Star Trek: Distant Horizons

USS ANUBIS - Mission 25
A Mother's Hope

POST INDEX

Post #	Character	Title
001	Morningstar	Hopes and Shadows Erik makes the decision official
002	T'Lara	Controlled Variables T'Lara reviews the situation
003	Val'Bruxa	Uninvited Precaution Drayks secures Jayson's quarters
004	Ya'Han	Not Just Another Memory Ya'Han has a troubling flashback
005	Ya'Han/Enel	Escort of Shadows Zun escorts Ya'Han to her quarters
006	Lopez	Sisters Adriana and Amanda escort Christie
007	Gemma	Operational Shadows Gemma and the IGC gather Intel
008	A'Janni	Navigating the Unknown A'Janni pilots the ANUBIS to NYLA IV
009	Val'Bruxa	Calculated Resonance Drayk checks in with Maya and confronts Jayson
010	Ya'Han	What She Sees Now Ya'Han has a flashback
011	Stark	Into the Abyss Jayson returns to his quarters and speaks to Ya'Han
012	Lopez	Reflections of Shadows Amanda has a nightmare
013	Maya	Anomalous Event... Instruments challenge Maya's observation
014	Shar'El	A Troubled Morning Shar'El speaks with Erik
015	Val'Bruxa	The Place Where No... Drayk thinks back to his nightmare
016	T'Lara/Lopez	Nightmare Variables T'Lara performs medical exams
017	Lopez	Reflections of Shadows Adriana hurts while watching Amanda
018	Enel	Nightmare Messagers Zub discusses the situation
019	Ya'Han	The Shape of Fear Ya'Han solidifies her darkness
020	Gemma	When Shadows Watch Back Gemma watches Ya'Han from the IGC
021	Morningstar	Clarity and Truth Erik pays Ya'Han a visit
022	Shar'El	Shattered Illusions Shar'El reacts to Erik's visit with Ya'Han
023	Lopez	Echoes of the Forgotten Christie is overwhelmed by the darkness
024	Val'Bruxa/Maya	Symmetries of the Dead Readings are obtained from the device
025	Stark/A'Janni	Two Paths, One End Opposing views on Ya'Han
026	Ya'Han	The Longest Winter Na'Rin is informed of a family reunion
027	T'Lara	A Past Never Forgotten Cristhiane talks about her other daughter
028	Gemma/Enel	Shards and Stillness A tender moment between Gemma and Zub
029	Shar'El	Absent Priorities Shar'El deals with a few surprises
030	Ya'Han	Unwelcome Alignment Ya'Han senses the shift in Ferengi patrols
031	Morningstar	Darkness Erik contemplates their mission
032	Val'Bruxa	The Weight of Duality Drayk and Maya study the device
033	Lopez	Losing a Twin Sister Adriana deals with family issues
034	A'Janni	Echoes in the Void A'Janni feels something following the ANUBIS
035	Gemma	When Silence Becomes... Gemma reviews their situation
036	Ya'Han	Long Before the Beginning Markus's POV on the situation
037	Shar'El	The Longest Day Shar'El and Erik discuss the situation
038	Val'Bruxa	Inheritance of Silence Drayk contemplates Satella's fate
039	Lopez/T'Lara	Whispered Hopes Adriana and T'Lara talk about family
040	Gemma	Hidden Teeth Gemma discovers something troubling

Post #	Character	Title
041	Morningstar	The Embrace of Shadows The ANUBIS arrives at NYLA IV
042	Ya'Han	Blood of the Queen Markus visits Na'Rin
043	Stark	Follow the Black Wind Jayson follows Ya'Han without hesitation
044	Gemma	Shadowed Footfall Gemma is concerned due to the lack of security
045	Lopez	Shadows Between Sisters Adriana struggles with Amanda and Christie
046	Ya'Han	Blood of the Same Line Ya'Han comes face-to-face with Ya'Jun
047	Stark	Hope Rekindled Ya'Jun helps Jayson with a single touch
048	Maya	Resonant Interference The device reacts to something
049	Shar'El	Blood of Shadows A revelation is made as Shar'El speaks with Na'Rin
050	Ya'Han	Revelations of Shadows Following Na'Rin's revelation, Ya'Han goes dark
051	Lopez	Screams of Shadows Christie is in excruciating pain
052	Stark	Fury of Shadows Ya'Han and Ya'Jun fight, knocking Jayson
053	Gemma	Fear of Shadows Gemma and Zub contemplate what happened
054	Ya'Han	Duality of Shadows Ya'Han speaks with Markus
055	T'Lara	Regrets of Shadows T'Lara watches over Na'Rin's last moments
056	Gemma	Analysis of Shadows Gemma watches Ya'Han, who is ready to strike
057	Ya'Han	Finality of Shadows Epic battle between light and darkness
058	Shar'El	Wake of Shadows The aftermath of the battle
059	Val'Bruxa/Maya	Resonant Equilibrium The device's behaviour changes
060	Morningstar	Echoes of the Away Team The away team returns to the ANUBIS
061	Lopez	Shadows of Loss Adriana and the others go to Sickbay
062	Gemma	Balance of Shadows Gemma observes Ya'Han and Ya'Jun
063	Enel	Requiem of Shadows Enel is in Sickbay talking to T'Lara
064	Lopez	Shifts of Shadows Adriana is asked to speak with Ya'Jun
065	Ya'Han	Trickeries of Shadows Ya'Jun learns about the device
066	Val'Bruxa/Maya	Echoes of Balance Maya explains the device to Ya'Jun
067	T'Lara	Energy of Balance T'Lara surprises Ya'Jun using the device on Jayson
068	Gemma	Equation of Balance Gemma tries to understand what she saw
069	Shar'El	Debate of Shadows Shar'El and Erik discuss what happened to Jayson
070	Lopez	Cleansing of Shadows Adriana explains the device to Christie
071	Ya'Han/Morningstar	Restoring Balance The device is used on Ya'Han
072	Val'Bruxa	Universal Design Flashback to what Drayk did
073	T'Lara	Shadows of Recovery T'Lara contemplates what happened
074	Gemma	The Start of Something New Gemma is summoned to Sickbay

M25-001: USS ANUBIS: Morningstar: 45010.0600 ("Hopes and Shadows")

(TOP)

#######

"Hopes and Shadows"

Previous post: "Shades of Hope"

##########

"Captain's personal log: The senior staff has assembled for what may be the most dangerous course of action we've ever undertaken. We'll be breaking rules and treaties alike, officially for the search for answers, while unofficially, we will be doing this for one of our own. If Ya'Han's mother holds the key, we need to reach her before it's too late. Hope and shadows lie ahead in equal measure."

Setting: USS ANUBIS, Observation Lounge

Stardate: 45010.0600

The Observation Lounge was unusually quiet for a senior staff briefing. The early hour meant some had arrived with little more than caffeine in their systems, but the underlying cause of the silence was far deeper. The weight of unanswered questions, of choices made in the dark, had set the mood. Captain Erik Morningstar stood at the head of the table, his expression stoic as he surveyed the assembled officers.

The holographic viewscreen behind him displayed a simple image: a navigational map highlighting the contested Ferengi border and, just beyond it, a red pulse marking their destination... NYLA IV.

"Thank you all for coming," Morningstar began, his voice calm but clipped with purpose. "After reviewing the reports, recommendations, and giving the matter a great deal of personal consideration, I have reached a decision. We will proceed to NYLA IV."

There were no gasps, no surprised exclamations. Most of the officers had expected as much, but even anticipation did little to dull the gravity of the moment.

"We still have no understanding of the device," Erik continued. "No way to predict its behaviour, no way to confirm whether Lieutenant Ya'Han is truly the catalyst... or the solution. Commander Maya's observations remain inconclusive. The fact that Christie exhibits similar Lokustaar genetic markers yet has shown no influence over the device only deepens the mystery."

Zub sighed. "In short, lots of questions and no answers."

The gaze of the Native American Captain swept the room, pausing on each face.

"Our best and only lead is genetic," he said. "And our only viable path forward is to investigate the source: Ya'Han's mother. With what little time we have left, we will reach NYLA IV cloaked, bypassing Ferengi patrols and sneaking our way to our destination. This is not a diplomatic mission. This is a race against time, one we cannot afford to lose."

Shar'El was the first to speak. "I agree with your decision, Captain. The risk is considerable, but so is the potential gain. If there is even a chance to better understand the device, or to prevent whatever it may be from triggering, we have to act."

Gemma, seated near the end of the table, simply offered a nod. "The IGC will monitor all channels and sensor buoys along the Ferengi border. We'll keep a passive intel net up to date and feed the bridge crew real-time threat updates. Any sign of patrol activity or merchant convoys, we'll know."

Commander Maya leaned forward, datapad in hand. "I would like to continue my study of the device during transit. If possible, as we get closer and access their historical records, I will cross-reference the cultural archives of NYLA IV. There may be something in the history of the planet, a myth, a record, even a religious artifact, that might align with the appearance or lack of an energy signature from the device."

Doctor T'Lara folded her hands before speaking. "I will continue my genomic analysis. While Christie's genetic structure includes Lokustaar markers, I believe we are overlooking the difference in expression. With Na'Rin's data, I may be able to isolate the dormant traits and identify what, if anything, Ya'Han has that Christie does not."

All eyes shifted when Jayson Stark finally spoke, or rather, when he didn't. The Chief of Operations remained stoic, nodding once, his jaw tight. He neither supported nor objected to the plan, a silence that echoed more loudly than any words. His emotional distance did not go unnoticed.

A'Janni, standing near the back wall with his arms folded, broke the silence as only a Caitian could. "I would like to go on record that I officially object to this course of action," the FCO growled. "Crossing into Ferengi space under cloak, violating known borders, and approaching the seat of a High Sovereign's authority... this puts the ANUBIS, and the Federation, in extreme jeopardy."

Erik met the officer's gaze calmly. "Duly noted, Lieutenant."

"That said," A'Janni continued, his tone softening only slightly, "I will do everything in my power to ensure the ANUBIS and its crew reach NYLA IV safely. I may not agree with this mission, but I will not let it fail."

Zub Enel, seated beside the Captain, leaned forward. "As Interim Chief of Security, I echo Commander A'Janni's objection and commitment. Internal and external readiness will be maintained. We'll have red-level security protocols in place for the entire trip."

Drayk, leaning back in his chair with arms crossed over his chest, offered only a low grunt. "I'll do what needs to be done. The mission will succeed."

From the opposite end of the table, Adriana Lopez raised a hand slightly. "Captain… what about Ya'Han and Christie? Will they remain in the brig during the journey?"

A pause hung in the air. Erik hesitated, clearly having considered the question but unsure of the best path forward. The journey ahead would be several days long and could easily turn into a life-or-death situation if the ship were discovered.

T'Lara answered in his stead. "Captain, if Ya'Han were capable of affecting the device in any way she has not yet revealed, incarceration would not prevent her from doing so. Her abilities, whatever they may be, do not appear to be physical in nature. Holding her, or Christie, under security confinement may serve no tactical or logical benefit."

The Vulcan-Romulan hybrid glanced toward Shar'El and Gemma. "If permitted, I would recommend relocating both to their quarters under supervision. A more relaxed environment may allow their emotional states to stabilize, and that may, in turn, reveal behavioural anomalies. Subtle changes. Early signs."

Shar'El nodded. "Agreed. I'd like to observe them myself. If something is evolving, we need to catch it early. With their emotional guards down, we might uncover something new."

Erik considered the input and gave a slow nod. "Very well. Lieutenant Enel, you'll see to the escort of both Ya'Han and Christie to their respective quarters. Counsellor Lopez, they'll both remain under your psychological watch. Jayson..."

Stark nodded his head once again, taking in a long, deep breath. "I understand the stakes. I will keep a close watch on her while we are together."

"Thank you," Morningstar added, locking eyes with the Chief ofOperations, "if anything seems off, no matter how small, I expect you to report it immediately."

Jayson's only reply was a curt nod.

Erik turned to the rest of the table. "The ANUBIS will depart at 0700. Have all departments ready."

The officers filed out silently, understanding the stakes and the shadows that lay ahead.

Left alone in the lounge, Captain Morningstar looked once more at the stars. Beyond the curtain of celestial lights and deception lay answers. And perhaps, something far worse.

--==(/\)==--

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

M25-002: USS ANUBIS: T'Lara: 45010.0645 ("Controlled Variables")

(TOP)

"Controlled Variables"

Previous post: "Hopes and Shadows" by Francois

Setting: USS ANUBIS, Deck 19, Brig

Stardate: 45010.0645

T'Lara stood alone in Sickbay, the only sound the gentle hum of active systems and the soft, rhythmic beep of the bio-monitor beside Nathan's bed. The child slept, his breathing slow and even, small fingers curled lightly against the blanket. His recovery remained stable. With time and care, he would heal.

For now, he was the only certainty in this room.

The diagnostic screen to her left displayed genetic overlays, rotating models of protein chains and comparative alleles. One belonged to Lieutenant Ya'Han, the other to Christie. And a third, still incomplete, was being built from the sequencing of Cristhiane's genome.

It was not out of personal curiosity that T'Lara had begun this particular analysis. It was necessity.

Cristhiane, as both Christie's biological mother and a product of the same long-term genetic experimentation carried out by the Lokustaar, represented a potential link. If there were dormant markers in Christie, latent shadow-born traits passed down rather than acquired, Cristhiane's DNA might provide clarity. A control variable. A baseline. A quiet weapon in development, not to harm, but to understand, to contain, to counter those who might embrace the shadow as Ya'Han had.

T'Lara's fingers moved across the console, adjusting the contrast of overlapping sequences. There, nestled in the unexpressed histone tail of one strand, was a slight deviation. In Cristhiane, the sequence remained inert. In Christie, it had begun to unfold. In Ya'Han...

The CMO paused.

Ya'Han's structure was not simply active. It was adaptive. Evolving. The dormant Lokustaar marker had not been triggered; it had been received. As if it had always belonged. Where Christie's genome showed instability, spasms of resistance, Ya'Han's displayed cohesion. Integration.

That was not healing. That was assimilation.

T'Lara narrowed her eyes at the display. There was still time. Still a chance to act before the changes became irreversible, if they had not already.

Behind her, Nathan stirred in his sleep, a soft sound of contentment slipping from his throat. She allowed herself a moment to glance over. He was vulnerable, but peaceful. A stark contrast to the internal battles raging within others aboard this ship.

She turned back to the screen. Her hands folded behind her back, shoulders straight.

Ya'Han and Christie were still in the brig. That would change soon. The Captain had agreed to relocate them to their quarters under supervision. It was a logical decision, one she had herself endorsed, yet it left her uneasy. T'Lara had seen what resided behind Ya'Han's eyes in Sickbay. The calm was too perfect. The stillness too absolute. It was not discipline. It was possession.

And Jayson would be the one placed closest to her.

The logic of the situation suggested that emotional familiarity might provide an early-warning system. He would notice changes others might overlook. But the reality was far more fragile. He loved her still, perhaps too deeply to recognize the danger.

He would not see the predator until it crouched beside him, smiling with her voice, wearing her face, whispering with a calm that devoured.

T'Lara moved to the secondary console, queuing the next wave of scans for both subjects. Neural activity comparisons. Hormonal fluctuations. Subspace microfrequency tracking. Anything that might help her isolate a pattern or trigger.

She did not believe Ya'Han was beyond saving. That was, after all, the unspoken premise behind this mission to NYLA IV. To trace the origin of her altered genome. To face the woman who had passed on the shadows, perhaps unknowingly, perhaps not.

If the transformation was indeed genetic, then what awaited them on that world might hold the key to reversing it.

Or cementing it.

Sickbay was quiet. The lights above flickered briefly as the ship transitioned power systems in preparation for departure. A subtle pulse passed through the floor beneath her feet, like a breath being held.

T'Lara lowered the light in the diagnostic zone, allowing the shadows to deepen across the room. She welcomed the shift. It sharpened her awareness. Reminded her that in darkness, truths often emerged more clearly than in light.

She cast one last glance at Nathan before turning back to her data.

There was work to be done. And as always, time advanced without mercy, silent, swift, and indifferent to what might be lost along the way.

=-=

Dawn Bohr

Lt. Commander T'Lara

Chief Medical Officer

USS ANUBIS, NCC-18501

M25-003: USS ANUBIS: Val'Bruxa: 45010.0645 ("Uninvited Precaution")

(TOP)

"Uninvited Precaution"

Previous post: "Controlled Variables" by Dawn

Setting: USS ANUBIS, Deck 2, Stark's and Ya'Han's Quarters

Stardate: 45010.0645

The air carried heat-stained metal and the tension of something unsaid. On the floor near the port bulkhead, a plasma torch sat idle, its soft blue glow casting flickering shadows against the ceiling.

Drayk Val’Bruxa worked in silence.

The auxiliary forcefield grid was already online, layered discreetly into the overhead conduit lattice. To the untrained eye, the room appeared unchanged. To someone who knew what to look for… it was reinforced, secured. Watched.

The door hissed open behind him.

"What the hell do you think you're doing in here?"

Drayk didn't flinch. Didn't turn. He had expected this long before he gained access to these quarters.

"Making your quarters less suicidal," he said, voice calm, dry, unimpressed.

Jayson Stark stepped into the room, body taut with offense, emotion flaring behind his eyes. "You bypassed the door lock?"

"No," Drayk said, finally standing and facing him. "I told it I belonged here. The ship agreed."

Jayson's jaw clenched. "This is my space. If you have orders, you go through me."

"You're mistaken," Drayk said coolly. "This isn't about comfort, territory, or feelings. It's risk containment. Nothing more. I'm not here for you, Lieutenant. I'm here for what might wake up inside her."

Jayson moved toward him, voice low but sharp. "Ya'Han is not a threat. She deserves more than to be treated like one."

A pause.

Drayk studied him, the same way one might study a crack in a structural beam, calculating how long until it failed.

"She deserves the truth," Drayk replied. "And so do you. You think you're standing beside her. You're not. You're circling something ancient. It doesn't need to pull; it just waits. And when it finally decides to pull you in... it won't be love that saves you."

"You don't know her. You have no idea of the hells she had to survive to finally make it here."

"I know what she did," Drayk shot back. "Ardax didn't die in combat. He was executed by extradimensional proxies she summoned like pets. That wasn't justice. It was a message. One we'd be stupid to ignore. Morningstar understands this."

Jayson stepped closer. "You're afraid of her. Admit it."

A corner of Drayk's mouth twitched, not a smile, more a shift in posture, as if preparing to move through an obstacle.

"I'm not afraid of her," he countered. "I understand her better than you could ever hope to, and because of that I'm preparing for her. That's what warriors do when they respect power. They don't wait for failure. They plan for impact."

He stepped to the console, keying in the final subroutine. An alert blinked twice and vanished. The room's new containment web was now integrated, invisible, seamless.

"Extra emitters in the floor, ceiling, structural interlocks in the bedframe. Fail-safe set to my biometrics. If the lights flicker the wrong way, this room becomes a vault."

"Is that supposed to make me feel safe?" Jayson asked, voice bitter.

"No. It's supposed to give us a few seconds to react before she tears this ship in half."

Jayson's fists clenched. "She's not going to lose control."

Drayk faced him fully now, the weight of engineered certainty behind every word.

"Then you'll be fine. And if she's in control? You'll be the first one she doesn't stop for."

He moved past him, pausing just long enough to lower his voice. Drayk didn't hate Stark. That would've made this easier, but he'd seen that kind of emotional loyalty before. It never ended well.

"You've made your choice. Just know that I've made mine too. I'm not here to save you, Stark. I'm here to save the ANUBIS. Try not to get in the way."

The door whispered open at his approach. He stepped through without looking back.

=-=

Scott Grant

Lieutenant JG Drayk Val'Bruxa

Assistant Chief Engineer

USS ANUBIS, NCC-18501

"Hope is a liability. I plan for impact."

M25-004: USS ANUBIS: Ya'Han: 45010.0700 ("Not Just Another Memory")

(TOP)

"Not Just Another Memory"

Previous post: "Uninvited Precaution" by Scott

-=-=-

Setting: USS ANUBIS, Deck 19, Brig

Stardate: 45010.0700

Alone in her cell, Ya'Han sat cross-legged in the far corner, her posture and facial expression still, her black hair flowing like obsidian ink onto her shoulders. A pulse throbbed behind her temples, faint, rhythmic, as though something deep within the bulkhead was whispering. Not mechanical. Not electrical. Organic. Almost... familiar.

The whispers grew louder. Not words. Not thoughts. Impressions. She knew the ANUBIS was in motion... not because of instruments, not because of windows, but because something deep inside her felt it shifting through space. She even knew the ship's destination without having been told. She could feel the Caitian's claws on the controls of the helm and hear the whispered concerns of the crew. But more importantly, she could feel it... floating above the central research station of the Quantum Physics Lab.

Her breath slowed. Her pulse did not.

And just like that, the memory surfaced, not like a gentle tide, but like a tidal wave crashing through a shattered dam. One she never knew existed.

[/\] [/\] [/\] [/\] [/\]

FLASHBACK

[/\] [/\] [/\] [/\] [/\]

Setting: NYLA IV, Imperial Palace, Inner Courtyard

Stardate: 15322.1715 (Ya’Han is 8 years old)

She remembered the color first.

Not the sunset above the courtyard's marbled walls. Not the shimmering fabrics of the courtiers. But the color of a man's blood pooling in perfect silence across polished stone. A deep, syrupy red with hints of black. Too thick to be fresh. Too fresh to be dead.

She was pressed against a column, trembling and hidden in shadow, her body small enough to disappear, but her eyes wide, unable to blink.

He was screaming. Or had been. The sound had stopped now. What was left was the twitch, the convulsing, spasmodic twitch of the man's right foot, jerking once… twice… until it stilled forever.

His arm had been severed at the elbow.

Not cleanly.

The ceremonial blade wielded by her father's warrior had been sharpened for tradition, not efficiency.

The first swing had missed the joint. So had the second. Ya'Han remembered, now, the sickening crunch as steel bit into bone, the spray that hit the High Sovereign's robes, and the way he had not flinched. Not even once. Instead, he'd sneered. Disgusted not by the gore, but by the incompetence.

"You should have screamed louder," the High Sovereign said, his voice flat, emotionless. "Your pain might have inspired others to remember their place."

The man had been one of the palace guards. Loyal. Strong. Married, with a daughter nearly Ya'Han's age. His only crime: allowing that daughter to weep during a royal procession when the High Sovereign had passed by. Ya'Han remembered seeing her a few days ago during a procession, her tear-filled eyes reflecting a terror like no other, a terror that the youngest daughter of the High Sovereign could not understand... until now.

"A child who cannot silence her emotions is a child born to weakness," her father had declared. "And a man who fathers weakness invites it into his bloodline."

So now the man bled, not to death, no, but enough to carry a message.

The girl was there too. The daughter. Kneeling beside her broken father, sobbing hysterically until two guards grabbed her by the arms and dragged her away, her screams echoing through the colonnade.

In this once forgotten memory, Ya'Han could clearly see the girl's face.

Eyes swollen. Lips torn from biting them in terror. And clutched in her hands, until they were forced from her fingers, a simple doll made of twine and beads. One eye missing. The other cracked.

That doll was the image that haunted her dreams for countless nights to come.

That was the symbol of fear.

A child, clutching the last symbol of love in a world where love was punishable.

Unable to look away, Ya'Han felt her body shaking, her legs trembling so hard that her knees clicked together. It took all of the 8-year-old child's strength to finally close her eyes... so tightly that the world had gone white behind her lids.

[/\] [/\] [/\] [/\] [/\]

END OF FLASHBACK

[/\] [/\] [/\] [/\] [/\]

Now, her eyes remained open.

Unblinking.

Unfeeling.

She remembered the doll. The child's face. The father's agony.

But it didn't disgust her.

It… made sense.

**Survival does not make room for weakness,** she thought, her voice echoing silently within her mind. **That is what he was trying to teach. And he failed... because he chose spectacle over strategy.**

Her gaze turned toward the force field, as if she could see past it, past the bulkheads and decks, all the way to the Quantum Physics Lab. The pulse in her skull synced with the device's unnoticed hum. No one else aboard could hear it. Not like she could. Not with clarity.

Pain was a tool.

Fear was currency.

And love, love was the bait that predators used to lull prey into stillness before the strike.

Her lips curled slightly. Not in joy. Not even in satisfaction.

But in recognition.

She wasn't horrified by the memory anymore.

She was disappointed.

Her father had wasted the lesson. He spilled blood without precision. Crushed a soul that could’ve been forged into something useful.

Weakness should be punished, but not so publicly. Not so wastefully.

She was 8 when she saw that. Powerless.

She was 28 now.

And not powerless.

The doll, that blood-slicked tangle of twine and fear, lingered in her thoughts. She could almost see it in her lap. Could almost feel the sticky softness where it had pressed into the girl's trembling hand.

She did not blink.

She did not shiver.

She did not feel.

She listened to the device. And it whispered still.

**You were never broken. Only waiting. Soon you will rise, and the stars will bend the knee to your darkness.**

-=-=-

Hanali Han

Lieutenant Ya'Han

Chief of Security / Tactical Officer

USS ANUBIS, NCC-18501

M25-005: USS ANUBIS: Ya'Han/Enel: 45010.0730 ("Escort of Shadows")

(TOP)

"Escort of Shadows"

Previous post: "Not Just Another Memory" by Hanali

-=-=-

Setting: USS ANUBIS, Deck 19, Aux. Security Office next to the Brig

Stardate: 45010.0730

The tall, scaly Voth stood behind former Security Chief Ya’Han’s desk—specifically, her auxiliary desk. He tapped his PADD once more and sighed through his nose.

Sparks, the Andorian marine combat engineer, sprawled in a chair and said in a voice deeper than his usual whine, “Skipper. You must master your impatience, or impatience will be your master.”

Standing in the doorway of the office, the Lurian marine Sergeant Mi’Teh said, “That Assistant Chief Engineer doesn’t care a Talarian fly speck that you mock him. You should learn from him. I hear he’s top of the line.”

The blue-skinned Andorian snorted loudly enough to make his pale white antennae wobble.

Zub’s datapad chimed. The massive lizardman straightened his broad shoulders. “Val ’Bruxa signals all containment fields are in place and operational. You two know what to do?”

Spark jumped to his feet. He was the kind of person who found life pretty boring in every way unless there was danger nearby; then it was as if he suddenly came alive. He smiled. “Aye, Skip. I’ll lead my team to Lieutenant Ya’Han’s quarters now and stand by for your approach.”

The Lurian, with his downturned mouth, rumbled, “I’ll trail behind you and Lt. Ya’Han with a fire team. Weapons on stun.”

Zub Enel masked a flutter in his stomach with a nod. “And Viper?”

The Sergeant said, “She’s shadowing you somewhere in an intersecting corridor with her asset. She’ll take a kill shot only if ordered, sir.”

Enel rubbed his three-fingered hands together. They were icy. Deep inside, he hoped it wouldn’t come to needing a sniper. “Okay, here’s to hoping nothing happens. Move out.”

-=-=-

Setting: USS ANUBIS, Deck 19, Brig

Stardate: 45010.0745

Ya'Han sat perfectly still within her cell, black hair cascading over her shoulders in an eerie, unnatural manner.

The sound of the brig doors sliding open drew her gaze. She turned her head slowly as the towering form of Zub stepped inside, the doors closing behind him with a final-sounding hiss.

"Lieutenant," she greeted, her voice calm, the corner of her mouth tugging into the faintest curve of a smile. "Or is it Chief now?"

Zub gave a polite nod, stepping closer and waiting for the last moment to announce the reason for his presence. "I am here to escort you back to your quarters."

Ya’Han stood smoothly, not a hint of shock or surprise in her movements, which were as fluid as ever despite the confinement. She tilted her head, studying him with something close to approval. "So, the Captain has reconsidered. A change of heart? Or merely... strategy?"

The Voth said nothing, his silence measured and heavy, as if refusing to acknowledge the question would make it evaporate.

A single brow arched over Ya'Han's dark eyes. "Wise of Morningstar to assign you," she offered. "You fit the position. It suits you."

Zub’s clawed hand moved to the wall console, deactivating the forcefield with a muted chime. The soft shimmer vanished.

Ya’Han stepped forward, pausing just at the threshold but not crossing it. "Relax, Zub. I have no intention of causing a scene. Your Marines will have nothing to do to today."

He said nothing, but his eyes narrowed slightly, only slightly.

Ya’Han’s smile deepened, just enough to suggest knowledge not shared. "You posted them outside, didn’t you? Cautious. Thorough. Smart." She stepped through the threshold now, her hands loosely clasped in front of her. "You’ll make an excellent Chief of Security."

Zub hesitated, a pause no longer than a breath. That she knew about the Marines meant she was either observant or had been listening far more closely than she let on.

He gestured for her to proceed. "This way. As you well know."

Ya’Han walked ahead, graceful and unhurried. The long corridors waited beyond the brig, as did the whispers of what was to come.

-=-=-

Setting: USS ANUBIS, Deck 19, Corridor

Stardate: 45010.0750

Zub let her walk a pace ahead. She looked the same—fit, athletic, with the muscular grace of a dancer, except for her strange black hair. It kept reaching out and withdrawing, not bouncing in lively, colorful curls; it was a shape, a shadow where light entered but didn’t gleam. Her expression, while not fixed, was distant and cold. Ya’Han was a woman he had shared life with and fought death alongside. She’d grinned and smirked good-naturedly as she had sparred with him time and again. Now, she was someone else, more and less. A dark goddess. With a wave of her graceful hand, all life on the ANUBIS could vanish.

As he kept pace, feigning utter casualness, the scales on his neck stood. He suspected she could read his thoughts. He suspected the Artifact decks above was aware, in its ancient and inscrutable way, of her changing locale. Though brightly lit, shadows in the corridors were numerous and darker than he remembered. They were just shadows if he looked directly at one. Still, out of the corners of his eyes, they flickered and scurried aside as she approached, as if courtesans in black bowing, as if the minions of a tremendous and implacably hungry evil were humbling themselves in deference to a queen.

Zub gripped his chin with a frosty set of fingers. He was certain, as the old saying goes, she had the ANUBIS and all aboard right where she wanted them. Like the rest of the ANUBIS crew, it was his job to foil her plan.

-=-=-

David Michael Inverso

Lieutenant JG Zub Enel

MCO

USS ANUBIS, NCC 18501

and

Hanali Han

Lieutenant Ya'Han

Chief of Security / Tactical Officer

USS ANUBIS, NCC-18501

M25-006: USS ANUBIS: Lopez: 45010.0800 ("Sisters")

(TOP)

"Sisters"

Previous post: "Escort of Shadows" by David and Hanali

Setting: USS ANUBIS, Deck 19, Brig -> Corridor

Stardate: 45010.0800

The forcefield dropped with a soft hum. Christie remained still for a moment, her hands clasped tightly in front of her, fingers pale from pressure. The doors to the brig opened, and Amanda Lopez bounced in first, her face lit with an innocent joy.

"You're out!" Amanda beamed, skipping the last two paces and wrapping Christie in a tight hug. "See? I told you it wouldn't be forever!"

The young woman stiffened at first, her body trembling in a barely contained shiver. A small, practiced smile broke through, more habit than joy. "Thanks, Amanda. I... wasn't sure what to expect."

Adriana followed a few steps behind her twin, her eyes alert. She carried herself with practiced calm, the Counselor's poise contrasting with Amanda's emotional openness. "How are you feeling, Christie?" she asked, voice even.

The young woman hesitated. The question was simple, but answering it wasn't. "I... I don't know. It feels like something's crawling under my skin. Like the light is too bright... but still not enough. Like I'm being watched from places light doesn't reach."

Adriana's brow furrowed, her head tilting slightly. "Is that in reference to Ya'Han? Or the device?"

Christie didn't answer immediately. Her gaze flicked to the corners of the brig, where shadows pooled despite the clean, uniform lighting. "Maybe both," she whispered.

Amanda looped an arm through Christie's as they exited into the corridor. "Don't worry about that stuff now. You're out, you're with me, and you're going to your real room! With pillows and a window and everything!"

Christie managed another fragile smile, but Adriana noticed the way her eyes never stopped moving. They tracked each alcove, each shadowy bulkhead junction, as if expecting something to leap out. Her pace was steady, but there was tension in her shoulders, her body betraying the war within.

They passed a junction where the lighting flickered for half a second, nothing unusual on its own, yet Christie flinched hard enough for Amanda to notice.

"Just a glitch," Amanda said gently, giving Christie's arm a reassuring squeeze. "You should've seen the first time I used a sonic shower; thought I'd teleported into a wind tunnel."

Adriana remained silent, pacing just behind them, her Counselor's eye catching every detail: the shallow breaths, the twitching fingers each time a corridor darkened, the glint of sweat on Christie's brow despite the climate control. None of it spoke of freedom, only fear. She was observing, assessing, but underneath the professional calm, there was concern. Deep concern. She had to stay detached. One of them had to be clear-eyed about what might come next.

The dynamic between Amanda and Christie was unmistakable. While Amanda practically glowed with excitement, her presence grounding and soothing, Christie's dependence on her was growing. So was the distance between Amanda and Adriana.

The bond Adriana had waited nearly two decades to reclaim with her twin seemed to be shifting, slipping into something else, something no longer solely hers.

-=-=-

Setting: USS ANUBIS, Deck 6, Corridor -> Guest quarters

Stardate: 45010.0810

They reached Deck 6, a complex silence shared between the three women. Emotions, concerns, and uncertainties hovered in the stillness between them. The door to the guest quarters opened with a soft hiss.

Cristhiane was inside, pacing near the window with nervous energy. The moment she saw Christie, she froze.

"Christie!" the mother cried out, her composure crumbling as she rushed forward.

The daughter tensed at first but did not pull away. Her mother's arms wrapped around her, and the younger woman's face remained frozen for a long second before she allowed her forehead to press against Cristhiane's shoulder.

"I'm sorry," Cristhiane whispered, her voice thick with emotion. "This is all my fault. Everything you've endured... the secrets, the blood tests, the manipulation. You never should have had to live through this."

Christie's breath caught. Her hands hovered, uncertain, then slowly settled on her mother's back. No words came, just a trembling exhale as silent tears carved paths down her cheeks.

Amanda stepped back, watching with a soft, understanding smile.

Adriana, arms crossed, leaned against the doorframe. Her gaze wasn't judgmental, but wary. Cristhiane's words, her tears, her guilt, they were sincere. But sincerity didn't erase the damage done. And sincerity didn't remove the Lokustaar coding buried deep inside Christie's genes.

She watched the shadows on the walls. They seemed ordinary enough. But Adriana couldn't help wondering if Christie had been right. If something was watching.

"We'll check in on you again shortly," Adriana said quietly, breaking the moment. "Let Security know if you need anything."

Cristhiane gave a tearful nod, still holding her daughter. Amanda leaned in, planting a quick kiss on Christie's cheek before turning to follow Adriana.

As the door closed behind them, Amanda smiled. "She needed that. You saw, right? She needed her mom."

Adriana gave a small nod. "Yes. She did."

But in her mind, Adriana wasn't thinking of hugs or apologies. She was thinking of black eyes, twitching fingers, and the way Christie had watched every shadow like it might bite.

-=-=-

Marissa Montonera-Lombardi

Lieutenant JG Adriana Lopez

Ship's Counselor & Junior Ambassador

USS ANUBIS

M25-007: USS ANUBIS: Gemma: 45010.1100 ("Operational Shadows")

(TOP)

"Operational Shadows"

Previous post: "Sisters" by Marissa

Setting: USS ANUBIS, Deck A-4, IGC

Stardate: 45010.1100

Near-total silence reigned in the IGC. Lights blinked in methodical patterns across the room's main interface wall as the current intel net fed into the ANUBIS' encrypted systems. A cascade of data danced across the screens: ship movements, encrypted comm bursts, merchant logs, and orbital surveillance timestamps.

Gemma stood at the primary station overlooking all others, arms folded, eyes locked on the flow of information as if willing it to behave. The dim blue of the room complemented her sharp features, the light throwing delicate shadows across her cheekbones. Even here, deep in the intel-gathering heart of the ANUBIS, Even in a room ruled by data and cold light, her presence bent the space around her.

One console pulsed yellow. She turned toward it, fingers sliding across the panel with precision. An orbital schematic of NYLA IV bloomed across the screen, showing a scatter of Ferengi patrol vectors, chaotic in appearance, but disturbingly effective in sealing off the Imperial seat.

"Border activity increasing," she muttered to herself. "No surprise. The Ferengi smell secrets like blood in water, and after the events that took place on the NORTHAL DRIFT, increased security was expected."

The IGC's passive tracking net confirmed multiple merchant vessels operating near NYLA IV, none flagged as threats, but all documented. Most of them were legitimate traders or supply haulers, though a few bore registration anomalies that smelled of private arms contractors with too many questions and not enough answers.

Another alert blinked open, this one tagged from the medical relay.

Na'Rin - Medical Update: Stable. No off-site transfers recorded.

Gemma narrowed her gaze and pulled the accompanying report to the side. It was current, hours old. High metabolic indicators, likely from induced sedation. Controlled environment, minimal external exposure. T'Lara would want to see this. So would Shar'El.

She tapped again. A new window opened, satellite footage and terrain mapping. The image hovered like a ghost: NYLA IV's northern mountains, jagged and cold. Nestled deep behind the Imperial Palace, the target waited.

"Found you," she said softly.

Na'Rin's retreat had been constructed deep inside the rock face. Not hidden, exactly, but inaccessible. Surrounding cliffs offered natural fortification, and the high concentration of mineral deposits rendered transporter locks unusable. Gemma enhanced the scan overlay, confirmed it again.

"No beam-in. No beam-out. That's not a retreat. That's a cage."

The internal sensors pinged gently, a shift in atmospheric monitors tied to the crew quarters. Gemma glanced toward the surveillance feeds; Ya'Han and Christie, each confined, each watched. Protocol, yes. But far from comforting.

Her eyes fell on Ya'Han's feed.

The former Sec/Tac sat in silence. Not meditating. Not resting. Simply... there.

Then, the Nylaan woman looked up. Her black hair drifted, unnatural, ghostlike, as if stirred by a wind that wasn't there.

The movement wasn't sudden, not theatrical, not the stuff of suspense fiction. But something in it, too precise, too timed, froze Gemma. For half a second, it felt like the woman wasn't looking at the wall-mounted camera… but through it.

Right at her.

A thousand fragments stirred within Gemma's mind; Neri raised a brow, Arennis whispered, Shinral tensed. Gabrielle prepared for sabotage. Even Kael, the quiet one, pulsed in the background.

"Too aware," Gemma said under her breath, closing the feed. "She knows," the ILO added, followed by a short, uneasy pause. "Could she be watching back?"

Gemma forced herself to take a moment to ground herself, casting her gaze onto another video feed, this one from Sickbay. Nathan, sleeping, resting, recovering. She almost smiled, just for a heartbeat. But instead, she looked away and sighed as she turned her focus back to the mountain structure.

"Surface insertion only," she stated into the log, activating the tactical prep node. "Imperial Guard presence confirmed. Topography and security grid suggest a minimum of three checkpoints between entrance and Na'Rin's inner sanctum. Multiple nested security systems. Surveillance drones. Thermal traps. The retreat was built to prevent escape."

A pause.

Or maybe to prevent rescue.

Gemma exhaled slowly, running a hand through her copper-tinged hair as Anya whispered, "Or maybe they just didn't want her leaving. Don't confuse gilded bars with freedom."

"The team will need to infiltrate from the mountain's southern base. No clean entry. Underground tunnels only. Expect motion sensors, automated sentry cannons, and probably a few living nightmares. Imperial security didn't survive the Sovereign's collapse by being lazy."

She keyed in a quick series of commands, updating the mission profile.

No beam-outs. No safety net.

Just the crew, on foot, walking into a mountain built by tyrants, fortified by fear, and still humming with the shadows of secrets that had never seen daylight.

And at the heart of it, Na'Rin, the woman who once birthed Ya'Han and now might hold the answers to what she was becoming.

Gemma's fingers hesitated over the console.

"Reach the prisoner. Or the prophet. Or the proof," she whispered. "Getting in is hard enough. Getting out… that's where everything unravels."

Behind her, the room pulsed with quiet data, unaware or uncaring of the lives its information would alter.

Gemma remained. Watching. Thinking. Listening to the shadows.

=-=

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

M25-008: USS ANUBIS: A'Janni: 45010.1130 ("Navigating the Unknown")

(TOP)

"Navigating the Unknown"

Previous post: "Operational Shadows" by Rachel

Setting: USS ANUBIS, Bridge

Stardate: 45009.1630

Space was supposed to be empty.

That was the lie at the heart of every star chart. A comforting illusion sold to cadets and civilians alike. Vast distances, open voids, neat vector paths between stars. No obstacles. No resistance. A playground for warp travel and Federation dreams.

But the Caitian knew better. Space was never empty. It was filled with variables; moving, shifting, evolving. Gravity wells, radiation bursts, hidden listening posts, opportunistic pirates… and worse. The void was not quiet. It breathed. It watched. And sometimes, it listened back.

A'Janni's claws hovered over the helm controls, his posture rigid but fluid, like a predator in mid-pounce. Cloaked, dark, and silent, the ANUBIS ghosted through space. Even with its advanced propulsion systems and state-of-the-art Ablative Cloaking Armor, they were a heartbeat away from detection if he got lazy. Many words had been used over the years to describe the FCO, but lazy was never one of them.

"Course holding," he reported evenly. "Speed adjusted to match passive traffic along the fringe of the Drolak Corridor. That way, any unexpected scan should dismiss us as a sensor echo or some sort of miscalibration. That's *if* they even pick us up at all."

Captain Morningstar nodded once from the command chair, the man quiet, pensive. Behind him, Shar’El monitored real-time IGC telemetry. At Operations, Stark was doing what he had been doing since this mess with Ya'Han began: burying himself in work. Across the bridge, the Tactical station was manned by Zub Enel, silent and imposing, a physical reminder of everything they had lost… and everything they still might.

That presence served as a constant reminder of why they were doing this. The reason why they were sneaking into Ferengi space, violating sovereign borders, and edging closer to the Imperial seat of a vicious tyrant and an unloved father.

Because one of their own might not be who she used to be.

And because the deadly device buried in the Quantum Physics Lab was still there… floating... waiting.

A'Janni flexed one hand, adjusting their yaw ever so slightly to slide past the projected scanning arc of a merchant convoy. Gemma's intel had mapped out most of the patrol vectors, but even her predictive models left room for improvisation. That was his role.

Guiding the ANUBIS through a ghost corridor in the void between stars was nothing special for someone like him. He had done harder runs, dirtier ones, in service of objectives far less noble. But what set his ears twitching now wasn't the nearby convoy, or their cargo, or whatever vile business was taking them into Ferengi space. The danger, as the FCO saw it, was the passengers aboard the ANUBIS.

Christie had Lokustaar coding embedded in her genome. Ya'Han had something worse: a harmony with it. A resonance. She didn't flinch from the darkness; she had gladly welcomed it. No one said it aloud on the bridge, but they all felt it. That shift. That shadow at the edge of recognition.

The woman in quarters wasn't the same one who had once sparred with Zub, or chased down mercs on OLTHAR PRIME, or laughed with the crew over synthale in the mess. The real Ya'Han was somewhere else. Hidden. Replaced. Or worse… waiting.

He'd voiced his objection at the briefing. Formally. Tactically. The mission posed unacceptable risks: diplomatic, strategic, existential. But he was a Lieutenant. Flight Control. He gave his opinion, then obeyed the orders given. That was the job. And he would perform it flawlessly until either the ANUBIS reached its target, or the stars burned out around them.

NYLA IV loomed far ahead, a world steeped in silence and political decay. Somewhere on that planet, Ya'Han's mother held answers, or more questions cleverly disguised. A recluse entombed in a fortress built by paranoia and protected by rock, metal, and fear.

They'd have to go in on foot. No transporters. No quick extractions. Just steel, shadow, and will.

He didn't like it. He didn't like any of this, but he would do it.

He heard Stark murmur something at Ops. Zub shifted slightly at Tactical. Morningstar remained still.

A'Janni didn't speak. He just kept flying.

The stars on the main viewscreen shimmered past like whispers in a storm. Danger was all around them, and in countless possible forms. It could be a life-draining crystal-made creature hiding in a nearby spatial anomaly, or a biological weapon being transported onboard any of the trade vessels they were shadowing. Or worse… it was already aboard the ANUBIS. Watching. Listening. Waiting for the stars to look the other way.

=-=

Jayson Sousa

Lieutenant JG A'Janni

Flight Control Officer

USS ANUBIS, NCC-18501

Lieutenant Jayson Stark

Chief of Operations

USS ANUBIS, NCC-18501

M25-009: USS ANUBIS: Val'Bruxa: 45010.1730 ("Calculated Resonance")

(TOP)

"Calculated Resonance"

Previous post: "Controlled Variables" by Dawn

Setting: USS ANUBIS, Deck 12, Quantum Physics Lab

Stardate: 45010.1730

The device was silent. No pulse. No vibration. Just inert mass suspended in a containment field; a fossilized whisper from a forgotten war. It floated and spun with intoxicating precision, echoing a design too perfect not to admire.

Drayk stood with arms folded near the far side of the lab, his silver hair catching faint glints from the overhead diagnostics grid. Maya was still at her post, immersed in her scans, delicate fingers sliding across the console with mechanical elegance. She didn't acknowledge his entrance. She didn't need to. His presence was expected. Permitted, if not authorized. That distinction meant little between them.

"I rerouted power surges from the secondary EPS node to minimize phase bleed," he said without preamble.

Maya nodded once. "Appreciated. The phase lattice was distorting the magnetic shadow of the core."

"It's still resonating," he said quietly. "Not with energy, but with intent."

Her brow arched the smallest fraction, for the Shillian, it was an outburst of emotion. "That is not a scientific term."

Drayk offered a subtle tilt of his head. "Neither is 'safe.' But it's what they keep calling this thing."

They stood in silence for several seconds, observing the device's smooth outer casing as it shimmered faintly in the filtered glow of the forcefield surrounding it. Beneath its impenetrable shell, no readings deviated, no particle emissions fluctuated, yet both of them felt it.

Not imagined. Not irrational. Just an immeasurable presence that defied the laws of the cosmos.

"Ya'Han can feel it," Drayk said at last.

"I am aware," Maya replied. "Christie less so. Her neural oscillations register sporadic interference, but only sporadically. Ya'Han's patterns are synchronous. Too perfect. I can gather more data from them than from the device, which is honestly very frustrating. It is like seeing only one side of a highly complex equation, knowing that it balances, but being unable to prove it in any way. The device and Ya'Han are somehow entangled; I am just unable to show it."

Drayk nodded once. "Not entangled. Aligned."

Maya didn't respond, but her silence carried agreement. The device wasn't waking up. It was listening. Waiting. Matching the rhythm of something, or someone, on board.

"Keep scanning. Keep verifying." His voice sharpened by the edge of calculated urgency. "Just don't keep trusting it's asleep."

"I never did," she replied.

Drayk turned without ceremony and exited, the doors whispering closed behind him.

=-=

Setting: Deck 2, Corridor Outside Stark and Ya'Han's Quarters

Stardate: 45010.17500

The corridor lights glowed steady, but to Drayk, even the constancy of illumination felt like a lie. He stopped precisely three steps from the entrance to the quarters. He did not approach the door, did not touch the console. He was not here for proximity. He was here to verify containment integrity.

He tapped his PADD and brought up the diagnostics.

The system returned green.

Containment field: operational.

Bio-sensor grid: synced.

Failsafe protocols: armed.

Everything appeared perfect, yet something in him refused to accept it as fact. What he felt went deeper than data or instinct: it was survival encoded in his core.

His eyes lingered on the door.

From behind, footsteps.

Jayson Stark's gait was unmistakable, steady but unsure, rigid in purpose but eroded by doubt. He was off-shift, heading back to these quarters like a moth to a candle he was convinced wouldn't burn him.

Drayk didn't turn to face him. He spoke flatly.

"Field integrity holding. If it activates, you'll have five seconds. Maybe less."

Jayson slowed. "Why are you here?"

"Verifying. Engineering protocol."

"This isn't your job."

"It is now," Drayk said, finally turning. "Ya'Han is not a person anymore. She's a variable. Unstable coefficient. Too many unknowns. You think she's still your lover. I think you're about to prove you've forgotten how predators work."

Jayson's fists clenched. "She's not the enemy."

"No," Drayk agreed. "Not yet. That's why you're still alive."

A breath passed between them, not peace, but physics.

Jayson shook his head. "You're afraid of what she might become."

"Fear is a waste of time," Drayk replied. "She's not becoming anything. She's converging. The version of her that loved you: laughed, grieved, and fought by your side is gone. The being in there is nothing more than an echo. What's rising behind her eyes doesn't need your love. It just needs you close."

Jayson said nothing.

Drayk took one step closer, not enough to threaten, but enough to cut through illusion.

"When containment fails, I won't be here to save you. The additional fields aren't to protect you. They're to buy the rest of us a reaction window."

He paused at the PADD, locking the fail-safes with one final tap.

"You made your choice. So did I."

He turned, heading back down the corridor without looking back.

The ship was quiet. The device was still. But Drayk Val’Bruxa didn't believe in silence.

He believed in preparation.

=-=

Scott Grant

Lieutenant JG Drayk Val'Bruxa

Assistant Chief Engineer

USS ANUBIS, NCC-18501

"Perfection is not an ideal. It is a design parameter."

M25-010: USS ANUBIS: Ya'Han: 45010.1750 ("What She Sees Now")

(TOP)

"What She Sees Now"

Previous post: "Calculated Resonance" by Scott

-=-=-

Setting: USS ANUBIS, Deck 2, Stark and Ya'Han's Quarters

Stardate: 45010.1750

The lights were low, not by request but by rhythm. The ship dimmed during off-hours, not that Ya'Han kept track of those anymore. She sat motionless on the floor beside the window, the stars outside streaming past in long, silvery strands.

She didn't move. Didn't blink. She listened, not with ears or thoughts, but with something older. Something that stalked from the shadows, not observed from the open.

Everything on the ship purred with life: plasma conduits, pulsing heartbeats, the tang of regret, and the shivers of insecurity and fear. She could feel it all, and she found herself savoring the experience.

Behind the bulkhead, two presences drifted near. Familiar. Jayson, steady but splintered. And Drayk… jagged, cold, precise. They didn't speak, not loud enough to hear, but she sensed it: tension, fear, allegiance shifting like tectonic plates beneath the hull.

She exhaled.

Then her mind opened, not with permission but with purpose.

[/\] [/\] [/\] [/\] [/\]

FLASHBACK

[/\] [/\] [/\] [/\] [/\]

Setting: NYLA IV, Imperial Palace, Royal Audience Hall

Stardate: 18193.1700 (Age of 11)

The marble floors were too polished, the golden light too staged. Ya'Han stood with her hands clasped behind her back, posture perfect, chin lifted the way Nan taught her.

Purple hair crowned her like a brand, too regal, too exposed. She hated it then. She thought it made her a target. She hadn't yet realized that was the point.

Ze'Kon stood to the right of the High Sovereign, shoulders tight under his dark robe. A little younger then, his expressions more measured, though no less venomous.

She remembered his voice: silken, flat.

"Trade agreements with the Ferengi will destabilize border negotiations with RAVIN V." Ze'Kon reminded the ruler of NYLA IV.

"Let them destabilize," her father answered, casual as ever. "RAVIN V will fall in line once they see the profits we bring the Empire."

"At the cost of our military standing?"

"At the cost of nothing. They'll buy what we sell and beg for more."

He waved his hand dismissively, and the discussion ended.

Ya'Han thought nothing of it at the time. Ferengi trade deals. Empire expansion. Words that meant little to a girl barely past her second transformation. But Ze'Kon’s eyes had lingered, not on her father, but on her.

There had been no threat in his gaze. Only measurement, like a craftsman gauging the grain of wood before shaping it, or breaking it.

"You are… observant," he had said once, later that same day, when they crossed paths near the training atrium.

"Because I listen," she had replied, proud.

He tilted his head. "That may become a problem."

She thought it was praise. Now she saw it clearly.

He hadn't feared the High Sovereign's arrogance. He welcomed it' used it as cover. It gave men like Ze'Kon room to scheme, to plan. To invite shadows into halls gilded with pride.

The Lokustaar hadn't infiltrated NYLA IV overnight.

They had always been there.

And the man who ruled her world wasted his power not in ignorance, but in indifference. He did not defend his people. He used, abused and bartered them like worthless trash instead of using them as the pawns they were meant to be.

It was not hatred that filled her now. Only the sharp, bitter clarity of wasted potential.

[/\] [/\] [/\] [/\] [/\]

END OF FLASHBACK

[/\] [/\] [/\] [/\] [/\]

The memory dissolved like mist against the walls of her thoughts. She did not shiver. She did not weep. She sat, black hair pooling like night around her shoulders, her breathing so steady it could have belonged to the void itself.

And still… she felt them.

On the other side of the wall, Jayson stood just outside the door.

The hesitation in his body was more telling than a thousand words. His doubt. His hope. His grief.

He was remembering what Drayk had said.

And she…

She was remembering how little her father had done when he could have stopped everything.

When he could have stopped them.

The soft hiss of the doors parting cut through the silence like a breath drawn before battle.

Their eyes met. His smile, uncertain and earnest, wore his heart like an open wound. Love overruled caution; he stepped into the darkness willingly. And she would not stop him.

Her father would have openly used this fear to break him. Making an unwelcome display of it, a spectacle for everyone, forcing them to accept the High Sovereign as someone who needed to be feared. Fear was a powerful tool, one that her father had never truly learned to use to his advantage.

Ya'Han stared at the man nervously standing before her. His emotions clearly reflected on his face. There was no need for spectacle. Fear already served her. Jayson had made his choice. She would not waste him, as her father had wasted so many.

She would make him a willing part of her plan.

A man willing to do without any hesitation anything and everything she would demand of him.

-=-=-

Hanali Han

Lieutenant Ya'Han

Chief of Security / Tactical Officer

USS ANUBIS, NCC-18501

M25-011: USS ANUBIS: Stark: 45010.1800 ("Into the Abyss")

(TOP)

"Into the Abyss"

Previous post: "What She Sees Now" by Hanali

Setting: USS ANUBIS, Deck 2, Stark and Ya'Han's Quarters

Stardate: 45010.1800

The doors whispered shut behind him, locking the cold in with him.

Not a temperature drop, life support was steady, but a stillness that clung to the skin, brittle and wrong, like he'd stepped onto a moon where even echoes had died. The lights were dim, shadows long and unmoving, wrapping around the room like silent sentries. The couch remained exactly where it had always been, but it no longer welcomed him. The table still bore that faint scratch from when she dropped her comb. Such a small moment. So distant now. A month ago? Or in another life?

Jayson's eyes found her.

She once threw a pillow at him from that couch, laughing so hard she fell off the other side. He would trade his life for that sound.

She hadn't moved. She was a silhouette beside the viewport, legs folded beneath her, black hair cascading like smoke, her face a mask carved in obsidian. The stars stretched endlessly beyond her, silver veins in a corpse sky, and she looked more like part of that void than the woman he once held here, in this very room, laughing about replicated wine and how it could never match the real thing.

That laugh was gone now. Even the echo of it dared not be heard, accepting to be relinquished into a realm of forgotten moments in time. Despite the cold, despite the silence… he stepped forward.

"I remember when you told me," he whispered, his voice already trembling. "That day after sparring with Zub… your hair turned green and you flinched like you'd broken something sacred." He smiled faintly. "You thought I'd see you as someone else. But I didn't. I saw you. All of you, always have. All your colors. All your truths. And I loved you more."

Her head tilted slightly. Not toward him. Just… listening.

"Drayk thinks I'm a fool," he continued. "Maybe I am. Maybe I'm already dead and just haven't realized it yet."

He dared to take another step. The carpet muffled his footfalls, but his heartbeat thundered in his ears. She could hear it. He knew she could. Not just the sound, but the rhythm. The emotion. The fear he didn't bother to hide. Let her see it. Let her feel it.

"If you asked me to run," he whispered, "I wouldn't. If you asked me to stay… even knowing what you might do, I would."

The silence between them stretched like a blade, and yet he kept speaking. He had to. His voice was the only tether left.

"I've already lost you once. To a version of me that wasn't real. I can't...” he swallowed, forcing the emotion back before it broke him completely. "I won't lose you again. Not to the darkness. Not to anyone. Even if I'm standing on the edge of a black hole and you're the one pulling me in."

Still no answer. The silence was deafening.

He looked down at his hands, his breath shaking, but his hands steady.

"I know you're not the same," he admitted. "I know there's something else in you. Something older. Something darker. But I also know... you're listening. Somewhere, beneath all that quiet, you're still there. And I love you. Not the memory. Not the idea. You. All of you. Even the parts that scare the hell out of me."

At last, he knelt beside her, not out of strength, but surrender. He didn't touch her. He couldn't. Not because he feared her... but because a deeper part of him feared that if he did, she might disappear, or worse, that he would.

Instead, he sat there, close enough to feel the gravity of her presence, like she was a singularity in flesh, compressing everything he was into this final act of devotion.

"I'm not here to save you," he said softly. "I'm here to be with you. Even if the cost is me."

Her eyes found his. Black. Endless. Not eyes, but event horizons. No warmth. No recognition. Just hunger, veiled in silence.

And still… he smiled.

Because in that infinite dark, he chose to see light. A flicker. A fracture. A whisper of the woman who once held him close when nightmares came.

He clung to it, real or not, and whispered the only truth that remained.

"I love you… now and forever."

And so, he stayed. He had to, even if it meant he would never leave.

=-=

Jayson Sousa

Lieutenant Jayson Stark

Chief of Operations

USS ANUBIS, NCC-18501

M25-012: USS ANUBIS: Lopez: 45011.0125 ("Reflections of Shadows")

(TOP)

"Reflections of Shadows"

Previous post: "Into the Abyss" by Jayson

Setting: USS ANUBIS, Corridor

Stardate: Unknown

Amanda wandered the corridors of the ANUBIS barefoot, her silent steps ghosting over the cold deck plating. The lights were dimmed, flickering, unsettling, and the comforting pulse of the engines was gone. The ship felt… wrong. Empty.

Her breath hitched as she passed a viewport. Nothing. No stars, no planets, just darkness so complete it might have swallowed the universe.

"Hello?" Her voice was barely a whisper, and yet it managed to echo down the empty corridor.

No answer.

Her fingers brushed against the wall, craving the contact, the solidity, the realness. But even the ship's skin felt wrong, cooler than they should be, pulsing faintly beneath her palm like they were alive, or worse, aware.

She turned a corner. The lights flickered again.

She stopped.

A smear of red streaked the wall ahead. Dried. Old. But unmistakable. Her breath caught, she stumbled back, heart pounding, then froze at the hiss of a door opening behind her. No one was there, yet she could feel a presence within the shifting shadows.

She was suffocating. The silence was too heavy. Her chest constricted as a whisper of thought clawed its way to the surface.

Ya’Han.

She had seen the signs, anger, desperation, the growing distance in her eyes. Amanda had tried to believe they'd find another way, that the device would stay dormant, untouched. But what if, in the dark of the night, with everyone asleep and the weight of a thousand expectations crushing her, Ya'Han had...

No. Amanda shook her head, trembling. "Please no…"

Then she saw it, faint violet light bleeding from under the door to the Black Hole Lounge.

She moved closer, each step harder than the last. The corridor seemed to stretch. The lights above her began to die, one by one, with each breath she took.

By the time she reached the door, only shadows remained.

She lifted her hand to the panel. No chirp. No lights. Nothing.

The door slid open anyway. And beyond it, darkness so deep it felt like falling into the end of time.

-=-=-

Setting: USS ANUBIS, Cristhiane and Christie's Quarters

Stardate: Unknown

In a silent room, lit only by the soft blue glow of starlight through a window, Christie stared into a mirror.

At first, she thought it was just a trick of the light, a moment of disorientation. The face staring back was hers, but it wasn’t. The angles were off. The shape of the jaw. The color of the eyes. The tilt of the brow, like a memory from a dream she didn't know she had.

Her hands stayed still at her sides, but in the mirror… the reflection moved, raising a hand.

A shiver skated up her spine. She stepped back. The girl in the glass leaned forward.

Christie's breath fogged the surface, but the stranger's breath did not.

"Who…?" she whispered, reaching out. Her fingers met cool glass.

The reflection did not.

Her throat tightened. The image blinked slowly, tilting its head with a curious sadness. And then, it smiled. Not cruelly. Not mockingly. But with a gentle sorrow that somehow made everything worse.

She stumbled back.

Behind her, the door remained closed.

She was alone.

The reflection whispered a word, one Christie couldn't hear but felt in her bones. It sounded like… her name.

Or maybe not her name at all.

-=-=-

Setting: USS ANUBIS, Deck 2, Lopez's Quarters

Stardate: 45011.0125

Adriana sat beside her sister, panic etched across her face, helpless as Amanda screamed and flailed in a nightmare she couldn't reach. Whatever the Counselor tried, said, or did, she could not wake her twin sister.

What made it worse was that Amanda kept calling out Adriana's name, as if the sister had somehow vanished, swallowed by the abyss itself.

Finally, Amanda woke and immediately grabbed hold of her sister when she saw her sitting there next to her.

"It's okay," Adriana whispered, cradling her. "Just a nightmare. I'm here. I'm real. And I'm not going anywhere."

-=-=-

Marissa Montonera-Lombardi

Lieutenant JG Adriana Lopez

Ship's Counselor & Junior Ambassador

USS ANUBIS

M25-013: USS ANUBIS: Maya: 45011.0130 ("Anomalous Event Classification Pending")

(TOP)

---

"Anomalous Event Classification Pending"

(Previous Post: "Reflections of Shadows")

---

Setting: USS ANUBIS, Deck 12, Quantum Physics Laboratory

Stardate: 45011.0130

The laboratory maintained its customary silence. Not unusually so, as this section of Deck 12 had been sound-dampened to minimize vibrational interference, but during this shift, the silence carried a measurable density, a quantifiable texture, an atmospheric pressure differential.

Lieutenant Commander Maya remained seated at the primary workstation, posture uneven, hands resting lightly on either side of the console. Her breathing was steady, artificially so, an intentional act designed to mimic calm. She had regained consciousness precisely nine minutes and forty-seven seconds prior, face down atop the interface glass, the embedded dermal sensors having automatically calibrated to her bio-signature during the involuntary rest period.

That in itself had been unacceptable. Sleep, particularly involuntary sleep, had no place in an active containment environment, especially one involving an object so categorically unquantifiable.

The device maintained its position, as it had for the previous seventy-two hours and fourteen minutes of observation, suspended at exactly one point zero zero zero metres above the reinforced magnetic lattice. Its rotation was casual, elegant, unhurried. A perfect onyx cube, its surfaces uninterrupted by seam or marking. No glyphs. No glow. No deviation. The containment field, multi-phasic and triple-redundant, hummed faintly in the ultraviolet spectrum. There was no fluctuation. No lapse. All systems nominal.

Except for the integrity of the recorded observations made by Maya.

She blinked again, slowly, carefully, as if recalibrating her own visual cortex. Every external sensor, from the internal telemetry grid to the local environmental monitors of the Quantum Physics Lab, confirmed a continuous, uneventful session of observation. No energy surges. No containment breach. No anomalous emissions. No interruptions to her presence. Even the internal security footage, already reviewed three times, showed her head lowering to the console at 0048, followed by a full forty-two minutes of stillness.

And yet…

The moment she had opened her eyes, everything had been wrong.

The containment field... gone. The device... no longer drifting at idle spin, but rotating at an accelerating velocity along two opposing axes, an impossible torque that defied its lack of apparent mass. Twin bands of light, glyphs of alien origin, had ignited across its surface; one golden and pulsating, the other a cold, silken blue. Together they wove around the smooth surface of the cube in oscillating rhythm, the harmonics vibrating not in sound but in sensation. A pulse. A resonance. A tide against the dermis.

She had felt it, no, she still felt it. An echo against her arms, the exposed patches of skin along her forearms crawling as if touched by opposing charges. Positive and negative. Radiant and null. Warmth and void. The polarity of opposites, not in opposition but in conjunction. She could not explain the sensation, only describe its residue.

Rising from the console, she had rushed to the auxiliary sensor grid, keying in a full-spectrum recalibration of the ambient field. There had been no response. No matching fluctuations. No power consumption anomalies. Not even a brief spike in environmental differentials. According to every instrument aboard the ANUBIS, the cube had not changed. Nothing had happened. Not a single sensor had recorded even a microsecond of altered output. The logs were clean. Impeccably clean.

The fingers of the Shillian scientist danced across the panel again, defiantly so, prompting a manual review of her own bio-readings. Pupillary dilation at 0131. Heart rate spike. Cortisol elevation. All consistent with the transition from REM-cycle to conscious alertness. Neural patterns supported a classification of "vivid dreaming." The conclusions drawn by the medical interface of the ANUBIS were unsurprising and, from a diagnostic standpoint, infuriating.

"False sensory interpretation due to fatigue," she stated aloud, her vocal patterns indicating a confidence interval of merely thirty-seven percent. "Dream state misattributed to reality upon abrupt awakening. Typical for subjects in conditions of chronic overexertion."

She stood, slowly, every joint in her body protesting the shift in posture. Her legs felt unsteady, not weak, but untethered. As if the gravity plating had momentarily lost sync with her mass vector. A gravitational vector displacement anomaly. She inhaled deeply and turned toward the containment platform, which stood... unchanged.

The device, hovering peacefully, rotating at a slow, almost meditative pace. No glyphs. No glow. The containment field perfectly intact, its signature pristine. If not for the residual neural pathway activation clinging to her mind, she might have believed she had imagined everything.

And perhaps she had, and that was the most infuriating part of it all. Her epidermis continued to register phantom electrical conductivity patterns. Her nerve endings maintained residual activation consistent with polarized energy exposure. Her nerves had not forgotten what her eyes could no longer prove.

She walked closer, within the secondary threshold of the containment boundary, and paused. She did not reach out. She would not be so reckless. But she did stare. Deeply. With intent.

"You are not inert," she whispered. "You are observing. Responding. Selectively so."

The cube offered no reply. It merely spun, elegant and cold, beyond comprehension.

Maya turned away, not in defeat, but in strategic withdrawal. There was nothing more she could extract now, not with conventional sensors, not with exhausted logic. She needed rest. Not data. Not equations. Rest.

And yet, even as she moved toward the side alcove to initiate the automated security lockdown of the laboratory, she hesitated.

The feeling had not faded. She could still sense the energy along her arms.

Not pain. Not heat. Not radiation. Just a lingering presence that refused to subside.

Like the wake of a current that had passed through her without permission, or warning.

The logs had recorded nothing, but she had. Every one of her senses confirmed something that the instruments refused to even acknowledge. And in the absence of hard, scientific proof, Maya had only one certainty left.

She would continue to maintain, continue to document for the scientific record that an undocumented phenomenon had occurred. Even if every instrument aboard this vessel registered otherwise.

---

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)

M25-014: USS ANUBIS: Shar'El: 45011.0700 ("A Troubled Morning")

(TOP)

"A Troubled Morning"

Previous post: "Anomalous Event Classification Pending" by Jessica

-=-=-

Setting: USS ANUBIS, Deck 1, Captain's Ready Room

Stardate: 45011.0700

The door to the Captain's Ready Room slid open at exactly 0700. As usual. Commander Shar'El stepped inside with practiced ease, a padd tucked neatly beneath her arm. Her posture was a little stiffer than usual, an expression of concern dancing on her features. She had performed this routine hundreds of times, but the weight behind today's words pressed heavier than usual.

Captain Erik Morningstar looked up from his desk, the edge of a steaming mug casting ghosted curls of vapor into the light above. He didn't speak at first, simply nodded for her to proceed. That, too, was routine.

"Rough night?" Morningstar asked, though concern outweighed any attempt at levity.

"I've been reviewing the overnight logs," she began, offering the padd across the desk. "There's a pattern forming, unofficial, unconfirmed, but impossible to ignore."

Erik accepted the device, his brow furrowing as he scrolled. Names flashed across the screen, crew members from across departments: Engineering, Medical, Science, even the lower decks. Notes beside each: disturbed sleep, reports of intense nightmares, disorientation, short-term memory lapses. A few had come to Sickbay, others had reported directly to their department heads. Most had kept quiet unless prompted.

Erik's jaw set as he looked back up at her. "How many?"

"Two dozen that we know of. Maybe more. Some haven't spoken up yet, or don't realize the severity of what they're experiencing."

"These are more than just 'stress' dreams," Erik noted.

Shar'El's expression darkened slightly. "They are. I've… caught fragments. Residual traces of fear, confusion, flashes of things that didn't, or couldn't, happen. Even in passing, some of the crew's memories are leaking. That doesn't usually happen unless the memory is extremely vivid… or deliberately placed close to the surface."

Erik leaned back, the padd lowering to his desk. "You think the device is responsible?"

"I think it’s possible. But it's not the only possible explanation. We're in deep space, cloaked, running a high-stress mission with half the crew walking on metaphorical eggshells. There are psychological variables at play."

"And Ya'Han," he sighed, the description given hitting a little closer to home than he might have liked.

Shar'El paused.

"As a possible cause, there is no way to confirm," she admitted. "On the other end, she hasn't reported any dreams, but her presence feels different. Stronger. More unsettling. And she's not the only one. Gemma, Christie, even Amanda... there's a shift in all of them. There's a growing sense of being watched. Of not being alone, even when no one else is there."

Erik stood and paced toward the window, the stars streaking by in quiet, glittering silence. He folded his arms.

"Have you spoken with T'Lara or Adriana?"

"Not yet," Shar'El replied. "But I will. If this is neurological, T'Lara will know. If it's emotional or shared trauma surfacing, Adriana might help us spot the pattern. Either way, we need a diagnostic net cast wide, and soon."

He nodded slowly. "Agreed. Run this through both of them. Quietly. I don't want to start a shipwide panic unless we confirm something tangible."

Shar'El gave a small, grim smile. "Understood."

A long pause followed, during which the low hum of the ship seemed to amplify, wrapping around the room like a breath being held.

"I don't like what this suggests," Erik said finally. "Dreams, visions… whatever this is, it's spreading. And if it's tied to the device, or to Ya'Han, we may be dealing with something not entirely physical."

"Or not entirely real," Shar'El added. "But very dangerous. Pretty much describes the Lokustaar in a nutshell. Deadly shadows that exist in the unknown between reality and fear."

He turned back to face her. "We'll follow the science, but keep your instinct sharp. I've seen too many things in this galaxy that don't show up on tricorders, and there is far too much we don't understand about the Lokustaar."

Shar'El's eyes narrowed slightly, contemplative. "I'll keep looking, Erik. But I don't think this is just the device. Not anymore. I think something else might be listening. Maybe even dreaming back."

A chill lingered in the air between them.

"Then we better wake up before it does," Erik said.

The silence that followed wasn't comfortable, and it lingered long after Shar'El was gone.

=-=

Tiffany Reeve

Commander Shar'El

Executive Officer

USS ANUBIS

M25-015: USS ANUBIS: Val'Bruxa: 45011.0730 ("The Place Where No One Watches")

(TOP)

"The Place Where No One Watches"

Previous post: "A Troubled Morning" by Tiffany

Setting: USS ANUBIS, Deck 22, Main Engineering -> Deck 23, Anti-matter coolant array corridor

Stardate: 45011.0730

The diagnostic panel flickered with metronomic precision. Drayk Val'Bruxa stared through it without seeing.

EPS flow: optimal. Plasma regulators: balanced. Not even a micron of drift in the modulation cycles. Everything functioned exactly as designed. As engineered. As intended. And that was the problem.

Perfection should have brought clarity. Instead, it taunted him, a lie wrapped in symmetry, a system so flawlessly tuned it felt like a shroud drawn over decay. He'd slept for just less than four hours. Enough to function. Too much to forget.

The nightmare hadn't been violent. Violence was simple, quantifiable. This had carved deeper, into the spaces between certainty and doubt where even engineered minds could fracture.

He descended one level, to the antimatter coolant array maintenance corridor beneath Main Engineering. Here, the ship's sensors thinned, a design oversight or intentional blind spot, he'd never determined which. The arrays murmured with rhythmic precision, their pulse matching the ANUBIS's heartbeat. It was the only place aboard where observation felt incomplete.

Where thoughts could exist unwatched.

Which made it the only acceptable place to examine what he'd dreamed.

[DREAM SEQUENCE]

The vault was empty. Not inert, empty. Sterile white walls that flickered like frost on failing crystal, as if the light itself had grown tired of illuminating nothing.

He stood inside it, stripped bare. Not of clothing, but of purpose. No rank insignia, no authority codes, no function. Just flesh and bone reduced to their essential components: a child's frame, smaller and unfinished, reverting to the moment before engineering had made him useful.

Across the chamber floated the device. Same dimensions. Same obsidian surface. But this one breathed. Each exhalation contracted the walls; each inhalation expanded them. The rhythm was organic, patient, aware.

He tried to move toward it. His legs wouldn't respond. He tried to speak, to issue commands, invoke protocols, assert control. No voice emerged. His hands, young and trembling, possessed no strength to shape reality.

The device pulsed once, creating a shockwave of energy that traveled through his body, his soul, and the very essence of who he was... his genetic makeup.

Something crawled beneath his skin. Not pain, unmaking. The genetic architecture that defined Drayk Val'Bruxa began to dissolve, strand by strand, purpose by engineered purpose.

"You were never chosen." Satella's voice, soft as starlight, emerged from the emptiness behind him. "Only assembled."

He turned. No Satella. No Ya’Han. Only the shadow that knew their voices.

The voice shifted, darker now, familiar in its newfound coldness. Ya'Han. "You cannot engineer loyalty."

Behind her words, something vast stirred, shadows with eyes that had never learned to blink.

Then the mirror appeared. His reflection stared back, not young, not old, simply him. But this version smiled with terrible recognition, as if seeing through a deception that had fooled everyone else.

"You are not afraid of me," it said in his exact voice. "You are afraid that I am real..." The reflection leaned closer to the glass.

"...and you are not."

[END DREAM SEQUENCE]

The diagnostic panel chimed softly. Field distortion in the secondary buffer coils, a negligible 0.003% variance. Drayk corrected it without conscious thought, his fingers dancing across the interface with programmed efficiency.

But his hand lingered on the console.

His fear wasn't Satella's death. That agony had been processed, analyzed, and incorporated into his operational matrix long ago. Nor was it Ya'Han's transformation; she represented a variable, yes, but variables could be contained, countered, neutralized.

No.

His nightmare had whispered something far more corrosive: that beneath all his calculations and preparations, Drayk Val'Bruxa might be nothing more than product. A function executing within parameters set by other functions. And if he could be engineered... So could his dissolution.

That reflection, the smiling one, hadn't been some twisted doppelganger. It had been authenticity unshackled from design. A version of himself that didn't serve survival imperatives or optimization protocols. One that didn't need perfection to wield power.

One that simply was, without justification or purpose.

And that was the most dangerous variable of all.

He initiated a silent biosensor sweep of Main Engineering, checking for anomalies, shadows, anything that might validate the crawling certainty that something had shifted in the ship's deeper rhythms.

No deviations detected. No threats identified. No watchers confirmed.

Yet somewhere in the quantum foam between thought and certainty, an echo persisted: **You cannot engineer loyalty.**

He sealed the diagnostic and returned to his duties. The nightmare would remain unshared, unrecorded, unacknowledged.

Some truths were too dangerous to voice... even in one’s own mind.

=-=

Scott Grant

Lieutenant JG Drayk Val'Bruxa

Assistant Chief Engineer

USS ANUBIS, NCC-18501

"Perfection is not an ideal. It is a design parameter."

M25-016: USS ANUBIS: T'Lara/Lopez: 45011.0815 ("Nightmare Variables")

(TOP)

"Nightmare Variables"

Previous post: "The Place Where No One Watches" by Scott

Setting: USS ANUBIS, Deck 7, Sickbay

Stardate: 45011.0815

"This is a bad idea," Zub muttered as he guided Christie into Sickbay, his broad Voth frame carving a path through sterile light and deeper uncertainty. The scales along his neck betrayed his tension despite his measured tone. Cristhiane followed close behind her daughter, one protective hand on the girl's back as if the act of guiding could shield her from whatever might come. Amanda entered with her characteristic bounce, seemingly unshaken by the morning's revelations, while Adriana brought up the rear, her Counselor's eyes sharp and assessing.

"It was either we brought them here," T'Lara replied without looking up from her console, her hybrid heritage evident in the precise efficiency of her movements, "or I could have requisitioned Lt. Val'Bruxa to relocate half the neural mapping array to their quarters. This option presented superior logistical parameters."

"Whatever you say Doc," Zub sighed, taking a defensive position at the entrance to Sickbay.

The diagnostic panel above the primary biobed hummed to life as Christie settled onto its surface. Amanda claimed the adjacent bed without hesitation, their fingers brushing once, accidental or instinctive, the distinction proved irrelevant. Adriana positioned herself behind them both, her posture rigid as Amanda's touch lingered on Christie a second too long. That ache behind her ribs, the old ache, tightened with quiet familiarity. She was the sister, not her.

T'Lara initiated her scans without preamble, her fingers dancing across the interface with surgical precision. She adjusted for cranial conductivity, endocrine resonance, neurotransmitter levels, and seventeen other metrics. Readouts cascaded across the screen in neat columns: clean, stable, biologically sound.

"No viral agents, parasitic contamination, or neurodegenerative markers detected," she announced. "Standard physiological parameters remain within acceptable ranges. No systemic anomalies present that could account for the reported nightmare phenomena."

"So it's not biological," Adriana observed, though her tone suggested she had already reached this conclusion.

"Not in any conventional sense," T'Lara confirmed, her Vulcan heritage asserting itself in the measured response. "Which necessitates expanding our investigative parameters. Captain Morningstar and Commander Shar'El require answers. As do I."

The displays shifted, neural oscillation patterns replacing basic vitals. Delta, gamma, theta waves; all registering within standard Federation medical baselines, yet... T'Lara's posture stiffened almost imperceptibly.

"Lieutenant Commander Maya reported a similar experience," Adriana offered. "A vision of the device exhibiting rotational acceleration with two distinct glyph sets achieving luminescent states."

"I have reviewed her documentation," T'Lara replied, her dark eyes narrowing at the display. "No corresponding anomalies were recorded by shipboard sensors. If the device did activate, it did so through mechanisms that circumvented our detection protocols."

"And yet eighty-seven crew members experienced disrupted sleep cycles," Adriana pressed. "That suggests a pattern beyond coincidence."

"Statistically improbable to the point of impossibility," T'Lara agreed. "I have catalogued the reports. Thematic overlaps include sensations of loss, confinement, and dissociation. Forty-three percent contained imagery consistent with shadow-based constructs or unilluminated corridor systems." Her gaze met the Counselor's. "Classic fear-response imprinting."

"What about Jayson's status?" Adriana asked quietly.

T'Lara raised one eyebrow, a gesture that somehow managed to convey both Vulcan logic and Romulan calculation. "No report submitted. Commander Shar'El noted his arrival on the bridge this morning exhibited unusual composure. Well-rested. No broadcast of emotional or troubling memories either."

"He shared quarters with Ya'Han," Adriana whispered, the implication hanging in the recycled air like a toxin.

"Precisely." T'Lara moved to the adjacent console, initiating a deeper spectral analysis of Christie's neural patterns, then Amanda's. Her hybrid heritage allowed her to process the data with both Vulcan precision and Romulan intuition. What she discovered violated both perspectives.

"Something wrong?" Zub asked from across the room, noticing the shift in the CMO's posture.

"I anticipated significant variations between subjects. One possesses Lokustaar genetic modifications, the other does not. However..." She activated the comparative overlay, superimposing both neural maps. "Synchronous variance patterns exist that defy biological explanation."

Adriana stepped closer, her professional training warring with personal concern. "They share no genetic relationship?"

"None documented in Federation records," T'Lara stated. "Yet if presented with this data absent context, I would classify these subjects as siblings. Identical twins would not exhibit closer neurological synchronization in these regions."

Something cold settled in Adriana's chest. "What about my patterns?"

T'Lara required no permission. She adjusted the scanner's focus to Adriana and initiated a passive scan, her eyes tracking multiple data streams simultaneously. Her Romulan instincts recognized the pattern before her Vulcan logic could categorize it.

"Distinctive signature, yet compatible harmonics detected," she reported, her voice dropping to a more clinical register. "All three subjects display triadic resonance, consistent, active, and neurologically anomalous. You and Amanda exhibit expected twin-wave affinity. Christie's patterns echo Amanda's with equivalent intensity, but through different neurological pathways. Subconscious-level integration."

"That's impossible," Adriana breathed.

T'Lara remained silent, reviewing the triadic overlay. The waveforms moved together with disturbing symmetry, neural threads woven from some invisible loom that operated beyond genetic parameters.

"Could this result from their shared experience in the Yautja Training Matrix?" Adriana asked, desperation creeping into her professional composure. "Months of synchronized trauma exposure. Perhaps some form of neuroplastic bonding occurred?"

"A viable hypothesis," T'Lara acknowledged. "Extended trauma exposure under synchronized conditions can influence neuroplastic development. However, this pattern transcends mere bonding. It suggests active resonance. A transpersonal echo operating at quantum neural levels." She paused, allowing both her Vulcan and Romulan heritage to process the implications. "Comparable to a harmonic frequency that aligns not only memory engrams, but reactive responses to external stimuli. Including dream states."

Cristhiane stepped forward, maternal fear overriding caution. "Is this condition permanent?"

T'Lara turned to address her directly, her expression carefully neutral. "Unknown. However, if this pattern continues its current evolution, it suggests these subjects are progressing beyond mental linkage. It may indicate that the same force affecting Lieutenant Ya'Han is propagating through additional vectors."

"And the source?" Adriana pressed. "The device? Ya'Han? Both operating in conjunction?"

"I cannot yet isolate the primary catalyst," T'Lara admitted, a concession that clearly disturbed her scientific sensibilities. "However, I now theorize that understanding this phenomenon requires examining not only affected subjects, but identifying unaffected personnel. And determining why they remain resistant."

T'Lara returned her attention to the display, allowing the three-wave overlay to rotate slowly, casting pale luminescence across her hybrid features. There was a pattern buried within the quantum noise, one that her dual heritage allowed her to perceive more clearly than pure Vulcan logic or Romulan intuition alone.

Patterns, once identified, could be disrupted. But the voice that spanned the divide of her dual inheritance whispered otherwise. This was not infection. Nor drift. It was intention—coded not in genes, but in design. This was an intentional design.

And somewhere aboard the ANUBIS, someone or something was still drawing the blueprints.

=-=

Dawn Bohr

Lt. Commander T'Lara

Chief Medical Officer

USS ANUBIS, NCC-18501

and

Marissa Montonera-Lombardi

Lieutenant JG Adriana Lopez

Ship's Counselor & Junior Ambassador

USS ANUBIS

M25-017: USS ANUBIS: Lopez: 45011.0820 ("Reflections of Shadows")

(TOP)

"Reflections of Shadows"

Previous post: "Nightmare Variables" by Dawn and me

Setting: USS ANUBIS, Corridor

Stardate: 45011.0820

Adriana remained still. Not frozen, her body breathed, her heart beat, her hands trembled almost imperceptibly at her sides, but still in a way that had nothing to do with muscle tension and everything to do with twenty years of searching finally crashing into this single, devastating moment.

She stared at the triadic overlay, the three neural signatures weaving across the display like synchronized dancers in a ballet she'd spent two decades trying to join. The irony wasn't lost on her. She'd become a Counselor, learned to read minds and hearts and broken souls, all so she could understand the voice that whispered to her in the dark. Amanda's voice. The sister who had guided her through her worst moments, who had somehow reached across impossible distances to keep Adriana from giving up entirely.

"The nightmares will pass. I promise. Just hold on a little longer."

"You're stronger than you know. You always were."

Amanda's voice was as clear then as it was now, but there was another voice, another presence, creating a triangle of sisterly behaviors that Adriana was having a hard time dealing with.

Amanda. Christie. Herself.

But it was Amanda and Christie whose movements were in perfect step, whose minds danced together in ways that made Adriana's twenty-year connection look like static.

T'Lara's words cut through her like a scalpel: "Identical twins would not exhibit closer neurological synchronization in these regions."

Her professional mind understood. Shared trauma created bonds that transcended normal human connection. The Matrix had forged something between Amanda and Christie that couldn't be replicated, couldn't be competed with. It was textbook psychology, really. She could probably write a paper on it.

She could also feel it killing her, one synchronized brainwave at a time.

Her nails pressed into her palms, seeking pain, seeking anything that felt as real as the ache spreading through her chest. It didn't work. Nothing worked when your sister, your twin, the person you'd built your entire life around finding, was choosing someone else.

Amanda and Christie were right there, only a meter apart on their respective biobeds. Amanda was chatting softly, probably about another "funny dream" or the replicator's strange behavior, and Christie was listening with that faint, almost childlike smile. The conversation was warm. Easy. Intimate.

We used to talk like that, Adriana thought, and the memory hit her like a phaser blast to the chest.

Not the awkward, careful conversations they'd had since the rescue. Not Amanda's polite gratitude or her confused questions about how much time had really passed. But the real conversations. The ones that had sustained Adriana through Academy training, through her first posting, through the nights when she'd wanted to give up the search and accept that her sister was gone forever.

But Amanda didn't remember those conversations... or chose not to. She didn't talk about reaching out across the void to save her sister's sanity. To Amanda, those twenty years were a blink. A moment between being six and being twenty-six, between being taken and being found.

To Adriana, they were everything. They were Amanda's hand pulling her back from the edge, over and over again.

And now Amanda's hand was reaching for Christie instead.

Her breath caught, a tiny, barely audible sound that she hoped T'Lara couldn't hear. The Vulcan was already moving on to another scan, probably calculating how this triadic resonance might relate to the psychological disruptions spreading through the ANUBIS. Logical. Necessary. The kind of thinking Adriana should be doing.

Instead, she was drowning.

**How can you just ignore me like that?** she wanted to scream. **How can you ignore that you saved me a thousand times? That I became who I am because of you?**

But she knew how. Trauma rewrote everything. The Matrix had carved new pathways in Amanda's brain, created new priorities, new connections. Christie understood the nightmares, the hypervigilance, the way Amanda flinched when the lights dimmed too quickly. Christie had lived it.

Adriana had only lived the aftermath. Twenty years of aftermath.

She forced herself to look at Amanda, really look. The sister's expression was soft, serene, but her eyes betrayed her. Always moving, always scanning for threats that existed only in her memory now. Amanda was afraid, bone-deep afraid, whether she admitted it or not.

And Christie, with her almost naive enthusiasm and her desperate need to fix broken things, could sense that fear. Of course she rushed to soothe it. That was who Christie was... Amanda’s calm in the storm, a force of nature even her mother couldn’t stop. Not that she wanted to. Christie was her strength, just as she had become Amanda's and countless others.

But what if that connection was doing more than engaging Christie? What if it was stealing Amanda away from her?

**What if I lose her again?** The thought hit her like decompression; sudden, violent, stealing the air from her lungs. She'd spent twenty years getting Amanda back. Twenty years of her life, her career, her relationships, her sanity. Everything she was had been built around finding her sister.

And now Amanda was slipping away again, not into an alien Matrix but into someone else's arms, someone else's mind, someone else's trauma.

Someone who wasn't Adriana.

Her hands moved behind her back, fingers interlacing so tightly her knuckles turned white. She needed a moment. Just one moment to fall apart before the mask went back on, before she had to be the professional again, the Counselor who understood why this was happening even as it destroyed her.

Before she could take that breath, the doors to Sickbay hissed open. Gemma entered.

The ILO moved like smoke, like someone who existed slightly outside of normal space-time. Her eyes swept the room, Zub at the door, the twins on their biobeds, T'Lara with her scans, and then settled on Adriana with surgical precision... And held.

It wasn't confrontation. It wasn't compassion. But it was seeing... the kind of experienced gaze that peeled back skin and memory alike, a hundred eyes turning her soul inside out. And under that gaze, Adriana felt exposed, raw, as if all her careful composure had been stripped away in an instant.

She straightened reflexively. The Counselor's mask slid back into place, cool, composed, professional. But underneath it, the wound remained open and bleeding.

**I'm the sister,** she told herself fiercely. **I'm the one who never gave up. I'm the one who found her.**

But Amanda didn't remember being lost by Adriana.

She only remembered being found by Christie.

And as Adriana watched her twin laugh at something Christie whispered, she wondered if Amanda even noticed that the person who had spent twenty years learning to hear her voice... was now learning to live without it.

-=-=-

Marissa Montonera-Lombardi

Lieutenant JG Adriana Lopez

Ship's Counselor & Junior Ambassador

USS ANUBIS

M25-018: USS ANUBIS: Enel: 45011.0821 ("Nightmare Messagers")

(TOP)

“Nightmare Messagers”

Previous post: "Reflections of Shadows" by Marissa

=-=

Setting: USS ANUBIS, Sickbay

Stardate: 45011.0821

Zub Enel stayed just inside the Sickbay doors. He let his long arms hang, gripping one wrist as he listened to Chief Medical Officer T’Lara, Ship’s Counselor Adriana, and the Civilian Guest Cristhiane discuss the latest scan findings about Amanda and Christie. The general consensus seemed to be that someone aboard could be drawing up the blueprints for this neural synchronization. Enel didn’t understand the medical terms, but they certainly hinted at the possible existence of a hidden antagonist or covert influence. He shook his big, crested head. He didn’t like it. They were still chasing ghosts. And shadows.

The doors hissed open to let Gemma enter. On her way to the confab by the biobeds, Gemma, an enigmatic beauty, acknowledged his presence with a glance and a tickle from the few nanites still in his bloodstream. The ILO moved too far too fast for his nanites to sense her mood, or more accurately, given her multitude of separate personas, her moods.

As his gaze delighted in Gemma’s bouncing coppery curls, he saw the ship's counselor, Adriana, put her hands behind her back, her Hispanic face tense. A moment later, Gemma approached and Adriana’s expression calmed. He could tell Adriana had been upset and was now hiding it. He considered taking her aside and encouraging her to share what upset her. He couldn’t help a counselor counsel herself, but he could listen and understand.

The Sickbay doors opened to reveal A’Janni, the Caitian humanoid tiger. When the CMO turned to glance his way, the Flight Control Officer waved a furry paw as wide as most peoples' faces at her, indicating he didn’t need medical attention. His face, with white and black tiger stripes, fixed a one-eyed stare on Zub. “Don’t tell me you’re having nightmares, too.”

Enel shook his head.

A’Janni nodded. He rumbled, “No surprise. You have to be highly intelligent to have nightmares.” His stare hardened.

Enel smiled. He wasn’t in the mood for banter with the helmsman. So instead, he asked, “Surely you didn’t come all this way to check on my sleep quality.”

A’Janni jabbed a claw toward the lizardman. “See, dim awareness. You should be Security or something.” He looked past Enel into Sickbay before returning his gaze to Zub. “When you’re done here, come to the bridge. I’ve programmed more Flight and Fight simulations into the Tactical console. We can run them on Tactical and Flight together to be absolutely deadly when we reach NYLA IV.”

Zub nodded. Due to Ya’Han’s condition, he had taken on her Security/Tactical Officer duties, which included Tactical on the bridge. He had once operated it himself but now needed to regain fluidity with the weapons, shields, and tactical displays. He was glad that A’Janni wanted to keep his own fighting skills sharp and help Zub do the same.

The Sickbay doors slid shut, leaving Zub to guard Amanda. He thought about what Dr. T’Lara had said about the Lokustaar threat being psychologically compelling, but its source possibly supernatural—via the device, Ya’Han, or both, or neither.

He scowled. Blaming the supernatural bothered him. It reminded him of the foolishness of fighting magic, like his Marines had seriously suggested. If the Lokustaar were infiltrating minds through the dream state, their method had to be scientifically detectable. And if so, it could be fought, influenced, or prevented.

To say people were ‘elsewhere’ when they dreamed as if in some other dimension or on an astral plane seemed wrong-headed to Zub. That an external force could influence thoughts or dreams had been proven for species that possessed telepathic abilities. However, such telepaths or empaths were physical beings that existed in whatever plane of existence Zub lived on. How they impacted other people’s thoughts was not yet thoroughly worked out, but one day it would be with the clarity that science and logic brought to physics.

Zub decided that if he found himself having a nightmare, he would push back against the imagery. He would remember even in his sleep that someone or something was trying to influence him. He would resist. He’d be a dream warrior. He smiled at that.

He checked on the people in Sickbay. They didn’t appear prepared to leave under his watch.

Staying put, he thought about Ya’Han. The degree of her transformation and whether she could be saved, controlled, or become a bigger threat remained unclear. Like Jayson, he didn’t want her killed. The ‘real’ Ya’Han might still be inside that body with its strange black-shadow hair. She might reach out to others in whatever way the Lokustaar might be using to invade dreams.

This possibility meant he had to stay vigilant for any sign of a message from her, whether from others’ nightmares or his own. If people were somehow being “aligned” with whatever caused Ya’Han to be the way she was, he might have fewer reliable allies onboard. He knew he had to remain vigilant. Even with genomic scans of Ya’Han’s mother, the mystery would continue while Maya, T’Lara, and Gemma analyzed the data.

He vowed to protect everyone, even Ya’Han, until this affliction was sussed out.

=-=

David Michael Inverso

Lieutenant JG Zub Enel

MCO

USS ANUBIS, NCC 18501

M25-019: USS ANUBIS: Ya'Han: 45011.2015 ("The Shape of Fear")

(TOP)

"The Shape of Fear"

Previous post: "Nightmare Messagers" by David

-=-=-

Setting: USS ANUBIS, Deck 2, Stark and Ya'Han's Quarters

Stardate: 45011.2015

She did not blink. Hours collapsed into moments, irrelevant beneath her gaze.

Even as he knelt beside her, after his shift on the bridge, spilling devotion like blood across the carpet, she remained still. Silent. Infinite.

Jayson's words hung in the air, not fading, but devoured by the room and the shadows therein, as though sound itself feared her.

Not out of hesitation, but because everything was already in motion.

Across the ship, the heartbeat of the ANUBIS quickened. Plasma lines surged ever so slightly beyond nominal levels. Subspace fields surrounding the device in the Quantum Physics Lab dipped by 0.003%. Internal dampeners in three of the environmental alcoves failed to recalibrate in time. All minor. All dismissed by automated systems.

Somewhere far from her presence, Zub Enel stood vigil, hoping for a message, a sign, a hint that the real Ya’Han remained, but she remained silent.

All intentional.

She listened as the ship dreamed. The way a dying animal dreams in its final hours: not of life, but of deliverance.

It was exquisite, and she owed it to no god. No bloodline. No destiny. Only understanding.

She turned her head slightly, not toward Jayson, but toward the far bulkhead where metal met vacuum, and beyond that... destiny. Past the twinkling lights and vacuum of space, NYLA IV loomed, still too far to be seen, but yet she could feel it. Her origin. Her prison. Her crucible.

She would not return as a wayward daughter.

She would arrive as an answer.

In thirty-six hours, the ANUBIS would settle in orbit around NYLA IV. Her return was not fate. It was design. And all aboard played the roles she had quietly assigned them.

Her eyes remained open, and something behind them shimmered.

[/\] [/\] [/\] [/\] [/\]

FLASHBACK

[/\] [/\] [/\] [/\] [/\]

Setting: NYLA IV, Imperial Mountain Retreat, Hall of Memory

Stardate: 17047.1720 (Age of 10)

The Hall was vast, shaped like an inverted spiral: a monument carved deep into the mountain, its walls lined with crystal data-spires and etched in sacred Nylaan history. Only those of royal lineage were allowed this deep without escort, their purple hair in full display of the ghosts who quietly lived within these rocky walls. Even the guards feared its silence, not because of what it concealed, but because of what it remembered.

Ya'Han stood alone before the central intricate shrine.

A holographic image floated above a circular pedestal: her father, High Sovereign of NYLA IV, in ceremonial robes, addressing a conquered people. Behind him, prisoners kneeled, heads bowed, hands bound, necks bearing the red mark of judgment.

She had physically visited this chamber dozens of times, always as a student. But today, she remembered it as something else, re-evaluating her father's arrogance being displayed for no one else but his own flesh and blood.

The projection flickered as it recorded her presence. A different figure emerged: Ze'Kon. Advisor. Strategist. Monster.

He appeared younger, but his eyes were unchanged; narrow, calculated, watching those who came here across time.

"Do not mistake control for peace," the recording spoke. "Peace is an illusion. Control is pressure. Apply it long enough, and you will reshape the soul."

She hadn’t understood those words then. Not really. She had repeated them in lessons as a child would repeat some ancient, forbidden text. Nodded when asked. But now, she felt their weight settle around her spine like a second skeleton. And the girl who once flinched at such teachings now breathed them in like scripture; not sacred, but inevitable.

Her father's flaw had not been cruelty. It was inefficiency, the squander of perfect fear.

He used fear to crush. To silence. But never to mold.

Ze'Kon had known better. Had waited. Planted roots in the shadow beneath the throne. And like so many others, had seen potential in her long before she could wield it.

"You were always meant to fracture the line," the recording whispered.

She remembered now: the hall had trembled that night. Not from footsteps. Not from storms. But from something older. Beneath the mountain, watching the small, innocent, and foolish ten-year-old girl she had been.

[/\] [/\] [/\] [/\] [/\]

END OF FLASHBACK

[/\] [/\] [/\] [/\] [/\]

Ya'Han's gaze drifted to her hands, resting silently in her lap. She flexed her fingers slowly, not to test strength, but to feel the resonance. The pulse of the device, still sealed beneath layers of bulkheads and denials, throbbed several decks below. Her fingers twitched in perfect synchronicity with its unseen spin.

She could feel it gently spinning, waiting. She could hear its dark whispers, the silence of the 128,000 lives it had so easily erased back on NOVOSYTH. More importantly, she could activate it, without touching it, without seeing it, without warning.

She was aware of the questions they asked in Sickbay earlier today. Maya. Adriana. Cristhiane. Searching for scientific truths in an equation written by shadows.

Their conclusions were clever. And all so wrong.

The ship would not die. But they would feel it, like a ripple through the marrow of their bones. Like a prayer they didn't know they were saying... answered.

She inhaled once. A slow breath. Measured.

Jayson remained beside her. He had not moved. Not even flinched.

He was hers. Not by force. But by surrender.

He called it love.

She called it utility.

A vessel of devotion. A witness to her becoming.

A man too consumed by his heart to realize it had already been repurposed.

She looked at him now, not with eyes, but with event horizons, gravitational devourers of meaning and mercy alike. Her gaze was an absolute void so full they crushed everything they beheld. The echo of an ageless darkness reaching through time, space and even dimensions.

Others still clung to hope. Believed she was somewhere buried inside, clawing her way out. But she was not buried. She had risen

They could not see the truth in her eyes, but the shadows did.

And the device… responded.

Far below, behind the sealed layers of the Quantum Lab, the artifact's rotation increased by a fraction of a degree per second. A harmonic note, sub-audible, whispered across the deck plating of the ANUBIS. Maya would notice if she looked, but once again her instruments would deny her observation. Deny the reality of science to which she so desperately clung. Science was no match for an ancient darkness that predated the very birth of the cosmos.

The unheard, unrecorded note had no frequency. No signature. Only purpose.

Jayson's head tilted. A brief wince. Like a chill down his spine.

"Did you hear that?" he whispered.

Ya'Han did not answer with words, but her smile offered the only reply she wished to offer.

-=-=-

Hanali Han

Lieutenant Ya'Han

Chief of Security / Tactical Officer

USS ANUBIS, NCC-18501

M25-020: USS ANUBIS: Gemma: 45011.2030 ("When Shadows Watch Back")

(TOP)

"When Shadows Watch Back"

Previous post: "The Shape of Fear" by Hanali

Setting: USS ANUBIS, Deck A-4, IGC

Stardate: 45011.2030

An efficient silence ruled over the Intelligence Gathering Center as data streams cascaded across multiple displays like digital rain. Gemma sat at her primary workstation, copper hair catching the blue glow of the monitors as she scrolled through T'Lara's medical report. The triadic neural synchronization patterns between Amanda, Christie, and Adriana rotated slowly on her screen: three minds dancing in impossible harmony.

"Fascinating," whispered Finnja, her voice gentle with clinical curiosity. "The bonding transcends simple trauma response. This is something deeper, more fundamental."

"Deeper, yes," Wimda interjected with the distracted tone of someone processing multiple data streams simultaneously. "But not natural. The neural oscillation patterns show artificial harmonics, too precise for organic development. Someone is tuning these minds like instruments in an orchestra."

"It's a bloody infiltration tactic," Abrasivnyy snarled from somewhere in the background. "Whatever's puppeting Ya'Han is building a network. Wake up, princess."

Gemma's fingers paused over the console. The medical data was compelling: three individuals dancing across neural pathways that defied known biology. But it was the pattern itself that caught her attention. Not random. Not chaotic. Designed.

Her eyes drifted to the surveillance monitors flanking her workstation. The left screen showed Christie and Cristhiane in their guest quarters, the daughter finally sleeping peacefully while her mother kept vigil nearby. A touching scene of maternal protection and healing.

The right monitor displayed a different story entirely.

Ya'Han sat in meditation posture beside the viewport in her shared quarters, black hair flowing like liquid shadow around her shoulders. Jayson knelt beside her, close enough to touch but maintaining careful distance, his face a mask of desperate devotion and barely contained fear.

"Poor bastard doesn't even know he's already gone," observed Za'Ran, the infiltrator's voice clinically detached. "Look at his positioning. He thinks he's protecting her, but he's actually isolating himself from potential rescue."

Anya's voice cut through with predatory precision. "He moves like prey that's forgotten it's being hunted. See how his shoulders drop? His breathing? The target has accepted defeat without realizing the hunt began."

"There's something beautiful about such devotion," Ema Fairchild murmured with serene sadness. "Even when it leads to destruction, love seeks to preserve what it cherishes. He would rather die beside her than live without her."

Gemma leaned back in her chair, multiple perspectives layering over each other as she processed the scene. The contrast between the two monitors was stark, healing on one side, corruption on the other. But as her different personas analyzed the situation, a disturbing pattern emerged.

"The synchronization isn't random," Finnja whispered urgently. "Christie, Amanda, Adriana... they're all connected to strong emotional bonds. Christie to Amanda, Amanda to Adriana, all three sharing trauma. It's following the neural pathways carved by intense emotional connection."

"Quantum entanglement at the consciousness level," Wimda mused, her scientific mind already racing ahead. "But that requires a catalyst. Something to initiate the quantum coupling between separate neural matrices. The device? No... the energy signature is wrong. This is biological quantum mechanics, not artificial."

"And Jayson's the next node," Za'Ran added grimly. "His connection to Ya'Han is the strongest emotional bond on this ship. If something's spreading through empathic links..."

Anya interjected with cold calculation. "Not just spreading. Recruiting. This isn't infection, it's conscription. Each new connection becomes another weapon in her arsenal."

A chill ran down Gemma's spine. She pulled up additional crew psychological profiles, cross-referencing them with the nightmare reports. The pattern became clearer: crew members with strong emotional attachments to others were experiencing more vivid disturbances. Those who were more isolated, like Val'Bruxa or A'Janni, remained largely unaffected.

"It's not the device," she realized, the thought echoing across multiple personas simultaneously. "It's Ya'Han. She's the transmission vector, using emotional connections as neural pathways to spread... whatever she's become."

"Biological quantum entanglement," Wimda confirmed, her voice gaining focus as the puzzle pieces aligned. "She's become a living quantum transmitter, capable of establishing consciousness-level links across space-time. Theoretically impossible, but the Lokustaar operate outside our understanding of physics. It would also explain some of the behaviors we observed around Mordana. This is how Shadow Operatives spread their influence."

On the monitor, Ya'Han's head turned slightly, as if responding to some unheard sound. For a moment, her profile was perfectly illuminated by the starlight streaming through the viewport, beautiful and terrible, like a goddess carved from midnight.

Then she looked up. Directly at the camera. Directly at Gemma.

The copper-haired woman froze, every persona falling silent as those black eyes seemed to peer through the surveillance feed, through the monitor, through the layers of metal and circuitry that separated them. Ya'Han's lips curved into the faintest smile, not cruel, not mocking, but with a recognition that made Gemma's nanites crawl beneath her skin.

"She knows," GAMMA flickered suddenly, the holographic persona manifesting briefly in Gemma's peripheral vision. "She's always known. The watchers... being watched... the pattern... it's..."

The image dissolved as quickly as it had appeared, leaving only the echo of fragmented data and the sensation of classified information just beyond reach.

On the screen, Ya'Han tilted her head slightly, the gesture almost conversational. As if she were acknowledging an old friend. Then, without breaking eye contact with the camera, she reached out and placed her hand gently on Jayson's shoulder.

The man's entire body shuddered. His eyes rolled back for just a moment before focusing again, but when they did, something in his expression had shifted. Still devoted. Still protective. But deeper now, more absolute, as if the last traces of independent thought had been lovingly smoothed away.

Abrasivnyy whispered, uncharacteristically quiet. "She's not just corrupting them. She's collecting them."

Anya's voice turned arctic. "Like a spider expanding her web. Each strand strengthens the whole, and every fly that struggles only makes the web more sensitive to the next victim."

Gwenvel entered the fold like a soft hand resting on a shoulder. "What we're witnessing isn't just strategy or pathology. It’'s grief, rewritten into worship. Love reshaped into submission. Every thread she's weaving is made from someone who once chose to feel."

"If we forget what they've lost, we'll only see the tactics, not the tragedy."

The silence that followed wasn't disagreement, only acknowledgment. The mission demanded action. But some voices existed to ensure it didn’t come at the cost of the soul.

Gemma's hands trembled slightly as she reached for the console, preparing to alert Captain Morningstar. But Ya'Han's gaze held her, pinned her, as if to say: "Not yet. Let me finish." The ILO, the woman who had faced countless evils both as a solo operative and as a crew member of the ANUBIS froze. Against all her training and the numerous voices screaming in her head, Gemma just stopped.

And in that moment, surrounded by her fractured chorus of personas, Gemma understood with crystalline clarity that they weren't just racing to NYLA IV to find answers. They were bringing Ya'Han home to complete whatever transformation had begun in the shadows between stars.

The monitor flickered once, and Ya'Han looked away, returning to her meditation as if nothing had happened. But Jayson remained changed, his hand now resting over hers in perfect, devoted stillness.

"We're not investigating a phenomenon," Gemma thought as her personas whispered warnings and calculations in the spaces between heartbeats. "*We're part of it.*"

She began composing her report to the Captain, each word carefully chosen to convey urgency without triggering panic. But in the reflection of her screen, she caught a glimpse of her own eyes: still green, still human, focused and steady. Not untouched. But unclaimed.

And in the silence between keystrokes, a single thought surfaced, clear and sharp across all voices: "She's building an army of followers... and we are already inside the temple."

=-=

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

M25-021: USS ANUBIS: Morningstar: 45011.2050 ("Clarity and Truth")

(TOP)

#######

"Clarity and Truth"

Previous post: "When Shadows Watch Back"

##########

"Not all who stand beside you serve the same stars. Some carry the night within, waiting only for your light to lead them home."

— Ancient Nylaan Proverb

Setting: USS ANUBIS, Deck 2, Corridor -> Stark and Ya'Han's Quarters -> Corridor

Stardate: 45011.2050

The corridor outside the quarters felt different now. Not colder, not darker, but aware. Erik Morningstar had walked these passages thousands of times across the years, knew every junction and bulkhead by heart, yet now they seemed to watch him with patient interest. The deck plating beneath his boots vibrated with a frequency that settled into his bones like a distant earthquake.

Thirty-five hours and twenty minutes until they reached NYLA IV. The chronometer in his mind counted down with mechanical precision, each second bringing them closer to answers he wasn't certain he wanted to find.

=/\= Captain, =/\= came Shar'El's voice through his combadge, tight with controlled concern. =/\= I strongly advise against this course of action. The additional security measures notwithstanding, placing yourself in direct proximity to...=/\=

"I'm aware of the risks, Commander." Erik's voice carried the weight of command, but underneath lay something else. Command demanded presence, but this visit was not about duty. It was about debt. About all the signs he hadn’t seen... or had chosen not to. The same instinct that had kept him alive through decades of impossible missions now whispered warnings he couldn't quite articulate, and yet he continued walking. "Your concerns are appreciated and noted. Monitor from the bridge. If anything goes wrong..."

=/\= Understood, sir. =/\= Shar'El said, interrupting Erik, not wanting or needing to hear the end of that sentence. The channel closed, leaving him alone with the subtle vibration that seemed to emanate from the quarters ahead.

Erik paused at the entrance, his hand resting on the door control. Through the metal and circuitry, he could sense them: Jayson's devoted presence, steady as a heartbeat, and something else. Something vast and patient that wore Ya'Han's face like a carefully chosen mask.

The door whispered open.

The first thing that struck him was the silence. Not the absence of sound, but its presence: thick, expectant, alive. Jayson knelt beside the viewport, his posture that of a guardian who had forgotten what he was guarding against. His eyes tracked to Erik with delayed recognition, as if focusing required conscious effort.

"Captain," Jayson said, his voice carrying an odd harmonic undertone. "She's been waiting for you."

Ya'Han remained motionless by the viewport, her profile etched against the starfield beyond. The purple streaks in her hair caught the ambient light, but her eyes... her eyes reflected nothing. They absorbed light, sound, hope itself, drawing everything into their depths without offering anything in return.

"Jayson," Erik said quietly, "step back."

The Operations Officer appeared confused, dazzled. Erik could see a hint of understanding in the man's eyes, but there was an inability to understand why the requst had been made of him. This is where he belonged; this is where she needed him to be.

"Lieutenant Stark," Morningstar said in a more commanding tone. "Step away."

For a moment, the younger man didn't move. His gaze shifted between Erik and Ya'Han, torn between old loyalties and newer devotions. Then, as if released from invisible bonds, he nodded and moved to the far wall.

"Computer, activate emergency containment protocol in these quarters."

The forcefield shimmered to life, its blue radiance casting prismatic patterns across the bulkheads. The hum of contained energy filled the space between them, a barrier that had taken Drayk hours to install, drawing power from three separate EPS grids, designed to contain anything short of a photon torpedo detonation.

Ya'Han smiled. Cold, erasing all heat in the room as she did. Dark, as if the abyss itself was listening, waiting for her command. It wasn't cruel or mocking. It was patient, almost fond, the expression of someone watching a child play with toys they didn't understand. She rose from her meditation with fluid grace, her movements carrying an economy of motion that spoke of absolute control.

"Do you truly think you can reach Na'Rin without me?" she asked, her voice carrying harmonics that seemed to resonate in frequencies below hearing. The words themselves were simple, but they carried weight, not just meaning, but mass, pressing against Erik's thoughts like a physical presence.

She walked forward. Three steps. Four. The forcefield crackled as she approached, energy dancing across its surface in anticipation of contact.

"Do you truly think you can get the answers you seek without me?"

She stepped through it as if it were morning mist. The field didn't fail. It didn't overload or shut down. It simply... parted for her, reality bending around her presence like space-time around a gravity well. The energy patterns reformed behind her passage, leaving no trace of disruption, no evidence that the laws of physics had just genuflected to her will.

Erik felt his breath catch. Not from fear, but from the sudden understanding that every precaution, every containment measure, every moment of imagined security had been an illusion she had allowed them to maintain. The brig, the forcefields, the careful monitoring, all theatre performed for their comfort, not her constraint.

"My father," Ya'Han continued, moving closer with that same unhurried grace, "may have been and done a great many horrible things, but his obsession with keeping people under his control made him create impenetrable fortresses. The Imperial Mountain Retreat is no exception to that."

She was close enough now that Erik could see the depths in her eyes, not darkness, but space, endless. Vast reaches where light went to die, where thoughts dissolved into component particles and reformed as something else entirely. Yet somewhere in those depths, he caught glimpses of the woman who had saved his ship, his crew, his life more times than he could count.

"Ya'Han," he said, and her name felt strange on his tongue, as if speaking it changed something fundamental about the air between them. "I know you're still in there. The woman who chose to stand with us. Who chose to fight for something better than what her father built."

Her smile deepened, and for a moment, just a moment, it carried warmth... real warmth, touched with something that might have been affection.

"Oh, Erik," she said, and his name in her voice was a prayer and a funeral hymn. "I am exactly who I've always been meant to be. You simply lacked the perspective to see it clearly."

She reached out, her hand stopping just short of his chest. Between her palm and his uniform, the air shimmered with potential energy, not threatening, but waiting. A door that could open with the slightest pressure.

"Everything I did, every choice I made, every time I threw myself between danger and this crew, do you think those were acts of nobility? Of heroism?" Her head tilted slightly, the gesture almost conversational. "They were seeds. Planted in the soil of your trust, watered with every moment of doubt you ignored."

Erik forced himself to meet her gaze, to look into those impossible depths without flinching. Decades of command had taught him to read people, to find the truth behind facades and deceptions. But Ya'Han wasn't hiding anything. She was offering him perfect clarity, absolute honesty, and it was more terrifying than any lie.

"The device in your quantum lab," she continued, her voice dropping to barely above a whisper, "feels so lonely down there. One hundred and twenty-eight thousand voices, all crying out in perfect unison, and no one to hear them. No one to understand what they've become."

Her hand moved closer, the energy between them intensifying. Erik could feel it now, not heat, but presence. Something vast and ancient that had learned to wear human faces, to speak in human voices, to love with human hearts while serving purposes that transcended flesh and blood entirely.

"In less than thirty-six hours," Ya'Han said, "I will be home. And all of your worries, all of your doubts, all of your fears about what I've become... they will be no more."

The promise in her words wasn't comfort. It was completion. The end of uncertainty, of struggle, of the terrible burden of choice itself. And despite everything, despite his training, his experience, his absolute knowledge that this was wrong, Erik felt a part of himself lean toward that promise like a flower seeking sunlight.

Behind them, Jayson remained kneeling, his breathing steady and rhythmic, his eyes fixed on Ya'Han with the devotion of a pilgrim witnessing revelation. He had already accepted what Erik was still fighting to understand.

"You're not saving her," Ya'Han said softly, reading his thoughts with casual ease. "You're delivering her. Just as you've delivered all of them. Just as they've delivered themselves, one choice at a time, one moment of trust and love and hope at a time."

She stepped back, her hand falling to her side, and Erik felt the absence of that presence like a physical ache. The woman who had been his Chief of Security, who had bled and fought and sacrificed for the ANUBIS and everyone aboard her, smiled at him with genuine warmth.

"Thank you, Erik," she said. "For giving me exactly what I needed. For being exactly who you are. For ensuring that when I walk through the gates of my father's fortress, I won't be coming home empty-handed."

The forcefield continued to hum around them, its energy patterns dancing in complex waveforms, containing nothing and everything simultaneously. Through the viewport, stars wheeled past in their ancient courses, indifferent to the small drama playing out in this metal shell hurtling through the void.

Thirty-five hours and fifteen minutes.

Erik keyed his combadge with hands that barely trembled. "Morningstar to bridge. Maintain course and speed to NYLA IV." He paused, looking at Ya'Han one last time, seeing both the woman he had known and the thing she had become, understanding finally that they had always been the same person. "All stations, maintain yellow alert. And... prepare for what's coming."

He turned and walked toward the door, feeling Ya'Han's gaze follow him like a blessing and a benediction. Behind him, Jayson remained in perfect devotion, and the forcefield continued its meaningless duty, guarding against threats that had already passed through its embrace and made themselves at home.

The corridor outside felt different now. Not just aware, but expectant.

And somewhere in the quantum lab, the device spun faster, singing songs that no human throat could voice, counting down to a reunion that had been written in the spaces between stars long before the ANUBIS had ever touched the void.

--==(/\)==--

Captain's personal log... We believed we were leading her back from the edge. But she was guiding us forward... into hers.

--==(/\)==--

Francois Charette

Captain Erik Morningstar

Commanding Officer

USS ANUBIS, NCC 18501

M25-022: USS ANUBIS: Shar'El: 45011.2115 ("Shattered Illusions")

(TOP)

"Shattered Illusions"

Previous post: "Clarity and Truth" by Francois

-=-=-

Setting: USS ANUBIS, Bridge

Stardate: 45011.2115

Shar'El had witnessed a great many things during her time with the Intel division. People betraying their principles for power. Soldiers lying to protect others from truths they couldn't bear. Officers making impossible calls knowing lives would be lost either way. But nothing in her career had prepared her for the moment when Captain Erik Morningstar, her commanding officer and her friend, had issued the order to proceed toward NYLA IV.

He had given the command after watching Ya'Han walk through an active forcefield, one specially designed to contain whatever she had become.

And he had done so without hesitation.

The memory feed from the Security system was still looping in her mind, crisp and clear: Ya'Han, calm, controlled, dispassionately stepping forward... and through. As if energy meant to stop intruders or threats had simply ceased to recognize her as either.

Her fingers hovered above the console, unmoving. A lesser officer might have gasped, might have demanded clarification or raised a challenge to the captain's decision. Shar'El did none of these things. She only blinked... once.

Then, with a quiet breath, her hands resumed their motion.

The bridge remained quiet. A'Janni sat at the helm, his ears flat against his head in quiet agitation. Zub Enel stood still near the Tactical station, arms crossed, his reptilian golden eyes locked on the forward viewscreen as if trying to pierce through time itself.

They didn't speak. No one did as they still processed what had happened and the implications of it for the ANUBIS and its crew. Their silence echoed the same thought: There’s no stopping this.

And Shar'El agreed. Whatever was happening to Ya'Han, whatever bond she had with that device, no brig could hold them, no plan could contain them. Not even the ship's self-destruct, an option she had mentally revisited twice since the Captain's return from her quarters, would be enough.

=/\= Bridge, this is Maya. =/\=

Shar'El's gaze flicked toward the communications panel. The Chief Science Officer's voice trembled, not with fear, but with restrained energy, which for Maya was all too telling.

=/\= The device is spinning... faster. And this time the sensors of the Quantum Physics Lab are seeing it. The device is also...signing. The harmonic signature has stabilized enough to be registered. I double-checked. I am happy to report that I am not imagining it this time. There is a measurable output from the device, I am still trying to identify the possible reason, but finally, we are getting readings from it. =/\=

Shar'El closed her eyes for a heartbeat. Of course Maya wasn't imagining it. None of them had been. The signs had always been there, they had simply hoped, foolishly, that observation alone might be enough to keep the threat at bay.

"Acknowledged, Lieutenant," she said, her voice steady, clipped. "Log all readings and prepare for emergency containment protocols, if any still apply."

A pause.

Then, quieter, she added, "And thank you. You're not crazy, Maya. You never were."

The channel closed.

Shar'El allowed herself the smallest of exhales. She looked toward the Captain's chair, empty, for now, but her thoughts were with him. She had scanned his memories, seen the steel beneath his calm exterior. Erik Morningstar was no fool, and certainly no pawn.

If he was playing along, it meant he was buying them time. Buying her time.

"Maintain course," she said softly, more to herself than to anyone else. Her fingers brushed the edge of her console.

"Let’s see where this storm takes us."

=-=

Tiffany Reeve

Commander Shar'El

Executive Officer

USS ANUBIS

M25-023: USS ANUBIS: Lopez: 45011.2120 ("Echoes of the Forgotten")

(TOP)

"Echoes of the Forgotten"

Previous post: "Shattered Illusion" by Tiffany

Setting: USS ANUBIS, Lopez's Quarters

Stardate: 45011.2120

Adriana lay wide awake while her sister slept beside her. The recent revelations about the matching brainwave patterns, how Christie and Amanda could be mistaken for twins, at least according to the scans, weighed heavily on her mind. In some twisted, clinical way, they were more synchronized than the biological twins who now shared this bed, yet shared so little else. Adriana couldn't even close her eyes without anger surging from the darkness.

The professional part, the one known as Counselor Lopez, understood the cause of this. The shared trauma while locked in the false reality of the Yauta Training Matrix had synced their thoughts more than any shared life events could have, events that Adriana and Amanda had unfortunately never had the chance to share. This led to the personal and emotional part of the woman, the one who was the twin sister who had spent two decades searching for her missing sister. She found herself hating Christie, for no reason other than the unbearable truth that she was the one Amanda now turned to. That Christie, not Adriana, felt more like Amanda's twin.

Adriana finally closed her eyes, pushing the hatred as far away as she could. Christie had done nothing but survive impossible odds to be where she was today, and it was best for the twin sister to forget about her own fears and insecurities. Amanda was alive and free of the Matrix, and in the end that is all that truly mattered.

Suddenly, Amanda sat up on the bed as if startled awake by some nightmare. "Something's wrong," she said, her face echoing a pain that frightened Adriana.

Before the sister could even think of asking about what this was all about, the frantic voice of Christie's mother filled the dimly lit room.

=/\= Cristhiane to Counselor Lopez. Please respond. It's Christie. =/\=

Amanda was already out of bed by the time Adriana reached for her communicator. "On our way."

-=-=-

Setting: USS ANUBIS, Guest Quarters

Stardate: 45011.2125

The door barely had time to finish opening before Adriana rushed inside, Amanda half a step ahead of her.

The lights inside the guest quarters flickered once, then dimmed to a low, pulsing glow, as if the walls themselves were holding their breath.

Christie was on the floor, curled tightly into herself, her sobs broken, jagged things that sounded like they were being torn out of her throat. Her nails dug into the carpet. Her body shuddered with each breath, as though she were physically trying to keep something in.

"Make it stop... please, please make it stop... I don't want to hear her anymore…"

Adriana didn't need to ask who *her* was.

Amanda dropped to her knees beside Christie, her face pale and soaked with shared fear. Whatever link bound the two girls, it was screaming now. Amanda clutched at her own chest as if trying to claw out a phantom pain.

"She's inside," Amanda whispered, voice trembling. "The shadow... it's... Ya'Han. I can hear her. She's telling Christie to let go. That it won't hurt. That everything will become clear once she embraces the darkness."

Amanda began to rock slightly, as if mimicking Christie's spiraling mental descent, pulled deeper into the emotional abyss she couldn't escape from.

Adriana forced herself into action.

"Lopez to Doctor T'Lara," she snapped her commbadge. "Emergency medical response to guest quarters. Now. It's Christie, she is losing her fight against her inner darkness."

=/\= On my way. =/\=

A sound behind them, a gasp. Then a whisper.

"No… no, no no no…" Cristhiane stood frozen near the threshold, her face drained of color. Her lips moved as if in prayer, but no words came. When she finally dropped to her knees beside her daughter, the dam burst.

"I'm sorry... I'm so sorry, my little love," she wept, trying to gather Christie into her arms, but the girl flinched away, eyes wide and black with terror.

"They said she was the strong one... but it should've been you," Cristhiane sobbed. "I lost one daughter, I can't lose you too…"

Adriana froze. "…lost one daughter…" she echoed under her breath, needing to hear the words again to believe them. The phrase carved through her like a vacuum of sound, the kind that sucks all light out of the room. This wasn't metaphor. It wasn't grief wrapped in poetry. It was a truth buried too deep, for too long.

The word pierced through her like a sudden vacuum of sound. It hadn't been metaphor. It hadn't been poetic. It had been literal.

Adriana looked up. Cristhiane didn't see her. Her entire world had shrunk to the trembling girl she couldn't soothe.

"You had twins," Adriana whispered, voice hollow, cracking under the weight of realization. "You said… daughters."

Cristhiane didn't respond right away. Her fingers threaded through Christie's damp hair as she cradled her, whispering old EARTH lullabies through her tears. But her silence was answer enough.

"She died during the first set of experiments," Cristhiane finally admitted. Her voice was cracked glass. "They called her Subject Theta-Eight. She never had a name. I was not even allowed to mourn her when *they* killed her... when *he* killed her. The man who should have been their protector, ended up being nothing but a heartless butcher."

Amanda's head snapped toward her.

Christie let out a broken gasp, as though she had felt the loss in her own chest. Adriana saw it then, not just grief, but recognition. As if something long buried had shifted inside her.

"That's why it hurts so much," Amanda whispered. "That's why she's been fighting it so hard. She's not just resisting for herself, she's been holding the line for the one who couldn't."

T'Lara arrived, tricorder already open, scanning as she approached.

"She's at neurological overload," the doctor confirmed. "Cognitive collapse is imminent." Without waiting, she pressed a hypospray to Christie's neck. The girl jerked once, then slumped into her mother's arms, her breathing slowing, tears still drying on her cheeks.

The silence that followed felt like the air had been crushed out of the room.

Cristhiane rocked gently, holding her unconscious daughter as if afraid she'd vanish. "They told me only one of them would survive. But they didn't say which one. I didn't choose. I couldn't…”

Adriana knelt beside them, her own hands trembling now.

Amanda sat back, dazed and quiet, lips moved silently, shaping something that had never been spoken aloud... A name.

A name that felt like stardust and sorrow. A name Adriana would never know, but Amanda would never forget

The darkness hadn't just whispered through Christie's mind, it had torn open a forgotten truth.

And Adriana now understood what Cristhiane's silence had cost them all.

She stared at the woman, this mother who had lied, and protected, and broken under the weight of too many secrets.

Her voice was quiet, reverent, but honed to a razor's edge by grief.

"You had two daughters… and now only one remembers."

Cristhiane sobbed harder.

Amanda closed her eyes and whispered the name again.

A name that had never been spoken. A name Christie would never hear.

But somehow… maybe she already had, and maybe, even now, in some lost forgotten dream, she was listening.

-=-=-

Marissa Montonera-Lombardi

Lieutenant JG Adriana Lopez

Ship's Counselor & Junior Ambassador

USS ANUBIS

M25-024: USS ANUBIS: Val'Bruxa/Maya: 45012.0130 ("Symmetries of the Dead")

(TOP)

"Symmetries of the Dead"

Previous post: "Echoes of the Forgotten" by Marissa

Setting: USS ANUBIS, Deck 12, Quantum Physics Laboratory

Stardate: 45012.0130

The hour was when ghosts walked. Not because they were summoned, but because the veil grew thin for those who knew where to press.

Drayk Val’Bruxa didn't announce his arrival; he never did. The doors to the Quantum Physics Lab parted with an obedient hiss, revealing the sterile buzz of containment fields and the low hum of high-energy harmonics that could not be heard. The scent of ionized air stung the senses. It was the smell of power just shy of becoming violence.

Maya stood near the primary console, her posture alert but somehow troubled, concerned. She had not acknowledged him but had sensed him the way scientists sense inevitability. Her gaze finally met his, sharp and brilliant, two minds forged in different crucibles, now orbiting the same singularity.

He shifted his gaze onto the device now spinning visibly faster than before. Even through the active forcefield, he could feel the energy being generated by the murderous onyx cube. "What changed?" He asked, not about the device itself but rather as to why it had stopped hiding.

She gestured toward the device. "It is still as much a mystery now as it was before," she said as the containment field glowed a soft teal now, as if reluctant to hold something that no longer cared it was being held. "Instruments are picking up various readings, but none of them make sense. All I can say for certain is that it is no longer dormant," Maya offered. "Or more accurately, it was never truly dormant. Our previous scans lacked the sensitivity to register what is now measurable, amongst which are multiple energy emissions. Low amplitude, but consistent."

Drayk said nothing. He watched the spin of the device, not with curiosity, but with assessment, the kind a predator gives prey that thinks itself safe.

Maya continued. "I calibrated the quantum interferometer to measure fluctuations across phased harmonic registers. The pattern resolved just moments ago. It is… precise. One hundred twenty-eight thousand, two hundred fifty-two discrete signatures.”

His head tilted slightly, silver hair catching the lab's pale light. "Say that number again."

"128,252," she repeated.

Drayk's eyes narrowed. "The exact population count of NOVOSYTH prior to its sterilization."

Maya nodded, though slowly. "The match is undeniable. The signals are faint, coherent, individually distinct, but harmonically interlinked. Not random noise. Not background radiation."

"Not souls," Drayk muttered, correcting himself mid-thought. "Quantum signatures. Echoes without voices."

She stiffened slightly. "There are no detectable cognitive markers, no memory engrams, no EM-pattern complexity consistent with neural architecture. What we are seeing is quantum-energy residue. Uncoded. Untethered. But origin-specific."

He took a step closer to the containment field, watching the device as if daring it to recognize him. "Then what you're saying is that whatever they were, they're not dead. Not in the way we define it."

Maya hesitated. "They are not alive either."

"No," he agreed, his voice carrying the finality of a machine locking into place. "They are archived."

The device emitted a soft pulse, a syncopated note too low for hearing, but his implants caught it. Resonance. Baseline chirality slightly shifted. It was adjusting to their presence.

He turned to her. "You said coherent. Not entropic. That implies memory retention. Not only are they preserved, they are structured. Ordered. Contained."

Maya shook her head. "No, not the way you think of it. The device, for a yet undetermined reason, is storing the raw energy of the colonists it vanquished. The differences in the energy signatures are at the quantum level, which I believe to be baseline individuality imprints. Not consciousness, not thought, but variance. Enough to imply personhood, but not preserve it."

Drayk’s tone hardened. "So the singing is nothing more than the quantum oscillation of the energy fluctuation.”

He stepped back, circling the device, analyzing it like a predator studying the bars of its cage, not because it doubts their strength, but because it's calculating the moment they fail. "Tell me, Commander: what harmony does a genocide hum when no one is left to hear it?"

Maya looked troubled, but not afraid. "There is no evidence of intent. Why are you asking such questions? From my understanding of your genetic creation, I would not have believed that any sort of emotional concerns for people who have died would be encoded in your genome."

Drayk remained silent, his thoughts drifting to a single person. Not because of an emotional response, but because of something much deeper. Satella had not been meant to be his 'love', she had been meant to complete him and usher a new hope for all Mikulak.

"I am simply searching for the cause of these changes." He didn't say it aloud, but the math was already being run in the back of his mind; structural resonance, power bleed, waveform phase breach. If Ya'Han could step through this field too, then the rules they lived by were obsolete. And if the rules were obsolete, so was protocol. That made him very... inevitable. "Ya'Han walked through my forcefields as though they were vapor. I need to know if this forcefield will prove to be just as ineffective."

That froze the air between them.

“I...” Maya began, but faltered.

“She's connected,” Drayk said. "This device. Her transformation. The harmonic energy signatures. All facets of the same structure. Different frequencies, same wave function."

He crossed his arms, eyes cold and calculating. "She spoke of voices. Longing. Reunion. Either she's hallucinating or she's hearing what we can't. And given her ability to subvert engineered security fields backed by triple-redundant EPS lattices... I'll wager she's not the one imagining things."

Maya blinked. "Then what do you suggest?"

He turned toward her fully, posture squared, voice like duranium. "I don't suggest. I calculate. We are standing at the edge of a singularity of unknown depth, and no one is telling the truth, not the device, not Ya'Han, and certainly not fate."

He glanced at the device. The pulse repeated, stronger this time. Rhythmic. Almost... expectant.

Drayk smiled, the kind of smile that warlords wear when they realize the battle has already begun.

"Commander, we are no longer studying the device or Ya'Han. We are negotiating with them, without any clear advantage." He paused, glaring at the spinning obsidian cube. "When the rules fail, I don't hesitate. I recalculate. When systems collapse, I don't ask why. I adapt. I am not protocol. I am the outcome."

The device pulsed again, no variance, no urgency. Just... rhythm. Like a heart that didn't care if you heard it.

=-=

Scott Grant

Lieutenant JG Drayk Val'Bruxa

Assistant Chief Engineer

USS ANUBIS, NCC-18501

"Perfection is not an ideal. It is a design parameter."

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

M25-025: USS ANUBIS: Stark/A'Janni: 45012.0200 ("Two Paths, One End")

(TOP)

"Two Paths, One End"

Previous post: "Symmetries of the Dead" by Scott and Jessica

Setting: USS ANUBIS, Deck 2, Stark and Ya'Han's Quarters

Stardate: 45012.0200

The ship slept. As much as it could while facing the inevitable fate that was now only thirty hours away.

But she did not.

Ya'Han sat in silence by the viewport, the stars casting cold fire across her darkened form. Her black hair flowed freely over her shoulders, weightless and slow, defying motion and gravity both. It was not wind that stirred it; it was something older. Something deeper. The same force that moved tides in dead seas and pulled sanity apart like strands of silk.

Jayson knelt beside her. In still, reverent, admiration and devotion.

His knees had long since numbed against the floor, his muscles aching under the strain, but he made no sound. There was no discomfort, no complaint, no desire beyond this single truth: He loved her.

It was not the kind of love poets wrote of or the kind Starfleet psychologists recommended. This was devotion in its final form: unconditional, unsalvageable, and all-consuming. The kind of love that accepted destruction, begged for it, so long as it came from her hands.

She had not spoken in hours. She hadn't needed to. Her presence was enough. She radiated gravity. Darkness. Power. She had become the center of his universe, the singularity around which his thoughts spiraled. He did not fear her. How could he fear the only light he had left, even if that light devoured all others?

He remembered, barely, what her green hair had looked like under the soft lighting of their private chamber. The feel of her laughter, brushing past him like sunlight in spring. But those memories had become blurred impressions, less real than the silhouette of her now, obsidian and sharp against the starfield.

She no longer needed to sleep. No longer needed warmth. She had become something vast. Something that defied logic, emotions, and nature itself.

And he, Jayson Stark, broken, grieving, hollowed out by years of loss and pain, had found peace at last. Not in healing, but in absolute surrender.

If she destroyed the ship, he would understand. If she tore the galaxy in two, he would kneel at her side and whisper his love as it happened. It wasn't about survival. It wasn't even about hope. This, all of this, was about her.

Always her.

She shifted slightly, the movement no more than a breath. But Jayson's heart stilled. His breath hitched. Even now, she could stop him with a gesture. End him with a glance.

He welcomed it.

Because it would mean she saw him, even if it was for one short-lived instance, that would be quickly lost to the endless abyss of the shadows.

=-=

Setting: USS ANUBIS, Deck 2, A'Janni's Quarters

Stardate: 45012.0200

The chronometer ticked quietly in the background. 0200 hours. Thirty hours to NYLA IV.

The Caitian sat at the edge of his bed, alone, his claws tapping in slow rhythm against the polished edge of his sidearm.

He had reviewed the logs twice: Morningstar's visit to Ya'Han's quarters, her effortless traversal through the forcefield, the way she spoke with the Captain. She hadn't threatened. She hadn't needed to. Her silence was threat enough, one that echoed against the bones of the universe itself

When she had spoken, though, she had merely spoken the truth.

And that truth had chilled him more than the cold vacuum of space ever could.

They were taking her to NYLA IV. Not because they had a plan. And certainly not because they believed they could contain her, but because Morningstar and Shar'El were hoping they still knew her. Trusted that whatever spark had once lived inside her hadn't gone completely dark.

But A'Janni had seen the forcefield part for her like mist.

He had felt the ship shift around her presence, heard the bulkheads breathe in her wake.

She was no longer Starfleet. She was no longer the woman she once pretended to be.

And yet Jayson Stark worshipped her like a dark goddess, blind to the collapse of everything around him. It was pathetic. No, worse. It was dangerous.

He didn't blame Stark. Love had always been the most effective poison.

But it had to be said, if not aloud, then at least here, in this solitary space where truth could still breathe: If this ends in fire, it will be because no one acted when they still had the chance.

A'Janni had no delusions. He was not Morningstar. Not Shar'El. Not one of the crew she had woven into her confidence over years of shared battles and scars. He was a pilot. A warrior. An outsider.

That was what made him useful.

Because when the moment came, if it came, he would not hesitate.

If the price of stopping her meant his death, so be it. Better that than the extinction of a world.

Better that than watching someone call a monster "beloved" while billions burned.

He stood and approached the wall where his tactical vest hung beside the door. His hand rested on the fabric for a moment. Not as a gesture of readiness, but of resolution.

"Someone has to remember what she's capable of," he whispered, remembering the horrific manner in which Ardax had been reduced to an unrecognizable mass of biomatter.

A pause.

"And someone has to be willing to do what the others won't."

He knew what that meant. The choice was already made. Not out of hatred, but out of necessity.

As Ya'Han's presence and influence spread in silence across the ship, soaking in shadows and whispers, A'Janni prepared to be the knife in the dark, if the stars demanded it.

=-=

Jayson Sousa

Lieutenant Jayson Stark

Chief of Operations

USS ANUBIS, NCC-18501

M25-026: USS ANUBIS: Ya'Han: 45012.0300 ("The Longest Winter")

(TOP)

"The Longest Winter"

Previous post: "Two Paths, One End" by Jayson

-=-=-

Setting: NYLA IV, Imperial Mountain Retreat, Balcony

Stardate: 45012.0300 (local time +2 hours)

The wind kissed her cheeks with the chill of the grave, but the woman with faded purple hair, streaked now with gray, did not flinch.

Wrapped in thick silk robes that billowed against her thinning frame, she stood on the ancient stone balcony, unmoving. Overhead, a jagged canopy of raw mountain rock pressed in, denying her even a glimpse of sky or stars. Below lay a sheer drop into misty nothingness: a fall no one would survive, nor be foolish enough to attempt.

The retreat had been built as a monument of his power and control, offering safety and confinement in equal, crushing measures. No one could come in unless he wished it, and likewise, no one could leave without his express orders.

In the distance, beyond crags and valleys, stood the ghostly silhouette of the Imperial Palace: her once-home. It was as beautiful as it was lifeless, the spires etched against the pale horizon like bones of the past.

She could still hear their laughter echoing in its halls. The footfalls of children. The rhythm of festivals. The soft sighs of lullabies whispered into the long Nylaan nights.

Now, only silence was remembered.

“Your Highness, please… the air is far too cold,” came a voice behind her, young, female, edged with desperation. The servant's black hair whipped in the wind as she hesitated at the balcony's threshold, not daring to approach. "You'll catch your death out here."

Na’Rin did not look away from the view.

"A few more days… or a few less… it makes little difference now." Her voice was soft, brittle as windblown glass. "The High Sovereign will have his wish… and I will finally have peace."

She finally turned, her pale lavender eyes clouded with age and memory.

"They are all gone, child. Ya'Kun cast into exile, Ya'Min wed to a man three times her age. The boys scattered across star systems wearing chains they think are crowns. And the last two, my darlings, Ya'Jun and Ya'Jan… vanished into the stars, beyond even hope's reach."

A long silence.

"I only wanted to see them once more. To tell them... I am sorry... so sorry." A thin trail of moisture ran down her cheek, quickly stolen by the wind

The servant stepped forward but froze again, the cold wind chilling her to the bones. Just as Na'Rin was about to finally follow, a voice, deep and low as the mountain itself, spoke from the shadows on the edge of the balcony.

"Then perhaps you should hold on to that hope a little longer."

Na’Rin’s breath caught. Her head turned as quickly as her frailed body allowed, her gaze focusing onto the balcony's corner, now shadowed not by night but by presence.

A man stood just beyond the reach of the inside lights, tall, still, and wrapped in a darkness that clung to him like a second skin. The shadows welcomed him, folded into him. No features could be seen, only suggestion. But it was enough.

"You…" she breathed, anger rising with the recognition that needed no confirmation. "You are not welcome here."

Her frail fingers curled into fists. Rage and sorrow warred inside her, but neither could take the throne.

"And yet I came," the man replied, his voice calm, patient, reverberating with something… ancient. "Because you asked for a dream. One final gift."

"Mock me all you like, shadow," Na’Rin whispered, her legs trembling. "But do not poison my dying thoughts with false hope."

"Not false, sweet Queen," the man said, stepping closer but never breaching the light. "Only delayed. Rest now, Na’Rin of the Peaks. Save your strength. Tomorrow brings dawn… and with it, a reunion long overdue."

Her lips parted to protest? To question? She never decided.

Because he was already gone, the shadows rippled in his wake like disturbed smoke.

The servant returned, braving the frozen wind, her eyes filled with concern, clearly unaware that someone else had stood there only moments before… or what he had promised.

Na’Rin turned back toward the distant palace, her heart stirring for the first time in years.

And the wind, cold as ever, now carried a whisper of warmth.

-=-=-

Hanali Han

Lieutenant Ya'Han

Chief of Security / Tactical Officer

USS ANUBIS, NCC-18501

M25-027: USS ANUBIS: T'Lara: 45012.0310 ("A Past Never Forgotten")

(TOP)

"A Past Never Forgotten"

Previous post: "The Longest Winter" by Hanali

Setting: USS ANUBIS, Guest Quarters

Stardate: 45012.0310

The lights in the bedroom were dim, filtered through a medical interface set to ambient stasis mode. Christie lay unconscious, her vitals calm under the effects of the anesthetic, the data scrolling across the monitor in a slow, steady rhythm. At her side, Cristhiane sat on the edge of the bed, her fingers gently brushing damp strands of hair from her daughter's forehead.

T'Lara stood near the portable medical console, saying nothing. Her presence was quiet, unobtrusive, part of the room now, a witness in stillness. The sound of the monitor, the slow cadence of breathing, and the occasional shift of cloth were the only sounds.

Cristhiane hummed under her breath. A Terran lullaby, old and fractured. She was barely singing, more like remembering something she used to know. Her hand hovered above her daughter's face, caressing the air as if not to disturb the silence with too much touch.

"I didn't even get to hold them," she said, not looking up. "They took them straight from me after birth. I got... seconds. A glimpse. Two cries, two little fists in the air. One pair of eyes just starting to open."

T'Lara said nothing, but her attention sharpened.

"They called them Theta-Seven and Theta-Eight," Cristhiane continued. "No names. No birthright. Just numbers, property. I remember thinking how unfair it was that the first thing my daughters heard was a clinical order."

The mother's voice cracked, but she didn't break. Her pain was visceral, filling every hidden corner of the room, raw and undeniable. Not even silence dared to reproach it.

"I had names ready. Christie for my first born. Ashley for the sweet and special sister. I liked the way they sounded together." Her lips pressed tight, the weight of the names pulling down the years. "After the experiments started... there were so many screams. I could hear them. I still hear them, in my dreams and sometimes even when I am awake. And then... one day, silence. Only one was brought back."

T'Lara took a step closer, quietly adjusting a scan. She didn't speak, didn't prompt. The silence itself was the invitation.

"They left the wristbands on," Cristhiane whispered. "I don't think they thought I'd notice, or maybe they just didn't care. 'Theta-Eight' came back. 'Seven' didn't. That's how I knew. My firstborn was gone."

Her hand, now trembling, finally rested on Christie's cheek.

"I don't even know what I was thinking. Or feeling. But I gave my living daughter the name meant for the other. Christie. And then I just hugged her, held her so tight that I remember fearing I might crush her... that if I held on any tighter, she'd join her sister. So I decided to do everything I could to protect her, no matter what. And in the end, she was the one who saved me, time and time again."

T'Lara allowed a long breath to pass before responding. "You adapted to tragedy. That is not weakness."

Cristhiane let out a hollow laugh. "I adapted to a prison I didn't know I was in until the doors slammed shut. I fell in love with a man who said was Terran-Vulcan. I thought I was lucky. Turned out, he was half Romulan instead. The darling son of a military geneticist. I was a tool. Breeding stock for some twisted empire-building project."

T'Lara's gaze narrowed slightly. "You weren't chosen for who you were. Only for what they thought you could produce."

A slow, pain-filled nod.

"The genetic markers in Christie… the ones you discovered… they weren't an accident. They were meant to shape her into something the Romulans could offer the Lokustaar. A vessel. An agent of darkness, bound by Romulan command. But I won't let them have her. I won't let anyone have her. Varin got what he deserved, unlike so many others who are still out there... plotting... hunting for us."

The temperature in the room seemed to drop. T'Lara said nothing for a moment, then turned her attention fully to Cristhiane.

"Varin? From the NORTHAL DRIFT?" The former deep cover operative knew exactly what she was doing. T'Lara knew everything she needed about Varin and his unexpected demise following Christie's scream. But the name was a perfect way to draw Christhiane out just that much further.

Cristhiane's body tensed. "Yes. That Tal'Shiar hound. No more, no less. He hunted us, tirelessly. But he wasn't involved in the experiments. I doubt he even knew there were two of them when he was first set on our scent. To him, it was simple: retrieve the mother and daughter. Deliver them to the Empire. Praise, promotion, maybe a pat on the head for a job well done."

"Yet his pursuit denied you peace."

"Every time we settled, he found us. We couldn't stay anywhere long. Christie never had a home. Never had normal. And every time we ran, it reminded me who wasn't with us."

T'Lara regarded the monitor again. "Theta-Seven."

Cristhiane lowered her head, fingers tightening around Christie's. "Her name was Ashley. I never got to say it out loud. Not until recently. I didn't think I was allowed."

T'Lara moved to the console without a word. With practiced ease, she opened a protected log channel reserved for medical officer entries.

"Subject Theta-Seven," she began. "Posthumous designation entered per maternal record. Full name: Ashley Smith. Deceased following unregulated Romulan genetic experimentation. No medical file, no physical record, no stardate of death. But remembered. And now, officially acknowledged."

Cristhiane's lips parted in disbelief.

T'Lara continued. "It is... logical, to honor both children in the name that survived. But it is not acceptable to let the other remain unnamed. The record will stand."

The silence that followed was heavier than any grief.

Cristhiane looked at her, eyes damp, voice nearly lost.

"Thank you."

T'Lara gave a single nod. "One does not need to speak a name for it to have weight. But the universe must be told it existed."

She adjusted the blanket around Christie's shoulder and turned back to her instruments.

There was no need for more words. The record had been made. Ashley Smith had never taken a breath in peace... but now, at last, she had a name.

And a place in the stars.

=-=

Dawn Bohr

Lt. Commander T'Lara

Chief Medical Officer

USS ANUBIS, NCC-18501

M25-028: USS ANUBIS: Gemma/Enel: 45012.0400 ("Shards and Stillness")

(TOP)

"Shards and Stillness"

Previous post: "A Past Never Forgotten" by Dawn

Setting: USS ANUBIS, Sickbay

Stardate: 45012.0400

The soft whir of bio-monitors filled Sickbay, a kind of artificial heartbeat that comforted no one but filled the silence with something living. The lights had been dimmed for the night shift. T'Lara had left hours ago to tend to Christie. No staff. No footsteps. Just her and him.

Gemma sat beside Nathan's biobed, her posture relaxed in a way that almost didn't look like her at all. The sharp lines had softened. No persona had stepped forward. Not Gabrielle. Not Gwenvel. Not Arennis. Not even Shinral to stand silent guard. Just… Gemma.

She watched the boy's chest rise and fall, slow and shallow. His small hands rested atop the blanket like crumpled petals. The nanites he once carried were gone, having been returned to their rightful owner. This meant no more shortcuts. No more miracles. Just time, and the slow crawl of healing flesh.

"I don't know if you dream," she said, voice low, not wanting to wake him even if she could. "But if you do, I hope they're warm. Not all of us get that luxury."

Nathan didn't stir. He looked peaceful. Fragile. Too still for someone who had carried part of her within him. A child, yes, but one who had stood taller than most when it mattered.

A subtle shift in the air brushed the back of her neck. She didn't turn. Didn't need to. He had a distinct presence, one that extended well beyond his physical stature: Zub. The nanites still within him shimmered faintly in her awareness, like a beacon wrapped in scales and silence. It was not an alarm. It was recognition. A welcoming.

"You walk quieter than someone your size should," she said without looking up. There was a hint of teasing in her words.

Zub stood by the doorway, arms folded. "You always say that, but you never miss me coming in."

"Not true," she said softly. "Anya does. I don’t."

He approached slowly, stepping into the sterile light as it illuminated his features. He glanced at Nathan, then at the woman who rarely let her mask slip.

"He's stable," he said, though it wasn't a question.

Gemma nodded. "T'Lara says he's recovering at a normal rate. No nanites to speed things up. Just... natural healing. It's taking time... and I'm not used to waiting."

Zub let out a low hum, almost a sigh. "Seems unnatural, doesn’t it? Watching someone get better the slow way."

"Feels more real," she said. "Even if it hurts to watch."

There was a pause. The kind that didn't need to be filled.

"You knew I was coming," he finally said.

"I felt it," she replied. "The part of me you carry still listens."

Zub raised a brow ridge. "Does that make us connected?"

Gemma turned to look at him now, her expression frozen in the span of a universal heartbeat. "We are. Whether we like it or not. You, me, and him."

She nodded toward the boy.

"A triangle forged in blood and metal. We each gave something we didn't know we had."

Zub looked at Nathan, then back at her. His voice was quieter now, thoughtful. "I never imagined finding myself in something like this."

Gemma's eyes lingered on the boy, then lifted to meet his. "Neither did I."

A pause settled between them, comfortable, reflective.

"He calls you Gemma now," Zub said, his tone carrying more curiosity than conclusion.

"I noticed," she replied, her voice almost too soft to hear.

"Is that who you are now? Who you're choosing to be?"

Her expression didn't change, but something in her posture shifted. "Not choosing. Just… not hiding behind so many masks."

The Voth moved to sit across from her, not too close. Just enough to form the third point of the triangle.

"He’s the only one who knows what it felt like," she said, glancing at Nathan. "To have nanites flood your veins, rewriting who you are, what you can be. He went through that. Just like you. Just like me."

Zub nodded. "And he didn't let it change who he was."

"Not entirely," she said. "But it left a mark. It always does."

They sat in silence for a time. A quiet, sacred stillness. Not heavy. Not dark. Just still.

"You ever think this ship's full of broken pieces trying to glue themselves back together?" Zub asked, voice almost a whisper.

Gemma tilted her head. "All the time."

"And us?"

She looked at him, really looked. "We're the pieces that don't fit anywhere else. But together... maybe we make something that almost looks whole."

Zub chuckled, a low rumble. "That's poetic. Let me guess... Harmony?"

"No," she replied. "That's what Lyric would say. She's the poetic one."

He smirked. "She around?"

Gemma shook her head. "Not really. I mean, yes, I still hear them all... but now, they seem to be speaking together instead of pulling in different directions. That too feels strange."

She looked back at Nathan. The boy stirred slightly, no more than a murmur.

"He’s strong," Zub said.

"So are we."

For a moment, that was enough.

They sat together, the broken spy, the war-born guardian, and the sleeping child that neither of them could explain. No orders. No masks. No personas.

Just three souls, bound by something deeper than blood.

A family, shaped not by blood, but by sacrifice, silence, and shared battles against the relentless shadows.

=-=

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

M25-029: USS ANUBIS: Shar'El: 45012.0700 ("Absent Priorities")

(TOP)

"Absent Priorities"

Previous post: "Shards and Stillness" by Rachel and David

-=-=-

Setting: USS ANUBIS, Bridge

Stardate: 45012.0700

The turbolift doors slid open, and Shar'El stepped onto the bridge with the same measured stride she brought to every shift. Her gaze swept the stations, an ingrained habit born of her Intel training and experiences.

She froze mid-step as flickering shadows moved where a presence should have been. Ops was empty. Not surprising, perhaps, but not acceptable.

Her eyes narrowed, the quiet absence louder than any alert klaxon. "Where is Lieutenant Stark?" she asked, voice calm but edged.

From Tactical, Zub Enel's gravelled voice answered without looking up from his console. "Didn't report for duty." A pause. "The IGC confirms he's still in his quarters. With Ya'Han. Gemma wanted to be certain the internal sensors hadn't been... compromised."

The weight of those words settled like lead in her chest. She didn't let it show, but the implications came fast: Stark's reliability was gone, Ya'Han's influence was growing unchecked, and the awakening device in the Quantum Physics Lab was no longer the only threat demanding her attention.

A low, feline rumble came from the helm. A'Janni kept his one eye on the starlit void, claws tapping lightly against the controls. "That's not a scheduling oversight, Commander. That's a choice. And not the smart kind." The Caitian’s displeasure was obvious, whether he meant it to be or not.

Zub finally turned his head toward her. "You want me to pull him?" The offer was neutral on the surface, but there was no mistaking the readiness behind it.

Shar'El stepped further into the bridge, the viewscreen's wash of stars painting her in cold light. "Not yet. The Captain will want a full accounting before we make it official. But this..." she gestured subtly toward the empty Ops station, "...is just the symptom of a much larger problem that we are all faced with."

A'Janni’s ears angled back. "We're twenty-five hours from NYLA IV, cloaked in hostile space, and our Chief of Operations is… what? Playing house with the woman tied to a deadly device we still don't understand?”

"That's not all," Zub said flatly. "Long-range sensors show several Ferengi cruisers between us and NYLA IV."

"Are they on an intercept course?" The Commander asked, already certain their situation had just gone from bad to worse.

"There is no way they could have figured out a way to see through the ablative cloaking armor," A'Janni growled.

"Actually, no," Zub cautiously replied, answering her and backing up the FCO. "All cruisers have changed course... away from us. Almost like they've been instructed to let us through… unchallenged."

"That's worse," the Caitian commented with a deep sigh.

"I hate to say it," Zub added. "But I agree."

Shar'El studied both men, weighing their temperaments against the growing sense of instability. "Whatever hold Ya'Han has over Jayson and the control she has over this entire mess, we need to keep our focus on what's important. Let's make sure that the ship and crew remain safe for as long as we can."

A'Janni snorted, low and derisive. "By your command. I have no desire to follow that lovesick, suicidal man into the abyss... at least not without a fight that will leave scars across this entire region of space."

Zub's clawed hands rested on the Tactical console, his tone as heavy as his frame. "Looks like we're staring at our end of days." Shar'El turned toward him in surprise, just in time to catch his grin. "Second time in under a minute I've agreed with A'Janni. That can't be a good sign."

Despite the attempt at levity, the bridge seemed quieter for a moment, the hum of the deckplates suddenly more noticeable, the stars outside more distant.

Shar'El's expression didn't change, but her voice took on the cold edge of command. "Maintain course and speed. Keep eyes on those cruisers, and on anything else that decides to make us feel… welcome."

As the bridge crew returned to their duties, Shar'El kept her gaze on the empty Ops station. Twenty-five hours to NYLA IV, and already the enemy had a foothold... not outside the ship, but within. And she had no means or weapon to stop it.

=-=

Tiffany Reeve <sttr242526@gmail.com>

Commander Shar'El

Executive Officer

USS ANUBIS

M25-030: USS ANUBIS: Ya'Han: 45012.0705 ("Unwelcome Alignment")

(TOP)

"Unwelcome Alignment"

Previous post: "Absent Priorities" by Tiffany

-=-=-

Setting: USS ANUBIS, Deck 2, Stark and Ya’Han’s Quarters

Stardate: 45012.0705

The ship breathed around her. Not the mechanical hum of engines or the faint thrum of the EPS grid, but the deeper, older pulse that threaded through every bulkhead like veins through living flesh, carrying whispers only she could hear. Ya'Han sat near the viewport, legs folded beneath her, black hair pooling in slow, unhurried waves that moved without the aid of any breeze.

She felt the ANUBIS cutting through space, not through the pressure of acceleration but through the shifting patterns of gravitational pull and the distant murmurs of hostile eyes watching the darkness.

And then, like a ripple in still water, she felt them move.

Ferengi cruisers. More than one. Breaking their pattern. Not toward them… away.

She did not need a sensor readout to know the precise angle of each vector shift, the minute variations in impulse signatures. She saw them as clearly as if she'd been on their bridges, watching helmsmen obey orders that made no sense. Orders that left the ANUBIS an open corridor toward NYLA IV.

A flicker crossed her features. Not surprise… not exactly. But something close.

This was not her will at work. Not entirely. That absence, faint but undeniable, was enough to disturb the perfect order she had come to expect.

In the rhythm she now commanded so easily, there should have been the echo of her own intent, a subtle, satisfying thread tying her to the choice made. But instead, she felt only the cold outline of the decision after it had already been made. The board had shifted without her hand upon it, and that troubled her.

Behind her, Jayson stirred. He'd been sitting cross-legged on the deck, just far enough away to give her space without surrendering proximity. His uniform jacket was gone; duty had been abandoned hours ago, though not without cost. The empty seat at Ops was as much a wound to the ship as it was a statement about where he now stood.

"You feel it, don't you?" she asked without turning. Her voice was quiet, but it filled the space between them like smoke.

He hesitated. "I feel… something." The truth was he did not, could not, feel what she felt. He stayed because his heart had overruled his duty, and his words were nothing more than reflexive agreement to the woman he loved… the Mistress of Shadows he worshiped.

Her lips curved, not a smile, but an acknowledgment of his words. He would never perceive the full spectrum, but his willingness to agree with her was almost endearing, if misguided; a predictable loyalty she could shape as she wished.

"They're moving," she said. "The Ferengi patrols… stepping aside. Making room."

"That's… good, right?" he asked, though the words felt hesitant, as if he wasn't sure he wanted the answer.

Her gaze remained on the stars, her voice a silk thread pulled taut. "It is… convenient."

But inside, the word soured. Convenience meant alignment. Alignment without intent meant someone else was steering, if only for a moment. It was a hairline fracture in the perfect symmetry she had built around herself, small enough to hide but impossible to ignore.

Jayson rose and crossed the small distance between them, lowering himself to the deck so that his shoulder almost brushed hers. "We'll get there. Nothing's going to stop you now."

She let the silence stretch, watching the streaked starlight like the faint afterimage of a dream fading at the edges.

*Nothing's going to stop you now.* Those words echoed in her mind, summoning a faint smile to dance on her lips, but only for a few beats of her heart. Now, the words rang hollow, not from doubt in the outcome, but from the unsettling truth that she could no longer claim sole authorship of it.

Her hair shifted slowly over her shoulder, strands catching the low light and swallowing it whole. "Perhaps," she murmured.

Jayson took the answer as agreement. He always would. His devotion was unshakable, and she would not waste it. That lesson had been taught to her in the harshest of ways by witnessing her father's actions. She would not make the same mistakes he had.

The whisper beneath the hull lingered, softer now, as if retreating into the walls.

The Ferengi cruisers were no longer in her way. And she could not decide if that made her stronger… or if it meant she had already stepped onto a board where unseen hands moved the pieces.

-=-=-

Hanali Han

Lieutenant Ya'Han

Chief of Security / Tactical Officer

USS ANUBIS, NCC-18501

M25-031: USS ANUBIS: Morningstar: 45012.0800 ("Darkness")

(TOP)

#######

"Darkness"

Previous post: "Unwelcome Alignment"

##########

"There is a greater darkness than the one we fight. It is the darkness of the soul that has lost its way. The war we fight is not against powers and principalities, it is against chaos and despair. Greater than the death of flesh is the death of hope, the death of dreams. Against this peril we can never surrender."

— Ambassador G'Kar

Setting: SPACE

Stardate: 45012.0800

Before the first thought… before light… there was darkness.

It was there before the first stars pierced the void. Before matter took shape. Before time itself had a name. The darkness was not created; it simply was, patient, formless, infinite.

From its depths came the first whispers of motion. When the first motes of matter collided, when the first sparks of heat bled into the void, the darkness did not retreat; it cradled them. Chaos was the womb in which life stirred, raw and unfinished. Stars flared, worlds formed, and from the boiling seas and molten stone came fragile sparks of thought. Civilizations rose, declared themselves the masters of all things, and then fell into dust in the space of a cosmic breath.

Yet in every age, the darkness remained. Watching. Waiting.

It is not an enemy, though mortals give it that name. It is not evil, though in its presence the fragile light of hope often falters. It is the foundation upon which all else rests. It moves in the quiet between heartbeats, in the silence between thoughts. It turns ambition to obsession, unity to suspicion, hope to fear. The darkness plays upon the mind, bending choices, shaping destinies, guiding entire civilizations along paths they believe they chose themselves.

Without darkness, there is no contrast for light, no shape to give creation form. Without darkness, nothing can exist. And in that truth lies its power.

Its agents, those who serve knowingly, and those who serve without ever knowing, move unseen, pulling at the threads of history as one might guide the pieces of a game. It moves not in armies, but in the pause before a decision. Not in weapons, but in the doubts between heartbeats. Entire histories have been altered in its shadow by hands that never knew they served it.

Now, far from the light of Federation space, the USS ANUBIS cuts through the folds of subspace under the shroud of cloaking ablative armour. Invisible, its warp wake vanishes before it can be seen, as if even the universe dares not leave a trace of its passing. Ahead lies NYLA IV… and something older than its sun, older than the starfield through which the ship travels.

An ancient darkness waits there... not as a hunter, not as a conqueror, but as the architect of inevitability.

In the grand architecture of existence, light is the fragile decoration. Darkness… is the structure.

--==(/\)==--

Setting: USS ANUBIS, Deck 1, Captain's Ready Room

Stardate: 45012.0810

Captain Erik Morningstar stood at the window, arms folded, eyes fixed on the stars streaking past. Out there, in the infinite sea, lay their destination, and something far worse than the politics and secrecy surrounding it.

The path had been unexpectedly clear. Too clear. Ferengi patrol vectors that had been a near-constant barrier only hours ago had shifted, almost deliberately, leaving a silent corridor into their space.

Some aboard would see this as luck. Erik saw it for what it was: intent.

The Ferengi did nothing without profit in mind. The absence of interference suggested a profit so certain they didn't need to chase it, only wait for someone else to deliver it.

He turned from the stars, moving toward his desk. The silence in the room was deceptive; beneath it lay the murmurs of the ANUBIS’s cloaked engines, the occasional data ping from the IGC, and his own thoughts circling like hunting birds over a battlefield.

The Lokustaar had been in motion for longer than anyone aboard had been alive. They didn't push obstacles out of the way; they rearranged the board until their opponents walked exactly where they wanted them. And now, the ANUBIS was gliding straight down one of those lanes.

Erik's jaw tightened. If the Ferengi had withdrawn their patrols, it was not to give the Federation safe passage; it was to make sure the ANUBIS reached its destination unhindered. Which meant whatever awaited them on NYLA IV was part of a game already in play.

The captain's gaze dropped to the mission reports scattered across his desk: T’Lara's genomic analysis, Maya's unresolved readings from the Quantum Physics Lab, Shar'El's disturbing accounts of shared nightmares. Each was a different thread, but they all ran toward the same point.

And the darkness was already there, waiting... and in just over twenty-four hours, they would stand in its presence.

The captain allowed himself one last glance out the window. The stars felt farther away now, their light thinner, more fragile. The void between them had weight, and it was pulling.

"Whatever game this is," Erik murmured to himself, "we will not play it blind. The hope to save one cannot become the doom of all."

He sat, the Ready Room's ambient light dimming fractionally as the ANUBIS slipped deeper into enemy territory. Somewhere ahead, in the heart of NYLA IV, the truth waited. And truth, Erik knew, had a way of looking very different when you saw it in the dark.

--==(/\)==--

Francois Charette {fcharette1969@gmail.com}

Captain Erik Morningstar

Commanding Officer

USS ANUBIS, NCC 18501

- Marcus Cole, Babylon 5

M25-032: USS ANUBIS: Val'Bruxa: 45012.1000 ("The Weight of Duality")

(TOP)

"The Weight of Duality"

Previous post: "Darkness" by Francois

Setting: USS ANUBIS, Deck 12, Quantum Physics Laboratory

Stardate: 45012.1000

The almost surreal pulse present in the Quantum Physics Laboratory was as steady as the ANUBIS' heartbeat, but the air felt denser, as though the ship itself were holding its breath. In the center of the containment lattice, the device no longer drifted at its measured, meditative pace. Its spin had quickened, subtly at first, now undeniably, and two bands of alien glyphs pulsed around its onyx surfaces: one gold, warm and alive; the other cold, silken blue. They wove in counterpoint, orbiting one another without ever touching, a harmony of opposites in perpetual motion.

For the first time since the device had been brought back from the NORTHAL DRIFT, the ship's standard lab sensors were reading more than empty silence. Quantum fluctuations rippled across the board, crisp and undeniable. Maya's console chirped softly as each data point locked in, translating the impossibility into a number.

128,252.

A set of digits that held a haunting significance, being the exact number of colonists erased on NOVOSYTH.

Maya's hands moved with machine precision, eyes fixed on the stream of telemetry. "The correlation is mathematically absolute. The energy pattern signatures at the quantum level are distinct. Every one of them is unique."

Drayk stood beside the secondary diagnostic array, silver hair catching the cold light from the containment field. His gaze never left the cube, watching the twin glyphs spin as though they were testing the room for weakness. "Unique… and stored."

Maya didn't look up. "That is the unexplained element. If the function of the device is purely annihilation, there is no efficiency in retention. Energy release would make more sense unless this collected quantum force is being stored for a specific purpose, one that I fear we may not be able to stop if and when the time comes."

He folded his arms, expression unreadable. "Killing machines are simple by design. This was built for more." His tone carried both an engineer's certainty and the edge of a hunter sensing prey in unfamiliar terrain.

"The glyphs?" Maya asked, her voice neutral but probing.

"Two systems, not one. Not in opposition. Balanced." He stepped closer to the field, the faint pulse of the cube brushing the air like static before a storm. "Whatever it is, we're only seeing half of it."

"Half?" She finally glanced up at him. "There does not appear to be any phased structure extended beyond the visible physical limits of the device. Granted sensors were unable to pick up anything from the device until recently, but any extension of the physical structure should have been noticed as it interacted with the forcefield of anything else that would come in its way.

"Beyond the physical," he clarified as he returned her gaze. "You don't build something this precise to do only one thing. You balance destruction with… something else."

Maya studied him for a moment, the flicker of understanding in her Shillian eyes. "Speculation without data is..."

"...a waste of time," Drayk finished for her, with the ghost of something that might have been a smirk. "You'll get your data. I'll find the rest."

Their attention returned to the cube. The gold and blue glyphs pulsed, a silent rhythm that seemed to match the rise and fall of breath.

Maya bent over her console again, chasing the numbers. Drayk kept watching, not with a scientist's hunger for proof like Maya, but with the cold patience of someone who knew that balance, once broken, did not plead for restoration... it demanded it.

He said nothing more. But the thought stayed with him.

Some designs held purposes that went far beyond the physical limits of their creation. Their purpose was interwoven with unseen forces and ideas, embracing a silent, greater purpose. Few understood this truth as Drayk did. A flicker of emotion crossed his features, unbidden, as he closed his eyes and saw Satella, and with her, the shattering of a balanced design of which she had been an integral part.

=-=

Scott Grant

Lieutenant JG Drayk Val'Bruxa

Assistant Chief Engineer

USS ANUBIS, NCC-18501

"Perfection is not an ideal. It is a design parameter."

M25-033: USS ANUBIS: Lopez: 45012.1100 ("Losing a Twin Sister")

(TOP)

"Losing a Twin Sister"

Previous post: "The Weight of Duality" by Scott

Setting: USS ANUBIS, Guest Quarters

Stardate: 45012.1100

The raised voices carried easily from the bedroom, drifting through the partially closed door like heat bleeding from a flame. It wasn't constant, just bursts, sharp enough to make the air between them vibrate before falling back into tense silence.

Amanda sat forward on the couch, elbows braced on her knees, eyes locked on that door as if sheer willpower might dissolve it.

"Should I go in and help?" she asked suddenly, already half-rising.

"No," Adriana said, sharper than she intended. Amanda's gaze flicked to her in surprise. Adriana softened her tone. "We're already intruding just by being here. That's their conversation, not ours."

Amanda hesitated, but her eyes never left the door. "But… Christie had no idea she had a twin sister. Feeling that kind of loss… that has to be gutting."

The Counselor's jaw tightened. "It's not that simple," she said quietly, forcing her voice to remain level. "Nothing ever is."

Amanda didn't seem to hear her. Or maybe she just didn't understand. "She's mad because she was kept in the dark. Of course she is. If I'd had a twin I didn't know about, I'd never want to let them out of my sight."

The words hit harder than they had any right to. Adriana kept her face neutral, eyes still on the door, but her heartbeat felt like it was echoing in her ears. She told herself it was just Amanda's empathy for Christie speaking, that Amanda didn't mean it, couldn't mean it. But that didn't make the ache in her chest any less sharp.

From the bedroom, another spike in volume, Christie's voice, high with hurt: "You should have told me!"

Cristhiane's reply came low, fierce. "I know. I know. But every day we were running, hiding… the Tal'Shiar always one step behind us. I didn't want you to carry that pain if I could spare you, even for a little while." She paused, drawing a slow breath, holding back tears. When she spoke again, her voice was softer. "When we finally had a few days to rest, I didn't want to shatter that peace with more heartache. I thought it was mine to bear… mine alone. You deserved some semblance of happiness, however short-lived."

Silence followed, thick and fragile. Adriana forced herself to listen as a counselor would, cataloguing tone shifts, pacing, the rhythm of accusation and defense. But her own thoughts kept circling back to the couch, to the sister she had fought the universe to find, now leaning forward, brimming with compassion… for someone else.

Amanda exhaled slowly. "She must feel so alone right now."

Adriana didn't answer. She kept her eyes fixed on the door, her voice locked behind clenched teeth. Professionalism was the only thing keeping her together. The mask she'd worn for so long had become the only shield she had left.

**Amanda feels Christie's loss as if it were her own,** Adriana thought. **And somehow, she doesn’t see that the twin she’s aching for… is the one she’s letting go.**

-=-=-

Marissa Montonera-Lombardi

Lieutenant JG Adriana Lopez

Ship's Counselor & Junior Ambassador

USS ANUBIS

M25-034: USS ANUBIS: A'Janni: 45012.1200 ("Echoes in the Void")

(TOP)

"Echoes in the Void"

Previous post: "Losing a Twin Sister" by Marissa

Setting: USS ANUBIS, Bridge

Stardate: 45012.1200

The flight corridor to NYLA IV was clear... Too clear. And for the Caitian FCO this was not comfort. It was a warning his instincts refused to ignore

On the main viewer, the stars drifted past in perfect silence, no course corrections, no sensor alerts, no navigation hazards. For nearly a lightyear in any direction, there was nothing but the endless dark, and yet the fur along A'Janni's neck refused to lie flat. His ears twitched, small involuntary movements that spoke of something wrong just beyond the range of any instrument. Even the ship's deck plate vibrations felt off, like a breath being held too long

"Anything?" he asked without looking back.

From Tactical, Zub's deep voice rumbled with professional certainty. "Nothing within range. No emissions. No gravitic distortions. Space is empty." Zub's tone shifted just enough to add, "Same as it was five minutes ago."

A'Janni's claws flexed against the helm controls. Space was never empty. He'd fought Lokustaar capital ships before, vast obsidian predators that drank starlight and whispered to your instincts long before your eyes ever saw them. Their presence was a pressure in the blood, a taste of iron at the back of the throat. The mind called it paranoia. The body called it survival.

He could hear it now.

Not through the comm system. Not through the hull. Not in any way that made sense. A long, distant wail, stretched thin across the void: a sound space should never carry. It rose and ebbed like a tide, too steady to be random, too cold to belong to anything living. It didn't echo so much as cling, wrapping around the edges of thought until you weren't sure if it was there at all

He told himself not to glance at Shar'El, but his eyes betrayed him anyway. The Ullian First Officer stood at her console behind the captain, posture perfect, but her gaze had gone slightly distant, as if she'd caught the edge of something just out of reach. Her hands moved over her controls with deliberate precision, but he'd served long enough to know when an officer was working as much to stay grounded as to monitor systems. For the briefest moment, her eyes flicked toward him, a look too quick to read, but one that told him she felt something as well

If she was hearing it too, she'd never say so. Neither would he.

The bridge crew kept to their duties, professional and silent, but there was a stiffness in every movement, a faint tension in the air that no environmental system could scrub away. Even without proof, they all felt it in their own way, the subtle sense of being escorted by something just out of sight. Now and then, someone at the periphery of his vision would pause, glancing at nothing in particular, as if they too had caught a whisper

A'Janni kept his eyes on the stars ahead, his voice steady. "Course and speed holding. Twenty hours to NYLA IV."

"Understood," Captain Morningstar replied from the command chair, his tone stoic, calm, as it always was.

The Caitian's ears twitched again at the soundless wail, a noise that wrapped around the ship like a predator circling a wounded animal. He didn't know if he hoped he was wrong or feared that he wasn't. Either way, he kept flying, every movement measured, every adjustment exact, not that any were needed.

Because if the shadows out there truly belonged to the Lokustaar, then the only thing worse than being followed… was letting them choose the moment to appear.

=-=

Jayson Sousa

Lieutenant JG A'Janni

Flight Control Officer

USS ANUBIS, NCC-18501

M25-035: USS ANUBIS: Gemma: 45012.1230 ("When Silence Becomes a Weapon")

(TOP)

"When Silence Becomes a Weapon"

Previous post: "Echoes in the Void" by Jayson

Setting: USS ANUBIS, Deck A-4, IGC

Stardate: 45012.1230

The IGC felt more like a tomb than the most advanced intelligence facility in Starfleet. Console lights blinked in their steady, heartbeat rhythm, the soft ambient glow doing little to ease the oppressive quiet. Gemma sat at the raised primary control station, gaze fixed on the central holographic tactical display, watching it redraw NYLA IV's topography for the seventh time in an hour.

She didn't need the map to know the facts, Na'Rin's "Imperial Mountain Retreat" was not a retreat at all. It was a fortress. A prison carved into the mineral-rich spine of the northern range, impregnable to transporters, shielded by rock, weather, and paranoia. No clean insertion. No fast extraction. Three armed checkpoints stood between any entry point and Na'Rin's chamber, each nested within redundancies so thorough they bordered on obsession.

Neri's voice purred in the back of her mind, "She's already dead."

"Not yet," Gemma muttered to herself, fingers flicking through layers of thermal scans, drone telemetry, and the most recent medical intercept. The report was clear: stable, terminal. Local sources gave her between twenty-four to thirty-six hours at most. The controlled, sterile environment inside Na'Rin's quarters was no kindness, life support isolated, movement minimal, metabolic suppression likely intentional. If rescue had been the mission’s primary objective, the ILO would have to admit it bordered on impossible. But this wasn't about getting Na'Rin out... it was about getting T'Lara in, about extracting the genetic truth before time, or the mountain, swallowed her completely. Then, and only then, would they have a chance to maybe understand the device currently held on Deck 12 in the Quantum Physics Lab. From there, maybe the possibility of saving Ya'Han might still exist.

Gemma felt Anya's grimace. "Neither the device nor the woman are being 'held'," the Russian assassin pointed out, her accent heavier than usual. "They are there because it suits them. Because that is what they need from us."

The ILO's attention drifted to the border overlay. Every Ferengi patrol route, every merchant vessel, every registered convoy… gone. The corridor ahead was empty, unnervingly so. Not just clear of military presence, but stripped of all signs of life and movement.

That absence was not mercy.

The voice of the Bounty Hunter cut in sharply, Linx's tone edged with the satisfaction of someone who had seen this game before. "No one clears an entire trade lane unless they know what's coming will burn everything in it. And they want the fire to have room to spread."

The thought lingered. The Ferengi were not fools; they'd leave bait, feints, or shadow ships to catch trespassers. But here… nothing. An open path all the way to NYLA IV. The kind of silence that begged to be questioned.

A'Janni had once described hearing the Lokustaar capital vessels, a pressure in the air, a deep vibration felt more in the bones than the ears. She had dismissed it at the time as a Caitian's heightened instincts, until now. The trade lane's emptiness didn't feel like absence; it felt like something waiting, watching.

Her fingers hovered over the console controls, eyes narrowing on the black between patrol markers. Could there be one… or more of them out there? Not in orbit where Starfleet's long-range sweeps might catch them, but far enough to block or destroy anything else that tried to reach NYLA IV ahead of the ANUBIS. Not guards for the High Sovereign's secrets... guards for whatever plans the Lokustaar might have for the woman they were going to see, or for them.

She toggled a new display: crew surveillance feeds. Jayson Stark's quarters came up first. He sat on the edge of the bed, shoulders hunched, eyes on something just out of frame. Ya'Han. She was barely moving, her black hair swaying with that unnatural, ghostlike drift Gemma had already decided she hated. The camera's lens might as well have been a pane of glass in a predator's cage, one that could shatter at any moment. Jayson leaned forward, speaking softly, but Gemma didn't activate audio. She didn't need to hear the words to understand what they were, promises, devotion, maybe even surrender.

Kael's whisper echoed coldly, "He'll protect her until she's the one he needs protecting from."

Gemma switched feeds before she had to watch the ending.

The next feed showed the crew at their stations, each face tight, drawn, hiding fear under the armor of routine. The problem wasn't just the mission, it was the clock. Too much time before arrival for the mind to stay still, not enough to truly prepare for what waited in the mountains. Unknowns piled on unknowns until even routine began to fray.

She returned her attention to the tactical map, zooming in on the southern approach to the mountain. That was where they'd have to go in, on foot, through cold and shadow, without the safety net of transporters. The path was a slow kill for the unprepared.

Abrasivnyy's growl slipped through her mind, rough and almost amused. "Every step you take toward her, the mountain will ask you one question: are you willing to die for her? Not the person she was, but the one she has become?"

Gemma exhaled slowly, hands tightening on the console edge. "Nineteen hours, twenty seven minutes," she said aloud, though no one was listening. Nineteen hours until the ANUBIS reached NYLA IV. Nineteen hours for fears to sharpen into cracks, for the silence outside to become a weapon inside.

The display shifted again, and for a heartbeat, she thought she saw Ya'Han's black eyes staring back at her, not from the feed, but from the very heart of the tactical map.

Gemma blinked. The image was gone. Just mountain, checkpoints, and the cold truth that they were walking into a cage built by hands that not only expected them, but wanted them, inside.

And no one, least of all her, was certain they'd walk out again.

=-=

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

M25-036: USS ANUBIS: Ya'Han: 45012.1400 ("Long Before the Beginning")

(TOP)

"Long Before the Beginning"

Previous post: "When Silence Becomes a Weapon" by Rachel

-=-=-

Setting: USS ANUBIS, Stark and Yahan's quarters

Stardate: 45012.1400

The stars poured past her viewport in silent torrents, streaking toward a destination she had already claimed as hers. Her rightful home... NYLA IV.

She stood at parade rest, hands clasped loosely behind her back, letting the faint hum of the ANUBIS cradle her thoughts and the presence of the devie on Deck 12 ushered her forward. The momentary hesitation from earlier, the hairline fracture in her perfect symmetry, was gone now, locked away where even she could not reach it. This was her path. Her destiny. She had been born to walk it.

To one day return.

To face her father.

To end this on her own terms.

The darkness inside her did not frighten her anymore; it had become a familiar companion, a weapon honed by years of survival. She knew its shape, its weight, its hunger. What she did not know, what she could not yet imagine, was how deep the roots of that darkness truly ran.

Her gaze lingered on the stars a heartbeat longer, then she turned away. There was work to do before they arrived. And nothing, absolutely nothing, was going to get in the way of her destiny.

-=-=-

Setting: Lokustaar Capital Ship (Primary Command Sanctum)

Stardate: 45012.1400

The chamber was not a room so much as a void, suspended within the belly of the Lokustaar vessel. No walls defined its edges, no floor marked its boundaries, only the suggestion of depth, as if the shadows themselves had woven a cocoon around him. Threads of liquid black flowed along invisible currents overhead, folding in on themselves with the slow patience of a predator that had already decided its prey could not escape.

Markus stood at the heart of it, still as carved basalt. His breath left him in controlled measures, each exhale fading into the surrounding dark without an echo.

Before him hung a curtain of light. Not warm, not bright: a cold, sterile luminescence cast by an array of holo-projectors embedded within the living flesh of the ship. The images they conjured did not flicker as Federation systems did; they bled into existence, as though drawn from the marrow of reality itself.

The first image: NYLA IV, suspended in space like a jewel drowned in midnight. Its cloud systems swirled in the pale violet light of its parent star, wrapping around the jagged spines of its northern mountains and the glittering sprawl of the Imperial City. Markus let the image linger. The planet's beauty was not in question. The darkness did not care for such frivolity, only its purpose, be it in its maintenance or its eradication mattered.

The image dissolved, replaced by the Imperial Palace. Its towers rose like spears of polished bone, their bases buried deep into the mountain that birthed them. He saw the great audience halls, the training atriums, the hidden gardens where the royal daughters learned grace and obedience. And in the deepest archives, a chamber the High Sovereign never entered, because it had never belonged to him.

That chamber had been theirs.

With a gesture, he summoned layers: political maps, historical battle lines, shifting trade agreements... the surface-level metrics of control. All of it irrelevant. Their influence had not come in sudden conquests or declarations, but in the quiet erasure of choice. Generations of ministers promoted or removed at precisely calculated moments, markets destabilized to measure the palace's adaptability, alliances coaxed into place over decades until the Royal House's survival depended on currents the Lokustaar alone could control. Ze'Kon, had been but one of countless aides that had served their plan, without ever realizing it. NYLA IV had not been ruled from its throne in centuries, only managed. The true work of the Lokustaar had never been measured in borders or treaties. It was measured in bloodlines.

A cascade of faces appeared, each framed by the stark clarity of Lokustaar surveillance. Na'Rin at sixteen, purple hair gleaming under starlight, her eyes lit with a spirit that had not yet been broken. Na'Rin at twenty-three, robed in ceremonial silk beside the High Sovereign, the faintest tension in her posture betraying the truth of her union. Na'Rin at twenty-five, heavy with child, though Markus' gaze did not linger on the glow of expectancy. It lingered on the faint shimmer beneath her skin, the subtle patterns only he and his kind could see.

Genetic markers. Threads woven into her before she had ever met her sovereign. Before she had ever stepped into the palace. Before Ya'Han's name had been debated by the Imperial record keepers.

It had been deliberate.

The next images came in sequence, rapid, surgical: Ya'Kun in his first ceremonial armor. Ya'Min with the measured smile of a court-trained sister. Each of Ya'Han's brothers and sisters catalogued, assessed, dismissed... save for two.

Ya'Jun, the runner, the outlier. And Ya'Han, the youngest of thirteen.

Even before her birth, the calculus had been clear. Two embryos carried in parallel, staggered in gestation: a Nylaan rarity that the Lokustaar had encouraged in Na'Rin's body with subtle biochemical manipulations. Ya'Jun would be a test, a prototype to confirm the cosmic need for balance as her rebellion drew attention outward. Ya'Han would remain, a constant under the High Sovereign's gaze, constantly molded by his will… and by theirs.

The holo-display shifted again. Ya'Han at four, hair the deep purple of her bloodline, eyes already sharp. At eight, hidden in shadow, watching a palace guard bleed out across the marble. At ten, sparring under Nan’s tutelage. At thirteen, her smile radiant as she finished her dance to Daimon Ardax final bid: a betrothal chosen for politics, yet approved by the Lokustaar for its strategic value.

Markus' jaw tightened slightly as another image unfolded: Ya'Han slipping away from the palace that very next night. She thought she had vanished into the chaos of the city, that her escape had been hers alone. But the images showed otherwise: a shadow operative following three rooftops away, another blending with the crowds at the spaceport. She had been allowed to run. Every border crossing, every backwater port, every cargo hold she hid in, and every abuse she had been subjected to... all observed, documented, her choices mapped against projected behavioral curves.

Even across the breadth of the Federation, she had never stepped beyond their reach.

Markus watched the images scroll: Ya'Han in cadet uniform, sweat streaking her brow on the combat floor; Ya'Han laughing with classmates in the mess; Ya'Han alone, staring out at the San Francisco Bay at dusk, desperately trying to hide the shifting colors of her hair. Each scene bore the subtle watermark of Lokustaar observation. Her progress had been charted. Her relationships, her loyalties, her moments of weakness: all catalogued.

This was no accident of fate. This was the slow, deliberate shaping of a life into a weapon.

Markus' gaze shifted to the final sequence. Mordana.

The operative's long, black hair framed eyes as dark as the void, her presence radiating the cold assurance of one born to the shadow. Mordana on NYLA IV, threading herself through the undercurrents of royal politics with the patience of a spider in a windless web. There was a day, preserved in Lokustaar archives with clinical precision, when she weighed an unexpected suggestion from Jayson Stark's clone and extended to Ya'Han a thread of trust. Had it been anyone else, there would not have been a need for a decision, but the Nylaan princess had been an exception even before her birth. In the images that followed, that trust shattered in the space between two heartbeats.

For the first time, Markus' hands curled into slow fists. The shadows in the chamber pressed closer, as though scenting the shift in his composure.

Officially, her death had been logged as a tactical loss: regrettable, yet acceptable. But Markus' gaze lingered on her image longer than the plan required. A shadow among courtiers. An unflinching figure in the black corridors of the Imperial Palace. A glance exchanged in half-light, words lost to the recording, and then the silent, frozen instant of her fall.

The Lokustaar did not nurture attachments as lesser species defined them, yet Markus knew she had been something the records could not classify, bound to him by a connection their kind had no word for. That truth, whatever it was, did not belong in the archives.

Markus let the projection play twice. He told himself it was to study the angles, the timing, the tactics that led to her defeat. But the shadows pressing in on him knew better.

To most in the Lokustaar hierarchy, Mordana was an asset lost in service of a long plan. To Markus, she had been… more. The truth didn’t matter here, not yet. What mattered was that the memory of her death still pulled at him in ways no operative's fate ever had. All because of one woman... of a child you failed to understand her true role in their plans.

Her final moments, her choices, had cost the plan nothing. But they had cost him.

He turned back to the panoramic display of NYLA IV, now dominated by the rising Imperial Mountain Range. Somewhere in those peaks, Na'Rin waited, still alive, still carrying the origin of the code that had made her daughter both weapon and prize. The ANUBIS was already coming. Ya'Han would step into the theater they had built for her long before she could imagine it existed.

The perfection of such inevitability lay in this: she would think herself free until the moment she realized every choice had already been made for her.

Markus let the silence reclaim the room, the murmurs of the displays the only sound. Above him, the ship's alien hull moved in faint ripples as the void shifted around it.

He reached out, brushing the edge of the controls with long, deliberate fingers, freezing Ya'Han's image mid-frame, her eyes fixed forward, hair black as the space beyond the viewport.

She was the culmination of decades. Of planning. Of patience.

And while the Lokustaar plan demanded Ya'Han's return to NYLA IV, Markus carried an older, quieter ledger. One that did not belong to the strategy… but to whatever passed for a heart in the deep places of the shadow.

And whether by the will of the Lokustaar or by his own, she would fulfill the purpose written into her long before she could walk.

If needed, he was ready to tilt the plan by a breath to settle Mordana’s debt, even if it meant Ya'Han would burn, and the light of her fall would be his alone to witness.

-=-=-

Hanali Han

Lieutenant Ya'Han

Chief of Security / Tactical Officer

USS ANUBIS, NCC-18501

M25-037: USS ANUBIS: Shar'El: 45012.2000 ("The Longest Day")

(TOP)

"The Longest Day"

Previous post: "Long Before the Beginning" by Hanali

-=-=-

Setting: USS ANUBIS, Bridge -> Captain's Ready Room

Stardate: 45012.2000

Shar'El paused at the threshold long enough to catch the Captain's reflection in the viewport. Stars slid by in quiet, indifferent lines. No alarms. No raised voices. That only made the ship feel louder.

"Come on in," the Native American captain said.

She stepped in and let the door hush closed behind her. "Sir. We need to set expectations for NYLA IV."

Erik didn't turn, but the slight tilt of his head told her he'd already been there with the same thought. "I know... I was expecting you."

"First, the approach. The corridor ahead is a little too clear for comfort. Ferengi cruisers shifted off our vector like someone told them to. A'Janni's keeping us along the edge of the Drolak Trades Corridor to stay masked, but the path feels… curated." She let the word hang there; it didn't need embellishment.

"I don't like it either," Erik admitted. "Luck that neat usually means a stage has been set for us."

"Expected… maybe even escorted," Shar'El said. "Nothing on sensors, but A'Janni and I both think someone or something is out there."

"A Lokustaar vessel under cloak?" Erik cautiously asked.

"That would be a best-case scenario."

The silence that followed said it all. Of all the nightmares the universe could and had sent their way, the Lokustaar had by far been one of the most vicious and dangerous adversaries they had encountered.

"What about the device?" The captain asked, shifting the focus on their discussion.

"More active than when it was brought aboard, but not triggered." She kept her voice flat. "Since Maya's so-called unlogged event, nothing's really changed... at least not in ways the sensors can track. Two sets of glyphs now, each distinct, like they're from different ancient languages, each glowing in its own color. All it did was double the questions, and make me wonder if it's watching us as much as we're watching it."

"I suspect that we are going to be faced with even more questions once we reach NYLAN IV," Erik said, nodding his head. "The best we can hope is that somewhere we will be able to get a few answers along the way."

The captain finally faced her. She read the fatigue he didn't display anywhere else. "Ya'Han?"

"Quiet. Too quiet. She sits, watches, and lets people decide what that means. The crew feels it. Bridge movements are crisp, but tighter than they should be. We're carrying a shared dread we won't write in a log." Shar'El did not add that several stations now had officers who, once in a while, paused at nothing at all. He didn't need the image. He already had it.

He folded his arms. "What about our ultimate objective: the Imperial Mountain Retreat and Na'Rin?"

"That place is a jail dressed up as a sanctuary," she said. "No beam-in, no beam-out. Mineral density kills transport locks. At least three checkpoints between the entrance and Na'Rin's private chamber... redundancies, drones, thermal traps. Only tunnels in, southern base ingress. Getting in is not going to be easy. Getting out is where plans go to die." The words were Gemma's, but the shape of them was hers now.

"We knew it would not be easy," Erik sighed. "The problem is that the alternative is even less appealing. We need answers, and Na'Rin is the only one who can give them to us at this point."

"And she's dying," Shar'El added. "Which is not making any of this any easier."

Erik nodded once. "Suggestions as to the away team's size and composition?"

"Small. Surgical. T'Lara has to be on it if we want any chance at the genetic truth Na'Rin represents. Even with her, there are no guarantees we will reach the Queen. Fewer that we get out." She let the next part cost her something. "And we may have no choice but to bring Ya'Han down with us. Her royal heritage may be the only thing that will allow us to pass some of the checkpoints and automated defences."

He didn't argue. "We both know we can't control her. She's only letting us do this because it suits her... and when it doesn't, no forcefield will hold her." The Ready Room felt smaller for a heartbeat; both had seen a forcefield behave like morning fog around her.

Shar'El exhaled once, slow. "Then we use what we have. Jayson." Saying his name tasted like compromise. "He's compromised, yes, but his devotion might be our only line into her. A thread, not a leash. If she hears anyone at all, it's him."

"Agreed," Erik said. "If there's a door, he's the hinge."

"Fine," she said. "Then we set the rest of the board. The device stays here under Maya and Drayk, it isn't leaving Deck 12, and it isn't attending this field trip. Amanda won't leave Christie's side, and Adriana isn't letting her sister out of her sight. With Cristhiane close to both, none of them should pose any problems for anyone aboard the ANUBIS. As for the away team: Zub leads the security element planetside and keeps eyes on Ya'Han and Jayson. I’ll stick close to T'Lara."

"Are you bringing Gemma in with you?" Erik asked.

"Trying to keep the team minimal," Shar'El said, the sigh making her reluctance plain. "Ya'Han, Jayson, Zub, T'Lara and I already make 5. I keep arguing with myself that she should stay and man the IGC, keeping an eye on NYLA IV and the entire system, but with the flight corridor vacated and our inability to detect whatever might be following us. If something's shadowing us, she's the one who might spot it before it finds us."

"I would prefer it if you took her with you," Erik stated. "She's back to full form and one of her personalities might prove the one to save the day."

"All right," Shar'El agreed, not appearing overly saddened by the order. "The away team will consist of 6, let's hope that will be our lucky number." She hesitated, then added the thing she didn't like saying out loud. “Contingency. If we lose Ya'Han… what’s the call?"

Something in his jaw set. "Come back, no hesitations." He glanced past her to the closed door, thinking about the rest of the officers under his command. "It's clear we can't control her. She's letting us do what we're doing because it suits her purpose. The moment our paths stop aligning..."

"We may not have the time to get out intact."

"Getting out will be a priority. We can reassess the situation after and see if there are any pieces left for us to pick up."

"One last thing. The mood." She rarely labeled feelings when talking ops, but accuracy mattered. "We're at that part of a bad plan where people start pretending it's normal because it has to be. I'll manage it, but if you want the crew we need in twelve hours, a walk and a visible word from you on the bridge will do more than any memo. It's been a long couple of days getting here."

Erik's answer was a quiet "Understood. Let’s hope these last few long days don't bleed into a longer night."

=-=

Tiffany Reeve

Commander Shar'El

Executive Officer

USS ANUBIS

M25-038: USS ANUBIS: Val'Bruxa: 45012.2130 ("Inheritance of Silence")

(TOP)

"Inheritance of Silence"

Previous post: "The Longest Day" by Tiffany

Setting: USS ANUBIS, Val'Bruxa's Quarters

Stardate: 45012.2130

The lights in Drayk Val’Bruxa’s quarters were dimmed, not for rest but to strip the space of unnecessary detail. Shadows erased distractions. Shadows focused thought: an approach few aboard currently shared.

The rhythmic pulse of the ANUBIS’s warp core bled through the deck plating, steady, disciplined, like the breath of a predator waiting to strike. Somewhere below, Maya was still in the Quantum Physics Lab, locked in her silent duel with the cube. She would not stop until the numbers surrendered or she did. He respected that. It was the only kind of loyalty worth anything: loyalty to the task, not to people.

The night before NYLA IV. The night before the away team would descend into the mountain to meet Na’Rin. The mission’s end for them, perhaps, but not for him. His orders were simple: remain aboard, keep the ANUBIS and the device intact, continue the study that already skirted the edge of futility. That edge was thin now. If Maya didn't find something soon, the cube would remain what it had been from the start, a silent dare from a long-forgotten past.

He leaned back in the chair at his desk, gaze fixed on the casket resting in the corner. Satella's casket. The alloy gleamed faintly, a monument to a design as deliberate as his own existence. She had been cultivated for him; he for her. The perfect convergence of intention. And like all designs, hers had ended when utility was removed. He told himself that was why the emptiness lingered... because it violated the equation. But that was a lie even he didn't believe.

His thoughts strayed to the away team's purpose: family. Ya'Han's mother might hold answers. Or leverage. Or nothing at all. Drayk's experience with families had been second-hand, observed like specimens behind glass: Adriana and Amanda, bound by love and distance; Christie and her mother, tangled in guilt and engineered betrayal. Families were messy, inefficient, dangerously unpredictable. And yet…

He missed his own. Not the one he was born to, there had been no birth. The one he was made for. The family he had been designed to protect, to strengthen, to extend beyond a single lifespan. That absence was a structural fault that could never be repaired.

He rose, crossing to the casket. His reflection warped across its curve, silver hair catching the light like a blade. He laid a hand on the alloy. Cold. Always cold.

"If they find answers down there," he murmured, "it won't change the design. It never does."

The casket gave no reply. The dead never argued. That was why the dead were easier to respect: they stayed what they were.

Tomorrow, the away team would walk into the mountain. Some would return. Some might not. And he and Maya would keep turning over the same flawless, uncooperative stone until it either revealed its core or crushed them beneath it.

The others feared the Lokustaar; shadows, whispers, predators in the dark. They feared the cruelty, the precision of their strikes. Drayk feared none of it. He almost admired them. Not for what they destroyed, but for what they built in silence: plans that spanned generations, designs so patient and deliberate that by the time their hand was seen, the outcome had already been assured.

He turned back to his desk, the casket now behind him, the weight of it a constant presence in the room. A quick systems check on the containment fields: all green. No surprises. He trusted that less than a warning.

He sat, hands folding in perfect stillness. Waiting was not weakness, so long as it was the right kind of waiting. The kind that ends exactly as designed, with the outcome already calculated. The kind the Lokustaar had perfected. The kind he himself practiced.

=-=

Scott Grant

Lieutenant JG Drayk Val'Bruxa

Assistant Chief Engineer

USS ANUBIS, NCC-18501

"The outcome was decided before the first move was made."

M25-039: USS ANUBIS: Lopez/T'Lara: 45012.2200 ("Whispered Hopes")

(TOP)

"Whispered Hopes"

Previous post: "Inheritance of Silence" by Scott

Setting: USS ANUBIS, Guest Quarters

Stardate: 45012.2200

The quiet in the guest quarters was the heavy kind, not rest, but the silence that follows days of strain, when even sleep feels like surrender. In the bedroom, Cristhiane slept curled protectively around her daughter, the rise and fall of their breathing almost synchronized. Christie's skin still held a faint pallor from the anesthetic, but the lines of tension in her face had softened for the first time in days. On the couch, Amanda lay sprawled on her side, hair in loose disarray, one arm dangling toward the deck.

Adriana sat in the dim-lit sitting area, spine straight but shoulders drawn tight, as though relaxing might give the darkness permission to settle over her completely.

The door chime did not sound, a courtesy to the sleepers inside, but the panel still parted with its soft mechanical sigh. T'Lara stepped through with the same precision she brought to an operating theatre, tricorder in hand, boots soundless on the carpet.

Her gaze swept first to the bedroom doorway. Satisfied at the faint but steady vital signatures of the two within, she crossed to Adriana. "Christie's recovery is stable," she said quietly. "Neural activity remains within expected parameters. Muscle tremors have lessened."

Adriana's nod was equally restrained. "She hasn't stirred."

"Sleep will aid in recovery." T'Lara's voice was the even blend of Vulcan discipline and Romulan undercurrent, a tone that could soothe or unnerve depending on what followed. She extended the tricorder toward Amanda's sleeping form without moving closer, as if unwilling to disturb her. "Your sister appears physically unaffected by recent events."

It was a statement, not a question, but Adriana's answer came with a slight tightening of her jaw. "Physically, yes."

T'Lara closed the tricorder with a quiet snap, the sound small but deliberate. "Emotionally?"

There it was, the first, measured push. T'Lara's years in deep cover had taught her that the most guarded truths rarely broke under blunt force; they shifted when the right pressure was applied in silence.

Adriana exhaled, gaze drifting toward the couch. "She's… anchored herself to Christie. I understand why, I do. The Matrix bond, the shared trauma…" She shook her head once, almost imperceptibly. "But sometimes it feels like I'm watching that bond replace ours."

T'Lara studied her without judgment, cataloguing the micro-tensions in her posture. "Family bonds are rarely static. They expand, contract… realign." A pause, then a subtle shift in tone, still controlled, but carrying the weight of something personal. "When I was a child, I was taken from my father's world to my mother's. The distance did not erase the bond with him, though it… changed it. Permanently. What I learned was this: proximity is not the only measure of closeness. And sometimes, one must yield to another bond's necessity… without forfeiting their own."

Adriana's mouth twitched toward a smile, but didn't quite make it. "Yielding isn't my strong suit... not when it comes to my sister. I've worked and hoped too long to just… let things slide."

"That is why I mention it,” T'Lara replied, a faint glimmer of dry Romulan wit threading the words.

Silence reclaimed the space for a moment, broken only by the muffled hum of the ANUBIS at warp.

"Do you think NYLA IV can help her?" Adriana asked finally, her voice low, the question meant for both Christie and Ya'Han.

T'Lara did not answer immediately. Her mind had already run the probabilities; genetic intervention, environmental triggers, the narrowing window of reversibility. Logic dictated caution; experience whispered that the shadows they chased had a habit of arriving before them.

"If the source of this can be reached," she said at last, "there is a possibility of resolution. But the deeper concern is whether we are already too late to claim it."

Adriana's gaze lingered on the closed bedroom door, where shadows pooled along the seam. "Then we'd better hope the shadows aren't already claiming her."

T'Lara's eyes followed the same line. She said nothing, but the stillness of her expression was not serenity, it was the calculated quiet of someone listening for the moment when silence changes.

-=-=-

Marissa Montonera-Lombardi

Lieutenant JG Adriana Lopez

Ship's Counselor & Junior Ambassador

USS ANUBIS

M25-040: USS ANUBIS: Gemma: 45013.0600 ("Hidden Teeth")

(TOP)

"Hidden Teeth"

Previous post: "Whispered Hopes" by Marissa

Setting: USS ANUBIS, Deck A-4, IGC

Stardate: 45013.0600

The IGC carried a rhythm that clung like a bad scent, steady and false. Consoles blinked with mechanical precision as if the universe could be reduced to neat intervals of light. To anyone else, it might have been reassuring. To Gemma, it was a pulse, one that threatened to quicken without warning.

The ANUBIS had slipped back into normal space under the shroud of its Ablative Cloaking Armor, entering the NYLAAN system unseen. The tactical overlay of the region unfolded across her primary station. Ship traffic registered thinner than expected, merchant paths scattered, patrol vectors missing in action.

"Quieter than it should be," she muttered, silently noting that this was not entirely unexpected given the absence of any obstacles in their path once they had crossed into Ferengi-controlled space.

Shinral, the always vigilant bodyguard, whispered in the back of her mind. "Stillness is never peace. It is the pause before something worse.”

Gemma's eyes narrowed. "Noted."

Her attention shifted to orbital signatures. NYLA IV's orbit was clear. Too clear. The satellites that should have ringed the planet in overlapping arcs of defense were simply… absent. No wreckage. No decayed orbits. Not even the scar of dismantling. Just emptiness, deliberate and wrong.

Ema's voice rose, mocking in tone. "What's an empire without its teeth? Naked. Weak." The Oltharian Warrior Priestess had a unique perspective on people and civilizations.

"Or," Kael added, low and deliberate, "they're hidden. Cloaked."

That suggestion stirred her fingers into motion. Layers of passive scans overlaid, refracted, and cross-compared. The first anomalies appeared subtle: ripples of distortion, minor gravitational inconsistencies, faint resonance along the orbital track. Nothing conclusive. Nothing… until the pattern aligned.

And then she saw them.

The orbital defense grid was not gone. Not destroyed. It lingered, intact, strangling the planet in silence, veiled beneath a lattice of cloaking fields. Nylaan science had never produced such precision. The fluctuations bore no resemblance to Romulan veils or Klingon shrouds. This was something older. Colder. Darker... much darker. Something they had already met in the abyss, and barely survived.

"Lokustaar," Gemma whispered. The word carried no surprise. Only confirmation of the suspicion that had been gnawing at her since NORTHAL DRIFT.

The grid remained intact, every satellite in place, but invisible until it chose not to be. Worse, the distortions suggested bio-engineered adaptive phasing: the kind that could not only hide but deceive, projecting false echoes to lure attackers into lethal traps.

A shiver traced her spine, but she forced her posture still.

Gabrielle’s voice cut first, sharp and unforgiving, her German accent clipped like steel on stone. "They've been here far longer than anyone dared suspect. You don't weave a net this intricate overnight. This is architecture born of patience. Sabotage layered over several years and carefully hidden from everyone. Every orbit, every frequency… all of it designed to fail us the instant we test it.”

Arika barked a laugh, reckless and raw, the sound rattling like dice on metal. "Fail us? No, gut us. This isn't defense anymore... it's a noose. An occupation hidden in plain sight. And we just strolled into their casino, chips on the table, blind to the house rules."

Melika, the Ekosian historian, echoed what many within Gemma's wide range of personalities thought following this unsettling discovery. "This world has been living in their shadow for years. Perhaps always, never realizing it."

Gemma exhaled slowly. For all the technology aboard the ANUBIS, there was no counter to what she had uncovered. The best they could do was drift carefully, unseen, and hope the shadows chose not to notice. Yet everything about the cloaked grid whispered the opposite: that the Lokustaar wanted them here. Not the ship. Not the crew. One person. Ya'Han.

She keyed the comm channel to the Ready Room. "Gemma to Captain Morningstar. I have your tactical report on the NYLA IV system."

There was no hesitation in his reply, as though he had been waiting for this moment. =/\= Go ahead. =/\=

"The orbital defense grid that was reported there did not just vanish. It has been cloaked. The signatures match Lokustaar technology. The entire array is active and hidden. We are heading into a heavily fortified world, Captain, one that belongs more to the shadows than to its people."

Silence held for a breath. Long enough for the weight of the discovery to sink in.

=/\= Understood, =/\= was all that the captain could manage as a reply. Acknowledging not only the implications of the report but the shift in their already delicate mission to reach Na'Rin.

Her gaze lingered on the schematic, on the hollow orbit circling NYLA IV: a void filled with hidden teeth. Her voices fell silent, leaving only her own breath in the dark.

"This mission," she whispered, "just went from impossible… to inevitable."

The IGC blinked around her, steady and indifferent, as if nothing had changed.

But everything had.

=-=

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

M25-041: USS ANUBIS: Morningstar: 45013.0815 ("The Embrace of Shadows")

(TOP)

#######

"The Embrace of Shadows"

Previous post: "Hidden Teeth"

##########

"The oldest and strongest emotion of mankind is fear, and the oldest and strongest kind of fear is fear of the unknown."

— H.P. Lovecraft

Setting: USS ANUBIS, Observation Lounge

Stardate: 45013.0815

The senior staff assembled in silence, the weight of inevitability pressing upon each of them though none dared to voice it. The vast curve of NYLA IV filled the panoramic viewport, its atmosphere glimmering with deceptive serenity. It was a world of beauty wrapped around a core of secrets, and every officer in the room knew that they were here to tear those secrets open.

Lieutenant A'Janni was the first to speak. His report was crisp and measured, but the way his ears were pulled to his head hinted at more than his words said. "The ANUBIS is holding in a stationary polar orbit over the planet's south pole. Ablative armour and cloak integrity remains steady. No external signs that our presence has been detected."

Zub Enel's long arms were folded across his chest as he followed. "Scans confirm there are only a few other transport ships in orbit, no military crafts anywhere to be seen. The few we did see earlier showed no awareness of us, and since then… nothing. No Ferengi patrols in this system at all. That alone feels wrong."

Gemma leaned forward, hands clasped on the table. "As reported to the Captain earlier, the IGC did detect distortions, cloaked orbital defence platforms, very likely using Lokustaar tech. They're positioned to cover wide arcs of approach, but they've shown no signs of aggression. If not for the distortions, we wouldn't even know they were there."

The words hung like smoke. Platforms, unseen, watching, and waiting.

Doctor T'Lara's calm Vulcan voice cut through the tension. "Adriana and Amanda continue to remain with Christie and Cristhiane. There is no indication of distress. Christie's condition, in regards to her Lokustaar genetic markers, appears stable. No indications of changes or latent abilities."

Under his breath, the Caitian FCO muttered, "One officer believing herself the 'Mistress of Shadows' is already one too many."

Zub added without hesitation, "Jayson is still with Ya'Han. Both are in their quarters. Likely waiting for someone to come and get them."

Shar'El's dark eyes swept the table, her voice steady as the decision had already been discussed and made. "The away team will consist of Gemma, T'Lara, Ya'Han, Jayson, Zub, and myself."

Gemma was quick to add: "Coordinates have already been relayed to Transporter Room One. I've selected the best possible beam-down site, as close to the Mountain entrance as the sensor lock would allow."

A'Janni exhaled slowly, his unease unmasked. "With respect, Captain, I question Ya'Han's inclusion. She has a history with this world, one that the Lokustaar are sure to exploit."

Zub inclined his head in reluctant agreement. "True. But without her, our chances of reaching Na'Rin drop to nearly zero. She may be our only key."

"She is both the lock and key," Gemma noted. "This makes for a very complicated situation."

The Native American Captain listened, his gaze shifting from one officer to the next before settling back on the viewport. His silence was heavy, the kind born not of indecision but of the weight of command. "We all acknowledge the dangers," Erik said at last, his tone steady. "But the answers we seek, about the device, the genetic markers, and the Lokustaar themselves, require us to take risks. That is the nature of our duty."

A'Janni's ears flicked back, frustration slipping through. "Like being surrounded by Lokustaar defence platforms, we can't even see?" The words came out sharper than intended. He bowed his head almost immediately. "My apologies, Captain."

Morningstar's expression did not change. He let the words hang, unpunished, unchallenged, silently agreeing with the Caitian's blunt assessment. Then he leaned forward. "We have a mission to complete… answers to claim… and lives to restore. Let's go."

--==(/\)==--

Setting: USS ANUBIS, Bridge

Stardate: 45012.0820

Returning to his station at the front of the bridge, A'Janni's eyes were inevitably drawn to the planet filling the viewscreen. "It is truly a beautiful world," he said, almost to himself. "Unfortunately, and all too often, such beauty is nothing but a trap."

From the command chair, Erik Morningstar regarded the same view, his features carved into resolve. "Perhaps. But the ANUBIS and our away team have more than a few tricks of their own. If this is a trap, we'll meet it prepared. Keep the ship cloaked, and keep her ready. We may yet be called to strike."

The Caitian nodded, his unease softened but not erased. "Understood, Captain."

The bridge fell into its silent vigil, the crew working with quiet precision while the planet loomed before them like a predator in wait.

--==(/\)==--

Setting: USS ANUBIS, Deck 2, Corridor

Stardate: 45012.0830

Zub and Gemma walked side by side through the corridor, their footfalls echoing faintly in the hush. They paused outside quarters, the door parting to reveal Ya'Han and Jayson; both standing, waiting and ready.

The Nylaan woman emerged first, her presence commanding, her black hair flowing as if stirred by unseen currents, framing features etched with an almost unnatural certainty. Gone was the hesitation of doubt; in its place burned a quiet defiance.

"We're ready," she said simply. Her eyes flashed, daring the universe itself to contest the truth of her words.

As the group made their way toward the turbolift, Ya'Han spoke again, her tone carrying the weight of prophecy. "I fear nothing. Not this world, not the Lokustaar. This is my destiny. The end of an era… and the beginning of what comes next. Mine."

Her words carried through the corridor like an oath, each step toward the transporter room marking a step toward inevitability.

--==(/\)==--

Setting: USS ANUBIS, Deck 3, Transporter Room 1

Stardate: 45012.0832

Awaiting inside, Shar'El and T'Lara stood ready. An unnatural silence filled the chamber before the doors hissed open: a sound that had launched a thousand missions, but this one felt different. This one felt final in countless different ways, as if the universe itself had already decided that for one or more among them, the ANUBIS would never again be home.

The away team gathered, the air between them heavy with unspoken truths. Whatever shadows would be on the surface had been waiting for far longer than any of them cared to admit.

--==(/\)==--

Francois Charette

Captain Erik Morningstar

Commanding Officer

USS ANUBIS, NCC 18501

- Marcus Cole, Babylon 5

M25-042: USS ANUBIS: Ya'Han: 45013.0835 ("Blood of the Queen")

(TOP)

"Blood of the Queen"

Previous post: "When Silence Becomes a Weapon" by Rachel

-=-=-

Setting: NYLA IV, Imperial Mountain Retreat, Na'Rin's Private

Stardate: 45013.0835 (Local time +2 hours)

The cool mountain air seeped in through the high windows, crisp but thin, carrying the distant sound of wind through stone chasms. Heavy drapes and carved screens turned the chamber into a space caught between light and shadow.

Na'Rin sat in her high-backed chair, the silk folds of her robe drawn close against the chill. Her frame was lighter now, her skin pale, but the bearing of royalty still clung to her like the last ember of a fire refusing to die.

The door hissed open and Markus entered without waiting for an invitation. His stride was slow, deliberate, every step the step of a man convinced the world moved at his pace. Gloved hands clasped behind his back, his gaze traced the room before settling on her like a verdict.

"Na'Rin," he murmured, as though savoring the syllables. "The mountain preserves you. I must say, even illness has not dulled the… elegance you were given."

Her eyes sharpened. "Given? You mean stolen. Twisted. Paid for in the later ruin of my family."

Markus allowed himself a faint smile. "Ah, the narrative of the victim. Charming, but false. You became a queen because we intervened. Ya'Fen would not have looked twice at you without me and my associates. We gave you a royal life, a family shaped for greatness, one generation's sacrifice paving the next's ascendancy. So many single disappointments… until at last, you gave us something rare. Still, you have children whose influence extends beyond these mountains, beyond NYLA IV, beyond even the Ferengi Alliance. You should be proud, and maybe even thankful."

Her voice trembled, not with weakness, but with fury. "How can I be proud or thankful of what you made me… of what you made my children become?"

That was when it happened, a ripple of shame she did not intend. Her fists clenched, knuckles whitening, but the betrayal was written in her hair: purple bleeding into black, the color of the common caste. The lowest rank. The nothing of her world she had so desperately sought to escape.

Markus' smile widened, a predator scenting blood. "Pride is the luxury of the ignorant, Na'Rin. Destiny requires sacrifice… and refinement. You, of all people, should know that."

Her eyes flashed, but she said nothing.

He stepped closer, lowering his voice to something intimate, conspiratorial. "Your daughter..." a pause, deliberate, surgical "...the one who will reshape your world, is here."

Na'Rin's breath caught. "Ya'Han…" Joy and fear mixed in equal measures as memories of the young child collided with the nightmares of the woman she would become.

Markus's gaze glinted. "Names are irrelevant. The design is nearly complete."

Before she could press him, the chamber doors slid open again. A servant bowed low. "Your Highness… your daughter is here."

Markus straightened, expecting the familiar pull in the shadows that always accompanied her, but instead of the chill of timeless darkness, he felt nothing... an absence so pure it burned.

The figure who entered did not carry shadow at all. She was radiant in presence, though not in the fragile way of light that can be extinguished, hers was the tempered glow of steel pulled from the forge. Ya'Jun's hair, a vivid purple that seemed to catch and bend the chamber's light, stood in stark opposition to the memory of her sister's black, shadow-soaked mane. Two halves of a truth Na'Rin had never dared speak aloud, darkness and light, born of the same blood.

Ya'Jun's steps were measured, deliberate, and without hesitation her gaze locked on Markus. She knew him. Not as a stranger. Not as rumor. As the enemy he was. "Go back," she said, each syllable wrapped in unshakable conviction, "to the abyss of eternal darkness from which you crawled out of."

It was not a shout. It didn't need to be. The words themselves were an act of dismissal, a command he could not ignore and could not obey.

Markus did not flinch, but something in the air shifted, the certainty he wore like armor now just a fraction thinner.

Na'Rin felt it, and her heart tightened. One daughter of shadow was already on her way. The other, her light, now stood in defiance. And Markus’s balance would not be kept without blood.

-=-=-

Hanali Han

Lieutenant Ya'Han

Chief of Security / Tactical Officer

USS ANUBIS, NCC-18501

M25-043: USS ANUBIS: Stark: 45013.0835 ("Follow the Black Wind")

(TOP)

"Follow the Black Wind"

Previous post: "Blood of the Queen" by Hanali

Setting: NYLA IV, beam down site

Stardate: 45013.0835

The wind came down the mountain carrying rumors of stone: dry, old, patient. Dust and copper stung Jayson's tongue, but he told himself it was the air and not fear. Fear was no longer an option. There was only her.

Cold bit through his jacket, but Ya’Han was the only warmth he needed in the broken landscape ahead.

Ya'Han didn't look back. She never needed to. He was there, always by her side, silent, obedient.

Around them the away team moved with the precision of trained operatives. Weapons checked, comms tested, formation set. Every safeguard in place against an enemy they could not name. Tricorders were dead weight on their belts, sensors jammed by the mountain itself. Only sight, sound, and instinct mattered now.

For Jayson, instinct was simple: stay with her.

He remembered what Drayk had said, about predators, about the way she might walk through them if it suited her. He remembered the way the clone had walked too, smiling, perfect, and how Ya'Han had chosen him once. Not him, but close enough to rip the marrow out of his soul. That ghost had shadowed every breath since.

And yet, standing here, staring at her silhouette framed against jagged stone, none of that mattered. He would bleed out on this rock before letting her take a single step alone.

"Stark," Zub's voice came low, pitched to carry no farther than a meter. "Two meters' spacing. You're crowding her."

He didn't look at the Voth. "I'm where I need to be."

"That wasn't an option." Zub's hand brushed the hilt of his blade in a way that wasn't quite a threat, but wasn't casual either. "Orders are orders."

Jayson almost laughed. Orders. Once, he had lived by them; Ops officer, regulations, the neat rhythm of duty shifts. That life had died with the clone, with the choice Ya'Han had made and unmade. Now there was only this: her steps ahead, and the black wind carrying him wherever she led.

"You don't understand," he said, and it came out softer than he intended, more prayer than defiance.

Zub's golden eyes narrowed. "No, Stark. I understand exactly. That's why I'm watching you as much as her."

The words should have stung. They didn't. Zub could watch all he wanted. Jayson's place was fixed, carved deeper than duty, stronger than fear.

Ya'Han moved forward, the mountain answering her stride like it had been waiting for her all along... and Jayson followed.

They reached the first checkpoint without seeing a single guard, which felt, somehow, more like a welcome than a mistake. The sensor pylons were Nylaan: imperial lines under centuries of dust. Ya'Han paused, head tilted, hair drifting in a gravity that wasn’t on any chart. The pylons blinked green. They should have blinked red.

"Automated biological scan to identify and counter unauthorized access," T'Lara breathed, so soft it might have been a thought.

"I am authorized," Ya'Han said without turning. "Royal lineage... and guests. Keep up. The alternative would be… unpleasant."

Jayson watched her profile, the way the black of her hair drank the moonlight, and remembered a purple laugh on a couch light-years away. He put the memory down gently, the way you set a glass on a table when the ship hits turbulence. Then he stepped when she stepped.

In that moment he knew: whatever doorway opened, whatever darkness waited, he would step through, because she stepped through. He had nothing left to give but everything.

=-=

Jayson Sousa

Lieutenant Jayson Stark

Chief of Operations

USS ANUBIS, NCC-18501

M25-044: USS ANUBIS: Gemma: 45013.0845 ("Shadowed Footfall")

(TOP)

"Shadowed Footfall"

Previous post: "Whispered Hopes" by Marissa

Setting: NYLA IV, Mountain tunnel

Stardate: 45013.0845

The tunnels narrowed, their jagged walls drawing closer as if the mountain itself meant to swallow the intruders whole. Ya'Han led the way, her stride never faltering, never hesitating, as if the darkness itself bent aside to let her pass. It wasn't recognition. It was deference.

Gemma kept her focus sharp. Every sound, every flicker of shadow, every detail mattered. Shar'El and T'Lara followed, disciplined enough to keep formation, but she could feel it: the pulse of unease pressing against the back of her skull.

They reached the second checkpoint. As before, the sensor pylons blinked green, unchallenged by Ya'Han's presence. No alarms. No resistance.

Too easy. Every report she had dissected warned that this mountain was no sanctuary, but a fortress designed to keep intruders out and prisoners in. Nothing about this silence fit the pattern.

Gemma's eyes swept the chamber. Intel files had been precise: two Imperial Guards should have been stationed here. Instead, there was only silence.

T'Lara stopped first, crouching low. She pressed her fingers against the rock wall, the faint smear of blackened residue catching the dim light. A soft rub, then a careful sniff. "Biological remains." Her voice was quiet. Final.

Jinx, the bounty hunter, stirred in her skull, sharp and quick. "Not guards anymore… prey. Someone hunted them."

Anya, ever the assassin, followed with a cool whisper of admiration. "Efficient. Deadly."

Za'Ran added, cold and certain as the Nylaan infiltrator ever was. "The security grid was disabled long before we came through. Not her doing. Another hand cleared this path."

Gabrielle whispered next, her Germanic tone edged with grim engineering satisfaction. "The traps are all offline. Sentries gone. Someone is walking ahead of us, and they are systematically removing all obstacles."

Shar'El broke the silence, suspicion threading her words. "Ya'Han… your work?"

Zub countered immediately, a protective growl under his breath. "No. She's never left my sight. She may be good, but even she has limits."

Gemma's reply came measured, her tone like a blade sliding free of its sheath. "This isn't her. Footmarks in the dust say enough. Someone else passed through here recently. They didn't want witnesses left behind."

The team shifted uneasily. Jayson's gaze flicked to Ya'Han, but she gave him nothing, no glance, no word, no sign of concern. Only calm certainty, her focus fixed on the path ahead.

Gwenvel, the El'Aurian Counselor, whispered inside Gemma's mind, gentle but unnerving. "She fears nothing, especially not us. That calm is not for your comfort. It is for her goal."

Gemma's eyes narrowed. Jayson trailed close behind Ya'Han, a tethered hound. His devotion was written in every step, blind to the truth that his loyalty made him dangerous to himself and everyone else. The idea had been to bring him here to help anchor Ya'Han, or at least give them some way to reach the woman. Seeing the man behave as he was, the ILO wondered if him being here had not been a mistake, giving Ya'Han a pawn she could use at her whim.

Anya's voice was colder still. "He'll bleed out for her without hesitation. A liability wrapped in love."

Gemma kept moving. The evidence was clear: guards erased, systems disarmed, a trail leading deeper into the mountain. Whoever had passed through was not far ahead. Whoever or whatever they were, they had left their mark. Efficient and brutally deadly.

The air thickened with every step, the silence pressing in, heavy and alive, as if the mountain itself was listening. Dust shifted beneath their boots like whispers of the dead.

The silence of Gemma’s mental chorus echoed the uncertainty they all faced.

Something waited in the dark.

And it was already listening for them.

=-=

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

M25-045: USS ANUBIS: Lopez: 45013.0900 ("Shadows Between Sisters")

(TOP)

"Shadows Between Sisters"

Previous post: "Shadowed Footfall" by Rachel

Setting: USS ANUBIS, Guest Quarters

Stardate: 45013.0900

The guest quarters had long since stopped feeling temporary. Adriana noticed it in the way Amanda folded blankets at the edge of the couch, in the little pile of discarded boots by the door, in the quiet rhythm of meals taken here instead of their own quarters. They had all but moved in, drawn into the orbit of Cristhiane and her daughter.

Christie sat curled against Amanda's side on the couch, silent but not asleep. Amanda's arm draped protectively around her shoulders, as if she could hold the girl safe by sheer willpower. Every so often, Amanda would glance down, whispering something low, soothing, a comfort that felt too natural, too effortless.

From her chair across the room, Adriana watched, the smile she wore practiced and quiet. She knew this closeness was born of the Matrix, of trials neither she nor Cristhiane had endured with them. And yet, knowing didn't soften the sting. Amanda was slipping, leaning ever closer to Christie, as though the girl had become her anchor in this strange reality.

Cristhiane, seated nearby, noticed too. She shifted, her eyes reflecting both gratitude and unease. "She hasn't let you out of her sight," she murmured to her daughter, her voice carrying the weight of both relief and guilt.

Amanda only tightened her hold on Christie. "And I don't intend to."

The words were sharp, protective, leaving Adriana silent. Her twin's loyalty, once a lifeline tethered only to her, had been rerouted. Adriana folded her hands in her lap, reminding herself, again, that this wasn't betrayal. It was survival. Amanda had found someone else who understood, who had lived through the same nightmare.

Still, a quiet ache coiled in her chest. Watching her sister drift toward another bond felt like standing outside a window in the cold. Watching warmth she could not touch.

Then Christie shivered. It wasn't the kind of tremor born of chill, but something deeper, instinctive, the body recoiling from a presence it couldn't name. Amanda immediately bent her head close, whispering reassurance, "You're safe. The ANUBIS is safe."

Christie's reply was soft, almost too quiet to hear. "Not here. Not on this ship. There's something... dark... out there."

The words lingered in the room like a shadow that refused to leave, their meaning left uncertain. Did she speak of the planet below, where Ya'Han and the others searched for answers, or of the vast darkness of space, where cloaked defenses, and perhaps far worse, might be waiting?

Adriana's heart clenched at the sound of it. Part of her wanted to pull Amanda back, to remind her twin that Christie wasn't hers to protect alone. But the other part, the Counselor, forced her to stay seated, composed, silent. To listen. To watch. To keep herself ready for whatever unraveling came next.

It was the cruelest balance: sister and professional, longing and duty, love and distance. And in that balance, Adriana remained, unseen, unheard, watching the bond between Amanda and Christie grow stronger, while her own place seemed to fade further into shadow.

The background sounds of the ANUBIS filled the silence between them, a reminder of the away team far below, chasing answers and secrets she could not reach. But for Adriana, there were worse things than unseen shadows among the stars. The ones that lingered here in this very room, born of bonds shifting, loyalties reformed, and a personal darkness she could not escape, were proving to be a hell all their own.

-=-=-

Marissa Montonera-Lombardi

Lieutenant JG Adriana Lopez

Ship's Counselor & Junior Ambassador

USS ANUBIS

M25-046: USS ANUBIS: Ya'Han: 45013.0915 ("Blood of the Same Line")

(TOP)

"Blood of the Same Line"

Previous post: "Shadows Between Sisters" by Marissa

-=-=-

Setting: NYLA IV, Imperial Mountain Retreat, Tunnel -> Na'Rin's Private Chambers

Stardate: 45013.0915 (Local time +2 hours)

The guards were missing and the automated defences had been taken offline, but Ya'Han didn't care. They would have been dealt with in one way or another, and maybe the fate they had been dealt had proven to be more merciful than that she should have bestowed upon them without a second thought. Only the genetic scanners remained, offering no barrier or restriction to the youngest of the High Sovereign's daughters, no matter what her intentions might have been. To her, it only confirmed what she already knew: every absent guard, every silent scanner was fate clearing her path.

The chamber air felt colder than the mountain winds outside. Shadows clung to the carved stone, as if reluctant to release their grip on the family that had lived, and suffered, within these walls.

Ya'Han stopped just inside the threshold. Black hair, fluid and restless, framed her features in a darkness that swallowed the room's firelight. Across the chamber, a familiar figure in appearance and stance turned at the sound of her sister's steps. For a heartbeat, they simply stared.

The silence broke like glass.

Both moved at once, feet sliding into the stance drilled into them since childhood. Shoulders squared, spines straight, every muscle poised for the strike that did not come.

Ya'Jun's hair bled into crimson fire, vivid against the cold stone. It flared with defiance, a clear signal of what she expected, what she demanded.

But Ya'Han's hair did not answer. It remained black. Not humility. Not surrender. A void; unnatural, endless, unyielding.

Ya'Jun's breath caught, eyes narrowed, horror flashing before she forced it back into anger. "What is this?"

Ya'Han's voice cut like a blade. "Truth."

"The truth?" Ya'Jun echoed. "Your hair… it should burn with fire, not swallow it like an abyss."

The pause between them was a battlefield in itself.

Ya'Jun struck first, not with fists, but with words. "Why are you here, sister? To seize the throne? To punish the monster who spawned us? Or just to play one more game in the dark you've chosen?"

Ya'Han tilted her head, eyes narrowing in cold appraisal. "And why are you here? To burn down what remains of our line? To prove to yourself that you are not what he made you?"

Ya'Jun's hair flared brighter, anger controlled but precise. "I see you as clearly as I see myself, Ya'Han. You think your void makes you powerful. All I see is the emptiness swallowing you and those around you whole."

Her sister's reply carried no heat, only steel. "Emptiness is freedom. Free of weakness. Free of need."

The duel of words pressed closer, their stances never faltering.

"Is that what you tell yourself?" Ya'Jun's voice cracked through the silence. "That you are beyond need? Beyond family? Beyond her?" She stepped aside just enough for the frail figure at the chamber's heart to be seen. "What happened to the sister who battled against darkness back on the MASQUERADE DREAMS?"

Na'Rin stirred, a frail ghost of the mother they once knew. Her hand trembled as it rose, her breath rattling in her chest. "My… daughters…" The words cracked, breaking into a cough that sounded like it might steal the last air from her lungs. "Enough… let the last thing I hear from my girls… not be fighting."

The sound splintered through Ya'Jun like a blade of memory. Her stance faltered. She inhaled sharply, forced herself still, and then, slowly, she straightened. The fire of her hair dimmed, returning to the royal purple of her lineage but her eyes stayed locked on her sister's.

"She is my mother too," Ya'Jun said at last, voice low but resolute. The words carried more finality than any strike could have. "Strange, isn’t it? That I ran from him into shadow, and you fled into light... yet here we are, standing where the other should be."

Ya'Han did not move, but the black shadows of her hair whispered against her shoulders. Her gaze slid from Ya'Jun to the frail woman who had given them life, then back again.

The duel ended without a victor, but not without scars.

Ya'Jun stepped back, deliberately yielding the space before Na'Rin. She kept her eyes on her sister, every muscle tense, every instinct ready, but she allowed Ya'Han to move forward.

It was then her gaze shifted, catching sight of the man standing just behind.

Jayson Stark looked older than she remembered, haunted, worn, uncertain. Something in him reminded her of the days before everything fractured. Gently, she laid a hand on his shoulder.

"Lost," she murmured, that single word filled with more emotions and care than he had experienced in what felt like an eternity. "You look lost."

The contact was brief, but it rippled through him like a spark catching kindling. Jayson's eyes widened, not at her touch, but at what surged behind it, memories not of despair, but of Ya'Han laughing, training, holding him close. Light. The pieces of her he thought were gone.

Shar'El, standing a pace away, stiffened. Her Ullian senses caught the sudden cascade, Jayson broadcasting memory after memory, each one radiant against the shadows suffocating this place. She felt the surge as if it were her own, her breath catching at the realization.

There was still light in Ya'Han. Buried. Faint. But there.

Ya'Jun let her hand fall away, her eyes locked on Ya'Han. "She's not gone. Not yet. Believe in her... even if she has forgotten how."

The words hung in the chamber like both warning and promise.

Ya'Han said nothing. She simply stood in the void of her own making, eyes unreadable, as Na'Rin's labored breathing filled the silence.

For now, the conflict was not ended. Only waiting… like the mountain shadows, patient and eternal.

-=-=-

Hanali Han

Lieutenant Ya'Han

Chief of Security / Tactical Officer

USS ANUBIS, NCC-18501

M25-047: USS ANUBIS: Stark: 45013.0920 ("Hope Rekindled")

(TOP)

"Hope Rekindled"

Previous post: "Blood of the Same Line" by Hanali

Setting: NYLA IV, Imperial Mountain Retreat, Na'Rin's Private Chambers

Stardate: 45013.0920 (Local time +2 hours)

The chamber air pressed heavy, thin and cold, steeped in shadows and ghosts. Jayson barely felt any of it. All that reached him was the echo of her touch.

Ya'Jun's hand had lingered only for a breath across his shoulder, but it tore through him like a supernova ripping open the void. For days he had drowned in darkness, deeper still in the shadows of his own failures. Every breath had been stolen by Ya'Han's absence, even when she stood before him. Her presence felt like a stranger's blade pressed against his chest. The void had been winning, and he had been ready to let it.

Until that touch.

It didn't give him strength. It reminded him of what he had once known, of Ya'Han's laughter carrying him through battle, of her fire burning brighter than any star, of the simple warmth of being loved without condition. It also pushed the shadows away, allowing him to see the pains and struggles they had faced... together. And more painfully, it reminded him that some part of her might still be there, buried.

The truth hit him harder than steel: he had already surrendered. He had been willing to let the abyss claim her, to convince himself it was final, cleaner, safer. No false hope. No broken pieces to hold together. Just silence.

But Ya'Jun shattered that silence with a single word. "Lost."

The word burned, because it was true. He had been lost. She had been lost. Yet here was Ya'Jun, looking at him with fire in her eyes, daring him to believe that not all was gone. For the first time in too long, he realized how much of that hope he had kept locked away, desperate, hidden, terrified of what it meant to reach for it.

His eyes drifted to Ya'Han. Black hair framed her like a crown of shadows, her gaze hollow, her voice sharpened into weapons. She was everything he feared, and everything he loved. He wanted to reach her, but he knew he couldn't. Not yet. Not alone. The time would come when he would stand before her and remind her of who she truly was: not for him, but for the universe she was meant to fight for.

The realization struck, undeniable and clear: her sister was the only path back.

Ya'Jun carried the light that Ya'Han could no longer see or accept within herself. Blood of the same line, mirror of the same torment, and yet on opposite sides. Where he could only offer devotion, Ya'Jun carried understanding. Where he held memories, she carried truth.

Jayson stepped closer, careful, deliberate, his voice breaking through months of silence. "Thank you... I..."

Ya'Jun did not look at him, she just smiled as her eyes locked on her sister. "Shadows and despair have a way of clouding one's vision. I know because I was there once. It was on the MASQUERADE DREAMS that I first began to realize it. So, don't give up hope... The woman you knew, the one you loved is in there, somewhere buried deep."

He nodded, the weight of despair shifting within him. It wasn't gone, but it was no longer immovable. He would follow this flame, even if it burned him. Even if it cost him everything.

For the first time in what felt like forever, Jayson Stark felt direction. Not hope, but the spark of it. And that spark was enough to keep him standing in the cold chamber of shadows.

Enough to keep believing, even as Ya'Han stood over her dying mother, not as a grieving daughter, but as a woman consumed by a dark purpose, one that threatened to engulf all of NYLA IV before spreading across the galaxy.

=-=

Jayson Sousa

Lieutenant Jayson Stark

Chief of Operations

USS ANUBIS, NCC-18501

M25-048: USS ANUBIS: Maya: 45013.0925 ("Resonant Interference")

(TOP)

---

"Resonant Interference"

(Previous Post: "Hope Rekindled")

---

Setting: USS ANUBIS, Deck 12, Quantum Physics Laboratory

Stardate: 45013.0925

The containment chamber appeared unchanged. The cube, held within its precisely aligned tri-phasic lattice, hovered at exactly one point zero zero zero metres above the reinforced quantum research platform. Its rotation, although accelerated compared to baseline, remained constant along its vertical axis. Diagnostics confirmed no loss of containment integrity. And yet, the anomaly was undeniable.

The glyphs had returned.

Not faint, nor fleeting, but in full resonance. Golden and cerulean tracings cascaded across the onyx surface, wrapping and interlacing with the precision of dual helixes. Their emergence was not random. Their oscillation frequency had increased by thirty-seven percent within the last forty-one seconds, producing coherent interference waves. One strand radiative, the other absorptive, polarities in direct opposition yet refusing cancellation. Instead, they coalesced into constructive resonance, their overlap amplifying the presence of both.

The Shillian scientist leaned closer to the console, posture stiffening as layer upon layer of spectral analysis filled her displays. "The symmetry is remarkable," Maya whispered, her words more to herself than to her companion. "Two signatures, distinctly opposed in spectrum and phase, not annihilating one another, but achieving harmonic overlay. Oscillatory mathematics would describe this as a stabilised standing wave system: crest and trough aligned in perpetual reinforcement. This is not destructive interference. This is dialogic resonance, opposition forming unity. The device is… responding."

From across the lab, the voice of the Assistant Chief Engineer cut through, flat and deliberate, his arms folded in the stillness of a predator. "It is watching something. Responding. The question is to what?"

Maya's hands moved rapidly over the interface, initiating spectral, gravimetric, and subspace recalibrations in sequence. "The term 'watching' is not scientifically precise, but the behaviour is consistent with observational awareness. No external energy influx. No containment bleed. And most critically, the internal quantum signatures: one hundred twenty-eight thousand, two hundred and fifty-two of them, remain perfectly stable. Not one deviation, even at twenty-two decimal places of measurement. This surge is not instability. Nor is it activation. It is recognition.”

Drayk's reply was immediate, his tone devoid of curiosity, carrying instead the certainty of a warrior naming tracks in snow. "Recognition of conflict."

Maya exhaled slowly, her mind racing through parallels: particle-antiparticle dualities, matter-antimatter reactions, the cosmological balance of dark energy and luminous baryonic matter. "Yes," she admitted, her voice quickening with intellectual fervour. "Opposed energies intersecting. The golden wavelength corresponds to emission spectra consistent with positive radiative output, while the cerulean exhibits absorption characteristics, nullifying without erasure. It is the eternal dialectic of physics: light requires darkness to be defined, and darkness requires light to have form. Neither is diminished by the other; they are co-dependent variables within a single universal equation. This manifestation is not aggression. It is acknowledgement. The device recognises the proximity of two opposed yet bound forces and is bearing witness to their convergence."

Her gaze fixed upon the cube, glyphs pulsing in synchronous rhythm no tricorder could quantify. "It knows," she whispered. "It is aware of something beyond this vessel, and it is choosing to respond. Not by altering its charge. Not by endangering its contents. Merely by observing. A silent witness to a confrontation occurring elsewhere."

The glyphs surged once more, their radiance brightening before subsiding into a steady pulse. Balanced. Watchful. Eternal.

Maya's voice lowered to a near whisper, carried as much by awe as by science. "It is not participating. It is not influencing. Without any supporting evidence, I can only hypothesise that it is acknowledging. Some sort of balance between positive and negative energies perhaps. Physics recognises the necessity of duality and the natural equilibrium of universal symmetry."

Drayk's response was final, cutting through her cascade of explanation with brutal efficiency. "Awareness is never neutral. Even when it pretends to be."

The glyphs pulsed once more, as though in silent agreement.

---

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)

M25-049: USS ANUBIS: Shar'El: 45013.1030 ("Blood of Shadows")

(TOP)

"Blood of Shadows"

Previous post: "Resonant Interference" by Jessica

-=-=-

Setting: NYLA IV, Imperial Mountain Retreat, Na'Rin's Private Chambers

Stardate: 45013.1030 (Local time +2 hours)

The chamber felt hollow without Ya'Han. Even wrapped in the abyss, her presence had carried a gravity that lingered after she withdrew to the balcony, as though the shadows themselves had gone with her. What remained was silence, fractured only by the ragged rasp of Na'Rin's breath. Zub and Gemma stood watch like sentinels carved from stone, their eyes tracking every flicker in a room thick with memory and regret. On the bench nearby, Jayson and Ya'Jun shared the silence, their unspoken grief binding them more tightly than words ever could.

T'Lara and Shar'El exchanged no words. None were needed. They moved closer, their steps soft against the stone, until they stood near the frail queen who seemed to dissolve further with each passing minute.

Na'Rin did not look at them at first. Her gaze lingered toward the balcony, toward the daughter who had become both threat and sorrow. Only when her breathing steadied did she turn her eyes upon the two women. "You've come to tell me what I already know."

T'Lara's brow lifted slightly, her voice calm but carrying an edge of curiosity that belonged more to her Romulan blood than Vulcan discipline. "That your daughter is changing. That she walks further into shadow with each passing breath."

The queen's lips curved, not in amusement but in weary resignation. "Changing? No. The seed was planted long ago. Markus's gift… it was not what he claimed, though I did not see it then. I accepted it… desperate, foolish. I knew it would leave marks. I did not know what kind." Her thin hand rose, trembling with the effort, before falling back to her lap like a weight she could no longer carry. "Now you see them for what they are... what I made them to be." Guilt seeped from every syllable, thick as the sorrow etched into her face. Her eyes grew distant, glassy. "The day the Imperial Physician confirmed I was carrying daughters, I knew my home would never again be the same."

Shar'El said nothing aloud. Her focus pressed deeper than words, into the folds of memory Na'Rin barely contained. What she found matched the spoken truth. No deception. No masks. The woman was laying her life bare, every recollection steeped in painful clarity.

T'Lara activated her tricorder again, its low hum oddly comforting amid the dying queen's rattling breath. She adjusted the scans, narrowing them over the woman's chest. "Your system shows markers… unusual patterns in reproductive sequences. When you mentioned carrying daughters…" She hesitated, her Vulcan mask slipping, the Romulan within giving her voice a sharper gravity. "Daughters? Plural?"

The words pulled a faint smile from Na'Rin; not coy, not manipulative, but weary with the weight of truth finally spoken. "Yes. Ya'Jun and Ya'Han. They are twins, though not as your kind would understand. A Nylaan mother may harbor more than one life, each in its own rhythm. I carried two souls, bound yet separate. Ya'Jun quickened first. Ya'Han waited… silent, patient… until my body permitted her birth."

The admission sank into the chamber like a stone into dark waters.

T'Lara's tricorder chirped quietly. She lowered it, her expression shifted, Vulcan discipline held her still, but beneath it the Romulan in her stirred, recognizing not just genetics, but destiny shaped in blood. "That explains the genetic layering I could not reconcile. Two threads… woven apart yet born of the same loom."

Shar'El's eyes narrowed, the revelation pressing like iron against her thoughts. She dove deeper into Na'Rin's memories: birth chambers, the Imperial Physician's hushed reports, records hidden behind locked seals. Every detail aligned. Truth, absolute and unshakable. The sisters were not merely sisters. They were two halves of one whole, forced apart to embody opposing paths.

But then came something darker: the shadow of a man, his voice cold and merciless, demanding what had been promised. Na'Rin had fought, desperate to deny him both children, but in the end her strength had failed. He had claimed his due, and the twins' fate was sealed before either drew breath.

Na'Rin's voice broke through the silence, frail but clear. "It changes nothing of what they are now. Daughters born of blood and war. One fire, one void. Balance never meant peace, only conflict waiting for its time."

Her gaze, dim and fading, fixed on Shar'El with the weight of a woman unburdening her last secrets, as though she knew exactly what the Ullian had just seen. "Do not think the darkness is all you must fear. Shadows cannot exist without light. And when they meet, they devour."

The chamber grew still. Even the mountain winds beyond the balcony seemed to fade.

Shar'El exhaled slowly, forcing herself to stand tall though the truth pressed hard against her chest. Until now, she had believed the Lokustaar were the enemy, the singular threat tightening around the galaxy. But Na'Rin's words, and the memories behind them, carved a deeper wound into her certainty.

This was no longer only about the shadows. The void consuming Ya'Han was but one half of the truth. The other half burned in crimson fire; equal, opposite, born of the same blood and bound by the same womb.

Twins. Opposites. Balance given flesh.

Shar'El felt the realization sink into her like ice. The darkness was not alone. It had never been. And when fire and void met, it would not be war as they knew it, but a reckoning that could unmake the galaxy itself.

=-=

Tiffany Reeve

Commander Shar'El

Executive Officer

USS ANUBIS

M25-050: USS ANUBIS: Ya'Han: 45013.1040 ("Revelations of Shadows")

(TOP)

"Revelations of Shadows"

Previous post: "Blood of Shadows" by Tiffany

-=-=-

Setting: NYLA IV, Imperial Mountain Retreat, Na'Rin's Private Chambers, Balcony

Stardate: 45013.1040 (Local time +2 hours)

The winds clawed at her hair, tugging the ink-black strands like restless spirits eager to hurl her into the abyss, as if even the mountain itself recognized her for what she was becoming. Ya'Han did not move. Her hands gripped the rail, white-knuckled, though her gaze never lifted from the sprawling Imperial Palace that lay far beneath the mountain's shadow.

The throne of lies. The seat of corruption. The prison where her destiny had been strangled before she even drew breath.

Her jaw tightened. How blind she had been as a child, believing her path her own, believing the trials of the palace and her training were shaping her into someone worthy. All the while her mother's lies poisoned her, weaving falsehoods into every memory.

Twins. The word struck like a blade driven into her chest. She clenched her eyes shut, but it burned hotter in the darkness behind her lids, a brand searing itself into her very soul.

She squeezed her eyes even tighter as if the word itself could be denied. But it pressed harder, burrowing deeper, reframing her entire life. Ya'Jun was not merely a sister. Not another daughter of the royal line. She was the other half of her stolen destiny: the living embodiment of Na'Rin's betrayal.

Images surged, once warm, now curdled into venom. The two sisters sparring in the training halls, sweat glistening on their brows as they competed to earn their colors. Ya'Han had admired Ya'Jun's speed, her poise, her focus. Now she saw only arrogance, the smugness of light looking down upon shadow. Their mother's gaze during those lessons, tight with worry. Ya'Han had thought it fear of their father's wrath. But no, it had been fear that the truth would break free. That the daughters she had damned would recognize in one another what she had denied them both.

Her lips curled into a snarl. Na'Rin's selfish ambition, her pathetic desperation to claw her way above the obscurity of black hair, had cursed them all. She had accepted the Lokustaar's Shadow Operative's tainted gift, knowing it would scar her children, and then hidden her crime beneath silence and ceremony. Every moment of Ya'Han's life had been shaped by that cowardice. Every scar she carried was her mother's making.

And Ya'Jun. Always Ya'Jun.

Her grip tightened until the stone rail cracked beneath her fingers. The darkness did not whisper this time, it roared its truth through her veins. Ya'Jun was not ally, not kin, not comfort. She was the light. The obstacle. The enemy birthed to deny Ya'Han what was hers. Every smile they had shared, every triumph won together, now reeked of mockery. The bond she had once treasured was nothing more than chains meant to shackle her.

She leaned forward, eyes narrowing on the palace below. That was where her father still ruled, where his voice still poisoned every hall. That was the throne that should have been hers, had always been hers. But before she could claim it, before she could burn away the lies and seat herself as Mistress of Shadows, one last deception had to be undone.

Her twin had to fall. The light had to be torn out root and branch, crushed until nothing remained but shadow.

A tremor ran through her chest, not of fear but of certainty. The abyss whispered, velvet and cold, wrapping its promise around her soul: **Claim what was stolen. Cast down the light. Rule, and let the galaxy kneel.**

Ya'Han's breath slowed. Her rage no longer felt like fire; it was deeper, heavier, molten iron filling her veins. Her destiny was no longer in question. It had been written in her blood from the first breath she took, from the moment Na'Rin betrayed them both to her ambition.

Ya'Jun would die. Her father would be cast down. And when shadow rose to devour light, the galaxy itself would kneel; not in reverence, but in fear.

She opened her eyes, the abyss blazing in their depths. In that moment, Ya'Han was no longer daughter, no longer sister, no longer child of lies. She was shadow incarnate, and she surrendered utterly, gloriously, to the darkness.

A storm will rise from the abyss. Light will fall. Hope will break. Mercy will die. Darkness will reign.

-=-=-

Hanali Han

Lieutenant Ya'Han

Chief of Security / Tactical Officer

USS ANUBIS, NCC-18501

M25-051: USS ANUBIS: Lopez: 45013.1040 ("Screams of Shadows")

(TOP)

"Screams of Shadows"

Previous post: "Revelations of Shadows" by Hanali

Setting: USS ANUBIS, Guest Quarters

Stardate: 45013.1040

The first scream shattered the chamber’s stillness like glass exploding under a hammer.

Christie doubled over on the floor, her small frame convulsing as if some unseen hand had plunged into her chest and was ripping her apart from the inside. Her fingers clawed at her own skin, desperate to find and tear free the source of the agony, nails raking crimson lines along her arms. Her cries were not just sound, they were raw, primal, laced with something that rattled bone and marrow, splintering the very air around them..

"Christie!" Cristhiane was already at her daughter's side, gathering her into her arms despite the thrashing. Tears streaked her face, her voice breaking into desperate apologies. "I'm here! I'm here, my love, gods forgive me, this is my fault, I should have protected you, I..." Her words collapsed under the weight of sobs. Guilt poured from her in torrents, a hollow echo of another mother who had damned her children with choices made long ago.

Adriana dropped to her knees on the other side, tricorder snapping open with trembling hands. Readings streamed across the display: elevated heart rate, neural spikes, surging adrenaline, but nothing explained the torment wracking Christie's body. "Vitals are high but stable. There's no internal trauma, no physical cause." Her voice was tight, professional in habit, but the mask cracked with every new scream that ripped out of Christie. "It's not her body. Something deeper is tearing her apart."

Amanda pressed close, not caring about the flailing limbs or the shrieks that clawed at her ears. Her hands found Christie's face, cupping it gently even as the girl's eyes rolled with pain. "Listen to me, you're not alone. I'm here, you hear me? I won't leave you. I know what it's like when the world itself wants to kill you, you don't have to fight it by yourself." Her voice trembled, but her words were steady, pulled from the deepest place inside her where Christie was not just a friend, not just a survivor from the Matrix, but the sister she wished she'd had instead of losing decades to emptiness.

Christie's back arched violently, a scream ripping loose that was so shrill and jagged it silenced all three around her. The sound splintered into words, though they were not hers, a jagged echo, a roar from another soul bleeding straight into her own. "Light… enemy… DESTROY!" Her voice dropped into guttural growls, then pitched upward again, higher than her throat should have been able to bear, until it cracked and collapsed into sobs.

Cristhiane rocked her, whispering apologies like prayers between choking tears. "Please, make it stop… take me instead, don't hurt her, don't hurt my little girl."

The tricorder clattered to the floor, useless. Adriana's mind snapped to the away team inside the mountain: Shar'El, Gemma, all of them... blind to whatever storm was tearing through Christie here. If this pain was somehow connected to Ya'Han, there was no way to warn them. No way to beam them out.

Amanda's arms wrapped tightly around Christie as the girl finally collapsed forward, trembling, her voice ragged whispers through cracked lips. The pain didn't vanish; it hollowed, leaving her shuddering and pale, like the screams had burned everything inside her hollow.

Her words came slow, fractured, but clear enough to freeze the air in the room. "Ya'Han… she's going to kill her."

Adriana's heart clenched. "Her mother? Na'Rin?"

Christie's head shifted, the faintest shake, tears streaking down her face. Her voice rasped, raw and broken. "No… yes... her mother... her sister... everyone."

Silence swallowed the chamber, heavier than any scream.

**Her sister?** Adriana echoed in her mind. **Is Ya'Jun there?**

No one breathed. No one dared. The echo of her words hung in the air like a prophecy, cold and merciless, as though the shadow itself had spoken through her.

And in that silence, each of them felt the truth: the storm wasn't coming. It was already here.

-=-=-

Marissa Montonera-Lombardi

Lieutenant JG Adriana Lopez

Ship's Counselor & Junior Ambassador

USS ANUBIS

M25-052: USS ANUBIS: Stark: 45013.1045 ("Fury of Shadows")

(TOP)

"Fury of Shadows"

Previous post: "Screams of Shadows" by Marissa

Setting: NYLA IV, Imperial Mountain Retreat, Na'Rin's Private Chambers

Stardate: 45013.1045 (Local time +2 hours)

Jayson sat with Ya'Jun on the bench, their voices hushed against the restless mountain wind. The moment felt unreal: two people bound to Ya'Han in different ways, admitting truths neither had ever dared to speak aloud. Ya'Jun had spoken of light and dark, of how she had once chosen shadow, while Ya'Han had once clung to the light. Now their roles were reversed, and the irony hung heavy between them.

Before Jayson could reply, Gemma's sharp cry shattered the moment.

He barely had time to turn before Ya'Han sprang from the balcony, moving at a speed that seemed to tear through reality itself. Shadows blurred into one continuous streak, a living blade of darkness cutting toward her sister.

Jayson lunged instinctively, trying to put himself between them. He might as well have tried to stop a warp core breach with his bare hands. Her strike hurled him aside as if he were nothing, the world tilting violently. Air rushed past his ears before the stone floor rose up and slammed the breath from his lungs.

The impact rattled his bones, but it also gave him perspective. From where he lay, dazed and aching, Jayson saw twin fields ignite around the sisters: energy crackling to life in patterns both alien and inevitable, as if the universe itself had drawn battle lines.

White light flared around Ya'Jun, pure and steady, a shield that radiated defiance. Opposite it, darkness bled from Ya'Han like living smoke, tendrils coiling and hardening into an obsidian shroud. Each blow they struck was caught, deflected, consumed by the other's barrier. Light and dark, locked in perfect opposition, neither yielding ground.

The entire room shook under their clash, each strike of light and shadow hammering against the other. Jayson forced himself to his knees, helpless, heart in his throat as he watched Ya'Han's rage-fueled dark aura surge, while Ya'Jun's light held. The stalemate screamed inevitability: two forces equal and opposed, locked in blood and destiny.

And then... "Enough!"

The voice cut through the storm. Ragged, weak, but laced with authority that could not be denied.

Jayson's head snapped toward the royal chair where the dying Queen was resting. Na'Rin had pushed herself upright, her frail frame steadied by Shar'El's arm while T'Lara hovered close. For a breath, it seemed impossible, she should not have been able to stand, not in her condition. Yet there she was, her eyes blazing with the strength and authority of a Queen... of a mother.

"You will not fight," Na'Rin rasped, her voice trembling but unyielding. "Not while I live. Not as my daughters."

The words struck both sisters. Ya'Jun faltered, her shield dimming with sorrow. Ya'Han froze, shadows quivering around her like a living snarl. For one terrible heartbeat Jayson thought she might defy even her mother-queen, but then Ya'Han let the darkness fold back in on itself, withdrawing with venom burning in her eyes.

"You are no mother,” Ya'Han spat, her eyes black voids. "You deserve to suffer for what you did. I will not grant you release. Your last moments filled with pain… as mine were, because of you."

Na'Rin swayed, her command spent. The cough tore out of her before she could brace, and she crumpled, only Shar'El's grip slowing her fall. T'Lara was at her side in an instant, tricorder open, the air thick with urgency.

"Soon," Ya'Han hissed toward Ya'Jun, her words dripping poison. "Very soon, *sister.*"

Then she was gone, swallowed by her own shadows, retreating once more to the balcony... the place where the storm had begun.

He could not stop Ya'Han… no one could, except perhaps Ya'Jun... and he would do everything in his power to help her try.

=-=

Jayson Sousa

Lieutenant Jayson Stark

Chief of Operations

USS ANUBIS, NCC-18501

M25-053: USS ANUBIS: Gemma: 45013.1050 ("Fear of Shadows")

(TOP)

"Fear of Shadows"

Previous post: "Whispered Hopes" by Marissa

Setting: NYLA IV, Imperial Mountain Retreat, Na'Rin's Private Chambers

Stardate: 45013.1050

"What just happened?" Zub's voice cracked the silence like a weapon discharged in a vacuum. He kept his words controlled, but the flicker in his golden eyes betrayed disbelief, and something heavier, something edging closer to fear..

Gemma did not answer immediately. She stood near him at the chamber's edge, her arms folded as though bracing herself against the echoes of power that still lingered in the air. Inside, voices stirred.

"Biologically generated polarized energy fields... amazing," Wimda gasped in detached scientific fascination.

"Ya'Han was going for the kill," Anya offered, her sharp appraisal of the combat reflecting her own skills and approach as an assassin.

"Ya'Jun anticipated every strike, every feint," Jinx observed coldly, the bounty hunter's precision cutting through the chaos. "They trained together... mirrored styles, mirrored rage."

The Warrior Priestess, Ema Fairchild, offered a near-reverent whisper of dark myth come alive. "Light and darkness, forever battling, forever in balance."

Each perspective clashed within Gemma, and yet all agreed on one thing: what they had witnessed was not a mere battle. It was a revelation with repercussions that extended far beyond this room or even this world.

"Ya'Han and Ya'Jun are more alike than either wishes to admit," Gemma finally said, her tone carrying more weight than simple observation. "Light and dark, shadow and flame. Equal… for now." She did not look at Zub as she spoke, her gaze fixed instead on the balcony where Ya'Han had retreated to, shadows still clinging to the stone like smoke that refused to disperse.

Zub's jaw tightened. "She overpowered Jayson like he was nothing. The Ya'Han I know doesn't strike like that. She doesn't look at her own mother with that kind of..." He stopped himself, unwilling to put the word to voice.

"Hatred," Gemma supplied, her voice flat. "Yes. And you are right to be afraid."

Zub turned toward the royal dais. Na'Rin lay slumped back, frail, pale, fighting for each breath while Shar'El and T'Lara worked to keep her steady. Yet what unsettled him most was not the Queen's weakness, but the motionless figures around her. The servants... all of them dark-haired commoners... stood frozen, not one of them daring to approach. Their fear was so thick it seemed to press down on the air itself.

"Why aren't they helping her?" he demanded. "That's their Queen. Their duty."

Gemma's eyes narrowed. "They are afraid of Ya'Han. Terrified. To them she is the nightmare given flesh. The black-haired daughter who should have been nothing more than a servant… now wielding power beyond comprehension. More terrifying than a Voth standing in their chamber." Her lips curved faintly, not in amusement but in warning. "Even I felt their fear. It wasn't of Na'Rin dying. It was of Ya'Han living."

For a long moment the two of them said nothing. The air in the chamber stank of scorched stone and something older, unnatural, as if light and shadow had left behind a residue that did not belong to this world.

Zub broke first. "I've trained with her. I thought I understood her limits. I thought she could be dangerous to herself, maybe even to the mission if pushed. But this?" His fists clenched at his sides. "If she keeps going down this path…" Zub's voice dropped, almost a growl. "She won't just endanger the ANUBIS. She'll endanger entire worlds. She's becoming something none of us can fight."

Gemma finally looked at him, her dark eyes reflecting the truth that every voice inside her agreed upon. "You are only beginning to see how far she's gone. Despite all of your earlier claims, you still held onto some hope that she could be saved. Now… whatever darkness she thinks she has embraced, the truth is worse. She isn't falling anymore, Zub. She's already there... and deeper than even fear dares whisper."

Zub held her gaze, and in that moment neither needed to say more. The dread that settled over the chamber had nothing to do with the dying Queen or the servants' frozen silence. It came from the terrible understanding that Ya'Han had already crossed a threshold... one no one could follow, and none had dared to name.

=-=

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

M25-054: USS ANUBIS: Ya'Han: 45013.1050 ("Duality of Shadows")

(TOP)

"Duality of Shadows"

Previous post: "Fear of Shadows" by Rachel

-=-=-

Setting: NYLA IV, Imperial Mountain Retreat, Na'Rin's Private Chambers, Balcony

Stardate: 45013.1050 (Local time +2 hours)

The mountain wind no longer felt cold. It carried with it the heat of her own fury, a storm that had not yet spent itself. Shadows licked at the stones beneath her boots as Ya'Han stepped back onto the balcony, eyes still rimmed in black fire.

And he was waiting. Markus stood where she had left emptiness, hands folded behind his back as though he had been there always. His presence was wrong, too steady, too patient, as if the mountain itself had bent to grant him footing. The smile that curved his lips was not cruel, but indulgent, like a man admiring the inevitable outcome of a long and careful design.

"You knew," Ya'Han said, her voice low but edged like tempered steel. No question. No hesitation. "You're the one who came to her. To my mother. You offered her the gift she could not refuse."

Markus inclined his head, as though she were a pupil finally speaking the correct answer. "Na'Rin wished for freedom, and I obliged. But it was never truly hers. That gift was always meant for you." His eyes caught the sick shimmer of her shadows as they writhed. "And now… look at you. Darkness answering your every command. Do you not feel it? The birthright perfected?"

Her fingers clenched, the balcony rail cracking under her grip. "If it was meant for me, then why involve her? Why Ya'Jun? She was dragged into this when it should have been mine and mine alone!"

Markus' smile softened, and that was far worse than cruelty. He stepped closer, the shadows giving him passage as though he were their master too. "Because, my dear child, darkness does not rise alone. Every shadow demands a flame, every flame a shadow. Balance is not optional... it is written. And so the gift requires… twins."

Ya'Han's breath caught, fury flickering into something colder. "Twins…"

"The code is ancient," Markus continued, voice a hypnotic cadence. "The seed was planted before your first breath. Woven into the womb, passed into the cells, until the split occurred. One twin must bear the light, the other the dark. Yet it is never so clean, so simple. Sometimes the division blurs. Sometimes… both are born carrying fragments of both. That is why you both lived, why you were both permitted to grow. Until the truth could no longer be mistaken.”

Ya'Han's mind reeled, images flashing; the purple of her birthright, the black she had chosen, the red and white and blue she had fought to master. Always fighting. Always torn.

Markus' words slid like poison silk. "Most times, the twin of light is culled early. A necessary pruning of destiny. But you and Ya'Jun… ah, you were exceptions. The Lokustaar could not decide. Two halves entangled, two reflections warring inside the same bloodline. So we watched. We waited.” His gaze sharpened. "When you went to Starfleet, we believed you to be the child of light, but there was a strength in you that beckoned study. So we allowed you to continue. When you joined Mordana..." Markus paused, the name triggering something inside of him, something that he needed to control. If it had been up to him, Ya'Han would have already been disposed of, but the greater plan and need had to be respected... for now. "When you joined Mordana," he continued, "the truth bled through at last. The darkness we had hoped for. The darkness we nurtured. Every trial you faced was no accident."

Her jaw tightened, the darkness around her pulsing with every beat of her heart. "You mean to tell me… she was born only to die?"

"To live," Markus corrected smoothly, "so that you might live greater. The equation was always written this way. Ya'Jun's purpose is complete. Yours has only begun. She will perish. You will rule."

The wind howled between them, carrying the scent of stone and storm. Ya'Han's eyes burned, black yet glistening, torn between the fury that demanded destruction and the horror of a truth she could not unhear.

And Markus… Markus only smiled.

-=-=-

Hanali Han

Lieutenant Ya'Han

Chief of Security / Tactical Officer

USS ANUBIS, NCC-18501

M25-055: USS ANUBIS: T'Lara: 45013.1100 ("Regrets of Shadows")

(TOP)

"Regrets of Shadows"

Previous post: "Duality of Shadows" by Hanali

Setting: NYLA IV, Imperial Mountain Retreat, Na'Rin's Private Chambers

Stardate: 45013.1100 (Local time +2 hours)

The chamber was heavy with silence, broken only by the faint rasp of Na'Rin's breath. She sat slumped in the ornate chair that had once been a throne, her frame diminished by pain and the steady encroachment of mortality. The Nylaan medical monitor beside her confirmed what T’Lara’s eyes already knew: organ failure was accelerating. Hours, at most, remained. No treatment could alter that. Pain could be eased, but the end was inevitable.

T'Lara adjusted the neural suppressant, calibrating the flow of analgesics with precise movements. Her tricorder, concealed within the folds of her uniform, continued its task, gathering every strand of genomic data. Na'Rin's blood carried the expression of the Lokustaar corruption in its purest form, a record T'Lara required to measure against Cristhiane's sequence. The science demanded she stay detached. The truth of the moment did not allow it.

Beside her, Ya'Jun knelt, her hands folded gently over her mother's frail fingers. The younger woman's voice was soft, but resolute. "You don't have to do this alone. Whatever mistakes you believe you made, they do not define us. They do not define you."

Na'Rin's lips curved faintly, a breath that might have been laughter escaping her throat before dissolving into a cough. “Child… your sister said it best. I was selfish." Her emerald eyes, dim but still sharp, lifted to meet Ya'Jun's. "I thought I could outwit fate, twist Markus' schemes to protect you all. Instead, I bound each of you to shadows you never asked to carry."

Her gaze drifted, unfocused, as though she could see beyond the walls, into memory. "From my first to last... Ya'Kun's hunger for power, Ya'Han's fury, every one of you marked in ways that can never be erased. Even you, my brightest one. The light you carry should not have been yours… it was meant for you both. For Ya'Han and you. That imbalance is my doing. My curse."

Ya'Jun's grip tightened, her voice trembling with restrained urgency. "No, Mother. I am not her shadow's consolation prize. Whatever you see in me: it is mine, not stolen, not misplaced. And it can still be enough to help her."

Na'Rin closed her eyes, the effort of speaking already draining what little strength she had. "You do not understand. Light cannot exist without shadow. You will always bear what she has lost... as well as my guilt and shame."

The weight of the words pressed against them all. T'Lara remained still, her hands folded briefly at her back before returning to adjust the monitor as Na'Rin's vitals dipped. Logic offered no remedy for the wound of regret. In this moment, reason was irrelevant. Quietly, she spoke, her tone softer than usual, edged with something undeniably Romulan.

"Regret is not weakness. It is truth," T'Lara said, her tone edged with Romulan softness. "Truth does not vanish because it is unspoken. If you choose, Na'Rin, let it be shared. You need not leave this world bearing it alone."

The words seemed to ease something, if only for a moment. The dying Queen's hand relaxed within her daughter's. Her breathing slowed, shallower, her head tilting back against the chair. A flicker of peace brushed across her expression, fragile as glass.

Then, her body sagged, eyes half-lidded, consciousness slipping away.

Ya'Jun clutched her hand more tightly, tears rising despite her resolve. "Mother? Stay with me… please…"

T'Lara leaned closer, scanning Na'Rin's chest. The readings confirmed what her eyes already knew. She exhaled slowly, her voice quiet but cutting through the silence.

"It will not be long."

The chamber fell still again, the weight of inevitability pressing upon all within it.

=-=

Dawn Bohr

Lt. Commander T'Lara

Chief Medical Officer

USS ANUBIS, NCC-18501

M25-056: USS ANUBIS: Gemma: 45013.1110 ("Analysis of Shadows")

(TOP)

"Analysis of Shadows"

Previous post: "Regrets of Shadows" by Dawn

Setting: NYLA IV, Imperial Mountain Retreat, Na'Rin's Private Chambers

Stardate: 45013.1110

Too quiet. Not the silence of peace, but the silence before a blade falls.

The air in the chamber hung heavy, as though even the mountain itself had chosen not to breathe. The silence felt funereal, a room already preparing to mourn someone not yet gone. Zub stood solid at Gemma's side, his reptilian frame anchoring the moment, but her gaze had already drifted past him, fixed on the figure across the room, standing on the balcony... alone.

Ya'Han. She stood with the poise of a predator that had already chosen its prey, waiting only for the perfect moment to strike. To anyone else she might have seemed motionless, but to Gemma the signs were as clear as fire against frost.

"Look at her jawline," Anya whispered inside her. "That twitch, barely there, muscles priming. That's the killer's snarl, held in check… for now. Predators don't bare their teeth unless they mean to feed."

Gemma said nothing aloud. She let her eyes trace the smallest shift in Ya'Han's stance, the weight transferring to the balls of her feet.

"Her legs," Finnja murmured, soft as breath. "See the flex? Every tendon braced, blood rushing, muscles alive. That's not balance, it's a spring wound to breaking, desperate for release."

Zub followed her gaze, but his voice remained level. "She's just… standing there. Watching her mother."

Gemma tilted her head, eyes narrowing. "No. She's listening."

He frowned. "To whom? Na'Rin's barely conscious. No one else is speaking."

But Gemma knew better.

Ya'Han's lips had moved once, not words but the shape of them, answering. Her eyes flicked toward Ya'Jun, but the angle was wrong for a sisterly glance. It was a reply.

"She's not alone," Gwenvel's voice sighed, mournful. "Grief makes the mind vulnerable. Something is speaking into her pain… and someone in this room will pay the price."

Jinx's laughter rattled faintly in Gemma's skull. "Watch the angle of her shoulders. She's already chosen a target. The strike will come fast, sharp, unstoppable."

Gemma's fingers curled at her side. "She's talking to someone. Someone we can't see."

Zub shifted, his clawed hands flexing, but he didn't look away. "Are you sure? Maybe she's just talking to herself. People do that." His golden eyes flicked toward her, sharp. "You should understand that better than anyone."

"I do. That's why I know it's someone else. She is not alone." Gemma replied, her voice carrying a quiet certainty that made the Voth's scales prickle.

The silence pressed harder. Na'Rin's ragged breaths faded into the background. Ya'Jun's hand trembled against her mother's. And Ya'Han… Ya'Han seemed to breathe with the shadows themselves.

Gemma wanted to move, to speak, to do anything, but her personas whispered the truth: they weren't ready. Not for her. Not for what she had become.

Beside her, Zub's low rumble broke the moment. "Back on the ANUBIS, she walked through a forcefield like it wasn't even there." His golden eyes flicked toward Gemma. "She tossed Jayson like he was already broken. Any of us could be next. So tell me, Gemma… how are we supposed to stop her?"

Gemma's lips parted, but no words came.

The ILO simply stared at Ya'Han across the room. The silence stretched like a blade drawn slow across a throat, until the air itself felt ready to shatter. Someone's final breath already hung there, waiting.

=-=

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

M25-057: USS ANUBIS: Ya'Han: 45013.1120 ("Finality of Shadows")

(TOP)

"Finality of Shadows"

Previous post: "Analysis of Shadows" by Rachel

-=-=-

Setting: NYLA IV, Imperial Mountain Retreat, Na'Rin's Private Chambers

Stardate: 45013.1050 (Local time +2 hours)

The chamber quaked under the weight of shadows. Stone and fire mixed with the cries of terrified servants for the dying, and Na'Rin's ragged breaths filled the air. The Queen’s final moments carried no crown, no command... only the fragile whisper of a mother reaching for her daughters.

"Ya'Han… Ya'Jun…" Her hand trembled, lifting as though it could bridge the chasm that had grown between them, but the distance remained unbroken. Her voice cracked, stripped of royal command, left only a mother’s plea. "No throne… no chains… only… regrets for my girls. Forgive me…"

Her fingers clawed at the empty air where their hands should have been. Her eyes searched desperately, begging for one last touch, one last moment that would never come. A shuddering breath escaped her lips, thin as smoke, carrying the final warmth of her life into the cold.

Her hand faltered, fell. Her eyes dimmed, still searching, still reaching. And then the Queen Mother was gone. What lingered was not a monarch’s memory but a mother’s love... unfulfilled and aching.

Ya'Han showed no grief, only molten rage. Her void-black hair whipped back in an unnatural wind. She turned on Ya'Jun with a scream and struck, fists a blur of fury before grief could claim her.

Before the others could react, Markus slid out of the void like a blade of ice. His grin found Shar'El, T'Lara, Gemma, and Zub. With a flick of his hand, the floor turned to shadow, freezing their feet in place, dread climbing their bones until even their souls shivered. "Now, now, now. We wouldn't want to interfere with destiny." Markus mused, eyes never leaving Ya'Han. "You are the end we have nurtured, the child of design. Every choice, every trial has brought you here, my child. This is *your* moment, set in motion before you even drew your first breath." His grin widened as the sisters clashed, as if each blow was his triumph. "Now kill her and claim your rightful place amongst the rulers and legends."

The away team could do nothing but watch as the fierce battle raged. Neither was gaining ground. For every strike Ya'Han unleashed, Ya'Jun blocked and answered in kind. The sound of their polarized fields crashing like thunder each time they met. The duel was no longer about victory; it was about survival, but a stalemate was the best they could hope for.

Ya'Jun's lips quivered in a mixture of grief and anger that matched that of her sister as she blocked the repeated attacks. "Anger... rage... is that all that the Shadows have given you? Ya'Han, you are better than that."

But the twin refused to listen. Darkness whispered in her ears, pushing logic and reason out, allowing only deep-rooted anger to be felt. The person before her was not a sister, not a twin, but an obstacle to her destiny and ruling all that she had been promised.

Their hands, as deadly as any blade could be, cut through the still air with unimaginable speed, neither able to dominate, both locked in a dance older than words. Ya'Han, understanding the tactical impasse, began to maneuver her sister with calculated fury, her eyes flicking toward the writhing shadows at the edges of the chamber. If she could not defeat Ya'Jun, she would force her onto a different path... one that would still lead the sister to the demise she had brought upon herself by opposing the Mistress of Shadows.

Behind Ya'Jun, darkness slowly stirred as the battle drew closer. A nightmare taking physical form phased into reality, a single deadly claw raised for the kill. Its sharp onyx edge reflected the ambient light with bloodthirsty intent. If Ya'Han could not win, she would let the darkness do it for her, just as the obedient servant it was.

With each strike, Ya'Jun was moved closer, her focus locked on the relenting assaults from her sister instead of whatever dangers might be waiting behind her. The screams of the away team could not pierce through the thundering of the polarized fields as they clashed at an increasing rate. Ya'Han's plan was flawless, and soon her sister would be made to feel the sharp sting of a shadowy death, sending her on the same path as their mother.

But Jayson noticed everything. He saw Ya'Han's desperate, calculated ploy, saw the shadow poised to end Ya'Jun. He drew upon every ounce of strength he had and moved. He would not be able to deflect the Lokustaar's attack, nor would he be able to reach Ya'Jun in time, yet he needed to save her. If anyone could draw Ya'Han back from the darkness she had so entirely embraced, her twin sister was the only one capable of doing so. This meant there was only one course of action available to him, one that he willingly took.

The claws punched through Jayson's chest with a sickening rip, bursting from his back in a spray of blood that painted the stone. His body spasmed violently, pinned on the Lokustaar’s talons like a broken doll on a pike. The wound was obscene, a grotesque overkill meant for an enemy to be despised, not the man she loved.

Time shattered. Ya’Han froze as blood sprayed across the stones. She had seen this death before... Ardax's mutilation, a justice she had demanded. But this was worse. This was no Ferengi groom she despised. This was Jayson. Her Jayson.

The man who had stood beside her through every shadow. The man who still smiled at her when she was no longer herself. The man she had once, in what felt like another life, swore she would never allow to suffer again.

The man she had just killed. Not by accident, not by fate, but by the very shadows she had unleashed as her weapon. Her plan had struck true, but against the only heart that still believed in her. His body took the blow meant for Ya'Jun. The sound of bone, flesh, and life torn apart, echoed like thunder. The Lokustaar ripped its claws free before vanishing back into the shadows, letting Jayson crumple lifelessly backwards, collapsing into Ya'Jun's arms, crimson blooming across his chest.

"Why…?" Ya'Han whispered, shaking.

Jayson's fading gaze found Ya'Han across the battlefield. No words were needed. In that single look was everything: devotion, forgiveness, love that even this cruel end could not extinguish. Still, he needed to say it, one last time: "I... love you… al... ways." His body sagged, but with the last fragments of life he forced his gaze to Ya'Jun. A trembling hand lifted an inch, then fell. His last breath carried two words, soft but clear: "Save her."

Ya'Han's scream ripped the chamber apart, raw, primal, shattering stone and shadow alike. The Lokustaar recoiled and vanished into nothingness. Markus staggered several steps back as the very essence of his being was torn from him. Even the mountain itself trembled beneath the sound of a soul breaking. Then the echo faded, leaving only silence.

Ya'Jun knelt, clutching Jayson's broken body… but her other hand rose, palm facing her twin. "Sister… enough! Look! Look at what the shadows have taken. Look at what they made you do. That man gave you everything, even his life, because he believed you could still choose. Was he wrong?"

Time itself seemed to stop around Ya'Han. Even her heart stilled for a single, eternal beat as her gaze locked on the mutilated body of Jayson. Then her knees buckled, crashing to the stone, her black hair clinging to her tear-streaked face, her hands trembling as though the blood soaking him were her own. For the first time in her life, the Mistress of Shadows felt only emptiness. And in that absolute silence, where nothing moved, where even the darkness recoiled, she belonged to no shadow.

-=-=-

Hanali Han

Lieutenant Ya'Han

Chief of Security / Tactical Officer

USS ANUBIS, NCC-18501

M25-058: USS ANUBIS: Shar'El: 45013.1130 ("Wake of Shadows")

(TOP)

"Wake of Shadows"

Previous post: "Finality of Shadows" by Hanali

-=-=-

Setting: NYLA IV, Imperial Mountain Retreat, Na'Rin's Private Chambers

Stardate: 45013.1130 (Local time +2 hours)

Death was inevitable. Every officer who wore the uniform accepted that truth, carrying it like a shadow across every mission. In the endless silence between stars, loss was not a possibility but a certainty, waiting for its moment. Yet knowing this never made it easier. When death finally came, it tore through the heart without mercy, leaving behind only the unbearable weight of what had been lost and the hollow echo of what would never be again.

The chamber was silent now. Too silent. Not the silence of peace, but of something torn away. Jayson's blood still pooled across the stone, the metallic smell cutting through the charred air.

Shar'El stood rooted, her thoughts caught between the horrific reality before her and the weight of everything it meant. T'Lara didn't hesitate. "He is gone." The Vulcan's tone was clinical, stripped of anything but fact. Yet in the silence that followed, those two words cut deeper than any blade. The gaping wound and the lifeless stillness of his body had already made the truth undeniable.

Movement stirred at the edges. The black-haired servants emerged, slowly, cautiously, their eyes wide with terror. They did not look at the Federation officers; their gazes were fixed on the lifeless Queen. "You must leave," one whispered, her voice breaking. "The palace will know. The High Sovereign may come himself."

The urgency in their fear was enough to snap Shar'El back into the moment. She swept her eyes over the team.

Gemma's expression was stone cold, but her tone cut sharp as she scanned the chamber. "Markus is gone. Shadows never stay when they've been beaten."

Beside her, Zub's scales rippled with restrained fury. His voice rumbled low, directed at Ya'Han. "Not all of the Shadow Operatives are gone," he growled, narrowing his golden eyes. "She should be taken into custody. Now." He stepped forward, but Ya'Jun rose, her arms tightening protectively around her sister despite the violence Ya'Han had unleashed.

"No," Ya'Jun said, her voice hoarse with grief. "Jayson's last wish was clear. I will not abandon her. And neither should you. I will be responsible for my sister." Her tone made it clear that this was not a negotiation. "We must go before blame is placed.”

Zub's clawed fingers flexed, every part of him wanting to fight that logic. Before he could speak, Gemma turned on him, her voice steel. "Not her. Him. We cannot leave Jayson's body here to be twisted into evidence. Take him. Protect him in death as he protected us in life."

For a moment, the Voth froze, the weight of her words colliding with his anger. Then, slowly, Zub bent down. His massive arms lifted Jayson's broken body with care, far gentler than his frame suggested possible.

Shar'El's gaze shifted to Ya'Han. The Nylaan was motionless, her black hair hanging limp, her eyes fixed on Jayson. She hadn't spoken since he fell. She hadn't blinked. She looked carved from stone, unfeeling on the surface, yet every line of her face spoke of something shattered beyond repair, broken in ways that no words could capture.

The air thickened with grief and fear. The servants pressed themselves against the walls, whispering prayers under their breath. The away team lingered, but there was no more to be said.

Shar'El exhaled slowly, forcing her voice to remain even. "We move. Now. The tunnels will take us out the way we came. We cannot be here when the Sovereign's eyes arrive."

The officers obeyed, though each step felt heavier than the last. Zub carried Jayson in revered silence, his jaw tight, while Ya'Jun walked close to her sister, a quiet shield against both blame and vengeance. Gemma kept her eyes on the shifting shadows, ready for what might linger still.

Shar'El took point, leading them back into the dark passageways beneath the mountain. The silence followed, filled with things left unsaid, with grief unexpressed. The tunnels seemed narrower now, their shadows deeper, as though the mountain itself was swallowing their sorrow whole.

One truth pressed on her with every step: they had come seeking answers, but they would leave carrying only loss. And in the silence behind them, the shadows still lingered… watching.

=-=

Tiffany Reeve

Commander Shar'El

Executive Officer

USS ANUBIS

M25-059: USS ANUBIS: Val'Bruxa/Maya: 45013.1200 ("Resonant Equilibrium")

(TOP)

---

"Resonant Equilibrium"

(Previous Post: "Wake of Shadows")

---

Setting: USS ANUBIS, Deck 12, Quantum Physics Laboratory

Stardate: 45013.1200

The mystery at the heart of the Quantum Physics Laboratory had only deepened since the cube had been brought aboard the ANUBIS from the NORTHAL DRIFT. Although sensors now registered sporadic readings, most defied established models. The two sets of glyphs glowing across its surface, locked in what the Shillian could only describe as an ‘ancient dance,’ only compounded the enigma.

For nearly three standard days the perfect black cube had existed in a paradoxical state of stillness and activity, presenting no measurable output while radiating a palpable presence that every member of the crew had felt in one way or another. Now, for the first time since its recovery, the instruments in the laboratory were capturing faint but undeniable anomalies, irregular patterns that resisted immediate categorisation.

Lieutenant Commander Maya stood with rigid posture before the primary console, her elongated fingers moving in sharp bursts of motion as she forced recalibration after recalibration through the array of sub-systems. The spectral filters confirmed what her own senses had already told her: something about the device which had been dormant until their arrival at NYLA IV had changed... again.

"There are no measurable deviations in the containment field,” Maya reported aloud, though her voice carried more wonder than alarm. "No structural compromise, but the lattice is adapting to compensate for the shift in the oscillating resonance. Frequency band… the two distinct ranges are more pronounced, still mutually exclusive, yet co-harmonic in effect." Her eyes flicked upward, unblinking, as the once seamless surface of the cube shimmered with shifting bands of colour.

Two distinct lines of glyphs had emerged across its flawless faces, glowing with undeniable intent. One radiated in a soft golden hue, geometric in design, its angles precise and mathematically symmetrical. The other pulsed in deep azure, fluid and irregular, its shape refusing rigid interpretation, as though written by a hand unbound by Euclidean constraint. Each rotated across separate axes, their paths never colliding yet their rhythm unmistakably entwined.

Drayk Val'Bruxa stood at the far side of the chamber, his arms folded, his silver hair catching the faint glow from the containment field. Unlike Maya, his attention was not fixed on the console but on the device itself, his eyes narrowed as though staring at a predator through glass. "Something changed," he said flatly. "Not random. Intent. This is a new alignment."

“Not alignment,” Maya corrected, her voice carrying an edge of excitement she did not temper. “Division. A bifurcation of function. Dual pathways within a singular matrix. The golden construct exhibits signatures resonant with measured photon emission, indicative of light-based harmonics. The blue pattern aligns more closely with gravimetric nullification, void-like resonance. Opposites… yet synchronised.”

Her explanation trailed into silence as the glow of the glyphs intensified. The alien symbols expanded, wrapping around more of the surface before retracting again, as though breathing. The sensors, once frustratingly inert, now recorded every fluctuation.

The usually steady heart of the Shillian scientist quickened. "This is new. The readings began when the ANUBIS entered proximity to NYLA IV. The device was reacting to unknown external proximity variables. Specifically..." She hesitated, the words catching before she forced them out. "Now the reaction has altered again, and the initiating variable remains unidentified. All we are able to catalogue are the observable effects, never the originating cause."

Drayk's expression did not soften. "The unknown variable isn't random. It's anchored. Embedded in that planet... or in something that claimed it long before we arrived."

"My apologies," Maya said, her shoulders stiffening as she exhaled. "Frustration is distorting my analysis. I must not let subjective interpretation override observable data."

She adjusted the spectral overlay, her mind racing faster than her words could follow. "Nothing that could explain this latest change in the device was picked up by our external sensors, neither in orbit nor on the planet."

"Then the cause is either shielded by design… or it's operating on a level we can't reach. Either way, it's not an accident," Drayk coldly noted.

"With the potential of unseen Lokustaar vessels in orbit in addition to the cloaked planetary defence platforms, there are just too many variables."

"There is another," Val'Bruxa continued, his gaze hardening, his voice low but unyielding. "The mountain where your team ventured, blind, is still a hole in our sensors. That's not a geological anomaly. It's intent. And it ties back to the one variable we've been pretending isn't part of the equation."

Maya flinched at the bluntness, though she did not deny it. "Yes, Ya'Han could be the cause, but that still leaves us with the why? What purpose would the device have in changing the way the glyphs appear on its surface?"

"It's recognition. Not ours. The device isn't speaking to us, it's answering something. Or someone." Drayk paused for a few heartbeats. "We saw how the device reacted to Ya'Han. There is no evidence to believe that it is responding to something else. We may be wasting our time trying to identify a cause that had been known to us from the very start."

"Maybe, but the equation does not resolve. When opposing forces remain constant, their resultant effect must also remain constant. Yet since Ya’Han and the device have shared proximity, its state has not held steady. Therefore, another vector must be present, unseen, applying influence and altering the outcome of the equation."

Drayk could not deny the scientific logic presented by Maya. Yes, Ya'Han was the most likely cause for the changes seen on the device, but that did not exclude the possibility of another source, one that would maybe explain the dual set of glyphs flowing over the smooth onyx surface.

The cube pulsed once more, light and shadow interweaving, golden and azure flowing in harmonic counterpoint. The air in the laboratory seemed to shift, as though the very molecules were resonating in sympathy. As strange as it seemed, both Maya and Drayk could feel it.: an intangible shift in balance, as though the universe itself had subtly realigned.

"The balance isn't random, Maya," Drayk offered while glaring at the device beyond the containment field. "It's being calculated. Which means something, someone, already knows the outcome."

Maya paused for a brief moment, considering Drayk's words. Perhaps something had been subtracted. Perhaps something new had been added. Or perhaps the entire equation had shifted under the weight of variables beyond their capacity to define. Whatever the source, the outcome was certain: the behaviour of the device had changed, and balance itself had been rewritten.

---

Scott Grant

Lieutenant JG Drayk Val'Bruxa

Assistant Chief Engineer

USS ANUBIS, NCC-18501

"Perfection is not an ideal. It is a design parameter."

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)

M25-060: USS ANUBIS: Morningstar: 45013.1330 ("Echoes of the Away Team")

(TOP)

#######

"Echoes of the Away Team"

Previous post: "Resonant Equilibrium"

##########

"Sacrifice alters more than the one who falls; it reshapes those who remain to carry the weight."

— Ullian Reflection on Memory

Setting: USS ANUBIS, Deck 7, Transporter Room 3

Stardate: 45013.1330

The doors parted, and Captain Erik Morningstar stepped inside. He stopped just short of the threshold, his dark eyes fixed on the forming silhouettes. For a fleeting moment, he hoped his fears were unfounded. That what returned would match what had left. The room shimmered with the familiar buzz of the transporter cycle, blue-white columns dancing across the pads as the away team reassembled. The air felt heavy, charged, as if the transporter itself carried back more than just matter. When the swirling lights solidified into flesh, hopes vanished, leaving only fears in physical forms.

The same number of forms materialized. But this was not the same team.

On one pad, Ya'Han's figure took shape, hair falling black as obsidian, her features carved into stillness. On another, Ya'Jun emerged, posture taut, eyes already scanning the room. The instant transport released her, she moved without hesitation, closing the gap to reach for her sister. The gesture was protective, almost desperate. Yet the shadow in Ya'Han's expression made the reunion feel less like safety and more like surrender to something inevitable.

To the right, Zub Enel's massive form solidified, carrying the twisted, broken body of Jayson Stark across his arms. The Chief of Operations was unrecognizable, his sacrifice etched into every wound, his silence heavier than words. Behind them, Doctor T'Lara appeared, her composure intact but her eyes already drawn toward the biobed crew waiting just outside the doors. She wasted no time, falling into step as Zub moved forward, the Voth's scales gleaming under the transporter room lights as if armoured against grief.

Gemma stood on the far pad, her stance precise, the perfect ILO, emotionally detached from everything. Even here, she radiated a presence of control, her gaze shifting between the sisters and the Captain, already calculating threats, contingencies, possibilities.

Shar'El was the last form to settle into place. She didn't move at first, her expression shadowed with what she had seen.

Ya'Jun was the first to speak as she stepped off the platform holding onto Ya'Han's arm in a caring, supportive, almost protective manner. "Captain Morningstar," her words echoed recognition as well as deeply felt sorrow. "I am truly... truly sorry." Erik felt it before he understood it, an aura, unseen but undeniable, brushing against the core of his being. Like Ya'Han, Ya'Jun had changed, becoming something more than she physically appeared, a presence that was both unsettling and somehow reassuring. "With your permission, Captain," Ya'Jun continued. "I would like to take my sister back to her quarters."

Erik hesitated for a moment, inquisitively meeting Shar'El's gaze. The ExO nodded before looking at the rest of the team, Gemma already moving to escort the sisters. With a gesture of the ILO, the three women headed out of the transporter room.

Shar'El quickly shifted her focus to Zub and T'Lara. No words were exchanged, but everyone understood. The Voth carried the limp body of the ANUBIS' Chief of Operations to the waiting hoverbed, closely followed by the silent Romulan/Vulcan Doctor.

The ExO waited for them to leave before turning back to the Captain. Only when her gaze found Erik's did she speak, her words low but unyielding.

"Na'Rin is dead. A shadow operative named Markus was there. And Jayson…" she faltered briefly, her composure thinning before she forced the report onward. "…he gave himself so they could return. Ya'Han and Ya'Jun fought, and it was his sacrifice that ended it."

Morningstar remained silent as the memories of another, and relatively recent, death of another Senior Officer came into his mind. A memory he knew the Ullian would no doubt pick up on, not that he was trying to hide the new layer of sorrow he was experiencing. Erik forced himself to think of something else, of someone else. His mind's eye flicked between the sisters as they walked past him. The symmetry of their presence was almost unsettling.

Shar'El moved closer, lowering her voice, though each syllable bore the weight of pain and revelation. "Na'Rin admitted they are twins. Nylaan physiology allows for births separated by months, yet they once shared the same womb. It begins to explain that Ya'Jun has the same abilities... but opposite, a perfect match to Ya'Han. The extent of them is still unknown, but what Na'Rin hid stretches far beyond her daughter's inner darkness. Whatever secrets she carried… they're deeper. Older. And we've only just begun to see them."

The background noises of the transporter room faded into a near-perfect silence, a void of sound that in many ways echoed their feelings.

"The mission objective was obtained," Shar'El added, as if her words might in some minute way help shift the weight they felt back to a more neutral level. "T'Lara was able to get all of the genetic readings before Na'Rin's passing. Now, all we can do is wait and hope that it will allow us to avoid losing another officer. Both Jayson and Ya'Jun believe that it is possible. Jayson believed it so much that he sacrificed himself to save Ya'Han's sister."

Morningstar stood at the center of it all, between the body carried to Sickbay, the twins bound together in shadow and light, the watchful presence of Gemma, all of that under the haunted gaze and words of his First Officer.

The same number had returned. But as Erik watched, he knew this was not the team he had sent to NYLA IV. What had returned was something new. Something altered in more ways than he could define. And the true cost of their mission was only beginning to unfold.

--==(/\)==--

Francois Charette

Captain Erik Morningstar

Commanding Officer

USS ANUBIS, NCC 18501

M25-061: USS ANUBIS: Lopez: 45013.1340 ("Shadows of Loss")

(TOP)

"Shadows of Loss"

Previous post: "Echoes of the Away Team" by Francois

Setting: USS ANUBIS, Deck 7, Corridor -> Sickbay

Stardate: 45013.1340

The news of the away team's return, accompanied by whispers of a tragedy, had spread through the ANUBIS like wildfire. The few details that had managed to reach Adriana and Amanda had not prepared them for what they would discover in Sickbay.

The twins, with the mother and daughter close behind, entered Sickbay unsure of what they would find. All they knew, all they felt, was that they had to be here. What they discovered froze them in place... Jayson's body, or at least what was left of it, lay on the furthest possible biobed, kept out of sight as if distance might soften the horror.

Amanda was completely motionless, stunned into a silence of disbelief before she turned to wrap Christie in a desperate hug. The girl clung back, trembling, and in that instant the bond between them seemed absolute, a wordless pact born from the Matrix and sealed by shared pain.

Cristhiane was no better. Her reaction was muted, almost practiced, as though this was not the first time she had stood in the presence of such atrocities. Her eyes glistened, but she did not weep. She simply held herself upright, as if collapse would be too familiar, too dangerous.

Adriana, after catching her breath, slowly made her way to T'Lara, who appeared more Vulcan than usual. It was a psychological defense mechanism the ship's Counselor was almost jealous of. How much easier it would be if she could turn her emotions off, to silence the sting of watching Amanda and Christie cling to one another like sisters while she stood apart. The best she could do right now was to focus on the pain others would feel from this grave tragedy.

“What happened?” Adriana whispered as she came to stand next to the CMO, though part of her feared the answer.

The Vulcan-Romulan hybrid inclined her head, her tone calm to the point of cruelty. "There was a battle... a Lokustaar appeared, ready to strike and Jayson... Jayson did the only thing he could to protect."

Adriana's throat tightened. She forced herself not to glance back toward the biobed.

"The rumors say that Ya'Han's sister was there, and they both returned to the ANUBIS," Adriana said, her whispered voice trembling with emotion. "If each can summon the Lokustaar, why allow them back aboard the ANUBIS?"

"The Lokustaar attack was not called by Ya'Jun," T'Lara clarified. "Ya'Han summoned it to strike down her sister. Jayson sacrificed himself to save her."

"What?!? Why?"

"Because he believed Ya'Jun was the only one who could save Ya'Han. As her twin, she carries powers that perfectly oppose hers."

Adriana blinked. "Wait... Ya'Han and Ya'Jun are twins???"

"According to Na'Rin, it is all part of the process, of the need for balance."

Christie, overhearing this and still holding a trembling Amanda, turned her head to look at her mother. "Ya'Han's darkness led her to kill the one person who loved her more than anything else in this universe."

Cristhiane quickly bridged the distance between them. "It was an accident. She did not mean to kill him."

"No," the daughter continued, a distinct tone of absolute clarity lacing her words. "She meant to kill her own twin, yet instead destroyed the only person who still loved her despite what she had become." Mother and daughter gazed into each other's eyes for a few endless seconds, each fearing what would be said next.

It was Cristhiane who broke the silence between them. "You are not like her."

"You are right. I am not," Christie angrily agreed. "I don't have a twin whose powers would offset mine; the Tal'Shiar made sure of that. But the same darkness runs through me, and no matter how hard I fight it, I know I can't hold it back forever. What happens then? Do I lose control and kill you just as she killed him? Without a twin to try to help me, what will I end up becoming? How many others will die because of my darkness?"

Christie's words hung in the air like a shadow no one could dispel. Amanda's arms tightened around her instinctively, as though sheer willpower could anchor her against the darkness she feared.

Adriana stepped closer, every instinct as a Counselor telling her to intervene, to anchor Christie's spiraling thoughts. But Amanda shifted, instinctively turning Christie away as if shielding her from Adriana. The motion was small, almost unconscious, but it stung more than any spoken rejection.

"You're not her," the Counselor Lopez said anyway, her voice quiet but firm. "You're not Ya'Han. And you're not bound to her path."

Amanda spun on her, eyes blazing. "Stop it, Adri! Stop treating her like she's just another one of your patients. She doesn't need a Counselor right now. She needs someone who believes in her!"

The words cut sharper than Amanda knew. Adriana opened her mouth, then closed it, forcing herself to swallow the sting. She wanted to argue, to remind her twin that believing wasn't enough against shadows like these. But the look in Amanda’s eyes warned her this was not the moment.

Christie's eyes flicked toward Amanda, wide and glassy, but there was no relief in them. Only the silent terror of someone who could already feel the shadows stirring beneath her skin, and without the hope of a rescue from a twin that she no longer had.

"No one ever thinks they are," she whispered.

The silence that followed was suffocating, heavy with grief and fear, and when Adriana finally forced herself to glance toward the far biobed, she realized the truth of it... Jayson's sacrifice had saved one life. But in its wake, it left them all standing at the edge of another abyss: one that threatened to claim far more than he ever could have saved.

-=-=-

Marissa Montonera-Lombardi

Lieutenant JG Adriana Lopez

Ship's Counselor & Junior Ambassador

USS ANUBIS

M25-062: USS ANUBIS: Gemma: 45013.1400 ("Balance of Shadows")

(TOP)

"Analysis of Shadows"

Previous post: "Shadows of Loss" by Marissa

Setting: USS ANUBIS, Ya'Han's Quarters

Stardate: 45013.1400

Gemma stood motionless, observing the other two women in the room, everyone embracing a near-absolute silence. The kind of silence that didn't just hang in the air but pressed against the skin, as if waiting to smother the first sound brave enough to break it.

Ya'Jun held her twin with gentle hands, easing Ya'Han onto the couch as if her body were glass that might shatter at the slightest wrong move. The former Chief of Security did not resist, did not speak. Her gaze drifted somewhere beyond the bulkheads, beyond the stars, to the place where everything she thought she knew had fractured into lies.

Gemma remained by the door, still and sharp as a drawn blade. She watched. She waited. Intel gathering was never about patience alone; it was about knowing when to cut through silence. And this silence threatened to bury them all.

"You'll need to explain," she said at last, her voice crisp. "Na'Rin spoke of balance. Of light and dark. I don't believe in myths, but I do believe in patterns. Start talking."

Ya'Jun's eyes, warm where Ya'Han's were black voids, lifted toward Gemma. "You don't believe in myths because you think them stories," she said softly. "But stories are simply truths we have survived long enough to name."

Her hand brushed across her sister's unmoving one before folding into her lap. "Our mother was not wrong. Ya'Han and I were born of the same womb, but not of the same inheritance. The Shadows claimed her, marked her with their darkness. I, the firstborn, was gifted with the Light. Two halves of a single equation. Two forces set against each other, but bound."

Gemma's expression betrayed nothing. "Why twins? Why not spread this power across generations, across bloodlines?"

Ya'Jun's lips curved into the faintest echo of a smile. "Because balance must begin in symmetry. The universe demands it. When one child carries darkness, another must carry light. Only then is the scale preserved. The Shadows cannot unmake this law, so they twist it. They kill one of the twins before the bond matures, ensuring imbalance. They learned long ago that fear and half-truths were easier weapons than armies."

Her voice dropped lower, taking on the cadence of a recited oath, something half-remembered and half-lived. "Darkness feeds on chaos, light thrives in harmony, but neither can extinguish the other. Not truly. They have waged their war since the first star burned, neither side prevailing, each forever needing the other. Without light, shadows cannot exist. Without shadow, light has no form. It is a curse, and it is a truth."

Gemma stepped forward, closing the gap with the precision of a hunter. "If this balance is absolute, why has the Lokustaar not turned their defense platform on the ANUBIS? Why hesitate?"

"Because they cannot," Ya'Jun replied simply. "Not as long as I remain aboard. The balance is maintained. A strike that would tilt the scales beyond correction cannot be directly made by either side. So instead they maneuver, manipulate. They make others believe they are invincible, when in truth they are bound by the same chains as we are. Fear is their shield. Deception, their blade. They will not attack, but I am sure that they are maneuvering to have someone else do so."

Gemma's jaw tightened. "Gemma's jaw tightened, a precise motion betraying more than her words ever would."

"I am saying," Ya'Jun countered, "that their strength lies not in their power, but in the illusion of inevitability. And illusions can be broken."

Gemma turned her head slightly toward Ya'Han, but the Nylaan woman remained still, her black hair lifelessly cascading like liquid shadow across her shoulders. Not a word. Not a flicker. Her silence was both answer and indictment.

"You speak as if you know this with certainty," Gemma pressed, eyes narrowing. "Who taught you?"

For a heartbeat, Ya'Jun hesitated. Then, with deliberate calm, she said, "I learned from one who once bore the Light. A woman who relinquished her gifts, not for herself, but for those she loved. You already know her name."

Something stirred within Gemma, sharp as glass. She didn't move, didn't breathe. She already knew the answer, but Ya'Jun gave it voice anyway.

"Amber Satori."

The name struck like a blade pulled across stone. A woman of myth, but also of memory. Gemma's mind ticked through layers of intel, of missions where Amber's presence lingered like smoke. Of Elan Fairborn, now no longer a solitary giant but a husband. Amber had stood among them once, in the heart of their battles, choosing mortality over eternal war. OLTHAR PRIME was her last stand as the silent warrior of Light she had been for centuries.

Ya'Jun's voice softened. "The war of Light and Shadow did not pass you by. It touched your crew long before you ever stepped on NYLA IV. You are part of the story whether you believe it or not."

Silence reclaimed the room, heavier than before.

Gemma's eyes lingered on Ya'Jun, weighing every word, every pause, every hidden motive. She catalogued it all, storing the pieces, assembling the puzzle. Yet even she could not deny that for the first time, the Lokustaar seemed less like gods cloaked in nightmare and more like liars bound by the same cosmic rules as everyone else.

And for the first time, Gemma considered that the Lokustaar’s shadow was not unbreakable as initially believed. It was a veil... and veils could be torn.

=-=

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

M25-063: USS ANUBIS: Enel: 45013.1405 ("Requiem of Shadows")

(TOP)

“Requiem of Shadows”

Previous post: “Analysis of Shadows” by Rachel

=-=

Setting: USS ANUBIS, Sickbay

Stardate: 45013.1405

The warp drive thrummed through Zub Enel’s boots. Sickbay was warm. Equipment blipped. Sounds of life. He stood facing the far biobed, which held the remains of Jayson Stark, now former Chief Operations Officer, as well as hero and corpse.

As the hulking, scaly Voth, his security uniform still soaked with Jayson's blood, stood there, the floor seemed to pull him down as if the ship’s artificial gravity had been turned up to maximum. His heart felt leaden, as if it was being dragged deep into his abdomen.

He felt responsible for Jayson’s death. Enel’s primary duty was to protect. Yet, Jayson managed to free himself from the foothold trap Markus had set and threw himself in the path of that deadly Lokustaar talon strike; a strike that would have killed Ya’Jun, Ya’Han’s twin sister.

Zub looked down at Jayson, torn apart so badly no science could save him. The stasis field covering his remains shimmered as Zub exhaled a hot breath. It had been a quick death, but one Jayson had chosen, one he had felt as he was torn apart alive. Pain and the abyss, while fully facing it. To Zub Enel, Jayson was a hero by every definition.

The big lizard man became aware of warmth on the side of his body. He turned his head to see Doctor T’Lara standing nearby, looking up at him with a hint of curiosity on her Romulan/Vulcan face. She asked, “Klingons stand vigil over their fallen. Do Voths as well?”

Zub raised his eyebrows beneath his heavy head crest. “Klingons? They open the dead warrior’s eyes and stare into them, then shout to the sky, “Beware, a Klingon warrior is about to arrive!” Then, because the warrior’s spirit is gone, the body is trash to be discarded.”

He looked at Jason’s face, turned partly toward him. It held a longing expression and half-closed eyes.

“No, I don’t intend to do that to him.”

The CMO wasn’t given to smiling, but she did relax her face a fraction. “My crew needs to approach Jayson’s body and prepare it for transport.”

The big lizardman blinked in surprise and looked around the biobed. Several medical aides were hovering nearby, but at a respectful distance. “I did not intend to impede operations.”

He stepped back, the word “operations” echoing around in his skull. Guilt and anger surged. He silently gestured a three-fingered hand toward Jayson.

T’Lara merely looked at her aides, and they immediately came forward.

Without intending to, he turned away, even though he had been around the hallowed dead in his Security role as well as with the Marines. The doctor turned with him in perfect synchrony. She said, her tone neutral, “It is challenging to get soldiers like you to seek counseling following the death of a crewmate. However, I assure you that talking to someone about Lieutenant Stark and what his death means to you is highly beneficial.”

Zub nodded, working to keep from scowling. He felt fully capable of processing Jayson’s death. “Right, Doctor. Thank you.”

She swept his face with her emerald gaze. “Like I said. ‘Challenging.’”

Enel felt his scales turn red. “Thank you, Doctor, I will seriously consider counseling.”

Her expression remained cool. “I have to analyze further the genomic data I collected.” She raised her Vulcan eyebrows as if to ask if he needed her for anything.

“Please do,” he said. He turned back toward the biobed. By then, Jason had been cataloged, collected, and was in the process of being carted away in a casket designed to fit a photon torpedo case.

He told himself that the staff was not trying to pretend Jayson’s death never happened. They were following protocol. There would be time for more ceremony and reflection on his life and death. The mission wasn’t even over yet. There was Markus to track. There were probably many diplomatic complications from their unauthorized raid for Ya’Han’s mother's genomic data. An explanation would be demanded by Starfleet as well as Jayson's relatives about the circumstances of his death. The ship had already gone rogue to collect the data, all to explain and, hopefully, gain positive control over the awakening artifact that vaporized 186,000 farmers.

Zub stood by the empty biobed. He rubbed his head crest at a spot midway between his brows. Jayson had likely changed the course of Lokustaar machinations for the immediate future, but they were a long-lived and patient race. Such complications had surely happened to their generations-long plans before. They’d apply means to get their plan back in shape. Those ‘means’ would surely come to bear on the ANUBIS. He wondered if Jayson was not the last to die.

=-=

David Michael Inverso

Lieutenant JG Zub Enel

MCO

USS ANUBIS, NCC 18501

“When bad men combine, the good must associate; else they will fall one by one, an unpitied sacrifice in a contemptible struggle.”

-Edmund Burke

M25-064: USS ANUBIS: Lopez: 45013.1410 ("Shifts of Shadows")

(TOP)

"Shifts of Shadows"

Previous post: "Requiem of Shadows" by David

Setting: USS ANUBIS, Guest Quarters

Stardate: 45013.1410

The guest quarters were steeped in silence, thick with unspoken grief. The image of Jayson’s broken body returning to Sickbay lingered like a shadow over them all, sorrow clinging to the air as if it had weight. Each struggled to make sense of what had happened. Amanda tried to console Christie, but the girl could not silence the thought that gnawed at her with every breath: if Ya’Han, so strong, so fierce, could fall to darkness and kill the man who loved her, what chance did she have? Without her own twin to balance her, she feared she was already doomed to the same fate.

Cristhiane, desperate to shield her daughter from that fear, clung fiercely to the belief that Christie could never become such a monster. She reminded herself that Christie had already resisted the same shadows that had consumed Ya'Han. As any mother would, Cristhiane believed that her daughter was more than strong enough to continue this battle and emerge victorious.

Adriana, meanwhile, wrestled with her own thoughts, trying to honor Jayson's sacrifice, dying to save Ya'Han's sister, a woman he had barely known. Her training as a Ship's Counselor demanded logic, demanded a reason beyond love and trust, but none came. All she could see was that Jayson had died to save Ya'Jun, and through her, the fragile hope of saving Ya'Han. Jayson had died to save Ya'Jun and the hopes that she could save her twin sister in return.

The faint chirp of Adriana's communicator fractured the silence. She pressed a hand to her chest, voice subdued. "Lopez here, go ahead."

=^= Counselor Lopez, =^= Shar’El’s voice came, softer than steel usually allowed. =^= When you have a moment, Gemma has asked if you might check in on Ya'Han’s twin sister. She believes Ya’Jun could use your help reaching her. =^=

Adriana's expression softened, though her chest tightened. She was being asked to help the woman saved by Jayson's sacrifice, to maybe pave the way to save the one who had caused the man's death. Professionalism and emotions collided, forcing Adriana to take several long seconds before she could offer a reply. "Of course, Commander. Tell them I'll be there in an hour or so. I still have others to take care of." She closed the channel, but one word hung in the air like a spark: twin. A word that seemed to carry the weight of the cosmos far beyond its simple meaning.

Christie's head lifted slowly. Her eyes, wide and searching, carried a fear that cut deeper than curiosity. "Twin?" The word caught in her throat, as if she already knew what it meant.

Cristhiane froze, then stepped forward, approaching Adriana, her body rigid, eyes flashing with sudden urgency. "Did you say twin?" she pressed, her voice trembling. "Ya'Han has a twin sister?"

Adriana blinked at the intensity, then nodded slowly. "…So it would seem. I knew Ya'Jun was her sister, but never suspected that she was her twin. I guess this detail was revealed during Na'Rin's final moments."

Cristhiane's gaze flicked to her daughter, then back again. Her voice quivered, but the conviction beneath it was iron. "Then we must see her. Christie and I… please, Counselor, we have to speak with Ya'Jun. Twins... there's a pattern, a meaning, I know it. If she’s here, then maybe… maybe this is it. The answers. The balance we’ve been searching for.”

Amanda shifted uncomfortably, sensing the weight pressing in. "Are you sure?" she whispered. "This feels… dangerous."

Adriana hesitated, torn between her duty to protect Amanda and the undeniable desperation burning in Cristhiane's eyes. She recognized it, too, a mirror of her own, the same desperation that had driven her to search for Amanda for nearly two decades. To deny it now would be to deny herself.

"All right," Adriana said at last, her voice steady though her heart raced. "We'll go together. All of us, and we will listen to what Ya'Jun has to say." She paused, considering everything that had already happened. "There is no need to rush, so we can go when you are ready."

Cristhiane looked at her daughter and smiled before turning back to Adriana. "We are ready now."

She reached for Amanda's hand. Christie and Cristhiane followed, their steps heavy with expectation. As the door whispered open, the corridor stretched before them, silent, waiting. For the first time since Jayson’s death, there was no talk of loss, only of what might yet be found.

It was not certainty. It was not salvation.

But it was hope... fragile, trembling, and alive that something good might come out of this tragedy.

-=-=-

Marissa Montonera-Lombardi

Lieutenant JG Adriana Lopez

Ship's Counselor & Junior Ambassador

USS ANUBIS

M25-065: USS ANUBIS: Ya'Han: 45013.1430 ("Trickeries of Shadows")

(TOP)

"Trickeries of Shadows"

Previous post: "Shifts of Shadows" by Marissa

-=-=-

Setting: USS ANUBIS, Ya'Han's Quarters

Stardate: 45013.1430

The door hissed open, and Adriana stepped through first, her posture firm, her Counselor's calm a brittle mask over the heaviness in her chest. Amanda followed, not skipping this time but charging forward with restless energy, her grip on Christie's hand too tight, almost punishing in its urgency. Christie's wide, uncertain eyes flicked to every shadow, fear gnawing at her as if each step carried her closer to her own fate. Behind them came Cristhiane, slower, her face drawn and pale, yet with a fragile spark of hope that only a mother's desperation could kindle: hope not for herself, but for the daughter clinging to her hand.

And there she was.

Ya'Han sat in the far corner, her black hair spilling down her shoulders like a pool of night. She did not stir, did not blink, though the slow rhythm of her breath marked her as still alive, still present. Yet something about her stillness unsettled even the strongest among them. It was too complete. Too quiet.

Amanda froze mid-step, her wide eyes locking on the woman who had once been a guardian, a warrior… and now the one she blamed for the blood on the deck.

"You killed him!" Amanda's words burst out raw, sharp as a knife thrown without aim. "You killed Jayson!"

Christie flinched at the outburst, pressing closer to her mother, while Adriana caught Amanda's wrist before she could lunge forward. "Amanda," she whispered, steady and firm, "this isn't the time."

The younger, emotional Lopez twin jerked back, her lips trembling with rage and grief. "She just sits there like nothing happened!"

Ya'Han did not respond. Not a twitch of muscle, not even a flicker of her dark eyes. If her soul was drowning, it gave no ripple for them to see.

It was Ya'Jun who spoke instead, her voice quiet but carrying an edge that cut through the rising storm. "Do not waste your anger on her, child. The shadows already feast on her spirit. She has not fallen beyond reach… but the longer she lingers, the harder it will be to bring her back. That is why I asked Commander Shar'El for your assistance, Counselor."

Their focus shifted to Ya'Jun, standing across the room with the unshaken poise of one who bore the royal mark. Her hair glowed bright purple, a jarring contrast to her sister's lifeless black... clarity standing opposite shadow, light set against silence. Where Ya'Han was shadow, Ya'Jun was clarity.

"I was taught by an angel of light, a woman this crew knew as Amber Satori," Ya'Jun continued, her tone steady, certain. "She spoke of balance, of the twin equation, light and shadow bound together. One cannot exist without the other. If either claims dominion, the equation collapses. And when it collapses, all that follows is ruin."

Adriana leaned forward, her counselor's instinct sharpening. "And you believe Ya'Han is the shadow."

Ya'Jun did not hesitate. "She is. But shadow is not evil, only unbalanced. My place..." she laid a hand against her chest "... is to be the counterweight."

Christie swallowed hard. "My twin... my counterweight was murdered by the Tal'Shair shortly after our birth." Her voice trembled. "Am I doomed to become like her?" The unfinished question bled into silence as her eyes fell upon Ya’Han.

"The Shadows know the rules. That they are forbidden to directly interfere with the balance. That is why they have long ago enlisted the help of people and races driven by greed and the need for power. I am sorry for your loss, but that does not condemn you to the fate you believe is yours. There are other ways to find the balance you fear is beyond your reach."

The silence that followed cracked when Cristhiane stepped forward, voice trembling. "There may be something," Cristhiane said, her voice shaking. "On Deck 12… the device in the Quantum Physics Lab. I overheard Maya and Drayk, they don't see it as just technology. It's alive, in ways science refuses to measure." Her eyes darted to Christie, fierce with desperation. "If there is a way to protect my daughter... to save her... it may lie there."

Ya'Jun's expression shifted, her calm giving way to a flicker of recognition. "The device…" she whispered, as if the word itself was a revelation. "Smooth... black... ancient..."

"Yes," Adriana confirmed. "It was responsible for the death of over 128,000 colonists."

Ya'Jun quickly regained her composure. "I had heard whispers, fragments of its existence, but I never imagined…" She trailed off, gaze hardening with sudden purpose. "So that is why we are here. So close to the fulcrum of balance itself."

Christie squeezed her mother's hand, confused, fearful. Adriana frowned, weighing the words, while Amanda only scowled, arms crossed, still glaring at Ya'Han.

Ya'Jun moved closer to her broken sister, studying the Nylaan as though reading truths hidden beneath her silence. She saw the stillness not as surrender, but as a prison. And in the prison’s bars, she saw the shape of the key.

"Do you know why Jayson gave his life?" she asked softly, her eyes never leaving Ya'Han.

Adriana stiffened. Amanda blinked. Cristhiane drew in a sharp breath.

Ya'Jun's voice dropped to a whisper, almost reverent. "It was not for himself. It was not even for me. He believed that by saving me, I would save her. That his sacrifice would be enough to tip the scale."

Her hand hovered just above Ya'Han's shoulder, so close it might have been touch, so close it might have been hope. Her gaze lingered on her broken sister before turning toward the others, her voice steady, carrying the weight of a decision already made.

"The balance is not yet kept… and I must see this device for myself."

Her words hung in the silence, promising answers that none of them were ready to face.

-=-=-

Hanali Han

Lieutenant Ya'Han

Chief of Security / Tactical Officer

USS ANUBIS, NCC-18501

M25-066: USS ANUBIS: Val'Bruxa/Maya: 45013.1800 ("Echoes of Balance")

(TOP)

---

"Echoes of Balance"

(Previous Post: "Trickeries of Shadows")

---

Setting: USS ANUBIS, Deck 12, Quantum Physics Laboratory

Stardate: 45013.1800

The quiet, steady hum of the Quantum Physics Lab remained unchanged, sterile and exact. The smooth, mysterious, onyx cube hovered within its tri-phasic lattice, perfect in symmetry, motionless save for its subtle, albeit more hurried rotation. The atmosphere, as ever, carried the weight of something unmeasured yet undeniable.

Ya'Jun entered slowly, her steps deliberate, the light catching in her dark eyes as though she expected the shadows themselves to stir. She had listened to the words of Adriana, Amanda, Christie, and Cristhiane. Now she had come to see the mythical object for herself, drawn by more than curiosity, but by the possibility that it held the answer to a question Christie could not voice.

Maya greeted her with a nod, already speaking before introductions could be exchanged. "We were unable to secure any measurable readings for several days. No emissions. No signatures. Nothing. That changed once we reached NYLA IV. Now the sensors confirm discrete quantum resonances, each unique, each contained. The count remains consistent at one hundred twenty-eight thousand, two hundred fifty-two. That number corresponds precisely to the documented population of NOVOSYTH. The entire colony. Gone from the surface, but… still present. Here."

"Souls?" Ya'Jun softly questioned as her eyes caught the two lines of distinct glyphs dancing on the smooth black surface of the device.

"Singular and distinct energy signatures existing at the quantum level," Maya quickly corrected. "There are no indications to suggest any sort of thought or life. Just energy, contained by a yet undetermined process somewhere inside the device." Her hands danced over the console, bringing up layered displays of signatures that shimmered like constellations on the glass. On the otherwise smooth surface of the cube, two lines of faint glyphs pulsed in rhythm with the readings, symbols that had appeared before but never with such clarity. Their presence now was impossible to ignore, dancing like a silent language across the dark stone

Ya'Jun's gaze lingered on them. "You call them signatures,” she said softly, "but others might call them echoes. Fragments of what once was. Not destroyed. Not lost. Preserved. That is what the device was made to do."

Drayk, leaning against the far bulkhead, arms crossed, gave a low grunt. "That is one way of seeing it. Another way is containment. Packaged variables. Not lives. Not souls. Just stored energy. Perfection is not an ideal. It is a design parameter. This thing was engineered for efficiency, not mercy.”

Ya'Jun turned to face him, calm in the shadow of his challenge. "You see captivity where I see preservation. You see only the Shadows' corruption of its purpose, not the purpose itself. According to the legends shared with me, the device is older than this universe. It was never meant to erase. It was meant to balance. To hold what could not otherwise endure, until the scales were right again."

Maya tilted her head, her expression distant, but her voice carried that familiar cadence of cautious intrigue. "Balance as a cultural metaphor. Yet… the resonance patterns are not chaotic. They are ordered, symmetrically distributed, structured beyond random collapse. That level of organization does suggest… intent."

"Not intent," Drayk countered, his silver eyes fixed on the cube. "Design."

"Design or intent," Ya'Jun pressed, "the outcome is the same. The essence of the colonists of NOVOSYTH is not gone. It is here. Waiting. Do you not see? What you call signatures, what you name as patterns… others have named as souls. The Shadows twisted the device into an instrument of fear, but that is not its truth. Its truth is restoration. That is why it was built. That is why it endures.”

The Shillian scientist frowned, her voice falling into that rhythm of near-rambling thought. "A system designed to archive life at the quantum level could, theoretically, provide the foundation for reconstitution under the proper parameters. A reversal of entropy within a closed harmonic field. It is improbable. It is untested. Yet…" Her voice trailed, eyes fixed on the cascade of quantum lights that mirrored Ya'Jun's words more closely than she would admit.

Drayk pushed away from the wall, his tone sharp. "You are suggesting salvation where there may be none. Hope is not a weapon. It is a weakness."

Ya'Jun did not flinch. "Hope is balance, as your name reflects, Mr. Val'Bruxa. Without it, even you would fall to shadow."

His silver gaze never wavered. Arms still crossed, he spoke as though reciting a law of physics, not a warning. "Myths comfort the living. Equations decide who stays that way. If you’re right, balance will require a price. Be ready to pay it"

Silence stretched. Only the hum of the lattice remained. Ya'Jun took that opportunity to gaze once again upon the device and the glowing glyphs. Although the legends had not spoken of these, she could not help but feel that their presence there, in that specific fashion, had been meant to be from before the beginning.

Maya exhaled softly, as though unwilling to concede but unable to deny. "If your interpretation holds even a fraction of truth… then this device may not be limited to destruction."

Ya'Jun's eyes lingered on the cube, her voice low, reverent. "It was never made to destroy. The Shadows only taught it how. What it remembers… what it was built for… is balance. And balance can heal as much as it can end."

The words hung in the air like an echo.

The cube spun in silence, its dark surface reflecting nothing, revealing nothing, yet holding too much within.

For the first time, the possibility took form, not as data, not as theory, but as whispered myth given shape.

Perhaps, just perhaps, it could help Christie... and maybe even Ya'Han.

---

Setting: USS ANUBIS, Deck 12, Quantum Physics Laboratory

Stardate: 45013.2350

The laboratory was darker than usual, its illumination reduced to night-cycle dimness. Shadows clung to the corners, deepening the sterile silence. The tri-phasic lattice still shimmered faintly, casting soft teal glows across the bulkheads. Within, the device rotated, subtle yet steady, as if the cube alone ignored the ship's imposed cycle of rest.

The doors parted with a muted hiss. Ya'Jun stepped through, her presence unhurried, deliberate. No Maya at her console. No Drayk watching from the wall. Only her and the ancient thing, suspended in its perfect prison.

She approached slowly, her breathing calm, steady, measured. The stories and words Amber, once the angel of light, had shared with her, and the undying support and certainty of her husband Elan, whispered in her mind. Fragments of half-remembered songs, chants of balance, of order in chaos, of scales set right after ages of shadow also echoed in her ears.

Pausing just beyond the field boundary, she raised her hand. Not to touch, not to force, but simply to offer. Her fingers spread slightly, her palm hovering inches from the invisible barrier.

The cube's rotation shifted. A fraction faster. A fraction sharper. Its angle altered, not random, but aligned to her. The two sets of glowing glyphs now alternate, one intensified as the other softened.

Her eyes widened, not with fear but recognition. "She was right," she whispered. "Elan said that she always was."

The containment lattice shimmered in faint protest, but no alarms sounded, no fluctuations registered on consoles left dormant. The cube spun once, twice, then slowed, as if breathing with her.

She felt it, not heat, not radiation, but a presence brushing the edge of her mind. Not words, but resonance. A recognition of something it had always waited for.

Ya'Jun lowered her hand. She did not smile, but her gaze softened. The myths had not lied. The Shadows had twisted its purpose, but the truth remained buried within. Balance endured.

Turning away, she made for the door. Her steps were calm, assured.

The cube did not stay behind.

With effortless grace, it drifted out of its containment, the lattice flickering once and falling silent. Floating as if untethered by physics, the device followed her, hovering at her back like a loyal shadow, as though this had always been its proper state.

The corridor beyond accepted both woman and artifact without protest. No alarms blared, no systems failed. For the ANUBIS, for the universe, this was simply normal.

Ya'Jun never looked back. The device followed.

---

Scott Grant

Lieutenant JG Drayk Val'Bruxa

Assistant Chief Engineer

USS ANUBIS, NCC-18501

"I was not born. I was calculated. Cultivated. Deployed."

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)

M25-067: USS ANUBIS: T'Lara: 45014.0010 ("Energy of Shadows")

(TOP)

"Energy of Shadows"

Previous post: "Echoes of Balance" by Jessica and Scott

Setting: USS ANUBIS, Corridor -> Sickbay

Stardate: 45014.0010

Sleep had proved elusive. Logic dictated she should rest, to preserve efficiency for the tasks ahead, but her mind would not quiet. Each time she attempted to meditate, discipline fractured into the same image: Jayson Stark's chest torn open, a man undone in less than a second. Vulcan logic told her the memory was irrelevant, death was inevitable, predictable. Yet her Romulan blood whispered that inevitability was an excuse. Someone had caused this, and causes could be removed. That truth was what kept her on her feet long after reason urged surrender to rest.

If reason prevailed, T'Lara would dismiss such thoughts as emotion. Instead, she found herself walking the quiet corridors toward Sickbay, intent on resuming her work. The Acamarian strain in her private files had been designed decades ago for neutralization of insurgents resistant to conventional toxins. Adapting it to Nylaan markers was inelegant but possible. She told herself it was academic work: sequence alignments, protein docking. Yet the fact remained: each adjustment drew her closer to a weapon, not a cure. She accepted that with the detachment of a physician in triage. If the survival of the ANUBIS demanded it, then Ya'Han's instability would be excised as she would excise a tumor. Logic did not protest. It agreed.

Even logic agreed that the lives of everyone aboard the ANUBIS weighed in at a much higher level than the life of a single woman who had already proven to no longer caring for those other lives.

Sickbay was dim on approach, lights reduced to night-cycle. T'Lara stepped inside, ready to lose herself in gene-sequencing models. What she saw instead rooted her to the spot.

The stasis field shimmered faintly above Jayson's biobed, his form outlined beneath the transparent glow. Standing over the bed was a Nylaan silhouette, and T'Lara's pulse spiked before she forced it back under control. For an instant she believed it was Ya'Han, the threat returned to finish what the Lokustaar had not. Closer inspection corrected her... Ya'Jun.

Relief should have followed, yet it did not. Hovering at Ya'Jun’s side was the device. T'Lara's gaze fixed on its shifting glyphs, each rotation a reminder of the countless hours she had spent in the Quantum Physics Lab, assisting Maya in trying to decode its oscillations. It was supposed to be secured there, under study, inert and contained. To see it here, pulsing beside Jayson's body, unraveled the fragile order she relied on. The mystery of its whereabouts was answered, but the truth was infinitely worse than ignorance: it had chosen, or been brought, to this place... into Ya'Jun's hands, and into Sickbay.

T'Lara's hand moved to her commbadge. Before she could call for Security, Ya'Jun raised her palm in a silent gesture. An invisible weight pressed down through the Doctor's body, stilling her mid-breath. She could think, she could almost form words, but her limbs refused command.

Her voice strained out, tight and halting. "What… are you… doing?"

Ya'Jun did not look at her. Her gaze remained on the lifeless body beneath the field. "His energy is still here," she said softly. "Nothing is ever lost. Balance waits."

The device hummed, glyphs spilling across its facets in rhythms that suggested but never obeyed mathematics. T'Lara's first instinct was to catalogue, to assign cause: some manner of bioelectric resonance, a harvesting of residual cellular energy. But the biobed betrayed her hypothesis. Flatlines trembled into motion. Data returned where there should have been nothing to measure. Her Romulan side labeled it sorcery, her Vulcan side demanded a rational framework, and for one breath she was left with nothing but awe.

"Balance must be restored," Ya'Jun muttered and repeated, almost in a chant-like manner. For anyone who believed in the mystical arts, it could have been an incantation, or a summon of powers beyond the understanding of mere mortals.

"Ya'Jun... stop..." It took everything she had to say those few words, and even then they came as barely being over a whisper, drowned by the growing echoes of the Nylaan's incantation.

Suddenly, the doors slid open.

"Doctor T'Lara, the ICG picked up an energy spike..." Gemma announced, the ILO only realizing after a few seconds the scope of the situation. She stopped cold at the sight: Ya'Jun over Jayson, the device in full resonance. Her hand slapped her combadge as she lunged forward. "Security to Sickbay, now!"

The air thickened. To T'Lara, it was as if an ocean tide swept through the room, repeating invisible waves pushing against Gemma's advance. Instruments rattled on their stands. Gemma pressed on, step by laborious step, her jaw set against the unseen current. The device flared once, then fell still. With a final surge, Gemma slammed into Ya'Jun, shoving her back from the bed.

Tired, on the brink of exhaustion, Ya'Jun looked into Gemma's eyes. "I wasn't certain that I could... but balance has been restored."

The silence that followed rang louder than any alarm.

T'Lara forced her gaze down to the biobed and felt her mental disciplines collapse. The ruin she had memorized, the cavity she could still trace in anatomy sketches, was absent. Flesh that had been obliterated was whole. She blinked, recalibrated the console, checked the integrity of the stasis field. The data refused to change. There had been a void; now there was not. What had been given here, and what cost had been demanded? Her training left no place for this category of event. For the first time in decades, she realized she had no term, scientific or Vulcan, for what her eyes reported.

The doors burst open again. Zub stormed in with Drayk Val'Bruxa on his heels, the Mikulak's expression taut with disbelief. Both men took in the tableau at once: Gemma braced between Ya'Jun and the bed, the device dim in its stand, and Stark's body... whole.

T'Lara staggered free of the paralysis, fingers finding the console. Readouts scrolled upward: cortical activity, yes... but faint, uneven, almost hesitant. Patterns that could have been the first sparks of life… or nothing more than echoes stirred by the device. Her training insisted on caution, demanded verification. Yet some deeper part of her wanted, against every discipline she had cultivated, to believe.

Behind her, Ya'Jun straightened, unresisting. Her eyes were calm, her voice even. "This was not mercy," she said. "It was correction. Balance abhors a void."

On the monitor, the line that had been flat traced upward into a pulse... slow, uncertain, fragile. Was it the beginning of a heartbeat, or only the shadow of one? Her training insisted on caution, yet some part of her longed to believe. Whatever this was, no viral sequence could account for it.

=-=

Dawn Bohr

Lt. Commander T'Lara

Chief Medical Officer

USS ANUBIS, NCC-18501

M25-068: USS ANUBIS: Gemma: 45014.0030 ("Equation of Balance")

(TOP)

"Equation of Balance"

Previous post: "Energy of Shadows" by Dawn

Setting: USS ANUBIS, Sickbay

Stardate: 45014.0030

For one breathless instant, no one moved.

T'Lara's voice cut through at last, steadier than she felt. "He is alive… or at the very least, returning to life."

Gemma’s eyes narrowed, disbelief sharpening into calculation.

"Alive?" Finnja whispered, the Dinaali nurse, hopeful as always.

"Or no more than a puppet of shadow?" Kael hissed, cutting deep.

"Alive, dead, shadow... it's all relative," Sheetora sighed.

Gemma forced them all down and turned on Ya’Jun, her own words cutting like a blade.

"Explain."

The Nylaan woman didn't flinch beneath the weight of the ILO's demand. Instead, she lifted her chin and spoke in measured cadence, as though drawing from a story as old as the stars themselves.

"The universe is balance. Energy is balance. The NOVOSYTH colonists were not destroyed. They were erased, yes, but not lost. Their essence, their unique signatures of life, their energy, was captured into the device. The device was never forged as a weapon. It was meant to hold, to restore equilibrium when the scales tipped." Her eyes swept briefly to the biobed, to the slow, faltering pulse struggling against the void. "The Lokustaar twisted it. They corrupted its purpose, made others see it as a tool of destruction. A tool to reshape the universe at their whim. But it was always a vessel, never a blade."

"Pretty story," Gabrielle muttered in Gemma's head. "But every blade starts as a tool until someone learns where to swing it."

"The idea of balance is not new," Melika, the Ekosian historian, added. "Many cultures look upon balance, in one way or another, as a universal constant, a truth that cannot be ignored or avoided without dire consequences."

Gemma's jaw tightened. "And what are you trying to restore?"

Ya'Jun's voice softened, but conviction burned within it. "Ya'Han is incomplete without Jayson. Their bond was torn asunder, leaving a void. And where there is void, there is imbalance. When I learnt that the device was here and that it had been used to take 128,000 lives, I knew what was needed. What balance demanded, so I used part of what remained of the NOVOSYTH life energy… to correct that imbalance. To return what should not have been stolen.”

The weight of her words pressed down on the room. Zub's fists curled tight at his sides. T'Lara looked away from her console for the first time, uncertain whether to call it faith or folly.

"Life is not currency," Gemma said, her voice iced with steel.

"Life is always currency," Anya whispered, thick with disdain. "The cost just changes hands."

"Balance doesn't absolve you of the price," Gemma added, her eyes fixed on Ya’Jun.

The purple-haired Nylaan met her gaze unblinking. "Every action bears consequence. But to deny the balance is to let shadow consume everything. I will not allow that. Not while I still breathe." She drew a long, deep, conviction-filled breath. "The Lokustaar, through their agents and puppets, were the ones who created the imbalance, one meant to cascade into chaos that would wash over the entire galaxy. Balance needed to be restored, and this,” she said, looking at Jayson, who was on the very edge of life, "helps in doing just that, even if only a little."

The monitor above Stark's bed emitted another fragile beat. Slow. Hesitant. But most importantly… alive.

The silence that followed was thick with the unspoken. Was this miracle or theft? Mercy or manipulation? None present could yet decide.

Ya'Jun placed a hand on Gemma's shoulder. "You, of all those aboard this ship, should understand and appreciate the need for balance. Without it, your voices would be chaos. The balance you forged within yourself was natural, necessary. That same state is required of any organism, be it as unique as a single person or as vast as the universe itself."

Gemma held still, her face unreadable. Inside, the voices collided.

"She sees us," Gwenvel murmured, almost kindly.

"Or she sees too much," Kael sneered.

"She's baiting you," Tahlia warned with a grin. "Never trust anyone who speaks like a prophet."

At last, Zub stepped forward, his presence heavy as armor. His voice was low, level, but it carried authority that left no space for argument. "Enough. Whatever balance has been struck, the device returns to containment." He turned to the Mikulak Engineer. "Take the device back to the Quantum Physics Lab." Then the Voth Chief of Security turned and glared at Ya’Jun, his golden eyes fixed like steel. "You will come with me. Back to your sister's quarters where you will be confined. No detours. No more interference."

She gave no resistance. Only a quiet nod, as though her work here was complete.

Drayk tried to take hold of the floating device, but it refused to move. Without any physical attachment to anything, the onyx sphere should have been easily carried away, yet it remained perfectly in place no matter how much strength he applied.

“She controls it,” he growled, halting both Zub and Ya’Jun in their tracks.

“I do not,” Ya’Jun calmly defended. “It may simply recognize me as an integral part of the restoration of the balance that has been unsettled.”

“Then you will make it move, or I will…” His anger threatened to spill over when Gemma stepped in.

“Let Drayk take care of both the woman and the device," she said, her smile disarming but sharpened with intent.

"That's it girl, use your charms," Neri purred approvingly.

"Containment, not trust," Gwenvel corrected, tone like a counselor’s note.

"I am sure Jayson would appreciate seeing your scaly face upon his waking." With a nod of her head, she instructed Drayk to take Ya'Jun and this time the device followed without hesitation as if agreeing to the conditions set.

The doors hissed shut behind them. For a long moment the only sound was the uneven rhythm of Jayson's hesitant pulse, fragile and alive, a reminder that balance was not victory, only a reprieve.

=-=

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

M25-069: USS ANUBIS: Shar'El: 45014.0600 ("Debate of Shadows")

(TOP)

"Debate of Shadows"

Previous post: "Equation of Balance" by Rachel

-=-=-

Setting: USS ANUBIS, Deck 1, Captain's Ready Room

Stardate: 45014.0600

The door to Morningstar's Ready Room hissed open and Shar'El entered, posture composed but eyes still reflecting the chaos of Sickbay.

"What happened?" Erik asked the moment Shar'El stepped inside, his voice sharper than usual. Given the circumstances, the edge was understandable.

Shar'El wasted no time. "Jayson is alive... barely. T'Lara is monitoring him. Considering he had a gaping hole in his chest only hours ago, that's progress. Ya'Jun has been returned to her sister's quarters, and the device is secured in the Quantum Physics Lab under containment."

Erik's brow furrowed. "And the Lokustaar defenses?"

"No change," Shar’El replied. "Ya’Jun claims they remain inert as long as she is aboard. That leaves Stark's recovery, and the implications of it, as our immediate concern."

Morningstar leaned back, disbelief and unease warring across his features. "So the impossible became possible. You'd think after everything we have gone through that I'd be used to that by now, but this feels different."

Shar'El's voice softened, though her composure never faltered. "The universe has shown us the impossible before, Captain. But rarely this close to home."

Erik nodded as memories flooded the man's mind. "It's nice to see one of these impossible events actually make things better for someone close."

Shar’El’s tone shifted, deliberate. "Captain, if the device can restore life, even partially, could it not also be used to correct what the Lokustaar imposed on Christie? The markers she carries are imbalance made flesh. If the device exists for balance, as Ya'Jun claims, then it may recognize her condition as something to repair."

Morningstar's skepticism was immediate. "You’re asking me to sanction the use of an alien device we barely understand, one that Ya'Jun used without our knowledge to pull Stark back from the dead. We have no idea what price was paid beyond the physical repair of his body. Do we risk compounding that cost?"

"I'm not advocating reckless action," Shar'El countered evenly. "Only that we consider the possibility. Christie already lives in fear of becoming what Ya'Han has become. And Cristhiane blames herself for the genetic legacy. If there's even a chance the device could free them of that burden, should we not explore it?"

"I am not sure..." Erik said, his words trailing into an uneasy silence.

"I know it's a gamble," Shar'El admitted. "One that I am not saying we have to impose on Christie or her mother. What I am suggesting is that we offer the possibility, or at the very least ask Ya'Jun if it would even be at all possible."

"You are not the gambling sort," Erik smirked.

"Memories and fears," Shar'El admitted. "Cristhiane's guild is borderline debilitating. The more she has come to learn about these shadow genetic markers, the more she blames herself for what Christie is going through now. On her end, Christie sees what Ya'Han has become and what she has done, and it terrifies her."

"They have helped us and you want to return the favor," Morningstar said. "Alright, I see your point and also can understand the weight that both women would be carrying for the rest of their lives." Erik stood and straightened his uniform. "Before we speak with Ya'Jun, I want Maya's assessment. After that, if there's even a chance this can work, we'll bring Cristhiane and Christie to the Lab and let them decide if they wish to proceed."

-=-=-

Setting: USS ANUBIS, Deck 12, Quantum Physics Lab

Stardate: 45014.0630

The Quantum Physics Lab was as silent as ever, the containment field humming faintly around the suspended onyx cube. Maya stood at her console, her features shadowed by both exhaustion and determination. Drayk lingered nearby, arms folded, his presence more statue than man.

At their entrance, Maya straightened. Erik spoke first. "Commander, I want a simple answer. Based on what we’ve learned, and what the device did for Stark, could it remove the Lokustaar taint from Christie?"

Maya's head shot up and she blinked a few times before offering a reply. "Theoretically, perhaps. But the quantum energy signatures within the device have been drastically reduced. Bringing Lieutenant Stark back drained more than half of what it contained. Even if it is a vessel for balance, the reserves may no longer be sufficient to enact such a correction. Without a better understanding of how the process was enacted, there is no actual way to offer a definitive answer.

Shar'El's gaze shifted to Drayk, who said nothing. His silence was a weight all its own.

Before Erik could press further, the doors opened again. Ya'Jun entered under guard, her violet hair framing a face etched with quiet conviction. "If balance is what you seek, then let me try," she said. "Christie deserves to be free of the shadows within her. If the device can bring back life, it can also restore what was twisted."

Erik's eyes narrowed. "You knew what we were discussing... how?"

"I possess the same awareness and clarity Ya'Han claimed to have," Ya'Jun explained in a nonchalant manner. "It is part of the balance, neither side gives an advantage over the other, nor can they suppress it."

The Captain gave a nod of his head noting understanding and an odd lack of surprise. There was still so much they did not know about the mechanics of this war between light and darkness.

"Will it work? Can you remove the shadow genetic markers from Christie?"

Ya’Jun met his gaze without flinching. "I am willing to try, and if it works, I ask permission to do the same for my sister."

The room fell still, even the hum of the containment field around the device seemed softer, quieter in anticipation of the Captain's answer.

Finally, Morningstar exhaled. "Very well. We try... with Christie’s consent," he emphasised. "But this will be under strict control. I want T'Lara and Maya to oversee every second, and if the device shows the slightest sign of failing, we stop. No questions. No exceptions."

Ya'Jun bowed her head slightly. "Of course... my goal is not to hurt anyone, only to restore the balance that has been unsettled."

The Captain's eyes lingered on the device. In its perfect stillness he saw neither salvation nor doom, only the weight of a decision that might reshape everything.

=-=

Tiffany Reeve

Commander Shar'El

Executive Officer

USS ANUBIS

M25-070: USS ANUBIS: Lopez: 45014.0645 ("Cleansing of Shadows")

(TOP)

"Cleansing of Shadows"

Previous Post: "Debate of Shadows" by Tiffany

Setting: USS ANUBIS, Guest Quarter

Stardate: 45014.0645

The tension in the guest quarters was thick enough to choke on. Adriana laid out the possibility plainly: the shadow genetic markers might be removed. For Christie, the words were a shock and a glimmer of hope. For Cristhiane, they were a knife-edge between promise and peril.

Christie's eyes widened. "You mean… it can be undone?" Her voice carried both disbelief and desperate longing.

Adriana offered a calm nod. "It's possible. What happened with Jayson proves the device, and Ya'Jun, can rewrite what was thought immutable. But this is different. It's not resurrection. It's correction. A restoration of the balance as Ya'Jun said."

Christie nodded quickly, almost hungrily. "Then let's try."

Cristhiane, however, took a breath and drew her daughter closer. "Hope is not the same as certainty. I will not let you gamble your life so quickly." Her gaze shifted to Adriana. "But… if there is a chance to free her of this curse, I cannot deny it."

After a long silence, mother and daughter came to a fragile accord. Adriana tapped her commbadge, summoning security.

When the door slid open, the towering form of Zub Enel filled the frame. Adriana gathered Amanda, Christie, and Cristhiane, and the group set out under escort.

-=-=-

Setting: USS ANUBIS, Corridor

Stardate: 45014.0650

The silence of the walk was broken only when Adriana turned toward the towering Voth. "How are you holding up, Zub? With Jayson back?"

Zub's eyes flickered, the kind of glance that carried weight. "The scans show his body is whole, yes. Restored. But there's nothing in the data to prove his mind returned with it."

Amanda flinched, Christie looked stricken, and even Adriana felt her stomach twist. It was the unspoken fear given voice: that miracles come with costs unseen.

-=-=-

Setting: USS ANUBIS, Quantum Physics Lab

Stardate: 45014.0655

The containment field around the device shimmered as they entered. Ya'Jun stood with serene poise; Erik and Shar'El waited nearby, the air already taut with expectation. Drayk, feeling that the lab had become overcrowded, stepped out. There was no need for him to bear witness to this.

"Welcome. Did Adriana explain the situation?" Erik asked gently as he greeted the civilian mother and daughter duo.

Christie nodded, but Cristhiane cut in, her voice firm. "She did. But my daughter will not be your guinea pig for whatever this is supposed to be. I carried these markers into her life. I will carry the risk as well. Test this on me first."

Christie's protest died on her lips, stifled by a resolve she had never seen in her mother before.

Ya'Jun inclined her head. “The choice is not mine. I only restore balance where I can."

Shar'El exchanged a quiet look with Erik. "If it works… we may have a way to possibly bring Ya'Han back."

The Captain gave his nod. "Proceed."

What followed was no sterile medical procedure but something primal, mythical. The device began to spin faster. The two sets of glyphs were glowing brighter, alternating with far more defined intensity than ever before. Light and shadow warred in Ya'Jun's hands as she reached into the genetic depths of Cristhiane's being. The woman convulsed, a cry escaping her lips, as the shadow-born code was burned away.

Maya's eyes tracked the device, desperate to map logic onto the impossible. Beside her, T'Lara's tricorder beeped steadily: Cristhiane's vitals stubbornly strong, even as her body convulsed under Ya'Jun's touch.

Then silence. Thick. Heavy. The kind that stretched beyond space and time into the infinity of space itself.

Cristhiane gasped, eyes opening wide. Her expression was astonished, almost radiant. "I… I feel… alive." Tears streaked down her cheeks. "More alive than I have in years."

Christie rushed forward. "Then it's my turn."

T'Lara stepped forward, placing the enthusiasm on pause as she ran her medical tricorder over the smiling mother. The Vulcan/Romulan Doctor would not be rushed, taking as much time as she deemed necessary to confirm the success of the intended results or the crushing failure of the attempt.

"Well?" Shar'El prompted after witnessing the medical tricorder repeatedly pass over Cristhiane, who was holding her breath in both fear and anticipation.

"The markers are gone," T'Lara replied, an odd disbelief lacing her tone. "It is as if they had never been there."

"Now me," Christie whispered, stepping forward to take her mother’s place before Ya'Jun.

Again, the ritual unfolded, pain and fire, followed by release. When it ended, Christie collapsed into her mother's arms, laughing through tears. "It's gone. I can feel it… It's gone. I don't hear the darkness calling to me anymore. Thank you."

Ya'Jun straightened, her voice calm but edged with insistence. "Captain, you made me a promise. Now allow me to try the same for my sister."

Before Morningstar could say anything, Maya offered her report. "The amount of singular quantum signatures contained in the device has been nearly completely depleted. Based on the rate of drain from the two attempts we have witnessed, I suspect that there may not be enough energy left for a third attempt."

"I still need to try," Ya'Jun said. "She is my sister. Balance must be restored, no matter the cost."

Morningstar's gaze lingered on Ya'Jun, then flicked to Shar'El. Her silent nod gave him no comfort. He drew in a slow breath, then gave the only order he could. "Do it."

-=-=-

Marissa Montonera-Lombardi

Lieutenant JG Adriana Lopez

Ship's Counselor & Junior Ambassador

USS ANUBIS

M25-071: USS ANUBIS: Ya'Han/Morningstar: 4514.0730 ("Restoring Balance")

(TOP)

"Restoring Balance"

Previous post: "Cleansing of Shadows" by Marissa

-=-=-

Setting: USS ANUBIS, Ya'Han's Quarters

Stardate: 45014.0730

The quarters were dim, quiet but for the shallow rhythm of breath. Ya'Han sat where she had remained since her collapse, her black hair veiling her face, her body a statue carved by grief. When the door opened, she did not look up. She already knew who it was.

"You should not be here," Ya'Han whispered, her voice rough, frayed by sleeplessness and guilt. "I am beyond saving. Beyond redemption."

Ya'Jun stepped inside, her presence calm but resolute, her violet eyes refusing to waver. "That is the shadow speaking, not you."

Ya'Han finally lifted her gaze, and the pain in her eyes was raw, unmasked. "The shadow is all that's left. Jayson is dead because of me. His blood is on my hands. You think you can balance that? No weight in light can erase what I have done."

For a heartbeat, silence hung between them, heavy as iron. Then Ya'Jun moved closer, crouching before her sister. "You speak as if his sacrifice was an end. It was not. It was a choice, and one he made freely, believing you were worth saving. I will not dishonor him by letting you rot in this cage of guilt."

Ya'Han shook her head, tears streaking down her cheeks. "You don't understand..."

"I understand enough," Ya'Jun said, her voice sharper now, almost a command. She extended a hand. "Come. Walk with me."

Ya'Han hesitated, then allowed herself to be pulled to her feet, too weary to resist.

They walked in silence, Ya'Jun guiding, Ya'Han stumbling beside her, until the familiar scent of antiseptics and the sterile light of Sickbay greeted them.

Ya'Han froze at the threshold. On the far biobed in the corner of Sickbay lay Jayson; pale, still, yet tethered to life by the faint, erratic whispers of the monitors. Fragile. Unbelievable. But real.

Ya'Han's knees nearly gave way. "No… this is impossible…"

Ya'Jun steadied her with a hand on her shoulder. "His heartbeat is slow, irregular, but it is there. There is life where none was."

"What trick is this?" Ya'Han demanded, anger flaring as the shadow within her clawed for denial.

"No trick. No illusion," Ya'Jun replied, her voice a steady island in the storm. "The shadows bend perception, forcing those under their sway to see only what serves their control. That is how they rule. Even the device, you saw it as destruction, yet in truth it is a tool of balance."

Ya'Han reached forward, trembling, her fingers brushing his hand. Warmth met her skin, faint but real. Tears blinded her. "I don't deserve this. I don't deserve him."

"You are wrong," Ya'Jun said softly. "You are each part of the other. Jayson is as much a part of who you have become as you are of him. That is why he survived: not in spite of you, but because of you."

Ya'Han bowed her head, hair falling like a curtain between her and the truth she feared to face. "Then why bring me here?"

"Because the shadows in you are not your destiny," Ya'Jun answered. "They are a legacy, one our mother regretted until her final breath. I will help you undo what was forced upon you. The device, the balance, the path forward… all of it begins here. But only if you choose to walk it."

For the first time since Jayson's fall, something other than grief stirred within her. Fragile. Painful. Yet undeniable. Hope.

-=-=-

Setting: USS ANUBIS, Deck 12, Quantum Physics Lab

Stardate: 45014.0750

The Nylaan sisters entered the lab together beneath the watchful eyes of the crew. All had seen what transpired with Cristhiane and Christie, yet hope here was brittle, smothered by suspicion. The black-haired woman beside her purple-haired twin no longer looked like the Mistress of Shadows, but neither did she resemble the fiery Chief of Security they once trusted. What remained was something in between... a figure caught between fear and redemption... and the crew’s gaze weighed heavily with doubt.

Cristhiane and Christie had been escorted to Sickbay for a medical assessment of their condition, but everything seemed to have worked as intended. Shar'El had remained behind to hopefully witness the same, but this time for Ya'Han.

As Ya'Jun prepared herself and the device, Maya continued her analysis of the recent events and the impact they had on the singular quantum energy readouts from within the onyx cube.

"What's troubling you?" Morningtar inquired of the Shillian Chief Science Officer. Erik knew Maya well enough to see that something was bothering her, something that she was desperately trying to understand, a scientific mystery that forced her to ignore everything else around her.

"The math..." Maya uncharacteristically answered without any elaborate explanation. "Something is missing."

"Are you referring to the quantum energy signatures that were contained in the device?" Erik pressed.

"There were 128,252 individual energy signatures when Ya'Jun took the device and brought it to Sickbay to revive Jayson. When the device was returned to the Quantum Physics Lab, sensors registered 58,102 signatures remaining," Maya explained.

"Makes sense that bringing someone back from beyond the veil of death would require a lot of energy, even if we do not understand the actual mechanics of the process."

"I am not arguing the cost of the process," Maya countered. "What I am saying is that the sensor data from Sickbay, which I had not taken into consideration until now, does not match what the Laboratory sensors registered when the device was returned."

"What are you saying?" Erik asked, needing this matter to be clarified.

"The Sickbay logs show 30,030 signatures consumed to revive Jayson. But when the device reached this lab, the count had fallen by another 40,120. As if it had been used again, somewhere between there and here, for something even greater."

A raw scream tore from Ya'Han's throat as she collapsed to her knees, her hands clawing at the deck as if she could anchor herself against the pain. The sound cut through the lab, silencing everything else.

"The quantum signatures within the device are all gone," Maya reported following a quick review of the data being displayed on her screens. "Sensors are reading a complete energy depletion."

"The process of removing the shadow genetic markers is incomplete," T'Lara reported, her open tricorder aimed at the kneeling woman in agony. "12% of the genetic material is still present."

"Hold on Ya'Han," Ya'Jun pleaded as she continued offering herself as a living bridge between her sister and the device.

"9%," T'Lara updated. "Cardio-vascular stress is rapidly increasing. Captain," the Vulcan/Romulan Doctor said, turning to the Native American. "We risk losing them both."

"We can do this," Ya'Jun snarled, teeth clenched, her grip on her sister unbreakable. "The balance… will… be… restored!"

"Down to 4% of Lokustaar genetic markers," T'Lara reported. "Also picking up severe genetic damage in both of them."

The moment the tricorder's readings showed all shadow genetic markers gone, both Nylaan women collapsed onto the deck. The once-living spectrum of their hair now laid dull and lifeless, stripped to the flat black of the common caste. Questions as to the cause and duration of this effect remained unasked at this time, everyone just happy to see that both had survived the ordeal.

"I was able to track the energy consumption during the three 'cleansing', and estimate that each required just over 20 thousands individual energy signatures, that is why the last effort was so problematic as the device did not hold the required quantity. Rounding the numbers for the sake of this explanation, and using the data collected in Sickbay, the revival of Jayson required the consumption of 30 thousand individual energy signatures."

"That's 90 thousand," Erik noted, easily keeping up with Maya's math while he cast his concerned gaze upon the two Nylaan sisters, each now displaying the more dull black coloured hair of the commoner cast. "So what happened to the other 35 thousand?"

The attention of most turned to the figures that appeared in the open doorway between the lab and corridor. There Drayk stood, his silver hair cascading onto the shoulder of a much smaller and delicate silver-haired Mikulak figure. It took a few seconds for everyone to register what it was they were looking at... or more specifically... *who*.

"I believe we have solved the mystery of the missing 35 thousand energy signatures," Maya said, her head tilting ever so slightly to one side.

Drayk stood framed in the doorway, silver hair cascading like a banner of defiance. At his side, fragile but alive, was Satella Bruxa. Gasps rippled through the lab.

His gaze swept the room, unblinking, unyielding. "You spoke of balance," he said, voice like tempered steel. "She is mine, as I am hers. You call them miracles. I call them inevitabilities."

-=-=-

Hanali Han

Lieutenant Ya'Han

Chief of Security / Tactical Officer

USS ANUBIS, NCC-18501

and

Francois Charette

Captain Erik Morningstar

Commanding Officer

USS ANUBIS, NCC 18501

M25-072: USS ANUBIS: Val'Bruxa: 45014.0800 ("Universal Design")

(TOP)

"Universal Design"

Previous post: "Restoring Balance" by Hanali and Francois

Setting: USS ANUBIS, Deck 12, Quantum Physics Lab

Stardate: 45014.0800

The doorway became a threshold between myth and math. Drayk stood there, silver hair burning against sterile light, Satella at his side, pale and breathing. Alive. The lab fell silent, prey scenting the predator. His eyes swept across them without heat, without haste.

"You spoke of balance," he said, voice like tempered steel. "She is mine, as I am hers. You call them miracles. I call them inevitabilities."

Silence followed, sharp enough to bleed. His words were no boast and no plea, they were claim. The kind a wolf makes with its teeth still wet. As his gaze passed over them, the crew understood: this was not resurrection. It was correction.

Satella stared through the fog of fractured memory. Last she remembered, fire, teeth of plasma, the taste of blood. Then silence. Now this.

She did not wonder how. She knew why. Because Drayk was here. When he stands, the universe bends. That is the law.

=-=

(FLASHBACK)

Setting: USS ANUBIS, Val'Bruxa's Quarters

Stardate: 45014.0025

The corridor lights burned soft against alloy walls, sterile, clinical: perfect for those who mistook order for justice. Drayk walked in silence, Ya'Jun keeping pace at his side, the onyx device cradled in her hands like some forbidden relic. The pulse within its facets was slower now, quieter, as if the act of pulling Jayson back from the abyss had drained its fury but not its purpose.

She broke the silence first. "You disapprove."

Drayk's eyes did not leave the path ahead. "Approval is an indulgence. I traffic in results. Jayson Stark breathes again. That proves something." His tone carved through the quiet like a blade drawn slow. "But not what you think."

Ya'Jun tilted her head, dark eyes sharp. "I think it proves that balance has been restored.”

That earned her a glance; icy, measured, predatory. "Restored?" He stopped, forcing her to halt. "You mistake a ledger for a scale. When Jayson died, weight shifted. You tipped it back, but at what cost? What do you think his life purchased?"

She bristled but held his gaze. "It purchased the correction of a void. It purchased..."

"...another imbalance," Drayk cut in, stepping closer, voice dropping to a tone meant to pierce bone and marrow. "Do you even know what you've done? One life for one life. That's the logic you peddle, isn't it? Balance as barter. Stark for Satella."

Her jaw tightened. "I heard the stories. Satella is gone."

The laugh that left him was a quiet, lethal thing. "Gone?" His silver hair caught the corridor light as he leaned in. "You think death is permanence? You just proved it isn't. You reached into the abyss and pulled something out. Do you imagine the abyss discriminates?"

Ya'Jun hesitated, and in that heartbeat he struck: not with hands, but with words forged of certainty and design.

"You told my crew, our crew, that balance abhors a void. You spoke that creed like scripture. So tell me, Ya'Jun: when Satella's blood soaked the deck, what did the void take then? Do you think her life was without weight? Do you think I will accept an equation where Stark lives and she does not?"

Her breath faltered. "Drayk..."

"No," he said, sharp enough to draw blood from silence. "You invoked balance," he said, each word honed to an edge. "Now you choke on it. There is no shadow to hide in. There is law. Your law. And by that law, you will fix this. Or you admit the creed you spat was nothing but theater to mask your weakness."

His presence pressed against her like gravity, his steel-blue eyes a storm without horizon. "The device isn't spent. I know the numbers. So do you. And if you hesitate now, you admit that everything you've done, all the lives you've gambled, was never about balance. It was about control."

Ya'Jun swallowed hard. "And if you're wrong?"

"I'm never wrong," he said simply. "Because I don't gamble. I calculate. I don't pray for miracles. I manifest them, as required."

The weight of the words settled like chains and crowns all at once. Finally, Ya'Jun gave the smallest nod. "Then where?"

Drayk turned without hesitation. "My quarters."

They walked in silence, not as allies but as co-conspirators in defiance of gods and ghosts. When the door hissed open, the dim glow revealed what she had not dared expect: a casket of obsidian glass, its surface etched with Mikulak glyphs that spoke of preservation beyond death. Within, pale as frozen starlight, lay Satella Bruxa, serene, untouched, a fragment of eternity waiting to be claimed.

Drayk moved to the casket with the reverence of a warlord approaching his blade. He did not look back at Ya'Jun when he spoke, for the words were not a request but a decree.

"Begin."

Slowly, hesitantly, the device came to life in her hands, glyphs spiraling like constellations rearranging themselves to obey a deeper law. For Ya'Jun, it was power tempered with fear. For Drayk, it was inevitability made visible, a universe acknowledging design. His.

=-=

Setting: USS ANUBIS, Deck 12, Quantum Physics Lab

Stardate: 45014.0802

T'Lara glared at the man in a way that only a Romulan/Vulcan hybrid could. Cold. Dispassionate, and yet filled with emotions that could not be contained.

"Take her to Sickbay," T'Lara said, voice carved from ice. "The Captain will want words."

Drayk didn't blink. "He can count words. I count results. Your equation was wrong. I corrected it."

=-=

Scott Grant

Lieutenant JG Drayk Val'Bruxa

Assistant Chief Engineer

USS ANUBIS, NCC-18501

"You pray for miracles. I manifest them, as required."

M25-073: USS ANUBIS: T'Lara: 45014.0930 ("Shadows of Recovery")

(TOP)

"Shadows of Recovery"

Previous post: "Universal Design" by Scott

Setting: USS ANUBIS, Sickbay

Stardate: 45014.0930

Sickbay was full, but this was not a burden. It was a reminder that, against every probability, life had returned to the ANUBIS in unexpected forms. The chaos of the mission had left its mark, scars, fractures, and transformations both seen and unseen, and it was now T'Lara's responsibility to assess what remained. Survival was not the end. It was the beginning of something else, something less certain.

Jayson Stark's readings were steady. That alone was remarkable. Only hours ago, his body had been lifeless, a cavity torn through his chest where no recovery should have been possible. Logic demanded caution, and she held to it. Cellular integrity was repairing at an accelerated pace, but stability did not erase the memory of flatlined vitals. Death was not so easily undone, and she could not dismiss the possibility of unseen consequences.

Satella Bruxa's condition was equally confounding. The silver-haired Mikulak had fallen to the same fate long before Stark, and yet she now rested peacefully, her vitals trending stronger than expected. The logic of her recovery pointed to the depth of her species’ engineered resilience. Even so, watching her breathe beneath the soft glow of the monitors, T'Lara knew resilience was only part of the equation. Some debts could not be measured in genome design alone. Drayk Val'Bruxa would see this as validation. T'Lara saw it as reprieve. Temporary. Fragile. Precious.

Across the ward, Cristhiane and Christie shared a smile that was almost startling in its simplicity. The Lokustaar imprint had been erased, their scans clear of shadow-born interference. To see them like this, mother and daughter, free of genetic corruption, was confirmation enough that the effort had not been in vain. T'Lara permitted herself the smallest acknowledgment, a private relief that required no words. Not every battle ended in loss.

The Nylaan sisters were another matter. Ya'Jun and Ya'Han's scans confirmed the absence of foreign coding, but absence did not equate to wholeness. The quantum device had faltered in the final stage of their cleansing. Energy reserves had been insufficient, and the price had been paid in their own biology. Both sisters carried damage yet to be fully mapped, their physiology rewritten in ways still unfolding. The flat black of their hair was the most obvious sign, stripping away the vibrant chromatic markers of their royal heritage and leaving only the shade of the common-born. For their people, that loss would be more than cosmetic, it would strike at identity, status, perhaps even spirit. T'Lara suspected the scars would prove as psychological as they were physical.

She allowed her gaze to sweep the ward once more. Each bed, each patient, each fragile survivor was a testament to improbable endurance. But the mission's conclusion carried no illusions. The Lokustaar were not defeated. Their shadow lingered, subtle and insidious, in memories, in fears, in the quiet spaces between breaths. Recovery would be measured not only in healed tissue or corrected genomes, but in how each individual carried forward from here.

Footsteps slowed beside her. Adriana Lopez stood with arms folded, her eyes moving across the same patients T'Lara had just catalogued. For several breaths, neither spoke.

"They're alive," Adriana said at last, her voice quiet but edged with the weight of everything unspoken. "That's the part everyone sees. What they won't see is what comes next. The nightmares. The doubts. The ones who wonder if they should have come back at all."

T'Lara inclined her head. "Survival presents challenges logic cannot resolve. You will have much to do, Counselor."

Adriana's lips curved into something between a smile and a grimace. "We both will."

The Vulcan-Romulan hybrid regarded her for a moment longer, then shifted her gaze back to the ward. Logic dictated that this was success. Yet her Romulan blood whispered otherwise: that survival was not victory, only delay. She silenced the thought as best she could, though the truth of it lingered.

The mission was over. The aftermath had only just begun.

=-=

Dawn Bohr

Lt. Commander T'Lara

Chief Medical Officer

USS ANUBIS, NCC-18501

M25-074: USS ANUBIS: Gemma: 45014.1100 ("The Start of Something New")

(TOP)

"The Start of Something New"

Previous post: "Shadows of Recovery" by Dawn

Setting: USS ANUBIS, Sickbay

Stardate: 45014.1100

Gemma entered Sickbay expecting another clinical summons. What she found instead was a chamber that felt less like a ward and more like a crossroads.

She paused just inside the door, her eyes tracing over each bed as if conducting an intel review. Jayson Stark and Satella Bruxa were alive... an impossible truth that still scraped against reason. Stark had returned from the brink with a hole in his chest where no man should rise again. Bruxa, dead far longer, breathed with quiet strength as though none of it had ever happened. Impossible, and yet here they were, their very presence forcing her to admit that even death could be misled.

And Satella… the silver-haired doctor seemed to radiate something beyond simple resilience. Resting in the quiet glow of biobeds and monitors, she gave the impression of someone who had been reforged, not merely restored. Even at rest, her presence carried the same steadying energy she had always brought to others, a reminder that fragility could coexist with strength. For a brief moment, Gemma found herself watching her a little too closely, as if testing whether that calm might actually hold.

In the nearby beds, Cristhiane and Christie radiated a fragile serenity. Their smiles held the kind of relief that defied explanation, a release from burdens no one should ever have carried. For them, there were no words strong enough to capture what it meant to simply exist free of shadows.

Then her gaze shifted, and the balance broke.

Ya'Han and Ya'Jun lay pale, their once-brilliant hair now flat black, their spirits dimmed to something Gemma could barely reconcile. Strength had always been the sisters' defining trait. To see them diminished, stripped of their fire, was more jarring than corpses rising from the dead.

The silence pressed heavier with each observation until T'Lara appeared at her side.

"We must make space," the Doctor said with Vulcan crispness. "Should an emergency arise, Sickbay cannot remain at capacity."

Gemma's brow arched. "You want Christie and Cristhiane escorted out? Why not call for Zub?"

For a Vulcan, T'Lara smiled far too easily. The faint curl of her lips carried something Romulan, sharp and deliberate. "That is not why I called you here." She gestured toward the far bed. "The patient I need relocated is Nathan. And there is no better place for him than with you."

The words struck like a misfired disruptor bolt, the logic undeniable but the implication surreal.

"With me?"

"You and the child have exchanged nanites. The bond between you is unique, physiological as well as psychological. His continued recovery will benefit from proximity to you. In every measurable way, you are the most logical caregiver."

Gemma's mind fractured into a dozen competing voices. Gabrielle snarled about liability. Gwenvel whispered of responsibility. Neri laughed it off as some elaborate joke. But none could argue with the Vulcan-Romulan's reasoning.

She looked back at Nathan, small and sleeping, oblivious to the gravity of what had just been placed on her.

Caregiver. The word clung like a shadow. She had never envisioned herself in that role, not once, not even in the fractured echoes of her own shifting identities. She had accepted missions that demanded her life, her body, her mind. But this… this was something she had never trained for.

Gemma stood silent, stunned, as the reality unfolded. Lives had been restored, families reunited, futures reshaped in ways she hadn't expected. And now, against every probability, hers was about to be reshaped too.

Not as the operative. Not as the weapon.

But as the guardian of a child. The thought felt like a trap, something she had spent her whole life avoiding. Yet here it was, unavoidable

One thing was for sure. She would not be tackling this task alone. If the sharing of nanites was to be used to justify her role for Nathan, there would be another who would be called upon to help, and together they would form... a family?

=-=

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