Confirmed," Maya called from the science station, eyes locked on the data streaming in. "At their current speed and descent angle, they won't have time to execute a proper landing solution. They're going to crash right into the main trading hub."
"That makes no sense," Shar'El snapped, frustration flaring in her voice. "Why hide in the polar gravimetric interference of a nearby moon only to come in at full speed and crash on NOVOSYTH? We're missing something."
=/\= Lieutenant Lopez here. =/\= The Counselor's voice cut in. =/\= Amanda and I dug up more on the ship’s crew. They’re as nasty and vicious as they come. This isn’t a suicide dive. =/\=
"They know something we don't," Shar'El muttered darkly. "Can we go any faster?"
=-=
Setting: NOVOSYTH, LOCUS 2
Stardate: 45003.1336
The LOCUS rovers barreled across the cracked, uneven terrain, kicking up swirling plumes of dust and debris. Their engines roared in protest against the relentless speed. Behind them, the SPHINX rumbled forward, its reinforced treads grinding over loose gravel, keeping pace with the more agile rovers.
From the driver’s seat of LOCUS 2, Lieutenant Gemma tracked the rapidly descending pirate vessel with narrowed eyes. It was coming in too fast, recklessly so. At that velocity, it would be nothing but a smoldering crater in seconds.
Then, without warning, the scavenger ship’s nose jerked upward at the last possible moment. Its thrusters flared, slamming against the ground and kicking up a blinding wall of dust. The nearest buildings vanished behind the swirling cloud.
=/\= That was insane, =/\= Zub Enel’s voice crackled over the comm, a mixture of disbelief and admiration. =/\= Impressive, but utterly mental. I don’t think even A’Janni could have pulled that off. =/\=
=/\= I heard that, =/\= the Caitian growled.
=/\= Cut the chatter, =/\= Shar'El barked. =/\= They got there before we did. Now we’re facing thirty-six hostiles, and according to Adriana and Amanda, several of them are as lethal as they come. =/\=
Gemma’s fingers twitched against the steering controls. Her mind flickered through combat strategies, personalities shifting in the periphery of her thoughts. Anya Petrov urged a ruthless, head-on strike, the kind no one would expect. Za’Ran favored infiltration, striking from within. Shinral’s calm, pragmatic voice called for caution, unwanted and ignored.
A violent lurch snapped Gemma back to reality. One of the MACOs swore as the LOCUS slammed into a deep rut, nearly throwing them off course. Behind them, the SPHINX’s stabilizers fired, preventing the massive vehicle from tipping as the ground beneath one of its treads gave way.
"Visual on the settlement," Enel called from the lead LOCUS. "The scavengers are deploying!"
Figures dropped from the belly of the pirate ship even as the wall of dust still settled, their weapons drawn. Their armor was mismatched but unmistakably lethal.
Energy bolts slashed through the dust-choked air, streaking toward the advancing team. The hope for a stealthy approach evaporated. What had started as a race against time had become a full-blown battle.
=-=
Setting: SPHINX, C&C
Stardate: 45003.1338
"High-energy pulse rifles and... what I can only guess are portable pulse cannons. Those are not standard weapons," Ya'Han reported, her voice taut with tension. The holographic display of the battlefield rotated before her, the sheer firepower of the scavengers laid bare. "Wait! I’m detecting a dual gun turret on top of the ship. It’s locking onto us. We're sitting ducks."
Before Shar'El could respond, the turret opened fire.
The first blast slammed into Gemma’s LOCUS, engulfing it in a fiery explosion. The crew watching from the SPHINX inhaled sharply, hearts stopping, until Maya’s voice broke through the horror.
"I’m not sure how she did it, but Gemma and the others are okay! She must have used the LOCUS as a shield, somehow. Whatever she did, they are all alive and rushing for cover. The LOCUS is out of commission, though."
Shar’El exhaled sharply. "I’d rather have Sonja pissed at me for the repairs than T’Lara performing multiple autopsies," she muttered. "Jayson, Evasive maneuvers. All fighting personnel out! We need to take out their line of defense and get that turret off our backs. Commander Shar'El to VIPERs, we need you to engage, but as much as I hate to say it, aim only to disable the turret. DO NOT DESTROY that ship, we need it."
Ya'Han didn't hesitate. She was already on her feet, sprinting for the exit before Shar’El finished speaking. Jayson could handle coordination from the MCU—but she needed to be out there.
Her blood surged with purpose. Dealing with those pirates was the only way she’d get her hands on Ardax.
=-=
Hanali Han
Lieutenant Ya'Han
Chief of Security / Tactical Officer
USS ANUBIS, NCC-18501
and
Rachel Jackie Johnson
Lieutenant Gemma
Intel Operative
USS ANUBIS
[The fun is getting to wear multiple disguises and getting to explore multiple personalities and bring them to life. - Jenna Fischer]
---
"Technical and Scientific Oddities"
(Previous Post: "Racing In")
---
Setting: SPHINX, Command & Control
Stardate: 45003.1340
Lieutenant Commander Maya meticulously examined the data streams flooding into the science console of the SPHINX. While the immediate focus of others was the ongoing battle, her attention was drawn to the irregularities in the sensor readings. Given the intensity of the conflict, with high-energy weapons discharging in rapid succession, it was statistically improbable that the energy profile of the scavenger ship would remain perfectly stable. The absence of fluctuations suggested a deliberate manipulation of sensor data, an observation that ignited her relentless curiosity.
The IGC aboard the ANUBIS, positioned in high orbit, had access to a broader range of sensor inputs. Coordinating with them, Maya sought to correlate their readings with those obtained from the SPHINX. If the scavenger ship truly possessed such an advanced means of sensor deception, it stood to reason that the state-of-the-art and more sensitive sensors of the ANUBIS might yield misleading data as well. The question, therefore, became one of methodology: how was this falsification achieved? Was the ship generating a projected energy signature using a sophisticated form of phase variance, or was it utilizing a multi-tiered interference pattern akin to a subspace camouflage field? The lack of any obvious gravitational distortions or subspace inconsistencies suggested a methodology unlike any encountered within the extensive scientific records of the Federation and its allies. Could it be a refinement of Romulan cloaking technology? Or perhaps a variation of Breen energy dampening fields, adapted for deceptive purposes? Each hypothesis presented more questions than answers, and Maya found herself exhilarated by the challenge.
Simultaneously, the transporter interference presented yet another enigma. The inability to beam through the affected region was not due to the usual factors of shield harmonics or atmospheric composition; rather, it was an active suppression field emanating from the scavenger ship itself. The not-so localized nature of the disruption suggested that it operated on a principle beyond conventional transport inhibitors. Given that the scavengers themselves did not appear to be utilizing transporter technology, it was possible that their means of movement and deployment relied on an entirely different paradigm. If so, their technology might be as alien to this galaxy as the energy barrier their ship generated. A fleeting thought crossed her mind: could a precisely tuned phased transport attempt bypass the interference? It was worth considering, though any such test would require an opportunity that the battle was unlikely to afford.
That barrier, in itself, was of extraordinary interest. Standard Starfleet shields operated on a principle of directed energy dispersion, cycling frequencies to mitigate damage absorption. This defensive field, however, did not conform to any known energy dispersion models. Instead of fluctuating under direct fire, it seemed to absorb, redistribute, or outright nullify incoming attacks in a manner reminiscent of quantum entanglement principles, yet no direct quantum signature was detectable. The hypothesis that this shielding technology might not originate from this dimension was a logical extrapolation given the available data. If the ship had traversed from an alternate quantum reality, then all of its defensive measures could be based on entirely unknown scientific principles, necessitating a re-evaluation of standard Starfleet engagement strategies. A controlled test, perhaps firing a precisely tuned energy burst to analyze how the barrier reacted, could yield valuable insight, but in the chaos of battle, such experimentation was not easily conducted.
Adding to this was the ship’s bio-regenerative hull, a characteristic that bore undeniable similarities to the ANUBIS’s own self-repair capabilities. Derived from a fusion of Borg nanotechnology and insights from the organic vessels of Species 8472, the ANUBIS could mend structural damage at a molecular level, effectively healing itself over time. The scavenger ship exhibited an equivalent process, its hull knitting itself back together with remarkable efficiency. This raised a significant question: was this technology independently developed, or had these scavengers somehow acquired and repurposed technology from similar sources? The existence of two independently developed bio-regenerative systems was highly improbable unless a common progenitor species had seeded such advancements in multiple civilizations. More pressingly, was their system superior, equal, or fundamentally different from that of the ANUBIS? The implications of that answer could prove critical in determining an effective means of counteraction.
Maya’s mind raced through the possibilities, each more enthralling than the last. Was this ship a remnant of a lost civilization that had found its way into this galaxy? Had the scavengers reverse-engineered technology far beyond their own understanding? Or were they merely the custodians of a derelict vessel that had once belonged to an even more enigmatic species? The sheer number of avenues for scientific inquiry was exhilarating, drowning out all external distractions.
It was only when a sudden impact rocked the SPHINX that Maya was forcibly reminded of the ongoing battle. Her fingers tightened around the console as she exhaled sharply, forcing herself to refocus. The scientific mystery was tantalizing, but she could not afford to let her fascination obscure the very real and present danger that surrounded them. As much as she longed to pursue the answers that beckoned, survival remained the highest priority.
---
Jessica Solarik
Lieutenant Commander Maya
Chief Science Officer
USS ANUBIS
"To see the world in a grain of sand,
and a heaven in a wild flower.
Hold infinity in the palm of your hand,
and eternity in an hour."
- William Blake (British, 1757-1827)
"The Logic of Danger"
Previous post: "Technical and Scientific Oddities"
Setting: SPHINX, Infirmary
Stardate: 45003.1345
The moment the MACOs departed, a rare silence settled over the SPHINX's infirmary. T’Lara took a measured breath. The battle outside still raged, but at least within these walls, for now, order remained.
That illusion shattered as reports filtered in. The fighting was intense. The scavengers were not mere opportunists; they fought with the viciousness of those who had nothing left to lose. The MACOs and away team would not emerge unscathed.
“We need to prepare for casualties,” T’Lara announced with crisp efficiency, turning toward the two civilian medics. “Injuries will be inevitable. We must ensure the infirmary is ready to receive them. Judging by the blasts and reports we are overhearing, we are going to be dealing with severe plasma burns.”
Cristhiane nodded, already moving to check the available supplies. Christie, however, hesitated.
“The MACOs don’t have time to bring the wounded back,” she pointed out, her voice steady but urgent. “If we wait here, we’ll lose people who could have been saved.”
T’Lara turned to the younger woman, already anticipating her conclusion. “You are suggesting we go to them.”
“I’m volunteering,” Christie corrected. “I can stabilize the injured, buy them time until they can be brought here. Those pirates can't keep this level of fire barrage up forever. Anyone injured just needs to be given time so that they can be brought back.”
“No,” Cristhiane interjected immediately, her voice firm. “It’s too dangerous. We can just beam them back.”
T’Lara steepled her fingers, remaining impassive despite the mounting emotions. “That is not an option.”
Cristhiane turned sharply. “What?”
“Maya’s report confirmed the scavengers deployed some sort of scattering field. Transporters are inoperational in this area. Direct intervention is the only viable alternative.”
Cristhiane’s jaw tightened. “Then we find another way. But sending my daughter into an active battlefield is not it.”
Christie stepped forward. “We don’t have another way, and you know it.” She met her mother’s gaze with quiet resolve. “People could be dying out there, and we’re standing in here debating. I know the risks, but this is what I can do.”
T’Lara studied her. Despite her age, Christie displayed remarkable clarity of thought, aligning herself with logic even while driven by emotion. Admirable.
“You believe this is the most effective course of action?” T’Lara asked.
“I do.”
The Vulcan hybrid nodded once. “Your logic is sound, but you lack tactical training. Do not overextend. Move from cover to cover and remain as low as possible to minimize exposure.”
“Understood,” Christie agreed.
T’Lara activated her communicator. “T’Lara to Commander Shar’El. Requesting authorization for deployment of a field medic. We will require escort to ensure operational effectiveness.”
A pause, then the ExO’s voice came through, edged with tension. =/\= Your request has been relayed to Zub. There should be one MACOs ready to escort you shortly.=/\=
"Not me Commander," the Vulcan/Romulan corrected. "Christie has volunteered to go. I will be remaining on the SPHINX ready to receive the wounded."
A long sigh came through the comms before Shar'El responded. She knew that the situation called for action, and there was no logical argument she could give to stop Christie from venturing into the fray. =/\= Fine. Be careful. =/\=
T’Lara closed the channel, securing the last of the field equipment that she handed over to Christie, taking note of her mother's terrified expression.
"I’ll be fine, Mom.” Christie managed a small, confident smile. “You trained me for this. I’ll be back."
=-=
Dawn Bohr
Lt. Commander T'Lara
Chief Medical Officer
USS ANUBIS, NCC-18501
"Twisted Steel, Broken Will"
Previous post: "The Logic of Danger"
Setting: NOVOSYTH, Battlefield
Stardate: 45003.1350
The LOCUS was gone, reduced to little more than twisted wreckage and flames licking at the remains of its frame. Gemma barely had time to register the dull ache from her own injuries before her training, and the screaming chorus in her mind, forced her back into action.
"You're too slow!" Anya Petrov snapped, her Russian-accented voice cutting through the chaos. "This wouldn't have happened if you had been faster."
"We need to focus!" Ema Fairchild argued, needs overriding criticism. "We're exposed. The others are wounded. Prioritize survival."
The conflicting voices pounded against her skull, but Gemma shoved them aside as best she could. She was on her feet, rifle raised, scanning the battlefield even as MACOs scrambled for cover. One of them was barely moving, and another was favoring his right leg but still standing. That would have to be enough.
Overhearing Maya's report confirmed her worst fears, transporters were useless. The only way forward was a direct assault.
Outnumbered. Outgunned.
Gemma’s lips pressed into a thin line. That was nothing new.
She quickly assessed the battlefield. Scavengers had taken entrenched positions, using the natural terrain and outlying structures around the trading hub for cover. The defensive line stretched across the width of the trading hub, creating multiple kill zones that would make any direct advance a bloodbath. And then there was the turret. She had no idea where it had come from, but its presence complicated things further. Mounted atop the scavenger ship, it could cut them down before they got anywhere near their target, as it had done with the LOCUS.
She was plotting possible routes, angles of attack, when another and unexpected voice came from behind her.
“Christie? What the hell are you doing here?” she hissed. A quick glance confirmed that it was the civilian medical assistant rushing into the battlefield, escorted by another MACO.
“Thought you could use some help,” came the smiling reply.
Gemma ground her teeth. **Damn it.** There was no time to argue. She pointed sharply at the wounded corporal. “Him. Now. And stay behind cover!” Then, to the rest of the MACOs: “Suppressing fire! I’m flanking.”
Gunfire erupted around her as she moved. She knew she was slower than usual, her limbs felt heavier, her reactions dulled. The remaining nanites were focusing on repairing her, but that meant her speed and anticipation were suffering. Still, she moved with inhuman speed and agility, leaping from one cover to the next in rapid succession.
She barely had time to register movement before a figure lunged from the side, blocking her path.
The Annarian was tall, his mottled gray-blue skin crisscrossed with scars that suggested a life of violence. His narrow eyes gleamed with amusement as he twirled a jagged, obsidian-colored blade between his fingers.
“Well, well,” he sneered, voice thick with some unknown accent. “I do love a challenge.”
Gemma raised her rifle, but he was too close. With a sudden flick of his wrist, his blade slashed forward, forcing her to drop the weapon and twist away. She pulled her own knife free just in time to deflect his next strike, the clash of metal sharp against the backdrop of war.
The pirate grinned. “You’re quick.”
Gemma didn’t answer. She was studying him, his footwork, the way his muscles coiled before each attack. Normally, she’d already be three steps ahead. Now, it felt like she was barely keeping up.
He feinted left, then drove forward. She dodged, barely, but not fast enough. Pain seared across her arm as his blade nicked her. The grin widened.
“I’m going to enjoy cutting you apart.” The Annarian's voice dripped with sick anticipation, his fingers tightening around the hilt of his jagged blade. To him, this wasn’t a battle, it was a ritual, a game he had played countless times before. The scars carved into his mottled skin weren’t marks of survival; they were trophies, each one a testament to his cruelty. And now, he was about to add another.
In response, she shifted her stance, ignoring the pain. The voices in her head screamed at her, some panicked, some coldly analyzing. She focused on the latter.
"He's toying with you. Get unpredictable," Arika said.
Gemma surged forward suddenly, throwing her weight into him, trying to upset his balance. It worked, he stumbled, just slightly, but enough for her to aim a knee at his ribs.
He caught her leg mid-strike.
Then he twisted.
She hit the ground hard, the breath ripped from her lungs. Before she could move, his boot pressed against her chest, pinning her. Her heart was pounding in her chest as the blade glinted above her, its jagged edge hovering inches from her throat.
"Any last words?" The Annarian chuckled, a low, guttural sound dripping with malice. “I do hope they’re worth remembering. Because I plan to carve them into what’s left of you.”
Gemma glared up at him, forcing herself to stay still, to wait for an opening that might never come.
The pirate’s smirk widened as he raised his blade, savoring the kill.
Gemma’s mind raced, searching for anything, any angle, any flaw.
There!
She shifted but too late.
The blade plunged down. She knew, with absolute certainty, that her body was too slow. This was the end.
=-=
Rachel Jackie Johnson
Lieutenant Gemma
Intel Operative
USS ANUBIS
[The fun is getting to wear multiple disguises and getting to explore multiple personalities and bring them to life. - Jenna Fischer]
-=-=-
"On the Edge of Darkness"
Previous post: "Twisted Steel, Broken Will” by Rachel
-=-=-
Setting: NOVOSYTH, Battlefield
Stardate: 45003.1355
A red blur. It tore through the chaos like a living flame, fierce and unstoppable. Gemma barely registered its arrival before the Annarian was ripped away from her, the weight of imminent death suddenly lifted. For a breathless second, she remained frozen, her battered body struggling to catch up with the sudden shift in reality, her mind reeling between relief and something far more primal, dread. One moment, she was bracing for the killing blow, the next, the snarling warrior form of Ya’Han crashed into her attacker, sending them both rolling across the battlefield.
Gemma gasped for breath, her limbs weak from the strain of the fight. Christie and Zub were suddenly at her side, their hands reaching to help, but she waved them off, her gaze locked on the scene unfolding before her.
Ya’Han wasn’t just fighting. She was unleashing. The sickening crunch of bone meeting flesh echoed through the chaos, punctuated by sharp grunts of pain. Every strike was a storm, a blur of motion so swift and savage that even the air around her seemed to recoil.
Each impact was a lesson in brutality, each motion precise, efficient, and utterly unforgiving. There was no wasted energy, no hesitation, only relentless, calculated destruction. The Annarian barely had time to react before Ya’Han’s fists and feet battered him with merciless speed. Her red hair flared wildly, a living manifestation of her fury, while her eyes burned with an intensity Gemma had never seen before.
The Annarian scavenger grunted in pain as he staggered back, but Ya’Han didn’t relent. A kick to the ribs sent him sprawling, and before he could recover, she was on him, pinning him beneath her knee.
Gemma swallowed hard. She had never seen the Sec/Tac so violently vicious before. She had seen the Nylaan train and fight hard. But this? This was something else. This was Ya’Han without restraint, without limits. A predator brought to life. And for the first time, Gemma felt something she never expected to feel toward the red-haired warrior.
Disgust. Admiration. And, somewhere deep inside, a cold, unsettling understanding.
The Sec/Tac raised her fist high, ready to strike the final blow, ready to end him.
And then, it hit her.
[/\] [/\] [/\] [/\] [/\]
FLASHBACK
(edited from my post "Absolute Darkness" of May 2019)
[/\] [/\] [/\] [/\] [/\]
"You have proven yourself through your actions," Jayson’s clone said, his voice thick with certainty. "Right now though, Mordana is not ready to trust anyone, not that she truly ever did before. We just have to accept that it will take her time to understand that you have made your choice and embraced the destiny that is yours to claim.”
He leaned forward, eyes gleaming with something dark, something cruel. "Imagine the face of that Ferengi troll Ardax when you take control of the throne of NYLA IV and send a few Shadow vessels to obliterate his trade fleet. You will even be able to have him dragged down to kneel and beg at your feet before his head is separated from his shoulders."
There had been no doubt in his voice. No hesitation. He truly believed she was meant to rule, that she was meant to be like them.
Like Mordana.
Like the Lokustaar.
[/\] [/\] [/\] [/\] [/\]
END OF FLASHBACK
[/\] [/\] [/\] [/\] [/\]
Ya’Han’s breath caught in her throat. Her fist trembled, still poised to strike, caught between the instinctive rage roaring in her veins and the disciplined control drilled into her from years of training. The brutality felt right, justified even, but a part of her, the part that had once sworn never to become like her father, wavered. A second ago, the thought of killing the Annarian had felt almost logical. But now?
Was she really so different from those she fought against?
For a single, terrible moment, she felt nothing at the thought of snuffing out his life. No hesitation, no regret, only the cold, efficient understanding that this was what warriors did. That this was how the strong survived.
That was what the Lokustaar believed.
And for the first time, she was afraid, not of them, not of him, but of herself. Her pulse pounded in her ears, her breath hitching as she instinctively stepped back, as if distancing herself from the raw, unbridled violence she had just embraced. The weight of the moment settled over her like a vice, squeezing at her chest with the realization of what she had almost become.
That moment of hesitation was all the Annarian needed. With a sudden burst of desperation, he bucked hard, twisting free from her grasp. Ya’Han barely had time to react before he shoved her off, scrambling backward, blood dripping from his lip as he stumbled to his feet.
For a heartbeat, she considered chasing him down. Finishing what she had started.
But she didn’t.
She let him go.
Gemma, still watching, caught the flicker of something in Ya’Han’s expression. A crack in the mask. A moment of uncertainty. The ILO understood exactly what that felt like, when one part of you, when a single voice within, puts everything in question.
Ya’Han took a slow breath, her hands clenched into fists. The battle wasn’t over, but something inside her had changed.
And she wasn’t sure if she liked what she had just learned about herself.
-=-=-
Hanali Han
Lieutenant Ya'Han
Chief of Security / Tactical Officer
USS ANUBIS, NCC-18501
=-=
"An Alternate Fighting Style"
Previous post: "On the Edge of Darkness" by the formidable Hanali
=-=
Setting: SPHINX, C&C
Stardate: 45003.1410
Christie rushed into the protective frame of the SPHINX, followed closely by a couple of injured MACOs. Gemma brought up the rear, her expression etched with quiet defeat.
Mother and daughter exchanged a fleeting smile as their eyes met, both relieved to be reunited. Cristhiane was grateful her daughter had returned unharmed, while Christie felt exhilarated by the chaotic events that had just unfolded.
"Welcome back," Shar'El acknowledged, her sharp gaze flicking to Gemma’s visible injuries. "I'd tell you to go to the infirmary, but we both know you won’t. Take over Tactical. We need to find a way past that energy barrier." Her frustration was evident, progress remained agonizingly slow in their effort to reach the trading hub.
"I'll go help Doctor T'Lara," Christie interjected, sensing the growing tension between the officers. She quickly moved past her mother, gripping Cristhiane’s arm and urging her along, not that she offered any objections.
For a moment, silence stretched between Shar'El and Gemma as the ILO stared at the vacant Tactical station. Then, without protest, she slid into the seat previously occupied by Ya'Han. Her fingers twitched over the controls as she monitored the battle outside, the echoes of her near-death experience still fresh in her mind.
Zub, Ya'Han, and the MACOs pressed forward, relentlessly assaulting the scavengers’ fortified position. Every move was calculated to avoid the deadly sweep of the enemy turrets.
"Maya, any luck breaking through that energy barrier?" Shar'El asked, her voice taut with impatience.
"Still cycling through the interference frequencies," Maya replied, equally frustrated. "I need more time to find the right modulation that will let me get a solid sensor reading. Once I do, I may be able to disrupt it."
Shar'El exhaled sharply. Time was not on their side. The scavengers had yet to shift from defense to offense, but that wouldn't last, not with the firepower they possessed.
Gemma’s eyes flickered as she analyzed every possible approach. The voices in her head clashed in a storm of conflicting strategies, some urging aggression, others demanding patience. It was Viras' calm, calculated voice she latched onto.
“That barrier requires immense power, which means it has to be monitored and controlled,” she muttered, turning to Maya. "Have you identified what’s generating it? Controlling that level of energy requires an amplification system, and it can’t be deeply buried inside the ship. There should be a physical node on the outer hull."
Maya nodded. "The theory makes sense, but all physical attacks have failed. The shielding is too powerful and adapts too quickly, similar to Borg technology but on a completely different level. I already scanned for known Borg frequencies, but none match."
A faint smirk tugged at Gemma’s lips. "Then let’s stop thinking like brute-force attackers and start thinking like infiltrators. That shield isn't just standing on its own, it has to be linked to their ship’s systems. If we can hijack that connection, we don’t need to destroy it, we can use it against them."
Shar'El’s interest piqued. "You’re suggesting hacking their systems through the barrier?"
"Exactly. The IGC can assist, and Ani can interface with their systems once we establish a connection. We just need to tap into its energy frequency, backtrack to the control node, and jump a signal back to the ship’s computer."
Maya's eyes lit up. "If we introduce a feedback loop through the field, it could disrupt the barrier just long enough to locate that control node. But even if we do, there's no guarantee it's integrated into their primary computer. It could be an independent system."
"We’re out of time," Shar'El decided. "Do it. Coordinate with the IGC and get Ani to assist."
Gemma relayed the plan. Moments later, Ani’s voice came through.
=/\= The feedback loop isn't affecting the field as much as we hoped. We can’t get a signal through. =/\=
"What if the ANUBIS generates a localized distortion field?" Gemma suggested. "It could mask our approach and disrupt the energy barrier just enough to establish a connection."
=/\= Stand by. =/\= Ani’s voice carried the telltale undertone of rapid calculations.
"We're in," Maya soon announced. "The link is weak but stable enough for infiltration."
=/\= Confirmed, =/\= Ani added. =/\= The IGC has gained access to the control module. We can shut down the energy barrier. =/\=
"Do it!" Shar'El ordered.
"Wait!" Gemma interjected. "The moment that barrier drops, they’ll react. We need to ensure all their systems are compromised. Give the IGC a few more minutes."
"Ya'Han, Zub, and the MACOs are exposed," Shar'El objected.
"They can handle themselves," Gemma countered. "If we rush, we could lose everything. The IGC just needs a little more time."
The seconds stretched unbearably. Then, a flicker in the energy readings confirmed it—one by one, the scavengers' firewalls collapsed, including the shield’s support field.
"Only their tactical systems are down," Maya reported. "Propulsion, navigation, and communications remain online. Their computer core appears to be multiprocessor-based, similar to the ANUBIS."
"What’s their response?" Shar'El asked.
"They’re retreating," Gemma replied. The scavengers, realizing their advantage was lost, abandoned their defensive positions and scrambled back to their ship.
Seconds later, the vessel powered up its engines and lifted off, fleeing the battlefield.
=/\= They didn’t appreciate having their toys broken, =/\= Ani quipped. =/\= They’re leaving the NOVO system at Warp 7.5. =/\=
Shar'El exhaled, relieved but frustrated. "We lost them before we could secure their ship or the location of the auction."
Gemma, however, grinned and pointed to her screen. "Actually, we didn’t. The IGC techs intercepted their navigational data the moment their firewalls dropped. We know where and when the auction will take place. We have about eight hours to get there."
Shar'El remained cautious. "They might warn Ardax."
"I wouldn’t worry about that," Gemma said, pointing to another line of text on her screen.
Download: 100%
"By now, they’re dealing with a full system failure, their entire computer core is being wiped clean. That ship won’t be doing anything for quite some time."
=-=
Tiffany Reeve
Commander Shar'El
Executive Officer
USS ANUBIS
-=-=-
"Performance Review"
Previous post: "An Alternate Fighting Style” by Tiffany
-=-=-
Setting: NOVOSYTH, Next to the SPHINX
Stardate: 45003.1420
The chaos of battle had given way to the organized urgency of triage. The makeshift medical area outside the SPHINX bustled with activity as T’Lara, Cristhiane, and Christie moved swiftly between the wounded MACOs, tending to injuries with practiced efficiency. The sharp scent of antiseptics clashed with the earthy aroma of disturbed soil, a testament to the battle that had raged mere minutes ago.
Ya’Han exhaled sharply as she finished helping another soldier ease down onto a stabilizing cot. Her hair not having returned to the standard black with red highlights as the familiar burn of combat adrenaline still coursed through her veins. It wasn’t the fight that had her on edge, it was what she had seen in Gemma and how she had herself changed the outcome.
She turned to Zub, her expression taut with something between frustration and concern. “Did you see her?” Her voice was lower than usual, almost hesitant, but the intensity in her crimson gaze was unmistakable. “That wasn’t the same Gemma out there.”
Ya’Han took a steadying breath before continuing, her hands tightening into fists at her sides. “She was hesitant. Slow. It wasn’t just exhaustion, she wasn’t fighting like herself.” Her words were laced with frustration, but beneath it was something deeper. Worry.
As Zub hauled a wounded MACO toward a hovering cot, he had nodded as Ya’Han spoke quietly to him. He laid the fallen soldier out with surprising gentleness for as blood and gore smeared both were.
Zub stepped conspiratorially close to the ruby-haired, equally gore-smeared Nylaan. He squinted his golden eyes. He pressed his lips in a line. He shook his scaly head. He’d seen Gemma fight so poorly that she had been knocked down, stayed down, and was one nanosecond from being tortured to death with a knife had Ya’Han not intervened. A circumstance for Gemma he would have deemed impossible for the unstoppable ILO. His voice was soft but grave. “She says she’s alright.”
Ya’Han shook her head, her dark red locks shifting slightly with the motion. “I don’t care what she says. I know what I saw, and you saw it too.” Her eyes flicked to the SPHINX, where Gemma had disappeared after taking her place at Tactical. “She’s not alright, Zub. And you know it.”
Zub’s body armor groaned and squeaked as he folded his massive arms over his chest. His big scaly face contorted. “I agree she is below par. I am not prepared to think of her as a liability. She still has nanites working to heal her.” He looked toward the SPHINX as he tried to name his concern.
Her shoulders rose and fell with another deep breath, trying to push past the anger that still simmered beneath the surface. It wasn’t just about the way Gemma had fought, it was the look on her face after. The way she had withdrawn the moment she was back in the safety of the ship.
“I get that she’s been through a lot,” Ya’Han admitted, her voice quieter now. “I get that she’s changed. But we’re about to walk into something even worse, and if she can’t handle herself...” She exhaled sharply. “We need to know. We need to be able to rely on her.”
The tall lizard man sighed heavily. He removed his phaser-rutted helmet and rubbed a three-fingered hand over his head crest. “I know. I hear you. Perhaps I can convince her and Dr. T’Lara to do an evaluation of her physical readiness.”
A pained cry from one of the MACOs drew her attention momentarily, giving her a chance to rein in her emotions. She wasn’t sure what answer she wanted from Zub: agreement? Reassurance? Some kind of solution? She just knew she couldn’t ignore what she had seen. The main reason for Ya'Han's focus was because she did not want to think about her own unexpected fighting. The rage she felt tapped into a darkness in her that she, for the moment, did not want to even acknowledge was there, so focusing on Gemma was the perfect distraction.
Turning back to him, she met his gaze once more, her expression softer now but still filled with uncertainty, Ya'Han's hair finally giving indications that it was starting to revert back to the black and red norm. “I just don’t want to lose anyone else,” she admitted. “Not like this.”
Zub had slipped his helmet back on. He took a step toward the MACO in pain, but another MACO had rushed over. He turned back to the now onyx and ruby haired Nylaan. He recalled how she had saved Gemma with a spectacularly violent and focused attack on that scarred and clearly sadistic Annarian. Zub regarded the much smaller but super lethal woman, trying to keep his expression one of understanding. “I am simply curious. This is not criticism. You let her assailant live. Was it purely out of concern for Gemma, or was there something else at play?"
Ya’Han hesitated for a brief moment, the scene replaying in her mind along with all of the feelings and doubts that came with it. Her hands curled at her sides, nails pressing into her palms, grounding herself in the sensation, proof that she was still in control.
"I wanted to." Her voice was quieter now, the intensity from before giving way to something more raw, something closer to fear. Her gaze flickered downward for a second before she forced herself to meet Zub’s eyes again. "Every instinct told me to chase them down, to end it right then and there. But it wasn’t just the fight driving me, I felt something else, something I didn’t like. It was hunger, not just for the fight, but for the kill. And if I had gone after them like that, I don’t know if I would have stopped."
The 7-foot Voth nodded, his expression grim. “I’m glad you didn’t.” He let the words settle for a moment before adding, “Cleaning up this battlefield is one thing. Living with what you might have done? That’s something else entirely.”
With a final, understanding nod, he turned away, scanning the triage area for more wounded.
-=-=-
Hanali Han
Lieutenant Ya'Han
Chief of Security / Tactical Officer
USS ANUBIS, NCC-18501
and
David Michael Inverso
Lieutenant JG Zub Enel
MCO
USS ANUBIS, NCC 18501
"Scars of Moments Long Passed"
Previous post: "Performance Review” by David and Hanali
Setting: USS ANUBIS, Counselor's Office
Stardate: 45003.1430
The USS ANUBIS had seen its fair share of battles, but some wars were fought not with weapons or strategies, but within the hearts of those who carried wounds too deep to ever fully heal. The tragedy on NOVOSYTH was not just another mission, not just another atrocity to be recorded in history, it was personal. For Ya’Han, it was a collision of past and present, an undeniable confirmation that no matter how far she had come, the ghosts of her past would never stop chasing her.
The man responsible for the massacre of 128,000 innocent lives was none other than Daimon Ardax, the same Ferengi her father had once sold her to in marriage. He was a man, a troll, she had once seen as the symbol of everything she despised, her father’s greed, her people’s oppression, and her own helplessness as a child of privilege with no control over her future. Fleeing from that fate had been the most defining decision of her life, shaping her into the warrior she was today. But now, that very past had resurfaced, demanding confrontation, forcing her to face the nightmare she had long tried to leave behind.
Adriana knew that Ya’Han would not speak of her pain, not willingly. The Chief of Security would keep her rage bottled up, directing it toward a singular all encompassing purpose: vengeance. And while Amanda, new to the complexities of life beyond survival, believed that Ya’Han’s fury would fuel her resolve and make her an unstoppable force in the fight against Ardax, Adriana feared it would do the opposite.
They sat in the dimly lit quiet of Adriana’s office, the sound of the small waterfall in the corner doing little to soften the tension between them.
Amanda folded her arms, eyes locked on her sister with a stubbornness Adriana had seen before, usually when Amanda refused to back down from a fight. "I don’t see the problem. Ya’Han has every reason to want him dead. And honestly, I think that kind of focus is going to help her. She won’t hesitate when the time comes."
Adriana sighed, choosing her words carefully. "It's not about hesitation, Amanda. It’s about clarity. She’s not just hunting Ardax, she’s fighting everything he represents to her. And that kind of personal weight? It can blind you. She could miss a bigger threat, or worse, put the mission at risk because she can't see past her own pain."
Amanda scoffed. "So what? She’s supposed to just let it go? Let him walk away after what he did?"
"Of course not," Adriana countered, leaning forward. "But revenge isn’t justice. And if she lets rage be the only thing guiding her, then she’s letting Ardax control her just as much as her father did. She’s fought too hard for too long to be reduced to nothing more than a weapon for her past."
Amanda exhaled sharply, shaking her head. "I don’t get it. People are always talking about control, about balance. But from what I’ve seen, the universe doesn’t work that way. Ya’Han is angry because she should be. Because this place is nothing but cruelty wrapped up in protocol and rules that let monsters like Ardax exist. Tell me, Adriana, where’s the justice in that?"
Adriana’s heart clenched at the rawness in Amanda’s voice. This wasn’t just about Ya’Han anymore. This was about Amanda seeing the universe for what it was, the pain, the suffering, the endless, exhausting battle. And she was losing faith that there was anything beyond that.
"You’re right," Adriana admitted softly. "The universe is cruel. There are things we’ll never be able to stop, no matter how hard we fight. But if all we see is the darkness, we stop looking for the light. And Amanda, I need you to see it."
Amanda frowned but didn’t pull away. That was something.
Adriana continued. "Ya'Han didn’t run from her father just to become another version of him, someone ruled by vengeance, someone who lets their past dictate their future. She fought to be more than what was forced on her. And she is more. Just like you are. Just like all of us have to be."
Amanda was silent for a long moment, her expression unreadable. Then, finally, she murmured, "I just don’t know if that’s enough."
Adriana reached out, placing a hand over Amanda’s. "It has to be. Because if we stop believing it is, then what’s left? If I had accepted that there was nothing I could do against the cruelty of the universe, I would not have spent all those years hoping and searching for you."
The mission ahead would test them all, but Adriana knew that it was not just Ardax they were fighting. It was despair. It was hopelessness. It was the temptation to believe that the darkness outweighed the light.
She would not let Amanda fall into that trap.
And she would not let Ya’Han lose herself in a past that she had fought so hard to escape.
One way or another, they would get through this. Together.
-=-=-
Marissa Montonera-Lombardi
Lieutenant JG Adriana Lopez
Ship's Counselor & Junior Ambassador
USS ANUBIS
"Triage and Tribulations"
Previous post: "Scars of Moments Long Passed"
Setting: NOVOSYTH, Next to the SPHINX
Stardate: 45003.1430
The eerie silence of NOVOSYTH felt unnatural. A planet meant to be teeming with life now lay still, deprived of every biological presence except for the team that now worked tirelessly to stabilize the injured. Even the wind carried no remnants of movement, as if mourning the loss of what had once been.
T’Lara moved with methodical precision between the wounded MACOs. The injuries were severe but not unexpected, high-power energy weapons left deep plasma burns, while fractures and contusions told the story of those who had barely avoided the turret fire. Despite the conditions, triage was progressing efficiently, thanks in no small part to Cristhiane and Christie.
She had observed them closely, their hands steady, their responses immediate and practiced. Though their skills remained at a lower level than those of a trained medical officer, they were far above what one would expect from civilians. T’Lara found herself revisiting her initial reservations about their presence on this mission. Their efficiency had erased any lingering doubt about their usefulness, but the question remained: how had they come to possess such expertise? Her Romulan perspective admired their adaptability and effectiveness, yet her Vulcan side found the anomaly troubling. The skills they exhibited were not learned through casual experience; they had been trained, and trained well.
A pained groan drew her attention back to the present. She knelt beside a MACO, his face pale with shock as he clutched at his burned arm. Without hesitation, she retrieved a hypospray from her kit, pressing it against his neck. “This will stabilize your pain response. Remain still.” The command was as direct as it was necessary. He nodded weakly, the relief in his eyes evident even as she moved on.
As she worked, the hushed but urgent conversation between Ya’Han and Zub reached her ears. Their words were not meant for her, but she had long since trained herself to take in all relevant information, whether invited to or not.
“She was hesitant. Slow.” Ya’Han muttered, frustration and concern woven into every syllable. “She wasn’t fighting like herself.”
The delay between the statements only added to their implication. Zub’s voice was soft but grave. “She says she’s alright.”
T’Lara had expected this discussion. The nanites Gemma had transferred to Nathan had undoubtedly affected her, and it was only logical that her combat effectiveness had suffered. But what concerned T’Lara more was the psychological aspect, hesitation in battle was not merely a physical symptom. It suggested doubt, a mental disconnect between what should be instinctive and what had instead faltered.
She carefully finished dressing a soldier’s wound as Ya’Han continued, her voice quieter now, yet no less intense. “We need to be able to rely on her.”
Zub’s hesitation spoke volumes as their conversation continued. He was weighing the consequences, considering the same question that now formed in T’Lara’s mind. Was he prepared to risk sidelining Gemma? And if so, was he prepared to face the consequences of that decision? To face Gemma's anger and wrath, if that would be her reaction, because right now, there was no telling how the ILO would react.
T'Lara continued working on the injured MACOs, knowing that following the conclusion of their conversation it would only be a matter of time before the MCO turned to the CMO. The moment came as expected.
“Doctor,” Zub addressed her directly now, Ya’Han having left the triage area to return to the SPHINX. “Would you be able to assess Gemma’s physical readiness?”
T’Lara rose from her kneeling position, glancing at him before shifting her gaze toward the SPHINX, where Gemma had retreated. “If there are concerns regarding her performance, it is my duty to evaluate her.” A pause. “However, if she is deemed unfit, she will not be permitted to continue this mission.”
Zub’s stance remained rigid, his expression unreadable behind his helmet. “I know.”
T’Lara gave a slight nod. “Then I will conduct the examination at the earliest opportunity once we are back on the ANUBIS.”
There was nothing further to say on the matter, not yet. The decision had been made, and now it would unfold as logic dictated.
She returned her attention to the triage effort, but the conversation lingered in her mind. The ANUBIS had changed her, she could not deny that. Black ops medicine had been about precision and secrecy, about ensuring a mission left no traces behind. Battlefield triage, on the other hand, was raw, immediate, and exposed. It required a level of direct involvement that she had not expected, yet it was now an inescapable reality.
Perhaps that was why she felt a kinship with Gemma, both of them were still learning how to adapt to the ANUBIS, to the way this crew operated. The line between what they were and what they were becoming remained blurred.
But there was no time to contemplate further. The mission was far from over, and there was still so much work to be done.
=-=
Dawn Bohr
Lt. Commander T'Lara
Chief Medical Officer
USS ANUBIS, NCC-18501
"A Reckless Plan"
Previous post: "Triage and Tribulations"
Setting: USS ANUBIS, Corridor
Stardate: 45003.1500
Shar'El walked in silence, arms crossed tightly against her chest, her strides measured and her gaze sharp, fixed on something far beyond the metallic walls of the corridor. "The data from the scavenger ship uncovered by the IGC is solid. The auction is set. Seven hours from now at NORTHAL DRIFT. Less than an hour away at maximum warp." Her tone didn’t waver, but the gravity in it spoke volumes. 128,000 lives. A culture obliterated. All for profit.
Gemma moved beside her, not limping, not quite faltering, but off. Her left shoulder lagged just slightly as the nanites worked on completing the repairs to her body. Her steps came a fraction slower than normal. Minuscule, nearly imperceptible, but not to Shar’El. The ExO noticed everything. That was her job.
“That backwater cesspool of filth and desperation,” Gemma muttered, venom in her voice. “Of course Ardax would choose that place. The rot always attracts the worst.”
Shar’El’s nod was tight. “And the worst are exactly who’ll be bidding. Syndicates. War profiteers. Maybe the Obsidian Order. Maybe the Tal Shiar. Hell, maybe even mad kings with delusions of galactic conquest. Anyone desperate enough, or arrogant enough, to think they can control a device that erases life with the push of a button.”
Gemma’s jaw clenched. Desperate. Mad. Like the scavengers had been, insane enough to believe they could take the artifact and hold the quadrant hostage. Bold enough to nearly kill her in the process.
Her fingers curled involuntarily. She could still feel the blade’s ghost at her throat. The sickening moment of certainty, when she knew she’d been bested. Shame burned beneath her skin. She’d lost. She never lost.
Shar’El’s voice was low when she spoke again. “You weren’t yourself down there.”
A flick of Gemma’s eyes met hers, cold, guarded. “I’m still myself.”
“Maybe so... But you’re quieter.”
That hit harder than expected. No rebuttal came. The Commander was right.
The chorus of inner voices, once vibrant and relentless, always overlapping, arguing, assisting, were now hushed. They lingered like distant echoes. Present, but subdued. Almost polite at times.
The nanites she’d transferred to Nathan… it hadn’t just cost her speed and healing. It had cost her connection. To them. To the collective pulse of her fractured mind.
And without them... she was starting to feel like just one person. Almost, and Gemma wasn’t sure if that terrified her more than the alternative.
They turned a corner. The turbolift to the bridge stood ahead.
“Seven hours before the auction begins,” Shar’El said, picking the thread back up. “Plenty of time to get in. Not much time if we screw it up.”
“We can’t screw it up,” Gemma replied, her voice hard-edged. “We can’t let that thing disappear into the hands of anyone. The Ferengi may think in bricks of latinum, but that device doesn’t care who it kills. Entire planets, gone. Blink of an eye.”
“And Ardax?” Shar'El's whispered question just hung in the air.
The name coiled like a parasite. Gemma caught the faint shift in Shar’El’s stance, the subtle tension under the calm. “You want to use Ya’Han.”
Shar’El slowed, stopping just outside the turbolift doors. “She’s our best chance. He’ll recognize her. He’ll want her back. Even if it is just to dispose of her as she did him. Revenge is a powerful motivator.”
Gemma’s answer came sharp, too fast. “He owned her. Thought she was property. His property... his trophy... as she was meant to be by her own father's will. You are right, Ardax will leap at the chance to take her again.”
Shar’El met the push without flinching. “Exactly. He’ll be distracted. Blindsided. And that distraction gives us a thread to pull.”
"That will put her life in danger," Gemma warned.
"She can take care of herself," Shar'El countered. "If what happened back on NOVOSYTh is any indication, I think we should be more worried about how many pieces Ardax is going to be in when this is all over.
Gemma leaned back against the bulkhead, just a little, but even that was enough to feel the deficit. Her body didn’t respond like it used to. Slower. Imperfect. She hated it. Hated needing help.
Her mind drifted back to Ya’Han’s eyes, blazing with fire as she struck down the Annarian. The rage that flowed around her like an unstoppable tide as the Nylaan saved her.
If she hadn’t stepped in... Gemma wouldn’t be here. Wouldn’t be here to hate her for it.
Gemma didn’t owe the Nylaan thanks. But she owed her silence. For now.
Shar’El stepped into the turbolift. “Bridge,” she commanded.
Gemma joined her, arms folded. “If Ardax gets suspicious...”
“He will,” Shar’El cut in smoothly. “But we don’t need him to believe everything. Just enough. Get him off-balance. And I trust Ya’Han to make that happen... and more.”
“Then the timing’s everything,” Gemma said. Her tone had shifted, cold and analytical. “We keep his focus on her. Long enough for you to dig into his aides' memories, long enough for the team to locate the crate and secure it.”
“We know the crate’s size,” Shar’El said. “One square meter. Light enough for two to carry. That’s something.”
“But we don’t know what it looks like. Or if it’s stable. Or booby-trapped. Or cursed. Or what technology powers it. For all we know, it’s leaking radiation as we speak.”
Shar’El allowed a faint smirk. “Good thing we’re an Intel vessel. Paranoia comes standard.”
The turbolift doors parted, and the hum of the bridge washed over them, consoles chirping, status reports being murmured. The pulse of a warship in motion.
Gemma paused at the threshold. “This plan is reckless.”
Shar’El didn’t look back. Her smirk deepened. “Since when did that stop you?”
=-=
Tiffany Reeve
Commander Shar'El
Executive Officer
USS ANUBIS
and
Rachel Jackie Johnson
Lieutenant Gemma
Intel Operative
USS ANUBIS
[The fun is getting to wear multiple disguises and getting to explore multiple personalities and bring them to life. - Jenna Fischer]
"Red Fury"
Previous post: "A Reckless Plan" by Rachel and Tiffany
Setting: USS ANUBIS, Stark and Ya'Han's quarters
Stardate: 45003.1530
Steam still clung to the mirror, droplets racing each other down the glass as Jayson stepped out of the bathroom, towel slung over his shoulder, another drying his hair. He was humming quietly to himself, something Terran and upbeat, when the doors to their quarters hissed open behind him.
He turned and instantly froze.
Ya’Han stood there, her hair so red it looked like it was catching fire under the overhead lights. Not anger. Rage. Wrath. The kind that didn’t simmer. The kind that burned. Her entire body was coiled, trembling, like something barely holding itself together.
“Ya...?”
The datapad from the table came first. He ducked just in time. It shattered into the wall behind him with a violent crack.
“HOW COULD YOU?!” she screamed.
“What...?!” He threw his arms up. “What are you talking about?!”
“Don’t lie to me!” she shrieked, voice slicing through the air like a blade. A lamp followed the datapad, hurled with terrifying strength. It struck the floor, shattering into glass and sparks.
“I’m not lying! I literally don’t know what this is about!” He ducked again as something else... maybe a mug... sailed past his head. “What did I do?"
Her chest was heaving now, fists clenched so tight her knuckles were white beneath her crimson aura. “Ardax.”
The name made his stomach drop. “What about him?”
“You let them use me!” she shouted, voice cracked from the sheer volume. “You let them make me a pawn! You stood there, you said nothing, while they turned me into bait!”
“I... I didn’t...” He tried to get a word in, but her rage wasn’t done.
Her voice dropped into a dangerous growl. “You knew. You HAD to know. They wouldn’t dare float a plan like that without telling you. Without asking if it would make things awkward between the two of us. Right?”
Jayson’s brain stuttered. Pieces clicked into place like jagged shards in a broken puzzle. “Wait… wait, no! Ya’Han, I didn’t know! I just got out of the shower, I haven’t even checked the new ops brief...”
She didn’t hear him. Or maybe she did, but didn’t care.
"I wasn’t even fourteen.” Her voice was low now, coiled with venom. "Seventy-eight days. That's how long I had left before I stopped being a child and became a bargain. A transaction. My father handed me to that Ferengi TROLL like a party favor. That’s what I ran from. That’s why I left everything behind. And now… now they want me to go back to that version of myself?”
She advanced, fast and wild-eyed. He stumbled back, hands up, blood roaring in his ears.
“No one told me!” he said, louder now, trying to wedge the truth into the chaos. “Shar’El and Gemma must’ve cooked this up, I saw them chatting when we returned to the ANUBIS. Maybe just got it cleared by the Captain. I swear to you, I didn’t know! You know I would’ve told you if I did!”
She stopped only to grab a chair and launch it. It smashed into the wall, splinters flying, a violent punctuation to her fury.
“I don’t care who approved it,” she spat. “I don’t care if it was Koniki himself. They want me to crawl back to that slime. To bat my lashes and beg to be taken back. Just long enough to distract him.”
Jayson tried again, desperate. “I’m sure that’s not what they meant. It’s tactical... he’s dangerous, the device is dangerous...”
"NO!" she roared, slamming both fists into the wall hard enough to dent the bulkhead and rattle the lights. The sound echoed like a gunshot. "You don't get to defend them! Not this time! I am not a pawn to be put into play whenever they feel like it! I am not a distraction! I earned my name, my freedom, my place on this ship!"
“I know you did! More times than I can count.” he said, his voice cracking. “Ya’Han, please, just... just look at me! I’m not your enemy here!”
Her eyes snapped to his, wild and wet but unyielding. “Get out.”
“Please...”
“GET OUT!”
He hesitated for a heartbeat longer… then backed toward the door, heart hammering, a fresh cut stinging just above his right eyebrow from a stray shard he hadn’t dodged fast enough.
The door hissed open behind him.
“I didn’t know,” he said one last time, softer now.
Behind him, through the closed door, silence fell, broken only by the sound of something else smashing.
He stood there in the corridor, breath ragged, heart pounding, blood trickling past his temple. The ache in his chest wasn’t just from the cut, it was from the distance she had just put between them.
After a long moment, he sighed.
“She’s going to kill someone before this mission is over.” Then, quieter, “...and I don’t think it’s going to be Ardax.”
=-=
Jayson Sousa
Lieutenant JG A'Janni
Flight Control Officer
USS ANUBIS, NCC-18501
Lieutenant Jayson Stark
Chief of Operations
USS ANUBIS, NCC-18501
-=-=-
"Fracture Point"
Previous post: "Red Fury” by Jayson
-=-=-
Setting: USS ANUBIS, Stark and Ya'Han's quarters
Stardate: 45003.1532
The door hissed shut behind him, and silence followed.
Not peaceful silence. Heavy. Suffocating. Ya’Han’s chest heaved as she stood in the middle of the chaos. Her hands trembled, her breath sharp. The lights flickered slightly from where she’d slammed both fists into the wall, but even that wasn’t enough.
Nothing was.
She turned, grabbed the first thing she could reach, what remained of a broken chair, and flung it across the room. Next, a shattered lamp sparked against the wall, followed by a jagged piece of furniture that ricocheted off the viewport with a deep metallic clang.
Good. Let the ship feel her fury. Let the universe bear witness to her rage.
“Liars,” she spat, throat raw from screaming. “Manipulators. Cowards.”
Her lungs burned. Her vision blurred. Control was gone, disintegrated beneath heat, betrayal, and the sick weight of the past crashing into the now.
[/\] [/\] [/\] [/\] [/\]
FLASHBACK
[/\] [/\] [/\] [/\] [/\]
Setting: NYLA IV, Imperial Palace, Ya’Han's chambers
Stardate: 20236.1 (Age of 13)
The announcement had been made yesterday, but it still echoed in her ears.
She stood atop the platform, silent, unmoving, as attendants swarmed around her. Seamstresses adjusted silks, ornaments, lengths of ceremonial purple. It was her first fitting. The first of seventy-seven days filled with court rituals, etiquette rehearsals, and veiled threats passed off as tradition.
Every motion around her was precise. Efficient. But not out of admiration, not even loyalty. Just fear. Everyone knew this was the time of the High Sovereign’s most rigid control, where even a crooked stitch could warrant a brutal and usually fatal punishment.
Then, all at once, everything stopped. The air tightened.
She didn’t need to turn. She felt them enter.
“You wear the ceremonial purple well my dear,” her father’s voice said behind her, flat and absolute. “As befits a daughter of the High Sovereign.” It was not a father's pride she heard, it was the evaluation of a merchant, of a trader in commodities. This wasn't a celebration. It was a transaction, nothing more, nothing less.
Beside him stood Daimon Ardax, grinning like a Ferengi who’d just won a sector. His eyes crawled over her. His lobes twitched in what could only be described as anticipation.
“She is pleasing,” he said. “A worthy investment.”
Her fists clenched. Her heart thundered in her chest.
Across the room, her mother stood still, gaze lowered, silent. She loved her daughter, but she feared her husband more.
No one moved. Not a single breath was dared.
“You will honor this arrangement,” the High Sovereign continued. “This is not a request. This is your duty. This is what you have been training for since day one.”
She wanted to scream. To run. To disappear. Instead, she lowered her head. “Yes, Father.”
The fire came later. After the doors closed. After the servants resumed their work like nothing had happened. That’s when she understood. Her life wasn’t hers. It never had been.
She hadn’t been promised, she’d been sold. A bargaining chip. An extension of her father’s power into Ferengi space. A tool, packaged in purple silk. A prize to be displayed and used in whatever way her new owner might wish.
The youngest daughter of the High Sovereign… wasn’t a person. She was something to be used as leverage.
[/\] [/\] [/\] [/\] [/\]
END OF FLASHBACK
[/\] [/\] [/\] [/\] [/\]
She staggered back like she’d been struck, the image of her father and Ardax still hanging in her vision.
But they were gone.
The room of her childhood was gone, but the imprint of that cell still lingered around her heart, relentlessly squeezing into nothingness her will to live.
Only the ANUBIS remained, flickering lights, the shattered remnants of their quarters… and the echo of old chains still clinging to her skin.
Her legs gave out as she stumbled into the broken chair behind her. The scent of sterile air couldn’t mask the phantom memory of incense and perfume from her childhood prison. Her brain told her she was here, safe, but her heart pounded like that scared, powerless girl again.
She hadn’t just remembered. She’d been there. Trapped. Owned. Voiceless.
Something caught her eye in the viewport. Movement, no, reflection. She turned... and froze.
A stranger stared back.
Wide, haunted eyes. A smear of blood and dust on her cheek. And her hair… Purple.
Not black. Not red. Not the fighter. Not the woman who’d built her freedom piece by piece.
But the girl. The one who belonged to him.
“No…” Her voice cracked. She grabbed at her hair, twisting her fingers through it like she could claw the color away.
But it stayed. It was real.
Something inside her, something buried, had surfaced. And her body had obeyed.
The mask had cracked.
And now… betrayal again. Not by Ardax. Not by her father.
By people she trusted. Shar’El. Gemma. Maybe even the Captain. They knew her past, her story, maybe not all of the details, but enough to know about the scars she carried within her.
Someone had known who she was. What she was. And still sent her into that mission. A pawn. A tool.
Ya'Han glanced at the reflection once more. Purple... still.
She sank to her knees among the wreckage. Her fingers clawed at the floor, her jaw locked in a snarl. Rage gone.
What remained was worse: shame, guilt… and doubt.
And Jayson…
He hadn’t fought her. He hadn’t yelled. He’d told the truth, and taken the hits for it.
Her eyes scanned the room.
Their sanctuary had been destroyed by her own hands.
A trembling palm rose to her lips. “What did I just do…”
The guilt pressed down on her chest. And beneath that… Cold clarity.
128,000 lives gone in a blink. A demonstration, but next time, it wouldn’t be for show.
She closed her eyes, whispering the question she couldn’t ignore.
**Is my pain more important than that?**
Her father always chose pride over people. Power over peace.
**Is that who I’m becoming?**
The echo of Jayson's clone still haunted her, **You belong with the Lokustaar, ruling the weak.**
Her soul shivered. Slowly, she sat up. Wiped the dust and blood from her face. The air smelled of loss and fury.
Then came the chime. For one foolish second, hope swelled within her.
Her breath caught as she quickly stood, swiping her palms across her uniform, trying to make herself presentable again.
The door opened.
“I’m sorry,” she said softly. Her heart begged her to run, to close the space, to fall into his arms, to let the words spill against his chest where they might finally mean something. But she didn’t move. Not because she didn’t want to, but because she knew how easily a lunge could be mistaken for a strike. Her body had already proven it was capable of destruction. Her rage still echoed in the broken bones of their quarters.
So she stood still, trembling, holding her breath like it might keep her from shattering again.
And it was a good thing because it wasn’t Jayson.
Puzzlement and concern reflected on the features of Counselor Lopez and her sister.
Ya’Han blinked, confusion rippling through her as her heart pounded in her chest for those few eternal seconds that followed.
“What… are you doing here?” she whispered.
But deep down, she already knew.
-=-=-
Hanali Han
Lieutenant Ya'Han
Chief of Security / Tactical Officer
USS ANUBIS, NCC-18501
"Rage, Reflection and Re-evaluation"
Previous post: "Fracture Point” by Hanali
Setting: USS ANUBIS, Stark and Ya'Han's Quarters
Stardate: 45003.1535
Amanda hesitated just inside the doorway, eyes wide as she took in the wreckage. A toppled shelf, fractured display cases, the faint acrid scent of something burned lingering beneath the sterile air. Her gaze snapped to Ya’Han’s hair, the deep, regal purple unmistakable in the flickering light.
“That’s not… fashion, is it?” Amanda whispered, more to herself than anyone else.
Ya’Han said nothing. She was on her knees, frantically trying to gather splinters and jagged shards into a pile with trembling hands. Blood smeared the floor with every motion. Her knuckles were raw, open. Still bleeding.
Amanda took a tentative step forward. “Do you… want me to leave?”
The Nylaan woman didn’t look up, didn’t even pause in her efforts. She just shook her head once. Quick. Tight. Like even that much acknowledgment was too much to offer.
Amanda glanced to her twin sister, uncertain, before gently picking up a dermal regenerator from a nearby medkit, likely something Jayson had left behind in the rush. “Let me help. Please.”
Still, Ya’Han didn’t answer. She kept trying to clean, as if order would somehow erase what had happened.
Adriana knelt nearby, her voice soft. “Ya’Han… stop. You’re hurting yourself.”
“Too late for that,” Ya’Han muttered, her voice frayed. “Damage is done.”
She finally sat back, hand trembling as she stared at the blood smeared across her palm. Her hair still shimmered with royal defiance, betraying the part of her she hated most.
Amanda said nothing. But for the first time, she understood that not all wounds were meant to be healed, that some people needed their scars to keep standing
“You don’t have to talk,” Adriana said gently, “but I’m here. We both are.”
Amanda hovered close, the regenerator humming softly as she began to treat the worst of the cuts. Her movements were clumsy but careful, tentative empathy wrapped in inexperience. She kept stealing glances at the purple hair, at the haunted look on Ya’Han’s face. It was like watching a woman trying to hold a dam together with her bare hands.
Then Ya’Han spoke, her voice hollow and deprived of feelings. “Maybe Jayson was right…”
Adriana blinked, confused. “Jayson?”
Ya’Han flinched slightly, correcting herself. “No. Not him. The other one. His… clone. The one who served Mordana.”
Amanda paused, mid-treatment, unsure whether to speak. Her eyes found Adriana’s, a silent question passed between them.
Adriana leaned in slightly. “What did he say?”
Ya’Han looked away, eyes glossy but unblinking. “He told me there was darkness inside me. That I belonged with the Lokustaar. That I could rule through fear… and I believed him. Part of me still does.”
The silence that followed was absolute, even the sounds of hearts beating seemed to pause as the implication of her words sunk in, painting a grim picture that Adriana feared to even dare to look at.
Ya’Han had not been born a daughter, but a bargaining chip—another piece on her father’s political chessboard, groomed to cement alliances through marriage. Like her sisters, she was destined to become a prized wife to a powerful noble, her value measured not by who she was, but by what she could secure for her family.
“Jayson said that I was born to rule, to command,” she said quietly. “Jayson's clone," she quickly amended before continuing. "That’s what he told me every day that I was away from the ANUBIS. And I believed him, until the very last moment when he died in my arms. He told me to accept this," she said, tugging at her still purple hair. "He told me not to be ashamed of it, but to embrace it, to accept the significance that it made me special and that I would achieve more than my father or his sons could have ever hoped to."
Her hand curled into a trembling fist as she looked over the wreckage. The fury was still there, but it had shifted, no longer wild and destructive, but cold, restrained. Focused.
Adriana saw a shift in her eyes that quickly spread to the rest of her body. The purple of her hair gradually gave way to an absolute black that seemed to absorb light itself.
Amanda was shocked, and almost amused by this transition until she saw the look on her sister's face. Terror. Clearly her twin understood the meaning of this change in color.
"Thank you, Counselor," Ya'Han offered as she met Adriana's gaze. There was an icy coldness in her eyes and voice. Just the way she had been referred to by her role instead of her name spoke volume as to the woman's shifted mindset. This wasn’t the same woman who’d once fought for her freedom. This was someone choosing the chains, if only to better wield them.
There was no doubt in Adriana's mind. Ya'Han would now play the part they needed her to play. She would smile for Ardax, dance to the rhythm of her father’s court, and make herself the distraction the mission demanded.
Counselor Lopez had read hundreds of case studies, counseled victims of war, loss, and betrayal… but nothing in her training had prepared her for this. Not the blood. Not the silence. And certainly not the resolve in Ya’Han’s eyes
The sisters exchanged a knowing glance. But what came after? Once the device was theirs, once the team was safe, would Ya’Han walk away with a quiet victory… or would the darkness she’d just embraced finally be set loose and consume Ardax and anyone unfortunate enough to be in the vicinity?
Adriana could only watch, her heart heavy with the knowledge that whatever happened next, whatever justice, vengeance, or ruin Ya’Han brought, was beyond her reach. She could offer counsel, support, even love. But this? This was a storm they’d all have to weather.
-=-=-
Marissa Montonera-Lombardi
Lieutenant JG Adriana Lopez
Ship's Counselor & Junior Ambassador
USS ANUBIS
"Scars of Past Trauma"
Previous post: "Rage, Reflection and Re-evaluation"
Setting: USS ANUBIS, Sickbay
Stardate: 45003.1540
Lieutenant Commander T’Lara moved with quiet precision, running the dermal regenerator over the superficial laceration along Lieutenant Stark’s forearm. The injury had already been disinfected and sealed; the device now served more for cosmetic restoration than necessity. The Human offered no resistance and had remained largely silent since arriving in Sickbay, a rare occurrence for the normally expressive officer.
The Vulcan-Romulan hybrid did not press for conversation. She had long since learned that silence often provided more insight than words.
T’Lara made one final pass with the regenerator, then stepped back, studying her patient with a clinician’s eye. Heart rate within acceptable parameters. Breathing steady. Blood pressure slightly elevated, not due to physical exertion. Emotional tension. Likely residual.
The bio-readings correlated with the subtle cues: the flex of his jaw, the unfocused gaze pointed toward nothing in particular, and the way his hands, though resting on his thighs, remained clenched.
She had seen the aftereffects of emotional trauma before, unspoken injuries that left no visible mark yet bled in the space between heartbeats.
"His injuries are minor," T’Lara said, her tone measured as she set the instrument aside. "Treatment is complete. He is awaiting clearance to return to his quarters."
The statement was not meant for the Lieutenant, who remained unresponsive, but rather for the young voice that had just entered Sickbay.
Christie’s eyes were wide with concern as she approached, halting beside the biobed. "Is he all right?" she asked, her voice soft, as if afraid of disturbing something fragile.
T’Lara regarded the girl with the same dispassionate gaze she applied to all patients and personnel, but behind her eyes, the gears turned. The child had an acute sensitivity not often found in civilians, an awareness more instinctive than learned.
"His condition is stable," the doctor replied. "He sustained minor abrasions and contusions. All have been treated."
"But… the battle on NOVOSYTH…" Christie looked uncertain, glancing at Stark, then back to T’Lara. "He was in the SPHINX the whole time. How did he get hurt? How were his injuries missed up until now?"
There it was. The moment where curiosity intersected with intuition.
T’Lara tilted her head slightly, her movements, as always, precise and measured. "I am unable to comment on the specifics of a patient’s injury," she stated plainly. "Medical confidentiality must be maintained."
Her voice carried no judgment, but her expression was resolute. Christie did not press the matter further, though her brow furrowed in visible contemplation. She was drawing her own conclusions, logical ones.
Cristhiane entered moments later, moving with a quiet grace born of experience and pain. T’Lara noted the immediate shift in the girl’s posture, an ease, a flicker of relief, quickly masked.
The mother placed a hand on her daughter’s shoulder and leaned in, whispering something intended to be private, but T’Lara heard it nonetheless. The renowned Vulcan earing combined with the natural ability of Romulans to listen in on everything being said around them was an advantage that the mix-heritage physician had used more than once in the past.
"It was likely Ya’Han," Cristhiane said, her voice low, tinged with something older than grief, regret, perhaps. "I’ve seen that look before."
Christie turned to her, puzzled. "What look?"
"That one," Cristhiane replied, nodding gently toward the Lieutenant. Her voice remained hushed, yet carried a weight heavier than words alone. "When someone you love does something unexpected… and it hurts you, deeply. And now, you're left wondering if it was your fault somehow, and if things can ever go back to how they were."
A beat of silence passed between them, an emotional stillness that even T’Lara, trained to suppress such responses, could not help but catalog.
Christie’s expression shifted, recognition, empathy, and something more personal. Understanding, drawn from experience.
T’Lara narrowed her gaze fractionally. The exchange, though brief, contained more data than either woman likely intended to reveal. The mother spoke not only of the present but of her own past, a betrayal perhaps still healing. The daughter, still young yet not unscarred, clearly understood.
It was another thread in a pattern the physician had begun to observe. Hints of a shared history rarely spoken aloud. One that extended beyond their short time aboard the ANUBIS.
T’Lara made no comment, but she did not forget. Every word, every reaction, was carefully logged and mentally cataloged. Emotional displays were unpredictable variables, but they were still data, useful in the right context.
She turned back to her console, giving the mother and daughter their space while maintaining her quiet vigil over her patient.
Lieutenant Stark remained seated, unmoving, lost in thought. His shoulders were tense, eyes cast downward. He had not heard the exchange behind him, or perhaps he had, and chose not to respond.
Regardless, the wounds he bore were not ones that could be closed with a dermal regenerator.
And T’Lara, physician and observer both, knew better than to try.
=-=
Dawn Bohr
Lt. Commander T'Lara
Chief Medical Officer
USS ANUBIS, NCC-18501
"A Reckless Plan, Part 2"
Previous post: "Scars of Past Trauma"
Setting: USS ANUBIS, IGC
Stardate: 45003.1545
The sounds of consoles and technicians conducting Intel research filled the dimmed chamber, pulses of green and amber flickering across Gemma’s face as she sat before the primary display. Maps, schematics, intercepted comms, and heat signatures layered over the NORTHAL DRIFT like the twisting veins of a dying star. The station was chaos incarnate, a web of illicit dealings and desperate ambition held together by credits, guns, and mutual distrust.
"It's been a while since we have been there," Lantra Tolembra, the Tarellian deal maker said, her voice echoing inside Gemma's oddly quiet mind. "Yet, it looks like nothing has changed."
"Crooks and criminals come and go," the Bounty Hunter Jinx said, her grin practically audible, "but the lustful twisted desires that drive them are eternal."
Gemma's fingers danced across the interface, isolating paths through known access tunnels, rotating sensor readings from scavenged debris fields, and marking probable locations for auction storage. Every possibility calculated. Every failure scenario accounted for.
And still, there was no certainty, there never was. Uncontrolled greed and over-inflated egos were never a good combo, and it now appeared that Ardax was hitting the highest level of both measures. Auctioning a device, the one that annihilated NOVOSYTH in seconds, to the highest bidder was pure and unadulterated madness.
The door behind her hissed open, but Gemma didn’t look back.
"You're late," she said, voice even.
Zub stepped in, looming with the quiet steadiness of someone who'd just sprinted through half the ship but didn’t want to show it. “Got caught in a systems lockdown drill on Deck 15. You wanted to see me?”
Gemma turned slightly, eyes still on the projection. “Yes. I need your MACOs. Twelve of them to be exact... plus one. There will be six teams of two patrolling the outer ring of the Drift, and the last one will be inside the auction floor perimeter.”
"Twelve?" Zub echoed in surprise and puzzlement. "I've read the reports on that place, we could easily need twice that many."
"We could," Gemm agreed, "But too many new faces might tip our hand. The other 38 MACOs, minus those too injured, will be on standby aboard the ANUBIS in case we need a larger scale diversion or intervention."
Zub raised a scaly brow but didn’t move closer. “All right. I'll give you the list for those six teams. Now, for that extra one, did you have someone particular in mind?”
“You are,” she said plainly. “You’ll be with me and Ya’Han when we meet Ardax.”
That gave him pause. His tone softened, concerned. “Before we get into that... how are you doing, Gemma?”
She blinked once. Slowly. “I’m working on how to best achieve the mission objective.”
“I didn’t ask about your mission mindset,” Zub said, stepping closer, gentler this time. “I’m asking about you.”
Gemma’s expression turned to iron. “I’m fine.” She turned her attention back to the console. “The NORTHAL DRIFT is unruly. Violent. Half its population is armed. The other half are liars or thieves, more than likely both. We'll need MACO support to get us out if things go south and I want you with us.”
Zub didn’t move. “You’re dodging.”
“No,” she replied, tone now clipped, “I’m planning.”
But her eyes flicked, just briefly, to his reflection on the screen. He was still watching her, not buying the mask.
Zub shifted gears. “Bringing Ya’Han to Ardax… you sure that’s a good idea? You know their history.”
“I’m counting on it,” Gemma said, flatly. “He remembers her as a possession, something stolen from him. That makes her the perfect distraction. His pride won’t let him ignore her.”
“That pride could also make him dangerous.”
“That’s why I want you there. At her side. At my side. If Ardax makes a move, I want seven feet of armored fury between us and his ego.”
Zub exhaled slowly, weighing the plan. “She was sold to him, Gemma. At thirteen. That kind of trauma doesn’t vanish, not even with years of training. Are you sure she is ready?”
Gemma turned to face him now. “I’m not sure of anything,” she admitted, her voice hinting at more than just the mission. “But I am sure we won't get another shot like this. We need the device. We need Ardax exposed. And Ya’Han is the key to both.”
Zub’s expression was unreadable, but there was tension there, between duty and personal concern, between what was necessary and what was right.
“If he lashes out,” Gemma added, voice dropping, “I want to know we can take him apart before he finishes the swing.”
“I’ll be there,” Zub said after a long beat. “It's a reckless plan, but I will be there. But if he so much as looks at her wrong...”
“He’ll regret it,” Gemma finished for him.
A heavy silence passed between them, one that held more than either was willing to say.
She turned back to the data, gestures sharp and efficient once more. “We will arrive within transporter range of NORTHAL DRIFT in roughly 15 minutes. Get your people ready.”
Zub lingered for a second longer, then nodded.
Just before he stepped out, he glanced back. “You may think you're just one person now, Gemma. But even just one of you is still stronger than most.”
The door slid shut behind him.
Gemma stood still. She didn’t smile. Didn’t react. Even her fingers stilled over the controls.
Just for a second.
Then, with a single motion, she summoned the floor plan of the Auction Sector... and vanished once more into the mission.
=-=
Rachel Jackie Johnson
Lieutenant Gemma
Intel Operative
USS ANUBIS
[The fun is getting to wear multiple disguises and getting to explore multiple personalities and bring them to life. - Jenna Fischer]
"NORTHAL DRIFT"
Previous post: "A Reckless Plan, Part 2" by Rachel
Setting: SPACE
Stardate: 45003.1550
The ANUBIS hovered in the black, a ghost wrapped in its ablative shroud, unseen by the chaos it observed. From this distance, the NORTHAL DRIFT looked less like a station and more like a sickness, a metal cyst clinging to the carcass of a broken moon. Faint strobes of weapons fire lit the dark space beyond its outer perimeter, where two smaller crafts spun in a silent dogfight, tearing at each other with tooth and claw. No alarms. No intervention. Only the cold, casual indifference of the DRIFT’s orbiting slums.
=-=
Setting: ANUBIS, Bridge
Stardate: 45003.1550
From the command chair, Captain Morningstar stared at the growing silhouette of the station through the main viewscreen. Twisting towers of mismatched architecture jutted from the core like the horns of a long dead god. Bright plasma burns marred the structure, old scars from countless disputes that were too expensive to repair and too profitable to care about.
"What a mess," A'Janni muttered from the flight control station.
"And yet, amidst all this chaos… every piece knows exactly where it wants to be... where it needs to be," Morningstar noted.
"Gemma referred to it as a backwater cesspool of filth and desperation,” Shar'El elaborated from behind the Captain.
"I think she was being generous," the Caitian commented with a sigh. "I can smell the rot from here," he added before quickly looking over his shoulder to confirm Maya had not been on the bridge and about to correct him about the fact that smells cannot travel through space.
Morningstar’s expression was stoic, carved in immutable steel spawned from command discipline and years of experience facing the worst the galaxy had to offer. "At least there is no doubt about the kind of individuals we will be encountering, every single one will be there for no one else's benefit but their own.”
The FCO’s only eye narrowed. “All to control a device that erases life at the push of a button.”
The silence that followed was broken only by the soft hiss of the turbolift doors. Jayson Stark and Ya’Han stepped onto the Bridge, their arrival unannounced and unusually quiet. Neither spoke. Neither offered a report or a nod. They moved like shadows, slipping into their respective stations with the uneasy grace of habit, burdened by something heavier than the mission.
A’Janni’s gaze flicked toward them for only a moment before returning to his instruments.They all had their own issues, their own problems and right now the NORTHAL DRIFT was the most prominent amongst them all.
From across the bridge though, Jayson watched her, studying her every move. He had seen this side of Ya’Han before, coiled, armored, lethal. It was the same presence she carried when undercover among the Lokustaar, when survival demanded she embrace darkness to fight it. Jayson knew it too. He’d watched that light dim once, and now he saw the shadows rising again.
No one said a word. The silence spoke for them.
“Alright,” Morningstar said softly, "what are we looking at?"
Jayson was the first to speak, his voice steady. “NORTHAL DRIFT is swarming with activity. At least fifteen confirmed ships currently docked or anchored in close orbit, likely there are more cloaked or running silent as we are. We’ve identified vessels belonging to the Nausicaans, Orions, an independent Breen warship, and what looks like a Miradorn blockade runner.”
Ya’Han’s fingers danced across her console, her voice harder, more clinical. “There’s also a Ferengi Battle Cruiser, barely holding together." She paused, her throat tightening at the mere thought of what her next words implied. "It's the BLACK FORTUNE, Ardax's ship. It’s been through hell. Burn scarring along the outer hull, which is patched together with what looks like Cardassian scrap. No visible weapons active.”
A’Janni turned sharply. “That *thing* belongs to Ardax?” he repeated, almost amused.
Ya’Han nodded once, not turning to meet his eye. “After I left NYLA IV, he was never the same.”
“If he’s auctioning the device… that would explain the desperation,” the Caitian said.
“But the device isn’t on that ship,” Jayson added. “We scanned it twice. Whatever’s being sold, it’s not on that ship. So it has to be on the station… somewhere.”
A’Janni’s jaw tightened. That was the worst-case scenario. The NORTHAL DRIFT was massive, a hive of back-channel corridors and sensor-shielded vaults. The station’s own energy output interfered with most standard scans, whether by design or by sheer dysfunction was anyone’s guess. Regardless, it meant they would have to go in blind.
Those same erratic energy fluctuations made direct transport impossible, no beaming in or out. Everything to and from the DRIFT had to go by shuttle or on foot through one of the docking ports. That also meant once the away team was on the station, there would be no quick exit if things went sideways.
And things always went sideways.
“I count at least three skirmishes breaking out along the outer traffic perimeter,” Ya’Han continued. “Smaller vessels. Scavengers or overconfident bounty hunters trying to stake early claims.”
“They know the auction won’t be civil,” A’Janni said. “Everyone who came here knew that. They’re just testing the limits before the real blood starts spilling.”
Jayson brought up a sector overlay, highlighting known factions. “And this is only what we can see. What’s more troubling is what we can’t. There are too many gaps. The Romulans are her, I’d bet my rank on it. Cloaked. Watching. Waiting.”
Morningstar leaned forward slightly in his chair, studying the rotating schematic of the DRIFT. “Then we wait with them. We learn what we can. The auction begins in six hours. We use every minute we’ve got.”
"And when we do go in?" A'Janni asked.
The Captain exhaled slowly, his voice firm. "We go in knowing we're already too late."
The words landed heavier than silence.
Because everyone on that bridge knew, there was no way this ended clean. No way to step foot in that mire of power-hungry monsters and walk out unscathed. The DRIFT was a den of desperation, a cathedral for the worst of the worst. The moment they boarded, the away team would be surrounded by people who would buy a planet-killer with pocket change and use it for sport.
Whatever hope remained of stopping this auction was fading with every passing minute.
And the only thing darker than what they could see… was what they couldn't.
=-=
Jayson Sousa
Lieutenant JG A'Janni
Flight Control Officer
USS ANUBIS, NCC-18501
Lieutenant Jayson Stark
Chief of Operations
USS ANUBIS, NCC-18501
##########
"The Silent Storm"
Previous post: "NORTHAL DRIFT" by Jayson
##########
"A man of civility may don the guise of a savage with troubling ease, yet the savage struggles long to wear the cloak of civility. Beware, then, the masquerade, for in places where honour holds no sway, it is not the blade but the forgotten self that cuts deepest."
-- High Deceiver Girel Kathress, Lord Commander of the Obsidian Sigil, addressing the graduating class of the 12th Infiltration Cohort
Setting: USS ANUBIS, Observation Lounge
Stardate: 45003.1600
The room was quiet, the tension clinging to the air like a static charge before a storm.
Captain Erik Morningstar stood near the large panoramic window of the observation lounge, watching the sprawling silhouette of the NORTHAL DRIFT slowly rotate in the distance. The massive station, layered with a chaotic network of docking pylons, glowing transit rings, and blinking signal arrays, resembled a serpent coiled in the dark, watching.
His First Officer stood beside him, arms behind her back, silent but alert.
“It looks almost peaceful,” the Captain said at last.
Commander Shar’El didn’t look away from the drifting station. “So does a black hole.”
That drew a brief chuckle from the Native American Captain, but it didn’t last.
“Let’s go over it one more time,” he said, turning toward the central table. “I want everything locked in before anyone sets foot on that station.”
Shar’El gave a small nod and stepped forward, tapping the table’s interface. Holoprojected outlines appeared, each tagged with mission assignments and current status.
“You’ll remain here on the ANUBIS,” she began. “You, Lieutenant Commander Paquette, and Lieutenant A’Janni. If any emergency intervention is needed, or if something external threatens to derail the mission, you’ll have Ani and the VIPERs on standby.”
Morningstar nodded, his tone flat. “And Sonja’s itching to blow something up. Let’s try not to give her a reason.”
Shar’El smirked faintly, then continued. “The Infiltration Team will be the first to insert. Gemma is going in under her established alias, Lantra the Deal Maker. She’ll draw attention, but that’s the point; everyone on that station will be watching her.”
“Zub’s going as her muscle, I assume?”
“Correct,” she confirmed. “And Ya’Han will be introduced as a ‘gift’ to Ardax... a subtle way to gain access to his personal quarters and perhaps learn how much he truly knows about the device. She’s confident she can handle herself.”
The Captain grunted. “Confidence isn’t the issue. Ardax plays games, and I don’t like using our people as bait.”
Shar’El looked him in the eye. “Which is why you’re staying up here, to pull us out if it all goes to hell.”
She tapped again, shifting the display to a different quadrant of the station.
“The Auction Floor and Participant Analysis team will consist of me, Counselor Adriana Lopez, and Cristhiane Smith. Adriana will monitor emotional states and shifts, anything that indicates secret alliances or incoming aggression. Cristhiane knows how to blend in, make contact with civilians, and hopefully get people talking.”
The Captain frowned. “Is she ready for that?”
Shar’El tilted her head. “She’s determined. And we’re not throwing her into a fire. She’ll be paired with two trained officers.”
Next came the lower levels of the station, more isolated and less patrolled. This meant more prone to unexpected encounters and developments.
“Doctor T’Lara will take the Medical Bay Research lead. She’ll be joined by Amanda Lopez and Christie Smith. If the device has already harmed anyone, through radiation exposure, neural feedback, chemical contact, or anything unusual, they’ll see it first. T’Lara’s cover as a Romulan supplier of experimental treatments will grant her some freedom to move through restricted areas.”
Morningstar crossed his arms. “Christie? You’re still sure she should be involved?”
“She won’t be on her own,” Shar’El said softly. “Besides, according to her mother, the Tal’Shiar has been looking for her. If they’re on the DRIFT… she may be the key to drawing them out. I am sure that T'Lara will be able to handle them once they make their presence known.”
He didn’t like it, but he didn’t argue.
The projection shifted one final time, now centered on the internal systems network of the DRIFT.
“Lieutenant Commander Maya and Lieutenant Stark will work in tandem to access the station’s internal sensor grid. If they can bypass the security algorithms, they’ll give us eyes where we need them, including storage units, power fluctuations, and movement through non-public corridors. Specifically, the areas where the IGC’s sensors may be blinded by the dense interference fields blanketing the NORTHAL DRIFT.
Morningstar gave a slow nod. “If anyone can map a network no one wants us to see, it’s those two.”
Shar’El allowed herself a brief breath. “Agreed. Stark will provide live relays to all teams. Maya will keep a separate feed open for sensor anomalies. Between them, we should know the moment something shifts.”
The Captain moved around the table slowly, taking it all in, the map of a mission that was part infiltration, part observation, part trap.
“No second chances,” he muttered. “We get in, locate the device, find out how Ardax acquired it, and determine who’s most eager to buy it, be they Tal’Shiar opportunists, Syndicate fixers, or shadow-state buyers we've never seen before. Once we have all of that Intel along with the device, we move. Quietly, cleanly, and without looking back.”
Shar’El nodded. “We’re not going in to stop the auction. We’re going in to make sure no one walks away with a weapon that can erase an entire planet's population before it knows it’s under attack.”
“We also need a backup plan if we are unable to secure the device before the auction.” Morningstar did not like that idea, but it was a possibility that could not be ignored.
Her expression didn’t change. “Then we track the buyer, and make sure they're the last to ever see it.”
Outside the window, the NORTHAL DRIFT quietly stood amidst the chaos of ships coming and going, as if waiting for the main event to begin.
Inside, the crew of the USS ANUBIS prepared to walk into the eye of the storm... calm above, chaos below.
--==(/\)==--
Francois Charette
Captain Erik Morningstar
Commanding Officer
USS ANUBIS, NCC 18501
"I used to think it was awful that life was so unfair. Then I thought, wouldn't it be much worse if life were fair and all the terrible things that happen to us come because we actually deserve them. So now I take great comfort in the general hostility and unfairness of the universe."
- Marcus Cole, Babylon 5
---
"Eyes Open, Ears to the Ground"
(Previous Post: "The Silent Storm")
---
Setting: NORTHAL DRIFT, Disembarkation Platform 3
Stardate: 45003.1615
The arrival platform of the NORTHAL DRIFT was a chaotic tangle of flickering lights, patchwork bulkheads, and the pervasive scent of ionised coolant mixed with something distinctly biological. Nothing here was polished. Nothing here was safe. Nothing here welcomed strangers in the slightest way. It was clear that people came here because they had to, not because they wanted to.
Maya stepped out of the transport they had covertly beamed onto first, her posture upright, her gaze analytical as her compound-hued Shillian eyes scanned the immediate surroundings with unwavering scientific curiosity. The fabric of her coveralls, thick, functional, and utterly mundane, hung loose on her frame. A single patch over her chest bore the stylised ‘T’ that designated them as Technical Support. The station’s own crew seemed to take uniform regulations as suggestions at best. Jayson followed close behind, his stride lacking Maya’s detached confidence. His eyes were sharp, but his thoughts were elsewhere.
"Fresh meat, eh?" The voice belonged to a hulking Bolian who leaned lazily against the docking terminal’s wall. His blue skin had the splotchy pallor of radiation exposure, and his left eye was covered by a cobbled-together ocular patch that blinked faintly with outdated circuitry. A ragged utility vest and a scorched sleeve hinted at a recent plasma discharge, and yet he grinned like the host of a pleasure cruise.
"New techs, right? You two sign your own death warrants or just lose a bet?"
He cackled at his own joke and waved them through without so much as a security scan.
“Name is Gorruk,” he added, pushing off the wall with a slight limp. “Try not to die on shift, yeah? Kind of ruins morale for the rest of us."
"Your concern for occupational safety is duly noted," Maya replied, already distracted by a nearby control panel bleeding microvolts of energy into the surrounding bulkhead. “Fascinating. The localised magnetic flux appears to be sustained by a decaying subspace filament. Remarkably stable given the chaotic thermoelectric environment. In theory, if left unchecked, it might result in self-reinforcing inductive discharges, which could..."
Jayson gently elbowed her, a silent reminder that this was neither the time nor the place for her customary detailed expositions of the science behind whatever they were dealing with.
“Right,” she said, collecting herself. “We should proceed with our assigned systems diagnostic.”
Gorruk just grinned and shook his head, his mind running various gambling odds as to how long these two would last and in which horrific manner they would spend their last day on the station. Hopefully, for their sake, this would not take place within the next standard day's time rotation.
---
Scene: NORTHAL DRIFT, Secondary Backup Control Room
Stardate: 45003.1630
Tucked deep within the station’s service levels, far from the eyes of security and less than sanitary break rooms, the secondary control room was precisely what they needed. Ancient isolinear relay stations buzzed quietly beneath their feet, patched into the station’s internal sensor grid through a splicework of fibre-taps and adaptive buffer nodes.
"This is perfect," Jayson muttered, sliding into the console with practised ease. "No cameras. Low foot traffic. Plenty of backdoor pathways to get into the station’s feeds. Assuming this rustbucket holds together long enough to matter."
As he began interfacing with the terminal, Maya set to calibrating the sensor inputs. Her fingers danced over the dusty controls with reverence and caution.
"Multiple ambient radiation signatures detected," she began. “There is a background wash of Theta band emissions, likely caused by improperly shielded energy core exhaust, overlapping with what appears to be chroniton particle seepage. While the former could cause mild cellular degradation over prolonged exposure, the latter is considerably more intriguing. Chroniton saturation of this magnitude should not occur outside of a temporal distortion event or deliberate temporal shielding, both of which suggest either gross negligence or intent. The likelihood, therefore, is that these leaks are residual signatures of experimental containment failures. Possibly deliberate.”
Jayson shot her a look. "Any of that going to help us find the device?"
"Eventually," she replied. “The device is known to have emitted a biologically selective energy wave, thus any sensor anomalies that include selective molecular disassociation signatures, especially those isolated from electromagnetic interference, could allow us to identify its trail.”
“English, please,” the OPS Officer muttered as he began running a diagnostic cycle of the workstation he had set his eyes upon to perform his system access.
"Radiation that kills people but not equipment," Maya simplified, unperturbed.
Jayson nodded, the tension in his shoulders only slightly eased. He could see the internal video feeds unlocking one by one. With each feed came the ability to monitor critical junctions. And more importantly, to check on her.
“She is going to be fine,” Maya offered softly, not without looking away from her console. “Ya’Han’s psychological resilience is exceptional. She would not have been chosen for this mission otherwise. That, added to the fact that she is with Gemma and Zub, likely places her in a position of greatest safety amongst the members of our teams,” the Shillian added, glancing around at the various wall panels that seemed ready to fall loose at any moment. She noted a sparkling cable protruding from one such panel, confirming that as isolated as she and Jayson may have been, they were far from safe.
"Maybe so," Jayson replied, his voice tight. “She never mentions that part of her past, which means it left a scar deeper than she wants to admit, or even acknowledge. The hate in her eyes anytime that Ferengi is mentioned is unmistakable, and now she would be face-to-face with him. Worst of all, she is expected to play the perfect companion. That is a lot to ask of anyone, even her.”
"Agreed," Maya acknowledged. "However, her presence is key to keeping Ardax distracted. If we are successful in our role, then the others will have a strategic advantage. Every sensor node we access, every video feed we unlock, every system we bring online, each of those becomes a set of eyes and ears. Without us, they are blind. With us, they can find the device before it can be sold and vanish until it is used once again, and it is unlikely to be used again on a scale as limited as its demonstration. The next time, casualties could reach the millions... if not billions. This is why we cannot afford to fail."
Jayson leaned back, exhaling slowly. “Let us make sure we give them all the light they need.”
“Indeed,” Maya said, pausing briefly. “Although, given the electromagnetic interference, photonic dispersion may not be the most efficient metaphor. I would recommend ‘signal clarity’ instead.”
He gave her a look. She gave him a small smile in return before they resumed their work, trying their best not to think of the consequences of failure. Still, Jayson's mind was locked on one specific life, one specific person, the one he would do anything to keep safe.
---
Jessica Solarik
Lieutenant Commander Maya
Chief Science Officer
USS ANUBIS
"To see the world in a grain of sand,
and a heaven in a wild flower.
Hold infinity in the palm of your hand,
and eternity in an hour."
- William Blake (British, 1757-1827)
"Medical Assistance"
Previous post: "Eyes Open, Ears to the Ground"
Setting: NORTHAL DRIFT, Medical Bay
Stardate: 45003.1620
The corridor reeked of burnt metal and old plasma burns, the lingering stench of electrical discharges and half-repaired systems. As the trio stepped into the main triage area of the medical ward, they were greeted not with suspicion but with visible relief.
Zorell was tall and sallow-skinned, her twitching eye and restless hands betraying a kind of barely-contained urgency. Her hands fidgeted constantly, clutching a worn datapad even as she spoke to a nurse. She was already mid-sentence when she spotted the three new arrivals. “Oh thank the stars, finally!” she exclaimed, practically rushing across the room with the datapad still in hand. “You must be the medics from RAVARH! The last cargo ship said they were rerouted. I didn’t think...” Her voice caught. “Never mind. You’re here. That’s what matters.”
T’Lara stepped forward, her posture rigid but her expression appropriately aloof. She spoke in clipped Rihan, cold and efficient. “I am Doctor Rhean. These are my assistants.”
Christie offered a polite nod, already surveying the room with quiet intensity. Amanda, on the other hand, stiffened, her eyes snapping toward a man whose arm was mottled with cracked, irradiated flesh. Her own hand crept reflexively toward her forearm.
The Dinaali physician didn’t notice Amanda’s hesitation. “Radiation shielding is inconsistent across the station. Some sections still run off pre-collapse core tech. If they’re lucky, they pass out before the nausea hits. If they’re not...” She didn’t finish. “We do what we can.”
T’Lara’s eyes swept the room. “You are overwhelmed,” she stated, Romulan efficiency and bluntness lacing her words.
Zorell snorted, half amusement and half despair. “Understatement of the century.”
T’Lara moved toward a diagnostic console, brushing dust off its edge. “The burns are consistent with acute exposure to unshielded fusion conduits. This level of damage suggests prolonged exposure.”
“That’s right,” Christie replied without pause, her tone unshaken. “Judging by their gear, they’re maintenance crews from the outer ring. No protective equipment. Probably not even working dosimeters.”
Zorell blinked at the girl. “You’ve seen this before?”
“Yes,” was Christie’s only answer. T’Lara did not miss the way she straightened just slightly afterward, calm, confident, unshaken.
Amanda, however, had turned her head sharply, eyes flicking across the glowing med-panels. Her fingers dug into her arm, as if trying to erase pain only she could still feel. Her breathing was shallow. T’Lara noticed, as did Christie, who placed a hand gently on Amanda’s wrist. “It’s not real,” she whispered, soft enough only they would hear. “It’s just your mind remembering what your body survived.”
Amanda nodded, but her eyes remained locked on the burn ward.
T’Lara noted the exchange and made a silent note: Amanda’s survival instincts, honed by trauma, made her unpredictable but valuable. Christie, however, continued to be the anomaly. Calm. Capable. Watching everything.
Zorell, noticing none of this, sighed and gestured for them to follow. “Come on. I’ll show you where you’re staying and the med storage, such as it is. It’s... well, it’s not much.” A pause, and then she muttered under her breath, “Honestly, it’s a miracle this place is still breathing.”
As the trio moved deeper into the station, the grime thickened, the lights dimmed, and the weight of the NORTHAL DRIFT settled onto them like an old ghost.
=-=
Dawn Bohr
Lt. Commander T'Lara
Chief Medical Officer
USS ANUBIS, NCC-18501
=-=
"Shadows and Power"
Previous post: "Medical Assistance" by the efficiently logical Dawn
=-=
Setting: NORTHAL DRIFT, Auction Sector
Stardate: 45003.1625
Despite the station’s obvious age, the NORTHAL DRIFT buzzed with the energy of profit and paranoia. Dim lighting, flickering panels, and the persistent echo of mechanical strain served as constant reminders that this place wasn’t built with comfort in mind. It was a den of opportunity, and like all such places, it fed on risk. The lack of uniformed security might have offered a false sense of freedom, but to anyone with the smallest amount of intelligence, it spoke volumes. Control here was exercised in far subtler, and far more brutal, ways.
Shar’El walked with calculated purpose, her posture tall and her expression unreadable beneath the deep blue-gray hues of high-end civilian attire. She had selected something just ostentatious enough to place her above suspicion, the sort of clothing only someone with backing, financial or otherwise, could wear without fear of being robbed or worse. Beside her, Adriana mirrored the same controlled confidence, her dark outfit elegant but modest, enough to signal poise without overreaching. And behind them, Cristhiane clung to the shadows cast by their presence, her designer clothing doing little to mask the unease in her eyes.
Those around them parted without question. "Stay close," Shar'El whispered, her words both a command and warning as they approached and walked by a pair of guards.
No cover identities had been required. In places like the NORTHAL DRIFT, secrecy often came wrapped in boldness. Those who flaunted their presence were either foolish or dangerous. Shar’El knew well the importance of appearing like the latter.
She scanned the auction floor with practiced subtlety, her telepathic senses brushing the surface thoughts and memories of those they passed. Most were predictable, calculating, curious, some even fearful, but a few minds bore the scars of experience. Mercenaries. Arms dealers. Agents. People who recognized the balance of power in a place like this and had no qualms about tilting it in their favor. One glance was enough for Shar’El to identify affiliations: Nausicaan raiders with modified weapons, a pair of Miradorn smugglers known to fund black ops exchanges, and a single Orion with memories soaked in profit and blood.
All of them were here for the same thing... The device.
It remained unseen, possibly even unlisted until the last moment. But it was here. Somewhere within the rusted walls and whispered deals, the power to erase countless lives in mere seconds waited in a crate the size of a small table. Portable. Deployable. Catastrophic.
“I don’t like this place,” Cristhiane whispered from behind, her voice barely above a breath. She was supposed to be invisible, another expensive accessory in a world where wealth disguised truth. Instead, her fear glowed like a distress beacon.
“You’re not supposed to,” Shar’El replied flatly, eyes scanning a side corridor marked for personnel only. "Stay close, speak less."
Adriana cast a glance back at the girl, her expression softening for just a moment. “You’re doing fine,” she said gently. “Amanda and Christie are safe. Just focus on what’s in front of you.”
Cristhiane nodded but immediately ducked behind Adriana’s shoulder as a green-skinned man passed by, his slanted brows and rigid bearing too close to Romulan features for her comfort. The trauma of her past clung to her like a second skin, visible in every movement, every flinch. Shar’El caught the memory as it spiked through the girl’s mind, dark cells, interrogations, and the ghostly presence of Tal’Shiar agents.
Her own jaw tightened. She had hoped that bringing Cristhiane along might allow the woman to stay hidden behind the mask of privilege, but her terror made her stand out in a different, more dangerous way. If any real Tal’Shiar operatives were already here, it was only a matter of time before they noticed.
And time, Shar'El knew, was a luxury they might not have.
They passed a cracked viewport where the auction area opened into a grand concourse, already being scouted by other curious eyes. A large Nausicaan barked something guttural to a cloaked figure who disappeared down a side stairwell. Adriana marked a balcony above, then another narrow hallway that might serve as an exit, or an ambush route. The layout was intentionally confusing, a maze of pathways designed to test those with too many questions.
This mission was a powder keg with no visible fuse. Every face could be a threat. Every whispered deal could be the moment they lost the upper hand, that is if they even managed to gain any advantage in this place.
Shar’El exhaled slowly, anchoring herself. “Let’s keep moving,” she ordered softly. “We're not the only ones here hunting ghosts. The shadows have eyes”
The moment they stepped toward the central promenade, a new figure blocked their path. Dressed in layered velvet and ornamented sashes, the Head Auctioneer was unmistakable. Not because of his grandeur, but because of the quiet authority that bled from every step he took. His eyes, sharp and disinterested, landed on Shar’El.
"I do not recognize you," he said, his voice smooth but carrying that unmistakable edge of accusation wrapped in politeness.
Shar’El offered the faintest of smiles, cool and unreadable. “There would be trouble if you did.”
The Auctioneer studied her for a beat longer than comfort allowed, the corners of his mouth twitching with either amusement or warning, it was impossible to tell.
"One hopes your interest aligns with protocol... and not performance."
“I prefer results,” she replied.
He let out a short laugh, not mirthful, but approving. “Well spoken.” His eyes flicked past her to Adriana and then Cristhiane, gaze narrowing slightly but saying nothing. “Then I wish you good fortune in your bids.”
Just as he turned away, another figure appeared at the far entrance. The Auctioneer’s posture stiffened.
A being of impossible symmetry and liquid movement, the Ub-Hani representative stepped into view. Their gold skin shimmered under the flickering lights, and their entire ensemble glittered with purpose.
The Auctioneer sighed, an audible, weary sound. “And now the real headaches begin.”
He gave Shar’El one last look. “Walk carefully, friend. This place does not forgive mistakes.”
As he disappeared into the throng, already preparing for diplomatic war, the Ub-Hani cast a questionable glance in their direction, an almost loathing expression engraved on her face. She didn’t want to be here. She didn’t want to have to deal with these people, but something required her presence and Shar'El suspected that it was the same thing that had brought them and so many others here.
As the trio slipped further into the station’s heart, the weight of invisible eyes settled on their backs. The true auction had not yet begun, but already, stakes were quickly rising. As players positioned themselves for the frightful historic auction, the silence around them did not offer calm. The silence screamed, echoing the 128,000 lives already lost… and the billions who might follow.
=-=
Tiffany Reeve
Commander Shar'El
Executive Officer
USS ANUBIS
"A Reckless Plan, Part 3"
Previous post: "Shadows and Power"
Setting: NORTHAL DRIFT, Main Conduit Access
Stardate: 45003.1630
The stench of unwashed bodies, rusted alloys, and desperation clung to the air of the NORTHAL DRIFT like a second skin. Lantra Tolembra walked with the slow, deliberate confidence of someone who had nothing to fear and everything to gain. She knew the rules here, and more importantly, she knew how to bend them until they snapped.
Trailing behind her, bound in electro-forged manacles and a reinforced collar, was a pink-haired beauty, subdued, head lowered, a delicate mix of shame and fire in her amber eyes. Her crimson attire was torn just enough to sell the story, provocative, but still within Starfleet regulation. Ya’Han, the former Nylaan Princess turned Security Chief, played her part with terrifying precision.
At the rear, a shadow of menace followed. Zub loomed at the rear, silent and imposing, arms crossed over armor smeared with grime. A jagged blade hung from his hip, the blood stains showing that this was not a decoration. His eyes scanned every corner, but when they landed on the chained woman, there was a flicker of something... not part of the act.
They had barely crossed into the central corridor when a trio of filthy, eager traders slid out of the shadows like rats from a drainpipe.
“Well now,” the leader sneered, his voice as greasy as his face. “A pink-hair? You don’t see that every cycle. Name your price, Deal Maker. We’ll take her off your hands.”
The words weren’t unexpected. The timing, though… almost perfect.
=-=
Earlier, aboard the USS ANUBIS in the Mission Briefing Room
The lights in the room were low, the holomap of NORTHAL DRIFT casting a flickering green glow across Gemma’s face, sharpening the lines of her jaw like a blade. She stood rigid, arms folded behind her back, her expression unreadable, but her eyes burned with calculation.
“You both understand what we’re walking into,” she said, her voice cold enough to draw frost on the air. “It’s not a market. It’s a pit. You go down there to buy something illegal, or to disappear. Ardax doesn’t trust buyers unless they stink of desperation and bleed a little fear.” She turned to face them both fully now. “We’ll give him both.”
Ya’Han stood still, back straight, but her violet eyes narrowed with restrained fire. She didn’t flinch as Gemma approached.
“You’ll be collared. Subdued. Treated like something stripped of value and sold for parts,” Gemma said, her voice frigid. “They need to believe you were taken, beaten, broken… and bartered.”
Ya’Han’s jaw twitched, pride warring with duty. “If that’s what it takes.”
“It does.” Before Ya’Han could brace, Gemma struck, a brutal jab just below the ribcage, swift and surgical. Air fled the Nylaan’s lungs with a choked gasp as she staggered back a step, knees buckling. Zub moved, fists instinctively rising, but Gemma raised a single hand, her eyes never leaving Ya’Han.
“The bruises need to be real,” she said, low. “And I need your anger. Focus it on me, not him. Not yet. You have to see him as your savior. As the lesser of the two evils you are stuck in the middle of."
Ya’Han coughed, righted herself, and nodded. No words. Just fire behind clenched teeth.
Gemma finally turned to Zub, her expression softening by a fraction, but only a fraction.
“And you,” she said. “You’ll be the enforcer. The brute. Her scars will speak of your loyalty. Every glance they cast at her will reflect on you. Let them see cruelty in your silence.”
Zub didn’t answer at first. The tension in his shoulders was a language of its own. His hands flexed slowly, as if resisting the urge to act.
Then, through clenched teeth, voice tight with barely contained emotion:
“Just don’t forget who she is beneath the chains.”
Gemma almost smiled. Almost.
=-=
Now, NORTHAL DRIFT
“I am not for sale,” Ya’Han hissed, lifting her head just enough to glare.
It was too loud, too bold... exactly what the part required.
Lantra spun on her heel without hesitation and slapped the chained woman across the face so hard she crumpled to the filth-streaked floor.
The slap echoed, drawing glances. Zub’s fists clenched at his sides, but he didn’t move.
“You. Do. Not. Speak.” Lantra's voice cut like a vibroblade. Then, as she turned to the traders, her tone shifted to silk soaked in venom. “This is not for sale. This is a gift for Ardax himself.”
The name froze the air. The traders recoiled, all bravado gone.
“A gift,” one whispered. “To him?”
They scattered faster than they had arrived.
Lantra took one slow breath, adjusting her gloves as Ya’Han struggled to her feet, her head bowed again but her eyes burning brighter than before.
“Not bad for a first impression,” she whispered.
Then, with the scent of rot and fear still thick around them, she started forward once more, her prize displayed, her enforcer looming.
Now, all they could do was wait and see if Ardax would bite. But knowing his type, Gemma doubted it would take long. Minutes, maybe less.
=-=
Rachel Jackie Johnson
Lieutenant Gemma
Intel Operative
USS ANUBIS
[The fun is getting to wear multiple disguises and getting to explore multiple personalities and bring them to life. - Jenna Fischer]
"Emotional Reaction"
Previous post: "A Reckless Plan, Part 3" by Rachel
Setting: NORTHAL DRIFT, Secondary Backup Control Room
Stardate: 45003.1630
The subdued lighting and quiet chirps of the Secondary Backup Control Room gave the illusion of calm, a sanctuary away from the chaos and filth of the DRIFT. But Jayson’s hands trembled over the console as his eyes scanned the feed.
“There,” he breathed.
Maya didn’t look up from her work on the internal sensors. “You’ve found something?”
The image on the screen sharpened, centering on a pink-haired woman with shackles around her wrists and a reinforced collar around her neck. Her clothing was torn, her posture slumped just enough to sell the part. But her eyes, those amber eyes, still burned with fire.
“Ya’Han,” Jayson whispered. “I have visual confirmation. She’s with the infiltration team."
Beside her stood Zub, ever the grim sentinel. And then there was Gemma, or Lantra in this case, decked in worn leathers, her entire persona radiating menace and control. Jayson leaned in, torn between relief and unease.
“She’s with them. She’s safe,” he told himself. But that illusion shattered in the next instant.
Without hesitation or warning, Gemma lashed out, the back of her hand connecting hard with Ya’Han’s jaw. The strike dropped her to her knees.
Jayson was already halfway to the door.
“Jayson, no.” Maya’s voice was calm, but the grip she placed on his arm was surprisingly firm.
He yanked against it, breathing hard, eyes wild. “She hit her! Did you see that?!”
“She’s in character,” Maya said evenly. “This is all part of the mission. Gemma knows what she’s doing.”
“You think she does.” He shook his head, stepping back, his fists clenched. “Everyone thinks she’s the same, but she’s not. You all act like nothing’s changed since the nanite transfer.”
Maya blinked but didn’t respond.
“She gave them to Nathan,” Jayson continued, his voice tight with fury. “To save his life. She didn’t even know him, but she did it anyway. And ever since then… she’s off. You can’t tell me she’s not.”
“She’s still one of the most capable Intel officers in the quadrant,” Maya replied. “Even with fewer nanites, she’s still...”
“She nearly died on NOVOSYTH,” Jayson snapped. “She froze. Ya’Han had to tackle that Annarian to save her. You were there!”
“That does not change what we are doing now.” Maya motioned to the display. “That device is still out there, Jayson. If it gets sold, if it ends up in the wrong hands, what happened to the NOVOSYTH colony will look like a footnote in the history logs and from there things will only get worse. Entire planets, entire civilizations... gone in seconds, if we fail. Gemma knows this, as does Ya'Han.”
He didn’t answer. After a few moments he turned his gaze back to the security monitor. Ya’Han was standing again, her face bloodied but defiant. Gemma led her forward, the chain between her shackles tugging slightly as she moved. Zub followed silently, his eyes never far from either woman.
Jayson turned away from the screen, jaw tight, hands braced against the edge of the console.
"I know it’s a mission," he said, voice quieter now, "but I also know Ya'Han. And she doesn't break like that. Not for anyone. That wasn't just a cover hit."
Maya watched him, eyes narrowing slightly in thought but not judgment. “We all have our parts to play," she said before pausing for a brief moment. "Look at the crowd around them. Every one of them is dangerous, unpredictable. But now, they see Gemma as someone to be feared, maybe even respected. The act was not pleasant, no. But the result will help them. Fewer eyes, fewer threats. The lesser criminals will not dare challenge someone like that."
The Shillian took a moment to breathe, grounding her thoughts and hoping that this would lead to Jayson doing the same. "You have to trust that they know what needs to be done to complete the objective and get close to Ardax."
He exhaled, slow and shaky, then dropped into the chair beside her, though the tension in his shoulders didn’t ease.
"I trust her. I trust Ya'Han implicitly," he muttered. "It's Gemma I'm not sure about anymore."
=-=
Jayson Sousa
Lieutenant Jayson Stark
Chief of Operations
USS ANUBIS, NCC-18501
“Pear Shaped"
Previous post: “Emotional Reaction” by the saintly and long-suffering Jayson
Setting: NORTHAL DRIFT, Inner Core, Near VIP area
Stardate: 45003.1635
In grime-smeared armor, Zub Enel scowled at a wall-mounted ventilator. He determined it was the source of the deafening metallic shrieking that had filled the filthy corridor as he approached. As he passed it, he gave the unit a solid, bone-fisted punch. The shrieking stopped abruptly. White acrid smoke began to waft up from the smashed unit. He adjusted the hang of the blade on his hip as he looked around. He rumbled softly, “We might be nearing the VIP area.”
He was accompanied by Gemma, aka a dark-haired Tarellian female named Lantra Tolembra, aka the Deal Maker. On a chain a pace behind the Tarellian Deal Maker, in a show of subservience that would curl men’s toes, a pink-haired beauty, bruised and subdued, shuffled with head lowered. An alluring mix of shame and fire smoldered in her amber eyes. Her torn uniform, spotted with fresh blood, hung provocatively, offering teasing glimpses of firm curves. Ya’Han played this role flawlessly, this not having been the first time she found herself in a similar situation.
The shabby corridor, lined with exposed or corroded components, flickering illumination, and scorches of blaster burns, opened out to gleaming metal, steady lighting, and a pair of large, closed doors made of lustrous wood, each different, both enigmatic as to where they lead.
Ya'Han silently noted that these doors seemed completely out of place, their decor not matching the station's overall grim and decrepit atmosphere. Nevertheless, she remained quiet, subject to her owner's whims, a feeling she had come to know all too unpleasantly well once again.
In front of these handsome doors, a male Ferengi, nattily dressed and sporting a heavy brow ridge, grinned with teeth sawed to points. Next to him stood a slender Tilonian female, well dressed, her dark hair combed back to expose wishbone arches framing her forehead. Her expression was carefully neutral, her gaze ignored the hulking Voth and Deal Maker but lingered on Ya’Han.
The Ferengi strode toward the pink-haired slave in her collar and manacles. The Nylaan bit her lower lip as he reached out as though to take her arm. “Oh my! Yes! Luscious! You will do quite nicely. I am Tagis…”
His speech and forward motion were halted when Zub Enel stepped forward and thumped a clawed, three-fingered hand against his chest. The much shorter Ferengi glared up at the Voth indignantly. “Take your hand off me at once.”
Usually kept hidden because of its unsettling effect, Zub let his forked tongue slip into view through scaly lips. The snakelike appendage gave him a particularly hungry reptilian look. He closed his hand around the male’s expensive clothes and used them to lift him one-handed off the floor. The male’s sunken eyes opened wide. He hyperventilated for several panicked breaths.
The female Tilonian, gaze still locked on the pink-haired woman, had a deep, hypnotic voice. “Poor Tagis. He knows better than to touch the merchandise. He lets his enthusiasm run away with him. Please release him. He’ll behave.”
At chin level, the Ferengi glared at Zub expectantly. The Voth raised him half a meter higher off the floor. Ya’Han stood silent, head bowed but her eyes burning with rising anger. Lantra, having sized up the well-dressed male and female, suspected she knew their purpose. She broke the lengthening silence. “Release Mr. Tagis,” she commanded. When Zub didn’t, she added, “Release him now. Unharmed.”
Zub lowered the blushing and scowling Ferengi to his feet. He sucked in his forked tongue and took a step backward to tower behind Lantra and the chained, pink-haired love slave. His golden eyes shifted watchfully between the Ferengi and Tilonian.
Lantra adjusted her hold on Ya’Han’s chain, her voice silky smooth. “This one is a gift for Ardax himself. Let us pass, and there will be no further… trouble.”
The mention of Ardax’s name didn’t have the cowing effect it had on previous denizens of this cesspool of cross and double-cross. The Ferengi had composed himself enough to grin again. The female smiled, albeit briefly. She said, “You are most fortunate. I am Ne’lah. We both were sent by Addax himself to accept his gift.”
The Ferengi glared up at the looming and armored Voth. “I don’t like the way you say hello. We’ll see what Ardax has to say about that. You should pray, if you know how. He is not a kind person.”
Ne’lah said, “What Tagis is trying to say is, please follow us. We’ll escort you and your gift to him.”
Lantra, Ya’Han, and Zub exchanged surprised glances. Their pre-insertion intel had indicated Ardax was not yet on the station. Gemma, before becoming Lantra, had provided that intel herself. The chances of her getting it wrong were vanishingly small.
Ne’lah turned and pulled open one of the beautiful wooden doors. She made a sweeping gesture for them to enter. Tagis, grinning like a shark-toothed Orionian Wharl, slipped through the door first, beckoning that they follow.
Rich blue plush carpet showed beyond the door as well as a short hall flanked with carved wooden half-round tables topped with huge ornate porcelain vases.
Lantra pulled in enough chain for Ya’Han to be close enough to almost, but not quite, touch her shoulder. As they stepped one after the other through the door, Zub followed, keeping his gaze on the smiling Ne’lah holding open the door.
Ne’lah acknowledged Zub’s wary gaze with a broader smile. “Please follow Tagis. It isn’t far to go.” As the party moved into the plush hallway, she closed the door behind herself as she entered. The door made an unusually solid click, like an old-fashioned brig door locking. That was all they needed to understand what had happened and what would transpire next. The game was afoot, and whatever intended surprise would not go as their hosts might have designed or hoped.
Zub spun toward the door. Ne’lah held a compact, unfamiliar yet likely lethal energy weapon on him. Tagis stopped grinning and produced an L-shaped Ferengi disruptor from a place out of sight behind a vase. It buzzed and flickered with plasma as he pointed it. “Now,” he began, his eyes undressing Ya’Han, “for my own personal rules of acquisition.”
Lantra, Ya’Han, and Zub stood in the sumptuous hallway in a close triangle with the females side-by-side facing forward and the Voth trailing, facing the door.
Ne’lah said, “Lest Tagis is not making himself painfully clear, now is the time we relieve you of everything of value, including your life, if we must.” Smart enough to hold her weapon close to her body, she pointed it up at Zub Enel’s face. “You, hands where I can see them.”
There was a moment of silence. Zub flattened his hands one over the other on his massive chest. He looked upward dreamily as if through the hull into space outside the DRIFT. He opened his mouth and out rose a deep, resonate, and utterly appealing voice in song:
“Some en-chanted eve-ning
You may see a stran-ger.”
Both thieves goggled in outright surprise. They both were pointing their weapons up at the singing Voth. Although the deep, in-tune tenor voice was truly unexpected, the distraction did what it had been intended to, drawing the attention of the two thieves squarely onto him.
Lantra and Ya’Han moved at the same split-second. Lantra stepped forward and put that momentum into an uppercut to Tagis’ chin. She had left enough loose chain for Ya’Han to seize the barrel of the toppling Ferengi’s disruptor and force its aim upward. It discharged loudly, sending a blue beam searing into the wall a scant millimeter from Zub’s face. The heat of the blast sent shards of plaster flying toward Ne’lah. She flinched. In that scant moment, Zub’s long arms unfolded at explosive speed. One hand slammed her backward, brutally hard against the door. The other closed on her weapon arm and raised it. It discharged a red energy bolt into the ceiling. Plaster rained down on everyone, especially the two now-prone assailants.
Lantra brought up the hand she had hit Tagis with and gripped her wrist. She stared up at Zub. “I didn’t know you could sing.”
Enel bent to relieve the unconscious Tilonian female of her weapon. As he turned it over in his hand he said, “I take a lot of showers.”
Ya’Han moved forward and picked up the Ferengi’s disruptor. Her chain pulled at Lantra’s arm as the Nylaan stared at the prone male. Her grip tightened on the confiscated weapon. Her eyes burned with hatred as she remembered Gemma's earlier words before they came to the DRIFT. Her anger needed to remain focused on the ILO or risk spilling out and encompassing the DRIFT whole.
Lantra, still holding her wrist, turned to glance at the Nylaan. “Your hair. Too red. Too much body. Be a gift. Submit. Zub, add her weapon to your collection.”
Zub stepped forward. Ya’Han offered him the weapon butt first. The crimson streaks in her hair had faded back to pink. The soft curls straightened to lank strands as he watched. He felt he was witnessing one of Gemma’s transformations. His gaze fell on Gemma’s hand. He said softly, “You have a knuckle out of place.”
“Dislocated it on that grinning fop. I think they were trying to pull a fast one. Rob us before the real Ardax greeting party arrives. These rooms behind doors might be designed to be traps. The clue was Ne’lah didn’t know how to pronounce Ardax’s name. Plus, I’m 100% certain he is not yet onboard.”
"Never trust a Ferengi," Ya'Han muttered, her voice laced with hatred born of personal experience.
Zub persisted with Gemma. “You need to get your knuckle back into place. May I pull your finger?”
Lantra glared up at him. “Leave it.” She straightened her spine. Her voice took on a cold and calculating command. “We are Lantra. Gift. Muscle. Let’s find the greeting party.”
The trio resumed their roles. Zub, however, worried to himself about Gemma’s fighting condition. She had hit people thousands of times in her career as an undercover asset. Never once had she hurt her hand. Indeed, her full load of nanites coursing through her blood would have fixed her injury by now, had she not given them to Nathan to restore his mind. He forced his worry aside. This was an exceedingly dangerous place, this NORTHAL DRIFT. He needed to concentrate on protecting both the Deal Maker and the Gift.
=-=
Rachel Jackie Johnson
Lieutenant Gemma
Intel Operative
USS ANUBIS
[The fun is getting to wear multiple disguises and getting to explore multiple personalities and bring them to life. - Jenna Fischer]
=-=
Hanali Han
Lieutenant Ya'Han
Chief of Security / Tactical Officer
USS ANUBIS, NCC-18501
=-=
David Michael Inverso
Lieutenant JG Zub Enel
MCO
USS ANUBIS, NCC 18501
“You should presently be able to deal from a full deck.”
- From a recent fortune cookie
"Emotional Concerns"
Previous post: "Pear Shaped” by David, Rachel and Hanali
Setting: NORTHAL DRIFT, Auction Sector, Corridor
Stardate: 45003.1635
Adriana’s fingers drifted to her hip in an unconscious gesture, as if anchoring herself to the last familiar sensation in a place that mocked reason, safety, and order. The deeper they ventured into the NORTHAL DRIFT’s underbelly, the more the air seemed to press in, thick with power, greed, and an unspoken promise of violence.
The auction hadn’t even started. But already, she could feel it unraveling. People from all over the galaxy had rushed here to take part in something that should never have been. Something that threatened to redefine everything they knew.
The Ub-Hani's arrival had shifted the atmosphere like a polarity reversal. Adriana didn’t need Shar’El’s telepathy to sense it, every eye, every breath, every step now carried weight. The presence of one of them was rare enough. Their presence here? That was something else entirely. As a people, the Ub-Hani were known for looking down at everyone. Inferior in both technology and intellect. To even stand near another race made them feel unclean, yet here she was, submerged in a cesspool of depravity that would make even the hardest warrior flinch.
It was supposed to be about the device. That was bad enough. Something capable of erasing planetary life in seconds should have been the center of every moral and tactical discussion. And yet, the auction’s true gravity was only now beginning to reveal itself. The Ub-Hani didn’t show up for small stakes. Their race’s aloof nature, their near-legendary neutrality... their very existence on the DRIFT was like an omen carved into flesh.
Until now, Adriana had been focused, every face, every hallway, every potential threat filed and tagged in her mind. But then the chill shifted. It wasn’t just the DRIFT breathing down her neck. It was something older. Deeper. Primal. The kind of dread that came without warning and needed no logic.
Part of it, a growing part, was about her twin sister, Amanda.
A flicker. A pang. Not pain, not a premonition, but something. A sudden hitch in her step and breath, like stepping onto a staircase and finding the step wasn't where it should be.
Dr. T’Lara was with her. Christie too. They were supposed to be far from the Auction Sector, nestled within one of the safer medical wings, studying metadata from the DRIFT's medical data and sensors. But Adriana’s instincts, refined by loss, sharpened by the ghosts that haunted her for twenty years, were ringing like a klaxon in her chest.
Cristhiane murmured something, words lost to the noise, but the emotion behind them shattered Adriana’s focus like lightning through glass. Raw, maternal fear. Not nerves. Not tension. Fear for a daughter. Deep. Aching. Consuming. It wasn’t just about being here. Cristhiane had finally voiced something more, something about her daughter, the doctor, about being trapped in a place she couldn’t trust.
And it landed. It landed in Adriana like a psychic torpedo, unbidden but real.
She slowed, forcing herself to breathe.
Shar’El noticed. Of course she did. “Adriana?”
“I’m fine,” she lied, voice barely above a whisper.
But the truth boiled just beneath the surface. Memories of finding Amanda surged up, followed by the slow, slithering dread of losing her all over again. Those fears had been quieted but not completely silenced.
They had underestimated the NORTHAL DRIFT. Everyone had. Its corridors were more than just rusted metal and commerce-soaked shadows, they were alive. Shifting. Observing. Responding. She didn’t need to be a Betazoid to feel it, this place was learning from them. And if something down here wanted a way to destabilize their mission... Amanda, Christie, and T’Lara made for a terrifying pressure point.
They had been so focused on the knowns, the device, the buyers, the bluff, that they had forgotten the simplest rule of shadow wars: the moment you think you’ve accounted for all variables, you haven’t.
Adriana swallowed hard. “We need to secure this device fast,” she said more to herself than anyone. “Because I think the DRIFT is just getting started.”
The DRIFT said nothing. Its walls remained still despite the flickering lights. But through the deafening silence, Adriana heard it, an echo that wasn’t hers. A scream without sound, carrying her sister’s face. The twin instinctively, frantically searched her surroundings, expecting to see her sister appear as she used to, reassuring her that everything would be fine.
But the twin sister was nowhere to be seen. Amanda had forgone being a ghost, no longer a flicker at the edge of Adriana’s vision, but fully present, painfully real. And yet, in this moment, Counselor Lopez almost wished her sister still haunted her like before. At least inside the Yautja Training Matrix, she had been untouchable. She had been safe.
-=-=-
Marissa Montonera-Lombard
Lieutenant JG Adriana Lopez
Ship's Counselor & Junior Ambassador
USS ANUBIS
"Pieces of a Bigger Game"
Previous post: "Emotional Concerns" by Marissa
Setting: NORTHAL DRIFT, Secondary Backup Control Room
Stardate: 45003.1640
The subdued lighting and quiet chirps of the Secondary Backup Control Room offered the illusion of calm, a fragile sanctuary amid the chaos and filth that ruled the rest of NORTHAL DRIFT. But for Jayson Stark, calm was an illusion, and one he didn’t trust.
His fingers tapped anxiously at the console before him. Lines of static-laced video feeds cycled on multiple displays, interspersed with bursts of flickering clarity. He'd managed to trace Gemma, Zub, and Ya’Han to the ornate double doors, so starkly out of place in this decaying hive of corruption. But once they passed through, the camera in that sector had gone dark. Not just that one. Several nearby feeds, previously functional despite the station’s age and poor upkeep, had failed within minutes of each other.
It was too many failures, too well-timed to be coincidence.
“You're certain the cameras weren’t just affected by a localized power fluctuation?” Jayson asked quietly, not looking up. He already knew the answer. He just needed to hear it from someone else.
Maya, perched at an adjacent terminal, offered a patient tone laced with logic. “The failure pattern does not match a simple cascade outage or random power loss. These systems run on multiple backups, and yet we’re seeing overlapping downtime in very specific zones.” She tilted her head. “These outages are targeted, deliberate, and if I may say so, expertly controlled.”
“Sabotage,” Jayson whispered, confirming his own suspicions.
“Or coordinated interference,” Maya added. “It’s possible someone is using this chaos to run a concurrent operation. We’re not the only ones interested in the auction or its ultimate prize.”
The undercover Ops Officer leaned back in his chair, jaw tightening. Of course they weren’t the only ones. That would’ve been too easy. Still, the realization twisted in his gut like a blade. He’d known the mission was risky, but this was more than he'd expected. He'd already been worried sick about Ya’Han going in there, playing a role that was dangerously personal. She was strong. Fierce. He trusted her with his life. But this… facing the man who once tried to claim her as property…
He ran a tired hand down his face, trying to steady the storm inside. “I should’ve fought harder to go with them.”
“You're doing exactly what the mission needs from you,” Maya said calmly. “Without this room, without your skills, they’d be blind. The fact that you’ve even pulled this much data from these wrecked systems is impressive.” A pause. “And I’m not just saying that because I’m trying to keep you from spiraling.”
Jayson smirked faintly at that but didn’t reply. Instead, he shifted focus to a newly recovered archive feed, one taken from the corridor behind those same wooden doors. It was timestamped just over an hour ago. The quality was poor, but it showed the same two individuals Gemma and the others encountered, a Ferengi male and a Tilonian female, escorting what looked like another “gift” through the doors.
Stark froze the frame and zoomed. The timestamp cut off moments before the current camera feed died. Not natural. Not a malfunction. Someone had disabled the system after that group went in. The more he traced, the more patterns emerged. Specific corridors. Specific times. Someone was clearing the path, silencing electronic eyes, right before key encounters took place.
He pulled up another failure zone near the loading docks. More missing time. More tampered feeds.
“Someone’s moving through the DRIFT,” he murmured, “cutting holes in surveillance before anything could happen. Either they’re prepping for a hit… or already making one.”
He turned to Maya. “We’re not the only ones trying to steal the device. We suspected as much, but this proves it. There are other players in this game, and I think we’re already running behind. The simple fact that we have yet to see any signs of the Obsidian Order, Orion Syndicate, or especially the Tal'Shiar is a hint that they are here, hiding in the shadows and already hard at work trying to locate and grab that nightmarish device.”
Maya’s fingers danced across the interface. “I’ll begin modeling patterns based on the downtimes. If we can predict where they’re going next, we might be able to trace the group, or groups, responsible.”
“Good,” Jayson said, standing and pacing. “Because if Ya’Han is walking into a crossfire between competing buyers, saboteurs, and Ardax’s own thugs…” He stopped and stared at the still image on the screen, Ya’Han in chains, her hair pink, and her posture subservient. His chest tightened.
“She won’t break,” he said softly. “But she’s angry. And if Ardax so much as looks at her the wrong way…”
Maya’s gaze softened. “Then it is up to us to make sure she does not have to make that choice. We have to find out what else this station is hiding.”
Jayson nodded once, returned to his station, and resumed combing through corrupted logs and backdoor code fragments. His mind raced, trying to stay ahead of the unfolding web of lies and shadows, determined to keep Ya’Han and the others alive.
Because no matter how far apart they were, he would never stop watching her back.
=-=
Jayson Sousa
Lieutenant Jayson Stark
Chief of Operations
USS ANUBIS, NCC-18501
"Predator's Patience"
Previous post: "Pieces of a Bigger Game"
Setting: NORTHAL DRIFT, Medical Bay
Stardate: 45003.1650
They didn’t belong here.
The station was a husk, barely held together by grafted metal and the will of desperate men. Lights flickered overhead, casting erratic shadows that danced with the drifting smoke of overheated conduits. The walls hissed in quiet agony, vents leaking poisons long since forgotten by modern engineering standards. Radiation warnings blinked, ignored in corners no one dared approach.
This was not a place for healers.
And yet… three had arrived. Three who didn’t stink of rust, blood, or betrayal.
From a shadowed corner between a cracked observation screen and an inactive dermal regenerator, someone watched.
Unnoticed.
Unremarkable.
Unseen.
The tall one, her posture too precise for a station medic, her uniform carefully adapted for mobility. Every motion she made served purpose, efficiency, and control. There was no wasted energy in her stride, no flinch at the cries of the wounded, no pause when Zorell, the bubbling, scatter-minded Dinaali, rambled in circles.
T’Lara, they called her. The name was familiar. A memory from a sealed report.
Dead eyes from a mission that never happened.
Too controlled to be trusted. Too calm to be safe.
The watcher observed her movements with clinical detachment.
She sensed it, something. Her eyes would flick ever so slightly toward darker corners when she thought no one was looking. Romulan intuition whispered caution, while Vulcan logic scolded restraint. She was alert, but her belief in reason dulled the blade of instinct.
Good.
Let her question her own senses.
Let her doubt what she felt.
The younger woman, Amanda, was an open book to the trained eye. She laughed too loudly at Zorell’s jokes, nodded too quickly, her hands trembling just slightly as she assisted with a burn dressing. A deep scar ran across her psyche, and her smiles were defenses, not comforts.
She was the weak point. A fissure in the structure.
She didn’t understand the world outside her fractured perceptions. Not yet. But that made her malleable. Predictable.
Breakable.
And the girl. Christie.
She should have been easy to dismiss: young, quiet, deferential. But the observer’s attention lingered.
Her presence was… wrong.
Zorell asked for a cooling agent, she reached for it before the Dinaali Doctor finished. The physician needed clamps, and the girl had them in hand without being prompted. The timing was too perfect. It wasn’t instinct, it was training. Subtle. Intentional. Hidden, yes, but not completely.
She tried to look unsure, to fumble, to blend.
She failed.
And her resemblance to her mother… unmistakable. But the genetics, there was something buried deeper. Something that hadn't yet bloomed but screamed for attention from the folds of a datafile long scrubbed from any legitimate archive.
She was one of the reasons they were here. Whether she knew it or not.
The observer didn’t move. Didn’t blink.
A med-tray passed near. The Dinaali was too busy rambling about improper decontamination protocols to notice. T’Lara reached for a sterilizer, and in that breath between steps, an item appeared among the tools.
A small, hooked instrument. Elegant. Cruel. Obsolete to most. Still used by some.
She touched it.
Her fingers paused, half a second longer than necessary. Her eyes narrowed by a fraction, her body stilled for just a breath.
Recognition.
Not complete, but enough.
The reaction was noted. Logged. Analyzed.
She would be watching now. Good. Let her.
Behind them, Zorell launched into a flustered explanation about decompression blisters, her voice high and erratic. Christie offered a calm alternative treatment, one not found in any station protocol. Zorell beamed, nodding as if it had been her idea all along.
Amanda laughed, but her eyes darted to the corner near the malfunctioning dermal bed, then quickly away.
Had she seen something?
No. Her mind was too fractured to trust. What she saw was fear. What she felt was a memory clawing at the surface.
Still, best not to wait.
The girl was the target.
But not right now.
Too many variables. Too many eyes.
T’Lara was alert now. Focused. Protective.
But Amanda? She would be easy to isolate. Easier to manipulate. And through her, the real prize could be drawn into reach.
The decision was made. Quietly. Efficiently.
The observer stepped back, fading once more into the station’s filth and smoke.
And in the flickering light, the cracked reflection in the dormant dermal regenerator showed… nothing at all.
=-=
Dawn Bohr
Lt. Commander T'Lara
Chief Medical Officer
USS ANUBIS, NCC-18501
"Emotional Concerns, Take 2"
Previous post: "Predator's Patience” by Dawn
Setting: NORTHAL DRIFT, Auction Sector
Stardate: 45003.1655
It was pristine. Artificial. Deceptively elegant.
The floors gleamed beneath Adriana's boots, polished to a mirror shine, reflecting the arched ceiling etched with opalescent circuitry. The air was chilled but scented with neutralizers, designed to erase any hint of the station’s decay. Even the guards looked polished, their armor customized to appear ceremonial rather than practical.
But it was a lie.
Adriana’s fingers twitched as she walked a step behind Commander Shar’El, who remained statuesque and focused, her eyes occasionally glazed over, a telltale sign of memory scanning. Every passerby was a data point. A potential threat. A story waiting to be uncovered. Cristhiane, in contrast, moved silently at Adriana’s side, her eyes narrowing at each Romulan face, each shadow too sharp, each whisper too deliberate.
The Counselor was meant to observe. Instead, she flinched.
A sharp pang of discomfort twisted in her gut. A flicker of fear. Not hers, not exactly. She reached up to touch her chest, heart steady under her hand... but she felt it racing.
A spike of adrenaline.
A warning.
Her breath caught.
Something was wrong.
---
Setting: NORTHAL DRIFT, Medical Bay
Stardate: 45003.1655
Amanda's hands trembled as she applied burn gel to the Dinaali patient’s arm. The wound hissed beneath the chemical’s contact, but the patient didn't flinch. Amanda did.
She smiled too quickly when Zorell made another awkward joke about decontamination bubbles and atmospheric skin. But her eyes... they kept flicking back, again and again, to the corner near the dormant dermal bed.
T’Lara noticed.
The Vulcan said nothing, her silence a careful shield. But she registered Amanda's distress. The unnatural glances. The visible tension in her shoulders. The shallow breathing. The sudden goosebumps despite the bay’s warmth.
Amanda swallowed.
The scent of antiseptics stung her nose. That sterile sharpness made her nauseous, like she'd stepped into a memory, but not one of her own.
She rubbed her arms, suddenly cold.
Someone was watching her. She knew it.
---
Setting: NORTHAL DRIFT, Auction Sector
Stardate: 45003.1656
Adriana inhaled sharply.
Disinfectant. Astringent. Out of place in the perfumed air of the auction floor. She blinked and glanced down at her hands. Why did her fingers feel... sticky?
There was nothing there.
Beside her, Shar’El’s gaze lingered on a group of well-dressed bidders speaking in hushed tones. Adriana forced herself to focus. It was this room that should’ve felt like a threat. A den of predators in designer suits.
But the sense of dread... it wasn’t coming from here.
Her sister was in trouble.
---
Setting: NORTHAL DRIFT, Medical Bay
Stardate: 45003.1656
Amanda exhaled shakily, trying to focus on the small diagnostic pad in her hand. Her reflection in its surface looked foreign. Paler. Eyes wider.
Then a flash, not vision, not memory. A surge of worry that wasn’t hers.
Adriana?
She shook her head. Ridiculous. Her sister was fine. They’d parted ways less than an hour ago. She’d even felt her before… had known she was safe. A certainty rooted in something she couldn’t explain.
But now? Something was wrong.
Across the room, Christie froze. Her head tilted slightly, eyes unfocused. Then she reached for the sterilizer before Zorell asked. Again.
T’Lara’s gaze flicked between them both. Calculating. Measuring. She said nothing.
---
Setting: NORTHAL DRIFT, Auction Sector
Stardate: 45003.1657
A sharp pulse in Adriana’s neck. Her jaw clenched.
She wasn’t panicking, but her body was acting like she was. Her fingers tingled. Her pulse thundered in her ears. Her vision tunneled for half a heartbeat before clearing.
Someone was watching her.
Or... No... Not her.
Adriana turned slowly, searching the gallery, and saw nothing. Just glass, muted lights, the background sounds of controlled commerce. She forced a breath in through her nose.
Amanda? She didn’t see her. But she felt her. Felt the cold sweat. The fear. The echo of being preyed upon.
The connection was real. Tangible.
Like their thoughts lived on the edge of shared space, just one breath away from touch.
---
Setting: NORTHAL DRIFT, Medical Bay
Stardate: 45003.1657
Amanda looked up.
No one was near her, but she felt her sister’s heart in her own chest. A strange rhythm. Familiar. Protective. Anchoring.
**It’s not just me…** She didn’t speak the words aloud, but they grounded her. She didn’t need to flee this place... not yet.
---
Setting: NORTHAL DRIFT, Auction Sector
Stardate: 45003.1658
Adriana straightened. The sensations ebbed, like a tide drawing back into the deep.
But not gone. Her connection to Amanda wasn’t gone.
They were apart.
But not alone.
-=-=-
Marissa Montonera-Lombardi
Lieutenant JG Adriana Lopez
Ship's Counselor & Junior Ambassador
USS ANUBIS
"Predator's Silence"
Previous post: "Emotional Concerns, Take 2"
Setting: NORTHAL DRIFT, Medical Bay
Stardate: 45003.1700
They were still together... the three of them.
The tall one...precise and calculating. Romulan edge. Vulcan control. T'Lara.
The dark-haired one... nervous, uncertain, flinching from her own shadow. Amanda.
And the smallest... quiet, watchful, eyes far too sharp for her age. Christie.
The observer noted all of it. Logged every movement. Studied every sound.
Still unseen. Still unheard. It had only been a few minutes, but it had been more than enough to learn everything they needed.
The station’s decay seeped into everything, filtered light flickering across rusty beams and filthy floors. Fluorescent panels sputtered above. Dying stars. Shadows blinked and twitched through the cracked wall of the medical bay. Outside the doors, a broken world teetered on its bolts. Inside, Zorell chattered joyfully, oblivious to the fracture lines already forming beneath her feet.
The girls worked under the Dinaali’s enthusiastic instruction. Christie moved with too much confidence for her supposed inexperience. She listened, but she knew things, muscle memory that betrayed her, precision she didn’t mean to show. The way she adjusted the radiation scanner... not a guess. The way she catalogued dermal burn patterns... textbook. Hidden training. Concealed knowledge.
She was the one. She had to be.
She had noticed the surgical tool. The little black hook curved like a talon, polished to a sterile gleam. Too deliberate to be a mistake. She hadn’t said a word. She’d simply stared at it, the silence stretching just a fraction too long.
The observer was pleased.
Christie, meanwhile, was being watched in every way that mattered. Facial analysis, micro-expression parsing, breath intervals, all pointing to someone with a secret even she did not understand.
But then...
A shift.
Not in sound or movement... but in focus. In attention.
Christie adjusted the scanner, fingers too sure, too swift. Parameters Zorell hadn’t mentioned blinked across the screen. A whisper of expertise where there should have been clumsy guesswork.
The observer leaned closer. Every biometric cue pointed to training.
Suppressed. Forgotten. Hidden.
There was no longer any doubt. She was the one.
T’Lara moved. A glance at the tray.
The hook was gone.
Interesting.
Christie looked up, a flicker behind her eyes. A shiver? A memory? A breath caught on something just out of reach.
Zorell had turned for a vial. T’Lara leaned over the toxin overlay.
And Amanda…
Where... was Amanda?
No sound. No struggle.
One moment, beside the console. The next...
Nothing.
A space. Empty.
Gone. Not a trace. Not even a breath to say she’d stood there at all.
T’Lara froze.
Christie turned. Confusion followed by terror flashed on their faces.
The breath of the room hitched, as if it too had noticed the absence.
Amanda was no longer in the Medical Bay of the NORTHAL DRIFT.
Her presence erased, like a file deleted from existence.
And on the floor... where she'd stood...
The hook.
A curve of obsidian steel. Waiting.
A clue. A warning.
The observer receded into the dark. Unseen. Unchallenged.
They would come. They always did.
Let them.
The game had already begun. They just didn’t know it yet.
=-=
Dawn Bohr
Lt. Commander T'Lara
Chief Medical Officer
USS ANUBIS, NCC-18501
"Emotional Devastation"
Previous post: "Predator's Silence” by Dawn
Setting: NORTHAL DRIFT, Auction Sector
Stardate: 45003.1702
It started as a flicker. Not a sound. Not a sight. Just… an odd feeling originating from elsewhere.
A tremor in her chest. A tightening in her gut. The kind of thing she'd have dismissed as nothing, stress, nerves, the ambient tension of being back in a place like NORTHAL DRIFT.
But this was different.
Adriana straightened ever so slightly where she stood, her gaze shifting away from the auction floor, no longer registering the shimmer of jewels or the quiet wariness in Shar’El’s eyes. Something unseen was brushing against her awareness, something fragile, chaotic, and very familiar.
Her twin sister... Amanda. She was feeling her presence, her sudden onset of fear.
At first, it was just a whisper, a thread of worry from across the station. Easily explainable. They were separated. Adriana was concerned. Perfectly normal. Any counselor would say the same.
And yet… she knew better. It wasn’t just worry coming from within. It was Amanda’s worry.
The fear wasn’t her own. It was leaking into her, seeping in through that strange bond neither of them fully understood. Not the hallucinations from before. Not the ghost-like projections Amanda had once used to escape the Matrix and find her. This wasn’t a dream.
This was now. Real. Her pulse quickened. Her breath hitched.
She could feel Amanda’s confusion... her unease... her growing panic. A slow, dizzying wave of disorientation swept through Adriana, her balance faltering for the briefest second. Like vertigo. Like drowning.
Then, without warning, an image. Memory. Emotion.
A hallway aboard the USS KROGEN. Flames. Smoke. Pain in her leg. Amanda reaching for her, guiding her to safety while speaking words no illusion could have known. Out of frustration and fear, Adriana had struck out at the hallucination. But instead of nothingness, she hit something. A presence that was real.
This was the same, but not quite. The same bond, but this time sharper, more immediate, more terrifying in its clarity. She could feel her twin sister even though she was not there. Experiencing the pressure on her arm, and the gag over her lips. But then... suddenly... it was gone. All of it.
The sensation vanished with a sharp, sickening jolt, like a wire being yanked from a socket. The air around her seemed to collapse inwards. Silence filled her ears, too loud to be natural. A void. A cut.
Adriana gasped.
No, not gasped... choked. She could no longer breathe as if the air itself had been sucked out of her lungs. Adriana desperately searched to regain this strange connection, but Amanda wasn’t there. No trace, no lingering sensation, not even a shadow or echo of her remained. She was gone, completely. Like she had never been there at all.
And all at once, the years she’d spent clawing through doubt and guilt and desperation came crashing back. The dreams. The voices. The hallucinations she’d tried to rationalize. The guilt she wore like a second skin. I should have protected her. I should have been with her. Why did she let her go?
Her chest constricted. Her legs trembled. Shar’El was quickly beside her, sharp eyes wide with concern. The ExO reached out instinctively, her fingers barely brushing Adriana’s temple when the storm broke. Emotional images exploded behind the Commander's eyes, fragments from Adriana’s mind flashing like a star going nova.
---
A pleasant memory of Amanda at six, playing in a field, running towards her sister.
A terrifying memory of Amanda in chains, a vision from a nightmare that Adriana had never been able to let go of.
A recent memory of Amanda standing with Nathan, looking down at her twin sister. The first time they had truly seen each other in decades.
A joyful memory of Amanda nervously laughing on the ANUBIS as they shared a drink in the Black Hole Lounge.
A heartfelt memory of Amanda reaching for her sister's hand while in their quarters. A reassurance that she was real and not going anywhere.
---
But now, only the emptiness remained. An immeasurable void that threatened to consume Adriana whole.
The flood of memory hit Shar’El like a tidal wave.
“Adriana,” Shar’El hissed, barely audible, “what is it? What happened?”
Adriana’s eyes, wide and unseeing, were already filling with tears. She tried to speak, but no sound came out.
"She's gone," she finally managed. "I felt her go. I promised myself I would never let her out of my sight again." She swallowed hard, still struggling to breathe. “I have to go,” Adriana whispered, barely aware of her own voice.
Shar’El grabbed her arm. “No. Not yet. Running will draw attention. We’ll find her.”
Behind them, Cristhiane had already activated her sub-dermal communicator, eyes nervously scanning the room like a hawk. What about Christie?” her mind whispered, even as her body remained frozen. The mother had only known the Counselor for a short time, but she understood the sister's pain. How devastating the loss would be.
Shar’El followed suit. “Jayson. Maya. Lock onto Amanda’s comm signal. Track her on the station’s video feeds. Something’s wrong, very wrong.”
"She's gone," Adriana tearfully gasped. An admission of fear, of a nightmare she was unwillingly reliving. It wasn’t just the absence of Amanda, it was the silence where her presence had always been, like a song that ended mid-note and left nothing behind
A pause. A breath. Then Jayson’s voice came through, broken and stunned.
=/\= She’s gone? What do you mean she’s gone? I'm picking up her... wait... her comm signal just went dead. =/\=
The word echoed in Adriana’s mind. "DEAD."
Not missing. Not lost. Erased.
Her knees buckled.
She dropped to the floor without a sound, her hands digging into the plush, clean carpet, breath hitching in her throat. Heads turned. Whispers sparked. The room paused, just for a second. Eyes drifted toward her, too many eyes.
Shar’El cursed under her breath. The ExO's posture remained poised, but her eyes were anything but calm. Cristhiane moved to block the view as best she could. Her own memories created a veil of fear she could not dismiss or ignore.
Adriana didn’t notice. Didn’t care.
Her world had just emptied again, and this time, it might not put itself back together.
-=-=-
Marissa Montonera-Lombardi
Lieutenant JG Adriana Lopez
Ship's Counselor & Junior Ambassador
USS ANUBIS
"Without A Trace"
Previous post: "Emotional Devastation" by Marissa
Setting: NORTHAL DRIFT, Secondary Backup Control Room
Stardate: 45003.1704
Jayson’s fingers flew across the dimly lit console, eyes scanning corrupted video feeds and faltering sensor grids, chasing a timeline that refused to take shape. On the ANUBIS, this would have been easy, but here, everything was a challenge, layered with shifting obstacles and a system that refused to cooperate even on a good day.
“Come on,” he muttered through clenched teeth. “Give me something…”
The station’s systems were worse than he'd expected. Half the internal cameras were either offline, stuck in static loops, or so caked in grime and shadow they may as well have been turned off. The motion detection logs were inconsistent. When they worked at all, the biometric scanners struggled to differentiate between dozens of humanoids in a crowd filled with alien lifeforms.
Maya worked silently at the next terminal, her eyes narrowing as she adjusted the parameters of a sensor sweep, zeroing in on a Hispanic female frame amidst the station's sea of xenos and shadows. The normally straightforward task was proving maddeningly complex, not just due to the hardware’s limitations but something else.
“Jayson,” she said, her voice low, calm, and filled with countless trains of thought the Shillian had already explored. “I am detecting a sharp increase in electromagnetic and quantum interference throughout the area. The timing of this sudden spike is very interesting, but what I find even more intriguing is the fact that it is very localized."
"Let me guess," Jayson sighed. "All around the Medical Bay, and nowhere else."
"The timing and location are beyond coincidental," Maya nodded. "This was a carefully orchestrated strike, one that had to have been planned well in advance and perfectly timed to grant the best possible outcome.”
He slammed a hand against the console. “Of course they did. Of course they knew exactly how and when to strike.”
On screen, the closest camera to Amanda’s last known location stuttered, a brief flicker, and Jayson jumped on it, backtracking ten seconds at a time. He froze the image. A blurred silhouette. Maybe a figure. Maybe just a trick of the light. He enhanced it. Then again. Grainy, but… humanoid. Tall. Broad. Moving with purpose. No visible communication device. No discernible markings. And then, gone, just like Amanda.
Another feed caught a figure with long dark hair, or was it a hood? For a moment, it matched Amanda’s profile. Then the figure turned. A stranger’s face flashed into view, and just like that, the illusion and hope were gone.
He checked the timeline again. It didn’t add up.
“No comm signal. No environmental alarm. No trace. She didn’t go anywhere.” He looked up at Maya, his voice tightening. “She was taken. Removed.”
Maya’s lips pressed into a thin line. She didn’t argue.
Jayson leaned back and exhaled sharply, his fingers trembling against the console. “This shouldn’t be possible,” he whispered, more to himself than anyone else. “Even Ya’Han, with all of her training, could not vanish like that. Amanda… she doesn’t have that kind of knowledge or skill. She’s vulnerable. She wouldn’t know how to hide from sensors or duck security feeds.”
"The data does point to a forceful removal, but there are no indications as to how this was achieved," Maya noted.
He paused, his jaw clenched. “If she can be made to disappear like this… what’s to stop it from happening to any one of us?”
There was silence for a long moment.
Then, T’Lara’s voice cut through the comm channel, sharp and precise, but colored by something more personal than the cold words suggested.
=/\= People do not simply vanish, Lieutenant. Not without help. Someone did this, either by shielding her... or silencing her. And until we know which, assume the worst and act accordingly. =/\=
Jayson’s breath hitched. His thoughts turned to Ya’Han. What if she had been the one to vanish? Would he have felt it? Known it? Or would he have found himself here, clawing through broken feeds and static, helpless to stop whatever had taken her?
Amanda might not be his partner, but she mattered. To Adriana. To all of them. And if this place could swallow one of their own without a trace, then it could do far worse.
He looked at the flickering screen again, then at the sensor grid Maya was still adjusting.
The shadows that filled the station, that seemed to have a life of their own, weren’t just hiding Amanda. They were closing in on everyone.
=-=
Jayson Sousa
Lieutenant Jayson Stark
Chief of Operations
USS ANUBIS, NCC-18501
“Reckless Vacillation”
Previous post: “Without A Trace” by Jayson
=-=
Setting: NORTHAL DRIFT, Inner Core, Near VIP area
Stardate: 45003.1705
Zub Enel, towering and watchful, trailed closely behind Gemma/“Lantra” and Ya’Han/ Lantra’s pink-haired “Gift.” The air reeked of fried or boiled foodstuffs being loudly offered from nearby stalls in hope that rich auction bidders were hungry.
Grubby children surrounded Enel, Gemma, and Ya’Han. His expression deadly, Zub leveled the Ferengi disrupter at them. Someone whistled. The children retreated.
As the children hid between or near cobbled together food stalls, Enel ignored the glares from a few likely parents. Instead, he apprehensively glanced at the color of Ya’Han’s hair. He worried that this thwarted assault by would-be pickpockets had set off her Nylaan warrior instincts and that would cast her hair into full-bodied, blood-red curls. Such a memorable display would break her cover as a subservient gift to her one-time betrothed Ardax.
Ardax, who wanted both her and the doomsday weapon on auction.
Ya’Han’s hair hung pink and lank as she shuffled forward, manacled, downcast, and a slight tilt of her torso toward the deliberate injury that Lantra as Gemma had inflicted on her under the ribs. Zub’s sensitive nose picked up the iron-copper tang of Ya’Han’s blood. She bled from other blows from Gemma posing as the dark-haired Lantra. The idea was that unhealed wounds added veracity to the claim that Ya’Han had been enslaved.
Zub grimaced involuntarily. His stomach fluttered. He felt his three-fingered hands grow icy. It was brutal, this crazy plan to pass Ya’Han off as a distracting love-gift to Ardax until the doomsday weapon could be located and secured. Even though Ya’Han appeared to be willingly subservient, Zub worried that Lantra’s physical abuse surely tested Ya’Han’s resolve. Zub was certain Ardax would beat her too as payback for all those years of humiliation after his rightfully purchased teen-bride escaped his clutches. She’d pay for the years he eked out a living instead of being feted as a royal husband and esteemed member of Ya’Han’s father’s house.
Enel swallowed a lump in his throat. While he believed the plan to steal the weapon made sense for a battered and beaten Ya’Han to pose as bait, what of Ya’Han's own pride and palpable hatred of Ardax? Zub worried Ardax’s involvement made her as dangerous to control as trying to disarm an unexploded photon torpedo on an active battlefield. Anything might set her off. A smirk, a remark, a hand in a forbidden place. She could detonate with deadly consequences to Ardax. She could scratch her own itch but make the team lose their opportunity to acquire the doomsday weapon.
Zub took in a shaky breath at that prospect. He worked to reconvince himself that she was strong enough to complete the mission no matter how degraded she was.
His golden-eyed gaze fell on Gemma in her assumed persona -- respected by many in the New Ferengi Alliance as a shrewd trader named Lantra Tolembra the Deal Maker. Lantra lead pink-haired Ya’Han by a chain, striding ahead of her “gift” to Ardax with an arrogant toss of her dark hair.
Zub sucked in his lower lip.
He had to admit that while she was primarily a manipulator, Lantra's calculated decision-making embodied Gemma’s cold logic—an indispensable "voice of reason" for the dangerous game they played. Still, his scales ruffled at the effect on Ya’Han’s self-control from Lantra’s freewheeling slapping her around. He suspected this abuse originated from Gemma’s desire for absolute control of any situation; to prove she was in charge of herself and this ploy.
Nevertheless, he had learned from his own service with Starfleet officers that true leadership didn’t require absolute control. It required trust in a good team.
He raised a finger. Gemma needed to accept she wasn’t who she had been before she selflessly transferred the bulk of her nanites to cure that boy, Nathan. The price of that ‘gift’ was vulnerability. Her recent slowness in hand-to-hand fights, her dislocated knuckle from the kind of blow she’d delivered effectively thousands of times before. Being outright bested for the first time ever in a one-on-one fight she ordinarily would have won. This dangerously reckless plan of hers hinted a façade, a wild proof that she still had it all. But she didn’t.
He rubbed a clammy hand over his chin. Gemma was still operating from an overriding pride and desire to control. He draped his hand over his forehead like a cooling cloth. She seemed so focused on strategic correctness that he feared she risked dehumanizing her teammates—using, for instance, Ya'Han as mere "bait" to distract Ardax—without seeming to fully appreciate the emotional cost. The emotional cost was that Ya’Han might become so filled with hatred she’d break cover. A hell of a fight would ensue. Could Gemma/Lantra fight like she did before she had weakened herself? Zub shook his head. No.
He rubbed the back of his neck. What could he do to protect a ticking photon torpedo and an overconfident fighter? Could he talk Gemma into accepting her new vulnerabilities? Would it take her being knocked flat on her back again with a knife plunging at her heart? Could Zub stop someone from killing her in time? Should he intervene the next time she swung a blow at Ya’Han?
“It’s above your pay grade,” a male voice said from a ramshackle food stand.
A green-skinned Orion with military bearing held tongs over steaming meat. He beckoned Enel. “Have some. I will gladly take the women while you eat.”
Enel realized the perceptive male’s true intent was to relieve him of his ‘burden.’ Zub ignored him and stayed protectively behind Lantra and The Gift. He decided to go with his training and instincts. The situation was fluid and fragile. Both officers were consummate professionals. He was rendering himself ineffective with doubt. He needed to rejoin their team. After a few more steps, he had.
=-=
David Michael Inverso
Lieutenant JG Zub Enel
MCO
USS ANUBIS, NCC 18501
“When you jump across a canyon, cautious small steps and vacillation won't work. Sometimes you just have to go for it.”
- Rick Warren
"A Reckless Plan, Review"
Previous post: "Reckless Vacillation"
Setting: NORTHAL DRIFT, Inner Core, Near VIP Area
Stardate: 45003.1706
Gemma's boots struck the pavement in cadence with the buzzing of the neon overhead. The sting of blood still clung to her knuckles, the ache deep in her wrist a whisper of diminished regeneration. A flicker of pain echoed... familiar, but not entirely her own. Zub.
The connection through the nanites was distant but present nonetheless. A low thrum of unease. Doubt. Frustration. Her stride faltered for the briefest moment.
Anya Petrov, the cold huntress, spoke first with a sneer in her voice. "He doubts the mission. Doubts us. That makes him a liability."
"Zub worries for her," countered Finnja, gently. "For Ya’Han. That’s not a weakness. That’s a sweet and caring heart."
"Heart doesn’t fly a mission through a minefield," Dalra fired back sharply. "Precision does. He is flailing. We should not be."
Gabrielle Wolfe, the saboteur, laughed bitterly. "This whole op is a chaos cocktail. Want to bet on who cracks first? Her or him?"
Gemma swallowed as she glanced over her shoulder. Officially, she was checking on her gift to Ardax. Covertly, she was studying the 7-foot-tall Voth following them both.
"His rate of perspiration appears to have measurably increased," Wimdalli, the science-minded Uxali, pointed out, causing Gemma to return her attention ahead of the trio. "Our sympathetic nervous system is engaging unnecessarily—despite the lack of immediate danger."
"Yet," the Bounty Hunter Jinx sighed. "This is not a question of IF but of WHEN."
The black-haired woman in the lead gave a gentle tug on the lead, tightening the chain and forcing the pink-hair woman to take an extra half-step to keep up.
Lantra Tolembra, the Deal Maker, and the one currently the dominant persona in physical control of Gemma's body, let her voice drip with disdain. "Perception is the danger. Ardax must believe she is mine, body and soul. Any falter, any weakness... we lose it all."
"You miscalculated," Za’Ran, the Nylaan infiltrator, slid in next. "Ya’Han’s hate for him is beyond measure and boiling over. The moment she gets the chance, she will not hold back."
Ema Fairchild, the Oltharian warrior-priestess, exhaled a steadying breath. "There is no honor in this path. What price are we willing to pay for the weapon? For victory?"
"ANY price is worth taking that device out of service," Seksa quickly interjected. "Or have you all forgotten about the 128 thousand people already dead because of it?"
That number and the possibility of billions more being added to it made Gemma's eyes narrow, further focusing her thoughts even if only for a single heartbeat.
Neri, the sultry hybrid, laughed mirthlessly. "We are not the heroes in this story. We are shadows, ghosts, puppeteers. Heroes bleed. We make others bleed."
"Sure," Tahlia unhappily snarled, offering a rare intrusion. "And what if we lose her? What then?" The diplomat proposed. "How will Starfleet explain that cost? How will we explain it to ourselves?"
Anya spat, "Starfleet explanations don’t keep us alive. We justify our actions through outcomes. We always have. That has been our mission, our role from day one."
Cold, distant pride washed over the ILO. There were a great many bodies left in her wake as justification for what she had been required to do. Yet, this once cherished pride was joined by something else, an emotion that she had only started experiencing following her arrival to the AUNIBS.
Lireen, the Edo explorer, quietly stepped in. "What about Amanda... She vanished. That’s more than a footnote. That’s an anomaly. Are we chasing weapons while people vanish without a trace? Is that the person we have become?
Gemma's gaze rose just a fraction as she scanned for something beyond her field of vision. Friends. Family. Those ideas, those concepts, had been something impossible for her to even imagine. But now, her more recent actions indicated something different. Saving Nathan. Caring for Zub. She was not the same person; her thoughts and actions had become interwoven with those of the ANUBIS. The solo deep cover operative had been changed by the environment and people that now surrounded her.
Sylthia, all movement and motion, fidgeted at the thought. "What if it’s all connected? What if this place, this auction, this everything isn’t just about a weapon but about people like us?"
"Ooooh, a conspiracy," Arika cackled. "Now we’re talking. But hey, beat the girl, get the prize. Old rules. We can sort things out after the dust settles. By then, maybe we'll even have less to worry about."
"You are insane," Saha Rahi’s words weren’t angry, just tired. "The old rules are broken. We all felt that when the punch landed off-center. That wasn’t just fatigue. That was… loss."
"What about when we almost died?" Melika added. "Ya'Han saved us. Like it or not, we are not the same. History will show that who we were and who we are now are drastically different."
Gemma’s jaw tightened. A pulse throbbed behind her eyes.
Harmony, the muse, whispered, her tone melodic with concern: "She's right. You used to dance through missions like this." Then, she paused for a moment, her attention turning to the unseen others. "She's stumbling. Why?"
"Pretending she still has all the cards..." Lygill, snapped. "You gave them to him!"
"So what? Who cares?" Abrasivnyy growled. "Gemma is still standing. Still smarter than the rest of them. We improvise and get things done. That’s what we do. That's what we have always done."
A faint smile flashed on Lantra's lips. Adaptivity was her strength; no matter the situation, no matter the adversary or the odds, she always adapted and won.
Yshuni Talz, the listener, added with heavy empathy, "She has changed. Look at her, she’s actually listening to us instead of trying to silence us. That’s a start."
"She’s allowing feelings to cloud her judgment," Anya growled. "And that’s dangerous." The pause that followed was felt by all, including Gemma herself. "She would not have given a second thought about Zub, Ya'Han, or even Amanda. They are cogs in a system for us to use. Means to an end."
Lantra returned, her voice like velvet steel. "The mission requires clarity. Control. Which I have. Ya’Han is a weapon. You can feel bad after we’ve won."
Shinral, the Reman bodyguard, spoke low and deliberate. "You cannot win if the blade turns on you. You must be certain it cuts only forward."
Dayna Smith, rebellious and raw, shouted, "It’s all crap! We’re not in control anymore! Zub sees it! Ya’Han feels it! And you're all just pretending! Nothing is as it was. NOTHING!"
"This isn't about pretenses, "Gwenvel said in a soothing tone. "This is survival. But perhaps we need to reassess what we’re surviving for."
Kael, the shadow, whispered from nowhere and everywhere. "Watch the threads. One is fraying. One leads to Amanda. One back to yourself. You ignore them. You will unravel."
Gemma’s hands clenched at her sides once more. The chain that bound her to Ya’Han shivered, a link, a leash, a lifeline. A sharp intake of breath. A shiver. Not cold. Not fear. Recognition.
The world seemed to tilt. For a breathless moment, silence.
Then... GAMMA.
Not a voice. A presence. A flicker. A fault in the system.
GAMMA, the truth beneath every lie, echoed like thunder sealed behind glass. "You are not whole. You have never been whole. This plan is not yours. It was programmed. Just as you were. The control you seek is a script. You are improvising on someone else’s stage."
The air vanished from Gemma’s lungs. Her next step faltered. Her knees nearly buckled. The breath she finally drew tasted wrong, like ozone and regret
One moment.
Just one moment to re-evaluate everything.
The slap of her boots resumed. She walked on. But inside, the war raged louder than ever.
=-=
Rachel Jackie Johnson
Lieutenant Gemma
Intel Operative
USS ANUBIS
[The fun is getting to wear multiple disguises and getting to explore multiple personalities and bring them to life. - Jenna Fischer]
##########
"Missing Operative"
Previous post: "A Reckless Plan, Review" by Rachel
##########
"Listen closely: the void whispers warnings first."
— Starfleet Intelligence Directive 1089
Setting: USS ANUBIS, Bridge
Stardate: 45003.1710
The Native American stood near the center seat, hands clasped behind his back, his expression unreadable, his narrowed gaze locked on the image of the dilapidated station which filled the main viewscreen. Even the most advanced Federation sensors were no match for the NORTHAL DRIFT's environmental and technological chaos.
"Ani," he said calmly, addressing the ship’s physical avatar standing at the Ops station. "Status?"
The purple-haired android turned, her expression neutral. "Ablative cloak remains stable. External sensors are operating well above standard resolution, but the internal scans of the station remain inconclusive."
Morningstar nodded. "Maintain position. Maintain stealth. Open a secure channel to Commander Shar'El and the away teams."
"Acknowledged."
A soft chime echoed through the bridge as the communication link engaged.
--==/\==--
Setting: NORTHAL DRIFT, Auction Area
Stardate: 45003.1711
The air was heavy with sweat, smoke, and ill intent. Commander Shar'El tapped her discreet communicator as Adriana Lopez and Cristhiane Smith hovered nearby, both looking deeply unsettled.
"Captain, this is Shar'El. We have a situation. Amanda Lopez is indeed missing," the ExO stated, knowing that the CO had been monitoring the chatter up to this point.
Morningstar’s voice came back, composed but concerned. =/\= Confirm. Missing, not misplaced? =/\=
Adriana, her voice cracking, interjected before Shar'El could answer. "She's gone! I... I can't feel her anymore!" Her fingers trembled as she clutched her hands together, the connection between her and her twin sister now disturbingly absent.
Shar'El spoke firmly, taking over. "The MACO teams have reported in. No sign of her. I am scanning the memories of those in the vicinity, but so far, no clear indication as to what happened. By the looks of things, no one here is aware or involved with what happened."
Cristhiane Smith placed a gentle hand on Adriana’s arm, offering silent support, though her own heart raced. The realization struck her hard; if fate had shifted by a single heartbeat, it could have been Christie instead. She forced her fears down, focusing on the moment. Adriana needed support... her twin had gone missing... again.
=/\= Understood, =/\= Morningstar replied. =/\= I can deploy additional support if necessary. =/=
Shar'El shook her head slightly as if Erik could somehow see her. "Negative, Captain. More boots on the ground could alert the seller to our presence. We must maintain cover, at least until we can figure out exactly what happened and where Amanda is."
Morningstar paused, considering. =/\= Very well. Proceed. Keep me informed. Morningstar out. =/\=
The line closed with a soft click. Around them, the auction continued as if nothing had happened.
--==/\==--
Setting: NORTHAL DRIFT, Secondary Backup Control Room
Stardate: 45003.1713
Tucked away in a cramped, semi-functional control room, Lieutenant Commander Maya worked furiously at a console, rerouting power and slicing through firewalls.
"Come on, you piece of junk," Jayson Stark muttered at the adjacent panel, hitting it just hard enough to rattle the casing.
Maya offered a small, knowing smile. "The systems on this station are already being held together with hope, loose tape, and a great deal of wishful thinking. I would strongly recommend caution when using any sort of physical force."
Jayson grunted. "Sorry... just frustrated that nothing here is helping us find Amanda. If I didn't know better, I would swear that the station itself is making things impossible for us."
"I may have a workaround," Maya said, her fingers dancing across the console. "I can temporarily piggyback onto the environmental control grid. It is less corrupted and might allow us to get some sort of bioreadings from areas otherwise inaccessible by the video surveillance system."
"That's.... brilliant. We can use the unshielded conduits as a sort of antenna, emitting and receiving a faint pulse that would specifically respond to Terran physiology," Jayson said immediately. "I'll back you up, but we are going to need some extra help."
Maya smiled ever so gently for only a moment before initiating the risky maneuver.
--==/\==--
Setting: NORTHAL DRIFT, Medical Bay
Stardate: 45003.1715
Doctor T'Lara remained composed as she examined a dataslate, occasionally glancing at the oblivious patients passing through the facility. Christie Smith, outwardly calm, monitored the readings from a corner, doing her best not to appear suspicious. Doctor Zorell, ever cheerful, moved about as if all was normal, chattering lightly to distract any casual observers.
The subdermal communicator in T'Lara’s ear chirped quietly.
"T'Lara here."
=/\= Doctor, =/\= The voice of the Shillian scientist came through, steady and even. =/\= We are planning on using the environmental control conduits to generate a pulse that would locate any Terran aboard the station. Can you provide us with biological parameters that would allow for this to work? We suspect that there are relatively few Terrans, and even fewer with Hispanic ancestry, which we hope will narrow the parameters enough to make this somewhat risky endeavour work. =/\=
T'Lara acknowledged with a simple, "Understood," before starting to work at the nearest medical station. She exchanged a subtle nod with Christie, letting the daughter understand that they were to stay sharp.
--==/\==--
Setting: NORTHAL DRIFT, Corridor, en route to the Medical Bay
Stardate: 45003.1716
Moving with purpose masked by feigned submission, the infiltration team made their way through the grimy corridors. Gemma, in the persona of Lantra, led the way with Zub Enel close behind. Ya'Han, her hair now a soft pink, played her role to perfection, chains rattling as she walked with the appearance of a subdued, broken prize.
When the team came to a stop, allowing Gemma to scan their surroundings, the towering Voth leaned in closer to the black-haired deal maker. "Risky?"
"A pulse sent through the station's environmental control conduits could risk shattering already weak sections, causing a breach in life support," Gemma quietly explained. "Although this might not alert a certain someone to our specific presence, it could cancel the auction and cause a chain of events that would see us in an impossibility to secure the device."
Zub paused, nodded in understanding, before his nostrils began flaring. "Blood," he said quietly. "Terran."
Gemma’s eyes narrowed. "Where?"
Zub pointed to a faint trail, drops of crimson barely visible against the grimy floor.
Cautiously, they followed the trail. Just outside a side corridor near the Medical Bay, Ya'Han instinctively knelt and retrieved a tiny, blood-smeared object before being called back to heel by her mistress' side through a sharp yank of her chains.
The Nylaan remained silent, defiance reflecting in her eyes as she continued to play her part, but hidden from the view of others around them, Ya'Han opened her hand to reveal a small, Federation communication device.
Gemma tapped her communicator. "We've located our lost sheep's subdermal implant. It appears to have been surgically removed."
=/\= Acknowledged, =//= came Morningstar's reply, the audible sigh and faint tension finally reaching his otherwise calm voice. =/\= Let us hope that the pulse will work. It's now our only chance to find her. =/\=
Gemma pocketed the implant. The team exchanged grim looks, then moved silently deeper into the station.
--==/\==--
Setting: NORTHAL DRIFT, Unknown location
Stardate: 45003.1718
Amanda Lopez groaned softly, her wrists chafed against the rough bindings. A blindfold kept the world in suffocating darkness, but she could feel the chill of the room and the oppressive presence of another being nearby.
Silent. Watching.
The unseen figure stood at a distance, arms folded, face unreadable. The pieces on the board had unknowingly moved exactly as intended, and the game was already well on its way to a grand and inevitable conclusion.
--==(/\)==--
Francois Charette
Captain Erik Morningstar
Commanding Officer
USS ANUBIS, NCC 18501
"I used to think it was awful that life was so unfair. Then I thought, wouldn't it be much worse if life were fair and all the terrible things that happen to us come because we actually deserve them. So now I take great comfort in the general hostility and unfairness of the universe."
- Marcus Cole, Babylon 5
=-=
"Missing Memories"
Previous post: "Missing Operative" by the overworked Francois
=-=
Setting: NORTHAL DRIFT, Auction Sector
Stardate: 45003.1720
Something was wrong, but in the silence between heartbeats, only Shar'El noticed the emptiness where living memories should have shimmered.
It had been second nature for as long as she could recall, the background presence of others' pasts, faint echoes forever painting the air around her. Especially strong were the memories of those recently burdened by trauma or elation. Cristhiane, the woman who had once fled through shadowed alleys and rain-slicked streets with a terrified daughter clutched to her side, should have been surrounded by a haze of images: the desperate flight from Tal'Shiar agents, the crack of disruptor fire, the cold nights spent hidden in derelict shelters. A lifetime of fear and survival, once laid bare.
Adriana too, standing nearby, should have radiated a brighter, sorrow-filled echo, the incandescent moment of embracing her sister Amanda after the nightmare of the Yautja facility. The joy, the disbelief, the aching relief... emotions powerful enough to carve memories deep into the soul, easy for a Ullian mind to perceive even without intent.
But there was nothing.
No images.
No fragments.
No reflections.
Just... nothing.
The silence was deafening, a hollow absence where memory should have murmured life into the room.
The Commander stood motionless, her black eyes giving away none of the cold calculation now racing through her mind. This wasn’t just an oddity. This was something deeper, something dangerous. Her Ullian gift, her greatest tactical advantage, her hidden weapon in countless confrontations, was gone.
Someone or something had silenced it. Closed the windows into the past of others, her vision reduced to nothing more than what her eyes could see.
Shar'El tightened her hands behind her back, her posture as relaxed as ever, not allowing even the smallest tremor of alarm to betray her. Adriana spoke softly to Cristhiane, oblivious to the storm gathering behind the Commander’s calm facade.
The possibilities uncoiled themselves with chilling speed: Had someone erected a psychic shield? Were they within some field or device designed to nullify telepathic senses?
Or... the thought stabbed deeper than she wanted to admit... was this the first sign of an internal failure, a biological betrayal she dared not entertain?
Had this place exposed her to some biological or chemical compound that had done this to her? And if so, was this troubling effect reversible?
Shar'El's mind began to spin, thoughts tripping over one another until she finally forced herself to gain control.
No.
Not now.
Not when the crew was depending on her. Not when they needed every advantage intact.
There would be no outward sign of the breach. No questioning glance, no faltering order. Commander Shar'El, former Intel Operative and now Executive Officer of the USS ANUBIS, would continue forward... focused, composed, lethal.
But behind that iron control, she knew the truth.
She was operating blind for the first time in her life at a time when her telepathic skills were possibly their greatest advantage. Shar'El paused and carefully scanned her surroundings, her gaze lingering on Adriana and Cristhiane for less than a fraction of a second.
She was blind. At the moment when she could least afford to be. If the enemy had done this, they were far more dangerous than she had ever dared imagine.
=-=
Tiffany Reeve
Commander Shar'El
Executive Officer
USS ANUBIS
"Imperfect Decision"
Previous post: "Missing Memories” by Tiffany
Setting: NORTHAL DRIFT, Auction Sector
Stardate: 45003.1725
Adriana sat slumped against a cold metal support beam, her shoulders heaving with uncontrollable sobs. Her head was buried in her hands, curled brown hair falling like a curtain to hide the anguish carved into her face.
Beside her, Cristhiane knelt, one hand resting gently on Adriana's back, offering what little comfort she could. As a mother on the run from the Tal’Shiar she understood the woman's pain. This wasn't the grief of a counselor or an officer. It was not even the fear of losing someone dear. This was the devastation of a sister who had lost her twin all over again.
Standing a few paces away, Shar'El kept a watchful eye on the crowded Auction Sector. Her tricorder was active, her mind even more so, but a creeping unease gnawed at her. She couldn’t see anymore... the flood of memories, the glimpses of hidden truths, all of it... all gone. Like a crucial sense had been ripped from her.
She felt naked without it... And furious.
Shar'El’s eyes swept the gathering crowds with clinical precision, noting suspicious glances, potential threats, and the staggering number of unknowns they were facing. Whoever had taken Amanda knew how to hide. That much was obvious.
A shudder wracked Adriana’s body. A soft, broken whisper escaped her lips: "I promised... I promised I'd never let her out of my sight."
Cristhiane squeezed her shoulder gently. "We'll find her," she said, even though she wasn't sure anymore. "We will."
For a few heartbeats, Adriana remained frozen, trembling, gasping, her mind a shattered thing. In the chaos of her mind, waves of memories rushed in.
Amanda's smile, full of hope and trust, as they shared breakfast in the Black Hole Lounge. A fleeting ghost. A promise she had made and now broken. A second formative memory came into focus, a cherished face. This one from a time that seemed like a lifetime ago. A Bolian woman... Xana Bonviva. The Ambassador's words were all she could hear. "Mission parameters only apply when everything is perfect... and perfection is not something of this world."
Then suddenly, violently, she surged to her feet.
"Adriana..." Cristhiane tried to catch her, but she was already moving, staggering at first, then running.
Shar'El moved instinctively to intercept, but Cristhiane caught her arm, shaking her head. "Let her go. If it were Christie, I'd tear this place apart too." Shar'El’s body tensed, still ready to pursue, but she held herself back with sheer force of will. Sometimes, orders weren’t enough. Sometimes, you had to trust love to find its way
Adriana shoved through the crowd with blind desperation. Vendors shouted. Security patrols barked warnings. She didn't hear them. She didn't want to hear them. Someone’s elbow slammed into her ribs. She barely noticed. Another shouted curse stung her ears... meaningless noise. Only Amanda mattered.
The universe blurred into a smear of flashing lights and confused voices, but none of it mattered.
Only Amanda mattered.
"The Yautja couldn't keep us apart," Adriana whispered fiercely to herself, her voice shaking with rage. "We traveled across dimensions. It took us two decades, but we found each other. Now someone on this station dares to separate us again?"
Her fists clenched until her nails bit into her palms. "Not this time."
If she had to tear the NORTHAL DRIFT apart piece by piece, she would. No matter what it cost her. No matter what it would mean for the mission. Captain Morningstar would likely be disappointed. Commander Shar'El would likely be upset. Gemma and Ya'Han would likely be furious. But Adriana didn't care. The whole of the universe could burn... all that mattered was Amanda.
-=-=-
Marissa Montonera-Lombardi
Lieutenant JG Adriana Lopez
Ship's Counselor & Junior Ambassador
USS ANUBIS
"Not a Foe, Not a Friend"
Previous post: "Imperfect Decision"
Setting: NORTHAL DRIFT, Near the Medical Bay
Stardate: 45003.1730
The news struck like a disruptor bolt to the spine... sudden, searing, inescapable.
=/\= Counselor Lopez is no longer with the analysis team, =/\= came Shar’El’s voice through the discreet subdermal comm. =/\= She’s gone rogue, more than likely searching for her sister. All teams proceed with caution. This just got more complicated. =/\=
Gemma, or rather Lantra, showed no reaction. The woman didn't even blink. A true negotiator never flinched, not even when the universe decided to raise the stakes without notice.
"Well, isn't this just a lovely walk to nowhere," Lantra drawled, her tone feather-light despite the weight behind it. She kept her pace unhurried, high heels clicking softly against the deck plating as the trio neared the Medical Bay.
Zub moved like a shadow, an imposing 7-foot tall ghost, silent and alert, his gaze scanning every corner. Ya’Han, the chained and shackled gift, stood submissively between them, her pink hair drawing the occasional glance from bypassers who were too cowed or too curious to look away.
That’s when she arrived.
It began with the subtle shift of atmosphere, a hush, like the air itself took notice. A woman turned the corner and the corridor parted for her, not by command or threat, but by gravity. Not the kind you measure in newtons, but the kind that bent the air with heartache and drew whispers like prayers, heavy with longing, sharp with desire.
She was tall, not statuesque, but sinuous, like heat given form. Every motion she made suggested secrets not meant for daylight, and every glance offered a promise no one should trust. Her dark, near-iridescent skin shimmered beneath the low corridor lighting. Long hair, a cascade of copper-red curls, that defied gravity framed features sculpted by mystery and mischief. She wore no obvious weapon, needed no escort.
She didn’t look dangerous. She looked inevitable.
Even the corridor lights seemed to soften for her... each step a sonnet, each breath a curse. She wasn’t a woman you remembered; she was a woman you never forgot… and never quite forgave yourself for loving. There was something mystical about her, something beyond measure. Poets from a thousand worlds would try to capture her essence... and fail, every time.
"Lantra Tolembra," the woman purred, voice like velvet soaked in spice. "I should have known you'd be circling this feeding frenzy."
Lantra stopped, her head tilting just slightly. Her lips didn’t move, but something behind her eyes tightened. A predator meeting her reflection. She didn't smile. Not yet. "And here I thought you'd vanished into your last scandal," the undercover ILO replied smoothly, folding her arms beneath the dramatic fall of her jacket. "Didn’t expect to see you here on the Drift."
"Oh, darling, this place reeks of desperation. It’s practically a siren call." The woman’s eyes drifted to Zub and Ya’Han. "And look at this, a silent sentinel, when did you start needing a bodyguard?" The woman's gaze flowed like liquid silver over the tower of reptilian muscles before stopping on the shackled woman. "And what about this delightful creature, a pink-haired Nylaan? You’ve outdone yourself. Is she part of the merchandise, or the temptation?"
Zub tensed. Ya’Han arched an eyebrow but said nothing.
"Neither," Lantra answered. "But I see your appetite hasn’t dulled."
The woman gave a mock pout. "Nor has yours, apparently. Still chasing power plays and impossible odds?"
"And you're still pretending to flirt instead of warn."
The smile the woman gave was wicked and warm. "You always did understand me. Though I wonder… how is Seksa these days?" she asked, her voice dipped low and smoky, "Still pouting over what we almost were? We learned so much from one another... and that was just the start."
Something stirred beneath the mask... a flicker of heat, of ache, of something that hadn’t been allowed to matter. Not then. Not now. But it still burned. Gemma's gaze softened, if only for a fraction of a split second lost into the eternity of time. "You didn’t come all this way just to stir up old lovers and older debts."
"No." The woman stepped closer, her breath now mingling with Lantra’s. "I came because I owe you. You saved my life once. And my career. And… other things. I figured I should give you something before someone here tries to erase you."
Lantra’s gaze narrowed.
"Talk."
The woman’s playful tone evaporated, but her charisma never waned.
"There are three bidders who aren’t what they seem. The tall Talarian with the spine of a leech? Working with the Viera woman in black. They're planning to bid separately, but they're coordinating, and as thieves, they have a backdoor plan to snatch the device mid-transport."
She gestured vaguely toward the upper level. "Also, that Yridian with the cough? Not a trader. He's with the Obsidian Order, and very interested in you, Lantra. He thinks you're here for revenge."
"And what do you think I’m here for?" Lantra asked coolly.
The woman leaned close again, eyes glinting. "I think you're always where the end begins. I just hope this one doesn't end you."
She began to turn, then paused with a smirk. "Keep your secrets, my sweet Deal Maker. But remember... I’ve never needed to touch you to leave a scar." As she turned back to walk away, she added, "Do be careful who you deal with. In this place, the shadows have eyes... and they have been watching you."
With that, she walked away, no goodbye, no name, only a lingering trail of her intoxicating presence in the air.
For a moment, the trio stood in silence.
Then, softly, Zub said, “That… was intense.”
Lantra didn’t answer. She adjusted her coat, her expression forced into a cold, unrevealing facade that Gemma herself would have been jealous of, had it not technically been hers.
Deep within the Intelligence Liaison Officer, beyond Lantra, beneath Gemma, something flickered: a forgotten night, a forbidden name, and the lingering warmth of something almost real. They hadn’t said goodbye. They never had. But that scent in the air... danger, desire, debt... reminded her: when they were together, it always ended in fire
“Isiryne.”
The name slipped out, whispered, unbidden, part memory, part warning, part something else.
=-=
Rachel Jackie Johnson
Lieutenant Gemma
Intel Operative
USS ANUBIS
[The fun is getting to wear multiple disguises and getting to explore multiple personalities and bring them to life. - Jenna Fischer]
"Calibration and Analysis"
Previous post: "Not a Foe, Not a Friend"
Setting: NORTHAL DRIFT, Medical Bay
Stardate: 45003.1730
The flickering, inconsistent lighting of the station's Medical Bay cast long shadows across the makeshift triage ward. Acrid fumes clung to the air, masking the scent of scorched metal with the sharper, more insidious trace of organo-synthetic burns. T’Lara moved with unerring precision, her fingers dancing over the secondary diagnostic console, an out-of-the-way unit she’d intentionally chosen for its isolation. It allowed her to focus on the data, not the chaos surrounding them.
The specifications from Maya’s earlier communication were clear, though, typical of the scientist, unnecessarily verbose.
“We are planning on using the environmental control conduits to generate a pulse that would locate any Terran aboard the station. Can you provide us with biological parameters that would allow for this to work? We suspect that there are relatively few Terrans, and even fewer with Hispanic ancestry, which we hope will narrow the parameters enough to make this somewhat risky endeavor work.”
T’Lara exhaled through her nose... controlled, unspoken... but her mind already shifted into gear. “A pulse of that magnitude transmitted across compromised conduit arrays will create harmonic interference,” she murmured, trusting Maya to catch the sub-vocal transmission via the subdermal comm. “You will need tight frequency isolation at both the source and the receiver.”
Her eyes flicked to the twin neural profiles... Amanda and Adriana. The data had been part of their pre-mission intake. She began adjusting for known variables: latency in signal propagation, the station’s decaying infrastructure, and subtle variance in Terran genetic markers.
“This data will suffice for modeling,” T’Lara added, her voice low. “But maintain energy thresholds below 1.2 terajoules. Anything higher risks catalyzing dormant isotopes in the station’s hull. I will transmit Amanda’s biometric profile now, Adriana’s will follow.”
=/\= Understood, =/\= came Maya’s succinct reply, unusually brief, an indicator of both urgency and tension.
As T’Lara prepared the transmission, her gaze narrowed. A spike in Amanda’s recent neural data drew her attention... a deviation. Faint at first, but distinct. Synaptic echoes inconsistent with conventional trauma. A neuro-frequency divergence, like static re-tuned into rhythm. She zoomed in, overlaying Amanda’s post-recovery scans atop her pre-mission baselines.
The patterns were clear now. Amanda’s mind had reorganized itself. Not just to mask trauma, but to operate differently altogether.
She spoke again, this time with more weight. “Amanda’s scans reveal degradation markers in the synaptic layering. Neurochemical shifts consistent with extended psychological stress, but more than that. There are structured anomalies. Possibly long-term adaptations. Likely from her time inside the Yautja training matrix.” She paused before adding, “I will log these findings for later review. They are... not inconsequential.”
=/\= As long as we get to find them. =/\= Maya’s voice crackled through the link.
T’Lara muted the channel, letting her fingers hover above the controls. A single brow arched.
There it was again, something too familiar to ignore. Amanda's mind had refactored itself for survival. T’Lara had seen similar signs in operatives broken and reconditioned during black-ops extractions. Minds taught to forget how they once functioned, then trained to adapt to a new operational paradigm.
“The difference in their neural frequency is quite understandable,” came a quiet voice nearby.
T’Lara turned slightly. Christie had approached the auxiliary display, her tone deceptively casual. “For twenty years their experiences diverged completely. One survived in a synthetic world designed to punish and harden. The other fought in reality, searching for answers in a world that refused to give them.”
T’Lara studied her in silence. Christie wasn’t guessing.
“You speak as if you know precisely what such cognitive fragmentation feels like,” the Doctor said. The tone wasn’t skeptical, merely factual.
Christie didn’t immediately answer. She didn’t need to. The silence that stretched between them said more than any admission could.
Eventually, she spoke. “It’s not hypothetical to me. The mind will reshape itself when it has to. Not always in ways that are comfortable. Disassociation. Emotional partitioning. Hyper-focus. Whatever makes it easier to get through the next hour… and then the next.” Her gaze remained on the screen, unblinking. “Amanda’s changes aren’t accidents. They’re intentional. Survival rewrites everything.”
T’Lara slowly turned back to the console, but her focus had already shifted from data to understanding. Amanda's profile had raised questions. Christie’s insight had raised more.
“Such reconditioning typically requires extended stimuli,” T’Lara said after a moment. “More than the training matrix alone could provide.”
Christie met her gaze, steady and tired. “I told you before. That wasn’t the first time we faced danger. For some of us… surviving started long before the Yautja ever touched us.”
T’Lara let the moment breathe. The layers were there, just beneath the surface. A girl far too young to speak so clinically about trauma. A survivor not of one system, but of many.
And suddenly, it made sense.
T’Lara had seen this before. In herself. She, too, had learned to fracture her identity, to hide logic behind purpose and suppress emotion beneath duty. Missions that required her to become someone else… for weeks, months at a time. The mind adjusted. It had to.
“Survival leaves scars that standard diagnostics rarely detect,” T’Lara said finally, voice low. “Even in those trained to hide them.”
Christie gave a faint smile. Not coy. Not deflecting. Simply tired. “You think I’m hiding something?”
“I think,” T’Lara said as she resumed her task, “you’ve grown used to not being asked.”
=-=
Dawn Bohr
Lt. Commander T'Lara
Chief Medical Officer
USS ANUBIS, NCC-18501
"Distraction"
Previous post: "Calibration and Analysis" by Dawn
=-=
Setting: NORTHAL DRIFT, Near the Medical Bay
Stardate: 45003.1735
"Isiryne," the MACO CO whispered. Even though she was gone, her image seemed to hover in Zub Enel’s gaze.
The deep voice of the sad-faced Lurian, Sergeant Mi'Teh, came over Zub Enel's subdermal comm. =/\= Skipper, should we detain the counselor if she comes to the outer ring? =/\=
Enel blinked away the afterimage of the sultry mystery woman. "Negative. Maintain your readiness. Wherever she arrives, have one person of the two-person team in that section assist her in a search. The other follows their original orders. Afterward, hand her off to the next section."
=/\= Aye, Skip. Mi'Teh out.=/\=
Zub Enel felt a small patch of down prickle at the spot where his neck met the base of his skull. He knew the feeling. Something wasn't right. He looked around quickly for any encroaching danger.
Gemma, posing as the dark-haired Lantra the Deal Maker, stood loosely holding the chain to her 'slave' the pink-haired Ya'Han. Zub could feel turmoil under Gemma's skin, thanks to the small load of her nanites in his blood. Isiryne, this highly charismatic female, had just rattled the ILO. Not enough to show plainly, but he could feel the shock of Isiryne's presence echoing within her.
His little neck patch pricked and raised his scales there. Intensifying signal of danger. He knew this meant his unconscious mind had picked up the warning even though his big old lizard brain hadn't figured it out yet. He looked around carefully. Other than a seedy, stinking derelict station with denizens to match, all seemed as it should be.
He tried to recall what this vision of femaleness had said. Something she mentioned might have set him off. There's been talk about Seksa, Gemma's sultriest persona, and a question about whether Seksa was jealous of what almost happened between Gemma and Isiryne.
Zub rubbed at his chin. Gemma could do whatever she pleased to and with whoever she pleased. No surprise. There is no danger there, per se.
The striking woman had mentioned that there were three bidders who weren't what they seemed: a tall Talarian with a Viera woman in black coordinating bids. And a Yridian with the cough who might be stalking Lantra.
Again, he checked around to see if any of those three were near. No.
Isiryne's parting words had been, "Do be careful who you deal with. In this place, the shadows have eyes and are watching you."
Zub slowly shook his head. There were shadows everywhere on this corpse of a space station.
He put a hand over the prickling little patch of feathers and scales. They wouldn't settle.
He wondered if this was a reaction to Amanda's abrupt disappearance and her twin sister's completely understandable, sudden, and panicked search for her. From what he could gather from the subdermal comms, the chief science officer, Maya, and the chief medical officer, T'Lara, were close to turning the station into a giant sensor for Amanda. That would be a neat trick if they could pull it off. The station was so cobbled together and old that it might just smoke and then blow up.
If Amanda was located, he considered whether he should send MACOs to wherever she was being held.
Was she even on the station? The ANUBIS, as hidden as it was, was the most capable resource to track her anywhere near this floating gyre of loosely connected junk. Zub decided he could safely leave that search to the ship.
Why had she been taken? While one might expect kidnapping to be a constant danger in a slum like the DRIFT, usually, that sort of thing was about ransom. No one had contacted Adriana about getting her missing sister back. How would they know Adriana was the sister? The resemblance between the two Hispanic women was so striking that only the dullest of souls would miss the connection—still, no ransom demand.
He thought harder about what her abrupt disappearance meant. If not ransom, what? In a place that was more depraved than most, there were darker reasons to snatch an attractive female, especially one cut from finer cloth than the usual female here. His hand over his patch grew damp and cold. More of his down protruded at the deeply unsettling thought of what else could happen to Amanda. Finding her truly was of the essence.
His gaze drifted down to the pink-haired Nylaan, Ya’Han. She was, willingly for now, submissive, chained, barely covered by a torn uniform that made her dishonored and sensual–bait, meant to distract the Ferengi trader Ardax. At the same time, the doomsday weapon could be located and seized before the auction.
Ya’Han utterly hated this Ferengi. Zub had seen her fight a thousand times, kicking, somersaulting, spinning, and dancing in heart-stopping beauty and lethality. If she lost her professional reserve around this male who had purchased her as a teen bride, she might kill him with one furious blow. In a blink, the jig would be up. The weapon capable of wiping life off an entire planet would slip the Federation’s grasp. This reckless plan that hinged on distraction would utterly fail.
The realization went through Zub like lightning. Was Amanda’s disappearance a deliberate distraction? The Federation was renowned for its altruism. Wouldn’t kidnapping one of their members force the Federation to recover such a member? Was snatching her a test to confirm whether the Federation was present at NORTHAL DRIFT? Would a cloaked Federation starship reveal its presence with overly powerful and obvious scans? Would Gemma and Ya’Han redirect their effort from finding Ardax to finding Amanda? Would MACOs appear out of nowhere and rush to the rescue? Instead of Ya’Han’s, was someone pulling the ANUBIS’s chain?
He said, “Amanda could be bait.”
=-=
David Michael Inverso
Lieutenant JG Zub Enel
MCO
USS ANUBIS, NCC 18501
“The clever cat eats cheese and breathes down rat holes with baited breath.
— W. C. Fields
---
"We Have A Pulse"
(Previous Post: "Distraction")
---
Setting: NORTHAL DRIFT, Secondary Backup Control Room
Stardate: 45003.1745
Despite the flickering lights and unstable power relays of the makeshift secondary control station, Lieutenant Commander Maya remained hyper-focused on the monitor before her. Streams of data cascaded across the screen as she parsed multiple environmental subsystems simultaneously... life support diagnostics, power routing analytics, and atmospheric recycling signatures, all integrated into a repurposed subroutine originally designed for thermal recalibration.
"I am ready to initiate the pulse," the Shillian announced, the message relayed to Commander Shar'El via the subdermal communication device implanted just behind her right ear. "The data from Doctor T'Lara has been received and used to modulate the frequency of the pulse. I have also linked some of the emergency power systems to the environmental conduits to ensure that the energy threshold remains as constant as possible."
=/\= I think Sonja would be proud, =/\= Shar'El acknowledged. =/\= Proceed when ready. =/\=
Maya glanced at Jayson to confirm he was ready to monitor the result of their efforts. Given the uncertainty of the process, they would likely have only one chance to locate the Lopez sisters... a window of opportunity measured in seconds, if that long.
"The pulse has been initiated," she stated aloud, more to reinforce the action verbally than to communicate with the visibly anxious Operations Officer beside her. "Carrier wave modulated. Environmental resonance within expected limits. Bio-echo transponders transmitting... now."
She waited. The signal should have bounced off any Terran physiology, particularly that of Amanda or Adriana Lopez, whose epigenetic expressions fell within a narrow Hispanic genomic variant she had painstakingly isolated from their last known medical scans. But no echo returned. Not even a partial trace.
"Nothing," Jayson muttered. "How is that possible? We should have gotten something back, even if it was some weird or chaotic static... but instead we got... nothing?"
"Incorrect," Maya replied, tilting her head slightly as her fingers moved to isolate the interference pattern. "There is... something. A disruption in the feedback field. Localized nullification. The pulse did not fail... it was blocked."
She initiated a full-spectrum analysis, compensating for the limited processing power by cascading subroutines through several auxiliary circuits. Her green eyes narrowed with inquisitive curiosity. "A highly complex quantum field is sweeping the station. Adaptive phase resonance. Deep-penetrating. The scan is not random. It is calibrated to match a very specific biological amplitude, Terran."
Jayson’s expression darkened. "You’re saying we’re being scanned?"
Maya nodded slowly. "Yes, but not by the station’s systems. This pattern... while I cannot be conclusive without a full quantum harmonics suite, which we do not possess in this control room, the frequency envelope bears an uncomfortable similarity to Lokustaar sensory probes. Specifically, those used in neural field mapping and psionic boundary testing."
"You think they are looking for Amanda?"
"Or Adriana," Maya replied. "Or perhaps anyone linked to either. But why now?"
She rerouted what little bandwidth remained to broadcast a compressed message across the covert network connecting the undercover teams. The system groaned under the strain, but her signal burst went through.
=/\= Maya to all embedded operatives. The localized physiological pulse intended to locate Amanda and Adriana Lopez has been blocked... scrambled by an external quantum scan targeting Terran biological signatures. Partial resonance match detected to Lokustaar sensory protocols. Proceed with heightened caution. I will continue the analysis. Maya out. =/\=
"So, does that mean the Lokustaar are here? Searching for that weapon!" Jayson quietly gasped, a distinct tone of concern in his words. The Shillian shared those concerns in grave silence. It was fair to say that everyone felt the same, the possibility of the Lokustaar being on the NORTHAL DRIFT severely complicated things.
Maya closed the channel and leaned forward, analysing the faint harmonic decay left behind by the scanning wave. It was already dissipating, but its structure had been precise, almost intimate in its calibration. Not a generic sensor sweep, but something directed.
The question was not merely what they were searching for. It was who already knew where to look.
---
Jessica Solarik
Lieutenant Commander Maya
Chief Science Officer
USS ANUBIS
"To see the world in a grain of sand,
and a heaven in a wild flower.
Hold infinity in the palm of your hand,
and eternity in an hour."
- William Blake (British, 1757-1827)
"Echoes in the Labyrinth"
Previous post: "We Have a Pulse” by Jessica
Setting: NORTHAL DRIFT, Auction Sector
Stardate: 45003.1745
Adriana Lopez, Counselor of the USS ANUBIS, hurtled down the narrow, welded-steel corridor, each breath ragged with panic. Flickering luminescent panels overhead cast a sickly greenish glow on oil-slick walls, reflecting warped shadows with every frantic step. Her boots clanged against grated walkways and occasionally stuck to grimy tiles. The air reeked of coolant, rust, and despair; it pressed in on her with every heartbeat. She had to find her twin sister Amanda, the thought throbbed through her as urgently as the pounding at her temples.
The lower levels of NORTHAL DRIFT were a nightmare of machinery. Ventilation shafts spewed steam. Snake-like pipes curled across the ceiling, dripping condensation. It was stifling and oppressive. Staring eyes of gauges and twisted cables seemed to watch as she passed by them. Every corridor around her could have led to her sister, yet each one felt like a trap. When Adriana paused at intersections, she could almost hear faint echoes of Amanda’s pleas, until the sounds dissolved into the hiss of machinery. Her heart lurched at each phantom whisper, urging the Counselor deeper into the bowels of the station.
She turned a corner and nearly collided with a hunched maintenance worker, or what she thought was one. In the harsh fluorescence, the figure’s face was a contorted nightmare: a maintenance droid painted with grime, its tool arm raised as if to strike. Adriana gasped and stumbled back. The bayonet-like arm settled; it was just a dented service droid, minding its own repairs. But the fear it evoked was real. Her skin prickled, and sweat coated her palms.
“Almost… Almost there. So close,” she heard a half-formed whisper behind her, breathy and pleading. She spun, but there was no one there, just a turned maintenance hatch sealing the next passage. Shivering, Adriana forced herself forward. She wasn’t alone, she realized. A presence trailed her; one that felt like both a guide and a predator. Crates littered her path, choking some routes, while a low-hanging mechanical arm swayed lazily, forcing her to duck and weave. It felt less like chance and more like choreography; someone, or something, was herding her. Each barrier would cut off a route, a way back, nudging her even deeper into the shadow-filled abyss.
Her mind swam with images of Amanda: the twin’s warm smile, the gentle squeeze of reassurance, and then the screaming silence when their unexpected emotional link was severed. Adriana blinked away tears. “Sis.” She choked on the word. Her emotions were all raw chaos now: desperation, guilt, fear. ‘Where are you? I’ll fix this,’ she repeated mentally, voice pleading even as her lungs burned.
The corridors began to twist unnaturally. Junctions she was sure she passed before reappeared ahead of her; side passages forked into dead ends of tangled ducts and utility boxes. The station’s layout had become a disorienting labyrinth. It was as though NORTHAL DRIFT itself was alive and rearranging around her lost resolve. Had she been here moments ago? Or was this some cruel echo of reality? Adriana shook her head, questioning her senses.
A distant clank echoed, like footsteps, or was it a dropped tool? Adriana pressed her back flat against cold metal. Figures at the end of the hall turned, their features blurred and midnight-black under the flicker of an emergency lamp. Were they watching her? A security patrol or something more sinister? She couldn’t be sure. She swallowed hard. The rhythmic hum of the station’s engine grew louder in her ears, or was it her own heartbeat?
Fear surrounded her from all sides, squeezing in, constricting her soul like an invisible python, pushing the air from her lungs without any hope of release. Her knees buckled beneath her. The tiles swam.
“Miss?” someone hissed softly. She blinked up: a tall man stood just a few paces away. His uniform was immaculate, a deep blue that gleamed under the light. He wore a warm smile that didn’t quite reach his eyes. He looked absurdly calm here, in a stained maintenance corridor haunted by her worst fears.
“Are you alright?” he asked, voice low and soothing. He stepped forward, hands raised in a placating gesture. He had smooth, dark hair and an easy charm like a practiced diplomat. In his presence, the steam hissed less and her frantic pulse began to steady, inexplicably. The dismal grime of the corridor receded a little from her focus.
He offered a hand, gentle. "You look like you’ve seen a ghost."
In all honesty, Adriana was not sure that she had not indeed been looking at some sort of apparition or hallucination. The unexpected appearance of the man, the way he seemed so at ease amidst the shadows.
The Counselor opened her mouth to respond, but the sound died. His voice was calm, confident, a sharp contrast to the chaos of the lower decks of the NORTHAL DRIFT. When he spoke again, it was just a quiet murmur meant only for her. “Come now. Let me help you,” he offered, and held her gaze with serene blue eyes.
She tore her gaze from his, suddenly acutely aware of the darkness just beyond the dim light, the emptiness where Amanda had just been the moment before the crushing silence replaced that tender connection. Of course she would trust him. This well-dressed stranger, alone here like a mirage. “No, I… I have to keep looking,” she insisted, pulling her shoulder back into crisp posture. Her voice trembled in the echoing hall.
"Looking for someone… alone? They must mean a great deal to you, to brave these shadows," the man said, irresistible charm oozing from his every word. "What do you want?"
Adriana blinked. "What?" The question struck her like a blow. Everything in her was longing and pain. She thought of Amanda’s green eyes, so full of trust and worry, right now, wherever she was, possibly trapped and scared. Adriana’s voice was ragged and immediate: “I want to find my sister.”
He offered a breathless smile, disarmingly warm, as though comfort were his native language. “Of course you do,” he said, voice smooth as velvet. His arm slipped around her waist in a reassuring hold. The motion felt oddly natural, as if she had known him all along and this was the solace she needed. Adriana found her feet guided in step with his. Her dread found footing.
The flickering light behind them cast their long shadows ahead, merging into one. As they moved forward together, deeper into the belly of NORTHAL DRIFT, Adriana felt a chill despite the warmth of the man’s hand at her back.
"By the way," he added with a ghost of a smile, "my name is Markus."
The moment he said it, a soft hiss of steam echoed through the corridor, and in it, Adriana could have sworn she heard her sister’s name. Was it a warning? A trick of the mind? She chose to believe it was an omen, a sign that this man might truly help her find Amanda.
-=-=-
Marissa Montonera-Lombardi
Lieutenant JG Adriana Lopez
Ship's Counselor & Junior Ambassador
USS ANUBIS
-=-=-
"Chains of the Past"
Previous post: "Echoes in the Labyrinth” by Marissa
-=-=-
Setting: NORTHAL DRIFT, Near the Medical Bay
Stardate: 45003.1750
Each rattle of the leash scraped across her soul like claws on glass.
The collar was snug around her throat, soft enough not to chafe, but it wasn't the material that offended her. It was the meaning. The chains binding her wrists allowed movement, but not freedom. They were a symbol. An insult.
Then there was her pink hair.
Not red for warrior. Not green for performer. Not even black for commoner. Pink, a color that meant nothing. That had been the point. Her rebellion against everything her culture insisted her hair should define. But now, Gemma, no, Lantra, had seen value in it. Said it made her look like a broken thing, discarded, picked up again by someone with more coin than conscience.
It would lure Ardax.
Ya’Han. Her name alone could have been enough to draw that repulsive troll out of hiding, but nothing could be left to chance. So the strong-willed girl could not be shown as the warrior she had become. She could not be introduced as someone who had become more than what she was meant to be. The runaway daughter of the High Sovereign had to appear as nothing more than a shattered shadow of who she once hoped to become.
The leash tugged, and Ya’Han stumbled forward with just the right amount of hesitation. Her eyes didn’t meet Gemma’s. That would break the illusion. She was the property, not the partner. Not the threat.
Not yet.
Behind her, Zub’s footfalls kept time with her heartbeat, steady, controlled, lethal. He knew. Of course he knew. He had seen the storm in her eyes before the act began. If the Troll so much as touched her, Zub would intervene. Not to save her, she didn’t need saving, but to save the mission. Because she wouldn’t stop at one strike.
Not this time.
The collar tightened slightly, Gemma’s subtle reminder: Focus. Rage is your mask, not your weapon. Not yet.
But the fury burned hot beneath her skin, making her forget, even if only for a single heartbeat that both Adriana and Amanda were missing. Her expression was vacant. Her posture, submissive.
But her mind was a raging inferno threatening to consume all of reality.
-=-=-
That night returned without permission, flooding her memory like an old wound she had never allowed to heal.
She had been twelve.
The music had been her world. Her body, grace incarnate. Her every step, a tribute to training, to heritage, to control.
She had been proud, until the applause became currency.
Until the gasps of awe turned into shouted offers.
And then the voice she trusted above all others, her father’s, cut through the noise like a blade.
“SOLD.”
She hadn’t known who had purchased her. Not then. That truth came later.
But she remembered the feeling of being suddenly hollowed out.
Reduced to nothing but an amount.
Packaged like a thing.
That was the moment her life fractured.
-=-=-
And now she was here, back in chains. Not the ceremonial silks of her youth, but cold metal restraints that told stories without words.
Ardax would see her soon, for the first time since her “purchase.” For the first time since he grinned at her like she was an unopened bottle of bloodwine.
She loathed the thought of hearing his voice.
Of smelling his scent.
Of seeing his lobes twitch in vile anticipation.
They needed to find the device. The one that erased 128,000 lives like they were a data glitch. That was the mission. That was why the leash was necessary. Why she had to play the pet. Amanda and Adriana also needed to be found. They couldn’t be allowed to become collateral damage. The twins needed to be found and rescued.
But Ya’Han had another, far more personal, objective.
One no one could stop her from achieving.
His life would end here, among the refuse the NORTHAL DRIFT seemed to hold so dear.
She would repay him for every ounce of suffering she endured during her escape, every betrayal, every indignity, every scar. The abuse she suffered at the hands of those she had once dared to hope might save her, that debt belonged to him.
Her only regret was knowing she wouldn’t be able to hold herself back. That his death would come too swiftly for her liking.
She wanted him to suffer.
To feel even a glimpse of the pain she had.
But his end would have to be enough. It would have to satisfy the darkness Mordana and Jayson had somehow recognized in her soul... long before she ever did.
-=-=-
Hanali Han
Lieutenant Ya'Han
Chief of Security / Tactical Officer
USS ANUBIS, NCC-18501
"Echoes of the Mind"
Previous post: "Chains of the Past” by Hanali
Setting: NORTHAL DRIFT, Lower Maintenance Level, unknown location
Stardate: 45003.1755
The bitter chill of the floor beneath her. The pull of bindings at her wrists, tight, biting into skin already rubbed raw. The darkness surrounding her, too thick to be natural, broken only by the occasional hiss of steam and the soft, rhythmic click-click-click echoing through the unseen corridors. This couldn’t be real. It had to be the Matrix.
Amanda’s breath came in short, panicked gasps. She tried to move, but the pipe behind her held firm, and her muscles, weak, aching, still not her own, screamed in protest. The sensory overload made it impossible to tell where the simulation ended and reality began. Was this another test? Another scenario meant to push her until she broke?
No. Despite all of the similarities, this was different. This was worse.
Because for a fleeting, perfect moment, she had felt her sister. Adriana. Real. Present. A connection so pure it silenced the screams in her mind. And now... now it was gone.
Tears welled in Amanda’s eyes, not just from pain or fear, but from loss. Something deep inside her, something she hadn't known was missing all those years, had just been ripped away.
“I knew it,” she whispered to herself, voice trembling. “I knew it was too good to be true.”
The shadows stirred again. Shapes moved in the gloom, never fully forming, tall, impossibly thin silhouettes slipping just beyond the edge of perception. She heard the faint skittering of clawed feet, the clicking of mandibles, the low groan of metal under unseen pressure. None came close. None acknowledged her presence. Yet she could feel their eyes on her, watching, studying. Just like before, only worse.
Only this time, she wasn’t the ghost haunting a fake world, she was the prey.
She wanted to scream, to lash out, to make them see her, not as a test subject, not as a phantom, but as a person. But all that came was a choked sob, swallowed by the oppressive stillness. Even her own voice betrayed her, too small against the weight of the dark.
She tried to close her eyes, to shut it out as she had in the Matrix, but the darkness followed, relentless even behind her lids. This time, she couldn’t phase through the walls or call upon fragmented memories to twist the world around her. This time, the pain was real. The helplessness was real. Worst of all, Adriana was gone. She couldn't see her. She could not sense her.
Her breath hitched again. That link, the one she had come to rely on without even realizing, was simply gone. A connection forged through shared trauma and desperation, something that had been her anchor during the most terrifying part of her awakening… now silent.
She had lived twenty years in a simulation designed to mimic terror. And yet nothing in that time had made her feel as broken, as alone, as she did right now.
“Don’t do this,” Amanda whispered, not sure who she was pleading with. The shadows? Herself? Whatever cruel force had placed her here? “I can’t… not again. Please.”
Another hiss of steam erupted behind her. Amanda flinched, instinctively curling tighter into herself despite the restraints. Her wrists ached with the movement, the cold metal biting into already inflamed skin. The clicking grew louder, closer, still just out of reach. They were playing with her. Like they used to.
No, not they. The Matrix did. But wasn’t that what this was?
She didn’t know anymore.
Her thoughts raced, clashing against each other like waves in a storm. She had survived so long in the Matrix by letting go of what was real, by adapting, by believing in whatever truth kept her alive for another day. But now that she was truly free, now that she had felt her sister, touched reality, this place, wherever it was, felt worse than any simulated death.
“I should have stayed,” she whimpered. “At least I knew how to fight there.”
A flicker of motion. Closer now.
One of the shadows broke formation, coming nearer, not fast, not aggressive, but deliberate. Amanda’s breath caught in her throat. She pressed back as far as her bound form would allow, the cold pipe at her spine offering no refuge. Her heart thundered in her chest, not from pain or terror, but from a primal, suffocating dread. The absolute need of survival that had been bred and infused into her very core.
Was this what they wanted? To watch her crumble? Break her again? Or was this something worse?
Her eyes scanned the gloom, trying desperately to focus on the figure moving toward her, but it remained indistinct, like oil smeared across glass. The same clicking sounds, no louder, but now resonating in her bones. Amanda squeezed her eyes shut and braced for whatever came next.
And then… nothing.
When she opened her eyes again, the shadow was gone.
Gone, but the weight of its presence still lingered, coiled in the air, tightening around her ribs like a vice. Amanda sagged forward, head drooping toward her chest. Her entire body trembled.
No voice. No commands. No pain. Just a void of shadows and nothingness made real. The silence that followed was worse than any torment she had known.
-=-=-
Marissa Montonera-Lombardi
Lieutenant JG Adriana Lopez
Ship's Counselor & Junior Ambassador
USS ANUBIS
##########
"Agent of Chaos"
Previous post: "Echoes of the Mind" by Marissa
##########
"To move a mountain, shift the ground beneath it. To move people, shift their truths."
-- Markus, to Mordana
Setting: NORTHAL DRIFT, Sector E4, Maintenance Corridor
Stardate 45003.1800
"Why are you doing this?" Adriana asked, her voice unsteady as she quickened her steps to keep up with the man leading her deeper into the bowels of the asteroid station. Every drip of condensation and creak of the bulkheads only heightened the tension in the air.
Markus didn’t stop walking, nor did he slow down. “Doing what?” he replied smoothly, his voice a practised calm... amused, even. “Helping you find your sister? It's simple, really. Over the last several years, I’ve come to appreciate that in this universe, few things are more important than family.”
That word... family... struck a chord with Adriana. Enough to silence her doubts, if only for a moment.
“Thank you,” she whispered, her eyes reflecting a fragile hope that had survived too many fractures. The rational part of her mind still screamed that something wasn’t right, but hope, as it always had, proved to be the louder voice.
Markus smiled, just faintly, as he guided her around a rusted bulkhead and into a lower corridor that reeked of coolant and burned plasma.
All according to plan.
--==/\==--
(FLASHBACK)
Setting: NORTHAL DRIFT, Inner Core, Near VIP area
Stardate: 45003.1635
A dozen meters above the flow of traffic in the shadows of exposed conduits, Markus observed the arrival with cold interest. Below, Lantra strutted into the VIP checkpoint, as confident and lavishly dressed as always, and at her side: pink hair. The colour was unmistakable.
“Hello again, Ya’Han,” Markus whispered to himself, though no one could hear.
The towering Voth was an unexpected but not unwelcome sight. Zub, the ANUBIS’ Marine Commanding Officer, had always been fiercely loyal to Ya’Han... a trait Markus could admire, even if it made things more complicated. His presence confirmed that Ya’Han was not acting alone, and that meant the others couldn’t be far behind. Loyalty was a strength… but also a lever, if applied from the right angle.
In the end, the Nylaan’s presence confirmed it: the ANUBIS crew had infiltrated the DRIFT, likely in pieces. Just as he had hoped.
All according to plan.
--==/\==--
(FLASHBACK)
Setting: NORTHAL DRIFT, Inside the Medical Bay
Stardate: 45003.1705
The lights flickered, an intentional power surge that Markus had orchestrated with precision. In the dimmed chaos, the station’s attending medic turned her back just long enough.
A figure emerged from the shadows. Not Markus... he didn’t handle the labour directly. That was for the others. His associates.
Amanda was already groggy, her vitals spiked from the experimental neuro-blocker Markus had slipped into her bloodstream hours earlier through a compromised drink vendor. She didn’t scream as the injector hissed against her neck... only mumbled something incoherent about “white walls.”
Moments later, she was gone, replaced by a vague memory and an emptiness that was not immediately sensed by those around the sister. No alarms. No trace.
Markus stepped out only after the shadows had cleared, long enough to make sure the illusion was complete.
"Two sisters for the price of one," he murmured. "And soon, a family reunion no one will ever forget."
All according to plan.
--==/\==--
(FLASHBACK)
Setting: NORTHAL DRIFT, Auction Area, Private Bidder Chamber
Stardate: 45003.1720
The low buzz of overloaded power conduits echoed through the narrow chamber. Markus stood silently near a dormant access panel, his hand brushing the residual warmth left by the device that had just completed its task.
Moments earlier, one of his more “technically gifted” associates had patched a signal into the station’s ambient neural harmonics. A minor adjustment... barely noticeable to the average humanoid... but enough to send a brief but devastating psychic echo across the DRIFT.
Its purpose had been precise.
Ullian minds, especially trained telepaths like Commander Shar’El, were sensitive to certain types of energy feedback... echoes buried in neural static, back doors in the mind’s perception. And now? That sensitivity had become her weakness.
He hadn’t needed to be there to see the result, but he wanted to bear witness. That momentary clutch at her head. That faltering step. The facial expression she so desperately tried to hide as the memories became silent.
Markus turned toward the darkness behind him, speaking to no one.
“Knowing what people think is power… but knowing when they can’t think at all?” He smiled. “That’s control.”
The feedback loop generator would burn out on its own. Harmless, according to the schematics. At least physically.
Emotionally, mentally? It would shake her... shake her in a way that nothing else could.
He let out a quiet breath. The DRIFT was teetering, and every nudge brought it closer to collapse.
Adriana’s break was coming. All it needed now… was the right push.
All according to plan.
--==/\==--
(PRESENT)
Setting: NORTHAL DRIFT, Sector E4, Maintenance Corridor
Stardate 45003.1801
“You said you were once in Intelligence,” Adriana offered, trying to fill the silence that had grown too heavy. “Which agency?”
Markus gave a soft chuckle. “Many flags. Many names. None of them matter anymore. The game’s the same, no matter who believes they’re in charge.”
They turned another corner. Ahead, a nondescript hatch hissed open. Beyond it, answers awaited... or so Adriana believed.
Markus held the door for her... ever the gentleman.
“After you, Ms. Lopez.”
As she stepped through, Markus glanced to the ceiling... to the hidden sensors, the passive drones tracking every movement, and the silent watchers waiting for his signal.
Every piece was in place. Every thread pulling tighter.
He straightened his collar, that ever-perfect suit pristine despite the grimy environment.
This universe... these people had taken his daughter from him. Now, they would pay the price... one pawn at a time.
--==(/\)==--
Francois Charette {fcharette1969@gmail.com}
Captain Erik Morningstar
Commanding Officer
USS ANUBIS, NCC 18501
"I used to think it was awful that life was so unfair. Then I thought, wouldn't it be much worse if life were fair and all the terrible things that happen to us come because we actually deserve them. So now I take great comfort in the general hostility and unfairness of the universe."
- Marcus Cole, Babylon 5
"Shadows and Echoes"
Previous post: "Agent of Chaos" by Francois
Setting: NORTHAL DRIFT, Secondary Backup Control Room
Stardate: 45003.1800
The DRIFT groaned softly with age and wear, its bones creaking as data rerouted through dimly lit corridors of mostly-forgotten systems. Holographic lights flickered overhead like fading stars. The only sound beyond the low hum of power was the rhythmic tapping of Maya's fingers on a standby console.
It wasn't much. Not where they were. Just a backup of a backup of a subnetwork, patched together from long-abandoned auxiliary code that hadn't seen legitimate traffic in decades. And yet, this was where the pulse had failed. Where the shadows crept deeper.
Maya narrowed her eyes, blinking through the string of corrupted code fragments that filtered across the screen. "The energy signature was redirected," she said, more to herself than to Jayson. "Not blocked… guided. Almost like…"
"A trap," Jayson said, his voice low as he leaned in over her shoulder.
Maya's lips pursed. "A net, maybe. Something pre-designed to stop us from locating Amanda and Adriana. This was deliberate, but what puzzles me even more is that I am now tracking an anomaly... small, just a loop in the localized subnetwork. It originated near where Shar'El and Cristhiane are. Whatever it is, it was not there the last time we scanned that area."
Jayson stood straighter. "Then I'll go check it out."
Maya looked up, frowning. "Are you sure? It could be a lure."
He gave her a weary smile, the kind that never quite reached the eyes anymore. "No one will question a low-end tech looking at some conduits, but they might take notice of one of the high-end bidders looking too closely at one of the station's crumbling systems. Don't worry, I'll be careful."
She didn't like it. But she nodded. And just like that, Jayson slipped into the corridor, his silhouette swallowed by the hum of flickering light.
=-=
Setting: NORTHAL DRIFT, Corridor
Stardate: 45003.1801
His steps were hasty and purposeful. The best way to hide was to be visible, not to make it seem like he was doing something wrong. For a moment, Jayson debated making a detour, to see Ya'Han and offer her a quiet smile of reassurance. In the end, though, he chose a different course. Something was off, and instincts told him to follow the anomaly.
=-=
Setting: NORTHAL DRIFT, Secondary Backup Control Room
Stardate: 45003.1802
Maya didn't look up when the footsteps approached.
She didn't have to.
"You're back quickly," she said, eyes still on the screen. "Did something happen?"
Jayson leaned against the console's edge, watching the dull glow of corrupted data scroll by. "Nothing happened," he replied, almost too softly. "Just... thinking."
She glanced at him. Something about his presence was… muted. Different. His uniform was the same, but the way he stood, the slight tilt of his head... it wasn't how Jayson usually carried himself. Still, the fatigue in his eyes was familiar.
He studied her for a moment longer, then asked, "Do you ever wonder if you could’ve stopped it?"
The question cut through the ambient silence of their covert work area.
Maya blinked. "Stopped… what?"
He didn't clarify. Just held her gaze for a beat longer than necessary, then offered a faint, almost sad smile.
Then he turned and walked away, his footsteps quiet as the station swallowed his retreat.
=-=
Setting: NORTHAL DRIFT, Auction Hall, Private Bidder Chamber
Stardate: 45003.1805
The chamber was cold. Not in temperature, but in presence... too sterile, too… empty.
Jayson entered slowly, scanning for anything unusual. The walls were lined with projection nodes, but only one remained active. In the center of the room, a table once held something. A device, maybe. A weapon. Now, only ash and faint ion residue remained. Whatever had been there had self-destructed with precision, designed to leave no trace.
He stepped forward, crouched near the residue. Not even a molecular signature. Clean. Almost… surgically so.
Across the room, through a tinted partition, he spotted Shar'El. Their eyes met across the space. She nodded once... reassurance, maybe. Or warning. Either way, she looked… clearer. Less troubled than before.
Whatever this was, it was meant to be found too late.
Jayson exhaled slowly and tapped his subderman communicator. "Maya, there's nothing left. The device's been neutralized. Intentionally."
Her voice crackled back. =/\= Got it. Come back when you're done. I... we can talk when you have returned. =/\=
Maya's tone was cryptic, vague, which made Jayson immediately understand that something was not right. As soon as he could, he rushed back without drawing any attention. As one of the station's rare techs and the state of the NORTHAL DRIFT, it was more than plausible that there had been some sort of mechanical emergency requiring his immediate presence.
=-=
Setting: NORTHAL DRIFT, Secondary Backup Control Room
Stardate: 45003.1810
When Jayson stepped back into the room, Maya turned sharply to face him.
"What was that about?" she asked, arms folded.
He blinked. "What was *what* about?"
"That question," she said slowly, voice tight. "The one you asked me."
Jayson frowned. "I didn't ask you anything."
Maya took a step closer, eyes narrowing. "You were here. You came back less than a minute after you left and asked me if I ever thought I could've stopped it. Then left."
"I never came back," Jayson said. "I went straight to the Auction Room and only came back after the scans were completed and you told me to come back."
Her mind raced. Her voice dropped. “Then... who was it?"
Jayson's expression darkened as the implication took root. "Someone impersonated me?"
Maya turned back to the console, hands flying over the controls. "Internal sensors… replaying timestamp… there."
Footage appeared on the screen... Jayson entering, speaking to her, just as she remembered. Same voice. Same uniform... except now, looking closely, the collar had a tiny notch. His boots were scuffed differently. Minor, nearly invisible details.
And then, gone.
She turned to him slowly. "Who was that then?"
He exhaled sharply, throat tightening. The memories returned... of him. That version of himself who had taken everything with ease. Confident. Smooth. Effortless. The one who had won Ya'Han's heart... while Jayson stood frozen.
Jayson stepped back from the console, his jaw clenched. "There are a lot of ways to copy someone's face and voice."
"Maybe," Maya whispered. "But he knew exactly what to say to get inside my head."
She replayed the footage again. Zoomed in on the departing figure's reflection in the console.
The light shimmered unnaturally behind him, just for a frame. A flicker. A tell.
Not a hologram. Not a shapeshifter.
She stared at the flicker. One frame... barely there. But enough.
Her voice was barely a whisper.
"A clone…"
=-=
Jayson Sousa
Lieutenant Jayson Stark
Chief of Operations
USS ANUBIS, NCC-18501
and
Jessica Solarik
Lieutenant Commander Maya
Chief Science Officer
USS ANUBIS
"To see the world in a grain of sand,
and a heaven in a wild flower.
Hold infinity in the palm of your hand,
and eternity in an hour."
- William Blake (British, 1757-1827)
"Reflections"
Previous post: "Imperfect Decision"
Setting: NORTHAL DRIFT, Market Place
Stardate: 45003.1810
Not wanting to risk further attention the trio slipped away from the fringes of the Medical Bay. The sterile corridor lights gave way to dim, flickering panels as they descended deeper into the station’s underbelly. They emerged into the so-called marketplace... a sprawling, half-forgotten concourse of narrow paths and swaying cables, where merchants traded in goods both mundane and forbidden. Shadows clung to the high ceilings like spiderwebs, and every face turned a second too late, every whisper felt like it carried weight. Part Promenade, part decrepit bazaar, this place bore the unmistakable scent of desperation wrapped in opportunity. If Amanda had been moved through here, and Adriana had followed, then someone... or something had seen them.
"Why are we here?" Zub asked, his gaze darting to anything that could be considered as a threat, which was pretty much everything.
"Showing off the merchandise," Lantra softly growled. Getting Ardax's attention was one thing, but getting the general population to take notice would serve their cause even better, distracting the masses from what was actually happening.
Ya'Han softly growled to herself, disliking the use of the term 'merchandise' which brought her back to that one day when her father had treated her as such. The day that her life forever changed.
The air was stale and thin, like a memory that refused to fade. Dust drifted in suspended weightlessness, caught in failing beams of flickering light. Somewhere deep in the shadows, an electrical arc sizzled behind a faulty panel, but it was the silence that hit first. Not the kind that comforted, but the kind that warned.
They weren’t alone.
=-=
Zub’s eyes locked onto the towering form that stepped from the gloom, a living mirror of scale, posture… even breath. As the reptilian's face passed from shadow into the light, golden eyes glinted.
A Voth! Rare enough in any quadrant of the known universe, but especially here on this ghost of a station rotting away in the exact center of nowhere. Not just any Voth but a Zub Enel staring directly at him. Even the form’s dark clothes matched what Zub wore.
Feeling momentarily disoriented, Enel reflexively tightened his fists. So did this copy of him. Zub narrowed his eyes. So did the copy. Zub scowled. The other Voth returned a truly menacing scowl. Zub Enel wondered if he really looked like this person before him? The hulking copy approaching him looked puzzled too, but quickly hid it under hard skin and fierce expression.
The copy pointed a scaly finger ending in a claw at Zub. He said in a voice a little too treble to be Zub’s, “You?”
Zub didn’t like what was going on. He’d gotten wiser to the fact that someone was trying to distract the away team. Meeting himself was truly a bit over the edge.
=-=
The Intel officer froze mid-step, spine straightening with blade-like precision. From the creeping shadows ahead, a silhouette emerged... hers. The figure walked like her, stood like her, even tilted its head in that familiar fraction of a degree she used to calibrate threats. For the briefest instant, she wondered if one of her own personas had gone rogue, taken form and gone wandering.
But no. It was wrong.
Too stiff. Too symmetrical. The eyes... her eyes... stared back at her with the chill of calculation, but lacked the burn beneath. No tension behind the poise. No fury buried beneath the surface. She watched the other woman pivot ever so slightly, mimicking her weight distribution. The resemblance was uncanny… and deeply offensive.
She took a step forward, a breath sharper than necessary hissing past clenched teeth. "That’s either a crude fabrication," she muttered, voice level but dripping with disdain, "or someone’s attempt at mockery."
The other version tilted its head in return, just slightly off. The echo of a signal corrupted in transmission.
She didn't draw her weapon. She didn't need to. Her body was already recalibrating, nanites pulsing beneath the surface of her skin, a subtle increase of potential energy coiling in her limbs. Her shadow detached and shimmered slightly as if bracing for a shift.
"What is this?" she whispered under her breath, more to herself than anyone else. Who would dare present me like this? The notion of being imitated... but so poorly... gnawed at the core of her self-image.
Yet she did not move. Not yet. Calculations unfolded behind her eyes like a hundred tactical simulations, and every one ended the same way: someone would bleed.
=-=
Ya’Han stood motionless, her gaze darting between the uncanny reflections and the glaring absence of her own.
At first, it felt like a relief. No twisted mockery of her face stepping from the darkness. No hollow imitation trying to mimic the years of pain and purpose etched into every muscle and breath. No false colored hair to diminish the meaning behind hers. She was alone, unduplicated.
But that relief lasted only a heartbeat as tactical instincts overrode comfort, and a surge of unease threaded into her spine like a cold wire. If she had not been duplicated... why not? Was she not considered a threat? Or had whoever was behind this simply chosen not to reveal her copy, yet?
She scanned the shadows again, half-expecting someone with her posture, her gait, her fire to emerge. No one did. But that absence spoke louder than any appearance.
Her brow furrowed.
What if it wasn’t her they were trying to copy? What if the duplicates were meant to confuse, divide, destabilize? And if so... how many others were already replaced?
Her breath hitched as her thoughts snapped to Jayson.
He had been on this mission too. Undercover. Separate. Vulnerable.
If Zub’s copy was identical and Lantra’s was a perversion... which category would a false Jayson fall into? Would he be the Jayson she cared for... the man who made her feel seen... or would he be something else? A shadow of his former self like the clone she lost… like the version of him that had died in her arms?
A flicker of red sparked through her hair, barely visible under the dim overheads. Not rage, just a warning. A flare of protectiveness, of fear masquerading as readiness.
She swallowed hard. "We need to assume," she said aloud, her voice level but tight, "that every member of our team could have a copy out here... including Jayson."
Her eyes remained forward, scanning for movement, but her mind was spiraling.
Would she recognize the real one if they met? Would she hesitate again, as she had when the clone won her heart?
Ya’Han clenched her jaw, pulling herself back to the present. Whatever the answer, she would not make the same mistake twice.
=-=
Setting: NORTHAL DRIFT, Market Place
Stardate: 45003.1812
A sudden commotion shattered the charged silence... a clatter of crates overturned, the sharp snap of a disruptor being fired, then shouting. Somewhere deeper in the maze of the marketplace, a scuffle had broken out. The trio’s focus broke for a heartbeat, eyes flicking toward the disturbance.
When they looked back... the copies were gone.
No movement. No sound. Just shadows and silence where their mirror-images had stood. As if they had never been there.
Gemma’s eyes narrowed, a fraction too tight. Zub took a half-step forward, then stopped. Ya’Han scanned the area again, red flaring brighter in her hair now.
"Either someone is playing a deep game," Gemma murmured, voice like a knife against glass, "or we just stared into the reflection of something we weren’t meant to see."
Zub’s nostrils flared. "Or a warning."
No one disagreed.
The team moved on, but the silence they carried now had weight. Each step echoed with the lingering question: what if the reflections weren’t just meant to distract... but to replace?
=-=
Hanali Han
Lieutenant Ya'Han
Chief of Security / Tactical Officer
USS ANUBIS, NCC-18501
and
David Michael Inverso
Lieutenant JG Zub Enel
MCO
USS ANUBIS, NCC 18501
and
Rachel Jackie Johnson
Lieutenant Gemma
Intel Operative
USS ANUBIS
[The fun is getting to wear multiple disguises and getting to explore multiple personalities and bring them to life. - Jenna Fischer
-=-=-
"Shadows Within"
[previous post was "Reflections"]
-=-=-
Setting: NORTHAL DRIFT, Market Place
Stardate: 45003.1815
The chains were tight, making it clear to everyone watching that she was nothing. The collar sat snug around Ya'Han's throat, fastened with a false gem at its center. The leash extending from it remained tightly wound in Lantra's grasp. They had opted for the most visually provocative deception: a pink-haired offering to a Ferengi criminal known for his cruelty and his appetites.
And the crowd drank it in.
Ya'Han walked with her head bowed, her eyes half-lidded in apparent obedience. In truth, she was watching everything. The way civilians recoiled in feigned disgust only to sneak another look. The way a merchant paused, then whispered to his companion. But mostly, she was looking for him... for Ardax.
Or was she searching for someone else?
From the corner of her eye, she saw him again. Same height. Same hair. Same tilt of the head when he scanned the crowd. Jayson. Or the clone. Or maybe neither. The shadows between vendor stalls twisted, and for a second, she felt that presence again... that echo of something wrong. She blinked, and the man was gone.
She had told herself she was ready for this. That playing bait would bring her closer to Ardax, that justice would be served. That a monster who caused the deaths of over 128,000 colonists deserved the rage burning inside her. But even now, that voice haunted her... his. And with it came memories that belonged to another life.
"From the first day Ya'Han had met the clone of Jayson Stark, he had hinted to the darkness he saw in her, a darkness that gave her the strength she called her own."
Her teeth clenched.
"Imagine the face of that Ferengi troll Ardax when you take control of the throne of NYLA IV and send a few Shadow vessels to decimate his trade fleet…"
The memory was unshakable. His voice, smooth and certain, tempting. It hadn't felt like corruption back then. It had felt like truth.
"You will even be able to have him dragged down to kneel before you before his head is separated from his shoulders."
The mission. The chains. The false submission. All of it had a purpose. But her thoughts twisted back to those words.
"Embrace your darkness and you could rule NYLA IV amongst many other worlds."
Was that what this was becoming? Was this truly about Ardax, or the darkness that had always been there... the one her father wielded without remorse, the one she once swore to never become?
The leash tugged sharply.
"Eyes down, gift," Lantra hissed through a gritted smile. "Your face is starting to look too aware."
Ya'Han blinked, swallowing the bile in her throat. She bowed her head again, forcing herself to walk in step. But her mind was reeling. She thought of the clone's smirk. Of her father's eyes when he punished her for daring to feel. Of the way the Lokustaar's shadow clung to her skin in her nightmares.
What if that shadow had never left?
She caught another glimpse in a reflective pane... not of her face, but of her hair.
It was no longer pink.
A gasp from Zub brought her back. "Change it back!" he hissed in alarm, but the words were distant.
Because the red was bleeding in again... no longer the mask of submission but the stain of a war she was no longer sure she was winning within herself.
Zub was by her side in an instant, the glint in his eyes hardening into panic. "Change it back," he said again, softer this time but no less urgent. "Now."
She didn't move.
The leash tugged again, but Lantra's focus was elsewhere... scanning the crowd, ready to abort if things spiraled too far. The mission depended on illusion, and Ya'Han's red hair had just shattered it.
She closed her eyes, inhaled. Her heart thudded too fast, too loud. The red was pulsing, visible through each strand like wildfire refusing to be caged. Rage... yes. But deeper than that… was fear. Not of Ardax. Not even of failure. But of herself.
"From the day you were born, the darkness was already with you. You just had to open your eyes to see it."
The clone's words repeated, not whispered this time, but declared. Ya'Han could feel her pulse echo them, and with it, the faintest shimmer of… temptation?
Was it the strength she felt as a child when she stood before the High Sovereign and said no? Was it the same strength that fueled her to run? To survive? To fight?
Or was it the same darkness that shaped her father into a tyrant?
She opened her eyes, saw her reflection again in a warped pane of glass. Red. Angry. Alive.
"You are better than you could have ever been."
That was what the real Jayson had told her. The one who loved her, trusted her, who saw through the defenses. That truth felt more distant now. Faint. Like a dying star in an overcast sky.
She clenched her fists, grounding herself. And slowly, the red began to fade. Not because the fire was gone, but because she forced it behind a door she wasn't sure would hold much longer.
Strand by strand, the color dulled... first a confused lavender, then the soft and sickly pink the mission required. The submissive shade. The lie.
Zub sighed in relief and stepped back, rejoining the pretense. Lantra's hand loosened slightly, just enough for the leash to seem less threatening.
But inside, Ya'Han felt none of that ease. Just a growing fracture.
She walked on, face lowered once more, and yet something within her stayed alert — not to the crowd, not even to Ardax... but to the fear that when she saw him again, either version of Jayson…
She would no longer know which voice to believe, or which truth was hers.
-=-=-
Hanali Han
Ensign Ya'Han
Chief of Security / Chief Tactical Officer
USS ANUBIS, NCC-18501
=-=
"Act One"
Previous post: "Shadows Within" by the talented Hanali
=-=
Setting: NORTHAL DRIFT, Auction Sector
Stardate: 45003.1820
The private bidder chamber's holo-lights flared in muted blues and crimsons, casting long, stuttering shadows across the floor as the undercover operatives took a moment to gather their thoughts. Her muscles still tingling from her telepathic blackout, Shar'El leaned against the curved railing. The recycled air tasted faintly of ozone and old metal; somewhere behind her, a cymbal-sharp chime heralded a new lot on the auction block. Eyelids lowered, she savored the calm that had replaced the jarring void of stolen imagery... but how? And why?
As poignant as those questions were, the former ILO needed to center herself. No thoughts but her own... no echoes at all. Relief washed over her in gentle waves.
Then the hush shattered... like ceramic under pressure... and alien thoughts flooded her mind... metallic tang on her tongue, the echo of drill-sparks against a grated floor, the whisper of frightened breath, twin silhouettes pressed shoulder-to-shoulder against cold steel. Adriana's quivering voice: "Breathe, Amanda... just breathe." The smell of rust and old coolant burned her nostrils even though she wasn't there. She gasped, fingers digging into the railing’s polished surface as the holo-lights around her flared and dimmed in response.
"Commander?" Cristhiane gasped. "Are you alright?"
No outward answer was offered, but the ExO desperately wanted to know why this was happening.
She willed the images away... tried to lock them in her private vault... but they surged on. The rust-red flash of Tal'Shiar insignia, the scrape of boots down a corridor too narrow to be anything but a trap. Then, a single, echoing word... low and intimate, vibrating behind her ribcage: "Trade."
"How?" Shar'El said as she breathed out in frustration. That was a question that would haunt her.
"There is something wrong with Commander Shar'El," Cristhiane said after tapping her subdermal communicator. The civilian mother may have possessed a fair deal of medical knowledge, but this, whatever this was, clearly stood beyond her field of expertise and experience.
Now on her knees, Shar'El's heart thundered. How had someone bypassed the line-of-sight law? Who was using her Ullian gift as a beacon? The ExO's breath caught on a ragged inhale. The chamber's ambient hum resumed, but everything felt subtly... irreversibly... changed. She steadied herself, mind racing: someone had just used her as the station's most unexpected messenger.
=-=
Setting: NORTHAL DRIFT, Lower Maintenance Level, unknown location
Stardate: 45003.1822
A narrow maintenance tunnel branched off the main concourse... its walls pocked with impact scars and leaking conduits. The door to the lower-deck chamber stood ajar, its warning glyphs dark. Inside, Adriana Lopez knelt beside her twin. Amanda's wrists were bound to a battered pipe; strands of her hair clung damply to her forehead. No guards in sight, only the unsettling shifting of shadows mixed with the distant hiss of coolant and the faint drip of condensation.
Markus emerged first, stepping from the shadows in civilian guise: crisp jacket, meticulous posture, eyes that scanned every crevice with predatory calm. Although no one else could be seen by his side, there was a distinct aura or energy about him that hinted he was never alone.
Moments later, Agent Varin of the Tal'Shiar appeared... his black-lined uniform impeccably pressed, the silver badge at his throat catching the tunnel’s dim light. His glance flicked from the mysterious man to the sisters and back, skepticism furrowing his brow. "You assured me I’d have them," he said, voice low and dangerous.
"I was led to believe that the Chief of Intel Operations of the Romulan Intel agency for this region was a man of great patience," Markus grinned.
"Patience does not make me a fool," Varin snarled, his utter discontent radiating from his stance. "You promised me the mother and daughter we have been looking for, not some random twins."
Markus dipped his chin in a gentleman's bow. "Rest assured," he murmured, as if sharing a delicious secret. "They've never lacked the will... only the motive. Soon, Cristhiane and Christie will come to you willingly, eager for the rewards you alone can offer."
"And if Starfleet intervenes?" Varin snapped, impatience flaring beneath his calm facade.
"They're under my associates' careful watch... no interruptions, no surprises." He let his eyes drift to the empty corridor. "My colleagues will ensure we remain undisturbed."
Varin's posture stiffened. "They are not just going to accept this 'trade' of yours without a fight."
"They are already too busy worrying about other,... far more dire... issues," Markus said, voice smooth as liquid. "They will have little to say about this fair trade," he grimaced. "Soon, the mother and daughter who have been hunting for far too long will be back under your control and the Federation's team will be someone else's problem."
The agent's jaw clenched. "You sound rather sure of yourself."
The man's smile widened, though his eyes remained cool. "My dear Varin, this station is only Act One," Markus said, voice cool as starlight. "Soon, you’ll watch as every piece moves... but that premiere is far from tonight." He inclined his head once more. "But for now, this little affair will conclude well before the auction's final curtain. I would not want to risk stealing any attention away from the main event that has brought so many fine people here."
Varin steeled himself, then strode forward, shooting a passing glare at the man.
He slipped back into the shadows, every step certain... already three moves ahead in a game no one else even knew they were playing.
=-=
Tiffany Reeve
Commander Shar'El
Executive Officer
USS ANUBIS
---
"Situational Re-Evaluation"
(Previous Post: "Act One")
---
Setting: NORTHAL DRIFT, Secondary Backup Control Room
Stardate: 45003.1830
Despite the chaotic state of the NORTHAL DRIFT’s systems, Maya had managed to create a stable, if not ideal, data processing environment within the secondary control node. Her fingers danced over the flickering interface, drawing in fragmented telemetry from the infiltration team, sporadic medical diagnostics from Doctor T'Lara in the Medical Bay, and scattered visual feeds from the limited number of operational internal sensor relays. The station, in all of its decrepit glory, resisted every attempt at organization or clarity, but chaos had never been a deterrent to the Shillian scientist. In fact, it was in such entropy that she found the greatest satisfaction.
As the various reports came in, Maya’s gaze narrowed. Lieutenant Gemma, and Lieutenant Zub Enel had each encountered a copy of themselves, while she had spoken to the copy of her own current teammate in this control room. Not a similar individual. Not an impostor. Jayson Stark. Each of them described near-perfect mannerisms, matching speech patterns, and an unsettling physical resemblance.
Maya took a steadying breath and began her analysis aloud, mostly for her own benefit.
“Initial hypothesis: temporal displacement. If these counterparts were displaced from a future or past version of the USS ANUBIS crew, we would expect to detect chroniton particles or subspace flux indicative of temporal shear. However,” she paused, fingers tapping against the side of the console, “the NORTHAL DRIFT displays no such residual energy. Its instruments are unreliable, yes, but not so completely as to mask a full-scale temporal incursion. I must therefore consider this theory highly improbable.”
She cleared the screen and moved to the next possibility, speaking faster now as she entered her focused rhythm.
“Secondary hypothesis: dimensional echo. If the NORTHAL DRIFT exists at the intersection of weakened dimensional boundaries... perhaps due to sustained spatial stress or possibly originating from the device... it might allow parallel selves to manifest. Unfortunately,” Maya frowned, “the internal sensors cannot penetrate several regions of the station, and neither can those of the ANUBIS. Without quantum resonance scans from those obscured sectors, this possibility remains neither provable nor dismissible.”
The Shillian paused, eyeing the biometric feed still flowing in from Doctor T’Lara’s station, showing elevated cortisol, neural agitation, and adrenal spikes in both Gemma and Zub following their encounters. Not hallucinations. Not dreams. A confrontation with something real.
“Which brings us to the most plausible, albeit disconcerting, explanation:" Maya offered, taking a few extra seconds to measure the impact her next word would have
"Clones.”
She hesitated, then continued in a lower tone.
“Biological replication. Genetic matching so precise that subdermal tags and retinal IDs cannot distinguish them. If these are manufactured entities, someone or something possesses not only the technology to create these clones, but also the genetic data required to render identical copies.”
Her hands froze above the console.
=/\= Been there, dealt with that, =/\= Ya'Han muttered through the secured comm channel
“It might be worse," the Shillian added. "These copies may not merely mimic appearance. They may mimic thought. Behaviour. Memories. Intent. In other words, they may be an upgraded form of the Lokustaar clones we encountered a few years ago.”
Maya glanced toward the man beside her. Jayson Stark... silent, focused on his work, but his hands shaking. She studied him, not as a friend, but as data. The copies had left a notable psychological impact on many who had not even seen them..
“The question is no longer whether the copies are real. It is how many of them are here… and why.”
=/\= The why is simple, =/\= Gemma, as Lantra hissed. =/\= They are meant to delay us from achieving our mission. The clones can wait; we need to find that device before it is auctioned out of our reach. We only have 150 minutes or so left. There is no time to waste. =/\=
=/\= What about Adriana and Amanda? =/\= Doctor T'Lara asked. Although no one could see her, they all could imagine that her gaze was cast upon half of the requested trade for their safe return. Christie, through all this, remained silent.
=/\= Two lives against millions, =/\= Gemma replied coldly, without a moment's hesitation. =/\= Possibly billions. =/\=
An uneasy silence spread as the importance of their mission collided with the personal reality they all faced. Adriana and Amanda had been captured by some unknown force, to be used as pawns to get Cristhiane and her daughter Christie. Finding the device would not result in the Lopez sisters being returned safe, and going through with the trade would likely condemn the mother and daughter duo to a horrible fate, while the device remains unaccounted for, its threat to billions undiminished.
=/\= Commander Shar'El, =/\= Captain Morningstar's voice, calm, steady, came through. =/\= You have seen the ransom demand and are aware of the intricacies of the situation on the NORTHAL DRIFT. It's your call. I will support whatever decision you make, =/\=
The sound of a lengthy sigh was heard before being followed by a few very heavy words. =/\= Focus on finding the device. We will take care of Adriana and Amanda after... if we still can. =/\=
Maya bit her lip. The scientist in her agreed. The rest of her remained disturbingly silent
---
Jessica Solarik
Lieutenant Commander Maya
Chief Science Officer
USS ANUBIS
"To see the world in a grain of sand,
and a heaven in a wild flower.
Hold infinity in the palm of your hand,
and eternity in an hour."
- William Blake (British, 1757-1827)
##########
"Unacceptable Decision"
Previous post: "Situational Re-Evaluation" by Tiffany
##########
Setting: NORTHAL DRIFT, Medical Bay -> Auction Area
Stardate: 45003.1835
The conversation had ended, but its echoes still rang in her mind.
"Two lives against Millions... Possibly billions."
Christie sat quietly, her hands still gloved from assisting in the latest round of triage. Doctor T’Lara had stepped away to deal with an agitated Andorian patient with a self-sealing stem bolt embedded in his thigh, and Doctor Zorrell, overworked and overwhelmed, had seized the opportunity to send Christie to check on what she called a “minor incident”... a headache, nausea, and some vague vertigo reported by someone in the forward habitat ring.
Perfect. Convenient. Almost too convenient.
With her medical tricorder slung at her side and the borrowed medical satchel over her shoulder, Christie stepped into the corridor... but her destination was nowhere near the habitat ring.
She moved swiftly, silently, her pace just a fraction faster than someone merely walking to another patient. Her eyes were sharp, focused, practiced... one hand casually brushing the wall every few meters as if to anchor her path. She took the longer maintenance passage instead of the main corridor, just as the lights flickered overhead. The DRIFT groaned, as if in quiet warning, but Christie did not slow.
It wasn’t a mission. Not really.
It was... family.
Adriana and Amanda were in danger because of her. Because the Tal’Shiar wanted what she was, what her mother was, or what they thought they could be. Because they had been rescued by people who didn’t deserve to be sacrificed. Shar’El made the right call. Christie knew it. The device had to be found. Lives had to be saved.
But her conscience didn’t operate on tactics and logic alone.
Her heart ached with guilt. And she needed to speak to her mother.
Not over a comm channel. Not with Maya and Jayson quietly analyzing every movement from the Secondary Control Node. Not with T’Lara’s scrutinizing gaze watching her every micro-expression. Just... mother and daughter. In a moment of truth.
She rounded the last corner, passed through the inner security buffer. How many bypass codes had she memorized in her "time away" to emerge into the dim promenade that led to the auction chambers? The air was thicker here. Tense. Watched.
But she’d made it.
The auction chamber wasn't far now, and Cristhiane would be inside with Shar’El.
Christie hesitated just outside the door, pressing her back to the wall. Her chest rose and fell, slower now. The Romulan labs. The Yautja matrix. The Tal’Shiar. The blood. The fear. The strength.
They had escaped it all.
But maybe it was time they stopped running.
She exhaled slowly, adjusted the satchel on her shoulder, and stepped forward into the murmurs of conversation as they filtered in from all around, but here, in the shadowed alcove flanking the auction room, time felt slowed.
Cristhiane stood with her arms crossed, her posture elegant and effortless as ever. But her eyes... sharp, dark, and unmistakably maternal... softened the instant they landed on Christie.
The door sealed shut behind the younger woman. Neither spoke, not yet.
Christie raised her left hand and pressed two fingers just beneath her ear. A near-invisible flicker of blue light blinked out.
Cristhiane followed suit without being asked. The silence that followed felt true. Unmonitored. Unscripted.
They were alone.
"You came," her mother said, voice low, threaded with quiet pride and deeper worry. "I was hoping you would."
Christie stepped closer, her movements calm but purposeful. A doctor’s grace wrapped around a shadow's instinct. She glanced at the upper corners of the room, scanning for surveillance traces most people wouldn’t even know to check for. Her eyes never stopped moving, even as she spoke.
"Amanda and Adriana are still alive. For now. The Tal’Shiar are waiting. They’ll trade them... for us."
A breath. Not a plea. Just the truth.
Cristhiane’s lips pressed into a thin line, then she slowly nodded with a resolve of sadness. “We knew this day would come,” she said gently.
"I know." Christie's voice wavered, only for a second. "But I was hoping we'd have more time. More distance. Something."
Cristhiane reached out, brushing a loose strand of hair from her daughter’s cheek, her touch feather-light. “You were always the stronger one. Even when you were just a child. It was never me holding us together.”
Christie shook her head, swallowing down a knot of guilt. “That’s not true.”
“It is,” Cristhiane insisted, voice barely above a whisper now. “I’ve always known you’d be the one to make the hard choices. The right ones. Even if they hurt.”
A long silence stretched between them, filled only by the faint, distant thrum of voices beyond the wall and the ever-present hum of the DRIFT’s aging systems.
Christie’s hands trembled at her sides, just a little. “I owe them. We both do. Adriana pulled me from a nightmare. Shar’El... she could’ve traded me. She didn’t. They all deserve better than this.”
"And they’ll get it," Cristhiane said, stepping in and placing both hands on her daughter’s arms. “We’ll give ourselves up. Quietly. No drama. No chase. Just an exchange. We save them, and the crew stays on mission.”
Christie exhaled, eyes closing for a heartbeat. “You’re sure?”
“I was sure the moment they took them.” Her smile was sad. “This is the only move that makes sense... and we both know it.”
For a moment, the silence returned.
Then Christie leaned forward and wrapped her arms tightly around her mother. A rare show of vulnerability. A daughter saying goodbye... not forever, but for what might be long enough.
"We do this on my terms," she whispered. "No one else gets pulled into this. Not Shar’El. Not Maya. Not even Gemma."
Cristhiane nodded, her voice catching slightly. “Of course.”
The embrace broke.
And in her daughter’s eyes, Cristhiane saw the truth: calm resolve, forged by trauma, sharpened by guilt, but always guided by a compass no Romulan spy or Predatory algorithm could twist.
Christie had already begun calculating the handoff.
She turned to go, pausing only once at the door.
"Be ready. This only works if we control the when and where."
And then she was gone, moving like a whisper, a shadow, a force of nature shaped like a woman. Not Tal’Shiar. Not Starfleet.
Just Christie.
--==(/\)==--
Francois Charette
on behalf of Cristhiane M
Cristhiane Smith
Mother of Christie Smith
Civilian guest
USS ANUBIS, NCC 18501
"The Cost of Freedom"
Previous post: "Unacceptable Decision” by Cristhiane
Setting: NORTHAL DRIFT, Lower Maintenance Level, unknown location
Stardate: 45003.1845
The air reeked of scorched coolant and rusting metal. Adriana Lopez sat cross-legged beside her sister, the sting of the last twenty minutes still echoing like a phantom touch on her skin. The flickering overhead panel cast long, erratic shadows on the wall, mimicking the ones that had accompanied him... a memory that refused to fade.
Even now, Adriana could feel Markus's presence, as though some part of the tunnel had retained his essence. Calm. Immaculate. Unshakable. His voice had slithered through the air like a whispered prophecy, wrapping truth and manipulation so tightly that doubt became inevitable. She remembered his exact phrasing, as faint as his words might have been, "They've never lacked the will... only the motive." Words spoken with such certainty that they left no room for disbelief.
Adriana had replayed that moment countless times in her head, her own shock, Amanda's glassy-eyed silence, The Romulan operative's smug approval, Markus's ever-so-slight smirk of inevitability. None of it made sense, and yet all of it felt orchestrated with terrifying precision.
Beside her, Amanda's breathing was shallow. The restraints had been loosened, her wrists now resting limply in her lap, raw and red. She hadn't spoken since. Not truly. The tear tracks on her cheeks had long since dried, but her gaze was distant... wide, hollow, lost in a quiet kind of despair that Adriana recognized all too well.
Amanda had always believed that the pain would end after the Matrix. That belief was what kept her... and her sister... going, day after day. She imagined that once the fabricated nightmares ended, she'd be safe. That they'd be together... basking in sunlight, feeling a gentle breeze in their hair, the scent of flowers drifting on the air.
She never expected the real world to be so dark... so hostile... so heart-wrenchingly cruel.
Adriana gently reached over, brushing a damp strand of hair away from Amanda’s face. Her fingers lingered at her sister’s temple, needing the connection as much as offering it. Amanda didn't move, but her eyes fluttered closed, just for a second, enough to remind Adriana that her sister was still there, still real.
That presence should have been comforting. It was, in part. Yet the counselor in Adriana couldn’t quiet the rising dread that maybe she’d been wrong from the start. That maybe the quest to reunite them... her all consuming obsession, her life's purpose... had ultimately brought Amanda into a reality far crueler than the Matrix had ever been.
"I thought it would stop," Amanda finally gasped, barely audible. "I thought freedom would mean the pain stopped…"
Adriana wrapped her arms around her sister... tightly. "I know," she murmured, pressing her forehead to Amanda’s. "I wanted to believe that too." The twin sister swallowed hard, her voice barely above a whisper. "I'm here, Amanda. I'm not going anywhere."
Amanda leaned just slightly, the weight of her shoulder pressing into Adriana's. It was the kind of touch that, to anyone else, would mean nothing. To the twins, it was everything. It was survival.
They sat like that in silence... sisters drawn together by blood, broken by time, and bound by trauma. Around them, the shadows shifted again, just as they had before. But now, neither of them looked up.
It was Markus who eventually broke the quiet.
"I must say, I'm impressed," he said smoothly, stepping into the room with the easy grace of someone who belonged there more than anyone else. "Not by the emotions, of course. That's expected. But by the quickness of the decision."
Adriana’s eyes lifted, red-rimmed and wary. "What decision?"
"Oh? No one told you?" he asked, mock surprise in his voice as he placed a hand over his heart. "My apologies. You were traded."
Adriana stiffened. "No. That's not possible. Starfleet... Shar'El... would never agree to something like that."
The Counselor gasped as she realized the gravity of her words, admitting that she was Starfleet. But instead of shock or surprise, Adriana saw nothing but calmness in the man's eyes as they gazed at her with an outworldly intensity.
After a few seconds, Markus gave a soft chuckle and wagged a finger. "Correct on both counts. Starfleet policy is quite rigid, and your Commander Shar'El is... impressively stubborn. But this wasn't her decision." His smile widened. "It was Christie's... It always was."
For a moment, Adriana didn't move. The weight of the name took time to process.
Christie. The daughter.
She shook her head. "No... she wouldn't. She... she's just a civilian. She wouldn't be in a position to authorize..."
"Oh, but you underestimate her," Markus interrupted, eyes gleaming. "You all do. Christie is very aware of the stakes. A mother's life in one hand, yours and Amanda's in the other. She made a choice. A very... predictable one.”
Adriana's mouth opened, but nothing came out.
She glanced at Amanda, still breathing unevenly against her shoulder. The reality of this 'rescue'... of being used as currency, as pawns in a game whose rules they didn't even understand... settled like a blade in her chest.
"Why tell me this?" she asked quietly.
Markus stepped closer, crouching just enough to be eye-level. "Because knowledge is leverage. And despair... is delicious."
His eyes flicked to Amanda. "She doesn't know yet, does she?"
"Leave her out of this," Adriana snapped, her voice suddenly sharp.
Markus stood again, brushing invisible dust from his sleeve. "Of course. For now."
As he turned and moved toward the exit, Adriana felt Amanda shift, her voice barely a whisper. "What did he say?"
Adriana hesitated. "Nothing important," she lied, wiping her sister's cheek.
Amanda's eyes, though glassy with pain, pierced her. "Don't lie to me."
The twin sister bowed her head, pressing a kiss to Amanda’s brow. "I won't let them take you again. Not ever."
But in the back of her mind, doubt stirred. Maybe the universe hadn't meant for them to be reunited. Maybe... she had dragged Amanda out of one nightmare and into another that wore the mask of freedom.
-=-=-
Marissa Montonera-Lombardi
Lieutenant JG Adriana Lopez
Ship's Counselor & Junior Ambassador
USS ANUBIS
"Reflections, Part 2"
Previous post: "The Cost of Freedom"
Setting: NORTHAL DRIFT, Market Place
Stardate: 45003.1845
Zub Enel stopped glaring at merchants, entertainers, and hawkers of questionable goods from tiny stalls and makeshift booths. While he was certain some of them had witnessed Ya’Han’s Nylaan hair transform into crimson, full-bodied curls before fading to lank and submissive pink, he realized that without distributing latinum, he couldn’t prevent this little piece of intel from being whispered to Ardax.
He glanced at the fierce warrior princess feigning a slave’s drooping posture and subservience—beaten and broken, bleeding, with firm curves peeking from a ripped Starfleet uniform. She was the key to the away team finding the horrible doomsday weapon. Yet, the disturbing appearance of doppelgangers had ignited her simmering rage. Much rested on her shoulders, but she was a star one stray atom away from supernova.
A burst of blue flame erupted from a wide, deep pot a green Orion male was shaking in fast circles. The male announced, “Stir fried gagh!” Zub felt his mouth moisten. His tongue inched toward flicking through his lips.
The Orion noticed the lizardman’s intense gaze and flipped an entire panful of black and red worms into a high, gleaming arc before neatly catching them back in his pan.
Nearby, Lantra's eyes flicked past the Orion’s theatrics and onto the flicker of pink disappearing into the crowd. She tightened her grip instinctively... but her fingers grasped air. The leash. Gone.
Ya’Han, with her tell-tale hair and currently volatile temper, had slipped the act and the handler.
Lantra’s... no, Gemma’s... jaw tensed. A warning should’ve come through the comms: Zub’s voice, Ya’Han’s whisper, any confirmation that this was just a minor deviation. But her subdermal implant, that normally faithful extension of her thoughts and intent, remained as silent as the grave.
She tapped the space behind her ear once. Twice.
Nothing. No signal. No chirp. Nothing. It was as if the hidden communicator had just died.
She didn’t need a mirror to know what her face looked like... Lantra’s confident, easy-bargain smirk had melted away. What remained was something colder, harder. Something entirely hers.
=-=
Zub’s attention was diverted only momentarily by the tasty food, but controlling himself from further distraction, he glanced ahead at Gemma, who was posing as the dark-haired Lantra. The ordinarily arrogant woman had a stricken look; her hands were empty. Ya’Han had disappeared.
Lantra was tapping the subdermal com behind her ear, but Zub didn’t need words to gauge the significance of the situation. Ya’Han had either gone rogue or had been taken. Either way, she needed to be found.
Taller than anyone else milling around in the makeshift marketplace, Zub searched the crowd for pink hair – and saw it! Was it Ya'Han? Moving briskly in the opposite direction that Lantra/Gemma stood, Ya’Han was jostling through a crowd up a narrow set of stairs about 30 meters away. Zub, grim-faced and scaly, barreled after her.
He tapped his communicator to call Ya’Han. He felt the device beneath his skin, but it remained inert. He tapped it again, keeping his gaze locked on the pink-haired woman who had reached the top of the stairs. He pressed the spot harder. The com was definitely out. A flutter came to his heart. Things were suddenly getting damn odd.
=-=
For Gemma, just ahead, standing amid a circle of gawkers and giggling Nausicaans, was a woman who looked entirely too familiar.
Her... the other her.
Wild, red curly hair, and that look in her eyes, an intensity that hinted at a universe of pain, but experienced and inflicted. The other woman moved closer, the same slink in the hips. Same deliberate, measured poise. But there was something different, whatever she was; a clone or some sort of copy... she was not her.
“Well, well. Haven’t you aged poorly, darling,” the other Gemma purred.
The blow came too fast to counter. Gemma stumbled back, shocked, stunned. How could the other be so fast, or was it just that she had become that slow?
Thrown backward, her ribs shrieked with the impact. Dust clouded her vision, mixed with the sting of sweat. Gemma rolled onto one elbow, blinking through the pain, only to see her doppelganger standing tall, unbothered, brushing her hair back with exaggerated calm.
It wasn't just mimicry. The woman moved like her. Knew the weight of her limbs. The tilt of her balance. She'd studied her... or worse, was her.
"You're not very good at being me," the other Gemma said, stepping forward with a precise click of her boots. "But you do make a decent warm-up."
Gemma surged, but pain slowed her, forcing her into a desperate grab rather than a clean counter. Her nanites worked, but sluggishly... either disrupted or being overloaded from earlier trauma. If she didn’t find a way to end this quickly, she’d be the one dragged through the dirt.
=-=
Setting: NORTHAL DRIFT, Market Place Upper Level
Stardate: 45003.1845
The top level of the market was as crowded, stinky, and noisy as the lower one. People that Zub batted aside or physically lifted out of his way complained loudly, but he ignored all protests. He gained on the Ya’Han and caught her from behind by her upper arm. “Hey!”
A stranger... not Ya’Han... looked up at him in surprise. The female seemed more amused than irritated. “That is a powerful grip you have there. What do you have in mind?”
Zub’s scowl deepened. Not only was she the wrong woman, she wasn’t even in a Starfleet uniform. He had allowed himself to be drawn away. He wondered if she was deliberately mimicking Ya’Han.
He turned toward a railing that offered a view below. This time, the woman was gripping his forearm. “Now that is muscle. I’d love for you to show me how hard you can squeeze me.”
Zub tried to twist his arm free of her grasp, but he managed to peer over the railing into the bustling, albeit rundown, market below. In a small open area, two women who looked exactly like Gemma were fighting. Actually, one was knocked the floor. A hard lump blocked the air in Zub’s throat. His heart told him the woman on the floor was the real Gemma. He was sure she had once again been bested.
He gripped the woman who was pawing at him by her wrists. “I will be right back.”
“Promise?”
He didn’t. He wheeled and started down the stairs. To his consternation, a second Zub... identical to him... was lifting Gemma off the floor and positioning himself protectively between her and the other Gemma. The fallen Gemma clung to the other Zub’s arm, pulling herself upright. Disoriented, she didn’t let go.
Enel batted and shoved his way forward. His scales burned. Who was this “person” being so handsy and helpful to Gemma? He shouted, “Gemma! Over here!” His voice, deep and loud, still didn’t carry over the distance to the two Gemmas and the faux-Zub. If Gemma was disoriented, Zub knew he needed to get there to protect her.
As he forced his way through the sea of bodies, the trio vanished from sight... leaving only noise and uncertainty in their wake.
=-=
David Michael Inverso
Lieutenant JG Zub Enel
MCO
USS ANUBIS, NCC 18501
"He wasn't there again today. Oh, how I wish he'd go away…."
— Antigonish, William Hughes Mearns 1899
and
Rachel Jackie Johnson <racheljackiejohnson@gmail.com>
Lieutenant Gemma
Intel Operative
USS ANUBIS
[The fun is getting to wear multiple disguises and getting to explore multiple personalities and bring them to life.] - Jenna Fischer
-=-=-
"Inescapable Destiny"
Previous post: "Reflections, Part 2" by David and Rachel
-=-=-
Setting: NORTHAL DRIFT, Unknown Location
Stardate: 45003.1850
The leash bit into her throat; every step forced her knees to tremble as though she waded through molasses. Damp pink strands plastered to her temples as her vision flickered between two worlds... corridors of her childhood palace and these rust‑streaked halls of the Drift.
"Don't fight… don't fight…" she rasped, the words thick and hollow.
Copper coated her tongue, a bitter reminder of blood. Somewhere deep inside, a small voice whispered, "This isn't real."
"Easy now," said the muted voice. The operative's grip on her wrist was iron as he guided her along a sloping corridor lit by sputtering orange globes. Her knees trembled; she clenched them once, twice, and forced herself onward.
A flash of her father's furious eyes... when she rejected his gift... once... ignited panic in her chest. A gasp caught in her throat. She fought the drug’s pull, summoned every ounce of will... felt her heart thunder like combat on the deck of the USS ANUBIS.
You'll wake soon. Just wake up.
The corridor gave way to a broad chamber draped in moth‑eaten tapestries. A low dais held a massive table strewn with latinum bars and polished display cases. Beyond it, a carved chair cradled the silhouette of the one Ferengi bold enough to be here... Ardax.
Her pulse spiked. She tried to turn, to scream, but exhaustion weighed her down.
He rose, lantern light dancing on his grin like gold dust. "Well, well," he purred, stepping forward. His gaze roamed over her torn uniform, bruises blooming beneath fabric, her hair stubbornly pink. "You've come as Markus promised," he purred.
Ya'Han's forehead creased... Markus?
"He offered me a clone of you," Ardax continued, slithering closer. Each word churned her stomach. "He said she would be everything I desired." His toothy smile was vile. "But I refused. I wanted you... at my feet, broken, reminded that running was pointless. You were mine the moment your father shouted 'SOLD'."
A tidal wave of memory crashed through her: the final dance, every step precise, ending with her father's soul chilling command. Then, Jayson's clone and the time they shared, always interrupted by Mordana... What followed was a sense of familiarity in what Ardax was saying. Clones. Manipulation. Was Markus another shadow agent? If so, what had that Ferengi troll dragged them into? And at what cost?
Ardax's hand paused on her cheek. She flinched; the leash yanked her back. He traced her jaw, thumb brushing her lips. "I never believed him," he whispered, voice thick with triumph. "Markus spoke of dust and echoes… yet here you stand.”
Revulsion washed over her. Instinct screamed to shift her hair to red, to bite, to strike... but the drug held her captive.
He leaned in, breath hot on her ear. "I'm truly impressed," Ardax said slowly. "Markus has done well to bring me my prize… he's very good.”
Ya'Han's vision narrowed to his predatory grin. Her fists clenched at her sides, nails digging crescent wounds into her palms.
"Don't hurt yourself," he whispered... his tone mirroring her own broken mantra... "That's my job now."
-=-=-
Hanali Han
Lieutenant Ya'Han
Chief of Security / Tactical Officer
USS ANUBIS, NCC-18501
"Disturbing Silence"
Previous post: "Inescapable Destiny" by Hanali
Setting: USS ANUBIS, Bridge
Stardate: 45003.1855
The auction of the deadly device loomed just three hours away, casting a shadow of unease over the crew. Yet, it was the unnatural silence from the away teams that gnawed at the command staff's nerves.
"Still no word from any of the away teams," reported Ani, the ship's avatar, her tone betraying a hint of concern.
"Gemma's silence makes sense; her team is likely deep undercover, trying to get close to Ardax," mused A'Janni, the Caitian FCO. "Commander Shar’El could be tracking a high-profile bidder, making communication too risky. Dr. T'Lara could be handling a medical emergency." He paused, the justifications feeling increasingly hollow.
"I'm sure there's a valid reason," Captain Morningstar offered, attempting reassurance.
"Valid?" A'Janni echoed, skepticism evident. "Valid reasons for every team going dark simultaneously? Including Commander Maya and Jayson? I'm more concerned that these 'valid' reasons won't bode well for us."
"Our sensors have limited access within the NORTHAL DRIFT," Ani interjected, her voice laced with artificial empathy. "However, any major incident would have left detectable traces... sudden ship departures, radiation spikes, atmospheric breaches. We've observed none."
"Ani's right," Morningstar concurred, striving to quell the growing dread permeating the bridge. "Shar'El and the others have handled complex situations before. The communication blackout could be due to non-mission-related factors." His words, though intended to comfort, rang hollow even to his own ears.
The turbolift doors hissed open, drawing all eyes as labored breaths echoed into the bridge. Nathan, the young Terran rescued from the Yautja Training Matrix alongside Christie and Amanda, stumbled in, visibly distressed.
"Something's wrong," he gasped, prompting A'Janni to swiftly rush to his side and support him before he collapsed.
"Everything's fine," A'Janni soothed. "We're safe."
"No!" Nathan's voice was firm, eyes wide with certainty. "Something's very wrong out there. Gemma's in trouble... they all are."
"What makes you say that?" Morningstar inquired, joining A'Janni beside the boy.
"I just know it... I could feel them... Feel her... but now... nothing. It’s like she's vanished."
Morningstar glanced at Ani, who tilted her head thoughtfully. "It's possible he's experiencing residual effects from the nanites' quantum entanglement. Unfortunately, my instruments are unable to detect phenomena at that level." She paused, observing Nathan's trembling form. "Elevated heart rate, rapid breathing... classic signs of acute stress. Whatever he's sensing, it's profoundly real to him."
A'Janni turned, his one good eye locking onto the image of the NORTHAL DRIFT on the main viewscreen. What was happening out there?
=-=
Jayson Sousa
Lieutenant JG A'Janni
Flight Control Officer
USS ANUBIS, NCC-18501
Lieutenant Jayson Stark
Chief of Operations
USS ANUBIS, NCC-18501
"Ultimate Betrayal"
Previous post: "Disturbing Silence"
Setting: NORTHAL DRIFT, Market Place Outskirt -> Unknown Room
Stardate: 45003.1855
She was healing. Slowly. Too slowly.
The nanites within her felt sluggish, like a weary crew patching a starship’s hull after multiple direct plasma blasts... barely able to perform their primary task. There were fewer of them, some now resided in Nathan. A gift, a necessity, a loss. It all blurred together, but the aftermath lingered... more than ever before.
Gemma flexed her fingers, pain lancing through her shoulder... sharp, but manageable. Her body's regeneration was no longer the miracle it once was, not even close. She had saved a life. Not without consequence. Not without cost.
And she hated it.
The room stank of chemicals and old bodily fluid. This was the first time Gemma realized where she was, where Zub had brought her. She wanted to complain, but there was no point. At least she was safe... thanks to him.
Shattered glass crunched beneath her boots as they entered. Gemma focused on the memories of the fight, and how her form shifting from Lantra to someone else did not happen despite her willing it. Anya, Jynx, or any of the other, more physical personalities, would have been useful during the battle, but alas, Lantra remained for far too long.
For the first time ever, the shift from one personality to the next was not fluid. Not elegant.
Lantra's smooth diplomacy tangled mid-thought with Gabrielle's violent edge, an internal collision of styles. Wimdalli's logic flickered briefly before vanishing altogether... as if someone had cut the feed. A glitch. A jammed signal. A warning. Thinking of the fight and its aftermath, Gemma could feel the growing chaos within. Personalities were becoming increasingly blurred, breaking, shattering into unrecognizable forms.
She gasped and swallowed... hard, then she staggered, brought back to the last moments of the physical battle with the other her.
Inside her mind, the personas crackled like a faulty transmission. Static filled the space between their voices. Dalra's voice arrived too late, half a second behind the movement she'd already committed to. Her parry missed. Pain lanced her thigh.
"What happened?" she hissed through clenched teeth. The Voth continued to silently hold her up, his muscular arm easily wrapping around her waist.
The voices in her mind offered no answers. No apologies. Just silence, and the shiver of something wrong.
If it had not been for his timely arrival, things would not have ended well for her, and knowing this just made everything feel worse... much worse. Now, she allowed herself to feel his presence, his closeness, his protection, not out of desire but necessity, but still... She allowed it.
They walked further into the dark room, into the shifting shadows, away from the crowds and the pain of her latest defeat. The pattern was becoming alarming. Once on NOVOSYTH and now here on the NORTHAL DRIFT, her life had almost ended. That thought weighed on her shoulders like a thousand galaxies crashing down upon her.
He caught her as she stumbled once again, his arms strong, his touch gentle. The same warmth she'd felt before, the same calm and strength she hated to admit she needed now more than ever. His voice was soft, reassuring, the words almost too perfect.
"I've got you. I'm here. Always."
She smiled as his scales brushed against the exposed skin of her arm. Although small, the contact felt nice, personal. Over the following half-heartbeat, a lifetime of memories from what could have been flashed in her head, but then she froze. Her soul instantly turned to ice.
They had touched before, so the feeling was familiar, but yet, different. Something was missing.
No spark. No hum. No whisper at the edge of her perception. The nanites, her nanites in him always responded to their close contact, drawn like iron filings to a magnetic truth. Their bond was given a physical form by this, but now... Nothing.
Her breath caught. She looked up into his golden eyes. They were kind, caring, as they always had been. But they were empty. He was not him. The warmth was there, the gentleness... but not the soul. Her soul knew it before her mind did.
A twist tore through her chest, subtle but cruel. It wasn't fear, not yet. It was betrayal sharpened by certainty. She pushed away from him roughly, wincing as the movement reopened a partially healed wound.
She said nothing. Didn't need to.
Across the chamber, her clone stepped into the feeble light, revealing a face both familiar and grotesque. It was her, but twisted. Malice danced in those eyes.
"Look at you," the clone purred, voice dripping contempt. "You were the perfect tool. Infinite masks. Infinite power. Now? Just a broken woman, bleeding in the dark? You are beyond broken. You are pathetic."
Gemma's breath hitched as the clone advanced. Each step carried the echo of her own grace, but weaponized.
"Did you really think losing a few nanites would go unnoticed? I watched you fail. I felt your fear. You’re nothing without them. Tell me, Gemma: when was the last time you felt truly strong?"
A rush of anger surged within the ILO fueling a glare of absolute defiance, but the clone just laughed, a cold, mirthless sound.
"Save it. Your Lantra skirmish was clumsy. Anya’s fury is dull. Dalra’s precision? Gone. You’re a broken symphony, and I’m the only chord that matters."
With a sudden strike, the clone’s hidden blade sliced through air and drew a thin line of blood across Gemma’s cheek. The sting was sharp, physical proof of her weakness.
"I could tear you apart piece by piece," it whispered, pressing the tip of its blade against her throat. "But tonight, I’ll just watch you squirm. Let the real terror sink in."
Her heart thundered. Pain blinded her senses for a moment, but then determination flared.
She fought back, or at least tried, only to find that her body failed to move. The clone laughed. Somewhere, the false Zub watched silently, not interfering.
Gemma reached inward.
A voice answered. Not the strongest. Not the bravest... Finnja.
"It's alright to feel it," the nurse whispered in that quiet way only she could. "You're not broken. You're just... human."
Gemma closed her eyes.
Others gathered. Lireen. Dayna. Gwenvel. Even Saha, whose voice rarely rose above a whisper. They did not fight for dominance. They stood beside her. With her. As her.
"You are the sum of us," Gwenvel said. "But more."
Gemma opened her eyes just in time to see another blow coming down. She rolled but not fast enough to avoid the clone's blade. Her body screamed in protest.
The darkness remained, but her vision was clearer. The pain sharpened her focus.
"You're not me," Gemma spat at the clone.
The standing mockery of who she was, the soulless creature wearing her face, laughter.
"You are right, I am not you," the clone chuckled. "I am better. Look at you. Crawling, gasping, clinging to ghosts. You're not just broken... you're obsolete."
Gemma pushed herself upright, shaking with effort but not fear. Not anymore. The clone's eyes narrowed.
"Don't flatter yourself," the ILO growled, blood mixing with sweat on her brow. "You're not my shadow. You're my symptom."
"I am not the one suffering from misplaced empathy... for a child, or emotional weakness for 'friends'," the clone hissed before she lunged. Gemma met the charge not with power... but with purpose.
Inside her mind, the chorus rose... not in dissonance, but harmony.
Finnja. Lireen. Gwenvel. Dayna. Saha.
Not fragments. Not failures.
Her.
And as the blade met flesh again, she did not falter. She remembered who she was... as the surrounding shadows swooped in enveloping Gemma in a cold, unfamiliar darkness.
=-=
Rachel Jackie Johnson
Lieutenant Gemma
Intel Operative
USS ANUBIS
[The fun is getting to wear multiple disguises and getting to explore multiple personalities and bring them to life.] - Jenna Fischer
"Time for Action"
Previous post: "Ultimate Betrayal"
Setting: NORTHAL DRIFT, Medical Bay
Stardate: 45003.1900
The auction was now three hours away… and the mission had all but collapsed.
T'Lara stood alone in the corner of the Medical Bay, her silhouette carved into the stillness like a statue awaiting judgment. The overhead lighting flickered with mechanical fatigue, casting a wan halo around the outdated biobed where Amanda had last stood. Now the room was silent... oppressively so. Not the silence of peace, but the kind that arrives just before everything breaks.
She had reviewed the available data repeatedly. It changed nothing.
Amanda and Adriana were gone. Taken.
And now... Christie was missing.
The realization had come too late. One moment, the girl had been sorting supplies, methodical and focused, as always. The next, gone. No comms. No disruption. Just an absence that now expanded in her mind like a spreading toxin.
T'Lara's jaw tightened. She had seen the unease in Christie's eyes, the questions that reached too far, probed too deep. She had misjudged her, mistaking restraint for submission. It was not. The girl had made a choice. T'Lara could only assume that Christie had gone to find her mother… or worse, to facilitate the very trade that Commander Shar'El had refused.
From a tactical standpoint, the decision to reject the exchange had been sound. Trading two civilians for the twins... regardless of sentiment... would have compromised the primary objective: locating and containing the deadly weapon already responsible for 128,000 deaths. Cold logic had prevailed.
But logic did not erase consequence. It did not ease the disquiet now thrumming beneath T'Lara's skin.
She could not act openly. Not yet. Not here.
To the NORTHAL DRIFT, she was no more than a Romulan medical aide assigned to assist Dr. Zorell, a woman as competent as she was erratic. T'Lara had no official standing. No authority. No backup. And with the subdermal communicators offline, she was effectively cut off from the rest of the team.
There was no way of knowing who else had been compromised. The Medical Bay might be the only quiet sector left, but for how long?
She turned to the corner terminal, fingers flying with the precision of someone who had done far worse under far tighter constraints. Zorell's security protocols were nearly nonexistent, favoring speed over caution... understandable, given the station's conditions. T'Lara initiated a localized biometric sweep. The last scan had yielded nothing, but it remained the only non-invasive tool available.
She adjusted the parameters: seeking unique biosignatures; Voth density, Nylaan biochemistry, even Shillian celular harmonics. Anything that might stand out.
The screen returned a single word: No Matches.
She stared at the result for several seconds. Not in frustration. Not even disappointment. Just calculation.
A faint metallic scrape echoed from the corridor.
T'Lara did not move, not yet. Her breathing slowed. Muscles tensed with trained readiness. She allowed her Romulan instincts to surface, to guide her senses, assessing light, sound, the residual trace of movement.
Nothing visible. But visibility meant nothing here.
The NORTHAL DRIFT was no longer a neutral ground. It was a powder keg, and her crew... her teammates... were the ones standing nearest the fuse.
She tapped her subdermal communicator. Again. Silence.
Still illogical to keep trying. And yet, she did. Because logic alone was insufficient.
Her Romulan side surged forward. Not with emotion, but with resolve. Inaction was no longer tolerable. People were in danger. Standing by had never been her strength.
She crouched and retrieved the satchel beneath the biobed, her fingers moving with practiced efficiency. A compressed bioscanner tuned to non-standard life signs. A high-yield sedative, enough to bring down a Nausicaan. A low-tier security pass. Not unrestricted, but it would get her through most of the lower decks without raising alarms.
The price of duty had always been high. But this time, it felt personal.
Christie had sparked something in her... a strange flicker in the space between logic and instinct. Not sentiment. Not attachment. But recognition. The girl had chosen to act. And so must she.
T'Lara spared a final glance at the door to the Medical Bay. No movement. Just the hum of recycled air and the flickering light.
The mission had shifted. The Medical Bay's original objective... to observe possible physiological side effects of the weapon... had collapsed with the disappearance of two-thirds of its team.
T'Lara adjusted her internal parameters. She was no longer merely a doctor monitoring symptoms.
She was now a hunter searching for the cause.
With quiet precision, she stepped through the door, vanishing into the shadows of the NORTHAL DRIFT without a sound, and without looking back.
=-=
Dawn Bohr
Lt. Commander T'Lara
Chief Medical Officer
USS ANUBIS, NCC-18501
“Or the One”
Previous post: “Time for Action” by ever clever Dawn
=-=
Setting: NORTHAL DRIFT, Marketplace
Stardate: 45003.1905
Zub Enel bumped and jostled through the crowd in the marketplace but couldn’t see the two Gemmas or faux-Zub anywhere. He inhaled deeply. Gemma, despite the ministrations of her nanites to make her completely whole and neutral, had a distinct scent, one he found pleasant, like freshly washed root vegetables—a factoid he had been reluctant to reveal to her because she might will her nanites to expunge that scent from her.
Nothing. Or, rather, everything. The rickety, two-story market utterly reeked. He guessed they could smell it from the nearest star system.
He paused amid the crowd, despite being pushed and shoved; he remained oblivious, his three-fingered hand covering his mouth. His stomach sank into his hips. Both Gemma and Ya’Han were gone. His job was to protect them both, but he had lost them. The whole point of their presence on this tumbling, whirling cesspool of metal and meat was to distract the trader Ardax. His mission was to ensure they carried out theirs.
His fingertip was cold as he tapped his subdermal com, which failed to activate. Scales rose on the back of his neck. He was cut off from communication with the rest of the away team, including the marines stationed on the outer rim.
He knew as solidly as if he’d been gut punched that the three of them had been targeted. Whoever had done it knew what they were doing. They even had clones of Zub and Gemma. Right now, the plan to separate them had worked.
Enel placed an icy hand on his bony head crest, contemplating how to illuminate a plan with hidden intent. He recalled the famous Klingon philosopher Sun’Tzu's warning to compel his enemy to reveal himself to discover his vulnerable spots. Where would Gemma or Ya’Han be taken?
He figured that if the beautiful, highly trained Ya’Han had been taken to Ardax, she’d likely be deadly enough to take care of herself.
Gemma had been led away, clinging weakly to the faux-Zub’s arm and leaning against him for support. Zub’s heart lurched as if one chamber had ceased functioning and the rest of it was thrown askew. She had never clung to his arm or pressed herself against him as she was doing with his clone. Did she not know that him wasn’t him?
Zub clenched both fists and stood tall. The best places to hide were those where people wouldn’t go: machine rooms, service corridors, or whatever passed for Jefferies tubes in this derelict. He looked beyond the vendor booths for hatches. Seeing none that were obvious, he scanned the ceiling for conduit. A great skein of pipes, electrical and plasma tubes, led to a spot between a booth selling what looked like astrological trinkets and another featuring birdlike sculptures that dipped at the hips, dipping and dipping into cups. He guessed this confluence of power cables likely led to a service passage. A service passage was a sure and quick way to vanish in a hurry, like Gemma and Ya’Han had.
The vendors in the two booths complained loudly, but Zub ignored them as he found an old-style hand-opened hatch and pulled it open. The hatch wailed like it had not moved in years. He guessed he had not heard such a wail just before Gemma and the clones had disappeared, but the market was also very loud.
Setting: NORTHAL DRIFT, Service conduit
Stardate: 45003.1907
The passage was dark, reeked of mold, and was narrow enough that he had to turn sideways to fit his barrel chest. A flickering green light signaled a way forward. He sidestepped along the conduit until he stepped into a dimly lit room with a rabbit in it.
The rabbit was tall, with long legs ending in stiletto heels. Big white and fuzzy ears swiveled in his direction before a beautiful brown face followed them around. It was a Viera, a sultry beauty barely clad in lacy armor. Even in the dim light, he recognized her. “Fran?”
Calling her name stopped the rabbit lady from completing an underhanded fling of a dagger at him. Her large red eyes regarded him minutely. She had a delicious but exotic accent. “You I know. You were on the….”
Zub brought a finger to his lips, hoping to stop her from revealing out loud that he was with Starfleet. In a place like NORTHAL DRIFT, the walls truly had ears, though not as tall and strokable as hers. She pressed her full lips together, clearly gathering his meaning.
Zub felt the faintest puff of air on his neck, softer than a feather. His training and speed, possibly enhanced by the presence of such a curvy and nearly nude female, enabled him to slam both elbows backward lightning-fast into something warm and yielding. Someone with a deep voice behind him exclaimed, “Oof.” Zub whirled to confront a Talarian male whose face was twisted in pain. The male, however, attempted to headbutt Zub with a bony head crest that arched above his forehead.
Zub scowled and checked the man’s attack by seizing him with both hands and lifting him clear of the deck by his expensive brown suit. The man beat on Zub’s arms, but his blows were weak and ineffectual, clearly delivered by an amateur.
Enel felt a thin knife point press through his clothes over his ribs and into the first few layers of scales. The Viera stood beside him, holding the same dagger she had chosen not to throw at him. She said, her smoldering red-eyed gaze fixed on his, her accent lengthening her vowels, “Undor is useful to me. You, less so.” The point gave a little twist for emphasis.
Zub let the man go. He backed off a step or two. Both Fran and the Talarien stood shoulder to shoulder. The Talarian, Undor, fussed with straightening and smoothing his coat. He glared up at Enel. “You have no business in this part of the station.”
Enel raised his heavy brow. Gemma’s clone, Isiryne, mentioned a Talarian and Viera conspiring on bids for the doomsday device. He answered Undor’s challenge: "I have as much business being here as both of you do. I was looking for someone.” He looked at Fran. “Do you remember Gemma? She’s gone missing.”
The beauteous rabbit lady shook her head slowly, her tall ears accentuating the movement. “It was your task to protect her, was it not?”
Zub squinted his golden eyes. He guessed it wasn’t that Fran knew anything specifically about Gemma’s disappearance. Viera lived for several hundred years. Fran had probably encountered this exact situation countless times.
“She is not here. Clearly!” the Talarian shouted, his face turning crimson. “Look somewhere else.”
Zub ensured the man knew he had heard him, then ignored the fop in a suit. He suspected she and Undor had been searching the backrooms for the device so they could steal away with it before the auction. Zub asked Fran, “Have you seen any good hiding places for, say, three people?”
The heart-stopping beauty's chest heaved as she loosed a heavy sigh. “I serve only Undor.”
“So be on your way!” Undor said, one hand moving possessively around the rabbit woman's bare, slender waist. He used his other hand to waggle his fingers as if he were dusting Zub away.
Zub momentarily considered punching the arrogant male. Fran’s eyes glittered a warning as she adjusted her grip on her dagger. Zub decided to stand down. This couple was not going to help him. And he surmised, if he persisted, they might even eliminate him as one less potential bidder for the doomsday device.
He said, “I will keep looking.”
Fran’s barely clad hips tilted slowly, a move that would tack-weld most males’ attention to her. She pointed behind Zub with her dagger. Zub glanced in that direction. There was another power cable raceway he could barely squeeze through. He glanced back. Fran and the fop were already pushing out of the raceway from which Zub had entered.
“Gemma,” he whispered. He hoped his tiny load of nanites she’d given him would try to move toward her. They always did when he was close to her. The sensation provided him a sense of connection with this most enigmatic of women, a connection he relished, a connection beneath the skin somehow between them. He wasn’t feeling anything clearly, except maybe that Fran had pointed him in the right direction.
He shoved and squeezed into the narrow raceway. He felt torn. The doomsday device that could kill billions needed to be found. Gemma needed to be found. Should he first save the many? Or the one? His heart made him press on ahead. He decided he needed to find the one, for now. With allies like her, he could help the many.
=-=
David Michael Inverso
Lieutenant JG Zub Enel
MCO
USS ANUBIS, NCC 18501
“Finding the one is like finding a pearl in a sea of shells.”
- From a recent fortune cookie
---
"New Mission Parameters"
(Previous Post: "Or the One")
---
Setting: NORTHAL DRIFT, Secondary Backup Control Room
Stardate: 45003.1910
Maya and Jayson sat quietly, their gazes lost on the data and video feeds being displayed. Everything had changed, and to say that the mission had all but collapsed would have been a dire understatement.
Amanda and Adriana were in the hands of a hostile force, being used as bait to lure Cristhiane and her daughter Christie out. Somehow, Maya and Jayson had lost track of the primary team: Gemma, Ya'Han, and Zub. Their objective had been to draw Ardax out, to maybe force him to reveal the location of the device they were here to find. Now, there was no way to know if they had accomplished their mission or if they had fallen prey to one of the many vile distractions littering the NORTHAL DRIFT.
Then there were the clones. Maya herself had met one of them, Jayson's, and it was all too likely that more existed, as though the current mission had not been complicated enough.
All efforts to use the archaic systems of the station to locate any members of the away team had failed completely, and now the secured network of their subdermal communicators had, for some unknown reason, gone offline.
From a single covert team operating on multiple fronts, the crew of the ANUBIS present on the station had become scattered individuals, each trying to stay on mission... or so Maya hoped.
"Still nothing on the video feeds," Jayson sighed. "It is almost as if something or someone is manipulating the cameras to make sure we do not get to see what we need to see."
"That theory may not be that far-fetched," Maya noted. "Science is not fond of coincidences, and we are dealing with far too many of those at this instance. The Lopez sisters having been captured, and the trade deal being offered in a manner that only Commander Shar'El could receive. The complete communication blackout. The presence of clones of the crew of the ANUBIS. The odds of a single one of these events occurring is already astronomical, but all of them simultaneously... this is not by chance."
"Wait," Jayson gasped. "Are you suggesting that someone orchestrated all of that? But why? Why go through all of that trouble just to hinder our mission?"
The Shillian slowly shook her head. "No. I dislike admitting this, but we are not that important. Whoever planned this is operating on a much larger scale. We are but a single piece in their game, a single chapter in the unfolding of their narrative story."
"Thanks for making me feel even less important," Jayson said in a half-sarcastic tone, letting out a long, heavy breath. "What do we do now?"
"We need more data," Maya replied. "We have been focusing on the pieces of this game, on the pages of this story. Now we need to look deeper. We need to understand the board... the framework of this story. We need to look beyond the visible manifestations of whatever this game is."
"I follow you... well, for the most part," Jayson admitted. "That said, this is not the ANUBIS," he added, motioning to the barely functioning equipment around them. "Even with all of the resources of the various labs, I suspect that what you are suggesting would take time. More time than I fear we have. The auction is in less than three hours, and we have no idea where anyone else is, let alone the device."
"We are seeing only what they, whoever 'they' are, want us to see," Maya said as her fingers danced over the controls. "What if we stopped focusing on the 'what' and turned our attention to the 'how'?"
"We tried that before," Jayson pointed out. "The internal sensors of this floating garbage pile are practically useless. Lifesigns are erratic at best. The only thing we can detect with any accuracy is radiation leakage."
"Radiation can reveal shifts in energetic states, structural configurations, or environmental conditions that may be invisible to conventional observation," Maya explained, a faint smile forming on her lips. This was her element. Through science, she could explain the impossible and uncover the invisible. "Radiation is adaptive, responsive to underlying changes in physical systems. Everything we have seen, everything we have experienced, will have left an imprint on the radiation permeating this station. We only have to determine what it is we are looking for."
"You are planning on reading radiation shifts? Where do you even begin?"
Maya paused. Jayson's question was all too valid. The types of radiation present were too numerous. Each came with its own spectrum, each with specific shifts to monitor. Time was the critical factor, and there was not enough of it to perform a comprehensive sweep. She had to narrow her scope.
She closed her eyes and began with the system she knew best: her own body. As a shapeshifter, the Shillian required a level of self-awareness that extended to the cellular level. It had taken years, and the constant support of her father while he was still alive, to develop the necessary physiological self-discipline. In time, she had become capable of identifying internal biochemical and structural anomalies, later confirmed through intense medical scans.
Jayson, noticing the sudden shift in focus of the Shillian scientist, remained quiet. Ya'Han was out there, possibly dealing with his clone, and he could do nothing to help her. The helplessness gnawed at him, but he would not interrupt Maya.
Without warning, her eyes snapped open. Her fingers moved in a blur across the controls, urgency guiding every motion.
"I am guessing you thought of something," Jayson said as he leaned in, trying to follow her actions.
"Disruption in the quantum entanglement fields," Maya offered without further elaboration. "The pulse we generated earlier was blocked. Our cover and secured communication system has been disabled. We encountered a clone and suspect there may be others. Shar'El received a telepathic message clearly intended for her alone. There is no consistent physical link between these events. However, on a quantum level, each would have left a mark, an imprint, a disturbance detectable through shifts in the surrounding radiation."
Jayson stared at her, wide-eyed. "How are you planning to make sense of all those shifts?"
"I am not quite there yet," Maya admitted. "However, any data we are able to gather will be more than what we currently have."
---
Jessica Solarik
Lieutenant Commander Maya
Chief Science Officer
USS ANUBIS
"To see the world in a grain of sand,
and a heaven in a wild flower.
Hold infinity in the palm of your hand,
and eternity in an hour."
- William Blake (British, 1757-1827)
-=-=-
"Fracture"
Previous post: "New Mission Parameters" by Jessica
-=-=-
Setting: NORTHAL DRIFT, Unknown Location
Stardate: 45003.1910
Her body obeyed, but her soul recoiled. The collar burned like betrayal.
Ya’Han stared at the floor, not because she couldn’t look at Ardax, but because she didn’t want to see herself reflected in his eyes.
This wasn’t the warrior who once danced through fire in a training arena. This wasn’t the daughter who defied a throne. This wasn’t even the woman who had held Jayson’s hand as his clone faded from her arms.
She didn't recognize herself.
Breathe. Breathe like Nan taught you. Count each second.
Her lungs struggled to expand. The air reeked of sweat, oil, and old greed. The silence between Ardax’s words was worse than his voice, thick with the weight of ownership.
She felt pink again. Not by choice... by command. That was the real horror. Her hair hadn’t changed. Her will hadn’t rallied. The strength she fought so hard to claim was… quiet.
Was this what he wanted? For her to question who she was?
A part of her... a younger part... cried out for escape. Another part, colder, whispered back: You're not escaping this time. You're going to endure it. And then, when the moment comes, you end it.
A tear slipped down her cheek. Not for Ardax. Not for her past. For herself... for the version of Ya’Han she could no longer feel beneath the bruises.
"Why aren't you fighting?" he asked, mockingly gentle.
She didn’t answer. Couldn't. Her voice would crack.
Instead, she met his gaze.
It wasn't anger he saw in her eyes.
It was a promise.
She forced herself to stand in front of him, knees trembling, hands limp at her sides.
The collar chafed against her neck. She could feel her pulse beneath it, fluttering like panic trying to escape. Her mouth was dry, coated in metal and fear, but the worst taste was shame. Shame that her hair remained pink. Shame that he saw her like this.
"Not so fierce now," Ardax murmured, circling like a vulture, the sound of his boots against the cold floor echoing with the chill of a jailer.
His voice echoed, distorted by the drug still crawling through her thoughts. Every syllable felt like a hook, dragging her closer to some unseen edge.
She wanted to scream. Not at him. At the part of herself that let this happen.
Because in that sick, hollow moment, she felt something terrible whisper from within. Something cold. Something sharp. Something that sounded like her father... but worse. It didn’t speak in commands or rage. It simply waited, coiled and patient, offering strength with no conditions. All she had to do was let go. Stop caring. Stop being weak.
Her heart rebelled.
No. She wasn’t like him. She couldn’t be. She wouldn’t.
A flicker of memory surfaced through the fog. Jayson’s voice. Gentle. Steady. Real. Then another, crueler voice layered atop it. The clone. The stronger one who knew her darkness and loved her for it. When he died in her arms, he took that version of her with him... the fierce, broken part he believed in, the part she had spent years trying to silence, while drawing strength from it..
She couldn’t hold onto either memory. They slipped away like mist through her fingers. All she had now was Ardax’s presence, and the terrible, suffocating silence of who she might become.
"You dreamed of this, didn’t you?" Ardax whispered near her ear, his breath as foul as his words. "You wanted to see me suffer. But look who’s kneeling."
She hadn’t realized she’d fallen. Her legs had given out without warning. One second she was standing. The next, the cold floor kissed her knees, and the leash hung heavy from his hand.
She didn’t fight it. Couldn’t. The drug blurred everything.
But even in the blur, she felt the heat of hatred. It burned low, deep in her core, behind her heart. Not like fire. More like embers. Slow. Relentless.
Her hands curled into fists.
She didn’t want revenge.
She wanted annihilation.
Then she heard her own voice... not aloud, but from that cold place inside her.
Let him live. Let him think he’s won. Then bury him where no one will find the pieces.
She flinched at the thought. She shouldn’t be capable of thinking that. That wasn’t her. That was...
Her father?
No. Worse.
She turned her head away, eyes closing.
The pink strands clung to her cheek, soft as silk, and all she could feel was betrayal.
-=-=-
Hanali Han
Lieutenant Ya'Han
Chief of Security / Tactical Officer
USS ANUBIS, NCC-18501
#########
"Silent Before the Storm, Part 1"
Previous post: "Fracture" by Hanali
##########
"When the enemy isolates you, it is not to destroy you swiftly, but to enjoy watching you fall apart. Let's disappoint them."
-- Commander Shar'El
Setting: USS ANUBIS, Bridge
Stardate 45003.1915
The Native American Captain stood tall at the center of the ANUBIS' command deck, his gaze fixed on the image displayed across the main view screen. The NORTHAL DRIFT... A wretched hive where the scum of the sector converged to trade, deceive, and survive... rarely for the benefit of anyone but themselves. The crew of the ANUBIS had dealt with such people and places before, but this mission felt different. More chaotic. As if some unseen hand were guiding events beyond their control.
"Captain, if I may... Are you certain this is a good idea?" Ani asked, her tone unusually human for an artificial construct.
Morningstar exhaled slowly. "It's either that," he replied, "or we reduce that station to scrap and declare war on every group with a stake in it... legal or otherwise."
Ani stepped closer, mimicking the Captain's stance as her eyes returned to the station's image. "When plans fall apart... be unpredictable. I believe Commander Shar'El would approve."
--==/\==--
Setting: NORTHAL DRIFT, Observation Alcove Above Auction Floor
Stardate 45003.1915
Time Until Auction Begins: 2 Hours, 45 Minutes
She hadn't realized how loud silence could be until the subdermal communicator fell dead.
The silence struck louder than any alarm. No ping from the subdermal communicator. No trace of Gemma. No whisper from T’Lara. Not even Maya's usual overexplaining. All she could hear was the passing memories of those below as they went about their dark and questionable routines.
Commander Shar'El stood motionless in the shadows of a raised observation alcove above the main auction floor. The galaxy's filth gathered below, whispering in coded gestures, trading in rare artifacts and rarer lives. Above them, she watched. Calculated. Silenced.
Her fingers hovered over the comm trigger again, but no signal. Nothing. Dead space. This was no technical failure.
Someone had orchestrated Amanda's abduction. Set into motion events that forced everyone to deal with ghosts they would rather forget. And then they jammed the away team's communication system, cutting each officer off from the others. Deliberate. Precise. Coordinated.
"We've been surgically severed."
She knew the enemy's intention... to divide them, isolate their strongest players, and leave them to drown in the chaos of this fractured, lawless station.
But isolation would not lead to surrender.
The crew of the ANUBIS thrived in the hidden chaos found in the shifting shadows. Shar'El took one last glance over the floor below... then vanished from the alcove, already moving. As a former ILO, she understood that silence wasn't surrender. It was camouflage.
--==/\==--
Setting: NORTHAL DRIFT, Landing Bay
Stardate 45003.1916
Time Until Auction Begins: 2 Hours, 39 Minutes
The ANUBIS' FCO climbed out of the modified VIPER, silently thanking whatever cosmic forces were present that the patched-together flight hadn't ended in flames. Commander Paquette had worked fast to camouflage the sleek craft, making it appear more run-down... a perfect fit for the rest of the crafts that came and went from the NORTHAL DRIFT.
After giving a glance around with his only good eye, the Caitian FCO gave the craft that had brought him here a few gentle taps. To anyone watching, it was a show of gratitude to a machine that had survived the journey, but the reality was far more covert.
As A'Janni walked away, a small panel opened and a dozen or so small spherical droids, no larger than 10.5 centimetres in diameter, began to float out to quickly vanish into the station's ventilation ducts or maintenance conduits. The design of a D.R.O.N.E. was simplistic, but their goal was to possibly offer a solution to the current lack of communication between the members of the away team.
--==/\==--
Setting: NORTHAL DRIFT, Narrow Passageway
Stardate 45003.1917
Time Until Auction Begins: 2 Hours, 43 Minutes
Most would have found these passageways to be tight, but for the 7-foot-tall Voth, these were nothing short of a near impossibility to navigate for someone of his stature. His wide shoulders scraped the duranium walls on either side, and at more than one junction, Zub had to exhale and twist just to squeeze through. The low ceiling made every movement a crawling struggle, his claws occasionally sparking off conduits as he maneuvered through the cramped tunnel.
He shoved forward, shoulders grinding against the walls, pausing every few meters to feel for her... mentally, physically, spiritually.
The nanites Gemma had inadvertently transferred to him were few in number and rudimentary in abilities compared to what she carried, but they had proven capable of something extraordinary: a faint empathic thread. A tug. A presence. It was like following an invisible current in the dark... sometimes steady, sometimes frustratingly absent.
Now? Nothing.
He closed his eyes, placed a hand against the cold wall, and focused. He slowed his breathing, shutting out the noise of the station around him... the hissing of steam vents, the groaning of old metal under stress... and listened inward.
There. Faint. A buzz in the marrow of his bones... in the crown of his forehead.
She was alive. Somewhere.
"Gemma," he whispered again, more to the nanites than to himself, as if invoking her name might sharpen the signal. The whisper was met with a dull warmth along his forearm. It wasn’t a direction, not exactly, but it was something... Hope flickering in the dark.
Twisting again, Zub slithered deeper into the power raceway. Every few meters tested his patience as he paused, claws scraping walls, attuning to the flickering thread. He checked every side chamber, each maintenance alcove, praying for a glimpse of fabric, of blood, of anything to tell him he was close.
Then he froze.
The nanites pulsed. Strong. Immediate. Vibrant. For some reason, the link between their nanites had amplified, but he was not complaining. The thread snapped taut... pulsing, hot, immediate. She was close. Weak... but alive. He didn't smile. Didn’t breathe. He just moved... faster.
--==/\==--
Setting: NORTHAL DRIFT, Unknown Location
Stardate: 45003.1918
Time Until Auction Begins: 2 Hours, 42 Minutes
Pain bloomed sharp and immediate across her cheek as the back of Ardax's hand made contact. The world jolted sideways. Not from the blow, though it would leave a mark, but from the realization that she hadn’t even tried to stop it.
The drug dulled her reflexes, made her limbs feel like waterlogged weights. Her thoughts moved faster than her body, screaming for resistance while her muscles remained limp, disobedient.
"I thought Markus was exaggerating," Ardax growled, pacing again. "Said you'd come back. Said you'd kneel. I laughed in his face. Told him you'd rather die." He crouched, lowering himself until his toothy sneer hovered inches from hers. "Looks like I owe him an apology."
She kept her gaze fixed on the floor, not out of submission, but calculation. If she met his eyes again, she might lose control, lash out too soon, when she could barely lift her arm.
"You were so proud," he murmured, brushing a pink strand from her face like a lover might. "So royal. Daughter of the High Sovereign. Meant to become my greatest and most cherished acquisition. But here you are. Trembling. Weak. Collared."
She wanted to spit in his face.
Instead, her fingers inched subtly across the floor, curling under her thigh, testing their responsiveness. One finger twitched. Then two more. It was coming back. Slowly. The drug was fading.
He leaned in closer. "You're not the woman who ran. Not the warrior. You're a lesson. A warning."
A lesson.
That word rang in her ears like a blade unsheathing.
She'd heard it before. In her father's chambers. In the arena. From every overseer who ever thought fear was loyalty and obedience was legacy.
No. Not again. Never again.
The embers inside her flared. She didn't need the blaze yet. Just the spark. The heat would come, patient and precise... rising just enough to burn through the fog in her head. She held onto it... quiet, hidden, patient. A slow breath. A trembling exhale.
Not yet. Let him think he'd won.
Let him parade his dominance.
Let him believe the pink meant she was broken.
Her time would come.
And when it did, she wouldn't strike for revenge.
Not just hers. For every girl who had ever been told her pain made her less. For every sister who had been forced to kneel before a man who smiled when she cried.
The drug’s grip was fading. And when it finally slipped, she wouldn’t just break him. She'd rewrite the lesson... in blood... his.
--==/\==--
Setting: NORTHAL DRIFT, Lower Maintenance Level
Stardate: 45003.1919
Time Until Auction Begins: 2 Hours, 41 Minutes
Although they were alone, Christie and her mother, who was following closely behind, could not shake the sensation that their every move was being watched.
"Are we sure we are doing the right thing?" Cristhiane asked of her daughter in a whispered voice.
"Yeah," Christie said, soft but sure. "We are." She paused for a brief moment, thinking back to the events that had brought them here. "They saved you from the ship and saved me from the Yautja Matrix. Had it not been for them, we would not be here together, so yes, this is the right thing to do."
"What about after?" An audible fear made her words vibrate as she spoke, years of struggles all wrapped into a single breath.
Christie stopped and turned to face her mother, not in a challenging manner but rather in a supportive, loving way. "We escaped before, and we'll do it again."
Cristhiane offered a weak, nervous smile. "I’m not worried about me," the mother whispered. "Just you.. I saw what they did to you... heard you screaming in agony. I don't want you to go through that again."
Mother and daughter shared a brief moment of silence before Christie tightly embraced her mother. As painful as it might end up being, she knew that there was no other option; living with the physical pain that would be inflicted on her would be easier than having to deal with the emotional agony of having abandoned the twins to an unknown fate.
Christie's eyes closed, echoing the tightness with which she was holding her mother. Her time would come, and when it did, it wouldn't just be her freedom she would be fighting for
--==/\==--
Setting: NORTHAL DRIFT, Secondary Backup Control Room
Stardate 45003.1920
Time Until Auction Begins: 2 Hours, 40 Minutes
Maya and Jayson were frantically working on finding a way to re-establish communications, or at the very least get some idea as to the location of the members of the away team. The plan was to use disruptions in the quantum entanglement fields to identify possible areas of interest. As much as Jayson believed in the Shillian's skills and knowledge, though, it was clear to both of them that this was a long shot amongst a universe of near impossibilities.
"There is just too much background radiation," Jayson noted as he studied the latest internal scan of the NORTHAL DRIFT. "The instruments we have here are nowhere sensitive enough to pick up specific lifesigns, let alone quantum fluctuations. If this were a Federation installation, the CO would have ordered an evacuation months ago.
Maya had to agree, but she refused to openly admit it. Science was not a field that accepted 'impossible' as an answer; she just needed to find that one tweak that would give them the edge they needed now more than ever.
The sound of metal against metal echoed through the small room, causing Jayson to jump, expecting that the station was finally falling apart. His fears quickly transformed into puzzlement when a small spherical object emerged from a floor-level vent.
"What's a D.R.O.N.E. doing here?" He wondered aloud.
"It shouldn't be here... and operational," Maya quickly explained. "Ani is the only one able to remotely control them, and there is no way that the ANUBIS would be able to get a signal through at this time."
"Wouldn't that mean that Ani is here... to help us," Jayson theorized.
The Shillian softly shook her head. "Highly unlikely given the tactical situation of the ANUBIS. Captain Morninstar would not risk losing the ship's avatar at a time when her abilities are most needed aboard.
"Alright," the OPS Officer continued, not taking his gaze away from the small floating sphere. "So if it's not her... Then who's controlling it?"
--==(/\)==--
Francois Charette
Captain Erik Morningstar
Commanding Officer
USS ANUBIS, NCC 18501
--
"I used to think it was awful that life was so unfair. Then I thought, wouldn't it be much worse if life were fair and all the terrible things that happen to us come because we actually deserve them. So now I take great comfort in the general hostility and unfairness of the universe."
- Marcus Cole, Babylon 5
"When Silence Watches Back"
Previous post: "Silent Before the Storm, Part 1" by Francois
Setting: NORTHAL DRIFT, Secondary Backup Control Room
Stardate: 45003.1922
The room was still, save for the low buzzing of outdated power relays and the occasional flicker of a faulty ceiling panel. Jayson hadn't moved. Neither had the DRONE. Leaving a universe of unanswered questions between them.
The small sphere floated no more than a meter off the ground, utterly motionless in mid-air. No blinking lights, no directional beacons, no scanning pulses. Just... watching.
"Is it just me," Jayson muttered without looking away, "or does that thing look like it's trying to size me up?"
Maya glanced between her tricorder and the DRONE, frowning. "They are not programmed for idle behavior. If it is not actively scanning or mapping terrain, it should be docked or deactivated."
"So... malfunction?" Jayson offered, his voice low, skeptical.
Maya slowly shook her head. "No. The D.R.O.N.E.s do not malfunction in that manner. As simplistic as their core design might be, Sonja made sure that they have multiple redundancy protocols, if anything were off, it would have returned to its dock, shut down, or reported the issue." She glanced at the hovering sphere again. "This one came here on purpose."
The OPS officer frowned, folding his arms as he studied the small device. "Which means Ani sent it. But how? Comms are down across the board. There's no way a remote signal could’ve made it in here."
"Exactly," Maya replied. "Which suggests the DRONE was not deployed from the ANUBIS at all."
Reason: Clarifies that the implication is about origin, not just method."
"You think it was already on the NORTHAL DRIFT?" Jayson asked, his eyebrows raised.
The Shillian didn’t answer right away. She approached the DRONE cautiously, tricorder in hand, running a passive scan. "There’s no sign of long-range transmission activity. The signal control latency is near zero... whatever's guiding it is close."
Jayson stared at the silent sphere, the echo of his own breathing louder now. The thing was just there, like it had always been. Quiet. Watching.
"Could Ani have come aboard? Personally?" he asked.
Maya hesitated. It wasn't a question that lent itself to easy speculation. "If she did... it would have been with direct orders from Captain Morningstar and under extreme circumstances. Losing her, or even risking her, isn't something anyone aboard the ANUBIS would allow lightly."
Jayson took a step toward the DRONE. It didn't move. Just floated, unmoved by proximity or intent. For a moment, he locked eyes with the small black lens set into the sphere's matte casing. If this were a stare-down, he wasn't sure who was winning.
"So if this thing isn't malfunctioning... and Ani's not here... then why is it here?" he asked aloud.
Maya tapped the side of her tricorder. "Maybe it's not here to assist us directly. Maybe it's here to observe. To relay something back... later."
Jayson's brow furrowed. "Delayed sync?"
The Shillian nodded. "Possibly. If Ani suspected that something might cut us off, she could have preloaded a series of programmed sweeps. The D.R.O.N.E. would carry them out autonomously, and return with the data when the ANUBIS was in range again."
Jayson looked back at the sphere. "So... Ani’s version of a message in a bottle."
"Or a black box," Maya countered. "Recording what we do, what happens to us, in case we don't make it back."
That landed with more weight than either of them expected.
For a few seconds, the silence took hold again. Just the quiet whir of old systems and the faint hum of the DRONE's stabilizers.
"Still feels like it's staring at me," Jayson muttered, not quite joking.
Maya gave a small nod. "Good. Let it. It means Ani hasn’t forgotten we are here."
The silence stretched as man and machine stared at one another, each waiting for the mystery to unfold, or reveal itself in some subtle, silent way.
=-=
Jayson Sousa
Lieutenant Jayson Stark
Chief of Operations
USS ANUBIS, NCC-18501
#########
"Silent Before the Storm, Part 2"
Previous post: "When Silence Watches Back" by Jayson
##########
"What emerges from the shadows can prove to be your greatest adversary, or your greatest ally."
-- Inscription on a stone tablet entitled 'Legends of the Shadowlings'
Setting: NORTHAL DRIFT, Lower Maintenance Level, unknown location
Stardate: 45003.1925
Time Until Auction Begins: 2 Hours, 35 Minutes
Amanda trembled violently, though the air was still. Her wrists were bound behind her, forcing her to sit in an awkward, painful twist on the cold floor. A single, dim overhead light offered just enough illumination to reveal the bleak metallic walls and network of pipes surrounding her.
Adriana sat beside her sister, arms wrapped tightly around Amanda's nearest arm. Unrestrained, unbound… but unwilling to leave.
"I'm here," Adriana whispered again, her voice breaking. "I'm not going anywhere. Not this time."
Amanda didn't reply, but her breathing began to slow. Their bond... more than just blood... had frayed over the years but now surged back to life. Adriana's mind filled with feelings not her own: Amanda's fear, pain, longing… and faint hope.
The link between them had always been there, though unrecognized in their youth. Now, with only inches separating them, the connection ignited like a sudden flare in the void.
~I missed you every second.~ Amanda's thought was faint but unmistakable.
Adriana choked on a sob, resting her forehead against Amanda's head. ~I’m going to get you out. I swear.~
--==/\==--
Setting: NORTHAL DRIFT, Lower Maintenance Level, dark corridor
Stardate: 45003.1927
Time Until Auction Begins: 2 Hours, 33 Minutes
Bootsteps echoed in tight formation. Two Tal'Shiar soldiers in dark armour flanked Christie and Cristhiane as they moved down a narrow corridor. The elder woman’s hands clutched the sleeves of her long jacket, her eyes flicking anxiously toward her daughter.
Christie, in contrast, walked with cold fire in her step. Chin high, gaze steady, every motion radiated contempt and control.
Inside the holding chamber, Varin awaited... tall, gaunt, smug. He began clapping, slow and mocking.
"What a rare reunion this will be," the Tal'Shiar officer mused. "The elusive ghost, finally caught. I always knew you'd overreach."
Cristhiane's grip tightened. Christie stopped just short of Varin, her smile sharp and cutting.
"Don't flatter yourself, Varin. You didn't catch us. Someone else did your job for you… someone better."
His eye twitched ever so slightly. "Markus may have done the legwork, but I..."
"...am just here to claim the prize," she cut in, mimicking his tone mockingly, then switching back to her own. "You're not his equal. You're not even in his shadow."
Cristhiane's breath caught as Christie held Varin's gaze. The air thickened, tension mounting like a loaded conduit.
"I hope that little speech was worth it," Varin growled. "Because soon, you'll regret ever opening your mouth."
--==/\==--
Setting: NORTHAL DRIFT, Marketplace, upper level
Stardate: 45003.1930
Time Until Auction Begins: 2 Hours, 30 Minutes
T'Lara moved in silence across the precarious upper deck. It creaked ominously beneath her feet, as if daring collapse. The persistent buzz of energy lines in the nearby wall did little to reassure the Romulan-Vulcan hybrid.
Then she spotted it... a small metallic sphere hovering in midair, silently watching. The floating unit hovered, lens-like eye scanning the crowd below. After a moment, it turned towards her, as if recognizing her presence, then rotated and began to move forward deliberately.
She recognized it instantly... one of Ani’s DRONEs.
Raising a brow, T'Lara said nothing. The message was clear.
She followed.
They slipped into auxiliary shafts and narrow storage passages, descending deeper into the station’s underbelly. Somewhere below, something stirred... her instincts told her this was more than coincidence. It felt like the calm before something violent.
From a side corridor, another presence emerged: A'Janni. Silent. Steady.
Without slowing, she asked, "Why are you here?"
"To help," the Caitian replied, falling in beside her.
Together, they followed the DRONE, purpose sharpening behind their eyes.
--==/\==--
Setting: NORTHAL DRIFT, Unknown location
Stardate: 45003.1932
Time Until Auction Begins: 2 Hours, 28 Minutes
Gemma lay crumpled near a half-sealed maintenance hatch, flickering lights painting ghostly shapes across her battered features. Her clothes were torn, blood soaking one side. Beneath her skin, nanites shifted and surged... active, but not healing.
She was barely conscious, her mind adrift in pain and disorientation.
Zub… The name surfaced, a whisper lost beneath the tide.
Her vision fractured... dozens of selves overlapping. Starfleet officer. Spy. Monster. Machine. Her body convulsed as the nanites surged again.
A shadow passed over her.
Gemma’s eyes fluttered open. "Zub..." she rasped, weaker this time.
She felt it. Proximity. Not just physical... something deeper. Emotional. Raw. Unfiltered.
She forced her gaze upward.
But it wasn't him.
She stared into her own face... cold, cruel, twisted in hatred.
"I want you to die," the clone hissed, "slowly. Painfully."
The next moment, a savage kick slammed into Gemma's abdomen. She gasped, the air driven from her lungs.
--==/\==--
Setting: NORTHAL DRIFT, Lower Maintenance Level, unknown location
Stardate: 45003.1934
Time Until Auction Begins: 2 Hours, 26 Minutes
Three sets of heavy footfalls echoed through the grime-choked corridor, joined by two quieter pairs. Varin entered first, immaculate despite the station’s chaos. Behind him, two Tal'Shiar guards herded their 'guests' forward... not that escape was an option.
His predatory gaze swept across the reunited sisters as he stepped aside, letting all four women see one another clearly.
"A family reunion," he said with venomous satisfaction. The guards shoved Christie and Cristhiane forward.
Cristhiane stumbled into Adriana, but Christie remained upright, spinning on her heel to face Varin, eyes narrowed.
"You’ve never been one for sentiment. Why now?"
Varin's smirk was all teeth, devoid of warmth. "A moment of celebration. You and your mother are finally together again. And soon, all four of you will be guests on Romulus."
"Let them go!" Christie snapped. "You want me, not them."
Cristhiane struggled upright with her daughter’s help. She said nothing, but the look in her eyes was all emotion... pride, sorrow, helplessness. Her daughter had always been the protector.
"My dear Christie," Varin said, voice laced with false affection, "why would I do that? So long as they remain, you and your mother will obey. Unless, of course, you're ready to sacrifice them to save yourself."
Christie stepped forward, fury simmering. "Don't congratulate yourself too soon. You’re not in control here. You’re just the opportunist who broke the deal. We were supposed to be exchanged... us for them."
He raised his hand, anger flashing across his face... but he caught himself. Breathing deeply, he composed himself once more.
"I’ll be there when Markus makes you scream. That will be payment enough. Until then, make yourselves comfortable. I have one more thing to discuss with Markus."
--==/\==--
Setting: NORTHAL DRIFT, Narrow Passageway -> Dark shadow-filled room
Stardate: 45003.1938
Time Until Auction Begins: 2 Hours, 22 Minutes
Zub pushed through the narrow passageway, muscles straining as metal shrieked in protest. The corridor, if one could call it that, ahead of him was dim, washed in flickering reds and pulsing amber from damaged conduits. Acrid smoke hung in the air like a veil. The scent of burnt circuits, but he pressed on.
He could feel her... her nanites were guiding him... and he willingly accepted the directions. He came to a half-hanging panel and knew that she was there, on the other side. Without a moment's hesitation, the Voth kicked the metal plate out of his way, causing it to fly clear across the room.
The moment he stepped into the dark, shadow-filled room, he saw her.
Crumbled, beaten, her body barely moving. Her face was barely recognizable. Her hand twitched, reaching for something... or someone.
"Gemma!" His voice cracked as he rushed forward.
He dropped to his knees beside her, gently pulling her to him. Her skin was cold to the touch, pale beneath streaks of dirt and dried blood. One eye fluttered open, dark and unfocused, trying to recognize him.
"Zub…" she rasped. Her voice was barely audible... broken, frayed.
"I'm here. I've got you." His arms cradled her as carefully as if she were glass. "Hold on."
But something was wrong.
Her nanites weren't healing. They were… retreating. Reacting defensively, folding in on themselves as if locked in internal conflict. For all her enhanced physiology, she was slipping away.
"No, no, no," Zub whispered, pulling her tighter against him. "You don't get to quit. Not now."
Her breath caught... shallow, erratic. A flicker of a smile ghosted across her lips as if she recognized the pressure of his embrace.
A million questions rushed into Zub's mind, followed by a rage that he had never before felt, but before he could say or do anything, he felt another presence approaching in footsteps he felt he should know deep down inside.
"Well, well, well, look who we have here." The voice was also familiar... too familiar... Then the realization dawned on him... they were his own. As he slowly, gently lowered Gemma back down, he turned his head to face the approaching entity. He watched as a tall, muscular form emerged from the shadows... a dark reflection of himself.
What came next was inevitable.
--==/\==--
Setting: NORTHAL DRIFT, Corridor
Stardate 45003.1940
Time Until Auction Begins: 2 Hours, 20 Minutes
The corridors had grown quieter, though the tension clung to every surface like residual static. Shar'El moved with practiced silence through the shadow-drenched service halls of the station, her dark eyes scanning not just her surroundings but the thoughts lingering in the minds of those she passed. A nervous vendor rushing to evacuate, a guard whispering about unseen threats, a Ferengi plotting one last transaction before bolting.
None of them knew anything. Worse, the memories she glimpsed were shallow, fragmented... mere surface ripples on minds too preoccupied to reveal anything useful. Not a single trace of her missing crew.
She exhaled, jaw tight. The Ullian’s frustration built slowly, smothered by discipline but felt all the same. The NORTHAL DRIFT was massive, its layered infrastructure designed for misdirection and confusion... the perfect place for people to disappear.
And right now, her people might be doing exactly that.
She rounded a corner, pausing just before stepping into the next intersection. A flicker of movement caught her eye... low to the ground, sleek, silent.
A small metallic sphere... one of Ani's DRONEs.
It hovered a few inches off the deck, matte black with its standard sensor pods extended, scanning the corridor in slow, deliberate arcs. Shar'El's gaze narrowed, then softened with understanding and even possibly hope. She stepped into its line of sight.
"Hello, little one," she murmured. "Erik wouldn't have deployed you without a good reason." Shar'El folded her arms. "Ani… I'm assuming you’re the one watching through this thing. I need to find the others."
The DRONE pulsed softly, as if acknowledging the request. It swivelled, turned, and began to glide back the way it had come, slow enough for her to follow.
Shar'El allowed herself the faintest hint of a smirk. If Ani were here, it meant that things were bad, yet there was still hope to find a way out of this mess.
--==/\==--
Setting: NORTHAL DRIFT, Dark shadow-filled room
Stardate: 45003.1944
Time Until Auction Begins: 2 Hours, 16 Minutes
Zub staggered back under a ferocious blow. His clone grinned, a perfect mirror of him, every muscle and reflex identical. The two had been locked in brutal combat for minutes, and Zub was losing ground. Worse, Gemma's clone had joined the fray, colder and more vicious than even he had imagined.
Two against one.
Blood trickled from Zub's lip. He dropped to a knee.
"How the mighty have fallen," Zub's clone mused. "As you die, imagine how things will be once we take your places on the ANUBIS. It will be fun to watch all your MACOs be sent to their deaths."
The Voth tried to strike back, but Gemma's clone was too quick and intercepted the attack before sending him flying back against the nearest wall.
That was when a white, furry blur of movement crashed into the dark-haired Gemma doppelgänger, forcing her back. A'Janni, all teeth and fury, engaged without hesitation, claws raking her side before he rolled to avoid a retaliatory strike.
"I thought you’d enjoy a fair fight," the Caitian grinned as he glanced at the still-downed Voth.
Zub offered a breathless, grateful nod before getting back to his feet and launching himself back into the fray. With the odds evened, adrenaline surged. His clone was still precise, unrelenting... but now Zub had purpose.
And purpose could win battles.
--==/\==--
Setting: NORTHAL DRIFT, Dark shadow-filled room
Stardate: 45003.1946
Time Until Auction Begins: 2 Hours, 14 Minutes
The CMO had waited to make her entrance. If she were to reach Gemma without drawing any attention, T'Lara needed to make sure that the two clones were fully engrossed in their respective battle.
As soon as she was convinced that the time was right, she rushed to the injured ILO. T'Lara’s touch remained firm against Gemma's head as she used her medical tricorder to get an idea of the extent of the injuries... and they were... more than she had feared.
Her focus was shattered when A'Janni was thrown through the air, almost colliding with Ta'Lara.
Drawing on whatever strength she had left, Gemma reached for T'Lara's sleeve. "Too late... leave…"
It took a moment for the CMO to process the words... Gemma... telling them to leave. As she looked at Zub fighting his copy, and Gemma's clone appearing battered and less than happy, T'Lara noticed something moving in the shadows beyond them.
A small humanoid form emerged from the shadows... swift, silent, and lethal.
Gemma’s clone didn’t see the attacker until it was too late.
The shadowy form moved like a phantom, weaving through the debris-littered floor with predatory grace. His smaller frame slipped beneath the clone's guard. Whatever it was moved with the speed and skill that had once only been at the disposal of the now dying ILO. That was why T'Lara watched with puzzled interest and curiosity.
He struck without hesitation.
The first blow cracked ribs. The second dislocated a shoulder. Gemma’s clone reeled back, more out of surprise than pain, snarling in confusion. It didn’t make sense... she should have been faster, stronger. What were the things she was fighting against... and losing to?
Then, as another bone was shattered by a blow she could not avoid or deflect, it dawned on the clone... the fighting style was her own... all of the fractured fragments of Gemma's psyche merged into a single entity... the darkest, most unrelenting parts. Refined. Weaponized. Even more than she had herself been designed to be.
He pivoted low, spun behind her, and slammed a neural strike at the base of her neck. The clone staggered. The small, shadowy form didn’t wait. A flurry of rapid strikes followed... elbows, knees, pressure points. Each hit precise. Each one merciless.
Gemma's clone tried to rise again, snarling, one arm trailing uselessly at her side... but she was met with cold eyes and a final, brutal blow to the temple that dropped her instantly.
She did not rise.
He stood over the motionless form, chest heaving, eyes unreadable. Then, without a word, he turned and sprinted toward the section where T’Lara knelt over the original Gemma, still, too still, too pale.
"I've got her," Nathan said quickly, kneeling beside them.
T'Lara glanced at the boy... surprised but not questioning. She could feel the strange presence in him, something both alien and familiar.
"She needs help," she said calmly, pressing a stabilizing hand over Gemma's side. "Now!"
Nathan nodded with understanding and absolute clarity. He knew what needed to be done and did not hesitate to do so. He simply placed his hand against her chest, and a few seconds later, his arm began to twitch.
Nearby, Zub let out a roar as he overpowered his clone, the even footing granted by A'Janni's intervention finally tipping the scales. With a final strike, Zub sent his mirror-self crashing into a bulkhead. The clone hissed, staggered, and vanished into the shadows, retreating, wounded, but not destroyed.
Zub turned, panting, his skin slick with sweat. He saw T'Lara, Nathan, and the still figure between them.
"Is she...?"
Neither replied. T'Lara's gaze bounced from Nathan to Gemma while his remained focused on the woman who had once saved his life.
Thanks to the nanites in his own body, Zub could feel the transfer taking place. A transfer that produced near instant results as Gemma's body began to heal as it once used to.
Gemma drew in a long, deep breath as her eyes opened wide, immediately locking in on the small boy standing over her. Nathan just smiled. "Don't worry... you'll be fine."
The words were cryptic, but Gemma did not question them. She felt the familiar surge, which was yet completely different. Her nanites had been returned to her... with something more.
"The DRONEs?"
Nathan's grin reached from ear to ear as he nodded his head as only a child could.
"But..."
"Ani helped."
A short emotional pause was shared by everyone present until Gemma sat up. "Ya'Han... she needs our help... Ardax has her."
"You need to rest," Zub interjected.
"I am fine," Gemma replied, a warm smile gracing her lips, making her sound and appear almost 'human'. "Okay, fine, I am not 100%, but I will be... thanks to you." She reached to caress his hand, re-establishing the connection of their nanites, allowing him to feel a calmness within her that he had never expected to find.
--==(/\)==--
Francois Charette
Captain Erik Morningstar
Commanding Officer
USS ANUBIS, NCC 18501
--
"I used to think it was awful that life was so unfair. Then I thought, wouldn't it be much worse if life were fair and all the terrible things that happen to us come because we actually deserve them. So now I take great comfort in the general hostility and unfairness of the universe."
- Marcus Cole, Babylon 5
=-=
"Portrait"
Previous post: "Silent Before the Storm, Part 2" by Francois
=-=
Setting: NORTHAL DRIFT, Near the dark shadow-filled room
Stardate: 45003.2000
Time Until Auction Begins: 2 Hours
The tension from the fight still clung to the walls like smoke, but its weight had begun to lift. With the immediate danger behind them, the group followed the silent, spherical DRONE slowly through the fractured corridor. They carried bruises and exhaustion, but also something else, something quieter. A sense of survival, of fragile peace.
A’Janni, the one-eyed white tiger of a man, had naturally taken point between the DRONE and the rest of the group. Trailing Nathan and Gemma, Zub smiled, not surprised that the hulking Caitian wanted to be the first person anyone encountered. The tiger man’s gait was slightly shorter than usual, and he held a barely perceptible stiffness in his lower back—all signs that he was hiding a limp. He held one arm casually over his chest while gripping his opposite shoulder with one clawed paw. An arm injury was carefully masked. Even so, whoever encountered this one-eyed, limping tiger with a sore arm would live to regret it, however briefly.
Nathan leaned against Gemma as they walked, his steps a little sluggish, the fire in his eyes gone. He didn’t complain, not once. Still wore that brave little grin like it kept the shadows at bay.
Dr. T’Lara walked beside him, scanning occasionally, her Vulcan mask strained just slightly at the corners, concern visible in the smallest of ways. The boy clung to Gemma, and she did not object; in fact, she almost appeared as if she enjoyed the feeling of having him so close to her. This made the CMO's job that much more difficult.
The ILO wasn’t trying to take over. Wasn’t being controlling. But her eyes kept returning to the boy, watching the way his breath came too shallow, the way his hands trembled now and then. Every time he stumbled, her hand was already there to steady him. Her speedy reflexes were back, not those of a fighter anymore... they were those of someone who deeply cared.
Zub noticed. Of course he did. Nathan’s sacrifice of nanites had brought Gemma back. Yet, she was different. Warmer, somehow.
“You’re going to run into a wall if you don't pay more attention to where you are going,” he murmured, trying to lighten the mood.
Gemma offered a faint smile but didn’t stop. “He’s... weaker than I expected. The nanites took more from him than they should have.”
“They didn’t take. He gave them to you,” Zub reminded gently.
“He is a fierce fighter and brave,” the tiger man rumbled from in front of them.
She didn’t argue. Just looked ahead, jaw tight, eyes soft.
A few more paces passed in silence. Then Nathan’s knees buckled a little too far forward.
Without hesitation, Zub stepped in. “Let me,” he said, already crouching. His arms were steady, practiced, gentle as he scooped the boy up. Nathan made no protest, he simply tucked against the warmth, his breathing slowing just a bit.
Gemma turned toward them, a flicker of protest rising, then fading just as quickly. Instead of speaking, she just stared. Zub’s large frame cradling the too-small boy like something precious. His expression calm. Protective.
“You’re good with him,” she said softly, voice threaded with emotion she didn’t usually show.
Zub shrugged, but his voice was quiet. “I care.”
“He prefers children dipped in Venerian flicker berry syrup,” A’Janni quipped after a quick visual assessment of Zub and the boy. A smile flashed before his blocky feline face returned to deadly sober.
Gemma looked down, then back at Zub carrying the boy along, at this, the moment, the people. Her shoulders eased. Something inside her softened. Maybe it had already started to, but now it showed.
“You’d make a good father,” she said, her voice barely more than a whisper.
Zub looked at her, startled—not because of the words, but because of the depth behind them. Scales prickled at the back of his neck. Gemma was exuding emotion, a vulnerability she had never allowed to show during a mission, especially a broken one. Until this moment, she had always been a fighting machine: cold, precise, ruthless.
Gemma reached out to brush a strand of hair from Nathan’s forehead. Her fingers trembled slightly. “Not everyone could carry this weight,” she added, more to herself than anyone else.
Zub didn’t respond with words. He just kept walking, holding the boy a little closer. He felt more than ever in his heart that he needed to protect them both.
Gemma followed, and for once, she didn’t hover.
=-=
Rachel Jackie Johnson
Lieutenant Gemma
Intel Operative
USS ANUBIS
[The fun is getting to wear multiple disguises and getting to explore multiple personalities and bring them to life.] - Jenna Fischer
AND
David Michael Inverso
Lieutenant JG Zub Enel
MCO
USS ANUBIS, NCC 18501
“Cluelessness may be seen as a negative trait, but it is actually quite beautiful. It is a reminder that there is always something new to discover and learn.” - From the Quotesanity Team
"Quiet Observations"
Previous post: "Portrait"
Setting: NORTHAL DRIFT, Near the dark shadow-filled room
Stardate: 45003.2005
Time Until Auction Begins: 1 Hour, 55 Minutes
T’Lara walked in silence, her steps measured and light, barely echoing along the corridor’s pitted floor. The air reeked of old circuitry and decay, the very atmosphere of the station clinging to her skin and settling into her lungs like a parasite. She ignored it. Her tricorder hung silently at her side... off, by choice. But her mind remained active, dissecting everything.
Nathan stumbled again. Gemma caught him, instinctively, precisely, without pause or question.
That, in itself, was telling.
As the ship’s Chief Medical Officer, T’Lara had catalogued countless details on both patients before her. But here in the field, it was not raw data that told the story, it was behavior. Muscle memory. Hesitation. Patterns.
Nathan’s posture remained frail, his muscles trembling beneath the weight of a body still in recovery. Every breath was effort. Every step a battle. Whatever the bio-weapon had done to him, it had left behind echoes... subtle degradations in balance and tone, likely neurological in origin. She filed the observation away for later comparison.
Gemma, by contrast, moved with an ease that had not been present days prior. Her reflexes were sharp, her composure intact, her stance now more predatory than defensive. She caught Nathan not as a friend would, but as a guardian might... assertive, alert, and just a little too fast.
T’Lara had seen that kind of rebound before.
Not in healthy individuals, but in those altered, improved, by foreign influences. Temporary or not, it had consequences. The urge to scan them both was strong. She could determine whether Nathan’s DNA remained stable. She could test if Gemma had re-established her internal cloaking, that maddening resistance to standard bio-detection.
But knowing… knowing might cost them time they did not have. And worse, might force her to act on truths they were not yet prepared to face.
Then there was Zub.
The Voth warrior carried the boy in arms that could crush metal, but did so as though holding spun glass. His voice had softened, his movements deliberate, protective. T’Lara had seen him incinerate armed combatants without a second thought. Now, he adjusted Nathan’s weight with care, his steps attuned to the boy’s shallow breathing.
It was not weakness. It was choice. A reframing of strength into stillness.
She had served alongside many soldiers who wore masks in the field. But these three... they weren’t wearing masks anymore. They were becoming something else.
Emotionally altered. Psychologically reshaped. Physically diverging from baselines she knew by rote.
They were adapting... too quickly. And that concerned her.
T’Lara’s hand brushed the tricorder again, her fingers hovering near the activation pad.
But she didn’t activate it... Not yet.
=-=
Dawn Bohr
Lt. Commander T'Lara
Chief Medical Officer
USS ANUBIS, NCC-18501
"Prison of Shadows"
Previous post: "Quiet Observations” by Dawn
Setting: NORTHAL DRIFT, Lower Maintenance Level, unknown location
Stardate: 45003.2005
Time Until Auction Begins: 1 Hour, 55 Minutes
Amanda's body trembled uncontrollably, even as silence reclaimed the room. Varin and his agents had vanished into the dark, leaving behind only the low, off-kilter hum of distant machinery and the whisper of shifting shadows... like the ghosts of threats not yet gone.
Her arms throbbed, shoulders aching from being restrained so long. She sat curled in on herself, legs drawn in, forehead resting against Adriana’s shoulder. Despite the pain, the fear, the bite of metal against her wrists, Amanda clung to that point of contact like it was the only thing keeping her tethered to reality.
Adriana. Her sister. Real. Solid. Warm.
And yet… Amanda couldn't stop the flood of memories, Matrix memories, that twisted reality into something brittle and untrustworthy. She had seen too many perfect illusions in that fabricated world. People she’d thought were friends, family, protectors… only to watch them morph into threats when the program shifted.
This felt real, but so had every lie the Matrix ever whispered, every loving face that turned to ash the moment the simulation shifted.
A low sob escaped her before she could smother it.
"I can't... I can't trust it," she whispered, voice hoarse and raw. "Every time danger came before, it glitched or reset. The pain stopped. The scene changed. But now…" Her voice cracked. "Now it just keeps going. Like there's no escape. No reset button. Just more pain."
Adriana looked at her, eyes wide, guilt blooming instantly. "I never meant to..."
"I know." Amanda closed her eyes, forcing the storm of emotion into a quieter corner. "But that's the real world, isn't it? Never ending pain and cruelty... where everyone is out to get you without any respite."
"Not everyone," Adriana whispered, pulling Amanda closer, as if her warmth could rewrite the code of Amanda's memories.
Across the room, Christie sat with her arms wrapped around her knees. Her posture was composed, too perfect... like someone trying to hold together cracked glass with bare hands. The tremble in her jaw, the crescent marks on her sleeves where her nails dug deep, betrayed just how close she was to shattering. Her mother leaned against the wall behind her, hand still pressed protectively to her side, pain etched across her regal features.
It hadn’t gone the way they'd planned. No dramatic trade. No triumphant exchange.
They'd walked in, willingly, to give the twins a chance at freedom… and now all four of them sat caged. Trapped. Used. Again.
**She warned you.** The words echoed with a dull ache, not spoken aloud but etched into every throb of her chest. Her mother's voice wasn't angry, it never needed to be. Disappointment carried a sharper edge.
Adriana's voice pulled her from the spiral.
"You agreed to the exchange," the Counselor said quietly. "You surrendered yourself up. For us."
Christie's lips tightened. "There was no real choice."
"But you chose anyway," Adriana countered softly. "That's what matters. That's what defines who we are."
**Did it?** Christie stared ahead, eyes fixed on the far wall, but seeing nothing. She had trusted... believed the terms. Maybe not fully… but enough to move forward. Enough to hope. Naive, her mother might say. Desperate, Christie would call it now.
She hadn't wanted to admit how afraid she was of what Markus might do. She still didn't.
Amanda's voice broke the silence this time. Softer. More vulnerable.
"You've been in the real world a lot longer than I have… So tell me something true. Something that can't be programmed, or rewritten, or sold. I need… I need something solid to believe in."
Christie blinked. The words hit harder than expected. She remembered that feeling... groping for reality in a web of lies, searching for one undeniable truth. She had lived it once, long ago. And now Amanda lived it too.
She looked at the trembling girl... not just a survivor of the Matrix, but its mirror. Someone who had clawed her way out of illusion and was still trying to breathe.
"Truth?" she repeated, her voice low, tired. "Varin's a parasite. Whoever this Markus is, is worse. And whatever game they're playing…" She paused, her eyes flicking briefly to Adriana, then back to Amanda. "They fear what you two represent. Not just your bond, but your defiance. Your ability to endure. They don't understand it. And what they don't understand… they try to break."
Amanda's brow furrowed. "Should they be?"
Christie nodded slowly. "Oh, yes. Because they don't understand it. And what they don't understand, they can't control." Her voice hardened slightly, conviction slipping through the cracks of her regret. "That's why you're here. That's why we're here."
For a second, Christie met her mother's eyes, and saw pain there, yes, but also a flicker of reluctant respect. They were still imprisoned. Still pawns. But not broken. Not yet.
Adriana exhaled sharply, half laugh, half grief.
Amanda leaned against her sister again, a whisper barely louder than breath.
"Then maybe we're not broken at all. Just… reshaped into something they never saw coming."
Christie didn't smile. She couldn’t. But she nodded once, a quiet answer to a fragile hope.
-=-=-
Marissa Montonera-Lombardi
Lieutenant JG Adriana Lopez
Ship's Counselor & Junior Ambassador
USS ANUBISa
"Shattered"
Previous post: "Prison of Shadows" by Marissa
-=-=-
Setting: NORTHAL DRIFT, Unknown Location
Stardate: 45003.2010
Time Until Auction Begins: 1 Hour, 50 Minutes
It had been over an hour, and she was still pink. That should have pleased him.
The color was meant to signal weakness... fragility. But there she knelt: filthy, trembling, bruised... still mocking him with that noble hue, as if untouched.
"You always thought you were better than me," he said, seated like a grotesque king upon a reinforced crate, his voice low, walking the edge between memory and madness. "I saw it every time you looked down your nose at me in your father's court. You weren’t a princess. You were a spoiled parasite wrapped in silk."
She didn’t answer... couldn’t. The drugs had dulled her into a hushed shadow, but even her breathing felt too loud. She knelt where he left her, motionless, barely conscious, swaying on a chemical leash he kept tightening.
"I gave up everything for you," he hissed, as he stood. "And you gave me shame. You ran. Left me to rot while your family whispered that I wasn’t good enough," the Ferengi added while circling her like a ravenous carrion bird.
He knelt beside her. Her breath was shallow. The collar sat snug against her throat, a physical reminder of her predicament... of her submission to him.
"You were mine, Ya'Han."
She barely registered his words.
Every breath was a battle, air filtered through chemical fog, her body sinking in and out of numbness. She didn’t move when he touched her, didn’t react when he yanked her head back by her hair.
Her body had learned silence. But her mind had not. She hated him. Loathed him.
Not with the clean precision of vengeance, but with something molten... ancient... bred from powerlessness and memory.
"I was not even fourteen..." she whispered. Her voice rasped across her teeth like dry leaves in winter.
He recoiled for half a second, then smiled. Her voice, even tattered as it was, still sounded defiant. That wouldn't do.
"Still clinging to righteousness, are we?" he sneered, fingers tightening. "You were bred to serve. Bred to obey. You should be thanking me for freeing you from all that delusion."
He shoved her backward, hard enough that her skull cracked against a nearby support beam. Not enough to kill. He didn’t want her dead. He wanted her to suffer as he did. To be humiliated as he was.
"I was supposed to be your savior. Markus said so. He told me the truth, you were the disease. I was the cure. And now, I get to watch the universe learn that."
Markus. There it was again... that name. What role had he played in all this? Had he caused the deaths on NOVOSYTH? Had he been responsible for the clones? Was he like so many others, nothing more than a puppet or was he the master pulling the strings?
Who was he? A lie clothed as truth. The shadow behind the curtain.
Ardax was too stupid to build this on his own. A spoiled merchant drunk on fantasies and cruelty. But Markus? He could be the real puppeteer. The one who whispered just enough into the right ears to let chaos unfold.
128,000 lives. Gone.
That is when it struck her... Markus' behaviour and tactics were all very familiar, notoriously so. Could he be another Mordana? Whoever he was, it was a foregone conclusion that this Ferengi idiot didn’t even realize he’d been used.
"You think they’ll come for you?" he said, tilting his head. "That your precious crew will storm the gates and rescue their damsel?"
He leaned in close, breath hot with spite.
"No one’s coming. You’re not their princess. You’re not his either. He didn’t even try to find you."
That one struck. Jayson.
The name alone threatened to open something she had locked away in chains. The grief. The guilt. The clone’s death. The guilt and accusations that followed.
**You are better than this. Embrace your darkness and you can rule them all,** Jayson’s copy had said, voice still burned into her thoughts. **You are destined for something greater... something that will shake the foundation of this universe.**
She'd denied it. Buried it.
But right now, with her back against cold metal and that collar digging into her skin, the darkness felt... close. Closer than ever before.
"You are nothing," Ardax hissed, slapping her hard enough with the back of his hand to send her crashing to the floor. "I will erase you just as I did those colonists on NOVOSYTH. No one will remember that you were ever alive.
He stepped back, savoring the moment. His smile was evil, deprived of any remorse. He had just admitted to killing 128,000 people and appeared ready to do it again... on a larger scale if needed.
The silence that followed was deafening.
There was no deflection. No scapegoat. He had done it. His hands were wet with innocent blood, and he bragged about it.
Something in her cracked. No... shattered.
And from the ruins, heat poured in. Cold fire. Sharp, red clarity. That part of her she had buried... the one that had wanted to burn everything down when the clone died. The one that matched the Lokustaar in rage, if not in nature.
It whispered now. Not of surrender. But of revenge.
He didn't notice the change at first.
"You think silence means strength?" he spat. "You're nothing but a broken girl in a forgotten place. You'll die with that collar on, and the universe will forget your name."
He turned toward the exit, smirking at the last word. Then paused. Looked back.
"I hope you keep that pink hair," he said flatly. "Because when they find you, it'll be easier to identify the remains."
She waited until the door sealed shut behind him.
Then lifted her head. Muscles ached. Vision blurred, but she smiled.
Not from joy, but from a decision.
Her hair shifted... not all the way, not yet, but a streak of perfect absolute black bled through the pink, like ink in water.
She closed her eyes, and focused on her breathing... on her memories of him... and for the first time she truly stopped resisting the darkness.
-=-=-
Hanali Han
Lieutenant Ya'Han
Chief of Security / Tactical Officer
USS ANUBIS, NCC-18501
=-=
"Echoes of the Abyss"
Previous post: "Shattered" by the terrifying and brilliant Hanali
=-=
Setting: NORTHAL DRIFT, Observation Deck Overlook -> Maintenance Corridor
Stardate: 45003.2015
Time Until Auction Begins: 1 Hour, 45 Minutes
Shar'El had walked these upper corridors under the guise of simple observation... an undercover officer conducting reconnaissance with calm professionalism. But the truth was far more personal. She had learned long ago that shadows held more than secrets; they whispered truths the light dared not speak.
Her path had taken her through echoing bulkheads and narrow, rust-streaked junctions. She let her senses wander as much as her feet. The flickering lights, the grit beneath her boots, the hum of distant generators... These were familiar stimuli. But today, she searched for something unfamiliar. Something that did not want to be found.
She wasn't alone. A DRONE had caught her attention earlier, a discreet surveillance unit that at first seemed to be scouting its own path through the station. She had followed it, curious. Now, the roles had reversed. The drone was following her.
Shar'El slowed her steps, her awareness expanding. Ullian instincts sharpened, she extended her senses, searching for surface memories, emotional trails, anything anomalous. That was when she felt it.
A ripple.
Not quite a presence. Not quite a thought. It was like brushing against a silent current beneath calm water. Something was near. No, many somethings. Unseen. Watching.
Shar'El's breath caught in her throat. A deeply ingrained instinct told her the truth: they were cloaked. Not with technology. With something older, darker, colder. She had felt this kind of absence before. The Lokustaar. The same presence that once slithered through the memories of those they infected, now seemed to permeate this station like mold behind old walls.
She kept walking, forcing calm into her body. Fear would make her visible. Intent would make her vulnerable.
She passed a corridor junction and felt another ripple, this one warmer... emotionally charged.
Not a presence. A memory.
It slipped through her consciousness like a thread of silk in a storm: Amanda crying against Adriana's shoulder, Christie watching from the shadows, her control fraying, Cristhiane silent but resolute. Shar'El froze. She hadn't meant to intrude. The scan hadn't been intentional. Someone nearby had passed close, emotionally exposed.
She turned and saw him.
Older, more weathered, but unmistakable. Varin. Tal'Shiar operative, regional coordinator, and wannabe master of the universe. A man who wore patience like an ill-fitting mask and madness like perfume. That he was on NORTHAL DRIFT wasn't surprising. The auction of a device capable of erasing 128,000 lives would draw all manner of ambitious predators.
What interested Shar'El more was his connection to the Lopez sisters, and to the civilian mother and daughter guests aboard the ANUBIS.
Varin hadn't noticed her. Too full of himself. Too consumed with his personal mission. Too arrogant to suspect vulnerability. That gave her time to observe, and to reach.
His memories were not just exposed. They were raw, laced with cruelty and recent satisfaction. Pride. Gloating.
He had been there. With them.
Amanda's trembling silhouette flared again in her mind. Then... a name.
Markus.
Shar'El followed, each footstep placed with the precision of long-honed Intel discipline. The corridor narrowed into an older maintenance channel... abandoned, forgotten, and likely off-grid.
Her footfalls softened. Her breath quieted. Her mind sharpened.
Voices. Varin had stopped near a rusted ventilation shaft. Waiting.
Another figure approached from the far side, tall and draped in an immaculate dark civilian coat that didn't belong in this part of the station. A cane tapped softly against the grated deck with every third step. Not for support. For rhythm.
Markus.
Shar'El's heart skipped. She couldn't scan him. Not even at this range.
He wasn't shielded. He was absent. A void in the psychic landscape. A cold, starless vacuum where thought and emotion should have shimmered.
The last time she'd felt something similar was with Mordana... the Lokustaar operative whose presence was soaked in shadows. But this... this was worse.
Mordana had been a weapon.
Markus... Markus was the one who gave the order to fire.
He radiated control. Power without the need for demonstration. Confidence without ego. He didn't just believe in the narrative... he designed it.
Shar'El pressed herself to the wall, every fiber of her training holding her in place.
"…Christie and her mother are now under my care, just as you promised they would be," Varin said. "Those two have yet to figure out the extent of their role in all of this, but they will be made to understand soon enough. Neither one of them fully understands, their fears keeping them from seeing the truth."
Markus tilted his head, listening to something Shar'El could not perceive.
When he finally spoke, his voice was quiet. Measured.
"Good. Let them fear. Fear, in the right hands, is a weapon that can... and has... brought entire empires to their knees without a single word being uttered.”
Varin shifted, clearly unsettled. "And the others? The twin sisters..."
“They're nothing but tools," Markus replied, cutting him off. "Like Ardax. Like you. Temporary vessels for inevitable truths. We shape the narrative, not with weapons, but with design."
The air around Shar'El felt colder. Not physically. Psychically.
The darkness Markus radiated was not fueled by rage. It wasn't hate. It was something worse.
Purpose. Dark and absolute. Not the blind loyalty of the Lokustaar. Not Mordana's devoted zealotry. No... As far as Shar'El could tell, this Markus believed in nothing. He didn't follow the shadows. He was the shadow, commanding everything around him with a simple, cold, soul-freezing glance.
Shar'El knew she should leave. She needed to warn the others. But her body refused to move.
"Let them come," Markus whispered, a grin playing on his lips. "Let them struggle. That's how resistance is measured. That's how value is extracted. Pain sharpens clarity. And in clarity... comes control.”
That was enough. Shar'El turned. Each step retreating her from the pit. Her body moved silently through the corridor like a wisp of smoke.
But her mind burned.
Markus wasn't just another enemy. He was the echo of the darkness they thought buried with Mordana. And he had already begun unraveling the people Shar'El had sworn to protect.
He had to be stopped. Whatever plans he had, whatever design he served, it could not be allowed to unfold.
Even without knowing his full reach, even without understanding the true scope of the threat, Shar'El knew one thing for certain:
Markus was the abyss. And it was already staring back.
=-=
Tiffany Reeve
Commander Shar'El
Executive Officer
USS ANUBIS
"Shadow in the Signal"
Previous post: "Echoes of the Abyss" by Tiffany
Setting: NORTHAL DRIFT, Secondary Backup Control Room
Stardate: 45003.2020
The room hummed beneath layers of static, degraded circuitry, distant environmental failures, and the weary breath of a station long past its prime. For now, it was safe, quiet, but Jayson no longer trusted silence. After the visit from his new clone, the collapse of their covert communications system and the unexpected appearance of one of Ani's remote explorers, nothing could be taken for granted.
The DRONE hovered exactly where it had been since it arrived. A smooth sphere of plating, lenses, and quiet, unreadable intent. It had responded to their presence, observed them, and seemingly accepted its new role as an ally. Yet the fact that only one had appeared gnawed at him.
"Ani wouldn't have sent just one," he muttered, fingers dancing over the console again. "Not in a place like this."
Maya didn't respond immediately, absorbed in her own console, cross-referencing the DRIFT's sensor history with whatever corrupted feeds she could coax into cooperation. Her focus was razor-sharp as always, a constant anchor to the chaos that surrounded them.
"I'm trying to get it to ping the others," Jayson said, eyeing the DRONE. "Assuming there are others. Maybe scattered. Maybe offline. But Ani wouldn't just send one."
The DRONE gave no response. It hovered placidly in place, its soft internal lights stable.
"We should ask Sonja to give them a voice next time," the Shillian offered, still not looking up. "It would make guessing their intentions a little easier." Maya was in full 'finding a solution' mode and that is what she was working on, no matter what the issue was.
Jayson continued his observation of the small spherical device when, without warning, it froze.
Not for long. Less than a second. Its stabilizers cut out and the sphere dropped, just enough to catch his eye, enough to show it had faltered, before it regained altitude and returned to its exact previous position.
Jayson leaned back, frowning, the shift enough to draw Maya's attention.
Maya looked up at the sudden silence in his voice. "What happened?"
He shook his head slowly, still staring at the machine. "It... glitched. Dropped for a second. Like it froze."
Maya turned her attention to her console and ran a rapid diagnostic. "The sensors did not register any EM spikes, no phase shifts, no localized temporal disturbances. Not even a power flux. There is no external reason it should have behaved abnormally.”
"No external reason," Jayson echoed under his breath.
He stood, cautiously stepping closer to the DRONE, watching it as if it might betray him. It didn't move. Didn't react. Just hovered, unblinking and still.
There was something wrong with it. Something not wrong in the traditional sense, but tainted. In the way it felt. A sensation like staring into static and realizing something was staring back. A prickle along the base of his spine, ancient and instinctive.
"I've seen this before," he whispered, more to himself than to Maya.
His vision blurred with memory of Mordana's grin, the clone's hollow stare, and the smothering darkness of the Lokustaar, where light and hope went to die. That same sickening silence had wrapped itself around him then too. It was happening again filling him with a gut-wrenching sense of dread.
"I think something dark has touched this DRONE."
Maya turned to him, composed. "If the DRONE was compromised, then Ani may have been too. Or at least exposed. But given Sonja's extensive security protocols, it is improbable. Without sensor evidence, I suspect it was radiation or quantum drift, both of which are common here and frustrating my scans."
Jayson flinched.
The idea that both Ani or the ANUBIS could have been compromised was enough to spark panic, but panic would get them nowhere. He pressed his lips into a thin line, forcing himself to keep breathing, to keep thinking.
If this was a hack, it was masterfully executed. No alarms, no traces. The DRONE hadn't shut down, it had faltered. Like a puppet whose strings were suddenly pulled in another direction.
His thoughts spun back to the ship. To the bridge. To Ya'Han.
Was she safe?
Was she even still alive?
The silence in the room stretched. Maya returned to her scans, her expression heavy with thoughts and theories that all required closer review. The DRONE, on its part, just hovered, silently.
Jayson stood frozen, caught between data and dread, instinct whispering louder than logic, watching, waiting, for the next shadow to move.
=-=
Jayson Sousa
Lieutenant Jayson Stark
Chief of Operations
USS ANUBIS, NCC-18501
"Echoes of Control"
Previous post: "Shadow in the Signal"
Setting: NORTHAL DRIFT, Lower Level Maintenance Corridor
Stardate: 45003.2020
The corridor stretched forward, flanked by exposed conduits and flickering wall nodes, the air thick with dust and data long forgotten. A'Janni advanced with the DRONE beside him, the machine's gait unnervingly smooth, its focus locked on the passage ahead. Behind them, the group moved in tense silence, every step measured, every breath shared in uncertainty.
Zub's grip on Nathan remained gentle but firm, the boy's fragile form resting against the scaled warrior's chest. Gemma walked just ahead, her mind busy parsing layout trajectories and environmental cues, but mostly, trying not to think about the silence in her skull that wasn’t really silent.
They were talking again. Not arguing. Not bickering. Just... collaborating. The sensation was alien. Disarming. Fascinating. Terrifying.
"Whatever he did," murmured Gwenvel’s calm voice, like a ripple through warm water, "he brought balance. Like tuning a discordant chord."
"Or overclocking a dangerous machine," Gabrielle interjected, German-tinted and steel-sharp. "Stability isn't always safe. Sometimes it’s just the eye of the storm."
"A storm can be steered," offered Tahlia, serene and composed. "If the helmsman is willing to listen."
"Listen, yes," Za'Ran mused in her low, hushed tone. "But never forget how many voices are on this bridge."
Gemma didn’t answer. Not out loud. But her fingers twitched slightly, a subtle tick, an echo of old instinct. For once, the discord wasn't screaming in her head. The chorus had become symphonic. She didn’t know how long it would last, but for now, she could think clearly.
Then it hit. A pulse. A shockwave without sound or mass. Darkness, crawling through her like liquid shadow, coiling around the base of her spine and threading its way up her nerves.
She staggered mid-stride, barely a fraction of a step, but Zub noticed. He always did. His gaze snapped to her, his stance shifting, protective.
"Gemma?" he said quietly. Carefully. Like one speaks in the presence of something volatile.
She didn’t respond. She couldn’t. Because something else had paused.
The DRONE.
It halted mid-step. Just one. Just long enough to be undeniable. And then resumed, smooth as before. But not unnoticed.
T'Lara's eyes narrowed... she'd noticed. Those damned Vulcan ears and Romulan attention to details, how could she not.
"I saw that," the CMO said sharply. "The DRONE faltered. Precisely when you did."
"I felt nothing," A'Janni growled, scanning the shadows ahead.
Zub shook his head. "Neither did I. But something happened to her. I felt... something... from her. Through the nanites."
Gemma’s exterior stayed still, calm, but inside, the warzone lit up. Not chaos. Just… movement. Coordination.
Nathan stirred weakly in Zub's arms, his voice little more than a whisper. "They're linked... through what Ani gave me... gave the nanites I had. The DRONEs. I had access. Their telemetry. Now you do. If the DRONE felt something, you'd feel it too. Maybe not as strong... but you'd know."
T'Lara’s brows drew together, her mind already extrapolating. "Then someone... something... is still connected. Possibly watching. Possibly controlling."
Gemma didn't respond right away.
Because the moment Nathan spoke, the world behind her eyes cracked open.
Not memories... Not hallucinations... Projections from beyond her normal reach.
Adriana... silently crying in a room too dark to be real.
Amanda... breathing shallowly, her eyes closed, a bruise blooming at her jawline.
The twins... separated by layers of static and shadow, like echoes trying to reunite.
Christie... pacing, boot heels echoing on cold metal.
Cristhiane... frozen in place, maternal fear etched into every line of her face.
Mother and daughter... prisoner in an invisible cage of their own making.
Gemma clenched her jaw. The sensation in her chest wasn't fear. It was certainty.
"Mordana," Za'Ran whispered like a blade unsheathing.
"The Lokustaar," Tahlia murmured, full of sorrow.
"It's them... again... always..." Anya exhaled, weary and resigned.
But none of them screamed. None of them panicked. They understood. And for the first time, so did she.
Gemma blinked back to the present. The vision was gone, but its residue clung like ink to glass.
"I know where they are," she said quietly. Steadily. "Adriana. Amanda. The others. I saw them. Through the DRONEs."
"You accessed their telemetry," T'Lara stated, already calculating outcomes. "Or did someone send it to you?"
Gemma nodded once. "Does it matter? They're close. And they're alive."
Zub adjusted his grip on Nathan, his stance shifting to that of a warrior once more.
"Then we go get them," A'Janni said, tail flicking behind him, ears alert.
The DRONE remained silent. But it turned toward Gemma, fractionally, purposefully. Like it was waiting.
She didn’t like that. She didn’t like that at all.
But they would follow the data.
Even if it was a trap.
Especially if it was.
=-=
Rachel Jackie Johnson
Lieutenant Gemma
Intel Operative
USS ANUBIS
[The fun is getting to wear multiple disguises and getting to explore multiple personalities and bring them to life.] - Jenna Fischer
"The Shape of Fear"
Previous post: "Echoes of Control” by Rachel
Setting: NORTHAL DRIFT, Lower Maintenance Level, unknown location
Stardate: 45003.2025
Time Until Auction Begins: 1 Hour, 35 Minutes
Amanda's fingers were numb.
The bite of the restraints had dulled into a cold throb, but it was reality's weight that truly trapped her. The metallic chill of the pipe seeped through her jumpsuit, anchoring her in the moment... merciless, unyielding, and nothing like comfort. It was just another reminder that this wasn't the Matrix. There would be no system reset. No programmed mercy. No escape.
She turned her head just enough to brush against Adriana's arm once again. Her sister's presence was the only thing holding back the rising tide of panic. That warmth. That scent. That realness. In another life, it would have been enough.
But this wasn't another life.
"This place..." Amanda's voice was paper-thin. "It never ends, does it?"
Adriana didn't answer; she didn't know how. She was too focused on Amanda, on the way her lips trembled, on how her whole body curled inward as if she were trying to disappear into herself. This was not merely a crew member going through heart-wrenching trauma; this was her twin sister, and she shared her pain in ways that could not be measured or explained.
"No," Adriana said finally, her voice a whisper made of silk and guilt. "I'll stay here with you. As long as it takes. I am not leaving you, ever."
Amanda choked out something between a sob and a laugh. "You always say the right things... like they matter in places like this."
"They do matter." Adriana shifted, placing a hand over Amanda's bound ones, gently, protectively. "If we lose that... if we let them make us think it doesn't matter, then they win."
Across the room, Christie sat cross-legged, her eyes sharp, tracking the dim outlines of the room like she was studying every crack for weakness. Every pipe for potential. Every inch for opportunity. As she stared into the shifting shadows, questions flickered through her mind... half-formed, unsettling, impossible to silence.
Her mother watched her from the wall, arms folded, her shoulders stiff, and her gaze too still.
"You're planning something," Cristhiane said softly, her voice brittle with worry.
Christie didn't look away. "I'm trying to."
"It won't work." The words weren't cruel, but hollow. Defeated. "They know us too well. Varin… he knows you."
Christie's jaw clenched. "That's what I'm counting on."
Cristhiane pushed off the wall and approached, crouching awkwardly beside her daughter. The façade cracked for just a moment, just long enough for the fear to show.
"You don't know what they'll do this time," she whispered. "If they take us back…" Her voice faltered. "I'm terrified of what they'll become to break you."
"I don't care what happens to me," Christie replied, too quickly. "I care what happens to them."
The Lopez sisters were a variable no one had predicted, least of all Cristhiane. The Romulan had orchestrated a plan decades ago, so intricately layered that even their escape had begun to feel like part of his design. But Christie's capture by the Yautja? The ANUBIS arriving when it did? That couldn't have been scripted. And yet... here they were. And somehow, Adriana and Amanda now sat at the heart of it all.
The words hit Cristhiane like an open wound. Her breath caught in her throat, and she reached up to cup Christie's face, her touch shaking. "And I care what it does to you. I tried to protect you from all this. From him. From the life they tried to design for you."
"You did." Christie leaned into the touch for just a second. "But I was never going to escape it. Not completely."
Behind them, Amanda whimpered again. The sound was quieter now, less like fear and more like cracking. Like a dam breaking under pressure.
"They're coming," she whispered, eyes wide, staring at the far wall even though there was nothing there yet.
Adriana turned sharply. "Amanda?"
"I hear them. They're coming. I hear them..." Her body tensed, trembling uncontrollably. "I can't go back. I can't go back. This is the punishment. This is the punishment for surviving."
"Hey, hey... look at me," Adriana said quickly, kneeling to face her sister fully. "Amanda. You're not in the Matrix. You're not back in that hell. You're here. With me. With us."
But Amanda was spiraling, her breaths short and ragged. "They're going to take us. Reset everything. Make it worse than before. I can't... I won't survive that. I don't even want to"
"Stop." Adriana gripped her gently but firmly. "You already survived it. You're surviving it right now. This fear... this moment... it's real, but it won't define you. I won't let it."
Amanda collapsed against her sister again, sobbing softly, her whole body shaking.
Adriana held her close, her own heart breaking. Not just as a Counselor. Not as a Starfleet officer. But as a sister who had spent two decades dreaming of reunion... and now lived with the nightmare of what that reunion had cost.
Cristhiane stepped toward them, her voice soft but steady.
"We need to be strong. All of us. Not just for ourselves... but because they expect us to break. It's what they want."
"And what if we do break?" Christie’s voice was sharp again, bitter. "What if that's all they've ever needed from us?"
Adriana glanced over Amanda's shoulder at her. "Then we remind them that broken things can still cut deep."
The words hung in the air, raw and jagged.
Then... footsteps.
Distant. Faint at first.
A soft, deliberate rhythm on metal grating. The kind of sound that meant someone knew exactly where they were going... and didn't need to rush.
Cristhiane tensed.
Christie froze.
Adriana's arms tightened instinctively around Amanda.
And Amanda stopped breathing for a full beat, the terror in her eyes returning full force.
The footsteps grew louder.
None of them spoke. None of them moved.
There were no words left that could offer comfort now.
Only the pounding question in every chest: Who was coming?
-=-=-
Marissa Montonera-Lombardi
Lieutenant JG Adriana Lopez
Ship's Counselor & Junior Ambassador
USS ANUBIS
"Unnatural Links"
Previous post: "The Shape of Fear"
Setting: NORTHAL DRIFT, Lower Level Maintenance Corridor
Stardate: 45003.2025
Time Until Auction Begins: 1 Hour, 35 Minutes
T'Lara did not trust silence.
Not in corridors like this, where the only sound was the low vibration of dying circuitry and the soft, too-steady hiss of a DRONE that never quite belonged. It wasn’t natural. Not for a place like NORTHAL DRIFT. But then, nothing about this station was.
T’Lara walked near the center of the group, tricorder in one hand, the other brushing lightly against the hypospray case at her hip. Standard sedatives. Two spectrum antivirals. A cortical stabilizer. One vial of Romulan mesaline derivative... a calculated violation of protocol, and an echo of who she used to be. Who she still was, when necessary.
Gemma hadn't spoken since the DRONE hesitated. Her stride had normalized, but something beneath the woman's exterior hadn't. T'Lara didn't need telepathy to sense it. The stillness was too deliberate. The ILO had returned, the lack of sensor readings from her tricorder was proof enough of that, yet there was something different about the woman.
T’Lara noted the DRONE again. It hovered just slightly lower than before. Two centimeters, no more, but the deviation remained. Persistent. Wrong.
"Your machine is drifting," she said quietly, not looking at Gemma.
Since the transfer of nanites from Nathan, the link between the ILO and the DRONE had grown... unnatural. Uncertain. It had also left the boy weak. And something else behind.
The ILO just sighed. "The telemetry I am receiving from it is clean."
The ears of the Caitian in the lead twitched. "Telemetry is clean?"
"So was the Romulan Warbird over NORELLUS III. Up until it wasn't." T'Lara's voice carried no accusation. Just memory. Sharpened into caution.
Zub adjusted Nathan in his arms. The boy had fallen silent again, his pulse elevated, but not dangerously so.
T'Lara tapped a sequence into her tricorder, syncing with the DRONE's passive scan. "Magnetic resonance is fluctuating. Slight deviation in atmospheric density just ahead."
"I know," Gemma said, tension threading the words.
"A Trap?" The Voth asked, his voice low, cautious, whispered.
"Possibly," T'Lara said. "Misdirection. Environmental decay. Or something else entirely." She paused. Just enough to let the silence answer for her. "This place has been wrong since we arrived. Like something is here with us. Not hiding... just waiting."
"You're paranoid," Gemma countered. But even that sounded like deflection. Maybe aimed at T'Lara. Maybe at herself.
"I don't believe in coincidence. Especially not in proximity to four abductees and a rogue agent who thrives on neural manipulation." T'Lara said, "And I know that neither do you."
Gemma stiffened... barely perceptible. But T'Lara noticed.
"You're still linked to the DRONE."
Gemma finally looked at her. No denial. Just a faint furrow between her brows, like she was trying to calculate the safest lie and couldn't find one small enough.
"The telemetry isn't clean," T'Lara continued. "Not to someone with your history. If the DRONE was touched, you were. Are."
Gemma opened her mouth, then closed it again. The voices in her mind offered arguments and counter arguments in a fraction of a second, all inside the confines of the ILO's mind. "We need to push on," Gemma said, voice even. "We don’t have the time... or the luxury of hesitation."
T'Lara didn't answer. She scanned again, slower this time.
A cold draft slithered through the corridor... too focused to be natural airflow.
The DRONE tilted, slightly, and reoriented itself.
"The DRONE shifted again," T'Lara noted. “Ten centimeters off optimal heading and scanning vector."
A’Janni frowned. "Could be compensating for signal drift or radiation interference... there is more than enough of that here."
"Or responding to something we haven't yet detected." T'Lara proposed... Maybe she was being paranoid, but experience had taught her to consider every possibility, no matter how improbable.
Zub's stance shifted as he readied himself for battle while protecting the precious and now fragile life in his arms.
The corridor narrowed ahead, terminating in a partially open blast door, just wide enough for shadow to bleed out of it.
Gemma stepped forward again. She didn’t hesitate... but the DRONE did. Again.
Then the door slid open revealing a single armed Romulan guard who was likely coming to investigate the whispered sounds he had heard, not expecting to find an entire group of people moving in on their position.
=-=
Dawn Bohr
Lt. Commander T'Lara
Chief Medical Officer
USS ANUBIS, NCC-18501
"Romulan Dominos"
Previous post: "Unnatural Links" by Dawn
Setting: NORTHAL DRIFT, Lower Level Maintenance Corridor
Stardate: 45003.2030
Time Until Auction Begins: 1 Hour, 30 Minutes
The moment the Romulan guard's eyes widened, A'Janni lunged.
There was no sound, no warning... just movement. A blur of fur and muscle as the Caitian closed the distance in less than a second, claws already unsheathed. The Romulan barely managed to raise his disruptor before A'Janni slammed into him, shoulder first. Steel scraped against the wall as the weapon flew from the man's grasp, spinning down the corridor.
The Caitian's claws found purchase, rending through uniform and skin in brutal arcs. The Romulan screamed, a sharp, strangled cry, before A’Janni silenced him with a sweeping leg kick that sent the man crashing into the opposite bulkhead. The guard slumped to the floor, gasping.
But the cry had already echoed.
From the shadows beyond the blast door, more movement stirred.
Another guard appeared, then a second, then a third. It was an ambush. Not well-coordinated, but enough to force a fight.
Gemma didn't wait.
The fighter they all remembered was back, sharper, faster. Her body flickered, reality struggling to keep pace.
Her body flickered as if reality itself couldn't quite catch up. One moment she was beside Zub and T'Lara, the next, she was already inside the fray. A Romulan tried to aim; her foot crushed the disruptor against the floor before he could fire. Her palm struck his throat with surgical precision, collapsing his windpipe as he fell without even a grunt.
She spun, elbow, knee, heel, all in a single flowing series of movements. Another Romulan dropped, gurgling, green blood leaking from his nose and ears as nanite-infused strikes overloaded neural nodes with terrifying accuracy.
Zub watched... mesmerized. Just minutes ago, he had seen Nathan move the same way... blinding speed, impossible grace. And now it was Gemma again. The nanites had returned to her, and so had the storm.
With care, Zub handed Nathan off to T'Lara. "Keep him safe."
Then he turned and charged.
Where A'Janni tore through flesh and Gemma danced through nerves, Zub brought brute war.
The corridor shuddered under his footfalls. The first Romulan to meet him went flying... slammed into the ceiling by a single uppercut. The second tried to grapple him. Zub's tail whipped around and struck the guard's legs out from under him. The third didn't even get close, a backhand from the Voth sent the man sprawling, unconscious before he hit the ground.
Blades flashed. Someone tried to stab him, the dagger scraped uselessly across his chest, skittering against scale-hardened hide. Zub grabbed the attacker by the vest and hurled him bodily into a control panel, sparks flaring as systems shorted.
Gemma ducked beneath a slash, her movements precise, flowing like water around her enemies. Blood fanned behind her in delicate arcs, never slowing her advance. Her face remained impassive... distant. Not angry. Just... efficient.
A'Janni moved like a predator unleashed, feline, elegant, and merciless. He used the confined space to his advantage, bouncing off the walls, twisting mid-air, striking from angles the Romulans couldn't defend against. He landed atop a crouching guard, claws digging in, the hiss of rage rising in his throat as he drove the Romulan to the floor.
Zub kept the corridor secured, a wall of muscle and fury. He made no attempt to dodge... he didn't need to. Their strikes broke against him, and their formations faltered in the wake of his relentless assault.
Behind them, T'Lara kept one eye on Nathan and the other on the shifting shadows. Her fingers moved quickly over her tricorder, monitoring neural activity, not just from the boy, but from Gemma... just in case. The nanites weren't just enhancing her... they were accelerating something deeper. Something T'Lara could see with her eyes, yet remained maddeningly invisible to her scans.
Another Romulan dropped. Another cry cut short. The ambush collapsed.
The corridor was filled with the scent of blood and ozone, flickering lights, and groans of the fallen.
No one spoke.
They didn't need to.
This wasn't the trap. Just its shadow.
And whatever came next... they were ready.
=-=
Jayson Sousa
Lieutenant JG A'Janni
Flight Control Officer
USS ANUBIS, NCC-18501
Lieutenant Jayson Stark
Chief of Operations
USS ANUBIS, NCC-18501
"As Loud as a Shadow"
Previous post: "Romulan Dominos"
Setting: NORTHAL DRIFT, Lower Maintenance Level, Holding Area
Stardate: 45003.2040
The holding area stood exposed, its doorway wide open and unguarded, as if Varin had simply... forgotten them. But no one left. Adriana knelt beside Amanda, unwilling to move until her sister could stand on her own. Christie stood at the far wall, her attention locked on the twins, guilt shadowing her thoughts. Cristhiane hovered near her daughter, unwilling to abandon any of them. They’d heard the footsteps first, fast, purposeful. Then the clash of bodies. Screams. A brutal rhythm of violence echoing closer. And now… silence.
It was a silence that pressed against the walls like a held breath... None knew what was happening, but all hoped that their rescuers had arrived.
The space was crude, welded bulkheads and cracked floor panels, rust-stained water leaking down the far wall. Amanda lay near a corner pipe, her hands bound behind her back with a strip of synth-cord, her knees drawn to the side in a position lacking any semblance of comfort. She looked up with hollow eyes.
When they saw a group of Romulans burst in, their hearts sank. Hope quickly morphed into despair as Varin, the Tal'Shiar lead operative, joined them, disruptor firmly in hand.
"Change of plan," Varin growled, the frustration curling at the edges of his words. Whatever he'd intended, it was unraveling fast.
Two guards were motioned towards Christie and her mother who unceremoniously took hold of the two women, restraining them. The other two guards flanked Varin who pointed his disruptor on Amanda.
"What are you doing?" Christie demanded, trying to pull away from the guard's iron hold on both of her arms.
"Time for a hasty retreat," Varin admitted. "Time to cut my losses as well. No time to get the four of you out, so... the two of you will have to stay... permanently."
The battle outside surged closer than Varin expected, causing him to turn and motion for the two guards by his side to go out there and stop whoever was trying to reach his prisoners. As Varin returned his gaze upon the restrained woman, he found that things had changed.
Adriana stood over her sister, arms outstretched in defiance, her body positioned like a human shield. Her gaze was fixed not on Varin, but on the disruptor aimed at her chest.
The Tal’Shiar operative barely registered the woman now standing in his way. His focus was singular, feral. The barrel of his weapon twitched between the twins, his expression caught somewhere between hatred and prophecy.
"You foolish girl," he hissed to Adriana. "She will get to see you die instead of the other way around."
Adriana didn't budge. Her voice cracked through clenched teeth. "I am not abandoning my sister."
Varin’s grip tightened as a faint grin danced on his lips.
"No..." Christie’s voice broke from the far side of the room. Her eyes filled with tears and desperation. They had turned themselves in to save them, not to see them murdered in cold blood. "Please... don't..." she pleaded while managing a single step forward, her arms shaking as the guard tightened his grip, pulling her back. "Don't hurt them."
Varin didn't flinch. His finger began to squeeze the trigger.
Christie screamed.
"NNNNOOOO!" Her eyes burned with an intensity that had never seen the light of day before now.
It wasn’t the volume. It was the weight. Something snapped, something ancient. A pulse rippled out from her, inaudible yet thunderous, like a scream through the fabric of reality itself.
A shimmer peeled into existence behind Varin.
Clawed, elongated, and partially draped in liquid darkness, the shape was unmistakable, a nightmare only half seen, but fully present. A Lokustaar. Not crawling in from a vent. Not teleporting in. Simply... there.
Its arm lunged forward.
There was a sickening crack, then the wet punch of bone and tissue. The tip of a jagged claw erupted from Varin’s sternum, green blood spraying in a fine arc as his mouth fell open in stunned silence. The disruptor clattered to the floor.
Everyone froze.
The Lokustaar let out a sharp, keening screech, the sound raking against their minds more than their ears. The screech tore through more than air. For those sensitive to it... especially Gemma... it reverberated like a spike in her skull, a subharmonic chorus of discordant memories, old wounds, and half-forgotten nightmares. It echoed, once, twice, before fading into silence. As if the scream itself opened a wound in space, other Lokustaar shapes briefly shimmered into partial view along the edges of the room, writhing outlines, flickers of nightmare. The Romulan reinforcements broke, weapons and bravado forgotten. They ran.
These nightmares had been in the room all along, and the Romulans were not about to tempt fate one more time.
Adriana rushed to Amanda’s side, her hands moving quickly to hug her sister, whispering something no one else could hear.
Christie stood in the center of it all, free, shaking her head, arms limp at her sides. "That... that wasn't me. I didn't... I didn't do anything... I could not have..."
The daughter approached and stood in front of Varin's impaled body, an expression of surprised horror engraved upon his face while his feet no longer touched ground. "You were meant to lead them... for us," he rasped, each word bubbling past bloodied lips as his eyes locked onto Christie. "Not... betray..."
Cristhiane reached for her daughter, but stopped, her hand hovering inches from her shoulder, unsure whether to comfort or recoil.
The Lokustaar creature stared at Christie with multi-eyed precision. Then, like smoke, it dissolved back into the folds of shadow, letting Varin’s body fall like a puppet whose strings had been cut.
Gemma staggered, her hand flying to her temple. It wasn't a sound she heard... it was injected into her being, riding the fractured DRONE signal like a parasite. Her nanites trembled, their harmony disrupted by something far older than code. She didn't just feel pain. She felt recognition. The darkness she had sensed in the NORTHAL DRIFT... the crawling presence, the static in the shadows... it wasn't a metaphor. It was the Lokustaar. Here. Now. And unmistakingly Real.
She looked at Varin's shattered form for a few moments then straight at Christie.
"You did that," Gemma whispered, her voice unsteady, caught between reverence and fear. Not accusation... just truth... a dark... undeniable truth.
Christie just shook her head in disbelief. She had seen it happen, even felt it through the echo of her own scream, but she could not believe that she was responsible for the gruesome death of a man she had more than once wished a similar fate upon.
"I don't know how... but you did." Gemma reasserted as she stepped closer while A'Janni knelt to free Amanda from her bonds.
Christie’s lips parted. No words came.
=-=
Setting: NORTHAL DRIFT, Elsewhere…
Across an unseen stretch of shadow-laced subspace, a man smiled.
Markus had been still for some time, listening... no, feeling... the low-frequency murmurs of the void. When Christie screamed, he heard it. Not through ears or devices, but as a pulse through the living shifting shadows of the Lokustaar's domain.
She hadn't merely felt the shadows.
She had answered them.
His lips curled into a knowing smile.
"So, my dear," he whispered, "they were right about you."
=-=
Rachel Jackie Johnson <racheljackiejohnson@gmail.com>
Lieutenant Gemma
Intel Operative
USS ANUBIS
[The fun is getting to wear multiple disguises and getting to explore multiple personalities and bring them to life.] - Jenna Fischer
"Echoes of Darkness"
Previous post: "As Loud as a Shadow” by Rachel
Setting: NORTHAL DRIFT, Lower Maintenance Level, Holding Area
Stardate: 45003.2045
Time Until Auction Begins: 1 Hour, 15 Minutes
Amanda's bonds had been cut, but she remained on her knees, trembling more from the emotional overload than the cold floor beneath her. Adriana knelt close, both arms wrapped tightly around her sister's shoulders. Their heartbeats were mismatched, Amanda's fast and fluttering, Adriana’s slow and heavy, as if each thump was anchoring her back into control.
Cristhiane hovered silently behind her daughter. Christie hadn't moved since the Lokustaar vanished. Her lips were pale. Her fingers twitched at her sides, as if echoing the motion that had summoned the impossible.
Adriana's hand lingered on Amanda's back... but her eyes never left the enigma at the center of the room... the girl responsible for both a death and the saving of two lives.
There had been nothing, no transporter shimmer, no sign of infiltration, and then suddenly the creature was there. Saving them. Not attacking. Not killing at random. It had responded to Christie's cry like a servant hearing its master's command. That thing had been death incarnate, and yet it chose to obey her.
Adriana swallowed hard as her eyes narrowed.
"Hey," Amanda whispered, leaning into her sister's hold. "I'm okay."
Adriana exhaled shakily as she turned her attention onto her sister, fingers tightening around Amanda. "No. You're not. But you will be."
The twin nodded faintly, then glanced toward the unmoving girl across the room. "She saved us," Amanda whispered, eyes wide and warm.
Adriana's jaw clenched at the word. Saved. As if that thing hadn't almost cost them everything. As if Christie hadn't become the center of a new, more terrifying mystery.
Amanda either didn't notice, or chose not to. "Did you see that? She actually..." Amanda started to laugh, a short, disbelieving sound, but it quickly turned into tears. "I knew you were special," she called, voice cracking, rising toward the motionless young woman.
The young woman's eyes snapped up, guilt crashing over her expression. "I didn't... I couldn't have..." she mumbled.
"You did," Amanda insisted. "You stopped him. You saved us." She pulled free from Adriana's hold and stumbled over, dropping to her knees in front of the girl who still trembled like a broken tuning fork. "Thank you. Thank you, Christie."
The embrace Amanda offered was impulsive, raw. Adriana started to stand but froze mid-motion, caught between wanting to intervene and wanting to understand.
The daughter quickly glanced at her mother, but didn't return the hug.
"I didn't mean for that to happen," she said, voice paper-thin. "I didn't do anything. I just screamed. I didn't call them. I wouldn't..."
"You didn't have to," Amanda said softly, smiling through tears. "Maybe they heard you because they love you," Amanda said dreamily, her child-like innocence echoing in every word. "Or maybe... you belong with them somehow."
Adriana stiffened. Belong? She could barely believe what she was hearing.
Christie paled further. "Please... Don't say that."
Cristhiane stirred behind her daughter, mouth opening as if to protest... but no words came. She knew the truth, a truth that she had been struggling for years to keep from her daughter. Partly because she could not accept it... partly because she feared it if it were true.
Amanda reached to touch her savior's cheek. "You don't have to be scared. Whatever this is... you're not alone. I'm here. We all are. Just like back in the Matrix."
Behind them, Adriana finally stepped forward.
"I saw it too," she said quietly, her voice carrying more weight than volume. "You didn't summon it the way someone activates a commbadge. But it responded to you. You screamed... and that thing ripped him apart. It didn't hesitate. It didn't question. It just... obeyed. Like it knew you." Adriana's voice shook, not with fear, but with restrained anger.
Amanda turned to look at her twin, surprised by the chill in Adriana's tone.
"She saved us," Amanda turned on her twin, eyes flashing. "Or did you already forget that part?"
Adriana blinked. The slap wasn’t physical, but it stung all the same.
Adriana held her sister's gaze for a long beat. "Yes," she hesitantly agreed. "And I'm grateful. I am." Her eyes moved back to Christie. "But that thing obeyed her. And we don't know what that means."
Amanda opened her mouth to argue, but Adriana raised a hand gently.
"I'm not saying she's dangerous. I'm saying she's connected to something that is. And if we care about her... and I know you do... then we can't pretend this didn't happen.”
Christie looked up at Adriana, tears welling again. "I didn't want this."
"Didn't you?" Her mother quietly challenged from behind. "You've said it many times before how you wish he would just die and leave us alone."
"No..." the daughter tearfully hesitated, her thoughts, words and emotions at odds with each other. "I might have said it before... but I didn't KILL him... nor did I want him to die like that!"
Adriana's voice softened. "I believe you. But the Lokustaar don't give power. They take. And they twist."
Amanda moved between them, not just physically, but emotionally. "We don't all get to hide behind fear, Adriana. Some of us remember what it feels like to be saved, not just scared."
Adriana's mouth tightened. "Yes, we're alive because of her. But don't ask me to celebrate the monster that answered."
Amanda turned, taking Christie's hand. "You don't have to explain yourself," she whispered. "Not to them. Not even to her."
And just like that, Adriana felt the crack... not in her sister's voice, but in the space between them. The words like ice in her veins froze her soul and reminded the twin of the split that had always been there... now more tangible than ever before.
The tension lingered like static, humming just beneath the surface. The three stood in an uneasy triangle... one trembling in shame, one frozen by doubt, one defiant in gratitude.
=-=
Setting: Unknown, Lokustaar Command Post
The ripple had faded minutes ago, but its effects still echoed.
Markus stood perfectly still, his hand resting atop a twisted metallic obelisk pulsing faintly with sickly light. Around him, shadows flowed unnaturally, slithering up walls and pooling where light should be.
"She doesn't understand," he mused aloud. "Not yet."
He smiled to himself, eyes narrowing.
"But she will."
He turned from the obelisk and walked deeper into the shifting dark.
"Soon... Very soon."
-=-=-
Marissa Montonera-Lombardi
Lieutenant JG Adriana Lopez
Ship's Counselor & Junior Ambassador
USS ANUBIS
=-=
"A Voice from the Abyss"
Previous post: "Shattered" by the terrifying and brilliant Hanali
=-=
Setting: NORTHAL DRIFT, Maintenance Corridor
Stardate: 45003.2045
Time Until Auction Begins: 1 Hour, 15 Minutes
Shar'El had barely rounded the corner when it hit her. The implications of what she had just seen still echoed in her thoughts. If the Lokustaar were here
There was no warning. No subtle twinge in her temple, no telltale flicker of memory in someone nearby. One moment she was walking, boots muffled by loose plating and half-humming conduits, and the next...
A scream. Not heard, but felt. Like a psychic shockwave detonating inside her skull. It surged through her soul like a wave of darkness torn from another dimension...
Shar’El staggered, one hand bracing against the corridor wall as her vision fractured into overlapping pulses of black. Not just the absence of light, but a living void. As if something ancient had opened sixteen small, glowing red eyes, not to look at her, but through her...
She gasped and nearly dropped to her knees, unable to put one foot in front of the other. It was as if the entire universe had suddenly been plunged into darkness for a single, eternal heartbeat...
The air around her thickened. Her Ullian senses, normally sharp and disciplined, turned against her, pulling memories she never lived, impressions soaked in dread, the echo of voices she knew too well. Flooded with memories, recent and ancient, all tethered by the same shadowy thread...
Mordana...
Markus...
Not their faces, not their thoughts—just the stain of them. The psychic scars they left behind still raw in her mind...
That shadowy imprint she'd grown to recognize during every prior encounter. But this wasn't like before. This wasn't a subtle throb of unease. This was a blast through the reality of her mind...
It tore through her inner focus, cracked open locked doors, and pulled something raw to the surface. The darkness Mordana carried like a second skin. The seductive rot that clung to Markus’s words. That very same shadow was here again, coiled, alive, and it had just screamed from an abyss that should have been beyond reach...
She leaned harder into the wall, breath shallow. She struggled to regain some level of control of her body and mind...
Shar’El had thought herself immune to surprises. She was Ullian. Trained. Hardened. And yet...
The shadows whispered...
They didn’t whisper to threaten or mock, but to inform. Cold. Clinical. A message carried from a place no sane mind should ever reach...
"It was her..."
The words had no voice, no sound, but they settled into her like hooks. Dragging her gaze inward until the face surfaced from memory. From a very recent memory...
Christie...
For half a second, Shar'El couldn't accept it. The name floated in her mind like a glitch in a transmission. Familiar. Harmless. Wrong. Christie was just a civilian. Just a girl. Someone that had been rescued from the nightmare that was the Yautja Training Matrix, and yet...
But the shadows knew. No questions. No doubts. They knew...
Shar'El recoiled from the certainty, not because she doubted it, but because the feeling was so unmistakably true. Even wrapped in pure darkness, truth could be found. Unescapable. Unavoidable...
That scream had not come from a Lokustaar....
It had come through her...
The realization pulled a chill down her spine. Christie hadn't just been touched by the darkness, she had reached into it. Answered it. With enough force to rupture the veil that separated their reality from the one where monsters waited without form. She had reached into the abyss, and it had answered her...
And worse… the blast had left a mark. Shar'El could still feel it lingering in the walls, in the bulkheads, like heat radiating from a place something unnatural had passed through. Whatever Christie had done, she had done it with enough force to register across the very domain the Lokustaar called home. That simple thought frightened her. Terrified her...
The raven-haired First Officer straightened with effort, one trembling hand brushing loose strands of hair behind her ear. She tried to slow her breathing. Tried to blink away the afterimages still seared into her mind. She failed...
Her legs moved before her thoughts fully settled. The urgency took over. She needed to find the others. See it for herself. Christie. Evaluate. Contain if necessary. Protect the ship. Protect the crew...
Whatever this was, it had just changed everything. In the worst possible way...
And if the shadows were right, if that pulse had truly come from Christie, then the ANUBIS might have unknowingly brought something aboard far worse than an enemy...
They may have brought aboard a door, one through which eternal darkness could pour in. Again...
=-=
Tiffany Reeve
Commander Shar'El
Executive Officer
USS ANUBIS
=-=
“Fool Me Once”
Previous post: "A Voice from the Abyss" by Tiffany
=-=
Setting: NORTHAL DRIFT, Outer rim
Stardate: 45003.2048
Time Until Auction Begins: 1 Hour, 13 Minutes
Disguised as a ragged mercenary in mismatched uniform trousers and top, the two-meter-tall, sad-faced Lurian—Marine Sergeant Mi’Teh (callsign “Ghost”)—inhaled sharply as he stepped through a patch of icy air. The outer rim of the derelict station had numerous ventilation defects; cold spots were just one of them. The Marine pushed through the chilly draft, his deeply sunken eyes fixed on the black sphere, the size of a fist, hovering just inches above the deck. It had what appeared to be sensor pods extended.
He didn’t like the thing. A scrubbed, silent piece of machinery that stood out amid all the rust, dust, and corrosion. Its well-maintained condition and precise movements made it clear it wasn’t the equipment of the ramshackle station. The fact that it came from ‘elsewhere’ with unknown intent threatened to betray his MACOs' clandestine mission to stand ready to rush toward the inner core if needed by the away team.
“Don’t put your lips on that, Sarge.”
Suppressing a surprised gasp, Mi’Teh spun, raising his hands to fend or fight. He immediately relaxed. She had startled him, Lance Corporal Diaz (callsign “Viper”). Trim and compact even for a Human, his top sniper wore a mismatched and nondescript uniform like a merc down on her luck. Her precision pulse rifle was hidden beneath a furry sack tied with dirty rope that hung from her shoulder.
“Sorry, Sarge,” she said. Her gaze dropped to the low-hovering sphere. “I think it’s one of ours. It has an acronym. DROIT or CLONE or something.”
The corners of the Lurian’s large, inverted mouth drooped lower, creating an utterly morose expression. He quickly touched a finger to the center of his large lips and then raised it to one of his small ears at the top of his cone-shaped head, signaling the Terran to be quiet. He suspected that all kinds of listening devices were still active aboard this heap of rubble and on whoever’s device this was. Every desperate soul here was trying to pick up any scrap of useful information to make a little coin.
Viper pressed her lips into a line, signaling she understood. But she was silent for only a moment. She pointed at the hovering sphere. “There’s a sport they play on Earth. Crochet? Where you hit a ball on the ground about that size with a wooden mallet.”
“I’d advise against it,” came a deep voice from behind, startling both disguised MACOs. They turned to face a tall, albeit bruised and bleeding, Voth.
“Skipper,” the Lurian said to the scaly lizard-man.
“Sir,” Diaz said crisply. When the hulking Lurian beside her stiffened, she realized she was once again in danger of betraying them all. She fought the urge to stand at attention.
Unsmiling, the Voth’s golden-eyed gaze shifted between them several times, as if confirming their identities. He glanced at his three-fingered hands and then, without looking at either of them, said, “Gather everyone together.”
Mi’Teh was struck by the unfamiliarity of his skipper’s manner. He looked at the Voth’s injuries. It appeared he had barely survived a fiststorm. He had a head injury. Mi’Teh reasoned that a solid thump to the brainpan might explain his skipper’s distance. The Lurian rubbed the bumpy skin on top of his bald head. "Skip, it looks like you had your..." He glanced at his sniper, “What’s it called on Earth? Had your chimes struck?”
Diaz said, “Bell rung.”
Mi’Teh nodded and pointed a finger first at Diaz and then at Lt. Enel as if he were slinging her phrase. “Did you get your bell rung? You look beat up. There’s a survivable sickbay here somewhere.”
“I’ve already been there. They sent me on.”
The Lurian’s expression grew more morose. His second stomach lurched slightly. The skipper had never deceived him. Until now. Still, lying about the severity of one’s injuries was a forgivable lie. Mi’Teh glanced again at the Lieutenant’s still-bleeding wounds. “They didn’t do anything to patch you up?”
The tall Voth’s reptilian face took on a fierce scowl. “I gave you an order! Assemble everybody. Prepare to move out.”
The corners of Mi’Teh’s oversized mouth drooped. “With the coms down, that’ll take a while. Might make more sense for us to circle the Outer Ring and pick ‘em up as we go.”
“No, the lizardman said resolutely. “That ever-growing ball of mercs will attract attention. I want you to go to each person and bring them here. A couple of mercs walking together isn’t going to attract undue attention.”
“Alright, Skip. It would be faster if she circled that way, and I circled around the other way. Meet you back here? You can keep that thing company.” Mi’Teh pointed at the sphere.
The Voth’s gaze slid for a moment to the sphere, then back to the Lurian. “I will accompany the Terran female.”
Both Mi’Teh and Diaz stared incredulously at the Lieutenant. Indignation creeping into her tone, Diaz asked the Voth, “Terran female?”
The Voth flashed a smile. “Can’t you tell I was joking?”
Diaz shifted her stance to be more balanced. Her hands clenched into fists. She squinted hard at the Voth. “You don’t seem to know either of us. Looking back, I think you didn’t even know initially which of us to give your assembly order to.”
The Voth stopped smiling and raised his hands palms-out. "I gave you both the order because I wanted you both to carry it out.”
Sargent Mi’Teh was also squinting at the Voth with his tiny eyes sunk deep in gristle. He, too, had taken on a defensive stance. “What’s my name, sir?”
The Voth took a step backward, hands still up, placatingly. “I am trying very hard not to give away too much about us. Saying your name out loud would be too revealing.”
Both MACOs stepped closer to the now silent Voth. Diaz nodded her head toward Mi’Teh. “Alright then, what’s his callsign? That wouldn’t be giving away too much.”
The Voth took half a step back to plant his foot. Then, he turned sideways to position himself in a mixed martial arts fighting stance. His hands rose into guard positions, forming fists near his hip and chest. “Stand down. Both of you. I can’t answer any of these questions out here in the open. It will compromise our security.”
The Lurian rumbled, “B-Team.” He maintained his fighting pose where he was.
Diaz nodded once and began a careful circle, widening her distance from Mi’Teh but keeping the same distance from the Voth. She hoped to get him between her and the Sarge.
The Voth’s wary expression telegraphed that he knew she was trying to flank him. He began a slow pivot, face grim.
He suddenly stiffened completely like he’d been shot through with electricity. He opened his eyes wide. He flapped his arms. His scales grew pale. His eyes dilated until they were black. His mouth popped open. All of his down stuck out, making his scales erect and rough.
Ghost and Viper shared a brief, confused glance. They readied themselves for some sort of unexpected attack.
The Voth asked, his deep voice breathless. “What a scream! I felt that one. A scream from the soul.”
Mi’Teh was sure he wasn’t buying this change in behavior. He kept his fists at the ready. “What scream?”
Diaz added, also ready to strike, “I’m 200 million percent sure you’re not okay, Skip. You need to hit sickbay again.”
The Voth ignored them. He was looking around the shabby section. He rubbed a three-fingered hand over his scaly mouth. “She needs me.” He spun, and his long legs had him racing away through the gloom.
Diaz started after him, but Mi’Teh said, “Viper, wait. This could all be some 4D Chess level trick to clear us both out of this section.”
She turned back toward the Lurian. She frowned as she adjusted the lay of her hidden plasma rifle along her back. “Ghost, didn’t he seem… off?”
The big, mournful Lurian nodded. “Bashed in the head like that, we’d all be a little off. Besides, our orders are to stay here until needed.”
She sighed. She pressed one finger behind her ear. She sighed louder. “Still no comms. I just hope we’re not missing a firefight.”
“Me too.” As he nodded, Mi’Teh crossed his arms over his chest. His gaze dropped to the floating sphere. “Let’s keep an eye on this little probe.”
Viper snorted derisively at the floating globe and then resumed patrolling. “I’ll find you a crochet mallet.”
=-=
David Michael Inverso (wavodavo2000@gmail.com)
Lieutenant JG Zub Enel
MCO
USS ANUBIS, NCC 18501
“Intuition is the whisper of the soul.”
- Jiddu Krishnamurti
"Beneath the Crown"
Previous post: "Fool Me Once" by David
-=-=-
Setting: NORTHAL DRIFT, Unknown Location
Stardate: 45003.2100
Time Until Auction Begins: 1 Hour
There was no sound but her own breathing... uneven, shallow, dragging against the syrup-thick fog pressing down on her thoughts. The drugs made sure of that. Not enough to knock her out, but just enough to keep her docile, compliant. A living trophy in a crown of pink, her once-defiant spirit drowned in chemical chains.
Ya'Han sat slumped against the crate's platform, the collar tight around her throat, a parody of obedience. A streak of black, the color of the lowest caste, now stained the pink locks of her hair like a warning. A whisper of truth. Of intent.
She had fought so hard to keep it hidden. But it was coming for her. The darkness. It always had been.
The hiss of the door snapped her head up with jagged motion. Her vision swam, but she knew that voice before he even spoke.
"And here she is," Ardax drawled, arms spread wide like some grotesque showman. He was followed by someone worse.
The man was pristine in appearance. Clean. Controlled. Calculated. His presence chilled the air, his smile a masterstroke of deceit. His tailored outfit lacked any insignia, but he didn't need one. Power trailed him like a shadow... in more ways than one.
"Still wearing pink," Markus said, his voice even, amused. "How quaint."
Ya'Han didn't reply, but her glare shimmered with faint traces of red behind her dazed stare. Rage.
Markus walked in a slow circle around her like a man inspecting a painting he already owned.
"She was always so dramatic," he said to Ardax. "The prodigal daughter. The defector. The security officer who walks the Federation line while pretending not to hear the call in her blood."
He knelt down, and as he did so, Ya'Han recognized an all too familiar darkness in his eyes... the same that Mordana had when she would look at the youngest daughter of the High Sovereign of NYLA IV. It wasn't just a resemblance, it was kinship. That same darkness wasn't mimicry; it was inheritance. A legacy. The way Mordana moved, how she spoke, how she knew... it all clicked now. Mordana hadn't just served Markus’ interests. She was his interest. His blood. His daughter. And all of this was the cold, calculated revenge of the abyss.
"Tell me, Ya'Han. Did your father ever tell you what he had to promise to ensure you were born?"
Her heart skipped. The question was poison wrapped in curiosity. Her lips parted, but only a strained whisper escaped. "What... did you do...?"
Markus's grin widened.
"Nothing he didn't ask for."
He stood and tapped the crate beside her. The same crate Ardax had been lounging on earlier. Her eyes widened. No.
"You were with it this entire time," Markus said, as though explaining a simple joke. "And too sedated to realize. A pity, really. But necessary. You see, it isn't the weapon we feared you would take. It was what it might awaken in you."
Ardax chuckled.
"She tried to lunge at me earlier," the Ferengi added. "Barely moved half a meter before collapsing. Pathetic."
Markus didn’t even look at him.
"Did it feel familiar, Ya'Han? That burn in your veins? That pull? The Lokustaar aren't just agents of decay... they shape, they tempt. Your father knew that. He reached into their shadows, and from it, he pulled what he believed was strength. Two daughters. A newborn legacy. Unseen weapon cloaked in royalty."
"Ya'Jun..." she gasped. "Me?" Now it all made sense. Her sister’s desire to be something more than what their father had demanded, and Ya'Han's own desperate need to flee. As the youngest, Ya'Han had gotten away with more than Ya'Jun ever could, but in the end, they had both walked away from duty and blood... chasing something else. Something forbidden. Something darker. She could still feel the collar around her neck, a physical reminder of her station, her place, her supposed role. And yet, both sisters had rejected it. Had been born to reject it.
He leaned in again, the whisper just for her.
"You. Were. Chosen."
Her body trembled. Anger surged, but her limbs refused to obey. That familiar chill ran along her spine. The same chill she'd felt when Jayson's clone had whispered promises of dominion and fire. When Mordana had twisted her view of righteousness.
"You used Ardax to get to me," she said, her voice gaining a tremble of strength.
"And he used you to get this," Markus motioned to the crate. "Everyone got what they wanted. Except you. That's always been your flaw. You keep hoping you can be something else. Something better. But the shadows know you. They know what you could be."
His eyes gleamed.
"And you will never escape that."
A part of her wanted to scream. Another part wept. But there, below the surface, something older stirred.
**You are the flame. You are the dark. They are not opposites. They are yours to wield.**
Her hair flickered. Pink bled into red. Then black. Then back again.
Markus straightened, satisfied. "The auction begins in less than an hour. I do hope you regain your composure by then. It would be such a shame if the universe saw you like this."
Ardax laughed, utterly oblivious. "She won't even make it to the stage." He believed Markus had shared power with him, when in truth, he’d only ever been handed just enough rope to bind himself. She saw it now... he was nothing more than a puppet, one too arrogant to recognize the strings, dancing to a song he thought he composed.
But Markus wasn’t laughing. He turned at the doorway and spoke one last time.
"Someone else is awakening now. Stronger than you. Unburdened by guilt. By choice. They will embrace what you keep denying. And when that happens, I want you to remember this moment."
He looked at her not with hate, but pity.
"Because your pain will be the seed of their rise."
Then they were gone.
She lay still for a moment, silent. Then a whisper escaped her lips, not for them, but for herself.
One long and slow breath filled her lungs. A whispered name escaped from her lips as memories of events she wished she could change took form in her mind.
Her hair darkened.
The darkness wasn’t outside her anymore.
A shiver crawled down her spine like ice wrapped in flame. Her breath hitched, sharp and raw, as if the air itself had become heavier. Her fingers clenched, not with purpose, but with primal instinct. The shadows no longer whispered, they throbbed within her veins, coiling around her soul like smoke given purpose. Something had settled. Something final. The collar still clung to her throat, but it no longer defined her.
She was no longer fighting the darkness.
She was welcoming it.
It was hers to control... hers to become.
-=-=-
Hanali Han
Lieutenant Ya'Han
Chief of Security / Tactical Officer
USS ANUBIS, NCC-18501
"Convergence of Threads"
Previous post: "Beneath the Crown" by Hanali
Setting: NORTHAL DRIFT, Secondary Backup Control Room
Stardate: 45003.2100
Time Until Auction Begins: 1 hour
The floating DRONE hovered no more than a meter from the floor... silent, still, and staring.
Jayson stood between it and Maya, his body angled protectively while his eyes never left the red optic that pulsed once every few seconds. Like a heartbeat... or a warning.
"Tell me again why we're not just blasting it," he muttered.
"Because if I do not sever its command protocols properly, others could take control of it beyond what they have already managed to accomplish,” Maya did not look up, fingers dancing across her PADD as she routed encrypted override commands through her tricorder's relay node. "Also, I am sure that you would rather avoid Sonja's wrath at the news that you destroyed one of her toys. Also, if I am able to trace the communication pathways as I trigger the shut-down command, I might be able to locate the other DRONEs which will hopefully give us an idea as to where the others are."
"I liked it better when we only had to worry about phaser fire," he said under his breath.
The DRONE's optic flickered... just a microsecond faster than before.
Maya's lips pressed as she pushed a breath through her nose. "It knows I have gained access to the core system."
"Then stop whispering sweet nothings to it and cut the damn cord."
"Working on it!" she calmly said, her fingers dancing on the PADD at a dizzying speed. "Sonja was very thorough in establishing security and defence protocols, which is even more worrisome since someone has managed to bypass them to access their communication network without triggering any of the safeguards. Now I have to deal with their possible countermeasures as well as those of the DRONE."
The DRONE shifted, just a slight tilt of its spherical body, but it was enough to make Jayson raise his phaser.
"I swear, if it even thinks about charging a weapon..."
"The DRONEs are not armed," Maya countered before adding, "Done! Command relays have been isolated. Shutting down all synchronization... now.”
---
Setting: NORTHAL DRIFT, Lower Level Maintenance Corridor
Stardate: 45003.2105
Time Until Auction Begins: 55 Minutes
Gemma flinched.
Her expression barely changed, just a flicker of dissonance behind her eyes, but it was enough to draw Zub's attention. "Something wrong?"
The ILO tilted her head slightly, as if listening to a conversation no one else could hear. "The DRONEs just went quiet."
The towering Voth blinked. "Wait… what?"
"They're still active," Gemma said as she glanced upward, “but the network that my nanites had access to just went dark. They've lost synchronicity." She looked almost disappointed, but then smiled faintly. “That means Maya succeeded.”
T'Lara turned toward Gemma. "Maya?"
"Yes," Gemma said... smiling. "There was a tracking signal embedded in the deactivation command... pure Shillian code. Too complex to be just a locator. She wanted to know where the other DRONEs were… and maybe where we were too."
A'Janni briefly echoed Gemma's smile, before realizing that the ILO had actually appeared happy about this... genuinely happy.
The sound of cautious but hurried footsteps came from beyond the open doorway.
Maya appeared first, stepping over an unconscious Romulan sprawled across the floor. Her hands were smudged with carbon scoring and circuitry residue. Jayson followed, his steps a little too fast, his eyes scanning the room with one priority in mind.
He barely registered the state of the Romulan bodies scattered like fallen dominos in their wake, but he could not avoid noticing the dead Romulan with a wide open gash through his chest.
“Where’s Ya’Han?” Jayson demanded, his voice tight with rising fear.
Adriana straightened. “Still unaccounted for. Shar'El too."
“Then what the hell are we doing standing here?” Jayson stepped deeper into the room, past Amanda and Christie. “We need to find her. Now.”
Maya let out a long breath, wiping her hands on her pants. “Jayson is correct. We have just broken the DRONE network. Whatever coordination they had is gone, and now they are locked in passive tracking mode. If we wait too long, whoever has managed to tap into their network might be able to reboot them, giving away not only our location but movements and numbers.”
"Then we find Shar'El and Ya'Han before that happens," Zub agreed, eyes narrowing.
"A good plan," Gemma offered flatly. "And one we’ll need to execute swiftly, especially with the auction countdown ticking and new variables entering the field.”
Amanda frowned. “What variables?”
Gemma didn't look at her when she answered. “Like the fact that we already know at least two of us have doppelgängers running around. Possibly more. Clones, shapeshifters, dimensional echoes, pick your flavor.”
"Oh," the Counselor softly said, having expected that Gemma would point a finger at Christie which would have likely triggered her sister.
Jayson didn’t bite on the bait, but the mention only deepened the furrow in his brow.
"Nothing to worry about Lieutenant,” Gemma continued with a dry grin. "My clone has already been... dealt with. Permanently.”
No one asked for clarification but Adriana exchanged a quick glance with Maya without saying anything.
Maya eyed the dead Romulan in the near middle of the room, then the still-shivering Christie and her mother.
"We've only got an hour," the Shillian said quietly. "And this place is a maze of shadow and deception."
Jayson's voice was tight. "Then we move now."
Gemma nodded once before ushering everyone out of the room. Rescuing Amanda, Adriana, Christie, and Cristhiane had only been the first, and likely the easiest, step. What came next would be far more difficult.
=-=
Jayson Sousa
Lieutenant JG A'Janni
Flight Control Officer
USS ANUBIS, NCC-18501
Lieutenant Jayson Stark
Chief of Operations
USS ANUBIS, NCC-18501
and
Jessica Solarik
Lieutenant Commander Maya
Chief Science Officer
USS ANUBIS
"To see the world in a grain of sand,
and a heaven in a wild flower.
Hold infinity in the palm of your hand,
and eternity in an hour."
- William Blake (British, 1757-1827)
=-=
“Threads of Hope”
Previous post: "Convergence of Threads” by Jayson
=-=
Setting: NORTHAL DRIFT, Lower Level Maintenance Corridor
Stardate: 45003.2110
Time Until Auction Begins: 50 Minutes
The towering Voth looked at the shabby and bloodied corridor as almost the entire away team followed Gemma, winding their way past dead, savaged Romulans sprawled here and there at their last futile stand.
The hulking, tiger-like Flight Control Officer A’Janni was crouched over a dead Romulan guard. Zub studied him for a moment with his golden-eyed gaze. “Feeling a little peckish?”
The big white tiger of a man continued to hook open the corpse’s clothes with his claws. Without looking up, he growled at the Voth, “Romulan cloaking devices. Maybe one of these goons has one. It’d be very handy right about now.”
Zub surveyed the other bodies scattered around. “You’re pretty smart for a scruffy, gore-smeared heap of matted fur.”
A’Janni paused and scrutinized the scaly lizardman with his one remaining eye.
Zub said, “No offense. Unless that offends you, of course.”
“No,” A’Janni rumbled as he sat back on his heels. “I’ve flown from one side of this galaxy to the other. Been through other dimensions. I’ve seen a lot of strange stuff, but never seen anything that *isn’t* smarter than you.”
Zub Enel chuckled. He quickly frisked several of the fallen guards. “No cloaking devices. We can have a fire sale on Romulan daggers, though. Come on. We need to keep up with the team.”
A’Janni stood. “They were sent against stripped down to a dagger, so there’s nothing for us to use. A lot of thought went into this defense we’re facing.”
Zub shot him a baleful look. “Having Lokustaar behind this doesn’t make figuring out ‘the plan’ any easier.”
A’Janni moved ahead, head held high, nostrils flared, and ears swiveling as he tracked the party that had vanished into the winding corridors. Zub hurried to catch up. He glanced at the shadows in the dim passageway, certain that some of them, as dark as they were, were shifting.
His scales prickled as his down fluffed out. He knew that killing even one of these extra-dimensional, black, spiderlike Lokustaar was tough, like battling single-handedly against the ten heads of a legendary Hydra; if you managed to lop one head off, two more appeared to take its place. The most deadly part of the Lokustaar was that they insinuated themselves into the mind from some blacker-than black place beneath and behind the blackest of normal space. The scales on his arms rose as he walked even faster.
Setting: NORTHAL DRIFT, Lower Level
Stardate: 45003.2112
Time Until Auction Begins: 48 Minutes
A’Janni took up the rear guard of the away team, now numbering nearly a dozen people who moved with remarkable silence along the winding and sometimes obstructed paths through the station. Gemma had taken point, so Zub decided he would best serve in the middle of the group as a foil against any attempt to flank them at a connecting three-, four-, or six-way junction. They had mounted short flights of stairs and ascended ramps. He guessed they were likely leaving the lower section of the wrecked station.
Amanda, Adriana’s remarkably similar twin, was lugging the barely conscious Nathan; the boy’s body was pressed to her chest, and his head and arms lolled over one shoulder. He thought it appropriate that she carried him since the two had taken care of each other for so long in the Yautja Training Matrix. Nonetheless, he tapped her gently on the other shoulder and offered his arms. She smiled up at him gratefully and let him cradle the boy. Nathan murmured and shifted a little until he was comfortable, but never fully awoke. Enel hoped the seemingly moribund boy was healing.
Zub Enel glanced around the silent group for the Chief Medical Officer. T’Lara had fallen back to examine A’Janni. The expression of fraying patience on the one-eyed Caitian’s furry face made Zub smile. The resolute Vulcan/Romulan doctor was not easily dissuaded from her duty. Enel could tell that the white tiger of a man understood it would be faster, safer, and quieter to endure her examination.
Enel looked ahead at Gemma. She glided through the gloomy corridors with soundless grace, every muscle attuned to the task. She seemed closer to her old self, healed by the nanites Nathan had returned to her after she had selflessly given them to him. Her copper curls gleamed and bobbed under the occasional brightness of the few still-functioning lights. He was sure she would plow through another squad of Romulan guards like a whirling set of blades, but her demeanor was different. Less icy. Just as ruthless, but somehow more… He struggled for a description… More calm. Warmer, in a way.
She paused at the entrance to a four-way intersection of corridors. She raised a hand, and the group halted. She quickly assessed the corridors and then glanced back at the away team. Her gaze flicked over Zub cradling Nathan. She smiled at him.
Zub blinked in surprise, feeling warmth radiate from his face. He smiled back. She turned her head forward and continued across the intersection into the opposite corridor.
Enel followed. His heart fluttered against the head of the boy. He was completely surprised by her smile—a warm, genuine, and approving smile directed right at him. For him. This was not the deadly serious Gemma in her hunting mode; it was, he corrected himself. But it wasn’t.
He stayed in the center of the group as they warily crossed the intersecting corridor and disappeared into the gloom. Still, he kept smiling despite their extremely precarious situation.
=-=
David Michael Inverso
Lieutenant JG Zub Enel
MCO
USS ANUBIS, NCC 18501
we crave a soul stirring love
and we chase that soul stirring life
- From butterflies rising
"Shadows in Motion"
Previous post: "Threads of Hope"
Setting: NORTHAL DRIFT, Lower Level Maintenance Corridor
Stardate: 45003.2115
Time Until Auction Begins: 45 Minutes
The team moved with purpose, each step deliberate, each breath measured as they pressed on toward their next objective... locating Shar'El and Ya'Han. The corridor ahead was dimly lit, overhead beams flickering in irregular, almost organic pulses. T'Lara had resumed her place mid-column, close enough to observe Zub carrying Nathan, but her attention extended well beyond their path forward.
Nathan's vitals were stable. Elevated heart rate. Shallow breathing. Adrenal output within acceptable limits considering the recent events. He was conscious, barely, drifting in and out while in the tender protective hold of Zub Enel. Were it not for everything else pressing on her thoughts, T'Lara might have found the sight oddly endearing. But she had other concerns.
Gemma walked ahead, leading the team. Her stride was steady, purposeful. The woman once feared for her cold detachment and volatile shifts now glanced over her shoulder more than once, her eyes lingering on Zub and Nathan. The concern in her gaze was... unsettling. Genuine. Uncharacteristic.
T’Lara filed it in her mind as a simple behavioral deviation with a possible cause being the re-aquisition of her nanites. Perhaps the nanites had self-modified during their time in Nathan, creating a feedback loop that affected neurological stability. The more likely possibility was that the nanites were now being externally influenced. Given everything that had transpired, Lokustaar interference could not be dismissed. That was why T'Lara turned her investigative focus to Christie.
Ahead, the corridor narrowed. Darkness pressed against them from both sides. T’Lara noted a tremor in the shadows to her right. It did not match the team's movement. No wind. No vibration. No draft. In short, no reason... save one terrifying possibility.
Her gaze shifted to Christie, just ahead of them. The woman was tense, shoulders hunched, eyes darting too quickly for someone claiming calm. She was not afraid of their surroundings. She was afraid of herself.
Varin's final words echoed in T'Lara's thoughts, as did the image of his sudden obliteration... summoned not by phasers or proximity mines, but by a young woman's scream. A plea that had called out to something cloaked and lethal.
T'Lara had heard stories of telepathic resonance triggering defensive responses. But never like this. Especially not with the Lokustaar.
"Zub," she said quietly, matching his pace. "You have spent more time with Gemma than most. What is your current assessment of her mental state?"
It was not casual conversation. Nothing T'Lara said ever was. It was a calculated, logical move... a subtle extraction of intel wrapped in casual inquiry. One designed to explore more than the question suggested... far more.
Zub looked at her, puzzled but not surprised. “Gemma... is different. Softer, maybe. But in a good way? I think... I think she feels something now.”
T'Lara gave a slight nod. “Feels something?" T'Lara’s voice was low. "I wonder how she feels about Christie."
"Christie," Zub echoed, swallowing hard. "She’s... not okay. She’s doubting everything. Whatever Varin said... it hit something deep. And Gemma... she's not watching it as closely as she would have before."
T’Lara observed him a moment longer, then looked away. Not to dismiss him, but to mark the next anomaly: the shadows again. Quieter this time. Moving without motion. Fading before her eyes could focus.
Mental note logged.
No anomalies had been detected in Christie’s medical scans while on the ANUBIS. Multiple passes, multiple baselines. No trace of Lokustaar physiology. No sign of foreign bio-coding. And yet...
She considered the Tal’Shiar. The covert programs. The rumors of weaponized hybrids... children molded through generations of genetic trial and political ambition. Her Romulan side did not dismiss the possibility. In fact, it anticipated it.
Christie could very well have been designed. Not as a pawn, but as a weapon.
T’Lara remained quiet. There was no immediate action to take, no confirmed threat. But every scan, every flicker in the dark, every breath Christie took was now subject to scrutiny.
If something moved again... if the shadows twisted where they should not... T'Lara would act. So would the others.
=-=
Dawn Bohr
Lt. Commander T'Lara
Chief Medical Officer
USS ANUBIS, NCC-18501
"More than Family"
Previous post: "Shadows in Motion” by Dawn
Setting: NORTHAL DRIFT, Lower Level Maintenance Corridor
Stardate: 45003.2115
Time Until Auction Begins: 45 Minutes
Adriana kept her eyes on Amanda's back, barely blinking, afraid that if she looked away for even a second, something else would take her.
She stayed close, just a half-step behind, close enough to grab her, shield her, throw herself between her sister and whatever came next. Amanda was near Christie now... again. As if nothing had happened. As if the shadowed nightmare that ripped Varin in half hadn't been summoned by the girl standing beside her.
The girl Amanda had chosen over her. Again.
Adriana's breath came shallow, controlled by force. Her body was running on adrenaline… and something worse. Shame. The kind that sits heavy in the chest and poisons every thought. She'd sworn she would protect Amanda. That nothing would touch her twin sister. That the pain and terror of the Matrix was over.
She'd failed.
They'd taken Amanda with an ease that sickened her. Right from under her watch. They had bound her. Hurt her. And Adriana had done nothing. Hadn't seen it. Hadn't stopped it. And even after finding her… she hadn't saved her. Not really.
And now Amanda was the one offering comfort.
To the girl who could summon monsters too terrifying for even the worst nightmare.
Adriana forced herself to breathe. Step. Breathe. Step. Every flickering light in the corridor overhead made her flinch just a little. Every corner of the shadows felt deeper now. More dangerous. Not because they might be hiding something, but because now she knew what could come out of them.
She had seen a Lokustaar up close. Too close.
Its too many red eyes still seared into her mind like a brand. Its claws had moved like liquid hate, tearing through Varin as though he were nothing more than paper. And all of it, the death, the arrival, the obedience... it had responded to her. To Christie. A scream, and then slaughter.
And Amanda had thanked her for it.
Adriana's hand clenched, nails biting into her palm. She didn't hate Christie because she had saved them. She didn’t even fear her... not entirely. But she feared what this meant. What it could mean. For Amanda. For all of them.
Christie wasn't the enemy. But something was. Something in her, or connected to her. Something dangerous enough to tear a man in half without question, without pause. Something obedient to her. That wasn't safety. That was a high-powered phaser with no safety, aimed at all of them.
Adriana didn’t miss the tremor in Christie's step. Or the darting glances she gave the walls as if she expected them to reach out and grab her. Adriana recognized it. Shock. Denial. Guilt. The girl hadn't known. Adriana was sure of it. That much was clear in her posture, her expression, her silence.
But Cristhiane…
Adriana didn't need to ask. She could feel the weight coming off the older woman like heat. The kind of grief only a mother could carry. Cristhiane had known something. Maybe not the whole truth. But enough. Enough to be terrified of what she might have allowed. Or enabled. Or ignored.
And maybe that's why Adriana couldn't hate her either. She understood it now, in a way she hadn't before. The weight of motherhood. The helplessness. The guilt. She'd felt it the moment Amanda was taken, felt it down to her bones.
But Cristhiane had felt it for years. Maybe since the day Christie was born.
Adriana's eyes shifted back to Amanda. Her sister had taken Christie's hand. That small gesture twisted something inside her. Amanda had spent decades searching for a connection in a nightmare world of a constantly shifting, fabricated reality. And she'd found it, with someone who was there with her, sharing in the nightmares day after day. With Christie. A bond built not on blood, but shared suffering. A bond Adriana had never truly had a chance to build herself.
She understood it. And it still hurt. A lot.
She couldn't protect Amanda from that either.
A faint sound echoed behind them. Just the creak of the station. Metal stress, maybe. Or something else. Adriana's eyes darted to the shadows and lingered.
They felt different now. Not just places light didn't reach.
They felt alive.
Her hand lifted to her chest, fingers splayed over the frantic beating of her heart, as if to steady it… or herself.
Not because she thought it would help.
But because she needed to feel like she could do something. Anything.
She couldn’t lose Amanda again.
Not to the shadows. Not to Christie. Not even to the part of Amanda that might leave her behind.
Adriana blinked hard, swallowing the burn in her throat. Her steps never faltered. Her arm brushed Amanda’s lightly, reminding her that she was there. That she would be there. Always.
Her gaze passed over Christie one last time. Not with suspicion. Not with blame. But with something quieter. A weight they now shared. A truth neither of them could change.
Christie had been made into something. A weapon. A beacon. A key to a darkness none of them fully understood. Adriana didn't know if she should pity her or fear her.
She only knew this: Amanda loved her.
And that terrified Adriana more than anything else.
She blinked again, and this time a single tear escaped, trailing down her cheek unnoticed.
They walked on.
Behind them, the shadows shifted. Watching. Waiting.
-=-=-
Marissa Montonera-Lombardi
Lieutenant JG Adriana Lopez
Ship's Counselor & Junior Ambassador
USS ANUBIS
=-=
"Tendrils of Darkness"
Previous post: "More Than Family" by the amazing Marissa
=-=
Setting: NORTHAL DRIFT, Promenade
Stardate: 45003.2120
Time Until Auction Begins: 40 Minutes
Shar'El moved swiftly through the crowd, her boots echoing hollowly between the merchandise booths. The lights above buzzed in uneven intervals, flickering dim gold and ghostly blue. She was supposed to be better than this, calm under pressure, relentless in her analysis, but 40 minutes to the auction and she hadn't found a single trace of the away team.
Worse, the earlier psychic shockwave still clung to her like oil in her lungs. That scream, felt not heard, had clawed through her Ullian defenses with the subtlety of a quantum torpedo. A mind-cry born of void, suffering, and something unmistakably tainted.
Christie... That name had settled into her awareness like a splinter that refused to work its way free. The girl's general innocent facade hid something dark, very dark, but as much as the raven-haired ExO wanted to condemn her, she found herself trying to find some sort of plausible explanation that would account for both the daughter and her mother. The few ideas that had been entertained had not been that much better though.
Shar’El rounded another corner when it hit her again, but not like before. This was quieter, clearer. A sudden shift in perception, like a veil lifting.
She saw them... The away team... A'Janni, Maya, Jayson, T'Lara, the twins, mother and daughter, Zub, Gemma… all were pushing forward through narrow shadow-filled corridors, shoulders brushing against the curved metallic bulkheads of a tight maintenance crawlspace. Their breathing was labored, Gemma was confident, laser-focused, as she used to be. Adriana glanced behind them constantly, her nerves on edge. Zub tenderly carried Nathan like the towering protector he was. Then there was Christie, head down, silently putting one foot in front of the other while Amanda offered emotional support.
It wasn't a memory. She knew what those felt like. This was different... fluid, recent, real. A projection not from the past but from now.
Shar'El blinked. The vision shattered into motes of nothingness.
She turned on her heel, scanning the faces of those nearby; traders, mercs, techs muttering into tools, but none of them had the cognitive architecture to emit something like what she'd just experienced.
Her pulse quickened. Someone had tapped into her Ullian abilities. Again.
"Why?" she murmured aloud, voice low. "Why lead me to them?"
There was no time to debate. If what she saw was true, they were only moments away. She moved fast, turning left into an unlit corridor, boots whispering over cold metal grates.
=-=
Setting: NORTHAL DRIFT, Maintenance storage area
Stardate: 45003.2124
Time Until Auction Begins: 36 Minutes
Mere minutes later, the hiss of hydraulics echoed behind a half-sealed access panel. Shar’El slowed, cautious but expectant.
The grate pushed open.
First out was Gemma, her clothes streaked with grime and heat scoring. Then Maya, her gaze sharp despite the exhaustion painting her features. Adriana followed, clinging to hope like a lifeline.
The others emerged in a single file. T'Lara emerged next, followed by Jayson, then Zub carrying Nathan, and then...
Christie and her mother.
The girl moved like she was underwater. Slow. Silent. Her eyes weren't focused on anything around her. And behind those unfocused eyes…
Shar’El staggered again, just slightly, as the memory flared into focus.
Varin’s death... Brutal. Silent. Inevitable.
The memory didn't play like a recording... it haunted her, clinging to her every step like smoke in a sealed room. Every image of it surrounded the girl like phantoms: Varin's wide-eyed silence, the soft exhale of breath as his life slipped away, and the crackling tension of a connection severed.
The raven-haired Ullian clenched her jaw and took a steadying breath. There was no need to probe further. The confirmation was written in Christie's every movement. She had not been the one to kill the Tal'Shiar lead operative, but the young woman felt the full weight of responsibility crushing her soul. Neither mother or daughter would mourn the end of his life, only the way it had happened... and Shar'El understood.
Ahead, the others spoke in hushed, urgent tones, trying to process what they had just escaped.. Shar'El stayed behind for a second longer, her eyes locked on the silent girl, but eventually she joined the rest of the reformed away team. There was so much to share, and even more to plan. Time was running out and they were still missing one person... Ya'Han.
=-=
Setting: NORTHAL DRIFT, Promenade looking at the maintenance storage area
Stardate: 45003.2125
Time Until Auction Begins: 35 Minutes
Unseen eyes watched in longing interest, not as if looking at something new or unexpected, but at someone they had been expecting... waited for and to discover who she truly was.
Then the air turned cold. Christie's shoulders twitched. She felt the unseen gaze, cold and invasive, reaching deeper than her soul.
Someone... or something... was watching... her.
Unnoticed by the others, a man stood in the shadows just beyond the spill of flickering corridor light. Still as obsidian, unnoticed. His posture was elegant, arrogant. Controlled. Arms folded behind his back, weight shifted slightly to one side.
His eyes, though no one could see them, moved from person to person, lingering on them for only a few heartbeats. And finally… Christie.
As he gaze locked onto her, he smiled. It wasn't kind. It wasn't warm. It was inevitable.
The young woman's breath caught in her throat. Her eyes darted around her, searching, panicked, but she could not see anyone other than the members of the away team. Her throat tightened, ensuring that not even a whisper could escape.
She scrutinized her surroundings once more, but found no one.
The figure was gone.
But the chill remained, buried deep in her spine like ice water bleeding through the cracks of her soul.
The shadows around her had noticed something. Something blooming.
Shar’El glanced at Christie, her thoughts churned beneath her calm expression.
Someone had wanted her to find the team. Someone with the power to pierce through psychic barriers and guide her path.
And now that they were all together… she couldn't shake the chilling certainty that this was always part of the plan.
=-=
Tiffany Reeve
Commander Shar'El
Executive Officer
USS ANUBIS
"Demonstration of Intent"
Previous post: "Tendrils of Darkness" by Tiffany
-=-=-
Setting: NORTHAL DRIFT, Unknown Location
Stardate: 45003.2130
Time Until Auction Begins: 30 Minutes
She knelt, not by choice, but because the restraints around her wrists were anchored to the floor plating. As if that wasn't degrading enough, a leash connected her collar to the crate holding the artifact. Her arms ached from being locked in that position. Her knees throbbed from the cold duranium floor. Her hair hung in limp pink strands, the color barely holding as fury surged beneath the surface. The air reeked of incense and ego... an ego far too vast for the diminutive Ferengi who now paced like a victorious tyrant.
Ardax circled her, savoring every moment like a connoisseur admiring the vintage taste of control.
"You know, Ya'Han," the Ferengi hissed, "I used to crave the day you'd kneel beside me. Now I live for the moment you kneel beneath me... broken, owned, and reminded of your worth... nothing. Just a failed investment that embarrassed me in front of those who used to admire me."
He crouched, brushed his hand across her cheek. She flinched.
"But now? Now I see you clearly. You ran so far, so fast... desperate to disappear into uniform and duty. And yet, here you are again. Collared. Kneeling. And soon, a witness to the death of your Federation's illusion."
Ya'Han glared up at him, her jaw clenched. "You're insane."
"No," he said with terrifying calm. "You're irrelevant."
He backhanded her, hard. The blow knocked her sideways, her body crashing to the floor as far as the chains allowed. She was too drugged to counter. Too restrained to fight. But her anger pounded in her chest like a war drum.
Ardax stood tall, his smile widening as he raised a control device. With a single press, the crate behind her lit up, pulsing like a living heart. The artifact was awakening. Ya'Han could feel it. The air crackled. Her skin tingled as invisible forces stirred around them.
"They'll come for you, of course. Your gallant crew. That sentimental fool, Jayson. I'm counting on it."
Her heart lurched. "How do you know about Jayson?"
"Markus told me," Ardax replied smoothly. "You'd be amazed how much he knows. About your friends. About you."
"Me?"
"Oh yes. The things your father never dared say. The secrets your mother never dared to whisper."
She tugged at her restraints with renewed fury, but her limbs trembled under the fading haze of the sedatives. So she lashed out with her voice. "They'll stop you."
"Will they?" he whispered, stepping closer. "Or will they watch you vanish... like the colony? Powerless. Broken. Just close enough to see, but never close enough to save."
The door slammed open with a hiss of pressurized air.
"LET HER GO!" a voice shouted... sharp, furious, barely restrained. A'Janni.
He was first through the door, followed by Gemma and Zub. They moved like war-forged knights. Jayson arrived a split second later... and froze when he saw Ya’Han. Chained. Collared. Powerless.
More poured in... Shar'El, Maya, T'Lara, the twins, the mother-daughter duo... all ready for war.
"There's nowhere for you to go," Gemma said, voice calm, eyes burning.
"The device," Maya gasped, her eyes locked on the crate next to Ya'Han. "It's active."
A silence fell like a guillotine.
Had Ardax just armed the weapon? Would he kill them all?
Then the world shimmered.
A translucent dome of blue light surged up around the platform. Ardax, Ya'Han, and the crate were sealed inside a flickering cocoon of projected energy. Jayson lunged without thinking and slammed into the barrier. A'Janni grabbed his shoulders and pulled him back.
"You see?" Ardax called out, voice grand and gleeful. "You always arrive just in time... to fail."
Jayson rushed again, hammering the shield with his fists. "YA'HAN!"
Her head lifted. Their eyes met.
She opened her mouth... but no words came. Only a look. Fear. Rage. Helpless apology.
The platform beneath them began to descend, retracting into the deck below. A low mechanical hum vibrated through the floor. The forcefield followed them down.
Ardax's laughter echoed... high, triumphant, unhinged.
"Remember this moment, my dear boy. It will be the last time you ever see her alive!"
Ya'Han didn't look away. She couldn't. Her eyes swept across the others... Jayson, A'Janni, Gemma, Maya. All frozen in place. And when she looked at Christie... she saw it. A silent, familiar darkness. Too late.
Then she was gone.
The field. The crate. The monster.
All vanished into the station.
An unnatural silence followed. Heavy. Hollow.
Then...
"NO!!!"
Jayson's scream shattered it. He dropped to his knees, fists pounding the deck. Others turned to him. Some to Christie. Some looked at the ground, wondering if they’d just lost more than a friend.
-=-=-
Setting: NORTHAL DRIFT, Secured Private Location
Stardate: 45003.2140
Time Until Auction Begins: 20 Minutes
The lights dimmed.
Not into darkness... but into reverence.
A single holoscreen hovered before the room. It displayed what remained of the NOVOSYTH colony: nothing. 128,000 lives. Erased. No bodies. No buildings. No resistance. Just ash and silence.
Daimon Ardax stepped into the glow.
He waited.
Then he spoke... quiet, chilling.
"You've seen the proof. 128,000 lives. Gone. No siege. No ships. No warning. Just... erased."
He turned slowly, addressing the shadowed room.
"The Klingons would call this barbaric. The Federation would cry over the innocent. The sanctimonious would call it a war crime."
He scoffed.
"Let them. Let them all cower behind treaties and ideals... like men clutching flames that no longer warm them. What you saw? That was not chaos. It was precision. It was power. It is the future. Bought, not debated."
He walked the room like a prophet.
"This device has no conscience. No flag. No hesitation. One command. One pulse. And cities vanish. No survivors. No evidence. No consequences."
He stopped, eyes glinting in the dark.
"That power does not belong to diplomats. It belongs to visionaries. To those unafraid to act alone. To rule."
His voice dropped into a venomous whisper.
"The Romulans speak of unity. The Federation speaks of peace. The weak hope for balance. But I have seen the truth."
"Peace is a leash. Balance is a lie. And unity? Unity is the song of the afraid."
The screen behind him looped again. NOVOSYTH. Then, and now... nothing.
"This is the new diplomacy. The new currency. And I am ready to sell it... to those bold enough to wield it."
He leaned in, soft but electrified.
"This is not just a weapon. It is a promise. A shadow so vast it swallows bloodline, border, and resistance alike."
He let the words linger... then smiled.
"For those who see that future, the price is already forming in your minds. For those who hesitate..."
A pause. Dead quiet.
"...step aside. History has no place for hesitation."
He turned his back as the holoscreen faded to black.
The silence that followed was no longer reverent.
It was terrified.
Then, with chilling delight, Ardax spoke again.
"Think. Contemplate. Dream. Erase a few worlds... and the galaxy will kneel. Obey you. Fear you. Look at the fear in her eyes," he said, pointing to Ya'Han. "Now imagine billions looking up at your glory with nothing but unmanageable fear."
He paused, savoring the moment.
"A new age is upon us. A new age of darkness. Through it, one light shall shine."
His gaze drifted toward Ya’Han and kicked the pink-haired Nylaan one more time, just because he could.
"And for the right price... that light can be yours. The bidding will begin in 15 minutes."
Even struggling to breathe, she could not believe what she had just heard.
He was selling genocide. Offering godhood to the highest bidder. And he looked at her... like she was nothing.
The drugs dulled her muscles, but not her soul. Something changed.
Her hair... no longer pink.
It was black.
The color of the void.
The color of what Ardax was about to unleash upon them all.
-=-=-
Hanali Han
Lieutenant Ya'Han
Chief of Security / Tactical Officer
USS ANUBIS, NCC-18501
"Fractures"
Previous post: "Demonstration of Intent" by Hanali
Setting: NORTHAL DRIFT, Upper Access Chamber (above the platform)
Stardate: 45003.2140
Time Until Auction Begins: 20 minutes
Jayson's scream still echoed, a raw wound across the chamber's cold stillness. But the silence that followed bled deeper, suffocating, absolute. Everyone stood in the thick, breathless weight of it, eyes on the empty platform, on the shimmering floor panel where Ya’Han had just vanished… and on him.
He didn't move at first. Just knelt there. Shoulders shaking. Hands curled into fists on the deck, blood from split knuckles pooling beneath his fingers.
Then he looked up. Not at the place where she had been, but at her... Christie.
The words came before his thoughts. Before his heart could catch up. Before logic or reason could intervene.
"Why?" he rasped, staggering to his feet, fury breaking through the grief in his throat. "Why didn't you stop it? Why didn't you DO anything?"
Amanda flinched. Adriana moved quickly, stepping between him and Christie, but he didn't care. His voice cracked, rising.
"I heard the whispers, Christie. What you did to Varin. Or… what came when you screamed. You saved Adriana. You saved Amanda. Everyone said it. So why, why not Ya'Han?"
Christie didn't reply. She didn't even blink. Her eyes were glassed over, distant, like the impact of his words was still trying to reach her. She opened her mouth… then closed it again. Whatever truth she might have offered twisted into fear, of herself, of what her voice might summon again.
Amanda placed a protective arm around the silent girl's shoulder. "She did save us," the twin said, tightening her hold on Christie. "If it weren't for her, Adriana and I would still be locked in that nightmare… or worse. She's the reason we made it out of that room. She's the reason we're still here."
Jayson's glare cut through her. Words meant to help had achieved the opposite, only fueling the man's rage even more.
"Then why not Ya'Han?" Jayson's voice cracked again. "You saw what that monster did... chained her like an animal! And you just... stood there... like she didn't matter!."
Adriana reached him, arms circling his back as she pulled him close, grounding him with the only thing she had left, herself.
"Jayson, stop," she whispered, her voice trembling. "This won't help her. It won't bring Ya'Han back. We need to think. We need to move."
"I should've done something," he rasped. "I should have..."
"You did everything you could,” A'Janni said, his tone gentle but insistent.
“We all did," Adriana added, tightening her grip. “That dome wasn’t just shielding them, it was phasing them out."
Jayson shook his head, but his body gave up before his fury could. He collapsed to his knees, fists slamming the deck again and again until the skin split wider, blood smearing across the metal.
Behind them, Cristhiane took a slow step forward. Her eyes weren't on Jayson… they were on her daughter.
"This isn’t her fault,” Cristhiane said, her voice brittle with guilt. "Whatever happened to Varin… that wasn't her doing. Not directly. That thing answered her scream... but it wasn’t a call for help. It was fear. And something heard it. The truth is... this may all be my fault. Because of a childish decision I made long ago... A past that we’ve both been trying to outrun ever since."
Amanda looked from Cristhiane to Christie. “The past doesn't matter,” she said softly, drawing an immediate glare from her sister, knowing that reality, especially in her sister's case, painted a completely different picture.
Christie’s lips trembled. She wanted to believe them. She wanted to say something. But no words came. She couldn't. She wouldn’t. The last time she let her voice rise, something unholy answered, and someone died... torn apart by something she didn't control and still couldn't name.
"Say something." Jayson pleaded, anger and sorrow merging in a single encompassing emotion. "Explain to us why you didn't even try to save Ya’Han?"
Adriana met her eyes across the tension, her arms still around Jayson. The Counselor in her saw the question hanging between them all... unspoken, sharp as a blade.
Christie's lips quivered. The weight of the question pressing on her just as much as the guilt of her actions and inactions. Her silence only compounds everything.
But there wasn’t time for answers now.
A weapon still pulsed.
A madman still played god.
And Ya’Han... was still out there, alone.
=-=
Jayson Sousa
Lieutenant JG A'Janni
Flight Control Officer
USS ANUBIS, NCC-18501
Lieutenant Jayson Stark
Chief of Operations
USS ANUBIS, NCC-18501
and
Marissa Montonera-Lombardi
Lieutenant JG Adriana Lopez
Ship's Counselor & Junior Ambassador
USS ANUBIS
"Shadows of Guilt"
Previous post: "Fractures"
Setting: NORTHAL DRIFT, Upper Access Chamber
Stardate: 45003.2145
Time Until Auction Begins: 15 minutes
Gemma had said nothing during the eruption of grief and accusation that followed Ya'Han's vanishing. Not when Jayson broke down. Not when Adriana tried to contain him. Not even when Christie had been backed into a wall by words far sharper than any blade.
She stood just outside the fray, shadows curling beneath the fractured metalwork around her boots like smoke. Watching. Calculating. Failing.
Again.
She shifted, the motion small but telling, barely a flinch, but in her stillness, even that was a crack.
Zub Enel, standing near her, was struck by Gemma's icy stillness while the shabby room shook and rattled from others overtaken by grief and recrimination. But when this 'Athena', unmoved by Ya'Han's continued captivity, barely flinched, opened a crack, Zub felt her storm of raw emotions: grief, guilt, and frustration. Her gift of a few nanites had revealed this to him.
Her fingers curled at her sides. She didn’t need to glance down to know the nanites in her blood were fully active again, the damage from earlier already undone. Her strength restored. Her reflexes, heightened. No more excuses. Physically, she was fine.
But she hadn't been when it counted.
The dome had risen, the tech shimmering in that eerie phase-static shimmer… and she'd hesitated. Not even a second, but it had been enough. More than enough.
She exhaled through her nose. Cool, even. Unshaken on the outside.
Inside was something else.
"You've done more on half-power than most can do at their peak." Sylthia softly said.
"But I wasn’t at her peak, was it?" Anya countered, her words cold as ice, yet lacking her usual sharpness.
"She was rebuilding. She needed time." Wimdalli softly said, the Uxali scientist always being the pragmatic one.
"And someone else paid the price for it," Jinx snarled.
The voices were quiet now, no longer fighting each other. Not disagreeing. Just watching... commenting.
To the tall lizardman, trying to catch specifics of Gemma's inner tumult was slippery, like straining for words of a heated conversation whispered just out of earshot. The exact shape of her emotions rolled and slipped like wet cobbles on a storm-ravaged beach. This was not a case of the observer cooly regarding the observed. He felt the tempest she felt, though muted, like the memory of a memory of an emotion. All he knew for sure was he felt Gemma's powerful emotional pain rise inexorably higher like a curling breaker only to crash heavily onto cobbles and return calmly to sea, making the rocks rattle out notes of a song he couldn't quite catch.
As Gemma calmed, his gaze rose off her. Nathan was lying frighteningly still, ministered over, but with a fragility that disturbed Zub.
She didn't move until Zub did. Not toward Jayson, not toward Christie, but to the other side of the platform, where T'Lara and Maya were huddled around the quiet and still form of Nathan.
Gemma followed.
Their path took them past the scorched markings on the deck where the dome had risen. The edges of the trap. The border of her failure.
She didn't look down. She already knew what she'd see.... the shadows of what had been there only minutes ago.
Blood. Chains. Ya’Han.
To Zub's sensitive nose, the rumblings of Gemma's hidden feelings mixed with the acrid stench of blood, burnt metal, and the scents of stress from the away team. He suppressed his own rising sense of desperation. To prevail, the weakest among them needed his strength. Gemma, the restored goddess of war, needed it. She had a vulnerability that had eluded her nanites.
The closer they got to Nathan, the more pronounced Gemma's posture became, rigid, deliberate. Not just Intel discipline. Not just masking grief. It was control. Surgical. Self-punishing.
Nathan was lying still, his skin pale, body trembling despite T'Lara's careful touch. The faint shimmer of a bioregenerative field flickered across his shoulder, where ruptured nerves and torn flesh met the memory of a trauma Gemma knew all too well. The transfer of nanites had cost him, again.
She crouched slowly, careful not to crowd the healers, her eyes scanning the readouts Maya had set up. No words yet. Just data. Numbers.
He'd given back what he could, transferring her nanites even when it nearly broke him.
And what had she done with that gift?
She'd wasted it on recovery. On herself. On catching up.
She should have been the one phasing through the shield.
She should have torn through it. Pulled Ya'Han free with her own hands if necessary.
Instead…
"She trusted me," Gemma murmured, just loud enough for Zub to hear. "And I was... too late to matter."
Reminded of when a MACO's resolve was wavering in a pitched battle, Zub habitually reached down a three-fingered hand and smacked her on the helmet. Except Gemma wasn't a Marine, and she wasn't wearing a helmet, and nobody wanting to live long and prosper smacked her on the head. He pulled his hand back as if he'd hit the trigger plate on an ionic mine.
Gemma didn't look at him. She stared at Nathan, watching the slight rise and fall of his chest.
"She bled for us. For this mission. The look on her face when we arrived... defeat. I'd never thought I would see the day when she would be so... weak."
Her voice dropped. Not bitter. Not angry. Something far more dangerous.
Measured.
"I should've been the one chained. Not her."
T'Lara shifted beside them, gently adjusting the dermal regenerator along Nathan's ribs. Gemma didn’t interfere. Didn't offer help. She didn’t trust her hands right now.
"Part of me wonders..." she said quietly. "If I was supposed to fail. If some part of this... this entire fragmented mess... was designed so I wouldn't be at full capacity when she needed me."
She finally looked up, eyes meeting Zub's for the first time since the moment Ya'Han vanished.
"You think that's crazy?"
He felt her self-accusation radiating from her like a plasma jet blasting across the universe from a quasar. He didn't have Adriana's gift for counseling, but he was sure it was never safe to agree with someone that they were crazy, especially a cyclone of fists and boots like Gemma. He held her gaze, though.
"I think the time hasn't yet come for you to rescue Ya'Han. She is still trusting you -- and all of us. She understands this is a setback, but not the end of the mission. You know her. She'll trust us to the last breath that we are going to find her again and stop this doomsday machine. And you will help."
His hands moved up as if to cup her upturned face, but he decided that touching her skin would be too distracting for him. He halted the motion and lowered his arms. He had a sneaking suspicion that, like most males, he'd ruin the moment. Not that this was a moment.
He held her gaze, stilling his own ripples of worry about how she might react angrily to his response. Instead, he reached out with his small fraction of her nanites to sense what she might be feeling.
Maya's tricorder chirped, drawing their attention back to the wounded boy between them.
Gemma leaned in just a little, voice soft. "Don't die on me, Nathan. I’m not worth that kind of sacrifice."
T'Lara blinked at her but said nothing. The words weren't meant for the healer anyway.
Gemma stood slowly, her body coiling again into that feline stillness Zub had seen before, every movement precise, like the pause before a strike. But this wasn't a battle stance. This was the stance of someone already preparing to carry blame like a weapon.
"She's still out there," Gemma said finally, gaze distant. "And if we're going to get her back..."
Her jaw clenched, and the edges of her frame shimmered slightly, another personality shifting beneath the surface, close to emerging, but not quite.
"I need to stop bleeding in the shadows of my own failures."
Zub Enel smiled. "You're waxing poetic. I wonder how many beautiful poems have been uttered in battle only to be lost forever." His scales blanched when he realized what he had implied. He said to her firmly, "Not this one. Help us intuit our way to Ya'Han."
=-=
Rachel Jackie Johnson
Lieutenant Gemma
Intel Operative
USS ANUBIS
[The fun is getting to wear multiple disguises and getting to explore multiple personalities and bring them to life.] - Jenna Fischer
and
David Michael Inverso
Lieutenant JG Zub Enel
MCO
USS ANUBIS, NCC 18501
=-=
"Tactical Paths"
Previous post: "Shadows of Guilt" by the insightful David and Rachel
=-=
Setting: NORTHAL DRIFT, Upper Access Chamber
Stardate: 45003.2150
Time Until Auction Begins: 10 Minutes
Time was slipping through their fingers, each heartbeat ticking louder beneath the weight of what came next... rescue, recovery, and the prevention of galactic catastrophe.
Shar'El stood apart, physically removed from the others just enough to see the whole of them; their postures, their silences, the damage already done, and the sparks of strength still present. She allowed herself that distance to observe, to analyze, to think clearly. But it was also a shield. The flood of emotions was thick in the air, and while the Ullian part of her could read them like ink soaking into paper, the former Intel officer needed precision, not pain.
The shadows flickered across the scorched walls, echoing the tension that clung to the room like smoke. Nathan was weak but stable, for now. Gemma... operational. Barely. The rest? Alive, but unraveling.
The worst part was that they only had ten minutes.
"We need to move," Shar'El said at last, her voice quiet but cutting through the room like a well-honed blade. "The window is closing. The auction begins in ten minutes, if it has not already done so. Ardax has proven to be unpredictable, making things that much more complicated. Our priorities remain the same: recover the device and get Ya'Han back."
She stepped into the center of the chamber. Adriana looked up, her eyes still haunted but determined. Christie stayed close to Amanda, her mother hovering nearby. T'Lara gave a small nod, ever the calm amidst chaos. Zub was a mountain near Gemma, who had not moved since rising.
Shar'El looked to each in turn, then spoke.
"We don't have the luxury of indulging regret. We can assess the emotional fallout later... IF we succeed. The device is our target. It's likely in motion or under increasing guard now. We need intel, a clean approach, and contingency planning."
She turned to Maya, the ever-reliable scientist. "Any updates on the device's location?"
Maya tapped her tricorder again, and this time her expression shifted. "Actually, yes. Earlier, the radiation interference from the station made pinpointing it impossible. But the device is now active... that changes everything."
"Explain," Shar'El prompted.
"The quantum dispersion field generated by the device is now broadcasting a low-frequency pulse. It's subtle, but trackable. I can follow it straight to the vault where it's being held."
"How long will it take to get there?"
"Roughly 14 minutes, maybe less if we move fast and don't run into resistance."
Shar'El frowned but nodded. "Then we go with that. It's the closest thing we have to a lead. Now..."
Her gaze swept the room.
"We need ideas, and we need them fast. Anyone?
T'Lara's gaze turned steely, her Romulan features sharpening in the dim light like a blade drawn in silence. "We could release a pathogen into the station's ventilation system. The medical bay did have a few questionable samples."
"Too random... too uncertain and with the amount of time we have, too slow," Shar'El pointed out. "Also, there are too many races here to know for sure who would be affected and how. Beyond that, the chaos could make things worse."
Zub looked ready to speak but hesitated.
"Go ahead," Shar'El encouraged. "There are no bad ideas at this stage of the game."
"What if we use that, or any other chaos?" the Voth offered. "The auction is a huge distraction. It is not every day that a device able to erase life on a global scale goes up for sale. If we can trigger something... fire alarms, structural vibrations, anything that would rattle already fragile nerves, it could clear out the station and give us more time."
Shar'El narrowed her eyes, considering. "It’s viable. Risky, but viable. Maya, can you hack into their maintenance systems, create a non-lethal but convincing fault?"
Maya gave a hesitant nod. "Yes, I can simulate a heat spike in the plasma conduits. Those are already weak enough that it would not be a stretch of the imagination to make people believe that something went wrong. It would force the internal safety systems to respond and trigger a partial evacuation of the station including the auction chamber. But I'd need a few minutes to make it happen. The control systems are a patchwork of various programs that I am surprised are able to function together at all."
Before Shar'El could give the go-ahead, Adriana stepped forward, her voice cutting through the air more sharply than expected.
"Wait."
All eyes turned toward her. She looked shaken, but resolute. Her eyes flicked toward Christie before returning to Shar'El.
"We're forgetting something..." Adriana said. "The Lokustaar."
The name itself hung in the air like a toxin.
"Every time we think we're making progress, it gets undone," Adriana continued. "Every move we've made has been countered. Sometimes, before we even finish making it. It's like... like we've been dancing in someone else's pattern since the beginning."
She drew in a breath, visibly struggling to maintain composure. "What if triggering chaos is exactly what they want? We know they thrive on chaos and conflict, so what if this 'disruption' we're planning just moves us deeper into their next trap?"
Christie lowered her head slightly, expression tightening. Zub shifted his weight. Even T'Lara blinked, just once, a rare show of surprise.
Shar'El studied Adriana for a long second. There was no paranoia in her voice... only weary insight, the kind born from too many battles fought on uneven ground. And yet, everyone silently agreed. They all had experienced that feeling and saw just enough of shifting shadows to know that something was off... with everything.
"You're saying we're playing into their hands," Gemma stated, not as a question, but as a supporting statement.
"I'm saying we might be," Adriana corrected. "And the worst part is... we can't be sure. But we can't keep walking into setups and acting like we're in control. We haven't been since this mission started... The confrontation on NOVOSYTH, the problems we encountered here on the station. Every plan or course of action we had collapsed. The Lokustaar have proven time and time again that they do not deal in straight lines, and this mission has been their greatest misdirection yet."
The silence stretched, and this time, it was Maya who broke it. "So what then? I do not believe that doing nothing will help us find the divide before it lands in the wrong hands. The Lokustaar are agents of chaos, we have seen this first-hand during our previous dealings with them, but here, on the NORTHAL DRIFT, chaos has not been the only force at play."
"She's right," Christie whispered, as if the sound of her voice might summon another apparition of the nightmarish creatures they were talking about. "There is another presence... a man behind the shadows. I don't know how, but I can feel his presence... his eyes on us... his reach on everything and everyone."
Shar'El and several others had to agree, there was someone else, someone more sinister, involved in all of this. "Fine," the Raven-haired ExO noted firmly. "We walk in with our eyes open. We continue the mission, but we stop pretending we're the ones calling all the shots. From here on out, everything we do assumes we're being observed, anticipated, maybe even manipulated. That doesn't paralyze us... It sharpens us."
She turned to Maya. "If you still have access to the station's schematics, get us to the secured vaults where the device is as quickly as possible. We can figure out what we'll do next after we get there."
Then she looked around at each member of the team. "We stay together. No splitting up. No improvisation unless survival depends on it. We move quickly and silently, and we don't let anger or guilt make our choices for us."
Her eyes found Adriana's once more.
"Thank you..."
Adriana gave a slight nod, her shoulders still tense, but some of the dread in her eyes lessened.
"All right," Shar’El said at last. "We go. Quiet, focused, together. We’re not just saving Ya’Han. We’re taking back the initiative."
She looked toward the corridor, its flickering lights waiting like distant stars behind a cloudbank.
"Let’s make our next move count."
=-=
Tiffany Reeve
Commander Shar'El
Executive Officer
USS ANUBIS
"Mistress of Shadows"
Previous post: "Tactical Paths" by Tiffany
-=-=-
Setting: NORTHAL DRIFT, Secured Vault #6
Stardate: 45003.2150
Time Until Auction Begins: 10 Minutes
The room was quiet, sealed, secured, save for the low, resonating thrum of the device beside her.
Beyond the vault, Ardax played the perfect Ferengi merchant, dealing, trading, and charming his way through a room filled with ambition and bloodlust. Every laugh, every deal, was a transaction written in lives yet to be lost. The buyers spoke in hushed tones of conquest and cleansing, placing bids not in credits, but in the currency of extinction.
Inside the vault, Ya'Han remained chained, collared and leashed like an animal, but her posture had changed. Tense. Watchful. Coiled. Her hair, no longer pink, had darkened to an unnatural black… not the shade of a NYLAAN commoner, but something far deeper. Heavier. Like the void bleeding through a crack in her soul.
But then, just as quickly as it had come, it vanished. A trembling breath escaped her lips, and the inky darkness retreated, replaced once more by the soft, subdued pink of denial
Her heart stilled for a few seconds before she heard a sound.
Not from the room. Not from outside.
From behind her.
A voice.
"I always told you you were stronger than you believed."
She froze.
That voice…
She turned her head slowly.
And saw him.
"Jayson?"
He smiled. The same gentle, crooked smile. The same warm brown eyes that had once softened her world. His uniform was neat, his hair tousled just right. Everything about him was perfect. That's how she knew that it could not be him.
Not the one aboard the ANUBIS.
Not the one who died in her arms, shielding her from Mordana’s blade.
Her throat tightened. "You're... a clone. Another one."
"Yes," he said softly, kneeling beside her. "But not just *another one*," he said with quiet certainty. "I'm him. Everything he was. Everything he felt. And more. Markus made sure of that."
She looked away, pain burning behind her eyes. "He died to protect me."
"I know." His hand hovered inches from her cheek, not touching. "And I remember how it felt. The way your hands trembled when you held him. The way your heart shattered. The words you whispered... before he stopped breathing."
A tear escaped her.
"But that was then," he continued, his voice unwavering. "Don't drown in what was. Your future isn't behind you. It's here. If you can face it."
She looked at him again. "Why are you here?"
"To show you the truth," he said. "You're not weak. You never were. You didn't need rescuing. You never have. The chains, the collar, the drug, they mean nothing. They only hold you because you let them. The same way you have always allowed your past to hold you back... to define you instead of guiding you."
She pulled at the restraints. "I'm not letting anything..."
"Yes, you are," he interrupted, the same absolute certainty the previous clone spoke with echoed in his voice. "You've always been able to escape. These chains. Your father's shadow. And most of all... your past. You just never wanted to."
Silence fell between them.
Her hair flickered... red streaks crawling through the black, then swallowed again by the void.
"But I did escape," she said, her voice cracking with emotion. "I ran away from my home, from everything I knew, everything I loved."
"But you never escaped from everything that forced you to change, pushed you to become more than you were," the clone explained. "You carried it all with you, and still do to this day. The hatred for your father, the humiliation of having been used as a commodity. Just the fact that you are here, chained by the same man who purchased you to become his property is proof that you have not escaped your past. You’re still that little girl, clawing for your father’s approval. Desperate to prove yourself to a man who was never worthy of you."
Ya'Han's hair turned green as the memories of that fateful night re-anchored themselves in her mind.
"Why?" she whispered.
"Because somewhere deep down, part of you wants this," he said. "Part of you wants to embrace the darkness, claiming the life that you were destined for... not the lie your father convinced you you deserved. You have been running from that part of you since long before you left NYLA IV, but it is still with you... your destiny is calling you."
His voice dropped to a whisper, inches from her ear.
"You’re not just Ya'Han. You are the Mistress of Shadows. The one born of royal blood, trained in silence and steel, shaped by betrayal and fire. You were meant to walk beside the darkness... not run from it.”
Her breathing quickened. Every word felt like a strike against her identity, cracking it wide open.
"You felt it," he said. "The colony. The moment it vanished. You understood the kind of power that could rewrite the stars. That is what awaits you... if you reach for it."
"Ardax," she growled. "He thinks he can control me."
"He can't," the clone said. "You proved that to him when you were 14, but you failed to make the lesson stick. Now, someone else is stepping to claim YOUR destiny. Someone else is being groomed, trained, offered a throne in the shadows you've only begun to touch. If you wait too long, Ya'Han, they'll claim what should have been yours, and you will end up with nothing... alone with not even the shadows of your memories to keep you company as the void engulfs everything."
She stared at the floor. Her fingers flexed around the chain links.
Her hair shimmered again. A ripple of green, then red, then back to black.
And then... A whisper.
Real. Faint. His.
"Ya'Han..."
Her eyes widened.
"You’re not alone... you are never alone."
The voice was inside her mind, familiar, raw, scared. Jayson.
"Life’s been hell for both of us," Jayson said, his voice not a memory, but a lifeline. She remembered those words. One of their quietest moments, when they lay in the dark, clinging to each other against the weight of the galaxy.
She gasped.
The clone's expression darkened. "That poor fool is holding you back. That version of Jayson... he sees only who you were... a girl who is trying to live a life that was never hers. I see who you can become... who you are destined to be. Ruler. Queen. Mistress of Shadows."
Her hands trembled again, knuckles white against the cuffs.
She could feel it building.
The storm inside her.
The grief. The rage. The fear. The temptation.
"I don't need you to be perfect," the real Jayson said. "I just need you to be one thing... you."
She looked at the clone... perfect, poised, promising the galaxy.
Then down at her hands, still chained.
Then into the darkness gathering at the edge of her soul.
And her hair... was beginning to move.
Not from wind. From power. From within.
The chains creaked.
Her hair... once pink... was now midnight. Not just black, but void-dark, stretching into the abyss like tendrils of something ancient and endless.
-=-=-
Hanali Han
Lieutenant Ya'Han
Chief of Security / Tactical Officer
USS ANUBIS, NCC-18501
"Observed Variables"
Previous post: "Mistress of Shadows"
Setting: NORTHAL DRIFT, Corridor
Stardate: 45003.2155
Time Until Auction Begins: 5 Minutes
The away team moved quickly now, steps echoing through narrow, dimly lit corridors. The walls pulsed with more than just the thrum of aged machinery... they carried the quiet dread of what lay ahead. Somewhere above them, the auction was moments from beginning. Five minutes. But time was not their only obstacle.
T'Lara maintained her pace near the center of the group, outwardly calm, inwardly calculating. Her eyes were not on the tricorder in her hand, but on the people around her. Specifically... Christie.
The young woman kept close to Amanda and her mother, her expression drawn tight, movements constrained with deliberate effort. Her arms folded across her chest, not for warmth, but restraint. Her gaze twitched along the edges of the corridor, too fast, too reactive.
There was fear in her eyes. Not of the station. Not even of the Lokustaar. She was afraid of herself.
T'Lara fell back a half step and adjusted Zub's shoulder harness, ostensibly to tighten the fit. A cover. A calculated delay. She cast a glance toward Shar'El. Subtle. Almost nothing.
Shar'El caught it immediately.
They slowed just slightly, falling into step beside one another.
"You've been watching her too," T'Lara said, voice low, neutral.
"Christie?" Shar'El asked, though they both knew the answer.
T'Lara gave the slightest nod. "There are no medical anomalies. No genetic tampering that I can detect. The Lokustaar are not known to embed themselves within biological systems. And yet..."
Shar'El’s face remained unreadable, an Intel-trained mask honed over decades. "And yet he died."
"And it was not quick, not by any medical measure," T'Lara amended, her voice quieter now. "It was brutal. Precise. A single Lokustaar claw driven through his chest, front to back. Not just lethal... a declaration. Of power. Of connection. There was no warning, no energy surge, no detectable approach. One moment he was standing… the next, impaled. His death wasn't a reflexive defense... it was a response to her scream."
Silence passed between them, sharpened by experience.
"I have seen weaponized biology," T'Lara continued. "Romulan trials. Vulcan control studies. Tal'Shiar manipulation projects. None behaved like this," she glanced at Christie.
Shar'El nodded faintly. "Sometimes, weapons don't know what they are. The memory of the event deeply haunts her... and her mother."
The words rang true. Somewhere inside her, the Romulan instinct coiled, not with fear but with recognition.
"She may have been shaped. From birth. Sculpted to appear normal. To pass through scans, avoid suspicion. An embedded trigger... emotional, hormonal, psychic... it would be possible. Difficult, but not beyond reach. It would also explain the Tal'Shiar's interest.
Shar'El's gaze shifted toward Christie. The woman now walked a few steps ahead of the others, her lips moving but without making any sounds. Was she talking to herself, or to something else? They could not be sure.
"You believe she's been programmed to call them?" Shar'El asked.
"I believe she's connected," T'Lara corrected. "And if that link remains unchecked, it could compromise this team and the ANUBIS."
A soft flicker in the corridor lights caught T'Lara's eye. The shadows along the ceiling swayed slightly to the left... but there was no wind, no reason.
"This is not theoretical," she added. "I have seen movement in the dark around her. Before and after Varin's death. The pattern is inconsistent. Organic. As if it reacts to her emotions."
Shar'El considered this. "We don't have time to run diagnostics, and we certainly do not have time to hunt shadows... even if they are the Lokustaar. We have a bigger problem on our hands right now."
"The device," T'Lara nodded. "But we do have time to decide how to respond."
Shar'El glanced again at the young woman ahead. The Ullian's mind reached out but was met with the same memory that was being freely broadcasted... The scream leading to Varin's death.
" And if it happens again... another scream, another death ?" she asked.
"Then we will have no other choice but to respond accordingly," T'Lara said, her voice logically even. It wasn't a threat. Nor a warning. It was a clinical truth, unflinching, inevitable.
They blended back into formation with the rest of the group. Orders would come. The plan would unfold. Ya'Han still needed rescue. The device still had to be secured.
But T'Lara's attention remained fixed... not on the shadows they passed, but the ones that clung to Christie.
Tricorder active. Reflexes engaged. Logic holding. But her instincts… watching.
If the darkness moved again, they would not wait for a second scream. How could they? The girl was the greatest variable in their mission yet... and still, T'Lara could not help but feel that this was only one of several other unknowns that they would have to deal with sooner rather than later.
=-=
Dawn Bohr
Lt. Commander T'Lara
Chief Medical Officer
USS ANUBIS, NCC-18501
"Fragments Between Footsteps"
Previous post: "Observed Variables" by Dawn
Setting: NORTHAL DRIFT, Corridor
Stardate: 45003.2155
Time Until Auction Begins: 5 minutes
The corridor stretched on ahead, another narrow artery of flickering lights, stale air, and far too many shadows.
Jayson kept moving, his steps in sync with the rest of the team, but his thoughts were nowhere near the floor beneath him. His eyes registered every panel, every corner, every creak, but none of it truly landed. Not really. It all blurred into the background.
Because all he could see, with every step, with every breath, was her.
Kneeling. Collared. Chained.
The memory refused to fade, the image burned into the backs of his eyes. Not just the physical restraint, but the look she gave him. That look, the same one she wore when the clone of him died in her arms. Grief and fury all tangled into a single, wordless expression that somehow said I'm sorry and please don't look at me all at once.
He clenched his jaw.
She shouldn't have to be saved. Not her. Ya'Han had dropped him like a sack of potatoes on the gym mats countless times back when they were sparring. She was good... no... the best. She'd roll her eyes and offer a hand, after making sure he wasn't seriously injured. Red hair flashing like fire with every throw.
But that wasn't the woman he saw on the platform.
That woman was... broken... defeated.
And he hadn't been fast enough.
He tried to tell himself there was nothing he could have done. That no one could have anticipated the shield, the descent, the trap. That it wasn't his fault.
But it felt like his fault.
He'd sworn... sworn... he would never let anything happen to her again. And now she was alone, underground, drugged, chained like an animal next to a weapon that could slaughter entire planets.
He exhaled slowly, just to keep walking.
His hands itched with the urge to tear the world apart until she was safe again.
But there was something else too, creeping in from the edges.
The other him.
The clone.
Somewhere on this station, walking around with his face and his voice and maybe even his memories. What if he gets to her first? What if he's the one who saves her? Would she look at him the same way she used to? Would she wish it were him that made it through the shield instead of... the real him?
He hated himself for the thought. Hated how small and petty it sounded inside his head.
But it was there.
Because this wasn't just about duty or rescue or heroism, this was her. His Ya'Han... the woman he thought about every minute. The woman he wanted to be with every night.
He loved her. That much had never changed. Even when she pulled away, even when the lines blurred, even when he couldn't tell which version of himself she was grieving... or waiting for.
And now... now, they were five minutes away from possibly watching that love slip through their fingers... again.
He glanced around.
Shar'El and T'Lara were deep in some quiet exchange. Zub adjusted his grip on his Nathan. A'Janni moved with feline grace, predatory and ready. Amanda and the others walked as a cluster behind them, carefully shielding Christie's gaze from anything too sharp or too real.
They all looked focused. Professional.
Jayson felt like a cracked pane of glass... still holding, but barely.
How did they move so easily past what they'd just seen?
Didn't they see her? Didn't they feel it?
The bile rose in his throat before he forced it down. This wasn't about jealousy or rage. Not now. Ya'Han needed them. All of them. But if he let this spiral... if he let himself collapse into that same dark pit he'd fallen into when Leena and the baby died... he might not make it out.
She might not make it out.
So he breathed.
Focused.
Let the chaos churn beneath the surface, hidden beneath the mask of duty.
She was strong. Stronger than anyone gave her credit for.
But that didn't mean she didn't need saving.
And let whatever divine force present in the cosmos help anyone who stood between him, the away team and getting Ya'Han back.
=-=
Jayson Sousa
Lieutenant JG A'Janni
Flight Control Officer
USS ANUBIS, NCC-18501
Lieutenant Jayson Stark
Chief of Operations
USS ANUBIS, NCC-18501
"Too Late"
Previous post: "Fragments Between Footsteps" by Jayson
Setting: NORTHAL DRIFT, Vault Corridor
Stardate: 45003.2200
Time Until Auction Begins: 0 minutes
The corridor's silence had shifted from eerie to oppressive, clinging to the away team's skin like humidity, filling their ears with the weight of unsaid things.
"Too quiet," Zub muttered under his breath, scanning the corridor while he held Nathan tightly against his chest. "Way too quiet."
Maya glanced at one of the control panels on the wall. The displayed language was alien, but while in the auxiliary control room, the Shillian had made a point to learn the basics... such as identifying numbers.
"The auction has started," she stated, calmly, quietly, offering no more than necessary. The fact that the normally verbose woman was being quiet was an indicator of how everyone felt.
The multiple hours they had counted upon following their arrival on the NORTHAL DRIFT had vanished. Now, above them, the auction had begun... and the fate of billions, silently, crushingly, pressed on their shoulders.
The walls didn't echo the chaos... yet. But the vibrations had changed. Offbeat. Unpredictable. Somewhere behind the rust-stained steel and hidden conduits, transactions were unfolding. Dangerous ones. The kind that required nothing less than blood as collateral.
"We're here," Gemma announced, as they turned down a wider corridor. Tracks on the ground bore witness to the type of merchandise that were brought here for safe keeping. As the team moved in, the ILO's gaze lingered on one of the vault security access panels.
No fight. No resistance. One moment Gemma stood there, copper hair catching the light, then came Viras, purple strands wild, smirk already forming. "Ykes... for a rundown station like this place, I was not expecting to find something like *that* here," she sighed pointing to the panel.
"You can’t break the code?" Shar'El said, almost hissing, allowing her frustration to be heard even if only momentarily.
"Relax, Commander Tight-Pants," Viras said with a dismissive grin. "I didn't say that I COULDN'T do it. All I said is that I was not expecting something this high-end to be in a dump like this place. I can break in, it's just that it will take time."
"We don't have time," Jayson snapped as he took an extra step forward towards the hacker, only to be stopped by the caring and gentle hand of the Ship's Counselor.
Once they reached their destination, Viras stepped up to a recessed panel next to Vault 6. Her fingers moved fast across the console, brows furrowed.
Shar'El turned her attention to the vault’s security panel. "How long?"
Viras exhaled sharply through her nose. "That depends on whether the encryption key is dynamic. If it's cycling, we're talking at least..."
"We don't have time," Jayson repeated, his emotions and frustrations overflowing. "We need a more direct plan."
"Like what?" A'Janni countered. "Storming the auction floor? That would be suicide," the Caitian said, his own frustration tempered by the cold reality of their situation
"A'Janni is right," Shar'El added. "We wouldn't make it to the auction floor without half the bidders turning on us. Every buyer up there would die to protect that device. Literally. They understand the level of power it represents... a power they lust for."
Viras hesitated. Then her gaze fell on the blinking interface... and froze. "Wait..."
Jayson stepped forward. "What?"
"It's... unlocked."
The words landed like a phaser blast to the chest. Everyone turned.
The red security light above the sliding door remained dark. The locking clamps weren't engaged. The vault stood open.
"No," Viras said, half to herself. "No, that's not right. This vault was sealed three layers deep less than 10 minutes ago. That door should not be..."
Her voice faltered. She stepped back. Gemma returned... calmer, colder. Tactical. "Something is not right..."
The ILO's words were interrupted by a sound drifting out from the vault. Not mechanical. Not electronic. Wet.
A gurgling exhale, thick with fluid. Like lungs trying to breathe through blood. Then a choked rasp, barely a whisper... but enough to freeze everyone in place.
Jayson's body reacted before anyone could stop him.
"YA'HAN!"
He surged past the team, slammed his palm to the sensor. The heavy vault door groaned and parted with a slow hiss.
"Wait... Jayson!" Shar’El barked, already moving.
Too late.
The moment the door parted enough, he slipped through, reckless, focused only on Ya'Han.
The rest followed. Fear and uncertainty pounding with every step.
=-=
Rachel Jackie Johnson
Lieutenant Gemma
Intel Operative
USS ANUBIS
[The fun is getting to wear multiple disguises and getting to explore multiple personalities and bring them to life.] - Jenna Fischer
"Too Late, Part 2"
Previous post: "Too Late" by Rachel
Setting: NORTHAL DRIFT, Secured Vault #6
Stardate: 45003.2205
The vault doors slid open with a rushed hiss, and Jayson burst onto the scene ready to do whatever was needed to save Ya'Han. The other members of the ANUBIS’ away team surged in on his heels ready for a fight.
But they stopped dead.
A moment frozen in horror.
Daimon Ardax's body hung suspended in the air, twitching slightly, impaled through in a dozen places by long, black talons that seemed to extend from the darkness around him. The claws pulsed, shuddered, and then retreated into the shadows with a wet, sickening pull that dragged pieces of the Ferengi with them.
What hit the floor was not a body. It was a ruin. A pulped, twitching sack of bone and blood that had once laughed and bartered with the galaxy's worst monsters.
And over it stood Ya'Han.
Chained no longer. Collared no more.
The leash was torn, metal links melted at her feet. Her hands, once trembling, now curled into quiet fists at her sides. Her long hair had gone black, not commoner black, but something else. A deeper, inky void that shimmered unnaturally. It moved, slowly, as if breathing. Watching.
Behind her... the air twisted. The temperature dropped.
Everyone felt it.
The Lokustaar were still there.
Not visible.
But close.
Watching their queen take her first step.
Maya's voice broke the silence, small and afraid. "The device... it's still active."
To the left, a screen flickered to life, previously ignored in the heat of chaos. Eyes, one by one, drifted toward it.
Rows of bids scrolled down the display, each one more disturbing than the last.
Twelve billion bars of gold-pressed latinum.
Sovereign control over the Sha’Tal Trade Routes.
The complete annexation of the Sularian Nebula.
A Romulan Senator’s private fleet.
Three populated moons offered as "testing grounds" for future enterprises.
A child of the Klingon High Council, pledged as tribute.
The room darkened, not from lighting, but from realization.
These were not just bidders.
They were monsters.
And the galaxy had no idea that the object of their lust had just changed hands… not to one of them, but to someone infinitely worse.
Someone who no longer feared what the device could do... because she had already tasted its power.
Ya'Han slowly turned and looked down at Ardax's remains... a ruler gazing upon her first victim.
Then turned her gaze slowly toward the away team.
She raised one hand, calm, deliberate, and gestured toward the crate. A pulse of black light flared in her palm, and the device powered down with a sullen, defeated hiss.
Silence. No one dared speak. The power she held wasn't theoretical anymore. It had chosen her and she in turn had embraced it.
Jayson stepped forward. His heartbeat slow, pounding. His expression cracked.
"Ya'Han?" he whispered, voice splintered between fear and hope.
She didn't answer at first.
Her gaze slid past him... and landed on Christie.
The woman who had once tasted the dark and recoiled now stood staring into the eyes of someone who had embraced it.
Ya'Han tilted her head slightly. A shadow of a smirk.
"He thought he owned me," she said, her voice smooth and terrifyingly calm. "Now he belongs to the dark."
She took a step closer. Blood squelched beneath her bare foot.
"He tried to sell extinction..." she added, her tone now edged with something far colder. "I gave him a taste of it."
Jayson flinched like he'd been struck. "This isn't you."
Her eyes flicked toward him, and softened.
For half a breath.
But the darkness coiled behind her, a living thing, and whatever part of her wanted to answer that softness... didn't.
Christie took a half-step back. She saw it now, truly saw it. Not what Ya'Han had done... but what she had become.
And what she herself might have become, had she not turned away when she did.
A low hum began to rise around them. The temperature continued to drop.
The shadows curled in on themselves. Not to strike. Not to feed.
To watch.
They were waiting for her.
Shar'El's voice snapped them back. "We have the device. Move. Now."
Gemma and A’Janni grabbed the crate. Zub and Maya covered the team's flank. Everyone moved...
Except Ya'Han.
She hadn't moved from Ardax's blood-soaked side. She hadn't looked away from the shadows.
And the shadows… looked back.
A figure waited at the edge of that blackness. Male. Familiar. A smile playing across his lips.
The clone.
Not the one that died.
The other.
The new one.
He dipped his head in a slow nod. Absolute approval. Silent promise.
**You've become what you were always meant to be.** His voice slipped into her mind, shapeless, flowing like liquid shadow through her very soul.
Ya'Han said nothing.
But her hair shifted, tendrils of black coiling as if savoring the weight of her choice.
Then she turned... and followed the team out.
Christie and her mother remained behind one second longer.
The daughter whispered, so faint even she wasn't sure it was real...
"There's no bringing her back... is there?"
-=-=-
Hanali Han
Lieutenant Ya'Han
Chief of Security / Tactical Officer
USS ANUBIS, NCC-18501
"The Cost of Survival"
Previous post: "Too Late, Part 2” by Hanali
Setting: NORTHAL DRIFT, Corridors
Stardate: 45003.2210
Adriana's boots felt heavier with every step.
The corridor ahead blurred and sharpened with each breath, her mind oscillating between counselor, twin, and frightened witness. There had been blood before. She'd seen pain. But this... this was something else.
It should have been a victory. Ardax was dead. The device secured. The team alive.
Every single mission objective had been met. So why did it feel like they'd lost something they might never get back?
The Ship's Counselor didn't need to look behind her to know that Ya'Han was still there, silent, walking with them, yet not truly with them anymore. The cold that had followed them out of Vault 6 wasn't just the Lokustaar's presence lingering. It was Ya'Han herself. Something inside her had shifted, no, been claimed, and now it followed them like a second shadow.
Adriana had spent her life studying trauma, dissecting the ways people fractured and healed. And she knew what Ardax had done to Ya’Han. The years stolen. The identity carved out and branded over. The scars no one else could see. Because of him, she had run away from everything she had known, her life as the youngest daughter of the High Sovereign. Granted, it was not the most pleasant of lives, but it still had been hers... until that fateful dance, and another auction, only this time, she was the prize to be purchased and claimed.
But this? This wasn’t healing. It was revenge, pure and absolute. Surgical. Intimate.
She had reached into the abyss... and instead of retreating, she had welcomed it.
Adriana wrapped her arms around herself, not from cold, but to hold her thoughts in. She should have seen it. The signs had been there... how quiet Ya'Han had become, how focused, how little she had resisted being used as bait. And Adriana had let her. She had stood in the corner, nodded along with the plan, told herself it was necessary.
Necessary. What an ugly word.
It had been the logic of survival, but it placed Ya'Han back into the clutches of the very man who once owned her. And when the moment came, she hadn't just broken free, she dismantled him. Not in rage. Not even in fear.
In cold, deliberate silence.
Her hair... Adriana shivered just remembering it, wasn't just black. It moved. Like it breathed. Like it was watching. And the way she'd spoken... calm, almost amused.
"Now he belongs to the dark," Ya'Han had said. The echo of her icy voice still made Adriana's spine crawl.
The Counselor closed her eyes, biting down on a rising wave of nausea. She needed to stay professional and not give in to the fear... even if these were events she should have anticipated. The stressor of Ya'Han's childhood trauma had ben that aution, as disguised as it might have been. This mission had brought her to another auction, and worse, face to face with the same man who had changed her life. Oddly enough, Ardax had changed her life at its very core once again... this time in the manner of his gruesome death.
She couldn't unsee it. Couldn't unfeel it.
And yet... Even now, even after everything, a part of her wanted to understand. Wanted to give Ya'Han the benefit of the doubt. To believe this was some reflexive trauma response, a momentary lapse in control.
But it wasn't. This wasn't something she would just walk away from.
And worse, Adriana didn't believe she wanted to.
That terrified her more than the Lokustaar ever had.
She glanced to her side where Amanda walked quietly, close to Christie. That bond between them had grown deeper since their escape from the Yautja Matrix. Adriana hadn't questioned it, not aloud, but she had watched. Observed. Worried. Christie had touched the same darkness Ya'Han now embraced… but unlike Ya'Han, the daughter had recoiled.
At least… so far.
Could Amanda see it? The edge that Christie danced along? Could she feel how precarious it was? How easy it would be to lose herself completely in it?
The shadows in Vault 6 had been waiting for a queen. But maybe... they'd been casting wider nets all along.
Adriana blinked away the thoughts. She didn't have the luxury of unraveling. Not now. The Captain would need her to be clear-headed. To give a report. To offer guidance.
How did she say what needed to be said without condemning someone who had just saved them all?
How did she speak as a Counselor... when every part of her felt like a frightened girl running from something ancient and patient?
The team pressed on.
Adriana stayed silent.
There would be time to speak later. But for now... she watched Ya'Han with the eyes of someone who once believed in heroes... and now wasn't sure if she'd just witnessed one die...
...or be born from a darkness that no one could truly understand... except now... maybe one person. And that was what frightened Adriana most.
-=-=-
Marissa Montonera-Lombardi
Lieutenant JG Adriana Lopez
Ship's Counselor & Junior Ambassador
USS ANUBIS
=-=
"Splinters in the Dark"
Follow-up to: "The Cost of Survival" by Marissa
=-=
Setting: NORTHAL DRIFT, Corridor giving onto the Docking Ports
Stardate: 45003.2210
The silence they had once used to mask their movements was gone. Now, every footstep echoed like a gunshot in the narrowing corridors, each flickering light a strobe of tension.
Beyond that, they were being hunted.
Shar'El led the team at a brisk pace, not running, yet, but quick enough to signal that hesitation was no longer an option. The crate containing the device hovered between Zub and A'Janni as they maneuvered its awkward bulk through a narrowing junction. The air was heavier now, thick with the scent of blood, oil, and something else... Fear.
Not just fear of being caught. Fear of her.
Shar'El didn't need her Ullian abilities to read the stolen glances that flitted toward Ya'Han. She walked among them like a ghost, unbothered by the weight of Ardax's blood still drying on her skin. The black of her hair still pulsed faintly, slow and measured... her presence seemed to recalibrate the very shadows around her.
The raven-haired ExO glanced at the team following her. No one said a word. No one dared. Not even Jayson.
His eyes clung to her profile as if trying to stitch together what was left of the woman he loved, only to find black thread where there should have been color. Memories of what he had seen, the mutilated Ferengi, the living darkness surrounding the woman he loved, haunted his every thought.
As Shar'El looked at Jayson, those specific memories hit her like a volley of quantum torpedoes. She forced herself to look away from him, breaking the telepathic connection, but doing so made her focus on the others.
The blood-slick platform, the ruin that had once been Ardax, every mind carried the psychic imprint of that moment. A trauma that felt less like memory, and more like a wound in space. None could ignore what they had seen, no matter how desperately they wanted to forget.
The emotional echoes were fractured but vivid.
Zub's memory was sharp and military: a tactical assessment turned nightmare. Too fast. Too quiet. The claws weren't just weapons, they were surgical, designed to erase identity as much as end life.
T'Lara's recollection wavered on the edge of logic and something else. Romulan efficiency admired the precision, but even that had limits. The brutality of the kill had simply been beyond brutal... excessive.
Maya's inner voice stammered, looping a single thought: "This wasn't supposed to happen."
But it was Ya'Han's fragmented memory that stopped Shar'El cold.
She expected blood, violence, maybe even regret. But instead, she caught something older. Something deeper.
A child. Alone on NYLA IV. Curious. Searching.
A flickering memory of her, kneeling beside a discarded ceremonial blade. The blade wasn't hers, but it recognized her. And the dark tendrils from her future self slithered backward through time, wrapping around the moment.
Ya'Han wasn't afraid of what she'd become.
She was curious.
That realization turned in Shar'El's chest like broken glass. The memory wasn't about guilt, it was about understanding. As if Ya'Han were mapping herself out, piecing together the roots of her strength with surgical detachment.
And then Shar'El saw it.
A shadow behind Ya'Han in the memory, detached from light, not cast but observing. Thin. Male. Smiling.
She blinked, and the memory was gone.
"Commander?" Zub's voice brought her back. "We are two decks away from one of the Marine drop pods. It could be used to take 6 people off the station and back to the ANUBIS."
"Sounds like a plan," the First Officer exhaled and motioned for the team to pick up the pace. "We don't have much time. Those buyers will be on us any moment, and I doubt they are going to be gentle about it. So, let's move."
Alarms began to blare somewhere deeper in the station. Not loud. Not frantic. Just enough to announce that the hunters were now on the prowl.
The last quiet moment came at a hatch junction.
Zub glanced over. "One pod. Space for six. The rest of us will follow when the path clears."
Shar'El looked at the faces. Nathan was unconscious, cradled in T'Lara's arms. Christie stood protectively next to her mother. Adriana, calm but tight-lipped, ready to care for whoever she must. Gemma and A'Janni were ready for a fight, and they would likely not have to wait too long.
Then there was Ya'Han.
Still watching the shadows instead of the team... like she expected them to speak, and maybe they had.
Shar'El made her choice... efficient... tactical.
"T'Lara, take Nathan. Adriana, you and Amanda get in next."
"What about Christie?" The twin questioned. "Sorry. She and her mother are staying with the rest of us." Then Shar'El paused for a fraction of a moment. Her next words could trigger a hell she would rather avoid. "Ya'Han, you are next."
The Nylaan said nothing and simply made her way into the pod without any visible objection which made the Ullian let out a sigh of relief once the woman had vanished inside.
"Zub, you take the device with you. Get it off this station."
The Voth wanted to argue, his place was by the Commander's side to make sure she made it back to the ship, but the expression on her face said it all. He had a more dangerous task: protecting the others from what none of them yet understood.
"You!" Zub said pointing to A'Janni. "I am holding you directly responsible for her safety."
The Caitian grinned.
"But I..." Amanda began, already stepping toward Christie.
"There's no room. And I need you here." Her voice sharpened just enough to make it clear the decision was not open to debate. What she didn't say, ...I will not risk having the both of you trapped together... was understood.
The first pod hissed its readiness.
Zub, Nathan, T'Lara, Adriana, Amanda... and Ya’Han.
As the hatch sealed, no one met her eyes.
The pod launched.
Shar'El watched it disappear from view, her gaze trailing back toward the corridor behind them.
At the corridor's edge stood a figure, motionless, wrapped in shadow. Watching.
Shar'El couldn't name it, but the presence was familiar. The same form she had seen behind Ya'Han in the memory.
=-=
Tiffany Reeve
Commander Shar'El
Executive Officer
USS ANUBIS
"Beyond The Shadows"
Previous post: "Splinters in the Dark"
Setting: Marine Drop Pod en route to the ANUBIS
Stardate: 45003.2230
The pod was small by design, every surface engineered for efficiency, not comfort. No unnecessary space. No margin for retreat. And yet… a gap had formed.
Ya’Han sat at the far end, not isolated by placement, but by presence. Even unconscious, Nathan's weight slumped against T’Lara’s side felt more familiar than the woman who now occupied that corner of the pod. The air around Ya’Han didn’t just feel cold, it shifted. Shadows bent toward her, subtle and slow, as if gravity had changed its preference.
T’Lara said nothing. Her arms adjusted Nathan’s weight, mindful of the pressure near his ribcage where the internal bleeding had threatened to spiral. He remained stable, for now.
Across from her, Adriana sat with Amanda cradled beside her. The sisters were quiet, but alert. Their eyes occasionally flicked toward Ya’Han as well, quick, like prey checking to see if the predator had noticed them yet.
It was Amanda who looked the most shaken. Not terrified, but frayed.
T’Lara exhaled slowly through her nose. The motion was not Vulcan, but Romulan, an old reflex. Her thoughts were too sharp, too layered, for logic alone to steady.
From her peripheral vision, she caught the faintest flicker of movement. Ya’Han’s hair, still black as oil, stirring despite the sealed pod.
It wasn’t just black. It was wrong. And had it not been for her Vulcan/Romulan mix heritage, she might have found it unsettling, maybe even frightening.
T’Lara shifted her eyes forward, head still angled toward Nathan. Then, without looking, she leaned a fraction toward the seat beside her.
"Zub," she said, just above a whisper, pitched so only he would hear. "You saw it. In the vault. As did I."
She let a breath pass before continuing. "This... is not a tactical concern anymore. It's a vector. And it’s inside our perimeter." A pause. "I require your assessment. Not as a soldier. As someone who has survived the unknown."
She didn’t name Ya’Han directly. She didn’t need to.
Zub crossed his arms, only to realize his scales felt rough. His down feathers, usually hidden, fluttered. He took a chilly breath. He fought hard against the urge to glance at Ya’Han. She was the ultimate warrior. He’d sparred with her often, and she’d left him concussed and bruised without meaning to. If she suspected he was suspicious, she might decide to kill him. His skills could slow her attempts but not stop them. He swallowed, but the sensation got stuck at the top of his throat.
The Doctor had told him not to think like a soldier. She indicated she saw Ya’Han as a disease carrier like the Galardonian insect that spread the rage virus. The Doctor concluded that Ya’Han would unleash deadly Lokustaar nightmares aboard the ANUBIS.
Zub agreed. The ANUBIS could become an unstoppable planet killer, feeding trillions of souls into the Lokustaar open maw. He whispered, his voice barely a rasp, “We’re letting the darkness in.”
T’Lara glanced up at him. Zub’s irises were so wide that they looked like gold rings. Clearly, he understood the danger of bringing the Nylaan aboard. Her “darkness” likely enhanced her ability to assess threats against her. Treating her, however impossible that seemed, would be a fraught affair.
The Romulan/Vulcan CMO heard Zub tapping a claw on a console. He angled his body to see around him. He had sent one word to the ANUBIS.
"TROY"
=-=
Dawn Bohr
Lt. Commander T'Lara
Chief Medical Officer
USS ANUBIS, NCC-18501
and
David Michael Inverso
Lieutenant JG Zub Enel
MCO
USS ANUBIS, NCC 18501
"Line in the Shadow"
Previous post: "Beyond The Shadows" by Dawn and David
Setting: NORTHAL DRIFT, Corridor
Stardate: 45003.2235
The corridor pulsed with red light as emergency protocols tried and failed to restore order. Smoke hissed from a ruptured conduit ahead, and the sharp tang of scorched ozone lingered in every breath. Worse was the sound of rushing footsteps echoing throughout the station... rushed... angry... determined.
They moved quickly. No one spoke. Until A'Janni did.
"She didn't just kill him," the Caitian said, his voice low, angled sideways toward Jayson. "She used the shadows. She summoned them. Directed them. Are we sure that sending her back to the ANUBIS was prudent?"
Jayson's feet didn't stop, but his body tensed, a fractional shift that telegraphed the war about to spill out of his mouth.
"She stopped him," Jayson snapped. "That's what she did. She stopped Ardax from selling extinction to the highest bidder."
A'Janni's yellow eye narrowed, but his tone stayed level. "She obliterated him. There's a difference."
"You think I don't know that?" Jayson turned, his pace slowing as anger found its target. "You think I don't see what she's become? I was there, A'Janni. I saw it. I was the first one in! I saw the talons impaling that Ferengi monster."
"And yet you're still pretending it's not a threat," A'Janni countered, finally stopping and catching Jayson's arm, forcing the man to face him fully. "This isn't about who she used to be. This is about what she is now. We both saw what she did, but you're still chasing the woman you want her to be, not the monster she has become."
"She is NOT a monster. She's that woman," Jayson growled, tearing his arm free. "She's in there, fighting. She always fights. That's who she is. And she always wins."
A beat. A pause shared by everyone.
Then A’Janni spoke, slower now. "You're not thinking clearly. There's a clone of you on this station. Another you. Do you know what kind of confusion that causes her? What kind of leverage? And yet... when the shadows came, she didn't run. She didn't recoil like Christie did. She commanded them."
That name hit harder than expected.
"Christie?" Jayson echoed. "You're saying you trust her more than Ya'Han? She's a civilian with a past that we know nothing about. The Tal'Shiar is after both her and her mother, and you trust THEM over Ya'Han?!?"
A'Janni nodded once, without shame. "I am. Because Christie screamed, and the darkness answered. Ya'Han called to it. And it obeyed."
They didn't notice the team slowing, not at first. But they had. The others were listening. Shar'El said nothing, but her jaw was tight. Maya kept her gaze fixed ahead. T'Lara's face remained stoic, reflecting both Vulcan logic and Romulan restraint. Even Gemma's usual focus wavered slightly.
Jayson's voice cracked. "She was chained. Drugged. Tortured. You saw it. You saw what Ardax did to her. She had to fight back. And she did."
"I don't question the fight," the Caitian FCO replied. "I question what she used to win it."
A silence stretched. One heartbeat too long.
Then Christie broke in, her voice calm but cutting. "Enough."
Both men turned.
"She saved us," the young woman said plainly. "Whatever she became, whatever the shadows gave her... it was her hand that shut down the device. Her voice that turned Ardax into a warning instead of a martyr."
Jayson looked at her, searching her expression for judgment. There was none, only weary compassion.
"She did what we were sent here to do," Christie said, softer now. "She ended the threat. We wouldn't have that crate if she hadn't. We'd have Ardax. And an activated weapon."
A'Janni growled softly but said nothing. Not because he agreed, but because he knew she wasn't wrong.
Jayson looked away, his throat tight, barely managing to whisper his thoughts. "She looked at me like she knew I wouldn't be able to follow her," he muttered. "Like she already belonged to something else."
Christie stepped closer. "Then maybe she needs someone to remind her who she really is. And right now... you're the only one left who still believes she can come back."
Jayson didn't answer. Couldn't. Not out loud because deep down… even he wasn't sure anymore.
=-=
Jayson Sousa
Lieutenant JG A'Janni
Flight Control Officer
USS ANUBIS, NCC-18501
Lieutenant Jayson Stark
Chief of Operations
USS ANUBIS, NCC-18501
"Last Out"
Previous post: "Line in the Shadow" by Jayson and Jayson
Setting: NORTHAL DRIFT, Corridor
Stardate: 45003.2245
The shadows had grown louder. Not the Lokustaar, those were gone, for now, but the kind that came in the footsteps of fear, anger, and vengeance. The kind with too many voices and too little reason.
The makeshift group had ducked into one of the secondary corridors, a maintenance path bypassing the main concourse. Smoke hung low, and even the emergency lights flickered like they were losing the will to help.
"They're organizing," Shar'El reported, peeking into the memories of someone who had just run past them. "Looks like five groups. Armed. Sweeping the levels. They don't know who we are yet… but they know what we took. And who died."
A'Janni exhaled through his nose. "We have minutes, maybe less. Might be harder for them to find us if we split."
"Too dangerous to leave anyone alone," Maya countered, glancing at the two civilians. However, she did not clarify if the danger was for them or because of them, given that Christie's status was still undetermined.
"We won't," Gemma replied. Her voice was level, practiced. But something had shifted in it, something softer behind the edges. "The VIPER can seat two. The shuttle I came in on, three."
Shar'El sighed. "Total five. We're seven.”
The silence that followed was heavy. Obvious math. Ugly solution.
"I'll stay," Gemma said without hesitation.
Shar'El didn't speak, not yet, but she stepped half a pace closer, her body already mirroring the choice she was about to make. She never even looked at Maya or Jayson. Her choice had been made the moment Gemma spoke.
"I will too."
"No." A'Janni's growl cut between them. "If trouble finds us, we need to make sure that our command staff is out and safe. Commander, I will stay in your place. Gemma and I can handle whatever crosses our path."
"Wait," Jayson gasped. "If you stay, who will be flying the VIPER?"
The one-eye look the Caitian FCO gave him was all the answer he needed.
Christie interrupted, her voice a soft whisper, the young woman fearing a great many things, her earlier outburst being only the most recent event. "My mother and I will stay. You," she said looking directly at Shar'El, and your crew have already risked too much for us. We will stay and figure a way out. With Varin dead..." Her voice itched as memories of how he died... how she had killed him flooded her mind.
"With Varin dead," Gemma jumped in, placing an oddly caring hand on the young woman's shoulder. "The Tal'Shiar is going to double their efforts to find you. The safest place for both you and your mother is on the ANUBIS. Jayson, you can take my shuttle and bring Christie and Cristhiane back to the ANUBIS. A'Janni can fly the VIPER with Maya in the back."
A'Janni blinked his one eye several times. “You trust her?” Although he was not looking at the person he was referring to, there was no doubt as to whom he was referring.
"It's not a question of trust," Jayson countered. "It's a question of doing the right thing no matter the situation."
Christie opened her mouth, but Cristhiane touched her arm before she could speak. The older woman simply shook her head. A quiet, resigned apology.
"We don't deserve this," Christie murmured, hesitant. "You are two places short, so leave us behind. We freely volunteer and accept our fate, whatever it may end up being."
"No one's asking you to," Jayson replied. If he could look past Ya'Han's darkness and the choices she made under its influence, then surely he could forgive what Christie had done out of fear, and a desperate need to protect others.
"Fine," A'Janni growled, looking at Maya, who quickly nodded once, slipping into the role of passenger with clinical ease.
The shuffle of departure began, whispered decisions guiding each step into motion. From one team, three were made, two moving quickly to their respective destinations, leaving the other two women together, alone.
"Do we have a plan?" Shar'El asked, but Gemma remained silent. She stood still, hearing something that the Commander only did several seconds later. A sound like no other.
High heels. Playful. Unhurried. The rhythm was charming, alluring, even seductive in its pace and echo.
A silhouette emerged from the smoke, curved in just the right places, draped in deep violet with a slow, mocking sway. Isiryne’s smile preceded her words by only a second.
"Well well… you never call, you never write, and now you're about to leave without saying goodbye?" she teased, eyeing Gemma with casual delight before letting her gaze flick to Shar'El. "Oh. I see. This is why."
"Isiryne," Gemma said, not surprised. Not quite smiling either. "Your timing's as inconvenient as ever."
"You wound me." The woman clutched her heart, grinning. "But don't worry. I forgive you. In fact, I came to help. Or… at least, help you." Her tone shifted with a velvet edge. "I brought my ship. Two-seater. Was hoping to leave this place with someone specific, someone special... but it would seem that my plans have changed, as they so often do.”
Shar'El arched an eyebrow, silent but visibly measuring the interaction. This wasn't random. This woman knew more than she should.
Isiryne's gaze lingered. On Gemma. On Shar'El. Then… downward, upward, all at once. She made no effort to hide her interest.
"Pity," she sighed with exaggerated melancholy. "The three of us could have had spectacular adventures. I guess it'll have to wait until next time. I can see that you are in trouble and need, so take my ship."
Gemma's expression didn't change, but the tension in her jaw eased. Just a little. She stepped forward, close enough to touch.
"Thank you," she said softly. "We'll take your offer. Which means that I owe you.”
Isiryne's smile grew, lighting up the entire room. "Hmmm, the possibilities of you and I being together, alone, are truly inspiring? Heavenly even."
"Yes," Gemma grinned as she gently shook her head. "That said, we will need you to do us another favour."
"You want me to round up your dozen fine, muscular friends still wandering this station and get them home?"
"How???" Shar'El gasped.
Isiryne ignored the interruption, raising a single finger in the air. "Hush, unless you wish to add something more to these negotiations," the quick but thorough glance hinted at the extent of what the flirtatious woman was thinking. "Oh, and please, do add something. You smell of mystery the likes of which I have not tasted in... well, since I ran into Gemma that first fateful night."
"Can you do this for us?" Gemma asked, bringing the conversation back on point.
"And if I do this?" Isiryne asked, not unkindly.
"You get Seksa. For as long as you want."
Isiryne's lips curled in that particular way that suggested satisfaction with only a hint of scandal. "Oh, my dear... deal. Docking port 12-Alpha, not too far from here. Knowing you, the journey should be uneventful, unless you wish it to be."
Then, and only then, Gemma did something unexpected.
She leaned in and pressed a gentle kiss to Isiryne’s lips. No heat. Just warmth. Intimacy without seduction. "Be safe," she whispered.
Shar'El blinked, caught off guard. That... she hadn't expected from Gemma. Not now or ever.
Isiryne chuckled. "Well now. That's not going to help me forget you, you know."
"You were never supposed to," Gemma said, the tease in her tone softening. "Now go, before I change my mind."
"I do love it so much when you go hardcore," the woman said in a velvety voice as she disappeared down the corridor. Shar'El gave Gemma a long, unreadable look. Then she spoke.
“She knew you as Lantra.”
Gemma nodded. “She also knows Seksa... and maybe a few others.”
Shar'El's voice was quiet. "You never mentioned her."
"I know," Gemma replied. Then, after a pause, "I didn't think it mattered. Also, let's just say that my previous 'relationships' never ended well... for the poor unfortunate soul who thought it was a good idea to stick to me for more than a few minutes."
A faint smile passed between them, almost an understanding.
It was time to go.
=-=
Rachel Jackie Johnson
Lieutenant Gemma
Intel Operative
USS ANUBIS
[The fun is getting to wear multiple disguises and getting to explore multiple personalities and bring them to life.] - Jenna Fischer
=-=
“Duck and Cover”
Previous post: “Last Out” by Rachel
=-=
Setting: NORTHAL DRIFT, Outer rim
Stardate: 45003.2250
Sergeant Mi’Teh, the somber-faced Lurian with the large upside-down mouth, looked especially mournful as he gathered the last of his dozen marines on the outer rim of the DRIFT. The curvy woman calling herself Isiryne had used enough names of the away team to convince him she might genuinely be offering him and his team the only survivable way off this molten, slag-filled cesspit.
He rumbled to his troops, “On the double! Ready yourselves for an ambush, but don’t lose sight of her. If you do, it’s Docking Port 12-Alpha.”
“Would hips like that lie to us, Sarg?” asked the MACO combat engineer Sparks, a reedy Andorian male.
“Hips like that always lie,” the MACO’s best sniper, Lance Corporal Diaz, said. She twisted her mouth in disgust.
“Always?” The blue-skinned engineer looked genuinely disappointed.
Up ahead, following the running woman into a corridor, Mi’Teh shouted, “Shut up! Keep up!”
Diaz shook her head as she kept up. She had to admit, the beautiful woman was certainly athletic. She had set a brisk pace that didn’t let up despite how many turns in the narrow corridors or how many hanging ceiling panels she had to duck around or how many skeins of broken cables she had to avoid. It was all the more impressive that this woman made such good time in high heels.
“Hope she has a replicator onboard,” the engineer Sparks stated.
“We’ll be lucky if it's a naked nacelle we have to lash ourselves to,” retorted LC Diaz, her face pinched with annoyance at Spark’s chatter.
“As long as I don’t have to fix it first,” Sparks said, his voice beginning to sound husky from running for so long.
Mi’Teh, leading the team, growled loudly. Sparks and Diaz took that to mean “Shut up.”
The MACOs were disguised as mercenaries in mismatched pieces of uniform. Besides seeming down on their luck, each kept their hands on various hidden weapons. They ran in an evenly spaced line through the narrow sections, but spread out in twos or threes where the corridors allowed. In several places, the local residents had to grab kids and dive aside as the troops thundered past.
Diaz noticed that as Isiryne charged along, her silky hair caught the light in a very eye-catching way. Her elegant, violet, form-fitting clothes remained spotless because, Diaz observed, the woman was nimble enough to never touch anything. Diaz felt a pang of envy.
Isiryne approached a large, ugly-looking metal plate hanging crookedly from the girders in the corridor ceiling. It nearly blocked the entire passageway. Without slowing or hesitation, the woman grabbed the panel, ripped it off in one swift motion, and sent it flying out of sight down a connecting corridor. She kept moving straight ahead. The massive panel hit the deck so hard that LC Diaz felt it jolt beneath her boots.
“Did you see that?” Sparks' white antennas sprouting from his blue head bobbed with his steps as he ran. His eyes were welded to the running woman.
“She’s lucky I didn’t get to that panel first,” Diaz quipped.
The Andorian glanced at her momentarily and smiled, realizing a little too late she was being sarcastic.
“We gotta be close,” LC Diaz said. “Whatsherhips is slowing down.”
Up front, as the big Lurian Mi’Teh slowed, he raised a hand with two fingers extended in a V. He crossed the top of the V with a horizontal finger, forming a triangle. They had drilled it a trillion times. The signal meant that if the troops came out in an open space, they would form a fighting wedge with Mi'Teh at the point and four marines on a side. They’d create a 360-degree field of fire. Weapons rattled, whirred, and beeped as the faux-mercs unlimbered and readied them.
Setting: NORTHAL DRIFT, Docking Port 12-Alpha
Stardate: 45003.2255
The MACO’s burst out of a corridor into the docking bay. Like the arrival platform when they landed at NORTHAL DRIFT, Docking Port 12-Alpha was a chaotic tangle of flickering lights, patchwork bulkheads, and the pervasive scent of ionised coolant mixed with something distinctly biological in the advanced state of putrification. Nothing here was polished. Ships lay in pieces, more picked-over wrecks than crafts. A naschelle to a shuttle craft lay on its side, its components hanging out like so many guts. “Terrific,” Sparks said.
As the MACOs formed their phalanx, a Viper lifted clear of the deck and shot through the force field into space. It immediately cloaked, leaving a ripple in the steady, unblinking stars. A shuttle rose next and exited through the force field.
Parked in the now cleared middle of all the clutter was a gleaming and fully prepped-for-flight ship about the size of a Danube-Class Runabout. Standing by an open hatch, Gemma and Shar-El were signaling Isiryne and the MACOs to hurry.
There was no hesitation. First, the Starfleet officers, then the beautiful woman, and finally the MACOs piled into the ship, except for Sergeant Mi’Teh and LC Diaz. Mi’Teh gave Diaz a very mournful look and pointed across the bay. A group of armed locals rushed out of a corridor into the bay in a somewhat disorganized group. They stopped, raised energy weapons, and began firing wildly. Phaser and disruptor bolts flew perilously close to the two MACOs. Some shots pinged and hissed against the hull.
Isiryne’s voice was surprisingly loud from the hatch. “They’re hitting my ship!” She put a cupped hand by her mouth and shouted at the locals, “Check your aim!”
Mi’Teh leveled his phaser and fired quickly and steadily. Diaz had gone down on one knee. She brought up her precision pulse rifle. It spat out pulse after pulse. Each shot hit someone, setting them aglow. She didn’t wait for each victim to fall before moving on. The group of locals blazing away quickly dwindled. The last one fled.
“That’s your cue to get aboard, big, tall, and handsome,” came Isiryne’s voice, calm and playful. “You too, Deadeye. There are two more groups. Surely one of them can hit a target.”
The Lurian patted Diaz on her head. Long practiced at a fighting departure, she stood, rifle still aimed, and backed through the hatch. Mi’Teh, facing out, backed in next. Just as the hatch slid shut, another group of locals ran into the bay.
“Don’t worry,” came Isirynes' velvet voice from a com in the ceiling. “I’ve got us covered while I fly us away.”
Mi’Teh and Viper lowered their weapons. A nearby viewer showed the craft had smoothly lifted off and was firing rapid phaser bursts aft. Sparks and flashes erupted everywhere in the cluttered bay as the bolts hit. Soon, the energy bolts flared against the force field guarding the docking port. Isiryne stopped firing. The sprawling heap of metal gradually grew smaller.
The beautiful lady’s voice purred overhead, “I know we’re a bit overloaded. Try to make yourself comfortable. I’ll have you back on your ship soon enough. In the meantime, I want each of you to think about how you can thank me.”
=-=
David Michael Inverso
Lieutenant JG Zub Enel
MCO
USS ANUBIS, NCC 18501
We feel free when we escape - even if it be but from the frying pan to the fire.
—Eric Hoffer
=-=
"What We Carry"
Previous post: "Duck and Cover"
=-=
Setting: NORTHAL DRIFT, Docking Port 12-A -> Boarding Isiryne's ship
Stardate: 45003.2300
Shar'El and Gemma had reached Docking Port 12-Alpha with adrenaline running high, only to be met by something sleek, curved, and undeniably compact. What they saw through the large porthole was a nameless, seamless vessel, in a shape that suggested speed and secrecy.
"Cute ship," the raven-haired ExO noted, thinking that although appearing a little larger than one of the ANUBIS' VIPERS, it gave a distinct feel of grace and elegance. That said, the ship had been small. Not figuratively. Not metaphorically. Physically. The ExO could easily see two people fitting, maybe three if someone sat on someone else’s lap. The hull shimmered faintly with a soft, oil-slick sheen, adding to its air of mystery.
The boarding hatch irised open, a gesture that was oddly... graceful. No sound, no hiss. Just an invitation. The duo quickly made their way inside, squeezing through a narrow passageway to reach the flight deck.
"She wasn't kidding," Gemma murmured. "Two-seater. Her previous ship was larger... more comfortable, with more room to play."
Just as they were about to take possession of the two seats, both Gemma and Shar'El stopped as the confined area around them began to shift. The air changed. Nothing physical barred their way, but Shar’El felt it immediately. A strange, almost maternal presence brushing against her awareness. Not telepathic, not quite. Just... a sense.
Unspoken.
Not yet. Not safe. Come back soon.
Gemma exhaled slowly, visibly unsettled. "Did you feel that?"
"Yes," Shar'El replied, her voice quiet. "It told us to leave."
"But not in a bad way," Gemma said, puzzled
"No. Like… it's... preparing."
They backed away. The hatch remained open for another moment, then gently closed.
It would only be a few minutes before they were permitted to return. But what they saw through the porthole left them speechless.
Soon, the iris opened once again... and the ship breathed.
Shar'El could feel it, not hear, not see, but feel. A pressure behind the eyes, a whisper of something other brushing against her thoughts. It wasn't quite a voice. More like the echo of one. The Ullian reached out, instinctively, not telepathically, and stumbled into something entirely unanticipated.
A set of memories. Not hers. Not Gemma's. But from someone, or something completely different.
Soft fabric. A sigh. Fingers tracing the edge of a name whispered too quietly to be caught. A kiss that was more apology than promise. And Isiryne, laughing, crying, speaking to someone not visible, her body pressed against the living, curving wall of the ship like it could offer answers.
Shar’El blinked, hard. She steadied herself against the nearest archway, only now realizing it had shifted, grown, since their arrival. The structure was unfamiliar, organic in a way Starfleet vessels never dared to be.
"You alright?" Gemma asked, glancing back. Her voice carried less ice these days.
Shar'El offered a slow nod. "This ship... has memories. It's alive."
"I know." Gemma’s tone was soft, almost reverent. "I didn't then, not really. Not until we stepped back inside." She ran her hand over the wall. It felt warm to the touch, like skin warmed by a bright summer's sun. Alive. Watching.
"I thought Isiryne said this was a two-seater," Shar'El added, glancing toward the corridor and space that had seemed to appear out of nowhere, room enough to accommodate a dozen hefty Marines.
"That is what she said," Gemma replied. "But it… changed." The ILO paused, carefully scrutinizing the ship's interior layout. "Now I see the resemblance to the ship I knew. I suspected that there was something special about it when I was here the first time, but I never expected this. I figured out that Isiryne was good at keeping secrets, but this is more than I could have imagined."
"Wonder who she could have learned that from," Shar'El chuckled
At that moment, the walls subtly flexed. The lighting dimmed to a rich lavender hue, and the air took on a faint, floral scent, one that was familiar. Jasmine, maybe. Or something like it.
Then it hit them both... a sudden sense of urgency, causing them to look back to the entryway. "Someone is coming... fast." Shar'El noted.
"Multiple someone," Gemma corrected as she hurried to the open iris, followed closely by Shar'El. It did not take them long to identify the source of what they had been made to feel.. Isiryne was rushing towards them, along with a dozen familiar figures, and behind them, trouble.
(paraphrasing from David's post)
Standing by an open hatch, Gemma and Shar-El were signaling Isiryne and the MACOs to hurry.
There was no hesitation. Everyone quickly piled into the ship, except for two of the Marines, as weapons fire filled the docking bay.
Isiryne’s voice was surprisingly loud from the hatch. "They're hitting my ship!" She put a cupped hand by her mouth and shouted at the locals, "Check your aim!"
Trained as they were, the Marines easily out-fired the angry mob, downing most and causing the others to flee.
“That’s your cue to get aboard, big, tall, and handsome,” came Isiryne’s voice, calm and playful. "You too, Deadeye. There are two more groups. Surely one of them can hit a target."
The two Marines rushed in, and just as the hatch slid shut, another group of locals ran into the bay.
=-=
Setting: Isiryne's Ship Flight Deck
Stardate: 45003.2310
"Sirena, prepare for an emergency departure," the sultry woman said as she slid into the center of three pilot's chairs.
"Nice ship you have," Gemma teased, taking the seat on the right and motioning for Shar'El to take the other.
"She is more than a ship," Isiryne smiled as she reached for a communication console. "Don't worry, I've got us covered while I fly us away."
"Sirena..." Gemma mused, looking at the inside of the ship as she said its name. "You mentioned that name to me, never realized that you were talking about your ship."
"I was keeping it as a surprise," Isiryne playfully grinned. "Like this..." and she opened the comm system again. "I know we’re a bit overloaded. Try to make yourself comfortable. I’ll have you back on your ship soon enough. In the meantime, I want each of you to think about how you can thank me."
(back to mine)
Gemma laughed. "You are enjoying this far too much."
Isiryne glanced back, an expression of pure innocence dancing on her features. "It is not every day that I have 12 strong Marines who owe me their lives."
"Why do I have the feeling that I am going to be made to personally thank you for that?"
"You didn't complain the last time you were here," Irisyne said with a wink as the ship suddenly accelerated away from the NORTHAL DRIFT.
Once the force of the acceleration subsided, Gemma spoke. "Sirena," she quietly said, her gaze sweeping the ceiling. The ILO was still trying to understand how she had not put it all together during her first visit abroad. Memories of that time were quick to remind Gemma of the level of distraction she had been under at the time.
Isiryne corrected with a grin. "Whisperkiss, if you’re feeling sentimental."
Shar'El's eyebrow rose. "You named your living ship… Whisperkiss?"
"Because she’s mine," Isiryne said with a teasing wink. Then, to the wall, she added, "And she knows it."
The bulkhead thrummed softly in response.
Gemma stepped forward, folding her arms. She looked almost embarrassed, but not enough to hold back the question. "So... Why exactly did you say she only had two seats?"
Isiryne's smile turned impish. "Well, at the time, she did. But when you love something, you let it grow."
"That's not an answer."
"Sure it is," Isiryne said sweetly, taking a few slow steps closer. "You looked like you needed some... space. You and our dark-haired friend here? All those long glances and clipped conversations? I thought I'd give you two a little... room to decompress."
Gemma blinked, stunned into silence for a heartbeat. Then, "You thought we needed alone time? While you went running through a warzone with a dozen Marines?"
"It was the romantic thing to do," Isiryne said with a mock pout. "Besides, someone had to go fetch the guests."
The ship chuckled. Not with sound, but through a subtle vibration, a ripple through the floor and walls that felt far too much like amusement.
Shar’El exhaled slowly. "This ship is... beyond interesting."
"She’s not a ship," Isiryne said with soft affection, placing her palm against the curved wall. "She’s a companion. A witness. A reminder of everything we don't say aloud."
Gemma swallowed hard. She didn't look at either of them when she spoke. "Then maybe... she remembers more than she should."
Silence stretched between the three of them.
Sirena responded by dimming the lights again, just slightly. Enough to make the moment feel gentler. More intimate.
Isiryne stood from her chair and leaned over Gemma, sensing the mood shift. "Well. If you two want to keep whispering secrets to my girl, I'll just be in the back making sure my guests are properly entertained."
"Wait," Shar’El said before Isiryne could go. "You never answered the real question."
"Which was?"
"How did Sirena... Whisperkiss know to change?"
Isiryne’s expression turned briefly serious. She placed a hand over her heart, then the bulkhead. "She felt what I felt. Urgency. Fear. Hope. And maybe... something worth saving."
Then she vanished down the corridor again, leaving Gemma and Shar’El in the dim purple hush of a ship that felt entirely too alive.
=-=
Tiffany Reeve
Commander Shar'El
Executive Officer
USS ANUBIS
and
Rachel Jackie Johnson <racheljackiejohnson@gmail.com>
Lieutenant Gemma
Intel Operative
USS ANUBIS
[The fun is getting to wear multiple disguises and getting to explore multiple personalities and bring them to life.] - Jenna Fischer
#########
"Shadows: Past, Present and Future, Part 1"
Previous post: "What We Carry" by Tiffany and Rachel
##########
"The mind of man is capable of anything—because everything is in it, all the past as well as all the future."
-- Joseph Conrad, Heart of Darkness
Setting: USS ANUBIS, Bridge
Stardate 45003.2320
The Native American stood in the heart of the ANUBIS' command deck, his pensive gaze locked on the swirling chaos being displayed on the main view screen. Some vessels were departing from the NORTHAL DRIFT in a desperate hurry, while others took position for combat. The most frustrating part was the lack of data Captain Morningstar had at his disposal due to the inability of the ship's sensors to penetrate the derelict station and the fact that communications with the away team had been severed some time ago.
"The chatter between the ships is intense," Ani noted, the ship's avatar standing at the Tactical console. "Heavy accusations are flying... murder of Daimon Ardax, theft of the device. Some blame each other, but several have singled out a small group... accompanied by a Voth and a Caitian.
"Zub and A'Janni," Erik sighed.
The mystery was not getting any clearer, and Erik disliked the fact that despite the ANUBIS' state-of-the-art Intel gathering systems and equipment, they were unable to make heads or tails of what was transpiring beyond the ship's ablative cloaking armour.
"What about the Marine drop ship?" The Captain inquired.
"We have a tractor beam locked on it, holding it 100 meters off our upper port quadrant," Ani reported. "Close enough to shield it should the need arise, but far enough that we will have time to react should whatever this 'TROY' warning we received reveal itself."
Even Morningstar's usually stoic demeanour cracked, frustration clear in his voice. The situation out there was clearly and rapidly deteriorating, and there was next to nothing he could do about it until someone from the away team managed to either find a way to contact or return to the ANUBIS.
"Sensors are picking up the VIPER on a rapid approach vector," Ani reported. "Sensors identify a Caitian and a Shillian on board. I am also showing the shuttle Gemma used to board the NORTHAL DRIFT heading back with three Terran life forms on board; one male and two female."
Morningstar could not hold back the smile that formed on his lips. "Bring the VIPER in. We might finally be getting some answers. As for Gemma's shuttle... Three Terrans, one male and two female, it has to be Jayson, Cristhiane, and Christie," Morningstar easily deduced. "Have them land in Shuttle Bay 2."
With the prospect of answers now well within reach, Erik allowed himself to let out a lengthy breath as he made his way back to the central chair, concern still very much engraved on his features.
"I am sure that Commander Shar'El and Lieutenant Gemma are fine," the avatar said, tapping into her more human behaviour programming.
"I hope so," the Captain whispered, more to himself than anyone else.
--==(/\)==--
Setting: USS ANUBIS, Bridge
Stardate 45003.2325
The Caitian and Shillian stepped onto the bridge at a brisk pace, aiming straight at the Captain, who had just risen from his chair.
"Welcome back," the Native American said, greeting the two returning officers. "Report."
"Zub, Adriana, Amanda, T'Lara and Nathan are in the Marine drop ship along with Ya'Han and the device," A'Janni explained.
"Any idea what we would have received a 'TROY' message from them?" The Captain inquired. "I would like to know why I have to keep members of my crew at arm's length."
"It's Ya'Han," Maya cautiously said, her voice trembling with concern and uncertainty. "We are not sure what exactly happened, but somehow she has been touched by the Lokustaar in such a way that she is now able to call upon them, almost as servants, to do her bidding. She was the one responsible for Ardax's death..." She paused as the memory of what she had seen sent a shiver down her spine.
"The Lokustaar..." Morningstar exhaled slowly, the name alone being more than enough to trigger a swell of trepidation within him. Nothing good ever happened when that race was mentioned, their influence reaching into the furthest reaches of this dimension, which now apparently also included his Chief of Security.
"She is one of them?" A'Janni said bluntly, confirming Morningstar's concerns. "She belongs to the shadows now and showed absolutely no remorse when she had the Lokustaar pulverize that Ferengi monster."
"She also displayed the ability to control the device," Maya added. "Ya'Han just stretched out her hand, and it deactivated, obeying her thoughts... somehow. There is clearly a connection between the Lokustaar and the device, and now it appears that Ya'Han has tapped into that connection or worse, has become an integral part of it."
"TROY," Morningstar quietly mused before pausing for a moment. "Sounds like we have more than a potential incursion on our hands."
That was when Jayson, Cristhiane and her daughter Christie stepped onto the bridge. The OPS Officer wasted no time in voicing his support for the Nylaan Chief of Security, knowing very well that A'Janni would have presented his side of the story, which would paint the Nylaan woman, at best, as a Lokustaar agent, or at worst as a shadow operative the likes of Mordana. "Captain, please hear me out. I am not saying that Ya'Han is fine, but she is not the dangerous individual, I'm sure A'Janni has painted her to be."
"Lieutenant Stark," Ani calmly interjected, the artificial woman being, as designed, cold and logical. "Your personal feelings for Lieutenant Ya'Han, as well as your relationship with her, are well known and documented. This, unfortunately, could affect your judgment, causing you to have a more personal bias towards the situation."
"It's Ya'Han we are talking about," Jayson forcefully argued. "She's not some Shadow operative. She's not even the enemy; she killed Ardax and allowed us to bring the device back. Without her, this mission would have been a complete and utter failure."
"Maybe so, Lieutenant," Morningstar said after a long pause, his voice heavy with the weight of command. "I want to believe she's still the woman who stood by our sides while we confronted Mordana… But we all have dealt with the Lokustaar before, and we know what they are capable of. We cannot afford blind hope, not at this time."
Jayson’s jaw clenched, but he said nothing more. His faith in Ya’Han was unwavering — even if no one else could see it right now.
"Captain," Christie said, her voice trembling as she took a step towards the Native American. Her mother took hold of her arm, trying to hold her back and maybe even silence her, but the young woman had made up her mind. "Whatever you plan on doing with Ya'Han, you’ll have to do with me too."
"Your effort to defend her is admirable..." Erik began, but his argument was quickly cut short by Christie.
"It wasn’t just Ya’Han," Christie said, her voice shaking. "Whatever touched her... touched me too," she admitted. "During our time on the NORTHAL DRIFT, I killed a man, a Romulan who had been after my mother and I for quite some time. I am not sure how exactly it happened, but I screamed and a Lokustaar appeared, killing him."
"She was scared," Cristhiane quickly added, stepping to stand by her daughter. "She didn't do it on purpose; she just wanted to save us along with Adriana and Amanda. My daughter is not some sort of bloodthirsty criminal; she was just scared."
Morningstar took a moment to think, which Ani recognized, causing her to approach. "Captain, there is more to this situation than what we are aware of," the avatar said, glancing at Christie, the ship sensors not showing anything different about the woman despite her recent admission about what she had done. "Caution is recommended, but more information is required."
"Agreed," Morningstar nodded. "Bring the Marine Drop ship into the secured ventral bay, and have all security precautions in place... we also need..."
Ani interrupted the Captain. "Receiving a coded transmission from an unknown vessel. Sensors are unable to penetrate its hull, but the identification codes match those of Commander Shar'El and Lieutenant Gemma. They are asking for permission to come aboard, and say that they also have the Marines with them, plus a close 'friend'." The android paused, reviewing sensor data. "No match to known designs," Ani added. "Structure suggests maluable organic architecture... possibly even a living ship."
"This keeps getting better and better," the Native American sarcastically said. "Bring the ship to Yellow Alert," Morningstar ordered. "General quarters. Let’s not assume we’re out of danger just because we’re hidden. Have that unknown ship come into Shuttle Bay 1, and as soon as it is secured, get the ANUBIS quietly out of here; no need to draw any attention. We have the device. But something tells me the true cost of this mission is only beginning to reveal itself."
--==(/\)==--
Francois Charette
Captain Erik Morningstar
Commanding Officer
USS ANUBIS, NCC 18501
--
"I used to think it was awful that life was so unfair. Then I thought, wouldn't it be much worse if life were fair and all the terrible things that happen to us come because we actually deserve them. So now I take great comfort in the general hostility and unfairness of the universe."
- Marcus Cole, Babylon 5